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The sharp blast of the coach’s whistle shattered my thoughts. I didn’t move, staying anchored to the bleachers while the rest of the team blurred past toward the locker rooms. With a heavy sigh, I dropped my head, resting my weight on my forearms until the world was just the dusty wood between my feet.
I opened my eyes and found Till.
He was staring up at me from beneath the stands, framed by the thin streaks of sunlight filtered through the floorboards. His silver hair was a mess—it always was—glistening where the light caught the stray strands. He still wore that permanent, jagged scowl, a sharp contrast to the kid I used to know, but the thick line of black eyeliner only made his gaze more piercing.
"Get down here, dumbass."
I was on my feet before the insult even finished landing. I went fast down the steps and slipped through the metal gate, a grin tugging at my lips enough that let my canine protrude .
"Till! Since when do you show up early? Miss me that much?"
"Shut up, no I didn't," he snapped, looking away. "Mizi said we’re hanging out. She wants to hit Acorn’s party and asked if we were coming."
Mizi. Of course. I loved her—she was the first person I’d ever come out to—but hearing her name come out of Till’s mouth always tasted like copper. I knew about her and Sua; I knew Mizi was keeping it quiet, but every time Till got that hopeful, stupid look in his eyes, I wanted to shake him. I wanted to tell him he didn't have a chance. I wanted to tell him to look at someone else.
Someone like me.
"Are you going?" I asked, keeping my voice casual.
Till shrugged, kicking at a loose rock. "Mizi told me I should give it a shot."
"Then yeah," I said, my heart doing that pathetic, familiar ache. "I'll go."
"Great," Till muttered, already turning on his heel. He didn't wait for me, but he didn't have to. I fell into step behind him, a shadow he’d grown too used to seeing. "Mizi says it starts at eight. Don't show up looking like you just rolled out of a dumpster."
"I’m an athlete, Till. This is 'rugged charm,'" I teased, though the humor didn't quite reach my chest. I watched the back of his head, the way his silver hair shifted with every agitated step. He was so focused on the future though the girl would never be in it.
We reached the edge of the parking lot where the heat of the afternoon lingered. Till stopped, squinting against the glare of the setting sun. For a second, the harshness of his scowl softened, leaving him looking younger, more like the boy who used to share headphones with me in the back of the bus. My hand itched to reach out—to brush a stray strand of hair out of his eyes, to see if he’d flinch or if he’d finally, finally stay still.
"You're staring again," he snapped, the softness vanishing.
"Hard not to. You've got dirt on your cheek," I lied smoothly, reaching out. My thumb grazed his skin, just below the smudge of eyeliner. He didn't pull away immediately, and for one heartbeat, the air between us felt heavy enough to break. Then, he swatted my hand away with a huff.
"Whatever Ivan."
I watched him walk away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. I stayed there until he was gone. He wanted Mizi to see him. I just wanted him to see me.
"Eight o'clock," I whispered to the empty car park.
***
The bass from Acorn’s playlist thumped against my ribs . Him and Tills songs were really alike and he couldn't help but notice. The living room was a blur of neon LED's and the smell of cheap liquor and underage drinking. I’d been holding onto the same drink for twenty minutes, my back pressed against a wall, watching the door.
Then I saw them.
Mizi was a spark of pink light in the crowd, laughing as she pulled Till by the wrist toward the makeshift dance floor. Till looked like he wanted to pass out onto the floorboards, his shoulders up to her shoulders as he went with Mizi. He always went when it was her. I watched the way his eyes watched her every movement. The desperate way he looked at her when she wasn't looking at him. It was a mirror of my own self and it made my stomach turn.
I moved through the crowd, intending to inturrupt them, but I stopped short when I saw Sua. She was leaning against the kitchen island, her dark eyes fixed on Mizi with a quiet, terrifyingly certain look, a look i was familiar with myself. Jealously. When Mizi caught her gaze, the laughter in her expression shifted into something private—something Till was too blinded to see from his own hope.
"He’s going to do it tonight," a voice muttered beside me. I blinked, realizing I’d drifted toward the hallway. It was some guy from the track team, nodding toward the pair.
"Till. He’s been carrying a note or some pathetic shit in his pocket all week. Poor bastard doesn't realize Mizi’s already gone for that quiet girl Sua."
The "pathetic shit" felt like a blade twisting in my gut. I didn't say anything; I just walked toward them. I reached Till just as Mizi was pulled away by a group of theater kids. He stood there, looking small. His hand was shoved deep into his black and blue sweater, gripping something tight.
"Till," I said, my voice sounding hollow.
He jumped, spinning around. The eyeliner was smudged now, making his eyes look even more tired than he probably is. "Ivan. Where the hell have you been?"
"Watching you make a fool of yourself," I said it, it was out of the blue. Im stupid but i had to say it. I couldn't stop myself from saying what had needed to be said. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt him so he’d stop hurting me. And maybe if i hurt him he would give this up. "She’s looking at Sua, Till. Not you. She’s never BEEN looking at you."
The color drained from his face and his jaw tightened, that familiar jagged scowl returning. "You don't know what you're talking about. Shut up."
"I’m the only one telling you the truth!"
I stepped closer, crowding into his space to the point where it felt overwhelming for me. I grabbed his wrist, the one still buried in his pocket and yanked it out. A piece of notebook paper fluttered to the floor.
"Look at me, Till. For once in your life, stop looking at her and look at what’s right in front of you."
Till didn't look at the paper. He looked at my hand on his arm, then slowly up at my face. His expression wasn't one of realization. It was pure hatred.
"I am looking at you, Ivan," he spat, his voice full of rage that felt like ice water.
"And all I see is a parasite who can't stand to see me happy."
He pulled his arm back, leaving my hand grasping at air. He didn't even pick up the note. He just turned and shoved his way through the crowd, disappearing into the backyard.
I didn't follow him into the yard. I couldn't. Instead, I backed away, my shoulder hitting the wall as I slid toward the kitchen, my movements were uncoordinated. The music felt like it was suffocating.
Parasite.
Is that what I was? I thought of every time I’d stood half a step behind him. Every time I’d memorize his laugh or the way he took his coffee. I was picking up the crumbs of attention he dropped while he begged for her.
I wasn't at the party for much longer. The part music was replaced with the ringing silence of my bedroom. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, still wearing the shirt that smelled like Acorn’s basement. Smoke, cheap cologne, and the lingering scent of Till’s hair.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of notebook paper. I’d picked it up. Of course I had. I always seemed to be drawn to making myself miserable.
I smoothed it out, my hands shaking as I gripped the paper hard. It wasn’t a long letter. It was a poem, raw, and so him.
He looked at Mizi and saw the sun, and he looked at me and saw the void where the light ended. I felt a laugh come up in my throat, dryly and it had a hint of despair. I’d spent years carving out a space beside me, molding myself into the person he needed, the person he wanted to have around, to love, only for him to call me a parasite.
A parasite.
I stood up, the movement sending a head rush that made the room blur.I caught my reflection in the mirror over my dresser. My eyes looked different. Not like me. I looked like a stranger. I thought about the way his wrist felt in my grip. I wanted to reach inside his chest and change him until every desperate thought he had was directed at me.
I sank to the floor, my back against the bed frame, and pressed my palms of my hands into my eyes until I saw circles of light and rainbow colors. If I could just stop thinking. If I could just stop picturing the way he looked at her. But the more I tried to erase him, the more he burned into me. He was everywhere. He was the reason I breathed, and he was the reason I was spiraling.