Toby let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He closed his textbook, the diagrams of cells forgotten. For the first time, the story everyone else had written for them didn’t matter. They were writing their own, one quiet Friday night at a time.
“Leo,” Toby breathed, his heart hammering. “People are going to start wondering why you’re always with me.”
Leo didn't pull away. Instead, he hooked his finger around Toby’s, anchoring them together. “Let them wonder. I’m tired of being where I’m ‘supposed’ to be. I like being where I want to be.” gay teen orgy sex
The air in the library smelled like old paper and the citrus gum Leo always chewed. Toby kept his eyes glued to his biology textbook, but he wasn’t reading about mitosis; he was counting how many times Leo tapped his highlighter against the desk. Three taps. A pause. Two taps.
“You’re doing it again,” Leo whispered, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Toby let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding
Toby felt the familiar heat crawl up his neck. “Doing what?”
It was a small gesture, but in the quiet of the library, it felt like a lightning strike. For months, they had existed in this orbit—stolen glances in the hallway, long texts late at night about movies and fears, and these quiet moments where the rest of the world felt miles away. They were writing their own, one quiet Friday
“And I have a game. But I’d rather be here.” Leo’s hand moved on the table, his pinky finger just barely brushing Toby’s.