Chapter Eight

Oliver’s Truth

It didn’t happen all at once.

That would’ve been easier.

There would’ve been something to point at.

Something to blame.

Instead—

It happened slowly.

Like everything else.

Oliver started sitting next to me more.

Not in an obvious way.

Not enough for anyone to say anything.

Just…

Closer.

One seat over instead of three.

Standing beside me instead of across the room.

Choosing the same table without making it look like a choice.

And every time—

Every single time—

I noticed.

“Did you finish the homework?” he asked one afternoon, dropping his bag onto the chair beside mine.

“Yeah,” I said. “You?”

“Half.”

I let out a small laugh.

“That’s not how homework works.”

“It does if you stop halfway.”

He smiled.

It was small.

Real.

And for a second—

Everything else went quiet.

Ethan wasn’t there that day.

I told myself it didn’t mean anything.

People had different schedules.

Different classes.

Different—

Excuses.

“You’re quiet,” Oliver said.

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not like this.”

I looked at him.

He was watching me properly now.

Not distracted.

Not split between two conversations.

Just—

There.

“I’m fine,” I said.

He didn’t believe me.

I could tell.

But he didn’t push.

He never did.

Across the library, I could feel it.

Not see it.

Feel it.

James.

I didn’t look.

I didn’t need to.

Because I already knew—

He was watching.

The days blurred together after that.

Small things.

Always small things.

Oliver laughing at something I said.

Oliver choosing to sit next to me again.

Oliver staying a little longer after everyone else left.

And Ethan—

Ethan fading.

Not gone.

Just—

Less.

Less present.

Less certain.

Less there.

“You two seem closer.”

I froze.

Flora was leaning against the shelf, arms crossed.

I hadn’t even noticed her walk over.

“We’re not,” I said too quickly.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Right.”

“It’s not like that.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

I looked away.

Because saying it out loud would make it real.

And I didn’t know if I wanted that.

Flora stepped closer.

Lowering her voice.

“You need to be careful.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

I frowned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she said quietly, “this feels planned.”

My chest tightened.

“It’s not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

Flora didn’t respond immediately.

She just looked at me.

And that—

That was worse.

Because she looked like she already knew how this ended.

Later that day, I found Oliver alone.

Sitting on the steps outside.

No Ethan.

No group.

Just him.

I hesitated.

Then sat down beside him.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

The air was cold.

Quiet.

Real.

“You ever feel like things just… change?” he said suddenly.

I glanced at him.

“All the time.”

He nodded.

Staring ahead.

“Like you don’t notice it at first. And then suddenly it’s different and you don’t know when it happened.”

I swallowed.

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Then—

“I think me and Ethan are… done.”

The words landed softly.

Too softly.

Like they didn’t match what they meant.

I didn’t react straight away.

Didn’t trust myself to.

“Oh,” I said finally.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t look upset.

Not really.

Just—

Certain.

And something inside me—

Something I didn’t want to name—

Lifted.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

Hope.

Ugly.

Unwanted.

But there.

“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” Oliver said.

“Like what?”

He thought about it.

“Not sad. Just… done.”

I nodded slowly.

“I get that.”

He glanced at me.

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

I didn’t elaborate.

I couldn’t.

Because if I did—

I’d have to explain things I wasn’t ready to say out loud.

We sat there a little longer.

Closer than we usually did.

Not touching.

But close enough to notice.

Close enough to matter.

“Liam,” he said quietly.

Something about the way he said my name made my chest tighten.

“Yeah?”

He hesitated.

And suddenly—

Everything felt different.

Like the moment was about to shift into something else.

Something important.

Something real.

“I should probably tell you something.”

My heart started beating faster.

I didn’t say anything.

Didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t ruin it.

“I don’t… like people like that,” he said.

I blinked.

“What do you mean?”

He exhaled slowly.

“I mean—I don’t feel that kind of thing. Not really. Not the way everyone else does.”

I stared at him.

Trying to understand.

Trying to catch up.

“I’m asexual,” he said, quieter now.

The word settled between us.

Heavy.

Final.

And just like that—

Everything shifted.

The hope didn’t explode.

Didn’t shatter.

Didn’t break in some dramatic, cinematic way.

It just—

Collapsed.

Silently.

Like it had never been strong enough to stand in the first place.

“Oh,” I said.

Again.

Because it was the only thing I had.

Oliver watched me carefully.

“Is that… weird?”

“No,” I said quickly. “No, it’s not weird.”

And I meant it.

That wasn’t the part that hurt.

Not really.

What hurt was—

Everything else.

Everything I had let myself think.

Everything I had almost believed.

Every small moment I had taken and turned into something bigger than it was.

“Sorry if that’s—”

“You don’t have to apologise,” I cut in.

He nodded.

Looking relieved.

Like he’d been carrying that for a while.

We sat there again.

But it wasn’t the same anymore.

The space between us had changed.

Not bigger.

Just—

Clearer.

Defined.

“I didn’t want you to think…” he started.

“I didn’t,” I said quickly.

Too quickly.

He didn’t call me out on it.

After a while, he stood up.

“I should go.”

“Yeah.”

He hesitated for a second.

Then—

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

I watched him walk away.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t follow.

Didn’t say anything else.

And somewhere in the back of my mind—

A thought settled in.

Slow.

Cold.

Certain.

James knew.

He had to.

There was no way he didn’t.

Not with the way everything had lined up.

The timing.

The distance between Oliver and Ethan.

The way I had been—

Positioned.

He didn’t make me believe anything.

He didn’t tell me there was a chance.

He didn’t say a word.

He just—

Let me think it.

And that was worse.

Because it meant this wasn’t manipulation.

Not directly.

It was permission.

Permission to hope.

Permission to build something that was never going to exist.

Permission to fall—

Without ever being pushed.

Chapter Nine

The Fault Line

Flora didn’t sit with us that morning.

Not at first.

She stayed near the edge of the room, leaning against the windows, arms crossed, watching everything like she was waiting for something to confirm itself.

Like she already knew how this would go.

The group felt… stable.

That was the problem.

It was too stable.

William was laughing again.

Anne was quieter, but still there.

Brenda kept trying to speak — kept almost being heard.

Sarah looked exhausted.

And James—

James looked comfortable.

Like this was what things were supposed to look like.

Like this was the correct version of reality.

I sat down slowly.

No one said anything about yesterday.

Not Oliver.

Not Ethan.

Not anyone.

Of course they didn’t.

Because that wasn’t part of the version we were allowed to talk about.

“Morning,” James said lightly.

I looked up.

He was already looking at me.

Not smiling.

Not not smiling.

Just—

Watching.

“Morning,” I replied.

My voice felt too loud.

Too present.

Like I didn’t quite belong in the quiet he’d built.

Flora finally walked over.

She didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t ease into it.

She just—

Arrived.

And the moment she did, something shifted.

Not visibly.

But enough.

Enough that William stopped mid-sentence.

Enough that Sarah glanced up.

Enough that James leaned back slightly in his chair.

Interested.

“We need to talk,” Flora said.

No greeting.

No soft entry.

Just that.

William frowned.

“About what?”

Flora didn’t look at him.

She was looking at James.

“About what you’re doing.”

Silence.

Not awkward.

Not confused.

Just—

Still.

James tilted his head slightly.

“What do you mean?”

His tone was calm.

Too calm.

Like he already knew exactly what she meant.

“You know what I mean,” Flora said.

“No, I don’t,” James replied, lightly. “But I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

A couple of people shifted uncomfortably.

Brenda looked between them, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to be there for this.

Sarah didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just watched.

Flora stepped closer.

“You’re splitting things,” she said. “You’re making people say things in different places. You’re controlling who sees what.”

No reaction.

James didn’t even blink.

“That’s a pretty big accusation,” he said.

“It’s not an accusation.”

“Then what is it?”

Flora’s jaw tightened.

“It’s obvious.”

James glanced around the group.

Then back at her.

“I think,” he said slowly, “you might be overthinking things.”

Flora let out a short, sharp laugh.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing where you pretend this is normal.”

“This is normal,” James said. “People talk. People have different conversations. Not everything is some big conspiracy.”

“It is when you’re behind it.”

That was the moment.

The exact moment.

Where everything could’ve gone differently.

Because Sarah moved.

Just slightly.

Like she was about to say something.

Like she was about to step in.

But she didn’t.

James noticed.

Of course he did.

And something in his expression shifted.

Not much.

Just enough.

“I think,” he said carefully, “that maybe you’re projecting a bit.”

Flora went still.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve always been… intense,” James continued. “You see patterns where there aren’t any. You jump to conclusions.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?”

He wasn’t raising his voice.

Wasn’t getting defensive.

He was just—

Talking.

Like he was explaining something obvious.

Something simple.

Something everyone else should already understand.

“You’re isolating people,” Flora said, her voice sharper now. “You’re ignoring Brenda. You’re turning people against Anne. You’re—”

“No one is turning against Anne,” William cut in suddenly.

Flora blinked.

“What?”

William shifted in his seat.

“You’re making it sound worse than it is.”

Flora stared at him.

“Worse than what? The rumour that she’s a fucking—”

“Okay,” James said softly.

Not loud.

Not aggressive.

But it stopped her immediately.

“Let’s not escalate this,” he continued. “That’s not helpful.”

Flora let out a breath.

Half laugh.

Half disbelief.

“You’re literally the one causing it.”

“I’m not causing anything,” James said. “I’m just… here.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

A pause.

Then—

James sighed.

Not annoyed.

Not angry.

Just… tired.

“I think,” he said, quieter now, “that maybe this is exactly what we were trying to avoid.”

Flora frowned.

“What?”

“When we agreed to bring you and Liam back,” he continued, “it was supposed to be a fresh start. No drama. No negativity.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“But it feels like it is,” he said.

And there it was.

Not truth.

Not facts.

Just—

Feeling.

“You’re making people uncomfortable,” James added.

Flora’s expression shifted.

Just slightly.

“Good,” she said. “They should be uncomfortable.”

“That’s not really fair, though, is it?”

Sarah looked up at that.

Really looked.

Like something about that line hit too close.

“I’m not being unfair,” Flora said. “I’m being honest.”

“And that’s fine,” James replied. “But there’s a way to do that without… tearing everything down.”

“I’m not tearing anything down!”

Her voice cracked slightly.

Not loud.

But enough.

And that—

That was all it took.

Because now she sounded emotional.

Now she sounded reactive.

Now she sounded exactly like what James needed her to be.

“I think you’re upset,” James said gently.

Flora stared at him.

“I’m not—”

“And that’s okay,” he added quickly. “But maybe this isn’t the best way to handle it.”

“I’m not upset,” she said again.

But it didn’t land the same.

Not anymore.

William shifted again.

“She’s kind of making it a big deal…”

Anne didn’t say anything.

But she didn’t defend Flora either.

Brenda looked down at the table.

Like she wanted to disappear.

And Sarah—

Sarah still hadn’t said a word.

Flora looked around.

At all of them.

One by one.

Like she was waiting.

Like she was giving them a chance to prove her wrong.

No one did.

Then she looked at me.

And that—

That was the worst part.

Because I knew what she was asking.

Not out loud.

Not directly.

But it was there.

Say something.

Back me up.

Tell them I’m not crazy.

My throat felt tight.