(Blake’s POV)

The second Adrian disappears into his apartment building, the street feels colder.

I stand there for another few seconds anyway.

Just staring at the door like he might come back out.

Which is insane.

I laugh quietly at myself and finally shove my hands into my jacket pockets before starting the walk home.

Thirty minutes.

That’s how far my house is from Adrian’s apartment.

Jay says it’s stupid that I walk instead of driving sometimes, but honestly I like it at night. Everything’s quieter. My head settles down.

Usually.

Tonight isn’t helping.

Because all I can think about is Adrian.

Again.

The way he looked standing under the apartment light.

The way he didn’t tell me to stop calling him sunshine.

The way he froze when I touched his face.

I groan softly to myself. “Dude.”

My brain immediately decides to make it worse by replaying the break room scene too.

Your idiot.

I still can’t believe I said that out loud.

And the thing is   

The worst part is that it felt natural.

Not weird.

Not forced.

Just true.

I kick a rock across the sidewalk harder than necessary.

“Get it together,” I mutter.

A car passes beside me, headlights flashing briefly across the street.

Football.

Think about football.

That usually works.

Friday’s game pops into my head immediately after that.

Big rivalry game. Packed stands. Scouts maybe showing up. Coach has been acting intense all week about it.

I should be focused on that.

Not on Adrian’s stupid necklace.

Or Adrian laughing.

Or Adrian blushing.

Or Adrian looking at me like   

Nope.

Football.

Definitely football.

I adjust my backpack on one shoulder and keep walking.

The closer I get home, the tighter my chest feels.

Not because of the walk.

Because of the house.

By the time I reach my street, most of the lights in the neighborhood are already off. My house sits near the end of the block, porch light still on.

Dad’s definitely awake then.

Great.

I unlock the front door quietly and step inside.

The TV is running in the living room.

Sports channel.

Obviously.

My dad’s sitting on the couch with one arm stretched across the back cushion while my mom folds laundry beside him.

Both of them look up immediately when I walk in.

“There he is,” Dad says. “What took so long?”

I kick my shoes off near the door. “I walked Adrian home.”

There’s a brief pause.

Dad leans back slightly. “That friend of yours?”

Mom answers before I can.

“Yes, dear. That’s the one.”

Her voice is softer than his always is.

Careful.

Everything in this house is careful.

I nod once and start toward the stairs. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Blake.”

I stop halfway up the first step.

Dad’s eyes stay on the TV while he talks.

“Big game Friday.”

“I know.”

“You better keep your head in the right place this week.”

There it is.

I grip the stair railing slightly tighter.

“I will.”

“You’ve been distracted lately.”

My stomach tightens immediately.

He doesn’t know.

He can’t know.

But every single time he says things like that, it feels like he does.

Dad finally glances over at me. “Scouts aren’t looking for boys who lose focus.”

“I said I know.”

The room goes quiet for a second.

Then Mom speaks carefully. “Your dinner’s in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

I nod once. “Thanks.”

Dad turns back toward the game. “And Blake?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get mixed up in weird shit before football season ends.”

The words hit exactly the way he intends them to.

Sharp.

Ugly.

Familiar.

I feel my jaw tighten immediately.

“Okay,” I say flatly.

Because arguing never helps.

Not in this house.

Dad’s attention goes back to the TV like the conversation’s over already.

I head upstairs without another word.

The second my bedroom door shuts behind me, I finally exhale.

My room’s dark except for the LED lights near my desk. Football trophies line the shelves. Team hoodies hang near the closet.

It should feel like mine.

Most days it just feels staged.

I toss my backpack onto the floor and sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing both hands over my face.

Then immediately think about Adrian again.

Because apparently my brain hates me.

I picture him laughing outside the apartment building.

The way he looked at me right before he went inside.

The tiny pause after I said you love me.

Something twists painfully in my chest.

I fall backward onto the bed with a groan.

“What is wrong with me?”

The ceiling fan spins slowly overhead.

Friday’s game.

Football.

Scouts.

College.

That’s the future Dad wants.

Simple.

Straight.

Easy.

And then there’s Adrian.

Adrian with his quiet voice and sharp eyes and dumb little sun necklace he still wears after all these years.

Adrian who gets overwhelmed when cafés get too loud.

Adrian who looked hurt today and somehow made Blake angrier than football ever could.

I stare at the ceiling for a long time before finally whispering the thing I’ve been avoiding saying all night.

“…Oh, shit.”