Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first day of the new school year stretched before Etho like an uncertain path, tangled and unfamiliar, rather than the fresh start others might imagine. His family's move from the quiet, snow-dusted streets of Canada to a town nestled somewhere in America was a jigsaw piece that didn’t quite fit. His parents had spoken of business decisions and opportunities, but those were mere echoes in Etho’s world. To him, the shift felt more like being uprooted, plucked from the only place he knew and dropped into the unknown.

He stood at the edge of the school’s entrance, shivering—not entirely from the gusty wind that whipped around his frame. The chilly air mingled with the sharp scent of autumn leaves, which were beginning to decay on the concrete, a faint hint of dampness within the smell that stirred deeper feelings inside him. His skin prickled as he instinctively tucked his scarred eye further behind his mask, the thin fabric a strange comfort, a barrier between himself and the watching eyes of a sea of strangers.

Around him, the school buzzed with life—a wave of noise and movement that felt like a living thing pressing in on all sides. The chattering, the laughter, the shuffle of footsteps, and the slam of lockers created a chaotic symphony. Yet, Etho’s mind filtered it through a different lens. The world often felt too loud or too bright, a constant overload of senses; his autism tuned those details as sharply as the edge of a blade.

His eyes flicked left and right, taking in the bright colours of backpacks worn rough from daily use, the gleam of polished shoes on worn floors, and the way light bounced off the classroom windows, splintering into patterns on the tiled halls. He noticed how some students moved in tight groups, weaving their easy smiles and inside jokes like invisible threads that Etho wasn’t part of. Others, like him, seemed to press their bodies against walls or corners, slipping into shadows as if hoping to blend away.

Etho’s hand rose unconsciously to smooth his unruly white hair, strands that caught the autumn sunlight like flickers of silver. His hair was a rebel feature—too bright, too different, impossible to hide, no matter how he tried. It made him a target, but it was part of him, just like the scar etched across his left eye had been since childhood, a constant reminder of times past and the world’s indifference.

Why did he have to stand here, exposed, waiting? His body tensed instinctively, muscles coiling in small, tight knots. The crowd’s pulse beat against his skin, a rhythm both inviting and threatening.

A withered leaf blew past, curling in the air like a whispered warning. Etho’s breath caught slightly as he sensed the weight of all these small sensations, each carrying meaning he wasn’t sure others noticed, or cared about.

This was more than just a new school; it was a new challenge—a test of every quiet strength he’d gathered over the years.

The grip of his headphones around his neck was reassuring, though he wasn’t supposed to put them on now. He remembered his mother’s gentle warnings that on school grounds, they might only draw attention, make things worse. Yet, the temptation to retreat behind music was almost irresistible.

One tentative step forward, then another.

His legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, heavy and shaky. The swirling sounds of laughter morphed into a muddled roar, his heartbeat an uneven drum in his chest. The entrance seemed to edge away as if pulled by invisible hands. His breaths grew shallow, the weight of every eye on him tangible, even if he could not see anyone in particular.

A flicker of panic lurked beneath the surface. But Etho forced himself onwards—the promise of ordinary steps, one after another, like a mantra.

Suddenly, a presence broke through the storm of his thoughts: a boy approached, moving with assurance that seemed to cut through the chaos. He had broad shoulders and brown hair that caught some honest sunlight, a scar slashing across his face and arms. His smile was open, carrying the easy confidence of someone who felt at home here, felt comfortable.

“Hi. I’m Scar,” the boy said, voice calm and steady, “captain of the swim team. You must be Etho, right? Bit of a weird name, but I’m not one to judge.”
Etho’s mouth felt dry, words hesitant but correct: “Yes. That’s me.” The mask hid most of his face, but his eyes gave away a flicker of surprise. It was unusual to meet someone who seemed kind so fast.

Scar’s grin widened, not mocking but welcoming. “Which class have you got first? I can show you the way if you like.”

“English, I believe,” Etho replied softly, nerves knitting his voice unevenly. “That would be... helpful, thank you.”

The boy nodded. “No need to thank me- it’s nothing. Welcome to the jungle.” His tone was light, teasing, but friendly.

Etho’s reply was an automatic apology. “Sorry, it’s a... bit of a habit.”

Scar laughed—a bright, infectious sound that seemed to slice through the tension. “No need for that either.”

Walking behind Scar, Etho felt the noisy crowd blur into the background, a slow-motion wave he no longer had to fight alone. His mind lingered on the details—the subtle pause in Scar’s step, the easy laugh lines at the corner of his eyes, the faint scent of chlorine clinging to him from swim practice. The corridor was echoey, making each chatter, each step scatter across the entire hallway.

The classroom door beckoned like a lighthouse at last. Scar gestured with a nod, then left for his maths class. Etho paused, breathing deep, then crossed the threshold.

Inside, the room was half full, sunlight streaming through high windows. The chatter droned but felt distant. Etho’s eyes rested on a boy across the room whose dark hair framed a face shining with warmth. His smile was genuine and open, glowing with an energy Etho hadn’t seen much before. His eyes big, almost captivating.

The boy’s eyes caught his briefly—sparkling like stars scattered across the night sky but with a depth, a shadow beneath that told stories unspoken.

Etho felt a small flicker of surprise—a warmth that chased away some of his loneliness.

Then the teacher entered—a figure draped in quiet grey, modest in appearance, with his hair tied neatly back and glasses sliding down his nose. Her presence was workmanlike, her voice polite but tired.

“Hello, Etho. Welcome to the school. Please take a seat next to Bdubs,” he said without much enthusiasm.

Etho blinked, uncertain. “Who’s Bdubs?” he asked, confusion shadowing on his face.

The teacher pointed swiftly across the room.

Etho approached and took the seat next to the boy he’d paid notice to just moments before.

“Hi, I’m Bdoubleo100, but just call me Bdubs,” the boy said, voice bright, “You’re new, cool! What’s your name?”
“Etho,” he answered, voice still frail with nerves.

Bdubs grinned, unbothered by Etho’s nervousness. “Why’d you move here? It’s not the most exciting place, really. And where from?”
“Canada,” Etho said quietly.

“Canada! Cool. At least you won’t have to shovel snow anymore, eh?”

Etho smiled faintly. “I don’t mind snow. I think it’s kind of beautiful.”

“That’s brilliant. But seriously, it’s freezing cold!” Bdubs laughed.

“It has to be below freezing, zero degrees Celsius. Thirty-two Fahrenheit,” Etho corrected softly. He hoped he wasn’t being too much.

Bdubs chuckled. “I know, I was just joking—I don’t really get Celsius, to be honest.”

Etho smiled, a little relief blossoming.

The lesson began, but Etho found most of it a blur. His mind wandered to small things—the way sunlight shifted on the desk, the soft scratching of a pen nearby, the scent of old paper mingling with faint hints of perfume and aftershave.

It was a long day, and he had only just begun.

Etho stood for a moment longer in the quiet corner of the classroom, letting the low murmur of voices wash over him.

The hum of conversation was soft enough here, the noise filtered at just the right level that it didn’t become an overwhelming tide. His eyes flicked to the rows of desks, each marked with faint scratches and ink stains—stories left behind by students passing through, echoes of small rebellions and quiet boredom. Etho’s fingers brushed lightly over the edge of his desk, feeling its rough texture, grounding himself in the physical.

As Bdubs settled beside him, Etho noticed the subtle way the boy adjusted his position, his restless movements perfectly timed and measured, like a dance he’d done a thousand times. Bdubs’ smile was easy, genuine, but Etho could sense layers beneath it- a practised warmth, a shield perhaps, but it warmed the air all the same.

“First day nerves?” Bdubs asked softly.

Etho felt the honesty in the question, and for once, didn’t try to hide how tight his chest felt. He nodded minutely, eyes downcast for a moment, then meeting Bdubs’ steady gaze again.

“Yeah. It’s a lot.”

Bdubs nodded as though he understood more than Etho could say. “It’s always like that. New places, new faces. But it gets easier.”

Etho’s thoughts drifted to the boy’s words, connecting with the small comfort they carried. He took in more details—the way sunlight glimmered off the soft strands of Bdubs’ hair, the faint scent of fresh laundry mixed with something woody and familiar. In that moment, the world outside the classroom felt less like a maze and more like a place where he might, maybe, find his way.

The teacher’s voice rose, calling the class to attention, but Etho found it hard to focus fully—not because of disinterest, but because his senses tugged him elsewhere. He noticed the flicker of a bird’s shadow on the windowsill, the distant chime of bells in the town beyond the school. The faint, rhythmic tapping of a pencil on wood. The metallic scrape of a chair dragged on the floor. Small things, but they made the room real.

He shifted in his seat, trying to ease the rising tension in his limbs. The chair groaned softly, a familiar sound that added to the quiet symphony. His fingers toyed with the elastic band he always wore; the feel of it was soothing—a small ritual that eased the storm inside.

Across the room, the boy with the bright smile—Bdubs—seemed to sense the unease. He leaned slightly closer and whispered, “If it’s getting too much, just say. I’m good at disappearing when I want.”

Etho cracked a smile, a burst of gratitude behind his tired eyes. It was the first time someone offered understanding without hesitation.

Class passed in a blur, the numbers and words swirling. Yet even the dull routine held moments—like the scent of old books mingling with fresh paper, the way the sunlight warmed the backs of their necks through the window, the scratch of pen on paper painting symbols and shapes. Each small detail was a thread in the tapestry of the day, pieces Etho quietly wove together as the hours slipped by.

When the bell finally rang, the classroom erupted into movement—a rush of feet, voices, and laughter breaking free from order. Etho stayed still for a moment, feeling the solid weight of his bag against his back, a reminder of the long hours to come.

Bdubs gathered his things with practised ease. “Want to come with me for lunch? A few friends will be there. You won’t be on your own.”

Etho’s throat tightened. He had promised Scar he’d eat with him to avoid looking rude, but the offer was kind, and Bdubs’ open invitation shone with honest friendliness.

“I promised Scar,” Etho muttered, caught between wanting company and not wanting to lie.

“No worries, Scar’s a good mate, we usually eat together anyway,” Bdubs shrugged. “Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

The cafeteria buzzed with a mixture of energy and noise that made Etho’s skin prickle. The scent of warm food, the clatter of trays, and the hum of conversations created a backdrop both overwhelming and oddly comforting. Etho’s eyes landed on a table where a small group of students sat intertwined in easy chatter.

Bdubs introduced them carefully, names flowing over Etho’s mind like unfamiliar melodies. Joel and Lizzie, the couple; Scar, the swimmer; Cleo and Pearl Gem, whose closeness was clear in the way they shared whispered jokes and stolen glances; Tango and Jimmy, whose near intimacy seemed to draw a complex web of feelings among their circle, and lastly Scott, who was from Scotland.

Etho felt his heart quicken slightly as greetings were exchanged. The world was loud here—too loud, but inside that noise, glimpses of kindness flickered. Joel’s smile was broad and welcoming, his green-streaked hair a bold splash of colour in the crowded room. The friends moved with a quiet ease that Etho envied.

He sat not far from Bdubs, who seemed like a rock among the chaos, solid and calm. Etho noticed the faint smell of mint coming from near Joel’s side, the occasional sparkle of sunlight reflecting off a bracelet on one of the girls’ wrists. The mingled scent of food: pizza, sandwiches, something sweet, wrapped around them, groundeing the moment.

As Etho nibbled on his sandwich—cutting small pieces with a fork so he wouldn’t have to take his mask off, he felt a bubble of anxiety swell. He hated being this obvious, this visible, but he also felt strangely safe among this new company. The gentle din of voices blurred around him, words slipping into a soft hum that he could partially tune out.

Bdubs kept throwing him glances, concern flickering briefly in his eyes. Etho fidgeted with his elastic band again, twirling it between his fingers as he fought to keep calm.

A soft, feminine voice broke through the noise. “Etho, are you alright?”

The question hit him like a wave, stirring a storm of emotions he hadn’t expected to face yet. For a moment, he froze. Words caught in his throat. He didn’t want to say no, but he couldn’t say yes either.

Without thinking, Etho tugged his headphones over his ears and rose quickly, shrinking away from the group. The cafeteria faded behind him as he moved swiftly, almost blindly, toward the bathroom.

Inside the cold tile room, he locked the door behind him and sank to the floor. The silence embraced him like a shield. Etho curled into himself, burying his face in his knees, and despite every effort, a few tears slipped free. It wasn’t weakness—just the sheer overwhelm of a day too full, too fast, too loud.

After a few moments, the door creaked open softly.

“Etho?”

It was Bdubs. Etho’s heart stuttered. He wasn’t ready.

Bdubs didn’t push. He leaned against the door, voice gentle. “Gem didn’t mean anything by what she said. She was trying to help, really.”

Etho stayed silent, his breath coming in rough little gasps. Seconds passed, thick and heavy.

Finally, he managed a shaky voice. “I’m sorry, I just…I got overwhelmed.”

Bdubs didn’t rush him. “Do you have social anxiety or something like that? We won’t judge. We just want to help.”

Etho shook his head slightly. “Not exactly. I have autism.”

The word hung in the air between them. Bdubs took it in without hesitation, offering a warmth that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“Scar has autism, too,” he explained. “He wears earplugs during lunch sometimes. Maybe you could eat somewhere quieter. I can come with you.”

Etho’s mouth twitched into a small smile— the kind that felt like a precious gift.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I’d like that, sorry.”

Bdubs laughed softly. “You say ‘sorry’ a lot.”

“It’s a habit,” Etho admitted.

“Noted,” Bdubs chuckled. “Ready to head back?”

Etho nodded, standing with renewed strength.

“I’ll show you a quieter spot,” Bdubs said quietly, steering Etho toward a corner near the back of the room, away from the busiest clusters. There, the hum of conversations softened, replaced by gentle murmurs and the occasional clink of cutlery.

Etho settled into the quieter nook, pulling his mask slightly aside to take small bites of his sandwich. The air here smelled faintly of fresh bread and apples, mingling pleasantly with the neutral smell of the school’s cleaning products. He felt the weight of the day lifting, buoyed by the simple kindness of company.

Bdubs chatted about classes and shared stories of a horse ride he’d gone on this morning, his voice a steady thread weaving through the peaceful room. Etho listened, the ordinary words carrying a quiet reassurance. Scar, Bdubs mentioned, was a good swimmer and an equally good mate, though sometimes reserved, especially during lunch.

The conversation shifted gently from classes to the small details of school life—the annual charity drive, upcoming events, and the casual rivalries that shaped high school days. Through it all, Etho began to realize that behind these everyday moments lay a web of connections he could navigate, one step at a time.

Etho and Bdubs stepped from the quiet refuge back into the hum of the school. The corridor stretched ahead, a long ribbon of polished floor tiles and peeling paint on the walls, lined with rows of lockers—those cold metal boxes in shades of navy and grey, each bearing the stories of countless students who had passed through these halls. The lockers were a little dented here and there, scars of schoolyard skirmishes and careless elbows, scratched names etched faintly beneath layers of chipped paint.

The walls were plastered unevenly with colourful posters advertising upcoming sports events and drama productions, their edges curling as if trying to peel themselves free. Between them, bulletin boards bore the lugubrious threat of forthcoming tests, reminders about assembly days, and motivational slogans in bold letters. One read: “Mumbo for mayor.” Etho was baffled by that. Why did they have a campaign in a high school?

Bdubs narrated lightly, pointing out the key landmarks of the school as they walked, “That’s the library, in case you ever need a break. The cafeteria’s just around the corner. Oh, and that’s the music room. I heard it’s haunted, but I think it’s just an old speaker.” His voice was easy, animated, weaving a casual map behind his words.

As they turned a corner, the early autumn sunlight filtered through a large window, casting long shadows which stretched across the marbled floor like dark fingers trying to reach Etho. The hallway smelled faintly of aged wood polish, mingled with something metallic—the subtle scent of a place lived in by hundreds of teenagers navigating their own dramas and triumphs.

Doorways opened onto classrooms with half-closed blinds, the muffled buzz of teachers’ voices and the scratch of pens on paper drifting into the corridor. Etho caught a glimpse of students clustered by a trophy cabinet, their conversation light and easy. The trophies gleamed, their surfaces bright and polished, celebrating wins earned well before Etho’s arrival. What victories could he claim here, if any?

Bdubs stopped a moment outside the biology classroom. The door stood slightly ajar, revealing a room filled with rows of wooden desks and charts of cellular structures pinned neatly to the walls. Etho imagined the swirl of life within those diagrams—the invisible battles and creations humming beneath every surface.

“This is where I have English,” Bdubs said with a smile. “Not my favourite, but it’s okay.”

Etho nodded, feeling the anxieties of the day soften slightly in the presence of this boy who seemed to accept him without question. They stepped inside together, the gentle creak of the door folding behind them like a seal on this small shared moment.

In the classroom, shafts of light cut through the soft dust that floated near the ceiling. The paint on the walls was a soft cream, fading where time had worn it away, and the wooden desks were worn smooth by the restless hands of students over the years. A green chalkboard stretched across the front of the room, its surface clean and waiting for lessons to inscribe their marks.

Students settled into their seats, shuffling papers and adjusting backpacks, settling into the quiet rhythm of school. Etho’s eyes scanned the room, noticing the subtle differences in posture and expression: a frown here, a glance there, a whisper shared with a nearest friend. The room felt alive with stories, histories, and futures interlaced in a delicate web.

As Bdubs took his seat beside him again, the teacher entered—a man in his mid-forties with brown hair pulled back into a slickback. His voice was calm but carried authority, as he began the lesson by explaining what was on the syllabus for the term.

Etho listened attentively, his mind grasping the structure and routine this classroom promised. Despite the earlier fears, here was a place that made sense, rules were clear, lessons were planned, and eventually, he might find his rhythm.

The end of the day is signalled by the loud bell, ringing in a too loud to be acceptable ring. It stings in the ears.

Finally, school was done, his first day.

Etho packs his stuff and walks through the corridor in short movements. Trying not to bump into another person. People were huddling together. Etho accidentally bumps into this guy, who’s fairly tall and muscular.

“Watch where you’re going, freak,” He responded in an instant, not having to think before speaking.

The rest of the journey towards the entrance goes fairly smoothly, only disturbed by a few people not making space to get through them.

Doc, Etho’s brother, was waiting in the car, parked just beyond the school’s fence. Ren sat beside him, an easy grin lighting his face as Etho slipped into the front seat, the familiar hum of the car engine a soothing backdrop. Etho’s mom was in the backseat, which was abnormal.

“You don’t usually pick me up,” Etho said, voice tired but steady.

“It’s your first day. How’d it go?” Mum’s voice came gently from the passenger side, her usual baby-talk tone softening the question.
“It was fine,” Etho answered simply. Tiredness curled around him like a heavy blanket.

Mum’s teasing continued, playful questions about friends and girls that Etho deflected quickly. “How many times do I have to say I’m not into girls? It went fine. I’m tired.”

Doc chuckled softly from the driver’s seat. Ren reached over, giving Etho’s leg a small, reassuring squeeze.

The car slid smoothly through quiet streets, the outside world dimming as they headed home. Etho’s thoughts drifted to the day’s moments—the smiles, the challenges, the small victories.

Back in his room, dimly lit and still filled with posters of Minecraft worlds and digital dreams, Etho sank onto his bed—the familiar space wrapped around him, a quiet refuge from the storm.

Later that evening, Doc stopped by Etho’s room, joined shortly by Ren. They exchanged jokes and questions softly, Doc’s rough voice tempered by Ren’s warmth.
“So, made any friends?” Doc asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Etho smiled faintly. “I talked with Bdubs, and he showed me his friend group. They’re nice.”

“As in he’s nice or *nice*?” Ren teased.

“Shut it, he’s too good for me,” Etho retorted lightly.

“Okay, so he’s *nice*,” Doc added with a laugh. Soft chuckles filled the room.

Etho felt the day settle at last, heavy but hopeful—the first steps in a new chapter.

Chapter Text

The night passed in a restless way. Etho awoke more times than he cared to count, the shadows cast by moonlight playing tricks on the walls, folding and unfolding like secret messages. When the soft alarm beside his bed whispered at six o’clock, his body protested at the thought of rising, yet something coaxed him upright.

Moving like a ghost through the dim morning, Etho shuffled across the room, his footsteps silent on the carpet. His hand brushed against a pile of worn black masks resting on the nightstand—the closest thing he had to armour in this universe. Pulling one free, he paused before the mirror. The reflection that met him was oddly familiar but unsettling. The mask he had slept in was still plastered unevenly to his face, damp and sticky from a day’s wear and night’s sweat, clinging unpleasantly to his skin. The smell was faint but enough to set his stomach to twists.

His palm pressed gently to one cheek, the fabric tugging with a cold wetness. A soft groan escaped him—how unpleasant it was to wake up trapped beneath a mask you didn’t peel off the day beforehand. He peeled it slowly away, watching the pale, sharp angles of his face emerge into the dim light. His eyes, bright and strange beneath a fringe of alabaster hair, seemed to flicker with a mixture of irritation and discomfort. It wasn’t that he hated what he saw; he didn’t explicitly like what he saw either—it was more the exposure, the vulnerability. And besides, the mask made him feel cooler, safer, masked as a modern-day ninja shrouded in mystery.

After a moment’s hesitation, Etho chose another black mask—this one cleaner and drier—and secured it in place. Getting dressed felt routine, but necessary. The black band shirt with its fading band logo was pulled over his head, paired with worn, loose-fitting jeans too big for his thin frame. A pair of simple silver earrings wobbled as he pulled his hair back slightly, the movement mechanical, almost automatic, as if doing this small ritual grounded him in a tumbling world.

The house was quiet, save for the faint scrape of utensils in the kitchen. Etho paused outside the doorway and spotted Doc, hunched over a plate, eyes on the food rather than his surroundings. His movements were sharp and brisk, a stark contrast to Etho’s slow, deliberate motions.

“Are you driving today, or should I get my boots on and walk?” Etho’s voice held a trace of complaint—he wasn’t in the mood for the long trek.

Doc didn’t look up. “I’m late for work,” he muttered, words clipped and cold. There was no room for negotiations this morning. Etho sighed inwardly—the usual disappointment settling like a stone.

Grabbing his bag from the chair, Etho left the house, stepping into the chill morning air. The nearly three kilometres(1.8 miles) stretch to school lay ahead, a journey he’d begun to dread but accept. The world around him seemed strangely uniform—rows of white-painted houses standing like identical sentinels along wide, clean streets. Manicured lawns stretched like satin blankets, and the occasional flower bed attempted to inject colour into the steady monotony.

He found the American architectural style both fascinating and unsettling—each house a perfect echo of the last, with matching columns, identical windows, and the same carefully pruned hedges. The sameness pressed in on him, a sequence of cloned structures without personality or soul. In his mind, he compared them to lines of soldiers, standing to attention as part of a strange pattern that didn’t belong to him.

The air smelled cold and damp, heavy with the promise of rain that had already begun to darken the sky. It was Friday—the last day before the weekend, but this week was uneven, having begun on a Thursday, an odd choice by the school that Etho only partially understood. He supposed fewer days might ease the pressure of adjustment.

His legs ached a little when he finally arrived, the soreness a welcome distraction from his spiralling thoughts. Walking three kilometres was no small thing for him—cardio was a challenge he avoided unless absolutely necessary, gym visits reserved for less exhausting routines.

Turning toward the school’s main entrance, Etho spotted Bdubs seated on the steps, completely absorbed in his sketchpad. His hair was soaked with rain, strands sticking to his forehead and sliding down his neck in damp rivulets. Etho felt a flush of courage and approached with a quiet bravery that would have been impossible weeks ago.

Sitting beside Bdubs, Etho glanced at the sketch. A sprawling fortress took shape as a delicate labyrinth of towers, arches, and battlements set against a deep red backdrop. The white of the stone merged with shadows, crafting an almost ghostly image. Each detail was painstakingly rendered, a quiet masterpiece that spoke not only of skill but of quiet hours spent lost in creation.

“Wow,” Etho breathed, awe colouring his voice. “Bdubs, it’s incredible. Really.”

Bdubs shrugged modestly. “Thanks, it’s nothing big, just a little sketch. It helps me relax. Drawing is my version of therapy.”

Etho felt a pang of understanding. “I get that. But to me, it looks special.”

They spoke softly about practice, the frustration of hands not matching ideas, and slowly, Etho felt the thaw of nervousness.

The rest of the morning passed with the slow drag of lessons. Coding was a bright spot—the logic, the focus, the quiet victory of crafting something from lines of code intrigued him. Emerging from the class, Bdubs waited. “I found a place for lunch, a music room. Quiet, empty. We could try it?”

“Yes, that sounds great,” Etho replied apprehensively but hopefully.

Inside the music room, the scent of varnished wood and old strings enveloped them. Guitars lined one wall, shining dully in the soft light. Etho’s eyes locked on an electric guitar, a beast of polished black and chrome that caught his interest instantly.

“Do you play?” Bdubs asked.

“The guitar, yeah,” Etho answered.

“Show me!”

With an anxious breath, Etho picked up the guitar and let loose a riff—fast, deliberate, full of energy. The sound echoed softly, filling the room in moments. When the last note faded, Etho smiled shyly. “I’m a bit rusty.”

“No way! That sounded amazing,” Bdubs said, eyes bright.

The rain began in earnest, then the patter on the windows grew into steady drumming. Their eyes met through the quiet moment.

“Oh no,” Etho muttered, “I have to walk home in that.”

“How far?” Bdubs’ expression shifted to concern.

“Nearly two miles.”

Bdubs shook his head. “No umbrella? No coat?”

“No, I didn’t expect rain.”

“You’ll get sick. Come to my place for a while after school.”

Etho hesitated but finally agreed—new experiences felt intimidating.

Etho stepped into the science classroom, a space that always seemed sharper than the others—rows of polished black-topped desks, cabinets lined with glassware, and the faint smell of disinfectant and chalk mixing in the air. Sunlight slanted through tall windows along the side wall, pooling in bright rectangles across the floor, while the constant murmur of students filled the room with an uneasy, buzzing energy. Science was Etho’s favourite subject, and normally, he looked forward to sinking into its quiet logic.

Today felt different.

As he scanned the room, his footsteps slowed. Etho noticed an empty chair beside a girl he recognized—her name came to him after a moment’s pause. Gem. One of Bdubs’ friends. She was already half-turned in her seat, her gaze landing squarely on him the moment he hesitated.

Her smile lit at once, easy and unforced. “Hi, Etho! Sorry about yesterday—didn’t mean to scare you off.”

For a second, the sounds of the classroom dulled around him. There was something disarming about the way she said it, her voice soft but confident, carrying none of the sharp edge of embarrassment he had expected. Instead, it had warmth—an invitation tucked inside an apology. Etho felt the air catch at the back of his throat before he managed an answer.

“Oh—hey, Gem. Uh, sorry about that,” he muttered, shifting into the chair beside her. His words came out thinner than he’d intended, a little awkward, though not unkind.

Gem tilted her head, still smiling, as if she wanted to reassure him that everything was fine—that she hadn’t been upset in the first place. Etho could feel the weight of her presence at his side, drawing his attention despite his best effort to focus on setting out his books.

Before either of them could speak again, the classroom hushed. The teacher had stepped up to the board with brisk authority, chalk tapping out equations in quick, precise strokes. Conversation shrank into silence, leaving only the steady rhythm of the lesson, but Etho found his mind drifting back to the quiet warmth in Gem’s smile, lingering in the edges of his thoughts.

The school day stretched on with more lessons, moments of connection, and fleeting frustrations. When the final bell rang, Bdubs was waiting by the exit of the school building, leaning casually against the wall as students streamed past him in a noisy blur of chatter and laughter. The hallway was thick with damp air drifting in from outside, carrying the scent of wet pavement. Etho weaved his way through the crowd, dodging shoulders and backpacks until he finally broke free into the open space by the door, coming to stand at Bdubs’ side.

Without a word, Bdubs straightened and pushed the heavy door open, a gust of cool air rushing in with the steady patter of rain. He stepped aside and motioned for Etho to go first. Outside, the world had grown silver and blurred, water streaking down from a thick wall of grey clouds.

Bdubs flipped open his umbrella with a soft snap, angling it so the two of them could step beneath. They stood close, shoulders almost brushing, as the rain drummed a steady rhythm above them. The umbrella created a cocoon of quiet amidst the storm, the sound of falling water muffled just enough to feel safe.

The air was cool, but Etho found himself keenly aware of the warmth radiating from Bdubs’ side. Walking together like that—sharing the narrow shelter, moving in sync—it carried a kind of comfort he hadn’t realized he needed. With every step through the rain-slick street, the simple, unspoken presence of Bdubs beside him made the world feel softer.

They made their way to Bdubs’ car. It was old and rusty, but it fit Bdubs’ usual aesthetic. They both sat down, Bdubs turning the old radio on, just to add a quiet background sound.

The ride was short but filled with friendly conversation. Bdubs talked effortlessly, filling silences with his easy humour, while Etho relaxed slowly, appreciating the companionship without pressure.

The drive carried them past wet fields and fences glistening with rain, past silhouettes of barns blurred by the low mist. By the time the car turned onto a gravel drive, Etho felt the rhythm of the wheels through the seat, small stones crackling and skittering underneath. He pressed a palm lightly to the window, the glass cool against his skin, and let his eyes wander.

The property stretched wider than he’d imagined. A long stable dominated the view, pale light glowing from its open windows. Beyond, the land unfolded into flat pasture, everything silvered by rain. Horses shifted restlessly inside, their shapes half-obscured, tails flicking, hooves stamping against wood. Their voices carried easily—a chorus of whinnies, sharp and sudden, followed by lower, impatient snorts.

The smell hit as soon as he stepped out: hay thick with dampness, mud stirred by hooves, and the warm, almost musky weight of animals. It was so different from the sterile, identical neighborhood houses he passed each morning. The air here wasn’t curated or careful. It pressed in heavy, unapologetic, raw.

Etho paused near the car, unsure how to approach. Bdubs was already striding toward the stable, rain dripping down his sleeves, his grin easy. He gestured toward one of the stalls. “C’mon. Meet Climb 10, don’t ask what happened to the others.”

The horse’s head jutted over the doorframe, ears flicking as though tuned to their conversation. Her mane was matted with rain, dark strands curling against her neck. She blinked slowly, eyes large and unblinking in the dim. Etho hovered, unsure whether to step forward.

“She’s harmless,” Bdubs said, running a hand confidently down her neck. “Unless you’re a carrot.”

That pulled a laugh from him—unexpected, short, but real. Still, his chest was tight as he raised a hand, fingers trembling with hesitation. The horse’s skin twitched at the lightest brush, and Etho jerked back, heat crawling up his neck. Bdubs only grinned, not mocking, not sharp, just amused in a way that somehow eased the sting.

Inside, the change was jarring. Warmth wrapped around him immediately, bringing with it the faint scent of woodsmoke and something richer—onions softened in oil, garlic browned. The kitchen light spilled across the hall, golden and steady, anchoring the house in a gentle glow.

A woman stepped into the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. She carried elegance in the set of her shoulders, but her eyes softened as they landed on him. “BdoubleO,” she said, tone both fond and lightly scolding. “You could have called. And you’ve brought a friend.”

Bdubs shrugged like it was nothing. “Sorry, Mom. This is Etho.”

Etho shifted his bag strap higher, dipping his head in an awkward half-nod. He thought about offering his hand, but before he could move, she clasped both of his lightly, palms warm and firm. “Lovely to meet you, Etho. We were just starting dinner. You’ll join us?”

Before he could find a polite way to decline, another figure appeared—older, in faded overalls streaked with mud. His expression was blunt, assessing, but the amusement in his eyes betrayed him. He gave Etho a firm nod. “About time he brought someone home.”

“Dad!” Bdubs groaned, drawing out the word. Etho’s ears burned. He found himself mumbling a faint “Hello,” but if anyone noticed the thinness of his voice, they let it pass.

Minutes later, he was standing in the kitchen, knife in hand, onions scattered across a board. The overhead light glared on the counters, reflecting silver against steel pans. Heat swelled from the stove, carrying the crackle of oil, garlic sharp and sweet as it hit the pan. Bdubs’ mom demonstrated once, slicing the onion into precise half-moons.

“Your turn,” she said, smiling gently.

His grip tightened on the knife. He wasn’t used to cooking under watchful eyes. The onion bit at his nose, stung at his eyes until they watered, but he forced himself to keep the cuts even. They weren’t neat, not like hers, but the rhythm steadied him. Slice, push, slice. His shoulders loosened a little with each motion.

“See?” Bdubs said, leaning against the counter. “Better than me. I usually end up crying like a baby.”

“That’s because you don’t pay attention,” his mom said, swatting him lightly with a towel.

Etho pressed his lips together, but he felt something close to amusement stirring at the edges of his chest.

Garlic browned in oil, onions joined it, the sizzle loud and sharp. Steam rose, fogging the edges of the window. Bdubs cracked an egg directly into a bowl, one-handed, no hesitation. Shell fragments never touched the yolk. Etho stared, words slipping free before he could stop them. “How did you do that?”

Bdubs flashed a grin. “Years of kitchen slavery. Want a lesson?”

The first attempt ended badly—The yolk burst across Etho’s fingers, slippery and warm. He recoiled, reaching for a towel, but Bdubs caught his wrist lightly, guiding his hand with steady pressure. “Not like you’re cracking a rock,” he said. “Gentle. Like convincing it open.”

Heat flared across Etho’s face, his throat. He told himself it was only the closeness, the smell of steam, the unfamiliar setting. Still, his heart beat unevenly until Bdubs let go.

By the time food was ready, the kitchen was filled with warmth and smell—garlic, butter, herbs folded into sauce. They carried bowls to the dining table: pasta steaming, bread crusted golden, vegetables glossy in butter. Etho found himself sitting across from Bdubs’ dad, shoulders stiff, but the man only began a dry retelling of some horse breaking through a fence. Bdubs’ mom asked gentle questions about school. Etho answered carefully, voice halting, but never rushed.

The room was noisy with laughter, forks against plates, and conversation weaving. Etho didn’t speak much, but no one seemed to mind. His silences weren’t treated as absences. For once, he didn’t feel like he was failing.

Later, in Bdubs’ room, the atmosphere shifted again. The space carried a quiet hum—sketches pinned to the walls, posters curling at the corners, the faint pencil-smudge smell that clung to everything. It felt lived in, personal, not polished like the houses on his street.

The chessboard sat between them on a low table. Bdubs played carelessly, words spilling faster than his moves, while Etho settled into familiar order. Rules, strategy—this was solid ground. The first game ended in minutes, Scholar’s Mate snapping shut like a trap. Bdubs threw his hands up dramatically. “Unfair. You didn’t even give me a chance to breathe.”

“You left your king exposed,” Etho said simply, already resetting the pieces.

“Guess I’ll just have to distract you this round,” Bdubs said, eyes glinting. His grin widened when Etho didn’t respond, too focused on the board.

The second game stretched longer. Bdubs leaned across the table, elbow brushing close. “Do you ever lose?”

“Sometimes,” Etho said. He hesitated, fingers hovering over a rook. “I like games with rules. They make sense.”

Bdubs’ grin softened. “Yeah. I get that.”

The rain outside tapped steadily at the window, filling the silence between words. Etho kept his eyes on the board, but he felt the warmth of Bdubs’ attention all the same, steady and present.

When Bdubs’ mom called upstairs about his riding session, the moment broke. Bdubs groaned dramatically, stretching. “Duty calls. Want a ride before I get drenched again?”

Etho nodded, gathering his things. But as he stood, bag strap heavy in his hand, a thought flickered—quiet, insistent. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he’d been out of place.

At home, Mom’s sharp gaze greeted him, but the exchange was softened by kindness. She was mad that he’d forgotten to text her about him being out
The house was quiet when Etho came home. Only the sound of rain against the windows filled the still air. He dropped his bag by the door and kicked off his shoes, the floorboards cool under his socks. For a moment, he just stood there, listening, until he noticed the shape curled up on his bed.
Shadow.

The big black cat lifted his head at once, yellow eyes shining faintly in the lamplight. His fur looked dark as midnight, thick and soft, and he stretched slowly as if he had been waiting all evening. A low rumble started in his chest, the kind of purr that seemed to roll through the whole room.

Etho let out a small breath, his shoulders loosening without him thinking about it. He walked over and crouched down, holding out his hand. Shadow leaned into it without hesitation, pressing his head against Etho’s fingers. His fur was a little damp, probably from sneaking out into the rain earlier, but still warm underneath.
“Hey, Shadow,” Etho said quietly. His voice sounded softer than usual, like he didn’t want to break the moment.

The cat pushed against him harder, demanding more attention. Etho scratched behind his ears, then down along his shoulders, watching the way Shadow’s tail flicked slowly across the bed. The sound of the purr grew louder, steady and calm, like a heartbeat that wasn’t his own.

Etho lies beside him, sinking into the bed. Shadow shifted at once, climbing partly onto his chest, his weight heavy but comforting. Etho stroked the sleek black fur, letting his hand move in slow, careful patterns.

The room felt different with Shadow there—less empty, less sharp around the edges. The rain outside became background noise, rather than something pressing down. For the first time all day, Etho felt like he could breathe properly.
“Thanks,” Etho whispered, though he wasn’t sure if he meant it for Shadow or just for the quiet.

Shadow purred on, steady as ever.

Though exhaustion tugged, Etho felt something new spark inside—a small light of hope, a tentative feeling of friendship and possibility.

Chapter Text

A month had passed since Bdubs had bounced into Etho’s life, and in that time their friendship had settled into a strange, steady rhythm. Every day felt sharper, brighter, more structured—with Bdubs in it. Etho noticed the little shifts in his own routine: the way his alarm clock now had a new significance, a purpose beyond simply waking him up. The morning light felt heavier when he knew he’d see Bdubs soon, the golden hours of sunrise brushing against his windows with an almost anticipatory warmth, like the world itself knew something had changed.

Lunch breaks had transformed from silent endurance tests into a peculiar sort of theater, full of movement and words. Sometimes Bdubs talked so quickly that Etho barely caught each sentence, letting the words wash over him like a tide he couldn’t resist. Sometimes Bdubs argued over trivial things—sandwich toppings, math homework, some absurd game strategy—his voice rising and dipping, eyes sparkling, while Etho remained quiet, nodding and watching, feeling that quiet satisfaction of being included in something chaotic yet ordered. And sometimes, simply, Bdubs would sit back and let Etho watch him, a gentle, unspoken companionship that needed no dialogue to feel meaningful.

—

Etho liked arriving at school early. The quiet minutes before the storm of noise gave him something solid to hold onto. He often lingered near the gates, feeling the roughness of metal against his palms as he leaned, watching the trickle of students, their shoes scraping along pavement still damp from morning dew. Each droplet glimmered in the early light, a tiny world in itself, and Etho found comfort in the predictability—the drip, the scrape, the shuffle.

Bdubs usually appeared five minutes after him. Etho would spot him instantly: the casual bounce in his step, the tilt of his shoulders, the easy confidence that seemed to carve a path through the crowd. Those five minutes felt like a heartbeat—short, rhythmic, enough to set the day in motion. But one morning, those five minutes stretched into uncertainty, each second heavy with a creeping unease. Etho’s chest tightened. His fingers hovered over his phone, indecision pressing down on them.

Finally, he typed:

Etho: Are you not showing up?

The courtyard seemed to stretch, the buzz of voices distant and muffled. The reply came slowly, deliberately:

Bdoubleo100: I’m at the dentist, I’ll be there at 10!

Etho exhaled, a little of the tension draining from his shoulders. Relief came with a strange, fluttering sensation in his chest, an unfamiliar warmth he tried not to identify. He typed carefully:

Etho: Hope you don’t feel too scrappy, looking forward to seeing you then.

Bdubs: <3

And then—the heart. The small red symbol made his chest constrict and then swell, a quick wave of something he couldn’t define. It was tender, intimate, and ethereal all at once, and Etho found himself staring at it until the letters blurred into soft light.

—

The math classroom carried the stale scent of chalk dust and the sharper tang of old graphite, like a memory etched into the very walls. The air was dry, thin, as though it had been recycled too many times, buzzing faintly with the sound of the overhead lights. Sunlight slanted through tall windows at an unforgiving angle, splintering into fractured lines across the glossy desktops. The reflections scattered chaotically, throwing bright shards of white that seemed too loud, too sharp against the muted greys and browns of the room.

Etho sat hunched low at his desk, spine curved inward as if trying to shrink his presence down to nothing. His fingers traced idle patterns along the edge of his notebook, the paper already smudged from restless handling. The mask against his skin was warm and familiar, a quiet shield. He let his gaze drop, not daring to meet the erratic dance of sunlight around the room.

Then a voice sliced through the drone of idle chatter.

“Where’d you get that mask?”

It wasn’t curious. It wasn’t kind. It was sharp—probing, deliberate—laced with a smirk that Etho could hear even without looking up. His body stiffened, breath catching in his throat. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head. A cluster of boys had angled themselves toward him, eyes lit with something dangerous. Their laughter was already bubbling at the edges, prickling against his skin like a rash of tiny needles. Each glance was heat, too direct, too unrelenting, and his body screamed to look away.

“My… I bought it,” he whispered, words thin and brittle, the sound catching at the edges of the mask. His voice was swallowed by the scrape of chairs and the chatter of other students, yet it felt enormous, exposed.

The reply came like a whipcrack. “You know it’s not corona anymore, freak.”

The word sliced clean, landing harder than he had expected. Freak. The syllable burned, embedding itself in his chest, pressing against the thrum of his heartbeat. He flinched as the boys leaned in closer, like shadows gathering around a shrinking flame.

One moved forward suddenly, the scrape of chair legs dragging a sharp note across the air. His hand shot out, gripping Etho’s shirt in a tight fist. The fabric bunched under the strength of his fingers, tugging Etho forward just enough to unbalance him. The room tilted slightly, the air thickening with the sour tang of sweat and something metallic, as if anticipation had its own scent.

“Answer me!” the boy barked, his voice too loud, echoing unnaturally off the white walls.

Etho’s chest felt locked, each breath jagged and shallow. His mind scrabbled for an exit, for words that might ease the pressure, for a door that wasn’t there. The classroom had collapsed inward, shrinking until it was only hands, voices, and the hot, sticky press of fear.

“—I don’t know,” he stammered, words tumbling and cracking. “Because I want to.”

The response fell into silence for a moment—before laughter burst like glass shattering. It bounced off walls, ricocheting, filling every space. The sound was cruel, jagged, too large for the room.

A chair leg scraped again, then slammed into his knee with a hollow clang. Metal collided with bone, a shock so sudden it stole the breath from his lungs. Pain radiated upward in jagged lines, a heat that stabbed and spread until it was impossible to sit still. His leg twitched involuntarily, the desk rattling with the motion.

And then the fist.

It came fast, blunt, connecting with the edge of his chin. The impact rattled his skull, a sharp white burst exploding behind his eyes. His teeth clacked down hard on the inside of his lip, and blood bloomed instantly, metallic and hot, coating his tongue. The mask pressed uncomfortably against his mouth, dampening with each breath, each swallow.

The world blurred. Not gone, not faint, but narrowed—like watching from behind a fogged window. Every sound was warped, laughter bending cruelly, stretching and twisting until it became almost unrecognizable. His body didn’t feel like his; it was just a canvas, painted over in blunt strokes of pain and humiliation.

The classroom clock ticked. Each second dragged, sticky and endless, while the cluster of boys loomed, circling. Their faces were a blur of sneers and smirks, indistinguishable and monstrous. The fluorescent lights buzzed louder, harsher, bearing down until they seared his eyes. He blinked against the brightness, tears stinging unbidden.

Then—the bell.

It rang out, sharp and shrill, a sound so ordinary yet laced with mercy. The boys scattered, laughter fading as they poured into the hallway, their footsteps a thunder of retreat. Etho was left behind in the echo, hunched and trembling, the taste of iron thick on his tongue.

He stayed there, crumpled in his seat, fingers clenched tight around the notebook he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. His chest rose and fell too fast, each inhale scratching, each exhale shuddering. The pain in his knee throbbed in waves, his chin ached with every pulse of his heartbeat, but it all blurred together into one sprawling ache that seemed to fill him entirely.

Time lost shape. Minutes stretched, folded, collapsed. The world outside the window—the sun, the trees, the movement of other students—felt distant, unreachable. He wanted to move, to stand, to leave, but his body lagged, heavy and unresponsive.

When the door finally opened again, the sound of hurried footsteps filled the room. Scar’s voice rang out—loud, full of sudden fear and anger. “Etho! What happened? Are you okay?!”

Etho flinched at the sharpness, even though it wasn’t directed at him. He lifted his head slightly, the mask slipping, sticky with blood at the edges. His eyes darted away.

“I—I’m fine,” he managed, voice fragile.

Scar wasn’t convinced—Etho could see it in the stiff set of his shoulders, the way his eyes scanned the room as if searching for proof. But Etho pressed on, fragile excuses tumbling out, the words fraying even as he spoke them. The mask became both a shield and a prison, hiding the worst of him while trapping the heat, the smell of blood, the ache.

And then he was walking home.

The streets blurred into something alien. Houses loomed taller, stretched and distorted, each window watching with silent judgment. The pavement stretched endlessly, each step heavier than the last. Streetlights hummed faintly even in daylight, a sound too sharp, grating against his nerves.

Everything felt elongated, suffocating, as if the world had been twisted just slightly out of place. His bruises throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat, every pulse a reminder of how small he had been in that classroom, how easily laughter had cut him apart.

But still—he walked.

—

Etho’s front door clicked shut behind him, a soft, hollow sound that seemed far too loud in the quiet house. The air smelled faintly of the day left behind—distant cooking, a faint trace of his mother’s perfume, and the lingering hum of summer heat trapped inside the walls. His shoes thudded softly against the floor, sand from the day still clinging stubbornly to the soles, leaving specks that scattered across the carpet as he moved.

He didn’t rush to the living room or the kitchen. Instead, he paused in the hallway, leaning against the wall, letting the silence press against him. His body throbbed in places he could barely name—knee, jaw, ribs—but beneath that, there was something heavier: a creeping, inescapable exhaustion. He had walked the streets as if underwater, the world bending around him, the colors dulled, the sounds muffled. Now, in his own home, those sensations pooled, pressing into every muscle.

The bathroom door was cool under his hand as he pushed it open. Steam hadn’t yet built; the room smelled faintly of soap and lingering damp towels. He turned the knob, letting water rush down the showerhead before stepping inside. Cold met him first, sharp against the heat his body had retained from the walk home. The droplets hit his bruises in staccato taps, each one a tiny shock. At first, it stung—shards of pain blooming along his ribs, knees, jaw—but gradually the cold sharpened his awareness, grounding him.

Etho’s fingers lingered over the warm, pliable skin of his arms, tracing the bruises as if mapping them. Each one was a story, a pulse, a reminder. His face in the foggy mirror leaned close to the glass; lips swollen, cheeks warm, eyes rimmed with red. The mask, once a comfort, now felt like a barrier removed, exposing him in a way that made his stomach twist. He hated what he saw—the uneven skin, the shadows of his father still echoing in his memory—but there was also a strange clarity, a stark recognition of himself, of survival.

The water ran steady over his shoulders, over the aching lines of his back and arms. Steam began to curl lazily upward, fogging the glass, softening the sharp edges of the room. He tilted his head back, letting water drench his hair, sending rivulets down his face, over his ears, down to his neck. Every drop was a tiny percussion, a rhythm he could follow, counting them almost absent-mindedly, a fragile control in a world that had offered him none that day.

He shifted under the water, letting it pour over his bruises, and for a brief moment, he imagined it washing not just the blood and sweat but the fear itself, a cleansing that touched deeper than the surface. The cold tingled, sharp and real, but there was a strange comfort in it too—a reminder that he was still here, that his body, though battered, still belonged to him.

When he finally stepped out, the air felt dense against his skin, each breath a weight and a relief all at once. He wrapped himself in a towel, moving deliberately, almost ritualistically, bandaging smaller abrasions with care. The fabric smelled faintly of detergent, soft and comforting. Each strip of gauze, each dab of antiseptic, was an act of self-possession, a small reclaiming of control.

He dressed in long sleeves and pants, the fabric loose yet heavy enough to cover the swell of bruises. Each movement made him acutely aware of every ache, every tender point. He checked his reflection once more, then let his eyes drift away, focusing on something neutral: the pattern of tiles, the faint sunlight through the blinds, the way the shadows pooled in corners.

Hours passed. Etho’s mother returned from work, carrying with her a faint aroma of coffee and the residual sweetness of a busy day at the support center. Her voice carried down the hall, sharp but tempered with concern. “Etho, school called. You skipped your last two classes—why’d you do that?”

He didn’t want conflict. His throat felt tight, raw from the day’s stress and the exertion of holding everything in. He offered a half-truth, a measured lie. “I wasn’t feeling well. I went home.” His voice was low, careful. The lie was simple, but each word weighed like stones in his chest.

She didn’t push further but muttered into the phone afterward, worry threading her words. Etho couldn’t ignore it; the sound carried through the walls, mixing with his own guilt. He pressed headphones over his ears, a futile barrier against the buzzing anxiety. Music filled the gaps, each note a soft push against the day’s memories, carrying him just enough away from the constant hum of concern and fear.

When his phone buzzed, he flinched slightly, remembering Bdubs. The conversation was easy and teasing, a delicate balance of humor and reassurance. Each message from Bdubs was a tether back to the world, playful yet grounding. And then, a photo—a smile, bright and unguarded. Etho’s chest warmed, a subtle ache of something he couldn’t name, the heart-thrum of being seen without judgment.

The doorbell rang, sharp and insistent, breaking through the stillness of the house. Etho’s chest tightened as he padded to the door, each step careful, measured, trying not to let the floorboards creak too loudly. When he opened it, there stood Bdubs—grinning, chest still catching faint sunlight from the late afternoon. But that grin faltered immediately when his eyes landed on Etho’s bruised face and the dark swell of shadows under his eyes.

“Oh—hi, Bdubs,” Etho said, his voice small, uneven.

“What the fuck, Etho! That’s why you weren’t in school?” Bdubs’ voice carried the sharp edge of worry, and Etho felt the heat rise in his chest. Bdubs stepped inside, not waiting for an invitation, his sneakers scuffing softly against the floor. His gaze swept over Etho, pausing on each mark: the lip slightly swollen, the faint purple on his jaw, which could be seen even tho he was wearing a mask. The way his shirt clung over his ribs, hiding more than it revealed.

Etho shuffled back slightly, pulling his sleeves down over his hands in a subconscious shield. “It’s nothing serious,” he muttered, forcing the words out. “Just… I fell.”
Bdubs’ expression didn’t soften. Instead, he stepped closer, close enough that Etho could feel the subtle heat radiating off him. His hand moved gently, hesitating, then brushing Etho’s forearm to push the sleeve back slightly. The movement was careful, almost reverent, as if touching fragile glass. The sight of fresh bruises, alongside old scars, made Etho stiffen—an instinctive recoil—but Bdubs’ touch lingered only a moment, gentle and precise.

“You didn’t fall,” Bdubs said softly, almost a whisper now. “Someone hurt you. And I—why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

Etho swallowed, throat tight. The mask was on, hiding some of the rawness of his features, but it couldn’t hide the ache in his voice. “I… didn’t want to worry you. Or anyone.”

Bdubs stepped even closer, the scent of sun-warmed skin and faint salt from earlier still clinging to him. “I don’t care if I worry,” he said firmly, almost like a promise. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

The words struck Etho, a strange mix of warmth and vulnerability, like sunlight cutting through clouds. His body, so accustomed to retreat and self-protection, felt heavy and light all at once. He wanted to pull away, hide, and yet he didn’t. Bdubs’ gaze held him steady, patient, and without judgment.

They sat down on the couch together, Bdubs a careful presence beside him. Each time Etho flinched at movement, Bdubs adjusted gently, giving him space but never leaving. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was a quiet cocoon, a temporary shelter from everything outside.

Bdubs finally broke it with a small, teasing nudge. “From now on, you only go to school when I go to school, deal?”

Etho blinked, half surprised, half amused. It was protective, yes, but it wasn’t overbearing. It was warmth and care bundled into a single, simple sentence. “I… I don’t need protection,” he said softly.

Bdubs just smirked, ruffling Etho’s hair lightly. “Clearly you do. I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

Etho chuckled, a little unevenly. “You’re overreacting.”

“Actually,” Bdubs said, stretching, “I think I’m underacting.” His grin softened, his eyes warm and steady.

For a while, they just sat, the sound of the house around them—distant traffic, the hum of the refrigerator, faint creaks in the floorboards—mixing with the slower, steadier rhythm of their breathing. Etho felt a weight lift just slightly, a quiet assurance that he wasn’t entirely alone.

Then, Bdubs brought up the beach. The words came softly, with casual ease, but Etho could hear the excitement underneath. “While you weren’t in school today, my friends and I made plans. We’re going to the beach. You don’t have to take your shirt of, or go in the water if you’re not comfortable. Just… come, if you want.”

Etho hesitated, mind flitting over bruises and the day’s memories. But the offer wasn’t just about the beach—it was an invitation, a tether to something lighter. “Sure,” he said finally. “That’ll be nice.”

Bdubs’ smile softened, warm and unguarded, and the space between them felt comfortable, safe. The conversation drifted toward packing and changing. Bdubs moved around the room with a casual familiarity, grabbing a towel, his movements easy and confident, while Etho prepared himself. Every sound—the rustle of fabric, the clink of a bottle, the soft creak of the floorboards—was heightened, vivid.

Bdubs changed quickly, t-shirt sliding over his head, revealing the lean, sun-kissed lines of his chest and arms. Etho’s eyes flickered away, suddenly a bit more shy. Bdubs just offered a small, teasing smirk. “We’re just two guys. Best friends. Nothing wrong with me changing, right?”

Etho exhaled, letting himself relax a little. “I prefer not looking while you change into swim trunks.”

“You’re so gay,” Bdubs said lightly, and Etho could hear the warmth and humor threaded through the words.

The drive to the beach was a small adventure. Sunlight flickered through the car windows in long, playful stripes, dust motes caught in beams of gold. Bdubs hummed softly along with the radio, a voice both confident and absurdly carefree, tapping his fingers to the beat. Etho watched the world glide past: green trees, houses with neat lawns, the occasional flash of a pond reflecting the sun like a mirror. The car smelled faintly of sunscreen and the lingering tang of Bdubs’ hair from earlier, salty and sweet.

When they arrived, the beach stretched endlessly, bright and vivid. Etho’s shoes sank slightly in the warm, uneven sand, coarse against his soles. Salt air pressed at his skin, mingling with the distant sweetness of melting ice cream, the faint smoke from far-off grills. Waves crashed, rolling and curling in rhythmic motion, the sound both violent and soothing. The sunlight glinted off the water, sparkling in dizzying, almost painful brilliance.

They met the group near the waterline. Laughter bounced in all directions, voices overlapping, punctuated by splashes and shrieks. Bdubs didn’t wait; he flung off his t-shirt, chest bare and tanned, and ran toward the surf with Gem, Pearl, Lizzie, and Joel trailing behind. Etho lingered, feeling the sand cling to his hands, shaping abstract patterns that disappeared as quickly as they formed.

Cleo nudged him, pointing toward the water. “They make it look fun, don’t they?”

Etho nodded slowly, his eyes following Bdubs’ movements—the way his shoulders flexed as he ran, the carefree tilt of his head, the sound of his laughter carried by wind and waves. “It does,” he said quietly. “But it’s nice here, too. Feels… familiar.”

Cleo laughed softly, settling deeper in the sand. “Not wrong. Sand, sun—what’s not to like?”

—
//Bdubs pov

Bdubs was waist-deep in the cool, briny water, the sun overhead turning every droplet on his skin into a tiny prism. Each splash sent a scatter of liquid diamonds across the surface, the salty smell thick in the air, mixing with sunscreen and the faint tang of seaweed. His hands propelled a wave of water toward Gem, who squealed and tried to dodge, laughing so hard that her voice cracked and carried across the waves. Etho remained on the shore, just watching, shoulders tense, mask still clinging lightly to his face, a quiet contrast to the chaos of Bdubs and friends.

Bdubs glanced over, just for a second, and his gaze caught Etho’s. It was a brief flash, but enough to make his chest tighten in that weird, familiar way—something between affection and awareness. He looked back at Gem, whose hair plastered against her forehead, and noticed her smirk widening.

“Bdubs,” Gem called, her voice teasing, “are you and Etho getting anywhere?”

Bdubs froze mid-splash, the water dripping from his hair and down his biceps, glinting gold in the sunlight. His eyebrows shot up. “Huh?” he asked, voice caught between genuine confusion and knowing amusement.

Gem laughed, loud and melodic, letting the teasing hang in the air. “Like… romantically,” she clarified, her words punctuated by a shake of her wet hair.

Bdubs felt the heat rise in his cheeks, and a ripple of laughter almost escaped him before he swallowed it down. He knew exactly what she meant, of course, but hearing it aloud was somehow different. “No,” he said finally, voice slightly raspy from yelling and laughter, “I’m not even sure he would want it like that. Besides… I don’t like him like that.”

He spat some water from the edge of his mouth, grinning, trying to sound casual, tossing his hands up in mock innocence. There was a sass in his tone, the kind that made it clear he was half-joking, half-deflecting.

 

Pearl, floating just beside Gem, tilted her head and smirked, a splash of water hitting her shoulder as she nudged in. “Sure,” she said, voice dripping with mock skepticism. “Like you’re not spending every second you can with him.”

Bdubs could feel the sun on his back, warming the salt-kissed skin, and the sand shifting under his toes beneath the shallow waves. He let his eyes flicker briefly toward Etho again, noticing the quiet way he sat apart from the group, hands twisting the edge of his towel. Something protective stirred in him, a low, unspoken urge to bridge the distance. He shook it off with a grin, raising both hands to launch a tidal wave at Gem and Pearl simultaneously.

The water erupted around them, droplets flinging in arcs that glittered like tiny suspended stars before splashing back down. Gem shrieked, diving backward to avoid the onslaught, while Pearl sputtered and laughed, wiping salty water from her eyes. Bdubs threw his head back and laughed too, the sound bright and free, carrying over the lapping waves. For a moment, the world shrank to this—sun, water, laughter, the slap of waves against skin.

And yet, even in the chaos, his gaze returned to Etho more than once. The way Etho’s eyes lingered, shy and careful, tugged at Bdubs unexpectedly. He shook his head again, grinning, splashing another arc toward the girls just to keep the attention on the playful battle rather than the gentle pull he felt toward the boy on the shore.

He noticed small things about Etho in that moment—the subtle tension in his shoulders, the slight curl of his fingers around the fabric of his shirt, the way he watched the group without fully joining. Bdubs’ chest swelled a little, part pride, part possessive protectiveness. Not in a scary way, just… an urge to make him laugh, to make him feel like he belonged, to make him see that he didn’t have to stay on the edge.

“Hey!” Bdubs called suddenly, spinning in the water and flicking a stream at Joel. The droplets hit his face, tiny, cold, and surprising. Joel jumped, flinching slightly, then blinked at him, lips hidden but eyes wide. Bdubs grinned through the salty spray, thumbs up and all mischievous energy.

Gem spluttered, laughing, and Pearl joined in, shrieking as Bdubs flicked more water in their direction. Bdubs’ laughter rang out again, sharp and liquid, carrying over the rhythm of waves. But even in the noise, he kept glancing back at Etho, heart quietly tightening every time the other boy’s mask slipped slightly, or his eyes flickered toward him, hesitant yet drawn.

Finally, Bdubs leaned back into the water, arms spread, feeling the waves lap at his torso, sunlight sparkling across his chest, dripping down his shoulders. He exhaled, chest rising, letting the water carry the small tension from his muscles away, but a faint smile lingered on his lips. Etho was there, watching, and Bdubs knew that somehow, whether the boy realized it or not, this was the start of something unspoken.

Something that didn’t need words yet—because in the sun, in the splash, in the careless chaos of friends, it was already being said.

—
//Etho POV

Etho watched Bdubs, distant yet magnetic. Bdubs flashed smiles even while splashing Gem, leapt backward into the waves to dodge Joel, completely in the moment. Each laugh, each motion was almost hypnotic. The chaos of the ocean play contrasted with the stillness of sand under his palms, grains warm and coarse. Each handful seemed to anchor him, tiny particles grounding him against the spinning joy around him.

After a while, Bdubs returned, dripping water onto the towel beside Etho, hair plastered against his forehead. Water ran down his chest in lazy lines, carrying the faint scent of salt and sun. He dropped down with a soft thud onto the towel, elbows digging in as he leaned back, looking at Etho with a grin that was part teasing, part warmth.

“Not joining in?” Bdubs asked, voice playful.

“I’m enjoying watching,” Etho admitted softly. “It’s like seeing a movie, only… real.”

“Movies don’t splash you,” Bdubs said, flicking a droplet at him, eyes dancing. “Next time, I’m pulling you in.”

Etho shook his head, smiling under his mask, finding comfort in the quiet moments between the laughter and chaos. Shoulders brushed, sand sticking faintly to his fingers, warmth radiating from Bdubs beside him—a small, steady pulse of reassurance.

Eventually, the group drifted toward ice cream, trekking across the soft sand that swallowed their feet. The little shack at the end of the path smelled sweet and cold, vanilla and chocolate mixing with the warmth of the sun-baked air. Etho ordered a single scoop of vanilla, the cold biting pleasantly against his tongue. Bdubs took two scoops, chocolate, and strawberry, teasing Etho by stealing a lick from his cone.

They returned to the towels, settling in, ice cream melting faster than they could eat. Conversations drifted, slow and easy, punctuated by laughter, the distant crash of waves, and gull cries overhead. The sun dipped lower, spilling orange and pink across the sky, reflecting in the water in a soft, endless shimmer.

Etho found himself content, quietly tucked into the edges of conversation, watching Bdubs move through the group, his presence radiant and inclusive. Each smile Bdubs flashed felt like a light pressed into the world around him, small yet dazzling.

As the day drew on, Bdubs—half-shy, half-bold—asked to stay over. Etho hesitated, awkward, uncertain—but Bdubs was gentle, simple in every suggestion, and the ease of it made the decision almost natural. They drove home together, quietly discussing the logistics, the soft warmth of the day still clinging to their skin.

At home, Bdubs showered first, Etho changing into loose pajamas, the room filled with soft sounds—the rush of water, the faint rustle of fabric, the muted thump of droplets from the towel. Bdubs emerged, towel wrapped around his hips, hair damp, droplets clinging to his chest. Etho’s heart picked up, nervous yet strangely calm.
“Do you have clothes I can borrow?” Bdubs asked.

“Yeah,” Etho said, handing him a loose t-shirt and shorts. Bdubs’ movements were quick, efficient, but careful, and the soft sound of fabric sliding over skin was intimate and grounding.

They ended up both on the couch, drifting to sleep as the final light of the day faded, voices of distant neighbors, faint creaks, and the subtle rush of air conditioning filling the room. In the quiet darkness, Etho felt an unusual, steady peace—a tether in the world, quiet but undeniable, stretching beyond the horizon of his fears.

—

The sunlight filtered in pale and cautious through Etho’s blinds, slicing lines of gold across the floorboards. The soft hum of the house waking up—refrigerator murmuring, distant cars on the street, a faint creak of the walls settling—was the only sound besides the faint rhythm of breath. Etho stirred, heavy-limbed, still partially cocooned in his long sleeves and the mask he had slept in. He felt it lightly against his skin, a thin barrier that carried both comfort and familiarity.

Bdubs was beside him on the couch, stretched out with one arm thrown over the backrest. Even in sleep, his chest rose and fell in effortless rhythm, droplets of leftover water, from his shower, glinting faintly along his damp hair, now partially dried and curling at the edges. The distance between them was small enough to feel proximity, yet wide enough for Etho to admire the quiet shape of him without crossing any unspoken boundary.

Etho’s fingers itched to shift closer, to touch the warmth, but he stayed still, letting the moment linger. The mask muffled his breaths, and he imagined the faint curve of a smile beneath it as Bdubs twitched, murmuring something half-formed in his sleep. A soft warmth coiled in Etho’s chest—an emotion he didn’t want to name yet, but that made his limbs lighter.

Eventually, Bdubs stirred fully, blinking against the light, hair falling into damp strands across his forehead. “Morning,” he said, voice rough with sleep but warm. He didn’t reach for Etho, didn’t push the space closer, just observed, and Etho felt the silent acknowledgment. “Sleep okay?”

Etho nodded, tugging the mask lightly to adjust it. “Yeah. You?”

“Like a rock,” Bdubs admitted, stretching arms overhead and letting his shoulders roll. He let his gaze drift around the living room, lingering on the now somewhat familiar clutter of Etho’s small house—the books stacked in uneven towers, the box with pillows in, the wall with its big painting.

They moved in the slow, deliberate rhythms of post-sleep: brushing teeth, rubbing eyes, stretching muscles that still held the faint ache of the previous day’s beach activities. Etho’s movements were quieter, contained, careful; the mask never leaving his face. Bdubs, meanwhile, moved in the easy, unselfconscious way of someone used to his own body, hips swiveling, arms shaking loose, hair combed back with fingers.

Breakfast was simple—cereal from the box, poured into bowls with clinking spoons. The kitchen smelled faintly of milk and plastic, sun spilling across the small table where they sat opposite each other. Neither said much at first; conversation came in small pieces, gentle laughter, the occasional shared observation about the waves or the gulls outside. Etho let himself watch Bdubs, tracing the way his friend tilted the bowl, spooned cereal with casual precision, fingers lingering briefly on the edges. The mundane rhythms became a soft intimacy, the kind that didn’t need words to feel significant.

Then, a new sound entered—the quiet, padded steps of Shadow. Etho’s cat, sleek and silent, padded into the kitchen, tail curling with effortless elegance. The fur brushed the floorboards lightly, claws clicking faintly against wood. Etho’s chest lifted slightly; Shadow had always been his anchor, the soft presence in quiet hours.
Bdubs leaned back, eyes widening slightly. “Who’s this?” he asked, voice warm with curiosity. Shadow paused mid-step, ears twitching, eyes like polished amber fixed on the newcomer with cautious interest.

“This is Shadow,” Etho said softly, reaching out a hand. The cat circled it once before brushing against Bdubs’ arm, deciding quickly that humans were rarely as interesting as potential lap spaces. Bdubs laughed quietly, low and unguarded, leaning back just enough to avoid startling the cat while letting it investigate freely. “Shadow’s… particular,” Etho added, a faint smile beneath the mask.

“Particular is an understatement,” Bdubs said, amusement threading his tone as Shadow swished around him, testing boundaries with a tentative paw before hopping onto the counter to inspect the cereal boxes. Bdubs’ laughter mingled with the faint clinking of spoons against bowls. The sound was small, domestic, grounding—a contrast to the chaos of yesterday’s sun and surf.

Etho felt a quiet bubble of warmth watching the exchange, the way Bdubs’ eyes softened as Shadow jumped lightly from counter to floor, weaving between his ankles. There was no rush, no expectation—just a simple acceptance of being in the same small space, a small shared rhythm of presence.

By midday, the sun had climbed high, spilling across the floorboards in a warmer, steadier light. Bdubs stood, towel draped around his shoulders, hair damp again from a quick rinse in the bathroom sink after brushing teeth. “I should get going,” he said reluctantly, voice quieter than usual, tinged with an unwillingness to break the comfort of the morning.

Etho nodded, still at the table, hand brushing the edge of the bowl. “Yeah… I’ll walk you to the car,” he said softly.

Outside, the air was warm, a faint breeze stirring leaves in the yard. Bdubs slid into the driver’s seat, turning briefly to look at Etho through the windshield. “Thanks… for letting me crash,” he said, fingers tapping the steering wheel lightly, a silent rhythm of gratitude.

Etho smiled faintly, mask in place, watching as Bdubs started the car, engine humming steady and calm. Shadow appeared briefly at the doorway, tail flicking, before disappearing again into the shade of the house.

“See you later,” Bdubs called through the window, voice carrying softly over the heat of midday.

“Later,” Etho replied, voice almost swallowed by the warmth, but steady. The car pulled away, leaving the quiet of the house behind, the sunlight spilling across the floor where they had shared this small morning together.

Etho returned inside, letting Shadow weave around his legs again. The day stretched ahead, soft and full of small possibilities, the echo of laughter, waves, and gentle presence lingering in the corners of the house.

Chapter Text

Monday morning began with the light. It slanted through the blinds of Etho’s room in pale gray strips, faint and reluctant, as if it wasn’t quite ready to start the week either. The house was still, wrapped in the silence that lingered after sleep. Etho lay on his side, staring at the dust motes drifting in that early light, his breath warm against the inside of his mask. The air smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the wooden furniture of his small room.

It had been weeks since Bdubs had stayed over, but Etho thought of that night often—how easy it had been to fall asleep with someone else nearby. It was strange, being watched over by silence that wasn’t only his own. Strange, but safe. It ranked among his favorite memories, which wasn’t saying much, but it was enough to keep him from resenting Mondays as much as he usually did.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, vibrating softly against the wood. The noise was small, yet sharp enough to cut through his drifting thoughts. He blinked, sat up, and reached for it.

The notification lit up the room with its blue glow. Bdubs. The name no longer displayed as the too-formal full name, but with an emoji—Bdubs👀—something Etho had changed only a few days ago after staring at it for far too long. It felt wrong, too official, like leaving a lock on something that should be easier to open.

The message read:

>Bdubs👀: My B-day is this weekend, you’re invited, we’ll be going to my house, with a few more people, where a party will happen. It would mean a lot to me if you want to come; obviously, gifts are not required.

A party. The word lingered heavier than it should, like a stone in his chest. Parties were something other people did. Loud music, drinks, and laughter piled on top of itself until it became too much. He’d never gone to one before—not really. But Bdubs was inviting him. His fingers hovered above the keyboard for a few moments too long before he finally typed back.

>Etho: That all sounds really nice, I would love to go. Although I’ve never gone to a party before. My gift is obviously my company /j

The typing dots appeared quickly, Bdubs’ answer arriving in less than half a minute.

>Bdubs👀: Yeah, ofc, that’s the best gift anyway. It’s gonna be exciting then, I’ll help you out with clothing, I know you’re not the biggest fashion icon.

Etho huffed into his mask, faint amusement curling in his chest. He typed back.

>Etho: Excuse me! I have great fashion.. But the help would be nice… You can come over before school, if you have time.

>Bdubs👀: Yeah, I’m free, then you also have a free taxi to school!

>Etho: That’s why I invited you over.

>Bdubs👀: You’re such a tease, I’ll be there in 5.

Etho stared at the screen, pulse quickening. Five minutes. That was barely enough time to brush his hair or make sure his sleeves weren’t twisted. He scrambled to the mirror anyway, running fingers through the strands that had flattened from sleep. His reflection was the same as always—the familiar mask, the too-pale skin around his eyes, the faint exhaustion clinging to him like a shadow. He pressed his hand against the cool glass for a second, grounding himself, before shoving it into the pocket of his hoodie.

The knock came quick, firm, full of Bdubs’ energy even through the wood. Etho opened the door to find him standing there, morning light catching on his hair, eyes bright despite the early hour. Bdubs didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate—he stepped forward and wrapped Etho into a hug.

It wasn’t long. Just a moment. But Etho froze all the same, his chest tightening, his breath catching against the fabric of his mask. Hugs weren’t common in his world; they weren’t a language he spoke often. Yet this one didn’t demand anything of him. It wasn’t crushing, or heavy, or suffocating. It was warm, a quick pressure that left a ghost of comfort lingering after it was gone.

“That was different,” Etho said quietly, when Bdubs stepped back. His voice sounded muffled even to himself.

Bdubs smiled, eyes locking on his. “Yeah,” he said, tone softer than usual. “I wanted to.”

The words sat between them like a spark before fading into the morning air.

They moved to his room, small and orderly in the way only habit kept it. Etho tugged open the closet doors. Inside, his clothing lined up in familiar monotony: mostly blacks, greys, muted blues. Oversized shirts, a few hoodies, long sleeves folded with careful precision. Nothing bright. Nothing glittering. Nothing that could be called festive.

Bdubs leaned against the doorframe, eyebrows raised, a grin tugging at his mouth. “You have no party clothing,” he said, half amused, half accusing.

“Never thought I’d need it,” Etho replied, voice flat but tinged with a trace of embarrassment. He pulled at a sleeve absently. “Those things are… expensive.”

“We’re going shopping,” Bdubs announced. “No school today. Mall trip.”

Etho blinked, tilting his head toward him. “I don’t have a lot of money.”

“I’ll pay.”
The words were too quick, too sure. Etho’s stomach twisted. “No, Bdubs. It feels wrong.”

“I’m insisting.” Bdubs’ grin widened, playful but firm.

Etho sighed into his mask, the sound muffled. “Fine. But I’m getting a job.”

The mall was massive, three stories of echoing hallways and polished tiles that gleamed beneath artificial light. The air smelled faintly of new clothes, perfume samples drifting from kiosks, and the faint sweetness of a bakery kiosk downstairs. It wasn’t crowded; most people were at work or school, leaving only a scattering of retirees, mothers with strollers, and the occasional other teen skipping classes.

Bdubs led the way, his energy filling the space like it always did. They stepped into a shop lined with mannequins in sequined dresses and jackets that seemed to shimmer under the lights. Etho tugged his sleeves down, shoulders tensing. The clothes here looked foreign, loud, demanding attention in ways he’d never dared.

Bdubs dove into the racks, flipping through hangers, his fingers brushing fabric as if hunting for something specific. “What are you into? Dresses? Skirts? Pants?” His tone was teasing, though he knew the answer.
“Pants,” Etho said immediately, flat but sure. “Can’t I just wear my denim ones from home?”

Bdubs glanced over his shoulder, smirked. “Sure, but we need a cute top. What size are you? And how about a crop top?” His voice carried a spark, playful but also testing.

The word made Etho pause. A crop top. He pictured it, skin showing, collarbone exposed. It wasn’t like him. Not at all. But part of him wondered—what would it feel like to wear something that didn’t hide him entirely? He felt the thought itch at the edges of his confidence.

“I’m probably a small. Long fit,” he muttered, voice low. “A crop top would… be fine, maybe. I’d hate the stares, though. Because I’m a guy.”

Bdubs straightened, grin widening. “Etho, the people I invited are all gay or allies. Nobody’s gonna mind.” His voice softened at the edges, a rare gentleness. “If anything, they’ll think you look great.”

“If you insist,” Etho said, but his stomach was tightening, equal parts dread and curiosity.

Bdubs pulled a hanger free with a flourish. A black long-sleeved crop top, sleek and fitted. There was a small cut just above the chest, enough to show the collarbone, but the rest was turtlenecked, elegant. Bdubs held it up, eyes sparkling. “This. Try it on.”

The changing room smelled faintly of dust and fabric softener. Etho pulled the curtain closed behind him and changed quickly, tugging the top over his head. The fabric was snug, clinging to his shoulders, his ribs. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but tight in ways that made him aware of his body in a way oversized hoodies never did. He stood in front of the mirror, staring. It wasn’t him, and yet… it was. He barely recognized the boy looking back.

“Can I come in?” Bdubs’ voice floated from the other side of the curtain, soft, almost careful.

Etho hesitated, then said, “Sure.”

The curtain shifted, and Bdubs stepped inside. His eyes widened, freezing for a second longer than they should have. Etho felt heat crawl up his neck beneath the mask.
“I think it’s too small,” Etho said quickly, tugging at the hem. “It feels… tight.”

Bdubs blinked, recovering, though his grin faltered into something softer, stranger. “Do you not like it?” Etho asked nervously.

“I love it!—I mean, I like it. It’s okay,” Bdubs stumbled, words tripping over themselves. “It’s meant to be tight. We’re buying that.”

Etho tilted his head, studying him. “You sure?”

Bdubs just flashed a wide, cheesy smile, too bright to be casual. “Absolutely.”

Etho looked away, embarrassed but oddly warmed, and muttered, “Umm… okay.”

The smile didn’t leave Bdubs’ face. If anything, it grew.

They left the shop with a small bag swinging from Bdubs’ hand, the crop top folded neatly inside. Etho kept glancing at it as they walked, still not entirely convinced. It felt like carrying a secret—a piece of clothing that didn’t belong to the life he knew, but to something braver.

The mall stretched wide around them, glossy floors reflecting the lights in fractured patterns. From above, music drifted faintly, pop songs echoing across open space, bouncing off glass and steel. Etho’s footsteps seemed too loud on the tile. His mask warmed with each breath, and he found himself fiddling with the straps out of habit.

“Next stop,” Bdubs announced, tugging at his arm. “Shoes. You can’t just wear your old ones to a party.”

Etho resisted half-heartedly, but Bdubs was already steering him down another corridor, past storefronts with mannequins frozen mid-stride, jewelry sparkling beneath lights, posters plastered with wide smiles and bold fonts. They stopped at a shoe store that smelled faintly of rubber and new leather. Rows of sneakers lined the walls like trophies, each one brighter than the last.

Bdubs crouched by a display, his fingers brushing over laces. “Something simple but clean,” he said, more to himself than to Etho. “Nothing flashy, just… you, but upgraded.”

Etho lingered by the entrance, arms folded, eyes darting between shelves. Shoes had never felt important to him—they were just things to walk in, scuffed and worn until they gave out. But Bdubs handled them like they mattered, like they could say something about you.

“Here,” Bdubs said, holding up a pair of black sneakers with white soles, sleek but not loud. “Try these.”

Etho sat on the low bench, pulling them on. The fabric hugged his feet snugly, the laces tightening smoothly. He stood, rocking slightly on his heels, surprised by how light they felt.
“They’re good,” he admitted.

“They’re perfect,” Bdubs corrected, grinning. “You’re getting them.”

Etho didn’t argue this time.

By the time they left the store, Bdubs had collected two more bags—one with the shoes, another from a kiosk where he’d impulsively grabbed bracelets for them both. He slid one onto Etho’s wrist as they walked, a simple band of black cord with a silver clasp.
“Friendship tax,” Bdubs said, his tone playful. “Now you can’t ditch me.”

Etho turned his wrist, studying the bracelet. It felt small, almost silly, but he didn’t take it off.

The mall continued to sprawl before them. They stopped in a few more places: a store with shelves of cologne that made Etho wrinkle his nose at the sharp scents; a bookstore where Etho lingered too long in front of neatly stacked rows until Bdubs tugged him away; a food court where they shared a basket of fries, salt sticking to their fingers. The air there was heavy with grease and sugar, the chatter of families echoing off the high ceiling.

At one point, Bdubs spotted a photo booth tucked between two arcades. His grin spread wide. “C’mon, let’s do it.”

Etho froze. “Photos?”
“Yeah. Just for us. We don’t have to show anyone.” Bdubs’ voice softened, coaxing. “It’ll be fun.”

Etho hesitated, heart thudding, but Bdubs had already dragged him inside the cramped booth. The curtain swished closed, muffling the mall’s noise. The little machine hummed, its screen glowing faintly. Bdubs shoved a coin in, and the countdown began.
“Okay. smile!” Bdubs said, throwing an arm around Etho’s shoulders. The first flash went off before Etho could react, catching his half-awkward, half-hidden grin beneath the mask.

The second photo came as Bdubs leaned in, squishing his cheek against Etho’s. His laughter filled the tiny booth, warm and contagious.

By the third, Etho managed a proper smile beneath the mask, eyes crinkling.

The strip slid out with a whirr. Four tiny squares, glossy and bright. Bdubs snatched it up, grinning widely. “Look at us! Adorable.” He tucked the photo carefully into his wallet, like it belonged there.

Etho said nothing, but his chest tightened in a way that felt almost unbearable.

By noon, their bags were heavier, their steps slower. They found a quiet corner on the third floor, near wide windows that overlooked the parking lot. The sun had climbed higher, bright against the glass, and Etho pressed his hand briefly to the cool surface. Below, cars moved in steady streams, lives intersecting and moving on. Inside, the mall hummed with air-conditioning and faint echoes.

“You okay?” Bdubs asked, leaning against the railing beside him.

Etho nodded, though his throat was dry. “Just… a lot.”

Bdubs’ smile softened. “Yeah. But you did well. You’re gonna look amazing at the party.”

Etho glanced at him, unsure what to say. Compliments weren’t easy to hold. They slipped through his fingers like water, leaving him both warm and uneasy. He muttered, “Thanks,” and looked back out the window.

For a moment, neither spoke. The mall’s distant noise filled the gap. Then Bdubs nudged his shoulder, light but steady. “You know… You don’t have to be nervous about the party. Everyone there’s cool. And I’ll be with you the whole time. Promise.”

The words settled deeper than they should have. Etho swallowed, his voice quiet. “Okay.”

It wasn’t much, but Bdubs smiled anyway, like it was enough.

—
Wednesday

The classroom felt hostile from the start. The air was thick with chalk dust and the faint sting of dry-erase marker, clinging to the back of Etho’s throat. The fluorescent lights above hummed with their steady, piercing buzz, too sharp, too constant, like needles sliding under his skin. He tried to press his hands flat to the desk, grounding himself in the smooth laminate surface, tracing the faint scratches in the plastic.

But then his name was called.

The sound of it was too loud. It sliced through the air like someone had struck glass. His body moved without wanting to, stiff and reluctant, pulling him up from his chair and toward the whiteboard. Each step felt wrong, his shoes catching too hard on the linoleum. His laptop was clutched against his chest like a shield, but when he reached the front, it only made him feel smaller.

The screen glowed with his slides—literary periods, neat bullet points—but his voice wouldn’t come. His tongue felt thick, too big for his mouth, the words refusing to untangle from his throat.

He looked out.

Too many eyes. It didn’t matter if most of them weren’t watching closely. His brain said they were. Every pair of eyes was heat, burning into his skin, peeling him open. He tried to inhale, but the air felt heavy, metallic, unbreathable. His chest locked.

His gaze snagged on Bdubs—sitting back at his desk, smiling at him, encouraging. A smile like sunlight. But instead of easing the pressure, it made the silence sharper, made the gap between them impossible. Bdubs could smile and move so freely. Etho could only freeze.

The weight of shame pressed hard. He snapped the laptop shut, the crack of it echoing far too loud, bouncing off the walls. His feet carried him back to his desk in jerky motions. The seat felt cold and foreign beneath him. He could still feel the phantom of everyone’s stares—imagined or real, it didn’t matter. They burned the same.

He couldn’t sit there. He couldn’t breathe there.

The hallway air was cooler, but not easier. He slid down the wall just outside, knees tucked in, folding himself as small as he could manage. The cinderblock wall dug into his back, rough, uneven, grounding, and painful all at once. His breath rattled, chest convulsing, but no air seemed to reach where it needed to.

His arms felt wrong, prickly and buzzing. He dragged his nails over his forearm, scratching through fabric, harder and harder until the itch was unbearable. He yanked his sleeve up and dug into bare skin instead. The sting blossomed sharp and red, real, cutting through the static noise in his head. Pain was clear. Pain was easier to process.

His eyes blurred, but he didn’t notice until the wetness streaked his face. The salt stung, his eyelids heavy and hot. He rocked forward, pressing his forehead into his knees, curling tighter. The motion soothed, rhythmic, but it also exposed him—small, vulnerable, weak. He hated it. Hated being like this.

Then—footsteps.

Too close. His whole body flinched.

But the steps slowed, stopped. Bdubs’ shoes. His presence filled the space, a different kind of noise—warm, heavy, familiar. Bdubs crouched down, lowering until his face was near Etho’s. His voice came quieter than usual, rasping but soft.
“Etho… stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

The words slipped through the storm, but didn’t stop his hand. The itch still demanded attention, nails still digging into skin. He couldn’t pull away, not yet.

Then warmth. Bdubs’ hand closed gently over his, steady but not harsh, peeling it away from his arm. Their fingers tangled. Etho startled at the sudden contact, a jolt shooting through him, but Bdubs’ grip was firm enough to anchor. His thumb rubbed against Etho’s knuckles, slow, steady strokes—too much sensation, but also calming, pulling Etho’s focus into one clear point instead of a thousand scattered ones.

Bdubs shifted, sitting on the floor beside him, half in front, half at his side, close enough that his body blocked the harsh overhead light. Close enough that Etho could hear his breathing—steady, even. It gave him something to copy. His lungs still stuttered, but he tried to match the rhythm.

“I know you’re not feeling well right now,” Bdubs said, his voice pitched low, careful, nothing like the loud laughter he usually carried. “I’m here.”

The words pressed deep, heavier than anything else in the hallway.

Etho sniffled, throat raw. His eyes darted, flicking away from Bdubs’ steady gaze, but always dragged back. The intensity was unbearable, but it was also safe. Without thinking, he leaned—just a fraction at first, then more. His head found Bdubs’ chest, pressing into the warm fabric of his shirt. The cloth smelled faintly of detergent, faintly of something green and wet from the rain earlier that morning. Beneath it, he could hear the thump of Bdubs’ heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The rhythm was real. Solid. Reliable.

Bdubs’ arm slid around him, hesitant at first, then firmer, resting against his back. Not too tight, not suffocating. Just weight. Just presence.

Time stretched in strange ways—minutes pooling together until Etho couldn’t tell how long had passed. But eventually, the buzzing slowed. His breath evened. The pressure in his chest loosened. His body was still heavy, but not drowning.
“How often does this happen?” Bdubs asked eventually, breaking the quiet with gentleness, curiosity rather than judgment.

Etho’s words stumbled, but they came. “Not… not often it gets this bad. Once a week, maybe. The buildup’s more. It used to be worse. Like… three times a day, before I figured out how to stop it.” He paused, clutching Bdubs’ hand tighter. “But once it starts… I can’t stop it.”

“That’s still a lot,” Bdubs said. His voice had lost its usual brightness, steadied into something more serious. “You could’ve told me.”

Etho shook his head, pulling his sleeve down to hide the raw skin. His voice dropped, small and rough. “It’s embarrassing. I don’t want you to treat me like I’m fragile. Just because I have… panic attacks.”

“I wouldn’t,” Bdubs replied without hesitation. Then, after a moment, “You’re my best friend, Etho. It feels crazy to say it after three months. But you mean a lot to me. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

The words landed heavily, almost too much for Etho to hold. His chest tightened again, but not with panic—something softer, something that burned in a better way.

“You mean a lot to me, too,” he whispered. And it was the truest thing he’d ever said.

—
Sunday, Bdubs' b-day.

The front door clicked behind them, and Etho’s senses immediately locked onto the air inside. Warm, slightly humid, with a layered scent of sweet, sugary notes. Cake, frosting, faint chocolate, and something sharp—lemon from soda or punch—mixed with the natural warmth of people’s skin. There was a faint metallic tang from cans, and the plastic of cups clinked softly as someone nudged a table. His mask pressed lightly against his face, a comforting barrier between him and the swirl of smells and movements, though it did nothing to mute the flashing lights or the constant shifting of bodies.

The room was bathed in soft golden light from hanging bulbs strung across the ceiling. Shadows danced along walls as people moved, and metallic foil banners glimmered, catching light in jagged, chaotic flashes that forced his eyes to track the rapid motion across the room. Floorboards creaked faintly under each step, amplifying the layers of sound: chatter, laughter, the hum of the music speaker in the corner. Every sensation multiplied, overlapping into a buzzing, continuous wave that made Etho’s chest tighten.
Etho stayed close to Bdubs, noticing how the light caught the fine strands of his hair, how his forehead glistened slightly with warmth from moving through the crowded space. Bdubs’ energy radiated in gentle waves—confident, calm, easy—and watching him move through the chaos felt like observing a still point in a storm. Etho’s chest fluttered: he wanted to speak, to move, to interact—but even the idea made his stomach twist with quiet panic.

“Do you want a drink?” Bdubs asked, his voice carrying across the warmth of the room. The sound was a tether. A small anchor.

“No. I don’t drink,” Etho whispered, noticing the tremor in his voice. “It’s your birthday. I should be giving you a drink.”

Bdubs’ eyes softened. The world blurred slightly as Etho followed him into the kitchen. The room smelled of wood, citrus, faint soap, and the cool plastic of ice trays. Bdubs moved deliberately, pouring red liquid, then yellow, ice clinking sharply, lime scent sour and nearly overwhelming. Every droplet sliding down glass edges registered in vivid detail, catching the light, refracting into miniature prisms that danced across the counter.

Etho handed Bdubs the gift, a small hand-wrapped box with slightly uneven paper and crooked tape. Bdubs tilted his head, eyes widening in genuine delight, lifting the lid to reveal a silver bracelet with a tiny horse charm. Light glinted off its smooth surface, scattering into miniature rays across the kitchen counter.

“This is beautiful,” Bdubs breathed. The words resonated in Etho’s chest like a small bell.

Bdubs hugged him—a brief, firm embrace—but it felt enormous to Etho, the warmth, the subtle pressure, the heartbeat beneath his hands grounding him. The faint scent of soap, sunscreen, and Bdubs’ movement-sweat layered with the sugar and citrus in the air. For a moment, the chaos of the party dissolved, leaving only Bdubs and a small, safe pocket of calm.

Etho helped Bdubs put the bracelet on, every movement slow, deliberate, tactile. The cool metal against warmer skin, the click of the clasp, the gentle weight settling—he noted each sensation with a precision that made his chest feel simultaneously full and tense. Then he stepped back… only to stumble over a bag, landing hard on his tailbone. Pain shot up sharply, immediate and bright, but Bdubs’ laugh—light, warm, unhurried—pulled a small smile across Etho’s face despite the sting.

Their hands intertwined briefly before Bdubs moved away, leaving a subtle pang of absence. Voices, clinking cups, the distant thump of music, metallic reflections from soda cans and decorations, all pressed in again.

The circle for truth or dare was a relief—a smaller, contained bubble of sound and movement. Fewer bodies, slower movements, controlled voices. Bdubs sat beside him, steady, familiar, a tether through the remaining chaos. Joel’s accent cut across the hum: “Oh, hi, Bubs, and Effo.” Short, simple, a label that made the chaotic room slightly more understandable.

“Truth or dare?” Bdubs asked.

“Truth,” Etho whispered.

The question hit hard: “Do you think you’re hard to love?” Words like spikes piercing his chest.

“Yes. Absolutely. I’m strange. My brain works differently. Nobody would choose me.” Thoughts spiraled, vivid and fast. He replayed every awkward gesture, every misread cue he’d ever given.

Bdubs’ hand found his. Warm. Solid. Grounding. Fingers interlacing. Heartbeats syncing: one steady, one fluttering. The chaos dimmed, the hum of the party receding into the background. Only Bdubs, the soft pulse under his palm, the steady warmth anchoring him.

“Sorry… happy birthday,” Etho whispered, embarrassed.

Bdubs tilted his head, playful, grounding. “Since it’s my birthday, I want you to dance with me.”

Time seemed to pause. Music, lights, people—all melted into peripheral noise. Just Bdubs. Just their hands, Bdubs’ warm one on Etho’s waist, the gentle sway of bodies, the predictable rhythm of step-step-step. The crop top clung unusually tight across Etho’s chest, making him hyper-aware of every brush of fabric, every stretch of cotton against skin. The sleeves rubbed his forearms uncomfortably, and he adjusted constantly, fingernails grazing irritated skin. Every movement became a careful calculation, his muscles stiff with hyper-awareness.

Bdubs’ free hand traced small arcs in the air, guiding, but not imposing. Step, step, sway. He felt Bdubs’ warmth radiating through contact, grounding him amid the flashing lights, the loud chatter, the bass thrum shaking the floorboards.

“Too loud?” Bdubs asked, leaning close, voice brushing Etho’s ear.

Etho nodded. Relief. Safety. Focus.

They moved upstairs, Bdubs’ hand never leaving Etho’s waist. The music filtered through walls and doors. Bdubs’ bedroom smelled faintly of wood and sunscreen, a soft mix of home and subtle cologne. The light pooled across the carpet, warm, even, creating pockets of calm.

Etho’s crop top had become unbearable. Itched relentlessly, every tiny brush of the cotton rubbing raw spots across his chest. He pulled at the sleeves, tugged at the edges, half-aggressive motions, his body taut and shivering slightly from overstimulation. Breathing came fast, uneven, jagged.

“You can take it off if you want, Etho,” Bdubs whispered softly, stepping closer but leaving respectful space. His voice was low, patient, grounding.

Etho yanked the crop top over his head. The itchy tightness released instantly, but left him hyper-aware of every brush of air on skin. He crossed his arms, hiding slightly, still tense. Bdubs’ eyes moved to Etho’s face, out of respect.

“Bdubs… go enjoy your birthday party. You shouldn’t babysit me,” he murmured, voice low.

“I’m enjoying your company more,” Bdubs said. “You’re capable, Etho. Seventeen, right?”

“Sixteen.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“In December. I don’t celebrate it.”

“Why?”

“My family never did. I don’t know if I want to celebrate myself turning a year older.”

Bdubs knelt beside him, helping him stand gently, guiding without pushing. Etho leaned slightly into the motion, trusting, anchored. A soft blanket was draped over him once he sat on the floor, fibers gentle against skin, weight comforting.
“What if I want to celebrate it?” Bdubs asked, teasing, soft.

“Let’s see if we’re still friends in three months.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“You’ll move on. Find new friends. Leave me behind.”

“Etho… do you have abandonment issues?” Bdubs asked, concerned.

“I… maybe. Not sure what that is.”

“It’s the fear of losing people you care about. Often comes from childhood.”

“Oh… yes. That sounds right. I think about it a lot.”

The quiet settled. Safe, anchored by Bdubs’ presence. Only light, warmth, touch, the subtle rhythm of his heartbeat, the soft blanket, and the slow exhalation of tension. “Etho.”

“Bdubs.”

“Oh god, stop repeating me!” Bdubs laughed softly, playful, anchored.

“Well, is it annoying you?”

“Yes… kinda.”

“Then it’s working,”