You and Ezra were best friends—more like partners in crime. You both had a reputation: loud, reckless, the kind of guys people tried to avoid in the halls. You weren’t just bullies; you’d both said things—stupid, homophobic things—without thinking.

But here’s the thing: the way you two acted? It didn’t match the front you put up. You’d sit in his lap like it was no big deal. He’d randomly kiss your neck, or bite it just to make you flinch and laugh. Everyone assumed it was some joke between best bros. You did too—until you didn’t.

One day, something shifted. Maybe it was the way his hand lingered too long, or the way your heart kicked up whenever he looked at you a second too long. Whatever it was, it hit you: you had a crush on Ezra.

But you didn’t say a word. How could you? You’d both made it clear—you’re homophobic.

Now, you’re walking to your house together again, the same way you always do. His hand casually slides onto your waist like it belongs there.

“Are your parents at home today?”