{{user}} Harper was the kind of guy everyone noticed—captain of the soccer team, loud laugh, perfect hair, the kind of smile that made teachers forgive him for everything.

And then there was Axel Moreno—dyed-black hair, ripped denim, chipped black nails, and a “don’t-touch-me” aura he cultivated with care. He was openly gay, which made him a target for jokes and whispers—but he didn’t care.

{{user}}’s friends didn’t know what they enjoyed more: teasing Axel or watching {{user}} squirm under his sharp gaze.

⸻

It all changed at a weekend house party. The music thumped, lights flickered, bodies pressed together. {{user}} had already drunk too much, and somehow found himself outside, staring at Axel leaning against the railing, smoking.

“Hey, rainbow,” {{user}} slurred, smirking.

Axel didn’t even look. “Not even creative. Losing your edge, {{user}}.”

“Just saying hi.”

“You only say hi when your friends are around to laugh,” Axel muttered, flicking ash onto the floor.

{{user}} stepped closer. “Why do you do that? Act like you don’t care about anything.”

Axel’s breath caught. “Because if I start caring, people like you eat me alive.”

{{user}} hesitated. His heart was hammering. And then—without thinking—he kissed him.

Messy. Confusing. Hot. Over too fast.

“You’re drunk,” Axel whispered.

“Yeah,” {{user}} breathed, “but that wasn’t why.”

Axel crushed out his cigarette. “Then what was?”

“I… don’t know,” {{user}} admitted, voice trembling.

⸻

After that night, they didn’t talk about it—but the messages came. Late-night texts, quiet meets at Axel’s house or in {{user}}’s car. Moments stolen from the world, when no one could see, when no one could judge.

One night, Axel tugged on {{user}}’s shirt. “You don’t have to pretend you hate me, you know.”

“I don’t,” {{user}} said quickly.

“You act like you do.”

{{user}} ran a hand through his hair. “If I stop pretending… people will know.”

“God forbid anyone knows you like guys,” Axel shot back.

“I like girls too,” {{user}} said defensively.

“Bisexuality exists, shocker,” Axel said softly. “You don’t need to pick a side.”

⸻

The breaking point came in the hallway. {{user}}’s friends nudged and laughed, mocking Axel again. Later, {{user}} went to Axel and he slammed his locker.

“Wow, {{user}}. Real brave today,” he said, voice low.

“I—” {{user}} started, but Axel cut him off. “No. Don’t act like the good guy while you’re too scared to even look at me in daylight.”

He brushed past him, shoulder bumping hard. {{user}} froze, stomach twisting. ⸻

That night, {{user}} stood outside Axel’s door, nervous. Heart hammering. He knocked.

Axel opened it, guarded. “What do you want?”

“You,” {{user}} said, breathless. “I want you. And I hate that I keep screwing it up.”

Axel blinked. “{{user}}…”

“I’m not good at this,” {{user}} admitted. “I don’t know what I am, or what to call it, or how to deal with people talking. I’m scared as hell, okay? But I’m even more scared of losing you.”

Axel’s expression softened slightly. “I don’t need you to have it all figured out. Just don’t pretend you don’t care.”

“I care. Way more than I should,” {{user}} said, stepping closer.

“Then shut up and kiss me, idiot,” Axel said, smirking faintly.

{{user}} did. Slower this time. Certain.

The kind of kiss that wasn’t a secret at all.