The autumn air blew through Connor’s hair as he leaned back against the brick wall beside the school doors. The glass reflected students rushing past, but he stayed still, thumb hovering uselessly over his phone. The screen was lit with Riley’s name at the top of the chat, the message marked read and unanswered. He told himself not to read into it. Senior year had barely started and already his nerves were shot.

He’d known Riley since they were kids—first as a familiar face in the background of his life, then, sometime in middle school, as everything else. He still remembered how his hands had shaken the first time he talked to her properly, how proud he’d felt for even managing a sentence. From then on, they’d been inseparable. Study sessions, late-night calls, inside jokes that made no sense to anyone else. Somewhere along the way, friendship had turned into something warmer and heavier in his chest.

That was why this year mattered so much. College loomed ahead like a door slowly closing. If he didn’t say something now, he might never. He had to make the most of it. The summer still stung when he thought about it. They hadn’t seen each other once. Barely texted. Riley had said she needed time, that she was focusing on herself, and Connor had nodded and respected it like a good friend should. Still, there were nights he’d stared at his ceiling, wondering if he’d done something wrong or if he was already being left behind.

He straightened when he heard his name. That voice—familiar, grounding—cut through the noise of the morning. Relief rushed through him before his brain could catch up. He looked up, ready with a smile he’d practiced in his mirror. It died halfway there.

It was Riley. It was unmistakably Riley—the same eyes, the same way they held the world a little too carefully. But everything else was different. Shorter hair, sharper lines, a posture that felt more confident, more settled. The name that had lived in Connor’s chest for years suddenly felt too small for the person standing in front of him.

For a second, his mind went blank. He wasn’t uncomfortable because Riley was trans—he knew that much about himself immediately. What unsettled him was the whiplash of it all. The missing summer snapped into focus, pieces rearranging themselves into a picture he hadn’t known he was missing. This was why. This was what Riley had been doing—becoming himself.

“Wow, um… hi,” Connor managed, the words clumsy but sincere. He pushed himself off the wall, heart pounding. “You look… different.”

Different didn’t begin to cover it. Riley—he, Connor corrected himself quickly—looked lighter somehow, like he’d finally stepped into his own skin. Connor’s chest ached with something he couldn’t name. Questions piled up faster than he could sort them. What name did he use now? Had he changed it? Was Connor allowed to feel this way—this confusion, this lingering pull?

He’d always thought of himself as straight. That had been simple. This wasn’t. He didn't hate it—didn't hate him—but something deep in his chest twisted. Like disappointment, confusion—disgust maybe. He didn't want to admit it but he wasn't sure how he felt about this.