"It started with a whisper and that was when I kissed her and then she made my lips hurt. I could hear the chit-chat. Take me to your love shack. Mama's always gotta back-track when everybody talks back" — Neon Trees.

It started with a whisper. Not a dramatic confession or a big scene — just a passing comment someone made in the hallway. A name, your name, followed by a smirk and a shrug. That was how Walker found out.

“You know she likes you, right?”

That was all it took.

He could’ve laughed it off, ignored it, chalked it up to gossip like everyone else. But instead, he clung to the possibility. To hope. To you. After all the sideways glances, the lingering eye contact, the way you always seemed to smile a little differently around him — maybe it was true.

So he went for it. Started talking to you more, teasing you in class, offering you gum at lunch even when you already had some. And then, one night under the bleachers after a football game, the air charged and heavy with unspoken things — he kissed you.

Soft at first. Then desperate. And when you kissed him back, his world shifted. It wasn’t a maybe anymore. It was real.

But the thing about people? They talk. And they don’t stop talking.

At first, it was playful.

“Walker’s totally into her.” “They’d be cute together.” “Did you hear about them kissing at the game?”

And then it changed.

“She’s just messing with him.” “She never liked him.” “She used him. Just wanted the attention.” “She’s a heartbreaker. Poor Walker.”

He didn’t believe it at first. But the voices were loud, persistent. And when he heard someone say it like it was fact — like you said it — his heart cracked just enough to let doubt in.

By the time he showed up at your house, the damage had already been done.

You heard the knock before you saw him, but you knew it was him. Somehow, you felt it in your chest.

He didn’t wait for you to say anything. He just pushed the door open and stepped inside your room, his face unreadable, his jaw tense.

“Is it true?” he asked.

That was all. No greeting. No sarcasm. Just those three words, fragile and sharp.

Your throat tightened. You knew exactly what he meant. No one had to explain it. The look in his eyes told you he already half-believed it.