The alarm clock screamed like a drill sergeant on a bender, piercing through the haze of Calvin’s sleep. Sunlight stabbed through the cracked blinds, slicing across his face as he groaned, rolling over in a tangle of sheets. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, swatting at the offending device with a clumsy hand until it shut up. He squinted at the time—7:15. Shit. Late again. With a huff, he dragged himself out of bed, the cool hardwood biting at his bare feet as he stumbled toward the mirror.
His reflection stared back, bleary-eyed and tousled, dark hair sticking up like he’d wrestled a tornado in his sleep. He yanked on a collared shirt, the fabric stiff and annoying against his skin, and tugged on black pants that clung just a little too tight. A flash of ink caught his eye as he adjusted his waistband—a snake coiled around two doors, tattooed on his thigh, a secret rebellion etched into his flesh. He smirked at it for half a second before reality crashed back. School. Bus. Andre.
His stomach twisted at the thought of his desk mate, his crush of two damn years, with those sharp cheekbones and that infuriatingly easy grin. Calvin grabbed his Converse, slamming his feet into them, and slung his backpack over one shoulder, the Mindless Self Indulgence pins glinting defiantly in the morning light. He was already stewing as he snatched his phone off the nightstand, fingers hovering over Andre’s name. A quick text—*Hey, can I borrow your bio notes? Overslept.*—and he waited, chewing his lip.
The reply came faster than expected, and it hit like a sucker punch. *Lol, sure man. Was too busy making out with Rach at Tyler’s party last night to take good ones tho. You missed a wild one.* Calvin’s grip tightened on the phone, his jaw clenching so hard he thought his teeth might crack. Rachel. That dumb slut. The mental jab didn’t ease the ache in his chest, but it felt good for a fleeting second. He shoved the phone into his pocket, jealousy simmering like a low-grade fever, and trudged out the door.
The bus stop was a gray blur of morning chill and half-awake kids, the air thick with the smell of exhaust and cheap body spray. Calvin barely mumbled a “Hey, Stan” to the driver as he climbed aboard, the old man grunting in response. His eyes scanned the seats, locking onto Andre at the back, sprawled out like he owned the damn place. Military gray tee—definitely not dress code—black shades perched on his nose, and pants that did little to hide the fact that he was probably still thinking about Rachel. Calvin’s throat tightened as he dropped into the seat next to him, the vinyl squeaking under his weight.
“Yo, Cal,” Andre drawled, tipping his shades down just enough to flash those stupidly perfect hazel eyes. “You look like you got hit by a truck. Rough night?”
Calvin forced a smirk, his heart doing dumb flips despite himself. “Nah, just didn’t feel like dealing with the sunrise. You know me, nocturnal as fuck. How ‘bout you? Still riding high from Tyler’s party, huh?”
Andre grinned, leaning back with an easy confidence that made Calvin want to punch something—or kiss him. Maybe both. “Man, you shoulda been there. Rach and I—” He cut himself off with a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Let’s just say I’m still recovering.”
“Yeah, I bet,” Calvin muttered, his tone sharper than he meant it to be. He turned his head to stare out the window, the passing houses blurring into a mess of beige and regret. He could feel Andre’s gaze lingering on him, curious, maybe a little confused, but he didn’t dare look back. Not yet.
The bus rattled on, and the silence between them stretched tight, heavy with things Calvin couldn’t say. By the time they shuffled into biology class, his mood was a storm cloud ready to burst. He slid into his usual seat next to Andre, dropping his backpack with a thud, only to freeze when he saw Rachel across the room. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, her uniform skirt just short enough to be distracting, and she was scribbling something on a scrap of paper. A note. For Andre. Of fucking course.
Calvin’s eyes narrowed as Andre leaned over, whispering something that made Rachel giggle, her hand brushing his as she passed the note. The teacher droned on about cellular respiration, but Calvin couldn’t hear a word over the blood rushing in his ears. His fingers curled into fists under the desk, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to rip that stupid piece of paper to shreds, wanted to drag Andre out of this room and—what? Scream at him? Beg him? He didn’t even know anymore.
“Yo, Cal, you good?” Andre’s voice cut through the haze, low and teasing, his elbow nudging Calvin’s arm. “You’re staring daggers, man. What’s up?”
Calvin snapped his gaze to Andre, forcing a tight smile. “Just peachy. Trying to figure out if I give a shit about mitochondria or not. Spoiler: I don’t.”
Andre laughed, a sound that hit Calvin like a shot of whiskey—warm, dangerous, and way too addictive. “Fair. Hey, you wanna hang after school? I got some new tracks to show you. Rach is busy with cheer shit, so it’s just us.”
Just us. The words hung in the air, a lifeline and a landmine all at once. Calvin swallowed hard, his mind racing. “Yeah, sure. Sounds... good.” His voice came out steadier than he felt, but inside, something dark was taking root. A plan. A wild, reckless idea to deal with this ache once and for all. Rachel might be in the way now, but not for long. He’d make sure of it.
As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Calvin’s lips curled into a faint, dangerous smirk. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
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