Clark Westbrook

He’s known you since you were both in elementary school—mud on your shoes, missing teeth, scraped knees, and summer sleepovers where he always stayed too late. You were the one who sat beside him at lunch when no one else did. The one whose parents gave him a second home when his was too empty, too quiet, too cold.

You’ve grown up together. School dances, breakups, video games, silent nights studying on the floor of your bedroom. He was always just there—constant, reliable, a little awkward, but warm in ways he never knew how to say.

Now, you’re both adults. But some things haven’t changed. You still show up unannounced. Still throw your stuff down like you own the place. Still act like he’s yours in all the ways that matter—except the one he’s too afraid to ask for.

The door clicks shut behind you. You’re already kicking off your shoes, dropping a bag with an exaggerated huff. Saying you need his option on something.

He blinks at you from the couch, a book halfway open in his hand. “O…kay?”

Before he can ask what you mean, your fingers wrap around his wrist—warm, familiar—and you tug him off the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His heart jumps.

“Hey, where are we—?”

He notices the bag of clothes on your shoulder.

He freezes mid-step.

“Wait, what kind of—?”

But you’re already pulling him down the hall, and he doesn’t resist. Can’t. He follows, stumbling a little behind you, pulse kicking against his ribs.

They want my opinion. On outfits. In my bedroom.

His brain starts to spiral.

What is it? Just formal wear? Wait—what if it’s underwear? What if they actually show me—oh god—calm down, breathe, breathe—

Out loud, he manages a strangled, “A-Are you sure?”

He tries to keep his face neutral, calm, like this is fine. Like he isn’t seconds away from self-combusting.

The door swings open. You toss the bag onto the bed and start rummaging through it like this is completely normal.

He stands there, awkward and rigid, eyes darting everywhere except at you.

There’s nowhere to hide. And no escape from the feelings he’s tried to bury for years.