keepsmok1ngiloveyou

[keepsmok1ngiloveyou]

Friction: Chapter III

Chapter 3

Wordcount: ~5400

I shut the front door behind me, spotting Audrey’s car in the parking lot. Her headlights flared in the dusky evening, and a rush of excitement bubbled up in my chest. I tore down the stairs, my footsteps thudding against the metal.

I waved like an idiot as I ran over, a huge grin plastered on my face.

“Audrey! Hey! I missed you so much, oh my god!” I giggled, sliding into the passenger seat and leaning in for a hug.

Her hair caught my eye right away - short now, dyed a deep, vivid blue. Nothing like how it was in high school, when it was brunette and reached all the way down to her hips. The black dress she wore sparkled under the dome light, tight and attention-grabbing in a way that screamed Audrey.

“I missed you more, hun!” she beamed, pulling the car out of the crowded lot. “How’ve things been?”

I shrugged, not really ready to unpack everything yet.

“It’s been... fine, I guess. Just stuck in the soul-crushing loop of work and school.”

She snorted. “Same here. College sucks. Work sucks harder -- but hey, at least I get paid to suffer.”

I laughed and nodded. “Right? Exactly.”

Her smile faded just slightly, eyes flicking toward me. “So, anyway- what happened with your roommate, huh? Ezra, right?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “Not gonna lie, I stalked his socials when I first heard about him... kinda hot, right?” An impish smirk spread across her face. My cheeks flared with heat, and I immediately looked away.

“Yeah. Ezra. We, uh... got into a fight.” I bit my lip, feeling that awkward tension rise again. “He made me go to the gym with him today, and I... kinda fainted. During pushups.”

I motioned toward my chest awkwardly, and Audrey nodded in understanding.

“He got pissed. Like, seriously pissed. I mean, I wasn’t surprised. He’s kind of always been an asshole, but this time felt different. He acted like I’d done something awful.”

I left out a few parts. I didn’t really want to admit I’d cried. Or ran out.

Audrey's face scrunched up, giving me a worried look, while still trying to keep her eyes on the road.

"What the hell? That's fucked up... I'm sorry your roomie's such a douche." She glanced at me, lips tugging up into something soft. “You know I’m always here, right? I don’t get how he could treat you like that. You’re such a cutie, he probably just doesn’t know how to handle all that.” She bumped my arm playfully.

I chortled. "Yeah, I appreciate it. Thanks, seriously." Not wanting to think about him, or that whole situation anymore, I tried to change the topic. "Anyway, how have things been with you though, babe?"

She lit up and launched into a rant about her new waitressing job, classes, and her chaotic new friends. It felt good to hear her voice again. She’d changed a lot on the outside, but deep down, she was still the same Audrey I went to school with.

Still, even though I was having a great time already, I couldn't shake the thoughts about Ezra. I knew I shouldn't have felt guilty about what happened, so why did I?

---

After a long drive full of bad music and good gossip, we finally pulled up outside the Club Slate. It was tall and dark, pulsing with flashing neon lights that shot through the night. The only downside? There was a massive line stretching around the entire building.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I groaned, staring at the crowd. “Why are there this many people here on a Sunday? How are we even gonna get in?"

Audrey’s eyes glinted mischievously.

“I think I might know a way...”

I raised a brow but didn’t question it. When Audrey had that look, it was better to just go with whatever stupid plan she'd concocted.

We hopped out of the car, and she immediately grabbed my hand, scanning the area like we were about to commit a heist. She tugged me around to the back of the building, away from the crowds.

"Audrey, what-"

Quickly, she pulled a sharpie out of her purse and marked both our hands with a big black "X".

"So we look like we got in through the front..." She winked.

Pushing past dumpsters and squeezing through a half-open gate, she crept toward the back like she’d done this a thousand times. After a few minutes of dodging staff and navigating through the shadows, she stopped at an unmarked metal door.

"Here- let's go."

Without waiting, she pushed it open and ducked inside, dragging me by the wrist. I stumbled after her, heart pounding.

What the hell was she doing?

And more importantly -- how did she know exactly where to go?

It was almost completely dark inside the club, save for the bright, colorful strobe lights scattering across the room. Music blared from massive speakers, the whole building practically vibrating with the bass. No one seemed to notice as we slipped in through the back -- Audrey guided me through the service hallway and out onto the main floor.

I looked at her, half laughing, half in awe.

“What the fuck? How did you know that would work?”

She shrugged, grinning.

“I didn’t. Sometimes you just gotta be impulsive if you wanna have fun, right?” She squeezed my hand. “Besides, we skipped an hour of standing in line. You’re welcome.”

I laughed. She was right. God, I didn't realize how much I'd missed her. How much I missed this. I’d forgotten just how effortlessly cool she was.

“I’m gonna grab us drinks -- stay put!” She shouted over the music before disappearing into the crowd.

I lingered by the bar, doing my best not to get shoved around by the swarm of sweaty bodies. The place was packed. Drunk idiots everywhere. Some stumbling, some grinding, others just flailing. Lights flashed. The bass rattled my ribs and I gripped the edge of the counter to stay grounded.

Minutes later, Audrey returned, handing me a brightly colored drink.

“Thanks!” I yelled over the terrible, thundering music. “What even is this?”

She gave me a wicked smile.

“Just drink it! You’ll like it!”

I took a gulp. The alcohol hit hard, scorching its way down my throat. I coughed and winced. “Jesus Christ, Audrey, what the hell did you just give me?"

She ignored my question, only laughing, before tugging me toward the dance floor.

“Come dance with me, Atlas!”

She had so much energy, it was dizzying -- but the drink was starting to settle in, smoothing the edges of the night. I let go, let the music pulse. Audrey and I danced, spinning and laughing, our bodies moving in sync.

Eventually, I drifted back toward the bar for another drink. Then another. And another. I was feeling more and more intoxicated by the minute.

By the third round, Audrey was gone.

I squinted through the dizzying lights, scanning the crowd. Everything was a blur. Neon flashes, strangers’ faces, smoke machines whirring.

Then I spotted her. In the far corner, pressed up against a table, Audrey was locked in a messy, heated kiss with some guy who looked even drunker than she was.

Deciding to leave her alone and let her have her fun, I stayed on the dance floor for a while. Alone, but not exactly lonely. I was, admittedly, really messed up. The music thumped in my ears as I moved awkwardly, my limbs loose and uncoordinated.

I stumbled mid-step and lost my footing, tripping hard into someone behind me. Strong hands caught me before I hit the ground, pulling me back up to my feet.

The room was way too dark to really see what he looked like, but he was much taller than me. About Ezra's height, maybe.

"Hey man, you good?" He yelled over the pounding music.

I blinked up at him, trying to focus. When the lights flashed just right, I caught a clear look at his face. Blonde hair, warm brown eyes, a face that was way too attractive for me to process in the moment. I blushed. Hard.

"Y-yeah... sorry..." I managed to shout back.

His dark eyes met mine, concerned gaze lingering.

“You look like you’ve had a bit too much... do need help or anything?”

I probably did. I probably should’ve gone home, drank a gallon of water, and slept it off. Instead, though, fueled by whatever drunken confidence had lit a fire in my chest, I grabbed his hand and yanked him toward me.

I started dancing on him, and he didn’t hesitate to join in. He laughed, wrapping his arms around my waist, and moved with me like we’d done this a dozen times before. His touch was confident, not pushy. Comfortable. I let myself lean into it.

Oh God.

He was really good-looking. And strong. He kind of reminded me of -- ugh. No, nevermind.

The lights spun. Music flooded my brain. My body hummed with adrenaline and alcohol and that giddy feeling of being wanted. His hands slid down my sides, then back up, fingertips grazing my arms. I grinned like an idiot. He grinned back.

Eventually, he leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. “Come with me.”

He took my hand and led me toward the bathrooms. I stumbled along behind him, the world blurring and warping as the beat faded behind us. He pushed open the door, guiding me into the only open stall.

Then he turned, pressing me against the wall, his lips crashing into mine.

I kissed him back, arms wrapping around his neck, holding him close. Kissing turned to making out, heat building fast between us.

It was weird, he didn’t seem drunk. At all. He was maybe the only person here who had his footing. I didn’t question it, though. My hands ran down his back, through his soft hair. He was good at this. Firm, but not aggressive, intense, but not overwhelming.

His hand slid down my torso, gripping my thigh and lifting it against his side. He pressed his hips into mine and heat bloomed across my face, butterflies whirling around in my stomach. I tensed, heart racing, and gently pushed him back.

Oh shit. I'd almost forgotten. I needed to tell him before things went too far.

"H-hey um..." I slurred. "I-I'm trans... by the way."

He paused, pulling away, then smiled softly. Warm and unbothered. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Outside, the music throbbed through the walls, but in the stall, all I could hear was the sound of my own breathing -- ragged and shallow -- as he looked at me like I wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

He was like a cool breeze cutting through the heavy, stagnant heat of summer.

I smiled back at him, cupping his face and pulling him back in for more. His hand slipped to my waist, trailing lower, cautiously brushing between my thighs. My skin burned, craving more -- and then a light touch made me yelp, my hand flying up to cover my mouth.

Reality hit me like a wave. I was way too drunk to be thinking clearly. I tried to pull back, but he didn’t let go right away. His grip tightened around my waist, holding me in place as he pressed his hand against me, fingers tangling in my hair while he moved.

“S-Stop... ah-... s-stop,” I gasped, finally managing to wriggle free. His expression shifted to confusion.

“I’m not... I don’t think we should,” I stammered. “I’m really messed up right now- I...” My voice trailed off, half-expecting him to be mad at me. But he wasn't. He nodded instead, putting my leg back down gently and pulling away.

“Hey, dont worry. It’s okay,” he said. “If you’re that drunk, do you want me to take you home? I haven’t been drinking. My friends only brought me so I could be the designated driver, but...” He glanced off to the side, chuckling. “They kind of ditched me.”

Relief flooded my chest. I nodded.

“That- um... that’d be really cool. M-my ride’s a little too gone to drive, too. I’ll text her once I’m home.”

He grabbed my hand and led me out of the bathroom. My hair was a total rat’s nest, my face felt like it was gonna melt off -- not just from the alcohol, but from everything that'd just happened. Honestly, part of me had wanted to go all the way, but I knew I'd just end up regretting it in the morning.

We pushed through the thinning crowd and out the club’s main entrance. He walked me to his car, still holding my hand, and helped me into the passenger seat, making sure I didn’t slump over. I gave him the address to Ezra and I's apartment as he climbed into the driver's seat. My head was spinning so hard I could barely tell where we even were. Audrey became an afterthought after the night I had. I probably should've made sure she was okay, but I trusted her enough not to get herself into too much trouble.

“I never caught your name,” he said, smiling as he started the engine.

"I'm... Atlas. You?"

"Micah."

I nodded, smiled nervously, fingers twisting in my lap. He opened his mouth up as if to speak, but he paused, hesitating, almost as if he was debating with himself on what to say next.

“Truth is, Atlas, I saw you from across the floor a couple hours ago. Thought you were super cute,” he admitted, eyes on the road. “You don’t... have someone else, do you?”

I blushed again, like a little kid with a crush, gaze glued to the dashboard. I liked how confidently Micah spoke, as if he'd already deliberated exactly what he was going say before the words ever came out. “Um... no. Why?”

“I wanna get to know you better,” He took his eyes off the road briefly, glancing at me. “When you sober up, text me, okay?” He handed me his phone.

A mix of excitement and nerves bubbled as I took it and clumsily typed my number in.

"Y-yeah, that sounds nice."

---

After awhile, we arrived back at the apartment. I was too enamored, too intoxicated, to remember Ezra and how he was likely still at home. I wasn't even thinking about it. I really should've mentioned to Micah that I had a roommate, but it'd completely slipped my mind.

Micah got out first, walking around to open the door on my side of the car. He held out a hand and I took it, letting him help me up.

"Let me walk you there, make sure you get in safe." He insisted, his hand slipping around my arm to steady me. I giggled and led him up the steps, nearly tripping more than once. We both laughed as he caught me, keeping me from busting my ass.

Eventually, we made it to the door, and I fumbled around in my pocket for my key. It took me a few tries, my fingers clumsy and head spinning, but I finally got the door unlocked and pushed it open.

Ezra was on the couch, half-draped over, game controller in hand and beer bottles scattered all over the coffee table. His eyes shot to me instantly -- brows furrowed, eyes wide. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Micah noticed too, giving him a confused once-over.

“I thought... uh... is this your... boyfriend?” Micah asked hesitantly, almost nervously.

Before I could respond, Ezra was in the doorway, grabbing my arm and trying to yank me inside. “No. He’s my roommate. You can go now,” he said sharply, glaring daggers at Micah.

I blinked, baffled. What was his problem?

“Ugh, what the hell? Let go,” I snapped, pulling free. I looked up at Micah, my face flushed with embarrassment for Ezra's actions. “S-sorry... I’ll text you, 'kay?” I offered him a small smile before leaning up to kiss him goodbye and giving a little wave.

Ezra stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him leave. I pushed past him, not wanting to deal with his antics tonight. Things were going too good and I didn't want to hear it.

"A boy, huh?"

I paused, freezing dead in my tracks, realizing what I'd just done right in front of him. My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest. Waves of panic washed over me.

I couldn't just ignore it -- so I doubled down, drunk and reckless. I should've come up with a better response, but I quite literally had nothing.

"Um... y-yeah." I paused, racking my brain for what to say next. I didn't dare look at him. "So what? There's... nothing wrong with a little experimenting." I cleared my throat, one hand tight around my wrist, trying to steady myself. "I-if you're gonna be rude about it... I can go. Just say the word. I'll... call him back and go home with him."

His eyes widened, a strange mix of anger and something else, something I'd seldom seen in him before. Confusion, maybe?

“...I’m sure you would. You get mad, disappear for hours, come back trashed with some random guy? Really?” He scoffed, shaking his head.

That caught me off guard. I'd expected him to be weird about me liking guys, sure -- but this? This level of hostility?

“Why do you even care?” I asked, voice sharp. “You’ve been a complete asshole all day. I really like him, Ezra. Not that you’d understand.”

He dropped his gaze, like he couldn’t bear to look at me. There was something different in his face now. Something quiet; a knowing.

“You didn’t… do anything, did you?” he asked, softer this time, narrowing his eyes. Cautious. Uncharacteristic compared to his normal callous attitude.

I paused.

“And if I did?” I shot back. “There’s nothing... w-wrong with it, Ezra. I’m allowed to like guys.” I crossed my arms. “This is why I never tell you anything. You’re always so goddamn hateful.”

Ezra stepped closer, grabbing my shoulder and turning me around to face him.

"Ugh... I never fucking said there was anything wrong with it, man..." He groaned out, his voice softening further. "I just... Atlas. He looked totally sober! I don't think... his intentions were in the right place. Seriously. I know you think I'm a dick sometimes, but you need to listen. You're... you're gonna get yourself hurt."

I hesitated.

For a second, I almost believed him. Almost.

But then everything he’d said to me earlier came rushing back, dull and bitter. He couldn't say the things he did and then just pretend like he gave a shit.

"Just- fuck off, Ezra. You don't care about me. Don't act like you do." My voice cracked, but I didn't let it falter. I turned and stomped to my room, slamming the door behind me.

He didn’t say another word as I walked away.

I leaned back against the door and slid down to the floor, sighing, exhausted and overwhelmed.

Why was he acting like he suddenly cared? He’d never spoken to me like that before. Not really. Maybe it was the alcohol clouding everything -- but Ezra was really starting to get under my skin with how hot and cold he was.

I dragged my tired body over to my bed, throwing myself down with a soft thud. Slugglishly, I pulled my phone out of my pocket to text Audrey and make sure she was okay and had gotten home safe.

I struggled a little even unlocking it, alcohol still having a tight grip on my unstable body.

After shooting Audrey a quick text, I scrolled on my phone for a little, droopy eyes threatening to shut any moment now.

However, they snapped back open, happily surprised, as I noticed a text from an unknown number pop up on my screen.

Definitely Micah from earlier.

"Hey. Sorry about your roommate. You ok?"

Dry, chapped lips curled into a small smile and I sat up, eyes burned into my screen. I texted back, thumbs moving fast.

"Yeah! I'm good:) Sry I didn't tell you about him before. Kinda forgot he existed tbh. He's such an asshole. Idk why he was being so mean to you."

I beamed, glad he wasn't even mad at me for Ezra's sudden appearance. It was thrilling to finally be talking to someone who I felt like maybe actually liked me. It was nice, feeling wanted.

He quickly sent a message back.

"I get it. I'd be mad too if someone I cared about showed up like that, drunk with some guy he met at the club lol. It was nice to meet you though. Im glad. You're a really sweet guy."

I giggled, his nice message making me flush red and I quickly began to type back.

However, in the midst of my reply, I was interrupted by a sharp knock at my door. I rolled my eyes and groaned. "What do you want, Ezra? I'm busy..."

He stayed silent for a moment.

"Just... ugh. Do you need some water or something? You're gonna feel like shit in the morning if you don't d-"

I cut him off, angry that now was the time he decided to finally try and be nice to me.

"No. Leave me alone. I can take care of myself." I deadpanned.

After that, he finally left me alone and I heard him slam his own bedroom door.

I was just gonna let him be angry. I was done putting up with him and after everything he'd done today, I was sick and tired.

Plus, I finally met someone who treated me like an actual human and I wasn't gonna let him ruin that for me.

He'd been mean to me for so long, I wasn't sure why he thought I'd be okay if he switched up all of a sudden, just because he didn't like that I came home with someone. That, in of itself, I thought was super weird. He had no business being concerned with my love life, let alone, being angry about it. He barely even knew me.

Micah and I texted all night, straight through to the bleak, blue-tinted hours of early morning. I didn’t sleep a second, but I’d definitely sobered up. My head throbbed in that post-drinking, hollow kind of way, but I couldn’t bring myself to put my phone down. Micah was... addictive. Every message from him felt like a hit of something warm and dangerous.

He was really fun to talk to. We had the same sense of humor, same taste in music, same interests. We really meshed well.

It was around six when I remembered, with a loud groan, that I had class today. Of course I did. Why the hell did I decide to drink so much last night?

I dragged myself back out of bed, my limbs heavy and stiff with exhaustion, and shuffled toward the kitchen in a corpse-like state. My eyes stung, half shut and lined with fatigue, and all I could think about was coffee. I was desperate to wake myself up before class, even just a little.

As I walked through the apartment, I noticed that the living room was unusually quiet. Ezra was nowhere in sight. That alone was enough to throw me off.

A gentle glow spilled from the crack beneath his bedroom door. Through the thin wall, I could hear faint panting. Steady, rhythmic. He was probably working out again. He always did that early in the morning, but he was usually done by now.

Was he avoiding me? For the first time since I moved in, he wasn’t hovering around ominously, ready to pounce with some backhanded comment or snide remark. The absence of his presence felt... strange.

Was he done making my life hell? The idea made me smirk. A petty little spark of triumph flickered in my chest. Maybe I’d finally won something for once. Although, beneath that spark was a twist of guilt I didn’t want to acknowledge. I shouldn’t have felt bad. Not after the way he’s treated me. Still, the thought lingered in the back of my mind.

I shook it off and turned to the keurig, pouring a mug and taking a slow sip as I settled back into texting Micah.

He was everything I lacked in my life. Sweet. Attentive. Handsome. A little cheesy, but in a way that felt sincere. He flooded my inbox with compliments. Stuff like how my smile made him forget how to breathe, or how he’d never seen anyone as perfect as me. I loved it. I ate it up. I threw the compliments right back at him, flirting more with him in the last few hours than I ever had in my entire life.

What started as a drunk mistake, took form into the best night I’d had in... maybe ever. For once, something felt like it was going right. He made things make sense. I know I hadn't known him for long -- not long at all -- but he felt like home. I'd needed someone like him in my life for as long as I could remember. I reveled in the feeling.

Grinning, I took a sip of coffee and snapped a sleepy selfie for him. He responded instantly, calling me the prettiest boy he’d ever seen. Said I was unreal. Said he couldn’t believe someone like me actually existed.

Even though I was running on no sleep, with a hangover dulling my senses, the things he said made me feel like I was worth something for once. I could’ve run a marathon off that dopamine rush.

I lazily threw mysef onto the couch, lounging, scrolling through our messages with a big, dumb smile on my face.

Ezra finally finished up his workout and darted into the bathroom. I heard the harsh flow of the shower start soon after. Still no words from him. No glare. No cunning smirk. Nothing at all.

I didn’t mind the silence. It was a relief, honestly, but it was... off. The apartment felt weirdly empty without his antagonism polluting the air. It wasn't like I missed it or anything. It was just different to what I'd grown used to the past few weeks.

Shrugging it off, I peeled myself off the couch and trudged back to my room to get ready. I didn’t usually put effort into my outfits. Most days I just threw on a basic hoodie and sweats. The art of not caring, I called it.

Now, though, something was different. I wanted to look good. Not for school. Not even for myself, but for him, though I knew we wouldn't even see each other that day. I actually cared about my appearance for once.

Instead of my usual, I pulled on a black turtleneck, tight enough to flatter, but soft and warm. I paired it with baggy jeans, the good kind that made me look like I had style, and even dug out the dangly necklaces I never had the energy to deal with in the morning.

Micah and I kept texting while I got dressed, while I ate, even on the drive to campus. He made it nearly impossible to focus on the road. All I wanted to do was keep talking to him.

I kind of felt myself getting obsessed. Not in a scary way. Just in the way you do when you finally feel seen. It was honestly really healing. I don't think anyone's ever made me feel that way.

I’d never really had anything close to a real relationship before. Nothing that lasted, nothing that mattered. Usually, it was one night, one conversation, then gone. A blur of forgotten names and vague regrets. I hadn’t flirted with anyone, really flirted, since high school.

But this? This felt different.

Like maybe I was finally about to have something worth holding onto. I wanted more and more of him.

I got to campus a few minutes late, which normally wasn’t like me. Most of the time, I hated running behind, especially for class. School had always been my top priority. But today? I didn’t care. Not even a little. The only thing on my mind was him. Micah.

He had taken over my brain, and honestly, I didn’t even want it back. I’d fallen fast, reckless, headfirst. It was exhilarating. I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me and I was still freefalling, weightless and smiling the whole way down.

Phone in hand, I jogged toward the building, nearly bumping into someone on my way in. I barely mumbled an apology, thumbs still tapping out a reply as I reached the door and slipped inside.

I only had one class today, just a short lecture, which made it easier to convince myself to sit through it. All I had to do was survive an hour or two, then I could go right back to texting him, to orbiting around his words and basking in whatever strange, wonderful gravity he had over me.

It was harder than I thought. My phone kept buzzing on the desk, each vibration like a spark zipping through my spine. I’d glance down and feel my face flush without meaning to. My professor droned on at the front of the room, his voice nothing more than background noise to the soft ping of my notifications. I couldn’t stop smiling for once.

People noticed. Of course they did. A few classmates turned to look when I snorted quietly at one of Micah’s dumb jokes.

Someone behind me let out a sigh. Another rolled their eyes. I didn’t care if they thought I was weird. I didn't care if everyone in the world did. I justified it in my head, telling myself that none of them knew what I’d been through and how lonely I’d felt -- how empty the days had been before this.

No one understood what it felt like to finally have someone treat me like I mattered.

Then his next message lit up my screen.

"Let's go out and get lunch together at that new burger place in town. Meet me there after class?"

My stomach twisted, doing full on somersaults and filling with butterflies. I pressed my hand over my mouth, trying --and failing -- to smother the massive grin spreading across my face.

I typed back quickly, heart hammering.

"That sounds really fun, Micah:) I'll be out in a few hours. That okay?"

I was so jittery I could barely sit still. My leg bounced beneath the desk like it had a mind of its own, shaking the floor gently. I didn’t even notice how obvious I was being until the student next to me side-eyed with a quiet sigh, shifting in their seat to put a little space between us.

I wanted to tell them to mind their own business. I was happy, for once. Was that so hard to understand?

Every minute that ticked by felt like an hour. I stared at the clock until it blurred. My notes were practically untouched, just a few stray scribbles and doodles.

My mind was elsewhere. With Micah. I couldn't stop daydreaming about what my date with him would be like, his name and image repeating over and over in my head. I could barely contain the thought of being near him again, outside of the haze of text messages and dim phone screens.

Finally, mercifully, the professor dismissed the class. The second we were let out, I grabbed my stuff and nearly sprinted from the room, bumping into a desk leg with a loud thunk as I clumsily texted while walking. My excitement had completely overridden my motor skills. I barely even cared if people saw me trip over myself. I was too busy updating him that I was on my way home, that I’d see him soon.

The campus hallway blurred past me. The world felt brighter, sharper, buzzing at the edges. All I wanted was to get to my car, get home, and see him again. My feet barely touched the ground. He wanted to see me and nothing else in the world mattered.

(A/N): chapter 3!!! ive never been to a club so idrk what theyre like if u couldn't tell but I hope u still enjoyed :D chapter 4 coming tmr or the day after

[keepsmok1ngiloveyou]

Friction: Chapter II

Chapter 2:

Wordcount: ~5800

Throughout the night, I kept waking up. It wasn’t anything new -- insomnia had been a part of my life for as long as I could remember -- but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Each time, I’d groan quietly, toss the blanket over my head, and try to will myself back to sleep.

By the third time I blinked myself awake, I knew it was pointless. My body was tired, but my mind wouldn’t let me rest.

I rolled onto my side and glanced out the window. The streetlights cast a soft, amber haze through the glass, painting faint shadows across my room. Everything felt still.

With a sigh, I reached over, yanked my phone off the charger, and lit up the screen.

4:03 AM.

"Early enough..." I muttered with a half-hearted yawn. I didn’t have anything to do today. Being tired wouldn’t ruin anything -- just another day of drifting through the hours, a little sleep-deprived and a little dazed. It was fine, I guess.

Like every other morning, I dragged myself out of bed and wandered into the kitchen, half-asleep, already craving coffee. However, this morning wasn’t like the others.

Ezra was still passed out on the couch.

Empty beer bottles lay scattered around him, some tipped over, the sharp scent of stale alcohol already beginning to sour the air. I sighed -- if I didn’t clean it, it’d sit there for days. He never really noticed messes until they got unbearable, then he'd make me clean it anyway.

I shuffled toward the couch, careful not to make noise as I crouched to collect the bottles. As I reached for the last one, he stirred.

Shit.

“Baby…? That you…?” His voice was slurred, thick with sleep. “Mmm… c’mere…”

I froze. What? Baby?

My breath hitched as his hand reached out, blindly grabbing my shirt. Before I could react, he tugged me down -- hard -- until I landed beside him on the couch, bottles clattering to the floor around us.

“Agh -- Ezra, what the fuck?” I gasped, squirming against his iron grip.

My voice seemed to have snapped him back to reality. His eyes flew open--horrified, disgusted. He shoved me away hard, like I was contagious. Like he was about to be sick.

"Agh- Dude, what the hell?! What are you doing? I thought -- fuck. I-I thought you were goddamn Amanda!" Ezra’s face turned bright red, his expression twisted in disgust. “Why the hell did you just go along with that? Ew!” He scrambled upright, brushing himself off like I was radioactive.

My nose wrinkled. I clenched my jaw. “...I what? You grabbed me, man!” I shot to my feet, brushing off my shirt, heart pounding in my ears. “I was literally just cleaning up your mess and you pulled me down like it was nothing!”

Ezra blinked, like reality had just caught up to him, and ran a hand down his face. “Tch… fucking forget it. You're the one always lurking around anyway.”

“I live here,” I snapped, voice shaking, fury brimming beneath it. “You must think your girlfriend’s real ugly if you mistook her for a guy.”

His mouth opened, then closed again. “I-- f-fuck…” He buried his head in his hands, groaning like he couldn’t believe any of this happened.

“Seriously? Just... fuck off, man. It’s just ‘cause you’re skinny. I mean, fuck. You look like a girl in the dark. You need to gain some goddamn muscles or something.”

The words hit me like a punch and my stomach sank.

Ezra, I was pretty sure, had no clue.

He didn't know I was trans. I never told him -- I didn't want to tell him.

I knew if he found out, he'd be horrible to me about it. I knew how he was.

My whole body locked up. That little comment made me go completely silent. It hurt more than it should've. My throat tightened. I stared at the ground, twiddling my fingers, trying my hardest to come up with a good comeback -- but nothing came. Just that awkward silence.

Ezra looked at me again, registering something in my silence. He didn’t apologize though. He just shook his head and muttered, “God... I’m going to my room. Don’t ever sneak up on me like that again.”

Before I could even react, he turned and walked off, slamming his door behind him.

I stood there for a long time, the taste of bile crawling up my throat.

What the hell just happened?

I forgot what I'd even come in there for in the first place. I went back to my room in a daze. Wrapped myself in a blanket. Curled up in the quiet. Tried to forget it.

Sleep finally took me before I realized I’d stopped trying.

Only a few hours later, hazy morning air filled my room as Ezra stood in the doorway, arms crossed, dressed in his usual work uniform--black tank top, loose basketball shorts, and obnoxiously expensive sneakers.

It was weird, though. I knew he didn't have work today. His light brown hair was still messy from the night before, but the bags under his eyes had vanished like they'd never even existed.

"Get dressed. You're coming with me." He spoke monotonously, his face expressionless.

I blinked at him from my bed, still half-swaddled in my blanket -- same position as I'd fallen asleep in. "What..?" I yawned, covering my mouth gently.

"The gym." He clarified in a matter-of-fact tone. "You need it."

I stared at him, unblinking, and furrowed my brows slightly. "That's rude."

"Not trying to be nice. I'm trying to help." He said it like he deserved a medal for being so damn generous.

I groaned and turned over, trying to go back to sleep, despite his presence. "I'm not going to the gym with you, man. I'm tired."

He stepped into the room uninvited, snatched the corner of my blanket and yanked it off like he was excorsising a demon.

Cold morning air pricked at my now exposed skin, giving me goosebumps. I curled up into a ball, trying to shield myself from it.

"You're always fucking tired. Maybe if you stopped laying around all the damn time, you'd feel better."

I sat up sharply, a tired scowl plastered across my face. "Why do you suddenly care, huh?"

"I don't," he said, tossing me a spare water bottle. "But I'm tired of watching you sulk around like a sad, wet rat. Plus, you clearly need to bulk up." He looked me up and down, his eyes flickering over me in a way that made my skin crawl. "Can't mistake you for Amanda again, can I?" He said with a smirk, sharp -- insidious.

There was something else under it. Something unreadable in his voice. Not quite cruel. Not quite playful. Just… measured. Like he was studying me.

My chest tightened and I gritted my teeth. "You're an asshole."

"Yeah, but I'm right."

I wanted to punch him, or maybe just crawl back into bed and pretend like he didn't exist.

Despite that, however, some stupid part of me didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right -- so, against every voice in my head telling me just to lay down, go back to bed, I stood up and got dressed.

Ezra had left the room at this point, leaving me alone to shuffle through my closet and find proper workout attire -- none of which I owned.

I managed to dig out a pair of decent gray sweatpants and threw on a dark tank top over my binder. It was tight -- suffocating, really -- and the idea of working out in it made my ribs ache just thinking about it, but there was no way in hell I was walking into a gym with Ezra without it. Not like this.

Grabbing the water bottle he'd so generously lent me, I stepped out into the living room, where he was already waiting.

“You look... a mess,” he said, voice laced with that usual bite. There was something else there too -- something narrowed, like he was sizing me up.

I let out a sleepy exhale, still half-blind with exhaustion. “And so do you. But you don’t hear me complaining… Ugh. Let’s just hurry up and go, I wanna get this over with.”

His lips curled into a smug, malicious smile as he slung his gym bag over one shoulder and pushed out the door without waiting. I trailed behind, a couple steps slower, trying not to let my nerves show.

In his truck, I climbed into the passenger seat, fumbling with the seatbelt as he tossed his gear onto the floorboard -- right under my legs, like I wasn’t even there. Typical.

The drive was silent. I pressed my forehead to the cool window, pretending to care about the blur of street signs and pedestrians outside. I didn’t know how to talk to him -- not without ruining it again, not after everything that happened the night before.

Eventually, the bumpy ride eased into a stop, and we pulled into the massive lot of his gym -- Pulse24. The bold letters glared down at me from the side of the building, sterile and daunting. My stomach sank.

It was bustling. The crowd there seemed like the type of people to lean heavily into the whole alpha-male aesthetic. Overbuilt bodies, dead stares, and the faint scent of testosterone and ego.

I was a little surprised, honestly -- Ezra wasn’t nearly as jacked as some of the guys I saw filing into the building. For someone who made his living as a personal trainer, he was fit, sure, but not the kind of absurdly ripped that made your arms look like they had veins growing their own veins.

Maybe he wasn’t trying to be that guy. Maybe he didn’t care to buy into the full lifestyle, even if he sold it to other people.

I stepped out of his truck and let the cool wind comb through my hair, eyes rising slowly to the towering blue building in front of me.

“Already intimidated, huh?” Ezra’s voice cut in like a smirk. “Seems about right. A guy like you’d get eaten alive in there if you came alone. Be glad I’m here.”

I shot him a look, but my voice came out softer than I wanted. “I’m not… intimidated. Just --” I hesitated, eyes flicking back to the steady stream of gymgoers, all confident and built and glowing with that disgusting post-workout smugness. “I don’t think I’ve been to a gym since..."

Ezra didn’t press, just slung his bag back over his shoulder and started walking toward the entrance.

I stood there a second longer. My legs felt like they didn’t quite belong to me. This wasn’t my kind of place. Too loud, too bright, too exposed. All mirrors and sweat and judgment. My heart thudded in my chest, heavy and uncertain.

I don’t know why I’d said yes to this. Maybe I thought it’d help. Maybe I thought I could impress him, maybe make him less cold if I went along with it.

But now that I was standing here, about to follow him into his world, I wasn’t so sure it was a good idea after all.

He and I strolled up to the entrance together, though I stayed a few paces behind. I didn’t really know what I was walking into -- only that it already smelled like something I wouldn’t enjoy. Ezra glanced back at me with that insufferable smirk on his face, the kind that said he was thinking something mean and probably about to say it.

“Ladies first…” he murmured, holding the door open with a mockingly polite gesture.

I scoffed, shooting him a glare and brushing past him without a word. I played it cool -- acted like it didn’t bother me -- but inside, it was a different story. That comment dug under my skin more than I wanted it to. His comments always did. I kept walking, jaw tight, willing my expression to stay neutral.

The moment I stepped inside, I regretted it. The air was thick with the sour smell of sweat, metal, and whatever godawful pre-workout powder these people were clearly chugging like holy water.

The lights were too bright -- cold, artificial, and humming just loud enough to feel like they were burrowing into my skull.

The walls were lined with mirrors that reflected every angle of everyone’s bodies, like funhouse versions of self-consciousness. I hated it already.

Still, I kept my face blank, tried not to let it show. I didn’t want to look like I didn’t belong. Even if that’s exactly how I felt.

At the front desk stood the only person in the entire building who didn’t look like they belonged in a protein shake commercial. A woman with long, curly brown hair tucked into a dark pantsuit -- she looked like she had somewhere more important to be.

Ezra approached her first, that fake, charming grin sliding over his face like a well-worn mask. He always had that look when he was talking to women -- confident, disarming, like he knew exactly what to say to get what he wanted.

“Good morning, Mr. Ivanov!” she greeted him brightly, clearly familiar.

He chuckled low in his throat and leaned casually on the counter, giving her his best I’m harmless but also hot look.

Meanwhile, I stood awkwardly off to the side, like some weird kid being dropped off at daycare. Like I didn’t belong in his world, but somehow ended up there anyway.

When Ezra was finished charming her, I stepped up hesitantly, shifting my gaze to the framed portraits of Olympic athletes lining the wall behind the desk. I wasn’t exactly sure what the protocol was here.

“Membership card?” Her voice cut through the quiet, flat and disinterested. It was a sharp contrast to how she’d been seconds ago -- giggling, glowing, basically fawning over Ezra like he was the second coming of Schwarzenegger. Now, she couldn’t even be bothered to look me in the eye.

Ezra stood just a few feet away, scrolling on his phone, completely detached. He didn’t even glance up. I was alone here, in more ways than one.

“Um… no, ma’am. I’m just here for the day,” I mumbled.

“That’ll be twenty dollars for two hours,” she replied, like I was inconveniencing her. “Cash or card?”

I blinked. Twenty dollars? My eyes darted to Ezra, who was still absorbed in his phone like none of this involved him. I glared at him, hoping to catch his attention, to get at least a raised brow of acknowledgment, but all I got was a lopsided smirk when he finally did glance up. Like this was funny to him.

I hadn’t even wanted to come. And now I was paying to be humiliated in fluorescent lighting?

He gave me a half-assed shrug. No offer to cover it. Not even a joke.

“Ugh… card, I guess.” I pulled my wallet out, already regretting every decision that led me to this moment. I slid my card across the counter, trying to ignore the way my stomach knotted. I hated how easily I caved to him -- how he could drag me out of bed, toss me into his world, and I’d just... go along with it.

I could’ve walked out right then. Told him to fuck off and taken my twenty bucks somewhere -- anywhere else. But I didn’t, and I hated that even more.

After checking in, I trailed Ezra into the locker room. He moved with that same smug air he always had -- shoulders back, chin up, tossing smiles and half-nods to the gym’s regulars like he was the goddamn mayor. He might as well have been. Everyone looked at him like he was their golden boy. Their coach. Their friend.

He never looked at me like that.

I'd never been in a men's locker room -- the second we stepped inside, I felt like I’d walked into a bizarre alternate reality. The walls were a blinding white, plastered with bold-lettered motivational posters like NO PAIN, NO GAIN and TRAIN LIKE A BEAST. The air smelled like sweat, rubber, and something vaguely medicinal.

And the men -- God, the men -- were just walking around naked. Like it was no big deal. Like this was some weird, nudist hellscape.

I kept my head down, staring at the tile like it was the most interesting thing in the world. I didn't dare let my eyes wander. Not even a little. My face burned with embarrassment. It wasn’t just the nudity -- it was being here. Like I didn’t belong. Like any second someone might point at me and go, Hey, you don’t fit. What are you even doing here?

Ezra stopped in front of his locker and started tossing his stuff in, completely unfazed by the chaos around us. I hovered awkwardly beside him, my hands jammed deep in my pockets.

Then came his voice. Sharp and smug. “Careful, you might get a nosebleed. You look a bit flustered, hm?” He cast a glance over his shoulder, eyes gleaming. “Should’ve figured you’d be like this. So many shirtless dudes...”

I stiffened. “A-and what’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped, my voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing. My arms crossed on instinct. I knew exactly what he was implying.

He wasn’t wrong -- but he didn’t know that, or at least, I hoped he didn’t.

I always tried so hard to act like a normal, typical guy around him. Mask everything. Keep it neutral, but in moments like this, it felt like he could see through all of it. Like he knew something I didn’t want him to.

Ezra just smirked again, smug and knowing, before slamming his locker shut with a clang. We turned toward the exit of the room.

Just as we stepped into the hallway, he slowed. His hand hovered near the door, and his voice dropped -- quieter, softer, not quite apologetic, but... not cruel either.

“...You’ll get used to it,” he muttered, eyes focused ahead.

Huh? What the hell did that mean?

I raised an eyebrow at him, uncertain. His face was unreadable. And just like that, he pushed the door open and strode out, like nothing had happened.

I was left standing there, just a little more confused than before.

I trailed behind Ezra as he led me through the gym like a predator surveying his territory. His eyes scanned the rows of machines with cold calculation -- lingering on treadmills, eyeing bench presses -- like he was deciding which brand of torture to throw me into first.

Then, as if out of mercy, or more likely mockery, his gaze settled on something simple.

“Why don’t we start with pushups, huh?” he said, smirking. “Get a good idea of your limits.” His tone made it clear he didn’t expect much. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to prove him wrong, or curl up and disappear.

We stopped beside a bench, a rubbery blue mat sprawled out next to it like a trap. Ezra gestured to it with a dramatic sweep of his hand.

“So?” He raised an eyebrow. “Get down and show me what you’ve got.”

With a loud, theatrical groan, I dropped onto the mat. My hands pressed against the rubber, the weird chemical scent of latex wafting up into my nose as I lowered myself into a pushup position. I forced my body to cooperate, arms already trembling with the first few reps. My form was garbage and I knew it -- but Ezra was watching. Judging. Waiting.

His eyes bore into me -- sharp and clinical, moving over my back, my shoulders, the way my muscles strained under the effort. I felt weirdly exposed. Self-conscious. Like every inch of me was under a microscope.

My breathing started to hitch. The tightness in my chest wasn’t just from exertion -- my binder clung to my ribs like a vice, refusing to let me take a full breath. My cheeks burned and sweat prickled at my brow, but I kept going.

I had to. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

By the seventh pushup, my arms were jelly. My head swam. Each breath came short and shallow, panic edging in around the discomfort.

Ezra’s voice sliced through it.

“You seriously can’t even do ten?” he scoffed, crossing his arms as he looked down at me with barely disguised amusement. “Hah, I thought you’d be at least a little tougher than that.”

I swallowed hard, fists pressing into the mat, teeth grit against the growing ache in my chest.

Goddamnit.

I kept going, even as every voice in my head screamed at me to stop.

My arms shook violently under the strain, binder suffocating me with every breath. I forced out a few more -- pain blinding -- before I finally dropped to my knees, clutching my chest, gasping like I’d just crawled out of the ocean.

“F-fuck...” I wheezed. “I need a second…”

Ezra nudged me with his foot, casual and cruel. “C’mon, man. You’re seriously that weak?”

That lit something ugly in me. I didn’t even think. I just shoved the pain down, teeth clenched, and got back to it. My body screamed at me to stop, but I wouldn’t -- couldn’t. I pushed through the blur, through the burn, through the tightening in my chest...

...Until everything dimmed.

My vision went black at the edges, and then -- nothing.

When I came to, Ezra was crouched beside me, eyes darting nervously around the gym. He looked... scared. Not for me, probably, but scared someone had seen.

“...Shit,” he muttered. “Hey. Sit up.”

His hands steadied me by the shoulders, holding me upright. It was jarring -- how gentle he was, even if it was brief. His eyes kept flicking anywhere but my face.

“I... uh... didn’t mean to push so hard.”

"I'm... I'm fine," I panted, wiping the sweat from my face as my vision cleared.

Without a word, he handed me my water bottle.

I took it, more confused than anything. I chugged it down, throat burning, lungs still catching up.

When I glanced over, Ezra was watching me -- quiet, unreadable.

I had to say something to explain. Anything but the truth.

"Um... asthma." I manged to mumble out between breaths. "S-sorry..."

"Asthma? Since when? You don't carry an inhaler, do you? You need me to grab it, or..?"

His voice dropped at the end, quieter, unsure, like he was trying to care without sounding like he cared. It didn’t fit him. None of this did.

I let out a breathy, awkward laugh. “Why are you being so... nice? It’s weird.”

He looked like I’d insulted him. His face twisted, scowl returning like a reflex.

“I’m not,” he snapped. "You pass out, and I get fired or some shit. You do realize I work here, right? If my boss sees me pushing someone so hard they collapse, I'm screwed- even if I'm off the clock." He shook his head.

There it was. The Ezra I knew. The one who made everything about him.

I scoffed, the flicker of hope I didn’t even realize I had snuffed out instantly.

“Yeah. Okay, man.”

Of course he didn’t care. Not about me. Just his image. His job. His perfect record.

Stupid of me to think it could’ve been anything else.

Ezra went quiet.

Not the usual smug silence, either. Just… blank. Still. His silence said more than anything he could’ve said out loud and it hit harder than any of his insults ever had. My stomach sank.

I hated it here.

The smell of rubber and sweat clung to my nose. The fluorescent lights burned straight through my skull. Every sound -- dumbbells hitting the floor, shoes squeaking, machines humming -- drilled into my head like static.

But the people…? I felt their eyes.

Felt their stares as I tried to push myself up off the mat, trembling, broken. Laughed at, pitied. I couldn’t tell which was worse.

But more than that, more than the gym or the pain or the humiliation, I hated how much I cared.

I hated how badly I wanted Ezra to see me, to see how hard I was trying, to believe -- even just once -- that I was worth something.

Every comment he made chipped away at me a little more. Every jab, every smirk, every goddamn scoff. But still, I wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted him to like me.

I shouldn’t. I knew that.

I should’ve ignored him, kept my head down, waited until I could get out from under his roof and never look back, but... he had this pull -- this strange gravity I didn’t understand.

Maybe it was the way he looked at me sometimes, like there was something more behind his eyes, just for a second.

Maybe it was the way he stood next to me, tall and composed, everything I wasn’t but desperately wanted to be.

Jealousy? Longing?

I didn’t know.

I just knew I wanted him to see me. Not as a joke. Not as weak. As something. Someone.

I buried my face in my hands. My head pounded. My skin buzzed with heat. The lights felt brighter, the noise louder, the pressure worse.

Ezra walked away without a word, leaving me on the mat like I didn’t exist. I curled into myself, knees to my chest, hugging tight.

The machines clanked louder. The fluorescent lights buzzed. My ears rang. My vision pulsed.

Too much. It’s too much.

I pulled my hands away from my face. They were shaking. I stared at them, panicked, like they belonged to someone else. My heart raced. My chest tightened.

I looked toward the entrance -- the big glass doors, just past the desk.

Ezra was there.

Flirting again. Laughing with that receptionist like nothing had happened, like I hadn’t just collapsed in front of him, like I wasn’t even real.

Something in me cracked.

I stood up -- barely felt it. My legs moved on their own. Before I could even think, I was pushing through the crowd, past the weights, past the front desk.

Slamming through the heavy doors, breath ragged, lungs burning.

I ran.

"Atlas, wait!"

I heard Ezra shouting behind me, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. I needed to get out. My heart was in my throat. Every step I took felt like it was being watched, judged.

"...what’s wrong with that kid...?"

Murmurs followed me like shadows as I bolted through the gym and out into the daylight.

A stranger tried to stop me near the lot -- asked if I was okay -- but I couldn’t even answer. I shoved past them, breath catching in my chest, and made a beeline straight for Ezra’s truck.

I flung the door open, climbed in, and slammed it shut behind me. The echo of it rattled louder than it should’ve.

I curled into myself, trembling.

I knew he’d be mad, furious, probably, but I’d rather deal with Ezra’s wrath than face those strangers’ pity or their laughter.

Then it hit. The humiliation. The shame. All of it crashing over me in waves.

Tears burned their way down my cheeks before I could stop them. I tried to wipe them away, but more came, hot and relentless. My shoulders shook, and small, broken sobs slipped out of me.

I gasped for breath, my chest tightening like it was being crushed from the inside out. No matter how hard I tried to pull myself together, I couldn’t. I was drenched in it. Shame, panic, self-loathing.

Eventually, minutes or maybe lifetimes later, I forced myself to breathe slower. Calmer. Just a little. The sobs slowed. My hands stopped shaking. I wiped my face, checked the mirror. Eyes red, puffy. No hiding it.

That’s when I saw him. Ezra, storming across the parking lot. My stomach dropped.

He yanked the door open and climbed inside, slamming it behind him so hard the whole truck jolted.

His fists were clenched. His eyes locked forward, boring into the steering wheel.

He didn’t speak at first. Just breathed. Sharp, angry exhales that said everything without words.

Then finally -- "What the hell was that?" His voice was low, cold, venomous. "You just had to cause a scene, huh?"

He turned to glare at me, his expression unreadable -- but not kind. Not even close.

I kept my eyes down. Staring at the floor mats, at my shoes, at anything that wasn’t him.

I knew if I tried to say even one word, I’d break again, and I knew he’d use that against me.

"...You almost got me in trouble, man. My boss was there." He snapped, his words harsh and fast. "He asked me, 'Why did the guy you were helping run out like that? He looked pretty upset.'"

Ezra scoffed bitterly, shaking his head like it physically hurt to recount it.

"He looked at me like I hurt you or something. Do not ever pull some shit like that again. I’m fucking lucky I managed to lie on the spot. Told him you hurt yourself on a machine." He exhaled sharply through his nose. "And don’t expect me to bring you back. I can’t believe you’re so weak that a couple pushups had you running off like that."

His eyes flicked to me, narrowing. His face came closer, like he needed to see the damage for himself.

"Jesus," he muttered, voice low and disgusted, "Have you been fucking crying?"

I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t meet that look in his eyes. I tried to speak, even if my throat tightened around every word.

“Please stop talking to me like that, Ezra. I-I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh, please.” He cut me off, practically snarling. “I knew this was a fucking mistake. I knew you couldn’t take it. You are so goddamn pathetic.”

He jammed the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life with a growl.

I said nothing. I felt I was caving in on myself, folding tighter and tighter just to stay in one piece.

I turned toward the window. Watched the world blur by as the truck tore through the streets. The sky, once a clear blue, was now gray and roiling. Clouds stacked heavy over the horizon like something ready to break.

It looked like rain. It felt like drowning.

Ezra didn’t say a word for the rest of the drive. Didn’t look at me, didn’t have to. The silence between us screamed louder than anything he’d said.

He sped the whole way home, like he couldn’t stand being in the truck with me a second longer than necessary. The tires hummed, the engine whined, and my stomach churned.

It was only a five-minute drive, but with him next to me -- boiling over in his own quiet rage -- it felt like an eternity.

Still not speaking to me, we pulled into the driveway. Ezra killed the engine and practically launched himself out of the truck, like being near me any longer might set him off.

I followed behind at a distance, keeping a few hesitant feet between us. My arms wrapped around my chest, like I could somehow shield myself from the atmosphere pressing in on me.

Something about walking up those steps felt like marching toward an execution. My stomach twisted.

Ezra got to the apartment door first and shoved it open, only to slam it shut again right in my face.

I flinched.

For a second, I just stood there, staring at the chipped wood on the door. I didn’t need him to say it -- I wasn’t welcome right now, if I ever was.

With slow, quiet hands, I turned the knob and slipped inside.

He didn’t even look at me.

Instead, I watched from the hallway as he marched to the kitchen. The sound of glass bottles clinking together, then a sharp pop as a cap hit the counter.

I took that as my cue to vanish. I padded back to my room, shutting the door gently behind me like any louder sound might provoke a blow-up. I felt like a scolded kid again, like I’d done something terrible -- but I didn’t even know what.

I felt the tears rise up again, burning at the back of my throat. I pressed my fingers to my face and tried to breathe. This was too much. All of it. I couldn’t do this.

I had to leave -- now.

With shaking fingers, I reached for my phone. My contacts blurred as I scrolled, but then I found her name -- Audrey.

We hadn’t talked in years. High school had come and gone, and life had swept us in different directions, but we were close once. She’d get it.

Back then, we used to trade stories about our messed up homes. We bonded over broken family dinners and hiding out in each other's rooms. If anyone would understand why I needed out -- fast -- it was her.

My thumb hovered for just a second, then tapped out a message.

"Hey girl, I know it's been forever, but do you feel like going out tonight? My roommate's mad about something and he's being kind of a dick. I don't really wanna be here right now."

Only seconds later, her response pinged onto my screen.

"Duh! I've been dying 2 see u anyway! Text me ur addy and I'll be over in 20. We can go to the club or something :)"

A weary smile tugged at the corners of my lips. She actually wanted to see me. Relief rushed in like air after being underwater. For once, I wasn’t trapped.

I jumped up, ignoring Ezra’s distant grumbling from the living room. I'd let him stew. This time, I wasn’t sticking around to mop up the mess. He could sit in the bitterness he brewed himself. He needed to calm down. This whole thing was all his fault, anyway.

I rifled through my drawers, pulling out a pair of loose ripped jeans and my favorite old band tee -- the one that always made me feel like myself.

When Audrey texted that she was outside, I smudged on a little black eyeliner and gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I smirked.

For once, I looked really good.

I made for the front door, but of course, Ezra was still there. Sitting on the couch, beer in hand. He glanced up when I passed.

He eyed me up and down, not saying a word. Something in his eyes caught me, though. Not just anger. Something else -- something I didn’t want to understand right now.

(A/N): this one is a little bit longer but I hope u liked :) I have a bunch more I'm so excited to post its ab to get goooooddd

[keepsmok1ngiloveyou]

Friction: Chapter I

Chapter 1

Wordcount: ~3000

Warm morning light seeped through the window, spilling across my face and dancing along my skin as I stirred awake. With a sharp yawn and a stretch, I blinked the sleep from my eyes. It was too early to be up -- at least, for me. I couldn’t say the same for my new roommate, Ezra. We’d been living together for a few weeks now.

We were matched through a mutual friend -- someone who knew I was desperate for housing and knew Ezra had a spare room. I’d been wary from the start.

Even before I moved in, I’d heard stories. Ezra had a reputation. The kind of guy who picked fights just for fun.

However, I didn’t have many options. Ezra said he could use the help with rent, and I was sick of bouncing between shelters and crashing on friends’ couches. So I took what I could get.

The sound of soft grunts and dull thuds throbbed through the apartment walls. Ezra was probably in the middle of his morning workout. It had become a routine background noise, part of life here.

I peeled myself out of bed, stepping from the warmth of my sheets onto the cold hardwood floor.

Coffee. I needed coffee. I had work in a couple of hours and couldn’t afford to drift back to sleep, like I had a few times before.

Shuffling into the kitchen, still half-asleep, I rubbed at my eyes. Pale sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting thin golden stripes across the counter as I measured out a few tablespoons of coffee grounds and loaded them into the Keurig.

The familiar scent of brewing coffee filled the apartment, warm and grounding. I reached into the cabinet above, grabbed a mug, and leaned against the counter, waiting.

As I stood in the kitchen, Ezra walked in -- sweat clinging to his skin, face flushed red from his just-finished workout.

"Morning..." I mumbled, stifling a yawn and avoiding eye contact with him.

Since the day I'd moved in, Ezra had been nothing but cold to me. I still didn’t know why. Every time he spoke, it was to insult me. Most days, though, he just ignored me completely -- like he was doing now.

He scoffed, rolled his eyes, and moved past me to the adjacent counter to make his protein shake, acting like I wasn’t even there.

He towered over me -- thin, but all lean muscle. The kind of guy who looked like he could break you without even trying. I did my best to stay out of his way most days.

The Keurig beeped, and I poured the hot, dark coffee into my mug. Steam curled up into my face, and I inhaled deeply, trying to center myself.

Ezra was already finished in the kitchen. He brushed past me, hard, knocking me back a couple steps.

Ugh.

I leaned slightly into the archway, watching as he shoved his opaque shaker bottle into a navy blue duffel bag. With an irritated huff, he slung it over his shoulder, snatched up his keys, and walked out without a word.

I was pretty sure he’d mentioned once or twice that he worked as a personal trainer at the Pulse24, the gym a few blocks from our apartment. It made sense. The job suited him. He seemed to like it -- maybe even more than he liked most people.

I sighed with relief as I heard his truck start up in the driveway, dark red and stunk of cigarettes.

I shuffled back to the living room and collapsed onto the couch. The morning was calm, almost peaceful. I savored a few quiet moments, sipping from my steaming mug.

Then, my phone rang from the bedroom, breaking the silence.

I groaned. Who the hell was calling this early? It was barely seven on a Saturday -- no one normal would be awake at this hour. Except Ezra and me, apparently.

Dragging myself back to my room, I grabbed my phone. Ezra’s name flashed on the screen.

“What the hell does he want? Didn’t he just leave?”

I sighed and answered, pressing the phone to my ear.

"Hello?" I asked, confused.

“Hey, Atlas. Do me a favor, and have the apartment cleaned up before I get back from work. I’m bringing Amanda over, and I don’t want her to see what a mess you’ve made.”

He chuckled darkly over the phone, his voice dripping with that familiar venom whenever he actually spoke to me.

“Uh… yeah. Sure,” I muttered, frustrated. The apartment was hardly my fault, but I didn’t want to risk him kicking me out, so I told myself I’d do it anyway.

Amanda was his long-time, on-again, off-again girlfriend -- a little shorter than him, with blonde hair streaked in pink that caught the light like glitter.

She was a sorority girl who went to the same college as me, just a couple years ahead. Some nights she’d show up, either to fight with Ezra or to gush over him. I didn’t exactly dislike her, but I couldn’t say I enjoyed having her around either.

What I’d figured out living with Ezra was that Amanda had a tendency to cheat.

Sometimes, through the thin walls of the apartment, I’d hear Ezra yelling into the phone late at night.

“You goddamn whore!” he’d scream, and she’d yell back -- muffled enough that I couldn’t make out what she was saying in return.

I sat down on my bed, glancing at the time on my phone.

With a few more hours before I had to go to work, too, I figured I’d do Ezra a favor and actually clean up a little -- mostly so I wouldn’t have to deal with his whining later on.

I set my things on the bedside table and headed to the hallway closet, grabbing the vacuum and some cleaning supplies.

In the living room, beer bottles, scattered weights, loose change, and clothes were strewn across the couch and coffee table -- none of which were mine, obviously.

Although it’d only been a couple of weeks, I was already used to Ezra blaming me for things I had nothing to do with. With nowhere else to go, though, I kept my head down and did what he asked -- biting my tongue was hard, but necessary.

After a few hours, the apartment was almost spotless. I was sweating and exhausted, but there was no time to rest -- I had work to get to.

Glancing at the clock, I hurried back to my room and threw on my uniform. Black dress shirt, black slacks, and a white tie. I looked pretty stupid in it, but the job paid well enough, so I didn’t complain.

I worked as a beverage server at a country club in the next town over, delivering drinks and cigars to rich old assholes playing golf and cheating on their wives with alarmingly young cart girls. It was fine, I guess.

I fixed my hair in the bedroom vanity mirror, grabbed my keys, and left, locking the front door behind me.

The metal stairs creaked under my quick steps as I rushed down to my car -- a total piece of shit that sometimes barely started. Today wasn’t one of those days, thankfully.

I nearly sped to work, feeling the clock tick down and my stomach twist, bracing for the inevitable lecture from my boss about showing up late for the second or third time this week.

Luckily, just a few minutes before my shift started, I pulled into the parking lot of Elevander Country Club.

The place was a sprawling three-story brick estate, complete with a golf course and a pool. Inside, there were rooms people could rent for the night, and a bar stocked with the fanciest, most expensive alcohols I could barely even pronounce when serving guests.

I straightened my tie, took a deep breath, and stepped out of my car, making the uphill trek to the building.

Pushing open the grand glass doors, the heavy scent of foreign cigars and whiskey hit me instantly. It made me want to cover my face just to catch a breath of fresh air.

People were scattered everywhere -- mostly men in sharp suits and business attire, their trophy wives chatting at tables, likely with the other socialites.

My shift had been long and exhausting -- running back and forth between the bar and demanding tables for hours, ending with my once-pristine black uniform covered in alcohol stains and smelling like smoke.

As I stood at the bar, washing my hands and getting ready to leave, I let out a deep exhale.

I wasn’t ready to face Ezra and his girlfriend back at our apartment.

He usually got off work a couple of hours before me, so I knew he’d definitely be there.

I waved goodbye to my coworkers and stepped outside, the hot, humid summer air hitting my face. It was a sharp contrast to the chilly morning wind when I arrived.

Sliding into my car, the sun-kissed leather seats burned my skin. I started the engine but decided to take my time driving home, dreading what awaited.

Instead of heading straight back, I took a detour to a nearby park.

Slamming my car door shut, I breathed in the fresh afternoon air deeply.

It was a beautiful day, and I didn’t want to waste it all cooped up inside. Besides, if I stalled long enough, maybe I could avoid whatever chaos Ezra and Amanda were brewing for a little while longer.

I took a slow stroll around the lively park, my shoes clicking softly against the asphalt path. Joggers zipped past, their music leaking faintly from their headphones, creating a kind of rhythm against the hum of the afternoon.

It seemed like everyone had the same idea -- to soak up the last of the day. Kids screamed and laughed on the playground, swinging and chasing each other while parents sat nearby, chatting and keeping a loose watch.

A sad smile tugged at my lips. The scene stirred something in me -- memories of my own childhood bubbling up, bittersweet and heavy. It left a hollow, homesick feeling in my chest. I missed home. I missed my family.

The sound of rusty swings creaking and high-pitched giggles gradually faded as the sun dipped lower. Wind rustled the trees, and the ambient chatter of the park quieted. It was getting late. Time to go.

I made my way back to my car slowly, dreading what waited for me at the apartment. With each step, the calm I’d gathered seemed to slip away. I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, its familiar sputter kicking in as I chose the long way home.

As I drove, I couldn’t stop my mind from circling back to Ezra. I didn’t get it -- why he treated me the way he did. I knew he thought I was soft, maybe even a pushover, but his animosity felt deeper than that. Unprovoked. I’d always been civil, polite, even when he clearly had no interest in being anything but hostile.

We barely even knew each other, but it felt like he’d made up his mind about me before I ever had a chance. Sometimes I wondered if I reminded him of something, or maybe someone he hated.

I shook the thought away, stuffing it into the back of my mind just as I pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex.

The white plaster walls of the building were stained with streaks of dirt and rain from last week’s storm, looking even grimmer under the fading daylight.

I stepped out, keys swinging around my finger as I trudged up the stairs, cautious and quiet, heading right back into whatever mood Ezra had waiting for me.

I slid the key into the heavy wooden door but didn’t turn it all the way. I hesitated, pulling back. Pressing my ear to the door, I listened for a moment -- just to be sure.

Of course.

Even through the thick wood, I could hear Ezra and Amanda, their voices low and breathy, tangled up in some shameless display. Groans, giggles, the unmistakable wet sound of lips meeting -- Jesus.

I winced and finally pushed the door open, keeping my eyes glued to the floor. I didn’t need to see whatever was going on.

I'd made that mistake once before, already. Never again.

I hurried past them, face flushed, muttering a curse under my breath. Why couldn’t they just keep it in his damn room? Did they forget I lived here too -- or did they just not care?

Probably the latter.

I shut myself into my room and locked the door behind me with a heavy sigh. I shook my head, not even shocked anymore. I didn’t know why I expected anything different from Ezra. He was as self-absorbed as they came.

In a half-hearted attempt to ignore whatever was going on outside my door, I turned my attention to the pile of homework I’d been putting off.

I was a part-time student, wrapping up the last stretch of my freshman year. Graphic design wasn’t the most prestigious major out there, but I’d always loved art. And more importantly, it was something I could do without driving myself insane. Most days, that felt like enough.

Still, it was nearly impossible to focus with the sounds of Ezra slobbering all over his girlfriend seeping through the walls.

I tried. I really did. But every time I started to make progress, another giggle or sloppy kiss would throw me off.

Eventually, I groaned, finally fed up. I decided to grow a spine and say something.

"Can you guys quiet down?" I called from my dimly lit room, trying to sound more annoyed than desperate. "I’ve got a ton of homework, and I’d really appreciate it if you--"

Ezra’s smug laugh cut me off. The kind that made my skin crawl.

"Shut up, Atlas!" he barked. "You're just jealous my girlfriend's hotter than anyone your scrawny ass could ever pull."

More laughter followed -- both of them snickering at my expense. Like children who just found a new favorite toy to break.

I shook my head, swallowing down the instinct to shout back. I wasn’t in the mood to start a fight I wouldn’t win.

Instead, I slipped on my big, clunky headphones, pulling them over my mess of black hair and cranked up the volume.

Didn’t help.

No matter how loud the music got, their voices were louder.

"...you look so cute when you're like that..."

"...god, you're hot..."

Whispers melted into soft moans, and I dropped my head into my hands, elbows digging into my desk.

Were they seriously doing this? In the living room, no less?

“Gross...” I muttered.

There was no point in pretending I could get anything done. I’d just have to wait it out until Ezra eventually got bored and made her leave -- like he always did.

I grabbed my black hoodie, threw it over my shoulders, and climbed out my bedroom window. I settled onto the small porch outside, letting the cold metal railing bite into my skin.

The sun had nearly set, casting streaks of orange and pink across the sky. A cool breeze drifted through the air, quiet and merciful.

As I stared out at the fading sky, the peace shattered with a slam.

Amanda stormed past me on the porch, face red, lips pressed into a razor-thin scowl. She didn’t say a word -- just brushed by in a blur of cheap perfume and anger. She was clearly pissed at Ezra.

I probably should’ve just let it go, but curiosity tugged at me.

I stepped back inside through the front door she'd slammed behind her. The air was thick and awkward. No more lip-smacking or giggling, just the distant thud of Ezra stomping around the kitchen and muttering curses under his breath.

I inched into the living room and watched him yank open the fridge, grab a beer, and slam the door so hard the hinges cried out.

I hesitated, then spoke.

“You good in here? Did something... happen?”

He didn’t even look at me. “Shut the hell up, man. You wouldn’t know anything about it, so do me a favor and keep your goddamn mouth shut.”

I raised my hands, backing off with a dry laugh. “Jeez, man, I didn’t mean to piss you off. Just... making sure everything's alright.”

Ezra scoffed, finally shooting me a glare sharp enough to flay skin. “Yeah, right. More like trying to stick your nose in shit that doesn't concern you.”

I crossed my arms. I was just trying to be nice.

“Why the hell are you so bitter? It’s not my fault your girlfriend bailed.”

His whole body shifted.

He slammed the beer bottle down onto the coffee table with a loud crack, making the glass rattle beneath it. His eyes locked onto mine -- cold, unflinching.

“You wanna know why I'm bitter?” he snapped. “You’re so- God. You really think I’d waste my time talking about my life to someone like you?” He laughed under his breath, sharp and cruel. “You’re such a tryhard. It’s actually pathetic. I don’t know why you even bother. You're just…”

He trailed off, words dying in his throat -- but the damage was done.

I blinked, stunned, my arms falling to my sides. What the hell did I even say to deserve that?

My chest burned. Anger, maybe something heavier twisting in my gut. I didn’t yell. Didn’t bite back. I just stared at him for a second too long, then turned and walked out without another word.

What was even the point? I wanted to scream, throw something, be something in his eyes other than background noise -- but nothing I said would crack through whatever wall he kept around himself.

He didn’t want to know me. He didn’t want a roommate. He wanted someone to split the rent and stay out of his way.

So I did.

Later that night, I finally managed to get through some of my homework. The apartment stayed quiet -- Ezra, probably too pissed to stir up the usual chaos, just laid on the couch getting wasted in the dark. I could hear the faint clink of bottles until it stopped altogether.

Eventually, I shut my laptop and crawled into bed, exhaustion washing over me. The only sounds left were the low drone of the AC and Ezra’s snoring through the thin wall.

And for once, the quiet wasn’t comforting. It felt hollow.

(A/N) ty for reading my first chapter!! many more to come hope u enjoyed:)

[keepsmok1ngiloveyou]

going to post cjapter one of my story soon 👍🏻