There's something magical about having a free period. An open spot right in the middle of the school day. One where I can't technically leave but I'm not forced to do anything specific. Sometimes it's a moment to catch up on homework, others it's an excuse to get some extra minutes on the field. And sometimes, when the sun is shining perfectly, I can read what I want to read.

The quad is quiet, the shade of a large tree the perfect relief. There's a few students sitting along the outskirts, quiet laughs shared between them. But the solidarity of the spot I've chosen gives me a sense of privacy.

I rest against the tree behind me, my book propped along my lap as I immerse myself in a world of fiction. Reading has become yet another one of my many escapes. Anything to forget the realities of my world and get lost in another for a bit is always a welcomed distraction.

It wasn't always my thing. But as each one of my brothers left and the house grew more and more quiet, I found a sense of relief in the world of books. A place to let my mind wander free from the realities that tie me here.

"What are you reading?" Cam's voice falls into the quiet, peaceful space around me, and that sense of solitude quickly shatters.

I don't take my eyes from my page when I answer, "A book."

He doesn't respond, instead, he's suddenly plopped down beside me. It's then that I notice he's only in a pair of athletic shorts. Seriously, how does he never have a shirt?

"Weight training," he says, smiling as his eyes catch me scanning his bare chest and wondering if I actually said that last bit out loud. "I left my shirt in there. I needed some air. Saw you in the quad and made a detour."

I nod, bringing my eyes back to the book in my hand. "I didn't ask."

He doesn't respond, his smirk speaks volumes all on its own. But before I can get lost in fiction land, he's plucking the book from my hands, holding one finger on the page I was on while scanning the cover.

"Cam!"

"What? If you're not going to answer, I'm just going to have to check it out for myself."

"Or you could take my lack of answer as a hint of privacy."

"Nah. I don't believe that. So, is it any good? What's it about?"

"It's nothing." I shrug him off, holding out a hand and asking, "Can I have my book back?"

"Uh huh," he hums, twirling the book between his fingers. "Makes sense to always be lost in nothing."

Huffing, I drop my hand. There are a few students wandering into the quad now, my moment of escape quickly disappearing. His eyes roll from my book in his hands to me as he waits for an answer. There's no playfulness left behind them, just a genuine curiosity. It's a look I've been getting a lot more often. One that eases a lot of the coiled up crap inside me.

Taking a breath, I hold his eyes as I quietly answer, "I just like the escape of it all."

There's a quiet that falls over him, a small moment of pause. "Is it really that bad here?"

His question twirls around my chest, that genuine look across his eyes catches my breath. "No. It's not exactly like that. It's just—sometimes I like to have somewhere to go. You know, somewhere that guarantees a happy ending."

That soft, gentle glow of emerald looks back at me, a knowing spark behind his eyes. I know he sees more than I share, I know he connects with more than I wish I had, but there's warmth in there. A calm that I've never had before. Not when it comes to being seen.

His eyes leave mine, dropping to my book before he's opening to the page I was on, and suddenly, all realms of calm are gone.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Seeing what's so fascinating to escape into."

There's this weird tinge creeping across my chest, like he's holding my diary. In some ways, it's exactly how it feels. Letting him into my world of escape feels like this thin veil of vulnerability, like he's seeing into the space I've found refuge.

"Oh. I mean, you're not going to be able to just read a page and—"

"Holy shit, Kenze." His eyes widen, that smile of his taking on a glow that has my insides turning inside out.

Oh no.

"Cam–"

"This is porn."

"No, it's not. It's literature."

"Literature my ass. I know porn when I see it. And this is some detailed shit."

"Okay," I say, reaching forward and pulling the book from his hands. "That's one scene. It's not why I read it."

"Uh huh. And I watch porn for the storyline."

"Oh my god. It's not porn!"

"You're right. It's far more intricate than the stuff I've seen."

"Yeah, because it's written to convey emotion. Not just to get you off."

"Mmm, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what it's meant to do. Can I borrow that actually?"

"You're ridiculous."

He's laughing. Laughing. I can feel the heated rush of vibrant red creeping up my neck and flooding my cheeks. Lifting my book to cover my face and vanish from sight, I fall back against the tree behind me.

His hand finds mine along my book, pulling gently to reveal my sheepish eyes. But when his gaze falls on mine, there's no playful jokes behind it. My hands fall to my lap, the warmth of his fingers intertwined with mine.

"Pride and Prejudice," he says, eyes still locked on mine.

"What?"

"It was my mom's favorite book. At least, I'm pretty sure it was. She has multiple copies. But there's this one...it's worn more than all the others." He pauses, his gaze dropping to his hands for a brief moment, a smile pulling at his lips before his eyes return to mine. "I'm pretty sure she broke every book rule with that one. There are folded corners and highlighted lines. There's doodles in the margins and double underlined words." His smile widens as his memories play out in front of him.

It has this sense of broken joy falling across my chest. It's the same one I get each and every time a memory of my mom flutters in front of me. This overwhelming feeling of joy lined in the heart wrenching reality of what's gone. My hand tightens in his, that pull that keeps us tethered to one another squeezes as his smile slowly fades.

"When the world around me gets a little too loud," he continues, "I like to open up her book and get lost in what I can only assume must have been her escape. So, you're not alone in wanting to leave reality, Kenze. If even for a moment."

The erratic beat in my chest finds a steady rhythm as his thumb runs along the back of my hand. I've never felt so at peace with everything that's tangled up inside me.

"That's really beautiful, Cam."

He doesn't say anything, the busyness of the quad like a distant buzz. I don't think words are actually necessary in a moment like this, in a world where our pasts stand dancing in the torturous path of loss.

There's a side to Cam I'm just beginning to know. Through all of the years we've spent lingering within the same walk of life but so very distant, I think I've lost sight of who lies beneath it all. Of the boy with a tender heart. One that beats just as soft as mine, despite the tough exterior we coat it in.

"Do you ever..." I begin, the words caught in my throat. There's pain and wonder and fear and this aching feeling to scream at the top of my lungs and yet nothing comes out. It never comes out.

"Do I ever what, Kenze?" he questions, the fall of his voice and the intent of his eyes along everything all fuzzy.

The question is on the tip of my tongue. The endless waves of grief that come and go like the crashing waves. One day everything is moving on as it should and others I'm tumbling beneath the weight of the sea. And then there's times like right now, when the damaged corridors of my heart see the light of refuge.

I part my lips, feeling the warmth of his hand and the comfort of familiarity. I'm about to piece together the end of that question when someone yells across the yard...

"Camden!" they shout, and he's quickly pulling his eyes from mine. "Coach is wondering where you are. You better get your ass in here before he realizes why you've missed the whole last circuit."

"Yeah," he yells back. "Be right there." His eyes fall back to mine, that same tender gaze waiting for me to finish my question.

"You better go," I say instead. It's better this way, keeping things tucked safely away.

He lingers, searching for answers I can't seem to give. "Yeah," he says while he still seems to hold on for the words I won't be setting free. "I'll um, I'll see you at lunch?"

"Yeah," I answer before letting his hand fall from mine. "See you at lunch."