Kenny didn’t move for a long time.

The tile was cold beneath him, the silence heavy except for the occasional clink of dishes downstairs and Reece's quiet voice drifting in and out of earshot. The phone lay face down beside him, Anthony’s final message echoing in his head like it had been carved into bone.

“Don’t bother explaining. I deserved better.”

He’d read it once.

Then again.

And again.

Now the words were burned behind his eyelids, playing on repeat every time he blinked.

He felt like he was choking on them.

He sat slumped against the door until the bathroom light above him started to hum and flicker, like even the world itself wanted to cave in.

When he finally stood, his legs were unsteady. His chest felt cracked open.

He splashed cold water on his face, hoping it would help.

It didn’t.

His reflection stared back—cheeks pale, eyes bloodshot, hair slicked to his forehead with sweat. Not Kenny Payne. Not even close. Just some hollow version of him. A mask held together with lies and fear.

He couldn’t look at himself anymore.

---

By the time he made it back to his room, Reece was already asleep, curled under a blanket with his earbuds in. The glow of his tablet screen flickered across his cheeks.

Kenny shut the door quietly behind him, slid to the floor again, and curled up beside his bed.

His phone buzzed.

Devon.

He ignored it.

It buzzed again.

Devon: I didn’t want to hurt you. But I wasn’t going to let you hurt him either.

Another buzz.

Devon: I warned you. You had so many chances to just be honest.

He could barely read the messages.

His vision swam.

He didn’t reply.

He couldn’t.

---

Anthony, meanwhile, had gone completely silent.

No texts. No calls.

Not even a “seen” notification.

Kenny stared at the message thread so long his eyes burned, thumb hovering over the keyboard, aching to say anything—to apologize, to scream, to beg.

But what was the point?

What could he even say that would make up for this?

He chose to lie.

He chose fear.

He chose his father’s approval, and Carissa’s hand at the dinner table, and a version of himself that wasn’t real.

He chose all of it.

And now Anthony was gone.

---

Sunday was worse.

He couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t even get out of bed until Reece tugged at his arm and said, “You promised we’d play Mario Kart today.”

Kenny blinked at him, hollow. “I’m not feeling good, Rie.”

Reece frowned. “You don’t look good.”

That stung more than it should’ve.

Reece crawled onto the bed next to him anyway and curled into his side, small fingers wrapping around Kenny’s wrist like he knew something was wrong—like he could anchor him to the present if he just held tight enough.

“I’ll tell Dad you’re sick,” Reece whispered. “So he doesn’t bother you.”

Kenny swallowed hard.

He didn’t deserve that kind of protection.

But he nodded anyway.

---

Monday was hell.

He knew the moment he stepped onto campus that things had shifted.

Devon wouldn’t even look at him. She passed him in the hallway without a word, arms folded tight to her chest, lips pressed in a thin, furious line.

Carissa waved to him near the lockers. He waved back automatically, but it felt wrong. Stiff. Performative.

Like everything else.

Worse was the silence.

Anthony was nowhere.

No morning text.

No stolen glances across the quad.

No warmth in the air where Kenny used to feel him, like gravity pulling him close.

It was just… empty.

Like Anthony had been erased from his life completely.

---

He finally saw him at lunch.

Anthony sat across the courtyard, headphones in, eyes on his tray like the world didn’t exist. Devon sat beside him, tense, arms folded. Miguel was nearby as well as Sam. Even Hawk. All of them a few tables over, laughter low and infrequent. Every so often, someone would glance Kenny’s way.

But not Anthony.

Not once.

Kenny stood frozen in the doorway to the cafeteria, tray in his hands, heart in his throat.

He wanted to walk over. To fall to his knees and say please.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

So he sat with Carissa.

Smiled when she smiled.

Laughed at the right moments.

Held her hand under the table when she reached for him.

And tried not to throw up.

---

That night, he opened Anthony’s chat again.

Stared at the last message.

“I deserved better.”

He typed.

I’m sorry.

Then deleted it.

He typed again.

I never wanted to hurt you. I swear I didn’t.

Deleted.

He tried again.

I miss you. Every second. Please talk to me.

Deleted.

Eventually, he just shut the app and tossed his phone across the room.

---

Tuesday was worse.

Someone must’ve found out.

He didn’t know who.

Didn’t know how.

But he heard the whispers.

In the hallway.

By the lockers.

“Isn’t that the Payne kid? Thought he was with that cheerleader.”

“Someone said he was seeing Lawrence, too.”

“No way. His dad would kill him.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe that’s why it’s such a mess.”

He clenched his fists and kept walking.

His stomach twisted like it wanted to crawl out of his body.

---

By Thursday, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He found Devon after school, waiting for the bus.

“Why’d you do it?” he asked quietly.

She turned, surprised, then narrowed her eyes. “You mean why did I tell the truth?”

“Why now?” His voice cracked. “Why not let me fix it?”

She looked at him like she didn’t even recognize him anymore.

“Because you weren’t fixing it, Kenny. You were stringing him along. Making him feel crazy. Letting him think I was the one stirring things up while you lied to his face.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

She shook her head. “He loved you. He was in love with you. And you made him feel like he was just… paranoid.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” she snapped, voice sharp. “You meant to protect yourself. And I get it, okay? I do. But not at his expense. Not like this.”

Her words hit like a slap.

She turned away without another word.

---

That night, Kenny sat on the floor of his room again, phone in hand, thumb hovering over Anthony’s contact.

He dialed.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Then voicemail.

He didn’t leave a message.

Just sat there, breathing too hard, too loud, like he could hyperventilate the truth out of himself.

He didn’t know how to fix this.

He didn’t even know who he was anymore.

---

Downstairs, his dad called up, voice sharp:

“Kenny! Phone off. Time to focus on your future—not texting some girl all night.”

Kenny squeezed his eyes shut.

Because if only his dad knew—

It wasn’t a girl at all.

It never had been.

And now?

Now it might be too late to make any of it right.