"Charles, wait up!" Jamlick called out, his voice echoing through the hallway.
The boy he addressed didn't stop right away. They had been spending time together—secretly, of course—and though Jamlick was learning a lot from Robert and his strange new world, it still felt odd calling him that. To Jamlick, he was still Charles.
Robert slowed, glancing over his shoulder, but before Jamlick could reach him, a group of Robert's usual friends rounded the corner and closed the distance.
"What do you want, freak?" one of them snapped, his face twisted in disgust.
"Just because he helped you once doesn't mean—" Reggie began, but Robert cut him off.
"That's enough, guys."
"Charles, you…" Reggie's eyes narrowed. "You're seriously siding with him?"
"I'm tired," Robert said, his voice steady. "Not anymore."
His friends stared at him in disbelief.
"You feel sorry for this loser? Are you okay?" another boy asked, stepping toward Jamlick with open hostility. It was clear they felt betrayed—one of their own was choosing someone like Jamlick over them.
"No one is allowed to touch him," Robert said firmly, stepping between them. "He's my—"
Laughter exploded from the group before he could finish the sentence, cruel and mocking, drowning out his words.
Jamlick stood still, heart pounding. For a second, he thought Robert might take it back—but Robert didn't flinch.
In that moment, despite the laughter and tension in the air, Jamlick felt something he hadn't in a long time—hope.
Without another word, Robert reached for Jamlick's hand and took it in his own. The hallway fell into stunned silence, broken only by a few scattered gasps.
He didn't look back.
Together, they walked away, their footsteps echoing behind them like a quiet rebellion.
Robert meant what he said—he truly wanted to make amends. And this time, he wasn't just saying it. He was showing it.
---
Robert sat on the roof top thoughts and feelings wild,
"It's like I'm walking through fog, but only behind my eyes. Like something's pulling at me—not hard, just enough to notice. Like a thread tied to my ribs, tugging me somewhere I can't name.
The world around me… it feels fake sometimes. Like I'm inside a story that's already been told, and everyone's just repeating lines. Even my own voice feels like an echo lately, like I'm saying things I already said in a dream.
I don't think I'm lost. Not really. It's more like I'm standing at the edge of something unfinished. Not a cliff. Just… a pause. A comma.
And every time my heart beats, it's asking a question I don't know how to answer."