Free Fall

: Chapter 3 : He's my table mate in Physics.

Chapter Three: Study At Least Three Hours

"You're like quantum physics—something I'm never going to fully figure out."

Content warning: internalized queerness, awkward parental interaction, queer questioning, hints of romantic tension.

✦✦✦

"That looks like a sketch," Christian remarks, standing beside me at my locker. I hadn't noticed the sketchbook lying open inside, a mess of 2 a.m. lines and graphite spirals—evidence of something I never intended to show.

Startled, I slam the locker shut a little too fast.

"Your secret's safe," he adds with a smirk, adjusting his messenger bag as he props a foot against the opposite locker like he's stepped off the set of an indie YA movie. Behind him, a pair of drama kids float past, laughing and wrapped in their own world. He doesn't notice. Or maybe he doesn't care. His eyes are still on me.

He's always watching without pushing. Like he's reading me. Noticing too much.

"We should get to class," I mutter, brushing past both the comment and the sudden heat crawling up my neck.

"Wouldn't blame Olsten. I don't know any teacher that likes late kids," Christian says, catching up beside me. There's something easy about the way he moves. Like he knows exactly where he's going.

Then, casually: "Can we hang out later?"

Hang out. Not study. Not physics. Just—hang out.

I hesitate for a beat too long.

"Yeah," I manage to say. It comes out small.

Was I attracted to him? I didn't know. Maybe. Probably. Scientists say attraction is just neurons misfiring. A soup of chemicals and subconscious cues. But that explanation didn't account for how my chest buzzed when he stood this close, how I couldn't breathe right.

We fall into silence as we reach the door, and when he looks over at me again, his grin softens.

"You're not gonna flake, right?" he teases.

"Do I look like someone who flakes?"

He looks me up and down, then shrugs dramatically. "You look like someone who overthinks literally everything."

He's not wrong.

✦✦✦

In class, Christian leans over. "Bring your Physics book. We'll do some studying together."

I raise an eyebrow.

"We're partners," he shrugs. "Shouldn't be awkward."

It is.

Olsten begins a rambling lecture about velocity and friction, and I try to copy down his notes. Christian's handwriting is neater than mine. Focused. He's underlining and starring things like someone who actually cares. Meanwhile, my notes are indecipherable Latin scribbles. I keep stealing glances.

At one point, he catches me staring.

"You okay, Hemsworth?"

"Fine. Just confused about... velocity."

He smirks. "You'll get it. Think about it like momentum. You're already moving—just keep going."

He doesn't mean it metaphorically, but I feel it like he does.

✦✦✦

Art class is a wash. Simon's still working on his zebra canvas, layering pink, yellow, and blue with meticulous care. His strokes are fluid, intentional, unapologetically bold.