The Pages Within [BxB]

Party

The house is packed. Music pulses through the walls so hard, it feels like my entire body's vibrating with it. There's people everywhere—dancing, drinking, shouting over the music just to be heard. It's the same scene I've been part of countless times before. Another team party. The same energy. The same faces. But tonight? Tonight feels different.

I'm standing with the guys, holding a red cup of beer I don't even want, nodding at their jokes like I'm part of the conversation. But I'm not really here. Mentally, I'm somewhere else. Everything feels off. Too loud. Too crowded. Too much.

I glance across the room, and there's Ava. She's laughing with a group of her friends, but I know she's been watching me. She knows something's up. I've been slipping lately, and it's getting harder to hide. Not just from her, but from everyone. The team, the coaches, and worst of all—from myself.

And then, I see him.

Jason.

He's leaning against the far wall, half-hidden in shadow, a beer bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. He looks like he doesn't belong here—because, in a way, he doesn't. Jason's not the kind of guy who shows up to these parties. He's quiet, always keeping to himself. The guy who sketches under a tree while the rest of us toss a football around or rush from one event to the next.

But tonight, for some reason, Jason is here.

The second I spot him, my heart skips a beat. I wasn't expecting to see him, and now that he's here, I can't look away.

Jason's wearing an oversized black sweater that's way too big for him, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing his wrists. His hair's a bit messy, strands falling into his eyes, catching the dim light in the room. There's something almost... ethereal about the way he looks, like he's stepped out of a painting, or like he doesn't quite fit in this world. He has this quiet presence, this gravity that pulls you in even though he's doing nothing to attract attention.

He doesn't talk to anyone. He's just... there, standing on the outskirts of the party, not quite part of it but somehow commanding the room in his own quiet way. It's like he's in his own world, and that's what makes him stand out. He's a still figure in a sea of chaos, a living sketch—precise, detailed, yet distant.

I wonder if he's noticed me. If he can feel how hard I'm staring. But Jason's gaze is drifting lazily through the crowd, like he's not really seeing anyone. Then he lifts his bottle to his lips, and I find myself watching the way his mouth moves, the slow, deliberate motion. My chest tightens, and that pull is back. It's stronger than ever, and no matter how hard I try, I can't ignore it.

I don't know how long I stand there, frozen, before his eyes finally land on mine. And then, just like that, the world seems to shrink until it's just the two of us. The noise, the crowd, the entire party—it all fades into the background.

I should look away. I should break this moment before it turns into something I can't control, but I can't. I'm rooted to the spot, caught in the weight of his gaze. There's something unspoken between us, something heavy, something real, but I don't know what it is. And I sure as hell don't know how to handle it.

Jason doesn't smile. Doesn't nod. Doesn't acknowledge me at all. He just... looks. His expression is calm, unreadable, but his eyes—they're intense. Like he's seeing everything I've been trying to bury. Like he's asking me a question without saying a word. Like he's waiting for me to do something.

My heart's pounding so loud in my ears, I can barely hear the music anymore. I take a breath, trying to steady myself, but it's no use. The air between us feels electric, charged with something I can't name.

I should walk away. I need to walk away.

But I don't.

Instead, I take a step toward him, drawn in by something I don't understand. It's like I'm moving on instinct, like my body's decided for me. Jason's eyes stay locked on mine, calm and steady, waiting. Waiting for what, I have no idea. But there's something in the way he looks at me—like he knows. Like he sees through all the bullshit, right down to the things I can't even admit to myself.

I'm only a few feet away from him now. Close enough to notice the soft rise and fall of his chest, to catch the faint woodsy scent of his cologne. There's a tension in the air, thick enough to choke on. It feels like we're standing on the edge of something, something I'm not sure I'm ready for.

And then Jason speaks.

"You're staring."

His voice is low, almost drowned out by the music, but it cuts through the noise like a knife. I blink, caught off guard. I open my mouth to respond, to say something—anything—but the words stick in my throat.

"I didn't—" I start, but the rest of the sentence dies on my lips.

Jason doesn't seem surprised. He just keeps looking at me, his expression unchanged, like he already knows. Like he's been waiting for me to figure it out. There's a subtle shift in the way he tilts his head, and suddenly the space between us feels too small, too dangerous.

My mind is screaming at me to turn around, to get out of here before I cross a line I can't come back from. But there's another part of me that's curious. A part of me that wonders what would happen if I didn't turn back. What if I leaned into this? What if I stopped pretending?

But I can't. Not here. Not now.

"I've gotta go," I mumble, my voice tight, barely audible. Without waiting for a response, I turn and push my way through the crowd, my heart racing. I don't look back. I can't. If I do, I'm afraid I won't be able to leave.

I stumble outside, the cool night air slapping me in the face. It should feel refreshing, like a relief after the suffocating heat inside, but it doesn't. My mind is spinning, and I can't make sense of what just happened. Why couldn't I say anything? Why did I freeze like that?

Across the lawn, I see Ava, still talking with her friends, completely unaware of what just went down. Guilt hits me like a punch to the gut. She's here, she's with me, and she deserves better than the mess I've become. She deserves someone who isn't completely fucked up in the head.

Jason.

I can still feel the weight of his gaze on me, like he was peeling back layers I didn't even know I had. There was something about the way he looked at me—something that felt like more than just curiosity.

It felt like truth.

I lean against the side of the house, trying to catch my breath. My hands are shaking, my chest tight with the pressure of everything I've been trying to ignore. I don't know what to do with this—these feelings, this pull toward Jason that makes no fucking sense.

I'm losing control.

Because for the first time, I'm starting to realize that whatever this is? It's real. It's not going away.

And I don't know how to deal with that.

The next day, the party feels like a blur, a fever dream I can't shake. The tension with Jason, the intensity of that moment, it's all still swirling around in my head.

I sit in class, staring blankly at the professor's lecture, but I'm not really listening. My mind's back at the party. Back to Jason. I don't know why he was there. It didn't make sense. He never shows up to these kinds of things.

Maybe that's why it's messing with me so much. He's always so separate from the crowd, like he's got his own world that he doesn't let anyone into. And yet, last night, he was there, at the same party as me.

Why?

The thought haunts me all day. After class, I bump into one of the guys from the team, Ryan, in the hallway. He's talking about the party, about how wild it got after I left, and casually mentions that Jason's in the same art class as his girlfriend, Emily.

"Yeah, she said he doesn't really go out much, but her friends dragged him along," Ryan says, laughing. "You know how those art kids are—always so serious. Maybe they wanted him to lighten up or something."

I nod, pretending to listen, but my mind's spinning. That's why he was there? Because someone dragged him along? It doesn't fit. Jason's the kind of guy who doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do. So why did he come?

The question sticks with me, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. I don't know if I'll ever get an answer.

But one thing's clear—Jason's presence wasn't an accident. He was there for a reason.

And whatever that reason is, I'm not sure I'm ready to face it.