Beneath the polaroid [BXB]

BENEATH THE POLAROID - 08 | A confusing, tangled mess

JAMES SAT IN THE far corner of the gym bleachers, his back pressed against the cold steel bars, and his legs stretched out in front of him, almost like a shadow slipping between the cracks of the gym's loud existence. It was his first day sitting out during P.E., a small victory he earned through a hastily scribbled doctor's note his mother had agreed to sign. Faking some injury or illness felt like the only escape from the humiliation of having to participate. James was thankful for the distance, thankful to be nothing more than a quiet observer, invisible to the sea of noise and sweat that filled the gym.

The gym echoed with the cacophony of bouncing basketballs, sneakers squeaking against polished wood, and the breathy grunts of boys shoving against each other in a relentless pursuit of points and pride. The chaos should have overwhelmed him, should have made him retreat deeper into himself, but instead, James found a strange calmness in the disarray.

His Polaroid camera rested in his lap, his fingers grazing the familiar ridges of its frame. He felt safer with it—like it gave him a purpose, something to hold onto, something that could frame the world in a way that made sense. The lens of his camera was where his obsession breathed, a space between reality and his vision of it. The perfect filter for the things he didn't quite understand.

And right now, that thing was William Carlisle.

Across the gym, on the far side of the court, William ran drills with the basketball team. The boys moved as one, their bodies fluid and rhythmic, but none of them commanded the space like William did. He seemed to glide across the court, muscles coiled and precise, each movement calculated but effortless. Sweat dripped down the side of his neck, catching the light in a way that made his skin gleam, like some statue brought to life. Even from this distance, James could see the intensity in his eyes—those mismatched irises, one green and the other a startling silver, almost glowing under the gym lights.

James' heart thudded in his chest, the rhythm out of sync with the pounding basketballs, but louder, more erratic. It was strange how the blond captivated him, like a magnet pulling him in, over and over. He couldn't look away, couldn't resist the urge to capture him through the only lens that gave him control.

James lifted the camera, peering through the viewfinder. His fingers hovered over the shutter, trembling slightly. He framed William in the shot—the curve of his neck, the sharpness of his jaw, the way his muscles tensed as he dribbled the ball with ease. And then he snapped the photo.

The satisfying click of the camera was barely audible over the noise of the gym, but to James, it felt deafening. A moment suspended in time. He watched as the photograph slid out of the camera, the colors slowly developing. His breath caught in his throat. There it was—William, frozen in motion, captured in a perfect frame of aesthetic beauty.

James took another. And then another.

Each time, he tried to catch a different angle, a new slant of light, something that made William seem just a little more real, yet still unreachable. He couldn't explain the pull he felt—the way his chest tightened with every snapshot, the way his fingers itched to take more, as if the images themselves weren't enough. As if no photograph could ever truly capture the essence of William Carlisle.

And it wasn't just William's physical beauty that drew him in. No, it was something deeper, something far more dangerous. It was the way William never quite smiled but always looked like he could. The way his presence commanded attention without asking for it. The way he didn't have to speak to make people listen. And most of all, the way he stood by, watching, as if he belonged to a world just out of reach.

James knew what it was now. This wasn't just obsession—this was a crush.

The realization hit him like a wave, sudden and overwhelming. His throat tightened, and his heart hammered in his chest with a new kind of urgency. His gaze dropped from the camera, eyes flickering back toward William's form as he played. He felt a flush crawl up his neck, a heat that pooled in his stomach and spread outward, making him feel vulnerable in a way he hadn't expected.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He'd only meant to observe, to capture, to collect these fleeting moments of beauty in a way that kept him safely at a distance. But somehow, without realizing it, he'd crossed a line.

And now, all he could think about was William Carlisle.

James swallowed hard, forcing himself to take slow, steady breaths. He tried to focus on the gym around him, on the other boys playing, on the noise that echoed off the walls, but it all blurred into the background again, dull and lifeless compared to the magnetic pull of William on the court.

The whistle blew, signaling the end of practice. James snapped his camera shut, hastily tucking it into his bag. He watched as the boys started to gather their things, high-fiving each other and laughing, their voices echoing across the emptying gym. William, as usual, remained on the outskirts of the group, his face impassive as he wiped sweat from his brow. The sight of it—the casualness of it, the indifference—made James' stomach twist in knots.

He had to leave. Now.

James stood, his legs shaky as he slung his bag over his shoulder and quickly made his way down the bleachers. His gaze darted nervously toward the gym doors, scanning for any sign of Marcus or Trent. He hadn't forgotten the earlier confrontation, and he knew the boys were still looking for a reason to finish what they'd started. If he could just get out of here, get to his car, he could avoid them.

But as he neared the exit, his breath caught in his throat. There they were—Marcus, Trent, and Kyle—huddled by the door, laughing and shoving each other around. James froze, panic rising in his chest like a wildfire. He couldn't go through the front doors now; they'd see him for sure. His mind raced, eyes scanning the gym for another way out.

He spotted a side exit near the bleachers, half-hidden behind a stack of gym mats. Without thinking, he ducked toward it, keeping his head low as he slipped through the door and into the hallway beyond. His heart pounded in his ears, the sound almost deafening in the sudden quiet of the empty hall.

James hurried toward the parking lot, his footsteps quick and silent as he made his way to his mother's car. His hands were shaking as he fumbled for the keys, finally managing to unlock the door and slip inside. He slammed the door shut, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he shoved the key into the ignition and turned it.

The engine roared to life, and James let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He glanced around the parking lot, half-expecting to see the boys running after him, but it was empty. For now.

He didn't waste any more time. Pulling out of the parking lot, James drove away from the school as fast as he could, his heart still pounding in his chest, his mind racing with the events of the day. The confrontation, the photographs, the realization of his crush—it all swirled together in a confusing, tangled mess.

But one thing was clear: William Carlisle had become something more than just a fleeting obsession.

And that terrified him more than anything.