Beneath the polaroid [BXB]

BENEATH THE POLAROID - 12 | Not by a long shot

THE FINAL BELL RANG, and the clamor of students rushing to leave filled the hallways like a distant storm, but James remained in his seat, staring at the empty desk before him. The teacher had dismissed them five minutes ago, and still, James couldn't move. His mind lingered on the earlier confrontation, on Markus' sneer and the way the punches had rained down without mercy. His jaw still throbbed, his ribs felt bruised, but that wasn't what kept him frozen in place. It was the weight of everything—the stares, the whispers, the way he felt like a ghost in the walls of Elmwood High.

But it wasn't the end of his day. Not yet.

James slowly stood, gathering his things, his Polaroid camera carefully tucked beneath his jacket. He wasn't ready to go home. Not yet. There was something else pulling at him, something darker and more consuming. William.

His footsteps echoed in the now-empty halls as he made his way toward the gym. He'd memorized the basketball team's schedule by now, and he knew they'd be practicing. He wasn't sure why he was drawn there. Maybe it was the thrill of seeing William again, or maybe it was something deeper—a need to feed the growing obsession that had taken root inside him like a parasite.

The doors to the gym were slightly ajar, and James slipped inside, moving quietly, careful not to draw attention. The smell of sweat and rubber filled the air, mixing with the rhythmic thump of basketballs hitting the court. The gym was dimly lit, the only real light coming from the court itself, casting long, distorted shadows on the bleachers. He found a seat in the farthest corner, where the shadows swallowed him whole, and he could watch unnoticed.

There, on the court, was William.

James' heart quickened the moment he saw him. William's body moved with a grace that seemed out of place for someone so strong, so rough around the edges. He watched as William dribbled the ball with ease, his blonde hair tousled and damp with sweat. His muscles rippled beneath the fabric of his jersey, his face locked in concentration as he darted past defenders, sinking a perfect shot into the hoop.

James couldn't help but lift his camera, his fingers shaking slightly as he framed the shot. He snapped the photo—click—the sound so quiet it was drowned out by the shouts of the team. But it wasn't just one shot. He kept going, capturing every moment, every movement, as if each photo could bring him closer to understanding the enigma that was William Carlisle.

It wasn't about his athletic prowess. It wasn't about the way his body moved, although that was part of it. It was something deeper, something more raw, more vulnerable. There was a moment, just after William made a shot, when he stood still, the ball bouncing away as the other players moved around him. He glanced toward the bleachers, a fleeting, barely noticeable moment, but James saw it. William's eyes scanned the gym like he was searching for something, or someone, and for a second, they locked onto James.

James felt his breath catch in his throat.

It was just a moment, just a brief connection, but in that second, everything changed. William's eyes met his, and there was something there, something behind the surface of his cold blue stare. Vulnerability. Fear. Maybe even a flicker of something unspoken, a crack in the armor that William wore so carefully in front of everyone else.

James didn't look away. He couldn't. The camera remained in his hands, poised to capture that look, that fleeting moment of humanity, but he hesitated. He didn't press the shutter. His hands, which had been steady until now, trembled slightly as he lowered the camera. It wasn't the right time. Not yet. He needed more. He needed to know William, to see him in all his brokenness, to understand the pain he hid behind those eyes.

William blinked, and the moment was gone. His face hardened, the mask slipping back into place as one of his teammates shouted his name, tossing him the ball. He caught it without thinking, turning back to the game as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just locked eyes with the boy sitting in the shadows, taking pictures like a ghost in the night.

But for James, everything had shifted. That single glance had set something on fire inside him, something dangerous and all-consuming. His obsession had deepened, twisting into something darker. He knew now, with a kind of clarity that scared him, that he would do anything to capture that vulnerability again. He would chase it, hunt it, until he had it pinned down and preserved in his photographs, where it couldn't escape him.

The game continued, the players running up and down the court, their shouts and laughter filling the gym, but James didn't hear any of it. He was lost in the image of William, in the memory of their eyes meeting. He watched every move William made, every dribble, every jump shot, as if each one could tell him more about who William really was.

But the game had to end eventually. The coach blew his whistle, signaling the end of practice, and the boys slowly began to disperse, some heading toward the locker rooms, others lingering to talk and joke around. William stayed on the court, shooting a few more baskets, lost in his own world. James' fingers twitched on the camera, aching to capture this quiet moment, but he didn't. He couldn't. Not yet.

He waited until William finally left the court, grabbing his gym bag and heading toward the locker rooms, before he moved. He slung his Polaroid over his shoulder and stood, his legs stiff from sitting so long. His head was still buzzing with everything he'd seen, everything he'd felt. He needed to leave before someone noticed him. He didn't want another confrontation. Not today.

James slipped out of the gym, moving quickly and quietly down the darkening halls, his heartbeat still unsteady in his chest. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between him and William. Even though they hadn't spoken, even though William hadn't acknowledged him beyond that single glance, James felt like he had seen something real, something raw.

The cold evening air hit him as he stepped outside, the sky already darkening into twilight. He walked to his car with his head down, the weight of the day pressing down on him. But there was a strange kind of excitement bubbling beneath his exhaustion, a thrill that he couldn't quite explain. William had noticed him. Maybe not fully, maybe not consciously, but he had seen him. And that was enough.

For now.

James slid into the driver's seat of his car, his hands shaking slightly as he gripped the steering wheel. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him, but it was no use. The image of William, standing alone on the court, his eyes locked on James, was burned into his mind. It would never leave him.

As he started the engine and drove away, his thoughts raced ahead, spinning with possibilities, with plans. He didn't know where this obsession would lead him, but he knew one thing for certain—he wasn't done with William Carlisle. Not by a long shot.