Beneath the polaroid [BXB]

BENEATH THE POLAROID - 17 | Back to reality

THE AIR IN THE locker room was thick with the scent of sweat and worn leather, a familiar smell that James had come to associate with gym class. The cold, metallic clang of lockers being opened and closed echoed through the empty space as he shuffled to his assigned area. His hands trembled, still sore from gripping his camera so tightly earlier in the day, but it wasn't the pain in his fingers that made his chest tight with anxiety.

It was him.

William Carlisle.

James had known the moment he stepped into the locker room that this moment would come—just not like this. Not alone. The room was empty except for the two of them, and the absence of the usual chaos made the silence more deafening. Each footstep James took seemed too loud, every shuffle of fabric as he reached for his gym clothes felt like it reverberated off the tiled walls.

He glanced sideways, heart hammering in his chest. William was only a few lockers down, his head bent as he unbuttoned his shirt with practiced ease. His broad shoulders moved fluidly, his muscles taut beneath his skin. James had spent the last few weeks perfecting the art of watching William without getting caught. In the hallways, during practice, at parties—his camera often serving as the perfect excuse to admire him without question. But here, in the locker room, there was no lens to hide behind.

William peeled off his shirt, revealing his torso, and James felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He couldn't look away. Every line of William's body was carved like it had been sculpted by some ancient artist. The pale skin of his chest contrasted sharply with the golden brownish waves of his hair, the strands falling messily across his forehead. For a moment, James forgot where he was. All that existed was William, his body illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights overhead, casting soft shadows over his abs, the ridges of his ribs, the faint curve of his collarbone.

It felt like a dream. A forbidden, intoxicating dream.

James swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears, the way it thudded against his ribcage, erratic and desperate. His palms were slick with sweat as he fumbled with his own shirt, trying to pull it over his head without tearing his gaze away from William. His hands shook violently, and his shirt caught awkwardly on his arm. Panic surged through him—if William turned around now, if he saw him staring, saw the hunger in his eyes—

A surge of heat shot through James' body, pooling in his gut, making his skin prickle with shame. He was being so obvious, so pathetic, standing there slack-jawed and ogling the boy like he was some kind of art exhibit. But he couldn't stop. His eyes traced the lines of William's abdomen, the dip of his waist.. everything.

Get a grip, James, he told himself. You're acting like a freak. He could feel the heat rising up his neck, burning his cheeks, making his entire body feel like it was on fire. With trembling hands, he tried to focus on getting dressed, quickly pulling his shirt over his head and fumbling with his pants. He turned his back to William, desperate to tear his gaze away, but the image of him was burned into his mind.

He could still see William's lean, athletic form every time he blinked, could feel the tension building in his chest as the intensity of his desire coiled tighter and tighter. It was overwhelming, suffocating. James felt like he couldn't breathe, the weight of his obsession pressing down on him, making it hard to think, hard to move.

Why was this happening? Why did it have to be him?

His fingers slipped as he tried to tie the drawstring of his gym shorts, and the knot came loose. "Darn it," James muttered under his breath, his voice shaking. His face felt impossibly red, his hands too clumsy, too flustered. He could feel the heat of William's presence behind him, like gravity pulling him in, even though William hadn't said a word. He hadn't even looked his way—at least, not that James had noticed.

He risked one last glance over his shoulder, unable to help himself. William was reaching into his locker, grabbing his things as if nothing in the world bothered him. He was calm, collected—everything James wasn't. His movements were fluid, effortless, as if he had done this a million times before. James could hardly believe he was in the same room as someone so untouchable, so perfectly out of reach.

And yet, just as William turned to leave, James saw it.

The slightest hint of a smirk.

It wasn't much—barely more than a ghost of a smile, a small upturn at the corner of William's mouth. But it was there, and it hit James like a punch to the gut. His breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat as a thousand thoughts raced through his mind all at once. Had William noticed? Had he seen James staring? The idea sent a rush of panic through him, but also something else, something darker and more twisted. A thrill.

Did William know what he was doing to him?

The question lingered in James' mind, consuming him, as he watched William stride toward the door, his back straight, his posture relaxed. James stood frozen in place, his body betraying him. He couldn't move, couldn't think. His heart was pounding so loudly that it drowned out the sound of the locker room door closing behind William.

For a long moment, James just stood there, staring at the space where William had been. His entire body buzzed with conflicting emotions—shame, desire, anger at himself for being so weak, so stupid. He clenched his fists at his sides, digging his nails into his palms until the pain brought him back to reality.

It didn't matter. William was already gone, and James was left standing there, alone in the locker room, the weight of his obsession pressing down on him like a vice. He quickly pulled on the rest of his gym clothes, his hands still shaking as he tried to steady his breath. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, but at the center of it all, there was one constant: William. Always William.

As James stepped out of the locker room and into the gym, his heart still racing, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. Something unspoken, something dangerous. He wasn't sure what it was, but the look on William's face—the slight, smug smile that he couldn't quite place—made his stomach churn with a strange mix of excitement and dread.

James knew, deep down, that this obsession was spiraling out of control. But he couldn't stop. Not now. Not when he had seen that smile, that knowing look in William's eyes.

It was like a spark had been lit inside him, and now there was no turning back.

As the gym doors swung shut behind him, James took a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding in his chest. He was going to get through the rest of the day, he told himself. He had to. But as he made his way to the gymnasium, the image of William's smirk burned into his mind, he couldn't help but wonder how much longer he could keep pretending that this wasn't tearing him apart from the inside out.