Boy Trouble GT

Chapter 7

[THE NEXT MORNING]

Kye lingered in the doorway to the kitchen, his gangly frame half-hidden by the doorframe as he peeked in. Mason was standing at the counter, a mug of coffee in his hands, his dark curls slightly disheveled from sleep. The smell of the coffee filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of toast from the half-eaten piece on the table.

Kye shifted awkwardly, one hand gripping the edge of the door. His bleached hair hung limply over his face, and his gray eyes peeked out, wide and uncertain. He was dressed in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, looking even more like a kid caught sneaking cookies than a full-grown giant.

Mason glanced up, his green eyes locking onto Kye. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Kye felt the weight of Mason's gaze, heavy with equal parts concern and irritation, and his stomach churned with guilt. Finally, Kye managed a weak, sheepish smile, the corner of his lips twitching upward.

"Morning," Kye said softly, his voice hoarse from the previous night.

Mason didn't respond right away. He just raised an eyebrow and took a slow sip of his coffee, the expression on his face unreadable. Then, with a dramatic roll of his eyes, he turned back to the counter, placing his mug down with an audible thud.

"Morning," Mason replied, his tone flat.

Kye stepped into the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt like a kid being scolded, and he hated it. But he also knew he deserved it.

"Look," Kye started, his voice faltering slightly. "I, uh... I know last night was bad. Like, really bad. And I—"

"Save it," Mason interrupted, cutting him off. He turned to face Kye fully, his green eyes sharp but not unkind. "You don't need to apologize again. Just... don't let it happen again, okay?"

Kye nodded quickly, his pale face flushing slightly. "Yeah. Yeah, I won't. Promise."

Mason studied him for a moment, then sighed, his expression softening just a fraction. "Go eat something," he said, gesturing to the table. "You look like a stiff breeze could knock you over."

Kye managed a small chuckle, relieved that Mason wasn't completely furious. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Mom."

Mason smirked but didn't respond, turning back to his coffee.

[A FEW DAYS LATER]

To Mason's surprise—and mild relief—Kye actually seemed to be making an effort. He hadn't touched alcohol in days, and he'd even gone to a few classes, though he grumbled about them endlessly afterward. Mason didn't say much about it, not wanting to jinx whatever had lit a fire under his roommate, but he couldn't deny that Kye seemed... better.

One afternoon, Mason was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through his notes for an upcoming exam, when Kye emerged from his room. He was wearing an old black T-shirt, the fabric slightly faded but still intact. The front was emblazoned with a large white scorpion, its pincers extended menacingly, the design almost identical to the tattoo on Kye's rib.

Kye stood in the doorway for a moment, a grin tugging at his lips as he looked down at the shirt.

"I haven't seen this thing in ages," he said, running a hand over the fabric.

Mason looked up, his eyes immediately drawn to the shirt. He raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips. "What, did it crawl out of some deep, dark corner of your closet?"

"Pretty much," Kye replied, stepping further into the room. He spread his arms slightly, as if showing off. "You like it? It matches the tattoo."

Mason leaned back in his chair, studying the shirt for a moment before nodding. "It's... very you," he said, smirking. "All emo and edgy."

"Hey," Kye said, feigning offense. "This is vintage. Classic emo chic. You wouldn't understand."

Mason chuckled, shaking his head. "Right, because I'm not cool enough to get it."

"Exactly," Kye said, his grin widening. He plopped down in one of the giant-sized chairs, the fabric of the shirt pulling slightly against his lanky frame.

Mason watched him for a moment, noting how much more alive Kye looked. His face, though still pale, had a bit more color to it, and his eyes didn't seem as hollow as they had a few days ago. It wasn't a complete turnaround—Mason knew better than to expect that—but it was progress.

"You really do like that shirt, huh?" Mason asked, his tone softer now.

Kye shrugged, leaning back in the chair. "It's... I don't know. It just feels right, you know? Like a little piece of me that I forgot about."

Mason smiled, the warmth in Kye's voice filling him with a quiet sense of hope. "Well, I'm glad you found it. It suits you."

Kye glanced at him, his lips twitching into a faint smile. "Thanks, Mase."

And for the first time in a long time, Mason felt like they were heading in the right direction. Maybe—just maybe—they were finally getting somewhere.