Boy Trouble GT

Chapter 29

[KYE]

The dorm felt smaller today, like the walls had crept closer overnight, pressing in on him from all sides. The air was thick, heavy with something unspoken, something he didn't have the energy to name.

Kye stayed in his room.

Not because he wanted to, necessarily, but because the idea of moving felt impossible. Every part of him was weighed down, his limbs sluggish, his thoughts sluggish, his entire existence wrapped in a haze of not wanting to deal with anything.

He had barely left his bed since waking up—if he could even call it waking up, since he hadn't really slept to begin with.

His body felt stuck, like he had been dropped into wet cement and left there, sinking, unable to claw his way out.

Depression wasn't new to him.

It came and went like a tide, rolling in without warning, pulling him under, keeping him just below the surface. Sometimes it lasted hours, sometimes days.

Sometimes weeks.

Today was one of those days.

He lay on his side, eyes locked onto the same stupid cracks in the ceiling he had memorized a hundred times before, his fingers curled loosely in the fabric of his hoodie sleeves.

His body was cold despite the layers. He had always run cold, but today it was worse—like his blood had slowed, like his body had forgotten how to generate warmth.

He could feel everything and nothing at the same time.

And he felt bad.

For yesterday. For pushing Mason away when all he had wanted was to spend time with him. For refusing to go out, for snapping, for making Mason storm off the way he did.

For ruining everything.

Kye squeezed his eyes shut.

He hadn't meant to be like this.

Hadn't meant to make Mason feel like he wasn't worth his time, because that wasn't true.

If anything, Mason was the only person Kye wanted to spend time with.

But Mason didn't understand what it was like—to wake up and feel like even breathing took effort, like leaving the dorm was a battle he wasn't equipped to fight.

And Kye had no idea how to explain that.

So he just didn't.

Instead, he stayed curled up in bed, hoodie pulled over his head, waiting for the feeling to pass, waiting for his body to remember how to move again.

But then—

From the other side of his closed door, Kye heard it.The sound of Mason moving around in the dorm. Cabinet doors opening, the clatter of dishes, the rustling of bags. The occasional muttered curse when something definitely spilled.

Kye felt it in his chest, that familiar, stupid ache.
Mason was still there. Still existing, still moving, still full of life, while Kye was just stuck in this fucking bed, useless, too weighed down by his own bullshit to even step outside his room.

He wanted to move. Wanted to get up, wanted to step into the living space, wanted to find Mason and tell him—something. That he was sorry, that he didn't mean to be like this, that he wanted to go out with him yesterday but just... couldn't.

But his body still wouldn't move.
So he stayed.
Silent.

Trapped in his own head. And the dorm—small as it already was—felt even smaller.

Kye couldn't stop replaying it.

Mason, standing over him, frustrated, arms crossed, green eyes alive with energy, so full of motion while Kye lay there, still, heavy, weighted down by something he couldn't even explain.

It had been such a small moment, just another exchange between them, another instance of Mason trying to drag him into the world. But it stuck to Kye like tar, thick and clinging, filling his mind with endless repetitions of Mason's voice, Mason's movements, Mason's persistence.

"Come on. You haven't moved in hours."

Kye could still feel it—the way Mason had nudged at him, a light, easy push against his socked foot, something that should have been playful, meaningless.

But it hadn't been meaningless to him.

It had been a crack in the wall, a reminder.

Kye had stayed still. He had stayed quiet, pretended he was too tired to argue, too uninterested to entertain whatever adventure Mason had been trying to pull him into. But the reality was worse.

He hadn't wanted to move.

Because moving meant being seen.

Because going outside meant existing in the world in a way he wasn't sure he knew how to do anymore.

And Mason didn't get that. Mason, who thrived in open spaces, who belonged everywhere, who could walk into a crowd and fit perfectly into it—he didn't understand how suffocating that was for Kye.

Mason had tried again. Kye had felt the shift in weight on the couch, had sensed Mason stepping closer, reaching out, pressing a firm hand against his shoulder.

"Get up," Mason had insisted, voice more demanding now.

And Kye had felt it—the warmth of Mason's hand, the way his fingers curled slightly into the fabric of Kye's hoodie, tugging him into the present, trying to physically pull him out of whatever hole he was sinking into.

And then—Kye had done it. Without thinking, without meaning to be cruel, he had lifted his own hand, much bigger, much stronger, and placed it against Mason's chest.

And he had pushed him away.

Easily.
Effortlessly.
Like Mason had been nothing.
And the worst part?
Mason had stumbled.

Kye hadn't meant to use that much force, but it hadn't taken much.

Mason was small, compact, human-sized. Kye was not. And all it had taken was a single push, a barely-there amount of effort, and Mason had stumbled backward like he weighed nothing at all.

Kye hadn't even looked at him after that. He had just pulled his hood further over his face, retreated, like always, waiting for Mason to either get mad or get bored and leave him alone.

But Mason had done neither.

Instead, there had been a long, awful silence. Then—

"Whatever. I don't care."

Kye had felt it.

Not anger, not real hatred, but something else.
Hurt.

And then Mason had turned, his face unreadable, and walked off, disappearing into his room, shutting the door behind him.

And Kye had just laid there, stomach twisting, breath uneven, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie sleeves, guilt pooling in his chest like something toxic.

He hadn't moved since.

And now, the memory played in his head on a loop, over and over and over, every detail magnified, every second stretched out until he could barely stand it.

He could still feel the weight of Mason's hand on his shoulder. Still feel the way his own hand had pushed him away.

He had done that.

He had taken the only person who had ever really stuck around and shoved him aside like nothing.

Like Mason was nothing. And that made Kye feel worse than he had in a long, long time.