Boy Trouble GT

Chapter 32

[KYE]

The dorm felt wrong.

Not in any obvious way—nothing was out of place, nothing had changed physically, but it was like the air had shifted, like something had left and taken all the warmth with it.

The heater barely worked, and the cold had settled deep into the walls, creeping across the floor, slipping under the edges of the couch, seeping into his skin no matter how much he curled into himself. He could feel the icy draft brushing over his ankles, slipping under the hem of his hoodie, coiling up his spine.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

The only sound was the soft hum of the television in the background, the muffled voices of actors going through their scripted lives, completely unaware of the tension pressing against the walls of this room.

Mason was there. Sitting just across from him, but it didn't feel like he was there at all.

Kye hadn't noticed it at first—not really. But then the cold nights came, the dorm turning freezing, and instead of curling up against Kye like he used to, Mason had gotten up without a word and grabbed a pile of blankets instead.

He had come back to the couch, swaddled in them, small and bundled up, tucking himself into the corner as if Kye wasn't even there.

And it had been like a knife to the ribs.

Wrapped in layers upon layers of blankets, so small in comparison to the couch, to the room, to Kye. A bundle of warmth that should have been against him, on him, curled up into Kye's chest, using his body as his own personal furnace.

But he wasn't.

Instead, he sat tucked into the opposite corner, legs stretched out but nowhere near Kye's own, chin slightly buried into the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His curls were slightly messy, probably from the way he had yanked the fabric over his head, trying to trap as much warmth as possible.

And Kye hated it.

Hated that Mason wasn't curling into him like before, wasn't pressing his freezing fingers against Kye's stomach, wasn't climbing under his hoodie like some tiny, smug parasite looking for heat.

He should have been in Kye's space.

But he wasn't.
And Kye knew why. Mason had pulled back. Retracted. Stopped pressing, stopped touching, stopped leaning on him. Stopped treating Kye like he was something comfortable, something safe. And it was Kye's fault. He had withdrawn first.

Had disappeared into his room for four days, had hidden behind his door, had shut Mason out. And Mason had listened.

And now?

Now Mason wasn't coming back.

Not like before.

And Kye felt it—felt the absence of his weight, felt the empty space beside him like a missing limb, felt the dull, deep ache of something wrong.

But he didn't fix it. Didn't move. Didn't reach out.

Didn't grab Mason by his ridiculous pile of blankets and pull him back where he belonged.

Because Kye was stupid. Because he didn't deserve it.

Because every time Mason had crawled into his lap, every time Mason had tucked himself under Kye's hoodie, pressing his face into Kye's ribs, fingers curling loosely into the hem of his shirt—Kye had wanted to hold him there. Had wanted to press his hands into the dip of Mason's back, wanted to keep him close, wanted to let himself believe it was okay to have this.

But he hadn't. He had sat there, stiff and useless, too scared of his own feelings to do anything about it. And now Mason was keeping his distance. Kye's hands clenched into his sleeves, curling into his own body further, trying to hold in the awful, hollow feeling inside his chest.

He Missed the weight of Mason on his chest, missed the feeling of him tugging at his hoodie to climb inside like some overgrown cat burrowing for warmth.

Missed the sound of Mason's quiet laughter, his teasing words, the way he fit so naturally into Kye's space like he was meant to be there.

Now? Now Mason sat on the other side of the couch, bundled in his ridiculous pile of blankets, watching TV without a word.
His hoodie felt too big, too empty.

Hiding his face in his hoodie, The smell of Mason was still clinging to his jumper~faint, but there. The ghost of him, the way his warmth used to seep into Kye's ribs, the weight of his tiny body pressed against him, the way he used to fit so perfectly there.

Kye hated how much he missed it.Hated the way it made his throat feel tight, like he couldn't swallow properly, like there was something stuck there, pressing, aching.

He watched Mason shift slightly, adjusting the blankets around himself, rubbing at his arms underneath them, eyes locked onto the TV but completely absent.

Kye had never wanted to touch someone so badly in his life.
Just to reach over. Just to pull Mason into his lap, hold him close, let himself have this—just for a second.

But he didn't.

Because Mason wasn't coming to him anymor. And Kye didn't know how to ask him to.

So he did nothing.

He sat there, arms wrapped around himself, hoodie too empty, stomach twisting, aching, chest filled with something too big to name.

And he told himself he deserved it.