On the Edge of Love (CarlxAlan)

Chapter 28: Alan

I didn't regret it.

That was the weird part.

All night, after Summer asked if we were together—and Carl answered, not even flinching—I kept waiting for the panic to hit. For the creeping, familiar guilt to crawl back into my stomach and take root. But it never really did. Just this low buzz in the background, like nerves before a big test. Manageable.

Because someone knew. Someone outside of us. And it didn't feel like the world was ending.

The next morning, I caught myself staring in the bathroom mirror longer than usual, trying to spot some kind of visible difference in my face. Like I'd suddenly look more obvious. Like someone would see me at school and just know.

But everything looked the same.

Same brown hair that never stayed flat. Same faded hoodie from that concert I went to with Carl last summer. Same nervous fingers that tugged the sleeves down too far. No warning sign. No confession printed on my forehead.

Still, I walked through the school doors with my stomach tight.

Carl met me at my locker, his hand brushing against mine like it meant nothing, but we both felt it. I glanced around—not paranoid, just cautious. But no one was watching. No stares. No whispers. Just first period exhaustion and students already dreaming of the weekend.

"Morning," he said.

"Hey."

We didn't talk about Summer. We didn't need to. Something had shifted between us—subtle, but important. Like we were slowly learning how to exist here, in this version of school where people might know and we weren't totally hiding, but still weren't shouting it from the rooftops.

In English, Carl sat beside me like always. Our knees touched once, briefly, and neither of us pulled away. The room was too loud for it to matter.

At lunch, it got trickier.

Elie waved us over to our usual table, but I caught her eye lingering on me a second too long. I knew that look. It wasn't judgment—it was curiosity. Elie wasn't dumb. She'd probably known for weeks, just hadn't said anything. Still, it made my skin prickle.

We sat down. I kept my expression neutral while opening my water bottle. Carl dropped into the seat beside me, thigh pressed lightly against mine. Maybe not on purpose. Maybe kind of on purpose.

The table talk was typical—someone complaining about Calc, someone else talking about the party this weekend—but I wasn't really listening. I could feel Elie's attention flick between me and Carl every so often.

Eventually, she nudged my arm with her elbow and said, "You good?"

I blinked. "Yeah. Why?"

"You're just quiet."

I shrugged. "Didn't sleep much."

She stared for another second, then let it go.

Carl saved me by launching into a story about a video his brother sent him from college, something about a raccoon climbing through someone's dorm window. Everyone cracked up. I laughed, too—because it was funny, but also because I was grateful.

Grateful that he could still pull the attention off us when I needed it.

We finished lunch without incident, and as we stood to throw away our trash, Carl leaned in close and whispered, "You're doing good."

I gave him a sidelong glance. "So are you."

That tiny smile he gave me—the one he only ever used when it was just us—made my chest ache in the best way.

We walked together to last period. The hallway was a little crowded, but I didn't care. I let my hand brush his one more time before we split, just a quick touch like a promise.

And as he turned the corner, he looked back and mouthed, "Deal with it."

Just like his dumb post-it from yesterday.

And honestly? I kind of hoped people would.