On the Edge of Love (CarlxAlan)

Chapter 29: Carl

The wind had that bite to it again—the kind that made your teeth chatter the second you stepped outside and made the leaves stick to the pavement like they were too tired to blow around anymore. Late November in our town meant gray skies, half-dead lawns, and cold that lingered in your sleeves no matter how many layers you wore.

It also meant Alan's hoodie smelled like campfire and detergent. And that he wore his beanie more often, tugged low like he didn't want the world to see how nice his eyes looked in cold light.

It was a Friday when we finally went out again—really went out. Not just the in-between moments we'd carved out at lunch or after school in one of our rooms. A real night. Just the two of us. Town wasn't big or fancy, but it had a charm when the air got cold. Stores had started putting up holiday lights even though Thanksgiving wasn't until next week, and the early dark made everything feel softer.

"You're underdressed," I said, holding the door open for him as we stepped into the little coffee shop downtown.

Alan huffed out a breath. "I'm layered. You just think jackets are a personality trait."

I gave him a look. "They are."

He smirked and shook his head, eyes already scanning the menu overhead like he didn't already know he was getting the same cinnamon latte he always got. I let him pretend to decide and then paid for both of us before he could argue.

We found a table near the window, tucked into a corner with a half-dead plant and string lights framing the glass. Outside, cars rolled by like they were in slow motion, and the wind moved the trees in slow, heavy sways.

"You didn't have to pay," he said once we sat.

"I wanted to."

Alan didn't argue this time. Just looked at me for a second, kind of soft. Like he was taking a picture in his head.

"It's weird," he said, fingers tapping against the cup. "I used to come here and never think twice. Now I sit across from you and feel like I'm on the edge of something. Like... if I blink, I'll miss the moment where it all shifts."

I stared at him, then blinked slowly. "You already missed it. It shifted a while ago."

He smiled. It was a shy kind of smile, not the cocky ones he pulled when we were around friends or teachers. This one felt private. Real.

We walked around downtown after that, not really going anywhere, just talking. There was something easier about being out like this now. Less tension. People had moved on from the rumor. Summer hadn't said anything else. We were quieter about things, but not invisible anymore.

At some point, we passed an antique store with its window full of old guitars and framed sheet music, and Alan actually stopped mid-step.

"Oh," he said.

"What?"

He pointed at a worn-out acoustic guitar behind the glass, dusty but beautiful. "I used to have one kind of like that before it broke. My dad got it when I was twelve. Said it'd help keep my hands busy."

I looked at the window, then back at him. "Think he was right?"

Alan's shoulders lifted. "I guess. Playing kind of turned into the only thing that ever made my head quiet."

"Besides me."

He gave me a look. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

But he smiled again. Not shy this time—playful, warm. The kind that melted every cold thing inside me.

We ended the night sitting in my truck bed, parked at the edge of town by the overlook. We'd brought blankets from my house, and Alan was leaning into me, sipping from the second coffee we got to go.

"I don't think I'd survive if this stopped," he said quietly.

My throat caught. "Stopped?"

"You. Us. Whatever this is."

I didn't say anything right away. Just reached over and took his hand under the blanket. His fingers found mine like it was second nature.

"I don't want it to stop either," I said. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Alan leaned his head against my shoulder. "You promise?"

I looked up at the sky—clouds soft and silver over the dark—and then back at him. "Yeah. I promise."

He turned his face toward mine and kissed me, slow and steady, like he wasn't scared of being seen anymore.

We stayed there a while—quiet, warm, fingers tangled. No music. No drama. Just the sound of wind in the trees and two boys figuring out how to love each other in the cold.