On the Edge of Love (CarlxAlan)

Chapter 37: Carl

I hadn't expected to see him.

The doorbell rang a little after seven. My parents were gone for the night—some dinner thing for my dad's work—so I'd been sprawled on the couch with a bag of chips and a hoodie that still kind of smelled like Alan. I wasn't thinking about him.

Except I was. I always was.

When I opened the front door and saw him standing there, jacket zipped all the way to his chin, eyes tired but determined—I swear the whole world quieted. Just for a second.

"Hey," he said, voice small. "Can we talk?"

I moved without thinking, stepping aside so he could come in. He didn't meet my eyes. Just kicked off his shoes and walked into the living room like he used to.

Like he still belonged there.

We sat down on the couch, not touching. The TV was still on, but I hit mute, and the silence that followed was louder than the movie ever was.

Alan took a deep breath. Then another. Then he looked at me, and something in his face cracked.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For the last couple weeks. For pushing you away."

I didn't say anything yet. I could tell he wasn't done.

"I've been scared, Carl. Like—really scared. That if people saw us, they'd treat us different. That my parents would find out. That I'd ruin something good just by... being who I am."

I swallowed, heart tight in my chest.

"But the thing is," he went on, voice cracking, "I was already ruining it. By pretending like it didn't matter. Like you didn't matter."

I looked down at my hands. They were shaking a little.

"I went to Elie's today," Alan said. "I was trying to distract myself. I didn't want to think about the video. Or school. Or how I've barely talked to you since the party. But she called me out. Said I can't keep hiding. And she's right."

He took another breath, like it hurt to say this out loud.

"I miss you. And I don't want to be scared anymore. Even if it's hard. Even if people stare, or talk, or... whatever. You're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time, and I'm tired of pretending like you're not."

I felt like my heart had just split open.

"I don't know how to be brave all the time," he added. "But I want to try. Because I think I'm falling in love with you, and I don't want to lose that just because the world isn't ready."

There were tears in his eyes. Real ones. Not the kind you wipe away quickly and pretend never happened. He let them fall, and it took everything in me not to reach across the couch and hold him like I wanted to.

Instead, I said, softly, "You're already braver than you think."

Alan looked up.

"I'm proud of you," I said. "So proud. You didn't have to come here tonight. You didn't have to say all that. But you did."

He gave a little laugh, watery and nervous. "Yeah, well. I didn't rehearse it. Could you tell?"

I smiled, and finally—finally—reached for his hand.

His fingers slid into mine like they belonged there.

We sat like that for a while. The room still quiet, the TV still muted, the air holding something warm between us that hadn't been there for weeks. Something fragile, but real.

Eventually, Alan stood.

"I should go," he said, voice low. "But... thank you. For not giving up on me."

I stood with him, not letting go of his hand until he was almost at the door. He turned, and for a second, he looked like he might cry again.

So I opened my arms, and he stepped into them.

He held me tight—tighter than ever before—and I felt his breath against my neck, shaky and real.

"I'm so glad you came back," I whispered.

He pulled away just enough to look at me, eyes soft. "I never really left."

And then he was gone, out the door and into the cold night.

But I stood there for a long time after, heart full, watching the place where his car had been, knowing that something between us had changed. Not fixed completely. But mended. Stronger at the seams.