Sturniolo one-shots I think of in class.

but why?💜💙🧡 PT2 (actual story)

Chapter Two — Heroes and Hypocrites

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Nick Andrews had never considered himself brave.

He was the kind of kid who asked teachers if they'd forgotten to assign homework. The kind of kid who practiced conversations in his head hours before they happened. The kind of kid who cried for two days when Matt went on a holiday to Italy and didn't text him for six hours straight.

But Nick was also in love.

Not the dramatic, kiss-in-the-rain type of love. No, his love was quieter. Softer. Desperate in ways he didn't know how to explain. He loved Matt the way people loved fireflies—chasing the light even if it flickered too far to catch.

And lately, Matt had been slipping.

He didn't laugh as much. Didn't smile at Nick the way he used to. Something was off.

So Nick, in a fit of something almost like courage, decided to do something reckless. Something heroic. Something stupid.

Because heroes get remembered. And maybe, maybe, Matt would finally look at him the way he looked at... no one else. Because no one else was good enough.

Not even Chris Owen.

Especially not Chris Owen.

⸻

It was around six when Nick made his way downtown, through the busier streets and into the quieter ones. Past the bakery. Past the little bookshop. And finally, into the alley between the laundromat and the auto shop. The one people always whispered about.

The alley that parents warned kids about.
The alley where Chris Owen had once broken someone's nose.
The alley that smelled like smoke and old secrets.

It was still light out, but barely. The shadows stretched like claws. Nick hesitated at the entrance.

"Okay," he whispered to himself. "You're not scared. You're just... gonna walk through. Like a boss. Maybe yell at Chris if you see him. Show Matt you're not afraid of anything."

His footsteps echoed as he entered.

⸻

Chris was there.

Of course he was. Sitting on an overturned crate, flipping through a wallet he'd swiped not even twenty minutes ago. A lit cigarette dangled from his fingers. His jacket looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks. His hair was a mess in a way that probably took effort.

When he saw Nick enter, he didn't move. Just raised one brow.

"You're a long way from piano club, Andrews."

Nick froze.

Chris didn't look impressed. Or interested. He barely looked awake.

"I... I'm not scared of you," Nick blurted, fists clenched.

Chris gave a dry laugh. "Cool. You want a medal?"

Nick's jaw tightened. "You don't scare me. You're just some loser with daddy issues and a nicotine addiction."

That one landed. Chris stood up.

Nick took a step back.

"You know," Chris said, voice low, dangerous, "I usually charge people for insults that boring."

Nick's hands trembled. He hated how his body betrayed him. He wasn't brave. Not like this. But he couldn't back down now.

Chris tilted his head. "What's this about? Trying to impress someone?"

Silence.

"Wait." A cruel smile. "Ohhh. It's Sturniolo, isn't it?"

Nick flinched.

Chris laughed again. "That's hilarious. You think marching into my alley and yelling at me's gonna get you his attention?"

"I just want him to know I'm not some background character," Nick snapped.

Chris took a step closer.

"And what do you think he sees when he looks at you?" he asked. "You're not a hero, Nick. You're the best friend. The comfort blanket. You're a seat warmer."

That hurt more than it should have.

"And you're what?" Nick hissed. "The villain? The scary story parents tell their kids?"

Chris shrugged. "Better than being invisible."

⸻

The fight didn't happen. But it nearly did.

Voices rose. Hands almost flew. But then a sound—footsteps—echoed at the alley's edge.

Matt.

He'd gone looking for Nick after realizing he'd left his sketchpad in the school art room. He hadn't meant to wander into that part of town. But he saw Nick's bike leaning against a wall and heard shouting.

And then he saw Chris.

Chris saw him, too.

Their eyes met for a split second. Not long enough for anything to be said, but long enough for everything to be felt.

Matt's expression didn't change. Not fear. Not interest. Just a cold kind of confusion.

Nick turned, panicked. "Matt! It's not—he's—"

But Matt had already turned and walked away.

Again.

Like he always did.

⸻

Nick caught up with him halfway up the hill.

"Matt! Matt, please! It wasn't what it looked like!"

Matt didn't stop walking.

"You went down there? Alone?" he said, voice sharp.

Nick's breath hitched. "I was trying to— I wanted to show you—"

Matt finally turned, and Nick wished he hadn't.

"You wanted to what? Show me that you can put yourself in danger? For what? My approval?"

Nick blinked. "I just wanted to be more than—more than just the friend. I thought—"

Matt didn't yell. But his words hurt more than shouting.

"You thought wrong."

Then he left Nick standing there.

Alone.

⸻

Chris watched from the alley, biting his tongue. He'd seen that look on Matt's face before.

It was the same look he gave the river.

The same look he gave anything that scared him.

But Chris didn't scare him, not really.

And that... that was interesting.