Endless

9

Kentrell POV

I was halfway through my physics homework, pencil in my hand but not a single number making sense, when I heard the softest knock on my door. Two taps, hesitant. Like someone debating if they should even be here.

I already knew who it was.

Ain't nobody in this whole damn hallway knock like that except Ty.

I rubbed my hand over my face, pushing my starter dreads back. They'd grown out just shy of my cheekbones, thickening up from the year and some change I been growing 'em. They were fuzzy at the roots from me stressing lately, but still hanging in my face heavy. I'd been pulling at 'em all day — sign number one I was irritated.

Sign number two was how I said:

"Man, come on."

Ty eased inside like he didn't wanna disturb the air. His hair was messy from him probably tugging it in class, backpack hanging off one shoulder, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like he was trying to shrink himself down.

He looked exhausted.

He didn't even try to fake that "I'm good" smile he always throws at people. Not today.

"You straight?" I frowned. "You look like you just lost a fight wit' life."

Ty let out a breath that wasn't even a sigh — more like air escaping something cracked.

"I failed that calc test," he mumbled. "Like... horribly. I ain't never failed nothin' that bad. Professor said I need to come see him, and—"
His voice broke off like the rest of the sentence fell apart.

I felt something tighten in my chest watching him wring the end of his sleeve.

"Come here," I muttered.

Ty blinked, confused. "Huh?"

"I said come here, Ty. Damn."
It came out harsher than I meant but he obeyed instantly, stepping toward me like he was relieved somebody told him what to do for once.

I grabbed his wrist, gentle but firm, and pulled him between my legs where I sat in my desk chair.

He didn't resist. He just stared down at me with them soft, tired eyes.

"Why you ain't hit me up?" I asked.
"Didn't wanna bother you..."
"Man, shut that up," I muttered. "If somethin' wrong, you come find me. I don't care what it is."

He swallowed, jaw tightening like that meant something to him.

His voice went even smaller.
"I just... had a bad day."

"And what that mean? I look like I can't handle that?" I tilted my head, staring him down. "Say it."

His breath hitched. "You can."

"Damn right."

For a second, we didn't talk. The room was dim, only my desk lamp on, lighting his face soft. He smelled like laundry detergent and rain — probably walked here in the drizzle.

I reached up and tucked one of my dreads behind my ear. Then my hand stayed up there, hovering near his waist like it had a mind of its own.

"Ty," I said low. "Look at me."

He lifted his eyes.

And I swear on everything — I didn't plan to do what I did next.

I leaned forward and kissed him.

Not hard. Not deep. Just... enough for him to feel it. Enough for him to stop thinking about grades, tests, stress — all that bullshit.

His hands froze at his sides like he'd never been kissed before.