Black Combat Boots
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All I wanted to do was get a pair of combat boots. Black ones.
I walk into the shoe store then walk to the aisle with combat boots. I've been here so many times to stare at them that I have the aisle memorized.
I'm Dylan, Dylan Daniels.
My family isn't poor. If you could call it a family. It's Mom and I in a townhouse. It's just my mom is a workaholic and I'm lucky if I see her for a minute. Some eighteen year olds would get high or drunk every night. She's not my mom, she took me in when my parents got in a car accident. She tells me to call her mom.
In my case I work at Roquefield Towers as a receptionist from 1:30-5:00.
If I ever want to buy anything I have to pay for it. Including food, any food. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks.
I walk to the Checkout Line, four people in front of me. I wait. When it's my turn, five men/guys in black clothing and black ski-masks walk in with guns aimed all directions.
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Boy meets boy. Boy mocks boy. Boy falls (a little too hard). Dior Max is all sharp edges and smoother fabrics-stylish, strategic, and emotionally unbothered. Or so he pretends. Brix Julian is a walking headache with a guitar: smug, loud, and alarmingly good at sending the wrong message. They argue. They prank. They lock eyes for too long in crowded hallways. It's not flirting-it's war. Obviously. But somewhere between the teasing and tension, Dior starts collecting hope-one red paper heart at a time. Every mixed signal? Folded. Stored. Counted. He'll confess when the jar is full. Because maybe, just maybe, Brix means it. SPOILER ALERT: he doesn't. Turns out the signals were smoke, the crush was one-sided, and the heartbreak? Custom-tailored. Chords vs. Collars. Gloss meets grit. A stylish slow-burn that stings where it shouldn't. Because the cruelest crushes don't break-they hum. ___________// ⚠ gentle heads-up! This story explores sensitive themes such as homophobia, emotional trauma, misunderstandings, and the use of strong language. Please read with care and kindness to yourself. Your heart and well-being matter most. ♡ (Note: This story is currently a work in progress and may include typos or little grammar hiccups. Thank you for your patience and love!) 🧵🎸 just a tiny disclaimer: This story is fictional. Some scenes are inspired by real moments I experienced in junior high, and a few characters are loosely based on old friends. But everything else names, places, events is purely imagined. Any similarities are purely coincidental. This is a personal story, a metaphor for a forbidden love I once had. If it feels familiar or cliché, that's not intentional. This story is mine. 🫶🏻
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