Chapter Text
There he goes again. Standing in the middle of the hallway, blocking every other student from getting to their classes. Just so he can talk nonsense with his friends; laughing and shoving each other over a joke that isn’t funny. Or maybe it’s an inside joke that Silver isn’t popular enough to understand.
It’s the third time this week. And it’s only Tuesday.
Oblivious to everyone around them, the track students stand around in a circle, spread out in a way that blocks so much room that Silver thinks they’re doing it intentionally. Due to their position, they’ve created a bottleneck in the hallway, forcing everyone to pass by using an opening barely big enough for two people to fit side by side. Add the constant pushing, hurrying, and impatience of an average high school student, and the hallway becomes near impossible to get through. All Silver can do is shuffle forward, hoping there will eventually be a gap big enough for him to dart through so he can make it to science on time.
Out of the six people in the hallway-blocking circle, Silver only knows two of them by name. Red, who is in the same year and friend group as Blue, and has been to their house several times to hang out with Blue. Based on the scarce times they’ve interacted, he’s judged that Red is probably the most tolerable person on the track team.
Most of the other members, Silver has only met in passing. Though he doesn’t need to meet them to know what they are. Stuck-up students who think they’re better than others, wearing their jerseys and gym uniforms around the school like a medal of honor. Just like every other student that’s a part of one of the—too many—other sports teams in the school. As if it isn't a blatant dress code violation.
Including Gold. Standing in the center of the circle, he acts as if he’s the leader of the team; though everyone knows that role falls to Red, being the only senior there. He laughs loudly as one of the other members says something that Silver can’t quite hear over the noise of the hallway.
Even now, years after they last interacted, he still laughs in the same way. Like he’s never heard a funnier joke in his life. Laughing with his full chest, leaning over slightly with one hand resting on his leg. It’s an angelic sound, one that Silver finds himself listening to—partially because he wouldn’t be able to ignore it in the forced proximity of the hallway—as he squeezes his way through the students crowding around them.
As he slips past, ducking beneath another student who has chosen to stop in the small space available, he catches a look at Gold. Wide and shining, Gold’s smile takes up the bottom half of his face, perfect white teeth on full display, bright enough that it could light up the hall. His eyes shine with the same brightness, full of life and never dull. With excited movements, he gestures to the other members of his group as he shoots back what Silver thinks is a friendly retort to the girl who made the initial joke. It sounds too harsh to be a friendly jab, but she laughs in response, reaching out to shove Gold.
Like most of his friends, Gold still wears his gym uniform, a white T-shirt with loose gym shorts that come down to his knees, even though his gym class was three periods ago. They don’t have the same gym period—which Silver is forever grateful for; he’d probably transfer schools if he had to change clothes in the same locker room as Gold—but he knows that his is before lunch with how often he comes into the cafeteria with his hair still wet from the showers.
The students Silver had been trying to slip past come to an abrupt stop, trapping him next to the track group. He can hear the complaints of other students rise up as no one moves, but the athletes continue their conversation. Ignoring that everyone, themselves included, only have five minutes to get to their classes.
But he knows how this works. After all, Gold and him share their next class. Most days, Gold waltzes in five, sometimes even ten or more, minutes late, interrupting whatever lesson the teacher had just started. He’ll bring his own chatter into the room, roping the majority of the class into it as he drags his feet the entire twenty feet from the door to his seat.
None of the teachers ever care that he does this, enabling him to continue, simply because he’s an athlete student. They’ll laugh at whatever joke of an excuse he has for being late when he bursts through the door, then continue teaching as if nothing happened. If they bother to do anything, it’s just to tell him to try and get there before the bell rings. A slap on the wrist for something that would get most students detention.
Gold turns toward him, and their eyes lock. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, hand raising in a way that Silver knows is about to turn into a wave. But then his fingers curl back into his palm, hand dropping to rest back at his side. His gaze averts to the floor for a split second, and when they meet again, his eyes don’t seem as bright; looking almost sad.
It makes Silver’s heart ache, feeling as if someone has it in a vice grip, squeezing until it’s about to burst. There was a time where Gold’s eyes would light up when they saw each other. A permanent smile would overtake his features, only ever wavering when Silver had to go home for the day. Yet it was always quick to return with the promise of hanging out again the next day.
He knows their friendship didn’t end on the best notes. Technically, they never officially ended it. He just started ghosting Gold one day, ignoring him when he would call out in passing, blocking his number, and never seeking him out when Gold stopped reaching out for him. So he can’t fault Gold for being upset with seeing him.
But Gold should be glad they’re no longer friends. Glad that he no longer has Silver following him around, having to include him with his other friends since Silver has always been too awkward to make friends on his own. His downcast look is likely one of annoyance, and Silver has misinterpreted the look.
Just as quick as the interaction happens, it’s over, Gold going back to talking with his team members as if nothing happened. Not even giving Silver a nod of acknowledgement. As he talks, his voice lacks its usual enthusiasm, and his gaze keeps darting to the floor.
The crowd around Silver surges forward, forcing him to leave the interaction with Gold behind. A glance at his phone shows he only has a minute before the next period starts. His classroom is at the end of the hall, but with how slow everyone is moving, it could take him five minutes to walk twenty feet.
Seconds after he steps through the doorway of the classroom, the bell rings. Most of his classmates aren’t in their seats, allowing him to slip into the room before the teacher starts the lesson for the day, marking him as barely not late. No one notices as he slinks into his chair, tucking his backpack underneath his desk as he begins to pull out everything needed for class.
As usual, Gold bursts through the door eight minutes after class has started. His excuse is one he uses so often that Silver can likely recite it word for word by memory. But the teacher simply waves towards Gold’s empty seat, the routine interruption barely causing him to falter in the lesson. Gold shoots the teacher a smile that still doesn’t shine as much as usual, slinging his backpack into his chair before collapsing into it. He doesn’t even wait a minute before tugging his phone from his pocket, pulling up his message app to text his friends; likely the same friends he was just talking to in the hall.
Silver’s hand drifts to his phone, tracing the outline of the device in his pocket. For a short period of time, right after Silver got his first phone at the beginning of middle school, he was the one Gold would text in the middle of class. They both got in trouble for it, and had their phones taken several times, since Gold wasn’t yet on the track team and didn’t have the privileges he has now, but that never stopped them from goofing off together. His phone has been silent since their falling out. The only person who ever texts him now is Blue.
Slipping in an earbud, he turns his music on loud enough to drown out the talking of his peers around him. He isn’t supposed to be listening to music in class, but his hair hides that he has the earbud in, and he still pays attention to the teacher, so he’s never seen the problem with it.
The first song to come on is one he rarely listens to. Sliding his phone out of his pocket, his thumb hovers over the skip button, then he decides against it, shoving his phone away before the teacher can see it.
He still remembers when Gold told him that it was ‘the best song ever’ and practically forced him to listen to it. The beat isn’t his style, the lyrics flow too fast for the tempo, as if the singer is simply talking over the music instead of singing with it, and the genre isn’t one he listens to. But he’s only listening to the song because Gold told him to. Because he still remembers the way Gold would smile when it would come on, and his voice would ring through the room as he sang along to the lyrics. The way Gold’s eyes would light up when Silver would quietly sing along with him; only having learned the lyrics so he could sing with Gold. It’s a stupid reason to keep songs he doesn’t like on his playlist, but every time he goes to remove it, he remembers the times he spent up in Gold’s room, playing on his game console until long after the sun went down, while the song played in the background.
The song ends, being replaced with another one of Gold’s favorites. But this time, he skips it, trying his best to put Gold out of his mind. Though that’s always hard to do when he sits where Silver can always see him from the corner of his eye.
Gold is seemingly never able to hold still for more than a minute during class, constantly shifting in his seat, and sometimes mumbling about how uncomfortable the chairs are. Today however, he seems extra restless, even turning around completely to look in Silver’s direction. In his direction. Not at him. Because Gold would never look at him unless he needed something. But he hasn’t needed anything for over three years. At this point, they might as well be strangers.
Before the bell to mark the end of the school day has even rung, Silver’s classmates, Gold included, are already out of their seats. Bags slung over their shoulders, they’re ready to run out of the room the second the high pitched ringing of the school bell rings through the intercoms. Silver doesn’t even hear the bell before students are out the door, shoving past each other to leave faster. Gold is one of the first out. However, that’s likely due to having track practice after school.
Once the bell officially rings, Silver begins putting his things away, in no hurry to leave; unlike his peers. There’s no reason for him to rush, since he can’t go home until Blue is done with cheer practice, with her being his ride. Unless he wants to take the hour long walk back. He’d be arriving home around the same time Blue finishes cheer though, so he might as well wait at school.
By the time he leaves the classroom, slipping his second earbud in to ignore anyone who might try to talk to him—not that there’s anyone who would talk to him—most of the other students have left. Those that haven’t are either on their way out, running out the doors to catch the buses home; outside on one of the fields, or in the gymnasium, practicing for whichever sports team they’re a part of. Leaving the hallways empty, the sound of his steps on the linoleum floor audible as he walks through the halls.
He could head out to the track field, hoping that cheer practice is taking place there today. Then he could spend the hour watching Gold workout while pretending to do homework under the guise of waiting for Blue to be done. But Blue isn’t out there. She’s already told him that practice that day is in the gym, and it’d be weird for him to go out there without a reason. Especially with the encounter he had with Gold earlier. So he turns away from the set of doors leading outside, going towards the other end of the school; as far away from the track field as possible.
The band room is empty when the door swings open. Not surprising. He’s never encountered anyone else here after school. Not even the teacher, as they don’t tend to stay in the classroom long after the bell. The door remains unlocked however, for any students that want to use the room for instrument practice.
Tossing his bag into one of the many empty chairs, Silver makes his way to the back of the room. All the instruments rest against the wall, clean and ready for the band students to use tomorrow. In the corner, a black guitar case stands out from between the row of percussion instruments.
The acoustic guitar inside definitely shows its age. Years of being used by kids that don’t care about keeping it in good condition being clear at first glance. It’s still usable, but Silver wouldn’t be surprised if it only had another year or two of play available before needing to be replaced. Small cracks litter the body of the guitar, the neck bends inward slightly, as if someone had once tried folding the guitar in half, and four of the six tuners are loose, making tuning the instrument hard on a good day, and downright impossible on a bad one.
Although he’s never been interested in joining the school band, the band teacher has never had a problem with Silver using the school instruments. He often finds himself in the band room when Blue has cheer practice, messing with the various instruments to pass the time. The guitar is the only one he knows how to play, learned after years of self-teaching and lots of trial and error, but the piano has always intrigued him. Maybe one day he’ll teach himself to play.
For now though, he settles on the open floor space at the front of the room, pulling the guitar onto his lap. His first strum across the strings is out of tune. Students have likely been messing with the tuners all day, resulting in the horrible cacophony that rings through the room.
It takes about twenty minutes until it’s fixed, the grating notes turning to a beautiful melody. With the guitar tuned, he scoots over to his bookbag, digging around inside to find his notebook.
Loose, crumpled papers fall from the notebook when he opens it, landing across his lap. The music sheets on the pages are nowhere near professional; barely readable and not much more than doodles he made during class. Anyone with actual sheet reading knowledge would likely recoil at the arrangement he’s marked down, but it works for him. It’s easier to read than any sheet music he’s looked at, but that might simply be because he wrote it.
His fingers strum along the strings, other hand flitting over the neck to press the correct notes. His eyes scan over the bars on the sheet music as he plays, although he’s played the simple tune often enough that he probably doesn’t need to look at the paper. The lyrics are written down along with the notes, but they’re all experimental; unsure sentences that Silver isn’t sure are going to become anything more than his thoughts on a page.
He still finds himself humming the tune of the lyrics as he plays, imagining what it would sound like with them being sung alongside the melody. The beginning is the trickiest part. Every set of lyrics he’s come up with doesn’t feel right, and he replays the part several times, still unable to find the correct way to begin the song.
The ending, on the other hand, is the first set of lyrics he wrote. There’s only one way to end the song. Only one way it can end. Since it directly mirrors what actually happened.
“And when you hear this song,” he sings, fingers pausing in their strumming. “You won’t know it’s about you.”
Love songs are as cheesy as it gets. Silver knows that. They’re what people turn to when they're in love with someone who will never requite their feelings, but still want that illusion that maybe, just maybe, they’ll one day like them too.
Listening to love songs is cliché enough, but writing a love song is a new kind of lovesick.
He never even intended for this to turn into an actual song. The lyrics were only written down at Blue’s suggestion. Some idea that writing his nonsensical thoughts and feelings down would allow him to let go of them; though he doubts this is what she had in mind when she suggested it. Before he realized it, a melody formed, and those random sentences he wrote down in the back of his history notebook turned into lyrics.
Which is why Silver will never let anyone hear this song. Or even know of its existence.
Especially Gold. Though even if he played the song for him, he’s dense enough that it probably wouldn’t register that the song, the lyrics, Silver’s feelings, are for him.
“‘Cause you’re oblivious to my feelings and that’s fine.”
Their first year of middle school, before Silver knew that his feelings would never be returned, before he knew he had to cut their friendship off so Gold would never find out, he dropped hints. Desperately wanting Gold to pick up on his affection for him. At times, it seemed like his hints were too obvious for Gold to not know.
But he never noticed. Or if he did, he ignored it. Hoping Silver’s crush would go away if given enough time. He knows that’s unlikely. Gold wouldn’t know that someone likes him romantically unless it hit him in the face. Even then, at that age, despite constantly talking about wanting a girlfriend, and chasing after the girls in their grade—and in the grades above them—he wouldn’t have taken a confession of love seriously. It only ever seemed like he was interested in the girls that weren’t interested in him.
It’s probably a good thing he never confessed. There were too many signs that Gold would never return his feelings. Or accept them. It would have led to their friendship ending worse than it did, and Gold spilling his secret to the entire school.
But he was just as oblivious as Gold. Only ever chasing after someone that wasn’t interested. Spending day after day telling himself that he’d confess. Every single day, he backed out.
The farthest ever got was getting Gold alone behind the gymnasium one day after school. When the time came for him to say those dreaded words, the words that leave such a bitter taste in his mouth now, he couldn’t do it. They caught in his throat, refusing to come out. He spent several minutes making a fool of himself, trying to say the words that, at the time, he desperately wanted to say. In the end, he gave up, asking Gold about his upcoming track try-outs instead, claiming it was too noisy to ask him inside.
For months afterwards, he thought that Gold knew what he wanted to say that day. After all, there’s a limited amount of reasons why he could have wanted Gold alone. But Gold never brought it up, and didn’t seem to remember it the one time Silver dared to ask.
“But I hope when you hear it-” He abruptly stops, slamming his hand down on the guitar to cut off the melody as the door creaks, swinging open slightly. From the crack of the hallway now visible, a shadow darts away from the door.
It could have been the lights outside flickering. Everyone knows the school board doesn’t care about keeping this end of the school up to date; made evident by the state of the rooms and hallways. All of the doors squeak when opening, half of the lights in the ceiling are burnt out, and those that aren’t constantly flicker.
It’s most likely the lights. Or some other worn down aspect of the school that’s playing with Silver’s mind. But it could have been someone watching him. Listening to the one thing he never intends for anyone to ever hear.
The thought is enough for him to drop the guitar, darting to his feet to creep towards the cracked door. He doesn’t hear anything, which relieves his nerves. If someone had been watching, he would have heard their footsteps as they left; the hallways empty enough that the smallest sounds are amplified and able to be heard from inside the nearby classrooms.
Both directions of the hall are empty when he opens the door fully, peeking his head out of the room to look. The other classrooms in the hall all have their doors closed with the lights off. Unless someone was passing by, no one is around. He’s just being paranoid.
Still, he steps back into the band room, not bothering to shut the door behind him. The guitar gets carefully tucked back into the case, which is then set against the wall in the exact place he took it from. His music sheets get shoved back into his notebook, and he barely takes the time to stuff it into his bag before heading for the door.
No one was watching him. And even if by chance, someone was, they wouldn’t care about what kind of song he was playing. Or know that he wrote the song himself. He knows that. But he isn’t going to stick around on the off chance that someone does hear him. If one of Blue’s friends spots him playing his pathetic little love song, then word will get back to her, and she’ll be insistent on drilling him until he comes clean about his crush. He’s managed to hide it so far, and having her find out would be one of the worst things that could happen.
The absolute worst would be if Gold finds out.
Either way, he doesn’t need anyone knowing about his shitty gay song about Gold.