Auden had always known there was something different about him, long before he had the courage to shape it into a word. It lived in the quiet moments — the way his chest tightened when he saw boys laughing together on the field, the way he felt strangely out of place whenever his friends talked about girls. It was like carrying a truth he couldn't read, but that kept getting heavier anyway.
At school, he did what he always did: blended in, kept quiet, pretended he didn't notice the things that made his heart twist. But pretending was exhausting. Every day felt like running from a shadow that never stopped following him.
Tory was the only person who saw past all of it.
Tory, with his bright clothes and brighter laugh, who had come out last year and somehow survived the whispers and the stares. Tory, who refused to shrink himself just because the world wanted him smaller. Tory, who had become Auden's safe place when everything felt too loud.
They sat together at lunch, like they always did, hidden under their favourite jacaranda tree behind the school hall. Purple petals scattered over them like confetti — Tory called it "gay rain," which always made Auden snort even on his worst days.
Today wasn't one of the better ones.
"You're quiet," Tory said, nudging Auden with his knee. "And that's scary, because you're already quiet."
Auden sighed, picking at the grass. "It's nothing."
Tory raised an eyebrow. "Auden. You only say 'it's nothing' when it's definitely something."
Auden swallowed. His chest felt tight again — that familiar pressure, like he was holding in words that wanted to burst out.
"I just… I feel wrong," he finally whispered. "Like I'm broken or something."
Tory's expression softened instantly. "You're not broken."
"You don't get it—"
"I do." Tory's voice was gentle but firm. "I used to feel the same way. Before I came out. Before I even knew what I was coming out as."
Auden's throat burned. He stared at his hands, willing them not to shake. "I don't even know what I am, Tory. And I'm scared that… if people find out…" His voice cracked. "If my mom finds out…"
Tory shifted closer, resting a hand on Auden's shoulder — the kind of touch that didn't need explanation.
"You don't owe anyone a label," Tory said softly. "And you don't have to be ready before you're ready. You're still figuring things out. That's okay."
Auden let out a shaky breath. "I feel like everyone expects me to know. Like I'm supposed to just wake up and have all the answers."
"Well," Tory smirked, "I still don't have all the answers, and I've been gay for a whole year now."
Auden laughed — a small, honest sound that loosened something in his chest.
"There he is," Tory said, smiling proudly
But the peace didn't last long. As they walked back toward class, Auden spotted someone ahead — someone he hadn't seen in months, someone who made his heartbeat skip and stumble in a way he couldn't understand.
Brendan.
Older, taller, confident in a way that made Auden feel like he was both standing still and falling forward.
Tory noticed the way Auden froze. He followed his gaze, then smirked. "Oh. Oh. So that's what this is about."
Auden felt his face heat. "No. It's not— I don't—"
Tory crossed his arms. "Auden, sweetheart, you look at him like he hung the moon."
Auden's pulse raced. His secret — the one he couldn't even say aloud — felt suddenly exposed, like the whole world could read it on his face.
"I'm not ready," he whispered.
"That's okay," Tory said. "You don't have to be. I'll be here until you are."
And for the first time that day, Auden believed him.