The following Monday, Oliver returned to school.
The moment he stepped through the gates, whispers followed him like shadows.
"Is that him?"
" His father's dead, right? Poor kid."
"Bet he's been hiding at home, crying all week."
Oliver walked calmly, as if the noise didn't exist. He didn't care. Not today. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, his uniform neat but simple, and his expression unreadable. Some students stared, others smirked, but he ignored them all.
At the back of the hallway, Liam spotted him immediately. Relief surged through him, and for a moment, he couldn't move. The empty seat beside Oliver's in class had haunted him all week. Seeing him now, walking steadily as if nothing had happened, made Liam's chest tighten with both joy and worry.
He hurried up to him. "Oliver! Hey—where have you been? Are you okay?" Liam's words spilled out before he could think, quick and urgent, like a dam breaking.
Oliver glanced at him, calm, steady. "I've been… around," he said, voice soft but firm. "Just… needed some time."
Liam frowned. "Needed some time? You could have told someone! I was worried sick. I didn't know what had happened, where you were. You just… disappeared."
Oliver shrugged slightly. "Things at home." He didn't elaborate, he certainly didn't want Liam to worry more than he already did.
"You can't just vanish like that," Liam said, his tone gentler now, but firm. "I need to know you're safe."
Oliver looked at him then, really looked. "Thanks for staying with me." He whispered. Something in him had softened, he flashed Liam a bright smile..
Liam was mesmerized. But he quickly came back to his senses. He nodded, though relief still shook his chest. "I'm glad you're back," he admitted. "Seriously. I've been… I don't even know. Worried. Frustrated. Everything."
As they walked toward the classroom, some students noticed them together.
"Look, they're back together," someone whispered.
"Bet they're planning something," another muttered.
"Poor Liam… the rich boy hanging around the quiet kid," a girl said with a smirk.
Liam's eyes darkened slightly, but he didn't snap. He subtly moved closer to Oliver, like a silent shield.
The physics lab was unusually quiet that afternoon.
No footsteps echoed in the hallway. No voices drifted in through the open windows. It was just the two of them—Oliver and Liam—standing by the long wooden table cluttered with wires, clamps, weights, and measuring tools. Julian's seat was empty, his notebook untouched. For once, Oliver didn't look toward it.
"So," Liam said, picking up a wire and squinting at it, "this goes here, right?"
Oliver glanced over. "No," he said calmly. "That's the wrong terminal."
Liam connected it anyway.
The bulb didn't light up. Instead, there was a soft pop, followed by silence.
Oliver stared for a second… then began to laugh.
Not the small, careful smile Liam was used to. Not the polite curve of lips Oliver always wore like armor. This was different. His shoulders shook. His head tipped back slightly. The sound was light, real, unguarded.
"Oh my God," Oliver said between laughs, "you wired it backward."
Liam blinked. Then he laughed too. "Hey, it looked right!"
"It really didn't," Oliver replied, still smiling. "You skipped a step. Here—move."
He stepped closer to fix it, still grinning, and Liam felt something tighten in his chest.
That smile…
Liam had never seen it before.
It wasn't distant. It wasn't restrained. It was bright and alive, like Oliver had forgotten, just for a moment, everything heavy he carried. Liam couldn't stop staring.
"You're enjoying this,"he said.
"Very much," Oliver replied, teasing. "You make physics look difficult."
"Wow. Betrayal," Liam said dramatically. "I thought we were friends."
Oliver laughed again, softer this time, and leaned over the table to adjust the setup. As he did, Liam reached out without thinking. His fingers brushed Oliver's wrist—then lingered. Not grabbing. Not pulling. Just resting there, warm and close, like his hand belonged there.
Oliver didn't stop laughing.
He didn't pull away either.
Maybe he didn't notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything. His laughter slowly faded into a smile, but he kept working, focused on the experiment as if nothing had happened.
Liam's hand stayed there for a second longer than necessary.
Then he pulled back.
The bulb finally lit up.
Oliver straightened. "There," he said proudly. "See? Easy."
Liam nodded, but he wasn't looking at the bulb. He was looking at Oliver—at the way his eyes still sparkled, at the faint smile still on his lips.
If this is the real you, Liam thought, I don't ever want to forget it.
The lab remained quiet, but something had shifted between them—something unspoken, fragile, and warm.
And neither of them said a word about it.
That night, Oliver lay awake longer than he wanted to admit.
The room was dark, the thin curtains barely moving as the night breeze slipped in. His mother was asleep in the next room, her breathing shallow but steady. Everything was quiet—too quiet. Yet Oliver's mind refused to rest.
Liam's face kept appearing in his thoughts.
Not the confident smile he wore at school. Not the sharp words he used when defending him. But the look in his eyes earlier in the lab—soft, focused, almost careful. And then there was the touch.
Oliver lifted his hand slightly, staring at his wrist in the dim light.
Liam's fingers had rested there. Warm. Uncertain. Not rough like George's hands, not careless like strangers brushing past in crowded halls. It hadn't felt like an accident either. It was… deliberate. Gentle.
Oliver swallowed.
Why did it feel like that? he wondered.
Friends touched each other all the time. He knew that. He had seen boys clap each other on the back, throw arms around shoulders, laugh loudly without thinking twice. But this had been different. Quiet. Private. Like something meant only for the two of them.
He turned onto his side, pulling the blanket closer.
We're just friends, he told himself. That's all.
But the words felt thin, like they didn't fully cover the truth.
When Liam had laughed in the lab, Oliver had laughed too—really laughed—for the first time in a long while. And when Liam had looked at him like that, as if nothing else in the room mattered, Oliver had felt… safe. Seen. Important.
That wasn't how friendship was supposed to feel. Or maybe it was—but Oliver had never had friends before, so how was he supposed to know?
He pressed his palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat.
Something is different, he admitted silently. I just don't know what.
The thought didn't scare him. Not really. It lingered instead, soft and confusing, like a question without an answer.
As sleep finally began to pull him under, one truth remained clear in his mind:
Whatever this was between him and Liam, it wasn't like anything he had ever known before.
And part of him wasn't sure he wanted it to be...