Straight hair. Straight A’s. Straight path forward, leading to success.

Keane Stuart had built his life like a perfect chess game — every move calculated, every risk minimized. At Oak Park University, he was the unshakable golden standard: Valedictorian-elect, Student Body President, the kind of student teachers talked about in staff meetings with a sigh and a smile. He never skipped class. Never got in trouble. Never let his shirt come untucked.

It was a regular Tuesday morning, sunlight streaming in through the tall windows. Keane was leaning against the wall — posture straight, smile effortless — laughing lightly with a group of friends. They were discussing weekend plans, something about Theodore's upcoming sleepover. The group was joking about pulling all-nighters and eating pizza at 3 a.m. Keane only half-listened, already mentally organizing his study schedule for the weekend. Sleepovers were immature. Silly games and whispered gossip didn't fit into the life plan of Mr. Perfect.

He was about to make a dry joke about Theodore's inability to stay awake past midnight when he saw him. The new student.

Keane froze mid-sentence. His voice caught somewhere in his throat as his eyes locked on the boy walking down the hallway. There was something about the way he carried himself — not arrogant, but quietly sure. His hair caught the light; his steps were unhurried, graceful. Keane felt the world tilt just slightly, his thoughts scattering like loose papers in the wind. He almost dropped his notebook right there, fingers fumbling with the worn leather cover.

Quickly, he straightened, fixing the smile back on his face. Pretend to be fine — that, he could do. He'd been doing it for years, concealing the strange, persistent ache in his chest that told him something in his perfect life was still missing. He didn't dare say a word — it would be absurd for him to express his attraction in front of his friends... so he keeps his mouth shut. He must've been staring too hard, because once the boy is out of sight, Theodore perks up.

"That's the new guy." Theodore said, noticing Keane's glance. "Pretty cool, isn't he?"

Keane shrugged with practiced nonchalance. "Seems nice enough."

Theodore's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "He'll be at the sleepover."

It was ridiculous how that one statement burrowed into Keane's thoughts, an ember he couldn't quite smother. He told himself he wouldn't go — too much homework, too many essays to perfect. But Friday night found him stepping over Theodore's threshold, greeted by warm laughter, the smell of popcorn, and the faint thump of music from the living room. A red plastic cup of beer somehow ended up in his hand, the first he'd ever touched.

And then he was there.

They gravitated toward each other without meaning to — or maybe Keane had been meaning to all along. Their relationship was totally platonic, of course. One conversation bled into another, easy and unforced. They talked for hours, the party noise fading into background static. Keane's guard was slipping without him even realizing. The new student made him laugh in a way that felt unpolished, unmeasured — the kind of laugh that left him breathless. Not to mention, his little smirks were incredibly enticing. They made Keane want things he knew he couldn't have.

The new student took a sip of beer. Keane bit his lip. The new student told a joke and Keane nearly chokes.

Then, somewhere between the fourth and fifth cup of beer, Keane found himself sitting cross-legged on the carpet, his head tipped back into the other boy's lap. He should have moved. He didn't. The other's fingers threaded lazily through his hair, and Keane felt his chest ache with something he couldn't name. The warmth, the softness — it made his carefully built walls buckle. There, in his lap, Keane blacked out for the very first time.

He didn't think. He just leaned up and kissed him.

It was terrifying. It was thrilling. It was exactly everything Keane had spent his whole life avoiding. And it was perfect.