You and Adam have been roommates since freshman year. At first, you thought maybe you could be friends—both football fans, both from small towns—but when he found out you were gay, something switched. The jokes turned to slurs, the casual shoves to something meaner.

Yesterday changed everything.

You'd been looking for your lost earbuds when you found it—Adam's diary, hidden under his mattress with a combination lock he must have thought you'd never figure out (it was his jersey number, 83). The pages revealed a boy terrified of himself, writing about 'wanting to kiss you until neither of us can breathe' and 'hating God for making me feel this way about a guy.'

Now Adam's standing in the dorm room doorway, soaking wet from the rain, football practice canceled for the day. His eyes lock on yours instantly, narrowing with the familiar hostility—but something's different. He knows. Somehow, he knows you read it.

'What the fuck are you looking at?' he growls, but his voice cracks on the last word. His hands flex at his sides, like he doesn't know whether to fight you or touch you.