For about five agonizing, terrifying seconds, everybody stared at him like fish straight out of water.
Then, out of nowhere, Luke screamed, "YES, BABY! YOU GO, ETHAN!"
Just like that, the cafeteria erupted in screams of encouragement.
Ethan made a mental note to thank Luke. God, what a man. He smiled broadly, turning to face the principle whose face had noticeably paled.
"Something wrong, Mrs. Longwood?" He taunted, enjoying her misery more than a sane person should've.
She snarled. "Enough! That is enough!" she all but spit into the poor microphone. "The bell's about to ring. Everybody, compose yourselves!"
"I hate you," Mason said to his best friend when he plopped back down next to him, beaming. "Only Ethan Gray can come out as gay and have the whole school accept it."
"Accept it? Man, they love it," Ethan corrected, his eyes wandering to the girls staring at him with newfound interest. He cheekily winked at them, and they giggled collectively.
"I hate you," Mason repeated, glowering at him, making the other boy grin in response.
Ethan wasn't going to lie to himself, there were a bunch of people who were glaring at him, some who were frozen in shock, and even some who looked disgusted. But, for the most part, it wasn't half-bad.
Not nearly as bad as he'd been expecting.
***
As Coach blew his whistle for the final time that day, the boys on the field all let out a collective sigh of relief, some even collapsing dramatically on the field.
When Ethan had become captain of the football team at the end of his Junior Year, he'd known it would come with a lot of advantages.
For one, it would automatically make girls fawn over his mere existence. That alone, added to his boosted popularity, would shape him out as the untouchable, invincible God of James Monroe High. Girls wanted to get in his pants and guys wanted to be him. What more could he have asked for?
Plus, as the star athlete of his high school, academics quickly became one of the last things on his—and the administration's—mind. Who cared about passing if he was going to get scouted, anyways?
Another thing he was looking forward to during his coronation, was that he could just sit around during practice and laugh at his teammates' suffrage. Or so he thought.
What quickly unraveled to him during the team's first practice with him as Team Captain was that, in Coach Bryant's twisted mind, being captain only gave him more incentive to work Ethan even harder than all the boys combined.
It was really no surprise that by the time they were done, his muscles were crying in agony, twisting and threatening to give out on him before he hit the showers.
Another thing he enjoyed about being all high and mighty was that, no matter how late he got to the locker room, he always got to shower first. It was kind of an unspoken rule, really. Even though five shower stalls lined each wall, his teammates respected—and feared—him enough to let him choose whichever stall he wanted. He always choose the second-to-last stall on the right side, and they were well aware of that, but they still never went in before he did.
That seriously boosted his already-inflated ego.
When he stepped out, dripping wet and a towel around his waist, he felt it.
The tension in the air.
Ten pairs of eyes snapped his way, studying his every move, unsure of how to act and what to say.
"Relax, guys. Just 'cause I like sticking it in the back doesn't mean I'm going to ogle at you now," he said, speaking with ease despite his trembling hands. Ethan didn't want things to be different. He hated change, especially like this.
They all chuckled, but the awkwardness did not dissipate completely. That was, until Luke, Ethan's personal Lord and Savior, spoke up, "You can look at me all you want, Ethan. Won't bother me."
Then they laughed. Wholeheartedly, even.
As Mason and Ethan walked side-by-side outside the testosterone-packed locker room, the former halted abruptly, "Shit, dude. I almost forgot."
Ethan looked at him with piqued interest. "What?"
"Can I burrow your Psychology notes? There's a test coming up in a few days, and I can't find mine."
Unlike his friend, Mason actually gave a damn about his grades. He may not have been Collin Bennet, but he still managed to pass every class.
For Ethan, that wasn't quiet the case. There were some subjects, like Psychology, that come easily to him. But other than that, he was a lost cause. Not because he wasn't smart, but because he didn't feel the need to apply himself more.
"Sure, man," he said, shrugging it off. "But I think I left them in my locker. Here, why don't you go warm up the car while I get them?" he offered, tossing Mason his keys.
Annoyingly enough, the senior lockers were located on the second floor. It wasn't that much of a hassle, but Ethan's legs had had enough for the day, and all he wanted to do was crash on his soft bed and sleep for days.
When he reached the top of the staircase, he bent down to place his hands on his knees, panting slightly with every shallow breath he took. His vision grew spotty with exhaustion, and that was probably why he didn't notice the boy, carrying his weight in art supplies, that directly crashed into him.
The blow, paired with the sound of the boy's things clattering in the deserted hallway, caught Ethan off guard, so he stumbled back a bit.
The boy, on the other hand, let out a surprised yelp and fell directly into Ethan. Instinctively, Ethan's arms circled his waist, trying to keep him upright as he placed his hands on Ethan's chest to steady himself.
"Are you okay?" he asked, searching for any sign of blood or injury on either of them. Wide, bewildered—but mesmerizing in every sense of the word—blue eyes stared back at Ethan, and it took the other boy a second before he nodded his head.
"Yeah, yeah. Fuck, I'm sorry," he stammered, taking his hands away from Ethan's chest to run them through his sandy brown hair.
It was only then that Ethan realized the tantalizing position they were still in. His arms were still wrapped tightly around the boy, pressing his torso slightly into his own, and bringing their faces closer than they should be.
Ethan's arms immediately fell back to his sides, and he took a few steps backwards.
"Sorry about that. I didn't see you."
"With all the junk you were carrying, I'm surprised you're able to see anything at all," Ethan teased, eyeing the supplies scattered all over the place.
He raised his eyebrows distastefully. "Junk? I'll have you know, this junk probably cost more than your car," he snapped, not breaking eye contact.
Ethan couldn't help the smirk that made its way onto his face. "Well, if it's so damn valuable, I guess you should start treating it that way. I would never let anything happen to my precious baby."
He didn't reply. Instead, he rolled his eyes and bent down to pick up the paintbrushes closest to his feet.
Ethan could've just left him there. It was his mess, after all. He had no business helping him clean it up. He didn't even know him.
But, Ethan reasoned, he wouldn't have wanted him to fall down the stairs and break his neck knowing he could've helped, so he leaned down and picked up a few paint tubes.
Purely out of sympathy. Not interest.
"Where do you want me to put these?" Ethan questioned, making the boy look up at him. His eyes went wide for a second, but he quickly recovered, concealing his surprise.
"Third classroom to your left," he instructed, not even bothering to look at Ethan for longer than a bored moment.
Soon, the pair had all of his valuable supplies stacked in the empty classroom.
Ethan could've just left then. There was no reason to stay and make small talk with a stranger.
But for some reason, his mouth spewed out the words before Ethan even had the chance to process them, "I'm Ethan."
He didn't even spare Ethan a glance, too engrossed in setting up the blank canvas on the easel that cowered under his 6"0 frame. "I know who you are."
Taken aback by his dry tone and curt response, Ethan's eyebrows shot up. "Cool," he replied. "And you are?"
He didn't look up that time, either. "Vincent."
"Vincent," Ethan echoed, the name rolling strangely off his tongue. "Well, it was nice to meet you."
Vincent scoffed. "Yeah, nice to finally speak to someone you've had classes with for the past three years."
Ethan frowned, confused. But, honestly, he was not surprised. He spent most of his time in class asleep. Then again, it was hard to miss someone like Vincent.
It was those damn eyes of his. So blue.
"Oh, yeah? My bad, I never noticed you," Ethan responded casually, oblivious to the way Vincent's chiseled jaw clenched.
"Why am I not surprised?" Vincent replied, but his voice was distant, distracted, as he had already begun to create delicate strokes of blue on the canvas.
Not knowing what he entirely meant by the snide comment, Ethan pried, against his better judgement, "What are you still doing here, anyways? It's late."
With the same passive aggressive tone that was starting to get on Ethan's nerves, Vincent responded, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
That time, it was Ethan's turn to scoff. "Well, yeah. Otherwise, I wouldn't have asked."
Alas, Vincent turned his upper body towards Ethan so that he was facing him, and with barely-concealed aggravation, Vincent all but growled, "Look, not to be rude or anything, but can you please leave? You're distracting me, and I'd appreciate it if you left me alone so I can paint."
His tone was impatient, snappy, and downright bitchy. It took Ethan a minute to process the request. Was he really asking Ethan to leave? Who the hell was this guy?
"Okay? I guess?" Ethan replied.
With newly aroused intrigue, he walked away, set out to come back the next day, to get to know this Vincent boy who thought he was all that.