Chapter 19 LINES THAT BLUR.

Chapter 19 LINES THAT BLUR.
COLE’S POV:

“ You'd have to be a lot more... trustworthy. Closer… before I could really… spill anything. Or relate certain things.”

Those words struck a chord within me, echoing in my chest like a stubborn rhythm I couldn’t shake—one that wouldn’t fade no matter how much I tried to drown it out.

It shouldn’t have hurt. I’m a guy. I don’t… I’m not supposed to feel this weird, twisting pang just because someone won’t open up to me.

And yet, it did. Deep in my chest, something tightened, knotted, and twisted.

I couldn’t explain it. Not logically, at least. I kept replaying the moment Andrew looked up at me, eyes flickering with something I couldn’t name—vulnerability, maybe. Or fear. Or trust being carefully measured.

There was a precision in the way he moved, the way he tilted his head slightly when he didn’t know how to respond, the subtle fidget of his fingers against the cup.

The first time I saw him, that same feeling had hit me. There’s this thing about him, something that doesn’t quite fit into my neat little boxes of people I understand.

He moves with intent but never lets it show fully. A mask of calm hiding behind sharp, careful instincts. Awareness in every glance, every twitch of his muscles, the way his shoulders never quite relax even when he’s pretending to.

I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled sharply, trying to shake the tension off. It’s absurd. I’ve never been curious about a guy like this before. Scratch that, I’m simply not into guys.

Yet here I am; chest tight, thoughts spinning, heart acting like it’s not mine. Thinking about Him.

God.

I’ve always been perceptive. Maybe too much so. Ever since I joined the academy, I couldn’t help noticing him. Andrew. The way he drifts off in thought, like the world doesn’t quite touch him even when it’s screaming around him.

I remember the first time I saw him lost in his own head, Mrs. Clayborne yelling at him for some dumb reason I couldn’t even understand.

Most people would’ve looked away or laughed—but not me. I felt it. This strange pull, like gravity. And ever since then, everything about him has been… complicated.

It’s not just that he’s hard to read, that’s part of it, sure—but there’s more. Behind every blink, every flicker of emotion, there’s something hidden.

And I can’t stop trying to find it. But the harder I try, the more he remains this locked puzzle I can’t crack.

I exhale slowly, fingers drumming on the edge of the pillar where I stood, jaw tight. The cold air bit against my skin, but I didn’t move. My mind was elsewhere—on him. Always on him.

He unsettles me in ways I can’t explain.
 I shouldn’t feel like this. I know who I am—or at least I thought I did. And yet, every time I think about him, there’s this pull I can’t escape.

My orientation, my control, everything I thought was certain, it’s all bending around him. It’s exhausting. And still, I can’t stop.

Just then, a sharp scream tore through my thoughts.

“Walton!”

The fuck?

The voice sliced through the air—high, sharp, and terrifying. My heart dropped instantly, my pulse slamming into overdrive.

I didn’t think. My body just moved.

By the time I pushed through the café doors, my breath had already caught in my throat. The world tilted.

There, Andrew lay on the ground.

Still.

Unmoving.

The sight hit me so hard my knees nearly buckled. My fingers gripped the edge of a table to steady myself.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. He looked… lifeless. His lips slightly parted, skin pale, his hair sticking to his forehead like he’d been sweating.

Someone screamed again. Another voice shouted his name. But all I could hear was the roaring in my ears—my pulse, hammering like a drum.

No. No. No-

I stumbled forward, kneeling beside him. His lashes fluttered faintly, then stilled. His chest barely moved.

“Move—move back!” one of the students barked, dropping beside him. Another teacher pressed fingers to Andrew’s neck, and someone started loosening his shirt.

Something in me snapped.

“Don’t-!” My voice came out hoarse, rougher than I intended. “Stop! Don't touch him.”

Everyone froze. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. I could feel the tremor in my own hands, but I didn’t care. Seeing them handle him like some object, rather than a human ignited something raw in me.

“I’ll take him,” I said, quieter but firm. “I’ll take him to the infirmary myself.”

“Cole, he needs—” the teacher began, but I didn’t let them finish.

I slid my arms under him carefully—one behind his shoulders, the other under his knees. He was frighteningly light. His head lolled against my chest, and I clenched my jaw so tightly it hurt.

“He’s burning up,” I muttered. The heat of his skin pressed against my forearm.

I didn’t wait for permission. I pushed through the stunned crowd, boots echoing against the hallway tiles. The world blurred at the edges—just his face, pale and too still, in my arms.

He’d looked off this morning. Disheveled. The dark circles under his eyes deeper than usual. I noticed. I always notice.

And that's why I had pushed for answers earlier on.

He said he was fine. He always says he’s fine.

Now, every step I took felt heavier—like carrying not just his weight, but my own guilt.

“Hang in there,” I whispered, voice tight. “You hear me, Andrew? Don’t you dare—don’t you dare do this.”

The infirmary door came into view. I kicked it open, startling the nurse.

“Help him!” I barked. “He collapsed—just—please—”

They rushed to him, guiding him onto the bed as I stepped back. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My throat burned.

The nurse started checking his pulse, his breathing, murmuring things I couldn’t process. I just stood there, numb, watching.

He looked so fragile. The quiet, unreadable wall that he built around himself, was… now cracked, vulnerable, small.

I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to steady the wild rhythm beneath my ribs, but it was no use. The air felt too thick, the room too small.

Why did it hurt this much to see him like this? Why did my chest ache every time his breath faltered? Why did every part of me scream to keep him safe?

This wasn’t just curiosity. It wasn’t just concern.

It was something else—raw, sharp, terrifying.

And it confused the hell out of me.

Because no matter how hard I tried to rationalize it, I couldn’t.

I shouldn’t care this much. Not for him. Not like this.

But as I stood there, fists clenched, eyes fixed on his still frame—

I realized I already did.