Chapter 13 Alone Again
The Empty Space
Ethan tried to return to normal.
That was what he told himself every morning.
He would wake up on time, go to practice, attend his classes, study in the library, eat his meals, and sleep.
Simple.
Predictable.
Safe.
It should have worked.
Instead, every ordinary part of his routine reminded him that something was missing.
Ryan.
Ethan woke early on Monday morning and stared at the empty space across the room.
Ryan's bed was made.
His backpack was gone.
His desk was empty except for a few books he had left behind.
They had not officially stopped sharing the room. Ryan had simply been spending most nights elsewhere, staying with a friend from his sports-science program until things between them became easier.
Ethan hated how much he noticed the absence.
The room was quieter.
Colder.
Lonelier.
He got dressed for practice and reached automatically for his spare shirt.
Then he stopped.
Ryan would usually joke about how many shirts Ethan carried.
Ethan smiled despite himself.
Then the smile disappeared.
He packed the shirt anyway.
At the athletic center, practice was harder than usual.
Ethan pushed himself through every set.
He swam faster.
Longer.
Harder.
He wanted exhaustion.
Exhaustion was easier than thinking.
But when practice ended, he sat alone on the edge of the pool.
The locker room reminded him of Ryan.
The first conversation.
The nervous jokes.
The moment Ryan had admitted that he also sweated more than most people.
Ethan remembered how relieved he had felt.
For the first time, he had realized he wasn't the only one.
He closed his eyes.
He missed him.
Ethan stood quickly.
He couldn't stay there.
He showered, changed, and headed toward class.
On the way, he passed the cafeteria.
He slowed.
The table where they had first started eating together was empty.
Ethan remembered Ryan sitting across from him, pretending to criticize his breakfast choices.
He remembered the first time Ryan had reached across the table and touched his hand.
He remembered how nervous he had been.
Now the same table looked ordinary.
Just a table.
But Ethan couldn't sit there.
He walked past.
At lunch, he chose another seat.
A few minutes later, Marcus joined him.
"You okay?"
Ethan nodded.
"Yeah."
Marcus looked at him.
"You've been quiet."
"I'm tired."
"Practice?"
"Mostly."
Marcus didn't push.
Ethan was grateful.
But after Marcus left, Ethan looked across the cafeteria again.
Ryan wasn't there.
Of course he wasn't.
Ethan stared at the empty chair beside him.
He hated how much he wanted Ryan to sit there.
After lunch, Ethan went to the library.
He chose a table near the back.
Then he realized it was the same corner where he and Ryan had worked on the assignment before their first kiss.
Ethan immediately closed his laptop.
He couldn't concentrate.
He could still remember Ryan standing in front of him.
Their faces inches apart.
The nervousness.
The almost kiss.
The decision to finally stop being afraid.
Ethan touched his lips unconsciously.
He remembered their first real kiss.
The happiness afterward.
The way Ryan had smiled.
The way Ethan had felt as though he had finally allowed himself to have something he had wanted for years.
He closed his eyes.
Why had he been so afraid?
The answer was obvious.
Because happiness gave him something to lose.
But he had lost it anyway.
At least for now.
Ethan packed his things and left.
He walked toward the dorm.
The path passed the athletic center.
That path had become one of his favorite places because Ryan had often walked beside him.
They had talked there about classes.
About sports.
About their families.
About the future.
Sometimes they had said almost nothing.
Ethan missed even the silence.
He slowed.
A group of students passed him.
He automatically looked away.
Then he realized something.
He wasn't afraid because of them anymore.
He was thinking about Ryan.
That was different.
When Ethan reached Room 318, he unlocked the door.
The room was quiet.
He dropped his bag.
Ryan's empty desk caught his attention.
Ethan stared at it.
There was still a small mark on the wall where Ryan had once taped a schedule.
A coffee stain remained near the edge of his desk.
Tiny reminders.
Proof that Ryan had been there.
Ethan sat on his bed.
He looked around.
This room had once been where Ethan felt safest.
Now it felt like a reminder of what he had lost.
He reached for his phone.
He opened Ryan's contact.
His thumb hovered over the message box.
He typed:
I miss you.
He stared at the words.
Then deleted them.
He typed again.
Can we talk?
Deleted.
Finally, he turned the phone off.
He wasn't ready.
Or maybe he was afraid.
He couldn't tell anymore.
That evening, Ethan went through his usual routine.
Dinner.
Study.
Shower.
Laundry.
He did everything automatically.
But there was no Ryan asking whether he wanted to watch something.
No Ryan making jokes.
No Ryan sitting beside him.
No quiet conversation before bed.
Ethan climbed under the blanket.
The room felt enormous.
He turned toward the empty bed.
"I miss you," he whispered.
Saying it aloud made something inside him ache.
He realized he didn't only miss kissing Ryan.
He didn't only miss holding his hand.
He missed the person who had made him feel safe enough to stop hiding.
He missed being able to walk into the room after practice without immediately worrying about how he smelled.
He missed being able to sit beside someone while sweaty and exhausted without feeling ashamed.
He missed telling Ryan things he had never told anyone.
He missed Ryan's patience.
His humor.
His quiet confidence.
He missed the way Ryan looked at him as if Ethan's body wasn't a problem that needed fixing.
That realization hurt the most.
Because Ryan had given Ethan something he had spent years searching for without realizing it.
Acceptance.
Complete acceptance.
Not conditional acceptance.
Not acceptance that depended on being clean, dry, confident, attractive, or comfortable.
Ryan had accepted Ethan when he was nervous.
When he was sweaty.
When he was embarrassed.
When he was afraid.
Ryan had seen the parts Ethan hated and had never treated them as reasons to leave.
And Ethan had allowed fear to push him away.
He sat up.
His eyes filled with tears.
"I miss you."
This time, he didn't whisper it.
He said it clearly.
He missed Ryan.
Not simply the romance.
Not simply the kisses.
Not simply the comfort of having someone beside him.
He missed the feeling of being completely accepted by another person.
And for the first time, Ethan understood that losing that feeling had nothing to do with the photograph.
It had everything to do with the choices he had made afterward.
He had been so afraid of being judged by everyone else that he had forgotten how Ryan had never judged him at all.
Ethan looked toward the empty bed.
The silence felt unbearable.
He picked up his phone again.
This time, he didn't type.
He simply opened Ryan's name and stared at it.
He still wasn't sure what he would say.
But he knew one thing now.
He couldn't keep pretending that being alone was easier.
Because without Ryan, the campus didn't feel safer.
It just felt empty.
Understanding Acceptance
Ethan had spent most of his life treating sweat like a secret.
He had learned to notice it before anyone else did.
He knew which shirts showed dampness most quickly. He knew which classrooms became too warm in the afternoon. He knew where the cooler seats were in the library and which paths across campus offered the most shade.
He knew how much water to carry.
How many spare shirts to pack.
How often to shower.
How much deodorant was too much.
He knew how to stand without lifting his arms too high.
He knew how to laugh when someone made a joke about sweating, even when the joke hurt.
He had become an expert at hiding.
For years, Ethan had believed that was simply part of living with his body.
Now, sitting alone in Room 318, he began to wonder if the problem had ever been only the sweating.
He looked down at his hands.
Sweat was physical.
It was something his body did.
It happened when he trained.
It happened when he was nervous.
It happened when the weather was hot.
It happened when he was stressed.
It was uncomfortable.
Sometimes embarrassing.
Sometimes difficult to manage.
But it wasn't a moral failure.
It wasn't proof that he was dirty.
It wasn't proof that he was less attractive.
It wasn't proof that he was unworthy of love.
Ethan knew those things logically.
He had always known them somewhere in his mind.
But knowing something and believing it were different.
He remembered being younger.
He remembered standing in school locker rooms and watching other boys change without worrying about what they smelled like.
He remembered classmates opening windows.
He remembered jokes.
He remembered the laughter.
He remembered the way his face burned whenever someone commented.
At the time, Ethan hadn't understood the difference between a cruel comment and a fact.
Someone had said something hurtful about his body.
Ethan had believed them.
Then someone else had laughed.
Ethan had believed them too.
Eventually, he had built an entire identity around the idea that something about him was wrong.
The sweat became evidence.
Every damp shirt became proof.
Every anxious moment became confirmation.
Every time someone looked in his direction, Ethan wondered whether they had noticed.
He had spent years fighting something that wasn't actually his enemy.
His body had never been trying to hurt him.
His body had simply been doing what bodies sometimes did.
The cruelty had come from the meaning he had attached to it.
Ethan leaned back against the wall.
He thought about Ryan.
Ryan had never told him that sweat didn't exist.
He had never pretended that Ethan didn't have a physical issue.
He had simply refused to treat it as something shameful.
That distinction mattered.
Ryan had seen Ethan after practice.
He had seen the damp shirts.
He had noticed the natural scent.
He had watched Ethan become nervous.
And he had never laughed.
Never made a face.