Walking Home

It wasn’t that he needed the help. His legs would work again if he just forced them to. But Rory didn’t give him the chance. He guided Ewan along the empty path like it was his responsibility, like he’d been waiting for this excuse all along.

Ewan kept his head down, hoping the darkness would swallow the flush creeping up his neck.

“You’re lighter than you look,” Rory said casually, breaking the silence. “Almost carried you just now.”

Ewan bristled. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Carry you?” A grin slipped into Rory’s voice. “Could’ve managed it.”

“I said I don’t need help.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Rory replied, amused. “Too bad you’ve got me anyway.”

Ewan pressed his lips together, refusing to answer. Rory’s confidence was irritating. Not because it was fake, on the contrary, it was real in a way that left no room for escape. Rory said things like he meant them, and people believed him. Ewan hated that. He hated how his chest twisted at the sound of Rory’s laughter, how badly he wanted it turned on him again.

They walked in silence for a few moments, the crunch of gravel under their shoes the only sound. Then Rory tilted his head toward him. Studying his face in a way that made Ewan want to squirm free and push him.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I’ve always thought you were kind of cute when you get that serious look. Like you’re solving math equations in your head or something.”

Ewan stopped dead in his tracks. His heart lurched violently, as if it wanted to leap from his chest.

Rory looked at him, brows raised in mock innocence. “What? Surprised?”

Ewan stared, unable to form words. Cute? He’d heard plenty of words thrown his way over the years, weird, freak, creep. But cute? Never. Especially not from Rory Maclean, whose smile could scatter a whole classroom’s attention in seconds.

“Don’t…” Ewan managed finally, voice raw. If he was making fun of him, he couldn't take it. He would rather hear the insult. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” Rory leaned closer, grin softening into something more genuine. “It’s true.”

Ewan turned his face away, ears burning. He hated the way his chest tightened, hated that Rory could undo him so easily with a single line.

But even as he tried to smother the feeling, memories pushed through… memories he couldn’t shake.

****

It had been three years ago, first year of secondary school. He’d been cornered outside the gym, three boys shoving him back against the wall.

“Why do you always stare like that, freak?”
“Think you’re better than us?”
“Maybe we should teach you some manners.”

He hadn’t fought back. He never did. Not because he couldn’t, if he drew attention to himself, it would be worse than bruises. So he stood there, silent, waiting for it to end.

Until Rory appeared.

“What the hell are you doing?” Rory’s voice had cut through the air like a whip. He hadn’t hesitated, just shoved his way into the circle, taller than him even then, fists clenched. “Back off.”

The other boys had laughed, called him names, but none of them wanted to fight Rory Maclean. He was already popular, already the golden boy of school. They scattered quickly enough.

And Rory had turned to him, eyes gentle, offering a hand. “You okay?”

Ewan hadn’t taken it. He couldn’t. But he had remembered it, every detail, every word, burned into him like a brand.

****

Now, walking beside Rory again, Ewan clenched his fist at his side. He didn’t want to remember that. Didn’t want Rory’s kindness making him weak again.

“You really don’t notice, do you?” Rory’s voice cut through his thoughts, softer this time. “The way people look at you. Like they don’t know what to do with you. I’ve seen it. You just keep your head down, like you’re bracing for something.”

Ewan stiffened.

Rory’s hand tightened gently on the arm over his shoulder. “I don’t like it. The way they treat you.”

The words landed like a stone in his stomach. He wanted to laugh, or cry, or tell Rory he didn’t understand. That it wasn’t just kids being cruel, it was something deeper, something wrong with him that they all sensed without knowing why.

Instead he muttered, “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

Ewan faltered, breath catching. The simplicity of it, the certainty, was unbearable. He quickened his pace, hoping Rory wouldn’t see the expression twisting his face.

****

The lights of his house came into view at last, a small stone building set back from the road. Relief flickered through him, relief and dread both.

Because waiting at the gate was his guardian.

The man was tall, shoulders hunched in a way that made him look less human somehow. His features were sharp, his eyes pale and too still. He didn’t move as they approached, just watched, gaze flicking briefly to Rory before settling back on Ewan.

“You’re late,” the guardian said flatly.

Ewan swallowed. “I… fell asleep at the lake.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “And now you can barely stand.”

Rory shifted immediately, stepping half a pace forward, his arm still braced around Ewan. “He’s not okay. That should be your first concern. Do you even care?”

The guardian’s face didn’t change. “He will recover.”

The dismissal in his tone made Ewan’s chest tighten, but Rory bristled beside him, grip firming protectively. For a second Ewan thought Rory might actually argue, might throw himself against the cold indifference that had always defined his guardian.

He both dreaded it and wanted it more than anything.

The man turned away at last. “Come inside.”

Rory glanced down at him, eyes searching. For once, Ewan let himself meet that gaze. Warmth, determination, a stubborn refusal to look away.

And for one fragile moment, Ewan thought: if I fall, maybe he really would catch me.

****