The gym hadn't changed.
The same creaky floorboards. The same peeling banners from the last championship game. The same disco ball that never quite spun right.
But tonight, it was packed with the ghosts of the past. People Eli hadn't seen since senior year—some balding, some glowing up, and some remaining the same. Laughter echoed under the high ceilings, bouncing off memories and regrets.
He moved through the crowd like a shadow, nodding at the occasional familiar face but avoiding conversation. His mind was elsewhere—focused on Jesse's letter, the flash drive, the video, sensing that something significant was starting to unravel.
And it was centred on him.
Noah Reyes.
Eli hadn't seen him yet, but he knew he was there. He could feel it—the old pull, magnetic and sickening, like gravity tilting sideways.
He drifted toward the back of the gym, where the lights were dimmer and the music wasn't as loud. Then he saw him.
Noah stood near the trophy case, drink in hand, staring at a framed photo of the varsity team from ten years ago. He was taller, broader now, and sharper around the edges. He wore a black dress shirt rolled to the elbows, revealing the curve of tattoos Eli didn't recognize. But his profile was unmistakable—the same strong jaw, the same storm-grey eyes, and the same mouth that once whispered promises into Eli's skin like poetry.
Eli froze.
Noah turned.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, everything else faded—the music, the crowd, the lights. It was just the two of them, standing in the ruins of what they used to be.
Noah's expression didn't change, but his grip on the glass tightened.
Eli stepped forward slowly, unsure if he wanted to run or speak.
"Hey," he said, his voice barely above the hum of the music.
Noah blinked. "Eli."
There it was. Hearing his name in that voice was like an old record that still played, even after the needle had snapped.
"You came," Eli added, trying to sound casual as if his heart wasn't clawing at his ribs.
"So did you," Noah replied, his tone unreadable. "Didn't think I'd see you again."
"Didn't think I'd want to come back."
"Then why did you?"
Eli hesitated. "Family. Closure. Morbid curiosity."
Noah looked at him like he didn't believe a word.
"And you?" Eli asked, needing to know. "Why now?"
Noah took a slow sip of his drink. "Same reasons, I guess. And I owed someone something."
That landed like a punch.
"Jesse?" Eli asked, his voice raw.
Noah's jaw clenched. He didn't answer.
There was a long pause, filled with unsaid things. The space between them felt weighted with grief, guilt, and the sharp edges of what they'd never dared to say back then.
"I found something," Eli finally said, low enough that only Noah could hear. "A letter from Jesse."
Noah's eyes flicked to his. He was alert now. "What kind of letter?"
"A warning," Eli replied. "He didn't think what happened to him was an accident."
Noah's face darkened.
"I knew it," he muttered, more to himself than to Eli. "I always felt something was off. But I didn't have proof."
"Well, now we might."
They stared at each other.
The silence between them wasn't just silence—it was history. First kisses, silent stares, held hands under desks, late-night drives, heartbreak, betrayal, and a funeral no one wanted to attend.
"You should come with me," Eli said. "I can show you what's on the drive."
Noah shook his head slowly. "Not here. There are too many eyes. Later."
"When?"
"Midnight. Behind the old train station."
Eli nodded. "I'll be there."
As he turned to go, Noah caught his wrist.
Eli froze.
Noah's hand was warm—too familiar, too dangerous.
"I never stopped wondering," Noah said, his voice rough. "About you. About that night. About… everything."
Eli didn't speak. He couldn't; his throat was too tight.
Before he could respond, someone called Noah's name from across the gym. A friend. A distraction.
Noah let go and walked away.
Later that night, Eli sat in his parked car behind the train station, the USB drive in his hand and the laptop open beside him.
At 12:01 a.m., a knock came at his window.
Noah slid into the passenger seat, silent at first.
"Show me," he said.
Eli did.
Together, they watched Jesse's video in the glow of the laptop screen, their faces lit by flickering light and fear.
By the end, Noah was pale.
"He knew something," he whispered. "He was scared."
"And no one listened."
"Well," Noah said, jaw set, "they're going to listen now."The gym hadn't changed.
The same creaky floorboards. The same peeling banners from the last championship game. The same disco ball that never quite spun right.
But tonight, it was packed with the ghosts of the past. People Eli hadn't seen since senior year—some balding, some glowing up, and some remaining the same. Laughter echoed under the high ceilings, bouncing off memories and regrets.
He moved through the crowd like a shadow, nodding at the occasional familiar face but avoiding conversation. His mind was elsewhere—focused on Jesse's letter, the flash drive, the video, sensing that something significant was starting to unravel.
And it was centered on him.
Noah Reyes.
Eli hadn't seen him yet, but he knew he was there. He could feel it—the old pull, magnetic and sickening, like gravity tilting sideways.
He drifted toward the back of the gym, where the lights were dimmer and the music wasn't as loud. Then he saw him.
Noah stood near the trophy case, drink in hand, staring at a framed photo of the varsity team from ten years ago. He was taller, broader now, and sharper around the edges. He wore a black dress shirt rolled to the elbows, revealing the curve of tattoos Eli didn't recognize. But his profile was unmistakable—the same strong jaw, the same storm-grey eyes, and the same mouth that once whispered promises into Eli's skin like poetry.
Eli froze.
Noah turned.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, everything else faded—the music, the crowd, the lights. It was just the two of them, standing in the ruins of what they used to be.
Noah's expression didn't change, but his grip on the glass tightened.
Eli stepped forward slowly, unsure if he wanted to run or speak.
"Hey," he said, his voice barely above the hum of the music.
Noah blinked. "Eli."
There it was. Hearing his name in that voice was like an old record that still played, even after the needle had snapped.
"You came," Eli added, trying to sound casual, as if his heart wasn't clawing at his ribs.
"So did you," Noah replied, his tone unreadable. "Didn't think I'd see you again."
"Didn't think I'd want to come back."
"Then why did you?"
Eli hesitated. "Family. Closure. Morbid curiosity."
Noah looked at him like he didn't believe a word.
"And you?" Eli asked, needing to know. "Why now?"
Noah took a slow sip of his drink. "Same reasons, I guess. And I owed someone something."
That landed like a punch.
"Jesse?" Eli asked, his voice raw.
Noah's jaw clenched. He didn't answer.
There was a long pause, filled with unsaid things. The space between them felt weighted with grief, guilt, and the sharp edges of what they'd never dared to say back then.
"I found something," Eli finally said, low enough that only Noah could hear. "A letter from Jesse."
Noah's eyes flicked to his. He was alert now. "What kind of letter?"
"A warning," Eli replied. "He didn't think what happened to him was an accident."
Noah's face darkened.
"I knew it," he muttered, more to himself than to Eli. "I always felt something was off. But I didn't have proof."
"Well, now we might."
They stared at each other.
The silence between them wasn't just silence—it was history. First kisses, silent stares, held hands under desks, late-night drives, heartbreak, betrayal, and a funeral no one wanted to attend.
"You should come with me," Eli said. "I can show you what's on the drive."
Noah shook his head slowly. "Not here. There are too many eyes. Later."
"When?"
"Midnight. Behind the old train station."
Eli nodded. "I'll be there."
As he turned to go, Noah caught his wrist.
Eli froze.
Noah's hand was warm—too familiar, too dangerous.
"I never stopped wondering," Noah said, his voice rough. "About you. About that night. About… everything."
Eli didn't speak. He couldn't; his throat was too tight.
Before he could respond, someone called Noah's name from across the gym. A friend. A distraction.
Noah let go and walked away.
Later that night, Eli sat in his parked car behind the train station, the USB drive in his hand and the laptop open beside him.
At 12:01 a.m., a knock came at his window.
Noah slid into the passenger seat, silent at first.
"Show me," he said.
Eli did.
Together, they watched Jesse's video in the glow of the laptop screen, their faces lit by flickering light and fear.
By the end, Noah was pale.
"He knew something," he whispered. "He was scared."
"And no one listened."
"Well," Noah said, jaw set, "they're going to listen now."