The Weight of a Gaze

My secret had a name: Adrian Cross. It wasn't just a crush; it was an obsession. I felt a constant pull toward the one person on campus who was both my safe haven and my hidden truth. I spent my days watching him, scared that someone would notice the longing in my eyes. I was even more frightened by the strange, dark power I sometimes glimpsed beneath his perfect, charming surface. His touch radiated warmth that made my skin tingle, and I began to worry about the day my secret would consume us both.

The week leading up to the championship game was a unique kind of torture. The whole campus buzzed with his name, his face appeared on flyers, and he was everywhere. I found solace in the library annex, where I could see the practice courts. From my seat by the window, I would watch him move with power and precision that seemed almost unreal. A fierce pride swelled in my chest, always followed by a sharp sting of loneliness.

Two days before the game, I waited for him on a bench near the gym entrance, lost in a book. The rest of the team had left, but Adrian always stayed late, pushing himself harder than anyone else.

“Well, look who it is,” a sneering voice broke my focus. I looked up and saw two football players, Kevin and Josh, swaggering toward me. They were known for their arrogance and jealousy over Adrian’s popularity. “Waiting for your master, Blake?” Kevin asked with a cruel smirk.

I tried to ignore them, hoping they would lose interest, but my silence only seemed to encourage them.

“It’s pathetic,” Josh added, stepping closer. “The way you follow him around like a lost puppy.” He suddenly snatched the book from my hands. “What are you reading? More fairy tales?”

“Give it back,” I said, my voice quiet but firm as I stood up.

Kevin laughed and shoved me hard. I stumbled backward, and my shoulder hit the brick wall of the gym with a painful jolt. “Or what?” he taunted, throwing my book onto the wet grass. “You going to cry to him?”

Before I could react, a dangerously calm voice cut through the air. “Is there a problem here?”

Adrian had emerged from the gym so silently that it felt like he had materialized from the shadows. His face was a mask of chilling stillness.

Kevin, emboldened by his own foolishness, just laughed. “Just having a conversation with your little pet, Cross. Butt out.”

Adrian took a slow step forward. “I think he asked for his book back.”

“Make me,” Kevin sneered.

It happened so quickly that I struggled to keep up. Adrian's hand shot out and clamped around Kevin's wrist. It wasn’t a punch or a shove, just a firm grip. But an audible gasp of pain escaped Kevin’s lips. His face turned pale with shock, his eyes wide with fear. I heard a faint, sickening sound, like stones grinding together.

“I believe,” Adrian said, his voice a low rumble that resonated in my bones, “this belongs to my friend.” He tightened his grip, and Kevin let out a choked yelp, his knees buckling. Josh stood frozen in horror.

Adrian effortlessly took the book from Josh’s limp fingers and released Kevin’s wrist. Kevin stumbled back, cradling his arm, his face a mask of pain and fear. The two of them scrambled away without another word, nearly tripping over each other to get away.

The threatening aura around Adrian disappeared instantly. He turned to me, his brow furrowed with real concern, and handed me my book. “You okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” I lied, my voice shaking. My shoulder throbbed, but the real pain was the chaos in my mind. I had just witnessed my best friend, the charming campus hero, show a level of terrifying violence that was not normal. The bullies hadn’t just been scared; they had been broken by a simple grip.

Later that night, after we returned to our quiet dorm room, I lay in bed pretending to sleep. I watched the steady rise and fall of Adrian’s chest in the moonlight, his face peaceful in slumber. My gaze shifted to his hand, the one that had gripped Kevin’s wrist, resting on top of his blanket.

The knuckles were dark and bruised from his own impossible grip. It was the only physical sign of the violent encounter. But as I watched, my heart frozen in my chest, I saw something that made no sense. The deep, purple bruises were fading. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the dark marks lightened, and the skin beneath them seemed to heal right before my eyes.

He wasn’t just impossibly strong; he was impossibly resilient. He was healing in front of me. What was he?