Chapter 1

• Emerson Zephyr had always known he was different.
• He’d known it in the locker room, when his eyes lingered a little too long and he had to force them away. Known it in the quiet, intrusive thoughts he never dared to name. And he’d known it, painfully since the incident five years ago, that altered the course of his life.
• As he sat in math class, chin resting against his palm, gaze fixed obediently toward the front. Anyone watching would assume he was absorbed in quadratic equations and maker scraping across the board.
• They would be wrong.
• His attention was on the silver-blond head in the front row.
• William Sinclair.
• Emerson didn’t understand what it was about William. He’d been trying to figure that out since the day William was introduced to the class last year. The new student with the stranger looking amber eyes, British accent and composed posture like he didn’t quite belong with any of them. From that moment, Emerson’s eyes had betrayed him.
• For the past year that William had been admitted into his high school, Emerson had watched him from afar like the freak he knew he was. He could never bring himself to speak to him, although he had often found William holding or returning those lingering gazes, it did nothing but make Emerson feel uneasy.
• “Dude, you should totally ask her out.” Mason said, leaning across the lunch table with that mischievous grin Emerson knew all too well.
• “What?” Emerson asked, blinking a few times as he turned to face Mason.
• It was lunch at Ravenscroft Academy, and Emerson sat beside his childhood best friend, Mason River.
• Mason was your typical jock with blonde short hair, piercing blue eyes, a narrow nose and thin lips. He had the muscular build that got him all the attention he could ever need.
• “Emma,” Mason said, nodding subtly toward William’s table. “You’ve been staring at her all month; you should ask her out.”
• Emerson turned, glancing back toward William’s table, Emma was seated beside him, he noticed how she whispered into William's ear that made him laugh, raising one hand to cover his mouth in the most elegant manner Emerson had the pleasure of seeing. Stray strands of silver hair fell over William’s face, and Emerson watched, transfixed, as he casually tucked them behind his ear.
• As if sensing eyes on him, William turned and caught Emerson’s gaze, Time seemed to slow for Emerson, the chatter of the school cafeteria fading into the background. Until a low smile appeared on William’s lips followed by a wink.
• Emerson jerked his eyes away as if burned, heart hammering against his chest. He couldn’t have just winked at me. He thought, focusing back on his friend who was looking at him expectantly.
• “What…?”
• “So?” Mason pressed, glancing between Emerson and Emma’s table.
• “So what?”
• Mason rolled his eyes and sigh, “So are you going to ask her out?”
• “Who? Emma? No…I mean she is pretty but she is not my type.”
• Mason’s brows furrowed, “You’ve been saying that about every single girl, what’s your type?”
• Emerson shrugged, glaring at his tray.
• “There is no way man, how could you not like that! I mean LOOK at her.”
• Emerson ignored Mason, adjusted his blazer that was rolled slightly at the sleeves, picked up a piece of apple from his tray and placed it between his lips.
• “At least tell me you want to bang that ass.”
• Emerson shrugged again, chewing slowly to keep from answering as he also refused to meet Mason’s eyes.
• “Come on, man,” Mason leaned back in his chair. “You need to give me something to go off on. You have to pop that cherry of yours…” He paused, giving Emerson a once-over. “If you don’t like her, then why have you been staring at her for the past month?”
• Emerson froze.
• One, he hadn’t expected anyone to notice his obvious pining and two, his eyes hadn’t been on Emma not that Mason would know that.
• Emerson’s jaw tightened, his hands digging into his knees as if it could shield him. He met Mason eyes, his blue eyes holding this glint to it, but there was no way to answer that without compromising himself, so Emerson shook his head as he looked back down to his tray, brows furrowed.
• “Dude.” Mason exclaimed, nudging his shoulder “You definitely want that ass.”
• The rest of the day had passed with little to no activity. Emerson had tried, with every ounce of restraint, to stop glancing at William after Mason’s pointed observation. It was nearly impossible.
• But when the bell finally rang, signalling the end of the day, dread filled him whole, especially when he received a text from his younger brother, Benjamin, saying he was heading out with friends.
• And with no rugby practice, Emerson had no choice but to go home.
• Emerson dreaded coming home to the condescending look from his father, it was where his thoughts came alive, where those voices that eat away what was left of his self-worth grew louder.
• The moment he stepped through the front door, Emerson stood still, listening to check if anyone was home, and when he was met with the still silence of the house, he relaxed a little and climbed up the stairs up to his room.
• He stepped inside quietly, dropping his bag by the side of the room, each motion heavy with the invisible weight pressing hard on his chest. Emerson sank into his bed fully clothed, the covers pulled tight around him like a shield. Darkness pressed in from the corners of the room, but not enough to drown out the thoughts he couldn’t escape.
• He replayed the day, his mind landing on William when Mason had asked about his “type.” Emerson didn’t even know if that word applied. He only knew the pull towards him, the way his chest lifted and tightened at the mere presence of William Sinclair, the way he couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t stop thinking of him. A sensation both intoxicating and terrifying.
• That’s disgusting.
• The words an echo that had been directed at him so long ago.
• Emerson coiled in on himself. “Yeah… it’s disgusting. I’m… disgusting.” Emerson whispered.