Two Weeks of Silence

Paralyzed by the raw truth of his feelings and Carter's identity, Ed retreats, leaving Carter confused and hurt, while unspoken emotions and electric tension simmer beneath a surface of forced distance.

The world had gone from sharp focus to a dizzy blur in the span of a single afternoon, leaving Ed gasping for air he couldn't seem to find. Carter. The Raven. The boy from his dreams, from his sketches, from the anonymous confessions on 'Summer Pages'—all of it had clicked into place with a sickening lurch, and Ed's first, most primal instinct had been flight.

He'd cut class the next day, a stupid, impulsive move that only intensified the shame that already felt like a second skin. He couldn't face Carter, couldn't risk the accidental brush of shoulders in the hall, the impossible eye contact that would surely unravel every carefully constructed thread of his composure. The idea of Carter knowing, *truly* knowing, the extent of Ed’s vulnerability, the way his online self had poured out his messy, unedited feelings… it was a suffocating weight.

His phone, usually a lifeline, now felt like a lead brick in his pocket. He ignored notifications from 'Summer Pages,' leaving his own carefully cultivated online presence to wither. The thought of logging on, seeing Carter's profile, maybe even a message, made his stomach clench. He couldn't post. Couldn't engage. Couldn't accidentally drop a hint of his actual state of being to the one person he was desperately trying to avoid, even as his fingers ached to type something, anything, into a draft message.

In the quiet of his room, the only place he felt remotely safe, Ed huddled over his sketchbook. Lines, usually fluid and confident, came out jagged, hesitant. He drew raven feathers, dark and sharp, but always with a broken quill, the tips splayed and useless. He drew empty spaces, negative forms that hinted at a presence, an absence, a gaping void where connection used to be. The graphite smudged under his palm, leaving grey streaks on the paper and an inexplicable ache in his chest. He chewed on the end of a dull pencil, the faint taste of wood and lead doing little to distract from the hum of anxiety that had taken root behind his ribs.

Across town, Carter felt a growing sense of bewildered hurt that tightened in his chest with each passing, Ed-less day. Ed wasn't just quiet; he was *gone*. His usual spot in the library, empty. His quick, almost-there smiles when they crossed paths by the lockers, vanished. Even on 'Summer Pages,' where Ed had always been such a vibrant, thoughtful voice, there was only silence. It was like a sudden, inexplicable ghosting, and Carter couldn't shake the feeling that he'd somehow caused it.

He'd tried to catch Ed after biology, a brief, open-ended 'Hey,' but Ed had just mumbled something about needing to get to the art room and practically sprinted away, leaving Carter standing alone by the stairwell, a faint smell of graphite and something sweet, like old wood, lingering in the air. The rejection, however unintentional, stung. It left a hollow space where a flicker of genuine connection had been building, a spark that Carter had only just begun to acknowledge, even to himself.

During lunch break, he found himself picking at a sandwich in the usual cafeteria chaos, eyes scanning, always scanning, for a glimpse of brown hair and broad shoulders that never appeared. Mark Jensen slid into the seat opposite him, a half-eaten apple in hand. Mark, with his perpetually raised eyebrow and an uncanny ability to read between the lines, had been observing Carter's distracted state for days.

"Alright there, Raven?" Mark asked, his tone deceptively casual, but his gaze sharp. Carter flinched, a small, internal jolt. He still wasn't used to the 'Raven' nickname outside of his online persona. "Yeah, fine," Carter mumbled, pushing a stray chip around his plate. He hated the way his voice felt rough, like he hadn't used it properly in days.

"Doesn't look fine," Mark observed, taking a deliberate bite of his apple. The crunch was loud in the noisy room. "You look like someone stole your favorite book and burned the last chapter." Carter sighed, a ragged exhale. "It's… complicated." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration building. "Someone I thought I was getting to know… just poof. Vanished. And I don't get it." He didn't say Ed's name. Couldn't. He barely even acknowledged the *crush* he was developing, let alone the gut-punch of Ed's sudden withdrawal.

Mark watched him, a slow understanding dawning in his eyes. He’d seen the subtle glances Carter used to steal, the way he’d light up at a particular 'Summer Pages' post, the slight slump of his shoulders when Ed wasn't around. And Mark also knew Ed, the quiet, artistic kid who often kept to himself. The pieces, to Mark, weren't that hard to connect. It was less about who, and more about *what*.

"Sometimes," Mark said, his voice lower now, almost a murmur against the cafeteria din, "when someone backs away like that, it's not because of you. It's… them. Something they're dealing with. Fear, maybe." He paused, letting the words hang. "Could be they got spooked. If they felt something big, something they didn't expect, sometimes the easiest thing to do is run." Mark’s eyes met Carter’s, a knowing flicker there. "Doesn't make it any less shitty for the person left standing, though."

Carter chewed on that, a strange warmth blooming in his chest, a counterpoint to the sharp ache of rejection. Fear. Was that it? Not disgust, not disinterest, but… fear? It was a possibility he hadn't considered. It softened the edges of the hurt, replacing it with a fresh wave of concern, and something else – a deep, almost instinctual pull to *understand*.

But the school ecosystem, much like any other, was quick to sense a disruption. Sarah Miller, perched on the edge of a cafeteria table, was already dissecting the situation with Amelia Chen. "Have you noticed Ed? He's completely disappeared," Sarah whispered, though her voice carried, thin and sharp, over the general hum. "And Carter… he looks like he's lost his dog or something. Always staring at empty chairs."

Amelia nodded, her own eyes flitting towards Carter's brooding figure. "I saw him try to talk to Ed yesterday, and Ed practically bolted. Super weird, right? They were always, like, exchanging notes or something in history." The whispers spread, snaking through the halls, amplifying the social tension. Everyone noticed Ed's sudden absence from 'Summer Pages,' the lack of his familiar, insightful comments. And everyone noticed Carter's changed demeanor, the way his usual confident aura had become clouded by an almost desperate searching.

Ed felt the weight of those whispers, even without hearing them directly. He imagined them, festering, growing, turning into something ugly. Every time he saw a group of students huddled together, heads bent, he assumed they were talking about him, about Carter, about the impossible secret that bound them together. The paranoia was relentless, a constant thrum beneath his skin.

He'd open his phone, navigate to Carter's profile on 'Summer Pages' – not the Raven profile, but the public one – and just stare. His finger would hover over the message icon, a silent battle raging within him. He'd type, delete, retype, delete again. *Hey. Everything okay?* Too casual. Too fake. *I'm sorry.* For what? For knowing? For feeling? *I can't.* Too honest. Too much.

One particularly frustrating evening, he typed out a long, rambling message, an apology for his silence, an explanation for his panic, a tentative reach for… something. He even mentioned feeling seen, vulnerable, exposed. It was raw, honest, and terrifying. He stared at the 'Send' button for five long minutes, his heart hammering against his ribs, before the familiar wave of cold dread washed over him. His thumb, trembling, hit 'Delete.' He couldn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. The guilt tasted like ash in his mouth.

Meanwhile, Carter, back in his own room, was wrestling with a different kind of torment. The fear that Mark had suggested resonated, but it was overshadowed by his own frustration and a burgeoning desire that refused to be ignored. He found himself thinking about Ed constantly – the way the light caught his hair, the easy cadence of his laugh, the surprising depth in his eyes when he talked about art. He re-read Ed’s old posts on 'Summer Pages,' searching for clues, for comfort, for any scrap of the person who had so suddenly retreated.

He wanted to reach out, desperately. To text, to call, to just *ask* what was going on. But the memory of Ed bolting, the visible panic in his eyes, held Carter back. He didn't want to scare him further. He didn't want to push him away completely. The thought of permanent rejection, of losing the fragile, nascent connection they'd formed, was unbearable. He stood by his window, looking out at the streetlights, his jaw tight. He hated this feeling of powerlessness. He was a pursuer by nature, but now he was stalled, caught between action and fear.

He ran a hand over his face, scrubbing away the weariness. He pictured Ed's face, the slight flush on his cheeks when he'd been excited about something, the way his brows furrowed in concentration. The images, unbidden, were almost a physical ache. He longed to close the distance, to understand, to simply *be* near Ed again without this suffocating wall between them. But he knew, with a certainty that both thrilled and terrified him, that the next move, whatever it was, had to be the right one. And he just didn't know what that was yet.

The silence stretched between them, a tangible thing, heavy with unspoken questions, anxieties, and a longing that threatened to consume them both. It was a silence filled with yearning, a desperate echo of what could have been, and what still, perhaps, could be. Each moment that passed only amplified the tension, turning the absence into a presence of its own, electric and undeniably potent.