Your Silence is a Song

In the last installment of The Quarterback…

The Shape of the Fall

The party would’ve happened either way.

The House of ThorneR. Adrian Thorne

The basement smells like dryer sheets and old beer. One of the washers is already rumbling in the corner when I get there, its rhythmic thump echoing through the cinder block walls like a pulse. I toss my basket on the folding table and rub the back of my neck, already regretting the trip.

I didn’t check to see who was using the machine. I don’t think I wanted to know.

Still, part of me already does.

I load the washer slowly, like dragging it out will keep the quiet from closing in too fast. The hum of the building above us, the occasional click of pipes, the kind of silence that makes your thoughts way too loud.

I’m adding detergent when I hear it.

The door creaks open behind me.

I don’t turn around. Not at first.

Because I don’t have to.

“Shit,” Malik mutters under his breath. Not angry. Just… surprised. Like he stepped on a rake.

I turn, keeping it casual.

“Hey.”

He hesitates in the doorway. Hoodie up, gym shorts, one hand gripping a bottle of fabric softener like it’s a weapon.

“This yours?” I nod toward the running machine.

“Yeah,” he says, finally stepping inside. “Didn’t think anyone else came down here this late.”

I shrug. “Same.”

Silence again. Thick and padded. Like the air itself knows too much.

He moves to the dryer, opens the door like he needs something to do with his hands. Doesn’t look at me.

So I break the silence. Because someone has to.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

His jaw tightens. Just a flicker. Barely there. “I’ve been busy.”

“Right.” I close the lid on my washer. “Because football just got invented last week.”

He exhales through his nose. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make it a thing.”

“It was a thing.”

His eyes flick up to mine for the first time. “Was.”

I lean against the table. Arms crossed. Trying to stay grounded, even though my chest feels like it’s filled with static.

“I’m not trying to make it weird,” I say. “I just figured… I don’t know. We could at least acknowledge it happened.”

His expression shutters. That guarded Malik look. The one he wears like a helmet.

“What do you want me to say?”

I want him to say he’s thought about it. That it messed with his head. That he watched me the same way I watched him. That it wasn’t just about her.

Instead, he says, “You’re into guys. I’m not. It was just a thing that got out of hand.”

“Right,” I say quietly. “Of course.”

He nods like that settles it. But he doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

And when I glance up, he’s already watching me. That same look from before. Like he’s searching for something in my face he doesn’t want to admit he lost.

I don’t say anything.

I just let the silence stretch.

Let it say everything he won’t.

And even though he said he’s not into guys—

Even though he said it meant nothing—

He doesn’t leave.

Not yet.

Malik doesn’t move.