Adrian sat on his bed for twenty minutes after Dante left, staring at his phone, replaying every word of their confrontation.
I've spent eighteen years trying to get your attention.
In love with you.
His phone buzzed again—Isabella asking if he was okay, if he still wanted dinner. Adrian ignored it, thumb hovering over different apps, different contacts, trying to figure out what to do with the information Dante had just given him.
Then he noticed it—the old high school group chat, still sitting in his messages even though nobody had posted in months. It was mostly their extended friend group from junior and senior year, people who'd scattered to different colleges but still occasionally checked in.
Adrian scrolled up, not really looking for anything specific, just needing distraction.
Then he saw Dante's name, and his scrolling stopped.
Two years ago, right after the basketball championship:
Chris P: Dante, you ok? That was a brutal game.
Dante: I'm fine.
Chris P: You don't seem fine. You've been off since Adrian said he was going to State instead of Greystone.
Dante: It doesn't matter where he goes.
Chris P: Dude, just tell him how you feel.
Dante: I can't. He doesn't see me that way. He never has.
Adrian's breath caught. He kept scrolling, hands shaking now.
Six months ago:
Dante: He got into Greystone.
Chris P: And?
Dante: I pulled some strings with housing. We're roommates again.
Chris P: That's not healthy, man.
Dante: I know. But it's the last chance I'll have. After this year, we're done. Different career paths, different lives. This is it.
Adrian's phone slipped from his hands onto the bed. He picked it up immediately, scrolling further, finding more fragments scattered through years of conversations.
Sage: (three years ago) Dante, you coming to my birthday thing?
Dante: Is Adrian going to be there?
Sage: Yes.
Dante: Then I'm there.
Marcus: (one year ago) You still hung up on Hayes?
Dante: Is it that obvious?
Marcus: Only to everyone who's ever seen you two in the same room.
Elena: (eight months ago) Just tell him. What's the worst that could happen?
Dante: He could laugh in my face. He could tell everyone. He could make the next year unbearable. Pick one.
Adrian felt like he was drowning, like every breath wasn't getting enough oxygen to his lungs.
The roommate assignments weren't random. Dante had manipulated them—all four times, probably. Had pulled strings, called in favors, done whatever it took to ensure they ended up together.
Adrian kept scrolling, finding more pieces of the puzzle.
Tyler: (after one of their pickup games) Dude, you let him score on you like three times. You never let anyone score on you.
Dante: I wasn't letting him. He's good.
Tyler: He's decent. You're varsity captain. You could shut him down completely if you wanted to.
Dante: Where's the fun in that?
Every competition where Dante had "barely" won—the track race by one second, the basketball games where Adrian had scored just enough points to feel good about himself, the academic awards where Dante would get first place but Adrian would place high enough to stay motivated.
Dante had been pulling punches. For eighteen years, Dante had been carefully calibrating his victories to keep Adrian engaged, to keep him competing, to keep him close.
Because he didn't know how else to connect.
Adrian's hands were shaking so hard he could barely hold the phone. He took screenshots of the most revealing messages, not entirely sure why, just knowing he needed evidence that this wasn't a dream or hallucination.
He found Elena in the common room on her floor, studying with her headphones on.
"Elena," Adrian said, probably too loudly. She jumped. "I need to show you something."
He handed her his phone, showing her the screenshots. She read through them slowly, her expression shifting from curious to sympathetic to something like exasperation.
"Okay," she said when she finished. "And?"
"And? And this changes everything! Dante's been in love with me for years. He manipulated our housing assignments. He's been—"
"Honey," Elena interrupted gently. "Everyone could see it except you."
"What?"
"The way he looks at you? That's not competition. That's longing. That's someone who's completely gone for another person and has no idea how to express it." She handed back his phone. "I thought you knew and were just choosing to ignore it."
"How could I have known?"
"Because it's obvious. The watching, the showing up everywhere you go, the way his entire face changes when your name gets mentioned. Maya and I have been taking bets on when you two would finally figure your shit out."
Adrian sat down hard on the couch beside her. "He's with Marcus."
"Is he? Or is he doing exactly what you're doing with Isabella—hiding behind someone safe while wanting someone else?" Elena pulled off her headphones completely. "Look, I'm not trying to be harsh. But everyone in our friend group has known about Dante's feelings for literal years. The only people who didn't know were you and apparently Isabella."
"Isabella doesn't know."
"Isabella suspects. She's not stupid. She sees the way you look at him, the way you talk about him, the way you can't seem to exist without him as your reference point." Elena's expression softened. "Adrian, what are you going to do?"
"I don't know."
"You have three options, as I see it. One: continue with Isabella and pretend you never saw these messages, never had that conversation with Dante, never figured out what you've been feeling for eighteen years. Two: confront Dante and risk destroying your relationship entirely by making everything explicit. Three: be honest with Isabella first, give yourself space to figure out your feelings without using her as a shield."
Adrian dropped his head into his hands. "I don't know how to do any of those things."
"Start with the easiest one. What do you actually want?"
"I want—" Adrian stopped, the words catching in his throat.
But he knew. He'd known for weeks, maybe longer. Had been too scared to admit it, too comfortable in his denial, too committed to the story he'd been telling himself for eighteen years.
"I want Dante," he said quietly. "I've always wanted Dante. I just called it something else."
"Then you know what you have to do."
Adrian went back to his room, locking the door behind him. Dante still wasn't back—probably wouldn't be for hours, if he came back at all tonight.
Adrian stood in front of the bathroom mirror, really looking at himself for the first time in weeks.
He looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, shoulders tight with stress he'd been carrying since the semester started.
"I'm in love with Dante Alaric," he said to his reflection, testing the words out loud.
They felt simultaneously terrifying and right, like admitting something he'd always known but never had the vocabulary for.
"I have been for years. Probably since we were kids, definitely since high school. And I've been too much of a coward to admit it because loving him means admitting every competition, every fight, every moment was just me trying to be close to him the only way I knew how."
His reflection stared back at him, and Adrian saw what Dante must have seen all along—someone scared, someone hiding, someone running from the truth because the truth was too big and too complicated and too risky.
"I used Isabella," Adrian continued, the confession spilling out now that he'd started. "I used her to prove to myself that I was normal, that I could be attracted to women, that I didn't have feelings for my male roommate. And that makes me a terrible person."
He thought about Isabella—brilliant, kind Isabella who'd done nothing wrong except be interested in someone whose heart was elsewhere. She deserved so much better than what Adrian had given her.
His phone buzzed. Speak of the devil.
Isabella: Can we talk? Tonight? It's important.
Adrian's stomach dropped. She knew. Somehow, she knew.
Adrian: Yeah. Where?
Isabella: Meet me at the bench by the library. 20 minutes?
Adrian: I'll be there.
Adrian washed his face, changed into clean clothes, tried to prepare himself for the conversation he'd been dreading and probably deserved.
Isabella was already waiting when he arrived, sitting on their usual bench with her hands folded in her lap. She looked beautiful as always, but there was something different in her expression—resolved, maybe, or sad in a way that suggested she'd already made a decision.
"Hey," Adrian said, sitting down beside her.
"Hey." She didn't look at him immediately, just stared out at the dark campus. "I have news."
"Okay."
"I got accepted to a study abroad program. Six months in Thailand, working at a medical clinic in a rural area. It's incredible—exactly the kind of hands-on experience that'll look amazing for med school applications."
"Isabella, that's amazing. Congratulations." And he meant it. This was huge for her, exactly the kind of opportunity she'd been hoping for.
"I'm going," she said, finally turning to face him. "And I think we both know this is the right time for a clean break."
Adrian's chest tightened. "Isabella—"
"Let me finish." Her voice was gentle but firm. "I like you, Adrian. I really do. You're smart and funny and kind, and under different circumstances, we could have been really good together."
"But?"
"But you're in love with someone else. And I don't think you're ready to admit it yet, but I'm not going to sit around waiting for you to figure it out." She took his hand, squeezing gently. "I saw the way you looked at Dante after your award ceremony. The way you watch him across crowded rooms. The way you talk about him, know things about him, care about him in ways you don't care about anyone else."
"I do care about you," Adrian protested weakly.
"I know you do. But you're not in love with me. And I deserve someone who is." She smiled sadly. "We both deserve that."
"I'm sorry. I never meant to—"
"I know. You weren't trying to hurt me. You were trying to convince yourself of something that wasn't true." Isabella released his hand. "Thailand is for six months. The program starts in January, so I have about six weeks to get everything organized. Consider this an early break-up, giving both of us time to move on before I leave."
"You're being incredibly mature about this."
"One of us has to be." She stood up, and Adrian stood with her. "Can I give you some advice?"
"Please."
"Talk to Dante. Really talk to him. No more competitions, no more deflecting, no more hiding behind other people or old patterns. Just be honest about what you feel. Because whatever you two have—whether it works out romantically or not—it deserves honesty."
She hugged him briefly, and Adrian held on maybe a little too long, mourning the loss of something that had been comfortable even if it had never been quite right.
"I hope you find what you're looking for," Isabella said as she pulled away. "You're a good person, Adrian. You just need to be honest with yourself."
She left him standing by the bench, the cold November air biting through his jacket.
Adrian felt like he should be more devastated. Should be crying or panicking or feeling the weight of a relationship ending.
Instead, he felt... relieved.
Isabella had given him an out, had made the decision for him in the kindest way possible. Had seen what he'd been too scared to acknowledge and had removed that barrier with grace.
Now there was nothing standing between Adrian and the truth.
No girlfriend to use as an excuse. No external complications to hide behind. Just Adrian, his feelings, and the choice of whether to finally be honest about them.
His phone buzzed.
Sage: Isabella just texted me. Are you okay?
Adrian: Yeah. I think I am.
Sage: Ready to do what you should have done weeks ago?
Adrian: I don't know. Maybe.
Sage: You know where he is?
Adrian checked his phone—Find My Friends, the app they'd set up years ago for safety reasons and had never bothered to turn off.
Dante's location showed him at Marcus's apartment.
Of course. Where else would he go after that confrontation? Somewhere safe, somewhere that wasn't their dorm room with all its complicated history and feelings too big to name.
Adrian: He's at Marcus's place.
Sage: So go get him.
Adrian: What if he doesn't want to see me?
Sage: Then at least you tried. At least you were brave enough to try.
Adrian stared at Dante's location on his phone, a little blue dot three miles from campus.
He could go. Could show up at Marcus's apartment and demand to finish the conversation Dante had started. Could be honest about his own feelings now that Isabella had removed that complication.
Or he could go back to the dorm, wait for Dante to return, have the conversation on familiar territory where at least one of them might feel less exposed.
Or he could do what he'd been doing for eighteen years—avoid, deflect, pretend everything was fine while the distance between them grew wider every day.
Adrian looked up at the night sky, stars barely visible through campus light pollution, and made a decision.
He started walking toward the edge of campus, toward the bus stop that would take him to Marcus's apartment complex.
His phone buzzed one more time.
Dante: I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have said those things. Can we just pretend it never happened?
Adrian stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
He could say yes. Could agree to pretend. Could go back to the careful dance they'd been doing for weeks.
Or he could be honest.
For the first time in eighteen years, Adrian typed the truth.
Adrian: No. We need to talk. Where are you?
Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Dante was typing, deleting, typing again.
Finally:
Dante: Marcus's place. But Adrian, you don't have to—
Adrian: I'm coming over. Don't leave.
Adrian pressed send before he could second-guess himself, then started walking faster toward the bus stop.
Behind him, his phone buzzed with what was probably Dante's response.
He didn't check it.
He was done running.