The bus ride felt like it took hours even though it was only twenty minutes. Adrian sat near the back, leg bouncing with nervous energy, rehearsing what he'd say.
Dante, I saw the messages. I know you've been in love with me for years. And I think—I know—I feel the same way.
Or maybe: I broke up with Isabella. Well, she broke up with me. But the point is, I'm free now, and I want to talk about what you said earlier.
Or possibly: I've been an idiot for eighteen years, but I'm done being an idiot. Let's figure this out together.
None of them sounded right. They all felt too rehearsed, too prepared, not honest enough for what this moment required.
The bus dropped him two blocks from Marcus's apartment complex. Adrian walked quickly, checking his phone to make sure he had the right building.
Dante: Adrian, seriously, you don't have to come over. We can talk tomorrow.
Adrian: I'm already almost there.
Dante: ...
Dante: Okay.
Adrian found the building—a four-story complex that looked like it housed mostly upperclassmen and graduate students. He checked the apartment number Marcus had mentioned once in passing, then hesitated.
What if Dante really didn't want to see him? What if showing up unannounced was too much, too pushy, exactly the kind of thing that would make Dante retreat further?
Adrian pulled out his phone.
Adrian: I'm outside. Which apartment?
Dante: 3B. But Adrian—
Adrian: I'm coming up.
He took the stairs two at a time, heart hammering against his ribs. When he reached the third floor, he found 3B and knocked before he could second-guess himself.
Marcus opened the door, looking surprised. "Adrian? What are you—"
"Is Dante here?"
"Yeah, but—"
"I need to talk to him."
Marcus studied him for a moment, something knowing in his expression. Then he stepped aside. "He's in the living room. And Adrian? Whatever you're about to do, don't half-ass it. He deserves better than that."
"I know."
Adrian walked into the apartment—small but neat, with two roommates' worth of stuff crammed into a space clearly designed for one person. Dante stood in the living room, still wearing the same clothes from earlier, looking exhausted and wary.
"You came," Dante said unnecessarily.
"I said I would."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Marcus cleared his throat from the doorway.
"I'm going to my room. Give you guys privacy. Try not to break anything."
He disappeared down the hall, leaving them alone.
"You really didn't have to come all the way here," Dante said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "We could have talked tomorrow."
"No, we couldn't. Because tomorrow you'd have found a way to avoid me, and the day after that, and the day after that, until we were right back where we started." Adrian took a step closer. "I'm done with that pattern. Done with avoiding. Done with pretending."
"Pretending what?"
Before Adrian could answer, Dante continued, his words tumbling out in a rush like he'd been holding them back all night.
"Marcus and I broke up."
Adrian's world tilted slightly. "What?"
"Earlier tonight. Before you texted. We weren't really together anyway, not officially, but we had a conversation and cleared the air." Dante laughed bitterly. "He said he couldn't compete with a ghost. Said I was only with him to avoid dealing with someone else."
"What did you say?"
"That he wasn't wrong." Dante met Adrian's eyes. "He asked me to be honest about whether I actually had feelings for him or if I was just using him as a distraction. I told him the truth. That he's a great guy, but my heart isn't available."
Adrian's breath caught. "Because?"
"You know because." Dante's voice dropped. "I literally told you earlier. I've been in love with you for eighteen years. That doesn't just go away because it's inconvenient."
This was it. The moment Adrian had been rehearsing on the bus. All the careful words he'd prepared were right there, ready to deploy.
Then Dante said something that made all of Adrian's plans evaporate.
"I'm transferring. Spring semester. To State."
The words hit like a physical blow. Adrian actually took a step backward.
"What?"
"I can't do this anymore." Dante's voice was rough, exhausted. "This whole year has been torture. I thought maybe being roommates again would make things easier, that we'd finally figure out how to be friends without the competition, but it's worse. So much worse."
"Dante—"
"Watching you with Isabella, pretending I was fine, coming back to our room every night and trying to act normal when all I wanted was—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "I submitted the paperwork yesterday. It's done. I'm leaving in six weeks, after finals."
"You can't—"
"I can. I already did. State accepted my transfer, I've got housing lined up, everything's arranged. I'm leaving, Adrian. It's the only way I can move on."
Instead of accepting this, instead of letting Dante run, Adrian felt something ignite in his chest—fury and determination and eighteen years of repressed feelings finally demanding to be acknowledged.
"No," Adrian said.
Dante blinked. "What?"
"No. You don't get to make this decision unilaterally. You don't get to run away without giving me a chance to fight back."
"Fight back against what?" Dante sounded exhausted. "This isn't a competition you can win, Adrian. I'm not a prize. I'm a person who's been in love with you for years while you—" He gestured helplessly. "While you dated Isabella and talked about her and made it very clear that I was never an option."
"That's where you're wrong. For the first time in eighteen years, I'm competing for something that actually matters."
Dante looked confused, wary, maybe cautiously hopeful. "What are you talking about?"
Adrian took a deep breath, stepping closer until they were only a few feet apart. He could see the exhaustion in Dante's dark eyes, the vulnerability he was trying so hard to hide, the fear that this conversation was going exactly where he hoped and dreaded it would go.
"I have six weeks," Adrian said, his voice steady despite the way his heart was hammering. "Six weeks until you transfer. Six weeks to convince you to stay."
"Adrian—"
"And I'm not going to waste a single day."
Dante's expression shifted—shock flickering across his face, followed by disbelief, followed by something that looked dangerously like hope. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you're not the only one who's been hiding. You're not the only one who's been scared and confused and unable to name what they're feeling." Adrian's hands clenched at his sides. "And I'm done hiding."
He didn't elaborate. Didn't confess outright—not yet. He wasn't ready to put all his cards on the table in Marcus's apartment at ten PM on a Monday night. But the gauntlet was thrown. The challenge issued.
Dante stared at him, something vulnerable and terrified flickering across his face. "Adrian, what are you—I don't understand what you're trying to say."
"I'm saying give me a chance. Six weeks. Let me show you something you haven't seen." Adrian's voice was raw with emotion. "You've spent eighteen years trying to get my attention. Now I'm asking you to let me try to earn yours."
"You've always had my attention," Dante said quietly. "That was never the problem."
"Then what was?"
"You never wanted it. Not the way I wanted yours." Dante's voice cracked. "You wanted to beat me, compete with me, prove yourself against me. But you never wanted me."
"How do you know what I wanted when I didn't even know myself?"
Dante opened his mouth. Closed it. "What?"
"I saw the messages," Adrian admitted. "The old group chat. The conversations about me, about us, about you pulling strings to make us roommates. I know you've been trying to get close to me for years. I know every competition was your way of staying in my orbit."
Dante's face went pale. "You weren't supposed to—I didn't mean for you to see those."
"I'm glad I did. Because it made me understand something I've been too blind to see for eighteen years." Adrian took another step closer. They were within arm's reach now, close enough that Adrian could see Dante's chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. "You weren't trying to beat me. You were trying to reach me. And I—"
He stopped, the words catching in his throat. This was harder than he'd thought it would be, admitting this out loud, making himself vulnerable in ways he'd spent his entire life avoiding.
"You what?" Dante pressed, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I was doing the same thing," Adrian finished. "I was just too scared to call it what it was."
Dante's breath hitched. "What was it?"
"I don't know yet. I need time to figure it out. But I know—" Adrian met Dante's eyes, holding his gaze. "I know that when you told me you were transferring, my entire world tilted. I know that when Isabella broke up with me tonight, all I felt was relief because it meant I could finally be honest. I know that for eighteen years, you've been the center of my universe and I called it rivalry because that was safer than calling it anything else."
"Adrian—"
"Six weeks, Dante. That's all I'm asking. Don't transfer. Don't run. Give me six weeks to figure out what I feel and show you that maybe, possibly, you're not as alone in this as you think you are."
Dante was silent for a long moment, something warring in his expression—hope battling with self-protection, desire fighting with fear of getting hurt again.
"I can't—" Dante's voice was rough. "I can't keep hoping for something that's never going to happen. I've spent eighteen years hoping, and it's killing me."
"I'm not asking you to hope. I'm asking you to wait. To give me a chance to catch up to where you've been all along." Adrian's hands were shaking now. "Please. Don't give up on this yet."
"On what? You haven't even told me what 'this' is."
"Because I don't have the words yet. But I will. Six weeks. I'll find the words, I'll figure out what I feel, I'll—" Adrian stopped, frustrated with his own inability to articulate what was happening in his chest. "I'll show you. Instead of telling you. Just give me the time to do it."
Dante stared at him, and Adrian could see the exact moment something shifted—when the self-protection cracked just enough to let hope seep through.
"This isn't a game," Dante said quietly. "This isn't another competition where one of us wins and one of us loses. This is my actual heart we're talking about. And I can't—if you're not sure, if you're just confused or curious or trying to win something—"
"I'm sure that I want to try," Adrian interrupted. "I'm sure that losing you to State feels like losing something I can't get back. I'm sure that when you said you were in love with me, every piece of the last eighteen years suddenly made sense. Maybe I can't promise you the ending you want. But I can promise you honesty. I can promise you effort. I can promise you six weeks of actually trying instead of hiding."
Dante's eyes were shining now, maybe with unshed tears, and Adrian had the insane urge to close the distance between them, to touch him, to do something physical to convey what he couldn't yet say with words.
But he held back. This moment required patience, required letting Dante make his own choice without pressure.
"Six weeks," Dante repeated slowly, like testing the words. "And then what?"
"Then you make your choice. Stay or transfer. Give us a chance or walk away. But at least you'll know—really know—what you'd be walking away from."
Dante's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his whole body tense with the effort of holding himself together. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible.
"What if I get hurt?"
"What if you don't?" Adrian countered. "What if for once, we both take the risk at the same time? What if eighteen years of competing was just training for this—for finally being on the same team?"
Dante let out a shaky breath, and Adrian saw the exact moment he made his decision. Saw hope win over fear, saw vulnerability triumph over self-protection.
"Okay," Dante said.
One word. But it changed everything.
"Okay?" Adrian repeated, needing confirmation.
"Six weeks. You get six weeks to—" Dante gestured helplessly. "To whatever you're planning to do. Show me something I haven't seen. Convince me to stay. Figure out your feelings. Whatever this is."
"And you won't transfer?"
"I'll put the paperwork on hold. Talk to State about deferring. I'm not promising anything beyond giving you the time you're asking for."
"That's all I need."
They stood there, staring at each other across three feet of space that felt simultaneously too much and not enough. Adrian wanted to close that distance, wanted to seal this agreement with something more than words.
But he held back. Six weeks. He had six weeks to figure out how to love Dante Alaric out loud instead of disguised as competition.
Six weeks to show Dante that he wasn't alone in this.
Six weeks to catch up to where Dante had been for eighteen years.
"I should go," Adrian said, even though everything in him wanted to stay. "Let you get some rest. We can talk more tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Tomorrow." Dante's voice was rough, exhausted, cautiously hopeful. "Adrian?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For fighting for this. Even if you don't know what 'this' is yet."
Adrian smiled, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. "I'm going to figure it out. I promise."
He left Marcus's apartment, walked down the stairs and out into the cold November night feeling like he'd just won and lost and started something all at the same time.
Six weeks.
The clock was ticking.