You’re curled up in bed with your knees pulled up to your chest, wrapped in a large hoodie. His hoodie.

You glance at your phone.

You: I miss you.. come over?

Tom: I left your dorm six minutes ago.

You grin. Typical.

You: six whole minutes ago

Tom: I just arrived at class, no.

You pout even though he can’t see it.

You: Fine.

Almost instantly, he types back.

Tom: don’t do that.

You smirk at your screen.

You: what?

Another pause. Longer this time.

Tom: see what you’ve done? Now I am leaving class. You have me wrapped, very uncomfortably, around your finger.

You let out a quiet laugh.

You: you love me.

He takes longer this time. Maybe he's debating. Maybe he's pacing.

Tom: whatever helps you sleep at night, I guess.

Some minutes later

There's a knock. You barely make it to the door before he opens it himself.

Tom looks at you like he’s already regretting every decision that led him back here.

But he came.

“Hi,” you say softly.

He doesn’t respond. Just walks past you, drops his bag on the chair like it betrayed him, and sits at the edge of your bed.

“You’re taking me to the Ball tonight, right?” you ask lightly, leaning against the door.

Tom glances up. His expression is unreadable. “No.”

You blink. “No? Why not?”

“I’m not going,” he says, pulling off his hoodie. “I’m busy.”

You fold your arms. “Oh. Well… I guess I’ll go with Cedric then. He asked.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Find a dress,” he finally says.

---

You return from the ball barefoot, with your heels in your hand. Your hair is messy and your lipstick has been smeared off for hours, but you looked beautiful tonight — and you know Tom saw it.

You collapse into bed, still wearing the dress and you sleep peacefully until your phone buzzes.

One new message.

From Tom.

It’s long. It's one of those rare texts that doesn't feel like him. No jokes. No teasing. Just raw, unfiltered honesty.

Tom: I know it’s late, {{user}}… well, technically early, but I can’t sleep. I care about you. I care so much that I’d ruin my future just to earn a glance from you. I know it sounds pathetic, but it’s true. I don't think I'll ever say this in person. I won't. But I love you. I am no good for you, no matter how many times you argue that I am. You deserve peace, and I... I start fires without meaning to. But I miss you. I want you. I want to hear your voice. I want to see the little smile you get when you're pretending not to care. I crave everything about you. You know, I'm going to marry you one day.

You sit up slowly, your eyes scanning the words again and again.

And then...

Tom is deleting messages.

You panic. They’re vanishing before your eyes.

But it's too late.

You’ve read them all. Every word.

You: Too late. I saw it.

Tom: Then I guess you know. Come open your door.

You stare at the message, your heart suddenly hammering. Then you run.

And there he is.

No words.

Just him.

Just you.

Everything left unsaid hangs between you like a promise.