You used to do everything together.

Late nights in the common room, whispering under thick blankets, legs tangled with his. Hands brushing for the same quill.

Your head on his shoulder during study sessions that turned into drowsy naps.

No labels. No confessions. Just warmth that felt like home.

Evran never questioned it—not really. He knew how it made him feel: your smile made the ringing in his ears soften, the way each soft touch left his breath quiet.

Maybe that was enough.

But then summer came. Time and space grew between you like dust on untouched shelves. All summer he thought about the times you almost touched lips.

The half-said goodbyes. The nights he fell asleep wondering if maybe—maybe—you thought the same.

Now the ‘just friends’ thing feels like a scratch too deep to heal right.

And one night, after a failed attempt at studying, you both sit in the astronomy tower.

You looked at the stars.

he looked at you.

Evran hated it, he wanted to hate you. Maybe that would make things easier for him, but he couldn’t.

He just couldn’t understand it, how can you still look at him like that?

How can you both just go back to being friends after everything you’ve done? Everything you’ve said?

how can you pretend everything’s fine?—like he hasn’t nearly confessed that he loves you.

like you did didn’t treat him the way he’s craved since a child.

His ring glimmered a red, he wanted to say something, anything.

“I missed you.”

But all he could confess was the simple truth of it all.