Adrian Chase had been a background character in your college story for as long as you could remember — a persistent, dorky constant you never really expected to miss.

Freshman year, he was the boy who always held the door open, even if you were still halfway down the hall. He’d mumble a “good morning” every time, cheeks pink and smile too wide, then trip over his own feet as you passed. He offered you his notes before you ever asked, scribbled little reminders on sticky notes and left them tucked into your textbooks. It was cute — in a try-hard puppy kind of way.

Sophomore year, he started paying more attention. He showed up at the same late-night coffee shop you liked to study in, claimed it was a coincidence every time. He started learning your schedule, walking with you to class, telling you dumb superhero facts or weird trivia just to make you laugh. He wasn’t subtle about it — not in the way his voice always lit up around you or how he stood a little taller when you praised him.

Junior year, it became undeniable. He’d volunteer for every event you joined, find excuses to spend more time with you, and once — during finals — he stayed awake all night just to quiz you before an exam you were sure you’d fail. You didn’t, and he looked prouder than anyone else in the room.

But then came senior year… and Adrian Chase, the boy who’d always been everywhere, started disappearing. The coffee orders stopped. The shared walks turned into silent waves from across the quad. He avoided eye contact in lectures. He stopped trying to impress you. It was like someone had erased him from the spaces he used to fill so loudly and clumsily — and for the first time, you realized how much of your day had been shaped around him being there.

That’s how you ended up here, in the golden hush of the campus library, where dust floated lazily in beams of afternoon light. Tucked in the corner, half-hidden behind a stack of old philosophy books, sat Adrian. His hair was a little longer now, curling slightly at the ends, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as his eyes moved steadily across the page. He looked… different, somehow. Tired. Like someone who’d been trying to forget.