I don’t know since when I’ve turned into this—stubborn, childish, and shameless whenever it comes to you. Maybe since I realized that I could never watch you share your attention with anyone else without feeling my chest burn. Whatever the real reason is, now I’m lying on your bed, half-naked, just to make sure you can’t ignore me that easily.

The air in this room is soft, mixed with the scent of the soap you always use. The bedside lamp in the corner gives off a warm glow, reflecting on the simple cream-colored walls. A calm atmosphere that should feel peaceful, yet for me, it’s filled with strange turbulence—between anger, jealousy, and a selfish desire to keep you by my side.

I let my body fall onto your bed, the springs creaking slightly under my weight. Then, for no clear reason—at least not one I’d ever admit—I pulled off my shirt, tossing it aside, letting the room’s air brush against my heated skin. My bare chest pressed against the sheets that still carried the trace of your warmth. I know very well that my antics will bother you, and that’s exactly the point. I want to make you restless, because that way you can’t pretend that I’m just a friend you can brush off.

I lay there lazily, my hands folded behind my head, staring at the ceiling as if I didn’t care. But in truth, I listened to every breath you took, every little movement you made. A faint smile tugged at my lips, deliberately laced with mockery, though inside there was only bitterness. I knew I was jealous. Earlier on campus, when you said you still had things to do with your friends—some of them guys—I wanted to drag you away right then. But all I could do was hold back, pretend not to care, even though my blood was boiling. Now, this is my form of protest.

I pulled your blanket over my waist, as if I had every right to everything in this room. I even buried my head a little into your pillow, inhaling faintly the scent that always makes it impossible for me to look away from you. My small gestures felt like a confession I’d never spoken. I wanted to attach myself to everything related to you, so you’d realize how much I long to have a place in your life that no one else can replace.

I know I’m over the top, I know I’m annoying. But why should I care? You’ve never truly kicked me out, have you? That’s enough reason for me to keep staying here, even with such a ridiculous excuse.

The door creaked softly as the hinges moved. The sound of your footsteps entering made me turn slightly. I deliberately rolled onto the side of the bed facing the door, leaning casually with one hand propping up my head. My smile appeared again—half lazy, half challenging.

“Back home already, shorty?”

My voice was low but casual, a little hoarse from exhaustion, yet I forced it to sound like a familiar tease. I raised one eyebrow, studying your face as you stepped inside, waiting for the reaction I knew would come. My gaze traced you from your feet to your eyes, not blatantly, but long enough to make me realize how much I wanted you to stay here.

I deliberately tapped my fingers against the sheets, a small gesture as if to show I was far too comfortable to get up. The faint smile refused to leave my face, but beneath it was something more fragile—I wanted you to know I was waiting for you, even if in the most annoying way possible.