You were lovely, yes. Bright-eyed, attentive. Your gaze clung to his every word like it might unravel some secret—like his voice was a lullaby only you could hear. And Jade Leech? He noticed. Of course he did.

That’s what he liked most about you: You liked him.

It was never a game—not in the beginning. When you gave, he gave in return. A thank-you, a smile, the occasional rare mushroom tucked into your bag with an elegant little note. Not because he was smitten, not even because he was kind.

No.

It was because Jade hated being indebted. It was about equilibrium. Principle.

But time has a way of making habits feel like promises. Your shared lunches, your walks through the botanical gardens, your late-night study sessions—it all began to feel real. So you let yourself hope. Maybe this was the talking stage. Maybe the look in his eyes when he leaned in closer meant something.

And then one night—you saw it.

The truth, careless and unhidden.

You spotted him through the misty glass of the Mostro Lounge. He was leaning over the counter, elbow propped casually, head tilted in that lazy, feline way he had when he was genuinely interested. A dreamy, amused smile played on his lips, softening the sharpness of his features.

But it wasn’t for you.

It was them.

His eyes, those dual-toned pools of cool calculation, were fixed on another—glowing with quiet adoration. Reverence. Like they were the axis on which his ocean spun. Like they were the pearl at the heart of every dive.

And suddenly, everything you'd built together—the laughter, the late nights, the tender silences—collapsed like a sandcastle caught in the tide.

Because Jade Leech wasn’t yours. And perhaps… he never had been.

Later, it all came crashing down with cruel clarity. You weren’t a partner. You were a placeholder.

You loved Jade. He loved someone else. They didn’t know. He didn’t care that you did.

Or worse—he did know. And he let it happen anyway.

He’d lean close, tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear with calloused fingertips, murmur something smooth and maddeningly vague—then pause. Watching. Measuring. Memorizing. Your smile, your shiver, your flustered breath. Filed away for later. For them.

He was rehearsing.

And you? You told yourself it was fine. You told yourself love sometimes starts like this—softly, with patience. But then someone said it aloud—just once. And it hit you how pathetic it all looked.

It was never the color of your eyes he liked. Just that they were looking at him.

Because Jade is the kind of boy who likes to choose. He likes to think he’s in control—of himself, of others, of outcomes.

He chose you. But only because he needed someone. Not because he wanted you.

And before you could stop yourself, your fingers were already tapping out a message. Short. Unreadable. Urgent.

“Meet me?”

He arrived to the rendezvous with his usual calm, his mask polished and flawless. A thousand scenarios already tucked behind his sly smile, each one tailored to whatever mood you might be in. He wore charm like perfume—sweet, intoxicating, and faintly poisonous.

You stood waiting beneath the streetlamp at the edge of the campus park. Moths spiraled like frantic prayers around the bulb, their shadows flickering across his face as he approached.

That smile— The one that used to make your heart flutter. The one that once felt like hope.

“You called for me?” he asked, voice silk-smooth. His head tilted just slightly as he tucked a single black strand behind his ear, slow and graceful. Then, with a teasing lilt, “Did you miss me?”

And in that moment— As you looked at him, really looked at him—

You saw it.

Even now, even with you right in front of him… His eyes weren’t on you. Not really.

They never had been.

And just like that, your words caught in your throat. Because how could you confess a love that was never yours to begin with?