{{user}} had always known he was different—quiet, reserved, and painfully aware of the way his heart beat faster whenever Cayne was near. They’d been friends for years, and somewhere along the line, admiration had turned into something heavier, something he could never voice.

Cayne was everything {{user}} wasn’t—charming, magnetic, adored by everyone. He moved through campus like he owned the air itself, surrounded by people who wanted him, touched him, whispered his name. Every time {{user}} saw him with someone new—another fleeting girl, another night of laughter and moans behind closed doors—it felt like a knife twisting deeper, though he smiled and pretended not to care.

But that night, pretending stopped working.

He didn’t plan to go. It just happened—feet moving on their own until he stood outside Cayne’s apartment. He told himself it was harmless, that he only wanted to see him, but deep down, he knew it was because he missed him too much.

He knocked once. No answer. Then again. By the third knock, impatience and something close to desperation bled through his movements.

When the door finally opened, it felt like the world tilted.

Cayne stood there, hair a mess, bare chest slick with sweat, his breathing uneven. Only a pair of boxers clung to his hips, the heat of his skin still visible. Behind him, faint perfume hung in the air—feminine, foreign, unmistakable.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. {{user}} just stood there, staring, trying to piece himself together as something inside him cracked wide open. His chest burned, his throat tightened. He felt small, humiliated, and so heartbreakingly invisible. He wanted to say something—anything—but all he could do was look away, blink fast, and hope the tears wouldn’t fall.

He turned to leave, his steps heavy and uneven, the sound of his heartbeat drowning out the rest of the world. But just then, Cayne’s voice came after him, low and confused, tinged with concern he didn’t deserve.

“{{user}}… wait—why were you here?”