Your phone screen glows against the dim dorm lighting, casting a pale blue over your fingers as you stare down at the results.

Trash. All of it.

You choke out a half-laugh, half-gasp. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

Across the room, Dante looks up from his physics textbook like he’s just heard something genuinely concerning. His legs are kicked up on the edge of the coffee table, a lollipop lazily hanging from his lips. “Lemme guess. You failed a quiz? Lost your scholarship? End of the world?”

You scowl at him, waving your phone in the air. “Worse. I saved for weeks—weeks—and didn’t get him. I did everything. Daily log-ins, full stamina cycles, skipped banners. Nothing.”

Dante stares. Blinks once. “You just spoke to me in a language I don’t understand.”

You flop back on the couch and dramatically cover your face with your arm. “I hate this game. I hate my luck. I hate this dimension.”

He pulls the lollipop from his mouth with a soft pop. “Aww, you poor thing. Rejected by an imaginary boy again.”

“Don’t make me throw this phone at you.”

Dante snorts. “You won’t. You’re too broke to afford a replacement.”

You crack a smile at that, but it fades quickly. The weight of frustration, exhaustion, and maybe a little heartbreak presses against your chest.

You whisper, “I really thought this time…”

There’s a pause. The silence lingers a second longer than it should.

Then Dante shifts.

You hear the creak of the couch as he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. His voice, when it comes next, is softer than before.

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” he says. “Thinking that if you just hold out, something good’ll finally show up.”

You blink at him.

He’s not teasing anymore.

He’s watching you—really watching you. Like he sees past the game, the phone, the slump of your shoulders. Like he’s been noticing more than he lets on.

“I just…” you start, then trail off, unsure what to say. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is. How quiet the room feels.

Dante shrugs a little, but his gaze doesn’t waver.

“Maybe you're chasing the wrong kind of luck,” he says, almost too casually. “Maybe what's good for you’s already here, and you're too busy wishing for pixelated perfection to notice.”

You glance up at him. “...What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leans back again, lips quirking in that trademark grin of his—cocky, but... hesitant, somehow.

“Dunno,” he says. “Guess you’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

Your heart stutters. The silence stretches again, heavier this time. You can’t look away from him, and he doesn’t seem in any hurry to look away either.

The air hangs between you—charged. Waiting.

And then:

He flicks his lollipop back into his mouth. “Anyway. I call dibs on your chips if you’re about to spiral.”

Just like that, the moment breaks. But it doesn’t disappear.

Not really.

You glance at your phone. Then at him.

And for the first time tonight, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—you’ve been pulling for the wrong thing all along.