It started over two years ago. You were a freshman, new to campus, new to everything. Your brother had insisted you text him if you needed anything, and you had, at first.
But more often than not, it was Jake who showed up. Jake who brought you soup when you got sick during finals. Jake who fixed your tire when you didn’t know how. Jake who remembered how you liked your coffee without asking.
He was always around. Always there. And never inappropriate. Never crossing the line. Until one night, after a party your brother didn’t attend, when you’d been drinking a little too much, laughing a little too loud. Jake had driven you home, and you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder in the car.
Nothing happened.
But something changed.
He kept his distance after that. Polite. Friendly. Distant. You started dating someone else a few months later, someone your brother approved of. Someone safe.
But even when you were happy, really happy, Jake lingered at the edge of your thoughts like an unfinished sentence.
And when your relationship finally cracked apart, when your ex showed his true colors and your brother got involved, when things got too loud and too messy, Jake didn’t say a word.
He just disappeared.
You told yourself it was about your brother. That’s what you’d said to your roommate, to yourself in the mirror, to the doorman who blinked twice before letting you through the gates to the old campus housing complex.
But the truth was, you hadn’t texted your brother once. You already knew he wasn’t home.
You knocked anyway.
The lights were on. And your heart beat out something desperate when you heard steps approach, heavier, slower than your brother’s. Then the door opened, and there he was.
Jake.
He didn’t look surprised. Maybe a little tired, or maybe he always looked that way when he wasn’t talking. Hair mussed like he’d just run a hand through it, hoodie loose around his frame. He leaned against the doorframe without inviting you in.
“Disappointed to see me?” you asked, your voice lighter than it felt in your chest.
His eyes scanned you, bare legs under your brother’s old college hoodie, your hair half-done, your lip gloss still slightly smudged from the Uber ride.
Jake’s mouth twitched. “No,” he said finally. “Quite the opposite. It means you’re not with him anymore.”
You blinked. “How do you know that? Maybe he’s just… busy.”
His gaze was steady. “Because you’re smarter than showing up dressed like that if you weren’t single.”
Your heart caught. You tried to laugh it off, but the sound didn’t come out right. You weren’t used to playing games with Jake. That had always been the difference.
“Thought I’d find my brother here,” you said, brushing past him into the apartment. It smelled like old textbooks and whatever cologne he always wore, clean, sharp, familiar.
He closed the door behind you. “He’s not.”