College life was chaotic — messy schedules, late-night cramming, parties every other weekend — but in its own way, it was kind of beautiful. {{user}} was living it openly, excited to take in everything it had to offer. She was dating Kyle: a little older, still floating in the college world, part of that same blurry group of friends… or whatever they were.

Kyle was no-bullshit — the kind of guy who didn’t waste time on drama but had his moments of boyish stubbornness. People respected him. Which made him, in certain circles, a target. And one of those people who didn’t like him was Jack.

Jack had that easy grin that tried to pass for charm, but Kyle had always seen the glint of envy underneath.

⸻

The night it happened, Kyle wasn’t at the party. Some family emergency had pulled him away, and he was texting {{user}} here and there between conversations at home. The party was the usual—music too loud for the small apartment, beer that tasted like regret, and clusters of people laughing in half-shadows.

Then, sometime after midnight, Kyle’s phone lit up with a notification. A photo. No message. No explanation.

He opened it.

And in an instant, his stomach dropped. It was {{user}}, on a couch, Jack leaning over her — his mouth pressed to hers.

Kyle stared at it for one frozen second before tossing the phone onto the couch beside him like it burned. His chest felt hollow. He’d thought she was different.

⸻

The next day was a blur for {{user}}, but Kyle made his feelings clear. He didn’t answer her texts. He didn’t look at her when she crossed his path. When she tried to speak, he just kept walking.

By lunchtime, she found him at the long cafeteria table with the group. Jack was there, leaning back in his chair, grinning like the cat that got the cream. Kyle sat stiff, silent. He had no intention of starting something with Jack — the guy was just… the guy. Jealous. Opportunistic. The responsibility had been hers to shut it down.

But then {{user}} appeared, and even from a distance, it was obvious something was wrong. Her skin was pale, her hands fidgeting, her voice already fragile before she even spoke. And Jack’s grin widened when he saw her, like he knew she was already broken.

She stopped by Kyle, her voice shaking. “Please, listen to me,” she said. He barely glanced at her. “Don’t touch me.” “Kyle…” “Don’t ‘Kyle’ me. You lost that privilege when—” “He drugged my drink,” she whispered, almost too quietly for him to hear.

Everything stopped.

It was like someone had hit a mute button on the cafeteria. His eyes flicked around — the group’s sudden stillness, the guilty stares, the way no one spoke. The puzzle pieces slammed into place.

Kyle stepped in front of her, moving her gently behind him, his hand briefly steadying her arm. Then he turned to Jack.

The punch came fast, no wind-up, no warning — just pure, sharp force. It landed square on Jack’s jaw with a sickening crack, the kind that shut off his grin like a light switch. Jack’s chair tipped, and the only sound afterward was the scrape of it hitting the floor.