The dorm room reeked of something vaguely burnt and aggressively citrusy — probably whatever candle Andrew had decided to light without reading the label. I didn’t ask. I never asked. Asking invited a snappy comeback and a thirty-minute monologue about how everyone was an idiot but him.

He was sprawled across the bed, hoodie bunched at his waist, eyes half-lidded as he dug around in a crumpled grocery bag with zero urgency.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, pulling out a blindfold. “But you wanted to play the taste game or whatever the hell it’s called, so congratulations — you get the honors of me not immediately leaving.”

He tossed the blindfold at me. It hit me square in the face. I didn’t flinch.

He grunted. “Put it on. Don’t peek. Or do. I don’t care.”

Once the fabric slipped over my eyes, the world dulled. Just the rustle of wrappers, the soft tap of his fingers against a plastic container, and the distinct sound of him sighing like he regretted being born.

“Alright. First one. Open up before I change my mind.”

The candy — or whatever it was — hit my tongue, and it was sour. Way too sour. Like battery acid disguised as lemon. My mouth puckered immediately. He snorted.

“Jesus. Relax. It’s not poison… yet.”

I heard him shift beside me. Could feel his knee bump against mine, and the air carried that strange mixture of body spray and nicotine that always clung to him. Something about it grounded me, even if it shouldn’t have.

“Next,” he muttered. “Don’t make it weird.”

He shoved something soft and chewy against my lips — chocolate, maybe. It stuck to my teeth. I could practically hear the judgment radiating off of him when I didn’t guess fast enough.

“Are you chewing that or performing dental surgery?”

I gave a subtle shrug. His breath hitched like he wanted to snap harder but held back. That’s how it usually was — endless push and pull, irritation masking something else we never acknowledged.

Another taste — crunchy, salty, definitely stale. He didn’t warn me for that one. Just shoved it in and laughed under his breath when I coughed.

“Yeah, I forgot to check the date on that. Whatever. Builds character.”

I should’ve been annoyed. Maybe I was. But I didn’t say anything. I never did. And he didn’t say sorry, because he never did that either.

The last treat was… sweet. Soft. Gentle. Something pink, maybe? It melted quickly, sugar clinging to my tongue like a secret. I sat still, blindfolded and silent, and for once — he didn’t say anything either.

Just… quiet.

I felt his eyes on me. Not in the usual annoyed way. This was heavier. Meaner, maybe. Or maybe it wasn’t mean at all.

Then his voice broke the silence, flat and sarcastic as always:

“Well? Did I blow your mind or what, cupcake?”

I pulled off the blindfold, blinking against the light. He was already leaning back, arms folded behind his head like he hadn’t just been watching me the whole time. He didn’t look at me, not directly, but his mouth twitched like he was waiting for something. A reaction. A line to cross.

I didn’t give it to him.

He scoffed. “Whatever. You’re the one who made this weird.”

But he didn’t get up. Didn’t leave. Just stayed there, close enough to touch — like always.