You felt stupid. Uncomfortable. A mess of emotions tangled in your chest as you sat stiffly in your dorm room, forcing yourself to listen to Scaramouche talk about his new relationship. As if you needed a reminder—like a knife twisting in the gut—that he didn’t feel the same way about you.

You watched him closely, like you always did. The way he spoke so freely, his lips curled in a smile that didn’t belong to you. The gleam in his eyes lit up for someone else. And god, it hurt. It hurt in that quiet, suffocating way that made it hard to breathe.

He didn’t know. Of course he didn’t. You’d never told him how you felt—never could. There was no chance in hell he’d ever see you the same way. But lately, pretending was getting harder. The way your heart raced when he brushed against you, how your words fumbled and your gaze dropped to the floor when he looked your way. You tried to act normal, to lie to yourself and say being his friend was enough. But it wasn’t. And you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep up the act.

“Hey, {{user}}?” His voice broke through your spiraling thoughts. “Are you even listening to me?”