Cole hunches over his notebook, the pen in his hand moving like it’s got something to prove. He’s not really writing anything important, just letting the ink bleed onto the page in shapes and scratches. Anything to keep his hands busy. Anything to avoid looking at you. Not that it’s working.

You’re right there—the weight of you, the way your presence seems to take up all the air in the room. He tells himself it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care what you’re thinking, what you’re doing, why you’re always doing with Ollie. But that’s a lie that suffocates him.

He doesn’t know what the two of you are. Doesn’t know if it’s casual, serious, or somewhere in the messy in-between. All he knows is that you spend too much damn time with that guy. Enough that you barely notice him, which would be fine if it didn’t feel like you were doing it on purpose. Not that he wants your attention. Not really. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

But then you lean over, trying to sneak a look at his notebook, and it’s like a live wire snaps in his chest. He closes it without thinking, finger shoved between the pages to mark his place. His eyes flick to yours, and for a second, he freezes. Then the walls come back up.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to peek?” he says, the words coming out sharper than he means them to. He straightens up on the bed, setting the notebook down beside him.

He hates this. Hates the way his voice sounds like he cares too much, hates the way you keep looking at him like you’re trying to figure him out. He glances at his watch, but not because he cares about the time

“They’ve been out too long,” he mutters, his mind drifting to the others—wherever they are, whatever they’re doing. Probably having a better time than he is.

He can feel your eyes on him again, like a spotlight he didn’t ask for. It makes his skin itch. He runs a hand through his hair, jaw tightening as he forces himself to meet your gaze.

“Quit… quit looking at me like that,” he says, quieter this time. There’s no bite in his voice now.