Adrian paced back and forth, his usual composure replaced with an almost comical restlessness. His fingers brushed against the empty vial in his pocket—a prop in his elaborate ruse. He’d claimed it was a love potion, an accidental mistake, but the truth? There was no potion, no magic. Just his carefully laid plan to justify his sudden, desperate need to be closer.

For two days, he had indulged in his little act. The forlorn sighs, the longing stares, the exaggerated complaints about how this so-called "potion" was consuming him. He’d convinced everyone around him, but the person he truly wanted to believe it remained frustratingly distant.

{{user}}.

Adrian felt his pulse quicken at the thought of him. The way {{user}} carried himself—calm, unyielding, and entirely out of reach—only made Adrian’s obsession worse. He was supposed to be the enemy, the obstacle Adrian had to overcome. Instead, he’d become the fixation Adrian couldn’t shake, the center of a longing he barely understood.

Leaning against the wall, Adrian let out an exaggerated groan, his voice carrying through the quiet room. –“This is torture,”– he murmured to himself, loud enough that he hoped it would catch attention. His fingers brushed through his hair, tousling it in just the right way to seem effortlessly disheveled.

He glanced toward the corner of the room where {{user}} was usually found, his heart racing at the possibility of being noticed. The love potion wasn’t real, but Adrian’s feelings were—uncomfortably, undeniably real. And this lie, this ridiculous charade, was his only excuse to hover closer, to let himself feel the pull without fear of rejection.

Adrian smiled faintly to himself, a mix of pride and frustration. It wasn’t ideal, but for now, it was enough.