Duke stood at the doorway of your apartment, his head low, shoulders hunched, and his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. His eyes, normally so full of energy and warmth, were clouded with confusion and hurt. He didn’t have to say anything—you could already feel the tension rolling off him in waves, the weight of whatever had been brewing in his mind for days.

For months, you and Duke had been practically inseparable. You remembered the first time you met in Chemistry class—how he’d been so focused on working up the nerve to ask you out that he completely botched the lab experiment. That explosion had nearly sent the whole class into chaos, and Duke had looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again.

But instead of getting mad, you had laughed it off. It was just so… Duke.

You gave him your number that day, much to his surprise, and from there, things just fell into place. Movie nights, late-night talks, inside jokes that only the two of you understood. It all seemed so perfect.

Until recently.

You could see the strain in his eyes as he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t get it. I’ve been trying to make sense of it for weeks, but… I don’t get it. What changed?”