Adrian signed his name on the Physics Club roster with a flourish that felt like victory. Twelve clubs in three days. Debate team, intramural soccer, volunteer tutoring, student government—each signature a brick in the wall between who Adrian had been and who Adrian would become.
Sage would call this manic. Adrian called it strategic.
The Campus Activities Fair sprawled across the main quad like a carnival of ambition. Booths lined the pathways in colorful rows, students shouting over each other about meetings and mixers and opportunities that would definitely look great on resumes. Adrian moved through the chaos with a checklist, literally—a color-coded spreadsheet on his phone tracking which organizations aligned with his Year of Winning plan.
Physics Club: check. Environmental Action Coalition: check. Campus Radio: check.
Adrian's brain hummed with productive energy. This was working. This was—
Movement in peripheral vision. Tall figure, dark hair, three booths away.
Adrian's head snapped around. Just a basketball player from some other team. Not Dante. But Adrian's heart hammered anyway, adrenaline spiking for no reason except the possibility of Dante's presence.
This happened seventeen times a day now. Maybe more. Every tall person became Dante until proven otherwise. Every familiar laugh pattern made Adrian's shoulders tense. The campus felt simultaneously enormous and suffocating, offering endless space to hide yet somehow never enough distance.
Adrian shook it off. Focused. The pre-med club booth sat ahead, decorated with anatomical diagrams and volunteer opportunity flyers. A girl stood behind the table, explaining something to a prospective member with animated hand gestures. Dark hair swept over one shoulder, smile bright enough to compete with the September sun.
Isabella Chen. Adrian recognized Isabella from orientation photos, from careful Instagram reconnaissance, from the mental file Adrian had built labeled "Fresh Start."
Adrian approached. Waiting until the other student left, timing the arrival, making it look casual. Natural. Not at all like Adrian had circled this booth four times working up nerve.
"Hey." Adrian picked up a flyer. "You guys do hospital volunteering?"
Isabella looked up, and something in Isabella's face shifted—recognition without knowing why. "Yeah! We coordinate with University Medical Center and Children's Memorial. Have you done hospital work before?"
"No, but I'm thinking about pre-med. Maybe. Still deciding." True enough. Adrian had been thinking about it for approximately forty-five minutes.
"It's intense but amazing." Isabella leaned forward, enthusiasm radiating like heat. "I volunteer at Children's Memorial every Saturday. The kids are—honestly, they make everything worth it. Even the hard stuff."
"That's—" Adrian searched for words that didn't sound like bullshit. "—that's really cool. Most people just do it for med school applications."
Isabella's smile changed quality. Warmer. Like Adrian had passed some invisible test. "You can always tell the difference. Between people who care about the work and people who care about the line on their resume."
They talked for twenty minutes. Isabella asked about Adrian's major—physics, probably, maybe engineering. Adrian asked about Isabella's goals—pediatrics, specifically pediatric oncology. Isabella laughed at Adrian's joke about the Activities Fair being "capitalism for college students." Adrian felt the conversation flow like water, easy and natural, no calculation required.
For the first time since arriving at Greystone, Adrian felt seen. Not as Dante's rival. Not as the guy who almost won. Just as Adrian. Someone worth talking to. Someone interesting enough to hold Isabella Chen's attention for twenty minutes while other students waited.
"You should come to the pre-med mixer next week," Isabella said, writing something on a flyer. "Even if you're not sure about the major yet. It's low pressure. Good people." Isabella handed Adrian the paper with a phone number written on it. "Text me if you want details."
Adrian took the flyer like it was made of gold. "Yeah. Definitely."
Walking away, Adrian felt something dangerous: hope. Isabella Chen didn't know about the science fair. Didn't know about the championship game. Didn't know about eighteen years of accumulated failure. Isabella just knew Adrian from this conversation, this moment, this carefully constructed version of a person who could be anything.
The possibility intoxicated.
Groundwork Coffee occupied a brick building two blocks from campus, all exposed beams and mismatched furniture. Adrian claimed a corner table at 7 PM, spreading physics homework across the surface. Midterms loomed three weeks away. Time to establish study habits that screamed "serious student."
Adrian worked through problem sets, losing track of time in the rhythm of equations. Forty minutes in, skin prickled with that watched feeling.
Adrian glanced up.
Dante sat three tables away. Laptop open, textbook beside it, looking every bit like someone innocently studying. Except Dante's eyes tracked Adrian with that same intensity from the dorm room. Not staring directly. Just... aware. Constantly aware.
Adrian's jaw clenched. Coincidence. Had to be coincidence. Greystone had thirty thousand students but only four decent coffee shops near campus. Overlap was inevitable.
Except Dante never studied at coffee shops. Dante studied in the dorm room, at the desk facing Adrian's side. Every night. Without exception.
Until tonight.
Adrian packed up at 8:30. Walked back to campus, skin crawling with awareness. Didn't look back. Refused to check if Dante followed.
The pickup basketball game happened Wednesday afternoon. Adrian had found a group through the Physics Club—grad students mostly, decent players, low stakes. Court time: 4 PM. Adrian arrived at 3:45, changed and ready.
The game started smooth. Adrian sank two three-pointers, stole the ball twice, felt that old rhythm returning. This was good. This was—
"Mind if I jump in?" Dante's voice.
Adrian spun. Dante stood courtside in practice gear, basketball shoes that cost more than Adrian's textbooks.
"Don't you have—" Adrian checked his phone. "—official practice right now?"
"Coach gave me the afternoon off." Dante's expression revealed nothing. "Recovering from a pulled muscle."
Lie. Adrian could see it in how Dante held Dante's left shoulder, the tension that meant Dante was lying. But what could Adrian say? No, you can't play pickup basketball on a public court?
Dante joined the other team. Of course Dante did.
The game shifted. Every play became warfare. Adrian drove toward the basket—Dante blocked. Adrian set up for a shot—Dante defended so close Adrian could count Dante's eyelashes. Physical contact, constant and deliberate, Dante's body against Adrian's like gravity.
Adrian's team won by two points. Adrian scored the final basket, a layup that required shoving past Dante's defense. Victory felt hollow, tasted like ash.
In the locker room after, one of the grad students—Marcus, different from Dante's teammate Marcus—clapped Adrian's shoulder. "Your friend plays intense."
"Not my friend," Adrian said.
"Roommate, then? He mentioned living in Sutton Hall."
Adrian's hands stilled on the locker. "What else did Dante mention?"
"Just that you two go way back. Childhood friends or something." Marcus grinned. "Lucky. My roommate spends all night gaming with headphones that leak sound. I'd kill for someone I actually knew."
Childhood friends. The phrase sat wrong, fit poorly, like clothing cut for someone else's body.
The party was Sage's idea. "You need to relax," Sage had said over video chat. "You're wound so tight you're going to snap."
Adrian went. Sophomore-hosted thing in an off-campus house, too many people in too small a space. Music loud enough to feel in ribcage. Adrian nursed a beer, made conversation with strangers, almost enjoyed the anonymity.
Then: Dante. Far corner of the living room, talking to some other basketball players. Far enough to maintain distance. Close enough that Adrian couldn't escape awareness.
"Everywhere," Adrian muttered.
"What?" Sage appeared at Adrian's elbow, drink in hand. Sage had made three new friends already. Of course Sage had.
"Nothing." Adrian drained the beer. Regretted it immediately—empty stomach, bad idea. "I'm gonna head out."
"It's 9 PM."
"I'm tired."
Sage's eyes narrowed. "Does this have anything to do with Dante being here?"
"No."
"Liar." Sage grabbed Adrian's arm, steering Adrian toward a quieter corner. "He's everywhere. It's like he's stalking me."
"Or maybe," Sage said slowly, "Dante's trying to spend time with you?"
Adrian laughed. Sharp, bitter sound. "Why would Dante do that? We hate each other."
"Do you?" Sage's expression turned serious. "Hate him?"
The question hung. Adrian's mouth opened. Closed. Brain searching for the obvious answer, finding complications instead. "I... yes. Obviously."
"You hesitated."
"I did not."
"Adrian." Sage's voice gentled. "You talk about this guy constantly. You track where he is. You notice when he's in a room. That's not hate. I don't know what it is, but it's not hate."
"You don't understand." Adrian's chest tightened. "You didn't grow up losing to the same person over and over. You didn't spend eighteen years being reminded you're not good enough."
"Maybe." Sage squeezed Adrian's arm. "Or maybe you're the only one who sees it that way."
Adrian left at 9:15. Walked the twenty minutes back to Sutton Hall, let the night air cool the beer-flush on Adrian's face. Sage was wrong. Had to be wrong. Dante was—Dante was the problem. The obstacle. The reason Adrian needed a Year of Winning in the first place.
But the hesitation lingered. That pause before saying "yes."
Thursday afternoon, Adrian texted Isabella: Coffee Saturday? Just as friends. Want to hear more about the pediatrics track.
Isabella responded in three minutes: Yes! Groundwork at 2?
Adrian stared at the message. Grinned despite everything. This—this was something Dante couldn't touch. Couldn't compete for. A connection built on who Adrian was now, not who Adrian had failed to be.
Victory tasted sweeter than any trophy.
Saturday evening, 6:47 PM. Adrian walked back to Sutton Hall floating three inches off the ground. Coffee with Isabella had lasted four hours. Four hours of easy conversation, shared stories, Isabella's laugh that sounded like music. Isabella had touched Adrian's hand twice. Casual contact, friendly, but contact. Progress.
Adrian opened the door to Room 447B still smiling.
Dante sat at Dante's desk—shirtless. Because of course Dante was shirtless. The AC had broken that morning, turning the room into a sauna. Dante's skin gleamed with sweat, muscles defined in lamplight, hair damp and disheveled.
Dante looked up. Their eyes met.
Adrian's brain short-circuited. Every coherent thought evaporated. Adrian's mouth opened but words wouldn't form, just stammering sounds that meant nothing.
"How was—" Dante started.
"Library." Adrian backed toward the door. "Going to the library. Need to—study. Things. Study things."
Adrian fled. Door slamming behind, heart hammering against ribs like it was trying to escape. In the hallway, Adrian pressed against the wall, breathing too fast, brain screaming static.
What the hell was that?
Not the normal reaction to seeing a roommate without a shirt. Not the normal anything.
Adrian's phone buzzed. Message from Isabella: Had a great time today! Let's do it again soon.
Adrian stared at the screen. Should feel triumph. Should feel that earlier victory. Instead, just confusion. Just the memory of Dante's eyes meeting Adrian's, the way Adrian's entire system had shut down.
What the hell was that?
The question echoed. No answer came.