Greek Row smelled like spilled beer and bad decisions. Adrian navigated through the crush of bodies in the Sigma Chi house, Isabella's hand warm in his. Music pounded through speakers that probably violated noise ordinances, bass vibrating in Adrian's chest like a second heartbeat.
"This is fun!" Isabella shouted over the din, smile bright enough to compete with the string lights wrapped around exposed beams.
Adrian nodded. Meant it. For once, Adrian was just—existing. No competition. No rankings. No measuring himself against impossible standards. Just a college freshman at a party with a girl who laughed at his jokes and didn't know about eighteen years of accumulated failure.
Normal felt intoxicating.
Sage waved from across the room, surrounded by people Adrian vaguely recognized from orientation. Sage had integrated seamlessly, built a friend group within two weeks, moved through college social life like someone born knowing the choreography.
"I'm going to say hi to my roommate," Isabella said, gesturing toward a girl near the makeshift bar. "Get me a drink?"
"Sure. What do you want?"
"Surprise me. Nothing too strong though—I have organic chem at 9 AM Monday." Isabella squeezed Adrian's hand, then disappeared into the crowd.
Adrian pushed toward the drink station. Red solo cups stacked in towers, bottles of cheap vodka and mixers scattered across the folding table. The basketball team dominated the space nearby, Marcus Reid's laugh carrying above the music.
And there—quieter corner, away from the main chaos—Dante.
Adrian's hand stilled on a cup. Couldn't help watching. Automatic response, involuntary as breathing.
Dante stood close to Marcus. Not touching, but close. Personal space compressed into something intimate. Marcus leaned down—taller by two inches—saying something that made Dante's face transform.
Laughter. Real laughter, not the polite version Dante used for strangers. The genuine article Adrian had maybe heard five times in eighteen years. The sound that meant Dante felt safe enough to drop the careful control.
Adrian's chest constricted. Odd sensation, like ribs shrinking.
Marcus said something else. Dante shook his head, smile widening. Then Marcus reached up, cupped Dante's face with both hands—tender, deliberate—and kissed him.
The world narrowed to that point of contact. Sound muffled, music fading to distant static. Adrian's lungs forgot how to expand, air suddenly insufficient.
The red solo cup crumpled in Adrian's grip. Beer cascaded over Adrian's hand, splashing onto his shoes. Cold liquid. Adrian didn't register it. Didn't look down. Couldn't look away from Dante's mouth on Marcus's, from the way Dante's hand came up to grip Marcus's shirt, from the comfort in that kiss.
Jealousy hit like a car crash. Visceral. All-consuming. The kind that hollowed out Adrian's stomach and filled the space with acid. Not competition—this wasn't about winning or losing or measuring achievement. This was raw, romantic jealousy that made Adrian want to cross the room and physically pull Marcus away. The kind that made Adrian's hands shake and his vision tunnel.
Mine, something primal in Adrian's brain screamed. That's mine.
Except Dante wasn't. Had never been. Would never be.
And Adrian—Adrian wanted.
The realization crashed through every defense Adrian had built. Perfect clarity, horrible and undeniable. Eighteen years of obsession reframed in a single moment. Not rivalry. Not hatred. Not competition.
Feelings. Actual, romantic, terrifying feelings for Dante Alaric.
For the person Adrian was supposed to hate. The person Adrian had spent eighteen years losing to. The person who'd ruined every victory and stolen every trophy and made Adrian feel perpetually insufficient.
Except—
Except Adrian knew Dante's coffee order without thinking. Noticed every time Dante entered a room. Spent fifteen minutes talking about Dante on a date with someone else. Felt worse about Dante's cold distance than any lost competition.
Oh god.
Adrian stumbled backward. Hip colliding with the drink table, bottles rattling. Some guy complained but Adrian was already moving, pushing through bodies, needing air, needing space, needing to be anywhere except here watching Dante kiss someone else.
"Excuse me. Sorry. Move." Adrian's voice came out strangled.
The back porch offered escape. Adrian crashed through the door, gulped night air that felt too thin. Sat on the steps, head in hands, trying to remember how breathing worked.
This couldn't be happening. This wasn't real. Adrian didn't—couldn't—
It's DANTE.
Dante who stole crayons and won races and made the championship shot. Dante who was taller and broader and better at everything. Dante who'd spent the last month becoming a ghost because Adrian had been too stupid to understand what was actually happening.
You think this is about her?
Oh. Oh god. Dante had known. Or suspected. And Adrian had been too deliberately blind to see it.
Adrian's phone buzzed. Text from Isabella: Where are you? Found my roommate.
Adrian stared at the screen. Couldn't make himself respond. What was there to say? Sorry, I just realized I'm in love with my roommate while watching him kiss someone else at a party where I'm supposed to be your boyfriend?
Time passed. Could have been minutes or hours. Adrian's sense of temporal continuity had shattered along with everything else.
"Adrian?"
Isabella's voice. Soft. Careful.
Adrian looked up. Isabella stood in the doorway, backlit by party lights, expression unreadable.
"Hey." Adrian's voice cracked. "Sorry. I just—needed air."
Isabella stepped onto the porch. Closed the door behind her, muffling the music. Sat beside Adrian on the steps. Close but not touching. Waiting.
The silence stretched. Adrian searched for words that could explain, that could justify, that could make this make sense.
Found nothing.
Isabella took Adrian's hand. Gentle pressure. No demands.
When Adrian finally managed to look at Isabella's face, Isabella gave Adrian the saddest smile. Understanding and resignation mixed in equal measure.
"It's him, isn't it?" Isabella asked quietly.
Adrian's mouth opened. Denial prepared, excuse ready. But the words wouldn't come. Couldn't form. The lie died in Adrian's throat, impossible to voice after what Adrian had just felt watching Dante kiss Marcus.
Isabella nodded like Adrian had answered. "I thought so."
"I'm sorry." Adrian forced the words out. "I didn't—I don't—"
"I know." Isabella squeezed Adrian's hand. "But you need to figure this out. For both our sakes."
"Isabella—"
"I'm not breaking up with you," Isabella said. "Not yet. But I can't—we can't keep doing this when your attention is somewhere else. When you talk about him for fifteen minutes straight. When you notice him in every room before you notice me."
Adrian flinched. Wanted to argue. Couldn't.
"Take some time," Isabella continued. "Think about what you actually want. I'll be here when you're ready to be honest—with me or with yourself."
Isabella stood. Brushed off her jeans. Looked down at Adrian with that same sad smile.
"For what it's worth?" Isabella said. "I hope you figure it out. You deserve to be happy. Even if that happiness isn't with me."
Then Isabella went back inside, leaving Adrian alone on the steps with the truth Adrian couldn't unsee.
Adrian walked back to Sutton Hall. Twenty-three minutes in cold September air that should have cleared Adrian's head but didn't. Sage had texted asking if Adrian was okay. Adrian had responded with a lie: yeah just tired heading back
Room 447B was dark. Empty. Dante's bed unmade for once, covers disturbed like Dante had left in a hurry. Getting ready for the party. Getting ready to meet Marcus.
Adrian didn't turn on the lights. Just closed the door, leaned against it, slid down to sit on the floor.
Eighteen years. Kindergarten to college. Every memory reframed through this new lens. The crayon incident—five-year-old Adrian's first experience of wanting Dante's attention, negative attention better than none. The race—watching Dante cross the finish line, heart hammering not just from running. The science fair—second place stinging worse because Dante's triumph felt like rejection. The championship game—watching Dante make the winning shot, devastated not just by losing but by Dante's joy directed elsewhere.
How long had Adrian been in love with Dante while calling it hatred?
How many years wasted competing when Adrian should have been—what? Confessing? Dante would have laughed. Would have won that too—being the one who didn't feel anything while Adrian burned.
Except.
You think this is about her?
Dante backing Adrian against the wall, eyes dark and desperate. Dante's shoulders shaking with silent crying. Dante avoiding Adrian so thoroughly it required military-level planning.
Maybe Dante did feel something. Maybe that's what the ghost protocol had been about—not indifference but the opposite. Too much feeling, no idea what to do with it.
And now Dante was with Marcus. Had moved on. Had found someone who could give Dante what Adrian hadn't even known to offer.
Adrian's phone lit up. Text from Sage: You left with Isabella. She came back without you. What happened?
Adrian typed: I'm fine
Sage: Bullshit. Want to talk?
Adrian: Not yet
Sage: Okay. I'm here when you're ready.
Adrian set the phone down. Sat in darkness surrounded by the accumulated evidence of eighteen years. Dante's perfectly made bed. Dante's desk facing Adrian's space. Dante's clothes in the closet, Dante's books on the shelf, Dante's presence in every corner despite Dante's physical absence.
The truth sat in Adrian's chest like a stone. Heavy. Undeniable.
Adrian Hayes was in love with Dante Alaric.
Had been, probably, for years. Maybe always. Disguised as rivalry because rivalry made sense when love didn't. Rationalized as competition because competition gave structure to feelings Adrian couldn't acknowledge.
And now—now Dante was kissing Marcus at a party while Adrian sat in their shared room finally understanding eighteen years too late.
Adrian laughed. Sharp, bitter sound in the empty space. Of course. Of course Adrian would realize this now, when Dante had moved on. When the possibility of anything had closed before Adrian even knew it existed.
The Year of Winning. What a joke. Adrian had been trying to win the wrong thing all along.
Outside, students walked past. Laughter, shouting, normal Saturday night chaos. Life continuing like Adrian's world hadn't just fundamentally reorganized itself.
Adrian pulled out his phone. Opened the text thread with Dante—weeks of minimalist exchanges. ok. fine. studying at library. Breadcrumbs of communication from people sharing space but nothing else.
Adrian typed: We need to talk.
Stared at the words. Deleted them.
What would Adrian even say? I'm in love with you but just figured it out while watching you kiss someone else? Sorry for eighteen years of being an asshole when I was really just terrified of what I felt?
Adrian deleted the draft. Locked the phone. Set it aside.
Sat in the dark with the truth Adrian had finally admitted but had no idea what to do with.
The door handle turned at 1:47 AM. Adrian had been sitting there for three hours, back against the door, when Dante tried to enter.
Adrian scrambled up. Opened the door.
Dante stood in the hallway, key in hand, expression shuttering the moment Dante saw Adrian.
"You're here," Dante said flatly.
"Yeah."
Silence. Dante's gaze tracked over Adrian's face, searching for something. Finding what—Adrian didn't know.
"I'm going to Marcus's room," Dante said finally. "Didn't think you'd be back yet."
And Adrian—Adrian couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Just watched Dante turn and walk away. Listened to Dante's footsteps fade down the hallway.
Adrian closed the door. Returned to sitting in the dark.
In love with Dante Alaric.
And absolutely no idea what to do about it.