I used to think leaving meant starting over. That distance alone could loosen memory’s grip. That if I crossed enough lines—state, city, campus—I could finally set myself down somewhere new.

I didn’t understand yet that memory doesn’t need permission. It doesn’t ask where you’re going. It just follows.

The campus looked calm when I arrived. Trees lining the walkways, brick buildings softened by afternoon light. People moved in clusters, laughing, carrying boxes, calling out names like they already belonged here.

I kept my sleeves pulled down even though it was warm.

That wasn’t new.

I unfolded the campus map again, then folded it back into my pocket without looking at it. I didn’t want to stop anyone. I didn’t want to be noticed. I’d rather walk in the wrong direction for an hour than give someone a reason to look at me too closely.

By the time I found my dorm, my chest felt tight and shallow, like my lungs had forgotten how much space they were allowed to take.

Room 213.

The door was unlocked.

I pushed it open slowly, already bracing myself for the moment of introduction—but the room was empty. Not untouched, though. Someone had already claimed half of it. Two suitcases rested near the bed across from mine. Clothes folded neatly. A dark jacket draped over the chair. A notebook closed and centered on the desk.

There was a book near the edge of the desk. Black cover. A piano etched into it.

A musician, I thought.

The room itself was simple and symmetrical. Beige walls. Two identical beds. Two desks. Closets on either side. A single window centered between them. The bathroom door sat just to the right of the window.

I dropped my bag beside the bed on the right and shoved a few things into the closet without really looking at them. I didn’t unpack properly. I never did when I felt like this.

I lay back on my bed fully dressed, tugged my sleeves down again out of habit, and slid my earbuds in. Music filled the space, pressing softly against the noise in my head. I closed my eyes—not to sleep. Just to disappear for a minute.

I don’t know how long I was there before I felt it.

A tap on my shoulder.

My eyes flew open, heart slamming so hard it hurt.

He was standing beside my bed, close enough that I hadn’t heard him come in.

Tall. Black hair. Hazel eyes that didn’t soften when I startled. His expression stayed neutral, like he was observing something rather than apologizing for it.

“Your name?” he asked.

“Noah,” I said quickly, sitting up. “I’m—uh. Your roommate. Noah.”

The stutter slipped out before I could stop it.

“Right.” He studied me for a second too long. “I’m Dylan.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, because that was what I was supposed to say.

“You seem decent,” he replied. “Can I ask you something?”

My stomach tightened. “Okay.”

“There’s a welcome party tonight. Come with me.”

A party. The word alone made my pulse jump.

“I don’t really—” I started.

“I don’t want to go alone,” he added, calm, like he’d already decided.

I stared at the edge of the bed. At my hands, folded too tightly in my lap.

“Yeah,” I said finally. “Okay. I probably won’t stay long.”

“Good,” Dylan said.

He reached out and patted my head.

I froze completely.

By the time I processed it, he’d already turned away, sitting at his desk, opening his laptop like nothing strange had happened.

I sat there, heat crawling up my neck, trying to figure out why it bothered me so much.

You’re just sensitive, I told myself. I’d heard that enough times to make it feel true.

We didn’t talk much after that. Later, Dylan said he was ordering pizza. I nodded gratefully. When it arrived, we split it without ceremony. He ate at his desk. I ate on my bed, stomach slowly unclenching.

A few hours passed. Then he stood.

“It’s time,” he said.

I nodded, even though my chest tightened again.

The party was louder than I expected.

Not just music—but shouting, laughter that scraped at the edges, the thud of bass vibrating through the floor. People crowded the porch and lawn, drinks in their hands, smoke hanging low in the air.

This was a mistake.

Dylan didn’t hesitate. He walked straight in. I followed close behind, not wanting to be left alone.

Inside, the house felt too small for the number of people in it. The air smelled like alcohol, sweat, and perfume. Lights flickered lazily across the ceiling, and the music was loud enough to blur into noise.

A girl spotted Dylan immediately and beamed.

“Dylan,” she said brightly, stepping into his space. “Finally.”

She was blonde, her hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. Pretty in an easy, practiced way—clear skin, confident smile, eyes already glossy from drinking. She wore a pale pink tank top and denim shorts, one hip cocked as she leaned closer to him.

She handed him a cigarette. He placed it between his lips, and she lit it for him without asking.

Then she noticed me.

“Oh,” she said, eyes sliding over. “Who’s this?”

“This is Noah,” Dylan replied.

She smiled wider. “Hey, Noah. You’re cute.”

Heat rushed to my face.

“I don’t smoke,” I said quickly when she gestured toward the cigarette.

“That’s fine,” she said lightly. “Do you drink?”

“I—no,” I said. “Not really.”

Her smile turned playful. “First week of college. We’ll fix that.”

I glanced at Dylan.

“Go with her,” he said.

So I did.

The kitchen was packed. Bottles lined the counter—vodka, rum, things I didn’t recognize. Megan reached for a bottle, then hesitated, glancing toward someone behind me. When I turned to look, she’d already switched bottles.

I didn’t question it.

She poured two shots and handed me one.

“To new friends,” she said.

“To new friends,” I echoed.

The vodka burned immediately. Worse than I expected. My eyes watered, and I gagged, pressing my hand to my mouth.

She laughed softly. “Okay, okay. That was mean. Let me make you something easier.”

She grabbed a red Solo cup and began mixing juice and liquor. As she did, she leaned closer, her hand resting briefly against my chest. I stiffened. My hands started to shake, so I shoved them into my pockets, tugging my sleeves down without thinking.

“There,” she said, handing me the cup. “Much better.”

“Thanks,” I murmured. “I’m Noah, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Megan,” she said. “Nice to officially meet you.”

Before I could respond, Dylan appeared beside us. He picked up the cup from the counter.

“Whose drink?” he asked.

“Mine,” I said.

He turned slightly away from me—not much, just enough that I lost sight of the cup for a second.

Then he handed it back.

“Drink,” he said.

I hesitated. Just a beat.

Then I did.

Something shifted.

Not immediately—but too fast to be comfortable.

The noise around me dulled, like someone had turned the volume down wrong. The lights felt brighter. My skin felt hot, then cold. My limbs felt heavier than they should have, like there was a delay between thought and movement.

Megan laughed and looped her arm through mine.

“You’re doing great,” she said. “See? Warming up already.”

I nodded, even though the room tilted slightly when I did.

Time felt… strange after that. I couldn’t remember moving from the kitchen to the living room, only that suddenly I was there. The music felt distant. Voices overlapped in a way I couldn’t separate.

Dylan stood a few feet away, watching me. Not smiling. Just… observing.

I looked away.

“I think I should go back to my dorm,” I said, though my voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

“That soon?” Megan asked. “Come on. It’s quieter upstairs.”

She tugged gently on my arm.

I followed without meaning to.

Halfway to the stairs, something in the room changed.

I felt it before I saw him.

White hair.

The same cut. The same height.

Lucas.

My chest seized so hard I couldn’t breathe.

He stood near the wall, talking to someone, but his eyes found me instantly. Like they’d been waiting.

Megan was still talking. I couldn’t hear her anymore.

Lucas started toward me.

“Noah,” he said when he reached me. His voice was lower than I remembered. Careful. “Hey.”

The floor shifted beneath my feet.

“Can we talk?” he asked. “Just outside.”

Dylan’s hand settled on my shoulder from behind. Too firm.

“What’s wrong?” Dylan asked calmly.

I shook my head. My knees buckled.

Arms caught me.

Not Dylan’s.

Lucas steadied me, his hands firm, familiar in a way that made my stomach twist.

“You’re not okay,” he said quietly. “You look—”

“Don’t,” I whispered. “Please.”

I wrenched myself free and ran.

The air outside hit me like a shock. I stumbled across the grass, vision blurring at the edges. My legs gave out, and I hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

The world swayed.

Footsteps approached.

Lucas crouched a short distance away, not touching me this time.

“Noah,” he said softly. “You’re not making sense. Let me help you.”

My hands curled into the grass. My heart hammered. My head felt wrong—too light, too full.

“I don’t want you,” I said, barely audible. “Don’t come closer.”

He didn’t move.

But my body did.

The last thing I saw was his face—tight with something I couldn’t read.

Then the ground tilted.

And everything went dark.