“Wake up, sweetheart.”

Dylan’s voice pulled me out of the fog like a hook behind my ribs.

I blinked, vision unfocused. The ceiling above me was too close, too white. I’d fallen asleep on top of the covers again. I wasn’t sure when. My body ached like I hadn’t moved all night.

“Sit up,” he said gently.

I did.

He was already crouched in front of me, brown bottle in hand, unscrewing the cap like this was a normal morning routine. Like brushing teeth or tying shoes.

“Open,” he said.

I opened my mouth. His fingers were steady as he held my chin, tipping the dropper over my tongue. One, two… three drops. He watched me swallow before pulling back.

The warmth hit almost instantly — not a high, just a soft float. Like the sharpest parts of my brain were finally quiet. My shoulders dropped. My stomach unknotted just a little.

“There we go,” Dylan said, standing. “Better?”

I nodded.

“Good. Get ready. Don’t be late.”

He returned to his desk like nothing had happened, already typing something I’d never be allowed to read.

I dressed in silence. Hoodie, jeans, same sneakers from yesterday. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text.

Nico:

Lunch today? My treat. You pick the place.

I stared at it, thumb hovering over the screen. The words didn’t make sense at first — like they weren’t meant for me. Then I turned the phone around and held it out, showing Dylan.

He glanced at it. Smiled.

“That’s nice of him,” he said.

I waited.

“You can go,” Dylan added. “Just don’t forget who takes care of you.”

My chest went cold even as the drops kept me soft. I nodded again, then left for class.

The hallways were the same. Crowded, too bright, full of voices I didn’t want to hear. But the drop helped — not enough to feel normal, but enough to move through the day without falling apart. I took notes. I stared at the clock. I avoided eye contact.

When class ended, I didn’t go back to the dorm.

I walked through campus with my hood up, earbuds in but nothing playing. Just something to make people less likely to talk to me.

The sun was out. Not warm, but enough to sting my eyes. I kept my head down.

Until I felt it — that pull in my chest. Like I was being watched.

I glanced up.

Across the quad, near the science building, I saw him.

Lucas.

He wasn’t close. Just standing there, hands in his pockets, like he’d stopped walking mid-step. His eyes were on me. Not intense — not angry. Just… sad. Like he wanted to say something but knew he couldn’t.

My stomach twisted.

I looked away first.

Kept walking.

Nico was waiting in the lot, leaned up against his car like he always had all the time in the world. He wasn’t texting or checking his watch. Just standing there, eyes on the sky.

When he saw me, he smiled.

“Hey. You survived.”

I didn’t answer, just walked toward the passenger side.

“You get to pick the place this time,” Nico said, unlocking the doors. “No pressure, but if you say Olive Garden I’m legally required to revoke all respect.”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

I buckled in but didn’t say anything right away.

Nico glanced over at me as he pulled out of the lot. “You pick. Anywhere.”

“Why do you hate Olive Garden?” I asked suddenly.

He blinked. “Wait, what?”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned it,” I said, voice low. “Like it personally offended you.”

A grin tugged at his mouth. “Because it did. Listen, I worked there for six months in high school. Endless breadsticks? Endless trauma. I still smell garlic butter when I close my eyes.”

I huffed — not quite a laugh, but close enough.

“Plus,” he continued, “people who take first dates to Olive Garden are either serial killers or planning to break up with you in public so you can’t make a scene.”

“Sounds personal.”

“It is,” Nico said, hand over his heart like a dramatic wound. “But this isn’t about me. So? Anywhere sound good? Thai again? Burgers? Tacos? I’m open.”

I looked out the window, unsure if I actually had a craving or just wanted to get through this without making a choice.

“…Tacos?” I offered, unsure.

Nico smiled. “Tacos it is.”

I settled into the seat, hoodie bunched around my shoulders as Nico turned onto the main road.

“You really worked at Olive Garden?” I asked after a minute.

“Tragically,” he replied. “I wore the apron. The fake Italian accent. The shame.”

I glanced at him, surprised. “But… you live off-campus. Doesn’t that mean your parents—?”

“Could’ve covered it,” he said, shrugging. “But my family’s big on the whole character building thing. Wanted me to learn ‘the value of a dollar.’ So I spent six months mopping up spilled Alfredo sauce and listening to grown adults fight over soup refills.”

I let that image settle for a second. “That’s… dark.”

“Yeah, well. Builds character, remember?”

I didn’t say anything, just watched the way the sunlight flickered through the windshield.

Then Nico added, “Dylan’s family’s way more loaded than mine, though. Like… vacation-home-in-the-French-Riviera loaded. Private schools, charity galas, the whole thing.”

I blinked. “Really?”

“Yep. Which makes it extra weird that he’s still in a dorm.”

That threw me.

“He could’ve had a whole apartment to himself off-campus,” Nico continued. 

“…Why?”

Nico snorted. “Your guess is as good as mine. Guess it’s easier to keep an eye on people when they’re close.”

I looked away, pulse shifting.

Close. Watchful.

Always there.

“I mean, I’m not judging,” Nico added casually. “Some people just like being in the middle of things. Or in a controlled environment. Especially when they need to be observant.”

But I wasn’t listening anymore.

Because suddenly, that room felt smaller in my memory. The bed tighter. The walls closer.

And all I could hear was Dylan’s voice again, calm and sweet and inescapable:

Don’t forget who takes care of you.

The drive didn’t take long. A few turns, a couple of red lights, and we pulled into the lot of a small, tucked-away Mexican place with sun-faded umbrellas and a chalkboard sign that said “$1 Tacos!!!” like it was shouting at us.

Nico parked, cut the engine, then got out — and before I even reached for the handle, he was there, opening my door.

I blinked up at him.

“You serious?” I asked.

“What, chivalry’s dead?” he grinned. “Get out, pretty boy.”

I flushed. Didn’t move at first. Then stood slowly, shoving my hands into my hoodie pocket, heart thumping faster than it should’ve been.

The warm air outside smelled like grilled meat and cilantro. My stomach twisted — not in a bad way this time. I was… actually a little hungry.

We stepped inside, the bell over the door jangling as we entered. The place was mostly empty. A few students in a booth near the back, a guy behind the counter counting coins into a register. Chill vibe. Soft music playing. No fluorescent lights. No Dylan.

The hostess barely looked up when Nico waved at her like they were old friends.

“Back table?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” she said, not even bothering to walk us.

Nico guided us toward a small table near the window. I reached for the seat—

“Ah, ah,” Nico said, darting ahead of me.

He pulled the chair out.

I stopped again.

“You’re kidding.”

He grinned. “Let me have this.”

I sat. Awkwardly. Like I didn’t know how to sit anymore.

Nico slid into the chair across from me, resting his arms on the table like this was just a normal lunch and not a fever dream.

“What’s next?” I muttered. “Are you gonna hand me a rose?”

“Shit, I knew I forgot something.” He snapped his fingers dramatically. “Next time.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips tugged — just a little.

A waitress came by, barely older than us, pen tucked behind her ear.

“Y’all want something to drink?” she asked, bored but polite.

Nico looked at me. “You good with horchata?”

I nodded, even though I wasn’t totally sure what that was. The menu had pictures, so I could always fake it.

“We’ll take two,” Nico said. “And some chips and salsa while we figure out the rest.”

The waitress jotted it down and walked off.

I stared at the menu, even though I couldn’t read any of it. The words were blurry, or maybe I just wasn’t focusing.

Across from me, Nico leaned back in his chair, one hand running through his hair as he studied me.

“You always this quiet, or is it just around me?” he asked, voice light but not teasing.

I didn’t answer.

Nico smiled, but there was something softer behind it now. Less performative.

“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” he added. “You know that, right?”

“I know.”

We both paused as the waitress came back and dropped off two tall glasses filled with ice and something creamy and cinnamon-colored. She didn’t wait around for our order.

I took a small sip. It was sweet. Cold. Comforting in a way I wasn’t expecting.

Nico watched me over the rim of his glass. “Good, right?”

I nodded.

We went back to pretending to study the menu.

Then, after a long moment:

“Can I ask you something?” I said, surprising even myself.

Nico’s gaze lifted. “Shoot.”

“How did you know?”

He blinked. “Know what?”

“That you… liked guys.”

Nico didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smirk. His eyes went thoughtful, almost gentle.

“I didn’t really know,” he said, shrugging. “It wasn’t some lightning bolt or whatever.”

He set his glass down, fingers curling around the base.

“One day, I had a crush on a girl in my math class. Week later, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way my friend smiled when he told a joke. It wasn’t about gender. It was just… them.”

He paused, then glanced at me. “For me, it was never a big coming-out moment. More like… letting myself stop lying.”

I looked down at the condensation on my glass, finger tracing a circle in it.

“That sounds easy,” I murmured.

Nico’s smile was crooked now, like he knew the lie I was holding in my chest.

“It wasn’t,” he said. “But it wasn’t hell, either. Not like what you’re dealing with.”

The chips and salsa arrived.

I didn’t touch mine.

He didn’t push.

Nico sipped his drink again, ice rattling in the glass. The corner of his mouth lifted like he wanted to say something else — a joke, maybe — but thought better of it.

The silence settled, softer now.

I let myself breathe.

For a second, I just… sat there. In a chair someone had pulled out for me. In clothes that didn’t feel like armor. With someone who was looking at me like I wasn’t broken glass.

And still—

My mind wouldn’t stop.

Lucas.

The way he looked at me that night. How he barged through the door like the world was on fire. Like I mattered enough to burn for.

The way he said my name.

The way he kissed me.

I hadn’t let myself think about that part. Not fully. But it was there — buried under the panic, the noise, the shame.

That kiss didn’t feel like Dylan.

It didn’t feel like Nico either.

It felt like… something else.

Something that made me want to cry and breathe and run away and stay, all at the same time.

I blinked hard, staring down at the table.

“I didn’t know you were a romantic,” I said suddenly, voice low.

Nico raised a brow. “What gave it away? The door thing, or the chair thing?”

I didn’t smile. But something about the way he said it — light, self-aware, kind of stupid — made it easier to breathe again.

“You really hate Olive Garden that much?” I asked.

He looked scandalized. “The breadsticks are fine. But you can’t base an entire relationship on unlimited soup and salad.”

I rolled my eyes.

But the moment had passed. That spiral — the one I didn’t even realize I was sinking into — loosened its grip.

I didn’t feel safe.

Not exactly.

But I didn’t feel like I was drowning either.

And maybe for now… that was enough.

We ordered our food, ate and Nico paid the bill before went to his car. Of course he was still opening and holding doors for me. Real princess treatment. 

The ride was quiet.

Not awkward quiet. Just… still. Like something was settling that I hadn’t touched in days. Maybe weeks.

Nico tapped the steering wheel with his fingers, humming low to whatever song was on the radio. He didn’t talk much. Maybe he knew I couldn’t. Maybe he was giving me space without saying it.

We pulled into the lot behind my dorm.

He parked but didn’t kill the engine.

I stared ahead at nothing. The dashboard. The mirror. My own faint reflection in the window — tired eyes, hoodie strings tangled, mouth too tight.

There was something in my chest I couldn’t name. Not quite panic. Not peace either. Just pressure. Like a question trying to claw its way out of me.

I swallowed. My voice felt dry.

“Nico?”

He looked over, one hand still on the wheel. “Yeah?”

I turned toward him — just slightly.

“Can I—?”

My voice broke. I didn’t finish.

His brow furrowed. “Can you what?”

I looked away. My face was hot. I shook my head. “Never mind.”

Nico didn’t push.

He just sat there, watching me carefully. Then he leaned back against the seat and let out a soft breath.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure I believed him.

I kept thinking about the way Lucas kissed me.

How safe it felt.

How real.

And how much it scared me.

I thought maybe… if I kissed someone else, I could figure out what it meant. What I wanted. If I even wanted anything at all.

But I couldn’t.

Not yet.

Not with Nico.

Not like this.

Nico reached over and turned down the volume on the radio.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said. Simple. Easy.

Like nothing had happened.

And maybe that was exactly what I needed.

When I got back to the dorm, Dylan wasn’t there.

The lights were off. The room was still.

But my thoughts weren’t.

I sat on the edge of my bed, hoodie still on, Nico’s cologne still faint in the fabric. He must spray his entire car down in the stuff.

My hands were in my lap, clenched without realizing it.

I thought about Lucas.

How I saw him earlier — standing across the quad, his eyes on me like he wanted to say something.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t call out.

Didn’t try.

And maybe… maybe that was worse than if he had.

What if he’s done?

What if I waited too long?

What if I let myself fall into this mess and now I don’t get to have the one thing that ever felt real?

I leaned back against the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

I still didn’t know what I wanted.

But I knew what I didn’t want.

I didn’t want to lose him.

Not before I figured any of this out.