I woke up groggy.

Not tired. Not hungover. Just… foggy. Like my brain was under a wet towel someone forgot to wring out.

For a moment, I didn’t remember where I was. Or what day it was.

Then I saw the bottle.

It was sitting exactly where Dylan had left it — on my nightstand. That little brown bottle with no label. A second one, maybe. Or the same one, I didn’t know.

The sight of it made my chest tighten, then — weirdly — loosen. Like my body was already reacting.

I sat up slowly. Everything moved in slow motion. My arms, my thoughts, the way light poured across the floor.

Dylan was already awake. Sitting at his desk. Watching me like he’d been waiting.

“Morning,” he said, quiet and warm. “Rough night?”

I didn’t answer right away. My mouth was dry.

“I don’t feel right,” I murmured.

“You’re just crashing a little,” Dylan said, standing. “It’s normal. Yesterday was heavy. Your system’s still regulating.”

He crossed the room and picked up the bottle. Uncapped it. Poured a tiny bit into the cap and held it out.

“You want to feel normal again?”

I hesitated.

Then I took it.

The liquid burned slightly — not like alcohol, but something else. Something bitter.

Dylan nodded approvingly. “You’ll feel better in about twenty minutes.”

And I did.

Faster, even. The pressure behind my eyes eased. My heartbeat settled. The fog in my chest didn’t clear, exactly — but it felt quieter.

I didn’t realize how much I’d been holding my breath until I stopped.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think so.”

He smiled and ran a hand gently through my hair — like I was some kind of stray animal he was nursing back to health.

“You just needed a little help,” he said. “Now we can have a good day.”

I didn’t respond. But I didn’t move away either.

“Try not to worry so much,” Dylan added. “I’ll make sure you stay steady, okay?”

He said it like a promise.

Like something I should be grateful for.

I made it to class.

I couldn’t tell you what happened there, not really. The words the professor said sounded more like background noise than anything else — like a TV left on in another room. I took notes automatically, but my handwriting sloped weird, like I wasn’t fully in control of my hand.

But at least I wasn’t panicking.

At least I was upright. Calm.

Dylan had been right about that much.

Whatever was in that bottle… it worked.

Classes came and went in a blur. I didn’t talk to anyone. Ate alone. Kept my head down.

When the last one let out, I didn’t go straight back to the dorm.

I sat on a bench outside the library, phone in hand, thumb hovering over Lucas’s name.

I knew what I was going to say.

It was the right thing to do. The smart thing.

The safe thing.

I typed slowly. Carefully.

Me: Can we talk tonight? Just you and me.

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then came back again.

Lucas: Yeah. Come over.

A second later, another message followed.

Lucas: [address]

I stared at the screen.

This was how I ended it — cleanly, finally.

No more confusion. No more slipping into something that could undo everything Dylan had helped me hold together. I was going to set the boundary. Say the thing I should’ve said days ago.

We couldn’t be friends.

We weren’t good for each other.

It was what Dylan would want.

And more importantly… it was what would keep me safe.

Right?

I went back to my door and waited.

Told myself I wasn’t going.

Told myself it was stupid.

That it wasn’t worth the risk.

But the message sat there, glowing on my screen like it was waiting to be opened — or closed — for good.

Dylan was at his desk most of the evening, working on something in that same leather-bound notebook. He didn’t say much. Just kept glancing at me like he was making sure I stayed still.

Around ten, he finally stood up and stretched. “You should sleep,” he said, casual as ever. “Big day tomorrow.”

I nodded.

He went to brush his teeth. Came back. Got into bed.

Ten thirty. Eleven.

His breathing evened out.

I waited longer.

Midnight.

I eased out of bed. Every movement was slow, calculated. No noise. I slipped on a hoodie, grabbed my phone, wallet, and keys, and crept to the door.

Dylan didn’t stir.

I stepped out into the hall, heart pounding like I’d done something criminal.

I didn’t take the elevator.

I didn’t check my phone until I was halfway across campus, breath clouding in the cold night air.

Lucas’s address led to a quiet off-campus apartment complex, the kind you only got with a full-ride scholarship or trust fund parents. Lucas had earned his — football star, starting varsity his sophomore year, everyone loved him. I used to, too.

The light over the door was still on.

I stood there for a long second.

Then I texted him.

Me: Here.

The door opened a moment later.

Lucas stood there, shirtless, hair messy, blinking like he’d just pulled himself out of a nap. Or hadn’t gone to bed at all.

“Damn,” he said. “Didn’t think you’d actually come. Not this late.”

I didn’t say anything.

He stepped aside, and I walked in.

The place was surprisingly clean. Warm. Lived-in but quiet. A small couch, coffee table, TV, and a desk with a laptop and textbooks. His bedroom door was open behind him — bed unmade, soft yellow light spilling into the hall.

I stayed near the front, hands stuffed in my hoodie pocket.

Lucas pulled a hoodie off the back of the couch and slipped it on. “You okay?”

I nodded once. “I won’t stay long.”

“You can sit.”

I did — barely.

Perched on the edge of the couch, tense. Like sitting too far back would mean I was planning to stay longer than I should.

Lucas sat down across from me, resting his elbows on his knees.

“So,” he said. “What did you want to talk about?”

I looked at him.

Really looked.

Still the same face I knew. Or thought I knew.

But I didn’t know anything anymore.

“I’m not here for answers,” I said finally. “Not really.”

He didn’t move.

I swallowed. “I’m here to say we can’t be friends. Not now. Probably not ever.”

Lucas blinked.

Didn’t argue. Didn’t smirk.

Didn’t pretend he didn’t hear.

“Okay,” he said after a beat. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I need,” I said. “Things are too… complicated.”

“Because of Dylan.”

I didn’t answer.

Lucas leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “So that’s it? You came all the way here just to close the door?”

“Yeah. I thought you deserved to hear it in person.”

He was quiet for a while.

“Then if we’re really done,” he said, “then I guess it doesn’t matter why we stopped being friends in the first place.”

That threw me.

I sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged like it wasn’t heavy, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. “You’ve always wondered, right? What changed. Why I went cold on you. Why I started being an asshole.”

I nodded slowly.

“I figured maybe you didn’t want to know. Or maybe it wouldn’t help anything now.”

“But you said if we’re done… then it doesn’t matter,” I repeated.

Lucas didn’t meet my eyes.

“It might not. You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

Something in my chest twisted. Of course I wanted to know. But I was afraid to ask. 

“Just tell me,” I said. “What happened? What did I do?”

He looked at me then — really looked. And there was something behind his eyes I hadn’t seen in years.

Guilt.

Fear.

Longing maybe?

Lucas leaned forward. 

“You didn’t do anything.”

Then he looked away.

“But I did.”

I blinked. “What does that mean?”

Lucas exhaled, the kind that filled the room with tension instead of releasing it. He stood and walked toward the small kitchen, opening the fridge just to grab a bottle of water — or to avoid looking at me.

He leaned against the counter. “It means I knew what I was doing. And I did it anyway.”

“Lucas—”

“I pushed you away because it was easier than facing the truth.”

I stood too, my pulse skimming panic again. “What truth?”

He glanced at me. Silent. Then crossed the room until we were just a few feet apart.

“When we were kids, it was simple. We were friends. You were just… Noah. My favorite person. I didn’t question it.”

His voice dropped.

“But then we got older. And I started realizing that the way I looked at you… the way I felt around you — it wasn’t how I felt about anyone else.”

I froze.

“I didn’t know what to do with that,” he said. “So I tried to make it stop. I thought if I pulled away from you, it would go away. I thought if I was cruel enough, if I said the right things, did the wrong things — maybe you’d hate me enough to make it easier.”

My chest tightened, but I couldn’t look away.

“But it didn’t work,” he said. “I still liked you. A lot more than I should’ve. And I hated myself for it.”

I felt like the air had been knocked out of me.

“Wait,” I said, voice shaky. “Are you saying—”

“I liked you, Noah,” he said, voice calm but unflinching. “Back then. And I still do.”

Silence.

A thousand thoughts collided in my head all at once — sharp and fast and impossible to name.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Lucas, I’ve never even… I don’t… I...”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not trying to force anything. I just didn’t want to keep lying about it.”

He took a breath.

“I don’t expect anything from you. I swear. I know it’s a lot.”

“I just…” I started. “I came here to end things. To stop this whole… confusion. And now you’re saying—”

“I’m just being honest,” Lucas said. “And if you still want to walk away, I won’t stop you.”

There was a long silence between us.

Then, almost too softly, he said:

“Can I try something?”

I looked at him, heart hammering.

“What?”

“I want to kiss you,” he said. “Just once. Just to see if you feel anything. If you don’t — we can forget it ever happened. I’ll never bring it up again.”

I stood frozen.

I should’ve said no.

I should’ve turned around and walked out.

Instead, I whispered, “Okay.”

He stepped closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like he was afraid I’d bolt.

And maybe I should have.

His hand hovered by my cheek but didn’t touch me.

Then he kissed me.

It was soft.

Careful.

Warm.

It didn’t feel like the movies. It felt terrifying and quiet and real.

My body stiffened. My heart pounded in my ears.

And just as suddenly—

I pulled back.

“Noah—” he started.

But I was already shaking my head. “I can’t.”

Then I turned.

And ran.

I didn’t know where I was going.

I just knew I couldn’t stay there.

The air felt too tight, like it was pressing in on me from all sides. My chest burned as I stumbled down the street, away from Lucas’s apartment, away from the door I’d just run through like I was on fire.

My first kiss.

With him.

With the person who ruined me.

With the person who just told me he liked me.

My head wouldn’t stop.

I didn’t even know if I liked guys.

I don't remember ever liking anyone.

Why did it feel like that?

Why did it feel like too much and not enough at the same time? What was wrong with me? 

I ended up sitting on the curb behind a closed coffee shop, knees pulled to my chest, arms wrapped tight around myself. The streetlights buzzed overhead. Somewhere far away, a car passed.

I pressed my palms into my eyes.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered. “I can’t.”

My body shook. Not full panic yet—but close. The kind that crawls under your skin and waits.

I thought about Dylan.

That thought made it worse.

I wasn’t supposed to be there.

I wasn’t supposed to see Lucas.

I wasn’t supposed to feel anything.

By the time I got back to the dorm, my hands were numb.

The building was quiet. Too quiet. Everyone asleep. The hallway lights dimmed low.

Good.

Dylan’s bed was dark.

He was asleep.

I told myself that over and over as I changed, as I slid under my covers, as I turned onto my side and squeezed my eyes shut.

Just sleep.

Just sleep and it’ll go away.

My stomach twisted.

Then my chest.

A cold wave rolled through me, sharp and wrong. My legs felt restless, buzzing. My skin felt too tight.

I swallowed hard.

It’s fine.

It’s just stress.

I turned onto my back—

—and suddenly a hand clamped over my mouth.

I tried to scream.

The sound came out broken, swallowed.

A weight pressed down on me. Close. Too close.

“Don’t,” a voice whispered in my ear.

Dylan.

My heart slammed so hard I thought it might tear through my ribs.

“I said don’t,” he repeated, quieter this time. “You’re going to wake people up.”

I froze.

His hand stayed over my mouth, firm but controlled. His other arm pinned me in place.

“You went somewhere tonight,” he said calmly.

I shook my head beneath his hand.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “That’s not an answer.”

Slowly, deliberately, he removed his hand.

I sucked in air, gasping.

“You lied to me,” Dylan said.

“I—” My voice broke immediately. “I just—”

“You went to see him,” he continued, tone almost conversational. “After everything I told you.”

I started shaking. I couldn’t stop it now. First the situation with Lucas and now this.

“You said you understood,” he said. “You said you’d stay away.”

“I was just trying to end it,” I whispered. “I swear. I told him we couldn’t be friends.”

Dylan stared at me in the dark.

Then he smiled.

“That’s not what I asked,” he said.

My stomach dropped.

“You know what happens when you lie to me, Noah?”

I shook my head again.

He leaned closer. I could smell him—clean, familiar, terrifying.

“You spiral.”

My chest seized.

“I’m trying to help you,” he said softly. “But you keep making it hard.”

My body jolted as another wave hit—heat, then cold. My hands curled into fists.

“Please,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “I don’t feel right. I need—”

“The bottle?” Dylan asked.

I nodded frantically. “Just a little. Please. I feel really bad.”

He watched me shake.

Then he straightened.

“No,” he said.

The word landed like a slap.

“I said no,” he repeated, sharper now. “And look at you.”

My breathing turned shallow.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Dylan said. “You can’t regulate yourself. You go behind my back, you see him, and now you’re begging.”

“I’m not—” I sobbed. “I just don’t feel good.”

“That’s because you don’t listen,” he snapped.

The room went very still.

I flinched.

Dylan inhaled slowly. When he spoke again, his voice was controlled—too controlled.

“Get some sleep,” he said. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“I can’t,” I whispered. “Please. Just this once.”

He leaned down, close enough that I could feel his breath against my cheek.

“You don’t get to decide that anymore.”

My body curled in on itself, shaking harder now. My head spun. My skin burned.

As Dylan moved away, I heard him lie back down.

Pretending to sleep.

I stared into the dark, tears soaking into my pillow, my body screaming for something I didn’t even understand yet.

And for the first time, the thought came uninvited and terrifying:

What if he’s the only one who can make this stop?

It hurts…it hurts so bad… I have to stop this.

I got up slowly and made my way into the bathroom.