The air in the college cafeteria buzzed with chatter, but Arian sat quietly at a corner table, away from the noise. His tray held barely touched food, and his eyes wandered across the room without meaning to. He wasn't looking for Damon—not today. Or maybe, deep down, he still was.
Jude plopped down beside him, nearly knocking over the water bottle. "Why do you even take the lunch if you're not going to eat it?"
Arian gave him a weak smile. "Force of habit."
"Is this about Damon again?" Jude's voice dropped.
Arian didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked out the window beside them. Outside, the autumn leaves danced gently to the ground. Everything looked peaceful. Everything except his heart.
"He used to text me in between classes," Arian finally said. "Now he leaves me on read for hours. I don't even know if I should say something or just..."
"Just what?" Jude prompted.
"Disappear," Arian whispered.
Jude sighed, shoving a half-eaten sandwich into his mouth. "You deserve better than this hot-and-cold circus."
Arian's fingers tightened around the edge of the table. "You know what's the worst part? He makes me feel like I'm asking for too much. Like it's wrong to want... consistency. Or affection. Or just his time."
Jude leaned closer. "It's not wrong. It's just not him."
A brief silence settled between them until a sudden hush spread across the cafeteria. Heads subtly turned toward the entrance. Leon had entered.
He walked in, sharp in black slacks and a fitted grey sweater, his gaze distant as usual. Even with the buzz of students and the clatter of cutlery, his presence drew an unnatural stillness. Like cold thunderclouds rolling in.
Arian stiffened.
"He's seriously like a walking iceberg," Jude muttered, sipping his drink. "Ever say anything to him?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Arian lowered his gaze. "Because he doesn't talk to me either."
Jude frowned. "But you live in the same house."
"That doesn't mean we're close."
Arian glanced up, catching Leon's gaze just for a second. It wasn't full of hate—just... blank, like looking into a foggy mirror. Leon looked away quickly and walked past without a word.
Arian looked down again, heart unexpectedly tight. It was always like this. As if the walls of their home extended into college too, building invisible lines that neither of them dared to cross.
---
Later that evening, Arian sat in the corner of his room with his headphones on. His voice was soft, almost fragile, as he hummed a song under his breath. It was a melody he'd written himself—gentle, aching, and full of the feelings he couldn't say out loud.
He didn't know that Leon, passing by in the hallway, paused outside his door.
The music was muffled, but it reached Leon's ears just enough. His hand froze on the doorknob to his room. Then, slowly, he moved on.
Downstairs, Arian's phone buzzed.
Damon: Hey. Busy today. Sorry.
No warmth. No question. Just words.
Arian stared at the screen, his thumb hovering. Then he locked the phone and turned off the lights.
And in the dark, he whispered to no one, "You don't want me anymore, do you?"