The party at Sigma Chi was everything Adrian had expected—too many people crammed into too small a space, music so loud conversation became impossible, the sticky-sweet smell of spilled beer mixed with various colognes and perfumes.
Adrian stood near the entrance with Isabella, her hand loosely holding his, surveying the chaos.
"This is..." Isabella started, then laughed. "A lot."
"We can leave if you want," Adrian offered, though part of him wanted to stay. Wanted to prove he could do this—be normal, attend parties, date someone, exist as regular college Adrian instead of Adrian-who-was-complicated-about-Dante.
"No, I'm good. Let's find the others." She squeezed his hand. "Plus, I heard they actually have decent music upstairs. Less frat-boy dubstep, more actual dancing."
They pushed through the crowd, Adrian nodding at people from his dorm, Isabella waving at pre-med friends. Sage appeared from the kitchen area, purple hair now streaked with silver, wearing a leather jacket that looked vintage.
"There you are!" She pulled Adrian into a hug, then Isabella. "You both look great. Very couple-y."
"We're not—" Adrian started.
"We're figuring it out," Isabella finished smoothly, shooting Adrian an amused glance. "No labels yet."
"Smart. Labels are overrated anyway." Sage gestured toward the living room where people were attempting to dance despite the crowd. "Come on, my Portland friends are here. They're way cooler than anyone I've met at Greystone so far."
They followed Sage into the throng, and for a while, Adrian actually had fun. Genuine, uncomplicated fun. Isabella fit seamlessly into any social situation, knew how to make small talk, made Adrian look good just by being beside him.
For once, he wasn't "the guy who loses to Dante Alaric." He was just Adrian Hayes, college freshman, with a beautiful semi-girlfriend, hanging out at a party like thousands of other students on thousands of other campuses.
It felt normal. It felt right.
It felt like everything he'd wanted when he'd written his "Year of Winning" manifesto.
An hour into the party, Adrian decided to get drinks. Isabella had mentioned wanting to try whatever punch the frat was serving, and Adrian needed a beer.
"I'll come with you," Isabella offered.
"No, stay. I'll be quick. Two minutes, tops."
He navigated through the crowd toward the kitchen, excusing himself past couples making out against walls, groups of guys loudly debating something about sports, girls taking selfies with red solo cups.
The kitchen was marginally less crowded. Adrian grabbed two cups, filling one with the suspicious red punch and one with beer from the keg.
He turned to head back and froze.
Across the room, in a quieter corner near the back door, he saw them.
Dante and Marcus.
Standing close, heads bent together in conversation, Marcus's hand on Dante's shoulder. They were talking intimately, the kind of private conversation that existed in a bubble even in a crowded room.
Adrian couldn't look away.
He knew he should. Should turn around, deliver the drinks to Isabella, rejoin the party, stop staring at his roommate like a creep.
But his feet wouldn't move.
Marcus said something—Adrian was too far away to hear what—and Dante laughed.
That laugh. The real one, the rare genuine sound Adrian had heard maybe five times in eighteen years. Once when they were seven and someone's dog had knocked over an entire table at a school picnic. Once in tenth grade when their English teacher had accidentally projected his personal emails instead of the lesson plan. Maybe three other times, scattered across a decade of shared history.
It was a beautiful laugh, unguarded and bright, and Adrian felt something painful twist in his chest at the sound of it.
Then Marcus leaned in, cupped Dante's face with both hands, and kissed him.
The world narrowed to that single point.
Sound became muffled, distant, like Adrian's head was underwater. The party continued around him—people laughing, music thumping, conversations flowing—but Adrian couldn't hear any of it over the roaring in his ears.
His chest constricted like someone was squeezing his lungs with both hands. He couldn't breathe properly, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except stare at Dante kissing Marcus in the corner of a frat house kitchen.
The cup in his hand crumpled. Beer spilled over his fingers, splashing onto his shoes. He didn't notice.
The jealousy that flooded through him was visceral, all-consuming, undeniable. It burned through his veins like acid, making his hands shake and his vision blur at the edges.
This wasn't competitive fury. This wasn't the anger he'd felt when Dante won races or championships or academic awards.
This was pure romantic jealousy, the kind that made him want to cross the room and physically pull Marcus away from Dante, to insert himself between them, to demand they stop touching each other.
The realization hit with horrible, perfect clarity:
He had feelings for Dante.
Not rivalry. Not competitive awareness. Not strategic observation.
Actual romantic feelings that had probably been there for years, disguised as hatred, buried under layers of competition and denial and eighteen years of telling himself that what he felt was anything other than what it actually was.
Adrian set both cups down on the nearest surface with shaking hands. He needed to leave. Right now. Before he did something stupid like march over there and make a scene, or worse, before Dante saw him standing there like a heartbroken idiot.
He pushed through the crowd blindly, not caring who he bumped into, needing air and space and somewhere to fall apart in private.
The back porch was less crowded—just a few people smoking, a couple making out on the railing. Adrian stumbled to the steps and sat down hard, head dropping into his hands.
He couldn't breathe properly. His lungs wouldn't expand fully, like someone had wrapped bands around his chest and was pulling them tighter with each passing second.
Dante was kissing Marcus.
Dante, who'd been watching Adrian for weeks. Who'd shown up everywhere Adrian went. Who'd looked devastated every time Adrian mentioned Isabella. Who'd gotten so upset he'd walked out into the October cold rather than finish a conversation about why he cared.
All of that had been about—what? About Dante having feelings that he'd never expressed? About Adrian being too blind and stupid to see what was right in front of him?
And now Dante was kissing Marcus, because of course he was. Marcus was there for him, supported him, understood whatever Dante was going through in ways Adrian never had. Marcus was uncomplicated and kind and probably exactly what Dante needed.
While Adrian was—what? Dating Isabella to prove a point? Trying to win some imaginary competition against his own feelings?
"Oh god," Adrian muttered into his hands. "I'm an idiot. I'm the biggest idiot in the history of idiots."
"You okay, man?" One of the smokers asked.
"Fine. I'm fine. Just need a minute."
He sat on those steps for twenty minutes, trying to get his breathing under control, trying to make sense of the revelation that had just shattered everything he thought he knew about himself.
He liked Dante.
He'd probably always liked Dante, in some twisted way his teenage brain had converted into rivalry because that was safer, easier, less terrifying than admitting he had a crush on another boy.
Every competition had been an excuse to be near him. Every loss had stung so much because it meant Dante's attention going elsewhere. Every trophy Dante won had felt like personal rejection because subconsciously, Adrian had wanted Dante to choose him over basketball, over success, over everything.
"There you are."
Adrian looked up to find Isabella standing at the top of the steps, two fresh drinks in her hands. She studied his face for a moment, then set the drinks aside and sat down beside him silently.
She didn't say anything. Just took his hand, lacing their fingers together, being present in a way that made Adrian want to cry.
They sat like that for several minutes, the party noise a distant buzz, October air cool against their faces.
"I'm sorry," Adrian said finally. "I'm really, really sorry."
"For what?"
"For—" He gestured helplessly. "For this. For using you to prove something to myself. For talking about Dante for fifteen minutes on our date. For not being honest about what I wanted."
"What do you want, Adrian?"
The question was gentle, not accusatory.
Adrian looked at their joined hands, then back up at Isabella's face. She was so beautiful, so kind, so genuinely good. She deserved someone who looked at her the way Adrian looked at—
He couldn't finish that thought.
"It's him, isn't it?" Isabella's voice was sad but not surprised. "Dante."
Adrian opened his mouth to deny it. The word "no" formed on his tongue, ready to deploy, ready to maintain the lie for just a little longer.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't lie to Isabella, who'd been nothing but honest and open with him. Who'd kissed him sweetly and laughed at his jokes and deserved so much better than whatever mess Adrian was offering.
"I don't—" His voice cracked. "I didn't know. I swear I didn't know until—"
"Until tonight?"
"Until about twenty-five minutes ago, yeah." Adrian laughed, the sound broken. "I saw him kissing Marcus and I wanted to—god, I wanted to pull them apart. I wanted it to be me instead. And I've never wanted that before, with anyone, and it's DANTE, and I don't know what to do with that information."
Isabella squeezed his hand. "Can I tell you something?"
"Please."
"I kind of knew. Not for sure, but I suspected. The way you talked about him, the way you couldn't stop mentioning him, the way your whole face changed when his name came up." She smiled sadly. "I thought maybe if I gave you time, you'd figure it out on your own. But I also thought maybe I was wrong, maybe it really was just rivalry."
"I thought it was rivalry too. I really did." Adrian's throat felt tight. "For eighteen years, I thought I hated him. Turns out I just didn't know how to process having a crush on another guy."
"That's pretty common, actually. Especially growing up in places that aren't super accepting." Isabella turned to face him more fully. "Adrian, can I ask you something personal?"
"After everything tonight, I think you've earned personal questions."
"Have you ever been attracted to guys before? Or is this new?"
Adrian thought about it, really thought about it, letting himself examine feelings he'd buried for years. "I think... both? I've always kind of known I might be bi, but I never let myself think about it too hard. It was easier to just not address it, you know? And then Dante was always there, being everything I wanted to be, and it was safer to frame it as competition than to admit I might actually want him."
"That makes sense." Isabella pulled her knees up to her chest. "For what it's worth, you're still figuring yourself out. That's what college is for. You don't have to have everything figured out right now."
"I just made everything so complicated."
"Feelings are complicated. That's not your fault."
"I led you on. I asked you out when I was clearly dealing with—" He gestured vaguely at himself. "—all of this."
"You didn't lead me on. We went on a few dates. We had fun. We kissed once. That's not leading me on, that's just dating." She bumped his shoulder with hers. "I'm not mad, Adrian. I'm sad it didn't work out, but I'm not mad."
"You should be mad."
"Maybe. But I'm choosing not to be." She stood up, brushing off her dress. "I'm going to head back to my dorm. I think you need time to process, and I need to not be at a party right now."
Adrian stood too. "Can we still be friends? Is that allowed after—after all this?"
"Give me a little time, but yeah. I'd like that." Isabella gave him a quick hug. "And Adrian? Talk to him. Dante. Whatever's happening between you two, you can't figure it out unless you actually communicate."
"He won't talk to me. He literally texts me from across the room instead of speaking."
"Then find a way to make him listen. You're both miserable doing this avoidance thing." She pulled back, hands on his shoulders. "But first, make sure you know what you want to say. Figure out your own feelings before you try to navigate his."
She left him standing on the porch, the party continuing around him like nothing had changed.
Except everything had changed.
Adrian went back inside only long enough to find Sage.
"I need to go," he told her, probably looking as wrecked as he felt.
Sage took one look at his face and nodded. "I'll walk with you. Just let me grab my jacket."
They left together, walking across campus in silence. Sage didn't push for explanations, just stayed beside him, a solid presence in the chaos of his thoughts.
When they reached his dorm building, she finally spoke.
"You figured it out, didn't you?"
"How does everyone know except me?" Adrian's laugh was hollow. "You, Isabella, apparently Marcus—everyone could see it except the person actually living through it."
"Sometimes we're blind to our own feelings. Especially when those feelings are scary." Sage pulled him into a hug. "It's going to be okay."
"How can you possibly know that?"
"Because you're Adrian Hayes, and you're stubborn as hell. Once you decide you want something, you don't give up." She pulled back, hands on his shoulders. "The question is, what do you want?"
Adrian looked up at the building where Dante was probably back from the party by now, probably in their room, probably still tasting Marcus on his lips.
"I don't know," Adrian admitted. "But I need to figure it out."
He took the stairs slowly, each step feeling like moving through water. His brain kept replaying the image—Marcus cupping Dante's face, Dante's rare laugh, the kiss that had shattered Adrian's carefully constructed denial.
He opened the door to Room 447B.
Dante was there, sitting on his bed fully dressed, staring at the wall. His phone lay face-down beside him, and he looked—devastated. Like someone had taken everything good in his life and crushed it.
He looked up when Adrian entered. Their eyes met.
And Adrian saw it—the same jealousy, the same pain, the same desperate longing he'd felt watching Dante kiss Marcus.
Except Dante was looking at him that way.
"Where's Isabella?" Dante's voice was rough, like he'd been crying.
"She went home."
"You're back early. Did something—did she break up with you?"
"Not exactly." Adrian closed the door, leaning back against it. "We're taking a break. Figuring things out."
Something flickered in Dante's dark eyes. Hope, maybe. Or fear. "Because of the party?"
"Because of a lot of things."
Dante looked away, jaw clenching. "You saw."
It wasn't a question.
"Yeah," Adrian confirmed. "I saw you and Marcus."
"It wasn't—" Dante stopped, hands clenching in his blanket. "That was the first time. He's been—he's a good friend. I was upset about something and he was trying to help and it just—happened."
"Do you like him? Marcus?"
The question hung in the air between them, heavy with things neither of them were saying.
Dante finally looked at him, and the expression on his face was so raw, so vulnerable, it made Adrian's chest ache.
"No," Dante said quietly. "I don't like Marcus. Not like that."
"Then who—"
But Adrian already knew the answer.
He'd known since Dante had looked at him in that crowded kitchen and said "you think this is about her?"
He'd known since Sage had told him "he's interested in you."
He'd known, and he'd been too scared to admit it, and now they were here—both of them trapped in the same room with eighteen years of misunderstood feelings and no idea how to move forward.