Marcus Reid appeared at Adrian's intramural basketball practice on a Tuesday, all six-foot-four of casual confidence, leaning against the gym wall like he belonged everywhere he went.
Adrian missed an easy layup. The ball clanged off the rim, ricocheting into the bleachers.
"Hayes! Focus!" Coach Williams—a grad student who ran the club team for beer money—shook his head.
Adrian retrieved the ball, hyperaware of Marcus watching. Tall, broad-shouldered, moving with the ease of someone who'd never questioned his place in the world. Senior. Team captain. Openly gay in a way that seemed effortless, like Marcus had never spent a single moment wondering if that was allowed.
Everything Adrian wasn't.
Practice ended. Adrian grabbed his water bottle, planning escape routes, but Marcus was already crossing the court.
"Adrian Hayes?" Marcus extended a hand. "Marcus Reid. Varsity team."
"I know who you are." Adrian shook Marcus's hand. Firm grip, warm palm, exactly the handshake of someone who'd been taught proper social skills.
"So you're the famous roommate." Marcus grinned. "Dante talks about you constantly."
Adrian's stomach dropped. "Does he."
Not a question. Couldn't make it a question because that would reveal too much—the desperate need to know what Dante said, how Dante talked about Adrian, whether Dante's constant mentions were positive or complaints or something else entirely.
"Yeah. I figured I should actually meet you." Marcus shifted his gym bag to his other shoulder. "Dante's at study group until six if you're heading back to Sutton. Thought I'd save you the awkward roommate run-in."
Thoughtful. Marcus was being thoughtful. Considerate. Making Adrian's life easier.
Adrian wanted to hate Marcus. Needed Marcus to be terrible—arrogant or cruel or shallow. Something that would justify the jealousy corroding Adrian's insides like acid.
Instead: genuine kindness. Comfortable confidence without arrogance. The kind of person Adrian would probably like under different circumstances.
"Thanks," Adrian managed. "Appreciate it."
"No problem." Marcus hesitated, then: "Look, I know roommate situations can be weird. If you ever need to crash somewhere when the room's occupied, I'm in Patterson 312. Open door policy."
The offer hung in the air. Casual on the surface. Loaded underneath. Marcus knew. Or suspected. That Adrian might need to escape when Marcus and Dante wanted privacy.
"Good to know," Adrian said.
Marcus left. Adrian sat on the bleachers, watching his teammates run drills, unable to process the interaction. Dante talked about Adrian constantly. To his boyfriend. What did that mean? And why did Marcus seem so unbothered by it?
Adrian's teammate—Josh, a sophomore engineering major—dropped onto the bench beside Adrian. "Holy shit. Marcus Reid just talked to you."
"Yeah."
"Dude's a legend. Best shooting guard Greystone's had in five years. NBA scouts came to three games last season." Josh stared at the door Marcus had exited through like it might reveal secrets. "You know him?"
"Roommate knows him."
"Your roommate's Dante Alaric, right?" Josh's expression shifted to reverence. "That guy's insane. Freshman and already starting lineup. My brother's on varsity—says Dante's got draft potential if he develops his defense."
Adrian's jaw clenched. Even here. Even on Adrian's team, in Adrian's space, Dante's excellence cast shadows Adrian couldn't escape.
"Great," Adrian said flatly.
"You should introduce me sometime. I'd love to—"
"I have a class." Adrian grabbed his bag, fled before Josh could finish the sentence.
Psychology 201. Adrian arrived early, claimed a middle-row seat. Not too eager, not too distant. Optimal position for paying attention while remaining unmemorable.
Professor Martinez stood at the front, arranging notes. "Today we have a guest lecturer—Professor Chen from the medical school's psychiatry department. He'll be discussing developmental psychology and identity formation."
The door opened. A man in his fifties entered—sharp suit, graying hair, the kind of bearing that suggested decades of academic authority.
Adrian's stomach dropped.
Isabella's father. Had to be. The resemblance sat in the cheekbones, the careful posture, the way Professor Chen surveyed the room with analytical precision.
Adrian sank lower in his seat. Dating the guest lecturer's daughter while emotionally unavailable to her. While in love with someone else. While lying through every interaction.
Professor Chen began lecturing. Something about identity formation during late adolescence, about how college represents a crucial period for self-discovery and authenticity. Adrian heard maybe thirty percent, too busy calculating whether Isabella had mentioned Adrian to her father, whether Professor Chen knew his daughter was dating an emotionally unavailable disaster.
"The cost of inauthenticity," Professor Chen said, "particularly regarding emotional availability and romantic relationships, tends to compound. The longer we maintain false presentations of ourselves, the more difficult genuine connection becomes."
Adrian wrote that down. Not because it was academically important. Because it felt like an indictment delivered personally, a truth Adrian couldn't escape.
Class ended. Adrian tried to leave quickly but Professor Chen's voice stopped him.
"Mr. Hayes? A moment?"
Adrian froze. Turned. Walked to the front like someone approaching execution.
Professor Chen smiled. Not unkind. "Isabella mentioned you're in this section. I wanted to introduce myself properly—I'm her father."
"I—yes. Sir. I mean, it's nice to meet you." Adrian's voice came out strangled.
"She speaks highly of you." Professor Chen's expression remained pleasantly neutral. "I hope you're finding the transition to university life manageable."
"It's—yeah. Good. Fine." Adrian's vocabulary had apparently reduced to monosyllables.
"Excellent. I'll let you get to your next class." Professor Chen returned to gathering his notes.
Adrian escaped. Stood in the hallway, breathing hard, feeling the weight of yet another complication pressing down.
Thursday afternoon. Study group at the library.
Adrian, Isabella, Elena—Isabella's roommate, psychology major with eyes that saw too much—and two guys from Adrian's intramural team spread textbooks across a table in the reference section.
Elena watched Adrian with clinical interest. Had been watching for twenty minutes now. Adrian felt the assessment like insects crawling across his skin.
"I'm getting coffee," one of the basketball guys announced. "Anyone want?"
Orders collected. The guys left. Isabella excused herself to the bathroom.
Elena leaned forward the moment they were alone.
"She's my best friend," Elena said without preamble. "If you're going to hurt her, I need to know now."
Adrian's hands stilled on his physics textbook. "I'm not—"
"You're distracted. Distant. You're physically present but emotionally you're somewhere else." Elena's voice stayed quiet but sharp. "I've watched you two together. You're going through the motions."
"That's not—"
"I'm a psych major. I notice things. And I notice that you look at your roommate more than you look at Isabella."
Adrian's breath caught. "I don't—"
"I'm not accusing you of cheating. I'm saying your attention is divided. And that's not fair to her." Elena's expression softened slightly. "Look, I like you. You seem like a decent person. But Isabella deserves someone who's all in. Who isn't pretending."
The words hit like physical blows. True enough that Adrian couldn't mount defense.
"I care about her," Adrian said quietly.
"I believe you. But caring isn't enough if you're not available. If you're using her to avoid dealing with something else."
Isabella returned before Adrian could respond. Elena's expression shifted back to casual friendliness, but the conversation's weight remained.
Friday evening. Adrian sat in his dorm room—Dante at team practice—when Sage video-called.
"You look like shit," Sage announced.
"Thanks."
"Seriously. What's happening?" Sage's concern cut through the sarcasm.
Adrian told Sage everything. Marcus. Elena's confrontation. Professor Chen. The constant awareness of Dante everywhere, the parallel existence of their lives.
Sage listened without interrupting. Then: "You're dating a girl to avoid dealing with feelings for a guy. That's not a sexuality crisis, that's a cowardice crisis."
"That's—" Adrian stopped. Couldn't argue because Sage was right. "I don't know how to do this."
"Do what? Be honest? Be brave? Actually pursue what you want?"
"All of it." Adrian pressed his palms against his eyes. "What if I'm wrong? What if it's just—obsession or projection or—"
"Adrian." Sage's voice gentled. "This isn't about whether you're attracted to men. This isn't even primarily about Dante being a guy. This is about eighteen years of feeling something you couldn't name. Something you rationalized as hatred because hatred was safer than whatever the real feeling was."
Adrian lowered his hands. Stared at Sage's face on the screen.
"You've been in love with him for years," Sage continued. "You just called it rivalry because rivalry gave you framework and rules and permission to focus all your attention on him. But it was never really about winning. It was about him."
The words settled like stones. Heavy. Undeniable.
"So what do I do?" Adrian asked.
"First? Break up with Isabella. She doesn't deserve to be your emotional shield. Second? Figure out what you actually want. Third?" Sage shrugged. "That's on you."
Saturday dinner. The dining hall bustled with weekend energy—students who'd slept until noon eating their first meal, friend groups claiming tables, the social geography of college life made visible.
Adrian sat with his people: Isabella, Elena, Josh and Marcus from the team. Normal. Almost comfortable.
Across the dining hall—impossible to miss—Dante sat with the varsity team. With Marcus Reid, who said something that made Dante laugh. Real laugh, the kind that transformed Dante's whole face.
Adrian's chest constricted. Watching Dante be happy should feel good. Should feel like winning something—proof that the ghost protocol had been temporary, that Dante was okay, that Adrian's presence or absence didn't matter enough to damage.
Instead: aching. The visual proof that Dante had moved on, had found someone, had built a life that didn't include Adrian except as the roommate who got mentioned in conversations.
Adrian looked away. Tried to focus on Josh's story about practice.
But Adrian's gaze pulled back like gravity. Found Dante again. Found Dante already looking.
Their eyes met across a hundred feet of crowded dining hall. Neither looked away.
The moment extended. Two seconds. Five. Ten.
Isabella said something. Adrian didn't hear it. Elena definitely noticed, expression sharpening with recognition.
Dante's face was unreadable. Not angry. Not sad. Just—looking. Like Dante was trying to solve an equation with insufficient variables.
Marcus said something to Dante. Dante broke eye contact, turned to respond.
Adrian exhaled. Hadn't realized he'd stopped breathing.
"You okay?" Isabella asked.
"Yeah. Fine." The lie tasted familiar. Adrian had been saying it for weeks.
But Elena's expression said she knew better. And from the way Isabella's smile tightened, maybe Isabella knew too.
Adrian pushed food around his plate, no longer hungry, hyperaware of Dante's presence thirty yards away.
Parallel worlds. Adrian and Dante existing in separate friend groups, separate lives, separate everything.
Except for those moments when their eyes met across crowded rooms and neither could look away.