Adrian discovered the group chat by accident.
Monday afternoon, he was sitting in the library with Isabella, Elena, and Maya, working on their respective assignments. Elena was scrolling through her phone, half-focused on her chemistry textbook, when she said absently, "Did you guys see the plans for Saturday? The bonfire thing at Miller's Beach?"
"What bonfire thing?" Adrian asked, looking up from his laptop.
"The one in the basketball chat. Marcus posted about it this morning." Elena glanced at him. "Wait, you're not in that chat?"
"What chat?"
"The basketball team one. Well, extended team—it's got like thirty people in it. Players, their friends, significant others, whoever." She showed him her phone screen, scrolling through what looked like weeks of messages. "I got added when Maya started hanging out with some of the varsity guys."
Adrian scanned the names. Dante was there. Marcus. The entire basketball team. Plus at least a dozen other people—friends, girlfriends, people from their extended social circle.
But not Adrian.
"Huh," he said, trying to sound casual. "Must have just been an oversight."
"Probably. I'm sure if you ask Dante, he can add you."
Adrian returned to his work, but the knowledge burned in his chest. It wasn't an oversight. Dante had deliberately excluded him from a group chat that included everyone else in their social circle.
That night, Adrian waited until Dante returned from basketball practice.
"Can I ask you something?" Adrian said before Dante could retreat to his side of the room.
"Sure." Dante set down his gym bag, wary.
"Why am I not in the basketball team group chat?"
Dante's expression shuttered immediately. "It's the basketball team chat. You're not on the team."
"Elena's not on the team. Maya's not on the team. Isabella's not on the team. But they're all in it."
"It's for significant others and close friends of team members."
"Marcus and I are friends. He invited me to practice with you guys. But I'm not in the chat."
"I don't control who Marcus adds to his group chats, Adrian."
"But you could have asked him to add me. Or added me yourself." Adrian stood up, crossing his arms. "Why are you cutting me out?"
"I'm not cutting you out."
"Bullshit. You barely talk to me, you're never here, you're planning your entire life around avoiding me. If you want to switch rooms, just say so. I'll request a transfer, we can both move on."
Something flashed across Dante's face—hurt, maybe, or panic. "I don't want to switch rooms."
"Then what do you want? Because I can't figure it out. One minute you're standing up and clapping for my award, the next you're icing me out completely. I don't understand what you want from me."
"I want—" Dante stopped himself, jaw clenching. "This is impossible."
"What is?"
"You. Us. This whole fucking situation." Dante's hands clenched into fists at his sides. His voice rose, all the careful control he'd been maintaining for weeks finally cracking. "Do you know what it's like? Watching you with her? Pretending I'm fine? Coming back to this room every night knowing that you're probably texting her, thinking about her, while I—"
He stopped abruptly, seeming to realize he'd said too much.
Adrian's heart was hammering. "While you what?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
"No. Finish what you were going to say."
"Why?" Dante's laugh was bitter, hollow. "So you can feel sorry for me? So you can have another thing to win? Another way you're better than me?"
"This isn't about winning!"
"ISN'T IT?" Dante's voice cracked, raw with emotion Adrian had never heard before. "Everything with us is about winning! Every conversation, every interaction, every moment we're in the same space—it's all just another competition. Who can be more casual, who can care less, who can move on faster."
"That's not—"
"I'm tired, Adrian." Dante's hands were shaking now, his whole body radiating exhaustion. "I'm so fucking tired of competing for someone who doesn't even see me."
The words hit like a physical blow.
Adrian took a step forward, closing the distance between them. They were only a few feet apart now, close enough that Adrian could see the way Dante's chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, could see the sheen in his dark eyes that might have been unshed tears.
"What do you mean, competing for me?" Adrian asked quietly.
"I didn't—" Dante shook his head. "I shouldn't have said that. Forget it."
"I don't want to forget it. I want you to explain."
"Why? So you can reject me officially? So we can make this even more awkward than it already is?" Dante turned away, running both hands through his curly hair in a gesture of pure frustration. "I've spent eighteen years trying to get your attention, Adrian. Eighteen years of competing, of showing up wherever you were, of trying to be impressive enough, good enough, interesting enough that you'd finally look at me the way I look at you."
Adrian's breath caught. "Dante—"
"The red crayon in kindergarten—I took it because it was yours, because you'd been looking for it, because I thought if I had something you wanted, you'd have to talk to me." Dante's voice was thick with emotion. "The track race when we were ten—I won by one second and immediately turned to find you in the crowd because your reaction mattered more than the trophy. The basketball championship—I made that final shot and got lifted onto shoulders and celebrated, but all I could think about was whether you saw it, whether you were proud, whether you—"
He stopped himself again, breathing hard.
"Whether I what?" Adrian pressed, taking another step closer.
"Whether you felt anything for me besides hatred." Dante finally turned to face him, and his expression was devastatingly vulnerable. "Every time I won something, every time I beat you at something, I hoped maybe that would be the moment you'd finally see me. Not as your rival, not as the guy who keeps stealing your victories, but as someone who's been desperately trying to get your attention the only way I knew how."
"By competing with me?"
"By staying in your orbit. By giving you a reason to keep looking at me, even if you were looking at me with anger or resentment or whatever else you felt." Dante's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Because angry attention was better than no attention at all."
Adrian felt like the ground had shifted beneath his feet. Every memory, every moment of their shared history was suddenly recontextualizing itself in this new light.
"I didn't know," Adrian said, his own voice rough. "I thought—I spent eighteen years thinking you were trying to beat me. Trying to prove you were better. I never considered that you might be—"
"In love with you?" Dante supplied, then immediately looked like he regretted saying it out loud. "Yeah. Well. Now you know. Congratulations. You finally won something I can't compete with—you get to be the one who doesn't have feelings."
"That's not—"
"I should go." Dante grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "I can't—I need to not be here right now."
"Dante, wait—"
"Why? So you can let me down easy? Tell me you're flattered but you're with Isabella? Save your breath. I know." Dante headed for the door, hand on the knob. "I've always known I didn't have a chance. I just—I should have kept my mouth shut. Pretended everything was fine."
"You don't have to leave."
"Yes, I do. Because if I stay here, I'm going to say more things I can't take back. I'm going to make this even worse than it already is." Dante opened the door, then paused without turning around. "Do you know what the worst part is? I don't even want you to break up with Isabella for me. I just want you to see me. To acknowledge that I exist as something other than your competition. But even that's too much to ask for."
He left, the door closing behind him with a soft click that felt like something breaking.
Adrian stood frozen in the middle of the room, Dante's words echoing in his ears.
I've spent eighteen years trying to get your attention.
In love with you.
Competing for someone who doesn't even see me.
Adrian sat down hard on his bed, his mind racing through every interaction they'd ever had, seeing them all through this new lens.
The kindergarten crayon—not theft but an attempt at connection. The track race—not victory but a plea for acknowledgment. The basketball championship—not triumph but desperate hope that Adrian would finally feel something back.
And Adrian had spent eighteen years hating him for it. Had converted every attempt at connection into ammunition for his own hurt feelings. Had been so focused on his own pain that he'd never once considered Dante might be hurting too.
Competing for someone who doesn't even see me.
But Adrian did see him. Had always seen him. Had been unable to stop seeing him, unable to look away, unable to exist without Dante as his constant reference point.
He just hadn't known what he was looking at.
Adrian pulled out his phone, staring at Dante's contact. He could call. Could text. Could go find him and force him to listen while Adrian explained that he wasn't as oblivious as Dante thought, that he'd been feeling things too, that maybe they'd both been competing in the same race without realizing they were running toward each other.
But what about Isabella? Sweet, kind, patient Isabella who'd done nothing wrong except have the misfortune of dating someone whose heart was somewhere else?
Adrian's phone buzzed.
Isabella: Hey! Want to grab dinner? I barely saw you today.
His finger hovered over the keyboard.
He could reply. Could go to dinner. Could keep pretending everything was fine, that his roommate hadn't just confessed to being in love with him, that the foundation of his entire identity hadn't just been shaken.
Or he could be honest.
Not just with Isabella, but with himself.
About what he felt. About what he'd always felt, underneath the rivalry and competition and eighteen years of denial.
Adrian stared at his phone for a long time, Dante's words playing on repeat in his head.
Do you know what it's like? Watching you with her? Pretending I'm fine?
I'm so fucking tired of competing for someone who doesn't even see me.
In love with you.
The pieces of the puzzle were all there, laid out in front of him. Dante had given him everything except a formal declaration, had opened himself up completely, had made himself vulnerable in a way Adrian had never seen before.
The question wasn't whether Adrian could put the pieces together.
The question was whether he had the courage to do something about it.
Adrian's phone buzzed again.
Isabella: Everything okay?
He stared at the message, then at Dante's contact information, then back at Isabella's text.
Time was running out. Every second he waited was another second Dante was out there somewhere, hurt and exposed and probably regretting everything he'd just said.
Adrian had a choice to make.
He'd been making the wrong choice for eighteen years.
Maybe it was time to finally choose differently.