Adrian walked back to campus with his mind racing, already planning.
Six weeks. Forty-two days. One thousand and eight hours to convince Dante Alaric to stay.
He'd spent eighteen years competing against Dante, trying to beat him, trying to prove himself. Now he had six weeks to compete for him instead.
The bus ride back felt different than the trip there—Adrian's leg still bounced with nervous energy, but now it was anticipation instead of dread. He pulled out his phone and called Sage.
"It's almost midnight," she answered. "This better be important."
"I told him."
"Told him what?"
"Everything. Well, not everything. But I told him I've been hiding, that I need time to figure out my feelings, that I want him to give me six weeks before he transfers."
"Wait, he's transferring?"
"Was transferring. To State. But he's putting it on hold. Giving me forty-two days to show him something he hasn't seen."
Sage was quiet for a moment. "So you're going to woo him?"
"I'm going to try."
"About damn time. What's the plan?"
Adrian stared out the bus window at the dark campus passing by. "Remember every competition we ever had? Every time I came in second, every time he won something I wanted?"
"Of course."
"I'm going to show him I remember too. And I'm going to show him what they actually meant."
"What did they mean?"
"That I couldn't stop looking at him. That I needed him to look back. That every competition was just—" Adrian stopped, the realization clicking into place. "It was just me trying to be close to him the only way I knew how."
"Adrian Hayes, are you actually processing your emotions in a healthy way? Who are you and what have you done with my emotionally constipated best friend?"
"Shut up. I'm trying to be vulnerable here."
"I know. I'm proud of you." Sage's voice softened. "So what's step one?"
"I need to make a plan. A real one. Because I know Dante—if I push too hard, he'll shut down. If I'm too subtle, he won't believe I'm serious. And if I fail, I lose him permanently."
"No pressure."
"Exactly."
They talked for another twenty minutes, Sage helping Adrian brainstorm while he walked back to his dorm. By the time he reached his building, he had the beginnings of a strategy.
Instead of competing against Dante, he'd compete for Dante's attention using the same tactics Dante had used on him for eighteen years: show up where Dante was, make his presence impossible to ignore, use their shared history as connection points instead of weapons.
Be vulnerable in unprecedented ways.
The dorm room was empty when Adrian got back—Dante still at Marcus's apartment, probably, or somewhere else avoiding their shared space. Adrian sat at his desk and pulled out his laptop.
He opened a new document and started typing:
THE ADRIAN & DANTE HISTORY PROJECT
A Comprehensive Timeline
Then he started from the beginning, listing every competition, every interaction, every moment he could remember from eighteen years of being in Dante Alaric's orbit.
Age 5 - Kindergarten - Red crayon incident
Age 7 - School picnic - Dog knocked over the table, Dante's rare laugh
Age 10 - Track and field - Lost by one second, Dante immediately looking for me in the crowd
Age 12 - Science fair - Dante won first, I got second, he congratulated me first before celebrating his own win
Age 14 - Basketball tryouts - Made JV, Dante made Varsity, he texted me "good luck this season" at midnight
Age 17 - Championship game - Dante's winning shot, lifted on shoulders, first person he looked for afterward was me
The list went on and on, Adrian typing frantically as memories surfaced—moments he'd cataloged as losses, as failures, as evidence of not being good enough. Now he was seeing them through a different lens: moments Dante had been trying to connect, trying to get Adrian to see him, trying to stay close the only way he knew how.
At 2 AM, Adrian's phone buzzed.
Dante: I'm coming back to the dorm. Will you be awake?
Adrian: Yeah. I'll be here.
Dante: We should probably talk. About what you said earlier.
Adrian: Tomorrow. You're exhausted. Sleep first, talk tomorrow.
Dante: Okay. See you soon.
Adrian saved his document and closed his laptop. He changed for bed, turned off the overhead light, leaving just his desk lamp on.
Dante arrived fifteen minutes later, looking wrung out and exhausted. He glanced at Adrian, gave a small nod, then went through his nighttime routine in silence—brushing teeth, changing clothes, setting his alarm.
When Dante climbed into bed, Adrian spoke quietly into the darkness.
"Thank you. For giving me a chance."
"Don't make me regret it."
"I'll try not to."
They lay in silence for a while, neither sleeping despite the late hour.
"Adrian?" Dante's voice was soft, uncertain.
"Yeah?"
"What changed? Between dinner with Isabella and showing up at Marcus's place. What changed?"
Adrian considered the question. "I stopped being scared of what it meant to want you."
Dante's breath caught, audible in the quiet room.
"Goodnight, Dante."
"Goodnight."
Wednesday morning, Adrian woke up before his alarm with a plan fully formed.
He checked Dante's schedule—something he'd memorized weeks ago without really thinking about why—and saw that Dante had basketball practice at 4 PM. Open gym, meaning anyone could come watch.
Adrian showed up at 3:55 PM, climbing to the third row of bleachers in the athletics center. The gym was mostly empty except for the varsity team warming up on the court below.
Dante was doing layup drills, moving with the easy grace of someone who'd been playing basketball his entire life. He wore practice gear—gray shorts, dark blue Greystone Athletics shirt, hair pulled back with a headband.
He looked good. Adrian let himself acknowledge that now, let himself look without pretending it meant nothing.
Marcus noticed Adrian first, elbowing Dante and nodding toward the stands. Dante looked up mid-drill and nearly dropped the ball.
Their eyes met across the distance. Adrian raised his hand in a small wave, casual, like showing up to watch Dante's practice was the most normal thing in the world.
Dante stared at him for a long moment, something complicated flickering across his face. Then Coach Stevens blew his whistle, and Dante had to return his attention to practice.
Adrian stayed for the entire two hours. He watched Dante run drills, scrimmage with teammates, receive coaching on his three-point stance. Dante kept glancing up at him, like he couldn't quite believe Adrian was actually there.
When practice ended, Adrian left before Dante could confront him, walking out of the gym with a small smile on his face.
His phone buzzed five minutes later.
Dante: What was that about?
Adrian: Watching practice. You're really good.
Dante: I know you know I'm good. We've played against each other for years.
Adrian: I know you're good at basketball. Today I was watching you be good at something you love. That's different.
No response for several minutes. Then:
Dante: You're confusing me.
Adrian: Good. Fair's fair. You've been confusing me for eighteen years.
Dante: This isn't a game, Adrian.
Adrian: I know. That's why I'm playing for keeps.
Adrian pocketed his phone and headed back to his dorm room. He had work to do.
That afternoon, while Dante was still at practice, Adrian pulled out a piece of nice stationery—the kind his mom had insisted he bring to college for thank-you notes—and wrote carefully:
Day 1 of 42.
I'm going to show you that I see you. That I've always seen you. Even when I was too scared to admit what I was looking at.
I remember the red crayon. I remember thinking you took it just to annoy me. Now I wonder if you took it because it was mine, and having something of mine meant we were connected.
I remember losing the track race by one second. I remember being devastated. What I didn't see until recently was you immediately turning to find me in the crowd, looking more concerned than triumphant.
I remember every competition, every loss, every moment I came in second. What I'm starting to understand is that you were never trying to beat me. You were trying to reach me.
I'm going to spend the next forty-two days showing you that I'm finally reaching back.
—A
Adrian folded the letter carefully and slid it under Dante's pillow, positioning it so it would be found immediately when Dante went to bed.
Then he returned to his desk and continued working on the timeline, adding details and context to each memory, trying to see them through Dante's eyes instead of his own.
Dante returned around seven PM, gym bag over his shoulder, hair still damp from the post-practice shower. He glanced at Adrian, who was deliberately focused on his laptop, pretending to work on an essay.
"You were at practice," Dante said, not quite a question.
"I was."
"Why?"
"I wanted to watch you play."
"You've watched me play hundreds of times."
"Not like this." Adrian finally looked up, meeting Dante's eyes. "Before, I was watching to see what you did better than me, what I needed to improve to beat you. Today I was just watching you. There's a difference."
Dante opened his mouth, closed it, seemed unsure how to respond. Finally he just shook his head and went to change clothes.
They ate dinner separately—Adrian with some guys from his intramural team, Dante with Marcus and the varsity players. They did homework in their respective spaces, exchanging maybe five words all evening.
At eleven PM, Dante got ready for bed. Adrian watched from his peripheral vision as Dante pulled back his covers and found the letter.
Dante unfolded it slowly, reading by the light of his bedside lamp. Adrian pretended to be absorbed in his textbook, but he could see Dante's hands trembling slightly, could see the way he read it twice, then a third time.
When Dante finally looked up, his eyes found Adrian's across the room.
Neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy with everything unsaid, with forty-two days of possibility stretching out before them, with eighteen years of history being slowly, carefully rewritten.
Dante carefully folded the letter and set it on his nightstand. Then he turned off his lamp and lay down facing Adrian's side of the room instead of the wall—a small change, but significant.
Adrian turned off his own lamp a few minutes later. In the darkness, he could feel the shift between them, could sense that something fundamental had changed.
"Adrian?" Dante's voice was soft, vulnerable in the dark.
"Yeah?"
"Don't do this if you're not sure. Don't—" Dante's voice caught. "Don't make me hope if you're going to take it back."
"I'm sure that I want to try. That's all I can promise right now."
"Is that enough?"
"For forty-two days? I think it has to be."
Dante was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Day one down. Forty-one to go."
Adrian smiled in the darkness. "Forty-one to go."
He lay awake long after Dante's breathing evened out into sleep, already planning day two, already thinking about the next letter he'd write, already mapping out how to show Dante Alaric that after eighteen years of looking without seeing, Adrian was finally paying attention.