Time kept moving, and for Dante, every day felt like one step closer to the edge of a cliff.Only two days left before Helena's deadline. Two days. And he still hadn't talked to Isaac.
Worse: fate seemed determined to humiliate him. Because somehow, Isaac kept showing up everywhere he went.
How the hell do two people in completely different majors run into each other this much? Dante wondered that with almost comical exhaustion the moment he saw Isaac practically fighting a dryer in the campus laundry room.
He considered pretending he didn't see him…but then
"Dante! So weird seeing you here!"
Claire's voice. Fantastic. Thanks, Claire, he thought with bitter sarcasm. Exactly what he wanted: attention.
"My assistant's sick. I need clean clothes," he muttered as he forced himself to go greet her.
"Oooh, his assistant," Keegan teased as he stepped out of the bathroom.
"Was there a secret meeting in the laundry room and nobody told me?" Dante joked, though his tone was far from warm.
"We're always here on Sundays," Isaac said without looking up. "But you wouldn't know that since you send your assistant."
"Sorry for having money," Dante shot back, mocking.
Isaac didn't react. Didn't even blink. Dante glanced at Isaac, he had to talk to him. He had to say something.
But before he could speak, Ethan approached.
"I'll stop by your dorm later. Need to use your printer."
Dante just nodded, grabbed his laundry, and left quickly, almost running away.
Claire watched him go, frowning.
"Don't you think he's been a little distant?" she murmured to Ethan.
"Yeah," Ethan sighed. "Something's off. I'll talk to him."
That Night Dante left a business meeting late, on the far east side of the city. The deal had gone perfectly. A massive profit. His mother would be pleased.
But he…he felt sick.
He got into his car, loosening his tie with shaky fingers. Ran a hand through his hair. Helena's pressure on one side, the guilt clawing at him from the other, it was suffocating.
He didn't want to go back to his dorm. Couldn't. He headed toward the Black family hotel…until he remembered Ethan waiting for him.
"Fuck," he muttered, turning the wheel toward MTM instead.
Ethan was literally waiting by the door when Dante arrived. Dante barely greeted him, just apologized under his breath while unlocking the room.
Ethan watched him carefully. Dante was… off. Too quiet. Too tense.
"Damn, look at you all fancy," Ethan joked, trying to lighten the mood.
Dante didn't smile.
"The printer's there. Paper's below," he said flatly. Ethan sat down. Dante headed to the bathroom to shower. The silence left behind was heavy.
On the desk, Dante's laptop was open. Excel sheets, documents… and a message window.
A notification pinged. Then another. And another.
Helena. Persistent. Forceful.
Ethan bit his lip. He wasn't nosy…but Dante was acting strange, distant, and stressed. Maybe this would tell him why.
He looked at the screen. Hesitated. And then he read.
At first, he thought he'd misunderstood. He read it again.
"Did you tell Isaac yet that you're the one who canceled his scholarship?"
Ethan felt fire crawl up his neck. Shock. Anger. Disbelief.
No. There's no way. Dante wouldn't…But the messages were right there. Her name. Her pressure. His silence.
Dante… had really done that? Ethan knew Dante could be impulsive. Chaotic. Even reckless. But cruel? Vindictive? Willing to ruin someone's life? That wasn't the Dante he knew. That wasn't his friend.
At that moment, the bathroom door opened. Dante stepped out with damp hair, loose white T-shirt, soft shorts. Relaxed clothes. But his expression froze the second he saw Ethan's face…and then the laptop.
His heart dropped straight to the floor.
"Dante… don't tell me…" Ethan whispered. "I can't believe this."
Dante stepped forward, arm trembling.
"I—I can explain. I didn't mean… it was stupid—"
"Explain?" Ethan barked, his voice breaking with fury."How the hell do you explain something like that? And don't you dare say you did it for me. You did it for yourself. For your messed-up ego that can't handle rejection."
Dante's chest tightened painfully. He'd never seen Ethan like this. Never heard that tone directed at him. And it hurt more than he expected.
But instead of apologizing, instead of admitting the truth, his ego, that stupid armor he always hid behind, spoke first.
"I did do it for you," he insisted, even as his voice faltered."He rejected you without explaining. It pissed me off. I just wanted to scare him a little. It was temporary."
He knew he sounded pathetic. He knew it wasn't an excuse. But the words spilled out anyway. The silence afterward felt suffocating.
Ethan stared at him like he didn't recognize him. And Dante couldn't hold his gaze.
"I swear, I wasn't trying to ruin his life. I thought...I thought you were hurt and—"
Then Ethan snapped.
"He was grieving, Dante!" he shouted."His mom had died weeks before! That's why he said no. He had the right to turn me down!"
Dante's mind went blank. Completely blank.
"His… mother died?" He whispered it like the words barely made sense.
Ethan shook his head.
"Talk to Isaac, Dante. Before it's too late…Though honestly, I think it already is."
He grabbed his things and walked out without another word.
The door shut behind him.
And Dante stood there, in the middle of the room, breathing too fast, too shallow.The guilt he'd tried so hard to ignore finally crashed over him like a wave, cold, heavy, and merciless.
As if the universe wanted to play a cruel joke on him, five minutes after Ethan left, someone knocked on Dante's door.
Dante froze. Completely. All color drained from his face.
It was Isaac.
Calm as ever, a hot coffee in hand, bundled up in so many layers he looked almost… funny. Dante felt his stomach drop.
Did Ethan tell him? No, Ethan would never. So what the hell was Isaac doing here?
"Don't get too excited," Isaac said dryly. "You busy?"
Dante blinked, slow and stupid. For a second he forgot how to talk.
"No… I—I mean… depends. Why?"
"Yes or no?" Isaac frowned, confused.
"No, I'm not. Come in," he finally said, trying to sound normal. But his hands were cold from nerves.
Isaac gave him another strange look before stepping inside and sitting in front of his desk.
Dante closed the door, exhaled like he was preparing for execution, and turned back around.
"Well?" he asked, arms crossed, pretending he had everything under control.
"I just wanted to check if you're still terrible at chess," Isaac said casually, as if it was completely normal to show up at his room at night just for that.
Dante blinked again. Chess? Seriously?
The truth was, this was Isaac just days before he finally decided to knock on his door.
The night before in Isaac's room he was tying his hair up, a thought slipped in:
How would Dante look with his natural hair? Probably like a vampire… he's so pale the black would make him glow.
At work, he handed a drink to a red-haired guy and thought:
Is Dante a lightweight? Is that why he never drinks?
And then, right before showing up at Dante's door:
He smoked one cigarette after another, none of them calming him down. He stared at the new lighter, that stupid warm feeling tightening in his chest.
There's no way… No. Dante doesn't— I don't— No.
But the thought had already formed. And it scared him.
Dante Black was not his type. He was chaos. Annoying as hell. Everything Isaac tried to avoid. Then why couldn't he stop thinking about him? No, it wasn't that. It was just confusion. Anyone would get mixed signals if someone who used to be an ass suddenly acted nice. And Dante wasn't exactly ugly… but still.
He wasn't convinced.
And the only way to be sure was to see him again.
Back to Dante's room
"You seriously came here just to play chess?" Dante asked, suspicious.
"Yes."
Flat. Dry. Dead serious.
Dante stared. Then sighed.
"Fine."
He set up the board. Even with his calm expression, his stomach churned. There was this horrible weight in his chest, guilt, fear, something sharp and suffocating.
Isaac watched his hands, long fingers, clean nails with a faint glossy coat. His eyes drifted upward: his forearms, his shoulders, his pale neck.
"Your turn," Dante said, snapping him back.
The game was intense. Even distracted, Dante held his ground. But the pressure in his chest only grew.
"Checkmate."
Isaac smiled, small but real.
"I thought you'd improved."
Dante stared at that smile. It hit him like a punch, soft, unexpected, painful.
Isaac frowned when Dante didn't respond.
"Nothing to say, Little Red?" he teased, trying to lighten the tension.
The nickname jolted Dante.
"Little Red?" he repeated, offended. "Don't give me nicknames. Especially stupid ones."
"It's not stupid," Isaac countered, far too serious for how much he wanted to laugh."You're redheaded, and you blush easily. It fits perfectly."
Dante made a face, lip curling in annoyance. Which only made Isaac let out a short laugh.
"Let's keep playing," Dante muttered.
Time moved strangely after that. Isaac arrived at night; suddenly, it was almost dawn.
For some reason Isaac was more expressive, laughing, complaining, getting frustrated, teasing. He wasn't the emotionless robot Dante liked to pretend he was. And that made everything harder.
Because Dante kept staring at him. And every time he did, he thought: I should tell him. I have to tell him. I can't keep hiding this.
Isaac felt his gaze and looked up.This time, they held eye contact.
Those golden eyes, sharp, calm, terrifying, felt like they were digging into him.
God… why does he look at me like that? Isaac thoughtWhy does it feel like something pulls me in every time?His breath caught for a second. The thought he refused to finish curled warm and frightening in his chest.I just like his eyes. That's all.…Right?
"You gonna play or what?" Dante said, his voice shaky.
"I already did." Isaac moved the rook."Checkmate."
Dante's expression was so genuinely shocked that Isaac burst into loud laughter.
"You're good, but not that good," he said between laughs.
Isaac checked his phone and blinked. "Wow… it's already past two. I should head out."
"Sure," Dante replied, though his voice sounded muted. His eyes stayed fixed on Isaac, too focused, too distant.
Isaac narrowed his eyes.
"You're acting weird today," he said, tilting his head. "Very quiet. Very un-Dante."
"I'm fine," Dante lied automatically.
Isaac just watched him for a second longer, trying to decide if he preferred Dante chaotic or Dante quiet. Both versions messed with him in ways he wasn't ready to name.
He finally walked toward the door, adjusting his coat over his arm.
"See you tomor—"
A sharp breath cut him off.Not loud… but wrong.
Isaac stopped mid-step and turned, confused, like someone checking if they really heard what they think they heard.
And then he saw him.
Dante was sitting at the edge of the bed, bent forward, one hand gripping his chest, the other shaking. His breathing was fast, too fast, and his eyes were wide, unfocused, panicked.
Isaac blinked, startled, and crossed the room quickly.
"Dante… What's wrong?" he asked, confusion slipping into concern.
Dante lifted his gaze, eyes shining.
"I—I don't… I can't… breathe—"
Isaac crouched in front of him, steady hand on his shoulder.
"Hey. Look at me," he said, voice firm and calm. "Breathe slow. Like this."
He inhaled, letting Dante follow.
It took a few tries. Dante's chest felt tight, his stomach twisted with guilt, but he tried.And the cruel irony wasn't lost on him: Isaac. It had to be Isaac helping him now.
Isaac took Dante's trembling hand and placed it over his own chest.
"See? You're okay," he murmured. "You're right here. Breathe with me."
Little by little, Dante's breathing settled. Not fully, but enough.
Isaac watched him quietly, something warm in his eyes.
"Has this happened before?" he asked gently.
Dante shook his head.
"No… never."
"It happened to me," Isaac admitted softly. "After my mom died."
Dante looked away immediately, guilt twisting deeper. Isaac let the silence hang for a moment, then said "Hey… Claire invited me to her aunt's wedding tomorrow," Casually. "Kegan can't go. Want to come with me?"
Dante's head snapped up, stunned.
"Yeah…" he whispered. "I'll go."
Dante stayed on the edge of the bed, breathing a little steadier now… and feeling absolutely pathetic. Isaac had been the one to calm him down.Isaac.
Being comforted by the very person he had hurt in silence…It was humiliating. Heavy. And it only made the guilt sink deeper into his chest...
Meanwhile, Isaac walked down the hallway with a quiet realization settling in.He had tried denying it, rationalizing it, calling it curiosity.but that moment had stripped away every excuse he'd been clinging to.
He liked Dante.A lot more than made sense. More than he should.
And yet he couldn't do anything about it.He knew it wasn't mutual, knew he shouldn't let himself hope, but his mind kept drifting back to him anyway.To those eyes, to his chaos, to that sudden, raw vulnerability he tried so hard to hide.
He wanted to understand him.He wanted to know what weighed on him, what exhausted him, what pushed him so far he ended up collapsing like that.
He wanted to know him.All of him.Even if he had no right to want that.