Dante Alaric stepped through the doorway, and Adrian's prepared speech died in his throat.
This wasn't right. Something was fundamentally, obviously wrong.
Dante had always been tall—they'd been the same height since sophomore year, both hitting five-eleven by winter break—but now he stood at least two inches taller, maybe more. His shoulders had broadened, filling out the plain gray t-shirt he wore in a way that suggested serious time in the gym. His dark curly hair was longer than Adrian remembered, falling past his ears in a way that looked almost deliberate, and there was a new sharpness to his jawline that hadn't been there three months ago.
But it wasn't the physical changes that made Adrian's stomach twist.
It was everything else.
"Hey," Dante said, his voice quieter than Adrian had ever heard it. He stood in the doorway holding a duffel bag and a backpack, not quite making eye contact. "Adrian. Hi."
"Hi," Adrian managed, trying to reconcile this uncertain, almost nervous version of Dante with every memory he'd been cataloging for the past hour.
Where was the confident smirk? Where was the easy swagger? Where was the Dante who'd crossed that finish line at age ten and barely broken a sweat, who'd made that championship shot and grinned like victory was his birthright?
This Dante looked like someone who wasn't sure he was allowed to be here.
"I texted," Dante said, still hovering by the door. "Did you—did you get it?"
"Yeah. Five minutes. You're right on time." Adrian gestured vaguely at the empty half of the room. "That's your side. Obviously."
"Right. Cool. Thanks." Dante finally stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him with careful precision. He set his bags down on the bare mattress and looked around the room like he was memorizing escape routes.
The silence stretched between them, awkward and thick.
"So," Adrian started, defaulting to the script he'd practiced. "Fourth time's the charm, I guess. Fourth random roommate assignment."
"Yeah." Dante unzipped his duffel bag, pulling out neatly folded clothes. Everything was organized, color-coded even. "I saw that. Kind of weird, right? The odds."
"Super weird. Astronomically weird."
"Must be the universe or something." Dante's voice was flat, almost resigned.
"Or something," Adrian echoed.
More silence. Dante continued unpacking with an efficiency that bordered on mechanical. No commentary, no jokes, no competitive observations about who had more stuff or better stuff. Just quiet, methodical organization.
Adrian watched him, increasingly unsettled. This was not the Dante he'd been mentally preparing to battle. This was someone else entirely, wearing Dante's face and body but missing some essential spark.
"Your parents didn't come?" Adrian asked, trying to fill the silence. "To help move in?"
"They wanted to. I told them not to bother." Dante hung shirts in the closet without looking at Adrian. "It's not that much stuff. I can handle it."
"My parents didn't come either. They're in Seattle for my dad's work thing. They sent care packages though. Like, three of them. My mom went overboard at Target."
"That's nice." Dante's tone suggested he wasn't really listening.
Adrian felt irritation spark in his chest. This was worse than rivalry. This was being dismissed, being treated like he didn't matter enough to engage with. At least when they competed, Dante had acknowledged his existence.
"Listen," Adrian said, crossing his arms. "Are we going to talk about this or just pretend it's normal?"
Dante finally looked at him, his dark brown eyes unreadable. "Talk about what?"
"About the fact that we've been competing since kindergarten and now we're roommates. About the fact that this is the fourth time we've been randomly assigned together, which is statistically insane. About the fact that you—" Adrian stopped himself before he said something revealing.
"About the fact that I what?" Dante's voice had an edge now, the first sign of actual emotion.
"Nothing. Forget it."
"No, say it. About the fact that I what, Adrian?"
Adrian's jaw clenched. "About the fact that you've spent our entire lives being better at everything I care about. And now I have to live with you for a year."
Dante stared at him for a long moment, something complicated flickering across his face. "You think I'm better at everything?"
"I don't think it. I know it. I have evidence. Years of evidence."
"That's—" Dante turned back to his unpacking, shoulders tight. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know exactly what I'm talking about. Track and field, age ten. Basketball championship, three months ago. The red crayon in kindergarten—"
"You remember the crayon?" Dante's voice cracked slightly on the last word.
"Of course I remember the crayon. I remember all of it. Every single time you've won something I wanted."
Dante was quiet for a long time, his hands stilling on the shirt he was folding. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "And you think I did that to you on purpose? You think I was trying to beat you specifically?"
"Weren't you?"
"No." Dante's laugh was hollow, bitter. "No, Adrian. I wasn't."
The conversation died after that. They unpacked in heavy silence, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on. Adrian kept stealing glances at Dante, trying to figure out what had changed, why this felt so different from every other interaction they'd ever had.
Dante didn't set up any trophies. Adrian noticed immediately because he'd been bracing himself for the display, for the visual reminder of every victory that had come at Adrian's expense. But Dante's shelf remained empty except for a small stack of textbooks and a single framed photo of what looked like his family.
No basketball trophies. No medals. No evidence of achievement at all.
"Not decorating much?" Adrian couldn't help asking.
"Don't really see the point." Dante adjusted his desk, angling it toward the wall. Then he paused, reconsidered, and shifted it slightly so it faced more toward Adrian's side of the room. "That weird? The desk angle?"
"Why are you asking me?"
"Just making sure I'm not, like, invading your space or whatever."
This was definitely weird. The Dante Adrian knew didn't ask permission, didn't second-guess his right to exist in a space. He just existed, confidently, annoyingly perfectly.
"It's fine," Adrian said. "Desk wherever you want."
"Okay. Thanks."
More silence. Adrian finished setting up his laptop and study materials, organizing his notebooks by subject the way he always did. When he turned around, he caught Dante watching him with an expression that was almost... soft? Interested?
Their eyes met. Dante looked away immediately, color rising in his cheeks.
What the hell was happening?
Adrian decided to test something. He pulled out his phone, scrolling to the photo he'd saved from orientation week—Isabella Chen, campus belle, standing in the quad with the sunset behind her. She had long dark hair, perfect features, and a smile that had made Adrian's heart skip when he'd first seen her.
"So," Adrian said, making his voice deliberately casual. "I'm thinking of pursuing someone this year."
Dante's shoulders tensed. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Isabella Chen. You know her?"
Dante's knuckles went white around the box he was holding. The cardboard crumpled slightly under the pressure. "Isabella Chen?"
"That's what I said. She's in the theater program, I think. I saw her at orientation. She's gorgeous, right? And apparently really talented. I'm thinking I'll try out for the fall production, see if I can get close to her."
"Right." Dante's voice sounded strangled. "That's—that's your plan?"
"Why? You interested too?" Adrian challenged, old competitive instincts flaring. "Because if you are, I'm calling dibs. I saw her first."
"No." The word came out too fast, too forceful. "No, I'm not—I'm not interested in Isabella Chen."
"You sure? Because you're acting weird about it."
"I'm not acting weird. I just—" Dante stopped himself, jaw working like he was physically holding words back. His entire body was rigid, every muscle tight with something Adrian couldn't name. "Good luck with that. With her. With Isabella. I'm sure you'll—I'm sure it'll be great."
The words sounded like they were being dragged over broken glass.
Adrian frowned, studying him. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Totally fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" Dante set the box down with excessive care and turned back to his unpacking, moving even faster now, almost frantic.
"You're acting really strange, you know that?"
"I'm not. This is just how I am. Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do."
That stung more than it should have. "Maybe I don't want to know you."
Dante flinched. Actually, physically flinched like Adrian had hit him. "Right. Of course. That makes sense."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
They organized the shared space in tense silence—deciding which shelf was whose in the small bookcase, figuring out the mini-fridge situation, setting boundaries for the bathroom schedule. Every time their hands accidentally brushed—reaching for the same shelf, passing items back and forth—Dante jerked away like Adrian's touch burned him.
"Sorry," Dante muttered after the third time. "I'm just—sorry."
"It's fine. You don't have to apologize for not wanting to touch me."
"That's not—" Dante looked genuinely distressed. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
"I don't know, okay? I don't know what I mean. Can we just drop it?"
Adrian wanted to push, wanted to demand answers for this bizarre behavior, but something in Dante's expression stopped him. He looked almost fragile, which was impossible because Dante Alaric was the most unbreakable person Adrian knew.
The door burst open without warning, and a guy built like a linebacker bounded in carrying an enormous box labeled "DANTE'S SHIT - DON'T DROP."
"Bro, your parking spot was literally in another zip code," the guy announced, setting the box down with a theatrical groan. He was Black, probably six-two, with a bright smile and an energy that immediately filled the entire room. "I've been hiking for—oh. Hey. You must be the roommate."
He extended a massive hand toward Adrian. "Marcus Reid. Basketball team. Dante's been talking about you."
Adrian shook his hand, processing this information. "He has?"
"Oh yeah. Like, constantly. 'Adrian this, Adrian that, I wonder if Adrian will—'" Marcus stopped abruptly when Dante made a sound like a dying animal. "What? I'm just saying."
"Marcus." Dante's voice was pure warning. "Stop talking."
"Why? It's true. You've been—ow!" Dante had apparently kicked him. "Okay, okay, I'll shut up. Damn."
Marcus grinned at Adrian, completely unrepentant. "Anyway, nice to finally meet the famous Adrian. Dante's told me—"
"If you finish that sentence, I will tell Coach about the vending machine incident," Dante interrupted.
"That's a low blow, man. That's really—okay, fine. My lips are sealed." Marcus mimed zipping his mouth. "But just so you know, Adrian, this guy has been—mmph!"
Dante had actually covered Marcus's mouth with his hand. They wrestled briefly, Marcus laughing while Dante looked genuinely panicked.
Adrian watched this unfold with growing confusion. "The famous Adrian?"
"He didn't mean that," Dante said, still fighting to keep Marcus quiet. "He's being dramatic. Marcus is always dramatic."
"I'm really not," Marcus managed to say when he finally broke free. "I'm the voice of truth and reason. And the truth is—"
"The truth is you need to leave," Dante said desperately. "Right now. Immediately."
"But I just got here!"
"And now you're leaving. Thanks for the help. Goodbye."
Marcus looked between them, his expression shifting to something more knowing, almost sympathetic. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint. But hey, Adrian? We should hang sometime. I'd love to hear your side of—"
"Marcus!"
"Going! I'm going!" Marcus headed for the door, then paused. "Oh, team meeting tomorrow at six AM. Don't forget, Dante. Coach wants everyone there."
"I'll be there."
"Good. Because you missed the last two practices and Coach is—"
"I said I'll be there." Dante's voice was sharp.
Marcus held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, man. I hear you. See you tomorrow." He nodded at Adrian. "Nice meeting you, Adrian. I'm sure I'll see you around."
After Marcus left, the room felt even more oppressive than before. Adrian sat on his bed, mind racing.
"So," he said slowly. "The famous Adrian?"
"Marcus exaggerates everything. It's his thing. Don't read into it."
"And you've been talking about me? Constantly?"
"I didn't say constantly. He said constantly. And he's wrong."
"Why would you be talking about me at all?"
Dante turned away, busying himself with rearranging already-arranged items. "We've known each other forever. It makes sense that your name would come up sometimes. That's all."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
But Adrian didn't believe him. Something was happening here, something he didn't understand. The Dante he knew wouldn't have looked so wrecked when Adrian mentioned Isabella Chen. Wouldn't have jerked away from casual touches like they hurt. Wouldn't have inspired teammates to refer to Adrian as "famous."
"Why did Marcus say you missed the last two practices?" Adrian asked, switching tactics.
Dante's shoulders went rigid again. "I had stuff to deal with."
"What kind of stuff?"
"Personal stuff. Nothing you need to worry about."
"I'm not worried. I'm just asking."
"Well, don't." Dante's voice had an edge now. "My basketball schedule isn't your business."
"Fine. Sorry for asking."
Dante sighed, running a hand through his curly hair in a gesture that looked bone-tired. "No, I'm—I'm sorry. That was rude. I'm just stressed about the season starting. That's all."
"You love basketball."
"I know."
"So why are you stressed?"
"Because—" Dante stopped himself again, jaw clenching. "Because there's a lot of pressure. A lot of expectations. Sometimes it's hard to remember why I started playing in the first place."
This was the most honest thing Dante had said all day. Adrian found himself leaning forward, genuinely curious. "Why did you start playing? In the first place?"
Dante looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since entering the room. His dark eyes held something Adrian had never seen before—vulnerability, maybe, or exhaustion, or both.
"Because I was good at it," Dante said quietly. "And when you're good at something, people expect you to keep doing it. Even if—" He stopped. "Never mind. That's not important."
"Even if what?"
"Even if it stops making you happy," Dante finished, the words so soft Adrian almost missed them. "Even if you're just going through the motions because you don't know how to be anything else."
The confession hung between them, raw and unexpected. Adrian didn't know what to say. This wasn't the narrative he'd built in his head, wasn't the story of Dante Alaric the Golden Boy who won everything effortlessly and loved every second of his charmed life.
This was someone else entirely.
"Have you—" Adrian started, then stopped. "Have you ever thought about quitting?"
"Every day." Dante's laugh was bitter. "But what else would I do? Who else would I be? Basketball is—I'm the basketball guy. That's my whole thing. Without it, I'm just—"
He didn't finish, but Adrian heard it anyway: Without it, I'm just nothing.
"You're not just the basketball guy," Adrian said before he could stop himself. "You're also—I mean, you're good at other stuff too. You got a scholarship for academics, not just athletics. You're smart."
Dante looked startled. "You know about my scholarship?"
Adrian felt heat rise in his cheeks. "Everyone knows. It was announced at graduation."
"Right. Everyone knows." Dante's expression closed off again. "Of course."
They finished organizing in silence. When everything was finally in place, Dante announced he was going to take a shower and disappeared into the bathroom with his toiletry bag and a change of clothes.
Adrian sat on his bed, staring at the closed bathroom door, trying to process everything that had just happened.
His phone buzzed. Text from Sage.
Sage: How's it going with Dante???
Adrian: Weird. Really, really weird.
Sage: Weird how?
Adrian: He's different. I can't explain it. Just... different.
Sage: Different good or different bad?
Adrian stared at the question, unable to answer. He wasn't sure anymore. Different unsettling, maybe. Different confusing. Different in a way that made all his prepared defenses feel useless.
Adrian: Just different. I'll tell you more tomorrow.
That night, Adrian tried to sleep but couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind replayed the day's strangeness—Dante's reaction to Isabella's name, the way he'd flinched from Adrian's touch, Marcus's cryptic comments, the raw honesty when Dante admitted basketball didn't make him happy anymore.
None of it fit the story Adrian had been telling himself for years.
At 3 AM, Adrian gave up on sleep and decided to use the bathroom. He swung his legs out of bed as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake Dante.
Except Dante's bed was empty.
Adrian froze, staring at the rumpled sheets, the absent roommate. Where would he be at three in the morning?
He moved to the window and looked out at the dark campus. At first, he saw nothing but empty quads and distant streetlights. Then movement caught his eye—a figure on the fire escape roof access, visible just at the edge of the building.
Adrian pressed closer to the glass.
It was Dante, sitting alone under the stars, knees drawn up to his chest, looking utterly, completely lost.