Chapter 3
Dmitri
The Basement is packed with the kind of pulsing crowd that should make me feel alive.
Low lights, bass thumping through the floor, and a room full of bodies swaying to whatever indie-pop remix the DJ’s spinning tonight.
Jaden sits next to me at the bar, hip bumped against mine as he laughs at something the bartender just said.
He loves to sit up here, even though he has a giant X stamped on his hand and I don’t like to drink.
Jaden’s energy catches more than one eye here, and he loves being in the spotlight.
The way his curls catch the purple neon makes him look almost electric, but it doesn’t pull at me the way it should.
He’s dressed to flaunt his slim body, wearing a shirt that’s tight enough to show the lines of his collarbone and flash his lower back when he leans forward to order.
I should be into it.
I’m not.
My phone’s face-down on the bar top, but I can still see the text I sent Eric forty-seven minutes ago like it’s burned into the back of my eyelids.
You good? Don’t overthink studying. Text me if you need a distraction.
He opened it immediately, like he’d been waiting on it, but he left me on read. I know what that means. He’s probably in his room, staring at the ceiling while he’s stuck in the same loop I’ve seen on his face a hundred times. Something is eating at him, and whatever it is makes him go quiet.
I know because I’ve spent two years learning every version of his silence.
The defeated one after a bad exam.
The frustrated one after a breakup or fight with his latest girlfriend.
The thoughtful one when he’s working out a melody in his head.
This one feels different.
Jaden slides a fresh soda my way and nudges my elbow. “You’re doing that thing again.”
I blink myself into the present, forcing a grin. “What thing?”
He gestures at the phone then takes a sip, watching me over the top of his glass. “You’re staring at your phone like it’s personally offended you. That’s the third time you’ve checked it since we sat down.”
“Habit,” I say, too quickly, then flip the phone over anyway when curiosity begs me to look for his response.
There’s still nothing.
Jaden’s smile fades, calling me out on the lie without a word. He’s not one for anger or fights, and things with him are always smooth sailing. We have fun, but there’s nothing explosive between us. Right now he looks tired. Resigned, almost, like he’s been waiting for this moment.
“No, that's not it,” he says gently. There’s no heat behind the words, but they land hard. “You’ve been half here all night. Every time your phone buzzes, you disappear completely.”
“It’s just a text,” I say, my jaw tightening as my defenses shoot sky high. “You’re reading too much into it.”
“It’s Eric, isn’t it?” Jaden asks as he sets his drink down and faces me fully. When I don’t answer, he scoffs and rolls his eyes. “It’s always Eric.”
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.
Because he’s not wrong.
It is always Eric. The first text in the morning, the last one at night, the random voice note at 2 a.m. when he can’t sleep, and the stupid memes that make me laugh harder than anything else all day.
“We’re just friends,” I argue. “Best friends, but that’s it. We’re comfortable. Familiar.”
Jaden’s expression softens, but there’s a sadness in it now.
“Comfortable doesn’t make you check your phone like it’s a lifeline.
Familiar doesn’t make your whole face change when his name pops up.
” He leans back against his seat, arms crossed loosely.
“You light up for him, Dmitri. All someone has to do is mention his name, and it’s like a switch has been flipped.
I’ve never seen that look when you’re with me. ”
I flinch. “That’s not fair.”
“Maybe not,” he agrees as he exhales through his nose.
“But that doesn’t make it less true. And I’m not mad.
I like you—a lot. You’re funny, you’re kind, and you’re stupidly good in bed, which, I’m not going to lie, was where I was hoping tonight would end.
But I’m also not blind, and I’m not interested in competing with someone who isn’t even in the room.
I won’t be the guy you’re half-thinking about while you’re wishing you were somewhere else. ”
The words hit like a quiet slap, and I stare at the scarred wood of the bar top, thumb tracing the edge of my phone. Even now, faced with the accusation, I can’t stop myself from searching for his response, but the screen is still dark.
“You’re in love with him,” Jaden says, hitting me point blank with the words.
A panicked laugh barks out of me. “Come on. That’s not—”
“Don’t.” He holds up a hand. “Don’t do the denial thing. Not with me. You’ve been doing it since I met you, and honestly, I’m exhausted for us both.”
I want to tell him he’s wrong, that Eric’s my best friend, but that’s all it is.
That it’s all it can be, because admitting otherwise means admitting too many other things.
It means accepting the way my chest aches when he’s quiet is more than it should be, and that the way I miss him isn’t natural.
It means saying out loud that I pick up on things that go far beyond friendship.
Because I do.
I notice everything. How his eyes get tired after a long day, and how the callus on his thumb scrapes over my forearm when he touches me. I recognize the exact pitch of his laugh when he’s really happy, and the way his nose wrinkles when he’s pissed.
I want to argue that people notice those things with their friends. That what we have is deep friendship, sure. The kind that lasts, but not more.
But the lie tastes sour without even speaking it out loud.
Because when I picture Eric tonight—alone in his dorm, overthinking everything like he always does—I don’t just feel worried.
I feel hollow.
Like part of me is missing, and like I should be there, not here.
Jaden’s voice softens. “You don’t have to say it out loud. But you should probably say it to yourself. Or to him.”
I swallow, forcing it through a throat that is suddenly far too tight. “He’s straight, Jaden. I’m not going to ruin our friendship because I caught feelings when I knew better.”
Jaden watches me for a moment longer, then nods once, like he’s accepting something he already knew. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay,” he repeats as he pushes off the bar and straightens his shirt.
“I’m not going to fight for a spot that’s already taken.
You deserve to figure this out—whatever it is—without me standing in the way.
” He leans in and presses a quick, soft kiss to my cheek.
“Text me when you’re ready to be all here with someone.
Or don’t. Just… be honest with yourself first. You owe yourself that much. ”
Then he’s moving through the crowd and disappearing into the sea of bodies, leaving me alone at the bar with my untouched drink and a phone that still won’t light up.
My thumb hovers over Eric’s name, and the read receipt stares back.
I type, delete, then type again before I settle on something.
You still up?
The message flies off into the void, and just like last time, he reads it immediately. But there are still no dots to show he’s typing. There’s no reply, just the bass thumping and the ache in my chest that won’t quit.
I close my eyes.
Jaden’s right.
I’ve been in love with him for longer than I’ve let myself admit.
And the denial is starting to crack.
Professor Tjiri nods as I walk into the lecture hall and slide into my usual seat, but the one beside me is noticeably empty.
Eric walks in three minutes before class starts with his hood up and his backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder.
He doesn’t acknowledge me. Hell, he doesn’t even spare me a glance as he heads straight for a seat three rows ahead and drops into the chair like he’s carrying extra gravity.
I stare at the back of his head, trying to pinpoint where his hostility is coming from.
He never texted me back last night. No goodnight, no sorry I missed this, no three dots that showed he was even considering a response. Just the read receipt mocking me until I finally put my phone down at 2:30 a.m. and stared at the ceiling until it blurred.
Professor Tjiri starts the lecture, and I open my notebook but my pen doesn’t move. I’m too busy staring at Eric. He’s taking notes, but his shoulders are rigid and his foot is tapping under the desk in that restless pattern he gets when he’s pissed or anxious. It’s a song I know by heart.
Class drags by, and fifty minutes feels like three hours. When Tjiri finally dismisses us, Eric shoves his things into his bag with more force than necessary and heads for the door without waiting. I grab my stuff and scramble to follow, pulse already climbing.
He’s halfway down the hall as I push through the crowd. When I call his name, he doesn’t stop, just keeps walking like he didn’t hear me.
“Eric, come on,” I shout.
He hesitates at my tone, slowing his pace but never turning to face me. “My exam is next class and I really need to review. I can’t talk right now.”
“Bullshit.” I step in front of him, forcing him to stop. The hallway is emptying out, but a couple stragglers glance our way before hurrying past. “You ghosted me last night. What the hell was that about?”
He finally looks at me with red-rimmed eyes that tell me he didn’t sleep either. “I was busy.”
“Busy,” I say with a humorless laugh. “You got my texts, Eric. You read them… both of them. You just chose not to answer.”
He shifts his weight, and the muscles in his jaw flex as he clenches it. “I didn’t feel like texting. That’s allowed, right? Or do I need permission now?”
“Don’t do that.” My voice drops as my frustration bleeds through. “Don’t act like I’m the one being unreasonable. You’ve never ignored me before, so what changed? What did I do?”