Several gloomy days pressed down on the city, the kind where the sky seemed to sag just above the rooftops, heavy with clouds that never moved. They weren’t storms, not quite, there was no lightning, no thunder, no real release. Just a stubborn gray haze that dulled the edges of everything. Light filtered through like ash instead of sunlight, casting every hour in a dim half-life.
Without Shane, those hours stretched like empty corridors. Too long, too quiet. Each day felt like a breath caught in my chest, waiting, refusing to let go. And when I could breathe, the air was oppressive.
In my classrooms, I found shelter. If I buried myself in lectures, kept my eyes locked on the whiteboard or my pen scratching furiously across paper, I could make it through. Study hours gave me the same illusion of safety, equations, highlighted terms, the steady rhythm of memorization. But when the work ended, when the pages closed and silence swelled inside the apartment, that’s when the ache sharpened. It wasn’t just missing him in theory, it was missing him as something living, warm, real. Something that should’ve been here beside me.
And Logan only made it more difficult.
He moved through the apartment like temptation made flesh, slinking, deliberate, his grin always tugging with some private dare. His hips seemed to roll even when he was only crossing the room. He had a way of slipping up behind me, his breath ghosting across the back of my neck, whispering things designed to spark images I didn’t want, but always did. He knew exactly how to stir my body against my will, and the worst part was that he enjoyed it.
When I told Shane, expecting his voice to sharpen with jealousy, he only laughed. That warm, honey-thick chuckle that made my chest tighten.
“You’re a handsome dude,” he said easily. “And you’ve got a great dick that’s too big to hide. Plus, you’re a great guy. Why would I be the only one who wants you?”
I gripped the phone tighter. “So it doesn’t bother you? That this guy is hitting on me?” I wanted more from him, wanted him to stake a claim, to tell me I was his alone.
“Fuck no, Tay. Honestly? I’m surprised there’s only one. I bet there are plenty of others that are just intimidated by you. I bet that you’re running from class to home and not hanging out with anyone. Am I right?”
I hated that he wasn’t wrong. “Yeah. I’m trying to stay focused.”
“It’s good to focus,” he said. “But it’s also good to have friends. I want you to have friends, Tay. Not Logan, though.” A pause, softer. “I’ve got some new ones, and I can’t wait for you to meet them.”
“I guess I’m just thinking about school. And you,” I admitted. “I’ve got friends at work, but I’m barely working now. Things are slow.”
“Open yourself up a little,” he urged. “Find at least one guy or girl in your class you can connect with. Join a study group. Babe, you can’t be alone all the time.”
The word hung in the air. Babe.
Someone in the background called for him, muffled and insistent.
“I hear you,” I said quickly, trying to mask the sting of losing him too soon.
“Hey, gotta go. I love you, you know.”
The words landed like a sudden shaft of sunlight breaking through the clouds, brilliant and startling.
“I know,” I whispered back. “And I love you.”
The line went dead, leaving me in the hush of my apartment, phone still warm in my hand. But my mind held onto that one word, replaying it like a secret melody: babe. It was tender, it was possessive, it was a tether stretched across distance, binding me to him.
I set the phone aside and crossed to the bed. The mattress sighed under me as I sat. Quiet swelled again, thick and unyielding, and I pulled my pillow against my chest, clutching until it almost hurt. I buried my face deep into it, willing it to smell like him, to feel like the curve of his neck, the slope of his shoulder.
Eyes closed, I imagined his warmth around me, his weight sinking the bed beside mine. For the first time all week, I wasn’t alone in that room. For the first time, I felt not just the memory of his love, but its presence, solid, wrapping around me like he had climbed under the covers to claim me.
I felt loved.
Taking his advice, at least part of it, I asked around in my biology class. A few people agreed to form a study group: two guys and a girl. We planned to meet at lunchtime in the student union.
After my last class, I ducked into the third-floor restroom before heading there. It was usually empty, my quiet detour. Today, though, a stranger stood at the sink. He looked up, smiled.
Something in me tightened. The kind of smile that didn’t just acknowledge, it invited. My body told me to leave. My bladder told me that I had to stay.
“Hey,” he said.
I nodded but didn’t move farther in.
“Are you C-C-horny-zero-six-nine?”
The question sliced through the silence, absurd and yet sharp enough to leave me frozen. Some secret code? A joke? My pulse jumped.
Before I could answer, another voice spoke from behind me. “I am.”
I turned. A guy from my math class stood there, casual, grinning. I hadn’t noticed him following me.
“Last stall,” the stranger said smoothly. Together, the two of them slipped toward the row of doors.
I forced myself to the urinal, rushing, but not fast enough. Wet sounds, kissing, mouths working, echoed off the tiled walls. Then unmistakable, noisy pleasure. My hand faltered. My body betrayed me, stiffening hard in my grip.
One of them called out, taunting. “I can tell you’re still here. Come join us.”
I shoved myself back into my shorts, hands clumsy, skin burning. I left without washing, shame and arousal wrestling in my chest.
At the top of the stairwell, Logan leaned against the railing, grinning like he’d been waiting. “Looks like you didn’t finish,” he teased. A quick glance down revealed a tent in my shorts. “Want help?” he asked.
“I’m busy, Logan.”
Something flickered in his eyes, that grin faltering into hurt. “Shit, Tay. You don’t have to be nasty. I find you attractive. I fantasize about looking into your face while you make love to me. Is that so wrong?”
For a breath, I saw something raw there. Could he really be as lonely as I was?
“No,” I said slowly. “You can have whatever fantasies you want. But I have someone, and I’m not going to betray him. It stresses me when I see you, because I feel you’re pushing, trying to tempt me.”
“I am,” he admitted, voice low. “Because I, ”
I cut him off. “But that just antagonizes me. I’ve got to go. I’m meeting a study group. Think about what I said.”
I descended the stairs, my pulse still hammering. Voices drifted behind me; was Logan talking with the two guys from the restroom? My stomach tightened. Had that been a setup? No. Impossible. They couldn’t have known I’d use that bathroom today. I shoved the thought aside. I had other things to focus on.
Two hours later, I returned to my apartment drained. My study group had been a mismatch: a painfully literal nerd, a guy who couldn’t keep up, and a girl bitter about the lack of a football team because she had nowhere to cheer. None of them would become friends; I knew that within the first three minutes.
We managed to split the work anyway, each taking a section and agreeing to reorganize notes with important information from the readings. I polished my notes and satisfied with the result, emailed them out. I made a small dinner, just a grilled patty, and tried to drown in math problems until my eyelids grew heavy.
When Shane’s nightly text finally came, it caught me off guard.
“I’ve realized how much I love you.”
I stared at it longer than I should have, letting the words blur. It wasn’t that they were unwelcome. They were everything I craved, everything I lived for. But the phrasing… it didn’t sound like him. Shane’s love had always been woven into laughter, into teasing nicknames, into that steady warmth that came through his voice. This felt different. Stiff, almost formal, like he’d rehearsed it or copied it from somewhere else.
I typed back carefully, my thumb shaking: “I began loving you in middle school. I wish I could have told you then.”
The screen glowed, waiting, but no reply came. The silence stretched on, minute after minute, until my chest grew heavy. Normally he would’ve sent something, an emoji, a crude joke, a quick “miss you too, babe.” Something.
I set the phone down on my nightstand, but my eyes kept flicking to it, waiting for the light to bloom again. It never did.
Lying there in the dark, the words replayed in my mind. I’ve realized how much I love you. Realized, as if it was new, as if it had taken distance for him to notice. My pillow grew damp under my cheek, though I couldn’t say whether it was sweat or tears.
Sleep refused me. I drifted in and out of half-dreams. Shane’s voice calling me from somewhere I couldn’t reach, Logan’s grin waiting in the shadows, the echo of voices from the restroom, still taunting. When I jolted awake, heart hammering, I found the phone untouched, the last message still frozen there.
By morning, unease had settled into my bones. I tried to shake it off, told myself I was reading too much into it, that he was probably just exhausted or distracted. But doubt has a way of staining everything once it’s let in. As I brushed my teeth, as I packed my books, even as I sat in lecture, I felt it clinging, whispering at the edges of my thoughts.
What if something were wrong?
What if he were slipping away?
My so-called study partners had shown up without their notes, I wasn’t surprised. I was already working on the fifth section myself, and by then I’d decided not to share anything further. They could sink or swim on their own. NerdMan at least usually pulled his weight, but the other two? They’d need a miracle to bring anything worth keeping to the table. I was starting to see them as lost causes. The expectations were never high to begin with, but even then, they kept tripping over the bar.
I knew I was dragging, my steps heavier than usual, my mind dull and foggy, but there hadn’t been time to grab coffee. Judging from the way people glanced at me, I must have looked about as rough as I felt.
In English class, the professor paused mid-stride during lecture, eyes narrowing slightly as they fell on me. A moment later he leaned in my direction.
“Is everything alright?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I answered automatically. “Just a bad night’s sleep. I kept waking up.” I added a faint smile to soften it, though it felt brittle. “Thanks for asking.”
I forced myself to keep my eyes on the board and my pen moving, fighting the heaviness in my eyelids. Somehow I made it through the full class without nodding off or bolting for the door. As I packed my things, the professor caught me again with a look that held both concern and caution. “Get some extra sleep over the weekend,” he said.
Out in the hall, the noise of shifting bodies and casual conversations swelled around me. Ahead, Logan was laughing with a woman I guessed was a professor. His blond head tilted back, easy smile in place, the kind of smile that had no business being that effortless. He spotted me and gave a little wave, no words, just that flick of his hand. I thought I’d escaped when I passed him, but then, “Taylor!”
I stopped, spine stiffening, and turned. He’d already broken away from his conversation and was striding toward me.
“Is everything OK? You look… I don’t know… off, somehow.”
“Off?” I echoed.
“Yeah. Usually you either look exasperated or pissed when you see me, and as cute as the pissed-off look can be, today your eyes are just… glazed over.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Just lack of sleep, I think. I’m not sick or anything. Just tired. Headache.” I tried to shrug it off. “I’m headed home. I think I’ll take a nap.”
Logan surprised me by tugging a sheet from his notebook and scribbling something down. He tore it free and held it out. “Hey, here’s my number. If you need anything, call me.”
I blinked, staring at the slip of paper in my hand. Was there actually a decent human being under that handsome blond shell named Logan Snyder?
“I will, Logan. Thanks.”
He gave a small smile that for once didn’t feel laced with arrogance.
“Stay safe, OK?” I said.
“You know, Taylor,” he replied, voice dipping softer, “I bought a box of a dozen condoms at the start of the semester. Haven’t had the chance to use even one. The world is keeping me safe in spite of myself.” There was a flicker of sadness under the joke, one I hadn’t expected.
Without thinking too much, I tore the bottom edge of the paper and scribbled my own number. I handed it back. “You call me if you need something.”
For a second he just stared at me, like I’d spoken another language. Then, quietly, “Thanks.” He slipped it into his pocket and walked away.
I watched him go, unsettled. Who knew? Maybe we could be friends.
My phone buzzed as I drove home, but I’d shoved it deep into my backpack and didn’t feel like fishing for it at every stoplight. All I wanted was my bed. Just a stretch of uninterrupted sleep.
Inside, I kicked off my shoes, dragging myself toward the bedroom before the thought struck. My phone. I pulled it out and lit up the screen.
A text from Shane. Be home this afternoon, please.
That was it. No explanation, no warmth, just the words hanging there like a command.
I thumbed back a reply: Those are my plans.
But no answer came.
I lay down anyway, but restful sleep never found me.
Instead came the nightmare. A dark blur of figures, ninjas, my mind supplied, absurd and terrifying at once, slipped into my apartment like shadows. They said Shane had sent them. They pinned me, demanded information I didn’t have, beat me when I failed to give it. A man in a cloak appeared, faceless, carrying a baseball bat. He swung it at the furniture, each crash a thunderclap, edging closer until the bat swung toward my head.
I woke with a jolt, heart hammering, breath tight. But the sound of pounding still echoed in the room. Not a dream. Real.
Someone was at the door.
Dragging myself out of bed, I stumbled across the room and unlatched it. The cool air rushed in as I pulled it open.
Shane stood there on the stoop, shoulders hunched, his face blotched and raw as if he’d been crying.
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