7

After that night, we stopped speaking.

Adrian quit sleeping in our room. Without him, the place felt too large.

No one answered my pointless observations. No one fixed the crooked dresser drawer before I noticed it was broken. No one called me a disaster while holding out water and medicine whenever I got sick.

Only in his absence did I understand how thoroughly he had made himself part of my life.

I avoided the room too. I stayed in the library until closing and filled every hour with coursework.

Several nights later, I woke after midnight with my mouth dry and my body burning.

I tried to climb down from the lofted bed. My arms shook too badly.

Stress had triggered another unstable cycle.

My fingers were numb. My thoughts came apart whenever I tried to hold on to them.

I reached for my phone and called Adrian.

The instinct to call him stopped me cold.

I did not want just any alpha.

I wanted him.

And suddenly I understood the invitation, the saved water bottle, the anger when I offered him money, and every quiet act of care I had mistaken for ordinary kindness.

Adrian had not asked a roommate to come home for break.

He had asked me to choose him.

The phone rang until I thought it would go to voicemail.

Then he answered.

“What?” His tone was deliberately distant.

“Adrian.” My voice sounded small even to me. “I miss you.”

Silence.

Then his breathing sharpened.