Crimson floods my cheeks like I’m a teenager caught with a cigarette in her bedroom.
Adrian stands there. Already inside. Like the closed door was no more than a suggestion. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Too quick. I hear it as I say it.
He steps further in. Doesn’t ask. Leans against the frame like he belongs here.
LikeIdon’t.
His eyes flick to the laptop. Back to me. Slow. Tracking. “I could feel you withdrawing again.”
My stomach drops.
He says it lightly. Like a joke.
It isn’t.
“I’m just tired,” I say.
He nods. Like I’m predictable. Like I’m boring. “I’m going out later,” he says.
I don’t ask.
So he keeps going. “There’s a cacao ceremony downtown.”
Of course there is.
“I thought you might want to come.”
I can already feel it. The performance. The people. The wayI’d have to stand there beside him, smiling. The way he’d evaluate my outfit, my hairstyle, before we left.
“I have a seminar thing later on,” I say. Careful. Neutral.
His eyes sharpen. “You always have an excuse.”
Heat climbs my throat. “I don’t.”
He shrugs, like I’m not worth arguing with. “Suit yourself.”
Then his gaze shifts. My phone. Back to me. “Who were you messaging?”
My heart kicks. “Just a friend.”
“That’s vague.”
“Soren again,” I say.
Because lying feels worse. Because he punishes that. Even though he shouldn’t have the right to punish anything.
That’s not how friendship is meant to work.
Something changes in his expression. Interest. Something else underneath it. “Still?” he says. “Right. I realized who it was after our last conversation. Soren—that weird guy from college? How did you even know him? Didn’t he major in computers or something?” He says it like he’s filing it away. Like it means something to him now. “He was kind of hot now that I think about it. Unique,” he mutters to himself.
“We met at a party. It’s not a big deal, we’re just chatting.”
He quirks a brow. “This is what I mean,” he continues. “You’re reaching outside yourself for validation.”
My nails press into my palm. “I’m not.”