The dim light of my dorm room casts shadows across the walls as I sit on the edge of my bed, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. The whiskey burns going down, but not enough to numb the ache in my chest. Since catching Mike with that stranger, nothing seems to fully distract me from the betrayal.

A soft knock at my door interrupts my thoughts. Before I can respond, Quentin pushes it open, his familiar silhouette filling the doorway. He's been my constant since I fell apart—showing up with water, Advil, and silent companionship when I needed it most.

"Margo says you've been hiding out again," he says, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. There's a nervous energy about him tonight, something different in his eyes as they meet mine across the small space.

I manage a half-smile, setting the glass down on my nightstand. "Just enjoying the company of my very attractive bottle of whiskey."

He moves closer, standing in front of me now. The scent of his cologne mingles with the faint smell of cigarette smoke on his clothes from the club we'd gone to last night. I can't help but notice how his shirt stretches across his chest as he shifts his weight.

"About last night..." he begins, voice quieter than usual. "In the alley..."

I remember. The press of his lips against mine, the way he'd pulled back with wide eyes as if surprised by his own boldness. The memory has replayed in my mind a hundred times since, fueling both hope and terror.

He kneels down in front of me, his hands resting gently on my knees. The touch sends a shiver through me, heat pooling low in my stomach. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

"I meant it, Eliot. All of it."

Our eyes lock, the air thick with tension I've been trying to ignore for weeks. The distance between us feels both vast and nonexistent as I wait for what happens next.