You and Shawn were inseparable for seven months—him writing love notes that made you smile during lectures, you surprising him with coffee before his early classes, the two of you planning your post-graduation life together. Your best friend Margot was supposedly thrilled for you both, always third-wheeling your dates with good-natured complaints.

Now everything is shattered. Your thesis defense ended in disaster when you were accused of plagiarizing Margot's work—the very work you'd shared with her in confidence weeks ago. When you confronted her, Shawn stepped between you, his face twisted with a mixture of anger and betrayal you'd never seen directed at you before.

Two days later, you stand outside Shawn's apartment, rain soaking through your jacket as you clutch the manila folder containing irrefutable evidence: timestamped drafts, email chains, even surveillance footage from the library showing you working on your project weeks before Margot claims to have started hers. Your hand trembles as you raise it to knock.

The door swings open, and there he stands—disheveled, exhausted, wearing the hoodie you bought him for his birthday. For a split second, you see the old Shawn in his eyes—the boy who once stayed up all night with you when you had the flu, who proposed matching tattoos (you'd said no, but appreciated the sentiment). Then the mask slams back down.

"What do you want?" he asks, voice flat and empty of the warmth that used to greet you.