ETHAN
Ethan had not slept.
He had tried.
He had done the responsible things. The adult things. He had brushed his teeth twice like that would scrub the memory off his mouth. He had put his phone face down on his desk like it was a temptation and not a grenade.
Then he had stared at the ceiling and watched the dark shift in small increments.
At 2:11 AM, he had opened his laptop.
At 2:12 AM, he had deleted a sentence.
At 2:13 AM, he had written it back.
At 2:14 AM, he had written something worse.
The kiss had not made him romantic.
It had made him awake.
And being awake was dangerous, because awake meant he could not lie to himself about what he wanted.
He wanted Nora.
Not in a soft, harmless way.
In the way that made his writing sharper and his nerves raw and his pride feel like it had teeth.
He wanted to win.
And he wanted her to see him winning.
By morning, he had a new draft printed and folded in his backpack.
Not the one he'd put in her mailbox.
His own.
His own work that now had a problem.
Because Aldridge had just announced annotations.
Second draft with notes.
Show your process.
Ethan had read the announcement three times like he could find a loophole.
No loophole.
The scholarship committee wanted to see how you became yourself.
Ethan's process was messy.
His process was half-truths and stolen lines and a girl with a guarded mouth.
He walked across campus with the same coffee cup he'd held in the hallway earlier, now empty, now just something for his hand to do.
Rain threatened but didn't fall yet. The clouds hung low like they were waiting for permission.
He did not text Nora again.
He had already broken her rule and he could still feel the heat of her stare.
Behave.
It had been one look.
It had been a command.
He had obeyed because he was not an idiot.
He had also obeyed because he liked that she could make him.
That was another problem.
Ethan pushed open the door to the graduate lounge.
It was a narrow room with a stale couch, a microwave that smelled like regret, and a bulletin board full of flyers for readings nobody attended.
Marcus was there with his laptop open and a look that said he was one bad grade away from quitting life.
"You look like death," Marcus said.
Ethan dropped into the chair opposite him.
"Thanks," Ethan said.
Marcus peered at him. "Did you pull an all-nighter?"
"Kind of."
"On what?" Marcus asked, already suspicious.
Ethan hesitated.
On Nora.
On the idea that the best version of him had a mouth that didn't know when to stop.
"Revision," Ethan said.
Marcus's expression turned into the closest thing he had to respect.
"Okay," Marcus said. "Actually. Nice."
Ethan leaned back.
"Is Priya here?" Ethan asked.
"No," Marcus said. "She's in the cafe. Probably interrogating someone."
Ethan nodded.
He needed Marcus to not be in his business.
Marcus was too observant when his anxiety was pointed in the right direction.
"So," Marcus said, tapping his trackpad. "Annotations."
Ethan's stomach tightened.
"Yeah," Ethan said.
"You're screwed," Marcus said matter-of-factly.
Ethan blinked.
"I am?" Ethan asked.
Marcus gestured at his screen. "Dude. You write like you don't care if anyone sees how you think, because you think in metaphors. Now you have to explain it."
Ethan exhaled.
"What about you?" Ethan asked.
Marcus laughed once. "I write like I'm building a fence. I can label every plank. I'm fine."
Ethan stared at him.
"You sure?" Ethan asked.
Marcus's laugh died.
"No," Marcus admitted. "I'm not fine. But I'm fine in the specific way this wants me to be."
Ethan looked down at his backpack.
His draft was not a fence.
It was a fire.
And now he had to draw a map of the smoke.
He could already imagine Aldridge reading his notes and smiling that satisfied smile, like he had pulled a truth out of them with pliers.
Ethan hated that man.
He hated that man because Aldridge was right.
Aldridge knew that writers lied best when they pretended they were only writing craft.
Ethan stood.
Marcus blinked. "Where are you going?"
Ethan slung his bag over his shoulder.
"To get help," Ethan said.
Marcus frowned. "From who?"
Ethan didn't answer.
He went down the hallway and into the empty seminar room.
The lights were off. The windows were grey. The whiteboard still had yesterday's notes written in purple marker.
Distance. Stakes. Desire.
Ethan stared at the last word.
Desire.
He could not annotate desire.
Not honestly.
He sat at the workshop table and pulled out his printed pages.
His draft was titled Closer too.
Because he was an idiot.
Because some part of him had wanted her to see it and know.
He took a pen from his pocket.
He wrote at the top margin in small letters:
Do not write about her.
Then he underlined it.
Then he wrote beneath it:
Liar.
His pen hovered.
He could do this alone.
He could annotate technique. He could talk about rhythm and stakes and character intention.
He could pretend.
But pretending was what had gotten him the first draft.
And Nora had looked at him like he was wasting his own life.
Ethan's phone buzzed.
A message.
Priya: Are you alive.
Ethan stared.
Priya did not usually text him.
He typed back:
Ethan: Unfortunately.
Three dots.
Priya: Nora is acting like she committed arson and got away with it.
Ethan swallowed.
Ethan: She always looks like that.
Priya: No. This is new. This is fresh crime.
Ethan closed his eyes.
"Don't," he whispered to nobody.
His phone buzzed again.
Priya: You did something.
Ethan stared at the message.
He could deny.
He could lie.
But Priya was not Marcus. Priya did not need evidence.
Priya only needed a crack.
Ethan typed:
Ethan: I need a favor.
A beat.
Priya: I love favors.
Ethan: I need to understand what Aldridge wants with annotations.
Another beat.
Priya: He wants your soul. He wants you to bleed in the margins.
Ethan exhaled.
Ethan: Helpful.
Priya: I'm always helpful.
Priya: Meet me at the cafe in five.
Ethan looked at his pages.
He looked at the word desire on the whiteboard.
He put the pen down.
He had asked for help.
Not from Nora.
Not yet.
He walked to the cafe.
The campus cafe was loud in the way all student spaces were loud. It wasn't conversation. It was the sound of too many people trying to be real at the same time.
Priya sat at a corner table like she owned it. She had two drinks in front of her.
One was a chai.
The other was an iced coffee.
Ethan sat.
Priya slid the iced coffee toward him.
"I already hate you," she said.
"Good," Ethan said.
Priya leaned forward.
"Tell me why Nora looks like she could punch God today," Priya said.
Ethan's throat tightened.
He took a sip of coffee.
It tasted like sugar and regret.
"She has a deadline," Ethan said.
"We all have deadlines," Priya said. "This is different."
Ethan stared at her.
Priya stared back.
He realized, in that moment, that Priya was not asking.
She was offering.
A chance to control the narrative.
Ethan had always thought he was good at that.
He had never tried it with someone like Priya.
"Aldridge changed the rules," Ethan said instead.
Priya waved a hand. "Yes. The margin blood sacrifice. You wanted help."
Ethan pulled out his draft and slid it across the table.
Priya glanced at the first page.
Then she smiled.
Not kind.
Predatory.
"Oh," she said.
Ethan's stomach dropped.
"What," Ethan asked.
Priya tapped the title.
"Closer," she read.
Then she looked at him.
"You and Nora are allergic to subtlety," Priya said.
Ethan's face went hot.
"It's a working title," Ethan said.
Priya lifted her eyes. "Sure it is."
Ethan leaned forward.
"What do I do?" he asked.
Priya drummed her nails on the table.
"You annotate like you're explaining to an idiot," Priya said. "But you choose what you explain."
Ethan frowned.
"That's lying," Ethan said.
Priya laughed.
"Welcome to academia," she said.
Ethan stared at his pages.
He thought of Nora, and her list, and the way her eyes had gone flat when Marcus read the announcement.
Ethan looked back at Priya.
"What does Aldridge really want?" Ethan asked.
Priya's smile faded.
She leaned in.
"He wants to see if your second draft is better," she said. "And he wants to see if you know why."
Ethan swallowed.
"And?" he asked.
Priya's gaze flicked over his shoulder.
Ethan turned.
Nora stood by the cafe entrance, hair pinned up, shoulders squared, scanning the room like she was looking for a target.
Her eyes landed on Ethan.
Then on the draft in front of Priya.
Then back on Ethan.
The air between them tightened.
Priya sipped her chai, too pleased.
Ethan's pulse hammered.
Nora walked toward them.
She did not look surprised.
She looked prepared.
Ethan realized he had just made a new rule for himself.
Do not underestimate Nora when she decides to control the room.
She stopped at the table.
"Move," she said to Priya.
Priya blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Move," Nora repeated.
Priya smiled slowly.
"Oh," she said. "So it was you."
Ethan's stomach dropped through the floor.
Nora's eyes did not leave Ethan.
"After workshop," Nora said, voice quiet.
Not a request.
A verdict.
Ethan nodded.
"After," he agreed.
Nora's gaze flicked to his draft.
"And don't let him annotate around the truth," she said to Priya.
Priya's eyebrows rose.
"Around what truth?" Priya asked.
Nora's mouth tightened.
Ethan held his breath.
Nora looked at him.
Then she said, very softly:
"The truth that he's afraid to lose."
And she walked away.
Ethan sat there with his coffee and his draft and the sudden understanding that Aldridge hadn't just changed the rules.
He had weaponized them.