Dorian

The car ride from the mall was a chaotic symphony of late-night smoothies, muffled music, and Zoie and Tony bickering in the back seat the entire ride — arguing over the aux cord, debating which one forgot Zoie’s tote bag, and fake-threatening to block each other on Instagram.

“Why do you always have to comment on everything I do?” Zoie snapped, crossing her arms dramatically.

Tony scoffed. “Because everything you do is dramatic. Like, who needs thirty minutes to pick one lip gloss?”

“It was a bundle deal, Tony!”

Dorian didn’t even look back. He just kept his eyes on the road, letting their usual banter fade into the background noise. They’d be cuddling again in five minutes — just like clockwork. 

Sure enough, a few beats later: 

“You’re still my favorite annoying person,” Tony murmured. 

 Zoie sighed, already leaning into his shoulder. “I hate you.” 

“You love me.” 

“Unfortunately.”

Dorian shook his head with a slight smile, but his mind wasn’t really there. It hadn’t been for most of the ride. 

“We’re all hanging out over Christmas break, yeah?” Zoie asked as she climbed out of the backseat, tugging Tony along.

“Yeah, for sure,” David replied from the passenger seat, offering a half wave.

“Try not to ghost us before then,” Tony added with a grin.

Dorian managed a laugh and waited until they were inside before easing away from the curb. As he drove, the car settled into a comfortable silence — just him and David now, the city lights flashing rhythmically across the windshield.

It wasn’t long before David turned in his seat to study him. “You’ve been kinda quiet tonight.” He tilted his head slightly toward Dorian, watching him with quiet curiosity. “You good?”

Dorian nodded once. “Yeah.”

David didn’t buy it. “You’ve silenced Ryin’s calls three times in the past twenty minutes.”

Dorian sighed and rested his arm against the window. “We haven’t talked in weeks. And when we were talking, it’s like. . .  she’s looking for something to fight about. Or blame me for. I’m just tired of it, man.”

David raised an eyebrow. “So what are you saying? You done?”

“I was done the moment it stopped feeling like love and started feeling like war.”

That earned him a slow nod from David, who let the silence settle before speaking again.

“So. . . Constanza, huh?” He smirked a little. “And her friend. . . what was her name again?”

Dorian glanced at him, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. “Amara.”

“Right. You got quiet after that little candle store run-in,” David said, nudging him. “What’s the deal?”

“Nothing,” Dorian replied casually. “She seemed nice. Kinda shy. Really cute, though.” He said it casually, like he hadn’t spent the past hour thinking back on their run-in. He kept replaying it—how she stumbled, how his hands caught her just in time, how wide her eyes were when she looked up at him. There was a quiet kind of beauty about her, like she didn’t even know the effect she had. And for a second, time really had slowed down. Which was stupid. Crowded candle aisles weren’t exactly romantic.

But still. . . her name lingered in his mind like a song he didn’t want to forget.

Amara.

He hadn’t meant to ask for her number—but then again, he hadn’t meant to think about her all night either.

“Uh-huh.” David grinned, catching the way Dorian’s fingers tapped the steering wheel, the corner of his mouth still lifted like he was remembering something. David raised a brow. “Cute, huh?”

Dorian just shook his head, smiling to himself. “Don’t start.”

“You smiled just now.”

Dorian shrugged. “She just. . . seemed different.”

David didn’t press. Whatever it was about Amara—the softness in her eyes or the way she barely met Dorian's gaze —had stuck. And it had him distracted in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Maybe it was nothing. 

But maybe. . . it wasn’t. 

David’s lips curled. Then he added more thoughtfully, “Actually. . .  you know who I'm kind of crushing on?”

Dorian glanced at him. “Who?”

“Constanza.”

That made Dorian raise an eyebrow. “For real?”

David nodded. “Since day one. First day of class, she sat two rows ahead of me. Red hoodie. Hair in a high curly ponytail. Corrected the professor on the syllabus and didn’t even flinch. I was gone.”

Dorian laughed. “And you’ve said nothing?”

“I didn’t want to be weird.” David pulled out his phone. “But. . . maybe it’s time.” He tapped into Facebook and frowned. “How do you even spell her name?”

Dorian thought for a moment. “I believe it’s C-O-N-S-T-A-N-Z-A.”

“Got it.” A second later, David lit up. “Found her.” He sent the friend request without hesitation, then began scrolling through her photos. “Damn. . . she’s got that bold kind of energy. I like that.”

He stopped at a picture of Constanza laughing, arm slung over Amara’s shoulders. The two girls were mid-laugh, standing under fairy lights at what looked like a backyard party. 

David whistled under his breath. “Okay, your girl’s stunning too.”

“She’s not my girl,” Dorian said quickly. “But yeah,” he added. “She seemed quiet, like she reads poetry and listens to Jhene Aiko or something.”

David glanced at him. “You got all that from a few minutes? I’m usually the observant one.”

“You’re the nosy one.”

David shrugged, “Same skillset.” Then glanced over with a smirk. “You’re blushing again.”

Dorian rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the grin tugging at his mouth. “Shut up.”

David leaned against the door. “She single?”

“I mean. . . I guess?”

“You didn’t ask?” David raised an eyebrow.

Dorian shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. We barely talked. She literally fell into me. She looked like she wanted to disappear through the floor.”

“So naturally, your charm won her over in two minutes.”

“She mostly just looked mildly traumatized.”

David snorted. “And you’re into that?”

“No,” Dorian said, then paused. “Maybe. . . I don’t know. Like I said, she was different.”

David tilted his head. “Different how, though?”

Dorian hesitated, staring out the windshield. “She wasn’t trying to be anything. Just. . . real. It was kind of refreshing.”

David let out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s dangerously close to poetic, bro.”

“Don’t make it weird,” Dorian muttered, but the slight curve of his mouth gave him away again. 

“Too late.” David leaned back with a satisfied grin. “Winter break is going to be pretty interesting.”

***

Their neighborhood came into view—three-story townhomes lined neatly along both sides of the wide, quiet street. Dorian turned onto their block and eased the car to a stop in front of David’s place, the one directly across from his own.

“You want me to walk you to the door?” Dorian smirked, throwing the car into park. 

David snorted as he grabbed his hoodie from the back seat. “I got it from here, Dad.” He stepped out, jogging up his steps, throwing a lazy wave over his shoulder. Dorian watched him disappear inside, then pulled into his own driveway and cut the engine. The porch light was on — Nancy, his older sister, must’ve left it before heading to whatever party she was always fashionably late to. He sat for a moment in the car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

The silence was heavy. 

Not peaceful silence, but the kind that makes your chest feel hollow. The kind that filled the car with bothersome thoughts you didn’t want to think. He grabbed his phone from the mounted phone holder and stared at the unsaved number Constanza had texted him.

Amara.

He didn’t know why he’d asked for her number. Maybe curiosity. Maybe something else. Either way, it felt like something had shifted the second he saw her.

Still, he kept the message casual:

Hey. It’s Dorian. Hope you made it out of the mall chaos alive.

He hit send. Clean. Simple. No emoji. Just enough. 

Then he stepped out into the chill night air, locking his car as he headed toward the front door. He walked in, unzipped his windbreaker, and closed the door behind him with a quiet thud. The house was still. Too still. He headed upstairs, tired enough that his muscles ached. He turned into his bedroom —Then stopped cold.

His bathroom door was cracked open.

A sliver of light leaked into the darkened room, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of soft R&B pulsing from his Bluetooth shower speaker.

A speaker that only connected to two phones—his and Ryin’s.

His heart sank. Not just a drop, but a plunge. He didn’t move at first. Just stood there, breathing through his nose like it might slow the storm gathering inside him.

He pushed the door open. 

Steam billowed out, swallowing the doorway.

And there she was.

Ryin stood at the sink, wrapped in one of his towels like she belonged there. Straight dark hair slicked down her back, skin damp and flushed, her piercing blue eyes meeting his in the mirror.

She turned slowly and smiled, sweet and familiar in a way that only made his stomach twist.

“Hey, stranger,” she said, voice low and silk-smooth.

He didn’t smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Your sister let me in. She said you’d be home soon.” She stepped closer, droplets of water sliding from her collarbone to the towel's edge. “So I’ve been waiting.”

“I didn't ask how you got in, I asked, 'What are you doing here'? I didn’t ask you to come.”

She ran a hand through her wet hair, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “You weren’t answering my texts or calls. Figured you wouldn’t mind a surprise visit.”

His mouth tightened. “Ryin, you can’t just show up like this. We’re not—”

She was already moving. Fingers brushing his arm. Her skin was warm and soft, her touch as familiar as his own breath. She looked up at him, eyes full of heat and old promises. “You don’t want me here?” she asked, stepping closer until the space between them vanished.

He should’ve pulled away. 

But he didn’t.

The first kiss was a mistake. The second was surrender. The rest happened in a blur of steam and skin, towel on the floor, and they were back in the shower water rushing over them like a flood; they didn’t resist. Their bodies moved like muscle memory—two people trying to recreate a feeling that didn’t exist anymore.

For a few breathless moments, Dorian felt okay.

Not happy.

Not whole.

Just. . . numb.

And numb was easier than angry. Easier than sad. Easier than confused. But when it was over, and he leaned against the cold shower tile, her arms still around him, the weight returned. The ache. The knowing that things weren't right. Still, when they reached his bed, and she pulled him in again, he didn’t stop her.

The second time was quieter. More desperate. Like both of them were pretending this still meant something. Like they could rewind time with friction and heat. As he came undone, breath ragged and eyes half-closed, a different face flickered through his mind.

Amara.

Her soft eyes. The way she smiled like she was afraid to.

Then it faded, just as fast as the pleasure had surged through him. 

Ryin curled into his side, legs tangled with his, humming something under her breath like she was already falling asleep.

Dorian lay there, eyes on the ceiling, heart somewhere far away.

And all he could think about was whether Amara had seen his message, and if she hadn’t replied because she already knew what he didn’t want to admit:

That sometimes even comfort feels like a lie.

 ***

Morning came too fast. 

The light bled through the curtains, faint and cold, brushing across Dorian’s face as he lay motionless, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His arm was numb under the weight of Ryin’s body. Her straight, semi-damp hair clung to the pillow, and her soft breaths filled the space between them.

Then came the buzz.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Her phone, screen-up on the nightstand, lit with each new vibration. Dorian shifted carefully, reaching across her without waking her.

He only meant to silence it.

But then he saw the name:

Tony.

Why is he texting her? His heart sank before he even touched the screen. But his thumb moved anyway, like his body didn’t need his mind’s permission.

He tapped the thread open.

At first, it was just the tone — too familiar.

Then came the messages:

Missed you last night.
Don’t you miss me?
I dreamed about you again.

Those were just the texts that Ryin sent just the day before. He scrolled further, and the pit in his stomach hollowed out like someone carved through him with a dull blade.

Pictures. Old ones. Dates that predated their relationship. Flirty texts. Explicit ones. It wasn’t a one-time thing. It wasn’t even a mistake.

They had a history.

Over a year’s worth.

His vision blurred, and his ears rang. Ryin had only started dating Dorian in January, but Tony had been with Zoie for three years.

This was deeper than cheating.

It was a deception.

It was betrayal—threaded and tangled in the people closest to him.

Ryin. His girlfriend.

Tony. His best friend.

He reached the latest message. An audio clip from Tony. He didn’t open it. He didn’t need to.

Ryin stirred beside him, stretching lazily. “Mmm. . . what time is it?”

Dorian didn’t answer. He turned, holding the phone tightly in his hand, knuckles white from gripping it too hard. “You need to leave.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “What?”

He tossed the phone on the bed like it burned his hand. “You’ve been fucking Tony?”

She sat up, pulling the comforter up to cover her naked body, confusion turning quickly into dread. “Dorian—”

“For how long?!” he snapped.

She hesitated, lightly touching her collarbone. “I—I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“You’ve been messing with him for over a year,” he spat. “Sending him pictures. Meeting up. And the whole time, you’re sleeping in my bed?”

“It didn’t mean anything!” she said quickly, voice rising, defensively.

He laughed bitterly, stepping back. “It meant enough to keep it secret. Enough to keep lying.”

“You don’t get to twist this—”

“I’m not twisting anything, Ryin! I saw the texts! I saw it all.” His voice cracked with anger. “And Zoie? You’ve been lying to her, too?”

Ryin stood, arms crossed, eyes narrowing like she was the one who’d been wronged. “Don’t put this all on me. You and I were barely speaking. You started pulling away.”

Dorian’s jaw clenched. “Don’t try to gaslight me. You started fading the second you left for school. All the attitude. The silence. The mind games. And I still tried to make it work.”

She scoffed. “We weren’t even solid—”

“Then why stay with me?” he yelled. “Why keep showing up here like we still had something real?!”

Silence filled the space between them, thick and charged. Ryin looked away.

“Get out,” he said, voice low this time. Flat and final.

Ryin stared at him, waiting—for what, he didn’t know. Maybe for him to change his mind. Maybe for him to beg her to stay like he used to.

But he didn’t.

She dressed in silence. No goodbyes. No apologies. No door slam. 

Just the sound of her boots tapping down the stairs. Then she was gone.

The moment the door clicked shut, Dorian sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, hands over his face. 

His whole body shook.

Not from rage.

Not even heartbreak.

Just exhaustion. Mental and emotional exhaustion. Like everything inside him had emptied at once and left nothing behind but the echo of what used to be. He stared at the bed. At the towel. At the bathroom door still cracked from the night before. The steam had dried. Now there was only fog.

He reached for his phone with a trembling hand and blocked Ryin’s number without hesitation, then he pulled up Tony’s contact and hit call.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then voicemail.

Coward.

He wanted to scream. Punch a wall. Anything to make the hurt stop gnawing at his stomach.

Zoie.

His thumb hovered over her name. He couldn’t press it. Not yet. 

How was he supposed to tell her that her best friend and boyfriend had been messing around behind her back? That the two people she trusted most had been lying to her face for months? 

Made even years. 

He dropped the phone on his nightstand, the pressure in his chest making his temples throb. He lay back against his pillows, staring at the ceiling again. 

He felt empty and cold. 

He needed a distraction. Anything. 

He picked up his phone again, opening the thread with Amara's number. 

Still no reply.

The little “Delivered” text sat there beneath his message like it was mocking him. 

And somehow that stung more than it should’ve. He didn’t know why he expected her to respond.

Maybe because she felt like the only good thing that happened that day. 

Or maybe because she was the first person in a long time who made him feel something that wasn’t anger or resentment.

He closed his eyes, chest still tightening. 

He just hoped she hadn’t read his message and decided he wasn’t worth it. 

Because right now, he didn’t even know if he was.