David

David unzipped his Nike duffel bag and dropped it beside his closet door.

Thermals. Socks. Charger. Gloves. He mentally checked off the list as he unpacked, neatly folding each item and sliding it into its designated spot. He didn’t bring much back from their short break. Just a little warmth for the cold ahead. 

His dorm room, much like the way he moved through life, was quiet, clean, and refined. His bed, gray sheets, layered perfectly under a slate-blue comforter. A pigeon-blue bed rest pillow sat on his bed, against the wall.

His closet? Even though it was tiny, it was color-coded. Shoes aligned toe-first. Jeans hung evenly on pant hangers. 

Even his books — Ellison, Baldwin, Hurston — rested like museum pieces on the top shelf of his dorm room desk.

A photo sat beneath a tiny succulent on his desk shelf. Doni in the middle, kneeling between eight-year-old David and Dorian. David’s eyes hovered on it for a second longer than necessary before he moved away. 

Back to order. Back to routine. 

A knock on the door broke his thoughts — three taps in rhythm. 

“Match in the gas tank — boom boom,” came the familiar voice on the other side. 

David didn’t even have to look up. “Well, hello, Mr. Swayze.” 

Dorian popped his head in, grinning. “I know, I know. I went ghost yesterday.” He stepped in and flopped into David’s computer chair backwards, straddling it like he owned the place.

David gave a half-smile and sat near the window, adjusting his glasses. “So? Wassup?.” 

For the next half hour, Dorian laid it all out, the weekend blow-up with Ryin, what he found on her phone, and the gut punch of seeing Tony’s name in the thread. 

David didn’t interrupt. He just listened. That’s how he’d always been, quiet, steady, the one you vented to because you knew he wouldn’t crumble. “Tony,Tony?” he asked, in wide-eyed disbelief. “Our Tony? Zoie’s Tony?!” 

Dorian nodded. “Yep. His snake-ass.” 

David let out a slow whistle and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Man. I know he’s a little hothead, and sometimes a show-off, but I would have never imagined he would do something like this. . . damn.” 

Dorian rubbed his jaw. “I mean, I don’t know. The behavior from Ryin, I kinda can see her doing something like this. . . but to sweet Zoie? That’s the part that’s got me stuck. Should I tell her?” 

David didn’t answer right away. He thought about Zoie’s soft voice, her unassuming smile. Then he thought about the look on Dorian’s face. Part guilt, part heartbreak. 

He just nodded.  

“I know,” Dorian sighed. “Keeping quiet feels worse.” 

Silence settled over the room again. The hum of David’s mini fridge filled the gaps. Trying to lighten the mood, David asked with a grin, “You speak to my future wife while I was gone?” 

Dorian chuckled, then his phone buzzed. “Speaking of Zaza…” He glanced down. “It’s her. She wants to grab dinner. All four of us.” 

David perked up. “All four?” 

“Yeah. And she said Amara said she didn’t mean to ghost me. She just gets nervous with new people.” 

David tried to play it cool, but his stomach flipped. Constanza was texting and she mentioned him by name. 

“She thought about how it might’ve come off. That meant something. . . right? 

“Yeah, definitely” He replied half listening to Dorian. “Text her back,” David said, already standing. “Tell her I’m in.”

***

The restaurant was warm and loud buzzing with the usual pre-finals chatter and the clinking of silverware over mismatched ceramic plates. 

David and Dorian had arrived first. They claimed a booth near the back, half-tucked behind a low partition and fake plant. Dorian slid into the inside, naturally, and David took the outside edge so the girls could sit across from them. 

David adjusted the sleeves of his quarter-zip sweater and tapped his fingers lightly on the edge of the menu, pretending to read it. The truth was, he couldn’t focus. His thoughts were already seated across from him, filling in the space Constanza hadn’t yet arrived to occupy. 

Get a grip.

He glanced around, doing a mental scan of the room, the layout, the lighting, the exits. It was a habit. He always liked to know his surroundings. Always liked to look composed. Always liked to have an escape plan, even if he never needed one. 

He sat up straighter, subtly ran a hand over his slick, low-cut waves, then checked that his nails were clean. They always were. 

He did everything right. Always had. 

But lately. . . it didn’t feel like enough. It never seems to be enough, especially since he started college. 

His dad had started texting him weekly critiques instead of congratulations. His mom tried to soften them in follow-ups, but it didn’t help. 

He’d been valedictorian. Fluently trilingual — mostly. He kept a 4.0, dressed neatly, shaved every other day, and still couldn’t shake the sense that one wrong step would make everything unravel. 

The only time he didn’t feel like he was performing was when he was with Dorian and, recently, Constanza.

And even with her, it wasn’t easy. It was electricity, static he couldn’t shake. He liked her too much; that was the problem.

Her golden curls. Her honey-colored eyes. The way her sarcasm landed without effort. The freckles dusting her nose and cheeks like they were carefully placed for perfection. 

She was five-foot-three of everything he couldn’t figure out. 

And that made him nervous. He could ace tests in his sleep, but he couldn’t decipher her silences. 

And right now, every second waiting for her made his throat feel tighter. 

“Yo.” Dorian bumped his shoulder lightly. “You’re staring at the water glass like it just disrespected your family.” 

David blinked. “Huh?” 

“You good?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Before Dorian could say anything else, the chime of the front door caught their attention. 

The girls were here. 

Amara entered first, her coat half-open and her natural hair slightly tousled by the wind. She looked around the restaurant, appearing uncertain for a moment. Constanza followed her in, her curls bouncing as she walked with her usual confidence, as always. She scanned the restaurant and waved them down. 

David stood automatically. 

Not stiffly—but with that tailored sort of charm he’d perfected since middle school. He flashed a too-perfect smile, like a reflex, and gave a mock bow—one hand behind his back, the other gesturing to the booth. “Milady.” 

Constanza rolled her eyes and smiled anyway. “You’re ridiculous.”

The girls slid into the booth, Amara sitting opposite Dorian, Constanza settling in across from David. He caught the flicker of a smile cross Amara’s face too as she slid in; giving Dorian a casual “hey” as she pulled off her coat.

David didn’t miss it.

Constanza didn’t either. 

Neither did Dorian. His face lit up the second he saw Amara. Not too obvious. But not discreet either. 

David sat down again, quietly. 

Dinner started light. Dorian cracked jokes. Amara sipped her milkshake politely. David ordered fries, but Constanza ate most of them. Dorian told stories that made Amara lean forward with wide eyes, and Constanza chimed in with her own sarcastic commentary. David tried to keep up with the flow of conversation, but he was too busy watching Constanza out of the corner of his eye, how her lips curled before she laughed, how she scrunched her nose when she disagreed with something Dorian said, how she made the booth feel just a little warmer. 

Still, something was off. Her energy wasn’t quite the same as before break, when they’d sat in the campus lounge cracking jokes and playing with Snap Chat filters. Tonight, she smiled like she meant it. . .  but her eyes darted, and she kept adjusting the sleeves of her sweater like she was trying to settle herself. 

Dinner had been good. The conversation was easy. 

Constanza had laughed at his jokes, thrown playful jabs, even stole half his fries with a smug smile. 

But there was something under it. A hesitation she never had before. 

She was sitting right there — shoulders squared, posture bold as ever — but a part of her felt far away. 

Like she was weighing something he couldn’t see. 

And David, who’d considered himself an expert on reading between the lines, suddenly couldn’t read her at all. 

He didn’t know what had changed. 

But he felt it. 

And he hated how much it bothered him.

***

David didn’t usually feel out of place.

He had mastered the art of blending in, smart enough to coast through classes, chill enough to float between friend groups, observant enough to never say too much. 

But tonight, as he walked back from dinner with Dorian, Amara, and Constanza, he felt like a background character in someone else’s story. 

Amara and Dorian trailed ahead while David and Constanza fell into step behind them, the gravel crunching softly beneath their shoes. 

The conversation drifted toward teasing, her usual tone of sharp playfulness, but it felt more like armor than banter tonight. 

He walked beside her, hands deep in his coat pockets, telling a half-embarrassed story about falling asleep during a lecture and dreaming that the professor asked him a question mid-snore. 

Constanza laughed — genuinely — and nudged him with her elbow. But David noticed how her eyes kept drifting elsewhere. Thoughtful-like, as if she were half-there. At one point, she looked up at him with that cute smile of hers, warm but unreadable.

As they reached the path to her dorm, David took a few playful steps ahead, then turned around and began walking backwards, his gaze finding hers. His grin stretched slowly, warm and easy. 

“You know,” he said, voice low and teasing, “you laugh way too easily at my jokes. I’m starting to think you’ve got a crush.” 

Constanza scoffed, narrowing her eyes with a grin. “A crush? Please. I’m just generous with my pity laughs.” 

David clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch. That’s cold. Even for you.” He spun back around, falling into step beside her again. His stride slowed just enough to match hers, long legs adjusting like it was instinct. She didn’t look up, but he knew she felt it. The closeness. The rhythm. 

It settled over them like a soft blanket. 

“Don’t blame me,” she teased. “That dream-in-class story was weak. I give it a 6 out of 10. Maybe a 7 for delivery.” 

“I was being vulnerable. You’re supposed to reward honesty.” 

“You told me you drooled on your desk, David.” 

“I said what I said.” He gave a proud shrug. “Confidence is attractive.” 

That made her laugh again. Softer this time. 

David looked at her, eyes lingering a second longer than they should have. “It’s nice talking to you like this. You’ve got a good vibe, you know?” 

“A good vibe?” she repeated, raising a brow. 

“Yeah. Smart, sarcastic, sassy when necessary. . . it’s cute.” 

She blinked.

The air between them shifted. Not heavy. But he felt it. Like something had been said that couldn’t be unsaid. 

She didn’t fake her laugh this time. But it was quieter. Almost. . . unsure. 

“Thanks,” she said softly. “I guess you’re alright, too.”

David grinned. “You guess?” 

They reached her building. On the third floor, a faint flicker of candlelight shone in her dorm room window, indicating that her roommate was already inside.

Constanza wrapped her arms around herself, more out of instinct than cold. “Well… this is me.” 

David rocked back on his heels. “This was fun.” 

“Yeah. It was.” She didn’t drag the moment out. Didn’t offer a hug. Just left it there, clean and clipped. 

He watched the door close behind her. 

***

By the time he got back to the dorm, David was restless. He stepped softly inside his dorm room, careful not to wake Hakim, whose snores were already muffled beneath layers of blankets on the other side of the room. 

He settled onto his bed, screen dimmed, thumb hovering over his message app. 

He opened Facebook Messenger, searched for Constanza's name, and sent her a message.

  David: I had a good time. We should do it again sometime.

   Constanza: Me too. Sorry if I was a little weird.

  David: You weren’t. You were just. . . quieter than usual.

  Constanza: Yeah. I guess my head’s been noisy lately.

  David: Want to talk about it?

  Constanza: Not tonight. But thank you for asking. 

   David: Of course. 

   Constanza: You’re very. . . stable.

  David snorted quietly through his nose.

  David: Is that a compliment?

  Constanza: Lol. Yes. Also. . . I stole your fries. No regrets.

  David: I noticed. Next time I’m guarding the plate. 

He stared at the screen for a while, thumb paused over the keyboard like there was more he wanted to say. 

He let the silence sit instead.

David locked his phone, placed it face-down on the desk, and leaned back into his pillow. 

He’d spent the night watching something blossom between Dorian and Amara from across the booth. He thought back on how Dorian was leaned in, elbows on the table, talking low like only she was meant to hear him. And Amara — quiet, observant Amara — wasn’t just listening. She was engaged. Laughing softly. Meeting his gaze longer than necessary. She didn’t even seem to notice she was smiling half the time. 

And David, sitting across from Constanza on the edge of the booth, felt every inch of space between himself and what they had. 

He wasn’t feeling jealous. Not even close. 

He was proud of Dorian. Genuinely happy to see him relaxed and enjoying himself. 

But the way their connection filled the air made David feel peripheral, like he’d been invited into a scene he didn’t quite belong to. 

He turned the conversation over in his head, again and again — replaying Constanza’s laugh, the way her eyes shifted when she smiled, the moment her fingers almost brushed his and didn’t stay. 

He kept wondering if maybe. . . he was the only one who noticed any of it.

At some point, he must’ve drifted off to sleep.

The overthinking blurred into quiet exhaustion. 

His phone was still face down on his desk. 

He never heard the buzz. 

He missed the text from Dorian. 

He also missed two calls from his father. 

And he never saw the message that came through shortly after—

a long, neatly structured text. 

Not angry. Just. . .  criticizing.

A breakdown of everything David could’ve done better this semester.

A reminder that misused Spanish pronouns weren’t just mistakes, they were proof of mediocrity.

That neatness wasn’t the same as drive.

That if he didn’t start pushing harder now, he’d fall behind, and stay there.

No “goodnight.” 

No “how was dinner?”

Just bullet-point expectations delivered like a checklist. Heavy enough to sink him before morning.