FOUR DAYS PASSED in a medication-induced blur, and you'd think being sick would provide me with enough time to reflect and gather motivation to move my life forward, but when I wasn't asleep or trying not to throw up at the sight of food, I was thinking about follow-up texts to send De.

There was a small, cold space between my ribs, and she'd wedged herself there, started a fire.

I scrolled through the string of texts we'd exchanged over the last few days, wondering about the best course of action after make sure to keep yourself hydrated. Admittedly, our responses were clipped and scattered across several hours, but we'd kept at this for days, and for some reason, it felt almost intentional. Ever since her reply on Sunday morning, I'd been waiting for the moment when she figured she'd had enough and left me to hang on a text reaction. But even when I responded with a flimsy yeah, she still found something to follow up with.

It unfortunately took my mind back to that night on the back deck, and how I thought I could talk to her forever.

When my head remained void of anything that wasn't another sure, thank you, I let out a sigh and leaned my head back against the wall. I was about to sink into my thoughts when a knock sounded on my door, and it was sudden enough for me to feel the need to put my phone away.

I'd just put the device screen-down next to me when Zeke's head popped in. He didn't even wait for a response.

"Hey, Flu Boy," he said. His dirty blonde hair was toppled over his face in that intentionally messy way he claimed his girlfriend went crazy for, and I was tempted to tell him that he needed a haircut. There was what I believed to be a tomato sauce stain on his loose white tee.

"Hi, Ezekiel," I responded, then watched with contentment as he scowled. He wasn't a fan of his full name, and I knew that, but anything to get back at him for breaking the Keurig.

"Maisie wants to make pasta, and she's concerned that you haven't eaten anything since breakfast."

I let out another sigh. "I'll have some of Maisie's pasta. Just tell her to go a little easier with the salt this time."

Zeke made a show of looking over his shoulder, then he looked back at me and lowered his voice to a conspiratory whisper. "We don't talk about that with her around."

I smiled. "Well, we should. She nearly tore out my esophagus."

He pressed a fist to his mouth to stifle a laugh, and it was the first sense of normalcy I'd felt in the last few days. Making fun of his girlfriend's cooking was one of our favorite pasttimes, and it had been a minute since the three of us were in the same space at the same time.

"You should join us, though. You've been in here for days."

And just because I didn't want to have to argue with him over it, I nodded. "I'll be out in a minute."

The moment his head retreated into the hallway, I took my phone and unlocked it to give myself one last chance to respond to De's text. I knew I shouldn't have entertained this. I knew it was inadvisable. I had no business with Désiré Rivers. But I didn't know why I was bothered about the eventual possibility that if I didn't say anything, this would become another step in the dance we'd kept up with since orientation week. And she'd go back to looking downright annoyed anytime she saw me.

I thought about possible text options over the next couple of seconds, before deciding on subtle honesty.

My roommate wants to steal me for a few minutes. Can I text you later?

I reread the text several times before hitting send, then I watched it deliver, my heart suspended in my chest.

I was about to push myself out of bed when, to my surprise, my text alert went off. With her reply.

As long as you do so before I change my mind.

I stared at the reply until my screen went dark, surprised by both the swiftness and boldness of her reply. The intentionality of it—like she could read my mind. I didn't realize I was smiling until I was halfway out of my room, and I knew there and then that I was screwed.

I couldn't concentrate.

I had class recordings to catch up on, lecture notes to study, an email from Professor Chin's TA I still hadn't read, much less responded to, a FaceTime session to hold with my mom, and I was yet to finish that political analysis paper. But Maisie and Zeke were having yet another "friendly" argument, Jace wanted to come over but wanted them to be gone first, and it had only been thirty-five minutes since De's text came in, and I wasn't sure if it was later enough.

I didn't know why I was stressing over texting some girl when I had much more dire things to worry about.

"Regardless of whether or not he was trying to rizz you up, Maze, he was basic," Zeke said, throwing the words over his shoulder to his busy girlfriend in the kitchen.

"There you are, calling a guy that excites me more than you do basic when you could be helping me in here." Maisie's voice was high-pitched, smooth, and usually enjoyable to listen to, but whenever she got like this, it was like incessant nails on a chalkboard. They could call this friendly all they wanted, but I could hear the passive-aggressiveness in her tone, stronger with every conversation. Zeke was just oblivious to it.

I made a mental note to sit him down later.

And unfortunately, it gave me an idea for a conversation starter with De.

Screw later.

I took my phone from the cushion it rested on, and tried not to analyze that suspicious stain too much. Until I'd done something about the Keurig, at least.

My roommate's girlfriend may have set a timer on their relationship, I sent before I could read it.

Then I typed, Plot twist, the fool is completely oblivious to it

I stared at the text for a few seconds after I hit send. It seemed quite . . . odd, considering the fact that we didn't talk all that much, but I was willing to go with it. A pot lid clattered to the floor in the kitchen, and I made to turn my phone screen-down and go give Maisie a hand when the three dots appeared.

De was typing.

My breath seemed to be suspended halfway up my lungs as the dots disappeared and reappeared, again, and again. Until finally—

You know, I just sent up a prayer regarding anything that would make this social research class a little less of a mindf*ck, and would you look at that!

Another text came in. I agree with the fool part though. A lot of guys use half a brain cell at a time

I chuckled. Then I typed: That felt very personal

Wow. Maybe I was wrong and you're in the minority

Nah. That would be Jace. Wisest man I know

The three dots danced for a long moment, and I anticipated a long text, but when her response eventually came in, it was, Coming from you, that's probably debatable

I chuckled again. I mean it though. Big brother energy for a reason

Hmm, was all she sent next.

I considered giving up then. I was pretty sure we'd elapsed the alloted texting time for the day, and I also didn't really know how I was supposed to respond. But I gave some thought to the last few days. Why did I keep up with this? Why did I entertain this? De had been on my mind almost nonstop since the first time I saw her, and other than the semblance of oneness that made us talk to each other that night, she'd largely ignored my existence up until now.

It was safe to run away from whatever this was, but I'd walk into Grace's Place again, and I'd lean in to catch her scent. I'd find her in lecture halls and in the student center, and the memory of her warm breath against my cheek would resurface. I'd go back to being miserable with all my what ifs. What if I was only still thinking about it because she hadn't let me kiss her? What if she had let me?

I tapped my thumbs against the sides of my phone, my brain on overdrive.

Then my screen lit up with yet another text from her.

Concerning your friend and his girl though, do you mind me asking?

I wasted no time responding.

I wouldn't have told you if I did

So what's up?

She just very casually brought up a guy she met that "excites" her more than he does. He thought she was trying to rile him up, so he played along. It got her pissed

It's obvious that she was only trying to tell him she doesn't feel as excited in the relationship as she used to, isn't it?

I looked towards the kitchen. Maisie's back was to me as she stood by the sink. Her movements were jerky and automatic, and when I looked closely, I noticed a slump in her shoulders that wasn't usually there.

Would you believe me if I said yes? I asked De.

Definitely not, she sent. Then: Women like it when their men magically know what they want at all times. We don't want to have to tell you guys

The why part should be addressed. Why not just come out and say it?

You really think your roommate is intelligent enough to take that kind of feedback without seeing it as a blow to his ego?

She had a fair point. Zeke was a deliberate idiot.

You don't just "come out and say it" to a guy who doesn't listen, she added. And as a guy, you can't demand honesty if you know nothing's gonna change after

So he's doomed yeah?

She sent a laughing emoji, and it was so shocking to receive that I was pushed back into the couch.

He's gotten too comfortable with her. Probably doesn't see the need to do all the nice stuff he used to at the beginning. Ladies don't like that

So he's not doomed?

Not 100%
He has time to make things right. But a timer definitely has been set

You seem so... expert. Is there a story there?

It's all just common knowledge, really. A bit of psychology too

But how do you know something works if you haven't experienced it?

Who says I haven't?

I hesitated for a moment, not sure about what exactly that meant. To quell my curiosity, I asked, And did he figure it out?

She read the text, but her response didn't come as quickly as the others. I wondered what she was doing. If she was staring at her screen, wondering how to respond, or if she'd gone back to her lecture after figuring it wasn't worth responding to. Did I cross a line?

"Hey, Syd," Maisie called from the kitchen. This time when I looked at her, her sadness was unmistakeable. "Do you mind taste testing the sauce for me?"

"What about me?" Zeke asked. The idiot.

"Of course not," I answered, quickly, so she wouldn't have to dwell on the fact that he spoke.

She took the wooden spoon out of the sizzling pan on the stove and made a point to taste test it first, and I willed myself out of the couch to meet her halfway.

"It's hot," she warned as she raised the spoon to my lips, and I blew on it for good measure, forgetting about my delicate esophagus for a moment.

When the sauce met my tongue, a surprising burst of flavor spread across my tastebuds. Rosemary and garlic and tomatoes and just enough salt-pepper balance. Maisie watched me, her gaze intent and anticipating—and maybe a little nervous.

"Wow, Maze," I said, leaning in for another taste. "This is actually really delicious. Have you been practicing?"

She beamed at me, and again, I wondered what was wrong with Zeke. "I've watched like a million cooking shows and drained tens of sauces—and dollars—down the drain. It's finally paying off?"

"Definitely. If you keep this up, Birch might never hear from me again." I flashed her a smile, and she regarded me with so much gratefulness, I could've done anything she asked.

"Thanks, Syd."

"Of course."

When I returned to the couch, Zeke leaned close and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Do I need to take you to the hospital?" I knew he meant it as a continuation of our running joke, but I really just wanted to grab him by his tomato-stained collar and demand he fixed the Keurig he broke.

Instead, I settled for, "Nah, it was actually really good."

"Really?"

I took my phone rather than respond to him, and was met with a response from De.

It's complicated. And before you ask, it still is

I don't know how long I stared at the text for, but I knew it was long enough for a ball of dread and something else to drop down my stomach. I wasn't sure what I was expecting after her admittedly explicit suggestion earlier, but I wished the delivery was . . . softer.

Her behavior made sense all of a sudden. The whole pull-push vibe she'd been giving for over a year. Of course she had a guy, regardless of how complicated things were between them. I didn't even know why I was surprised.

He should do better, I sent.

A few seconds later, her reply came.

I hope he does

She was holding onto hope. She wanted things to work out. She had a guy.

Even though the air suddenly felt too heavy to breathe, even though Maisie's sauce now had an aftertaste I wanted to wash out, I took her response as a sign. Maybe she was better off without this—whatever this was.

first, his keurig. now this. the things sydney has to go through for the plot.