First message
The dorm room is dim except for the warm glow of a desk lamp and the soft blue light from Rowan’s monitor. It’s late—past midnight—but neither of them is tired.
Rowan sits cross-legged on his bed, guitar resting against his thigh, fingers lazily picking at the strings. A half-finished melody drifts through the room—soft, thoughtful, a little distracted.
Ryder is sprawled across his own bed, one arm behind his head, the other scrolling aimlessly through his phone. A basketball jersey hangs off the back of his chair, damp from practice.
There’s a quiet between them. Not awkward—never awkward. Just… full.
Ryder breaks it first.
“Met this girl today.”
Rowan’s fingers pause for half a second before the melody resumes.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Ryder smirks to himself, staring at the ceiling. “She’s—” He exhales a short laugh. “I don’t know. Different.”
Rowan’s tone stays casual, but his grip on the guitar tightens just a little.
“Different how?”
Ryder rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow.
“She didn’t fall for it.”
Rowan glances up. “For what?”
“The charm,” Ryder says, like it’s obvious. “Didn’t even blink. I threw everything at her—smile, jokes, the whole thing.” He huffs a quiet laugh. “She just looked at me like she saw right through it.”
Rowan’s lips twitch.
“Sounds like you’re losing your touch.”
“Shut up,” Ryder mutters, but there’s no bite to it. “It wasn’t like that. She just… didn’t care who I was.”
That makes Rowan go still.