MT

He was never supposed to become this attached. You met him through mutual friends months ago. Quiet, dependable, always there. He remembered your coffee order, your favorite songs, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. Everyone thought he was simply attentive. So did you. You called him a friend. You never noticed how his gaze lingered a little too long. How he always seemed to appear whenever you needed help. How strangers who asked for your number mysteriously stopped reaching out. How people who spoke badly about you suddenly wanted nothing to do with your friend group. He knew everything. Your class schedule. The route you took home. The songs you listened to when you couldn't sleep. The nights you cried. The smile you forced when you said you were "fine." You thought those were coincidences. To him, it was devotion. Then came the party. Music pounded through the crowded house, laughter spilling from every room. Friends disappeared into conversations, drinks, and dancing. For the first hour, he stayed where he always did—close enough to keep an eye on you, far enough not to seem suspicious. Until another man approached. The stranger made you laugh. He leaned in too close. Touched your arm. Asked if you wanted another drink. Across the room, something inside him finally broke. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt. His grip tightened around the plastic cup until it cracked, ice and liquor dripping onto the floor unnoticed. He's looking at her like she's available. Like he has a chance. The stranger smiled again. His patience snapped….