The Race Hasn't Begun and I'm Losing
October 16th, 2017, Frankfurt, Germany, Vanguard University
The sharp October air nipped gently at Tao’s fur as he crossed the quad, paws snuggled in the pockets of his hoodie. His breath came out in little clouds, wisps that vanished as quickly as they formed.
Leaves crunched under his foot, brilliant reds and golds carpeting the path like spilled paint. A rare bit of sun peeked through the clouds, catching in the tufts of the silver ends at his cheeks.
Ilhan was already waiting by the fountain, balancing on the stone ledge with one foot, the other kicking rhythmically at the air like he was listening to music only he could hear. His bright red scarf was crooked again.
Tao smiled without meaning to. “Morning,” he said, his voice quiet but fond.
Ilhan looked up like he hadn’t noticed Tao approaching. “Hey! Sorry, I was just thinking about… nothing.” He hopped down from the ledge, shouldering his bag. “You sleep okay?”
Tao needed. “Better than you probably did.” He motioned to the faint smudge of exhaustion under Ilhan’s eyes.
Ilhan rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “You caught me. I was rewatching that anime about the smart, manipulative high schoolers. Got so hooked again.”
“Youi need more self-control, assuming you got any” Tao deadpanned, though the corners of his mouth twitched.
“Or you need to be worse at recommending things.” Ilhan bumped his shoulder into Tao’s as they started walking toward the main hall. “Anyway, you’re stuck with a sleepy red panda today. Prepare to carry the team in class.”
Tao gave a soft, amused exhale, breath fogging in front of him.
They moved through the familiar path, surrounded by the low chatter of students and the rustle of wind through leaves. Their steps fell into rhythm without effort. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them, like it always did.
“Hey Tao.” And that’s where it all stopped.
The voice came smooth, clear, and unexpectedly casual.
Both Tao and Ilhan turned in sync to see Rein walking past from the opposite direction, his pale fur catching the light in flashes beneath his dark hoodie. His paws were tucked into his coat pockets, tail low and swaying lazily behind him. He didn’t break stride, just looked directly at Tao, chin tilted in a greeting so natural it was almost offhand.
Tao blinked. “Uh. Hi. Why didn’t he greet Ilhan?”
Rein soon disappeared into the crowd.
Ilhan watched Tao from the side, his easy smile dimming by a degree. “Anyway,” he said, tone light, “Should we grab seats by the window again? I need sun to survive interspecies class.”
Tao nodded, his mind somewhere else. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
They walked on the air between them, still comfortable.
But it was ever so slightly thinner than it had been.
It started small.
A few days after that morning, Rein showed up beside Tao after class. Just like that, without warning or fanfare.
Tao had been gathering his things, notebook half-zipped into his bag, when a soft voice interrupted him.
“You take really neat notes.”
Tao looked up. Rein stood by the desk, one paw stuffed in his pocket, the other holding his own notebook, half-filled, slightly dog-eared, and marked with messy, scrawled handwriting.
His pale fur looked brighter in the harsh fluorescent light of the lecture hall, like he didn’t quite belong in the space around him.
Tao blinked, noncommittal. “Thanks?”
“I suck at keeping up in class. My brain’s always two blocks ahead of the conversation or parked three streets behind it.” He tapped his temple with a self-deprecating smile. “Think I could borrow yours sometime? I’d pay you back with a tree or something.”
Tao hesitated, politeness clicked in before suspicion. “...Sure. I guess that’s fine.”
Rein’s tail flicked lightly. “Cool. I’ll owe you.”
That was all. Just a quick ask, and then he left with a nod, slipping through the crowd of students like a shadow. But after that, his presence was more and more frequent.
In ways that were hard to explain or even notice until you looked back and realized he hadn’t really been there before.
He’d show up beside Tao at the vending machine. Ask if Tao had seen the upcoming art exhibit flyer. Drop little comments during lectures when the professor mentioned something abstract or philosophical, the kind of remarks that made Tao tilt his head in reluctant curiosity.
And he always greeted him by name. Just “Tao” is soft, steady, and direct. Like if they were already familiar.
The first time it didn’t feel coincidental was on an unexpected Thursday afternoon.
Tao was tucked into a corner of the library, sketching in the margins of his sociology notes, a habit he barely realized he did. A curled leaf, a sleepy cat, a tangled tree branch that somehow resembled Ilhan’s messy bedhead. His headphones hung around his neck, unconnected, more decoration than function.
“Didn’t see you as the window seat type.”
Tao looked up. Rein stood a few paces away, head tilted like he was studying Tao’s sketchbook, not his face.
Tao blinked, unsure how to respond. “It’s quieter here.”
“Quietest spot on the quietest room of the quietest floor?’ Rein asked, gesturing around the nearly empty section.
Tao shrugged. “Less fake coughing.”
That earned a grin from Rein.
He pulled out a chair without asking and sat sideways, legs folded beneath him, half-facing Tao with a practiced kind of casualness.
They didn’t talk much that time. But Rein didn’t leave either. He didn’t ask to see Tao’s sketches or comment further. He just took out his notebook and wrote in silence, like he belonged there.
The next day, Tao found a folded sticky note in his textbook, his own, but written in someone else’s handwriting.
“You draw cats better than I. Consider this a formal rivalry.”
Another time, Tao was waiting for his chai in the Eichelcafe, headphones on, zoning out to instrumental piano, when he felt a tap on his shoulder from behind.
Rein again. An earbud in one of his ears.
“What are you listening to?” He asked without preamble.
Tao hesitated, holding up his phone’s screen.
Rein leaned in slightly, nodding. “Classical… You always this dramatic when waiting?”
Tao didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s calming, for me, I think.”
“Same. Noise calms me down, too.” Rein paused, thoughtful. “But mine’s usually messier. Post-rock dissonant stuff. Still counts.”
He didn’t spend much time right next to Tao, but he stood just a few feet away, back pressed to a wall, eyes flicking between Tao and the reflection of the window.
By the following Monday, he’d found his way to Tao’s studio class.
Tao wasn’t even sure what Rein’s major was, math, maybe? Philosophy even? Judging from his remarks in the middle of class. But suddenly there he was in the open art lab during elective hours.
Asking the professor something vague about “Visual semiotics in memory encoding.” Tao tried to tune him out.
But twenty minutes later, Rein reappeared beside his station with a warm paper cup.
“I owed you, remember?” He said, holding out the coffee. “Don’t worry, I asked Ilhan which tea you liked the most.”
Tao stared at the cup for a moment before taking it. “Th-Thanks… That’s actually… Kinda thoughtful of you.”
Rein didn’t linger long. He just nodded once, like it was nothing, and disappeared into the other side of the room, watching the sculptures and talking to no one.
The strangeness of it was that Tao never invited him. Not once.
But Rein started sitting with him more often, in the cafeteria during slow hours, on the steps of the campus garden, even once outside a class Tao wasn’t sure Rein enrolled in.
Tao didn’t feel drawn in, not exactly.
But he also didn’t push him away. Because Rein never asked for anything, he just offered presence. Mild, careful, oddly tuned to Tao’s rhythm in a way most people weren’t
And when he spoke, it was always something Tao had to think about. Something tilted.
It was a cold, crisp afternoon when Tao found the rooftop unexpectedly empty.
He’d come here before, not often, just enough to know it was usually too windy to stay long. But the quiet today was different. It was clean and bracing, the kind that made you feel like your lungs had more room than your chest.
He sat on the edge of a low planter box, sketchbook resting on one knee, pencil loose in his paw. The horizon was smeared in soft clouds and dry gold light, the city blinking in patches below.
He’d barely gotten past the curve of a balcony in his drawing when the usual shadow passed behind him.
“I was here first,” Tao said instinctively, not looking up.
“I didn’t say anything,” came Rein’s voice, amused.
Tao turned, the while wolf stood a few meters away, hands tucked into the pockets of a charcoal coat. His ears were turned outward, intently listening.
“How long were you there?” Tao asked, brows lifting slightly.
“Long enough to watch you erase the same line three times.”
Tao scowled faintly and flipped the page. “You stalking me or something?”
“Wouldn’t that be too obvious?” Rein replied, tone neutral enough to pass as joking, or not. He walked over, then paused. “Mind if I sit?”
Tao gestured to the low wall beside him. “It’s a roof. Not mine.”
Rein sat without a word. A long minute passed. The wind tugged softly at their fur. Below, a siren wailed distantly, swallowed by the large open sky.
“...You always this quiet?” Tao asked.
Rein huffed a short breath, like a laugh barely made it out. “Am I really that noisy that you expect me to talk a lot?”
“You’re not what I expected.”
“What was it that you were expecting?” Rein tilted his head, eyes narrowed slightly.
Tao considered. “Someone more… intense. Or fake.”
Rein smiled, faintly, not the smug kind. The tired kind.
“That’s what people usually assume,” he said. “But intensity is loud. And loud doesn’t mean you’re being heard.”
Tao glanced over, pencil paused. That answer had weight. It wasn’t rehearsed ot clever, just the bare truth.
“You say a lot of weird stuff,” Tao muttered.
“Guilty.”
“But… you’re not boring.”
Rein’s eyes flicked toward him, the pale green catching a silver of sunlight. He said nothing at first, just leaned back on his palms and looked up at the clouds.
“I think we’re all boring until someone bothers to notice what isn’t,” he said. “You, for example, you pretend like you’re invisible, like if you didn’t exist, but you hum when you draw.”
Tao stiffened. “No, I don’t.”
“Then I must be crazy. Cause it’s too loud at times.”
Tao scoffed through his nose, but didn’t argue further. He looked out over the rail, sketchbook forgotten in his lap.
They sat in quiet again. This time, it wasn’t awkward.
“...You’re weird,” Tao said.
‘And you kept talking to me anyway.”
“Didn’t say I minded.”
Rein let out a quiet chuckle. “Guess that’s progress.”
Tao didn’t smile, but the corner of his eye crinkled.
Maybe Rein was still a little strange. Maybe Tao didn’t trust him yet. But for the first time, he thought:
I wouldn’t mind if he sat here again.
The Eichelcafe buzzed with weekend laziness. Students loitered longer than usual, drinks half-finished, trays left unbussed. The soft clatter of forks and trays blended with muffled conversations and a faint pop song from someone’s phone speaker.
Tao and Ilhan had claimed their usual corner table by the window, a quiet little spot that caught the amber glow of the setting sun.
Tao had a mountain of fries, and Ilhan was slowly peeling the plastic off an onigiri Tao had made for him.
“I ran into Rein again yesterday,” Tai said casually, not looking up.
Ilhan blinked. “Rein?” he echoed, before he could stop himself.
“Yeah, you know. The white wolf guy. Shows up at weird times. Asks me about lectures and stuff.”
“Oh, right.” Ilhan’s grip on the plastic tightened imperceptibly. Really, that guy again?
“He’s kind of strange,” Tao went on, chewing absently. “But not in a bad way. Like… He says weird stuff, but it’s interesting? And I think he’s smart. Just not in a normal way.”
Ilhan forced a laugh. “Weird and smart, huh? Sounds like a great combo if you’re into sociopaths.”
Tao gave him a blank look. “What?”
“Nothing! Just, just saying. You talk about him a lot lately.”
Tao blinked. “Really, Do I?”
“Kind of.” Ilhan took a bite out of the onigiri, chewing a little too aggressively.
Tao, oblivious, tapped the table absently with his paw. “He asked me if I wanted to check out the art exhibit next week. I told him I might go if I’m not too busy.”
Ilhan froze mid-bite. Art exhibit?
“You’re going to that… with him?” He asked, voice too casual to be real.
“No?” Tao tilted his head. “I didn’t say yes. It’s just something he mentioned. I mean, I might go. I like art after all.”
Ilhan nodded, smiled, and nodded again. Sure. Tao liked art. Of course he does. And Rein seems to just love Tao so much. And Rein is smart. And strange. And clearly just not me. Obviously.
“Oh, and get this, he remembered the artist I mentioned last week. Like, randomly. Even I forgot I said anything about that. Who does that?”
I do. I know you love Miguel Hernandez, XcFal, and Drovin13. But apparently so do people who pay more attention to you than I do. God, is he flirting with you? Is that flirting? Or is that what smart, observant people do?
“That’s cool,” Ilhan said aloud, tone smooth but eyes slightly glazed. “He’s just, uh… really attentive, I guess.”
“I guess.” Tao shrugged. “Honestly, he’s still a bit much sometimes. But I don’t mind talking to him. It’s kinda nice.”
The words hit Ilhan right in the chest, not like needles, but like sharp knives, right into the center of his heart.
Nice? He’s nice? Nicer than me? Am I not nice? Have I been doing everything wrong? Ugh, I’m just a mess.
Ilhan laughed again, a little higher this time. “Nice! Yeah. Sounds nice. You’ve got a new buddy, huh?”
Tao frowned faintly. “He’s not really a buddy. Just… Rein. He’s there, y’know?”
Too there. He’s like mold.
But he smiled.
“Anyway,” Ilhan said, waving it off like it didn’t matter, “Are you going to finish the fries by yourself or are you saving up some for Rein?”
Tao rolled his eyes. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m always weird.” Ilhan grinned too widely, too brightly. “It’s my whole brand, remember?” Maybe if I’m weird like him, you’ll stop thinking about him and focus on me.
Tao hummed, chewing on some more fries with slightly more focus now.
Ilhan kept smiling, kept joking. But inside, he could feel something quietly twisted. It wasn’t rage yet. Just a small, sharp ache. That dangerous little voice whispering: He likes talking to someone who’s not you. What if it’s better? You’re never enough.
Ilhan sat cross-legged on his bed, his back slouched against the wall, the only light in the room coming from the screen of his phone and the faint glow of his desk lamp.
The campus was quiet tonight, or maybe it wasn’t, and he’d just tuned everything out.
His hoodie was pulled halfway over his head, ear flicking in irritation as he scrolled up and down his message thread with Tao. Just a few scattered messages about food, anime, a meme or two. Nothing deep like the conversations Tao has with Rein. Nothing flirty like how Rein acts around Tao. Just Tao being Tao.
And yet… Ilhan opened his sister’s chat and stared at the blank typing field. His fingers hovered.
Ilhan: You awake?
The read receipt hit almost instantly.
Adina: Always. What’s up, fluffball?
He hesitated only for a second before his thumbs launched into a blur, like someone had cut the cord on everything he’d been bottling.
Ilhan:
okay so i know this is going to sound so stupid and pathetic and it probably is but im going to say it anyway so please dont laugh or judge or whatever just listen
theres this guy. at uni. i really like him. like REALLY like him. he’s sweet and awkward and kind of a mess but in this honest soft way and when im around him everything just feels good and warm.
i feel safe around him and ive never felt like that with anyone else before and i was doing okay just keeping it chill, right? like, whatever just a slow burn friendship first thing no pressure just pure vibes BUT NOW
this other guy. this random white wolf guy with scary eyes and weird energy and serious “i read philosophy at 2am and make it your problem” vibes keeps SHOWING UP. he keeps TALKING to Tao (the guy i like, his name is Tao) and Tao??? is okay with it??? like he talks back and they talk about ART and BOOKS and Tao says hes “interesting” and “smart in a weird way” and i just. im losing it Adina. im not even IN the race and i feel like ive already lost. he remembers everything Tao says. he gets his own nickname. hes a presence. im just the dumb red panda who sends memes and cant sleep cause hes to focused watching his stupid meaningless shows and wont stop thinking about sports and wants to hold his paw but never will and i feel so small and stupid and jealous and gross and i hate it SO MUCH
i dont want to ruin our friendship but i feel like im cracking and i dont know what to do
He hit send before he could second-guess himself.
Then he dropped the phone on his blanket, heart hammering, tail twitching uncontrollably at his side.
The screen lit up almost immediately..
Adina: First of all, just breathe. Second of all, you are NOT stupid. Or dumb. Or gross. You’re just in love, idiot.
Another ping.
Adina: And yeah, Jealousy really is a monster. But it doesn’t make you a bad person. It shows how much you deeply care for him. Maybe you do a little too much, and it’s kinda creepy. But that’s not a crime, being head over heels for someone is normal.
Another.
Adina: Also, this wolf guy? He’s not you. You’re you. And Tao clearly likes being around you. He knows you make his world softer.
Ilhan read the messages, all of them, then pulled his hoodie up tighter, as if trying to hide from the ache in his chest.
Ilhan: It hurts. What if I’m not enough?
There was a longer pause this time before Adina replied.
Adina: Then you keep showing up. You don’t have to be flashy or mysterious. You just have to be… y’know, Ilhan. You’re clearly his safe place. Even Rein can’t compete with that.
Ilhan stared at those words for a long time.
Then he slowly typed.
Ilhan: I hope you’re right.
The art lounge smelled faintly of charcoal dust and linseed oil, the air calm and cool under the amber glow of afternoon sun pouring through tall windows. Tao sat hunched over the wide table near the back, sketchbook cracked open beside a half-built model for his midterm project, a multi-perspective installation based loose on urban disconnection.
His paw hovered over a graphite pencil, caught between strokes, lost in some half-formed thought. A rustle behind him made one ear flick.
“Forgot to return this.”
Tao looked up. Rein was standing there again, effortless as always. He held out a slim, faded art theory book, the kind of thing you’d find buried at the bottom of the campus library’s older section.
Tao blinked. “Will you ever not give me a heart attack the moment you approach me? Also, how’d you know I was here?”
Rein tilted his head. “I didn’t. I just kinda guessed. You’re always near the windows when it’s sunny, and you’re kinda always here.”
Tao hesitated before accepting the book. “Thanks.”
Instead of leaving, Rein wandered around to the far side of the table and sat down. “Mind if I stay a bit?”
Tao shrugged, “It’s not my lounge.”
Rein’s eyes scanned the model curiously. “You’re working on ‘Fracture,’ right? The whole ‘modern alienation’ angle.”
Tao stilled. “How do you-?”
“You mentioned it once. Plus…” Rein leaned in, resting his chin on one paw, “...you built in asymmetry on purpose. That one wall’s proportion is off by the golden ratio. It’s deliberate.”
That caught Tao off guard. He narrowed his eyes. “You know the golden ratio?”
Reign gave a faint smile. “I read sometimes. Especially when I can’t sleep.”
There was a quiet moment between them, broken only by the scratch of Tao’s pencil restarting its work. Rein’s voice returned, softer now.
“Isolation that doesn’t look like isolation is still isolation. Pretty facades just hide the cracks. Your model gets that.”
Tao paused mid-line, the graphite dragging a little too long.
Something in his chest shifted.
He didn’t look up. “That’s… a surprisingly decent read.”
“Surprisingly?” Rein echoed, amused.
“You don’t exactly come off as the type who reads art criticism for fun.”
“I’m full of surprises,” Rein murmured. “Most people don’t look close enough to notice.”
Tao did look up then. Rein’s smile wasn’t smug. It was… faintly sad. Like someone who kept trying to make eye contact in a mirror but never quite succeeded.
Something about it softened Tao, just a little.
Across the lounge, Ilhan leaned against the doorway, the book he’d come to return clutched tightly in his paw, suddenly forgotten.
He hadn’t meant to spy; he’d been walking by, saw Tao, and just…paused. Long enough to see Rein appear. Long enough to see him sit down. Stay.
He watched as Tao smiled, just slightly, at something Rein said.
The pit opened in his stomach, sour and cold and sharp all at once.
He told himself to look away. He didn’t.
Ilhan wasn’t used to feeling in second place. Not with Tao and not like this.
He wasn’t even sure if Rein was trying to do anything. Maybe that made it worse, maybe this was just how Tao was with people who “got” him. Who spoke the same quiet, complicated language of sketches and shadows and books older than either of them.
Ilhan’s paw tightened around the book until it bent.
He told himself he was overreacting. That Tao could talk to whoever he wanted, they weren’t committed to each other after all, just mere friends in a casual friendship. That everything they’d ever done together was nothing, just meaningless hangouts.
A voice in his head, cruel and honest, whispered:
He didn’t smile at you like that. He never did.
The door clicked shut behind him with a soft finality. Rein leaned his back against it, head tilting toward the ceiling as if gravity were heavier tonight, but he wasn’t tired.
Far from that. He was glowing.
His breath came slowly, deliberately. Controlled. Like someone savoring the taste of a rare, delicious fruit.
He replayed it, not just the conversation, but every twitch of Tao’s ear, every time those gentle, observant eyes lingered on him a fraction longer than necessary. The slight pause when Rein mentioned isolation. The minute shift in body language when he quoted art theory. And that smile.
It wasn’t wide. Not warm like how Tao smiled at others.
But it was his. He moves through the room like a man rehearsing a memory, steps light, fingers brushing the spine of a philosophy book lying forgotten on his desk.
He had talked to Tao, not just spoken, but connected. Made him laugh, made him pause, made him curious. And Ilhan… that red panda idiot had witnessed it.
Rein grinned, all teeth. Good.
Let him stew. Let him question. Let him burn.
Ilhan was too loud and impulsive; his affections were too obvious. Tao wasn’t made for that kinda of affection, he’d shrink under it, like a delicate plant under a floodlight.
But Rein? He saw the way Tao’s thoughts twisted. He knew how silence could be a conversation in its own right. Knowing how to enter someone’s orbit without ever stepping on their toes, at first.
It was all about patience and precision. Tao didn’t even know he was being drawn in, but he was already closer.
Rein could feel it. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, his gaze distant, pulsing with controlled glee.
“I’m in,” he murmured to no one. “And he’s beginning to let me stay.”
There was no empathy in his joy, only possession. The kind a collector feels when acquiring a rare, unblemished piece.
Tao was still far, yes. But Rein didn’t mind.
He could already imagine it, Tao next to him, voice low, expression relaxed. Not because he was tricked, but because Rein would earn that softness.
And Ilhan? Ilhan would be left on the other side of the glass.
Exactly where he belonged.
In a bench near the west quad at the university, the sky was a soft, smudged gray, like someone had wiped the color out with their sleeve. Tao liked days like this, just quiet and dull. The kind of weather that made the world feel like it was under a blanket. He sat on the usual bench near the edge of the quad, sketchbook open in his lap, half-finished ink lines curling across the page.
Ilhan plopped down beside him a few minutes late, hoodie slightly wrinkled, tail twitching erratically.
“Hey,” he said, voice light. He didn’t even look over.
Tao blinked, then glanced down at his page. “Hey. You okay?”
Ilhan’s paw waved vaguely. “Yeah. Just tired.”
But Tao noticed things. The way Ilhan’s usual bounce was missing, how he didn’t lean over to peek at his sketchbook like he always did. There was no teasing or accidental shoulder bumps. Just Ilhan hunched slightly forward, scrolling his phone with restless thumbs.
Tao watched him from the corner of his eye. His heart did that odd little pull, like a thread catching on something.
They sat like that for a while, the silence more awkward than companionable. Tao couldn’t focus on his drawing. He kept glancing sideways, waiting for Ilhan to say something, anything/
“...Did something happen?” he asked, soft and careful.
Ilhan didn’t meet his eyes. “Nah. Just… y’know, university is getting hard. Midterms are approaching, and my brain is just fried.”
It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the truth either. Tao could feel it, something else beneath the surface, something as sharp as a knife.
“Oh,” Tao said. His voice felt smaller than he meant it to.
Another long pause. Ilhan suddenly stood, adjusting the strap of his bag like it were a reflex.
“Sorry. I think I’m gonna head back. Got some reading to do for tomorrow.”
Tao looked up, startled. “Already?”
“Yeah, just one of those days.” Ilhan forced a quick smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Catch you later?”
Tao nodded slowly. “Sure. See you.”
And then Ilhan was gone, just like that, his figure retreating into the gray. Not a wave. Not even a glance back
Tao sat there for a long time after, sketchbook open, pencil resting idle against his fingers.
The wind picked up, stirring the leaves at his feet. He didn’t draw, and neither did he move.
He just sat there, watching the space Ilhan had left behind.
And for the first time in a while, Tao felt alone.
Ilhan shut the door with a quiet click and didn’t bother turning on the lights. The gray wash of twilight through the blinds was enough. It painted the room in muted shades, his hoodie draped on the chair, his bed a messy sprawl of kicked blankets.
He dropped his bag like it weighed more than it did and collapsed backward onto the bed, the springs giving a tired groan. His head hit the pillow, and he stared at the ceiling, heart heavy in a way he couldn’t name out loud.
He felt like a balloon leaking air. The kind that doesn’t pop, just hisses quietly until it’s nothing.
Reaching blindly, he fumbled for his phone and unlocked it, without thinking, muscle memory pulled him straight to his messages with Tao.
The thread was long. A month’s worth of it.
Little jokes, inside references, links to weird memes and artsy videos, late-night rants, random “you up?”s that turned into two-hour conversations.
He scrolled and scrolled, each line a little dagger. He paused at one from two weeks ago.
Tao: You make everything feel less lonely, you know that?
Ilhan’s breath hitched, and he kept scrolling. To the photos Tao sent after their last session, the sleepy selfies, the voice notes that made him grin at 1 am.
He wanted to stop. But he didn’t.
His eyes burned.
And then it came, the sudden, intense urge to say something.
Ilhan hovered his thumbs rapidly across the keyboard.
Ilhan (unsent): I like you so much it hurts. It actually hurts. I think about you constantly. And I know I’m just your friend. I know. But God, Tao, you’re everything in my head. And now there’s this guy, Rein or whatever, and he’s always there now, near you, talking to you, making you laugh. And I know it’s selfish. I know. But I want to be the one doing that. I want to be the only one. And I hate that I feel like this because you’re allowed to talk to whoever you want, but it’s killing me, Tao. It’s actually killing me.
Ilhan stared at it. Then pressed Select All. Then Delete.
His thumb still hovered over the keyboard. Like he was going to write something else. But he didn’t
Instead, he curled onto his side, phone pressed to his chest. His breath was shaky. And he squeezed his eyes shut.
The tears came slowly at first. Then faster. Then all at once.
He buried his face in the pillow, trying to stay quiet even though he was alone. His whole body shook, not from pain exactly, but from helplessness. From being full of everything he couldn’t say.
From the image in his head of Tao smiling at Rein.
And not at him.
His pillow was damp, and his throat ached from the way it clenched with each silent sob, like his body was trying to swallow a grief it didn’t know how to name.
The heartbreak wasn’t the loud kind, but a quiet one. The kind that steps into your bones and carves out space inside you as it fills with nothingness.
He gripped the edge of the blanket as if it could anchor him, like he’d float away otherwise. His chest hurt, not metaphorically, but physically, like something heavy had sat on it for too long. His heart pounded fast in fear.
Why am I never enough? Why can’t I be the one who makes Tao smile like that?
It wasn’t just jealousy anymore; it was fear.
Fear that someone smarter, smoother, more mysterious, someone like Rein, would be everything Tao needed.
And he wouldn’t even be a footnote.
Ilhan curled tighter, shoulders shaking. He wiped at his face with his sleeve, but it didn’t help. His vision stayed blurry.
He hated this, he hated how much he cared. He hated how deeply Tao had burrowed into his world, how tangled up his days had become in just one person’s presence. The laugh and eyes of one person.
One person who didn’t know much power they had over him.
“I’m so stupid,” He whispered into the dark.
And maybe the worst part was that he didn’t even want to stop liking Tao.
He just wanted Tao to like him back, the way he did.
The way he ached for it.
He stayed like that until his body ran out of tears, until his eyes stung and his limbs felt heavy. He was hollow by the time sleep had taken him, not peacefully, but as if he was being drowned under slow, inescapable waves.
And in the morning, the pillow would still be wet, and Tao’s name would still be the last thing he thought of before slipping under.