Onyx's POV
The city outside was humid and glowing, neon lights reflecting against wet pavement. Now I was in the passenger seat of Howard's car, the seatbelt pressed diagonally across my chest like a quiet reminder to stay still.
I stared at the window.
Streetlights streaked past in blurred gold lines. My reflection hovered faintly on the glass—expression unreadable, or maybe just tired.
"Onyx?" Howard said.
"Yes?"
"We're only a year apart, right? I already saw you before when we were still studying at Harrington University. You were that guy who sat alone with a laptop all the time. Am I right?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said. "That's me. Or maybe someone else. I'm not sure."
He hummed. "I see. To tell you the truth, Jace actually noticed you even before. Specifically when you were still a freshman."
I turned to him. "Really?"
"He said he saw you the first time that caught his attention," Howard said, a smirk tugging at his lips as a quiet chuckle slipped out. "You were correcting a professor calmly... about a lecture."
I didn't respond, and looked at Howard this time and blinked.
"Not only that," Howard continued, glancing at me briefly before returning his focus to the road, "he's seen you teaching your classmates too—sometimes even the students older than you."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"You always looked so serious about it, like you were trying to keep everything as professional as possible." He paused for a moment. "He didn't know your name back then, so he just called you 'Boss.' Said you acted like one."
I leaned back slowly into the seat.
The engine hummed beneath us, steady and low. The air-conditioning whispered through the quiet, brushing cool air against my face like it was trying to calm something it didn't understand.
My fingers tightened slightly against my thigh before I forced them to relax.
So... he had already noticed me before and had been calling me "Boss". And I didn't even know.
Then suddenly, the car speakers lit up with an incoming call.
Howard glanced at the dashboard. "Speaking of the devil himself," he said lightly. "It's Jace. I'll answer."
He tapped a button on the steering wheel.
"Yeah," Howard said. "We're on the way to his house. What about you? Still at billiards spot?"
I kept my eyes on the window.
One-sided conversations are cruel things. They leave too much room for imagination.
Howard laughed. "Don't drink too much, or I'll have to pick you up too. And I have no intention of fighting those buff guys there."
A pause.
"No, Sam was messing with you. Boss didn't drink at all," he said.
Howard tapped my shoulder gently and gestured toward the speakers.
And then—
I heard Jace's voice.
Clear.
Low.
Controlled.
"Good," Jace said. "I thought you let him drink when I specifically told everyone not to. Just make sure to bring him home safely. His father will be damn worried."
I felt something inside my chest loosen without permission.
Then his tone shifted—quieter, heavier.
"Sorry to bother you, Howard. I didn't want to talk to Boss right now. I don't think there's any use," he said. "I mean, why would you force yourself if you're not chosen?"
I swallowed.
Not chosen.
Howard cleared his throat. "I don't know what's going on, Jace. We asked him, but he said he wanted to talk to you privately. Maybe you're thinking too much. Or maybe you misunderstood something."
Silence.
Then—
"You're right," Jace said. "I might have misunderstood. But at least I know where I stand now. I shouldn't have pushed myself."
Each word was calm.
Too calm.
"I'm better off just being a project partner. The semester's over in less than a few months anyway. He can have his normal life back."
Project partner? Normal life back?
That was all?
I don't think I can get my normal life back anymore.
"Anyway," Jace continued, "let me know when you drop him off. Thanks again, Howard. I won't message him anymore."
The call ended.
The car suddenly felt smaller.
"So..." Howard said.
"Hm?"
"What are you going to do, Onyx?"
"I don't know," I replied, my eyes still fixed on the dark road ahead. "For someone who's always obsessed with schedules and plans... I don't seem to have one right now."
"With Jace, you don't need it," Howard said.
I looked at him.
He kept his eyes on the road.
"I've known Jace since grade school," Howard said, his voice steady, almost reflective. "So I understand how his mind works."
He glanced at me briefly before continuing.
"He's unpredictable by nature. If you try to plan around him, everything just unravels." A small pause followed. "So maybe... don't. Just this once."
His tone softened slightly.
"Be unpredictable too—and see where it takes you."
"Be... unpredictable?" I repeated.
"Yeah. Planning doesn't guarantee anything. Even the best plans fall apart. Just do something unexpected." He paused. "Not something bad, though."
Despite everything, a small breath escaped me that almost sounded like a laugh.
"I understand," I said quietly. "Thank you, Howard."
"Don't mention it," he replied quietly. "It's been two years since I've seen him smile genuinely again." His gaze stayed on the road, but his voice lowered slightly. "Not since his mom died... and everything that followed."
A pause.
"I think you're the reason."
My throat tightened.
"I don't want him to lose that smile again."
"You care about him," I said.
"I do," he answered, offering a subtle smile. "And sometimes caring means doing something just to see someone happy—even if it's not for you. As long as they smile, that's enough."
I nodded slowly.
"I appreciate you driving me home," I said. "Even though we're not really long time friends."
He didn't respond. He just chuckled softly as the car slowed.
"We're here," he said.
I blinked.
We were already outside my house.
Time had moved while I wasn't looking.
"Thank you again, Howard," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. "It was nice talking to you. Drive safely."
"Sure," he replied.
Before I could step out, he added quietly—
"You're lucky. I wish I were you."
I paused. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing," he said lightly. "Go on. I'll tell Jace you're home so he won't worry."
"I'll message him anyway," I said.
I stepped out of the car.
The night air hit my face—cool, grounding.
The house lights were still on. Pa must have been worried.
And for the first time that night, I realized something—If I let him walk away now, he actually would.
* * *
Right now, I was lying on my bed.
Alone.
Which was absurd, considering this room had been mine long before Jace ever started occupying it like a temporary tenant with permanent habits. He had only stayed here for a short time. Objectively speaking, nothing significant had changed.
And yet—
Everything felt different.
The ceiling looked the same. The faint hum of the air-conditioning was the same. The desk lamp still cast that dull yellow glow over my study table.
But the silence.
The silence was wrong.
It was not the clean, efficient quiet I used to prefer—the kind that sharpened focus and aligned thoughts like perfectly formatted code.
This was a hollow quiet.
The kind that made you aware of what was missing.
I shifted slightly on the mattress. It felt too wide now. Too undisturbed. No one was sprawled diagonally across it like he owned half of my property rights. No one was complaining about the A.C. temperature. No one was breathing too loudly just to get my attention.
I picked up my phone.
I stared at his name for a few seconds.
Then I typed.
Me:
Hey, you still want to go to the Planetary Museum tomorrow? I'm free.
Sent: 11:39 p.m.
The message delivered.
I waited.
One minute.
Two.
Three.
Nothing.
No typing indicator.
No read receipt.
No reply.
I stared at the screen until my own reflection looked back at me—impatient, defensive.
"This is pointless," I muttered to myself. "He won't talk."
The room didn't argue.
It just stayed quiet.
But there was still one place where I could say something without being interrupted. Without someone cutting me off mid-sentence.
I sat up abruptly.
If I couldn't speak to him—
I could at least speak somewhere.
I walked to my study desk, opened my laptop, and let the familiar glow of the screen illuminate my face. My fingers hovered above the keyboard for a second.
Then I started typing.
* * *
Mr. Loner (@certifiedloner):
My friend and I are not on good terms right now because of a misunderstanding. I am writing this here because I do not know how to say it directly, and I do not know where to begin, so I will begin with facts.
Tonight, I went somewhere I normally would not go, and I almost did something I normally would not do. Then I overheard that he told someone else he is better off remaining just my academic partner. That was not said to me. I heard it by accident, which is an experience I do not recommend. It feels like standing outside your own house and hearing someone say they are preparing to move out—before you even realized you wanted to come inside.
I used to believe I was good at distance. I operate under the assumption that people are temporary. Semesters end, projects end, people leave. Because of that, I structure things. I schedule things. I optimize outcomes. Efficiency prevents chaos. That system has worked for me for a long time. But tonight, when I went home, my room felt wrong. It was quiet, but not the productive kind of quiet I prefer and not the peaceful kind I used to thrive in. It felt like something had been removed. And I did not like that feeling. I do not like not liking something. That sentence makes sense to me.
He said he knows where he stands. He said he should not have pushed himself. He said he won't be staying at my house. For the first time in a long while, I did not feel relieved by that. I felt unstable. I thought that once he was not beside me, I would regain focus, but instead I kept checking my phone. I kept replaying conversations. I kept remembering small, ridiculous details. Which is inefficient. And yet I am still doing it.
The way he complains about the air-conditioning. The way he occupies half of my bed like it legally belongs to him. The way he places his hand near mine and pretends it is accidental. The way he becomes dramatic when I do not prioritize him. The way we eat breakfast and dinner together. I used to classify those things as distractions. Minor inconveniences. Variables. Now I am questioning whether they were attachments. I have always believed that certainty should come before action, that decisions should be calculated and supported by evidence. But what if the need for certainty is just another form of fear? He stopped reaching. I told myself that restored order. It did not. It made everything colder.
Here is the problem. If he leaves completely—if he actually decides to remain "just" a project partner—my routine will repair itself. My schedule will be clean again. My priorities will align. Everything will return to an efficient state. And yet the idea of that happening feels worse than chaos, worse than unpredictability, worse than the risk of embarrassment. Now, I do not want him to become just a project partner. I do not want him to move out of my room. I do not want him to stop calling me that "name" I have already grown used to. I do not want him to stop reaching.
I thought I was simply annoyed, then confused, then overthinking. But tonight, when I heard him say he knows where he stands, I panicked. Not logically. Physically. My chest tightened. My hands shook. And I realized something I do not have a formula for. I do not want to lose him. Not as a study partner, not as a roommate, not as a temporary person categorized for convenience. I do not want to lose him in any capacity. I do not know what that means exactly, but I am starting to think it means something I have been deliberately avoiding naming.
I once said I do not operate on emotional impulses. That may have been inaccurate, because right now I am fighting the urge to go wherever he is and tell him not to step back. I still do not understand all of this. I do not know if I am ready for it. I do not know if it makes sense. But I think I am no longer just processing. I think I crossed something. And I do not think I want to cross back.
I am afraid I might already be in love with my friend. No. Let me rephrase that. I know I am already in love with him. And that frightens me, because I do not know how to operate this... "thing".
There. This is the most honest confession I can write tonight.
— Mr. Loner
End of Chapter 33