The first week of college felt...surprisingly normal.
Maybe a little too normal.
Classes were confusing but manageable, the cafeteria food was edible (on good days), and Erica and Angel somehow managed not to kill each other as roommates — although Erica nearly strangled Angel for stealing her last instant noodles twice.
Everything felt steady, like standing at the edge of something big but not yet falling in.
But the second week?
That's when the world decided to flip them upside down.
It started with a knock at their dorm door.
Erica was half-asleep, sprawled on her bed, drooling into her laptop when Angel jumped up like a kid hearing the ice cream truck.
"That's gotta be him!!" Angel said, rushing to the door.
"Him who?" Erica mumbled, too lazy to lift her head.
The door swung open, and there he was — tall, tan-skinned, wearing a cocky grin like it was stitched to his face.
Vince.
"ANGELLLLL!!!" he yelled, tackling her into a hug that nearly knocked both of them over.
Erica blinked, slowly sitting up, watching the scene with a weird feeling gnawing at her gut.
Angel hugged him back tightly, laughing way too hard.
"VINCE!!! You didn't even tell me you were coming, you idiot!!"
Vince ruffled Angel's hair playfully. "Wanted to surprise you, dummy."
For a second, it looked... sweet.
Innocent.
But then, Angel looked over her shoulder at Erica — eyes glinting mischievously — and whispered something in Vince's ear.
And just like that, everything changed.
---
The next day, Erica spotted them everywhere.
At the cafeteria — Vince sitting way too close to Angel, laughing at all her jokes.
In the hallway — Angel clinging to his arm, pretending to lose her balance so he'd catch her.
Even during free periods — Vince would toss Angel into playful piggyback rides, shouting loud enough for the whole campus to hear.
At first, Erica just stared, trying to process.
Then she felt it.
That awful, sinking feeling.
The one you get when you're the last one picked in dodgeball.
Or when someone you care about forgets your birthday.
Or when someone you love acts like you don't exist.
Angel was fooling her.
Maybe it was all a game.
Maybe Angel never cared the way Erica had dared to hope.
The realization hit like a punch to the chest.
That night, Erica slammed the door of their shared room so hard that even Angel flinched.
"What's your problem, freak?" Angel asked, trying to sound casual but looking a little too nervous.
"Nothing," Erica said coldly, throwing herself onto her bed.
Angel opened her mouth like she wanted to say something — then closed it again.
The silence between them was thick and ugly.
Erica stared at the ceiling long after Angel fell asleep, heart twisting painfully in her chest.
Fine, she thought bitterly.
If she wants to play games, I'll show her how it's done.
---
The next morning, Erica found Tristan leaning against the basketball court railing, headphones around his neck, casually spinning a ball on one finger.
She marched straight up to him, fire burning in her gut.
"Hey, baby," Tristan teased the second he saw her, flashing that stupid, cocky grin he always wore around her.
Erica grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulling him down so their faces were inches apart.
"I need your help," she whispered fiercely.
Tristan raised an eyebrow, amused. "Wow, so aggressive today. What's the plan, sweetheart?"
Erica exhaled shakily, shoving him lightly.
"I need you to flirt with me. Like...seriously flirt. Everywhere Angel can see."
Tristan's grin widened dangerously.
"Oho. Revenge mission?"
Erica hesitated.
Her chest ached.
This wasn't really about revenge.
It was about hurting Angel the way Angel had hurt her.
About making Angel feel the same jealous fire Erica felt every time she saw Vince wrap his arms around her.
"...Yeah," Erica said softly. "Revenge."
Tristan tossed the ball aside, cracking his knuckles dramatically.
"Say no more, baby girl. Let's burn this campus down."
---
By lunch, their act was already in full swing.
Erica sat on Tristan's lap in the outdoor garden, laughing way too loud at jokes she barely heard.
She let him brush hair out of her face, let him whisper things in her ear that made her fake blush and giggle like an idiot.
Every time she caught Angel staring from across the courtyard, a twisted satisfaction curled inside her.
Good.
Let her see.
Let her feel it.
But by the third time Angel caught them — Erica in Tristan's arms, Tristan whispering something against her neck — something inside Erica cracked.
Angel didn't just look jealous.
She looked hurt.
Really, deeply hurt.
Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides.
Her face was tight, like she was holding back tears.
She turned on her heel and stormed off, Vince chasing after her.
And just like that, Erica's anger crumbled into something uglier.
Guilt.
---
That night, Erica lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling again.
Angel's empty bed sat across from hers.
Sheets messy.
Pillow abandoned.
She hadn't come back since lunch.
Erica rolled over, burying her face in the pillow, swallowing the lump in her throat.
Maybe she went too far.
Maybe...
Maybe Angel wasn't playing games after all.
Maybe she was trying to get a stupid confession out of her.
Maybe everything — Vince, the teasing, the flirting — was just Angel being too scared to admit she wanted more.
And now, Erica had probably ruined it.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away.
Tomorrow.
She would fix it tomorrow.
Even if it meant swallowing her pride.
Even if it meant facing Angel, broken and messy, and admitting the truth.
That she didn't want games.
She just wanted Angel.
Always had.
Always would.