Chapter 1: My Boyfriend Never Shows His Face

"Tell me what you're wearing."

Northstar's voice came through my headphones so low it made the back of my neck hot.

I stared at the rain sliding down the black window of Cedar Hall. Beyond it, the lights of Hawthorne University blurred into gold smudges. My roommate's desk lamp threw a narrow stripe across the floor. The rest of the room belonged to shadows, the blue glow of my laptop, and a man I had never seen.

"A hoodie," I said.

"Whose?"

"Mine."

He laughed softly. It was unfair how he could turn one small sound into a hand at my waist.

"That wasn't the question, Marigold."

I pulled the hood farther over my hair. "The green one."

"The green one you bought with the bookstore card I sent?"

"I bought it myself."

"With my gift card."

"You're impossible."

"And you still queued with me."

That was the trouble with Northstar. He always sounded amused, never cruel. In four months of late-night raids, shared playlists, and calls that ended only when one of us fell asleep with a microphone still on, he had never pushed past a no. He only made yes feel tempting.

On-screen, our characters waited at the gates of Skyforge Siege's ranked arena. His black-armored knight wore a silver crown. My healer carried a staff that scattered tiny marigold-colored sparks.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready."

"Stay behind me."

"I hate when you say that."

"No, you don't."

I didn't.

My real name was Ethan Cole. He knew that. I knew almost nothing about him except that he went to college somewhere on the West Coast, had terrifyingly good reflexes, and owned a voice capable of ruining my sleep schedule. He had never turned on his camera.

I had asked twice. The first time he said, "Soon." The second time he sent a photo of his wrist on a steering wheel, an expensive watch catching sunlight.

I had sent him a picture of my hands around a coffee cup.

That was our relationship: enough intimacy to make my heart race, not enough proof to explain it to anyone else.

Last month, after my old laptop froze during a match for the third time, a package had appeared at the front desk. Inside was a refurbished gaming notebook, clean and fast and far too nice for me.

No name. No return address.

Only a note:

Your healer deserves better frames per second.

I had tried to return it. Then I had opened it and cried when the game loaded in under ten seconds.

"Marigold. Left side."

I moved just before an enemy blade came down. Northstar's knight stepped in front of me and took the hit.

"Show-off," I muttered.

"You're welcome."

We won in nine minutes.

When the victory screen appeared, I leaned back and rubbed my eyes. Across the room, Lucas Vale was building a tiny white architecture model. A pencil rested behind one ear. His dark-blond hair fell over his forehead when he bent to measure a stairwell.

Lucas had been my roommate since August.

He was also the reason I had promised myself, repeatedly and unsuccessfully, not to fall in love during junior year.

He had carried both my boxes upstairs on move-in day, then barely spoken to me for two weeks. He cooked actual meals. He owned too many black shirts. He had a mouth that looked made for smirking, though he almost never did.

He didn't look at me now.

"Are you done yelling at strangers online?" he asked.

"I wasn't yelling."

"You said, 'Don't leave me, baby.'"

I threw a pencil at him. It landed on his bed.

Lucas's mouth twitched.

"It was tactical communication."

"Sure."

Northstar came back from getting water. "Who was that?"

I watched Lucas's hands fold a strip of foam board into place.

"My roommate."

"The one you never talk about?"

"I talk about him."

"You say he makes coffee and owns too many black shirts. That isn't talking about him."

I lowered my voice. "He's not my type."

Lucas looked up. Maybe he had heard. Maybe he hadn't.

Northstar hummed. "Liar."

"You don't know that."

"I know your voice when you're lying."

For a second, the room held only rain, the scrape of Lucas's pencil, and Northstar breathing through his microphone.

"I should sleep," I said.

"You have class at eight."

"Unfortunately."

"Text me when you wake up."

"Bossy."

"Only with you."

I smiled before I could stop myself.

"Good night, Northstar."

He went quiet for one beat too long.

"Good night, sweetheart."

Lucas shut off his desk lamp.

In the darkness, his voice came low and rough, nearly swallowed by the rain.

"Night, Cole."

My hand froze on the headphone cord.

It was not the same voice.

It couldn't have been.

But I lay awake for another hour anyway.

At two seventeen, Lucas got up for water.

The floorboards creaked beneath his bare feet. I kept my eyes shut, because I had learned that pretending to sleep was safer than admitting how closely I noticed him. The door clicked softly behind him.

My phone lit beneath my pillow.

Northstar:

Still awake?

I stared at the message.

Marigold:

How did you know?

The reply came almost at once.

Northstar:

You always go quiet when something's on your mind.

I typed three different answers, then erased all of them.

Marigold:

Do you ever think you've met someone before without knowing it?

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Northstar:

Sometimes.

Marigold:

That's a weird answer.

Northstar:

So was the question.

I heard the door open. Lucas paused near his bed, and the mattress springs gave a quiet complaint when he sat down.

Northstar:

Sleep, sweetheart.

The message arrived at the exact same moment Lucas murmured into the dark, "Get some sleep, Cole."

I turned my face toward the wall so he would not see me smile.

The rain kept falling. Somewhere across the room, Lucas shifted beneath his blankets. In my hand, Northstar's last message glowed like a secret I had no business wanting.