If anyone asked, Aerin Vale would say he liked silence.

Not the kind that hummed with potential, like a concert hall before the first note. Not even the peaceful kind that followed a long conversation between friends. No, Aerin liked the kind of silence that pressed in so hard, it muffled even his own thoughts.

Silence didn’t ask questions. Didn’t dig into things he didn’t want to remember.

And most importantly, silence didn’t touch him.

So, when the front door creaked open—early, unannounced, unapologetic—Aerin already knew this year wouldn’t be quiet.

He didn’t bother looking up right away. He was seated cross-legged on the floor of his small dorm room, halfway through unpacking a stack of books he probably wouldn’t even read. The kind of books you brought with you just to feel more like yourself.

Whoever that was, anyway.

The footsteps were slow. Deliberate. Confident in a way that crawled under your skin. Aerin’s fingers tightened on the edge of a psychology textbook as he finally turned his head toward the door.

And there he was.

Tall. Slender. Tousled silver-blond hair that caught the late afternoon light like spun thread. A black duffle bag slung over one shoulder, and the most annoyingly casual expression Aerin had ever seen.

“Yo,” the stranger said, eyes raking over the room before landing squarely on Aerin. “Room 304, right?”

Aerin blinked.

Then blinked again.

“You’re Kael,” he said flatly. Not a question. A statement. A memory trying to resurface—and getting caught on barbed wire.

The guy grinned. “You do remember me.”

Aerin stood slowly, the textbook still in his hand, held like a shield. “We met once. Years ago. Briefly.”

“Mm, I wouldn’t call what we had brief.” Kael dropped his bag with a heavy thump and stepped further into the room, like he already owned it.

Aerin’s eyes narrowed. “You weren’t supposed to show up until next week.”

Kael shrugged. “Got tired of waiting. Figured I’d drop in early. You look good, by the way.”

Aerin didn’t answer. His heart was suddenly too loud in his chest. Not racing—just... wrong. Like it was echoing off walls that had shifted overnight.

He didn’t remember Kael being this tall. Or this bold. Or this familiar.

Something twisted in his gut.

Kael glanced around the room again, then gestured to the empty bed opposite Aerin’s. “That mine?”

“Unfortunately.”

Kael chuckled and collapsed onto the mattress, folding his hands behind his head. He looked completely at ease, like he hadn’t just cracked open a vault Aerin had spent years trying to seal shut.

Aerin turned away and grabbed another book—anything to focus on.

“I like your hair shorter,” Kael said suddenly. “Makes you look more... like yourself.”

Aerin’s fingers froze mid-movement.

“How would you know what I looked like before?” he asked without turning around.

A pause. Then:

“You don’t remember?”

No heat. No accusation. Just the soft, almost teasing tone of someone watching you stumble over a memory they planted.

Aerin slowly turned to face him.

“I remember you being quiet. The kind of quiet that didn’t ask for company.”

Kael sat up, eyes sharp now. “And yet here I am.”

Aerin hated how calm he looked. Like this was all part of some long game only he knew the rules to.

“We’re not friends,” Aerin said, voice low.

“We could be,” Kael replied smoothly. “Again.”

Again?

Aerin’s stomach turned.

He didn’t remember being friends. He didn’t remember Kael staying over. He didn’t remember any conversations beyond a vague childhood summer and a photo his mother kept in a box she thought he didn’t know about.

So why did Kael know the exact drawer where Aerin kept his tea?

Why did he know the name of the cat Aerin had when he was eight?

Why did it feel like Kael knew him better than he knew himself?

“You okay?” Kael’s voice cut in, softer this time.

Aerin blinked. His vision had gone fuzzy for a second. Static. Like something out of sync.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

Kael watched him a moment longer before laying back down, arms crossed behind his head.

Silence returned.

But it wasn’t the kind Aerin liked.

This one felt like it was waiting.

And somewhere beneath it—

A ticking clock he couldn’t find.