After Nick dropped him off, Enzo shuffled through the motions like a zombie. No food or drink passed his lips, each swallow a painful reminder of the gaping hole in his chest. This wasn't a nightmare he could wake from, but a cruel reality that clung to him like a shadow. Desperation gnawed at the edges of his mind, the thought of ending it all a tempting escape.

He knew it sounded dramatic, even foolish, but for someone experiencing love's depths for the first time, the pain was unbearable. High school romances had been fun, fleeting sparks of attraction. But this...this was different. This was the kind of love that consumed you, that burrowed deep into your soul. It was absurd, really, that only five months with Mila felt like five years. The taste of her lips, the warmth of her embrace, the way she made him laugh until his sides ached - it had all been so real, so vibrant.

And now it was gone, replaced by a bitter sting and a haunting question: Could he ever find a love like that again?

"Hey, you good?" The voice jolted Enzo from his despair.

"Yeah," he managed a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes, the hollowness within too vast to mask.

"Bro, did you get any sleep?" The green-haired senior asked, ruffling Enzo's hair with a comforting gesture.

"Plenty," Enzo lied, his smile a brittle facade.

He couldn't recall the senior's name, though they had spent countless hours together in the band room. Perhaps he had asked once, but in his haze of grief, it had slipped his mind. Despite the awkwardness of not knowing his name, Enzo felt a deep gratitude towards him. He had been a true friend since day one.

"Harry! Come here, you dweeb!" a woman's voice called from across the room.

"Okay!" Harry responded, turning towards the sound. Enzo finally remembered his name - Harry. It had been there all along, buried beneath the weight of his own misery

"Hey, Harry," Enzo said, a small, genuine smile gracing his lips for the first time since leaving Mila's apartment.

"Thanks," he added softly,

Harry returned the smile, a silent understanding passing between them, before turning and heading towards the voice that had called his name.

The door to the club room swung open, revealing the blond man with the mismatched eyes - the one Mila had been so openly flirting with. Just the sight of him ignited a spark of anger in Enzo's chest. He knew it wasn't the man's fault for being handsome and attracting Mila's attention, but a wave of frustration washed over him nonetheless.

Enzo couldn't help but compare himself to Nick and this man. They both exuded a confident charm, their bodies fit and athletic. In contrast, Enzo felt average, unremarkable. The unfairness of it all stabbed him, a bitter taste on his tongue.

Enzo turned his attention to the unfinished song on his laptop, desperately trying to ignore the burning sensation in his chest. As he rearranged the melody, a stack of papers landed beside him. It was the blonde man, The man was watching him intently, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Lyrics for the last song, take a look," he said, his voice low and steady. Enzo nodded curtly, not bothering with a verbal response.

Although they were both in the band club, their paths rarely crossed. The blond man wasn't always around the club like Enzo was, so they had never really spoken to each other. and Enzo didn't even know his name.

"Not going to say anything?" the man asked when Enzo remained silent.

"Thanks, I'll take a look," Enzo replied, annoyance creeping into his voice. What did this guy want? They'd never spoken before, why start now?

"That's it?" He pressed, his eyebrows raised in amusement.

"Yes, what do you want?" Enzo responded, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger.

"Just wanted to chat. I've heard a lot about you lately," He said casually.

"I'm busy and not interested in conversation," Enzo replied, forcing a polite smile. His eyes, however, were pretty up close.

"I'm Ronan, by the way," he offered with a disarming smile. "People call me Ronny."

"Enzo," he returned, maintaining the facade of politeness.

"I know," Ronny chuckled, leaning against the desk with an air of easy confidence

"You look like you haven't slept, Enzo,"Ronny remarked with a smile that Enzo perceived as mocking.

"I haven't, and I'm tired, so please let me get back to work," Enzo replied, forcing another strained smile.

"I'll talk to you later, then," Ronny said with a final grin before turning and walking away, leaving Enzo alone with his exhaustion and confusion.

Enzo couldn't understand why Ronny was suddenly interested in him. After almost six months of barely acknowledging each other's existence, why now? It had to be related to his break-up with Mila. Maybe Ronny was trying to gloat, rub salt in the wound. Enzo's mind raced, his emotions a chaotic mix of anger, hurt and paranoia.

It was ridiculous, wasn't it? His mind spiralling down a rabbit hole of doubt and despair over a few words exchanged with him. But Enzo's mind had a mind of its own, always seeking connections, always searching for meaning.

With a frustrated sigh, he shook his head, attempting to clear the fog and focus on his work. But the melody remained elusive, the notes stumbling and faltering as his eyelids grew heavy. with every blink, threatening to put him to sleep

Then exhaustion finally claimed him. One last blink, and his head slumped forward, hitting the laptop with a hard thud. Darkness enveloped him.

He awoke to an unfamiliar silence, the room shrouded in shadows. The band members were gone, his laptop lay dormant on the desk, and he was sprawled on the giant beanbag that always seemed to have someone napping on it. How long had he been out?

"Oh, you're up?" a voice echoed from the meeting table, cutting through the darkness.

The laptop's glow illuminated the face of its owner - Ronny. His mismatched eyes, one the warm brown of earth, the other the vibrant green of jade, locked onto Enzo's.

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"Yeah," Enzo mumbled, rubbing his eyes. The nap had been brief but refreshing, leaving him craving more sleep.

"And why are you still here?" Enzo questioned, pulling his jacket closer around him. He hadn't even realised he'd taken it off. "And where are the others?"

"They left for the second-year meeting earlier," Ronny explained, closing his laptop and heading towards the light switch. "It's already 10 PM, so everyone else has probably gone home."

"Harry asked me to look after you, so..." Ronny shrugged, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Nice guy, that senior of yours."

"Well, you can go now," Enzo said, standing up and stretching. "I'm finally awake."

"No, I'll see you off," Ronny insisted with a warm smile, tucking his laptop into his bag. "Where do you live? Want a ride?"

Enzo hesitated, a wave of uncertainty washed over him. He didn't want anyone, especially someone like Ronny, to see his apartment. After Mila's cruel words, the place felt even more like a "rat hole". He couldn't bear the thought of anyone, especially a friend of Harry's, The last thing he needed was someone else confirming her harsh judgement

“"No, I'm good," Enzo said, flashing a polite, customer service smile.

"So you're walking home or taking a bus?" Ronny asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"A bus," Enzo replied, packing his laptop and the lyric sheets into his own bag.

"I'll walk you to the bus stop then," Ronny offered with a gentle smile, leading the way out of the club room. He switched off the lights and locked the door behind them.

"You really don't have to. I can go by myself," Enzo protested, his head throbbing with exhaustion.

"No, I'll walk you," Ronny insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument

They walked in silence, the only sound the crunch of their footsteps on the pavement. The air crackled with awkward tension, at least for Enzo. Exhaustion gnawed at him, his body screaming for sleep while his mind raced relentlessly. Ten minutes later, they reached the university bus stop. Enzo's heart lifted slightly as he spotted the last bus of the night pulling up.

Enzo watched the bus pull up, a mix of relief and lingering unease washing over him. He turned to Ronny, forcing a tired smile. "Thanks for walking me here. You really didn't have to."

Ronny shrugged, the streetlight casting a spectral glow on his mismatched eyes. "Don't worry about it. Get home safe, alright?"

As the bus lurched forward, Enzo settled into a seat, the rhythmic hum of the engine a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside him. He couldn't shake the feeling of Ronny's gaze, a silent question mark hanging in the air.

The bright lights of the campus blurred into a kaleidoscope of city hues as the bus sped through the night. Enzo's mind raced, replaying the day's events like a broken record. The unfinished tune, his involuntary nap, Ronny's unexpected kindness - it was all too much to process.

Exhaustion tugged at him, promising sweet oblivion. But he fought it, knowing he had to stay awake for his stop. The thought of his apartment - that cramped, cluttered 'rat hole', as Mila had so cruelly called it - sent a pang of shame through him.

The familiar landmarks of his neighbourhood emerged from the darkness, each a painful reminder of the life he was struggling to rebuild. He pulled the cord that signalled the driver to stop and gathered his belongings.

As he stepped off the bus, the night air felt both invigorating and oppressive. The short walk to his building felt like a marathon, each step a leaden weight dragging him down. He fumbled for his keys, their cold metal a harsh contrast to the warmth he craved.

At his door he hesitated. What would Ronny think of this place? What would Harry think? The thought made him grimace. With a resigned sigh, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The stale, musty smell of his studio apartment washed over him. He flicked on the light, revealing the familiar clutter - a rumpled futon, a cluttered kitchenette, stacks of books and papers threatening to topple over.

Enzo dropped his bag and jacket, too tired to care about the mess. He collapsed on the futon, fully clothed, and stared up at the cracked ceiling. Images of Harry's worried face, Ronny's enigmatic eyes and Mila's cruel laughter swirled in his mind.

Sleep beckoned, but his mind refused to rest. A nagging thought gnawed at him: How long could he go on like this? Something had to change, but what? And how?

With these questions hanging heavy in the air, Enzo finally succumbed to exhaustion, hoping that morning would bring some clarity to the darkness that had enveloped his life.

The shrill ringing of his phone jolted Enzo awake. The battery was nearly drained, but it clung to life just long enough for him to answer.

"Hello?" Enzo mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"You're still asleep?" a familiar voice questioned. Enzo squinted at the screen, the number not registered in his contacts.

"Who is this?" he asked, his mind foggy.

"What? Have you already forgotten my voice? We had a lovely stroll last night," the voice teased.

"Huh?" Enzo was still disoriented.

"It's Ronny," the voice clarified.

"I noticed you weren't in class today," Ronny continued. "It's the day of the group project for music history."

"What about it?" Enzo asked, his confusion deepening. "And how did you get my number?"

"I asked Harry," Ronny replied. "I figured you probably didn't have a group, so I added your name to mine."

"Oh," Enzo sighed, a mix of gratitude and apprehension swirling within him. "Thanks, I guess."

"Save my number," Ronny said. "You'll need it."

"Ok," Enzo replied and hung up. He tossed his phone back to where it was and settled in for another round of sleep.

He woke up when the sky had almost gone dark. Sitting on the bed, he stared out the window. The trees were dancing in the wind. He kept staring, thinking about the moments he'd enjoyed with Mila. It was pathetic of him, he knew, but he couldn't stop. Tears started to form in his eyes.

Enzo lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, tear tracks drying on his cheeks. He knew how pathetic he looked – a grown man, crumpled by a broken heart, unable to let go. A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, raking his fingers through his hair. "You're losing it, Enzo."

Even as he scolded himself, his hand twitched, yearning for his phone. To see her face in old messages, to relive happier times. It was a poison he couldn't resist, even knowing it would only hurt more.

He sat up, shaking his head like a wet dog. "Get a grip," he growled at himself. "She's gone. You need to move on."

The words felt empty. Moving on meant facing a world without her warmth, without the acceptance he'd craved for so long. It meant confronting the echoes of past pain, the loneliness that had haunted him before she arrived.

Enzo paced the tiny room, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror: hair a mess, eyes bloodshot, clothes rumpled. He barely recognized the shattered man staring back.

"Look at you," he sneered at his reflection. "Falling apart over someone who walked away. You're pathetic."

But even as he berated himself, the ache for her wouldn't fade, the longing for the simple joy she'd brought into his life. He knew he was being irrational, knew he should be stronger, but he felt helpless against the tidal wave of emotion.

With a defeated sigh, he collapsed back onto the bed. "I know this is stupid," he whispered into the silence. "But I don't know how to make it stop."

Inside, the battle raged: the logical side that urged him to move on, and the raw, wounded part that clung desperately to her memory. As darkness fell, Enzo remained trapped between the two, painfully aware of his absurd behaviour, yet unable to break free from its grip.