Hoax in One

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Tate took the stairs three at a time so I had no hope of catching up to him. I could barely do two at a time.

When I came to his closed door on the third floor, I was met with silence.

"Tate, can I come in?"

More silence. I mean, he didn't say no.

"Okay, I'm coming in then."

I waited another second to see if he would protest before I punched in the numbers.

As soon as I hit the eight I remembered him saying June eighth. His code was his parents' anniversary. I smiled at the thought that Tate really was a hopeless romantic—and hiding behind some man-whore facade his entire life.

Tate was sitting at his desk chair with his head in hands. He didn't move when I crossed the room. I watched him as I pretended to look at his bookshelf. He stayed still, not caring what I was doing, so I stood next to him and laced my fingers through his hair. He wasn't going to talk until I prompted him.

"Tate," I whispered.

He responded with a mix of a sigh and a scoff.

I slipped a leg across his lap and straddled him before I forced his chin up. He met my gaze, and he looked almost sick or maybe dejected.

So I gave him my best smile. "Did you see our TikTok got over a million views?"

Tate actually laughed. It was out of shock because I probably said the last thing he'd expected me say. Then his face fell again.

"Matt is right," he whispered. "I'm no better than him."

"You are nothing like him."

Tate cradled his arms around my back. "These last few weeks have been the best weeks of my life, Devin. And I'm so selfish, just like Matt, because I couldn't give you up. I couldn't wait because I couldn't force myself to stay away from you once I'd finally had you. I need you like I need air."

"I need you more than air," I playfully retorted like it was a competition.

None of his features even flinched. "But that's the problem. I thought I wouldn't cause any harm if I could keep it from getting physical, so I did. I guess I didn't account for how much history we have together, how we are already tied together. We are already too deeply intertwined. We always have been. And now I'm fucking jealous of Matt Elliot, because he has something from you that I don't. I see red when the thought even crosses my mind. Fuck. I wanted to pummel him into the ground when he fucking smirked at me like he knows me. Like we're one and the same. I fucked up."

Could he sense that I loved him? I furrowed my eyebrows at him and clung to his neck. "You didn't mess anything up. I'm right here. I don't want Matt. I don't want anyone else."

Tate closed his eyes, and his words came out angry. "Dammit, Devin, I did. I need more time because I can't bring myself to do what I need to do. I'm not honorable. I don't want to share you. I want you all to myself. I'm scared everything is going to end. I know I might have to let you go, and I'm not ready for that."

I wasn't going to let him give me up anyway, and I was focused on a spot on his wall across the room. It was a crumbled indent, the beige paint had flaked, and it was right at shoulder height. Tate's height, that is. "Did you punch the wall?"

He smirked with his eyes still closed. "I did. Not tonight—on Thursday."

The day I suspected he was working through something.

"Tate, you can have all the time in the world. I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you need to do, does it involve Amy?"

He looked at me, boring holes into mine. I wondered if I'd overstepped, but Tate answered. "I've been having FaceTiming sessions with her. A lot."