The digital clock on your desk reads 4:47 a.m. when you and Andy finally admit defeat. Your bodies—still Jess and Amy—are slick with sweat, muscles trembling from exhaustion, lips bruised from endless kissing. The sheets are a disaster.
“We’ve got 8 a.m. classes,” Andy mutters, voice hoarse. “If we don’t stop now, we’re gonna be zombies tomorrow.”
You groan in agreement, rolling onto your back. “Fine. Rings off.”
You both slip the bands from your fingers at the same time. The familiar wave of pain crashes over you—shorter now, almost routine—and within a couple of minutes Jason and Andy are sprawled naked on their respective beds, staring at the ceiling in stunned silence.
“Holy shit,” Andy whispers after a while. “That actually happened.”
“Yeah,” you answer, voice rough. “Multiple times.”
You both drag yourselves under the covers without bothering to find clothes. Sleep hits fast and hard.
Morning comes too soon. Alarms blare at 7:15. You and Andy stumble through showers, throw on jeans and hoodies, and head out in opposite directions with barely a word—both too fried to process last night yet.
Your last class ends at 2 p.m. You grab two iced lattes from the campus café and head straight to Isabella’s off-campus apartment. She’d warned you she was chained to her desk all day studying for an organic chemistry exam.
When she opens the door, she looks tired but happy to see you—hair in a messy bun, glasses on, wearing an oversized hoodie and leggings. She takes the latte with a grateful smile and a quick kiss.
“You’re amazing,” she says, leading you inside. Her living room is quiet—roommate gone for the weekend—and covered in textbooks and notes.
You sit on the couch while she curls up in the armchair, sipping her drink and complaining about reaction mechanisms for a few minutes. But the ring in your pocket feels heavier with every second.
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