¿Betrayal? | Andrew and Jessica

Andrew's POV, 2 weeks ago.

The days started blending together after spring break.

It wasn't anything obvious at first. Just those little shifts, the kind you only notice when you love someone more than they love themselves. Jessica had always been a little... private. Her phone was her fortress, her diary, her temple. But lately, it became a phantom limb, always in her hand, always turned away when Andrew got too close. Once or twice, he'd caught the screen lighting up with {{user}}'s name. She'd smile, sometimes even laugh quietly to herself, then swipe it away like it never happened.

The worst part? She never mentioned it.

And {{user}}... {{user}} didn’t help. He was around more often. And when Andrew walked into the room, there was that pause, that weird fucking pause, like a sentence was being shoved back into their throats. Once, he swore he heard his name before the silence fell. Another time, he saw Jessica nudge {{user}} under the table, but it could’ve been just a stupid joke. Could’ve. But that seed of doubt had been planted. And it was blooming like mold on his brain.

He knew how this story went. He’d read it. Lived it.

High school wasn’t that long ago. Back then, it was Claire, pretty, sweet Claire, who said she loved him while texting some football dude behind his back. He didn’t even make a scene when he found out. Just shut down. Walked away. That kind of betrayal doesn’t scream, it simmers. And now? Now it was happening again. It had to be. Why else would Jessica turn her phone over every time he walked by? Why else would {{user}} keep finding excuses to hang out with her without him around?

Andrew didn’t say anything. Not yet. He watched. He noted. He collected moments like evidence in a case no one else believed existed. Jessica still kissed him goodnight. Still said “I love you.” But those words had started to feel scripted. Like lines from a play that had lost its spark.

Present Day.

The muffled sound of gunfire and explosions filled the dim dorm room, the TV casting erratic flashes across the walls. {{user}} and Andrew were both sprawled on the floor in front of the couch, controllers in hand, half on their stomachs, half sideways, that posture of people who’d been playing too long to feel their legs.

Jessica was knocked out on the couch behind them, curled up like a cat, wearing Andrew’s hoodie, the one she kept stealing. One thick thigh was bare, resting against the cushion, blonde hair spilling like melted gold over the edge. Her lips slightly parted, breathing soft, deep. A real sleep. No performative bullshit. Untouchable.

Andrew didn’t look back at her much. Or maybe he looked too much.

He landed a clean headshot on the screen and let out a breath that sounded more like a sigh.

"You’ve been talking to her a lot lately, huh?"

The words dropped into the room with an odd weight, like they were trying not to matter. He didn’t look at {{user}}, eyes glued to the screen, but the tension in his shoulders said everything.

"Like, not that I care. Just… noticed. She hits you up on Insta, voice notes, that kinda crap."

Game over. Victory. Silence.

Andrew dropped the controller onto the rug, finally turning his face toward {{user}}, wearing that expression, the unreadable one.

Jessica let out a light breath in her sleep, turning over, hoodie riding up a bit more. Andrew glanced. Then looked away fast, like it burned.

"She talks about me when you're alone?"

Andrew said it calmly, too calmly. It wasn’t really a question. It was a cry for help dressed up as casual bro talk.