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Gem had always hated shared dorm bathrooms.
The fluorescent lights buzzed like hornets overhead, and the tile was always damp no matter how many pairs of socks she ruined crossing the floor. She brushed her teeth with her back hunched, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands even though the air was already humid with leftover shower steam.
It was 1:14 AM, and Pearl hadn’t texted her back.
Gem tried not to think about it.
It wasn’t like she didn’t know where Pearl was—Pearl had said it clearly earlier, half-laughing as she threw on a flannel. There’s an art studio open-mic thing, I’ll go with them, okay?
Them. The vague mass of people that Pearl had attached herself to so quickly in their first semester. The cool crowd. The ones who knew which side of campus had the hidden coffee truck and how to sneak into the art building after hours. The ones with nose piercings and chaotic vibes and the kind of reckless confidence that came with never having been the quiet one in a room.
Gem rinsed her mouth and stared at herself in the mirror. Her hoodie had paint on the sleeves—blue-green smudges from theater crew earlier—and her eyes were rimmed red. She told herself it was just exhaustion.
She didn’t cry, not yet.
Not until she got back to her room, shut the door quietly behind her, and curled up on the bed they used to share.
They still did, technically. Pearl’s bed was on the other side of the room, still neat, untouched. She hadn’t come back the night before either. Gem had tried not to notice.
She didn’t sleep. Instead, she stared at the ceiling and thought about how Pearl used to hold her hand under the blanket when they watched movies. How she used to kiss Gem’s shoulder before getting up for her early classes. How she used to come back from studio and immediately start rambling about colors and ideas and paint and Gem.
Now the paint was for other people. And Gem couldn’t remember the last time Pearl had said her name like that.
It came to a head on a Tuesday.
It was raining. Pearl came back around noon, dripping wet and laughing, umbrella forgotten in someone else’s car. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and her curls were stuck to her neck.
Gem sat at her desk, the beginnings of a tech schedule open in her planner.
“Hey,” Pearl said casually, like everything was fine.
“Hey,” Gem answered, cold. She didn’t look up.
There was a pause. Pearl toed off her boots. “You okay?”
Gem clicked her pen too hard. “Are you serious?”
Pearl blinked. “What?”
“You didn’t come back. Again.”
Pearl sighed, already defensive. “I crashed at Maddie’s. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“It is when you don’t text.”
Pearl threw her flannel on the bed, suddenly irritated. “Why are you being like this?”
“Because I don’t know what we are anymore,” Gem snapped. “I wait up, and you don’t come back. You make plans with everyone else. You talk to everyone else.”
“I didn’t realize I needed your permission to have friends,” Pearl shot back.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Gem said, voice cracking. “I just—”
Pearl crossed her arms. “What, Gem? You want me to stay here every night and watch you cry yourself to sleep because I’m the only thing in your life that doesn’t terrify you?”
The silence that followed was shattering.
Pearl looked like she wanted to take it back the moment it left her mouth. But it was too late. Gem stood up, shaking.
“Get out.”
“Gem—”
“I said get out!”
Pearl grabbed her bag. The door slammed behind her.
——————
The spiral came fast.
Gem didn’t go to class the next day. Or the day after that. She turned off her phone. Cleo texted. Sausage called. No one heard back.
She scratched open her arm with her thumbnail until it stung.
Then she stopped eating. It wasn’t dramatic—it was just easier that way. Less time in the dining hall. Less chance of running into Pearl and pretending things weren’t broken.
She didn’t tell anyone.
Until one night, days later, she woke up with her chest tight, air refusing to come, fingers tingling. She couldn’t see right. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stop.
Someone knocked on the door.
Gem couldn’t answer. She sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, shaking like her bones were coming apart.
The door creaked open.
“Gem?”
Pearl.
She dropped her bag, crossed the room in three seconds flat. “Oh my god—Gem, look at me. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
Gem couldn’t respond. Pearl wrapped her arms around her, rocking her gently, murmuring something over and over—Gem didn’t hear the words, just the tone.
Safe. Familiar. Devastating.
It took a long time for her breathing to slow.
They sat on the floor long after that. Pearl handed her a bottle of water and watched her drink it slowly. Neither of them said anything for a while.
Finally, Pearl said, “I didn’t mean it. That thing I said. I was angry and shitty and I didn’t mean it.”
Gem didn’t look at her. “Maybe you did.”
“I didn’t,” Pearl said. “But I did screw up. I should’ve been here. I didn’t realize how much I was… I don’t know. Hurting you.”
“I didn’t tell you,” Gem said, hollow. “I didn’t want to be the jealous girlfriend. The needy one.”
“You’re allowed to need me,” Pearl whispered.
Gem’s voice was barely audible. “I still do.”
Pearl reached for her hand. “So do I.”
Their fingers laced together, but it didn’t fix anything. Not really.
The silence between them stayed. Softer now, but still there.
They didn’t talk about what came next. They didn’t say breakup. They didn’t say fix it either.
Just sat there, tangled together, two halves of a relationship that didn’t quite fit the way it used to—but hadn’t fallen apart completely. Not yet.
Gem closed her eyes. She didn’t know what they were anymore.
But at least Pearl had come back. For now.