Simon's POV
The ring doesn't fit right.
It's the right size—Naomi made sure of that, had me measured at the jeweler's while her father watched with the satisfied expression of a man closing a deal.
But it sits wrong on my finger. Too heavy, too present, a constant reminder of a choice I made in desperation and now have to live with forever.
I stare at it in the darkness of my apartment. The curtains haven't been opened in three days. Maybe four. I've lost track.
The only light comes from my phone screen when it buzzes, which it does constantly—Naomi, my mother, my brothers, everyone wanting to congratulate me on the engagement, on the business deal, on the life I'm supposed to be excited about building.
I don't answer most of them. Answering requires energy I don't have.
The parking lot plays on repeat in my head. Gordon's face when he saw the ring—the way the color drained from his skin, the way his eyes went flat and dead, the way he looked at me like I was a stranger.
Like I was someone capable of hurting him in ways he never anticipated.
You gave up on us because I didn't answer my phone for three days.
I did, I know I did. I can make excuses about the pressure, about my family, about the impossible position I was in—but the truth is simpler and uglier.
When Gordon wasn't there, when I couldn't reach him, some part of me decided it was a sign. Some part of me was looking for permission to take the easy way out.
And now he's gone, and I'm engaged to a woman I don't love, and I can't stop thinking about the way his voice sounded when he told me to go marry her.
Dead. He sounded dead.
My phone buzzes again, Naomi's name lights up the screen. I let it ring four times before answering, because that's the minimum acceptable delay before it becomes suspicious.
"Hey, babe." Her voice is bright, energetic, the voice of someone who's genuinely happy. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."
"Never." The word comes out flat. I try to inject some warmth into it. "Just tired, long day."
"Well, I have news that'll wake you up. The venue got back to me—they have an opening in June! June, Simon! That's only three months away, but my wedding planner says she can make it work if we move fast. Isn't that exciting?"
"Yeah." I stare at the ceiling. "Exciting."
"You don't sound excited." A pause. "Is everything okay? You've seemed off ever since the engagement. I thought you'd be happier—your parents are thrilled, my father is already talking about expansion plans for the gym, everything is falling into place..."
"Everything is great." The lie tastes like copper. "I'm just processing. It's a lot of changes all at once."
"I know, baby. But good changes, right? This is what we always wanted—well, what I always wanted, and what you're going to love once you let yourself relax into it."
She laughs, and the sound grates against my nerves.
"Oh, I talked to your mother today. She's so happy, Simon. She actually cried. She said she's been praying for this ever since we broke up—that we'd find our way back to each other."
My mother cried. My mother, who has spent the last year watching the gym drain their savings, watching my father age ten years in twelve months, watching everything they built together crumble—she cried with relief because her son is marrying a woman whose family can save them.
How am I supposed to take that away from her?
"That's nice." The words stick in my throat. "I'm glad she's happy."
"Are you sure you're okay? You sound... distant."
"Just tired, Naomi, I promise. It's been a long week."
"Okay." She doesn't sound convinced, but she lets it go. "Well, get some rest. We have a lot of planning to do, and I need you at your best. Oh, and the caterers need to know about dietary restrictions by Friday. I'll send you a list of questions—just fill it out when you get a chance."
"Sure."
"I love you, Simon."
The words hang in the air, waiting for their echo. I close my eyes.
"Love you too."
The call ends. I drop the phone onto the couch and let the silence swallow me.
I should eat. I haven't eaten anything today except half a protein bar that tasted like cardboard. I should shower—I can't remember the last time I showered.
I should go to the gym, check on things, make sure my parents don't suspect that their son is falling apart while they celebrate his engagement.
Instead, I find myself walking toward the gaming room.
I haven't been in here since before the tournament. Since before the coma, before everything changed. The door creaks when I push it open, and the room smells stale—dust and old electronics and the ghost of someone I used to be.
The headset sits on its dock, dormant. The neural connectors are coiled beside it, waiting. A thin layer of dust covers everything, undisturbed since the night I logged in for what was supposed to be a routine match and ended up trapped for twenty-seven days.
I should be afraid of this thing. It nearly killed me. It nearly killed thousands of people, and some of them didn't survive.
But I'm not afraid. I'm... drawn to it.
I sink into the gaming chair—the same chair where my body lay unconscious while my consciousness wandered through digital arenas with Kira. With Gordon.
I didn't know they were the same person then. I didn't know that every conversation, every moment of connection, every time I felt truly seen for the first time in my life—it was him. My best friend, hiding behind a face I was allowed to want.
The headset glows faintly in the darkness. Standby mode. Waiting.
I reach for it, fingers brushing the smooth surface.
What if I put it on?
The thought arrives fully formed, seductive in its simplicity. If I logged back in, I wouldn't have to face the wedding.
Wouldn't have to see Naomi's hopeful smile or my mother's relieved tears. Wouldn't have to answer questions about cake flavors and guest lists and all the mundane details of a life I don't want to build.
And maybe... maybe he'd be there.
Somewhere in the digital void, Gordon might still exist as Kira. The avatar he created, the woman I fell in love with—she's still in the system, isn't she? Still waiting to be activated, still carrying all the memories of what we shared together.
If I logged in, maybe I could find her. Find him. Exist in a space where the choice I made doesn't matter, where the ring on my finger doesn't exist, where we're just two people fighting side by side and falling in love in the only way we knew how.
My hand hovers over the headset.
This is insane. This is how people die. This is the exact thing that nearly killed you.
But would dying be worse than this?
The question shocks me. I pull my hand back like the headset burned me, stumbling out of the chair, backing toward the door. When did I become someone who thinks about dying as an alternative to facing consequences?
I leave the headset untouched. Close the door. Lean against the wall in the hallway, breathing hard, trying to convince myself that I'm fine. That I'm going to be fine.
That this feeling—this crushing weight, this inability to see a future I want to live in—is temporary, a rough patch. Something that will fade once the wedding planning gets going, once I settle into the life I've chosen.
But I don't believe it. Not really.
I go to bed without sleeping. Stare at the ceiling while shadows shift and settle, while hours crawl past like wounded animals. Every time I close my eyes, I see Gordon's face in the parking lot. The moment he saw the ring, the moment everything we'd built collapsed into rubble.
I love you, I told him. That part was never a lie.
He didn't say it back. He just got in his car and drove away, and I stood there watching his taillights disappear, and I knew, I knew with absolute certainty, that I had just lost the only person who ever made me feel like myself.
When sleep finally comes, it's not rest.
I dream of arenas. Of avatars. Of Kira's face dissolving into Gordon's as the maze shattered around us. Of his voice screaming through the dissolution: I'm Gordon! I've been Gordon this whole time!
And then another voice—softer, broken, the voice I heard in a hundred quiet moments in our little recovery room: I love you, and I'm so sorry.
I wake up with tears on my face and no idea how to make them stop.
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