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Reborn In Euphoria

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Chapter 4: Perfect Stranger

The next day, Jake didn’t go to the quad.

He didn’t linger near the gym, didn’t pass Nate’s truck, didn’t even glance toward the football field.

He went quiet.

On purpose.

Because he knew what silence did to people like Nate Jacobs.

---

By midnight, it worked.

Jake’s phone buzzed while he lay curled on his bed in an oversized T-shirt and thigh-high socks, legs tangled in his silky sheets. His room was warm, lit only by pink LED glow and the slow turn of the ceiling fan. He was scrolling through old Euphoria memories in his head — not scenes from the show, but his own, new ones he was writing into reality.

Buzz.

Unknown number.

> “U up?”

Jake’s lips curled. No name. No photo.

But he knew exactly who it was.

Nate was predictable in only one way: when he started slipping, he tried to hide.

Jake waited ten minutes before replying.

> “Depends who’s asking.”

A full minute passed.

> “Someone who saw you the other night.”

Jake let out a quiet laugh. He lay on his stomach, kicking his feet up behind him like a teenager, typing slow.

> “You’ll have to be more specific. A lot of people saw me.”

> “You wore leather shorts.”

Ah. So he was obsessing.

Jake rolled onto his back, grinning up at the ceiling.

> “That narrows it down.”

There was a pause. Longer this time.

Jake knew what that meant.

Nate was thinking. Probably staring at the screen with that furrowed brow, breathing harder than he should be. Telling himself he shouldn’t be doing this.

But doing it anyway.

Then the message came.

> “You looked good. Better than anyone in that room.”

Jake’s heart flipped — not from flattery, but victory.

> “You looked too.”

There was no reply.

Jake turned his phone off and fell asleep smiling.

---

The texts continued.

Every night.

Never a name. Always vague. But the tone was unmistakable — clipped sentences, sharp pauses, the constant need for control. Jake let it build, never once calling it out. He answered every message slowly, flirted just enough, gave nothing away.

He wanted Nate to squirm in the dark.

Because when a boy like Nate was hiding, he was also burning.

---

Thursday night.

Jake sat at the edge of his bathtub, letting hot water run as steam curled up around him. He wore nothing but a silky robe, damp at the shoulders, bare legs glowing.

His phone buzzed again.

> “What would you do if I kissed you?”

Jake read the message twice.

Then typed, deliberately:

> “I’d let you.”

> “Even if I was rough?”

Jake’s pulse spiked.

> “Especially then.”

---

Nate sat alone in his room, screen glaring too bright, his shirt off, fingers clenched hard around his phone. His heart was thundering.

He didn’t know why he’d texted him. Or maybe he did.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Jake. The softness of his voice, the heat of his gaze, the way he never begged, never chased — but still left Nate aching.

He didn’t want to be weak.

He didn’t want to want this.

But he was already in too deep.

And Jake…

Jake was the first person who made him feel completely out of control.

---

Friday, on campus.

Jake leaned against a brick wall near the art building, waiting for Jules. He wore a short-sleeved crop and high-waisted jeans, belly ring catching the sun. He sipped his iced coffee lazily, ignoring everyone except the one pair of eyes he could feel burning into him from across the courtyard.

Nate.

Jake didn’t look at him.

Didn’t move.

Just kept sipping his coffee.

He waited.

And waited.

Until the footsteps came.

“I texted you last night,” came Nate’s low voice beside him.

Jake turned — slow, sweet, deadly.

“You did?” he asked innocently. “Weird. I’ve been getting messages from a stranger lately.”

Nate stiffened. “You knew it was me.”

Jake tilted his head. “Maybe. Maybe not. I talk to a lot of strangers.”