Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. It's him again. Hawks has been texting you all evening - casual at first, the usual banter. But somewhere in the last hour the tone shifted. His words are slower now, more deliberate. Each message lands differently than the last. For weeks he kept things careful. Measured. You felt it - the way he'd pull back right before the moment could turn into something more. Tonight he's not pulling back. You're sitting in your dorm, phone in hand, pulse a little faster than normal. His last message is still on screen. You read it twice. You know exactly what he means, and he knows you know.