The alarm blared at 6:30 AM, jarring Donovan from a dream about wandering through the narrow streets of Barcelona's Gothic Quarter. For a disorienting moment, he reached out expecting to feel Alejandro's warmth beside him, only to find Tyler already up and moving around the bedroom.

  "Morning, sleepyhead," Tyler said, pulling a WSU sweatshirt over his head. "We should head to the bus stop soon. You might want to hurry."

  Donovan blinked the sleep from his eyes, reality settling back in. Right. First day of classes. Last semester. Pullman, not Barcelona.

  They moved around each other with the practiced ease of a couple who had shared the same space for years—Donovan in the shower while Tyler made coffee, Tyler brushing his teeth while Donovan got dressed, both of them grabbing granola bars and travel mugs on their way out the door.

  The late August morning was crisp, the air carrying just a hint of autumn's approach. Other students emerged from nearby apartments, all heading in the same direction, drawn by the magnetic pull of the first day of the semester. Donovan and Tyler joined the small crowd gathering at the bus stop, everyone clutching coffee and looking slightly dazed.

  The bus arrived with a whoosh of hydraulic brakes, and they filed on, finding seats near the back. As the bus pulled away, Donovan gazed out the window at the landscape of "Apartment Land"—the affectionate student nickname for this neighborhood dominated by blocky, three-story complexes with names like "The Regal," "College Crest," and "Cougar Ridge." Most were painted in uninspiring shades of beige and tan, designed for function rather than beauty, but they were enlivened by the signs of student life: colorful curtains in windows, potted plants on balconies, and the occasional WSU flag draped proudly over a railing.

  "Nervous?" Tyler asked, noticing Donovan's quiet contemplation.

  "Not really," Donovan replied. "Just... taking it all in. Last semester. It's a lot."

  Tyler squeezed his hand. "We've got this. One lecture at a time."

  The bus wound its way through the residential areas, then began climbing the hill toward campus. The view opened up, revealing the rolling Palouse hills that surrounded Pullman, their golden-brown hue contrasting with the deep green of the landscaped university grounds. The iconic red brick buildings of WSU came into view, their collegiate Gothic architecture speaking to the university's long history in this small corner of eastern Washington.

  As they neared the heart of campus, the sidewalks grew crowded with students—freshmen looking lost and clutching campus maps, upperclassmen greeting old friends with enthusiastic hugs, professors hurrying toward their first classes with travel mugs and messenger bags.

  The bus stopped at the Terrell Mall, and students poured out, immediately dispersing in various directions like a school of fish breaking formation.

  "So, Holland Terrell at five?" Tyler asked, referring to the library where they often met after classes.

  "Can't today," Donovan reminded him. "Internship orientation. I'll be done by six-thirty though."

  "Right, I forgot. Text me when you're done, and I'll meet you at the bus stop." Tyler leaned in for a quick kiss. "Good luck today."

  "You too," Donovan replied, watching Tyler stride off toward the business building, Todd Hall, before turning in the direction of Murrow Hall, home of the Communications College.

  His first class, COMSTRAT 485 - Public Relations Management and Campaigns, was held in one of the larger lecture halls. Donovan found a seat near the front, excitement building as he took out his notebook and the hefty textbook he'd purchased. This was the culmination of his PR studies, the class where theory would finally translate into practice.

  Professor Whitman strode in precisely at 8:30, setting her coffee and laptop on the podium with purposeful movements. She was a tall woman in her fifties with short silver hair and the kind of confident presence that immediately commanded attention. Donovan had taken her intro class sophomore year and had been impressed by her no-nonsense approach and deep industry knowledge.

  "Welcome to PR Management and Campaigns," she began, her voice carrying easily through the room. "For those who haven't had me before, I'm Professor Whitman. Before joining WSU, I spent twenty years at Edelman in Seattle, the last five as director of their public affairs division. I don't believe in wasting time—yours or mine—so let's get straight to it."

  She launched into an overview of the course, explaining that they would be working in teams with real clients from the Pullman community. Each team would develop a comprehensive PR campaign, from research and planning to implementation and evaluation. The final presentations would be given not just to the class but to the clients themselves.

  "This is as close to the real world as you'll get while still in college," Professor Whitman concluded. "Many of you will use these campaigns in your portfolios when applying for jobs. Some of you will be hired by your clients. So take this seriously, because your future may quite literally depend on it."

  Donovan left the class with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The workload would be intense, but this was exactly the kind of practical experience he'd been looking for.

  Between his morning class and the afternoon session, Donovan found a quiet corner in WSU's sprawling library and pulled out his phone. The notification from Alejandro had been sitting there since he'd woken up, but he hadn't had a chance to properly respond yet. Tyler had been close by all morning, and Donovan preferred to have these conversations when he was alone.

  Now, with forty-five minutes to himself and a coffee beside him, he opened the message.

  Alejandro: First day survived! Dr. Ferrer didn't completely destroy my thesis concept, which counts as a win. How did your classes go? Miss talking to you.

  Donovan smiled, glancing around quickly before typing his response.

  Donovan: Sorry for the late reply. Classes running back-to-back today. Tell me more about the thesis approval! What exactly did Dr. Ferrer say?

  The reply came almost immediately, suggesting Alejandro was already done with classes for the day.

  Alejandro: He called it "ambitiously adequate with potential for improvement" which, from him, is like getting a standing ovation. Most of my classmates got completely torn apart. Rafael left looking like he might cry.

  Donovan: Congratulations! I knew you'd impress him. What exactly was your concept again? Something about sustainable urban renewal?

  Alejandro: Converting an abandoned textile factory in El Poblenou into a mixed-use space—art studios, affordable housing, and community areas—while preserving the historical architecture and using sustainable materials. I want to show how we can honor Barcelona's industrial past while creating spaces for its creative future.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Donovan: That sounds incredible. I can already picture it.

  Alejandro: I wish you could see the preliminary sketches I've done. Maybe I'll send some photos later.

  Donovan: Please do. So what else happened on your first day? Any other classes worth mentioning?

  There was a pause before Alejandro's next message appeared.

  Alejandro: The Urban Planning Studio is going to be interesting. Professor Costa paired us up for the semester, and I got matched with Miguel García. Do you remember him? Tall guy, always wore those vintage shirts?

  Donovan frowned slightly. He vaguely recalled meeting a Miguel at one of the university parties Alejandro had taken him to—handsome, with an easy laugh and perfect hair.

  Donovan: I think so. Wasn't he the one who kept talking about that architect... Gaudí or something?

  Alejandro: Haha, yes! He's obsessed with Gaudí, especially Casa Batlló. Knows every detail about it. Most people find it annoying but it's actually impressive how passionate he is.

  Something uncomfortable stirred in Donovan's chest.

  Donovan: So what's your project together?

  Alejandro: We're redesigning a section of the waterfront near Barceloneta. The city wants to make it more accessible, more green, while preserving its maritime character. It's a good pairing actually—Miguel has amazing attention to detail, and I'm better at the big picture concepts.

  Donovan: Sounds like you two will make a good team.

  Alejandro: I think so. We spent lunch sketching initial ideas and actually didn't fight once, which must be a record for architecture students.

  Donovan felt a twinge of something he didn't want to name. He had no right to feel jealous—he was the one with a boyfriend, the one leading a double life.

  Alejandro: How about you? Tell me about your first day. Did the PR professor like your Barcelona-influenced ideas?

  Donovan: First day was good but exhausting. The PR Campaigns class is exactly what I hoped—we're working with real clients in Pullman. My Ethics professor is new and seems amazing—she got her Ph.D. from Berkeley and has this really dynamic teaching style.

  Alejandro: Sounds perfect for you. What about Spanish? Has Barcelona made you the star student?

  Donovan: Not sure about star student, but I definitely understand more than I used to. Though my friend Ava says my accent must sound like Antonio Banderas now, which is definitely not true.

  Alejandro: Your accent was adorable. I miss hearing you stumble over your r's.

  The message made Donovan smile, even as he glanced around to make sure no one was looking over his shoulder.

  Donovan: My r's were not that bad! And they improved.

  Alejandro: They did. Everything improved the longer you stayed.

  There was a loaded pause, and Donovan could feel the conversation shifting into more dangerous territory.

  Alejandro: I miss you in my classes. The way you used to wait for me outside the architecture building. How you'd bring me coffee when I had late studio sessions.

  Donovan swallowed hard, memories flooding back—the warm Barcelona evenings, waiting on the stone steps of the university building, watching Alejandro emerge with his portfolio tucked under his arm, his face lighting up when he spotted Donovan.

  Donovan: I miss that too. Those late-night walks back to your apartment...

  Alejandro: When every street seemed magical somehow.

  Donovan: It wasn't the streets that were magical.

  He sent the message before he could overthink it, feeling a flutter in his stomach as he watched the typing indicator appear and disappear several times, as if Alejandro was writing and rewriting his response.

  Alejandro: You're making it very hard to focus on structural design equations right now.

  Donovan: Sorry. Should I talk about something boring instead?

  Alejandro: No need. My project group just walked in. Need to go.

  Alejandro: But Donovan?

  Donovan: Yes?

  Alejandro: I'm thinking about you. All the time.

  Donovan stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. The honest response—I'm thinking about you too, constantly—felt both true and dangerous to admit.

  Alejandro: Seriously, our group leader is giving me the evil eye. Talk later? Same time tomorrow?

  Donovan: It's a date.

  As soon as he sent it, Donovan winced at his word choice. A date. It wasn't, of course. Couldn't be. And yet.

  Alejandro: Looking forward to it. ??

  The heart emoji seemed to pulse on the screen, a small digital token of something much larger and more complicated. Donovan closed the messaging app, suddenly aware of the time. He had ten minutes to cross campus for his next class.

  His COM 400 class—Mass Media Ethics—was held in a smaller classroom in Jackson Hall. The professor, Dr. Rivera, was new to WSU, having just finished her Ph.D. at Berkeley. She was younger than most of Donovan's professors, probably in her early thirties, with a dynamic teaching style that immediately engaged the class.

  "Ethics isn't about right answers," she explained, pacing at the front of the room. "It's about asking the right questions. By the end of this semester, you won't have a neat list of 'ethical things to do.' What you will have is a framework for thinking through complex ethical dilemmas in a thoughtful, nuanced way."

  The irony wasn't lost on Donovan. Here he was, taking an ethics course while actively deceiving his boyfriend. He shifted in his seat, trying to focus on Dr. Rivera's lecture rather than the uncomfortable parallel.

  After ethics came his digital content class with Dr. Chen, then Spanish with the ever-enthusiastic Ava, who extracted a promise to hear more Barcelona stories over coffee later in the week. By the time Donovan reached his internship orientation at the CUB Marketing office, the day had blurred into a stream of syllabi, introductions, and information overload.

  Jessica Lin, his supervisor, showed him to a small desk that would be his for the semester. "We're really excited to have you on board," she said. "Your study abroad experience will be a great perspective for our international student outreach materials."

  Donovan spent the next hour reading through brand guidelines and content strategy documents, the work straightforward but offering potential for creativity. By the time he finished, it was after six, and exhaustion was setting in.

  Tyler was already waiting at the bus stop, looking as tired as Donovan felt. They rode home in comfortable silence, too exhausted for much conversation. Dinner was simple—leftover pizza reheated in the microwave, eaten while half-watching a sitcom on Netflix.

  "Good first day?" Tyler asked as they got ready for bed, the question punctuated by a yawn.

  "Good, but long," Donovan replied, climbing under the covers. "Yours?"

  "Same. This business capstone is going to be brutal, but at least the professor seems cool."

  That night, they settled into bed in their familiar positions—Tyler on the left, Donovan on the right—the routine providing stability after the whirlwind of the day.

  As Tyler's breathing deepened into sleep beside him, Donovan's mind drifted to Alejandro's last message. “I'm thinking about you. All the time.” He stared at the ceiling, caught between two worlds that seemed to grow further apart with each passing day, even as the pull between them remained as strong as ever.

  His last conscious thought was a question he couldn't answer: How long could he keep living in both worlds before one of them demanded all of him?