I Dated Twin Guys As Their Online Experiment, But I Had My Own Plan Chapter 01

I Dated Twin Guys As Their Online Experiment, But I Had My Own Plan Chapter 01

My online boyfriend Evan Sullivan was impossible to understand.

Some days he was warm and affectionate. Other days, he disappeared without warning.

Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays—he’s glued to his phone, texting back in seconds, acting clingy as hell.

Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays—I’m lucky if I get a single “k” six hours later. Sundays? He full-on ghosts.

After he ghosted me again, I finally told him we should meet up. That’s when the comments started scrolling across my vision—

[This side character still has no idea she’s been talking to twin brothers this whole time.]

[Their relationship started because of a psychology project about online connections.]

[The whole hot-and-cold routine? It was part of their research. And this side character actually bought it and suggested meeting up in person.]

[Stop checking your phone. Both guys are too busy chasing the real female lead to care about you right now.]

So it was all for the female lead’s term project. And here I was thinking the guy had some kind of split personality.

Funny thing, though. I was only in it for my project, too.

***

This whole thing started at the beginning of the semester.

The professor for my psychology minor assigned a research topic—analyzing how romantic relationships impact emotional fluctuation.

As someone who’d been single for almost twenty years, I had zero personal experience. No crushes. Nothing.

“You could just pull examples from novels,” my roommate Lena Davis suggested, biting into an apple while sprawled on her bed.

“Those are all romanticized. Fictional.”

“Then date online.” She lobbed the apple core into the trash with perfect aim. “Get yourself into something real. You’ll feel the data in your gut.”

I hesitated.

“Come on, let’s game.” Lena already had her laptop open. “I’ll introduce you to some people.”

Honestly, I figured I’d mess around a little. But then a random fill player on our co-op FPS game started talking—and his voice was something else.

When he called out plays over the mic, that low voice slid straight through my headphones and sent a shiver all the way down my spine.

Lena shot me a wild look. “Go for it!”

“Go for what?”

“Add him! What do you mean ‘go for what’?” She looked personally offended. “Just be like, ‘Can you carry me?’ and act all sweet and innocent.”

I stared at her.

It was completely unlike me, but I did it anyway.

He accepted my friend request fast, and we started playing together constantly. The chats bled out of the game and into everyday life.

He told me his name was Evan Sullivan, a junior, one city over.

We floated in that almost-relationship zone for about a month before I decided it was time. After a duo match, I sent the message. [Evan, I’m into you. You wanna be official?]

I slapped my phone face-down on my desk. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my ears.

Three minutes later, it buzzed.

[Yeah.]

Just that one word. My online relationship officially began.

I treated every online dating guide I found like a sacred text—“play hard to get,” “keep some mystery,” “don’t be too available.”

The first rule immediately blew up in my face.

The first week after we made it official felt normal.

Good morning and goodnight texts, constant updates, even pictures of whatever he ate for lunch.

But week two? That’s when things got strange.

Monday, he was firing back replies in seconds, piling on the “baby” this and “baby” that until I couldn’t breathe.

Tuesday, I sent a message at 9 a.m. and got a single “yeah” at 3 p.m.

Wednesday, back to normal—over an hour on video call.

Thursday, radio silence for half the day. I sent a pile of messages and received one emoji.

Friday rolled around like nothing happened. He was all warmth again.

Saturday was the worst. My texts went straight into a black hole. He finally resurfaced that night with just one word, “Busy.”

Sunday? Complete ghost.

I stared at my screen, at a chat window that had been dead for two whole days. A single thought looped in my head—what was really going on with him?

“This guy has to have some kind of double life going on,” Lena said, looking horrified after I caught her up.

I shook my head. “No clue. But I need the data, so I’m not bailing yet.”

So I did. Even when he ran hot and cold. Even when he pulled those disappearing acts.

I kept reaching out anyway, dragging that brittle, barely-there thing along for another agonizing month.

My project hit its final stage, and I needed one last piece of data—an emotional baseline during an in-person meetup.

Sunday night, after he’d gone silent yet again, I opened our empty chat and started to type. That’s when the comments appeared.

After reading them, I didn’t get angry. I laughed.

I looked back down and typed out a single line.

[Are you free next Sunday? Let’s meet.]