Vanessa barely had time to breathe, let alone gather herself, before she was ambushed the moment she stepped through the door of the ice cream parlor. The bell overhead gave a cheerful jingle that didn't match the sudden whirlwind of attention that crashed over her like a wave.
"Vanessa!"
"Oh my God, spill!"
"You're actually dating Ethan?!"
"How did this even happen?! Was it a dare or something?!"
The questions came fast, overlapping each other like gusts of wind in a storm. She hadn't even tied her apron yet when the onslaught hit, a dozen eyes wide with disbelief, curiosity, envy, and a dose of awe. Vanessa blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden attention. The air inside the shop was thick with sugary sweetness, but it didn't stop the intensity of her coworkers from making her skin prickle. Her pulse thudded at the base of her throat.
Her hand reached for the knot of her apron almost instinctively, fingers fumbling at the strings as she tried to find some kind of grounding—something to focus on besides the swarm of faces and the barrage of half-shouted questions. She barely got the knot tight before Hannah, her shift partner and school friend, latched onto her arm with theatrical urgency.
"Dude," Hannah whispered fiercely, eyes blazing. "You're dating the rich, mysterious, hot guy from school, and you didn't say a word? You ghosted the group chat and he just... showed up at your birthday like it was normal!People were taking about you 2 today...."
Vanessa scoffed lightly, trying to hide the flush that crawled up her neck. "Well, clearly not enough people were talking, since you still have so many damn questions."
Hannah smacked her playfully, laughing in that way that meant she was anything but done with the interrogation. "Hey! No deflecting, you menace."
Vanessa could feel the others circling around them like vultures hungry for gossip. A couple of the guys from the back had poked their heads through the kitchen door, grinning like this was the most interesting shift they'd had in weeks. Even Becky—their stone-faced, no-nonsense manager—was slowly wiping down the counter with a single raised brow, clearly tuned in to every word.
Vanessa exhaled hard through her nose and turned away, reaching for the scooper and diving into a fresh tub of cookies and cream like it could save her. She muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else, "This is going to be such a long shift."
"I swear to God," she mumbled again, handing over a perfectly domed scoop to a waiting customer, "I don't get why this is such a big deal."
Hannah wasn't about to let it go. "Because it's Ethan freaking... William? Smith?—whatever his last name is! That guy. The one who's always in black, hood up, sits at the back of class like he's judging humanity? The one who hasn't said more than ten words to anyone in years?"
Vanessa couldn't help the smirk that curled on her lips. "Well," she said, almost too casually, "not to me."
Hannah clutched her chest with a gasp so dramatic it earned a chuckle from the front counter. "You tamed the beast, oh my God. This is legendary."
"Shut up," Vanessa muttered, but there was no heat behind it.
"No, seriously," Hannah pressed, eyes narrowing as she leaned in conspiratorially. "How did you get him?"
Vanessa hesitated.
How did she get him?
Her hands slowed as she reached for another cone, her body moving on autopilot while her mind went somewhere deeper. Somewhere warmer. Sharper. More dangerous. Ethan hadn't come into her life like a light switch flipping on. No. He'd come in like a slow burn—like a fire starting in a corner she hadn't noticed, until it was licking up the walls of her world, consuming everything. It wasn't about getting him. It wasn't about chasing him or tricking him or catching him in some romantic trap.
They fought. They clashed. They challenged each other. And somehow, in the mess of it all, he started staying. Started seeing her. Letting her see him, too.
She thought about the way he looked at her when no one else was watching. How his voice changed when he whispered her name. How his hand lingered at the small of her back like he couldn't help it. How the walls he'd built around himself didn't shatter—but bent. For her.
"I didn't get him," she said finally, voice soft but sure. "We just... happened."
Hannah groaned like she'd been denied a juicy secret. "That is the worst explanation ever."
Before Vanessa could reply, Becky's voice cut through from behind the counter, calm and amused. "So when's he coming in?"
Vanessa blinked, completely thrown. "What?"
Becky didn't even look up from her cleaning, her smirk audible in her voice. "Your boyfriend. He should come by sometime."
Vanessa's blood ran a little hot. "Why?"
"Because," Becky said slowly, "we want to see if he's real. Right now, it's just Hannah and the birthday crowd who've seen him. Everyone else thinks this is some fever dream you're riding."
Vanessa felt her face flush, heat blooming at the back of her neck. The idea of Ethan walking through the glass doors of this place, into the middle of this circus, made her heart do a weird twist. Ethan wasn't the kind of guy who played well with the spotlight. He barely tolerated the daylight, let alone group scrutiny from nosy coworkers.
And yet... there was a strange thrill, too. A prickling in her chest at the thought of him standing beside her here. Tangible. Undeniable. Unmistakably hers.
"He's real," she said quietly. "Too real."
The weight of that thought sat heavy on Vanessa's chest all morning—like a stone pressing down, slow and steady, reminding her with every breath that Ethan wasn't built for this kind of exposure. For being seen. Not like that. Not by people who didn't already know how to read the silences between his words.
So when she first saw him that day—standing at his locker, head tilted slightly as he adjusted something inside—her breath caught. Just for a second. Just enough to feel the moment shift.
Gone was the oversized hoodie. Gone was the heavy jacket that always seemed to swallow him whole, like armor made of cotton and silence. Instead, he wore a fitted black shirt—clean lines, sleeves hugging his arms, the fabric clinging just enough to make her brain short-circuit—and a pair of dark jeans that, somehow, managed to look casual and purposeful at the same time.
He looked like Ethan. Still shadowy, still serious. Still carrying that quiet gravity that made people glance and then look away quickly, like they didn't want to be caught staring.
But now... he also looked accessible. Like a version of himself had emerged—pared down, stripped of the need to hide beneath layers. It wasn't some grand transformation. But it was something. And for Ethan, any change was monumental.
Vanessa had to swallow the flicker of heat that sparked in her chest. It wasn't just that he looked good—though God, he did. It was the fact that he was doing this. Choosing to show up differently. Maybe not for the world.
Maybe just for her.
She smirked as she walked over, arms folded across her chest to keep herself grounded. "Damn," she teased, the word laced with something warmer than sarcasm. "Are you finally realizing other clothes exist?"
Ethan glanced sideways at her with his usual unreadable expression. "It's still black," he replied simply.
"Yeah, but no hood? No jacket?" Her brow lifted in mock surprise. "What's next, a white T-shirt?"
He gave her the driest, most unimpressed look she'd ever seen. "Don't get ambitious."
She laughed—more than she meant to. It came out light and easy, but beneath it, her heart skipped a beat. He was still Ethan. Still guarded. Still sarcastic. But there was a softness under his usual edge today. A choice to show up—not just as her boyfriend, but as someone willing to let the world see him, just a little.
They ended up under their usual tree—their little corner of calm at the edge of chaos—legs stretched out in the sunlight that filtered down through the leaves, gold and soft and still. Ethan was halfway through a sandwich, and she was half-focused on her drink, turning her words over carefully before dropping them like a grenade.
"My work friends want to meet you," she said casually, too casually.
He froze, mid-chew. Chewed slowly. Swallowed. Then turned his head toward her with a slow precision that made her insides tighten.
"...What?"
She took a long sip of her drink, enjoying the moment more than she probably should. "You heard me."
The grimace that took over his face was slow and full-bodied, like the thought physically pained him. "Why?"
Vanessa shrugged, keeping her tone light. "Because you're apparently some mythical creature and they want to confirm you exist."
He stared at her, utterly unamused. "I exist."
She gave him a helpless look. "Well, they don't know that. And Becky—my manager—thinks I made you up."
He raised a single brow. "So I'm an elusion now?"
"Pretty much," she replied with a shrug, fighting the smile tugging at her lips.
Ethan dragged a hand down his face like this entire conversation was giving him a headache. "You do remember I hate socializing, right?"
"I do." She grinned. "But you'll do it anyway."
His eyes narrowed in that slow, calculating way of his. "And why would I do that?"
Vanessa leaned in, resting her chin on her hand, watching him like she already knew the answer. "Because I'll owe you one."
There was a beat of silence. Then another. Then he exhaled and met her gaze with quiet intensity. "Fine," he said finally, like the word cost him something. Then, in the most devastatingly calm tone, he added, "But I want a kiss in public as payment."
Vanessa choked on her drink, eyes wide as she coughed and tried not to die from the sudden heat rising in her body.
Ethan didn't even flinch. Just smirked. "Deal?"
Still coughing, she glared at him with what little dignity she could salvage. "You're evil."
He took another bite of his sandwich, completely unbothered. "You knew that already."
Later, after school, they were sparring like they always did. Their usual dance of movement, force, and challenge. Vanessa's heart was racing—not just from the workout, but from being so close to him. From the subtle thrill of watching him move. From the memory of that quiet smirk and the words I want a kiss in public echoing in her head like a dare.
He was stretching now, arms raised, muscles shifting beneath that cursed shirt. She pretended not to stare. Pretended her brain hadn't short-circuited again.
"You're coming with me to work, right?" she asked, trying for casual, but her voice was just a little too breathless.
Ethan gave her a look. A long, slow, suffering look that was so classically him it made her want to laugh and scream all at once. "I regret agreeing already."
Vanessa grinned, wiping the sweat from her brow, breath still a little uneven from sparring, adrenaline still singing faintly in her veins. "Too bad. You're stuck now."
She meant it as a tease, a soft jab in their ongoing back-and-forth, but even as she said it, her stomach fluttered with something deeper. It wasn't just a joke. Ethan was stuck now. Because he'd said yes. Because he was coming with her—into her space, into her life, into a place full of noise and people and curious eyes that he normally avoided like the plague.
And she knew what it cost him.
As they walked through the glass doors of the ice cream parlor, the usual smell of sugar, syrup, and cold cream greeted her like a hug, but it didn't feel comforting today—it felt charged. Anticipatory. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath. And sure enough, the moment they stepped in, all heads turned.
Hannah lit up like a light bulb flickering to life, eyes wide, smile wider. "Hello Ethan!"
Ethan blinked, mid-step, visibly tense under the sudden attention. His whole body shifted subtly, just enough that Vanessa noticed—the way his shoulders lifted slightly, defensively, the way his hands found his pockets like he needed somewhere to hide them. His mouth pressed into a flat line.
Hannah, blissfully unaware of his discomfort, was already pulling out her phone like this was some meet-cute moment. "You seem cool. Can I get your number?"
And for a heartbeat, Vanessa saw it—that flicker of panic in Ethan's eyes. Not fear exactly, but that closed-off look she knew too well. The one that meant he was shutting down, disengaging. Retreating inward because he didn't know what else to do.
She stepped in without hesitation.
"He's taken," she said, voice calm but firm, her hand rising instinctively to Ethan's shoulder, fingers curling there like a silent shield.
Hannah blinked, clearly surprised by the quick shutdown, before giving Vanessa a teasing smile. "Ohhh, protective girlfriend, huh?"
Vanessa rolled her eyes, trying to play it off, though her heart was hammering. "No. Just making sure people don't get their hopes up."
But beside her, Ethan had gone still. Rigid. Like every muscle had tensed into stone. His jaw was clenched so tight she could see it twitch from the corner of her eye. He didn't say a word. Didn't move. But to Vanessa, it was screamingly loud—he was not okay.
She turned to him immediately, her voice dropping low, soft, intimate. "Hey," she said gently, reaching for his hand, threading her fingers through his. "You good?"
His eyes flicked toward her, then down. He exhaled through his nose, sharp and unsteady. "Yeah... just—"
"I got it," she cut in, already moving. She didn't need him to finish the sentence. She could feel it, radiating off of him like heat from pavement. Overwhelmed. Cornered. Drowning in the attention.
She led him outside with quick but careful steps, the door closing behind them with a muted ding. The cool air outside hit her skin like a sigh, and she turned to face him fully.
"You don't have to stay," she said, her voice low, sincere.
Ethan dragged a hand through his hair, eyes closed for a second. "I told you—I suck at social stuff."
"I know," Vanessa said, stepping in, close enough to share his space. "And that's fine. You don't have to force yourself for them."
There was a pause. He looked at her—really looked at her—and in that moment, she couldn't read him at all. There was something dark in his eyes. Not anger, not exactly. Just... weight. Struggle. That familiar tension she knew he carried all the time but rarely let show.
And maybe that's why she kissed him.
No thought. No calculation. Just instinct. Just need.
She stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his—soft, fleeting, barely a brush—but it held so much. A thousand unspoken things packed into a single heartbeat. It wasn't about making a scene. It wasn't about claiming him.
It was about reminding him.
That he was safe here. With her.
When she pulled back, Ethan stared at her like she'd knocked the breath from his lungs. Like he didn't know what to do with the feeling she'd just placed in his hands.
"Go home," she murmured, still close. "I'll see you later."
He nodded slowly, still dazed. He didn't argue. Didn't overthink. He just... left.
Vanessa stood there for a second after he was gone, breathing in the silence. Re-centering. Then, with a long exhale, she walked back inside.
And instantly regretted it.
Hannah practically pounced the second she crossed the threshold, eyes wide with excitement, practically vibrating. "Oh my God, Vanessa! That was the most effortlessly romantic thing I've ever seen! Like—he just stood there all broody and gorgeous and you kissed him?!"
Vanessa groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "It was just a kiss."
Becky, their manager, was leaning on the counter, smirking like a cat that knew too much. "Yeah, sure. And I'm just an ice cream lady. That kiss was fan-fiction material, girl."
Vanessa turned, incredulous. "No one's writing—"
"Oh, trust me," Becky cut in smoothly. "Someone will."
Hannah sighed dreamily, practically swooning against the counter. "So tell me. How did you get him? I mean, Ethan William —the guy in the hood who doesn't speak to anyone? Who even knew he had a jawline under there?"
Vanessa's expression darkened. Her body tensed. She hated that question.
"How did I 'get' him?" she echoed, voice flat.
Hannah nodded, still oblivious. "Yeah. Like—what did you do? Were you just super patient? Did you break down his walls or whatever?"
"I didn't get him," Vanessa said, sharper now. "We just... happened."
But her answer was met with more dreamy sighs and speculative nods.
"So you played the long game," Hannah said, completely missing the point. "Respect."
Vanessa opened her mouth to correct her—again—but another coworker jumped in, voice laced with curiosity.
"Okay, but like... how is he? You know, in general? He doesn't talk much, right? Is he secretly sweet? Or is he like a dark, brooding boyfriend with a soft side? Does he—"
"For fuck's sake," Vanessa snapped, exasperated. "I'm not giving you a relationship debrief, alright?!"
That finally got them to back off—sort of. Becky just laughed, tossing her a notepad like it was a peace offering.
"Alright, alright. Vanessa's love life is off-limits." She gave her a look. "Now get to work before I make you scrub out the machines."
Vanessa caught the notepad midair, grateful for the excuse to do something. Anything.
She headed to the counter and started scooping, arms moving automatically, trying to ignore the heat still lingering on her lips. Trying not to think about Ethan's face after that kiss. About the way he looked like he was both breaking and healing at once.
She knew he wasn't okay.
Meanwhile, Ethan sat on his bed, motionless, staring at the blank wall like it held the answers to questions he couldn't even form.
Vanessa had kissed him.
In public tho not the first time but the way she had done it.
The memory circled his thoughts like a persistent echo—lips soft, brief, deliberate. It hadn't been dramatic or overdone, hadn't come with some grand announcement. But that was the thing. It was simple. Real. Unmistakably her. And yet, it wrecked something quiet inside him.
He ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling messily across his forehead, and exhaled a sharp breath that did nothing to loosen the tightness in his chest. It was the way she had seen him—really seen him—without him needing to say a single word. She'd sensed he was unraveling, and without drawing attention to his discomfort, she had acted. Without asking, without hesitation, without embarrassing him in front of the others. Like it was instinct. Like she knew him.
No one had done that for him since...
Since the accident.
Since everything had turned gray.
Ethan stared at the ceiling now, lying flat on the bed, eyes burning slightly though they remained dry. His chest ached in a way that wasn't entirely painful—just heavy. As if emotion were a weight pressing down on him, reminding him again and again: you are no longer alone.
Vanessa had touched something in him that most people didn't even realize existed. And maybe he should've felt exposed. Vulnerable. But instead?
He felt tethered.
He was already deep in this.
And worse?
He didn't even mind.
As the final exams approached like an impending storm, something shifted in Ethan. Something even he didn't quite understand at first—but Vanessa noticed almost immediately.
He didn't talk as much anymore. Which wasn't new. But this was different. The silence wasn't comfortable like it used to be. It was heavy. Focused. Driven. Like he was constantly somewhere else in his mind, grinding gears she couldn't see.
Their sparring sessions were the first red flag.
Usually, there was a rhythm to them. A lightness. They joked between dodges, exchanged subtle smirks between hits. But now? Ethan was sharper, faster, colder. His strikes were precise—controlled, yes—but there was no teasing in his eyes anymore. Just raw concentration. She could feel him holding back less, like every punch was a pressure valve keeping something darker at bay.
And then, at school, he became something else entirely.
A machine.
Vanessa caught glimpses of it between classes—the way he'd stay in the library during lunch, the way he was always scribbling into his notebooks, eyes scanning pages like he was memorizing them with hunger. She'd watched the shadows deepen under his eyes, the tension coil in his shoulders, the way he muttered things under his breath while solving problems she couldn't even begin to understand.
He was obsessed.
And it worried her more than she cared to admit.
So when she found him in the library again, hunched over yet another thick textbook, she didn't hesitate. She dropped into the seat across from him, kicking her feet up like she belonged there—because she did.
"You know, you're going to stress yourself into an early grave, right?"
Ethan didn't look up. "Not if I pass."
Vanessa raised an eyebrow. "You don't need to pass. You need to breathe."
He flipped a page. "Breathing is secondary."
God, he was impossible.
"You're not even listening to me."
Still no reaction.
She poked his arm. Nothing.
She did it again. Nada.
So, she leaned in, her voice dipping low with that mischievous spark he knew all too well. "If you ignore me one more time, I'm going to kiss you right here in the library."
That got his attention.
His pen stopped mid-stroke. Slowly—very slowly—he turned his head. Those dark green eyes met hers, and the way he looked at her... exasperated, amused, slightly intrigued. And something else. Something softer.
"...That's blackmail," he said, deadpan.
Vanessa smirked. "No, it's motivation."
He sighed, closing the book like it had personally offended him. "Alright. What do you want?"
She leaned back, grinning like she'd just won. "Finally. Took you long enough."
But then, her voice gentled. "I just want to know why you're acting like these exams are life or death. You've always been smart—but this? This feels like something else."
Ethan looked at her, and for a moment, he was unreadable.
Then, he smirked, dry and subtle. "Because I need to make sure you pass too."
Vanessa blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You still suck at math," he said bluntly, grabbing his pen again. "And I refuse to date a failing student. So congratulations—you're stuck with me as your tutor again. And me being here will have to make you study no matter what."
Vanessa stared. Then, slowly, laughter bubbled up and out of her chest. God, he was infuriating.
"Fine," she said, nudging him with her foot under the table. "But if I pass, you owe me ice cream."
Ethan gave her that rare, slow smile—the kind that made her stomach twist in the best way. "Deal."
And somehow, she passed.
Her math grade wasn't miraculous, but it was solid. Respectable. And the rest of her scores? Actually good. Better than they had any right to be. The kind of grades that made her blink twice at the screen before daring to believe they were hers.
And that meant one thing.
Ethan owed her ice cream.
She expected him to show up at her doorstep, smug and half-annoyed, dragging her to the local shop like it was a chore he secretly enjoyed. But instead, he texted her something that made her heart skip.
Come over. Bring your parents. Dinner's on me.
She had stared at the message for a full minute before calling him.
"You're actually inviting us into your house?" she asked, half in disbelief, half in curiosity.
Ethan's voice was low, calm. "A deal's a deal."
Vanessa narrowed her eyes, phone pressed to her ear like it could somehow reveal the smirk she was sure he was hiding. "What's the catch?"
"No catch," he said. "Just don't complain if I burn the food."
And there it was—that playful undertone. That hint of something warmer beneath all the ice.
But what he didn't say—what he didn't need to say—was what it really meant for him to invite her into that space. Into his home. Into the quiet rooms filled with absence and memory. Into the silence that had once swallowed him whole.
He was letting her in.
And maybe—just maybe—that kiss outside the ice cream parlor hadn't been just about comfort. Maybe it had been a mark, a quiet claiming, a moment of vulnerability that she'd laid bare for him and the world to see.
Because now, here they were.
Vanessa sat at Ethan's dining table, a fork frozen halfway to her mouth, her eyes wide with something between disbelief and suspicion. She stared at the plate in front of her like it had personally betrayed her entire understanding of the boy across from her.
He didn't burn the food.
Not even close.
Roast chicken—perfectly golden and glistening—sat beside creamy mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables, all arranged with the kind of presentation that looked intentional, not accidental. There was even fresh bread, warm and soft in the basket between them. It smelled like herbs and butter and something safe. Something homemade.
Her dad muttered something under his breath, fork poised like he wasn't sure whether to eat or to make a speech. "I was fully expecting pizza," he said, and took a cautious bite.
Vanessa followed suit, suspiciously stabbing a potato and raising it to her mouth.
And then—God help her—she actually groaned.
She set her fork down with purpose, her eyes narrowing on Ethan like she'd just uncovered a deeply buried government secret.
"...Okay," she said slowly. "What else are you hiding from me?"
Ethan, as calm and composed as always, had just taken his seat. He blinked once. "What?"
Vanessa gestured wildly at the plate like it was self-evident. "You can cook. Like, really cook. Not just 'bachelor survive-on-toast' cook. This is—this is restaurant level."
He smirked that frustrating little smirk of his. "Shocking, isn't it?"
"First, you're rich. Then, you can fight. Then, you ace every test like you're allergic to failure. Now this?" She took another bite, eyes narrowed in accusation. "You're not some kind of secret prince or something, are you?"
Ethan snorted into his glass of water. "No."
The sound of nails clicking on the tile snapped her attention downward. Her breath caught.
Ares.
The massive German Shepherd strode in silently and parked himself beside Ethan's chair like a sentinel—imposing, proud, a picture of stoic authority. His gaze scanned the room like he was checking for threats, and his dark eyes landed on Vanessa's parents with a seriousness that made her mom freeze mid-bite.
"Oh! You have dogs?" her mom exclaimed, surprised but delighted.
Ethan reached down and scratched behind Ares' ear, earning the faintest shift of approval from the dog. "Three," he replied.
As if summoned by cue, a blur of gold tore into the room. Fenrir, all enthusiasm and wagging tail, zipped straight toward Vanessa's mom and promptly dropped his chin on her lap, ears forward, eyes hopeful.
Her mom let out a laugh. "Oh, aren't you the sweetest!" Her hands immediately found his fur, and Fenrir leaned into the affection with a whine of pure bliss.
Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Of course. Total suck-up."
Ares gave a disapproving huff, like Fenrir was disgracing the household.
And then came Nyx—silent, slow, and unfazed. She padded in from the other room with the leisurely elegance of someone who had nothing to prove. She stretched with feline grace, then flopped down next to Ethan's chair with a dramatic sigh, tail giving one tired flick.
Vanessa's dad chuckled. "Let me guess—this one doesn't do much?"
"She supervises," Ethan replied, straight-faced as he spooned more vegetables onto his plate.
Vanessa's dad gave Nyx a few idle scratches on the head. She blinked slowly, unimpressed, but allowed it.
Her mom was still cooing over Fenrir when she looked up at Ethan again. "So, let me get this straight. You can cook, you can fight, you study like a machine, and you have adorable dogs?"
Her dad didn't miss a beat. "He's the full package."
Vanessa's internal alarms went off immediately. Danger. Parental trap. Abort mission.
Her mom was grinning now, eyes dancing. "I think Vanessa just doesn't like being outdone."
Vanessa's jaw dropped. "I do not—"
Her dad cut in, voice smug. "She's just mad she has to marry him now. A man who can cook, fight, and tutor her through math? She can't let him go."
She choked. Mid-bite. Nearly died on a spoonful of chicken. She grabbed her water, coughing, face flushed.
Ethan? Ethan didn't even flinch. Just took another calm sip of his water, like this was a perfectly normal Tuesday evening and not the moment her parents casually implied marriage.
"I hate you all," she muttered, eyes darting between her very amused parents and the utterly unfazed boy beside her.
Her mom laughed outright. "We're just saying what everyone's thinking."
Vanessa turned to Ethan with narrow eyes and betrayal in her tone. "You could've warned me about this."
Ethan shrugged. "I like surprises."
Ares, traitorous beast that he was, let out a low, satisfied huff.
Fenrir had rolled onto his back by now, paws in the air, tongue lolling while her mom scratched his belly like they were lifelong friends.
And Nyx?
Already asleep. Of course.
Vanessa huffed, jabbing another forkful of food. It was annoyingly delicious. This whole evening was infuriating. And... oddly comforting. She wasn't used to this—being welcomed, being part of something warm and chaotic. There were no watchful stares, no hushed judgments, no second-guessing her every word.
Just a boy who cooked dinner like it wasn't a big deal, three very different dogs with larger-than-life personalities, and two parents who clearly liked him more than they should.
And that—that was the problem.
Vanessa kind of liked this.
Too much.
More than she was comfortable admitting, even to herself.
Still, she glared at Ethan, trying to hide the confusing cocktail of emotions bubbling under the surface. But her glare had no teeth. It was an empty threat. Her parents were having far too much fun, and Ethan—the smug, emotionally intelligent, chaos-loving enigma—was just sitting there, calm as ever, like he wasn't the reason she wanted to crawl under the table and disappear.
Her dad leaned back in his chair with a wicked glint in his eye, clearly savoring the moment. "So, Ethan—since you're already doing all the husband duties, when's the wedding?"
Vanessa stopped chewing.
Her mom, caught mid-sip of wine, choked slightly but recovered quickly, eyes lighting up with amused horror.
Ethan?
Didn't even blink.
He tapped his fingers lightly on the table. Thoughtfully. Like he was actually giving it some serious consideration.
Then he turned to her, eyes meeting hers with slow, deliberate precision, and said with maddening calm,
"Well... that depends."
Vanessa froze.
No. No no no. Do not engage. Do not play this game.
"Depends on what?" her mom asked far too eagerly, already leaning forward, wine glass poised like she was watching a rom-com unfold in real time.
Ethan took another slow bite, chewing like he had all the time in the world.
And then, like it was the most logical answer in the universe, he said—
"On when she proposes."
Vanessa made a noise that sounded somewhere between a gasp and a dying bird.
Her heart lurched. Her jaw dropped. She was pretty sure she was about to short-circuit.
Her dad laughed so hard he actually wheezed. "Oh, I really like this guy."
Her mom was full-on grinning now, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Honestly, it would be very on brand for her to do it first."
Vanessa's face was burning. Not pink. Not flushed. Scarlet.
The same color as her rage. Or humiliation. Or... whatever emotion it was when your parents casually planned your future while your boyfriend smirks across the table like a smug cat.
She slammed her fork down. "You're both banned from speaking. Forever."
Her dad waved her off. "C'mon, kid. You bring a guy like this home, cookin' dinner, acing exams, training like a secret ninja... You expect us to behave?"
Her mom raised her wine glass. "We've never seen you like this. It's adorable.
Ares, the ever-stoic German Shepherd at Ethan's side, let out a low huff of what sounded suspiciously like approval. Fenrir, sprawled belly-up at Vanessa's mom's feet, was clearly having the time of his life with the attention. And Nyx had claimed the space under the table like it was her throne, tail flicking as if she too found all this vastly entertaining.
It was chaos. It was warm, ridiculous chaos, and it was absolutely not what Vanessa expected when Ethan had told her about dinner.
This wasn't just a meal.
It wasn't about ice cream or silly bets or who owed who.
This was intentional.
Ethan, inviting her parents. Cooking real food. Opening up his house—and by extension, himself—in a way that was far more vulnerable than anything he'd said out loud.
And even now, even in the middle of the teasing and the noise and the soft glow of the dinner light—he looked at her like he saw through all of it. Through her walls, her glare, the way she tried to hide how off-balance she felt tonight.
He didn't say it. He didn't need to.
This was him letting her in.
Her parents, mercifully, were settling down. Her mom turned to Ethan with a much gentler tone. "But seriously—thank you. This was lovely. Really."
Ethan nodded slightly. "I figured it was about time."
Vanessa blinked, voice quieter than she meant. "Time for what?"
Ethan met her eyes. His expression softened—not dramatic, not flashy, just real.
"For you to see some more of my world."
And just like that, the teasing haze cleared. The laughter faded into a distant echo behind her ribcage, and all that was left was the steady beat of her own pulse.
Because she got it.
He wasn't just showing her his house. Or that he could cook.
He was showing her who he was—outside of sparring mats, away from books and campus, beyond the sarcasm and the black hoodie.
And it made her feel... exposed. Not in a bad way. In a way that made her stomach twist and her throat tighten.
Vanessa tore her gaze away, grabbed a piece of bread, and stuffed it into her mouth like it could soak up the emotions trying to break free.
"Dork," she muttered.
Ethan smirked. But he didn't say anything.
For once, he let her have the last word.
But Ethan had embarrassed her. Repeatedly. Smoothly. Casually. And in front of her parents, no less.
So it was only fair—natural, really—that she even the score.
Just a little.
She shifted slightly in her seat, all innocent grace, and dipped one hand into her lap as if adjusting her napkin. Her movements were unassuming, perfectly poised—but beneath the table, she slipped off her flat with a practiced ease. Her bare foot brushed the cool air, then found its target: Ethan's ankle.
He didn't flinch.
Vanessa's eyes narrowed, though her expression stayed serene. She traced her foot upward, slowly running the inside arch along his shin. A deliberate stroke, light and measured. It was a teasing contact, one that carried a silent promise of more.
Still—no reaction.
Ethan sat relaxed, still mid-conversation with her dad, voice smooth, tone infuriatingly even. His posture didn't shift. His hands remained casual, resting on the table as if her bare foot wasn't climbing his leg with intent.
Vanessa's heartbeat picked up. This should have worked.
She pressed in harder, running her toes in a slow circle against the muscle of his calf—trailing up, higher, her touch becoming bolder. Her skin burned with the contact, the kind of reckless thrill that came from doing something deeply inappropriate under the safest, most domestic setting imaginable.
He paused.
Mid-sentence, mid-breath, just for a beat. There it was.
Vanessa's lips curved.
But then—he just kept talking.
Smooth as ever. Not a blink. Not a twitch.
She almost choked on her wine.
Oh, you smug bastard.
She dragged her foot up his leg with more purpose this time, sliding slowly toward his knee. Her foot lingered there, pressing against the tendon just under the joint with feather-light precision.
Nothing.
Ethan took a casual sip of his water, nodding along with whatever her dad had just said. Not a single give-away. Not even a damn eye flicker.
Her smirk faltered.
Okay. He wanted to play? Fine.
Vanessa upped the ante, letting her toes trail up the inside of his thigh, bold and slow, a silent dare etched into every motion.
Still, no reaction—except his gaze, sharp and unreadable, flicked toward her. Brief, electric.
Her heart stuttered.
Then—worse—her mom caught it.
Vanessa felt those eyes on her like a laser. She quickly picked up her glass and took a long sip, trying to mask the heat in her cheeks.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She tried to look bored. Tried to act unaffected. But internally, her thoughts were spiraling—half fury, half fluster, and something darkly electric buzzing low in her spine.
Ethan's hand lifted casually to his glass. "You okay, Vanessa?" he asked, his tone light, far too casual, like silk hiding a blade.
She wanted to strangle him.
"I'm fine," she said sweetly, forcing a tight smile.
He tilted his head slightly, his eyes glinting. "You seem... off."
She could hear the smirk in his voice, feel it through the air between them, and her toes pressed harder into his thigh, almost daring him to flinch. Her foot slid just a bit higher, her calf brushing the inside of his knee.
His breath didn't even hitch.
Unbelievable.
Vanessa clenched her jaw, still trying to maintain her mask of calm.
"Must be the wine," she muttered, sipping again, though her hands were trembling slightly from the tension pooling low in her belly.
Her mom cleared her throat, clearly stifling a laugh.
Vanessa blinked. No. No, no—
Her mom was watching them with that infuriatingly knowing expression. Leaning forward, wine glass in hand, she rested her chin on her palm and smiled, like this was all some private inside joke.
"You two have such great chemistry," she said lightly.
Vanessa nearly died.
She kicked Ethan. Hard.
He flinched.
Victory.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning too hard, but the satisfaction was cut short when he turned to her slowly, unreadable.
Then—under the table—his leg shifted, and before she could react, he hooked his foot around hers.
She froze.
His foot held hers, warm and firm, a light entanglement that felt far more intimate than anything she'd initiated. He didn't press, didn't squeeze. He didn't need to. His touch was just enough to say: Your move.
A shockwave ran through her, low and deep, threading heat straight into her core. Her breath caught in her throat.
And Ethan?
He took another sip of water.
Like nothing was happening.
Vanessa sat perfectly still, her heart thundering. The room had never felt hotter. She could still feel his leg against hers, the slide of skin-on-skin below the table like some unspoken challenge.
Words? Gone.
She couldn't even think of a comeback. Her mind was fogged over with heat and frustration and the heady, growing awareness of Ethan's control—of how much he was holding back. Or not. Maybe this was him playing. Toying. Teasing her right back.
Dinner ended not long after, with Ethan bringing out homemade ice cream, cool and sweet and maddeningly normal.
But Vanessa wasn't tasting a thing.
Because every time her mom smirked in her direction, every time Ethan leaned back in his chair like the very picture of innocence, all she could feel was the ghost of his foot, his touch, his maddening restraint.
And the promise of something more.
Something they hadn't dared cross into yet—but were getting dangerously close to.
Too close.
And as the plates were cleared and laughter lingered in the air, Vanessa's eyes met Ethan's across the table.
The night air wrapped around them as they stepped out of Ethan's house, soft and cool with just a whisper of mist settling in from the hills. The stars above were faint, shy behind a veil of city glow, but Vanessa barely noticed. Her skin still buzzed with leftover tension—frustration and something dangerously close to desire tangled up in the pit of her stomach.
Ares led the way, his massive frame moving with a fluid, predatory grace that suggested discipline, power, and the silent promise of protection. He didn't bark or sniff or stray—he simply watched, pacing a step ahead of Ethan like a soldier bred for the sole purpose of keeping him safe. Loyal. Deadly. Unyielding.
Vanessa's mom was all giggles and delight, practically swooning over Fenrir, who trotted beside her like the golden child he was, his tail wagging so hard it was a miracle he hadn't taken out someone's knees. He nuzzled into her side for every bit of attention, soaking it up like sunlight.
And Nyx... Nyx was pure feline energy trapped in a dog's body. She yawned dramatically before finally stepping outside, her dark coat shimmering under the porch light. She stretched with theatrical slowness, blinked once at the group like they were moving too fast for her liking, and then lazily padded along with no concern whatsoever.
Ethan, as ever, remained composed—measured. He didn't rush or fill the silence with unnecessary words. He walked beside Vanessa, just close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him, hands tucked loosely in his pockets like this was just another casual end to just another ordinary evening.
It wasn't.
Not for her.
Vanessa stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye. His profile was still. Calm. But there it was again—that faint curl of his lips. A smirk so slight it could be missed, but she saw it. Felt it.
He knew what he was doing.
And worse? Her parents knew too.
She didn't even have to look at them to know. Her mother's barely-contained grin said enough, and her father's quiet amusement was a weight in the air. She could feel their knowing glances like lasers burning into her back. It was suffocating.
She hated how warm her face felt.
By the time they reached the car, Ares halted first. Like clockwork, he positioned himself beside Ethan, still and tall as a marble statue, those sharp, intelligent eyes doing one last sweep of the surroundings. There was something chillingly beautiful about the dog—so quiet, so aware. Like he'd rip out someone's throat if Ethan so much as raised an eyebrow.
Vanessa shivered, not from fear, but something more primal. Something that whispered that Ethan was used to danger. Born into it. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn't playing.
Fenrir plopped beside her mother's legs, tail wagging slower now, clearly reluctant to see her go. He whined softly as if mourning the loss of cuddles. Her mom bent down and scratched behind his ears one last time, giggling at his droopy-eyed contentment. "You're too charming for your own good," she whispered to the dog.
Nyx? She collapsed dramatically onto the driveway like she'd simply had enough of existing for one evening. Her dark eyes flicked toward the car, then closed again. She was already halfway asleep.
Vanessa's mom turned back to Ethan, still smiling. "Thank you for dinner, Ethan. And for the escort. Very... thorough."
Ethan offered a polite nod, his voice as composed as his expression. "Anytime."
Vanessa rolled her eyes and muttered as she pulled the car door open, "Since when did we need an armed escort?"
She didn't intend for him to hear.
But of course, he did.
"Since you started coming over," he replied without missing a beat, tone calm, inflection maddeningly neutral—like it wasn't an utterly outrageous thing to say.
Ares let out a low, affirmative woof. Vanessa turned a slow glare on both of them, her eyes narrowed in flat disbelief.
Really? Even the dogs were in on this now?
With a dramatic sigh, she climbed into the back seat, flopping against the cool leather with a huff, her irritation barely masking the quick thump of her heart. Just as she reached to pull the door shut, she caught Ethan's expression—one last glance as the car light flickered on overhead.
He was smirking.
Again.
But this time, his eyes met hers with purpose. Heat.
There was nothing casual about it.
That look said: I know exactly what you're thinking. And I'm already ahead of you.
Vanessa slammed the door shut harder than necessary.
The entire ride home, she stared out the window, hoping—praying—that her mother wouldn't say anything.
She should've known better.
~~~~~