Vanessa didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't breathe.
She just sat there, slumped slightly in her chair, hands cupped over her face, as if doing so might block out reality.
But of course, it didn't. Reality was still there. In the form of the smug, frustrating, completely unreadable boy sitting across from her-who was apparently full of casually dropped emotional landmines.
And now, her brain wouldn't stop spiraling.
She peeked at Ethan through her fingers, voice weak and pleading.
"Please, please tell me you're joking."
It was a feeble hope, and deep down she already knew the answer. But she had to ask. Had to try.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest with a quiet, controlled movement. His face didn't show amusement this time. There was no smirk, no teasing glint in his eyes-just stillness. Something unreadable flickering just beneath the surface.
"There's a reason I got emancipated, Vanessa."
Her stomach dropped.
Hard.
Like she'd been sucker-punched.
She sat up straighter, the weight of his words anchoring her back to the world.
"...Wait. What?"
The words had slipped out automatically, but her thoughts were miles behind. She blinked at him, trying to catch up, trying to process what she thought she just heard.
Ethan didn't answer right away. The mask he usually wore-the one made of cocky grins and nonchalant shrugs-faded slightly, replaced with something more neutral. More distant.
"The courts don't just grant emancipation for no reason," he said, voice low.
Vanessa knew that. Of course she knew that. But she had never thought to ask why in his case.
Because it was Ethan. And Ethan was...
Well, he was Ethan. Confident. Self-contained. Rich. Independent. She had assumed-naively, maybe-that the emancipation was just a technicality. Something tied to his trust fund. Something cold and legal and impersonal.
But hearing it from him directly, like this, with the smallest crack showing through his usual mask-this was different.
Very different.
She swallowed hard. Her mouth felt dry. "What happened?"
Ethan looked at her for a long moment, like he was trying to decide whether to answer at all. His fingers tapped softly against the edge of the table. Rhythmically. Like a heartbeat.
Then he sighed.
Slow. Controlled. Tired.
"My uncle isn't a bad guy," he said finally. "But he's not exactly... parent material."
Vanessa didn't respond. Didn't interrupt. She just listened.
And that alone was strange. She always had something to say, always had a comeback-especially with him. But this? This wasn't banter. This was real.
And suddenly, she wanted to hear everything.
Ethan glanced at her, as if checking her reaction, then looked away again.
"I was a minor with a lot of money, Vanessa," he said. "You don't think people would try to take advantage of that?"
Her eyes widened, the pieces beginning to rearrange themselves in her head. Pieces she hadn't even realized were scattered.
"...You mean-your uncle?"
Ethan gave a half-shrug. "Not directly. But let's just say he wasn't the most responsible guardian. The court agreed I was better off handling things myself after I turned sixteen."
She sat back in her chair slowly, processing, eyes fixed on him.
He said it all so casually, like it wasn't a big deal. Like emancipating yourself at sixteen and managing your own finances and defending yourself from family wasn't monumental.
But it was.
And it rattled her. Because Ethan always seemed so in control. Like nothing could touch him. Like he'd built a fortress around himself and dared the world to try.
But now... that fortress didn't feel so impenetrable anymore.
She swallowed again. "So... what? He just let you do whatever you wanted?"
Ethan's mouth twitched into a small smirk-just a hint of his usual self. "More or less."
Vanessa frowned. "And you still don't drink?"
He laughed quietly, the sound surprisingly soft. "Not all freedom is worth using, Vanessa."
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
She didn't know what to say to that. It was such a simple statement, but it cut deep. Like everything Ethan said today-it carried more weight than she was prepared for.
She hesitated. Then, quietly:
"...Did he ever try to take your money?"
For a moment, Ethan's eyes darkened-just a fraction. Not enough for anyone else to notice, maybe, but she did.
"He tried."
Her chest tightened.
There was something cold and sharp in those two words, something buried and unfinished. Something that made her want to reach across the table and grab his hand-even though she didn't do that sort of thing.
Ethan shook his head, brushing the moment away. "He didn't get far. He's not stupid. He knows I'd take legal action if he tried again."
He said it like it was nothing. Like it was normal. Like suing your own guardian was just part of growing up.
Vanessa's hands curled into fists beneath the table.
It wasn't normal.
"That's..." Her voice faltered. "That's really messed up."
Ethan looked at her, a small, amused smile curling his lips. "And here I thought you were still stuck on the magazines."
Vanessa snapped out of it long enough to kick him under the table.
"Shut up."
He chuckled, not even pretending to be hurt.
But her brain was still racing, trying to match the version of Ethan in front of her now with the Ethan she thought she knew. She'd always known there was more to him than met the eye, but this? This was something else entirely.
He had been living alone. Managing everything on his own. Since sixteen. And she'd never asked.
Never even wondered.
She stared at him, feeling her heart twist in a way she didn't quite understand. He wasn't just guarded-he was a fortress built from necessity. Reinforced by betrayal.
And she had never realized how heavy that armor must have been.
Ethan must've noticed her staring because he reached over and knocked gently on her forehead.
"Don't overthink it, Vanessa. It's not that deep."
She slapped his hand away, scowling. "Not that deep? You just casually told me your uncle-your only guardian-tried to steal from you, and you had to get the courts involved! How the hell is that 'not that deep'?!"
He shrugged again, infuriatingly calm. "I dealt with it. It's in the past."
Vanessa grit her teeth. "You always do that."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"
She pointed at him, exasperated. "You act like nothing ever affects you. Like you can just brush off everything that happens to you like it's no big deal."
He tilted his head, his voice softer now. "And you act like you need to fight every battle for me."
That shut her up.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Because... yeah.
He wasn't wrong.
She did do that. She was always throwing herself into other people's messes-his most of all. Like it was her responsibility. Like he wouldn't survive without her interference.
And maybe it wasn't entirely about him.
Maybe she needed it, too.
Still, she crossed her arms and huffed, not ready to admit it. "I just think you should talk about this stuff more. With me."
Ethan held her gaze for a moment, unreadable again.
Then he looked away.
"Maybe."
Vanessa blinked.
Wait.
Did he just agree?
She wasn't sure, but he hadn't dismissed her. He hadn't mocked her or deflected. He'd actually considered it.
And suddenly, her chest felt... weird. Not in a bad way. Warm. Heavy. Something fluttering deep inside, like she'd accidentally stepped too close to the edge of something important.
But before she could chase the moment, Ethan leaned back and flashed her that familiar, maddening smirk.
"Anyway. That makes us even."
She narrowed her eyes. "...Even?"
His smirk widened. "You flusterd me, and I saw something embarrassing about you. Fair trade."
Her cheeks flared red.
Of course. The magazines.
She groaned, grabbing the nearest napkin and throwing it at his face. "It wasn't mine, dumbass! You just said they were your uncles"
He caught it mid-air with annoying grace, laughing. "If you say so."
Vanessa buried her face in her arms. "I hate you."
Ethan leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, watching her with that smug look again.
"No, you don't."
She peeked at him through her bangs, scowling. "I should."
He grinned.
"But you don't."
And the worst part?
The part that made her want to scream into a pillow?
He was right.
The days bled together in a slow, irritating haze.
And through it all, he lingered in her mind like a stubborn song stuck on repeat.
Ethan.
Always calm. Always composed. Always three damn steps ahead.
It was driving Vanessa insane.
No matter what she did-no matter how clever, chaotic, or downright outrageous-he never faltered. Not even a twitch. And worst of all, he had taken her last stunt, the one she thought would finally catch him off guard, and flipped it back on her like it was a game he'd already won before it began.
"Fair trade."
She could still hear the smugness in his voice. Could still feel the smirk behind it.
It haunted her. Mocked her.
She huffed as she flopped into the kitchen chair, arms crossed tight against her chest like she was holding herself together with pressure alone. The chair creaked in protest, but she didn't care. The whole world could burn down around her right now, and she'd still be stewing in the echo of that damn smirk.
Across the kitchen, her mother glanced up from the cutting board, eyebrows arching as she sliced through a carrot with casual efficiency.
"You look constipated, dear. That's not a good look on you."
Vanessa's scowl was instant and dramatic. "I do not look constipated."
Her mom tilted her head with that same deadpan smirk that could strip paint off walls. "Oh, you absolutely do. That look? That's your plotting face. You only wear it when someone's gotten under your skin. Let me guess-Ethan?"
Vanessa hesitated. Just for a second.
Then she sighed, slumping further in her chair. "Yeah."
Her mom didn't even blink. Didn't act surprised. Of course she wasn't. Vanessa had been radiating irritation like a heat lamp since yesterday. Her thoughts had been stuck in an endless loop, obsessing, unraveling, re-plotting and rethinking every failed attempt at cracking Ethan's calm.
Her mother set the knife down, wiped her hands on a dish towel with deliberate slowness, then leaned against the counter, crossing her arms.
"Alright," she said. "Spill."
Vanessa paused again, her pride wrestling with her exhaustion. It was honestly embarrassing-how much energy she'd poured into trying to get under her boyfriend's skin. And for what? A reaction? A flicker of emotion that wasn't so neatly curated?
She crossed her arms tighter, cheeks flushed with frustration. "He's just... always calm. Like, eerily calm. I swear, if the house caught on fire, he'd just sip his damn coffee and watch it burn."
Her mom snorted. "And this bothers you because...?"
Vanessa huffed, shifting in her chair. "Because it's unnatural! People react! People panic or get flustered or mess up. But not him. Never him. It's like-he's so in control, it's annoying."
Her mom gave her a look. Not judgmental. Just... knowing.
"Or maybe," she said, voice cool and steady, "you want to be the exception."
Vanessa's breath caught.
She blinked.
Froze.
The words hit her so suddenly, so perfectly, it was like her mother had reached across the kitchen and slapped the truth right into her.
Wanting to be the exception.
To be the one who got through.
To be the crack in Ethan's armor.
She didn't respond. Couldn't. Not when her entire brain had just gone silent in realization.
Her mother, ever the queen of well-timed exits, just smirked and turned back to the vegetables like she hadn't just dropped a bombshell mid-conversation.
"It's not about startling him, Vanessa," she said as she slid the carrots into a bowl.
Vanessa frowned, still dazed. "Then what is it about?"
Her mother glanced over her shoulder. "Ethan's not emotionless. He's just... selective. He doesn't show people what he doesn't want them to see. If you really want to rattle him, it won't be with pranks or surprises or being soft. It'll be with something that matters. Something personal."
That landed.
Vanessa chewed on her bottom lip, heart beating faster.
Something personal.
Something that meant something.
She let her mind drift, fingers tapping restlessly against the tabletop. It had to be real. Genuine. A hit that slipped under his radar-not a punch, but a whisper. Something soft enough to catch him off guard. Something true.
It couldn't be loud. It had to be intimate.
And suddenly...
She had it.
The idea bloomed in her mind like a flicker of lightning behind her eyes-fast and bright and perfect.
Her lips curled slowly into a grin, and she felt something deep inside her shift. This wasn't about outsmarting him anymore. It wasn't about winning.
It was about getting through.
Her mother glanced over again, catching the glint in her eye and groaning theatrically. "Oh boy. Whatever you're planning, I almost feel bad for Ethan."
Vanessa leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms lazily behind her head with the air of a woman who had just made peace with war. "Don't. He deserves it. Every last drop of smugness is coming right back at him."
Her mom raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. So what exactly are you planning?"
Vanessa shrugged, the grin not leaving her face. She wasn't going to ruin the surprise.
Not this time.
"You'll see."
Her mother rolled her eyes. "You're terrible."
"You raised me."
Her mom snorted. "Fair point. Just... don't do anything too stupid, alright?"
Vanessa stood up with a wave of her hand, already halfway out the door. "No promises!"
She didn't stop to explain. Didn't need to.
Her heart was pounding in her chest, not with nerves-no, this was excitement. Purpose. A quiet certainty that this time, she had something real. Something Ethan wouldn't be ready for.
Because he thought he knew her.
But he had no idea what she was about to do.
The next day at school, Vanessa was the picture of calm.
Unbothered. Casual. Effortlessly normal.
Which, of course, took a ridiculous amount of effort.
Every step, every glance, every word had to be measured, balanced between "just another day" and "completely harmless." She knew Ethan watched people-really watched. Observed, assessed, categorized. She couldn't afford even a hint of her real agenda slipping through.
So, she played it cool. Smiling when she usually would. Throwing in a few harmless jabs. Laughing at dumb jokes. Letting her fingers brush his arm just long enough to feel natural.
But her mind? Her mind was racing.
Every breath she took was counted.
Every second was strategy.
Her plan had to be flawless. Not just clever-invisible. If he even sensed she was up to something, the whole thing would implode before it even started.
Ethan, unsurprisingly, remained his usual frustratingly composed self.
He showed up that morning like he always did-slightly disheveled in the way that still managed to look effortless, dressed in muted blacks and grays that matched the tone of his permanent poker face. His hands were tucked in his jacket pockets, his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, like he couldn't be bothered to wear it properly. That same quiet confidence radiated off him like smoke from a fire that had long since learned to burn low, slow, and lethal.
Vanessa watched him approach from across the courtyard, and despite everything-despite herself-she felt that familiar flutter in her chest.
It was ridiculous, really. She was plotting something, dammit. Something personal. Meaningful. A soft strike, not a harsh one. But still-one look at him, and her stupid heart did that.
She rolled her eyes at herself and looked away before he could catch her staring.
Still... she didn't miss the small but steady evolution in him. The slight shift in his wardrobe lately. A few less layers. A shirt that almost hugged his frame the way it was meant to. The kind of small detail that no one else would probably notice.
But she noticed.
And it pleased her more than she cared to admit.
It wasn't about the clothes. Not really. It was what they represented.
Trust.
Ethan didn't do change. Not unless it was calculated. Controlled. But somewhere along the line, he had let something shift. Had started letting her see the cracks. Just a little. Just enough.
And today?
Today, she was going to widen one of those cracks.
During lunch, they sat in their usual spot in the cafeteria. The same corner table tucked into the shadows, half-away from the chaos of the lunch crowd. It had become their little pocket of stillness in a building full of noise, and she had grown weirdly attached to it.
Ethan sat across from her, eating slowly, methodically, like always. Vanessa mirrored his movements with an air of nonchalance, stabbing a fry like it had personally offended her. Then, as casually as she could manage, she leaned across the table slightly, lowering her voice.
"Hey," she said, light as air. "Wanna come over after school?"
Ethan didn't even look up at first. He just stabbed another piece of food and said, "For what?"
Vanessa shrugged, keeping her expression neutral. "Just hanging out. No ulterior motives, I swear."
That got his attention.
His eyes lifted, narrowing slightly as they locked on hers. Vanessa resisted the urge to squirm under the weight of his gaze-it was like being scanned. Not just looked at, but read.
Finally, he spoke.
"That statement is suspicious by itself."
Vanessa smirked, tilting her head like she was amused. "What, can't trust your girlfriend?"
Ethan sighed, the kind of long-suffering exhale he usually reserved for bureaucratic paperwork or group projects.
"I trust you to be scheming something," he said, dry as ever.
Vanessa gasped, putting a hand over her chest like she was wounded. "Wow. The lack of faith is astounding. And here I thought we had something special."
Ethan just gave her that look-the one that said, don't play innocent with me. The one she hated because it meant he already suspected her of something. Not enough to act. But enough to be on guard.
Still, after a moment, he gave another exasperated sigh. "Fine. But if this is another one of your failed attempts to startle me, I'm leaving early."
Vanessa grinned, heart skipping. "Deal."
And just like that, she knew-she'd already won.
Not the whole war. Not yet. But this? This was the opening move.
The trap was set.
The timing? Perfect.
And he had just walked straight into it.
Ethan shook his head, clearly unconvinced. "I already regret this."
Vanessa bit her tongue to stop herself from beaming. Instead, she picked up her soda, casually sipped it, and shrugged.
"Regret is part of the experience," she said sweetly.
He rolled his eyes, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth-almost a smile.
And it infuriated her how attractive that almost-smile was.
Vanessa glanced at him over the rim of her cup, heart thumping faster than she wanted to admit.
This wasn't just about proving a point anymore. It hadn't been for a while.
It was about knowing him. Seeing him, really seeing him, in ways no one else had.
And making him see her the same way.
Today... she wasn't going to try to scare him. Or embarrass him. Or mess with him for a reaction.
She was going to hit him in a place far more vulnerable.
Somewhere even he might not realize was exposed.
And the best part?
He wouldn't see it coming.
Vanessa finished the rest of her soda, barely able to contain the energy buzzing under her skin. She was playing with fire, sure.
But Ethan had been fireproof for too long.
It was time to make him feel the heat.
Ethan drove her home like he always did. Same routine. Same quiet music humming from the speakers. Same rhythm to the silence between them-comfortable, unspoken, measured.
But this time, he didn't pull away once the engine died in front of her house. He didn't wait for her to hop out and disappear behind the front door.
He parked his bike.
And turned it off.
Vanessa's heart skipped, then picked up in speed. She didn't look at him. Didn't dare.
He's coming in.
Good.
She swallowed, fighting the tight coil in her stomach as they walked toward the door. Her palms were sweating. Her thoughts were screaming over one another, a tangled mess of Did I do too much? Is this too far? Will he hate me for this?
But she held it together.
Barely.
The second they stepped inside, her mother's voice greeted them like a shot to the gut.
"Ethan, welcome. Vanessa has been so excited to-"
"MOM!" Vanessa nearly choked, face blazing red hot.
Mortification surged through her, burning down her spine like fire. She was going to die.
Her mother just laughed, shameless, waving them off like they were kids caught sneaking cookies. "I'm just saying, dear."
Ethan, of course, remained completely unaffected. Of course he did.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Reyes," he said, nodding politely, voice smooth and unreadable as always.
Her mom winked at Vanessa-winked-before vanishing into the kitchen. "I'll be out of your way. Have fun."
Vanessa wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
But she had bigger things to worry about. This wasn't about her mother or her burning embarrassment. This was about the plan.
The moment.
She turned to Ethan, schooling her face into something neutral-teasing, even-and gestured upstairs. "Come on."
He followed her without question, footsteps steady behind her as they climbed the stairs, and her chest was about to explode from the pressure of what she was walking him into.
Because this time... this wasn't just another prank. This wasn't a silly trap or a harmless jump scare. This was deeper. Riskier. Personal.
She opened her bedroom door and stepped aside, letting him walk in first.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, she saw it.
That half-second pause.
Ethan froze.
It was subtle. Barely noticeable. But for him-for the boy who never flinched, never slipped, never showed anything-it was a revelation.
Vanessa stood quietly by the door, watching as his eyes swept the room.
Photo albums arranged neatly on the desk.
The soft flicker of vanilla-scented candles lit low.
And at the center of it all... the laptop.
Open. Waiting.
The screen frozen on a paused frame-a grainy home video.
Ethan's parents.
His father, mid-laugh. His mother's smile blooming in the soft light of a day long gone.
Ethan didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
Vanessa's chest ached at the sight.
Because she saw it. Really saw it.
For the first time since she had met him, the armor cracked.
His hands curled into loose fists at his sides, the tension in his knuckles stark against his pale skin. His eyes-normally sharp, detached, dissecting everything with clinical detachment-wavered. Not wildly. Not dramatically. Just enough.
But enough was everything.
She leaned against the desk, arms folded, voice low. "Surprised?"
His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. "Where did you get this?"
There was a strain in his voice he tried to hide. Most people wouldn't hear it.
But Vanessa did.
She tilted her head. "My mom."
That got his full attention.
He turned to her, eyes narrow. "Your mom?"
She nodded, tapping her fingers against the wood behind her. "Turns out our parents were friends. She had some old recordings. I thought... maybe you'd want to see them."
Silence.
It fell like a blanket, thick and smothering.
Vanessa could practically feel his heartbeat through the air-like hers was trying to sync to it.
Still, he said nothing.
He just stared at the screen, the image of a man who looked so much like him it almost hurt.
His father.
Alive. Laughing.
Next to a woman with the same sharp cheekbones and hair Ethan inherited, whose arms held a small, white-haired child.
Ethan as a little boy.
Innocent. Bright-eyed. Happy.
Vanessa's breath caught.
It was him.
Undeniably him.
Ethan, here and now, hadn't moved.
He stood there like stone. But Vanessa saw everything in him screaming. Saw the tension in his shoulders. The stiffness in his neck. The way his breath was too even.
He was holding himself together with sheer force of will.
And she was starting to wonder if this had been too much.
Had she pushed him too far?
Then he spoke-quietly. Carefully. Like his voice might shatter if he raised it even slightly.
"...Play it."
Vanessa hesitated only a second before reaching out and clicking the mouse.
The video began to play.
And for a moment, the air in the room changed.
Laughter echoed from the laptop.
Not hers.
Not his.
His mother's.
Rich and warm and full of life.
The kind of laughter that wrapped around your ribs and held you there.
She was holding Ethan-baby Ethan-close, bouncing him lightly while his tiny arms clutched her neck. His father's voice, deep and teasing, called out from behind the camera.
"Say hi to the camera, little man."
"Hi, Daddy!" little Ethan chirped, beaming.
It was a moment of pure joy.
Untouched.
Vanessa felt something twist in her chest. The innocence in his voice. The pride in his father's. The love, the ease, the way none of them knew what was coming.
None of them had any idea.
Then, the screen glitched. A flicker of static. The video ended.
And silence returned.
Vanessa hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until her lungs burned.
"I-"
"Thank you."
She blinked. "What?"
Ethan turned to her, his face unreadable-but his voice... soft.
Raw.
"Thank you," he said again. "It's been a very long time since I heard them."
Vanessa swallowed hard.
She had wanted to win.
To shake him. Catch him off guard.
But this didn't feel like winning.
This felt like peeling open an old wound and watching it breathe again.
"I told you I'd catch you off guard one day," she murmured, trying to force levity back into the room.
Ethan exhaled-something between a chuckle and a sigh. "You did."
Vanessa nudged his leg with hers. "You okay?"
He didn't answer right away.
Just stared at the screen, eyes far away. "I wasn't expecting that."
She softened. "I figured."
Then, slowly, she reached for his hand.
Ethan's fingers twitched at the contact-instinctive, cautious-but he didn't pull away.
And then... he squeezed back.
Something deep in Vanessa shifted at that.
Not playfulness. Not victory. Just quiet connection.
When he finally let go, it felt like a release neither of them fully understood.
"You really don't know when to quit, do you?" he said, rubbing at his temple.
She smirked. "And you really thought I would?"
"Guess not."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy.
It was something else.
Familiar. Fragile.
"You never talk about them," she said softly.
"There's nothing to talk about."
"That's bullshit."
He looked at her then. "Vanessa."
"You can pretend all you want, but that doesn't mean you don't care."
His jaw tensed. "What's your point?"
"I don't have one," she said. "I just... thought you should see it."
Ethan studied her for a long time.
Then dragged a hand through his hair and shook his head. "You really don't know when to stop poking at things, huh?"
She grinned. "Nope."
"Dangerous habit."
Vanessa nudged his foot with hers again. "Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?"
He rolled his eyes and stood up. "I'm going home."
But his movements were slower than usual. Stiffer.
Not dramatic.
Just... guarded.
"You okay?" she asked, softer now.
"Yeah."
It was a lie.
She saw it in the tension of his shoulders, in the way his gaze avoided the screen, in the way his voice had dropped a notch lower than normal.
But she didn't call him out on it.
Not this time.
Instead, she grabbed her bag, falling into step beside him.
And for the first time ever, he didn't walk ahead.
He walked with her.
The walk to the front door was quieter than it had ever been.
Vanessa kept sneaking glances at him from the corner of her eye, her heart pounding with every step. Ethan didn't look at her. He didn't say a word. His expression had settled back into that familiar, unreadable mask-but it didn't feel like it had before.
It felt brittle now. Like a sheet of glass stretched too thin.
When they reached the porch, he stopped. She stopped with him, suddenly unsure if she should say something. Apologize? No, not that. She hadn't done anything wrong. Not really. But still... she felt something.
She rubbed her palm against her jeans. The ghost of his hand was still there.
Ethan didn't turn toward her. He just kept staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on some invisible point beyond her yard.
"You sure you're okay?" she asked, quieter now.
A beat passed.
"Yeah," he said.
Still lying.
Still holding it all in like he always did, like feelings were weapons and vulnerability was a weakness.
Vanessa wanted to push. Wanted to dig her fingers in and pry his silence apart-but she didn't. Not this time.
"Okay," she whispered.
It was a truce neither of them declared.
He gave her one last look-fleeting, almost hollow-and walked down the steps, toward his bike.
She watched him go. Watched the tension in his shoulders, the slow, stiff way he moved. It wasn't physical. This wasn't about exhaustion or injury. This was inside him. Heavy. Anchoring.
When his engine finally roared to life and he drove away, she was still standing on the porch.
Her mom came to the doorway a few minutes later, holding a dish towel and wearing that same knowing look.
"You two fight?"
"No," Vanessa said.
Her mom raised a brow. "You sure? Because you look like you lost one."
Vanessa didn't answer.
She just turned and went back inside, the weight of the evening pressing into her chest like a slow bruise.
She didn't sleep much that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that flicker again-Ethan's face when the video had started. That second where he froze. That second where he stopped being the boy who always had the upper hand and became someone real. Someone haunted.
She hadn't meant to break him.
That hadn't been the plan. She just wanted to see him slip. Wobble. Lose the grip on his smug, untouchable persona for once.
But she hadn't expected that reaction. That stillness. That pain.
And now, lying in her bed at 2 a.m., staring at the ceiling fan circling slowly overhead, Vanessa realized something she hadn't wanted to admit.
She cared more than she thought.
Not just about winning their game. Not just about the challenge of cracking his stoic shell. She cared about him.
The boy underneath it all.
The one with fists clenched at his sides and a video paused on his childhood.
She rolled over and checked her phone. No texts.
No missed calls.
No unread messages.
And none sent.
Because she didn't know what to say.
She clutched her pillow and closed her eyes, hoping morning would feel different.
It didn't.
The next day at school felt wrong.
Too quiet. Too still. As if something vital had been removed from the usual rhythm of her life and nothing quite worked in its place.
Ethan wasn't in his usual spot near the school entrance. He wasn't leaning against the lockers, earbuds in, pretending not to see her before she said something dumb to make him smirk.
He wasn't in first period.
Vanessa told herself she wasn't worried. He probably just slept in. Maybe he had a dentist appointment. Maybe he forgot to set his alarm.
But Ethan didn't forget things.
Second period passed. Then third. Still no sign of him.
She kept glancing at his seat-empty.
She kept checking her phone-nothing.
By lunch, she had chewed a groove into her bottom lip and her leg wouldn't stop bouncing under the table. Her friends talked around her, their voices blurring together, but Vanessa barely heard them.
It wasn't just the absence that bothered her.
It was the silence that followed it.
Because Ethan always texted. Even just a dry "Running late" or a sarcastic "Try not to die of boredom without me."
But now... nothing.
And that weird pang she'd been ignoring all morning finally settled in like a stone in her stomach.
Had she gone too far?
She didn't think so. It wasn't like she'd humiliated him. It wasn't even public. She'd thought it would be meaningful. Thought it might even bring them closer.
But what if she'd opened something he couldn't close again?
What if seeing his parents like that had dug too deep? What if she'd pulled a thread he wasn't ready to unravel?
Vanessa exhaled sharply, pushing her tray away. Her appetite had vanished hours ago.
She grabbed her bag without a word, ignoring the questioning glances from her friends.
There was only one place he could be.
~~~~~