The house grew quieter as the girls trickled out one by one, their laughter fading into the night. The last goodbyes were softer, like the dimming glow of a fire after a long day. Selene gave Gael a polite wave. Iris teased Mara with a knowing look before slipping into the dark with Vivienne and Calla, leaving only the faint echo of their voices at the door. Gael sat on the couch, his posture straight, hands folded on his lap as if waiting for someone to tell him what came next. His ocean-blue eyes wandered toward the window, where the streetlamp painted streaks of yellow across the glass. Mara lingered at the doorway, her hand resting on the edge of the frame. She should've left with the others. She should've let the night end there. But her chest felt heavy, an insistent pull she couldn't ignore. Something about Gael's stillness kept her in place, as though the silence itself had trapped her.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, chewing the inside of her cheek. Her pulse drummed in her ears. She wasn't sure if she was brave enough to ask, or if it was foolish to want more from someone who barely seemed to notice the world around him. Gael finally looked at her, his gaze steady but unreadable. No curiosity, no question in his face—just quiet waiting. That quiet made her heart ache. "Gael…" Her voice cracked. She swallowed, stepped into the room. "Can you… stay a little longer? Just us?" Gael didn't answer. His eyes stayed on her, calm, almost distant, like he was waiting for the air itself to decide.
Mara felt the weight of his silence pressing down on her. Her fingers twisted the hem of her sweater as she stepped closer, each word tumbling out softer than the last. "I just… I don't know," she whispered, her voice shaky. "I feel like you don't really… belong to anyone here. And maybe that's selfish of me, but—" She stopped, biting her lip, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes searched his face for anything—confusion, interest, rejection, a flicker of warmth—but he gave her nothing. The stillness in his gaze was like staring into glass: clear, beautiful, but impenetrable. Mara's throat tightened. "I just don't want you to leave yet. Not tonight." She sat down beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushed against his arm. The contact made her skin burn with awareness, while Gael remained still, his expression unchanged. The silence stretched. Mara exhaled slowly, her voice barely above a breath. "Sometimes… it feels like you don't even know what you do to people."
Gael's voice came quietly, soft enough that Mara almost thought she imagined it. "Then… I won't leave yet." Her breath caught. The words weren't passionate, weren't even layered with meaning, but the sound of them—his low, steady voice—made her heart trip over itself. She smiled, small and tentative, and pushed the door open wider. "Come in," she said, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. He stepped inside, his movements calm, deliberate. The warm glow of the lamp cast a golden haze across the room, softening the edges of the furniture, and Mara quickly set aside the half-folded blanket on the couch to make space. "Sit," she urged, almost nervously, as if afraid he might change his mind.
Gael sat, his posture straight, hands resting loosely on his knees. Mara slid down beside him, close enough to feel the faint brush of his sleeve against her arm. For a long moment, she just looked at him—his ocean-blue eyes reflecting the lamplight, his expression unreadable, serene in a way that made her chest ache. "You know," Mara began, her voice faltering before she steadied it, "people think you're cold. Or that you don't care. But… when you look at me, it feels like you see right through me. And I don't know whether to be scared or—" She let out a shaky laugh. "—or grateful." Gael tilted his head slightly, his voice even, detached, but not unkind. "I don't mean to scare you." The simplicity of his words made Mara's throat tighten. She turned toward him, resting her hand on the couch between them, her fingers brushing against his knuckles, tentative and searching. "You don't," she said softly. "You make me feel… noticed. Even if you don't try to." Gael's eyes lingered on her hand, then lifted back to her face. He gave no smile, no shift in expression, but his voice broke the silence again, steady and gentle. "Then… maybe that's enough."
Mara shifted on the couch, turning her body toward him as if pulled by something beyond her will. The first wave of nerves had already passed; now there was only a strange ease, a comfort that she hadn't expected to find. Her hand stayed close to his, her fingers brushing his skin again, longer this time, testing his stillness. "Can I… ask you something?" she whispered. Gael's eyes flickered toward her, calm, unblinking. "You can." She exhaled slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before meeting his gaze again. "This… condition. The one that makes you—different. Alexithymia, right? I looked it up after you told us earlier." Her voice softened with a careful hesitation. "Does it… hurt you? I mean, not your body, but… inside. To not feel like other people do?" Gael blinked once, his expression the same tranquil mask. "No. It doesn't hurt." He paused, as if choosing his words with precision. "It just… is."
Mara studied him, her brows pulling together, the edges of her lips trembling between a smile and a frown. "But don't you ever want to feel? Don't you wish you could… cry when something's sad? Or laugh when it's funny?" She bit her lip. "Or even… love?" Her last word hung heavy in the air, and she realized too late how raw it sounded, how it revealed more of herself than she'd intended. Gael tilted his head, his ocean-blue eyes catching the lamp's glow, making her feel pinned beneath his quiet attention. He didn't flinch, didn't shift—he simply answered. "I don't think about it. Not the way you do." The gentleness of his tone made Mara's chest ache, as if his detachment carried its own gravity. She leaned a little closer, her voice trembling now, caught between curiosity and longing. "Then… what do you think about, Gael? When you're quiet, when you're just… staring like that? What fills your mind if not feelings?" For the first time, Gael's gaze shifted away from her, as if her question touched something he couldn't easily unwrap. His silence pressed against her, but instead of retreating, Mara found herself edging closer, as though she could close the gap he carried inside him.
Gael's lips parted, the stillness in him stirring as though he was about to let her glimpse a corner of his mind. "Sometimes… I think about—" The sound of the front door opening cut through his words. Heavy footsteps, the faint murmur of voices, and then Mara's mother calling out from the hallway, "Mara? We're home!" Mara jolted, her cheeks heating at the sudden intrusion. She sat back quickly, though not before casting Gael an apologetic glance. Her parents' voices drew closer, one warm and bright, the other deeper and gruffer—her father asking about dinner, her mother replying with a laugh. Mara leaned closer to Gael again, lowering her voice into a whisper, urgent and conspiratorial. "Come on, before they come in here. We can… talk in my room."
She stood, tugging at his sleeve with surprising boldness. Gael rose without protest, following her down the hall, his calm steps soft against the floorboards. Her room was small but warm, its walls dotted with posters, shelves lined with books and scattered trinkets. She shut the door quietly behind them, muffling the hum of her parents in the background. For a moment, Mara leaned against the door, her hand pressed against the wood, listening to the sounds outside fade into a blur. Then she turned, her expression softer now, more tentative. "Sorry about that. They… they'd probably ask too many questions." She crossed to her bed and sat down, patting the space beside her. "So… you were about to say. What do you think about, Gael?" Gael looked at her, unblinking, his voice steady.
Gael sat beside her, his movements as quiet and deliberate as always. He let the silence rest between them for a moment, then returned to the words that had been cut short earlier. "Sometimes…" His gaze drifted, not to her, but to the faint glow of her bedside lamp. "…I think about how everyone else seems to know what they're supposed to feel. Like there's a script they've been given. Happiness, sadness, love, grief. They act them out without even thinking. But for me…" He paused, his voice even, calm. "…it's like staring at a stage from behind glass. I see it. I hear it. But I don't know the lines. And no one's handing me the script." Mara blinked, her chest tightening. She hadn't expected something so raw, so unguarded from him. His words weren't heavy with emotion, but the emptiness behind them carried its own strange weight. Her instinct was to reach out, to put her hand over his. She hesitated, then did it anyway, her fingers brushing lightly against his knuckles. "You don't have to know the script," she said softly. "Maybe… maybe it's okay to just be yourself. Maybe you don't need to play their part." Gael looked down at her hand resting on his. His ocean-blue eyes didn't waver, didn't spark with gratitude or relief—just that same stillness, like an unreadable sky. He didn't pull away either.
The air in Mara's room had grown heavy, thick with something unspoken. She hadn't moved her hand from his, and now her thumb traced over his skin, slow and hesitant, like she was testing how far she could go before he stopped her. Gael didn't flinch. He simply watched, quiet, as though he were studying the small act rather than feeling it. That stillness made her chest ache in ways she couldn't explain. "You're so hard to read," Mara whispered, leaning a little closer. "Like I don't know what's going on inside you… and it makes me want to know more." Her voice trembled at the end. She shifted nearer, her shoulder brushing against his. The touch sent shivers down her own spine, though his expression stayed the same. Ocean-blue eyes locked on hers, glassy and distant, and the absence of any reaction only drew her deeper in. Her breath caught. She was too close now, too aware of how handsome he looked in the muted glow of the lamp, too aware that his silence gave her space to move closer still. She bit her lip, then exhaled the tension building in her chest.
And then she kissed him. It wasn't rushed, but it wasn't careful either. It was all the things she felt—curiosity, nervousness, a spark of something sharper—poured into the brief press of her lips against his.
Gael didn't push her away. He didn't pull her closer. He simply stayed, letting her lips linger on his like it was just another thing happening in the room, no different than the hum of the lamp or the tick of the clock. When she pulled back, her face was flushed, her hands trembling from what she'd just done. Her eyes searched his, desperate for something—anything—that would mirror what she was feeling. But his gaze remained steady, detached, as if nothing had shifted at all. Mara's breath wavered. The silence after the kiss was unbearable, her heart beating against her ribs like it wanted to force a response out of him. She licked her lips, swallowed, and whispered, almost trembling—
"What does that feel to you?"