Air scraped roughly through Noah's lungs, each breath uneven after the long seconds he had gone without oxygen, his face flushed a slow, reluctant red that refused to fade even as the bathroom air cooled against his damp skin, and when he finally managed to steady himself he looked at her, voice still unsteady. "Evelyn?"
Evelyn's hand moved with unhurried precision along the line of his neck, her fingertips tracing the shallow hollow beneath his ear before sliding downward across the pale stretch of his collarbone, over the narrow definition of muscle across his chest, and settling directly above his heart, where his pulse struck against her palm with a faint, betraying urgency.
"Nate," she said quietly, her voice even, controlled, her eyes steady on him. "Would you ever come to resent me?"
The pressure of her hand was warm, steady, the damp edge of the washcloth still clinging to his skin, and he felt the heat rise again under her touch—pulse quickening against her palm, breath catching for a second too long, a faint tightening low in his chest that wasn't entirely physical—before the familiar recoil surfaced, that thin seam of shame and denial that always followed, spreading beneath the cool fluorescent light of the bathroom, where the air felt too still and too close.
"Why would you ask that?" he said, trying to hold her gaze, though his throat worked once before the words came out.
Of everything she had done to him that could be called excessive, only one memory stood apart, heavy and blurred at the edges, something that should have altered everything and somehow hadn't. He had never blamed her for it. He had never let himself.
She withdrew her hand as if the question had cost her nothing. "It was only a question. Dress."
He swallowed again, muscles along his shoulders tightening briefly before he forced them to relax, then reached for his clothes one piece at a time, fingers slower than usual, breath shallow while he pulled fabric over skin that still held the warmth of her palm. The faint sting of the marker at his collarbone had smudged from sweat earlier, and he felt it there again, a thin residue of ink and ownership pressing beneath cotton—warm, almost phantom-like—while the quiet of the apartment hummed beyond the door.
By the time he stepped back into his room, the mug of milk was already waiting on the desk, steam curling upward in thin, white threads.
He lifted it carefully, blowing across the surface until the heat softened, then drank in small, controlled sips, the familiar bitterness threading under the sweetness, spreading warmth through his chest and downward into his stomach, that slow heaviness settling in his limbs like something practiced and patient. He did not notice anything unusual anymore; he had long since trained himself not to.
"Have you eaten?" Evelyn asked, watching him.
"Yes."
"Then you're coming with me. It's colder now. You need winter clothes."
"I have enough," he said, setting the mug down, gaze lowering briefly before returning to her. "You should get something for yourself."
"We're going together."
He hesitated for half a second, breath shallow again, then nodded. "Okay."
—
The downtown strip was loud with late-afternoon traffic, storefront lights already glowing against the gray sky, people moving in layered coats and scarves as the temperature dipped further toward winter. Glass windows reflected rows of mannequins dressed in sharply cut jackets and long wool coats, prices tagged in neat, unapologetic digits.
Noah still had savings from his campus dining job and tutoring work, a small reserve he had been careful with, and as he walked beside Evelyn he found himself thinking that he had not seen anything new in her closet for a long time.
Inside the boutique, warm air wrapped around them along with the faint scent of fabric and perfume. A sales associate stepped forward with a bright, professional smile. "Shopping for something specific?"
"Winter wear for him," Evelyn said, resting her hand lightly against Noah's sleeve.
"We just got a new couple's collection in. Would you like to try a matching set?"
"Show us."
Noah had already drifted toward the women's section, scanning muted coats in charcoal, ivory, slate gray—colors that suited her without effort. He reached for a soft, understated sweater that would fall neatly along her shoulders, imagining how it would frame her face.
A hand touched his shoulder.
"Does it look right?" Evelyn asked.
He turned. She had changed into a black-and-white long coat, the sharp contrast cutting clean lines along her frame, the fabric structured and restrained, amplifying the cool symmetry of her face. She stood still, composed, waiting.
"It suits you," he said honestly.
"Then try yours. It matches."
The associate handed him the men's version before he fully processed the conversation. He accepted it, throat tightening once before he pulled off his jacket and slipped into the coat. The mirror reflected a softer contrast—his features lighter, more open, a quiet youthfulness that did not carry the same severity as hers.
She stepped closer, adjusting the collar at his throat with measured fingers. "We'll take it," she said, then looked at him. "Nate. Do you object?"
His breath stalled briefly at the sound of his name. He shook his head after a second, muscles along his jaw tightening then easing. "If you like it."
He changed back into his own clothes and turned toward the sweater he had chosen for her, but his gaze drifted lower to a display beneath the racks—black thermal tights folded neatly, matte and smooth.
He paused.
Her legs were long, clean-lined, never hidden behind anything decorative. She had never worn tights. He wasn't sure why he imagined it now.
Her voice came near his ear, low. "Do you want to see me in those, Nate?"
Heat rose immediately along his neck, spreading outward in a flush that he could not control, pulse jumping hard once against his ribs while the store's overhead lighting felt suddenly too bright. He forced a swallow, eyes shifting away.
"It's your choice," he said quietly.
"If I ask you to wear something instead?"
He turned. She held up a pale green onesie, soft fleece, hooded, with a small stitched tail at the back—absurdly childish.
"You're serious?" he asked, breath thinning.
"You will try it."
His shoulders stiffened, a faint tremor passing through his fingers before he reached for the garment. He hesitated for a count of two, throat working, then stepped into the fitting room.
The fleece dragged against his skin as he pulled it on, oversized and intentionally loose, the hood heavy against the back of his neck. When he stepped out, the fluorescent lights caught the ridiculous softness of it, and he felt heat crawl upward from his collar to his ears, a tightening in his stomach that was less embarrassment and more something sharper—something that reminded him of the ink at his collarbone, of warm milk settling thickly in his chest, of how small she sometimes seemed determined to make him feel.
She looked at him carefully, eyes tracing the full length of him without amusement.
"We'll take this as well," she told the associate.
"Can I change?" he asked, voice low.
"Yes. You'll wear it when you sleep beside me."
He froze briefly, breath shallow, then nodded and retreated into the fitting room to change back, fingers slower now as he folded the onesie carefully.
At checkout, she picked up two pairs of black tights.
"I'll pay," he said, stepping forward.
"There's no need."
"I want to."
His throat tightened again as he inserted his card, watching the total climb higher than he expected. The numbers on the screen dropped sharply once the payment processed, his savings reduced by more than half, and he felt the weight of it sink somewhere beneath his ribs—not regret, not exactly—just a quiet awareness of cost.
The associate handed over the bag with a pleasant smile. "Your girlfriend has a great figure. That sweater will look amazing on her."
He opened his mouth. "She's not my—"
The word caught, lodged somewhere between instinct and calculation, and in the space of that pause he felt the faint, familiar heaviness in his limbs, the echo of earlier warmth that never entirely faded, the memory of ink against skin and her hand over his heartbeat.
"Thank you," he said instead.
—
The last brittle leaves had finally dropped from the old branches outside the dorm windows, leaving the sky a pale, washed-out gray that filtered down cold and thin through the clouds. With the temperature drop, most people stayed in—dorm, cafeteria, classroom, the same tight loop—and the restlessness built quietly among the guys, an itch for something, anything, to break the monotony.
Noah had no particular urge. Between classes, the dorm, and the library now filling most of his hours, his days were already full. Evelyn had him preparing for the English and computer proficiency exams on top of everything else; there was little room left for anything else.
Caleb, who had been sprawled on his bunk scrolling his phone, suddenly rolled over and called down to the three below. "Dorm mixer with the girls' side tonight. You guys in?"
"I'm in. I'm going moldy if I don't get out."
"Which dorm?"
"Our class. Don't get excited—no Maya." Caleb shot a meaningful glance toward Noah. "But Nora's going to be there."
Noah met his eyes for a second, then looked away, biting into his apple without comment, not quite grasping the implication.
"If you're all going, I can too," Miles said after a brief pause.
"So… we're eating out?" Noah asked.
"Bar. Quiet one. Nate doesn't drink, that's fine—snacks, talking, games, whatever."
"Fine. And maybe Miles can meet some actual girls instead of pining again."
…
Noah rarely went to bars. The night he and Lila had broken up he'd gotten blackout drunk; after that Evelyn had quietly but firmly forbidden him from drinking alone. But with roommates, it didn't count as breaking the rule.
The group ended up eight total—four guys, four girls. The bar Caleb had picked wasn't too far; the boys arrived first and claimed a private room. Conversation buzzed immediately, loose and loud.
"Seize the moment, you three. Our class girls are solid," Caleb said, giving Noah another pointed look that left him puzzled.
Noah was only there to tag along. He'd turned down plenty of dorm outings before; this time he came to avoid seeming too withdrawn.
He had no interest in dating right now. And even if he did, the faculty housing option was clearly the safest one.
They didn't wait long. The door opened and the girls filed in, faces brighter than usual—makeup carefully applied, hair styled, the kind of effort that made them look noticeably different from their everyday campus versions.
The room lights were low, faces half-shadowed, glances sliding across the table in the dim glow. The air carried a soft, blurred intimacy—laughter, perfume, the faint clink of glasses—thickening between the mixed group.
Noah stayed in his corner, sampling the bar snacks, offering a few quiet replies when spoken to, gaze rarely lifting toward the girls. His mind was elsewhere, uncomplicated.
A nudge against his arm. Caleb leaned in close, voice pitched just for him. "Nate, look at Nora tonight. Pretty, right?"
Noah glanced over. Nora had light makeup, hair loose, eyes enhanced with contacts that caught the low light, making them look larger, more arresting. Several gazes had already drifted her way.
"Yeah, she looks nice. Why ask me out of nowhere?"
"You and Lila broke up a while ago. Never thought about trying again?"
"Nah. Studying, classes—it's good like this." Noah gave a small, deflecting smile. "You should push Miles instead. He's more interested."
Caleb shook his head in mock disappointment and slid back into the louder chatter, raising his voice. "Just drinking and talking is boring. Let's play something."
"Like what?"
"Truth or dare. Classic." He found an empty bottle, set it in the center of the table. Everyone shifted instinctively, spreading out around the circle. The bottle spun.
It landed on one of the girls first; Ryan asked the question from across. Noah barely registered it—didn't know her well, didn't care to—and stayed tucked in his spot, half-listening.
As positions settled, Caleb ended up farther away, while Nora shifted closer on his other side. A faint, clean sweetness drifted from her—light perfume, pleasant.
Still, he preferred the rose scent that clung to Evelyn. Not overpowering like most fragrances; subtle, natural, comforting in a way that settled deep.
Lately, whenever he was near another girl, his mind measured her against Evelyn almost automatically. His sister had carved herself into his vision, impossible to shake.
As if that night's hypnosis had left some quiet, lingering spell.
He didn't believe in that. And he refused to think Evelyn would ever do anything truly cruel.
"Long time no see," Nora said softly, turning toward him with a gentle, open smile. "You don't come out much off-campus, do you?"
"Not really. I stay in a lot."
"That trench coat—is it yours?" She nodded toward the black-and-white coat draped over the back of the sofa behind him.
"Yeah. Mine."
"I saw Professor Miller wearing one just like it yesterday. Hers was the women's version…" Her voice trailed, hesitant, as if testing the words. "Couple's set?"
"They were on sale—bought both. Doesn't matter if it's with my sister."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, something unreadable flickering behind them—curiosity, maybe disappointment. Before she could reply, the bottle slowed and stopped, pointing straight at her.
She drew a slow breath, steadying herself.
"Do you have someone you like?" Miles asked from across the table. "If yes—is he at Loane?"
The question wasn't aggressive; everyone knew Miles's own situation, so he asked without much self-consciousness. The room quieted, waiting.
Nora hesitated, gaze drifting for a second—sliding past Noah, who was looking down at his phone, oblivious to the quick, obvious glance.
"Yes," she said. "He is."
A ripple of excitement went around the table; a few started to tease. Nora's cheeks flushed faintly as she raised a hand. "That's all. No follow-ups. Next time I'll take dare."
The energy dialed back, respectful. The bottle spun again.
Noah's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen.
Evelyn: Today we're doing the night run again. Exercise doesn't stop halfway.
He typed back quickly.
Me: I'm out right now. I'll head back soon.
Evelyn: Out where?
Me: Just… with roommates, grabbing food. Won't be long.
He sent it, looked up—and the bottle had stopped, neck aimed directly at him. Every pair of eyes turned.
He scratched the back of his head, exhaled. "I'll take dare. What is it."
Nora exchanged a quick look with the girl across from her, who nodded and yielded the turn.
Nora turned to him, expression apologetic. "It might be a little much, Noah. Don't be mad, okay?"
"It's fine. Just say it."
"Okay…" She paused, then continued evenly. "Call one girl from your contacts. Confess to her. And she has to be no more than five years older or younger than you".