The next day, after training, Vanessa didn't leave.
Her body ached—her shoulders were sore, her knuckles tender from hitting the bag too hard, and her pride was still smarting from the way Ethan had managed to flip her without even breaking a sweat. Again.
But she wasn't ready to go. Not yet.
She lingered just outside the gym, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as the sky darkened behind her. The world smelled like metal and sweat and the fading heat of the day. Her heart was beating in that restless, uncertain rhythm it had picked up lately—every time she thought of him.
When Ethan finally emerged, his bag slung over one shoulder, he spotted her instantly. No hesitation. No surprise. Just that unreadable look, like he was always two steps ahead of everyone.
"You're still here?" he asked, one eyebrow lifting.
Vanessa crossed her arms, suddenly hyper-aware of how stupid this whole thing sounded in her head. "I wanted to ask you something."
Ethan tilted his head slightly, his mouth twitching like he expected a challenge. "Go on."
The words jammed up in her throat. She hated this—hated how vulnerable she felt, how soft this made her. And yet, she couldn't back out now. Not after everything.
She cleared her throat. "My mom…" She faltered, then pushed through. "She wants you to come over for dinner."
Ethan blinked.
Not the slow, calculated pause she was used to. This was real surprise. For once, his carefully built mask cracked just a little.
"…Dinner?" he repeated, his tone almost cautious.
Vanessa nodded, trying to play it cool even though her stomach was a storm of nerves. "Yeah. You know. Food. The thing humans eat."
Ethan huffed out a short laugh, his lips curving. "I know what dinner is."
But he was still watching her. Closely. Like he was trying to read something in her eyes, something she didn't want to admit was there. She hated how exposed she felt under that gaze.
"…Why?" he asked quietly.
That one word hit harder than she expected.
Why? Why invite him? Why now?
She bit the inside of her cheek, looking away. "I don't know. She just… wants to."
Lie.
She knew exactly why. But she wasn't ready to say it. Not out loud. Not to him.
Ethan didn't press. He just stared for a moment longer, then smirked. "Alright."
Vanessa blinked. "Wait. Really?"
He shrugged, so damn casual. "Yeah."
"…No resistance? No snarky comments?"
The smirk widened. "Do you want me to resist?"
She bristled. "No! I mean—ugh. Forget it." She turned away, hiding the heat crawling up her neck. "Friday at seven. Don't be late."
Behind her, he chuckled. That low, quiet sound she'd come to recognize—and hate how much she liked.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
As she walked away, pretending she wasn't flustered, something inside her shifted.
For years, she'd built her world around walls. Control. Dominance. She forced her way into everything, into everyone. That's how she survived.
But this?
This was the first time she had ever invited Ethan into her life instead of pushing her way into his.
And she didn't know what that meant.
Friday came faster than she was ready for.
By 6:45, Vanessa was pacing the living room like a caged animal. Her hair was brushed for once, she'd changed her shirt three times, and she still wasn't sure if she looked okay—or like she was trying too hard. She hated this.
Why the hell was she nervous?
It wasn't a date. It was just dinner.
Her dad watched her from the couch, half amused, half smug. "You waiting for your boyfriend?"
Vanessa froze mid-step. Whipped around. "He's not my boyfriend!"
Her mom, emerging from the kitchen with a bowl of salad, smiled with maddening calm. "Then why are you so nervous, sweetie?"
"I—I'm not nervous!" she snapped, tugging at the hem of her shirt. "I just—ugh, you guys are insufferable."
Her dad chuckled. "You're the one acting suspicious, Vannie."
Vanessa scowled, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, heart pounding. She couldn't deal with this. Not tonight. Not while her insides were already in knots.
And then—the doorbell rang.
The sound sliced clean through her panic, and her stomach flipped violently. Like it was prepping for war.
Her dad grinned. "You gonna get that, or should I?"
With a glare, she stomped to the door and yanked it open like it had personally offended her.
Ethan stood there.
Simple black t-shirt. Fitted jeans. Hair still slightly damp, like he'd just stepped out of the shower. And somehow, annoyingly, he looked good.
Too good.
"Hey," he said, his voice low, casual.
Vanessa hated the way that one word made her heart lurch. "Hey," she mumbled, stepping aside. "Come in."
He walked in like he belonged there, taking in the space with an unreadable expression.
"Nice place," he said, like it meant nothing.
Before Vanessa could respond, her mom swooped in with a beaming smile.
"Ethan! It's so good to finally have you over."
Ethan nodded politely. "Thanks for inviting me, Mrs. Reyes."
"Call me Lucy, please."
Vanessa's dad followed, offering a handshake. "Good to see you again, Ethan."
Vanessa paused. Seriously was he really mentioning her getting of his bike right now.
Ethan shook her father's hand, "You too, Mr. Reyes."
Her mother was already ushering them toward the dining table, chatting easily. "Come on, let's eat before everything gets cold."
Dinner went... too well.
Vanessa had braced herself for awkward silences, for snide comments from Ethan, for her parents to say something weird and derail the whole thing. But none of that happened. Instead, everything unfolded with the kind of smooth, effortless rhythm that only made her more unsettled.
Ethan was—unbelievably—charming. Polite. Measured in the exact way her parents loved. He didn't overshare, but he didn't come off cold, either. He answered her dad's questions about school with a calm intelligence that made him sound older than he was, and when her mom, in true mom fashion, started asking about his diet—Vanessa's toes curled in secondhand embarrassment—Ethan didn't miss a beat. He smiled, nodded, and somehow made that question seem like it didn't faze him at all.
He fit. Too easily.
And the more she watched him—really watched him—the harder it was to remember the version of him she used to carry around in her head. The scrawny boy with messy hair and quiet eyes who never fought back when she pushed too hard. The one she used to mock. The one she thought she could control.
But the Ethan sitting across from her now… was not that boy.
He sat there, calm and centered, sipping water like it was his damn kingdom and he was just visiting. There was no tension in his shoulders, no hesitation in his movements. He wasn't posturing, wasn't trying to prove anything. He was just there, fully and completely, like he belonged at her family's dinner table more than she did.
Vanessa stabbed her food harder than necessary, swallowing her confusion with each bite.
And then—halfway through dinner—her mother tilted her head, her gaze lingering on Ethan in that thoughtful way she always had when she was about to say something Vanessa would regret.
"You know," her mom said slowly, "I just realized something."
Vanessa glanced up, wary. "What?"
Her mother's eyes flicked between the two of them, thoughtful. "I remember you used to have brown hair, Ethan."
Vanessa froze with her fork halfway to her mouth.
Ethan did too.
Just for a breath—half a second of stillness that most people wouldn't have even caught. But she did. Of course she did.
Then he blinked and casually took another bite of food. "Yeah."
Her mom blinked. "So… what happened?"
Vanessa's gaze locked on him, watching, waiting, suddenly hyper-aware of every twitch of his expression.
Ethan's eyes flicked to her—barely a glance—but it made something twist deep in her stomach. Then he shrugged. "I just liked the change."
Vanessa's mom hummed, clearly unconvinced. "It's unusual, though. White hair at your age…"
And there it was again.
That subtle tension in his posture. Shoulders drawn just slightly tighter, jaw a touch more rigid. But then—relaxed. Effortlessly cool again.
"I suppose it is," he said, smooth and distant.
And that was it. He wasn't going to elaborate. Wasn't going to explain a damn thing.
Her mom, sensing the closed door, let it go with a small smile. "Well, it suits you."
Ethan nodded, polite as ever. "Thanks."
But Vanessa's chest was tight. There was more. She knew there was more. She could feel it, thrumming beneath the surface like an electric wire. That hair—his sudden skill, the change in his aura, the confidence, the way he moved now. Something had happened to Ethan, something she didn't understand. Not yet.
After dinner, Ethan—because of course he would—helped clear the table. He wasn't just polite; he was perfect. She watched in stunned silence as he worked beside her mom like he'd been raised in a sitcom family, while her dad made easy conversation with him in the background.
It was like they'd all decided to rewrite the history of who Ethan was and pretend like none of it was weird.
But Vanessa knew better.
And when it was finally time for him to leave, she walked him to the door, nerves curling tight in her chest like coiled wire.
She crossed her arms, leaning against the frame, pretending she was casual. "Well… that wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be."
Ethan gave her that maddening smirk. "Glad to know I didn't ruin your night."
She rolled her eyes. "Shut up."
But the words didn't have their usual bite. Something about the way he was looking at her made it impossible to hold onto her defenses for long.
A silence settled between them. Comfortable. Charged.
Then—because she couldn't stop herself—she asked, quietly, "…Why'd you come?"
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "You invited me."
"No, I mean…" She hesitated, staring at the floor. "You didn't have to. You could've said no."
Ethan studied her—really studied her—for a moment. Not mocking. Not guarded. Just… seeing her.
And then he said it. Soft. Simple.
"You asked me to."
Her breath caught.
Four words.
And somehow they hit harder than anything he'd said in the last three weeks. Because there was no sarcasm in his voice. No smugness. Just honesty. Plain and bare.
Like that was the only reason he needed.
Vanessa opened her mouth. No words came out.
He stepped back, giving her one last look. "See you at school."
And then he was gone.
The door closed behind him with a quiet click. She stood there, frozen, her heart pounding in her throat.
He came because she asked.
That night, she lay in bed, the ceiling an endless blur above her. The silence felt louder than usual. Her thoughts wouldn't stop unraveling.
Ethan, at the table. Ethan, laughing at her dad's jokes. Ethan, slipping into her home like he'd always belonged.
You asked me to.
Vanessa groaned and buried her face in the pillow, her cheeks burning. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
And why—why—did it make her feel like the ground had shifted beneath her?
She wasn't supposed to like him.
She had hated him. Mocked him. Picked him apart for years.
But now…?
Now she felt unmoored. Like all her anger had melted into curiosity. Obsession. Something that tightened in her chest every time she looked at him.
She was going to act normal.
Totally, completely, flawlessly normal.
Like she hadn't spent all night tossing and turning, Ethan's voice echoing in her ears.
Like she hadn't lain awake staring at her ceiling, dissecting the tiniest moments from dinner, trying to decode the unreadable calm in his eyes.
Like she wasn't drowning in questions she was too afraid to ask.
She could do this. It was just Ethan. The same Ethan she'd spent years mocking, tormenting, dominating. This wasn't new. This wasn't anything.
So why the hell did her pulse jump like a live wire the moment she stepped onto campus?
Because, of course—of course—he was the first thing she saw.
Ethan.
Leaning against his bike like it was a throne. Hood up. Hands in his pockets. Legs crossed like he didn't have a care in the world. Like he wasn't the source of the storm inside her chest.
Vanessa's breath stuttered, just a second too late.
Her stomach twisted.
Nope. Not today.
Without thinking, without even trying to pretend she hadn't seen him, she turned on her heel and headed in the opposite direction.
Avoidance was smart. Practical. Safe.
Or it would've been… if his voice hadn't sliced through the morning air like a scalpel.
"Vanessa."
Just that. Her name. Nothing more.
And yet it hit like a punch to the gut.
Her body froze before her mind caught up. Her feet rooted to the concrete as heat flushed up her spine. Slowly—way too slowly—she turned around.
He was still leaning there. Still watching.
That unreadable expression on his face. Calm. Steady. Like he could see everything.
Her throat went dry.
"What?" she snapped, arms crossing automatically like armor.
Ethan tilted his head slightly. "You're acting weird."
Her entire body went stiff. "I am not acting weird."
One eyebrow rose in lazy challenge. "You literally just saw me and ran away."
"I did not—"
"Vanessa."
God, she hated how he said her name. Not because it was cruel. But because it was soft. Too soft. Like he was unraveling her defenses without even trying. Like he already knew she was lying and wasn't going to let her pretend otherwise.
She scowled. "Whatever. Are we sparring later or not?"
He didn't answer right away. Just studied her like he was reading something she didn't want him to see.
Then he nodded. "Yeah. Same time."
"Good."
She spun and marched off, every step stiff with fake confidence, her face burning.
But she could feel it—his eyes—lingering like a hand on her back.
Watching her.
Knowing.
When Vanessa arrived at the gym, she was already simmering. Frustrated. Embarrassed. Stupidly flustered for no damn reason.
Ethan was already there, barefoot on the mat, stretching like he didn't have a care in the world.
And then—he peeled off his hoodie.
As he always did.
As he always had.
But this time, somehow, it was different.
His t-shirt clung to his frame just enough to remind her of everything she shouldn't be noticing. His arms—lean, defined, scarred in places she'd never asked about—moved with practiced ease.
Vanessa's mouth went dry. Her stomach tightened. She looked away so fast her neck twinged.
Get it together, she hissed to herself.
She had trained with him for weeks. She had seen him like this a hundred times.
So why now? Why the hell did her body feel like it had just been dumped into ice water?
She sucked in a breath and stepped onto the mat like she hadn't just spent the last thirty seconds having a mild identity crisis.
"Ready?" Ethan asked, like he hadn't just short-circuited her brain.
"Obviously," she muttered, forcing steel into her tone.
They started.
And she was a mess.
Her focus was shot to hell. Every movement felt clumsy. Sluggish. She wasn't tracking his shifts, wasn't adjusting her stance. She was too busy—
Too busy thinking about him.
The way he moved—like water. Effortless, fluid, precise.
The way he smirked when he caught her off guard.
The way his breath barely changed, even as hers turned erratic.
She wasn't thinking about her form or her footwork. She wasn't in control. Not of her body, and definitely not of her thoughts.
The moment she realized she'd been staring at the curve of his jaw instead of watching his stance—it was already too late.
Ethan moved.
Fast.
A sweeping kick, clean and brutal, knocked her legs right out from under her.
The mat hit her spine hard, knocking the wind from her lungs.
"Ugh—!" she gasped.
And then—he was above her.
Not touching.
But close.
His hands were planted on the mat beside her head, his body straddling her hips without weight, his face—his eyes—inches from hers.
Vanessa's entire world narrowed to that look.
His eyes locked onto hers, intense and unblinking, green and sharp as a blade.
She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Time slowed. The gym disappeared.
It was just them.
And then—his voice, low and edged with something she couldn't name.
"…Distracted?"
Her heart slammed against her ribs like it was trying to escape.
She swallowed hard, her voice catching.
"Shut up," she breathed.
His lips twitched. A smirk. Infuriating. Beautiful.
Vanessa wanted to punch him.
She wanted to kiss him.
Wait—what?
NO.
Panic surged like a flood through her chest.
Before she could stop herself, she shoved him off, scrambling upright, heart in her throat.
Ethan let her go without resistance, settling back on his heels, one eyebrow raised in cool amusement.
"That was pathetic," he said lightly.
Vanessa's cheeks burned. She scowled, trying to find oxygen, trying to pretend her world hadn't just tilted on its axis.
"Whatever. Rematch."
He chuckled—laughed—like she wasn't imploding in real time.
"Sure," he said. "If you can focus this time."
Her glare was murderous.
But it didn't stop the truth from seeping into every inch of her skin:
She was so screwed.
For the next two days, Vanessa was an absolute wreck.
Not visibly, of course. Outwardly, she was fine. Unbothered. Distant, maybe a little distracted—but fine.
Inside?
Inside, she was a hurricane. A grinding, suffocating storm of thoughts she couldn't outrun.
And all of it—every single thread of it—led back to Ethan.
It was maddening.
He was everywhere. In the hallways. In her thoughts. In her skin, somehow—like a sensation she couldn't shake. Everything about him set her on edge now. Not because he'd done anything. No. That was the worst part. He hadn't changed at all.
But she had.
The way he leaned against his bike every morning, casual and quiet, like the world didn't touch him—it made her stomach twist in ways she couldn't control.
The way he rolled up his sleeves before a match—why did that bother her? Why was that sexy all of a sudden?
The way he smirked when he was right, that tiny, crooked little smile that used to make her want to slap him... now made her want to do something much worse.
It was infuriating.
And terrifying.
She couldn't sleep. Couldn't focus in class. Couldn't stop her brain from circling back to that moment on the mat—his body hovering over hers, the weight of his gaze, the heat of it—and the way her heart had nearly exploded in her chest.
She was unraveling. Quietly. Slowly.
And then—at lunch on Wednesday—it happened.
Vanessa had just gotten her tray, ready to sit with her friends and pretend to be okay for another hour, when she spotted him.
Ethan.
Sitting alone at his usual spot beneath the bleachers, hoodie up, head bent over his book. He looked peaceful. Unbothered. And for a moment, something in her chest tightened—not with jealousy or rage, but something deeper. Something she couldn't name.
She wasn't going to talk to him.
She told herself that as she took a step forward.
She wasn't going to talk to him.
She had made up her mind. She needed distance. Space. Sanity.
But then—she appeared.
Lina.
Pretty, sweet, stupidly perfect Lina. With her soft curls and her sunbeam smile, floating across the courtyard like she lived in a goddamn romcom. She walked right up to Ethan and dropped onto the bench across from him like she belonged there.
Vanessa froze.
Lina nudged Ethan's arm playfully, said something that made him chuckle—chuckle—and Vanessa felt it.
A spark. A jolt. A burn.
Actual, physical rage bloomed in her chest like wildfire.
It was irrational. It was ridiculous. And it was real.
Before she knew what she was doing, before the voice in her head could scream stop, her legs were already moving.
Marching.
Purposeful.
Possessive.
Ethan looked up first.
That same unreadable calm flickered in his eyes—then softened into amusement the moment he saw her.
Lina turned, still smiling. "Hey, Vanessa!"
Vanessa barely acknowledged her.
Her eyes—sharp, narrowed, furious—were locked onto Ethan like a loaded weapon.
"Hey," she said coolly, voice like ice. "Sparring later?"
Ethan leaned back slightly, clearly enjoying himself now. "...Yeah," he said slowly, like he wasn't quite sure where this was going but already intrigued.
Vanessa flashed a smile—sharp and fake and way too tight.
"Great."
Then she turned and walked away, heels clicking, not sparing a glance back.
But she felt it.
His eyes on her. Watching her go.
And she felt her eyes too—Lina, confused, probably hurt.
She didn't care.
Her heart was racing, her fists clenched, and her mind was a warzone.
Because now she knew.
It wasn't just about training anymore.
It wasn't just about besting him, knowing his secrets, keeping him beneath her.
No.
She was jealous.
Jealous of another girl just sitting next to him.
And that meant only one thing.
She liked him.
God.
She liked Ethan.
The realization hit like a car crash, splintering through her body, leaving wreckage in its wake.
And she had no clue what the hell to do about it.
For the next few days, Vanessa existed in a haze of denial and internal chaos.
It was stupid.
She was Vanessa Reyes.
She didn't get flustered. She didn't blush like some lovesick teenager. She didn't like people. She owned them. She controlled them. She broke them.
And yet here she was—unable to look Ethan in the eye like a goddamn coward.
Worse?
He hadn't changed at all.
He was still infuriatingly calm. Still infuriatingly collected. Like he didn't even notice the emotional disaster she was rapidly becoming.
He wasn't the problem.
She was.
And that only made it worse.
Part of her wanted to scream. The other part wanted to throw herself at him just to get it over with.
Maybe she should just punch him.
Hard.
Maybe that would knock some sense back into her.
Maybe it would knock these feelings out of her chest.
Because the tension boiled over during their next sparring session.
She was off. She knew she was off.
Ethan knew it too.
He was dodging her hits with infuriating ease, barely trying to land his own. His smirk was unbearable.
And when she missed for the fourth time in a row, she lost it.
"STOP GOING EASY ON ME!" she shouted, voice cracking.
Ethan raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "I'm not."
"YES, YOU ARE!"
She charged.
It was reckless. Emotional. Stupid.
But she didn't care.
She just wanted to hit him. Hard.
To wipe that smug look off his face.
To remind herself that she was in control.
But as her fist flew toward him, Ethan—of course—stepped aside.
WHAM.
The mat slammed into her back.
She lay there, gasping, staring at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed her.
A moment later, Ethan crouched beside her, that same insufferable glint in his eyes.
"You done?"
She glared at him. "Shut up."
He smirked, offering his hand like this was all just a game.
"Come on, Reyes."
She hesitated.
Then, reluctantly, she took it.
He pulled her up—effortlessly, like she weighed nothing—and the moment she was on her feet, the words came out before she could stop them.
"…Why is your hair white?"
Ethan blinked.
Vanessa winced internally. What the hell?!
She hadn't meant to ask that. Not now. Not like this.
But it was too late. He was looking at her now—really looking.
"…You never asked before," he said, voice unreadable.
Vanessa folded her arms, forcing a shrug. "I just remembered I don't know."
He was silent for a beat.
Then, to her surprise, he answered.
"I didn't dye it white," he said simply. "It was always white."
She frowned. "Then why—?"
"My dad made my mom and me change the color," he said, tone flat. Shrugging. Like it was nothing.
But it wasn't nothing.
Vanessa saw it—the flicker of something behind his eyes. Something dark. Something heavy.
He said it like it didn't matter.
But it did.
It mattered a lot.
She could feel it.
But she didn't press.
Because the idea of Ethan opening up—really opening up to her—was almost as terrifying as the feelings twisting in her gut.
So, she did what she always did when the ground got too unstable beneath her feet.
She changed the subject.
Pretended she hadn't just cracked a door she wasn't sure she was ready to walk through.
At night, alone in her room, the world stripped away to silence and shadows, Vanessa lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers she didn't want to hear.
Her chest was tight.
Her thoughts spun in circles.
She'd spent the entire day trying to drown it out—burying herself in training, distractions, dumb shows she couldn't even pretend to follow. But it was useless. The truth was louder than all of it.
She was falling for him.
Not a crush. Not some fleeting, foolish, adrenaline-fueled thing. No. This was worse.
Because it was real.
It was the kind of real that seeped under her skin when she wasn't looking.
The kind of real that didn't give her the decency of a warning before it took root.
The kind of real that made her heart ache.
Because it was him.
Ethan.
The only person who had ever stood toe to toe with her—not flinching, not folding, not trying to change her or tame her. Just… existing beside her. Challenging her. Seeing her.
He didn't let her push him around. He didn't let her win unless she earned it. And God, that infuriated her.
But it also made her want to be better. Not for him. Not because of him. Just… better.
She hated it.
She hated that he made her question herself. Made her re-evaluate everything. The way she fought. The way she thought. The way she felt.
She groaned and rolled onto her stomach, shoving her face into her pillow like it could muffle the chaos in her brain.
This was a disaster.
A full-blown, slow-motion car crash of emotional catastrophe.
She didn't do feelings. Not like this. Not raw. Not unfiltered. Not so deep she couldn't find the bottom.
And the worst part?
She had no idea if Ethan even liked her back.
Maybe he was just being nice. Maybe he was just playing her game better than she was. Maybe—God—maybe he knew and was just waiting for her to implode.
And she was imploding.
Piece by piece.
Every time she saw him.
Every time he smirked like he knew what she was thinking.
Every time he looked at her with those calm, infuriating green eyes.
She couldn't do this much longer.
She couldn't avoid it forever.
Eventually, it would have to happen.
A confrontation.
A conversation.
Something.
And just the thought of it made her want to crawl out of her skin.
She rolled onto her back again, arms flung across her eyes like that might shield her from the truth.
It didn't.
The realization haunted her for the rest of the weekend.
She went through the motions—gym, work, sparring, the occasional attempt at studying—but her mind was always elsewhere. Always circling back to Ethan. To the weight of his gaze. To the echo of his voice. To the freaking way he stood like the whole world didn't matter.
It was pathetic.
She was pathetic.
But she couldn't shake it.
The more she tried to ignore it, the worse it got. Like an itch she couldn't scratch. Like a bruise she kept pressing just to feel something.
By Sunday night, she was at the edge of a meltdown.
She needed to talk to someone.
Unfortunately… that someone ended up being her parents.
God help her.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Too quiet.
Vanessa sat at the table, pushing the same piece of broccoli around her plate for what felt like an hour. Her parents were watching her. She felt it.
Then—
"You're acting weird," her mother said, piercing the silence.
Vanessa stiffened, already on the defensive. "I'm not acting weird."
Her dad leaned in, resting his elbows on the table like this was about to be fun for him."Are you sure? Because you've been zoning out all weekend."
Her mom tilted her head, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Maybe she's thinking about a boy."
Vanessa immediately choked on her drink.
"Jesus—! NO!" she sputtered, coughing, face already burning.
Her dad's eyebrows climbed. "Oh? Do tell."
"I said no," she snapped, wiping her mouth, cheeks blazing. "There is no boy."
Her mom leaned in like a cat about to pounce. "Mm-hmm. If there were a boy, would he happen to be a certain white-haired sparring partner?"
Vanessa's soul left her body.
" Ethan?" her dad added, far too interested for her comfort.
She slammed her hands down on the table. "NO."
Her voice was much too loud. And too fast.
Her mom grinned like the devil. "Oh, honey… you're so obvious."
Vanessa dropped her head onto the table with a groan, forehead thunking against the wood.
"Okay, fine!" she mumbled. "Maybe I like him. A little."
Her mom gasped dramatically, hand over her heart. "A little?"
Her dad was already chuckling. "So, when's the wedding?"
Vanessa sat up, face flushed, eyes murderous. "I will throw this plate at you."
He raised his hands in surrender, still smirking. "Alright, alright. So you like Ethan. What's the problem?"
She slumped back in her chair like the weight of the truth was finally settling on her shoulders. "The problem is... I have no idea what to do about it."
Her mother's smile softened. "Have you talked to him?"
Vanessa stared at her like she'd grown two heads. "Yeah, sure, Mom. I'll just march up to him and say, 'Hey, I used to beat you up, but now I think I like you. Wanna go out?'"
Her dad snorted. "Honestly? Wouldn't be the weirdest love story I've heard."
She glared.
Her mom reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Sweetheart, feelings suck. But hiding them usually sucks worse. If you like him… you have to tell him. Eventually."
Vanessa looked down.
She knew her mother was right.
She just wasn't ready.
Not yet.
"Yeah," she muttered. "I know."
Her dad gave her a sideways smile. "Just don't punch him when you do it."
She scowled. "I hate you both."
Her mother laughed and patted her hand again. "We love you too, sweetie."
Vanessa hadn't slept. Not a wink.
Her body had lain still, but her mind had run marathons.
Thoughts swirled like a storm behind her eyelids, thundering questions, what-ifs, worst-case scenarios. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—Ethan. Smirking. Calm. Watching her like he could see straight through the armor she wore like skin.
By morning, her head ached and her limbs felt like lead, but the decision she'd made in the dark still clung to her like second skin.
She had to do this.
No more running.
Now, standing at the edge of the school gates, watching him lean against his bike like the world belonged to him, that determination wavered.
Ethan hadn't noticed her yet.
He was on his phone, hoodie up, headphones half in. The wind picked up, ruffling a few strands of his white hair, and her stupid heart did an even stupider flip.
This was a bad idea.
But she'd already committed. And if she didn't do it now, she knew she never would.
She inhaled—shaky, shallow—and then marched over before her nerves could talk her out of it.
He looked up as she approached, green eyes locking with hers. "Morning, Reyes."
The way he said her name—it was casual, light—but something about it made her insides twist up.
She ignored the flutter in her stomach. "Hey… got a minute?"
He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Depends. Am I about to get punched?"
She rolled her eyes, but her voice betrayed her nerves. "No. Just… meet me at the park. After school."
He tilted his head, studying her. As if he could already sense something was off. His lips curled into that barely-there smirk she hated herself for noticing.
"Alright," he said.
Vanessa exhaled—too fast, too forcefully. "Cool. See you then."
She spun on her heel before he could get a look at her flushed face.
Her legs felt like jelly.
This is going to be a disaster, she thought. An epic, slow-motion, train-wreck-level disaster.
But it was too late to back out now.
The day crawled by in a haze of meaningless noise. Vanessa couldn't focus, couldn't breathe without the weight in her chest pressing harder. Her teachers spoke in muffled tones she didn't register, her sparring sessions were unfocused and clumsy, and she caught herself checking the time every few minutes like a nervous kid waiting for a dentist appointment.
By the time the final bell rang, she was ready to vomit.
Now, here she stood.
At the park.
Hands shoved deep in her jacket pockets to hide the way they trembled.
The air was crisp. A few birds chirped overhead. Somewhere, a car door slammed.
She clenched her fists, her palms slick with cold sweat. The kind of nerves she couldn't fight her way through, couldn't punch out of her system.
She had been so sure last night—so damn certain.
But now, standing here? Waiting for him?
Her brain screamed at her to run.
What was she even going to say?
"Hey, I used to hate your guts, but turns out I don't anymore. Let's make out behind the bleachers."
"Remember how I insulted you weekly? Yeah, that was flirting. I think. I'm not great at this."
Or worse—
"I like you, and I have no idea how to stop."
She groaned and covered her face with her hands.
She was a mess.
An idiot.
A complete emotional disaster disguised as a functional human being.
"Reyes?"
The voice hit her like a jolt.
She spun around, pulse leaping.
Ethan stood a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, that infuriatingly calm expression on his face. Watching her. Always watching her.
She dropped her hands and scrambled to compose herself.
"Uh. Hey."
He tilted his head. "You okay?"
"Yeah! Fine! Why?" Her voice came out higher than she intended—too bright, too fake.
He raised a brow. "Because you look like you're about to either puke or run into traffic."
I wish I could run into traffic, she thought.
She forced a laugh, the sound brittle. "Pfft. No. I'm totally fine."
Ethan didn't say anything.
He just looked at her.
Quiet. Patient.
Like he knew something she didn't.
Her fake smile faltered under his gaze.
God, why was he so good at this?
She sighed, dragging her hand down her face. "Okay. Maybe I'm… a little distracted."
Ethan's smirk returned, just a twitch of lips. "A little?"
She glared. "Shut up."
He chuckled, then softened—just a fraction, but it was enough to make her stomach clench. "You wanna talk about it?"
Her breath caught.
This was it.
Say it.
Tell him.
Just admit it.
But the words jammed in her throat.
Her heart was pounding too fast. Her mouth had gone dry.
Panic surged.
She wasn't ready. She couldn't do this. Not yet.
She glanced away, forcing a laugh she didn't feel. "It's… nothing. Just some dumb stuff. Don't worry about it."
She didn't meet his eyes.
She didn't dare.
There was a pause. That quiet kind of silence that was almost worse than yelling.
Then—
"…Alright," he said, voice easy. Casual.
But there was something behind his eyes.
He didn't believe her.
She knew he didn't.
But he let it go.
And for that, she was both grateful and ashamed.
They sat on a bench in companionable silence.
Ethan pulled out his usual book, flipping it open without a word. Vanessa sat beside him, too tense to read, too wound up to think.
She should've said something.
She came here to confess—to be brave.
Instead, she'd run again.
Her fists curled in her lap, nails digging into her palms.
How long are you going to keep being a coward?
She didn't know.
And that scared her more than anything.
Later, when Ethan gave her a ride home, the silence between them was thick, but not uncomfortable.
Not for him, anyway.
Vanessa kept her eyes on the road ahead, trying not to think too much. Trying not to feel too much.
When the bike rumbled to a stop in front of her house, she slid off, brushing her hair back and schooling her expression.
Act normal.
Be cool.
Bury it all.
He doesn't need to know.
She looked at Ethan, expecting him to just nod and ride off like usual, but his green eyes flickered to something behind her.