Chapter 24 Nolan
TWENTY-FOUR
NOLAN
As soon as Auron disappears down the hall, her fingers hook in my shirt again, tugging me close like she can’t get enough.
And stars help me—I don’t want to pull away.
Not even a little. I give in and kiss her back, my body reacting embarrassingly fast since the appearance of Auron had poured cold water all over my arousal.
I kiss her for what feels like seconds and hours all mixed into one. I don’t want to stop. But I do.
I ease back just enough to breathe, just enough to stop myself from doing something reckless. Something fast. Something that might make her think she’s just another girl I’ve kissed in a dark hallway—which is laughable, because she’s the only girl I’ve ever kissed in a dark hallway. Or anywhere.
“Linds…” My voice catches in my throat. She’s still watching me, pupils blown wide, lips kiss-damp and parted like she’s waiting for me to just say screw it and go back in for another taste of her sweet lips.
But I can’t.
“We’re, um—we’re kind of out in the open,” I say, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, my voice cracking halfway through like a freshman all over again. “Not that I don’t want to—I do. You’re…you’re incredible, and I keep thinking about our last kiss and this—and now—and I just—”
Her brows lift. I want to sink through the floor.
“I’ve never… done this before. Not—like—this this.” I gesture vaguely between us, heat climbing my neck so fast it has to be visible. Great way to say I’ve only pleasured myself. Stars, I’m such a nerd.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then she smiles, a soft curve of her lips that has my heart beating faster.
“You’re blushing,” she says.
“Of course I’m blushing,” I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face. “I’m basically a cautionary tale of what happens when you spend too much time in the library and not enough time at parties.”
“Nolan.” She steps into my space again, gentler this time, one hand brushing along the edge of my jaw. “It’s okay.”
“I just… I don’t want to mess this up. You’re not… you’re not a fling. Or a reaction to almost dying. You’re you. And I want to get it right.”
She kisses my cheek, so close to my mouth I almost forget to breathe.
“You already are. You’re perfect, just as you are.”
Her fingers linger at my jaw like she feels how wrecked I am inside. Like she can sense the pulse pounding in my throat. Like she already knows I’m one wrong move from bolting—not because I want to leave, but because staying means feeling everything I’ve tried so hard to compartmentalize.
“I’m not trying to rush you,” she says. “I just—after everything that happened, I think I needed to remember that I’m still here. Still me. Still allowed to want things.”
She bites her lip, and I swear I feel it in my bones.
“I want you, Nolan. Not because it’s convenient or because you helped save me or because we are part of some prophecy. I want you because you see me. You always have.”
My heart stutters.
“You’ve been looking at me like I’m worth knowing since the first day. And I don’t need you to have all the answers. I just need this. Whatever this is.”
I blink hard.
“Linds…”
It’s all I can manage. Because her words hit places I don’t let people near. Places carved out by years of being the one who fades into the background. The one who supports from the sidelines. The one who keeps his head down and his heart guarded.
But with her… I want to be brave.
“I’ve thought about kissing you a hundred times,” I whisper. “And when you did it—when you made the first move—it didn’t scare me the way I thought it would.”
She leans closer again, resting her forehead against mine.
“What scares you now?”
“That I’ll never be able to stop. Or I won’t be good enough for you.”
It’s not suave. It’s not slick. But it’s true.
Her breath catches, just enough to make me think they were the right words. Then her hands slide to my waist, holding me like she’s the one grounding me now.
“You are enough. And you never have to stop,” she murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I close my eyes for a second, just to feel it. Her. Us. This impossible moment stitched together from trauma and healing and everything in between.
“I want it to be right,” I whisper. “And I want you to know that I’m all in. Even if I fumble through every second of it.”
She smiles, and it’s like the sun breaking through the frost.
“I don’t mind fumbling,” she says, kissing the corner of my mouth again. “Not if it’s with you.”
I don’t know where the words come from.
Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at me—like I’m not just the background noise anymore. Maybe it’s the heat still lingering from her kiss. Or maybe it’s just the crash of everything we survived finally settling in my bones and making me realize that I don’t want to waste another second.
“I know a place.”
Her brows lift just slightly, the barest tilt of curiosity.
“It’s not a bedroom,” I add quickly, rubbing the back of my neck. “But no one really goes there. It’s quiet. Private. We wouldn’t be interrupted. Unless you’d… prefer a bed.”
She stares at me, eyes wide for a beat, and I immediately start second-guessing myself.
“I mean, not that I’m assuming anything,” I rush out. “Just—if we needed more—comfort, or blankets, or—God, I’m messing this up.”
But then she laughs. Really laughs. And it’s not mocking—it’s warm and breathless and just for me.
“You would’ve taken me right here in this dark little alcove if Auron hadn’t shown up, Nolan,” she teases, brushing her fingers lightly along the edge of my jaw. “Don’t pretend you suddenly need a bed.”
I go red. Full-body, forehead-to-collarbone red.
“I—was trying to be respectful,” I mutter, even as her laughter makes my heart feel like it’s blooming.
She leans in close, lips brushing my ear.
“I was willing to let it happen in this alcove,” she whispers. “Doesn’t mean we can’t go somewhere a little more… horizontal.”
I swallow hard. My brain stutters. My entire body tries to combust.
But my hand finds hers. Steady. Certain.
“This way,” I say.
I don’t let go.
We slip through the corridors, past hushed voices and lingering shadows, and out into the crisp early afternoon air.
The path curves west, where the old tower rises like a forgotten piece of history stitched to the edge of the Academy.
It isn’t forbidden. Just… overlooked. The kind of place you only find if you’re searching for something that doesn’t quite fit anywhere else.
I think that’s why I like it.
The tower holds stories—actual paper-and-ink stories, the kind that were passed down before spell-books and Veil craft.
Fairytales. Morality fables. Strange, meandering things with unreliable narrators and lessons hidden in the margins.
They’re not important enough to sit on the library’s gilded shelves or dangerous enough to be locked away in the restricted section.
But they’re real. They feel real. And I’ve always loved them.
I don’t say any of that aloud. Not yet.
Instead, I hold her hand tighter as we reach the door and slip inside. The air smells like old paper and cedar and the faintest trace of smoke, like someone lit a candle here once and the memory of it stuck.
My pulse is racing.
We climb the spiral stairs—stone worn smooth in the middle from centuries of steps. She’s quiet behind me, but I can feel her presence like a spark waiting to catch. Each breath I take feels heavier, not with fear, but with anticipation.
Because this is real.
Because it’s her.
At the top of the tower, we reach the little circular alcove.
There’s a bench curved along the edge of the window with two old pillows on the surface, and the sunlight spills across the floor like a blessing.
Dust motes drift in the beam, floating and glinting as if the whole room is holding its breath.
“I used to come here when I needed to think,” I say, finally letting go of her hand. My fingers already miss her warmth. “No one ever comes here. Not even professors.”
Lindsay turns in a slow circle, taking in the domed ceiling, the stacks of untouched books, the quiet that hums like a heartbeat beneath the silence. Then she looks at me.
And smiles.
It’s soft and radiant, and it hits me like magic I don’t know how to cast.
“You brought me to your secret reading tower?” she asks, voice full of quiet teasing and something warmer beneath it.
I laugh, nerves breaking through. “It’s not as romantic as it sounds.”
“It kinda is,” she says, stepping closer. “Books. Sunlight. Cute boy who looks like he might combust from one more kiss…”
I go red. Again.
“I’m not combusting.”
“You are.”
Her hands slide up my chest, and my breath catches.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” she murmurs, gaze searching mine. “We don’t have to rush.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I mean—yes. I’m sure. I want this. You.”
Her smile tilts toward wicked. “Good.”
Then she pulls me to her.
And this time, when her mouth finds mine, there’s no hesitation. Just fire. Soft and slow at first, then deeper—deeper still, like we’re trying to imprint on each other with lips and hands and the way our bodies fit together in this sliver of time and space.
Her fingers slip into my hair. My hands anchor at her waist. The curve of her body molds to mine like she’s always meant to be pressed against me like this.
And I realize—I’ve never read about anything like this. Not in all the books. None of it could prepare me for how I feel at this moment.
Her mouth tastes like something I’ll never stop chasing now that I’ve had a taste.
I don’t even realize I’ve started walking her backward until the backs of her legs bump into the edge of the bench beneath the window. She breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh, and I freeze, terrified I’ve misread something.
But she’s smiling.
Wicked again. Warm and sure.
“Sit,” she whispers as she moves me into the spot she was just in.