Noah
The house welcomed me with its familiar silence as I stepped inside, just like it always did after dinner.
The warm glow of the lights filled the space, and I could hear the gentle hum of the dishwasher in the background.
For a moment, I lingered in the doorway, the tuxedo draped over my shoulder feeling almost like a weight I couldn’t bear.
“Hey, sweetheart,” my mom called from the kitchen. “Is that you?”
“Yeah.” I kicked off my boots and made my way in.
She was leaning casually against the counter, her hair pulled back, still wearing that cozy knit sweater from earlier. My dad sat at the table, flipping through the newspaper, idly tapping a pen against a crossword puzzle.
“Get the tux?” he asked, not bothering to look up.
“Yeah. It’s fine.”
My mom turned to me slowly, raising an eyebrow.
“Fine?” she echoed. “Noah, you could be bleeding from your shoulder and still say you’re fine.”
I managed a dry smile, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes.
“Come sit down. Talk to us,” my dad said, tilting his head slightly.
I hesitated for a heartbeat, then pulled out a chair and sank into it, resting my arms on the table like they were made of lead.
There was something about being home that made my defenses crumble. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t visited often while everything with Liz was shifting. I didn’t want to feel safe if it meant admitting just how far I’d already fallen.
Without asking, my mom poured me a cup of tea and slid it across the table. Then she settled into the chair across from me, folding her hands, her eyes steady and calm.
“What’s going on?” she asked softly.
I watched the steam rise from the cup, feeling the weight of my unspoken words.
“I haven’t told her,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Liz?”
I nodded. “About the bet. About how all of this started.”
She remained quiet, allowing my thoughts to trickle out, slow and shaky.
“It was foolish. A challenge. Adonis said she wouldn’t open up to anyone, and I—” I took a sharp breath. “I just wanted to prove I could. I didn’t know her. I didn’t know myself. Not like this.”
“And now?” my mom prompted gently.
I lifted my gaze to meet hers. “Now I think I’m in love with her.”
She didn’t blink. There was no surprise in her eyes. Instead, they softened, just like they did when I was ten and scraped my knee, trying to act tough despite the pain.
“Oh, honey,” she said, her voice warm. “Of course you are.”
I blinked, taken aback.
“You’ve always been careful with your heart. But I’ve seen the way you talk about her. The way your face lights up when her name comes up. And how you’ve been trying so hard not to admit it—even to yourself.”
My throat tightened, that familiar sensation creeping in when something long buried finally comes to the surface.
“She makes me want to be better,” I whispered.
“Then be better,” she said simply. “But be honest. Because love without honesty isn’t love—it’s just a performance. And you’ve never been one to play pretend.”
“I don’t want to hurt her,” I confessed. “She’s been through so much already. I just wanted to show her she was more than that. That she mattered to someone.”
“And maybe she already does,” my mom replied. “But if she finds out the truth from someone else, after she’s given you everything—her trust, her heart—it’ll feel like you saw all of her and still chose to keep the truth hidden.”
Her words hit hard, like a punch to the gut, because deep down, I knew she was right.
“You’re not afraid of losing her,” she added softly. “You’re afraid she’ll see you the way you see yourself.”
I pressed my palm against my eyes, trying to hold back the tide of emotions.
“And I’m telling you,” she whispered, reaching across the table to cover my hand with hers, “you are so much more than your mistakes. More than the walls you’ve built to survive.
But she won’t believe that unless you do.
And unless you trust her enough to let her see all of you—even the messy parts. ”
“She deserves more than what I’ve done.”
“She deserves your truth. That’s all she’s ever needed.”
I locked eyes with her, my heart thudding like a drum in my chest.
“And what if she walks away?”
My mom squeezed my hand gently.
“Then you let her,” she said. “Because love isn’t about holding on so tight that you suffocate it. It’s about giving someone the choice to stay—and being worthy when they do.”
I fell silent after that.
There was nothing left to say.
Only something left to do, and it began with a truth I had been running from for far too long.
The house was still. Only the distant hum of the dishwasher and the faint creak of the floor beneath my boots broke the quiet as I climbed the stairs.
My mom’s words clung to me like a second skin.
"She deserves your truth."
I opened the door to my room and shut it behind me with a quiet click. The familiar silence greeted me. Clean, neat, efficient. My desk, my books, my weapons locked away behind cabinet doors. Nothing out of place.
Except me.
I crossed the room slowly and opened the top drawer.
There, tucked beneath a notebook and an old patch from my first mission, was the photo.
It wasn’t much. Just a small, printed snapshot I’d had made weeks ago. One I’d taken without her knowing.
Liz.
Sitting by the window of the café where she always stirred her tea even after the sugar dissolved, lost in thought, her hair falling softly across her cheek.
Her face was turned slightly, caught in a slant of golden light. And her eyes—those eyes—even frozen in ink and paper, they held me still.
One blue, one green.
A contradiction. A storm and a sky. Fire and ice.
I remembered the first time I really looked at them.
Not just saw them—but looked. Her blue eye was pale, like a frozen lake at dawn.
Her green one deeper, sharper, flecked with something wild.
Every time she stared at me, I felt like she was splitting me down the middle. Seeing the truth I hadn’t spoken yet.
And every time she blinked, it felt like a question I didn’t know how to answer. I sat on the edge of my bed, the photo cradled in my hands like something holy.
God, she was beautiful. Not just in the kind of way people turned their heads for. But in the way that wrecked you. Quietly. Permanently.
And I had lied to her.
Used her.
Turned those eyes into a challenge, not a gift. I pressed the picture to my chest and bowed my head, my shoulders heavy. I didn’t deserve the way she looked at me.
Not when she had let me see her—not the version everyone else got, but the one with grief in her smile and danger in her laugh. The one who carried silence like armor and still let herself hope.
I saw her.
The whole of her, and I’d still let the lie linger. Because I was selfish. Because I wanted her to love me first—before I gave her a reason to hate me.
My hands trembled, and for the first time in a long time, I felt close to breaking.
Those eyes… they’d haunt me if she looked at me differently. If the blue turned cold and the green turned sharp. If they didn’t soften the way they did when she was teasing me, or safe with me, or leaning her head against my chest like maybe I was the only peace she had left.
I didn’t want to lose that.
I didn’t want to lose her. But if I didn’t tell her soon… I’d lose her anyway. I closed my eyes and made myself a promise I wasn’t sure I was ready to keep.
I would tell her. Even if it shattered the fragile thing we’d built. Because she deserved to know—before her storm-colored eyes looked at me and saw nothing but betrayal.
And maybe then… she’d still believe that some part of me had always been hers.