Maria.
"Noah, are you okay?" I asked suddenly, the tension in the room becoming too heavy for to ignore. I stepped closer and lifted my hand, placing it gently against his forehead as if checking for a fever. "Did you hit your head? You seem... agitated."
The words left my mouth half-teasing, half-concerned, but my chest felt tight as I searched his face for answers.
He didn’t lean into my touch, he didn’t pull away either. For a mont, he just stood there.
"No, I am fine, Maria," he said quietly. "I just need so rest. I will take my leave."
He still wasn’t looking at .
Instead, he plastered on a smile, one so painfully obvious that it made my stomach twist. It didn’t reach his eyes. It didn’t soften his features. It sat there like a mask, thin and fragile.
I nodded slowly.
"Okay..." I whispered.
But the ache in my chest refused to ease.
It spread instead, slow and uncomfortable, as if sothing important was slipping through my fingers.
"Noah..." I called out before I even realized I was speaking.
He had already reached the door. His hand wrapped around the handle.
"I an... your lips," I added quickly. "I haven’t finished applying the ointnt."
He paused, but only slightly.
"It’s fine, Maria. I’ll do it myself."
Sothing in the way he said it unsettled , It wasn’t harsh, it wasn’t angry, It was distant.
And that distance hurt more than any raised voice could have.
I stepped forward instinctively, closing the space between us until I could feel the warmth radiating from his back. The air between us felt charged, yet painfully fragile.
I could feel his breath on my skin when he shifted slightly, but he didn’t turn around, his grip on the door handle tightened.
The subtle movent didn’t escape .
It was as if he was holding onto it, not just physically, but emotionally. Like it was anchoring him.
I reached out without thinking and gently wrapped my fingers around his hand. His skin was warm and tense.
I slowly slid my hand over his, caressing it softly, trying to soothe whatever storm was brewing beneath his calm exterior.
"Noah," I said quietly.
He still didn’t look at .
My heart thudded heavily in my chest.
"Did I do sothing wrong?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Vulnerable and unfiltered. I hadn’t ant to sound so unsure, but I was.
He finally lifted his eyes.
Slowly.
And when they t mine, I felt the weight of everything he wasn’t saying.
He searched my face as if trying to find sothing hidden there.
Guilt.
Confession.
Reassurance.
Anything.
"No, Maria," he said after a mont.
His voice was steady, too steady.
"I’m tired."
That was all.
Just tired.
"Take care of yourself," he added softly.
The gentleness in his voice hurt more than anger ever could.
If he had snapped at , if there had been sharpness or bitterness woven into his tone, I might have found sothing to defend against. Anger gives you edges. It gives you sothing to push back on. But this,this quiet, careful softness, slipped straight past every defense I had.
Those four words didn’t sound casual. They didn’t sound like sothing you say when you expect to see soone tomorrow. They didn’t carry the lightness of see you later or the comfort of call when you get ho.
They carried weight.
A slow, pressing heaviness that settled against my chest and refused to move.
Final.
The kind of final you don’t announce out loud. The kind that hides inside ordinary words and pretends to be harmless.
Before I could gather my thoughts, before I could say his na again, or tighten my hold around his hand, or even ask him to stay just a little longer, he gently but firmly pulled his hand out of mine.
The movent wasn’t harsh, It wasn’t aggressive, there was no irritation in it. It was controlled, asured and deliberate.
As though he had thought about this mont beforehand. As though he had prepared himself to let go.
And that made it worse.
The sudden absence of his warmth startled more than I expected. My fingers remained suspended in the air for a split second, still curved in the shape of holding him. They twitched slightly, curling inward as if trying to grasp sothing that had already slipped away.
Empty.
They felt empty.
The space between us widened instantly, not just physically, but in a way that felt deeper than distance. It was as if sothing invisible had shifted, placing him sowhere I couldn’t quite reach anymore.
He didn’t hesitate.
He didn’t falter.
There was no visible struggle in his expression, no flicker of doubt in the way he moved. He simply reached for the door and opened it in one swift, fluid motion.
For a brief, fragile second, hope flared inside .
Maybe he would pause.
Maybe he would turn.
Just once.
Just enough to tell that this wasn’t what it felt like. Just enough to soften the edge of it.
But he didn’t.
He stepped out without turning his head.
Without eting my eyes again.
Without giving anything, no smile, no hesitation, no lingering glance, to hold onto.
The door closed quietly behind him, no dramatic slam, no sharp crack of sound to match the ache spreading through my chest.
Just a soft click.
And then...Silence, thick, unforgiving. It filled the room almost imdiately, pressing in from every corner. I stood there unmoving, staring at the exact spot where he had been standing monts ago, as if I could rewind ti simply by refusing to look away.
The room felt different.
Colder.
As though his presence had been the only thing anchoring it, warming it, making it feel alive.
My breathing turned uneven. I swallowed hard, trying to ease the tightness forming in my throat, but it only seed to deepen. Each inhale felt shallow, each exhale heavier than the last.
Why did it hurt like this?
We hadn’t argued.
We hadn’t shattered anything with cruel words.
Nothing had broken loudly.
And yet it felt like sothing delicate, sothing important, had slipped straight through my fingers without warning.
I pressed my hand lightly against my chest, as though I could physically soothe the ache building there. As though I could steady whatever fragile thing inside had just cracked.
Why did it feel like I had just lost sothing?
I heaved a deep sigh and slowly, I turned and walked back toward the bed. My body felt heavier than before, as though sothing inside had deflated. I lay down without bothering to change, staring up at the ceiling.
Noah’s voice replayed in my mind.
Must you accompany him?
The question rang over and over again, each repetition digging deeper.
It hadn’t been loud.
It hadn’t been accusatory.
But it had carried sothing raw.
Sothing wounded.
I rolled onto my side, curling slightly into myself.
Was that what this was about?
Adrien?
Jealousy?
Possession?
Or sothing more?
My eyelids grew heavier, exhaustion finally claiming . The emotional storm had drained completely. At so point, my thoughts blurred into dreams, and I dozed off without realizing.
****
Days passed like a breeze.
Too fast.
Too quiet.
I avoided the Quadruplets as much as possible. The corridors they frequented beca routes I carefully sidestepped. I tid my movents to ensure I didn’t cross paths with them.
And of course....their precious Vanessa.
The thought of her tightened sothing inside . I didn’t want to deal with her smug smiles or calculated glances. Not now.
Not when everything already felt fragile.
Noah avoided too, that hurt more than I expected. We hadn’t argued, he hadn’t raised his voice.....but since that day in my room, he kept his distance.
And it affected greatly.
I didn’t want to lose him.
He is my friend.
Not when he ant so much to .
I tried going to his room more than once, telling myself I would just knock, just talk, just clear the air.
But every ti....Anabel was there.
Her laughter spilled into the hallway, bright and carefree. And Noah’s voice joined hers, warm, light, easy. His smile when he was with her was so bright, so effortless.
It was nothing like the strained expression he wore the last ti he looked at .
The contrast hurt.
I would stand there for a second too long, listening, before quietly turning away.
Daniel beca my only steady company these past few days. He didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t push.
He simply stayed.
Vincent, thankfully, was healing faster than expected. The tension around him eased as his strength returned, and that at least gave one less thing to worry about.
Still.....Sothing felt missing.
I was standing at the sink one afternoon, washing dishes absentmindedly, when voices drifted in from the open window.
"I heard the gas in the competition are tough!" one oga said excitedly.
"Exactly! I don’t even know who I’m rooting for. All the competing Alphas are so hot. I wish I was the prize," another replied with a giggle.
Their laughter followed.
They kept talking about strength, strategy, appearances. About who looked most dominant, most desirable, most likely to win but I had already zoned out.
The water continued running over my hands as my thoughts drifted elsewhere.
The competition.
It was almost here.
Tomorrow.
D-Day.
The realization sent a cold shiver down my spine.
I wondered....Who would I be given to?
The thought felt wrong.
Like I was an object to be claid.
Won.
Displayed.
Would it be Adrien?
Darren?
Soone else entirely?
And where did Noah stand in all this?
Would he even compete?
Or would he step back?
Would he quit?
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