Noah brings Aubrey back to his apartment after a charged ride through the city. Neither of them is pretending anymore. The moment the door shuts, desire takes over. They crash into each other—clothes hitting the floor, heat escalating fast—but it’s not just about lust. Every touch between them feels too much. Intense. Real. Noah is torn between wanting to claim her and fearing what she makes him feel. Aubrey, for once, stops running. They don’t just hook up—they connect. Afterward, tangled on his couch, limbs still shaking, she confesses she’s not good at staying. He tells her she doesn’t have to. She just has to come back. And somewhere between their breathless laughter and whispered truths, it stops being a mistake. It starts becoming something else.

Aubrey stood between his knees, hands flat on Noah’s chest, heart pounding. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked. He looked up at her like she was the only thing worth looking at. “Because when I kissed you, it didn’t feel casual.” Her breath hitched. So she kissed him—slow, then biting his lip. He snapped. His hands gripped her ass, pulled her into his lap, grinding her against the thick heat in his jeans. She moaned, clutching his shoulders as his fingers slid into her jeans, finding her soaked and aching. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he growled. “For you.” Two fingers, curling just right. She shattered in his arms, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming. Later, wrapped around her, he whispered, “You scare me.” “Why?” “Because when I look at you… I stop wanting to fuck around. I start wanting to matter.”

Aubrey hit the pavement on her ass, coffee soaking into her jeans, sketchbooks scattered, and a sharp fuck echoing off the old brick wall. “Jesus Christ—watch it!” she snapped, looking up. And there he was. Tall. Tattooed. Cigarette hanging from his lips like it belonged there. Dirty blonde hair, stubble, a hoodie unzipped just enough to tease the muscle underneath. Tattoos crawling up both arms. He crouched down, handed her a pencil, thumb brushing hers. “Noah,” he said, voice low and rasped. “Good for you.” He smirked. “You always this friendly?” “I reserve it for people who don’t body-check me.” He exhaled smoke. “Still—if you want that coffee…” She turned. “Not a chance.” But her heart was already beating too fast.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t ask. He just waited—until I stepped forward and kissed him like I finally knew what I wanted. Him. This. Us. We undressed each other slowly, like every layer meant something. And when his hands found mine, when our bodies met with nothing between them but breath and yes and now, I didn’t feel nervous. I felt chosen. I wasn’t giving something away—I was opening a door. And he didn’t walk through it. He came to me and stayed.

“He didn’t ask me to stay. And I didn’t need him to. Because when he looked at me like that—like I mattered—I didn’t want to go.” Summary: Ivy stays in Jace’s room long after the story ends. They don’t kiss. They don’t touch beyond a quiet moment, a brush of hands, a shared breath. But something deep settles between them. The hoodie she wears, the things they say, the even smaller things they don’t— they build a foundation stronger than lust. She leaves that night with nothing written in stone— but everything written in her chest.

“She didn’t ask for promises. She asked for honesty. And for the first time in my life… I didn’t want to give her anything less.” Summary: Jace invites Ivy into his real life—his childhood home, his room, the place he first learned what not to believe in. He doesn’t kiss her. He doesn’t make a move. He just lets her in. And when she touches his face, it’s not a signal—it’s a statement. She’s not here for the mask. She’s here for him. And for once, Jace doesn’t hide from it.

"He didn't meet me with a smile. He didn't say a word. He just stood there, looking like someone who'd spend hours hoping I'd come and still didn't believe it when I did." Summary: Ivy gets the message—and the map point. No instructions. No persuasion. Just space to choose. So she does. She steps off the bus and finds Jace already waiting, quiet, grounded, changed. And when he takes her home—not his dorm, but his real home—she sees the scars he never let anyone touch. There’s no kiss. No drama. Just truth, honesty, and the start of something neither of them has ever had before: Real connection.

"I've spent years pretending nothing touched me. But you asked for truth, Ivy. So I'm starting where I lost it--so maybe I can figure out how to give it to you." Summary: Jace doesn’t answer Ivy’s voice memo with charm or apology. He answers it by doing something he’s never done—facing his own damage. Returning home. Talking to his mom. Owning the part of himself that always thought love was a joke. And then? He texts Ivy. Not with sweet words. But with an invitation: “Let me show you something real.”

“I didn’t kiss him because I forgave him. I kissed him because I wanted to know if he still felt like home. He did. And that terrifies me.” Summary: After hours of silence and spiraling thoughts, Ivy gets a late-night message from Jace. It’s simple. Honest. Real. And it undoes her. So she sends something back—not a text, but a voice memo that feels like a confession wrapped in courage. She doesn’t give him rules. She gives him an invitation. To show her who he really is. And this time, she isn’t hiding from what she wants.

“She kissed me once. And now nothing feels like enough. I’m not chasing her—I’m trying to become someone worth her turning around for.” Summary: Jace didn’t text. Didn’t call. Didn’t go to her door. But it’s killing him. Because that kiss didn’t give him clarity—it gave him need. Now he walks the campus like a ghost, haunted by her softness, her stillness, her yes. And for once, he doesn’t try to fix it with charm or noise. Instead, he writes something. Raw. Honest. Quiet. He’s not chasing her. He’s giving her a truth to hold onto—if she still wants it.

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“I didn’t kiss him because I forgave him. I kissed him because I still feel him when he’s not even near me. And I don’t know what to do with that kind of truth.” Summary: Ivy’s trying to breathe again after that kiss— but every breath feels heavier than the last. She didn’t expect Jace to kiss her like that. She didn’t expect herself to let him. Now she’s lying in bed, heart pounding, afraid of the answer that’s slowly blooming in her chest: She wants him again. And not just his kiss. His heart. But trusting that? It’s scarier than losing him all over again.

“Her lips left mine, but something stayed behind—something I’ll never be able to shake. I’ve kissed a hundred girls and forgotten every one. But her? She’s branded into me.” Summary: Jace doesn’t feel victorious after the kiss—he feels wrecked. In the best way. Ivy didn’t crumble into his arms. She didn’t fall apart. He did. Because her kiss wasn’t forgiveness or a greenlight—it was a truth bomb. A quiet one. And now, for the first time, Jace realizes that if he wants her, truly wants her, it’s not about chasing. It’s about becoming someone worth catching.

“He kissed me like I was something holy. Like he’d been starving and I was breath. There was no hunger in it. Just reverence.” Summary: After weeks of silence, Jace finally asks the one thing Ivy never thought she’d let him: “Can I kiss you?” And she says yes. Because everything about the moment feels earned—soft, quiet, safe. Their kiss isn’t explosive—it’s intimate, intentional. It doesn’t fix everything. But it opens a door Ivy thought she’d closed forever. Now, there’s no pretending. No pretending she’s over him. No pretending he doesn’t still wreck her with just a look.

“She looked at me like I wasn’t the villain anymore. Just a boy who finally shut up long enough to listen. And for once… I didn’t need more.” Summary: Jace never expected her to meet his eyes again. But when Ivy looks up—really looks—it stops him cold. No anger. No softness either. Just quiet recognition. For the first time since losing her, he’s seen as something other than what he used to be. It’s not forgiveness, not a promise. But it’s not nothing. And for Jace, that silent moment of connection is enough to keep showing up, because hope doesn’t have to shout to be real.

“He doesn’t ask for my attention. He doesn’t even know I’m looking. But I see him now—and for the first time, it doesn’t hurt. It matters.” Summary: Ivy begins to notice Jace in quiet, unexpected ways. He’s no longer chasing or performing—he’s simply present. And that changes everything. Because for the first time, she can observe him without pain or longing. She sees the small ways he’s different. Gentler. Calmer. More aware of the space around him. And without meaning to, Ivy’s heart starts to ask a dangerous question: What if he’s finally becoming the version of himself she always hoped for?

"I don't send her texts. I don't ask for forgiveness. I just show up—quiet, consistent, present. Because love isn't loud when it's real. It's steady." Summary: Jace finally gets it: Ivy doesn't owe him anything. So instead of pushing, he shows up—consistently, without expectation. He walks past her favorite building. He sits nearby in lectures without forcing eye contact. No games. No grand speeches. Just presence. Because if he wants a future with her, he has to prove with actions, not words, that he's someone worth trusting again.

“He said the words I used to dream about. But I didn’t run into his arms. I sat there, steady. Because this time, I was listening with my heart, not my hurt.” Summary: Jace shows up and says all the things Ivy once begged for—back then, she would've fallen. But now, she doesn’t fold. She thanks him. She hears him. But she keeps her ground. Because love isn’t about timing—it’s about truth that lasts. And Ivy’s learned to protect herself first, even when her heart still aches for him.

“I thought I had time. But time doesn’t wait for boys who keep breaking the same girl and calling it love. So this time… I showed up. For her. For real.” Summary: Jace doesn’t text. Doesn’t stall. He finds Ivy sitting alone and does what he should’ve done from the beginning: tells her the truth. He admits the fear, the excuses, and the mess. And not because he expects her to take him back—he knows she doesn’t owe him that. He says it because she deserves to hear it from him, face-to-face, no games, no charm—just heart.

"I didn't stop walking because I didn't care. I kept walking because I finally do—about me. About my heart. About never begging for love again." Summary: After walking past Jace, Ivy retreats to a quiet corner of campus, heart thudding with all the things she didn't say. She saw the change in his eyes—the regret, the ache—but she doesn't let herself go back. Not yet. Not without proof. Because wanting someone isn't enough anymore. Ivy's done offering love to people who only miss her once she's gone.