Chapter 35 Pressure Builds
Micah's POV
I barely slept after practice. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Dante’s face in the dim light of the gym—his expression carved with certainty, as if he already knew who he would dismantle next. By the time morning hit, my chest felt too tight, my pulse too quick. When I walked across campus, I could feel something shift in the air around me. People weren’t just glancing they were looking. Whispering. Leaning toward each other. And each time, their eyes flicked from their friends… to me.
By second period, I realized the quiet was worse than the whispers. Girls pressed their heads together at lockers when I walked by, murmuring with little glances that scraped under my skin like sandpaper. A group of guys paused mid-laugh at the cafeteria entrance when they saw me, their conversation dying too fast to be innocent. I tried to ignore it. Tried to convince myself I was imagining it. But when two teammates I barely knew exchanged a look right in front of me, one lifting his eyebrows suggestively, my stomach dropped.
At lunch I sat alone, tray untouched. My appetite had vanished. Every corner of the room felt like it was filled with eyes. I bent my head over my notebook, pretending to study, but the noise swelled—soft, hissing, always circling. “Is it true?” “He’s always with..” “Look how he blushes..” I clenched my jaw. My hands shook. When I stood quickly, chair screeching back against the floor, a few heads snapped toward me. I fled the cafeteria, breath snagging in my throat. Halfway down the main hallway, I felt the world tilt slightly, like everything was off balance. I reached for the wall to steady myself.
“Micah.” His voice hit me from behind—low, certain, familiar enough to cut through the panic like a blade. My breath stuttered. I turned. Dante was there. Standing too close. Watching me too closely. “You’re spiraling,” he said quietly. “I’m fine,” I lied, even though my voice trembled. His eyes darkened at the sound. “No. You’re not.” He stepped forward, fingers curling lightly around my wris not hard, not commanding, but firm enough to guide me. And I let him. I didn’t know why, not exactly, but letting him pull me felt easier than fighting to stay upright in the middle of a storm.
He led me into the north stairwell—the one no one used between classes. The door clicked softly shut behind us, sealing us in dim light and silence that felt heavier than the air outside. Dante didn’t speak at first. He just watched me, his chest rising slowly like he was trying to match his breaths to mine. Then he reached out and touched my shoulder, gentler than I’d ever felt from him, his fingers warm through my shirt. “You don’t have to carry all that alone,” he murmured.
My throat tightened. I looked down, blinking fast, because the softness in his voice did something to me, something warm, dangerous, destabilizing. “They’re staring,” I whispered. “Talking. I don’t know what to say to them. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” “You’re not doing anything wrong.” I laughed shakily. “Feels like I am.” Dante’s hand slid down my arm until his fingers found mine, not lacing together just brushing, testing. My breath hitched, and I didn’t pull away. “Micah,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “you’re allowed to feel overwhelmed. But you’re not allowed to disappear on me.” My chest fluttered painfully. “I’m not trying to.” “You looked like you were running.” “I just… I needed air.”
He stepped closer. Close enough that I could see the flecks in his irises. Close enough that his breath warmed my cheek. “Then breathe with me.” It was stupid. It was ridiculous. But I did. Our breaths slowed at the same pace, as if he was syncing me to him intentionally. And for a moment, I melted, shoulders loosening, lungs lifting, heartbeat settling under the weight of his presence. Then, abruptly, something in Dante’s expression shifted. The warmth drained from his eyes. He straightened, releasing my wrist. “You need to focus.” The change was so sharp I flinced. “W-what?” His voice went colder, clipped. “You’re letting people get in your head. That’s a weakness.”
I stared at him, confusion swirling hard enough to make me dizzy. Thirty seconds ago he was whispering comfort into my skin. Now his tone could cut bone. “That’s not fair,” I breathed. “It’s reality,” he said. “You can’t fold just because someone looks at you.” “I wasn...” “You were.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. That calm, razor-edged tone sliced deeper than shouting ever could. I felt heat prickle behind my eyes, humiliation and anger tangling inside me until I couldn’t tell which was winning. “You don’t get to talk to me like that,” I whispered, though it sounded weak even to me. His jaw flexed, but his voice stayed steady. “I do if you’re losing control.” “And you think you’re helping?” “I know I am.”
I hated that a part of me believed him. The silence tightened around us again, heavier now, restless. Dante sighed quietly, something unreadable passing across his face. Then he reached out and cupped my jaw, his thumb brushing just under my cheekbone. The touch was shockingly gentle another whiplash, another contradiction. My breath caught. “Micah,” he said softly, “look at me.” I did. I didn’t mean to. I just… did. His touch anchored me, even as it scared me. Even as it confused every thought I was trying to hold steady. His thumb stroked once, slow. My pulse jumped into his palm.
“This,” he murmured, “is you getting in your own way.” I swallowed. “I don’t understand you,” I said, voice shaking. “You don’t have to. Just stay steady.” “That’s easy for you to say.” My chest tightened. “You’re not the one who feels like everyone is watching. Judging. Assuming.” Something flickered in his expression. “They don’t matter.” “They do to me.” “Then make them irrelevant,” he said, leaning in, eyes dark as a closing storm. “Make yourself unshakeable.” His forehead nearly brushed mine. Heat rushed through my whole body, pooling low, leaving me dizzy. “I can’t,” I whispered without meaning to. “You can,” he replied, thumb sliding slightly along my jaw. “And you will.”
I should’ve pushed his hand away. I should’ve stepped back. But instead I leaned—barely, instinctively—into his touch. Like my body betrayed me before my mind could protest. His breath caught. For a moment neither of us spoke. The air felt electric, charged, waiting. Then something inside me cracked open fear and longing blending in a way that made my voice small, raw, honest. “Why do I feel safe with you,” I whispered, “even when you scare me?” Dante didn’t answer. He didn’t move his hand. He just watched me eyes dark, intense, unreadable like he was memorizing the question, tasting it, claiming something inside it. The silence stretched. And I didn’t breathe until the bell rang outside, shattering the moment but not breaking whatever had just shifted between us. Dante’s hand slipped away last.