Chapter 9 Public, Always
Elias POV
I never dressed for attention.
That was the lie people told themselves to make me easier to swallow.
The truth was simpler, heavier: I dressed because I refused to disappear.
By Tuesday morning, the campus had settled back into its routine. Classes resumed. Practices ran on schedule. The party from the weekend had already begun to fade into rumor, exaggerated and distorted by people who hadn’t stayed long enough to see the quiet parts.
But I remembered everything.
I remembered the way Noah’s voice had sounded when he told me not to talk about it. The way his eyes had betrayed him even as his mouth denied me. The way silence had become his weapon of choice.
So I chose visibility.
On purpose.
That morning, I wore a deep wine-red wrap skirt that hugged my waist and fell mid-calf, slit just enough to make walking deliberate. A black mesh top layered over a fitted tank, sheer but not revealing, confidence without apology. My boots were polished, heels clicking softly against concrete, announcing my presence long before I arrived.
I didn’t rush. I never rushed.
If I was going to be seen, it would be on my terms.
The quad buzzed with movement as I crossed it—students spilling out of dorms, athletes jogging toward the gym, couples arguing softly over coffee. I felt eyes on me immediately. Some followed with curiosity. Others lingered too long, trying to understand something they’d already decided was too much.
I walked anyway.
Always.
I passed the fountain where freshmen clustered nervously, phones out, laughter too loud. Someone whispered my name. Someone else laughed. Someone else stared openly, admiration flickering behind the judgment.
None of it mattered.
Because Noah was somewhere ahead.
I didn’t know exactly where—not yet—but I felt the gravity shift when he entered the same space. I always did. The air tightened. The noise dulled. Something unspoken snapped into alignment.
I found him outside the student center.
He stood near the steps, arms crossed, helmet resting beside him, talking to someone from the team. His posture was rigid, shoulders squared like he was bracing for impact. He hadn’t seen me yet.
Good.
I slowed my steps. Let the moment stretch.
Then someone said my name out loud.
“Elias.”
I didn’t turn.
But Noah did.
The change was immediate. His gaze locked onto me like a reflex, sharp and unguarded before he could stop himself. I saw it all flicker across his face—surprise, frustration, something dangerously close to want.
He recovered quickly.
Too quickly.
His jaw clenched. His eyes slid away.
Denial. Again.
I smiled.
\---
Inside the student center, the noise was louder. Music hummed faintly from overhead speakers. Conversations layered over one another, chaotic and bright. I ordered coffee, leaning casually against the counter, fully aware of the way the fabric of my skirt caught the light.
The barista smiled. “You look incredible today.”
“Always do,” I said lightly.
She laughed, handing me my cup.
When I turned, Noah was standing near the far wall, pretending to scroll through his phone like he wasn’t watching me from the corner of his eye.
He hadn’t left.
That was new.
I didn’t approach him. I took my time, sipping my coffee slowly, letting the moment breathe. A group of students passed between us, laughter spilling over the space. Someone bumped into me lightly, apologized. I smiled, stepped aside.
Still, Noah didn’t move.
When the crowd thinned, he finally spoke.
“Are you done?” His voice was low, clipped.
“With my coffee?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“With this,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “With… whatever this is.”
I looked at him then, really looked. He was exhausted. Not physically—mentally. The kind of tired that came from holding something down too long.
“I’m just existing,” I said. “Publicly.”
His eyes darkened. “You know what you’re doing.”
I took a step closer, just enough to close the gap without crossing it. “And you know why it works.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. He glanced around, checking who might be watching.
Always aware. Always careful.
“That’s exactly the problem,” he muttered.
“No,” I said softly. “The problem is that you think if you don’t look at me, I’ll stop being real.”
His fingers curled into his palm.
“This is my life,” he said. “My reputation. My team. I don’t get to—”
“Feel?” I offered.
He flinched.
I smiled gently, not unkind. “You don’t get to erase people because they make you uncomfortable.”
“I didn’t erase you,” he said.
I lifted my coffee, took a sip, eyes never leaving his. “You tried.”
Silence settled between us, thick and heavy.
“I don’t want this,” he said finally.
“I know,” I replied. “You want control.”
“And you don’t?”
I laughed quietly. “I want truth.”
That was the difference.
\---
The rest of the day unfolded like a slow burn.
In lecture halls, I sat where I could be seen. I crossed my legs deliberately, adjusted my sleeves, answered questions with confidence. I laughed when I wanted to. I didn’t shrink.
Everywhere I went, Noah seemed to be just out of reach. Passing in hallways. Standing across the quad. Leaving buildings moments before I arrived.
Avoidance disguised as coincidence.
It would have been almost funny if it wasn’t so transparent.
By late afternoon, the sky had begun to cloud over, the air heavy with the promise of rain. I sat on the steps outside the arts building, notebook balanced on my knee, sketching absently. Footsteps approached.
I didn’t look up.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Noah said.
“Yes.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You can’t keep pushing me.”
“I’m not pushing,” I said calmly. “I’m standing still. You’re the one circling.”
He crouched slightly, lowering his voice. “People are watching.”
“Let them,” I said. “I’ve been watched my whole life.”
“That’s not the same.”
“You’re right,” I agreed. “They watch me because they don’t understand me. They watch you because they adore you.”
He looked at me then, really looked. “You don’t understand what I stand to lose.”
I closed my notebook, finally giving him my full attention. “And you don’t understand what you’ve already found.”
His breath hitched.
The rain started softly, droplets tapping against concrete, cooling the tension just enough to make it bearable.
“I won’t disappear,” I said quietly. “Not for you. Not for anyone.”
He stared at me, conflict written plainly across his face.
“I know,” he said.
And for the first time, he didn’t sound angry.
He sounded afraid.
\---
When he walked away, I didn’t follow.
I didn’t need to.
I had already done what I came to do.
I had reminded him that denial didn’t erase desire. That silence didn’t undo memory. That no matter how hard he tried to contain himself, the world still saw me.
Public.
Always.
And sooner or later—
So would he.