Hope kept her face buried against Ethan's chest. The tears were no longer falling with the same force as before, but they still came—silent, stubborn, and far too hot against the fabric of his shirt. She tried to breathe slowly, trying to regain some control and piece back together the parts of herself that seemed to have scattered across the hallway floor. But the harder she tried, the more ridiculous the situation felt.
What am I doing? The question surfaced in her mind and refused to leave. Why am I crying in his arms?
She barely knew Ethan. They hadn't grown up together, didn't share years of friendship, and hadn't spent nights trading secrets. Until a few weeks ago, he was just the new guy—someone who showed up at the school carrying too many questions, too much sarcasm, and a story that seemed to get more complicated by the day.
And yet, Hope had told him everything. Things she didn't want to say out loud; things that hurt worse when given words. She had spoken about her mother, her father, Roman, Greta, her own guilt. She had talked about how it all ended. And now, there she was, holding onto Ethan as if that were the only place where her body finally allowed itself to stop pretending.
I barely know him, she thought, her fingers tightening slightly against the fabric of his shirt. Ethan noticed the gesture, but said nothing.
Maybe that was exactly what made it so strange: he didn't try to stop her from crying, didn't tell her everything would be okay, and didn't repeat that she needed to be strong or that Hayley would want her to move on. He offered none of those empty phrases people threw around because silence scared them. Ethan simply... stayed. One arm wrapped around her back, while his other hand rested gently on her shoulder—not pressing, not pulling her closer, and without any exaggerated affection. He held her just enough for her to know she wouldn't fall. And for some reason, Hope desperately needed that.
Her eyes squeezed shut, and a fleeting memory flashed through her mind: Hayley smiling, her mother's voice, a hand running through her hair when she was a child, and that unique way she had of making it feel like, no matter the chaos, there was a safe place in the world.
Hope's chest tightened and her breath hitched. Feeling her body tremble, Ethan squeezed his hand on her shoulder just a little—not to trap her, but to say silently: I'm still here.
"Damn it..." she whispered against his shirt, her voice completely broken as she bit her lip.
Ethan lowered his face slightly. "Hey..."
"I didn't mean to..." Hope shook her head, her voice trailing off before she could finish.
"Didn't mean to what?"
"This," she replied, pulling air in through her nose.
When Hope began to pull away slowly, as if her own body was reluctant to leave that small sanctuary, Ethan let go immediately. No resistance, no questions; just space.
She wiped her hands quickly across her face, trying in vain to clear the tears. Her eyes were red, her cheeks wet, and she knew she looked as wrecked as she felt. Embarrassment set in right after.
"Sorry."
Ethan frowned. "For what?"
"For..." Hope avoided looking directly at him, gesturing vaguely between them. "This."
He followed her hand as if he genuinely didn't get it. "This what?"
"I just broke down all over you."
Ethan looked down at his shirt, noticing the damp spot where her face had rested. He pulled a face. "Ah."
"Ethan..." Hope closed her eyes.
"No, wait," he pulled the fabric slightly to get a better look. "Technically, this shirt belongs to Alaric."
Hope blinked. Ethan looked up at her and added, "So you cried on his clothes."
She stared at him for a full second before a quiet laugh escaped her lips, almost against her will. She brought her hand to her mouth immediately while Ethan offered a faint smile.
"There it is."
"You're an idiot," she said, shaking her head.
"I'm starting to hear that a lot."
"I'm serious."
"Me too." His smile slowly faded, replaced by a softer, more genuine expression. "You don't need to apologize."
Hope lowered her hand, letting out her thoughts almost like a confession: "I don't even know why I did that."
Ethan stayed quiet for a few seconds. He didn't seem to be searching for a clever reply; he was just thinking. "Maybe because you needed to."
Hope finally met his gaze. "I don't do this."
"Do what?"
"Cry like this in front of people."
"Figured," he agreed with a slight nod.
"So why..." She stopped. She didn't even know what she was asking. Why him? Why now? Why had she trusted him so much?
Ethan seemed to get it anyway. "I don't know, Hope," he shrugged. "Maybe you just got tired of holding everything in."
The simplicity of the answer hit harder than she expected. Hope looked away. "I should be able to handle it."
"Why?"
"Because it's my life."
"That doesn't mean you have to handle it all by yourself."
"You make it sound so simple," she let out an irritated breath.
"I don't think it's simple," his answer came back entirely devoid of humor this time. When Hope looked back at him, Ethan held her gaze. "I just think pretending it doesn't hurt probably isn't gonna make it stop hurting."
That hit right where it shouldn't have. Hope froze, her face threatening to crumble all over again.
"Hey, hey..." Ethan caught it.
"I'm fine."
"You don't have to say that every time."
"Force of habit," she offered a sad laugh.
"That's definitely a bad habit."
Hope opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. Another tear slid silently down her face. Ethan watched her, hesitated, and slowly raised his hand. He didn't touch her right away; he waited. Hope noticed the gesture, but she didn't pull back.
Then, gently, Ethan brushed his thumb softly across her cheek, wiping the tear away. His touch was warm—far warmer than it should have been—but strangely comforting. Hope held her breath as he stayed focused on what he was doing, as if terrified of hurting her, even knowing that would be impossible.
When his thumb passed close to the corner of her eye, Hope lifted her face and they looked at each other. For a brief moment, time seemed to stop.
Ethan's eyes were blue—an intense, easily recognizable blue. But as he looked at her, something shifted. Hope almost thought she was imagining it: the blue slowly faded, replaced by tiny flecks of green around the iris that spread rapidly until replacing the blue with a deep, vivid, almost wild green.
Hope stood motionless, her heart pounding faster. The forest immediately flooded her mind: his massive wolf form, his eyes turning green the second he saw her, that strange sensation in her chest, and the world seeming to contract. And now, here it was again.
Ethan didn't seem to notice; there was no shock on his face, no awareness that anything had changed. Just that calm gaze, completely focused on her.
Hope felt a faint tightness in her chest. It wasn't pain, but something warm, deep, and strangely familiar. What is this?
Her heart raced. Ethan knitted his brows slightly. "Are you okay?"
The question made her realize she had been staring at him for way too long. "Ye... Yeah."
He narrowed his eyes. "You sure?"
"Yeah."
He slowly pulled his hand away from her face, and Hope missed the warmth almost instantly—which irritated her. What the hell is happening to me?
Ethan looked at his own fingers, likely checking if he had wiped away the tears. His eyes were still green. Hope almost asked, "Why do your eyes do that when you look at me?" but the words stayed trapped inside. She didn't want an answer that might bring more problems, not today when she already had too much on her mind.
She took a deep breath. "I need to go."
Ethan remained silent for a moment. "Sure, no problem."
Hope took a step back, then another. It still felt strange walking away from that conversation, as though she were abandoning something incomplete.
"Ethan..."
She looked up at him.
"Thank you."
Her tone made the smile disappear completely from his face. "You don't have to thank me."
"Yes, I do," Hope pressed her lips together.
He studied her for a few seconds before answering in a lower voice, "Okay. But..." He shoved his hands into his pockets and hesitated. "If you ever need to talk again... or not talk... If you just want to be around someone without having to explain anything... you can call me."
Her throat tightened again. "Are you offering to sit in silence?"
"Don't spread it around. I have a reputation," he shrugged.
Hope let out a small laugh, and Ethan smiled, his voice softening: "I'm serious, Hope. Anything."
She looked at him and, for some reason, she believed him—which was, perhaps, the scariest part. "Okay."
Hope turned and began walking away. After a few steps, she paused for a second; she didn't look back, just took a breath and kept going.
Ethan stayed put in the hallway until she disappeared from view. Turning the corner, Hope finally allowed her shoulders to drop, leaning her back against the wall. She placed a hand over her chest, where her racing heart maintained that feeling. She closed her eyes and saw those blue eyes turning green again, the warm hand against her cheek, and the way he had simply stayed while she cried.
Why do I feel so safe around him?
There was no answer, and that bothered her. Hope knew magic, werewolves, vampires, curses, and spells capable of destroying entire families. But this... this she didn't know. And for the first time in a long time, she wasn't sure she wanted to find out.
On the other side of the hallway, Ethan remained standing for a few seconds after Hope disappeared, leaving only the silence to reclaim the space. He let his breath out slowly, ran a hand through his hair, and muttered to himself:
"Man..."
That had been strange—no, strange didn't even cover it. He had been close to girls before, had felt attraction, curiosity, even nervousness, but this was entirely different. It wasn't just a desire to be near her; it was an almost visceral need to know she was okay, that no one would hurt her, and that the lingering sadness in her eyes would finally fade.
That was exactly what terrified him: it was too intense, too fast.
Ethan lowered his gaze to his own hands, watching them tremble slightly before making fists.
"This is happening way too fucking fast..."
Part of him wanted to lean into the feeling and just follow his instinct, but another part wanted to run in the opposite direction. Something in his chest seemed to have decided that protecting Hope was as natural as breathing—shielding her from her enemies, from the dangers of that crazy family, from anyone who tried to hurt her, and if necessary... even from himself.
Ethan closed his eyes. Unnoticed by him, the wild green slowly faded from his irises, restoring his usual deep blue.
As he stood there in the dark behind his eyelids, an old memory resurfaced: the stories his mother used to tell about Clark, and how the man described a connection impossible to choose or explain. Ethan had always thought it was absurd, a pathetic excuse, or maybe just another lie from that guy. But now, after everything he felt in the forest, after looking at Hope, and after all of this, he wasn't so sure anymore.
For the first time in a long time, Ethan thought of his father without feeling pure anger; he felt a spike of curiosity and, perhaps, a small, reluctant urge to understand.
He opened his eyes, staring down the empty hallway, and the question slipped out in a barely audible whisper:
"Is this what you felt when you met my mom?" He paused, the silence of the corridor being the only answer he received. "...Father