The moment my name left his mouth, I stood.
Chairs scraped. Heads turned. Phones snapped up like vultures catching scent of something juicy. But I didn’t stop. I walked straight out of the auditorium, the sound of my sneakers against tile louder than the applause that never came.
The hallway outside was colder, quieter. My breath came out shaky, and I hated that I cared this much.
I should’ve felt proud. Should’ve felt something like relief. He said my name. He said everything. Out loud. In front of everyone. But all I felt was hollow.
“Noah!”
His voice bounced off the walls. I didn’t stop walking.
He caught up before I made it to the stairwell. “Noah, wait.”
I turned on him, fast. “What?”
He stopped short, like he didn’t expect me to actually face him. His chest rose and fell like he’d just run a mile. “You—you just left.”
“What was I supposed to do? Stand up and wave? Blow kisses?”
“I didn’t expect—”
“No, Luca. You didn’t ask.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You didn’t ask if I wanted this.”
That shut him up.
I crossed my arms. “You went up there and said everything I ever wanted to hear. But you said it for them. For the school. For a stage. Not for me.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” My voice rose, sharp and bitter. “You said I wasn’t just a friend. That I was everything. But you said it with an audience. Like you needed them to clap for it.”
“I needed them to know.”
“What about me? Did you need me to know? Because all I heard today was a performance.”
He stepped forward. “No. That wasn’t a performance. That was me being real for the first time in my damn life.”
“Funny,” I muttered. “But I’m so tired of this push and pull game with you.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
“I am.”
“Then why do I still feel like the only one paying for this?”
His face fell. “Noah…”
“I walked out because I didn’t know what it meant,” I said. “I didn’t know if it was for me. Or for guilt. Or to make yourself feel better.”
“It was for you.”
“Then why didn’t you say it sooner?”
“I was scared.”
“So was I.”
“I thought I’d lose everything.”
“You nearly lost me.”
He reached for my hand. I didn’t pull away. Not yet.
“I messed up,” he said. “Again. But I didn’t go up there for a show. I went up there because if I had to lose every single person in that room to keep you, I would. And I know it’s late. And I know it’s messy. But I love you.”
My breath hitched.
“I love you,” he repeated. “Without cameras. Without noise. Without pretending. Just me. Just you.”
I closed my eyes for a second, trying not to fall apart. “Why now?”
“Because I couldn’t take another second of pretending I didn’t care. Because every time I tried to push it down, it came back louder. And because I watched you walk out that door and it felt like the floor dropped out from under me.”
The hallway felt like it was shrinking around us. My hand was still in his. My chest still a war zone. But something in his eyes… it was different. Not desperate. Just honest.
“I wanted to believe that speech was for me,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “I really did.”
He moved closer. “Then let me prove it.”
There was no one around. No crowd. No lights. No stage. Just us.
He leaned in—slow, careful. But not hesitant. Like he was finally sure of what he wanted. Like he knew I might still walk away but he’d risk it anyway.
And then he kissed me.
Soft at first, like a question. Then fuller. Certain. His hands cupped my face, like he needed to make sure I didn’t disappear.
It wasn’t a kiss for show. It wasn’t a kiss for forgiveness.
It was a kiss that said, I see you. I hear you. I’m not hiding anymore.
I kissed him back.
And for the first time, there were no lies between us. No shame. No secrets.
He pulled back just enough to whisper against my lips, breath warm, voice low.
“Stay.”