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On Thin Ice
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2025-09-10 18:01:02
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Crossing the line Close Enough to Stay
Ethan’s POV By the time I woke up at Ava’s place, the apartment already felt familiar. Not in the dramatic way people talk about—no rush of realization, no internal monologue about crossing some invisible line. Just the quiet certainty of knowing where the bathroom light switch was. The sound her coffee maker made before it finished brewing. The fact that she always left the window cracked, even when the air outside was cold. It had been days since the first time I stayed over. Long enough for this to stop feeling like a novelty. Long enough for it to start feeling like something else entirely. Ava was already awake, sitting cross-legged at the small table by the window, laptop open, hair pulled back in a loose knot that meant she hadn’t thought too hard about it. She wore a sweater I recognized—not mine this time, but one I’d seen her in before—which somehow made the sight even more intimate. She glanced up when she heard me move. “Morning.” “Morning,” I said, voice still rou
Crossing the line What Holds, What moves
Ava’s POV The thing about starting over is that it doesn’t announce itself. There’s no clean line between before and after. No moment where the weight lifts all at once. It happens quietly, in increments—small enough that you don’t notice until you realize you’re standing straighter than you used to. For a long time, I thought starting over would feel dramatic. Like shedding skin. Like a declaration. I imagined clarity arriving all at once, bold and unmistakable, the way people describe epiphanies in essays that end with tidy conclusions. But this wasn’t that. This was subtler. More honest. I noticed it on a Tuesday. Not a dramatic day. Not a milestone. Just me, sitting at my new desk, learning how to navigate internal systems that had nothing to do with headlines or deadlines or public opinion. No one cared who I used to be here. No one whispered when I walked past. The office had its own rhythm—keyboards tapping, a printer humming somewhere down the hall, muted conversations
Crossing the line Morning, Undone
Ethan’s POVI woke up to the sound of the city breathing.Not traffic exactly—more like the low hum beneath it. The elevator somewhere down the hall. A car door slamming two streets over. The faint whistle of air moving through a cracked window. It took me a second to remember where I was, another to register the warmth pressed into my side.Ava.She was half-curled against me, hair loose and everywhere, one knee hooked over my thigh like she’d decided in her sleep that I was something worth anchoring to. The sheet had twisted itself into a useless ribbon at our waists. Her breathing was slow, even. Unguarded.I didn’t move.There was a specific kind of stillness you learn as an athlete—the kind you hold in the seconds before a free throw, before a snap, before impact. This was different. Softer. But it carried the same weight. If I shifted wrong, the moment might fracture.So I stayed.Last night replayed itself in pieces instead of a clean sequence. Not dramatic. Not cinematic. Just
Crossing the line Close Range
Ethan’s POVChemistry isn’t loud.That’s something I’ve learned the hard way.It doesn’t announce itself with fireworks or dramatic declarations. It shows up in the quiet moments—when your body leans before your brain does, when silence feels fuller than conversation, when the distance between two people becomes its own kind of gravity.I felt it the next time I saw Ava.It wasn’t planned.Of course it wasn’t.I was leaving the practice facility later than usual, sweat still cooling on my skin, head half-full of film notes and defensive assignments, when my phone buzzed.Ava: Are you still near the gym?I slowed mid-step, bag sliding down my shoulder.Me: Just leaving. Why?A few seconds passed. Long enough for my pulse to tick up.Ava: I’m nearby. Lila dragged me out again. I escaped.I smiled despite myself.Me: That sounds dangerous.Ava: It was. I require rescue food.Me: There’s a place two blocks over. Still open.Ava: On my way.I didn’t think about it. Didn’t overanalyze. I ju
Crossing the line New Gravity
Ethan’s POV The morning after the win didn’t feel triumphant. It felt… quiet. Not the empty kind. The kind that settles after something loud has passed through you and left its imprint behind. My body knew it too—legs heavy, shoulders sore, ribs still aching faintly from that elbow two games ago. I moved through my apartment on autopilot, coffee brewing, phone charging, sunlight spilling across the hardwood like it had nowhere better to be. Tyler was still asleep on the couch, one arm flung over his head, hoodie twisted halfway up his back. He’d crashed hard after the game, muttering something about cafeteria food and how I owed him breakfast. I smiled to myself and let him sleep. Practice wasn’t until late afternoon. Media availability had been light—thankfully—and Coach had texted a single line to the group chat: Recovery today. Be smart. So I did something I hadn’t done in weeks. I slowed down. I stretched. Took an ice bath I hated. Ate actual food instead of inhaling what
Crossing the line Pressure Sets
Ethan’s POVThe season didn’t slow down just because my head was a mess.If anything, it sped up.Three games in five nights. Different cities. Different crowds. Same lights, same noise, same expectation that I’d show up and perform like nothing outside the hardwood existed. Like my body wasn’t sore in places I couldn’t name. Like my mind wasn’t constantly drifting—back to Ava, to her careful words, to the quiet strength in her text the night before.It went better than I expected.I’d reread that message more times than I wanted to admit.Not because it told me much.But because it told me enough.She was still in it. Still standing.That mattered.The first game was away. Loud arena, hostile crowd, the kind that feeds off momentum and blood in the water. We were down six early, sloppy turnovers, bad spacing. Coach called a timeout and stared us down like he was deciding who deserved oxygen.“Ethan,” he said. “Set the tone.”I nodded, rolled my shoulders, wiped my hands on my shorts.
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