CHAPTER 7: PRACTICED NATURALNESS

Ethan's POV

"Again."

Daniel's voice crackled through the speakerphone on the kitchen counter. Noah and I stood on opposite sides of the island, staring at each other like two boxers waiting for the bell.

"This time," Daniel continued, "Ethan, you laugh at something he says. Noah, you lean in a little. Not too much. We're not shooting a romance novel."

"Feels like we are." I muttered sluggishly. Noah shot me a look.

"What was that?" Daniel asked.

"Nothing." We said in unison.

There was a pause, then Daniel sighed. "Just... try to look like you don't hate each other. The photos from yesterday were good, but we need more, casual, familiar pictures. People need to believe you've known each other longer than a week."

The call ended, and silence filled the kitchen.

"So," I sighed softly. “How do we do this?"

Noah crossed his arms. "You tell me. You're the one who's supposedly good at reading people."

"I read people through a lens. This is different."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is it?" I sighed and threw him a side eye, refusing to engage his childishness.

>>>>>>>>>>

We started simple.

Daniel had sent a list of suggested scenarios. A coffee shop. A walk in the park. A casual dinner. Each one designed to make us look like a couple without actually confirming anything.

But before we could do any of that in public, we had to practice in private.

"This is ridiculous." Noah said, for the fifth time.

"You mentioned that earlier."

"I'm mentioning it again."

We were sitting at the kitchen island, two mugs of coffee between us, trying to look like we were having a normal conversation. Which was hard, because every time I looked at him, I remembered the panic attack. And every time he looked at me, he looked away.

"Okay," I said. "Let's try something different."

"Like what?"

"Tell me something true."

He frowned. "What?"

"Something true. Anything. Just... talk to me like I'm a person and not a contract."

He stared at me for a long moment. Then he looked down at his mug.

"I hate coffee," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"I hate it. I only drink it because it's what people expect."

I laughed. Actually laughed. "You're the captain of a professional hockey team and you drink coffee you hate because of expectations?"

"Shut up."

"No, that's…" I shook my head, still smiling. "That's actually kind of sad."

He looked up, and for a second, I thought he might glare at me. Instead, the corner of his mouth twitched.

"I also hate the color blue." He said.

"That's your hockey uniform… …you wear blue every game."

"I don't have a choice." He groaned sadly.

"That's tragic."

"You're annoying."

"And yet," I gave a soft smile. "You're still talking to me."

He didn't have a response for that, but he didn't look away either.

We practiced for two hours.

By the end, the air had shifted. The silences felt less heavy. The eye contact lasted longer. When I made a joke about the absurdity of practicing being a couple, Noah actually laughed.

"Okay," I said, leaning back in my chair. "That wasn't terrible."

"High praise."

"I'm serious. You almost seemed human."

He threw a napkin at me. I caught it.

"Nice reflexes." He praised.

"I played baseball in high school."

He paused. "You did?"

"Yeah. Shortstop. Why?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

We moved to the living room next. Daniel's next instruction was to practice "casual intimacy"... ….sitting close on the couch, sharing a blanket, letting our shoulders touch. The kind of things couples did without thinking.

"This feels staged." Noah lamented tiredly.

"Because it is." I chuckled, and tapped the space next to me, gesturing him to sit.

He sighed and sat down. I sat beside him, leaving a few inches between us.

"Closer," I ordered. "We're supposed to look like we've done this before."

He shifted, and our shoulders touched.

"Better," I said.

"This is weird."

"You're telling me."

We sat there in silence, the television playing something neither of us was watching. After a while, I noticed Noah's breathing had steadied. The tension in his shoulders had eased.

"You okay?" I asked.

He glanced at me. "Why do you keep asking that?"

"Because I want to know."

He looked away. "I'm fine."

"You don't have to be fine." I said, and drew him closer to me.

Later, I went to the kitchen to make tea.

Noah stayed on the couch, scrolling through his phone. When I came back, he was staring at the screen with a strange expression.

"What?" I asked.

He turned the phone toward me. It was a photograph from the press conference…the same one I'd seen earlier, where he was looking at me with the eyes, of a possessive lover.

"I didn't realize I looked like that." He said quietly.

"Looked what?"

"Looked at you like that."

I sat down beside him. "It's just a photograph."

"It's not." He paused. "I don't... I don't look at people like that." He put his phone down. "I'm going to bed."

"Okay."

He stood up, then hesitated. "Goodnight, Ethan."

"Goodnight, Noah."

He walked toward the hallway, then stopped. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"The tea. You made it wrong."

I looked down at my mug. "What?"

"You put honey in it. I saw you. I hate honey."

I stared at him. "How do you know I put honey in it?"

He didn't answer. He just turned and walked away, while I sat there, holding the mug, trying to remember if I'd ever told him about the honey.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Noah's POV

I closed my bedroom door and leaned against it. The words I said earlier to Ethan, ringing in my head. “You put honey in it.” Ouch why did I said that?

I didn't even watch him make the tea. I was on the couch, scrolling through my phone, trying not to think about the way his shoulder felt against mine.

But I noticed the honey anyway, the way I'd noticed things about him ever since, he stepped in here. The way he always held his mug with both hands, his sweet smiles and how he really laughed tonight, when I told him about the coffee. I'd noticed the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

I'd noticed all of it, and I didn't know why. But seeing his smiles, makes my heart beat faster.

I left the door and walked to my bed. My phone buzzed as I was about to place it on the nightstand. It was a message from Daniel.

Daniel: Good work today. Keep it up.

I typed back: Sure.

Then I lay down and stared at the ceiling.

The problem wasn't the performance. The performance was fine.

The problem was that it has started feeling real to me.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Ethan's POV

I was still sitting on the couch when my laptop pinged.

I'd left it open on the coffee table, and a notification had popped up in the corner of the screen. A new email. Unknown sender.

I opened it.

The subject line was blank. The body was empty. But there were attachments… …five of them.

I clicked the first one.

My blood ran cold.

It was a photograph of the living room. Taken from outside, I could see the couch, the television, the blanket Noah and I had been sitting under an hour ago.

I clicked the next one.

The kitchen.

The next one.

My bedroom.

The next one.

Noah's bedroom door.

The last one.

The training room.

I stared at my screen, with shaky hands.

The email had one line of text, buried at the bottom, almost invisible against the picture white background.

I'm watching.