“It’s not stupid; not even a little bit. You deserve to feel good, Noah. You deserve to wake up happy.” I can feel my own smile twisting, because fuck, if there’s anything I want, it’s for him to keep feeling like this. “Nobody’s taking it away. Not if I can help it.”
But the words catch in my throat, heavier than I want them to be. The reality of last night’s news, the future crowding into the small space we’ve carved out, all of it pressing in until it’s almost suffocating. I must hesitate, or maybe something in my expression shows, because Noah’s smile falters for the first time since I woke up.
He pushes up on his elbows, eyebrows pinched. “Hey—what’s wrong? Did something happen? Is it your dad?” His voice climbs, a note of panic there that’s kept in check by force of will. “Is it me?”
I shake my head, forcing myself to sit up, propping my back against the headboard so he’s practically sitting in my lap. My hands settle on his hips, holding him steady. “It’s nothing bad. I mean—fuck, it’s actually good news. Just… big news. The kindthat could change things. I wanted to wait until you were awake to talk about it.”
He narrows his eyes at me, reading my face, the way he always does. “You’re scaring me, Damien. Just tell me, please.”
I take a breath, steady myself, and go for it. “My agent called last night after the game.”
His eyes widen, mouth opening in a silent little “oh,” and I can see the gears turning, all that curiosity coming online, trying to puzzle it out.
“I’m a top draft pick, Blue. Like—top ten. Maybe even higher, depending on who calls first. Coach says I’m already getting calls from teams. I’ll know in a few days, but…” I trail off, trying to read his reaction.
He just blinks at me for a few seconds, long enough that the nerves start building again. “Wait— the NBA? You’re going pro?”
“Yeah. It’s… It’s real now.”
I brace myself for the fallout—sad Noah, or anxious Noah, or the kind of quiet that’s more dangerous than shouting. I’m ready for him to cry, or to panic, or to ask me what happens to us if I have to leave. I’m ready for all of it, every messy emotion, because that’s what this life is, what this love is: risk, and hope, and sometimes heartbreak.
But none of that comes.
Noah’s face splits into a smile so bright it feels like the sun coming out after a hurricane. He launches himself at me, arms winding around my neck, knocking the air out of my chest as he kisses my jaw, my cheek, my mouth, everywhere he can reach.
“Mien! Oh my god, are you serious? You—top ten? Are you kidding me?!”
His voice is pure joy—loud and ridiculous, and I can’t help but laugh, pulling him tighter against me. “Yeah, Blue. Top ten. Maybe even top five, with how my agent was talking.”
He lets out a strangled sound that’s half laugh, half sob, burying his face in my neck. “That’s—holy shit! You actually did it!”
I hold him, stunned that he just said ‘shit’ because he never curses, and relieved beyond words. “You’re not… scared? Or pissed?”
He pulls back, grabbing my face in both hands, looking at me with so much love shining in those pretty mismatched eyes.
“Why on earth would I be mad? This is what you’ve worked for your whole life. You’re the best player in the league, and now everyone will know it. I’m so proud of you, Mien!” He leans down and kisses me softly. “God, I’m so proud of you.”
Relief crashes through me so hard my eyes burn. I pull him back into my chest, burying my face in his neck. “I was scared,” I admit, voice muffled by his skin. “I didn’t want you to think I’d choose this over you.”
He pulls back and looks me in the eyes, cupping my jaw with both hands. “Don’t do that. Don’t ever think you have to pick. I want you to have everything, Damien. All of it. I’ll be here—wherever you are. Or maybe I’ll come with you, I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. But you can’t give this up for me. I won’t let you.”
His conviction rattles me. I’ve always been the one protecting him, shielding him from the world, but here he is, protecting me from my own doubt.
“You mean that?” I ask, needing to hear it again, greedy for the reassurance.
He nods, eyes glinting with tears that don’t fall. “Yeah, I mean it. You make me brave, Mien. You make me want things. So go after this—be selfish and let yourself have it.”
I laugh, relief and nerves all tangled up. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
He grins, nose scrunching, and it’s so him I want to cry. “Yeah, well. You’re not so bad yourself.” He says and kisses me once more, and for the first time since I picked up a basketball, I feel like my life fucking makes sense.
We stay in bed for a long time, tangled up in the sheets and the morning sunlight, letting the future spin out ahead of us—unknown, maybe, but suddenly not as scary as it seemed. Not with Noah here, not with the promise of him rooting for me, loving me, fighting beside me for every damn thing we want.
He asks questions—about the teams, about what happens next, about the draft itself. He listens to every answer, curious and so damn present, grounding me with his excitement.
At some point, he presses his ear to my chest, listening to my heartbeat, and says, “I want to be with you, no matter where you go. But promise me something?”
“Anything,” I say, meaning it.
