I answer, though I suspect he already knows. “It uses ocelli—fake eyes—to confuse predators. Makes them think they’re dealing with something bigger.”
A little like him, I think. Big, imposing, unreadable. A presence you don’t question. But then he opens his mouth again, and that theory starts to unravel.
“Have you heard from Damon?”
“No. Not since they took him.”
He nods, watching me. I keep my eyes trained on the tidepool, because I don’t trust myself not to cry over a cephalopod in front of him.
“It’s been hard,” I admit. “Not being able to check on him.”
I trail a finger near the edge of the water, careful not to disturb the octopus. “I’ve realized I like knowing things. Or… I need to. I’m only just starting to be okay with not knowing. I guess that includes how Damon’s doing. And how things will end up. And… other stuff.”
Like how you feel about me.But that part doesn’t get a voice.
Holden doesn’t speak, and for a second I think I’ve lost him to thought again—retreating behind his quiet and lettingme spin my wheels solo. So I keep talking because, somehow, in his presence, silence makes me more reckless.
“I know you’ll probably tell me to stop talking,” I start. His brows lift in surprise. “But… you’re a good TA. You’re always there for the students, even though—” I hesitate. “Even though you’re going through your own stuff.”
He straightens a little, brows furrowing.
“First of all,” he says, slowly, “no one should ever tell you to stop talking. Not even me. And I’m sorry for ever making you feel like I wanted you to.”
I blink, startled by his memory—and even more so by the sincerity in his voice.
“Second… what do you mean by what I’m going through?”
Heat flares up my neck. There it is. The ramble trap, sprung.
“Um. I might’ve… seen a text on Theo’s phone. Once. The one that said you couldn’t stop thinking about someone.”
He stills. His expression doesn’t give anything away, but I rush to fix it anyway.
“I didn’t mean to look! I promise. I looked away as fast as I could, and it’s none of my business. I just—when Summer showed up at your office like that, it sort of… clicked. And I guess I just wanted to say that even if you’re dealing with your own life, you still show up. For all of us.”
It comes out fast, breathless, messy—the verbal equivalent of tripping and spilling everything at once. I stare at the water, willing a Sally Lightfoot crab to launch itself at my face and save me from this moment.
Holden is quiet again. Too quiet.
But I don’t think it’s silence for the sake of distance. I think it’s the kind he slips into when he’s thinking too hard. The kind right before he says something I’m not ready for.
“I’ve learned more from failed experiments than successful ones. Including Summer, apparently.”
The words are soft, but they land with the weight of something he's been carrying for a while. I turn to him instinctively, watching the profile of his face lit faintly by moonlight, the curve of his jaw taut like he's holding back more.
“I’m not great with people,” he adds, quieter now. “I think… maybe I used to be. But I met Summer after that part of me had already gone quiet. I’ve been trying to find my way back to him ever since.”
He says it without looking at me, like it’s easier to admit hard things to the tide than to another person. I sit very still, absorbing it. Not just the words—those I could’ve guessed—but the honesty, the effort it’s taking for him to give them to me.
“I don’t think you’re that bad,” I murmur. But it’s not what I mean. I meant to sayyou’re already there, more than you think.
He huffs a dry laugh. “Thanks.”
He glances my way briefly, as if considering something else, then drops it, his gaze returning to the tidepool. The water glimmers faintly between us. I trail my fingers through it, feeling the way the tiny blennies dart away, fearless in their own territory. He watches the motion.
“This isn’t Makapu?u,” he says eventually, “but it’s pretty damn great.”
My chest tightens. “That,it is.”
