Noah
Marcus doesn't say anything else about it, mercifully, just herds us both into the group photo with the rest of the committee, and if he clocks how flushed we both still are, he has the decency to keep it to himself for once. The photo wraps, the last of the reception guests filter out, and by the time Ethan and I finally leave, the night's gone properly dark, campus quiet around us in that specific late-hour way that makes everything feel a little more private than it did an hour ago.
Neither of us says much on the walk back. There's too much sitting unspoken between us now, the balcony, the lingering high five, the whole charged day building toward something neither of us has actually let happen yet, and by the time we get back to the suite, the air between us feels thick with it.
