CAUGHT IN HER EYES

LINES WE PRETENDED NOT TO SEE

The front door opened, heavy with familiarity. Martin's voice floated through the house.

Martin: "I'm home.

Lucy straightened immediately, as if her body remembered before her mind did.

Even felt it, the subtle shift in the air—the way Lucy's presence seemed to expand just slightly, filling the room.

Lucy: "You're early.

Martin stepped in, shrugging off his jacket. His eyes flicked between them—first to Even, polite, careful—and then to Lucy, lingering a little longer than usual.

Martin: "The meeting got canceled. Lucky me.

Even nodded, voice quiet. "Welcome back.

Lucy offered him a towel without a word, her movements fluid.

Martin caught it, smiled, and patted her head lightly—a small, familiar gesture that made Even's chest tighten. Just that pat. Casual, friendly, yet intimate enough to sting.

Martin: "I'll shower first.

Lucy tilted her head. "Hurry up. We're playing table tennis, and I want a proper game.

He laughed, shaking his head, and headed upstairs.

Even didn't move. She felt Lucy's eyes on her, sharp and observant, but she didn't meet them.

Minutes passed. The faint sound of running water echoed from upstairs. Even tried to read, tried to concentrate, but her thoughts kept flicking back to the quiet tension in the living room.

Lucy was watching her. Always watching.

Finally, Martin's footsteps descended the stairs, damp hair plastered slightly onto his forehead, sleeves rolled up. He moved easily, unaware—or maybe unaware of how every gesture layered tension into the room.

Lucy was ready, paddle in hand, bouncing the ball lightly. Her movements were calm, almost casual—but every small detail betrayed focus and intensity: Fingers flexing around the paddle, veins standing out. A bead of sweat sliding along her temple. The faint bite of her lip as she concentrated. Even's eyes followed her, unwilling and unable to look away. Every tiny movement pulled at something she hadn't wanted to admit.

Lucy served first, letting the ball drop just right.

Martin responded with ease, laughing lightly when Lucy scored a point.

Lucy glanced at Even mid-game.

Their eyes met. No words. No breaking gaze.

Even's stomach tightened. She hated how aware she was. She hated that her heart raced like this over a simple glance.

The game dragged on longer than it needed to. Lucy moved with sharp precision now, irritation flashing each time Martin scored. She shoved her hair back in frustration, fingers threading through damp strands. Even noticed the way her veins stood out when she tightened her grip on the paddle, the way sweat traced slowly down the side of her face. Lucy missed a point and bit her lower lip.

Even's breath hitched.

Lucy looked up. She saw her. She didn't say a word.

Martin finally groaned, laughing as the ball bounced uselessly off the table.

Martin: "Okay, I need water before I collapse.

" Lucy smirked. "Admit defeat.

" Martin shook his head and walked toward the kitchen. The moment he disappeared, Lucy turned, eyes sharp.

Lucy: "You're not even trying to hide it anymore.

" Even stiffened. "Hide what?"

Lucy stepped closer, lowering her voice. "The way you're looking at me."

Even crossed her arms, defensive. "I was watching the game."

Lucy smiled, slow and knowing. "You always say that."

Even: "Lucy-"

Footsteps. Martin returned with a bottle in hand.

Martin: "How did you even learn to play this well?"

Lucy spun the paddle once, casually.

Lucy: "Louis taught me."

Even and Martin spoke at the same time.

Even: "Who's Louis?"

Martin: "Who's Louis?"

Lucy didn't look at Martin when she answered. She looked at Even.

Lucy: "A friend. From Canada."

Even's fingers curled into her palms.

Martin frowned slightly. "I don't remember you mentioning him."

Lucy shrugged, eyes still on Even. "It didn't feel important then."

The air thickened.

Martin cleared his throat. "So... is he good?"

Lucy finally broke her gaze from Even. "Better than me."

Martin chuckled. "Figures."

Even said nothing. Her chest felt tight, restless, the name echoing louder than it should have: "Louis."

Lucy picked up the paddle again, expression unreadable now.

Lucy: "Rematch?"

Martin nodded. "Your serve."

As they played again,

Even couldn't stop thinking about it — about the way Lucy had answered, about who she'd chosen to look at when she said his name. That look hadn't been casual. It had been deliberate. Even understood then. Louis wasn't the threat.

Days passed. Nothing happened. And yet—everything did. Lucy and Even learned each other in glances, in pauses, in teasing remarks that lingered a second too long. Lucy brushed past Even in hallways when there was plenty of space. Even started noticing the way Lucy always seemed to know where she was—without looking. The tension didn't fade. It sharpened.

Then Saturday came. Martin left after lunch, a jacket slung over his arm, and his phone had already pressed to his ear.

Martin: "Client from Chicago. Dinner meeting. Don't wait up."

Lucy nodded. "Good luck."

The door closed. The house exhaled.

The gym room filled with the familiar rhythm of movement. Lucy was already there, body warm, muscles loose, layered short hair pulled into a half puff. Sweat traced her collarbone, her tank clinging slightly as she moved-focused, confident, untouchable.

Even hovered at the doorway.

Lucy glanced over. "You coming in or just watching?"

Even hesitated. "I... thought I'd try."

Lucy's brow lifted, amused. "You?"

Even squared her shoulders. "Why not?"

Lucy stepped aside. "Go ahead."

Even picked up small weights, copying what she'd seen Lucy do a hundred times. Her form was wrong—shoulders tense, wrists awkward.

Lucy watched for a moment.

Then stood.

Lucy: "You're going to hurt yourself."

Even: "I'm fine."

Lucy moved behind her. Close. Too close.

Lucy: "You're not."

She reached out, adjusting Even's arms. Even froze. Lucy's hands were warm. Confident. Her breath brushed the side of Even's neck as she spoke.

Lucy: "Relax your shoulders."

Even tried. Failed. The scent hit her all at once-expensive cologne, sweat, heat. Lucy's heat. Her knees felt weak. Even swallowed. "Lucy..." Lucy didn't move away.

Lucy: quietly, "You're shaking."

Even's breath came faster. "You're too close."

Lucy smiled—soft, knowing. "I'm helping."

She took the weights from Even's hands and set them aside. Then she turned Even around and settled her hands settled on Even's waist-firm, grounding. Even's back hit the wall. Not hard. Deliberate. Even's heart raced. She couldn't bring herself to meet Lucy's eyes.

Lucy: "Look at me."

Even didn't. Lucy's fingers tightened slightly at her waist. "Even." Even's hands betrayed her. They fisted into Lucy's T-shirt, clinging without permission.

Lucy inhaled sharply. Her gaze dropped to Even's lips. Gone was softness. This was hunger.

Even wet her lips unconsciously with her tongue.

Lucy's jaw tightened.

Lucy: "Do you know what you're doing to me?"

Even shook her head, breathless.

Lucy leaned in, her face brushing Even's neck, inhaling slowly.

Lucy murmured, "Why are you testing my patience like this?"

Her voice was rough now. Unsteady.

Lucy: "Why are you testing my sanity?"

Even couldn't answer.

She could only shift, restless, overwhelmed, her breath hitching with every word.

Lucy pulled back suddenly. Her hands dropped. The space between them rushed in like cold air.

Lucy looked at Even one last time—eyes dark, conflicted, burning—and turned away. Lucy went to her room to clear her mind and Even followed.

They ate their dinner in their rooms as both of them were not ready to face each other after what happened. That night passed quietly. Too quietly. And neither of them slept.