CAUGHT IN HER EYES

MARKED BY A KISS

Morning settled quietly around the house.

Even sat on the edge of her bed, knees drawn close, staring out the window as sunlight slipped between the curtains. The world outside looked calm—ordinary—but her thoughts were anything but. They wandered restlessly, circling the same truths she had been avoiding for years. When she finished college, she had told Martin’s mother—her guardian since the day her parents died—that she wasn’t ready to work yet. She had expected resistance. Instead, she was met with understanding. Martin had understood too. He always did.

That was the problem. For the longest time, Even believed she loved Martin differently. She told herself he was holding back because she was still in school, because of boundaries, because of responsibility. She clung to that belief because it hurt less than the truth. But Martin never loved her that way. To him, she was family. A sister. Someone to protect, not desire. And the way Martin looked at Lucy—the quiet warmth, the unguarded ease, the natural affection—was the same look Even had once waited for. The same look she had hoped would one day be meant for her. Now she knew better.

And now, cruelly, the attention she had always wanted was coming from someone else. Lucy. Lucy’s gaze lingered. Lucy noticed her silence, her breathing, her presence. Lucy’s attention wasn’t loud or declared, but it was constant—intentional. It wrapped around Even and left her breathless every time. Thinking about it, Even smiled without realizing she had.

Lucy: “What are you thinking about that has you smiling like that?”

Even startled, the sound cutting clean through her thoughts. She turned to see Lucy standing in the doorway, watching her—not casually, not distractedly. Lucy was fully focused on her.

Embarrassment rushed through Even like heat. Her eyes darted around the room, nowhere but Lucy’s face. She felt caught—exposed.

Even: “N-nothing,” she said quickly. Lucy didn’t move.

She simply kept looking at her.

Lucy: “You look pretty when you’re lost in your thoughts,” Lucy said softly, almost amused.

Even’s throat tightened. “Please… stop,” she whispered, the words barely audible.

Lucy smiled. Teasing Even was second nature to her—effortless, familiar. She closed the door behind her and walked closer, her presence filling the room. Then she bent down, placed one hand on each side of the bed, caging Even in without actually touching her.

Lucy: “Why should I stop, Even?” Lucy asked quietly, deliberately.

Lucy: “You always tell me to stop—but you never tell me what I should stop.”

Even’s breath faltered. Lucy’s eyes held her completely, dark and unwavering. The air felt thicker, heavier. Lucy’s scent—clean, warm, unmistakably hers—wrapped around Even, stealing her ability to think clearly. Lucy spoke again, slower this time, each word intentional.

Lucy: “Should I stop looking at you?”

Lucy: “Should I stop looking at your pretty eyes?”

Lucy: “Your small lips?” Lucy reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Even’s ear. Her fingers lingered, then drifted down, almost without permission, brushing near Even’s lips.

Lucy: “Should I stop touching you,” Lucy murmured, “Or should I stop being this close to you?”

Even’s breathing turned uneven. Her body knew what her mind couldn’t form into words. If Lucy leaned in any closer, their lips would touch—and Even didn’t even have the strength to stop it. She didn’t want to.

Lucy looked hungry now, her jaw tight, restraint thinning.

Lucy: “If you have nothing to say to stop me,” Lucy whispered, “Then let me do what I want.”

She kissed her.

It was soft at first—testing, careful—just enough to feel Even’s response. Then Lucy pulled back slightly, watching her. Even was trembling, gripping the blanket tightly as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.

Lucy’s hands slid around Even’s waist, firm and grounding, and she kissed her again—deeper, surer. When Lucy finally broke the kiss, Even struggled for breath, her body weak, her mind spinning. Lucy studied her, eyes dark with satisfaction and restraint.

She chuckled softly.

Lucy: “Come down for breakfast.”

She pressed a gentle kiss to Even’s forehead, completely different from the hunger before.

Lucy: “I should leave,” Lucy said quietly, stepping back, “Before you make me lose all the control and patience I still have.”

Then Lucy turned and walked out. Even stayed exactly where she was, heart racing, lips still warm, knowing with terrifying clarity that nothing between them was accidental anymore.

Even didn’t move for a long time.

The room felt different now, like Lucy had left something behind—heat, pressure, a hum beneath her skin that refused to settle. Even pressed her fingers lightly to her lips, as if confirming the kiss had been real. It was. The faint ache in her chest proved it.

Breakfast.

The word echoed, absurdly ordinary.

She stood on unsteady legs and changed slowly, deliberately, as though moving too fast might unravel her. Every mirror caught her reflection wrong—eyes too bright, mouth slightly swollen, expression unfamiliar. Not the girl who waited. Not the sister. Not invisible.

Downstairs, the house was alive with soft noise. Plates. Cutlery. Martin’s voice, warm and unaware.

Lucy stood at the counter.

She didn’t look at Even right away.

Martin smiled when he saw Even. “Morning. You sleep okay?”

Even nodded, taking her seat, hands folding neatly in her lap. “Yeah.”

Lucy finally turned then, just briefly. Their eyes met.

Not casually. Not briefly.

Her gaze locked onto Even with an intensity that made Even’s breath hitch. Instinctively, she bit her lower lip, a small, unconscious gesture she didn’t even realize she’d made. Lucy noticed immediately. Her eyes darkened, still carrying that same quiet hunger from upstairs—controlled, but very much alive.

Lucy stepped closer, passing behind Even’s chair. Her fingers brushed Even’s shoulder, light enough to be accidental, deliberate enough not to be. Even stiffened, pulse racing.

Then Lucy’s hands settled briefly on Even’s lap, warm and grounding, hidden from anyone who wasn’t looking closely.

Lucy leaned in just enough to be heard.

Lucy: “Your morning started well,” she murmured softly, almost amused. “I guess.”

She straightened and took a slow sip of her coffee, eyes never leaving Even’s face.

Across the table, Martin paused. Something flickered across his expression—a faint sense of tension he couldn’t quite place. The air felt different. Charged. But he shook it off, reaching for his mug.

Probably nothing, he told himself.

Even swallowed, heart racing again, knowing one thing with terrifying certainty.

Whatever Lucy had started that morning

She had no intention of letting it stay unfinished.