EIGHTEEN || SEVENTEEN spin off ||

Chapter Nine || No?

"No?" I ask, gently distancing myself from her embrace. Seeking affirmation, she nods, her eyes unwavering. "That's right, no." she affirms. As I cast my gaze downward and begin to rise from my seat, her hand catches mine, tugging me back to her side.

"Yesterday you told me you love me." She reminds me, recollections of the previous day resurface in my mind. I meet her gaze, a determined sincerity shining through. "yeah," I confirm, gaze delving into the depths of my eyes.

Words of affection linger in the air, an unspoken connection between us. "I said no because I love you too, Y/N." she confesses, her voice a soft whisper, before bridging the gap between us with a tender kiss.

With a gentle yet deliberate force, she guides me to recline upon the bench, a silent invitation that carries an unspoken promise of rekindled intimacy. Gracefully, she positions herself atop me, the press of her lips against mine igniting a dormant fire that courses through my veins. As her tongue ventures into the hallowed sanctuary of my mouth, a rush of memories and sensations floods my senses. How achingly I've yearned for this, a pang of longing that has carved a hollow space within my soul.

The weight of unspoken desires hangs heavily in the air, mingling with the tangibility of our connection. My thoughts wander, entwined with the tendrils of her kiss. She kisses my neck for a few seconds before moving back up to my lips but this time she used her tongue. In this suspended moment, I am keenly aware of the boundaries that confine us, the walls of the school serving as both a sanctuary and a constraint. The tantalizing prospect of what could transpire if only circumstances were different dances at the periphery of my consciousness, a testament to the depth of my desires.

Yet, reality intrudes in the form of approaching footsteps, a jarring reminder of the world beyond our private enclave. Reluctantly, she retreats from our passionate union, our mouths tethered by an ephemeral strand of glistening saliva, a poignant symbol of our shared fervor. As she delicately disentangles herself from our intimate tableau, a fleeting gesture to her lips bears witness to a mingling of emotions.

How I've longed for the taste of her kiss, the intoxicating sensation of her presence, and the unspoken promises that bind us in an intricate dance of desire.

As Van's voice rings out, a gentle tug of awareness pulls my attention around the corner. Our eyes meet, and for a fleeting moment, time seems to hang suspended between us. The air grows charged with unspoken thoughts and a myriad of emotions, converging in a shared silence that speaks volumes.

Nat's greeting unfurls like a delicate echo, the syllable "Hi" carrying with it a sense of familiarity and a hint of a hidden narrative. A subtle exchange of glances transpires, a silent conversation that binds us in a cocoon of understanding. Van's raised eyebrow and her gesturing between us punctuate the charged atmosphere, an unspoken inquiry that hovers between curiosity and intrigue.

Yet, as Van attempts to articulate her confusion, her words falter, reduced to a single incredulous syllable – "What?" – a poignant reminder of the enigma that engulfs the three of us. In the backdrop of this word hangs a tapestry of thoughts, each thread woven with questions, curiosity, and the allure of untold secrets.

A knowing smile graces Nat's lips, a gesture that speaks of a shared understanding that has transcended mere words. With a graceful motion, Nat rises from her seat, bridging the gap between us with a gentle touch upon Van's shoulder. Her eyes convey a promise, a reassurance that the story that binds us will be unveiled in due time. The weight of anticipation lingers in the air as Van and NaT both turn their gaze toward me, a silent invitation hanging unspoken.

Nat's hand extends toward me, an offering that resonates with the unspoken promise of connection and revelation. In the touch of her hand, I sense a symphony of emotions – curiosity, vulnerability, and a shared yearning for understanding. As our fingers intertwine, a current of unspoken thoughts courses through our touch.

Returning to practice, the collective astonishment etches itself across the faces of our teammates, a visual symphony of reactions to the unexpected sight of our clasped hands. Among the sea of perplexed expressions, the select few, including the enigmatic "yellow jackets," hold the elusive knowledge of our recent breakup, rendering the shock of our reunited gesture all the more palpable. Walking into the locker room, a sense of surreal contradiction engulfs the air – just moments ago, the discord between Nat and me hung like a heavy shroud, and now, the sight of our intertwined hands paints a bewildering tableau.

Resuming practice, we immerse ourselves in the last fleeting moments before the coach's call to disperse. The rhythm of drills and camaraderie carries an undercurrent of unspoken questions, each repetition a beat that mirrors the pulse of curiosity and intrigue coursing through the room.

The transition to the showers marks a turning point, a realm where inquiries converge like an unruly flock of pigeons, each question a feathered emissary clamoring for attention:

"Are you two back together?"
"Since when did this happen?"
"It's good to see you both talking again."
"Wait, did you guys fuck around in here? Y/N has a hickey."

Time seems to halt at that revelation, the room collectively drawn to my neck, including Nat's gaze that lingers with a mix of satisfaction and amusement. A bemused grin forms on her lips, and with an eloquence that only she possesses, she quips, "I could be the next Leonardo da Vinci with that artwork." Laughter cascades through the room, a shared moment of mirth and camaraderie that softens even the edges of shock.

Amid the laughter, Van's solemn countenance stands in stark contrast. Her voice carries a note of protectiveness as she intervenes, "Hey, that's my sister." The room holds its breath for a beat, a hushed silence that ebbs before Nat playfully interjects, "Hey, that's my girlfriend," punctuating her words with a tender kiss upon my cheek. The tension loosens its grip, replaced by chuckles and playful banter.

Nat's next words carry a hint of cheekiness, her gaze directed toward Van. "Couldn't help myself, she tastes so good," she muses. The statement hovers in the air like a whimsical confession, igniting a spectrum of reactions across the room.

My face finds solace in my hands, an audible sigh accompanying my exasperated palm-to-face contact. "Natalie," I chime in, a mixture of amusement and exasperation dancing in my voice. "That is my sister you're talking to." The words linger, a gentle reminder of boundaries that persist even in the midst of laughter. With a shared laugh, Nat's affectionate gesture toward Van – a hearty pat on the back – encapsulates a complex web of emotions.