I found him in the old gym.
The underground boxing room wasn’t used by the school anymore, but everyone knew Riven trained there—because no one else had the nerve.
The air smelled like sweat and dust and muted aggression. The single hanging bulb flickered as I stepped inside.
He was alone.
Sweat dripping down his temple, fists wrapped, shoulders tense, slamming combinations into a heavy bag so hard it shook the ceiling pipes.
His knuckles were already raw.
His breathing harsh.
He looked like a storm barely held together by skin.
“Riven,” I whispered.
He froze mid-swing.
Slowly… painfully slowly… he turned toward me.
His eyes widened by a fraction—almost imperceptible, but I felt it like a bruise to my chest.
“Lia?” His voice was rougher than usual. “What’s wrong? Did someone—?”
“You saved me.”
He went still.
Not breathing.
Not blinking.
Not moving.
Just still.
“I know,” I whispered. “I know it was you. Seven years ago. The river. I remember the voice. And today I heard those students talking and—”
“Stop.” His voice cracked—not with anger.
With fear.
Riven stepped back like my words physically hit him. He dragged a hand through his hair, eyes darker than the room.
“You weren’t supposed to know.”
“Why?” My voice trembled. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why pretend we were strangers?”
He laughed—broken, humorless. “Because you were a kid. I was a criminal’s son. What was I supposed to do, Lia? Walk up to you and say, ‘Hey, remember the day you almost died? That was me.’”
“I could’ve thanked you.”
“I didn’t want thanks.”
He stepped toward me—slow, unsure, like he was afraid he’d spook me.
“I just wanted to see you alive,” he said softly.
My chest tightened painfully.
“But you watched me,” I whispered. “All these years.”
He flinched—not violently, but enough.
“Not because I wanted to scare you,” he said quickly. “Never for that. I just—after that day—after pulling you out—I… couldn’t forget you. I tried. I swear I tried. But every time I closed my eyes I heard you choking on water, and I kept thinking what if I hadn’t been there, what if—”
“Riven,” I breathed, stepping closer.
His fists clenched.
“You changed me,” he said. “And you didn’t even know my name.”
I swallowed the knot in my throat. “Why did you come back into my life now?”
His answer was immediate.
“Because you were in danger again.”
I froze.
He stepped close—so close his breath brushed my forehead.
“And because,” his voice dropped lower, “I couldn’t stay away anymore.”
I didn’t move.
Couldn’t move.
The air between us snapped tight.
“I thought about you every year,” he murmured. “Every birthday. Every school year you started. Every night I walked past that river. You think I don’t know exactly who you are? Lia Carter. Born in February. Afraid of thunderstorms. Likes lemon candy. Never learned to swim again after—”
“Stop,” I whispered, voice cracking. “You’re going to make me cry.”
His hand lifted—hesitated—then cupped my cheek with a gentleness that made my knees weak.
“You’re not supposed to cry,” he said. “Not because of me.”
“But you—” I swallowed, “—you stayed away. All this time.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
His jaw tightened, and for the first time, I saw the truth in him:
Fear.
Not of the world.
Not of danger.
Of me.
“Because I’m not good,” he said quietly. “And I didn’t want to ruin you.”
My breath hitched. “You didn’t.”
“I could,” he whispered. “I still could.”
“Riven—”
He stepped back, dropping his hand.
“No,” he said, voice shaking. “You deserve someone normal. Someone clean. Someone who hasn’t been covered in blood since the day he was born.”
I moved before he could retreat further.
I grabbed his shirt, pulling him down, forcing his eyes onto mine.
“I don’t want normal,” I whispered.
He froze.
“I want the person who saved my life when he didn’t have to. The boy who remembered me. The man who would bleed for me without thinking.” My voice broke. “I want you.”
His breath shattered.
“Lia…”
“Fake relationship or not,” I whispered, “this feels real to me.”
He made a sound—low, caught between a groan and a plea—before he backed me against the wall with sudden, desperate energy.
His hands pressed on either side of my head, muscles shaking.
“You don’t understand,” he said, voice raw. “If I start, I won’t be able to stop.”
“Then don’t stop.”
“Lia—”
“I’m right here,” I whispered. “Where I was always meant to be.”
He inhaled sharply—like he’d been drowning for years and finally broke the surface.
His forehead pressed to mine.
“You have no idea what you’re inviting,” he said, tremor running through him.
“Yes,” I breathed. “I do.”
Silence.
Breathless. Electric. Too full.
Then—
His lips brushed mine.
A ghost of a touch.
A question.
A warning.
He pulled back immediately, cursing under his breath. “I’m losing control. I should walk away.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Lia—”
“I’ve been waiting too,” I whispered. “I just didn’t know it was for you.”
That shattered something in him.
He kissed me.
Not soft.
Not hesitant.
But like he’d wanted to for seven years and didn’t know how to handle finally having me in his hands.
His mouth crushed mine, hungry and desperate and trembling. His fingers tangled in my hair. My hands fisted his shirt. The world spun.
Every second burned.
Every breath melted.
Every piece of me clicked into place like it had only ever existed to find him again.
When we finally broke apart, both breathless, his voice was barely a whisper:
“I’ve loved you longer than you’ve known my name.”
And mine was barely a breath:
“Then tell me everything.”