Vulnerable

Ava’s POV

After Logan returned with two plates of spaghetti and a warm smile, I forced myself to concentrate on the food rather than the bunch of thoughts in my head. The kitchen was dimly lit by the soft glow of a single overhead lamp, and the low hum of the refrigerator was the only sound breaking the uneasy silence between us.

We settled at the small dining table Logan on one side, me on the other. Every time our eyes met, I felt that same mix of annoyance and something else… something I wasn’t ready to admit. Last night’s kiss still clung to my thoughts like an afterimage I couldn’t shake, and despite my best efforts, a small part of me couldn’t help but wonder what it meant.

“Eat up,” Logan said casually, prodding his own plate with a fork. “I made extra.” His tone was light, but his eyes lingered on mine a moment longer than necessary.

I forced a smile, trying to push aside the discomfort. “Thanks,” I mumbled. I picked at my food, each bite feeling heavier than the last. The weight of my current situation the eviction, my dad’s relentless messages, my future hanging in limbo seemed to press down on me.

I felt I'm just leeching in him, I haven't done anything to actually help here rather than cleaning the apartment yesterday.

I glanced at Logan, noticing the way his gaze softened when he looked at me. He said something earlier about me being cute when I was flustered. That was meant to tease me, but now I couldn’t help but wonder if he truly saw me as someone worth knowing beyond just a “nerd.”

Breaking the silence, I asked, “Logan, what do you really want?” The words tumbled out before I could second guess them. “Not just last night… I mean, this, us… What do you want?”

He paused, setting down his fork. His eyes, usually so confident, betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. “I…I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “I thought it was just fun at first, a way to blow off steam. But tonight… sitting here with you it feels different.”

My heart pounded in a mix of hope and dread. I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that everything was a setup like I was just a pawn in someone else’s game. “Different how?” I pressed, my voice quieter than I intended.

He looked down at his plate for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “I’m tired of the games, Ava. I…” His confession was interrupted by a sudden noise, a text alert that made him wince. He pulled his phone out and frowned at the screen. I recognized the look all too well the weight of responsibilities clashing with personal desires.

“Everything okay?” I asked, my tone softening despite my resolve to keep a safe distance.

He looked up and forced a small smile. “Just work stuff. You know how it is.” But I wasn’t convinced; I could see the conflict in his eyes.

The rest of the meal passed in a strange kind of quiet, punctuated by occasional, hesitant exchanges. I couldn’t help but notice how, for a brief moment, Logan’s guard was down how vulnerable he looked when he wasn’t tossing out witty remarks or teasing me about my “nerdy” tendencies.

After dinner, we cleaned up together in silence, the sound of dishes a rhythmic reminder of the normalcy we were trying to have in this mess of our lives. Once the kitchen was tidy, Logan lingered by the door as if reluctant to let the night end.

“Look, Ava,” he began, his voice low, “I know things are complicated right now. And I know I haven’t been entirely honest with you about everything.” He paused, searching my eyes for any sign of reaction. “But I do care about you. More than I ever thought I would.”

I felt my throat tighten. I wanted to cry, to scream out all the pent-up frustration, fear, and hope that had been swirling inside me. “Care about me… or care about what you want me to be?” I whispered, the question heavy with the weight of my insecurities.

He took a tentative step closer, his hand hovering just above mine on the table. “I can’t change the past, Ava. I can’t erase what’s already been done.” His voice was earnest, almost pleading. “But I want to try. I want to be better for you if you’ll let me, even if we've known each other for just a few weeks”.

In that quiet moment, everything seemed to hang in the balance. I wanted to trust him, to believe that there was more to him than the reckless jock I had come to know. But the scars of betrayal and my own fears made it hard to decide.

I looked down at our joined hands, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine. It was a small gesture, yet it spoke volumes. I had so many questions, so many doubts, but for the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of possibility.

“Maybe,” I said softly, “we can start by being honest with each other. No more games.”

He nodded, relief mingling with determination in his eyes. But he still seemed hesitant “No more games,” he promised.

As I lay in bed that Logan offered me earlier later that night, the tension slowly started going away, I realized that even if nothing else was certain, this small step toward vulnerability felt like a crack in the walls I had built around myself. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start figuring out the mess that was my life.

My only concern was, was I breaking my rules by believing Logan?