Delilah

I woke up the next morning with the haze of painkillers gone, leaving me to face the raw reality of my injury. A sharp throb radiated from my knee as I tried to sit up. "Ouch," I muttered, wincing as the effort sent jolts of pain through my leg. "Okay, that hurts. A lot."

My stirring must have woken Nic, who had been sleeping soundly beside me. He rolled over, his face soft with sleep until his eyes locked on mine. Instantly, concern sharpened his features, and he was fully awake.

"Ly, are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with worry. He sat up, his gaze dropping to the bulky brace on my knee. The bruises surrounding it had darkened overnight, vivid purples and blues painting my skin.

I sank back into the pillows, defeated. "No. I'm in a lot of pain. I don't think I can move."

Nic was out of bed in an instant, crouching beside me like a man on a mission. "Don't try. The doctor said rest, remember? You're supposed to stay off it." He adjusted the pillows under my leg with steady, gentle hands, ensuring my knee was elevated.

"I'm going to make you breakfast and grab an ice pack," he added, leaning down to kiss my forehead. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he pressed another kiss to my knee, right over the brace, his lips lingering as if he could will the pain away.

"Don't move, okay?" he said, his voice stern but warm. With that, he disappeared, the door clicking softly behind him.

I stared at the ceiling, a faint smile tugging at my lips despite the dull ache in my leg. Nic had always been protective, but the way he cared for me now—it was like a shield, a quiet assurance that no matter how hard things got, I wouldn't have to face them alone.

A few minutes later, Nic reappeared, balancing a tray loaded with pancakes, eggs, and a colorful array of fruit. A mug of coffee and a steaming cup of tea accompanied the spread.

"You get both," he declared, setting the tray in front of me with a proud grin. "Also, ice packs!" He produced them triumphantly, quickly maneuvering one onto my knee.

I winced at the initial shock of cold. "Ahh, freezing!" I whined.

Nic's brows furrowed in sympathy as he adjusted the pack. "I know it sucks, Lilah girl, but it'll help. Just hang in there."

"Everything hurts," I groaned dramatically, sinking further into the pillows. "Can I lay on you? I think that might actually help."

Nic chuckled, the worry in his expression softening. "Eat first, then we'll see about that. Doctor's orders—you've got to keep the princess nourished."

His teasing made me laugh, easing some of the tension. And as I picked at the fruit and sipped my coffee, I couldn't help but marvel at how Nic always seemed to know exactly what I needed, even when I didn't.

For the next two weeks, he was relentless—making sure I rested, icing my knee, cooking for me, and distracting me from my discomfort with movies, jokes, and endless patience. It should've been overwhelming, but it wasn't. Nic didn't hover or smother. He just was—steady, dependable, and endlessly kind.

But being confined to bed gave me too much time to think. Too much time to wonder what would happen if the world found out about us. I could already hear the headlines, see the speculation. Every relationship I'd made public before had crumbled under that spotlight, and the thought of it happening again paralyzed me.

I couldn't avoid the conversation any longer.

When I finally hobbled into Nic's room, my nerves felt like a live wire. "Nic," I started, my voice hesitant. "Don't hate me..."

He looked up from where he sat on the edge of the bed, his face already clouding with concern. "Ly, I hate how that sounds already."

"I want to be with you," I said, my words tumbling out in a rush. "But no one can know. Not yet. I need time—"

Nic's jaw tightened, his expression hardening. "Time for what, Delilah? To hide me?"

"It's not like that," I argued, taking a step closer, but he didn't budge. "I just—I can't handle the spotlight again, Nic. The last time—"

"Don't bring him into this," Nic cut me off, his voice sharp. "I'm not him, and I'll never be him."

"I know that!" My voice cracked. "But the second we go public, everything changes. The fans, the press—they'll pick us apart. They'll say it's fake, that it's for PR. I can't go through that again."

Nic's frustration bubbled over, his voice rising. "And you think keeping me a secret is love? You think I want to be the guy you're ashamed to be seen with?"

Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain. "I'm not ashamed of you. I'm scared. I'm scared of losing you, of ruining this before it even starts."

Nic's voice softened, though the pain in his eyes was still sharp. "Do you love me enough to stop running?"

His words hit like a punch to the gut, and all I could do was whisper, "I'm trying."

Nic shook his head, stepping past me toward the door. "Trying isn't enough, Delilah. Not for this. Not for us."

When the door closed behind him, the weight of his absence crushed me.

But he wasn't wrong.

If I wanted to keep him, I had to stop letting my fear dictate everything.

The next morning, I woke up alone in bed. Sleep had been a losing battle after Nic and I argued the night before. He was already gone, up bright and early for the gym as usual. The emptiness in the apartment felt heavy, a silent reminder that I was running out of chances with him.

It was now or never. I needed to decide what came next for us.

I didn't have the courage to make some grand proclamation, but I could test the waters. Drop a hint—just enough to see how Nic would respond. So, I scrolled through my photos, curating a carousel that felt like us without spelling it out for the world. A mix of candid moments, quiet smiles, and a subtle nod to him.

The caption? A line only true Swifties, Nic, and I would understand:

Minutes later, Nic's comment popped up.

It was simple, subtle, and perfect. Just like him.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself believe we might actually be okay. Like Taylor Swift says: It's just white noise, it's my choice. And for once, it was my choice. I was choosing Nic—every single time.

The second the post went live, my phone rang. Nic.

"Are we doing this?" he asked, his voice a mix of shock and something softer.

"Yeah, I think we are," I said, my heart thudding. 

"If you still want to." I hesitated, holding my breath.

"Ly," he said, his tone steady and warm, "I've wanted you from the moment I met you."

His words sent a shiver through me, breaking down the last wall I'd been clinging to.

"Well then," I said, teasing, "come home and show me just how bad you do."

I could hear the grin in his voice as he replied, "Give me ten, princess."

And I swear, I heard him sprint out of the gym.

We were doing this...we were really doing this.