The room was silent except for the faint hum of music vibrating through the floors below, but it felt deafening to me. I sat on the edge of Bryan's bed, trembling as my soaked costume clung to me like a second skin. The white bandeau top had turned completely sheer, leaving nothing to the imagination, and my skirt hung limp and heavy against my legs. Even wrapped in the towel Bryan had thrown over me, I couldn't stop shivering.

Bryan knelt in front of me, holding out a pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie—his clothes. His dark eyes, intense as always, flickered with concern as he looked at me.

"You need to get out of those wet clothes," he said, his voice steady but low.

I froze, clutching the towel tighter around myself. My heart pounded against my ribs as I glanced down at my outfit, the humiliating realization washing over me again. Beneath the sheer bandeau and skirt, I had only worn panties—assuming the costume would be enough coverage. Now, here I was, my body exposed in a way that made my chest ache with embarrassment.

"I can't," I whispered, my voice cracking as my eyes stung with fresh tears.

"Amber," Bryan said gently, leaning closer. "You're freezing. You can't stay like this. You'll get sick."

I shook my head, curling into myself. "I'll be fine," I lied, though my trembling limbs told a different story.

Bryan exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair. His jaw tightened briefly before he crouched lower, his voice softer this time. "If you don't want my help, just say so," he murmured. "But if you need me, I'm here."

His words cut through my humiliation, grounding me just enough to nod faintly.

"Okay," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Bryan moved carefully, his every action slow and deliberate as though giving me time to stop him. He reached for the towel draped over my shoulders, his fingers brushing against the edge.

"I'm going to take this off first," he said quietly, his tone steady but gentle. "You tell me if you need me to stop, okay?"

I nodded again, my chest tightening as he pulled the towel away. The cold air hit me immediately, making me flinch as goosebumps spread across my skin. My arms instinctively crossed over my chest, trying to cover myself as the wet bandeau clung to me like glue.

Bryan's gaze flicked downward briefly, his jaw tightening as he took in the sight of my sheer top, the fabric leaving nothing to the imagination. I saw his throat work as he swallowed hard, his voice lower when he spoke again.

"Let's get this off," he said, his fingers moving to the edge of the bandeau.

I stiffened, my face burning as tears welled in my eyes again. "I—I can do it," I stammered, though my trembling hands betrayed me.

Bryan hesitated, his dark eyes searching mine. "You're shaking too much," he said softly. "I'll be quick."

Before I could protest, he began peeling the wet fabric away, his fingers brushing lightly against my skin. The cold air bit at me as the bandeau slipped over my shoulders, leaving me completely exposed from the waist up. My arms shot back across my chest, shielding myself as my face burned hot enough to rival the sun.

Bryan didn't say anything. His gaze stayed on my face, never dipping lower, though the tension in his jaw was unmistakable. He grabbed the towel again, draping it back over my shoulders to shield me as quickly as possible.

"Almost done," he murmured, his voice low and hoarse.

He knelt lower, his hands moving to the waistband of my skirt. "I'll take this off now, okay?"

I nodded weakly, unable to speak as he worked. The wet fabric clung stubbornly, and when he finally tugged it free, I was left in just my underwear. My entire body trembled violently, and I curled deeper into the towel, clutching it tightly as tears slipped silently down my cheeks.

Bryan grabbed the hoodie first, his movements still careful and deliberate as he pulled it over my head. The thick fabric was warm, and the soft scent of him—cedarwood and something faintly earthy—wrapped around me like a second blanket.

"Arms," he said quietly, guiding my hands into the oversized sleeves.

The hoodie swallowed me whole, falling well past my hips, and I sank into the warmth, my tears slowing slightly as I clutched the hem tightly in my fists.

"Better?" he asked softly, his voice hesitant.

I nodded faintly, though my trembling hadn't fully stopped.

"Pants now," Bryan added, holding up the sweatpants. He hesitated for a moment, his dark eyes flicking to my face. "Can I?"

I nodded again, my cheeks still burning.

Bryan crouched lower, sliding the sweatpants carefully up my legs. His fingers brushed against my skin as he adjusted the waistband, his touch warm despite the chill still clinging to me. When he was finished, he grabbed the blanket from the bed and wrapped it tightly around my shoulders, his hands lingering for just a second too long as though to make sure I was okay.

"You're good now," he murmured, his voice soft.

I sat curled up on the bed, wrapped in Bryan's hoodie and sweatpants, the oversized clothes swallowing me completely. The blanket draped across my shoulders was heavy and warm, and for the first time since I'd fallen into the pool, I could feel the cold starting to fade.

Bryan sat back on his heels, his dark eyes scanning me carefully. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and his bare shoulders glistened faintly in the dim light.

He stood slowly, grabbing another blanket from the chair and draping it carefully over my lap. "Get some rest," he said quietly. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

As he turned to leave, his voice softened even further, almost too low to hear.

"You're stronger than you think, Amber."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in the warmth of his clothes, the soft scent of him still surrounding me. For the first time all night, I let out a shaky breath, curling deeper into the blanket as my eyes drifted closed.

Bryan's POV

The door clicked softly behind me as I stepped into the dimly lit hallway. For a moment, I just stood there, my hand still on the doorknob, breathing in deeply. My chest felt tight, the images of Amber trembling and vulnerable still etched in my mind. I'd never seen her like that—so exposed, so small, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

I dragged my hand through my damp hair, my jaw tightening as the memory replayed itself. The way she looked at me when I knelt in front of her, clutching that towel like it was the only thing tethering her to sanity. The way her voice cracked when she whispered that she couldn't do it herself. She was scared—so damn scared—and yet, she still let me in. She trusted me, even when everything about her body screamed that she wanted to curl into herself and disappear.

My chest twisted painfully. I'd wanted to tell her it was okay, that there was nothing to be ashamed of, but the words felt hollow in my throat. She wasn't just cold or embarrassed. Something else was there, something deeper, something fragile that she was desperately trying to hide. And it killed me to see her like that.

The faint hum of music vibrated through the floorboards as I made my way downstairs. The noise from the party was sharp and jarring, a stark contrast to the quiet, vulnerable space I'd just left. People called out to me as I passed, their laughter loud and drunken, but I barely acknowledged them. My mind was somewhere else entirely.

Grabbing a small nightlight from the bookshelf—a soft, star-shaped veilleuse I'd picked up for Lily a while back—I turned and headed back upstairs. The glow from the tiny lamp was faint but warm, casting gentle patterns of light through its star-shaped holes as I carried it back to the room.

The moment I opened the door, my breath hitched slightly. Amber was curled up on the bed, her head tucked against the pillow, her hands clutching the blanket like it was her armor. The oversized hoodie I'd given her swallowed her completely, the sleeves hanging past her fingers, and the faint scent of her soap and my clothes lingered in the air. She looked so small, so delicate, her dark hair spilling across the pillow in soft waves.

But I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened earlier—about the way her trembling hands had clutched at the wet fabric of her costume, desperate to cover herself, even as her body betrayed her with violent shivers. I hadn't meant to look, but it was impossible not to notice how the soaked bandeau had clung to her, leaving nothing to the imagination. The sight had hit me like a punch to the gut, and not in the way she probably thought.

It wasn't desire—not in that moment, anyway. It was something deeper. Protective. Reverent, almost. Seeing her like that, vulnerable and raw, made me feel like I'd been entrusted with something sacred. And as much as I hated the circumstances, a part of me was grateful she trusted me enough to let me help her.

I plugged the nightlight bedside the table, its soft, warm glow bathing the room in a gentle light. The faint star shapes danced across the walls, casting the space in a quiet magic that suited her. Adjusting the blanket around her shoulders, I watched as she stirred slightly, her lips parting in a soft exhale, but she didn't wake.

Leaning back against the wall, I let out a slow breath, my hands running through my hair again. I couldn't shake the memory of her trembling hands and the way her voice cracked when she told me she couldn't do it herself. The way she flinched when the cold air hit her skin, her cheeks burning with humiliation, tears threatening to spill over as I worked as quickly as I could to shield her again.

When my fingers brushed against her skin as I tugged the wet bandeau away, I'd had to steel myself, forcing my gaze to stay locked on her face. Her dark eyes, wide and glassy, had searched mine for reassurance, and I gave her the only thing I could: quiet steadiness. Every movement had been deliberate, measured, my hands careful not to linger any longer than necessary.

But it had still been one of the hardest things I'd ever done. Not because I didn't want to help her, but because it felt so intimate—so raw. And maybe because, deep down, I knew I cared about her more than I should.

I don't know when it started, this pull I felt toward Amber. Maybe it was her quiet determination, the way she moved through the world like she was trying not to disturb it. Or maybe it was her vulnerability—the rare glimpses of the girl beneath the shy smiles and polite deflections. Either way, she was under my skin, and moments like this only made it worse.

She stirred again, her brows furrowing slightly, and I stepped closer, adjusting the blanket once more. My fingers brushed against her shoulder, and she settled instantly, her breathing evening out. I lingered for a moment, my chest tightening as I watched her.

"I don't know what you've been through," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "But I hope you know you're not alone."

She didn't respond—didn't even wake—but it felt like something I needed to say. For her. For me.

I turned and crossed the room, pausing to make sure the night lamp was steady before slipping out the door. The soft light spilled across the walls, casting stars that shimmered faintly in the darkness. It felt like a promise—a small comfort for the girl who was afraid of the dark.

I lingered outside the door for a moment longer, my hand resting on the doorknob. The faint glow of the nightlamp seeped through the crack beneath the door, a comforting contrast to the darkness of the hallway. I wanted to stay, to keep watch, to make sure she was really okay. But I knew better. Amber needed space, and maybe, so did I.

I forced myself to step away, each footfall feeling heavier as I headed toward my room. My body felt drained, like I'd carried the weight of her trembling form with me. Inside the room, the muffled noise from the party downstairs was still there—laughs, voices, music—but it felt distant, like it belonged to a world I didn't want to be part of tonight.

I sat heavily on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. My damp hair dripped onto the floor, but I didn't care. All I could think about was Amber—the way she looked at me when I knelt in front of her, like I was the only thing holding her together in that moment.

The memory of her soft, whispered "I can't" echoed in my mind, breaking something inside me. I didn't want to think about why it hit so hard—why her vulnerability felt like a punch to the chest. But the truth was, I knew. I'd known for a while now, though I tried to push it aside.

I cared about her.

More than I should. More than I wanted to admit.

And it wasn't just because she was beautiful, though she was—so effortlessly that it made my stomach twist every time she walked into a room. It was the way she carried herself, the way her shyness didn't stop her from showing up, from trying. The way she gave her all to everything she did, whether it was her ballet, her studies, or even babysitting my little sister.

And maybe it was the way she looked at the world, like she didn't quite belong in it, but she was trying to make a space for herself anyway.

I leaned back, scrubbing my hands over my face as my heart thudded heavily in my chest. Tonight had only solidified what I already knew: Amber wasn't just some girl I happened to get paired with for a project. She wasn't just someone I teased to get a reaction out of. She was... different. Important.

I let out a long, shaky breath, running a hand down my face. I didn't have time for this—for her. Not when my life was already balancing on the edge of a knife. School, baseball, my family—it was all piling up so high I could barely see over the top. And yet, here I was, standing outside my room, thinking about her when I should've been thinking about everything else.

Baseball practice had been brutal this week, the coach riding us harder than ever. We were on the cusp of the season, and every move I made on the field felt like it had a spotlight on it. A mistake could cost me everything—a scholarship, a shot at the majors, a future. And without baseball, I didn't have much else to fall back on.

College wasn't just about me. It was about my mom, who worked herself to the bone just to make sure we had food on the table. It was about Lily, who deserved better than hand-me-downs and missed birthdays because Mom was pulling double shifts at the hospital. I wanted to give them a life where they didn't have to struggle—where Lily could have the kind of childhood I never did.

But the pressure was suffocating. Every time I stepped onto the field, I felt it pressing down on me, a weight that never let up. And it wasn't just baseball. My professors had made it clear that my grades couldn't slip if I wanted to keep my spot on the team. Between practice, classes, and tutoring sessions, I was barely keeping my head above water.

And now there was Amber.

I sighed, shoving my hands into my pockets as I headed downstairs. She was a distraction, no doubt about it. But the kind of distraction that made everything else feel... lighter. When I was with her, even in moments like tonight, the weight on my shoulders didn't feel quite as crushing. She had this quiet way of grounding me, of making the noise in my head fade into the background, even if she didn't realize it.

The living room was still buzzing with energy when I got there, people laughing and talking over each other as the music thumped in the background. It was a world I should've fit into—a world I used to fit into—but lately, it just felt... hollow.

I grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen and leaned against the counter, my thoughts drifting back upstairs. Amber's face swam into focus—her dark eyes, wide and glassy with tears; the way her voice cracked when she whispered that she couldn't do it herself. It wasn't just her vulnerability that got to me. It was the way she let me see it. The way she trusted me when she didn't have to.

"Bryan." A voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I looked up to see Kyle, my best friend and teammate, giving me a questioning look. "You good, man? You've been out of it all night."

"Yeah," I said quickly, though the lie tasted bitter. "Just tired."

Kyle didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. "Don't let Coach see you slacking tomorrow," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. "He's already on your ass enough as it is."

I forced a small smile, nodding as he walked away. He wasn't wrong. Coach had been relentless lately, pushing me harder than anyone else on the team. He knew I had the potential to go pro, and he wasn't about to let me forget it. But sometimes, it felt like he cared more about the stats than the person behind them.

Then I saw him.

That guy. I didn't even know his name, but I could still see his smug, drunken face as he shoved Amber into the water. She hadn't been near the edge, hadn't been expecting it. One minute she was standing there, clutching her drink nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the crowd, and the next she was flailing, her arms breaking the surface in panic.

My blood boiled at the memory. I didn't think—I just moved. Before I even realized what I was doing, I'd shoved through the crowd, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles burned. The guy was laughing when I reached him, his friends egging him on like it was all some big joke.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I growled, my voice cutting through the music like a whip.

He barely had time to turn before my fist connected with his jaw. The satisfying crunch of impact reverberated through me as he stumbled back, his laughter replaced by a stunned grunt. People around us gasped, the music faltering as heads turned, but I didn't care. All I could think about was Amber—how she'd looked when I pulled her out of the pool, her small body shaking, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

"Bryan, stop!" someone yelled, but I wasn't done. I grabbed the guy by his shirt, hauling him up so we were eye-to-eye. His smirk was gone, replaced by fear, and that only made my grip tighten.

"She could've gotten hurt!" I spat, my voice low and venomous. "You think that's funny? You think it's cool to humiliate someone like that?"

"I didn't mean—" he started, but I didn't let him finish.

"Don't. Ever. Touch. Her. Again." I shoved him back, hard enough to send him sprawling into a chair. "Or you'll regret it."

The tension in the room was thick as I turned and stormed out, ignoring the whispers and stares that followed me.

Shaking my head, I headed back upstairs. The party noise faded behind me as I climbed the stairs, my footsteps slowing as I reached the room. The faint glow of the nightlamp seeped through the crack under the door, casting soft, star-shaped patterns on the floor. I opened the door just enough to peek inside, my heart squeezing at the sight of Amber still curled up in the bed, her breathing slow and even.

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💌 Thank You for Reading Chapter Thirty Three! 💌

It was so much fun to finally write Bryan's POV—I've been looking forward to it for a while! That said, it was definitely a bit challenging to get inside his head and capture his perspective. I really hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Thank you so much for your support, and I can't wait to hear what you think! 💕✨