CHAPTER 377: WHAT DO YOU THINK THE DEAN WOULD SAY?

Back at the university, the night had settled into one of those stretches where every little sound seemed to matter more than usual, the kind of quiet that made a floorboard creak sound like it echoed through the entire building.

The private housing’s living room. Ethan sat in the middle of the wide sofa, leaning back like he was comfortable, though he wasn’t nearly as relaxed as he looked.

On either side of him, the twins had pressed themselves close, their bodies tucked against his like they had no intention of moving.

Their warmth spread into him, steady and grounding, and though he didn’t say it out loud, it felt like they weren’t just sitting with him, but holding him in place, keeping him steady in a world that had the bad habit of trying to sweep him off his feet whenever he thought he’d finally found balance.

Everly had teased him before, more than once, calling him the best pillow she’d ever had because of how warm his body always ran, how he seemed to radiate heat like a living blanket.

Normally, she’d throw that line out half-joking, half-true, but tonight she didn’t say anything like that.

Neither did Evelyn. Both of them just leaned into him, quiet, their breaths slow and even, their closeness saying more than words would have managed anyway.

The steady rhythm of their breathing almost tugged him toward sleep himself, like the whole room had slowed into something softer, but his head was too full, too restless to let him drift.

Thoughts buzzed and twisted around, refusing to settle, no matter how much his body wanted to give in.

Evelyn was the first one to break the silence. She shifted slightly, her hand sliding up to rest on his chest.

Her fingertip traced absent little circles against the thin fabric of his shirt, light enough that it might have seemed thoughtless if not for the quiet weight it carried.

Every circle she made felt like a word she didn’t say out loud, and maybe didn’t even know how to.

"Three months," she murmured, her voice low enough that it almost seemed to sink into his shirt along with her touch.

"It’s only been three months, but it feels like we’ve been here a lot longer."

Everly gave a sleepy hum from his other side, burrowing her head deeper against his shoulder like she was trying to disappear inside it.

"Longer," she agreed, though her voice carried that thoughtful edge that meant she wasn’t just repeating her sister.

"But somehow shorter too. We’ve gone from bronze rank to silver in such a short time, but it doesn’t feel like we forced it.

It doesn’t feel rushed. It feels like we earned it. Like it belongs to us."

Ethan’s mouth pulled into a faint smile, not wide, but the kind that came from something tugging at his chest rather than his lips.

"You two are monsters in training," he said, his tone carrying a trace of teasing. "Don’t try to convince me otherwise.

You’ll have me believing you’re delicate flowers if you keep talking like that."

Both girls giggled at that, soft and light, the kind of laughter that slid easily into the quiet and made it feel warmer instead of breaking it.

Evelyn tilted her head just enough to press a quick kiss against the line of his jaw, a small, playful gesture that still carried enough warmth to make his chest tighten, before tucking her face back down against him.

Everly’s hand slid slowly along his arm until she found his hand, and then she twined their fingers together, her hold steady in that way that didn’t need any explanation.

Their warmth pressed in on both sides, and sitting between them, Ethan was reminded why every aching muscle, every bruise, and every moment of exhaustion had been worth it.

The hours of sweat and drills and fights hadn’t just been pain for the sake of pain. It had been shaping into something solid, something they could all feel in their bodies and in the way they moved together.

The climb from bronze to silver hadn’t been luck, and it hadn’t been gifted to them. They had fought for it, side by side, step by step, and the proof of it was pressed against him now.

Ethan let his head fall back against the sofa cushion, his eyes tracing the ceiling above him.

The faint glow from the hall light left thin, stretched shadows across the plaster, the kind of shadows that wavered if he stared too long.

His mind went back, not to one moment in particular, but to the blur of training that had filled those three months.

Sparring matches where Everly’s footwork had sharpened so much she could push him on the defensive, forcing him to respect her strikes.

Long endurance drills where Evelyn had driven herself so far past exhaustion that she should have collapsed, only to wake the next morning with the same stubborn fire burning in her eyes.

His own body carried its own record of that time—scars that hadn’t fully faded, strength that hadn’t been there before, a steadiness in fights that felt like it had always been inside him, waiting for the right push to surface.

"What do you think the dean would say?" Everly asked suddenly, her voice half muffled against his shoulder, "If she knew we were sitting here bragging about ourselves?"

Ethan let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling more in his chest than in his throat. "She’d probably say you’re getting cocky," he answered.

"Then she’d make us run laps until we couldn’t feel our legs anymore."

"She’d call it ’corrective humility,’" Evelyn added, her tone snapping into a mockery of the dean’s sharp, formal voice.

She even clipped her words short the way the dean always did, just enough to make all three of them laugh.

The laughter faded, but the quiet it left behind wasn’t heavy or awkward. It was the kind of silence that didn’t ask for anything else.