Althaia

The shocking news that there was a serial killer on the loose was enough to cause hysteria on its own, but it was the nature of the killings that had fear caressing the spines of New Yorkers like the first bitter chill of winter. According to the confidential memo, the NYPD believed the murders were done by a copycat trying to emulate one of New York City’s most prolific serial killers; Bastian Cooper. The biggest piece of evidence they had to support this theory was that the victims had been found with their eyes carved out.

Matt had been getting ready to go to a deposition when he’d heard the breaking news report coming from his tv. The mug he’d been holding had slipped right out of his hand, clattering on the floor and shattering into a dozen jagged pieces. He’d barely felt the scalding splatter of hot coffee that had soaked through the dual layers of his slacks and socks.

The disconcertment had come first. A serial killer. Three victims. And Matt had been completely unaware of the murders. While he’d been investigating arm’s dealings down at the docks and prepping for a corporate negligence lawsuit, people were being attacked and mutilated, and it hadn’t even been on his radar. The revelation had caused a needle of guilt to prick at his conscience. How could something so grisly escape his attention?

The newscaster’s voice had played on a loop in his head even after the broadcast ended, like a needle stuck in the final groove at the end of a record, spinning endlessly.

The NYPD believe these murders were the work of a copycat modeling themselves after the notorious serial killer known as Muse.

That part had caused a pit of dread to split open in his stomach, conjuring the recollection of his first encounter with Bastian. Even from the simple act of his mind crafting the evocation, his senses had instantly become overwhelmed from the memory, transporting him right back to that night he’d found Bastian’s lair underground in the subway tunnels. The damp air that had felt heavy on Matt’s heated skin. The acrid assault of lingering mildew intermingled with the harsh chemicals from paint and epoxy that had burned in his nose and throat. The sharp metallic tang of blood that had been so strong he could taste it in every single inhale. The fading rhythm of Angela’s heartbeat. 

Standing in his kitchen the day the Bulletin released that article, Matt had felt an uncomfortable sensation of déjà vu. By the time he and the public had been made aware of Muse, Bastian had already claimed upwards of sixty victims, and even with the DNA that had been found in the blood he’d used for his murals, a lot of the victims still had yet to be identified almost a year later. Matt had immediately felt compelled to track down the copycat, not just because there was a serial killer terrorizing his city, but because it was personal for him. He hadn’t been there to prevent the deaths of Bastian’s victims. He’d nearly been too late to save Angela. And letting Bastian get away that first time had given him the chance to go after Heather. He wanted to stop the copycat before they hurt anyone else.

But a month had gone by since that article had come out, Matt still didn’t have a single lead, and another victim had just been found, bringing the body count up to five. 

Matt threw his cowl forcefully at the living room wall with a frustrated yell, the loud echo of the collision setting his teeth on edge. He’d been out tonight, chasing yet another dead end, all while a fifth victim had already been found. Ripping off his gloves and tossing them to the ground, he squeezed his eyes shut and reached out to grip onto the back of the couch, letting his head drop between his shoulders with a heavy exhale.  

He’d been going out every single night for the past month, and he hadn’t found a goddamn thing. Matt was no closer to catching the copycat killer than he’d been the day the news broke, and now two more people were dead. He’d been following every update about the case, but the NYPD refused to share any details about the murders or the victims. They were still pissed about the chaos that the Bulletin article had stirred up amongst the public. 

Matt had to find a lead. He’d become so consumed by this case that everything else was starting to unravel. He’d barely slept more than four hours a night the last few weeks, he was falling behind on his cases, and Foggy had already chewed his ass out for being late to their last two court appearances. Matt had promised Foggy and Karen both that he wouldn’t let being Daredevil interfere with being Matt Murdock. A promise he’d failed to keep several times over. A promise that was starting to fray again. Karen was already giving him the cold shoulder, and her forgiveness was always harder to win back than Foggy’s. It seemed to get harder to earn again every time he let her down. 

He knew he was living on borrowed time when it came to being worthy of their loyalty. Sooner or later, that unwavering patience and understanding would run out, and Matt could hardly blame them. He wasn’t always the friend they deserved. But people were being viciously murdered in cold blood, he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. Matt had already exhausted two resources and it had gotten him nowhere, but there was one more person who might be able to help him.

⠊⠞⠑⠕⠞⡉

“Mommy, I can’t find my bunny.”

Matt heard the exhausted intake of breath Jessica subtly took and turned his head to call out over his shoulder before she could respond.

“It’s under the couch, sweetie.”

Danielle knelt down by the couch, stretching her arm out under it, and Matt heard her excited gasp when her fingers brushed against the soft fur of the stuffed toy. She eagerly pulled it out with a grin, hugging it in her arms as she looked over at Matt. 

“Thanks Uncle Matty!”

Matt tilted his head to the side slightly and smiled softly in her direction. Jessica’s eyes tracked her daughter as Danielle sat on her knees by the coffee table, propping the stuffed bunny up on top of it to pour it an imaginary cup of tea. The tension in her shoulders deflated with the weight of a wild bunny search now off of them. She leaned her hip against the kitchen counter and turned her attention back to Matt.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Letting out a deep breath, she brushed a strand of her hair away from her face and lowered her voice.

“Why don’t you just put on the horns and talk to B.B.?”

“I did. It was an anonymous submission, and whoever sent it hasn’t sent anything else. She said there was no way to tell where it came from, and believe me, she tried.”

“What about your cop friend?”

“I already talked to Mahoney too. The NYPD is keeping everything locked down even more after that article. They’re trying to field out false tips and confessions, and they still haven’t figured out who leaked the memo and the crime scene photos to the press either.”

“Isn’t he the Chief of Detectives though? He’s done you favors before.”

“Comissioner Matthews called in the Feds. He’s padding his campaign for Mayor, and catching a copycat of one of the worst serial killers this city has ever seen will help him win by a landslide. Mahoney said the task force was hand selected by the Special Agent running it, and his team is watching everyone like a hawk. He can’t take the risk.”

Matt let out a deep breath and reached up to adjust his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.

“And he doesn’t want me to, either. He told me to back off on this one with the F.B.I. and the NYPD both out on the streets.”

“But you’re not going to.”

Letting out a sigh, he angled his body closer towards her. He kept his voice low, but the desperation echoed between them. 

“I can’t, Jess.”

“Even though Daredevil’s chances of getting arrested and sent to prison are now doubled until the copycat is caught?”

“I think vigilantes are pretty low on their list of priorities right now.”

Jessica inhaled deeply through her nose and let it out slowly as she turned her head to watch her daughter play in the living room. Matt could practically feel her confliction as if it was a force inside his own chest, like the opposing ends of magnets.

“Look, I get why this is important to you, but I can’t get involved. I have to think about Dani. And I’m still…fucking…flickering.”

He could hear the frustration in her voice. Jessica had told him about how her abilities seemed to drop out and come back randomly since she’d had Danielle. 

“Hey, I get it, I do. Okay, and I’m not asking you to get involved. I’m here for private investigator Jessica Jones, not…Jewel.”

Jessica immediately turned her head to glare at him, pursing her lips at the sight of the devilish smirk stretching across his mouth. She hadn’t missed the mockery dripping from his tone. Jessica swiftly reached out to smack his shoulder.

“Oh, fuck you, devil boy.”

Matt’s lips spread into a wide grin, a deep chuckle thundering in his chest as he rubbed at the spot she’d hit before he held his hands up in a display of surrender.

“Ow, alright alright. Low blow. But I mean it, all I need is a lead. That’s it.”

Jessica rolled her eyes with a subtle shake of her head, placing her hand on her hip as she looked over at Danielle again.

“I might still have a contact I can reach out to, but I can’t make any promises, Matt.”

“I know. I appreciate you helping at all. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” 

⠊⠞⠑⠕⠞⡉

Matt was sitting at his kitchen island with documents spread out in front of him, his finger tips running over the raised Braille bumps to read over a witness testimony for an upcoming trial. He had one earbud in, playing a voice note Foggy had sent him about finding a new piece of evidence that could help win their case. It was interrupted when his phone started to buzz on the counter, the voice assistance alerting him of an incoming call.

Jess. Jess. Jess.

Quickly removing the earbud, Matt picked up his phone and tapped his thumb on the screen, bringing it to his ear.

“Hey, did you find something?”

“Hello to you, too.”

“I said hey.”

Even on the other end of the line, he could practically hear her rolling her eyes. 

“Well?”

“Something is weird about this case.”

Matt’s forehead creased in confusion, and he sat up a little straighter hearing the suspicion in her voice.

“What do you mean?”

“My guy told me all he could get were the autopsy reports.”

“Why is that weird?”

“Because if he doesn’t have access to any of the case files, why the fuck would he have access to the autopsy reports?”

Matt pursed his lips slightly in thought. It was odd, but not an anomaly he could afford to waste time fixating on. There were more important things to investigate. 

“Mahoney said the Fed in charge of the task force is watching everyone in the department closely. Maybe he’s allowing people to only have access to specific pieces of the investigation to flush out who leaked the memo.”

“I don’t know, Matt. Something feels off.”

Matt got up from his chair, abandoning the court documents he’d been reading through, walking towards the living room with purpose even though he didn’t have one yet. After a month of nothing but dead ends, the prospect of finally having something to chase filled him with a sense of restlessness that was thrumming throughout his body.

“What did you find out from the autopsy reports?”

“That it seems like a stretch to call this killer a copycat.”

Matt hadn’t even realized he’d been pacing until her words stopped him right in his tracks.

“What do you mean?”

“Muse went after everyone, right? He didn’t discriminate with his victims. And he drained their blood for his fucked up little art project.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Then the only thing similar between Muse and his alleged ‘copycat’ is the missing eyes thing.”

Matt was silent for a moment, feeling thunderstruck by Jessica’s assessment of her findings. He’d spent the past month burning the candle at both ends trying to hunt down a copycat killer that…may not even be one? Perplexity and irritation swirled all at once, causing him to feel rooted to a belief that had just been flipped upside down, leaving him dangling with nothing to grasp onto and right himself with.

“Wait, are you saying you don’t think this is a copycat?”

“I only got the reports of the first four victims, but they were all men, and they weren’t bled to death. They were beaten and strangled and carved up.”

He had a thousand more questions now than he did when the article first broke, and not a single answer. Each one appeared quicker than the last, droplets of inquisitions rapidly turning into a heavy downpour that had a headache beginning to throb dully at the base of his skull. He reached up to rub at his forehead, as if that would quell the mounting discomfort working its way up his brain, and let out a heavy exhale while closing his eyes.

“This doesn’t make any sense.”

“I told you, something is weird.”

Why would the NYPD suspect the killer was a copycat if there wasn’t substantial evidence to support that theory? Removing the eyes from the body was a signature of Muse, but with the evidence Jess had found, that seemed to be the only thing similar between the two killers. Was there something not in the autopsy reports that proved the killer was a copycat? Or had the NYPD jumped the gun with speculation, not expecting a press leak that would cause mass hysteria among the public?

“Was there…anything else? Do you have the victims names? Maybe I can start there, find a connection.”

“Asshole blacked them out before giving me the copies. Certain details are blacked out too.”

“Covering his own ass.”

“I did get one name, though. It looks like all the autopsies were done by the same forensic pathologist. Doctor Y/N Y/L/N.”

Matt perked up instantly, that restless energy returning full force to combat the frustrated tension building in his head.

“Do you have an address?”

“What am I, a fucking amaetur?”

⠊⠞⠑⠕⠞⡉

Matt had been standing on the rooftop of your building for two hours waiting for you to come home. He’d tried to go by the Medical Examiner’s office Jess said you worked at, but it was under heavy surveillance of both the F.B.I. and the NYPD. It was less of a risk to try and talk to you here, but the issue was he didn’t know your schedule. He didn’t know if you’d even be home tonight. Maybe you worked nights, or maybe a sixth body had been found and it hadn’t hit the news yet. He had no way of knowing. All he could do was wait.

When he finally heard a key slipping into a lock down on the fifth floor where he knew your apartment was, he leapt from the ledge of the rooftop down onto the fire escape platform right outside your living room window. He pressed his back against the brick wall, tilting his head to the side as he listened to you moving around inside. The jingle of your keys being hung up on the hook by the front door, your shoes hitting the hardwood with a soft thump, followed by an exhale of relief, and your bag being carelessly tossed onto your kitchen island.

He reached out to test if the window would budge, both delighted and concerned that it was unlocked. Matt pushed the pane up slowly, and his right foot hit the hardwood first as he swung his leg through the window, slipping inside silently. Just as delicately, he pushed the pane back down to close the window, keeping his ears trained on your movements in the kitchen. The hinges of a cabinet creaked as you opened one, and your nail faintly clinked against a wine glass that you reached for. He took a few soundless steps further inside your apartment, stopping once he was a few feet away.

“Doctor Y/L/N.”

The scream you let out made him wince, and the sharp sound of glass splintering against hard tile was just as painful to his sensitive ears. Your hand flew up to clutch at your chest as you whirled around and backed up against the counter, your heart pounding against your own palm like an erratic drumbeat.

“What the fuck?”

Matt quickly held his gloved hands up in a placating gesture of surrender, taking a half a step backwards.

“Relax, I’m not here to hurt you.”

He could feel your eyes fervently darting over him, assessing the threat of his presence, the fingers on your left hand twitching towards the knife block behind you on the counter. Matt didn’t move. He stood there patiently, keeping his hands where you could see them.

“Do you know who I am?”

Very, very slowly, your heart’s rhythm returned to a semi-normal tempo, but he could still sense the apprehension radiating off you in waves. 

“Well there’s a lot of you running around in masks and red underwear these days, it’s not easy to keep track.”

The edge of Matt’s lips twitched in amusement at the dry sarcasm in your tone. He gradually lowered his hands back down to his sides. 

“Kinda hard to mix up the devil with a spider.”

“Right. One of you is a friendly neighbor and the other is a fucking menace, I can tell which one you are now. Is this how you start every conversation? Breaking into someone’s place and scaring the shit out of them?”

Matt pursed his lips slightly in a faux expression of thought and then gave a faint shrug of his shoulders.

“Pretty much.”

He caught the subtle clench of your jaw, your heart rate ticking up again, but not out of fear this time. 

“I need to talk to you.”

“What could you possibly need to talk to me about?”

“The Muse copycat.”

The slight straightening of your spine and falter in your heartbeat caught his attention. Your hand fell from your chest as you cleared your throat, crossing your arms over your chest instead in a deliberate display of defensiveness.

“And why is that?”

“Because you did the autopsies.”

The joints of your knuckles cracking from the way you clenched your hands into fists sounded like balloons being popped right by his head in rapid succession. In the silence that stretched almost uncomfortably, Matt could feel you analyzing him again, and he assumed it was now in suspicion. Or maybe it was intrigue, based on the way your head tilted a little to the side.

“How do you know that?”

“A friend.”

Another beat of silence passed as you considered him carefully.

“What do you want?”

“Details. The NYPD aren’t releasing any-”

“Yeah, for a reason.”

“I know why they’re doing it, but I can’t help track down the killer without a lead. I’ve spent the past month chasing nothing but dead ends.”

“Why don’t you just let cops and the feds do their job? What can you possibly do that they can’t?”

“A lot.”

Your exasperation was clear as a bell in the way you rolled your eyes and loosely threw your hands up, your palms lightly smacking against the sides of your thighs when they came down. 

“What, like break the law? Beat the shit out of people for information? Break into places to find evidence?”

“Sometimes breaking the law saves lives.”

“Spoken like a true vigilante.”

Matt let out a deep exhale through his nose and took a cautious step forward, speaking in a low pleading tone.

“Look, I just need something, okay? Even if it’s small, just somewhere to start.”

“Why? Why do you care about this so much?”

“Because it’s personal.”

This time it was you that took a small step forward, eyeing him curiously.

“What do you mean?”

Matt hesitated for just a moment, weighing the scales of how honest to be. He had a feeling he would get more cooperation out of you if he gave you something in return for what he was asking for.

“I was there when he died. Bastian Cooper.”

A quiet scoff left your lips as you turned to walk towards your pantry, opening the door to reach inside for a broom.

“Yeah, no thanks to you.”

The accusation in your tone made Matt’s brows furrow beneath the cowl, and he cocked his head to the side.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, I read the files from the original case. You were there on two separate occasions when he attacked someone. They both almost died.”

The insinuation was sharp as a steel tipped blade, and it cut exactly where you’d aimed it. A muscle feathered in his jaw, the bones of his teeth grinding together as a defensive flicker of irritation ignited within him.

“I’m not a killer.”

The handle of the broom smacked against the counter you shoved it against before you turned to face him again.

“Well he was. And if he hadn’t been killed, who knows how many more victims he would’ve had.”

Matt stepped closer to you, his voice dropping to a lower octave that was laced with disbelief.

“You think he deserved to die?”

“I think you see the shit I do day in and day out, the kind of things humans are capable of doing to each other, and you get a little jaded.”

He could hear the hint of exhaustion in your voice, but he could hear the anger more clearly. Matt understood where you were coming from. The frustration. The appeal of a path that seemed easier and more effective. But it wasn’t a path he could go down, no matter how tempting it was during the bouts where his faith felt oppressive and hollow.

“He should’ve gone to prison.”

“Prison was never going to reform someone like Bastian Cooper. He wasn’t going to stop.”

“Fine, maybe that’s true, but he would’ve spent the rest of his life in a cage-”

“Like Benjamin Poindexter?”

The jab felt like a punch to the gut and a blade against his throat all at once. His silence had you advancing closer, any lingering trace of your initial trepidation completely absent.

“He was supposed to spend his life in prison, right? And he broke out, what, twice? How many more people have died since then?”

Matt’s hands clenched into fists at his slides, the leather of his gloves creaking faintly in protest under the strain.

“There’s a system-”

“No, there’s a pattern. Everyone you try to take down, Bullseye, The Punisher, Kingpin, Muse, low level criminals, they all get right back up, and they hurt more people. It’s an endless cycle, and it doesn’t make a goddamn difference in the long run, so forgive me if I don’t buy into your hero bullshit.”

The verbal daggers you threw at him landed harshly, piercing through the armor of his suit with their verity. He didn’t have a retort, because he knew you weren’t wrong. His conscience echoed those same thoughts when the weight of his own failure and self loathing weighed on his soul. His defensiveness fizzled out into reluctant resignation that filled his lungs like smoke.

“Sounds like you’re more than a little jaded, Doc. Sounds like a loss of faith.”

A dry laugh that was void of humor escaped your mouth as you gestured loosely at him with your hand.

“You’re gonna preach to me about faith in a devil costume?”

Matt titled his head to the side, offering a dim version of his signature charming smile.

“Would you believe me if I told you I was a Catholic?"

Your eyelashes fluttered like hummingbird wings as you blinked a few times in surprise, looking him up and down once again, one of your brows arching in skepticism.

“I would certainly be thoroughly fucking confused.”

“It's a long story.”

“I guess that explains the no kill rule.”

“I have been tempted. More than once.”

That quiet admission hung in the space between you, and he caught the way his confession had the tension in your shoulders uncoiling gradually. It confirmed his theory that you responded to his honesty. Letting out a heavy breath, he decided to lay his soul bare in a last ditch effort to persuade you to help him.

“Look, I get it. Okay, I do. You think it’s not frustrating for me to believe I've done some good just to see all that effort turn to shit? To think I've saved people by getting someone locked up, just for them to get right back out and do even more damage? To feel like…everything I do means nothing, and real justice doesn’t even exist?”

That was the thing that haunted him more than anything else. That none of it mattered. That nothing he did made a difference. That everything he’d sacrificed, his flesh and his blood and his sweat, it was all in vain for something that wasn’t even real. 

“You know, I've lost my own faith before, Doc. Several times, actually. I've even considered hanging up the suit for good more than once because of it.”

Turning to lean back against the counter, you stretched your arms out to rest your palms on the surface of the countertop on either side of you, voicing your inquisition with genuine curiosity.

“Why haven’t you?”

Matt mirrored your action, leaning back against the kitchen island across from you, folding his arms over his chest loosely with a sigh and letting his head drop slightly.

“Because I can’t ignore any of it. I can’t lay in bed at night and hear people begging for help, knowing I can do something, and try to block it out instead. I can’t hear a news report about people being brutally murdered and mutilated and just…go on about my day, hoping the police and the feds do their jobs. And maybe you’re right. Maybe if…if I had acted sooner or done something differently with Bastian, those two people wouldn’t have almost died. I don’t know. I can’t go back and change that. But if this really is a Muse copycat, I don’t want them getting anywhere near his body count. I found Bastian the first time before the cops did. I can find this guy too. I just need your help, please.”

The seconds seemed to pass like molasses cascading down bark, and if you said no, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Matt was already running out of steam. He couldn’t keep throwing everything at this and keep his promise to Foggy and Karen at the same time. He needed a Hail Mary. He needed you.

When he heard your subtle sigh of surrender, it instantly loosened the tightness in his chest, his body seeming to vibrate once again with impatient restlessness. Rubbing your hands down your face tiredly, you shook your head even though you’d already made your decision. 

“If I get caught working with you, I could lose my job. I could get sued-”

And though you didn’t hear the answer, a peaceful smile still found your lips as you twisted around to turn on the water for a nice, long and relaxing shower to wash the day away.

But then, afterwards, when you wandered into yours and Bucky’s bedroom, a terrycloth robe hanging off your frame, you at first didn’t notice the several lit candles scattered about the space, as you instead just smiled as usual at your partner as you passed him on your way towards the closet.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Bucky’s fingers lightly fiddled with the colourful, beaded bracelet that had been glued around his wrist ever since your son had given it to him last week.

With your back turned to him as you went through the closet in search of a pyjama set for the night, you couldn’t help but casually babbled, “hey, what do you think about maybe trying out that new bakery around the corner this weekend?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, that sounds great,” he replied a bit too fast, before he then uttered, “hey, bun, could you maybe turn around? I’ve got something important to ask you.”

Twisting back around, “okay,” you murmured. Though when you waited for him to open his mouth again, that’s when you finally noticed, not only the sea of candles in the room, but also the quiet music humming in the background, “wait–,” your brows promptly knitted before he got the chance to speak, “is there music playing right now or is that coming from outside? And why are there so many candles lit? I–, baby, if you weren’t a firefighter, I’d be nervous.”

“Well, it’s got something to do with what I wanna ask you,” he uttered softly, only confusing you more, until he then shifted from his seat on the bed and sank down to kneel on the ground before you.

“What are you doing?” your eyes instantly grew wide as the pyjamas in your hand dropped to the floor.

“Getting down on one knee,” he stated gently once he’d propped his one leg up.

“Well, I can see that, but–…” you gasped, your palms drifting up to shield your agape mouth, “Bucky… are you–… are you proposing right now?”

“Something like that…” he smiled before he then grasped your hands in his own, “…so, I once met this girl at a Halloween party, all dressed up like an adorable rabbit…” he began, “…the kindest, wisest, most incredible person I’ve ever met… so, then I moved in with her, then I realised that I was mad for her, and yet it wasn’t till she got knocked up that I finally got my act together…” he recalled, making you grin even wider, “we haven’t exactly done things in the right order. Almost like we accidentally spilt every important step on the floor and couldn’t sort them back in the correct order again,” he chuckled briefly, “but if things hadn’t been topsy-turvy, then they might not have happened at all…” he squeezed your palms, “you, and this incredible life we’ve built together with our beautiful boy, makes me so unbelievably happy, happier than I ever thought possible… I love you, Y/n Y/l/n,” he professed, “I wanna spend the rest of my life loving you,” his fingers then let go of your grasp before they dove into one of his pockets to fish out a small velvet box, “so,” he opened it up to reveal a simple and beautifully understated ring inside, “will you marry me?”

“Well…” you stared down at the engagement ring, “it would be practical… for you to be my husband and not just my roommate anymore,” you couldn’t help but joke.

“Is that a yes?” he chuckled faintly as his eyes narrowed to a squint.

“Yes,” you giggled, nodding firmly as his eyes lit up, “yes, of course, I’ll marry you.”

Rising to his feet, you grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss as soon as he was within your reach. By the time that you finally peeled enough away from one another, it took Bucky a moment before he remembered the ring and then fumbled slightly as he slid it onto your finger.

Stealing one more kiss, you then chuckled breathlessly, “this is crazy… your timing? I don’t get it.”

“What? Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?” he smiled, both of your hands still clutching the sides of his face.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just–, well, I was kinda planning on talking to you about something else this week, something also kinda big.”

“Really?” he cocked a brow, “what?”

“Well…” your teeth momentarily caught your bottom lip, “do you remember how, a long time ago, you asked me a question, a different question, and I told you to ask me again in a couple of years?” you uttered slowly, “well, lately, I’ve kind of been thinking about that particular subject a lot, so, I was thinking that maybe you should ask me again…”

A hazy smile then flickered across his face, “…are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”

Nodding faintly, you then nervously asked him, “Bucky… do you wanna… have another baby with me?”

“Are you serious?” he exclaimed, his arms still tangled around your frame as you clutched each other close.

“Mhm,” you nodded, grinning back at him.

“Really?”

“I’ve thought about it a lot, for a long time, I mean, you know I’ve wanted to start a family with you since way before Otis was born,” you shared, “but I think–… I think I’d like another kid. I’d like Otis to have a sibling, to always have someone else on his side throughout the rest of his life, whatever it may bring, he won’t be alone, just like his little sibling wouldn’t be… and I know that we haven’t talked about it in a while, and maybe things have changed for you–”

“Oh, it hasn’t,” he puffed as passion blossomed in his doting gaze, “it very much hasn’t.”

“No?”

“Nah,” he grinned before he then stated, “let’s do it,” and let go of your frame to take a step back, “take that robe off,” he hastily nodded to the fabric around you as he began to strip as well.

“What?” you giggled as his layers gradually hit the floor, “right now?”

“Yeah, right now,” he then wrapped his arms back around you and drew you into an intimate embrace against his now bare frame, “you think I wanna wait a second longer before I make a baby with my incredible fiancé?”

“Well, it might not happen from just us trying once,” you tilted your head as he began to plant a few smoulderingly soft pecks along the side of your neck.

“I could always try this first go around to just fuck you so hard that it knocks you up…” he uttered against your skin, making you shiver, “but yeah, you’re right, how awful our new routine will be, us trying as often as we physically can, making a game out of it, going out, doing it in as many ways and places as we can come up with just to make it that much more exciting…” he dipped back up to nuzzle the tip of his nose against your own as you both grinned, “however will we survive such torture?”

The giggle that then billowed out past your lips was swiftly swallowed by his kiss. Catching the tie at your waist, he slowly tugged at the knot before peeling your bathrobe off completely, letting it fall to the floor.

Stumbling back, Bucky’s lips began to wander down your skin, though when he bumped into the bottom of the bed and sat down, his kisses roamed even further south.

Though when he neared your aching cunt, instead of offering it a peck, he let out a low growl before scooping you with him as he layed on back, hauling you up over him till he had you sitting on his face.

Denting your hips with his fingers, he peered up at you as he greedily grinded you down against his tongue.

“Fucking hell, Buck,” you gasped, your head tilting back in a whimper as he devoured you whole.

Hazily glancing over your shoulder, you spotted how one of his fists was tight around his fat girth, stroking himself lavishly as he groaned against your clit. Although, it didn’t take long before you were reaching back to give him a hand, both of your palms working together along his throbbing length.

And as you saw the new ring glinting on your finger as you tightened your grasp around Bucky’s thick cock, a smile swiftly blossomed on your features.

“Honey? Shit–,” you gasped as he soon sucked down on your clit hard enough to make you tremble, “if you keep going like that, I’m gonna–”

“You’re gonna what? Huh?” his cocky tone vibrated against your leaky cunt.

“But I–,” you whined as your eyes rolled in your skull, “stop–, I want your cock!”

“Oh yeah? You’re really that impatient?” his one palm offered your ass a swift tap before he gripped your hip tighter, stopping you from wiggling out of the position, “you wanna make a baby that bad that you can’t even let me make you cum once before you gotta have my dick fill you up to the brim?”

“Sorry,” you chuckled before he finally let you crawl down to straddle his hips instead of his face.

Though as you zealously sank down on his fat cock, his hands shot out to dent your ass and slow your descent down just a tad.

“Holy shit…” he groaned, his mouth agape as he felt the warmth of your cunt enveloped around his tip, “fuck…”

“What?” you panted down at him, planting your palms on his burly chest.

“No, I just–,” he exhaled foggily, “I haven’t fucked you raw since you were pregnant,” he pointed out as he glanced down to see how your juices steadily dripped down the remainder of his length, “you feel even better than I remember…”

Melting your upper body down against him, you eased further down on his cock as you then murmured, “well I still remember exactly how you feel without the shield of a condom…” your nose gently ghosted against his own as you shared his breath, “the way I swear I can make out every little vein on you when you make room for yourself inside of me…” you uttered airily, making him growl and tighten his grip on you, before he then slammed you down the rest of the way, plugging you up completely and making you let out a shrill gasp.

Bucky didn’t even give you the chance to start bouncing on his cock before he then began to buck up into you, setting a ruthless pace that made you purr. Claiming your lips once more in a sloppy kiss, your whimpers melted against his tongue.

And as you soon peeled yourself away from him and sat back up, the firefighter below you manoeuvred your body for you, fucking you like a fleshlight in his calloused grasp.

Reaching up to squeeze your tits, your fingers captured each of your nipples in a pinch as you glanced down to see Bucky’s forearms flex and ripple beneath your ass as he repeatedly lifted you up and down on his cock.

Though suddenly, just as you felt the edge grow dangerously near, it felt as if you only blinked before your world had been flipped upside down and Bucky had rolled you onto your back.

“I can feel you fucking squeezing down around me, bunny,” Bucky grunted as he sat back enough to glance down at, not only where your bodies met, but also where his huge cock bulged in your belly. His zealous thrusts buried him so deep that it didn’t just feel as if he was fucking your guts, but somehow reaching all the way up in your throat, “come on, let me feel it, baby. Cum for me,” he cooed before he then reached down to presumably rub your clit, but instead of granting your puffy pearl the attention it deserved, his touch instead pressed down on the thrusting imprint of himself in your lower stomach, making your eyes roll.

Your whole body trembled when you then tumbled over the edge, your pussy gushing all over his relentless girth.

“There you fucking go. Look at that pretty mess…” he grinned as you soaked the sheets and he kept on fucking you through it, “atta girl… fucking crying out on big dick…”

And though he eventually slowed down his pace to a gentle and lazy roll of his hips, he didn’t stop completely as he tried to draw you back from the depths of the oblivion he’d tossed you into.

Leaning down to smother your face with soft pecks, “god, I love you so much…” he whispered as he soon rolled you over till you were both lying on your sides.

Tangled up and facing each other, your forehead rested against his own as his pace soon shifted, though not into anything faster, but instead morphed into long, deep strokes, mind-meltingly slow as each time he bottomed out within you, a weak gasp was pulled from your lungs.

Reaching down to strum your sensitive clit, it didn’t take long before he made you orgasm once again, though after that earth-quaking high, you nearly felt drunk as you began to blubber, “please,” tears welling up in your eyes as he kept up his efforts.

“Please, what, bun?” his lips ghosted against your own, though he never actually kissed you.

“I-I want your cum,” your nails dug into his back, his muscles rippling beneath your touch as his hips continued to roll.

“Yeah?” he smirked as you let out a strangled moan, “you want me to fill you up, baby? You wanna make another kid?”

“Uh-huh,” you whimpered, your nose nudging against his own as you weakly nodded, “give it to me, every drop, please.”

“Well, since you’re literally begging,” he grinned before his bucks grew rougher, though it still didn’t take long before you felt his dick twitch within you and he let out a gravelly groan, “there you fucking go…”

Locking his lips with your own, he kissed you deeply as he somehow willed his hips not to stop, only slow their roll a tad as he fucked his hot load in deeper, not caring one bit about the faint hisses that slipped from his lungs as he determinedly kept on going.

“B-Buck–,” you hiccupped, small gasps bubbling in your throat each time the tip of his sensitive cock nudged against your cervix, as if he was trying to help push his seed through to the other side, “t-too much–”

“I know, baby, I know,” he groaned as his half-hard girth began to throb within you once more and regain its vigour, “but you can take it… we can’t stop now, right, bunny?” his palm drifted up to sweep some hair out of your face as he gazed back into your foggy eyes, “I gotta fill you up even more… gotta fuck a baby into you…” his hips punctuated his vow, making you lose your breath.

As he fucked his load out of you, the sticky mess mixed in with your own cream, creating sinful webs against your skin that kept your bodies connected even when his hips withdrew till barely any of his length remained within you. The ocean of his eyes remained locked upon your own, holding you captive as you felt yourself float away in the intensity of his gaze, prompting your quivering arms to cling around him even more fiercely as you clawed against his skin.

“So, I’m not fucking pulling out till I’ve done so…”

"You’ll live," you said, amused. You glanced at Matt, reaching out to fix the slightly crooked knot on his tie. "You should eat something before court."

"Not hungry," he replied, though he didn’t move away.

"You never are," you muttered, smoothing your hands over his lapels before stepping back. "Text me if you need anything."

Matt tilted his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "You say that like you won’t just show up unannounced."

"Don’t tempt me." You grabbed your coat, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "See you later."

"See you," Matt said, voice softer now.

You gave a quick wave to Foggy and Karen before heading for the door.

Foggy exhaled loudly as it closed behind you. "That was totally normal. Super normal. Just two friends being weirdly affectionate in front of their other friends."

Matt ignored him, reaching for his cane. "We’re close. That’s all."

Karen shot him a look. "You’re also full of shit."

Matt just smirked and walked out.

---

It was late by the time you made it to Matt’s apartment, balancing a takeout bag in one hand as you knocked. You didn’t have to wait long—there was the distinct sound of locks clicking before the door swung open.

"You didn’t text," Matt said, leaning against the doorframe.

"You didn’t either," you shot back, stepping inside without invitation. "So I figured you probably forgot to eat. Again."

Matt sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he closed the door behind you. "You don’t have to keep feeding me, you know."

"You don’t have to keep skipping meals, but here we are," you said, setting the takeout on the counter.

Matt chuckled, walking over to the couch and sinking into it. "How was work?"

"Same as always. How was court?"

"Long," he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. "But we won."

"Then that calls for a celebration." You grabbed the food containers and joined him on the couch, handing him one.

Matt took it, his fingers brushing over yours briefly. "You really didn’t have to do this."

"Yeah, well, I was already out, and I know your fridge is probably empty."

Matt smirked. "You checked my fridge?"

You rolled your eyes. "Not today, but I have a pretty good guess. And considering you didn’t argue…"

He huffed out a quiet laugh. "Fine. You got me."

You both ate in comfortable silence, the familiar hum of the city filtering in through the window. When you were done, you leaned back against the couch, letting out a content sigh.

Matt shifted beside you, his arm resting along the back of the couch. It was second nature when you tucked yourself closer, your head resting against his shoulder.

"You tired?" he asked, voice low.

"Mm, a little," you admitted.

Matt's fingers absently played with the ends of your hair, a familiar and comforting habit.

"You could stay," he murmured.

"You always say that," you said, eyes closed.

"And you always do."

You huffed a soft laugh but didn’t argue.

---

The scent of coffee pulled you from sleep, warm and rich, mingling with the quiet sounds of the city outside. You cracked one eye open, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling before remembering—Matt’s apartment.

You stretched, groggy but comfortable, the sheets soft and warm around you. The space beside you was empty, but the dip in the mattress told you he hadn’t been gone long.

Dragging yourself up, you padded toward the kitchen, yawning as you leaned against the counter. Matt stood by the stove, pouring coffee like he had all the time in the world. He was still in the sweats and T-shirt he’d worn to bed, hair slightly messy, looking impossibly at ease.

"Didn’t wake you, did I?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"You and your super-hearing," you muttered, rubbing your eyes. "I would’ve kept sleeping if your coffee didn’t smell so damn good."

Matt smirked, reaching for a second mug. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

You grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging lightly as you stepped closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder. He huffed out a quiet laugh, free hand settling at your hip like it was second nature.

"Tired?"

"Mm. Your couch is comfy, but your bed is better."

"You say that like you weren’t the one who crawled in."

"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, peeling away just enough to steal his coffee and take a sip.

Matt didn’t even try to stop you. "I was going to give you your own."

"You’re too slow."

"Or maybe I just like it when you steal from me."

You smirked against the rim of the mug, not missing the way his hand lingered at your waist. Instead of calling him out, you took another sip and turned toward the fridge.

"Pretty sure you don’t have food in here," you said, opening the door.

"You’d be correct," Matt said, completely unbothered.

You sighed, grabbing one of his hoodies off the back of a chair and pulling it on over your sleep shirt. "Guess we’re getting breakfast, then."

Matt hummed, setting his mug down before reaching out, fingers brushing over the sleeve. "You know you keep stealing my clothes, right?"

"You gonna do something about it, Murdock?"

His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. "Not a thing."

You grinned, grabbing his cane and tossing it to him before heading for the door. "C’mon, Devil Boy. Breakfast is on me."

"Generous," Matt mused, following after you without hesitation. "Just don’t expect me to let you steal my coffee and my food."

You didn’t bother responding. He’d let you do both anyway.

---

You smoothed your hands down the fabric of your outfit, eyeing yourself in the mirror one last time. It wasn’t often that you got this dressed up—definitely not for work—but a Stark Industries gala demanded something a little more refined than your usual jeans and hoodie.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. When you opened it, Matt stood there, looking effortlessly put together in a sleek black suit. The tie was perfect, the hair just slightly tousled, and the way he carried himself made it impossible to tell that he wasn’t seeing any of it.

"You clean up nice, Murdock," you teased, grabbing your purse.

His lips quirked into a small smile. "You’re one to talk."

His voice had that subtle shift, the one that always came when he was taking you in—not with his eyes, but in the way only he could. He wasn’t just listening to your words; he was listening to the way your breath hitched slightly, the way your heartbeat quickened when he leaned in a fraction too close.

You cleared your throat, stepping back. "Ready?"

"Always," Matt said, offering his arm.

You rolled your eyes but took it anyway, his touch steady and warm as the two of you headed out.

---

The gala was exactly what you expected—sleek, extravagant, and filled with people who had more money than they knew what to do with. The chatter was loud, glasses clinking as servers weaved through the crowd with trays of expensive champagne.

Matt stuck close to your side, his fingers lightly grazing your arm as the two of you maneuvered through the room. It wasn’t like he needed to be guided, but the contact was easy, familiar.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" he murmured near your ear.

"Because I asked nicely," you replied, plucking two glasses from a passing tray and handing him one.

"Mm. That must’ve been it."

You huffed a quiet laugh, taking a sip. The atmosphere was buzzing, but Matt seemed relaxed—more than you expected.

"Surprised you’re handling this so well," you admitted. "Figured the noise would drive you insane."

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. "I’m filtering most of it out. But you—" He shifted just a little closer, lowering his voice. "You’re easy to focus on."

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. He did not just say that with a straight face.

Before you could come up with a decent response, someone approached—one of your higher-ups at Stark Industries. You smiled, exchanging pleasantries, introducing Matt with an easy, "This is my friend, Matt Murdock."

Your boss smiled politely before turning to Matt. "It’s great to meet you. And what do you do?"

Matt’s lips twitched like he was holding back amusement. "I’m a lawyer."

"Ah, an honest profession," your boss said, clearly impressed. "And you’re here as—?"

"Her date," Matt said smoothly, with absolutely no hesitation.

Your brain short-circuited for half a second. Your boss nodded approvingly before launching into some talk about Stark’s latest legal team, but you barely heard a word of it.

Matt, meanwhile, looked completely unfazed. Like he hadn’t just said something that made your stomach flip.

The conversation wrapped up, and as soon as your boss was out of earshot, you leaned in slightly, keeping your voice low.

"Date?"

Matt just smiled, lifting his glass. "Figured that was easier than explaining whatever this is."

You squinted at him, but he only took a sip of his drink, calm as ever.

Damn him.

---

At some point in the night, the gala turned into something more social—music playing, people moving toward the open dance floor. You weren’t much of a dancer, but Matt, of course, looked completely at ease, even without seeing the way people moved around him.

"You’re staring," Matt said suddenly, lips quirking.

You scoffed. "I am not."

"You are," he countered, setting his empty glass down. Then, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, he extended a hand. "Dance with me?"

You blinked. "You hate dancing."

"That’s not true."

"You avoid dancing."

Matt smirked. "And yet, I’m asking you."

You hesitated for half a second before sighing, setting your glass down and placing your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm as he pulled you toward the floor.

His other hand settled at your waist, light but certain. Yours rested against his shoulder, and for a moment, the world shrunk to just the two of you, the music humming around you as Matt led with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible.

"You’ve done this before," you murmured, impressed despite yourself.

"Few times," Matt admitted. "But this is the first time I’ve actually enjoyed it."

Your breath hitched, heart stuttering before you could stop it. And from the way his lips twitched, you knew he caught it.

"You’re doing that on purpose," you muttered.

"Doing what?"

"This. Being all—" You gestured vaguely.

Matt just smiled, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "Maybe."

You narrowed your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you let yourself relax into him, your fingers idly tracing the fabric of his suit as the two of you swayed.

It didn’t feel friendly. It didn’t feel like some casual thing you could brush off. It felt like something else, something real, something you weren’t sure you were ready to name just yet.

And from the way Matt held you—careful, close, like he knew exactly what this was—he knew it, too.

---

It had been a few days since the gala, and life carried on as usual—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You pushed open the door to Nelson, Murdock & Page, a takeout bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. The office was quiet, save for the sound of Foggy typing furiously at his keyboard and Karen flipping through a stack of papers at her desk.

"Tell me you guys have eaten," you said, setting the bag down with a thud.

Karen looked up first, lips twitching. "We have now."

Foggy groaned in relief, already reaching for the food. "You’re a lifesaver. Matt’s in his office, by the way."

You hummed in acknowledgment, grabbing the coffee before heading toward the glass-paneled room at the back. The door was slightly open, and Matt was exactly where you expected—leaning back in his chair, fingers pressed against his temple like he was nursing a headache.

"You look like hell," you said, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.

Matt’s lips quirked at the sound of your voice. "And yet, you still bring me coffee."

"Because I’m nice," you teased, setting it in front of him.

Matt reached for the cup, fingers brushing yours in the process. You ignored the way your pulse jumped at the contact, shifting to sit on the edge of his desk.

"You should eat, too," you said. "I brought—"

"You didn’t have to do that," Matt murmured, cutting you off.

You rolled your eyes. "You say that every time, and yet here I am, making sure you don’t keel over from malnutrition."

Matt exhaled a quiet laugh, fingers curling around the coffee cup. "I appreciate it."

"You better."

There was a pause. The usual kind, the kind that never used to feel weighted—except, lately, it did.

Matt turned his head slightly, like he was studying you in that way he always did. "You okay?"

The question caught you off guard. "Me? You’re the one who looks like he’s been through hell and back."

Matt huffed. "Occupational hazard."

You folded your arms, watching him for a moment. His tie was slightly loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and there was the faintest shadow of exhaustion under his eyes. The usual signs of Matt Murdock burning the candle at both ends.

You reached out without thinking, adjusting the knot of his tie like you had at the gala. He stayed perfectly still, letting you.

"You really need to take better care of yourself," you muttered, smoothing out the fabric before pulling back.

Matt caught your wrist before you could move too far, his thumb brushing over the inside of it—absent, thoughtless, but lingering.

"You do that enough for the both of us," he murmured.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it. His lips twitched.

Damn him.

You pulled your wrist free, shaking your head. "Eat your food, Murdock."

Matt smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing. "Yes, ma’am."

---

A knock at your door this late was never a good sign.

You barely had time to process it before a second, weaker knock followed. Frowning, you unlocked the door and swung it open—only for Matt to nearly collapse against the frame.

"Jesus, Matt—" You grabbed his arm, steadying him as he exhaled sharply. His suit was torn in places, blood staining the red fabric, his lip split, and a nasty bruise was already forming along his jaw.

"You gonna let me in, or…?" His voice was rough, strained, but still laced with that familiar teasing edge.

You didn’t answer, just hooked an arm under his and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut behind you. Without hesitation, you grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet and shoved him down onto the couch.

Matt let out a quiet grunt as he sat, shifting carefully. "You don’t have to—"

"Shut up." You dropped to your knees in front of him, flipping the kit open. "Take off the suit."

"You don’t waste time, do you?"

"Matt."

"Alright, alright," he muttered, wincing as he pulled the top half of the suit down, exposing bruised ribs and a gash along his side. He also took off his helmet.

You inhaled sharply but said nothing. This wasn’t new—you’d patched him up more times than you could count. But something about tonight felt different.

The room was quiet as you worked, disinfecting the wound, pressing gauze to the worst of it. Your hands lingered, fingertips brushing over the edge of a bruise, tracing the uneven rise and fall of his breath.

Matt didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it, just slightly.

"You’re mad at me," he murmured.

You scoffed, pressing the bandage to his ribs a little harder than necessary. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"Of course I’m mad, Matt," you snapped, voice low but edged with frustration. "You show up at my door looking like this, you don’t tell me where you were or how bad it was—do you even think about what it’s like for me? Sitting here, waiting for you to—"

Matt cut you off the only way he knew how.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t questioning. It was firm, certain—like he’d already decided long before this moment that it was inevitable.

Your breath caught, but you didn’t pull away. His hands found your face, fingers ghosting along your jaw, mapping you out the way only he could.

You exhaled against his lips, your own hands grabbing onto his bare shoulders, nails pressing just slightly into his skin, but Matt didn’t pull away. If anything, he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding from your jaw to the nape of your neck. His fingers tangled in your hair, his touch light, careful—like he wasn’t sure how much he could take before you stopped him.

You didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him back, frustration melting into something else entirely. The heat of it, the way he breathed against your lips like he needed this just as badly as you did—it sent your heart hammering in your chest.

Finally, you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, forehead brushing against his.

"Matt," you whispered, voice unsteady.

His hands stayed where they were, fingertips still curled against the base of your neck. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice low, rough. "And I will."

You exhaled, fingers flexing against his skin. "I don’t want you to stop," you admitted.

Matt’s breath hitched. You felt it more than you heard it—the way his chest rose sharply beneath your hands, the way his grip on you tightened like he was committing this moment to memory.

Then, as quickly as it started, his lips were on yours again—slower this time, deliberate.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, caught up in him, but when you finally pulled away, Matt’s hands lingered, his thumbs brushing over your skin like he was still grounding himself.

"You’re still hurt," you murmured, running a hand over his ribs, where fresh gauze was now taped in place.

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head. "You’re the one distracting me."

"You kissed me, Murdock."

"Mm. And you kissed me back."

You huffed, rolling your eyes, but you didn’t move away. "You need rest."

Matt hummed, not agreeing but not arguing either. His hands finally dropped from your face, settling instead at your waist, like letting go completely wasn’t an option.

"You staying?" he asked, voice softer now.

“Yeah. Afterall, you are in my apartment.”

Matt let out a quiet hum, his hands still resting at your waist, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your shirt. He wasn’t letting go, and you weren’t pulling away.

"You’re on the floor," he murmured.

"Yeah, no shit," you said, raising a brow.

His lips quirked. "Come up here."

You hesitated, but only for a second before shifting, moving to sit beside him on the couch. Matt adjusted just enough to make room, one arm draping along the back of the cushions. His other hand found your knee, thumb brushing absentmindedly against it.

"You’re ridiculous," you muttered, leaning your head back against the couch.

"How so?"

"You come here half-dead, I patch you up, and then instead of resting, you start—" You gestured vaguely between the two of you.

"Kissing you?" Matt supplied, smirking.

You shot him a look. "Distracting me."

Matt exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting his head in that way he always did when he was focused on you, listening. "Do you regret it?"

The question made your breath catch, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you reached over, your fingers trailing along the edge of his jaw, ghosting over the bruise forming there. Matt didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned into your touch.

"No," you admitted softly.

His grip on your knee tightened just slightly. "Good."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "You do need rest, though."

Matt hummed, clearly not in a hurry to move. His fingers slid up, resting lightly against the curve of your hip. "Stay?"

You exhaled, shaking your head. "Matt, I live here."

"Right. Convenient." He smirked, thumb brushing against your skin.

You huffed, shifting to lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. He didn’t hesitate, his arm slipping around you like it was second nature.

For a while, neither of you spoke. His breathing was steady, the warmth of him grounding, familiar. You could feel the tension in his muscles start to ease, his body finally giving in to exhaustion.

"You’re not going out again tonight, right?" you asked, voice low.

Matt didn’t answer right away, which was already an answer.

"Matt."

"I won’t," he murmured.

"You better not." You tightened your grip on his arm, just slightly. "Or I’m locking you in here next time."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle. "Terrifying."

"Damn right," you mumbled, letting your eyes slip shut.

He didn’t say anything else, just pulled you closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.

And for once, Matt actually stayed still.

i had a lot of fun writing this - the idea of falling in love with your best friend is just so cute! (curses to my childhood self for not having a male best friend to fall in love with😭)

it may be slightly unclear but reader is an engineer at stark industries!

“I should really swing by the station tomorrow, thank Tony in person,” you uttered, glancing a moment at the firefighter on the other end of the couch, as the gift had simply been something that’d been sent home with him, “oh, wait, it’s Wednesday tomorrow…” it suddenly hit you, tearing you out of the blissful bubble of handed down baby clothes, “fuck, I forgot…”

“What?”

“Freaking baby brain…” you muttered to yourself a moment longer.

“What is it?” Bucky continued to push, “wait, it’s not a doctor’s appointment I forgot about, is it?”

“No, no, it’s just–, urgh…” you let out a groan, “I have that PTA meeting tomorrow…”

“Oh,” his tensing shoulders promptly dropped back down.

“No, don’t sound relieved, I completely forgot that I was gearing up to go to a battlefield,” you huffed, “and–, oh my god… Will’s dad is gonna be there…” you remembered, though as you saw Bucky’s expression hastily harden, you swiftly seized his hand as you offered him further context, “it’s okay, he’s okay, he’s just gross. It’s fine, I’ve been a teacher for a hot minute, I’ve learned how to handle the creepy dads… it’s fine, it’s nothing, I have the patience of a saint, I can handle it…” you half tried to give yourself a pep talk, “thank fuck I'm going on maternity leave in a bit…”

Raising the back of your palm up to his lips, your roommate then reminded you, “just a few more weeks.”

WEEK 30

“Oh, congratulations!” you pulled Steve’s towering frame into a hug.

“Thanks, Y/n,” he smiled into the crown of your head as he momentarily patted your back.

“Wow…” you withdrew slightly to gaze up at him, “…Captain Rogers of station twenty-three… has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah, it’ll take some getting used to,” he chuckled faintly.

“I’m so proud of you, buddy,” you held onto him a moment longer, letting your touch rub down his arm, “you really deserve this, truly.”

“Thank you,” he pulled you into a brief embrace again, “now all we need is to find someone to fill up the lieutenant spot that conveniently just opened up,” he uttered as you parted ways, “any chance you could join our forces and help convince Buck to take it?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” you winked before you then asked, “by the way, do you know where he is?”

“Yeah, I think he’s still up in the gym.”

In fact, he turned out to be the only one in there.

You were gonna announce your presence, but instead, you just froze in the doorway, unable to speak as you drooled at the sight before you. Sweat glistening upon his rippling muscles, veins bulged beneath his skin as he did some bench presses, sinful sounds flowing from his lips each time he pushed the bar up.

But then, when he finally finished his rep, he spotted you standing in the threshold and promptly snapped you out of your horny hypnotised state, “oh, hi, babe! When did you get here?”

“Huh?” you blinked, mouth still agape.

“I asked how long you’ve been here,” he slowly sat back up on the bench, “did you just come over because you remembered it was my day to cook?”

“Is it your day to cock–, I mean, cook! Cook some big, fat, beefy meat–, I–, fuck…” you panted your way through your stumbled words, “…I hate you… I swear, if I wasn’t already pregnant…” you murmured with a sigh as the firefighter only smirked as he got up and took a sip from his water bottle, “you’re killing me, you know that, right?”

“Oh yeah?” he cocked his head teasingly, “what am I doing?”

“Stop,” you swiftly shut your eyes to try and contain yourself and your raging hormones, “you’re at work…” you whispered before he then crossed the room and leaned in to kiss you, “mmhm…” you whined against his lips, “Bucky, please… this is so not fair…”

But instead of listening to your desperate plea, he instead grabbed your hand and tugged you along with him. It was a blur of shuffling feet and stolen pecks, but at the end, he backed you into the room that housed all of the firefighters’ turnout gear.

“What are you doing?” you giggled as he swiftly lifted you up to sit on the sturdy table right beside where a bunch of rolled hoses were lined up.

“Giving your cute, pregnant feet a break,” he chuckled as he began to kiss down the side of your neck, “what–, would you rather keep standing?”

“But–, someone could walk in!”

Slowing down, he took a second to ponder, “…hmm…you’re right,” before he then sprinted back to the door, twisted the lock, and then return, “now, where were we?” he slotted himself in between your thighs, gathering up the skirt of your dress slightly in the process as he made room for himself, “oh, right, I think it was somewhere around here,” he then picked back up his peppered pecks, though this time began his dance at your mouth.

Curling your fingers in his sweaty shirt, you stretched out the cotton as the pair of you make out.

“I gotta be honest,” he murmured in between kisses as he felt you up, “I’ve kind of always wanted to fuck in here,” he admitted, “or well, it didn’t have to be in this room specifically, but, you know.”

“Of course you have,” you chuckled, playfully slutshaming him with your tone.

“So,” he nudged his nose against your own, “thank you for making my dream come true…”

And as a smile began to grow on your lip, you asked, “…so, what happens next in your dream?” before he only smirked back at you, tongue flickering out to wet his bottom lip. Holding your eye, he then sank down to his knees before you, causing you to giggle as you began to pick up on his intentions, “oh my god, really?”

“You’re damn right,” he uttered huskily as his touch found your knees, “now spread those legs, mama,” except, he didn’t really wait for you to shift before he cracked you open himself.

Though you couldn’t really see him as he pushed up your dress and began to smother your inner thigh with kisses on a steady incline, you didn’t mind too much as your eyes swiftly fluttered shut. When he reached your drenched panties, he first planted a smouldering peck over the soaked patch that decorated them, offering your covered clit a playful lick, before he then tugged the cotton out of the way.

Trapping your underwear with a hooked finger off to the side, “fucking hell,” he groaned as his stare made your pussy clench around nothing, “yes, baby…” he then let himself dive straight in.

Tracing your slit with his flat tongue, he soon lapped you up as if your cunt was a melting ice cream cone, his nose nudging insistently against your sensitive pearl as he savoured your nectar.

Barely drawing back, Bucky then spat on your already glistening petals before he tilted back in with a growl, his voice vibrating against your puffy clit as he sucked down on it.

One of his hands soon stretched up towards your boobs, sliding up your frame till he cupped the swell of your tit. As he pinched your pebbly nipple through your clothing, his efforts flicked further south before he began to fuck you with his tongue.

When the thumb of the hand which was keeping your panties prisoner stretched out to strum your buzzing clit, your own palm soared over to grab your other boob, mimicking the hold he had on you as your thighs began to quiver around the firefighter’s skull.

Tumbling over the edge, your palm flew up to cover your mouth and muffle the cry that crawled out of your lungs. And though your frame trembled upon the table, Bucky still persisted as he let his tongue ride you through your high.

When you were but a quiver, the firefighter finally stopped bullying your poor pussy and began to kiss his way back up your body. His mouth danced over the curve of your belly, over your heaving chest, around your collarbone and up your neck and jaw, gradually bringing you back to life, till his lips finally found your own again.

And as you tasted yourself on his tongue, you first reached down to palm him through his workout shorts, before your hand desperately buried itself under the waistband to feel his hardness directly against your skin.

He groaned against your lips as you began to stroke his fat girth, his hips blissfully rocking into your efforts, before the unthinkable then happened, causing you both to freeze up like statues, your fingers still wrapped around his throbbing cock.

“Fucking shit,” Bucky cursed at the deafening alarm that suddenly bleared out throughout the station.

“Is that–”

“Yeah…” he answered you with a groan. Resting his forehead against your own a moment, he mourned the loss before he found the strength to tear himself away from you.

“So, you gotta–”

“Mhm,” he lingered in your warmth a second longer before then letting out a heavy sigh and conjuring the strength to pull your hand out of his shorts. Sucking in a deep breath to centre himself and cool back down, he then exhaled slowly, “alright…” before helping you down off of the table, your legs still too akin to jello.

But just before his feet kicked into a run, you caught the fabric of his shirt and pulled him in close to steal one last kiss, lingering just a second longer before you uttered, “good luck,” and let him go.

“Thanks,” he flashed you a bittersweet smile before bolting off.

“Be safe!” you yelled after him as the door slammed behind him.

WEEK 33

“I know I’m not the father, I know that…”

Blinking back at him as he held his gaze averted, you then uttered slowly, “… Bucky…do you wanna be his father?”

Meeting your eye, he then let out a long exhale before murmuring, “are you serious?”

“Do you?” you asked again as he hadn’t offered you an answer.

Twisting his neck to glance off to the side, he stated, “…to be honest…I kinda already feel like I am…” he shared, “and I know that I’m not,” his eyes briefly squeezed shut at his words, “biologically I have nothing to do with him, but–”

“But any man can become a father, but that doesn’t make them a dad, it just makes them a little poke in the creation of a new human being…” you uttered, “do you wanna do this?” you tilted your head gently, “do you wanna be his dad?”

“Do you want me to be his dad?” he shot right back.

“Bucky…” you breathed as you gazed back at him, “…you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to do that with,” you professed, “if I had the power to somehow go back and make you the one who knocked me up, then I would do it in a heartbeat.”

“Well…” brows floating up, he blinked smugly at how flattering your honied words were, “there’s always next time.”

“One is plenty,” you chuckled as you swiftly blocked his attempt at swooping in.

“Hm…” he playfully squinted, “you sure?”

Letting yourself truly ponder it for a good minute, you soon murmured, “…ask me again in a few years…”

Smirking as if he was already fantasising about what it would be like to plant his seed so deep inside of you that you wouldn’t just get knocked up with one kid, but multiple, he then purred, “I’ll start counting down the seconds…”

WEEK 37

It was bittersweet when you eventually went on maternity leave.

Though you couldn’t help but shed a few tears at the reality that you wouldn’t stay with your class for the rest of the school year, you were still exhausted as well as incredibly excited about the time you now got to spend prepping for your darling baby boy to arrive.

To which you really did.

If nesting was an Olympic sport, then you’d win a gold medal.

Back many years ago, when you had moved into an apartment with a guy that you had a horribly huge crush on, the impulsive choice you’d made to paint your then bedroom pastel blue turned out to not be the mistake you often questioned it to be whenever you stayed up too late, unable to fall asleep, staring at the soft shade till your eyes crossed. With the wooden crib in there and the tall window that flooded the small room with light, the calming tone on the walls made for the perfect backdrop for a nursery. 

The folks at the fire station even pitched in where they could, and even found an area that you yourself had completely blanked on, dropping off prepared meals, enough to stock up your freezer for the first month of your child’s life, letting you soak in the bliss of bonding with your new baby instead of stressing away in the kitchen, only to end up burning down the apartment because of how sleep deprived you’d surely be.

And though you tried to finally land on a name now that your pregnancy drew to an end, that task turned out to be the most difficult of them all, especially since your favourite decided to change every single day, effectively giving your poor roommate whiplash.

WEEK 39

“Hey, mama,” Carol smiled as you waddled into the fire station, “you look like you’re about to pop.”

“Any day now…” your palm traced the edge of the front desk to aid your balance.

“You looking for Bucky?”

“Nope,” you shook your head and kept your answer brief as your feet kept on steadily shifting, “shower.”

“What?” Thor cocked a brow as he strolled by, interjecting your b-line towards the bathroom.

“The water is out at the apartment and I can’t–, look!” you snapped as you grew impatient, focusing too hard on your breathing to explain yourself, “I’ve been having Braxton hicks the entire afternoon, and the other times that I’ve gotten them, hopping in the shower really helped, so I know that it’s not really protocol to have civilians do this, but can I please just borrow your shower?”

“Yep, alright,” Thor swiftly squeaked, his eyes growing wide as no one in their right mind would dare to piss off a pregnant lady, “you need help finding some towels or something?”

“No, I know where they are,” you called over your shoulder as you kept on waddling.

Though when you hopped in the shower, the false labour pains didn’t go away like usual. In fact, they kind of got worse, no matter how long you stayed in there.

By the time that you were sitting on the cool floor against the back wall, breathing deeply with the showerhead clutched in one hand and lazily spraying your chest, a soft knock sounded at the door.

“Hm?” you kept your eyes shut.

“Bunny? It’s me,” Bucky gently called through the door, “heard you were in here,” a sense of caution seeped through his tone, “is it okay if I come in?”

“Mhm,” you still only hummed, focusing instead on breathing through the pain.

You didn’t blink your eyes back open till the door had creaked open and his footsteps had stopped. Squinting back at him as he now crouched before you on the other side of the shower, “hi, baby,” he uttered gently when your hazy eyes found his.

“Hmm…”

“How are you doing, huh?” his concerned glance scanned your form.

“Okay,” you murmured as your eyes fought to stay open, “it’s just those damn Braxton hicks… man, they’re really horrible today…”

“How long have you had them?”

“I don’t know…” you tried to retrace your steps, “started at some point before lunch… actually, do you have any snacks around? I’m starving…”

“We–, uh,” his eyes swiftly grew with worry at that new detail, “w-we have, yeah, but, baby–,” you felt his touch gently ghost over the top of your foot, pleading you to meet his gaze as he then uttered, “listen, would you mind if I went and grabbed Wanda?” he tried his best to keep his tone as calm as he could manage, “just to make sure that everything is alright.”

“Sure,” you breathed, too exhausted to think too much about the fact that you were currently stark naked.

“Alright, I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere!”

“Mhm,” you simply hummed after him as he zoomed out of the room.

In the short span of time that he was gone, perhaps it was because his presence had distracted and shifted you out of your zone, snapping you out of your trance, fighting stubbornly through the discomfort, but you suddenly began to notice a different kind of pain, not just the cramps that you had endured all day, but something else, something deeper, a pressure down low that kicked things up a notch.

“Alright, we’re coming in again,” Bucky announced before he and one of the station’s paramedics entered the bathroom.

“Hey, Y/n,” Wanda flashed you a soft smile as she kneeled down before you, not caring about the water she got splashed with as she sat down a large first aid bag nearby, “you mind if I do a little exam on you?”

“Go right ahead,” you exhaled and tilted your head back against the cold tile as one of them shut off the water.

During her exam, when she glanced down at her watch to time your Braxton hicks, she promptly paused before uttering, “huh… uh, Y/n?” she squinted up at you, “do you think perhaps your water broke today?” she asked gently, “because you might not have noticed, it’s not always as dramatic as they make it out to be in the movies like it’s some waterfall.”

“Uh…” you furrowed your brows as you thought, “I don’t know… I’ve been here in the shower for, I don’t even know how long.”

“Alright,” she swiftly shot Bucky a look before she said, “well, then I know what’s going on. You’re definitely in labour.”

“What?” you blinked back at her, “no. That can’t be.”

“Wait, really? Now? It’s happening now?” Bucky nearly began to run around like a headless chicken.

“Yep, so we better get you up and into our nice little ambulance right downstairs,” Wanda stated before she and Bucky grabbed each of your arms.

Though as they began to try and help you up, you swiftly yelled, “wait! No! Stop!” your eyes as wide as saucers, “I-I can’t move!” everything suddenly became all too real as something deep within you, some primal instinct, screamed out.

“No, it’s alright, we’ve got you,” Bucky uttered reassuringly as he tightened his grip around your arm.

“No, I mean it,” you stated firmly before you locked eyes with him, “I’m not fucking moving.”

“Oh…” he exhaled slowly, “but, honey… you made me promise to take you to the hospital, that’s where you wanna do this, right?” he sank down to kneel right beside you, “so let’s go, it’s time.”

“I know, I know, but I-I can’t move, I–, no, no, no,” you panted as you cast a glance down at your stomach, “I can feel it, I can feel it,” you gutturally uttered as you clutched a hand to your belly, “it’s happening, he’s coming now.”

Jake’s eyes snap up to your face, wide now. He’s still holding his nose, blood trickling down his cheek, still lying on the sticky hardwood floor. 

“Shit, Hangman, are you—” Mickey stops dead when his gaze lands on you, lips curving into that bright, boyish smile. “Oh. Hi.” 

You tip your head, smirking. “Hi.” Then you nod down at Jake. “This belong to you?” 

“I don’t belong to anyone,” Jake mutters, reaching a hand up for help. 

Javy appears beside Mickey and grabs Jake’s hand, hauling him up so fast his head spins and he has to steady himself with a hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

“You alright, Seresin?” 

Jake whips around too fast, making his head throb—but the pain is nothing compared to the confusion. 

How the hell do you know his name? 

“Wow,” you mutter, eyeing his service khakis up and down. “Military suits you.” 

He drops his chin to his chest and spots his name badge, then glances back up with a smirk beneath his still-bleeding nose. “Nice trick.” 

You lift a brow. “Trick?” 

“My name badge.” 

You tilt your head. “You really don’t remember me, do you?” Your eyes narrow, lips curling into an amused grin. “Jake.” 

His eyes widen and his hand drops from his face, a fresh drop of blood dripping onto his upper lip. 

Something about you is familiar, he can’t deny. Your smirk, the little sparkle in your eye, the way you say his name. You know him—that’s for sure. But does he know you? 

His first thought—fear, really—is that you’re a bitter one-night stand he never called back. But usually those women have slapped him by now. And he’s been good lately—he hasn’t broken a heart in at least a year. He’s turned a new leaf. He’s the new and improved, sensitive, understanding Jake Seresin now. 

So why can’t he remember you? 

Then his eyes drop to the boots—your boots. The ones you begged your parents for as a graduation present. The ones you wore everywhere from the day you got them. The ones that sat beside his bed that night—the night you both crossed the line. 

“Holy shit,” he mutters. “I—It’s you. I mean, you’re—oh my God, you’ve changed—you—you’re really—holy shit.” 

You bite your lip, cheeks flushing pink—and that’s when Jake really recognises you. Because he knows what you look like when you blush. God knows he made you blush enough growing up. 

But holy shit, have you changed. No more awkward acne, no more uneasy smile, no more terrible haircut. You stand taller now, more confident, like you finally know exactly who you are. It’s magnetic. Jake can’t look away—and neither can anyone else. 

“Come on,” you giggle softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

You grab his arm, nod at his friends, and start dragging him toward the bar. He doesn’t even spare Javy or Mickey a glance—because he can’t stop looking at you. The curve of your neck, the slope of your shoulder, the way your fingers fit so perfectly around his wrist. 

He knows you. Knows everything about you. He once mapped every inch of your skin with his mouth. You’re familiar to him, but somehow—right now—completely different. 

“You’ve changed,” he says again. 

You stop at the bar and shove him toward a stool, ignoring the comment as you turn to face Penny. “Could I get some ice, please? And—” 

Penny drops a box of tissues on the bar with a small smile before turning to fetch the ice. 

“Didn’t think it was proper for naval officers to get into bar fights,” you say, handing him a wad of tissues. 

He presses them beneath his nose, wincing. “I was trying to deescalate the situation.” 

You snort. “Oh, really? And how’d that work out for you?” 

He tries to smirk beneath the clump of bloody tissues. “Well, now I’m being taken care of by a pretty girl, so you tell me.” 

Your brows lift. “Wow. No preamble, just straight into it, huh?” 

He tips his head back, feeling another drop of blood slide down his nose. “Does there need to be preamble between two friends who’ve known each other for literal decades?” 

“When they haven’t seen each other for one of those literal decades? Yes,” you say, before softly thanking Penny as she hands over a towel full of ice. 

“That’s a lie, I saw you on a video call two Christmases ago.” 

You huff a short laugh and step closer, sliding between his knees, one hand cupping the back of his head. 

So much for preamble, he thinks—before scrambling to think of the grossest things he can imagine. Because you’re too pretty, too close. You smell too good, and you’re too you. It’s dangerous for you to be standing between his legs right now. Or at all. 

Even if you are just trying to play nurse. 

Oh, God. Now he’s picturing you in a skimpy nurse costume. 

“Have you stopped bleeding?” you ask, urging his head forward again. 

He slowly pulls the tissues away, eyes locked on yours. He’s been closer to you before—obviously—but not in years. Ten years, to be exact. Sure, there have been the occasional calls, texts, and family video chats. But he hasn’t seen you. Not in person. Not like this. 

Not since he broke your heart. 

“I think you’re good, cowboy,” you murmur, pressing the makeshift icepack into his hand. 

Jake lifts it slowly to his nose, hesitating when you hold your hand out for the bloody tissues. The way you arch your brows is impatient, though, and he caves—dropping them into your palm. You scrunch them into a ball and head toward the back of the bar. He watches you disappear into the women’s bathroom, then reappear a minute later and make your way back to him. All the while his heart is thumping too hard and he’s still trying to reroute his blood flow. 

“So, Seresin,” you say, sliding onto the stool beside him. “What’s it like being an American hero?” 

He chuckles. “I don’t know about hero.” 

You roll your eyes. “Please. Your mom hasn’t stopped bragging about you since you graduated the academy.” 

“Of course she hasn’t,” he sighs, trying to ignore the heat creeping into his cheeks. 

“Come on, then,” you press. “What’s it like?” 

He takes a slow breath and sets the icepack in his lap. “It’s good,” he mutters, green eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Hard work, but… fulfilling. I love it.” 

Your lips twitch as if you’re trying to bite back a smile. “And those other men in khakis—you work with them?” 

“Yeah,” Jake nods, swivelling slightly to glance at his friends across the bar. “And the rest of ‘em over there, pretending they’re not staring right at you.” 

You laugh softly. “So you’re all pretty close, then?” 

Jake huffs. “Almost too close.” He turns back to you, and—for some stupid reason—it feels like he can breathe again. Like looking at you is all he’s ever needed to really feel alive. He clears his throat. “We make up an elite mission unit.” 

Your brows lift. “So you’re like… a top-secret government spy?”  

“More like a top-secret government pilot.”  

“Wow,” you laugh again—but there’s a little bite in it this time. “That must work fantastically for getting you laid. Or—sorry, should I not assume? Is there a Mrs. Seresin I haven’t heard about?” 

Jake hesitates, narrowing his eyes. “Are you trying to figure out if I’m single?” 

The faintest shade of pink creeps into your cheeks. “I’m not trying to figure out anything,” you say, squaring your shoulders. “I’m asking.” 

The confidence in your voice isn’t forced. You know exactly what you’re asking—no hesitation—and it’s just another reminder of how you’ve changed. Not completely, but enough to make Jake feel like he’s the one playing catch up. 

So he does what he always does when he feels a little off-balance—he smirks. His head tilts just enough to catch the light in his eyes, and one brow lifts, deliberate, as though he’s daring you to rise to the bait. His gaze lingers a fraction too long, and when his jaw ticks, the smirk tugs wider—lazy, practiced, dangerous. 

“I’m single,” he says, his voice lower now. 

You hesitate. Jake can almost swear you’ve stopped breathing. Your eyes are locked on his face, your cheeks slowly getting redder by the second. 

After a beat—a very smug, loaded beat—he asks, “And you?” 

You blink, a small frown pulling between your brows. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.” 

“That so?” Jake leans back a little, studying you. “So I can’t ask why you’re here in North Island?” 

Your frown deepens. “You don’t know?” 

“I’m supposed to know?” 

You shrug. “I just figured my mom would’ve told your mom and—well, she would’ve told you.” 

Jake’s smirk slips, eyes narrowing as he thinks back to his last phone call with his mother. It was only a week ago—and her voice had sounded a little smug. A little secretive. Bubbling with something she clearly wasn’t saying. Something he should’ve caught. 

“Actually,” he says slowly, “now that you mention it, she was kind of giggly on our last call.” 

“Oh.” You nod once, lips twitching. “So she wanted it to be a surprise.” 

Jake chuckles under his breath. “Well... it was.” 

You let out a quick half-laugh, but your eyes flick past him, fixing on a safe spot in the corner of the room. He notices. Of course he notices. Because every time your shoulders start to ease, you look away—like you’re reminding yourself to stay guarded. To keep the mask in place. And that hits harder than he’d like to admit. 

“So.” He clears his throat. “Why are you here?” 

“I transferred,” you say simply. 

Jake tilts his head. “You’re... Navy?” 

You shake your head. “No—civilian contractor. My company landed a contract here and I went for a promotion.” You pause, searching his face, like you’re testing the weight of your words. “And I got it. Senior analyst. Leading a whole team, and everything.” 

Jake blinks. “Wow. That’s... impressive.” His chest tightens. “How long’s the contract?” 

“Three years.” 

His heart gives a sharp, heavy thud—like it’s reminding him it’s still there. Still feeling. Still tangled up in you. 

“So you’re here for a while?” he asks, voice quieter now. 

You draw a deep breath and nod. “Yeah. That’s why I figured we should make amends... since we’ll probably be seeing each other around.” 

Jake flinches. “Okay. Ouch.” 

You blink. “What?”  

“Well, first of all,” he says, squaring his shoulders, “I didn’t realise we still had amends to make. And second—” he pauses, watching the way you hold yourself so carefully, that calm expression you’ve practiced to perfection “—‘see each other around’? Like we’re not going to actually hang out. Catch up. Be friends?” 

There’s a long beat. The air grows heavier, pressing close, and the look in your eyes sharpens. You’re still wearing that mask, but it doesn’t reach your eyes—and in them, Jake can see almost every turbulent emotion clawing for release.  

“I don’t think I can be friends with you, Jake.” 

The words hit like a punch to the gut—but he doesn’t let it show. 

“Come on,” he sighs, “it’s been over a decade.” 

You swallow hard, your gaze flicking back to that corner of the bar—the safe spot you keep retreating to. “Yeah, but… the first person to break your heart always leaves the deepest scar. You know?” You pause, blinking fast before your eyes meet his again. “Anyway,” you add with a soft sigh, “I should call an Uber. I have an entire apartment to unpack and only two days to do it.”  

“Don’t call an Uber,” Jake says quickly, pulse pounding in his ears. “Let me drive you home.” 

The deepest scar. How could you say that so casually? As if you don’t realise it kills him to know he broke your heart at all—let alone left the kind of wound that never healed. 

Your brows pinch. “What about your friends?” 

“They’ll be fine.” He waves a hand, aiming for casual even though his chest feels like it’s splintering apart. “Besides, I’m exhausted—I could use an excuse to go home.” 

You study him for a moment, eyes betraying the quiet battle you’re fighting inside. Jake can see it. Then a long breath escapes you, and your shoulders drop—not in surrender, but in something close to it. 

“Okay,” you say, sliding off the stool. “I’ll wait outside while you say goodbye.” 

“You don’t want to meet them?” he asks. 

“Not today.” 

“But someday, right?” 

You give him a flat look. “Don’t push your luck, cowboy.” 

Then you turn on your heel and disappear, weaving through the crowd, leaving Jake with reeling thoughts, an aching chest—and the quiet awakening of something he thought he’d lost forever. 

After a good minute of staring at absolutely nothing, replaying the last half hour in his head, Jake finally slides off the stool and makes his way toward his friends. He’s barely reached them when Javy dramatically shoots to his feet, eyes wide as saucers. 

“Is that really her?” he asks. 

Jake blinks slowly, then nods. 

“Oh my God, she’s—” 

“Wait,” Bradley cuts in, “she’s the one that—” 

“Yeah,” Jake mutters. 

Natasha frowns. “The one that what?” 

Javy lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “She’s so—” 

“Different,” Jake interrupts quickly. 

Bradley smirks into his beer bottle. “She’s hot.” 

“Who’s hot?” Natasha demands, her patience thinning by the second. 

“Hangman’s friend,” Mickey offers, as if he’s being helpful. 

She shoots him a sideways look—sharp enough to wipe the grin from his face. 

Javy tilts his head. “I thought you said she wasn’t—” 

“She wasn’t,” Jake says fast. “I mean—on the inside, she’s always been—” He hesitates, the words sticking in his throat. “But she’s different now. She’s—” 

“Gorgeous,” Bradley says, earning himself a scathing glare from Jake. 

Natasha slaps both hands flat on the table. “If someone doesn’t tell me who this woman is right now, I swear to God I will flip this table.” 

“It’s bolted down,” Bob mutters. 

Her head whips toward him. “Then I’ll rip it out of the goddamn floorboards.” 

Bob leans back, both hands raised in surrender. 

Natasha turns back to Jake. “Who is she?” 

Jake exhales slowly. “She’s my—” 

“The one that got away,” Bradley interrupts with a grin. 

Natasha shoots him a look. “And you know this how?” 

Bradley shrugs. “Hangman told me the whole story one night when he was really drunk. I saw a photo of her on his dresser and—” 

“You have a photo of her on your dresser?” Natasha’s brows shoot up as her gaze swings back to Jake. 

“It’s not weird,” Jake insists quickly. “We’ve known each other forever. We grew up together.” 

Bob leans in, brow furrowed. “Then why haven’t the rest of us heard about her before?” 

Jake swallows hard. “Because I’m pretty sure she’s spent the last decade hating me.” 

Natasha frowns. “Why?” 

“Isn’t she waiting outside right now?” Micky cuts in before Jake can answer. 

“Shit,” Jake mutters. “Yeah—uh, I gotta go. I’ll see you guys tomorrow night.” 

“Wait,” Natasha says quickly, eyes wide. “I need to know what happened.” 

“Coyote can fill you in.” Jake turns to his best friend with a grimace. “Just… try not to make me sound like too much of an asshole.” 

Bradley snorts. “That’s gonna be tough.” 

Jake shoots him a flat look before giving the rest of them a half-hearted wave and disappearing back into the crowd, praying to any god who might be listening that you haven’t already changed your mind and called an Uber. 

But sure enough, when he bursts through the doors into the cool night air, there you are—leaning against the front of his truck, arms crossed, head tipped back, eyes lost somewhere in the stars. 

Jake’s gaze drags over you like a man starved. The column of your throat, the slope of your collarbone, the way your crossed arms press against your chest—every detail carves itself into him like it hasn’t a hundred times before. He tells himself to stop, to focus on your face—your gorgeous face—and not drink in your skin like he’s been dying of thirst. But he can’t. Not when he still remembers your taste. Not when the ghost of you has been haunting him for so many years. 

And before he can force himself to move closer, to speak, he just stands there for a beat too long—wanting you more than he ever has, and hating himself more than he ever thought possible. 

“Good to know your taste in vehicles hasn’t improved since high school,” you say, snapping him out of whatever trance you’d put him in. 

Jake clears his throat, glancing toward the truck. “That’s because it can’t improve,” he says with a small smirk. “Doesn’t get much better than this.” 

You roll your eyes and push off the fender. “Actually, it does. Believe it or not, they’ve invented these things called safety features now. You know—air bags, emergency brakes, power steering.” 

Jake snorts. “Power steering? You saying you don’t enjoy watching me flex every time I turn a corner?” 

You huff a laugh and circle around the front of the truck, but Jake catches the small smile tugging at your lips before you turn away. 

He climbs into the driver’s seat, jams the key in the ignition, and the truck shudders awake with a growl that rattles the cab. 

Your eyes go wide. “Jesus Christ, Seresin. You’re basically driving a tin can on wheels.” 

He chuckles. “A tin can with character.” 

You roll your eyes again as you buckle your seatbelt, tugging it sharply a few times to make sure it locks. Jake watches you, chest tightening. He still can’t quite reconcile it—how you’re both exactly the same and yet entirely different. You’ve always been beautiful to him. Always. But now the rest of the world can see it too, and he hates that he never said it back when it mattered. Back when it was just the two of you, before life sharpened your edges and forced you to build walls. 

Because now? Now it’ll look like he only wants you after the ‘glow-up’. Like he’s the asshole who broke your heart, left you scarred, and came crawling back once you’d turned into the kind of woman who could turn every head in the room. 

And nothing could be further from the truth. 

Because the truth is, there hasn’t been a single day in Jake Seresin’s life where he hasn’t thought about you. Loved you. Wanted you to know just how much you mean to him. 

“Just head toward Ocean Boulevard,” you say, pulling him out of his spiralling thoughts. 

Jake clears his throat, fixes his eyes out the windshield, and shifts into first. The truck rolls forward, gravel crunching under the tires, and soon enough he’s driving out through the base gates, hitting the gas down Ocean Boulevard. 

“Turn down F Avenue and keep going until you hit ninth,” you instruct. “Then turn—” 

A loud pop cuts you off. The steering wheel jerks violently, rattling the cab, and both of you flinch as the truck lurches. Jake grips hard, steering it toward the side of the road until he manages to edge it right up against the curb.  

Then he yanks the handbrake, kills the engine—and his head whips toward you, eyes wide. “You okay?” 

You blink once, twice, a small frown creasing your brow. “Well… yeah. It’s just a blowout.” 

He lets go of a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and nods, dragging a hand through his hair. “I know. Just… scared me.” 

“Scared you?” you echo, lips twitching. 

He nods again, voice dropping low. “Yeah. You being in the car. If something had happened—” His throat works, and for a second he can’t look at you. “I’d never forgive myself.” 

Before you can answer, he shoves the door open and climbs out. His heart is beating too hard, too loud, and he’s starting to feel lightheaded. He needs air. Space. Because sitting there with you so close, your perfume clouding the cab, he felt like he was seconds away from blacking out. 

He circles the back of the truck until he spots the damage—the rear wheel on the curb side, rubber shredded in strips. 

“Got a spare?” you ask, climbing out of the passenger seat. 

“Yeah, but—” 

“Great. Where’s the jack and wrench?” 

When he looks at you—hands on your hips, brows pinched, lips pressed into a determined line—he can’t help the smirk tugging at his mouth. “As much as I’d love to watch you change the tire on my truck,” he says, “I’m pretty sure the spare’s either missing or older than we are.” 

Your brows shoot up. “You don’t have a spare tire?” 

Jake shrugs. “Not sure. Didn’t check when I bought it.” 

“From a dealer?” 

“Nope,” he chuckles. “Some guy on Facebook.” 

“Jake!” 

“What?” He throws his hands up, still laughing. “I didn’t need a fancy car. I barely drive it. Pretty sure this is the second, maybe third time it’s left base since I bought it.” 

You fold your arms and glare at him. “Seriously?” 

“Seriously,” he says with a shrug. “I’m still in the barracks. Don’t need to go anywhere else.” 

You tilt your head. “What about hookups?” 

He scoffs. “What hookups?” 

“Oh, come on. You’re Jake Seresin. Don’t act like you’re not—” 

“I’m not,” he cuts in, a little too fast, stepping toward you like he needs you to believe it. 

You go rigid, shoulders tensing, walls snapping back into place so visibly it makes his stomach sink. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, stepping back again. “I’ll call Rooster and see if he can still drive.” 

Your brows knit, arms dropping to your sides. “Sorry for what?” 

Jake hesitates, phone halfway out of his pocket. “For… making you uncomfortable.” 

“You don’t make me uncomfortable, Jake.” 

He frowns. “Then why are you so guarded?” He knows he shouldn’t ask—he should just let it go and be grateful for even a small piece of you back in his life—but he can’t. “Why are you holding back? Why does it feel like we’re strangers when I’ve known you your whole life?” 

You blink slowly, the crease between your brows deepening. He can feel your gaze tracing his skin like fire—studying him, measuring, keeping that practiced calm in place. 

“We are strangers, Jake,” you finally say, voice steady despite the way your eyes glimmer under the streetlight. “We haven’t really spoken in ten years—and yes, I know that was my choice, but—” You stop yourself and draw a deep, shaky breath. “But do you have any idea what you did to me?” 

Jake’s chest tightens. “I know I fucked up, okay? I know I hurt you. I know—” 

“No. You don’t,” you cut in sharply. “You have no idea. You didn’t just hurt me, Jake. You fucking destroyed me. You ruined me. You broke pieces of me I didn’t even know existed. You ripped me apart in ways I’m still putting back together. And I know—” You let out a bitter laugh, edged with tears. “—I know it was over a decade ago. I get it. But do you have any idea the kind of damage you have to do for it to take ten fucking years to heal?” 

Jake’s eyes sting. His pulse is pounding in his ears. Words scream inside his head, but none make it out. He’s frozen. Paralysed. His chest aches—and his heart is breaking. 

You take a deep breath and blink hard, tipping your head back. “I was in love with you, Jake,” you say, voice lower now. “Even after you said what you said, I—I still loved you. I still wanted you. God. I fucking want you now—do you know how sick that makes me feel?” 

His chest tightens like he’s pulling ten Gs, heart hammering so loud he can barely hear his own ragged breaths. 

“Sick?” he echoes, voice distant, hollow in his ears. 

“Yes, sick,” you snap. “Because you were everything to me. Not just then, not just after we—after we fucked.” You almost choke on the word as a single tear slips down your cheek. “For as long as I can remember, you were the most important thing in the world to me. It was always you. It was always about you. Everything I did was for you. I mean—fuck—I pretended we didn’t even know each other in school because you asked me to. I didn’t come over when your friends were over because you asked me to. I didn’t talk to you at your goddamn birthday parties because you asked me to!” Your voice rises, raw and fraying at the edges. “I did everything you asked me to just so you’d still be my friend. And I thought—” you close your eyes, more tears slipping free, “I thought college would’ve been different. I thought you’d matured—at least, that’s what Mom told me. But—but then we—” You stop short, hand pressed to your chest as if something heavy is pressing down too hard for the words to escape. 

Jake blinks fast, fighting to keep his own emotions from spilling. “Please,” he rasps, “please stop.” 

Your eyes narrow at him, red-rimmed and glinting with unshed tears. “You want me to stop? You want me to stop reminding you of what you did? How you treated me?” You swipe angrily at your cheek with the back of your hand. “Well, too bad. Because maybe you’ve managed to repress the memories, but I haven’t. It wasn’t just that final moment that hurt me, Jake. It was every fucking year leading up to it. It was every single moment you treated me like I was less than just because I wasn’t pretty.” You let out another bitter, almost incredulous, laugh. “God, do you know how insane that sounds? Do you know how stupid it feels to admit that the crux of my childhood trauma is a stupid boy not thinking I’m pretty enough to be seen with him in public?” 

Jake swallows hard on the lump in his throat. “That’s not—” 

“This is why I haven’t spoken to you in over a decade,” you snap. “Not because I’m not over what happened that day. I am. And not because I hate you. I really don’t.” Your gaze pins him, sharp and unyielding. “But I will never forgive you for what you did to that little girl. To me. For making me feel like I wasn’t worth shit.” 

You stand frozen for a beat, chest barely moving, the weight of your words settling between you. Then, with a breath that feels too heavy, you turn on your heel and start walking away. 

“Wait,” Jake calls, voice cracking. “Where are you going?” 

You don’t answer. 

“You can’t walk home in the dark,” he says, jogging to catch up with you. 

“It’s not far,” you throw over your shoulder, keeping your pace steady. 

Jake lets out a sharp breath. “It’s still dark.” 

“Then follow me,” you snap, voice low and tense. “I don’t care. Just don’t talk to me, I—I'm tired.” 

And so he does. A few steps behind, careful not to crowd you, probably looking like a shadow under the dark of night. He doesn’t speak—not because you told him not to, but because he can’t. His chest feels tight, his heart hammering in a way that makes each step heavier, each breath a little harder to draw. He can’t even pretend to know the depth of your pain—only that he caused it. 

All he wants is to reach out, to say the words he should have said a decade ago, to beg for forgiveness and make you understand that he isn’t that boy anymore. That he knows now—truly knows—that everything he said, everything he did, was wrong. That if there’s even the tiniest chance to make it right, he’d take it. He needs you to know that he did love you—that he still does. But he was young, reckless, cruel in ways he didn’t understand, a kid blind to the damage his words and actions could leave behind. 

And now he sees it. All of it. The little cuts, the dismissals, the moments that seemed meaningless to him but defined years of your life. It wasn’t just that final night in college that broke you—it was everything before it, piling up silently while he had no idea. 

He’s carried guilt for years, but only tonight does it hit him in full—the scale of what he’s done. Ever since losing you, he’s wanted to know how to fix it, how to reach you, how to make you see the truth of what he’s felt all along. But now, following you through the dark, heart hammering, thoughts splintering, he isn’t sure there’s a single thing he could do to repair the damage. Or if he even deserves to try. 

- Ten Years Ago - 

The sun cuts across your face—a single, blinding line of gold splitting through the gap in the curtains. You blink awake, slow and heavy, shifting under the soft sheets and—an arm. The solid weight of an arm wrapped tight around your waist. 

For a split second, panic slams into you. The memories of last night flash through your mind in jagged, breathless bursts—his hands gripping your skin, the press of his mouth, the way your body gave itself over to him in ways you’d only ever dreamed of. Your heart stutters, pounding loud in your ears, and then— 

Your gaze lands on him. 

Jake Seresin. 

He’s right there, inches away, his face bathed in pale morning light. Long lashes fan over his cheeks. His lips part softly with each steady breath. He looks nothing like the golden boy who ruled every room—he looks younger, softer, like someone only you were ever meant to see. 

And it wrecks you. 

Your heart lurches high in your throat, choking you with the force of it. You’d pictured this so many times—fantasised about it, begged for it in the quiet corners of your mind—but the reality is overwhelming. Dizzying. Too much. Too real. 

You shift onto your side, body aching with reminders of every place he touched you, every line you swore you’d never cross until you crossed them all with him. 

Your fingers twitch against the sheet, and before you can stop yourself you’re reaching out—tracing the hard angle of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone. Memorising him like proof this actually happened. His skin is warm under your touch. He stirs but doesn’t wake. 

And that’s when it hits you, knocking the breath from your lungs. 

You lost your virginity to Jake fucking Seresin. The boy who never felt like he could be yours. The boy who could undo you with one look. The boy you’ve loved all your life, even when you wished you didn’t. 

And now you’re lying in his bed. And he’s holding you like you’re his. 

“Stop staring,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. 

Your cheeks flush, hand still hovering at his jaw. “I’m not.” 

The corner of his mouth curves. “Liar.” 

Your heart stumbles. “Go back to sleep.” 

“Can’t,” he murmurs, finally cracking one eye open to look at you. “Not with you right here.” 

His arm tightens, pulling you closer as he shifts to tuck the other beneath your body, pressing you right up against him. He brushes his lips against yours, soft and fleeting, before sinking back into his pillow. His eyes flutter shut, a contented sigh slipping out like this moment is the most perfect he’s ever known. 

You want to relax with him, to nuzzle into his chest and breathe him in, to forget about every anxious thought spinning in your mind. But you can’t. Because this is real, and what happened last night has changed everything. 

“I can hear you overthinking,” he mutters, eyes still closed. 

Your eyes linger on his mouth, and warmth rushes through you at the memory of everywhere it was last night. 

“Can you blame me?” you whisper. “Last night was—” 

“Perfect.” His eyes open fast, worry clouding them. “Right? You’re not regretting—” 

“No,” you cut in quickly. “Of course not. I don’t regret anything.” Your gaze falls to his chest. “Unless you regret—” 

“Never.” 

He tilts your chin up with gentle fingers, green eyes searching yours as if to be sure. Then he kisses you—soft, slow, reverent. Everything he couldn’t say, everything he showed you last night, pressed into the shape of your mouth. 

You want to be cautious, to protect yourself, but you can’t. Not with Jake. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and being here with him feels inevitable—like this was always where the two of you were meant to end up. 

Sure, it’s been complicated. Nothing about Jake has ever been simple. But when it’s just the two of you, all the noise disappears. Alone with him, you’ve always felt like you mattered. Like he loves you just as much as you love him—maybe even needs you in ways he can’t show anyone else. 

You know what people think. That you should hate him for keeping you a secret, for pretending you weren’t important when others were around. You’ve heard it enough times—from friends, even family. But you never could hate him. How could you? He’s Jake Seresin—the golden boy, the one everyone wants a piece of. You never blamed him for holding one piece back for himself. The piece that was you. Because with you, he’s real. And you’ve always known him better than anyone. 

Maybe you were naive to accept the way things were, to let him look right through you in public just because you didn’t fit into his world. But that was then. He’s not that boy anymore. He’s grown. Changed. You can’t hold the mistakes of a kid against the man he’s becoming. 

Deep down, you’ve always known he cared. Even when he didn’t show it the right way, he was still there. Last night only proved it. Proved that what you’ve always felt—that you were more than a secret—was real. That he sees you. All of you. 

And even if everything changes after last night, you know you’ll never regret Jake Seresin being your first. And you know you’ll never stop loving him. 

“Coffee?” Jake offers, snapping you out of your spiralling thoughts. 

His eyes are open now, wide and soft, full of something you can’t quite place. 

You hum. “Yeah, but does that mean I have to get out of bed?” 

He chuckles. “Nope. Just me. I’ll run down to the café.” 

He kisses you again—firmer this time—before slipping out of bed and grabbing his clothes off the floor. The same ones you’d tossed there last night, after undressing each other. Because last night you had sex with Jake Seresin. And that’s not something you’re ever going to be sick of reminding yourself. 

“What’s that grin for?” he asks as he pulls his shirt over his head. 

You tug the covers up to your chin. “Nothing. It’s just—” 

“We had sex last night?” 

You roll your eyes, hiding your stupid smile beneath his duvet. “Yeah. Something like that.” 

He laughs softly as he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead—a simple gesture, but one that makes your chest ache with fondness. 

“I won’t be long,” he says, swiping his wallet and keys off the bedside table. 

Then with a crooked grin and a cheeky wink, he’s out the door. Leaving you in his bed, staring up at the ceiling of his dorm, replaying every moment of last night like you’re trying to catalogue every touch, every look, every feeling. 

You lie there for a good five minutes, reminding yourself that this is real. That Jake is going to walk back through that door soon. And when he does, he’s going to touch you again, kiss you again—be with you in ways you’ve dreamt about for most of your life. 

With a soft, almost dreamy sigh, you slip out from beneath the covers and start gathering your things. You know Jake has class sometime this morning, so you don’t plan on lingering like some clingy girl who doesn’t know when to leave. You pull on your clothes from last night and grab the sweatshirt draped over the back of his desk chair—the weather’s turned colder overnight, and you know you’ll need the extra layer. 

You tidy the few things that got knocked over last night and loosely make his bed before settling at the foot of it, phone in hand. You scroll through a few missed notifications and quickly reply to your friend, the one who had so reluctantly left you in Jake’s care last night. 

It’s not that she doesn’t trust him—she just doesn’t like him. None of your friends do. They think he’s cruel, shallow, all ego and no care. But they don’t know him the way you do. They don’t see the sweet side—the quieter, insecure parts of him that you’ve always believed were yours alone. They don’t know how much he really does care. 

After about fifteen minutes of scrolling through your phone, you realise that Jake is taking a little too long. You know the café he likes, and you know it wouldn’t be busy at this time on a Thursday—most students are either in class or studying at the library by now. 

You wait two more minutes before pushing off the bed and heading for the door. You yank it open and stick your head into the hallway, like maybe checking will magically make him appear. For a moment you just stand there, listening to the distant shuffle of feet and scattered voices. You’re about to give up and step back inside when— 

“Seresin! Where you off to in such a rush?” 

“Hey, McNeil.” Jake’s voice echoes down the corridor. “What’s up?” 

You twist your head both ways, but you can’t see anyone. You can’t even tell which direction the voices are coming from—but the hallway is carrying them straight to you, loud and clear, like it wants you to hear. 

“Not much, man,” McNeil—whoever that is—says. “Thirsty this morning?” 

Jake laughs, but it’s off, forced. “Oh. Yeah—uh, this one’s for a friend.” 

“A friend?” McNeil presses. “Wait... don’t tell me you had a sleepover with that freshman four I saw you bring back last night?” 

Your chest tightens. Your breath comes sharp and shallow, panic pressing down on your ribs. 

“Yeah… I mean, she’s a family friend,” Jake says, letting out another awkward laugh. “I was just trying to be nice. My mom would kill me if she found out I left her drunk and alone at some frat house.” 

Your stomach drops. Heat prickles up the back of your neck, humiliation burning hot and mean behind your ribs. 

McNeil snorts. “You’re a saint, Seresin. I bet she was all over you too.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Jake says, voice deeper now, slipping into that fake bravado that makes him sound like the worst kind of asshole. “She was drunk off her ass, a little desperate. I just didn’t have the heart to toss her out.” 

McNeil laughs. Loudly. Like Jake is hilarious, and not breaking you apart with every word. 

Tears sting your eyes, falling fast and hot down your cheeks. Your stomach twists, nausea clawing at you, but you don’t have time to let it take over. You let the door fall shut with a thud loud enough that you know they’d have heard it, then scramble to gather your things, slip into your shoes, and yank the door open again. 

You turn sharply into the hall, swiping furiously at the tears blurring your vision. Your whole body is shaking—trembling—with a mix of anger, embarrassment, pain. You never imagined anything could hurt this much, but hearing him say that after you gave him everything? It’s unbearable. 

You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Your chest aches, your limbs feel like lead, and nausea presses against the back of your throat. You’re not sure you’ll even make it out of the building without collapsing or throwing up. 

You reach the end of the hall, swing around the corner—and freeze. 

“Wait,” Jake says, eyes wide, coffees in hand. “Let me—” 

“Fuck you,” you snap, voice sharp. “Get out of my way.” 

“Please, just listen. I—” 

“You what?” you cut him off, wiping more tears from your face. “You’re sorry? You didn’t mean it? How the fuck do you even start to fix this, Jake?” 

His mouth opens, then closes. No words come out. He’s frozen, eyes wide and glossy, as if they might fill with tears too. 

“I know I’m not very pretty,” you breathe, voice breaking. “I know I’m not like the other girls you’ve dated. I know you were embarrassed of me when we were kids—but that was then, Jake. Back when you were too young to understand, and I was too naive to know how much it hurt. But this? This is now.” You swallow hard, blinking fast to try and clear your tears. “We’re done. I don’t want anything to do with you. I don’t want to be your dirty little secret. I don’t want to be the girl you’re ashamed to be seen with. I don’t want you in my life. Ever.” 

“No,” he whispers, desperate, almost pleading. “Please… don’t say that.” 

You hold his gaze for a moment, letting it hurt, letting him feel the weight of what he’s done. Then you drop your eyes and shoulder past him. 

“Bye Jake.” 

- Present - 

For some reason, living close to the beach makes you want to be the kind of girl who owns matching workout sets and jogs at sunrise on a Sunday morning. But after digging through your suitcase—still not unpacked—at ten a.m., which is obviously well past sunrise, and finding nothing but a pair of black leggings and a threadbare Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt, you have to admit you’re not that kind of girl. 

Still, you force yourself to get dressed, lace up your shoes, and leave the apartment. You’ve been unpacking boxes for over twenty-four hours now, after giving up on sleep Friday night and needing the distraction all day yesterday. Your hands are covered in little cuts from the carboard edges, the floor is littered with packing paper, and your back is aching from hauling overstuffed boxes. 

You need air. Sunlight. Maybe even human interaction. 

And you need to text Jake. 

You need to apologise, because freaking out on him Friday night was totally uncalled for. Sure, you hadn’t seen him in person for more than ten years, but that doesn’t give you the right to let every feeling you’ve ever had boil over all at once. He was right—it’s been over a decade. You should be over it. You are. You just… felt a lot of feelings when you saw him again for the first time. 

And you want to explain that to him. Tell him that you really don’t hate him, you really are over it. That maybe, you even want to be friends again. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t still have feelings for him. Feelings like that don’t just disappear, no matter how badly someone has hurt you. And it isn’t even that night, or the morning after, that lingers the most—like you told him last night—it's everything else. Every year leading up to it. As a kid, you had no idea how much it hurt until you grew up and looked back. Until you realised that the way he treated you is the reason you’ve never felt worth anything. 

That kind of mould doesn’t break easily. 

Even now, you’re still unsure of yourself. Nervous. Self-conscious. Always worrying about what others think. 

But you can’t blame Jake. You can’t hold it against him. He was just a kid too, and he didn’t know any better. His dad was barely around—too busy being an admiral to bother actually fathering his son. And his mom? She was kind but soft. Oblivious to the way her husband cared only about Jake becoming a military man, never about teaching him right from wrong. Jake had to figure that out on his own. 

And you know he was always desperate for his father’s approval. He couldn’t be weak, he couldn’t be truant, he couldn’t fall short. He had to be perfect. With perfect grades and perfect friends. You just didn’t fit in that perfect picture. 

In a twisted kind of way, Jake was almost protecting you. He knew his father didn’t like you—you knew it too. To him, you were a rambunctious child, given too much free will and not enough military discipline. He never said it to your parents—wouldn't dare—but you’d overheard him say it to his wife once or twice. Jake’s mom still loved you, though. 

It’s complicated. Almost too complicated. And that’s why you can’t blame Jake for everything. Yes, he hurt you, and you’ve always needed him to take responsibility for that. But you’ll never blame him. Not completely. 

You can’t. 

You still love him. 

“Watch it,” someone snaps, yanking you out of your thoughts. 

You stumble to the side of the path. “Sorry,” you mutter, breathless. 

A woman jogs past with a small curly white dog that looks like it would rather be anywhere else but tethered to her leash. Her face is twisted into a scowl, eyes flicking over your well-worn sweater like it personally offends her. 

Maybe she’s not a Cowboys fan. 

You shake your head, take a deep breath, and turn to continue your walk. Not jog—because jogging is hard. You could barely breathe after running to the end of your block. 

You’re just about to pull your phone out and start drafting a text to Jake when— 

“Hey.” 

You glance up, and your heart lurches. “Jake?” 

There he is. In all his sweaty glory. Jake Seresin, looking like absolute sin in a pair of gym shorts that would make a nun blush and a tight-fitting t-shirt that makes your fingertips itch to touch it. 

Yeah. Even after all these years, Jake still has the same effect on you. Breathless, frustrated, and a little horny. 

“What—uh, what are you up to this morning?” he asks with a tentative smile. 

“Just thought I’d come out for a jog on the beach,” you say—and immediately regret it. 

Jake knows you. He’s not stupid. You’ve never gone for a jog in your life, and in the decade you spent apart, that hasn’t changed one bit. 

He smirks. “A jog?” 

You tilt your head. “Okay. More of a walk.” 

He nods, eyes dropping to your sweater. “Is... is that mine?” 

You glance down, face burning. “Uh, maybe.” 

There’s a pause. Not awkward, but charged. He keeps staring at the sweatshirt like it’s trying to tell him something, whispering a secret he’s been desperate to hear. A confession. It’s almost unnerving. And the old woman walking past definitely thinks he’s just staring at your tits. 

“Listen, Jake,” you say finally, shifting awkwardly to the side of the path. “I want to say sorry.” 

He blinks, lips twitching. “Sorry for what?” he asks, echoing the words you said to him two nights ago. 

You give him a flat look. “I’m serious. I need to apologise. I shouldn’t have freaked out on you like that.” You pause, clearing your throat. “I know it might not seem like it, but I really am over it. It was just... a lot, seeing you again for the first time.” 

His expression softens, his eyes tracing your face like he’s afraid to miss a single detail. “You don’t need to apologise.” His voice is low, steady. “And you don’t need to be over it. What I did was... horrible. Unforgivable. Not just that morning, but our whole lives.” 

“You were just a kid, Jake.” 

“A kid that should have known better,” he says, brows pinching. “And... a man that should have learnt how to apologise properly and take accountability.” 

You shrug, lips tugging into a small sheepish smile. “I didn’t really give you a chance.” 

“I should have tried harder,” he insists. “I should have slept on your doorstep telling you how sorry I was, how much I needed you. But...” he takes a deep breath, jaw tight, “I’m trying now. And I swear, I’m going to do everything I can to fix this. To make you know how much I care. How much I missed you.” 

His eyes are wide, pleading, overflowing with that emotion you know but still can’t name. The noise of the beach—the gulls, the waves, the chatter—falls away. All you can hear is the pounding of your heart and the echo of his words ringing through your head. 

“Okay,” you mutter, blinking up at him. “So, what now?” 

“Friends,” he says, smiling now. “And promise me you won’t disappear again.” 

“Disappear?” you echo. “Jake, you always knew where I was.” 

He frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, for starters, you texted me at least once a month.” 

“But you didn’t always reply.” 

You roll your eyes. “Okay, but you saw me on those stupid family video calls our parents make us do.” 

“That’s true,” he admits, “but you never spoke.” 

“Alright.” You cross your arms, lips tugging into a small smirk. “I also know you used to call my mom every few months to make sure I was alive. Ask if I was engaged or dating anyone or—God forbid—married.” 

Jake’s eyes go wide. “She told you?” 

“Of course she told me, she’s my mom.” 

He pouts—actually pouts. “She said it was our little secret.” 

You snort. “Yeah, no. Nothing is a secret when it comes to you, Seresin. If Mom had her way, I’d have been walking down the aisle to you the minute I turned eighteen. Pretty sure she’s still holding out hope.” 

Jake’s eyes narrow. “Hope for what?” 

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Us, idiot. You and me, together. God, if we ever told either of our moms that we slept together, they’d have the glory box out and the wedding planner booked in seconds.” 

Jake hesitates, then frowns. “You didn’t—you didn’t tell your mom?” 

“Tell her what?” 

“That we... you know—” He winces. “I just thought that was the kind of thing moms and daughters talked about.” 

“About losing my virginity?!” you hiss, horrified. 

A few passersby glance your way—some curious, some disgusted. One teenage boy—seventeen, maybe—bursts out laughing until his mother swats him on the arm. 

Jake chuckles. “I know it was good, but I’d rather not broadcast it to all of North Island, if that’s okay with you.” 

You freeze—cheeks burning, heart pounding. Good? He thought it was good? For you, of course it was, but for him? You’d expected... mediocre at best. You never imagined he’d still think it was good ten years later. Surely he’s had better sex since then. Surely you don’t even measure up to what he’s experienced since then. 

“Good? It... it was good?” 

His smile falters. “I mean—yeah. It was... really good. Was it not good for you?” 

Your pulse thrums in your throat—and lower. Heat crawls across your skin. How are you having this conversation in the middle of Coronado a decade later? And why is it making your entire body blush? 

“Yeah—of course it was good for me,” you mutter, eyes dropping all the way down to your shoes. “I just didn’t think it would’ve been... for you.” 

He scoffs. “Are you kidding? I still think about that night.” 

The words hit like a spark in dry grass. Your head jerks up, your breath catching, and suddenly all you can hear is your heartbeat. He’s staring at you like he can’t believe what he just admitted, like he’s waiting—pleading—for you to answer. 

But you can’t. How could you? 

It feels like the entire world has narrowed down to the space between your bodies, your chests rising and falling in the same jagged rhythm. Every thought, every impulse, every memory of that night is screaming behind your eyes, but all you can do is hold his gaze. 

He leans in—just a fraction—but it’s enough, and it’s too much. Too close. Too raw. Your stomach twists, your pulse races, and the seconds stretch out into something heavy and electric, until the air between you feels like it could ignite. 

You blink and force an awkward laugh. “Okay, I—uh... we probably shouldn’t talk about this.” 

He laughs too, strained and uncomfortable. “You’re right. We shouldn’t.” 

You hesitate for a moment, then hike your thumb over your shoulder. “Well, I should get back to unpacking.” 

“Of course,” he says, a little too quickly. “I told my friends I’d meet them for coffee so...” 

You step back, as if a few feet of space might stop you from wanting him so badly. “Right, well—um, see you around, I guess.” 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “See you... around.” 

He starts to move past you with a tight smile—but stops. Mid-step, mid-thought. Then he turns to you with an unreadable expression tugging at his features. Something between a frown and a grimace, like he’s physically holding himself back. 

“Come to the bar tonight,” he blurts. 

You lift a brow. “The Hard Deck?” 

“Yeah. It’s trivia night. First Sunday of the month. My squad and I always go. They’re all really competitive, but... it’s fun.” 

“Your whole squad?” 

He nods. “I promise they don’t bite.” 

Your lips twitch. “Not even the tall one with the moustache?” 

His eyes widen just slightly, his jaw tightening. “Don’t even joke.” 

“About what?” you ask, all faux innocence. 

“Flirting with—or, I don’t know, hitting on my friends.” 

His shoulders go rigid, his whole body tense. He looks genuinely annoyed. Whether it’s because he doesn’t want to share his friends—or doesn’t want to share you—you’re not sure. All you know is that you hope it’s the latter. 

You decide to push it. “What if they flirt with me?” 

“They won’t,” he snaps—not harsh, just quick. 

You huff a laugh. “Okay, ouch.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he sighs. “I mean, they probably will flirt with you, but—” He stops himself, brow furrowing, throat working on a swallow. “They’ll like you. Trust me.” 

He looks frustrated, conflicted. Like there’s something he wants to say—something burning to be said—but it’s stuck somewhere in his chest, and he just can’t get it out. 

“Like me?” you echo. 

He nods. “Will you come—please?” 

You hesitate, blinking up at him with a small frown. “Huh. I think this is the first time you’ve asked me to hang out with your friends.” 

“Shit,” Jake mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, “I… guess it is.” 

He looks bashful, boyish. Like the kid who used to stay up with you until midnight the night before your birthday, waiting to hand you the most thoughtful present you’d get that year. 

“I’ll come,” you decide. 

His face lights up. “Really?” 

“Really.” 

“Okay, good. It starts at seven. Do you need a lift?” 

You snort. “I’m not getting back in that truck. Ever.” 

Jake slaps a hand to his chest in mock-hurt. “Don’t hate the truck.” 

You roll your eyes despite the smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll meet you there. Now aren’t you late for coffee with your friends or something?” 

“Yeah, I am,” he says, his voice lower, almost disappointed—as if he doesn’t really want to leave. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

You nod. “See you tonight, cowboy.” 

He gives you one last, tight-lipped smile, full of something he isn’t saying, then nods and continues down the path. After a few steps, he breaks into a jog. He risks a glance over his shoulder and almost trips—which makes you giggle. And when he turns his head back around, you shamelessly watch his ass in those criminal little shorts until he’s too far away to see. 

- 

You spend the rest of the day unpacking. And ignoring the growing weight in your chest at the thought of meeting Jake’s squad. 

Because what if they don’t like you? 

Just because you’re older now doesn’t mean you’ve miraculously gained confidence. Sure, you’re a little more self-assured, but most of the time you’re just faking it. Deep down, you still feel like that awkward, unconventional little girl who was never pretty enough to stand in the middle of the class picture. Or make it into the yearbook. Or get asked to prom. 

Well, technically, Jake did ask you to prom. He’d already graduated, but he offered to take you to yours. You were flattered—of course you were—and you wanted to say yes, but you knew it was just out of pity. You knew he didn’t really want to take you. That he wouldn’t know how to explain to his friends why he was taking his weird little family friend to prom. 

So you told him it was fine. That you had a date already. 

You lied. 

Jake only found out that you’d gone alone years later, when you told him in college—the night everything changed. The night you lost your virginity. 

You were at a frat party, overwhelmed and uncomfortable, when Jake texted you to meet him in the quad by his dorm. So you went. Talked. Laughed. Reminisced. Slipped back into the easy rhythm of sharing secrets the way you used to when you were kids. When you’d build blanket forts and whisper to each other past bedtime. 

You don’t remember exactly how it came up, but somehow you ended up talking about prom. Jake was telling you some ridiculous story about one of his friends—the last in the group to lose his virginity—who was determined to make prom night his big moment. And that’s when you decided to tell him two of your own secrets. 

The first was that you’d gone to prom alone, and you apologised for lying to him about it. He was a little upset that you'd had to spend prom night all by yourself, but he didn’t hold the lie against you. 

And the second? You admitted that you were still a virgin. And while it wasn’t all that unusual for a college freshman not to have lost their virginity yet, you were still aching to know what it would feel like. 

The air shifted then—suddenly charged, crackling like static before a storm. You could feel the way his body moved even though he wasn’t touching you. Your pulse was too fast, your skin too warm, every nerve on high alert. 

The memory of that night is a blur now, more feeling than detail. What you do remember is Jake kissing you. Touching you. Taking you up to his dorm and making you see stars. 

Then... the morning after. And heartbreak. 

Even though it hurts to think about it, you still do. Often. Because even though you’ve slept with other people since then—good, attractive people—Jake is the best you’ve ever had. And you worry that he always will be. There was something deeper about that connection, something woven into your souls. Like he knew your body better than you did. Like you just fit together. Every touch was electric, every breath magnified. He was gentle but commanding, coaxing and generous. God, you think about that night way more than you should. 

And sometimes you wish you hadn’t done it—because maybe then you wouldn’t still be tethered to him, even now. Maybe you’d have a chance at moving on. But the truth is, you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Because no matter what came after, despite all the fallout and all the ache… it’s still the best night of your life. 

The sharp ping of your phone bounces off the tiled bathroom walls. Your thoughts scatter, memories dissolving, and you inhale too fast, too shallow. It’s almost time to leave, but you’ve been frozen in the mirror for at least five minutes now, still debating whether to put lip gloss on. 

Your phone pings again, and you glance down. 

JAKE: Let me know when you’re here. 

JAKE: We’re at a table just inside the main doors, to the left. 

You draw another deep breath, longer this time, and tuck your phone into the pocket of your jeans. You smooth your palms down your thighs, give your reflection one last searching look, then grab your jacket, slip on your shoes, and force yourself out the door. 

The Uber ride to the bar is too quick. There’s hardly enough time to quiet your nerves or breathe through the knot in your chest. And before you’re ready, you’re walking up the sandy steps to The Hard Deck’s front doors. 

You hesitate before pushing them open, hand hovering, and tell yourself to keep it together. It’s just Jake. Just Jake’s friends. Just a bunch of incredibly skilled, ridiculously smart, and unfairly attractive fighter pilots. Not intimidating at all. Right? 

“Hey!” Jake calls the second you step through the door, like he’d been waiting all day just to see you. 

His friends, all crowded around the table, snicker and exchange knowing glances. 

“Hey,” you greet, reaching them in only a few strides. 

Jake pushes to his feet. “Guys, this is—” 

“We know,” the moustached one cuts in with a grin. “You’ve been talking about her nonstop for the past fifteen minutes.” 

Jake shoots him a flat look. “Thanks, Rooster.” 

You laugh softly, eyes darting around the group of—quite honestly—obnoxiously attractive people. 

“That’s Bradley,” Jake tells you, “or Rooster. Then there’s Mickey—Fanboy—Reuben, or Payback, Javy, also known as Coyote, Natasha, who’s also Phoenix, and Bob.” 

You blink. “Bob?” 

Bob smiles softly. “Just Bob.” 

You turn back to Jake. “What’s your nickname again? I can’t remember.” 

“Bagman,” Natasha answers before he can, smirking. 

You press your lips together to keep from laughing. 

“It’s Hangman,” Jake says, narrowing his eyes at her. 

You grimace. “Yeah, that’s not much better.” Then you pull out the empty chair beside Bradley. “But it’s fitting, at least.” 

There’s a chorus of oohs and muffled laughter from the table as Jake’s jaw tightens, his cheeks flushing the faintest shade of pink. You bite back a smile and settle into your seat, trying not to look at him as he drops into the chair on your other side. 

“So, let me get this straight,” Natasha says, leaning forward. “You’ve known Bagman for… how long?” 

 “Met him before I was even an hour old,” you reply. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” Bradley mutters into his beer. 

Natasha’s eyes widen. “I have so many questions.” 

You risk a glance at Jake—and heat rushes to your cheeks when you catch his eyes already on you. “And I have answers.”  

“No you don’t,” he says firmly, pinning you with his gaze. 

“Yes, she does,” Bradley cuts in, draping his arm across the back of your chair. “And I, for one, can’t wait to hear them.” 

You turn toward Bradley, eyes tracing the sharp lines of his profile. He’s handsome—that’s for sure—and the moustache is criminally hot, even though it shouldn’t be. He could be your type, if you had a type that existed outside of Jake Seresin. And he gives off that flirty, fun, no-strings-attached kind of energy that most people probably mistake for genuine interest. But the only thing you’re genuinely interested in is getting under Jake’s skin, and if the look he’s giving Bradley for draping his arm over the back of your chair is any indication, this is the perfect target to flirt with. 

Not that you’re trying to cause any real drama. You would never. You’re just… testing the boundaries of this new dynamic. Seeing if Jake really means it when he says he wants to be friends again. Making sure his words weren’t empty, and that he genuinely wants to fix things between you. 

And okay—maybe you have a little something to prove. Maybe you want to prove that you are desirable. Flirty. Fun. That you can hold your own with someone as charming and attractive as Bradley. It’s not even about Jake—well, not entirely. It’s about proving it to yourself. About believing it. 

“Our team’s called The Wingmen,” Bradley says, nodding toward the papers in the middle of the table. 

You squint to see the team name written at the top of each sheet. One sheet per round, ten questions—ten answers. And since Natasha is the only one with a pen in front of her, you’re guessing she’s the scribe. 

“The Wingmen?” you echo. 

“Yeah.” He tilts his head toward you. “When we fly, whoever’s second in formation is called the wingman. They cover our six, make sure no one gets in trouble.” 

“Oh.” You nod slowly, lips twitching. “So, nothing to do with helping each other get laid or anything like that.” 

Bradley’s lips curl into a smirk, his mahogany eyes sparkling under the dim bar lights. “No,” he chuckles, “nothing like that. But something tells me you don’t need much help in that department.” 

You arch a brow. “That so?” 

He nods. “In fact, I don’t think you’d have to do much more than flash that pretty smile to get me into—” 

“All right, North Island!” Penny’s voice crackles through the mic. “Welcome to The Hard Deck’s trivia night. We’ve got teams all over the place tonight—and some new faces—but I’m assuming you all know the rules.” 

There’s a soft round of applause, and you swivel in your seat to see her standing in front of the bar.  

“No phones, or your team will be penalised,” she goes on. “Write your answers on the answer sheets, then bring them up at the end of the round. My lovely assistants Amelia and Pete will be marking and tallying scores.” 

Across the table from you, Mickey whistles, and the rest of the squad whoop and clap. 

Bradley leans in again. “That’s Maverick. Our CO. He’s dating Penny—and that’s her daughter.” 

You raise your brows. “Go Penny.” 

Bradley’s eyes widen, a grin tugging at his lips. “Did you just call my godfather hot?” 

“Godfather?” you echo. 

He nods. 

“Guess it runs in the family, then,” you say with a small smirk. 

He chuckles, colour blooming across his cheeks. “Smooth. But we’re not technically related.” 

“It worked, though,” you point out. “You’re blushing.” 

He shakes his head, laughing under his breath again as Penny rattles off all the categories for the night—movies, music, geography, history, science, literature, and pop culture. Then she tells everyone they’ve got five minutes to grab a drink, put their phones away, and get ready for round one. 

When you turn back to the table, you can feel Jake’s stare burning into the side of your face. 

You glance at him, brows raised. “What?” 

His shoulders are tight, jaw set, brow furrowed. “Nothing,” he mutters through his teeth. 

You tilt your head. “Doesn’t look like nothing.” 

His eyes flick past you, just for a second—toward Bradley—and they narrow slightly before snapping back to yours. 

“It’s nothing,” he insists, even though he sounds anything but convincing. 

“Okay,” Natasha cuts in before you can push further. “You all know the rules. Use your inside voices. Don’t yell out the answers—I’m looking at you, Fanboy. If you’re certain you’re right but someone disagrees, swear on Bob’s life. If you think you’re right but not totally sure, swear on Hangman’s life. And if you need to check your phone, take it outside, but don’t bother coming back until the round’s over. I’m not getting penalised because of you idiots.” 

“Wow,” you murmur, leaning just slightly toward Bradley. “She’s competitive.” 

“You have no idea,” he says quietly, his arm brushing yours as he leans closer. 

On your other side, Jake clears his throat—loudly. 

Natasha’s eyes cut toward him. “Something to add, Bagman?” 

He straightens quickly. “No—sorry. Just… something stuck in my throat.” 

She frowns, sceptical, but doesn’t push it—she just launches back into her speech about why everyone needs to focus tonight. Apparently, they broke their winning streak last month, and second place isn’t good enough. According to Natasha, second place is just the first to lose. 

It isn’t long before Penny returns to the mic to kick off the first round, and the buzz of conversation dulls to a low hum. Even the patrons not playing seem invested as she starts reading out questions. 

“Which 2005 sci-fi thriller directed by Steven Spielberg grossed over six hundred million worldwide?” 

“Ooh,” Mickey says, leaning across the table. “War of the Worlds.” 

“You sure?” Natasha asks. 

He nods vigorously. 

“Wasn’t it like… a Star Wars movie or something?” Reuben pipes up. 

Mickey’s head snaps toward him, eyes wide. “Spielberg didn’t direct a fucking Star Wars movie, you idiot.” 

Reuben just shrugs. “Yeah, but War of The Worlds kinda sucked.” 

“Just because you didn’t like it doesn’t mean it bombed,” Bob mutters. “It’s a sci-fi classic.” 

“I’m with Payback,” Javy chimes in. “I didn’t really like that main guy—what’s his name again?” 

“Oh my God,” Natasha hisses, smacking both hands on the table. “This isn’t a film critique. Fanboy—are you sure that’s the right answer?” 

Mickey nods again, and Natasha scribbles it down on the sheet. 

“Okay,” Penny calls over the chatter, “question number two: which actor played Jack Dawson in the 1997 film Titanic?” 

Beside you, Bradley scoffs. “Way too easy.” 

You glance at him, lips twitching. “Familiar with your heartthrob actors, are you?” 

“I had to learn from somewhere,” he shoots back with a smirk. 

Your eyes narrow. “Did you just call yourself a heartthrob?” 

He opens his mouth to retort, eyes sparkling, when— 

“Can you two shut up?” Jake hisses, leaning forward with a glare. 

Your brows pinch, indignation rising in your chest, but before you can fire back Penny is already on the mic with question number three. 

The rest of round one passes in a blur. Mickey and Bob field most of the answers—apparently the group’s film buffs—while you sit and quietly overanalyse every detail of Jake’s body language. Every muttered word. Every sidelong glance. He hasn’t smiled once since you sat down. Not since you slid into the seat beside Bradley and started innocently chatting. 

When round two begins, you quickly realise that Javy and Reuben are the squad’s main music enthusiasts—because they’re already whispering answers to Natasha before Penny even finishes the question. 

“Which song by American singer-songwriter Kenny Loggins was made famous by the 1986 film—” 

“Danger Zone,” Reuben cuts in under his breath, and Javy nods 

Natasha writes it down without hesitation and then slides the answer sheet toward Mickey—who is apparently the volunteer runner for the night. And just like that, round two is over. 

“So,” you say, glancing at Bradley, “what happens if we lose?” 

His eyes go wide as he drops his empty beer bottle on the table. “Don’t say that too loudly, or Phoenix will kick you out just for jinxing us.” 

Heat creeps into your cheeks, and you glance across the table to make sure she didn’t hear. 

“We came second last month—by one point,” Bradley explains, lowering his voice. “She blamed Bob because he swore on his life that orcas are whales. They’re called killer whales, right? But Nix knew it had to be a trick. She still wrote down whale anyway… and turns out, they’re dolphins.” 

Your brows lift. “Dolphins?” 

He nods. “Yep. She didn’t speak to him for a week—and he’s her back-seater. They literally have to fly together every day.” 

You huff a laugh. “That’s actually kind of impressive.” 

“Incredibly impressive,” Bradley agrees with a smirk. 

You open your mouth to press him further about Natasha’s competitive streak when the loud scrape of chair legs on hardwood cuts you off. You whip around to face Jake, who’s now standing with his chair shoved roughly back. 

“Anyone want a drink?” he asks, his voice clipped. 

Bradley, Javy, and Mickey all take him up on the offer, and just as he’s about to walk away, you reach out and grab his hand. 

He freezes mid-step, turning back slowly. 

“Could you get me one too, please?” you ask. 

His gaze drops to your hand curled around his, and his expression softens. “Yeah,” he mutters, “of course.” 

He clears his throat, but doesn’t let go right away. He lets his hand linger in yours for as long as both your arms will allow, and when he finally lets go, your skin burns with the memory of his warmth. 

“Wow,” Javy chuckles. 

You turn back to face the table. “What?” 

The whole table looks like they’re holding back a smile or a laugh, each one of them eyeing you carefully—like they’ve been warned to keep their mouths shut. 

“Nothing,” Natasha says before anyone else can crack. “It’s just—he’s different with you.” 

Your cheeks burn. “Oh.” 

“Not in a bad way,” she adds quickly. “Just... softer.” 

You open your mouth to ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean when Penny’s suddenly back on the mic, announcing the start of round three. Jake returns a minute later with a tray full of drinks and sets it in the middle of the table, completely oblivious to the way you can’t take your eyes off the strain of his t-shirt sleeves around his biceps.  

“Alright, geography time,” Penny says into the mic. “First question: what is the highest mountain peak in North America?” 

“Denali,” Mickey replies almost too quickly. 

Natasha narrows her eyes. “I don’t trust you. How do you know that?” 

His cheeks flush the faintest shade of pink. “I just do.” 

Reuben leans forward. “You sure, man? Geography isn’t your strongest—” 

“Yes,” Mickey snaps. “I’m sure. Swear on Bob’s life.” 

Natasha’s brows shoot up. “Bob’s life—you sure about that?” 

“You better be sure,” Bob mutters. “I’m not dying just because—” 

“It’s in Twilight, okay?” Mickey hisses through his teeth. “There’s a vampire coven in Denali, Alaska—also known as Mount McKinley. Highest point in North America.” 

Bob’s eyes widen. “You’re gambling my life on Twilight knowledge?” 

Reuben snorts. “You’ve watched Twilight?” 

“I read them, actually,” Mickey mutters, sinking lower in his chair. 

“Oh my God,” Natasha sighs. “Does anyone have a credible answer for this?” 

The table falls quiet, the mic crackling softly as Penny lifts it to her chin again. 

“Fuck it,” Natasha mutters. “You better be right, Garcia.” 

She scribbles it down and shoots Mickey a pointed look—one that says if this loses us the game, you’re dead. 

“Okay, question number two,” Penny announces. “What is the capital of Australia?” 

“Sydney,” Javy says immediately. 

You lean forward. “Actually, it’s Canberra.” 

Natasha frowns, pen hovering. “You sure?” 

You nod. “It’s one of the most commonly mistaken trivia questions. I got it wrong once, and now I’ll never forget it.”  

“Nice,” she says, flashing you a smile before writing it down. 

You lean back, taking a long sip of your drink to hide your smile—because of course you’re a little smug about finally getting to answer a question. 

“Not bad,” Bradley murmurs, leaning in just a little. “Didn’t have you pegged as a geography nerd.” 

You roll your eyes, a smirk tugging at your lips. “I’m not. But at least I’m contributing. You haven’t answered a single one yet.” 

He shrugs. “Trivia’s not my strong suit.” 

“Then what is?” 

His grin spreads slow, all confidence and ridiculous sex appeal. “Charisma. Good looks.” 

“Ohhh.” You nod with mock seriousness. “So you’re the hot but incredibly unhelpful friend?” 

His brows lift. “You think I’m hot?” 

You meet his gaze, unflinching, voice dropping lower. “You know you’re hot.” 

“But you just admitted it.” 

“Must be all that charisma of yours working.” 

For a beat, you just stare at each other. Both smirking, both daring. It isn’t charged the way things with Jake are—not even close. Those moments are heavy, weighted with everything unsaid. This is lighter. Just fun. Just banter between friends—or potential friends. And Bradley is charismatic, it’s hard not to flirt a little. 

Then— 

The harsh scrape of chair legs on hardwood—again. 

You whip around, startled, but this time Jake’s already gone. And when you spin toward the door, you only just catch the back of him as he stalks out into the night. 

“Uh oh,” Javy mutters. 

Bradley winces. “Shit.” 

“I’ll—um—” you push your chair back gently, “I’ll go make sure he’s—yeah.” 

You slip away as quietly as you can, ducking your head to avoid everyone’s eyes as you follow the same path as Jake out the doors. 

The night air hits cooler than you expect. The sun’s almost gone now, and the sky is a swirl of deep blue and fading orange that’s getting darker by the second, making the poorly lit car park feel a lot sketchier than it had an hour ago. 

Jake is only a few feet ahead, his head bowed and hands shoved as deep into his pockets as they’ll go.  

“Hey,” you call, lengthening your stride to catch up with him. “Jake.” 

He slips between two cars, and you can hear the jingle of keys. 

“Jake,” you try again, louder this time. 

He ignores you. 

“Jake!” you all but shout, trailing him until he finally stops—until he has no choice but to acknowledge you. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

He spins around, jaw set, brow furrowed. “What the fuck am I doing? What are you doing?” 

You rear back, stunned. “I—I’m… playing trivia and talking to your friends.” 

He scoffs. “You’re not talking. You’re flirting.” 

Your brows shoot up. “Seriously?” 

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t soften. He just pins you in place with those green eyes—so clouded with emotion they almost look black in the dim light.  

“Okay, firstly,” you say, folding your arms, “that was barely flirting. And secondly, who are you to tell me who I can and can’t flirt with?” 

He blinks, almost like he’s buffering. “I’m not—I just… they’re my friends.” 

You snort. “Right. They’re your friends, so they can’t be my friends.” 

“What? No—no, that’s not what I’m saying. They can be your friends, they just—” he hesitates, drawing in a sharp breath, “they can’t be your… boyfriends.” 

“Boyfriends?” you echo, incredulous. “I mean, I don’t usually juggle more than one at a time, but…” You trail off, the words catching in your throat as you stare up at his stupidly perfect face—then you shake your head hard. “Look, if you’re trying to look out for me, or whatever—I’m sorry, you missed out on the whole protective older brother act when you ignored me for most of my teenage years.” 

His expression falters, eyes going wide. “Brother act?” 

“Yes.” You huff. “And I get it—you’ve known me since we were kids, and maybe you think you need to protect me. But we’re adults now, Jake. I can flirt with who I want, date who I want, without needing anyone’s permission or approval.” 

The air hangs thick between you, your chest is rising and falling faster than it should beneath your tightly crossed arms. Jake just stares, brow furrowed, jaw clenched like he’s physically biting back the words he really wants to say. 

“You think I’m being… protective?” he says finally. 

“Well, obviously.” You drop your arms. “If your friends are off-limits, just say that. But for the record, that was barely flirting. It was friendly banter.” 

His brows shoot up, and he takes a half-step back like you’ve knocked the breath out of him. “Banter?” he echoes. “If that’s not flirting, then you are way more dangerous than you realise. You just—” He cuts himself off, eyes squeezing shut as he sucks in another sharp breath. “You don’t get it, do you?” 

“Get what?” 

“Come on,” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re smart. You can figure it out.” 

“Figure out what?” You throw your hands up in frustration. “Why are you being so weird and cryptic?”  

“Because I’m jealous!” he blurts, his voice sharp, almost desperate. “I’m not being protective, or trying to keep you away from my friends… I—I’m jealous.” He drags a hand down his face. “I’m jealous of every single person you look at that isn’t me. I’m jealous of everyone you’ve been with since me. I’m jealous of all the people who got to know you in the last ten years while I—while I did nothing but miss you. While I wished I had the balls to tell you back then that I—I’m… that I’m in love with you. And no amount of distance or time is ever going to change that.” 

You’re almost sure your heart stops—if it weren’t for the deafening pound of your pulse in your ears. Your chest tightens, breath catching. All you can do is stare at him, his words stretching taut between you, heavy with everything unsaid and far too much that was said. 

“Jake…” you whisper, voice barely audible. “You’re not—” 

“Don’t—” He steps closer, eyes burning. “Don’t tell me how I feel. Because I have always known that I would love you forever—I just didn’t know how much until it was too late.” 

Heat crawls up your neck, nerves prickling every inch of skin. Your limbs feel weightless, numb—you don’t even know how you’re still standing. But you are. 

“Okay.” You nod slowly, pulling in a shaky breath. “I’m not trying to invalidate how you think you feel, but Jake… I’m not stupid. I know I’ve changed—I worked really hard to change, to feel better about myself. But just because I look better now doesn’t mean—” 

“Not better,” he cuts in, quick and firm. “Just… different. But you’re still the same girl I grew up with. The same girl I’ve always loved. And it’s never been about how you look—God, I wish I never let it be about that. Because I—I’ve always thought you were beautiful. Always. I was just too chickenshit to tell you. To tell anyone. Except—” he huffs a broken laugh, running his hand through his hair again, “I think I told my mom one Christmas when I got drunk and started rambling about how much I missed you. And maybe I wrote it in a journal once, because I read somewhere that journalling helps—but, fuck, please don’t tell anyone about that.” His voice cracks. “I just… I don’t know what to do.” 

When his gaze finally finds yours again, his eyes are shining—brimming with sincerity, with emotion threatening to spill over. 

“I’ve only had you back for a few days, but I can’t lose you again,” he murmurs, voice low and breaking. “Not because you hate me. Not to anyone else. I—I feel like I’m going insane. I can’t just be your friend. I can try, but I can’t lie. I can’t pretend I’m not in love with you, that I haven’t been for most of my life.” 

Your breath catches, your chest heaving, and for a long, trembling moment you just stare at him. Everything he’s said, everything you’ve felt but buried, it’s too much. Too heavy. Too dangerous to keep shoving down. It slams into you all at once, leaving you reeling, until standing still feels impossible. 

Your hands move before your brain can catch up—fisting in the collar of his shirt, yanking him down until his mouth crashes against yours. The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s a collision, sharp and searing, years of silence and longing tearing wide open in the span of a heartbeat. 

He gasps against you, as if this—finally kissing you again—was more than he ever allowed himself to hope for. 

And then he’s devouring you—hands clutching your waist as you surge forward, pressing flush against his chest, arms locking around his neck. He’s solid, warm, unrelenting, his lips claiming yours with a desperation you’ve never known—but that you answer in kind, matching him with every ounce of ferocity you’ve held back for far too long. 

The taste of him is dizzying. Familiar, foreign, forbidden. Like a drug you swore off years ago but were never truly free of—one hit and you know you’ll never stop craving. 

His tongue grazes your bottom lip—hesitant, pleading—before slipping past your lips as you part them for him, and the sound he makes deep in his chest has heat flooding your veins. His grip is bruising, desperate, like if he lets go for even a second, you’ll vanish. 

You want everything. All of him. Every piece he’s kept hidden. You want to take until there’s nothing left, until he’s burned into you so deep you’ll never know where you end and he begins. It feels ridiculous to admit while making out in the middle of a half-lit car park, but it’s truer than anything you’ve ever known. 

“Need you,” you breathe against his mouth, your lips brushing his with every word. “Jake, I need you.” 

His hands slide higher, spanning your ribs, pulling you tight against him like he could weld you together. “‘M so sorry,” he murmurs raggedly. “You have—you have no idea how sorry—” 

You catch his bottom lip between your teeth, silencing him with a sharp tug that rips a groan from his throat. “Stop apologising,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his. “It was over a decade ago.” 

He pulls back suddenly, brows pinched, lips swollen and kiss-bruised. “Don’t say that. I was... I was horrible. You deserve so much better than me. I don’t even know why you just kissed—” 

“Because I love you too.” 

He gasps—literally gasps—green eyes wide as they search your face for any trace of insincerity. 

“I mean,” you sigh, eyes dropping to where your fingers are twisted in his shirt, “you have no idea how much I’ve wished I didn’t over the past ten years, but...” you meet his gaze again, “I do.” 

His lips twitch. “You love me?” 

You nod. “You, cowboy.” 

You only catch a glimpse of the breathtaking grin that splits across his face before he’s kissing you again. Hot and urgent, every apology and unspoken word pouring out in the way his mouth moves against yours. 

One arm bands tight around your waist while the other slides up your side—over the swell of your breast, your chest, until his fingers settle at the base of your neck. And the lightest curl of pressure there makes a breathy moan break from your throat. 

He smiles against your lips, tightening his hold until your body is crushed against his, your lungs fighting for air. You can feel every line of him—solid muscle and heat—and the rigid press of his cock straining against your hip. 

You can’t help but roll your hips into him, drawing a groan from his throat. 

“Careful, darlin’,” he murmurs, that country drawl thick and low. “Or we won’t make it home.” 

Your lips drag across his jaw, down the curve of his neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against hot skin. 

“I don’t wanna wait anymore,” you whisper. 

His breath stutters. “What d’you mean?” 

You pull back and meet his eyes. “Get in the truck.” 

He just stares, stunned, eyes wide and unreadable. 

“What?” you ask, frowning. 

He shakes his head quickly. “Nothing, I—” He scans your face again, like he’s half-convinced this is some kind of cruel joke. “I thought you hated the truck.” 

You roll your eyes as you slip your hand into his pocket, fingers moving deliberately slow. He gasps again, startled, and you can’t help but laugh softly as you fish out his keys and turn toward the truck. 

“Why don’t you give me a reason to love the truck, then?” 

He hesitates for a moment, like his brain short-circuited and needs to reboot—but then he snatches the keys from your hand and quickly unlocks the door. 

You’re giggling again when he spins back around, arms wrapping tight as his lips find yours without hesitation. He pulls you close, stumbling backward until the backs of his legs hit the rocker panel. Then, lips never leaving yours, he pivots you both until you've got your back to the truck. 

“Ready?” he murmurs, his hands clamped at your waist. 

You barely have time to nod before he lifts you, setting you inside—and only then do his lips leave yours. You scoot back across the bench until you’re nearly against the passenger door, and Jake reaches down to jerk the seat lever, shoving it as far back as it will go—before climbing in after you. 

You bite your lip, sliding down until your elbows sink into the cracked leather seat. Jake crawls forward, yanking the door shut behind him. His broad frame devouring the space you thought would be enough—but still, it’s perfect. 

The cramped cab forces every inch of him against you. One knee slips between your thighs, the other planted at the edge of the seat as he hovers over you. Instinctively, your body arches to meet his. You wind your arms around his neck and fall back until you’re lying flat, dragging him with you. His hands brace on either side of you, arms taut and trembling with the effort of holding himself up in the tight space. 

His lips meet yours slower this time, gentler, like he's trying to memorise the taste of you. Trying to burn the shape of your mouth into his with every slow brush and lazy flick of his tongue. His weight sinks heavier with each breathless whimper you give, like your voice alone is enough to undo him. 

One hand glides down your side, curling beneath your lower back and pressing you closer, moulding you to him. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging lightly as he exhales against your lips. 

“God, I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, mouth trailing across your jaw, “every day,” his lips ghost your skin, “for the past decade.” 

You tilt your head as he works lower, his mouth hot and insistent against your throat, heat coiling deep in your belly. 

“Making out in your truck?” you manage, the words faltering when his teeth catch at your collarbone. 

“No.” His voice roughens, vibrating against your skin. “You.” 

His hips grind forward, the solid line of him hard beneath denim, pulling a desperate arch from your body—seeking more friction, more heat, more him. Your hands roam his shoulders, down his arms, feeling the tension ripple in his muscles as he moves against you, each motion frantic and aching. 

His arm slips out from beneath you, hand trailing down the curve of your hip, dragging over your thigh as you rock into him, chasing every scrap of pressure. Breathless, your mouths crash together again—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, daring each other closer. 

“Fuck, you’re… perfect,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough, low, heavy. 

You arch harder, hands sliding down his chest until your fingers hook into the waistband of his jeans. “Jake… I wanna—” Your words break on a gasp when his hips grind down again. 

He groans, deep and raw, his grip locking on your waist to pull you flush as he rolls into you, slow and deliberate. Every drag, every shift leaves you unravelling, thoughts dissolving in the haze of touch. 

“Tell me what you want, darlin’.” His accent thickens with heat, each word heavy, edged. 

“Don’t… stop,” you breathe, lips brushing his jaw, voice caught between plea and command. 

“I’m not,” he rasps, eyes locked to yours with an intensity that makes your knees tremble. “Never stopping.” 

Your hand drifts lower, cupping the length of him through the denim, and his groan breaks rough, forehead dropping against yours. You tilt your head to catch his mouth, nipping at his lower lip as your fingers tighten around his shape of him through his jeans. 

“Fuck,” he chokes. 

His hips jerk forward, chasing your hand, chasing friction. You drag your palm over him again before fumbling with his belt, yanking it free of the loops. 

“I thought we were just making out,” he mutters, breath harsh, voice thick. 

“And I thought you said you weren’t stopping,” you counter, your lips grazing the line of his jaw. 

His breath falters as you finally work his belt loose, fingers moving quick over the button and zipper before shoving his jeans down his hips. Then your palm finds him again—this time only thin cotton in the way—and his head drops to your shoulder on a ragged exhale. 

“We should be quick,” you whisper. “Before we get caught.” 

He lifts his head, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed. “Trust me, baby. ‘M not gonna last long.” 

You grin up at him—dopey, lovesick, and not caring in the slightest. Because you’ve thought about this man every day for the last decade. You’ve missed him, loved him, cursed yourself for it. And now? Now you know you’ll never want anyone the way you want him. 

And you believe him when he says he loves you—how could you not, when he’s looking at you like this? Lips bitten, eyes glassy, devotion and sin bound together in one. 

“Then what are we waiting for?” you ask, your hands already at your own jeans. 

You fumble the button and zip, then lift yourself just enough to shimmy them down. Jake shifts above you, trying to give you space even as he shoves his own pants down to his ankles. Both of you are panting, breath fogging the warm cab, condensation gathering at the windows. 

You kick one foot free, leaving your jeans tangled around the other leg—just enough to move, just enough to hook your thighs around his hips and drag him down to you. His briefs are still on, straining painfully tight over the thick line of his cock. 

Your arms lock around his neck as his lips crash back onto yours. Urgent now, rushed, but still reverent—like he’s trying to worship even in the hunger. His teeth catch your lower lip as his hips grind into yours, the heat of him pressed hard against your bare core. 

You gasp at the friction, dizzy with it. You shouldn’t be this far gone after a handful of desperate kisses, but you are—soaked and aching, sprawled in the cab of Jake’s old truck, seconds away from begging him to fuck you. 

“Do you need—” His words cut off the moment his hand slips between your thighs, fingers dragging through your slick. 

You gasp at his touch, back arching, eyes fluttering shut. “No,” you pant. “Just—just need you.” 

He groans into your mouth, the kiss hot and desperate—searing, then gone too soon. You chase his lips as he pulls back, earning a low, rough chuckle that vibrates in his chest. Through half-lidded eyes, you watch him shove his briefs down and wrap his hand around himself—thick, aching, already slick at the tip. 

You’ve seen him before—of course—but it still knocks the breath from you. Still makes your mouth water. Still makes your body clench and flutter, helpless in its need for him. 

You whine—actually whine. “Jake—” 

“I know, baby,” he coos, eyes flicking up to catch yours. 

His face is flushed, lips red and swollen, pupils blown so wide the green is barely there. You drink him in, your gaze darting over every detail, before dropping lower—down to where his hand is wrapped around himself, poised just above you. He strokes once, slow. Twice, sharper. Then his hips dip, lining himself up. 

“You ready?” he murmurs. 

You tighten your leg around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him in. His breath stutters as he presses forward, the swollen tip sliding against your slick heat. 

“So fucking wet,” he groans, eyes falling shut. 

He sinks into you in one steady thrust, and both of you gasp at the stretch—the closeness—the way want crashes hot and heavy between you. Your pulse hammers in your ears, the dizzy edge of fear and urgency tangling together until all you can think is him, here, now, inside. 

For a moment, you just breathe—pant, really. Eyes squeezed shut, hands locked on his shoulders, clenching around him like you’re trying to hold him there forever. He buries his face in your neck, breath hot against your damp skin. 

Then he shifts above you, hips rocking back, his cock dragging against your walls, making your stomach coil and electricity spark across your skin. You draw a sharp, shaky breath—and before you can brace yourself, he snaps forward, thrusting deep. 

“Fuck—” you cry out. “Jake.” 

“Shh,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “Don’t want anyone to hear us, darlin’.” 

“What if I don’t wanna be quiet?” you whisper. 

His hips roll back with a controlled slowness, his head lifting to meet your gaze. “Then ‘m gonna have to make you be quiet.” 

Anticipation coils tight in your chest, a dangerous current coursing through your veins, lighting every nerve ending on fire. 

Then his hips slam forward again—and again—rougher now, losing restraint. Your whole body jolts with each thrust, and you moan—loud, too loud. The sound bounces around the small cab, a filthy echo that anyone passing by could hear. 

“Darlin’,” he growls, warning thick in his tone. 

You can’t help but grin, dizzy and cock-drunk, bouncing beneath him as his hips piston into you, finding that perfect spot every damn time. 

The sound is obscene—skin on skin, slick and messy, perfect. His pelvis smacks yours in a brutal, intoxicating rhythm. Your arousal coats him, dripping down your thighs and onto the leather seat—but still, it’s not enough. You want more. You want everything. 

“Jake,” you pant, “touch me.” 

A guttural sound rips from his chest. His arms shake as he shifts his weight, one hand slipping between your bodies to find your clit. The pressure is immediate, devastating, and your vision whites out as a sound bordering on a scream tears free. 

“Baby,” he chokes, thrusts faltering as you clamp down around him, “you gotta keep it down.” 

His words are useless. You moan again, clawing at his back, dragging his shirt up so you can feel his skin, the roll of muscle as he drives into you. The friction is perfect, the heat unbearable—building fast, sharp and coiled, like lightning in your spine. 

His name spills from your lips in broken gasps, tangled with raw cries. He grunts against your shoulder, biting back his own noises, panting as his hips slam into you at a punishing pace. Your head bumps the passenger door with each thrust—just barely—but you’ll worry about the concussion tomorrow. 

The weight of his body on yours is perfect—too much, and not nearly enough. You wish there were no clothes between you, that you could strip him slowly, taking your time to worship every inch of his skin—but there’ll be time for that later. 

Right now, you just need to come before trivia ends. 

“Jake—fuck—” you choke as his fingers press down on your clit. 

Your hips buck up to meet his, chasing the friction, the pressure, the rhythm he’s setting. His touch doesn’t falter—circling, pressing, coaxing that little bundle of nerves with almost cruel precision. Every movement sends jolts of pleasure ricocheting up your spine. The knot in your belly pulls tight, your arousal making a mess between your bodies, your orgasm rushing in hot and fast.  

“Jake, ‘m gonna—” 

“I know, baby,” he mutters against your neck, voice rough and wrecked. “Come on my cock, yeah?” 

That’s all it takes. Your body locks up, back arching, legs trembling, hips grinding desperately to meet his thrusts. He slams into that spot over and over again, relentless, while his fingers work your clit—slick, practiced, merciless. You cry out, the sound strangled and raw. 

Your orgasm tears through you like a live wire, white-hot and all-consuming. Your walls flutter and clench around his cock, dragging a hoarse, broken moan from him as his thrusts falter. He spills inside you, shuddering, his whole body seizing above yours. 

The two of you pant through it, chests heaving, grinding lazily to ride out every last wave. Clinging, shaking, sweat-slicked and breathless and undone. 

Eventually, he collapses fully, face buried against your shoulder. The weight of him presses down heavy, making it hard to breathe—but you don’t mind, not when you can feel his heartbeat thundering against your chest, steady and real.  

“Sorry,” he mutters, shifting slightly. “You okay?” 

You blink up at the windshield—completely fogged, opaque. You couldn’t see out even if you wanted to. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I’m okay. You?” 

He sits up, bowing his head—thanks to the low roof—as he tucks himself back into his briefs.  

“I’m more than okay,” he says with that signature little smirk. 

Heat floods your cheeks, your face burning impossibly hot in the sauna you’ve both created in the cab.  

“Good,” you say, smiling like a lovesick idiot as you prop yourself up on your elbows. 

Jake somehow wrestles his jeans back up his legs and then moves to help with yours. He catches your ankle and guides your foot through the loose pant leg before shimmying them higher, both of you dissolving into giggles as you writhe on the bench until you can finally button them at your waist.  

“You look a little...” His eyes gleam wickedly. “Freshly fucked.” 

You snort. “Funny that.” 

You shift until you’re side by side, neither of you ready to leave the hot box of sex and condensation you’ve created.  

“Do you want to go back in or just go home?” he asks. “I can just tell them we fought and I drove you home, or something.” 

You frown. “Why would you tell them we fought?” 

“Because we did,” he says, brows knitting. “And they probably wouldn’t be too happy if I said we fought, made up, and then went home to fuck.” 

Your lips twitch. “Leaving a few details out of the ‘made up’ part of that story.” 

He chuckles, leaning in until his nose bumps yours. “You want to tell my squad we fucked while they potentially tanked trivia?” 

“Phoenix would be so mad,” you giggle—even though the thought of her wrath makes your stomach flip. 

“Exactly.” He kisses you quick, then again, lingering this time. “So either we go back in there, risk them realising what just happened—and also face Phoenix’s fury when she finds out we ditched the team. Or...” He kisses you again, slower, hungrier. “We go home and do what we just did a few more times—at least until you can’t walk.” 

Your cheeks blaze, but you bite down on the grin threatening to break loose. “Who says I’m going home with you?” 

He shrugs, smug. “Or we can go to yours.”  

“So, you think a love confession and the best orgasm I’ve had in ten years is enough of an apology?” you tease, brow arched. 

His eyes go wide. “Best orgasm since—” 

“Don’t get cocky.” 

He smirks anyway. “Darlin’, if that was the best orgasm you’ve had in ten years, I’m about to blow your mind. And for the record—” He kisses the tip of your nose before settling back in the driver’s seat. “—I plan on apologising a lot more than that. Repeatedly. With my mouth, my fingers, my cock. Baby, when I’m done apologising, you’re not even gonna remember your own na—” 

Knock, knock, knock. 

You both freeze, heads whipping toward the driver’s side window. Silence hangs for a heartbeat—then a faint giggle breaks it from outside.  

“Hangman,” Bradley calls, voice dripping with laughter. “You in there?”  

“No,” Jake blurts instantly. 

You swat his bicep, eyes wide. “What the fuck?” 

He shrugs helplessly, panic and amusement twisting across his face.  

“We can’t exactly drive away,” he hisses, jerking his chin toward the fogged-up windows.  

“Open up, Bagman!” Natasha shouts, punctuating it with a sharp bang on the door. 

Your fingers clamp around Jake’s forearm, nails digging in as mortification floods your chest. God, if the seat could just open up and swallow you whole, you’d gladly go. Because of course you’d get caught fucking—or freshly finished fucking—in Jake’s truck by his squad on the very first night you met them. 

Slowly, Jake leans toward the driver’s side window, dragging his palm through the condensation. A clear streak forms—just enough to reveal them. All six of them. Standing there, staring in with varying degrees of amusement—Bradley barely holding it together, Javy giggling behind his hand, Mickey grinning, Bob’s ears turning red, Reuben trying not to smirk. And Natasha. Arms folded, glaring like she’s two seconds away from murder.  

“Do either of you know which colour pill Neo takes in The Matrix to discover the real world?” Natasha’s voice cuts through the door, sharp and unshakeable. 

Jake glances at you, brows raised in question. 

“Um... red,” you whisper, praying she can’t read lips.  

“She knew!” Mickey shouts triumphantly. 

Natasha’s arms drop, her jaw slack. “We lost by one point!” 

“Okay, time to go,” Jake mutters, snapping the lock down with a decisive click. 

Then he yanks his shirt over his head and starts wiping down the windshield. You whip around, lock your own door, and scramble to clear the window. Natasha rattles the driver’s side handle with a sharp yank, then storms around the front of the truck and starts pounding on your side instead. 

“Bagman!” she growls, rattling the handle. “I’m not mad at you, I swear,” she says, softer now, eyes cutting to you. “But I’m gonna fucking kill Bagman.” 

You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of you as she continues to yank at the door, rocking the truck with her effort. The rest of the squad are doubled over, wheezing and cackling, tears streaming down their faces while Natasha keeps trying to break in. 

You do your best not to ogle Jake—shirtless, muscles flexing, biceps straining as he clears the fog from the glass.. Instead, you lean over and twist the key, letting the engine roar to life. The whole cab shudders with the obnoxious growl, but this time, you don’t mind. For some reason, you kind of like his stupid old truck now. 

“Don’t you dare drive away,” Natasha warns. “I swear to God, Seresin. I will find you and I will make you pay.”  

“Bye, Phoenix!” Jake calls sweetly, tugging his shirt back on and flashing the rest of the squad a shit-eating grin. “See y’all at work tomorrow!” 

Then he turns to you, the bravado melting off his face. His eyes catch yours, warm and unguarded, and before you can breathe, he leans in to kiss you—soft at first, then with a playful nip to your bottom lip that makes your stomach flip.  

“God, I love you,” he sighs as he shifts the truck into gear. 

Your heart swells, aching with the weight of it, because God—you love him too. You always have. Always will. And there isn’t a shred of hesitation this time. Jake loves you, wholly and fiercely. You know he’ll never hurt you again—not on purpose. There’s still stuff to work through, sure. But you’ll face it together. Heal together. Be together. 

Because that’s all that’s ever really mattered—that despite everything, you found each other again. Waited for each other. Needed each other more than anything.  

“This is definitely going to come up in a wedding speech,” Jake mutters, almost to himself. 

“Wedding?” you echo, breath catching. 

“Oh yeah.” He glances at you, that ridiculous smirk stretching across his face. “I’m marrying you. And unfortunately, those idiots are probably going to be the entire bridal party.” 

Your stomach twists, not with dread, but with anticipation—warm and electric. Because yeah, you’re going to marry him. The certainty of it surges through you, fierce and undeniable, stealing the breath from your lungs. 

You can’t fucking wait to marry Jake Seresin. 

To be fair, Jake shouldn’t be complaining. The whole reason he met you was that Bradshaw had introduced the two of you. Of course, it came with the warning of “don’t even think about it, Hangman.” But Jake has never been a great listener, especially when it comes to people who catch his eye. 

And you didn’t only catch his eye, you took his breath away.

It’s your laugh and your smile. When it comes to you, Jake would happily dub himself a sucker for a pretty smile. The first time he sees it, he can feel his heart stutter in his chest. He’s never had that reaction to anyone before. 

By some miracle, you decide to give him the time of day. It starts off with flirty comments at the place where you bartend. Since he’ll be around for at least six months, he figures it wouldn’t hurt to charm the pretty bartender – great company and potentially free drinks? Say less. 

After your third meeting, Jake finds himself in your bed. Your lips are chasing each other, hands scrambling desperately. He ends up spending too much time between your thighs, but he would also say there’s no such thing as too much with you. 

It’s not just how sweet you are in bed. He adores having late-night bites with you. When the sex is done, the two of you spend an inordinate amount of time in the kitchen trying to one-up each other in preparing the ultimate midnight snack. He ends up laughing more than he ever has in his entire life with anyone else.

And that realization sinks in slowly and comfortably.

He’s in love with you.

It’s not a grand realization that comes with fireworks. It’s a little lightbulb going off in the middle of the night as he strokes your hair, your face against in his chest. He realizes that he’s never felt more at peace. Never so content with someone. It’s like finding that last missing piece of the puzzle that he’s been searching for and pushing it into its rightful place.

However, his love for you may not be something special for you. He’s likely not the only one. 

Jake should’ve known from the moment he met you, when he saw how Bradley wrapped both arms around you in a tight embrace, your face buried in his neck as he swung you around. There’s an ease to the way Bradley keeps an arm tucked around your waist as he introduces you to Jake. One that has been trained over the years that you’ve known him.

It’s a bond that Jake can’t possibly comprehend. You and Bradley aren’t only best friends. You’re soulmates, bound together by experiences Jake has never been a part of. 

And he has been in these situations before, it’s nothing new. A male best friend is no threat to him. But a male best friend who is virtually a more empathetic version of Jake, one that has more context to the person you are today, that’s a different story that he hasn’t even begun to read.

But when he kisses you, all those thoughts melt away. It’s only you in his arms. You are his and he is yours. He finds solace in holding you close to him.

He doesn’t think of all the other boys you might have had before him. He thinks himself lucky to be one of them, to be the current one. 

Jake certainly tries not to think about it too much. He tries to close his eyes to how close the two of you are tucked together in the bar booth, giggling about something he is not privy to. He tries to push away those intrusive thoughts from a voice in the back of his mind telling him that he should be worried. He tries to ignore his squadmates asking him persistently if you’re Bradley’s girl. 

Because you aren’t. You’re his.

At least, that’s what Jake tells himself now when he stands frozen a couple of feet away from the table Bradley had booked at a club. His feet are rooted to the spot when he spots the two of you. 

It’s Bradley’s thirty-fifth, a momentous occasion. He’s excited to be here to celebrate with everyone else, he can never pass up an opportunity to dress up a little and go out dancing. It’s the southern boy in him. Plus, he knows you’ll be there because it’s Bradley’s birthday – of course, you’ll be there. 

However, he’s questioning his decision to come when he finds you on Bradley’s lap, throwing your head back and laughing. You’re in a little black dress, your favorite one that has also become his favorite. You even sent him a picture of you in it before you arrived to give him a preview. His own little fashion show. 

He thought it was his, but judging by the fact that Bradley’s hand is settled comfortably on your hip, he’s beginning to doubt it. 

His temper flares instantly but a worse burn lights up his heart. 

Jake knows the two of you are just friends. Good friends. He shouldn’t be upset. He shouldn’t be jealous. You’ve told him time and time again that the two of you are just friends. 

Who’s to say that you and Jake aren’t just friends? Friends who happen to fuck from time to time. It’s not as if he ever put a label on the two of you, thinking it too childish and awkward a topic to bring up. Don’t relationships just happen? 

You still flirt with your regulars at the bar to get tips and Jake can’t help the easy charm that slips from his lips to other people. He always thought of those things as innocent. Individual events that do not influence the two of you. The exclusivity is implied, everything else is moot. 

It certainly doesn’t help when Atlas stumbles over drunkenly to him, sloshing around some purple concoction in his glass. “Hangman! You made it. Look at you all cleaned up. Blue is your color, my friend.” 

You mentioned once that you like navy on him, it makes his eyes pop. 

Atlas leans towards his ear, hot puffs of his alcohol-laced breath touching his skin. Jake flinches away. “Did you look at Bradley’s girl? Fuck, I’ve seen her around but did not know they were together. I was thinking of asking her out too.” 

His skin prickles with irritation. He’s sure Atlas means well but all he sees is red in that moment. 

“She’s not his girl,” is the only thing he manages to mutter before he shrugs the other man off and makes his way towards you.

You spot him quickly, eyes shifting to his tall frame stalking closer towards them. “Jake!” You leap off Bradley (thank god) and throw yourself into his arms. 

He feels his annoyance shrink when he feels your warmth on him. He tilts his face down to face you. Your lips are shiny with gloss, tempting him to lean down and kiss you – and who is he to deny such temptation? You become putty in his hands, molding yourself into his body. 

When he pulls away, your eyes are glowing, and there’s a bashful smile dancing on your lips. “Hi, darlin’,” he says.

“You look good.”

He flashes you his signature smile. “I feel good.”

“Hangman!” Bradley jumps to his feet next and you step aside to let him through, much to Jake’s dismay. The man is clearly inebriated, slumping against Jake and hugging him tight. He even goes as far as to paste a wet kiss on Jake’s cheek. “So glad you could make it, man. Get yourself a drink, you have some catching up to do.”

“I bet,” Jake replies, anger fizzling out into amusement. 

Then Bradley turns back to you, and Jake’s displeasure returns just as fast. “Let’s go dance.”

Your eyes seek out Jake’s – part mirth and part question. Jake reluctantly nods. “Go ahead, I’ll catch you later once I get a drink.”

Bradley lets out a holler as he takes your hand and recruits a few others to disappear into the dance floor. Jake snags a tequila shot from the table and throws it back, letting out a hiss. He’s going to need more than one to survive tonight. Especially looking at the way you’re moving on the floor. 

He has a semi in his pants and he hasn’t even really touched you yet. 

He can’t say the same for Bradley, who has his hands planted on your hips as you’re dancing with him, giggling and laughing when he ducks his head to whisper things in your ear. Your gaze flits over to Jake briefly, eyes crinkling in the corners with a grin. 

Don’t let it get to you, he tells himself. 

Jake ends up stewing on his own, nursing a beer that tastes like piss, while he watches you dance with Bradley for what feels like hours. The way you’re moving on the floor, he’s seen what those hips can do. He has felt it firsthand. 

He wants to play it cool. He doesn’t want to feel like an asshole who interrupts your precious time with your best friend. It’s been a busy few weeks, which means you haven’t seen Bradley much. But it also means that you haven’t seen Jake much and the fact that you’re out there with Bradley instead of here with him vexes him more than he would like to admit. 

It seems like an eternity before you’re stumbling off the floor and back to the table. Your hair clings to your skin slightly with the sweat, your entire body glowing underneath the moving lights. You find your way to him, sitting next to him and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. 

His cheek? He wants to kiss you stupid in front of everyone. 

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks. Maybe he sounds a little petty.

You grin and he immediately feels a pang of regret. You’re just being a good friend who is spending time with your best friend on his birthday. Jake shouldn’t hold it against you – nor can he really when he can’t even call himself your boyfriend. It’s not as if he could get past the awkward feeling of asking you.  

“You don’t look like you’re having that much fun.”

“Well, it’s better now that you’re here,” he murmurs in your ear, eliciting another delighted giggle from your lips. He’s finding that it’s becoming his favorite sound. 

You turn and slide your lips against his, whispering, “Aren’t you the charmer?”

His mouth moves against yours in sync, chasing after it whenever you even think about pulling away for a breath. He buries his fingers in your hair to hold you firm against him, to keep you in place. He tastes the sweetness of whichever syrupy cocktail you’ve selected for the night, drinks in the little gasps that rise up your throat, and leans into the way you’re twisting your fingers in his shirt to pull him closer. 

When there is no choice but to break for air, he pecks your lips a few more times before drawing back to look at you. Your lips are deliciously swollen, he notes proudly as a mark of his efforts. 

“You look gorgeous.”

You blush. “Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself. Always thought navy was a good color on you.”

He knows that. That’s why he chose to wear this shirt tonight. 

Before he can say anything else, Bradley swoops in again to pull you away. 

Jake will consider it an accomplishment if he doesn’t strangle Rooster by the end of the night. 

You

At this point, you are convinced that Bradley is trying to sabotage your night with Jake. He had been so supportive earlier, helping you pick out the right outfit to seduce a man he doesn’t even consider a full friend – yet.

“I’m still not sure what you see in him,” Bradley said from where he’s spread out on your bed. “The guy has an ego the size of Jupiter, his head is bigger than the jets we fly. He’s also a bit of an asshole.”

“He also saved your ass once,” you pointed out.

“That’s his job!” Bradley argued then looked at you in the top and jeans you have on. “No, pick something else. That one won’t do the trick.” 

Bradley: pilot, best friend, fashion critic.

You grunted and flipped through your closet again before you spotted your favorite dress. You had worn it in one of your earlier dates with Jake and — let’s just say you ended up losing it somewhere between your front door and your room by the end of the night. 

“That’s the one,” Bradley flagged, closing his eyes as you swapped out the clothes. When he opened his eyes again, he nodded. “This is the one.”

The short black dress isn’t anything particularly special, but somehow it feels like it was stitched to your exact measurements. It has the perfect silhouette that hugs your frame to show off every curve and dip on your body. The back hangs low, showing enough skin to have you shivering. The hem rests more than a couple of inches above your knee. If you bend over slightly, people will get a glimpse of what you have underneath.

Perfect to hook, line, and sinker Jake Seresin.

“I really want this to work out. I really like him, Bradley.”

You could practically hear him roll his eyes. “Still don’t understand why I’m hearing about my best friend and my arch nemesis getting it on. Hell must be freezing over.”

“Oh, shut up. I don’t even know if he actually likes me. We fuck, sure, but he’s also probably fucked half the city.”

“Exactly why you shouldn’t be seeing him!” Bradley groaned. “Okay, to be fair, I’m pretty sure he’s just as obsessed with you. That man can’t stop grinning like a fuckin’ idiot on base when you’re texting him. And I know you’re texting him because then he won’t shut up about you texting him.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, turning around again to gauge how the dress looked. The thought did make you smile. You could admit that you too grin like a fucking idiot when he texts you. “I don’t know,” you sighed, “he still flirts with other girls at the bar, which is fine, because it’s not like we ever made it exclusive. He could still be fucking other people for all I know.”

“You know I’ll beat the shit out of him if he is, right?” Bradley cocked an eyebrow with the threat. You give him a look that says, ‘Stop with the caveman behavior.’ “Regardless, I just want you to be happy and if that is with Jake Seresin, then I guess I’ll have to suck it up.” 

Smiling at him, you patted him on the head. “Thanks, Bradley.” 

“Now, get your phone and let’s send this man some thirst traps before tonight.”

You thought that you had it in the bag. You looked fierce, you felt hot. You’ve got this and you’re going to get Jake Seresin.

At least, that’s what you think until he walks in with that crisp navy blue shirt that makes his eyes glow even brighter. Fuck.

You had spotted him from a mile away but your goal for tonight is to play it more aloof. You’re a strong, independent woman. Jake is just a man. A man you really want in your bed tonight and potentially for a very, very long time. 

The only thing helping you is the fact that Bradley is already incredibly drunk and he has you on his lap to stop himself from getting up and hitting on that pretty blonde in the other table who has been eye fucking him all night. You’re pretty sure her husband notices her doing it too. 

“She looks like a mistake, you can’t let me go over there,” Bradley moans and then his eyes follow your gaze. “Speaking of mistakes…”

You swat him on the chest and tell him to shut up as you peek at Atlas who is the first to greet Jake when he arrives. You’re impatiently wriggling around Bradley’s lap, forcing a laugh at whatever the man next to him is saying. When you finally see him drifting towards you, you’re immediately on your feet.

Screw aloof.

He smells so good, a mix of his natural scent and that woodsy cologne you adore. You have to actively stop your muscles from throwing yourself at him. 

Dancing with Bradley and the others is a good distraction, but it doesn’t help when Bradley leans down to tell you that Jake is still keeping a close eye on you. It makes you smile when you notice just that. 

When you finally break free of the crowd and you’ve sweated off enough of your sexual frustration, you come back to Jake hungrier for more. His eyes have been locked on you the entire time, his gaze burning a trail up your naked legs to where they disappear underneath the tiny skirt. 

The kisses are intoxicating, his touch is fire on your skin. God, you wish you could be here forever. You want him to whisk you away far from this place, press you against any functioning surface, and claim you as his. 

But then Bradley’s back.

You’re about to make this birthday his last when he once again drags you to introduce you to his other friends. You’re getting sick of trying to remember people’s names in your dizzy state. All you want is to get all wrapped up in Jake. 

The conversation drags on and, while entertaining, they can’t hold your undivided attention the entire time. Instead, you let yourself glance at Jake, who is still sitting on the couch, looking at you. You shoot him an apologetic look, which he only purses his lips at. 

At least it isn’t just you who isn’t pleased with the circumstances.

Your efforts to escape Bradley’s grasp on your waist are futile. The man is strong even when he’s stupidly drunk. So you relent and give it a few more minutes before you return to Jake’s side. 

However, by the time you manage to loosen his grip slightly, you notice that your spot next to Jake is now occupied. 

Fucking hell.

It’s Daisy or Sunflower or whatever the fuck her name is. She’s one of the pilots in the same group deployed in the area. She’s fucking stunning with luscious honey curls that cascade down her back. She’s got an endearing southern twang that rivals Jake’s and a heart so sweet, it could attract bees. 

She’s sweet. You like her. But not in that moment.

Because Jake is now busy accommodating this girl, you begrudgingly stay by Bradley’s side. It irritates you even more when you hear her high-pitched giggles, which draw your gaze to her just as she lands a perfectly manicured hand on his chest. You glare at the way the hand drags across his broad chest, to his shoulders, and down his arm. 

And then that hand is traveling back up and curling around his neck to pull him close. 

You turn away quickly. The last thing you need tonight is to see Jake kissing someone else. 

You are forced to reckon with the fact that the two of you are not together. You are not exclusive. He is not yours. He apparently belongs to every fucking woman in this goddamn town. 

To ease the sting, you end up swallowing down more shots than you’d like. The burn helps alleviate the pain that pricks your heart as you feel tears well up in your eyes. Drinking while you’re upset is not a good combination because you’re an emotional drunk, which means you are getting teary-eyed over something so ridiculously stupid.

You’re a grown woman and you’re crying over a boy. How dumb is that?

Even in his state, Bradley notices how many drinks you’re inhaling from the table. Straight shots. No chasers. You’re going to regret this tomorrow, but that’s a problem for another day. He keeps you company and away from Jake, balancing enough non-alcoholic drinks in your hands to get your spirits up.

And it works to an extent. You like this group he’s deployed with. They’re fun and friendly, some of them a little flirty. It makes you want to give Jake a taste of his own medicine. If he can pick up other girls, then you have every right to hit on other guys.

Atlas isn’t a bad pick. He’s taller than Jake, he smells good (but not better than Jake), and he has very large hands that are perfect for manhandling you when you don’t feel like thinking. He has you out on the dance floor, your back pressed against his front. He feels firm, steady behind you. Steadier than you’d like.

You do like the chase with Jake. You like that you’re always learning new things about him, constantly being challenged by whatever new ideas he has. You like being pushed to be a better version of yourself, who is constantly thinking about what it is you want with him. 

You had started the night wanting to be his girlfriend and now, you’re too pissed off to even consider it an option. 

“Thought you were Hangman’s girl?” Atlas calls out in your ear.

Jake’s call sign only proves to annoy you further. “Apparently fucking not.”

Atlas frowns as he pulls away from you slightly. “Whoa, I’m not looking to step on my teammate’s toes. If y’all are a thing, then I’m not stepping a foot out of line, honey.” 

Your eyes fly over to Jake whose gaze is trained back on you again. But Poppy or whatever the fuck her name is is still there. Her hand is still on his shoulder. 

You clench your jaw, mirroring his own expression of equal irritation. 

Two can play this game. 

Jake

If Atlas lays another finger on you, Jake might just consider breaking it. 

He’s been trying to be a gentleman all night and it clearly isn’t working because you are still so far away from him. Every time he thinks he has you, someone else gets in the way. Earlier, he could’ve sworn you were going to come back to him after Bradley finished introducing you.

But then Daisy sat down and, while he is doing his best to be polite, his patience is wearing razor thin. Team morale can go suck a dick – or so he wishes. The last thing he needs is an awkward interaction with someone in his squad when they’re stuck together for months. This is why he doesn’t mix business with pleasure. No matter how many times he tries to pry her grabby hands away, she manages to put them back on him.

It’s beginning to piss him off and he doesn’t know how much longer he can handle her. 

At the same time, he wants to get up to go to you. But you’re with Atlas and you seem to be enjoying yourself a little too much. He still catches you looking over at him a few times. He knows you want him. And he has no problem admitting how much he wants you too, so he doesn’t understand why you’re putting each other through this mess. 

“Hangman, are you listening?” Daisy says next to him, but her voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard right now. 

No, he is not listening. He’s currently watching the way you’re moving your hand up Atlas’ shoulder. It’s some sort of divine punishment, he’s sure of it. All those broken hearts he left in his wake, this is some higher power delivering the consequences. Because at this point, you’re breaking his heart. 

But he isn’t the type to sit around. Jake gets up and moves towards you, shoving through the crowd until he’s right next to you. He slips an arm around your waist to tug you closer to him. Atlas looks taken aback, his wide eyes darting between the two of you. Understanding dawns on his features and he holds his hands up in surrender as he backs away. He’s not touching this mess with a ten-foot pole.

Good call. 

“Hi, stranger,” you smile coyly up at him. 

“Playing a little too nice with others, don’t you think?” He raises an eyebrow as he sways with you, keeping his large hands firmly on your body. His palms circle your waist until he’s getting a handful of your ass – arguably his favorite part of you after your mouth. 

You grin up at him. “Well, my mama did raise me well.”

“Yeah, you seem to be enjoying everyone’s hands on you tonight.” The words leave his mouth before he can think twice about them. He winces, already expecting the retaliation to come. 

Something about you and Jake. Every time you actually talk, both of you end up dissolving into an argument that leaves both your heart rates skyrocketing. 

“The fuck does that mean?” You snap back, jerking away from him. 

“Don’t know why you let Atlas and Bradley put their hands on you like that.”

Your eyes narrow into slits. You’re clearly unhappy with the accusation. “You’re one to talk, letting Dahlia touch you all over.”

“Her name is Daisy.”

It’s a patently stupid response. Jake needs to stop putting his foot in his mouth. Before he can add anything else, you’re already yanking yourself away from him and making your way towards Bradley.

Always back to Bradshaw. 

Irritation claws at his skin as he watches Bradley lean down to let you talk in his ear. Bradley looks confused and tries his best to calm you down. His gaze flicks over briefly to Jake before returning to you. Clearly, whatever Bradley says doesn’t work because you’re already stomping away towards the entrance.

Fucking hell.

He is hot on your trail, long legs catching up quickly to you, who’s already trying to flag down a cab. His hand shoots out to catch you before you stumble off the curb and into the street. You whip around only to give him another dirty look. 

“What are you doing, darlin’?”

“Trying to get home and away from you in case that wasn’t clear enough.”

Jake internally groans. “Listen, I fucked up, alright. I shouldn’t have let her touch me, I was trying to be polite.”

“Polite?” You growl. “Polite is telling her no and moving on.”

“I know, I should’ve done that.”

“Glad to hear you’re reflecting on your actions.”

Annoyance bubbles up inside him. “What about you then? Atlas was all over you.”

You scoff, “Only because Daisy was all over you.”

“So you were jealous?”

“I’m—” you stop yourself, fully aware that anything close to denial will be a lie. “So what if I was?”

Jake can’t help his lips from curling into a smirk, which only irritates you even more. God, he’s getting hard in his pants just from looking at you glaring at him. He approaches you and leans down to capture you in a knee-weakening kiss. His arms wrap around you before you could melt into the ground, tugging you tight against him as his mouth moves languidly against yours. 

“That’s sexy as fuck,” he grins against your lips. “You know I’ve only got eyes for you. I know you saw me watching you all night. I’m yours, darlin’.”

He sees firsthand how your eyes soften, your pupils still blown wide with desire, but the hard lines are gone. He loves that he has that effect on you. 

“Shall we go back to yours?” He murmurs. 

The two of you don’t waste any time. He hails the first cab he sees, spits out your address, and his hands are instantly on you. They roam and explore every inch of you, cupping your face, pulling you flush against him in the darkness of the car. His mouth slants across yours again, tongue swiping across your bottom lip to draw a needy whimper from your lips. 

He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in between and presses it against yours. You taste like sugar and spice. Your breath is hot against his lips, and he swallows the sounds that surface from your throat. 

The car ride feels all too quick. He swipes his credit card and leaves an inordinate tip for the inconvenience. Jake does his damndest to not separate from you, only briefly parting when you struggle to push the key into the lock. Even then, he keeps his arms around you, lips trailing a line of fire down your neck. 

He falls onto the couch and pulls you on top of him, your legs straddling his body as you lean down to kiss him again. He’s had his fair share of drinks but nothing makes him feel as intoxicated as he does with you. 

Your skin is soft in his hands, his fingers digging into your hips. Without breaking apart, he pulls the zipper on your dress down and lets the straps slide down your arms. Fuck, he’s so painfully hard in his pants, but the sight of you naked from waist up makes it worth it. It drives him insane knowing that you were out there, other men watching you, and you didn’t even have anything underneath. If you just let this dress slip down a little, he and a whole lot of other people would get a glimpse of your gorgeous tits. 

You lean back and grin wickledly at him, your clothed pussy over the zipper of his jeans. Even through the thick fabric, he could see the strain of the outline of his cock. It certainly doesn’t help when you start moving your hips around, pressing down on the sensitive length.

“You’re killin’ me,” he groans. 

You duck your head to whisper in his ear, “It’s a little early for that, Seresin. I’m going to need you to last tonight.” Your teeth catch his ear and it takes everything in him to not rip everything off and fuck you senseless. 

Your lips press wet, hot kisses down his neck and his eyes slide shut as you shift your body down. Within minutes, you have your mouth wrapped around his length. Your eyes are trained on him even in the dark, watching every twitch on his features as he tries to control himself. 

The sultriness in your gaze is dizzying. He can’t help but be charmed by how closely you’re observing him. When you twist your tongue a certain way, he feels his face contort. You take that opportunity to repeat the motion. You find the patterns in what makes him tick and you use them to torture him senselessly. 

He can’t fault you for it. He does the same to you. That’s why the two of you work so well together. 

Before long, Jake flips the two of you over and presses you down against the couch. He traces a finger down the curve of your jaw, the length of your neck, and down your sternum. You shiver deliciously under his touch. His hand slips between your legs as his mouth covers yours again. 

Fuck, you’re so wet. He can feel the slickness coating his fingers. He uses it to slide one then two fingers. It’s slow at first until you’re arching your back in an attempt to get him to move faster. With a smile against your lips, he presses his thumb against your clit as he continues pumping his fingers into you. The jerk of your hips is satisfying. 

But he can’t last like this. He could cum in his pants just seeing how responsive you are to him. Every drag of his fingers draws another moan out of you. “Needa fuck you, honey,” Jake mutters, “need to be inside you right now.”

You nod with a small whimper, looking up at him with wide eyes. He pulls his fingers out of you and, with his eyes trained on you, he puts them in his mouth. He licks his fingers clean, tongue circling the digits as he watches your lips part. Your hand catches his shirt and pulls him down again to kiss him. You taste yourself on his tongue and the act only serves to rile him up further. 

Jake gets up momentarily to strip off his shirt and pants, then he’s grabbing a condom from his wallet and rolling it on. In a blink of an eye, he’s on top of you again. His length compared to your body — fuck, this is why he can always fill you up, reach the deepest parts of you.

The couch isn’t ideal but he’s always loved fucking you out here. Something about being more out in the open. 

He’s also impatient so he’s tugging one of your legs up to angle himself to slide inside you. The first drag is a mind-blowing sensation. You’re warm and tight, pulsing demandingly around him. His escaped groan meets your desperate whine. 

He thrusts in and out of you quickly, his wanton need taking over to pursue the pleasure he’s been craving all night. Your soft body underneath his, his cock wrapped in the heat of your core. He buries his face in your neck and his lips suck on the sensitive skin. You crane your head back slightly to allow him more room to paint your skin with territorial marks. As he pulls back, all that comes out of his mouth are filthy words that have your breath hitching.

“So fuckin’ tight, honey. This pussy was made for me.”

“You’re soaking my cock. Did me getting jealous turn you on? Would you prefer I fuck you on the floor instead? Bet everyone would love to get a good look at this pretty cunt taking my cock.” 

“Look at how your tits are moving when I fuck you. Shit,” he curses and his fingers fumble around your nipples. 

“Pretty baby just wants to get fucked stupid, all you want is cock to take care of you tonight.”

Your whimpers escalate as your hands find purchase on his shoulders. He can feel your pussy flutter around him with every word, tightening and gripping him hard. His movements are deliberate with only one focus in mind. Your satisfaction.

Jake’s always been good at that.

It’s not long before you’re squeezing around him as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. That prompts him to follow suit as he spills into the rubber. Sometimes it embarrasses him how quickly he gets off with you, but you’ve always found it sweet. Like it’s flattering how it only happens with you. 

He slumps on top of you, body lined with sweat as he places a kiss on your damp hair. “Always feel so good, sweetheart.”

You shiver underneath him and wrap your arms around his neck. “Mmm, so do you.”

“Let me clean you up.”

“Let’s just do it tomorrow, I’m exhausted,” you say and, on cue, a yawn slips past your lips. 

Jake hesitates and you quickly kiss him to reassure him. With a sigh, he gets up only to toss the condom out and then he’s back with his arms around you and your back pressed against him. 

“I really like you,” you mumble sleepily.

Jake isn’t even sure if you realize you had said that. He feels his heart skip a beat as he smiles softly. “Me too.”

Before long, your breathing evens out. Jake reaches up to stroke your head one last time before he tucks his face into your hair and falls asleep. 

You

Waking up the next morning feels like an impossible feat. Not only are you nursing the aftermath of your terrible drinking habits, you also do not want to leave this uncomfortable sofa when you’re cuddled up against a very comfortable Jake. 

The man only stirs slightly when you roll off. 

It’s a quiet morning with the sun filtering through your sheer curtains. You appreciate the peacefulness after last night’s activities. You blush just thinking about it. Jake’s grip hot on your thigh, the feeling of him pushing inside you and filling you up. 

Shaking your head, you instead refocus your attention on finding your phone to find the time – because who has clocks these days? In the rush to reach the couch, the two of you had tossed them both somewhere in this room. You sink to your knees to look under the table and, sure enough, your phone is there. 

The time catches your eye first. It’s only nine. Relatively early. But it’s the string of missed calls that has your heart dropping. Gone is the high from last night, replaced by sheer panic as you see calls from the hospital and Bradley. All within the last three hours or so. 

You never have your phone on silent. You know how important it is to always have it on hand. Somewhere along the way, you must’ve accidentally turned on the do-not-disturb function, which virtually blocked all incoming calls. 

“Fucking shit,” you curse and immediately dial Bradley. 

He picks up almost immediately. “Hey, shit, are you good? You didn’t pick up earlier and I was—”

“I’m fine. What happened?”

You’re already on your feet, rushing to your bedroom to scramble for a t-shirt and jeans. You trap the phone between your ear and shoulder as you button yourself up. “It’s all good now. Hospital called me. She fluctuated last night, blood pressure dropping. They probably just wanted to be safe, but I’m here with her so don’t stress too much.”

Blood drains from your face. How could you be so stupid? So careless. Guilt gnaws at you immediately, gripping your heart tight. The voice inside your head calls you irresponsible. While you were busy with Jake, Bradley had been there to take care of your mom. 

“I’m leaving now. Be there soon.”

You hang up the phone and rush outside again. Jake is surprisingly awake, sitting up on the couch. He perks up when he sees you. A grin slowly rolls out across his face. Any other day, you’d be back there with him, going for a second round. But you can’t even stomach the thought this morning.

Something on your face must’ve caught his attention and he’s immediately getting up to move towards you. A frown mars his face now. You don’t like that look. You never want him to worry about you. Not when you’re too busy worrying about someone else. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” You hadn’t told Jake about your mom. It was something that felt a little too heavy for two people who were barely in a relationship. It was a burden that you had to carry, it wasn’t for a man whom you weren’t even brave enough to call your boyfriend yet. “I have to go, something came up. I’ll— I’ll text you later, okay? Feel free to stay as long as you want. You know where the coffee and food are.” 

As you move towards the door, Jake catches your arm again. His brows are still furrowed in confusion and concern. “Hey, are you driving? You don’t look like you should be driving. Let me call you a car.”

“No, I’m okay. I promise. I’ll call a car.”

“Do you want me to go with you? I can try to help with whatever it is.”

Your heart aches at the thought. You’d love to have him there with you. Despite what most people believe about Jake, he’s actually very thoughtful. He is the type to remember how you take your coffee and bring you a cup if he comes over in the morning. He sends you check-in texts throughout the day between times in the air. And he cares about your response.

The moment you reply with a one-word message on a particularly tough afternoon, he is there with your favorite sweet treat at the end of the day. 

As much as you want to say yes, you don’t want to put this weight on his shoulders. It’s not his problem, it’s yours. 

“Don’t worry, it’s just a personal family thing. I’ll be fine,” you smile weakly, reaching up to press your lips against his. “I’ll see you next time.”

With that, you’re out the door and making your way over to the hospital. Your nerves haven’t stopped buzzing. You don’t even notice your leg bouncing until your phone rattles off your lap and onto the taxi floor. The car barely pulls to a stop before you’re launching yourself out the door and heading straight for your mom’s room. Muscle memory takes over. The hospital blueprint is imprinted onto the back of your brain. 

When you walk in, Bradley stops you before you can say anything, and you find your mom asleep in bed. You can feel your chest split in two at the sight. She looks as frail as ever. You should’ve been here. You should’ve been the first one here. Bradley shouldn’t have even been called. Fuck. Especially on his birthday.

He wrangles you into a hug, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “Don’t do that to yourself,” he murmurs. “It’s not your fault. It was late.”

“My phone should’ve been on, Bradley. Fuck, I fucked up so bad. What if this happens again and I—”

“Hey, hey, it won’t. It’s fine.”

You look up at him, closing your eyes and releasing a deep sigh. “I’m sorry for pulling you away from your birthday.”

“I was done anyway. It was a good call because I was about to let that blonde last night take me home.” His smile is a clear attempt to get you to feel better, but it only worsens your guilt. “I’m telling you that it’s fine. Nothing happened. Now, come sit down before you pass out.”

The adrenaline from the past hour is beginning to wear off. The two of you sit outside in the waiting room to avoid disturbing your mom. “How is she? I mean, is it anything serious? Permanent?”

“No, they monitored her all throughout this morning and she seems okay. It was just an odd change but the doctor thinks it’s all good.”

Your mom’s been in and out of the hospital for as long as you can remember. It was cancer first and then she went into remission. The brief reprieve in those short years was welcome. You were able to live life normally with her for a while. You didn’t think it would come back when you took a job in another city. It had been your dream position, at least for a little while. 

When the cancer came back, faster and worse than before, you picked up your entire life and moved back home to be closer to her. The doctor insisted that she stay in the hospital for constant monitoring. It seems to be spreading too quickly and treatment has become ineffective. The treatments that she goes through have her weak, which means full-time care is necessary. 

For a while now, it seems to have reached a plateau. To be safe, you let her stay in the hospital and visit her every day. 

“God, I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been here.”

“Kid, don’t worry about it. You deserve to catch a break every once in a while too, live your life. I’ve got your back, alright. Me and your mom had a fun little chat when I got in earlier.”

You frown, brows puckering in confusion.

“Told her about you and Hangman.”

You pale immediately. “W-what? Why would you do that?” You sputter. 

“Well, she’s worried that you’re always here, worrying too much about her and not worrying about getting yourself a life partner.”

That sounds like your mom. Even when she’s the one stuck to a hospital bed, she’s still thinking about whether you’re eating enough or drinking enough water. And apparently dating enough.

“For a while, she might’ve been worried you’re going to adopt 72 cats, so I figured I’d ease some of that stress for her.”

“What did you even tell her?”

“That you met someone, someone you really like. And that’s where you were when you didn’t pick up. She was happy, trust me. Told me not to even call you. I only picked up because I knew you’d be tearing your hair out if the hospital didn’t call you back.”

Groaning, you press the heels of your palms against your eyelids. Fuck. This has been a shit morning. Now, you also have to be concerned about your mom berating you for not telling her about Jake. 

Speaking of Jake, you feel horrible about the way you left him this morning. You quickly pull out your phone to send him a quick text — only to see that he beat you to the punch.

Let me know how your thing goes. I’ll be around if you need to talk xx

The kisses at the end have your lips tugging up. He started adding those to his texts a couple of weeks back. It’s something so small, yet comforting. Like a reassurance that this thing between you means something. That it’s meant to be something. 

All good. Sorry for leaving so quickly this morning. Rain check in post-sex snack?

You barely put your phone away before it pings with another message. 

You got it. I’ll stay at yours in case you need me. 

Your heart leaps in your chest. God, you’re going to marry this man someday. If he doesn’t propose to you, you’re going to buy a ring and do it yourself. 

“Gross,” Bradley grimaces as he peers over your shoulders to see the messages. “Never took Hangman for such a sap.”

“Probably learned it from you,” you point out, jabbing him with your elbow and earning a satisfying oof. 

“I’m surprised he didn’t come with you. He sounds worried.”

You lick your lips nervously. Bradley will disapprove of this, you know it. Even at a young age, you knew what it meant to grow up in a small home. With your father gone and your mother falling sick, you had to learn quickly how to raise yourself. Taking care of yourself – relying on yourself – is your first instinct. 

Bradley had gone through the same thing. If it weren’t for Maverick, he might be the same way. You never had a Maverick. An adult you could look up to, who could take care of you when shit hit the fan.

Instead, when things got tough, you got tougher. 

You always told yourself you didn’t need anyone to care for you. If there was something you needed, you’d learn yourself how to get it. Bradley had experienced this side of you. It’s how he managed to crawl into your heart and built a home for himself there. He taught you that it was okay to rely on others, that it was good to let others take care of you. It’s a slow lesson learned but it’s been easier with Bradley around.

Nobody else has ever come close to him. Until Jake. 

And Jake cares. He cares about you like no one else. Bradley is your best friend but he has other priorities and you could never blame him for it. Jake acts like you hold the moon and the stars in your hands. He reminds you over again that he’s there. It’s never been with words, but with his actions. The little things that he remembers. The little things that show you that he cares. 

He cares enough as is. The last thing you want is for him to care even more – no matter how lovely that would be. You don’t need to put more things on his plate. 

“I… haven’t told him.”

Bradley jerks back in surprise, brown eyes blown wide. “You haven’t? Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s such a big thing to drop on someone. Hey, by the way, my mom is really sick so I go to the hospital to see her everyday, that’s why I can’t have dinner with you today. Or lunch tomorrow.” You sigh. 

It’s his turn to scowl. “Kid, if you like this man that much, if you trust him, you can tell him.”

“But why? It’s not like it’s going to change anything.”

He snorts. “It’s going to change a hell of a lot. He’s going to want to be with you, support you through all this. I keep telling you it’s okay to accept help.”

“I don’t want him to,” you wince. “Not that I don’t trust him. I just don’t want to scare him off.”

“You’ve got that man wrapped around your fingers. Hell, he would probably kiss your feet if you asked. You can’t scare him off.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I know. Trust me. The way he was last night – it was confirmation for me that he’s serious about you.”

Your teeth catch your bottom lip. Last night had been something. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” Bradley ruffles your hair. “So you better tell him before he finds out from elsewhere. Think he wouldn’t appreciate hearing something that big from someone else.”

“You’re right.”

“As always.”

You chuck your phone at him. 

Jake

To say that he’s worried would be an understatement. The look on your face this morning, how frazzled you were. He’s been pacing your living room anxiously for hours. His stomach screams its protests but he can’t bring himself to care. 

You mentioned that it’s a family thing so he’s trying hard not to pry. However, curiosity nags at him. Taunts him. You haven’t told him anything else since you left, only that text to let you know that things were good. Still, he can’t help himself. He won’t be appeased until he sees you and sees that you’re alright.

Jake doesn’t think he’s ever been in your apartment alone. In an attempt to distract himself, he wanders around the house and observes every little detail. He’s not snooping per se, you told him he could stay, which means he could at least see all the common spaces. He thinks going into your bedroom alone would be a little bit questionable. 

He spots the little gallery you have set up on your bookshelf. There are pictures of you and Bradley, younger and with much more hair and at times fewer teeth, he laughs to himself at those ones. Pictures of you with friends he doesn’t recognize, a few from your college years based on the university logo in the background. His chest warms when he spots the photograph of you, him, and Bradley at the bar where you first met him. 

Back then, he knew you were going to be something special. He just didn’t know how much. 

Then there’s a picture of you and your parents. You were a child, maybe eight by the looks of it. You’re an exact replica of your father but there’s a softness in your gaze that mimics your mother’s. He knows little about your family, you don’t talk about them much. He just figures that they aren’t around anymore and he doesn’t want to ask questions that could upset you. 

He does want you to be able to be honest with him though. He wants you to share your thoughts, your worries. He wants to be able to help you. 

This morning left him feeling helpless. The vagueness of your words. Personal family thing. He wonders if you’ll tell him at some point about this thing. 

He supposes there’s no use worrying about it now. He just needs to wait for you to come home. Instead of idling around, he decides to prepare dinner for you. If you don’t eat it tonight, you can still have it for tomorrow.

Now, he just has to figure out how to use the stove.

He’s playing a stupid phone game when he hears the rumble of a car outside. Then there was the jingle of keys by your door. 

He’s on his feet in an instant. However, much to his dismay, you’re not alone. 

You’re laughing at something Bradley said and you don’t even notice Jake standing there with his fists balled on his side. Confusion and annoyance fuse inside him. 

When your eyes finally land on him, you look surprised. He can’t tell if that’s a good thing. “Jake! You’re still here. I thought you left.”

He had mentioned that he was going to be at yours. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I would’ve come home sooner,” you say, regret lacing your voice. 

“I’m gonna head out. You gonna be good tonight?” Bradley pipes up. The man looks uncomfortable. He likely saw the expression on Jake’s face and decided that he wanted no part of whatever conversation you’re about to have. 

“I’m good. Thanks, Bradley, appreciate you.”

Bradley nods, eyes flying over to Jake. “Hangman.”

Jake’s jaw clenches. “Rooster.”

Then he’s gone, leaving the two of you alone. You don’t seem privy to his frustration. 

A part of him knows that this annoyance doesn’t only come from a place of jealousy, but it also comes from hurt. You had mentioned that it was a family thing, and yet you were with Bradley. It was Bradley who probably helped you. It was Bradley who was able to get that distress off your face. 

“Are you hungry? Did you eat yet?” You ask, hand reaching out towards him.

He draws back instinctively. His emotions are all over the place right now, and he doesn’t trust himself to not say things he won’t regret. A flicker of pain crosses your eyes at the gesture and you let your hand fall to your side.

“I made dinner. Guess I should’ve asked you if you were going to eat out.”

Your lips part. “You didn’t have to, but thank you. We can still eat together.”

“No, it’s fine. I should head out.” Jake picks up his jacket from the floor. 

You’re looking at him expectantly, lips pursing when you realize he’s going to leave. “You don’t want to stay? I was thinking we could do a movie or something.”

How can you stand there and suggest that? The irrational part of his brain overwhelms him now. He can’t stop the words that leave his mouth. “Why were you with Bradley?”

You blink, seeming genuinely taken aback by the question. “He was helping me out with something.”

“The personal family thing?” His tone comes out harsher than intended. It’s that ugly monster inside him shining through again. He knows he’s going to hate himself tomorrow for how firm he’s being with you. 

He tries to calm the racing of his angry heart. He tries to ignore that voice inside his head telling him things he doesn’t even know to be true. She was with Bradley because she trusts him more. She loves him, she doesn’t love you. 

“Yes,” you enunciate slowly, carefully, “it was honestly just a personal thing. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“You didn’t want me to worry?” He asks incredulously, “Have you ever considered that I want to worry? That I can’t exactly stop myself from worrying about you. You were so panicked this morning and I’m trying to be patient. I know that it was something that was stressing you out. But you don’t talk to me. You talk to Bradley instead.”

His words are honest. Pained. It’s a struggle for him to articulate these questions when he’s so visibly upset, but he’s trying. God knows that’s all he can do with you. 

You hesitate for a second before replying. “He’s my best friend, Jake. I just thought it would be easier.”

And you’ve just confirmed it. One of his worst fears. Maybe the voices in his head aren’t so far off after all. It would be easier. It’s easier with Bradley. Jake doesn’t know what he should’ve done. If there’s anything he could’ve done differently to reassure you that you can trust him, that you can rely on him for your worries too. 

He takes in a shaky breath as his hand reaches up to wring through his hair. The words that leave his mouth come out weak, broken. Like pieces of him are ingrained in the syllables. “What am I to you? I don’t really understand what we’re doing here.”

“What do you mean?” You’re frowning again. On a normal day, Jake would kiss your temple to smooth out those creases. He’d want to chase away your concerns. 

“I don’t know what you want from me. I thought— fuck, maybe I’m an idiot, but I thought we had something here.”

“Of course, we do. I’m with you, Jake.”

“Really?” He laughs bitterly. “You don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s going on with you. You left so worried and stressed, and you come back smiling with Bradley. I don’t know what else I can do. What does he do that I can’t? Why can’t you trust me the same way you trust him?”

He sees your throat move. Your eyes are shining with unshed tears now and he feels even worse. He put that look on your face. You’ve clearly had a long day and he’s just making things harder for you. This is why you don’t lean on him. 

While you make his life easier and better, he does the opposite for you.

The realization sinks in his gut like a heavy stone. “I should go,” he repeats hoarsely, shrugging on his coat. 

“Jake, wait. Don’t leave like this. I haven’t had much sleep. How about you stay over? We can talk in the morning.”

He’d love nothing more than to tuck you in and pull you close. He wants to end and start the day with you. But right now, he’s doing the responsible thing. He can’t trust himself to not fuck things up even more with you. He needs to rethink things. Maybe kick his bruised ego to the curb. 

“You should get some sleep,” he mutters, pulling you close just enough to press his lips against your forehead. It’s the one thing he allows himself, one act of reassurance to you. “I can’t— I don’t trust myself right now. We’ll talk another time.” 

Before he can hesitate further, he walks out the door. 

You

Jake’s words — the way he kissed your head — felt like goodbye. Panic and pain claw at your chest. Breathing is difficult and you stumble to your couch to process what just happened. You’re not even sure you’re clear on it.

One moment you’re walking in with Bradley after a late lunch, the next you’re listening to Jake question why you don’t trust him. Questioning where the two of you stood. While it was never explicitly established, there was never a doubt in your mind after last night that he was yours and you were his. You think about Jake’s eyes, how they had stayed on you all night. 

So what went wrong?

You’re exhausted from the emotional turmoil of the day. Your head is pounding. But the worst part is when you notice your trembling fingers. 

You’re scared.

Jake left. You had asked him to stay and he left. I don’t trust myself right now. You’re immediately swiping up to open your text chain with him. He did say that he was going to stay here in case you needed him. It slipped your mind once you left the hospital after you talked to your mom. 

It’s terrible timing considering you just told her all about Jake. How you’re pretty goddamn sure that you’re in love with this man. Your mom had told you to bring him around. And you were going to. God, you were. 

You were going to tell him tonight or tomorrow. Yet here you are, alone again. 

But you’re not. Jake didn’t say goodbye. He said that the two of you would talk. You cling to that morsel of hope as you type out a message to him. 

I’m sorry. Can we please meet tomorrow? I think we really should talk. 

The message delivers quickly and, despite how responsive Jake usually is, the reply doesn’t come. It doesn’t come over the next hour nor the morning after. You spend your Sunday milling about your home, constantly glancing at your phone for a text.

Your mom notices your dire mood when you go to visit. 

“I think I might’ve messed up,” you admit to her. You’re fucking scared. Jake still hasn’t said anything. What if this is his way of ending things? A clean slate. Cutting you off completely? He hasn’t blocked you yet so you’re hoping that’s not the case. 

“Oh, honey. Mistakes happen. You can still fix things.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you say as you wrap your fingers into your palm. They haven’t stopped quivering since this morning. Jake’s lack of response puts you on edge. 

Bradley doesn’t seem to have a clue either. You don’t tell him the entirety of your conversation yesterday, despite being a big part of the argument in the first place. You don’t think it would be a good idea to discuss this with him before you even talk to Jake about it. 

Bradley: I tried asking but he told me to fuck off. 

As you’re lying in bed that night, you replay the conversation in your mind over again. It was about trust. It was about figuring out who he was to you. It was also about Bradley. You’re trying to piece things together but the harder you think, the more cloudy it gets. 

Your friendship with Bradley had scared away other people before but Jake has never felt threatened by him. If anything, he was understanding for the most part. 

Restless sleep only finds you late into the night. 

A couple of days go by and Jake still hasn’t texted you back. According to Bradley, he’s also been fumbling at work and decided to forgo their weekly Taco Tuesday with the squad, which never happens. You’re grateful to Bradley for keeping you updated, but it doesn’t help calm your nerves. 

Everyone leaves. The voice that’s been gone for so long, the one that Bradley had chased out and Jake kept out, returns. You try to ignore it. Everyone leaves eventually.

You know it’s not true. It’s just your anxiety speaking. 

It’s by the fourth day that you decide enough is enough. You can’t wallow at home for too long, otherwise your thoughts will eat you alive. 

The drive to Jake’s is short, perhaps a little too short. You don’t have enough time to plan this conversation. The most you can do is try to calm yourself down. Jake wants you. He said so himself. That’s not the question. 

The question is whether you trust him and the answer is a very simple yes. It’s not about trust. It’s about responsibility and how you’ve handled it yourself for years. When Bradley came into the picture, it was difficult enough to release some of that control. The thing that scares you most with Jake is that you want to let it go — you want to rely on him. But there’s always that worry crawling around in the back of your mind that he would leave if you rely on him too much. 

Knocking on his apartment door, you wait outside in silent anticipation. Your fingers unknowingly shake as you hold onto your keys, flipping them around just to help keep the uneasiness at bay. No answer. You try calling him but don’t hear his usual ringtone. He likely isn’t home yet. But it’s already seven and he’s usually—

Ding. The elevator arriving on the floor has you turning around. 

Your heart stops at the sight of him. It’s only been days but you can feel the yearning consume you. There’s a light dusting of stubble along his jaw and shadows under his eyes. He’s decked out in his uniform but there’s a sagging to his shoulders that makes you press your lips together. 

Jake looks up, eyes brightening ever so slightly when he sees you. 

“Hi,” you start, clearing your throat. 

“Hey,” Jake coughs. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Well, you weren’t exactly responding to my texts.” It isn’t meant to sound petty, but it comes out a little aggressive. 

Jake doesn’t try to offer an excuse. Nothing about work being too busy or his phone falling into a river somewhere. That means that he was actively ignoring you. 

“Can we please talk?”

His eyes slide shut as he takes a deep breath. “I’m really tired. Cyclone and Maverick put us through the wringer today. It’s been nonstop drills since six.”

You feel for him, you do. But if you leave now, you might never have the chance or courage again. “Can I come in? Stay over until you’re awake enough to talk.” 

Surprise flits across his eyes. “Yeah, of course.” He opens his door and lets you in. 

You’ve been here before, familiarized yourself with the place. There are a couple of t-shirts you left here from the last few times you stayed over. But today, you feel like wearing his. The two of you move wordlessly. Jake is stripping off his uniform for a shower and he doesn’t say a word when you swap into one of his college tees. 

By the time he comes out to the living room with damp hair, you’ve settled yourself on the couch. The couch sinks as he sits down next to you. There’s space — small enough to remind you that he’s there, but noticeable enough that you feel the distance between the two of you. 

“You’ve been ignoring my calls and texts. Care to tell me what’s going on?”

“Training has been busy lately.”

“I’m trying here, Jake. You said that we would talk and yet here we are almost a week later because you haven’t responded to a single thing I sent to you.”

His reluctance is heavy in the silence. 

And then you ask the question you fear his answer to. Your voice is tight when you say, “Is this your way of ending things with me? Are you cutting me off? Because if you are, I’d rather you tell me now rather than me humiliate myself further after showing up on your doorstep begging you to talk to me.”

“No, god, no,” he swiftly says. “I’m not. I’m not cutting you off. I’m not ending things.”

“Then what’s going on? Talk to me.”

“I was embarrassed,” Jake sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I acted out that night. It was stupid and I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that after you’ve had a long day. I’m sorry.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“It’s not that simple. I didn’t really trust myself to be mature talking to you about this. My concerns are not your problem, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You’re quick to jump in this time. “That’s not true. I want to know what you’re thinking. I want to know what you’re worried about so we can work through it together.”

“It just didn’t feel right when you don’t share your concerns with me either. I don’t want my emotions to be your responsibility.”

And it dawns on you then. He’s doing the exact same thing you are. Hiding your mother’s condition. Not sharing the deepest worries that plague your everyday life. 

“Anyway, can we just forget about everything I said? It was stupid and I don’t—”

“No. Look, if these are things you’re actually worried about, then I want to know. You’re my—” boyfriend? You bite your tongue. “I care about you. I want you to share these things with me and I’ll… do better with sharing with you too.” 

“You don’t have to, not if you’re not comfortable.”

You wince. “I’m not uncomfortable doing it, I promise. I trust you. I do. I’m glad you brought this up — obviously the delivery could be improved, but I’m glad you trust me enough to talk to me about it. I appreciate communication, that’s something I’m trying get better at too. You’re setting boundaries and that’s completely fair.”

Jake looks at you and finally reaches over. The dam inside you threatens to burst, you could feel your lips quiver the moment he touches you. He catches it and immediately brings your hands to his lips. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been better. I shouldn’t have acted out the way I did.”

“It’s okay. I’m really glad we’re talking now. I also— I don’t really understand why you think I don’t trust you. Bradley’s been my friend forever, so I know I naturally lean on him for certain things, but I’d like to think that I do talk to you too.”

He avoids meeting your eyes. His gaze is trained on his hands wrapped around yours on your lap. His thumb is rubbing slow circles on the back of your hand, his face scrunching up in deep thought. 

When he does finally speak, it’s slow, like he’s still processing his words as he goes. “I know. It’s understandable. I’m just being childish—”

“No, please. I want you to tell me these things.” 

“I just want to be helpful to you too. I want you to be able to trust me to make your life easier. And I know that’s not an easy ask, but I’m hoping that you keep me in mind next time.”

You thread your fingers through his, bringing his hand to your lips this time. “Thank you. I will, I promise. As for my mom, I was going to tell you. I was, I swear.”

“Your mom?”

You take a deep breath. “Bradley lost his dad the same way I did mine. With my mom—” you pause, air caught in your lungs, “—she’s sick. She has been for a while and she’s been in full-time hospice. With Bradley, I knew he would understand. There’s so much going on right now. It’s put a lot on my plate and I just didn’t want to put it on yours. 

“Since I didn’t really know where we stood, it didn’t feel right to tell you these things. It’s not your responsibility, it’s mine. It’s not as if we’re officially together or exclusive or whatever. I didn’t want to burden you with my problems, or guilt you into feeling sorry for me.”

Jake swallows thickly. “You know I’m deliriously in love with you right?”

The world tilts on its axis. The shell-shocked look on your face should make it clear that you in fact did not know.  “What do you mean?”

“That means I’m stupid and I should’ve made it clear from the start. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time. I haven’t even glanced at anyone else since I met you. You’re it for me, sweetheart. Whatever your burdens are, they’re mine too. I want to take on whatever I can to make life easier for you because my life is easier, lighter, better with you in it.” Jake is smiling softly. It’s one of the rare times you get this genuine Jake Seresin smile and you drink it in, tattoo it into your memory. His hands cup your cheeks as he pulls you in for a kiss. 

You’re giggling against his lips. He grins even wider. “You’re serious? You love me?”

“Mhmm, there wasn’t any doubt about that.”

“It’s funny because I was just telling my mom that I’m pretty sure I’m in love with this flying cowboy,” you tease. “She’s very, very excited to meet you.”

“I’m a crowd favorite, especially with parents.”

You roll your eyes. “Only you could ruin a sweet moment with your inflated ego.”

“This inflated ego is why you fell for me in the first place, darlin’.”

With a laugh, you shake your head and press another kiss against his lips. “You’ve got a lot of making up to do, Jake Seresin. Putting me through this rollercoaster.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve only got the rest of our lives.” 

Your reality seemed as far from earth-quake inducing as they could get, at the time. Looking back, though, you wish you could plead and change your youthful mind. Because the day wasn’t perfect, the situation was terrible shades of melancholy, but none of that really matters; what matters is that on that sunny Wednesday afternoon, you met him. 

Scraped knees. You had scraped knees, sitting embarrassed and frazzled beneath a tree as you tried to sink into the shade surrounding its base and erase the memory of what had just transpired. You could still hear all the other kids’ taunts echoing through your mind, cruel and unnecessary words that were suited to follow you the rest of your days. Comments on your looks and teases of things you couldn’t change. Seeds of insecurity that were hard to swallow at the beginning of your teen youth. 

You were still picking at the edges of your open wounds with slow drying tears still coating your cheeks when his shadow joined the tree’s. 

“Are you alright?” 

You looked up immediately to find a boy standing there. Your eyes had traveled slowly, taking in his baggy jeans with patchwork knees and his oversized faded t-shirt first. Even with the hand-me-down clothes, you could recognize his gangly limbs beneath it all. A frail frame and hunger-panged face. An overgrown buzz cut, no doubt prickly as the hairs stood to attention. Sunken in eyes brimming with concern for you. Whatever shade they were, they had to be dark; they were nearly black in the shades of grey your eyes could currently pick up on.

The thing about soulmates, is the colors don’t happen until you touch your soulmate. 

“I’m fine,” you stubbornly replied, wrapping your arms around your shins and tucking your knees beneath your chin despite the sting. 

“You don’t look fine.”

“Then stop looking.” 

He threw his hands up defensively, shrugging a bony shoulder, “Sorry.” 

He wasn’t sorry. Even with the wince that graced his face, he wasn’t sorry for checking in on you. You knew it the moment you caught the broken skin on his knuckles, nearly matching the cuts on your knees. You had fallen on the pavement as you’d tried to run away from the bullies, determined to not let them see you cry. The entire ordeal had been mortifying. You wished you would have just stood there and cried, let them hear your sobs and let them crown you the school’s newest crybaby. 

“What happened to your hands?” you sniffled, moving to wipe at your nose. Your cheeks were drier now, the skin nearly stiff where the tears marks remained. 

When you mentioned it, he suddenly shot his hands out before him, flexing each hand for emphasis as he looked down with boredom, “What? The cuts? Carver has sharp teeth, ‘s all.”

“Carver?” One of the kids who had just partaken in tormenting you. 

“Yeah,” the boy nodded, suddenly plopping himself onto the ground beside you. You flinched and he grimaced in a silent apology once more, “I think he was in the middle of saying something when I punched him, but that’s not surprising. He always has his big mouth open-” 

He was cut off mid-insult by a soft snort of laughter. Looking up, all of the previous annoyance at his injured knuckles melted away as he caught you fighting back your laughter. 

“What? I say somethin’ funny?” he was biting back his own grin, raising an eyebrow. 

You only laughed more, shoulders shaking now with entertainment rather than sobs. “I- Yeah, sorry, I just- God, you’re right. Carver does have a big mouth.” 

“The absolute biggest.”

“Bigger than the Atlantic ocean.”

His chuckling joined yours, along with a face splitting grin and eyes that you swore shone between the monotonous tones. “God, bigger than the fucking Pacific ocean. Every ocean, as a matter of fact.” 

You both leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, just close enough you could feel his heat through the summer air but not quite touching. Not yet. You let the back of your head thump against the trunk and tried to not think about any of the debris sure to end up in your hair. 

“So…” you sighed once the two of you composed yourself from your laughing fits, “I’m assuming you punched Carver?” 

He only nodded in answer.

“Can I ask why?”

Part of you wanted to assume that the two events were connected; Carver bullying you, and this boy punching him. But you didn’t want to make such a bold assumption about some stranger. Fellow peer or not. 

“Because he made fun of you.” 

The assumption wasn’t so bold. Your chest constricted, you remembered the sting of your knees, heard the echoes of the other students’ laughter at your fall once more. 

“You punched him just because he made fun of me?” you tried to force out a joking tone, as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if it wasn’t making your heart swell, “You don’t even know me.” 

“Doesn’t matter. He made fun of you,” the boy said with concrete decisiveness. There wasn’t a quiver of doubt to be seen, as if the logic made perfect sense to him. Your heart swelled more, painfully so. He looked down at one of his hands for a moment, before suddenly shrugging and rolling his head to look at you, sticking it out towards you, “I’m Eddie, by the way.”

A certain security blanketed the moment. This kid, Eddie, had punched a guy for making fun of you. You’d never even spoken to him before that day, much less would you have considered bruising your own knuckles for him. But he had for you. Without hesitation, apparently. Just some boy with a sliver of a gap still between his front teeth, a promise of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and blood on his hands as a reminder of your honor. 

Teachers were certainly going to be coming to find the two of you soon. There would be consequences, most likely more on Eddie’s part than yours, but that didn’t matter. There, in the shade of an oak tree of a middle school you’d soon be departing only to join the ranks of some awful high school with bigger and badder bullies, with larger and crueler problems than skinned knees, you had a friend. 

“I’m-” you started, reaching out your hand to meet his halfways. But you stopped, because the moment your palm met his, it happened. Suddenly, quickly, unexpectedly. It nearly gave you an instantaneous migraine; the flood of color was so overwhelming. 

The first color you saw was the soft, whiskey brown of his eyes. Two warm and comforting orbs, blown out to be as wide as your own, as his face echoed back the same shell-shock on your own. His eyes were brown. Not grey, not black, but something more, something russet. Brown. 

Colors. You were seeing colors for the first time. You both knew what it meant. 

“You,” he breathed out with a boyish grin, letting you catch the pink of the tip of his tongue as he finished your introduction for you, both of your excitement buzzing in the breeze, “are my soulmate.” 

—

Fifteen was the age of awkwardness. Thirteen had been awful, sure, full of changes and growth and such, but fifteen made it seem like a cake walk. 

You wouldn’t have survived it without Eddie. 

Two years into the friendship, the two of you were inseparable. You had always spent your entire childhood assuming that when you found your soulmate, it would all fall into place, romantically speaking. But then Eddie happened. Eddie, your soulmate, fell right into your lap and you realized all of your childish dreams were pale in comparison. 

He was your best friend first and foremost. Even if he hadn’t been revealed as your soulmate on that day, you have no doubt that the trajectory of your friendship would have stayed on this path. From the beginning, both of you decided to Hell with society’s expectations of soulmates. Sure, most people didn’t find their soulmates until later in life, when it made sense for the sparks of romance to fly instantly, but the adults still seemed to expect that when the news broke. Your parents had been concerned, Eddie’s Uncle Wayne had been weary, your teachers had been blatantly confused. 

It was fun for the two of you, though. The thrill of introducing each other as, “This is my best friend. Oh, also my soulmate, but, hey. Technicalities, am I right?” 

Most of the kids in your grade hadn’t met their soulmates quite yet, especially those first few years. A sense of superiority sprouted in both of you to be able to know, to experience, to lavish in a world of color. To have the weight of finding your better part lifted off your shoulders so soon in life. 

You and Eddie had an entire lifetime to figure out the romantic aspect of it all. For now, he was your best friend, and you were his, and that was enough. 

Once you two had entered high school, one thing did become very clear: the parading of being soulmates had to cease. 

Jason Carver had been enough of a menace in middle school, but grew into a fully formed monster once he joined your ranks in high school. People were not kind to Eddie – they hadn’t been in middle school, when he first moved to Hawkins, and they weren’t going to change their tune suddenly in high school. The bullying you had endured had begun to fade, but his age of torment had just begun. 

You never once left his side. It didn’t matter to you if the entire school knew you were soulmates or not. It didn’t even matter that you two were soulmates; he was your best friend, and you would be damned before you left him to battle the tides alone. 

“I hate this,” he mumbled as he sat on the toilet of his shared bathroom with Wayne in their trailer, you kneeling between his legs as you blotted at his split lip with an alcohol wipe, “I should have punched the asshole back.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you scowled, furrowing your brows even deeper in concentration, “And stop talking – you’re making it worse.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but you quieted him with a glare. 

Just as you wouldn’t have survived the Age of Awkwardness without Eddie, he wouldn’t have survived it without you. 

You finished cleaning off the dried blood before tossing the wipe into the overfilled trash can, sighing heavily as you fell back onto the ground and supported yourself against the wall opposite of him. 

You leveled each other into a staring contest, eyes blankly boring into each other with emotionless expressions. 

“You’re lucky Wayne isn’t home, y’know,” you finally broke the silence, shooting a hand out to grab his ankle and give it a squeeze, “He’d probably be driving down to the school right now and-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waved you off, shaking his head, “I know. Trust me, I know. I think Principal Higgins is starting to hate him more than he hates me.” 

“Principal Higgins doesn’t hate you.”

“You’re right – he loathes me.” 

The hand that was squeezing his ankle quickly traveled up to his knee to slap it, “Eddie.” 

He raised his hands up in the air, lifting his brows for emphasis as he exclaimed, “What? You know I’m right, kid.” 

Kid. The loving nickname Eddie had adorned you with the moment he found out he was a mere six months older than you. You hated it, and he loved that you hated it. 

“The day you’re right is the day pigs fly, old man.”

Old man. The nickname that served as your attempt at a rebuttal. It didn’t work, not as intended. 

He chuckled softly at that, as he usually does when you call him that, and only smacked his palms onto his thighs, “Well, doc, I must say – you’ve done an exquisite job. Am I free to go?” 

You tried to fight your smile, tried to linger in the anger sparked from seeing Eddie hurt. Your disdain wasn’t directed at him; it was always a loaded gun pointed at whoever dared to lay a hand on your boy. You probably could have had a spotless reputation without Eddie Munson in your life, but you’d found your fists quick to fly in his defense. 

Your parents hated it. Wayne secretly adored it, even when he’d still join in scolding you and Eddie alike on avoiding violence. 

“Sure,” you shrugged, before grabbing his calves through denim to stop him. Dark blue denim, a deep shade of navy that you still hadn’t grown used to seeing. You hadn’t even realized jeans came in so many different shades until you met Eddie, and you’d always chastised him when he’d opt for a boring black pair, “But first, a payment is required.”

“A payment?” Eddie tilted his head, looking down at you curiously.

“A payment.” 

“And what would this payment be?” 

“A movie night,” you grinned wildly, finally letting your grip on him go, taking in the chestnut highlights of his curls and the red font of his t-shirt, a band shirt you’d never heard of but that he had recently gotten into, “Snacks provided by my loving host, you, of course.” 

He exaggerated his pondering, bringing a hand to his chin, stroking dramatically. As if he was ever capable of saying no to you. 

“Hm,” he hummed, his voice echoing through the tiny space and encasing you in warmth. As serene as that first summer day when he’d taken the leap of sitting down next to you in the grass, back to a tree, palm in your palm as colors had swarmed your vision, “I suppose that can be arranged.” 

—

Movie nights were a frequent occurrence. A sanctuary from the shit show of your small town. Sometimes, they had been the illusion of a bargain like that night, and others, they were an unspoken agreement. You’d show up to Eddie’s trailer or he would end up on your doorstep, your favorite candies in hand, and the two of you would just know. No words needed as you’d situate yourself on whoever’s couch, legs intertwining and blankets shared across laps. A bowl of popcorn that usually ended up being spilled inevitably. 

Movies were more fun in color. Some of your friends didn’t get it, still living in a world of black and white, but Eddie loved to listen to your rambles about how the vivid shades appeared across the screen. He loved the way your eyes would light up passionately, he loved how you still smiled so widely at special effects that were made more poignant by this gift the two of you had been given. 

Time. You two had been given the time most soulmates weren’t allotted. A gift you always thanked the Universe for. 

The latest Slasher film that had been released was currently displayed on the small television in Eddie’s living room, the two of you practically molded to the worn cushions of his sofa. Wayne had left within the first ten minutes for his shift, bidding the two of you a farewell with the warning of behaving. Vibrant reds splashed across the screen as one of the protagonists takes a stabbing, and while you should be shying away from the gruesome scene, you can’t help but stare in awe.

Even after years of experiencing colors, they took away your breath.

“Jesus,” you sighed wistfully, “How do they even make the fake blood? It’s so… so…”

“Red?” Eddie laughed from the other side of the couch, prodding at your thigh with his sock clad foot, “Probably food dye. Maybe some corn syrup.”

“It’s just so bright,” you eagerly leaned in closer to the TV, squinting with a wide smile, unaware of his stare. 

He was quiet for a moment, simply enjoying your joy. Your awe and wonder at the world, the way it seemed as if you two had just met that day rather than years before. As if colors were still a fascinating color to you. Eddie had grown used to them, let them become a part of his daily routine, but you always seemed to shine a new light on them for him. 

Around you, all the colors seemed a little bit brighter. 

“How do you do that?” he whispered so softly, it nearly got lost in the noise of the movie’s climax.

You hummed in response, eyes never leaving the screen. You were watching the movie in fascination, and he was watching you in serenity. 

His miracle. His gift. His soulmate. 

“You just…” he trailed off, no longer caring about the movie, “You always treat them like they’re brand new.” 

It caught your attention. The way his tone was so… velvety, so caring, so affectionate. You looked at him, “I treat what like they’re brand new?” 

“The colors.”

“Because they are.” 

The same assuredness as he used that very first day. As if it were obvious, as if it were simply a matter of fact and not such an endearing trait. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and it only made his heart clench tighter. 

You were his soulmate. 

“We lived without them for thirteen years, old man-”

“Thirteen years and six months, in my case,” he piped up in interruption, wearing a Cheshire grin. 

You nodded and rolled your eyes, “Yes, in your case. Thirteen years, give or take. I just… I don’t know. They still… they still get to me. I don’t think I can ever get used to them. Are you?” 

“What? Used to them?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t know how to explain it to you, not at that moment. How could he articulate to you that after so many years, the colors had dulled ever so slightly? The novelty had worn off, had run its course. The only time they’d ever become as vivacious as the first time was when he looked at you. 

He couldn’t. He couldn’t explain it to you, so he only shrugged, “I guess.” 

I guess, except when I see the color of your eyes, and I realize they’re my favorite color. Except when I notice the varied shades of your hair, and realize how lucky I am to see them in their full glory rather than shades of grey. Except when you wear that favorite mauve lipstick of yours, and I can’t get over the shape of your lips. Except when you wear that pretty red dress, and your confidence has my head spinning. 

I guess, except when it’s you. 

“Well, that’s just sad,” you huffed, focusing back on the movie after kicking gently at his shin. You lapsed into a comforting silence for a few more minutes, letting the movie fill the air. The same cycle; you watched the screen, he watched you, and the Universe watched both of you with a smile as it knew that the right choice had been made. The two of you were meant for each other. In this life. In the past lives. In the next lives. The two of you were the epitome of soulmates, even if the concept had never existed before. 

Thank the Universe it existed. Thank the Universe that he found you that day, below an oak tree, scraped knees and all. 

His voice shook as he quietly confessed, “I love you, you know that, right?” 

The movie faded in a blur for you instantly. Your neck could have snapped from how quickly you turned your attention to him. “What?”

“I love you,” his voice continued its waver, not from being unsure but from pure emotion. The flood of love that pulsed through his veins currently. 

You smiled, the apples of your cheeks punctuated and the chip in your tooth from your youth he hadn’t had the privilege of being apart of on showcase, “Well, yeah. Duh. I’m your soulmate. You kind of have to love me.” 

“Even if we weren’t soulmates,” he rushed to clarify, suddenly leaning forward and grabbing your knee beneath blankets that smelled of home, “Even if you weren’t my soulmate, I would love you.” 

Your face softened. He wished he would have kissed you in that moment. 

But the vulnerability was terrifying, and all that could echo through your mind is the fact that you two had time. So instead of matching his serious tone, you joked, “Well, it’s a good thing I am your soulmate, then. It might have been awkward for your hypothetically soulmate you would have had instead in that scenario, trying to explain why you love your best friend more than them.” 

“Shut up,” he laughed, squeezing your knee tighter, “I’m being serious, kid. I love you. I really, really fuckin’ love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“You’re only saying that because I’m the reason you see colors.”

“Fuck the colors,” he was quick to reply, “The Universe can take back the colors, as long as I still have you.” 

There it is. The earthquake you dreamt of as a little girl. The trailer’s across the park never felt it, the kids surely getting into trouble in the forest behind Eddie’s home didn’t notice it, but you felt it. A rumble through your chest, a groundbreaking discovery, a world-ending confession. Your world began, and your world ended, and your world restarted with Eddie Munson. 

“You don’t believe me,” he noted, suddenly shimmying out from beneath the blanket.

“Wait, hold on-”

“Stay here.” 

You stayed frozen in your seat, wide eyes following his broad back and the army green of his t-shirt. No longer a frail frame, face filling out with puberty. He was becoming a man. No longer the young boy who took punches and threw them back twice as hard. 

He was becoming a man, he was your soulmate, and he loved you. He loved you enough he would give up what everyone else considered the greatest gift, just for you. 

Eddie Munson didn’t need colors to love you so ardently. And you knew, at that moment, that the same could be said for you. You would have loved him no matter what. The moment his shadow had spread over you beneath wide leaves and simmering heat, he was destined to hole up in your heart, never to leave again. 

By the time he had returned to the living room, you had paused the movie, eyes locked on where he emerged from the hallway with a polaroid camera in hand and a mischievous grin gracing his features. The camera had been a joint gift from your parents and his uncle the previous Christmas. 

Your eyes weren’t on the camera. They were on him. His hair had grown over the years, wild auburn curls finally surpassing his ears. The awkward style made for ridiculous bed head, something you’d been witness to many mornings after impromptu sleepovers. 

You were fascinated with the way the sunlight caught each strand as they bounced with his eager steps. The trace of gold you could outline. Shades of autumn you loved to run your fingers through when he’d offer the opportunity.

He shook the camera into the air for emphasis, finally catching your eyes’ attention, before he propelled himself back down onto the couch across from you, both of you sitting up instead of being reclined now. “Let me show you something.” 

“O-Okay,” you stuttered out, unsure. 

He fiddled with the camera for a few moments before he brought it up to his face, resting against his cheek as his eye peered into the small peephole. You were so busy memorizing him like that, that the flash of the camera took you off guard and effectively blinded you for a few seconds. 

“What the-” you started with a scowl, hands flying up to rub your knuckles into your eyes in a sorry attempt to rush away the stars blocking your vision. 

“Just wait,” he insisted, snatching up the polaroid the moment it printed from the camera. When you flashed him an unconvinced look, he continued on, “Trust me.” 

He didn’t have to ask twice. You always trusted him with your entire being, whether for better or for worse. 

The polaroid was slow in developing. Eddie hummed to fill the silence, occasionally fanning around the small capture of you that was slowly filling out in color rather than blinding white. You spent your energy on trying to decipher what song was stuck in his head and not focus on how slow those damned photos always seemed to be in coming to fruition. 

It had only been a few minutes, but it had felt like an eternity when you finally gave up on figuring out the song and succumbing to your impatience with a sigh, “This is the world’s slowest magic trick ever.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but tossed you the camera. You thanked the Heavens for fast reflexes as you were able to catch it rather than let it fall to the ground. The two of you would have never heard the end of it if you managed to break such an expensive gift. 

“Hey!” you shouted as you clutched the camera tightly to your chest, “Be careful with this thing, Eddie. It’s fragile.”

His eyebrows raised from behind where he held up the polaroid he took of you to his face, “Is it? Can we really be sure that it’s that fragile if we don’t knock it around for good measure?” 

“We can,” you snappily replied, glaring down at the camera and fighting amusement, “If you want to throw it around, be my guest. But you’ll explain to Wayne why you broke it – not me.” 

“Of course, kid,” he grinned so wide that it spread to his cheeks peeking out either side of the photo still obnoxiously close to his face, “What else is a best friend good for? Basically signed up to be your permanent scapegoat until the end of time the moment I gave you the gift of colors.”

“And yet, I’m the one usually talking us out of trouble,” you dramatically called back, finally looking up at him and holding up the camera, “What am I supposed to do with this?” 

“I dunno. Break it, take a picture of me. The choice is yours, sweetheart.” 

He still hadn’t put the photo of you down, so you finally reached across the sea of blankets to yank on his forearms. Once you were faced once more with those warm doe eyes rather than the blank back of a photo, you narrowed your eyes at him in indecision. 

He was still smirking. Wide enough that his teeth just barely peeked out between his barely parted lips. You recalled the tales of kiss-bitten lips, the way you’d heard adults describe that deeper shade of pink, and for a second, you considered that it would look good on Eddie. Something about imagining him flushed and bruised by love and lust rather than malice made your gut twist stormily. 

“Picture it is,” you muttered, “Put that stupid polaroid down and smile for the camera, pretty boy.” 

“You think I’m pretty?” 

The camera went off mid-teasing, his dimples on full display and eyes shining wonderfully with the flash of the camera. 

“Nope,” you mumbled, “Just said it so you’d keep smiling.” 

It was a lie. A horrible, pathetic, and badly-veiled lie. 

The photos developed faster. Yours is finally in full color and detail by the time the two of you can make out the shape of Eddie in his, and he was quick to toss it to the side before he shoved yours into your lap. 

“There, look.” 

It wasn’t anything magnificent to look at. Just another photo. The same old color of your hair, baby hairs frizzing at the edges. Same old eyes fighting from crinkling in adornment at the boy before you. You weren’t anything special, not in your eyes. But Eddie’s expectant stare told you that there had to be something more there, something he was waiting for you to pick up on. You scoured the background of the photo for pops of color only to come up empty-handed. All you could find were the tired dark tones of the Munson’s furniture and living room behind yourself in the picture.

“Eddie, what am I supposed to be looking at?” you squinted, bringing the photo closer and trying to figure out the useless puzzle he had presented you with, “It’s just a picture of me-”

“Exactly,” he interrupted, “A picture of you. My soulmate. That right there,” he leaned over and plucked the photo from your hands, holding it up tauntingly just out of reach, “Is a picture of the girl I love. A picture of the one person who makes colors worth seeing, and makes colors worth losing.” 

The sentiment had you choked up. 

“You’re my favorite person,” his voice dropped to a whisper, and he held up his hand with his knuckles facing you as he put down the polaroid in his lap, “Have been since that very first day.” 

There was still a faint scar, right there, clear as day. It casted over the knuckles of his ring and middle finger as a permanent reminder of that fateful day. As if the colors weren’t enough, as if the swell of your heart inside your chest wasn’t enough reminder of the love and care you’d always felt pulsing from Eddie.

You reached out to the coffee table suddenly, picking up the photo of him, glad to see it finally developed. You didn’t even glance at it before you held it up to him, “And this is a photo of my favorite person.”

“You didn’t even look at the picture.”

“I don’t need to,” you breathed out, moving the picture out of your vision to look at him dead in the eyes, “He’s right here in front of me. In full color, treating me far kinder than I deserve.” 

His touch was ginger as he pinched the corner of the photo and took it from your grasp, placing it down atop the polaroid of you, “Don’t do that. You always deserve my kindness – you deserve the entire world’s kindness. I’ll kick the ass of anyone who argues otherwise.”

A soft and shy smile ripped at your lips, made the corners and your cheeks ache as you shrugged, “Whatever you say, old man.” 

He only looked at you, only wore the lovesick look of a man face-to-face with his soulmate.

The movie was long forgotten. All snacks carefully put on the table before Eddie threw the blanket off of the two of you and scooted backwards while leaving a space large enough for you between his legs.  

“C’mere,” he beckoned, motioning for you to crawl forward and fit your head to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. He pressed you impossibly close to him, until your cheek was tight to his t-shirt and your ear was thundering with his racing heartbeat. 

You melted into him easily, letting your own arms encase him to the best of their abilities in this position. You took a few selfish moments to just be there with him, to just let his words sink in beneath your skin and the reality of them weigh heavy on you. The heavier it weighed, the further into his embrace you pressed. 

The warmth of serenity and peacefulness of the picture perfect moment nearly lulled you to sleep. But even in the drowsiness, you felt the kiss he pressed to the crown of your head. 

“I love you, too,” you admitted, muffled by his chest. You hoped he felt the words and wouldn’t teasingly make you look him in his eyes as you confessed, “I love you so fucking much. I couldn’t do this without you.” 

“Sure you could-” he began, but was cut off but the abrupt lifting of your head, just as he fingertips had started on a path down your spine.

“I couldn’t,” you insisted, “I really, really couldn’t. I need you to stick around for a long time, Munson. I’m not in the business of losing my soulmate until we’re old and grey and gross. I want to keep you around until I lose count of all your wrinkles and weird moles.”

He chuckled, and the force vibrated against your shoulder digging into his torso. 

You retrieved those two polaroids before you resettled against him, your back now pressed to his chest as you held the two snapshots side by side for both of you to look out. 

He was right. You think you get it. 

When you look at the photo of yourself, you see nothing extraordinary. But when you look at the photo of Eddie, everything just… the world seemingly stops, all moving parts suddenly snapping into place. A boy vibrant with color and glee, a boy who tugged on every heartstring you’d hung in your chest throughout your lifetime. It sent warmth to every crevice of you, from the top of your head where the ghost of his lips still lingered to the tips of your toes wiggling beside his within thick socks. 

It’s more than an earthquake or the world stopping. Eddie doesn’t just stop or begin your world – he is your world. 

A world of wild hair, charming smiles, unfiltered laughter and fierce adoration. Even the brightest shades out there that you had yet to discover were dim compared to the boy photographed in time for you. 

His arms slide around your shoulders, tugging you in even closer,“Just out of curiosity, what is your cap on wrinkles you can count? Because I’ve seen Wayne, and some photos of my old man, and let me tell you – time is not kind to us Munson men.” 

You rolled your head and pressed a kiss to one of his forearms before smashing your cheek into it, breathing deeply as his fingertips drew random shapes over the spot on your chest that your heart rests beneath. 

“As many as it takes, old man.” 

“Whatever you say, kid.” 

You brought a hand up to curl around the arm, right beside when you kept your cheek nuzzled. He finally laid his palm flat against your chest, and you wonder if he can feel the way each beat of your heart called out his name. It was okay if he didn’t – he had all the time in the world to figure it out. 

—

“I just don’t understand why you’re so mad!”

“I’m not mad, Eddie – I’m fucking pissed!” 

“Okay, then I don’t understand why you’re so pissed!” 

Seventeen is the age of being reckless and redundant. Of big feelings and reckless decisions. It is the time in your life for being an absolute idiot. 

Eddie Munson was proof of it as the two of you stood outside of his van, the whistle of the winds around you two from the impending storm lost on your current screaming match. 

“Figure it out,” you seethed, stomping your feet almost childishly as you began to turn away from him, “And while you do that, leave me the fuck alone.” 

“I- Hey!” he reached out for you, but you’re already quickening your pace and hopping up onto the sidewalk, “Hey! Don’t fucking walk away from me!” 

You didn’t reply, only widening your strides. 

He called out your name, and you heard his frustrated groan before he easily caught up with you. 

Damn him and his newfound height. 

“Would you just listen to me?” he shouted, latching onto your bicep and spinning you around harshly to face him.

You yanked yourself out of his touch quickly, eyes blazing, “Why should I? I’ve seen what I needed to see, Eddie. Just go back inside to your preppy girlfriend. Forget about me. Pretend like she’s never stood to the side while her boyfriend bullied you like- like- like some asshole.”

His hair was longer now. Ringlets that cascaded to brush over the top of his shoulders – shoulders that had broadened impressively as he neared the end of his youth. His newest clothing staple covered them; a denim vest you’d helped him distress and sew multitudes of patches onto, a display of his favorite bands that had only painted a new target onto his back. 

Satan worshiper. That’s what they called your soulmate in terrified whispers amongst the halls at school. That’s what all the PTO mothers’ eyes silently cursed when they’d see him with you at the grocery store. 

He’d made quite the image for himself. And you’d stayed by his side, defending his honor at every chance. Your best friend, your soulmate. 

Only to find him eating the face off of some cheerleader at that goddamned party. 

Yeah, you didn’t need to listen to him. You really had seen enough. 

“She’s not my girlfriend!” he waved his arms wildly, the storm roaring loader with his increased volume.

“What is she then?” you insisted with venom, crossing your arms and effectively closing yourself off from him as you took another step back, “Just some one night stand? Some fun to have before you have to accept that you’re shackled to me for the rest of your life?” 

You hated the way your eyes burned. You cursed the tears gathering as you glared at him viciously, masking all the pain with as much rage as you could muster. 

He wouldn’t even kiss you, his soulmate. But he would kiss her. 

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” he warned lowly, tone no longer making a spectacle of the two of you, “You know that’s not how I see it.” 

“You won’t even kiss me.” 

He was stunned into silence. As you spat out the words, the first few tears slipped.

It was about more than the pretty blonde girl you’d found him with. It was about more than the fact he was kissing someone else. 

“I… What?” he whispered, his entire body going slack with defeat. 

The tears fell more rapidly now as you replayed the moment in your head. The two of you were only at the stupid party for Eddie to deal weed from some weird guy he’d met in the arcade, a way to make extra cash. Cash he claimed he was putting towards your future together. You had no idea how you’d gone from sitting on the couch together to tipsy, joining a circle of fellow peers who momentarily forgot their cruelness between shots of whiskey and pours of vodka. 

You were going to hate the game of Spin the Bottle for the rest of your life. You were sure of it. 

When Eddie’s turn had arrived, when the neck of that dingy beer bottle casted shades of ambers in your direction, you had been so excited. Your heart had been in your throat, your head dizzy with the excitement of him finally kissing you. Your soulmate by Nature, your best friend by choice, finally would be kissing you. You had been so sure it was an affirmation from the Universe that the right choice had been made when it came to the two of you. That it was all real, and the colors weren’t a product of your delusion. 

And then he said no. 

“You wouldn’t kiss me,” you choked out, pulling your arms around your torso tighter to fight back any shivers or shaking, “The bottle landed on me, on your soulmate, and you wouldn’t even fucking kiss me. The one person you should have kissed. And you didn’t.” 

Eddie’s eyes widened in shock, a deer caught in your headlights, as he started to stutter out a sorry excuse. 

You didn’t want to hear it. You only threw your head back in bitter laughter, spinning on your heel and preparing to leave him behind once more.

“Wait,” he begged, grabbing your shoulder this time. 

You shrugged it off harshly, “For what? For you to make up some bullshit excuse for it? I don’t want to hear it, Eddie. I get it. I’m so sorry that I’m your soulmate. I’m so sorry you’re stuck with me. I’m so-” 

He cut you off by rounding in front of you, blocking your escape route and cradling each of your cheeks with determination as he forced you to meet his fiery gaze, “Stop putting words in my mouth! That’s not why I did it, okay? It’s not!” 

Your tears fell more rapidly, so quickly that his thumbs couldn’t have kept up with swiping them away if he tried. Instead, he let them puddle against his palms, focus solely on your eyes as he bore into them and whispered, “That’s not why I said no. And it’s not why I kissed that girl, okay? You’ve got to believe me, kid.” 

“Don’t-” you started, but he shook his head, determined.

“No, no. Hear me out. Please. You know I don’t see it that way. You- You’re- I’m not shackled to you. You aren’t some sort of damnation for me. Do you get that? You aren’t some life sentence or burden – you’re….” he trailed off, and you could see the tears gathering in his eyes. Constellations in his lashes to match your own. “I said no because I’m terrified. O-Okay? I said no to kissing you because… because… what if you’re the one shackled to me?” 

The crack in his voice reverberated through you. Aftershocks rattled your bones at his confession. 

“I- We haven’t crossed that line. And I just… if I crossed that line, and if you decided I wasn’t what you wanted…” his eyes searched yours for answers you couldn’t provide to him, not as your brows creased and your chest tightened, “If I kissed you and you decided that the Universe made a mistake, that I’m not actually your soulmate… I- Fuck, I couldn’t take that, kid. I couldn’t.” 

You’re no longer poised to run, to escape him and all the emotions drowning your lungs. You felt your shoulders drop, your defenses burned to ash as you stood with two solid feet on the quivering ground below you. 

There were a million reassurances on the tip of your tongue, but instead you only said, “Why did you kiss her?” 

The question that had pinned you as a flight risk. Because if what he told you was true, and you did believe him, then it didn’t make sense. Nothing that had happened that night made sense if what he said was true. 

“I don’t know,” he seemed even more confused than you, “And- God, I’m fucking sorry for such a shitty cop-out of an answer. But I just… I don’t know. I just did. She was there, and she kissed me, and I kissed back. I pretended she was you, like a fucking idiot.”

The honesty threatened to shatter you, but you decided it was better to hear his truth than risk being lied to. You could move past the anguish in both your eyes, the confusion and the hurt having brewed – you wouldn’t have been able to move past some half-assed lie in an attempt to save your feelings. 

“I regret it,” he whispered, “The moment I kissed her back, I regretted it.”

“Why?”

An opportunity to seal a bandage over the bleeding wound. A chance for him to make it all better. 

“Because she isn’t you. She isn’t my soulmate - she never could be. It’s you, and it was always going to be you, even if the Universe didn’t agree with me.” 

You took a moment to try and picture a world in which the man stood before you wasn’t your soulmate. A world where your palms touched, and your world hadn’t exploded in technicolor. Another Universe where the first color you had seen hadn’t been warm, brown, honey coated eyes. A twisted timeline where you hadn’t been awarded the gift of memorizing the red of his guitar, his sweetheart, or the calm blue tint his room bathed in every early morning. A world where you don’t know the shade his skin turns in during golden hour, or can’t see the way his few tattoos he’d gathered in the past year on his skin are actually a fading shade of blue-green rather than stark black. A world where you couldn’t pick up the Fruity Pebbles stuck between his teeth as he rushed to class late and you teased him mercilessly for it. A world without color - a world without the guarantee of Eddie Munson. 

A breeze roared by, and you could hear the Universe you were in whispering to stop it, to not do this. Because you weren’t living in a world without color. Your world had burst to life when your palm met his. You knew all the colors of his lifeline like the back of your hand. 

“It wasn’t worth it?” You knew the answer. You still needed to hear him say it.

And say it he did, nodding in confirmation, “It wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t worth it.” 

He could have left it at that and you would have offered him your forgiveness anyways. Even if the bond formed between you two didn’t feel like a shackle of chains binding you two together, you knew that there would always be an invisible string wound around your soul and connected to his. You could have spent longer being mad, you could have still walked yourself home and left him broken in the middle of that neighborhood street. But even if you did, you would have eventually found your way back to him. Whether you left in anger, whether you left in sadness, whether you left in mourning – your final destination remained the same. Him.

You may have all the time in the world with Eddie, but even a second spent upset with him felt like a second wasted. 

Not even forever felt like long enough. You knew that now, glaringly obvious by the chain of events the night had followed. 

And so he could have left it at that. And all would be well. Wounds would heal and time would soothe the ache that echoed. But he didn’t. 

He took a step closer. Took a shaky, deep breath. And then another step. One foot after the other until he was toe-to-toe with you as he breathed out, “You’re my future. You’re everything to me. Soulmate or not, you’re all I want. I want to grow old with you until I lose count of your wrinkles, and then some.” 

His chin tilted down, lips daring closer and closer to yours as your stare into his eyes refused to waver. 

Deep, deep brown. Endless, molten, a kind of comforting that says you’re home, you can rest now. How fortunate you were to see the twisting of lively carob and umber rather than lifeless greys. 

Your eyes tried to flutter close, but you couldn’t let them, not yet. Not until he was close enough to feel his breath on your chin before he let out a raspy, “Baby.” 

You folded immediately, took the plunge as your eyes finally shut and you pressed forward with fervent. 

It wasn’t like the movies. It wasn’t fluid and instantaneous. There was hesitancy and there was awkwardness, and your noses bumped one anothers hard enough to make both of you chuckle into the rarity of space left between your mouths as you both gasped in waves of air before returning to one another. His hand took its time before it grabbed your waist, and it trembled the entire time. Your arms shook the entire way they lifted until they wrapped around his neck and shoulders, unsure of where exactly to lay comfortably. 

But none of that mattered. Because he was kissing you – your soulmate was finally kissing you. And you had never kissed another soul before that night, but you knew immediately you’d never want to kiss another soul. 

It wasn’t like the movies or fairy tales, but it was enough. 

And you knew he felt the same way when the kiss was broken by the grin that split his lips just as the sky began to spit out the beginning of its inevitable downpour. 

—

You hadn’t heard from Eddie in three days. Which, fair enough. Finals season was nearly upon you two and you knew he had been stressed. Since the night of that party nearly a year before, you two had become even more inseparable if possible. You two had finally crossed a line, had finally accepted your status of soulmates, and no one would dare to demand the two of you detach from each other’s sides once you made the announcement that you were officially together. 

Wayne had worn a knowing smile. Your parents had simply warned Eddie to not hurt you (as if that was even an option for him at this point). Even Principal Higgins had offered a polite smile when he caught you two holding hands in the hallway, surprisingly not commenting on the public display of affection. You two were officially dating, officially succumbing to the status quo of what soulmates should be. 

Everyone had already sort of known there was something there between you two, but making it official removed any sliver of doubt any of them may have harbored. 

And so it was fine if Eddie needed space. It had been that way before your first kiss, occasionally learning how to stand as your own entities rather than solely a joint force, and it could continue to be that way after your first kiss. 

But after three days, you had started to worry. 

Pacing your room, you told yourself you were being ridiculous. This was fine. Space was good – space was needed. 

Space didn’t help with all your what-ifs, though.

What if he was hurt? What if he was sick? What if he was mad at you? What if the longer you gave him that space, the starcher of a revelation he would have that he didn’t need you? What if the two of you had flown into all of this too fast, too quickly, too soon? It may have taken years to get there, but what if Eddie suddenly decided the last year had been too much? 

You were in your car, driving recklessly down the streets that would lead to his house, before you could even think of another what if. 

If it was that last thought that crossed your mind, if everything between the two of you had become simply overwhelming for him, you convinced yourself it would be okay. It would be just fine, you could handle it as long as he told you as much to your face rather than hiding behind distance put between you. It remained a mantra spinning through your storming mind the entire drive; it will be fine. It will be okay. As long as he says it, I can handle it. Anything for him.

You never considered that one of the other possibilities was more likely. Not until you had your car haphazardly parked in front of the Munson’s trailer, fist banging on their front door before Wayne threw it open with tired eyes and wrinkles bunched in concern. 

“Is he here?” you breathed out in lieu of a proper greeting, breathless from your jog up to the damn porch from your car that you hadn’t even bothered with locking up.

It will be fine. It will be okay. As long as he says it, I can handle it.

Wayne understood immediately, stepping to the side as he nodded and motioned for you to come in, “He’s in his room. But listen, he got some news, and he’s not do-”

You didn’t hear the rest of Wayne’s warning, too busy storming past him and flying to Eddie’s bedroom door. You didn’t even knock, bursting through the door and already fighting tears as you geared up to hear Eddie say that he needed time and space, that he had gotten sick of you, that he wanted to experience more life before you guys really gave any of this a fighting chance. 

“Eddie, can you please tell me why you’ve just up and disappeared-” you cut off your plead the moment you laid eyes on him. 

He wasn’t facing the door. He was curled up in bed, back to you, clad in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. You could see the stubborn knots that had built up in his hair, immediately keyed in on the way he was trying to collapse into himself. His knees were nearly buried in his chest, and if you squinted into the dark room, you’d see the outline of his spine beneath the flash of skin peaking out from where the back of his shirt had raised. 

It wasn’t just the state of him; the state of the room also immediately silenced you. 

Almost as if a war path had been torn through it days before, the bedroom was messier than normal. Eddie was never the most organized or pristine person, but he kept his living space well enough to… well, live. Kept the floor always within sight, tried to never let any collection of trash overflow on the tops of his dressers or desk. He even found himself emptying his ashtrays without your reminding most of the time. Usually, most of the clutter simply came from mountains of papers detailing campaigns or writing new songs, or different sets of dice being left out from planning said campaigns. A t-shirt here, a pair of ripped jeans there – sure. He was a teenage boy. It was expected.

It looked as though a level five hurricane had hit Eddie Munson’s room. 

Clothes strewn everywhere, dresser drawers thrown open and never closed. Beer cans collected across each surface and both ashtrays were overfilling with cigarette butts. You even spotted two half smoked joints on his bedside table. His sweetheart had been taken off of its wall mount and laid to rest on the floor. He would never have let his prized possession be discarded like that. Ever.

Your voice came out weak as you took a step closer to the bed, “Eddie?” 

You’re surprised he heard your whisper. He stirred, and your eyes followed the dust particles dancing in the single stream of sunlight that was bursting through a hole forgotten in his makeshift curtains. Navy blue sheets the two of you once used to make a pillow fort in the Munson living room, thinned to the illusion of a sky blue in some patches.

You’d always warned him they make shit curtains; he’d always shrugged and said it added to his feng shui. 

“Eddie,” you whispered again, knees knocking against the edge of the mattress as you looked down at his broken form, “I… What happened? Are you… are you okay?” 

You hadn’t known how to approach it. Whatever happened was even worse than the first time he’d received a phone call from his dad in prison. 

He mumbled something against the pillow he has one arm curled under.

“What?” you questioned, nearly ready to climb into that damn bed and force him onto his back, force him to look at you if only so you could guarantee there were no tear tracks on his cheeks. 

You don’t have to, though. Eddie finally loosened his grip on that pillow and rolls ever so slightly, just enough for you to see half his face and feel your heart break at the confirmation of tears. Translucent pink eyes, glossy wet cheeks, the tip of his nose glowing as his gaze met yours. He looked tired.

“I’m getting held back,” he croaked, “I fucking- I flunked. I’m not graduating.” 

You nearly sighed in relief. For his sake, you don’t, but the weight on your shoulders lifted immediately. 

“Oh, sweet boy,” you murmured, giving into the need to crawl into the bed. You folded your knees as you situated yourself on the bed behind him, and the moment you’re situated, he wasted no time twisting himself to face you and bury his face into your side, “Why didn’t you call? You had me losing my goddamn mind-“ 

A strangled sob rattled against your side. One of his hands gripped your thigh, fingertips holding on for dear life, “Because your soulmate is a fucking loser.” 

Your chest cracked further, a valley beginning to form as a hand buried into the back of his head, holding him to you as the other hand moved to rub his back in soothing motions.

“My soulmate is not a fucking loser,” you tried to keep a gentle tone rather than scold him at the moment. He didn’t need scolding — he needed patience, he needed care, he just needed you to be there, “Keep talking about him that way, and I’ll have to get the fighting gloves.” 

He wetly laughed into your t-shirt, and you were sure that there would be tear stains when he finally lifted his head, “I’m the one who taught you how to throw a punch, baby.” 

“Exactly. Which means I’ll have you on your ass in ten seconds flat.” 

It was a few minutes of silence that followed; just you holding him, just him clinging onto you. His life line — his single ship of hope in what had been a terribly rocky sea the last few days. An irreplaceable peace settled across all the wounds and damage that had been done in private. You had been right. He should have called you immediately. He should have known that if anyone could make the situation feel less like his world was ending, it was you.

His soulmate.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you questioned in a soft, lulling tone. The endless patterns you’d drawn on his back had nearly put him to sleep, “Maybe be a bit kinder to yourself this time?”

“I just…” he started, finally removing his face from being buried against you, “I sort of had a hunch. O’Donnel wouldn’t round my grade, you know? And I’ve skipped a lot of classes, I know. But hearing Higgins say it just… just…”

“Made it real?” you offered a weary ending to his sentence.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Real. It made it really fucking real.” 

He didn’t feel judged at that moment. He felt seen as you continued on, “It is real, and it sucks. But it’ll be okay, Eds. I mean, I was already planning on the community college for my first year, maybe even taking a year off. If you need any help with classes, you just gotta ask me. Don’t forget I was one of O'Donnell's pets, as unfortunate as it was. I know how to work that woman into rounding up some grade.”

You rambled on a little more, all the while still stroking his hair and back, offering even more solutions. The longer you spoke, the better Eddie felt. You made it all sound so easy — like this was nothing, like it was the smallest of blips in plans that had been years in the making. You weren’t upset, you weren’t disappointed. He deserved your negativity, and instead only received your optimism.

You were with him for the long haul, he realized. Truly. It wasn’t just some one off promise or chain of the Universe holding you to him. He wasn’t dragging you down.

When you finally trailed off, his lids finally heavier than his heart, he sighed, “I love you. You know that?” 

“I love you,” you smiled, “That’s kind of part of the soulmate package, isn’t it?”

“Fuck the soulmate part,” he lifted out of your hold despite everything in him screaming to stay put, to let you to continue to coddle him, “I’ve seen plenty of people be shitty to their soulmates. I watched my dad-“ he cut himself off, throat tightening with memories of his parents. You don’t make him finish that sentence, only nodding in understanding, “The Universe doesn’t force you to be a good person. You choose to be that. Every single day, you choose to stand by my side. You always have. You could have made me feel shitty about this, could have let me see how bummed you really are about sticking out another year here, but…” 

But you didn’t. 

Your eyes softened, a stormy shade of his favorite color, “Do you remember the way you punched Carver that day, before you even knew me?” 

That very first day. The day two souls destined to intertwine had come in contact. The day the Universe had sighed in relief as your palm met his.

He nodded.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered, “You didn’t even know me. And yeah, whatever, maybe the Universe nudged you to do it, whatever. But there’s tons of people who know their soulmates for years and never realize it. Tons of people go to school and never interact with their soulmates. But that very first day… the first day you were at that school, the first day you saw me — we met. You defended me. And that counts for something. And I like to think it speaks more about us than it does about the grand scheme of things,” you brought a hand up, wiped away whatever tears were left on his cheeks with enough tenderness he almost started to sob again, “You didn’t know I was your soulmate. I was just some random classmate, and you defended me without even thinking about it. And I will always do the same for you. Always.” 

You always had, you always will. The two of you had proven, time and time again, that you will always choose one another. It was never about that inevitable bond. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he confessed, quickly moving to keep your palm there, resting on his stubbled cheek, “You deserve a soulmate who isn’t a fuck up. Someone good, someone who can give you the world and someone who… who isn’t repeating another year of fucking high school.”

“You still don’t get it,” you grinned sadly. Your fingertips press into that soft spanse right before his ear, cradling him more urgently on their own accord, “I don’t want or need someone else. You do give me the world- you are my world, you idiot.” 

Idiot sounded perfectly aligned with lover as he leaned forward, burying his face in your neck. Home — he was home as you wrapped your arms back around him, pulled him a little closer in your embrace, clung to him as tightly as he clung to you. 

All the colors in the world, and the only ones the two of you cared about were the ones confined to that small space for the time being, shades of you and shades of him, all overlapping perfectly in sync. 

—

You stay true to your word. The first time Eddie repeats his senior year, and the second time. 

Endless nights are spent studying, you forcing him to focus when he couldn’t, trying to invent new ways to learn that work for him rather than against him. He’s brilliant; you never let your boy forget that. 

It’s nice for a while. Sickly sweet kisses and teasing exchanges. Enough lovesickness to make even those around you two nauseous. Nights spent out by Lover’s Lake, exchanges of promises of a future to come and discussions of whether your kids will have his eyes or your eyes. Kids. You two were discussing fucking kids. And it had scared Eddie half to death to even bring it up, but you hadn’t been phased. You’d answered terrifying question after question with ease, had even joked about what color flowers the two of you would have at your wedding and listened to Eddie describe the house he’d want to grow old in with you in excruciating detail. Sometimes the two of you even brought up what kind of dog you’d have, fantasized about the big yard which would not have a white picket fence (because, according to Eddie, that shit was too cheesy even for him in all his adoration for you). It made Eddie realize that after all these years, maybe you had become the brave one.

You’d both succumbed to the stereotypical soulmate trope. Become exactly what society had expected from the two of you since the beginning. And honestly, you couldn’t even be mad about it. You get it – you got the allure as you had laid with a head pressed to Eddie’s chest, observing all the stars again, a night sky the vision of black and white as your vision went blurry with fatigue. 

“You know, that house sounds awfully expensive,” you yawned, curling a bit tighter into his side. You’re in nothing but his t-shirt, his chest still bare from the night’s activities.

Another new development. Even after all your time together, you two continued to find novelty to explore. New ways to learn each other, new ways to love each other, new ways to further tie your two souls together. An unbreakable knot. If anyone, the Universe included, tried to loosen it, you would spill blood without second thought. 

“Oh, it absolutely will be,” he chuckled, vibrations echoing in your eardrum, “But that’s fine. We’re going to tap into that rockstar money, baby.” 

In between talks of the future, more honest versions had arisen. Eddie and his band. You and your aspirations. Things that neither of you laughed at quite as much as the talk of children or houses with wraparound porches because they were in reach. 

“Do you think you’ll have groupies?” your voice was a murmur, mouth half pressed into his skin as you lazily traced circles on his pec you aren’t using as your own personal pillow. 

It made him chuckle once more, “Groupies? Sure. Don’t think any of them will be very successful, though.”

“Bold of you to assume I meant just you,” you’re able to snark back even half asleep, “Gareth deserves to be fawned over, too. Jeff is definitely a ladies killer.” 

Your hand moved just fast enough out of the way for Eddie to lazily mimic stabbing himself in the exact muscle you were painting invisible imagery across, “You wound me, sweetheart.” 

From this angle, you could catch the exact shade of brown that his faded freckles shone. You could see the differences in tan skin, see where he’d left a pair of sunglasses on his chest during a lake day over the summer and the tanline had remained stubborn. That had been a good day – Eddie had thrown you off the dark, wrapping his arms around you and turning the world to a blur of passing greens and blues before you’d been dunked beneath the lake’s surface. The cold water had stunned you, but him joining you seconds later hadn’t. Always by your side, even when he was being a little shit.

You’ve gone quiet on him, mind overcome with fond memories as the silence came naturally only for a few seconds before Eddie felt the need to fill it again. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, the hand that had mock-stabbed himself now curling around your forearm. 

Your hand against his chest turned to a fist, pressing deeper into the skin, just to feel him closer, before you teased him, “How do you even know I’m thinking? What if my mind is just blank right now?”

“Psychic-soulmate-telepathy powers,” he answered without hesitation. When you only huffed, clearly unimpressed, he pressed a kiss to your temple before whispering in honesty, “You were smiling.” 

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. Usually, you loved memorizing all the colors of him. You loved taking in his doe brown eyes and the harsh blush of his swollen lips. You’d memorize the twinkling of pink staining his skin across his chest and up his neck. You’d pick at the vibrant cherry shade of his painted nails, a sharp contrast from the usual black or sharpie scribbles he’d wear on them instead. 

That silver glint of his rings. The forest green of his plaid boxers. All shades in the palette of Eddie Munson, your soulmate. 

You love him so much, your chest is ready to burst from it. And you told him as much, too.

“I’m just really glad I have you,” you said for only him and only the trees to hear, “I’m really happy you came after me that day.” 

There’s no rush to memorize all his colors and all his shades. You had all the time in the entire world, and then some. The only reason anyone had ever reported losing their colors was due to the death of their soulmate, and he wasn’t in any danger at the moment. He was there, sturdy beneath you, deep breaths syncing with your own. 

If you didn’t learn them in this life, you wouldn’t rest until you found him in the next to finish what you had started. 

“Yeah?” you could hear his grin as he held you a bit tighter. Another deep breath, another expansion of his ribs, and you feel all that time laid out at your feet. A lifetime of learning and memorizing Eddie Munson. A life well spent, “I’m glad, too.” 

“Did you have even a single moment where you…. I don’t know, hesitated coming after me?” your speech began to slur, and you knew you were one foot in unconsciousness at that point. 

“Never,” that same certainty he has always held since day one laced his tone, “Never. I just- I went for it. I made Jason Carver eat his words, and I ran after you. The only thing I’ll ever regret is not throwing a second punch at the asshole.”

Your smile widened, and you knew he felt it. Imagined the comfort he felt at the feeling. Imagined the peace that was washing over him just as it encased you, “But not about coming after me?” 

“I don’t regret coming after you,” he told you, not growing the slightest bit annoyed at your need for constant reassurance. His fingers and palm slowly spread across your lower back, the warmth of their weight carrying you into sleep, “I’ll always come back to you, baby.” 

—

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. 

Spring break was supposed to be nice. Time spent with friends, lazy mornings that you and Eddie slept through, night drives spent screaming out in relief to empty highways because he made it – you both made it. The college transfer was already put into motion, making it so you’d start the fall semester at a University in upstate Indiana. Eddie had taken a few roadtrips with you at his side, already having gotten on the good side of a boss at one of the car shops within range of where you’d be attending. You two had littered his floor with ads for apartments, the ones in your price range circled in brilliant and glaring red. Everything had been perfectly in line. Everything was set in place. Spring break was supposed to be a break to just be kids one last time – it was supposed to be nice. 

But then Chrissy Cunningham happened. And Jason Carver, and an entire town of people who had always hated your soulmate. Suddenly, your own plan for the future had been scrapped, and in its spot a line of new dominos had been placed. One falling down after the other, too quick for you to keep up with.

A group of strangers had banged down on your front door. Had demanded to know where Eddie was, claimed they were friends trying to help him. You hadn’t even seen the news yet. They’d tried to fill you in, but only confused you more in the process, because the words Eddie and murderer should have never been used together in a sentence in the way they claimed the entire town was currently spewing. 

You were his soulmate. They were sure you’d know where he was, but you didn’t. 

That didn’t matter, though. The young boy, Dustin, had been determined. You’d heard all about him from Eddie – about the brilliant mind hidden beneath baseball caps and unruly curls, about the smart mouth you witnessed mouthing off to Steve Harrington first hand as you’d been searching for your boy. 

It reminded you of Eddie. It made you ache. It made you only more voracious in your search. 

And you’d found him – terrified, alone, trembling and crying. A version of him you’d never been privy to had pinned Steve fucking Harrington to the wall of Reefer Rick’s boathouse with a broken bottle to his throat. Wild, scared eyes and hands that shook harder than the day his father had called him and he’d put a goddamn hole through his kitchen wall. More desperation on his face than the day he’d informed you he’d be repeating his senior year for the first time. Shoulders more tense than the night you’d nearly walked away from him over some silly kiss with a cheerleader. 

When he saw you, he’d shattered completely.

The sight of you had him collapsing into your arms, unable to explain himself in full sentences as he gasped and panicked and clung to you. And you had held him, had forced the others to give him time. You were like a feral animal, standing between him and them, friends or not. Your claws and teeth alike had been out, ready to mar anyone who would dare to lay a hand on your soulmate. 

He’d calmed down. He’d explained. And then they had explained and reassured Eddie that he wasn’t crazy. His eyes had found yours over and over, and not a single time did they hold a single doubt for him in them. You believed him; you would always believe him. The cries of the town had been nothing more than static noise. You knew the man before you, you loved the man before you. Your soul knew his intricately, intimately. It would always know him, no matter the circumstance and no matter the troubles to come. In this life and the next.

The colors were never the gift. The gift the Universe had offered you had always been him. 

You stayed with him those short few days. Ran from Carver and his posse, swam in the lake and had kept a level head as you formulated a plan. Find a walkie-talkie. Call for Dustin, call for help. 

When the rest of them had jumped into the lake after Steve, you’d put a selfish hand on his bicep. For a moment, the only thing you were thinking of was him. You couldn’t lose him. 

When he jumped in after Robin and Nancy anyways, you’d followed, no hesitation. 

A dreary, nightmarish world. You’d followed him into Hell – quite literally, it seemed. Except they didn’t call it Hell, they called it the Upside Down. A place made up of all the things children fear, of awful creatures that only served to attack, to kill, and terrible storms of flashing red lightning. A blue tint to the town you’d come to know. Shades of flesh and shades of grey – shades of death – flooded the place. And only you, Eddie, and Nancy could see them. 

Nancy’s soulmate was somewhere far away. Somewhere safe. But she understood that protective stance and the way you’d stuck staunchly at Eddie’s side. She got it. 

A stolen RV, shields made of trash can lids and nails rather than make believe, goddamn spears made at the hand of people all far too young to be handling these things. They were handling the end of the world, and you suddenly hadn’t felt as brave as Eddie always claimed you were. The plan was formulated, and the entire time, you had a sinking feeling in your stomach. You watched Eddie play fight with Dustin, real weapons discarded to the ground, and you listened to Robin whisper the same sentiment to Steve. 

“I just have this terrible, gnawing feeling that… it might not work out for us this time.”

You agreed with Robin. You hated that you agreed with Robin.

And so you stood like a watch dog at Eddie’s side, nearly lashed out when it was suggested you might be more helpful joining everyone else going after this Vecna rather than staying with Eddie. 

It was his turn to put a hesitant hand on your bicep. Brown, russet, umber eyes that flashed with the unspoken question of are you sure you want to do this? 

But he was sure. And just as quickly as you’d followed him into that lake, just as quickly as you had dismissed those awful claims against him, you’d nodded. Because if he was sure, if he was going through it, you would follow him. 

You should have insisted on staying with him and Dustin. 

Because your group of rag tags re-entered that Hellish landscape, and you flinched with each flash of red, not even soothed by Eddie’s hand in yours. And the people around you were now friends; you’d realized in a few short days that you would do almost anything to protect all of them as well, but you knew there was nothing that you wouldn’t do to keep Eddie alive. 

“Hey,” he insists once the two of you stand outside this alternate version of his trailer, somewhere that you should know all too well but that has morphed into something unfamiliar in this world. 

His hand holding yours spins you to face him, a few steps off to the side from the rest of everyone. 

“Hi,” you whisper back, trying to only focus on him. Not the bleak colors of the landscape around you two, but the vibrancy of his shades. You hate the weakness written all across your features, unable to offer him any reassurance in return for all that he had given you over the years. You were terrified. As Robin had said, a terrible gut feeling was gnawing at you from the inside out. You couldn’t help the tears gathering, couldn’t unravel the restriction of your throat. 

“It’s going to be okay, alright?” he does the talking, nodding and lowering his chin to stare right into your eyes. His favorite color now wet with emotion, shining even in the dullest of environments, “Can’t be worse than punching Jason Carver, right?” 

It could be. It could be much, much worse. Everything you two had endured together was children’s play compared to this. But you don’t say that; you nod in dishonesty, biting your lip to stop from letting a whimper escape. 

“I’ll always come back to you, I promise,” he swears so vehemently, voice spitting with determination. Those brows half hidden by the bandana atop his head furrow, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

That, you at the very least, believe. Just as you would find him every time, in this life and the next, he would find you. 

“You better,” you choke out, hands reaching up just to latch onto him one more time. To feel him, sturdy beneath your palms. Alive. Your gift from the Universe, the boy who let you see colors. You almost regret spending so long fascinated with the shades you’d discovered when you should have allotted more time to imprint the features of his face to memory. You should have cared more about that freckle beneath his right eye, the slight crook to his nose, the way each of his calluses feel against your bare shoulders. Shades of blue, red, green, violet, yellow – none of them matter as much as the boy before you. They only matter because they paint the picture of him for you fully. They only matter because he matters, “I still need your rockstar money to pay for that wraparound porch.” 

He laughs at that. And God, he’s gorgeous – his head thrown back, eyes crinkling with genuine joy for the first time in days. No one else catches the tear that slips from one of those pinched eyes, the hidden sadness for only you to catch onto. 

That gnawing feeling – the one you and Robin felt. He felt it, too. 

“Of course,” he finally sighs, opening his eyes back to yours and now holding so many words that neither of you have the time to exchange. It kills you – you don’t have time. You thought you’d always have more time. “Think of this as a test run for that rockstar money. See how a crowd of bats feel about my rockstar skills.” 

“Careful,” your voice cracks, a few tears slipping that he’s quick to swipe away, “I hear they’re a tough crowd.” 

He smiles at your joke, but doesn’t waste his breath on laughing. His lips find yours instead, pouring out every single thought and emotion possible. You feel a tug on that knot you’d tied between you two, everything in your being protesting from pulling back from the kiss. You try to move your lips in a response, to tell him it’ll be fine, to tell him you’ll both return to each other. To tell him you’ll have more time. 

When he pulls back, realizing you can’t, his hand falls from you only to reach into the pocket of his jeans. You don’t understand until suddenly, he’s thrusting a laminated square into your hand. 

You know what it is before you even turn it over. Your entire body strangles down the broken sob as you look down at a polaroid of a younger Eddie. Somewhere safe and somewhere that time is still yours. 

“Keep that safe for me, yeah?” his voice wavers as he produces his own polaroid – the picture of you, “I mean, I’ll have yours, obviously. But… but just… it’s gonna be worth a lot of money once I’m the next big thing in the Upside Down.” 

He’s trying so hard to make you laugh just one more time. It only surges more tears to burn your vision. 

“All I’ll have to show Vecna is this,” you start to joke back, letting more tears stain your cheeks, “And- and-” 

You can’t finish the joke. He gets it, putting a hand over yours, forcing you both to put away those polaroids. 

“I know,” he assures you, “I know. Show him my ugly mug, and he’ll go down without a fight. That’s exactly why I’m giving it to you, baby.” 

Another tear, only for you, slips. You trace it all the way down his cheek, memorize the way his skin looks in the horrid blue tint and try to remember the shade it glows during golden hour instead. 

“I love you,” you say. But once isn’t enough, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he takes your hands in his palms, finally presses his forehead to yours, shares his breath for a moment as he focuses on your sad eyes, “So fucking much. You always were prettier than all the colors combined. Better stay that way till I come back to you.” 

He releases you. Wipes away his tears, has to give you an encouraging shove on your shoulders to force you to join Nancy and Robin’s sides. 

Steve catches your eye, a look on his face telling you he’d been watching the entire interaction. Something yearning crosses his features, and then something clicks. As if this is the first time he’d ever witnessed soulmates. As if he’s the one seeing colors for the first time. 

Maybe that’s why he gives his little speech. Maybe that’s why he tries to plead your case and make sure that Eddie and Dustin don’t do anything stupid. 

After Eddie has made his final request to Steve, to make him pay, he looks at you one last time. A ghost of a grin, wearing his bravest mask to date as he mouths I love you. 

You echo the silent sentiment. A silent prayer. For the Universe to bring him back to you. To bring you back to him. 

—*ash, stop reading here*—

The only way to lose your colors is if your soulmate has died. It’s one of the first things you learn when school first broached the sensitive topic. Your soulmate dies, they take the colors with them. They never told you how the soulmate takes the colors with them – never discussed whether it would fast and sudden like the moment you first touched your soulmate, if the colors would drain from you in real time and leave a path of chromatic grey behind, or if you’d watch them flicker from sight, just as one might watch the life flicker from the eyes of the one they loved.

You’d always wondered how it happened.

You’d been morbidly curious that day in class despite finding it all a bit dramatic. Had looked around a black and white classroom and processed your classmates' different greyscale reactions. Some were forlorn, some were snickering beneath their breath. Some just looked plain bored. It made sense; you were all kids, none of you had ever seen the blue sky or the verdant grass. Only heard about it. Only listened to adults drone on and on about it wistfully. It was never something tangible, something to have and to hold and to lose. 

You wonder how younger you would have looked upon you now. As you faced down an alternate dimension’s fiercest villain, hand paused midair, prepared to launch a lit molotov cocktail with aim to kill, when you suddenly paused.

The shades of the fire burning brightly in front of you have dulled. Microscopically. The smallest of flickers in vibrancy. 

“What are you doing?” Steve screams when he notices your hesitation, “Throw it! Jesus Christ, throw it before-”

Robin cut him off, being the closest to you and reaching over to snatch the ticking time bomb of a bottle, tossing it for you. 

As it explodes against the mangled being before you, another flicker occurs. You swear you feel a stabbing pain in your side, as if that gnawing has taken to ripping you apart.

You swear the bright flashes of yellow amongst the flames have turned to white. The orange has gone so faded, the dullest bits have shadowed over in grey. 

Nancy takes another shot, but you can’t move. You watch it all in slow motion: she doesn’t miss, her shot ricochets dead center, Vecna stumbles before crashing through the wall behind him. 

The world flickers a final time, and all the air leaves your lungs. 

It’s black and white. 

The floorboards, all of your sudden friends beside you, the walls of the old house, the lightning flashing amongst storm clouds in the sky outside.

It’s black and white. Shades of grey monotone. 

As everyone rushes to look out the hole, your knees collide with splintered wood. 

The colors are gone. It’s black and white. 

“Where’d he-” Steve starts to question before he turns and sees you. You’re folding into yourself, no longer breathing as you look down at your palms. Grey. Not a single sliver of flesh tone to be seen. “Are you okay?” 

The colors are gone. 

A cold washes over you like never before, and even if you wanted to take another breath, you couldn’t. It’s not ash burning your eyes – it’s tears, hot and vicious as your face begins to crumple in panic. 

Eddie. 

You don’t even hear them cross the room back to you. Can’t hone in on what’s happened, if the evil has been defeated and if you’d all won. It doesn’t matter; your colors are gone. 

Your hands finally fumble without thought, patting down your person until you catch the corner of the polaroid. You yank it free, breaths finally strangling into your throat without purchase, your shoulders shaking.

It’ll be in color. It has to be in color. He has to be in color. 

That familiar and well loved photo stares back at you. Your boy, curly hair wild and unruly, grin soft and fond. A twinkle captured in his eye and all that adoration that had been rolling off of him in waves somehow frozen in time. 

Frozen in time, frozen in black and white. 

Steve shakes your shoulders, Robin begins to pace and match your panic. They don’t understand. 

Gritted sobs leave your mouth, tears blinding you as you look at the shadow of what must be Nancy.

She understands.

Even through the strangled breaths, earth-shattering sobs that make you nearly incoherent, she knows. 

“Eddie,” you manage to gasp, fist curling around the photograph. 

The only way to lose your colors is if your soulmate has died.

“Eddie,” you manage a mangled sob as Steve pulls back, horror-stricken as he looks down at the polaroid, slowly piecing together what was happening.

Fast and sudden like the moment you first touched your soulmate. Draining from you in real time and leaving a path of chromatic grey behind. Flickering from sight, just as one might watch the life flicker from the eyes of the one they loved.

“Eddie!” 

You’d always wondered how it happened.

You finally had your answer. You wish you didn’t. 

You were proud of him, of course, but also scared of what would become of your relationship. He was moving to New York to work with his sister and while that wasn’t horrendously far, you knew it would put a strain on the easy, light, sugary thing you had going. You had met Sue, her husband Reed, and Reed’s best friend Ben when they would come to visit Johnny. They were all nice in their own ways, but you weren’t close enough with any of them to voice your fears about Johnny. Was what you had serious enough to inconvenience him? To inconvenience you?

When he left, you both swore up and down that you would write to each other and call in the evenings when you had the time. And at first, you both did. Johnny wrote as much as he talked— about his sister, about New York, about this space trip he and his family were selected to go on. 

The letters and the calls stopped when he came back from space. Everything changed: his DNA, his job, his whole life. What would you two even talk about anymore? You were just the nice girl from his old life. It hurt like hell but you pushed on, finished your English doctorate the following year, and moved to New York yourself. 

For unrelated reasons— for opportunities, of course. 

You got a teaching gig at a university uptown, settled down, made friends. You didn’t forget about Johnny— how could you when his face was on literal billboards? But the ache of his leaving was just that: a dull pain in the back of your mind that you didn’t consciously think about most days. Most.

But sometimes, when the hum and glow of the city punctured your closed curtains, the loneliness hit you. He was out there, without you, a new girl on his arm every few weeks. What you had didn’t mean anything to him. 

Two years passed in the comfortable rhythm that had become your life when you received a letter in a pale blue envelope at your office mailbox. It was from Sue. Although only two years old, Franklin’s intellect was developing at a rapid pace. Of course he was surrounded by the most brilliant scientists on Earth, but they wanted him to have a well-rounded education. When it came to literature and history, the Fantastic Four were aware they lacked the same prowess they had in the various sciences. Yes, Sue was a renowned diplomat. Yes, Reed had solved teleportation. Yet neither of them had read any Shakespeare beyond Romeo and Juliet. Long story short, they were looking for a tutor and her first thought had been of you, “that brilliant girl we met in Cambridge, in a different life.” She invited you to the Baxter Building Friday to meet Franklin.

No, was your first thought. That would be entirely too much. But how could you say no to this opportunity, to the goddamn Fantastic Four? Maybe Johnny wouldn’t be there. You doubt he hung around the penthouse with his nephew all day. He probably had interviews to do, magazines to pose for, and whatever else came with being America’s heartthrob. So you sat at your desk and wrote back to Sue with shaky hands.

Yes, of course. It would be great to see you again and to meet Franklin.

Your students came and went, asking for help, extensions, book recommendations. As they did, you only had Friday on your mind.. When your office hours were over, you mailed the letter, hesitating before the mouth of the mailbox. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, tutoring the Fantastic Four’s fantastic toddler.

Rather than dragging by, the week sped headfirst towards Friday. As one of the younger professors at your university, you got stuck with the undesirable Friday morning lecture slot. For once, it went by quickly. Too quickly, because the next thing you knew you were in the Baxter Building elevator. You prayed as it trudged upwards that Johnny wouldn’t be there. You could do this if your contact with him was minimal.

The elevator jolted softly when it reached the penthouse floor. Even before the doors opened, before you stepped out of the shaft, you could hear the strained voices.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The last time you heard that voice was over the phone. Back then, warmth exuded through how tired he was. Now his words had a fiery edge to them, burning you.

“I didn’t think it mattered to you, Johnny.” Sue, ever the diplomat.

Panicking, you step heavily to announce your presence. Thank god for loud heels.

“Oh, come in—”

“Give us a minute!”

Sue and Johnny’s voices mixed together in the high-ceilinged echo. You decided to listen to Sue and tentatively stepped out of the elevator and onto the landing. Blue and orange toys littered the contemporary carpet. Your eyes were glued that way for a few seconds, hesitant to look up. When you did, Johnny was already looking at you. Fuck. Franklin had been in his arms but he now handed the toddler back to his mother. Johnny looked sharply back at Sue, a soft scoff coming from his perfect mouth.

He stormed out of the living room and onto the balcony. He glanced back at you and saluted to his sister before lighting his fire and leaping into the sky.

Sue turned to you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You swallowed, trying to regain your composure. “It’s fine! If my being here is a problem at all—”

She smiled at you in that dazzling, comforting way of hers. “Not at all. He was just caught off guard.”

You nodded in understanding. “This handsome guy must be Franklin!”

Talking to Sue and getting to know Franklin had a sense of ease to it. On the part of the Invisible Woman, it nearly felt like you were picking up right where you had left off. Although her whole world had changed— not only with her new powers and her role in international politics, but with her son as well— she was the same earnest and intelligent woman you had briefly known those years ago. She listened to you intently as you discussed the curriculum you had come up with. She seemed to respect you, despite how things had fizzled out with Johnny.

Franklin was a wonder, his intelligent eyes sparkling all over the room as he played on the floor, examining you from time to time with curiosity. Despite your initial hesitancy and awkwardness around Johnny, you were excited to take up this challenge. Having next to no experience teaching children didn’t make a difference— Franklin was far from normal. 

As the sun lowered in the sky, Reed and Ben returned from the lab. Both men came up short for a moment upon seeing, no, upon recognizing you. You were a ghost from their past, however briefly they had known you. You were Johnny’s ghost most of all. Besides Sue, they all reacted so strongly to seeing you that anxiety prickled your neck, worrying about what they thought of you. You took a breath to steady yourself and in that span of time, both Ben and Reed regained their composure and greeted you.

“Good to see you again,” Ben said when he shook your hand.

“Same to you, and to you Dr. Richards,” you said and turned to the shorter man.

“Just Reed, please,” he shook your hand for longer than most would. “Sue has been filling us in on your career since we last met.”

Your face flushed. “Oh!” was all you could squeak out.

“We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” Sue said from the living room. “Would you be able to stay for dinner?”

Your face flushed further. Dinner with the Fantastic Four? Dinner with your ex’s family? Dinner with your ex?

“I wouldn’t want to impo—”

“It’d be our pleasure,” Reed assured you.

Sue came up behind you and put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Have you read James Baldwin's new book?” Ben asked. All the tension eased out of your shoulders. You could do this.

“I actually just picked up a copy last week,” you said.

H.E.R.B.I.E had started cooking while you were talking to Sue, so all that was left was to set the table and make some finishing touches to the meal, which Ben did eagerly. You chatted with the family about the political context and perspective Baldwin brought to his new work as you gathered around the table, waiting for Johnny. Five minutes passed easily, then ten. 

When he finally flew in from the balcony, he didn’t notice you at first. His eyes glazed over you, but not as if he were purposefully ignoring you. 

As if you belonged there. 

You blinked rapidly to get the thought out of your head. Johnny could have anyone he wanted, why would he be stuck on you? Normal, nerdy you.

“Sorry, sorry everyone. Flew upstate to clear my head and lost track of time.” He sauntered over to the table and took the seat across from you. Only when he sat down did he realize you were there. He stilled. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“Wasn’t expecting you to still be here, doc.”

You scoffed lightly, it could almost be a laugh. Hardly anyone ever called you doctor, even if you did have a doctorate. “If you call me doc, I’ll have to call you the Human Torch.”

Ben laughed and it encouraged you until Johnny glared at him and spoke. “I could live with that.”

For such a hothead, he seemed to be icing you out. The rest of dinner was somewhat tense as the rest of the family asked you about your dissertation, the university you taught at, and your students. Johnny didn’t speak the rest of the time, which was both a relief and a concern. Johnny never shut up. Never. But tonight he sat like a kicked puppy across from you, his big eyes glued to his plate.

The deal you cut with Sue was to come Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons to teach Franklin. Most of these would end right before the family had dinner, so you became a regular at their table, much to Johnny’s chagrin. After two weeks of pouting, though, he seemed to at least accept that you’d be around for a while. 

At the end of the third week of having you around, Johnny was finally able to admit to himself that it was nice seeing you again. You were on his turf, which was remarkably different from when you two had dated. He never want to bring you to his apartment back then, because what if you didn’t love his space, his things, didn’t love him, like he—

But that was a lifetime ago. Everything was different now. When you never called after the space mission, it was clear to Johnny that you didn’t want to be part of his life now that he was… not normal. Imagine his confusion when Sue told him you were coming to tutor his nephew, the least normal child in the universe. As you sat at his family’s dinner table multiple times a week, his confusion only grew. You treated them no differently than you did three years ago. To Johnny, it didn’t seem like it registered to you that they were celebrities either.

So why did you never call?

“You’re on fire, Johnny,” Ben said, gravelly but cool. The rest of the table looked at Johnny with surprise; he never put his flame on at the dinner table and had gained complete control over it… or so they thought. The torch himself looked down at his hands in surprise and extinguished them. He realized with embarrassment that he had been staring at you and warped his fork with his heat.

“Are you feeling alright?” you asked. 

Why did it have to be you who asked? The worst part of all was the genuine care in your voice. Your eyebrows knitted together in concern and it made Johnny’s heart stutter. He couldn’t reconcile this version of you with the one he had in his head: ashamed and distant.

“Johnny?” Sue brought him back to now.

“Should I get some water?” You asked him.

“No,” he said sharply, “I don’t need you to get me water.”

“Jonathan!” Sue scolded him.

“What does that mean?” you asked as he stormed to the kitchen with his plate, half tripping over H.E.R.B.I.E.

“That means I don’t need anything from you,” he said simply. “Ever.”

The room collectively sighed as he escaped to his room. Your face burned with embarrassment and hurt. “Ever.” Maybe you had hoped that things would change when you took this job. How foolish. Everything about him was different. Where was that sweetness, that softness you had known? Had it all burned away?

Sue, for one, had had enough. She knew her little brother and she knew you well enough to read how you both still cared for each other. Platonically at the extreme least. So she came up with a plan: the two of you could hardly communicate with each other, but if the rest of the team were to convince one of the other’s feelings, maybe, just maybe, you would come to a resolution. Back when you were both in college, you brought out the best in Johnny— enough that Sue could tell, even though she didn’t see her little brother often. His grades improved, he got in trouble less because he wanted to impress you. His motorcycle stunts and purported nonchalance had no effect on you, so he had no choice to bring out the real Johnny. And the real Johnny was refreshing to Sue.

The only problem Johnny had with an open floor plan was that it made it difficult to eavesdrop. Reed and Sue sat on the sofa just out of sight from the kitchen, behind the fireplace in the center of the room, discussing the seating plan for the Future Foundation’s upcoming benefit.

They seemed to have forgotten he was there.

“And the professor?” Reed asked.

“I’m not sure,” Sue said, humming thoughtfully.

“There’s an open space next to Johnny.”

The Human Torch swallowed his cereal and ate another handful, crunching quietly.

Sue chuckled. “I thought we wanted this to run smoothly.”

“She won’t know anyone else there,” Reed offered.

“She told me the other day that—” Sue lowered her voice enough so that Johnny had to focus to hear her “— she misses Johnny’s friendship. She’s professional, so she didn’t let on at dinner last week, but their exchange really hurt her.”

Johnny’s heart stuttered. He had been shoveling more cereal into his mouth but paused his chewing to listen.

“Why hasn’t she told him?”

“You know Johnny, Reed. Once he’s been burned, he doesn’t forget. And you’ve seen them interact enough— it wouldn’t go well. He’s too proud.”

Too proud? Is that what his big sister really thought of him? Of all the people, Sue knew him best. And apparently she knew him to be… unforgiving. He didn’t want to be that person— for her, for Franklin, for you.

Reed and Sue moved on from discussing you, and Johnny crunched on his Lucky Charms, lost in thought.

You arrived at the penthouse of the Baxter Building at three pm on the dot, like always. Johnny had made a point of leaving out the window when you arrived most days, but today, he sat with Franklin in the living room. You hesitated to come closer, but he noticed you and… smiled.

“Hi,” he said with a little wave. Your face must have betrayed your thoughts, because his grin turned sheepish.

“Is Sue around?” you asked.

Johnny shook his head. “No, sorry, she was called to present at the UN today. Seems you're stuck with me till Reed comes back from the lab.”

Anxiety crept up your neck again. You were not emotionally prepared for this. Shit.

“Okie dokie, then,” you said, mentally kicked yourself, and entered the den.

The lesson was brutal. Sue always sat in and it never bothered you, but Johnny’s gaze felt so heavy on you as you explained the act of Much Ado About Nothing you had just read with Franklin.

“Sometimes people that love each other have a hard time expressing it. Benedick and Beatrice were so wrapped up in what they thought the other had done wrong that they couldn’t realize how deeply they cared for one another.” Your voice trembled. When you lifted your eyes from your notes, Johnny was staring at you again. His lips were parted as if he were about to ask you something, but instead he looked away. Your heart raced for some reason— he had made his feelings clear, hadn’t he? Or…

“Shakespeare makes it clear that they have a history, but never what exactly happened. Perhaps even they don’t know and it was simply…”

“Circumstance.” Johnny finishes your sentence when you trail off.

“Exactly,” you breathe.

The elevator dinged and Reed entered the apartment not a moment too soon.

“Hello, professor,” he greeted you warmly.

“Hi, Reed.”

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“I was wondering—” Johnny interjected as he picked up Franklin, bouncing the boy in his arms, “—if you’d want to go out to dinner?”

“H.E.R.B.I.E.’s been cooking for hours already,” Reed said.

“Just the professor, Stretch, I see you more than I’d like.”

Reed rolled his eyes as he took Franklin from his uncle. You watched the two tentatively.

“So, how about it?” Johnny asked again. He rocked back and forth on his heels, hands in his pockets, the very image of a nervous little boy. His eyes sparkled in the low light, brows knitted together almost apologetically.

“Sure,” you finally said with a nod. Johnny grinned and legitimately cheered. Reed flinched at the volume of it. As the two of you walked towards the elevator, he pat Reed on the shoulder. 

“Sue and you are not that slick,” he whispered to Reed. “...but thank you.”

Johnny took you to a quiet restaurant that was only fifteen minutes from the Baxter Building. All the waitstaff recognized him and you figured he must bring girls here often. Nothing special was going on here, surely. You were intrigued, though, by the fact that the restaurant was a little worn down. It wasn’t flashy, like you expected Johnny Storm’s date spot to be. In fact, it occurred to you as you sat down across from him, none of the tabloid pictures with his various flings featured the checkered tablecloth the establishment was very fond of.

“First of all,” he started as he poured you a glass of wine, “I’d like to apologize for being… well for being an ass these past few weeks.”

You shrugged. “It’s been weird for me, too. Apology wine accepted.”

He laughed as you brought the glass to your lips. “You’ve changed a lot since Cambridge.”

At that, you raised an eyebrow. “Your DNA was literally restructured. You’ve saved the universe. I’m the same person you knew then.”

“No, you’re not. You’re— you’re more mature. I mean, you’ve really made a life for yourself and I’m proud of you. I haven’t changed much besides being more… of an uncle.”

You laughed lightly and he giggled along with you.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who was born to be an uncle, Johnny.”

“It’s a good fit, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

He looked lovely like this: lit by warm candleglow, eyes darting between you and the table, his leg bouncing anxiously. Johnny similarly marveled at the way you leaned in close to listen to him, the way your eyelashes fanned across your cheek when you laughed, how you nervously fiddled with your hair.

He swallowed his pride and finally asked you.

“Why did you never call after the space mission?”

You perked up at the question and he watched as a wave of sadness rolled over you. A pit dipped in his stomach at the sight of how you turned inward, how you withdrew from him. You looked at him like he should know the answer already.

“It was clear life had more in store for you. I didn’t want to hold you back from that. I was just me and now you were a hero. When you never called, I thought it was because you had moved on. Because you had changed and now I was too regular.”

As you spoke, your eyes drifted towards the flame between you two, gaze becoming distant as you remembered those feelings at their most raw. When you looked back up at Johnny, his face was stricken.

“I thought… you never called because you didn’t want to be with someone like me. That you didn’t like the changes I— we— had gone through.”

“No, Johnny, of course not. It’s quite cool, actually.”

“Fantastic, even?”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. What a cornball. 

Dinner came and went pleasantly, mostly talking about music, but Johnny laughed unprompted while you shared dessert.

“What?” you asked. 

“Nothing,” he tried to dismiss it.

“No, tell me!”

He put his spoon down and leaned back in his seat. “We’re just a couple of idiots, that’s all. This whole time I thought you didn’t like me, you thought I didn’t like you, meanwhile I never stopped caring about you.” He didn’t dare to speak on your behalf.

“I never stopped caring about you, either,” you breathed. Your hands prickled with excitement. 

“See? A bunch of idiots, you and me.”

“Mostly you.”

“Mostly me.”

When you left the restaurant, your hand dangled near Johnny’s, begging him to hold it without saying a word. Your fingers bumped once, twice— he finally got the hint and laced your hands together. Sometimes your strides would become unsynchronized, but he’d make a point of slowing down to match you. The air felt charged between you two, now that everything was revealed.

“I missed this,” you hummed.

“I missed you, pretty girl,” he said, pausing in the street. You took this moment to embrace him. He didn’t respond at first, stunned, but then hugged you tighter than he ever had. Your cheek pressed against his warm chest as if it were meant to be there. Johnny pulled away first, but only to look down at you, admiring. One hand snaked up to brush hair out of your eyes.

“Is it too soon to ask to kiss you?” he whispered.

“We’ve been waiting a few years, haven’t we?”

He chuckled at that. “May I?”

“Of course.” He leaned down to kiss you— so chastely it almost made you laugh. It was fucking sweet, how gentle he could be. When your mouths met, they weren’t hungry or desperate but full of steady longing. In your previous relationship, things had been fast and intense. A perfect match marching towards its inevitable fizzle. This? This was a hearth you could build a home around.

thank you for reading! let me know what you think :3

“Are you alright, cupcake?” you glanced up to see Walter leaning against the doorframe that led directly behind the counter, “you look like you’re about to nosedive into the dough and use it as a pillow.”

“I’m alright, just didn’t sleep much last night,” you blinked back down at your work, noting how your weary eyes stung slightly from the lack of rest, “I had a nightmare that was really, really not fun, and immediately when I woke up I started crying and shaking, like instant panic attack, so I couldn’t really fall asleep again after that,” you glanced back up at him and offered a tight-lipped smile. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“I just don’t get why it has to feel so real,” you let your hands halt their waltz as you shared, Howard too glancing over in your direction, “why my body needs to remember it so vividly when I fall asleep. It hasn’t forgotten it while I’m awake, so I don’t feel like I need the reminders… sorry…”

“Don’t apologise, it’s–…” instead of uttering the painful truth, Walter instead let a heavy sigh flow and offered, “…do you want me to make you a cup of coffee? Maybe that could be nice, just a little bit?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, “thanks,” before clapping the worst of the flour off your hands, briefly wiping them against the chocolate brown apron that partially covered your t-shirt and jeans, and wandered around the table, shadowing Walter as he fiddled with the espresso machine, making it hum and puff, till he handed you a steaming mug that had a little heart in the frothy foam floating on the top. 

“Here you go.”

Bringing it up to your lips, you offered him a genuine smile, “thank you, Walt.”

Staying behind the counter as Walter disappeared into the back, the chime of the small bell above the door brought your attention to the pair that then strolled in. Setting down your latte and expecting it to be just any other customer, your eyes instead went wide as you saw who it was.  

“Heya, neighbour!” 

“Y/n, hi,” Matthew smiled as both he and the floppy-haired man beside him came to a stop on the other side of the stocked display case, “uh, Y/n, this is my friend Foggy Nelson,” he gestured to the friendly looking fellow, “Foggy, this is my new neighbour Y/n.”

“The pastry goddess!” Foggy exclaimed excitedly, “I bow to the.”

“Goddess?” you giggled, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you glanced over at Matt, secretly in hopes that he’d gotten that nickname from him, “oh, I don’t know about that. My uncle’s the one who oversees most of the pastries. He studied in Paris back in the 70’s, so in other words he’s a bit of a control freak. But, he is getting better! Slowly letting me take care of more things that I’m more than capable of doing… I’m talking a lot, aren’t I?” you sucked in a sharp breath as you noticed your rambling, “I’ll shut up. The point was just that he is the one who makes most of the pastries here, not me. He’s the goddess.”

“Well, I tasted one of your croissants the other day–”

“Actually,” Matt raised a hand and interrupted his friend, “you stole it.”

“I did not–”

“You came over and I turned away for two seconds and the next thing I knew you’d obliterated the entire bag.”

“That sounds more like a you problem,” Foggy joked, managing to keep a straight face as Matt chuckled, “you’ve known me how many years now? You should know not to trust me with baked goods unless you mean for me to enjoy them,” turning his attention back to you, he leaned his folded arms against the tall section of the counter, “anyways, Y/n, that croissant was properly one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”

“Really?” your face lit up with a bright grin. 

“Yes, it was so buttery and flaky and urgh!”

“Well, if you liked that, you might like today’s special…” your feet began to carry you further to the left to the very far side of the counter. 

“Oh, please do tell me,” he followed along like a magnet.

Pointing down to the pastry row on the other side of the glass, you explained, “it is this rhubarb danish that also has a little base of pastry cream at the bottom to balance out the tart compote.”

“Oh… my… god…” Foggy nearly salivated, his hypnotised gaze never straying from the treat, “you gotta be some angel sent from above.” 

Busting out a laugh, you grabbed a brown paper bag, “should I take that as confirmation?”

“Yes, please,” he nodded as you plucked one up with a set of tongs. 

“Will that be all?”

“I don’t know if it ever can be all, but slowly but surely I’ll get through your spread, and that is a promise,” Foggy accepted the bag into his waiting fingers, “but for now, yeah.”

“Matt, do you want anything?” you asked, feeling the flutter of butterflies wake up within your stomach as you returned your attention to him, “do you want me to describe the options for you?”

“No, I’ll just have the same as Foggy, as well as–, do you sell coffee?”

“Oh,” the scent wafting off your half-empty mug probably caught his attention, “yes, we do.”

“Then I’ll have a cup as well.”

“Oh, one for me too,” Foggy interjected. When you’d packed up another pastry and filled up two to-go cups, the shaggy-haired man pipped up as they were paying, “hey, what are you doing later tonight?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Properly just head home and rewatch some series for the billionth time,” you said, putting the cash they’d handed you away in the register, “why?”

“Well, we’re going out to our usual watering hole, or it’s not just us, Karen, who works with us, is also tagging along. Would you wanna join? Might be fun… might tear the city up, dance all night and watch the sunrise or whatever kids do these days.”

A laugh then rumbled within Matt’s chest, “we’re not gonna go dancing, Foggy.”

“You never know,” Foggy sang, “I’ve got moves like you wouldn’t believe!” he snuck a small sip of his steaming coffee before meeting your eye, “so, Y/n! Please tell me you’re coming?”

“…and then Karen was like what’s that? Turns out a giant piece of glass had stabbed my side,” Foggy clutched onto his drink as he told his dramatic tale, “I nearly died.”

Cutting her sip of beer short, the golden-haired woman sitting beside him at the round bar table objected, “you did not nearly die.”

“Oh yeah?” Foggy squinted light-heartedly back at Karen, “says the person who barely got a scratch. I single handily rescued both you and Mrs. C from that building and got a sick ass scar to prove it.”

Their voices faded away like grown-ups in a Saturday morning cartoon as you glanced back down at your drink and let the radiating heat of the man next to you seep into your bones. As your fingers brushed down the sides of the glass and played with the condensation, Matt suddenly reached out for his own, though in his search for the stout glass that stood ever so close to your own, his touch briefly grazed against your skin. But if that wasn’t enough to spike your heart rate, when his long fingers enveloped his short glass, the back of his hand pressed up against yours at the proximity.

You weren’t sure how long it persisted before he raised his dark drink up to his lips, but it didn’t seem like he was in a rush to let the contact fade. Your breath managed to grow ragged in the chunk of time you got to stare down at his hand, it looking so massive up against yours. Though the light in the dingy bar was low, you could still manage to make out the dizzying pattern of prominent veins that cascaded off the back of his hand like a calm rainfall rolling down a windowpane. 

For a moment there, assisted by the few drinks in your system, you let yourself dream, just for a little while, just until Foggy’s voice cut through your haze and stirred you from your fantasy. 

“… I mean, am I right? I’m right. Come on, Y/n, back me up here!”

“Huh? I’m sorry, uhm…” you blinked, in some ways feeling more drunk than you had a minute ago, “wha–what did you say?”

As Foggy then began to explain what you’d missed, Matt leaned down close to your ear and whispered, his hot breath tickling your skin and causing goosebumps to erupt. 

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hummed fuzzily. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you glanced down and noticed how rapidly your chest was rising and falling. 

“Do you wanna go home? I can walk with you if you want,” he offered quietly. 

“Uhm…” you blinked up at him before uttering, “sure, but I don’t wanna end your night before you want to.”

“No, you’re not,” he reassured you, “I’m ready to go home myself.”

“Alright then,” you nodded before Matt turned to the others. 

“Guys, we’re gonna head home.”

“No!” Foggy boomed, “really?”

Throwing her hands up, Karen added, “but we haven’t even gone dancing yet!”

“Sorry,” Matt got up from his tall stool, “another night.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” you tugged your jacket back on, “I had a lot of fun.”

To your surprise, they both got up and hugged you in return.

“Thank you for coming!” Karen gave you a tight squeeze before Foggy took over. 

“And we’ll be seeing you for the next one, right?”

“Uh, sure,” you gave his back a light pat, “if I have time and stuff the day that it happens, then I’d love to tag along.”

Casting his glance upon the other lawyer, “bye, Matt,” Foggy then yanked him into an embrace, “I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Matt chuckled, clapping his friend’s spine, “I know, buddy.”

“You love me too, right?” Foggy pulled back, though still kept his hands fast on Matt’s broad shoulders, “don’t leave me hanging, it’s bad for a man’s health.”

“Foggy, I started a firm with you. Of course, I love you,” Matt smiled back at his sloshed pal, “good night.”

“Night, night,” Foggy patted his scruffy cheek before letting him out of his gasp, though adding as you turned to exit the bar, “night, Y/n! I love you too! I just met you today, but I love you!”

Soft giggles bubbled out of you as the door slammed shut behind you. 

“So, those are your friends...” you smiled into the night, “I like them. They’re nice.”

“Yeah,” the corners of Matt’s lips turned further up till dimples bloomed, “they’re good eggs.”

As the two of you began to move along, the silence didn’t last very long at all. 

“This is really nice of you, walking me home like this,” you uttered, “I know it’s just because we’re neighbours and headed in the same direction, but–”

“It’s not.”

“What?” your eyes found him.

“It’s not because we’re neighbours. It’s just, you know, the decent thing to do.”

“Right,” you exhaled, casting your glance back down onto the sidewalk as you momentarily got your hopes up. 

“And you know how this city can be,” Matt went on, “it’s not smart for anyone to walk alone at night.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, trying to keep your tone nonchalant, “of course.”

When a street then appeared before you, slicing the path you journeyed on, and even though there wasn’t any traffic in sight, your hand still instinctively shot down to grasp Matt’s forearm before the two of you could cross.

Realising what you’d done, you quietly muttered, “sorry,” though couldn’t find the strength to withdraw your touch just yet. 

“It’s okay,” his low voice slid from his lips like silk. 

“I just didn’t want you to walk straight out into ongoing traffic...” you tore your gaze away from him and forced yourself to look at the road before you, “but there aren’t any right now, so we can cross the street…”

Guiding his palm up to the curve of your elbow, he accepted the gentle aid as you began to cross the lane. 

Once you’d reached the other side and his grasp slowly began to drift back down. When his palm reached the height of your own, you softly caught it before timidly testing, “…do you mind if we–…”

“Hold hands?” with a gentle smile, he filled in before you might wonder if he could even sense your shy touch at all.

“Yeah…”

“No,” you felt him weave his fingers with your own, “not at all.” 

His touch somehow felt even better than you’d imagined. Though surprisingly gruff, with harsh calluses all throughout, he cradled your palm with such care, like he’d held it a thousand times before, occasionally swiping his broad thumb over your knuckles, presumably just a subconscious gesture from his end that still caused shivers to trickle down your spine every time he did so. 

You wanted the latter part of your walk home to last forever, engulfed in the comfortable silence of endless possibilities. But alas, when you did reach your building’s front door and then climbed the steps all the way up to your respective apartments, you couldn’t get yourself to let go just yet. 

“Are you hungry? Because I kinda am,” you weren’t really, but anything to just stretch the night a little longer, “or maybe it’s just my subconscious taking care of me and lessening my hangover by giving me a sudden craving for cheese.”

“I don’t think I have any cheese.”

“I do,” you said maybe a bit too fast, “do you want some?”

Exhaling lowly, a soft smile twitched at his lips as he then uttered, “sure.”

As you unlocked your door, you finally let go of his hand, “make yourself at home!” you placed your keys down on the slender entry table before kicking your shoes off and peeling off your coat, hanging it up on the row of hooks, “oh, do you want me to, uh, describe the layout for you? Or just plant your down on the couch?”

“Just tell me the direction and I think I’ll be fine.”

Facing him, you haphazardly explained, “alright, the hallway goes on for a few steps and then it’s to your right–, no, wait, my right, that’s your left. It’s to your left.”

Whirling around, you delved deeper into your home till you reached the kitchen. Ripping open the fridge, you snatched up a block of half-eaten cheese before seizing a clean butter knife from the dishrack and a roll of seedy crackers from a cupboard. 

Matt was already comfortable on your sage couch as you laid the humble spread out on the coffee table and joined him. 

“I hope you like brie because that’s what I got. Unless you want a single slice of american cheese, then this is all the cheese I have to offer.”

“Brie it is then,” he relaxed into the cushions as you unwrapped the snack. 

“Here, let me make you a bite,” slicing off bits of soft cheese, you spread it both on a cracker for him and one for you. Gently picking up his hand to place his snack in his palm, you then popped your own in your mouth and nearly melted into the couch next to him, “yep… that’s the spot…” you grinned hazily out the tall windows at the night sky as you chewed, “there’s just something about eating cheese when the moon is out that’s just so right in a way I can’t describe…” 

Your murmuring conjured a light chuckle to rumble within Matt, one that swayed your gaze to train on him. Resting your head against the back of the couch, you watched as the moonlight reflected in his tinted glasses. 

When the silence stretched on, Matt eventually cocked his head, “…what?”

Not tearing your eyes off of him, you breathed, “nothing…”

“You’re quiet,” his dark brows furrowed gently, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you repeated, feeling almost like you were floating in a calm sea. 

“You tired? Do you want me to go so that you can go to bed?”

“No, please don’t, I–…” you reached out and grazed his arm, “could–… do you want to go?”

Letting his body relax once more, he breathed, “not particularly…”

Gazing up at him, your bottom lip snuck its way in between your teeth, “Matt…”

“Yeah?”

“You–… you’re–… I–…” your pulse pounded in your ears. 

“Mhm?”

“I really, really wanna kiss you right now…” you uttered thickly before you had the chance to chicken out. Like a wave crashing a shore, you didn’t even think as you let yourself dive in and press your lips to his. The kiss however didn’t last too long as you swiftly drew back as soon as your brain turned back on and you realised what you’d done, an apology hastily rushing out of your lungs, “Oh my god… I am so sorry.”

“Y/n,” hearing your name on his silky tongue did not help matters. 

“I didn’t mean to just–”

“Y/n,” he repeated, trying to cut through your fog. 

“We can just forget any of that ever happened, I totally get it if you don’t–”

As he brought his hands up to cradle the sides of your face, your nervous ramble fell short. When he ghosted his thumb across your cheekbone, you swore that you stopped breathing entirely. 

“…can I kiss you?” he slowly asked, leaving you utterly dazed. 

“W-what?”

Drawing in a breath, he repeated for you, “can I kiss you, Y/n?”

Blinking back at him, you hazily hummed, “mhm,” before he leaned in and brushed his lips against your own. The kiss was soft, just as your shoddy attempt had been, but it made your limbs feel like they morphed into jelly. When the pecks soon departed, you filled your lungs with a shaky breath as you gazed back at him in total awe, “holy shit…” only staying there a moment before you had to have another taste. 

Slowly growing more confident, the intoxicating kiss gradually grew more hungry. When his fingers then weaved into your hair, you realised that up till now he’d been holding himself back, gatekeeping a kiss that caused your frame to crawl into his lap, starving for more. Your little whimpers vibrated against his tongue as he danced it against yours, growing dizzy as you melted into the heart-stopping sensation. 

But suddenly a tormenting flash stabbed your being, and you abruptly tilted your lips away from his, breathlessly uttering, “wait, wait, there’s-, there’s-, uh…”

“What,” he breathed thickly, nose grazing yours before you retracted further, “are you okay?” 

“I’m…” carefully crawling off his lap, you kept going till you were a safe distance away on your own side of the couch, “Matt, there’s something I need to–, uhm, tell you…”

Staying silent, he patiently waited as you gathered up the courage needed to jump off the cliff and tell him.

Casting your gaze up to the tall and dark ceilings above, you felt your limbs begin to tremble, “okay, alright… I have no idea how to, uh, say this, so I’m just gonna do it,” and like a band-aid, you uttered, “I-, I was raped,” your eyes squeezed shut, not daring to risk glancing at his reaction, “a little over a year ago… and I haven’t–, uhm, done or tried anything with anyone since… so yeah, I just thought that was a good thing for you to know since even though I hope for there not to be any problems, I just don’t know, I don’t know what it will be like for me, if my body will suddenly freak out, but I just wanted to tell you so that in case something does happens, that you know not to automatically take it personally...” drawing in a shaky breath, you fluttered your gaze open and waited for his response, “Matt?”

“Yeah?” he answered carefully. 

“Please don’t say that I’m scaring you away right now…” you shifted your position, turning to face him once more.  

“You’re not, you’re not,” his head softly shook from side to side, “I just–… I really, really sorry.”

“Yeah…” you exhaled slowly, feeling tears sting the corners of your eyes, “me too…” staring at him a moment, you then bared your all and uttered, “I really like you, Matt,” a faint smile accompanied the declaration, “I think you might be the only guy in all of New York that I’m not scared of,” every other man you could think of had all had at least a second, a little flicker, of something that over the past year had terrified you, “and I don’t want you to think that I’m made of glass, that’s not what I want, that’s not why I’m telling you this. Please trust me when I say that I want to, I wanna do–…” a weighty exhale flowed from your lungs as your lips remembered his taste, “I wanna do everything with you… if–, if that’s something you’d like as well… but if we do, even though I really, really want to, I think it’s probably smartest to go slow, no pressure, you know, just in case, so that my body doesn’t freak out. Also, I’d really appreciate it if I at any point indicate for you to stop or even just pause a moment, that you’ll do that, that you’ll listen to me,” you briefly glanced down at your fiddling fingers, “and you know, I’m not saying let’s only do PG things, there are so, so many wonderful steps on the way that we can have fun with… I just–, I wanted to let you know now, before, so that we wouldn’t potentially have this conversation when something did happen.”

Only parting his lips when he was sure you were done, he uttered, “thank you for telling me. Are you–… are you okay? Was what happened before too much?”

“No…” you shook your head gently, “no, it wasn’t,” taking his hand in yours, you shared, “and I’m okay, I think… I mean, some days it still feels like it just happened, and others I notice something, something small, that I’ve gotten back, that I’ve regained…” absentmindedly tracing the lines of his palm with your thumb, you asked, “do you–… do you have any questions? Is there anything you wanna know?”

“No, I–… I just want you to tell me however much or little you feel comfortable with sharing.”

“…can I tell you? About it?” you asked slowly and he swiftly offered you a soft nod. Drawing in a deep breath, you began, “It, um, it was a Saturday night… I’d just gotten back from the bakery super late, maybe close to midnight… and when I was getting ready for bed, my roommate came home, he’d been out drinking as he usually spent his weekends. I remember we stayed up a while, just talking about the mundane stuff we always did. It was like any other Saturday, really. That was until I got too tired and went to go to bed, but he didn’t wanna stop talking, so he followed along into my room while I got ready and stuff,” averting your gaze, your bottom lip began to tremble, “we were just talking, it wasn’t anything special and then the next thing I knew, he was kissing me. It just–… it happened so fast… his hands were all over me… I remember he pushed me up against my closet so hard that my back was bruised the next day, and I don’t bruise that easily. He was just so wasted that I don’t think he realised or maybe even cared what he was doing. I tried to say something, tried to make him stop, but he didn’t listen to me. If he heard me, then I don’t think he understood what it was that I was saying… I would have pushed him away, slapped and hit him, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t move my body, not even a little, I just froze…” 

“I can still feel what he felt like… like my skin won’t let go of the memory…” tears rolled down your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to ignore how your palm tingled with recollection, “how he forced me to touch him and held his hand over mine, making it move as if he just thought I didn’t know what to do… he was my friend, you know? He wasn’t just some stranger who dragged me into an alley and held a knife to my throat. He was my friend. He would always make offhand jokes about seeing me as just a little sister and how he wasn’t attracted to me at all. Made such a big deal of it that I never thought he’d try anything… I have no idea how long it actually went on… I don’t even remember when it was that I landed on the bed, if it was before or after he–… after he–… did stuff, t-touched me… I just remember I was laying there when it happened. The masked man, the devil of hell’s kitchen, he ripped him off of me…”

“He’d somehow heard… I think maybe if I hadn’t opened the window that night to air out the room, he wouldn’t have saved me… he beat him up... knocked him out… he told me to call the police, but I couldn’t, so I instead asked my uncle to come get me… my body’s never shaked the way it did that night… I remember I was so confused because I wasn’t cold, didn’t get it till the masked man said I was in shock… it didn’t stop till the next night… when he was about to leave, I asked what if Mi–,” you couldn’t get yourself to utter Michael’s name out loud without feeling as if your whole world would crumble around you, “what if he woke up before Howard arrived, and so he just stayed there with me, right till he somehow heard my uncle walking up the stairs and then he slipped out the way he came in, right before I heard the front door unlock.” 

Letting out a long and unsteady breath, you raised a trembling palm up to wipe your cheeks. 

For a while, the silence got to encompass the space completely, your left hand still shaking in Matt’s as you eventually heard him ask. 

“Did you ever go to the police?”

“No. In the small window that I had to do one of those kits, I was just way too overwhelmed and confused and I just couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t do anything but relive that moment over and over again, so I didn’t do anything in time. But the longer time that passes and the more it sinks in what he did and the ways that I’m still paying for it, the things he ruined inside of me that I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get back, the more I wish that I had gone to the police. But it’s too late now.”

“No, it’s not,” his fingers squeezed slightly around yours, “I could help you, I’m a lawyer after all.”

“No, Matt,” you said firmly, “it is. I don’t wanna sit there and hear them go oh, it’s your word against his, sorry, and have them think that not enough happened technically for them to take it seriously. Enough happened, trust me. I’m eternally grateful that Daredevil saved me from whatever else he could have done to me that night, but enough happened. Just because he didn’t stick it in me doesn’t mean nothing happened. That is the kind of belief that only belongs to people who think that the only sexual act that counts as sex is when a penis is in a vagina, and that is just so incredibly wrong,” an enraged laugh tumbled out of you as you fumed, “they are the kind of people who think that someone queer, disabled or just someone who isn’t into that sexual act isn’t actually having sex when they are. Sex is about connection, it’s about pleasure and there are endless amounts of things that can give a person pleasure,” clenching your jaw, you let out a heavy sigh, “I wish it could be different, I wish many things, I wish it hadn’t had happened at all, but it did, and I hope that at the very least he learned something from it, that he changed, that he wouldn’t do it again to someone else.”

Hearing his footsteps carry him deeper into the new home, his voice soon rumbled, muffled behind your bedroom door. Opening up the cardboard box that half blocked off your empty fridge, you dug through it till you found a glass, swiftly straightening back up and filling it up with water.

“How are you doing, cupcake?” you heard the soft voice of Walter, your uncle’s husband, as you turned off the tab, “you gonna be okay tonight? Because if you don’t want to be alone, we can stay.”

“No, it’s alright, I think I’m okay,” you took a tiny sip before placing the tall glass down on the counter, “you both gotta get up early tomorrow to open the bakery anyways.” 

“It’s never stopped us before. Do you remember when you were 11 and you watched that terrifying movie at some slumber party?” a smile twitched at the bald man’s lip from the memory, “I don’t think any of us slept for a whole week straight and the bakery still kept on running. If we could get through those sleepless nights of trying to convince you that our apartment wasn’t haunted, then we can get through this.” 

Stepping up closer to him, you caught his hand in yours and said, “I think I’m gonna be okay, but thank you, Walter, really, for everything, for this, for letting me move back home and letting me stay there for over a year.”

“Hey,” he squeezed your palm and ushered you to meet his gaze, “you do not need to thank us for that. It’s–…” he dropped the heavy comment he nearly uttered and instead let out a low sigh, “we love you. It was the very least we could do.”

“I love you too,” you heard your voice threaten a tremble of vulnerability, “so much.”

As the bedroom door then swung back open, out stepped Howard with an exhale, “alright, the pizza is on its way. You gonna be okay here?”

“Yeah,” you offered him a nod before walking them out. 

Peeking back at you over his shoulder as he swung his bright red scarf back on, Walter raised his brows tenderly, “promise that you’ll call us if anything happens, yeah?”

“Promise,” you breathed as you watched them creak open the front door and step out into the cold hallway, “love you, goodnight!”

“Goodnight, hon!” Howard waved over his shoulder at your visage in the doorway as the couple reached the stairs, “see you tomorrow! Try and get some rest, just head in whenever you get up.” 

“Okay,” a soft smile warmed your features. Lately, or the past year actually, they’d let you cut down on your work quite a bit so that your hours at the bakery were significantly less and the only days you were to get up before the sun did was on weekends.

“Bye!” they both called out loudly as they disappeared from your view before your own echo rang throughout the hallway.

“Bye!”

You didn’t manage to unpack much, only half of your books, before the buzzer rang obnoxiously, causing your feet to scramble to let the delivery guy up. 

Swiftly locating your backpack, you fished out your wallet just before a knock boomed at your door. 

“That’ll be twenty bucks,” the pimply-faced pizza guy spoke in a monotone voice as soon as you opened up. 

Catching the shadow of another figure ascend the staircase just before you began to dig through your wallet, his handsome and scruffy features were adorned with a pair of glasses that had a darkly crimson tint to them.

“Yep… uh… do you have change for a fifty?” 

“Nope,” he impatiently blinked before loudly popping his bright blue bubblegum.

“Oh, alright…” you felt your palms begin to sweat, “do you mind just waiting here for a second? I might have some more cash in a jacket… somewhere…”

But just before you could duck back inside, the suit-clad man who had stopped to unlock the door directly opposite yours, whipped his own wallet out and handed off the needed bucks, “here.”

Satisfied, the pizza guy accepted the change and shoved the wide box into your arms before dashing off. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” you blinked over at your generous, new neighbour, “I can pay you back–”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he offered you a polite smile that sent a swarm of butterflies soaring within your belly, a sensation that you hadn’t felt in ages, “welcome to the building,” he added as he tugged his door open. 

“Thanks,” you uttered, slightly windblown in your threshold as he disappeared into his apartment. 

Slipping into your sneakers and hastily fastening them with sloppy bows, you slugged your jacket on and grabbed your bag. As you exited your apartment, the neighbouring door opened just as you locked up your own. 

“Oh, hi!” you squeaked over your shoulder as you turned the key, “good morning!” 

Your breath got caught in your throat as you turned to face him fully, shoving your bundle of keys into your pocket. Did he look even better than you remembered? Now no longer obscured by the terrible excuses this hallway had for lighting, the frosted window to your right illuminated every detail of him that you’d missed the first time around. 

“Morning,” he replied as he too locked his door behind him. 

Waiting a moment before you began to move your feet, you eyed his polished attire, “are you off to work?”

“Yep,” he nodded and fished out a folded-up cane from the inner pocket of his jacket, “you?”

“Yeah,” you sucked in a breath, “I’m Y/n, by the way, forgot to introduce myself the other night.”

“Matthew,” the bespectacled man extended his hand out for you to shake, “nice to meet you.” 

After ignoring the tingle his touch sent down your spine, the two of you began to descend the stairs.

“Thanks again for what you did with the–, oh! I should pay you back!” you reached into your deep coat pocket to locate your wallet, “I’m pretty sure I have–, how much was it?”

“You don’t have to, it’s fine, really,” he politely declined. 

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, your brows flew up, “seriously?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged as he then held the front door open for you to get out onto the street first. 

“Thank you, Matthew,” you slipped out, waiting a moment before you began to head off, “have a good day!”

“Yeah, you too,” he said, flicking out his cane to its full length, just before you both began to walk in the exact same direction. 

“Oh, wait,” you slowed as a giggle bubbled out of your lungs, “you’re also heading this way?”

“Oh, uhm, yeah.”

“Do you–, uh… I can wait for a little bit and let you get a head start if you–”

“Or you can just walk with me, if you’d like,” he suggested with a gentle smile that made your brain forget for just a split second where your destination was in the first place, “it’s fine with me, I don’t mind the company.”

“Okay,” you agreed in a quiet voice, returning to a brisk pace beside him. You didn’t take too many strides before a casual question nervously fell from your lips, “so, have you lived here long?” 

“In the apartment or Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Oh,” your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, “both, I guess.”

“I’ve been in the apartment for a while,” he told you, “but lived here in the neighbourhood pretty much all my life.”

“Yeah?” you smiled, maybe glancing over at him a bit too much for it to be safe as you walked, “that’s nice.”

“You?”

“Uhm, grew up in Brooklyn, moved here to live with my uncles when I was nine, after my parents passed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” his low tone emanated an air of kinship. 

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago, I was just a kid... anyways! Enough about me before I spill all of my childhood trauma to you,” you gracelessly changed the subject, “you are in a suit.”

“I–,” a faint laugh tumbled out past his lips before he joked, “I’d sure hope I am and didn’t accidentally change into something else.”

“No–, I mean, yes, obviously,” you felt heat begin to rise in your cheeks, “that was just a very weird and backwards way of asking what you do for a living.”

“Ah,” his dark brows lifted in comprehension.

“Let me guess…” you fiddled with your fingers as you thought, “accountant? No… politician? No… funeral director?”

“Funeral di–,” Matthew chuckled, “no.”

“Do you work on Wall Street? Oh, please tell me you don’t because here I was just starting to think you were super cool.”

“No, I don’t work on Wall Street, but good to know that you think I’m cool,” he smirked, making you regret letting that information slip, “I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?” your eyes grew, “seriously?”

“Yep.”

“That’s–... that’s–… waow…” you uttered, completely dumbfounded by the imposing nature of his profession, “well, now I don’t wanna tell you what I do, because it’s so not as impressive.”

“Oh, come on,” he tilted his head, “now you have to tell me.”

“…I’m a baker,” you finally said, “actually,” stopping your stride, you briefly brushed his arm for him to do the same, “this is where I work, right here.” 

“Really?” 

“It’s called Buttercup Bakery,” you glanced up at the familiar storefront, “have you ever been in there?”

“No, never,” his head shook lightly as a small smile warmed up his features, “funny, my office is just a few minutes further down the street, I must have walked passed this place a thousand times but I never noticed it before.”

“Well, you know of its existence now…” you turned your head to gaze at his striking visage once more as he raised a hand to adjust his glasses, “do you wanna get a coffee or something? My treat, as thanks for the pizza.”

“I’d love to,” he sucked in a breath, “but I really have to get going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you nodded lightly, “well, thanks for the walk, have a great day. Hope you win a bunch of cases and–, uh… I don’t know, help make the judicial system better,” you couldn’t help but physically cringed at your clumsy words. 

But your new neighbour didn’t seem to mind as he just chuckled before wandering off, “bye, Y/n.”

The small bell above the glass door to the bakery chimed softly as you pushed it open. The interior was simple, both in colour and design, but had a rustic charm to it that gave it a sense of home. Behind the counter, and the mouth-watering baked goods lined up and displayed behind the clear glass, stood Walter. Facing the long shelves adorned with various loaves, he grabbed a crusty baguette and slid it into an appropriately long brown paper bag.

Handing it off to the little old lady on the other side, he said, “here you are. That’ll be four dollars,” before she placed the money on the counter beside his half-read newspaper and strolled passed you, out of the bakery, “have a good day!”

Leaning back down to return to his paper, Walter didn’t glance up at you as he greeted, “hi, honey! You wanna hear your horoscope for today?”

Tugging down the zipper of your jacket, you joked self-reflectively as you began to shed your layers, “does it say that I’ll miraculously turn into a charming and charismatic adult instead of whatever this is?”

“…uh… no,” he furrowed his brow and finally shot you a brief glance, “it says that you're energized and creative. This new moon initiates two weeks of growing work, health and strength. Put your heart into your actions. Practice makes perfect. Oh, and it also says right here that the spelt flour bin needs refilling and that there are about a billion cardamom buns that need to be shaped.”

“Oh, it says all of that, does it now?”

Letting a tense breath go, you apprehensively let your fist meet the dark door in three shy knocks. 

As soon as it swung open, the sentence, “do you like croissants?” sputtered out passed your lips. 

Head reeling back slightly at the unforeseen and sudden question, Matt blinked, “what?” 

“Do you like croissants?” you repeated as if it wasn’t strange to just blurt out something like that out of the blue. 

“Uh,” a smile then crept up on his lips, “hello to you too, Y/n.”

“I mean, I’ve personally never met anyone who doesn’t care for them, but I’m sure they exist.”

“Sure, I like croissants.”

“Oh, great, wonderful!”

Leaning against his door, his head tilted as you failed to continue, “…did you just have a burning desire to know that fact about me?”

“Right, no, I–, uhm, there were a bunch leftover today that we didn’t sell, so purely just to not let any go to waste, I thought you’d like some,” you held up the crinkly paper bag for him to hear. 

It had been a lie, but he didn’t have to know that you’d set some aside for him before they all sold out, just to have an excuse to talk to him again. 

“Oh, thank you,” he held out his open palms, “that’s so nice of you.” 

As you handed the bag off into his grasp, you felt as if your heart might beat straight out of your chest.  

“…alright, well…” you stumbled slightly, “I should probably head off to bed. Weekends are always the busiest, so my shifts are usually really long and I have to get up like super early, so... goodnight then!” 

And with that you awkwardly whirled around and scurried the short distance into your own apartment, only faintly catching his warm chuckle as you disappeared. 

“Night.”

“A magazine? Oh- I don’t know about that.” Bob said, shyly shaking his head as he sat in the boardroom.

The Dagger Squad had been called into a meeting by Maverick. At first, they had thought it’d be something serious. Mission details. Deployment statuses. New drills to learn.

But when Maverick learned that he needed to have some of the squadron interviewed for an American magazine, he knew just the crew. Plus, it wasn’t any ordinary interview; it was practically the equivalent of a fireman calendar. Naval Aviators with Puppies. For men and women across America alike to swoon at.

“What? It’d be totally fun.” Rooster said in disbelief, “Are you seriously turning down the chance to play with puppies?”

Bob’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “No! No, it’s not that. I just uh- get nervous around cameras.” He said honestly.

Phoenix chimed in. “Bob, you fly thousands of feet in the air every day, and you’re scared of being recorded?”

Everyone chuckled and looked at him expectantly. He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“It’ll be quick. I promise.” Maverick reassured, “All meet in the hangar in fifteen.”

The squad celebrated. Fanboy and Payback high-fived, just excited to get out of drills for an hour or two. Bob sighed in defeat. 

As the Dagger Squad walked down the hall towards the hangar, decked out in their usual flight suits, Hangman checked his hair using his phone.

“Need to powder your nose, Hangman?” Phoenix teased.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the fact that I’m about to nail this interview.” He replied.

Bob fell to the back of the crowd, following everybody else. Should he check his hair? Should he take off his glasses? What were they even going to interview him about? He took a deep breath and shook out his hands- the same routine he did when getting in the backseat of the Super Hornet. Yet somehow this felt worse.

They walked into the hangar. The cool breeze hit their faces, and Bob felt a little lighter with some fresh air. 

The area looked strange. A camera crew had set up a tripod and lights. A blanket was set on the linoleum floor that was typically scuffed by jet wheels. Dog toys littered the floor.

A woman wearing a suit turned and clapped, “Perfect! Right on schedule.” She looked down at a clipboard. “Can someone radio in Y/n? We need the animal wrangler on set.” 

Payback rubbed his hands together. “Ohhh, the puppies.” He smirked excitedly. 

One of the film crew members pressed a walkie-talkie, “Y/n? What’s your 20?”

But right as they asked that, another woman walked through the hangar with carriers in hand. “I’m right here!” Little puppy whines could be heard from inside. “I know. I know.” She said in a baby voice to the crates. 

That’s when Bob noticed how beautiful she was. Her hair was up and out of her face as she gently set down the carriers by the blanket. She wore a white button-up under a fitted black sweater that was tucked into a pair of slacks. A belt cinched her waist. She was a professional. A professional who was squatted down, baby talking to puppies. 

His face turned bright red. This was worse. This was so much worse now. 

Phoenix patted his shoulder, “Hey. You’ll be okay. You got this.” She said so genuinely, not yet realizing the other reason why Bob looked like he was gonna explode.

The woman wearing the suit came by, “Hi, I’m Donna. I’m gonna be the one interviewing you guys today, and I’m also producing the shoot.” She shook all their hands. “First of all, thank you for your service.”

The group all nodded in respect. “We’re gonna call you one by one, and we’ll have you do the interview. During the interview, you’ll be recorded for our YouTube channel, and we’ll also have our photographer taking pictures for the magazine. Don’t worry, there won’t be any flash as we don’t wanna scare our puppies.” Donna explained.

Bob felt like he was being briefed for a mission. In a way, he was. But this was a lot different than what he was accustomed to. His gaze kept shifting over to the animal wrangler… this ‘Y/n’ he figured from the walkie-talkie.

“Let’s start with Jake Seresin?” Donna asked, looking at her clipboard

“At your service.” Hangman strutted up with a smirk. He was born ready for this.

The rest of the squad watched as more crates of puppies were flown in by some production assistants. Jake sat down on the floor in front of the camera.

In the distance, Y/n grabbed a clipboard from a production assistant and nodded. She was focused and engrossed in her job. Her finger skimmed the board. The production assistant said something, and she laughed, a smile lit her face. And Bob’s mouth went dry. His heart pounded, and this time it wasn’t just from stage fright.

The interview started, and the squad had to suppress their aw’s as Y/n gently carried out some golden retriever puppies. One by one, she placed them down on the floor and watched as they scurried to Hangman. 

He was a natural. He’d stop to play with the puppies and pose for pictures before fully answering the questions. The puppies matched his hair. And when one bit his shoe, he let it play a game of tug of war. Women were going to be swooning over Hangman, but when was that ever in question?

One by one, Bob watched his fellow Daggers get interviewed. Each with a different breed of puppy. Rooster got German Shepherds. Payback got Golden Doodles while Fanboy got Corgis. Throughout the shoot, Phoenix and Bob tried to guess what they’d get. And Phoenix ended up with baby Dobermans.

Bob didn’t even hear any of the interviews. He was too distracted. So much was going on. The puppies. The crew all working together. Whenever a jet would go off, they’d have to pause for audio reasons. Then, of course, the beautiful animal handler who corralled all the puppies. Whenever they’d try and get past the fence or wander past the camera, she’d steer them back in the right direction. Sometimes, if there were too many puppies, she’d hold one or two in her hands. At one point, he watched as a puppy snuggled up to her shoulder, and she smiled. But she didn’t aw or coo, it was like she was used to it. 

Bob’s heart was going to explode.

That’s why when Donna went, “Robert Floyd?”

He was broken out of his trance, and he suddenly remembered that HE had to do an interview too. 

“That’s me- hi.” He said softly, and when he stepped forward, an audio team came by and strapped a mic on him. 

He awkwardly felt the wire run under his flight suit as he walked forward. Sitting down where everyone else had before, Bob looked up to see Y/n closer than ever. There was a slight sheen of sweat on her that shone under the lights, but she wasn’t bothered at all. She was on a mission. She smiled at him.

“Hi! Robert?” She asked

“You can call me Bob.” He said nervously, but doing his best to stay normal. Which was proving to be more and more difficult with the bright lights and camera being tested right in front of him. 

“Okay, Bob, so you’re gonna be working with our English Bulldog puppies today. They’re a more gentle breed. But just a warning, they are going to drool… a lot.” She explained.

He nodded, but it felt like he could barely process what she was saying. 

“You doing okay? Do you need a water?” She asked concerned

He broke out of his thoughts for what felt like the millionth time. Did he look that out of it? “No, no. I’m okay. Just nervous.” “Don’t be. The puppies are very friendly. They might nibble on your clothes, but the bulldogs are more of a sleepy bunch.”

Bob nodded again. Her voice was so pretty…

Next thing he knew, he heard.

“Audio?” 

“Speeding.”

“Camera?”

“Rolling.”

His eyes widened, panicked as the other photographer started setting up beside the camera. 

Meanwhile, to the side, the Daggers were just trying not to laugh. 

“Guys. Stop. He’s already nervous.” Phoenix threatened.

Rooster and Hangman turned around, covering their mouths.

“He’s so funny around hot people,” Rooster murmured

Hangman elbowed him, and they sniggered together.

“Okay! Could you introduce yourself to the camera for us?” Donna asked

Bob nodded nervously. “Yeah, uh- Hi. I’m Lieutenant Bob Floyd. I’m a Weapon Systems Officer for the US Navy Air Force.”

Suddenly… he heard little pitter patters. He looked down to see the squishiest roly-poly of a bulldog walk over to him. Following his eyes, he looked over to see Y/n grabbing another and setting it down.

Now, TWO white and brown bulldogs pawed over to him.

His smile immediately brightened. This was way better than he thought it would be. He gently scooped up one in each hand. They were so relaxed as he held them up. Their little fat rolling off his palms.

“Hi guys.” He said softly. He held them for the camera, “They’re so… They’re so chill. They’re melting in my hands.” He laughed. 

He set them down and watched as they explored and started playing with each other.

“Why did you enlist?” Donna asked

He nodded and tried to look at the camera, but he couldn’t help but get distracted by the bulldogs nudging each other with their big heads.

“Well, I sort of always wanted to-”

BARK. He looked down at one of the puppies who had barked as it sat down, looking right at Bob. His voice naturally gentled.

“Yes? Did you want something?” He asked playfully as the puppy tilted its head. He reached out and scratched its tiny ears. He turned back to the camera as the other puppy climbed onto his lap. “I knew I wanted to serve my country since I was 16, and the thought of being able to fly really intrigued me, and-” He looked down to see the puppy curling up between his legs. Its jowls draped across his calf. “And it’s getting really hard to answer these questions.”

Y/n smiled and got out two more. Bob’s eyes widened at her. “More?!” 

She sent two more puppies his way, but his eyes stayed on her for a moment. She nodded encouragingly, and Bob looked back at the camera, a little flushed.

“What has been the scariest moment in air for you?”

He was taken aback by the serious question and instinctively started petting the bulldog in his lap. It was calming. Maybe this was the best way for Bob to be interviewed. He felt much more comfortable with the puppies around. Even as the other three in front of him were wandering around and playing with the toys. 

“Well, there have been plenty of moments during missions. But you’re always kind of prepared for that. I had to eject once during a bird strike, and that was awful. Getting shot out of your-” He started, but then the puppy in his lap reached up and started chewing the clip-on mic strapped to his suit. “Oh no… We don’t do that. Those poor sound guys.” He said, gently prying the puppy away from his chest. It began to whine, so he held it up to his face. “I know. That’s what I sounded like after ejecting, too.” He said, trying to get back to the topic. 

Y/n suddenly giggled off to the side at that, and he couldn’t help but notice. It felt impossible to focus with her watching so close to the side.

He held the puppy in his arms like a baby. “Most pilots never eject, so having to suddenly do it during a routine drill shook me up a bit. It’s the last resort.”

Some of the dogs had started play-fighting. One bit into a toy football.

“Oh, they’re playing football!” He said excitedly, “Some weekends, the squad and I will go play football too. We’re on the beach, though.” He was talking more to the puppies than to Donna at this point. 

He pointed to the one with the ball. “The one hogging the ball is Payback.” He pointed to two of the puppies nipping at each other. “There’s Rooster and Hangman.”

“Which one’s you?” Donna asked

He pointed down to the puppy fast asleep in his other arm. “I’m probably this guy. Just trying to stay out of the way really… Also drooling just everywhere.” He gestured down himself with a relaxed laugh.

After a few more questions, they wrapped up, and Bob started helping Y/n with wrangling the puppies. But Bulldogs were known to be stubborn for a reason.

“Watch. These guys are the most food motivated.” She explained. She took out a bag of treats and shook it. The two leftover puppies' heads piqued immediately, and Bob couldn’t help but laugh as they followed her treat-filled hand into the carrier. She set the treats down and closed the panel door.

“I understand… I’m also very food motivated.” Bob joked. She laughed, and he found that he loved to watch her do that. After the laughter subsided, he looked around. “Do you need help with anything else?” 

She shook her head. “Don’t think so, but we’ll be taking the vaccinated puppies out to the grass area in a bit if you’d like to join.”

His cheeks blushed, and his heart skipped at the idea. But he also knew the reality. “I’ll have to see. But uh- if not, it was very nice to meet you.”

She smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Bob.” She picked up the carriers and started walking them out of the hangar.

He walked back to the squad, a little defeated. He had had such a great time with her and the puppies. It was difficult to accept that this was the end, and that he very likely wasn’t going to see her again. 

“Well, you sure had a fun time, Floyd,” Phoenix said with crossed arms.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was actually really fun.” He answered, trying to be normal.

Hangman’s brows raised. “You know, anytime we wanna get Bob to do something, maybe we just gotta throw a hot girl into the mix.”

His head snapped to Hangman. “What?”

Rooster laughed and leaned against the lockers. “Come on. You were drooling like a bulldog at the animal wrangler girl.” 

His face turned completely red. “Well…”

“WE KNEW IT.” Fanboy laughed 

“GUYS!” Bob said exasperated, then lowered his voice, “Stop. She’s right there.”

They all looked over to see her helping the production assistants move the carriers.

“Did you get her number?” Rooster asked

Bob shook his head, “No… But she did invite me to go see the puppies in the grass before they leave, though…” He admitted.

The squad looked at him with dropped jaws.

“What?” He asked, a little confused by their shocked reactions.

“Go,” Phoenix suddenly declared, ushering Bob. “Go see her.”

He started walking back, surprised. 

“I knew I wasn’t making things up. I told you guys she liked him!” Payback said excitedly through gritted teeth. He punched the air. 

“Bob Floyd, go ask for her number-” Phoenix said

“But Maverick-” “HE’S NOT GOING TO CARE! IT’S MAVERICK.” 

That was true. If any captain was the one to be under in this circumstance, it was Captain ‘Fell In Love With My Civilian Contractor’ Maverick. He couldn’t say shit about this sort of thing, so he never did.

Bob had no reason not to. 

Bob walked out of the hangar and, in the distance, saw a bunch of little fences set up around the grass area. Y/n and a bunch of the film crew sat down, eating lunch and playing with the puppies. 

He hesitantly walked over to find her filling up some food bowls for the German Shepherds. 

“Need any help?”

She looked up and her face lit up at the sight of him. “Well, aren’t you a great helper today. Thought you were nervous.” She commented, putting her hands on her hips.

He scratched the back of his neck, “Yeah, that was more about the camera and less about the ferocious… baby bulldogs.” 

She laughed, “You did great today. I think your interview was my favorite, honestly.” 

He shook his head with a bashful smile. “No… That can’t be true. Hangman and Rooster had it down to a science.”

“I don’t know. You seemed genuine.” She said softly, “Wanna see the German Shepherds? They’re kinda waiting.” 

She pointed to the fence of puppies right next to them, where the litter of German Shepherds that Rooster had been with eagerly jumped for his attention.

“Oh!” Bob smiled and leaned over to pet them. They all clambered for his hand. “Hi guys. Didn’t mean to ignore you there. Got distracted.”

Y/n smiled at the interaction. She took the opportunity to put the food in the remaining bowls and set it down on the other side of the enclosure so they weren’t all attacking at once.

“You’re pretty good with dogs. Looks like you could take my job.” 

Bob looked up and saw how she was watching him. Suddenly, he felt incredibly self-conscious, but he couldn’t just… stop petting the eager puppies.

“Your job seems awesome. Playing with puppies all day.”

“You fly jets.”

“Doesn’t compare.”

She smiled at that. “Well, uh, if you wanna visit or adopt any of these guys, I work at the San Diego Dog Shelter.”

Suddenly, Bob remembered why he walked over in the first place. “I’d like that… But really, I think I’d just like to see you again. If that’s okay?” He asked, standing up straight now. His heart pounded in his chest.

A look of surprise etched across her face, but it wasn’t one of horror. A smile tinged her lips. “Yeah. I’d love that.”

“Really?” Bob blurted out, but then swiftly tried to recover, “I-I could give you my number.” 

Now she broke out into a big grin. A blush hit her cheeks, and she quickly put her palms to her face. “Oh goodness. I’m blushing. Sorry. Yes, that’d be great, and you can have mine.” She was nervous. Just like him. Though she had played it so cool the whole time. 

She gave him her phone, and as he typed in his number into her contacts, he couldn’t believe it. This felt like some sort of fever dream.

After the film crew packed up and left, Bob walked back over to the hangar to find the Dagger Squad taking their own lunch. Leaning against the lockers and sitting on the floor, they all looked over at him, eager to hear what had happened.

Bob took his phone out and shook it. “I got her number.”

Rooster was the first to cheer, and he walked over to tousle Bob’s hair. “LET’S GO. THAT’S RIGHT.” 

They all laughed and cheered as blushing Bob walked over. His phone dinged, and he looked down to see a message from her already. 

“That her?” Phoenix asked curiously.

Bob nodded and opened it to find a picture of one of the bulldogs fast asleep in the carrier.

‘They’re already missing your lap. This is Y/n by the way.’

——————————————————————————————————

Blood dripped from your busted lip as you looked up from your knees, another blow snapping your head to the side. Your assailant loomed above you, fists still clenched, breathing heavy. You laughed at him, knowing that even after his efforts and all that he's putting you through, he is either going to walk away without the information he's in search of, or he's not going to be able to walk away at all. 

"I'm asking you one last time, bitch. Where is she?"

"Go to hell," you sneered, your voice dripping with malice. 

Before he could react, you surged upward, slamming your shoulder into his gut. He stumbled back with a grunt— off balance just long enough for you to twist, swing your leg out, and sweep his feet from under him. He hit the ground hard, and you didn’t give him time to recover. You dropped your weight on his chest, drove your knee into his ribs, then slammed your forehead into his nose with a sickening crack.

He yelled, tried to shove you off, but you were faster— rolled to your side, hooked your tied wrists under his chin, and yanked back with everything you had. His head snapped back. The struggle was short. One last jerk, and he slumped beneath you, out cold.

You sat there for a moment, breathing hard, blood on your tongue and your pulse roaring in your ears. You managed to free your hands, the binds falling away. Instinctively, you brought one hand up to rub at the angry, red mark circling your opposite wrist— thumb pressing into the sore skin as you exhaled through your nose, steadying yourself.

Slowly but carefully, you staggered towards the dresser and pulled out the burner phone you had stashed away, to be used only in case of emergencies. You called the only other number on the phone, your voice strained but low. 

"Yelena. We have a problem." 

——————————————————————————————————

"Mac and cheese? I make really good mac and cheese."

"No, Yelena. I'm good."

"Suit yourself."

You sat at the counter of your kitchen, icing your split lip. Yelena rummaged through the pantry, letting out a satisfied 'a-ha' when she found a box of Kraft mac and cheese tucked all the way at the back. You know, the usual routine after you get rid of a body with your colleague from ages ago. 

"So, is now a good time for you to tell me why a guy broke into my apartment asking for you, or..."

"You sure you don't want my mac and cheese? Trust me, it's really—"

"Yelena." 

"Alright, fine. I may be on the run from the Ranskahov brothers."

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face, jaw tight and eyes closing in defeat. "You're what?"

"It is no big deal, I can deal with it."

"No big deal? Yelena, a man broke into my apartment at midnight and we just got rid of his unconscious body."

"Your point being?"

"Wh— This is a big deal!" you exclaimed, unable to comprehend how she was so relaxed about it.

"Relax, Sunshine. I got this under control, I promise."

You stared at her, slack-jawed. “Clearly, you don’t. I just took a punch to the face in my own apartment because of your mess.”

She shrugged, unfazed as she stirred the mac and cheese with a wooden spoon. “Well, technically he was already in your apartment. You were just... surprised to see him.”

You set the ice pack down with a thud. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, grinning. “What happened to that sharp reflexes, stone-cold killer, don’t-mess-with-me energy? Getting soft?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You think I’m out of touch?”

Yelena tilted her head, weighing it. “You’ve been... domesticated.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

She considered you for a beat, then gave a small, amused nod. “Alright. Point taken.”

You leaned back, arms folded. “Let’s end this. You and me. Whatever's left of the Ranskahov crew— we shut it down.”

Yelena raised her hands in mock surrender. “Your words, not mine. I’m just here for emotional support and cheese.”

Then, a beat passed. She stirred the pot idly, quieter now. “You sure you're up for this?”

You gave her a look.

“No, I mean really,” she said. “You're not worried about the lawyer finding out?”

You froze, just for a second.

“It’s been, what— five, six months?” Yelena added, not unkindly. “You think he’s gonna notice if you disappear for a day or two?”

You glanced down at the counter. “It’s not about him noticing.”

Yelena shrugged. “So what is it?”

You didn’t answer right away. The silence between you filled with the soft bubbling of the stovetop and your pulse in your ears.

“It’s just... different now,” you said finally.

Yelena gave you a knowing look. “I mean, no one’s gonna know. It’s what we do, isn’t it?”

You looked up at her.

“Ghost in, ghost out. We finish what we started.”

“Let the record show,” you said, getting to your feet, “I’m helping because you nearly got me killed. Again.”

“Let the record also show,” she said, sliding a bowl across the counter to you, “I did not ask for help.”

You took the bowl, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself— soft, almost reminiscent. There was something familiar about the moment. The crappy mac and cheese. The bruises. The adrenaline still fading from your bloodstream. For a second, it felt like the old days. Like the good parts in between the hell you went through. 

Yelena caught the look immediately. “Aha,” she said, pointing the spoon at you. “You missed this.”

“Shut up.”

——————————————————————————————————

The next afternoon, your shop smelled like cinnamon and dust— paperbacks piled on mismatched shelves, the old ceiling fan overhead rattling faintly in protest. In complete contrast to your past, you had made quite a home for yourselves at a cosy little corner of hell's kitchen, snuggled right next to the Nelson & Murdock office.

Matt sat across from you at the little table in the back corner, his cane resting against the chair, his jacket draped on the back of it. 

The two of you had made a habit of lunching here once or twice a week— sometimes with food, sometimes with nothing but stubborn cases and terrible coffee. Today it was takeout from the Thai place around the block.

You pushed your noodles around with your fork, watching him sip his tea like it wasn’t hot enough to melt steel.

“So,” Matt said casually, “about tonight— I was going to ask if we could rain check.”

You blinked. “Oh— yeah. I was going to say the same thing. I’ve got some errands to run."

He nodded. “Foggy dropped a mountain of files on my desk this morning. I’ll be chained to the office most of the night.”

He said it too neatly. No stammer. No sigh. No frustration about the files. Just a clean, compact sentence, tied with a bow.

Your eyes narrowed— just barely. There it was. That was his tell. You almost knew it by heart now. He didn’t fidget, didn’t shift in his seat. He stilled. Too polished. Too calm.

He was lying.

You smiled like you believed him.

“That’s a shame,” you said lightly, taking a sip of your water. “I was kind of looking forward to it.”

“I was too,” he said, and he meant it— just not the way he said.

You nodded and changed the subject, let it drop between you like nothing had happened. If he noticed anything off in your tone, he didn’t show it. Eventually, he gathered his things and stood.

“I’ll call you later?” he offered.

“Yeah,” you said, standing with him. “We’ll pick a better night.”

He reached for his jacket, adjusted the fold of his cane, and turned to leave— when the bell above the door jingled.

Yelena stepped inside, sunglasses perched in her hair, a paper bag in one hand and a too-innocent smile on her face.

“Aw, look at this. My two favorite nerds.”

Matt paused mid-step. “Yelena.”

“Mr. Murdock,” she said brightly. “Fancy seeing you here. Hope I’m not interrupting any... legal bonding.”

You deadpanned. “You are. But don’t let that stop you.”

Matt chuckled under his breath. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You watched him leave— pausing just long enough to lean in and press a soft kiss to your lips, quick and warm, like punctuation at the end of a long sentence. Then he was gone.

Yelena waited a full beat after the door shut before turning to you with a look.

“You lied to him, didn’t you?”

You picked up your half-finished drink and took a long sip. “Only because he lied first.”

Yelena looked thrilled. “Ohhh, this is gonna be fun.”

——————————————————————————————————

The docks reeked of salt and rust, the fog rolling in heavy over the water like it had something to hide. Yelena crouched beside you behind a stack of shipping containers, her braid pulled tight, her knives already slick with someone else's blood.

"Four more on the upper level," she said, voice low and steady.

"Two by the crates, one pacing by the boat," you added. "Third’s probably on lookout.”

Yelena grinned. “Just like Budapest.”

“I’m not reminiscing with you while hiding and smelling like fish.”

You were already moving— silent, efficient. Two guards down in under a minute. A third turned, startled, just in time to catch Yelena’s elbow in the face.

You were halfway to the second stack when a thud hit the ground behind you. A figure in red.

You turned, ready to strike.

"Easy," came the familiar voice.

Your heart skipped once. Just once.

Daredevil.

Yelena straightened beside you, blade still in hand. “Dude. What the hell.”

“I’m not here to get in the way, I swear,” Daredevil said, tone even, unreadable. “We could work together.”

You exchanged a look with Yelena. Her brows lifted, daring you to call the shots.

"Fine," you said. “Just, don’t slow us down.”

He nodded once, readying himself— then tilted his head slightly in Yelena’s direction.

“She's new. Who’s your friend?”

Yelena smirked, stepping past him with a gleam in her eye. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

And then you moved— no time for anything else.

The fight was fast, chaotic— muffled grunts, broken bones, steel against skin. You worked like you'd never left the field. Knife, fist, elbow. Yelena at your side. And Daredevil... flanking, striking, always just in the right place at the right time.

But that was the problem.

He was too good.

He moved like he didn’t even need to look at the layout. God knows if he can even see anything through that mask. Dodged a swing from behind without looking. Tilted his head slightly every time someone approached, like he heard them coming—

And when you shouted, “Duck!” mid-sweep, he reacted a beat faster than sight could manage.

Your chest went cold.

Blind. Bruises. Lies. His voice. Your eyes locked on his masked face mid-spin and suddenly, everything clicked.

Holy shit.

Holy. Shit.

Matt.

You didn’t miss a beat— kept fighting, didn’t let it show. But you knew. And he didn’t know you knew.

And Matt? He was noticing things too.

The precision in your hits. The way you landed without sound. Your balance. Your calm. The way your heartbeat never spiked, even in the thick of blood and noise.

He’d heard it before— more than once, in quieter moments. In the space between conversations at your bookstore, when you handed him a cup of coffee and your fingers brushed his. In the office, when you laughed at something Foggy said and tried to hide it behind a file. He’d memorized your rhythm without ever meaning to.

And now, in the chaos, it was unmistakable. His chest clenched mid-fight.

You.

The realization hit him like a punch to the ribs, followed by an actual punch to the ribs. He quickly recovered and retaliated, still lost in his thoughts.

That was you moving beside him— calculated, silent, lethal.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be like this. But you were. You moved like someone who didn’t just know violence— you had lived in it. Adapted to it. Survived it. He could hear it in the way you breathed, the way you anticipated hits like you'd studied the fight before it even started.

It clicked halfway through the second wave of men— when you threw your body in front of his and took a hit that should’ve been his. You winced, gritted your teeth, and kept moving like nothing happened.

He ducked under a pipe and drove his fist into a man’s gut, head spinning now for a different reason. You weren’t just the girl next door with the most cozy bookstore in the world.

You were trained. Conditioned. Deadly.

Widow, he thought. Of course. Of course, you’re a Widow.

The realization didn’t slow him down— if anything, it made him faster. He pivoted to cover your blind side just as you lunged forward to disarm the final gunman. Back-to-back, two silent protectors tangled in a storm of fists and steel and fury.

The last guy went down hard. Silence followed. Heavy breathing, the clatter of a gun skidding across the dock. You turned to look at Daredevil—

But he was already gone. Just like that.

Yelena jogged up behind you, wiping blood off her knife with a rag. “Okay,” she panted. “That was not part of the plan, but it was less of a shit show than I expected." 

You stared at the empty space where he’d vanished.

Your heart was still racing, but for a very different reason now.

“I… I think I know who that was,” you murmured.

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “Well? Don’t leave me hanging.”

You turned to her slowly, wide-eyed.

“Dude,” you said breathlessly. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

——————————————————————————————————

You slammed the door behind you, tossed your keys into the bowl by the entrance, and stood there for a second, wide-eyed and winded.

Matt. Murdock. Was. Daredevil.

You turned slowly to look at Yelena, who was flopped dramatically on your couch, one boot already off, the other halfway dangling.

"Okay," you said, pacing. "Okay. Okay."

Yelena raised a brow. “That’s a lot of okays.”

“He knows. He knows it’s me.”

"Did he say that?"

"No. But— he was there. Fighting next to me. You don’t just forget a person’s rhythm like that.”

“Alright, Mr Miyagi, calm down,” Yelena muttered. “Did he see your face?”

“No.”

“Then he doesn’t know,” she said with finality, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl she'd found somehow. “But you know he’s Daredevil?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Well... that’s fun,” Yelena said. “Kinky. Do you guys roleplay in the suit?”

You threw a cushion at her.

She ducked it easily, grinning. “Relax, Sunshine. He doesn’t know. We’ll deal with it in the morning.”

The next morning

You woke up to a single text on your phone.

Matt: We need to talk.

Your stomach dropped.

You stared at the screen for a full minute, then looked at Yelena, who was eating cereal out of your favorite mug like it was her house.

“He knows,” you said, voice flat.

She peered over the rim of the mug. “About the Widowing or the lying or the whole knife ballet by the docks?”

“All of it.”

Yelena snorted. “You’re being dramatic. He’s a man. I promise you he noticed nothing.

——————————————————————————————————

He didn’t knock.

You looked up from the counter of your shop just in time to see Matt step through the door— coat slung over one arm, jaw tight, his whole presence coiled and deliberate like he’d been rehearsing this confrontation all the way over. Your chest tightened. Behind the mystery section, Yelena dropped into a crouch like she was on mission.

“Hey,” you said cautiously.

Matt held up his phone. “Got your message.”

You blinked. “I didn’t—”

He arched an eyebrow.

“Right. That message.”

He moved to the counter, leaning forward just slightly. Trying to keep it civil. It wasn’t working.

“You lied to me.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Fair enough,” he said flatly. “Last night. The ‘errands’ that somehow involved you taking out the entire Ranskahov crew with a very familiar blonde.”

Yelena’s voice drifted from behind the shelves: “Rude, I was extremely subtle.”

“You stabbed someone while humming Toxic, Yelena,” Matt said flatly.

“It’s called multi-tasking,” she shot back. "Wait, how'd you know I am blonde?"

Matt exhaled sharply through his nose, frustration leaking through his carefully even tone. “I thought I could trust you.”

You blinked, surprised by the weight behind the words.

“I don’t understand why you’d lie to me about something like this,” he went on. “You disappeared for a night, showed up in the middle of a takedown like it was routine, and didn’t think I’d figure it out?”

You crossed your arms, jaw tightening. “Pot, meet kettle.”

Matt’s brow creased. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been lying to me for months, Matt,” you snapped, eyes narrowing. “So forgive me if I don’t feel guilty for keeping one thing to myself.”

Yelena’s voice chimed in helpfully from behind the shelf. “Technically two things. You also said you were allergic to cats and we both know that’s a lie.”