if love was contagious, i might be immune to it…

You're curled against Will's side on the couch, your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you watch TV.

"Hey," Will murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You're not even watching."

"I'm enjoying looking at you more," you reply, nuzzling closer.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Smooth talker."

The documentary shifts to a segment about high school sweethearts and the narrator mentions a couple who waited until marriage. Something about the words first time triggers a memory and you laugh softly.

"What's so funny?" Will asks, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm.

"Just remembering how nervous I was before our first time," you admit without thinking. "I was so worried I'd be terrible at it since I'd never done anything like that before."

The words hang in the air between you and you feel Will's body tense beneath you.

You mentally curse yourself. You'd never told him he was your first everything, not wanting to make it weird or to put pressure on him or the relationship.

Will sits up slowly, dislodging you from his comfortable position. He turns to face you fully, his expression unreadable.

"Wait," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "When you say 'never done anything like that before'… do you mean…?"

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. "I mean I'd never done anything before. With anyone."

His eyes widen in disbelief, his jaw literally dropping. "Anything? Like… nothing at all?"

You shake your head, suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable and exposed under his intense scrutiny. "Nothing. You were my first kiss, my first… well, everything."

Will shoots up from the couch like it's on fire, running both hands through his already messy hair. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to make it weird!" you explain, sitting up and hugging a pillow to your chest like a shield. "I didn't want you to feel pressured or like you had to be extra careful or make it some big special moment. I just wanted it to be normal with someone I actually cared about."

"Normal?" he stops pacing to look at you, his eyes wild with panic. "What if I wanted to make it special for you? I would have planned something, bought flowers, made sure everything was perfect instead of just… letting it happen in your dorm after we'd been out with friends. Fuck, I didn't even bring you anything!"

You stand up, approaching him slowly. "Will, it was special. And it was perfect, because it was with you."

"But I didn't know!" he exclaims, running both hands through his hair in frustration. "I wasn't gentle enough, I didn't take enough time, I… oh god, I was probably too rough, wasn't I? I should have gone slower, paid more attention to…"

"You were perfect," you insist, reaching out to touch his arm. "You were sweet and attentive and you made sure I was comfortable. You asked if I was okay multiple times. You made me feel safe and wanted. That's what made it more special than I could've hoped for."

He shakes his head, guilt etched on his features. "I should have known. There were signs I missed."

"Like what?" you ask softly.

"Like how you tensed up when I first touched you," he recalls, starting to pace again. "How nervous you seemed. I just thought you were shy or that it had been a while for you. I never imagined… I can't believe I didn't realize. I'm so stupid."

"Will," you say firmly, taking both his hands in yours and stilling his frantic movements. "Listen to me. I chose not to tell you. That was my decision, not yours. And our first time was everything I wanted it to be because it was with someone I cared about, someone who made me feel comfortable and safe."

He still looks troubled, so you continue. "Do you remember what you said afterward?"

He thinks for a moment. "I said I really liked you and that I hoped this wasn't a one-time thing."

"And I said I hoped so too," you remind him. "That was the special part, not candles or flowers or some grand romantic gesture. It was that you liked me and wanted to see me again. It was that you cared about how I felt before, during and after."

Will's expression softens slightly, but the guilt remains. "I still wish I had known. I would have…"

"You would have what?" you challenge gently. "Treated me differently? Made me feel like I was fragile or inexperienced? Because that's exactly what I didn't want."

He sighs, pulling you into a hug. "I just wanted to be good for you. To make it memorable for the right reasons."

"You were," you mumble against his chest. "You still are."

He pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes searching yours. "Really? Because I'm replaying every moment in my head and all I can think about is how I should have done things differently. I should have taken you somewhere nice, not just back to your dorm after a party. I should have told you how beautiful you are, how much I've been wanting this…"

"You did tell me," you remind him softly. "You told me I was beautiful right before you kissed me."

"I did?" he asks, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Yes," you confirm with a small smile. "And you know what else made it perfect?"

"What?"

"The way you held my hand after," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Like you didn't want to let go. The way you kept checking to make sure I was okay. The way you fell asleep with your arm around me, like you were protecting me even in your sleep."

Will's eyes soften at your words, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "I didn't know you noticed all that."

"I noticed everything," you admit. "I noticed how you made sure I was comfortable, how you took time to just talk with me afterward instead of just falling asleep. I noticed how you looked at me like I was the only person in the world."

He pulls you closer, resting his forehead against yours. "I'm still sorry I didn't know."

"Don't be," you whisper, closing your eyes. "Because if you had known, you might have been nervous or overthinking it and then it wouldn't have been the sweet, perfect moment that it was."

"Sweet and perfect," he repeats softly, a small smile finally forming on his lips. "That's what you felt?"

You had spent the last hour in a blur of polyester gowns and the droning voice of the principal calling names. Now, you were finally out in the lobby, caught in the thick of the post-ceremony chaos. The air was humid with the breath of five hundred people and the frantic energy of teenagers who felt, for the first time, completely unbound.

"We graduated!" Sarah screamed for what had to be the hundredth time.

You laughed as she grabbed both your hands, bouncing excitedly. "I know!"

"I just… I'm so proud of you and—" she sniffed, "I love you so much."

Your eyes began to water again, the adrenaline of the last few hours finally crashing into a wave of pure relief. You pulled Sarah into a tight hug, the synthetic fabric of your gowns rustling together like giant pieces of plastic. "I love you too."

Sarah's expression shifted from joy to a sudden, sharp alertness when she pulled back froom the embrace. She didn’t move, but she stiffened in your arms, her eyes locking onto something behind you.

You followed her gaze and felt the warmth of the graduation high vanish instantly. Standing a few feet away was Ben, looking smug in a gown that seemed too large for his frame.

"I wondered why all the birds stopped singing."

"Is that a joke, Y/N? Are you finally funny?" The smugness on Ben’s face was a familiar trigger; it had been a year since the incident, and the sight of him still made your chest puff with rage. But as you stepped back, you realized he wasn't alone.

"Ignore him," Jaxson said, stepping forward to pull you into a crushing hug, effectively shielding you from Ben’s orbit. "He's salty you got awards."

You laughed, the tension breaking as you leaned into the group. Carter joined in, ruffling your hair with a grin. "You look like a blueberry," he joked. For a moment, the air felt light again. You stood there in a messy, laughing circle, the noise of the crowd swirling around you like a tide.

"Have you met Miller?" Jaxson asked as another boy stepped out from the crowd. He was broad-shouldered and wearing a grin that felt genuinely earnest, lacking the sharp edge Ben usually carried.

You blinked, the name clicking into place. Miller had been the one the coach brought in to fill your spot on the varsity hockey roster the moment you’d hung up your skates for good. For two years, he had been a ghost in the periphery of your life. You had expected a certain level of rivalry or perhaps a cold shoulder, but as he reached out to shake your hand, his grip was firm and his eyes were kind.

"I always heard you were a beast on the ice," Leo said, his voice warm. "Coach still talks about your bird turns. Showed us a video on the first day."

"No way! He still has that? I was 5!"

The conversation drifted into the comfortable, rambling territory of shared history. You and Miller ended up talking about the same old drills, the same grueling early morning practices, and the specific, freezing scent of the rink at 5:00 AM. For a few minutes, the noise of the lobby faded into a hum, and you forgot about the fact that you were being sent out to face the adult world.

Jaxson’s expression shifted, his eyes darting past your shoulder toward the glass double doors of the lobby. He didn't say a word; he just gave a sharp, knowing nod to Carter. Carter froze, his grin widening into something ecstatic, his gaze locking onto a figure standing just outside the fray. You looked from one to the other, a prickle of confusion dancing up your spine. The air between them felt charged, like a secret they were both keeping from you, and the sudden silence of your two best friends was louder than the shouting crowd.

"Guys… what's going on?" you asked, your voice trailing off as you realized they weren't looking at you anymore. "Why are you making those faces?"

You turned around.

The world didn't just slow down; it stopped. Standing there, leaning against a pillar with a look of pure, unadulterated adoration on his face, was Will.

The shock hit you like a physical weight, knocking the breath from your lungs. You were frozen, your feet rooted to the polished tile of the lobby, your brain struggling to reconcile the image of him with the reality of his presence. Then, the dam broke. A sob escaped your throat, jagged and loud, and you didn't even realize you were crying until the heat of the tears hit your cheeks.

He was wearing the charcoal suit he took you to prom in, the one you had spent hours photographing against the garden hedges, but the fabric clung to him differently now. His shoulders had broadened, filling out the jacket with a new, solid maturity, and he seemed to have stretched an inch or two taller since you last stood face-to-face. But his eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners and held a depth of unwavering warmth, were unmistakably his. It was Will. It was actually Will.

Ben shifted his weight, looking around the lobby with a frown, clearly annoyed that the spotlight had shifted from your annoyance of him to the guy who, in his eyes, had "replaced him". But the rest of the lobby was already reacting. A few girls nearby whispered frantically, pointing, while a group of juniors stared with wide-eyed recognition. Will was kind of a big deal now, the gold standard, the one who had been plucked from their orbit to play for the USNDTP. He had become someone they talked about in the halls, a name mentioned in the same breath as professional prospects.

"Oh my god, seriously?" Jaxson groaned, though his voice was thick with amusement. He leaned back, crossing his arms as he looked at you, your face streaked with tears and your expression completely vacant. "Y/N, you're making a scene."

Carter let out a loud, theatrical sigh, shaking his head. "Get a room!"

You didn't care that people were pausing their conversations to watch the spectacle, or that Ben was scoffing audibly behind you. The noise of the lobby, the shouting, the laughter, the frantic energy of five hundred teenagers, collapsed into a distant hum. The only thing that felt real was the sight of him stepping away from the pillar, his gait confident and steady, closing the distance between you with a smile that felt like coming home.

When he finally reached you, the air seemed to ignite. He didn't say a word at first; he just reached out and cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears. "Hi," he whispered, his voice a low, resonant vibration that you felt in your chest.

"You're here," you choked out, the words barely a whisper. "How are you here? You're supposed to be… you're supposed to be gone!"

"I know," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and smelling faintly of mint. "But there was no way in hell I was letting you walk across the stage without me being here to see it. I had to be here."

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching the lapels of his suit as if he might evaporate if you let go. The world around you was still a blur of noise but as Will stepped back just enough to look at you, the chaos felt insignificant. He looked at you with a pride so fierce it made your heart ache, a silent acknowledgement that while he had been chasing a professional dream with the National Team, he had never stopped thinking about this specific day.

Will shifted his gaze toward Jaxson and Carter, a playful, knowing glint in his eyes. "Do you guys mind if I steal her for a bit?" he asked, his arm sliding naturally around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

"Steal her?" Jaxson barked with a laugh, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Take her! Please!"

You leaned into Will, the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric of your gown.

------

Dinner had been a dizzying blur of clinking glasses, laughter that echoed too loudly against the restaurant walls, and the comforting weight of Will’s hand never leaving your thigh. Now, back home, the roar of the 'party' had simply migrated to the patio. Through the thin walls, you could hear the rhythmic clink of ice in glasses and the low, humming drone of your mother and Will’s parents debating the merits of the summer heat.

The door was shut, locking out the world and the lingering scent of graduation lilies. You weren't thinking about the diploma sitting on your desk or the terrifying openness of what came next. All that mattered was the friction of cotton against the duvet and the sudden, electric heat of Will’s body pressing you back into the mattress.

His hands were everywhere mapping the curve of your waist, tangling in your hair, pulling you closer until there wasn't a single molecule of air between you. You let out a soft, shaky breath that was swallowed by his lips, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down as if you were afraid he might suddenly dissolve back into a memory.

The friction of the sheets felt like static electricity against your skin, a frantic humming that matched the pace of your heart. Will pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing heavy and ragged. He looked at you with a gaze that was almost predatory in its hunger, yet softened by a tenderness that made you feel like the only person in the world. He didn’t want to rush this; he wanted to savor every single inch of you, to reclaim the territory that the distance had tried to steal.

"I've missed this so much," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. He shifted his weight, his hands sliding down from your waist to the hem of your clothes, pausing there. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with a mixture of desperation and a sudden, fierce desire to be the one providing the pleasure. "Can I? I just… I want to take care of you. I want to taste you."

You couldn't even find the words to answer, only a sharp, affirmative nod and a soft whimper that escaped your throat. As he moved, the sudden cool air of the room hit your skin, only to be instantly replaced by the searing warmth of his breath. When his tongue first made contact, a jolt of electricity shot straight to your core, making your hips jerk instinctively. He let out a muffled groan against you, a sound of pure, selfish satisfaction. He had been dreaming of this for months—the specific, intoxicating scent of you, the taste that had haunted his thoughts through every grueling practice and lonely hotel room.

"You're so wet for me," he whispered, his voice vibrating against your thighs, a praise that felt more intimate than any kiss. "God, you're absolutely soaking."

The sheer honesty of his voice, the way he sounded so completely undone by you, caused a sudden, violent contraction in your muscles. You clenched around nothing, a phantom pressure that left you gasping for air, your fingers digging into the duvet.

Now, you masturbated as much as the next girl, but it just wasn't the same by yourself as it was with him.

The moment his tongue made a deliberate, rhythmic sweep, your entire world narrowed down to a single, white-hot point of sensation. You were already balanced on a knife's edge, the anticipation of the last few months having pushed you to a breaking point long before he’d even touched you. The first few strokes were a revelation, a precision that only someone who knew you completely could manage. You let out a strangled gasp, your hips arching off the mattress in an instinctive search for more, your breath hitching in a way that sounded almost like a sob.

Will didn't slow down. He seemed to thrive on the sound of your undoing, his movements becoming more insistent, more focused. For several minutes, the only sounds in the room were the frantic friction of the sheets and the wet sounds of his mouth on your cunt. Every time you thought you had reached the peak, he shifted the angle, teasing the edge of your pleasure and dragging you back just enough to make the eventual fall more violent. You were trembling, your thighs shaking against his shoulders, your head tossing from side to side as you fought to keep your voice from alerting the parents.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice a low, encouraging rumble that vibrated through your skin. "Just let go for me, baby. You're doing so good. Just give it to me."

The simple, grounded warmth of his voice was like a key turning in a lock, shattering the last bit of your restraint. You came with a sudden, jarring intensity, a wave of pleasure so immense that you forgot how to breathe. You called his name, a broken, desperate sound, as you clung to the duvet, your muscles freezing in a series of contractions that seemed to last an eternity.

As the waves slowly subsided, Will didn't pull away immediately. He stayed there, kissing the inside of your thighs, his breath warm and steady. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and hooded, a smug but tender smile playing on his lips.

You lay there for a heartbeat, your chest heaving, the aftershocks of the orgasm still humming through your nerves. But as the haze cleared, a different kind of hunger rushed back in, sharper and more demanding than before. You reached down, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him upward until he was hovering over you. Your voice was a ragged whisper, stripped of everything but need. "Will… please. I need you. I need you inside me right now."

He paused, his gaze locking onto yours. He had noticed the way your breath hitched when he praised you, the way you practically melted into the mattress whenever he told you how good you were. He saw the desperation in your eyes, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "You're so impatient tonight," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "But since my smart girl got so many awards today, I think she deserves a reward. I won't tease, promise."

The promise sent a fresh jolt of heat through you. He moved with a sudden, decisive efficiency, his hands gripping the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head in one fluid motion. You didn't stay idle, of course. How could you? Your hands were already frantic, diving beneath the waistband of his grey sweatpants, fumbling with the drawstring. You were both grateful for the brief window of time you'd taken to change after dinner, the formal wear would have been an pain in the ass to take off in the urgency that was currently consuming you both.

As you managed to hook your fingers into the elastic of his sweats and tug them downward, your hand brushed against something unexpected. There was no barrier of cotton or synthetic fabric, just the searing, immediate heat of his skin. You froze for a split second, your eyes widening as you realized he hadn't bothered with underwear when he changed.

A small, broken moan escaped you at the touch, a sound of pure desperation that felt like it had been building since the moment you first saw him in the lobby. The heat radiating off his skin and the unfiltered reality of his body was too much. Tears welled in your eyes from a need so acute it felt like a physical ache in your chest. You were completely undone, stripped of every defense, orbiting around the gravity of him.

Will sensed the fragility of your state, and his movements became a blur of focused intent. He kicked off his sweatpants in one fluid motion, tossing them blindly toward the corner of the room. Then, his eyes never leaving yours, he gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing the lean, powerful build of an athlete who had spent the last few months pushing his body to the absolute limit. He looked like a sculpture come to life, all hard lines and warm skin, but the expression on his face was nothing but tenderness.

He shifted, sliding his arm beneath your back to reach the clasp of your bra. You felt the sudden, sharp release of the tension as the fabric gave way, and for a moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of lightness. He didn't immediately move to the next step; instead, he leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. It wasn't a kiss of passion or hunger, but one of profound, unwavering love—a quiet promise that he had come back for you, and that he wasn't going anywhere.

You let out a shaky breath, your heart hammering against your ribs as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into the hollow of your shoulder. For a few seconds, the urgency paused, replaced by a heavy, golden silence where the only thing that mattered was the sound of your synchronized breathing. You could feel the slight tremor in his muscles, the way he was fighting his own restraint just to make sure you felt cherished before the storm hit.

The silence was broken by a sudden, sharp spark of contact. Will’s hand drifted upward, his calloused fingers finding your nipple with a precision that felt intentional, almost cruel in its accuracy. He circled the sensitive tip, teasing it into a hard point against his palm. The sensation was a lightning bolt that traveled straight to your core, forcing a ragged gasp from your lungs. You arched off the bed, your spine curving like a bow, and your arms slid from his neck as your hands flew outward, clutching the sheets in a white-knuckled grip.

The sudden vacancy of your arms gave him the space he wanted. With a sound of approval, he shifted his weight, his mouth finding your other nipple in one fluid motion. The contrast was overwhelming: the firm pressure of his hand on one side and the wet, searing heat of his mouth on the other. He sucked gently, a slow and steady pull that sent a fresh wave of electricity crashing through you, leaving your head lolling back against the pillow and your eyes fluttering shut.

"Aww, look at you," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, honeyed rasp that made your toes curl. "My beautiful, needy girl."

Will’s promise that he wouldn’t make you wait wasn’t a promise of immediate release, though, it was simply a promise that you cumming again was guaranteed. He paused, reaching for his wallet on the nightstand. The soft, metallic crinkle of the foil packet echoed in the quiet room, a sound that felt like a starting pistol. As he rolled the latex on, he didn’t immediately dive back in. Instead, he braced himself on his elbows, hovering just millimeters above you, his heat radiating like a furnace.

He began to move, but not the way you wanted. With agonizing slowness, he took the head of his cock and dragged it in a long, light line from your ass up to your entrance, never actually dipping inside. You let out a choked sound, your hips instinctively tilting upward to meet him, but he shifted at the last second, tracing a circle around your opening that barely grazed the sensitive edges.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now," he whispered, his voice a dark, velvet caress against your ear. He did it again, the tip of him slick and warm, teasing the very edge of your center. "So flushed. So open for me. You're doing so good, baby."

The praise, combined with the maddeningly light contact, sent your patience plummeting. In a desperate bid to bridge the gap, you arched your back and tried to force yourself down onto him, grinding your hips in a frantic attempt to pull him inside.

A low, rumbling laugh vibrated through his chest, the sound filled with an affectionate sort of amusement. "Trying to do the work for me, are we?" he teased, his eyes glinting with a playful spark. He shifted his weight, pinning your wrists gently to the mattress to stop your squirming, though he didn't stop the teasing. He dipped the tip of himself inside just a fraction of an inch, then pulled back, leaving you gasping and empty. "Such a smart girl, always trying to find the most efficient way to get what she wants. I like how you get when I say how good you are."

"Will," you gasped, the word barely a sound, more of a plea. "Will, please, just—"

He didn’t need another word. His cock caught just along the edge of your opening as he gave one sharp, decisive thrust, burying himself deep inside you with a heavy, sliding friction that knocked the air clean out of your lungs. The first press of his length into your core stung. As wet as you were, as prepared as you were for him, it had been so long. He stretched your walls little by little, taking his time as your body adjusted to him. Then, inch by inch, he sunk within your walls that clung to him tightly.

His cock bottomed out, sunk fully within you, bare hips pressed to bare hips as you both let out shaky breaths. Your nails dug into the hair at the nape of his neck while his hands trailed up your ribcage, squeezing every moment or so as choked out moans fell from his lips.

“Oh fuck, Bird–so tight for me, baby–you're so good to me.”

His name was the only thing you could manage to choke out between your moans as he dragged himself back to the tip, before burying himself again to the hilt. Your moans, your cries and the way your hands threaded into his hair only spurred him on more, Will’s hips snapping into yours again and again and again.

His lips found yours amidst every snap of his hips, every drag of his cock against your walls. Every moan that slipped through your lips was drowned out by him, by the feverish movements of his lips against yours. They trailed away, back to your neck, leaving a trail of saliva connecting you together as he bit another love bite into the side of your neck. It didn’t matter to you how this would look to others, how scandalous you might look in the light of day. All that mattered was Will Smith.

As the heat in the room reached a boiling point, the pleasure began to shift, becoming a crushing, suffocating weight. Every stroke felt more electric, every press of his chest against yours more desperate. Your head tossed back on the pillow, your nails clawing at his back as you felt the familiar, jagged tension start to build at the base of your spine.

"Will… oh god, Will, I'm gonna—I'm gonna cum!" you sobbed, your voice breaking.

He didn't let the momentum drop. In one fluid motion, his hand slid down beneath your hips, his fingers finding the drenched heat of your center. Just as the first wave of the peak began to crash, he pressed his thumb firmly against your clit, thumbing the swollen nub with relentless pressure. The addition of that direct friction sent your entire body rigid, your spine arching off the mattress as a jagged, silent scream was caught in your throat, your muscles clamping around him in a series of violent, rhythmic pulses.

But Will didn't stop. He knew you were in that hypersensitive state where the pleasure was almost too much to bear, and he leaned into it. He kept fucking you, his hips snapping into yours with a heavy, wet sound, driving you deeper into the mattress with every thrust.

You forced your eyes open, meeting a gaze that was dark with a hunger that mirrored your own. He saw the way your pupils had blown wide, the way your lips were parted in a silent plea, and it seemed to drive him even harder. With a guttural sound, Will buried himself as deep as he could go and held it there, his muscles locking as he finally let go. He let out a long, shuddering breath, his head dropping to your shoulder as he poured himself into you, the sheer intensity of the moment leaving you both breathless and trembling.

For a long time, neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the synchronized, ragged gasps of two people trying to remember how to breathe. The air felt thick and humid, the silence of the house returning to swallow them whole. Will remained draped over you, his weight a comforting anchor, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the hollow of your throat, his breath warm and smelling of the salt and sweat of their shared effort.

Will shifted his weight, the slow, reluctant slide of him leaving your body feeling like a sudden loss of warmth. He didn't move far, however; he collapsed onto his side, pulling you flush against him so that your skin remained glued together, damp and shimmering in the low light of the room. He let out a long, contented sigh that vibrated through your shoulder, his arm draping heavily across your waist to keep you anchored.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his tone shifting into that specific, knowing cadence. "You were so incredible. Just… perfect. Every single part of you is just so good for me."

You felt a familiar, electric shiver race down your spine—one that had nothing to do with the physical act and everything to do with the way he was looking at you. You tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck, but you couldn't stop the small, shy smile from forming. He felt the tremor in your frame and let out a soft, triumphant chuckle.

“Is this outfit okay?” you asked your boyfriend as you got into his car.

You were wearing a tank top and a maxi skirt, with a knit cardigan, as it was only May in Boston, and still a little chilly outside. You’d changed your outfit at least three times before Will picked you up, each outfit feeling far too juvenile.

You were only nineteen, as opposed to Will’s twenty-one, and it was no secret that you were worried his family would think you were too young for him. And it wasn’t helping that everything you wore seemed to be accentuating that.

“You look beautiful,” Will assured, leaning over the center console to kiss you softly, one hand settling on your cheek. He smiled at you in that way of his that usually fixed every single one of your problems. Today it only fixed about ten percent.

You smiled automatically before the worry returned. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

Will shook his head. “Grace has like fifteen outfits that look just like that. You’re going to be her new best friend, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, your brows creasing with worry.

“I’m sure,” your boyfriend promised, pressing his lips firmly to your forehead until your muscles relaxed. “I love you, so my family will love you too.”

You let out a slow breath. “Okay. Let’s go. Before I chicken out and get out of this car.”

Will laughed. “We can’t have that, can we?” He rested his hand on the back of your headrest as he looked over his shoulder to back out of your driveway. “Nice flowers, by the way.”

You looked down at the bouquet propped in your lap. “Thanks, do you think your mom will like them?”

Will nodded his approval. “Absolutely. They’ll match the dining room perfectly.”

You spent most of the car ride in silence, nothing audible except for the sound of your shared playlist coming out of the car speakers. Normally, you and Will would be chatting about something or singing along to the music, but you were too nervous to say much, and Will understood that. So instead, you spent most of the car ride looking out the window, sliding the charm on your necklace back and forth across the chain.

It got to a point where, without looking away from the road, Will reached over and gently threaded his fingers through yours, preventing more fidgeting.

“What’s going on, baby? You’re starting to make me nervous,” said Will. He squeezed your hand. “Talk to me.”

You sighed, squeezing his hand back. “What if they don’t like me?”

“They won’t,” Will said firmly.

“Or if they think I’m too young?”

“They won’t.”

“What if they think I’m only dating you because–”

You stopped yourself. Since you started publicly dating Will, you had received messages and comments wondering if you were only with him because you were famous. Obviously, that was not the case, but every once in a while you worried that Will thought the same thing.

Your boyfriend glanced over briefly. “Because what?”

“Because you’re rich and famous,” you said quietly.

More silence. Then Will squeezed your hand again. “I’m more than that, Y/N,” he said, a teasing lilt entering his voice. “I’m also very charming and hot. Ooh, I also make really good banana bread.”

“You’re also full of yourself,” you joked, rolling your eyes.

Will shrugged. “Well, you didn’t deny the other things.”

You laughed.

Will grinned. “Y/N, you’re back!”

“What?” you asked, your eyes narrowing in confusion.

“You,” he said. “I missed you.”

“I’ve been sitting here the whole time,” you said.

“Yeah, but you were briefly possessed by Anxiety Y/N. I like Regular Y/N better.”

You laughed again. “I like her better too. I’m trying, Will.”

“I know.” Will lifted your hand to his lips while the car stalled at a red light, kissing your knuckles before setting it back down. “You don’t have to earn my family’s approval.”

“I know. But I still want them to like me,” you complained.

“They will,” he promised.

“How do you know?” you asked.

“Because I like you,” he said simply.

You gave him a look. “You love me, you mean.”

“I do love you,” Will confirmed. “So much. And that’s why my family will like you too. I’m the baby. They have to like things that I like, including girlfriends.”

He sounded so certain that, despite yourself, you believed him for a few minutes.

But as the drive continued, you couldn’t stop thinking about the same thing. Nineteen and twenty-one wasn’t a huge age gap; you knew that. But sometimes you just felt young. You’d only just finished your first year at San Jose State University, while Will had done his only year of college nearly three years ago. He also had a job, was moving into his own apartment in the fall, and had his whole life decided for him. Meanwhile, you still hadn’t declared a major and were living in a dorm room with two roommates.

When Will pulled into the driveway of his childhood home and got out of the car, you didn’t join him right away. He came around to the passenger side and opened the door for you, thinking you hadn’t gotten out of the car because of your stubborn idea that he needed to be a gentleman. When you still didn’t get out, he ducked his head a little so he was at your level.

“Scoot over,” he said, gesturing for you to make room in his passenger seat.

You looked at him in disbelief. “Will, we can’t both sit here,” you said.

“We can try,” said Will.

Still confused, you tried to make room for your boyfriend in the passenger seat of his Bronco, tossing the bouquet of flowers into the driver’s seat to prevent it from getting crushed. You ended up having to toss your legs over Will’s lap, his arms around your waist as you squeezed your bodies into the seat. Will’s face was right next to yours, your cheeks pressed together. Your elbow dug into his rib cage and the seat belt buckle pressed against your tailbone, but neither of you cared to do anything about it.

“Do you remember where we met?” Will asked.

“That shitty dive bar that’s right off campus. The one that rarely cards, and only college students, and apparently you after a rough home game, go to,” you said, reminded fondly of meeting your boyfriend, even though the location wasn’t exactly one for the perfect meet-cute.

“You spilled your drink on me,” Will remembered. “What was it, a vodka cran?”

“Have you met me?” you joked. “Of course it was a vodka cran.”

“You got so embarrassed,” he teased.

You nodded. “I totally did.”

“And you proceeded to drunkenly apologize to me four different times,” said Will. “But you know what was going through my mind?”

“What?” you asked.

“That the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen was apologizing for spilling her drink on me, and that she could have spilled three more drinks on me and that would have been okay as long as I got to keep talking to her,” said Will, his cheeks turning pink. “But you know what I didn’t stop and think about?”

You just looked at him.

“How old you were,” Will continued, brushing your waist with his thumb. “I just knew you were beautiful. And kind. And you made me laugh. I kept looking forward to you coming back up to me to apologize for spilling that drink after forgetting you’d already told me that.” He leaned forward until his forehead pressed against your temple. “I could not have cared less if you were eighteen or twenty-five. I just knew I wanted to get to know you better. And boy, am I glad I did.”

He kissed your cheek, then tilted your face towards his so he could kiss your lips.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said.

“I love you too, Will,” you said.

“Now can we please go inside?” he asked. “I feel like I’m going to pull an intercostal sitting like this.”

You giggled. “Let’s go meet your family.”

“What do you mean ‘let’s?’” asked Will. “They’re my family. I’ve met them already.”

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

You and Will practically fell out of the car in your attempt to escape the tangle of limbs. Once you were back on your feet and outside of the vehicle, you stretched your arms over your head, then smoothed your skirt. Then Will passed you the bouquet and offered you his arm, which you took gratefully, and you were off, walking side by side to the front door of the Smith house.

Will’s house was beautiful. He lived in a much nicer area of the Boston suburbs than you did, and it showed. The house was large, with colonial architecture. It had clearly been updated, but still had a well-loved charm to it that felt warm and inviting.

“It’s nice,” you said. “Really nice.”

“It is,” agreed Will. “I really miss it during the season. I love San Jose, but this…this is home.”

“I’m nervous,” you admitted.

“I know, baby,” said Will. “They’ll love you, don’t worry about it all.”

The front door opened before you reached it.

“There you are!” Will’s mother hurried outside with a bright smile. It was almost exactly like her son’s, immediately putting you at ease. “You must be Y/N.”

Mrs. Smith pulled you into a warm hug before you had the chance to back out.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you said softly. “Oh, um, I brought these for you.”

You passed the bouquet to the older woman, who grinned as she held them. “Honey, these are beautiful. Will, can you find a vase to put them in? You can put them on the dining room table.” She passed the flowers off to her son and focused her attention back on you. “Come in! We’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

You were led inside the Smiths’ house. To your left was a living room that led into the dining room. Right in front of you was a staircase, and just past it, you could hear sounds of dishes being prepared. Will disappeared down that hallway to find a flower vase, leaving you alone in the foyer with his mom.

“Bill’s finishing up brunch,” explained Mrs. Smith. “Oh my goodness, I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Colleen, Will’s mom.”

You knew Mrs. Smith already knew your name, so you elected to nod in acknowledgment instead of reintroducing yourself. Thankfully, a voice from the top of the stairs saved you from any further embarrassment.

“Are they here?”

You looked up to the overhang at the top of the stairs. A blonde girl a few years older than you was hanging over the side of the railing. Then she rounded the corner, reappearing a few seconds later at the bottom of the stairs.

“Y/N!” she cried excitedly. “I’m Grace.”

You braced yourself as Grace hugged you too. As it turned out, Will’s love language of physical touch was a family trait.

“Oh, you will not believe how happy I am to finally meet you,” said Grace, holding you at arm's length and smiling warmly at you. God, she looked almost exactly like her little brother. “You are adorable. And I love your outfit.”

You mentally patted yourself on the back, thrilled that Will was right about his earlier assessment of your clothing.

Grace linked an arm through yours as though you’d known each other for years. “Will talks about you constantly. It would be annoying if I weren’t so happy he was happy.”

You felt your face grow warm. “He does?”

“All the time,” said Grace. “I’ve never seen him like this. It’s really sweet, trust me.”

At that, Will re-entered the foyer from the dining room. “Grace, are you done airing out my business to my girlfriend?”

“We were just talking about you,” you defended. “All good things, babe.”

“We still have plenty of time to discuss your embarrassing baby stories,” Grace added with a laugh.

Will rolled his eyes. “Before we get into that, can I steal my girlfriend? I want to give her a tour of the house.”

“I guess you can,” said Grace.

She reached over to ruffle her younger brother’s hair before disappearing to the kitchen to help their parents finish the brunch preparation.

Brunch was relaxed, nothing like the formal meal you had imagined. The flowers you brought sat in a crystal vase in the center of the spread. Quiche and a tray of bacon were passed around the table. You helped yourself to sliced fruit and Will’s famous banana bread. You couldn’t believe how everyone in the Smith family seemed to be a phenomenal cook, but you supposed it must have been genetic.

Conversations drifted from your college classes to hobbies and what your parents did for work. No one asked you where you saw yourself in ten years. No one questioned your relationship with Will. Everyone seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you as the youngest family member’s girlfriend.

You liked Will’s family. They were funny and kind. It was obvious how much they loved Will, and that love seemed to be already rubbing off on you. You were thrilled to live so close to your boyfriend, so you could continue to grow a relationship with his family until you both had to return to California at the end of the summer.

“And how did you two meet again?” asked Colleen at one point.

You paused, forkful of pineapple halfway to your mouth. You looked at Will out of the corner of your eye. “Am I allowed to tell this story?” you whispered, leaning over so the others wouldn’t hear you.

Will laughed. “Go ahead, babe,” he said.

“At a bar near my campus,” you explained. “I accidentally spilled my drink on him, and for some reason he still wanted to talk to me after that.”

“And it just so happened that she’s also from the Boston area,” added Will. “Like a match made in heaven.” He took your hand under the table and smiled lovingly at you.

“So we’re going over to Y/N’s for brunch next time,” suggested Grace.

“Who’s we?” retorted Will.

The two bickered back and forth for a moment before Mrs. Smith interjected to ask if you were joining Will and some of his old college friends at the Cape for the Fourth of July. The rest of the brunch continued like that, easy conversation flowing as steadily as the pitcher of orange juice on the table.

Later, as Mr. and Mrs. Smith cleaned up, Grace found you and Will standing on the back porch overlooking the yard.

“Can you help Mom and Dad?” Grace asked Will.

It was obvious she wanted to talk to you alone. Will looked at you for reassurance. You nodded at him to let him know you would be okay to hang out with his sister alone.

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” he said, kissing your cheek before heading inside. “Be nice to Y/N, Grace,” he called over his shoulder.

When he was gone, Grace leaned against the porch railing, her long, blonde hair blowing slightly in the breeze. Again, you couldn’t help but think about how much she looked like Will. It was strangely comforting.

“I just have a question for you,” said Grace.

You stiffened. Here it was. The ‘you’re not good enough for my brother’ conversation you’d been dreading since Will brought up wanting to introduce you to his family.

Grace looked at your face and frowned. She rested a perfectly manicured hand on your shoulder. “Oh my goodness, it’s not bad at all. Sorry if that came out wrong. I was just wondering if you were nervous for today.”

You let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Was it that obvious?”

Grace smiled. “A little.”

You sighed and admitted, “I was terrified.”

“Really? I didn’t think we were that intimidating, but I guess I was wrong,” joked Grace.

“Well, I was just thinking about how Will’s twenty-one,” you began, fiddling with your necklace again. “And I just turned nineteen, and…”

You trailed off.

Grace nodded slowly. “And?” she urged.

“I just thought you would all think I was too young for him,” you confessed.

Grace stared at you. Then she laughed– a kind laugh, full of warmth and amusement. “Oh, Y/N. I wasn’t thinking about that at all until you brought it up now.”

“You didn’t?” you asked.

Grace shook her head. “I thought about how Will smiles every time I FaceTime him and ask how you’re doing. How he spent less time with Mack because he wanted to spend even more time with you. Did you know he stayed in San Jose over the Olympic break because he wanted to be there to see you?”

Your jaw dropped. “He told me he still had to train there and couldn’t go home.”

“Classic Will,” said Grace with a laugh. “Point is, I don’t care that you’re two years younger than him. Neither do my parents. We just care that Will’s happier than we’ve ever seen him.”

You felt your eyes sting. Grace noticed immediately. “Oh no.” She wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “No crying. This is a happy moment.”

You sniffled. “I’m trying not to. But these are happy tears.”

“Good,” said Grace. “Because I like you and I want Will to bring you around more often.”

“You do?” you asked.

“Obviously. Anyone that Will loves as much as he loves you is someone I want in my life as well. He’s my best friend. So that means girlfriends become friends as well.”

You looked over your shoulder through the kitchen window. Inside, you could see Will laughing with his dad about something. He caught your eye and waved at you, then blew you a kiss. You smiled and waved back.

“You know,” said Grace. “I’m not going to lie, when Will told me he met a girl at a biohazard of a college dive bar, I really thought it wouldn’t last.”

Your heart dropped a little, but Grace continued before you could get too in your head about it.

“But he kept talking about you. Every phone call had a new story about you. I told him if it continued we were going to have to start a ‘Y/N jar.’ That’s like a swear jar, but just for when your name comes up in conversation. Now that I know you, I’ve never been happier to be wrong.”

Grace bumped your shoulder with hers. “I think this is the part where I’m supposed to do my protective older sister thing and tell you not to hurt my brother, or else. But something tells me I don’t need to worry about that.”

You laughed. “I sure hope not. I have no plans on doing anything to hurt Will. I really love him, Grace.”

“Good,” said Will’s sister. “Let’s go rescue him from that giant pile of dishes inside.”

Dating william in secret had been exciting for approximately three weeks. After that, it had mostly become exhausting.

At first, you had understood why he wanted privacy.

William was still young, still establishing himself with the San Jose Sharks and still learning how to live beneath the attention that followed professional athletes. Every game was analyzed, every mistake was replayed and every person standing too close to him could become the subject of online speculation.

You knew how invasive hockey fans and media could be better than most people. You had been born in 2003, the oldest child of Patrick and Christina Marleau and the only daughter among five children.

The Sharks organization had watched you grow up.

Some of the longtime staff members still remembered you running through the hallways of the arena wearing one of your father’s jerseys, the fabric falling almost to your ankles. You had spent your childhood around locker rooms, family lounges, charity events and team dinners.

You had watched strangers analyze almost every part of your father’s life. His career, his marriage, his children.

Even though none of you had chosen to become public figures, people had always believed they were entitled to opinions about your family.

So, when William had asked whether the two of you could keep the relationship private for a while, you had agreed.

You understood wanting something that belonged only to the two of you. At least, you thought you did.

Privacy meant not posting each other on social media, privacy meant avoiding public displays of affection when cameras were nearby, privacy meant not answering questions about your relationship or allowing strangers to dissect every detail.

But what William wanted slowly became something else, it became arriving separately everywhere. It became pretending you barely knew each other whenever his teammates were nearby. It became stepping away from him whenever someone entered a room.

It became watching him introduce you as Patrick Marleau’s daughter instead of his girlfriend. It became sitting several seats away from him at dinners while he laughed with everyone except you.

And after almost a year together, it no longer felt like privacy, it felt like shame.

The worst part was that nearly everyone in San Jose already knew you, you had always belonged around the Sharks. William was the person making you feel like you did not.

Your family did not know about the relationship either, that had been partly your decision. You knew that once your brothers found out, there would be questions, teasing and probably several unnecessary threats.

Your father had spent years telling them the same thing “You protect your sister.” It did not matter that every one of them was younger than you.

Landon, born in 2006, was only three years younger. He was usually calm, but he had inherited your father’s ability to become terrifyingly quiet whenever someone hurt a person he loved.

Brody, born in 2009, was considerably less subtle. He would ask direct questions and demand direct answers, even when nobody had invited him into the conversation.

Jagger, born in 2011, noticed almost everything. He was the kind of person who could tell you were upset before you had spoken a word.

And then there was Caleb. Born in 2015, he was twelve years younger than you and somehow the most protective of all your brothers.

It was ridiculous, he was still young enough to lose his hockey equipment and ask you to help him find it, but he acted as though your father had appointed him as your personal security guard.

William had always found it funny “You know Caleb stared at me for ten minutes today?” he had whispered once after visiting your family home.

“He does that.”

“I think he knows.”

“He’s ten.”

“He’s intimidating.”

“You play against grown men for a living.”

“Yes, but grown men don’t ask why I’m looking at their sister.” You had laughed then, Now, you wondered whether William would have hidden you so easily if your brothers had known.

The Sharks charity event had been marked on your calendar for weeks.

You had attended similar events throughout your childhood, first beside your parents and later on your own. You knew many of the sponsors, older staff members and families connected to the organization.

For once, you had hoped William might allow himself to act like your boyfriend.

You were not expecting a public announcement, you did not need him to post a photograph or stand in front of reporters and confirm your relationship.

You only wanted to sit beside him.

that was all.

You wanted to share a table without pretending it had happened accidentally, you wanted to look at him without watching him immediately glance around to see whether anyone had noticed, you wanted to leave the event together rather than waiting fifteen minutes between exits as though you were doing something wrong.

You finished getting ready inside William’s apartment, he stood near the bedroom doorway, watching you adjust the strap of your dress, the silence lasted long enough that you eventually looked at him through the mirror.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“William.”

He shifted his weight “You look beautiful.”

A faint smile touched your lips “Thank you.”

He walked toward you and placed his hands against your waist, for a moment, everything felt normal. His lips brushed your bare shoulder before he rested his chin there, meeting your eyes in the mirror “You’re staying here tonight, right?”

Normally, you would have answered without hesitation, instead, you asked, “Are we sitting together?”

William’s expression changed, it was subtle. Someone who did not know him might not have noticed but you knew him. You felt his hands loosen against your waist.

“I don’t know where everyone’s assigned.”

“You told me yesterday that players could choose who sat at their tables.”

“I said I thought they could.”

“So choose me.”

“Baby.”

Your stomach sank, it was only one word, but you already knew where the conversation was going “What?”

William stepped away from you “There are going to be a lot of people there tonight.”

“I know.”

“Reporters too.”

“I know.”

“And sponsors.”

“I have been attending Sharks events since before you knew how to skate.” His jaw tightened.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

William looked toward the floor “I just think tonight might not be the best night to change things.”

You stared at him “Change things?”

“To tell everyone.”

“I didn’t ask you to stand on a table and announce that we’re sleeping together. I asked to sit beside you.”

“People will ask questions.”

“They already ask questions.”

“And we’ve managed to avoid giving them answers.”

You laughed once, although nothing about the situation was funny “Of course.”

William’s expression softened “Please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like I’m trying to hurt you.”

“You are hurting me.”

“I’m trying to protect us.”

“No. You’re protecting yourself.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“Neither is making me feel like your dirty secret.”

“You are not a secret.”

“Do your teammates know we’re together?”

William did not answer.

“Does your coach know?”

Silence.

“Does anyone besides your family in Sweden know?”

“My family counts.”

“You know what I mean.”

William ran a hand through his hair “I just need more time.”

“You’ve had almost a year.”

“I know.”

“How much more time?”

“I don’t know.”

The answer settled heavily between you, you looked at the man you loved and realized he could not even tell you when he might finally be ready to admit that you existed in his life.

William reached for your hand, you pulled it away before he could touch you. His face fell.

“We should go,” you said.

“YN—”

“We’re arriving separately, aren’t we?”

He hesitated, that was enough. You collected your purse and left his apartment without waiting for him.

The event was held inside a ballroom overlooking San Jose. By the time you arrived, the room was already filled with players, staff members, sponsors and their families.

People greeted you warmly.

Several longtime Sharks employees hugged you and asked about your parents. One of your father’s former teammates wanted to know how Landon was doing. Someone else joked that it was strange seeing you arrive without one of your brothers following behind you.

You answered every question automatically.

Across the ballroom, William stood with several teammates, he looked handsome in his dark suit. He also looked directly at you before quickly looking away.

The small rejection hurt more than it should have.

You were surrounded by people who had known you since childhood, yet the person who knew you most intimately acted as though acknowledging you would create a scandal.

You found your assigned table and William was not seated there, you had known he would not be, but seeing his name card across the room still made something ache inside your chest.

During dinner, you tried to participate in the conversations around you.

You smiled when expected, you laughed when someone shared a story about your father, you answered questions about your family.

But your attention repeatedly drifted toward William’s table.

A young woman was seated beside him. You recognized her as the daughter of one of the event sponsors. She was beautiful, confident and clearly interested in him.

William was polite. Nothing more, you trusted him enough to know that. But trust did not make it easier to watch.

She leaned toward him whenever she spoke, she touched his sleeve while laughing. At one point, someone at the table said something that made her glance between you and William.

William’s shoulders tensed, the woman turned toward you. You forced a polite smile. She smiled back before returning her attention to William.

You wondered what had been said, perhaps someone had noticed him looking at you, perhaps they had asked whether he knew you. You could already imagine his response.

Of course I know her. She’s Patrick Marleau’s daughter.

Not his girlfriend, not the woman whose toothbrush sat beside his, not the person he called after difficult games, not the one who stayed awake with him when he doubted himself, not the person who knew the exact expression he wore when he was anxious, tired or homesick.

Only Patrick Marleau’s daughter.

The woman touched his arm again, you looked down at your plate, swallowing hard. You did not blame her.

As far as she knew, William was single.

That was what finally broke you, it was not another woman flirting with him. It was the knowledge that William had deliberately created a world in which everyone had every reason to believe he was available.

You pushed your chair back, the sound caught the attention of several people at your table “Excuse me,” you murmured. You collected your purse and walked toward the exit, you heard your name behind you before reaching the ballroom doors. You kept walking.

“YN.”

William caught up with you in the hotel lobby, his hand closed carefully around your wrist.

You immediately pulled away “Don’t.”

His expression changed “What happened?”

“You know what happened.”

“Was it the woman beside me? Because I wasn’t—”

“This isn’t about her.”

“Then what is it?”

You stared at him, even now, standing inside a mostly empty lobby, he kept several feet between you. There were no cameras nearby, no teammates, no sponsors and still, he was acting as though being seen too close to you was dangerous.

“I’m leaving.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No.”

William frowned “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to.”

The words made him go still.

You hated that tears were already burning behind your eyes. You had spent the entire evening trying not to cry, but standing in front of him made the humiliation impossible to contain “You made me sit across that room and pretend I didn’t love you.”

“I didn’t make you—”

“You did.”

William stopped speaking.

“You knew how I felt before tonight,” you continued. “I told you I couldn’t keep doing this, and you still decided that protecting yourself mattered more than protecting me.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Then why couldn’t I sit beside you?” He opened his mouth, nothing came out, you nodded slowly “That’s what I thought.”

“YN, please.”

“I don’t want to be your secret anymore.”

“You’re not.”

“Stop saying that.” Your voice cracked. “Stop telling me I’m not a secret when you won’t even look at me in public.”

“I look at you.”

“And then you look away.”

Panic appeared in William’s eyes, he stepped closer. This time, when he reached for your hands, you let him take them, only because you knew it might be the last time.

“I love you,” he said.

You closed your eyes “That makes it worse.”

“How?”

“Because you love me when nobody is watching.”

“That isn’t true.”

“It feels true.”

“I don’t know how to fix this right now, but I can. Come home with me and let’s talk.”

“We have talked.”

“Then we’ll talk again.”

“You’ll apologize. I’ll cry. Then you’ll kiss me until I convince myself I can wait a little longer.” William’s face crumpled “But I can’t wait anymore,” you whispered.

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m done.”

He shook his head immediately “No.”

“William.”

“No. You don’t get to decide that while you’re upset.”

A tear slipped down your cheek “I’m not deciding this because I’m upset. I’m deciding it because I have spent months feeling like I’m not enough for you to claim.”

“You are enough.”

“Then why have you never chosen me where anyone could see?”

William stared at you, the silence answered for him again, you carefully pulled your hands from his “I love you,” you said. “But I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“Please don’t leave.”

“I have to.”

“Give me one more chance.”

“You’ve had hundreds of chances.”

“I didn’t know I was losing you.”

“I told you.”

“I thought we had more time.” The desperation in his voice almost made you stay, almost. But staying because he was afraid would not erase the months you had spent wondering whether he would ever be proud enough to stand beside you.

You stepped backward, William followed “I’ll tell them,” he said quickly. “I’ll go back inside and tell everyone.”

“You’d only be doing it because I’m leaving.”

“Because I finally understand what this has done to you.”

“You should have understood when I told you.”

“I should have.” His voice broke. “I know that now.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting a sob “I need to go.”

“YN—”

“My driver is outside.”

“I’ll take you home.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“I don’t want to go home with you.” The words destroyed him, you saw it happen. His shoulders lowered, his mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out. For a moment, he looked young and completely lost, you wanted to wrap your arms around him, you wanted to tell him you did not mean it.

Instead, you turned and walked away.

Your father knew something was wrong the second you entered the house. Patrick was sitting in the living room with your four brothers when the front door opened.

Caleb noticed you first, his face brightened before he saw your expression “Why are you crying?” Every head turned toward you, you wiped quickly beneath your eyes.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Caleb insisted.

“I’m tired.”

Brody muted the television, Landon stood from the couch. Jagger remained quiet, watching you with the observant expression that usually meant he had already figured out more than everyone else.

Your father’s gaze moved over your dress, your purse and your red eyes “You were at the Sharks event.”

It was not a question.

“Yes.”

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

Caleb walked directly toward you, at eleven years old, he was still shorter than you, but the expression on his face was severe “Who made you cry?”

Despite everything, a broken laugh escaped you “No one.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Caleb.”

“Dad said we have to protect you.”

Patrick exhaled slowly “I might have created a problem.”

“You definitely did,” Christina called from the hallway.

Caleb ignored them “Was it a boy?”

You looked away, all four brothers reacted immediately “Oh my God,” you muttered.

Landon crossed his arms “Which boy?”

“There is no boy.”

Jagger spoke quietly “It’s Eklund.”

Your head snapped toward him, the room became silent “How do you know?” Brody asked.

Jagger shrugged “He looks at her weird.”

“He does not.”

“He does,” Caleb agreed.

“You’re eleven. What do you know about someone looking at me weird?”

“I know I don’t like him.”

“You liked him yesterday.”

“Yesterday he hadn’t made you cry.”

Your eyes filled again, your father stood. The teasing disappeared from his expression immediately. He walked toward you and placed a hand against the back of your head, pulling you against his chest.

That was all it took.

You began sobbing into his shirt, your brothers went quiet.

Patrick did not immediately ask for an explanation. He simply held you, one hand moving slowly over your hair the same way he had when you were younger.

Your mother entered the room, she looked at you and then at Patrick “What happened?”

You struggled to answer “I broke up with William.”

Caleb’s eyes widened “You were dating him?”

“Caleb,” Christina warned.

“For almost a year,” you admitted.

Brody stared at you “A year?”

“It was private.”

“Private from us?” Landon asked.

“Private from everyone.”

Jagger’s expression hardened “He didn’t want people to know?”

You wiped your face “He said he was protecting the relationship.”

“And what did you say?” Patrick asked.

“That I didn’t want to hide anymore.” Your father’s jaw tightened, Patrick did not become visibly angry often.

He did not need to, his silence usually said enough, Caleb moved closer “Did he say you weren’t his girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Then why did he hide you?”

“I don’t know.”

Caleb’s face twisted as though he had personally been betrayed “I’m going to fight him.”

“You are eleven.”

“I can still fight.”

“He’s a professional hockey player.”

“I play hockey too.” Brody snorted despite the tension, you covered your face “Please don’t fight anyone.”

Patrick pressed a kiss against your hair “No one is fighting anyone.” Caleb looked disappointed “But,” your father added, “William and I may have a conversation.”

“No.”

Patrick looked down at you “Dad, please. I handled it.”

“He hurt you.”

“And I ended the relationship.” Your voice broke again, your father softened “I know.”

“I just want to sleep.”

Christina wrapped an arm around you, “Come on.” As she guided you upstairs, Caleb followed, you turned “What are you doing?”

“Protecting you.”

“From what?”

He thought for a moment “In case Eklund climbs through the window.”

You almost laughed “He is not climbing through my window.”

“I’m still sleeping on the floor.”

“Caleb.”

“I already decided.”

Your mother shook her head “Your father really did create a problem.”

William called fourteen times that night, you did not answer, he sent messages until nearly three in the morning.

Please talk to me.

I’m sorry.

I told the guys.

I know that doesn’t fix it.

I should have done it before.

Please let me see you.

You turned your phone facedown, Caleb was asleep on a pile of blankets beside your bed, one of your old pillows beneath his head.

You stared at the ceiling until morning.

The following days were worse than you expected, William did not stop trying. Flowers arrived at the house, your father accepted them, read the card and carried them upstairs without comment.

Your favorite coffee appeared on the front porch the following morning, a handwritten letter arrived the day after that.

You left all of it untouched, you were not trying to punish him. You were trying to remember why you had left. Every apology made you question yourself, every message made you miss him.

You missed waking up beside him, you missed the way he spoke Swedish when he was tired, you missed watching him cook while pretending he had not called his mother for instructions, you missed his laughter. You missed your best friend.

But you did not miss being hidden. That was what you repeated whenever your hand hovered over his name.

One week after the event, William sent another message.

I’m not asking you to forgive me. I only want one opportunity to talk. Somewhere you feel comfortable.

You stared at the message for nearly an hour. Eventually, you agreed. He asked whether he could meet you at your parents’ house the following afternoon.

It was not a date.

You told yourself that repeatedly while getting ready, William was coming over so the two of you could talk.

Nothing more.

There would be no expensive dinner, no dramatic public gesture, no pretending that one week apart had erased almost a year of hurt.

Still, your stomach twisted when the doorbell rang. You heard Caleb shout from downstairs “He’s here!”

Before you reached the bottom of the staircase, your father opened the front door “William.”

“Mr. Marleau.” William sounded nervous “I’m here to see YN.”

“I know.”

There was a pause, then Caleb spoke from behind your father “You can’t take her yet.”

You closed your eyes, of course.

When you entered the living room, all four of your brothers were positioned between William and the rest of the house.

Landon stood nearest the doorway with his arms crossed, Brody was beside him, looking far too interested in starting an argument, Jagger leaned against the wall, studying William silently and Caleb stood in front of all of them as though he were their leader.

He was holding a miniature hockey stick. You had no idea where he had found it.

William remained outside on the porch, his gaze moved over your brothers before finding you. The moment he saw you, his expression softened. It made your chest ache.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hi.”

Caleb stepped sideways, blocking his view “No looking at her yet.”

“Caleb,” you warned.

“We need to talk to him first.”

“We?”

“All of us.”

Landon glanced toward him “You’re not leading the conversation.”

“I’m the most protective.”

“You’re eleven.”

“And?”

Brody looked directly at William “You hid our sister for almost a year?”

William returned his attention to them, his jaw tightened, but he did not become defensive “Yes.”

“That’s messed up,” Brody said.

“I know.”

“And you made her cry,” Caleb added.

“I know that too.”

“How many times?”

“Caleb,” you interrupted.

William answered anyway “More than I should have.”

“That means a lot,” Jagger said quietly.

William looked at him “Yes.”

Jagger had always been the least confrontational of your brothers, but there was something about his calm tone that made the question feel more serious “You knew she didn’t like hiding,” he continued.

William swallowed “I knew she was struggling with it.”

“But you kept doing it.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

William looked down briefly “Because I was scared.”

Brody scoffed “Of what?”

“People talking about us. People judging her because she was dating me. People deciding things about our relationship without knowing us.”

Landon’s expression remained hard “She’s Patrick Marleau’s daughter. People have been talking about her since she was born.”

“I understand that now.”

“You should have understood it before.”

“I should have.” William did not make excuses, he accepted every accusation because there was no defense that could make what he had done less painful.

Landon stepped closer to the doorway “You said you love her.”

William looked directly at him “I do.”

“Then why did you act like being seen with her was a problem?”

“I never thought she was the problem.”

“That’s how you made her feel.”

William’s face tightened “I know.”

Landon studied him silently, of all your brothers, he understood you best. There were only three years between you, and you had grown up more like best friends than siblings “If she gives you another chance,” Landon said, “you don’t get to act like she should be grateful you finally admitted she exists.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t get to use one apology or one public post as proof that you’ve changed.”

“I know.”

“You have to prove it when there aren’t cameras.”

William nodded “I will.”

Brody moved beside Landon “And if another girl flirts with you—”

“Brody,” you groaned.

“You tell her you have a girlfriend,” Caleb finished.

“I will,” William promised.

“Immediately.”

“Immediately.”

“No smiling first.”

William blinked “I can’t control my face every second.”

“You can try.”

A small smile appeared on Jagger’s face, you folded your arms “Are you finished?”

“No,” Caleb said.

“Yes,” Landon said simultaneously.

Caleb turned toward him “I still have questions.”

“You’ve interrogated him enough.”

“I haven’t asked where he’s taking her.”

“We’re not going anywhere far,” you explained. “We’re going for a walk.” Every brother looked at William again.

“A walk where?” Brody asked.

“There’s a park nearby,” William said. “I thought somewhere quiet would be better so we could talk.”

“No restaurant?” Caleb asked suspiciously.

“No.”

“No expensive gifts?”

“No.”

“No photographers?”

“I hope not.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes “What are you going to do?”

“Talk to her.”

“That’s all?”

You pressed your fingers against your forehead “Caleb.”

William glanced toward you before answering “I’m going to try to fix what I broke.”

The room became quieter, even Caleb seemed to understand the weight of his answer. Landon finally stepped aside “You can go.”

William released a breath, Caleb lifted the small hockey stick and pointed it toward him “But if she comes home crying—”

“I know,” William said.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Caleb looked at you “You have your phone?”

“Yes.”

“Is it charged?”

“Yes.”

“Location on?”

“Caleb, I’m walking ten minutes away.”

“Dad says we protect you.”

Patrick, who had remained mostly silent during the interrogation, sighed “I did say that.”

“You created this,” you told him.

His mouth twitched “I’m beginning to understand that.”

William waited outside while you said goodbye.

When you stepped onto the porch, he looked at you as though he had been holding his breath since the door opened “Your brothers are terrifying.”

“You already knew that.”

“I underestimated how terrifying they are as a group.”

“They practiced.”

His eyebrows lifted “They practiced?”

“I heard them planning questions in the kitchen.”

William glanced toward the front window, four faces immediately disappeared. He shook his head “I’m never surviving family dinner again.”

“You have to be invited first.”

His expression became serious “I know.”

The words hung between you. You pulled your jacket closer around yourself and began walking.

William fell into step beside you.

For the first few minutes, neither of you spoke.

The park was only a few blocks from your parents’ house. It was quiet that afternoon, with only a few people walking dogs or pushing strollers along the paths.

The air was cold, but not unpleasant, William kept both hands inside his jacket pockets. You noticed immediately, normally, he would have reached for you.

A hand around yours, an arm across your shoulders. His fingers against the small of your back.

Today, he kept a careful distance.

It hurt, but you understood why, he did not know what he was allowed to do anymore “You can walk closer,” you eventually said.

William glanced toward you “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He moved until your shoulders nearly touched, not quite but close enough to feel his warmth.

“I’m sorry about my brothers.”

“Don’t be.”

“They were intense.”

“They love you.”

“They also think they’re bodyguards.”

“Caleb had a weapon.”

“It was a plastic hockey stick.”

“He looked ready to use it.”

You laughed softly, William looked at you. The sound faded when you noticed his expression “What?”

“I missed that.” Your smile disappeared, he looked away “I missed everything.”

You swallowed “It’s only been a week.”

“I know.”

“It shouldn’t feel that long.”

“It felt longer.” The two of you continued walking, William’s shoulder brushed yours accidentally, neither of you moved away “I meant what I said at the house,” he told you.

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down.”

He stopped walking, you took another step before turning toward him. William stood in the middle of the path, looking at you with an expression so open that it made your chest tighten “I want to fix this.”

“You can’t fix everything with one conversation.”

“I know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you’re right.”

You looked down, William took one cautious step closer “I don’t expect you to trust me today,” he said. “I don’t expect you to call me your boyfriend again because I told people about us.”

“Then what do you expect?”

“Nothing.”

You looked at him “I’m hoping,” he corrected. “But I don’t expect anything.”

“What are you hoping for?”

“Another opportunity.”

“To do what?”

“To love you properly.” your eyes burned, William’s voice softened “I thought I was protecting our relationship by keeping it away from everyone else. But I made you feel like you weren’t part of my real life.”

“That’s exactly how it felt.”

“I know.”

“You had me in your apartment, in your bed and in every private part of your life, but the second we went outside, I became Patrick’s daughter again.”

His jaw tightened “I hate that I did that.”

“You should.”

“I do.”

“You made everyone think you were single.”

“I know.”

“You let women flirt with you because telling them you had a girlfriend would have meant admitting I existed.”

“I never wanted them.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“I know.”

You turned away, blinking rapidly. William moved in front of you, he still did not touch you “I should have chosen you in that room,” he whispered.

A tear escaped before you could stop it, William noticed immediately. His hand lifted instinctively, but he stopped before touching your face “Can I?”

The question broke something inside you. For almost a year, he had touched you without hesitation because the two of you belonged to each other. Now he was asking permission to wipe away a tear, you nodded.

His fingertips moved gently beneath your eye, the contact was barely there. You closed your eyes, William’s palm remained against your cheek “I’m so sorry.”

“You really hurt me, Eky.”

“I know, baby.” The nickname slipped out naturally, his expression changed immediately, as though he was afraid he had overstepped but you leaned slightly into his palm before you could stop yourself.

William released a shaky breath “I don’t know how to stop loving you,” you whispered.

His eyes filled “I don’t want you to.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m ready to come back.”

“I understand.”

“I’m still angry.”

“You should be.”

“And embarrassed.”

His expression crumpled “You never had anything to be embarrassed about.”

“I was the girlfriend no one knew existed.”

“Because I was a coward.”

You looked at him “I’m not going to be that girl again.”

“You won’t.”

“How do I know?”

“You don’t.” His honesty surprised you, William lowered his hand “You don’t know yet,” he continued. “But I’ll prove it until you do.”

You stared at him for several seconds, then you began walking again. William joined you, this time, your hands brushed.

Once, then again, on the third time, his fingers moved slightly, as though he wanted to hold yours but was afraid.

You looked down at the space between your hands, then you turned your palm upward, William stopped breathing. His fingers slowly slid between yours, he held your hand carefully.

Not tightly enough to trap you, only enough to tell you he was there. The two of you continued down the path in silence, your heart was beating too quickly for such a simple gesture. You had held his hand hundreds of times in private, inside his apartment, in your car. Beneath blankets while watching movies.

But this felt different.

There were people around you, not many, but enough, an older couple passed, a woman jogged on the opposite side of the path.

Someone could have recognized him, William did not let go, instead, his thumb moved slowly across your knuckles “Are you scared?” you asked.

“Yes.” You turned toward him, he gave you a small, sad smile “But I’m more scared of losing you.”

You squeezed his hand, it was not forgiveness but it was something. The path eventually led toward a small pond surrounded by benches and trees.

William guided you toward one of the benches, you sat beside him, leaving only a small space between your bodies. For a few moments, you watched the water.

Then William turned toward you “Can I hug you?”

You swallowed “Yes.”

He moved slowly, the moment his arms wrapped around you, every defense you had tried to rebuild during the previous week weakened. You buried your face against his chest.

William held you tightly, not painfully, desperately. His face pressed into your hair as he exhaled “I missed you,” he whispered.

You gripped the back of his jacket “I missed you too.”

His arms tightened, the admission made you cry again, William felt it immediately “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m so sorry.”

You stayed like that for a long time. Long enough for your breathing to become uneven. Long enough for the cold air to settle around you. Long enough to remember how safe his arms had once felt.

Eventually, you leaned back, William loosened his hold immediately, but his hands remained against your waist.

Your faces were close. Too close.

His gaze dropped toward your lips before returning to your eyes, he did not move “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Your heart twisted “You’ve never asked before.”

“I don’t know what I’m allowed to do it, you broke up with me.”

The vulnerability in his voice hurt, you lifted a hand and rested it against his cheek. William turned his face into your palm “You can kiss me.”

He leaned toward you slowly, the kiss was gentle, tentative, nothing like the desperate kisses you had shared after arguments before, when he had used affection to convince you that everything would eventually be fine.

This kiss did not try to erase the hurt. It acknowledged it, his lips moved softly against yours, asking instead of taking. You kissed him back.

William’s hand moved from your waist to the side of your neck, his thumb resting beneath your jaw, when you separated, he kept his forehead against yours “I love you.”

“I love you too.” His eyes closed “But I’m still not ready to say we’re back together,” you added.

William nodded without moving away “I know.”

“I need time.”

“You can have all of it.”

“And I need you to understand that holding my hand in a park doesn’t fix the last year.”

“I understand.”

“But it matters.”

His eyes opened “Yeah?”

You looked down at your joined hands “You didn’t let go.”

“I won’t.”

Your gaze returned to him “You might need to sometimes.”

A faint smile touched his face “Then I’ll only let go when you ask me to.”

You leaned into him again, William wrapped one arm around your shoulders while his other hand remained linked with yours.

You stayed near the pond until the sky began to darken.

There was no expensive restaurant, no grand public announcement, no cameras waiting to capture the moment William Eklund tried to win you back.

It was only the two of you sitting on a cold bench, surrounded by strangers who did not matter.

William held your hand where anyone could see, he hugged you without looking over his shoulder, he kissed you without acting as though loving you was something dangerous.

It was not enough to repair everything but it was the first time his actions matched his promises. When you eventually walked back toward your parents’ house, William kept his fingers intertwined with yours the entire way.

Caleb was waiting at the front door, his eyes immediately dropped toward your hands. Then he studied your face “Did he make you cry?”

“A little,” you admitted, Caleb glared at William “But not in a bad way,” you added.

“I’m still watching you,” Caleb warned him.

William nodded “I know.”

“Did you kiss her?”

Your mouth fell open “Caleb!” William’s cheeks turned red, Caleb looked between the two of you and nodded knowingly “You did.”

“Go inside,” you ordered.

He opened the door “I’m telling Landon.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“There’s always something to tell.” Caleb disappeared into the house, William laughed softly beside you.

You looked at him.

For a moment, things felt almost normal, William lifted your joined hands and pressed a kiss against your knuckles “Can I see you again?”

You hesitated “Tomorrow?” hope appeared in his expression “For another walk,” you clarified.

“I’d like that.”

“It still isn’t a date.”

“I know.”

“And we’re still not officially back together.”

“I know.”

“But you can come at four.”

William smiled “I’ll be here.”

You released his hand and stepped toward the door, before going inside, you turned back. William remained on the porch, watching you openly.

He did not look away when the curtains moved and several members of your family appeared behind the window.

He simply smiled at you.

You feel terrible as you complete your final, wobbly spin. The scattered applause sounds like pity and your coach's disappointed expression confirms your worst fears. You've just delivered the worst performance of your career at a competition that should have been a showcase of your talent.

Backstage, your hands tremble uncontrollably as you fumble with the zipper of your dress. The familiar knot of anxiety tightens in your stomach, each breath coming shorter than the last. You feel like a failure, a fraud who doesn't deserve to be on the ice.

The dressing room door opens quietly and William slips inside, his presence immediately calming despite your inner turmoil. He doesn't speak at first, simply approaches where you're sitting on the bench and kneels before you.

"Hey pretty girl," he says softly, taking your shaking hands in his. "I'm so proud of you."

You shake your head, tears blurring your vision. "I was terrible. Everyone saw it."

"You competed," he corrects gently, his thumbs stroking the back of your hands. "You went out there and gave it your all. That's what matters."

"But it wasn't good enough," you whisper, pulling your hands away to wipe at your tears. "I'm not good enough."

William stands and pulls you up with him, guiding you toward the large mirror that covers one wall of the dressing room. "Look at yourself," he says, standing behind you and resting his hands on your shoulders.

"I can't," you shake your head, trying to turn away.

"No," he says firmly but gently, turning you back to face your reflection. "I want you to see what I see. A strong, beautiful and talented woman who had one bad performance. That's all it was, one bad performance."

His hands slide down your arms, wrapping around your waist as he presses a soft kiss to your neck. "Do you know how many bad games I've had? Too many to count. But I never stop believing in myself and I'm never going to stop believing in you."

You lean back against him, your reflection showing the stark contrast between his confident stance and your slumped posture. "I wish I had your confidence."

"You do," he murmurs, his hands moving to the zipper of your dress. "You just need help finding it sometimes."

As your dress pools at your feet, William's hands trace patterns across your skin. His touch is both comforting and arousing. "You're magnificent," he whispers against your ear. "Every inch of you is perfect."

He turns you to face him fully, his eyes dark with desire as he takes in your nearly naked form. "Let me show you how incredible you are."

His lips find yours in a tender kiss that quickly deepens, his hands exploring your body with reverence. You can feel his growing arousal pressing against you and despite your lingering self-doubt your body responds to his touch.

William positions you so that you're both visible in the mirror's reflection. "Watch," he commands softly, his hands cupping your breasts. "Watch how beautiful you are."

Your breath hitches as his thumbs circle your nipples, bringing them to pebbled peaks. You see your cheeks flush and your lips part slightly, feeling a stirring of desire.

"See that?" William murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. "That's desire. That's passion. That's the fire that makes you special on the ice and off it."

His hands slide lower, one dipping between your thighs to find you already wet. "You want this, don't you? You want me?"

You nod, unable to form words as his fingers begin to stroke you expertly. You watch as your head falls back against his shoulder, your body arching into his touch.

"Say it," he demands softly. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you," you manage, your voice breathy.

"Good girl," he praises, his fingers moving faster as he brings you closer to the edge. "Now repeat after me. I am talented."

"I… I am talented," you repeat, your hips bucking against his hand.

"I am beautiful," he continues, his other hand coming up to pinch your nipple.

"I am beautiful," you gasp, pleasure coiling in your stomach.

"I am worthy of love and success," he says, his voice firm as he increases the pressure on your clit.

"I am… oh god… I am worthy," you cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, your body trembling slightly.

Before you can recover, William bends you onto the counter, spreading your legs and positioning himself between them. He frees himself from his pants, his erection pressing against your entrance.

"Watch us," he commands, his eyes locked on yours in the mirror. "Watch how perfectly we fit together."

He enters you slowly, his eyes never leaving your reflection as he fills you completely. "You feel incredible," he groans, beginning to move. "So so perfect for me. My perfect girl."

Your hands grip the edge of the counter as he sets a steady rhythm, each thrust pushing you closer to another orgasm. You see the raw desire on his face and watch the way his muscles tense with each movement.

"You're taking me so well," he praises, his hand coming down to rub circles on your clit. "Such a good girl for me."

"William," you moan, your eyes fluttering shut.

"Open your eyes," he demands, lacing his fingers through yours and pressing them softly against the cool surface, stopping them from shaking. "Look at yourself. Look at us. This is what love looks like."

You force your eyes open, watching as he drives into you, his expression intense with concentration and desire. The sight sends another wave of arousal through you and you feel yourself tightening around him.

"That's it," he encourages. "Come for me again. Show me how much you want this. Show me how much you love me, pretty girl."

His words combined with the visual stimulation and his skilled touch push you over the edge. Your orgasm rips through you, more intense than the first, leaving you a trembling breathless mess. William follows soon after, his hips stuttering as he finds his release, his forehead resting against your neck as he catches his breath.

He captures your quaking hands in his, bringing them to his lips and pressing soft kisses to your knuckles, grounding you in his love until the tremors subside.

You both stay like that, joined together, watching your reflections in the mirror. The post-orgasmic haze softens your features and for the first time all day, you don't see a failure but a woman who is desired and loved.

William pulls out gently, helping you upright and wrapping you in a fluffy robe. He takes your face in his hands, his expression serious but full of love.

"One bad performance doesn't define you," he says softly. "One day doesn't erase all your hard work and talent. You're still the same incredible skater you were yesterday and the same incredible woman I fell in love with."

Tears well in your eyes, but this time they're not tears of frustration or self-doubt. "Thank you," you whisper, leaning in to kiss him. "For everything."

The sound of the key turning in the lock makes your heart leap. You've been counting down the minutes until Macklin's return and when the door finally creaks open, there he is looking utterly exhausted but still managing a weak smile when his eyes find yours.

"Hey," he says, his voice rough with fatigue. He drops his heavy bag by the door with a thud that seems to take the last of his energy.

You're across the room in an instant, wrapping your arms around his waist. "Hey yourself, my love. Missed me?"

"So much," he mumbles into your hair, his arms tightening around you. "You have no idea."

You pull back slightly to look at him properly. The dark circles under his eyes are prominent and his shoulders slump with exhaustion. "You look dead on your feet. Let's get you comfortable."

Macklin just nods, letting you lead him to the bedroom. He sits heavily on the edge of the bed while you kneel to untie his shoes.

"I can do that," he protests weakly.

"You can let me take care of you," you correct gently, slipping off his shoes and socks. "How was the trip?"

"Long. Tiring. We lost two out of three." He runs a hand through his messy hair. "Just wanted to be home with you."

Your heart swells at his words. "Well, you're home now. And I'm all yours."

After helping him change into sweats and one of his old t-shirts, you guide him under the covers. He immediately reaches for you, pulling you close until you're lying face to face, your legs tangled together.

"Better?" you ask softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

"Mmm," he hums contentedly. "Missed this. Missed you." His eyes drift closed. "Can we just stay like this for a while?"

"We can stay like this as long as you want," you promise, rubbing slow circles on his back. "I ordered your favorite food, by the way. Should be here soon."

Macklin's eyes open slightly at that. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," you say simply. "Anything for you my love."

He shifts closer, burying his face in your neck. "Love when you call me that."

"My love?" you ask with a smile.

"Mmm. And yours," he mumbles against your skin. "Like being yours."

You press a kiss to his temple. "You're definitely mine. All mine."

The doorbell rings eventually, but Macklin makes no move to get up. "Can we just ignore it?"

"Nope," you say, reluctantly extracting yourself from his grip. "Food first, then more cuddles. I'll be right back."

When you return with the takeout containers, Macklin has propped himself up against the headboard, looking slightly more alert but still soft and sleepy. You settle beside him, handing him a container before opening your own.

"Thanks for this," he says between bites. "For everything."

"Always," you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. "Now eat up so we can go back to cuddling."

He finishes quickly, setting the empty container aside before immediately pulling you back into his arms. "Now," he says, his voice already thick with sleep, "where were we?"

"I believe you were being needy and clingy," you tease gently.

Your back arches off the mattress as Will's tongue flattens against your folds, a slow stroke that has you gasping for air. His large hands press firmly against your inner thighs, keeping you spread and completely open for him.

"Look at you, baby," he murmurs against your skin, his voice vibrating through you. "Already dripping for me."

You whimper as his tongue circles your clit teasingly. Your fingers twist in the sheets beneath you, desperate for something to hold onto as he begins his slow and torturous exploration.

"Please," you breathe out, the word barely audible.

Will chuckles, the sound dark and delicious. "Please what, baby? Tell me what you need."

"Your mouth," you manage to say. "I need your mouth."

He grants your wish, his lips closing around your clit as he sucks gently. Your hips buck against his face, but his arms hold you down, pinning you in place as he takes what he wants.

"That's it," he praises, releasing your clit with a wet pop. "Let me hear those pretty sounds."

His tongue delves deeper, parting your folds as he explores every inch of you. When his tongue finally breaches your entrance, you cry out, your back bowing off the bed.

"So tight," he groans against you. "I can feel you clenching around my tongue. You like that, don't you? You like when I tongue-fuck this little pussy."

You can only nod, words failing you as he begins to thrust his tongue in and out of you. His nose presses against your clit with each movement, adding just enough friction to drive you wild.

"Will," you gasp, your hands finding his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands. "Please, don't stop."

He doesn't. If anything, he doubles his efforts, his tongue moving faster, deeper. His hands shift, one thumb coming to rub circles against your clit as he continues to fuck you with his mouth.

"You're going to come for me, aren't you?" he says, his voice muffled against your flesh. "I can feel you getting closer. You're pulsing around my tongue."

Your response is a desperate moan as the first orgasm crashes over you. It starts deep in your belly, a tightening that spreads through your entire body until you're shaking with the force of it. Will doesn't let up, his tongue continuing its assault as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

"That's it," he praises as you come down. "Such a good girl for me. But we're not done yet, baby."

You whimper at his words, already overwhelmed by sensation.

But Will is relentless, his mouth returning to your clit with renewed determination. He alternates between broad, flat strokes and quick, precise flicks of his tongue, each movement designed to push you higher.

"You taste so fucking good," he groans, his voice thick with desire. "I could stay between your legs forever"

His words send a fresh jolt of arousal through you and you feel yourself climbing toward another peak. This time, when it hits, it's even more intense than the first. Your vision whites out, your body arching almost completely off the bed as a scream tears from your throat.

Will's grip on your thighs tightens, holding you open as you thrash beneath him. Saliva and your juices mix, dripping down his chin, but he doesn't seem to care. He's lost in you, completely consumed by the task of pleasuring you.

"One more," he murmurs against your oversensitive flesh. "I know you have one more for me, baby."

You shake your head, tears of pleasure and overstimulation leaking from the corners of your eyes. "Can't," you whimper. "It's too much."

"You can," he insists, his tone gentle but firm. "You're going to be a good girl and take it all for me."

His tongue returns to your entrance, this time thrusting deeper than before. He curls it inside you, seeking that spot that makes you see stars. When he finds it, you cry out, your nails digging into his scalp as pleasure and pain blend into eachother.

"Please, please, please," you chant, not even sure what you're begging for anymore.

His thumb presses against your clit again, rubbing in tight circles as his tongue continues to work inside you. The stimulation is almost too much to bear and you feel yourself teetering on the edge once more.

"That's it," he encourages. "Louder for me, baby. I want to hear you."

Your response is a guttural moan as the third orgasm rips through you. This time, you're sobbing with pleasure, your body shaking uncontrollably.

As you come down, you expect Will to finally give you a break. But instead, he buries his face even deeper between your legs, his tongue lapping at you as if he can't get enough.

"Will," you whimper, trying to push his head away. "No more."

He looks up at you, his face glistening with your arousal. His eyes are dark with desire, his pupils blown wide with lust.

"Just a little more," he begs, his voice hoarse. "Please, let me make you feel good."

You shake your head, but your body betrays you, hips tilting toward him instinctively. He takes this as encouragement, his mouth returning to your clit with renewed fervor.

"You're so beautiful like this," he praises between licks. "So pretty when you cry for me."

His words send shivers down your spine. You feel him whimpering into your pussy as he gently laps at your folds, his tongue working slowly now, almost reverently.

"Fuck, I can't get enough of you," he groans.

His hips start to move against the mattress, grinding against it as he continues to gently suck on your clit. You pull harder on his hair, your tears falling freely now, trying to get him to give you a break.

His eyes roll back in his head at the slight sting of your hands in his hair, his hips moving faster against the mattress. His mouth becomes more urgent on you, his tongue working frantically as he chases his own release.

With a final, desperate thrust of his hips, he comes, a muffled cry escaping him as his body tenses. He continues drawing lazy circles around your clit with his tongue before collapsing against you, his head resting on your thigh as he tries to catch his breath.

You're both shaking, spent and satisfied.

A deep blush spreads across your cheeks as you watch him, mesmerized by the sight of your juices spread all over his face, glistening on his chin and cheeks. His eyes are closed, his expression one of pure bliss.

"Will," you whisper, your voice hoarse. "Did you just...?"

He opens his eyes, a lazy, satisfied smile spreading across his face. "Yeah," he admits, his voice rough with emotion.

You laugh weakly, running your fingers through his hair. "That's... actually really hot."

His smile widens as he presses a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. "You have no idea what you do to me. The way you taste, the sounds you make... it's like a drug."

As he helps you clean up, you can't help but marvel at the tenderness in his touch, the way he cares for you after pushing you to your limits.

It was stupid. Incredibly stupid for a multitude of reasons—starting with the fact you couldn’t fucking stand each other and ending with the fact the rest of the team were literally down the hallway. Then again, maybe it had been a long time coming between the two of you.

“Fuck,” Nico groaned, pressing his face into your shoulder. “Fuck, you feel so good.” 

“Shut up,” you repeated, even if your stomach tightened at his words. As you leaned further back into his touch. “This is a one time thing.”

Nico smiled against your skin, rolling his hips as he let out a stuttering breath. “M’sure it is,” he mused. “You’re the one always hanging around the team. Makes me think you’ve wanted this for a while.”

“You’re such a dick,” you moaned, pressing your forehead against the wall. “I don’t know how the fuck you fooled everyone into thinking you’re a gentleman.”

“You don’t think I’m a gentleman?” He cooed, kissing a line along your neck towards your ear until he could nip at your lobe. “You don’t think I can fuck you like a gentleman?” 

“I didn’t fucking kiss you for you to fuck me like a gentleman,” you snapped back at him, glancing over your shoulder to find his face inches away from you. “So don’t fucking start now, Hischier.”

One of Nico’s hands dropped to your waist, squeezing as he slowly pulled out before thrusting back in. He didn’t give you a chance to say more, not when he seemed relentless in fucking you dumb on his cock with your dress bunched up above your bellybutton and his slacks pushed down his thighs. 

“Shhh,” he grunted, squeezing your waist in warning. “You want everyone to see us?”

“Nico,” you whined, the sound quickly muffled by his hand pressing over your mouth. You gripped his wrist, nails digging into his skin.

“C’mon,” Nico groaned, cock thrusting in and out of you. “Come f’me, schatz.”

Nico noticed something was wrong long before you disappeared.

At first, it was in the little things.

You stopped staying in the kitchen while he made breakfast, choosing instead to take your coffee into the living room and sit alone. You began declining invitations to dinners with the team, claiming you were tired even when you had barely left the apartment all day.

When Nicole or Amanda texted the group chat, you would read their messages without responding. When Jack sent you a ridiculous video or Luke asked whether you wanted to come over, you left them unanswered too.

Even Arseny’s frequent, slightly confusing messages had gone unopened.

Usually, you always answered him.

Sometimes it took a few minutes to understand what he was trying to say through his broken English and thick Russian accent—even over text—but you never made him feel embarrassed about it.

Now, nothing.

Nico tried not to push at first.

He knew you had difficult days. He knew there were parts of your childhood you didn’t like talking about and memories you kept hidden behind carefully constructed smiles. You had told him enough for him to understand that your relationship with your parents was complicated.

Complicated had been the word you used.

It was easier than saying cruel. Easier than saying they had spent years convincing you that you were difficult to love.

That you were too emotional, too needy, too sensitive. That every mistake you made was evidence that something was fundamentally wrong with you. They never needed to hit you to make you afraid of them. Their words had done enough damage.

Still, Nico had never seen you retreat this far into yourself.

He found you sitting on the edge of the bed one night, staring down at your phone as it vibrated in your hand. The name on the screen made his chest tighten.

Mom.

You declined the call. A second later, it rang again, you turned the phone face down. Nico stood in the doorway, watching the way your shoulders had gone rigid “Are you okay?”

You flinched as though you hadn’t realized he was there “Fine.” It came too quickly. Nico stepped into the room. “You don’t look fine.”

“I’m just tired.”

“You’ve been tired for two weeks.”

Your expression changed immediately, the walls went up “I said I’m fine, Nico.”

He stopped a few feet away from you.

There had been a time when you would have reached for him. When you would have tucked yourself beneath his arm and let him hold you until the tension left your body.

Now, you shifted farther away, it hurt more than Nico wanted to admit “Did something happen?” he asked carefully.

“No.”

“Did your parents call before today?”

Your jaw tightened “Nico.”

“I’m not trying to upset you.”

“Then stop asking.” The words came out sharper than you intended. Nico went quiet, guilt flickered through you, but you buried it beneath the panic crawling up your throat.

Because your mother had called. Your father had called.

They had returned to New Jersey after months away, and somehow, just knowing they were close again had made you feel seventeen years old. Small, powerless, unlovable.

Your mother’s first message had been almost pleasant.

We’re back. Your father would like to see you.

The second had been colder.

Ignoring us is childish.

The third had sounded exactly like every conversation from your childhood.

You always do this. You hurt people, then pretend you’re the victim.

You had stared at that sentence until the letters blurred, because some part of you believed her, some part of you always would. That was the worst thing about it.

They didn’t even have to be in the room to control you anymore.

You did it for them, you repeated their words inside your own head, you pulled away before people could reject you. You ruined good things before they had the chance to prove they were temporary.

Nico sat beside you, leaving space between your bodies “I’m here,” he said quietly. You hated how gentle he sounded, it made something ache inside you “You shouldn’t be.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

You stood abruptly “I need some air.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“I know.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“No.”

Nico stood too. “YN—”

“I said no.” Your voice cracked, for one second, you saw the hurt on his face. Then fear overtook everything else. You grabbed a sweater and left before he could stop you. You returned an hour later, but whatever fragile thread had been holding you together was already breaking.

Over the next several days, you became a ghost inside the apartment.

You slept when Nico was awake and stayed awake when he was asleep. You avoided looking at him because every time you did, you saw concern in his eyes.

Concern became pity in your mind. Pity became obligation. Obligation became proof that he didn’t really love you.

He only felt responsible for you, that was what your mother would have said. He’ll get tired of you eventually. Your father had said something similar years ago after your first serious relationship ended. People always leave once they know the real you.

The words returned now with cruel precision.

Nico loved the version of you who laughed with his teammates and cooked with Nicole and teased Jesper. He loved the version who waited after games and kissed him no matter whether the team won or lost.

He didn’t know this version, the frightened one, the bitter one. The one who could barely breathe when her mother’s name appeared on a screen. He would see it eventually and then he would leave.

So you decided to leave first.

Nico came home from practice on a Tuesday afternoon to an apartment that felt wrong. Too quiet. Your shoes were missing from beside the door, the blanket you always kept on the couch was folded neatly over the armrest. Your charger was gone from the bedroom.

At first, he called your name, then he checked every room, then he called you. Your phone rang once before going directly to voicemail.

He tried again. Nothing.

On the kitchen counter, beneath the spare key, was a note, it contained only six words. I’m sorry. Please don’t look for me.

Nico stared at it until his hands began to shake so he called Jack.

Within an hour, almost everyone knew. Amanda and Jacob checked the places you usually visited together. Nicole and Jesper drove past your favorite coffee shops, restaurants and bookstores. Jack and Luke split up across the city, calling anyone who might have heard from you.

Timo checked near the arena and the park where you sometimes walked after difficult games. Jonas contacted mutual friends.

Arseny sent message after message.

Where you?

Nico very worry.

We not angry. Please answer.

You family. Come home.

Nico barely slept. He sat at the kitchen table with your note in front of him, phone clutched in his hand, waiting for any update. Every time someone called, he answered before the first ring finished. Every time, it was the same.

Nothing.

By the second day, panic had settled into his bones. By the third, the team had quietly involved security and local authorities. Nico gave them your photo with trembling hands and tried to answer questions about places you might go.

He hated that he didn’t know. He hated that you had been hurting badly enough to disappear and he hadn’t understood how close you were to breaking.

“You couldn’t have known,” Jesper told him late that night.

They were sitting in Nico’s living room. Nicole was asleep on the couch, her head resting against Amanda’s shoulder. Jack paced near the windows while Luke refreshed his phone repeatedly.

Nico rubbed both hands over his face “I knew something was wrong.”

“That’s not the same as knowing she would leave.”

“I should’ve done more.”

Jesper leaned forward. “You tried to talk to her.”

“Not enough.”

“Nico—”

“I let her walk out that night.”

“You didn’t let her do anything.”

Nico looked toward your empty place on the couch “She thinks she has to handle everything alone.” His voice broke slightly. “And I don’t know how to convince her she doesn’t.”

On the fourth day, Arseny showed up at the apartment.His hair was disheveled, and there were dark circles under his eyes “Any news?” he asked.

Nico shook his head.

Arseny muttered something in Russian and began pacing. He had grown close to you quickly after arriving. You never laughed when he pronounced something incorrectly. You helped him order food when he became frustrated. You sat beside him at team dinners when the conversations moved too fast and quietly explained the jokes he had missed.

Once, after he thanked you, you had smiled and said, “Nobody deserves to feel alone in a crowded room.” Arseny had remembered that. Now, you were alone somewhere and he hated it.

On the fifth morning, Amanda nearly canceled Clark’s doctor’s appointment.

She had barely slept. None of them had.

Jacob had spent most of the night driving through different neighborhoods with Timo, while Amanda sat in their living room refreshing her phone and attempting to soothe Clark whenever he woke.

But Clark had been complaining about pain in his ear since the previous afternoon, and his pediatrician had managed to fit him into an appointment that morning.

Amanda couldn’t ignore it.

She dressed him, packed a small bag of snacks and toys, and drove to the medical center with exhaustion weighing heavily behind her eyes.

Clark sat quietly against her chest as they entered the waiting area, one hand curled into the collar of her sweater. Amanda approached the reception desk and gave the woman Clark’s information.

Then she turned around.

At first, she didn’t see you.

You were sitting in the farthest corner of the waiting room, partially hidden behind a large plant. An oversized coat swallowed your body, and the hood had been pulled over your head. Your arms were folded tightly across your stomach while you stared at the tiled floor.

You looked smaller than Amanda had ever seen you. Smaller and completely alone, Amanda’s breath caught. For a moment, she was convinced exhaustion was making her imagine things.

Then you shifted slightly, she recognized the sweater beneath your coat. It was one Nico had given you after you stole it so often that he finally told you to keep it “YN?”

Your head snapped up. The moment your eyes met hers, every trace of color disappeared from your face.

Amanda’s grip around Clark tightened “Oh my God.”

You stood abruptly “Amanda—”

She crossed the waiting room before you could move “What are you doing here?” Her voice was quiet because of the other patients around them, but it trembled with five days of fear, exhaustion and anger.

You looked toward the exit “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t call anyone.”

Amanda stared at you, Clark shifted in her arms, looking curiously between both of you “Everyone has been looking for you.”

“I know.”

“Nico hasn’t slept.”

Your mouth trembled “I know.”

“The police are looking for you. The team is looking for you. We’ve been driving around every day trying to find you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Amanda’s eyes filled with tears “You left us a note telling us not to look for you. What did you think we were going to do?”

“I didn’t want anyone to worry.”

“Well, we did.” The sharpness in Amanda’s voice made Clark stir, she closed her eyes briefly and took a breath, forcing herself to calm down for her son. When she opened them again, her expression had softened.

“Are you hurt?” You shook your head.

“Are you safe?”

“Yes.”

“Where have you been staying?”

“A hotel.”

“Why are you here?”

Your gaze moved toward the hallway leading deeper into the medical center “My father is in the hospital.”

Amanda’s anger faded into confusion “Your father?”

You nodded “He’s been here for three days. I’ve been coming to visit him.”

“Does your mother know where you’ve been?”

“She knows I’ve been visiting. She doesn’t know where I’m staying.”

Amanda moved closer, lowering her voice “YN, why didn’t you tell any of us?”

“Because no one would understand.”

“Try me.” You glanced at Clark, Amanda followed your gaze. He was resting against her shoulder, his eyes heavy and one hand pressed against his sore ear. She walked over to the seats beside you and sat down, adjusting Clark on her lap. You remained standing “Sit,” she said gently.

You hesitated before lowering yourself into the chair beside her, for several moments, neither of you spoke. Then Amanda looked at you “Tell me what happened.”

You twisted your hands together “My parents are horrible to me.” the words sounded childish once they were spoken aloud. Too simple for years of damage.

“They’ve always made me feel like everything is my fault. Like I’m selfish and dramatic and impossible to love.” Your voice shook. “Then they came back, and my father got sick, and my mother said it was cruel of me not to visit him.”

Amanda listened silently.

“I didn’t want to go,” you whispered. “But then I felt like a terrible person. And I started thinking that maybe she was right about everything.”

“She isn’t.”

“You don’t know them.”

“No, but I know you.”

You gave her a broken laugh “You don’t really.” Amanda’s eyebrows pulled together “You know the version of me that tries to make everyone happy. The person who listens and helps and smiles because she’s afraid that if she stops being useful, no one will want her around anymore.”

Amanda looked down at Clark for a moment before meeting your gaze again “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.”

“No, YN. It’s what they taught you.”

The distinction made your chest ache, you wiped at your face harshly “That’s why I left. Because everyone got too close.”

Amanda stared at you in disbelief “You left because we love you?”

Hearing the word made you recoil “You don’t.”

“Yes, we do.”

“You can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because people don’t love me like that.”

Amanda’s eyes softened “You think Nico doesn’t love you?”

“He thinks he does.”

“He knows he does.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand that Nico has spent five days looking like someone ripped his heart out of his chest.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks “I never wanted to hurt him.”

“I know.”

“He deserves someone better.”

“No.” Amanda shifted Clark carefully before reaching for your hand. “He deserves the woman he loves. That’s you.” You shook your head “He only loves me because he doesn’t know what I’m actually like.”

“He knows you.”

“He knows the easy parts.”

Amanda’s fingers tightened around yours “You think the rest of us have only ever seen you happy? You think we haven’t seen you exhausted, irritated, overwhelmed or upset?”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t.”

“I’m not good like you think I am.”

Amanda released a shaky breath “YN, you don’t have to be good every second for us to care about you. You don’t have to earn your place.”

You covered your mouth as a sob escaped, Amanda immediately opened her free arm. You leaned into her carefully, mindful of Clark between you, she held you against her shoulder while Clark looked up at you with sleepy confusion “Why is Auntie crying?” he murmured.

The innocent concern in his voice broke something inside you “I’m okay, sweetheart,” you whispered. Clark reached out and placed his small hand against your cheek “Don’t cry.”

You closed your eyes, Amanda kissed the side of his head before looking at you “I have to call Nico.”

Your body stiffened “Don´t.”

“He needs to know you’re okay.”

“Tell him that, then. Tell him I’m okay.”

“He needs to see you.”

“I’m not ready.”

Amanda’s expression turned firm “You don’t have to explain everything to him right now. You don’t even have to speak. But I am not letting you leave this building without someone knowing where you are.”

“I trusted you.”

“And I love you enough to risk you being angry with me.” You stared at her, she carefully reached into her bag and pulled out her phone “Please don’t run.”

“I can’t talk to him.”

“Then I’ll talk.”

Amanda called Nico, he answered before the first ring had fully finished “Amanda?”

“I found her.” Silence filled the line. Then Nico’s breath caught so sharply that Amanda pulled the phone slightly away from her ear. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Amanda could hear movement on the other end, something falling, followed by Jack asking Nico what had happened “Where?” Nico finally managed. His voice sounded broken.

“At the medical center. She’s safe.”

“Is she hurt?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m looking at her.”

Another unsteady breath “Put her on the phone.” Your eyes widened, Amanda looked at you “She doesn’t feel ready to talk.”

“Please.” Nico’s voice cracked over the speaker “Please, Amanda. I just need to hear her.”

Your lower lip trembled, Amanda slowly held the phone toward you. You stared at it “Nico,” she said gently, “she’s here.”

There was silence. You could hear him breathing, you reached for the phone with shaking fingers “Nico?” on the other end, a sound escaped him—half exhale, half sob “Baby.”

Your eyes closed, you hadn’t realized how badly you had needed to hear him call you that until it shattered you “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t hang up.”

“I’m not.”

“Please don’t hang up.”

“I won’t.”

He was silent again, you could hear him moving, keys jingling in his hand “Are you really okay?”

“I’m not hurt.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Your throat tightened “No.” Nico inhaled shakily “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m coming to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Nico—”

“I have spent five days not knowing whether you were alive.” His voice broke completely. “Please don’t tell me I don’t have to come.”

Tears began falling faster “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I thought I lost you.”

The words left you unable to breathe “I’m sorry.”

“I’m coming.” He ended the call before his voice could break again, you lowered the phone slowly. Amanda took it from you and slipped it back into her bag “I have to go,” you whispered.

“No.”

“I can’t see him like this.”

“Like what?”

“Broken because of me.”

Amanda stared at you “You didn’t break him by needing help.”

“I disappeared.”

“Yes, and he’s hurt. But that doesn’t mean he stopped loving you.”

“I can’t watch him look at me.”

“You can.”

“No, Amanda.”

“Yes.” She reached for your hand “You’re going to stay, and when he gets here, you’re going to let him decide what he feels instead of deciding for him.”

Clark’s name was called before Nico arrived, Amanda looked between you and the nurse standing in the doorway “I can wait here,” you said quietly.

Amanda hesitated “YN—”

“I won’t leave.”

She studied your face, searching for any sign that you were lying “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Amanda reluctantly followed the nurse with Clark, looking back over her shoulder twice before disappearing down the hallway. You sat alone in the waiting room again, every instinct told you to leave.

The exit was less than twenty feet away.

You could walk out, disappear into the parking lot and be gone before Amanda returned or Nico arrived, you even stood once. Then Nico’s voice came back to you. I thought I lost you.

You sank into the chair.

Less than ten minutes later, the waiting-room doors opened so hard that they slammed against the wall. Several people looked up, Nico stood in the entrance.

For one terrible second, he couldn’t find you. His eyes moved frantically across the room, wide and red-rimmed, his chest rising too quickly. Then his gaze landed on you, he stopped. You had imagined this moment countless times over the past five days.

You had imagined anger, disappointment, maybe even disgust. You hadn’t imagined the way his entire face crumpled with relief.

“Nico…”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He crossed the waiting room so quickly that he nearly stumbled over one of the chairs, you barely had time to stand before he reached you. His hands caught your face first, they were shaking.

He stared at you as if he couldn’t trust his own eyes, his thumbs moving over your cheeks, your eyebrows, your temples, checking for injuries that Amanda might have missed “You’re here.”

His voice was barely more than a breath, you nodded. Nico’s eyes filled immediately “You’re really here.”

“I’m sorry.” He pulled you against him, not carefully. Desperately. One arm locked around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head, pressing your face into his neck as though he needed to hide you there.

The force of his embrace knocked the air from your lungs, you felt his entire body trembling “Nico—”

He made a broken sound against your hair “I couldn’t find you.”

Your hands gripped the back of his jacket “I know.”

“I looked everywhere.”

“I know.”

“I called every hospital.” His voice cracked harder with every sentence “I called every person you’ve ever mentioned. I drove around all night because I thought maybe you were somewhere alone and hurt and waiting for me.”

You began sobbing “I’m sorry.”

“You left your key.” Nico’s fingers tightened against the back of your head “You left your key and that note, and I thought—” He stopped, he couldn’t say it.

You pulled back just enough to see his face, tears had slipped down his cheeks. Nico quickly looked away, ashamed of them, but you caught his jaw and turned him back toward you.

“What did you think?”

His lips trembled “I thought maybe you didn’t want to be found.”

The words hollowed you out “Nico…”

“I thought maybe I would never get to hold you again.” He pulled you back into his chest before you could answer. For several moments, neither of you spoke.

You stood in the middle of the waiting room clinging to one another while strangers pretended not to stare. Nico buried his face against your neck and breathed you in like he needed proof that you were real.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again.

“I’m angry with you.”

You nodded against him “You should be.”

“I’m so angry.” His voice shook “But I’m more scared.”

Your arms tightened around him “I never wanted to do that to you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

You pulled away again, tears running freely down your face “I thought you would be better without me.”

Nico stared at you.

“I thought if I left now, before you saw everything wrong with me, it would hurt less when you eventually realized you didn’t want me.”

His expression twisted with pain “Is that what you think this is?”

“I don’t know what else it could be.”

“Love.” The word came out harshly, almost angrily “This is love.”

You flinched, Nico immediately softened, he cupped your cheeks again “I love you.”

“You think you do.”

“No.”

His voice was firmer now “I know I do.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know that you leave mugs everywhere except the kitchen. I know you can’t sleep if the closet door is open. I know you act like you hate romantic movies and then cry harder than Nicole.” A broken laugh escaped you.

Nico’s thumbs wiped beneath your eyes “I know you call Amanda when you’re overwhelmed because she never pressures you. I know you always sit beside Arseny when he looks lost. I know you cut the crusts off Clark’s sandwiches even though he never asks you to.”

Your face crumpled “And I know you go quiet when you’re hurting because someone taught you that pain makes you difficult.”

Nico rested his forehead against yours “I know you.”

“You know the good parts.”

“I know you left me.” You pulled back slightly, the pain in his eyes made you stop “I know you scared me more than anyone ever has. I know I’m hurt. I know this will take time to fix.” His voice softened “And I still love you.”

You shook your head “My parents—”

“Are wrong.”

“You don’t know what they said.”

“Then tell me.”

“They said I ruin everything.”

“You don’t.”

“They said I’m manipulative when I cry.”

“You’re not.”

“They said anyone who loves me eventually realizes it was a mistake.”

Nico went completely still, then he pressed a kiss to your forehead “They don’t get to decide what I feel.”

“You’ll get tired.”

“Then I’ll rest.” Despite everything, a sobbing laugh broke from your chest, Nico kissed your forehead again “And then I’ll keep loving you.”

“You can’t promise forever.”

“I’m not asking you to believe forever today.” His hands slid down to hold yours “I’m asking you to believe the next five minutes.” You looked at him. “Can you stay with me for five minutes?”

Your throat tightened “Yes.”

“And after that, can you stay for five more?” You nodded, Nico squeezed your hands “That’s all we have to do.”

The door to the hallway opened.

Amanda stepped out carrying Clark, who now had a sticker on his sweater and a prescription for an ear infection. She froze when she saw you and Nico standing together.

Nico’s eyes were still wet, one of his hands remained locked around yours as though he was afraid even loosening his grip might make you disappear again. Amanda’s face crumpled with relief.

Nico looked at her “Thank you.”

Amanda’s lips trembled “Don’t thank me.” She shifted Clark higher against her shoulder “Just don’t let her leave alone.”

Nico’s fingers tightened around yours “I won’t.”

The outside doors opened again.

Jack entered first, with Luke directly behind him. Jesper and Nicole followed, then Jacob, Timo, Jonas and Arseny. Jack stopped so abruptly that Luke nearly walked into his back.

Neither of them said anything at first, they just stared at you, Jack’s face had gone pale. Luke looked as though he had forgotten how to breathe. You had never seen either of them so quiet

“They came?” you whispered. Nico looked toward them “Of course they came.”

Jack reached you first.He stopped a few feet away, his hands flexing uselessly at his sides, for once, he had no joke, no sarcastic comment, nothing “You’re alive,” he said as his voice broke on the last word.

Your eyes filled again “I’m sorry.”

Jack shook his head sharply, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. The hug was almost as desperate as Nico’s had been. Jack buried his face against your shoulder, holding you so tightly that you felt his uneven breathing “You’re such an idiot,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t hate you.” His voice cracked.

“I know.”

Luke joined before Jack let go, wrapping both arms around the two of you, for a moment, you were trapped between them. Luke’s hand gripped the back of your coat “You could’ve called,” he murmured.

“I couldn’t.”

“You could’ve sent one word.”

“I’m sorry.”

Luke pulled back enough to look at you, his eyes were red “Next time, send a period. Send anything. Just let us know you’re there.”

Your mouth trembled “Okay.”

Nicole was crying openly by the time she reached you. Amanda carefully passed Clark to Jacob before pulling you against her chest again and kissing the side of your head. Jesper squeezed your shoulder. Timo looked at you for several seconds, then nodded as though reassuring himself you were truly there.

Jonas released a deep breath “You scared us.”

“I’m sorry.”

Arseny stood slightly apart from the group. His eyes were red, and his hands were pushed deep into the pockets of his jacket. You looked at him “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your messages.”

He frowned “You see messages?”

You nodded “All of them.”

“And no answer?”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

Arseny stepped closer “You say i'm alive.”

Your face crumpled “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and wrapped his arms around you with such suddenness that you almost lost your balance.

“You family,” he said firmly against your hair. “Family answer.”

A wet laugh escaped you.

“I’ll answer next time.”

“No next time.” His broken English made several people laugh through their tears. You held him tighter for a moment “Okay. No next time.” When Arseny released you, Nico immediately reached for your hand again.

You glanced toward the hallway “My father is still inside.”

“Do you want to go back in?” Nico asked, you swallowed “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.”

“My mother will be there.”

“You don’t have to see her.”

“She’ll say I’m cruel.”

Nico squeezed your hand “She can say whatever she wants. That doesn’t make it true.” Amanda stepped closer “And you’re not going in there alone.”

You looked around at everyone who had spent five days searching for you. At Nicole’s tear-streaked face. At Jack and Luke hovering close, both of them still watching you as though they were afraid to blink.

At Clark resting sleepily in Jacob’s arms. At Arseny watching you carefully from beside Timo. At Amanda, who had refused to let you run even when you begged her not to call. At Nico, whose hand had not left yours since he arrived.

For the first time, you let yourself consider that perhaps love did not have to feel like fear. Maybe love could look like people searching every street they knew. Maybe it could look like a mother balancing her sick child on her hip while refusing to let you disappear again.

Maybe it could sound like broken English saying, You family. Maybe it could look like Jack Hughes with tears in his eyes and no joke left to hide behind. Maybe it could be Nico holding your face with shaking hands because he had spent five days believing he might never touch you again.

“I want to go home,” you whispered, Nico’s shoulders dropped with relief “Okay.”

“But I need help.” The admission frightened you almost as much as returning, Nico nodded immediately “We’ll find help.”

“I don’t want to keep doing this.”

“You don’t have to do it alone.”

You looked at him carefully “Are you sure?” Nico lifted your hand and pressed his lips against your knuckles “Five minutes at a time,” he whispered.

Your eyes filled again “Five minutes at a time.”

You still didn’t know how to believe that so many people could love you, Not yet.

The voices your parents had placed inside your head were loud, deeply rooted and cruel. But as Nico led you toward the exit, surrounded by the people who had refused to stop looking for you, another voice began to emerge beneath them.

Quieter, kinder, persistent.

Maybe they loved you because you were useful. Maybe they loved you because you were always smiling. Maybe they loved you because you made their lives easier.

Or maybe—

Just maybe—