WHAT IF WE NEVER MET?

જ⁀➴ ♡ tags: boss/assistant relationship, age gap, fake engagement, fake relationship, marriage of convenience vibes, forced proximity, grumpy x sunshine, workaholics with terrible coping mechanisms, mutual pining, banter, anxiety, loneliness, fear of abandonment, mentions of past emotionally abusive relationships, Harry believes he is destined to die alone, Reader believes love is not meant for her, Reader is Harry’s aggressive chihuahua, miscommunication final boss, pole dancing, unprotected sex, a frankly irresponsible amount of smut, possible breeding kink, one very non-jewelry-related pearl necklace, but don’t worry, babes, this is a rom-com, love is very much on the menu despite all the angst!

So, he does.

You carry what little Matt has, which is almost nothing – a borrowed bag of borrowed clothes – and there’s a small, awful moment in the doorway of your house when he stops on the threshold and just stands there, looking in at the warm lamplit rooms, at the life you've built, at the pegs by the door and the mended quilts and his face quietly comes apart.

“I used to picture this,” he says thickly.

Dylan hugs him, and you stand a little apart with your hand pressed to your mouth and let it be beautiful, because it is. It’s beautiful, it’s the thing the whole town wants, and what your son has prayed for – what you prayed for, once.

You both help him manoeuvre the stairs, Dylan hesitating slightly when you gently propel Matt past your bedroom and down the corridor towards the small, spare room at the end of the hallway.

“Why are you going into the spare room?” he asks, his brow furrowed in confusion as you pause in the doorway.

“It’s for my leg,” Matt replies smoothly. “It means your mom doesn’t have to worry about knocking it and I don’t have to worry about disturbing her during the night.”

You nod and smile, because you and Matt discussed this point – shortly and significantly – before he was discharged and you’re both in agreement that this is the best way forward for now. That sharing a bed, even if only for sleeping, is an intimacy too far for two people just getting to know one another again.

“Oh, okay,” Dylan shrugs, the reason clear and believable for someone his age who can’t see beyond the physicality of his father being in his home.

And then he’s living there, in your house and in your life. And you find out, day by day, exactly how hard it’s going to be.

It’s different than it was in the QZ in a way that’s difficult to rationalise given you lived together for so long. It’s a second person in the kitchen in the morning, moving through the space you've made your own, opening the wrong drawers, not knowing where things live or which floorboard creaks or that you like the window cracked even in the cold.

Someone looking at and weighing up the decisions you’ve made because you thought you were going to be the only one who had to make them.

It’s learning a person all over again – because Matt’s right, you’re strangers now, two years and a whole grief between the people you'd been – and learning him in the very rooms where you've become someone else, someone who belongs to a different man's quiet.

He’s good about it and that’s almost the worst part. He’s patient and careful and kind, exactly as he promised in the clinic, and the sheer decency of it winds the guilt tighter and tighter in you until you can hardly breathe around it. Because how do you resent a man for being good? How do you grieve another man in the house of a husband who does everything right?

Meanwhile, Joel keeps his distance.

He does it well – so well that you don’t think anyone notices, because there’s nothing to notice, just a man being a little less around than he used to be, and everyone has a reason ready to hand if they think about it at all.

But you notice. You notice the way he becomes scarce at the places you used to overlap. You notice that when the whole town gathers – and they gather often, this close to Christmas, the festival ramping up, the communal dinners, the decorating of the hall – Joel will be there and then somehow not be there, will put in his time and slip out before the part of the evening where people get warm and loose and linger.

He doesn’t come to your porch with coffee or visit you in the shop during the limited hours you work whilst Matt gets acclimated. On the one occasion the two of you end up in the same area – the back of the store where they sell paper and pencils – he goes very still and then very courteous, simply nodding and stepping back to let you pass. And that goes into you like a knife because it’s armour. It’s him building a wall out of politeness so neither of you will do something you can’t take back in front of Mary who’s working that day.

Like fuck against a wall.

Or say I love you.

The maintenance of the distance extends to Matt too. You watch Joel literally side-step so that they don’t come face to face, don’t make eye contact, don’t breathe the same air for more than a few seconds. And yet you know that if they were to come into contact, Joel would be kind to Matt, because that’s who he is. He’s the kind of man who steps back and lets a person have what he thinks they need even if they can’t say it themselves and that makes you love him so much you feel sick.

You think about him constantly and you hate to say how constantly.

You'll be in the middle of mending something in your shop and you'll think about Joel's hands.

You'll be at your own table with Matt and Dylan, the three of you laughing at something, a real laugh, a good moment, and some part of you will be around the corner in a lamplit kitchen.

You lie next to the wall of the guest room where Matt sleeps and think about the wall of Joel's house, the one you’ve pressed your hand against whilst he moves behind you, and you have to press your face into the pillow.

It’s hell – and you see no way out of it – even though it’s been of your own doing.

****

Two weeks after Matt moves in, Gail ambushes you in the street, taking hold of your arm firmly and hissing in your ear, “My place, this afternoon, four o’clock.”

“Gail, I…”

“Four o'clock. I’m not kidding and if you don’t show up, I’ll come to you and think how embarrassing that could be.”

Then she smiles at you in that way that means she’s serious, as well as slightly unhinged, and all you can do is nod, even though every part of you is dreading sitting opposite her because you have a feeling you know what she’s going to say.

“Therapy?” Matt says when you tell him over lunch.

“Yeah,” you nod, looking down at your plate. “I started it to help me, you know, make sense of things and deal with some of Dylan’s behaviours and, well, I guess now…now it’s probably important to keep going given how things have changed and…”

“Hey,” he says, his hand coming to rest over yours in a way that both warms and chills you. “You don’t have to justify it to me. Hell, I reckon we all need therapy. Pretty sure I could definitely use some.”

“I can ask her, if you like.”

He hesitates, then nods. “Sure…you can ask her.”

Neither of you say any more about it, but just before four you slip away from the house, leaving him reading in the chair by the fire, and make your way down the street to Gail’s house, stomach churning. Unlike every other occasion, she’s waiting for you at the window, opening the door before you can even knock, every professional pretence absent from her face.

“Holy fuck,” she says when you sit down on the couch. “Holy, holy fuck.”

“Is that a professional opinion?”

“It’s the fucking truth is what it is. I mean…back from the dead like you would never have expected.” She sits back and shakes her head. “And what have I been telling you all these months?”

“That I’m a widow. That I’m entitled to move on.” You shake your head. “Forgive me if I feel a slight perverted pleasure at having proved you wrong.”

Gail doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She just stares at you, blinking slowly, until you start to wonder if she’s having some kind of catatonic episode.

“Who says I was wrong?” she says finally.

“I do. My husband’s alive. After two years, he’s alive and he’s come home to us and now I…” you take a breath. “Now I have to decide what to do.”

“You made a decision when you started fucking Joel.”

A shiver runs through you. “But that was then and this is now and…”

“And nothing’s changed.”

“Gail, come on…” you sigh heavily. “My husband is alive…”

“And you’ve moved on because you thought he was dead.” She shrugs. “Him being alive doesn’t change the fact that you’ve slept with Joel or that you’re in love with Joel or that you were planning on building a life with Joel…”

“Stop…”

“No, I won’t stop.” She leans forwards again. “Because the second I heard Matt was alive, I knew this is exactly what you’d do – sacrifice yourself for other people. For Matt, for Dylan…”

“But surely Matt deserves to get his family back. He didn’t do anything wrong and he’s spent the last two years hoping that one day, he’d find us again. How can I turn around and tell him that everything he’s been through doesn’t matter because I’ve moved on with someone else?”

“How can you not?”

The four words land in a way that you don’t expect, stopping whatever was about to come out of your mouth in its tracks.

“How can you look at him, day in and day out, and pretend that nothing’s changed for you? How can you touch him, kiss him, fuck him…”

“I haven’t…we haven’t…”

“…knowing all the time that you’re thinking about someone else? How can you spend the next however many years the pair of you get in this life pretending that he’s the man you want?”

You swallow hard. “What if he is the man that I want?”

“Is he?”

“I mean I…in time…once things get back to normal…”

“Normal?” Gail snorts. “Listen to yourself. This is not the Kansas City QZ where you’re struggling every day to keep on the right side of FEDRA. This is not the road from there to here where you’re struggling to stay alive. This is Jackson – one of the safest places left in this world. You have a nice life, you have a nice job, you have nice friends, a community, a future…you’ve lived this life without Matt, and you think him coming into what you’ve built is things going back to normal?”

She shakes her head.

“There is no Jackson normal with Matt in it.”

“Not right now, maybe, but we can build it, shape it…” you clasp your hands together in your lap. “We used to talk about what it would look like to be here together. We had a vision and a plan and…”

“And that all went out of the window the minute you and Dylan arrived here without him. And it went out of the window and beat itself to death when you finally accepted Matt was gone and allowed yourself to fall in love with Joel – and what about him? Have you even spoken to him?”

You pause and then decide that, given that Gail is probably the only person in town who knows almost everything about you, you should be honest.

“I went to him that night – the night Matt came home. I told him I didn’t know what to do and he told me to follow my heart and then we…we had sex.”

“Good sex?”

“Incredible,” you reply without hesitation, even though heat climbs into your face. “I mean, it was fast and desperate because…”

“You were saying goodbye?”

“No.” Tears mist your vision. “I told him that we weren’t saying goodbye. I told him that it wasn’t over, that I couldn’t just make a decision and he agreed with that.”

You take a ragged breath.

“I love Joel, I do. But now it’s been weeks and I've got Matt in my house, in the guest room, being a saint about everything, and Dylan’s happier than I've seen him, and I'm supposed to be happy too. Everyone thinks I'm happy. Everyone thinks I’m lucky and I lie awake every single night thinking about a man who lives round the corner and won't even look at me anymore because he loves me and wants to do the right thing."

Gail nods slowly. "What does it feel like when you lie awake?"

"Like I'm being torn in half,” you say flatly. "Because both things are true. That's what nobody understands…what I can't say to anybody. Both things are true at the same time. I'm so glad Matt's alive because the thought of him being killed was…horrific. And when I see him and Dylan together my heart just…it breaks open because my son has his father. That's real. And I loved Matt once, I did, and there's a part of me that still…my body still knows him. It's not gone, it's just old, it's from another life."

You press your hands against your eyes.

"And I love Joel now, the way you love the person you were about to build the rest of your life with. And I can't have both, and I can't choose, and every day I don't choose I'm lying to one of them, probably both of them and definitely to myself."

"You keep saying you can't choose," Gail says. "But you’ve been choosing. You chose to let Matt move in. You chose the family. You've been choosing it steadily since the day he came back.”

"Because it's the right thing to do."

“For who?” She spreads her hands. “For Matt and Dylan? Is it the right thing for them to believe that you’re happy? That you’re all in? That you want to rebuild the family you lost? Is it the right thing for Joel to watch you do it? Most importantly…is it the right thing for you?”

“I…”

“I told you before that you need something of your own. And if that’s Joel, then living this lie – because, deep down, you know that’s what it is – is hurting everyone and helping no-one.”

She sits back again, eyes on your face and lets you cry because you don’t know what to say. Then, when the timer rings, she gives you an uncharacteristic hug and sends you on your way with the promise you’ll return the following week on pain of death.

And you stand out in her front yard with the tears freezing on your cold cheeks feeling yourself split even further open.

****

The days pile up, and the town goes full into its Christmas, everyone half-mad with anticipation, Dylan and Ellie roped into a dozen preparations. Matt throws himself into all of it with the wonder of a man who hasn't seen a holiday in years, hasn't seen anyone celebrate anything, and watching him marvel at it, watching him string popcorn with your son and laugh, you feel the family knitting itself together around you whether you will it or not, feel the world's own weight pulling you back into the shape everyone expects.

Two days before Christmas, Matt moves out of the spare room.

His leg has improved dramatically, and it happens the way these things happen, slow and mutual, a night that’s warm and easy with wine that you traded for, Dylan out with Ellie and some of the other kids, the house quiet with just the two of you. There’s a moment in the kitchen where Matt looks at you and you look at him and, the question hangs there, waiting to be answered. And you answer it, because he's been so patient, because he’s your husband and maybe if you just…maybe if you let your body remember, the rest will follow, and maybe you can feel your way back into it.

You let him into your bed and it’s…fine – more than fine. It’s familiar in a way that surprises you, steadies you and breaks your heart all at once. Your bodies know each other from a lifetime spent together. Even after everything, even two years and another man later, there’s a muscle-memory to it, a way you fit. And it’s gentle and warm and there are moments in it where you close your eyes and it’s almost, almost, the thing it’s supposed to be.

He’s tender with you, like always. He holds you like something he's grieved and dug back up living, and he says your name against your skin the way he did in the yard, and it should be enough, it should be everything.

But you can’t close the gap. That’s the truth of it, and you know it even as it’s happening, even as you move with him and make the right sounds and let your body do the thing bodies do. There’s a place in it where you aren’t, a distance you can’t cross, and it isn’t about performance, it’s somewhere further in than that.

It’s that when you close your eyes, the hands aren’t the hands your body has learned last. It’s that the rhythm is familiar but it’s the familiar of a song from years ago, not the one that lives in you now.

It’s that you've become someone else's, and you can’t un-become it just by willing your body through the old motions. Somewhere underneath the warmth and the tenderness and the almost there is a hollow, a missing, a place where Joel should be and isn’t.

And Matt feels it – you know he does. He’s too perceptive not to and afterward, when you lie tangled and quiet in the lamplight, his heart slowing under your ear, his spend drying on your stomach, you feel him not sleeping the way you aren’t sleeping, feel the careful stillness of a man working up to something.

"Hey," he says finally, his hand moving slowly on your bare shoulder. "Can I ask you something? And you don't have to…I just…I need to ask it, and I need you to be honest with me.”

Your whole body goes still against him. "Okay."

"That was good," he says. "That was…I've dreamed about that for two years, held on to that last night we had in the QZ together through everything. And I want you to know I'm not complaining, I'm not, I'm grateful. I'm grateful for every second of the last few weeks, this house, Dylan, you letting me in slowly like you have. I know it's been hard.”

He pauses.

"But just now…and, if I'm honest, a lot of the last few weeks, I’ve felt there was something. Something in you that's not here, that’s…somewhere else. I can feel it and I could feel it just now, even, right in the middle of…"

He lets out a breath.

"I keep telling myself it's the adjustment. Two years, the grief, the strangeness, of course it's not going to snap right back, we talked about that. But it's also not going away. It's not the kind of thing that's healing over. It feels like…like there's a room in you with the door shut. And I keep walking the house and finding that one door shut."

You can’t breathe. Your eyes fill and spill silently into the dark, into the warmth of his chest, and you don’t trust yourself to make a sound.

"So, I have to ask you," he says, his voice quiet and steady, the voice of a man bracing for the blow he's already half-felt coming. "And I need the true answer, not the kind one. Is there someone else?"

You suddenly understand that this is the door Joel told you not to walk through on the worst night of everyone's life, the door you've folded the truth up small to avoid in the clinic, the door Gail’s been pushing you towards. The door that’s been standing there the whole time waiting for someone honest enough to open it and that Matt, God help you, is the one who's opened it, gently, in his own bed.

And you also suddenly realise that you can’t lie. Not to a man who's survived two years on the picture of you and come home asking only that you be straight with him. Whatever else you owe the tangled situation, you owe Matt the truth to his face when he asks you for it plain in the dark.

You lift your head and make yourself look at him in the low light and feel the whole careful architecture of the last weeks come down around you all at once.

"There's something I have to tell you,” you say finally, voice breaking over the words. “And I've been…I've been such a coward about it, and you deserve so much better than a coward, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You draw a shaking breath, the tears running freely now, and he reaches out and cups your face with one hand, wiping them away, which somehow makes it worse.

"Yes, there's someone. There was someone, before we found you. I need to tell you all of it, everything, and it's going to hurt you, and I hate that, I hate it more than I can say. But you asked me to be honest, and I want to be honest with you because you deserve that from me.”

He nods and swallows. “Before you say anything…does Dylan know?”

“No,” you shake your head. “He doesn’t know anything, I swear, I…he doesn’t know.”

“Okay,” he says again, then he meets your gaze and doesn’t look away. “Is it Joel?”

You hesitate at that moment, mouth open, lips parted, and you know that all you have to say is yes, but somehow you can’t. Somehow the word won’t come – and its not coming is all the validation Matt needs.

He nods again slowly. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, or…tries not to look at you.”

“The…”

“I’m a man, honey – a man who loves and desires you. You think I can’t tell when another man wants the same thing I do? Wants what I have? He hasn’t said anything, I’ll give him that but…”

“Matt…”

“It’s okay,” he exhales raggedly. “It’s okay, I’m not mad or anything. I just want you to tell me. Tell me all of it – right from the beginning.”

You pause and take a breath, because you don’t know if you can be dispassionate about it, don’t know if you can tell him about Joel without giving away how you feel about Joel. And yet you also know that Gail’s right. That the lie hurts everyone and helps no-one.

So, you tell him.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

You helped him to his feet. His hands in yours, holding on like you were an angel sent just for him.

Guiding him inside your home. Your little pocket in the world. Your space, your sanctuary.

You were unsure what broke you, but you couldn’t turn him away now. You would always wonder for the rest of your life what would happen otherwise.

“Sit.” You muttered as he walked with you to the couch.

He obliged, catching his breath. Blood on his lips.

Retreating to your kitchen, you found a cloth he could hold on to while he was here.

Handing it to him gingerly, you watched Arthur collect himself.

“…Thank you.” He muttered. For what, you didn’t know.

A nod as you moved to sit across from him.

His eyes wandered the small interior of your home. The fireplace, the kitchenette, the portraits hanging on the wall, the gorgeous flowers from your garden resting in vases, every little detail that gave your house personality. All of it traced back to you and your love for it all.

Everything was clean, well-kept, and well loved. Even down to how you stitched up the rips in your couch cushions was done with care and skill.

He loved that about you. How much you cared about things, no matter how small.

His eyes found you again, taking in your expression and how you held yourself.

Always so proud. So sure of what you were doing. Your expression gave nothing away, but he saw the idling in your hands.

The overhanging questions were loud in both of your heads.

So, he began first.

“…Why did you leave, sweetheart?”

You knew it was coming. How many times have you rehearsed this conversation in your head?

Because I don’t want you.

Because I wanted better.

I had to leave for my sanity.

Would you have stayed if you were in my shoes?

So many justifications and explanations left your lips in practice, but it felt like none of them held water in his judgment.

“…I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t stay,—I-I wouldn’t. I know I didn’t deserve—“

“Me?”

“Shut up and let me speak, please, Arthur,” You huffed. “Just this once. You know I hate when you do that.”

He closed his lips and sighed.

“I’m sorry…You were saying?” He folded his hands in his lap, fidgeting with the bloodied cloth.

You began again.

“…I didn’t deserve being treated like that. I know that now. Being left alone for days, weeks, months without end and sometime without any notice, wondering if you were even alive or dead until you came back…and then arguing about every little thing in the world…I couldn’t do it anymore…no matter how much I love you and wanted things to be different...”

He wanted to defend himself. Preach again about his obligations. The people who depend on him, his loyalty, and everything you said to him the night you left.

Your continuation stopped him.

“…We ended things horribly. I…often regret what I said to you. I don’t…hate you, Arthur. I can’t. I don’t want to, and I certainly…”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly feeling like closing.

“…don’t wish death on you.”

A budding thought began in your mind, that his illness came from your words to him that night. That somehow, you cursed him in your anger.

He avoided your gaze, something he usually did when confronted with emotions. You saw his eyes were glossier than moments ago.

“…Thank you.” He tried to cover the voice crack at the end with a cough.

“…I never meant to push you away. Make you think I…shoved you aside.”

“…You kind of did, Arthur.”

He exhaled a long sigh, hand reaching back to rest on his neck.

“…Yeah. But I swear, I never meant to. There was a reason I did what I did.”

A flicker of frustration lit in your chest. It sounded like he was going to try and justify himself again, like the whole conversation you just had meant nothing.

“…I understand your commitment to Dutch and everyone, I just wish I…got some of your time too. More than just obligatory visits.” The bite began to chew its way back into your tone, something he picked up on quickly.

“I don’t know what you mean with “obligatory visits”, but you know I always came home when I could and had the time.”

“…Couldn’t make any more time?”

“Well…no. They need me—“

The scrape of the couch against the wood floors surprised him for a moment as you abruptly stood and threw up your arms.

“It’s like you weren’t even fucking listening to me,” you hissed.

“Don’t—“He followed, lunging to catch your arm before you strayed too far.

He caught your hand as you spun around and swung at him again, stuck in another stalemate.

His grip was binding, but not rough as you struggled against him. Trying to writhe yourself free. But dealing with people struggling against him his whole life gave him the upper hand.

“Enough, woman! Stop.”

“Fuck you!”

Pushing him off to strike again, but he caught both your hands just in time and tugged you closer.

“Listen to me,” He gritted.

You managed to free your wrists again, but he was quick to adjust his grip in a matter of moments.

Enraged, the outburst began.

“I needed you!” You cried out, startling him just enough to slip from his grip. Taking a gasping breath, you grasped his arms tightly.

“Doesn’t that matter?? Didn’t I matter? Didn’t you care?!”

His hands held your face with love, but his grip was strong. He shook as he spoke.

“I care,”

Offended at the very thought otherwise.

“How could you even ask that…?”

His thumb gently wiped a stray tear from your cheek.

“…My wife…you’re my wife. Why would I marry you if I didn’t care about you..? I—“

“That means nothing to me now.” You shook your head and pried his hands from your face. Trying to stop the pained look on his face from burning into your memory.

“I was never your first priority. You never cared enough to say “No” to Dutch, but always to me.”

“Baby, I—“

“I know! You had to live by your code and your godforsaken loyalty! I know!” You exclaimed. “Every time I come to you with real hurt, that was always your answer!”

“It’s the truth.” He stood his ground.

“Doesn’t mean I have to accept it.”

“You are acting like a child.” He replied.

“Ugh! Just go, Arthur. Clearly we can’t talk about anything. This was pointless.”

“No. We’re talking about this, you are not shutting me out.”

“Every time we do talk, it turns into this.” You motioned between the two of you. “It only gets worse!”

“Then we’ll try something else.”

The conversation died as he stepped closer and took you in his arms. Snaking around your torso and pulling you to him. His hand found the back of your head, his fingers threaded through your hair, holding your ear to his beating heart.

“…Just…breathe with me. Alright?”

Reflexively, you tensed. Unsure of what to do, or if you even wanted this.

You wanted to keep talking.

Keep driving home your point, trying to get him to see it.

To convince him to see the faults in his actions.

Instead, your mind zeroed in on how his body was behaving.

With him holding you so close, you could perfectly hear his heart and lungs. The thumping of his beating heart, the feeling of the rise and fall of his chest against your ear.

You could audibly hear his body struggling to keep him alive.

The rasp in his breath, the exertion in his lungs, sounding like they were minutes from collapse.

You knew he was only trying to help, but hearing the turmoil in his lungs was too much. The strength it took for him to take just a single breath…

Finally, you gave in and hugged him back. Nails digging into his skin, trying to hide your tears in his shirt.

“…Oh, my god, Arthur…” You wept. Grip tightening on the back of his shirt. “I don’t want you to die.”

He fought hard to stop his own tears. He hasn’t cried since the night you left, but this was a breaking point for him.

He was only trying to make you feel better.

“…I don’t want to die either.” He confessed.

He buried his face in your hair as your sobs continued, swallowing back his own.

“I don’t want you to die thinking I hated you…Or that I didn’t want anything to do with you anymore,” you whimpered.

“I know you don’t, baby. I know. I never wanted you to think I didn’t care about you. Never…”

“I knew you did, I just…”

“Listen to me. I need you to know this,” He began.

“Every single score I had since we were married, I saved some for you. For us. Kept it tucked away so nobody would steal it…so we could live good one day, just you and me. Away from all this. You could live good…The way you deserved.”

He never mentioned this before. You had no idea…

He took a breath and held your eyes.

“…I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t care, right?”

You nodded, his hand cupping your cheek with the utmost care. Unshed tears glittered in his eyes, reflecting the bloodshot color.

“Thats my girl. Don’t ever think I stopped caring, alright?”

You nodded again, drooping your head against his chest again.

His hand came up to cradle you there, holding and resting in the quiet moment.

His heart was still thumping, unchanging from moments prior. The pulsing quickly became a comfort, keeping you in the reality where he was still here. Still alive and still with you.

An idea crossed your mind. Fleeting, stupid, but worth a shot.

You carefully lifted your head to meet his again.

“Please…Arthur. Stay with me.” You begged.

Your hands slid to his collar, gripping the open cloth.

“Please…come home. Just this once.”

He wanted to close the distance so bad.

Say yes and stay with you. Be the husband you deserved while he still could.

His will waived, but he couldn’t do it.

Can’t subject you to this life again, no matter how short it’ll be.

“…I’m still wanted, sweetheart”, He whispered. “It’s worse than before.”

His hands found their rightful place on your waist.

Your eyes dropped to his lips.

“The people comin’ after me, they’re killers. I can’t—“

Silenced as you met his mouth with yours.

The world went quiet for a moment.

For just a second, you were together again. The routine of kissing him when he came home returned, and for just a moment, he forgot.

He deepened the kiss with renewed intensity. Your hands rising to hold his cheeks.

Keep him here.

Keep him with you.

It began slow. His grip on your waist never faltered, only strengthened in hold as he found his way home again in your warmth.

He nipped your bottom lip in question, asking for entry.

A gasp escaped your throat and the flood began.

Memories he tried to bury, all the times in your shared bed. The old house, the old sheets, the old blankets, how he used to make you cry out for him.

The pretty sounds…

The red nail marks down his back…

The fire low in his gut as it all came to a climax…

He could have it again.

But as soon as the thought came, it left with the urgency of realization.

He gripped your arms. Hard. And pulled you back.

Fear in his eyes. Utter horror and disbelief.

“Why would you do that?”

You couldn’t hear him.

“Why would you do that??”

He shook you with fervor.

You felt such whiplash.

“Do you understand what you just did, woman??” He roared.

You swallowed.

You didn’t know.

“What are you—“

He shoved you off. Hands covering his face as he began to pace your living room.

“I don’t understand,” you began.

“It spread.” He spoke so quickly, you almost misheard him.

“What is?”

“Tuberculosis, you goddamn-“ He bit back his outburst with a growl.

A shuttering revelation. A chill up your spine, followed by stomach-dropping fear.

“It’s spread by saliva, woman.” His hands dragged down his face, looking at you again with something you couldn’t name.

Your thoughts raced like wildfire.

You can’t take it back.

Its done.

You’ve damned yourself to the same fate as him.

All because you wanted his love.

“…I didn’t know.” You trembled.

How could you? What prior knowledge could you have possibly had about this disease?

“Well, we can’t do shit about it now. It’s already in you.” It was unclear if the frustration in his tone was for you or him.

He couldn’t even imagine it. The mere thought of you wilting like he was, hacking up a lung and slowly fading into death. Losing your strength so quickly. The pain, the torment…it was too much.

He wanted a drink. To kill something. Anything to relieve the growing guilt in his chest and to hide from the way you looked at him.

You wanted to die on the spot. This was it. You’ve just signed your life away, condemned yourself to an untimely death, and he was the one freaking out.

Your heart beat rapidly in your chest.

“…Arthur, what do I do?” The panic in your voice was palpable.

“Go see a doctor. Now.”

“Come with me.”

“Absolutely not.”

Your already racing heart dropped straight into hell. He wouldn’t…

“…Don’t you dare leave like this. Not now. I need you.”

Not when you needed him the most.

“All I’ve done is ruin you. Mess up you and your life. You were right to leave me, now get going.”

“You don’t get to run away again! It’s all you do when things get tough.”

“You’re one to talk.” He sounded so resigned.

“Don’t speak to me like that!”

“Enough, for christ’s sake!” He yelled. Silencing you with a rough hold on your shoulders.

He turned as the coughing returned, wracking his body and making him bend. He swallowed back the mucus to keep it off your floors.

“I’m not leaving. Not yet. I’ll give you enough cash to get a treatment, get your favorite foods and maybe even live somewhere warmer. It’s easier to manage in hot weather.”

“But you’re not coming with me.”

He paused, catching a breath.

“…I can’t watch you die.”

“Oh, but I have to watch you do it instead??”

“I can’t do this with you anymore.” He exhaled in utter surrender.

From his satchel, he pulled out the money he mentioned. More than reasonable. Tossed it to the table and nodded in goodbye.

“Arthur...” You began, feeling your heart rip in half.

Don’t you dare leave me like this.

He moved to the front door.

“Arthur.” Your voice raised.

You can’t do this to me.

“I love you.” He called behind him.

Opened it the door,

“Arthur!” You yelled.

And he left. Just like that. Gone as soon as he came. The wood shutting behind him.

Your hand slammed against the door.

“You son of a bitch!” You screamed out.

Tears welled in your eyes and overflowed as his footsteps disappeared.

Years worth of memories, pain, longing and the finality if it all, overflowed like a broken damn as your legs gave out beneath you. Gripping the doorknob to try and stay up was futile.

Sinking down to the cold, wooden floor as he mounted his horse and left.

Just like always.

He never changed.

He never will.

You wanted to curse him. Kill him. Hold him. Tie him to a chair to keep him here.

But you didn’t move. Couldn’t.

The dawning realization that you kissed him, and for just a few wonderful seconds, you got to feel it again. His passion and desire to show you how much he missed you was a flicker of happiness in a crashing world.

You were going to get it now too.

The sickness.

You’ve damned yourself to dying alone, coughing and spitting up your own lungs without him beside you.

Withering away until your lungs finally give out. Just like him.

You don’t remember how long you were stuck on the ground. Choking on residual tears and his final words.

To you. His wife. His heart, and his world now destroyed.

“I love you.”

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ . . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .

✰ Epilogue:

The first cough never came.

You spent so long preparing for it. Arranged your will, where you wanted to be buried and even the funeral location.

But nothing happened.

Days, weeks, months, even up to one year since he left, you waited every day for it.

Nothing.

Maybe it was a cruel twist of fate.

You visited the Valentine doctor like clockwork. Checking your health constantly, but he always told you the same thing. You were perfectly healthy.

…You got the dormant strain.

It wasn’t fair.

He should’ve had it.

Maybe he did, and it somehow decided to active.

You don’t know. It’s not like you could ask him.

You saw the headline in the paper. Grieved. Screamed. Cried until your eyes were as red as his were.

So blurry, so full of love.

You got lucky and received a letter from a Mr. Charles Smith who told you where he was buried. It seems Arthur told at least someone about you.

You made the trip as soon as you finished reading.

All the way up that godforsaken mountain, just to see him again.

The cruelest part of your mind began to hope that this was just part of a scam. A con. A stupid, long joke. A way to fake his death so he could finally be free and come home to you.

And when you finally reached the top, he would be standing there. Healthy. Strong. Just as you remembered.

But instead, reality met you.

And that wooden headstone.

Carved with love, grief and the celebration of his life.

Flowers adorned the grave. His name etched in the wood, and a saying that stuck with you.

“Blessed Are Those Who Hunger And Thirst For Righteousness.”

It seems in his time left, he became better.

Did better.

Was better.

But not for you.

The realization stung.

If he was here, you undoubtedly would’ve argued. Bickered, bitched, the whole ordeal.

But for the first time, you were met with calmness to your anger.

The breeze. The sway of nearby trees. Birds. Squirrels. The world moving on.

His silence.

Time blurred while you were up there. It felt like an eternity.

You, staring at the headstone. Watching. Waiting. Hoping.

Your mind’s eye conjured impossible scenarios.

His voice calling you, hidden in the wind.

Finding him behind you with an outstretched hand and the promise of running away.

Bounty hunters, facing you with weapons drawn. Taking you in Arthur’s place.

Van Der Linde himself, here to try and sway you to join the fray.

Arthur, bursting from the ground, undead and rotting. Lunging at you—

“…Mrs. Morgan?”

You startled, the low voice pulling you from your thoughts. You expected to be alone with your thoughts here, not with visiting company.

Nobody had called you that in years.

Who could it be? The law? An associate of Arthur’s? Maybe even a lover…

You finally turned to see the man behind you.

You were met with a face you’ve never seen before.

A kinder face.

He looked at you with something akin to pity.

“Miss…?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. Lost in thought.” You cleared your throat, clasping your hands in front of you.”

“And you are, sir?”

“Charles Smith, ma’am. Arthur, he…talked about you a lot.”

“Did he?”

Charles nodded.

“…Yeah. Very often in his final days. One of our last rides together, he asked me to deliver something to you. I’ve been making the ride here since he passed, hoping to run into you.”

Your head tilted. More money, maybe? But you didn’t need it. Didn’t want it. You wanted him back more than anything.

From Charles’ pocket, he held out a small wooden box. Crude, made in a rush.

“…He left this for you.”

You already knew what was inside.

You took the box with utmost care. Holding the weight in your hands like it was made of glass.

A heart was carved on the top, complete with an arrow piercing through. Below it, your initials and his together.

A little hard to make out, but you knew.

Inside was exactly as you hoped.

His wedding ring.

The band glinting in the sun like a greeting.

He thought about you.

Even in his final moments.

Your lips pulled back into frown.

“Oh…”

Your hands shook as you slipped it on over your thumb. Tracing it with your other finger.

“…Thank you, Mr. Smith.”

It took years to come to terms with grieving your husband longer than you knew him.

But you managed.

Charles visited you once a month. Checking in, fixing what you couldn’t and being a stable presence in the solitude of your home.

You often wondered if Arthur asked him to do it, but maybe Charles was just like that. Thoughtful, considerate,…kind in ways Arthur couldn’t be.

Who knows?

For now, Arthur ring rested on a chain over your heart. Where he never left, and where he’d always stay.

Right where he belonged.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ . . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .

Three years.

Three long years of solitude and bitterness to keep the cold away.

36 months of rage.

1,095 days of hate.

26,280 hours of pain

And 1,577,847.6 minutes of longing.

One final argument in a sea of others was your breaking point with Arthur. A final stand without bullets, without fists, but full of words you never thought you could say to your husband. Words he never thought he’d say to you. His heart. His world, and his wife.

But what’s done is done. That night, you left with a bag of all your things and turned your back on him. On your life together and everything it could have been.

What choice did you have? Arthur married you young and made young promises. A life of happiness and brimming with unconditional love. A promise to put you first and be the husband you deserved.

But now? All these years later? None of it ever happened. Why did you even stay this long?

Time and time again he put the gang before you. How many times had he left abruptly to go with them? Left you for days, weeks and even months without a single word? Left you wondering if he was even alive?

The paperboy down the road was rich every time Arthur went missing. Every day you’d check for the headline you dreaded.

What spouse deserves that?

But now. After everything is said and done, you found your peace. Your own little pocket in the chaotic world. A home you gained from your hard work and dedication to the life you deserved. One he could never give you.

You had a beautiful garden. A well-kept home and the peace of the wilderness. You even had a porch! Complete a swing you put together on your own.

But no matter what you could give yourself, your mind always wondered what could’ve been if he left with you. If you had taken his hand and begged one final time. If he was just a little bit different…

By now, maybe you could’ve had little ones running around your yard instead of wild animals. You could’ve had a bigger garden, full of his favorite foods too. A more secure roof. Maybe even a bigger house overall.

But no. Life dealt your hand and you had to play. You won. But not the jackpot. But you won nonetheless.

At least, thats what you thought.

Now.

With your rifle trained on the figure in your sights. Who trampled your lilies and stepped onto your yard in the middle of the night, you felt unsure.

Arthur always took care of this. Kept you away from this side of the world as much as he could. One of his successful duties as a husband. What would he do if he was here?

“Don’t move.” You spoke out to the intruder. “I’ll shoot.”

The figure’s hands raised halfway in surrender. Their frame swaying slightly.

A drunk?

The rifle wavered.

Maybe they were lost.

“Sir..?” You called out.

The figure tilted their head like they were trying to remember something. They stepped closer. Through your flowers.

An audible gasp entered their lungs as they neared. Followed by a fit of coughs.

You startled a little. The coughs wracked their whole body and forced them to kneel. Your eyes never left their poor frame. Must be one hell of a sickness…

You watch as the stranger picked themselves up and stood again. Wobbling still, but a little more stable as their eyes found yours.

They spat something onto the grass.

Tobacco?

As they entered the threshold of your sanctuary, the lamp caught his face. Illuminating the red stain on his chapped lips.

Blood.

He looked like a corpse. Pale, sickly and complete with dark circles under his eyes. His cheeks were sunken in and the light was gone from his eyes.

He looked thin too. Small. Nearly swimming in his clothes. His broad shoulders carried less muscle in his arms than you remembered.

A dead man walking.

You could’ve sworn your heart stopped.

Why here? Why now?

For a moment you forgot you weren’t together anymore. You forgot every sharp word, broken promise and the sting of being forgotten in his world.

You nearly dropped your rifle and ran to him before your mind caught up to you.

Do not give in.

“…Arthur?”

He stared at you like a ghost. Haunting you, even now. His eyes, red-rimmed and blurry, tried their hardest to focus on you.

The alcohol must have been strong tonight for him to forget your face. Your voice. Your mannerisms.

The recognition set in after a few moments. Tense and confused, his back straightened as his gaze darted all over you in disbelief.

He coughed again. “…Woman,” the bitterness rising like bile in his throat.

You hated when he called you that.

It felt like he was stripping you of everything else you were. Reducing you to what was stuck between your legs. Shrinking you down to something lesser.

You scoffed and lowered your rifle. “Charming. Real charming.”

“Always.” He forced out a smile, flashing the red stains in his teeth.

His eyes roamed over your body. Appreciation that you got even more beautiful since you stormed out that night. Filling out in all the best ways.

Your lips wanted to curl into a snarl. “Go home, you drunk. You’re not welcome here.”

Your tone didn’t deter him even a little. He stepped closer onto the first porch step.

“I can’t see my wife?”

“Your wife?” You shot back incredulously.

“My. Wife.” He insisted.

The cheek on this bastard. Coming into your space. Stepping on your flowers, spitting on your grass and calling you his. Your minds eye conjured an impulsive backhand swinging across his face.

He glanced over his shoulder and looked at the property. The thriving plants, the cleanliness, the smell of basil growing nearby in pots. The small house. The paint job. The structure. The closed curtains. Cutting him off from your little world.

“Go away.” An exasperated beg. You turned to leave him.

“Hey—“

The moment you felt the bony grip of his hand on your arm, something came over you.

Maybe it was all the repressed anger finally pouring out. The tears you hid finally demanded to be acknowledged. The rage of a woman disrespected filled your veins with the adrenaline of a trapped doe.

You didn’t realize what you’d done until you heard the crack of skin against skin. The smack of your hand meeting his face.

It felt good.

He stumbled back a single step. Unprepared. Bewildered.

Five years ago you never would’ve done it. Never even imagined.

But he wasn’t your husband. He was an intruder.

He took a breath. His eyes bore into yours. He sobered just a little.

“…Alright. I’m sorry.”

…Thats it?

You expected more. Yelling, a hand across your own face, even a bullet.

Arthur has killed and hurt worse people for way less disrespect.

But nothing came. Just the deafening silence and the weight of your actions.

You swallowed and straightened up.

“…I’m sorry too. I don’t know what came over me. I’m…very sorry.”

He shrugged.

“I overstepped.”

“But still, I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Don’t do that.” He chided. “I deserved it.”

Finally you two agree on something.

“…Can we start over?”

“Go ahead.” You replied exasperatedly.

He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet.

“It’s good to see you. I’m very happy to see you again. I was lookin’ for you. I, uh…didn’t stop.”

Part of you didn’t believe him. If he looked hard enough, he would’ve found you hours after you left. You left behind tracks, for goodness sake.

Too exhausted to argue, you simply nodded.

“That’s nice. Good to know I was missed.”

His eyes narrowed. Like the very thought of you going unnoticed in his life was insanity. Did you really think that little of him?

“…’Course you were. You…You’re my wife. I married you for a reason.”

You had to swallow back another scoff. An eye roll.

That reason aged out a while ago.

Young love. Young, stupid love. So bright and full of ideas and possibilities. Now dim with reality and actions.

You often wondered what he thought would happen once you wed. He promised you his time, his love and devotion. A life together as a pair. A set.

But as quickly as the promise was made, it seemed to be forgotten.

The day after your wedding, he was called away. Then again. Again, and again.

Dutch’s lapdog. Not yours. Never yours.

Your silence spoke volumes to him.

The familiar bite of his frustration crept into his words.

“No matter what you’ve told yourself, I married you because I love you. I never stopped.”

“Okay, Arthur.”

“Would you stop doing that for Christ’s sake?!” He barked.

“Talking??”

“Good lord, shutting me down! You always do that. Shut down or shut me out! I’ve always hated when you—“

“Oh, you want to get into hate?” You found your bite again. “I’ve hated every moment as your wife! Every day since then, I’ve woken up and wondered what possessed me to say yes to you!! You have given me nothing but a life of misery!”

Your voice raised in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time. Not since your last argument. He missed it. You weren’t shutting him out.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Stop telling me what I mean! I know exactly what I’m saying!”

He shook his head and you wanted to strangle him.

You hated when he did this. See right through you.

Keep pushing.

“You’re upset—“

“No shit, Arthur!”

“Stop! I don’t know why you’re acting like this.”

“Oh.”

The white-hot, blinding rage that overcame you was intoxicating. Addicting. The spine you grew in his absence rising tall.

“You sorry excuse of a man. Of course you don’t know! Why wouldn’t you? All you’ve ever done is pay attention to other people! Never me!”

“Oh, come on, woman! Enough with that!”

“No! You’re going to listen and listen good to what I have to say!”

You stepped closer. Into his space.

His hand shot out and rested on your shoulder. Keeping you away despite the grip.

“Then talk to me. Don’t scream.”

“I will scream if I want to!”

He pushed you away. You caught yourself immediately. Your mind imagined what it would be like to rush him like an angry bull.

He blocked that idea by meeting you on the porch. On even ground.

“Stop acting like you’re the victim. You left me!”

“What else was I supposed to do?!”

Your eyes burned and you felt a weight in your throat.

The deja vu that struck was like a reckoning. How many times have you done this song and dance with him? How many times have you both screamed until your throats were raw?

He was supposed to choose you. He promised he would.

“You were supposed to stay!”

“So were you! How many times did I beg you, Arthur?? For even just a second of your time!”

Circles. Talking in circles.

“Don’t pull that with me. Talking like I abandoned you.”

“You left me! Your wife! alone in that—“

“I came home!”

“Not enough!”

Back on the ring-around.

He looked like he had a response, but got cut off by more coughs. Wracking his whole body. His hand gripping the wooden railing like a vice.

What else could you do but watch. Even on death’s door, all you two could do was argue.

More blood in the grass.

Part of you wanted to help him, but some part of you stayed put and unmotivated. But the growing realization of his condition made you step forward.

He held his hand out to stop you.

Keep your distance.

Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he rose again to his full height.

The fire in his eyed was gone.

“…I never abandoned you,” he breathed. Paused. “I came home. I was there. I showed up.”

You swallowed hard.

“…Only when it was convenient.” A step forward. “When you had the time to grace me with your presence instead of just—“

Arthur threw up his hands and turned from you.

“You’re not even listening to me.”

You scoffed, turning around and taking your rifle with you as your feet moved faster than your mind. Your front door slammed behind you. He wasn’t even hearing you out!

You didn’t have to do this. Look at him. Talk to him. Tolerate him. Slam the door in his face.

Frustration prickled up your back, infecting your rational mind.

“Goodbye, Arthur. You can go.”

“Stop shutting me out, woman!”

Heavy breaths and coughing overcame him again. He couldn’t keep going. Couldn’t keep yelling.

Choking on his words and the mucus in his throat, he gripped the doorknob to stop himself from falling again.

He could think of a million reasons why his eyes were blurry again.

“…I’m sorry, sweetheart,” A ragged breath.

“I can’t let the last time I see you end like this. I wont let it. Please open the door.”

His weary head rested against the wood surface. Eyes closed like he was praying.

With your face in your hands and nails digging into your skin, you asked whoever was listening: Why must this happen? What god did you anger to bring this on? Why you? Why him?

How far have you truly fallen?

Why did your life have to end up like this? It was supposed to be better. He was supposed to be better. You were supposed to be better.

You promised each other to do better.

Now he’s coughing up blood and you’re running out of patience.

It can’t end like this.

Dragging your hands down your face, you bit the bullet and turned around.

He’s suffering.

He stepped back when he heard the door rattle. Your eyes met again. A ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Thank you.” He found his breath again.

You nodded, arms crossing over your chest to shield your palpitating heart. From nerves, anxiety, you didn’t know.

He shifted on his feet. Fingers fidgeting. A deep breath.

“…I got sick a few months ago. Doc said TB. Probably wont last ‘till fall.”

Tuberculosis. You’ve heard of it. Some poor bastard in Valentine had that disease, but still ran a charity. You remember seeing him whenever you’d run into town for the general store. Always made sure to slip in a few dollars for the cause. Watching slowly as that man debilitate over the span of months.

You wanted to cry.

What were you supposed to say to that? “karma’s a bitch?”, “kiss me so we can go together”, “you can’t leave me again”.

You nodded, feigning strength.

“…I’m sorry, Arthur. I really am.”

The awkward tension was palpable with the heavy weight of unsaid words spanning years. What good would they do now?

What good would it do to say you missed him? You wanted him home, here where you can look after him until death. Maybe he can see the leaves turn again if you tried hard enough.

The thoughts left once you finally looked at him. Really looked.

Moments away from collapse and pale as paper.

You weren’t a doctor. Nothing close. What could you do for him? Not a damn thing.

Your arms drooped to your sides. “…So you’re dying is what you’re telling me?”

He nodded. Eyes searching yours for something. Anything. Other than your disdain for him. Please…

“I was…we…came back to this area a few days ago. Something came up. I was in the saloon and somebody recognized me as…well, your husband. Your neighbor. They told me where you were and I…”

“You decided to make the trip.”

The bitterness coated your words like oil. So he wasn’t looking for you. Another lie. He only found you by sheer fucking luck.

“Of course.”

He was stern. Insistent. Almost truthful.

Desperate.

His gaze looked over you once again. Thoughts racing, memories replaying of better days. Times when you’d run into his arms instead of turning him away.

“I want one more night with you,” He began. Before I…”

“Absolutely not.”

Your cut off surprised him. He came all this way…

“Baby, I—“

“I said no, Arthur. Get going.”

“No.”

He closed the distance. Hands holding your arms in silent plea.

Your eyes refused to meet his. This had to be a joke. A scam. A stupid con.

“…Please.”

With gentleness you only remembered from your wedding day, he took your hand in both of his and stepped closer.

His wedding band glinted in the light.

“Look at me.”

His hand moved to your cheek, but faltered when your head shook and the floor suddenly looked so interesting.

The part of you that still loved him was screaming. You’ve lost so much time with him already and once again, he’s going to be taken from you. Why let him back in this time?

You will regret this for the rest of your life if you don’t.

“Please,” He begged. His knees protested as he sunk down onto your porch. Hands gripping your skirt like he was trying to hold himself from falling into hell. “Please, baby…”

Teeth sunk into your bottom lip, curling them back into a frown as you wavered. Eyes burning You looked up and searched the night sky for an answer. A sign. Something.

He’s dying.

He’s begging.

You’re so close to crying.

What were you supposed to do?

You took a deep breath.

“…Okay.”

“Listen, buddy-” the man started, giving her one more squeeze before one of his hands slipped off of her. He held it in front of him, trying to placate Adrian, but it did no good. Adrian’s brow furrowed the moment the man squeezed her and before she could even blink, he reeled back and punched the man square in the jaw. 

He went down like a sack of potatoes.

She gasped and her hands flew to cover her mouth. 

“Adrian!” she said, reaching for the incensed man, trying to pull Adrian back as he moved towards the man who was cradling his bloody nose. He ignored her hands trying to tug him away as he glared down at the man.

“You don’t ever touch her again, ever. Do you understand me?” His voice was tight, as if he was fighting the urge to do something worse than punch the man, and even though she hadn’t been working with Adrian for more than eight months, she knew he could easily kill him for her, and the look on his face told her he wanted to.

“What the fuck man!” he cried. “You broke my nose!” 

“I should’ve broke your fucking hand,” Adrian spit out. “You don’t touch her, you don’t look at her, you don’t even fucking think about her. Do you understand me?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, yes!” he cried, the man's blue eyes frantic as he avoided looking at her. When Adrian finally looked at her, he was seething. 

“Come on,” he said firmly, grabbing her hand while she was still in shock to pull her out of the club. It was once he touched her that she snapped out of her daze, looking back at the man on the ground being helped up by someone else. 

Then she really comprehended what was happening. 

“Adrian!” she said, ripping her hand out of his grasp, and he looked at her eyes, his were wide and confused. 

“What?” he asked, eyes straining against the light. Clearly trying to understand why she was reacting the way she was.

“That was a fucking lead and you punched him!” she yelled, eyes flickering around to make sure no one was paying attention to them. “You weren’t doing your job! You were supposed to be at the bar watching my back and when I looked over you were gone! How was I supposed to signal you that I had found someone from the dossier?” 

“Him?” he asked, brows furrowed and even though they were no longer anywhere near that man he still tried looking behind her for him. “He’s not a target.”

“I swear to you, he was familiar! I think he was in the dossier!” 

“He’s not,” he said, firmly. She fought the urge to scream as she moved away from Adrian, making her way towards the elevator. “He looked nothing like any of the targets!” Adrian cried as she continued stomping away.

“Okay Adrian! I get it! I wasted my time, fucking move on!” she said as he kept pace with her. 

“I was just trying to protect you,” he said adamantly, keeping on her heels. 

“Okay!” she said, trying to get him to stop. She could feel her temper rising and she wanted nothing more than to just be away from him. 

“Your husband-” he started. 

“Adrian!” she cried, spinning on her heel to face him. “Jesus! I’m not your wife! We have nothing Adrian! Nothing! Do you realize that?” she yelled, she waited a beat before she couldn’t stand looking at him anymore and she continued walking away from him. She could hear him keeping pace with her. As annoying as it was, she was glad she could keep yelling at him. “Our first lead this entire week! You might think he wasn’t in the dossier, but I do, and you didn’t let me do my job! Plus, you punched him, so even if I found him later, he probably wouldn’t talk to me at all!”

“He was touching your ass, sorry for playing the part of your HUSBAND!” he yelled. She pulled at her hair, not understanding why he wasn’t listening to her. 

“Adrian! Are you listening to yourself? You’re not my husband! This isn’t a real honeymoon! We are undercover for our jobs, and I know that to you, your job is all fun and games, but I do care about my job and doing good work. The last thing I need is to lose my job because you don’t know how to act during an undercover mission!” He stepped back like she had physically hit him, there’s something in his expression that makes her feel ill. 

“Right, that’s all this is,” he muttered, and something twists in her. 

“Yes, Adrian. This is my job, I’m trying to do my job. You should fucking try it sometime,” she snapped making her way towards the elevator. He still followed her, a little less close this time, but at least he was silent as they got into the elevator. He remained silent as she hit their floor number and the elevator closed and started moving.

The elevator shook and Adrian gasped next to her, his hand grabbing hers tightly. 

“What was that?” 

“Adrian, don’t start,” she said, rubbing her eyes with her other hand, not finding it in herself to pull her hand out of his yet. All she wanted was to be back in the room and to lock herself in the bathroom. Anything to get away from him for just five minutes. The elevator shook again and out of the corner of her eye she saw him pull out a knife from god knows where. “Jesus Christ, put that away,” she said, hand on his arm as he held it steady and pointed out as he glanced all around the elevator. 

“It’s a trap,” he hissed. 

“It is not, Adrian! None of this is a trap because there’s no way this is even a fucking mission at this point. We’re going back with nothing, and you’ll be fine because you’re tight with everyone, and I’m going to lose my fucking job because I’m a bad agent who can’t even handle a simple under cover mission!” she said her voice shrill even to her own ears, quick to swipe away any tears. She knew she was weak but she didn’t need Adrian to see it even more. 

Before he could say anything, the elevator shuttered back to life, jerking the two as Adrian put his knife back wherever he had grabbed it from.

“See, not a trap,” she grumbled as she released his hand and headed towards the room, her brain still swimming.

The door slammed behind Adrian as she pulled out the dossier, ripping out pages and fighting the urge to scream. She laid everything out on the bed, attempting to take any of it in a new light. 

“This makes no fucking sense!” she cried as she took a step back from the dossier she had spread on the bed. 

“Maybe, we’re missing a page?” Adrian tried, eyebrows tight on his forehead as he looked at the pages with a frown. 

“We’re not missing a page, they’re numbered. Maybe Harcourt left something out? Did she make this instead of Chris?” 

“Chris didn’t say, but I’d assume Chris, based on some of the misspelling.” Adrian said with a hum. She frowned and took a step back.

“I’m calling Harcourt, I know Chris said to limit contact, but we need something,” she said as she clicked Emilia’s contact. She answered on the third ring. 

“Hey, lover girl. How’s your getaway with Vig going?” she said with a teasing tone, and she felt heat creep up her neck, immediately regretting the fact she had her on speaker phone. 

“Listen, Emilia, we’re really stuck here. We think we might be missing a page in the dossier or something. Do you know anything about our main target’s connection to this place?” she said, practically begging for an answer as Emilia stayed silent on the line. “Just anything we can use. We’re running out of time.” 

“What do you mean dossier?” Emilia asked after a beat.

“I know, Chris’s dossiers are terrible, hence this mess, and you can barely call it a dossier but we are really lost, right now and could use-”

“Why do you have a dossier? You two are on PTO,” Harcourt said and she froze, looking over at Adrian.

“No, we’re on a mission. Chris sent us here to bust a drug ring,” she said slowly, the gears in her head starting to turn as she realized what was happening. 

“I’m telling you now that you’re on PTO, there’s no mission,” Harcourt repeated back, just as slow as she did, in almost a mocking tone. “Now go enjoy a margarita for me and please keep track of how many times Adrian says something stupid. I have a bet with Ads that he’s going to ruin this before you even give him a real chance.” Harcourt hung up and left her staring at Adrian who looked at her clearly waiting for her reaction. 

“Call Chris,” she said tensely, and Adrian looked at her with wild eyes as he got his phone out and called Chris. “Speaker,” she said, and Adrian listened.

“Yo, Vig. What’s up?” Chris said she could hear video games in the background, she gritted her teeth as she nodded at Adrian to answer him. 

“Hey, Peacemaker! I was uhhh just wondering if you had any information about our target?” Adrian asked, eyes wide and on her. Her eyes were locked on his phone. 

“Target? What are you talking about?” Chris asked, and Adrian frowned. 

“The mission - the dossier you gave us?” Adrian asked, looking at her. 

“Oh, that…fuck Vig, you’ve been taking that seriously? That was just an excuse to get you guys to the resort - I figured you guys would’ve figured out that it was bullshit immediately. Like on the plane like instantly. I made it all up, just copy and pasted shit from old dossiers.” 

“Why the fuck are we on a fake mission, Chris!” she said, snatching the phone from Adrian. 

“What do you mean why the fuck are you on a fake mission where you guys have to be lovey-dovey? I thought it would finally get you guys fucking started! Do you know how exhausting it’s been watching you two for six months?” Chris said, as if they had truly been inconveniencing the man with their crushes and silent looks.

“That’s fucking insane!” she cried. 

“I’m so sorry for trying to help my friend hook up with the girl he’s clearly in love with and the girl who stares at him all day and acts like he hung the stars in the sky!” 

“I’m going to hang up now,” she said coolly, not giving Chris a chance to say anything as she kept her gaze locked on Adrian, who looked like he was about to be sick. “Adrian, have you actually liked me this entire time?” she asked gently, and she watched him bite his cheek. 

“I need you to define ‘liked’ and ‘this entire time’,” he settled on, and she groaned, throwing herself on the plush bed with all the papers covered in lies that had been haunting her this entire fake mission. She was no longer able to even look at Adrian, she was so frustrated. He had put her feelings through the ringer all week, only for her to find out that he had felt the same way. Apparently he had felt this way long enough for Christopher Smith of all people to try to help him out and set them up.  

“You’ve liked me this whole time? Adrian, I’ve been thinking this is all pretend, and it’s been fucking with my head!” she yelled at him, moving her eyes from the ceiling to not miss his reaction, and she watched him throw his hands up in the air and begin pacing. 

“I thought it was part of the mission! I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable like I’m some creep! I’m a feminist! Same thing when we’re at work! I’m not trying to harass you…ya know sexually!” he said back, eyes wide and wild. 

“You thought me sitting in your lap on an empty beach was part of the mission?” she said, sitting up, as annoyed as she felt she couldn’t help but be endeared by Adrian’s clear panic. “We both knew we weren’t going to spot a single target!”

“Yeah, a really fucking good part of the mission, I jerked off in the bathroom that night thinking about that!”

“Adrian!” 

“What! I fucking did! Or should we go back to lying?” he said, his tone wild as he leaned over towards her. She sighed as she watched his chest heave. His face was red, and his eyes were still having a hard time focusing on her. It was then she realized that Adrian was feeling angry or frustrated like she was - but where she was upset that they both had been so blind to the other’s feelings, he was borderlining a panic attack. 

“Adrian,” she said softly, standing up so she could wrap him up in her arms. He stayed stiff for a beat, just a second, before he melted against her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tightly against him. 

“I don’t want to go back to lying,” he murmured into the top of her head, and she sighed. 

“This is insane,” she said, still not over what Chris had done. 

“When have our friends ever been sane,” he whispered, shaking his head. 

She sighed, letting herself close her eyes as she tried to digest any of this. It was absolutely insane that Chris would do this to his friend and his coworker, but there was a part of her that was thankful for Chris’s stupidity and dumbass plans. 

“Remember the first night?” he asked, suddenly out of the blue. When she tilted her head, confusion over her features Adrian kept going. “When you asked me what my number one fear is?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s losing you. Well it’s losing everyone, but the more time we spend together, it’s you. The idea that one day, everyone could just be gone? That I could fuck up and lose everyone, especially after how long it took for me to have friends? and you? Whatever you call this where I pine for you and I'm your annoying colleague at worst and work friend at best? I'll take it, as long as I get to have you in my life it's worth it. So losing you terrifies me more than anything,” he said, his face open and vulnerable as his eyes searched her face, almost desperately. 

“Oh, Ade.” she said softly. 

“I’m serious, you’re…you’re everything to me.” 

“You-”

“From the moment you interviewed, I liked you, and I liked you even more when you started putting sour candy on your desk and you were always nice to me and you laugh at my jokes like you mean it and I just…I love you.”

“Adrian,” she said, her breath caught in her throat as she searched for any inch of lying on his face, but she couldn’t find any. 

“Is that too insane? Too much?” he said immediately, looking panicked. “If I had known Chris’ plan, I would’ve planned a way better speech and ran it by Ads too to make sure it was good and I didn’t say anything stupid. But then again if I knew Chris’ plan I would’ve told you immediately because we’ve been working when we should’ve been relaxing. Even if you don’t like me back we could’ve just had a normal vacation. God, I’m so sorry he did this.”

“No…it’s not insane,” she whispered, moving closer to him. A smile broke out on his face as his hands went to her waist, squeezing her gently. 

“Yeah?”

“Love is…a lot for right now,” she said, his smile twitching for just a second. “But I do really like you Adrian. This whole mission has been torture because all I wanted was for all this to be real. For you to look at me and for it to be real and I just…”

“It’s always been real,” he said, voice almost sounding hoarse. “The way I look about you and think about you. I wasn’t acting, if anything I’ve been selfish this whole time.” 

“The way I’ve been with you, it’s been real too,” she said, voice shaking. 

“I am sorry,” he said, suddenly sounding rueful as she looked at him. Confusion all over her features. “For not being there when you needed me, I should’ve been watching and making sure you were safe. I want to do that, not only for missions but outside of all this,” he said, fidgeting with his hands, his face almost looking like he was in pain. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, realizing how hard Adrian must’ve taken her words. 

“It’s not,” he said, voice firm. “But I’d like to make it up to you if you’ll let me,” he asked, his green eyes never wavering from her eyes. His intensity made her start to well up, this whole time it had been eating her up inside not knowing where she stood with Adrian and to find out that he cared the same for her, if not more, was almost too much. 

“I think I can find it in me to let you try,” she teased and Adrian let out a huff. “And I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have blown up at you.” 

“Nah, it was hot and I deserved it,” he said, finally a smile crossing his features as he took a step closer to her. 

“Well, either way I’m still sorry,” she whispered as Adrian’s smile grew, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, wiping away a tear. 

“Can I kiss you? Please can I kiss you?” he begged, and she let out a watery laugh. 

“Yes, Adrian. You can kiss me,” she said and he took no time to cup both her cheeks as he was quick to smash their lips together. As far as first kisses went, it was clunky, awkward, a little too much teeth from Adrian, but she wouldn’t change it for the world. 

All because it was real.

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“No, I’m not,” he mumbled, voice considerably more awake than hers as he buried his face in the back of her head. She felt him take a deep breath. “I think today we just do the club, not dinner and the club.”

“What’s the thought process?” she asked, finally prying herself out of Adrian’s grip. She stood up and stretched while Adrian groaned from the loss of contact. He flopped over to where she had been laying and looked up at her, his eyes locked on her the whole time.

“Well, we still have tomorrow, right? We should split up the two leads in case we don’t find anything today, and then we still have something to do tomorrow,” he said. She frowned.

“So club tonight, dinner tomorrow, and just hope that between that we get something?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think club tonight, too, because if I have to go to a club and then the following day get on an airplane I’m going to shoot myself,” he said, sounding serious, and she laughed.

“I get it, a day’s break between them,” she said, shaking her head as she left Adrian in the bed and got out her clothes for the day.

“Well, if we’re only doing the club, you can come back to bed?” he suggested, voice almost hopeful and tinted with a question rather than a statement. God, she wanted nothing more than to take him up on that offer. To get back into bed and maybe this time be a little braver - face him, or lay on top of his chest listening to his heartbeat. Maybe his hand would rub her back and slowly travel lower and lower-

“Adrian, we still should get breakfast and wander around today to see if we find anything,” she cut her own thoughts off, heat rising on her face as she pulled out an outfit that should suffice for the day and the club tonight.

“I guess that’s a good point,” he mumbled and got out of bed. Holding her clothes, she gave him a good once over. His skin was significantly less pink but the burn still looked uncomfortable.

“How’s your sunburn?”

“Hurts, debating if a cold shower is worth it,” he muttered as he got out of bed and went over to his own suitcase. “What do you want to do today besides the club?”

“Maybe we do breakfast at the hotel restaurant instead? See if we can find any of the targets,” she tried. She watched Adrian roll his neck, clearly debating her idea and she had to force herself to look away because all she wanted was to sink her teeth into his neck.

“What if we go to the gym instead? Spar and watch people on the treadmills?” he asked.

“I don’t think sparring is a good idea when we are undercover. Especially if the reason we might not be finding our targets is because they’re on to us.”

“You think someone is on to us?” he asked, sounding like he was in disbelief. She sighed.

“No, but I just want this to be something other than us being bad at our job,” she said with a frown. Adrian clicked his tongue.

“We are not bad at our jobs. You are not bad at your job. I’m telling you, we have to be missing something, okay?” he said firmly. She smiled at him, the look on his face deadly serious.

“Okay,” she said with a nod, and he seemed to accept her response.

“Okay, breakfast at the hotel and then a quick workout? You could just watch me!” Adrian said, waggling his eyebrows up and down as she awkwardly laughed, worried that Adrian suddenly knew exactly what she was thinking about his neck as she grabbed her clothes and made her way into the bathroom. “I’m just saying, we’re on our honeymoon, you should objectify me a little bit.”

She fought the urge to tell him that she had been and he was either too clueless or blind to notice.

“Oh, just a little bit?” she said with a laugh. Adrian’s face split into a huge grin.

“I mean, if you want to objectify me a lot you can do that,” he said with a shrug. She rolled her eyes and closed the bathroom door. “Only if you wanted to though! I’m not forcing you,” he said through the bathroom door and she started getting dressed for the day.

“I know you’re not,” she shouted through the door. “I’d love to objectify you while you work out at the gym,” she teased. She heard Adrian mutter ‘score’ under his breath, and she almost had the perfect picture of him in her mind doing his ‘famous butt dance’ she had seen after too many drinks at a staff outing. She probably spent too much time getting ready for the day they were planning. She normally wouldn’t wear club outfits or do her hair so nice if they were just wandering around, but she knew if they were going to make today count they needed to be out of the room as much as possible, so she took her time showering, doing her hair, and doing light and simple makeup. It wasn’t her best club look, but it was the best she can do with how much they needed to get done for the day.

True to her promise, shortly after getting ready and enjoying a breakfast that Adrian did not appreciate as much as the buffet (he only told her fifty times, complaining about not being able to get a little of everything, to which she reminded him it was all inclusive and he could just do that), she spent the rest of her morning with a drink in hand as she watched Adrian work out.

She had to immediately assume that he was partially showing off, spending most of the time shirtless and clearly flexing for her. His eyes flickered from the equipment to her, making sure she was actually watching him, almost reminding her of when little kids fight for their parents’ attention to show them some of the lamest tricks in existence. She felt giddy just watching him and it was clear he felt giddy as she just watched him. Her head was buzzing at the thought that he was doing all of this just for her. She fought back a laugh as he clearly tried showing off his back as he stretched and flexed for her entertainment and tried to watch her, only for someone to run into him and spill a smoothie all over him.

“Oh my god,” he said, turning to look at her, torso covered in the pink sticky liquid as he grimaced.

“I think you got a little something…” she said smiling as she gestured towards his torso. He frowned and rolled his eyes.

“Ugh, I’m going to be sticky all day now!” he whined, and she laughed.

“Go take a shower and I’ll meet you by the pool okay?” she asked, walking up to Adrian. She laughed as he pouted, she was quick to cup his cheek with one hand and kiss his other cheek. Her thumb rubbing the apple of his cheek as his lips twitched.

“Okay,” he said softly, walking away before swiftly turning on his heel to come back to kiss her cheek. She laughed at his goofiness as she watched him walk off. It was so easy to play up this part with him, but once she was alone she was consumed with the thought that this is all fake. Every touch, every glance, every smile, it was all fake. Just for work and nothing more. The only genuine moment she had was the previous night, when he wrapped himself around her and held her all night long.

The rest of the day passed by normally. The two continued playing up the newlywed bit throughout the day waiting patiently for the club to open. Their eyes on every guest but with no luck of them matching anything on the dossier. Well, she was being patient. Adrian was antsy. It didn’t take much puttering around for the time to fly and for them to find themselves in the brightly colored and glowing club. Her simple look from earlier looked severely underdressed, but at least it was better than her other day to day outfits and since Adrian was in a similar boat they looked out of place together.

She grimaced the moment they walked in, her arm looped into Adrian’s as she shuffled in her dress and took in all the people.

Way too many people to even begin looking through.

Adrian seemed to feel her worry as he led them towards the bar, letting her order her own drink while he ordered a nonalcoholic beverage.

“Why don’t you get something? One drink isn’t going to kill you,” she teased, leaning against the bar and looking up at him as he smiled.

“Just prefer it, want to keep sharp for you,” he said with a shrug. “You can have as much as you want though, I’ll watch out for you.”

“That’s really sweet Ade, but I’ll probably just stick with the one,” she said, thanking the bartender as she handed them their drinks.

“Are you positive Economos knew what he was talking about?” Adrian whispered over his drink, a Shirley temple. His white linen shirt positively glowed under the club lights. She moved to lean against the bar, taking a sip of her drink and taking in all the people.

“I mean, if you were doing sketchy business…” she started.

“A club is a great place to do it,” Adrian said, nodding, almost sounding like he was reciting a rule book. She had noticed that he carried around a notebook when he was patrolling as Vigilante. She smiled and thought about Adrian pausing his busy night protecting Evergreen to scribble down some notes or a doodle. “What’s your preferred game plan on this one?” She sighed and looked around, biting the inside of her cheek while she debated.

“You think you can keep watch near the bar and I’ll go dance?” she asked, and Adrian looked at her with wide eyes.

“You want to split up?”

“No, I just think if I’m in the middle of the club, I’d like someone looking out who has an almost full scope of the place.”

“Then I should get in the vents!”

“You’re not getting in the vents. This is not a spy movie,” she said with a laugh, and Adrian rolled his eyes, but an easy smile rested on his face.

“But it could be,” Adrian said, shrugging his shoulders as if it was simply that easy.

“You stay here, watch my back for me?” she said, setting her drink on the bar.

“Always,” he said, voice tight and focused, almost as if he’s insulted that she felt she had to ask him for anything. She tried to not read too much into it as she began making her way on the dance floor watching the people pass by. Her eyes cataloged people carefully, but no one stuck out to her from any part of the dossier.

It didn’t take long for her to lose track of Adrian as he remained at the bar, but she trusted that he had his eye on her, ready to step in if she found herself in any trouble. She turned around to meet the eyes of a man who looked vaguely familiar smiling at her.

Alarm bells started going off in her head; he did just look like some guy, but if he looked somewhat familiar, maybe that meant he was from the dossier, and she was desperate for that to be true.

“Hey beautiful,” he said, smile still beaming. “Can I dance with you?”

“Oh!” she said, turning towards the direction Adrian went but unable to find him. She cursed herself for asking to split up. Adrian would be able to confirm if he was in the dossier.

“Well?” he asked, eyebrows raised as his blue eyes took in her body. She felt her skin begin to crawl from his look, but she knew better than anyone not to raise a fuss - especially when she had a mission to take care of.

“Of course,” she said, smiling gently. “What brings you to Florida?” she asked, cursing her eagerness, but felt lucky he laughed it off.

“I’m on vacation, what about you?” he said, laughing brightly, almost sounding fake and practiced. It almost sounded like Adrian’s laugh, but wrong.

“I’m on my honeymoon!” she said, keeping her voice relaxed and easy.

“Where’s your husband then? Don’t tell me he left a beautiful girl to dance on her own?” he asked, hands suddenly pulling at her waist and tugging her into him as she gasped, hands flying to his chest to steady herself.

“He’s around here somewhere,” she said vaguely, craning her neck to try to get a look at the bar, but he spun her right around.

“Well, if you were mine I don’t think I’d ever let you out of my sight,” he said, pulling her closer and nibbling at her ear. She shuddered and tried to squirm away, laughing to play it off, but the man’s grip remained tight.

“Oh! He was somewhere around the bar, I’m sure he’s looking for me so I should-”

“He’s not here, beautiful. You should worry more about who’s in front of you,” he said, words heavy as her panic began to rise, his hand moving to cup her ass, she gasped as he squeezed. She didn’t understand where on earth Adrian could’ve gone off too. He said he’d watch her back, why wasn’t he-

“Her husband’s right here,” Adrian’s voice said behind her, sounding cold.

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Adrian made no move to grab it, and she couldn’t find it in herself to do the responsible thing. 

Was it even the responsible thing to pick it up? She tried to justify it to herself. Surely if Adrian wanted it back up he’d pick it up. He was a grown adult, and he was never afraid to voice his opinion or complain when he didn’t like something. The line had already become too blurry with all their fake marriage and the failed mission. 

If she was going to go home after fucking up the mission, she was at the very least going to enjoy nursing her tiny crush on the strange man without the eyes of her coworkers on her.

Those were the brave thoughts, which disappeared quickly as they were both in pajamas and staring at the bed. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him as she shifted back and forth before finally deciding to just put the ball fully in his court. 

She launched herself on her side and turned her nightstand light off while Adrian was still standing. She pulled the comforter over her waist, lying on her side, and watched the window - trying her best to ignore all of Adrian’s little sounds. Especially as they got closer and closer towards her. For a vigilante who frequently stalked people, he sure was loud as he hummed and walked around. 

She wished she knew the song he was humming, just so she’d have something to talk to him about, but no one ever really seemed to know what was going on in Adrian’s head. 

She felt herself tense when he turned the lights fully off and joined her in the bed. Even though she was laying silently on her side, she felt a shift behind her. Despite the dark she could make out that he was still sitting up slightly, watching her through the window. She wished the window showed her a clearer picture, one that she could actually read what he was thinking. All she could make out was the fact his eyes couldn’t seem to focus on any one part of her. 

She remained still as he moved closer, lying down close behind her. She could feel heat radiating off of him. He was closer to where the pillow was than where he had been resting in the nights prior. She sucked in a breath as his hand came to rest on her waist. They were both still wide awake, her whole body feeling electric from his touch. 

This was completely new from him, unprompted. This wasn’t them playing up an act in front of targets; this was small and just for them. 

It was confusing because Adrian hated gentle touching. He hated human skin. Hell, he had told her just a few days before that he didn’t like soft touches, and yet here he was, holding her like she was the most precious person in his world. 

“Is this okay?” he murmured. She shivered at his mouth being so close to her ear, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up. 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she said tensely. At her words, Adrian tugged her slightly back, his other hand snaking underneath her head on the pillow. Adrian sighed as he relaxed against her and her eyes remained wide open. She fought back a giggle as Adrian started tapping her absentmindedly. Feeling brave, she moved her own hand to grab his hand and fully bring it around her. She tangled their fingers together and she told herself it was to avoid him tickling her more. 

“Your hands are soft,” he murmured, starting to sound sleepy, and she smiled. 

“And yours are clammy,” she teased. His grip loosened, and she tightened hers, not letting him get too far away from her. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, you’re fine.” He hummed and went back to clutching her hand.

“You’re much nicer to cuddle than Stretch,” he said, and she smiled. 

“The beanie baby?” she asked, amused by the idea of Adrian’s 5’11” frame curling around a tiny beanie baby.

“Yes! You know Stetch?” he asked, squeezing her against him, making her smile. She felt like she was becoming his own personal fidget toy. 

“Yes, I know Stretch. I might’ve been warned he might join our trip,” she said, and Adrian scoffed. 

“Who said that Hacourt? Ads? Surely not Economos.” 

“Chris,” she said, and Adrian gasped. 

“Betrayed by Chris! He knows I don’t take any of my beanie babies on missions! I don’t even take them out of my Vigilante basement!” Adrian defended, and she laughed hard, curling into herself. Adrian laughed and continued to hold her tightly as if this was a normal thing they did. 

“He just let me know in passing, I don’t think it was to make fun of you or anything,” she said, and he sighed. “Besides, you should know by now Adrian, that I’m never going to judge you,” she could feel him get fidgety behind her.

“Is this weird?” he asked suddenly, and she craned her neck, trying to turn to see him, but he kept her in place so she relented and turned back towards the window. She couldn’t see his anymore due to the fact he was practically hiding behind her.

“Is what weird?” she asked. 

“This? Me holding you? Is it…okay?” he asked, sounding almost scared. “I just…with this whole mission there’s like no consent at all really for either of us and I just wanted to know what it would be like to hold you…if you know…” he sucked in a quick breath. “WeBothGotToChoose” he rushed out, and she laughed. 

“If what?” 

“If we both got to choose!” he yelled directly in her ear and she flinched. Adrian winced, clearly apologetic.

“Oh, well…I don’t know if it’s normal,” she answered honestly. “But I like it.” 

“I like it too,” he whispered. “You’re warm and nice and just…really pretty.” 

“Oh,” she said, blinking and trying to process what he was saying. “I…I think you’re really handsome too,” she whispered, and Adrian laughed. 

“You don’t have to lie,” he said, being dead serious and she shook her head. 

“I’m not Adrian. You’re…really attractive,” she said and when she could feel him tense she found herself starting to ramble. “I mean, Adrian you’re really nice, you always check in on me, you bring me coffee. You were one of the first people at Checkmate who came up to get to know me and you just…you’re a good person.”

“Oh,” he said. “I never knew you thought of me like that.”

“I never knew you thought I was really pretty,” she whispered, and silence swallowed them both. The words of a confession are almost there and yet still so far away. Neither of them felt any braver than before.

“You’re more than just really pretty!” he defended. “I love the way you have the best candy out of everyone’s candy dish, and how you always check in on me after a mission. You never laugh at me and you’re just…you always make my day better. You have way more value than just a pretty face, I would never ever reduce you to that,” he finished sounding more confident and almost angry near the end. 

“Thank you, Adrian.” she whispered. 

“I mean it,” he said, squeezing her as if that would make her believe him. 

“How are you feeling about the fact we’re more than likely going home from this mission empty handed?” she said after a beat, clearly not wanting to sit any longer with his words weighing down on both of them. She was too nervous, too scared for what would come next. 

“We’re not! We still have two nights left!” he said, and she sighed. 

“Adrian, we have nothing. I mean, what are we going to say to the others at the debrief? We’re sorry we failed?” she said, unable to hide her snark. 

“We’re not going to fail,” Adrian said softly. “You’re smart and an amazing agent. We still have two whole days left and Economos gave us two leads! Two! Dinner and the club!” 

“But what if that’s not enough?” she whispered, knowing if she was facing Adrian there would be no way she would be able to voice these worries. 

“You know you’re an amazing agent, right?” Adrian asked after a beat, she blinked and turned her head, barely seeing him out of the corner of her eye. He looked nervous as he watched her. 

“What?” 

“I just mean…maybe I’m overstepping, but like you’re just as good of an agent as Harcourt and me and Chris and just everyone at Checkmate. You got the job because you’re qualified and we trust you. If we go back empty handed everyone will understand, I understand. One bad mission is not going to change any of this.” 

“What if it’s still not enough,” she whispered. 

“Then it’s not enough and we go back and tell them and if needed, we come back with more support. Fuck we can just tell them it’s my fault, I don’t care,” he said simply. “Yes it sucks to go home with nothing but even on the most boring of stakeouts you learn something!”

“Yeah? What are we learning by fucking up here?” she said with a scoff. 

“That Chris is terrible at writing dossiers and shouldn’t be in charge of mission info,” he said, and she laughed hard, for a moment leaning away from him. He held her tightly, bending with her as if being apart would be too much. “But I’m serious, we’ll be fine.” 

“I just don’t think that’s going to be enough,” she said. 

“Yes, it is because even if we come back with nothing we learned somewhere someone either lied or we lost some valuable information. Or maybe the person that hired us was trying to trick us or something. Hell, I don’t know. We’ll go back, regroup and figure it out. We will be fine, you’re going to be fine,” he pushed, trying to get her to understand. 

“Yeah, I guess,” she said. 

“We still need to get everyone souvenirs,” Adrian said, and she let out a laugh. His ability to flip her mood so 360 wasn’t lost on her. 

“What? All those Combos weren’t enough?” she said with a chuckle, and Adrian scoffed. 

“No, I think we should get them something. What do you think? Magnets? Postcards? Pencils?” he asked. 

“We can just get a couple of each and let everyone pick what they want?” she tried and Adrian laughed, squeezing her against him. His laugh made her smile, despite the weight of the mission on her, in Adrian’s arms and him laughing it all felt so small and far away. 

“See! You’re so smart. We are going to figure all this out, I promise.” he said, shaking her slightly as if he could shake his belief in her, she fought the urge to hide away, letting Adrian see her smile in the window reflection. 

She closed her eyes and released a sigh, focusing on the feeling of his arms around her as her smile grew. He did have a special way of easing her mind.  

“I thought you didn’t like soft touching?” she whispered, fighting back sleep more and more at Adrian’s weight and warmth around her. 

“I don’t…it’s just different with you,” he said softly, sounding almost surprised at the feeling. “Get some rest, okay? We have a lot of work tomorrow and I know I can’t keep carrying our little duo here,” he joked and she huffed 

“You wish you were on my level,” she murmured, finally succumbing to sleep, but not until Adrian’s last words hit her ears.

“I wish that too,” in almost a sad tone.

_

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Lucky for you, a wedding is exactly the kind of bustling event that can keep your mind occupied with other things.

You can't afford to get distracted by work, or by your latest manuscript, which has been giving you a massive headache these past few days. Nor can you dwell on what will become of you after all this is over. The choice between staying in Austin or moving back to New York has haunted you for the last week, and you were just about to sit down and make a pros and cons list.

But you can’t think about that. You shouldn't, really.

Weddings are fun if you know how to make the most of them. Especially if you aren’t the one getting married. The truth is, after spending weeks tagging along with Yov and Santi here and there, listening to all the wedding prep, you actually considered taking an anxiety pill.

Having a planner helps, it helps a lot. But some things just can't be allowed to slip through your fingers. At the end of the day, the bride and groom have the final say, which means things can get incredibly stressful, incredibly fast. But in the end, it will all be worth it.

Austin, October 8, 2026

I wonder if Mr. Darcy will recognize the smell of home right away. I wonder if I’ll realize just how much I’ve missed it these past few months.

I want to see everyone.

Everyone.

"Oh my gosh, you’re finally here!"

Emma crashed right into you, wrapping her arms around your neck before you could even flash a full smile. Her hair smelled like coconut.

"I'm here," you laughed, hugging her back. "I've missed you so much."

"Me too," she squeezed, tight enough to fuse her ribs with yours. Then, resting her hands on your shoulders, she stepped back just an inch. "You smell amazing!"

"I was literally just thinking the same thing about you!"

Emma laughed.

All around you, people streamed in and out of the airport, hauling heavy suitcases and overstuffed bags. It was a gorgeous day; the sky was clear and bright, the air surprisingly crisp. Nearby, a couple was reuniting with a warm embrace and a few perfectly public appropriate kisses. It was a sweet scene, but not enough to pull your eyes away from your friend's face.

The drive home was quick and fun. Inside Emma’s car, it smelled clean and citrusy, and a Lana Del Rey song was going through the speakers. She had picked up two coffees, one for each of you, and you sipped yours while hearing her repeat you can be the boss, daddy, you can be the boss over and over again, wrinkling her nose every time her sunglasses slid down the bridge.

In the back seat, Mr. Darcy was sitting in his crate, remarkably quiet and relaxed. You could already tell he’d turned into a true New Yorker.

"Darcy is gonna be so happy to be home. Here he can climb up onto the kitchen window sill. I'm sure he misses watching people walk by on the street," you said, and the image of the cat pressed against the glass in the warm sunlight flashed through your mind.

"Mhm, that’s true. In New York people probably looked like tiny little ants, didn't they?"

You smiled. "They did."

Emma’s cheeks bunched up into a soft smile, and she glanced over at you for a second.

"Okay, and what did you miss?"

"Now that I’m actually here? I feel like I missed everything. I didn’t really notice it over there." You looked out the window, the rush of air brushing the strands of your hair against your neck. A deep sigh escaped your chest. "Have you heard anything about Francisco?"

You had managed to keep your simmering curiosity under wraps during your entire stay in New York. You hadn’t asked about him when Emma came to visit a few weeks ago, nor had you brought him up to Santi (or anyone) over the phone.

You mastered that control for months, all through the flight to Austin, and during the first twenty minutes after Emma picked you up. But as the landscape grew closer and more familiar, you simply had to ask.

You turned to look at her almost immediately.

"Frankie?" she asked.

You offered a faint smile. "I doubt I know any other."

"Right, who else?" She rolled her eyes playfully. She paused for a few seconds as the traffic light ahead shifted to red, bringing the car to a smooth stop. "He’s doing good. He's here in Austin, actually."

Your stomach did a complete flip. "Already? When did he get back?"

Emma pursed her lips to the side. "Like, a month ago?"

You raised a single eyebrow. "Really?"

She sighed. "He moved back to Austin last month."

"Emma."

"With Luna and Jamie."

You pressed your back against the seat, watching the scenery flash past the window as a hundred different thoughts raced through your mind. Yet, you didn't let yourself dwell on any of them for too long, only managing to say,

"Well, that makes sense."

"It does," Emma agreed.

"And where are they staying? With Helena?"

"At first, yeah, all three of them. I think Luna and Jamie are still there with her, but Frankie already moved out."

"Oh, he didn't go back to his place?"

She shook her head. "No. He actually put his house on the market and found a spot out in Circle Ranch. The guys helped him move in last week."

Okay. Recalculating.

Recalculating…

"Oh. I… That's… nice. Circle Ranch?"

"Yeah," Emma smiled, glancing over at you with raised eyebrows. "I never pinned Frankie as the type to go for the whole white-picket-fence and a dog kind of vibe."

"Does he have a dog now?"

"No," she laughed. "But it’s that kind of neighborhood, you know?"

You smiled and turned your gaze back to the window.

"Maybe he got used to the Boston suburbs and wanted something similar," you suggested.

"Maybe."

Whatever the reason behind Frankie's move, you felt good about it. You knew his old house was a bit crowded with painful heavy memories that he probably didn't care to relive. You knew he was completely sick of his next door neighbor too, Clint, who always parked right in front of his driveway and blasted his music way too loud. Or the dog from across the street that constantly wandered into his front yard to do its business on the freshly cut grass.

You were genuinely happy for him.

"C'mon, baby, c'mon out."

As you unlatched the little door to Darcy’s crate, you watched his curious eyes take in the surroundings. His tiny nose twitched upward, his eyes narrowing as he sniffed, instantly recognizing his home.

A second later, he stepped out with confidence, raising his tail high in a friendly greeting.

If you had a tail, you’d be doing the exact same thing, because oh, how incredibly happy you were to be back.

You hadn’t realized just how much you’d missed this place until you walked through the front door. Your living room was completely bathed in sunlight, the half-drawn orange curtains cast a warm glow into every corner, and there was a wonderful scent in the air that you definitely had Emma to thank for; she had been looking after the place, keeping it perfectly neat and tidy.

You grabbed your suitcase and rolled it into your bedroom, where your bed was neatly made and the floors practically gleamed as the sunlight hit your feet.

Unzipping it, you began to gradually unpack your things. Emma walked in just a moment later, holding a mug of freshly brewed tea for you and one for herself in the other hand. She set yours down on the nightstand.

"So, what do you wanna do today?" she asked.

You looked up at her, gently biting your tongue without realizing it.

"Well, first things first, I need to go get my car."

"Want me to drive you?"

You scoffed playfully. "Obviously. Is Will home?"

"He gets back at one."

"Oh, okay. Wanna eat something?"

"Yeah," she said, plop down on the edge of the bed. "I’ll order something, and we can just crash on the couch and watch some TV like the good ol' days, baby."

You smiled, your eyes crinkling. "Yes, please. I have missed doing that with you so much."

Emma hummed. "My butt has missed sitting next to yours, too."

You laughed. "Friends? How does that sound?"

She pointed a finger at you. "Yes! And since we are officially in wedding mode, we have to watch season seven."

"Yes!" You raised your eyebrows. "We should watch Monica and Chandler’s wedding and then Phoebe and Mike's!"

"Yeah," she grinned, her eyebrows knitting together playfully. "And let's get ice cream too. Will can wait!"

A wide smile spread across your face, and your chest swelled with warmth.

You were finally home.

Sometimes, getting involved with your brother’s best friend can be the best decision you ever make in your life. You might end up living together in a beautiful house with two gorgeous babies, getting married in one of the highest rated television episodes of the era. You could be, as the kids say these days, couple goals. The total package. The sarcastic funny guy and the girl with a few control issues who (for somewhat obvious reasons) manage to blend and complement each other perfectly. It can be beautiful and lasting and solid.

And in other cases, it can be downright complicated. Because sometimes, getting involved with your brother’s best friend can be a beautiful dream, right up until you find yourself sitting in front of the TV, watching Chandler and Monica’s wedding, and all you want to do is cry.

But you swallow it down. You suppress it because next to you, Emma is shooting you subtle suspicious glances; she knows you far too well not to realize this might be stirring up things buried deep inside your chest. But more than that, you fight it back because you simply don’t want to feel it. Not deeply. Because you know that very soon, at any given moment, you are going to see him again. You don’t know when or where, but you know it’s going to happen. And so, inside your mind, there is a tiny stopwatch with blurred numbers rapidly counting down the time until your eyes meet his once more.

Even the best couples have weak moments.

"Honestly, Chandler’s panic kind of ruins the whole thing," Emma said, lounging next to you with her head resting on your shoulder. "I hate that he doubts it. It ruins everything."

On the screen, Chandler is caught completely off guard by a phone call that refers to him and Monica as Mr. and Mrs. Bing. He makes a whole show of panicking, wanting to run away.

"It’s normal to be scared sometimes," you said.

"I wouldn’t want my fiancé doubting things like that at our wedding. I mean, it would make me question absolutely everything. I hate that choice the writers made. I feel like it’s not Chandler at all."

"Really?" You smiled. "Not Chandler at all?"

"No, why? You don't think so? C'mon."

"No, no, it's just, I mean," you sat up a little straighter, "I get it, but throughout the entire show Chandler has always had insecurity and commitment issues—"

"But we watched all his progress, and it was a long clear arc."

"Yeah but it’s completely normal that even though he's progressed and everything, he still has weak moments from time to time. Especially when it comes to something as huge as a wedding," you laughed.

"Mmh. I dunno. I don't like it. Would you want Santi doubting marrying Yov right before they do it? Would you want your future husband doubting marrying you right before you walk down the aisle?"

"But Chandler didn't doubt marrying Monica; he just got scared, that’s all. He didn't want to run away because he wasn't sure about her; he just panicked about taking such a huge step and didn't know what to do. He watched his parents' relationship fall apart, then went through the whole divorce and everything else. He has a history of commitment issues and the underlying fear that marriage might ruin the good thing he already has with Monica."

"But he literally talked to her just days before about how happy he was to spend the rest of his life with her. It makes no sense."

"It does make sense, Em," you said, looking at her. "You can't completely erase decades of trauma overnight. I mean, he thought their relationship was over after their very first argument until she had to assure him that’s not how things work. The man had avoidant attachment!"

Emma sighed. "I'm still not buying it, sorry."

"I'm sorry, you're telling me you're not buying it? You? The exact same woman who panicked because her boyfriend wanted to spend more time with her and almost considered breaking up with him over it?"

"Will wanted us to move in together!"

"So? All you had to do was tell him no!"

"And I did tell him no," she said, looking at you with a grin. "And we talked it through. I didn't dump him! It's not the same thing."

"I know it's not the same thing, but still, commitment issues are commitment issues."

"Alright, sweetheart, alright."

"You were on the verge of buying a ticket to Yemen at any second."

Laughing, you gave her arm a playful nudge and turned your attention back to the TV.

Time ticked away, minute by minute, as the sunlight shifted across the floor and walls, brushing against every corner until, almost without realizing it, you rested your head against Emma's and closed your eyes.

"I always fall asleep when I'm with you," you teased, buckling your seatbelt in Emma’s passenger seat. "I dunno what it is about you."

"But you needed it, didn't you?"

She started the car engine just as you flashed a smile.

"Maybe."

When you had finally woken up earlier, your mouth was wide open, drooling a little, while Emma was right beside you snoring deeply and completely fast asleep. In your lap, Mr. Darcy had been curled up like a little ball.

It was nearly two in the afternoon by the time you both decided it was time to go get your car. According to Emma, Will would be at his place, and when you told her to let him know the two of you were headed over, she simply said,

"No need, I know he'll be there."

Her relationship updates hadn't changed much since the last time you asked about them two weeks ago. They were still getting along well, really well, and now she had finally admitted to herself that she was in love.

That was an incredibly huge step for Emma, so neither of you was making a big deal out of it. You knew she was secretly ecstatic inside, and probably a little terrified, but she was handling it well. And Will, for his part, was a pretty laid back guy who gave her all the time and space she needed to feel completely comfortable about it.

It was funny and kind of unfair that, despite knowing them for so many years, it had never once crossed your mind that they would make a good match.

Granted, Emma used to be married, but what about before that? She wasn't even seeing her ex when Will entered the picture seven years ago. In fact, they had crossed paths a handful of times, but neither of them had ever shown the slightest interest in the other; or at least, you hadn't noticed.

How could you have missed it? They were absolutely perfect for each other. Emma was somewhat restless, impatient, driven, and occasionally loud, while Will was steady, relaxed, incredibly patient, and had no problem getting loud himself if the occasion called for it.

You were rooting for them.

"Does Santi know you already here?" Emma asked now, steering through a turn.

"Texted him as soon as I got home. We're having dinner tonight with Mom."

Emma smiled. "I saw her yesterday. She looks great, doesn't she?"

You let out a soft laugh. "So great. She's thriving."

"I guess that's what happens after having an european summer."

"A mediterranean one, mind you."

"Is she gonna be at Yov’s party?"

You pursed your lips. "I dunno. I don't think so. She says she doesn’t feel right about it. Apparently she thinks she’d be a mood killer. Yov wants her there anyway."

"A mood killer? It's not like there're gonna be strippers or anything like that, right?"

You laughed. "No."

"Then what's the issue?"

"I dunno. I think she still feels a little awkward participating in all of this."

"She has to be there! I need her to give us the full breakdown on everything that happened in Europe. I'm sure there were some interesting adventures," she said, raising her eyebrows. "I always knew Nora was a cool girl."

"I'm sure Yov will press her about it tonight," you said, turning toward the window. "And if not, I can always force her."

Emma laughed and nodded, completely on board with it.

It wasn't going to be a wild over-the-top party; it was going to be a small gathering at a gorgeous restaurant downtown, followed by drinks at a bar where Yov's friends had booked a private table in the VIP section. It was going to be fun and intimate, nothing crazy or chaotic. Yov didn't feel comfortable with shirtless guys giving lap dances, and she had specifically asked to just spend the night having a good time with her friends and close family.

To her, there was no such thing as a "farewell to freedom" anyway. What was she saying goodbye to? Being single? Well, obviously. But she didn't see much point in looking at it that way, since having Santi in her life didn't actually restrict her from anything. And after marrying him, it wouldn't restrict her either.

There was this archaic idea that once a person gets married, they abandon their freedom entirely; the freedom to hang out with friends whenever they want, to have total independence, and to be able to do this, that, or the other. But Santi and Yov were not that kind of couple. Marriage didn't demand limitations for them, and it was entirely obvious to you that their dynamic would keep right on going exactly the same way. Both were free to do their own thing, go out with friends, or dedicate time to personal matters. The party was symbolic, more than anything.

I mean, sure, they were saying goodbye to being single, but was that really significant? You were positive those two had said goodbye to that years ago.

For Yov, it would be a quiet fun evening tomorrow night. And for Santi, it would be a cookout in the backyard with the guys and a few other friends, followed by a trip to the bar to get drunk and play pool. It was a pre-wedding celebration, plain and simple.

Will’s house appeared ahead of you sooner than expected, and you suddenly realized the drive had gone by surprisingly faster than you'd even noticed.

Everything had been moving at hyper speed since you landed in Austin. The drive home from the airport, the morning spent with Emma on the couch, and now, the twenty minutes from your place to Will’s had felt like barely ten.

It was funny how time flew when you were desperately trying to hold it back. Not for any particular reason, either.

Emma flung the car door open before you could even unbuckle, and the second her feet hit the pavement, she said,

"I can hear music coming from the backyard. Go on ahead, I need to grab a few things from the car."

"Need a hand?"

In the background, the faint sound of an Alice in Chains song drifted over.

"Nah, I’m good." She moved toward the trunk, waving you off.

"Alright."

You walked down the driveway toward the side of the house, where a wide pathway led to the big backyard, and spotted your car right away, tucked under its protective cover beneath the patio roof and parked behind two other cars.

On a table under a window, a portable stereo was blasting music. Layne’s raspy broken voice screamed out lyrics you couldn't quite catch; your attention was already drawn to the car right in front of you, where Will was lying on a mechanic's creeper, working underneath it.

He didn't hear you come in over the music, and his upper body was completely hidden under the chassis. His legs were slightly bent, and seizing the moment, you crept up and gave his foot a gentle kick.

Thump!

You grinned as his whole body jumped in a mini scare.

The creeper shifted; he grabbed the tire with one hand to pull himself forward, the tiny wheels spinning on the concrete.

And just like that, nine months and twelve days later, your eyes locked once again with Francisco Morales'.

You physically felt your smile drop, as if your cheeks had suddenly turned too heavy, and you took a step back while trying, and failing, to tear your eyes away from him.

Frankie scrambled to a sit on the creeper like a startled kid, and braced his palms on the ground behind him. A stray lock of hair fell across his forehead, the rest of it a bit messy, and a pair of thick black rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. They weren't enough to hide the scars on his face.

With a quick push, he stood up.

"I'm sorry," you blurted out, suddenly breathless. "I'm so sorry, I thought you were Will."

He gave a quick nod, wiping his hands on his pants, but didn't say a word.

As your heart threatened to burst right through your ribs and your throat went completely dry, you felt a desperate, intense, aching urge to just... hug him. And at the exact same time, to tell him: you have no idea how much I have to tell you.

Instead, you just stared.

Frankie looked exactly as you remembered, yet at the same time, entirely different. His hair was slightly shorter on the sides, with the top left long and a little unruly. He was wearing a white short-sleeve t-shirt, stained here and there, and black cargo pants.

Looking at him like that, he seemed pretty much the same as the last time you'd seen him. But you could spot the difference in everything else; he seemed taller for some reason, and though his shoulders and arms had always been strong, they looked more toned now. His beard was short, neat and soft, his mustache trimmed. The scars were visible, fully healed now but prominent, leaving a clear trace of his accident, and behind his glasses, his big brown eyes looked tired.

You could have sworn you stared at him for minutes, but it was only a few short seconds.

"I," you crossed your arms, "I just came to pick up my car. If that's okay. Is—is Will around?"

It took Frankie a second to process.

"Uh, Will?"

You offered a faint smile. "Yeah."

"Yeah, right. Yeah," he reached up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, no. He stepped out a moment ago. But he should be right back."

"Oh. Okay."

Behind you, the familiar scuff of Emma's footsteps drew closer until she suddenly froze.

You turned around, trying to pack an entire conversation into a single look, hoping she would decode it.

Just as you expected, your friend was dead in her tracks, holding two boxes in her arms and staring at Frankie like she’d just seen a ghost.

She glanced at you a second later, then right back at him.

"Frankie," she said, flashing a casual but not quite casual smile. "I didn't... I didn't know you were here."

Frankie huffed a soft laugh and gave a half smile. "Will'll be back in a minute."

Emma nodded. "Where'd he go?"

"No idea," he shrugged, turning back toward the car. "But he left a while ago, so he should be back any second."

"Oh, alright."

The second you glanced her way, Emma’s eyebrows shot straight up as she mouthed: I’m so sorry.

You gave a casual shrug that completely masked the panic clawing at your insides, letting out a soft sigh as your eyes drifted across the yard. Toward the back, for instance, where a disassembled bike sat abandoned mid-repair.

"I can move this car out of the way so you can get yours out, if you want?" Frankie asked. He was talking to you; it took you a beat to realize it.

You nodded. "Sure. Thanks."

He gave a quick nod and turned toward the car blocking yours. Will’s car. He reached inside the driver’s side to grab something, then slid into the seat, shut the door, and got the engine running on the second try.

"Here, let me help," you said, turning around and grabbing one of the boxes from Emma, desperate for any kind of distraction.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry," she whispered, pushing open the back door to the house. There was no real need to whisper since the roaring engine drowned out anything you two said, but she kept her voice down anyway until you were both safely inside. "I had no idea he'd be here. I mean, I know he hangs out here a lot, but I didn't know he'd be here today of all days."

"It's fine."

"No, I’m so sorry," she insisted, setting her box down on the kitchen counter. "I should have called first."

"No, Em, really," you said, dropping your box next to her. "It's fine. It's totally fine. You know what?" You turned to look at her. "Maybe it’s better this way, right? Unplanned and unexpected." You made a swift ripping motion with your hand. "Like ripping off a band aid. I’ve seen him, he’s seen me, how awkward can it really get? It wasn't even that bad!"

She smiled. "It wasn't?"

"Nope."

"Okay, that's good." She pursed her lips. "So... how are you feeling?"

"Nope. Nope," you said, shaking your head. "Too soon, honey. Not there yet."

Emma let out a soft laugh and pulled you into a tight hug. You took the moment to close your eyes, letting the tension in your chest unravel just a bit.

And outside, after a brief moment, the rumbling engine cut out as a clear sign that your safe haven inside the four walls of Will’s kitchen was officially up. You had to go back out there.

Emma let go of you, clearing her throat before turning toward the door and taking the lead. You gave it a single second before following her out.

The moment you stepped into the yard, your eyes instantly searched for him. Frankie was carefully peeling the protective cover off your car, and your gaze lingered on the back of his neck; on the soft messy strands of hair there, on the soft skin briefly blushed…

A sudden warmth bloomed in your chest.

"I'll get your keys," he called out, disappearing into the house so fast that this time, he was the one who seemed to be running away.

Letting out a sigh, you crossed your arms and walked over to the car Frankie had been working on when you arrived. It was old, you noticed, but not quite as old as yours. This one looked more like a nineties model; glossy black with a leather interior and smooth sleek lines. On the hood, the Mercedes Benz logo caught the light.

"You got yourself a real gem here."

Frankie’s voice made you snap upright. He was standing right behind you, dangling your keys from his fingers.

Emma was still keeping quiet.

"Thanks," you said, offering a small smile.

Frankie extended his hand toward you. Your keys were looped around his index finger; you slid them off, careful not to brush against him.

"I don't actually know much about cars," you added, mostly because the silence felt a little too heavy. "Will helped me with it."

"Yeah, he told me. He and I bought this one together, from the same seller," he said, gesturing toward the Mercedes.

"It's really nice."

"Yeah, though it still needs a bit of work. We’re fixing it up to... you know, sell it or something."

"I like it," you said, nodding. "My dad used to drive something like this when I was little."

His eyebrows shot up, and he replied almost too fast, "He did?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah—uh. It's a great car."

You nervously fiddled with the keys in your hands, dropping your gaze down to his shoes; a pair of black high top Vans.

Beside you, Emma let out a quiet amused sigh.

"I think I should get going," you blurted out, looking over at her only to catch a strange look on her face.

Oh, she was absolutely loving this.

"Yeah, sure," Frankie nodded, stepping aside as if he felt he was blocking your way.

"Can you tell Will I'll drop by later?" Emma asked him.

"Sure."

"Alright."

"Em, you can stay if you want," you told her.

"No, no. I said I'd help you unpack and set things up at your place, didn't I? Let's go," she said, waving you toward the driveway.

Unpacking at your place was a total lie. You were already fully unpacked and the apartment was spotless; she just wanted to be there for you.

"See ya," Emma added, giving Frankie's shoulder a friendly pat before turning around and heading toward the front of the house.

Once she was out of sight, you turned back to him.

"Tell Will I say hi."

He smiled. "I will."

"Thanks," you said, starting to turn toward your car. But you froze and looked back at him one last time.

He stood completely, utterly still.

You had no idea what to say, or why you’d even turned back around in the first place. But the moment you looked at his face and caught that flicker of nervousness in his eyes, you knew he was feeling it too.

"I like your glasses."

Frankie’s lips parted slightly, and a very soft sweet smile crept onto his face.

"Thank you," he replied.

Smiling back and holding in a sigh, you didn't say another word. You turned around, got into your car, and drove away, feeling his eyes on you the entire time.

You wished it had been different. You wished your inevitable reunion with him had happened in a controlled environment, surrounded by crowds of people; like Friday's rehearsal dinner or some pre-weekend get together. But as life had already proven to you time and again, you rarely get what you want exactly how you want it.

Forget everything we said a moment ago. All that talk about how time had been moving at a frantic pace since you stepped off the plane, remember? The walk from the airport to your house, your nice nap with Em, the drive from your door to Will’s… Forget it all. Because suddenly, the world seems to have ground to a near halt.

It's moving, and It's moving fast.

You’re driving, and the blocks around you pass at a crawl. No, how silly; you’re the one moving, not the blocks. You drift down the street while Emma sits beside you in silence, and you know it’s not an illusion because the cars passing you vanish ahead in seconds. And also because, after a few minutes, Emma rested her hand on your shoulder and asked,

"You okay?"

You nodded without a word. Well, maybe a soft "hmm" echoed somewhere in your chest.

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding far too guilty. "I know I already told you but I had no idea he was gonna be there."

You nodded again. "He looks so different."

"Yeah."

"Francisco," you glanced at her for a second, "he looks different, doesn't he? Or is it just because I haven't seen him in so long?"

Emma nodded. "No, I think he does look a bit different."

"I mean, I'm not saying he looks bad, he looks…" You tightened your grip on the steering wheel a little with your thumbs. "Different, healthier. Which is so freaking ironic because his face is covered in scars."

"Right."

"Oh God…"

"Hey," Emma squeezed your shoulder, "it's okay."

"He looks so good," you groaned.

Emma laughed. "It's okay."

You turned to look at her, frowning. "Does he wear glasses now?"

"He does."

"It's like he's doing it on purpose just to mess with me!"

"Look what Grian got for me." When Will walked into the yard, he was holding a six pack of beer and a large sealed plastic bag. "Original seat covers, baby, pure leather," he said, stepping closer to drop them onto the table next to the player.

Frankie was sitting in a chair with his elbows on his knees, and his eyes were fixed on the grass just past the concrete, contemplating his entire existence.

"Hey," Will called out.

Frankie looked up at him.

"Covers and beer," Will said, holding up the six pack.

"That's great. How much for the covers?"

Will frowned, glancing around the yard. The music was off, the creeper wasn't under the Mercedes, and most importantly, your car was gone.

"What happened?" he asked.

"She came to get her car." Frankie pushed himself up from the chair in one quick motion, rubbing the back of his neck. "Her and Emma, who said she’d be by later, by the way."

Will’s eyebrows shot up. "Oh, shit, man. You alright? How that go?"

"Nothing. She just… she just came and went."

"Y'all talk?"

"A little."

"And? What'd y'all talk about?"

"Nothing, really. Just… just her car, and this and that, and nothing else." He swallowed, looking over at the half-repaired Mercedes. "I'm such a fool. I couldn't even act normal."

Will laughed. "What are you talking about? What do you mean?"

"Oh, man," Frankie groaned as he sat back down again, burying his face in both hands and rubbing his eyes. "She looks so beautiful. I felt like I could barely breath."

"Alright," Will crossed his arms, "let it out."

"I mean, look at me," Frankie suddenly pulled his hands away from his face and gestured to his clothes. "I'm a total mess."

"Well, you know, they say girls like that. All covered in grease from work, that whole hot mechanic thing..."

Frankie frowned. "Oh God."

"And with the glasses on and everything, huh?" Will chuckled. "I bet she dug 'em."

Frankie felt his face burn with embarrassment, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him whole right then and there. He felt like a self-conscious teenager, or at least, his body was reacting like one.

A long time. He’d spent so much time thinking about the next time he’d see you. Late at night when everything was quiet, in the middle of work, while washing dishes or doing laundry. He used to wonder how dramatic it would be, if it would be incredibly awkward or not at all, or if you’d just avoid him altogether. And none of it had been the way he expected.

He knew you hadn't expected to see him either. He'd caught it on your face the second he saw you—as beautiful and sweet as he remembered, but completely caught off guard all the same.

He’d been dying inside with every passing second. The moment you drove away, he felt this overwhelming urge to run right after you; to hold you tight in his arms and cover your face with kisses, to tell you how terribly he’d missed you and that loving you this much was unbearable.

But how completely out of line would that have been, right? When you looked so good, so refreshed, so perfectly fine. Frankie knew he no longer had a place in your life for that kind of confession.

He’d have to be strong. Stronger than he’d ever thought. Because the wedding was drawing close and these weren't gonna be easy days. Between the final preparations, the bachelor parties, the rehearsal dinner, and the ceremony itself, he’d have to find a way to keep his feelings in check and not let a single bit show, since you’d be seeing each other practically around the clock.

He couldn't even let his eyes betray him, because he knew all it took was having you nearby for him to look at you like a fool. Guess that's just what longing does to you.

And Santi knew all about that. He and Yov had talked to Frankie a few days back when the three of them stopped to rest during a long Sunday bike ride. They’d asked how he was doing, how he was prepping for the wedding, and if he was truly alright with all of it; all of this out on the trail, while their calves throbbed and their chests heaved. But the way their voices sounded reminded him of those times the guys used to try and casually check up on his health years ago, trying not to sound too nosy or overly worried.

"You don't need to worry, everything's fine," he’d told them, a bit winded. His neck was flushed and he could feel a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and let out a chuckle. "What do you think is gonna happen?"

Santi scratched his chin, pulling a face. "I know, I know it'll be fine. It’s just, y'know, it can get awkward and all, and we wouldn't want either of you having a rough time."

"We'll be fine," Frankie nodded. "Don't worry. We spent years getting along terribly and managing to co-exist or something like it, and nothing happened—"

"No, no," Yov interrupted, shaking his head and holding up a finger, "that wasn't co-existing."

Frankie rolled his eyes, hiding a bitter smile. "Everything's fine on my end. I’ll be respectful, polite, and anything that comes up can wait until after the wedding. You can count on that."

He didn't even know what he meant by that. "Anything that comes up" could mean absolutely anything; an argument, a casual conversation, anything requiring an ounce of extra attention that might pull the focus away from what really mattered.

Anyway, he’d promised himself to keep his distance and not let a single thing throw off the balance this week needed to have…

Until he saw you again, and a flood of emotions washed over him, soaking him to the bone. And right then, Frankie realized that for the past few months, he’d only allowed himself to feel about twenty percent of what he truly felt for you.

He’d convinced himself that he was okay with all of this; that his feelings, while still strong and very much there, weren't so intense anymore that they'd steal his breath away.

What a fucking lie. He loved you just as intensely as before, maybe even more; or maybe it was just the effect of seeing you after all this time.

You were surprised to see him; he’d noticed that. You hadn't expected it at all, and it definitely wasn't what you wanted. But as he looked at you, pretending to be completely unfazed, he felt this overwhelming urge to share every single piece of his life with you.

He wanted to tell you about his new house, about the big windows and how beautifully the light flooded the living room. About the shelves he’d filled with his vinyl records, and the space that was still left to fill.

Oh, and Mr. Bingley was absolutely out of his mind, completely in love with the new yard. Frankie would let him out for a bit, keeping a close eye on him so the cat wouldn't wander off anywhere. He’d discovered the little guy was actually a total scaredy-cat, which would make Frankie anxious enough to bring him right back inside. He wasn't quite sure how to handle it yet; the neighborhood was quiet and not dangerous at all, but letting the cat roam free in the yard still made him nervous. Who knew, maybe he’d hop the fence and end up in the street, or some dog might give him a scare. He wasn't about to take that chance.

He’d wanted to tell you about his new job, too. Frankie was back to training pilots, but no longer at his old academy. His former boss had done him a big favor by recommending him to the owner of a different academy (one that trained specialized pilots) and Frankie was finding it a whole lot more engaging and enjoyable.

Now he wasn't training arrogant rich guys who had too much money and free time on their hands, treating flying like some "easy" hobby with zero responsibilities (not that it was always the case, but... most of the time). Instead, he was training people who genuinely saw flying as a calling.

They were all young, eager to learn, and had a real respect for the profession. Frankie truly enjoyed teaching and had a great time with them; plus, the pay was damn good. It was exactly what he needed right now after draining a huge chunk of his savings. His house was about to sell, he’d already sold his car, and you could say he was pretty close to having everything sorted out.

He was doing alright.

He’d wanted to tell you all of that. For a brief minute, every single piece of news in his life flooded his mind and he wanted to share it with you, but a second later he reminded himself that it wasn't his place anymore.

It made no sense how completely his chest melted whenever he thought about you now.

"What are you gonna do now?" Will asked then, leaning his hip against the table and tilting his head.

Frankie sighed, pulling his hands away from his face.

"What else? Nothing. Act normal, I guess. Like an adult."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," he got up from his chair and walked over to the Mercedes, opening the driver's side door. "I'm not gonna bother her."

"Ah, I see. The old go-crazy-and-suffer-all-by-your-lonesome routine."

Frankie laughed softly, shaking his head. "I deserve it."

Wednesday, October 9th

You really don't care about Francisco. He barely crosses your mind.

He wasn't on your mind when you woke up this morning, nor when you showered and got ready to open the bookstore. You weren't thinking of him when you brushed blush onto your cheeks, or when you coated your lips in raspberry gloss. And you certainly weren't thinking of him every single time the chimes above the door jingled and you glanced up, checking to see who walked in.

No, you aren't thinking about him at all.

Your morning flew by, peaceful and smooth. It had been a while since you’d spent time at the bookstore, and settling back behind the counter felt incredibly good.

You had missed all of this: helping customers find the exact books they were looking for, listening to their vague, quirky descriptions and the titles they always got completely wrong. You missed the scent of old pages, and the aroma of coffee that drifted through the door every time it opened because at this hour, every café on the block was open and the entire sidewalk smelled of espresso.

It was a quiet, nice morning. A few people dropped in; many left with books, others just browsed for stretches of time, and some simply asked a question before heading out.

In the quiet lulls, you read through the notes Donovan had sent this morning. There were far more than you anticipated, all anchored to comments lining the margins of the document.

In one of them, you read:

His age isn’t clear. He could be anywhere between forty and sixty years old. If I didn't know better, I’d assume he is a man nearing sixty. Keep in mind that the reader doesn’t know what you know, and you cannot gloss over that in the main descriptions. You can weave it into the dialogue or the internal monologue. Your choice. But don't make it obvious.

It wouldn't be so jarring if Donovan didn’t highlight the paragraphs in an intense, vibrant red. Sometimes he used yellow, other times a soft, light blue. If there was an actual system to his color-coding, you had no idea what it was.

At ten o'clock sharp, the chimes above the door rang out once more. Instantly, your eyes snapped toward the entrance, your mind flashing for a fraction of a second with the thought that it might be… him.

But it was Bill who stepped through the door.

Tall and handsome as ever, he wore a crisp smile and his bright prominent green eyes were shining as usual.

The moment you saw him, your eyes widened with joy.

You slipped off your stool to greet him as he walked in, carrying two large brown paper bags and a warm grin.

"Coffee and a slice of cake for my favorite writer!"

Bill set the bags down on the counter and welcomed you with open arms; he smelled of fresh brew and cologne. Your cheek pressed against his warm chest as he held you close for a brief moment.

"You haven't even read anything of mine," you laughed.

His hand brushed up your back. "I don't have to to know it'll be incredible."

"You really have faith in me."

Bill pulled back slightly. "We all do. Julie was thrilled when she found out. She says now she’ll have someone interesting to interview for her school project."

You huffed a laugh and walked back around to the other side of the counter. A customer stepped through the door right at that moment. Good morning, he said. Good morning, you replied. He was an elderly man holding a cane, and he headed straight toward the Hispano-American literature section.

"What are your plans for today?" Bill asked, leaning against the counter. "If you're free, Julie and I would love to have you over for dinner."

"I’d love to," you smiled, "but tonight is Yov’s bachelorette party. And Santi’s bachelorette party, too."

He grinned. "Oh yeah? What d'you have planned?"

"We're grabbing drinks at a bar nearby," you tilted your head. "Yov’s girlfriends made a reservation for dinner too, so, we'll see what happens."

"And Santi?"

"Oh, I dunno. I know they're going out for drinks too, but knowing them, they’ll probably do something else too."

A chuckle caught in his chest. "Will they have to go rescue him from a hotel rooftop in the morning like The Hangover?"

"Mmm," you narrowed your eyes playfully, "I think it'll be more like Into the Wild."

"Campfires and all that, huh."

"Exactly," you nodded. "Knowing them, they'll have a few drinks and then go have fun somewhere out there. Nothing too crazy. Plus, the rest of Yov's family arrives tomorrow so he gotta be fresh."

"Got it," Bill nodded. "And how... how has Austin treated you so far?"

"Austin?"

He tilted his head, a smirk forming on his lips that made you suspect his question had several layers.

"Austin is fine," you answered, lifting your chin. "I barely got here yesterday and my eye is already twitching, how about that?"

It was a joke. Your eyes were not twitching at all. Spiritually, maybe.

Bill laughed and reached out with his left hand, grabbing the side of the brown paper bag he had set down moments ago.

"Better not drink this coffee then. It has two shots."

You burst out laughing and snatched the bag from his hands. "Don't you dare!"

You needed that coffee, and you also needed the slice of cake he had so carefully tucked inside the plastic container. But above all, you needed him to stay right there with you and give you his opinion on a few things.

You pulled the coffee cup out and set it on the counter for a moment.

Bill laughed softly, his eyes dropping to your hand, and that’s when you asked:

"You free this Saturday?"

Later

If New York had taught you anything, it was how to dress and do your makeup.

No. Not New York. Alex.

Alex, like so many other wealthy, fashion forward New Yorkers, was a woman who understood style deeply and knew exactly how to tailor it to different people. That was why she had spent a massive chunk of your stay dragging you from one boutique to another, letting you freely indulge in every single one of her perks at beauty salons across the Upper East Side.

She had been incredibly generous. And while you initially thought it was a favor to you, you soon realized it was actually a treat for her. Letting Alex guide and advise your style was exactly what she craved and thoroughly enjoyed, and even Emma had gotten a little taste of her styling expertise when she came to visit a few weeks back.

You weren’t normally one to blow money on clothes and makeup. Truthfully, you liked the things you already owned, they lasted a long time, and you rarely found anything you loved enough to desperately want to buy. But in New York, your credit card began seeing action it had never seen before. And honestly? You liked it.

Now, your closet in Austin was packed with new dresses, skirts, blouses, and a few pairs of boots and shoes. You had flown back with two massive suitcases stuffed to the brim, packed right alongside the heavy uncertainty of whether you were even going to stay here. When in doubt, bring it all.

Right now, Emma stood in front of your bedroom mirror, half dressed. She was in her bra, a dress pulled up only from the waist down, fussing with her underwear beneath the fabric to make sure there were no visible lines.

Even though she was wearing seamless panties, she was convinced that the glare of the light caught the faint outline of the edges.

"I’m telling you, it doesn’t show," you said from the bed.

You had finished getting ready ages ago and were now lounging with Mr. Darcy resting on your stomach. You wore a form-fitting black skirt paired with a black blouse featuring soft, sheer bell sleeves. The neckline was high, grazing your collarbones, and the entire front was dusted with tiny sparkles that subtly caught the light whenever you moved. Your legs were covered in semi-opaque black tights, finished off with boots that hit just three fingers below the knee.

"You sure? What about like this?" Emma turned to the side, arching her back to check her reflection.

"It’s a thong," you said, lifting a hand. "And it’s completely seamless. For heaven's sake, Em, nothing is showing."

"Alright, alright," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "You better be right. What time is your mom picking us up?"

"Seven o'clock."

"And what time is it now?"

You picked up your phone from where it lay beside you on the bed and glanced at the screen.

"Quarter to seven."

She let out a sigh of relief, then finally pulled the dress up over her waist and shoulders, slipping her arms through the sleeves and tugging the zipper up along her ribs.

She looked at her reflection and pursed her lips. You smiled.

Emma looked radiant. Not just beautiful, not just happy; radiant. Everything about her carried a glow that reminded you of the old Emma, the one from before the divorce, before everything had gone down.

She had always been a strong woman, and she had always faced life's hurdles as one. Even as she went through the divorce, you had never once seen her hang her head or crumble the way so many others would have. But she had suffered through bad days and rough patches, and during those times, a very specific light inside her had gone dark.

Between the two of you, Emma had always been the one who had life figured out, or at least the one who always knew how to stay on track.

Since you were little, she knew exactly what she wanted to do and how to achieve it; she graduated early, started working immediately, and married Luca shortly after meeting him. Everything in her life had always been neat and effortless, unfolding exactly how you’d expect the life of a model adult to go.

After the divorce, she barely faltered. That was the thing about Emma; some things just never seemed to shake her. Good or bad, she didn't let much get under her skin. Her peace was sacred.

Until Will came along.

At first, you couldn't quite put your finger on it, this thing that made her nervous in a way you had never seen before. When you were in New York and she would call to give you updates, the anxious flutter in her voice was entirely new. You were absolutely certain she hadn't been that jittery even during the week leading up to her wedding.

There was something about all of this that, for the first time in her entire life, was throwing her off balance. And it only took you a moment to realize why: she was truly in love.

Not in love the way she had been with Luca, or with any other ex… no. Truly, deeply in love. The kind of love that makes you feel like a teenager all over again, the kind that keeps him in your thoughts day and night, making you ache for him while simultaneously filling you with absolute peace.

You knew the feeling all too well. Looking at her right now, you recognized it instantly, because not too long ago, you had been in the exact same place. Head over heels.

Emma was in love.

"You look beautiful."

Hearing your voice, Emma caught your eye in the mirror and smiled.

"Thank you. You look beautiful too," she replied, turning around to face you directly.

You offered a warm smile in return, spreading your fingers across Mr. Darcy’s back. You gave his fur a gentle squeeze, and he immediately began to purr.

"So…" Emma walked over to the bed and drifted down beside you, propping herself up on her elbow. A wave of her perfume reached you instantly. "How's everything?"

You smiled. "How's everything? Everything's good."

"Ah…" She reached out and stroked Darcy, who promptly closed his eyes.

"What about you? How's everything with you?"

"Good." Emma sighed. "You talked to him?"

Your hand went still on Darcy’s back. "With whom?"

"Y'know. Francisco. Frankie. Have you talked to him?"

Your lips parted for a split second, your brows knitting together.

"No. Why?"

"Just asking," she said, pursing her lips. "After what happened yesterday, I dunno, I just thought maybe you guys had talked."

"Oh, no. No… you know how it is. If we’d talked, I would’ve told you by now, don't you think?"

Emma huffed a laugh. "True. You better."

"And what happened yesterday? Was he there when you went over to Will’s later?"

"Yeah, but only for a little bit," she said, her hand running over Darcy’s fur almost absentmindedly. "And he didn't say much."

"Hmm."

"It doesn't…" Emma locked her eyes onto yours. "It doesn't bother you that I hang out with him, right? Because if it does, I can totally—"

"Em, no," you interrupted, shaking your head.

"No, I’m serious. I know it can be weird for your best friend to spend time with your ex."

"It’s weird if you phrase it like that," you laughed. "But you aren't hanging out with Frankie. It’s just that he happens to be your boyfriend's best friend. It’s not your fault."

"It really doesn't bother you?"

You raised your eyebrows. "No, it really doesn't."

"I swear, the first few weeks I gave him the absolute cold shoulder."

You laughed. "Really?"

"Yes, I swear! And he barely even came near me because he knew what I was gonna say to him."

"What were you gonna say?"

"That he’s a fool and an idiot, what else?" She laughed. "Though I think he already knew it, because he always watched his step around me."

"Mhm. You two seem to get along well enough now, though, right?"

At your question, Emma’s smile faltered.

You knew she spent time around Frankie now. Here and there, they would cross paths at gatherings or over at Will’s place. She didn't tell you much, but it was always implicit. Every time Emma mentioned she was at a certain place, you already knew Frankie would likely be there too.

"Not really," she replied.

You smiled. "Em."

"What? I’m serious."

"You don't have to hide it from me. I know Francisco can be nice. And I wouldn't expect you to treat him badly just for my sake. That would make things uncomfortable for everyone."

"I don't treat him badly," she said, lifting a hand, "but we aren't friends either, okay? We just… we talk like normal people."

"Sure."

"Ugh," she groaned, tossing herself backward and covering her eyes with both hands. "I’m a terrible friend."

"That’s not true!"

"Of course it is! I have fraternized with the enemy!"

"Alright, stop it," you said, propping yourself up on your elbow. "Can we please drop this?"

"No!"

"We’re adults," you laughed, pulling Emma’s hand away from her face. "And Francisco isn't the enemy, he’s just my ex boyfriend. I have to coexist with him tomorrow, Em, please. Can we just act like this is normal?"

Emma sighed, narrowing her eyes. "Fine. But let’s be clear: I am gonna act like this is totally normal, but on the inside, I'm gonna enjoy every single second of watching you with Bill there—"

"Oh no, that’s not—"

"And when Frankie sees you with Bill?"

You threw your head back. "Bill is just my friend!"

"Your 'friend' whom you invited to your brother's wedding, where your ex, who was always a little jealous of him, happens to be the best man!"

A loud laugh burst from your throat as your face flushed bright red. "It’s not like that!"

"Yes it is! You smart bitch!"

Emma’s hands dug playfully into your stomach, and the tickling shocked another loud laugh out of you. Poor Mr. Darcy; the little cat bolted off the bed at the sudden noisy outburst.

On the inside, you swore to yourself: it really wasn't like that.

Fortunately for you, five minutes later, the horn of your mom’s rental car honked outside your apartment, and Emma immediately bounded off the bed to throw on her heels, utterly unable to tease you any longer.

Hours later, at night.

Sitting at the long table surrounded by Yov’s friends, you felt at ease.

The restaurant was located right in the heart of downtown, and thanks to Cinthia, the maid of honor, they had managed to book a private table out on the terrace.

Beside Yov sat Emma, who had become really close to her over the last few months. The bond between them had blossomed naturally, fueled by all the time they spent together because of the guys. Watching them laugh together, it was hard to believe they hadn't known each other a lifetime.

"And then," one of Yov’s college friends said, gesturing animatedly with her fork, "she completely forgot where she parked the car and we spent two hours walking to our apartment, drunk as hell. And as soon as we got home, guess what? Her car was parked right there!"

The table erupted into laughter, and Yov buried her face in her hands just as her cheeks flushed pink.

Emma leaned in, nudging her playfully.

"To be fair, that happened to us, too," Emma chimed in with a grin, throwing a knowing look your way. "Remember that? My dad was so mad."

"Oh, yeah," you raised your eyebrows, "but we walked all the way home having forgotten your car was parked right outside the club."

Your mom gasped; "What? When was that, and why am I just finding out now?"

You turned to look at her, sitting to your left.

"It was a lifetime ago!" you replied.

She smiled and shook her head. It made you happy to see her here, laughing, enjoying herself, and sharing this moment with all of you, because the truth was, it had been a very long time since that had happened.

Following your father’s death, your mom’s retreat had been almost absolute. She had rarely returned to the city, and she had never stepped foot in the family home again; a house that didn't even belong to you anymore.

Your relationship with her had fractured deeply because of that, leaving Santi as the one who stayed closest to her. It meant years of brief interactions, arguments over the phone, and her constant attempts to reach out to you, which you always pushed away.

Back then, you were younger. You were grieving one of the people you loved most, and you needed her. But she wasn't there, and for the longest time, you resented her for it.

If you were a mother, you would never do that; leaving the city because you were heartbroken over the loss of the love of your life was understandable, but distancing yourself from your two children was not.

And it wasn't that she had completely vanished, either. No, she had always tried to stay in touch with daily calls, constant texts, and video chats every single night. Until you finally said no more, and began to freeze out any kind of contact.

That lasted for two years. Two years where you cut yourself off from her entirely, reducing your only connection to calls once every few weeks and updates passed down through Santi.

It hadn't been easy at first, but she was entirely honest with you. All of this was difficult for her, and it had been incredibly hard years ago as well. But living together in New York after her trip had been surprisingly fun, and something you had missed desperately.

The two of you spent your days walking, exploring, taking in the city, and spending your nights watching movies, shows, and reading together in the living room.

You reconnected, and it felt so good. You had missed your mom so much, and being with her now felt completely right.

Amid the chatter and jokes, two hours flew by as you finished dinner and dessert. Yov was ecstatic; her friends were all gathered in the same room for the first time in years, and on top of that, her mom and yours were having a wonderful time together.

The atmosphere was incredibly warm and the excitement for the wedding grew with every passing minute; you were starting to feel the rush of emotion building up inside you, too.

You couldn't believe it. This was actually happening. Santi was getting married, and not only that, but his future wife was someone you absolutely loved.

Watching her now, as she laughed with your mom and lifted her glass to her lips, you felt a wave of genuine happiness.

What a beautiful family you had. And what a beautiful family they would have in a couple of years. You could picture it perfectly; just like this, but a little different. With a couple of kids, maybe. Santi wanted two; Yov wanted at least two. And you couldn't wait to have nieces and nephews running around everywhere.

She was an incredible woman, and your brother was lucky to have her. And on the flip side, Santi was a wonderful man, too. You were certain he would make an amazing husband and father, and you couldn't wait to see him step into that new chapter of his life.

"What are you thinking about?"

Emma’s soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. Turning toward her, you met her bright eyes framed by long curling lashes. She gently touched your elbow.

"Nothing," you answered, a gentle smile tracing your lips. "I can't believe they're actually getting married. Time moves so fast. Santi is fully a grown man now."

Emma smiled. "He has been for a while, huh."

He had been for a long time. But you had barely noticed the passage of time, preoccupied with growing up right alongside him.

Everything had just moved so quickly. Only a few years ago, the two of you were inseparable, going everywhere together; you glued to his side like velcro, and him completely fine with bringing you along. It had always been you and him, him and you.

Every time he hung out with his friends, he brought you with him. Everywhere you went with Emma, there he was, simply because he was too curious and liked your company.

Spending these past months in New York had been a completely new experience for you, as you had never gone that long without seeing Santi. It had felt strange not having him around or seeing him for such a stretch, and it made you realize just how accustomed you were to his presence.

You didn't know if all siblings were like that. Probably not. But you and Santi definitely were.

"Your mom is having a great time," Emma whispered, leaning close to your ear.

You smiled instantly. "I know. I wish Dad were here to see it."

Emma squeezed your arm with hers. "I'm sure he is."

"You think so?" you asked, looking at her sideways with a small smile.

"Of course I do. I bet he’s even having a glass of wine somewhere right now."

That made you laugh. You could picture it perfectly: your dad tilting his elbow back to finish his glass of wine, just like he always did whenever he was celebrating and happy.

Somewhere out there, he was watching over you all. You liked to believe that.

"Another round, my treat! Our boy's getting hitched!"

A microsecond after Benny finished speaking, the entire bar roared in celebration, raising their glasses and hands.

Fuckin' opportunistic bastards, Santi thought amused. Everyone here wasn’t just happy for him; they were just thrilled to drink on someone else's dime. Julius, CJ, Baz, Carlos, and even Don had already crowded around, slapping him on the back in congratulation.

Santi laughed, ducking his head a bit, suddenly feeling a wave of self-consciousness from all the attention.

"C'mon Fish, live a little," Will said, stretching his arm across the table to thrust a beer bottle toward Frankie, who was sitting at the far corner.

Santi watched him shake his head.

"Ts, I dunno," Fish replied.

"Not even a single drop?" Ben asked, sounding genuinely offended. "C'mon, celebrate with us. The state of Texas allows a zero-point-zero-eight blood alcohol level, which is..." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, doing the math. "... a drink, a beer!"

Frankie crossed his arms and leaned his head back. "Under what exact circumstances were you researching that?"

Ben scoffed. "You don’t wanna know. But let’s get one thing straight," he added, planting his hand firmly on the table. "I am a responsible driver!"

"Fish," Santi called out, raising his own beer. "We’ll call an Uber. Now celebrate with your friend who's about to tie the knot."

Frankie’s smile turned lopsided, and in that brief moment, Santi noticed how the scar on his cheek stood out just a bit more.

"You guys are a terrible influence. Haven’t you noticed I’m a clean guy now?"

"Oh, c'mon," Will laughed, throwing his head back.

"No, no, it's true," Santi chimed in, nodding. "He really is."

Will raised his eyebrows. "I know he is. What is it, up to one or two cans of beer a day, max?"

"Only if I have to drink. Otherwise, nothin'," Fish said, squaring his shoulders with a hint of pride.

Santi smiled, feeling a pang of pride himself. "I’m proud of you. We all are."

"To Fish!" Benny raised his beer.

Will smiled and imitated his brother. "To Fish."

Frankie scoffed, suddenly shy, and hid his eyes under his glasses.

A second later, Will took a long swig of his beer before slamming the bottle back down on the table.

"Alright, enough with the sappy stuff, you're gonna give me diabetes. If Fish is staying sober, it just means more booze for the rest of us. Call that round already!"

Frankie laughed and looked over at Santi, who held his gaze for a couple of seconds, his eyebrows rising bit by bit.

"Uh?" Santi smirked. "Just one? What do you say?"

A few feet away, Grian was pulling out beer bottles and lining them up on the bar.

Frankie leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, a wide grin flash of teeth breaking across his face.

"It's my bachelorette night and my best man can't even clink glasses with me!"

"Alright, alright, alright," Frankie raised both hands in surrender. "Just one. But only 'cause it’s your night and a nice cold beer actually sounds real good right now."

Will slapped Fish on the back, giving him a rough but affectionate nudge, a grin splitting his face.

"And just so we're clear, we're still incredibly proud of you."

Santi smiled as he watched them, taking a sip of his beer. As he swallowed, a heavy sensation settled deep in his chest.

He couldn't quite explain this feeling. He was thrilled about his wedding, and even more so about what it meant for his life with Yov. Yet his smiles felt forced, slipping away the moment none of his friends were looking.

Will was ecstatic, Benny was right there with him (and a bit tipsy), and Fish had just tipped a bottle to his lips, taking a long swig as the corners of his mouth turned upward into a grin. And in that exact moment, the only thing Santi could think about was… someone else.

Terrified that someone might notice the sudden glossiness in his eyes, he pressed the beer to his mouth and finished it in one long gulp.

"Alright, where’s that next round, huh?" he said, bringing the empty bottle down hard on the table. "I’m getting thirsty."

Fish smirked slightly, his gaze drifting over Santi’s face. "You alright?"

Santi let out a huff. "As always."

People always say you shouldn't drink on an empty stomach.

Well, you all took that advice to heart.

Following a delicious dinner and a suggestively named dessert specially crafted for the bride and her guests, the group piled out onto the street, where a stretch limousine was already idling by the curb.

Yov burst out laughing. "Fio, what on earth is this?"

Fiona, one of her best friends, gestured grandly toward the massive car before pulling a white sash out of her bag that read Future Mrs. Garcia in bold lettering.

"What does it look like?" she laughed, stepping closer to loop the sash over Yov’s shoulder. "Nothing but the best for our beautiful bride; you only get married once!"

Emma chuckled. "According to whom?"

"I've been married twice," Cinthia chimed in, raising both hands.

"Well, they do say third time’s a charm," Fiona shot back, clapping a hand over her mouth the exact second the words slipped out.

The sound of your mom’s laughter made you snap your head to the right, and you watched her laugh with flushed cheeks as she walked over to Yov and gently took her by the arm; She was already a bit tipsy. She had finished two glasses of wine during dinner and you knew that was always enough to make your mom giggly, and you loved seeing it.

She was having a wonderful time, just like everyone else.

Fortunately, Fiona’s slip of the tongue was swept away by a wave of giggles as the limousine doors swung open, inviting you into leather seats and neon lighting.

One by one, each one of you piled inside, heels clicking against the pavement before sinking into the comfort of the interior. ABBA was already pulsing through the speakers and a chilled bottle of champagne was waiting in the ice bucket.

Your mom took a seat near Yov, still giggly, while Emma slid in right next to you; her eyes were sparkling as she smoothed down her dress and smiled at you. Cinthia, in front of you, immediately took charge of pouring the drinks, handing out flutes of bubbling champagne as the city lights outside melted into streaks against the tinted windows.

It was a short drive, but when the limousine finally pulled up to the curb, the venue took your breath away.

It wasn't a huge chaotic nightclub, but a really nice luxurious place. Nestled behind a discreet entrance, the lounge exuded… quiet. The lighting was low and calm, casting shadows over velvet booths, dark walnut accents, and a big glowing marble bar that stretched across the main room. Your first thought was oh, this is expensive.

But Cinthia took charge of that. Of everything, really. She had a wildly successful career in PR, and before you had even made it to the restaurant, she had casually mentioned how she always managed to get exactly what she wanted. It was a natural born talent. The restaurant, the limo, the lounge, and even the expensive bottles of champagne waiting for them were all the masterwork of her and Fiona.

A hostess in a tailored suit checked the name and guided your group past the main floor toward a raised, private tier.

"Right this way, ladies. Your table is ready in the VIP lounge," she murmured.

The private area overlooked the rest of the venue, enclosed by elegant brass railings and draped in heavy emerald green curtains. It was the perfect vantage point.

"You really outdid yourself," Yov breathed, taking in the crystal glasses and the dedicated server already waiting for them.

Cinthia just offered a knowing smirk, sinking into the velvet cushions. "Only the best for the bride. Now, what are we drinking?"

Emma squeezed your arm. "Oh my God, no! No! I'm gonna pee myself!"

"Oh no!" your mom shrieked.

You wanted to answer (you really, truly did) but the words wouldn't come because you couldn't even breathe. Your stomach ached from laughing so hard, and Emma wasn't helping; she was standing right in front of you with her legs tightly crossed, this ridiculous, hilarious wheeze escaping her chest.

"Emma, no, go, go!" Cinthia ordered, shooing her away with a wave of her hand. Beside her, Kat, another one of Yov's friends, looked intensely focused, squinting into near blindness as she tried to wipe her glasses with a cloth.

"C'mon, I'll take you," you managed to choke out between giggles, pushing yourself up from your seat and nudging Emma toward the hallway.

"You need me to come with you, sweetie?" your mom asked.

You turned back to look at her and your grin widened; she had a straw clamped between her lips, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Nah, we're good, we'll be right back."

Oh God, your stomach literally hurt from laughing. You couldn't even remember what the first joke was, or whatever it was that had triggered this chain reaction of non stop laughter, but it had been at least ten minutes of tossing one-liners back and forth.

Surprisingly, your mom wasn't helping the situation at all; she was on a roll tonight, spilling anecdotes about Santi; embarrassing stories that would have absolutely mortified him if he were here to listen.

And like any good younger sister, you found them hilarious and were laughing your head off.

"Ask him about the time he tried to impress a girl in middle school by doing a backflip off the diving board," she said minutes ago. "He ended up doing a full horizontal belly flop. The smack was so loud the lifeguard thought a firecracker went off! He had a bright red stomach for a week, my poor boy!"

Yov buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving as she let out a loud, snorting laugh.

"I am calling off the wedding," she wheezed, shaking her head.

"No!" your mom shot back, entirely unbothered, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I have the photo album to prove it. I'll pass it under the table right before you say 'I do'."

"Oh yeah! I've seen those photos!"

Picture this. A fourteen year old Santi with slightly long curls and naturally flushed cheeks. And underneath his t-shirt, a bright red stomach bruised from a wipeout that made you laugh your head off back then, but also curse on his behalf. It wouldn’t have been so embarrassing if it hadn't been summer, and if he hadn't done it right in front of every single kid at the pool. The poor guy wore a shirt for an entire week after that, even to get into the water.

It was a simple kind of silly anecdote, but the way your mom told it was hilarious, and it was followed by so many more that your brother’s ears would definitely be burning somewhere right now.

Emma let go of your arm the second you entered the restroom and rushed straight into a stall.

"Your mom is so funny," her voice echoed. "I missed her. Poor Yov!"

Looking in the mirror, you ran your index finger under your eyelashes to fix the mascara that had smudged a bit.

"I know, but she’s one of us now. She has been for a while."

"I love her, I love her—ouch!"

"What's wrong?" you tilted your head to the side.

"Nothing, nothing, I just twisted my stu-pid foot!"

Laughing, you furrowed your brow. "What are you even doing in there?"

Emma let out a low chuckle. "Nothing. These toilets are too damn low."

"Alright. Just be careful in there." You looked down at your purse and opened it to grab your lip gloss, but the glowing screen of your phone caught your attention instead.

Ten missed calls and many… many messages. All from Will. And you would have heard them if you hadn't put your phone on vibrate mode just to enjoy the night better.

Plse answt, one of the messages read.

wwe can't fondsanti

Your heart started beating incredibly fast as you unlocked the phone, your hands turning freezing cold.

You heard the sound of Emma’s toilet flushing just as you pressed call on Will.

"Oh God, much better," she said as she stepped out of the stall, but you couldn't do anything except listen in silence. Emma watched you bring the phone to your ear. "What happened?"

"I don't know," you shrugged both shoulders.

The phone rang once, twice, three times—

"Hey."

"Hey, Will, what happened? I just checked my phone—"

"Santi’s gone."

Oh God, he was slurring his words.

"What you mean he's gone? Gone from where? Isn't he with you?"

Emma’s eyes widened. "Is that Will?"

You nodded and put it on speaker.

"—in the restroom, but Ben went to look for him and he wasn't there, and he's nowhere to be found and—"

"Where are you right now?"

"Here."

"Here where?"

"Will, honey, can you hear me? Where are you guys?" Emma asked.

"In the restroom—at the bar, in the bar restroom."

Your heart jumped into your throat. "And where's Santi?"

"I-I I dunno, he left, or I dunno, he's not here—"

You closed your eyes in frustration. "Listen, is there anyone else there I can talk to?"

"Yeah wait."

On the other end, you could hear music, voices, and a thud that sounded like a door slamming shut. Will muttered a shit, and two seconds later:

"Yeah?"

Francisco.

"Hey, what happened?" you asked, rubbing your hand across your forehead. "Where's Santi?"

"Uh… we… we don't know where he is. We were just hanging out here and he said he had to go to the restroom." Okay, he wasn't slurring his words. "And then after a bit, we realized it had been a really long time, and when Ben went to check, he wasn't in the restroom, or in the bar. He's not here, he left."

"But how? How could he have left without you guys noticing?"

Emma watched you in silence, her eyes wide.

"I dunno, I'm sorry. He must've slipped out through the other side of the bar."

"Shit, Frankie, are you being serious?"

"I'm sorry, we're gonna go look for him right now—"

"Will is drunk, and I assume Benny is too, you aren't gonna get very far," you sighed. "How was Santi acting before he disappeared?"

"A bit wasted too. He started talking about trees and houses, and said Yov was gonna be mad at him."

Emma gasped in shock. Your heart completely skipped a beat.

"Alright, where exactly are you guys right now?" you asked.

"At The Crow. We were planning to head over to Met Park later."

"Okay. Listen to me, stay put, yeah? I'm coming right now. Please don't call anyone else. Have you talked to anyone else?"

You heard Frankie pull the phone away from his ear.

"Did you talk to anyone else? No? You Ben? Alright…" his voice sounded muffled before coming back clear. "No, they haven't talked to anyone else. Neither have I."

"Good. I'm not far, okay?"

"Okay."

Without answering, and before he could say anything else, you cut the call, your hands freezing cold.

"What are we gonna do?" Emma asked. "You don't think he got cold feet about the wedding, right?"

"No, no," you shook your head, though you weren't entirely sure. "No way. Santi would never do that."

Emma rubbed her cheek. "I'm calling an Uber right now. What are you gonna tell the girls?"

"Nothing. They don't need to know. I'll just text mom telling her we're heading home for some silly reason, and that's it."

Your fingers flew across the screen, typing out some absurd excuse. Hey, Em broke her shoe, we're running home real quick to change and we'll be right back, don't worry, we already called the Uber.

You hit send and prayed that your mom's maternal instinct wouldn't kick in tonight of all nights.

You were going to kill Santiago.

If you bit your nails any shorter, you were going to be left with none. And it felt like this damn Uber driver was practically crawling.

"There they are!" Emma said the second you pulled up to the block where the bar was.

Will, Ben, and Frankie were waiting outside on the sidewalk, the three of them looking like scared kids waiting for their moms to pick them up from kindergarten.

You mumbled a quick thank you to the driver and got out as fast as you could, while Emma scrambled out from the other side a bit more clumsily.

Will put both hands on his head as soon as he saw her. "Emmy!"

"Look at you! Grown men!" she snapped, a little tipsy herself. "How could you lose your friend?"

Shaking your head, you looked over at Benny, who was crouching down and looking like he was about to throw up, before shifting your gaze to Frankie; the only sober one, apparently.

He wasn't drunk, but he looked just as panicked. His hair was a bit messy, and he was looking at you with a strange expression.

"What happened?" you asked, crossing your arms as you stepped up to him. "Have you tried calling him?"

Frankie’s eyes flickered across your face. "He left his phone. I have it right here."

"Oh God."

"Don't worry, we're gonna find him," he nodded. "He couldn't have gone very far."

"How? Look at them," you gestured toward Will and Benny. "They're wasted!"

Frankie took another step closer to you. "But I'm not. I've only had a few sips. My car is right across the street."

"Francisco. You're the best man, you were supposed to look out for him," you frowned, a sudden wave of anger hitting you. "How on earth did you let him slip away?"

He frowned back. "How was I supposed to imagine he’d just take off like that? It's Santi we're talking about."

"Yeah, exactly!"

"Alright, alright," Emma stepped in, raising a hand. "Stop wasting time talking and do something, okay? He could be anywhere! Frankie, can you drive?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"Zero point zero eight!" Ben yelled.

"Okay. You go with him and search everywhere," she told you, gesturing with her chin, "and I'll take these two drunks back to Will's place."

No, you thought. And your stomach did such a massive flip you almost gasped. But on the outside, you just nodded.

"Alright," you said, catching sight of Frankie moving beside you out of the corner of your eye. "I'll keep texting you. Tell Grian to keep an eye out in case Santi comes back here, and to hold onto him."

"Will do."

You took a step backward and your back collided with something—No, with him.

As you lost your balance, his hands instantly caught your shoulders. He was right behind you.

"Sorry."

"It's fine," he murmured over your shoulder, his hands releasing you immediately. "Let's go."

He started walking toward the curb, stopping right there to wait for you.

Before moving, you looked at Emma with your eyes wide open, only to catch the mischievous glint in her gaze as she pressed her lips together, trying not to smirk.

Bitch.

Well, this felt familiar.

As you crossed the street, you turned back for a moment and saw your best friend on the other side, while you awkwardly approached your brother’s friend’s car. It was a familiar scene, wasn't it?

Unlike that first time in Dallas, Frankie held the door open for you. A gentlemanly gesture that caught you off guard. First, because you didn't recognize the car. It was a different one. Black or dark blue, you couldn't quite tell the color in the darkness of the night. It wasn't any of the cars you had seen at Will’s house, and this one was newer. And second, because it would have been easier for both of you to have just skipped the gesture entirely.

"Thanks." You settled into the leather seat, and he shut the door softly beside you.

During the brief seconds it took him to walk around to the driver's side and get in, you let out a deep sigh. Your eyes scanned the black dashboard and then moved up to the rearview mirror, where a small silver cat keychain and a green pine tree hung, filling the space with the scent of vanilla.

Frankie stepped inside like a gust of air and slammed the door shut.

Alright. Chill. This doesn't have to be weird.

"Where to?" he asked.

You pressed your knees tightly together. "Let's just drive around the block first."

Without a word, he started the engine and pulled the car out of its parking spot, maneuvering smoothly as he kept a cautious eye on the street, while you locked your eyes on him the exact same way.

"Uh," you cleared your throat and looked straight ahead, "he couldn't have gone very far."

"He must be around here somewhere."

"You think he called a cab or something?"

"I have his phone."

"Right," you pursed your lips. "Of course."

You clasped your hands in your lap and laced your fingers together, feeling your palms grow sweaty as you stared out the window, holding back a sigh.

It smelled way too much like him in here. Like his cologne, the fabric softener on his clothes—like him, because he was sitting right next to you, and that made sense, didn't it?

Your heart was beating so fast.

"He seemed a little down today," he noted.

You turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"You know, earlier," he looked back at you, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds before turning his eyes back to the street. "I figured he was just nervous about the wedding, so I didn't want to press him with questions."

"You think that could be it? You think he got scared?"

He shook his head. "No, no way. Santi isn't like that."

"I know he's not. But I dunno, it could be possible."

Through the window, the sidewalks and streets passed by with no sign of him.

"What did he mean when he said Yov was gonna be mad?"

Frankie pursed his lips and turned the corner. "I don't know, he wasn't making much sense. He started talking about trees, about how long they live and how big they can grow, and how it had been a really long time since he last visited the park. I asked him about it, but he said nothing. Then he said Yov was gonna be mad if she found out about the house. When I asked him what he meant, he just said it was stupid."

"I can't think of anything," you sighed, rubbing your hand over your neck in frustration. "It doesn't make any sense. Did something happen with his house? What on earth was he talking about?"

"He's drunk, I don't think much of what he said was supposed to make sense."

"But Santi isn't like that, you know him," you looked at him. "When has he ever said something he didn't mean?"

He sighed. "Never, I guess. Maybe tonight he was just in the mood to talk about live oaks."

You froze, watching Frankie’s profile as he looked straight ahead and scanned the sidewalk on his side while driving at a relaxed pace.

"Live oaks?"

"Yeah," he affirmed, looking over at you. "I didn't know he was that into trees."

Oh.

OH.

Your hand shot out to grab his shoulder. "I think I know where he is."

"What?"

"Turn around right here," you pointed with your hand, "now. I know where he is!"

Frankie accelerated to the corner and made a sharp left. "Where? Tell me."

"I'm not completely certain, but I'm almost positive," you brushed a strand of hair out of your face.

He chuckled. "Are you gonna tell me where or not?"

"Osbourne Park."

"Why?"

"When we were kids, we had this eco-week in school and they sent us to plant trees. Santi and I planted a live oak with Dad. We went there a lot after he passed away, and I am—Jesus, I'm almost positive he has to be there. Did he say anything about my dad tonight?"

"Yeah," he raised his eyebrows, "yeah, he did."

A relieved sigh escaped your throat and instantly, the car surged forward as he pressed on the gas.

"Take the next right. It'll get us to the ramp faster," you said, leaning forward in your seat, your fingers tightly gripping the edge of the dashboard.

Without a word, he shifted gears and veered right. The streetlights flashed across his face, throwing shadows over his jawline and making his messy hair look even wilder.

Not the time to be looking at him like this!

"He's gonna be fine," he said quietly, grounding anchor against the worry rising in your chest. "If he’s at the park, he’s just clearing his head. He wouldn't do anything stupid."

"I know, I just hope he's there. Otherwise, I don't know," you murmured, staring out at the blurred shapes of buildings. "I don't have any other idea."

Frankie glanced at you, his expression softening before he turned his focus back to the road. "Easy. He's gonna be okay. And if he's not there, we can keep looking around."

Your heart did another strange, complicated flutter that had nothing to do with Santi. You swallowed hard and kept your eyes glued to the windshield.

The car flew past the exit signs, Frankie maneuvering through the light night traffic. He kept his foot steady on the accelerator, making the drive feel much shorter than it actually was. And within short minutes, the neon signs of the downtown bars faded away, replaced by the dark, towering silhouettes of the trees surrounding Osbourne Park.

He took the final turn into the park's entrance; the headlights cut through the heavy darkness of the empty parking lot, sweeping over the grass.

You popped the door open and scrambled out of the car as the heavy darkness of the park was broken only by the scattered park lights cutting through the night, and hovered by the car for two seconds, waiting as Frankie got out from his side and shut his door with a thud.

The moment you saw he was ready, you started moving into the park, your eyes darting everywhere, scanning every shadow. Then, you locked your gaze just to the right, past the paved, illuminated path that led toward the thicker wooded area where the tallest trees stood, and among them, the live oak.

Your pace quickened. As you got closer, cutting through the deep shadows, you managed to make out a familiar shape.

"There he is," you said, drown in anger and relief.

You broke into a fast walk, nearly a jog, while your heart hammered against your ribs as you felt Frankie’s footsteps keeping close right behind you.

As you got closer, you could make him out better. Santi wasn't on the grass; he was sitting on a park bench right in front of the little green space where the tree stood tall and still young among others.

Your footsteps naturally lost their urgency, your pace tapering off as you approached him from behind. He was half hunched over, elbows resting on his knees with his head hanging down. His curls caught the bright glare of the overhead LED light, making them glint in the dark.

You stopped. "Santi?"

He jumped a little at the sound of your voice, straightened up at a relaxed pace, and turned his head just enough to look at you, his eyes unfocused.

"Bub? What are you doing here?"

His voice sounded completely congested and undeniably drunk.

"Frank," Santi smiled, "what are you two doing here?"

You let out a tired sigh and stepped closer to him. "I could ask you the same thing, couldn't I? What are you doing here?"

Up close, he looked like a little kid. You could see his glassy, tear filled eyes, the soft curls falling over his forehead, and the utterly defeated look that took over every single feature of his face as he stared at you in pain.

Santi hung his head again.

"I'm sorry. It's just..." He swallowed hard. "I need time."

His voice was so low you had to furrow your brow. "What?"

He shook his head.

Confused, you glanced over at Frankie, who was keeping a short distance back. He was absolutely quiet.

"Our house is for sale," Santi said. "Our house."

You shifted to his side and sat down right next to him. Tilting your head to see him better, your chest tightened.

"Our house?"

"Our house," he looked at you, and right then, it clicked.

Santi wasn't talking about his house. He was talking about your childhood home.

"I drove past it the other day. I always do. It’s on my way to work, or… not really, I'm lying. I just like driving past it, I guess," he continued. "You remember the family that bought it? With those three little kids?"

"Yeah."

"They don't live there anymore. It's empty now, and there's this big sign outside with a realtor's face on it," he let out a humorless laugh.

You forced a smile even though your cheeks felt heavy, and you reached your hand out to his arm.

Instantly, Santi placed his hand over yours.

"I want it back, bub," his voice cracked. "It’s our house. How could we just let it belong to someone else?"

"You know how things were back then. It wasn't easy for mom—"

"Dad lived there. We grew up there. And she… she just got rid of it because it hurt? What about us? What about you, what about me?" he spat out painfully, the words hitting you straight in the chest.

You swallowed hard. "I know."

Santi’s face contorted with agony, and a sob broke through his lips. And as if he were terrified of you seeing him like this, he covered his face, burying his head in his hands, trying to hide in the shadow of his own body.

"Santi," was all you could manage to say as you threw your arm around his back, resting your head against his shoulder while thick tears began to pool in your eyes.

He let out a ragged breath and abruptly straightened up, making you shift away from him.

"I made an offer," he said.

"For the house?"

He nodded, looking at you with pure fear in his eyes. "I did. And Yov doesn't know."

"How… how? With what money—I'm sorry, but—"

"Our savings, and I'm planning to take out a loan—"

"Santi, wait," you shook your head gently, "you have to talk to her before you do anything like this."

"I know."

"Why didn't you tell her?"

"I don't know," he shook his head, in pain. "She loves our current house. If she found out I wanted to sell it—I don't wanna disappoint her." A gasp broke through his words. "I'm gonna be a husband."

You smiled involuntarily at the realization. "Yeah, you will."

Santi sat completely still, barely moving, his eyes bloodshot as he stared down at his own hands, his body swaying in an almost imperceptible rhythm.

"I'm gonna be a husband," he repeated, barely a scared whisper. "And a dad, someday."

"I am absolutely certain you'll be a great husband and dad."

His head snapped toward you, his eyes instantly flooding with glassy tears.

"You will," you reaffirmed, squeezing his hand. "I know you will."

He nodded at a very quiet, subdued pace. "I need him, bub."

A beat.

You nodded. "I know. I need him too."

"How can I ever be like him? How can I ask him what to do or how to do it if he's not here? He should be here," his words took on an angry edge right at the end. "On my wedding day."

"I honestly don't know," you murmured, your voice catching as you squeezed his hand tighter. "I ask myself the exact same thing every single day. But I know I have you, and you have me. And you can always, absolutely always count on me, for whatever, whenever. And I'm sure he's so proud of you."

Santi offered a faint, fleeting smile, his eyes searching yours. "I'm gonna miss you when you leave again. Nothing is the same without you sticking your nose into all of my business."

You let out a soft laugh, blinking back a new wave of tears. "You're gonna be way too busy starting your own family. You'll barely even notice I'm gone."

His smile faltered, a deep, raw sadness washing over his features. "How could you say something like that? You're part of my family too. I've missed you so much these past few months, you know that? First Mom, and then you," he said, his voice cracking slightly as a weak smile returned to his face. "Why is everyone so obsessed with leaving this place, huh?"

He turned his head around, his gaze shifting toward Frankie, who was still standing a short distance behind you both, keeping his respectful space.

Frankie offered a quiet smile, his eyes on Santi. "Hey, I came back, didn't I?"

Santi let out a weak laugh. "Yeah, you did."

Then, he turned back around to face the dark park, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. He hung his head, dragging both of his hands over his face and up through his tangled curls, holding them there for a second.

When he finally lifted his eyes, he locked his gaze onto the live oak tree, staring at it in total silence for a long moment, as if soaking in the memory of your dad one last time tonight.

Finally, he spoke, his voice completely drained. "I wanna go to sleep."

You nodded silently, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak.

"Alright, let's go," you whispered.

Carefully, you pushed yourself up from the bench and reached out, pulling on his arm to help him stand. His weight shifted unsteadily, but right at that moment, Frankie was there. He stepped in instantly, his strong grip catching Santi by the arm, anchoring him and helping him keep his balance on his shaky, alcohol heavy legs.

In complete silence, the three of you made your way back across the grass toward the car. The only sound was the rustle of the night breeze through the leaves and the quiet scuff of your shoes. And when you reached the vehicle, you quickly pulled the back door open as Frankie guided Santi inside, carefully maneuvering him so he could settle into the backseat.

The second his head hit the leather, it was over. In less than two seconds, Santiago was completely out, his eyes shut tight as his breathing immediately slowed into a deep sleep.

Frankie drove in silence down the side street by the park, careful with every bump and easing through the road so the car’s movement wouldn't wake Santi. In the backseat, he was completely twisted and bent out of shape, yet fast asleep.

Less than a minute passed after you left the park area behind before a sigh finally escaped your throat.

Your phone lay in your lap, its screen dark ever since you read Emma’s last message a few moments ago. She was already at Will’s place with the guys, and apparently, Benny had crashed on the couch the second they walked through the door.

Frankie pulled up to a red light.

"You can take us to my place if you want, I’ll stay with him," you said, not looking at him.

He clicked his tongue. "Nah, it's fine. I’ve got him. Yov’s party is still going, you shouldn't miss it. I’ll take him to Will’s and crash with the guys. You and Emma can head out."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he turned to look at you, "gotta fulfill my duties as bestman."

A helpless smile slowly formed on your lips as you looked at him, and his own lips mirrored the gesture a second later. His eyes held yours like a magnet, and your stupid heart skipped a beat again.

"So, uh, New York," he tossed out, breaking eye contact as he looked back at the road. "What did you think?"

You lowered your head, fixing your gaze on your hands in your lap.

"It's nice. It's a great city," you looked back at him, but his eyes were still fixed ahead. "And I… I’ve been writing a lot."

Frankie glanced at you again. "Yeah?"

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from smiling like an idiot.

"Yeah. A book, actually."

"That's amazing," he smiled, "what's it about?"

"Uh, well, it's kind of a love story. It's mostly about Miles, and his relationship with Alya. They meet one night at a restaurant and lose touch for a year until they cross paths again, but Miles is this guy with a huge amount of baggage and things to work through," you waved your hands, showing just how huge Miles's problems really were. "And it's… it's a complicated story."

Frankie gave a half-smile, nodding slowly. "Does it have a happy ending?"

You pursed your lips and tilted your head. "I'm not telling you."

"Why? C'mon."

The traffic light turned yellow, and two seconds later, green.

"It has a happy ending, doesn't it?" he pressed, his eyes drifting back to the road as the car started moving again.

You huffed. "You really want me to spoil it for you?"

"Depends. How long do I have to wait to read it?"

"I haven't even finished writing it yet, so probably a while."

Frankie let out a soft laugh. "Alright. I'll wait."

Or maybe you could show him a few pages, you thought. Just a few, just to get his opinion.

It was just a thought. You didn't even know why you were so desperate to show him all of it.

"Emma told me you moved to a new place?" you said, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.

He nodded. "Yeah. Over at Circle Ranch."

"Yeah? It's a nice area."

"It is, it really is," he glanced at you for a split second. "Bingley likes it."

You smiled. "Really?"

"Yeah. We have a big backyard now, lots of grass and a few trees. He loves it, but it freaks me out a little, y'know," he shook his head with a smile. "The other day he climbed up one of the trees and I spent half an hour trying to get him down."

"He probably would've come down on his own. Cats really like being up in high places."

"I know. But what if a dog gets him or something?"

You tilted your head. "Are there any dogs nearby? I mean, from your neighbors or...?"

He shook his head. "Not really."

"Then?"

Frankie laughed. "I don't know. I guess I just don't want anything happening to him."

"Mhm. Cats are really smart. Bingley is really smart," you assured him. "And if your yard is safe, you shouldn't worry too much as long as he stays inside it. Just make sure he doesn't escape."

"Yeah, I bought him a collar with a tracker."

You laughed softly. "That's cool. I should get Darcy one of those. You really are a protective cat dad, uh."

"Well, obviously," he smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. "He’s my roommate. If he goes missing, I gotta do my own dishes."

"Fair point," you smiled, looking out the window for a moment. "I'm glad Bingley is enjoying his new backyard. Sounds like he has his own little kingdom now."

"He definitely thinks he owns the place," Frankie chuckled, slowing down as you approached a quiet intersection. The playful tone in his voice softened, turning into something softer as he glanced over at you. "What about you? Are you staying at your apartment?"

"Yeah. It feels good to be back home. Even Darcy is enjoying it."

Frankie nodded, keeping his hands steady on the wheel. He went quiet for a moment as the car moved down the dark street.

Then, his voice dropped. "So... Uh, are you, are you going back to New York?"

A sudden hollow feeling carved itself deep into your chest. You bit the inside of your cheek, looking away out the passenger window as the city lights blurred past. In your lap, you tightly laced your fingers together, squeezing your hands to ground yourself.

"I guess. I don't know yet."

You turned your head back to look at him just as the car approached another intersection. The traffic light flicked to a glowing red.

Frankie came to a stop and turned his head.

In the sudden stillness of the car, bathed in the soft crimson glow of the light, his eyes met yours. There was no teasing left in them, no easy deflection; just a brief searching intensity that seemed to pull the air right out of your lungs for a second.

He looked at you as if he were trying to read between the lines of your hesitation, his eyes dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto yours. "You like it there?"

Your heart squeezed.

Yes, you thought, but it doesn't feel like home.

Instead of saying it out loud, you looked away, answering softly, "I guess I do."

You turned your eyes back to him. Frankie was still looking at you, wearing a small encouraging smile. But you couldn't mirror it. There was something heavy sitting deep in your chest that anchored your lips in place.

Frankie noticed. "When Harry met Sally, uh?"

That pulled a small laugh from you. You shook your head.

Seeing your reaction, Frankie shook his head too, a chuckle escaping him as he quickly backpedaled. "No, no. They met in Chicago. Forget I said that."

You leaned your elbow against the car door, resting your face in your hand as you turned to look out the passenger window. The lingering smile stayed on your lips for a few seconds as the car moved forward, but it slowly began to fade, melting away into the quiet streets.

Beside you, Frankie just drove. He didn't push for more conversation or try to fill the space with words. He simply let the silence settle between you, steering through the night as the landscape outside started to blur into something increasingly familiar.

Will’s house wasn't far now. Just a few more blocks, a couple of turns, and this ride would be over.

And right then, a sudden ache hit you: you didn't want it to end.

The realization washed over you quietly, almost catching you off guard, of just how desperately you had missed this. Just being near him, sharing the same space, even wrapped in these sometime-uncomfortable silences.

You watched the streetlights sweep across the dashboard in waves, wishing the car would slow down, wishing the blocks would stretch out, just to keep the outside world away for a little longer.

But no matter how much you wished you could control time, sometimes wanting to speed it up, other times desperate to slow it down, the reality was that it just kept moving.

And while your heart hammered against your ribs like an untamed creature, craving more of him, Will’s house suddenly appeared ahead.

Frankie pulled the car into the driveway, bringing the ride to a final stop.

A beat later, he let out a quiet sigh and unbuckled his seatbelt, the click signaling the end of the line. The headlights caught the front window of Will’s house.

Your eyes drifted to him then. He glanced at Santi, still dead to the world in the back, before turning his face to yours.

"Frankie," you breathed, and the name felt forbidden on your tongue.

He didn't speak, but the slight tension in his brow gave him away. His hands remained clamped at the top of the steering wheel.

"I'm so sorry for everything that happened to you," you said, knowing this probably wasn't the right time or the right place, but utterly unable to hold it in any longer. "About Henry, and... and everything that came after."

The silence stretched.

Frankie swallowed, giving a single nod. "Thank you."

"And it makes me real happy that you're doing better now."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, but his eyes stayed entirely dark. His gaze drifted down, anchoring somewhere between the two of you, as if measuring the distance that had grown since you left.

His hand twitched on the wheel, a microscopic movement toward you that he stopped just in time.

"Thank you."

You nodded.

Frankie seemed to hesitate. "And I... I'm so sorry," he murmured, his brown eyes lifting back to yours. "For hurting you and… and letting you down. You didn't deserve what I did to you."

You didn't offer an easy reassurance. You just let out a slow nod.

"And I'm really happy you're doing what you love," he added, his voice flattening out as he forced a smile. It was a tight, fragile thing. "I have no doubt everyone is gonna love your book."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Thank you."

Frankie’s smile faltered, dropping for a fraction of a second before he held it back up.

"And New York..." He trailed off, his gaze slipping from yours to look down at his own lap.

In that brief second of detachment, your eyes scanned his face with a desperate quiet hunger, memorizing him all over again. You traced the familiar slope of his nose, the soft curve of his mouth, the tiny lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there a year ago, the new marks on his face. You searched every single feature, hunting for a crack in his armor, looking for a hidden twitch, a shadow of hesitation, anything that said stay.

But Frankie just gave a soft shake of his head, looking back up. His expression was clear and almost painfully serene.

"I'm sure New York loves you too," he said softly. "It’s a big city, but it fits you. You’re gonna do amazing things there."

A cold ache settled deep into your stomach.

Was this encouragement? Was this a gentle nudge out the door? Was he clearing the path for you, sweeping away the debris?

A sudden winter seemed to settle inside the small cabin of the car. You forced a nod, your eyes drifting back to the dashboard where the green light of the clock kept ticking forward.

"Yeah," you breathed. "Thank you, Frankie."

He unclasped his hands from the steering wheel, the leather letting out a soft stick and release sound that felt incredibly loud. And the space between your seats suddenly felt like an ocean.

You looked straight ahead and unbuckled your seatbelt, the snap breaking the trance. "We should probably get Santi inside."

Without waiting for a response, you pushed the car door open and stepped out, your lungs begging for air.

You took a deep grounding breath of the cool night wind as you walked toward the front porch. Pressing the doorbell, you could hear the heavy thud of Frankie’s door closing behind you.

Emma opened the door almost instantly.

"Hey," she whispered, stepping outside and crossing her arms against the chill. "Will and Benny are already passed out. What happened? How's Santi?"

"Nothing," you said, turning back toward the car where Frankie was gently shaking Santi’s shoulder. "Santi was just at the park. Everything's fine."

Emma nodded, watching as Frankie carefully hauled a groaning Santi out of the backseat. You stepped in, grabbing your brother's other arm to stabilize him.

"Careful," you murmured.

Santi blinked heavily, a goofy smile spreading across his face as he looked at you.

"I'm careful," he slurred.

The three of you shuffled toward the porch in an awkward synchronized stumble, Frankie carrying most of Santi's dead weight while you guided his steps. Emma stepped aside, holding the front door wide open to let the makeshift rescue team pass.

"Will and Ben are in the living room," Emma guided quietly, shutting the door behind you. "You can take him straight to the bedroom."

"Alright, keep your feet steady, man," Frankie muttered to Santi, adjusting his grip around his torso.

Santi let out a low grunt, his sneakers dragging lazily against the hardwood floor.

"Why didn't you tell her?" he mumbled into the space between them.

You frowned, staring at your brother. Just then, Santi rolled his head back to look at you, his eyes unfocused but teasing. "He didn't... he didn't."

Frankie didn't acknowledge it, his face a mask of focus as they reached the open bedroom door. He placed a firm hand on Santi’s back, guiding him over the threshold.

"C'mon. Bedtime."

Santi paused for a second in the middle of the room, clumsily tugging at the zipper of his jacket.

"It's too fucking hot in here," he muttered.

A soft chuckle escaped Frankie’s lips. You watched them from the doorway, leaning against the frame with your arms crossed, forcing a faint hollow smile that didn't reach your eyes.

"Hey."

Turning around, you found Emma standing a few feet away in the dimly lit hallway. You stepped out of the room, giving Frankie and Santi some space.

"What's the plan?" she asked softly.

"We're heading back to Yov's," you replied. "Frankie's staying with the guys."

Emma searched your face, her eyes lingering a bit too long. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

You slipped back into the bedroom. Santi was already sprawled out on the mattress, his jacket and shoes discarded on the floor, while Frankie pulled a thick blanket up to his chest.

"All good?" you asked quietly.

Frankie nodded, looking down at him. "Look at him. Like a baby."

You swallowed the tightness in your throat and walked out toward the living room. Emma was already on one of the armchairs. Across from her, Will and Benny were sound asleep on the couches, buried under a messy pile of blankets and breathing heavily.

"I'll call an Uber," you said, pulling out your phone.

Emma nodded. "Your mom texted me, by the way. Asked how long we were going to be. I told her we got held up because you had a stomach ache."

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. "Right. Did she buy it?"