Iknowdatsright💁🏿‍♀️

The morning after the Bears' win over Green Bay felt completely different from the chaos of the night before.

Less than twelve hours earlier, the stadium had been roaring. Cameras had followed every celebration. Reporters had crowded around lockers. Teammates had shouted over one another while music blasted through the locker room speakers. It had been loud and electric and unforgettable.

Now there was only silence.

The winter draft through the curtains of Colston's bedroom making everything colder than usual. The city outside was still waking up, but inside the apartment, time felt slower. The excitement of game day had settled into something quieter.

Colston was still asleep when Y/N first opened her eyes, and for a moment, she simply watched him.

Without the helmet, pads, and uniform, he looked different. Less like the imposing NFL tight end everyone saw on Sundays and more like the man she knew. His hair was a mess from sleep, one arm stretched across the mattress, breathing deep and steady.

The sight made her smile.

The Bears had beaten Green Bay the day before, and judging by the grin she'd watched him wear all night afterward, it was one of those wins that would stay with him for a long time.

She shifted closer, the movement must have stirred him because his eyes opened slowly. For a second, he looked confused, then seeing her across from him and immediately smiled. His sleepy smile was one of her favorite things in the world

"Morning," she whispered.

His voice was rough with sleep.

"Morning, mamas."

The nickname melted her every time, neither of them moved just yet so they could save the moment for a little bit longer. Colston's hand found hers automatically beneath the blankets, settling against her side as if it belonged there.

Y/N laughed softly when he pulled her a little closer to him.

"You're clingy after wins."

"After losses too."

"At least you're honest."

"Always my love."

His eyes hadn't left hers once, that was another thing about Colston.

When he looked at her, he really looked at her like she was the last person on planet Earth, because he damn near acted like it half the time. Comfortable.

Safe.

Y/N shifted until she was closer still, and Colston immediately wrapped an arm around her waist as eventually she leaned forward.

The kiss started lazily.

The kind of kiss that felt more like a greeting than anything else.

Colston smiled against her mouth for a second before kissing her back.

One hand settled against her lower back, holding her close as though he never intended to let her drift too far away.

Y/N's fingers disappeared into his messy hair that definitely needed a lineup.

That earned a satisfied hum from him.

He always loved when she played with his hair.

The kiss deepened naturally, unhurried and comfortable, both of them smiling occasionally whenever one of them accidentally bumped noses or laughed under their breath.

Colston then propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her as his free hand traced her shoulder before leaning in again for a kiss. When they broke apart, they were both slightly heavy at the breath as the sun came in through the window shining in his dark eyes. 

“You gon’ ride me?” he asked, his voice still raspy from sleeping.

A playful smirk appeared her lips immediately . She shook her head, just once, her eyes never leaving his. “Nah, wasn’t my intention..”

His smile didn’t falter; it just turned darker, more intent. “Missionary it is then,” he murmured but smirked right after.

Taking his time, he leaned down to kiss her again after flipping her over onto her back while his hands explored her hips and made their way lower.

Kissing her jaw and the pulse point below her ear making her shake for just a moment as he rocked his hips slowly against her, practically torture to her body.

“Easy, baby,” he whispered against her skin, his breath hot. “We got all morning.”

He positioned himself, and without a warning he pushed inside of her. Sinking into her every single inch and halfway through, her head dropped back onto the pillow before staying there letting her adjust to his size. Too deep inside of her, way too deep.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his forehead dropping to hers, his eyes squeezed shut. “You feel that? You take me so good. Every damn time.”

“I can’t take it..” she moaned back as he started to move thrusting in and out hitting that spot that always made her toes curl, before propping himself up on his forearms looking down at her face. 

“Yes you can.. Thats it, so fuckin’ tight you know that?” 

Him saying that made Y/N gasp as he continued in and out of her. “Just like that mamas.” 

Her hands scratched at his back, her nails digging in slightly. The pleasure was building so much pressure in her lower belly getting tighter and tighter it was too much, too good for her.

Her mind drifted, blissfully hazy. In a moment of pure, unthinking surrender, a breathy, broken word escaped her lips. “Daddy…”

Colston froze while inside of her, then his eyes flew open at her as his ego skyrocketed. 

“What was that?” he asked, his voice dropping to a dark, thrilling purr. He didn’t move, letting the word hang in the air between them.

She blushed, mortified and turned on in equal measure, trying to turn her face into his shoulder, but he caught her chin, forcing her to look at him. 

“Say it again baby,” he commanded, his hips giving a slight, suggestive roll that made her whimper. She couldn’t. The embarrassment was too much for her and she tried to look away again.

With a slick sound, he pulled almost all the way out and then drove back into her, hard, and the pace was brutal as it made her breathless. The bed slammed against the wall, the noise echoing in the room.

“Yeah you like that?” he grunted, his voice strained as he started pounding into her. “So beautiful I swear, all mine.”

“Im gonna-” Y/N’s head went back again as she squeezed around him, coming to her peak, and soon he followed, staying inside for just one moment before pulling out. He collapsed onto the bed, some of his weight on her while the rest luckily on the mattress. 

A few minutes later he got up, rolling onto his back as his arm wrapped around Y/N which he moved onto him, her head tucked under his chin. It was a shock to her, at this moment she never cared about her phone. It was somewhere in this room, the silence filled the room.

“I cannot believe you still called me that.”

“Don’t get your ego too high baby.” she said after slapping his arm lightly before getting up to get ready for a shower.

“You got room for one more?” as Y/N looked back at him, rolling her eyes “You’re just down bad for no reason, I swear.”

The second Colston found out that one of his old Michigan teammates was finally getting married, his first thought was that he was genuinely happy for him.

His second thought was that he looked absolutely terrible.

Not terrible in a dramatic way. Not “homeless man under an overpass” terrible. But terrible in the very specific way athletes looked after being burrowed in his home right before OTA's.

His fade had grown out unevenly around the edges, the back of his hair was doing something strange every morning, and the dryness in the front had gotten so bad it practically stood up on its own like static got to it.

And this was not just any wedding.

This was JJ Mccarthy and his fianceè Katya’s wedding.

California.

Black tie.

A bunch of Michigan alumni.

NFL players.

Photographers.

Instagram stories.

The kind of event where one bad haircut lived online forever.

So naturally, Colston was standing in the locker room one afternoon staring into his phone camera with pure disgust while turning his head side to side.

“Nah,” he muttered. “This is badd.”

Across from him, Caleb Williams looked up from tying his cleats.

“You talking to yourself again?”

Colston angled the phone toward him. “Look at this.”

Caleb stared for two seconds.

Then immediately started laughing.

“Oh, you sick.”

“Be serious.”

“I am serious. You got helmet hair permanently attached to your skull.”

Colston threw a towel at him.

“I gotta leave for California in like two days.”

“For JJ’s wedding?”

“Yeah.”

Caleb nodded slowly, still grinning. “Okay, yeah. You can’t go lookin’ like that.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Caleb leaned back against the locker with the expression of somebody about to make a very bad decision.

“I got somebody.”

Colston narrowed his eyes instantly. “No.”

“What you mean no? You don’t even know who I’m talking about.”

“Because every time you say ‘I got somebody,’ it turns into a disaster.”

“This one different.”

“Mhm.”

Caleb pointed at him dramatically. “My homegirl cuts hair. Braids too. If you got hair, she can do something with it.”

“I don’t need braids.”

“I know that. I’m just saying she versatile.”

Colston still looked unconvinced.

Caleb continued anyway.

“She got her own private suite downtown. Appointment-only type setup. Real fancy. She hard to get in with though.”

“How hard?”

“She booked for like three weeks.”

Colston groaned immediately.

“But…” Caleb dragged the word out with a smirk. “I could probably convince her to fit you in if I take you.”

Colston stared at him.

“You acting like you introducing me to the president.”

“I’m serious. She don’t play about her schedule.”

“So why would she squeeze me in?”

Caleb shrugged. “Money.”

“That’s honest at least.”

“And because I’m me.”

“That part I don’t believe.”

Caleb laughed loudly. “Man shut up.”

By the next afternoon, Colston found himself sitting in the passenger seat of Caleb’s matte black SUV heading toward downtown Chicago while regretting every decision that had led him there.

The city was gray from an earlier drizzle, the streets glossy with rainwater reflecting storefront lights and traffic signals. Caleb drove one-handed through traffic like he owned the entire road, music low through the speakers while Colston kept checking the time on his phone.

“You nervous over a haircut?” Caleb asked.

“I’m nervous because you hyped this woman up like she finna perform surgery.”

“She basically do.”

“That don’t even make sense.”

Caleb smirked but didn’t answer.

Eventually they turned into one of those expensive downtown parking garages connected to luxury buildings with offices on lower floors, boutiques in the middle, private studios and salons higher up. The kind of building with dim warm lighting and concrete walls so clean they barely looked real.

As soon as they parked, Caleb pointed at him.

“Act normal.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means don’t walk in there acting weird.”

“I’m literally getting a haircut.”

“She can smell weird energy.”

Colston blinked slowly. “You sound insane.”

They rode the elevator up several floors until the doors opened into a quieter hallway lined with frosted glass suites and minimalist gold signage.

Everything smelled expensive.

The suite Caleb stopped at had soft lighting spilling through the frosted glass beside the door, and in elegant lettering across the front it read ‘Relax Theory Studio.’

Colston glanced over.

“That sound like somewhere people cry after divorces.”

Caleb snorted before pushing the door open.

The first thing Colston noticed was the music.

Soft R&B floated through hidden speakers at just the right volume, enough to hear but not enough to interrupt conversation. The suite itself was ridiculously calmin with floating shelves lined with products organized perfectly.

 A coffee station in the corner. Huge mirrors with soft backlighting. One styling chair near the front and another farther back near the shampoo bowls. And standing near one of the counters organizing clippers was Y/N Y/LN.

Colston noticed her before she even looked up.

Alo zip up sweatshirt over a black tank top. Gold jewelry catching under the warm lights. Nails glossy. Hair pulled back effortlessly. One of those people that looked put together without seeming like they tried too hard.

She glanced up.

Saw Caleb.

And immediately pointed at him.

“Aht aht.”

Caleb started laughing instantly.

“Nope,” she said. “Absolutely not. I’m not fitting you in again, Caleb.”

“I brought somebody important.”

“You said that last time, and it was literally your cousin.”

“He was important to me.”

She rolled her eyes.

Then her gaze shifted toward Colston.

And paused for half a second.

Not dramatic.

Not obvious.

But enough for him to notice.

Caleb grinned immediately like an instigator sensing blood in the water.

“This Colston.”

“I know who he is,” she said casually.

Something about hearing that made Colston straighten up a little.

Caleb looked between them with way too much amusement.

“See? We already got chemistry.”

“Please leave,” Y/N deadpanned.

Caleb ignored her entirely. “He got JJ’’s wedding in California and look at his hair.”

“Yo.”

She stepped closer before Colston could defend himself, tilting her head slightly while examining him with the focus of an artist staring at a crooked painting.

And then she sighed.

“Your hair is dry, Colston.”

The way she said it was so disappointed it almost embarrassed him.

“I know.”

“No, like dry dry...”

Caleb burst out laughing behind him.

Y/N pointed toward the chair.

“Get in.”

Colston sat while Caleb wandered around the suite touching random things until Y/N threatened him twice.

Eventually she draped the cape around Colston’s shoulders, fingers brushing briefly against the back of his neck while fastening it.

“You use conditioner?”

“Yes.”

She gave him a look in the mirror.

“Be honest.”

“Sometimes.”

“Mhm.”

Caleb nearly folded over laughing again.

“This why I don’t invite you places,” Colston muttered.

Y/N shook her head while gently pushing his hair around.

“It’s not horrible,” she admitted. “It’s just thirsty.”

“That sounds disrespectful.”

“It is.”

The conversation flowed easier than Colston expected after that.

Too easy, honestly.

Usually haircuts felt awkward. Either silence or forced conversation. But Y/N talked naturally while working, moving around him with calm confidence that made the entire suite feel slower somehow.

She asked about California.

About the wedding.

About Michigan.

And when he mentioned how long he’d known JJ, her expression softened slightly.

“That’s actually sweet.”

“What?”

“You going all the way out there and stressing over a haircut for your friend’s wedding.”

“I’m not stressing.”

“You checked your reflection in my mirror four times already.”

Caleb pointed dramatically from the couch. “Cook him.”

Colston glared at him.

Eventually Y/N guided him toward the shampoo bowls in the back.

“Come on. We gotta save your scalp.”

“You make it sound tragic.”

“It is tragic.”

The shampoo area was somehow even calmer than the rest of the suite. Dimmer lighting. Warm towels stacked nearby. The faint sound of water running somewhere.

As soon as Colston leaned back into the chair, he realized he understood why Caleb hyped this place up so much.

The water temperature was perfect.

Not too hot.

Not too cold.

And when Y/N’s fingers finally worked into his hair, Colston nearly lost his train of thought entirely.

She scrubbed his scalp thoroughly, nails lightly dragging against his skin in slow circular motions while working shampoo through his hair.

It should not have felt that relaxing.

At all.

But after weeks of helmets, sweat, workouts, and constant movement, it practically felt therapeutic.

“You got tension bad,” she murmured.

“Hm?”

“Your scalp tight.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Yes.”

“You judging my scalp now?”

“I’m judging everything.”

He laughed quietly despite himself.

His hair, wet now, flattened briefly before sticking up again in random directions the second she worked product through it. Short straight pieces poked everywhere, no matter what she did.

Y/N smiled.

“Your hair doesn’t know what it wanna do.”

“That makes two of us.”

She looked down at him for a second after that comment,  and Colston hated how fast his chest reacted to it, because Caleb leaving halfway through somehow made everything worse.

The second his phone rang, he stood dramatically.

“Aight I gotta go.”

Colston looked up immediately. “You’re leaving?”

“Yep.”

“You brought me here.”

“And now you safe.”

Y/N pointed toward the door. “Bye Caleb.”

“See how I’m treated?” he complained while grabbing his keys.

Neither of them answered.

A minute later the door shut behind him, leaving only the quiet music and the sound of water running softly in the background.

And somehow that silence felt different immediately.

“So,” she said casually, “you nervous for the wedding?”

“Nah.”

“You lying again.”

He opened one eye.

“Why you keep calling me out?”

“Because you got nervous energy.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

By the time Y/N finished rinsing the conditioner from Colston’s hair and guided him back toward the styling chair, the entire atmosphere of the suite had shifted into something dangerously comfortable.

That was the problem.

Nothing felt forced around her.

Not the conversation.

Not the silence.

Not even the way she moved around him with one hand lightly touching his shoulder to turn him toward the mirror while she plugged in the blow dryer.

Most people around NFL players acted one of two ways,  either overly impressed or overly uninterested trying to prove they didn’t care and Y/N somehow did neither. She talked to Colston like he was just another client in her chair, even while lightly roasting him every five minutes.

And unfortunately for him, it was working.

Way too well.

The warm air from the dryer pushed through his hair while she worked a brush through it carefully, sectioning the short straight strands with practiced ease. His hair puffed out slightly under the heat before settling softer than it had looked all month.

“You see?” she said. “Hydration, a basic concept.”

Colston smirked a little. “You really been judging me since I walked in.”

“Because you came in here struggling.”

“I was not struggling.”

“You were one gust of wind away from looking electrocuted.”

He laughed under his breath while she continued drying his hair, fingers occasionally brushing the sides of his head when she adjusted the angle.

And that definitely wasn’t helping him think straight either.

At one point she stepped away to grab another clipper guard from the counter, and Colston immediately reached for his phone sitting in his lap beneath the cape.

Without even thinking twice, he opened Caleb’s messages.

Colston: you did NOT tell me your stylist was hot

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

Caleb: oh brother

Caleb: I knew this was coming

Colston glanced toward Y/N, who was reorganizing products near the mirror completely unaware, then typed again.

Colston: im serious

Caleb: colston you are NOT about to fuck my stylist

Caleb:  thats my homegirl

He snorted quietly.

Colston: im just saying

Caleb: no youre not JUST saying, i know your type of timing

Colston smirked to himself while Caleb kept going.

Caleb: plus she dont even be on that right now anyway

Colston’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

Colston: what that mean

The typing bubble paused.

Then resumed.

Caleb: she been single for a minute

Caleb:  last dude wasnt even her man for real it was some sneaky link situation

Caleb: ended BAD too

Colston read the next message twice.

Caleb: the girl threatened her so hard she aint tryna die anymore 😭

Colston barked out an actual laugh before quickly covering it with a cough.

Y/N turned around immediately.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing.”

“That sounded loud for nothing.”

He shook his head while locking his phone.

“Caleb being stupid.”

“That’s every day.”

There was something weirdly attractive about how naturally she said that, like her and Caleb had been friends since day 1. The kind of friendship where she’d threaten to kick him out but still fit his teammates into her schedule.

Y/N moved back behind the chair and started sectioning his hair again.

The blow dryer hummed softly while she shaped the front carefully, fingers lifting pieces and letting them fall.

“You got good hair when you actually take care of it,” she admitted.

“That sounded backhanded.”

“Because it was.”

“Damn.”

She smiled a little to herself.

The more time passed, the more Colston caught himself watching her instead of his reflection.

The concentration on her face when she lined things up.

The way her bracelets slid softly down her wrist every time she adjusted his head.

The way she absentmindedly bit the inside of her cheek while focusing.

It was bad.

And it got significantly worse about ten minutes later.

Because Chicago salons in winter got warm fast with blow dryers running nonstop, and eventually Y/N stepped back from the chair and sighed dramatically.

“It is hot in here.”

Before Colston could even process it, she pulled the quarter zip Alo sweatshirt over her head casually and tossed it onto the counter nearby.

Underneath was a fitted tank top that hugged her perfectly.

And suddenly Colston forgot every thought he previously had.

Completely.

The tank showed the toned lines of her shoulders and arms, gold jewelry sitting against her skin while she moved around him adjusting clippers like she hadn’t just altered the entire atmosphere of the room.

Meanwhile Colston was trying very hard to maintain eye contact with literally anything else.

The mirror.

The ceiling.

The product shelf.

The wall.

Anything.

Unfortunately, Y/N stepped directly in front of him a second later while adjusting the chair height.

“Look up for me.”

Big mistake.

Because the second he tilted his head back slightly, she leaned closer to start lining up the edges near his mustache, and from that angle…

Absolutely not.

His eyes flicked downward for half a second before immediately snapping back up toward the ceiling.

Professionalism Colston...

Meanwhile, Y/N remained completely unaware, focused entirely on shaping the line carefully while holding his chin lightly between her fingers to keep him still.

“Stop moving.”

“I’m not moving.”

“You literally just did.”

“My bad.”

Her fingers pressed briefly along his jaw to tilt his face straighter.

And that definitely didn’t help either.

Colston swallowed hard while trying to focus on literally anything besides how good she smelled up close. Something warm and expensive cancelling out the minty scent floating through the salon.

“You nervous?” she asked suddenly.

His eyes dropped back to hers.

“Hm?”

“You keep swallowing like you about to give a speech.”

Jesus Christ.

“Nah,” he said quickly.

She narrowed her eyes slightly like she didn’t fully believe him.

Then she turned the chair carefully side to side, examining her work from different angles while the lights reflected softly across the mirror.

Colston watched her through the reflection the entire time.

And somehow it was worse seeing her that way,  moving around him confidently in that calm little salon suite like she belonged exactly there.

Which she did.

“Okay,” she murmured finally. “Now we getting somewhere.”

She reached up and lightly pushed a piece of his hair into place near the front before stepping back again.

And Colston realized two things at once.

First, she was really, really good at what she did.

Second, California suddenly wasn’t the thing he was most interested in anymore.

“You got somewhere after this?” she asked casually while cleaning up one side of the lineup.

“Nah.”

“No team dinner?”

“Tomorrow.”

She nodded once. “Mhm.”

“You?”

“I live here now,” she joked “This suite pay too much rent for me to leave.”

He laughed quietly.

And then the front door opened.

Immediately the calm atmosphere shattered.

“ LOOK AT MY BOY.”

Colston closed his eyes instantly.

Y/N groaned without even turning around.

“Why are you back?”

Caleb walked in carrying another coffee and grinning like an idiot the second he saw Colston sitting in the chair.

“Nah hold on.” Caleb walked closer dramatically, staring at the haircut like a proud father at graduation. “Okayyyyy.”

“Relax,” Colston muttered.

“No, because this is crazy.” Caleb pointed toward Y/N. “See? What I tell you? She a magician.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t fully hide the small smile pulling at her mouth.

Caleb circled the chair inspecting every angle unnecessarily.

“Boy came in lookin’ homeless.”

“I was not homeless.”

“You was one cold night away.”

Y/N snorted quietly while cleaning the trimmers.

“See?” Caleb said immediately. “She know.”

“Y’all are annoying.”

Caleb leaned closer examining the fade dramatically.

“Damn. You actually look employable now.”

“Please shut up.”

The entire suite filled with easy laughter after that, the kind that made Colston realize how naturally he’d settled into this space in only a couple hours.

Too naturally.

Because when Y/N finally spun the chair slowly toward the mirror for the full reveal, Colston actually sat there for a second stunned.

The cut was clean.

Sharp.

Not overdone.

Just… good.

The front sat perfectly textured instead of dry and puffed up, the fade blended smooth, the lineup crisp without looking painted on.

He looked expensive.

Like somebody that belonged at a California wedding surrounded by cameras and NFL players.

“Damn,” he admitted quietly.

“Told you,” Y/N said smugly.

Caleb put both hands on his hips proudly like he personally did the haircut.

“That’s my stylist right there.”

“She not yours,” Colston said automatically.

Both of them looked at him immediately.

Caleb’s eyebrows lifted slowly.

Y/N tried not to smile.

Colston realized how that sounded three seconds too late.

“I just meant-”

“Nah nah,” Caleb interrupted immediately. “Interesting wording.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Mhm.”

Y/N shook her head laughing softly while pulling the cape off Colston’s shoulders.

The weird part was how normal everything suddenly felt after that.

Like he’d known her longer than one afternoon.

Like this wasn’t the first time he’d sat in her chair listening to her quietly roast him while music played in the background.

And that feeling only got worse once he stood up.

Because now he was taller than her by enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to look up at him while explaining how to maintain the style.

“Use the leave-in conditioner I put in your bag,” she said. “Not just water.”

“I do not just use water.”

“You absolutely do.”

Caleb nodded immediately. “He definitely do.”

“Why are both of y’all attacking me?”

“Because you need guidance,” Y/N answered calmly.

Colston laughed under his breath while pulling his wallet out.

“Nah seriously though,” he said. “How much I owe you?”

“250.”

Colston barely reacted before tapping his card instantly.

She noticed that too.

Athlete money.

No hesitation.

Still, she appreciated that he didn’t do the weird rich thing where he tried to flex or act flashy about it. He just paid, thanked her genuinely, and stood there awkwardly afterward like he didn’t actually wanna leave yet.

Which Caleb noticed immediately.

Because of course he did.

That man noticed everything.

Caleb suddenly snapped his fingers.

“WAIT.”

Both of them looked over.

Caleb pointed between them dramatically.

“Bro.”

“No,” Colston said instantly, already sensing danger.

“You invited me to this wedding.”

“And?”

“And I need a plus one.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Caleb walked toward her counter casually like this was the most normal idea in the world.

“I’m serious. You should pull up.”

Colston’s heart actually skipped for half a second.

Y/N laughed softly. “To California?”

“Yes.”

“For a wedding I don’t know anybody at?”

“You know me.”

“That is not convincing.”

Caleb ignored that completely.

“It’ll be fun. Rich people. Open bar. NFL players everywhere. You can judge everybody outfits.”

“That part does sound entertaining.”

“Exactly.”

Colston should’ve been saying something.

Anything.

But instead, unfortunately, his brain had temporarily shut down because while Y/N leaned back against the counter thinking about it, his eyes drifted downward again without permission.

And this time he got caught immediately.

Badly.

Because Y/N looked right at him mid sentence and paused.

Then slowly crossed her arms.

“Oh my God.”

Colston snapped back to reality instantly.

Caleb’s eyes widened with delight.

“OH HE GOT CAUGHT.”

“No I didn’t,” Colston said way too fast.

Y/N was trying not to laugh now.

“You absolutely did.”

“I wasn’t-”

“You were staring directly at my chest.”

Caleb physically bent over laughing.

“BROOOOO.”

Colston rubbed a hand over his face immediately.

“No, I was staring at your hair.”

Silence.

Then Y/N stared at him for a long second before bursting into actual laughter.

“MY hair?”

“Yes.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“It looked different.”

Caleb nearly fell against the counter laughing.

“That is the WORST recovery I ever heard in my life.”

“I panicked.”

“You think she dumb?!” Caleb wheezed.

Y/N was still laughing while shaking her head.

“Your hair,” she repeated sarcastically.

Colston pointed helplessly. “You took the zip-up off.”

“And suddenly my hair became interesting?”

“I don’t know, man.”

At least he was honest.

That somehow made it funnier.

Y/N looked down for a second, still smiling to herself before glancing back up at him.

And unfortunately for Colston, she didn’t actually look uncomfortable.

If anything, she looked entertained.

Which might’ve been even worse.

Caleb finally wiped tears from under his eyes dramatically.

“Anyway,” he said, recovering. “You coming or not?”

Y/N looked between both of them for a second.

Then shrugged casually.

“Sure.”

Colston blinked.

“Wait seriously?”

Now it was her turn to notice.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“You sound excited.”

“I’m not.”

“Mhm.”

Caleb looked back and forth between them like he’d just personally orchestrated the greatest event of his career.

Colston, sleeping light usually woke up first, shifting his body and blinking at the ceiling with a groggy groan, his eyes disoriented and face feeling heavy on the side he slept on, meaning he slept extremely well. For a second, he stayed still, one arm lazily stretched across the mattress, not realizing what his arm was holding.

Y/N.

She was fully asleep, face buried nearly all into his chest with one leg thrown across his waist under the blankets that they all owned along with her bonnet half about to fall off from moving in her sleep all night with her breathing slow and steady and in the deepest sleep even humanly possible. She’d fully deserve it after working three straight pediatric shifts back to back and luckily it was her off day.

Which meant she was dead to the entire world including the man she loved, Colston smiled as she looked down knowing she was so peaceful and he genuinely hated waking her up for anything. Its the weeks she would come home exhausted from dealing with sick children and stressed parents with nonstop alarm through the hallways of the floor.

He smiled immediately because it was a rare moment, she almost never got time off anymore. Which meant he needs to get out of the bed quietly as possible.

Unfortunately, his puppy was awake the second his feet touched the floor and his head lifted instantly, tail wagging as he then attempted to launch himself across the bed, luckily Colston caught him mid jump with a grunt.

“You’re dramatic as hell,” he muttered while carrying the dog out of the room.

Outside the air was perfect, it wasn't too hot yet as Chase went through the yard running around like he was just released from jail. Colston leaned against the patio with his phone texting anyone he forgot to answer back yesterday.

His phone buzzed with notifications from all sorts of people including a message from Luther Burden when he was asking what was he wearing to this ‘camp.’ By the time he came back inside, Chase ran up the stairs and pounced onto the bed.

Y/N groaned softly as the mattress dipped. 

“Mmmm.” 

“It’s just us today,” Colston said quietly while pulling the hoodie off his head, revealing that he was shirtless underneath. “You got the whole house to yourself as I go coach nearly 100 children.”

One eye opened.

“Yea?” 

“Mhm.”

She shifted to grab her phone off the nightstand, and the blankets went with her.

“Great.”

Colston laughed, and as soon as Colston went into the bathroom, the puppy abandoned his own spot and crawled right onto Colston’s side of the bed like he’d been waiting for this exact moment as usual. Y/N smiled without opening her eyes.

“Traitor,” Colston said.

Chase blinked before sighing and putting his head onto Y/N’s shoulder.

“Wow.”

Y/N’s sleepy laugh muffled into the pillow.

“You’re getting replaced.”

“By a dog?”

“He’s fluffier than you.”

“That’s insane.”

She was asleep again before he even left the room, and almost a hour later the camp started and it was the thing closest to hell on earth.

The indoor field was packed with kids, parents lining up on the sidelines with their phones out constantly as they recorded every drill with music playing faintly. Colston loved being at camps, but today was much different than any other one.

Half of the volunteers were late, someone forgot to restock the waters and Gatorade, and one kid had already cried because another boy told him the Bears sucked as ragebait and all in that, Luther was laughing at everything instead of helping, which sounded usually just like what he would do.

“You think this funny?” Colston asked while fixing a line of kids.

“A little bit,” Luther admitted.

Colston pulled his phone out immediately.

Because there was only one person he trusted to help manage complete chaos, that person? Y/N. She answered the FaceTime after two rings, still lying in bed with Chase sprawled across her stomach like a weighted blanket.

Her voice was raspy with sleep.

“Hello?”

“Baby can you please come..”

She squinted at the screen.

“You sound stressed.”

“I am stressed.”

Behind him, a kid yelled, “COACH HE PUSHED ME.”

Another kid immediately screamed back, “I DID NOT.”

Y/N started laughing instantly.

“Oh my God.”

“I’ll take you out for lunch after,” Colston bribed quickly. “Please.”

She looked at him for another second before sighing dramatically.

“Fine.”

“Yes.”

“But you owe me crab rangoons.”

“Done.”

“And a sweet tea.”

“Anything.”

“Okay bye.”

He grinned immediately before hanging up.

Back at the house, Chase lifted his head as soon as Y/N sat up.

“You heard him?” she asked the dog. “Your father is struggling.”

The puppy wagged his tail like he completely understood every word she was saying, while she got ready, Chase followed her around the bedroom nonstop. She took a shower then changed into a navy oversized Bears T-shirt and a navy athletic skort. With her then slipping on ankle socks and some athletic shoes.

“You cannot come.” she told him.

He whimpered anyway.

“Don’t start.”

The second she grabbed her sunglasses and tote bag, he trotted after her again.

Putting him in the kennel felt like betrayal apparently.

The moment she closed the little gate, Chase let out the saddest whine imaginable and pressed himself dramatically against the bars.

“Oh brother,” Y/N muttered.

She crouched down long enough to scratch behind his ears.

“I’ll be back later.”

He still looked devastated.

The garage was cold compared to the weather outside; her BMW lit up the second she got close to it with the key fob. She tossed her bag into the passenger seat before backing out, coffee in hand, music low through the speakers while driving to the address he sent. And she could see why it was chaotic, the parking being horrific was a great example. 

Cars parked in places they shouldn’t be parked and people parked on curbs. 

“Jesus Christ,”she muttered while circling for a spot and inside was even worse.

Kids were everywhere.

Mothers lined the walls recording every second on their phones, though Y/N noticed very quickly some of them weren’t even filming their children anymore.

They were filming Colston.

And honestly?

She almost understood.

He looked ridiculously good.

He was wearing a custom shirt with him and Luther on it, navy obviously, with white athletic shorts and a whistle hanging around his neck while he showed the drill to a group of little boys who were confused previously.

“Plant here,” he instructed one kid patiently. “Then explode out. Don’t stand straight up too fast.”

A mother nearby lowered her sunglasses slightly while zooming in on her phone camera.

Y/N nearly laughed.

When she finally walked toward the front sign-in table, the teenage girls working the desk looked up immediately.

“Hi!” one said brightly. “Where’s your son?”

Y/N blinked once.

She had literally opened her mouth to answer when Colston looked over from across the field and spotted her instantly.

His entire face changed.

“There she is,” he muttered before jogging over.

The girls at the desk visibly straightened up.

Colston walked right around the table and kissed Y/N on the forehead before taking her tote bag from her shoulder automatically.

“You came,” he said.

“You were begging.”

“I absolutely was.”

Then he looked at the girls behind the desk.

“She’s with me.”

The girls’ expressions changed immediately.

“Oh.”

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t laugh.

Within twenty minutes, she was already helping.

Which honestly shocked nobody.

A little boy skidded across the turf trying to catch a football and scraped his knee hard enough to start crying instantly. Before any coach could react, Y/N already had him sitting on a bench while cleaning the scrape with one of the mini first aid kits from her tote bag.

“You’re okay,” she told him gently. “I promise it looks worse than it is.”

The boy sniffled.

“It burns.”

“I know. That means it’s working.”

Meanwhile kids were literally sprinting around behind her like tiny tornadoes.

At one point, one little kid yelled at Colston from the middle of the field.

“CALL CALEB WILLIAMS.”

The entire gym started laughing.

Colston shook his head immediately.

“No.”

“Please!”

“Coach!”

“PLEASE.”

Luther walked over grinning.

“Do it.”

“You not helping.”

“Do it for the kids.”

A minute later, somehow, Caleb Williams was actually on FaceTime.

The entire group of kids lost their minds screaming.

Y/N was standing off to the side beside Luther’s girlfriend, Amaya, both of them trying not to laugh too hard at how serious Colston looked holding the phone up while thirty children yelled random things over each other.

One kid screamed, “YOU GOT A LAMBO?”

Another yelled, “BEAT GREEN BAY.”

Amaya snorted so hard she nearly choked on her drink.

Y/N leaned against her shoulder laughing quietly.

“Oh my God,” Amaya whispered. “They’re stressing him out.”

Across the field, both Luther and Colston looked over immediately.

Full side-eyes.

The girls straightened up fast, trying to act innocent.

“We weren’t laughing,” Y/N said immediately.

Colston narrowed his eyes.

“Mhm.”

After almost four hours, the camp finally started winding down.

Kids lined up for pictures while parents thanked everybody nonstop. Colston looked exhausted but happy, taking photo after photo while sweaty little boys grinned beside him holding signed footballs.

Y/N stood nearby waiting patiently while scrolling through her phone.

That was when one mother walked over smiling.

“Excuse me,” she said to Colston. “Is this your girlfriend?”

Y/N slowly lifted her eyes toward him immediately.

The side eye she gave him was a ‘You better say the right thing or you will be sleeping in the doghouse tonight.’

“Yes,” Colston answered instantly.

The mom smiled knowingly.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he said casually, like he wasn’t internally trying not to laugh at Y/N’s expression.

The second the woman walked away, Y/N looked at him.

“You almost looked scared.”

“I was.”

“Good.”

Finally, once the last family cleared out, Colston walked back over toward her while tugging the whistle from around his neck.

“What type of food you want?”

“I dunno.”

He groaned immediately.

“As usual.”

“You asked.”

He shook his head while smiling tiredly.

“I’ll meet you over there.”

Before she could answer, he reached for her hand automatically and walked her out toward the parking lot.

The heat outside wrapped around them immediately after the freezing cold indoor turf facility. Y/N unlocked her BMW while Colston stood close beside her.

“You saved my life today,” he admitted.

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m serious.”

She smiled while opening her door.

Then right before she got in, Colston tapped her butt lightly and pushed the door closed behind her before she could smack him for it.

Y/N stared at him through the open window.

“You’re annoying.”

“And you love me.”

chapter 1: bare necessity

chapter 2: +1

chapter 3: the trust

The day had been awful in a way that felt almost personal, like the universe had singled Y/N out and decided to test just how much she could take before she cracked.

It started small with her alarm not going off, her phone dying overnight because she forgot to plug it in, a missed email that turned into a last-minute responsibility she had to scramble to fix.

By noon, everything felt rushed and off-beat. People were short with her, nothing went the way she planned, and even the simplest things like dropping her keys twice in the parking lot, felt like they carried weight.

By the time she got home, she was drained.

But she had one thing she was looking forward to.

Colston.

She kept telling herself that if she could just resetjust take a long shower, do her little “everything routine,” shave, deep condition, exfoliate, the whole thing, she’d feel better.

She’d feel like herself again. And then when he got home from the facility, she’d be soft, pretty, put-together. Ready.

So she turned the water on hot, almost too hot and stepped into the steam filled bathroom, tying her hair up before starting.

For a little while, it worked.

The quiet. The warmth. The routine.

She moved through it slowly, carefully, trying to shake off the day with every step of washing her hair, scrubbing her skin, going through the motions like she could rinse the stress right off her body.

But then she paused.

There was a split second where her brain tried to catch up with what she was seeing, and then her stomach dropped.

“No… no, no, no..are you serious?” she whispered under her breath, voice cracking immediately.

Her period.

Right then. Right there. In the middle of everything.

Her shoulders sagged like all the air had been knocked out of her lungs, and she let out a shaky breath that turned into something dangerously close to a sob. It wasn’t even just about that though.

And suddenly she was crying.

Not graceful tears. Not quiet sniffles.

Full, overwhelmed, hormonal tears that mixed with the shower water as she stood there, one hand braced against the tile wall like she needed it to stay upright.

“I just wanted one thing to go right,” she mumbled, voice breaking completely now.

By the time she got out of the shower, wrapped in a towel with her damp hair clinging to her shoulders, her face was flushed and puffy from crying.

She moved more slowly now, like everything felt heavier, pulling on an oversized tshirt and soft shorts, not even caring about the routine she had planned anymore.

She just wanted to crawl into bed.

That’s exactly where she was, sitting on the edge, staring blankly at nothing when she heard the front door open downstairs.

Then the familiar sound of keys hitting the counter.

Footsteps.

Colston.

“Baby?” his voice called out, warm and easy like always.

She didn’t answer right away, and that alone made him pause.

He knew her too well.

A second later, his footsteps were coming up the stairs, quicker now, more intentional. The door pushed open gently, and there he was, fresh from the facility, still in his workout clothes, hoodie slightly damp at the collar, hair a little messy from whatever drills they had him doing.

And the moment his eyes landed on her everything about him softened.

“Hey…” he said quietly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

She tried to speak, really she did, but her lips just trembled instead, and that was all it took.

Colston crossed the room in a few quick strides, crouching down in front of her where she sat on the bed, his hands coming up to gently hold her arms.

“What happened?” he asked softly, searching her face.

And that was it.

The tears started all over again.

“It’s just..today was so bad,” she choked out, voice uneven, “and I tried to like… reset, I tried to feel better, and then-” she let out a frustrated little laugh through her tears, “of course my period starts in the middle of everything and I just-”

Her words fell apart again as she shook her head, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“I just feel gross and tired and...”

She didn’t get to finish.

Because Colston gently grabbed her wrist, stopping her from wiping her face again, and leaned in just enough to make sure she was looking at him.

His expression was so steady it almost grounded her immediately.

“Baby,” he said softly, thumb brushing under her eye to catch a tear before it could fall, “I don’t need any of this.”

His voice dropped just a little, firm in the gentlest way.

“I just need you. Got it, my love?”

She blinked at him, tears still clinging to her lashes, caught off guard by how simple he made it sound.

Like all the pressure she’d put on herself didn’t even exist to him.

Like none of it mattered.

Her lip wobbled again, but this time it wasn’t from frustration, it was from relief.

He gave her a small smile, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a second before pulling back.

Then, like he was switching gears completely, he tilted his head slightly.

“You wanna do me a favor?” he asked.

She sniffled, nodding a little.

“Go downstairs,” he said gently, brushing a piece of damp hair behind her ear, “find one of those reality shows you love, one of the messy ones too, I know you got favorites.”

A tiny, watery laugh slipped out of her.

He smiled at that.

“I’ll be down in ten minutes,” he continued, standing up and tugging his hoodie over his head, tossing it aside, “gotta shower real quick.”

He glanced back at her, softer again.

“And you can order whatever you want for dinner. Anything.”

There was a pause, just a second, before he added “I mean it. Don’t think about it.”

She nodded again, this time a little more steady, the weight on her chest easing just enough for her to breathe properly.

“Okay,” she murmured.

Colston leaned down one more time, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Good girl,” he said quietly, almost absentminded, before heading toward the bathroom.

Downstairs, the house felt quieter in a way that wrapped around Y/N like a blanket. The lights were dimmed just enough to be soft on her eyes, and the massive couch that Colston had insisted on sat in the center of the living room like it owned the space.

She had protested when he first picked it out.

Said it was too big, too extra, that no one needed that much couch.

And he had just looked at her, all 6’6 of him, and went, “Baby.. I physically do.”

Now, curled up in one corner with a blanket thrown over her legs, she couldn’t even argue anymore. It was perfect.

The TV glowed with one of her favorite reality shows, something chaotic and dramatic and completely unserious, and she half-watched it while scrolling through food options on her phone.

Her eyes were still a little puffy, her energy low, but there was a softness settling in now. She ordered something easy. Comfort food. Something warm.

And then she waited.

Upstairs, she could faintly hear the shower running, and for a moment, she just let herself exist in that space. No pressure. No expectations. Just… waiting for him.

By the time the shower shut off and his footsteps came down the stairs, her body had already started to sink deeper into the couch, her head resting against the cushion as the show played in the background.

“Smells like you ordered already,” his voice came, low and familiar.

She turned her head slightly, and there he was fresh out the shower, hair damp, wearing a loose shirt and sweats that sat low on his hips. Comfortable. Clean. Him.

“Mhm,” she murmured, voice soft, “it’s on the way.”

He walked over without another word, eyes scanning her face like he was checking in without asking, and then he climbed onto the couch behind her, shifting until he had enough space.

It didn’t take long before he was pulling her gently back into him.

“C’mere,” he murmured.

She went easily.

Her back pressed into his chest, his arm sliding around her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

His legs stretched out behind hers, long enough that they still fit perfectly on the couch he’d argued for, one hand rested on her stomach, warm and steady.

The other came up to tuck the blanket around her a little tighter.

And just like that she melted.

A quiet exhale left her lips as she settled into him, her head tilting back just slightly so it rested under his chin.

“You comfy?” he asked softly.

She nodded, eyes already getting heavier.

“Yeah…”

He pressed a small kiss to the side of her head, lingering there for a second.

“Good.”

They stayed like that while the show played with his thumb absentmindedly tracing slow, soothing patterns against her arm, her breathing gradually evening out as the tension from the day finally started to leave her body.

The doorbell rang not too long after, and he groaned quietly.

“Don’t move,” he muttered against her hair.

She didn’t even have the energy to respond, just making a small sound as he carefully slid out from behind her.

He was quick, grabbing the food, thanking the driver, setting everything up on the coffee table before coming right back to her like it was second nature.

“Sit up for me, baby,” he said gently, helping her shift just enough so she could eat.

She tried.

She really did.

But she was already halfway gone.

Her movements were slow, sleepy, her eyes barely staying open as she picked at her food. Colston watched her quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips as he handed her napkins, opening containers, doing the little things without saying much.

“Eat a little more,” he murmured at one point.

She blinked at him, dazed, and took another bite just because he asked.

“Good,” he said softly.

She didn’t last long.

A few more bites, a few more slow blinks, and then her head started nodding slightly, her body leaning unconsciously toward him again.

“Alright,” he chuckled under his breath, taking the container from her hands before she could drop it, “that’s enough.”

He set everything aside and pulled her back into him, guiding her gently until she was tucked against his chest again, the blanket pulled back up over both of them.

This time, she didn’t even try to stay awake.

Her body relaxed completely the moment she felt him behind her again, his arm wrapping securely around her middle, pulling her close like he wasn’t letting her go anywhere.

“Col…” she mumbled softly, barely audible.

“Yeah, baby?”

A pause.

“I’m sleepy…”

He smiled against her hair, pressing a soft kiss there.

“I know.”

Another small pause.

“..thank you.”

His grip tightened just a little, not enough to wake her, just enough to reassure.

“Always.”

Within seconds, her breathing slowed, evening out into something soft and steady as she drifted off completely, tucked into him like she belonged there.

And Colston?

He didn’t move.

Didn’t reach for his phone, didn’t turn the TV up, nothing.

He just stayed there, arm wrapped around her, chin resting lightly against her head, listening to her breathe.

It started loud.

“Maaa..ma!!”

Her voice echoed down the hallway, high-pitched, determined, and way too awake for how early it felt.

The sun had barely settled into the house, light just starting to spill through the windows, but Dalia was already up like she had somewhere important to be.

She stood in the middle of the hallway in her little pajamas, curls slightly flattened on one side from sleep, the rest puffed out in every direction. Her eyes were wide, alert, full of purpose.

“Mama! Up!” she called again, louder this time.

Y/N stirred in the bedroom down the hall, eyes barely opening as she registered the sound.

“..she’s up,” she mumbled into the pillow.

But Dalia wasn’t waiting.

Not today.

She turned, tiny feet padding against the hardwood as she made her way toward the stairs, gripping the railing like she had done a hundred times before.

Because she had.

Carefully.

One step.

Then another.

She climbed down with focus, wobbling slightly with each step but steady enough now that it didn’t scare anyone like it used to.

“Down,” she muttered to herself.

Then, when she reached the bottom, she paused.

Looked around.

And then she took off.

Fast.

Well..toddler fast.

Her little feet picked up speed as she waddled down the hallway, arms slightly out for balance, her body bouncing with every step.

“Dada!” she yelled.

She knew exactly where she was going.

The bedroom door at the end of the hall.

Closed.

But that didn’t matter.

She reached it and immediately started slapping it.

Smack. Smack.

“DADA! OPEN!”

Inside, Colston shifted slightly in bed, eyes still closed.

What the..”

Smack.

“DADA!”

He let out a low groan, dragging a hand over his face. “Man…”

Y/N sat up slowly beside him, already laughing under her breath. “She’s not playing today.”

“Clearly,” he muttered.

Another smack hit the door.

“OPEN! DADA!”

Colston shook his head, pushing himself up. “Alright, alright-”

He swung his legs off the bed, walking over as the banging continued.

The second he opened the door, Dalia stumbled forward slightly, catching herself just in time before looking up at him like she had just been waiting her whole life for that moment.

“Dada!” she said again, this time proud.

Colston blinked down at her, still waking up.

“…you breaking doors down now?” he asked.

She smiled.

Big.

Then immediately reached for him.

“Up.”

Y/N leaned against the headboard, watching the whole thing, shaking her head.

“She's been calling me first,” she said.

Dalia glanced back at her for half a second.

“Mama… come,” she added quickly, as she remembered.

Then turned right back to Colston.

“Up.”

He laughed, bending down to pick her up, settling her easily on his hip.

“You're bossing everybody around already,” he muttered.

She babbled something back, pointing down the hallway like she had a plan.

“Go.”

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Go!” she repeated.

Y/N slid out of bed slowly, stretching as she walked toward them.

“Today’s your day, huh?” she said softly.

Dalia looked between them.

Then clapped.

“Party!”

Both of them paused.

Then looked at each other.

Colston smirked slightly. “Yeah, she knows.”

Y/N laughed, stepping closer, brushing her hand gently over Dalia’s curls.

“You ready for your party?” she asked.

Dalia nodded aggressively.

“Yeah!”

And just like that, the day was centered around her.

Exactly how she wanted it.

By the time the clock crept closer to party time, the house had officially crossed over from busy… to chaos.

People were arriving early. Voices filled the downstairs. Doors opening and closing. Music testing in the background. The backyard is nearly perfect, half of it still being adjusted.

And upstairs, Y/N was in full survival mode.

“Come here,” she said, scooping Dalia up and setting her on the bed.

Dalia immediately tried to crawl away.

“Nope,” Y/N said, catching her quickly. “We’re not doing that.”

The outfit was already laid out, being soft, pretty, perfectly themed to her day, and Y/N moved fast, slipping it onto her while Dalia wiggled like she had somewhere better to be.

“Mama, no,” Dalia protested, kicking her legs slightly.

“Yes,” Y/N replied, not even pausing. “We have things to do today.”

The dress went on.

Shoes followed.

Dalia pouted.

But it was manageable.

Until the hair.

Y/N paused for half a second, already knowing what was coming.

“Don’t start,” she muttered under her breath.

She grabbed the brush.

And the moment it touched Dalia’s head, all hell broke loose.

“AHHHH!”

Dalia screamed like she was being harmed in ways that didn’t exist, twisting, grabbing at Y/N’s hand, trying to escape.

“I know, I know,” Y/N said quickly, trying to part her hair with precision and speed. “We gotta do it.”

“NOOOO!”

Dalia kicked her legs, tears forming instantly, voice loud enough to echo down the hallway.

Y/N’s patience being already thin snapped just a little.

“I don’t have time for this today, Dal,” she said firmly.

The shift was immediate.

Dalia froze.

Like something clicked.

Her cries stopped mid-breath.

She blinked up at her mom.

Y/N didn’t even question it.

She just worked faster with parting, smoothing, styling with practiced hands, finishing the look clean and neat.

“There,” she said, stepping back slightly. “Done.”

Dalia sat there.

Quiet.

Processing.

Then blinked again.

Like she had decided… okay.

Y/N exhaled softly.

“Good,” she muttered.

A knock came at the door, his mom Rachel.

“Y’all need help?” she asked gently.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” she said immediately, lifting Dalia into her arms and passing her over. “Please take her before I lose my mind.”

Rachel laughed softly, taking Dalia with ease. “I got her.”

Dalia leaned into her, calm now, completely fine again like nothing had happened.

“Mama busy,” Rachel told her softly as they walked out.

“Busy,” Dalia repeated.

Y/N watched them go for half a second.

Then turned.

Because she still wasn’t ready.

The room was a blur of movement.

Makeup. Hair. Outfit.

She moved fast, adjusting everything, fixing her blouse, checking herself quickly in the mirror.

Her stomach felt tight.

Uncomfortable.

Bloated.

She pressed her hand there briefly, frowning.

“not today..,” she muttered again.

She grabbed her lip gloss, finishing up just as the sounds downstairs got louder.

Everything was happening.

Now.

When she stepped out into the hallway, Colston had just walked in through the front door.

And the second he saw her, he stopped in his tracks.

Just slightly.

“Well,” he said, looking her up and down. “You look hot.”

Before she could react, smack.

His hand landed lightly against her butt as he passed.

Y/N stopped walking immediately.

“..Colston,” she said.

He turned back, smirking slightly. “What?”

She looked at him.

Tired.

Overstimulated.

And not in the mood.

“I’m not in the mood,” she said plainly. “I’m bloated as hell and I’m late on my period.”

The smirk dropped instantly.

“oh..,” he said.

Y/N sighed, brushing past him, already heading downstairs.

“I don’t have time for you right now,” she added.

Colston stood there for a second, watching her go.

Then nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he muttered as he now he saw it. The pressure.

Everything she had been carrying all morning.

And downstairs the party was already starting, Whether she was ready or not.

By the time everything was in motion, the backyard looked exactly how Y/N had imagined it.

Balloons swayed gently in the breeze, tables lined with decorations she had adjusted ten different times, food laid out neatly, music playing just loud enough to keep the energy up without drowning out conversation.

From the outside it looked like everything had come together naturally.

But Y/N, she felt like she was running on fumes.

Still, she smiled.

Because she had to.

Because the second Dalia stepped into the backyard and saw everything her entire face lit up.

“Party!” she yelled, clapping her hands, spinning in a small circle like she couldn’t even contain it. And just like that Y/N forced the smile to stay, because this wasn’t about her at all.

Dalia ran..well, waddled fast from person to person, showing off her outfit and her hair..

“Mama look!” she kept calling, even when Y/N was already watching.

“I see you,” Y/N said softly every time, voice warm, smile still in place.

Inside?

Her stomach twisted.

The heat didn’t help.

For April in Chicago, it was unusually warm, sun sitting heavy in the sky, no real breeze, the kind of warmth that clung to your skin and made everything feel just a little harder.

Y/N pressed her hand briefly against her stomach when no one was looking.

Bloated.

Nauseous.

Uncomfortable.

But she pushed through.

Dinner came and went in a blur.

Plates filled. Conversations layered. Kids running around.

Dalia barely sat still long enough to eat, more interested in everything happening around her than the food in front of her.

Colston stayed close, helping where he could, picking Dalia up when she wandered too far, keeping the energy light.

“You good?” he asked Y/N at one point, low enough so only she could hear.

“I’m fine,” she said automatically.

He looked at her for a second longer.

Then nodded.

Because it wasn’t the moment.

The table cleared slightly, everyone gathering around, phones already out.

Dalia stood in front of her cake, eyes wide.

Locked in.

Because she remembered.

She knew what this was.

“Cake,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Y/N said softly, crouching beside her.

The candles were lit.

The singing started.

Voices loud, off-key, full of love.

Dalia clapped along, bouncing slightly, completely in her element.

But the second the candles went out she moved.

Fast.

Tiny hand shooting forward toward the cake like she had one goal in mind.

Y/N caught it instantly.

“Absolutely not,” she said, firm but still smiling.

Dalia blinked, confused, trying again.

“No,” Y/N repeated, gently pulling her hand back.

Colston laughed lightly beside them.

“Lighten up a little,” he said.

Y/N didn’t even look at him.

Didn’t respond.

Because right now, she didn’t have the energy.

Instead, she leaned closer to Dalia, her smile still perfectly in place for everyone watching.

“Wait,” she whispered softly into her ear. “You're gonna get some cake first, just not like that.”

Dalia blinked up at her, processing.

Then nodded slightly.

“Okay,” she mumbled.

Y/N kissed her cheek, still smiling outwardly.

But inside her stomach churned again.

The heat pressed down harder.

She stood slowly, adjusting her posture, ignoring the way her head felt just a little too light.

Ignoring Colston’s glance and everything except what mattered.

Dalia.. being happy.

Surrounded by people who loved her.

Y/N kept the smile on.

Kept moving.

Kept hosting.

Because even if she felt like she might collapse everything was finally perfect, and she wasn’t going to let anything take that away from her daughter.

When it was time for pictures, the backyard shifted again.

“Okay, everybody over here!” someone called.

Colston had Dalia on his hip, her attention already drifting between the camera and the frosting still on her fingers. She kept pointing at random people, laughing, completely unaware that this moment was supposed to be structured.

Y/N stood nearby for a second.

Smiling.

Nodding.

But the longer she stood there the worse it got inside.

Her throat tightened, a wave of nausea hitting her so fast it made her blink hard, her smile faltering for half a second.

“Hold on,” she murmured under her breath.

No one caught it.

Everyone was too busy.

“Colston, come closer..Dalia, look here!” the photographer called.

Y/N turned.

Fast.

And walked.

Then hurried.

Then she was running.

Inside, the house was quiet compared to the backyard.

Too quiet.

Her heels clicked unevenly against the floor as she rushed down the hallway, one hand pressed tightly to her mouth now, the other gripping the wall for balance.

“Please-” she whispered under her breath.

She barely made it.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind her as she dropped to her knees, grabbing onto the edge of the toilet just in time.

And then she threw up hard.

Her whole body tensed, shoulders shaking as it came in waves, her breath catching between each one. It wasn’t quick.

It wasn’t controlled.

It was bad.

“God-” she gasped softly, coughing slightly, trying to catch her breath.

But it didn’t stop.

Another wave hit almost immediately, her grip tightening as she leaned forward again, her entire body reacting like it had no choice.

Tears blurred her vision.

Her head spun.

And she just stayed there.

The pictures kept going in the backyard.

“Alright, now just family!” someone called.

Colston adjusted Dalia slightly, still smiling, still playing along, unaware.

Dalia clapped again, pointing at the camera.

“Cheese!” someone yelled.

“Cheese!” Dalia echoed, proud.

The moment kept moving.

Without her.

Except Rachel.

She noticed.

Because she always did and her eyes scanned the group once.

Then again and saw that Y/N wasn’t there.

Rachel’s expression shifted slightly, subtle but immediate.

She leaned toward Cayden quietly.

“Take over for me,” she said, nodding toward the camera. “Make sure she’s in some of the pictures later for instagram.”

Cayden glanced at her, then nodded. “I got it.”

Rachel didn’t waste another second.

She turned and walked toward the house.

Inside, the hallway was quiet.

Too quiet.

Rachel followed instinct, moving quickly but calmly, her hand already reaching for the first bathroom door she passed.

Locked.

She knocked lightly.

“Y/N?” she called softly.

No answer.

But then a sound.

Faint.

From further down.

Rachel moved again, opening the next door and there she was.

On the floor.

Still leaned over.

Still shaking slightly.

Rachel’s face softened instantly.

“Oh, baby,” she said, stepping in quickly, closing the door behind her.

Y/N barely looked up, wiping her mouth weakly, her breathing uneven.

“I-” she started, but stopped, another small wave hitting her.

Rachel moved without hesitation, kneeling down beside her, gently pulling her hair back with one hand, the other rubbing slow circles along her back.

“It’s okay,” Rachel murmured. “I got you.”

Y/N shook her head slightly, voice low, embarrassed, exhausted.

“I didn’t even make it out there,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry about that,” Rachel said softly. “They're taking pictures. Cayden’s handling it.”

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, her body still trying to recover, her stomach not fully settled yet.

“I feel awful,” she admitted.

“It’s alright,” she said again. “Just breathe.”

Y/N stopped pushing it back.

She just  sat there.

Letting someone else take care of her for a second.

While outside the party went on.

Unaware.

But inside everything slowed down.

Exactly where she needed it to.

The bathroom stayed quiet except for the faint sounds of the party outside full of laughter, music, people calling out for pictures, but inside, it felt like a completely different world.

Y/N sat back slightly now, her body still weak, one hand resting against her stomach as she tried to steady her breathing. Rachel stayed beside her, calm, grounded, her hand still moving gently along Y/N’s back in slow, reassuring circles.

“You’re okay,” Rachel murmured softly.

Y/N nodded faintly, but her face said otherwise.

“I feel… off,” she admitted, voice low, almost like she didn’t want to fully say it out loud.

Rachel tilted her head slightly, studying her more closely now. “Off how?”

Y/N hesitated.

Her fingers tightened slightly against her leg.

Then she exhaled slowly.

“I’m late,” she said quietly.

Rachel didn’t interrupt.

Just listened.

Y/N swallowed, her voice dropping even more. “On my period. I’m late.”

The words sat there for a second.

Heavy.

Real.

“And I didn’t say anything,” Y/N continued, shaking her head slightly. “Everything’s been so… busy. With Dalia, with him, with everything. He’s always moving, always gone or focused on something and I just..” she paused, pressing her lips together. “I didn’t want to add anything else.”

Rachel’s expression softened even more.

Not surprised.

Not judgmental.

Just understanding.

“You been carrying that by yourself?” she asked gently.

Y/N nodded.

“Yeah.”

A quiet moment passed between them.

Then Rachel slowly stood up, glancing around the bathroom.

“Hold on,” she said softly.

She moved toward the cabinets, opening one, then another one carefully, not intrusive, just… looking.

Y/N blinked, watching her.

“What are you-”

Rachel paused.

Then reached in.

Pulled something out.

A small box.

She turned back around, holding it out.

“A spare?” she asked lightly.

Y/N’s eyes dropped to it.

A pregnancy test.

She froze for a second.

“I forgot that was in there,” she admitted quietly.

Rachel stepped closer, placing it gently in her hand.

“Then let’s not sit here guessing,” she said.

Y/N stared at it.

Her fingers tightening around the box.

Rachel didn’t rush her.

Didn’t pressure her.

She just gave her a small, steady look.

“I’ll step out,” Rachel added softly. “Take your time.”

Y/N nodded slowly, still looking down at it.

“…okay.”

Rachel gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning and heading toward the door.

But before she left she paused then looked back once.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” she said quietly.

Then she stepped out.

Outside, the party was still going.

Cameras flashing.

Colston stood near the table, Dalia in his arms again, talking to a few people while she pointed at something across the yard, completely distracted.

Rachel walked up to him calmly.

He glanced at her. “You good?”

She nodded once.

Then said, simply, “Y/N needs you in the bathroom.”

Colston’s expression shifted immediately.

The smile dropped.

Concern replacing it just as fast.

“What?” he asked, already adjusting his hold on Dalia.

“She’s inside,” Rachel said gently. “Go.”

He didn’t ask anything else.

Didn’t hesitate.

He passed Dalia off to Cayden quickly.

“Hold her,” he said.

Then he was already moving.

Walking fast toward the house.

Colston didn’t slow down once he stepped inside.

The noise of the party dulled behind him as he moved quickly down the hallway, his mind already racing through possibilities. Y/N didn’t just leave like that, especially not today.

He reached the bathroom door.

Paused just long enough to knock.

“Y/N?” he called, voice lower now, controlled but urgent.

“Come in.”

He pushed the door open gently.

And the first thing he saw was her sitting on the edge of the tub, quietly.

And in her hand a test.

He stepped in, closing the door behind him softly.

“What’s going on?” he asked, already moving closer.

Y/N didn’t answer right away.

She just looked at him.

Eyes wide.

Still processing.

Then slowly she lifted her hand.

Showing him.

Colston’s gaze dropped.

Focused.

And for a second everything else disappeared.

“..oh,” he said under his breath.

Because it was clear.

No guessing.

No confusion.

Positive.

He looked back up at her.

She hadn’t moved.

Hadn’t said anything.

Just sat there like she didn’t know what to do with the information sitting in her hand.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” she said finally, her voice quiet, almost fragile. “I didn’t even know if I was-”

She stopped.

Swallowed.

“I’ve been late,” she admitted. “And then today I just felt so sick and I-” her voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t want to say anything until I knew.”

Colston didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t react big.

Didn’t panic.

He just stepped closer.

Slow.

Steady.

Then crouched in front of her.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Her eyes flickered up to his.

“I’m not mad,” he added immediately.

That landed first.

Because she needed to hear that.

Her shoulders dropped just slightly.

“I just-” she started again, shaking her head. “Everything’s been so much and I didn’t want to add-”

“You not adding nothing,” he cut in gently.

She blinked at him.

“You hear me?” he said, a little firmer now, but still calm. “You don’t gotta carry that by yourself.”

Her eyes filled slightly, but she nodded.

He reached out, taking the test from her hand for a second, looking at it again, like he needed to see it twice.

Then he exhaled slowly.

“…okay,” he murmured.

Not overwhelmed.

Not shut down.

Just… taking it in.

He set it gently on the counter.

Then looked back at her.

“How you feel?” he asked.

She let out a shaky breath. “Scared.”

He nodded once.

“That’s fair,” he said.

A small pause.

“We're good though,” he added quietly.

Her eyes searched his face.

“…we are?” she asked.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” he said. “We good.”

Something in her softened.

Just a little.

Enough.

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair back from her face, his thumb lingering there for a second.

“You okay to go back out?” he asked.

She hesitated.

Then nodded slowly. “Yeah… I think so.”

He stood, offering his hand.

“Come on,” he said.

She took it.

Let him help her up.

And for a second she leaned into him.

He steadied her without question.

No words.

Just presence.

When they stepped back outside, the noise returned immediately.

Music.

Laughter.

People still moving, still celebrating like nothing had changed, because to them nothing even happened..

But to Y/N and Colston?

Everything felt just a little different now.

He kept his hand at her back as they walked out, grounding, steady.

“You ready?” he murmured.

She nodded, taking a small breath.

“Yeah.”

Across the yard Dalia spotted them instantly.

“Mama! Dada!” she yelled, clapping.

And just like that the moment shifted again.

Y/N smiled.

This time, a little more real.

Because even with everything she had just found out, her daughter still mattered.

They walked back toward the group, slipping into place.

“Alright, we need mom in this one!” someone called.

“There she is!” another voice added.

Colston stood beside her, one arm naturally wrapping around her waist as Dalia was placed between them.

“Look here!” the photographer said.

Dalia pointed at the camera again.

“Cheese!”

Y/N laughed softly.

Colston glanced down at her for half a second.

Then back at the camera.

And for the first time since walking back out they both smiled.

Together.

Like they always did even when everything was changing for the better.

ynloveland

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@/ynloveland: my baby is 2 🤍🎀

i don’t even know where to start because it feels like i just met you yesterday and was crying over you and at the same time it feels like you’ve been my whole life forever.

from the moment i brought you into this world, everything changed. i didn’t know what i was doing, i was scared, i was tired, but i knew one thing for sure. i was going to love you with everything in me. these past two years haven’t been perfect, but they’ve been real. late nights, early mornings, learning you while learning myself. growing together. figuring it out together.

you made me stronger in ways i didn’t think i could be. you made your dad softer in ways i didn’t think he could be 😭

watching you become your own little person with the biggest personality, the loudest voice, and the funniest attitude… yeah, you're definitely your daddy’s child with no dna test needed.

you love your dada BAD 😭 and you got his whole face and his big head but i’ll let him have that one.

but you’re my baby first. always.

happy 2nd birthday dalia loveland 🤍

mama loves you more than anything in this world.

@_colstonloveland_: my girls forever 🤍, i love y’all more than anything.

comments are limited & reposts are disabled.

_colstonloveland_

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@/_colstonloveland_ : my mini me turned 2 when i turned 22. i knew she was gonna be just like me from the start even though i was the most nervous dad ever… same face, same attitude, same stubbornness, and yes, she's already bougie and spoiled, already running everything, already got me wrapped around her finger and she's only 2.

we gave her a party she deserved this weekend and she loved every second of it.

happy birthday baby girl 🤍

Over the last two weeks, he had gotten really good at talking to you through your DMs. So good that he had no issues falling into that playful bickering you both did when you were in front of him. But now, the locker room was buzzing with the echoes of cleats shuffling across tile and the occasional bark of laughter bouncing off the metal lockers. It was far too much noise for him to think straight.

Before his shower, he managed to find the right words to ask if you were going to the game this weekend. He had thought about it all week, but now, with only a few days until Saturday afternoon, he suddenly couldn’t manage to form a coherent sentence.

Your reply seemed pretty open-ended, a yes with the added:

Only the tailgate though. I usually watch the game at my apartment with my roommates.

Theoretically, this could be an easy layup, a simple, straightforward proposition. He typed, deleted, then retyped the message three times before finally sending: 

You should come watch me for real.

His thumb hovered over the screen, heartbeat thudding in his ears louder than the locker room chaos. Before he could overthink it, he tapped send and immediately flipped his phone face-down on the bench, as if the message might bare its teeth and nip him. The buzz of a reply came quicker than expected. He turned it over slowly, like lifting a bandage.

I could. Hypothetically.

That was his go-ahead.

Hypothetically, if I score, you think I could get your number?

Despite having known you for a month and a week, you still hadn’t given Colston your phone number. He stared at his phone, watching as the typing indicator appeared. His gut twisted as he imagined you rolling your eyes at his audacity, lips pursed in that way they did when you were deciding whether he was more amusing or annoying. Finally, your reply popped up:

Hypothetically you could.

Colston’s fingers twitched against his phone screen, the corners of his mouth betraying him as they lifted into a grin he couldn’t suppress. He typed:

Hypothetically, I like those odds. You need tickets?

Depends. My dad’s coming to this one so if my mom stays home this week, I’ll be with him.

Colston froze mid-read. You hadn’t spoken much about your families. At most, he could comfortably say that you had two brothers, an older one who graduated from Michigan the previous Spring, and a younger one who was still in middle school. But beyond that, he really didn’t know anything about your parents. He hadn’t known that your parents seemingly attended games, regularly enough that you could casually mention your mom staying home this week specifically.

Your dad went to Michigan?

The text sat unanswered for a full minute, long enough for Colston’s stomach to knot itself into a knot, worried he was overstepping.

He played outside linebacker for Michigan in the 90s.

You replied, followed by a second message:

So yes, he’ll have tickets.

You think I could meet him?

You could.

Colston’s breath caught in his throat when he read the words—not just the offer, but the casual confidence of it. Like you already knew he’d say yes. Like you wanted him to say yes. 

I’m down. Tell me where to meet you.

[ . . . ]

When you told Colston you didn’t usually attend games past the tailgates, you were being truthful. Growing up with a Michigan alum father meant you’d spent your childhood drowning in maize-and-blue Saturdays, sometimes glued to the couch, sometimes tucked into stadium seats, fingers numb from cold soda and colder November winds. By the time you enrolled and attended a few games in the student section, the magic of Saturdays at the Big House had dulled into simply a socially acceptable opportunity to drink before noon.

Your dad did his best to attend most home games in person. He had access to great seats, tailgates with the brothers of Kappa Alpha Psi—both your father and older brother pledged during undergrad—and most importantly, you had spent your entire childhood watching him cheer on the Wolverines with the same fervor he had when he was suited up in the nineties.

“It’s gettin’ close to kickoff,” your father mused, nudging your elbow as you adjusted the navy blue pullover, rolling the sleeves to keep your hands from drowning in them. Your father’s gaze flickered between you and the stadium gates ahead, his mouth quaking at the corners. “We’re about to head in. Are you headin’ back with Dakota? I could get y’all’s Uber—”

“Actually,” you said, hesitating just long enough for your father’s brow to arch, “I was gonna watch with you and Elijah.”

His smile deepened as he adjusted his Michigan cap covering the shine of his bald head. “Elijah’s already inside,” he said, nodding toward the stadium, both of you starting toward the entrance. “But I ain’t heard you volunteer to sit through four quarters since you were sixteen and tryin’ to impress that linebacker’s kid.” He paused, tilting his head. “So who is it this time?”

You rolled your eyes, tugging at the hem of your long-sleeved navy blue baby tee. “I just wanted to keep you company,” you lied. He chuckled low in his throat, the sound rumbling like distant thunder in his chest. It was a sound you knew meant he wasn’t buying it for a second.

“I got your brother to keep me company,” he said, fishing his phone from his pocket as you walked through the gates, flashing his digital pass to the attendant. “Didn’t know I’d need another.” He swiped to a second ticket, thumb hovering.

“Mind you, Elijah left you to ‘go get drinks’ twenty minutes ago,” you pointed out, nudging your father’s shoulder as you navigated the crowded concourse. The scent of salted snacks clung to the air, mingling with the distant roar of the marching band. He hummed, sliding his phone back into his pocket after being waved through the metal detectors.

The stadium seats groaned beneath your father’s weight as he settled in, elbows resting on his knees, eyes already scanning the field as players warmed up. You perched beside him, suddenly hyperaware of every jersey number streaking across the turf below.

“What do you miss most?” you asked, buying yourself some time to locate Colston’s number among the blur of helmets and padded shoulders. Your father exhaled through his nose, eyes tracking the defensive line drills below.

“The hitting,” he said after a beat. “That feeling of nailing the other guy. Not the waking up feelin’ like I got hit by a truck though.”

You laughed softly, scanning the sidelines until finding him. Colston crouched near the bench, adjusting his gloves. Even from this distance, you could see the wired focus emanating from him. He was much more rigid with this anticipation than the playful ease he wore around you, much more serious than the teasing tone that would accompany a raised eyebrow tossed your way.

“You see number 18 down there? By the bench,” he reached out a hand, pointing toward Colston’s crouched frame before glancing sideways at you. His fingers lingered mid-air, then slowly curled back.

“Freshman tight end from the middle of nowhere Idaho,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, eyes narrowing in appraisal. You took the opportunity to stare at him a little while longer. “Good hands. Nice height. Needs to work on his blocking. But he’ll be great. I can see it. He’s gettin’ drafted in a couple years. I’m callin’ it.”

Though Michigan’s passing game had been under question all season—and this game wasn’t too different, as your father loudly pointed out—you found yourself tracking Colston’s every move. It was hard not to. His towering frame cut through defenders like a blade through wheat, his strides long and purposeful.

The first time he was thrown the ball, your father leaned forward, muttering, “Watch him bring it down,” as Colston pivoted mid-air, twisting just enough to keep his toes inbounds before crashing onto the sideline. “Told you. Good hands.”

Walking away with a 34-3 victory, Colston had managed to snag two catches, nothing flashy, but enough to make you reconsider your stance on giving him your number. As the stadium emptied, you lingered near a player exit with your father, the crisp October air biting at your cheeks.

Your father crossed his arms, watching you with that same knowing amusement. “You have someone you want me to meet?” he echoed, sharing a glance with Elijah who shook his head with a deep chuckle.

You didn’t get a chance to respond before the exit doors swung open, releasing a flood of players still buzzing with post-win adrenaline. Colston emerged halfway through the pack, his jersey swapped for a crisp navy blue Michigan zip-up hoodie, hair a bit mussed from the towel he used to dry it after his shower. His eyes locked onto yours instantly, that same electric focus from the field softening into something warmer, more familiar. Then they flicked to your father and brother standing on either side of you.

Colston hesitated for only a heartbeat, enough for you to notice the way his fingers twitched where they held onto the strap of his university-issued backpack, before striding forward with that easy confidence you'd come to expect. Up close, the adrenaline still hummed beneath his skin.

His gaze flicked to your father’s outstretched hand before clasping it firmly. “Sir,” he said, deep voice roughened by the constant need to project his voice during the game. The respectful tilt of his chin made you bite your lip to hide a smile.

Colston’s grip lingered a second longer than necessary when he shook his hand. It wasn’t a challenge, but something deeper. You watched your father’s eyebrows lift in silent recognition, snapping his fingers when they finally released their hold. “Loveland,” he said, pointing at Colston’s chest.

Colston nodded, dapping up Elijah next with an effortless familiarity that you wouldn’t necessarily say you weren’t a fan of.

“Did you play here too?” Colston asked, his voice dipping into that easy curiosity he reserved for moments when he genuinely wanted to listen.

Elijah grinned, clapping him on the shoulder with a laugh. “Nah, man, I didn’t get the athleticism for real.”

Your father snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t let him fool you, he could’ve walked on if he’d bothered to try.”

Colston’s gaze flicked to yours mid-conversation, catching the way you were subtly rubbing your arms against the chill. Without breaking his stride in recounting his 4th and 15 catch to your father, who nodded approvingly at the technical details, Colston shrugged off his zip-up and handed it to you. The fabric was still warm from his body, carrying the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the smell of body wash. You hesitated, fingers brushing against his as you took it, feeling your brother’s eyes dart between you with amused suspicion.

The zip-up swallowed your frame, sleeves pooling past your fingertips as you tugged it closer, selfishly taking a moment to indulge in the scent of him so close to your nose.

Your father’s voice cut through your distraction.

“So... you know my daughter?”

Colston’s chuckle was low, rolling through the space between you like honey over gravel. “Yeah,” he said, hands dipping into his pockets, shoulders loose but not slouched. “She’s been putting up with me for a while now. Been helping me a lot with my psych class.” His gaze slid back to yours long enough for Elijah to elbow their father pointedly.

The corner of your father’s mouth twitched as he studied Colston’s profile. His broad shoulders stayed squared even in ease. His voice was gentle but self-assured. His eyes kept wandering back to you while you pretended not to notice the drifting focus.

“Psych class?” Your father mused, rubbing his chin. “She’s real smart, ain’t she?”

Colston’s grin curled slow and deliberate, his eyes finding your face again, “Smart enough to help me get an ‘A’ on my midterm.” The statement made him chuckle, deep and approving, before he turned to Elijah, muttering something about needing to find a restroom. Elijah smirked, dapping Colston again before following their father, tossing you a wink that made the heat of embarrassment crawl up your neck.

“I think he likes me,” Colston murmured as your family disappeared into the crowd, finally turning to face you head-on. “You know what that means.” He raised both eyebrows this time.

You scoffed, tugging the sleeves of Colston’s hoodie further over your hands as if they could hide the uneasy shift of your weight. “What does that mean, Colston?”

“Means I could get your number now,” Colston said, his voice dropping into that low register that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. His thumb brushed against the side of his phone where it sat in his pocket. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

Quietly you held your hand out to him, palm upturned, fingers flexing impatiently. He handed over his unlocked phone with a smile, watching as your thumbs flew across the screen.

“You didn’t even score tonight,” you teased, pressing his phone back into his palm slowly. The stadium lights flickered overhead, casting shadows across the sharp angles of his face as he pocketed the device, his grin widening.

“Didn’t need to, apparently,” Colston shrugged, releasing a deep laugh. “You should come to more games.”

You tucked your hands deeper into the sleeves of Colston’s hoodie, your fingers brushing against the lining still warm from his body heat. “I’ll think about it,” you said, rocking back on your heels just enough for the platform of your sneakers to lift off the pavement.

An easy silence settled over you with the added background chatter of lingering fans and stadium staff packing up. You curled your fingers into the cuffs of Colston’s hoodie, thumbs brushing the soft fabric absently. You could feel his eyes on you like he had nowhere else to be.

Out of the corner of your eye you spotted your brother emerging from the restroom first, his gait deliberately sneaky as he approached. The way Elijah’s mouth curved into a smirk told you everything you needed to know. Colston cleared his throat beside you, catching the hint and straightening his posture slightly just as your father rounded the corner behind Elijah, arms crossed with a knowing smile on his face.

“I gotta head home. Will’s about to blow my phone up,” Colston announced, nodding to your father as he adjusted his backpack strap higher on his shoulder.

“Oh, your jacket—” you started, fingers already fumbling with the zipper, but Colston waved you off with a dimpled smile.

“Keep it,” he said, his voice softening. “I can get another one if I want.” Your fingers paused on the zipper, your nails catching the metal for a second before you let your hands drop back to your sides. You didn’t argue, mostly because you didn’t want to, but also because Colston was already stepping back, his broad frame casting a shadow over you.

“Text me when you get home,” he added, holding a hand out to your father one last time. “Sir.”

You knew the quiet that settled over your father and brother as they watched Colston saunter off wouldn’t last. Elijah broke first, elbowing your ribs before you could dodge. “Smart enough to help him get an ‘A,’ is crazy work,” he drawled, pitching his voice into a poor imitation of Colston’s distinctive twang. You shoved him hard enough to make him stumble, ignoring your father’s chuckle as he flagged down a rideshare.

“Didn’t I tell you not to get involved with athletes?” He mused as you piled into the Uber, his voice laced with amusement rather than reproach.

You rolled your eyes, shrugging deeper into Colston’s hoodie. Elijah snorted from the seat closest to the left-hand side window, twisting to shoot you a look that got him a middle finger and a guffaw from your father.

“He’s just my friend. Like barely,” you muttered into the collar of Colston’s hoodie, pressing your forehead against the cool glass of the Uber’s window.

[ . . . ]

Calling what you had going on “just being friends” proved to be a convenient excuse. You could feel the lie settle uncomfortably between your ribs every time you repeated it—to Aditi’s raised eyebrows, to Dakota’s knowing smirk, to your father’s hum of disbelief when you told him that Colston did indeed attend your office hours every single week.

Your texting had taken on a rhythm that felt increasingly normal. Both of you were busy so there wasn’t an unnatural pressure to feign waiting or pretend you weren’t checking your phones. You found yourself sending Colston snaps between classes. Sometimes it was a quick glimpse of your face, sometimes of something that reminded you of something you had spoken about days earlier, sometimes just to prove you weren’t dead after a particularly busy day when you couldn’t text him back much. Colston responded in kind. Often photos of himself making dumb faces, videos of his teammates wrestling in the locker room, blurry selfies in the mirror. It was comfortable, easy, and yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was teetering dangerously close to something much deeper entirely.

In all honesty, you wouldn’t say that you were entirely opposed to the idea of dating Colston specifically. As he had made sure to point out during your post-game rendezvous: your dad liked him despite his student-athlete status. That wasn’t insignificant either; your dad hated your ex (though he wasn’t an athlete), and you spent much too long attempting to write off your father’s distaste as overprotectiveness.

Beyond your father’s amused approval, you could write a full page’s worth of the Idahoan’s ‘pros’. If you hadn’t been busy with your job, the BSU’s fall events, your classes, and studying for upcoming exams, you probably would’ve taken the time to write such a list. You did, however, find the time to consider some of the most obvious pros in your head.

Number one: He was attractive.

Tall and broad with dark features that contrasted well from his tanned skin that was gradually growing lighter now that Ann Arbor was firmly experiencing the lowering temperatures of autumn. He was cute, with deep dimples in both cheeks that were always accompanied by a boyish grin that made your stomach flip every single time you saw it. He was tall too, tall enough that your head tilted back when you spoke to him, tall enough that you had to crane your neck to meet his chocolate brown eyes, tall enough that you had an excuse to press your palms against his bicep to steady yourself whenever you stumbled in his presence—something which happened frequently for reasons you refused to acknowledge aloud.

Number two: He was kind.

Kindness was a trait that you couldn’t say you paid much attention to in previous romantic experiences. But with Colston it was impossible to ignore exactly how kind he was—how kind he always was. He was the guy who held the door for other girls, even when they batted their eyelashes and made your jaw tighten involuntarily. He was the guy who carried the professor’s heavy briefcase up three flights of stairs when the building’s elevator broke down without complaint. He was the guy who paid attention to the way you shivered in cold lecture halls and always remembered to bring an extra hoodie just for you, slipping it over your shoulders with a quiet, “Here, you look cold,” like it wasn’t the most devastating thing in the world.

Number three: He was good company.

All too often you found yourself dumbing yourself down for the benefit of the men you spoke to. There was always a nagging voice formed of a worrying amalgamation of every draining, toxic, insecure man you had ever spoken to. It was the guys who told you you intimidated them. Or the guys who told you you needed to stop thinking so hard about things that absolutely needed to be considered deeply. It was definitely the guys who seemed to be obsessed with humbling you for the sake of their own egos. Colston wasn’t like that. He listened to you ramble about things you learned in your much more advanced psychology classes. He asked questions—intelligent ones—ones that had you scrunching your nose as you attempted to answer him in a way you knew would best resonate with him.

When Colston wasn’t letting you ramble, and watching you do so with those deep chocolate brown eyes, he was talking to you in a way you couldn’t say didn’t make you completely giddy either. He never hesitated to tell you how smart you were, how capable you were, how funny you were, how much he liked talking to you. You’d never been with a man who spoke to you so earnestly, with such deliberate, warm intention in every word. It was addicting in a way you didn’t think you’d be able to articulate even if you tried.

So, it was really unsurprising to anyone paying attention that you were spending more and more time outside of your office hours with the guy who had the easy kindness and intentional attention.

Colston was starting to know you really well, too. It had become a given that almost any time you found yourself alone with Colston, food was involved. When he came to loiter during your office hours in the psychology building, he brought snacks. When you studied together, he’d eventually ask if you wanted something from the vending machine, make a quick trip downstairs, and bring you something you liked in addition to the request you made.

Though October was second to November in terms of its busyness, you managed to find vignettes of time to slip in opportunities to be around Colston. It was predictable of you to smile softly to yourself when, three hours into studying at the library, a text from Colston popped up asking you:

You down for food?

You barely gave yourself a second to think before your thumbs were typing.

Depends on what you’re getting.

The light push you gave was met with a confident pull from Colston who replied:

Anything you want.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too wide. You glanced at the clock, realizing you had been pretty good on time, working through several assignments over the course of three hours in this spot. You figured you could use a break, and if you were being honest, you felt somewhat giddy at the prospect of seeing Colston.

I’m at Dude. What time are you going?

It was obvious that he was eager at the green light from the heart reaction that materialized next to your report on your location.

I’ll pick you up. Gimme 10.

Always a man of his word, sure enough, 10 minutes later Colston texted you that he had arrived and was parked outside waiting for you. You took your time gathering your things, smoothing your hands over your leggings, and adjusting your cream-colored sweater.

It was an oddly warm week for October in Ann Arbor. Though it wasn’t t-shirt weather, you hadn’t needed your coat since last Thursday. Today it was just the oversized sweater over your tank top.

You stepped out of the library into the fading daylight, scanning the parking lot for Colston’s Silverado. The truck sat idling near the curb, its windows not close to thick enough to mask the bass from his playlist thumping faintly against the pavement. Colston sat in the driver’s seat, his gaze focused on his phone, his left index finger tapping absently against the steering wheel.

You crossed the paved lot, your tote bag swinging gently against your hip, the sound of your sneakers nearly lost beneath the low rumble of Colston’s engine. He glanced up just as you reached the passenger side, his face splitting into that easy grin before he leaned across the console to pop the door open for you.

“Hey,” you murmured as you climbed into the truck.

The cab of the truck smelled faintly of pine air freshener and something warm and earthy, probably Colston’s cologne lingering in the fabric of his sweatshirt. You settled into the seat, your legs stretching long in front of you, knees brushing the underside of the glovebox as you pulled the door shut.

“Where’re we headed?” Colston asked, shifting the truck into reverse to pull out from the curb, his upper body twisted as his right arm reached behind your seat to allow him to look back.

Colston ran hot. That was something you figured out very early on. Anytime he wore a hoodie it was only a matter of time before he was tugging at the neckline, his shoulders shifting under the fabric as if his own body heat was too much to contain. Most of the time he slipped the hoodie off entirely, revealing a snug t-shirt underneath—one that did nothing to hide the way his shoulders filled the space between the fabric.

Today was no different. His hoodie lay in a tiny heap on the backseat, the sleeves of his fitted black tee pulling taut across his biceps as he maneuvered the truck. You watched his forearm flex when he shifted gears, the veins standing stark against his skin.

You were staring.

You were staring hard.

You blinked, tearing your gaze away from Colston’s forearm just as he settled back into his seat, his fingers curling loosely around the steering wheel. The music dipped into something slower, the bass pulsing low and steady around a Miguel song you vaguely recognized.

“Umm…” you cleared your throat. “What about Culver’s?”

Colston nodded, tapping the steering wheel twice before flicking his blinker on. “Culver’s it is.”

There was that country drawl. Sticky sweet like molasses, oozing over your skin with each syllable. You kept your hands folded in your lap, the pads of your thumbs pressing into your knuckles as if you could anchor yourself with the dull pressure.

Colston drove like he spoke, unhurried and deliberate, steering with one hand while the other rested lazily on the gearshift. You caught yourself watching the way his fingers drummed absently against it, the rhythm syncing with the song’s bassline. You swallowed and forced your gaze out the window, where the October dusk painted the campus in gold and violet. The trees lining the road blurred past, their leaves clinging stubbornly to branches despite the season’s insistence on letting go.

“You were studying?” He asked, glancing over at you before returning his gaze to the road.

You nodded, your fingers twisting the hem of your sweater. “Yeah, just psych stuff. Nothing exciting. I have an exam next week. I’m a little behind though.”

He scoffed. “You? Behind? Doubt that.” The corner of his mouth hitched up, revealing one of the dimples you’d caught yourself staring at more than once.

You rolled your lips together, urging yourself to focus on the conversation instead of the way his throat moved when he swallowed, how the muscles flexed beneath his skin, how his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly.

“Yes, I’m behind. I wanted to start studying for this test the other day when you came to my office hours. But you and that big ass head of yours were so distracting that I didn’t get shit done,” you said, grinning as you turned to look at him.

Colston’s laugh burst from him, deep and resonant, filling the cab of the truck with a warmth you felt in your chest. “My bad,” he said, shaking his head. His free hand came up to rub at the back of his neck, the fabric of his shirt straining against his shoulder as he moved. “Didn’t realize my big ass head was such a problem for your education.”

The Culver’s drive-thru line stretched longer than you expected for a Tuesday evening. Colston’s truck idled behind a beat-up sedan. You shifted in your seat, your knee brushing the center console as you pretended to scroll through your phone. You could feel the heat of him beside you, the way his presence seemed to take up more space than physically possible.

“Don’t look at my phone, Loveland,” you scolded, feeling his eyes flick toward your screen before you angled it away.

“What you hidin’ in that phone? Why can’t I look?” he leaned further over the center console, his shoulder pressing into yours. You could see the edge of his grin from your periphery, not wanting to look at him this close, knowing you’d get lost in the flecks of amber in his brown eyes.

Your hand reached to push his face away, laughing. “Personal shit, nosey. Back up. They don’t teach manners in Idaho?”

Colston’s grin only widened as he leaned back into his seat, though his shoulder lingered against yours for a heartbeat longer. “I was taught to share,” he said, his voice a lazy rumble. “You’re real stingy right now.”

“You’ll live,” you shot back.

The line inched forward, and Colston turned his eyes back to the drive-thru line. “What if I don’t?” he asked, the tease in his voice making your stomach tighten.

“You will.”

“I won’t.”

Your lips pursed into a straight line, attempting to tame your expression into something unimpressed. Colston grinned back at you.

“Colston.”

“I like when you say my name like that,” he murmured, licking his lips.

“I can’t stand you…” you muttered, your fingers gripping the phone tighter just as the vibration of an incoming text caught your attention. You angled the screen away again, catching the message from Aditi.

Are you with that freshman again?

You released a short puff of amused air through your nose, thumbing a quick reply while Colston inched the truck forward in line.

“You must be talking about me,” Colston said, his voice low and amused as he leaned over again, trying to catch a glimpse of your phone. “Lemme see.”

You jerked your phone away, pressing it against your chest. “No,” you said, drawing the word out with a whine. The corners of your mouth twitched despite your best efforts to keep a straight face. “Find something else to do.”

The menu board appeared a bit further in front of the hood of Colston’s truck, its bright letters glowing against the darkening sky. You tucked your phone into your lap, pressing your thighs together to keep it hidden as you studied the options. You didn’t need to look, you always got the same thing, but the act gave you an excuse to avoid Colston’s lingering gaze.

“You don’t need to look,” he said as he continued to openly stare at you, his eyes tracing the curve of your jaw before flickering down to where you were pressing your thighs together.

“I do,” you insisted through the clearing of your throat.

Colston’s gaze was almost a physical thing, warm as direct sunlight, heavy as a loaded touch. You could feel it tracing the line of your throat, the dip of your collarbone where your sweater slipped just slightly off one shoulder. The truck was too small suddenly, the A/C blowing the scent of his cologne toward you. You inhaled, then immediately regretted it when the smell lodged itself in your lungs, almost forcing your eyes to flutter with a roll of pleasure before you caught yourself.

“You always get the same thing,” Colston pointed out, the knowing dismissiveness in his voice pulling your attention back to him. His fingers tapped the steering wheel again, that same lazy rhythm. “Butterburger, two patties, with pickles, lettuce, no onions, extra cheese, and bacon. You want a large side of fries and a small vanilla concrete mixer with Snickers pieces.”

Your breath caught. The precision of it, the way he rattled off your order without hesitation, without even glancing at the menu, sent a pulse of heat straight to your core. You blinked at him, your lips parting slightly before you pressed them together, willing your face not to betray the way your stomach had just flipped.

He was rolling forward and easing his window down before you had time to recover. The sharp metallic click of his seatbelt unlatching made you realize you hadn’t even noticed him unbuckling. Colston leaned out slightly, his deep voice effortlessly rattling off both his order and yours, exactly as he’d recited it, without missing a single modification.

You slowly reached for your phone while Colston ordered, texting Aditi.

That freshman just told me my entire order from memory… please come pick me up off the floor.

Is she purring…?

And is. 

Real loud.

Colston pulled forward again after hearing his total. His fingers reached for his phone to pay. “Talking about me again?”

“Are you gonna let me pay this time?” you challenged, though you already knew the answer.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ with a soft smile.

“Then yes. I am talking about you.” Your voice came out lighter than you intended, the tease softening the words as you tucked your phone between your thighs again. Colston’s chuckle was low, reaching through to tap his phone against the card reader held out to him by the cashier.

The truck filled with the scent of salted fries and caramelized meat as the bag of food was handed through the window, Colston’s large hand curling around the bag with an ease that made your throat tighten. It was becoming evident that damn near everything this man did—twisting a cap off a bottle, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, breathing—had an effect on you.

It wasn’t a secret that these hangouts were thinly veiled excuses to orbit each other. You knew Colston was interested. You knew it from the way he angled his body toward you whenever you spoke, from the way he openly flirted with you, from the way his gaze lingered on your lips when you spoke.

But they hadn’t gotten around to talking about it. And you weren't the type to push. Not when you could savor the delicious tension, the slow burn of anticipation curling low in your stomach every time he looked at you like that.

“This is… yours,” Colston said, handing you the burger and fries after pulling into an empty parking space. But the tease on his tongue couldn’t be held back. “Did I do good?”

You took the warm bag from Colston’s hands, your fingers brushing against his knuckles. “Mhmm…” you hummed quietly, avoiding his gaze. You could feel Colston watching you, his eyes tracing the way your fingers pinched a fry between them before popping it into your mouth.

“I see how it is,” Colston murmured, unwrapping his own burger with a slow, even nod. The crinkle of paper sounded obscenely loud in the confined space of the truck cab. “Took my perfect order and won’t even thank me.” He took a bite, his lips wrapping around the burger, his eyes still focused on your face.

You finally lifted your eyes to meet his gaze, chewing on another fry slowly just to watch his jaw tighten. The dim glow from the parking lot lights cast shadows across his face, deepening the hollows beneath his cheekbones, making the curve of his lips seem fuller.

“You want a thank you?” You arched an eyebrow, plucking a fry from your own bag and holding it out to him.

Colston leaned in, his breath warm against your fingers as he took the fry from you. He chewed slowly, never breaking eye contact. “That wasn’t a thank you,” he said, swallowing. “You can do better than that.”

“I don’t thank men,” you stated simply.

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips as the two of you continued to stare at each other. Colston stopped his chewing, lowering his burger slowly to the wrapper spread across his lap. You broke after a few seconds, giggling quietly when Colston’s fingers brushed against your thigh and snatched another fry from your bag.

“I’m takin’ this one,” he muttered under his breath, snagging the fry and popping it into his mouth.

You narrowed your eyes but didn’t stop him.

“And next time, I’m snatching that phone,” Colston added, taking a large bite of his burger.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’ll have you arrested for theft.”

You stole a glance at him as you unwrapped your burger, the crinkle of paper mingling with the steady hum of the truck’s engine. Colston grinned, his teeth sinking into another bite, his jaw working with a rhythm that you couldn’t help but track.

“Deadass?” he laughed out loud, receiving a humored glare from you.

“Dead the fuck,” you confirmed with a grumble.

Colston wiped his fingers on a napkin, crumpling it into a tight ball before tossing it into the empty bag at his feet. You watched the movement then forced your gaze away just as he turned his attention back to you.

“Can I have your fries?” Colston’s voice dropped.

Your brows furrowed. Your glossed lips formed a pout, angling your body away from him. “Absolutely not,” you said. “I gave you one and then you stole from me.”

His fingers twitched toward your fries again, and you swatted his hand away with a sharp little smack that did nothing to deter the amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Hands to yourself,” you warned.

The tight end persisted with a repeated, “Lemme get one,” met with your repeated, “No.” Colston leaned across the console, his arm brushing against your sweater as he made a grab for your fries again. You twisted away, pressing your back against the passenger door, your thighs tightening around the bag of food in your lap.

“You’re so greedy,” you accused, your voice lilting with laughter despite your feigned indignation.

“You won’t let me get none,” Colston rumbled, his voice dipping into that honeyed drawl.

Your fingers tightened around the paper bag as Colston made another playful lunge for your fries, his bulk shifting the entire truck with the movement. You shrieked at the feeling, laughing out a comment about his weight making them tip over while your free hand shoved at his chest.

“I’m gonna find your mother on Facebook and tell her about this,” you muttered with narrowed eyes once Colston prevailed, triumphantly plucking a fry from your bag now in his hands.

Colston shrugged. “These’ll be digested by then.”

“Whatever…” you muttered, reaching across to snatch his phone from the center console.

He watched as you skipped through his playlist, eventually landing on a song you recognized. You swiped to his camera without unlocking the phone, flipping it to face him before snapping a series of pictures. First of Colston mid-bite, two fries inches from his mouth. The flash illuminated the cab for a brief second, casting shadows that made his cheekbones look sharper, his jawline more pronounced. Then several of yourself, angling the phone to best capture the golden light of the sun setting hitting your skin. You made sure to snap one last photo of both of you, not before scolding him to smile normally instead of just blinking “like a serial killer.”

“There’s your thank you,” you hummed pleasantly, setting the phone back onto the center console. “My face in your phone.”

“Your face in my phone,” he muttered, rough fingers dragging down his thigh like he needed somewhere to put the restless energy suddenly humming under his skin. “That’s all I get?”

“Don’t be like that. I know you like my face,” you teased, leaning back against the seat with a satisfied smile.

“I’m takin’ you home. Gettin’ out of hand, young lady,” Colston shook his head, chewing the last of your fries before crumbling up the paper and throwing it into the bag with the rest of the discarded wrappers.

[ . . . ]

The warmth from that Culver’s outing, which under slightly different circumstances would’ve qualified as a full-blown date, carried you through a tough midterm exam, two papers, a weekend cold front, and all the way to another Wednesday spent sitting next to Colston during your empty office hours.

He had some work to do for another class so you hadn’t spoken much aside from the occasional glance whenever he paused to think, fingers tapping his pencil against his notebook. You focused most of your attention on notetaking for a paper you would be asked about on your second midterm of the semester.

His sudden question of, “What are you doing for Halloween?” prompted you to lift your head and meet his eye.

“Couple parties with my friends,” you shrugged, leaning your head against your palm. “BSU is hosting a Karaoke Night tomorrow, too. What about you? Isn’t this your Bye Week?”

The smile that appeared on his face grew slowly, spreading Grinch-like and punctuated by the famous twin dimples.

You groaned out loud, letting your head fall.

“You remembered it’s my Bye Week,” Colston murmured, tilting his head to get a good look at your face. You pressed your pen harder against your notebook, leaving a mark you'd get annoyed with later.

“I have a good memory. We know this,” you muttered with a shrug, avoiding his eyes by flipping a page in your notebook. The corner of the paper bent under your fingers. “Don’t let it go to your already massive, square head.”

Colston’s chuckle vibrated through the small office space. “Square head?” He reached up to rub at his buzzed hair, fingers tracing the sharp angle of his fade. “Where did you hear that at? You talk to other guys on the team?”

“Why? I can’t talk to other guys?” You challenged, though you still couldn’t look at him.

Colston’s fingers stilled against his notebook, his teasing grin softening into a more serious tone. “You can,” he said, voice dropping to that low, graveled register that always made your pulse stutter. “That’s just the first thing they say about me when they talk about me. ‘Square head ass.’” His lips quirked again, but his eyes held yours.

“That’s the first thing they say about you because it’s the first thing people notice once they get over the height,” you laughed quietly, matching the intensity of his gaze.

“So you finally got over the height?” Colston leaned back in his chair, the plastic creaking under his weight.

He was teasing you, openly dropping hints that he was aware of your lingering glances and your inability to ignore the sheer size of him.

You fought the urge to flip your hair over your shoulder defensively. “The height was never an issue,” you lied smoothly. “I just felt bad for you. Six-five and constantly hitting that head on doorframes, must get old.”

Colston’s laughter filled the tiny office, deep and rich like slow-poured maple syrup. “Doorframes? Baby, I duck. But since you’re so concerned about my wellbeing—“

“I’m concerned about your Halloween plans,” you interjected, twirling your pen between your fingers. The plastic squeaked under the pressure of your grip. “Since you asked about mine first.”

“I was thinking about hittin’ a party on the 29th. A couple guys on the team know the hosts. But all my people are booked. Mason is rehabbing his shoulder, Will’s at home this whole week, and Alex has some exam he’s been cryin’ about for some days now.” Colston shrugged, the broad line of his shoulders stretching the fabric of his Michigan hoodie. He tapped his pencil against the notebook absently, eyes flickering over your face like he was waiting for something.

You bit the inside of your cheek, the pen still spinning between your fingers as you studied the way Colston stared back at you. There were a lot of ways you could play this. You could be bold, invite yourself along. But you weren’t that girl. You could be coy, make him beg you to come. But you weren’t that girl either.

Instead, you let the pen still and shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t have plans for the 29th,” you said, voice casual, like it didn’t matter either way.

Colston’s pencil stopped mid-tap. The silence between you stretched just long enough for you to regret speaking at all, until his mouth curved into that slow, knowing grin that always made your stomach flip. When the clock ticked by three seconds, you finally broke, dropping your head to laugh aloud at how predictable you were, how predictable you both were.

“We could meet up at the party,” Colston suggested, trying to be nonchalant as he rubbed his palms over his jeans. You recognized it immediately, the same way you recognized the way his eyes flickered to your lips when you giggled again. “If you’re down.”

[ . . . ]

You tried to assure your nervous system over and over that there was absolutely nothing to be nervous about. This was just another Halloween party. This was just another hangout. This was just another time where you would be spending time with Colston in a platonic, casual way. But the way you kept adjusting your green corset in Aditi's full-length mirror suggested otherwise.

Considering this was a house party and you wouldn’t know who you might run into, you decided you needed to come up with another costume specifically for this party. You’d scrolled TikTok for at least 45 minutes before you finally settled on a Tinkerbell-inspired costume that you could throw together with items already in your possession. The green corset was Aditi’s, Dakota gave you a pair of sparkly, flimsy Party City fairy wings, and—conveniently—the shortest skirt you owned was white to match the clear platforms you bought on an impulsive online shopping trip a few months ago.

You smoothed your hands over the snug corset one last time, twisting to check the back in the mirror. The wings fluttered precariously, the cheap glue already peeling at the edges, but the overall effect was whimsical enough.

You flipped the light switch on Aditi’s wall as you exited, releasing a small yelp when your heel caught in Aditi’s rug and almost sent you sprawling onto the hardwood. The sound drew Aditi’s attention away from her textbook, her brow quirking as she took in your precarious balancing act.

“Are you trying to snap your ankle before the party even starts?” Aditi asked dryly, tossing a highlighter onto her notes. “That’s not cute.”

You shot her a glare, steadying yourself against the doorframe. “I’m fine. Just breaking in these death traps,” you muttered, bending to adjust the strap on your left heel before straightening.

Aditi’s eyes flicked over your costume, lingering on the way the corset cinched your waist, the way the white skirt barely skimmed the tops of your thighs.

“You look good as fuck, girl,” Aditi conceded, though her approval came with an asterisk. “Too good for a ‘just friends’ hangout. No man deserves all this.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving your phone into the tiny purse hanging from your wrist. “It’s Halloween. Everyone looks good as fuck.”

Aditi hummed, unconvinced, but let it drop as you checked your reflection one last time in the hallway mirror, smoothing a hand over your hair. You had added a glittery body oil to your brown skin on a whim that seemed to have paid off from the way Aditi’s eyes roamed over every inch of your exposed skin.

The corset pushed your breasts up just enough to make the neckline feel daring without crossing into indecent territory—not that you thought you would care much about that line once you were at the party. Not when you daydreamed about Colston’s hands mapping the dip of your waist if the opportunity showed itself.

“Check me?” You prompted your best friend who was already taking in your makeshift costume.

Aditi nodded without saying a word, watching you turn in a slow circle to ensure there were no tags, stains, or wardrobe malfunctions waiting to happen. You caught your own reflection seeing the corset pulling your posture straighter, the glitter on your collarbones catching the overhead light, the way your lashes fluttered when you glanced at your phone to check the time.

“I gotta go,” you murmured, leaning over the back of the couch to offer your best friend a loose hug. “He said he’s there already.”

“How are you coming back?” Aditi questioned, fingers turning the page of her textbook.

“He said he wasn’t planning on drinking much so we’ll Uber back together,” you replied.

“Okay,” Aditi murmured with a nod. “Have fun, stay out of stupid shit, and make good choices.” She reached out to adjust your wings where they were already starting to slip. “Say no to drugs. Nancy Reagan is looking up at us. Make her proud.”

You laughed at that, squeezing her once more before turning over your shoulder to head downstairs where your Uber driver was just a minute out from arriving. The crisp October air bit at your bare legs the moment you stepped outside, sending a shiver up your spine as you opened the front door of your building. Your Uber arrived right on time, the driver eyeing your wings skeptically as you folded yourself into the backseat without snapping them.

The Uber pulled up to a house pulsing with bass, orange string lights zigzagging across the porch where clusters of costumed students spilled onto the lawn. You adjusted your wings one last time before stepping out, the cold air pricking your skin as you navigated through laughing groups holding red cups. You paused to text Colston, fingers hovering over your screen, then jumped when someone shrieked your name.

The shriek belonged to Willow, a Business major from your Business Calculus class you frequently crossed paths with around campus. The girl’s red devil horns wobbled as she lunged forward to squeeze your arm, already slurring compliments about your costume between giggles. You laughed, squeezing her back but scanning the crowd over Willow’s shoulder as the girl rambled about how she’d just been talking about the class you had attended together earlier.

Your fingers tightened around your phone as Willow’s group pulled you into a whirlwind of compliments and blurry selfies. You laughed when someone shouted that Tinkerbell needed a Peter Pan, but your eyes kept flicking past them, searching the crowd. Then you finally caught sight of him. Colston’s broad shoulders cut through the partygoers like a ship through waves, a red plastic firefighter hat slightly askew as he navigated toward you with two drinks clutched in one hand, his phone in another.

You waved, breaking out into a shy smile, waiting for him to make his way over to you.

Somehow, in between the time it took for you to experience that frenzied conversation with Willow and your eyes finding Colston, someone had managed to slink over to you. You felt fingers curl around your forearm, tugging you slightly off balance. The guy, some frat-looking dude in a Superman T-shirt, was already too close, his breath warm and sour against your ear as he slurred something about dancing. You tried to pull your arm away, your laugh tight and polite, but his grip tightened like he didn’t even register the discomfort in your posture.

Your polite laugh turned sharp as Superman’s fingers dug into your forearm. “I’m good,” you said, louder this time, twisting your wrist in his grip.

The guy, reeking of cheap beer and cologne, just grinned wider, his other hand landing on your waist like they were already mid-dance. Your platform heels wobbled dangerously as you tried to step back, the crowd pressing in around them.

Your pulse kicked up as Superman’s fingers tightened on your waist, your platform heel catching on uneven pavement. The world tilted until a large palm slid around your ribcage, steadying you with effortless strength. The scent of cedar enveloped you before you even saw him.

Colston’s grip was firm against your waist, his fingers splaying possessively as he pulled you upright against him. His voice, usually warm with laughter, dropped into something low and edged with warning.

“My man…” his eyes drifted over the state of the guy, disdain crossing his expression. “You good? Can I get you something?”

The guy’s grip slackened instantly, his smirk dissolving into slack-jawed recognition. “Oh shit—my bad, bro, I didn’t—” His words tangled into drunken mumbles as he stumbled back, hands raised like Colston had drawn a weapon instead of just leveling him with a look. You exhaled sharply, your shoulder blades pressing into Colston’s chest as he shifted you behind him without breaking eye contact with the guy, who was already vanishing into the crowd with a muttered apology.

Colston’s fingers stayed pressed against your lower back, warm even through the corset’s stiff fabric as you turned to face him. His thumb brushed your spine, just once to make sure you were set on your feet, before he pulled back slightly, scanning your face.

“You good?” His voice was quieter now, the edge smoothed over like river-weathered stone.

Your hand traveled down the length of his bicep before settling on his forearm where you squeezed, a silent affirmation slipping from your fingers before you could stop yourself.

“Yeah,” you murmured, voice steadier than you felt. “Just caught me off guard.” Your fingers lingered before you forced them back to your side, pretending you didn't notice the way his pulse jumped beneath your touch.

“He’s an asshole. Don’t let him ruin your night.” Colston’s words were quiet, just for you, his palm still warm against the small of your back as he guided you toward the drinks clutched in his other hand. You blinked at the seltzers before glancing up at him.

He shrugged, that slow grin creeping back. “Figured you’d want something when you got here. Didn’t want you to be waiting in line.”

He offered you the drink with a tilt of his head, plastic firefighter hat slipping further askew. You took it. The seltzer was cold, condensation dripping onto your wrist as you popped the tab and lifted it to your lips. Colston watched the movement, throat bobbing when you licked a stray drop from your thumb.

Colston popped the tab on his drink, taking a step back as he downed a slow sip, letting his eyes trace down your body. The corset cinched your waist, the white skirt hid nothing, your thighs subtly flexed from the height of the heels. His eyes crawled back up to meet your gaze.

You felt the heat crawl up your neck as you shifted your weight onto one foot, biting your lip when he finally hummed, “Can I be that guy and ask for a hug?”

You exhaled through your nose, lips quirking as you reached up to adjust his crooked plastic hat. “You already are that guy,” you murmured, fingers brushing the buzzed hair at his temple before you let your arms loop around his neck. Colston’s hands settled at the dip of your waist, thumbs pressing into the corset’s boning as he bent down just enough to compensate for the height difference, just enough to make your brain fill with static.

The hug seemed to last forever, neither one of you quite ready to let go of the feeling of your bodies pressed together. You inhaled deeply, the scent of Colston’s cologne filling your lungs. When you finally pulled apart, Colston’s fingers lingered at your waist, his fingers brushing against the satin edge of your corset absently.

“You look good,” Colston murmured, his voice a rough twang beneath the party’s bassline.

“So do you. I like the hat,” you teased, tapping the cheap plastic brim of his firefighter costume. “And the shirt.” Shamelessly, you let your hand run over his bicep, feeling the muscles flex underneath your palm.

“Are you cold?” he asked, clearing his throat after another long moment of intensely charged eye contact.

You nodded, “A little,” your fingers flexing around the cold seltzer can. Colston’s gaze flickered to the goosebumps rising along your arms before he offered to head inside, where the crush of bodies would at least provide some warmth.

You followed him, or rather, you tried to follow him. Typically you had some issue following behind him when you would walk side-by-side. With your platforms, that small issue was becoming much more pronounced. Colston was three steps into the crowd before he realized you weren’t keeping up, turning back to see you struggling to navigate the uneven ground in your heels. He laughed with that deep, warm chuckle and doubled back, extending his hand toward you.

You hesitated for half a second, just long enough for Colston’s grin to widen, before sliding your fingers between his. His palm engulfed yours completely, threading his fingers through yours as he adjusted his grip. The contact sent an electric current up your arm, settling somewhere between your ribs where your heart hammered against the corset’s stiff boning.

“This okay?”

You nodded, unable to bring about the right words with his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. The crowd pressed in around them, forcing Colston to pull you closer as he navigated toward a quieter corner where a few teammates lounged on couches. You recognized an athlete from one of your business classes who wolf-whistled at your intertwined hands before Colston shot him a look that had him practically falling over himself with laughter.

By the time you had a few more drinks in your system, any shyness that had influenced the giggles and shock you experienced when Colston had pulled you into his body was completely gone. The alcohol warmed your cheeks, your thighs pressing against his as you swayed to the music, the bass vibrating through the couch beneath you. You were grinding on him shamelessly, your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck while his hands stayed planted firmly on your waist keeping it respectful, warming your body, but not venturing lower, no matter how much the corset pushed your body into his line of sight.

Your back pressed to his chest, you could feel the steady flutter of Colston’s breath against your shoulder blade. The music pulsed around you, bassline vibrating through the couch cushions, through the soles of your platforms where they hooked around his ankle. You arched into him just to hear his breath hitch, just to feel the way his hands tightened reflexively before easing again, holding himself back.

You had already danced on him plenty throughout the night, felt his hands gripping your waist tight when the music dropped and you rolled your hips back against him. You knew you were heading toward something irreversible. You had felt it in the way his breath hitched against your neck when you ground against him, in the way his lips just slightly hovered over your neck, in the way he spun you around to dance face to face when a Bad Bunny song came on—his fingers digging into your hips, eyes dropping to your lips—only for him to pull back at the last second.

You pouted, letting your hands shift from where they pressed against his chest to drape over his shoulders. “I really don’t mind,” you spoke over the music, letting one hand drift into the short dark brown hairs at the nape of his neck, tracing patterns there. You didn’t miss how his breath shuddered at the touch before he released a sharp exhale through his nose, forcing his grip to relax.

“I know…” he had murmured then, but didn’t continue any further, just turned you back around with his grip on your waist so you were facing away from him again, pressing your back flush against his chest as you danced. You rolled your eyes, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. Colston grinned against your neck, pressing a fleeting kiss to your pulse point, so quick you wondered if you imagined it.

You raised the issue again when you stood outside, pressed together after you whined about feeling cold, waiting for the Uber he had ordered to pull up. The autumn air bit at your bare skin, raising goosebumps along your collarbones as you leaned into Colston’s warmth, feeling his fingers rub warmth into your bare shoulders.

“So…” you hummed with a start.

You tilted your head back against Colston’s shoulder, the plastic firefighter hat long discarded somewhere in the party’s chaos. “So,” you repeated, softer now, your breath curling in the crisp air between you. “You’re really not gonna kiss me tonight?”

Colston’s hand stilled against your arm, his exhale warm against your temple. “Nah, not tonight,” he murmured. The streetlight caught the lighter areas in his brown eyes when he tipped his head down. “Not like this.”

You turned fully in his arms, your platform heels bringing you just high enough to meet his gaze without straining. The alcohol softened your edges, but the question in your eyes was sharp. “Not like what?”

Colston’s fingers traced idle patterns along your bare shoulder, his thumb catching the strap of your corset. “Not drunk,” he said quietly. The words vibrated through you where your bodies pressed together. “Not when I’ve been waiting to do it right.” His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back up, heavy-lidded. “You deserve a date first. Some flowers. Maybe a sunset.”

You scoffed, breaking into a gentle smile when he drew you back into his arms, pressing your cheek against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear. “Corny…” you drew out the word with playful exasperation, letting your arms wrap around his center, relaxing when you felt him do the same for you.

“I’m deadass,” he murmured into your hair, voice rumbling through you where your bodies pressed together. You felt his fingers flex against the small of your back, pulling you closer as a gust of wind sent autumn leaves skittering across the pavement. “You got a problem with sunsets?”

You laughed into his chest, sniffling against the cold. “I have a problem with you being so sure of yourself,” you muttered, but your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his shirt.

The Uber’s headlights cut through the darkness then, painting you both in a temporary glow as it pulled to the curb. Colston didn’t let go, not even when his phone buzzed to alert him to the driver’s arrival. He just held you there, his palm warm against the curve of your spine, until you finally tipped your head back to meet his gaze.

“You better kiss me after our date,” you whispered softly.

He nodded. “I will.”

[ . . . ]

One of the pros that stuck with you when you finally sat down with Jeremy and Dakota at a small table in the corner of the Union between classes was that Colston, “Always did his best to keep his word.”

In the two months that you had gotten to know the tight end, it was increasingly harder to ignore how intensely Colston stood behind his word. He meant every word he said. There were no empty promises, no lies of omission. You were growing to know better than anyone how much his word meant to him.

When he texted you with details of a potential first date you could go on, you weren’t surprised.

You drove up a few miles to an apple orchard on the outskirts of town, Colston’s truck windows rolled down to let the crisp November air swirl between you. You picked apples, shared cider and donuts, and you laughed so hard you snorted when Colston tried and failed to befriend a wandering goat. The whole thing felt like something out of a movie with the golden afternoon light painting Colston’s profile in amber, his deep laughter rumbling through the cab of his truck as he stole glances at you between bites of the donut you held out for him between your fingertips.

By the time you made it back to your apartment, your cheeks hurt from smiling and your fingers were sticky with sugar. The sun had dipped low, painting the pavement in streaks of gold as Colston walked you to your door, your fingers loosely tangled between you. You swung your hands slightly, watching the way his thumb absently stroked the back of your knuckles as he talked about an ill-received prank pulled on one of the strength coaches.

Your apartment door loomed ahead, a Thanksgiving-themed doormat set out to match the red, brown, and orange wreath Jeremy chose to hang last week. A comfortable silence settled between you when you finally stopped in front of your door.

Just as Colston didn’t move to wish you a good night, you didn’t move to reach for your keys in your purse. Instead, he quietly murmured, “I really did have a good time today.”

You smiled, lacing the fingers of your free hand through his free hand, completing the circle between you. “Me too,” you admitted, taking in the way his eyes fluttered between yours. The air between you felt charged, heavy with all the things left unsaid, the same things that had been simmering beneath the surface since that first football game, since every lingering touch, every stolen glance.

He took a step closer to you, your feet almost touching on the welcome mat, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body even through your thick sweater. He dropped your hands gently, tugging you closer by your waist instead while his right hand tested a cup of your cheek.

You swallowed hard as his thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, the calloused pad catching slightly on your skin. His pupils swallowed the warm brown of his irises when his gaze dropped to your mouth. “Can I?” he murmured, already leaning in, already breathing you in like you were oxygen and he’d been drowning.

You didn’t trust your voice when your pulse was hammering loud enough to drown out all coherent thought, so you nodded, pressing up onto your toes as his head dipped down. The first brush of his lips was tentative, almost questioning, as if he was memorizing the feel of your mouth. Then your fingers fisted in the front of his hoodie, tugging him closer, and whatever hesitation existed dissolved into something hotter, hungrier.

Your lips molded together perfectly, moving in perfect harmony with your softness yielding against Colston’s firmness, the faint taste of sweet cider lingering between you. You sighed into the kiss, fingers tightening in the fabric of his hoodie as his hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you closer until you could feel the hard planes of his body through your layers. His thumb brushed the hinge of your jaw, coaxing your mouth open just enough to deepen the kiss, and you melted against him, your pulse thrumming wildly beneath your skin.

You pulled back first, your breath shaky against Colston’s lips, your laughter bubbling up when you noticed the faint smudge of your berry-colored lip gloss transferred onto his mouth. His lips looked unfairly good stained with your shade. Soft pink turned deeper kiss-swollen, and you reached up instinctively to wipe it away with your thumb. Colston’s cheeks took on a pinkish hue under your touch, but he didn’t flinch, just grinned when your thumb lingered at the corner of his mouth.

“I can’t let you walk around like this,” you murmured, thumb still tracing the bow of Colston’s lip where your gloss shimmered. His breath hitched when your nail grazed the sensitive skin there, his grip tightening reflexively at your waist.

Colston’s lips twitched beneath your thumb, his voice dropping to that deep, honeyed timbre. “You sure?” His fingers flexed against your waist, pressing into the dip of your spine. “I don’t mind wearing your colors.”

“Maybe another time,” you whispered. The hallway lights were harsh, casting shadows that made his eyelashes look impossibly long where they brushed his cheeks. He hummed, leaning into your touch before you finally pulled away.

“I’m lookin’ forward to that.” His drawl seemed even lazier than normal, thick with subtle satisfaction. You could feel the way his breath warmed your face before he finally released your waist, stepping back, but not too far. Just enough to make you realize how much you immediately missed the heat of him.

Your fingers fumbled with your keys, the metal jangling louder than usual in the quiet hallway. Colston’s shadow stretched long across your welcome mat, his hands shoved into his pockets like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for you again. The door finally gave way with a click, and you turned to face him, one hand still gripping the knob as if it could steady you.

“Text me when you get back to yours,” you murmured, leaning against the doorframe to prolong the moment.

He nodded eagerly and promised he would, then took a final step back, turned over his shoulder, and walked down the hall. You watched until the elevator doors swallowed him whole before you finally stepped inside, locking the door behind you.

“What the fuck…” you thought to yourself.

You floated to your room in a daze, the ghost of Colston’s lips still burning against yours. Kissing was an art you considered yourself proficient in. Until him. His hand had cradled your face delicately, his breath hitched deliciously, and when you nipped at his lower lip, he took control so naturally.

None of your past experiences compared and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep well until you got to kiss him again. In the back of your mind, you knew you should be more frightened than you were at how easily you were accepting the fact that you were already falling for him. You flopped onto your bed face first and groaned into your pillows, kicking your feet slightly against the mattress. For now, you would ignore the thought passing through your consciousness telling you: