--

Garrett’s foot connects with your shin under the table as your message pops across his screen. “You did not just sign me up for that.”

A small laugh slips from you that is attempted to cover by taking a sip of lemonade instead. “C’mon, you know I’m just fucking with you.”

Garrett groans, his hands rubbing across his face in exhaustion. “Bug, I know you know they never take your jokes the right way.”

With a shrug, you grab another mozzarella stick from the basket to bite. The afternoon sun was warm on your skin as you sent him a fake apologetic smile. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

“No, you won’t,” He sighs, but there was no malice behind his words. Shit, you could tell someone that Garrett would buy them a car, and he probably would, purely because it came out of your mouth. You say jump, he asks how high.

You dust your hands together, bread crumbs scattering back into the basket with the motion. Palm resting under your chin, Garrett was met with your curious eyes. “Tell me about her.”

“Who?”

“Hannah,” You replied simply as you dropped the position and leaned back against the booth. “This so-called ‘deal’ you two made, tell me about it.”

A flash of recognition fills his face before he rolls his eyes. There isn’t a chance for him to answer, though, before his phone buzzes against the surface of the table. Both of your gazes drop at the same time. Garret picks the device up and types a response before he nearly snorts.

“Wellsy’s asking about you.”

“Wellsy?”

“Hannah,” He answers in the same tone you used previously. Garrett places his phone back on the table and slides it across for you to look at.

--

--

You blink for a moment, taking in the words she’d asked and how bluntly he’d replied. “Oh.”

The phone slides back across the table into his awaiting hand. “Oh?”

The sleeves of your hoodie fell along your arms as your hands dropped to your lap. And then it happened. That weird achy feeling your chest gets whenever Garrett does something like this. You’ve actively watched him defend you and speak of you when he thinks you can’t hear. People whisper, and Garrett responds at full volume. He does not play when it comes to you. He doesn’t let puck bunnies spread rumors, and he sure as hell doesn’t let opponents bring your name to the ice.

But this? Denying that kind of relationship between the two of you? That always hurts. You never say it, never mention to him that he’s on your mind nearly 24/7, and you would crawl under his shirt to be close to him if he’d let you. No, you sit in that moment and let it shred a sliver of your heart off each time.

“I mean-”

There’s no chance to explain yourself as the rowdiness that comes with three built hockey players fills the air instead. Dean slides into the booth next to you naturally, his arm landing across your shoulders as he settles on the cushion. Tucker wiggles himself in too and practically squishes you into the wall. Logan and Garrett definitely got the better seating arrangement.

“Mom and Dad, I can’t believe you went to lunch without us,” Dean chastises as he shoves the last remaining mozzarella stick into his mouth. You know the untouched portion of your sandwich will be claimed by him next, not that you were going to finish it anyway. 

“Yeah, and I can’t believe we’re forbidden from having lunch alone,” Garrett grumbles. His arms cross against his chest, and the fabric of his shirt stretches against his skin. 

It catches your attention for a second too long to be normal before you look away.

“Come on, come on. I need a good one. Give me something juicy,” 17 year old Steve Harrington laughed as he leaned against the headboard behind him. “You can’t just say you aren’t afraid of anything. I know that’s a lie.”

It was movie night, a Friday tradition for the two of you when you weren’t chasing after his intoxicated form or struggling with work. More than often he ended up staying over so he didn’t have to return to his more-than-likely empty home. The movie had ended not long ago and faded into a game of random questions that you two played often. Most answers you already knew but you loved to watch him dig himself out of holes and light up at mentions of the kids, especially Dustin.

You shrugged your shoulders slightly from your place resting against his chest. “I mean yeah I’m scared of something but I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Why not! I tell you everything and you’re not gonna tell me your biggest fear?”

You grabbed his hand in yours. “Steve, it’s not that big of a deal.”

He shook his head aggressively from behind you as he closed the gaps and laced his fingers between yours. “But I wanna know! What kind of best friend am I if I don’t protect you from your biggest fear?”

Ever since then, he constantly spewed random guesses to what exactly could be so important you refused to share it. He swore up and down that he would never use it against you for fun but you still wouldn’t give him a slight hint and it drove him mad.

Staring at the large machine the Russians made that was spinning with energy, you tried to not think about the consequences if it worked. The Demogorgons, the Mind Flayer, the Upside Down. It wasn’t something fun to face and the idea of someone trying to reopen the gate was unnerving. 

“I don’t get it, you guys have seen something like this before?” Robin asked as she walked in front of you down the stairs away from the Russian infiltrated room. The two of you had clicked easily, both pointing at Steve as a target of fun. You were thankful for her presence to keep your mind from going dark in the midst of the chaos.

“Not exactly,” Steve mumbled quietly as he glanced over his shoulder to the emerging blue light. He wasn’t up for fighting other worldly monsters and really just wanted to be in your room, in bed, cuddling and watching movies.

“Then what, exactly?” Robin countered. She was easily terrified and her confidence was shaken so this situation had her spiraling easily. Usually she could feel some sense of control but she felt helpless down here. 

Your feet slipped on the stairs as you ran off the last one while Dustin and Steve attempted to convince Robin that the machine’s success would guarantee world destruction. Steve’s hand instantly caught your hip to keep you from falling as he answered Robin’s questions, unphased by your misstep. Glancing around the room, everything suddenly felt alarming and you took a step back in caution further into his hand. 

“Um, Steve?” Erica seemed to pick up on it too as she looked to the boy behind you. “Where’s your Russian friend?” In a true group fashion, everyone’s eyes searched the room for the said missing soldier only to come up empty handed. 

You reached over to grab Dustin’s arm just as a bright red light filled the room and an alarm followed. Steve scrambled to the nearest door where you could all see the previously knocked out man was gaining attention from his injury before guards rushed towards you.

“Shit. Shit,” Steve mumbled as he slammed the door shut before turning and pushing you all back up the stairs. “Go, go, go, go, go!!” His fingers grasped at your shirt as he nearly ripped it with the force of his grip.

“Fucking hell, Steve. This is not what I meant by a chill weekend!” You shouted backwards as Dustin guided you through a door. With your luck, it was straight into another room filled with soldiers. You stood frozen for a second before sprinting to the left with a shout.

“Come on!” You held onto Dustin’s arm as he continuously cursed in distress. The stairs in front of you led down to the side of the machine as the room vibrated with energy.  Dustin randomly shrieked and pushed the soldier to your left before he continued to run ahead of you.

Stopping just alongside the laser drilling into the wall, Dustin began screaming louder, “Holy shit! Holy shit! Shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” He shouted one final time, holding the word out for longer as you stared at him incredulously. 

“Guards!” Erica yelled, snapping you all out of your staring trance before Steve began to run further down the steps. He didn’t hesitate to shove a man over the railing of the stairs before tossing some empty barrels into more oncoming attackers.

“Steve!” You grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged him with you as you followed Robin’s lead into a hopefully empty room. After a brief headcount, Steve slammed it shut, using his body weight to keep it that way as guards started hitting it from the other side. 

Dustin and Erica scrambled behind you to find some other form of exit as Robin pushed herself next to Steve in an attempt to keep the door from opening. Your eyes scanned the room for something, anything that could help. The heavy feeling was creeping in again and you jerked your head around to look at Steve in hopes of reassurance. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” You whispered to yourself as you saw the door start to pry open. Without a second thought, you were on Robin’s right side and pushed yourself in between the door and the wall for some sort of resistance. 

“Here, come on! Let’s go!” Erica lifted up the grate of an air shaft before climbing in with Dustin hovering behind her. You hesitated at her call, knowing there wouldn’t be enough time for all of you to get over and in before a gunshot went off.

“Go! Just get out of here!” You shouted in return as your feet started to slide beneath you. Your breathing was beginning to pick up and you were quick to try and talk yourself out of the panic attack incoming but it was useless.

Dustin stepped down into the drop of the vent and looked up at the three of you. “Go! Come on, now!”

“No! Just go get some help, okay?” Steve responded. His hands were sweaty with adrenaline and he suddenly doubted his ability as a so-called leader to keep everyone safe. Removing the kids was always the first step in a dangerous situation but knowing you were here and he couldn’t guarantee your safety was enough to send his heart into his throat.

“I won’t forget you!” Dustin screamed before the three of you told him once more to go. The second the air vent cover clanged shut, the door behind your back threw you forward and into the wall on your right sending your head into the concrete wall. A scream almost left your throat at the pain radiating through your skull before you crumbled to the ground next to Robin and Steve.

Guns were suddenly in your face, the sinking feeling of dread now overwhelming as you tried to breathe. Your hands shook as you raised them in the air, mimicking Steve and Robin’s actions as the guards surrounding your small trio. 

Sparing a quick glance towards Steve, you tried to convince yourself you would find a way out of this. The uncertainty in his expression didn’t help in the slightest but it only got worse when rough hands latched onto your skin and pulled you from the ground. Your vision blurred with the movement as you tumbled forward.

“No!” You couldn’t tell if you or Steve screamed louder as the guards yanked your arms behind your back to secure your wrists with a belt. “Let me go!” Writhing in their grip, you couldn’t even begin to think of any defense other than biting the hand of whoever was holding your left arm. A sharp sting spread across your face before a gasp escaped your mouth at the sensation. You guys were screwed.

“Don’t touch her! Let her go, she didn’t do anything!” Steve shifted on the floor towards you before a gun pressed harshly against his forehead forcing him back against the wall with a harsh swallow. 

The guard holding your arm chuckled at the action, evidently amused. “Weak. Cares what happens to her.” You could understand bits and pieces of his sentence as you silently thanked Dustin for his books on Russian translation. “Take her.”

An ear piercing scream left your throat as they tugged you backwards towards a long hallway. Robin and Steve shouted in panic, both of them too scared to try anything but fearing for your safety. Your cries continued as they pulled you out of view, Steve wincing at the sound like it physically pained him. He never liked when you were upset. He could count the times you’ve cried in front of him on two hands and he swore it hurt him more each time he sat through it and comforted you. 

Now, sitting here, with a gun to his head, Steve could only watch as you were ripped from his view with a clear expression on your face that made him sick to his stomach. You were terrified, and there was nothing he could do to help.

--

The room they held you in was freezing. A shiver ran up your spine every so often as you curled up as best as possible. Every so often you could hear a shout from Steve down the hall causing you to wince at the sound. Your shoulders were tense with the awkward position of your hands being behind your back. All you could do was sit there and wait with hopes that Dustin and Erica would come back soon with some help.

The lock on the door clicked as it shoved open to reveal three Russian guards. Your heart clenched at the sight of blood on their knuckles and you prayed it wasn’t Steve’s or Robin’s. Harsh fingers pressed into your jaw, forcing you to look up into the commander’s eyes.

“He cries for you,” He spoke as he leaned down to your face. “Lies to us to protect you. Shame, isn’t it?”

You twisted your face out of his grip as you glared up at him. “Don’t fucking touch him. I swear to God you’ll regret it.” The notion of Steve being hurt enraged you and terrified you at the same time. You were always so used to his strong exterior that the idea of him being in pain made you want to throw up.

The commander laughed at your attempt to suede him before pain suddenly radiated into the side of your already concussed head. Thrown off balance, you fell back against the bench with a harsh groan as you realized the other guard punched you.

“Oh great, you guys aren’t above hitting females, that’s awesome.” You hissed as your vision blurred again and your ears rung. The metal was cool beneath your back but it didn’t bring any comfort. “Fuck that hurts.”

“Who do you work for?” 

Cruel fingers dug into your shoulders and forced you to sit up. You groaned at the movement of your head. “I’m a babysitter. I watch kids. Steve and Robin work at the ice cream place, Scoops Ahoy.” Apparently your answer wasn’t good enough as another aggressive punch had you tumbling to the floor. The copper taste in your mouth told you that one broke skin as you attempted to roll onto your back. “Fucking hell you people are so aggressive.”

“How did you get down here?” 

Pushing yourself against the wall behind you, the thought of just screaming at them crossed your mind but you had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well. “There was an elevator at the loading dock and you morons turned it on while we were in it,” You explained as you closed your eyes, wishing this would all disappear. “We didn’t mean to, okay? And if you let us go, we’ll act like nothing ever happened and you’ll never see us again.”

The thing about hiding from reality is things caught you off guard. You always relied on Steve to keep you safe when you wanted to relax and shelter yourself from the darkness of life. He was always there too, until suddenly he wasn’t and you didn’t have time to clock the aggressive kick coming towards you. The sound of your shoulder popping out of its socket was sickening but the scream that followed was even louder.

“Holy shit!” You hissed as tears escaped your eyes at the force of the injury. If this was their reaction to honest answers, you feared what would come if they didn’t believe you. Evidently, you were on the path to finding out as two guards pulled you up off the ground and began leading you out of the room.

Digging your heels into the ground, you tried to stop their movements but it was fruitless. The pressure in your shoulder was suffocating and your head rattled with each aggressive movement. “Let me go!” You begged repeatedly, trying to kick out or twist from their grip. Another door was open and in a blur, you were tossed to the floor again with a loud groan. “Ow, oh my God.”

“Y/N!” The concern in Steve’s voice couldn’t be missed as you attempt to keep yourself from passing out. The ceiling blurred above you as you tried to blink it back into focus. “Holy shit, are you okay?”

A loud groan replaced your words as you pushed yourself onto your knees as best as possible. The light burned as you flopped onto your ass before finally looking up at him. The blood on his face was bright against his usually clear skin and you could see bruising already forming on his cheek. Other than that, he didn’t look too torn up as he sat on the metal bench in front of you. 

“Stevie…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” He attempted to reassure you but it failed as you recognized a flitter of pain in his eyes. “It’ll be fine, it’s worse than it looks. Wh-What did they do to you?”

You let out a bitter laugh as you forced yourself to stand on shaky legs before sitting next to him. He didn’t hesitate to turn towards you and pull his feet up on the bench like you so both of you were sitting across from each other. The bare skin of his shin and calf muscle rested against yours, a small sense of comfort from the horrendous situation. 

“Your cheek is bruised,” He states abruptly as you continued to look at him. He was nervous, you could tell, but he wasn’t as tense as before you were thrown into the room. The exhaustion was clear on his face and you felt the same, you were just glad to be near him again. 

“Concussion and my shoulder’s gonna need to be popped back into the socket, no biggie.”

His eyes widened in shock before returning to their comforting gaze as he moved closer to you. The fear in his throat was suffocating and he hated knowing you had to see him like this, that you were even going through any of it. “We’re gonna get out of here.”

You laughed, letting your head rest against the wall behind you. “I wanna believe you, Stevie, but this one’s a bit harder than usual.” You were trying not to let the overwhelming sense of dread and hopelessness consume you but it was hard. Tears burned your eyes as you took a deep breath to calm yourself down. “I just wanted to watch Breakfast Club with you and eat chicken wings and sleep.”

“I know, I know, bubs. And we will, as soon as we find Robin and get out of here. I promise. Gonna make you the best damn popcorn you’ve ever had, m’kay?” You nodded to his soft statement even though you wanted to make a comment about making promises you couldn’t keep. 

Your peaceful silence was destroyed when the guards reentered the room. Steve’s body tensed next to you, both of you sitting up straighter. You wished they would just get whatever they wanted over with and leave you alone. At least then you and Steve could come up with some sort of plan in hopes of getting out. 

“I ask you one more time, who do you work for?” The commander was done playing around evidently and without giving Steve time to answer, a silver gleaming knife was being pressed against your arm.

“Whoa whoa whoa!”

“Scoops Ahoy!” Steve screamed the answer at the same time as you yelled in shock. “I’m not lying, it’s in Starcourt Mall!”

A harsh punch landed on his stomach as the blade began to cut through your skin. Gritting your teeth in pain, you refused to let out any noise of discomfort. Steve was already blaming himself, you didn’t doubt that, but you wouldn’t let him feel any worse. 

“How did you get in?”

Steve gasped for air to answer the question, “I already told you. I told you before. My delivery didn’t come, and my friends and I, we thought that it was left at the loading dock. We went in the room and then it turned into an elevator and then… and then we dropped and next thing I know I open my eyes and we’re in this… wonderful facility.”

The knife dragged through your skin slowly as you twitched in reaction, letting out a small groan that had Steve turning towards you so fast you swore he got whiplash. “No, no, no leave her alone! I’m telling the truth, I swear to God! Nobody knows about us, nobody saw us. You can just let us go alright, and-and we’re not gonna tell anybody about this, okay? Shit happens, life goes on-” 

He continued to ramble long enough before you kicked the Russian in front of you in the stomach so the knife clanged to the floor. Blood pooled on your skin before you looked away from the wound with a wince. “Fucking hell! We’re telling the truth! Just let us go!”

The soldiers laughed at your desperation for freedom as you and Steve shared a glance of confusion. There was no chance to figure it out before a guard hit Steve across the face, sending him unconscious as you yelled in protest before darkness spread across your vision and you let the welcoming sleep win.

--

“Y/N. Y/N, Steve, wake up!”

Robin’s voice echoed in your ears as you let your head fall back with a groan. Someone else was behind you as your skull connected with theirs lightly. 

“Y/N! Hi, hi. Are you okay?” Robin’s voice was clear now as you winced away from the light.

“Robs, shhh. Holy shit, I have a bad concussion,” You mumbled as you took a deep breath, ears ringing with her yelling. “Where’s Stevie?”

You tried to feel everything out: the ache in your shoulder and new cut on your arm, you were stuck with your wrists, chest, and thighs restrained against the chair behind you. Headache building each second, you turned to see Robin to your right and Steve to your left, the three of you in a triangle tied together. 

“Steve?” You whispered as you tried to nudge him awake. Him being unconscious was the last thing you needed right now, the heavy pit in your stomach finally bursting when he didn’t answer. “Steve, c’mon wake up.”

“He’s been out since they threw you both in here. They haven’t been back since. Said something about bringing a doctor,” Robin explained softly, understanding the light and sounds bothered you without you having to say it. 

You almost whined at her words, scared that maybe Steve wasn’t waking back up from the attack they landed on him. “Stevie, wake up. Wake up! You promised me we would get out of here. Wake up. You can’t leave me!” Vision tunneling and chest suddenly feeling like it couldn’t move, you feared the worst. A wave of dizziness washed over you as you tried to breathe through the tension in your throat that threatened to suffocate you. You shook your head to yourself. “No, no, no. C’mon. Not now.” 

“Y/N, are you having a panic attack?” Robin asked the obvious question as she tried to look at you. “Whoa, hey, you gotta breathe okay? He’s gonna be fine.”

“Robin, I can’t,” You sobbed as you choked for air in your lungs, feet kicking the ground harshly as you tried to wiggle out. “I can’t lose him. He’s all I have, okay? I can’t, I won’t-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” She tried to reassure you but without being able to move, she had to rely on her words to do the best she could. “He’s probably just unconscious and worn out. He’ll be fine. If they wanted to kill him, they would’ve already.”

You knew she was doing her best but it wasn’t helpful enough to calm the racing in your heart. There was a point to her statement; if they wanted to get rid of you guys, they would’ve. Regardless, neither you or Steve did well seeing the other in pain. 

“Hey, would you stop yelling?”

“Steve! Oh, my God!” Robin’s voice was full of worry as she leaned directly back against his left shoulder to try and see him better. “Are-Are you okay?”

He took a choppy deep breath, “My ears are ringing and I can’t really breathe, and my eye feels like it’s about to pop out of my skull, but you know, apart from that I’m doing pretty good.”

“Good, good, yeah, because Y/N over here is having a panic attack thinking you weren’t gonna wake up.”

“Robin!” You whined in embarrassment at her comment, letting your head drop to your chest. Small drops of blood smeared up and down from the deep slice on your left arm. You wanted nothing more than to just go home with the kids, shower, and cuddle up for movie night. A slight sense of relief came back when you heard Steve speak. 

“Bubs,” Steve’s voice cracked as he tried to get your attention, eyes moving to look at you as best as possible. “You okay?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks at his voice and you were grateful he couldn’t see you fully. “Mhmm fine. Good.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Well sorry I’m not feeling very positive,” You mumbled back. Your injuries were starting to get the best of you and the tired feeling was hard to hold back. “Just wanna go to sleep.”

Steve’s leg kicked yours as gently as possible, his hip at an odd angle to reach you. “Nonono, hey, you have a concussion. Stay awake. You better stay awake.” You softly groaned at his word, letting your head rest gently on his shoulder even though it pulled your muscles uncomfortably. 

“I can’t believe I’m gonna die in a secret Russian base with Steve “The Hair” Harrington and Y/N Y/L/N-Harrington.”

A beat of silence followed her statement before you spoke up. “Did you just hyphenate my last name with his?”

“Mhmm,” She hummed in agreement. “Because you two are rarely separated and you love each other so deal with it. It’s just too trippy, man.”

“We’re not gonna die,” Steve responded to the first part of her initial statement, ignoring the little nudge at your relationship. “We’re gonna get out of here, okay? You gotta let me just think for a second.”

Robin ignored his request for silence and kept mumbling, “Do you remember, um, Mrs. Click’s sophomore history class? Mrs. Clickity-Clackity. That’s what us band dweebs called her.”

“God, that woman hated me,” You added. Your headache was getting stronger by the minute and you prayed Steve had some kind of pain relief in his car.

“It was the first period, Tuesdays and Thursdays and Steve was always late. Always had the same breakfast: bacon, egg, and cheese on a sesame bagel. I sat behind you two days a week for a year. Mister Funny. Mister Cool. The King of Hawkins High himself. Do you even remember me from that class?” Steve’s silence was enough of an answer for Robin before she scoffed. “Of course you don’t. You were a real asshole, you know that?”

Steve let out a small sigh before agreeing, “Yeah, I know.”

“But it didn’t even matter. It didn’t matter that you were an ass. I was still… obsessed with you. Even though all of us losers pretend to be above it all, we still just wanna be popular, accepted.”

“If it makes you feel any better, having those things isn’t all that great,” Steve admitted as he let his head drop to rest against yours gently. “Seriously. It just baffles me. Everything that people tell you is important, everything people say you should care about, it’s all just… bullshit. But I guess you gotta mess up to figure things out, right?”

“I hope so. I feel like my whole life has been… one big error.” Robin’s response pulled a chuckle from you and Steve both. Somehow in the midst of the worst moments, Robin always brought that feeling out in you. “At least it can’t get any more messed up than this.”

You let out a small noise of protest. “Don’t jinx us, please.”

“I wish I’d known you in Click’s class,” Steve continued their hushed conversation. “Really, I do. Maybe you could’ve helped me pass the class. Y/N can only help me so much before it’s impossible.”

“Hey!” You grumbled, “Listen Harrington, sometimes the student is unteachable for the teacher, okay?”

He laughed at your defense, twisting just enough to press a kiss to your temple. “I’m kidding, bubs. You did great. You always do.”

The buzzer of the door ruined the moment as the commander and his guards entered the room again. This time though, a bald man in a white shirt with dark pants came with them and you could only guess this was the doctor Robin was referring to. 

The commander leaned down in front of Steve. “Try telling the truth this time, yes? It will make your visit with Dr. Zharkov less painful.” His grimy hand ran down Steve’s neck in faux comfort as your best friend tried to lean away, wincing as the Russian’s thumb dug too hard into his bruises.

Your eyes followed the so-called “doctor” who held a large needle full of blue liquid. “Wait, whoa, what is that?” Your question was left unanswered for a moment as he continued to approach Steve. “Stop stop, leave him alone!”

“It will help you talk.”

“No, no, no!” Steve protested as the doctor pushed his head towards you before injecting the needle into his neck without a second of hesitation. 

You turned your head as best as possible as he groaned next to you. “Steve, Stevie. Are you okay?” For all you knew, it could’ve been poison and he was gonna drop dead any second. 

Shifting his jaw back and forth, he nodded to you. “Yeah, fine. For now.” 

Your attention was drawn back to the doctor who grabbed another needle from his tray, turning to you. “Oh, fucking hell.” You tried to kick at his legs to keep him away before someone’s fingers dug into the raw skin on your arm. A scream left your lips, feet dropping back to the floor as fresh blood poured from the wound the same second the needle entered your neck. 

“Let go! Get your hands off her!” Steve shouted from next to you as the doctor moved on to Robin before they left the three of you alone in the room again. 

“Holy shit,” You gasped in shock as you watched the drops of blood fall down your arm. Thankfully none of you had stopped breathing yet, so maybe whatever they gave you wouldn’t be so bad.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Robin asked since she couldn’t see what you and Steve could.

“Asshole stuck his finger in my arm.” A sharp hiss left your teeth. This day definitely was not turning out the way you thought it would. 

A few moments of silence passed between your trio. Nobody knew what to say. Emotions were tense and it had been over 24 hours since you had seen the normal sky and fresh air. You were exhausted, head leaning against Steve’s. You craved the peace and quiet of your room, his soft snores filling the air. Despite the coolness of your room, Steve’s skin was always warm and no matter how much you whined about being hot, he refused to not be holding you while you slept. 

“Honestly, I don’t really feel anything. Do you?” Steve broke the quiet with a light attempt at humor. 

“No,” You whispered quietly, voice threatening to give out from all the screaming.

“I mean, I… I feel fine,” Robin added, “I feel kinda good.”

Light laughter followed her statement from you and Steve. She wasn’t wrong, you kinda felt like you were floating on clouds. The pain faded slightly and everything just felt easy. 

“Morons,” You snorted in laughter, “They messed up the drug.”

“They messed it up,” Robin couldn’t stop her giggles.

“Morons,” Steve called out, “Hey, morons!”

“Oh man,” You sighed with a smile once the laughter died down. “There’s definitely something wrong with us.”

The door buzzer sent a ringing through your ears as you complained loudly in annoyance. You could see the familiar guards and even the doctor had come to greet you again. The clinging of his metal tools as he unpacked his bag caught your attention easily. The twinge of terror in your chest didn’t last very long, blown away by whatever they injected into your body.

“Would now be a good time to tell you that I don’t like doctors?” 

Robin’s joke was left without reaction this time as you stared at the shining tools. Now even more defenseless, you wondered if Dustin and Erica were somewhere safe. Maybe it was a good thing they never returned to help. At least you knew they wouldn’t have to see whatever happened next. 

“Let’s try this again. Who do you work for?”

“Scoops,” Steve answered bluntly causing you and Robin to giggle, “Scoops Ahoy.”

“How did you find us?”

“Totally by accident,” You answered this time, not hesitating to give them a response. It was like your brain just wanted to talk and it wanted to say anything and everything that came to it.

Some Russian was spoken, something you weren’t sure of. The doctor picked up a pair of pliers from his tool set and stepped towards your best friend. “What is that shiny little toy?” The target of the command was oblivious to the danger heading his way. 

“Stevie, maybe he’s gonna cut your hair,” You cackled at the idea of Steve losing his biggest trait. “Ha, you’re gonna be bald.”

Robin practically screamed with laughter seconds before Steve was screaming in terror as the doctor put the pliers beneath one of his nails. “Whoa, whoa, hey, hey. Wait! No! Wait! Wait!”

“There was a code!” Robin blurted, “We heard a code!

The commander seemed somewhat pleased with the information. “What code?” He pushed further. 

“The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west. Blah, blah, blah. You broadcast that stupid spy shit all over town, and we picked it up on our Cerebro, and we cracked it in a day. A day!” Robin was particularly gleeful as she explained how you ended up here. “You think you’re so smart, but a couple of kids who scoop ice cream and watch kids for a living cracked your code in a day, and now, people know you’re here.”

“Who knows we are here, suka?”

“Uh, well, Dustin knows.”

In a flip of panic you turned towards him. “Hey, Steve.”

“Yeah, Dustin Henderson, he knows.”

“Stevie!” You yelled this time, hoping the force in your voice would make him shut up. No way, no way, was he going to sit here and rat out the little boy you considered your brother. 

You hated the way Dustin’s name rolled off the commander’s mouth. “Is this your small, curly-haired friend?”

“Ah, curly-haired. Gread hair. Small. Kind of like a ‘fro. Yeah.”

“Where is he?”

Steve couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “He’s long gone, you big asshole. He’s probably calling Hopper and Hopper’s calling the US calvary. They’re gonna come in here, commando-style, guns a-blazin and kick your sorry asses back to Russia. You’re gonna be two pieces of toast.”

Laughter burst through your lips as your head fell forward. The ups and downs of your emotions were making you dizzy but this was so fun and dangerous and sickening.

“Is that so?” The commander bent down in front of Steve’s face to mock him. You all burst into another fit of giggles that only escalated when an alarm began blaring through the base. The commander and his two guards rushed from the room to diagnose the issue.

The door slammed open as you recognized Dustin’s high pitched yell before there was a zapping noise. The doctor’s figure crumbled to the ground from whatever the younger boy did before his curly hair was popping up in your peripheral vision. 

“Hey, Henderson!” Steve was giddy at the boy’s presence in front of him. “That’s crazy, I was just talking about you.”

“Get ready to run!” Dustin’s command wasn’t left up for discussion as he yanked the belts holding the three of you together off. Erica quickly moved to untie Robin individually before Dustin’s hands were suddenly on your knees. “Y/N, holy shit. Are you okay?”

“Dusty!” Your voice was way too excited in his opinion as he tried to pull his eyes from the dried blood on your skin. His hands moved fast to free your ankles and wrists before he tucked an arm under your shoulder and helped you up. Unlucky for you, it was the one the Russians popped out of socket causing you to yelp and jump away from him. “Ow, that hurt!” Your pain was disguised in a fit of laughter as Dustin stared at you in concern. 

“We gotta go. Come on.” Grabbing your wrist gently, he pulled you out of the monotone room that had consumed your thoughts for the past few hours. Handling you carefully, he helped you climb into the back of whatever transport they had found, Steve and Robin clambering in after. The door slammed shut, the ringing in your ears making you press your hands harshly against your head. Curling into yourself, you laughed as the cart began to move making you roll around like a ball.

“Jesus, slow down,” Steve’s words were slurring together as he tumbled into your side. His hands were as careful as possible as he tried to get off of you.

“Yeah, what is this, the Indy 500?”

“It’s the Indy 300,” Steve attempted to correct Robin’s statement but failed. 

“No, dingus, it’s 500!”

“300!”

They two kept going before bursting into laughter again. Your senses were suddenly overwhelmed, the medicine they gave you blurring together as you dropped into a fit of panic. Head aching, chest tight, you clenched your fingers around your arms tightly as you tried to protect yourself as much as possible. Erica let out a shout before you were slammed against the metal walls of the cart, a cry leaving your lips as you hit your already bruised head. Dustin asked if you were alright but you were too busy trying to choke in air to answer. 

More yelling followed before hands were pulling on you, yanking you from your comforting position. Whining as you moved, you let Steve and Dustin practically carry you along slowly into the elevator you came here in. 

The chaotic elevator ride went in a blur, Steve and Robin giggling a little too loud for your enjoyment. Dustin was trying to check your best friend’s stability before his finger was poking into his neck where they had injected the drugs earlier. The ride back up to ground level didn't take too long and eventually, Dustin held your hand tightly as he led you from the elevator back out into the fresh air of the night. You thought you were in the clear and could finally go home, take a shower, and go to sleep. That idea slipped away quickly as Dustin started yelling and pulled you back through the side doors of the mall while Erica attempted to corral Steve and Robin. You caught a quick glimpse of the two Russians undercover that were running towards you.

“Whoa!” Steve shouted excitedly as your group turned a corner sharply in the back halls of the mall.

“Where are we going?” Erica asked Dustin, who didn’t give her a clear answer. Soon enough, he was pulling you through the door that led to the movie theater hallway and into an ongoing showing of Back to the Future. 

Your feet couldn’t keep up as he ran towards the bottom row, demanding you, Steve, and Robin take a seat. Steve broke out into complaints about the shitty view while shoving someone’s discarded popcorn into his mouth. 

“Whatever you do, don’t go anywhere,” The younger boy directed.

“Fine, Dad,” Steve scoffed, earning giggles from Robin. You watched Dustin and Erica shift down the aisle to two other open seats. Steve slumped down aggressively, throwing more popcorn than he could chew into his mouth, mumbling that he had no idea what was happening.

Three minutes went by of your trio staring dumbly at the movie screen before Robin spoke up, “Guys. I’m bored.”

“Me too,” Steve blurted a little too excitedly. You looked over at both of them to see their expectant eyes staring right at you. Dustin’s words be damned, you were bored and hungrier than shit.

Moving quickly to the left, you snuck back out the same hall you had walked through. Food forgotten, the water fountains you found looked much more appetizing as you crumbled against it and chugged down water like you’d never seen it before. 

Plopping on the floor, you let Robin take over the water fountain you previously occupied. Steve started conversing with her again but their words faded to whispers as you stared forward. Whatever they gave you down in the lab was causing panic after panic. Slumping forward, you wrapped your arms tightly around your legs as you tried to slow your breathing. You thought once you left that elevator you’d be free, but realizing that the guards lurked around every corner was enough to freak you out, especially when you figured out how vulnerable your group was.

“Steve!” 

Your cry had his attention instantly, laughter disappearing immediately as he turned to you. He felt bad, but whatever the guards gave him made him want to giggle again. He clumsily clattered to the floor next to you. “Y/N, hey, hey. What’s wrong?” Hands were on your arms, your bare skin touching his. “Okay, okay. That’s okay, just breathe for me.” He was trying to walk himself through the normal steps. Helping you through a panic attack wasn’t abnormal to him, and he was always willing to keep you from suffering alone. 

“I-I don’t know, it’s too much,” You admitted as you crawled into his lap, letting him hold you like a child. Tingling ran through your limbs, numb to the point where you could barely feel the warmth of Steve’s hold on you. “I can’t, it hurts, everywhere. We can’t get out of here, a-and and you, you weren’t waking up and-”

“Y/N, hey. Eyes on me, babe. I’ve got you.” His fingers were soft as they moved your chin to look up at him. He had never seen your body so tense, so rigid. He knew ever since the demogorgon attack that the nightmares were getting worse but you always, always insisted that you were fine.

You cried into his bloody uniform, hands refusing to let go of his wrists. “I was so scared, I didn't think you were gonna come back to me and I’m sorry! I’m sorry I never told you but I didn’t want anything to happen if I did and I’m just so so scared of losing you, Stevie. Can’t even imagine a world without you and I thought you left me alone and… and…”

So, here you were, a bloody mess in Starcourt Mall when the secret broke free that you had hidden from Steve Harrington for so long. Your biggest and greatest fear had always been so close under his nose and he had no idea. Maybe it was obliviousness or just denial but he had never realized how important he was to you.

You were scared, terrified, of losing him to the point where you didn’t want to risk speaking it into existence. Now, it all made sense though. The moments of hesitation when a plan involved him in the front lines, the over worry when he got into a fight, or the simple things like making him dinner and staying in his usually empty house so he didn’t feel alone. 

You couldn’t live in a world where Steve Harrington wasn’t yours.

He felt stupid that he didn’t see it sooner, but you were so good at hiding things when you wanted to. He had slowly been figuring your patterns out but this one was just right out of his reach.

“Shh, it’s okay. C’mere.” His arms held you close, chin resting on your head, tucking you into his neck as he tried to bring you any sense of comfort, to let you know he was here and he was okay. You curled closer into his body, trying not to disturb the wounds on his face. “M’not gonna go anywhere, bubs. Promise. Could never leave you.”

Robin couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized at the way the two of you fit together like missing puzzle pieces. She admired it, yet despised it because she never would get to experience it. You were like soulmates, destined to be entwined infinitely in the universe. She begged, hoped, dreamed that someone would show up and love her for her the way Steve loved you. There was a lot of room for her to grow, to open up to the two of you about who she really was and she would, soon. 

“Hey,” She cursed herself as she interrupted your small moment, her eyes drifting upwards as she let her head fall back. “Is the ceiling spinning for you guys too?”

You sniffled as you pulled your head away from Steve’s neck to look up at the indeed bright, moving lights. It was gorgeous, a blend of soft yet bright and elegant color. 

Your stomach shifted uncomfortably before all three of you were scrambling to the nearest bathroom to rid your bodies of the toxins that had been plaguing you. You tried not to be too grossed out on the bathroom floor and the cold porcelain toilet you were resting your head on. Letting out a small groan, you tucked yourself against the corner of the stall between the wall and the toilet, letting yourself slump in exhaustion. 

“The ceiling stopped spinning for me,” Robin said as she broke the silence. You could see the backs of her thighs as she let her legs rest upwards against the stall. “Is it still spinning for you?” Taking a second, you looked up and shook your head no, forgetting that she couldn’t see you. 

“Holy shit. No. You think we puked it all up?” Steve asked from the stall next to you. You could barely see his blue shoes and knee high socks against the multicolored floor. 

“Maybe, ask me something,” Robin suggested before changing to a Russian accent, “Interrogate me.”

Steve let out a small chuckle, “Okay, interrogate you. Sure. Um, when was the last time you peed your pants?”

“Today,” Robin answered without hesitation, “When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw.”

A short laugh left your mouth as Steve mumbled something about the drug still being in Robin’s system. You felt fine now - not back to normal but you didn’t feel as floaty and instead, your body was riddled with pain and exhaustion but you were just glad to be out. 

“Alright, my turn. Have you… ever been in love?”

“Yep. Nancy Wheeler, first semester, senior year,” He made a noise with his mouth to imitate a gunshot to his heart. 

Despite Steve being devastated over the situation, you were so grateful Nancy snapped him out of his King Steve persona that became so overwhelming. You had been watching your best friend disappear piece by piece, his new friends becoming your enemies with their snide rude comments that Steve didn’t really attempt to stop. So, despite Nancy Wheeler breaking Steve’s heart, you got him back and you were more than grateful for it. 

“Y/N, did you just OD in there?”

By the time you realized you were missing the conversation, Steve’s body was sliding under the metal door into your stall and shaking you back to reality. You gave him a small smile, chin resting on your crossed arms as you tucked your knees into your chest. Neither of you talked about what had happened not too long ago and you were suddenly ashamed of your reaction. 

“That floor’s disgusting,” You muttered as he settled closer to you. His hands were gentle as they grabbed your ankles and released your legs from their cramped position to rest over his lap, fingertips ghosting lightly over your shins. He needed to hold you, to comfort you the best way he knew how.

“Yeah, well, I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so…” He waved his hand lazily towards his destroyed uniform. “Do you wanna talk about it? Robin went to get some more water for us.”

You shrugged lightly, leg twitching as you threatened to curl back into a ball. You felt exposed, more exposed than you ever did to him and usually you didn’t mind it but it just felt weird. Steve noticed, just like he always did, and shifted to sit facing you with his legs slotted beneath yours, his feet resting on the sides of your hips. Tugging you forward gently until your thighs rested on top of his and his hands sat on your waist, Steve Harrington finally looked at you the way he had wanted to for so long.

“I love you.”

Your response was automatic, “I love you, too.”

Steve smiled but shook his head slightly as he messed with you. “Nah, c’mon, babes. You know that’s not what I mean.”

You gave him a half smile, your skin bubbling with excitement. “Stevie, I think we both know exactly what we mean.” You could feel the dynamic shift, both of you could. It was obvious enough but it didn’t feel heavy or overbearing - it just felt right.

“Oh, do we now?” The smirk on his face was smug but it disappeared into the tiniest smile when you rolled your eyes at him and finally leaned forward to close the distance, your lips settling perfectly onto his. Steve Harrington was in heaven, and he was in love. He didn’t know why it had taken this long for either of you to react and make the emotions between you known after so long but he was so glad.

His hands slipped to your lower back to pull you closer into his lap as your fingers sorted through his slightly matted hair. Taking a second to breathe, you leaned back with one hand still lingering around his neck, the other gently brushing the bruises on his face. He was just so real, so close, and somehow still always yours. 

The bathroom door slamming open had you shifting your gaze to see Dustin, Erica, and Robin crowding the doorway, the biggest smile on the latter's face as she held water bottles in her hands. Steve moved slightly to see them, his hand never leaving your waist as he turned to see your friends had returned. “Oh, hey guys.”

“Okay. What the hell!”

--

masterlist

Natasha, perched at the edge of the conference table with her phone in hand, arched a brow. “Another intern? I swear to God if he calls her sweetheart even once—”

“No,” Maverick cut in dryly. “Not an intern. Not a PR guy. He’s security. Second bodyguard.”

Bradley, who was halfway through unwrapping a protein bar, glanced up from the corner. “We already have security,” he said with a pointed glance at himself.

“And you’re doing a damn good job. But it’s a world tour. Bigger venues. Bigger crowds. Higher risks.” Maverick stepped to the side and motioned to the doorway. “Which is why I’m bringing in someone I trust.”

Jake Seresin walked into the room like he already owned it. Tall, broad-shouldered, sun-tanned with that kind of Southern confidence that felt somewhere between charming and infuriating. His eyes scanned the room quickly, assessing. Calculating. He offered a small smirk, hands in his pockets.

“Jake Seresin,” Maverick said. “Ex-military, worked private detail for high-profile clients in LA. He's here to keep your girl alive while she dances through pyrotechnics.”

Javy let out a low whistle. “Looks like Ken doll and G.I. Joe had a baby.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Fantastic. Another man with biceps and an ego.”

Jake didn’t rise to it. Just tilted his head toward her with an easy drawl. “Pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”

“Oh, you’re gonna hate him,” Mickey muttered under his breath, grinning.

Bob, ever polite, stepped forward and offered a handshake. “I’m Robert, but you can call me Bob. Assistant-slash-wrangler of chaos. Good to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Jake’s grip was firm but not overcompensating. His eyes flicked to Bradley last. The other man stood, silently sizing him up like two predators in the same jungle.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” Rooster finally said. “Her bodyguard. Been with her five years.”

Jake nodded once. “Not looking to step on your toes.”

“Good,” The brunette said, then sat back down.

The silence stretched for a beat too long before Maverick clapped his hands once. “Alright. You’ll all get plenty of time to get acquainted. But first, I’m taking Jake to meet her.”

Javy groaned. “Please warn her. She hates surprises.”

“She’s getting a bodyguard, not a puppy,” Maverick shot back, but with the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Jake’s expression barely changed, but the pulse of anticipation was there behind his eyes.

Jake followed Maverick down a long corridor, the buzz of conversation fading behind them as the distant thump of bass grew louder. The hallway widened into a high-ceilinged rehearsal space — sleek, industrial, with mirrored walls and scuffed floors. Lights were rigged from above, casting a soft glow across the room where half a dozen dancers moved in time with the music.

And in the center of it all, you moved like you belonged there. Effortless and electric, mid-twirl with a laugh on your lips and sweat glinting at your temples. You weren’t lip-syncing — no, you were singing, even during choreography, your voice strong, practiced. Alive. Jake recognized you from photos, sure — no one could walk past a magazine stand or scroll through a feed without seeing your face — but this was different. This was real.

“She always this casual about a six-week countdown to opening night?” Jake asked, hands in his pockets as he watched you from the threshold.

Maverick gave him a side glance. “You’d be surprised. She thrives under pressure.”

“Popstar prodigy with three platinum albums before twenty-six. Yeah, I’ve read the resume.”

“She’s more than a resume,” Maverick said, his tone edging toward warning. “You’ll see.”

Jake didn’t respond. He already had.

The music cut abruptly, and you bent over, catching your breath, then straightened and turned — eyes landing on Maverick first, then shifting to the tall stranger beside him.

“New choreo already?” you teased, tugging out your in-ear monitor and walking toward them with a bright smile.

“Nope,” Maverick said. “Just bringing you a surprise.”

“Oh no,” you laughed. “You know how I feel about those.”

Jake stepped forward. “Jake Seresin,” he said simply. His voice was even, polite, with the faintest trace of Texas in it. “New security detail.”

You looked him up and down with an amused tilt of your head — not checking him out, not exactly, but taking his measure. “Security? What happened to Bradley?”

Maverick cleared his throat. “Still here. Bradley’s not going anywhere. But this tour’s gonna be big. Multiple countries, multiple cities, late nights, long travel days. I want another set of eyes. Jake’s got experience. He’s ex-military, ran detail for big names in LA. Knows what he’s doing.”

You offered Jake your hand. “Well, welcome to the circus.”

His grip was firm but not too tight, and his smile was faint, careful. “Looking forward to it.”

“You're always this serious?” you asked lightly.

“Only when someone’s paying me to be.”

Maverick huffed a quiet laugh beside you, and you glanced at him with a grin.

“I’ll make sure he loosens up,” you said, turning back toward your dancers. “Jake, right? We’ll chat more after rehearsal.”

Jake nodded, stepping back. “I’ll be around.”

As you walked away, Maverick looked at Jake, his expression unreadable.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said lowly. “She’s not just a paycheck.”

Jake’s jaw ticked once. “Understood.”

But even as Maverick turned away, Jake couldn’t help the way his eyes followed you across the room — that magnetic pull of someone who didn’t even know she had it.

He was here to protect you.

That was all.

Right?

As Maverick’s footsteps faded down the hall, the room settled into quiet except for the distant echoes of music from rehearsal. Jake’s gaze was steady, taking in the setup — the scattered sheet music, the mic stand, the faint scent of sweat and determination lingering in the air.

He didn’t offer a smile. Instead, his eyes met yours directly, his expression unreadable but firm.

“So,” he said, voice calm and measured, “this is where you do your work.”

You met his tone with a steady one of your own. “Yeah. It’s where everything gets put to the test.”

Jake nodded once. “I’ve been briefed. My job’s to keep you safe and make sure nothing interferes with the show.”

You folded your arms, weighing him up. “And what else?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’m here to be professional. No distractions.”

You gave a small nod. “Good. Because I don’t have time for distractions either.”

The silence stretched between you, a quiet acknowledgment of the kind of focus you both demanded — yours on the stage, his on the job.

Finally, Jake’s voice broke the tension, low and controlled. “If you need anything, you let me know. Otherwise, I’ll stay out of your way.”

You glanced at him, the seriousness in his eyes giving you a flicker of reassurance you hadn’t expected.

“Deal,” you said.

No smiles. No wasted words. Just a mutual understanding that, for now, this was business.

The city lights blurred past as Maverick gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set in that same steady, no-nonsense line you’d seen all day. Bradley lounged next to you, half-focused on the road ahead, half on the conversation bubbling in the car. Natasha was perched in the passenger seat, arms crossed, eyes flicking between you two like a hawk.

“Okay, seriously,” Natasha started, voice sharp but amused. “What do you think of the new guy? Jake, right?”

You smirked, stealing a glance at the quiet man in the passenger seat. “Hot,” you said without hesitation, causing Bradley to raise an eyebrow and Natasha to chuckle.

“Hot, huh? Keep it in your pants, superstar,” Natasha teased, nudging Bradley. “Don’t make Maverick have to pull this car over.”

Bradley laughed, shaking his head. “Man’s a hardass, but I like that.”

Maverick grunted, eyes still locked on the road. “Jake’s solid. Doesn’t mess around.”

“Yeah,” you added, feeling a little thrill just thinking about him. “Serious as hell, but I respect that.”

Natasha smirked. “Just don’t fall too hard. We don’t need another workplace soap opera.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back into your seat with a grin. “No promises.”

The banter rolled on as the city stretched around you, all talk and laughter — but your mind kept drifting back to Jake, the serious new bodyguard with the unreadable eyes and a presence that was impossible to ignore.

The weeks leading up to the tour’s opening night felt like a slow-building storm. Every day was a whirlwind of rehearsals, meetings, and last-minute tweaks, the tension thick enough to slice through the air. Everyone—your team, your friends, your bodyguards—were running on caffeine and sheer willpower, pushing themselves harder with each passing hour. Yet despite the chaos, you knew that tonight, you needed a break. Just one evening away from the stage lights, the cameras, the endless grind.

So when you announced you were heading out to dinner, it wasn’t entirely a surprise when Maverick, Bradley, and Jake insisted on coming along. Three bodyguards to a casual dinner felt a little excessive, and you weren’t shy about pointing that out as you climbed into the car.

“You do realize this is just dinner, right?” you said with a teasing smirk. “Three bodyguards for one girl—I think I’m more protected than the President.”

Bradley grinned from the passenger seat, a playful warning in his voice. “Keep it in your pants, please.”

Jake said nothing, but the sharp glance he shot you from the back seat suggested he’d heard every word. His expression was stoic, the kind that told you he wasn’t about to take any nonsense, but the slight crinkle near his eyes hinted at a dry amusement underneath.

The city streets passed by in a blur as Maverick drove steadily toward the restaurant. The familiar hum of city noise wrapped around you, but a quiet excitement buzzed in your chest. Maybe it was the freedom of a night out, or the subtle thrill of having Jake there—his presence something steady and new.

But the moment you stepped inside, the illusion of a low-key night shattered.

The restaurant, small but chic, was already humming with energy. And then, unmistakably, it became clear you weren’t just any other diners. Whispers filled the air, heads turned, and phones quietly raised. Like moths drawn to a flame, a handful of fans began to gather discreetly but eagerly near your table.

Jake’s gaze snapped to the room, sharp and alert. You could see the shift in him—the way his posture straightened, how his eyes swept over the crowd with a protective intensity that was new, almost fierce. Maverick and Bradley exchanged quick looks, immediately tightening the security perimeter as they subtly moved to shield you.

Despite the growing buzz, you stayed calm, leaning back in your chair with a soft smile. The dim candlelight flickered over your face, highlighting the ease that came from knowing your team had your back.

“Welcome to my world,” you murmured quietly, meeting Jake’s steady eyes across the table.

There was something in his gaze—a mix of respect, admiration, and maybe a little disbelief. He was seeing firsthand what it meant to be in your orbit: adored, scrutinized, and never truly alone.

The chatter from the fans mingled with the clink of glasses and soft jazz playing through the speakers, but for a moment, you found peace in the small bubble of quiet connection across the table.

Dinner had settled into a comfortable rhythm, despite the fluttering attention from across the room. Maverick had taken a seat nearest to the door, his eyes occasionally flicking toward the restaurant’s entrance like a human security camera. Bradley, still relaxed from the drive over, sat opposite you with a half-finished beer and a smirk that rarely left his face.

And Jake—Jake was quiet, seated beside you, watchful and unreadable, but you felt the awareness radiating off him like heat. He didn’t make small talk, didn’t ask too many questions. He didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

You leaned back, swirling the stem of your wine glass between your fingers, the soft clink of cutlery and murmuring voices surrounding you like a low tide. “So,” you said, glancing between the three of them. “First show is in London. Wembley Stadium. No pressure, right?”

Bradley raised his glass. “No pressure at all. Just you, a hundred thousand screaming fans, and a stage the size of a small country.”

You smiled wryly. “Exactly. A walk in the park.”

“Speaking of parks…” you began, casting a not-so-subtle look at Jake, “I was thinking… once we land in London, I kind of want to explore. Take a little walk, maybe sneak into a pub. Do normal people things. With coffee. And pastries. Maybe a crêpe?”

The shift in energy was immediate.

Maverick’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. Bradley groaned audibly. And Jake—Jake straightened in his chair.

“No,” Maverick said simply.

“No,” Bradley echoed. “Hard no.”

Jake, with his arms crossed, added dryly, “Not happening.”

You blinked at them in mock offense. “Excuse me? Did I just get triple vetoed?”

“You want to sneak out in one of the most crowded cities on Earth, days before opening night, when the press is already foaming at the mouth and your face is on every billboard?” Bradley asked, leaning forward like you’d just confessed to robbing a bank.

“I wouldn’t sneak,” you insisted, stabbing a piece of arugula with unnecessary force. “I’d just… stroll. Casually. Like a mysterious local.”

Maverick gave you a flat look. “You haven’t been casual since you were twelve.”

Jake smirked, and for a brief second, you thought you caught the edge of a dimple. “Look, if you want pastries, we’ll have them brought in. Hell, we’ll fly in a French chef for the crêpe.”

“That’s not the same,” you groaned, pushing your plate away and dramatically slumping back in your chair. “I just want to feel normal.”

Jake glanced over at you, quieter now, his voice softer. “This is your normal. Whether you like it or not.”

The words shouldn’t have settled in your chest the way they did—but they did. He wasn’t being cruel. Just honest. And in some strange way, it made you like him a little more.

Maverick, trying to soften the mood, leaned in. “You’ll have time to see London—just not alone, and not before the biggest show of your life.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So what I’m hearing is... hostage until Wembley.”

“Exactly,” Bradley said, grinning. “But a very well-fed hostage.”

Jake didn’t say much after that, but when the check came and Maverick reached for it, Jake was faster. He paid with a quiet efficiency, ignoring your protests.

“I’m more than capable of paying for my own dinner,” you said as you exited into the night air, your voice a mix of irritation and flattery.

“I know,” Jake said, not looking at you. “Doesn’t mean you have to.”

And for the rest of the night, as fans loitered outside and the flashing of cell phone cameras filled the sidewalk, all you could think about was that simple reply—and the way his hand brushed yours, just barely, when he opened the car door for you.

The hum of the jet was low and steady beneath the banter, like a heartbeat under laughter.

You were stretched out across a plush, cream leather bench seat with your legs dangling over Bob’s lap, his laptop balancing precariously on one knee as he tried to finish up the master itinerary for your first tour stop. Natasha sat across from you both, one brow arched, her phone in hand as she scrolled through what looked like a thousand unread emails.

“Tell me again why you packed five carry-ons,” she asked, not even looking up.

You tilted your head dramatically against the headrest. “I’m an artist, Natasha. I feel my outfits. You can’t put expression in a checked bag.”

“You packed six different pairs of sunglasses,” Bob muttered.

You held up a finger. “Seven. One’s in my purse. And each one serves a specific mood. Don’t question my system.”

At the back of the plane, Mickey and Javy were deep in a very intense game of Uno, throwing down cards like it was a matter of national security. Maverick was near them, leaning back with his arms crossed and a proud little smirk on his face as he watched his team be exactly who they were—rowdy, sharp, loyal.

And then there was Jake.

He was seated toward the middle of the jet, directly across from Penny, your manager, his back straight, arms folded. Watching. Always watching.

He hadn’t said much since takeoff, only nodding politely when Penny had handed him the tour packet and muttering a “thanks” when Bradley passed him a bottle of water. But you could see him now out of the corner of your eye—taking in the dynamic, the teasing, the chaos, the warmth—and it was clear something was shifting. Not externally, not in anything he’d say out loud. But in the way his eyes softened when you threw your head back and laughed at something Bob said. In the way he clocked every person’s placement like he was memorizing how your found family worked.

Penny caught his gaze and gave him a half-smile. “They’re not like any team you’ve worked with before, are they?”

Jake shrugged, but there was the faintest twitch of his mouth. “That obvious?”

She leaned in a bit, her tone light but steady. “It’s more of a circus, really. But the good kind.”

“She’s the ringleader,” Bradley said, walking down the aisle with two protein bars in hand, passing one to you. “And the lion. And the flying trapeze.”

“I’m multi-faceted,” you said with a smile, unwrapping the bar. “Tell him, Mickey.”

From the back, Mickey called out, “She once fired me and proposed to me in the same hour.”

“Twice!” Javy added.

Penny shook her head, trying not to laugh. “And somehow, this machine still works.”

Jake just nodded once. “You all really care about her.”

There was a pause. Subtle. Brief. But heavy.

Penny looked at him, eyes serious now. “She’s earned it. Through fire.”

The moment passed quickly, swallowed by a new burst of laughter when Bob finally gave up and dropped his laptop in defeat after you elbowed him in the ribs.

You caught Jake’s eye across the cabin—just for a second. You didn’t smile, didn’t wink, didn’t tease.

But he held your gaze.

And you knew that, for all the distance he tried to keep, he wasn’t made of stone. Not entirely.

The wheels touched down in London just after sunrise. Gray clouds hung low over the tarmac, the kind that promised rain even if it never quite delivered. The jet taxied smoothly to a private terminal already swarming with black SUVs and an ominous energy you could feel in your chest.

From your seat, you could see Maverick and Bradley standing near the open aircraft door, both of them still as stone, scanning the horizon.

You yawned and stretched, tousling your hair with both hands as Bob handed you a coffee he’d begged off the flight attendant twenty minutes ago. “How bad is it?” you asked around the lid, voice still a little sleep-worn.

Bradley answered without looking back. “Paps clocked the tail number before we landed. They’re out there. Maybe fifty, give or take.”

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Of course they are.”

“Standard plan,” Maverick said. “You come out last. Jake’s with you, I’ll lead. Bradley’s covering your right side.”

Jake had been silent through most of the landing. He stood now by the exit stairs, his posture straight, already sliding on his dark coat as Maverick turned to him.

“Here,” Maverick said, tossing him a massive black umbrella that looked more like a weapon than a weather shield. “Keep her dry. And keep her close. They’ll scream, but don’t flinch.”

Jake caught it with ease, unfurled it once to check the mechanism, then nodded. “Got it.”

You met him by the door a minute later, coat already on, dark sunglasses pulled over your eyes even though the clouds were thick enough to smother the sun. “You ready to be my shadow?” you asked, voice light, almost teasing, though your nerves were beginning to stir. The chaos outside was familiar—but it never got easier.

Jake didn’t smile. He just stepped forward, raised the umbrella over both of you, and held it steady. “Stay close,” he said quietly. His voice was deep and calm, a perfect contrast to the building storm outside.

The doors opened. Maverick went first, moving with the quiet confidence of someone who’d done this a thousand times. His presence alone was enough to make a path.

Then Bradley stepped down, shoulders squared, ignoring the shouting as flashes began popping like fireworks. He didn’t have an umbrella, didn’t need one—his job was to spot, to block, to warn.

Your turn.

Jake moved with you. Not behind. Not in front. Beside. One hand on the umbrella, the other gently guiding you at the elbow.

It was like being in a bubble, your little pocket of quiet under the umbrella while the world outside screamed your name. You could hear the frenzy: the yelling of your name from strangers, camera shutters, people asking who Jake was, speculation already starting to swirl before the tour had even begun.

Jake didn’t flinch. Not once.

He kept his body angled slightly in front of yours, tall and unmovable, shielding you like he’d been doing this for years. You barely noticed the short walk from the stairs to the SUV until you were ducking inside, safe behind tinted glass.

He followed behind you, folding the umbrella with one smooth motion and tossing it to Bradley, who jumped into the front passenger seat.

You took a breath.

Jake glanced over at you once you were settled, face unreadable, but his voice was lower now, a little softer than before. “You okay?”

You nodded, cheeks slightly flushed. Not from fear. But from the strange, electric awareness of how close he’d been. How calm. How careful.

“I’ve done this a hundred times,” you murmured. “Still feels like the first.”

The hotel was a modern fortress of glass and stone in the middle of London’s beating heart, flanked by polished security and velvet ropes that barely held back the sea of bodies outside. The rain hadn’t chased them off. If anything, it only made the flashbulbs more dramatic—umbrellas glowing white as camera flashes cut through the morning gloom like lightning.

Inside the SUV, you leaned back in your seat, arms folded across your chest as Maverick’s voice crackled through the earpiece. “Lobby’s clear. They’re letting us up through the side entrance.”

You glanced at Jake beside you. He hadn’t said a word since you’d left the plane. Rain dotted his black coat, the collar turned up just slightly, jaw sharp and unreadable as he watched the entrance through the glass.

“You always this fun before noon?” you asked, just to poke at him.

He didn’t look at you, but you caught the flicker of something near his mouth. Almost a smile. “Before noon, after noon. It’s all the same when your job is making sure you don’t get body-checked by someone with a camera and a Twitter account.”

You snorted, biting back a laugh. “Okay, fair.”

The car rolled to a stop, and Bradley was the first out. Maverick stood just inside the hotel doors, nodding as Jake stepped out next and opened your door, umbrella ready again like an extension of himself. He offered you his hand, which you didn’t take—but he still subtly adjusted his stance to keep you dry as he walked you into the lobby.

Inside, the marble floors gleamed. Penny was already at the front desk with Nat and Bob, handling the check-in while Mickey and Javy dealt with luggage and logistics. You gave them a wave as Jake guided you to stand near the elevators, Bradley just behind you.

But even inside, you weren’t safe from prying eyes.

A group of guests lingered by the lounge, pretending not to stare but clearly filming from behind handbags and designer sunglasses. A few held their phones low, angled just enough to catch your profile. You lowered your head instinctively.

Jake noticed immediately.

He moved without a word, taking one long step in front of you and casually shifting his shoulders so he blocked their view entirely. His arms crossed, coat still damp from the drizzle. He didn’t say anything to the gawkers—just stood there. A wall of muscle and unimpressed Texan judgment.

“I think they just peed a little,” you whispered, glancing up at him from behind the curtain of his coat.

Jake looked down, one brow arched. “They’re amateurs. You? You’re the real danger. Harder to spot when you’re bite-sized.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Excuse me?”

He smirked—barely, but enough to break through the stone. “I mean, you’re what—five-one? You could hide behind a ficus and take someone out with a mic stand. I’m just saying, don’t underestimate the compact ones.”

You gave a mock gasp. “That’s rude.”

“That’s accurate.”

Before you could come up with a clever retort, the elevator dinged and Maverick stepped over. “Penthouse is ready. Let’s move.”

Jake gestured for you to go inside first, scanning the other guests one last time. He didn’t relax until the doors closed.

As the elevator hummed upward, you leaned against the mirrored wall and stole a quick glance at him again. He stood tall at the front of the car, eyes straight ahead, still in full protective mode. But that hint of amusement still lingered on his face.

The penthouse suite was more like a high-rise apartment than a hotel room. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over a moody London skyline, the gray clouds casting everything in silver-blue light. The walls were decorated in warm neutrals, the furniture sleek and impossibly expensive. A spread of fresh fruit, tea, and bottled water waited on the long table near the window, untouched.

But no one was relaxing.

You were curled up in a corner armchair, hoodie pulled over your head, sipping a green juice like it had personally wronged you. Maverick was at the head of the dining table with a printed itinerary and two open laptops. Bradley sat to his left, fidgeting with his earpiece. Jake stood across from them, arms folded behind his back like he was still on base.

The rest of the team filtered through briefly—Natasha with updated press obligations, Javy with new social posts from the PR team, Bob handing off your final schedule to Penny—but it all passed in a blur for Jake. He wasn’t used to this kind of operation. It wasn’t just security; it was orchestration.

“This isn’t a concert,” Maverick said, pointing to the schedule like it was a mission briefing. “It’s a campaign. Fifty-one shows across Europe. Two days off between here and our next stop. A hundred and two crew members. You’re to know every hallway, exit, and panic point at each venue. I want you to memorize the building layouts by tomorrow morning.”

Jake nodded once. “Understood.”

Maverick continued. “When she’s onstage, your job is to be where she is. You move when she moves. Doesn’t matter if she’s getting a mic change, heading to a quick-change tent, or sprinting through a corridor barefoot in the middle of a bridge—”

“Hey,” you interrupted from the corner. “That happened once.”

Maverick gave you a look. “Once is enough. The point is, you don’t lose her. Ever.”

Jake’s jaw ticked slightly, nodding again. “And Bradshaw?”

“I’ll be on the other side,” Bradley answered, spinning a pen between his fingers. “We flank her. No gaps. If anything feels off, we pull her.” He paused. "You also need to memorize the faces of the people on page ten. All identified stalkers."

Jake tensed for a moment, scanning the pages spread out before him. “What’s the chain of command if we need to evacuate?”

“Me,” Maverick said. “Then Penny. If she’s not reachable, you follow your instincts. But only if you're absolutely sure she’s in danger.”

You watched him from your chair, chin in your palm. It was fascinating, really, watching him try to make sense of it all. This was a man who had probably escorted diplomats through war zones and thought nothing of it. And now he was being told to monitor the path between the main stage and a glittery catwalk with smoke machines and backup dancers.

“Any questions?” Maverick asked.

Jake looked down at the schedule again. “What’s a ‘B-stage quick-change fairy forest’? And why does it have a fog machine?”

Bradley burst out laughing.

You grinned from across the room. “Oh, you’re gonna love Wembley.”

Jake looked up at you, unamused. “Do I need a tactical flashlight and a butterfly net?”

“I mean…” you pretended to consider it. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

Maverick sighed. “Welcome to tour life.”

Wembley Stadium looked like it had swallowed the sky whole.

The empty seats stretched into the horizon in every direction, tiers upon tiers glowing in the pale morning light. A small army of crew members moved like clockwork across the floor — taping, lifting, wiring, adjusting — as the skeleton of your show took shape under their boots and gaffer tape.

You stepped onto the stage, hands in your jacket pockets, looking out into the expanse.

“Remind me again whose insane idea it was to play Wembley first?” you muttered.

“Yours,” said Maverick, behind you. “We just nodded along.”

Jake was two steps behind him, dressed in black jeans and a zipped jacket, earpiece already in, scanning every inch of the venue like there was a sniper hidden in row 302.

Bradley walked ahead, radio clipped to his hip, sunglasses already on. “We’ve got two hours before doors, then full lockdown. But don’t worry, Wembley’s security is tight. Your only job is to sing. And maybe try not to leap into the pyrotechnics, yeah?”

“No promises,” you grinned.

From backstage, Mickey popped out like a groundhog, tape measure around his neck and a venti iced coffee in his hand. “Okay, drama queen,” he called out. “Soundcheck now, quick-change fitting after. You’re two hours behind on hydration and fifteen minutes late on glam. If you die on this stage, I swear to God, I’m not refunding anyone’s ticket.”

You rolled your eyes. “Morning to you too, Mick.”

“I am your morning,” he called back, holding the coffee out to you. “Now take this before your blood sugar crashes and you faint in front of a live audience and ruin our careers.”

Jake watched the exchange with curiosity, arms folded across his chest. The tone was chaotic but somehow… efficient. Everyone moved fast, but there was rhythm to the chaos. Controlled madness. A family, functioning on sarcasm and caffeine.

“You always talk to her like that?” he asked Mickey.

Mickey shrugged. “She’d worry if I didn’t.”

Rehearsals began in full force — lights flashing, stagehands running around the catwalks, dancers stretching and joking behind the curtains. You stepped into your mic position while your sound engineer gave the go. The house audio system roared to life, your voice echoing off empty seats as you ran through the first verse of the opener.

Jake and Bradley stood at the far end of the stage, eyes never leaving you.

“She always move around this much?” Jake asked, watching as you spun around a mic stand with unnecessary flair.

Bradley grinned. “This is her standing still.”

“I see,” Jake said, flatly. “So the glitter cannon is necessary?”

“You haven’t lived until you’ve been pelted with biodegradable glitter at eighty miles an hour,” Bradley replied.

From the stage, you blew them both a kiss mid-verse.

Jake blinked.

“She does that a lot?” he asked.

“Only when she’s trying to mess with us,” Bradley replied, arms crossed. “Which is… always.”

By mid-afternoon, the energy backstage had kicked up to eleven. Glam was in full swing. Natasha hovered over the media team, issuing orders about lighting and press. Bob was calmly managing your green room playlist while Javy mediated a fake argument between two crew members about whether or not you should bring back the acoustic bridge in the third song.

“Who’s the opening act again?” Jake asked, as he walked with Maverick near the loading dock.

“That new indie girl. The one with the blue hair and the angry songs about her exes,” Maverick said. “Then the boy band at seven.”

Jake made a face. “And the main act?”

Maverick raised a brow. “You kidding?”

Jake didn’t answer. His eyes were on you — head thrown back in laughter, sneakers kicked off, sitting cross-legged on a crate as Mickey tugged at the hem of your rehearsal outfit, threatening to duct-tape it in place if you didn’t stop fidgeting.

You were the storm and the eye of it, Jake realized. Loud, wild, sweet. Somehow commanding a whole kingdom of chaos and still making it look easy.

And in just a few hours, this entire place would be filled to the brim — 90,000 people screaming your name.

“Yeah,” Jake muttered to himself. “I get it now.”

The roar of ninety thousand voices was more than just sound — it was weight. It pressed against Jake’s chest, vibrated through his ribs, and made the ground hum beneath his boots.

The show was halfway through, and from the floor of Wembley Stadium, it was like standing in the eye of a storm.

He stood just off-stage right, behind the barricade line, eyes scanning every row, every stairwell, every waving sign and wide-eyed fan. The earpiece crackled now and then with updates from Maverick and Bradley. So far, nothing suspicious. Just security calls, crowd flow checks, one idiot trying to sneak in with a fake pass — handled in minutes.

But Jake didn’t ease up. Not even when the lights dipped and the energy of the crowd shifted — not down, but inward. Focused.

“Acoustic set,” Bradley said into the comms from the other side of the stage. “Keep your eyes peeled. Lights are low.”

Jake didn’t need the reminder.

A single spotlight flared, and there you were — seated at a white piano at the tip of the diamond stage that jutted into the crowd. The screens lit up in soft pastels, the roar faded just slightly, and the crowd began to hush, like instinctively holding its breath.

And then you sang.

The first notes were low, honey-dipped, threaded with something fragile and soft.

Jake had seen you at rehearsals. He’d heard the notes. But here — under lights and surrounded by screaming fans who sang every word like it was gospel — it was different.

You weren’t just performing. You were holding their hearts in your hands.

Jake’s jaw tightened. He scanned the audience again, because that was the job, but his eyes kept drifting back. It was impossible not to.

Your voice floated over the stadium, piercing and pure — but it wasn’t just the vocals. It was the way you curled into the piano like it was your confessional. The way you closed your eyes when the chorus hit. The way your fingers trembled ever so slightly on the keys, but your voice never cracked once.

Girls were crying in the crowd. Entire rows of people were swaying in time with your words. And Jake — battle-hardened, stoic Jake Seresin, who had spent years in high-risk jobs with his emotions bolted down tight — felt something shift in his chest like a pin had been pulled loose.

“She’s somethin’ else, huh?” Bradley’s voice came through the comms, but even that sounded distant.

Jake didn’t answer.

Because she was. And not just in the way that made the headlines or sold out stadiums in three seconds. She was something else in the way she gave herself away piece by piece with every lyric — fearless and unfiltered and painfully real.

His fingers curled tighter around the rail. He knew this wasn’t his world. He wasn’t built for stages and sequins and fans who sobbed behind barricades. But right now, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

The song ended.

The crowd erupted like a tidal wave, and you stood, giving a small bow, eyes glimmering with gratitude — and sweat and tears and everything you were too exhausted to name yet.

Your eyes swept the stadium… and for the briefest second, landed on him.

Jake didn’t move.

Neither did you.

Then the moment passed, and you turned to wave to the fans as the next set piece was rolled in.

Jake exhaled. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.

And for the first time since he took the job, he stopped thinking of it as a job.

The show had gone off without a hitch.

Two hours of flawless vocals, seamless set changes, perfectly timed visuals and an audience that screamed so loud the walls of Wembley shook. Maverick clapped him on the shoulder backstage and told him, “That’s how it’s done,” like Jake had had anything to do with the flawless performance.

Still, he was proud. Proud of the team. Proud of the perimeter work. Proud of the way Bradley handled the crowd surge at the barricades before the second act. Proud of how you never missed a beat, not even when your mic went out for a full six seconds and you sang a cappella without missing a note. The crowd had loved that.

Now the adrenaline was fading, and the whole team was scattered. Somewhere down the hallway there was champagne popping and someone blasting the final track of the show, but the green room was quiet. Dimmed. Empty — save for Jake.

“Hang back for a sec,” Maverick had told him. “She wants to rinse off before heading out. Just stay outside the door until she’s done.”

Jake had nodded. Easy enough.

So now he stood in the middle of the soft-lit green room, next to the door that led to the private bathroom, arms crossed over his chest, earpiece finally removed. The couch still had a slight imprint from where you’d curled up ten minutes ago, giggling and exhausted, kicking off your boots and thanking everyone.

Jake’s eyes were on the floor, but his mind was on you. Again.

He could still see you at the piano. Could hear the warble in your voice as you introduced a song about heartbreak. Could feel that moment when your gaze found his in the middle of a sold-out stadium.

Jake exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

This is just a job.

He’d said it to himself a hundred times since landing in London. He said it again now.

But it didn’t feel like a job when his heart skipped a beat every time your laugh echoed off a hallway wall. Or when you scrunched your nose at a bad joke from Bradley. Or when you met his eyes like you knew what he was thinking.

He was not supposed to be thinking about you in the shower.

And yet—

“Jake?”

Your voice came from the other side of the bathroom door, sweet and a little hoarse from singing for two hours straight.

He startled slightly. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence.

“I, um…” A soft laugh. “This is really embarrassing, but I forgot my clothes. They’re by the couch, I think.”

Jake’s eyes snapped to the rumpled bundle of clothes on the armrest. His throat tightened.

“I would come out and get them myself, but, well… I’d rather not flash my bodyguard.”

Jake swallowed.

“Unless you’re into that sort of thing,” you teased lightly.

He let out a quiet laugh through his nose, shaking his head once, hard. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Please, Seresin?” you added, all innocent. “Won’t you be a gentleman and save me from a very awkward exit?”

He stared at the door.

This was a test. You had to know it. Maybe you didn’t mean to be cruel about it — he didn’t think you were the kind of girl who played games — but God, you were making it hard not to think about how your skin would still be damp, your hair slicked back, your lips pink from the heat.

Jake reached for the clothes.

He didn’t rush. He walked to the door with the calm of a man heading into battle, his knuckles brushing the wood as he knocked once.

“I’m setting them on the floor,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “Not stepping in.”

There was a beat of silence, then your soft voice again. “Scared you’ll see something you like?”

He cleared his throat. “No. Scared I’ll like it too much.”

Another silence. A charged one.

Your voice was gentler this time. “You always this noble, Seresin?”

“Trying real hard, sweetheart.”

He opened the door just a sliver, just enough to slide your clothes through without letting himself look. He didn’t even let his eyes drift.

As the door closed again, he heard your quiet voice, half-laughing and half-astonished.

“Thank you, cowboy.”

Jake leaned back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut.

Just a job. Just a job.

But his hands were shaking.

And for the first time in his career, he didn’t know if he wanted the assignment… or the girl.

The SUV rumbled softly beneath them, headlights cutting through the slick streets of London. Rain clung to the windows like a film of silver, and the interior of the car was steeped in a kind of late-night hush. The kind that followed adrenaline, exhaustion, and the distant echo of ninety-thousand people screaming your name.

You leaned your temple against the cool glass, still glowing from the high of the show but aching in every muscle. The adrenaline was slowly wearing off, but the craving for something normal was starting to pulse stronger. Something that didn’t involve spotlights and camera flashes and perfectly timed exits.

You sighed. “Can I go out tomorrow?”

Maverick, behind the wheel, didn’t even blink. “No.”

You turned your head slightly, one brow raised. “You didn’t even hear where.”

“I don’t need to. It’s a day off for a reason. No press, no fans, no danger. You stay in, you rest.”

“But I don’t want to rest,” you argued softly. “I want to walk around, see the city. Just for a few hours.”

Maverick glanced at you in the rearview mirror. Jake sat beside you in silence, gaze fixed forward, jaw tight. Bradley, riding shotgun, shifted in his seat.

“Mav…” Bradley started.

“No,” Maverick repeated, firmer now. “You’ve got another show in three days and I still have venue checks to finalize before we fly to Portugal. Half the security clearance in Paris hasn’t been signed. I can’t—”

“I’ll go with her,” Bradley said.

The car went quiet.

You blinked. Jake stirred beside you.

Maverick exhaled. “You know that’s not enough. We need—”

“I’ll go too,” Jake said.

His voice was calm, low, professional. But there was something in it—finality, maybe—that made Maverick glance at him in the mirror.

“I don’t mind taking the lead,” Jake added. “I’ll plan the route. We keep it short, quiet, avoid major crowds.”

You glanced up at him. His profile was sharp in the darkness, a shadow outlined by the city lights flashing past. He didn’t look at you, but you saw the faint twitch of his jaw.

Maverick hesitated. The silence was long enough to make you think he’d still say no.

Then: “Fine.”

You smiled. “Really?”

“Two hours, max,” he grunted. “Don’t push your luck.”

The next day, London was gold.

Sunlight poured over cobbled streets and rooftops, warm and rare. You wore a hoodie pulled over your head, a pair of oversized sunglasses, and sneakers you hadn’t worn since last summer. Jake and Bradley flanked you as you made your way through Notting Hill, your pace light, your energy—finally—unfiltered.

Jake had kept his distance at first. His hands in the pockets of his jacket, sunglasses on, face unreadable. He didn’t look at you often, but when he did, it was sharp, focused. Scanning. Calculating. Protecting.

Bradley was easier. Joked about the café menus being too long, bought you a croissant he swore was better than anything in Paris. You laughed with him, smiled like yourself, and for a little while it felt like you were just a girl on vacation with friends.

But then Jake’s entire body shifted.

You saw it happen. You were on a quiet block, browsing the windows of a bookstore, when Jake’s hand lightly touched your elbow.

“Don’t look,” he muttered. “White van across the street. Long lens out the back.”

You froze for a half-second.

Bradley turned, subtly scanning. “They’ve been behind us since the coffee shop.”

Jake’s voice was low, controlled. “It’s one guy, maybe two. Could be paparazzi, could be a scout. We don’t engage, we just move.”

“I thought we were trying to be subtle,” you said, trying not to frown.

“We are. But they’re still professionals. Just a different kind.”

You all began walking again, a little faster now. Jake pulled slightly ahead of you, shoulders tense. He was murmuring something into his comms — not that you could hear much. But you could feel him shift into something else. Something colder, more alert.

That’s when it happened. You turned the corner near Hyde Park, only for a man with a camera to step right up in front of you.

You didn’t see him coming. But Jake did.

Jake was between you and the camera in a second. His forearm came up like a wall, his body taking the brunt of the lunge before it even happened.

“No photos,” he said firmly, voice like steel.

The man laughed nervously. “C’mon, mate, just one shot—”

Jake stepped forward, towering. “Back off. Now.”

The man raised his hands, taking a few steps back. “Jesus, alright, alright—”

Bradley tugged your arm. “Let’s move.”

You walked quickly, Jake falling back in beside you, his body still tense and coiled. You looked up at him as you kept pace.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Are you?”

He didn’t answer. Not right away.

But then his voice dropped a little. Quieter now, more personal. “I get it now,” he murmured.

You looked at him again, confused.

“This life. All of it. The noise. The eyes.”

You didn’t say anything. Just walked beside him, your shoulder brushing his every now and then.

And maybe it was the adrenaline, or the way he’d moved without hesitation to protect you, but you felt safer with him in that moment than you had in a very long time.

Jake’s eyes never left the street ahead. But for the first time that day, his hand briefly hovered at the small of your back — not touching, not quite. Just there.

A silent promise.

[...]

Three weeks into tour. Paris.

Jake Seresin had never seen anything like this life.

Not just the fame — though that was blinding enough — but the way it moved through every part of your world. The pressure, the rehearsals, the hours on the road and in the air. The way a single tweet could ignite a wildfire. The way every moment was watched, documented, critiqued.

And you? You carried it like silk draped over steel.

Each city had revealed a new side of you. Dublin, when you fought through the flu and still sang for two hours. Rome, when a fan threw a handmade bracelet on stage and you stopped everything to thank them. Madrid, when your voice cracked during a ballad and you just smiled, wiped your cheek, and kept going.

Jake had seen a lot of hard things in his life — deployments, crashes, people breaking under pressure.

But he’d never seen anyone like you.

And now… Paris.

The Stade de France. Over 80,000 people. A storm warning on the radar and not a single empty seat.

He and Bradley had flanked you from the SUV to the green room, cutting through the backstage swarm like clockwork. He’d noticed you bouncing on your heels, half nerves, half adrenaline. Not fear — no, you’d never shown fear — but energy. That spark you had just before every show, the one that made people think you might levitate.

“You alright?” Bradley had asked once you were in costume, mic pack clipped to your waistband.

“Perfect,” you grinned, slipping your in-ears in. “Paris doesn’t know what’s coming.”

And you were right.

You'd blown through the first set like fire on oil — dancing, laughing, hitting every note like your lungs were made of gold. Jake and Bradley shadowed you from the ground, weaving through security posts, staying close to the barricades, always watching. Always ready.

Even from a dozen feet below, Jake could feel the pull.

The screams of the crowd. The way they roared when you so much as looked in their direction. The rain had started twenty minutes in, light at first, then harder. You hadn’t even blinked — just laughed and threw your head back mid-song like you welcomed it.

Bradley leaned in toward him under the hood of his jacket. “We’re guarding a goddamn superhero.”

Jake didn’t answer. His jaw was tight.

Because it wasn’t just that you were magnetic.

It was that he couldn’t look away. Hadn’t been able to, not for weeks.

And he was trying. God, he was trying.

Because this was a job. You were his client. And he knew what kind of pressure you were under — he saw the cracks when you thought no one was watching. The late-night tension in your shoulders. The way you smiled through exhaustion. The way your fingers trembled when you thought no one was looking.

He’d spent the last few weeks protecting you from the outside world.

What terrified him most now was the way he wanted to protect you from everything else.

The stadium dimmed. The crowd quieted into a low rumble of anticipation.

Then the acoustic piano was rolled out under the white-hot spotlights.

His stomach dropped.

You sat, adjusted your mic, and spoke softly. “This next one’s not on the setlist. But it felt right tonight.”

The first notes of Iris hit the air.

Jake’s breath caught.

Even Bradley blinked. “Holy shit,” he muttered.

The rain came harder.

But you didn’t stop.

And I’d give up forever to touch you…

Your voice wrapped around the lyrics like velvet. The crowd was silent — silent, in a stadium of 80,000 — except for the scattered sounds of people crying.

Jake’s eyes never left you.

You were soaked. Rain clung to your lashes. Your hands moved over the keys with grace, purpose, control. But your face… there was something in your face.

Like the rest of the world had vanished.

Like you weren't singing to the crowd anymore.

You were singing to someone.

And I don’t want the world to see me, ‘cause I don’t think that they’d understand…

Jake’s heart pounded behind the Kevlar vest. He couldn’t look away.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Bradley nudged him. “See something you like?”

Jake didn’t respond.

He knew it. Knew he was circling a line he had no business crossing. But hearing you like this — raw and real in the pouring rain — it cracked something in him he hadn’t even realized was locked.

He’d been in the business of control all his life.

But right now, watching her give herself to the music in front of a storm and 80,000 strangers… Jake Seresin had never felt so undone.

The stadium was still ringing, even after the lights had gone down. Your skin felt electric, still wet from the rain, adrenaline humming under the surface. Everything had gone right — the sound, the energy, the crowd screaming every lyric like their lives depended on it.

You should’ve been flying high. But as you stepped into the green room, closing the door behind you, your eyes immediately landed on Jake.

He stood near the far wall, arms folded across his chest, drenched from head to toe. Water dripped from the edge of his shirt onto the tile, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were on you.

“You good?” he asked, voice low and steady, the way it always was.

“I’m fine,” you said, toeing off your boots. “That was… a lot.”

Jake nodded once. “You killed it.”

You looked at him then — really looked. The rain had flattened his hair slightly, darkened his shirt so it clung to his chest and shoulders. He looked less like a bodyguard and more like a man standing at the edge of a decision he hadn’t made yet.

“Didn’t know you were a fan of power ballads,” you said, walking slowly toward the counter where your towel was.

His lips twitched. Almost a smile.

“I’m not,” he said. “But you are.”

You blinked. That small answer knocked the wind out of you more than the downpour ever could.

He wasn’t smiling, not really — but something in his face softened, just enough to make you move closer. The green room felt too small. Or maybe it was just how large he seemed standing there, so composed. So close.

You stepped toward him without even thinking. And for the first time, he didn’t step back.

“I don't think I've said it before,” you murmured, searching his face. “But I always feel safe when you're near me.”

Jake’s eyes flickered. He glanced at the door like he was looking for a way out. But he didn’t take it.

You reached for his hand — barely — and he met you halfway.

It was like touching a live wire.

His breath hitched, and yours stopped completely. His fingers curled around yours, slow, careful, like he was afraid to break the moment.

He stepped in, just enough that you had to tilt your chin up to look at him. The air shifted. The space between your mouths closed to a whisper. You saw the change in his eyes — the hesitation, the conflict, the part of him that wanted this just as badly as you did.

But then—

He pulled away.

Fast.

Like the moment had scorched him.

You blinked, startled. “What the hell was that?”

Jake stepped back, hand falling from yours. His whole body had tensed up again.

“I can’t,” he said quietly.

“Why?” you asked, a sharp edge creeping into your voice. “Because you work for me?”

“Because this isn’t just about you,” he shot back, voice suddenly sharper. “This is about everything — your image, your safety, your team, Maverick—”

“Maverick?” You scoffed. “That’s what you’re worried about? What, he’s gonna scold you for kissing me?”

Jake’s jaw clenched. “I’m trying to be professional.”

“No,” you said, heart pounding now for all the wrong reasons, “you’re trying to pretend you don’t feel something, and it’s driving me insane.”

Jake shook his head, running a hand over his face. “You have no idea how complicated this is.”

“Then tell me,” you challenged. “Tell me why you look at me like that, like I’m something you want more than anything, and then walk away.”

“I’m doing my job,” he said through gritted teeth. “That’s all this is.”

And that — that burned.

You stared at him, your chest tight and aching. “Right. Of course it is.”

You grabbed your towel and headed for the shower without another word, your footsteps sharp against the tile. Behind you, Jake didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

He was too busy trying not to follow.

The ride back to the hotel was unusually quiet.

You sat in the backseat of the SUV, tucked into the corner with your arms crossed tight over your chest. Jake sat beside you, a careful distance away, his hands flat on his thighs and his jaw clenched like he was biting back a war. Maverick was driving. Bradley rode shotgun, casting the occasional glance at the rearview mirror like he could cut the tension with a knife.

No one said a word. The silence was louder than any conversation.

Your eyes stayed trained on the window, watching raindrops slide down the glass, blurring the glowing Paris lights as they zipped by. The entire city looked romantic and alive — and you felt numb.

Jake hadn't looked at you once since the green room. But you felt his presence like a weight. His regret, his restraint, his stubborn refusal to acknowledge what had almost happened.

And worse — how much you still wanted it.

When you reached the hotel, Maverick walked ahead, speaking with the concierge. Bradley lingered near the elevator, watching your back like the loyal bodyguard he was.

Jake didn’t follow you up.

Not right away.

You were in your suite alone, stripped down to an old t-shirt, hair damp from a shower you barely remembered taking, when you heard the knock. Not sharp or impatient. Just one steady knock. Like someone asking permission to fall apart.

You knew it was him.

You opened the door without a word. Jake stood in the hallway, still in black from head to toe, his hair a little messy now, his eyes locked on yours like they hadn’t looked anywhere else all night.

“I shouldn't have let you leave like that,” he said, voice low, measured. “I should’ve said something.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “But instead you let me go.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I had to. Because if I didn’t, I was going to kiss you.”

“Like that’s a bad thing,” you snapped, the words cutting loose before you could catch them. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me? The way you watch me like I’m gonna disappear if you blink too long?”

“You’re my client,” he growled.

“I’m also a person. One who’s trying to be honest about what she wants.”

“And what is it you want?” he shot back, taking one step into the suite. You didn’t stop him.

You stared up at him, voice soft but unwavering. “You.”

That did it.

Jake reached for you like he’d been holding back for weeks — no finesse, no hesitation. His hands found your waist, pulling you hard into him, and then his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was desperate. Pent-up and feral. His kiss was all heat and frustration and reckless need. You gasped against his lips as he backed you into the wall, one hand gripping your hip, the other tangled in your hair.

You kissed him back just as hard.

Like the last few weeks had been unbearable. Like your body had been waiting for this exact moment to finally breathe.

He kissed you like he was making up for every second he hadn’t.

When he pulled back, breath ragged, his forehead rested against yours. “This is gonna complicate everything.”

You nodded, panting. “I know.”

Jake looked at you for a long beat, thumb brushing your cheek. “I’m so screwed.”

You gave him the smallest smile, your lips swollen, your heart pounding. “Please, don’t go.”

And this time, when he kissed you again — slower, deeper — he didn’t stop.

The morning after Paris didn’t scream change, but it hummed with it quietly beneath the surface.

The crew was already bustling through breakfast in the hotel’s lounge, half-asleep but running on adrenaline and caffeine. Mickey argued with Javy over color palettes for the next show, Natasha was organizing media rounds on her tablet, and Bob was typing furiously on his laptop with a blueberry muffin precariously balanced between his teeth.

And then there was Jake.

He walked in like he always did — early, quiet, composed. But he looked at you a little too long when he thought no one was watching. Not the usual flick of a glance to scan the room. No, this was softer. More curious than assessing. His eyes lingered.

He stood closer than usual too, his shoulder nearly brushing yours as he quietly offered you the mug of tea he’d seen you reach for yesterday. “Figured you’d want this,” he murmured, voice still low, still gravelly, but not as clipped as usual.

“Thanks,” you said, surprised but smiling as your fingers brushed his. He didn't pull away like before.

Later, when the schedule started rolling and you were being shuffled to a late-morning soundcheck, Jake moved with you instinctively. No words, no overt gestures — just a hand ghosting behind your back when the hallway got crowded, his gaze constantly scanning ahead and behind like always… but his body was looser, like he wasn’t just on duty. Like he cared. Like last night had cracked something open in him that couldn’t be closed again.

He laughed once — quietly, but genuinely — when Mickey told a story about you trying to smuggle a cat into a photo shoot last year. You turned toward the sound in surprise. Jake Seresin didn’t laugh. But there it was — a glimpse of something warmer, almost private, before it was gone again.

No one else noticed.

But you did. And he knew you did.

And when your eyes met across the corridor, as you were pulled toward wardrobe by Mickey and he toward a perimeter check, the air pulsed between you with something that hadn’t been there before. Not quite spoken. Not yet.

It was almost midnight by the time the team returned to the hotel.

The second Paris show had been everything — soaked in rain and light and noise, an echo of eighty thousand voices still reverberating in your bones. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off, not completely. You’d managed a hot shower, thrown on a soft oversized tee and bike shorts, and were about to crawl into bed when a soft knock came at your door.

You padded over, wary but curious, and peeked through the peephole. Then opened it slowly.

Jake stood there, freshly showered and changed into a plain black t-shirt and jeans. His hair was slightly damp and curling at the ends, and in his hands — of course — was a paper bag from the bakery downstairs.

“I figured you’d be starving,” he said simply, holding it out. “Didn’t see you eat much after the show.”

You blinked. “Is that—”

“An assortment,” he nodded, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “I don’t know what you like, so I got one of everything.”

Your laugh was soft, surprised, delighted. “Wow. That’s dangerously charming of you, Seresin.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he said, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

You stepped aside. “Come in.”

The suite was quiet — warm lamplight, blankets thrown haphazardly on the couch, your laptop still open on the coffee table. You both sank onto the couch without much thought, sitting close, knees brushing. You took the bag, pulled out a croissant, then offered him a pain au chocolat. He took it without hesitation.

“What?” he asked, when he caught you staring.

“You’re just… not what I expected,” you murmured, tearing off a flaky piece of pastry. “You’re always so serious. Thought for sure you’d think this”—you gestured at your little post-show bubble—“was beneath you.”

“I don’t,” he said quietly. “Not even a little.”

You chewed for a moment, then set your croissant down. “You want to know a secret?”

His brow arched, intrigued. “Always.”

“In the beginning? Before any of this? I used to sing at bars,” you said, leaning back against the couch cushions. “I was fourteen the first time. They’d sneak me in the back entrance, have me sit in the green room until my set. I’d sing for whoever was there — usually drunk men shouting requests I didn’t know.”

Jake’s expression shifted, quiet and listening.

“I didn’t care,” you continued, smiling faintly at the memory. “It was singing. It was a stage. I would’ve done anything just to be heard.”

Jake stared at you for a long moment, and then his voice came low and certain. “And now you’ve got stadiums singing back to you.”

You laughed under your breath. “It’s crazy, right?”

“No,” he said, eyes soft, voice even softer. “It’s exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

The air settled between you, thick with warmth. You turned toward him slowly, your bare knee brushing his jeans again, neither of you pulling away.

And this time, when he leaned in — it wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t impulsive.

It was certain.

Your lips met gently, slowly, and then with more weight, more feeling. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek. It wasn’t rushed or frenzied, but deep. Like he’d been waiting to kiss you for a very long time.

You pulled back with a small smile, foreheads touching. “So you do like pastries.”

Jake chuckled, low and warm. “I like you.”

Your breath caught the second time Jake kissed you.

The croissant was forgotten, the city outside the windows silent. All you could feel was his mouth against yours—confident this time, pressing with a purpose that sent heat sliding down your spine. He cupped your face in both hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks as if memorizing the shape of you.

And then you moved—climbing onto his lap, your knees straddling his thighs. Your hands pressed against his chest, feeling the firm lines beneath his t-shirt, and you swore you could feel his heartbeat pounding as hard as yours.

Jake didn’t hesitate. One hand trailed down your back, splayed wide, urging you closer, anchoring you against him like he couldn’t stand a single inch of space between your bodies. His lips brushed your jaw, your throat, your collarbone—warm and firm and certain. When he looked up at you, pupils dark, jaw tight, he said, low and rough:

“Tell me what you want.”

Your fingers curled in his shirt. “You.”

He grinned—slow, wolfish. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

The way he handled you was reverent and demanding all at once—like he was staking a claim, like he already knew how to pull the breath from your lungs without even trying. He leaned you back into the cushions, mouth returning to yours as his hands roamed—touching, learning, teasing. Every graze of his fingertips was deliberate, and every low sound you made only seemed to drive him further.

When he slid down your body, his kiss deepened just below your belly button, a wicked glint in his eye. “Let me show you how good it can feel,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a rough promise. “Let me take care of you.”

And when his mouth found its mark, you forgot your own name.

Your legs were still trembling when he kissed his way back up your body, his lips warm and reverent against the slick sheen of your skin. Every inch of you pulsed with the aftershocks of pleasure, but Jake moved slowly, like he didn’t want to break the spell of what had just passed between you. His palms slid up the curve of your waist, his thumbs grazing the underside of your ribs before he settled beside you, one arm draping over your middle as he caught your gaze.

You were both breathless. Not just from what he’d done to you—but from what it meant. From how it felt.

Jake didn’t speak right away. He just looked at you, his green eyes softer than you’d ever seen them, like you were something rare he wasn’t quite sure he deserved to touch. His fingertips brushed your cheek, then moved to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

You nodded, lips parted, a little dazed. “Yeah. I’m…” You swallowed. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

He smiled—quietly, not cocky—and leaned forward to kiss the hollow of your throat. “That’s the bare minimum of what you deserve.”

Your hand curled into the collar of his shirt, pulling him back to you. “Then don’t stop.”

Jake didn’t need more than that.

His mouth was on yours again, deeper this time, fueled by something warmer than lust. His tongue traced the seam of your lips with slow purpose, one hand anchoring at your hip as you slid a leg over his lap and settled against the hard line of him beneath his jeans. You felt his breath hitch against your mouth when your hips rolled down, just once, teasing—testing.

He groaned into your kiss. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

“You started it,” you murmured, grinning.

“And I’ll finish it,” he replied, voice darker now, more sure. He stood suddenly, gripping you by the waist as if you weighed nothing, and you yelped in surprise as he carried you to the bed.

The moment you hit the mattress, his hands were everywhere again—up your thighs, under your shirt, across your ribs, skimming your breasts like he was trying to memorize your body by touch alone. You arched into him, needy and unguarded, and Jake let out a ragged breath as he peeled off the last of your clothes.

He kissed you again, slow and aching, and then trailed kisses down your chest, worshiping every inch of skin with a reverence that made your stomach flutter. When he reached your thighs again, he paused, looking up at you from between them. “Tell me what you need,” he rasped. “I’ll give you everything.”

“You,” you whispered. “Just you.”

That was all he needed.

When he finally pushed into you, it was slow, patient, his hands holding your hips steady as he filled you completely. He didn’t move at first—just held there, foreheads pressed together, breathing you in. You gasped, adjusting to the stretch, and Jake shushed you gently, lips brushing your temple.

“You’re perfect,” he said. “Fucking perfect.”

Then he started to move.

It wasn’t rushed—it wasn’t rough—but there was intensity behind every thrust, a purpose in the way his hips rolled into yours, the way his hand gripped yours against the pillow, fingers interlocked. You couldn’t stop touching him—his shoulders, his jaw, the plane of his back. His name left your lips in broken sighs, each one met with a kiss or a quiet word of praise.

“You feel so good.”

“Look at me.”

“I’ve got you.”

You didn’t know how long it lasted, only that you didn’t want it to end. And when the second wave finally rolled over you—sharp and blinding—you came with a cry muffled against his throat, his name on your tongue like a promise. He followed soon after, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep, groaning against your neck.

After, you lay tangled in the sheets, your body tucked under his arm, your head on his chest. His heart was still pounding, one hand smoothing lazily up and down your back. The silence stretched, but it was easy, comforting, like the quiet after a storm.

“You okay?” he asked again, murmured into your hair.

You smiled against his skin. “More than okay.”

He kissed your forehead. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

You fell asleep to the sound of rain tapping against the windows and Jake’s steady breathing beside you. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t dream about running or hiding.

You dreamed of staying.

Of someone choosing to stay.

[...]

The Europe leg of the tour rolled on like a freight train—city after city, stage after stage. The energy was electric, your performances flawless. Every night, you lit up the stadiums with the kind of magic people would talk about for years. And behind it all, Jake was there. Always there.

He’d become a shadow by your side. A silent protector. A quiet anchor.

Except now… not so quiet.

You and Jake had become masters at sneaking around. A glance across a crowded dressing room, a touch lingering a little too long as he helped you into a car, a brief rendezvous in hotel stairwells between press calls and setlist rehearsals. It was risky, exciting, intimate in ways you never expected. And you weren’t sure how long it could last.

Bradley, for one, had started to notice.

He wasn’t confrontational about it, not at first. But Jake saw the way Rooster’s eyes narrowed every time you laughed too easily at one of Jake’s dry comments. How his gaze lingered just a second longer when Jake reached for your hand to help you out of a van. Bradley wasn’t dumb. He had that protective streak in him—a big brother energy he tried (and often failed) to hide.

It all came to a head in Berlin.

The crew had gathered in the production office behind the venue, winding down after soundcheck. You were off reviewing wardrobe changes with Mickey, Nat and Javy were huddled over the next day’s PR schedule, and Maverick had gone off to triple-check the security team for that night.

Bradley stepped up beside Jake, arms crossed over his chest. His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp.

“You and I need to talk.”

Jake didn’t blink. He followed Bradley out of the room without a word. They ended up on a side stairwell—quiet, concrete, unbothered. The kind of place Jake was starting to associate with you.

Bradley leaned against the rail, eyeing Jake carefully. “You two think you’re subtle, huh?”

Jake exhaled, his jaw tight but not defensive. “Guess not subtle enough.”

“No,” Bradley muttered, pushing his hands through his hair. “Not subtle at all.”

Jake leaned against the wall across from him, arms folded now, mirroring Rooster’s posture. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“But it did,” Bradley said. “And it’s still happening.”

Jake didn’t argue.

There was a long beat. A train of noise filtered through the steel door from backstage—cheers, laughter, footsteps—but the stairwell stayed still, heavy with things unsaid.

“I tried to keep it professional,” Jake finally said, voice lower now. “You think I don’t get how bad this could go? She’s our boss. My job is literally to keep her safe, not… fall for her.”

Bradley didn’t flinch, but his eyes flickered at that last part.

Jake sighed. “But I did. Somewhere along the way I stopped seeing her as just the client, and started seeing her as… everything else. And I don’t know how to turn it off.”

Bradley looked at him for a long moment. “You love her?”

Jake didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

It hung there between them, simple and solid.

Bradley ran a hand over his mouth, like he was trying to figure out what the hell to do with that. Then he laughed—dry, almost pained. “Natasha’s gonna kill you.”

Jake huffed a quiet, tired laugh of his own. “Yeah. I figured.”

Bradley shook his head but there was a glimmer of something softer now—acceptance, maybe. Understanding. “She’s been through a lot, man. Just don’t screw this up.”

“I won’t,” Jake said, eyes steady. “I swear.”

Bradley nodded. “Then keep it quiet a little longer. Let her do her job. Do yours. But eventually, we all know it’s gonna come out.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

They stood there for a few more seconds in silence before Bradley pushed off the railing.

“I’m not gonna say anything,” he added, opening the stairwell door. “But when Nat finds out? I’m hiding behind Penny.”

Jake grinned. “Deal.”

The Berlin crowd was wild — in the best way. Eighty thousand strong, hands raised, voices louder than the speakers. You could feel the thunder of their energy under your boots, vibrating through the stage and straight into your spine. It should’ve been exhilarating. And it was… until it wasn’t.

You were halfway through your fifth song, hitting the final chorus, when something shifted.

From the ground, Jake felt it first.

He always watched the audience like a hawk, his eyes tracking movement more than faces. Every show had energy — people jumping, waving, dancing. But this was different. A quick flash of chaos in the corner of his vision. A figure breaking the barricade. Then, all at once, everything kicked into motion.

A young guy — early twenties, dressed like every other fan — suddenly bolted through a gap in the front row security, scrambling up toward the stage.

Bradley saw him a second later. “Shit—”

He was already moving, but Jake was faster.

You didn’t even notice at first — the music was too loud, the spotlight too bright. But Jake’s voice crackled over the comms:

“Stage left breach—on it.”

Before the fan could make it past the front edge, two of the venue’s local security guards finally snapped out of it and tackled him hard against the scaffolding. He hit the ground, screaming something you couldn’t make out through your in-ears, and within seconds he was dragged backstage, kicking and yelling.

The band kept playing — they were trained for that. You didn’t stop. You didn’t show fear. You just glanced offstage for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest, and caught Jake standing just beyond the lighting rig, chest heaving, eyes blazing.

The moment the show ended, the lights dipped and they were backstage, you turned toward your team. “What the hell just happened?”

But Jake wasn’t looking at you — he was already storming toward the two local security guards, voice like a growl.

“You were supposed to have eyes on that corner—what the hell were you doing?”

The taller of the two blinked like he hadn’t expected to be yelled at. “We handled it—”

Jake got in his face. “No, we handled it. He was ten seconds from getting on stage. If something had happened—”

Bradley appeared behind him, clamping a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Hey, man—breathe.”

Maverick stepped in too, more calmly. “Jake. He’s gone. She’s fine.”

But Jake didn’t budge at first. His fists were clenched, jaw tight, fury written all over him. You could see it from where you stood — not just the frustration, but something deeper. Fear. His eyes flicked to you, just for a second. Softened. Then he exhaled hard and stepped back, muttering under his breath.

Maverick raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. He gave Jake a look — one that said we’ll talk later — and turned to escort you back to the green room while the team regrouped.

You didn’t say anything until you were inside, door shut behind you, heart still racing.

Jake finally followed, a minute later, visibly trying to calm himself down. He wouldn’t look at you at first.

“You okay?” you asked, voice gentler than before.

He nodded. “Yeah. Just—shouldn’t’ve happened.”

You stepped closer. “But it’s over now. You were incredible.”

He finally met your eyes. And there it was again — that quiet, fierce protectiveness. Like if it had gone any differently, he would’ve burned the whole arena down.

“They don’t get to touch you,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Not on my watch.”

You didn’t reach for him — not here, not now — but your gaze lingered, and for a moment, nothing else existed in the world but you and him and the silence between your breaths.

The post-show wind-down in the hotel suite had become something of a ritual. Maverick sat at the table with his laptop open, skimming through footage from the night’s security feed. Mickey and Coyote were mid-way through a bag of chips, still hyped from the energy of the stadium. Bob typed notes for the report Maverick always expected. Natasha sat cross-legged in an armchair, sipping from a bottle of water, observant and quiet. Bradley leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching them all a little too carefully.

“She’s down for the night,” he finally said. “Jake’s at her door. I offered to take over, but he waved me off.”

Natasha quirked a brow. “Of course he did.”

Mickey popped a chip in his mouth. “Anyone else feel like Jake was… extra tonight?”

“Dude looked like he was about to rip that venue guy’s throat out,” Javy added.

“He reacted fast,” Bob said. “Almost like he knew something was gonna happen before it did.”

“He’s always been intense,” Bradley offered, tone breezy.

“Not this intense,” Natasha shot back. “It’s like he’s got tunnel vision—but only when she’s around.”

Bradley shifted slightly, arms still crossed. “He’s just doing his job. Maybe a little too hard, but—better safe than sorry.”

“Sure,” Javy said slowly, “but when the show ended, and she was off stage? She went to him. Not Penny, not Maverick, not you, Brad. Him.”

Bradley gave a lazy shrug. “They’re both under a lot of pressure. Maybe they’ve just… clicked.”

Bob looked up. “You think something’s going on?”

Bradley’s heart thudded, but he forced a calm laugh. “C’mon. That’s a stretch.”

“I don’t know,” Natasha said, narrowing her eyes. “She lets him get closer than she lets anyone else. And the way he looks at her—Jake doesn’t look at anyone like that.”

Maverick finally looked up from the footage, brow raised. “Looks at her how?”

“Like she hung the damn moon,” Natasha replied without missing a beat.

Javy made a face. “Yeah, and she looks right back at him like she’d rather be in his arms than on stage.”

“Maybe we’re all just tired,” Bradley said, pushing off the wall to walk toward the table. “It’s been a long few weeks. Big stadiums. Long nights. Emotions run high. Doesn’t mean anything.”

Mickey gave him a look. “You trying to convince us, or yourself?”

Bradley smirked. “Just saying. We’re paid to protect her, not to start a tabloid exposé.”

“Still,” Natasha murmured, eyes narrowing in thought. “If something is happening…”

“It’s none of our business,” Bradley said quickly, voice firm.

Everyone turned to him.

Natasha’s brow lifted slightly, curious now. “That defensive, huh?”

Bradley opened his mouth, then caught himself. “Just don’t want to stir up drama that isn’t there.”

Maverick watched him a moment longer, then turned back to his laptop, muttering, “We’ll see.”

Bradley sat down beside Mickey, keeping his expression neutral. But inside, he was already planning how the hell he was going to warn Jake — because it was only a matter of time before the others really figured it out.

And when they did?

There’d be no putting that genie back in the bottle.

The hotel room was quiet when Jake stepped inside.

Dim lamplight spilled across the plush carpet, soft and golden, and you stood by the window, your back to him, still in one of your oversized post-show hoodies. You didn’t turn around at first. Just let your head tilt slightly as you felt him approach — like your body knew he was close before your mind could register it.

Jake shut the door behind him with a soft click. “Hey.”

You turned, slow and tired but smiling, that specific kind of glow only adrenaline and stage lights left behind. “Hey yourself.”

He crossed the room in a few strides, stopping just in front of you, hands slipping into his pockets like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch. “You good?”

You reached for him then, fingers curling around the collar of his shirt. “I don’t want to talk.”

He leaned in, slow and sure, his voice low as he murmured against your lips, “Then don’t.”

The kiss was soft at first, a whisper of mouths, his hands settling on your waist. You breathed him in — clean soap, a trace of rain, and something deeply him. When he deepened the kiss, his grip grew firmer, pulling you flush against his chest, the tension finally giving way to hunger.

You gasped into his mouth when his hands slid beneath your hoodie, skimming over bare skin.

“No stage,” he whispered, voice rough with want. “No crowd. Just me and you.”

You nodded, wordless, and let him lead you toward the bed.

He kissed down your neck, taking his time, every press of his lips reverent. Clothes disappeared piece by piece — your hoodie first, his shirt next, and then nothing but bare skin and quickening heartbeats. You tugged him down with you onto the mattress, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, letting his weight settle over you.

Jake was gentle, even when his desire burned hot. He kissed every inch of your skin like he was memorizing it, learning you. His hands were strong, sure, but never rushed. When he dipped lower and his mouth found its place between your thighs, it wasn’t about showing off. It was about you falling apart under him — your hands tangled in his hair, your breath catching on his name, your body trembling from his touch.

And when he finally moved over you, when he pressed into you slow and deep, you felt everything. The tension, the weeks of wanting, the quiet understanding that this wasn’t just lust. It was something bigger. It meant something.

He moved with you, not against you. Eyes locked. Words whispered into skin. Your fingers dragged down his back, his lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, your temple.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he rasped.

“I’m yours,” you breathed.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rushed. Jake made love to you like he had all the time in the world. And when you came undone beneath him, he held you through it, whispering your name like a promise.

After, he didn’t move. Just held you close, his hand cradling the back of your head, your cheek pressed to his chest where his heart still pounded like a war drum.

You felt safe.

You felt seen.

And for the first time in your chaotic, spotlight-lit life… you let yourself believe this wasn’t just a fantasy.

He was real. And he was yours.

[...]

It happened on a Wednesday.

You’d made it a full month of stolen moments, whispered goodnights behind hotel doors, fingertips brushing under the glare of stadium lights — always just out of view, always careful. But someone was bound to see.

And Maverick wasn’t just anyone.

You were mid-soundcheck at the venue in Barcelona when he asked — no, ordered — both you and Jake to meet him in the green room after.

The room was empty, too quiet when you walked in. Jake stood stiff beside you, arms crossed, jaw tight. You could feel the panic starting to rise, like a fog behind your ribs. Maverick stood by the little kitchenette, sipping from a thermos like he wasn’t about to completely change the course of your day.

He set the thermos down.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

You rushed out before you could stop yourself. “Please don’t fire him.”

Maverick blinked, stunned. “I—what?”

You stepped forward, heart racing. “Or bench him or—whatever it is you’re thinking. Just don’t, okay? I know it’s not ideal, but we didn’t plan this. I swear we were careful and we tried to fight it but—” Your voice cracked. “Jake makes me happy. Really happy. I’ve never felt this—safe. Or seen. Or… me. So if you’re going to break us apart, please, don’t.”

Jake’s hand barely brushed your lower back, a silent anchor. You were trembling.

But Maverick didn’t yell. Didn’t scowl.

He just sighed. Long. Quiet. Ran a hand down his face like a father trying not to lose it in front of his kids.

“I’m not here to break you up,” he said finally.

You stared. “You’re not?”

“No.” His gaze flicked to Jake. “Though I am seriously considering gluing a GPS to your forehead, Seresin.”

Jake coughed once — a soft sound that might’ve been a laugh if the moment wasn’t so thick.

Maverick stepped closer, arms crossed now but not in anger — in careful authority. “You think I didn’t notice how you look at her? Or how she looks at you?” He glanced at you then, eyes gentler. “I’ve known you a long time. Long enough to know when something’s real.”

Your throat was tight.

He looked back at Jake. “I just want her protected. Not just from crowds or fans or threats — from the kind of love that burns too fast and leaves scars.”

Jake nodded, quiet but steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Maverick said. “That’s why I called this meeting.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Because,” he continued, “if you’re going to be in this — really in this — then you need to stop hiding. Not from me. Not from the people who love you.” His voice softened. “I’ve always had your back, kid. I’m not about to stop now.”

Your eyes burned.

Jake reached for your hand.

And Maverick? He just smiled a little.

“You deserve happy,” he said. “Both of you. Don’t screw it up.”

[...]

One year later — Los Angeles, final night of the tour.

The lights at SoFi Stadium were blinding. Seventy thousand people. A sea of phone lights like stars. Screams so loud the stage felt like it pulsed beneath your feet.

You were in your element.

The final notes of your last song rang out into the warm California night, the crowd holding every moment with you like they didn’t want it to end. And truthfully? Neither did you.

The tour had changed everything. Your world. Your heart.

You stood there, hands pressed to your chest, your voice trembling as you whispered a final thank you into the mic. You couldn’t see the front barricade from the lights, but you knew they were out there — Maverick, Bradley, your entire team. Your family.

And Jake.

He was somewhere along the stage edge, hidden in the shadows just as he had been every night. But your eyes always found him.

You slipped off stage to roaring cheers and were immediately pulled into hugs — Mickey, Nat, Javy, Penny. Everyone sticky with sweat, misty-eyed, and glowing.

But you only truly exhaled when you saw him. Jake.

Leaning against the wall in his black-on-black suit, tie loose, security badge clipped to his belt — but all you could see was his smile. That real one. The one just for you.

“Nice show,” he said, voice low.

You stepped into his space without hesitation. “Only cried three times,” you joked, cheeks still flushed from adrenaline.

Jake cupped your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing beneath your eye, catching a smear of glitter. “You did it, superstar.”

“So did you,” you whispered, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. “Thank you for being there. For all of it.”

He kissed you then. Slow. Steady. Deep enough to silence the noise.

You weren’t hiding anymore. Maverick had known. The rest of the team had figured it out. But no one cared — not when they saw how happy you were. Not when they saw how steady Jake made you. Not when they saw the way you looked at each other, like everything before this had only been a rehearsal.

Jake pulled back just enough to murmur, “So what’s next for us?”

You smiled.