Heaven isn´t quite what it seems

Downstairs the ordinary sounds of morning continue as if nothing has shifted. The coffee pot gurgles. A chair scrapes softly against the floor. Your father’s Bible pages turn with their familiar whisper. You force yourself out of bed, splash cold water on your face at the bathroom sink, and study your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes look the same. Your mouth looks the same. Nothing on the outside betrays the way everything inside feels rearranged. You smooth your hair, straighten your shoulders, and try to put the careful version of yourself back together before you go downstairs.

When you appear in the kitchen doorway they both look up. The smiles are the same, warm, measured, practiced, but your mother’s eyes linger a second longer than usual, cataloguing the faint shadows under your eyes, the way you hesitate for half a breath in the doorway.

“Morning, sweetheart,” your father says. His voice is steady, familiar, the same voice that fills the sanctuary every Sunday. “Sleep well?”

“Yes, sir.” The lie sits easily enough on the surface. You pour cereal into the blue bowl that has been yours since childhood and sit, keeping your hands steady around the spoon even though your fingers feel restless. The milk is cold. You watch it soak into the flakes and try not to think about how many mornings have looked exactly like this one; how none of them have ever felt like this.

Your mother sets a plate of toast in the center of the table and takes her seat across from you. She butters a slice slowly, watching you the entire time. “The car isn’t in the driveway.”

You had practiced this part in the dark sometime after midnight, whispering the words to the ceiling until they felt almost natural. Still, your pulse jumps hard enough that you’re certain they can see it in your throat. “It died on the way home, past the last streetlights. Completely dead. I couldn’t even get the lights back on… It just… stopped.”

Your father’s brow furrows. He closes the Bible with quiet care and rests both hands on the table. “You should have called us the moment it happened.”

“I know. I was going to, but my phone was almost dead and the signal was bad out there, but Hayley was still awake. I texted her and she… she called the tow for me. The truck came and took it to the shop on the edge of town, the one near the old grain silos.” You keep your voice even, eyes on the cereal as it softens in the milk. “She stayed on the phone with me until it was loaded and the driver confirmed where it was going. Then I walked the rest of the way. It wasn’t far. Maybe ten minutes.”

The second lie settles heavier than the first. You force yourself to take a bite so you don’t have to keep talking. The cereal tastes like nothing.

Your mother’s hand comes across the table and rests over yours. Her palm is warm, slightly damp from the kitchen. “You walked alone in the dark? Y/N, anything could have happened.”

“Only the last bit,” you say quickly. “Hayley made sure I was okay the whole time. She stayed on the phone until I told her I could see our porch light. I’m fine. Really. Nothing happened.”

Your father studies you for a long moment. The kind of look that has always made you feel transparent, like he can see straight through whatever story you’ve prepared. “Which shop?”

“Miller’s,” you answer, because that part is true. Noah’s shop. The one he works at. You don’t add the rest, you don’t say the name that has been sitting behind your teeth since you woke up.

He nods slowly, filing the information away. “I’ll call them this morning. See what the damage is and arrange payment. Alternator, maybe?”

“I think so. The man on the tow truck mentioned it and the battery when he was loading the car. He said it looked like the alternator had given out completely.”

Another small lie, stacked carefully on the others. You keep your face calm. Inside, something restless twists tighter.

Your mother squeezes your hand once more before letting go. “We’re just glad you’re safe. That’s what matters. But next time, any time something like this happens, you call us first. No matter the hour. Do you understand?”

“I will. I promise.”

Your father leans back slightly in his chair. “The Lord watches over us, but He also expects us to use good judgment. Walking alone on that stretch of road after dark isn’t good judgment, sweetheart.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Your mother softens a fraction, reaching for the toast again. “Was Hayley able to stay on the line the whole time? Her parents don’t mind her being up that late?”

“They don’t mind as much,” you say carefully. “She was already awake, said about watching something on her phone.”

“She’s a good girl,” your father says, almost to himself. “A steady influence. We’re grateful.”

The rest of breakfast passes in the usual quiet rhythm, but it feels stretched thin. Your mother asks about the store, whether the new shipment sold well, whether you need anything packed for lunch. Your father reminds you about Wednesday night service and the youth group meeting afterward. You answer everything the way you always do, softly, politely, carefully. When you stand to rinse your bowl at the sink, your father speaks again.

“I’ll handle the car. Don’t worry about the cost, just be more careful from now on. We trust you. We always have.”

“Yes, sir.”

The words taste like guilt.

You escape upstairs under the excuse of getting ready for work. The moment your bedroom door closes behind you, you sink onto the edge of the bed and press your palms hard against your eyes. The lie sits in your chest like a stone; heavy, cold, impossible to ignore. Hayley will cover for you, she always does, but the fact that you needed the cover at all feels like the first real crack in the careful wall you’ve spent years building around yourself. You think of Noah’s quiet laugh, the way he said your name like he was testing the weight of it, the deliberate smile when he caught you looking at his tattoos again. Heat crawls up your neck even now.

Your phone buzzes once on the nightstand.

Hayley [7:02 AM]: you alive? Hayley [7:02 AM]: also your mom just texted me asking if I was the one who called the tow last night Hayley [7:03 AM]: I said yes Hayley [7:03 AM]: you owe me details. all of them and i mean ALL of them.

You stare at the screen for a long time, thumb hovering. The morning light filters through the curtains in soft stripes across the floor. Somewhere downstairs your father’s voice rises and falls as he makes a phone call.

You [7:08]: I’ll tell you everything at the store. You [7:08]: Thank you. Seriously. I didn’t know what else to say. Hayley [7:10 AM]: i’ve got you. always. Hayley [7:10 AM]: but you’re not allowed to leave anything out.

Your face burns at the memory of what really happened. You don’t answer that part. You just set the phone down and finish getting dressed in the same clothes that somehow feel different today, like they belong to the girl who climbed onto the back of a motorcycle last night instead of the one who has spent twenty-two years trying to be exactly what her parents need her to be.

Downstairs your mother is waiting by the front door with a packed lunch and a soft smile. She hands you the bag and smooths a strand of hair behind your ear the way she has since you were small.

“Be safe today,” she says. “And text me when you get to the store.”

“I will.”

You kiss her cheek. The familiar scent of her lotion clings to your skin as you step outside. Behind you, through the open kitchen doorway, you catch the low murmur of your father’s voice on the phone.

“Yes, this is Pastor, yes, the car that came in last night. My daughter’s. Miller’s, correct? … Yes, we’ll settle the bill directly. Whatever it needs. Thank you.”

You slip out the front door before he can call you back, heart beating too fast for a morning that is supposed to feel ordinary.

The air is cool and clean, carrying the faint smell of cut grass from someone’s early lawn. The walk to the vinyl store has never felt longer. Every step carries the weight of last night’s secret; the engine dying, Noah’s hands on the hood, the quiet conversation under the stars, the way he watched until you were safely inside. For the first time in your life you are carrying something that belongs only to you.

Something your parents can never know about.

And the worst part; the part that makes your face warm and your pulse skip even now, in broad daylight, is that you already want more of it. You want the sound of his voice again. You want the careful way he said your name. You want the dangerous, quiet thrill of being seen by someone who exists completely outside the careful life that has been built around you.

You walk faster, as if you can outrun the wanting.

But it follows you all the way to the store.

The front windows are already unlocked when you arrive. The familiar scent of cardboard, dust, and Hayley’s illegal incense drifts out the moment you push the door open. She is behind the counter with two coffees, one of them pushed toward the edge like she’s been waiting. Her hair is in a messy bun and she’s wearing the same oversized cardigan from yesterday, sleeves pushed up to her elbows.

The second she sees your face she straightens.

“Okay,” she says, sliding the coffee toward you. “Spill. Right now. Your mom texted me this morning asking if I called a tow truck for you last night. I covered. You’re welcome. Now talk.”

You take the coffee because you need something to do with your hands. The cup is warm against your palms. You stare at the lid for a second too long, then glance toward the back room even though you both know the owner won’t be in for another hour.

“It died,” you say finally. “The car. Completely. Out past the last lights, I was just sitting there trying not to panic.”

Hayley’s eyes widen. “And?”

“And someone stopped.”

She leans forward on the counter, both palms flat, the way she does when she’s about to get the best gossip of the week. “Someone.”

Your voice drops. “Noah Sebastian.”

Hayley freezes. Then a slow, delighted, slightly feral grin spreads across her face.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Hayley-”

“Noah Sebastian pulled over for you? On the side of the road? At night?” She presses a hand to her chest like she’s been personally gifted something precious. “The Noah Sebastian? Motorcycle, tattoos, makes-parents-nervous Noah?”

“He doesn’t-” You stop, face already warm. “He just stopped. He looked at the engine and said the battery was dead. Then he called the tow himself.”

Hayley is practically vibrating. “And then?”

“And then we waited for the truck.”

“You waited. With him. Alone.”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know. Twenty minutes? Maybe thirty. It felt longer.”

She makes a high-pitched sound that is not entirely human and flaps one hand at you. “What did you even talk about? Please tell me you didn’t just stand there in silence like a Victorian ghost.”

You take a sip of coffee to buy a second. “Music. The store. He asked what I listen to when no one’s around. I told him some of it. He actually listened. Asked follow-up questions. It was… weirdly normal.”

Hayley’s eyebrows climb so high they nearly disappear. “He asked about your music taste?”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t combust on the spot?”

“I came close. I told him about the records I play when the shop is empty and he just… nodded like it mattered.”

She laughs, bright and shameless, then lowers her voice again, leaning even closer. “Did he flirt?”

You hesitate. The memory of his voice when he caught you looking at his tattoos rises too easily. “Not at first. He was just helpful. Quiet. Kind of serious. Then I stared at his hands too long and he noticed.”

“Of course you did.”

“I didn’t mean to. The sleeve rode up while he was wiping grease off and there were all these tattoos and I just… looked. And he smiled and said something about how most people pretend not to see them.”

Hayley covers her mouth with both hands, eyes sparkling. “Oh my god.”

“Then later, when the truck left and he offered me a ride home on the bike, he made this joke about not telling my parents he corrupted the preacher’s daughter with two wheels. I turned red so fast it hurt and he laughed.”

“You rode on his motorcycle.”

“Yes.”

“You. On the back of Noah Sebastian’s motorcycle. Holding on to him.”

“He dropped me off two houses down so no one would see. And then he waited until I got inside.”

Hayley stares at you for a full three seconds, mouth open. Then she reaches across the counter and lightly smacks your arm.

“I cannot believe this is your life right now. I leave you alone for one night,  one night, and you end up on the back of the town bad boy’s bike while your parents think I was the responsible friend on the phone the whole time.”

“I know.”

“Did he smell good? Be honest.”

“Hayley!”

“I’m just asking questions.” She leans in even closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Leather? Motor oil? Something expensive and completely unfair?”

You groan and drop your forehead to the counter. “You’re impossible.”

She laughs and reaches over to pat the back of your head the way she does when she’s equal parts proud and entertained. “I’m your best friend. It’s in the job description. Now answer the question.”

“Fine. Yes. He smelled good. Like leather and soap and a little bit of grease. Happy?”

“Extremely.” She straightens, still grinning. “Okay. Serious question now. Are you okay? For real.”

You stay where you are for a second longer before lifting your head. “I don’t know. It felt easy talking to him. Like I didn’t have to watch every word the way I usually do. And then I came home and lied to my parents and now I feel like I swallowed a rock.”

Hayley watches you carefully, the teasing quieting into something more serious. “You’re allowed to have one night that belongs to you, you know.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“I know it doesn’t. But it still happened.” She taps the counter near your hand. “And he waited until you got inside. That’s not nothing.”

You nod once, small.

“That’s kind of a lot,” she says quietly. Then the grin returns, softer around the edges. “Also extremely hot. Just so we’re clear on the ranking of events.”

You make a face at her. She only smiles wider and pushes your coffee closer.

“Drink. You’re going to need it. Because I have approximately four hundred more questions and we have an entire shift to get through them. Starting with: are you going to see him again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to?”

The question hangs between you. You look down at the lid of your coffee, at the small swirl of leftover foam, and feel the truth sitting warm and dangerous under your ribs.

“Yeah,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “I think I do.”

Hayley lets out a long, dramatic breath and leans her elbows on the counter.

“Well,” she says, “this is going to be interesting. And by interesting I mean I’m going to need popcorn and a front-row seat.”

Outside, Main Street is waking up the way it always does, bakery door opening, someone sweeping a sidewalk, the distant rumble of a truck. Inside the store nothing looks different. The same shelves. The same dusty light. The same half-dead fern in the corner.

But every time the door chimes or a record sleeve slides into place, you feel the secret sitting between you and Hayley like something alive. Shared now. Safer. And somehow heavier because of it.

Hayley bumps her shoulder against yours as she passes on her way to unlock the register.

“For the record,” she murmurs, “I’m proud of you. Even if your dad would actually have a stroke if he knew.”

You don’t answer.

You just smile into your coffee, small and secret, and try not to think about the way Noah’s voice sounded when he said your name in the dark; or how much you already want to hear it again.

The morning settles into its usual rhythm after that, but the conversation keeps circling back in quiet moments between customers. Hayley wants every detail of the ride itself; how fast he went, whether you held on tight, whether he said anything else once you were on the bike. You answer in low voices near the rock section, replaying the solid warmth of his shoulders under your arms, the way he glanced back once to check on you, the careful way he slowed the bike as you reached the neighborhood.

“He didn’t take you all the way to the house,” Hayley says, stacking a new arrival. “That’s… thoughtful. In a slightly terrifying way.”

“He said showing up right in front of the pastor’s house on a motorcycle might cause more problems than a dead alternator.”

She laughs under her breath. “He’s not wrong.”

A customer comes in, the retired teacher who only buys classical, and the conversation pauses while you help her find a particular recording of Bach. When she leaves, Hayley is already waiting by the counter again.

“Okay, new question. Did he ask for your number?”

“No.”

“Did you want him to?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Maybe. It would’ve made things more complicated.”

“Things are already complicated,” she points out. “You’re standing here lying to half the town about who called a tow truck.”

“I know.”

The door chimes again around eleven. Both of you look up at the same time.

Your father steps into the store, removing his hat the way he always does indoors, the soft light catching the gray at his temples. He looks slightly out of place among the shelves of vinyl and the faint lingering scent of incense, but his expression is calm, familiar, the same measured warmth he wears at the church doors on Sunday mornings.

“Morning, girls,” he says.

Hayley’s posture changes in an instant; shoulders straighter, smile brighter, the picture of polite church-youth helpfulness.

“Morning, Pastor,” she answers easily.

You set your coffee down a little too carefully. “Dad. I didn’t know you were coming by.”

“I was on my way to the church office and thought I’d stop.” His eyes move between the two of you before settling on Hayley. “I wanted to thank you properly. For last night. For looking after Y/N the way you did, calling the tow, staying on the phone with her… that was good of you.”

Hayley doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course. I wasn’t going to leave her sitting out there by herself. I’m just glad everything turned out okay.”

Your father nods, sincere. “We’re grateful. Truly. You’ve always been a good friend to her.”

You keep your face carefully neutral, but under the counter your fingers tighten around the coffee cup. Hayley glances at you for half a second, quick, reassuring, before looking back at him with the same easy smile.

“Anytime,” she says. “Really.”

Your father turns to you then, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a folded set of bills and holds them out.

“The shop called back. The alternator needed replacing, plus labor. It’s ready for pickup whenever you can get over there. I’d go myself, but I have meetings stacked until late afternoon.” He places the money in your hand, his fingers warm and brief against yours. “This should cover it. If it’s more, just call me and I’ll sort the rest.”

You close your hand around the bills. They feel heavier than paper. “Okay. I’ll go after my shift.”

“Miller’s, correct?” he asks, even though he already confirmed it this morning.

“Yes.”

He studies you for a moment longer, the same quiet assessment from the breakfast table. “Be careful on the way. And thank the people at the shop for the quick work. Courtesy matters.”

“I will.”

He settles his hat back on his head, gives Hayley one more nod of thanks, and steps back toward the door. The chime sounds again as he leaves. Through the front window you watch him walk down the sidewalk, already pulling out his phone, the ordinary rhythm of his day closing around him once more.

The store feels too quiet in his absence.

Hayley waits until he’s fully out of sight before she lets out a long breath and drops her forehead to the counter with a soft thud.

“I deserve an Oscar,” she mumbles against the wood. “Or at least free lunch for a week.”

You stare down at the money in your hand. Miller’s. The shop where Noah works. The same place the tow truck took your car last night. The same place he will almost certainly be when you walk in this afternoon.

Your pulse stutters.

Hayley lifts her head, reads your face in a single glance, and grins slowly.

“Oh,” she says, voice full of delighted trouble. “You’re going to see him again today, aren’t you?”

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

The bills in your hand suddenly feel like both a responsibility and an invitation, and the rest of the shift stretches ahead of you like a held breath.

The sun began to peek through the curtains. Passing birds cast shadows on the two inked figures tangled together in the bed. Fallon awoke to the typical subdued noise of her cat’s footsteps crossing the bed to ask her for breakfast. After one sleepy gaze at him as he meowed, she shut her eyes again and buried her head in the crook of Noah’s neck.

Noah.

Fallon shot up from where she laid, the sober morning clarity sinking in. This was not just a one night stand from the bar. Not a guy from a successful date. This was her client. Her client that she very much had feelings for. She rubbed her temples and turned her gaze to the impatient cat waiting at the end of the bed, as if waiting for him to tell her what to do.

Noah roused beside her. She kept her eyes fixed on the feline. Fallon stood up, pulling on a big T-shirt before slipping out of the room quietly. She followed her cat who excitedly galloped towards the food bowls on the kitchen floor, and Fallon got to work feeding him. Noah stepped from the hall into the kitchen, dressed in his jeans and T-shirt, his button down from the night before still abandoned in Fallon’s room.

"Morning," Noah mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning." She managed a small smile.

“Have you been up long?” he asked apologetically.

“No, no, Hercules is just very impatient. He woke me up to feed him a few minutes ago.” She laughed.

Noah crossed his arms and smiled down at the cat who mouthed ravenously at its food. “Hercules, huh. I don’t think you ever told me his name.”

“Oh. Well, yeah that's Hercules,” Fallon gestured towards him and giggled, “It was one of my favorite movies as a kid, plus he thinks he’s really tough so it fits him well.”

Noah stepped towards her where she leaned against the counter and pulled her into his arms. She melted into him and he planted a kiss on the top of her head.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

She knew exactly what he meant.

"Fine." She cleared her throat. "A little tired."

"Me too."

The simplicity of it almost made her laugh. He looked completely at ease, as though waking up beside her was the most natural thing in the world. Fallon looked at the clock as Noah’s chin rested on her head. Pulling back she met his brown eyes.

“Do you wanna go get coffee? Then I can bring you home.”

A soft smile spread across his face, “I’d like that.”

Fallon disappeared to her room to get dressed. She returned to find Noah’s tall frame crouched down petting Hercules, who rubbed against his legs affectionately. She beamed at the sight. They slipped out the front door and Noah followed her to the car. Fallon rummaged through her purse for her keys as Noah stood on the passenger side, hand braced on the handle. The lock clicked open and they settled in, buckling as she put the key in the ignition. As the car powered on, her phone connected to the radio, immediately resuming the last song she had played on spotify.

“Oh…my GOD that's embarrassing.” Fallon blurted, quickly tapping away at the screen to turn off The Death of Peace of Mind as it blasted through the speakers.

Noah threw his head back, laughing. “Wow. I'm flattered. I just spent the night with you and now I'm finding out you listen to my music in the car? I'm starting to feel pretty special ”

Fallon leaned her forehead against the steering wheel, hiding the smile on her face. “I hate you.”

“That's not what you were saying a few hours ago.”

She shook her head and handed him her phone before she shifted into drive. “Here. You play something.”

“I don’t know, I’m pretty partial to that song. Although I guess I could just sing and give you the real deal.” He cracked himself up.

Fallon shook her head, biting her bottom lip as he chuckled. “I am never going to live this down.”

Fallon instinctually drove to her favorite coffee shop. The one across the street from her office. They got their drinks and settled into a table by the front windows. Fallon picked apart the croissant in front of her.

Noah watched her for a moment, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “You’re quiet.” 

“Just thinking.” She muttered and stared out the window at her office, Noah followed her gaze.

“Right.” He smiled, but it faded after a moment. “You're worried.”

Fallon looked down at her hands. “A little. Well, a lot, actually.”

“About last night?”

She hesitated, “About everything.”

Noah leaned back in his chair, giving her space. “Okay.”

Fallon took a breath. She'd spent the entire drive thinking about what she wanted to say, but none of it seemed adequate now that it was time.

“We need to talk about what happens now.”

Noah nodded slowly. “Yeah. I figured.”

“I can't keep seeing you.”

His expression shifted, just slightly, “Like...?”

“As your therapist.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “I can't be your therapist anymore.”

The words hung between them. Noah looked down at his coffee, turning the cup slowly between his hands. “Because of last night?”

“Because of everything.” Fallon swallowed. “Last night made it impossible for me to pretend that this is still a professional relationship in any capacity. And honestly? The feelings were there before that anyway.”

He was quiet.

“Realistically I should have referred you the second I started noticing it, or talked about it in supervision and set some hard boundaries. I could lose my job, my license, everything I’ve worked for. I've been trying really hard to figure out where the line is,” she continued. “And I think the only responsible thing I can do is step away completely.”

Noah nodded, absorbing it. “So what does that mean?”

“It means we'll need to terminate. Immediately. But we can't make it obvious if I don't want to be in deep shit.”

He furrowed his brow, "How do we do that?"

Fallon thought for a minute. “You have a tour coming up. Setlist planning. Stage design. Rehearsals. You have no time for therapy.”

Noah nodded thoughtfully, “Okay, I'm following.”

"You come in this Tuesday and you...you tell me about it and I document it. Then it’s done, I won’t be your therapist."

Noah nodded slowly, but the relief on his face didn't quite match hers. "Okay," he said. "So after Tuesday..."

Fallon sighed, "That's the complicated part."

His eyebrows lifted. "There's a more complicated part?"

Fallon wrapped both hands around her coffee, staring down at the lid. "Terminating doesn't mean we're suddenly free to do whatever we want." His expression softened as he listened. "There's a waiting period," she continued. "And even after that, there are still ethical considerations. I can't just finish your treatment on Tuesday and start dating you on Wednesday."

"How long?"

She hesitated. "Five years."

Noah's eyes widened. "Five years?"

"I know."

"That's..." He shook his head, trying to process it. "That's insane."

"It's complicated." Fallon sighed. "And honestly, even if we decided we weren't going to wait, there's another problem."

"Me being me?"

A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth.

He leaned back, nodding. "I'm not exactly anonymous," he said.

"Exactly." Fallon glanced toward the window, painfully aware of the office building across the street. "If someone from work sees us together, or my supervisor sees a picture, or someone recognizes you and connects us..." She shook her head. "It wouldn't matter if we weren't doing anything wrong. It would look terrible."

Noah was quiet. "So we'd have to hide."

"For a while."

"From everyone?"

"Pretty much."

He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. "So we can't date."

"Not officially."

"We can't tell anyone."

"Not anyone who could put my career at risk."

"Could I even call you? Text you?"

Fallon winced. "Not casually. You're still technically my client until we terminate, and part of the practice even after that. Anything related to you would have to be documented."

Noah stared at her. "So basically, we're screwed."

Fallon laughed despite herself, "That's one way of putting it."

He smiled, but it faded quickly. "Then what are we supposed to do?"

Fallon looked down at their hands on the table.

"I don't know."

For the first time that morning, neither of them had an answer.

________________________

Noah closed the front door behind him and stood there for a moment, staring at nothing.

The house was quiet. Most of the guys were either still asleep or scattered around the house, recovering from the night before. He slipped his shoes off and made his way toward the kitchen, his mind still somewhere several miles away.

Fallon.

He could still feel the warmth of her against him. Still hear her laugh in the car. Still see the look on her face when she'd told him that if they'd met under different circumstances, she would've fallen for him.

I think I already did.

The words replayed in his head.

He didn't know what they were now. He didn't know what the rules meant for them, or how long they'd have to wait, or whether waiting was even something either of them could realistically do. All he knew was that he didn't want last night to be something they looked back on as a mistake. He wanted Fallon. Not as his therapist, just Fallon. The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. Jolly wandered into the kitchen and stopped when he saw Noah.

"Look who finally decided to come home."

Noah laughed quietly. "Morning."

Jolly grabbed a drink from the fridge and leaned against the counter, studying him.

"So..."

Noah already knew where this was going.

Jolly paused, taking a sip. "How was your night?"

"It was good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jolly nodded slowly. "And the girl?"

Noah tried to hide his smile and failed. "Her name's Fallon."

"Okay, Fallon." Jolly nodded. "And?"

"And what?"

"How was it?"

Noah's smile widened despite himself. "It was... really good."

Jolly raised an eyebrow, "Soo...you hit it?"

Noah laughed and looked down at the counter.  "It's not just like that. She's different." Jolly waited. Noah thought about how to explain it. "She's funny. She's smart. She notices things other people don't. She remembers every little detail you mention to her. She's..." He shook his head with a small smile. "I don't know. I just really like being around her."

Jolly's expression shifted from teasing to more impressed. "Man," he said slowly, "you met her last night and you're already talking like that?"

Noah shrugged. “Well we didn’t just-” he caught himself “we just hit it off, I guess.”

Jolly smirked. "I'm just saying, that’s a lot of chemistry for someone you just met."

Noah hesitated for half a second. "Yeah," he said carefully. "I guess it is."

"You're serious about her." Jolly studied him for a moment.

Noah didn't answer immediately. His mind flashed back to Fallon curled against him in bed, her hair spread across his chest. The way she'd smiled when Hercules climbed into his lap. The way she'd held his hand across the coffee shop table. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "I think I am."

Jolly nodded, the teasing smile returning to his face. "Well, shit."

Noah smiled at the ground, shaking his head. Jolly pushed away from the counter. "Good for you, man."

He smiled to himself as Jolly disappeared down the hallway. He stood alone in the kitchen for another moment. For the first time, saying it out loud made it feel real.

________________________

Monday morning rolled along, and the deep pit in Fallon’s stomach did not let up for a moment. She couldn’t even bring herself to eat. After dressing and pacing back and forth in her apartment, she got in the car and drove silently to the office for her supervision meeting with Talia.

Fallon sat across from Talia, her notebook balanced against her knee. She’d been trying to convince herself all morning that there was nothing to be nervous about. It wasn’t working. Talia flipped through a few pages of her notes. “Before we get into your caseload, I wanted to check in on a couple of your other clients. How’s the adolescent group going?”

Fallon let out a small breath. “Better. Actually. I think they’re starting to open up more with each other. There’s still a lot of resistance, but it’s less… defensive than it was a few weeks ago.”

Talia nodded. “That’s a good shift. Any particular moment that stood out?”

“There was one session where they actually challenged each other instead of shutting down.” Fallon hesitated, then added, “It felt like they were doing the work without me having to pull it out of them.”

Talia smiled faintly. “That’s always a good sign.”

She made a note, then glanced back up. “And your anxiety group?”

Fallon shifted slightly in her chair, some of the tension easing into something more familiar. “That’s been steadier. One of the newer members is still pretty guarded, but I think the group is starting to normalize it for him. He’s showing up consistently, which is more than I expected at the beginning.”

“Consistency is huge in that population,” Talia said. “You’re doing solid work there.”

Fallon nodded, a small flicker of relief settling in her chest. For a moment, it almost felt like a normal supervision session. Talia closed the file she’d been skimming. “Okay. Let’s talk about Noah.”

Fallon’s stomach tightened instantly. “Right,” she said, a little too quickly. Talia glanced up, waiting for her to continue. Fallon forced herself to breathe. “He’s been doing well. Really well, actually. He’s excited about going back on tour.”

“Good.” Talia’s expression softened slightly. “You two have been working towards that for a long time.”

“Yeah.” Fallon swallowed. “It’s… really important to him.”

Talia nodded and made a note. “How is he handling the transition?”

“Better than he expected.” Fallon stared down at her notebook, suddenly hyperaware of every word leaving her mouth. “There’s still some anxiety, obviously, but he’s been able to recognize it without letting it completely take over.”

“Sounds like he’s made a lot of progress.”

“He has.”

Talia smiled then looked up again. “How are you feeling about him going on tour?”

Fallon’s fingers tightened around her pen. “Me?”

“Yeah. You’ve worked with him for almost two years. It’s a pretty significant transition for both of you.”

Fallon forced a small laugh. “I think I’m excited for him. It’s what he’s been waiting for.”

“And you?”

“I’m happy he’s getting what he wants.”

Talia watched her for a moment. “It’s good to celebrate his progress, but let’s bring it back to you for a moment. How do you feel about the work you’ve done with him?”

Fallon’s heart began to pound. She looked down at the notebook in her lap. “I think I’ll miss having him as a client.” It was true. Just not in the way Talia thought.

Talia smiled softly. “That’s understandable. Long-term clients can become significant parts of our professional lives.”

Fallon nodded. She tried to appear unaffected. 

“Have you noticed any changes in your own feelings toward the work?”

She froze for half a second, “What do you mean?”

“You’re approaching a major transition with one of your longest-standing clients. Sometimes that brings things up for us too.”

Fallon swallowed. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Anything in particular?”

A thousand thoughts collided at once. Last night. His hands on her. Waking up beside him. The conversation she’d have to have with him tomorrow. Instead, she gave the safest answer she could. “I think I’m realizing how attached I’ve gotten to the process…and the progress he’s making.”

Talia nodded thoughtfully, “That’s worth exploring.”

Fallon managed a smile, “Yeah.”

“Anything else you wanted to bring to supervision today?”

Fallon hesitated. For one terrifying second, she considered telling her everything. Then she shook her head. “No. I think that’s it.”

“Okay.” Talia smiled warmly and stood.

Fallon gathered her things, her heart still pounding. She had gotten through it. Talia didn’t know, didn’t suspect anything, and somehow that made her feel even worse.

Author’s Note: Idk how I feel about this chapter but I hope you guys enjoy! I'm in the trenches trying to write this the way I want to 😭I will see y'all on Saturday with Boyfriend!Omens headcanons!! XOXO Lila