The bell above the door of Family Video chimed softly as you pushed inside, the returned VHS tape clutched in your hand. The store was quiet in the mid-afternoon lull, fluorescent lights humming overhead, casting everything in that particular shade of retail beige that made the whole place feel suspended in time.

You'd only meant to drop off the tape and leave. Maybe catch a glimpse of Steve Harrington behind the counter—because you were pathetic like that, apparently. Eighteen years old and still nursing a crush on your little brother's best friend, the guy who'd made it abundantly clear through years of careful distance that you were off-limits. Too young. Dustin's sister. A line he wouldn't cross.

The counter was empty when you walked in, so you headed toward the return slot, footsteps muffled by the worn carpet. That's when you heard voices drifting from the back room, the door left slightly ajar.

"I'm just saying, she's not exactly subtle about it." Robin's voice, amused and gentle.

Your hand froze halfway to the return slot.

"Robin." Steve's voice. That particular tone he used when he was uncomfortable, when he wanted a conversation to end.

"Come on, Steve. The girl looks at you like you hung the moon. And you're telling me you haven't noticed?"

A pause. Your heart hammered against your ribs.

"Of course I've noticed," Steve said finally, and something in your chest lifted for just a moment before he continued. "But she's too young, Rob. She just turned eighteen. She's still—I don't know, immature? She doesn't understand what she's asking for. And even if she did, she's Dustin's sister. That's a line I can't cross. Getting involved with her would be a mistake."

The words landed like physical blows. Too young. Immature. A mistake.

"But you think she's pretty, right?" Robin pressed, and you could hear the smile in her voice.

Another pause, longer this time. "Yeah," Steve admitted, awkward and quiet. "She's pretty. But that doesn't change anything."

You didn't wait to hear more. The VHS tape clattered into the return slot louder than you'd intended, and you turned and walked out, the bell chiming your exit. If Steve heard it, if he came out to see who'd been there, you didn't know. You were already gone, eyes burning, throat tight, hands shaking as you climbed into your car.

Immature. The word echoed in your head all the way home. Not cruel, not mean—just dismissive. Like you were still a kid playing dress-up, and he was the adult who knew better.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you were immature for ever thinking someone like Steve Harrington could see you as anything other than Dustin's annoying older sister.

The call came three days later.

Dustin's voice was frantic on the other end of the line, words tumbling over each other—Chrissy Cunningham, Eddie Munson, something about Vecna and the Upside Down and we need to meet at the lake, now.

You'd been through this before. Not like this, maybe, but enough times to know that when your little brother called with that particular edge of panic in his voice, you didn't ask questions. You just went.

Lover's Lake was dark and still when you arrived, the water reflecting the cloud-covered sky like black glass. The others were already there—Steve, Robin, Nancy, Eddie, Max, Lucas, and Dustin, all gathered around a stolen boat with grim expressions and the kind of tension that came before something terrible.

You parked and got out, gravel crunching under your feet as you approached. Steve saw you first. His whole body went rigid.

"No," he said immediately, before you'd even reached the group. "Absolutely not."

"Steve—" Dustin started.

"I said no." Steve's voice was sharp, final. He turned to you, and there was something almost panicked in his eyes. "You're not coming."

"I wasn't aware I needed your permission," you said, keeping your voice level even as your heart rate kicked up. You hadn't spoken to him since Family Video. Hadn't planned to, really. But you weren't about to let him dictate what you could and couldn't do.

"This isn't a discussion." Steve moved toward you, putting himself between you and the boat like a human barrier. "You're staying here with Dustin and Max and Lucas. This isn't—it's not safe. You don't understand what we're walking into."

"I understand perfectly well," you shot back. "I've been dealing with Upside Down shit since I was fourteen, Steve. I'm not some helpless kid you need to protect."

"That's not—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and something else—fear, maybe—written across his face. "Look, if something happens down there, I can't protect you. I can't watch out for everyone and make sure you're okay. You need to stay behind."

The words stung more than they should have. Too young. Immature. A mistake.

"I'm going," you said flatly.

"No, you're not."

"You don't get to make that choice for me."

"The hell I don't!" Steve's voice rose, and several heads turned toward you. He lowered it again, stepping closer, and you could see the genuine terror in his eyes now. "Please. Just—stay here. Stay safe. Let us handle this."

"Why?" The question came out sharper than you'd intended. "Because I'm too immature to handle it?"

Something flickered across Steve's face—confusion, maybe a hint of recognition—but he pushed forward. "Because I don't want you getting hurt. Because if something happens to you, Dustin will never forgive me. Because—" He stopped, jaw working. "Just stay. Please."

You looked at him for a long moment, this boy you'd loved for years, this boy who thought you were a mistake waiting to happen. Part of you wanted to listen, to stay behind where it was safe, where you wouldn't have to prove anything. But a larger part—the part that was tired of being dismissed, tired of being seen as Dustin's kid sister and nothing more—refused to back down.

"I'm going," you repeated.

Steve stared at you, and you watched something crumble in his expression. Resignation, maybe. Defeat. "Fine," he said finally, the word bitter. "But you stay close to me. You don't do anything stupid. And if I tell you to run, you run. Understood?"

You didn't answer, just pushed past him toward the boat.

The ride across the lake was silent and tense. You sat near the back, avoiding Steve's gaze, trying to ignore the way your hands shook slightly as you gripped the edge of the boat. You were terrified—absolutely terrified—but you'd rather die than let him see it.

When Eddie cut the engine and the boat drifted to a stop over the gate, Steve immediately turned to you one more time.

"Last chance," he said quietly. "You can still go back."

You met his eyes, saw the plea in them, and shook your head.

Steve's jaw tightened. Then he nodded once, pulled off his shirt, and dove into the water.

Everything happened so fast after that.

Steve went through the gate. Then he was being pulled back down, dragged by something you couldn't see, and you were screaming his name, and Robin was yelling, and then you were diving in after him without thinking, without planning, just knowing that you couldn't let him face whatever was down there alone.

The Upside Down was worse than you remembered. Darker. Colder. The air tasted like rot and electricity, and the sky was a roiling mass of red clouds and lightning that never quite struck. You surfaced in the water on the other side gasping, disoriented, and then you saw him.

Steve was on the shore, and he wasn't alone.

The demobats swarmed him like a living nightmare, leathery wings and serrated tails, and Steve was fighting, swinging an oar, but there were too many. One had its tail wrapped around his throat. Another was tearing at his sides.

You were running before you fully registered the decision, feet pounding against the slimy ground, and then Robin was beside you, and Nancy and Eddie were there too, all of you converging on Steve with whatever weapons you could grab.

The fight was chaos. Pure, screaming chaos. You swung a broken board at anything that moved, felt it connect with leathery flesh, heard the awful shrieking sounds the creatures made. Blood—Steve's blood—was everywhere, dark and slick, and he was making sounds you never wanted to hear again, pained and desperate.

"Get it off him!" you screamed, and Robin was there with a lighter and hairspray, turning it into a makeshift flamethrower, and Nancy was beating at the one around Steve's throat with a paddle, and then finally, finally, it released him.

Steve collapsed, gasping, and you dropped to your knees beside him, hands hovering over his body, not sure where to touch, where it was safe. There were bites on his sides, his neck, blood seeping through his fingers where he pressed his hands to the wounds.

"Steve, oh my god, Steve—" Your voice was shaking, your whole body was shaking, and you pressed your hands over his, trying to help stop the bleeding, but there was so much blood.

"I'm okay," he gasped out, but he clearly wasn't, and when he looked up at you, when he saw your face—the terror written across it, the tears streaming down your cheeks, the way your hands trembled against his skin—something in his expression shattered.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, and it came out almost like a sob. "You shouldn't—god, you shouldn't have come down here."

"Shut up," you choked out. "Just—shut up and let me help you."

Nancy was already tearing strips from her shirt, making bandages, and between the three of you, you managed to wrap Steve's wounds well enough to stop the worst of the bleeding. They weren't as deep as they'd looked—a few bites, painful but not fatal—but the sight of him hurt, of him bleeding, had carved something hollow in your chest.

When Steve could stand, when you'd all caught your breath, you started moving. Away from the lake, toward the woods, looking for shelter, for a way back to the gate at the trailer park.

Steve kept looking at you. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked, could see the guilt and anger and something else written across his face every time you glanced his way.

You were maybe twenty minutes into the woods when it happened.

One second you were walking, carefully avoiding the vines that covered the ground like veins. The next, something wrapped around your ankle and pulled.

You went down hard, hitting the ground with a force that knocked the air from your lungs. The vine tightened, and you felt something sharp slice into your leg, felt the hot rush of blood, and then you were screaming, clawing at the ground as it dragged you backward.

"NO!" Steve's voice, raw and terrified.

Hands grabbed you—Steve's hands, Robin's, Nancy's—and they pulled, pulled hard, and the vine released with a sickening tearing sound. You felt it rip through your flesh as it let go, felt the pain explode up your leg in a white-hot wave that made your vision blur.

"Oh god, oh god—" Steve was on the ground beside you, hands hovering over your leg, and you looked down and immediately wished you hadn't.

The wound was bad. Deep. The vine had torn through the flesh of your calf, leaving a gash that was bleeding heavily, blood soaking into your jeans, pooling on the ground beneath you.

"No, no, no—" Steve's hands were shaking as he pressed them to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was too much, too fast. "This isn't—you shouldn't be here, you shouldn't have come, this is my fault—"

"Steve—" you gasped out, but the pain was overwhelming, making it hard to think, hard to breathe.

"I've got you, okay? I've got you." His voice was breaking, hands slick with your blood, and when you looked at his face, you saw tears tracking through the grime on his cheeks. "Nancy, give me something—anything—"

Nancy was already there, tearing more fabric, and Steve wrapped it around your leg, tight enough to make you cry out, tight enough to slow the bleeding. His hands never stopped shaking.

"I'm sorry," he kept saying, over and over. "I'm so sorry. You shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have let you come. This is my fault. God, this is all my fault."

"Steve, stop—" you tried, but he wasn't listening.

"If something happens to you—" His voice cracked completely. "I can't—I can't lose you. Do you understand? I can't."

You stared at him through the haze of pain, at this boy who'd called you immature, who'd said you were a mistake, and now looked like his world was ending because you were hurt.

Robin helped him get you up, supported between the two of them, and you limped through the woods, every step agony, Steve's arm around your waist like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

You made it to the trailer park eventually, back through the gate, back to the real world. Your leg was bandaged properly, the bleeding stopped, but the wound was still bad, still painful, and you could barely put weight on it.

The group was regrouping, planning the next move. Vecna was still out there. This wasn't over.

That's when Steve turned to you.

"You're staying here tomorrow," he said. It wasn't a question.

You looked up at him from where you sat on the edge of Eddie's couch, leg propped up, and felt something hot and bitter rise in your throat. "Excuse me?"

"For the final push. When we go after Vecna. You're staying behind." His voice was firm, but there was a desperate edge to it. "You're hurt. You can't fight like this."

"I can still help—"

"No." Steve crouched in front of you, and his eyes were pleading. "Please. Just—stay here. Stay safe. I can't—" He stopped, swallowed hard. "I can't do this if I'm worried about you."

"You've never worried about me before," you said, and the words came out more bitter than you'd intended.

Steve flinched. "That's not true."

"Isn't it?" You leaned forward, ignoring the pain that shot through your leg. "You've made it pretty clear what you think of me, Steve. I'm too young, too immature, too much of a mistake for you to bother with. So why start caring now?"

The confusion on his face would have been comical if you weren't so angry, so hurt. "What are you talking about?"

"Family Video," you said flatly. "Three days ago. You and Robin. I heard you."

You watched the color drain from Steve's face as the memory clicked into place. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. "You—you were there?"

"I was returning a tape." Your voice was shaking now, all the hurt you'd been holding back for days spilling out. "And I heard you tell Robin that I'm too young and immature, that getting involved with me would be a mistake. So forgive me if I don't really care what you think I should or shouldn't do anymore."

"That's not—" Steve ran both hands through his hair, looking genuinely panicked now. "You don't understand. I didn't mean—"

"Just leave me alone, Steve." You turned away from him, blinking back tears. "Go plan your mission. I'll stay out of your way. Isn't that what you wanted?"

For a moment, he just stood there, and you could feel him looking at you, could feel the weight of all the things he wasn't saying. Then, quietly, he said, "No. That's not what I wanted at all."

But you didn't turn around, and after a long moment, you heard his footsteps retreat.

The next day, when it was time to split up for the final battle, the plan was set: Steve, Nancy, and Robin would go to the Creel house to kill Vecna. You, Dustin, and Eddie would stay at the trailer park, closer to the gate, providing a distraction with music and noise to draw the demobats away.

You were sitting on the steps of Eddie's trailer, checking the makeshift spear you'd fashioned from a broken pipe and duct tape, when Steve approached.

"You should come with us," he said without preamble.

You looked up at him, surprised. "What?"

"To the Creel house. You should come with us instead of staying here." His voice was tight, controlled, but you could see the fear in his eyes. "It'll be safer. We'll be together. I can—"

"You can what? Protect me?" You stood, testing your weight on your injured leg. It hurt, but you could manage. "I thought you wanted me to stay behind."

"I did. I do. But—" Steve stepped closer, and his voice dropped. "I need you with me. Okay? I need to know you're safe, and the only way I can do that is if you're where I can see you."

It would have been touching if it wasn't so frustrating. "Steve, the plan is already set. Eddie and Dustin need help here. I'm staying."

"Then I'm staying too—"

"No, you're not." You met his eyes, firm. "Nancy and Robin need you. You're going to the Creel house. I'm staying here. End of discussion."

You could see him struggling, see the war playing out across his face. Finally, he turned to Eddie, who'd been watching the exchange with poorly concealed interest.

"You look after her," Steve said, and his voice was hard, almost threatening. "You keep her safe. If anything happens to her—"

"Dude, I got it," Eddie said, holding up his hands. "She'll be fine."

"Uh, hello?" Dustin's voice piped up from behind them. "I'm literally right here. I can look after my own sister, thank you very much."

Under different circumstances, it might have been funny. As it was, you just felt tired.

Steve looked at you one more time, and there was so much in his eyes—fear and regret and something else you couldn't quite name. Then he turned and walked away, and you watched him go, trying to ignore the way your chest ached.

The plan went to hell almost immediately.

The demobats came faster than expected, more of them than you'd prepared for, and suddenly you were fighting for your life in Eddie's trailer, swinging your makeshift spear at leathery wings and snapping jaws while Dustin screamed and Eddie played his guitar like his life depended on it—which it did.

One of them got through. Caught you across the shoulder with its tail, sent you sprawling. You hit the ground hard, felt something in your ribs crack, tasted blood. Another one dove for you, and you rolled, brought the spear up, felt it punch through flesh.

"Close the gate!" Eddie was yelling. "Close it now!"

You scrambled up, limping, bleeding, and helped Dustin and Eddie tear down the rope, seal the gate, trap the remaining bats on the other side. When it was done, when you were safe, you collapsed against the wall, breathing hard, pain radiating from your shoulder, your ribs, your leg.

"You okay?" Dustin asked, and you nodded even though you very much weren't.

That's when you heard the footsteps outside. Fast, running. The door burst open, and Steve was there, and the look on his face when he saw you—

"What the hell happened?" He was across the room in three strides, hands on your face, your shoulders, checking for injuries. "You're bleeding. You're—god, you're hurt again."

"I'm fine," you tried to say, but he wasn't listening.

"You said you'd keep her safe!" Steve rounded on Eddie, and there was real anger in his voice now. "You said—"

"Steve, it wasn't his fault," you interrupted. "There were too many. We did the best we could."

But Steve wasn't hearing it. He turned back to you, and his hands were shaking again as they hovered over your shoulder, your ribs, like he was afraid to touch you, afraid he'd hurt you more. "You're not fine. You're—look at you. You're covered in blood."

"Most of it's not mine," you said, which was only partially true.

"That doesn't make me feel better!" Steve's voice cracked, and suddenly he was sinking down to his knees in front of you, hands covering his face. "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep watching you get hurt. I can't—"

You stared at him, this boy who'd kept you at arm's length for years, now falling apart at your feet. "Steve—"

"I love you," he said, and the words came out broken, desperate. "Okay? I love you. I've loved you for so long, and I've been so scared of it, so scared of what it means, of what could happen. That's why I said those things to Robin. Not because I think you're immature or because you're too young, but because I was terrified of how much I care about you."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"I thought if I kept my distance, if I convinced myself you were just Dustin's sister, just a kid, then maybe I could protect you. Protect myself. But then you got hurt, and I realized that staying away from you doesn't keep you safe. It just means I'm not there when you need me." He looked up at you, and his eyes were red, tears tracking down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what I said, for making you think you weren't enough. You're everything. You've always been everything."

You couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. All you could do was stare at him, at this confession you'd wanted for years, coming now, like this, in the aftermath of near-death and blood and fear.

"I don't expect you to forgive me," Steve continued, voice rough. "I don't expect you to feel the same way anymore. I just—I needed you to know. I needed you to know that you're not a mistake. You could never be a mistake."

For a long moment, the trailer was silent except for the sound of your breathing, Steve's breathing, the distant rumble of thunder from the Upside Down.

Then you reached out and put your hand on his cheek, and Steve's eyes closed like the touch hurt.

"You're an idiot," you said softly.

His eyes opened, confused, hopeful.

"You're an idiot," you repeated, "if you think I could ever stop loving you. Even when you were pushing me away. Even when you were breaking my heart. I couldn't stop."

"You—" Steve's voice was barely a whisper. "You still—?"

"Yes, you idiot." And then you were pulling him up, pulling him close, and his arms wrapped around you carefully, mindful of your injuries, and you buried your face in his neck and felt him shake with something between a laugh and a sob.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," you whispered back. "I know."

Behind you, you heard Dustin make a gagging sound. "Okay, this is officially the weirdest day of my life, and we literally just fought demon bats in an alternate dimension."

Eddie laughed, and even Robin—who'd appeared in the doorway at some point—was smiling.

Steve pulled back just enough to look at you, and his hands came up to cup your face, thumbs brushing away tears you hadn't realized you'd shed. "You're sure?" he asked quietly. "You're sure you want this? Want me? Because I'm a mess, and I'm probably going to be overprotective and annoying, and—"

You kissed him.

It was soft and careful and tasted like blood and tears and relief, and when you pulled back, Steve was smiling—really smiling—for the first time in days.

"I'm sure," you said.

"Okay," he breathed. "Okay."

"But if you ever call me immature again—"

"Never," Steve interrupted, shaking his head. "Never again. You're the bravest person I know. You're incredible. You're—"

"Steve."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and kiss me again."

He did.

And somewhere in the background, Dustin was definitely still complaining, and Eddie was definitely laughing, and the world was still ending, Vecna still out there somewhere, disappeared but not defeated. But for this moment, in this trailer, with Steve's arms around you and his lips on yours, everything else could wait.

You'd fought monsters and survived the Upside Down and nearly died more times than you could count. You'd earned this. You'd earned him.

And Steve Harrington, with his stupid hair and his big heart and his terrible timing, had finally stopped running.

"I love you," he whispered against your lips.

"I love you too," you whispered back.

he didn’t move.

“jake.”

“what do you expect me to do?” he raised his arms up in frustration, voice raising a bit. he sometimes had the bad habit of converting his concern into a display of anger. “my girlfriend’s sick. her temperature’s not lowering, she lives alone, and i’m about to leave her for three months because my job demands it. i’m sorry if i want to ditch my patriotic duty for a goddamn day!”

you sighed. you weren’t sure how you were going to make the situation better either, and being scolded by jake didn’t help. it only worsened your headache, this ringing bothering your ears heightening for a second.

“shit, i’m sorry.” you suddenly heard jake mutter almost immediately when he finished talking, and he crouched down to your level, placing a hand over cheek. “i did it again, didn’t i?”

“turned your anger on me? yeah.”

guilt washed over him further. “i’m sorry for being a dick. you didn’t deserve that.”

“it’s alright, babe.” you placed your palm over his hand, a small smile making its way on your lips to appear stronger than you were. “we both know this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. we’re supposed to be sneaking in a quickie before i drive you to the airport and instead i’m sick.”

jake laughed at that. “i hate that i can’t even kiss you right now.”

“i know. i hate it too.”

“i hate that i need to leave.”

“if only you didn’t have to.”

“you sure you’ll be fine?” he asked.

“yeah, positive.” you replied. “i mean, this isn’t the first time i’ve been sick on my own. i’m a grown woman. i can take care of myself.”

“that’s another thing i hate.”

“don’t worry.” you kissed his wrist. “once i’m back on my feet, i’ll tell you.”

that seemed to ease him a little. “i expect you to tell me you’re okay as soon as possible, alright?”

“i’ll even write it in paragraph form with pictures if you want.”

“i’m being serious.”

you smiled wider, sheepish. “yes, sir. i’ll update you as soon as possible.”

he rolled his eyes at your playfulness and leaned in to give your forehead a long kiss. “don’t forget to drink your meds on time. i’ll tell marjorie to check on you every now and then.” marjorie was your elderly neighbor who had a dog you often looked after when she had lengthy errands to do.

And then you felt it. That prickle at the back of your neck. The unmistakable, persistent weight of someone watching you.

You sighed, already knowing exactly who it was. Of course, Jake Seresin had to show up.

“Seresin,” you muttered, not even bothering to look up. “I can feel you staring.”

“That’s because I am staring.”

You huffed, turning around to confirm what you already knew. He was leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. Arms crossed, eyes lazily scanning you with way too much amusement.

Jake tilted his head slightly, his smirk growing. "You look busy."

You gave him an unimpressed look. “What gave it away? The fact that I’m literally working?”

He ignored the sarcasm, pushing off the doorframe and strolling into the room.

“You know,” he mused. His tone was entirely too casual, “I’ve been hearing rumors.”

You exhaled sharply, turning back to your screen. “I really don’t have time for whatever this is, Hangman.”

“See, that’s what the rumors are about,” he continued. “The whole ship’s been buzzing about how you never take breaks.”

You froze mid-typing. Before you could even attempt to deny it, he added with a teasing voice “You’re kind of a legend, actually.”

You blinked, caught somewhere between confusion and suspicion. “A legend?”

“Oh yeah.” He propped himself up on your desk. He was too close now, his voice mock-serious. “Rumor has it, you don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You just... exist in this office, cracking cases and ruining the lives of criminals.”

You shook your head, and your lips twitched slightly. “You make it sound way cooler than it actually is.”

Jake grinned. “Oh, I know it’s cool.”

You let out a sigh, rubbing your temples. “Do you actually need something, or are you just here to test how much patience I have left?”

Jake gasped, clutching his chest in exaggerated offense. “Ouch. I came here purely out of concern for your well-being.”

You snorted. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” he insisted, straightening up and crossing his arms again. “Have you eaten today?”

You hesitated. It was slight and barely noticeable. But Jake noticed. His expression shifted. The teasing smirk was still there, but something softer lurked beneath it now.

“…Oh my God,” he said, realization dawning. “You haven’t.”

You rolled your eyes, already regretting your entire existence. “I was going to.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “Were you?”

You didn’t answer, which apparently was answer enough. With a long, dramatic sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a protein bar.

You blinked. “…What.”

He held it out, waving it slightly. “Take it.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Did you… plan this?”

 “You’re very predictable, sweetheart.”

You stared at him for a long moment, debating the consequences of accepting food from the most insufferable man on this ship.

Only the thought of food reminded you of your empty stomach, made the hunger return and your belly rumble. So you took it.

Jake looked far too pleased with himself, rocking back on his heels.

“See?” he said cheerfully. “I can be useful.”

You tore open the wrapper, shooting him a pointed look as you took a bite. “Debatable.”

Jake smirked, already backing toward the door. “I’ll check in later to make sure you’re still alive.”

“You do that, Seresin.”

And as Jake disappeared down the hall, leaving only the faint echo of his laughter behind, you realized, maybe not all distractions were bad. Maybe he was not that bad.

You shot up from your seat, alarmed, as the pilot’s words became slurred. Moments later, the plane’s slight dip confirmed your worst fears. Your team rushed to the cockpit. The pilot’s face was pale, beads of sweat dotting his forehead as he slumped back, barely conscious.

Your colleagues pulled the pilot from his seat, carried him back to the cabin, and immediately provided first aid.

Without hesitation, you took the pilot’s seat, heart pounding in your chest.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday,” you called, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “This is FBI Jet 427. Can anyone hear me?" Your voice shook as you transmitted the emergency call.

The response crackled through the headset. " FBI Jet 427, this is Naval Air Station North Island. We hear you. What is your situation?"

"Our pilot is unconscious," you replied, panic edging your voice. "I repeat, we have a medical emergency onboard.”

“Can your copilot land the aircraft?”

Your breath hitched. “There… there is no copilot,” you admitted, panic creeping into your tone.

A brief pause. Then the voice returned, calm but firm. "Copy that. We’ll guide you in. We're clearing one of our runways for your landing. Stay calm, and we’ll talk you through this."

-----------

Meanwhile, the Daggers were on a training flight when the emergency call came through.

"It’s an FBI jet," the dispatcher informed them.

"FBI?" Hangman’s voice cut through the comms, laced with curiosity and something else — concern.

"Agent Y/L/N," the dispatcher clarified.

Hangman’s heart skipped a beat.

“Hangman?” Rooster’s voice crackled over the comms.

“I need to help her somehow,” Hangman muttered, his tone filled with urgency.

“Understood,” Rooster confirmed, his voice calm but serious.

"Bob and I, we’re going with him," Phoenix declared without hesitation.

"Good luck," Rooster said before peeling away, heading back toward the base.

Hangman’s mind raced, but he kept his focus. Phoenix’s presence on his wing brought a sense of steadiness. He knew she’d have his back, no matter what.

As they adjusted their course toward the FBI jet, Hangman stole a glance at the skies ahead, thoughts of you swirling in his mind. The girl, which he couldn’t get out of his mind. The girl he was too shy to ask out on a date.

"Phoenix," he called out, his voice steady but with an edge of determination.

"Yeah?"

"Let’s make this a clean landing."

"Always," Phoenix replied, her confidence unwavering.

The tension in the air was immense as they closed in on the jet, the urgency of the situation pressing down on them.

---------

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement—a formation of fighter jets closing in. For a moment, fear spiked in your chest. Interceptors? Why? Your aircraft was already identified, and you were in communication with air traffic control. There was no reason for them to treat you as a threat.

A familiar voice crackled over the radio. "Y/N?"

You froze, recognizing it instantly.

“Jake?” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, it’s me," he confirmed, his tone steady and reassuring. "Phoenix and Bob are here too. We’re going to help you get down safely."

 “You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered. “If something goes wrong…”

Hearing you like that shattered Jake’s heart. He could hear the fear in your voice, but he knew he had to stay strong for you now.

“It won’t,” Jake interrupted firmly. “We’ve got you.”

Tears pricked your eyes at the sound of his unwavering confidence. "Okay," you whispered.

"First things first," Jake began. "The jet’s tanks are full. We need to burn off fuel to make the landing safer."

You swallowed hard. "Less chance of a fireball if we crash, right?"

Jake’s silence was answer enough.

“You need to gain altitude. Can you do that?” Jake asked.

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it. “Yes,” you replied, your voice trembling but resolute.

“Good. Pull the controls gently. Not too fast, or you risk a stall. I’ll stay with you the whole time.”

The plane responded, climbing slowly. Your heart pounded in your chest as you focused on keeping the aircraft steady.

"That’s it," Jake encouraged. "Nice and steady."

"Phoenix, status?" Jake asked.

"We’re at 10,000 feet," Phoenix confirmed.

"Great work," Jake said to you. "Now let’s dump the fuel. Look for a switch labeled ‘Fuel Dump’ or ‘Fuel Release.’ It’s usually near the center console."

Your eyes scanned the controls frantically. "Found it!" you exclaimed.

"Good. Engage it until the fuel levels drop to a safe margin."

"Fuel dump in progress," Phoenix confirmed a moment later. "Everything looks good."

Relief washed over you. With the fuel safely dumped, Jake’s voice returned. “All right, Y/N, it’s time to land. Phoenix will lead; you follow her. I’ll guide you down step by step.”

-----------

A few minutes later, the runway was visible against the background of the horizon. The lights at the edges flashed evenly, like a beacon that attracts you.

“Phoenix is pulling up to give you space,” Jake said through the headset. “Just focus on keeping your approach steady. I’m right here with you.”

Your grip on the controls was tight, your knuckles white. “Jake, what if I—”

“You won’t,” he interrupted firmly. “You’ve got this. Trust yourself. Trust me.”

Phoenix’s calm voice cut through. “I’ll stay close, just out of your way. You’re doing great, Y/N.”

Jake’s voice softened. “We’re going to descend slowly now. Start reducing your altitude. Pull back on the throttle slightly and lower the nose gently.”

You exhaled shakily. The aircraft began its descent.

"Okay, almost there. Now it's important to get the timing right for the brakes," Jake explains. "As soon as the wheels hit the ground, pull the throttle all the way back to reduce power. Then, you'll need to engage the brakes. The brake lever is to your left, next to the throttle. Gently pull it towards you. But be careful, don't do it too quickly or too hard."

 The ground seemed to rush toward you, and your heart thudded in your chest.

“Steady,” Jake coached. “Keep your movements smooth. You’re in control.”

The altimeter ticked down. 5,000 feet. 3,000. 1,000.

“Now deploy the landing gear,” Jake instructed.

Your trembling hand found the lever, and a faint thud signaled that the wheels were down and locked.

“Good. Land the plane on the main wheels first,” Jake said. “Gently bring the nose up—just a few degrees.”

Your fingers trembled on the controls, but you followed his instructions.

From a safe distance, Phoenix’s voice crackled in your headset. “Looking good, Y/N. Almost there.”

You nod and focus as the wheels hit the runway.

The plane shuddered as the wheels kissed the tarmac. It wasn’t perfect—your angle was slightly off, and the plane bounced before settling, but it held steady.

The pressure in your hands increases, but you're determined to do it right.

"Throttle back," you tell yourself, immediately pulling the levers into neutral. Then you reach for the brake lever, hesitate for a moment, and then gently pull it.

"Good, now brake smoothly and evenly," Jake's reassuring voice gives you the final guidance.

The brakes engage, and the jet starts slowing down as you concentrate on keeping the controls steady.

“Come on,” Jake murmured like a prayer, “keep her straight.”

The screech of rubber on asphalt filled the cockpit as the brakes engaged, and the plane rolled to a halt.

Silence enveloped you for a moment before the sound of cheers broke out over the radio. The control tower erupted into applause, voices overlapping as they celebrated.

You leaned back in your seat, tears streaming down your face as the adrenaline finally ebbed away. Relief washed over you in waves, leaving you shaking and breathless.

------------

Through the cockpit window, you saw emergency vehicles rushing toward the plane. Firefighters and paramedics surrounded the aircraft in an instant. They helped your team evacuate the unconscious pilot and escorted the rest of your colleagues to safety.

You stayed in your seat, unable to move just yet. The horror of what had just happened kept you frozen.

Then, the distant hum of jets broke through your haze. You glanced out the window to see two fighter jets descending onto the runway.

Jake.

He landed first, his movements precise and efficient. Phoenix touched down shortly after, her plane rolling smoothly into position.

Jake was out of his cockpit before the engines fully powered down, sprinting toward your plane. His flight suit clung to him, his helmet tucked under one arm.

The door opened, and he climbed inside, his eyes scanning the cockpit until they found you.

You turned to him, your face pale and streaked with tears. “Jake,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He crossed the small space in two strides, kneeling beside your seat. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft, but his green eyes were sharp with concern.

You tried to smile but faltered. “I’m… I think I’m just— a little shaky” you admitted.

Jake reached out with his hand to steady yours. “It’s the adrenaline leaving your system. You’re safe now.”

You nodded, your breath hitching as another wave of emotion surged through you. “I didn’t think I could do it,” you said, tears spilling over again.

Jake stood, helping you to your feet before pulling you into his arms. His embrace was firm yet gentle.

“You didn’t just do it—you nailed it,” he murmured, his breath warm against your temple.

For a moment, you let yourself sink into him. The steady thrum of his heartbeat, the warmth of his arms, the reassurance in his presence — it all felt like home.

“You saved everyone on that plane, Y/N. You were incredible. Absolutely incredible” he said softly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

A weak smile crept across your face. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Team effort,” he replied, his signature cocky grin starting to show. “But between you and me? You were the star of the show.” Your cheeks flushed, but the warmth of his words settled in your chest, melting away the remaining fear.

Your call goes to voicemail for the fourth time. You send your twelfth text: I hope you’re ok. I landed an hour ago. Please call me. Nothing different than the eleven other messages that have gone unanswered. Forty-five more minutes pass of you sitting on a bench by the airport exit before you finally surrender your last shred of hope and call Bradley to come save you. 

Within the hour, you’re sighing in relief, the sight of a friendly face almost bringing you to tears. He approaches you with open arms and you fall right into the embrace, comforted by the hug that should be in your boyfriend’s arms, and the warmth that should be from your boyfriend’s body, and the forehead kiss that should be from your boyfriend’s lips. 

“Please tell me he’s ok,” you say against your friend’s chest. 

A heavy palm rubs up and down your back. “No one could get ahold of him.”

Your head jerks back so you can meet his eyes. “Oh my god!”

“I’m sure he’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.”

“How can you say that? He was supposed to be here and he’s not and–” You pause when Bradley looks away from you, and a hefty stone settles in your gut. You know your friend well. He’s a good man, honest but sensitive, and when that honestly meets that sensitivity, it results in his inability to look someone in the eye if he thinks the truth might hurt them. You’ve seen it a hundred times, but never with you. 

Your posture wavers with your lengthy exhale. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Another great thing about Bradley: he doesn’t make you play any games. You don’t have to jump through hoops. You don’t have to ask the right questions in the right way in order to get what you need out of him, unlike many men, your boyfriend included, who recently has found ways to skitter around telling the full truth. 

“Javy said he saw him a couple of hours ago,” Bradley says.

Your back teeth clench. Your mind shoots to one conclusion. “With her?” you ask. Bradley’s eyes drift from yours again and you nod, a tear at the ready to leak down your cheek. “He forgot about me because he’s with her.”

“We don’t know that for sure, and–”

Your hand scrubbing down your face cuts him off. Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose before you suck in your whimper and say, “Rooster, why did he even ask me to come here?”

“Because he…I mean, we thought he–”

“You thought he gave a fuck about me.”

“He does,” Bradley says, stressing his words in an attempt to reassure you. “He never shuts up about you.”

“Sure,” you say. “He gives so much of a fuck that he forgot about me to be with his ex. How can you explain that?”

Rooster sighs. His hands slip into his jeans pockets just to have something to do with them. “I can’t.”

“Exactly.” 

No one can explain it. Not you, not Bradley, not Jake. Everyone you know back home would be telling you to run for the hills right now. They were already wary of this ‘Navy guy’ that they’d only met twice around the holidays, who lives a decent distance away from your entire life and who constantly requests that you be the one to hop on a plane rather than the other way around. 

For the duration of your time together, you’ve been understanding of that sacrifice. You know his schedule doesn’t allow impromptu trips out of state, but that hasn’t made it any less exhausting for you. And maybe that’s a sign. Another sign. A nail in the coffin. Maybe you and Jake aren’t meant to be. And why would you be? You met him on a brief vacation to visit a friend who doesn’t even live in the same town anymore, and somehow, during those few days, he convinced you to take a chance on him. So you took the leap. But being that bold doesn’t guarantee you won’t fall flat on your face, and you think that’s exactly what’s happening. You’ve tripped over a guy only to realize he doesn’t care about you to the same degree that you care about him. 

However, you’re not the type to avoid confrontation. If Jake Seresin is going to mistreat you because of his ex, then he is going to do it to your face. He’s going to look you in the eye when he shows himself to be the liar he is. It may hurt more to go to him rather than get on the next plane home without so much as taking in a breath of fresh Californian air, but you’re too upset to let that thought fully develop, and a moment later, Rooster is following your stomps out the door. 

—

You find him at the Hard Deck, standing at a hightop with a beer glass in his hand that clinks against the one in his ex’s before he takes a sip. Bradley’s comforting hand lands on your back in solidarity. You only met him because of Jake, but the two of you bonded despite their differences, and having him by your side now makes him nothing short of a life-saver. 

He helps guide you through the crowd to the table, and when Jake spots you, he chokes around the liquid going down his throat. His blown-out emerald eyes rival saucers and his mouth gapes like a fish, but then his stare flicks to Bradley, and those eyes shrink into narrow slits. His face heats to a boiling red. 

“What the fuck!” Jake snaps, shocking the composure right out of his ex’s poised stance. Bar patrons close by turn their heads but quickly return to their own conversations. Jake steps away from the table, coming to a halt in front of you and his squadmate. “What the hell is this?”

You figured he’d be bothered if you showed up with Bradley in tow. And good, that’s what you feel he deserves. Jake’s been wary of the other Dagger’s closeness to you for a while, and even though you know—as does Bradley—that it’s an asinine concern, you have no problem using it against him now. But still, the intensity of his reaction manages to surprise you. You didn’t think he would be this angered by the sight of you with another man that it would have him overlooking his mistake of forgetting you.

Your arms cross. “This is your girlfriend and the guy who saved her when her damn boyfriend left her stranded at the airport.”

“Excuse me?”

Jake’s ex’s prying gaze tugs at your attention, but when you glance over his shoulder to catch her in the act, she quickly looks away—just more proof that whatever the fuck she’s doing with your boyfriend is something to be ashamed of. 

Bradley’s saying something. You can’t quite hear him over the anger-induced fuzzing in your ears, but you’re pretty sure it’s a scolding based on the twisting of Jake’s features as he shoots back his own words of aggression. And then your hand is in his and you’re being pulled through the bar, out the back door, and onto the deck where the only intrusive sound is the lapping of waves on the shore. 

“Why are you here?” he asks. 

You scoff to mask the heartbreak that comes with that question. “Because you asked me to be here.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“It’s Wednesday,” he says. 

“It’s Thursday, Jake.”

“No, it’s—” he freezes, and you don’t know if he’s tipsy or stupid, but it takes him a minute to come to the same conclusion: it is indeed Thursday. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Your lower back meets the edge of the railing, and you sigh, thankfully keeping in the tears. “What are you doing with her?”

“What the fuck are you doing with Rooster?” he returns much more forcefully. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I called, I texted, I left voicemails,” you tell him, “But clearly, she was more important.”

Jake’s hands pat down his pockets, mouth setting in a frown when he can’t find his phone.

“Don’t bother. Phone or no phone, you forgot about me because of her. Last time I was here, you were late for one of our dates because of her. You spent fifty percent of our time together stepping away to take her phone calls,” you say, trying and failing to avoid the bitter taste on your tongue. “Just fuck her, Jake, if you haven’t already. I only came here to tell you that she can have you.”

You’ve never seen him fall apart the way he does. You’ve never seen the blood drain from his cocky face. You’ve never seen his features break and crack and contort into the vision of pure devastation as they do. His parted mouth must’ve gone dry because his next words come out slightly hoarse.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, but it’s more of a plea than anything. “Why…Why would you–” He swallows. A wrinkle forms between his brows and he shakes his head. “You love me. You didn’t mean to say that.”

You do love him—terribly so—but you’re willing to be one of those people who won’t view love as enough if it also means laying you out as a fool. “Jake–”

“Take it back,” he says. His steps are quick, and then you’re trapped where you stand, his hands on either side of your body, gripping the rail. Eyes drill into yours, and for a second, you feel a pang of guilt. “Please, baby, take it back. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“And I mean less.”

“No!” he says. “That’s not true. You’re everything, ok? You mean everything to me. She was just helping me, that’s all.”

“Helping you,” you mimic with a roll of your eyes. “Helping you what? Get off?”

With a little whine, Jake’s head drops between his shoulders, his blond hair brushing your collarbone. “Please. Please quit saying things like that.” His hands slide closer to your body and land on your hips. You don’t push him away—you can't—and his touch softens you ever so slightly.

“Then tell me the truth,” you say. “Right now. I’m giving you one shot.”

His head snaps up. His eyes flick back and forth between yours, ironically searching for your honesty, as if you’re the liar on trial here. 

“It was a surprise,” he tells you. “She’s a realtor now, and for the last few months she’s been helping me find a new place, one that’s bigger than what I’ve got because I was going to ask you to move in with me.” Your heartbeat stutters. A layer of goosebumps coats your arms. When you don’t respond, he continues, “I hate missing you. I hate how unfair it is that you’re always the one to come here because I can’t fly out at the drop of a hat. I know it’s a big step, but I figured if I had a place, I could show you how great things could be. That’s why she and I came here. We were celebrating because I’m signing on a house first thing tomorrow,” he says. “Well, that’s why I’m celebrating, anyway. She’s probably celebrating because she just made a decent commission.”

It’s almost unfair how that new information doesn’t make you feel any less of a fool. Had he told you that under any other circumstances, you’d be leaping into his arms, kissing him like you’ve been deprived of him for years, repeating ‘yes’ over and over between those kisses, but you can’t. You can’t because his explanation doesn’t fix everything. 

“That still doesn’t change that it’s Thursday, not Wednesday,” you say.

“I know, baby. That’s my fault. I was so excited, and I was thinking how perfect the timing was that I would be able to pick you up tomorrow and drive you by the house now that it’s officially mine, but I fucked it up.”

Jake’s thumbs press into your hips, and you’re instantly reminded of each moment in your relationship when you’ve felt that same light pressure on your skin. A gentle claiming. The same pressure you felt when you agreed to be his girlfriend. The same pressure you feel whenever you’re in bed together. 

You sense eyes on you other than your boyfriend’s, and when you turn your head, you find his ex staring right at you, an expression on her face that you wish you could say wasn’t one of distress, but it is. And worse, it’s obviously not distress for herself, but for Jake, as if she’s hoping she wasn’t just a contributor to a bomb dropping on his life. 

Jake’s busy staring at you despite your averted gaze, and in a monotone voice, you say, “She feels bad.”

He doesn’t follow your eyes. “Because she knows I’ve been doing this all for you.”

You blink. Your hand runs down your face before sifting through the strands of your hair. “You really want me to live with you?”

“Of course I do,” he tells you. He’s shaking his head, but you know it’s because he thinks any idea that he wouldn’t want you to be blasphemous. His hand cups your chin. “I love you.”

With a sigh, you push aside the rollercoaster of emotions, the misunderstandings that lead to frustration and hurt, and look him directly in the eye. And where moments ago you thought you saw lies, you see honestly. Where you thought you saw betrayal, you see love. 

“Can I see it?”

—

It’s small—a two-bedroom with a little driveway, the shingle siding painted a blue-gray shade that is more blue than gray; bundles of flowers bloom in the boxes under the windows; a bay window protrudes from the side of the structure facing the beach. And it’s perfect.

You can imagine building a life here. You can picture a dog that you’ll have to build a fence for and children years later that will have you reinforcing the fence because they’ll probably be like their father, and Jake didn’t choose to be a pilot because of his lack of adventurous nature. You look at this house and you can see the core of a family. A house that, no matter how far you go for Jake’s job, will always be home base.

Jake is leaning around you so you can both watch the house from the passenger seat window. “I’d offer to show you around, but I don’t get the keys until morning.”

“It’s ok,” you tell him. “I don’t need to see inside.”

When you say that, he falls back into his seat. The back of his head presses against the headrest. His fingers squeeze the steering wheel with his sigh of defeat. “You don’t like it.”

Shifting your body to face him, you say, “Jake, I love it.”

Just like that, his eyes brighten like a pouting child who was just offered a lollipop, and you can’t help but chuckle. You can’t help but forget everything that happened earlier in the night, all of it seeming so insignificant now, even though you know it’s not, and you both know that if he ever makes the same mistake again, he’ll have hell to pay. But something tells you that won’t be a problem. 

“Enough to live with me?” he asks.

You nod. “Enough to live with you.”

---

"I love her, I really do." Az sighed, your heart swelling a little as you listened from where you were perched within the library, Nesta at your side. When you'd heard the men come in, you'd been intent on going to see your mate, but they'd been talking, Cassian had been deep into a story about him and Nesta, and your friend had been adamant about hearing it out. So, you'd let her grab your wrist, sneaking the two of you deeper into the library, hiding away between the shelves where even Azriel's shadows had not bothered to slip away and investigate. 

"But?" Rhysand prompted, your heart skipping a beat in your chest at the pause that followed, the silence seeming to drag on. 

"But... she's so clingy sometimes." Azriel exhaled the words on a breath, and Cassian snickered a little in response. "I just- sometimes I want my peace and quiet, and it just feels like whenever we're together, she's right on top of me at home, we never just.. do our own thing."

Your stomach twisted, and Nesta's fingers tightened around your wrist as she was still gripping it. All playfulness was gone, though. She let go a second later, straightening up and brushing down her skirts primly, pausing only when you grasped her in response, shaking your head. You knew that your friend would defend you to the ends of the earth if you asked, but you didn't want her to. This wasn't her problem, or anyone else's, it was yours. 

You were spinning, mind feeling like it was going a million miles an hour, the way it felt to fly home with Azriel when drunk after a night at Rita’s, while your stomach twisted the way it did the morning after said nights out. You weren’t sure where this problem had come from, up until now, you’d always thought Azriel liked the affectionate side of you, the part that just couldn't get enough of him. Clearly, that was not the case.

Your eyes tracked the movements of Azriel's shadows as they slithered out further, lazily, but inching ever closer to you and Nesta's position. Slowly, in an attempt not to get caught at all, you snuck backwards, taking her with you. Manoeuvring through the stacks, you stayed hidden, the two of you slipping out through the back exit and unseen, and in silence. 

Only once their voices had entirely faded and you were slowing your pace between the twists and turns of the corridors did Nesta finally let a loud and obscene curse slip from her lips. "I'm gonna' kick ten tons of shit out of them all."

"No." The word was icy on your tongue, and her head snapped to you, You gave a soft wince in apology. "I'm not mad at him."

"What? Why not?" 

"Because.. he's right. I am clingy, I just thought he liked that. I thought he liked when we were together, I never sensed anything otherwise down the bond, perhaps he's just good at hiding it. But, you heard him, he doesn't like it, so it's down to me to stop." You shrugged, but it didn't stop the stinging in your throat, and you slammed up walls at your end of the bond, hoping the hurt beginning to build hadn't yet leaked across to reach him. 

"What I heard," Nesta muttered, ice on her own voice as her arms crossed angrily over her chest, "was my mate chuckling his smug little ass off at the comment. Jerk. He can sleep in another bed tonight." She was equally as angry, on your behalf, and you grinned a little at the affection she displayed for you. 

"You don't have to do that."

"It's for me. He doesn't get to gossip about things like this behind my back. I wonder how many things I have done that irritate him that he's never told me, simply choosing to whine about it to those other bats." She hissed the word out like an insult, and you couldn't find fault in her logic. "I'd bet Feyre would agree."

"Would agree with what?" You both jumped, rather violently, approaching the dinner hall where said sister was sitting comfortably, a sketchbook and some charcoals out in front of herself, brows raised. Nesta didn't hesitate, stalking across the room and offering her daemati sister her hand. Brushing off charcoal on her skirt, she took it gently, gasping a second later after replaying the memory. "Those... those jerks!”

“That’s what I said!” Nesta burst, hands on her hips, and only the soft cooing of her nephew was enough to replace the scowl she wore with a slight smile. Your attention remained fixed on Feyre as she processed the covert conversation you’d secretly witnessed.

“No wonder Rhys locked me out, I didn't think much of it, boy talk, but this kind of boy talk?" She frowned, offering a sympathetic look your way, and the solidarity of your friends made you feel that much better. You rubbed your temples, swallowing again thickly, the weight of it all beginning to bring you down a little. "Fey, can you just take me home?"

"Of course, Nesta will watch Nyx for a moment, right?" His auntie was already leaning over his bassinet, tapping the tip of his nose teasingly as the baby babbled happily in return. With a hand in hers, Feyre took you home, a warm hug and a chastising word about their behaviour, her parting gift, before leaving you alone in the house belonging to you and your mate. 

The house was quiet when you were alone, the middle of the day meaning you would be alone for quite a while yet, leaving you plenty of time to decide on your course of action. You glanced around, somehow feeling out of place within your own home. It all felt.. different, somehow.

Were you mad? No, only sad, and so retaliation didn't seem fair. 

Sure, you were upset he'd talk to his friends about it rather than simply tell you, but Azriel had always struggled with 'talking about it', and had never wanted to hurt you. Emotionally inept at times, perhaps this was simply his way of trying to protect your feelings. A conversation you were never supposed to hear, a hurt you were never supposed to feel, because your mate was simply putting up with it to let you feel better. 

You couldn’t have that. This relationship wasn’t supposed to be about secret sacrifices, it was supposed to be about trust and love and mutual respect. You’d sworn it when finding out your mates, and sworn it again at the ceremony, and you tried to hold it up every day. Azriel wanted to spare your feelings, and now, you’d spare his, too.

It was hours before he returned, and you’d found yourself slipping back into your regular routine, making everything feel normal again by sticking to what you knew. You were unloading ingredients, cooking a comfort meal for yourself, when your mate returned home.

You first caught the tell-tale sign of feet hitting the ground outside from the sky, then steps got closer and closer up the pathway, before finally, the door opening and closing.

By the time you heard him taking off his boots and hanging up his coat, you'd found it within yourself to muster a reasonably convincing smile, and shake away any lingering thoughts about it. You are doing this for Azriel, to make him happy, to love him the way he’d loved you for years, without ever telling you. Your body twitched, aching to move to him like you always did, to greet him at the door with a kiss, with a hug, with something, and you firmly rooted your feet to the ground. After a pause, clearly anticipating what you now realised was an unwanted overload of affection, Azriel left the entry, stepping through the large open-arc into the kitchen. 

"Hello, my love.." You only smiled, ignoring the curious tone in his voice, brushing your hands down the front of your apron. "What have you been up to today?"

"I saw Nesta." 

"Oh?" He paused by your side, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek, and you tipped your face to the side receiving it, but made no move for more the way you usually would. 

"She gave me a couple of new books, and said she’d return the other ones." You only hoped he simply hadn't noticed that the book pile on the coffee table had not, in fact, changed at all. He didn't glance over, and you moved away, to the food laid out ready to be prepared for dinner. 

"Are you alright, my love? You don't seem quite like yourself, tonight.”

You redirected your glance to the vegetables, only nodding in response, and taking a deep breath to force another smile. "I'm just fine, don't worry, just a little tired today."

He lingered for a second, before nodding himself, offering a smile in return, and a flush of reassuring love down the bond. You let it in, letting it warm you from the inside out. So, this is what he wanted, he had noticed and was already responding better. It was both relieving and painful. He rolled up his sleeves, taking another step closer to you. "What are we making? What can I do to help?"

"Not a thing, I've got it here, don't worry." His head shot up, brows furrowing once again, and your hand almost reached out, wishing to smooth that spot between on his face that had wrinkled with the frown. He noticed this time, the slight raise of your hand before you lowered it. 

"But, I thought you liked it when we cooked together? You said you like how I can tell you about my day, while we make dinner." It's true, you had said that, but that was just another one of the events you'd forced upon him, wasn't it? Another act where he wanted to do his own thing, but was instead beholden to your wishes.

"I do, but we don't have to cook together every night. I'm fine here, I was just in my thoughts, is all. You could tell me about your day while we eat?” A flash of hurt travelled across his face, as though you were rejecting him, and so it was your turn to send a pulse of love down the bond to him. He tugged in response, pulling a smile from you, a real one, the way it always did when he did that. 

With a kiss placed on your forehead, he left in silence a moment later. Not long after, his footsteps were on the stairs, bath filling in the bathroom, and you let out a sigh at his absence. 

He returned in time for dinner, one of his shadows had been left behind, not-so-subtly lingering near the chopping boards to monitor you, and so you'd been careful about making sure to seem positively chipper until he returned. He helped carry everything through to the table, commenting gently under his breath about how good it all looked, and you thanked him as you poured wine, letting him serve food for you both onto your respective plates. 

Taking opposite seats, the lull lasted not a full second, before Azriel was diving right into a spirited recap of his day:

"Rhysand and Cassian are in the doghouse." You almost slipped with your wine glass as you took a nerve-soothing sip, and Azriel was smirking as he chopped his chicken up, lifting a piece on his fork to his lips, awaiting your response. 

"Oh? And why is that?" You followed suit, hoping your tone didn't give it away, already knowing exactly why they were upset. All three of you had felt a little betrayed by their conversation behind your backs. 

"Not a clue. All I know is that after we finished our discussion, Nesta and Feyre wanted nothing to do with either. Rhys was all 'Feyre, darling, I was thinking we could catch dinner on the Sidra tonight, I made a reservation'," Azriel mocked his best friend's voice, and genuine laughter spilt from you, his eyes glittering a little and the bond between you humming once again. "And then Feyre said 'I was thinking I'd rather spend the evening with anyone else, right now, actually'. He was speechless. As were Cass and I." 

He was so excited to share the gossip, like it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened, and the thought that perhaps this wouldn't be so hard crossed your mind. The same Azriel, the same you, just with less.. togetherness. Less touching. Perhaps, it would even make the times together and the touches even more special than you'd always thought they were. "And Cassian?"

"Even worse. He was in the midst of laughing at Rhys' shocked face when Nesta all but removed his balls in front of us." He took a swig of his wine, and you placed a piece of chicken into your mouth, excited to hear just how she'd unleashed that anger she'd been holding when you'd last seen her. "She said, 'oh, laugh it up, bat boy. See how much you're laughing when you're laying in bed alone tonight, nothing but your right hand to keep you company'."

That made your jaw drop, Azriel's deep laughter permeating the air at your reaction, and you felt proud of your friend, even if you did feel a little bad for Cassian. That's what they get for complaining behind their mates' backs instead of being honest. 

"So, Feyre then proceeded to thank Rhysand for the reservation, take both Nyx and Nesta and winnow away without another word. Presumably to said reservation for a lovely sisterly dinner." Az shrugged, turning back to his food, and you sipped at your wine. Good for them. "When I left, Rhys and Cass were grumbling at the dinner table, trying to work out what they'd done wrong."

That sent a pang of pain shooting back through your chest, but you quickly suppressed it quickly, beginning to tell him all about your own day, and your suddenly-made plans to go shopping instead of sitting at home with him all day tomorrow. He didn't object, only encouraged you. 

After dinner, with plates cleared away and wine glasses refilled, you'd both moved to the living room, a quiet night planned as he settled onto the couch, book in hand, opening his action-packed thriller to the page he'd left off at as you stoked the fire idly, stocking a few more logs on. 

When there was nothing more you could do to it, you stood, brushing down your skirts and leaving the room, not missing the trail of his eyes after you, or the sweep of one of his shadows, trying to curl around your ankle as you hurried through the house and up the stairs. You had planned to simply settle into bed, let your mind spin and wander, but with his watchful little trick giving you it's full-attention, you were forced to move through your preparations for bed, and follow its lead when it wrapped itself around your wrist, tugging you back downstairs. 

When you returned, Azriel's glass was empty, book still open, but his gaze was on the doorway as you walked through it. "Where'd you go?"

"I thought I'd prepare for bed before reading tonight, seeing as I'm so tired, that way I can get in bed as soon as the need arises." Your hands locked in front of yourself, and dipped his head in a gesture toward your book pile. 

"Will you sit with me and read for a while, then?"

"Of course." What were you supposed to do, say no? You were giving him space, but when he asked you to stay, who were you to deny it? Picking up the book from the top of the pile, you settled down into the large armchair on one side of the table, perpendicular to the couch Azriel sat on. As you opened your book, his snapped shut, and he let out a rough sigh. 

"What are you doing?"

"I'm reading." You teased, waving your book at him, but he was not in such a playful mood, it seemed. 

"I see that. Why are you doing it over there?"

You faltered. What now? Confess to hearing him, or continue to spare his feelings the way he had been sparing yours for years. The choice seemed clear. "Sitting closer to the fire, so I don't get cold."

"You never get cold, because you sit with me. You sit here, and if you get cold, I wrap a wing around you, and you get that cute little blush on your face and make one of those jokes about Illyrians being built warmer for those 'damn cold mountains'. So, why are you sitting over there?"

Busted. You worried your lower lip, trying to decide exactly what to say, but he beat you to it, his face crumpling a little as realisation washed over him. 

"You heard us in the library." It wasn't a question, no, it was a statement. A fact, he knew it. Your mate was far too intelligent and deductive for his own good, sometimes. He put down his book, crossing the room in a flash, and removing yours from your hold too. He slipped down to one knee before you, grasping your hands in his, and he gaped for a few moments, no words coming. "I didn't mean it," was what he settled on. 

"'Course you did, Az. It's okay." You squeezed his hands lightly, and he gripped back firmer, like you might pull away from him if he didn't hold on. "I was a little upset to know you'd rather tell your friends than simply tell me if something I was doing was bothering you, but you're allowed to be bothered by things."

"No, I didn't mean it, my love. Please, don't take it to heart." There was a pleading under his voice, like he thought this might drive a wedge between you both, and you pried one hand free to sit comfortingly over his cheek. His head tipped into the touch. 

"Az, it's okay, really. Not everything is always going to be perfect between us, but in future, if I do something you don't like, just tell me, okay?"

"No, no, no.." He was panicking now, so much so that the fear was beginning to ripple down the bond, you couldn't just hear it in his voice but feel it ricocheting through your own chest. Cold, like shards of ice. "Everything is perfect, and that is the problem. Rhys was complaining about all the changes with Nyx. About how he loves his son so much, but lately, Feyre hasn't even wanted to touch him, and she's had such mood swings because of the sleepless nights, he's frazzled. One minute she's coming onto him, the next she's snapping at him because he didn't kiss her just right. Cassian was complaining because Nesta is so fiercely independent and he loves it, but when all that overprotective side of him kicks in and she snaps at him for going full-Cass-mode on her, he hates it. He wishes sometimes she'd just let him clean her wounds and treat her gently."

You didn't know quite what to say, confusion filling you, and he pressed on, pushed a little closer, never letting your gaze slip from his, holding you captive with it.

"Then they were looking at me, like I was supposed to say something, anything. Like, they'd been vulnerable about things they couldn't tell their mates without feeling embarrassed, as though it was my turn. I couldn't think of anything, because, baby, everything is perfect. All I wanted to say was, 'can't relate, Rhysand; maybe one day but not today. Can't relate Cassian; my girl protects me as much as I protect her, we fuss over each other'. I didn't want to upset them, and I realised what they wanted was clingy, the kind of clingy we have, the kind of clingy I love. So, I tried to tell them it wasn't all it seemed, so they'd feel better."

His thumbs soothed over your knuckles, the only sounds between you being the popping of the fire and the ticking of the large clock, until you sighed. He leaned down, kissing the hand still clutched in his own, before twisting to press a kiss to the palm on his cheek before you could retract it. 

"It damn near broke my heart when you didn't greet me at the door tonight. It's my favourite part of getting up in the morning, knowing that when I come home, you'll come flying into my arms, and show me so much love, a kind of love I never thought I'd have. But you didn't, you said you were fine, though. I worried you were mad at me, too. You didn't want to cook together, I hated that, because I like being part of the things you like. You didn't kiss me, you haven't kissed me all night, I miss it. I miss it so much. You didn't hold my hand at dinner, and now you won't sit with me. I'm worried, my love. I'm scared, you have to believe me."

He raised his free hand, sitting it tenderly over your jaw, just like you did for him, swiping his thumb delicately back and forth across your cheekbone. It was an act you adored so much, something he knew brought you peace and comfort, and at this moment, it was doing just that. You could feel the fear in his words as it echoed in your chest, the desperation as he waited for your response. Lifting the hand from his cheek, his gaze tracked the movement, watching your hand hover for a split second over his head. He didn't let the half-second become a full one. He took your hand, lacing it into his hair where it had been headed, your fingernails scratching over his scalp in the soothing way he loved so much. 

"Always touch me. Never hesitate. I don't care if we're at dinner or on a battlefield, but your touch, your attention, your love is everything. Never stop." His eyes fluttered closed in bliss, but he was still tense. "Just say you forgive me."

"I do not, because there's nothing to forgive." His breath hitched at the beginning of your sentence, eyes snapping open wide, and you leaned forward to rest your forehead on his. "Next time, come up with something that's not going to hurt my feelings, even if I shouldn't be eavesdropping."

He smirked at that, nose brushing yours and he laughed breathily. "Next time, I'm just going to take the teasing and let them know how utterly fucking hard in love I am."

"Well, that works too." You smiled, before he was sitting up more, raising from his one knee and pressing his hands underneath your body. "What are you doing?"

"Moving you so we can sit together."

"I'll just come to the couch-"

"Won't be close enough, now." He muttered, scooping you up enough to settle into the wing-designed chair, and situating you sideways across his lap as your eyes rolled. He left a soft bite to your covered shoulder in response. "Don't roll your eyes at me, you had me freaking out. I thought you weren't going to forgive me. I thought you weren't going to.. to be the you that I love, anymore.."

"Yes, well, that's over now." You leaned in, kissing the tip of his nose for emphasis, but uncertain eyes found yours again.

"You mean it?"

"I do." You pressed another kiss to his jaw, fingernails moving back to rake through the thick black hair on the top of his head.

"You'll greet me at the door tomorrow with a kiss?" Mm-hm. "You'll let me cook with you?" Your lips moved up to his cheek, nuzzling there sweetly as you left little pecks across his skin, mm-hm. "You'll hold my hand at the table, and play footsie, and you'll curl up on the couch with me after?" Mm-hm, your kisses reached the corner of his mouth, and you felt it twitch into a smile underneath your lips. "You'll cuddle with me in bed tonight?"

"And every other night, for the rest of our lives." 

Something akin to adoration raced through your chest, filling every part of you. Despite his pink-tinged cheeks, Azriel was confident in his requests, hazel eyes shining as he looked at you. "And you'll kiss me, you'll hold me, every time you want to. Promise me, you'll never hide your affection from me, promise me you'll show me your love for as long as you feel it for me?"

"As long as you promise the same to me." He nodded, vehemently, sealing the deal with an urgent kiss, and you felt a tingling mark forming on the back of your neck, alongside the mating bond you'd made together so many years ago. Another promise formed, to be held forever. 

His lips worked against your own, fingers slipping from where they sat on your cheek to smooth up, no longer running his fingers gently along your jaw but tracing soft tips over the patch on your neck. His lips became a smile in the kiss, teasing and sweet, a breathy sound slipping from you as he nipped at your lower. 

“We should go upstairs.” He whispered, and your arms looped around his neck, prepared for the movement that was so come as he began to shuffle toward the edge of the seat. Raising with you in his arms, he walked a path he was familiar with, your lips beginning to trace his cheekbone the way his thumb had yours moments prior, when a sudden thought crossed your mind. You gasped, sitting up stock straight and Azriel paused at the base of the stairs, brows raising, half-lidded eyes attempting to focus at your reaction. “What is it, my love?”

“We.. we have to go and tell Nesta and Feyre we worked things out.” Azriel stared for a moment, before a blinding grin was splitting across his face. It was more than a smile, it was amused and cheeky and youthful in a way he rarely showed, only in moments like this where the two of you were truly alone, when he let himself be vulnerable. A deep chuckle followed, before he was moving again, climbing the stairs with you in his arms, smile becoming a smirk. 

“So you’re the reason my brothers are in such trouble, huh?” He leaned down, nipping at the shell of your ear as he backed his way into your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind himself. Dropping you down onto the bed, enough to be able to crawl toward you as you backed up into the pillows, he didn’t let up with the wicked stare. “Let it be, we can tell them tomorrow. Consider tonight a punishment for complaining.”

“Were you not technically part of that conversation, Az? Should you not also be punished?” Your words held no threat, and he knew it too, because he only dipped his head down once he was supporting himself above you. His lips dragged over your skin, up from your chin to the shell of your ear, only to whisper;