peonyletters

little bit about me: i’m a liverpool fan above all else, i also like f1, i’m a pisces and i’m sensitive, so please be nice!

‘leap to you’ is my first story i’ll be publishing on tumblr but i have written ‘fame’ on Wattpad!

my inbox is always open for chats about football, f1, my work or just life! i’m also open to requests.

❀ currently writing..

‧₊˚❀ leap to you ༉‧₊˚. - a Jude Bellingham x Original Character series!

People are just used to these other writers who post daily but I like that you different

❀ and i totally understand this but that just doesn’t work for me.

with that being said, i LOVED chapter 21, i feel like giselle’s character development is really noticeable, especially with how she’s allowing jude to stay in her house. very excited to see where it goes!

❀ thank you very much anon! as much as i love writing about giselle and jude, i have my own life to live.

also, writing some of these chapter can be quite emotionally draining, so sometimes i just don’t want to write for days straight.

‧₊˚❀ leap to you ༉‧₊˚. - a Jude Bellingham x Original Character series

Chapter 21

The first thing Giselle noticed when she woke was the light.

Not bright yet - just the early kind, slipping through the sheer curtains and laying pale shapes across the living room wall. It took her a moment to orient herself, to register the unfamiliar angle of the ceiling above her, the weight of the blanket across her legs, the faint stiffness in her back from sleeping somewhere that wasn't meant for it.

Her eyes felt heavy, lashes clinging together slightly, the dull ache behind them familiar after an emotionally long night. Her hair had fallen loose sometime in the dark, strands tickling her cheek where she'd rolled onto her side.

Then she noticed him.

Jude was still there, stretched out at the far end of the couch, one arm tucked beneath his head, his other hand resting loose against his stomach. His face was turned slightly toward her, lashes casting soft shadows against his cheek. His hair stuck up at an odd angle, flattened on one side where it had met the cushion, curls less controlled than she was used to seeing.

His lips were slightly parted in sleep, the kind of unguarded expression people only wore when they weren't expecting anyone to be watching. 

His hoodie was folded over the back of the chair, damp but drying, the fabric darkened in places where the rain hadn't quite let go.

They weren't touching.

There was space between them - deliberate, unspoken, comfortable. Enough room that she could breathe easily, that nothing felt claimed or assumed.

His breathing was slow, even. Asleep in the way people only are when they trust the ground beneath them.

Giselle's chest rose on a quiet inhale.

No jolt of panic came with the awareness. No sudden inventory of exits, no instinctive tightening in her ribs. Just a mild, almost curious surprise - at the fact that she had fallen asleep at all. That her body had let go somewhere other than her bed. That she'd trusted the night enough to drift.

She hadn't meant to.

She shifted slightly, testing it - a small roll of her shoulder, a flex of her fingers. The room stayed calm. Her pulse stayed steady.

Still safe, her body seemed to say. Still fine.

That was new.

Carefully, she slid one leg free of the blanket, then the other, moving slowly so the cushions wouldn't shift too much. Jude didn't stir. Bella lifted her head from where she'd been curled near Giselle's thigh, blinked at her with mild disapproval, then resettled with a faint, offended flick of her tail.

Giselle smiled, just a little.

She padded into the kitchen barefoot, the cool tile grounding under her feet. The kettle went on. The window cracked open. Morning air slipped in, clean and quiet, carrying the distant sound of a delivery truck somewhere down the street.

She caught her reflection briefly in the darkened microwave door - hair tangled, eyes a little puffy, the faint shadow of tiredness under them.

She fed Bella, rinsed a mug, moved through the familiar motions of her apartment without thinking too hard about any of it.

She didn't hear him wake.

The kettle clicked off behind her as she reached for a second mug, fingers moving automatically, body still half in that quiet place sleep had left behind. She stood at the counter in an old shirt and bare feet, hair loose and unstyled, shoulders relaxed in a way she rarely let herself be.

From the couch, Jude watched.

He'd woken slowly, the way he always did somewhere unfamiliar, and then stayed still when he realised where he was. The light had shifted since the night before. The room smelled like coffee and something warm.

Giselle.

She moved like she wasn't bracing for anything - no hurry, no edge. Just existing in her own space. It did something strange to his chest.

He didn't call out. Didn't want to break the moment.

She poured water, stirred, paused to stare out the window like she was listening to something only she could hear. When she turned, finally, mug in hand, she froze.

"Oh," she said softly. "You're awake."

He smiled, small and easy. "Been up a minute."

His voice was rougher than it had been the night before, lower, like it hadn't quite finished waking up yet. It startled her a little - not unpleasantly. She realised she'd never heard him like this before, unguarded by noise or effort or performance.

She cleared her throat, suddenly aware of her own voice, still soft-edged with sleep.

"How long is 'a minute'?" she asked, suspicious.

"Long enough to know you don't need help," he said, sitting up. "But I'm going to offer anyway."

She watched him stand, barefoot and unhurried, like this was just how mornings worked. Like he belonged here without needing permission.

"Eggs?" he asked, already opening the fridge, searching the contents.

Giselle blinked. "You're just... taking over?"

"I'm being useful," he corrected, pulling out a carton. "There's a difference."

A corner of her mouth lifted. "You don't even know where I keep things."

"I'll adapt."

He shifted aside to give her room without being asked when she stepped closer for the milk, then immediately reached into the wrong cupboard and paused, squinting as if betrayed.

"Okay," he said thoughtfully, closing it again. "This one's lying to me."

She huffed a quiet laugh into her mug. "Second drawer. Left."

He found it on the second try, nodding like he'd proven a point. He set a pan on the stove, turned the burner on with practiced ease, cracked the eggs one-handed against the rim. A bit of shell fell in; he fished it out with his fingers without comment.

"You didn't see that."

"I absolutely did,"

He yawned once, covering his mouth with the back of his hand like he'd forgotten there was anyone to impress. When he caught her watching, he lifted a brow.

"What?"

"Nothing," she murmured, though her mouth betrayed her with a small, involuntary curve.

She leaned against the counter, mug warming her hands, and let him move around her kitchen - opening drawers, closing the wrong one, checking labels, rearranging things just enough to make sense to him. He moved carefully, but not cautiously. Like he wasn't afraid of taking up space, but also wasn't assuming anything about it. 

The eggs hissed softly in the pan. He stirred, waited, adjusted the heat without thinking too hard about it. The rhythm of it settled something in the room - the gentle scrape of the spatula, the faint smell of butter warming, the kettle clicking softly as it cooled.

The quiet between them wasn't fragile. It didn't need protecting.

At one point he reached past her for the pepper and bumped her hip with his own. Not an apology touch. Just incidental. Familiar. He murmured a quick, "Sorry," more out of reflex than urgency, and kept going. She shifted a fraction closer instead of away.

"Sleep okay?" he asked, eyes still on the pan.

She nodded. "Yeah. I did."

He smiled at the stove like that answer mattered more than he wanted to show. 

They ate standing at the counter, plates balanced between them, the TV murmuring nonsense from the living room. Jude passed her the hot sauce without asking. She didn't comment on it.

Normal.

After, he rinsed the plates and set them in the rack like he'd done it before. Giselle watched him for a second too long, then looked away, chest doing that quiet, steady thing again.

This didn't feel like pretending.

It felt like choosing.

Jude lingered by the sink a second longer than necessary, fingers resting against the counter as if he wasn't quite ready to move on yet. When he turned back to her, his voice was lower - rough around the edges in that unmistakable morning way.

"You always wake up this quietly?" he asked.

Giselle glanced at him, caught off guard. "Is that a complaint?"

"No," he said quickly, a smile tugging at his mouth. "It's... nice, to not be woken by a ringing alarm."

Something warm settled just beneath her ribs at that - not sharp, not startling. Just there.

They drifted back toward the couch without really speaking about it. Jude sat first this time, leaving space like before - but when Giselle sat down, she closed the gap herself. Not all the way. Just enough that their shoulders nearly touched.

Bella, apparently satisfied with the state of things, hopped up between them and promptly collapsed like she'd been waiting for permission.

"Well," Jude murmured, amused, "guess that's settled."

He glanced down at her then, hair soft and sleep-tousled, eyes still heavy with rest. She noticed the faint darkness beneath his eyes too, the way his usual sharpness had softened into something gentler.

"You look different in the morning," she said quietly.

"Better or worse?" he asked, voice still low.

She considered it, then said honestly, "Neither... kinder."

He huffed a soft laugh. "I'll take that."

She leaned her head back against the cushion, eyes closing for just a second. The room felt suspended - no urgency, no edges. Just the quiet weight of another person sharing the same space without demanding it be anything else.

Jude reached for the throw blanket and tugged it higher over her legs without asking. The gesture was absentminded, almost unconscious. She stilled for half a heartbeat - then let herself relax into it.

The TV kept murmuring - some morning show neither of them was really watching. Jude leaned back, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, his fingers mindlessly playing with the ends of her hair where it fell over her shoulder.

Minutes passed like that. Uncounted. Unnecessary to count.

Giselle let her eyes close again, just for a moment, not to sleep but to rest in the quiet. The steady weight of Bella between them. The warmth of the blanket over her legs. the faint brush of his fingers against her hair, repetitive and unthinking.

Eventually, the thought crept in - unwelcome, but familiar.

She opened her eyes, aware of how the light had changed again, brightening at the edges, slipping further across the floor. The clock above the TV glowed a little too clearly now.

Her brow creased.

Jude felt it before she spoke. His hand stilled briefly in her hair, and he turned his head toward her. "What is it?" he asked quietly.

"I have rehearsal," she said, more to herself than him. She exhaled through her nose. "In... forty minutes."

He nodded once, easy. There was no flicker of disappointment, no recalculation of the morning. "Okay. Do you want me to get out your way while you get ready?"

"No," she replied before thinking, "no, you're good." 

Jude's mouth lifted slightly at that, and he settled back into the couch again, like he hadn't expected anything different.

She stood, the blanket sliding off her legs. For a moment, she hesitated - the familiar flicker of guilt at choosing herself, at choosing her schedule. It passed quicker than it used to.

Progress, she thought.

She crossed to her bedroom and closed the door behind her with a soft click. For a second she leaned back against the wood, exhaling through her nose.

The apartment felt different with someone else inside it. She could hear the faint shift of the couch cushions, the low murmur of something auto-playing on Jude's phone before he turned the volume down. Bella made a questioning chirrup, then the sound of her hopping up beside him.

Life continuing. Without her managing it.

She pushed off the door and crossed to her wardrobe.

Rehearsal clothes lived on the left: pale tights folded carefully, the white floral leotard she'd worn so many times the fabric had softened into something almost weightless, the pink wrap skirt that tied at her hip in a neat bow.

She pulled her hair down from its loose twist and brushed it back, fingers working through the tangles before winding it into a tight, clean bun at the crown of her head. Pins in. Elastic secured. No softness left now.

When she opened the bedroom door again, the smell of coffee had faded into something warmer - burnt toast, maybe, and the faint scent of Jude's cologne clinging to the air.

He was exactly where she'd left him.

One arm stretched along the back of the couch, phone loose in his hand, thumb scrolling lazily. Bella sat pressed into his side like a sentry, tail flicking every so often. The TV was on low, forgotten.

His eyes lifted at the sound of the door.

For a second he didn't say anything. He just took in the shift. The softness of the morning had been replaced by something neater, more deliberate - her hair pulled into a tidy bun, rehearsal clothes sitting clean and familiar against her frame.

But there was still something soft about her. The quiet way she stood in the doorway, the faint crease sleep had left near her cheek that hadn't quite faded yet. 

Bella, apparently unwilling to let the moment pass without comment, chirruped and jumped down from the couch to wind around Giselle's ankles. Giselle bent automatically to scratch behind her ears, quick and affectionate. 

Jude watched the moment, the ease of it. The way Giselle dropped automatically into a crouch, fingers finding the exact spot behind Bella's ears that made the cat's tail rise like a flag. There was something unguarded about it - a softness she never seemed to think twice about offering to small things. Bella leaned heavily into the attention, purring loud enough to fill the quiet apartment.

Bella circled her ankles once more before settling dramatically onto the rug, apparently satisfied she'd reasserted control over the situation.

Giselle straightened, brushing her hands lightly against the sides of her wrap skirt. The movement was automatic - dancer tidy, small adjustments that kept everything sitting exactly where it should.

She moved toward the kitchen to grab her water bottle, tying the ribbon of her wrap skirt tighter as she walked. The bow settled neatly at her hip. Behind her, Jude pushed himself a little further upright on the couch, watching the quiet efficiency of the routine.

"How long is rehearsal?" he asked.

"Couple of hours," she said, checking the time on the oven clock. "Depends how cruel the choreographer is feeling."

"And today?"

Giselle considered it, then gave a small shrug. "We'll find out."

She crossed back into the living room, slipping her feet into the trainers by the door. Bella lifted her head in mild disapproval at the clear signs of someone leaving the apartment.

Jude shifted too, carefully disentangling himself from the couch cushions with exaggerated caution. Bella grumbled in protest but didn't bother standing. He rose to his feet, stretching his arms overhead with a quiet groan, shoulders loosening as he dropped them again.

"I can walk you part of the way," he offered. "Or I can stay here and keep Bella company."

She weighed it - not the logistics, but the feeling. The apartment, with him still in it.

"You can stay," she decided. "If you want."

"I want," he said simply. She nodded once, satisfied by the lack of hesitation.

"Amelia should be here any second," she added.

Jude glanced toward the door, then back at her. "Your ride?"

"Rehearsal chauffeur," she said dryly.

"Very official," he teased.

Giselle huffed a quiet laugh and crossed to the chair by the window, picking up her bag and checking automatically for the small things she always carried - phone, keys, the pack of hair bands she went through too quickly. The routine steadied her, grounding the morning into something familiar. 

Behind her, Jude moved toward the kitchen, rinsing his mug under the tap before setting it in the sink like he already knew where things belonged. Bella watched the process from the floor with deep suspicion.

"I'm not replacing her, don't worry," he told the cat." Bella blinked back at him with the heavy patience of someone unconvinced.

Giselle glanced over her shoulder just in time to see him reach down and scratch behind Bella's ears. The cat caved immediately, leaning into his hand with a pleased rumble that filled the room.

For a moment the apartment settled into an easy quiet again - morning light stretching across the floorboards, the faint city noise filtering through the open window, Bella purring like an engine.

A second later, Amelia's knock came sharp and familiar - two quick taps, then a pause.

Giselle checked the time on her phone and swore quietly under her breath. Late. Of course.

She grabbed her bag from the chair and crossed to the door, pulling it open just as Amelia lifted her hand to knock again.

"Sorry," Amelia said immediately. "Traffic was-" She stopped. Her gaze flicked past Giselle's shoulder, sharp and curious.

Giselle felt it before she turned.

Jude was visible from the hallway - not fully, just a slice of him. Hoodie on, hair still soft with sleep, standing by the kitchen counter with a mug in his hand like this was the most natural place in the world for him to be.

Amelia's brows lifted. Slowly. the kind of slow, dawning expression that meant she had just recognised exactly who she was looking at.

"Is that...?" she began.

Giselle didn't look back. She stepped forward just enough to block the view, smile already in place - calm, unbothered, faintly amused.

"You're imagining things," she said lightly.

Amelia blinked. Then smiled, wide and entirely unconvinced.

"Mhm," she hummed. 

"Must be the early start."

"Definitely," Giselle replied, stepping into the hallway and pulling the door closed behind her before Amelia could say anything else. The click of it felt deliberate. Protective.

As they walked toward the lift, Amelia glanced sideways at her. "So, you just casually have Jude Bellingham in your apartment now."

Giselle adjusted the strap of her bag, heartbeat steady. "Who said it was casual?"

Amelia slowed a fraction, surprise flashing across her face before it curved into something warmer. "Oh," she said. "So that's where we are."

Giselle didn't answer right away. The lift doors opened, metal yawning wide, and she stepped inside, pressing the button for the ground floor.

"It's just..." Amelia started, then stopped herself, watching Giselle's reflection in the mirrored wall. "You look... different."

Giselle glanced up. "Different how?"

"Like you slept," Amelia said simply. "Like you're not braced for something to go wrong."

The lift began its descent, the hum filling the space between them.

Giselle considered that. The quiet of the morning, the weight of the blanket, Jude moving through her kitchen like it was allowed. The fact that she hadn't rushed him out. That she hadn't rushed herself.

"Yeah," she said finally. "I think I did."

Amelia smiled, softer now. "Good."

The doors slid open. Daylight spilled in, sharp and bright after the dim hallway.

The morning air was cooler than Giselle expected, crisp enough to wake the last remnants of sleep from her skin. The city had fully stirred now - traffic humming along the road outside, a cyclist weaving through the early commuters, someone across the street dragging open the shutters of a café.

They crossed the pavement together, Giselle adjusting the strap of her bag against her shoulder as she slid into the passenger seat. The door shut with a solid click, sealing them briefly into a quieter world. 

"So...?" Amelia started after pulling out into traffic smoothly, one hand loose on the steering wheel. 

"Please don't," Giselle groaned.

Amelia laughed immediately, the sound bright in the small space of the car. "What? I'm just curious." 

Giselle turned her head just enough to give her a look, "you're always curious."

"Well that's my job as your friend."

Traffic slowed at the next set of lights, the car idling as pedestrians crossed in front of them. The radio murmured soft and forgettable between them. Amelia drummed her fingers lightly against the steering wheel, pretending to focus very hard on the road.

Then, casually. "So he stayed the night."

"Yes." Giselle sighed. "On the couch," she added before Amelia could say anything else. 

Amelia nodded slowly, like she was processing important information. "On the couch," she repeated.

They drove in comfortable silence for a few streets, the city gradually waking around them - cafés opening, cyclists weaving through traffic, early commuters filling the pavements.

Amelia slowed as the rehearsal studio came into view at the end of the block.

"You know," she said lightly as she pulled into a parking space, "Bella letting him stay might actually be the biggest development here."

"Bella doesn't actually mind him being there," Giselle said, "which is surprising."

"Hey, don't jinx it. You don't know what you're going to go home to." 

Giselle snorted softly. "What, you think she'll have staged a coup by lunchtime?"

Amelia shrugged as she cut the engine. "No, I'm just saying. She's protective"

Bella's very particular brand of judgement flashed briefly through Giselle's mind - the slow blink, the unimpressed stare when someone occupied her spot on the couch.

"If anything," Giselle said as she reached for the door handle, "she'll be sitting on him like a throne."

Amelia laughed. "Honestly? That sounds about right."

They stepped out into the cool morning air, the quiet hum of the city wrapping around them. The studio building sat just across the small lot, its tall windows already bright with movement inside.

Amelia locked the car and fell into step beside her.

"So," she said after a beat, nudging Giselle lightly with her shoulder, "should I assume he'll still be there when you get back?"

Giselle adjusted the strap of her bag, considering that. The image came easily - Jude on the couch, Bella supervising like a small furry foreman. "Probably," she said.

Amelia glanced sideways at her, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Look at you," she murmured. "Letting someone stay."

Giselle didn't answer. Not because Amelia was wrong - but because she wasn't sure when it had stopped feeling like something she needed to defend.

Giselle pushed the studio door open before she could say anything else, warm air spilling out to meet them. Inside, dancers were already gathering near the barre, the low thud of music warming through the speakers. Giselle stepped onto the polished floor, the familiar scent of rosin and worn wood settling around her.

Someone tested the speakers, a low note rolling through the room before the music cut again. A few dancers stretched along the mirrors, conversation murmuring softly between them.

Giselle set her bag down by the wall and slipped her water bottle beside it. Her body moved automatically now - stepping toward the barre, fingers resting lightly against the smooth wood as she rolled one shoulder back, then the other.

The routine was second nature. Muscle memory more than thought.

❀ i love that you don’t all get bored of waiting for me to update 😅😅

‧₊˚❀ leap to you ༉‧₊˚. - a Jude Bellingham x Original Character series

Chapter 20

The afternoon light had that washed out, pre-evening quality that always meant match day.

Jude sat on the edge of the bench in the locker room, elbows braced on his knees, boots unlaced, phone resting face-down beside him. 

The room hummed with low conversation and the soft percussion of studs against tile. Someone laughed down the row. Someone else was already half in their kit, focused and closed-off.

He rolled his shoulders once, feeling the familiar tightness settle into something workable.

Routine helped. Match days were predictable in a way little else was - warm-up, briefing, tape, stretch. A sequence of motions his body knew how to follow even when his mind wandered.

His phone vibrated against the bench.

He glanced down without much thought - then paused.

Giselle.

For a split second, his chest tightened. Just enough to remind him that the quiet between them the last couple of days hadn't gone unnoticed.

He picked it up.

Giselle: Hey. I've got the afternoon off if you're around later.

He read it twice.

There was no apology in it. No explanation. Just an opening - simple, careful, honest in the way she'd been learning how to be.

The tension he hadn't realized he was carrying eased, just a fraction.

Jude typed back without overthinking it.

Jude: I'd love to but I've got a game in a bit.

A beat. Then, because it felt like him - because he didn't want the weight to creep back in - he added:

Jude: You could come sit in the stands and pretend you know football 😉

He hesitated, thumb hovering, then hit send.

The locker room door swung open as the physio came through, clipboard tucked under her arm. Jude set his phone down again, leaning back slightly as the conversation around him shifted, but his attention lingered - not anxious, just open.

A moment later, the phone buzzed again.

He picked it up.

Giselle: Tempting, but I think I'll take a rain check. Big crowds aren't really my thing today.

Jude smiled - small, instinctive.

Jude: I can come by later?

This time, he didn't add a joke. He didn't soften it or dress it up.

It wasn't a question that needed cushioning.

Another buzz.

Giselle: Yeah. I'd like that.

Something steady settled in his chest.

He locked his phone and stood, pulling his hoodie off as he joined the rest of the team. The noise of the room rose around him - studs clacking, tape tearing, voices sharpening into focus.

As he laced his boots, he felt anchored in a way he hadn't earlier. Not distracted. Not pulled away from the match.

Just grounded.

There was a game to play.

And afterward, somewhere quieter, someone he wanted to see - not because she owed him anything or because he needed reassurance.

Just because they were still choosing each other.

The final whistle came in a blur of noise and floodlights.

Jude barely registered the score as the stadium erupted around him. Teammates clapped shoulders, shouted over each other, already replaying moments from the match like it was muscle memory. He moved through it easily, nodding, smiling where it was expected, letting the adrenaline burn itself down into something steadier.

By the time he reached the tunnel, the roar of the crowd had softened into a distant, echoing thunder.

“Good shift,” someone said, clapping him across the back as they peeled off toward the changing room.

“Yeah,” Jude replied automatically.

Inside, the air was thick with heat and noise - boots hitting tile, tape being ripped loose, music starting somewhere at the far end of the room. He sat on the bench, tugging his shirt over his head, sweat cooling quickly against his skin.

His phone sat where he’d left it in his bag. He didn’t reach for it right away.

He knew she wasn’t the kind of person who filled a silence with updates. If she’d changed her mind, she would say so. If she hadn’t, she’d be exactly where she said she’d be - and somehow that steadiness felt more reassuring than constant messages ever could.

He showered quickly, letting the hot water pound against the back of his neck, rinsing off the last of the match. By the time he stepped out, the room had shifted into post-game looseness - laughter louder now, someone arguing about dinner plans, the physio rolling her eyes at a half-serious complaint about a sore ankle.

Jude dressed without rushing, pulling on a hoodie and dark joggers, towel rubbing absently through his damp curls.

“You coming out with us?” one of the lads asked, already halfway into a jacket.

“Not tonight,” Jude said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

There were a few exaggerated groans, someone accusing him of being boring, but it was all familiar, easy.

“Next time,” he added, and meant it.

Across the city, Giselle's apartment smelled faintly of vanilla and lavender from the candle she'd lit near the window. Outside, evening had settled properly now, the sky darkening into that deep blue that blurred the edges of buildings across the street.

Giselle checked the time, then forced herself to stop checking it.

She moved into the kitchen instead, rinsing two mugs she’d already washed earlier, the repetitive motion grounding. The kettle filled, clicked on. Water, tea, something simple. Predictable.

Her reflection caught faintly in the darkened window above the sink — hair loose, face bare, an old soft jumper hanging off one shoulder slightly where the fabric had stretched over time.  Not the carefully assembled version of herself she used to offer the world.

Bella shifted, hopping down from the couch and padding toward the hallway as if sensing movement long before it happened. Giselle watched her for a second, then huffed a quiet laugh.

A car door slammed faintly somewhere outside. Footsteps echoed in the hallway beyond her apartment, muffled by the building’s thin carpeting. Bella’s ears pricked, tail giving a slow, hopeful thump against the floor.

Giselle’s pulse jumped.

It’s just Jude, she reminded herself.

The thought landed softer than it would have weeks ago. Still heavy. Still meaningful. But no longer overwhelming.

Bella trotted toward the front door, sitting expectantly.

He knocked once, then again.

Giselle paused mid-step in the kitchen, the match still burning between her fingers. She'd lit a couple of candles out of habit, the small flames steady on the coffee table. Bella waited, one eye cracked open in vague interest.

"I'm coming," Giselle called, already moving.

She blew the match out, waved the smoke away, and crossed the apartment barefoot. When she opened the door, Jude was there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hair still damp from the shower, cheeks faintly pink from the cold.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey." She smiled before she could stop herself.

He didn't step in. Didn't glance past her shoulder like he was taking stock of the space. He just looked at her, then tilted his head slightly.

"Put your shoes on," he said.

She blinked. "What?"

"We're going out."

The words were easy. Decided. Like he'd already pictured it and was just inviting her to catch up.

Giselle laughed under her breath. "I thought you were coming in."

"I am," he said. "Briefly. To wait while you get ready."

"I am ready."

Jude's eyes dropped pointedly to her bare feet, then flicked back up. "Shoes," he repeated, smiling now.

She hesitated - not the sharp, panicked kind. Just the small pause of someone recalibrating. Then she stepped back and waved him in.

"Five minutes," she said.

"Take ten," he replied, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it over the back of the chair like he'd done before.

Giselle padded toward the bedroom, heart oddly light. She pulled on her boots, fingers working the zip with practiced ease. A coat followed - the warm one, not the careful one. She caught her reflection in the mirror as she zipped it up, hair still loose, face bare and familiar.

Good enough, she thought. More than.

On her way back, she paused by the coffee table. The candles were still burning, soft and steady. She stood there for a second, then leaned forward and blew them out one by one. Smoke curled up, faint and sweet.

"I'll be back," she murmured, more to the room than anyone else.

Bella flicked an ear, unimpressed.

Jude was waiting by the door when she returned, already pulling his jacket back on.

"Okay," he said, opening it for her. "Come on."

She stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her, and felt something shift - not dramatic.

Just the simple decision to go.

They took the stairs instead of the lift, their footsteps echoing softly in the narrow stairwell. Giselle kept one hand light on the rail, the other tucked into her coat pocket. Jude walked just half a step behind her, not crowding, not distant - matching her pace without comment.

Outside, the air was cool and damp, the kind that sat on your skin without quite chilling it. Early evening had settled in, the sky a muted slate, streetlights already flickering on along the block.

"So," Giselle said as they reached the pavement, the word slipping out more easily than she expected. "Where are we going?"

Jude glanced down at her, eyes bright. "You'll see."

"That's not an answer."

"It's an answer adjacent to an answer."

She snorted, shaking her head as they started walking. "You're impossible."

"Yet you're following me."

They fell into step, the city moving around them - people passing with headphones in, couples arguing quietly, a delivery bike rattling past. Jude pointed things out as they went, small, unimportant observations. A dog straining at its lead. A bakery still open, warm light spilling onto the street. Giselle found herself responding without thinking, the conversation loosening into something unforced.

By the time they reached the edge of the park, her shoulders had dropped. She hadn't noticed when.

The iron gates stood open, the paths inside dimly lit and slick from an earlier rain. Leaves clung to the ground in dark patches, the smell of wet earth sharp and clean.

"Here," Jude said, gesturing her in.

They followed one of the winding paths, gravel crunching softly beneath their feet. The city noise faded the deeper they went, replaced by distant voices and the low rustle of trees shifting in the breeze.

Giselle exhaled, slow and full. "I forgot how quiet it gets in here."

Jude smiled. "That's the point."

They walked side by side, close enough that their coats brushed now and then. Each time it happened, Giselle noticed - and each time, she didn't pull away.

She talked about rehearsal, about a new piece they were learning, about how her calves still ached in a way that felt almost comforting. Jude listened, asking questions, the kind that showed he was actually picturing it.

He told her about the match - not the tactics or the score, just the moments that stuck. A pass that almost worked. A joke in the locker room. The way the crowd sounded when the lights came on.

They avoided the obvious thing between them, both of them aware of it, both letting it stay untouched for now. And somehow, that made the space feel lighter, not heavier.

The path curved, familiar in a way Giselle felt before she consciously recognised it. 

Jude followed her gaze. The bench sat exactly where it always had, tucked beneath the broad branches of a plane tree, paint chilled at the edges. Someone had scratched initials into the backrest at some point, half-faded now.

They crossed the grass together, shoes dampening at the edges, and sat. 

Jude stretched his legs out in front of him, resting his hands loosely on his thighs. They sat like that for a while, talking about nothing that mattered and everything that did in small ways. A ballerina who kept missing her cue. And a footballer who refused to retire a pair of boots held together mostly by superstition. 

At some point, Jude leaned back, bracing his hands on the bench behind him. "You know," he said casually, "I don't mind when you go quiet."

She glanced at him. "No?"

"No," he shrugged. "It doesn't feel like you're leaving. Just... thinking somewhere else for a bit."

That landed gently. She let it.

"Most of my life is... loud."

She glanced at him.

"Crowds. Changing rooms. People shouting my name like they know me. Teammates, media, expectations." He gave a small, wry huff. "There's always noise. Even when it's quiet, it's loud."

Giselle listened, still.

"So when you go quiet," he continued, voice even, "it doesn't scare me. It doesn't feel like absence. It feels like a room I can breathe in."

Something in her chest loosened.

"I don't need you to fill the space," he said. "I actually really like that you don't."

She let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. "I was worried it would bore you."

He laughed softly. "Gi, you're the part of my week where I actually feel like myself."

The air shifted, cooler, the light dimming further as clouds thickened overhead. A few large drops of rain hit the path, darkening the gravel. 

Giselle looked up. "That didn't take long."

Jude followed her gaze, then grinned. "Madrid timing."

The rain picked up, light but insistent, threading through the leaves above them. Jude stood first, offering a hand. "We should head back."

She took his hand - then didn't let go right away.

"Can we wait?" she asked.

He blinked. "Here?"

"Just a minute." She hesitated, then added, softer, "I don't want to go back yet."

He glanced at the sky, rain already speckling his jacket, then back at her.

"Gi, it's raining."

Giselle smiled, small and genuine. "No kidding."

Something in his expression shifted - not concern. Just acceptance. The kind that seemed to come easier to him around her. 

"Alright," he said easily, sitting back down. "We'll get soaked."

They stayed. Let the rain come.

At first it was just a fine mist, barely enough to justify staying put. The kind that gathered on eyelashes and softened the air without truly wetting anything.

Then it thickened. Drops darkened the pavement, tapping against the bench in uneven rhythms. The city around them thinned out quickly - umbrellas blooming, footsteps quickening, voices retreating toward cafés and doorways glowing warm against the grey.

Jude watched her out of the corner of his eye, a faint smile pulling at his mouth like he’d caught her doing something quietly brave.

"Well," Jude said after a moment, watching the sky like it had personally betrayed him. "This feels like a poor strategic choice."

She shrugged, one shoulder lifting. "You agreed."

"I didn't say I was happy about it."

She glanced sideways at him. "You're smiling."

He looked down at himself, rain already soaking through his jacket, then back at her. "This is resignation."

She laughed softly, the sound swallowed slightly by the rain.

Another minute passed. Then another.

The rain stopped being polite.

Water ran down her collar, slid into places it had no business being. Her shoes made a faint, pathetic sound when she shifted her feet.

Jude sucked in a breath, glancing down at his sleeves, then at the steadily pooling water at their feet. He stood abruptly.

She pressed her lips together, trying - and failing - not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

He stood abruptly. "Okay, we've officially crossed into stupid."

Giselle laughed - a quiet, genuine sound that surprised even her. "Too late."

They didn't run at first. Just walked faster, shoulders hunching instinctively, dodging puddles that immediately undid the effort. Rain streaked down her lashes, blurring the edges of the world. 

By the time Jude grabbed her wrist to pull her across the path, both of them were already soaked.

"This is on you," he said, breathless now, rain slicking his curls against his forehead.

She glanced at their joined hands, then up at him. "You could've said no."

He snorted, shaking his head. "That was never going to happen."

They did start running then, with no coordination or grace. Giselle's laugh escaped again as her foot skidded slightly, Jude steadying her without thinking. Water splashed up her calves, cold and shocking.

“Careful,” he called, laughing too now. “I don’t fancy explaining this to your neighbours.”

They passed strangers who stared, unimpressed. Passed couples huddled under umbrellas, dry and sensible and faintly judgemental. For a moment it felt like the city had narrowed just to them - the wet pavement, the breath in her lungs, Jude's voice cutting through the rain.

"Left," he called, tugging her toward the crossing.

"That's not my building," she said, half laughing.

"I know, I'm avoiding that puddle!"

They hit it anyway.

“Okay - that one was my fault.”

“Your navigation skills are terrible,” she managed, pushing wet hair out of her eyes.

“You’re welcome for the adventure.”

When they finally slowed near her building, both of them drenched and ridiculous, Jude bent slightly, hands braced on his knees.

"I want it noted," he said between breaths, "that I am a professional athlete and this is my second lot of cardio for the day."

Giselle pushed wet hair off her face, still smiling and catching her breath. "You're welcome."

He looked up at her then - hair plastered to her neck, coat dark and heavy, cheeks flushed - and grinned.

Worth it, the look said.

Neither of them said it out loud.

By the time they reached the apartment, both of them were soaked through.

Rain had plastered Giselle's hair to the back of her neck, darkened the shoulders of her coat, crept into her shoes. Jude looked no better - hoodie clinging, curls damp and flattened, water dripped from the hem of his sleeves onto the floor as soon as the door shut behind him.

Giselle laughed under her breath as she kicked her shoes off, the sound softer now, worn down into something fond and tired.

She grabbed a towel from the hook by the door and tossed it towards him. "Here. Before you drip everywhere."

Jude caught it, grinning as he scrubbed at his hair. "And whose fault is that? You dragged me through the rain."

"I did no such thing," she said, peeling off her coat and hanging it carefully despite the water still streaming from it. "You followed willingly."

He huffed a laugh but didn't argue.

"Bathroom's free if you want to change," she added, already turning toward the bedroom. 

She didn't wait for an answer.

In the bedroom, she moved automatically - towel, drawer, shirt. The mirror caught her briefly as she pulled her wet sweater over her head, curls sticking to her cheeks, skin flushed from the cold and the walk and the laughter she hadn't realised she'd missed.

She didn't linger.

There was a quiet care in the way she dried her hair, pressing the towel gently rather than rubbing, gathering the damp curls into the fabric as if they might bruise under rougher hands. A few loose strands escaped anyway, falling soft against her jaw, against the slope of her neck still warm from the apartment air.

A soft bra. An old pyjama shirt she hadn't bother to button up yet, fabric loose, forgiving. The cotton skimmed over her skin as she tugged it on quickly, not hiding so much as not presenting either.

When she stepped back into the living room, Jude was standing near the window, rainwater still darkening the fabric of his hoodie. He'd pushed the sleeves up, curls damps and unruly, one hand absently wiping condensation from the glass as if he could clear the weather by will alone. 

He shrugged out of his hoodie and hung it over the chair, careful. As he turned, his gaze flicked briefly, intentionally, toward her side where the hem of the pyjama shirt lifted when she reached for mugs. The white scar across her ribs, similar to the one on her temple.

He didn't stare. Didn't react at all, really. Just noticed, the way you notice something that matters without knowing what to do with it.

Giselle felt it anyway.

She set the mugs down a little too precisely.

"That one's not from ballet either," she said lightly, almost offhand, as it commenting on the weather. "Before you ask."

Jude's head tilted a fraction. He hadn't been about to ask.

"Okay," he said simply.

She glanced at his then - checking maybe, for curiosity or pity or the reflective 'tell me'. She found none of it.

A breath she hadn't realised she was holding slipped out of her.

"I used to say this one was from a lift gone wrong," she added, quieter now, pouring hot water into the cups. "Same as the one on my temple." A faint, wry curve of her mouth. "Turns out I got very good at making things sound smaller."

Jude leaned back against the counter, arms loose at his sides. "You don't have to explain anything you don't want to."

"I know." She handed him a mug. "I just... didn't want to keep lying about it either."

He nodded once, accepting that as exactly enough.

They stood there for a second longer, the kettle clicking softly as it cooled, rain ticking against the glass. The quiet didn't feel dangerous - but it felt full.

Giselle took a breath.

The calendar was pinned to the wall by the fridge, just to the side of Jude - towel draped loosely around his neck, hair still damp. He had seen it - his shoulder was just brushing the paper as he shifted his weight - but she had. 

The date sat there in red ink, circled twice.

Her stomach tightened.

Jude noticed her pause. "You okay?"

She nodded automatically, then shook her head. "Yeah. I just-" She gestured toward the calendar. "I go back to the UK again soon."

"Court?" he asks, reading the words on the paper.

She nodded. "In  two weeks." She shrugged, like the number was flexible, like it didn't already feel fixed in her chest.

"I'm guessing that's not just juror duty..."

A corner of her mouth lifted, brief and humourless. "No." She shifted her weight, one foot sliding back, heel catching on the tile. "It's... mine."

Jude was quiet for a moment. Not the distracted kind - the considering kind. Then he said, evenly, "Is this the thing you go quiet around?"

The question wasn't sharp. It wasn't loaded. It was observational, like he'd noticed a weather pattern and finally named it.

Giselle's fingers curled lightly at her side. "Yeah."

He nodded once. "Then I'm going to ask something, and you can tell me to stop at any point."

Her shoulders lifted slightly, then settled. "Stop."

"This isn't just paperwork," Jude said. "And it's not just inconvenient. Whatever it is, it still has its hands on you."

She swallowed.

"It's about my ex," she said.

"I figured that part," he replied gently. "What I don't know is how bad it was."

The air shifted - not colder, just more honest.

Giselle leaned back against the counter, grounding herself. "Bad enough that I had to leave the country to feel like myself again."

That landed.

Jude's jaw set, but his voice stayed calm. "Did he do the...?" he gestured, vague but careful, to the permanent marks on her skin. The evidence she never announced.

Giselle followed the motion without looking down. She already knew what he meant.

"Yes," she said. No pause this time. No softening. Just the truth, placed flat between them.

Jude's breath left him slowly through his nose. He didn't swear. Didn't move. For a second, something sharp flickered across his face - not anger exactly, but the raw instinct of it. The kind that wanted names. Locations. Consequences.

He swallowed it down. 

His hands stayed exactly where they were, fingers loose against the counter's edge, like he was anchoring himself to something solid so he wouldn't react in a way that made this about him.

"Okay," he said quietly.

The word wasn't small. It wasn't dismissive. It was the sound of him accepting the weight of it. Inside, his mind was louder. 

She waited for something else - anger, questions, that sharp protective edge she'd learned to brace against. It didn't come.

"It wasn't always... physical," she added, after a moment. Her voice thinned, but didn't break. " Sometimes it was just... pressure. Watching. Making sure I knew what would happen if I didn't behave." A faint, bitter breath. "I got very good at behaving."

Jude nodded, slow. "Control," he said. It wasn't a guess. It was recognition.

"Mhm." She hesitated, then went on. 

"I didn't report it straight away." Her tone shift - not colder, just flatter, like she was reciting something she'd learned by repetition. "I didn't think it would go anywhere. There was no... single moment."

Jude stayed quiet, letting her set the pace.

"So it's not just one charge," she continued. "It's a pattern." The words were precise, almost clinical. "They had to build it over time. Messages. Statements. Pictures. Medical records."

Each word landed like something catalogued and boxed, filed away in places it never should have needed to exist.

She shrugged lightly, a reflex more than a choice. "It's strange, seeing your life translated into evidence."

Jude's jaw tightened again.

"You shouldn’t have had to become proof," he said quietly, the words leaving him before he could overthink them.

"I gave my statement months after I left," she said. "By then I was already away from him. Safer. Clearer." A pause stretched thin. "That's when it all caught up with me."

She took a breath, steadying. "The court date isn't about whether I'm okay now. It's about whether what happened counts." Her mouth curved faintly, without humour. "Legally."

Something in his chest pulled tight at that - the reduction of something so personal into verdicts and procedures and strangers deciding definitions.

Jude turned slightly toward her, careful not to crowd. "And you have to be there."

"Mhm." She nodded once. "To testify. And answer questions. And sit in a room with him and not react."

That was the first crack - not in her voice, but in the way her fingers curled against the counter, tension gathering like it had nowhere else to go.

Jude’s gaze dropped briefly to the floor, then back to her, like he was recalibrating something inside himself.

"That’s... an impossible thing to ask someone to do," he said quietly. Not dramatic. Not exaggerated. Just honest.

Her mouth twitched faintly, the closest she came to agreement.

The idea of her sitting across from someone who had hurt her - being asked to hold herself together while strangers dissected it - landed somewhere sharp in his chest. Not anger. Something heavier. Helpless, maybe. The kind he wasn’t used to feeling.

"You shouldn't have to go through that," he said quietly.

Giselle’s shoulders shifted, barely, like the words found a place to rest even if they didn’t change anything.

"I chose to report it," she said softly, reflexive.

"I know," Jude replied immediately. There wasn’t a hint of contradiction in his voice. "That doesn’t mean it’s fair."

Outside, the rain tapped against the glass, beginning to lose its urgency. The streetlights reflected off the wet pavement, turning everything gold-edged and unreal.

Giselle shifted her weight, suddenly aware of the quiet, of how much she'd said. "I might... shut down later," she warned softly. "Not because of you. Just because it gets to be too much."

"Then we'll sit quietly," Jude said, without hesitation. "Or I'll go home. Or we'll watch some terrible TV show and not talk about anything important."

She laughed at the simplicity - surprised by it, but grateful. The sound felt like proof.

"Thank you," she said. "For not trying to fix it."

He met her gaze, steady and unguarded. "Thank you for trusting me with it."

They stood there a moment longer, the night settling around them, neither of them rushing the next step. And for the first time in a while, Giselle noticed something unfamiliar and fragile taking shape beneath the fear.

Giselle exhaled slowly, her spine easing against the counter as the adrenaline of speaking began to ebb, leaving behind that familiar, fragile tiredness. 

They moved to the couch without ceremony. Jude settled at one end of the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him with the easy familiarity he always carried into her space. He left room beside him without making it obvious - space that was simply there if she wanted it.

Giselle curled into the opposite corner as she pulled the blanket from the armrest over her lap. Right on cue, Bella reappeared, hopping up beside her with the unquestioned confidence of someone reclaiming their assigned seat. Giselle absently stroked behind her ears, earning an immediate, thunderous purr.

Jude picked up the remote, scrolling until something brightly lit and deeply inconsequential filled the screen. A laugh track kicked in, unearned and loud.

"Absolutely not," Giselle said immediately.

"Give it two minutes," he replied, already settling back.

She did. She narrowed her eyes at the screen like she was offended by its existence, but she didn't argue further.

Then, despite herself, a quiet huff of amusement slipped out when one of the characters delivered a line so badly timed it circled back into funny.

Jude glanced over, catching it instantly, and grinned. "See."

She rolled her eyes but didn't deny it. 

They watched in companionable silence after that - not tense, not careful. Their shoulders didn't touch, but they weren't angled away either. At some point, Jude's knee brushed hers when he shifted, and neither of them moved to correct it.

The world outside the apartment stayed damp and reflective, the earlier rain leaving the streets shining under the lights. Inside, the room felt settled - not resolved, but held.

Halfway through the episode, Jude spoke again, eyes still on the screen, his voice low enough that it didn't disturb the calm that had settle over the room.

"For what it's worth," he said, casual but certain, "I'm not going anywhere in two weeks. Or after."

She didn't look at him. Didn't need to.

"Okay," she said softly.

The word felt different this time. It wasn't as heavy.

Just true.

Bella purred, loud and insistent, and Giselle let her head rest back against the cushion, the noise of the TV filling the space where her thoughts usually crowded in.

Nothing was fixed.

Nothing was finished.

But they were here - damp shoes by the door, terrible television playing, the space between them easy again.

They were still choosing each other.