a tired dreamer.

For a moment, you simply laid there, caught between wakefulness and the tempting pull of sleep. The warmth of the sun made you sluggish, inviting you to close your eyes again and bask in its embrace like a lazy house cat. You reached up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes in a useless attempt to will yourself awake, but the weight of morning still clung to you.

Without warning, something small and light tumbled onto your face—a delicate olive branch, no longer than your hand, with just a few leaves clinging to its slender stem. Your breath hitched for a split second before realizing it wasn't some bug descending upon you, just a harmless gift from the tree. Exhaling softly, you plucked it from your face and held it up, turning it this way and that way against the golden sunlight. The leaves, a muted but still beautiful green, glowed at the edges where the light caught them, their veins intricate like tiny rivers stretching across a map. The branch itself was slightly twisted, its bark smooth and cool under your fingers, a quiet reminder of the tree standing over you.

A gentle shift beside you pulled you from your quiet observation. The sound of a body stirring, fabric rustling against skin, brought you back to reality—the present, the now. You turned your head and found them: Penelope and Odysseus, nestled together in peaceful slumber, their arms loosely wrapped around each other as if the gods themselves had sculpted them from love and devotion. The sunlight spilling through the window cast a golden glow over them, highlighting the curve of Penelope's cheek against Odysseus' chest, the way his fingers rested lightly on her arm. It was a scene so effortlessly perfect, so achingly serene, that for a moment, you could do nothing but stare.

No, not a scene—a masterpiece. They weren't just part of a work of art. They were the art itself. And you? You were merely the spectator. No matter how close you stood to it, how much you admired it, you would never be part of it.

The thought hit harder than expected, lodging itself somewhere deep in your chest. A reality check, sharp and sobering. If you weren't awake before, you sure as hell were now.

And so, you made your decision. You had a long day ahead of you, after all.

For a moment, your face fell as you took in the sight before you, drinking in what you would never have—one last time. You savored every detail, memorizing the way the golden morning light kissed their skin, the slow, steady rhythm of their breathing, the warmth that lingered in the air between them. You tried to etch it into your mind, as if holding onto the image would somehow let you carry it with you for the rest of the day.

With a quiet exhale, you steeled yourself. Time to move.

Slowly, you sat up, the weight of sleep still clinging to your limbs. You ran a hand over your face, brushing away stray hairs that had tangled in your lashes and wiping away the dried trail of drool on your chin with a small grimace. Stretching your arms above your head, you felt your back and shoulders crack with a satisfying pop, the stiffness of sleep ebbing away.

Careful not to disturb the two sleeping beside you, you peeled back the covers and slipped your legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cool beneath your feet as you stood, taking a moment to regain your balance. Moving as quietly as possible, you gathered your discarded belongings from the night before, every movement deliberate, every breath held as if the very air itself could betray you.

The tall double doors leading to the rest of the palace stood before you, a silent threshold between the comfort of this room and the world beyond, where the quiet hum of servants beginning their morning routines barely registered in the distance. You reached for the door and carefully—so carefully—began to pull it open, just enough to slip through unnoticed.

The gods, it seemed, had other plans.

A groan—low, deep, and deafening in the once serene quiet—echoed through the chamber as the door resisted, protesting your escape like some cursed relic refusing to be moved. The sound was atrocious, like a rusted gate being wrenched open after centuries of abandonment. Alright—maybe that was an exaggeration, but to you, in that moment, it might as well have been a war horn announcing your departure. You winced, every muscle tensing as if you could will the sound away.

And then—

"Where are you going?"

Shit.

You froze.

Odysseus' voice, low and rough from sleep but sharp with instinct, locked you in place. Slowly, you turned your head to find him sitting up, one hand planted on the bed for support while the other remained on Penelope's arm. Even after all this time, even here, in the safety of his own home, his body still reacted like that of a soldier—trained to wake at the first hint of disturbance, a guard dog forever on edge. His tired eyes, heavy with both exhaustion and years of hardship, fixed on you, silently demanding an answer.

Beside him, Penelope stirred at the sudden movement, her brow creasing as she hovered between dreams and wakefulness.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, you finally forced the words out.

"I—I was—"

The sentence faltered before it could fully form, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you like a boulder. Your throat felt tight, your mind scrambling for an excuse, a justification—anything—but nothing sounded right. You cursed the damn door for betraying you, for dragging you into this conversation when you had so carefully tried to slip away unnoticed.

Odysseus didn't rush you. He simply watched, eyes never wavering, waiting with the same patience he carried in battle, as if you were an opponent yet to make your move.

Finally, you forced yourself to say it.

"I was just leaving."

A single brow lifted. His confusion was obvious, but something else lingered beneath it—something heavier, something that made your stomach twist.

"You always do this..." His voice was steady, but there was a hint of disappointment threading through it, subtle yet sharp enough to make you flinch. "You leave before we even get a chance to look at you in the morning."

You felt yourself shrink under his words, as if you could make yourself small enough to disappear entirely.

Before you could even think of how to respond, Penelope stirred, shifting against Odysseus as her eyes fluttered open. His gaze softened immediately, dropping to her as he ran a comforting hand along her arm, a silent reassurance that everything was fine. You felt another pang in your chest, a familiar ache that you had learned to swallow down like bitter medicine.

But in that moment, you were also grateful. Grateful that his eyes had left you, even if only for a second.

The thought of bolting—actually sprinting out of the room and retreating to the safety of your own—flashed across your mind. But before you could act on it, Penelope's gaze settled on you, sharp despite the haze of sleep. Now, two pairs of eyes pinned you in place.

"What's happening?" Her voice was low, laced with quiet concern.

"They were just leaving." Odysseus answered, not looking away from you.

"Why?" Penelope's questioning glance flickered between you and her husband, her brows knitting together.

Odysseus let out a breath, the sound barely audible but weighted with something unspoken. "I ask myself the same thing."

Their gazes searched yours, trying to find something—anything—that would give them an answer. You did everything in your power to avoid meeting their eyes. But there was something about them, about the way they waited, that hurt more than if they had just let you go. Their patience, their quiet understanding—it burned more than any harsh words ever could.

You didn't want patience. You didn't want kindness. Because when it was inevitably taken away, when reality came crashing down and reminded you of your place, it would hurt a thousand times worse.

You just wanted to get out of there.

"So?"

You swallowed thickly, forcing down everything else you wanted to say.

"I thought you two would want to be alone when you woke up."

The words were barely above a whisper, strained and hollow, but they heard them. You could tell by the way their expressions shifted, by the way their patience turned into something softer—something that made it even worse.

"Why would you think that, darling?" Penelope's voice was gentle, too gentle, and it cut deeper than she could ever know.

Desperate to escape, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Why would you? I mean, look at you—" You gestured vaguely, frustration tightening in your chest. "What more use could I possibly serve?"

Their faces fell, their warmth dimming into something softer, something unbearably gentle. The way they looked at you—like you were something precious, something loved—made your stomach twist. You mistook it for pity, and that only made your frustration grow.

"...Dear." Penelope was the first to move. Slowly, deliberately, she freed herself from the covers, approaching you with the careful grace of someone stepping toward a wild animal. Like if she made one wrong move you'd bolt.

You hated being treated like that. But the worst part was knowing why they did it.

And yet, you couldn't stop yourself from keeping your walls up. Even if it only made the feeling worse.

She stopped just before you, close enough that the warmth of her skin reached yours. You tried—really tried—to look away, to avoid those deep, knowing eyes, but your body betrayed you. You met her gaze despite yourself, and she held it, searching for something in you, something you weren't sure you had anymore.

Then, gently, she reached up and cupped your cheek.

You wanted to pull away. You should have pulled away. But your body refused, leaning into the warmth before your mind even caught up. You cursed yourself for the lapse and forced yourself to still.

"Is that what you think?" Her voice was quiet, almost pained. "That we just use you and then cast you aside? That you're disposable?"

Her thumb brushed over your cheek, feather-light. Every second, it became harder to keep yourself together.

"It's hard not to." You admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Her brows furrowed. "Why do you think so lowly of yourself?"

You scoffed, the disbelief bubbling up before you could stop it. "Of myself?"

"Yes." She said simply.

Then, with unwavering certainty, she added, "Why would we ever do that to someone as brilliant, as capable, as extraordinary as you?" She tilted her head, watching as her words struck something deep within you. "We are the lucky ones. If anyone should be afraid of not being good enough, it's us."

Your breath caught.

"...You don't mean that." You murmured, barely holding back the sting in your eyes. You refused to cry. You would not cry.

But she only held your gaze, unwavering. "I mean it with my whole heart."

Before you could respond, Odysseus' voice cut through the quiet.

"Come here."

Both you and Penelope turned. He was still sitting on the bed, watching you carefully. He patted the empty space beside him—the one Penelope had left behind just moments ago. His expression was unreadable, a strange mix of exasperation and something softer, something that told you he wanted you to understand.

Penelope withdrew her hand from your face but held it out to you instead, giving you the choice.

You hesitated.

Every instinct screamed at you to turn away, to run before this kindness could turn to something else. But despite your mind's protests, despite the tightness in your chest, you reached out.

Your fingers barely brushed hers before she closed the distance, wrapping her hand around yours and giving a reassuring squeeze. It was cool against your skin, soothing in a way you despised—because it felt good. Because it was comforting, and you weren't sure if you deserved it.

Without a word, she led you back to the bed.

Odysseus gestured for you to sit, so you did. Then, he motioned for you to come closer, leaving space beside you for Penelope. You hesitated again, but once more, you complied.

The moment you were close enough, Odysseus moved.

He pulled you into him, arms wrapping securely around your waist. The suddenness of it made you flinch, but he didn't let go. His hold was steady, warm—unshakable in the way only Odysseus could be.

"...Why?"

It was all you could manage. You didn't understand—couldn't understand. Why wouldn't they just let you go? Why were they holding on so tightly? Were they toying with you, messing with your head? Was it pity?

Odysseus exhaled sharply, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "Why?" He repeated, incredulous. "Because we love you." He said, voice firm, unwavering. "Both of us. And I need you to understand that." His voice was rough, almost biting, but not out of anger—out of desperation. He needed you to understand. "How many times do we have to say it before you finally hear us?"

You swallowed hard, staring at Odysseus. His mismatched eyes—one deep brown, the other an almost stormy blue—locked onto yours, fierce with conviction. You had always found those eyes striking, but now, in this moment, they were inescapable, pinning you down with their sheer intensity.

Penelope nodded, her voice softer but just as firm. "We love you."

"You keep saying that..." Your voice wavered, cracking slightly under the weight of emotions you had no idea how to process.

"And we'll keep saying it," The king said, unwavering, "until you believe it."

And just like that, the dam broke.

The floodgates opened, and you couldn't hold it in anymore. A choked sob escaped your lips as the tears spilled freely down your cheeks, and you clung to Odysseus as though letting go would shatter you completely. He held you tighter, his grip steady, anchoring.

You felt Penelope's gentle hand rubbing slow, soothing circles up and down your back. The warmth of her touch seeped into you, grounding you, holding you together. You didn't see the way she and Odysseus exchanged a glance over your shoulder, but you could feel it—the silent understanding between them, the unspoken promise that they weren't letting go.

Slowly, carefully, they guided you back onto the bed, their hands never leaving you.

The cool sheets met your skin as they followed you down, their warmth pressing against you from either side. Penelope cupped your cheek again, this time brushing away the damp trails your tears had left behind. As she pulled back, your body instinctively followed, turning toward her completely. She giggled softly at your unconscious need for her touch and kept her hand there, thumb gently stroking your cheek.

Behind you, Odysseus adjusted himself to the new position, his strong arms slipping around your waist and flattening against your stomach, his body molding to yours. You felt the warmth of him pressing against you, the weight of his presence grounding. His chin came to rest in the crook of your neck, his beard grazing your skin—coarse yet strangely comforting. The ticklish sensation made you shiver, something he definitely noticed.

Your body was betraying you in the best way possible.

The walls you had so carefully built, so desperately maintained, began to crumble into dust. And yet... even with their warmth surrounding you, even with their hands anchoring you here, something inside you remained hesitant.

Your expression must have given you away, because Odysseus spoke first, his voice low, right against your ear.

"What's wrong, love?" His breath fanned against your skin, sending another set of shivers down your spine.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. "It just... doesn't feel right."

Penelope's brows knitted together slightly. "What do you mean?"

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, bracing for the vulnerability that would inevitably follow. "I... I don't feel like I belong here." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "You two have known and loved each other for so long. Sometimes I can't help but think that all of this was some kind of mistake. That I'm just... here for a little while, until it's time for me to go."

You broke eye contact, unable to bear the weight of Penelope's gaze any longer. It was a nervous habit you had.

"Hey." Her fingers gently caught your chin, tilting your face back toward her. "Look at me."

You did—despite the fear curling in your stomach.

"You are not a mistake, darling." She murmured, her eyes full of something too vast, too deep, to be anything but love. "We love you so much. Every time you leave, we pray for you to come back to us."

Odysseus hummed in agreement, pressing a soft kiss against your shoulder. "And you're not temporary." He added. "You're ours. A part of our lives now. That's not changing."

"...How?" Your voice came out small, uncertain.

Penelope smiled, running a hand through your hair as she spoke. "Because you make our lives better, just by being in them. Your laugh brings us joy, your presence makes even the hardest days feel lighter."

Odysseus' hand slid lower, resting on your hip, his thumb tracing slow, comforting circles over it. Not in a way that held any ulterior motive—just grounding, steadying. "You've become our everything, love," He murmured. "and we won't let go."

Then, before you could think of a response, Penelope began peppering your face with light, affectionate kisses—your cheeks, your forehead, the corner of your lips. You let out a surprised giggle, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it.

Odysseus followed suit, pressing playful kisses against the side of your neck, down to your shoulder and back again. His beard brushed against your skin, the sensation sending another fit of laughter through you as you squirmed slightly in their arms.

Penelope grinned and pressed one final kiss to the tip of your nose.

Odysseus leaned in close, his voice warm with certainty. "You are loved."

Penelope smiled. "Is that understood?"

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, whispering, "...Yes."

And this time, you let yourself believe it.

For once, you didn't fight the warmth surrounding you. You didn't push it away.

You sank into it.

Ever since the suitors had stormed in, treating the palace and everyone inside it as if they were nothing, life had become unbearable. The halls were filled with laughter that wasn't joyful, voices that weren't kind. Every step he took had to be careful, every turn of a corner calculated, just to avoid crossing paths with them. It didn't matter that he was the prince, the heir to Ithaca's throne—his title held no weight with them.

He felt like he was drowning, even though he stood on solid ground.

So naturally, he went to the beach. Or at least, that's where he intended to go. Lost in his thoughts, his mind running rampant, he barely noticed where his feet were taking him. He was halfway down the docks when he collided with someone—hard. The impact sent both of you to the ground, and something clattered beside you.

"Are you alright?"

The voice reached him before he even opened his eyes. The blow had forced them shut, but when he finally blinked them open, the sight before him left him speechless.

At the time, he would've chalked it up to embarrassment. Maybe that was part of it. But looking back, he thought maybe—just maybe—he knew you were the one right then and there, even if he hadn't fully realized it yet.

"Uh... hello?" You waved a hand in front of his face. That snapped him out of his daze, but before he could speak, another voice cut through.

"Kid!"

Both of you turned in unison. A man stood at the edge of the docks—a gruff, towering figure with a bit of gray streaking through his hair. His arms, covered in calluses and old scars, looked like they belonged to someone who could crush a person with a single tap. But you knew better. You knew his heart was made of gold.

"What happened? Are you alright? I knew I shouldn't have let you hold the spears," the man grumbled, his deep voice thick with concern.

"Dad," you muttered, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your tone.

But he wasn't listening. He kept going, mumbling about how he should keep a better eye on you.

"Dad! I'm alright," you reassured him, then turned back to Telemachus—though at the time, you didn't know his name. "Are you?"

He nodded quickly, still a bit unsettled by the sheer presence of your father.

"See? Everything's fine." That seemed to calm the man, at least a little.

You rose from the ground, dusting yourself off before gathering the fallen spears. With one hand, you picked them up. With the other, you reached down and helped Telemachus to his feet.

Your father studied him with a keen eye. "What's your name, son?"

"Telemachus, sir." Anyone could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

Your father's brows lifted slightly. "The prince? What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I just wanted to take a stroll along the beach." Telemachus gestured toward the shore—a more desolate place, one few people ever ventured to.

"Oh, well, that's always a delight to see," your father said with a knowing smile. "Why don't you take [Name] with you? They love going there."

"Dad!"

Heat rushed to your face. That was all you could muster in your embarrassment.

"What?" Your father shrugged. "You could use a break. You need friends your age, anyway." He muttered the last part, but it was loud enough for Telemachus to hear—making your face burn even more.

That day was the first of many.

Over the next ten years, you and Telemachus built something unshakable—a bond carefully woven over time. And in those years, Telemachus came to a realization.

He liked you.

Really liked you.

He had always been hesitant to use the word love. He had never really seen it with his own eyes—not the kind poets spoke of. He had never met his father, and his mother had spent most of his life waiting, praying for Odysseus to return. He supposed the strength she carried was love, in its own way. But he had never seen it in action.

And the years had only made it harder. The suitors had grown more desperate, more dangerous, stripping away every ounce of his attention and confidence.

But then—after twenty long, agonizing years—his father came home.

Everything changed.

In the first few weeks, Telemachus watched his parents reunite. He saw the way they cherished each other, how they barely left each other's side. He saw love in the way they looked at one another, in the way his father reached for his mother's hand without thinking, in the way she smiled as if she had been holding her breath for two decades and could finally exhale.

And that's when he knew.

That's what he wanted.

He wanted to hold your hand, wanted to make you smile—not that he didn't already manage to do that. He wanted to wake up by your side, to trace soft, chaste kisses along your face. He wanted to look into your eyes and, without a single word, know that you both felt the same, that you loved each other.

The only problem was... he didn't know how.

And, gods, he was scared.

──────💗──────

Odysseus made his rounds through town, as he had made a habit of doing ever since returning home. He liked watching the people go about their day, seeing the town buzz with life. He took in every sound, every movement, every face. After spending so many years without proper human interaction, he had learned to appreciate the small things.

That, of course, didn't mean he didn't make time for his family. If anything, he dreaded the moments he had to spend away from them to tend to his duties. That was why, when his son volunteered to accompany him to the docks, he was ecstatic. His mind raced with possible conversation topics, excited at the rare opportunity to bond with Telemachus outside the walls of the palace.

But as they walked, it became increasingly clear that the conversation was more one-sided than he would have liked. Telemachus seemed distracted, his gaze scanning the crowd as if searching for something. Or someone.

Normally, Odysseus might have felt a twinge of disappointment at his son's lack of attention. But then he spotted you, helping your father unload the fishing boat. And then he noticed his son—staring directly at you, his hands fidgeting at his sides before he wiped them on his tunic, as if trying to get rid of sudden clamminess.

Oh. That explained it.

Odysseus' observation skills might have been rusty, but he wasn't stupid.

"Do you want to go talk to them?"

Telemachus nearly jumped out of his skin, his head snapping toward his father. "I— I already do talk to them! We're friends."

Odysseus raised an eyebrow with skepticism. "Friends?"

"Yes!" Telemachus insisted, a little too quickly. His cheeks, however, betrayed him as they flushed red.

"Then you wouldn't mind if I introduced myself?"

Telemachus gave him an incredulous look. "You're the king. They already know who you are!"

"Yes, well, I never personally introduced myself," Odysseus replied smoothly. "And any friend of my son's is a friend of mine."

And with that, he began walking toward you without waiting for a response.

"Father!" Telemachus whisper-shouted, but Odysseus—despite clearly hearing him—kept going, a determined pep in his step.

Panic surged through Telemachus. His father was about to make it so much worse. Desperately, he glanced around, looking for an escape. And then, without thinking, he ducked behind a stack of barrels, pressing himself against the wall in mortified defeat.

He wanted the earth to swallow him right there and then.

"Hello." Odysseus' voice snapped both you and your father to attention.

"Oh—hello, my king, what brings you to us?" your father said, immediately dropping what he was doing to give the king of Ithaca a respectful bow of his head. You quickly followed suit, though your own bow was a little sloppier in your haste.

Odysseus acknowledged both of you with a nod in return—once to your father, then once to you.

"I just wanted to meet my son's friend," he said casually. "Make up for lost time."

At the mention of Telemachus, your ears perked, and your gaze instinctively swept the area, searching for him. It was an unconscious reaction—but not one that went unnoticed by Odysseus.

"Is... is he here?" you asked, smoothing down some stray hairs without realizing it.

Odysseus' lips curled slightly in amusement, though his sharp eyes held something more calculating. He looked behind him, to where his son once stood. "He was. But he seems to have disappeared." His tone was light, but the glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly where his son had gone.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Sounds like him."

"Mm." Odysseus crossed his arms, glancing at you with a thoughtful expression. Then, after a brief pause, he gestured toward the town. "Care for a walk?"

You hesitated, glancing toward your father for guidance. He met your uncertain gaze with an encouraging nod.

"Of course," you answered, finally releasing your grip on your work.

Odysseus extended a hand to help you out of the boat. His grip was firm but not overbearing, a steady reminder of the strength he carried. You accepted his help with a small word of thanks, and he nodded in acknowledgment.

As you stepped onto solid ground, Odysseus and your father exchanged brief goodbyes, a silent understanding passing between them. Then, without further delay, you and the king of Ithaca set off down the worn path.

"Tell me—how did you and my son meet?"

"Oh, uh—he ran into me," you said, remembering the day vividly. "Literally."

Odysseus chuckled, nodding as if that sounded exactly like something Telemachus would do. "And you've been friends ever since?"

You smiled. "More or less. He's easy to talk to."

That earned a raised brow from the king. "Is he?"

You tilted your head, sensing a hidden layer to his question. "Once he warms up to you, yes. He's thoughtful, kind. He listens—really listens. Not just to respond, but because he cares about what you're saying."

Odysseus hummed, rubbing his beard in thought. "And what do you think of him?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. "I—well, I think highly of him, of course. He's my friend."

"Just a friend?" Odysseus asked, watching you closely.

You felt warmth creeping up your neck. "I—yes?"

He chuckled at your hesitation, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Well, I suppose time will tell." Then, as if switching subjects entirely, he gestured toward the boat growing smaller behind you. "You work hard."

"I have to," you said, welcoming the shift in topic. "It's not easy work, but it keeps me moving."

Odysseus nodded approvingly. "A strong back and a strong mind—both good things to have." He studied you for a moment longer before adding, "Loyalty is important too. My son, he has to be careful about who he trusts." You could sense something else in his words, more than a father concerned for his son, something personal.

You met his gaze steadily. "I understand. And I'd never betray his trust."

The weight behind your words must have satisfied him because, for the first time, Odysseus' sharp scrutiny softened into something resembling approval. "Good."

Then, without another word, he turned his head slightly and called out, far too casually.

"You can come out now, son."

A muffled curse sounded from behind some abandoned barrels.

Your face lit up with laughter as Telemachus sheepishly emerged from his not so secret hiding spot, his face redder than a pomegranate.

Odysseus clapped a hand on his son's shoulder, grinning. "A prince shouldn't cower behind barrels, Telemachus. Stand tall."

Telemachus muttered something under his breath that you couldn't quite catch. You, however, were too busy giggling to care.

Odysseus gave you one last, knowing glance before stepping back. "I'll leave you two to it, then."

And just like that, he strode off, leaving Telemachus staring at you, utterly mortified.

──────💗──────

"He embarrassed me!"

"You embarrassed yourself."

Telemachus stared at his father in disbelief, then turned toward his mother, silently pleading for help.

Penelope and Odysseus sat side by side on a wooden bench, a stack of parchment spread across the table before them. Penelope had been signing documents, her focus divided between the ink stained sheets and the arms wrapped securely around her waist. Odysseus, ever at ease, rested his chin in the crook of her neck, perfectly content to hold her as she worked.

Penelope glanced up at her son, amusement flickering in her gaze. "Your father just wanted to help."

Telemachus groaned. Of course, he knew that, but did his father really have to do it like that? "I didn't need any help."

At that, Penelope and Odysseus exchanged a look—one of those unspoken conversations only long-married couples could have. A smirk tugged at Odysseus' lips, and Penelope barely suppressed a laugh.

Telemachus narrowed his eyes. "I mean it!"

"I already told you, sweetheart," Penelope said, her voice warm with patience. "You just need to ask them."

Telemachus hesitated. "But what if...?"

"The worst that can happen is them saying no." Odysseus chimed in, casual as ever.

Telemachus huffed. "No, the worst thing that can happen is my friendship with my best friend being destroyed because of my stupid heart!" He dramatically pounded his chest before flopping onto his parents' bed, face first, as if trying to bury his shame into the linens.

Odysseus exhaled through his nose. "You just need to go over there, stand your ground, and be confident."

Telemachus lifted his head just enough to shoot his father a deadpan look. "Be confident? Me?"

Odysseus shrugged. "It worked with your mother."

"No, it didn't."

The response came in stereo. Penelope's tone was amused and firm, while Telemachus' carried all the exasperation of someone who had grown up hearing his father's exaggerated tales one too many times.

Odysseus blinked. "What? Of course it did!"

Penelope gave him a knowing look. "No, I fell in love with you because of your intelligence and because you were so unapologetically you."

Odysseus crossed his arms. "...And my confidence and persistence too."

Penelope hummed, tilting her head. "Ehhh... the good looks did help."

"Hey!" Odysseus gasped in mock offense before playfully patting her waist and pressing a soft kiss to her neck.

Telemachus rolled his eyes. Of course, he loved his parents. Of course, he admired their relationship. But gods, was it frustrating to witness when he felt so incapable of achieving the same thing.

How was he supposed to be confident when confidence had never come naturally to him?

How was he supposed to just ask you when the very thought of it made his stomach twist itself into knots?

His whole life, he had watched his father's legendary feats unfold in the stories of others. Odysseus, the clever hero. Odysseus, the king of Ithaca. Odysseus, who could talk his way out of anything. He was larger than life, a master of words, a warrior, a man who could fight off monsters and trick the gods themselves.

And Telemachus?

Telemachus could barely keep his voice steady when he so much as thought about telling you how he felt.

It wasn't just rejection he feared—it was the aftermath. What if things changed? What if it became awkward between you? What if you started avoiding him? What if he lost you entirely?

He couldn't risk that.

But at the same time...

He wanted what his parents had. The quiet affection, the easy laughter, the deep-rooted love that had endured twenty years of separation.

He wanted you.

And yet—he felt stuck.

"That's why you should be yourself," Penelope's voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. "You've been friends for a while. They'll understand."

Telemachus sighed, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "I can't be myself. Nobody wants that."

Odysseus snorted. "That's dramatic."

Penelope stood up and made her way to her son, gently touched his arm, her voice softer now. "Just try."

Telemachus swallowed, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Just try.

If only it were that easy.

──────💗──────

Telemachus couldn't get the interaction he had with you earlier that day out of his head. He had tried—tried so hard—to keep both his parents' advice in mind. He had finally gathered the confidence to tell you, rehearsing his words over and over, from the moment he woke up to the moment he finally said it.

Well... kind of said it.

You hadn't even heard him. And in that tiny, fleeting moment, all the courage he had painstakingly built crumbled into dust. When you looked at him with those oh so beautiful eyes and that perfect, heart melting smile, he panicked. The words he had prepared vanished like smoke, and before he knew it, he was scrambling to change the topic as fast as possible.

Now, as he replayed the disaster in his mind for what felt like the hundredth time, he decided it was both the smartest and most idiotic thing he had ever done. Smart—because he hadn't ruined your friendship. Stupid—because now he had to go through the agony of doing it all over again.

"You're distracted."

The sharp voice cut through his thoughts, making him flinch. His mentor, Athena, stood a few paces away, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locked onto him like a bird of prey. She had been watching his form as he attacked the training dummy, analyzing every movement, every hesitation.

Heat rushed to his face—not just from embarrassment, but because his mind had been so hopelessly wrapped around you. He swallowed thickly. "... It's [Name]," he admitted.

Athena let out a slow breath, attempting to mask both her amusement and her growing exasperation. She had seen this before—too many times, in fact. First with Odysseus, who had been equally lovesick, and now with his son, who spoke of you so fondly it was becoming predictable.

"Not again." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am not Aphrodite. I can't help you."

But her words only sparked something in Telemachus. His eyes widened, a flicker of realization lighting them up, and then—

A grin.

"But you're Athena! Goddess of strategy!" He straightened, excitement practically radiating from him. "We can strategize this!"

Athena stared at him, expression flat.

"Please!" In a dramatic flourish, he dropped to his knees, hands clasped together in a desperate plea. "Every time I even think of them, my heart feels like it's going to burst through my ribs! Every time I look at them, I can barely think! I love them. I can't take it anymore!"

Athena sighed, looking up at the sky as if seeking divine patience. This was going to be a long conversation.

──────💗──────

The plan was simple. Or at least, Athena had made it sound simple.

Step one: Get you alone. Step two: Lead the conversation toward something sentimental. Step three: Casually, effortlessly, drop the confession like it was nothing.

Easy.

Except, now that Telemachus was actually there—walking beside you through the sun-dappled forest, the scent of pine and earth filling the air—his entire brain had turned to mush.

You walked ahead slightly, arms brushing away stray branches, sunlight catching in your hair just perfectly. You looked so at peace, humming softly to yourself, completely unaware of the internal war raging within him.

He needed to start the plan. Say something smooth. Something clever.

"So... uh." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. "D-Do you like trees?"

You stopped mid step, turning to blink at him. "What?"

"Trees," he repeated, voice slightly strangled. "Do you... like them?"

A pause. Then, you burst into laughter. "Telemachus, we are literally in a forest."

He groaned internally. That was not part of the plan.

Desperate to recover, he tried again. "What I meant to say was... um, people... people are like trees!"

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Oh? And how's that?"

"Uh..." He hadn't actually thought that far ahead. "Well, some are really tall! And, uh, strong! Like... my father." He winced. Gods, this was a disaster.

You bit your lip, holding back another laugh. "Right. So, are you a tree too?"

"I—" He blushed slightly at the idea you might see him as someone strong. He was spiraling. "I think I might be a bush."

That was it. You doubled over, laughter spilling freely from your lips, and despite his humiliation, Telemachus felt his heart swell at the sound. He loved your laugh. He loved—

Wait. He was supposed to be confessing, not making an absolute fool of himself.

"Why are you so nervous?"

"Umm, it's just—" Telemachus' eyes darted rapidly, searching for something—anything—that could save him. His gaze landed on Athena, perched in the form of a huge white owl on a nearby branch, watching intently. He gave her a desperate, pleading look. She only responded with a subtle nod forward, directing his attention back to you.

"Are you alright?" you asked, concern laced in your voice. You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, forcing him to meet your eyes. Gods, you loved his eyes—the way they turned into molten honey when the sunlight hit them just right. At that moment, you cursed your father in your mind. He had hyped you up to finally tell Telemachus how you felt, only for the day to end with him having some allergic reaction or whatever was happening to him.

Telemachus stared at you, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. The way the light bathed your features, making you seem almost ethereal—it was unfair. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

"By the gods, you are beautiful."

"What?"

"What?" His eyes widened slightly as if he could pretend he hadn't just spoken.

You raised an eyebrow. "I heard you. I just wanted to know if I heard right."

"Oh."

A thick silence settled between you. The air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken.

You swallowed hard, deciding to bite the bullet. "...I think you're beautiful too." The words tumbled out before you could second-guess yourself. Your heart hammered in your chest, but you forced yourself to push forward. "I like you. I like you a lot, and it's totally fine if you don't feel the same, I just can't hold it in anymo—"

"I do too."

The response came without hesitation, so natural it almost startled you. He took a deep breath, scanning your face for a reaction—some sign that he wasn't making a mistake. He found it.

His fingers tightened slightly around yours. "You are the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night." His voice was steadier now, more certain. "I try to find excuses to talk to you, to be around you, to hear you laugh—even if it's just for a moment. And I know I should have said something sooner, but I was terrified that if I did, I'd lose you."

The world around you blurred. The whispering leaves, the distant crash of waves against the shore, the rustling of Athena's wings—it all faded into the background.

"You won't lose me." you promised, squeezing his hand.

Telemachus let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His free hand hesitantly reached up, brushing against your cheek as if testing whether this moment was real.

"Then, can I—" He stopped himself, but the question lingered in the air.

You smiled. "You can."

And with that, he closed the distance, pressing his lips softly against yours.

BONUS:

The traffic’s slowed down, now that it’s after midnight. You’ve been driving since you got the news, knuckles white as you grip the steering wheel.

One second you were applying lipstick, getting ready to head out for a date. You’d met the guy on Hinge, and it was unlikely to go anywhere, but you’d been trying to force yourself to get back in the game. It felt like all your friends were starting to settle down, find their person. You’ve not had much luck on that front. Three months here, six months there - it never went anywhere.

You weren’t committal enough. Too unwilling to change. You’d heard it all.

Now all you can think about is your horrifically inappropriate shade of lipstick, and the fact that you’re never going to see your mom again.

You think you might be sick.

*****

You had been an accident. And unfortunate, but indisputable fact. Sure, your parents loved each other - but they certainly weren't planning for a baby at eighteen.

Fresh out of high school, they’d made the best with what they had - a tiny house in the San Diego suburbs, all while scrambling to find jobs. It’s a decision that would forever intwine your lives with the Bradshaw family.

Living in the slightly better house at the end of the street, Nick and Carole Bradshaw were approximately a year ahead of your family. Eleven months earlier, they’d had Bradley, and while they were slightly older than your parents, they were very much all in the same boat.

You don’t have many memories of Nick. Dying just after Bradley’s fourth birthday, you were barely even three. The last time you’d seen him had been at Bradley’s party - you’d spent the entire last hour perched on his shoulders, giggling as he chased Bradley around the back garden.

He seemed like a good man. A good husband. A good father.

But life went on, and your parents stayed incredibly close with Carole. Eventually both of you moved to another neighbourhood in San Diego, beside Bradley’s godfather Maverick, and his wife and stepdaughter, Penny and Amelia.

Things were good.

You don’t remember exactly when you became aware of your parents trying for another baby. There had been vague references to getting a sibling throughout your childhood, but when nothing ever came to fruition, you just shrugged it off. Bradley didn’t have any siblings, and neither did you. You didn’t need siblings when you had each other.

Each day was spent in your backyard or the Bradshaw’s, playing make-believe until you were exhausted.

Even in the throes of puberty, where Bradley was finding his footing in high-school, while you were still in middle school, he’d always make time for you. Would never let his cooler, older friends make fun of you, or make you feel less than.

You’re sure he must have caught his own flack for it, but he didn't let you see it.

Your teenage years passed, and still no sibling. Eventually, words like ‘infertility’ and ‘IVF’ began to get thrown around. Suddenly, nights when your mom was inconsolable became far more understandable.

It seemed like you were meant to be a three-person family.

Finally, they got Adam. Born three months before your twenty-first birthday - the jokes had made themselves.

It had been the last round of IVF they were going to have. It was too taxing, emotionally and physically, to keep going. Especially when you were coming of an age where you might want your own kids in a few years. Your parents didn’t want your kids to have aunts and uncles their own age.

You loved Adam. You did. You do. It’s just always been quite difficult to bond with a kid twenty years your junior. You were across the country at college for all of his major milestones, barely seeing your parents, nevermind anyone else.

It was also at this point that you lost contact with Bradley.

He’d joined the Navy, hellbent on following in Nick Bradshaw’s footsteps after Carole’s death. You wrote occasionally, sent Christmas and birthday cards, but it was never like it used to be.

That had been enough for your parents. Your family complete, mom and dad content with a son and a daughter.

If the cards had fallen differently, Adam might have been your only sibling.

Against every single odd, your mother found out she was pregnant again on her forty-second birthday. After fifteen years of fertility treatments, they conceived naturally just two years after stopping trying.

Oh how funny the universe can be.

Shock had quickly multiplied when the first ultrasound scan showed twins. You wanted to be happy for them. Really, truly. Your parents were finally getting the big family they’d once dreamed of.

You just wished it didn’t feel like you were being replaced in your own home. Your childhood bedroom had been immediately converted to a nursery, like there was no longer a place for you.

You understood. After some tears, you came to the conclusion that if losing your bedroom in a city you didn't live in was the worst thing in your life, you should be grateful. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt a little.

Visits thinned, relegated to holidays and summers, even after college. You moved back to the West Coast, opting for San Fran over Diego, and life has been fine. A little boring, not so great on the dating end, but fine. When you’d hoped for a change, this had certainly not been what you were wanting.

At least the kids are okay. A brief reprieve amongst the chaos. You’ve been on the phone to Maverick - he and Penny are staying with them until you make it there.

“Bradley’s here too.”

There was a name you hadn’t heard for a while.

You're not even sure when you thought about him last.

The roads start to blur together, until finally you're on your street. You haven't been home since Christmas.

The door opens as you pull into the driveway. You half-thought the tears would come as soon as you saw the house, but everything seems dry.

Bradley steps out, making his way over to you. He pauses for a second, allowing you to make the decision, before you throw yourself into his arms. His hands settle on your waist, and you let out a small sob as you bury your face into the crook of his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” He murmurs, voice deeper than you remember. With all his deployments, the last time you saw him was Christmas a few years ago. His first after Carole had died.

Other than the occasional Instagram post, you have no idea what he’s up to these days. You hadn’t even known he was even living in San Diego again.

He looks good. Really good. Sporting a moustache that would look ridiculous on anybody else, he’s filled out in a way that makes your throat constrict slightly. The Navy has served him well.

“A-are the kids okay?”

“Penny and Mav put them to bed,” He replies. “The twins are fine, but uh… Adam was pretty upset. He knew something was going on from the babysitter - we wouldn’t have told him straight away otherwise, but things were so confused, and-”

“Thank you,” You whisper, pulling back. “For being there for them. I-I didn’t even know you were in town.”

“For the past few months. Moved into mom’s house.” He gestures at the near identical house next door.

It’s a horrible club to be joining. That of the dead parents. But the smallest, most selfish part of you is endlessly relieved that he knows how you feel. How he might be the only one who does.

“Was the drive okay?”

“Hm?” You murmur, distracted by the windows upstairs. So many memories flash through your mind - sneaking out to go to parties with Bradley at sixteen, sitting and stargazing with your dad on the 4th of July. Or that time Bradley fell trying to climb up, and had been in a cast all summer.

“The drive? You must be exhausted.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m okay,” You dismiss, making shaky steps into the house. It looks exactly as you remember it. Mav and Penny sit in the living room, faces grave. After Nick, and then Carole, you can tell they’re vastly unprepared to bury another set of friends.

“Oh, kid,” Maverick begins, wrapping you in a hug. “I’m sorry.”

Something about Maverick’s embrace, the way he cups your head against him reminds you painfully of your dad. “I-I don’t know what to do,” You cry. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Don’t worry about any of that right now,” Penny breathes, tears staining her own cheeks. “We’ll help you with whatever you need.”

A glass of water is pushed into your hand, a kiss pressed to your head, and you’re sat in the living room.

Chat is stilted, dancing around the obvious, and soon you begin to insist that they all head home, get some sleep. If it weren’t for the fact that they’re a maximum of fifty meters away at any given time, you’re not sure you would’ve been able to convince any of them to leave.

It’s only when you agree to Mav and Bradley coming over in the morning to help with arrangements, while Penny helps with the kids, that they filter out.

Soon, you’re alone, and the tears return in waves.

Choked sobs that had hidden themselves in the presence of others, now nearly bringing you to your knees.

This isn’t right.

Your dad should be on the couch, watching Cheers re-runs, while your mom knits and pretends that she isn’t watching (she always is).

The kids upstairs should have a real adult looking out for them. Not a girl, barely out of grad-school, who regularly forgoes breakfast because she can’t be bothered making it for herself.

You get very little sleep that night - wandering through to the kid’s rooms every hour or so to make sure they’re okay. Outside of the occasional babysitting gig as a teen, you have no idea what to do with anyone under the age of ten. You opt for the couch in your parent’s bedroom, rather than their bed.

Still unmade from the night before, you don’t think you can bring yourself to sleep in it just yet. It still smells of your mom’s shampoo, your dad’s aftershave.

It’s such a strange sensation, to be somewhere that should be so familiar. Instead, it’s like you’ve wandered into another universe, one where your parents are dead and nothing makes sense anymore.

*****

Adam’s forgotten about yesterday’s incidents by the time morning comes round. He prances into the bedroom, face dropping into a frown when he sees the bed empty.

“Hey, kid,” You murmur, opening your arms for a cuddle.

“Where’s Mommy?” He asks, chewing on one of his fingers as he allows you to pull him onto your lap.

You swallow, trying desperately to come up with a way to tell your four-year-old brother that both his parents are dead. “There was an accident yesterday, and Mommy and Daddy got really hurt.” A lump forms, and you pray that you can keep it together long enough to get through this. “The doctors weren’t able to help them, and they died.”

There’s a moment of quiet, as Adam considers your words. “They’re not here?”

“They’re not here,” You repeat quietly, a tear trickling down your cheek. “But I’m going to look after you and the girls, okay? And Aunt Penny and Uncle Mav. S’ okay to be sad.”

“Mommy’s not coming back?”

You shake your head, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. “No, honey. I’m so sorry.” A whimper sounds from the nursery. The girls are waking up. “Why don’t you head downstairs, and I’ll grab Liv and Molly, and I’ll make you pancakes?”

Seemingly placated, Adam nods and heads downstairs, while you try and wrangle the twins. It’s a challenge, but you manage to get them into their highchairs, just as the door rings.

It’s Bradley, looking far too put-together for 6:45am. “I uh, saw that the curtains were open - figured you were up. How are you holding up?”

“I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet,” You admit, leading him to the kitchen. “Kind of just feels like I’m playing pretend.”

Bradley greets Adam with a wave, and drops a kiss to each of the girls’ heads. It feels so natural that a guilt tugs at your stomach. Bradley isn’t even family, and yet he feels far more familiar to these kids than you do.

“It’ll feel like that for a while,” He replies. “You want me to make breakfast?”

“Oh. I was just going to make pancakes.”

“Are you any better at cooking than you were as a teenager?” Bradley asks, the smallest smile tugging at his mouth.

Despite everything you laugh, shaking your head with your lip between your teeth.

“Got it. I’ll cook then.”

“I think I can survive pancakes,” You protest.

“Okay, grieving lesson 101. Learn to accept help.” His voice is firm, and you find yourself nodding. “Mav’ll stop by later - he’s got all the lawyer’s numbers, and funeral planning. Believe me, last thing you want to be doing is thinking about catering right now. Let us handle the paperwork, and we’ll ask you about anything important, okay?”

“Thanks, Brad.”

You’re overwhelmed by their presence, their willingness to drop everything to be here. A comfortable silence falls, Adam chattering nonsense in the background as Bradley cooks.

“Bradley?” You ask.

“Yeah?”

“When does it start to get easier?”

He looks over at you, with a candour that makes your heart sink. “My mom? I think it took me about a year.”

“That’s a long time,” You whisper.

“I know.” He reaches out, almost tentatively, taking your hand. His thumb rubs circles onto your palm. “But you’ll get through it.”

“Can you maybe help with changing Adam’s insulin sensor? It needs done every two weeks, but he doesn’t like swapping them out.”

Bradley nods. “Yeah, of course. What do you need me to do?”

“Just chat to him, keep him distracted.”

You and Bradley make an excellent team. Bradley keeps him talking about baseball the entire time, allowing you to swap his sensor with relatively few tears.

It’s one of the only things you feel like you can manage. Ever since Adam got diagnosed last year, your parents made sure that everyone in the family was up-to-date on what to do, how to keep him safe. Everyone knows where the insulin and glucagon can be found, and how often his Libre sensor needs changed.

In an attempt to get you all out of the house, Bradley suggests a walk to the local park. He’s got Adam on his shoulders, and you push the twins.

It gets your mind off of everything for a little bit, and for that you're grateful.

You wonder what it looks like from the outside. If people assume that you’re married, had kids straight out of college. You suppose they must. You don’t hate the idea as much as you should.

*****

“I guess, what we’re saying is that you have options,” The lawyer says, sitting back in her chair. You, Maverick, Penny and Bradley are crowded into the cramped office. “You’re the legal guardian of the kids, but we understand that’s a lot for a twenty-five-year-old to deal with. As you’ve discussed already, Pete and Penelope would be willing to take them-”

“I’m going to keep them,” You interrupt. It’s been a decision that’s eaten away at you for the past week. It was never a question of adoption - you couldn’t ever do that to your own siblings. But after a particularly hard night, when Penny had offered it to you, a tiny part of yourself had wondered.

Wondered if it would be so bad, for them to grow up with two parents, who were far more capable and experienced than you are. Penny’s a far better mother than you could ever hope to be - maybe you’d be doing them a favour?

Maybe everybody would be better off if you weren’t in charge.

Then you’d stood in the nursery, after the twins had fallen asleep, with tears streaming down your face, and realised that you couldn’t give them up. Not for anything. You owed it to them, and your parents, to try.

Maverick nods approvingly. “We’ll be here for whatever you need, kid. Whenever you need it.”

“I’ve got a permanent position in San Diego now,” Bradley adds. “I’ll still have to ship out occasionally, but I’ll be here too.”

The rest of the afternoon is spent going over will logistics, funeral arrangements, and adoption papers. Something about health insurance means you need to formally adopt the kids, a process that’ll take a while.

But with Adam and his diabetes, it’s something that has to be done.

Slowly but surely, things seem to be becoming a little more manageable. Maverick and Penny explained any of the financial aspects you don't understand, while Bradley's hand stays firmly on your knee the entire meeting, tracing soothing patterns onto your skin.

*****

You don’t fall apart until the tenth. Two weeks, four days and three hours after your parents die. The funerals are over, the flowers are dying, and now there’s just grief. Raw, unfiltered grief that’s been pushed under your need to care for the kids.

But tonight, Adam has been asking questions you don’t know how to answer. Crying tears you don’t know how to soothe, sobs only ceasing when Bradley arrives after work.

You busy yourself with the girls, trying to soothe Liv’s sore throat while Molly does everything she can to avoid a bath - all while pretending that Adam’s rejection doesn’t bother you.

The fact that Bradley’s the sun, moon, and stars to him - and you’re just the poor mother substitute. The perpetual bad guy. The one who won’t let him see Mommy and Daddy.

You hold it together for approximately ten minutes after the twins go down. Standing in the kitchen, leaning against the island, a small sob escapes as you wrap your arms round your shoulders. Trying to ground yourself, stop your head from pounding so viciously.

It’s only when you hear Bradley’s footsteps padding down the stairs that you swallow, turning to the mountain of dishes piling up in the sink and busying yourself. He’s just spent the last hour comforting Adam. You don’t want him to feel responsible for you too.

“Is he asleep?” You ask, voice far thicker than you’d like.

“Yeah - took some convincing, but he’s out.”

“There’s some pasta in the fridge, if you want to take it for dinner,” You manage, back still pointedly turned.

“You don’t want me to stay?” You wish you could unhear the hurt in his voice, the fact that he’s the only reason you’ve survived the past few weeks, while you can’t even look him in the eye.

There’s nothing you want more than for him to stay. To let this unsteady rhythm you’ve both concocted continue for as long as its able. Until he decides to move on.

Because he will. The kindness he’s shown you is immeasurable, and you’ll never be able to thank him enough, and yet you know it must be finite. One day, he’ll meet a girl, fall in love, and you’ll go back to just childhood best friend.

“Is everything okay?”

You’ve been quiet for too long. Bradley’s perceptive. He always has been. A normally endearing trait, you surprise even yourself when a cry slips from your lips.

A dam shatters, and the sobs wrack your body.

Bradley’s across the room in seconds, pulling you into him. His arms circle your waist, strong and steady as he keeps you upright. Just like he’s been doing since the crash.

“I don't think I can do this,” You whisper, voice hoarse. “I can barely look after myself. Nev-nevermind them.”

"I know it's hard," He murmurs, pressing his lips to your temple. "You're doing the hardest fucking thing in the world, kid. You've gotta give yourself some grace. They were your parents too."

"I-if I let myself feel it, I don't know where it'll end. I don't know if it'll end." Another cry bubbles up, and you bury your face in his shoulder. "I'm so scared, Bradley."

“Mav and Penny and I, we’re here for whatever you need, okay? Anything.”

You nod, trying to quell your tears. “Y-you’ve done so much already. I can’t ask you to do any more-”

“You aren’t,” He replies. “I’m offering. I love those kids, I love you all. I'd do anything for you.”

Your grip on him tightens just slightly, needing to ground yourself.

“Do you have the life insurance payout yet?”

You detach from him slightly, hands dropping to his forearms. “I used it to buy the house. There was still a lot of the mortgage to pay off. A-and I couldn’t afford the payments without it. The last thing they need is to be moved, on top of everything else-”

“Hey,” He interjects, voice soft. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, okay? You’re doing what you need to. Go run yourself a bath, try and relax for a bit.”

“I need to do the dishes, and make lunch for tomorrow-”

He shakes his head. “I’ve got it.” Your protests die on your lips. A bath does sound nice. “We can watch a movie or something, after you’re done.”

You wipe the last of your tears, and press a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

He’s going to make someone incredibly happy someday.

The thought leaps into your head unprompted, and you swallow it back. You don’t need more reminders of how temporary this is.

*****

The next day is even worse. Adam’s doing his best moody teenager impression, while Molly’s contracted Olivia’s cold.

Penny spends the afternoon, and makes things slightly more bearable, but her and Maverick have theatre tickets that night. She offered to cancel, but you’d insisted they go. They needed some normality too. It’s easy to forget that Mav and Penny have known your mom and dad since their twenties. They’re grieving almost as much as you are.

You barely make it to seven before your tears start too. It’s all you can do to dial Bradley’s number.

“Is everything okay?”

“I-I,” You stammer, hardly able to even get the words out. “I don’t know what to do. T-the girls are sick, and I can’t get any of them down, and I don’t know what I’m doing-”

“I’ll be over in a second.”

The phone cuts off, and true to his word, the bell goes in approximately half a minute. You’ve never been more grateful to see someone in your life. You’re sure you must look like a total mess, hair unbrushed and mascara dripping down your cheeks, but Bradley doesn’t comment. Instead, he takes Olivia from your arms and presses a kiss to your forehead. He greets Adam, who looks considerably happier to see Bradley than he was to see you, and whispers a couple of words into his ear.

You can’t make out what he says, but Adam immediately softens, before approaching you and offering a hug.

“Why don’t you get Adam, and I’ll get the girls?” Bradley offers, and you nod gratefully.

Whatever Bradley said worked wonders, and Adam’s far more amenable to bedtime than he was before.

It takes Bradley a little longer, and a lot more sniffling, but forty-five minutes he appears down the stairs, and all is quiet again. “Come on,” He murmurs softly. “You’re exhausted.”

“It’s only eight,” You reply, voice barely more than a whisper. “I haven’t made myself dinner yet.”

“Sounds like a night for pizza in bed then,” He replies.

And so, twenty minutes later, Bradley’s tipping the delivery guy, before clambering into bed with you. It’s the best meal you’ve had in your life, tucked into his side as some cheesy rom-com plays in the background.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?” Bradley asks, eyebrow raised.

“How are you so good with them? So natural? It feels like I make the wrong choice at every possible turn.”

He shrugs slightly, pulling you in closer. “It’s easy when they aren’t yours. I’m a novelty to them - if they were my kids, you’d be the exact same.”

You’re not sure you agree, but you nod, placated with his answer.

It doesn’t take long to drift off to sleep, still curled up against him. And the next morning when you wake up to a solid shape beside you, an arm draped across your waist, your heart soars.

*****

You know you're being unreasonable. Bradley's been the best thing that's ever happened to the kids - endlessly patient, full of energy, always down to play. He's shouldered things you wouldn't expect from a close relative, much less a distant family friend.

When there was a problem with the house insurance, Bradley spent three hours on the phone to agents, working out a plan that worked best for you.

Every Saturday, when another week passes and your parents slip further from your grasp, he turns up at 7pm on the dot, armed with casserole and ice cream. He takes Olivia from your arms, and soothes them all to bed with his stories and tales, allowing you the briefest moment of reprieve.

For the first month, he'd end each night holding you while you cried, pressing soft butterfly kisses to your forehead as he promised better things. Promised that things would get easier, that he'd be there for whatever you needed.

But it can't last forever. Made starkly obvious by the woman in the park today.

You’d been having a picnic, while Bradley was continuing Adam’s baseball education. From your perspective, it was just throwing a ball back and forth, but they’d both insisted there was considerable technique and skill to it. You’d taken the girls to go get ice-cream, and had come back to a woman chatting to Bradley, while Adam busied himself with a mitt. You couldn’t hear what was going on, but Bradley smiled, shook his head, and she went on her way.

Turning back round, he was immediately by your side to help with the ice-creams, hand reaching out to push a stray hair back from your face.

You understand the thought process. She saw an attractive guy, with a cute kid, and no ring. You'd have taken those odds with Bradley if you were her.

And when he turned her down, you had no idea what to think. The last thing you want to do is hold him back. Keep him from any kind of happiness.

Even if it killed you a little, you'd be thrilled for him. Even if it meant you became relegated to his past, meant only for occasional visits and cards at Christmas.

Maybe you'd find someone else too. Someone that liked kids, didn't mind some baggage. Maybe this ache in your chest won't last forever.

You can tell he knows something's up when he slips into bed wordlessly, clicking the light off as he goes. You've been lying on the edge for the past twenty minutes, cheek turned out to the window as you try and quell the awful guilt festering low in your stomach.

Bradley's freshly twenty-six. The last thing he wants is to be tied down to three kids. To you.

You're being selfish with him. And it breaks your heart.

But he's in your bed tonight, and maybe that's enough for now.

When you shuffle over towards the midline, far closer to him than you've ever dared before, he finally speaks. "You alright?"

"Can't sleep," Is all you can muster.

"C'mere," He murmurs, voice gravelly as he reaches out for you. You let him loop a hand round your wrist, pulling you across the bed until you're settled against his chest. It feels so terribly right that you want to bawl. Instead, you press your face into the crook of his shoulder and let out a shaky breath.

His arm is draped across your waist, and you're almost chest-to-chest. It's the closest you've been since childhood.

"Better?"

"Better."

*****

Bradley gets orders to deploy the following week. It’s only three months, hardly anything by Navy standards, but the idea of going that long without him makes you feel a little ill. You don’t remember the last time he spent the night in his own house. Each night you somehow manage to get closer, waking up fully intertwined as the kids throw themselves on top of you both.

The house feels too big without him, even with three children racing around.

You both made the decision not to bring the kids to base to say goodbye. After the year they’ve had, neither of you want to make a big deal of Bradley’s leaving. Instead, last night he came home armed with three build-a-bears, each one with a sound-bite of him singing.

American Pie, Adam’s favourite song, much to Bradley’s delight.

Shake It Off for Olivia.

And that godawful new Benson Boone song for Molly.

The idea of Bradley Bradshaw standing in build-a-bear, singing quietly into a little machine, just so the kids have something to remember him by, makes you want to sob. If Bradley Bradshaw’s out to ruin all men for you, he’s doing an excellent job.

Penny said her goodbyes to Bradley at the house, before Maverick drove you both out to base. Now, you’re standing on the tarmac, watching on as Bradley and Pete say their goodbyes. As soon as Maverick’s pulling back, he suddenly spots someone across the lot that he’s got to go say hello to. A squeeze of your shoulder as he passes, and you’re left with Bradley.

“You'll write?” He knows the answer, but when this is the last time he’s going to see you until November, he’d like the reassurance.

“Every day,” You murmur. “I-we’re really going to miss you, Brad.”

He reaches out, pulling you in for a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you too. But it’ll be over in a flash. Promise.”

You somehow can’t imagine that being true. “Stay safe. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“When am I ever stupid?” He asks, smiling until he sees your expression. “Don’t answer that.”

Too quickly, it’s time for him to go. “See you soon, sweet girl.”

And then he’s gone.

Bradley wonders how you're getting on today. If Adam's talent show went well, or if the twins are still teething.

They'll be eighteen months by the time he gets back. Not much older, in the grand scheme of things, but he'll know.

At that age, consistency is everything. Adam's old enough to know Bradley, understand that he's going away for a little while - but Olivia and Molly? He might return a complete stranger.

Sitting in the barracks, head in his hands, he wonders if this is how his dad felt every time he left him and his mom behind.

He knows what Jake would say if he were here. Something snarky, probably. A comment about how they aren't even your kids, nevermind his. That Bradley Bradshaw must be the only bastard on earth who can land himself with diaper duties before first base.

He slips the picture out of his wallet. The one at the picnic. Nat had taken it, the five of you all crammed onto one blanket. Adam's clambering over Bradley's shoulders, and Olivia sits on his lap, reaching up for her brother. You've got Molly, smile wide as you watch the scene before you. Your eyes are on the kids, but his are very much on you.

A guilt festers in him, but he feels happier than he has in years. Ever since his mom died he’s felt totally aimless, drifting from one mission to another, little care as to whether he lived or died. Now, the idea of not going home to you all at the end of the day feels inconceivable.

It just makes him feel terrible that four people had to lose their parents for that to happen.

"Bradshaw," A voice greets, knocking him out of his trance. "How's it going?"

Seeing the picture clasped in Bradley's hand, Reuben steps forward to take a look. "Cute kids. This your first deployment since having them?"

They're not mine. They're my best friend's siblings, but I'm pretty sure I'm in love with her, and I think it would kill me if I don't get to see those kids grow up.

"Uh, yeah. It is."

“Ah, first one’s always the hardest. But it’s so much better getting to go home at the end of it. I used to go home to an empty house after deployments-” Other than a visit to Penny and Maverick, that had been Bradley’s experience with deployments. “-and let me tell you - going home to your kids after a few months? Best feeling in the whole world. I cried the last time I saw my wife on the tarmac.”

Bradley imagines what life would be like if you were his wife. If, when he gets home, he’d be able to pull you close, and kiss you until your lips are pink and swollen, before heading home to the kids.

He wonders what your own kids would look like. His and yours. He doesn’t even know if you’d want that now, not with the three you’ve already got, but he doesn’t mind. As long as you’re happy, he’d be happy too. In whatever form, whatever capacity that turns out to be.

*****

The babysitter’s left, and the house is quiet. You’d managed to transfer your work to the San Diego offices, but unfortunately that means two days a week in the office. You’re still grateful that you can stay at home with the girls most of the time, but you’re starting to feel it. Balancing work and the kids, all while worrying about Bradley every day is taking a toll.

All three of them are sleeping, totally exhausted after Uncle Mav decided that they should go to a local theme park first thing, before the babysitter arrived. You’ve never used her before, so Mav and Penny offered to take them in the morning to make her day a little easier.

You’re going to grab some leftover pasta for dinner, when you frown. Adam’s insulin is missing.

Pulling out your phone, you shoot a quick text to the babysitter.

You: Hey, have you seen Adam’s insulin anywhere? Green and orange pens.

Andie: it had fallen out of the freezer, so i put it back!

Your heart sinks. Frozen insulin is unusable. You must have knocked it out of the fridge this morning before work. Andie wouldn’t have realised, and just put it back in.

That’s a thousand dollars of medication down the drain.

You have no idea how you’re supposed to pay for more, if insurance doesn’t cover it. Hands shaking, you dial the number. Maybe you can catch them before they finish up for the day.

You get a polite but tired-sounding woman on the phone, who is very apologetic, but firm about the fact that they can’t do anything. You can only afford base coverage, and that doesn’t have any stipulations for accidents.

After the car payments, and school, and insurance, you’re running low. Really low. It’s not something you’d ever admit to Bradley or Maverick, unless the kids were at risk.

Maybe you can sell something. Your mom’s engagement ring, your dad’s watch - there has to be something you can do.

The tears come anyway, and it isn’t until your phone rings that you realise what time it is.

You let out a quiet curse. This is Bradley's call night. The single video call he gets for this entire month. After tonight, he'll be stuck with e-mails until he's home.

Four weeks of not seeing his face. You’re not sure how you’re going to cope. Hastily wiping at your eyes, you accept the call, and move through to the kitchen.

“Hi, Brad,” You smile, desperately hoping the camera doesn't pick up your tear tracks.

He looks tired, but happy. His hair is cropped closer than you like, an unfortunate side effect of military duty. But he’s okay, and that’s what matters. You can’t help the feeling of dread that seems to fester in your stomach each time you think about Bradley being somewhere in the middle of the ocean, doing things he can’t tell you anything about.

“What’s wrong?” He’s frowning immediately, and you want to curse yourself. You should’ve made more of an effort to freshen up before getting on the call.

“I-it’s nothing, just a long day at work.”

“Kid, you look like you're about to sob. Please tell me what's going on.”

“I dropped Adam's insulin out of the fridge today - i-it must've been right after I left for work, and the babysitter thought it was meant to go in the freezer. A-and all of his insulin for the month is ruined.”

“Did you call the insurance company?”

“They won’t cover it,” You reply, voice weak. “We don’t pay enough to get replacements - all we get is the base coverage. But uh, it’s fine, I’ll work something out. He has enough for tonight.”

“I can send you the money-”

“No!” You interject immediately. “God, Bradley, you’ve done too much. It’s okay, I can work it out to tomorrow - go to the bank, see what they can do-”

“Sweetheart, I really don’t mind. I don’t want you to have to sell anything, or take out a loan or anything. The money’s just sitting there in my account, anyway. I’d always rather it went to the kids, or you.”

“My dad has a watch, that-”

Bradley’s face falls, as he shakes his head. “Please. I’m not letting you sell your parent’s things. Let me send you the money.”

“I just- I don’t really want to talk about it, is that okay? Can we talk about anything else?”

He nods, eyes still concerned. “Of course. You decided what you want to do for your birthday yet?”

You shake your head. “Just a quiet day, I think.”

“What if I told you I had some Stevie Nicks tickets with your name on them? It’s the day after your birthday, so not quite-”

“You didn’t,” You gasp. “How the hell did you get them from Japan?”

“I left very detailed instructions with Mav and Penny. I think the seats are terrible, but we’ll have fun. It’s in LA, so I’ve booked us into the Garland too, so we don’t have to worry about the drive back.” Sensing the question on your tongue, he continues. “I’ve already asked Mav. They’ll stay with the kids.”

“You’re insane,” You laugh, still wiping at your eyes slightly.

“In a good way, I hope?”

“The best.”

“I’m glad. We can plan it properly when I’m back. Maybe catch lunch in the city beforehand, go to the pier? Whatever you want, honey.”

“You’re going to make me cry again,” You mumble, dabbing at your eyes.

“As long as it’s happy tears.”

“The absolute happiest.”

*****

Just minutes after you hang up, a notification comes through on your phone.

Bank transfer: $1500 has been deposited into your account ending in XXXX, from Bradley Bradshaw.

07/07. 21:37.

Dear Bradley,

You shouldn’t have sent all that money, it’s far too much! You’ve done so much for us already, I can’t even begin to thank you the way you deserve. But since I figure you wouldn’t take kindly to me sending it back, thank you <3 I think Adam’s insulin should be about 1k, so I can send the rest back afterwards. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Missing you lots, and I’ve attached some pics of Adam’s last game - he insisted I send you some, so that you can see how he’s been practicing his throw! They lost, but it was a lot closer than it’s been recently. He attributes it all to you.

The girls are settling into daycare. I miss them during the day, but I really just couldn’t handle working from home and juggling them both at once. And the staff are so lovely - very hands-on, and they always come home with some kind of arts and crafts.

They’ve already decided that they want to go to the zoo when you’re back, plus a picnic. Sorry to start booking you in for social stuff before you’re even home.

Stay safe and thank you again x

07/08. 05:19.

Kid, I really truly don’t want to see that money back in my account. What’s the point of having it if you can’t use it for the people you love? Buy yourself something nice (and by that I mean by something for you, not for the kids).

Tell Adam he’ll be coming for the big leagues in no time, guy’s a pro! I think that calls for a new mitt when I get home. And I’m so glad Liv and Mol are doing well, I know you’d been worried about the time apart.

We’re about to go offline for a little while, but I’ll be in contact as soon as I’m able. Would you be able to send some more pictures? I have a few of the kids, but there’s only one with you. I don’t know, no worries if not - just missing all of your faces. There’s only so much of Reuben and Mickey that a man can take.

You’re doing so well, honey.

See you soon,

Bradley x

07/10. 18:03.

Hi Brad,

Hope you’re doing okay, and staying safe. As usual, we miss you loads. I got Adam’s insulin sorted, so we’re all good on that front. He says thank you, and I’ve attached a picture of the drawing he did of you both. You’re apparently on holiday in Paris - some not-so-subtle signals for after I get that promotion maybe?

Mav and Penny took the kids so that I could go to Nat’s birthday, which was really nice. They all send their love, and I sent a pic of everybody. I used most of the money left over for Adam’s baseball summer camp (I’m sorry! I know you said to use it on me, but you really should’ve known that was going to happen), but I did treat myself to a dress so you couldn’t be too annoyed. There should be a picture of that somewhere in the files too - I don’t know why I sent it really. Proof that I can spend money on myself? Anyway, feel free to discard.

Sent you a bundle - I didn’t really know what you wanted, so I thought too many was better than not enough. Please email as soon as you’re able - you know I worry.

Can’t wait to see you x

07/17. 03:58.

Hi honey,

That’s us just back to base - can’t tell you any more than that, but we’re all safe. Sorry for the stupid hour, but I wanted to reply before I went to bed.

The new dress looks beautiful. Really. Wish you’d spent more of the money on yourself, but I’ll take what I can get. Green is definitely your colour, though. I’m glad you had a nice time at Nat’s, and that the kids are still doing well.

I love Adam’s drawing, and it’ll get pride of place in my office back in San Diego. With the art and the baseball, I think we might have quite the ladies man on our hands in the future.

Can’t wait for these two weeks to be over, so I can come home to you all.

Love,

Bradley x

It’s the slowest two weeks of his life. Made bearable only by the photos you continue to send, he tries to have one on him at all times, slipped into his flight suit. More often than not, it’s the solo shot of you, in the floaty green summer dress that makes him feel dizzy each time he looks at it.

If Bradley Bradshaw were a smarter man, he’d realise that keeping your best friend in the crevice of your heart saved only for loves of your life is a very telling act. That you’re the first person he thinks about in the morning, and the last at night.

For the first time in his life, it’s not just Maverick and Penny waiting for him. As soon as Bradley’s feet are on the tarmac, he’s sifting through the crowds. Before he can even find you, a shape bursts forwards from the throngs of people, and Adam starts sprinting in his direction. Letting out a laugh, Bradley hoists his duffel bag higher, ready to catch him as he throws himself the final few feet.

“Bradley!” He exclaims, arms immediately wrapping around his neck.

“Hey, kiddo,” Bradley replies, arm tightening round the boy as he starts to move. “Long time no see.”

“We missed you.”

“I missed you too. Care to point me in the direction of your sister?”

Adam glances around, before offering a vague gesture to his left. Bradley follows his finger, and finally his gaze lands on you.

In the green dress.

Liv is balanced on your hip, Molly clinging to your leg. And when you smile at him, a lump forms in his throat.

He thinks he understands what Reuben was talking about now.

All of Bradley’s fears of the twins not recognising him evaporate when Molly smiles up at him, toothy and wide as he makes his way over. She takes some unsteady steps towards him, letting out a giggle when he scoops her into his arms.

Suddenly feeling left out, Olivia starts to reach out too.

“Let’s wait until Bradley puts the others down, okay-” You begin, but he shakes his head.

“Wait, hold on, I can make this work,” He murmurs, readjusting Adam and Molly as he takes Olivia, still somehow managing to find a way to hug you at the same time.

“Hi,” You breathe.

“Hi,” He replies, dropping a kiss to your forehead as he balances the three kids. Another second passes, and then Mav and Penny reach out to take the kids back, allowing you and Bradley a second alone.

“You’re okay?”

He nods, and then he’s hugging you again, far tighter than the one with the children. Your arms fasten round his neck, while his tighten round your waist, pulling you just off the ground as he holds you close. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too. Thank you for the money, Brad. You really saved us.”

“Don’t mention it,” He mumbles. “Really. I’d do anything for you guys.”

“Ready to go home?”

Home. Not his mom’s old house, but the one next door. The one he can’t ever imagine leaving. “More than anything, honey.”

*****

You muddle your way through dinner, having spent three months trying desperately to get better at cooking. While there’s a marked improvement, you’re not sure you’ll ever reach Bradley’s level. But the pasta was edible, and Bradley seemed to appreciate the effort.

Exhausted from welcoming Bradley back, the kids all go down relatively easy, and when Penny and Mav head back home, it’s just you and Bradley. You’ve worked your way through a bottle of wine, and are sitting far closer than you normally would.

Your feet are in his lap, his thumb stroking gently at his ankle.

“Listen, feel free to tell me if this is insane - but uh, I was thinking that maybe we should get married.”

You almost choke on your drink. “What?”

“I get really good health insurance with the Navy - i-if you wanted to, we could get married, and I could adopt the kids - and you wouldn’t have to worry about them.”

“Bradley…” You start, totally at a loss for words. “I-I can’t ask you to do that.”

“What if I want to?” He whispers, eyes earnest, and you can feel yourself welling up. It’s not how you imagined a proposal going, not by any stretch, but the tenderness in his voice makes your knees weak. It would be nice to not have to spend every month wondering if you’d be able to make the healthcare payments.

“Y-you’re sure?”

“Yeah. I am.”

Things move pretty quickly. Neither of you are sure when Bradley’s going to get deployed again, and he needs to have formally adopted the kids to get them put on his health insurance.

Adam is ecstatic with the news, and has already signed Bradley up to talk at career day about being a pilot. And the girls, while not quite at the speaking stage, adore him too. For the first time, you feel like you might be making the right choice.

It’s a tiny affair. Just you, Bradley, the kids, Maverick, Penny and Amelia. You’d agreed not to dress up, and Bradley had suggested your new green one. He’s wearing slacks and a shirt, hair bleached a little from the sun.

It takes everything in you to remember that this isn’t romantic. It’s a platonic wedding, happening only for the sake of the kids.

Something that becomes clear when it’s time to kiss the bride, and Bradley kisses your cheek. You’d been expecting it. Of course you had. The two of you aren’t together, and there’s no reason to believe that Bradley would choose a room with his family and the kids to make his first move.

But it reminds you of what today really is.

A duty. Nothing more.

You wait until Bradley’s distracted by the twins to sneak off to the bathroom, allowing a few tears to escape as you go.

This isn’t how it was meant to go.

For you or Bradley.

Bradley shouldn’t be caging himself in at twenty-six to three kids. This is your reality, but it doesn’t have to be his.

*****

The two of you settle into a rhythm in the house, cautious and a little awkward. It’s hard to think platonically about a man who you wake up next to every morning, who you raise children with. No matter how far apart you start the night, by morning there’s always a knee between your thighs, or his face pressed into your hair. Normally you can untangle yourself before Bradley wakes up. Makes things less weird for both of you.

He’s still your best friend, and you figure it’s probably a lot better than some of your friends who married for love.

So things move on, and while the grief is still very present across all your lives, Bradley alleviates it a little.

Right after Christmas, you get a wedding invitation from Jake, something Bradley had assumed he’d never see. Ever the eternal bachelor, it seems that he’s giving it up to settle down with his girlfriend, Bea.

With everybody now stationed in San Diego, you’ve spent a decent amount of time with them both. They’re a nice couple, they make a lot of sense.

And they’re disgustingly in love.

Like, more love than you could ever have expected Jake Seresin to be capable of showing.

Adam is Jake’s number one fan, and had been thrilled when they’d asked him to be the ring-bearer. Bradley had gotten a little huffy, put out at not always being his favourite anymore. He’d been pacified when Olivia had crawled onto his lap, wanting cuddles during The Lion King.

The wedding is beautiful. Standing in a new dress that Bradley had insisted you buy, after he had seen you hovering over it online one too many times, you feel pretty for the first time in months. His arm has been settled on the small of your back all night, and you’d teased him relentlessly for crying when Adam walked down the aisle.

You can’t help but feel like this is what Bradley deserves. Someone like Bea, whom he can love completely and openly. Not you, riddled with trauma and baggage that would make even the most experienced therapists wince.

He deserved a wedding like this. Not a court-house cheek kiss, full of adoption papers.

“What are you thinking?” Bradley murmurs, lacing his fingers through yours as you watch Jake and Bea have their first dance.

“I-I was just thinking about our wedding,” You reply, trying desperately to keep your voice steady.

“Yeah? What about it?”

“I don’t know, it’s stupid,” You dismiss, feeling the familiar prick of tears in your periphery. You won’t cry today. You won’t make Bradley feel worse than he probably already does.

Sensing the tone, Bradley drops it, pressing a quick kiss to the back of your knuckles. “Can’t believe Jake’s getting married. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I thought for sure Bob would get married first out of all of you guys - he’s been with Chloe for so long.”

“Did I tell you they were talking about getting married in London, to be near Chlo’s family? Would maybe be nice to make a holiday of it. Take the kids, do Scotland-”

He’s cut off by the DJ asking for couples to get up and join the Seresins. Bradley’s immediately on his feet, offering you his hand.

“Oh, Brad, I don’t know-”

He doesn’t reply, just laces his fingers through yours, and pulls you to the dancefloor. Holding you tightly against him, you rest your head on his shoulder as he starts to sway.

A Frank Sinatra ballad plays in the background, and you try and keep your attention focused solely on Bradley. This is a happy occasion. You shouldn’t be ruining it with all this over-thinking.

“You look really beautiful,” He murmurs, head dipped to speak directly into your ear.

“You don’t look half-bad yourself.”

“No, I mean. You look really beautiful. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

This feels like dangerous territory, and you swallow. “Brad-”

“I wish I could’ve given you something like this, like today.”

His words tip you over the edge, and a small sob escapes. Eyes widening, Bradley pulls back to look at you. A few of the nearest couples on the dancefloor also turn, concerned. “Oh, kid. I’m sorry- wait, fuck. Hold on.”

He’s leading you outside, pointedly ignoring any attention you’re both receiving. It’s colder than usual for San Diego, and he drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders, thumb reaching out to wipe at your tears.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I’m sorry,” You cry, chest heaving as you try and regain control of yourself.

His arms are gripping yours, almost as if trying to keep you upright. “Don’t apologise, sweet girl. Was it talking about the wedding?”

“Y-you deserve better than this.”

“What?”

“You deserve a wedding like that. A wife like that. Not… whatever this is.”

Everything is pouring out. All the doubts of the past year, every insecurity, all the guilt about trapping Bradley. You don’t think you could bottle it up now if you tried.

“We’re holding you back.” Your voice is miserable, full of terror that he’ll agree. That he’ll leave, and you’ll be alone again. “That should be you in there. With someone that you love.”

“With you-” He begins, but you cut him off, another sob bubbling up.

“You don’t have to keep pretending, it’s okay.”

“Sweet girl, when I think about the rest of my life, all I can see is you. You, and the kids, and 23 Ridgemont Lane.”

The tears continue to trickle down your cheeks. “Bradley, you’re so young. What about if you meet someone, down the line-”

“That’s not going to happen-”

“You might want more, more than this - and I wouldn’t blame you-”

“Sweetheart, please let me talk for just once second-”

You’re spiralling. You know you are. But something about watching Jake and Bea in there makes you want to sob. That might not be in the cards for you, but you want it desperately for Bradley.

“I don’t want you to hate me one day.” The shake in your voice is borderline pathetic. It’s an admission. One you haven’t been sure you’re strong enough to make. That Bradley holds your heart in his hands, and he can do whatever he pleases with it.

“I could never hate you,” He whispers, reaching up to cup your cheeks. “God, kid, no. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You’re about to protest, when he closes the distance and presses his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter closed in surprise, hands resting on his chest.

He’s softer than you imagined, the slight scratch of his moustache the only friction.

It’s a kiss that knocks your world off its axis. One that you’re pretty sure would knock you off your feet were it not for Bradley’s arms holding you up - one curling at the nape of your neck, the other dropping to your hip, bring you closer, ever closer.

It’s a little uncoordinated, and it’s only when his nose bumps yours that you begin to realise that this is real.

You’re kissing Bradley, and he’s kissing you, and you’re not sure you ever want it to end.

He's smiling against your mouth, pressing you into the wall of the venue.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when he pulls back. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. “I love you,” He murmurs, nose brushing yours. “So much it kind of terrifies me.”

You let out an almost incredulous laugh. “I love you too.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, leaning in to kiss him again. “Can’t tell you how bad I’ve been feeling these last few months, thinking we were holding you back.

He’s shaking his head. “I'm right where I want to be, sweet girl. I want to be there for Adam starting elementary school, and for the twins starting to talk more. I want to fix up the basement, so that the kids have a playroom, and I want to build you one of those shed-things that give you a little peace and quiet after a long day.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot, huh?” You mumble, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face.

“I want to make sure the girls know that there’s no guy out there who will ever be good enough for them, and I want to teach Adam to play the guitar. Acoustic, not electric, for the sake of all our ears. But mostly, I really, really want to love you the way you deserve. I want to be a comfort during the bad times, and celebrate the good, and the rest of the time I just want to be near you.”

His arms are wrapped around you again, pulling you in tightly as you cry into his shoulder.

“What do you say?” He breathes. “Want to get married for real this time?”

How lucky you are to have Bradley Bradshaw in your life.

This year… hadn’t been the greatest.

The meeting you’d thought was going to be the start of a new chapter in your career with that promotion you’d been hoping and working so hard for had ended with you clearing out your desk and turning in your ID badge, but not even the decent severance package they sent you out the door with could have cushioned that blow.

You’d been laid off from your tech job just in time for your industry to be hit with hiring freezes so glacial it felt like there must have been a breakthrough in global warming, as if the ice caps weren’t melting.

You spent days then weeks then months applying and interviewing on repeat like a groundhog’s day from hell, only to encounter more closed doors than open ones. Had enough ever-so-casual networking coffee chats that you were pretty sure you’d need to switch to decaf if you still wanted to have some functioning adrenal glands by the time you were fifty.

Coming close- so, so close- so many times. Having the final decision come between you and another candidate only for your fingertips to slip off the edge at the very last moment.

Still freefalling the same way you’d been since you’d first been let go.

With your savings dwindling and spirits low, you’d decided that what you needed most was to decompress and reassess. And where better than the place where some of your favorite memories had been made.

All it had taken was one call to your Aunt Penny for the little strands of silver lining to peek out from behind the gray clouds that had filled your skies lately.

By the end of the conversation not only did you have a place to land- the furnished loft above the garage with an ocean view from the tiny kitchen- but also a just-for-now job too, getting to work with her at the bar. Something to help get you back on your feet while the dust of your imploded life settled around you as you figured out your next move.

You weren’t known for staying in any place too long as it was, so it had been easy to pack up and leave the city you’d been living in for the Southern California sun, feeling lighter than you had in ages.

Your mom’s longtime best friend was quite possibly one of your favorite people on Earth. And still is.

There was nothing you looked forward to more than those summers you got to spend in San Diego, when you got to trade your textbooks for days out on the boat. Your family would rent at home near the Benjamin beach house and for almost two months it was carefree days of endless blue water and sand between your toes.

But without a doubt, the highlight of your summer was always Bradley Bradshaw.

A few years older than you, he’d been the cute boy who was the object of all your daydreams. You couldn’t remember who you first celebrity crush was, but you definitely remembered the boy with the curly brown hair who was responsible for giving you butterflies in your stomach for the very first time.

While your brother was more than fine trying to ditch you at every turn, Bradley had always made you feel like you were right where you were supposed to be. He always made you feel included. He had been the one to teach you how to wakeboard, gave you his free dole whip when he made a hole-in-one at Tiki Town, and sat next to you the first time you ever rode the Giant Dipper Roller Coaster.

Even though Penny and Mav’s relationship had been on and off for years, Bradley had remained a steady presence in your life every July and August.

Until the one summer when he didn’t show up.

You’d sat on the stairs with your arms wrapped around your knees that first night and listened on as your mom and Penny talked, piecing together the explanation for Bradley’s absence and why your aunt was dating the uninteresting man you’d met earlier that night at dinner.

The sun, the sand, and the sights were all the same. And yet everything had changed after that.

That had been your last San Diego summer.

You moved on, you went to college, you grew up. But you had never forgotten the boy who had made you feel like sunshine.

You’d always hoped he remembered you just as fondly.

When you heard that Penny and Mav were back together, you thought there might be a chance to see him again, you were always curious about how things had turned out for you. You just never expected for him to quite literally crash back into your life.

Or for all of those sun-warmed feelings came rushing back.

It was your third day of working at the Hard Deck.

You were still getting use to the lay of the land- and announcing corner whenever you made your way out of the stockroom- when you’d come out of the back with your arms full of refill napkins packs only to collide with a wall of muscles with a less than dignified oof.

“Oh, shit!” The hand that reached out to grasp your hip was probably the only reason you hadn’t landed on your ass, even as the napkins went everywhere. “Sorry, that was my- wait, Bee?”

The nickname from your younger years was exclusively reserved for close family and friends. Shortened over time from busy bee, a name your mom still wrote in your birthday and Christmas cards, because of the way you were always pursuing new activities with the kind of intense tenacity only found in the most precocious of kids.

Although, no one who’d known you squarely post-braces had ever called you that before. And definitely not anyone so solidly built with such a masculine, raspy voice.

But you knew those rich brown eyes and sun-streaked curls.

Just like you knew that under the soft looking linen blend shirt there’d be freckles dotted along his shoulder. Just like you knew that he was left-handed but preferred to throw a baseball with his right. Just like you knew he rode the Beach Blaster four times in a row that one time, not because he liked it, but because he was trying to get over his fear of heights.

“Bradley?” The right side of his mouth pulled up in a smile, seemingly pleased you recognized him. “Bradley Bradshaw?” you repeat, because even though he was standing less than three feet away from you, your brain was having a hard time processing the boy you’d known was now the man in front of you.

You hadn’t seen him since you were fifteen.

Although, you did try to look him up once in college when you and your roommates were tipsy off cheap sparkling wine and talking about first crushes. Giggling over poor choices and high-fiving over the ones who still Had It. Only when it was your turn, you’d found out pretty quick that he wasn’t on any socials- at least none that the four of you could sleuth out drunk on sheer determination and peach Andre. They’d let you have the rest of the bottle as a consolation prize when you’d all come up emptyhanded.

Bradley Bradshaw had remained a mystery to you, until that moment.

Gone was any trace of baby fat from his familiar face, replaced with a defined jaw and crinkles around the corners of his eyes. There were scars on his cheek and neck that hadn’t been there before, but the smile underneath that mustache was the same one from those summers all those years ago.

“It’s been a long time, huh?” Bradley said.

The only difference was the cute boy you’d known growing up was now quite possibly the most handsome man you’d ever seen.

“How’d you get even hotter?” you blurted. It only took a split second for your brain to catch up with your mouth, wincing at the words that hung in the air unable to take them back.

Bradley’s eyes widened in surprise just for a moment before he laughed. Loud and unguarded and amused.

Mortified and flustered you drop down to your knees to pick up the scattered brown craft paper wrapped bundles of napkins that littered the narrow hallway. His presence- and bulk- filling up the already small space.

He kneeled down next to you, helping to collect the packs. “I don’t know about ‘hotter’, but probably taller since that last time I saw you.” You couldn’t help but notice how big his hands were as he reached for the furthest one that was sent flying as victim of your two-person Big Bang.

And broader, you think.

“We’ve been doing a lot of push-ups lately,” Bradley chuckled, “I keep telling the squad to stop underestimating the old man, but they never learn. They’re still just as competitive as ever.”

“Jesus,” you muttered under your breath, needing a rock to crawl under. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt that ruffled around a man before. So caught off guard that all semblance of casually cool had left the building. You looked at him from the corner of your eye, and attempted to diffuse the situation with some self-deprecating humor, “Well, I wish second puberty had been as kind to me as it was for you.”

“From what I can see, it looks like it was pretty damn kind to you too.”

You’d pressed your lips together and fought back grin as you shook your head, reaching for another bundle. The last thing you’d needed was for him to be charming too.

You felt his gaze on the side of your face, like he was trying to catch your eye, and when you couldn’t avoid it any further without making it weird you met those warmer than cinnamon brown eyes.

“It’s good to see you again.” There was an earnest smile still in place on his face as he passed you the napkins he’d collected from his side of the hall.

He looked at you- probably the same way you’d been looking at him only a couple moments ago- trying to reconcile the carefree girl with the stunned woman in front of him, seeing what changes could be picked out on a face that hadn’t been seen in over a decade. You didn’t dare call it interest that was flickering in his eyes, but you could safely say there was at least some curiosity reflected in them.

You knew he wasn’t flirting, just trying to make you feel better less awkward about your earlier slip. Playing along the same way he did when he’d sabotage your brother at the water gun war game at Belmont Park so that you could stand a chance at winning a stuffed animal prize.

“It’s good to see you again, too,” you replied, meaning it as you gave him a smile of your own for the first time and watching as his own grew a little wider.

“Bee? Did you find them? The napkins should be-” Penny came rounding the corner, taking in the scene in front of her and who you’d been delayed by. Your whole body jolted like she’d caught you playing 7 Minutes in Heaven instead of crouching on the floor. “Oh, I see you’ve found Rooster. And the napkins.”

“It was my bad, Penny, I plowed right into her,” Bradley- Rooster?- said standing back up, wrapping a hand under your elbow to help guide you up to your feet.

“Sorry, I’ll be right there,” you told her, gesturing with your napkin filled arms. He was quick to reach out and catch one of the slipping packs from the top of the pile before it could fall to the ground again, helping you to get them better situated and less like a Jenga stack waiting to collapse.

“There’s no rush. I just wanted to make sure you were finding everything alright.” Her eyes drifted back and forth between the two of you, before landing on him and flicking down to the hand still on your elbow. “Hey, since you’re here, would you mind grabbing a fresh keg of the Stone Brewing lager for me?”

He nodded, letting go of you and hooking his thumbs into his front pockets. “Sure thing, can do.”

“Thank you, Bradley. And Bee,” she continued, turning back to you, “You can just bring those up when you’re ready.” You didn’t know what to make of the smile she gave you before she’d set off back to the bar.

The two of you stood there in silence for a few moments, although it hadn’t been the uncomfortable kind.

Bradley cleared his throat, his mouth quirking to one side. “I feel like there’s some kind of ‘the birds and the bees’ joke here. One I’m not qualified to make since you were always the funnier one of the two of us.”

That time it was your turn to laugh. You were more than a little pleased when his deeper one mixed with yours.

You warred with yourself- still holding those damn napkins- whether or not to wrap things up and go take them to Penny, but you wanted to know more.

“Rooster?” you’d asked, tilting your head at him in question.

“Believe it or not, I finally got past that fear of heights,” he explained, “I’m a pilot now.” You felt your smile grow on its own, it was something he’d always talked about. You were happy to learn he’d made it happen for himself. “Rooster is my callsign.”

It was a name you’d heard a few times since moving into the loft above the garage. The way Penny said it always made it seem like you should know who she was talking about, you just hadn’t taken a moment to ask, figuring that you’d meet this mysterious ‘Rooster’ eventually. You just never would have guessed you already knew him.

You told him as much, adding on, “Maybe she thought we’d kept in touch.”

“I would have liked that.” You ignored the fluttering low in your stomach. There was something in his voice that made your mouth go a little dry. “What’re you doing later? Are you here for long? I’d like to catch up, if you have time for an old friend.”

Friend.

The word shook you out of whatever Bradley Bradshaw induced haze you’d found yourself in.

You didn’t know how long you were going to be here, but one thing was for sure, all the two of you were ever going to be was platonic. It was a necessary reminder before any coconut sunscreen scented daydreams tempted you off course.

A smile stayed plastered to your face, one that felt more forced than it had been a few heartbeats ago, “I’m behind the bar until midnight, but I’ll be your friendly neighborhood bartender for the foreseeable future.”

Bradley grinned. “Guess, I’ll be seeing you around then, Bee.”

“I guess you will, Rooster.”

And you did.

You went from not seeing Bradley Bradshaw for over a decade to seeing him multiple times a week.

He kept you company at the bartop, swiveling on his stool, on slow nights as you found little projects to keep yourself occupied, like polishing and reorganizing the Hard Deck’s glassware collection. Filling each other in on the important things and people that had helped shaped the two of you into the adults that you’d grown into.

Rooster introduced you to his friends and teammates, making you feel not only included but liked you belonged in that same way he had when you were kids. Seamlessly bringing up common interests you shared with the people closest to him, giving you something to connect with them on your own outside of him. Always taking the initiative to extend invites your way to hang out at the beach or to check out the best spot for breakfast or to experience a Padres game complete with an unofficial culinary food tour of Petco Park.

He helped you paint the kitchenette in the loft a soft blue- with your aunt’s permission, of course. Meticulously taping off the countertop edges and cabinets, yet somehow ending up wearing more paint on an old, tightfitting UVA shirt that had seen better days than he got on the wall.  

And on Sunday nights he was seated across from you at the oak dining table with Amelia, Penny, and Pete for the weekly dinner the five of you all had together. They’d been back together for over a year now, and it seemed like it was for good this time based on the way they looked at each other. Your aunt was noticeably happier than she’d been even just a few years ago, that spark back that had been dimmed from an unhappy marriage.

You were happy for her and Mav.

He’d even taken you for a spin on his motorcycle. It was a one and done event, reaffirming what you already knew, that you were more of a four-wheel girl than a two-wheel one.

When you weren’t at the bar or working on the few remote side gigs you’d taken on to keep your skills feeling fresh, you were helping Amelia learn to code. It wasn’t your forte, but you were having fun spending time with her and teaching her what you did know. And in return, she’d help you to revamp your wardrobe a bit. You thought California cool looked good on you.

There had been a brief moment when you’d been packing up your old apartment when you’d worried about being lonely in San Diego not knowing anyone outside of your family, but you were the furthest thing from lonely and you had Bradley to thank for that.

It was nice to have friend.

However, you were finding that crush on him harder to get over than you anticipated.

You still get annoyed at yourself when he smiles at you a certain way making your cheeks heat up and your stomach flip. Although, you try not to be too hard on yourself because he’s genuinely kind and good looking and you’re only human. God knows you’ve seen enough people notice him too from your perch behind the bar.

But there were worse problems to have.

You had spent that morning getting the Hard Deck decorated for the big New Year’s Eve party.

As the first to arrive, you’d gotten the coffee going on the ancient coffee maker that you were trying your hardest to get Penny to replace when a big hand skimmed the side of your waist, reaching past you to steal the cup you’d just poured for yourself.

You turned to see a sleepy looking Bradley standing behind you, his curled looked more like they were fresh off his pillow than the way you usually saw them styled.

“It’s too early for this.” You watched as he took a big swig from the cup, wincing as he registered just how hot Jimmy’s machine had brewed the coffee, just a couple degrees below scalding.

You gave him an unimpressed look, “Says the man who routinely wakes up at 5am for a sunrise run.”

“It’s the weekend, Bee,” Bradley said like it explained everything.

“It’s a Wednesday.”

“Schematics.” He took another deep sip of your coffee, but not before you caught the mischievous way his mouth was curved upwards. “Everyone knows the days between Christmas and New Years Day are the Wild West of the calendar year, every day is a weekend day from the 26th to the 1st.”

You actually hadn’t seen Rooster since Christmas.

You’d decided to spend the holiday in San Diego since your parents had decided this was the year they were finally going to check out the Christmas markets in Europe like they’ve always wanted too. And you didn’t want to crash your brother’s first Christmas as a dad, instead you’d sent the most obnoxious baby toy you could find online in addition to a silky soft stuffed rabbit with your niece’s name embroidered on the ear.

When you opened the front door with the pretty stained glass sailing boat picture window, you’d been surprised to see Bradley standing there with a white faux fur trimmed Santa hat and holding a bag with unexpectedly well wrapped presents in one hand and a creamy, cranberry-colored pie in the other.

Your hand stayed glued to the doorknob as his eyes trailed over you. The house had been warm but a shiver still worked its way through your body as he took in your festive pajamas.

Before he could say anything Amelia ever-so-helpfully pointed out the mistletoe you’d conveniently forgotten about that had been hung above the wood door. Frankly, she sounded a bit too enthusiastic about it.

He mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like little punk, although his tone was so affectionate that you thought you must have misheard him. But you didn’t get to think on it for too long because then he was leaning in, in, in.

Your heart shot straight into your throat at the first prickle of his mustache and then the slightly dry lips as they brushed against your cheek for the briefest of moments.

And then he pulled away all too soon.

Friend. Friend. Friend. You tried to remind yourself, but your heart was too aflutter to get the message.

He looked you straight in the eyes as he stepped back, “Can you do me a favor, Bee?”

You must have made a sound that was close enough to an mhm, because then he passed you the bag of presents and the pie waiting only long enough to make sure you had a good hold on them both before darting around you to chase after Amelia.

Amelia squealed when Bradley caught her, ducking his head down to drop a playfully chaotic kiss on her cheek.

He ended up giving Penny and Mav the same treatment too. Although Pete shoved him away good-naturedly when he tried to plant a particularly sloppy one on him.

All while your feet stayed glued to the same spot they were when he kissed you.

But that was six days ago. Probably the longest stint without seeing him since you collided with him that afternoon a few months ago.

The smell of strong coffee and cinnamon had coaxed you back into the moment, and you’d shook your head a bit like that would help you clear your mind with Bradley standing so close to you again.

“I don’t think it’ll take us too long,” you declared, trying to get focused back on the task at hand- that being the unofficial head of the NYE decorating committee, “I even made us a schedule.”

“Of course you did. Is it color-coded?” he asked over the rim of the chipped mug.

“And if it is?” you countered, unashamed of your planning. And then there was that damn smile of his.

“Then I’m really going to need this coffee,” he winked, and poured you a cup of your own.

You’d been right though. With everyone pitching in things came together rather quickly.

The morning moving steadily as the Christmas decorations were replaced with classic the gold and white and black color scheme you’d went with for the party. The silver tinsel tree covered in beach themed shaped ornaments with a few planes hung about by the front door might have stood out at odds with everything else, but metallic was a neutral in your book so you’d opted to keep the cheerful tree up just a little bit longer and tucked a few party blowers into the branches to tie it in with the rest of the space.

It was easy for you to get in the zone, delegating and divvying up the tasks on your color-coded schedule, putting all your project tracking skills to use. There were dozens of strands of string lights that had to gone up on the ceiling and along the walls. All of the windows with the snowflake cut outs you and Amelia had made for Christmas were framed in a metallic fringe. There was a station with hats and headbands and glasses in case anyone was feeling particularly festive. The tables and booths had been stocked with noise makers and confetti poppers in addition to the mirrorball centerpieces and confetti scatter.

Everything sparkled and shined, the light bouncing off everything gave the bar a wonderfully hazy glow, it was the perfect ambiance for the most hopeful night of the year.

At one point, you’d been working on hanging up some dangling golden stars from one of the ceramic mug rounders only to find Bradley standing there at the base of the ladder behind you with a well-defined arm stretched out just in case you lost balance.

And then just like that, your focus went out the window. Because then he was everywhere. He made it impossible for you to not notice him, especially since so many of your jobs and his overlapped, something you’d come to regret more and more as the hours went by.

You’d been working on tying off balloons and lamenting the fact you didn’t order another pump with the tying tool, when you’d decided to take a break to massage your numb fingertips. You looked up to check the progress made with fresh eyes, to see Rooster on a ladder helping Mav to get the netting set up for the balloon drop.

The athletic shorts he’d been wearing were hanging low on his hips. And as he reached up to hand Pete another nail it caused his t-shirt to ride up giving you a glimpse of toned stomach and tantalizing v-lines. It was just as tempting as it was taunting.

You’d switched to ice water after that.

The image was seared into your mind for the rest of the afternoon. Not even the freezing cold shower you’d hopped into the second you made it back to your loft to freshen up before the party had helped. Neither had the rushed orgasm to take the edge off, because it wasn’t your own fingers that you wanted.

He’d found you before the party well and truly started.

You’d been double checking all the prep, making sure you had the bar stocked up as was possible without losing any valuable space, when you felt a hand on your back. Bradley was dressed up in a navy suit that fit him in all the right places, looking more handsome than you knew possible. All broad shoulders and thick thighs. The top button of his pristinely pressed white shirt undone, giving you a peek at the divot base of his throat.

You weren’t sure what made you more flustered, that hint of his neck or the skin under his bellybutton that you’d seen only a couple hours ago.

A soft smile coasted over his face as he took in your New Years’ Eve finest. “You look-”

“I know, rhinestones for New Years’ Eve, how groundbreaking,” you joked, cutting him off and giving your best Miranda Priestly impression.

You were wearing a black velvet jumpsuit for the party. You loved the way it fit the curves of your body and the way the halter top made your collarbones and shoulders look. There was just a hint of skin with the keyhole near the bust. But it was also practical- right down to your plain black no-show panties you had on- so you could move easily without worrying about giving anyone an eyeful. It wasn’t the flashiest of outfits, there’d be more than enough sequins later on, but the way Bradley was looking at you made it feel like your off the rack might as well be haute couture.

“I was going to say, you look good. Really good.” Bradley takes his time letting his eyes drag down your body, his cheek kicking up when he lands on your shoes. “I especially like the birks, they tie the whole look together.”

The clogs you were wearing were decidedly unsexy, not many people could pull of the potato shoe, but you weren’t there as a party guest, you still had work to do and your night was just getting started. “I don’t think stilettos and stouts would mix together very well,” you said by way of explanation.

Bradley chuckled and reached out taking an end of the little rhinestone bow that dangled from right beneath your neck where the straps met and twirled it between his fingers for a moment. “I think this might be my favorite part though,” he rasps lowly. There was an intensity in his eyes directed at you that you hadn’t seen before.

For a moment it looked like he was about to say more, and then a glass shattered.

The sound of it caused you to crash back into your body.

“And so it begins,” you announced, taking a half step backwards and out of his touch, that rhinestone cord falling back against your sternum with a gentle thud that you felt reverberate in your chest.

You heard him say your name, but you were already setting off for a broom.

So you’d kept your head down and your hands busy.

It felt like for every drink you made, two more were ordered. Barely noticing as the final minutes of this year flew by while you garnished drinks with bright cherries and slices of lemon with a flourish before handing them off.

Offering smiles and well wishes to those here to celebrate. True to your namesake as you swiped cards and counted bills and mixed and poured and served the drinks to the ever-rotating people in front of you.

You made eye contact with Rooster a couple times throughout the night, the same way you usually did when you were behind the bar and he was there. Eyes drawn to him like a magnet against your will.

He hadn’t come up to you at all since before the party started. You’d seen him with the Daggers when you went to refill the water tank, heard the keys of the upright piano when you grabbed more ice from the back room, saw him talking with the girl in the shiny dress and her interested eyes as you put the freshly washed glasses away.

Just like he’d been the best parts of your San Diego summers, he’d become the best part of your year.

You’d spent the last four months trying to convince yourself that it was a silly crush, that you could will it away or get over it. But now just a couple moments shy of a new year barreling towards you, it was time to face the fact that Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t someone you were ever going to get over.

Although if you were honest with yourself, you weren’t sure you wanted to get over him.

You’re giving the counter a quick wipe down, taking advantage of the brief lull when the music cuts off, startling you out of your thoughts.

Twelve!

The countdown had snuck up on you. Just like everything else had this year.

Eleven!

You’d had your fill of unexpected surprises, some for the worse and some for the better. While it felt like you’d had more downs than ups, you were ending the year feeling the most content you have since you were laid off. And that was more than good enough for you.

Ten!

At the beginning of this year, you never would have guessed that you’d end it in San Diego. This year had taken from you, but it had also given you a lot. New friends, new places to explore, new memories, new hopes.

Nine!

You were still figuring things out and that was ok. Even though you still weren’t sure what was next for you, you knew everything would work out. One way or another you’d find yourself on the other side of this and able to look back with pride for making it through all the challenges that had been thrown your way.

Eight!

And while things didn’t shape out the way you anticipated them to, with goals still yet to be achieved and a vision board of ideas that you’d carry into the new year, you had so much to be grateful for.

Seven!

You liked San Diego- and not in the just-for-now way. You liked the life you were building here. You liked the beach and the sand and the sun. You liked you Sunday dinners with Penny and Amelia and Pete. You liked the people you were surrounded by. You liked the stories you’ve collected from your side of the bar. You liked the diner down the road with their perfectly shaped coffee cups. You liked your new normal while you got your feet back under you. You liked the potential you felt was here.

Six!

And then there was Bradley.

Five!

You were avoiding looking in his direction, too worried about what you might see, not wanting to end this year with another disappointment. You’ve come to accept that he had a piece of you that you weren’t sure you were ever going to get back. But that was something for you to deal with next year.

Four!

For now, you are right where you are supposed to be.

Three!

Because what is meant for you will never pass you by. Not in life and not in love. And that was something you could count on, something you could hold onto.

Two!

You smile to yourself and close your eyes.

The crowd chants One!

You breathe out and let go.

And when the cheers of Happy New Year! ring out, you breathe in and open your heart up to all the possibilities.

Enjoying the moment for what it was- exactly as it was- as the party noise makers started going off all around you.

As New Years’ kisses were traded.

As people greeted a fresh, bright New Year with wide-open and welcoming arms.

Where anything could happen.

Where anything was possible because the year was waiting to written.

You tip your head back and open your eyes, watching as the balloons you’d spent the afternoon tying knots in started to fall, slowly at first and then more until your view was a cocoon of black and gold and white and clear blocking out the rest of the world from view.

Time seemed to slow a bit as the confetti poppers joined the mix adding to the echo of fireworks going off nearby. The glints of gold and little shiny dots of sparkles and streamers seemed to hang in the air. There was a cacophony of cheerful noises, from the poppers to the people to the familiar sound of Whitney Houston being piped over the static-y speakers.

A moment of magic for you and you alone, as you pocketed the hope and optimism you felt rippling around you.

Over the next couple of hours pass just as swiftly as before. As you got back into the groove of serving people, your brain snagged on the sound of Aud Land Syne being played on the upright piano at the other end of the bar, and the only person it could be playing it.

It wasn’t long before people steadily started to trickle out the front door.

You’d made sure to shoo Penny out to the dance floor with Pete as the lineup of people slowed down enough for her to have some New Years Eve fun.

No one had gone too crazy, but even so, you helped arranged people rides to get home safe between closing out tabs and announcing the last call for the few people who wanted to stick it out until the very end. Waving to your new friends as they all slowly but surely made their exits.

You’d lost track of Rooster along the way, it would have been nice to wish him a Happy New Year, but it was probably for the best. It was easier on your heart to not know whether he left with some of the Daggers or with the girl with the silver sequins.

You just locked the door after the last couple stragglers had left for the night. You’d sent Penny away a little over a half an hour ago- along with Mav- since there’d been only a handful of people to look after.

She’d made you promise not to stay behind after locking up, but you didn’t see the harm in tidying things up a bit more. You were collecting the empty glasses that had been scattered about and abandoned on window ledges and tables when you caught a figure out of the corner of your eye, nearly causing you to drop the bus tub you were holding on to.

“Bradley! Jesus.” You set the plastic tub down on a table with more force than necessary, the glasses rattling against each other, and press a hand to your chest where your heart is rapidly knocking about. “What are you still doing here?”

You figured he left already, so you’re more than a little surprised he’s still here. And not just because he startled you half to death.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, putting his hands up. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, I was taking out some trash and then got held up talking to Jake for a few minutes. I didn’t realize everyone else had left.”

“I just locked the front doors,” you say, waving towards the now closed front door.

Bradley takes a cautious step closer. “So, it’s just us then?” He doesn’t even have the decency to look like he’s been partying for the better part of five hours, he looks just as handsome as he did at the start of the evening, whereas you’re sure you probably look as ruffled as you felt.

“We’re the last two standing,” you confirm, putting your hands on your lower back to stretch out the tightness that had settled along your spine over the course of the night, “But just barely, on my end.”

“You’ve been busy tonight.” You hum in agreement and reach for a foam-covered glass that was left between the coaster holder and napkin dispensers. His big hand closing around it first and he pins you with a look, leaning a hip against the table, “So tell me, why are you still cleaning when you and I both know for a fact Penny hired a crew to take care of this in the morning?”

You don’t have an answer for him, at least, not one you were willing to share. That even though the ball had dropped and the confetti had fallen you weren’t ready to have the night be over yet. Knowing that the moment you locked up for good and got in your car and headed home, that the bottle of champagne you’d bought for yourself and plans with Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal wouldn’t hit quite the way you’d hope it would.

Instead, you offer him a shrug.

Bradley’s eyes search yours for a moment before he gives you a gentle smile. “C’mon, busy bee, I think you’ve more than earned yourself a glass of champagne.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to argue, already making his way towards the bar, not that you put up much of a fight. The ‘Greatest Hits’ playlist that Penny had queued up for the night is still playing in the background, you recognize opening notes of The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” as you trail after him.

You lift an eyebrow as he pulls out a stool for you, but he just mirrors you by lifting one of his own and gestures to the seat. You think you feel his thumb sweep over your hip as he helps you into the stool before stepping into the front bar. A little sigh of relief slips out of you, finally off your feet for the first time all night.

You’re tired, but it’s a happy kind of tired. You’d had a nice time all things considering. Seeing the bright faces of everyone tonight had made all the work you’d put in feel worth it, all the planning and prep and decorating made it worth it if tonight ended up being a fond memory for someone.

Bradley grins at you from over his shoulder mischievously, “You know, Penny’s never let me behind the bar before.” He says it so conspiratorially, like he’s getting away with something and you’re an eyewitness to his delinquency, as if he wasn’t a decorated golden boy of the United States Navy.  

You laugh, endeared by the boyish smile on his face. “Probably because you’re never wearing the right shoes,” you tease, wiggling a clog towards him.

And he chuckles, warm and affectionate.

Rooster finds the freshly washed glasses easily- Pete had done a great job as the designated dishwasher of the evening, loading and unloading glasses as quickly as they came with speedy efficiency. You see as his hand hesitates for a moment eyeing the already open bottle of champagne on the counter warily, and you point a glossy cranberry coated fingernail to the fridge under the counter, where you knew a few uncorked ones were still stocked knowing that Penny won’t mind if you pilfer a celebratory bottle to share between yourselves.

With your help he finds the chilled bottle and shoots the cork across the room with a cheerful pop! You make a mental note to pick it up later marking the spot in your mind, which he must notice because he says, knowingly, “Don’t worry, I’ll grab it later. You’re officially off the clock.”

He pours you a glass and then one for himself with a flourish, clearly showing off as the bubbles fizz to the top of the rim without spilling over. You’ve spent all night catering to everyone else, it’s nice to have someone looking out for you now.

Rooster holds out a glass for you, “Cheers, Bee.”

You smile and clink yours against his.

The bubbles burst across your tongue, refreshing and crisp. The two of you sip on your glasses of champagne in companionable silence for a few moments, enjoying the calm after a busy day and busier night.

“Did you have a nice time tonight, Bradley?”

“It was nice enough, I guess,” he says, giving you a half smile, “I’m having a much better time now though.”

You take another little sip, attributing the fluttering in your chest to the bubbles.

“It feels weird to be sitting on this side of the bar,” you muse, changing the subject, “You know, I don’t think I made you a drink at all tonight.”

He takes the bottle and pours you a little more. “People kept hogging my favorite bartender.”

You grin into your glass.

“I would have made time for you,” you say.

He leans down and fold his arms in front of him, so that your faces are level. “You would have?”

The answer comes easily. “Of course.”

Bradley gives you a look you don’t know how to interpret, like reading your face isn’t enough that he wants to know what’s going on inside of your head. You always kind of thought your cards had been on the table the whole time, but maybe you’d been keeping them closer to your chest than you’d realized.

“It was nice of you to make sure Penny and Mav got out on the dancefloor earlier.”

“You saw that?” It hadn’t been an easy feat, but it had been worth it to see them looking at each other in a way you hoped you’d find someday.

His gaze is steady when he replies, “I did.”

Flustered now, you feel your cheeks heat up. “Amelia and I had a bet about if he was going to propose tonight, and I thought I’d do my part to try and help her win twenty dollars. I didn’t think he would, at least not here in front of a crowd of people, but I hope he’ll do it soon.”

He nods, taking a sip of his own, the tips of his ears getting red.

You lean forward on your elbows, “Tell me what you know, Bradshaw.”

“I’m a vault,” he says, shaking his head.

“Does he have a ring?” you ask, elatedly.

Bradley takes another deep sip of champagne, giving you nothing, at least not with his words. But you don’t need him to confirm, not with the way his lips are turned up, clearly happy for his uncle and your aunt.

Good, you smile to yourself, that’s good.

“I also happened to notice that you didn’t get to dance at all tonight.”

“No, I didn’t.” You could have. Penny had tried to get you to take a few minutes to enjoy yourself, but you kept finding excuses to stay planted where you were. “There’s always next year,” you add, circling your finger around the base of your champagne glass.

Bradley steps out from behind the bar and takes the half full glass from your hand, setting it on top of a coaster in a move that you find entirely too appealing.  And holds out a hand out for you, “We should fix that.”

His large fingers wrap around your hand- strong and sure- as he guides you towards the old jukebox, the two of you walking over the confetti covered floor and though the sea of balloons that bobbed in your wake.

He lets go when the two of you have reached the middle of the makeshift dancefloor that had been cleared of the tables that were normally there for the night. Your feet stay put as he makes his way to the sticker covered jukebox and starts flipping through the options.

“I keep trying to get Penny to get a new one that takes a card,” you say nervously, filling the quiet, the air now charged with something new between the two of you. “Or one with an app, where people could pay and pick things from their phone.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” he teases playfully, still scanning through the CDs, clearly on a mission to find a particular song.

“She keeps a couple spare quarters on the ledge behind it- but uhm- I’m not sure if they’re still there or not, or if people have already used them. I could grab some from the register-”

You take a half step back, but Rooster stops you.

“Don’t go flying away, Bee.” He pulls out his wallet from the inside of his suit jacket and fishes out a couple coins, holding them out on his flattened palm for you to see. “You see, I’ve been saving these ones for just the right girl.”

You didn’t know your heart could beat so fast.

Bradley slips them into the machine with a metallic plink, once and then twice. The corner of his mouth pulls up as his eyes drift over you. “Yeah, you’re definitely an N24 kind of girl.”

He punches in the code and walks purposefully back to you.

The gentle sound of an acoustic guitar crackles to life over the old speaker system of the Hard Deck, the song much slower than you were anticipating. The opening notes are familiar ones to you, but different than what you were used to hearing. This rendition was delicate and atmospheric. Intimate. Almost like the music was wearing its heart on its sleeve.

Bradley wraps an arm around you and pulls you in. His eyes are heavy on yours, you feel the weight of them everywhere. He coaxes your hand onto his broad shoulder and takes the other one in his, drawing it to his chest.

He holds you close as he leads you in a dance.

No one has ever looked at you the way he is looking at you.

“Ask me about my night again,” he murmurs, invitingly.

You swallow. “Did you have a nice time earlier tonight?”

“No.” Your breath stutters in your chest and you miss a step, but he easily guides you through it. “No,” he repeats, “I didn’t because I couldn’t spend it with the only person I want to.”

Your voice has escaped you, not that you’d trust it not to completely give you away.

“This is the part where you ask me how it’s going now.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand, encouragingly.

“This doesn’t feel very friendly,” you whisper.

Bradley presses you even closer to him. Every part of you is touching him, and you’re warm everywhere. “That’s good,” he rasps, “Because I’m not really going for just ‘friendly’ here, honey.”

You see everything there plain as day, written all over his face.

All you can say is his name.

“Bradley.”

And he says yours in return, so gently like it’s precious to him.

“I kept hoping you’d look my way during the countdown. But then you looked so thoughtful and all I wanted was to see that moment through your eyes. I couldn’t look away, you’re so beautiful.”

Feeling brave, you slide your hands up his chest and around his neck, combing your fingers through the short hair at the base of his head. He hums, pleased and content.

“You didn’t get a New Years Eve kiss.” It’s a statement. Like he knows because he was paying attention.

Your stomach swoops, and it’s like you’re fifteen and riding the Giant Dipper again.

“Neither did you, it seems.” His eyes drop down to your mouth.

“No, I didn’t,” he confirms, raising a hand up and skimming his thumb along your lower lip. “But now I’ve got a whole year to practice.

Bradley brings both hands to cup your face. His eyes traveling from your eyes to your nose to your mouth, a soft smile on his face as he leans in to kiss you.

When his lips meet yours it’s like time stops. You can’t hear the music over the rushing in your ears or the beating of your heart. In that moment, all there is only Bradley.

There’s no hesitation in the way his mouth moves against yours. Or in the way his teeth grazes your lower lip, right before he follows it with his tongue. It’s as if he has played this moment in his head so many times before.

Like there was never a question in his mind about if it was ever going to happen, but when.

There’s a surety in his touch, in the way he cradles your face in his big hands, in the way he angles your head just right.

The way Bradley kisses you makes you feel like this is the moment he’s been waiting for the whole night.

That it’s the moment he’s been waiting the last four months for.

His kiss is sweet like cinnamon and you know you’ll never be the same now that you’ve had a taste of it.

Your first one of the year. And it belongs to Bradley Bradshaw. Just as you always hoped it would be.

He pulls away just enough to skim his lips teasingly against yours. “Happy New Year, Bee.”

“Happy New Year, Bradley.”

You grin and he dips back down to kiss you again.

Time ticks on, but this time there isn’t a countdown. Only his mouth against yours and your arms wrapped around his neck.

After a while, he pulls away again, looking entirely and thoroughly kissed. It’s a good look for him.

He smiles at you. “My mom used to believe in ‘beginning as you mean to go on’. Taking time on the first of a new year and doing something that you want to make a part of your year going forward,” he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb, “So if you’re up for it, honey, I’d like to take you out to breakfast at that 24-hour diner. Because I mean to go on with you this year and the next one after that if I’m lucky.”

“I’d like that,” you say, taking a snapshot of this moment and the way those warm, brown eyes are gazing at you. “Just as long as we leave some time for mine. I have an idea of how I’d like to ‘begin as I mean to go on’.”

“Yeah? What did you have in mind?”

You don’t answer, instead you just lean in close until you feel his smile pressed against your.

The two of you eventually lock up for the night, for good this time. But only after Bradley finally stops kissing you long enough to grab that cork he’d shot across the bar earlier, pretending not to see the way he tucked it into the pocket of his suit jacket.

He takes your hand in his warm one, his fingers slipping easily between yours like he’s done it hundreds of times before.

The sunrise is still a couple of hours away, but you can see the promise of dawn and all the possibilities it’ll bring.

Bradley turns his head back to look at you and grins, it’s wide enough that the corners of his eyes crinkle.

A new day, a new year.

And you can’t help but think that this really will be the best one yet.

Happy 2025, tgm friends! I hope this is your year! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

If you want to know what song Bradley played for Bee 🥰

You can read my other stories here!

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