só existindo

tom chirped after faceoffs, commenting on small things, predictable things, such as the rivalry, garrett's captaincy, his statistics.

garrett ignored every comment, checking tom cleanly into the boards midway through the period, stealing the puck before moving forward.

garrett didn't glance back, didn't chirp him, he simply did nothing. tom hated that, garrett could tell.

he saw it in the way tom began lingering after whistles, in the way he started skating a little too close whenever the officials separated them, in the way his comments gradually stopped being about hockey.

the whistle sounds after a scramble in front of the net.

players from both teams separate slowly, sticks dragging across the ice as they move towards the next faceoff. garrett adjusts the cuff of his glove, pushing away from the crease as tom falls into step beside him.

"c'mon, graham."

garrett doesn't respond, he simply keeps skating. from behind the glass, you watch tom say something else. you can't hear him, not over the crowd, not through the thick barrier separating the seats from the ice.

all you can see is the smug tilt of his mouth. garrett's face however remains completely blank, controlled.

"enjoying my sloppy seconds?"

garrett's jaw tightens, barely, the kind of movement most people wouldn't notice. tom does, because of course he does.

"or maybe she's just got a thing for guys cleaning up other people's messes."

garrett's grip tightens around his stick, "fucking move."

his words come out low, quiet enough that the official skating ahead of them doesn't react. tom's smile widens, clearly pleased with himself, because there it was, the first crack.

he skates closer, eager to get under garrett's skin. "there he is." tom grins, "knew i could get to you."

garrett pushes off harder. he doesn't look at tom, doesn't look toward the stands, simply keeps his eyes on the bench, on the next shift, on anything that isn't the man beside him.

your stomach turns from where you're standing. you don't know what's being said, which almost makes it worse. you know tom, you know the expression on his face, the casual cruelty of it, the satisfaction.

allie shifts beside you. "he's trying to get a rise out of him."

you nod, your fingers curling around the railing in front of you, anxiety coursing throughout your entire body. "garrett won't give him one."

you say it with more certainty than you feel. allie looks at you for a moment, before turning her gaze back on to the ice.

"no." she agrees quietly. "he won't."

the game resumes.

for the next few minutes, garrett makes himself disappear into the game.

he wins a battle along the boards, breaks up a pass through the neutral zone, sets up a shot that glides off the post hard enough to make the entire arena groan.

tom is still there, always a few strides away, watching, waiting.

when the next whistle blows, garrett turns immediately towards the bench. tom cuts across his path, eyes bright with amusement. "you know the funny thing?"

garrett keeps skating. every instinct tells him to turn around, instead, he repeats the same words over and over.

ignore him.

"i've still got something that's hers."

garrett stops, only for a second.

"…what?"

tom smiles, knowing he has him now. "nothing."

garrett stares at him. "what the fuck are you talking about?"

tom shrugs. "guess i never was very good at letting things go."

he starts to skate away, garrett doesn't follow.

he knows better, he knows that's exactly what tom wants, however, it doesn't stop his heart from beginning to race. he can feel it beneath his chest protector, harder, faster.

tom glances back over his shoulder. "don't worry about it, captain."

another smile.

"you'll catch up eventually."

the linesman gestures for both of them to move. garrett forces his feet forward, one stride, then another. he's trying, desperately trying.

he tells himself tom is bluffing, that this is just another attempt to get under his skin, that whatever he's alluding to either isn't true or isn't as bad as he's making it sound.

garrett swallows, focusing his attention back on to the puck.

the faceoff begins, the game carries on.

you can see something has changed. it's subtle at first, garrett's shoulders sit tighter beneath his jersey, his movements are sharper, less fluid. he misses a pass he would've taken cleanly any other night.

dean notices too. you see him lean over the boards, saying something when garrett returns to the bench.

garrett shakes his head once.

dean looks towards the opposing bench, his eyes finding tom, his expression hardening.

you try to catch garrett's attention, but he doesn't look up.

it's not because he's ignoring you, he's trying not to, it's because he knows that one glance at your face will make whatever tom is doing harder to tolerate.

the period continues, the score remains tied.

with less than three minutes left, both teams are playing cautiously, waiting for the other to make the mistake.

tom stops waiting.

the whistle sounds after an offside call. garrett turns towards centre, tom glides up beside him again, closer this time, close enough that their shoulders nearly touch.

"she always did hate when i kept things."

garrett doesn't respond, his eyes remain fixed ahead.

tom watches him carefully, "old messages."

nothing.

"old videos."

garrett's grip shifts against his stick, tom lets the silence stretch.

"photos."

garrett stares at him.

tom smiles. not big, not obvious, just enough to confirm that he has said exactly what he meant to say. garrett stares at him. for the first time all night, the rest of the arena fades around him.

the crowd, the music, the scoreboard, all of it.

"what photos?" his voice is almost too quiet to hear.

tom looks towards the stands, towards you, before back at garrett. "you know."

garrett's stomach drops. he doesn't, not fully, but something in tom's expression makes the answer settle anyway.

private photos, old ones, ones that had never belonged to him, ones you must have trusted him with once, ones he should have deleted the second that trust ended.

garrett's entire body goes rigid, tom chuckles. "she asked me to get rid of them."

the words are delivered casually, like he's discussing an old jersey, something forgotten in the back of a cupboard.

"more than once, actually."

garrett feels sick. "you still have them?"

tom tilts his head. "didn't see the point in deleting them."

for one second, garrett considers hitting him, not shoving him, not checking him, hitting him. he pictures the movement with startling clarity. his glove coming off, his fist connecting with tom's mouth, the satisfying split of skin.

he doesn't do it, rather he forces himself to skate away, except tom follows.

"that's it?"

garrett says nothing.

"thought you'd have more to say, graham."

nothing.

"she looked good."

every syllable is laced with something vile. not because of the words, but simply because of the way he says them.

garrett's jaw clenches so hard it hurts. "fucking move, langford."

tom laughs.

from behind the glass, all you can see is garrett trying to skate away, and tom following closely behind, talking the entire time.

your pulse starts to race. you can tell garrett is angry now, not irritated, not competitive, angry. the tension in his shoulders is unmistakable. even from here, you can see how rigid he's become.

your chest tightens, "what's he saying?" you ask.

allie shakes her head. "i'm not sure, y/n, but whatever it is, it can't be good."

dean looks towards the stands from the bench, his eyes immediately finding yours, sending you a look of confusion.

he clearly didn't know what was being said either.

tom skates right beside garrett again.

"you know..."

his voice drops.

"a few of the guys would probably appreciate seeing what you get to go home to."

garrett stops, completely, his skates scraping sharply against the ice. tom stops with him, while the linesman ahead slows, already glancing over.

garrett turns. "say that again."

tom's eyebrows rise, innocent, mocking. "what?"

"say it again."

tom smiles, he knows he's cracked him, finally.

"all sweet and innocent until-"

garrett doesn't let tom finish his sentence, spinning around so quickly that tom barely has enough time to brace himself. both of garrett's gloves slam into his chest, the sheer force driving him backwards into the boards.

the impact echoes through the rink. the crowd erupts, not cheering, not yet, just reacting to the chaos beginning to unravel in front of them.

it's a single collective sound of shock, and you can't help but flinch.

"garrett."

his name slips from your mouth, despite there being no chance he could hear you.

officials move immediately yet garrett barely notices, his forearm pressing across tom's chest, holding him against the glass.

"you're fucking sick."

every word is bitten off, tom laughs in his face. "touchy subject?"

garrett shoves him again, hard enough that tom's helmet knocks against the boards. "talk shit about me all you want."

another shove.

"keep."

another.

"her."

another.

"name."

his voice drops. "out of your fucking mouth!"

a linesman grabs garrett around the shoulders, while another wedges himself between the pair. tom's smile never disappears, if anything, it only grows.

he likes this.

he likes knowing he finally made garrett snap, likes knowing the captain everyone praises for being controlled and disciplined is now being dragged away by an official.

"hit a nerve, graham?" he coaxes.

garrett lunges again, clearly attempting to grab hold of tom one final time however the linesman tightens his grip, dragging him back.

garrett's eyes never leave tom's. "those photos go anywhere, and i'll make sure you never set foot on another hockey rink again."

for a moment, tom's smile falters, only for a moment, then he shoves forward, his glove catching garrett across the face. garrett tears free, his gloves hitting the ice, with tom's following a heartbeat later.

the arena explodes.

players surge towards them. dean is over the boards before the coaching staff can stop him, officials intercept him halfway across the ice.

garrett gets one hand twisted in the front of tom's jersey. to his dismay however, it's tom who throws the first punch, catching garrett high across the cheek.

his head snaps to the side, you gasp.

allie's hand closes around your wrist, her mouth open in shock. "y/n, don't."

you hadn't realised you'd moved, hadn't realised you'd taken a step towards the opening near the bench. you can't get to him, you know that, still, every instinct in your body is screaming at you to try.

garrett swings back immediately, his fist connecting with tom's mouth.

the crowd roars.

the officials are between them almost instantly. one grabs garrett from behind, while another pulls tom in the opposite direction.

both of them continue shouting over the officials' shoulders. you can't hear a single word.

garrett's face is flushed red with anger, blood pooling at the corner of his mouth. tom is laughing, completely entertained by it all.

that's the part that frightens you the most.

not the fight, not the blood, but the fact that tom looks pleased, like this is exactly what he wanted.

garrett is dragged towards the penalty box. he doesn't resist the officials, only wiping his hand on his mouth, attempting to stop the bleeding. his chest rises and falls heavily as anger continues to course throughout the entirety of his body.

his eyes remain fixed on tom until the box door closes behind him.

then finally, he looks towards you.

the anger disappears from his face so quickly it hurts. one second he's furious, the next he almost looks afraid.

not for himself, but for you.

your hand lifts instinctively to the glass, garrett's expression tightens.

the final two minutes of the period blur together. you don't remember the plays, you don't remember the shots.

you barely register the clock running down.

garrett sits in the penalty box with his elbows resting on his knees. his helmet is gone, blood continues to gather slowly at his split lip, one cheek is already beginning to swell.

he stares at the ice, his gaze looking empty.

tom sits in the opposite box, talking to one of the officials as though nothing has happened, as though he hasn't just taken something deeply personal and dragged it into the middle of a rink, as though he hasn't threatened to humiliate you.

garrett's hands shake, he curls them into fists, a clear weak attempt at trying to calm himself down.

tom's voice keeps playing over and over in his mind.

she asked me to get rid of them.

didn't see the point.

the casualness of it makes him feel worse, because tom knows what he has, knows what it means, knows you trusted him once, and he kept them anyway.

not because he had forgotten, but because he could use them, because some part of him wanted to preserve that power over you.

garrett swallows hard at the thought before looking towards the stands once again.

you're still there.

allie stands close beside you, one arm wrapped around your shoulders in a clear attempt at comforting you. you look terrified, confused.

the realisation hits him with almost as much force as tom's punch. you didn't know what tom said, you didn't know what he had admitted to.

you only knew that garrett had lost control.

he hates that.

he hates that he has to be the one to tell you, hates that the truth is waiting for you at the end of the game.

the final horn echoes through the arena.

for half a second, no one moves, then, like clockwork the entire arena erupts.

briar have won.

players pour over the boards, sticks and gloves lift into the air, the bench empties around dean as the crowd surges to its feet. garrett doesn't look at the scoreboard, doesn't look towards the celebration, doesn't even look for the trophy.

his eyes land on you.

the penalty box door opens as he steps onto the ice. one of the officials says something about waiting yet garrett barely hears him. he skates towards the bench, his stick slipping from his hand, falling onto the ice beneath him.

garrett heads straight for you. allie says something to security, dean reaches the boards, pointing towards the access gate.

everything happens quickly after that.

someone opens it and you immediately step through. the second garrett sees you, his expression breaks.

you meet him halfway, your arms wrapping around his neck before either of you says a word. his hands find your waist automatically, pulling you against him.

close, impossibly close. as though the last twenty minutes have hollowed something out inside him and this is the only way to fill it again.

"hey."

his voice is quieter now, nothing like the tone he'd used against tom. he buries his face against your shoulder, breathing you in.

your perfume, your hair, the warmth of you. simply proof that you're here, with him.

your whole body is trembling, he feels it immediately, his grip tightening around you.

"i'm okay," garrett says. the words crack, and somehow they're enough to undo you.

your eyes burn, and a tear slips free before you can stop it. you try to pull back, wanting nothing more than to see garrett's face, wanting to inspect the cut on his mouth.

he doesn't let you, not yet. instead, his arms tighten around you more.

"garrett."

your voice is muffled against his jersey. he presses a kiss into your hair, "i'm alright."

"you got hit."

"i know."

"you were bleeding."

"i know."

you hold him tighter. somewhere behind you, his teammates are celebrating, cameras are flashing, the crowd is chanting, yet none of it seems to reach the small space between the two of you.

eventually, garrett lets you lean back.

your heart sinks the second you see him properly. his cheek is already bruising, his lip is split, angry red scratches run beneath one eye.

your stomach twists at the sight of him, all battered and bruised.

"oh my god."

your fingertips lift carefully towards his mouth. you barely touch him, yet he winces anyway.

"i'm sorry."

he catches your wrist gently. "don't apologise, y/n."

"we need to ice that."

"probably."

his hand settles over yours, warm, steady.

you stare at him. "are you okay?"

he nods, then hesitates. "yeah."

you don't believe him, not for a second.

his eyes search yours. "are you?"

you nod.

he leans in to kiss you, but you hesitate. his eyebrows pull together, clearly confused. "what?"

"your lip."

you press the gentlest kiss against the corner of his jaw instead. "it looks sore."

his mouth curves despite the swelling. "you're making it worse."

"how?"

"by not kissing me."

despite everything, a tiny laugh escapes you. "i thought you were the one always saying kisses fix everything."

you raise an eyebrow. "i'm pretty sure that only applies to headaches."

"same principle."

you roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. "garrett."

"y/n."

another reluctant smile pulls at your mouth. he closes the distance himself. the kiss is impossibly gentle, barely there, careful of his lip, careful of you.

when he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, clearly taking in the moment.

you let out a quiet laugh. "better?"

"much better."

his thumb moves slowly across your waist. for a few seconds, neither of you say anything.

"you're a frozen four championship winner, baby." you say.

the corner of his mouth lifts, "damn right i am."

you grin, nudging him lightly with your shoulder, "try not to let it go to your head."

garrett huffs a laugh, before letting out a long breath. "guess i can kiss the sportsmanship award goodbye."

you stare at him before sighing.

"i'm just trying to lighten the mood, y/n."

a tiny smile flickers across your features, however it fades quickly. garrett sees it happen, watching as your eyes drop to the deep bruise forming beneath his cheekbone.

"what did he say?"

garrett goes completely still.

you can see the shift immediately. his shoulders tighten beneath your hands, while his fingers stop moving against your back.

"garrett."

he looks over your shoulder towards the ice, trying to fix his gaze on anything else but your face.

"he was just trying to get under my skin, y/n."

"what did he say?"

he doesn't respond.

"garrett."

slowly, you cup his bruised jaw, careful not to touch the worst of it. you guide his gaze back to yours. his eyes soften the second they do.

"please tell me."

his jaw works, once, twice, before he exhales. "he said he still had photos."

your brows pull together, clearly confused as to where this conversation was going. "what photos?"

garrett's expression crumples, just slightly, enough to make your stomach drop before he even answers. "private ones."

the world seems to stop. your hand falls away from his face. for a second, you don't understand, or maybe you do, maybe your mind simply refuses to accept it.

"no."

garrett's grip tightens around your waist.

"baby-"

"no." your voice is barely there. "he deleted those."

garrett doesn't say anything. your breathing changes, quickening. "he told me he deleted them."

your eyes search garrett's face as though he might be able to give you a different answer. one that makes sense, one that doesn't make your skin feel too tight around your body.

"he said they were gone."

garrett swallows. "he told me you asked him to delete them."

your face drains of colour as realisation begins to sink in. "i did." your voice cracks, "i begged him to."

garrett closes his eyes for half a second, pain clearly moving across his features. when he opens them again, he looks wrecked, completely, undeniably wrecked.

"i know."

"he said he deleted everything."

"i know."

"garrett, he promised me."

your breath catches. you look towards the rink, your gaze landing on the tunnel that tom had disappeared through minutes ago.

it feels as though he's still standing there, watching you. your arms fold instinctively across your body like a shield.

garrett notices immediately, his heart breaking. there's no discomfort, no hesitation, only concern for you.

you rest your forehead against his chest, while garrett instinctively wraps both arms around you, holding you carefully, like he's afraid the wrong movement might break something already fragile.

your voice comes out muffled against his jersey.

"god."

you squeeze your eyes shut. "i was in high school."

garrett's arms tighten instinctively around you.

"i was stupid."

he shakes his head before you can keep going.

"baby-"

"i thought it was fine," you whisper. "i trusted him."

your breathing catches. "they aren't even...they're not proper nudes." shame floods every word. "they're just stupid lingerie photos."

you let out a broken laugh that sounds closer to a sob. "i honestly forgot they even existed."

garrett closes his eyes, pressing a kiss into your hair. "i know."

another.

"i know." his arms tighten. "i'm so sorry, y/n."

you shake your head against him. "you didn't do it." your fingers curl into the back of his jersey. "did he threaten to send them?"

garrett goes quiet, you feel the answer in the way his body stiffens.

"garrett."

"he implied it."

your breathing catches.

"he said other people would want to see them."

your face crumples, garrett immediately pulls you closer. "but listen to me." you don't move, his hand settles against the back of your head. "he doesn't get to do that."

"you don't know that."

"i know he doesn't get to control what happens next."

his voice is steady now, captain-steady, the voice he uses when everything around him is falling apart and he needs everyone else to believe it can be fixed.

"we'll deal with it."

"how?"

"properly."

he leans back enough to look at you. "with the team, the league, whoever we need."

panic flashes across your face. "people will know."

"only the people who have to."

"and if he already sent them?"

garrett's jaw clenches at the thought. he forces it to relax before answering. "then none of that is your fault." he holds your gaze. "if he's done that, there are consequences. we'll go to the league, we'll go to the police if we have to."

your eyes close. "it'll feel like it is."

"i know." his thumb moves gently across your cheek. "but it isn't."

"you trusted someone you loved," his voice softens. "he's the one who betrayed that."

your lip trembles. "i should've known."

"no."

the word is immediate, firm.

"you don't get to be blamed for believing someone when they promised not to hurt you."

another tear slips free, garrett wipes it away. "he doesn't get to make you feel ashamed of something he chose to keep."

you breathe out shakily, while garrett's forehead remains resting against yours. "they're yours."

he says it quietly. "your body, your trust, your choice."

your eyes close. for a long moment, you simply stand there, breathing the same air, holding onto each other while the arena carries on around you.

eventually, your hands return to his waist. tentative at first, then tighter. garrett feels it, the smallest release in his chest. "he doesn't get to have any part of you anymore."

his forehead remains pressed to yours.

you nod, weakly, but you nod. garrett kisses your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth, careful of his own split lip.

"i've got you, y/n."

your fingers tighten in his jersey.

this time, when you lean into him, he holds you without hesitation.

somewhere behind you, dean calls garrett's name, while allie speaks quietly to one of the team staff.

the celebration continues without either of you.

you stay there for another long moment, listening to the roar of the crowd echoing through the arena. eventually, your breathing begins to steady. you pull back just enough to look at him.

your eyes are still red, your cheeks are damp, but you manage a small nod.

"okay."

garrett searches your face. you swallow hard before nodding again. "i'm okay."

garrett doesn't look convinced.

"baby-"

"garrett."

your hand comes up to cup his bruised cheek. "go."

he frowns.

"this..." your voice catches before you find it again. "this is everything you've ever wanted."

your thumb brushes gently across his cheekbone. "go celebrate. be with your team."

"i'm not leaving you, y/n."

"you're not." another watery smile. "i'll be right here."

his eyes search yours for another few seconds. "promise?"

"promise."

you lean forward first this time, pressing one more soft kiss to his lips. "go get your trophy, captain."

something in his expression breaks before he kisses your forehead gently, "don't go anywhere."

"wasn't planning on it."

he doesn't move.

his hands linger at your waist, his forehead resting against yours for one last second, as though he's trying to convince himself it's okay to leave.

it takes dean's hand landing firmly on his shoulder to finally pull him away, "c'mon, g."

only then does he finally let you go.

he glances back twice before dean catches him around the shoulders, practically dragging him towards the rest of the team.

you watch him disappear into the celebration.

a few seconds later, the championship trophy is lifted high above his head.

briar had won.

His laugh breaks warm and rough near her ear. He bends over her, chest pressing along her back, one hand sliding from her hip to her waist as though he needs to hold more of her at once. “You’re a very hot tour guide, baby.”

She tries to laugh. It turns into a thin, breathless sound when he moves harder, her forehead nearly touching the counter before she catches herself on trembling arms. “You saw one room.”

The words come out thinner than she intends, broken slightly by the way Garrett’s hand tightens around her hip. Her nails skid over the counter before finding purchase again, glossy tips clicking against the pale stone while she tries to glare back at him over her shoulder. 

It would probably be more effective if her breathing weren’t already wrecked and if the look on his face didn’t say he knows exactly how little authority she currently has.

Garrett bends over her until the warm weight of his chest presses along her back, his curls brushing her temple when he turns his mouth toward her ear. He sounds unbearably pleased with himself when he says, “Great room.”

“It’s the kitchen.”

She means it as a correction. It comes out closer to a gasp when his hips press firmly against hers again, driving her farther over the counter until the cold edge catches beneath her stomach. 

The apartment gives the sound back to her from every bare wall, louder and more humiliating than it would be in his bedroom, where blankets, furniture, and three inconsiderate roommates usually absorb some of the evidence.

Garrett’s laugh is low against the side of her neck. “Love what you’ve done with it.”

His free hand slides over her waist, palm broad and warm beneath the bunched fabric of her shirt, as though he’s inspecting the place through touch alone.

There’s nothing to inspect. The kitchen contains two takeaway coffees, her handbag, a packet of screws that may or may not belong to the bed frame being delivered tomorrow, and the keys she dropped onto the island approximately thirty seconds before Garrett kissed her hard enough to end the tour at the entryway.

“There’s nothing in here.”

“There’s you.”

The answer is so stupidly pleased with itself that she twists her head to glare at him, except Garrett catches her jaw and kisses the corner of her mouth before she can arrange the expression properly.

His curls brush her temple. He tastes faintly like the gum he had been chewing in the elevator, which is now stuck to the wrapper of the takeaway coffee he abandoned near the sink.

She bites his bottom lip. Garrett makes a sound against her mouth and straightens, grip tightening at her waist. The next movement knocks the rest of the air out of her in one startled rush.

“Asshole,” she gasps.

“You bit me.”

“You deserved it.”

“For complimenting your apartment?”

His laugh turns into a groan when she shifts against him, and satisfaction flickers through her despite the fact that her thighs are shaking badly enough to make standing a questionable long-term plan. 

She has already come twice since he followed her through the front door, once against the wall beside the intercom because Garrett had insisted the entryway counted as part of the tour, and once bent over this exact counter while her apartment keys dug into her palm.

That’s without accounting for last night, when he had turned up at her dorm claiming he needed to discuss tomorrow’s moving logistics and then contributed absolutely nothing to the discussion beyond taking her clothes off and telling her Dean could carry the couch.

Her body feels warm and overused in that heavy, molten way she’ll complain about later while climbing directly into his lap. Every hard movement drags another helpless noise from her, and Garrett keeps reacting like each one is new information, breath roughening, fingers flexing into her skin.

His hand begins to wander. She feels the shift immediately. The slow sweep of his palm over the curve of her ass, his thumb tracing experimentally lower while the rest of him keeps her pinned securely between his body and the counter.

Her eyes narrow even though he cannot see them. “Garrett.”

“Mm?”

“No.”

His mouth touches her shoulder, suspiciously affectionate for a man attempting a border incursion. “Just once.”

“No.”

“Let me.”

She twists as much as his grip allows, staring back at him over her shoulder with genuine offence. Garrett’s face is flushed, curls falling into his eyes, mouth damp and swollen from kissing her. He looks unfairly pretty for someone proposing crimes against the established order.

“Never,” she says.

His brows lift.

“You will never, ever enter the back door.”

Garrett sighs with the long-suffering disappointment of a man whose rights have been denied. “Fine.”

“Don’t sound like that.”

She feels his sigh more than she hears it, the warm push of his breath against the back of her shoulder while his chest remains pressed along her spine. 

Garrett’s hand is still spread over her ass, fingers flexing in a slow, absent squeeze that would almost seem innocent if his thumb weren’t resting exactly where it has no permission to be.

“Like what?” His voice is rough with exertion and completely false confusion. 

He drags his thumb downward by another fraction, tracing the sensitive crease between her cheeks until her whole body tightens around him and her nails scrape sharply across the counter.

She looks back at him, cheeks hot and breathing uneven, which significantly undermines the severity of her glare. Garrett’s curls are damp at the temples, his mouth parted, and his eyes keep dropping to where his hand disappears behind her as though he’s genuinely struggling to accept the limits of the property.

“Like I cancelled Christmas.”

“You’re very restrictive.”

He says it with a wounded little crease between his brows, but his hips keep moving, hard and steady enough that the next breath catches painfully high in her throat. His thumb presses once – not inside, not technically doing anything she can prosecute, but close enough that her stomach clenches and Garrett’s mouth curves against her shoulder when he feels the reaction run through her.

“I’m protecting national security.”

His mouth twitches. “Your national security?”

The words brush hot over her skin while he lets his hand wander again, palm sliding down, thumb teasing the place she has already explicitly removed from negotiations. Her legs tremble beneath her, partly from the last orgasm and partly from the humiliating fact that Garrett’s persistence is making every nerve in the area feel alert enough to testify.

“My borders are closed.” She punctuates it by reaching behind herself and smacking blindly at his wrist. Garrett catches her hand before she can do any real damage, pins it gently against the small of her back, and gives one more deep movement that makes her mouth fall open against the counter.

“Jesus Christ.” The exasperation would carry more weight if he didn’t sound half wrecked saying it.

He turns his face into the side of her neck, laughing breathlessly there while his grip tightens around her wrist and his other hand finally retreats to the safer territory of her hip.

“You’re acting like I denied you basic human rights,” she pants.

“You did.”

“I denied you access to one entrance.”

“Best entrance.”

Her head whips around as far as it can. “Garrett.”

“What?” His grin flashes against her skin, filthy and boyish and entirely too pleased with the way she clenches around him when he drives forward again. “I said fine.”

“You’re still campaigning.”

“I’m allowed to be disappointed.”

“You’re allowed to shut the fuck up and use the entrance you already have.”

Garrett goes still for half a beat. His eyes sharpen, amusement burning immediately into something heavier, and the hand on her hip clamps down hard enough to pull her back against him.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

She grins against the counter, but it disappears when Garrett suddenly pulls away. The loss makes her body follow before her pride can interfere, a soft, wounded whine slipping from her as she looks back. “Oh, now what?”

Garrett takes her by the waist and turns her before she can finish complaining. His hands fit beneath her thighs, lifting her with humiliating ease, and she barely gets her arms around his shoulders before he sets her on the edge of the counter.

The stone is cold beneath her again. Garrett is not. He steps between her knees, dragging her closer until there is no room left for reasonable thought, then eases her backward across the island with one hand cupped protectively behind her head.

He catches both her ankles and lifts them over his shoulders. The new angle makes her breath catch before he has even done anything, her thighs trembling visibly on either side of his head.

Garrett notices. His eyes move slowly down her body, then back to her face with an expression that makes heat crawl up her throat. He turns his head and bites gently at the inside of her ankle.

“So fuckin’ hot,” he murmurs.

Her laugh breaks apart into a shaky moan when he moves against her again. “My legs are literally malfunctioning.”

“Yeah?”

“You sound proud.”

“I am proud.”

She reaches up and grabs his curls, tugging hard enough to wipe the grin from his mouth. Garrett’s eyes darken. His hand closes more securely around her thigh, thumb pressing into the shaking muscle as though testing the evidence. He laughs, then drives forward hard enough that the sound vanishes from both of them.

Her head tips back against the cold counter. The empty apartment blurs around the edges: high windows letting in late-afternoon light, two coffee cups near the sink, her handbag abandoned beside a packet of screws Garrett had found on the floor and declared load-bearing despite having no idea what they belonged to.

Tomorrow, Dean and Logan will bring the couch. Tucker will arrive with tools because Tucker understands that enthusiasm is not a substitute for a drill. Garrett will complain about the dresser instructions, insist one of the walls is structurally fucked, and quietly put her bed together first because he knows she will be exhausted by lunchtime.

Right now, though, there’s only his hand beneath her knee, his mouth against her ankle, and the rough break of his breathing every time she tightens her legs around his shoulders.

His gaze lifts to hers. “Where?”

The question comes low and direct, cutting cleanly through the haze. Even like this, even with her nails scraping his scalp and his control visibly hanging by a thread, Garrett waits.

She swallows, chest rising too fast. “Inside.”

His jaw tightens. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” She tugs his hair again, impatience returning now that he has made her use a complete sentence. “And don’t make me repeat myself in my own kitchen.”

“Bossy homeowner.”

“Homeless hockey player.”

“I have a house.”

“Then go fuck on the counter there.”

Garrett stares at her for half a second, then laughs so hard he has to drop his forehead briefly against her shin. The sight of him like that – flushed, wrecked, grinning against her skin in an apartment that still smells like fresh paint and cardboard – pulls something warm through her that has very little to do with the way her body is trembling beneath him.

She strokes one thumb beneath his eye. “You okay, hockey boy?”

His smile fades into something softer and more focused. He turns his face and kisses the centre of her palm. “Yeah,” he murmurs. 

Before she can make fun of him for sounding accidentally sincere, Garrett catches her wrist, kisses it once more, then bends over her and steals whatever she might have said directly from her mouth.

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your apartment building isn't much to look at. garrett has dropped you home a few times, but he's never actually seen inside.

lily skips beside him, clutching her hot chocolate. "i knock?"

"gentle."

she gives exactly one enthusiastic bang before he catches her little fist.

"gentle, lil."

another knock.

a few seconds pass, then footsteps sound before the door creaks open.

you blink at them from behind a pair of oversized sunglasses despite the fact you're very obviously indoors.

your hair is piled into what might've once been a bun, there's faint mascara smudged beneath one eye, and an oversized hoodie hangs off one shoulder.

"oh, hi!"

your voice is hoarse, lily lets out an excited squeal.

"y/n!"

you wince immediately. lily slaps both hands over her own mouth before whispering just as loudly.

"y/n!"

garrett bites the inside of his cheek. "rough morning?"

you let out the most pathetic groan he's ever heard.

"please don't judge me."

he holds out the coffee. "figured this might help."

you stare at it. "is that..."

"your order."

you look between the cup and him. "you bought me coffee?"

garrett rubs the back of his neck. "it was an accident."

"well." you take it carefully, like you're worried it'll disappear if you move too quickly.

"that's the nicest accident anyone's ever had." you crack the lid immediately, inhaling the steam with your eyes closed.

"oh my god."

it's somewhere between relief and reverence.

garrett laughs, it's impossible not to. you look genuinely tragic.

"i don't usually look like..." you vaguely gesture towards your face, "this."

lily studies you with the intense concentration only three year olds seem capable of. "you got black under your eyes."

your shoulders sag, entirely defeated, "i know."

"like a raccoon."

"...thank you, lil."

garrett can't help himself, he laughs outright. you point a finger at him without looking up.

"you're my boss."

another sip.

"you're not supposed to see me hungover."

"noted."

"and for the record, this was a result of peer pressure."

"sounds serious."

"my friends wouldn't take no for an answer."

"mhm."

"don't mhm me."

he grins. "well you survived, y/n."

"barely."

lily wanders closer, her little brows knitting together. she stares up at you for a moment before quietly holding her arms out.

"up?"

your entire expression softens. "of course, lil."

you crouch carefully, still moving like your head hurts, and lift her onto your hip. lily immediately curls into you like it's the most natural place in the world.

one tiny hand keeps hold of her bunny, the other reaches up to cup your cheek. your sunglasses slip down your nose slightly. lily squints at your face with complete seriousness.

then she smooths a few messy strands of hair away from your forehead. her little thumb brushes beneath your eye, trying to wipe away the leftover mascara.

she smiles proudly. "pretty."

the words are so matter-of-fact that your eyes sting before you can stop them.

"thanks, bug." you kiss the top of her head. "you're pretty too."

"i know."

garrett snorts, lily beams at him.

your phone buzzes in your hoodie pocket. balancing lily with one arm, you fish it out. the second your eyes land on the screen.

"oh no."

garrett raises an eyebrow. "what?"

you instinctively angle the screen away. "nothing."

"y/n."

"some guy."

"some guy?"

you sigh dramatically. "i don't even remember giving him my number."

garrett tries very hard to keep his expression neutral. "productive night then."

you groan. "don't."

"i'm just saying."

"i'm deleting his number."

you glance across the road. the little playground is almost empty this early. you smile, lifting your coffee. "do you guys want to sit over there for a bit?"

garrett looks at you. "thought today was your day off."

"it is." you shrug. "but i've already got the coffee."

you smile over the rim of the cup. "would be rude not to drink it with the people who brought it for me."

garrett doesn't hesitate. "okay."

-

five minutes later, you're sitting on a park bench with your sunglasses still firmly on, both hands wrapped around your latte while lily chatters happily between trips down the little slide.

every now and then she runs back over just to announce something incredibly important.

"i did fast!"

"i saw."

"bunny did fast too!"

"she sure did."

then she's gone again.

you lean your head back with a long sigh. "i think i might love you."

garrett nearly chokes on his coffee. your eyes widen behind the sunglasses.

"the coffee."

you point at it immediately. "i meant the coffee."

"...right."

"god."

you bury your face in one hand. "please pretend i've said absolutely nothing for the last five minutes."

he smiles into his cup. "i'll consider it."

you peek over the top of your sunglasses. "you're never letting me live this down, are you?"

"probably not."

"great."

he watches lily race across the grass, bunny bouncing wildly against her side, then he looks at you.

hair a mess, mascara still smudged despite lily's best attempts, hungover enough to look absolutely miserable.

yet somehow still making him laugh before ten in the morning.

the air smelled of fresh coffee and buttered pastries, the espresso machine never seemed to stop hissing, and the line snaked almost to the door with families stopping in after the playground.

lily stays tucked beside garrett, one tiny hand wrapped around his finger while the other absentmindedly drags her stuffed bunny along by one floppy ear.

“daddy."

"yeah, bug."

"bunny wants a drink too.”

garrett can't help but smile, shaking his head. "bunny doesn't have any money."

lily looks up at him, deeply unimpressed. “you have money.”

garrett glances down at her. “that sounds suspiciously like something dean taught you.”

lily nods, clearly mimicking dean's words. “uncle dean says you’re rich.”

"does he?"

she nods again. "all the time."

“of course he does.”

she beams, clearly taking his answer as confirmation, swinging their joined hands between them as they approach the counter.

garrett barely looks at the menu, he never really does anymore.

“large black coffee,” he says, shifting lily higher against his side when she reaches up to be carried. “a small hot chocolate, extra whipped cream.”

lily nods seriously, before leaning towards the counter.

“sprinkles," she whispers.

the barista laughs softly.

"and sprinkles please," garrett amends.

the barista smiles at lily before looking back at garrett. “anything else?”

“and a medium oat latte, please."

the words leave his mouth without hesitation. it's automatic, thoughtless.

garrett pays, moving to the end of the counter, spending the next few minutes stopping lily from touching every packet of sugar within reach.

when their order is called, he balances the cardboard tray in one hand and lily’s bunny in the other while she carefully carries her own hot chocolate with both hands.

“slowly,” he warns as they step outside.

“i am slow.”

she isn’t.

she’s taking tiny, hurried steps, staring down at the whipped cream piled beneath the plastic lid like it might disappear before she gets the chance to drink it.

garrett keeps one hand hovering behind her back the entire walk to the car.

he straps her into her seat, rescues the hot chocolate before she can tip it into her lap, before setting the tray carefully in the cup holders between the front seats.

his coffee fits, lily’s hot chocolate fits, yet the oat latte doesn’t.

he frowns at it for a second, irritated by the inconvenience, before wedging it into the spare holder near the centre console.

it isn’t until he’s driving that something about it begins to bother him. not enough to understand why, just enough that his eyes keep dropping towards the pale cardboard cup every time he stops at a light.

a medium oat latte.

your order.

the same one you always got when the three of you stopped at that exact cafe.

the one he'd started remembering because you always wandered off with lily to look at the pastries before you'd ordered, and he'd grown tired of calling your name across the café.

the one he'd ordered often enough that the words no longer seemed to require conscious thought.

garrett turns onto his street.

lily is humming to herself in the back seat, a ring of whipped cream already clinging to her top lip despite garrett's repeated instructions to wait until they got home.

he reaches for his coffee.

his fingers brush the second cup instead, and then it hits him.

you aren't working today.

he glances at the clock on the dashboard, as though it might somehow prove him wrong.

it's sunday, your day off.

you had reminded him twice. once on friday when he’d asked what time you were coming over, and again yesterday when lily had started planning what the two of you were going to do together.

“y/n isn’t coming tomorrow, bug” garrett had told his daughter.

lily had frowned. “why?”

“because she has a life outside of us.”

he’d said it lightly, teasingly, but the sentence had lingered longer than he’d expected.

garrett looks at the untouched latte again.

he had bought you coffee.

he'd simply stepped up to the counter and ordered three drinks.

one for him, one for lily, one for you, as though there had never been another option. as though three was simply the natural number now.

something unfamiliar settles low in his chest. not panic, exactly, not yet. just a quiet awareness that hadn't been there before.

you’ve worked for him for months. you’ve become part of lily’s routine, which was expected.

you know which socks she’ll wear without arguing and which spoon she wants with her cereal. you know how to coax her into the bath when she’s overtired, how to tell the difference between her genuinely being frightened and simply trying to delay bedtime.

yet somewhere along the way, without garrett noticing, you’ve become part of his routine too.

your shoes beside the front door, your lecture notes scattered across the kitchen table, your voice answering when he calls home from the road, your coffee sitting beside his.

“daddy?”

garrett’s eyes lift to the rear-view mirror. lily is watching him, her brows pulled together.

“yes, bug?”

“you missed our house.”

he looks ahead, their driveway is disappearing behind them in the rear-view mirror.

“...shit.”

lily gasps, garrett closes his eyes briefly.

“no.”

“jar.”

“lily.”

“one monies.”

he lets out a quiet sigh, signalling before turning at the end of the street, "okay."

instantly satisfied, lily settles back into her seat. “where we going?”

garrett glances once more at the oat latte beside him. he could take it home, put it in the fridge, throw it away later when neither of them inevitably drink it.

“we’re going to visit y/n's place.”

lily’s entire face brightens. “we see y/n?”

“we’re dropping something off.”

“my hot chocolate?”

garrett huffs a laugh. “absolutely not.”

she hugs the cup protectively against her chest. garrett shakes his head, unable to stop the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he turns the car around.

he tells himself it's because the drink would only go to waste otherwise.

you don't live too far and lily will be happy to see you.

all perfectly reasonable explanations.

yet none of them explain why his chest feels lighter the second he decides to go.

At Malone’s, he puts both hands on her hips and shifts her between himself and the bar because somebody keeps bumping into her from behind.

At the hockey house, if she stretches across him for the remote, he catches her around the middle and pulls her into his lap rather than allowing her to block the television.

She has always responded by rolling her eyes, correcting his grip or informing him that she’s perfectly capable of moving independently.

Lately, her body has begun disagreeing. Garrett’s hand lands on her back, and heat follows the shape of his palm through her shirt. He catches her waist, and her stomach tightens beneath his fingers. He pulls her closer by the chair, the ankle, the hips, and some small, humiliating part of her settles immediately, pleased to have been placed exactly where he wants her.

It’s deeply inconvenient information.

Tonight, they’re spread across the hockey-house living room watching an action movie Logan chose because, according to him, the explosion-to-dialogue ratio is scientifically perfect. Nobody asks which branch of science measures that.

She’s curled into the middle of the couch in a matching pale-pink set she bought because the tank made her waist look nice and the sweatpants sat low and soft across her hips. 

Garrett occupies the corner beside her, broad enough to take up more than his allotted cushion, one arm stretched along the backrest and both socked feet planted on the coffee table despite Tucker having told him twice that people eat there.

Logan has claimed the armchair. Tucker is sitting at the other end of the couch with the expression of a man attempting to enjoy himself despite living among animals.

Onscreen, somebody drives a motorcycle through the window of a moving train.

“That’s not possible,” Tucker says.

Logan gestures toward the television with both hands. “You don’t know that.”

She shifts, trying to tuck her legs beneath herself, but Garrett’s feet are blocking half the space. One of them brushes the side of her thigh. She nudges his ankle away. It returns less than ten seconds later.

“Move your feet, G,” she complains, pushing at his shin with both hands. “You’re taking up the entire couch.”

Garrett does not look away from the screen. “I’m sitting in one seat.”

“Your legs are in another fucking country.”

“They’re long.”

“Your feet are gross.”

That earns her a glance. “They’re in socks.”

“I know what’s underneath.”

Garrett’s mouth twitches. “You’ve thought about what’s underneath?”

She glares at the side of his face, which only makes the twitch deepen. “Your feet, loser.”

“Sure, princess.”

She shoves his ankle harder. Garrett lets it fall sideways for a moment, then deliberately rests his calf over her lap.

Her mouth drops open. “Get off me.”

“Stop moving.”

“You stop moving.”

“I’m watching the movie.”

“You’re touching me with your foot.”

“My condolences.”

She digs her fingers into the sole through his sock. Garrett jerks and nearly kicks the popcorn bowl from Tucker’s hands.

Tucker looks between them with exhausted disgust. “Can you both behave for ninety minutes?”

“She started it,” Garrett says.

“He put his disgusting feet on me.”

“They’re clean!” 

Tucker peers into the bowl and frowns. “We’re out of popcorn.”

“There’s another bag in the pantry,” Garrett tells him, making no effort to move his leg from her lap.

Tucker rises with a sigh that suggests the popcorn is the only dependable relationship in his life. At almost the same moment, Logan pauses the movie and pushes himself out of the armchair. “Bathroom.”

“You don’t need to announce it,” Tucker says on his way toward the kitchen.

“I was explaining why I paused it.”

“You could’ve just gone.”

“What if you thought I’d died?”

“I wouldn’t,” Tucker sighs. 

The two of them disappear in opposite directions, still arguing, and the living room falls abruptly quieter.

She watches the empty doorway for half a second before turning back to Garrett. “Move.”

He looks at her now. “Still complaining?”

“Garrett.”

She reaches for his leg again. Garrett moves first. His hand closes around her jaw, fingers spreading firmly over both cheeks as he turns her face toward him.

The breath stalls in her throat. There’s barely enough time to register his thumb near the corner of her mouth before he kisses her.

Hard at first, enough to push the next complaint back behind her teeth, then slower. Deeper. His mouth settles over hers with the calm certainty of someone who already knows she will let him, his palm warm and broad around her face while his fingers press into the soft skin beneath her cheekbones.

She melts so quickly it would be embarrassing if she were capable of thinking about anything except his tongue sliding against hers.

A small sound slips from her. Garrett catches it in his mouth, his grip tightening just slightly, squeezing her cheeks until her lips part more fully for him.

Heat pours down the front of her body. Her hands find his wrist, holding on while she kisses him back with the same hungry pressure. Garrett’s thumb drags once along her cheek. 

His mouth moves against hers slowly enough that she feels every shift, every warm pull of his lips, every quiet breath taken through his nose because neither of them seems willing to separate properly.

She leans toward him without deciding to. Garrett allows it until her shoulder is pressed against his chest and one knee has slid over his thigh, then he gives her lower lip one final, lingering kiss and pulls back barely an inch.

“Stop complaining, princess.”

Her eyes open slowly. Garrett is close enough that his face remains blurred around the edges, dark curls falling over his forehead, mouth flushed and faintly wet from hers. His hand is still holding her cheeks.

She nods.

The grin begins at one corner of his mouth. He leans in and pecks her lips, soft and almost sweet compared to what he’s just done. “Good girl.”

Something inside her drops. Her stomach tightens at once, thighs pressing together beneath the low waistband of her sweats while her fingers curl harder around his wrist.

She blinks at him. Then nods again.

Garrett’s grin widens with slow, devastating understanding. He kisses her one more time, only a brief press of his mouth to hers, and releases her face just as Tucker’s footsteps approach from the kitchen.

By the time he reappears with a fresh bowl balanced against his stomach, Garrett is facing the television again, expression perfectly neutral.

She’s still staring at his profile.

Tucker stops beside the couch. “Logan’s still peeing?”

She clears her throat. It does nothing. Her voice still emerges softer than usual. “Mhm.”

Tucker nods and moves to sit in the narrow space on her other side.

Before she can shift herself, Garrett reaches down, wraps one hand around both her ankles and yanks. A startled breath leaves her as she slides across the couch, sweatpants dragging over the cushions until her hip bumps against his and both legs land across his lap. 

Garrett hooks his forearm over her shins, securing her there without looking away from the paused movie.

Normally, she would object on principle. She would tell him she had been comfortable, kick at his stomach or demand that he stop treating her like a carry-on bag.

Instead, she bites the inside of her lip and stares determinedly toward the television. Garrett’s hand rests around her ankle. His thumb begins moving absently over the exposed strip of skin between her sweatpants and sock.

Tucker sits down, sets the popcorn in his lap and reaches for the remote. “Why do you look weird?”

“I don’t,” she says too quickly.

Garrett’s thumb strokes her ankle again. She keeps her eyes fixed on the frozen motorcycle hanging impossibly above the train. Beside her, Garrett shifts one corner of his mouth into a smile he probably thinks she cannot see.

Logan returns and the movie starts again. Another building explodes. She hears none of it.

Garrett’s fingers remain closed around her ankle, loose but certain, keeping her legs stretched over his lap exactly where he put them.

Sneaking around is hot. Garrett manhandling her is hotter. And judging by the satisfied little squeeze he gives her ankle when she finally risks glancing sideways, Garrett has already worked out both.

She is so completely fucked.

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after the first year or so, she made the incredibly difficult decision to step away rather than keep drifting in and out of lily's life. garrett fought for full custody, and she signed over primary custody willingly.

she isn't a dramatic ex constantly causing problems, she's simply absent.

garrett never speaks badly about her, especially not around lily. if lily asks where her mom is, he answers honestly in age-appropriate ways

"she loves you in her own way, bug. she just isn't able to be here, but you've got me, and i'm never going anywhere."

i also think that's part of why he's so cautious with y/n.

it's not because he's scared of dating. he's scared of introducing permanence into lily's life that might not actually be permanent.

he's already watched one important adult leave her. he couldn't bear to let her get attached to someone else if there was even a chance they'd disappear too.

which is why the slow burn matters so much. by the time either of them admits their feelings, y/n isn't just 'dad's girlfriend' anymore, she's already become one of the safest, most consistent people in lily's entire world.

for garrett, loving y/n isn't the frightening part.

the frightening part is realising that, if he ever asks her to stay forever, he's not just asking for himself. he's asking for his little girl too, and he refuses to make that promise unless he's absolutely certain they both mean it.

instead of calling her back or making a big deal out of it, y/n simply picks up another block and starts absentmindedly building the world's wonkiest little tower while she keeps answering garrett's questions.

five minutes later another block appears, then another. eventually lily quietly sits down beside her without saying a word. they build together in comfortable silence for nearly twenty minutes, until inevitably the tower topples over.

y/n gasps dramatically, "oh no!"

lily stares at the mess, before letting out one tiny giggle. garrett hears it from the kitchen, it's the first time she's laughed around someone new in...he honestly can't remember how long.

that's the moment, really.

it's not some huge emotional breakthrough, rather a tiny little laugh over a crooked block tower.

after that, the relationship grows naturally.

there are still little moments of separation anxiety in those first few weeks. sometimes lily cries when garrett leaves for practice, sometimes she only wants him, sometimes she has days where absolutely nothing makes sense because she's three.

but y/n never takes it personally. she doesn't try to replace garrett. she sits on the floor beside lily, saying things like, "you miss daddy, huh?" instead of, "it's okay."

she lets lily feel whatever she's feeling.

i actually think that's one of the biggest reasons garrett trusts her so quickly. she never tries to become the most important person in lily's life, she's simply trying to support the relationship lily already has with her dad.

and lily? lily decides almost embarrassingly quickly that y/n is her person.

within a month she's asking, "y/n do my hair?"

"y/n read book?"

"y/n see!"

every tiny discovery somehow has to be shown to y/n.

garrett notices before anyone else. one afternoon he gets home from practice and hears tiny footsteps racing across the hallway. he smiles, expecting, "daddy!"

except...lily throws her arms around him for exactly three seconds, then immediately grabs his hand. "come see y/n."

he laughs. "hi to you too, bug."

she beams. "i already said hi."

garrett interviews her because, well... he has to. but honestly, all it takes is watching her spend twenty minutes sitting on the floor with lily building a crooked block tower before he knows.

ultimately y/n gets the job.

she had moved to boston for university knowing almost nobody. allie was one of the first real friends she'd made, but by the time they became close, y/n had already signed a twelve-month lease with three girls she'd found through a student housing website. it wasn't ideal, but it was affordable, close to campus, and at the time she'd figured a roof over her head was all that really mattered.

at first, it was fine.

one roommate was lovely, one was barely ever home, the third was the problem.

her boyfriend practically lived there. there were constantly people she'd never met wandering through the apartment, nobody ever remembered to lock the front door, groceries disappeared from the fridge, clothes somehow ended up in other people's rooms, and the place never really felt like hers.

it wasn't awful, it just wasn't home.

at first, it's barely mentioned, then little comments start slipping out.

"my roommate had people over again."

"someone ate all my groceries."

"sorry i'm tired, they were playing music until three."

nothing dramatic, just enough that garrett starts noticing.

he'll make an extra coffee because she looks exhausted, tell her to head home a little earlier if lily's napping, ask if everything's alright in that casual way he has where he's clearly asking because he cares but doesn't want to overstep.

then there's the date.

allie convinces her to go, "he seems lovely."

turns out...he isn't.

nothing catastrophic, just enough that alarm bells start ringing. he's pushier than she'd expected, doesn't really take the hint when she says she's leaving, follows her outside trying to convince her to stay.

she gets to her car, locks the doors, and just...sits there.

it's late.

she doesn't really want to drive another forty minutes knowing the apartment's probably full of strangers again. she stares at her phone for a long moment before pressing garrett's contact. he answers almost immediately.

"y/n?"

"...hi."

he hears it straight away, "what happened?"

"could you maybe come get me?"

he doesn't ask another question, "send me your location."

that's it.

he picks her up twenty minutes later, hands her the hoodie he'd grabbed from the back seat because she's shivering despite insisting she's fine, and drives in comfortable silence until she starts talking on her own.

it's after one by the time they reach his place. she thanks him, reaching for the door handle. "i'll head home. see you tomorrow."

he looks at the dashboard clock. "you're not driving another forty minutes."

"i don't want to inconvenience you."

"you're not."

"garrett-"

"guest room."

y/n still hesitates, he sighs.

"please."

so she stays.

fresh towels folded neatly on the bed, a spare toothbrush still in the packaging because somehow garrett has extras for everything.

the next morning lily wanders out, spots y/n walking into the kitchen and gasps so loudly they both jump.

"sleepover!"

both of them answer at exactly the same time. "just for tonight."

lily doesn't seem remotely concerned by that, she just grins. "sleepovers mean pancakes?"

weeks pass, life goes back to normal, except not really, because now staying over doesn't feel strange anymore. it's happened once and they know it works.

the apartment living situation slowly gets worse for y/n.

she arrives one morning looking so exhausted she can barely keep her eyes open while helping lily put on her socks. garrett notices, of course he does. he waits until lily's happily colouring before asking quietly, "how bad is it?"

y/n shrugs like it's nothing. he can tell it isn't. he listens while she awkwardly explains everything, stirring his coffee without interrupting once. when she's finished, he simply says,

"move in."

she laughs because she genuinely thinks he's joking, he isn't.

"garrett."

"there's a spare room."

"i couldn't."

"you could."

"that completely blurs the line between work and...everything."

"it doesn't have to."

"it'll confuse lily."

he shakes his head. "she'll understand."

"i'd feel like i was imposing."

"you wouldn't."

she keeps finding reasons, he keeps quietly answering every single one, until eventually she sighs. "why are you doing this?"

he looks down at the coffee mug in his hands before answering. "because i don't want the person who spends every day looking after my daughter going home somewhere she doesn't feel safe."

she opens her mouth to argue, he doesn't let her. "you're the person my daughter spends more time with than almost anyone."

she looks up at him.

"if you're driving home exhausted every night... if you're living somewhere you don't feel safe", he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, "that's not something i'm okay with."

a quiet pause settles between them, then, softer, "and if i know that's happening," he trails off for a moment, "and something happened to you because i did nothing."

he shakes his head once. "i couldn't live with myself."

it's never framed as romance, not even close. in his head, it's practical. she needs somewhere safe, he has a spare room, that's all.

he doesn't push, simply stating that "the offer's there", leaving it at that.

no pressure, no expectation.

she tells herself exactly the same thing. it's temporary, she'll figure something out, she doesn't want to blur the lines.

a week later she pulls into the apartment complex after work. there are six strangers drinking in her kitchen, someone's music is blaring, her bedroom door is wide open.

she doesn't even get out of the car, she just sits there in silence, staring at the building, then down at her phone. she scrolls until she finds the message garrett had sent a few days earlier after she'd brushed the conversation off.

garrett graham

the offer's still there.

she reads it three times before typing back.

are you sure?

less than a minute later her phone lights up.

garrett graham

already making up the guest room.

that's it, no questions, no i told you so, no making her explain herself.

dean, meanwhile, takes one look at the situation and almost laughs.

"so..."

garrett doesn't even look up, "don't."

"y/n lives with you now."

"temporarily."

"right."

"dean."

"i'm just saying."

allie kicks him under the table, he still smirks, because everyone else can already see what neither of them can, and the person who adjusts the quickest isn't garrett.

it isn't y/n.

it's lily.

to her, nothing complicated has happened.

the person she loves just doesn't have to leave every evening anymore. she starts knocking softly on the guest room door in the mornings before climbing into bed beside y/n for five more minutes of cuddles.

she proudly tells people, "y/n's room is here now."

that's why i think it works so well. nobody makes one huge life-changing decision. every step feels small and completely reasonable on its own.

first she's allie's friend, then she's lily's nanny, then she's someone garrett trusts, then someone lily can't imagine her days without, then someone who occasionally stays in the guest room, then someone who needs somewhere safe to stay.

until one day, they all look around the house and realise it doesn't really feel complete unless she's in it.

*currently where we're at, y/n is still living in the apartment with the three girls, and there haven't been any issues just yet! <3

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

The air in the room is thick with tension.

“I mean, really?” You scoff. “My sister?”

Dean looks down shamefully. “It wasn’t like that,” he murmurs.

“Bullshit. That’s exactly what it was and you know it! While I was at home, taking care of our children, you were out fucking my sister!” You seethe. “What am I supposed to tell them, huh? That Daddy’s not coming home anymore because he’s too busy playing happy family with Auntie Carol?!”

Dean looks up at you finally, his eyes filled with anger. “Maybe you should tell them that Daddy couldn’t take being in a loveless marriage anymore! You wanna know why I slept with Carol? At least, she was there for me.”

“That’s not—!”

“Admit it. You’ve resented me ever since I got laid off. You don’t even look at me like I’m a man anymore!” Dean shouts.

From the kitchen, Tucker glances at Logan, his voice a low whisper. “...What is going on right now?”

You and Dean are sitting on the floor of the living room, pinned between the couch and coffee table—where a handful of Littlest Pet Shops are sitting in a pile. The head of a grey cat is pinched between your fingers as you twist it wildly to match the words you’re saying to the brown and tan border collie in Dean’s fingers.

Logan lets out a tired sigh, rubbing his eyes. “They’re playing house.”

“—If you want me to treat you like a man then act like one, Lewis!”

“Don’t act like I’m the only one making mistakes here.” Dean wiggles his dog at you accusingly. “You think I don’t know what’s been going on? Why you always have to ‘stay late at the office’?”

You let your cat take a dramatic step forward. “We have a giant proposal coming up, I told you—,”

“I didn’t realize that involved having sex with your coworker! I smell his cologne on you when you come home, don’t even try to deny it. I mean, God, is there even a proposal at all or was that just a lie too?”

The two of you fall into silence, before Dean shakes his dog’s head sadly. “I think I should stay at Carol’s tonight.”

“Oh yeah, you do that.” You laugh bitterly. “Just run away from your problems. Classic Lewis.”

“That’s not fair—,”

“Just say goodbye to the kids and go, I can’t even look at you right now.” You turn your cat around dramatically and lift it up and down on the table to walk away. 

Your other hand moves to the pile of LPS and you pick through the different toys. “Hey, Tuck?” You call out without looking up.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna be the kid or the divorce attorney?”

“...Divorce attorney, please.”

“Okay, you can be mine and Logan can be Dean’s.” You nod in agreement.

Dean lets out an indignant squawk. “Wait, that’s not fair! Why do I get stuck with Logan?”

The morning comes far earlier than you would have liked it to. You wake up with a crick in your neck and a “crying your eyes out for several hours” induced migraine. But that’s what you get for sleeping on the daybeds and not drinking any water before going to sleep.

After the recoupling text, you and Garrett went back to the bedroom to grab your blanket and pillows because, shockingly, you had not wanted to share a bed with Joe—(Garrett tried to insist that you shouldn’t have to do that, offering to kick Joe out of the room for you, but you weren’t quite ready to face everyone else either). Your plan was to spend the night in Soul Ties, but when you got there, you realized Tucker had already set up camp. 

Through a sad smile, he explained that after your abrupt exit from Movie Night, they still had to watch the final clip behind door number five. Apparently Meg and Joe had done far more than the heavy flirting you’d seen in his clips. At this point, you couldn’t give less of a fuck anymore but the information had been hurtful to Tucker.

For the second time that night, you had to argue a man out of his chivalrous tendencies when Tucker got up to move and let you sleep in the more comfortable Soul Ties. You told him that he would not be doing that and spent the night on the daybeds instead. And thus, you wake up feeling like you got hit by a bus.

You shuffle into the kitchen, wincing as the sun hits your eyes. Tucker’s already awake when you get there, scrambling some eggs around in a pan.

“Mornin’.” He gives you a small nod of acknowledgement, smiling at you over his shoulder.

“Good morning.” You smile softly, starting to fill up your water bottle. “How you feelin’?”

“Like shit. You?”

You laugh at his candor, taking a large gulp of water. “Same. I think I cried all the moisture out of my body, my head is killing me.”

Between you, the toaster pops off, releasing two pieces of toast. Tucker plates them quickly, before shoveling the scrambled eggs on as well.

“Here.” He hands you the plate.

“Tuck—,”

“I was making it for you anyway,” he interrupts your protests with a sad smile. “I figured neither of us exactly have breakfast plans right now.”

You look down at the plate like he handed you glittering jewels, your eyes already welling up. 

Setting the plate on the counter quickly, you throw your arms around Tucker. “Thank you.”

“It’s just a plate of eggs and toast,” he chuckles, but his arms tighten against you anyway.

“I know.” You pull away from him slowly after giving him one last squeeze. “But you made it for me.”

The two of you chat for a bit longer, before the rest of the Villa starts waking up and you leave him to start on his own breakfast as you head up to the dressing room to get ready for the day.

You need to take a steadying breath to collect yourself before opening the door. An uncomfortable air hangs over the room, the usually loud conversations and laughter now just quiet whispers. All the girls look up when you come in.

“Oh my god,” Allie scrambles out of her stool, nearly tripping as she rushes over to pull you into a bear hug. “I wanted to check on you last night, but Garrett said you needed some space.”

You have to hold your plate out awkwardly not to get egg on her, but she doesn’t let go. You shoot Hannah a grateful smile as she takes it from you, setting it down before she too joins the hug. 

“I missed you last night, it was weird not being able to roll over and talk to you.”

“Genuinely.” Dionne nods, and now you’re being hugged tightly by all three girls in the doorway of the dressing room. “Next time you wanna sleep outside, we’re having a sleepover.”

Yet again, your eyes well up and you bury your face in Allie’s shoulder. “Guys…”

At the sound of your tears, Allie pulls away, cupping your face and wiping your cheeks. “Uh-uh, no more crying, we all did enough of that last night. Today we’re bad bitches who don’t need no man.”

You laugh, nodding in agreement.

“How are you feeling?” Hannah squeezes your hand.

“I’ve been better,” you shrug. “But Tucker made me eggs and they’re really good.”

Your eyes drift to Meg, who’s sitting at one of the farther away vanities, straightening her hair. When she feels your gaze, she looks up and forces a small, awkward smile.

“Hey…”

“Hi,” you clear your throat.

You offer nothing else, picking up your eggs again and sitting down to get ready.

The realization that Meg had not only done nothing to defend you from the way Joe was speaking about you, but had also snuck around with him behind your back had hurt more than you thought it would. Meg wasn’t your closest friend in the Villa, but you thought that you were friends enough that she wouldn’t do something like that to you. The fact that she had wasn’t something you were ready to unpack with her this early in the morning, but you also weren’t ready to pretend everything was fine. So, for now, you have nothing to say to her.

If the other girls notice the awkward tension they don’t say anything. Instead, Allie turns to you. “Okay, now that you’re here we can tell you everything that happened last night.”

“What happened?”

“Well, for starters, basically every couple is on the rocks right now. Me and Sean slept with a pillow wall—,”

“And Justin and I slept so far apart, you could’ve fit another person between us,” Hannah winces.

You send her an apologetic smile as Allie continues. “Yeah, no one was really getting loved up last night. But what we did get was a front row seat to Garrett threatening the ever-living shit out of Joe.”

Your mouth parts in shock.

“Oh, he was pissed,” Dionne lets out a breath at the memory. “I thought for sure the producers were gonna have to separate them or something.”

“Was it that bad?”

Hannah hesitates. “It wasn’t great. But maybe you should talk to Garrett about it.”

You nod thoughtfully, deciding not to push for more, and reach for your sunscreen. “Did he tell you guys about the recoupling?”

“Yes.” Allie groans, dramatically dropping her face into her hands. “I’m so fucked, dude.”

The conversation devolves into you all stressing about tonight and no one comments when Meg finishes up quickly and leaves the room.

“Favorite childhood movie?”

“...What?”

Garrett lifts his head slightly to look at you from where he’s sprawled out on one of the bean bags.

“What’s your favorite movie from when you were a kid?” You ask again, perched in a bean bag of your own.

He pushes himself up to be able to look at you from a better angle and quirks a brow at you. “Why do you wanna know?”

“I think it can tell you a lot about a person,” you sniff.

Garrett nods slowly. “What’s yours then?”

“No, you have to go first?”

“What? Why?”

“Because, if I go first, you’ll just copy my answer,” you tell him pointedly. “I’ll say mine after.”

Garrett rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but complies. He’s silent for several moments before, finally, he says, “Toy Story.”

You hum.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you smile. “It’s a good answer.”

“Yeah? You gonna tell me what it means?” He asks, rolling slightly on his bean bag to face you better.

“Nope.”

Garrett raises his brows in mild surprise, but by now he knows better than to argue with you on it. Instead he relaxes again, letting the Fiji sun warm his skin. “Fine. Are you gonna say yours now?”

“Shrek 2.”

“What?” Garrett chokes out a laugh.

“It’s a cinematic masterpiece, Garrett!” You exclaim. “And it’s one of the few times in the history of ever that a sequel was better than the original.”

“Wow,” Garrett looks deeply amused. “You’re really gonna say something like that on national television?” 

“Yeah, because I’m right. America will agree with me, you’ll see.” You fold your arms over your chest proudly.

Like most since he entered the Villa, your morning had been quite Garrett-filled. But today especially, the two of you were almost inseparable—which was almost entirely Garrett’s doing when he first noticed Joe approaching you.

You’d spent the morning avoiding Joe like the plague. The few times he awkwardly approached you—hoping to pull you for a chat after everything that had happened at Movie Night—you shut him down firmly, telling him that you had absolutely nothing you wanted to say to him. And, of course, the fact that Garrett was standing less than a foot away leveling him with a pointed glare had also helped in getting Joe to leave you alone.

But now things with Garrett have also become a bit complicated. Something had changed between you last night, the secret crush you had on him since he entered the Villa now blossoming into something far more serious. And part of you felt like maybe he felt the same, with the way his gaze would linger, or when he’d sit a bit closer to you than necessary. But then the image of him and Hannah on their picnic date would pop into your head and you’d falter. 

There was something about his relationship with Hannah that you couldn’t really read—and were too scared to ask about. And, while you would never be upset at either of them for exploring a connection, you didn’t want to get your hopes up if he was going to stand in front of the fire pit tonight and choose her. 

With the announcement of the recoupling, you had realized that your options were looking pretty bleak. You hadn’t made a connection with any of the other guys and the fear of feeling heartbroken and humiliated for the second time in 24 hours had you forcing yourself to accept that Garrett was going to pick Hannah tonight. You decided that your best case scenario was to form a friendship couple with Tucker and hope that more bombshells would arrive before the next recoupling. 

Still, when Garrett spent the whole day with you on the bean bags and looked at you like that, it was hard not to have a little hope. 

The evening comes quicker than any of you are ready for and, all too soon, Ariana Madix is walking into the Villa with a professional smile, waving at you all as you stand by the fire pit.

“Hi, Islanders!”

You all give her a short form of greeting.

“I heard that last night, things got a bit… intense,” she gives you all a knowing look and clasps her hands together. “And a lot of you are in complicated places with your partners right now. But tonight, you’ll get the chance to open yourself up to new opportunities and explore different connections you may have overlooked or,” she looks between you all, “maybe it’ll show you that your current connection is worth continuing.”

Next to you, Allie shifts nervously. You try to catch her eye, but she’s too lost in her head to notice.

“Garrett,” Ariana turns to the brunet standing on his own. “This is your first chance to couple up in the Villa, how are you feeling?”

“Uh, I’m ready, I think.” Garrett scratches the back of his neck. “I know what I want, so I’m just hoping it goes the way I want it to.”

You spare a glance at Hannah and worry your bottom lip through your teeth.

Ariana smiles at him gently. “Well, hopefully you’ll leave this fire pit very happy tonight. However… Tonight’s recoupling has a bit of a twist.”

Her eyes sparkle with excitement as you and the other Islanders glance between yourselves.

“As you all learned last night, there’s a lot going on in this Villa that you don’t know about. Luckily for you, there is a group of people who have been able to see everything.” Ariana pauses in suspense. “...And tonight, instead of you choosing who you’ll couple up with, it’ll be up to them. America has been voting for which Islanders they want to see coupled up together and that’s who you’ll be leaving the fire pit with tonight.”

Soft sounds of surprise leave you all as suddenly any assurance any of you had for tonight is thrown out the window. You do your best not to drop to your knees and plead with America to not keep you coupled up with Joe.

Ariana claps her hands together, clearly pleased by the looks on all of your faces. “So, let’s get started, shall we?”

The recoupling feels like both the slowest and fastest moment of your life, and the longer you’re forced to stand there and not know your fate, the more you want it to be over. Ariana starts with Allie first, announcing that America chose to keep her coupled up with Sean. Allie almost looks genuinely relieved by this, holding Sean’s hand gratefully. Next, it’s Meg and Joe, which has you relieved because at least now you know for certain that whoever you end up with won’t be him. 

Somewhat surprisingly, America chooses to couple Tucker and Dionne together. The two of them look at each other with a hesitant kind of surprise, but don’t seem to flat out reject the idea. When you catch their eye, you send both of them a congratulatory thumbs up. Dionne gives you a knowing look and mouths “Get ready, babe”.

Only five Islanders are standing single by the fire pit—you, Hannah, Garrett, Justin, and Paul. You look between Justin and Paul, trying to figure out which one of them America had paired you up with. You weren’t exactly excited about either option.

“And the last two couples America has voted for are…” Ariana lets a poignant pause hang over you all for several seconds. 

“Justin and Hannah and Garrett and Y/N!”

Your eyes widen in surprise as the other Islanders applaud and you miss the smile on Garrett’s face as he comes over to you, wrapping you in a hug.

“Hey,” he greets you gently.

“H-Hey.” You have to clear your throat to get the word out, wrapping your own arms around him hesitantly. 

Before either of you can say anything else, Ariana turns her attention to Paul.

“Paul, as you were the only boy to not receive enough votes to couple up with any of the girls, you are now single and at risk of being dumped from the Island.”

She says a few more things to you all—probably some advice and good luck for your couples—but you can’t really focus on it as you keep stealing glances at Garrett. Somewhere in all of this, he’s grabbed your hand, his fingers warm wrapped around yours. You feel nervous. And you try to tell yourself not to be, because it’s just Garrett, but something about being in an actual couple with him feels much higher stakes than the friendship you’ve been forming over the past few days. 

It certainly doesn’t help that you became a couple through a fan vote, instead of him actually choosing you. What if he wasn’t planning on choosing you? What if he only thinks of you as a friend and the only reason he likes hanging out with you is because he doesn’t want to explore a connection? What if—?

“Hey,” Garrett interrupts your spiraling thoughts. “You wanna go talk somewhere?”

You force yourself to nod. “Sure…”

You let Garrett lead you to the Speakeasy—your hand still wrapped in his—and every step makes your body feel more and more like a live wire. You feel genuinely sick when you enter the Speakeasy, sitting down as Garrett closes the door behind you both.

“I’m—,”

“It’s okay if you just want to be friends.” You blurt out.

“—Really—What?” Garrett’s entire face scrunches in confusion, his curls bouncing slightly as he cocks his head. 

You shrug timidly, looking down at your fingers. “I know that you didn’t really get to choose this, so it’s okay if you’re not, like, into it or just want to be friends…”

When he doesn’t speak for several seconds, you look up to see that he’s staring at you in disbelief.

“You actually think I don’t want you?” Garrett asks incredulously. “I—Just—Okay.” He rubs his eyes with his thumb and middle finger before returning his gaze to you. “Listen, I feel like you should know that I didn’t watch the show before coming in here.”

“...Okay?”

“No, I—Fuck, that didn’t make any sense, sorry—,” He winces, flexing his fingers, suddenly nervous. “What I mean is that I didn’t know who you were before Hannah brought me back to the Villa. Honestly, the only thing they really showed me was Hannah’s introduction video and asked if I’d want to go on a date with her—which, Hannah’s a great girl and everything—But, what I’m trying to say is that it would have been you. If I knew you were here, I would’ve wanted to go on that date with you.”

You blink as you process his words. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’. And what I was going to say when we got in here was that I was happy that America coupled us up together because I was planning on picking you tonight anyway. Unless… I mean, unless you just want to be friends. Which is fine—,”

“No!” You interrupt. “I don’t want to be friends—Or I do, I’m not saying you’re a bad friend. You’re a great friend! And I really like being your friend! I just—I mean, we could—,” Your face feels like it’s on fire and it certainly doesn’t help that your rambling has caused an amused smile to grow on Garrett’s. You close your mouth and take a breath. “I’m happy we’re in a couple too.”

“Well, that’s good. Because otherwise that would make what I’m about to do really awkward.”

His eyes fall to your lips and, though it’s obvious what he’s thinking, he still leans in slowly enough for you to shut him down if you want to. You don’t—in fact, you’re a bit too eager, borderline lunging at him with enough force that it knocks you both over onto the cushions as your lips connect. You feel him chuckle against your mouth, though he quickly gets more distracted at the feeling of your hands in his hair and your body against his.

One of his hands travels up and down your back, kneading and grasping at any part of you he can reach, while his other arm wraps around your shoulder blades and pulls you in closer. His mouth moves against yours with a hunger that seems like it’s growing more and more insatiable with every passing second. His hand can’t decide where it wants to be, the one that’s not holding you to him moving from your back, to your ass, to the thighs you have thrown over his hips, to cupping your cheek, tracing the skin with soothing motions of his thumb.

When the need for air—and the very real possibility that, if the two of you continue, you may actually have sex with this man in the Speakeasy—becomes too much to ignore, you pull away. His chest is heaving slightly and his lips are shimmering with saliva and your lip gloss. You’re sure yours don’t look much better because Garrett’s thumb is gently rubbing smudged lip liner from your chin.  

He smiles up at you, letting his hand move from your chin to gently grasping your jaw. “You’re an idiot.”

Your mouth drops open in protest. “I thought you were just being nice!”

“And I thought I told you I’m not nice. But it’s okay, I know I’m a better active listener than you—Hey!” Garrett cuts himself off with a laugh when you whack him with a pillow.

“You better not snore.”

“Just because we haven’t shared a bed before, doesn’t mean we haven’t been sleeping in the same room. You’d know if I snore by now.”

Your response to Garrett’s annoyingly strong argument is to stick your tongue out at him as you fluff your pillows to your liking. He takes it in stride, lifting up the corner of the blanket to get into bed and under the covers with you.

“What about you? Got any weird sleep things I should know about?”

You freeze, looking down bashfully. “I… I have–sometimes–been known to sleep talk…”

“Mm.” Garrett’s biting back a smile when you look back up.

“Hey,” you point at him accusingly. “You said you like listening to me talk—,”

“I do.”

“—So really you should be happy—,”

“I am.”

“—And not… I don’t like arguing with you if you’re just gonna agree with me the whole time.”

Garrett raises his brows teasingly, stretching an arm behind his head as he settles on the pillows. “We’re arguing right now?”

You narrow your eyes at him before flipping away from him and bringing the blanket up to your shoulders. “I’m going to bed.”

“Hey, wait,” Garrett laughs, a strong arm wrapping around your middle and pulling your back to his chest. “‘M sorry. Keep yellin’ at me, baby, I’ll be a better arguer.”

You’re glad you’re facing away from him because the pet name, paired with his gravely night voice, is doing things to you that you are stubbornly trying to ignore. “I wasn’t yelling at you, I was talking with conviction.”

“You’re right—I mean… That’s just a word lawyers made up to get away with yelling.” Garrett corrects himself.

His words cause you to snort out a laugh and he knows that he’s won, using the arm around you to help coax you to turn over and face him again. When you do so, he looks down at you, eyes softening as he takes in the features of your face and his fingers trace soft patterns on your bare shoulder.

“You look cute in my bed,” he murmurs.

You blink up at him with the same amount of softness, biting back a smile as you shake your head. “Actually, it’s my bed.” You reach between the two of you where Snowy had gotten wedged between the pillows, pulling her out and presenting her to Garrett proudly. “We were here first.”

Garrett takes the stuffed white tiger from you carefully, her body flopping limply in his grip due to the amount her stuffing had deflated over time. He lifts the stuffed animal to his ear before nodding solemnly. 

“She said she wants us to cuddle tonight.”

You bark out a laugh. “Snowy did not say that.”

“Snowy most certainly did.” He turns to pretend to listen to her again, before turning both of their heads back to look at you. “She thinks you should be the little spoon.”

With the hand he has holding her head, he makes Snowy nod in agreement. 

You’re still laughing as you take your stuffed animal back from him. “You’re telling me Garrett Graham isn’t a little spoon guy?”

“He’s multifaceted. But I would hate to disrespect Snowy in her own bed, so I think we should accommodate her wishes.” Garrett shuffles down so that he’s lying more comfortably flat, pulling the blanket up so that it’s better covering you both.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, but you’re grinning and scooting closer into Garrett’s warm chest as he presses a sweet kiss to the top of your head.

The rest of the Islanders settle in, everyone calling out short ‘goodnight’s as the large lights of the bedroom turn off. You close your eyes and, for the first time since you got here, go to sleep genuinely excited for what this new connection will bring.

please don't copy, repost, or feed my work into ai, thanks!