Fadel looks up, his lips curling into a soft smile as he watches Style approach. “Hi,” he replies, his voice warm and inviting.

Style closes the distance between them, his hand gently resting on Fadel’s chest as he leans in for a quick, loving kiss. When he pulls back, Fadel’s gaze lingers, taking in Style’s cropped plaid shirt and shorts. The outfit suits him perfectly—playful, carefree, and ready for adventure.

“You look nice,” Fadel says, his tone sincere. And Style really does look nice. The way the sunlight catches in his hair and the way his eyes sparkle with mischief make Fadel’s heart skip a beat.

“Thank you,” Style replies, his voice soft as he sets his basket down. Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around Fadel’s shoulders and kisses him again, this time slower. Fadel turns toward him, his hands finding Style’s waist and pulling him closer. For a moment, the world fades away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

A loud sigh interrupts the moment. “It must be so nice to be in love,” Bison says as he walks into the room, his voice dripping with mock wistfulness and a dramatic pout on his lips.

Style and Fadel reluctantly pull apart, their cheeks tinged with pink. Fadel shoots his brother a look. “It’s not like you got dumped. Kant is only out of town. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Might as well be forever,” Bison grumbles, heading to the fridge to grab a tub of ice cream. Fadel frowns at him, crossing his arms.

“You have a cough, Bison. No ice cream.”

“I’ll only eat a few spoons.”

“No.”

“Fadel,” Bison whines, his voice pleading.

Fadel simply lifts an eyebrow, his expression firm. Bison stares back defiantly, the tension thick in the air. Seconds tick by before Bison suddenly makes a dash out of the kitchen, the ice cream held in his hands.

Fadel looks at Style, who’s trying—and failing—to suppress a smile. “I’ll be back shortly,” Fadel promises, his tone resigned but affectionate. Style’s smile turns into a grin as he watches Fadel go. The house falls silent for a moment, save for the thudding sound of Bison’s running footsteps. Then, a distant whine echoes through the halls: “Fadeeeewww!”

Style bursts into laughter, his imagination painting a vivid picture of Fadel chasing his brother down. A moment later, Fadel reappears, holding the ice cream bowl triumphantly in his hands. “I like it when you’re in your big brother mode,” Style chortles, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“I’m not spending another night refreshing his hot water bottle, putting vapor rub on his chest, and making him ginger and lemon tea,” Fadel says, though there’s no real annoyance in his voice. Even as he complains, Style can see the sweetness and care Fadel has for his brother. It’s one of the things he loves most about him.

Fadel walks over and points at the basket Style brought. “Didn’t we agree that I’d make the food? What’s in here?” he asks, curiosity piqued.

Style opens the basket for Fadel to peek inside, revealing an assortment of wine bottles. Fadel gives him a look that’s half amused, half incredulous. Style merely wiggles his eyebrows, completely unapologetic.

****

At the park, the air is fresh and crisp, the well-trimmed lawn stretching out before them like a green carpet. The trees sway gently in the breeze, their leaves rustling softly. Style reaches for Fadel’s hand, interlacing their fingers as they walk.

“Upon arrival at the park, we walk round hand in hand, looking for the perfect spot,” Style narrates, his voice playful. Their gazes meet momentarily, and they share a soft smile before continuing their search.

Suddenly, Style halts, forcing Fadel to stop as well. Fadel looks at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

“Right about now, we take a selfie,” Style declares, pulling out his phone. He wraps his arm around Fadel’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Smile,” he instructs softly.

Fadel glances at Style, then back at the camera, licking his lips nervously before offering a tentative smile. Style snaps a few photos, then slides his arm down to rest playfully under Fadel’s chin. “You’re so beautiful when you smile,” he says, his voice warm and sincere.

The compliment makes Fadel’s smile widen, his teeth showing, and Style captures the moment happily. He leans in, pressing a kiss to Fadel’s cheek and snapping one last photo.

They eventually find a spot under a large umbrella tree, its branches providing some good shade. “Is this wise? Birds might poop on us,” Style points out, his tone teasing.

“I’m more worried about a snake landing on our blanket,” Fadel counters, his lips twitching with amusement.

Style considers this for a moment, his hand on his waist. “Well, we could sit in the sun… but I suppose birds will poop on us wherever we sit.”

“It’s a memory we can tell our children,” Fadel says, his voice light and playful.

Style’s gaze snaps back to Fadel, and he grins. “Does that mean you’re ready to get me pregnant?”

“No,” Fadel replies, shaking his head with a soft chuckle.

“Or for me to get you pregnant?”

“Neither.”

Style pouts but doesn’t push further. They settle on the spot, spreading their blanket and unpacking their baskets. Style takes more pictures—of the surroundings, the picnic setup, and of Fadel, who looks effortlessly handsome in the warm sunlight.

*****

The afternoon unfolds in a whirlwind of activities. They share a quick lunch, each eating a sandwich before Style eagerly moves on to the next plan. He suggests listening to music together, and they set up their headphones, but the activity lasts only about ten minutes before Style proposes reading to each other. That, too, is short-lived.

“Okay, so at one point, we’ll get attacked by a bird. I’ll scream in terror, and you’ll heroically shoo it away,” Style declares, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Fadel nods slowly, then looks up at the clear sky, squinting slightly as the sun’s rays hit his eyes. “So… are we supposed to summon the bird, or…?” he asks, his tone dry.

“No, it’ll come to us naturally,” Style replies with conviction.

Next, Style grabs a bottle of red wine and hands Fadel a glass. He fills both glasses, then positions his phone to capture the moment. “Lean toward me,” he instructs, and Fadel obliges, though he looks slightly bemused.

Fadel takes exactly one sip of his wine before Style snatches the glass from his hand, leaving him stunned and mildly scandalized. Style, oblivious to Fadel’s reaction, rummages through the picnic basket and pulls out a bunch of grapes. “We’ll feed each other these,” he announces.

“And take pictures?” Fadel drawls, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Style, missing the sarcasm entirely, strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Sure, why not?” he agrees.

Fadel decides it’s time to speak up. “Style, this isn’t fun for me,” he says gently, his expression kind but firm.

Style’s smile drops, replaced by apprehension and sadness. “Why? What’s wrong? Is it the location? We can move closer to the river. You said you liked the sound of the ripples, right?”

“It’s not the location.”

 “What is it, then?” Style asks, his voice small and uncertain

“We’re not in the moment of the actual date. You’re narrating it,” Fadel explains, his tone soft but honest.

Style tilts his head, confused.

Fadel smiles fondly and takes his hand. “Let’s wait until we’re hungry to eat, until we’re thirsty to drink wine, until we want to cuddle to actually cuddle, and until we want to take pictures to do so. Let’s do what comes naturally to us, not what some guide tells us we should be doing as lovers on a picnic date.”

It takes a moment for Style to understand what Fadel is saying, but he does get it eventually, and they take it slow after that, sipping their wine leisurely and simply talking. Style fills Fadel in on the latest gossip from his garage, his animated storytelling making Fadel laugh. Fadel, who never cared much for gossip before, now finds himself looking forward to these little updates. It’s his favorite kind of tea these days.

When Fadel pours them some white wine, they both take a sip and immediately make faces, bursting into laughter. “Any brand of white wine below a certain price range will always taste cheap. I get it now,” Style says, shaking his head.

“Why did you buy a cheap brand?” Fadel asks, amused.

“When I walk into a store, I’m fine and promise to spoil myself. But the moment I see the first price tag, the spirit of penny-pinching possesses me. It’s a problem, Fadel. I need help,” Style admits, his tone dramatic.

Fadel laughs. “I’m buying the drinks for our next picnic… and any other occasion,” he promises.

*****

The book Style brought is boring and random, but Fadel doesn’t mind. He rests his head on Style’s lap, his eyes half-closed as Style reads aloud. Style’s voice is soothing, and the gentle way his fingers thread through Fadel’s hair transports him to a place of peace and comfort. For a while, Fadel simply gazes up at Style, admiring the way his long lashes flutter, the perfect slope of his nose, and the soft curve of his pouty lips.

When Fadel sits up and leans in to kiss him, Style is momentarily surprised but quickly melts into the affection, tugging Fadel closer by his t-shirt. The kiss is slow and tender, a quiet affirmation of their love.

Later, when Style takes his turn to rest his head on Fadel’s lap while being read to, he falls asleep almost immediately. Fadel chuckles softly, letting him nap while he listens to music and takes in the beauty of the park. His gaze keeps drifting back to Style, his heart swelling with affection.

When Style wakes, his eyes meet Fadel’s, and a smile spreads across his face. “I barely read a page, and you were gone,” Fadel teases.

“That book is so boring. How did you stay awake so long?” Style counters, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“Why did you pick the one?”

“I don’t read, so I just walked into Dad’s bedroom and grabbed whatever was on his bookshelf,” Style admits, his tone sheepish.

Fadel kisses Style on the temple and wraps his arms around him, pulling him close. Style leans back, resting against Fadel’s chest, his head settling comfortably on Fadel’s shoulder. His fingers absently draw patterns on Fadel’s hand.

“What do you actually like doing on picnics?” Fadel asks. “Apart from what the dating manual says.”

Style hums in thought. “Everything we did today, except the reading part,” he says with a grin.

“We don’t have to do everything lovers do,” Fadel says, resting his cheek against Style’s hair. “Just the parts we enjoy doing together.”

Style brings Fadel’s hand to his lips and kisses it. “The shenanigans were fun, though,” he giggles.

Fadel can’t deny that. Today was perfect—exactly the kind of life he pictures for them. “I wouldn’t want it or you any other way,” he murmurs quietly.

Style twists to look at him, his eyes soft. “Are you happy?”

Fadel nods, his heart full. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Style replies, smiling as he leans in to kiss Fadel’s lips.

-End of Chapter 1-

Link for Chapter 2

Thank you for reading ❤️

Fadel continues working, his movements slow and deliberate. Suddenly, Style yelps and sharply pulls his hand back, startling Fadel.

“Shit, did I hurt you? I’m sorry. Let me see.” Fadel takes Style’s hand back into his own, first bringing it to his lips to kiss the knuckles apologetically, then inspecting it for damage.

Style giggles. “I’m just messing with you. And I must say, it was worth it to get a kiss.” He grins, his smile steady despite the glare Fadel shoots at him.

“I was worried for real, Style,” Fadel complains, his eyebrows furrowed in displeasure.

“Take a joke, will you?” Style says, still laughing.

Visibly still miffed, Fadel resumes the task, his head bowed in concentration. “I’ve never done this before, you know,” he mutters quietly.

Style’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Never?”

Fadel glances up briefly and shakes his head, then looks back down.

Now Style feels bad for teasing him. He reaches out and gently touches the top of Fadel’s head, letting his hand trail down to his cheek and lower to his jaw to tilt his chin up. Style smiles softly at Fadel. “You’re doing a great job. Take your time.”

Moments later, Style gleefully announces it’s his turn to clip Fadel’s nails. “Give me your hands,” he says, holding out his own.

Fadel hesitates, his heart rate picking up. No one since his birth mother has ever touched his nails, and maybe he’s okay with that. It seems like something that would feel too friendly, too vulnerable.

Sensing his boyfriend’s hesitation, Style asks, “Is something wrong?” His voice carries a trace of concern as he notices the nervousness flickering across Fadel’s face.

“My nails are trimmed,” Fadel replies with a small smile, quickly folding his fists to keep his nails out of Style’s sight.

Style hums noncommittally at the obvious lie. “I’ve done this many times for my dad. And my mom too, back in the day,” he says, hoping to ease Fadel’s anxiety.

Fadel’s hesitation persists, and Style reaches for his hand, his touch tender. “I’ll take good care of you. I promise. Trust me?” Style’s voice is as soft as his touch.

Finally, Fadel gives in because he trusts Style. That doesn’t make the experience smooth, though. Fadel’s heart is in his throat as Style clips the first nail. The sound makes Fadel flinch, and he pinches one eye closed, his nerves on edge.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Style croons playfully, and this puts a small smile on Fadel’s face, helping him feel a little more at ease.

Style starts telling Fadel a story about the time, as a child, he attempted to run away from home because his parents wouldn’t let him marry the neighborhood heartthrob.

Fadel loves listening to Style’s stories. It seems his boyfriend’s lifetime chronicles are endless. As usual, Fadel gets lost in this one, and it doesn’t fail to amuse him.

“And this boy wanted to marry you too?” Fadel asks, intrigued.

“He pecked my lips and said I was pretty, even though I had fat cheeks and dirty hair most of the time. Sounded like a marriage proposal to me,” Style says, grinning.

Fadel chuckles softly. “How old were you?”

“About seven, maybe. He had no front teeth, and his mom was annoying as hell, but I figured we could still have a good future together. At least he always looked clean, unlike the other boys around. Back then, that’s all it took to have a successful marriage, okay?”

“And this plan to run away?”

“It got foiled by a nosy friend of my mom who met my future husband and me at the train station. She dragged us to the police station and called our parents,” Style says, laughing. “Our moms were livid. Our asses got beaten right there at the station.”

“Did you two continue seeing each other after that?”

Style shakes his head. “What we had between us was too big and too real. It was marriage or nothing. Well, that and his teeth grew back. Turns out he was cuter without them.”

Fadel laughs at the little story.

By the time the story is over, so is Style’s work on Fadel’s nails. Fadel stares down at them, amazed. Thanks to Style’s distraction, he learns that things go smoother and quicker when he doesn’t overthink them. He also realizes that if he trusts Style with his life, he should trust him with his nails too.

“How was it?” Style asks, looking at Fadel expectantly.

It’s not a bad bonding experience at all, Fadel thinks. He could live with it.

Fadel answers Style’s question with a gentle, thankful kiss on the lips.

-END-

Thank you for reading ❤️

“Hi,” Style replies, his tone sweet but tinged with a pout. He nestles closer, pressing his cheek against Fadel’s shoulder, and feels a thrill when Fadel wraps an arm around him. But then Fadel goes right back to reading, his attention fixed on the book.

Style frowns, his jealousy flaring. He glares at the book, then up at Fadel’s serious expression. How can he be so focused? he thinks.

 Determined to get a reaction, Style buries his face in the crook of Fadel’s shoulder, pressing soft kisses against his skin. When that doesn’t work, the kisses turn wetter, more insistent, punctuated by gentle nips and sucks. He intertwines their legs, letting his hand skim temptingly across Fadel’s chest.

Fadel shifts slightly, a low rumble escaping his throat, but that’s it. No more. No reaction.

Style pulls back, tilting his head to stare at Fadel in disbelief. The fuck?!

 He lies back down on Fadel’s chest, his mind racing for another tactic.

“What book is this?” Style asks suddenly, his voice maliciously bright and curious since his intention is to disturb Fadel. “Is it the one with that character Clare who fucks one brother and marries another?” Before Fadel can even process the question, Style is already moving on, firing off four more rapid-fire questions about the books Fadel has read and told him about in the past. He shifts onto his back, talking a mile a minute, his hands gesturing wildly. At one point, he reaches up and flips the pages in Fadel’s book, deliberately making him lose his place.

Fadel sighs, a sound that’s equal parts exasperation and fondness. With practiced patience—an art he’s been forced to master since falling for the beautiful, chaotic whirlwind that is Style—he closes the book and sets it aside. He turns toward Style, lying on his side and pulling him close. His arm wraps around Style’s waist, and he kisses his forehead softly.

Style grins victoriously, his heart swelling with triumph. So easy, he thinks, settling more comfortably into Fadel’s embrace. They lie there in silence, basking in the warmth of each other’s presence.

“If you want my attention,” Fadel murmurs, his voice a low murmur against Style’s ear, “Just ask.”

Style’s gaze shoots up, meeting Fadel’s knowing eyes. He smiles sheepishly, his cheeks tinged with pink. “That obvious?”

“You always animate whenever you want something,” Fadel replies, his tone teasing and tender.

“Oh,” Style says, his voice soft. He can’t help his habits, but he knows Fadel doesn’t mind. In fact, Fadel seems to adore every bit of his chaotic energy.

Fadel kisses the crown of Style’s head, his lips lingering as if savoring the moment. He closes his eyes, resting his head on the pillow, and Style feels a wave of contentment wash over him. For Fadel, this is new—this quiet, normal intimacy. His life before Style was anything but normal; it was shadows and blood, a world where love and tenderness had no place. But now, with Style in his arms, he’s learning what it means to be soft, to be loved, to simply be.

Fadel has a newfound desire to share everything he loves with Style. They’ve cooked together, listened to music together and now he wants to lie here and read a book together. He’s heard that lovers do things like that together.

“Would you like to read this book with me?” Fadel asks, “I’ll read to you.”

Style tilts his head back to look up at Fadel, his eyes wide with surprise and delight. “Really?”

Fadel nods, his expression earnest. “I want you to be a part of everything I love.”

Those words touch Style’s heart profoundly, and he grins, his excitement clear. “Okay, let’s do it!”

They rearrange themselves on the bed, shifting until Style is sitting between Fadel’s legs, his back and head resting comfortably against Fadel’s chest. Fadel reaches for the book, opening it to where he’d left off, and wraps his free arm around Style’s waist, holding him close. Style sighs contentedly, feeling the warmth of Fadel’s body against his.

Fadel begins to read, his deep, smooth voice filling the room. Style closes his eyes, letting the words wash over him, but it’s not long before his natural curiosity gets the better of him. “Wait, wait,” he interrupts, sitting up slightly. “What does that mean? Why did Thorne say that? Is there, like, a hidden meaning or something? Imagine if it turned out that he’s liked his stepmom all along and so he killed his dad to be with her. What a family scandal.” He chortles

Fadel chuckles, his chest vibrating against Style’s back. “You’re supposed to be listening, not interrogating me.”

“I am listening!” Style protests, though his grin betrays him. “I just want to understand everything. It’s your favorite book, right? I want to love it as much as you do.”

Fadel’s heart aches at the sincerity in Style’s voice. He presses a kiss to the tip of Style’s nose. “You don’t have to love it,” he says softly. “I just want to share it with you. That’s enough.”

Style leans back against him, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Okay, okay. I’ll try to be quiet. Keep reading.”

Fadel does, his voice steady and soothing as he reads aloud. Style tries his best to stay quiet, but every so often, he can’t help but interject with a question or a comment. Fadel doesn’t mind; in fact, he finds it endearing. Style’s enthusiasm is infectious, and it makes the experience of sharing something he loves even more special.

As the minutes pass, Style gradually relaxes, his questions becoming fewer and farther between. Eventually, he’s quiet, his breathing slow and even as he listens to Fadel’s voice. Fadel notices the change and looks down, a fond smile on his lips. Style’s eyes are closed, his expression peaceful, and Fadel realizes he’s fallen asleep.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, Fadel closes the book and sets it aside. He adjusts their position slightly, lying back against the pillows and pulling Style closer. Style stirs but doesn’t wake up, his head resting on Fadel’s chest.

This is what Fadel has always wanted—not just the quiet moments, but the chaos, the laughter, the endless questions. Style has brought color to his life, a life that was once covered in darkness. And now, as he holds Style in his arms, Fadel knows he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

-End of Chapter three-

Chapter Four

Thank you for reading ❤️