Sunshine and Loverboy part 2
Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Reader.
Summary: The timeline of how Hayden gradually fell in love with her until he was madly in love, to the point of no returning.
Word count: 14k
Warnings: Not much actually, age-gap, emotions and lots of feelings. Some innuendos and if you squint some smut. It was collecting dust in my drive shelf, so if I miss anything that triggers, let me know please.
Author’s note: Hiii, thanks a lot for the love I've been reciving for the series and the nice messages.
It's been a while, like a looong month, but I'm here atlast because it's Hayden's birthday. Like wine, he is getting better with age.
This is my gift you all the daydreamers, like me, out there. May your creative thoughs always ran free and make you hapy.
I hope this is what you wanted to read, what you have envitions for them. I'm a secret lover of love, so I hope this shows it.
With that being said, enjoy, there's more to come about those two and I hope you enjoy it. Lots of love, ME.
gif credit @hayden-christensen
← Previous part
June 2022. Difference between back then and now.
Different cities. Different time zones. But the same stars overhead.
The same voice on the other end of the line, that had quickly become the best part of their day.
She was seated cross-legged in the director’s folding chair, headset discarded around her neck, the sleeves of the oversized hoodie, that may or may not have once belonged to him, rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was tied up in a loose knot, strands falling out in every direction, some tiny strands stuck to her forehead from the heat of the day but her smile, the moment his face popped up on screen, was sunshine itself.
“Hey, loverboy.” Her entire body relaxed just at the sight of him.
Hayden’s grin was instant, all golden light and lazy, the background unfamiliar, surely a hotel room somewhere near a press event.
“Hey, director of my dreams.” He leaned into the camera, voice low and warm. “God, I’ve missed this face.”
She laughed. “You saw it three days ago.”
“Too long.”
She bit her bottom lip to hide how much she felt that.
“You look tired but also like you drank four coffees,” he commented.
“Five,” she corrected with a smirk, shifting the phone slightly as she leaned back in her chair. “And tired is my whole aesthetic right now.”
He laughed, adjusting the phone so she could see more than just his shoulder. “Still the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.”
She rolled her eyes, cheeks flushing. “Flattery won’t get you out of the fact that you still haven’t sent me that interview link.”
“I’ve been a little busy being charming in front of a thousand people and national television,” he said, straight-faced. “It's a full-time job.”
She snorted, sipping from her water bottle. “Mm-hmm. Sure. Because being Prince Charming comes so hard for you.”
“Oh, wildly. People gather outside the hotel, practically I can’t leave it.”
“Pity, though,” she added, softer now, eyes playful but laced with something warmer. “You were so good at sneaking out of my bed a week ago.”
He let out a low laugh, that masculine laugh that made her see stars, and he tilted his head slightly as he leaned closer to the screen. “Don’t make me book a flight right now.” His gaze was heavy with meaning.
She tried to hide her smile but failed miserably, because it wasn’t just the line, it was the way he said it. Like he meant it. Like he'd fly across galaxies just to be near her again. And she believed it. Every word.
This was how it was with them lately, quiet and full. No need to post it, nor scream it. They had it and that was more than enough. No labels, no announcements, just them.
Something sacred. Something they held like the finest china.
She tilted her head slightly, like she could touch him through the screen. “Everyone here’s counting down the days till you get to set,” she told him. “It’s like… we’re a week out and the crew’s already buzzing. I swear, the energy on set lifts just at the mention of your name.”
Hayden smiled, soft, quiet, the kind of smile that reached all the way to his chest. “That’s sweet,” he said. “And slightly terrifying.”
“They call it ‘The Vader effect’, but I disagree. It’s the Hayden Christensen effect.”
He ducked his head, eyes crinkling, blush creeping in, and she could die in the stop at seeing him like that.
“Yeah, well…” he cleared his throat, “you are the one to talk about the effect on people.”
“Me?” she asked, touching her chest. “I didn't do anything. 100% innocent.”
“Every interview I do, someone brings you up. Everyone’s praising the direction, the tone, the vision, the storytelling, you.” He said with a smile. “You’re making something special, and they know it.”
Her cheeks flushed instantly. “Stop.”
“I’m serious,” he said. “The fans, the execs… even the journalists. Everyone sees it. And Ewan—” he chuckled, “Ewan’s been teasing the hell out of me for my loverboy face.”
She burst out laughing, hand covering her mouth. “Oh, I know. He texts me. Constantly. ‘Your boyfriend’s at it again, sighing into his coffee and saying he misses you every six minutes.’”
Hayden groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That man has no loyalty.”
She raised an eyebrow. “No, he has plenty. He just has a group chat with me to roast you in peace.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Also,” she added, smirking, “I find it extremely cute.”
Hayden couldn’t help but smile. Even through the screen, she made his entire chest ache in that good, dangerous way.
What she didn’t know, what Ewan had mercifully not texted her, was that half those coffee-sighing moments came after he told Hayden for the fifth time that week:
“Don’t be an idiot. Marry her. Don’t let her slip away again.”
And Hayden didn’t disagree, not even a little.
“I’m glad he only sends you the PG-rated bits,” he muttered, smirking.
Her brow arched playfully. “Oh? What aren’t you telling me?”
He shrugged, lips twitching. “You’ll find out when I’m on set.”
“That a threat or a promise?”
“Whichever makes you miss me more.”
She made a face, teasing, but her voice softened. “I miss you plenty, thank you very much.”
There was a pause then, not awkward, just full. The kind of silence that carries weight. Meaning. Feeling.
They still hadn’t said it. Not the big words. Not yet, they were still waiting. Simmering under the surface, because he didn’t want to rush it, didn’t want to say it in passing. He wanted to say it when it was right. When he could look her in the eye and kiss her the second the words left his mouth.
But it was in everything. In her smile. In his gaze. In the quiet spaces where neither had to say it for the other to know.
He saw how she lifted her head, as someone called her, and then nodded, biting her lower lip and a sigh left his lips at the sight.
“Alright,” her eyes returned to him. “I gotta go wrangle three departments and rewrite a scene before call time.”
“You’re a miracle worker,” he said, genuinely.
“I’m a chaos wrangler,” she corrected.
“My favorite kind.”
She rolled her eyes affectionately. “Text me when you land tomorrow?”
“I’ll do better, FaceTime you when I’m at the gate. So you can see me in real time suffering through airport bureaucracy."
“Mm. Can’t wait.”
They grinned at each other, and before she could hang up, he leaned in closer to the screen, voice low.
“Goodnight, sunshine.”
Her lips quirked softly. “Goodnight, loverboy.”
And when the screen went dark, both of them stayed still for a second too long, just listening to the silence.
Counting down the days. The seconds. The heartbeats. Until they’d be in the same room again.
The heat of the California sun hadn’t quite burned off the morning mist when Hayden stepped onto the Ahsoka set, coffee in each hand, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, badge clipped loosely to his belt.
He’d done this walk before, this quiet, familiar rhythm. Back on the Obi-Wan set, months ago, when everything between them was tentative and unsaid. He used to hover near the monitors, drop off her favorite drink, pretend not to look as long as he did. Pretend they were just co-workers. Just friends.
But this time was different. Because this time, at the end of the day, he got to kiss her.
Now, he got to tell her all the things he used to keep buried in his chest. That she was brilliant. Breathtaking. That she distracted him in the best way. That she was his.
He crossed the lot like he belonged there, which, truthfully, he did. And not only because he was the Darth Vader, the Anakin, because now he felt at home wherever she was. Because now, he always picks her up from her office in the morning. Because now, his trailer smelled faintly of jasmine and carried her presence in every corner, her book on the counter, her charger tangled with his, a hoodie of hers slung over the back of the couch. Her. In his space. In his life.
From across the soundstage, he saw her. Headset looped around her neck, sleeves pushed up, a stylus in one hand and a tablet in the other. She was mid-conversation with the set designer, face animated, brows furrowed in that cute way that told him she was focused, locked in. She was wearing a dark green t-shirt off shoulder that clung to her skin, loose comfortable jeans, her hair up and messy, letting the back of her neck show, which drove him insane. Her lanyard bounced lightly as she moved across the floor, her hands animated as she spoke.
Hayden couldn’t stop smiling and she didn’t even see him yet.
He placed her iced coffee in the cupholder of her director’s chair. No need for her to ask. No text. No reminder. Just habit, ritual, love. Every morning since he arrived. All because he knows what she needs, because she was his to care for now.
Later, when she was alone between takes, squinting at the script with her bottom lip caught between her teeth, he would approach quietly and gently place a water bottle in her hand without saying a word, and she would look up at him, smile so softly it turned him inside out.
They still did the dance, professional, composed, subtle. But under it? It was love, deep and steady.
What people didn’t see, what they didn’t need to see, were the tiny notes she left tucked in his trailer:
You’re doing amazing, loverboy. ❤️
Still thinking about that kiss from this morning.
The dark side looks too hot on you. It’s criminal.
Sometimes he’d find them in the pocket of his hoodie. Sometimes in his script binder. Once, stuck to the inside of his coffee cup lid. His favorite game now was finding them.
And he had his rituals too, his ways of saying ‘I’m thinking of you’. He always had her charger ready, her favorite snack in his bag, a spare tie on his wrist, for her.
Sometimes, they’d return from breaks with matching drinks from the same café just off-lot. Sometimes they’d sit at different tables for lunch, fully immersed in conversations with crew or cast, but their eyes always found each other, unthinking, natural. Like gravity, like muscle memory, like love.
Her glance across the room. The smirk behind her glass when someone told a dumb joke. The knowing look when someone complimented him and she already knew what he was going to say in response.
The world didn’t need to know what they were, because they knew.
The rhythm they had was theirs, not loud, not showy, because it wasn’t for tabloids or tweets. Just something quietly whole, because real love like theirs doesn’t shout, it just unfolds normally, like breathing. It shows up, every single day, with a coffee, a touch, a soft glance, in smiles that came a little easier when the other was near, in the thought of bringing another hoodie because the other might get cold. In little things that makes everything better.
There were tells, of course there were. But no one noticed or maybe they did, because they were always in sync, always near, but no one said anything and maybe they understood: it wasn’t a secret. It was theirs, sacred, steady, real.
At the end of the day, she’d find him waiting inside her office with his sleeves pushed up and a tired smile saved only for her. He’d take her hand, sling her bag over his shoulder, kiss her cheek if no one was looking and take her home.
And as she glanced up at him between takes, eyes tired, but glowing, he smiled like a man who knew exactly how lucky he was, because he did.
Because he knew the difference between back then and now. Now, he didn’t have to imagine what it would be like to be hers.
Now, he was. Gladly. Fiercely. Without question. Each and every day.
And he’d never stop showing up for her, not with declarations, but with presence. With coffee. With quiet devotion. With love that felt like home.
Mid June 2022. Are you dreaming of me?
It was a Sunday made of sunlight and soft sighs. A pause in the middle of the whirlwind, no filming, no interviews, no pretending. Just them.
The morning had started slow. Breakfast in bed, tangled legs under the covers, lazy kisses between sips of coffee and bites of toast. She hadn’t even tried to cook, just smiled and talked while he did, perched at the kitchen island in his hoodie, watching him move around the stove with that effortless grace that made her stomach flip.
It was easy. Natural. A day that felt stolen from the real world. A day that felt entirely theirs.
Now the sun hung low in the afternoon sky, drenching everything in gold and the soft lull that wrapped itself around the quiet hum of the house.
She stepped barefoot into the garden, the grass warm under her toes, the light catching in her hair.
And there he was. Her boyfriend. Her man. Her Hayden.
Sitting low in that wooden chair he made himself, broad shoulders relaxed, legs sprawled out lazily, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows. A cigarette dangled loosely between his fingers, smoke curling around him like a halo. His head tipped back, golden curls catching the sun, cheeks turning pink from the sunlight.
God, he’s beautiful, she thought, and not for the first time.
Not just in the way everyone saw, the sharp jaw, the golden curls, the easy grin, but in the way he existed when no one was watching. Relaxed and open. Happy. He looked devastatingly peaceful, unreachable, almost like a living painting she could stare at forever.
She smiled to herself and moved closer without thinking, the pull of her chest calling.
He heard her, he always did, and opened his eyes, slow and lazy, and the second he saw her, he smiled, wide and real and breathtaking.
He held out a hand, two fingers crooked in silent invitation and she took it, slipping her fingers in his without hesitation, instantly, he pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, slowly, lingering.
"Is this seat taken?" she teased, glancing down at his lap. He smirked, slow and wicked, squeezing her hand. "Mind if I take it?"
He grinned, a grin so wicked and boyish it made her knees weak. “Not at all,” he shook his head slowly, smug. “It’s all yours, sunshine. Always has been,” and tugged her gently toward him.
"Perfect then," she laughed, and with that easy grace he adored, she lowered herself onto him, settling herself onto his lap like she belonged there.
Because she did. She always had.
As one of her arms circled around him, he flicked the cigarette away, no longer interested in anything but her and looped his arms around her without hesitation, his big hand sliding over her ass to anchor her against him like it was the most natural thing in the world, it was natural now, the other skimming the bare skin of her thigh where her shorts had ridden up.
She tucked herself against him, like he did before, content, and her fingers found his hair almost immediately, stroking through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, utterly content, a soft, low sound, something between a hum and a sigh, fell from his lips, blissed out.
They stayed like that, silent, serene, breathing the same easy air.
And yet her heart was a war drum in her chest, because the night before, she hadn’t slept much. Not because he had kept her awake, though he could, easily, with just a look, a touch, a whispered word.
No, it was something else entirely.
It had been late, the house silent except for the occasional creak of wood settling under the cool night air. She’d shifted slightly in bed, half-asleep, adjusting her position for more comfort.
And without waking, without hesitation, he found her.
His arm slipped across her waist, strong and sure, gathering her into him like a reflex. His chest pressed tightly against her back, the steady thump of his heart drumming into her spine. His chin tucked onto her shoulder, breath warm against her neck. One arm was folded under the pillow they shared, the other stretched across her chest, hand resting protectively on her far shoulder.
Like he was anchoring her in place. Like even in sleep, he couldn’t bear the thought of distance.
They fit together perfectly, two whole people who somehow became more when they touched, like two halves that didn’t need completing, but still completed each other just the same.
She lay there, wide awake now, barely breathing, feeling the weight of him around her, the tenderness in the way he held her.
His breathing was deep and steady, slow with the heaviness of dreams, but even then, he sought her out. Whispered her name into the darkness like a prayer. Pulled her closer with a desperation that shattered every last defense she had left.
As if some part of him, even unconscious, knew he needed her. As if his soul had memorized the shape of her.
And she couldn’t move. Wouldn’t move. Feeling her heart grow so swollen and full she thought it might spill out of her chest. How could she, when this man, this man, was loving her even in his sleep? Because no one had ever loved her like this, not with noise or spectacle, but with the simplest, most profound truth: I choose you. Even when I’m dreaming.
He loved her completely, so fiercely, so gently, so without hesitation. Like she was essential, like she was breath and blood and heartbeat.
And lying there, cocooned in the arms of the only person who had ever truly seen her, she realized the words had been living inside her for a long time now waiting, growing, ready.
She felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm, saw the smile just her fingers in his hair did and she couldn’t hold it back any longer.
"I love you," she admitted, soft but sure, eyes shining in the sun.
Hayden's eyes fluttered open slowly, blinking up at her like he was sure he was still dreaming. For a moment, he said nothing. Just looked at her, like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.
And then he smiled. That smile, the one he only ever saved for her. His hand lifted to cup her cheek, thumb tracing her jawline, reverent.
"I love you too, sunshine," he said, voice thick with emotion.
And then he kissed her, not rushed, not hungry, but full, like he had all the time in the world to love her. It was all tongue and smiles and too much feeling to fit inside their bodies.
The kiss deepened, heated, his hand slipping into her hair, her fingers fisting the front of his t-shirt as their bodies molded together instinctively.
She could feel the stretch of his thighs beneath her, the strength of his arms around her, how easily he could manhandle her if he wanted to, but he didn’t, not that time. He just held her and worshipped her mouth with slow, devastating kisses until her toes curled.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless and grinning, he pressed his forehead to hers, noses brushing.
"You have no idea," he said, voice low and wrecked, "how long I've been waiting to say that."
She laughed, a soft, choked sound. "You're such a loverboy," she teased.
He chuckled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through her. "And you’re stuck with me," he whispered back.
She smiled, big and open and real. "I wouldn't want it any other way," she said simply.
And then she kissed him again, because she could. Because she would, for as long as he'd let her.
It was a kiss that promised everything without saying a single word. Because now, the words were already there. Etched into the way he held her. Branded into the way she looked at him.
I love you.
I choose you.
Every day.
Always.
Because here, in the sun and the stillness, in the arms of the man who loved her even in his sleep, she had finally found home.
July 2022. Man/Handle me, tenderly.
The backstage crew shuffled around them like clockwork, headsets, cue cards, last-minute powder on Ewan’s nose. Her palms were slightly clammy, though she’d never admit as she nervously clutching her water bottle with both hands, legs crossed tightly at the ankle. Her blazer was perfectly tailored, hair curled just enough, makeup soft.
She was smiling, nodding, joking, but Hayden saw it, on the way she twisted the ring on her finger, on the way she chewed the inside of her cheek. He always saw it. The nerves blooming under her ribs like wildfire.
“You’re on in ten,” someone called out.
Jimmy's laugh echoed faintly from the low volume of the TV in the room they were waiting. She exhaled, eyes fixed on it.
“Relax,” he murmured under his breath, low enough that only she could hear. “You’ve got this.”
She shot him a grateful glance.
Ewan, ever the professional, but chaotic in that older brother figure, chimed in from the other side. “We should let her do all the talking anyway. She’s the only one who actually knows what she’s saying.”
She laughed, nervously, yes, but genuine, and Hayden melted beside her.
He loved that laugh. Especially when it snuck up on her.
“I’m just the director,” she said, cheeks already tinged with pink.
“The genius director,” Hayden corrected, looking at her. “Let’s not forget that part.”
Ewan nodded solemnly. “Honestly, Jimmy should just hand her the mic.”
“Let’s not give Jimmy any ideas,” she said, trying to joke, but her voice trembled ever so slightly.
“Okay, okay,” Ewan nodded, raising his hands in surrender.
“God, I’m going to trip on my face,” she muttered, mostly to herself.
Hayden leaned forward. “What was that?”
She gave him a wide-eyed look. “I’m going to trip. On national television. Face first. End of legacy. Bye-bye directing career.”
“If you go down, we’re all going down with you.” He grinned, shifting slightly. “I’ll fall dramatically. Ewan will do a stunt roll.”
“I would,” their friend added, nodding solemnly. “I’d give it a full Obi-Wan spin.”
That made her giggle, one of those nervous, belly-deep giggles she tried to stifle behind her hand. Hayden’s smile stretched just watching her.
She inhaled slowly and exhaled through her nose, brushing invisible lint off her dress. “I swear if I twist my ankle walking out there...”
“Relax, sunshine, I’ll carry you to the couch like a prince in a Disney movie,” Hayden said, winking.
“I’d pay money to see that,” Ewan chimed in.
An assistant popped their head in. “Five minutes.”
They stood. Hayden offered her his hand. She took it without hesitation, rising with a slow exhale as she smoothed the sides of her dress.
His fingers curled around hers, warm, solid, familiar, and his eyes roamed her frame with a slow, deliberate sweep.
That short, black, and shimmering like starlight, dress that hugged her curves in ways that made time bend around her.
His mouth almost watered, fire burning like the sun itself inside his body.
“That dress,” he murmured, his voice low, “looks absolutely amazing on you.”
Her smile flickered, sly. “Thank you.”
But then his hand slid, from her hand to her waist, warm and possessive, following the curve of her body until it circled her, his palm settling at the small of her back like a secret. She tilted her chin up at him, amused, glowing.
He leaned down, breath brushing her ear sending a chill run down her spine. His lips barely grazed her skin.
“It’ll look even better,” Hayden whispered, “on the floor of our hotel room in a couple of hours.”
Her breath hitched and she bit her lip, containing the moan that wanted to be released. Heat flashed down from her core.
She flushed, laughing softly as she glanced up at him through her lashes. “Totally agree,” she whispered back, her voice velvet-wrapped mischief. “Cause I bought it so you can take it off.”
A deep, masculine groan left his lips as he bit her ear, softly. “Minx.” His hand flexed at her back, just once, and his grin was that manly-dangerous one that made her knees consider giving up.
The stage manager told them to walk towards the stage and when they were ready, she gave them the countdown. “3... 2... 1…” They were ushered out into the bright lights of the set.
As they lined up by the curtain, ready for their entrance, she suddenly muttered under her breath, “I changed my mind. I’m staying back here.”
Both men turned at once.
“Nope,” Ewan said, moving her to the front.
“Absolutely not,” Hayden added, looping his arm around her waist.
The curtain began to lift. The band kicked in. The applause hit like a wave.
Then Jimmy’s voice echoed from the stage: “Please welcome, from a galaxy far far away... Ewan McGregor, Hayden Christensen, and the amazing director behind it all—!”
The applause hit before she could breathe.
Ewan nudged her lightly with a grin. “You first, darling.”
“I’ll fall,” she muttered.
“Then fall into the arms of greatness,” Hayden said, flashing that sideways smirk that used to haunt her dreams.
And then she walked, heels clicking against the polished floor, smile plastered on, breath caught in her throat.
But she didn’t make it two steps before Ewan offered his arm like a true gentleman, and Hayden stepped in close behind her, steady hand on the small of her back. Gentle and protective.
“We’re your emotional support Jedi,” Hayden said to her, smiling.
Together, they walked onto the stage, arm-in-arm, shoulder to shoulder, and the crowd exploded. The lights from cameras flashed as they waved and smiled on their way to the couch.
Ewan spun her toward the couch like he was escorting royalty, and Hayden’s fingers never left her back until she sat between them, not after giving her a reassuring squeeze.
The audience was still clapping as the theme music faded out and Jimmy leaned forward, grinning from ear to ear.
“Wow, what a lineup tonight!” he beamed. “How are you guys?”
“Good, good,” she replied quickly, smiling a little bit shy, “Nervous.”
“Don’t be!” Jimmy leaned toward her, waving a hand. “The camera loves you.”
“Thank you,” she said, laughing softly, “but I definitely prefer being on the other side of it.”
The audience chuckled along, and Jimmy nodded enthusiastically. “You’re killing it back there though. I’ve seen the clips. It’s cinematic.”
Hayden chuckled under his breath beside her, and Ewan leaned in with that mischievous glint in his eye. “She’s the queen of the monitors.”
She rolled her eyes playfully, and Jimmy grinned, clasping his hands together. “Well, lucky us, we got her on this side tonight.”
“Well,” she glanced at the two men beside her, a playful smile tugging at her lips, “I consider myself extremely lucky. I’m flanked by the best in the galaxy.”
“Aww yeah!” Ewan whooped, raising a fist like a victorious pilot.
“But, but—” Jimmy cut in, pointing toward Hayden with mock-seriousness, “He’s Darth Vader.”
Hayden smirked, brow raised.
“He was Anakin first,” she shot back smoothly, lifting a hand and waving it dismissively. “Besides… some girls love the bad boys.”
The audience roared. Ewan nearly spit his water out, and Jimmy doubled over.
Hayden just looked at her, his heart did somersaults, head shaking slowly, a wicked little grin curling at his mouth. His eyes flicked down and back up again, unmistakably warm and she simply scrunched her nose and smiled like it was nothing at all.
“Hayden, man, it’s so nice to see you again,” Jimmy said once the laughter died down.
“Likewise,” Hayden said with that easy, quiet charm.
“Ewan, my friend,” the host looked at the Scot. “Last time we talked was through a screen, I think.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ewan nodded with a grin. “Zoom does not hit the same.”
Jimmy looked back at her. “And you,” he extended his hands. “What a pleasure it is to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” nodded, laughing nervously. “Though I think my sister is having a breakdown right now.”
Jimmy blinked. “Wait, what? Why?”
“She loves you,” she admitted.
“Awwww!” Jimmy clutched his chest, grinning. “That’s sweet. I’m honored!”
Everyone laughed, including her, that adorable, nervous giggle that always slipped out when she was genuinely flustered. And beside her, Hayden smiled so wide his cheeks ached.
Jimmy dove right in with jokes, and Ewan launched into a charming tale about tripping in Jedi robes, Hayden followed with a smooth story about the first time he put the suit back on. But even in all the noise, the applause, the laughter, the stage heat and scripted lines, they never stole the spotlight from her.
In fact, they kept pushing it her way.
“We wouldn’t be here without her,” Hayden said at one point, tipping his head toward her.
Ewan nodded. “She held the reins. Brilliantly. Made us look good.”
She blushed, hands folded over her knees. “You’re both just saying that ‘cause I’ve seen you cry in costume fittings.”
They all laughed. Even Jimmy.
And Hayden, he couldn’t stop looking at her, not in a way anyone else would clock. But Ewan noticed. Their friends knew. Their family knew. But to the world? They were a trio of professionals, with seamless chemistry, with smiles and warmth and perfect timing.
He was telling the story of how he got the role of Anakin, making the sable noises and moving and she laughed, softly and warm, so genuinely to the point Hayden swore it echoed in his ribcage.
The banter was light and Jimmy was in top form. Ewan cracked jokes about being too old to swing lightsabers. Hayden played coy about Darth Vader's emotional depth.
But the highlight? It was her.
When Jimmy turned to her with a grin, “Now, you, you’re the brain behind all this. The one who wrangled these two legends into something cohesive and incredible.”
She blinked, nerves rattling again.
Hayden noticed the deep breath he took and he did the only thing he knew to do. He touched her, not grandly, not visibly, not for the cameras. Just…softly.
So he leaned slightly, knees brushing hers. His leg rested gently against her own. No one else noticed. “She’s the reason this show even works. It’s her vision. We just try not to mess it up,” he said, giving her time to relax.
“And we do a terrible job of that,” Ewan added, making the audience laugh.
The second she felt him, she exhaled slowly, like her lungs remembered how to breathe again.
A silent message passed between skin and bone. I’m here. You’re okay. You’ve got this.
And she stilled, the kind of still that only came from knowing you were held, and when she finally spoke, explaining the process of building the series through the years, her voice steadied, confidence took root, she gestured with her hands.
She was lit up and Hayden didn’t take his eyes off her once, a proud smile on his lips, watching it all happen like he was seeing sunlight for the first time. He looked so in love he thought he might dissolve right there on national television. She smiled back, and it wasn’t perfect or poised, it was real. It crinkled the corners of her eyes and softened her whole face.
The crowd laughed at something Jimmy said. Ewan threw in another joke. But in the closeness between their legs, in the looks exchanged without a word, there was another conversation.
The kind only two people completely in sync could have.
They left the studio together, all waves and thank-yous, smiles held just long enough for cameras. But the moment the car door shut and the city noise faded behind the glass? Silence.
Heavy. Dense. Electric. The kind of silence that comes when you’ve been holding something in for too long.
She crossed her legs, and his eyes flicked down, once, briefly, before settling back on the window like he hadn’t just imagined her dress hiked up around her hips.
The air-conditioning hummed low, doing nothing to cool the heat blooming between them.
His hand found her thigh. Innocently, at first, just resting there, fingertips grazing the bare skin above her knee. But then he moved, barely, just enough. The pads of his fingers skimmed small, lazy circles, drifting higher, higher… making her swallow hard and take a sharp inhale, which he heard.
Their eyes met, locked, and slowly, teasingly, she bit her bottom lip, eyes hooded. That soft, involuntary thing she always did when she was trying not to moan. And he, he nearly lost it.
Her hand slid over his, a silent plea, pushing his palm further up her thigh, centimetre by aching centimetre. But right before her fingers guided him exactly where she wanted, he squeezed her thigh firmly, stopping her and her breath caught.
Hayden leaned in, just slightly, his breath hot near her ear. Because if she kept acting like that, he was going to wreck her in the back of the car, driver be damned.
His nose brushed her cheek, and she felt it in every nerve ending, her legs pressing together, trapping his hand, and lips parted.
“If I touch you where you want me to…” he murmured, voice like smoke and silk, “I won’t make it to the hotel room.”
She shuddered because he sounded wrecked and wrecking all at once.
“You want this dress on the floor, don’t you?” he whispered, his fingers flexing slightly against her thigh. “Because if I start now, I’ll ruin it. And I want to take my sweet sweet time with you.”
Her eyes fluttered closed, her body practically vibrating.
“Because,” he gave a sweet, hot, kiss to the corner of her lips. “I’ve been thinking about it all night.”
The tension was unbearable, but delicious, exquisite even. A pain that soon was going to turn into pleasure.
The rest of the drive passed in that charged silence and by the time the car pulled up to the hotel entrance, she was breathless and trembling, her pulse racing, and he was barely holding on, jaw tight, eyes smoldering, every inch of him pulsing with restraint.
And neither of them said a word, because they knew nothing would be enough, so they just counted down the minutes.
By the time they stepped into the hotel elevator, the doors closed, they locked at each other and that was it.
His hand braced against the mirrored wall behind her, the other sliding to her jaw as he stepped into her space, all broad shoulders and black suit and heat.
“Hayden—” she started, breathless.
But he didn’t wait, couldn’t and his mouth met hers in a kiss that burned. No hesitation. No gentle prelude. Just pure and raw need.
His hands found her hips, then her waist, sliding up her spine like he had to map her all over again. She clutched at his blazer, rose to her toes, fingers burying in his curls like they belonged there. He groaned when she tugged just hard enough.
“God, you—” he mumbled against her lips, before kissing her again, slower this time. Deeper. “You’ve been driving me insane all night.”
She gasped when he kissed the edge of her jaw, when his lips moved to her neck, when his teeth caught her earlobe and bit, soft, precise, claiming.
Her legs nearly gave out and she had to cling to his shoulders for support, breath hitching.
Slowly, teasingly, his fingers brushed against the sides of the dress, whispering in her ear. “This dress… it’s not going to survive the night.”
The elevator chimed and they barely made it through the hotel room door before he was on her again, hands at her waist, mouth to hers, lifting her clean off the floor like she weighed nothing. One arm secured around her waist, the other on her jaw, her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, her laugh breaking the kiss as he spun them toward the bed.
“You’re really using that height difference to your advantage,” she breathed.
He smirked, fingers already undoing the zipper at her side. “And you’re not complaining.”
In a blur, Hayden had her pressed against the wall, his body crowding hers like he’d been starving for the taste of her. His mouth crashed down on hers, claiming, demanding, devouring. She gave in without hesitation, breathless, hungry, pliant.
He kissed her like a man who had something to prove. Like he needed to burn every second they’d spent apart into her skin.
The dress slipped down her body, pooling at her feet like something holy. He looked at her like she was art, untouchable. His hands traveled from her waist to her ribs, thumbs dragging over the softness of her stomach, and she arched. Her body moved with his touch like it was muscle memory, like he owned every nerve.
He kissed down her neck. Down her collarbone. His hands everywhere. Reverent and desperate, like he’d waited years, not days.
She pressed kisses to his chest, his shoulder, his throat. Her favorite spot. The one that always made him shiver.
He moaned her name when she bit gently beneath his jaw. Whispered “please” when she dragged her nails up his back. Buried his hand in her hair, tilted her head back, kissed her so deeply it made her tremble.
When he finally laid her down, their bodies tangled in sheets and moans and whispered confessions, it wasn’t just about sex. It was love, yes, but it was also fire.
Her hands slid into his hair, pulling at the curls she loved, but he caught her wrists mid-movement, eyes dark and burning.
“Mine,” he growled softly, guiding her arms above her head, pinning both wrists in one of his hands. “Don’t move.”
Her breath hitched, but she obeyed and didn’t move.
He kissed down her neck, dragging his teeth along her porcelain skin, sucking bruises into it, places no one else would ever see. Places only he would know because she was his.
She moaned when he bit the inside of her thigh and moaned louder when his free hand slapped her ass and then squeezed it, possessively. She writhed for him, hips arching, body straining toward his.
But he didn’t rush, because when he took control, he didn’t just want her pleasure. He demanded it. Worshipped it. Made her feel every second of it until her legs couldn’t hold her up.
He pinned her wrists again flat against the mattress. Used one hand to keep her there while the other explored her curves, her thighs, her chest, her neck, and his mouth followed.
Every place he touched, she burned.
She didn’t just let him take control, she craved it because she trusted him.
He whispered against her skin, soft orders between kisses. “Keep your legs open.” “Don’t close your eyes, look at me.” “Take everything I give you.”
And she did. God, she did. She gave him everything. Every gasp. Every cry. Every piece of herself. And he made sure she came apart again and again, with his mouth, with his fingers, with that unbearable voice in her ear: “That’s it, good girl, just like that.”
He didn’t even take his pleasure until she was wrecked and trembling beneath him, lips swollen, voice gone, nails dug into his shoulders like she never wanted to let go.
When he finally moved above her, his weight between her thighs, his hands cradling her face like something precious, she fell in love all over again.
Because it wasn’t just dominance, it wasn’t just sex. It was him. Lover. Protector. Storm. Her everything.
When they collapsed, limbs tangled, hearts still racing, there was nothing but the sound of breath, sharp, staggered, shallow, blending into each other like the waves they had just drowned in.
Hayden lay beside her, his chest heaving, curls damp with sweat, his mouth slightly parted. He looked down at her, really looked at her, and his heart wanted to jump out his chest and fall into her hands, because it was hers. He was hers.
Her hair was a mess on the pillow, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, and she was smiling, lazy, content, utterly wrecked. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, featherlight, and her voice came soft and teasing.
“Worth the wait?”
He didn't even have the breath to laugh. He just nodded, eyes still heavy, reverent, and got closer, brushed his mouth against hers, soft, slow, like a vow.
“Completely,” he whispered.
But he didn’t stop there. Hayden made a 180° degree change in his demeanor from earlier, commanding, and turned completely soft.
He kissed her again, her cheek, her jaw, her temple, the tip of her nose and then pulled her against his chest, gathering her in his arms like he was afraid she’d drift away if he let go. His hand cradled the back of her head, fingers slipping into her hair.
She sighed, warm and safe against his skin.
Rubbed his hand up and down her spine in slow, soothing strokes. His other hand curled protectively around her thigh, keeping her leg tangled with his.
He whispered something into her hair. Something that sounded like “you’re everything.”
She didn’t answer, didn’t need to, her hand was already over his heart.
But he still wanted to do more. Quickly, he got up and disappeared through the bathroom door, but just for a minute, and returned with water and a damp towel.
She blinked up at him sleepily. “You’re spoiling me,” she mumbled.
He smiled down at her, eyes shining. “Damn right I am.”
He cleaned her up gently, kissed her knee when he pulled the blanket over her, and slid into bed again. This time, he let her curl into his side, her cheek resting against his chest, his fingers still playing with the ends of her hair and his nose tucked into the top of her head.
And he stayed like that. No words were needed now, because in the silence, in the safety of his arms, she could feel it. His care, tenderness and love.
It radiated off of him, in the way he held her like something precious. In the way he kissed her shoulder every few minutes, like he couldn’t quite believe she was really here.
And when she finally drifted to sleep, breathing slow and steady against him, he stayed awake just to watch her.
Because it was everything. She was everything.
September 2022. Kiss my fears away.
The bedroom looked like a war zone, like it had exploded from the sheer force of indecision.
Clothes were flung across the bed in desperate heaps, sweaters, jeans, two dresses, three pairs of shoes, a denim jacket, and at least five scarves that all, apparently, were “too much.” A makeup bag lay half-zipped on the dresser, a hair straightener unplugged on the floor. The room smelled like her jasmine and rising panic.
She paced, barefoot, in an oversized t-shirt of his she’d thrown on when she started getting ready but now couldn’t bring herself to take off. Her fingers twisted in the hem.
Hayden lent on the door frame fresh out the shower, mildly entertained.
She turned to look at him, holding up two sweaters in opposite hands. “Do I wear the one that says ‘casual but respectful’ or the one that says ‘I may have directed Star Wars but pretty please still like me’?”
“I, personally, like you in anything at all,” he answered simply, loving the sight of her in his shirt, messy hair, lip slightly swollen from biting it too much. “Or, y’know, nothing.”
“You are not helpful,” she lowered her arms, blush creeping from her neck. “What if they don’t like me?” she finally said aloud, voicing one of her fears. “What if they think I’m too loud? Too weird? What if I say something wrong? What if—”
“You trip on your own shoes trying to meet them?” Hayden raised an eyebrow amused.
She narrowed her eyes, sharply. “Hayden, I’m serious.”
He pushed off the frame and walked toward her, bare feet soft against the wood, curls still damp from the shower, sleeves of his hoodie pushed up lazily to his elbows. He looked so damn at ease, and it only made her anxiety spike harder.
“I know you are,” he said gently, closing the distance between them.
She tried to turn back toward the mess on the bed, but he reached for her hand, stopping her.
“Sunshine,” he murmured.
Her eyes flicked to his, already glossy. “I just,” she exhaled heavily. “I know how much they mean to you. What if they don’t like me?”
“And you mean just as much to me,” he said, his thumb brushing the back of her hand. “They’re going to love you,” he said, without even a breath of hesitation.
“You don’t know that.”
He smiled again, a slow, certain thing. There was that smile, that smile that somehow always broke through her nerves.
“I do, actually,” he said, brushing a piece of hair out of her face. “Because I know them. And more importantly, I know you.”
She blinked up at him, chest rising and falling too fast, eyes wide and full of nerves and a thousand fears she didn’t know how to name, not just about the visit, but about being enough. For him. For the life he had outside of what they built together.
Hayden must’ve seen every thought behind her eyes, because he stepped even closer, one hand circling her waist, the other gripping the back of her neck softly, fingers tangling in her hair. “You are kind. And warm. And smart. You’re funny. And God, you’re so damn brilliant it knocks me flat every time. And if anyone in my family doesn’t love you for that?” He shrugged. “Then they’re clearly out of their minds.”
Her bottom lip trembled. He noticed immediately.
“Hey,” he whispered, cupping her cheek. “Look at me.”
She did.
His forehead pressed to hers, grounding. Anchoring. “You’re more than enough,” he said. “Just as you are.”
She closed her eyes, breathing him in. His scent. His steadiness. The warmth of his body against hers.
“You are the only girl I’ve brought home in years,” he said, voice softer now. “Like… years, sunshine. Except for Bri, you’re the only one.”
Her breath hitched. “Thanks for the pressure, bubs,” she whispered, trying to joke, but her voice wobbled.
He brushed his nose lightly against hers. “No pressure,” he said. “Just… truth.”
She closed her eyes, breathing in the warmth of him. The quiet certainty he carried like armor, not because he was cocky, but because he believed in her. “You don’t need to impress them,” he added. “You already do. You impressed me. And I’m the difficult one.”
She snorted against his chest, the tension slowly melting off her body. “You’re not difficult. You’re… tall.”
Hayden laughed, her chest vibrating, making her smile. “That’s your critique? My height?”
“Well, that and the fact you make my ovaries cry when you wear Henleys,” she confessed.
“Good to know,” he grinned.
She sighed, finally settling into him. “You really think they’ll like me?” her voice came out all small and timid.
“I think,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “they’re going to love you. I think you’re going to charm them in under five minutes, because you’re you.”
She blinked up at him, her face soft now. “Okay. But if I embarrass myself, you have to take me for ice cream,” she said poking his chest with her finger
“Done,” he nodded, dead serious. “Even if you don’t embarrass yourself, we’re getting ice cream.”
“Okay,” she whispered, standing on her toes to kiss him, soft and slow, like a thank you she didn’t know how to say out loud.
“Wear the black sweater,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “The one that’s soft and kinda oversized. You always say it feels like a hug.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him. “I didn’t know you noticed that.”
“I notice everything about you.”
Her heart gave one enormous, stupid lurch in her chest.
“God, you’re good,” she mumbled, reaching for the sweater on the chair. “You know that, right?”
He caught her hand as she passed, pulled her back in for one more kiss, gentle and lingering.
“I know you,” he said again, quieter this time. “And they’re going to know what I do. That you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
And when she smiled, finally, truly, he kissed her forehead and let her go.
November, 2022. Hold onto me.
The front door creaked open, and her voice rang through the house a beat later.
“Bubs?”
He didn’t answer right away, too focused on what he was doing outside, but she could hear the soft clatter of tools and the scrape of something metal against wood from the backyard.
“I swear, if you’re out there fixing something you said you weren’t going to fix today, we’re having words,” she called, tugging her sneakers off at the door, gym bag dropping to the floor with a thud.
“I heard that!” his voice came back, amused, from the garden.
She rolled her eyes, crossing the living room. She stepped outside in leggings that clung to every curve and a cropped tank that showed the flush on her chest from training. Her hair was up, loose strands stuck to her neck, and her skin glowed from the workout. Her stride was lazy and warm, the air still heavy with late afternoon sun.
“What did you do?” she asked, instantly suspicious.
Hayden looked up, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “What?”
He stood tall, dusting his palms on his jeans, that hung low, sweat-darkened shirt clinging to him in all the right places. His backwards cap came off as he wiped at his hairline again, and that’s when she froze.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Her expression dropped.
“No,” she said flatly. “What did you do?”
He blinked, actually confused now. “I… fixed the hinge on the gate?”
“No—not that. Thank you, but I’m not talking about that.” She gestured vaguely at him, eyes wide in mild horror, “I’m talking about you.”
“…Me?” he echoed, cautious now.
She nodded slowly, stepping down a stair toward him. “You cut your hair.”
“I—yeah?” He squinted at her, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just a trim.”
Her face twisted like she’d just witnessed a betrayal of epic proportions. “Just a trim? Hayden, you chopped it. Why would you do that?”
He chuckled, walking toward her. “Cause it was getting in my eyes, Sunshine.”
“You cut your hair, Hayden,” she said again, as if he hadn’t heard her the first time.
“…Yeah?” he said, still not understanding the offense. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that your hair was one of my favorite things to touch!” she groaned, arms crossed over her chest, a full pout formed on her lips and her brow pinched. “Do you not love me anymore?”
His jaw dropped, then he laughed, caught completely off guard. “What? Sunshine, are you seriously—”
“I’m serious,” she cut him off, poking his chest. “You know how much I love your hair. How I love running my fingers through it. Especially gripping it when—when—”
She flushed and looked away, and that’s when realization dawned on him, slow and bright.
“Ohhh,” he said, eyes gleaming with mischief. “When I have my face between your thighs.”
She groaned, exasperated. “Yes! Exactly!”
His grin was stupid and smug and stupid. “So what you’re telling me is… my haircut is ruining your orgasms?”
“I’m saying,” she huffed, cheeks hot, “that it was perfect. And now I don’t have anything to hold on to when you’re—doing your thing.”
Hayden bit his lip to stop from laughing too loud.
“You think this is funny?” she narrowed her eyes.
“I think,” he said, stepping in closer, eyeing her hungrily. She was clad in that tight black leggings and tiny top, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
Put a bow on top and it’s fucking Christmas.
“That you are extremely hot,” he muttered, mouth twitching.
In one smooth movement, his hands slipped around her waist and pulled her firmly against him, arms wrapping low around her hips, hands resting, very purposefully, on her ass.
She huffed, then narrowed her eyes at his hair. Without thinking, her hand came up and ran through it with a grimace.
He raised an eyebrow. “What, you hate it that much?”
“Let me ask you something,” she said dramatically, looking him in the eyes. “What’s your favorite part of me?”
He smirked. “Your heart.”
“Cute,” she deadpanned. “But answer like a horny man.”
He chuckled. “Your hands.” Then he leaned closer, voice low and sinful. “And your scent.”
She blinked. “Okay, I’m not cutting off my hands. But what if I changed my perfume?”
He paused. “Bad. Don’t.”
“Exactly,” she said, triumphant. “Now you understand my pain.”
“I’m sorry for causing you pain, sunshine.” He said truthfully, but a little bit amused. “You know I’d never really deprive you of anything,” he said, lowering his voice, pressing a kiss to her neck. “Especially not that.”
“Good. You should feel bad.” She inhaled sharply.
“I’ll grow it back,” he promised, kissing just below her jaw. “Just for you.”
She grumbled something incoherent as her arms looped loosely around his shoulders. “You better.”
“I’ll even give you trimming rights,” he added. “So you can supervise.”
“I should supervise,” she said, trying to hold her scowl, but it faltered as he sucked gently at her throat. “What am I going to grip now? Where am I supposed to run my fingers through when I’m overwhelmed with lust?”
Hayden’s grin was downright dangerous. “My back, maybe?”
She raised an eyebrow, then lowered her hands and slowly ran them across his broad back and shoulders, biting her lip. “Yeah… yeah, I think I could get used to this.”
“You can brace on them,” he murmured, lips grazing her ear, “when I’m pounding into you.”
Her breath caught.
“You’re still mad?” he asked, hand sliding just beneath the hem of her top, palm warm on her bare back.
“A little,” she whispered. “But also not at all.”
“Good,” he said, and kissed her again, slow, dirty, sweet. “Because I like you better when you’re gripping me, not holding a grudge.”
Her breath caught. She looked up at him, grinning. “Wanna test your gripping theory?”
Without another word, Hayden bit his lip, let out a short groan, then hoisted her up like she weighed nothing, slinging her over his shoulder with one arm wrapped securely around her thighs.
She squealed and giggled, smacking his back playfully. “Hayden!”
“You said you wanted to grip something,” he said smugly, climbing the steps two by two.
“I didn’t mean me!” she laughed, kicking her feet.
“Too late now, sunshine,” he said, one hand smacking her ass with a soft thwack. “Time to take responsibility for your own actions.”
And just like that, they disappeared into the house, the door swinging shut behind them, her laughter echoing through the hallway, his promises whispered between kisses.
December, 2022. Can I go where you go?
He pressed the hotel room door closed behind him with the dullest click, and for a moment, he just stood there. Bags slung from his shoulder, his whole body ached with a tiredness that wasn’t just physical. It was in his chest, his skull, buried in his marrow.
The silence in the room echoed, even when they were empty and Hayden hated it, because it didn’t make any sound but somehow filled the air anyway. It followed him from city to city like a ghost that refused to let him be.
He exhaled slowly, dropping his bag without looking, kicked off his shoes without untying them, but the hoodie stayed on, pulled low over his head. Everything felt gray. Gloom clung to him like smoke. Everything had been too much since the day before, too many faces, too many flashing cameras, too many people trying to reach for him with hands that didn’t care,not really. Not like she did.
His chest felt tight, like something invisible had its hands wrapped around his ribs and was slowly, methodically squeezing.
The convection was supposed to be good. The interviews were light, the fans were happy, the schedule was manageable. But one harsh comment. One question that dug too deep, said with too much edge. One smile that felt more like a performance than a gesture. One entitled rude celebrity. Too much noise. Too many eyes, that he felt were judging. Always expecting. No room to breathe. No space to be still. The mirror that didn’t look right. His own thoughts, clawing at him with the same sharp edge they always did when he was tired and too far from home.
He pulled the phone out. Five texts. Her unanswered texts, not with a hey or a can’t talk, not even a heart. Just silence, radio silence.
He hadn’t meant to disappear. He wanted to answer. God, did he want to. He’d read them, every single one. Her good morning from twelve hours ahead, her “hey, how’s your day?” followed by a little meme that would usually make him smile. But the more they piled up, the harder it became to type even a single word back.
He held his phone so many times with the intent to write something. Anything. But his fingers… they didn’t move, more like couldn’t move because lifting his thumb to the screen felt like climbing a mountain, and all he could do was stare blankly until the screen dimmed again.
It wasn’t about her, it never was. It was everything else.
Rubbing a hand over his face, Hayden walked towards the window, arms crossed, staring out at the blur of city lights. They always looked prettier from above. Softer. Like maybe the world didn’t hurt so much down there.
His head was loud. Too fucking loud.
That voice that crept in sometimes, the one that told him he wasn’t enough. That he was just a has-been playing pretend. That the people smiling at him didn’t mean it, not really. That one day soon, everyone would turn their backs on him and hate him all over again. That the 2000s were going to repeat themselves.
He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the heel of his palm against his chest, like he could press the weight away. When things got like this, he tried to go to his place, his happy place, the one that always steadied him.
The farm.
Sunlight pouring down on his face. Warm, golden. The breeze tickling his skin. The soft grass under his bare feet. Her laugh, carried on the wind. Warm and bright and bubbling up like sunlight made into sound. Her weight leaning against his side, laying on a blanket, head on his shoulder. Her fingers brushing his skin. Her jasmine scent wrapping around him like a second skin. Her lips, tasting like heaven and peace, pressing against his jaw.
That was his happy place. Not the land, not the quiet, her.
That image held him for a moment, but then it cracked. Because he wasn’t there, he was in some nameless hotel on the other side of the world. The sun wasn’t out, the grass wasn’t beneath his feet. And she wasn’t here.
She was at home. Probably curled in bed, soft and warm, hopefully sleeping peacefully. The thought of her brought a lump to his throat, not from envy, but longing. Need.
He sank onto the edge of the bed and lowered his head into his hands, just breathing. He didn’t know how to fix this, how to climb out of the hole his brain had dug for him.
And then there was a knock, echoing around the room to the point he felt it in his head. At first, he thought he imagined it, staying still in his place, frowning. Then again, three short taps. He wasn’t expecting anyone, no one was supposed to be here.
Another knock.
He dragged himself to the door, slow and uncertain, heart half in his throat, stomach twisted, prepared to be annoyed, or worse, disappointed. Unlocked it. Opened it.
And there she was.
Takeout bag in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. Wrapped in a hoodie too big for her, hair a little messy, eyes soft and wide, like it was the most natural thing in the world to fly to the other side of the world to show up unannounced in his hotel room, like she wasn’t the literal breath he couldn’t catch lately.
For a second, he just stared. Because she was just here, because somehow, she knew.
“Hi,” she said quietly, looking at him with that expression, the one that always made him feel like everything was going to be alright.
He didn’t speak, couldn’t, jaw clenched, eyes burning. He didn’t say anything, didn’t think, just took the food and wine from her hands, set it down inside without a word, then turned around and reached for her like a man drowning, like she was salvation and pressed his face into the side of her neck, breathing her in like she was oxygen, hands gripping her tightly.
She held him back instantly, one hand at his back curling into his hoodie like she knew he needed her to anchor him, the other cradling the back of his head, pulling him close.
He didn’t cry, because it wasn’t that kind of pain. It was the slow, quiet ache. The kind that crept into your bones and made it hard to remember what feeling okay was like.
But something inside him trembled loose.
She was here, solid, warm, real and maybe that meant he could breathe again.
The moment the door opened and she saw his face, her heart broke clean in two. It was him, yes. Her love. Her man. Her Hayden, but dimmed. The shell of the man she knew stood in front of her, the sparkle in his eye dulled, that usual half-smirk nowhere to be seen, a weariness in the set of his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. And yet he still smelled like him, still radiated that quiet magnetism that pulled her in like gravity.
Her heart ached watching him. God, she loved him so much it hurt.
The air around him felt heavy, like he was carrying too much, and not a single soul had offered to help him hold it.
But she was there, and she could hold the world if it meant that he could breathe in peace. Instead, she held her world, him. Tight. Steady. Safe. Like he was something fragile, precious, not because he was weak, but because he’d been strong for too long and had no one to lean on.
She wanted to build a wall around them so high no pain could ever reach him again. She wanted to scream at every ungrateful person who’d ever taken advantage of his kindness, at every stranger who’d tossed words like daggers without knowing a thing about the weight he carried.
But she didn’t and simply pressed her lips to his temple and kept her hands gentle as they moved over his back, soothing, grounding. When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at her, her heart cracked all over again.
His eyes were dull, his skin was pale. His whole face looked tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix.
She cupped his face carefully, like he might shatter if she wasn’t delicate enough, and his eyes fluttered shut at her touch, a tremor rippling through his body. He leaned into her like a man collapsing into something holy, like he’d been starved of true affection. Her thumbs traced under his eyes, over his cheekbones, across the small furrow in his brow. And pressed a kiss to his forehead like a benediction.
“I wanted to text you,” he murmured. “I just… I couldn’t.”
“I know,” she said. “You don’t have to explain. You don’t owe me anything.”
His eyes fluttered. “I owe you everything.”
“No,” she said gently. “You just need rest.”
“I needed you.”
“You have me.”
And that was the truth. Always.
She took the lead, just like he had all those times before when she’d been the one unraveling. She set the food and wine on the bed, tugged him by the hand, and said with a smile, “Come on, big boy,” softly, slipping into something lighter, more teasing, because she knew he needed a breath of air, not more tears. “Let’s eat and then rest.”
They ate cross-legged on the bed, messy and unbothered. She talked, not about anything serious, just soft, harmless noise, meant to fill the silence and keep his mind from spiraling deeper into whatever hole it had fallen into.
She saw the way his shoulders, so high and tense when she first arrived, slowly began to settle. She saw the way the muscles in his jaw stopped clenching so tight.
Then, at some point, somewhere between a shared bite and a throwaway story, he looked at her, eyes soft, mouth parted slightly, as if stunned she was still here, still real. And something in him shifted. Nothing huge. Nothing dramatic. But something eased.
For the first time that day, the noise in his head dulled. The weight in his chest loosened just enough to breathe, it was still there, but it didn’t crush him as hard. The ache he’d been dragging around didn’t go away, but it didn’t hurt quite as much. It was still there, it always would be, but now, somehow, it was held. Like maybe the grey wouldn’t last forever. Like maybe, as long as she stayed right there, he could make it through.
He stared at her, like he didn’t know how to say thank you without falling apart.
“Thank you,” he murmured, voice low and scratchy against the quiet.
She turned to look at him, confused, blinking. “For what? I haven’t done anything.”
“You’re here,” he said, like it explained everything. He reached out, brushing his thumb along the curve of her cheek, needing to feel her skin, to prove she wasn’t just a vision from the memory he clung to earlier. “That’s more than I can ask for. More than I deserve.”
Her breath caught. Not from surprise, but from how deeply it hurt her to hear that, to know he truly believed it.
She took his face in both hands, tender and grounding, her thumbs smoothing over the crease between his brows.
“You are here,” she said, echoing him with more weight than he’d given himself. “There’s no other place I want to be.”
She watched his chest give out a trembling breath. A collapse, not from defeat, but from something else. From love. From the unbearable relief of being seen.
His eyes searched hers, desperate and reverent and afraid. “God,” he whispered, “I love you so much.”
She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, then lower, along his jaw, holding his face like something precious. Like something breakable and beloved.
“I know, Bubs,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “And I love you more.” And she kissed him, gently, like prayer, like promise.
It didn’t fix him. She didn’t want to fix him. That was never her place. But she did want him to know, needed him to know, that in her eyes, he was not a burden. Not a shell. Not something broken to be endured.
He was good. He was deserving, of kindness, of love, of every good little thing the world had to offer.
When he breathed again, really breathed, she felt it, like it passed through her too.
Later, when the lights were off, she climbed into bed and pulled him into her arms. Not the other way around this time.
She was the one holding him.
Her body curled around his like a shield, one arm tucked under his, the other draped across his chest. She pressed soft kisses to the back of his neck, felt him melting into her touch.
Her lips brushed the back of his neck.
“You’re safe,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”
He didn’t speak, but his hand found hers where it rested on his chest, laced their fingers together slowly, like he was afraid to break the moment, and brought them to his lips.
A kiss, warm, wordless and grateful.
And then he held her hand there, over his heart, like he needed it, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. And maybe, at that moment, it was.
December 2022, Holidays with you.
Christmas – Canada.
Snow clung to the windowsills like sugar, soft and heavy, it covered the world outside Hayden’s farm in soft whites and silvers. Inside, the fireplace crackled, the tree twinkled in the corner with mismatched ornaments from years of memories, and the scent of cinnamon and pine wrapped the house like a blanket, mixed with the traces of jasmine, her scent, now familiar in every room she entered.
It was their first Christmas as a couple. It was her first Christmas as part of his family. The first time she’d spent the holidays wrapped in something more than lights and festive songs, she was wrapped in a family that had opened the door to her and made her feel like she belonged. And nowhere did she feel that more than in Hayden’s arms, or under Briar’s enthusiastic tug as she was led from one game or tradition to another.
She was at ease with his family now, laughing with his siblings, decorating cookies with his mom. She bested him at a snowball fight in the yard and an aggressively competitive round of charades, and he pretended to be offended every time, sulking dramatically and saying he demanded a rematch. She’d laughed every time in response and declared him a sore loser.
Later, as the fireplace glowed and cocoa steamed in mugs, Briar showed them a crayon drawing she made, of all three of them together holding hands in the snow and a very colourful tree. It got a place of honor in the fridge immediately.
Hayden just kept stealing kisses every time she walked under the mistletoe, even if he had to guide her there himself. To the point, his sister rolled her eyes and muttered something about “getting a room” but he didn’t care, he kept doing one of his favourite things in the world, kissing her.
When Hayden wasn't teasing her, he was watching her. Watching the way she fit so seamlessly into his world. Watching her laugh with his mom. Watching her help Bri wrap presents. And he had to bite his cheek sometimes just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
The whole day had been magic, warm and loud and full of love. But the part he’d been waiting for wasn’t under the tree or wrapped in red ribbon. It was the one where it was just them.
The house was quiet, lights still flickering but low in the corner of the living room. The hum of distant laughter still lingered like warmth in the walls. But inside the four walls of the master bedroom, the moment had softened and slowed. Made just for them.
As soon as she came out of the bathroom with her hair braided after her night routine, he guided her gently to the middle of the bed, both hands on her shoulders, grounding her with that warmth he always carried in his palms.
“Wait here,” Hayden whispered, brushing his lips against her forehead in a kiss that somehow said everything he wasn’t ready to put into words yet.
“Okay…” she murmured, a little confused but smiling, crossing her legs in the middle of the bed, her fingers playing with the hem of her socks as she waited.
A moment later, he returned from the dressing room. Something hidden by his back, he paused at the edge of the bed, like he was grounding himself again.
“For you,” he said softly, handing her a leather-bound folder.
Her eyes widened. “Hay…”
“There’s another present under the tree,” he added, sitting beside her now, their knees brushing. “But this one, this one’s just for us. It’s our first Christmas together, of many, and I wanted to make it special.”
She took the folder from his hands, fingers brushing the garnet leather. It was soft, worn like something meant to be held. Treasured. On the cover, her name. Etched clean and sure. When she opened it, on the inside of the front flap, delicately inked:
“For the artist that makes this world exceptional, may these pages hold the brilliance you bring to life.”
Her eyes stung.
But then, then, she opened the pocket tucked into the cover.
Notes. Dozens. Folded neatly, stacked like they belonged in a museum. Like they were sacred.
She unfolded one, hands trembling.
“You saw the light in me. I see galaxies in you.”
“You laughed so hard today your nose scrunched. I think that’s my new religion.”
“I haven’t slept in days, but I slept the second you got here.”
“Still can’t believe I get to wake up next to you.”
“You are made of sunshine and stubbornness.”
She wept, not from sadness, not from surprise, but from sheer, unshakable awe. Because no one had ever loved her like this. Quietly. Steadily. Unconditionally.
He reached out, catching the tears on her cheek with his thumbs, smoothing them away like he had every intention of making sure she’d never cry alone again. “Hey,” he whispered, voice barely there. “Too much?”
She shook her head, lips trembling into a smile, eyes still blurred. “It’s perfect.”
Stretching one hand to grab him by the back of his neck, she leaned forward, Hayden meeting her in the middle, and they kissed. Gently. Reverently.
He felt the emotion on her lips and carried it as if it was his own.
And when the kiss broke, when her breath finally evened out, she caressed his hair, forehead against forehead. “I love you,” she said softly. “I love you so much that my heart is yours at this point.”
“I love you more,” he smiled. “I love you as easily as breathing.”
Letting go, she stood up with a sniffle, padding over to her bag with determination. “Great minds think alike,” she called softly, “so I have another present for you too.”
He arched a brow. “Sunshine…”
She returned, holding a small black box. Her fingers were shaking a little as she handed it over. “Open it before I start crying again,” she laughed softly, tears still in her eyes.
Inside, nestled in velvet, was a simple, elegant watch. Black leather band. Silver face. But it was the engraving that broke him.
“May 2019 — You changed everything.”
His lips parted, breath coughing in his chest. It was the day they met.
His eyes filled and he didn’t even try to hide it. “Sunshine…” Hayden choked. “You remembered.”
“I’ll never forget,” she said, and this time, it was her who cupped his face. “That day rewrote my whole life.”
He stared at her like she was the gift. Like everything he’d ever needed was right there in front of him, wrapped in love and warmth and jasmine.
And then he kissed her, soft at first, like awe. Then deeper. Grateful. Overwhelmed. All in.
Because that night, in the hush between Christmas and morning, in the soft halo of fairy lights and promises, they both knew something sacred: They weren’t just in love. They were home.
That night, they fell asleep wrapped around each other, hearts full, future steady.
Christmas Morning arrived in chaos. She was preparing waffles when Bri bounded into the living room in fuzzy red slippers, eyes wide, already wearing her new pyjama, and dragging a second set behind her. “Dad,” she declared, pointing dramatically, “you have to wear these.”
Hayden, hair still sleep-mussed, sat with his coffee, blinking slowly. “Do I?”
“Absolutely,” Bri said, entirely serious. “Bubble already is.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Does she?”
“Yeah,” she said, walking in with a plate of fresh waffles.
She was wearing a ridiculous one printed with The Nightmare Before Christmas, hair wild and matching socks. She looked impossibly adorable. And very smug.
She put the plate on the table and then cocked her hip to the side, “we have one for you.”
Hayden left his coffee cup slowly on the table, taking the green bundle from Briar. It was Grinch-themed. Of course it was.
“No way,” he said laughing, shaking his head.
“Come on,” she laughed, stealing his cup to take a sip. “It’ll be cute!”
“Matching pajamas?” he scrunched his nose. “I’m not sure…”
Briar crossed her arms. “Come on, Dad.”
“Give me a kiss and I’ll think about it,” Hayden bargained, teasing.
The little, not so little, girl kissed his cheek instantly.
He squinted, feigning thought. “Mmm… still don’t know.”
She kissed his other cheek.
“Getting warmer,” he said, stretching it out. “But I don’t know...”
Briar groaned, tilting her head back, then looking at her over her shoulder. “Bubble, I need help!”
She bit her lips, shaking her head. “You’re really fighting her on this?”
He grinned and nodded, tapping his cheek like it was a button.
She made a show of sighing, circled the table and as he laughed and then she kissed him. Soft and slow.
“And?” she raised an eyebrow.
“Still don’t know,” he teased. “But maybe.”
Another kiss.
“Okay, probably,” he nodded, enjoying it too much. “I wear the pants though.”
“Strategy meeting!” Bri declared, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the corner, whispering dramatically.
He watched, utterly besotted, barely hiding the smile tugging at his lips as they giggled and planned.
A moment later, they turned as a team. She stepped forward, arms crossed playfully. “Pretty please, wear the matching pajamas with us?” she asked, saccharine sweet.
Bri stood behind her, arms crossed like a bodyguard. “Yeah. Pretty please.”
Hayden hummed, pretending to consider. “Maybe...but I might need another kiss.”
She looked at Bri, then back at him, wiggling her eyebrows. “Fine,” she said, mock-defeated. She leaned in slowly, as he puckered his lips, she launched into a tickle attack on his ribs mercilessly.
He yelped, and seconds later, Bri jumped in too, tiny hands attacking, both of them on either side giggling uncontrollably as they brought the mighty Vader to his knees.
“Wear the pajamas!” Bri shouted between laughter.
“Okay! Okay!” he gasped, collapsing on the floor. “I surrender!”
The little girl cheered victoriously, throwing herself on top of him. “Best dad in the whole wide world,” she said, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek.
She watched the scene with a soft smile on her lips, hands on her heart, watching how he hugged the little girl with so much love, smile on his lips and the corners of his eyes wrinkled.
He looked at her, extended his hand and when she took it, he pulled her to the floor with them. They ended in a pile of giggles and limbs, breathless and laughing, cheeks flushed with joy.
She peaked his lips sweetly. “You’re a good dad.”
His mom, who had been watching everything from the stairs, smiled, warmly and securely. Then, acting as if she had not witnessed the most beautiful scene on a Christmas morning, offered to take photos of them as soon as Hayden put the pajamas on.
They were goofy photos, happy, smiley ones too, even blurry ones from laughing too hard when they pulled a silly face. But all the kinds that looked like joy.
Christmas on the farm had too many cookies, too many mugs of hot chocolate, too many board games he couldn’t win, that damn Christmas playlist on repeat because Bri loved it, and love, so much love that it couldn't fit in their chests.
It was the happiest Christmas either of them had ever had.
New Year’s Eve – Los Angeles. 2022 → 2023
The night had been loud and warm. The kind of loud that came with laughter, clinking glasses, soft jazz humming under conversations, and the steady hum of love tucked between people who mattered.
Her family had filled every room. Her niece and nephew had clung to Hayden from the start, her niece had dragged him into a game of charades, and he had gone full method actor, full-on Anakin-meets-Disney-princess vibes that had the whole living room in stitches, and her nephew had him playing with the game they bought him for christmas. He’d obliged with a patience that made her heart ache in the most beautiful way every time her eyes fell on them, everytime her sister gushed at how good and patient he was with them.
His eyes kept falling on her as she floated through the party like she always did, graceful, warm, magnetic. But every time she passed him, she brushed his arm. Looked at him over her shoulder. Whispered, “You good?” like he was the most important part of her orbit.
He was, just like she was his.
By 11:50, the house had started to shift, people moving outside to catch the fireworks. She slipped out in a rush, laughing with the kids that pulled her, completely forgetting her coat inside. The night air was sharp, crisp against her bare arms. She wrapped them around herself instinctively, but before the chill could settle in, he was there, coat in hand.
Wordlessly, Hayden draped it over her shoulders and his hand fell naturally to her lower back. She turned to him, smiling, warm now in more ways than one.
The countdown began.
10…
She slipped her hand into his.
9…
He squeezed once, grounding.
8…
They looked up, sky blooming with smoke and stars.
7…
She leaned into him.
6…
He brushed her temple with his lips.
5…
She closed her eyes.
4…
He stared at her like she was made of moonlight.
3…
She opened them, and smiled just for him.
2…
His heart beat loud, but steady.
1…
“Happy New Year!” they shouted followed by a chorus of laughter, clinking glasses, and warm cheers. Champagne fizzed. Fireworks bloomed.
But in the quiet space between the noise, in the heartbeat of the moment, Hayden kissed her and the world went still.
It was soft. So soft. Full of warmth and promise and quiet understanding. His hands framed her face, hers pressed against his chest like she was reminding his heart to keep beating. Their lips met like they had done it a thousand times before, and still like it was the first.
Her smile bled into the kiss, her giggle a spark between them, and when they pulled back, she was glowing. Absolutely glowing.
And in that moment, watching her eyes almost close from how big her smile was, her breath even and slow, her hand curled over his heart, her wrapped around him, glowing and wine-soft, Hayden knew exactly how he wanted.
This is how I want to start every year. Just like this. Just with her.
“Happy New Year,” she whispered against his mouth.
“Happy everything,” he murmured back, kissing her one more time.
That was all he’d wanted two years ago, when he stood on her doorstep well past midnight with his heart almost beating out his chest from anxiety. But this time, this new year he kissed her and she kissed back.
He would kiss her at midnight for the rest of time if she let him.
By the time the last guest left, the night was quiet again. Their laughter still lingered in the air, like the sweet scent of champagne, the living room was scattered with empty glasses, gold streamers, and confetti footprints leading toward the kitchen.
It was the end of something and the start of something else.
They moved around it in an easy rhythm, tossing, rinsing and stacking trays. The kind of cleanup that could wait for morning, but that felt right to do together now, in the softest hours of the new year.
She was barefoot, one of his old t-shirts replacing her top that slipped down one shoulder, her hair tied up loosely, makeup smudged from the long night, her lipstick faint on the rim of her wine glass, a deeper stain lingering on her lips and cheeks still flushed from wine and joy. Hayden was barefoot too, sleeves pushed to his elbows, looking at home, like he lived there, because he did now. In every way.
“I’ll handle the glasses,” she offered, turning on the water.
“Then I’ll do the bottles,” he nodded, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder.
The music in the background was mellow, something jazzy with a soft beat. And as he wiped down the counters, she turned around with sudsy hands and a smile on her lips.
“You know,” she said as he walked past her with a trash bag, “you’re kinda hot when you clean.”
He snorted, flicking some confetti at her. “Stop it.”
But he didn’t really want her to.
Then, without a word, he turned the volume up just a touch, low and slow, and reached for her hand as she rinsed a wine glass.
“C’mon,” he said, voice still honey-sweet. “Dance with me, Sunshine.”
She raised an eyebrow, fingers dripping bubbles, wrists glistening. “I’ve got soap on my hands,” she laughed.
“I don’t care,” he whispered, stepping in close, already swaying. “Dance with me.”
And she gave in. Of course she did.
Their hands met, warm and wet, and they moved together like a secret only they knew. Bare feet slid across kitchen tile, dish soap bubbles clinging to their skin. He twirled her and she laughed, joy blooming loud in her chest. Then he dipped her low, so low she squealed, and when she came up breathless, he kissed her.
Not rushed. Not teasing.
A kiss like a vow. A kiss like it was still midnight.
When they pulled apart, she pressed her forehead to his, breathless with laughter, glowing from within.
“Next year,” he whispered against her lips, “let’s go even slower. I want every minute with you.”
She blinked at him, heart thudding. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he whispered again, brushing a strand of hair from her face, cupping her cheek like she was made of gold.
She smiled, all teary eyes and crooked dimples. Because it wasn’t a proposal but at the same time it was.
Not in gold bands or declarations. But in how he said “next year” like it was a given. In how he wanted time, not things. Her, not the world.
She whispered back, “Deal.”
And when he smiled, soft and boyish and hers, she felt it in her chest, warm and dizzying. He was already her future.
They kept dancing, arms around each other, surrounded by suds and streamers and the faintest glow of fairy lights.
She’d clean up bottles with him every year, forever, if he let her.
Because that's what forever looked like to her. Hands laced with soap and music. Two hearts barefoot and beating in sync. And a kiss that tasted like every new year they had left.
Next Part →
TAGLIST: @frommywindow17 // @lillianacristina // @shyartisanvoidwagon // @watersquirtpewpewboomm // @yomommaandyogranny // @shqwqrma // @florence-vikander // @bryjohn98 // @its-sappho-biotch // @mysardencut // @fan-goddess // @weallhaveadestiny // @hueanhdang // @ittybitty-rt // @fromasgardandback // @mmb-09 // @elisamoons // @harryisacuties // @little-diable // @angie2274 // @fallinlovewithevil // @mrsmikaelsxn // @naginithemage // @maleahcastro3 // @gwendolyngonzalez // @drawingdroid // @darkestnite // @ooostarwarsfandom501st // @lonelywitchv2 // @chixnugg22 // @moni-cah // @hesvoid34 // @princessvader15 // @nevess // @ilovenarrystoran4ever // @mecrazybish // @blueeyedbesson // @syko-juice // @thetinylittlebird // @b4b3tte // @lily-strnlo // @leahdrads // @niclove // @bloatedandalone04 // @dream-this-nightmare-overnightmareover // @lonelyreadergirl // @sweetcheesecakesblog // @risas-bajo-el-arcoiris // @xangelicangel // @hannis93 // @vikilinda // @ohamilton614 // @tiffsbagels // @nutellanja // @myede // @dessxoxsworld // @kollover24 // @freyagallileaevans // @nostappenn // @tammyjackson50-blog // @4-everm-0-re // @qualitynerdbouquetstuff // @tired-ass-show-girl // @aceofspades190 // @bxbyysstuff // @kick127 //
