#follo fic

He thought about it completely out of the blue. Just another evening, another exhaustion after yet another mission - you were sitting beside him, reading something with your legs tucked under you, and he was watching you when he suddenly realized: when was the last time you went on a date? Not here, within these walls, in the familiar comfort of your room, where even watching movies in bed had become routine, but out there, in the city that smelled of fresh pastries and damp stone, where you could simply walk hand in hand and not rush anywhere?

He went through the past few months in his mind and, with a sinking feeling, understood: work. Everything beyond the base had become just work. Missions, assignments, reports. And you? You were just two tired people, snatching tenderness in fragments.

He felt ashamed, physically, sharply, a cold discomfort spreading under his skin. He was the one who was supposed to take care of you, the one who had sworn you would never regret anything. And yet - half a year without a proper date? How had that even happened?

The question hung in the air, unspoken, but demanding an immediate answer.

Follo acted as he always did - methodically, but with heart. First, he checked in with Semiu, compared your schedules. Your days off aligned perfectly, already a victory. Then he sat down to plan.

He remembered everything. Your favorite cafés: the one with the best coffee, and that small one with homemade pastries you used to visit at the beginning of your relationship. The park where you once wandered into a dead end and laughed at your own carelessness. The bridge with a beautiful view of the old part of the city, where you once said it looked like a postcard.

He even found a camera, an old, film one, a little ridiculous. Because once, you had mentioned that film was a kind of magic that digital could never capture.

On the evening before your day off, he came up behind you while you were writing something in your planner. He hugged you, burying his nose in your neck, and whispered:

— “Darling, we have a day off tomorrow… Please don’t plan anything.”

You turned around to meet his pleased, slightly conspiratorial smile, and your chest immediately filled with warmth.

The morning of your day off was slow and just right. Follo, despite his habit of waking at dawn, didn’t mind sleeping in today, and didn’t even move when he woke up. You were asleep, nestled against his shoulder, warm, relaxed, the blanket kicked aside somewhere. He watched your eyelashes, your slightly parted lips, and thought that this - this was a kind of date too. Just lying there, just being, feeling your breath tickle his skin.

At noon, you woke up on your own, met his gentle, slightly sleepy gaze, and smiled.

— “Why you didn't wake me up?”

— “For what?” he kissed you on the forehead.

— “We are not rushing anywhere. Today only us”

You got ready slowly, without any rush. Follo kept smiling the whole time, wide, a little foolish, not even trying to hide it. You noticed when he was tying his shoelaces, almost humming under his breath.

— “It’s like you’re going on a first date,” you laughed, nudging him in the shoulder.

— “I am,” he replied, taking your hand.

— “Every date with you feels like the first. Because I miss you, even when you just step into the shower for five minutes.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks betrayed you by warming up.

The city greeted you with the usual noise and bustle.

The first café was that one - the one with the most delicious coffee. Follo ordered your favorite drink and a croissant for you, and took an Americano for himself. You sat by the window, chatting about all sorts of little things, and he kept catching himself unable to look away.

He admired the way you laughed, the way you took a bite of the croissant and closed your eyes in delight, the way you twirled a napkin between your fingers when you drifted into thought.

Then you went to the park. The trees were just beginning to turn green, the air smelling of spring and dampness. Follo held your hand, sometimes stopping to fix a loose strand of your hair, and once again you caught yourself thinking that his care was something natural, like breathing. He wasn’t trying, wasn’t overdoing it, he was simply yours.

You visited the second café closer to the evening. Homemade pastries, thyme tea, and a long conversation about nothing. About books you had both read recently, about strange dreams that come after difficult missions, about how wonderful it would be to someday reach the very top, where, they say, you can see the real sky.

And then you went to the bridge. You sat on the railing, carefully holding onto each other, watching the sun slowly sink below the horizon, painting the old rooftops pink. At some point, Follo reached into his backpack and pulled out the camera.

— “Seriously? Where did you get that?!“ you asked, amazed.

— “Secret,” he winked, aiming the lens.

— “Smile.”

Click, you’re laughing, the wind tugging at your hair.

Click, he turns the lens to himself and the two of you, you leaning into the frame, cheek to cheek.

Click, just the bridge, the sunset, and a moment you want to keep forever.

When the sun had completely set and the city lit up with evening lights, you realized your legs were aching and your eyes were growing heavy. Time to go home, to the base, to warmth, to each other.

Semiu, who met you in her usual spot, only grunted and turned away. Maybe it was the sight of your happy, tired faces, or the way Follo, still holding your hand, kept whispering something in your ear that made you laugh softly and sleepily.

Back in your room, you collapsed onto the bed at the same time, Follo first, you on top of him, burying your nose in his chest. His fingers immediately found your hair, gently running through it, stroking your back, soothing you.

— “Thank you,” you whispered into the darkness.

— “For today. For everything. For you are here for me.”

He kissed the top of your head, then again, and again. Breathing in the scent of your hair, feeling his body slowly relax, the tension of the past months fading away.

— "No. Thank YOU," he replied quietly.

— "For agreeing to be with me. For putting up with this schedule. For... just staying by my side."

You raised your head and met his gaze – tired, but so warm, so yours.

— “I love you,” you said quietly, almost dissolving into him.

— “I love you too,” he replied, holding you tighter.

— “More than yesterday. Less than tomorrow.”

You smiled into his chest, feeling sleep wash over you like a soft wave. Tomorrow would be a new day, work, new fatigue. But today was this date, a reminder of what all this was for.

For moments like this - quiet ones you want to return to. For arms that hold you as if they’re holding the most precious thing in the world.