#its midnight.....something something something headlights...

You know something’s wrong the moment your sister asks, for the third time, “Are they coming home tonight?”

Your apartment is quieter than it should be.

The TV is still on, some late-night show playing to an tense room, the volume low enough to feel like background noise but loud enough to remind you that time is passing.

It's 11:48 PM.

Your brother sits cross-legged on the couch beside her, a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders like armor. He’s trying—really trying—to look unaffected, but every time headlights sweep past the window, his eyes flick toward the door.

Waiting.

Always waiting.

You check your phone again.

Nothing.

No missed calls. No texts. No location updates. You’ve already checked three times in the last ten minutes anyway, like somehow this time will be different.

It isn’t.

A tight feeling settles in your chest, something heavy and unfamiliar—but you push it down before it can take shape.

“Hey,” you say, stepping in front of them, forcing your voice into something steady. “C’mon. Go brush your teeth. Let’s get ready for bed.”

Your sister immediately shakes her head. “But—”

“I’ve got you. Okay?”

You don’t let her finish.

You can’t.

Her lip trembles, eyes glossy in a way that makes something twist painfully in your chest. Your brother looks at you longer, searching your face like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying.

If you actually know something he doesn’t.

You hold his gaze.

Just long enough.

Something in him softens—just a little—and he nods.

You move quickly after that.

Routine.

That’s what this is. Just routine.

You walk them to the bathroom, stand in the doorway while they brush their teeth, remind your sister not to flood the sink, nudge your brother when he zones out halfway through.

Normal.

Everything is normal.

You tuck them into bed like you’ve done a hundred times before, even though your hands feel heavier tonight.

Your sister clings to your sleeve. “You promise?”

You don’t ask what she means.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I promise.”

The hallway light stays on when you leave.

The door stays cracked open.

And you go back to the couch, sitting in the same spot your brother had been in earlier, elbows on your knees, staring at the front door like if you just wait long enough—

It’ll open.

It doesn’t.

The hours drag.

Midnight turns into one, then two.

At some point, the TV shuts off on its own, leaving the apartment in a kind of silence that feels too big for the space.

3:02 AM.

Your parents still aren’t home.

And somewhere between exhaustion and something you don’t want to name, the realization settles in—not all at once, but slowly, like cold seeping into your bones.

They’re not coming back.

Morning doesn’t feel real.

It comes too fast, sunlight spilling through the blinds like nothing has changed, like the world didn’t just quietly shift under your feet overnight.

But it did.

And now it’s just you.

You, and an 8-year-old who pretends he’s fine, and a 5-year-old who doesn’t know what's happening.

And you’ve got morning skate at 9.

Breakfast is chaos.

Your sister refuses everything you put in front of her until she finally mumbles, “I want cereal. Like Mom makes it.”

You don’t ask what that means.

You just guess—too much milk, not enough cereal—and when she takes a hesitant bite and doesn’t complain, it feels like a small, fragile victory.

Your brother, on the other hand, is already spiraling.

“I can’t find my math folder.”

“It’s probably in your bag.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

You check.

It is.

You don’t say anything when you hand it to him.

Just ruffle his hair and tell him to grab his shoes.

You’re all out the door ten minutes late anyway.

The drive to school is quiet.

Not comfortable quiet—just quiet.

Your sister stares out the window.

Your brother fidgets with the zipper of his backpack.

You keep one hand tight on the steering wheel, the other tapping anxiously against your thigh as you watch the clock tick forward.

She needs picked up at 3:15. He's at 3:45. You’ll figure it out.

You always do.

You drop them off, wait until they’re both inside, and only then let yourself exhale.

Then you’re back in the car.

Back on the road.

Back to the part of your life that’s supposed to make sense.

You barely make it to the rink on time.

You’re still pulling on your gear, tying your pads with rushed, slightly clumsy hands when a voice cuts across the locker room—

“Rough night, rookie?”

A few guys chuckle.

You don’t even look up.

“Something like that.”

It’s easy to brush off.

That’s the thing.

Rookies are supposed to be a mess—new team, new system, new pressure. No one questions it when you look a little off.

No one looks close enough to see what’s actually wrong.

They don’t see the crumpled grocery list shoved into your bag.

Or the sticky note taped inside your stall, written in rushed handwriting:

Pick up — Ellie 3:15 Liam 3:45

They don’t see the way your phone never really leaves your line of sight.

Game days are worse.

They have to be.

Because as a goalie, especially a rookie goalie, you don’t get the luxury of distraction.

You are the last line of defense.

You are the difference between a win and a loss.

You are supposed to be locked in.

And you are.

Mostly.

You’re in the crease, knees bent, stick steady on the ice, eyes tracking every movement, every pass, every shift in momentum.

Reading the play.

Anticipating the shot.

Reacting.

But there’s a split in your focus now—a fracture you can’t quite seal.

Between whistles, your mind drifts.

Did your brother remember his homework?

Did your sister get picked up on time?

Did you leave enough food in the fridge?

A shot comes in—high, glove side.

You react on instinct.

Snap.

Clean.

Controlled.

The puck hits leather and stays there.

The crowd erupts.

But you don't hear it.

It’s about two weeks in when things start to slip.

You’re late to a morning skate.

You miss a team dinner.

You forget a meeting time and have to be reminded, twice, both in the same day.

You show up one day with shadows under your eyes so dark someone whistles and says, “You look like you fought someone and lost.”

You laugh, because that’s what you’re supposed to do.

“I’ve had worse.”

And maybe you have.

But not like this.

On the ice, it shows.

Just a fraction.

Just enough.

Your reactions are a split-second slower.

Your reads are a step behind.

Nothing dramatic—nothing anyone can call out outright.

But it’s there.

The coaches notice.

Your teammates notice.

You notice.

That night, you don’t even make it out of your base layers.

You sit on the couch, gear half-unpacked, exhaustion weighing down every part of you as your sister curls up against your chest, already half-asleep.

Her small hand is fisted in your shirt like she’s afraid you’ll disappear too if she lets go.

Across the room, your brother sits at the table, pencil in hand, staring down at his homework like it personally offended him.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

“You’re gonna get in trouble.” He says quietly.

You glance up. “For what?”

He gestures vaguely.

“For… all of this.”

The apartment.

The mess.

The situation neither of you knows how to name.

You look at him properly then.

At the way he’s trying so hard to sound older than he is.

Braver than he feels.

You reach over, ruffling his hair lightly.

“I’ve got it handled.”

He doesn’t argue.

But he doesn’t look convinced either.

And if you’re being honest, neither are you.

Then, everything changes on an off day.

You’d planned it carefully—quick grocery run, early enough that the store wouldn’t be crowded, in and out before anyone could recognize you.

Normal clothes.

Hat pulled low.

Just another guy picking up groceries.

Your sister holds your hand as you walk down the aisle. Your brother trails beside you, arguing about bread like it’s a life-or-death decision.

“This one’s better.”

“It’s literally the same thing.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

You almost smile.

Almost.

Then—

“Hey.”

You go still.

That voice—

You know it instantly.

You turn.

And there he is.

Sid.

He’s holding a basket in one hand, something simple inside—nothing that should matter—but his attention is entirely on you now.

On the kids.

Back to you again.

You watch it happen in real time—the shift in his expression. Recognition turning into something sharper. More focused.

“…You babysitting?” he asks.

It sounds casual.

It isn’t.

Your stomach drops.

“Oh—uh. Just family,” you say quickly. “They’re staying with me for a bit.”

Your sister’s grip tightens around your hand.

Your brother frowns slightly.

Sid notices both.

Of course he does.

“Yeah?” he says, quieter now. “For how long?”

You hesitate.

Just for a second.

But it’s enough.

It always is with him.

He steps a little closer, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry.

“Hey. Talk to me.”

Your throat tightens.

Not here.

Not like this.

“I’d love to,” you say carefully, forcing something steady back into your voice, “just… not here. And not right now.”

For a moment, he studies you.

Then he nods.

“Okay.”

No pressure.

But his eyes don’t leave you as you check out and leave.

And you know this conversation isn’t over.

A few days later, the opportunity comes whether you’re ready or not.

The locker room is quiet.

Empty, except for you and him.

You’re sitting at your stall, staring down at your hands, turning your tape roll over and over between your fingers without really seeing it.

You don’t plan on saying anything.

You really don’t.

But when he sits down beside you and says, gently—

“So,"

It all just… comes out.

Messy.

Unfiltered.

“Our parents didn’t come back.”

The words hang in the air.

Heavy.

You swallow hard, pushing through before you lose the nerve.

“They just—left. I don’t know where they are. I’ve tried calling, texting, everything. I’m handling it, I just—needed time to figure stuff out, and I didn’t want—”

Your voice cracks.

You stop, jaw tightening in frustration.

You hate that.

You gesture vaguely around the room.

“I didn’t want to lose this. I just got here.”

There it is.

The truth of it.

The fear you haven’t let yourself fully think about.

For a second, you brace yourself. For doubt. For concern.

For someone to finally say what you’ve been thinking this whole time—that this is too much, that you can’t do both, that something has to give.

Sid exhales slowly.

“Okay.”

You blink.

“…Okay?”

“Okay,” he repeats, just as steady. “We’ll figure it out.”

We.

After that, things don’t change all at once.

They shift.

Subtly.

Quietly.

But undeniably.

A grocery delivery shows up at your door one evening—stuff you didn’t remember ordering.

A message comes through from the team coordinator asking about “family support needs.”

A teammate casually offers you a ride after practice—one that just so happens to line up perfectly with school pickup times.

You piece it together quickly.

Sid told them.

You should be mad.

You thought you would be.

But when your fridge is full and your siblings are fed and you’re not running on empty for the first time in weeks, you’re not.

The first time someone from the team, Anthony Mantha, comes over, it’s almost awkward.

He shows up with his wife and kids, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Figured they could hang out,” he says with an easy shrug.

And just like that—

Your apartment isn’t so quiet anymore.

Kids’ laughter fills the space.

Your brother actually smiles.

Your sister laughs—really laughs—for the first time in what feels like forever.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Breaking Silence

Paige left her house as soon as Maddy arrived.

Adeline barely noticed her going. She was too busy tugging excitedly at the hem of Maddy’s shirt and pulling her toward the living room. “Look! Look what Santa brought me!” she said, already launching into a breathless explanation of Rapunzel’s castle— where Rapunzel slept, where Pascal hid, and where the stairs went up and up and up.

Paige paused in the doorway for just a second, just taking a moment to watch the two of them. Adeline was animated, happy, and safe. Maddy laughed easily, crouching down to Adeline’s level, and was fully engaged. The sight loosened something tight in Paige’s chest. This was okay. Adeline was okay, and Paige could leave.

“Be good,” Paige called softly.

“I will!” Adeline chirped back, already distracted again.

Paige grabbed her coat and her keys, then stepped out into the night.

The air was cold in that clean and sharp way it only ever was in late December. Paige exhaled as she got into her car, the breath fogging briefly before disappearing. Once she started the engine, she didn’t turn on the radio. She didn’t even reach for it. Music felt like too much right now. It was way too intrusive. She needed the quiet, even though it made her thoughts louder.

She pulled onto the main road and headed toward Azzi’s apartment.

She remembered the address from the one time she’d been there before, but she still typed it into Maps anyway. Seeing it written out, the little blue line telling her exactly where she was going, it made this feel more real. It felt final, like something she couldn’t back out of anymore.

The streets were quieter than she expected.

New Year’s Eve usually meant crowds, headlights, and people rushing somewhere with purpose. But tonight felt subdued, like the city itself was holding its breath. There were cars, sure, but fewer than usual. The stoplights stayed red a little too long, and the world felt paused.

Fireworks cracked faintly in the distance. They were muffled and premature. Paige huffed out a breath that could have been a laugh, but also might have been a scoff. It wasn’t even midnight yet. People always jumped the gun, like they were afraid of missing the moment if they waited.

Paige’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. She flexed her fingers once, then again, in an attempt to release some of the tension. Her phone sat face-up in the cup holder, the screen dark and silent. No new notifications and no texts. She hadn’t told Azzi she was coming. She hadn’t told anyone, really— except Maddy, and that had been more logistics than a confession. Maddy didn’t ask many questions, just agreed to keep Adeline.

This is reckless, she thought.

The idea landed hard in her chest, heavy and undeniable. Showing up unannounced and crossing a line Azzi had drawn carefully and painfully.

What if she’s not even home?

What if she went out?

What if she’s finally resting and finally breathing again, and I disrupt that?

What if I ruin what little peace she has?

Paige swallowed and shook her head slightly, like she could physically dislodge those thoughts. She didn’t have a clean answer for it. She only knew that sitting at home and staring at the walls while the clock ticked toward midnight had felt unbearable. That the quiet had been pressing in on her for days now. Doing nothing felt worse than doing something.

She wasn’t rehearsing what she was going to say, because she couldn’t. Every version fell apart the second she imagined Azzi’s face. Every carefully worded explanation sounded stiff, defensive, and wrong. She didn’t want to argue and she didn’t want to convince. She just wanted Azzi to know. To hear how she felt, both plain and unprotected.

Letting it come out however it came out felt risky. It felt dangerous, even. Paige had spent most of her adult life being careful with her words. She chose them like stepping-stones across shallow water. This wasn’t something she could cross that way.

She took a turn, then another. The familiar streets gave way to the quieter roads near Azzi’s apartment complex. Her heart started to race harder now, each beat thrumming loud in her ears. She became acutely aware of everything— how fast she was breathing, the way her jaw ached from clenching, and the way her shoulders had crept up toward her ears.

Oh God, this is it.

Paige slowed down as she turned onto Azzi’s street, the headlights sweeping across parked cars and darkened windows. The buildings stood ahead, ordinary and unassuming. Nothing about them hinted that something life-altering might happen inside one of those apartments in the next ten minutes or so.

Her hands were slick against the steering wheel now. She wiped one palm quickly against her sweatpants, then gripped the wheel again.

She could still turn around, she knew that. She could tell herself she tried, that the impulse had passed, and then go home. She could crawl into bed and let this become another thing she carried quietly.

But the thought settled, steady and unyielding, deeper than fear. If I don’t do this now, she realized as her throat tightened, I will spend the rest of my life wondering what would’ve happened if I did.

And that somehow felt worse than any possible outcome waiting for her at the end of this drive.

—

Paige parked in the visitor section of Azzi’s apartment complex and turned the engine off, but she didn’t get out right away.

The car ticked softly as it cooled, the sound oddly loud in the stillness. Her hands stayed on the steering wheel long after the engine was turned off, her fingers curled tight around it like if she let go, she might unravel. She stared straight ahead, then at the dashboard, then at her phone in the cup holder.

She exhaled slowly and forced her shoulders to drop. Get out of the car, she told herself. Just get out. Sitting here isn’t wasn’t helping. It was only giving her time to talk herself out of something she’d already decided to do.

When she finally opened the door, the cold rushed in, the wind sharp against her cheeks. Paige locked the car and stood there for a moment, her keys clutched in her hand, the jingle too loud in the quiet lot. The building stood in front of her, beige and still. There was some music drifting from windows and voices in the distance.

The walk to Azzi’s door felt longer than it should have. Each step echoed in the hallway as her shoes hit the floor with a soft and hollow sound. Too many seconds passed between them. There was too much space for her thoughts to fill in. Time stretched and compressed all at once, like she was moving through molasses, but her heart was racing ahead of her body.

This is ridiculous, she thought to herself. You don’t even know if she’s home.

She reached the door before she felt ready. Maybe she never would’ve felt ready. Paige stopped a foot away, staring at the door like it might offer her some kind of sign. Light under the frame? Sound from inside? Anything would’ve helped.

There was nothing.

She curled her hands into fists at her sides, then released them. Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. Release. Her body was buzzing, the adrenaline humming just under her skin. She felt like she was in fight or flight mode, every nerve screaming that she was exposed here, standing in a hallway with nothing to shield her from rejection.

Before she could change her mind, before her fear could talk her into retreating, Paige lifted her hand and knocked.

The sound was firm, but not aggressive. It echoed down the hallway and then disappeared.

She waited, but nothing came.

Okay, maybe Azzi didn’t hear it. Maybe she was in the shower. Paige shifted her weight and swallowed as her heart beat faster.

She knocked again. Still nothing.

A tight knot formed in her stomach. The rational explanations started lining up quickly and efficiently, like they’d been waiting their turn. She’s asleep. She went out. It’s New Year’s Eve, of course she’s not home.

Paige knocked a third and final time, her knuckles stinging slightly from the impact. Absolutely nothing. The silence afterward felt deafening.

Her chest tightened and her breath went shallow as the spiral hit all at once. She’s not even here. This was stupid and reckless. You gave yourself false hope like an idiot. You showed up uninvited and unannounced, expecting— expecting what?

Paige blew out a shaky breath and dropped her hand. Heat crawled up her neck, embarrassment mixing with disappointment in a way that made her feel foolish for even trying. She had built this moment up in her head, let it carry all the weight of everything she hadn’t said and everything she still wanted, and it led to a closed door. Of course it did.

She turned away, already reaching for her keys in het pocket. Her shoulders slumped as the reality settled in. Maybe this was the sign she needed. Maybe, this was where it was supposed to end— quietly, without a collision.

Her foot had just shifted and she had just angled her body away from the door as she heard it. The sound of a lock turning.

The door opened.

—

Azzi had just finished folding the last of her laundry when she heard a knock at the door.

For a second, she told herself it wasn’t real. It was probably just a building noise, or someone else’s door. Her mind supplied explanations quickly and automatically, because she wasn’t expecting anyone. She hadn’t invited anyone. It was New Year’s Eve, and she was home alone with damp hair and pajama pants and two dogs who had finally settled after a long day.

Then, the knock came again.

Azzi straightened, her hands stilling in the cotton of a folded t-shirt. Her pulse ticked up, not with fear, but with confusion. Who would be here? Her parents and her brothers were states away, none of her college friends lived close enough to show up unannounced, and her teacher-friends had their own stuff planned tonight.

The third knock erased any doubt. Someone was definitely at her door.

She set the laundry down and walked toward the entryway slowly, each of her steps deliberate, leading with caution rather than anxiety. When she leaned forward and looked through the peephole, the world tilted.

Paige, standing right there in her hallway. Her hands were curled tight at her sides, and shoulders were drawn in like she’d been bracing herself against something invisible.

Azzi’s breath caught. It wasn’t fear that hit her, it was disorientation. She felt like she’d stepped out of one reality and into another one without warning. Paige wasn’t supposed to be here. Paige was supposed to be at home, moving on, and building distance the way Azzi had convinced herself she would.

Her hand moved on instinct, her fingers wrapping around the doorknob before her brain could catch up. The door opened, and suddenly, Paige wasn’t a thought or a memory or a regret— she was real. She was right there.

Paige froze the second the door swung open.

Oh. She’s home.

Not asleep and definitely not gone. This was not a bad idea Paige could retreat from later. Azzi stood in front of her, barefoot and flushed from a recent shower, her pajama shirt hanging soft and familiar on her frame. Her hair was down, still damp, and curly as always.

Paige’s stomach did about 365 flips.

She hadn’t prepared for this. For how good Azzi would look like this. Unguarded and domestic. Like Paige had stepped into a life she wasn’t sure she was allowed to want anymore. The emotional exposure hit her all at once, and it felt sharp and dizzying.

She opened her mouth before her nerves could stop her. “H-Happy New Year.” The words landed awkwardly between them, hanging there like a balloon slowly losing air.

God, you idiot. Paige felt heat rush to her face. It’s not even midnight, and that’s not why you’re here. You’re not here to be polite, you’re here because you couldn’t breathe anymore.

Azzi blinked, her eyebrows lifting slightly. Not amused and not annoyed, just stunned. Like she was still catching up to the moment. She opened her mouth to respond, but before either of them could say anything else, movement erupted at Azzi’s feet.

Nola and Maggie padded forward, both curious and alert, their tails wagging like they’d been waiting for something interesting to happen all night. Nola let out a soft huff, her nose lifting toward Paige.

Paige’s shoulders loosened instantly.

“Hey, you two,” she murmured gratefully— absurdly grateful— for the interruption. She bent just slightly, letting Maggie sniff her hand. The normalcy of it steadied her. Dogs didn’t hesitate or overthink, they just reacted.

Azzi glanced down at them, then back at Paige, the fog in her expression thinning just enough for something real to surface beneath it. Something open.

Paige straightened and met her gaze again. Her voice was quieter now, strained but steady.

“Can I come in?”

It wasn’t a demand and it definitely wasn’t confident. It was just honest.

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She took Paige in again— the tension in her posture, the way she looked like she’d been carrying something heavy for days and had finally set it down at Azzi’s door. The realization settled in slowly and firmly.

Paige might’ve come here on a whim, but she had been thinking about this for days. So, Azzi stepped aside.

Paige exhaled as she crossed the threshold, the warmth of the apartment wrapping around her instantly. The door closed behind them with a soft and final click. It wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t loud, but decisive.

The space felt smaller now.

Neither of them spoke at first, because they didn’t need to.

Paige took a deep breath. There was no backing out now.

—

The silence stretched between them long enough that Paige almost convinced herself it might swallow the moment whole.

Azzi stood a few feet away, her hands loose at her sides, her eyes fixed on Paige in a way that felt steady rather than expectant. She wasn’t rushing her, and she wasn’t filling the space. She was just there, present in a way Paige had learned not to take for granted.

Paige exhaled slowly, trying to ground herself. She had done this. She had come here, and she had broken the quiet. That meant she had to speak.

“Okay,” she said softly, more to herself than anything. Then, louder, “First things first… thank you.”

Azzi’s brows knit together just slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

“Thank you for listening,” Paige continued. “You didn’t have to let me in. You actually didn’t have to open the door at all, and you did. So… thank you for that.”

Azzi nodded once, slowly and deliberately. The acknowledgment felt like permission to keep going.

Paige swallowed and pressed on. “I didn’t come to fight,” she said quickly, like she needed to make that clear so it wouldn’t be misunderstood. “I am not here to argue or accuse you of anything. I just— I need to tell you how I feel. How I actually feel. Because if I don’t say it out loud, I’m going to carry it with me forever.”

Her voice wavered on the last word, and that was when she realized she was already in too deep to pull back. Once she started, the words didn’t come out neatly. They came in waves.

“You make me feel safe, Azzi.” Paige let her name linger, and anchored herself to it. “And I don’t mean that lightly. I don’t say that about people. You make me feel secure in a way that I didn’t think was even possible for me anymore.”

Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, but she didn’t try to stop it.

“That kind of safety is rare for me,” she continued, her voice tightening up. “I walk through the world braced for something to go wrong. I don’t relax easily. I don’t let people all the way in. But with you—” She shook her head, exhaling sharply. “With you, I don’t feel like I’m waiting for the floor to drop out from under me.”

Azzi’s jaw tightened. Her eyes glistened, but she stayed quiet.

Paige stepped a little closer without realizing it. The space between them felt charged now. It wasn’t hostile, just full.

“You see me as a mother,” Paige said, the words heavier. “Really see me. Not just as someone who drops her kid off and picks her up on time. You make me feel capable, Azzi. Like I’m doing something right.” Paige’s voice cracked just slightly.

“Before I met you, I was terrified all the time. Terrified that I was messing her up. That I wasn’t patient enough or present enough or enough in general. I was always waiting for the moment someone would confirm what I already feared— that I wasn’t doing this right.”

She laughed weakly, shaking her head. “And then you came along and started saying things like I was doing a good job, like Adeline was lucky, and I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that until I did.”

Paige pressed her lips together, blinking her eyes hard. The tears weren’t falling yet, but they were close to it.

“Your reassurance,” she said quietly, “has carried me more times than you know.”

She paused, drew in a shaky breath, then continued, but softer now.

“Adeline trusts you, Azzi.”

That landed differently.

“Not just as her teacher,” Paige added, “but as someone in her corner. Someone she feels safe with. Do you have any idea how much that means to me?”

Her eyes finally glossed over, the tears slipping free and tracking down her cheeks. Paige didn’t dare to wipe them away.

“I was afraid I’d feel jealous,” she admitted. “Afraid it would make me insecure or territorial or something ugly like that. But I don’t, I just feel grateful. So grateful that she has someone like you. That you care, and that you show up for her.”

Her voice trembled now, the sheer emotion thickening it.

“You loving her the way you do doesn’t take anything from me,” Paige said. “It adds to her. And that… that means everything.”

The silence hummed between them. Azzi’s chest rose and fell slowly. Her hands curled slightly, like she was restraining herself from reaching out.

Paige took another breath, and then the tone shifted.

“This was the part that hurt,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I need you to hear it.”

Her shoulders drew inward as she continued to speak.

“The silence hurt, Azzi. The way you pulled away without explanation. I left the winter festival thinking we were okay. Hell, more than okay. I thought we were… solid.”

Her voice broke. “And then suddenly, I was shut out.” The tears came faster now, starting to roll freely down her cheeks.

“You stopped looking at me the same way. You stopped talking to me. You treated me like a stranger, like I’d imagined everything. Like none of it was real.”

Paige let out a shaky sob and pressed a hand to her chest.

“I felt discarded,” she admitted. “Like I’d been let into something and then pushed back out without warning. Everything just disappeared, Azzi. You disappeared.”

“I started to feel crazy,” she whispered, “like I must’ve misunderstood everything. Like I’d made it all bigger in my head than it ever was.” She shook her head, the tears dripping from her chin now.

“I spent nights replaying that moment at your booth over and over,” Paige said. “I was looking for the mistake, trying to find the thing I did wrong, or the moment I crossed a line I didn’t even realize was there.”

Her voice then collapsed into something raw.

“I started questioning myself. I wondered if I am too much, or if I always want too deeply. I thought maybe this keeps happening because there is something wrong with me.”

She let out a quiet and broken sound. It wasn’t dramatic, just the sound of pain finally losing its grip.

Azzi’s fingers twitched at her sides. Her eyes were wet now, her lashes clumped together with unshed tears. She looked like she was holding herself still by sheer will.

Paige looked up at her through the tears, her voice trembling but truthful. “I need you to know all of this,” she said, “because pretending I wasn’t hurt almost broke me.” She exhaled shakily, the room feeling too small and too full.

Azzi still didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She was listening, fully and fiercely, and for Paige, right then, that was everything.

—

Paige knew she needed to slow down.

She could feel herself tipping forward, spilling too much all at once, her emotions tumbling over each other with no regard for pacing or protection. Her chest felt tight and her lungs were working harder than they needed to. She had already said so much, things she’d carried quietly for months, and now the air between them felt fragile.

She looked at Azzi. She really looked at her. Azzi was crying too. Silent tears clung to her lashes and her jaw was tight like she was holding herself together by force. Her hands trembled faintly at her sides. Paige noticed everything. She always did, and the urge to reach, steady, and hold her nearly derailed her again.

Paige then swallowed and forced herself to breathe.

“I know you ended things,” she said softly. Her voice was steadier than she felt. “I know you told me that whatever this was… that it couldn’t continue.”

Azzi flinched at that, just barely, like the words still carried weight.

Paige nodded once, as if confirming it to herself. “I know that,” she repeated. “And I know you had your reasons.”

She hesitated, because there it was— the thing she’d been circling around. The truth she hadn’t let herself touch until it was already too late to stop it.

“But I can’t help it,” Paige continued, her voice cracking despite her effort. “I tried to be careful. I tried to tell myself it would pass, that it was just timing or proximity or—” She cut herself off and shook her head, her tears spilling over again. “But it didn’t.”

“I love you, Azzi,” she said. The words fell out bare and unguarded. “I really love you.”

The room seemed to still. From Azzi’s side, the confession landed like impact. Not shock exactly, but confirmation. Something deep in her chest cracked open. It was the careful logic she’d been clinging to, cracking under the weight of it. Hearing it out loud, hearing Paige say it without condition or demand, that stole the breath from her lungs.

She froze, and a small and involuntary gasp slipped free. Paige saw it instantly. She saw the pause and uncertainty flicker across Azzi’s face.

Paige started to panic. “Oh God— wait,” she rushed out, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that like that, I didn’t mean to drop it on you, I just— you matter to me so much and I didn’t want to lie or waste the moment and—”

Her words started stacking and tumbling over each other, the apologies tangled with fear. She wiped at her face uselessly as the tears continued to fall.

“I’m not asking you for anything,” she added quickly. “I swear. I just needed you to know—”

Azzi didn’t let her finish. She stepped forward suddenly and decisively, closing the space between them in two quick strides. Her hands came up to Paige’s face, firm and shaking all at once, and then her mouth was there— pressing and urgent. The kiss was desperate, not careful.

Paige gasped into it, stunned for half a second before instinct took over. Her hands found Azzi’s hips, gripping like she needed the contact to stay upright. The world narrowed to the press of lips, the heat, and the shared breath.

Azzi pulled back just enough to speak, her forehead still resting against Paige’s. “I love you too,” she said, her voice raw and breathless. “I’ve loved you.”

Paige stared at her, her eyes wide and her tears still clinging to her lashes. “What?” she whispered, like she hadn’t heard her correctly.

Azzi swallowed, her hands still framing Paige’s face. “I love you,” she repeated, her voice steadier this time. “I never stopped. I was just afraid.”

Something in Paige broke open. Not painfully, but like relief finally finding release. “Say it again,” she breathed out, her fingers tightening at Azzi’s sides. “Please.”

Azzi nodded, and a small and almost disbelieving smile broke through her tears. “I love you, Paige,” she said. “So much.”

Paige didn’t hesitate this time. She kissed Azzi again, slower now, surer, like she finally knew where she was landing.

—

Paige felt like she was dreaming, and if she was, she never wanted to wake up.

Her mouth moved against Azzi’s in tandem. It was uncoordinated in the best way, like they were both afraid to lose momentum. Paige’s hands gripped Azzi’s hips, her fingers digging in as if letting go would make this dissolve. As if Azzi might vanish the second Paige loosened her hold.

Azzi’s hands stayed cupped at Paige’s cheeks, the touch steadying her and grounding her. Their lips met again and again, messy and breathless, only breaking apart long enough to inhale before colliding all over again. There was no finesse to it, just want.

Paige didn’t want to assume this would go any further than a kiss. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t, but it felt inevitable. They had said everything now— out loud, without beating around the bush. There were no excuses left between them. No work, no kids, no coworkers, and no misread signals.

Azzi let herself acknowledge how long she had wanted this, how long she had imagined what Paige would feel like beneath her hands. There had been so many nights she had let herself drift, her hand slipping between her thighs with Paige’s face in her mind. If not now, then when?

Paige’s hands shifted, her touch tentative despite the hunger driving them. She slid them from Azzi’s hips, and eased them beneath the hem of her t-shirt. Her fingertips skimmed over the warm skin, just barely there.

Azzi startled, but didn’t pull away, just reacted. Her eyes fluttered open as she broke the kiss.

Paige froze immediately, a look of guilt flashing sharp and fast. She tilted her head, her voice soft and careful. “Is this okay?”

She meant it completely. She loved her. The thought of crossing a line made her chest tighten.

Azzi swallowed, her cheeks flushing as she shook her head once. “It’s— you’re fine,” she said quietly. “I just… haven’t done this in a while.”

Something in Paige eased at that. She nodded, the understanding settling in. “That’s okay. Me neither,” she murmured, brushing her thumb gently across Azzi’s stomach again, before dipping briefly into her navel. “But I’d really like to. With you. If you want.”

She sounded nervous, but it wasn’t fear. It was care. Paige knew this mattered, and she wanted it to feel right— for both of them.

Azzi nodded almost immediately, her hands sliding up to touch the skin beneath Paige’s ears. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, please.”

That was all it took.

Paige moved before she could overthink it. Her hands slipped beneath Azzi’s thighs and she lifted, drawing a surprised laugh from her as she wrapped her legs around Paige’s waist.

“Tell me where your bedroom is,” Paige whispered, nuzzling into Azzi’s neck, breathing her in— clean soap, something familiar and unmistakably Azzi.

Azzi giggled— actually giggled— and tightened her arms around Paige’s neck. “Down the hall,” she said, “last room on the right.”

Paige’s heart thundered as she carried her. The hallway felt too narrow, this moment too big for the space. She turned into the bedroom, where the soft glow of a single lamp filled the room. It was dim, intimate, and perfect.

Her eyes flicked around automatically. The bedroom was so Azzi. She’d take it all in later.

“Shut the door,” Azzi murmured. “So the dogs don’t come in.”

Paige laughed under her breath but did it anyway, pressing the door closed before laying Azzi down gently on the bed. She leaned over her, kissed the corner of her mouth, then along her jaw and down her neck, before stopping at the collar of her shirt.

“Can we—” Paige stammered, her breath uneven. “I need this off, Azzi. All of it. There’s too many clothes.” She was begging, and she knew it. She didn’t care.

Azzi nodded, her eyes dark, and let Paige take her time. Her shirt came off, then her shorts, then her underwear— until there was nothing left.

Once bare, Azzi scooted back and propped herself up on her elbows, now completely open. She didn’t try to cover herself. She just let Paige look.

After a beat of stunned silence, Paige exhaled shakily. “Azzi, baby… you’re gorgeous. I— please let me eat you out. Please.”

The way she said baby, raspy and reverent, that sent a shiver through Azzi. “You can,” Azzi whispered. “But I want your clothes off too. I wanna see you.”

Paige didn’t hesitate. Shirt, sweatpants, sports bra, boxers— gone in the blink of an eye. She stood at the end of the bed, suddenly feeling a little shy, despite the heat that was thrumming through her.

“Happy?” she asked, her voice teasing.

Azzi’s eyes dragged over her, looking at her collarbones, her stomach, her nipples, and she squeezed her thighs together. “Ecstatic.”

Paige grinned at that, and then climbed onto the bed, hovering over her. “Gonna go down on you now, okay?”

Azzi nodded and laid back, and Paige followed through, kissing her way down slowly and deliberately. She lingered at Azzi’s chest, one hand kneading softly as her mouth wrapped around a nipple, sucking until Azzi gasped.

When Azzi shifted beneath her, Paige moved on, kissing across her stomach, leaving faint lovebites until she settled between her thighs.

She spread them carefully, before she stalled.

Azzi was soaked, glistening in the low light, and Paige’s mind went blank.

“Are you just gonna stare?” Azzi teased.

Paige laughed softly. “Just memorizing you.”

She kissed Azzi’s inner thigh, and Azzi opened wider, her hand sliding into Paige’s hair, attempting to guide her closer.

Paige licked a slow stripe through her, savoring the reaction, both the sharp gasp and the way Azzi’s hips lifted instinctively. Paige groaned softly against her, heat now pooling low in her own body.

“Been dreaming about this,” she murmured before going back in.

Her mouth worked steadily now, her tongue circling and sucking Azzi’s clit, one hand gripping her thigh while the other teased at her entrance.

“Paige— fuck,” Azzi breathed.

“Can I?” Paige asked, her voice muffled against Azzi’s sensitive flesh. “Wanna feel you.”

“Yes,” Azzi moaned in response. “Please.”

Paige didn’t waste anytime as she slid two fingers in, watching Azzi’s face as she moved. She memorized every sound and every twitch. When she hit the right spot, Azzi whined, her body arching.

A few minutes passed, and Paige didn’t slack off once. The noises coming from Azzi were too beautiful, and Paige wanted to hear them more and more.

“Feels good?” Paige asked, her voice breathless.

“Yeah— I’m close.”

Paige didn’t slow down. She urged her on, her fingers curling, her mouth relentless, until Azzi broke— clenching, gasping, and falling apart beneath her.

Paige stayed with her through it, only pulling back once Azzi went slack. “Fuck,” Paige whispered.

She cleaned her fingers with her own tongue, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s, and then rested her cheek against her thigh, feeling floaty and dazed, even though she hadn’t come yet.

Azzi smiled weakly and brushed her thumb over Paige’s cheek. “You’re pussy-drunk,” she stated, and she wasn’t wrong.

Paige laughed softly. “Completely wasted.”

Azzi let out a breathy chuckle, her hands still roaming lazily over Paige’s skin as she admired her. They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies close, both of them just letting the weight of it all settle. This was really happening. Not imagined, not half-held, but real.

Azzi was deliciously out of breath. She’d been eager— almost impatient— to learn how skilled Paige was with her mouth and her fingers, and Paige hadn’t disappointed her for a second. But now there was a new pull, one that had nothing to do with fairness and everything to do with want. She needed to make Paige feel good too.

“Can I taste you?” Azzi asked softly, nibbling at her bottom lip as she held Paige’s gaze.

“No,” Paige said immediately, and Azzi’s stomach dropped.

Before the panic could fully bloom, Paige hurried on, her voice strained and breathless in a different way. “Another time,” she clarified. “I-I wanna ride your thigh. I’ve thought about it like… more times than I can count. Can I? Please?”

Azzi nearly choked. Paige had thought about that? About grinding herself out on Azzi’s thigh? The mental image alone made her head spin.

“Of course, baby,” Azzi said, the pet name now slipping free from her mouth without hesitation.

They shifted, both of them clumsy for half a second before finding what worked. Azzi settled back against the headboard, and Paige lowered herself onto her thigh with a soft and needy whine as her core met warm skin.

Azzi’s hands immediately went to her, rubbing across her shoulders, over her nipples, then traced her ribcage and stomach before settling firmly on her hips.

Paige took that as permission.

She began to move, tentatively at first, but then more deliberately, her hips grinding down as she tried to find a rhythm. Her eyes fluttered open and closed, and her breathing became uneven, need bleeding into every motion.

The heat and the wetness soaking into her thigh made Azzi’s breath hitch. The way Paige kept trying to hold eye contact but couldn’t quite manage it, the soft and broken whimpers slipping from her mouth— it was almost overwhelming.

“God— I-I don’t…” Paige stuttered, the words barely forming. “I got worked up while I was— fuck— eating you, and I don’t think… I don’t think I can last.”

Azzi nearly laughed at how wrecked she sounded. She hadn’t expected Paige to be this needy, but the begging earlier had been intoxicating, and now this? This was even better.

“Hey,” Azzi murmured before tightening her grip on Paige’s hips and guiding her movements. “It’s okay. I want you to feel good.” Her voice softened and then dropped lower. “I want you to fall apart for me, baby.”

Paige moaned at that, and then a sharp gasp tore from her as her clit caught just right against Azzi’s thigh. Her head dipped forward and she moved faster now, obviously chasing her climax with desperate intent.

Azzi helped where she could. She steadied her and urged her on, until Paige suddenly threw her head back with a broken moan, her hands clutching at Azzi’s stomach for balance.

“That’s it,” Azzi whispered as she watched her unravel. “So pretty, Paige.”

Paige trembled as she came down, her movements slowing before she shifted closer, and then she collapsed gently into Azzi’s space. She tucked herself against her, resting her head on Azzi’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Azzi’s heart fluttered painfully. She wrapped her arms around Paige, held her close, and savored the warmth of skin against skin. It felt intimate in a way that went deeper than anything they’d done so far.

“Come here,” Azzi murmured, pressing a kiss into Paige’s messy blonde hair, the strands slipping loose from her tie.

They stayed like that for a few quiet minutes while their breathing evened out and the room hushed around them. Then Paige lifted her head slightly, just enough to meet Azzi’s eyes.

“That was… perfect,” she whispered. “I love you, Azzi.”

Something inside Azzi melted completely. She knew in that moment that she would never get tired of hearing those words from Paige’s mouth. Each time felt like a steady and grounding pulse.

“So perfect,” Azzi agreed while she ran her hands soothingly over Paige’s back. “And I love you too. So much.”

—

The room was dark now. The lamp had clicked off at some point Paige barely remembered. Everything felt quieter and softer without it, like the world had narrowed down to just this bed and the steady rhythm of breathing beside her.

They were still naked, but the urgency had faded into something gentler. Azzi laid curled against her, her head resting on Paige’s chest, with one arm draped across her stomach. Paige was propped up slightly on a stack of pillows, one of her hands absentmindedly running through Azzi’s hair, slow and repetitive. It felt like muscle memory already, like something her body had always known how to do.

At the foot of the bed, the dogs were sprawled out and snoring softly, a grounding sound that made the whole moment feel strangely domestic, normal, and safe.

Paige stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly as she registered how heavy her body felt. Not with exhaustion, but with contentment.

It had to be late. Usually, this was the part where she’d start pulling away and mentally pack up. She’d make excuses, and leave before things got complicated.

She looked down at Azzi, at the way her face was relaxed in sleep or something close to it, her lashes casting soft shadows against her cheeks. Paige’s fingers stilled for just a moment, fear flaring sharply and suddenly in her chest.

She didn’t want to leave. That realization felt terrifying, yet certain.

“I don’t want to go,” Paige whispered, the words barely louder than a breath.

Azzi shifted slightly, humming sleepily before tilting her head just enough to look up at her. Even half-asleep, her eyes were still warm.

“Then don’t,” she said, without hesitation. No pause and no doubt, just the truth.

Something in Paige loosened, like a knot finally giving way. She swallowed and nodded, more to herself than anything. “I’m serious,” she murmured. “I don’t want to be away from you again.”

Azzi pushed up just enough to press a soft kiss to the center of Paige’s chest, right over her heart. “You’re not,” she said quietly. “You’re here.”

Paige exhaled, long and slow. They were here. Together.

She then reached for her phone on the nightstand, her movements careful not to disturb Azzi too much. The screen lit up the room faintly, and her eyes flicked to the time without thinking.

12:07 a.m.

Paige blinked, then let out a soft and surprised laugh. “Well,” she murmured, tilting the phone slightly so Azzi could see it. “Happy New Year.”

Azzi smiled, her expression both sleep-heavy and beautiful. “Happy New Year,” she echoed.

Paige leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Azzi’s forehead. “Guess we’re starting it off right,” she added quietly, a feeling of warmth spreading through her chest at the thought.

She typed quickly after that.

Paige: Hey. Any chance I can come back in the morning?

She waited, her heart thudding harder than it should have. A response came almost immediately.

Maddy: Of course. Adeline’s already asleep. We’re all good here.

Relief flooded her so suddenly it made her dizzy. Paige liked the message, then set her phone back down and laughed softly under her breath, before pressing her forehead briefly to Azzi’s hair.

“Addy fell asleep,” Paige whispered. “And I get to stay.”

Azzi smiled against her skin, her arms tightening around Paige just a little. “Good,” she murmured. “I want you to stay.”

They shifted then, settling into each other more fully. Their limbs tangled without effort. Paige tucked the blankets up around them and rested her chin lightly on Azzi’s head, breathing her in.

For the first time throughout winter break, she didn’t feel like she was bracing for the morning.

She let herself drift, holding on— and not letting go.

—

Paige woke up slowly, the way you did when your body didn’t recognize the room yet. Soft light filtered in through the curtains, all pale and hazy, and it painted the walls in something close to gold. For a few seconds, she stayed still, just listening.

The bed beside her was empty. Her heart jolted sharply.

She pushed herself up on her elbows and scanned the room for Azzi. The sheets were rumpled, clearly slept in and shared, and the faint scent of Azzi still lingered, both clean and familiar. Paige swallowed, feeling panic claw up her throat anyway.

“Az?” she called out softly, already bracing for disappointment.

Then, from somewhere down the hall came the sound of a pan sizzling.

Paige swung her legs over the side of the bed, slipped on her clothes from last night, and then followed the noise, her bare feet padding quietly against the floor. The closer she got to the kitchen, the more the smell settled in. Coffee, butter, and something warm and savory. Oh, and Azzi. Definitely Azzi. She could smell the fresh soap and shampoo from here, realizing Azzi had showered already, and that realization made Paige painfully aware of herself.

She glanced down at her own body— the lingering scent of sex and sleep clinging to her skin.

God, I probably smell awful.

She hovered in the doorway, feeling a bit uncertain. She stepped in a little more to see Azzi at the stove, wearing nothing but a large t-shirt and underwear, her hair still slightly damp at the ends. She was moving with easy confidence, flipping something in a pan, and humming quietly under her breath.

Azzi glanced over her shoulder and smiled instantly when she saw Paige. “Morning,” she said, her voice soft but bright.

Paige felt something in her chest tip forward. “Hey,” she replied, suddenly feeling shy.

Azzi turned the heat down on the stove and then crossed the kitchen in a few long strides, closing the distance between them like it was instinct. Paige barely had time to overthink it before Azzi leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, then another to her cheek.

“You okay?” Azzi asked quietly, her hands settling at Paige’s hips like they belonged there.

Paige nodded, then hesitated. “I thought I lost you for a second.”

Azzi’s expression softened. “I’m right here.”

Like she could sense the spiral Paige hadn’t voiced, Azzi leaned in again— slower this time— before breathing her in without hesitation. “Mmm,” she hummed against Paige’s shoulder. “You smell good.”

Paige laughed softly as she felt the tension dissolve. “Liar.”

“Never,” Azzi said, nudging her forehead against Paige’s. “Come sit. Breakfast’s almost done.”

They ate together at the small kitchen table while their knees brushed underneath it. Azzi had made eggs, toast, and fruit— nothing fancy, just warm and comforting. Paige liked how natural and easy it all felt.

Nola and Maggie hovered expectantly, and Paige couldn’t help herself, so she slipped them tiny bits of egg and toast under the table, grinning when Azzi caught her.

“You’re gonna spoil them,” Azzi said, her tone sounding amused.

“They’re already spoiled,” Paige replied. “I’m just participating.”

Azzi smiled at her plate for a moment, then glanced up with a look that made Paige’s stomach flip. “You know,” she said casually, “I slept very well.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Azzi took a sip of coffee, her eyes flicking back up. “Probably has something to do with how good your head was last night.”

Paige nearly choked on her toast.

Azzi laughed, the sound warm and teasing, and Paige felt heat rush up her neck. “You’re evil,” she muttered, trying— and failing— to hide her smile.

“Just honest,” Azzi said lightly.

The conversation shifted after that, easing into something deeper without effort. They talked. Really talked.

Azzi explained what had happened after the Winter Holiday Festival. How Mrs. Wilson had cornered her while she was cleaning up, how the look in her eyes had been less curious and more measuring. How it reminded Azzi how easily things could be misinterpreted, and how hard she’d worked to be taken seriously.

“I panicked,” Azzi admitted quietly. “And when I panic, I get rigid. I shut things down. I thought distance was the responsible thing.”

Paige nodded as understanding tightened in her chest. “I get that,” she said. “I really do. But the way it happened… it hurt. It felt like I didn’t matter anymore.”

Azzi reached for her hand immediately. “You do. You always did. I just didn’t handle it right.”

They sat like that for a moment with their fingers intertwined.

“No more shutting each other out,” Paige said finally.

Azzi squeezed her hand. “Deal.”

When the plates were cleared and the dogs had settled back into their sunlit spots, Paige stood and stretched, suddenly very aware of the morning on her skin.

“Hey,” she said, glancing toward the hallway. “Can I use your shower?”

Azzi’s eyes flicked over her with something warm and observant. “Sure,” she said, then smirked. “You still smell like sex.”

Paige laughed as she shook her head. “Rude.”

“No, just accurate,” Azzi replied, grinning as she pointed down the hall. “Towels are in the cabinet.”

Paige headed that way, her heart fluttery and her steps unhurried.

Soft light followed her down the hall, and for once, she wasn’t afraid of what came next.

—

Paige took longer in the shower than she meant to. It wasn’t avoidance, she wasn’t trying to delay leaving, but while standing under the warm spray, she let herself breathe in the quiet and steady herself. The mirror was foggy when she stepped out, and her reflection was softened around the edges. For once, she didn’t flinch at it. She felt good.

She pulled on her clothes slowly, lingering in the softness of it all, but reality nudged at her anyway. Adeline would be awake by now and Maddy would need to get home. Paige couldn’t disappear without explanation— not from her kid, and not from her life.

But, she didn’t want to disappear from Azzi, either.

When she stepped back into the bedroom, her towel-damp hair was loose around her shoulders. Azzi looked up from where she was leaning against the dresser, already dressed. Their eyes met, and Paige felt it again— that grounding warmth, and that sense of oh, there you are.

“I should go,” Paige said softly, hating how much she didn’t want to.

Azzi nodded, but there was no withdrawal in it. No flinch, just understanding. “Yeah. I figured.”

Paige crossed the room, before stopping just in front of her. “I don’t want this to end like… like a question mark.”

Azzi’s brow furrowed slightly, her expression attentive. “Okay.”

Paige took a breath, because this part mattered. “I want to do this right,” she said. “Not just… fall back into something undefined. I want to see you, outside of school. Outside of drop-offs and hallways and stolen moments.”

Azzi’s lips parted slightly, but she nodded, silently prompting Paige to go on.

Paige continued, her heart steady and open. “So I’m asking, like, actually asking, will you go on a date with me?”

Azzi smiled widely, relief and excitement flickering across her face at once. “Yes,” she said immediately. “Absolutely yes.”

Paige laughed softly, the short-lived tension easing out of her shoulders. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, already stepping closer. “I want that. I want you, and I want to talk logistics, too. Real ones. We don’t have to have it all figured out today, but I don’t want to hide what we’re feeling anymore.”

Paige nodded in agreement. “Me neither.”

They stood there for a second, the weight of it settling in. It wasn’t heavy, it was solid. Something that finally had shape.

“I’ll text you when I get home,” Paige said.

Azzi smiled with a slight nod. “I’ll be waiting.”

They kissed slowly and let it linger. Paige rested her forehead against Azzi’s when they pulled back. “I love you,” Paige said quietly. Azzi didn’t hesitate to respond. “I love you too.”

They said it like a promise, not a plea.

—

Paige walked down the hallway with a lightness she hadn’t felt in months.

The door clicked shut behind her, and she paused for half a second, just long enough to let the feeling settle itself in her chest. She checked her phone. There were a couple messages from Maddy, including a photo of Adeline half-asleep on the couch, her red hair sticking up in every direction.

When she stepped outside, the air was crisp and bright with morning, and the world was continuing on like it always had, but she felt different moving through it now. Maybe… grounded and chosen.

Upstairs, Azzi stood just inside the door, watching through the window as Paige reached her car. Paige looked back once and lifted her hand in a small wave. Azzi lifted hers in return.

Jason is staring like a deer caught in the headlights, helmet tucked under his arm and paused mid step. You can’t make out much from the darkness in the room and the way your eyes are still bleary from sleep.

“Jay,” you mutter in acknowledgment, rubbing your eye aggressively in attempt to wake up, you can just make out the way his shoulders slump.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” he murmurs, rolling back into a forward step as he changes.

You only hum in response, lazily watching his routine as he packs his things away, you’ve long adjusted to his erratic schedule but there’s always a lifting weight that comes off your shoulders when comes home. You sink back into the mattress beneath you, resting your hands on covers as he undresses.

“S’later then normal,” you comment, glancing at the time on your phone, its brief light is blinding before you flip it over on the bedside table.

“Ran into trouble,” is all he grunts as he unlaces his boots.

“‘Course, what’s new.” you huff.

Your usual sarcasm is met with silence, which in itself raises a red flag since you’re certain Jason never passes up on an opportunity to be snarky. With renewed apprehension, you watch as he steps out of his uniform with jerky, rushed movements like he can’t wait to shed out of it. You expect him to disappear into the bathroom once he’s just in his underwear, it’s normal—usual, for him to want to shower before bed, but you find yourself accomodating for him by lifting the covers when he inches closer.

Without word he kneels onto the bed before situating himself on top of you with a signalling tap against your thigh— spread. You shift, the fabric of your shorts rises even more as he runs his hands along your sides until he comfortably lies between them. His head resting comfortably on your stomach. You can see the lines of his back rise and fall with a heavy breath when your hands come to thread through his damp hair.

For a moment you don’t say anything, just quietly run your fingers through his hair, occasionally scratching at his scalp until the thoughts running through your mind seem to be burning a hole through your skull with worry. As if feeling your anxiety, a rough hand pushes your t-shirt up over your stomach. You watch curiously as Jason tilts his head, face now pressed against your stomach as he layers kisses around your navel.

You hook your finger under his jaw until he looks up at you, chin now resting against your stomach. He looks so tired, “What happened tonight?”

“Don’t worry—”

“Jason,” you cut in, brows furrowed with undecided worry or anger, “You can’t just lay here and expect me not to worry, are you okay? Are you in danger?”

Danger. He’s always in danger of his own doing, something he signed up for long before he met you. And while you’d never told him to quit directly to his face, he sees with passing look how much you don’t want him out there, don’t want him leaving the comfort of a shared apartment—a shared bed.

“Always in danger sweetheart, you know that—”

“Don’t brush me off—”

“Are you going to let me get a word in tonight, or not?”

The click of your teeth as you snap your jaw shut is loud in the quiet of your bedroom. An apology is already formed on the tip of his tongue ready to roll off when he feels your fingernails drag up and down his shoulders.

“Talk.”

“I—” he sighs roughly, digging his nose into the soft divot of your stomach. You could almost see the thought bubble swimming above his head. The way your fingers tug at the hair at the nape of his neck has him reflexively looking up in attention, “Just reacted stupidly—gullible, something I haven’t done since— for a long time.”

You hum but remain quiet, pieces of a puzzle are starting to float around in your mind. His arms tighten around your waist, pressing his cheek flat against you as he continues, “Didn’t think it would affect me that strongly, I felt blinded and out of control,”

“You don’t look injured,” you comment.

His shoulders melt into the mattress when you apply deeper pressure with your nails, “Didn’t escalate that far.”

You frown, “So you didn’t get into a fight?”

He shakes his head, “Information about my personal life somehow got leaked,”

The jolt of anxiety makes your stomach flex in knots, “Your identity got revealed?”

“No,” he quickly cuts off, “Not me.”

You sink back into your pillow, looking up at the ceiling in thought. If not him, then who else’s identity could have been leaked? Couldn’t be one of his brothers, and even if it were he wouldn’t react so strongly—so anxiously.

“My identity?” You cautiously whisper. “From when you walked me home that night,” you piece together, looking towards the wardrobe where his helmet sits, covered.

The muscles of your stomach tense with how deeply Jason is sinking his face into it, you think you can hear an apology but its so muffled that you can barely make it out.

Unconsciously you unwind in relief, or maybe shock, you're not entirely sure how to feel about someone using your identity to taunt Red Hood.

"Is that why you're so worried? Someone used my identity to get a rise out of you?"

Jason rises up on his elbows, his gaze so steely that it makes you pause, he's never looked at you like that before, "A rise? These people don't say things to get a rise,"

Your hands slide off his shoulders and drop to your chest, "Well they obviously wanted something from you if they're trying to use me as a bargaining chip,"

He shakes his head incredulously, "You're not taking this seriously,"

"I'm not worried, there's a difference," you clarify.

"What do you mean, you're not worried? Someone is out there, threatening your life against me and you're not worried? You should be terrified—"

You cradle his jaw in both your hands, effectively cutting off his rising tone, "I'm not worried," you repeat, dragging him closer, "What's there to worry about?"

"What if I'm not there?" he whispers finally.

You smile, it's a real risk that scares you, but it's what you signed up for when you met him.

"I trust you."

There’s a beat of silence, briefly you can see the gleam of his eyes staring into yours, “That’s it?”

With his lips hovering mere inches above your own you can’t help but break eye contact to glance down, “That’s it,” you murmur, “I trust you, Jason,”

His deep exhale fans lightly over your face, “I have to be the luckiest man alive right now,”

Gently you tuck a strand of his blonde fringe behind his ear, only for it to fall stubbornly back in place, “Well you can count your blessings later, c’mere.”

Without hesitation he leans down and melds his lips against yours, it’s slow and consuming as he pours all his restless energy and thoughts into it. You would think this is the last kiss you’re ever going to get with the way his hands rush under your shirt in desperate attempt to have skin on skin contact.

“Jay.” You murmur against his mouth, he doesn’t pull back, instead tilting your chin up to pull you in deeper. Eventually you have to separate by gently pushing him back by his chest, his breaths are almost heaving in the quiet of the apartment. You frown in worry as he bows his head, refusing to meet your gaze but instead pushing your shirt up insistently until it’s hoisted over your head.

His warm hands settle over your bare chest, before he can lean down once more, you settle your hands over his, digging your nails into the top of his hands, “I’m here, Jay,”

“I know,” he rasps.

“I’m here, Jason,” you urge, trying to meet his gaze in the dark, “I’m not going anywhere.”

When he chooses not to respond, you readjust your grip on his forearms and guide him to flip over, he goes down easily as you sit yourself on his lap. His hands automatically reach for your waist, the callouses on his hands feel rough against your skin as you anchor your hands either side of his head. Even in this position, he’s doing everything in his power to avoid your gaze until you sweep his hair off his forehead, forcing his curtain of safety to be pulled away.

“Where’s your head at?” You murmur.

“It’s here,” he tries to defend, but even that sounds weak and distant.

“No it’s not,” you retort, pinching the side of his neck softly, “You’re paranoid and thinking about anything but what’s in front of you,”

“Can you blame me?” He scoffs.

You lean down, balancing on your forearms, “Trust in yourself, I know you’ll find a way out of this,” you kiss him softly, pulling away before he can reciprocate, “You’ll fuck them over like you always do,”

The quirk of his lips and amused exhale feels like a win, his hands trail further up your waist until they settle around your rib cage, “And when you do,” you continue, swooping down to trail a line of kisses down his chest, still salty from the sweat earlier, “I’ll be home waiting to celebrate,”

“You’re too good for me,” he mourns, watching as you lower yourself further, “Should be with someone who isn’t in this shit—works a nine to five or somethin’,”

It’s your turn to scoff now, glancing up at him through your lashes, “A nine to five, really? You expect me to give up one of the smartest,” you drop a kiss against his sternum, “Most attentive,” another kiss, “And handsome man I’ve ever met, for what? A guy who works in an office?”

You look up at him with full attention now, settling squarely over his crotch which twitches beneath your weight, “Does that really sound like me?”

Jason let’s put a long wounded breath, “The glasses you’re wearing look a bit rosy, love,”

“Not wearing anything Jay, do you need me to prove it?”

You plant one hand on his chest and rock your hips forward in a slow slide, your shorts offer a modest barrier against his cock which twitches with interest. Jason drops his arms uselessly either side of you, content to let you control the pace as stares you down.

“You are the most difficult man I’ve ever met,” you huff, shiver crawling down your spine when a particular grind bumps against your clit.

“Fail to see how I’m being difficult right now,” he grunts in return, shifting his hips up.

You gasp when it offers more friction to move against, “Shut up.”

The chuckle that rises out of him makes you smile, but it quickly turns desperate when he starts to move his hips in time with yours. Your shorts have long shifted to the side, leaving you bare as a wet patch forms on the front of Jason’s boxers. You can feel how hard he is through the damp fabric beneath you. Eventually you drag your once planted hand, down his chest until you reach the hem of his underwear.

“Take them off.” you shove impatiently.

He doesn’t even have the mind to reply with a snarky retort as he shoves them down far enough. You raise your hips so he can kick them off all the way before lowering yourself once more, this holding the base of his cock as you lower yourself on top of him. He groans, gripping your hips so tightly you can feel the indents of his nails digging into your skin as you slide his cock through your wetness.

You dig your own nails into his shoulders when he tries to shove you back and forth against him, “Stop that,” you hiss, “Keep moving me around and I’ll get off,”

“Takin’ too long,” he moans impatiently.

You grasp his jaw, squeezing him tightly until his lips pout awkwardly, “Not a fucking race, Jason,” you huff, “Lay down.”

Begrudgingly you can feel his fingers slowly pry off your hip one by one until they back against the mattress. When you’re satisfied, you lean down and press a chaste kiss against his lips in praise— he’d comment about the mockery of it all if he weren’t afraid you’d make bank on your threat. So instead, he curls his hands into fists against the sheets and lets you slide over his cock. It’s hard to see in the dark, but he can feel you making a mess of it with how wet you are, can only focus on the hitch of your breath when the head knock against your clit.

“You here with me?” You ask, looking down at him through hooded gaze.

He’s speechless in that moment as he takes you in. Hair askew, chest heaving, and those damn shorts uselessly pushed aside. It was testing his patience, he could barely think as you kept moving at that maddeningly slow pace.

“M’here.” he breathes out.

He raises his hands so cautiously like he’s afraid of spooking you, but when his hands settle against your waist once more he relaxes. When he looks distracted you lift up, panic flashes across his face, instinctively his grip tightens but you don’t let it deter you as you line his cock up against your entrance.

“Wait—” he feels wholly unprepared as you sink back down, every fibre in him is fighting the urge to slam into you until he’s fully seated.

“Fuck,” it’s a guttural sound as he clenches his eyes shut, neck craning towards the ceiling as you sit flush against his hips.

The sentiment echoes in your mind, unable to produce any noise yourself. Your hands settle back on his chest, the muscles flex beneath your touch as he forces himself not to move.

The first twitch of your hips is to get comfortable but it has him breaking down, “Fuck—please, baby, can I move?” Once the words start they can’t stop, he blinks his eyes open reluctantly, convinced you’re an angel with the way the moonlight highlight yours silhouette, “Please, let me move—I’ll take care of you, I’ll be so good—”

You lean down until your chest is flush against his, the movement makes you clench down— but it’s worth it to see the way Jason looks seconds away from losing it. Your arms bracket either side of his head, you can see every minute expression flicker across his face at this proximity— the desperation of it all makes you smile.

“Come on then Jay, you gonna take care of me or what?” You whisper.

It’s all the signal he needs to wrap his arms around your waist, planting his feet on the mattress below as he rock his hips upwards. The impact is loud as his thighs slap against your ass with each desperate thrust. Every breath and sound you make rings clearly in his mind as they pour into his ear. Without notice he keeps one arm around your waist and uses the other as leverage to push you both up into a sitting position.

The deep push of his cock inside you makes you gasp, wrapping both arms around his neck for better anchorage. He keeps his eyes trained on you as he slides his hands down until they’re resting underneath your ass. You can’t seem to stop the breaths that pour out of your mouth when fucks you up and down on his cock without restraint.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly when you reach the crown of his head causing him to tilt back with a grunt.

“Doing— so well,” you pant through broken speech, “So good for me Jay, always know how to take care of me.”

His eyes flutter lower when you lead a line of kisses down his neck, he thrusts sharper when you sink your teeth down in the space where his neck and collar meet.

“Fuck’s sake.” he grounds out, digging his face into your shoulder when you let go of his hair.

When you roll your hips to meet this thrusts it’s game over. He pulls you forward by the small of your back until there’s no space between the two of you and forces you down roughly one last time until he spills over inside. You can feel his chest vibrate with the sound he lets out, but you keep rolling your hips desperately chasing that same high until your thighs tremble around his waist.

“Jay—” you whimper.

“C’mon, I got you.” he replies, guiding your movements until you come undone.

He feels your nails sink into his shoulders and the way your core tenses around him before you turn into a shuddering mess. He holds you close, wincing at the way his now sensitive cock shifts against your walls.

In the dark of your apartment all that can be heard is the sound of mutual panting, the feeling of warmth wrapped around each other, and taste of sweat.

The engine sputtered in protest before the car jerked hard and rolled uselessly onto the side of the road. Silence followed, thick and heavy beneath the drumming rain.

You stared at the dashboard in disbelief.

You had been back in town for less than six hours, and already you regretted coming home.

With a frustrated groan, you let your head fall back against the seat. Your phone rested beside you with one pathetic bar of signal and a battery percentage so low it felt insulting.

Perfect.

Your ex-fiancé hadn’t even texted after you left Seoul. It's not that you wanted him to. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. Still, the silence had followed you all the way here, curling around your ribs like something cold and unwelcome.

Outside, thunder cracked across the sky, sharp enough to make you flinch.

You exhaled shakily before pushing the car door open. The rain immediately soaked through your clothes, icy cold against your skin.

“Great,” you muttered, kicking the tire halfheartedly. “That definitely helps.”

The road was deserted. Not a single house or gas station in sight. Nothing except darkness, rain, and the consequences of every terrible decision that had led you back to this town.

Your car groaned softly as it cooled, old and exhausted. 

It wasn’t much to look at anymore with its faded paint, unreliable engine, doors that creaked louder every year, but you couldn’t let it go. It was the last thing your father had given you before he was gone forever. And losing it now felt a little too much like losing him all over again.

A sudden light cut through the storm.

You looked up sharply. 

Headlights approached fast, growing brighter against the curtain of rain before a motorcycle emerged from the darkness like something out of a movie scene you absolutely should not trust.

Black bike. Black helmet. Black leather jacket.

The motorcycle slowed beside your car with a low, rumbling growl, its headlights cutting sharply through the rain. Water sprayed beneath the tires as the rider came to a stop a few feet away from you.

For a second, neither of you moved.

The storm raged around you, thunder rolling somewhere in the distance while rain poured endlessly from the sky. Then the stranger lifted a gloved hand and pulled off his helmet.

Dark, rain-soaked hair fell messily over sharp eyes that studied you with quiet amusement. A silver lip ring caught briefly in the light, and tattoos curled over the back of his hand beneath silver rings stained faintly with grease.

Pretty.

His gaze flicked once toward your car before returning to you.

“You broke down?”

You blinked at him through the rain.

“No,” you deadpanned. “I just enjoy standing in thunderstorms.” His mouth twitched slightly. Not quite a smile, but close enough to make your stomach betray you a little.

“Pop the hood.”

Something about his voice caught you off guard. Deep and authoritative in a way that made it sound like he was used to being listened to.

You hesitated with every warning your mother had ever given you started screaming inside your head.

Do not trust strange men at night.

Especially tattooed ones on motorcycles.

Especially ridiculously attractive tattooed ones on motorcycles.

But then another freezing wave of rain slapped against your face, and honestly? Hypothermia seemed like the less attractive option.

With a dramatic sigh, you turned and walked back toward the car.

The stranger followed silently behind you.

You lifted the hood, stepping aside while he immediately leaned forward to inspect the engine with surprising familiarity. Rain slid down the sharp slope of his nose before disappearing beneath the collar of his jacket. His fingers moved confidently between the wires and metal parts, steady and practiced.

Grease stained the silver rings on his hands.

You hated how distracting his hands were.

After a moment, he clicked his tongue softly.

“Battery’s dying.”

You folded your arms tightly against the cold. “Can that be fixed?”

“For tonight?” He shrugged, finally glancing back at you. “Maybe.”

You watched him work in silence for the next several minutes.

Rain continued dripping from the edge of the hood while thunder rumbled somewhere far off in the distance, softer now, like the storm was slowly exhausting itself. The air smelled like wet asphalt and gasoline.

Jungkook barely spoke as he worked.

His sleeves had pushed back slightly, revealing more ink winding along his forearms while his fingers moved confidently beneath the hood. Every movement looked practiced, effortless. Like he’d done this a hundred times before.

You leaned against the side of the car, arms folded tightly against the cold.

“You always rescue stranded women during storms?” you asked eventually.

“No.”

The answer came immediately.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Now I feel special.”

That almost-smile appeared again, small and brief enough to make you wonder if you imagined it.

He adjusted something near the battery before stepping back from the car, wiping his hand against his jeans.

“Try it.”

You slid back into the driver’s seat, your damp clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin as you turned the key.

For one terrible second, nothing happened.

Then the engine coughed violently before roaring weakly back to life.

Relief hit you so fast you nearly laughed.

“Oh my god.”

You looked back through the open window, ready to thank him again, but Jungkook was already pulling his helmet back on like he planned to disappear as quickly as he arrived.

“Wait.”

He paused. Rain tapped softly against the roof between the silence stretching across the road.

“I didn’t even get your name.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you through the storm.

“Jungkook.”

The name settled strangely deep inside your chest before you could stop it.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was standing. “Well…” You pushed a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Thanks, Jungkook.”

He gave a small nod before his gaze shifted past you toward the backseat.

Your suitcase.

“You just got back?”

The question caught you off guard.

“Yeah.”

“To stay?”

A quiet laugh escaped you before you could stop it, bitter around the edges.

“Unfortunately.”

Something unreadable crossed Jungkook’s face at your answer.

For a moment, he looked less like a stranger standing in the rain and more like someone carrying the same exhaustion you felt sitting permanently in your chest. Like he understood that answer far more than he should have.

Before you could ask what that look meant, another pair of headlights appeared in the distance.

The bright beams cut through the storm slowly at first before growing larger against the wet road. A truck.

And instantly, something about Jungkook changed.

He stepped back from the car without hesitation, creating distance between the two of you so naturally it felt practiced. Like he had suddenly remembered he wasn’t supposed to be standing this close to you. Like he’d already allowed himself too much.

Rain dripped from the ends of his dark hair while he adjusted his gloves quietly.

“You shouldn’t stay out here long,” he said.

His voice remained calm, but there was something underneath it now..

You frowned slightly. “Is the town dangerous now or something?”

For the first time since meeting him, Jungkook held your gaze for longer than a few seconds.

Rain poured between you both, softening the edges of the world until it felt like the entire road had disappeared, leaving only him standing there beneath the storm.

“No,” he said quietly. “Just the people in it.”

The words settled heavily in the air.

Before you could ask what he meant, before you could stop yourself from wanting to ask, Jungkook pulled his helmet back on fully and climbed onto the motorcycle.

The engine roared to life beneath him, low and violent against the quiet hum of rain.

For one suspended second, he looked at you through the darkness.

Then he was gone. The motorcycle disappeared down the empty road, headlights fading slowly into the storm until there was nothing left except rainwater shimmering against the pavement.

You sat there staring after him far longer than you should have.

Long after the sound of the engine disappeared.

Completely unaware that meeting Jeon Jungkook was about to ruin your life in the most beautiful way possible.

to be continued?

ॱ   *  ۪      ❤︎ᮬႚ  . 　*    ۪  ♡゚   *    ۪  ♡゚ႚ ۪    *  ۪      ❤︎ᮬႚ  .

I. (chapter) ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ one ͏͏ ͏: Before Sunrise

w.c. 2.7k

The city looked different after midnight.

Quieter.

Not asleep, exactly. Just... paused.

The usual rush of traffic had long faded into the occasional passing car, their headlights gliding across empty intersections before disappearing around another corner. Neon signs reflected off the damp pavement from a drizzle that had stopped hours ago, painting the streets in streaks of blue, red, and white.

Juhoon pulled the hood of his sweatshirt a little lower as he stepped out of the hotel.

He probably shouldn't have.

If his manager found out he'd wandered off alone at half past midnight, there would be another lecture waiting for him in the morning. Something about responsibility. Safety. Being recognizable.

But he couldn't sleep.

He had been lying in bed for nearly an hour, staring at the ceiling while everyone else in the room had drifted off without much effort. His body was exhausted after another day packed with rehearsals, interviews, and schedules, yet his mind refused to cooperate.

Sometimes it happened.

The louder his days became, the harder it was to appreciate the silence when it finally arrived.

Maybe a short walk would help.

Or at the very least, something to eat.

A convenience store stood just across the street from the hotel, its bright green, orange, and red sign cutting through the darkness like a small beacon.

Open 24 hours.

Perfect.

The automatic doors slid open with a familiar chime as he stepped inside.

Warm air wrapped around him almost instantly, carrying the scent of instant noodles, brewed coffee, and freshly stocked shelves.

The store was nearly empty.

An older employee stood behind the register, absentmindedly scrolling through something on her phone between customers. A few aisles over, another worker, considerably younger, was kneeling on the floor while organizing boxes of snacks onto the lower shelves.

She couldn't have been much older than eighteen.

She didn't look up.

Neither did he.

Juhoon wandered through the aisles at his own pace, grabbing a bottle of water first.

Then a canned coffee.

A bag of chips.

After hesitating for a few seconds in front of the instant noodles, he grabbed one of those too.

Healthy enough, he thought sarcastically.

By the time he reached the register, the older employee finally put her phone away and scanned everything with practiced speed.

"You can finish stocking the back shelves," she called toward the younger girl while placing the last item into a plastic bag. "I'll close up."

The girl didn't even look over.

"Okay."

Just one word.

Flat.

Tired.

Juhoon paid, thanked the cashier with a polite nod, then froze halfway to the exit.

Right.

The bathroom.

Might as well go before walking back to the hotel.

He set the bag down beside the sink a few minutes later, splashed some cold water across his face, and stared at his reflection for a second longer than necessary.

"...Maybe now I'll actually sleep."

Satisfied enough, he picked up the bag and pushed open the restroom door.

The convenience store was strangely quiet.

Quieter than before.

He frowned.

"...Hello?"

No answer.

Taking a few more steps, he headed toward the entrance and reached for the handle.

It didn't budge.

His brows knit together.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

Only then did he lift his gaze.

The metal security shutter had already been pulled all the way down, sealing the entrance shut.

For a few seconds, he simply stared.

"...You're kidding."

He gave the door another push, harder this time.

Nothing.

His heart skipped just enough to make him reach for his pocket.

His phone.

Two percent.

Come on...

He quickly opened Cortis' group chat.

Juhoon: Guys, I think I'm locked inside a convenien—

The screen went black.

"...No, no, no."

He pressed the power button.

Nothing.

Again.

Still nothing.

A long sigh escaped him as he lowered the now useless phone.

Perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

He was trapped inside a convenience store at nearly one in the morning, his phone was dead, and no one had any idea where he was.

For the first time that night, panic began to creep in.

Then a voice echoed from somewhere behind one of the aisles.

"If you're thinking about breaking the door..."

It was calm.

Almost bored.

"...it doesn't work."

Juhoon spun around.

The girl from earlier stepped into view, leaning casually against a stack of cardboard boxes with her arms crossed.

She looked at the locked entrance.

Then back at him.

"I already tried."

Juhoon blinked.

"...Wait."

His gaze shifted from the employee vest she was wearing to the locked shutter.

"You work here."

"Unfortunately."

"And... you're locked in too?"

"Last time I checked."

"There has to be another exit."

"There is."

Relief flashed across his face.

"...It's locked."

His shoulders dropped again.

"The back door only opens from the outside after closing," she explained. "Manager's policy."

"The keys?"

"My coworker took them."

"..."

"She also took whatever common sense she had left."

Juhoon let out an involuntary laugh.

Y/N glanced at him.

"Glad someone finds this entertaining."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. If I don't joke about it, I'll probably cry."

"...Fair."

He looked around the store once more, hoping he'd somehow missed something.

"What about calling your coworker?"

"I'd love to."

She spread her hands dramatically.

"Minor issue."

"...Which is?"

"I don't have her number memorized."

"You don't have your phone?"

She looked at him for a long second.

Then, completely deadpan, she asked,

"Do I look like someone who owns one?"

Juhoon frowned.

"...Maybe?"

She sighed through her nose.

"Do you seriously think if I had a phone, I'd be working the night shift at a convenience store at eighteen?"

"..."

"I would've called someone twenty minutes ago."

That shut him up.

"...Right."

"Exactly."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"And the store phone?"

"The phone is locked in the register cabinet."

"..."

"And guess who has the key."

"...Your coworker."

"Bingo."

Silence settled between them.

Juhoon stared at the shutter as if glaring hard enough would make it open.

Y/N tilted her head.

"You know..."

"What?"

"You're taking this surprisingly well."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not."

"You haven't tried throwing yourself against the door yet."

"...Should I?"

"I did."

"...Really?"

"No."

She paused.

"...But I would."

Juhoon blinked before laughing despite himself.

"There it is."

"What?"

"The laugh."

"What laugh?"

"The one people do when they realize they're completely screwed."

He shook his head, still smiling.

"You do this a lot?"

"What?"

"Make jokes while everything's falling apart." She shrugged.

"It saves time."

"Compared to?"

"Crying."

The silence returned.

Not awkward.

Just... there.

The steady hum of the refrigerators filled the store, accompanied by the occasional buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.

Y/N let out a slow breath, glancing around the brightly lit aisles before rubbing the back of her neck.

"...Well."

Juhoon looked up from his lifeless phone.

"Well?"

She gestured vaguely around them.

"We've got about four hours to kill."

His shoulders slumped.

"...I was trying really hard not to think about that."

"I noticed."

Pushing herself off the stack of boxes, she walked behind the counter as if this were any other shift. After crouching for a moment, she pulled out a small plastic shopping basket and set it on top of the register with a soft thud.

"Might as well make ourselves useful."

Juhoon frowned.

"...Useful?"

Without answering immediately, she reached over to the instant noodle display beside her, grabbed two cups of ramen and casually tossed them into the basket.

"If I'm getting trapped in a convenience store," she said, grabbing another item, "I might as well get paid for the overtime."

He let out a quiet laugh.

"You still care about stocking shelves?"

"I absolutely don't."

She picked up a box of chocolate bars and balanced it against her hip before looking at the half-empty display.

"But if my manager walks in at five and finds this place looking like a tornado hit it..."

She glanced sideways at him.

"...Somehow it'll become my fault."

Juhoon's brows pulled together.

"...That's unfair."

Y/N stared at him for a second.

Then she gave a single nod.

"Congratulations."

He blinked.

"...For what?"

"You've just discovered minimum wage."

A laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

"...You're brutal."

"I'm employed."

She walked over, placed the basket against his chest and waited until he instinctively grabbed it.

"There."

He looked down at it.

"...What's this?"

"Your first assignment."

"I don't remember applying."

"You didn't."

He looked back up at her with the same puzzled expression.

"I'd like to resign."

She didn't miss a beat.

"Denied."

"...Immediately?"

"We're understaffed."

He sighed dramatically, adjusting the basket in his hands.

"Do I at least get an employee discount?"

She started walking toward the snack aisle.

"You get the privilege of not dying of boredom."

Juhoon followed a couple of steps behind, shaking his head.

"...That somehow sounds worse."

"It is."

For the first time since they'd met, the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

Barely noticeable.

But enough for him to catch it.

"Come on," she said, already reaching for another unopened box.

"Those chips aren't going to stock themselves."

Juhoon looked down at the basket in his hands before letting out a long sigh.

"...I can't believe I'm actually doing this."

"You've accepted your fate surprisingly fast."

"I don't think I have."

"You followed me."

"I figured arguing would somehow create even more work for me."

"It would've."

She pointed toward the shelves lined with instant noodles.

"Start there."

He stopped in front of the display, staring at the colorful cups stacked in uneven rows.

"...I've never stocked shelves before."

"I can tell."

"...Was it that obvious?"

"You picked them up backwards."

Juhoon glanced down at the ramen cup in his hand.

"...There's a right way to stock ramen?"

"There is if you don't want customers thinking spicy seafood magically turns into chicken."

"...That feels like their problem."

"It's mine when they complain."

"...Fair enough."

He turned the cup around with exaggerated care before placing it back on the shelf.

"Better?"

Y/N took one look.

"...Still crooked."

He stared at it.

"...You're kidding."

"I'm not."

He leaned closer, squinting at the shelf as if inspecting a priceless painting.

"...I genuinely can't tell."

"I know."

She reached past him without hesitation, nudging the cup less than an inch to the left.

"There."

Juhoon looked from the ramen to her.

"...You moved it like..."

He pinched his fingers together.

"...this much."

"Exactly."

"...You're insane."

"No."

She grabbed another box from the floor.

"I just work retail."

"...I think that's worse."

A snort escaped her before she could stop it.

She covered it with a cough almost immediately.

Juhoon noticed.

"...Was that a laugh?"

"It was allergies."

"Inside?"

"I'm allergic to incompetence."

"...Wow."

"I know."

He couldn't help smiling again.

For someone who claimed she joked to avoid crying.

She was actually pretty funny.

By the time they finished the snack aisle, the basket was nearly empty.

Juhoon stretched his arms above his head, his back giving a quiet pop.

"I think I've officially worked harder here than at any part-time job I've ever had."

Y/N glanced at him while flattening an empty cardboard box.

"You've had part-time jobs?"

"A couple."

"What?"

He shrugged.

"The usual."

"...That tells me absolutely nothing."

He thought for a second.

"A café once."

"You?"

"I lasted three weeks."

She looked genuinely surprised.

"You quit?"

"They fired me."

"...Seriously?"

"I kept giving people the wrong drinks."

A laugh escaped him.

"You don't look like someone who'd be bad at that."

"I wasn't."

She folded another box with unnecessary force.

"I was just sleep deprived."

"...That sounds more believable."

"It should."

She tossed the flattened box onto a pile near the storage door before dusting her hands together.

"Come on."

"Where now?"

"The important part."

She walked toward the instant food section without waiting to see if he followed.

"The important part?"

"Dinner."

Juhoon looked at the wall clock hanging above the register.

"It's one in the morning."

"So?"

"So... isn't it a little late for dinner?"

She stopped in front of the ramen display and looked at him as though he'd said something deeply offensive.

"...You came to a convenience store at midnight to buy ramen."

"..."

"...And you're judging my schedule?"

"...You have a point."

"I usually do."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Also, I don't exactly have enough money for anything fancier."

Y/N blinked, then let out a short laugh.

"Then you should've said that first."

"Would it have changed your answer?"

"No."

"Exactly."

She crouched down, opening one of the cabinet doors beneath the hot water dispenser.

"Pick one."

He scanned the colorful rows of instant noodles.

"There are way too many choices."

"Wrong."

She grabbed a black cup without hesitation.

"There are exactly two."

"...Two?"

She held up the cup.

"This."

Then she pointed at another.

"And disappointment."

Juhoon chuckled.

"You're weird."

"I work retail."

"I don't think that's an explanation anymore."

"It explains everything."

He crouched beside her, studying the shelves.

"So..."

He picked up one of the cups.

"Which one's actually good?"

Y/N glanced at it for less than a second.

"Put it back."

"...That bad?"

"I wouldn't feed that to my worst enemy."

"...Harsh."

"I'm saving your life."

He slowly returned it to the shelf.

"...Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome."

She grabbed another cup and handed it to him.

"There."

He examined the packaging.

"You trust this one?"

"I've eaten it at least..." She paused to think.

"...Forty times."

Juhoon raised an eyebrow.

"...Forty?"

"Perks of employee discounts."

"That sounds less like a perk."

"It isn't."

For a brief second, they simply looked at each other.

Then, somehow...

They both laughed.

Not because anything particularly funny had happened.

It just came naturally.

Y/N stood up, brushing the dust from her jeans before walking over to the hot water dispenser.

"You know," she said, peeling back the lid of her ramen cup, "this is technically against store policy."

Juhoon followed her, doing the same with his own.

"...We're already locked inside."

"I know."

She shrugged.

"I just wanted you to understand we're committing multiple crimes tonight."

"...Eating instant ramen is a crime now?"

"No."

She poured hot water into her cup.

"Employee theft."

Juhoon froze.

"...What?"

She looked at him with a perfectly straight face.

"We're stealing these."

His eyes widened.

"I was going to pay."

"I know."

"..."

"I just wanted to see your face."

He stared at her for another second before letting out a breathy laugh.

"...You're actually evil."

"I prefer 'creative.'"

"You definitely enjoy stressing people out."

"Only strangers."

"And friends?"

"I annoy them for free."

He laughed again.

She noticed.

"You laugh a lot."

"I do not."

"You've laughed at least..." She pretended to count on her fingers.

"...Seven times."

"I have not."

"Eight."

"You're making those numbers up."

"Probably."

She carried both ramen cups over to the small seating area by the front windows.

The store looked strangely peaceful from there.

Outside, the streets were almost empty.

Only the occasional taxi rolled past, its headlights briefly washing over the metal shutter before disappearing into the night.

Y/N sat down first, pulling one leg underneath herself.

Juhoon took the chair across from her.

For a minute or two, neither of them spoke.

The only sounds were the faint buzz of the lights above them and the quiet hiss of steam escaping from the ramen cups.

"...This is weird," Juhoon admitted eventually.

Y/N rested her chin in her palm.

"The being trapped part?"

"The eating ramen with a complete stranger at one in the morning part."

She considered it.

"...Yeah."

A beat passed.

"But I've had worse Tuesdays."

Juhoon looked up.

"...It's Tuesday?"

She frowned.

"...Isn't it?"

"I don't know."

She blinked once.

"...Huh."

Another pause.

"I might actually be losing my mind."

"I think we've established that already."

She pointed at him with a pair of chopsticks.

"See?"

"There it is."

"What?"

"You're getting funnier."

She clicked her tongue.

"No."

"I'm adapting."

He smiled into his ramen before taking his first bite.

For reasons he couldn't quite explain...

It tasted better than convenience store ramen usually did.

It was some foolish, aggravating routine that you somehow found yourself in the center of—some tango you never wanted to dance but fell into a rhythmic step with—with his bike skirting dangerously close to your already worn and exhausted car. You wouldn’t have bothered noticing his bike screeching through the streets, the sound was a welcomed ambiance to a city as glaringly problemed as Bludhaven after all, but by the third late-night-slash-early-morning drive where he tailed your car, metal nearly kissing metal, all you could see was some red hot rage through your mirrors at the very shape of him blindly silhouetted by his own headlights, barely illuminated by the passing light poles. The very existence of him sharing the same road as you, swerving recklessly between lanes but slowing enough just to encircle you—a vulture mirroring its prey, or some gulled bird stalking your boardwalk lunch—was like some blighted insult to your very being, if not at least to your morning commute. Every time you saw his bike crawl closer and closer to the rim of your car’s edge, he would loudly, obnoxiously overtake you as if cosmically aware that you were only seconds away from brake checking him and sending him flying: insurance be damned.

Not long after, his tricks escalated towards the feverishly annoying, like some nightmare-fueled spectacle you never signed up for on your commute to work. The rider in his streaks of blackened blues would zig-zag between opposite ends of the lane as if only to parade his headlight into all of your mirrors. You would angrily grumble to yourself as he swerved right alongside your car, his masked head poking into the corner of your view before passing you ever so slightly only to fall into a slowed speed again, drifting slower and slower as you remained steady on the road watching as his bike fluttered like some bug on your windshield, this time taunting towards the opposite side of your car. It was some circus performance, some vehicular merry-go-round set to the road’s potholes and cracked asphalt, with him this outlandish clown of the roadways—with every mechanized spin and twirl he acted out on the streets-turned-stage driving you towards crash-test walls of insanity.

There were moments where you felt you had conjured these meetings in your mind, having been so lost in dreaming from the sleep cut short that you imagined this nighttime biker; but, then he would overtake you once more and turn around and look at you with his concealed face, waving stupidly as his helmet brightened in the light of your headlights, mirroring to you all that taunts, all that insults. It was like being bullied by a clown with no real power to do anything damaging but the act alone was enough to grind your teeth together in some effort of restraint. He was, for a lack of a better word, a dick.

Yet, even as the very sight and sound of him fueled in you some unknown, ancient rage, this stranger had become a staple of your morning commute. He was something you had come to expect in a city full of unprecedented twists and turns, where detours that tore you through different roads and corners became almost scenic routes by his meaningless performances and diatribes. The world felt empty at the silence of the morning roads; and, as much as you hate to admit it, you did miss the rumbling thunder of the stranger’s bike roaring through the night and bringing forth the morning.

The world behind you, written into the fallen rain droplets forgotten on your car’s glass, laid quiet as time passed slowly at this intersection, your eyes instinctively searching and hoping for that hindrance of a motorcycled knight to appear in view, some sparkling star or spotlighted fool. You turned the knob of your car’s radio, increasing the volume slightly to drown out this aching silence that mocked you more than that stranger’s filtering aura. You were so accustomed to his loudness, his trickster maneuvering, that in his sudden absence, as if becoming so comfortable to the pressure and weight and dull ache of the thorn he has become and its wound, its emptiness in your side felt akin to a void, the empty roads a calling. Since when did such a devil of the roads, some nightmare angel riding winged bikes into the night, become so necessary for your day?

You let the music sputter and stutter through your radio, it’s quick baseline reverberating through the interior of your car, almost echoing the now ghostly biker’s revving as he would race around you. How did you let yourself get pulled into this insanity? When did your anger and boiling rage that rattled your heart as your foot held at a gasp over the brake pedal—yet, never actually needing it—become this beating, rocking ache in the outline of your ribs at the expectation, at the promise of mirrored vision in the not-so-quiet mornings made with a stranger? After all, linking a stranger on a bike, as reckless of a driver as he may be, to the luck of your day was a sure cry for mental help.

You tried to think of something else to quell your mind from wanting to search for him on the roads, to obsessively stare into your car’s mirrors or even to turn your gaze back as if the action alone would manifest him into your sights. The music continued singing into your car’s skeleton, and you hoped the vibrating sound would shake free this itch out of your bones. Whatever magic that compelled you to look back for him in the night, you would never understand. You closed your eyes though, hoping that the lyrics, bass, and symphonic histories would unchain you from your expectations.

A sharp knock pierces through your running thoughts and car’s radio, calling your attention to your passenger side window. There he sat on his motorcycle, purring steadily next to your car, his body leaning in your direction like some knight-in-shining-leather, drenched and dampened by the post-rain of the coming morning.

The leftover rain that speckled your car’s mirrors and windows refracted the image of your stranger before your very eyes, that his kaleidoscopic view this close to your car felt in and of itself some trick of fate, time, and motorized heartbeats. Your stranger, bathed in this red traffic light and his helmet stained in likeness of bloodshot beets or blushing hues on wind-bitten noses, kept his sights trained on you just as yours were on him; it was as if you were almost afraid that a slight turn away would vanish him from your view again and return to you the expanse of emptied roads looking and waiting for his beating bike to pierce the rhythm of your ride. There were no tricks about it other than that of illusions: you and him shared the road for another morning more.

The music lulled itself into a forgotten musing as the stranger’s bike purred and hummed into your life again. You don’t know how long you stared at him in shock, in awe, in a series of thoughts at the imagining of his awaited presence feeling somewhere between seconds broken down into light years or light years broken up into known calculations. Did he too feel the relief of finding you where you last saw each other before driving off into your corners of Bludhaven, before tires squealed into sunrise? The very sight of him through your rain-stained windows ushered waves of ease, rolling off your once fidgeting fingers the way his bike’s engine or your car’s hood softly vibrated at the beating of your engines. As if hearing this awkward clock ticking in your mind and car, the stranger rose his hand and offered you a gloved salute, some two-fingered good-bye for now which you only imagined was accompanied by some cheeky grin you wished you could see.

Before the light could turn green, before you could even more to respond in like action, he kicked and drove off, turning right into the darkness of Bludhaven as he always did each morning leaving you at this intersection of partings like some awakening that has come and done its job in erupting your heart into some altered alerted awareness. The light finally turned green, and your car slowed into movement, but your attention stayed locked in the stranger’s turn, some distant star shooting off to god knows where.

While you didn’t know the ending of things nor the intricate calculus that had given curvature to this odd union, there were unconditional things in this that were certain as the indigo of the morning sky barely lightened into a blue: He’ll grab your attention once more tomorrow. And you’ll, maybe, wave back tomorrow.

Or, you’ll maybe—just maybe—hit him with your car.