🧿

He crossed the threshold with exaggerated caution, making a show of surveying your living room as though he expected the rest of his family to leap out from behind the sofa. Jason took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, then toed off his boots by the door without being reminded. You’d enforced the no-shoes rule enough times that even he had finally stopped arguing about it.

His shoulders relaxed once he realized the apartment was empty, but then his attention caught on the coffee table and the kitchen beyond it.

You’d spent more time arranging everything than you wanted to admit. Dinner from the restaurant he’d mentioned liking months ago sat under insulated covers, still warm because you’d timed the delivery carefully. His preferred soda was chilling in the refrigerator, and the chocolate cake on the counter was small enough that neither of you would be eating leftovers for the next week.

There were no balloons, streamers, banners, or anything else that might’ve turned the evening into a spectacle. There was, however, a short stack of wrapped presents beside the couch.

Jason’s gaze lingered on the presents before moving back to you. “You did all this?”

“It’s dinner.”

His eyes moved toward the presents.

“And presents,” you amended.

Something subtle shifted in his expression before he covered it with a faint smile. “Nobody else coming?”

“No. I figured if I invited Dick, there’d be a theme by the time you got here, and you’d spend your own birthday looking for an escape route.”

That earned a quiet laugh, and some of the lingering suspicion finally left Jason’s expression. “You know me too well.”

That, unfortunately, was part of the problem.

Dinner gave you something else to think about. You sat at opposite ends of the couch with takeout cartons spread across the coffee table while the movie Jason chose played in front of you, and it didn’t take long for the initial tension in his posture to disappear. He settled deeper into the cushions, one leg eventually stretching across the space between you until his socked foot nudged your thigh.

You moved it away once, but five minutes later it was back, and you didn’t bother fighting him a second time.

The movie was one you’d seen with him before, which meant you already knew Jason would quietly mutter whenever something on-screen annoyed him. Normally you encouraged it just to see how long he could go before a passing complaint became a full lecture, but tonight you mostly listened, smiling into your food whenever he caught himself and glanced over at you.

This was what you’d wanted. Jason could handle crowds. He could charm strangers when he felt like it, command a room when he needed to, and hold his own among people who seemed determined to make every family occasion louder than the last. That didn’t mean he liked having attention forced onto him, particularly when that attention came with expectations about how grateful or moved he was supposed to look.

You didn’t want him performing his own birthday for anybody; you just wanted him to have a good night.

The thought settled somewhere uncomfortably warm beneath your ribs, and you turned your attention back to the movie before you could examine it too closely.

By the time the credits rolled, Jason had relaxed enough that you almost felt bad interrupting him. You glanced toward the kitchen.

“Want cake?”

His foot left your thigh immediately.

You stared at him.

Jason pushed himself upright. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just appreciating your enthusiasm.”

He looked mildly offended. “You asked what kind I liked six weeks ago. I’ve been waiting to find out whether that was related to whatever you were planning.”

Heat crept up your neck. Of course he remembered.

“That conversation could’ve been completely unrelated.”

“Sure.”

You escaped into the kitchen before he could watch you struggle for a better excuse. The cake was exactly where you’d left it, and Jason followed at a slower pace while you opened the drawer where you’d hidden the candles. You’d only bought two.

His eyebrows rose when you pushed them into the frosting.

“I’m older than two.”

“I’m not putting twenty-something candles on that cake. I don’t need the smoke detector screaming at us.”

He snorted, but his attention softened when you lit them.

For a moment, Jason only watched the flames.

The kitchen suddenly felt quieter than it had a second ago. You knew enough about his history not to assume birthdays were uncomplicated for him, and you’d deliberately avoided turning tonight into a conversation about that. You didn’t want to make him explain what the day meant or didn’t mean. You wanted him to have food he liked, something sweet, a couple of presents, and the freedom to enjoy any of it without needing to justify why.

So you didn’t sing.

You only slid the cake toward him. “Make a wish.”

Jason glanced at you, then back at the candles. After a moment, he bowed his head with theatrical solemnity and blew them out.

You laughed, and some of the weight in his expression disappeared with the smoke.

While you cut the cake, Jason dragged a finger through the frosting along the edge. You gave him a look, which he ignored completely before stealing another swipe while you transferred the first slice onto his plate. By the time you carried both plates back to the couch, the quiet moment in the kitchen had dissolved into something easier.

The presents were still waiting, and Jason noticed them before he sat down. This time he didn’t make a joke. “You really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know.”

You handed him the smaller package.

That answer seemed to land harder than you’d expected. He looked at you for a second before lowering his attention to the wrapping paper and carefully opening it.

The riding gloves were first. His old pair had been splitting along one seam for months. He’d complained about needing to replace them while fixing your car in the spring, then predictably continued wearing them. You’d noticed the size printed inside one when he tossed them to you to hold, and apparently some stubborn corner of your brain had decided the information was worth keeping.

Jason turned the new pair over in his hands, recognizing the brand immediately. “These are nice.”

“Your old ones are trying to disintegrate.”

“They’ve got life left.”

“They have a hole in them.”

“One hole.”

You gave him a look.

A small smile pulled at his mouth as he slid the gloves on. They fit exactly as they should, and he flexed his fingers once before examining the reinforced palms.

“How’d you get my size?”

“I noticed the label when you made me hold your old ones.”

“That was months ago.”

“I remember things.”

Jason looked at you in a way you didn’t particularly want to analyze and slowly pulled the gloves off again. He placed them beside him instead of returning them to the box.

You reached for the second present before that could become a conversation. “This one took longer to find.”

The shape gave away that it was a book immediately. Jason ran his thumb along one edge before opening the paper, more carefully than he had with the first gift.

Then he went still.

Months ago, he’d told you about a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo he’d owned before Bruce took him in and never gotten back after lending it out. The loss itself wasn’t especially important, at least not according to him, but he’d spent long enough describing the edition that you’d teased him for being sentimental about a book he claimed not to miss. At some point, he’d even found a photo of the cover online to prove that the newer editions weren’t as good.

You’d remembered it, so when you spotted the same edition in the window of a used bookstore a few weeks ago, you recognized it immediately.

Jason turned the book over and checked the publication information inside before looking back at the cover.

“You found it.” His voice was quieter now.

“I found one.”

“The same printing.”

“You were very opinionated about the cover.”

“I was right.”

“You usually think you are.”

Normally that would’ve earned a response. This time, Jason only ran his thumb over the worn edge of the book.

“How long were you looking?”

“I wasn’t exactly hunting through Gotham with a flashlight. I just kept an eye out after you mentioned it.”

That did very little to make his expression easier to read.

You took another bite of cake, suddenly aware of how much of your evening could be traced back to things Jason had mentioned in passing: the restaurant, the cake, the gloves, the book.

Apparently Jason had reached the same conclusion. “You do this for all your friends?”

“Yeah.” The answer escaped before you thought about it. Jason looked at you, and you frowned down at your plate. Maybe not exactly like this.

You remembered Dick’s birthday last year because everyone did. You’d contributed to group gifts, shown up at parties, bought drinks, sent texts, and done all the ordinary things people did for friends they loved.

You had never kept an eye out for a particular edition of someone’s favorite book just because they’d mentioned missing it once.

“Some of them,” you amended.

Jason’s mouth twitched.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“Actually, I was gonna eat my cake.”

You grabbed the nearest pillow and hit him with it.

Jason caught it before the second swing.

His reflexes were unfair on the best of days. When he tugged, you weren’t expecting enough force to pull you forward, and you caught yourself with one hand against his chest while the pillow slipped uselessly between you.

His other arm came around your waist automatically.

The laughter left you both at nearly the same time.

You were suddenly close enough to feel the warmth of his hand through your shirt. One of your knees had landed between his thighs, and your palm was still spread over his chest, directly above the steady beat of his heart.

Jason’s gaze dropped to your mouth.

Your own pulse stumbled.

When he spoke, his voice was lower. “So how many of them?”

You didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

Your eyes flicked toward the book beside him. “I wanted you to have a good birthday.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you asking?”

Jason’s fingers shifted against your waist, almost absently. “Because you went through a hell of a lot of trouble for a friend.”

There wasn’t much you could say to that without lying. You’d known for a while that whatever you felt for Jason had become inconveniently difficult to fit inside friendship. It was easier to ignore when it lived in ordinary moments: the way you automatically saved him a seat, how often you looked for him first when you walked into a room, the embarrassing amount of his life your brain apparently considered important enough to catalog.

Tonight had taken all those little things and wrapped them in paper.

“I care about you,” you said.

Jason’s expression softened. “Yeah?”

“Probably more than I’m supposed to.”

Jason went still.

Embarrassment started creeping up your neck before he finally asked, “Supposed to according to who?”

“We’re friends.”

The word sounded considerably less convincing than it had earlier.

Jason looked down at the hand you still had pressed against his chest before meeting your eyes again. “If I kiss you, are you gonna tell me tomorrow that I misunderstood all this?”

Your breath caught. “No.”

Something in his face eased.

You curled your fingers into his shirt and kissed him before you could lose your nerve.

Jason hesitated for the briefest moment, surprise catching him even after everything you’d just admitted. Then his hand came up to your face, thumb settling beneath your cheekbone as he kissed you back.

The pillow was still wedged stupidly between you. Neither of you seemed to notice until you tried to move closer and it folded against Jason’s stomach, breaking the kiss with a muffled laugh.

He pulled it free and tossed it somewhere behind the couch.

When he looked back at you, the humor in his expression had softened into something that made your stomach turn over.

“Come here.”

This time, when he kissed you, you didn’t have to wonder whether he meant it.

You broke the kiss long enough to breathe. “This probably complicates the friendship thing.”

“Little bit.”

His mouth brushed yours again.

You smiled despite yourself. “Terrible timing.”

“Personally, I’m having a great birthday.”

That laugh barely had time to escape before he kissed you again.

His hands slipped beneath your shirt, but instead of immediately pulling you closer, Jason paused with his palms warm against your waist, like touching you this way required a second adjustment after years of casual contact. You felt the hesitation disappear when you leaned into him. His thumbs moved along your ribs, and you caught his lower lip between your teeth, making Jason’s fingers tighten at your waist.

The kiss deepened until the angle became awkward, your knee pressing into the couch beside his hip and his shoulders twisted toward you.

“Bedroom?” he murmured.

You nodded. Jason stood and, before you could follow, bent to slide one arm beneath your thighs and the other around your back. You made a startled noise as he lifted you, your arms going automatically around his shoulders.

“I can walk.”

“I know.”

He carried you anyway.

The ridiculousness of it should’ve broken the tension, but by the time he set you on the edge of your bed, the moment had turned serious again. He stood between your knees with his hands resting lightly on your thighs, looking at you as though the change of rooms had finally given him time to realize this was actually happening.

You reached for the hem of his shirt. Jason helped you pull it over his head before doing the same with yours. You’d seen him shirtless before, usually because knowing vigilantes had a way of making casual nudity around injuries considerably less interesting than it should’ve been, but this was different. There was nothing clinical about the way your gaze moved over him now.

He noticed, but for once he didn’t tease.

Jason bent and kissed you again as his fingers found the clasp of your bra. Once it was undone, he slipped the bra from your shoulders and let his palms glide slowly over your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples until your breathing changed beneath his mouth.

His lips followed, kissing his way down your chest, tongue sweeping over one nipple before his mouth closed around it as you leaned back on your hands. The sensation dragged a quiet moan from you, and Jason’s hand moved to your waist as though he wanted to feel the reaction everywhere at once.

He gave the other breast the same attention before moving lower.

Your jeans went next. Jason undid them and eased them down your legs, then hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulled those off too. He kissed your stomach as he lowered himself between your thighs, the sight of him there making heat gather low in your body.

His hands slid beneath your knees and parted your legs gently. He pressed a kiss against the inside of one thigh, then another higher up, taking his time until your fingers curled into the blanket beneath you.

When his mouth finally reached you, you inhaled sharply.

Jason dragged his tongue through you in a slow stroke before settling over your clit. Your head tipped back as pleasure spread through your stomach, immediate and bright enough to make your thighs tense around his shoulders. He didn’t rush, circling steadily while one finger eased inside you, curling against you until your hips moved toward his mouth. A second followed once you relaxed around him, and the combination made your breath break on his name.

Jason reached for one of your hands, lacing your fingers together against your hip while his mouth stayed between your thighs. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender that it sent another pulse of heat through you.

The pressure built quickly after that. Your body tightened around his fingers, your free hand gripping the sheets as the pleasure sharpened.

“Jason.”

He didn’t need anything more.

Your orgasm rolled through you hard enough to lift your hips from the mattress. Jason kept his mouth against you through it, fingers moving slowly until the tremors began to ease and you tugged weakly at the hand holding yours.

He finally lifted his head, and you were still trying to catch your breath when he climbed back onto the bed.

Jason kissed you before either of you said anything, and you tasted yourself on his tongue as his weight settled carefully between your thighs. The hard line of his cock pressed against your leg through his jeans, making it difficult to forget that he was considerably less unaffected than his patience had suggested.

You reached between you and palmed him.

His breath caught against your mouth.

“Still think the book was the best present?”

Jason’s eyes opened, and a smile threatened at the corner of his mouth. “You really want me answering that?”

“Maybe later.”

“Smart.”

You opened his belt before he could say anything else. Jason got off the bed long enough to strip out of his jeans and underwear, kicking them aside before climbing back onto the mattress.

His attention shifted toward your nightstand. He opened the top drawer and found a box of condoms, pulling one free before you took the packet from his hand.

He looked at you questioningly.

“I trust you.” You tossed it across the room, where it disappeared somewhere near the foot of the bed. “I’m clean, I’m on birth control, and I know you’re clean too. Bruce’s medical paranoia alone guarantees you’ve been tested more recently than most people I know.”

Jason’s expression shifted, surprise giving way to something warmer.

“I have.”

“I figured.”

His hand settled against your thigh. “And you’re sure?”

You drew him back between your legs. “I’m sure.”

Jason kissed you as he leaned over you again, his hand sliding along your thigh as you hooked a leg around his hip to bring him nearer.

The first press of him made your breath catch. Jason stayed close, watching you carefully as you adjusted. When you relaxed beneath him, you ran a hand up his back and pulled him closer, encouraging him to sink the rest of the way inside.

For a few seconds, Jason stayed still with his forehead resting against yours. His breathing had gone rough, the restraint in his body obvious enough that affection twisted unexpectedly through the heat in your stomach.

You kissed him. “Move.”

He did. The first few thrusts were slow, giving you time to adjust to the fullness of him. Jason braced one hand beside your head while the other settled at your hip, his rhythm gradually strengthening as your body loosened beneath him.

You wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him closer, and Jason groaned as the angle changed. His mouth moved from yours to your jaw, then lower along your throat, teeth grazing your skin before his tongue soothed the same spot.

Your fingers tightened against his shoulders.

“Careful,” you breathed. “You’re going to leave a mark.”

Jason paused and lifted his head enough to look at you.

You tilted your chin, giving him more room.

Understanding flashed across his face before his mouth returned to your neck. The light bite sent a shiver through you.

Jason’s pace grew less measured as your body responded to him, the bed shifting faintly beneath every thrust. You could hear the difference in his breathing near your ear, the occasional rough sound he failed to swallow when you tightened around him.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your skin. “You feel so good.”

The praise made your stomach tighten.

You slid one hand into his hair and kissed him, drawing him closer as another wave of pleasure began building. Jason seemed to feel the change in you. His hand left your hip and moved between your bodies, his thumb returning to your clit with the same rhythm that had worked so well earlier.

Your breath stuttered as he kept the pressure steady, his thrusts deepening as your legs tightened around him. The second orgasm built slower than the first but struck harder when it finally broke, your body clenching around his cock while you gasped his name into the space between you.

Jason’s rhythm faltered.

You pulled him into another kiss.

He managed only a few more thrusts before he came with a low groan against your mouth, hips pressing firmly to yours as the tension drained from his body.

For a little while, neither of you moved.

Jason eventually lowered his face into the side of your neck, and you ran your fingers lazily through his hair while both of you caught your breath.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured.

His laugh vibrated against your skin.

“That’s gonna be hard to top next year.”

“You’re assuming this becomes a tradition.”

Jason lifted his head just enough to look at you.

You couldn’t hold the expression for more than a second before smiling.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I thought.”

He kissed you once, softer this time, then carefully pulled out. A moment later, Jason slid one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back and lifted you from the bed.

You looped your arms around his shoulders as he carried you into the bathroom, too warm and pleasantly wrung out to argue with the decision. He set you down carefully beside the toilet, then reached over to start the shower while you cleaned up and peed.

By the time you were finished, steam had begun gathering along the glass. Jason stepped beneath the spray first and held a hand out for you, and you joined him a moment later.

The shower stayed quiet and unhurried. Jason washed the sweat from your skin and helped rinse between your thighs, his touch gentle after everything that had come before. You returned the favor, running soapy hands over his shoulders and chest until he caught one of your wrists and pressed a kiss to your palm.

Neither of you seemed in any hurry to get out.

Eventually, Jason shut off the water and reached for the towels, wrapping one around you before taking the other for himself. While you dried off, he used a washcloth to wipe the splashed water from the edge of the tub, then tossed it toward the hamper and missed by several inches.

You looked at the floor, then at him.

“I saw that.”

“You’re supposed to be an excellent shot.”

“I’m off duty.”

You laughed as Jason retrieved the washcloth with a muttered complaint and dropped it properly into the hamper this time.

When you finally returned to bed, clean and warm, Jason climbed in beside you and pulled you against his chest almost as soon as you settled beneath the blankets. The joking faded naturally as his arm wrapped around your waist, his breathing slow and steady against your shoulder.

With nothing left to distract either of you, you finally had time to think about what you’d actually done. You stayed quiet for a while, listening to Jason breathe behind you before turning enough to look at him.

“So what happens now?”

His arm stayed around your waist. “You mean besides me getting to tell everyone you seduced me on my birthday?”

“Jason.”

The teasing faded from his expression.

“I want this,” he said. “Not just tonight.”

The answer came easily enough that some of the tension you hadn’t realized you were carrying loosened.

“Good.”

Jason studied you for a moment. “That all I get?”

You smiled and shifted closer. “I want it too.”

His hand moved up your back, settling between your shoulder blades as he drew you into a kiss.

“So we’re not doing the friends thing anymore,” you murmured when you pulled away.

Jason’s expression softened. “I think we crossed that line on the couch.”

“Yeah.”

His thumb brushed along your cheek. “You okay with that?”

You smiled. “More than okay.”

Jason drew you into another kiss.

The book you’d found for him was still sitting beside two abandoned cake plates in the living room. His new gloves rested near the wrapping paper, the dinner cartons still needed to be put away, and there was probably frosting drying somewhere on your kitchen counter.

None of it seemed particularly urgent.

Jason’s fingers found yours beneath the blanket and linked them together.

After a while, he broke the comfortable silence. “You know, this was a pretty good birthday.”

You smiled against his chest. “Pretty good?”

“I don’t want it going to your head.”

“Too late.”

Jason tucked you closer against him, his fingers still loosely threaded through yours beneath the blankets. 

Whatever came after this could be figured out in the morning.

For now, neither of you seemed interested in putting any distance back between you.

credit to @uzmacchiato for the cherry divider ❤️💛

A paper bag rustled somewhere beyond the bathroom, and you paused with your fingers at the clasp. “Did you bring food?”

“I was already out.”

You stepped into the hallway and found Wally standing in your kitchen in jeans, sneakers, and the dark blue sweatshirt you’d given him two Christmases ago. A familiar takeout bag sat on the counter beside him, the restaurant’s name printed across the side in large red letters.

“That place is forty minutes away.”

Wally glanced at the bag as though he’d only just noticed where it came from. “For you.”

“You live twenty minutes in the opposite direction.”

“Geography is complicated.”

“You can run across the country in minutes.”

“Exactly. Really messes with your sense of distance.”

His mouth twitched when you folded your arms, and you had to fight your own smile. Wally had always been able to talk his way through being caught doing something ridiculous, but bringing your favorite takeout from across the city on the night of your third date with Jacob was particularly shameless.

“I have dinner plans,” you reminded him.

“I know.”

The answer came quickly enough to make you narrow your eyes.

Wally opened the bag and busied himself arranging your usual order and the dumplings you always claimed you wouldn’t finish. “You told me.”

“I told you I had a date.”

“Right.”

“My third date.”

“I wasn’t keeping count.”

You stared at him.

He lasted three seconds before looking away.

“Wally.”

“What?”

“You hate him.”

“I’ve never met him.”

“You called him boring.”

“I said architecture sounded boring.”

“You asked if he designed parking garages and then sent me seventeen pictures of ugly ones.”

“That was research.”

You finally laughed, and the satisfaction on his face suggested he’d been waiting for it. He nudged the dumplings toward you, apparently deciding that making you smile meant he’d won something.

“At least eat one before you go.”

“We’re getting dinner.”

“Fine. But if the portions are tiny and pretentious, these will be in the fridge.”

There was enough genuine concern beneath the joke that your chest softened despite yourself. Wally had always taken care of you in ways small enough to dismiss individually. He remembered what you ordered when you were sick, noticed when you were almost out of cereal, and could tell the difference between the silence that meant you wanted company and the silence that meant you wanted to be left alone.

It was what best friends did.

At least, that was what the two of you had been telling people for years.

Whenever someone mistook you for a couple, one of you corrected them and the other agreed. You were “just friends” when Wally started keeping a toothbrush in your bathroom. “Just friends” when you became the first person he called after missions. “Just friends” when he stopped asking before putting an arm around you or resting his hand on your thigh because casual affection had become so ordinary between you that neither of you seemed to notice it anymore.

You’d believed the explanation because examining the alternative had always seemed more dangerous.

Then Wally looked up and saw your dress properly.

His gaze caught somewhere below your face. The dress wasn’t particularly revealing, but it followed your waist and hips closely, with a neckline low enough that you’d spent five minutes debating necklaces before deciding against one. You’d worn it before. Wally had certainly seen you in less.

He’d never looked at you quite like this.

“What?”

His eyes snapped back to yours. “Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You look nice.”

There was nothing unusual about the compliment. Wally told you that you looked nice when you’d spent two hours getting ready and when you were wearing stained sweatpants with your hair barely brushed. He’d once called you beautiful while you had the flu, immediately followed by a warning not to sneeze in his direction.

Something about the careful way he said it now sent warmth creeping up your chest.

“Thank you.”

His gaze dipped again before he caught himself. “Really nice.”

“For my date,” you said, because apparently you enjoyed making him uncomfortable.

Wally’s expression tightened for an instant. “Yeah.”

Your phone buzzed from the bathroom counter before you could decide whether you’d imagined it.

Jacob was downstairs.

By the time you were ready to leave, Wally was sliding the untouched food into your refrigerator. He knew where everything went without asking. Of course he did. Three of his shirts were in your dresser, a charger for his phone had lived beside your couch for over a year, and he’d somehow become the emergency contact at your dentist after driving you home loopy and miserable from getting your wisdom teeth removed.

“I might be home late,” you said.

“That’s okay.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

“I know.” His gaze moved toward the television, where he’d already queued one of the movies the two of you kept meaning to watch. “I figured we could start this if you got back early.”

“Movie night is Thursday.”

“It was an optimistic assumption.”

The joke landed more quietly than the others.

You studied him for a moment before reaching for the door. “I’ll text you.”

His expression brightened before he managed to hide it. “You don’t have to.”

“I always do.”

“Yeah.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. “Have fun.”

You made it halfway through the doorway before he called your name.

When you turned, Wally looked like he’d almost worked up the courage to say something else. His attention dropped briefly over your dress before his smile softened.

“Seriously,” he said. “You look beautiful.”

Your heart stumbled hard enough to annoy you.

“Thanks, Walls.”

You left before it could do anything stupider.

The date was fine, which was the problem.

Jacob was nice. He remembered that you’d mentioned liking the restaurant, asked questions without turning dinner into an interview, and made you laugh often enough that you stopped checking your phone after the first hour. He was attractive, thoughtful, and plainly interested in seeing you again.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with him.

You should’ve wanted him to kiss you.

When he walked you back to your building and leaned in, you let him. His mouth was warm, one hand resting lightly at your waist as the kiss lingered for several pleasant seconds.

Pleasant should’ve been enough.

Instead, your mind supplied the memory of another hand settling in that exact place as Wally guided you through a crowded room, his palm familiar and careless against your side because neither of you had ever thought twice about touching each other.

Jacob drew back with a smile. “I had a really good time.”

“So did I.”

“Can I call you tomorrow?”

You hesitated only long enough to hate yourself for it. “Yeah.”

He wished you goodnight and walked away, leaving you with the uncomfortable realization that you were comparing a perfectly decent man to someone who had never actually asked you for anything more than friendship.

By the time you reached your floor, there was a thin strip of light beneath your apartment door.

Wally was still there.

You unlocked the door and found him stretched across your couch with the movie paused on the television. He sat up almost immediately, his eyes moving over you with a speed that had nothing to do with his powers.

“You’re home.”

“You’re still here.”

“I got invested.”

“You paused it less than a quarter in.”

“I got moderately invested.”

You set your purse beside the door and slipped out of your shoes. Wally’s gaze lingered on your face, and you knew the instant he noticed your lipstick had been smudged.

His expression changed.

“Don’t,” you said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

His jaw shifted before he tried for something casual. “Did you have a good time?”

“You want to ask if he kissed me.”

Wally’s eyes dropped to your mouth before he could stop them.

You touched your smudged lipstick. “That obvious?”

His expression tightened. “A little.”

You watched him for a moment. “You’re jealous.”

Wally gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “I’m not jealous.”

“You showed up with my favorite food before my date and then stayed in my apartment until I got home.”

“I’m here all the time.”

“That’s part of the problem.”

His smile faded.

You hadn’t meant to say it like that. Maybe you hadn’t meant to say it at all, but now that the words were out, everything you’d been deliberately ignoring for years seemed to crowd forward at once.

Wally pushed himself upright. “What does that mean?”

“It means you do this all the time.” You gestured helplessly around the apartment. “You let yourself in. You keep clothes here. You know when I’m almost out of groceries and when I haven’t answered my phone for three hours. You sleep in my bed when you don’t feel like going home, call me the second you get back from missions, kiss my forehead when you leave, and touch me whenever you want because we decided years ago that none of it means anything.”

His brows drew together. “I never said it didn’t mean anything.”

“You say we’re friends.”

“We are.”

The answer hurt more than it should have.

You laughed under your breath and looked away. “Exactly.”

Wally stood. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He took a step toward you before stopping again. For someone whose entire life happened faster than everyone else’s, he looked strangely lost.

“You don’t get to act like my boyfriend every day and then remind me we’re just friends whenever it gets inconvenient,” you said.

Wally stared at you.

The silence stretched long enough for regret to begin curling in your stomach.

Then his expression shifted from confusion to something almost wounded. “Is that what you think I’ve been doing?”

“What else am I supposed to think?”

“I thought you didn’t want anything else.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because every time somebody thought we were together, you told them we weren’t.”

“So did you.”

“Because you did it first.”

The ridiculous simplicity of the answer stopped you.

Wally dragged a hand through his hair. “Do you remember that party at Dick’s four years ago? Somebody asked how long we’d been dating, and you nearly inhaled your drink trying to explain that we were friends. I thought you were making it clear.”

“That was four years ago.”

“I know.”

“And you decided that one conversation meant I could never change my mind?”

“I decided I wasn’t going to risk losing you because I wanted more than you did.”

The anger drained out of you almost immediately.

For years, you had each apparently been taking the other’s caution as rejection and responding with more caution of your own.

A helpless laugh escaped you.

Wally blinked. “What?”

“We’re idiots.”

His mouth twitched despite himself. “I was going to say victims of poor communication.”

“You’re supposed to be faster than this.”

“That was mean.”

“You earned it.”

His smile lasted only a second before his attention dropped to your mouth.

The air between you shifted.

“Did you want him to kiss you?” he asked.

Your breath caught.

“That isn’t fair.”

“I know.” Wally didn’t look away. “And I know I don’t get to be mad at you for going out with somebody when I’ve spent years pretending this is enough for me. But I am jealous. So fucking jealous, actually.”

The admission sent heat rushing through you despite the conversation that had produced it.

He stepped closer, leaving barely a foot between you.

“If you want me to back off, I will,” he said. “But if you’re telling me that I’ve been acting like your boyfriend, I need to know whether you actually want me to stop.”

You swallowed. “What if I don’t?”

Hope appeared so quickly on his face that your chest tightened.

Wally stepped closer. “Then I need you to tell me what you do want.”

This time, Wally didn’t fill the silence. He simply waited while you looked at the man who had been woven so thoroughly into your life that you’d stopped noticing where friendship ended and everything else began.

You reached for the front of his sweatshirt. His breath caught when your fingers curled into the fabric.

“Kiss me.”

He did.

The first press of his lips was softer than you’d expected after years of yearning. One hand settled carefully at your waist while the other cupped your jaw, and for several seconds Wally kissed you like he was still afraid this might disappear if he moved too quickly.

You leaned into him.

Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto broke.

His mouth opened against yours with a quiet sound that sent heat through you, and his arm slid firmly around your waist as he pulled you closer. You knew the warmth of his body and the fit of his hands around you, but you’d never known what it felt like when those same hands tightened because he wanted you.

Wally drew back just far enough to breathe.

“Holy shit.”

You laughed softly. “Romantic.”

“I’ve wanted to do that for years. Give me a second.”

“You stopped kissing me for that?”

His eyes flashed with sudden amusement before his mouth found yours again.

This kiss was harder.

Your back met the door as Wally crowded closer, his hand moving into your hair while his thigh settled between yours. Your hips shifted instinctively against him, and the groan he gave into your mouth made every familiar touch abruptly feel new.

His lips moved along your jaw toward your throat.

“You’ve sat in my lap wearing those tiny sleep shorts,” he murmured against your skin. “Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

“You always acted fine.”

“I was fighting for my life.”

You laughed, though it dissolved into a breath when his teeth grazed lightly below your ear. His hand slid lower to cup your ass through your dress, bringing you more firmly against his thigh.

“That wasn’t very friendly,” you whispered.

“Thank God.”

You kissed him before he could say anything else.

Wally lifted you easily, and your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you toward the couch. The movement drew a startled laugh from you, but he only smiled against your mouth before sitting with you straddling his lap.

The position should’ve felt ordinary. You’d landed in his lap before while wrestling for the remote, stealing his phone, or laughing hard enough to lose your balance.

You’d never felt him hard beneath you.

Your first slow roll of your hips wiped the smile from Wally’s face. His hands tightened around your waist as his head tipped back against the couch, a rough breath escaping him.

The reaction made you do it again.

“Careful,” he murmured.

“You’ve waited four years.”

“Exactly. I’d like to survive the next ten minutes.”

You leaned down and kissed his throat, smiling when his hips shifted beneath yours. Wally’s hands slid under your dress and along your thighs, but the humor gradually left his expression as his fingertips moved higher.

“Can I touch you?”

“Yes.”

He looked at you for another second, giving you time to change your mind, before his hand slipped between your thighs.

The first press of his fingers over your underwear made your breath catch.

Wally’s eyes darkened. “You’re already so wet.”

“You’ve had your thigh between my legs since the door.”

“Still taking the win.”

You rolled your eyes, but any response disappeared when he stroked over your clit through the fabric. Your hips followed the movement before you could stop them, and Wally watched you with an intensity that made your face warm.

“I’ve wondered about this so many times,” he admitted, slipping his fingers beneath your underwear. “What you’d sound like. What you’d feel like.”

His fingertip circled your clit directly, pulling a soft gasp from you.

“You could’ve found out sooner.”

“I’m painfully aware.”

You caught his lower lip between your teeth before he could make another joke. Wally’s fingers pressed more firmly against you, and your thighs tightened around his hips as heat gathered low in your stomach.

He kissed you again, slower this time.

“Bedroom?”

You glanced toward the hallway, then back at him. “What, getting tired already?”

The challenge had barely left your mouth before Wally stood with you still wrapped around him.

You laughed against his shoulder. “Show-off.”

“You started it.”

He carried you into the bedroom without using his speed, giving you time to feel every step and every shift of his hands against your thighs.

Your back met the mattress gently.

Wally followed you down, braced above you with an expression that had lost almost all of its usual mischief. His fingers found the zipper at the side of your dress.

“Can I?”

You nodded.

He pulled the zipper down slowly, kissing the newly exposed skin as he worked the dress from your body. When it finally slipped away, Wally went still.

His gaze moved over you with such open want that self-consciousness prickled beneath your skin.

“Say something.”

His eyes returned to yours. “I’m trying very hard not to embarrass myself.”

“That bad?”

“That good.”

Your smile softened.

Wally bent to kiss the center of your chest, then lower, his mouth following the curve beneath your breast as one hand settled over your hip.

“You’re beautiful.”

The quiet sincerity of it hit harder than any of his teasing had.

You touched his hair and let yourself feel the weight of what was happening. This was Wally. The man who knew how you took your tea and which side of the bed you preferred, who had seen you sick and exhausted and furious, who’d already been present for so many ordinary pieces of your life that there was almost nothing left to learn except this.

When his lips returned to yours, you tugged at the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Your turn.”

Wally sat back long enough to strip, using just enough speed to make you blink. His sweatshirt and jeans appeared neatly over the desk chair before he settled between your thighs in his boxers.

You stared.

He gave you an unapologetic grin. “Efficient.”

Your hand closed over him through the fabric.

The grin vanished.

A strained sound left his throat as you stroked him slowly, the hard length of his cock pressing into your palm.

“That’s going to become a problem very quickly.”

You smiled. “Good.”

Wally caught your wrist gently before you could speed up, then kissed your palm.

“Later.”

Before you could protest, his mouth moved down your stomach.

Understanding arrived when his fingers hooked into your underwear.

Your breath caught.

Wally glanced up. “Still okay?”

“Yeah.”

He drew them slowly down your legs.

After years of wanting this, you might’ve expected him to rush. Instead, he settled between your thighs and kissed the inside of one, then the other, his hands spreading them wider before his attention dropped between them.

The anticipation alone made you squirm.

“Wally.”

His mouth twitched. “I know.”

Then his tongue dragged slowly through your folds.

Your head sank back into the pillow.

Wally groaned as though he were the one being touched, his tongue circling your clit before flattening against it. He lingered whenever your breathing changed, quickly finding the pressure that made your hips lift from the mattress and your fingers tighten in his hair.

“Fuck,” you breathed.

His hands tightened around your thighs, and you felt his smile against you before his mouth returned to your clit. One finger slipped slowly inside you and curled.

Your back arched. “Oh.”

His eyes lifted to yours before he repeated the motion, adding a second finger and stretching you carefully while his mouth returned to your clit.

The combination drove coherent thought out of your head.

Your grip tightened in his hair as he worked his fingers steadily inside you, finding the spot that made your stomach clench and refusing to lose it once he had it. Pleasure built quickly, sharpened by the intimacy of knowing exactly whose mouth was between your thighs.

“Wally.”

His gaze met yours, and that was enough to send you over. Your orgasm rolled through you hard, your hips lifting as your body clenched around his fingers. Wally held you through it, keeping his mouth exactly where you needed him until the tension broke into trembling aftershocks.

He finally eased back and kissed the inside of your thigh.

The pleased look on his face was almost unbearable.

“Don’t start.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“You look smug.”

“I just made my best friend come on my tongue. I think I’m allowed an emotion.”

Your face heated. “Just your best friend?”

His eyebrows lifted.

You caught his shoulders and dragged him upward before he could turn that into another argument.

Wally laughed into the kiss, but the sound disappeared when you tasted yourself on his mouth and pulled him closer. His hips settled between your thighs, the hard length of him dragging against you through his boxers.

You reached down and pushed his boxers over his hips. Wally kicked them away before your hand wrapped around his cock.

The first slow stroke drew a rough breath from him and made his eyes slide closed, while the second sent his hips bucking into your hand.

“You’ve been hiding this from me?”

He opened one eye. “I feel like there are flaws in that accusation.”

You laughed and kissed him before sliding your hand down again.

Wally caught your wrist after another stroke. “If you keep doing that, this ends before the part I’ve been fantasizing about for four years.”

Heat curled low in your stomach. “I want you inside me.”

His entire expression changed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You reached toward the nightstand, but Wally paused.

“Do we need a condom?”

“I’m on birth control, and my last screening was clear.”

“Mine too.”

You searched his face. “You’re comfortable without one?”

“Yes.”

“Then come here.”

He kissed you as he settled between your thighs.

The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, and both of you went completely quiet.

This felt different from everything else.

Wally looked at you, checking one last time.

You wrapped one leg around his waist and drew him closer. “Fuck me, Wally.”

He pushed inside. The stretch made your breath catch, and Wally stopped immediately.

“You okay?”

“I’m good.” You ran your fingers through his hair, keeping his forehead against yours. “Keep going.”

He sank deeper with deliberate care until his hips finally settled against yours.

The fullness stole your breath.

Wally stayed still for several seconds, his eyes closing as he exhaled shakily against your cheek. “You feel incredible.”

You shifted beneath him.

His hands tightened against the sheets.

A laugh escaped you. “You planning on moving?”

“I was having a moment.”

“You can have it while moving.”

His smile returned, softer than before.

Then he drew back and thrust into you.

The first few strokes were slow, giving you time to adjust before the stretch settled into pleasure. You pulled him closer with your legs and met the next movement of his hips, and Wally’s control loosened.

His pace increased gradually.

Your hands moved over his back as he fucked into you, each deeper thrust pulling another sound from your throat. He kissed your mouth, your jaw, the side of your neck, never staying away from you for long enough to make the closeness feel accidental.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

“Keep going.”

His next thrust was harder.

Pleasure jolted through you.

Wally watched your expression before doing it again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His hand slipped between your bodies and found your clit.

Your legs tightened around him. 

“Fuck, Wally.”

He groaned at the sound of his name, his mouth brushing your ear. “You feel so good.”

The words went straight through you.

You’d known Wally’s voice in almost every circumstance imaginable: breathless with laughter, exhausted after missions, quiet on nights when whatever he’d seen wouldn’t leave him alone. You had never heard it like this, low and strained against your skin as he told you how good you felt around him.

You kissed him because the intimacy of it suddenly felt overwhelming.

Wally groaned into your mouth. “I love you.”

Everything inside you seemed to stop at once.

His hips did too.

Wally’s eyes opened.

The realization on his face might’ve been funny if your own heart hadn’t started pounding.

“I didn’t mean to say that right now.”

“Right now?”

“I mean, I meant it.” His words began coming faster as panic set in. “Obviously I meant it. I just had a whole idea about eventually saying it in a situation where I wasn’t actively inside you, because this is maybe not the most dignified—”

You kissed him.

Wally made a startled sound before his hand came up to cup your cheek.

“I love you too.”

He went completely still.

When you pulled back, the expression on his face made your chest ache.

“Really?”

You smiled. “Really.”

The joy that broke across his features was immediate.

You tightened deliberately around him.

Wally’s eyes widened.

“That was evil.”

“You stopped.”

“I was having the most important emotional breakthrough of my life.”

“You can have it while fucking me.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped him before his hips drove forward.

“God, I love you.”

This time your laugh became a moan.

Wally buried his face against your neck as his pace turned deeper and rougher, one hand gripping your hip while the other continued working steadily over your clit.

The pressure climbed quickly. You held onto him as your orgasm gathered low in your stomach, each thrust pushing you closer until your body tightened abruptly around him.

Your second orgasm hit harder than the first.

You cried out against his shoulder as Wally fucked you through it, his rhythm faltering when your cunt clenched around him. “Fuck.”

He lifted his head, breathing hard.

“Can I come inside you?”

The question sent another pulse through your oversensitive body.

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Wally.”

His mouth found yours as his hips drove forward again.

A few strokes later, his body tensed above you. Wally pushed deep with a broken groan, his cock pulsing inside you as he came.

For several seconds, neither of you moved.

His breathing gradually slowed against your cheek before he lifted his head and looked at you.

A smile tugged at his mouth.

You narrowed your eyes. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t.”

“I was only wondering whether this is still covered under friendship.”

You covered your face with both hands.

Wally laughed softly and kissed your fingers.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

His smile softened.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You do.”

You lowered your hands and kissed him.

Wally eased out of you carefully before disappearing toward the bathroom. He returned with a warm washcloth and a glass of water, cleaning you gently before climbing back into bed.

You settled against his chest without thinking.

That was when the strangeness of everything finally caught up with you. You’d slept like this hundreds of times. Wally’s arm curved around your waist the way it always did, and your cheek found the familiar place over his heart.

Only now, you were naked, pleasantly sore, and his come was still inside you.

You started laughing.

Wally looked down at you. “What?”

“We’ve been ridiculous.”

“Extremely.”

“You’ve had a toothbrush here for three years.”

“And?”

“You bought me a vacuum.”

“Your old one was a fire hazard.”

“You went to my cousin’s wedding.”

“You needed someone to dance with.”

“You told everyone you weren’t my date.”

Wally sighed. “Okay, that one looks bad in retrospect.”

Your laughter softened as his fingers moved lazily over your back.

The absurdity of it all had hidden something more frightening underneath. You’d crossed the line the two of you had spent years carefully avoiding, and there was no pretending it hadn’t changed anything.

“Wally?”

“Hmm?”

“What happens now?”

The humor left his face.

He looked at you properly before brushing his thumb along your side. “What do you want to happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.”

“You’re not worried?”

“I’m terrified.” He smiled faintly when you looked up at him. “I’m just also pretty sure I’ve been accidentally dating you for years already.”

Warmth spread slowly through your chest.

“You’re very confident for someone who didn’t realize he was in a relationship.”

“I knew I was committed.” His hand settled at your waist. “I knew I wasn’t interested in anyone else. I just thought this was all I was allowed to have.”

That quieted you.

“I have to tell Jacob.”

A flicker of jealousy crossed Wally’s face before he grimaced at himself. “Right.”

“We weren’t exclusive.”

“I know.”

“And he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know that too.”

You rested your chin against his chest. “You still think architecture is boring?”

“I’m willing to admit that the parking garage thing was beneath me.”

“Seventeen pictures.”

“I was going through something.”

You laughed and tucked yourself closer.

“I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“Good.” Wally kissed your forehead, then seemed to realize what he’d done.

The gesture was exactly the same as it had always been.

That made it feel entirely different.

His eyes met yours.

“So,” he said carefully, “boyfriend?”

You pretended to consider it.

Wally looked offended. “Seriously?”

“I’m thinking.”

“I brought you dumplings from forty minutes away.”

“You tried to sabotage my date with carbohydrates.”

“I respected your right to make terrible romantic decisions.”

You smiled and shifted over him until you were straddling his hips again. “That’s a generous interpretation.”

Wally’s hands settled automatically at your waist. “I’m choosing growth.”

His own smile faded into something warmer when you leaned down and kissed him.

“Boyfriend,” you agreed against his mouth.

His entire face lit up. “You’re my girlfriend.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’ve spent four years telling myself you weren’t.”

You kissed him before he could get sentimental enough to make your chest hurt, smiling when you rolled your hips and felt him beginning to harden beneath you again.

His hands tightened around your waist.

“Friends don’t do that,” he said.

“Good thing you got promoted.”

Wally rolled you beneath him, laughing as he kissed you again.

For once, neither of you bothered pretending you were just friends.

credit to @uzmacchiato for the cherry divider ❤️💛

Wally’s head turned toward you.

You kept your attention fixed on the receptionist.

Of course it did.

The mission had sounded simple when Barry explained it that morning. A broker named Evan Rourke had been moving stolen experimental technology between small metahuman groups, staying mobile enough that ARGUS had struggled to predict where he would make his next exchange. Someone had finally gotten a reliable lead, and you and Wally were supposed to follow without engaging, identify whoever met Rourke, document the handoff, and call in the rest of the team once the merchandise changed hands.

Rourke had spent most of the evening driving before abruptly pulling into the hotel. The team couldn’t move without evidence of the exchange, and Wally couldn’t simply take you home when Rourke might leave again at any moment. Someone had to keep eyes on him, and the married-couple cover worked considerably better with both halves of the marriage physically present.

Apparently, it also came with one bed.

“That’ll be fine,” you said.

Wally coughed into his fist.

The receptionist handed you two keycards. “Breakfast starts at seven.”

“Thanks.”

Wally took both overnight bags before you could reach for yours. “Come on, honey.”

You waited until the elevator doors closed before elbowing him in the ribs.

He looked down at you, grin widening. “What?”

“You know what.”

“I’m committed to the cover.”

“You’re enjoying the cover.”

“That too.”

The elevator climbed while you stared at the glowing numbers rather than his reflection in the metal doors.

Six months ago, you would’ve leaned into him without thinking. Wally would’ve put an arm around you, probably kissed your temple, and almost certainly complained about how long the elevator was taking even though using the stairs at superspeed would’ve defeated the point of pretending to be ordinary.

Six months ago, someone calling you Mrs. Callahan while Wally stood beside you would’ve been funny.

Now, the cheap wedding band on your finger felt heavier than it had any right to.

Wally’s smile faded before the elevator reached your floor. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

His expression made it clear he didn’t believe you, but he only nodded. “All right.”

The restraint somehow made it worse.

Rourke’s room was on the fourth floor of the hotel’s east wing, where an exterior walkway overlooked the open courtyard between the two halves of the building. Your suite sat one level higher across the courtyard, with a clear view of his door, most of his window, and the side parking lot below. It wasn’t a coincidence. Barry had managed to secure the original room because of the sightline, and the booking mistake had at least left you in the same position.

The suite itself was nicer than expected, with a narrow sitting area, two armchairs near the window, a small table, and a bathroom that was trying hard to justify the hotel’s use of the word luxury.

The king bed dominated the room.

Wally stopped behind you. “That is aggressively one bed.”

You glanced toward the sitting area. “No couch.”

“I noticed.”

He looked at the carpet for a second too long.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“I was evaluating our options.”

“We’ll figure it out when we’re actually going to sleep. Set up the surveillance kit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You kicked off your shoes while he unpacked the equipment onto the table by the window. The familiar efficiency of working beside him came back too easily. You closed the curtains until only a narrow gap remained. Wally positioned the long-range camera toward Rourke’s door and set a compact laser microphone on a tripod beside it, calibrating the beam against the glass of Rourke’s window. You pulled the hotel directory from beneath the television and wedged it beneath one corner of the table when you noticed the receiver wobbling.

Wally glanced down. “You do that every time you find an uneven table.”

“Because it works.”

“You flattened one of the inserts from my comic like that once.”

“It was an advertisement for sea monkeys.”

“I could’ve wanted sea monkeys.”

“You were twenty-six.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Your laugh escaped before you could stop it.

Wally looked at you, and the ease of the moment vanished almost as quickly as it had arrived. For a second, you were back in his apartment with his comics spread across the coffee table and his feet in your lap, arguing about something neither of you had cared enough to remember afterward.

The receiver chirped.

Both of you turned.

Rourke had crossed in front of his window, but no one had joined him.

You settled in to wait.

Surveillance involved considerably less excitement than TV suggested. Two hours passed with Rourke ordering room service, making one uninteresting phone call about an invoice, and apparently watching a game loudly enough for the laser microphone to pick up fragments of the commentary through the vibration of the glass.

You and Wally ate vending-machine crackers because neither of you could leave long enough to find anything better.

When you reached for another packet, something landed in your lap.

Peanut butter cups, your favorite brand.

You looked at him. “You still carry these?”

“Emergency calories.”

“You don’t even like them.”

“They’re too sweet.”

“You once ate an entire birthday cake because Barry dared you.”

“That was competitive eating. Different rules.”

You turned the package over in your hands. “So why these?”

Wally’s attention shifted toward the receiver. His fingers moved over a setting that didn’t need adjusting.

“Habit, I guess.”

The answer settled somewhere uncomfortable beneath your ribs.

“That seems like a bad habit to keep for six months.”

His hand stilled.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe.”

Neither of you spoke again until movement across the courtyard pulled your attention back to the mission.

By one in the morning, Rourke still hadn’t met anyone. Wally checked in with Barry through the encrypted comm and received the same instruction you’d expected: stay put. Another team was tracking a likely associate headed in your direction, but weather farther north had slowed traffic, and no one knew whether the exchange would happen in the middle of the night or after breakfast.

Wally leaned back in his chair and scrubbed both hands over his face. “I hate waiting.”

“I know.”

His knee had been bouncing for the better part of twenty minutes, and eventually you nudged it with your foot.

He looked at you.

“You’re shaking the table.”

“Sorry.”

He forced his leg still.

The quiet that followed lasted until a woman appeared on the exterior walkway across the courtyard and knocked on Rourke’s door.

Both of you were moving before he let her inside.

For the next hour and a half, the mission demanded your full attention. You photographed the woman when she crossed the walkway to retrieve a slim case from her car, and Wally sent facial captures back to the team. The laser microphone only caught pieces of the conversation through the window, but there was enough to confirm that she wasn’t the buyer. She was another intermediary, and the actual handoff would happen in the morning after a third party arrived.

By the time she left, it was nearly three.

Rourke remained awake for another twenty minutes before the lights in his room went out and the camera showed no further movement. Wally switched the surveillance program into alert mode, drawing a detection box around Rourke’s door so the tablet would sound if it opened. He added a second trigger for any significant audio picked up by the microphone, tested both alerts twice, and set the tablet on the nightstand.

“If he moves, that’ll wake us up,” he said.

“Good.”

You looked at the bed.

Wally followed your gaze, then briefly looked toward the floor.

“Don’t.”

“It was a thought.”

“Kill it.”

His mouth twitched. “Okay.”

He showered first while you stayed with the equipment, and you traded places when he returned in gray sweatpants and a faded T-shirt. The hot water helped work some of the stiffness out of your shoulders, but it did nothing for the awareness that you were about to climb into bed with the man you’d spent the last six months trying to convince yourself you were over.

You stayed under the spray longer than necessary before finally drying off and changing into sleep shorts and an old T-shirt.

Wally was sitting against the headboard when you emerged, checking the tablet one last time. He looked up.

His gaze lingered for half a second.

That was all it took.

You remembered exactly what it felt like to walk out of his bathroom wearing one of his shirts instead of your own, your skin still warm from the shower while he reached for you before you’d made it halfway across the bedroom.

Wally cleared his throat and set the tablet aside.

“You can have whichever side you want.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay.”

He took two spare pillows and laid them lengthwise down the center of the mattress.

You stared at them.

“For your peace of mind,” he said.

“You move in your sleep.”

“I do not.”

“You kicked me once.”

“That was never proven.”

“It happened more than once.”

Wally considered that. “Weak evidence.”

You added another pillow to the divider.

His quiet laugh followed you under the blankets.

The lamp clicked off, and darkness settled across the room.

You lay facing the window while Wally remained on the other side of the pillow barrier. For several minutes, neither of you spoke. Pipes shifted somewhere behind the wall, and occasional headlights moved across the ceiling before disappearing again. The tablet remained silent on the nightstand.

Eventually Wally shifted behind you.

“You’re on the door side.”

You opened your eyes.

“I know.”

“You hate sleeping there.”

Your throat tightened. “I’ll survive.”

“I know you will. Switch with me anyway.”

The mattress moved as he sat up. You hesitated before sliding across to the opposite side over the pillows, taking his place while he climbed out and circled the foot of the bed. When he settled nearest the door, he tugged the pillow divider back into position between you as though nothing about the exchange mattered.

“You remembered.”

Wally pulled the blanket higher over his shoulder. “Some things stick.”

The answer settled between you. You turned onto your back and stared at the ceiling, suddenly too aware of how easily the two of you had fallen into old habits tonight. The jokes, the food he still carried because you liked it, the way he’d switched sides of the bed without making you ask.

You’d spent the last six months learning how to be around him without talking about any of that. Titans gatherings had become manageable. You’d worked one short mission together without incident. Birthday and holiday texts had been friendly, and conversations stayed safely on subjects neither of you could accidentally turn into the relationship you no longer had.

Tonight had stopped feeling safe somewhere along the way.

“Were you ever angry with me?”

Wally was quiet for a moment. “Yeah.”

You turned your head toward him.

“I still am sometimes,” he admitted. “Mostly I was confused.”

“Because I left?”

“Because I thought we were happy.”

Your throat tightened.

“We were.”

His brow furrowed. “Then I still don’t understand.”

You looked back at the ceiling. This was the conversation you’d avoided every time the two of you managed to be friendly, because explaining yourself meant admitting just how badly you’d gotten it wrong.

“I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you.”

Wally went still.

The silence that followed seemed louder than anything Rourke had done across the courtyard all night.

“That’s a pretty significant detail.”

“I know.”

“You never said that.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“I thought you didn’t want the relationship anymore.”

“I thought that was what I wanted.”

Wally turned his head toward you. In the darkness, you could only make out the faint line of his profile.

“What changed?”

“Nothing, really.” You swallowed. “That’s the problem.”

He waited.

“I got scared because everything had gotten serious without either of us ever sitting down and deciding that it was going to. Half my stuff was at your apartment. You knew my schedule better than I did. Everyone treated us like we came as a pair, and one day I realized I couldn’t picture my life without you.”

“That doesn’t sound like something you hated.”

“I didn’t hate it.”

“Then why leave?”

You closed your eyes for a moment. “Because I thought needing someone that much meant I was losing myself. I kept telling myself I needed to know who I was without us before I let us become my whole future.”

Wally was quiet.

You turned onto your side to face him.

“The stupid part is that I knew exactly who I was with you. I was happy. I just got scared because being that happy meant I had something enormous to lose.”

His jaw tightened.

“So you left before you could lose it.”

“Yeah.”

“Did that help?”

A humorless laugh slipped out. “Not even a little.”

Wally looked away.

You watched his throat move when he swallowed.

“I wish you’d told me.”

“So do I.”

“We could’ve talked about it.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve listened.”

“I know.”

His gaze returned to yours. “Are you going to give me anything besides ‘I know’?”

You winced. “I don’t have a defense, Wally. You’re right.”

That seemed to take some of the frustration out of him. He exhaled slowly and looked back at the ceiling.

“I spent six months waiting for distance to make the breakup make sense,” you continued. “I thought eventually I’d feel relieved, or freer, or realize I’d been right about something. Instead, I still reach for food you like when I’m grocery shopping. Something happens and you’re the first person I want to tell. I still miss finding your shoes in the middle of my hallway, which is probably the strongest evidence that something is seriously wrong with me.”

The corner of his mouth moved.

“Those shoes nearly killed you once.”

“Because you left them everywhere.”

“I remember the accusation.”

You smiled despite yourself, and the small moment of humor made the next words easier.

“I miss you.”

His smile disappeared.

“You miss me,” he repeated quietly.

“Yes.”

“Not just this?” His hand gestured vaguely between you, encompassing the hotel, the bed, the entire absurd situation. “Because I can handle you missing parts of what we had. I can’t do this if tomorrow you decide we got lonely and nostalgic.”

“I’m not going to.”

“You thought you wanted to leave me once.”

The words stung because he had every right to say them.

You reached toward the pillow between you and stopped with your fingers resting against the edge.

“I want to try again.”

Wally’s eyes stayed on yours.

“I want to do it properly this time. I want to tell you when I’m scared instead of making a decision for both of us. I want to stop pretending being friendly with you is enough when I spend half the night after every Titans get-together wishing you’d stayed.”

His expression tightened with something you couldn’t quite read.

“You understand I’m still angry sometimes.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll think I’m over it, and then something reminds me and I’m pissed all over again.”

“You’re allowed to be.”

“And I don’t want to be something you reach for because you miss me tonight and then spend the next three weeks reconsidering.”

“You won’t be.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

Wally studied your face for several seconds.

“You’re sure?”

You reached across the pillow and took his hand.

“Yes.”

His fingers closed around yours immediately.

That simple contact undid something in you more effectively than anything else had.

“You have any idea how many times I wanted you to say that?” he asked.

Your eyes burned. “I should’ve said it sooner.”

“Yeah.” His thumb moved slowly over your knuckles. “You should have.”

You nodded, accepting it.

After another moment, his grip softened.

“If we do this, we go slowly where we need to. We talk when something’s wrong. You don’t disappear inside your own head and make choices for both of us.”

“I won’t.”

“And I tell you when I’m angry instead of pretending I’m completely fine because I’m scared you’ll leave again.”

Your fingers tightened around his.

“Okay.”

Wally looked at your joined hands before meeting your eyes again.

“Then we try again.”

Relief moved through you so suddenly that you almost laughed.

“We try again.”

Neither of you let go.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first. One moment the pillow still separated you, and the next both of you were angled over it, close enough that Wally’s breath touched your mouth.

His gaze dropped to your lips.

“Tell me this is still going to be what you want tomorrow.”

“It will.”

He kissed you.

The first kiss was careful enough to hurt, his mouth brushing yours once before he drew back just far enough to look at you. You closed the distance yourself the second time.

His hand slid behind your neck as your fingers tightened around his, and the kiss deepened almost immediately. The familiar movement of his mouth against yours sent heat through you with humiliating ease. You knew the slight pull of his fingers at your nape, the angle he preferred when he wanted more, the quiet sound he made when you caught his lower lip between your teeth.

Your body hadn’t forgotten any of it.

You climbed over the pillow divider without thinking, and Wally’s hands caught your waist as you settled astride his hips. The pillows collapsed somewhere beneath your knees, forgotten as his mouth moved from yours to your jaw.

He found the place beneath your ear without searching. The first scrape of his teeth made your back arch.

A quiet laugh warmed your skin.

“You remember everything,” you breathed.

“Only the useful things.”

He bit down lightly.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, and the sound that escaped you made his hands flex against your waist.

Wally lifted his head just enough to look at you, the humor in his expression giving way to something hotter.

You kissed him before he could say anything. The hard line of his cock pressed through his sweatpants against you, drawing a sharp breath from both of you. When you rolled your hips against him, Wally’s eyes closed.

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Obviously.”

His mouth was back on yours before you could move again.

The teasing faded as his hands slipped beneath your shirt. His palms moved over your bare waist, warm and familiar, and you pushed at the hem of his shirt until he sat back long enough to pull it over his head.

Your hands landed on his chest.

For a moment, you forgot to do anything except touch him.

You knew every scar beneath your fingertips and remembered the feel of his body under yours, but six months had made the reality of him startling again. Your palms moved over his shoulders and down his stomach while Wally watched you with an expression that slowly lost its edge.

“I missed touching you,” you admitted.

His hand came up to cup the side of your face.

“I missed you touching me.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, one hand sliding down your arm until his fingers closed around your wrist. He drew it behind your back and caught the other there too, holding both wrists together in one hand. The position pulled your shoulders back and brought you closer over him, making your breath hitch.

Wally noticed.

His grip stayed firm without tightening, giving you room to pull away if you wanted to.

You didn’t. Instead, you pressed your wrists deliberately into his palm, and the look in his eyes darkened.

His mouth found your throat.

The restraint in him began to fray.

He released your wrists only to drag your shirt upward. You lifted your arms, and the fabric disappeared somewhere beyond the edge of the bed. Wally’s gaze moved over you with enough open want that heat climbed beneath your skin.

“You’re beautiful.”

The words were quiet, almost reverent.

Your throat tightened.

Wally leaned up and kissed the center of your chest before his hands cupped your breasts. His thumbs swept over your nipples until they hardened, and then his mouth closed over one while his other hand stayed warm against your side.

Your shoulders drew back instinctively, pushing your chest further into his mouth.

He sucked gently before letting his teeth graze the sensitive skin around your nipple, his free hand moving over your ribs and down to your waist. When you tugged his hair, the vibration of his groan against you made your stomach tighten.

Wally’s hands settled at your hips. Before you could ask what he was doing, he rolled with you, turning you onto your back and following until he was braced above you between your thighs.

He shifted lower on the bed, kissing his way down your stomach before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. When you lifted your hips, Wally pulled them and your underwear down together and dropped them beside the bed.

Warm palms traveled slowly up the insides of your thighs. Instinct made your knees draw slightly closer, but his thumbs stroked once over your skin.

“Don’t hide from me.”

The gentleness of it made you relax more effectively than teasing would have, and you let your legs fall open.

Wally kissed the inside of one thigh and then the other before lowering his mouth to you.

Your back arched at the first slow pass of his tongue. He knew exactly how to touch you, and that familiarity became almost unbearable here. There was no hesitant searching or learning what worked; his mouth moved over you with the certainty of someone who already knew what would make your fingers twist into the sheets.

One hand slid beneath your thigh while the other moved between your legs. A finger pressed slowly inside you.

You moaned his name, and Wally’s answering groan vibrated against your clit, making your hips jerk toward him.

He added a second finger once you relaxed around the first, curling both inside you while his mouth stayed focused above. Pleasure tightened low in your stomach, rising too quickly to leave room for embarrassment.

You reached for his hair. The moment your fingers closed around it, Wally changed the angle of his hand.

Your thighs tightened around his shoulders. “Don’t stop.”

The pressure built until every familiar movement felt sharper for having been absent so long. His fingers curled again, his tongue flattened against your clit, and the orgasm broke through you with enough force to pull a cry from your throat.

Wally stayed with you through it, slowing only when your thighs began to tremble. He pressed one softer kiss between your legs before working his way back up your body.

You were still catching your breath when he reached your mouth.

You kissed him without hesitation. Wally groaned when your tongue slid against his, and the sound sent another pulse of heat through you.

Your hand moved down his stomach.

He caught your wrist before you reached his waistband.

“Give me a second.”

You blinked up at him. “Okay?”

“Very.” His forehead dropped briefly to your shoulder. “Maybe too much.”

A smile pulled at your mouth.

Wally lifted his head again, cheeks flushed.

“I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

You went still. “You haven’t?”

He shook his head.

“Neither have I.”

Something in his face softened.

“Really?”

“Really.”

He kissed you again, and the relief in it felt strangely intimate.

Then Wally shifted his weight and rolled onto his back, keeping one arm around your waist so you moved with him. You followed naturally, ending up astride him with your knees bracketing his hips and your palms resting against his chest. His hands slid along your thighs as you settled over him, the erection trapped beneath his sweatpants pressing against you.

You reached for his waistband, and Wally lifted his hips to help. You tugged the sweatpants down his legs, shifting back just enough to pull them free before tossing them toward the foot of the bed. When you settled over him again, the first sight of his cock made your mouth go dry despite how many times you’d seen him before.

You wrapped your hand around him and began stroking slowly, reacquainting yourself with the weight and heat of him. Wally’s head sank back into the pillow with a low groan, his fingers tightening against your thighs when your thumb brushed over the head.

“Fuck.”

You smiled, and his eyes opened.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“I’m allowed to enjoy this.”

“Apparently you’re enjoying it a lot.”

You tightened your hand once, and his breath caught.

You shifted forward over him, and Wally’s hands settled at your waist. His cock rested hot against the inside of your thigh.

“You still have condoms?”

“In my bag.”

You glanced toward the chair, then back at him. “My IUD’s still good.”

Wally held your gaze. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

His hand slid behind your neck and pulled you into a kiss.

You reached between your bodies and guided his cock against you. The head slipped through the wetness between your thighs before you aligned him with your entrance and began lowering yourself.

The first stretch made you stop.

Wally’s fingers tightened gently at your waist. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Give me a second.”

He stayed completely still while your body adjusted. His thumbs moved slowly over your sides, and when you sank another inch, the stretch softened from almost too much into something achingly familiar.

You lowered yourself the rest of the way.

Wally’s head tipped back against the pillow.

“Fuck.”

Your body tightened reflexively around him.

His hips twitched beneath you, but he kept himself still until you were the one who moved first.

You leaned down and kissed him.

For several seconds, you stayed pressed together with his cock buried deep inside you and his arms wrapped around your waist. Then you rolled your hips, pulling a sharp breath from him as his hands slid lower to settle over your ass.

The next roll came more naturally, and by the time you found a steady rhythm, pleasure was already beginning to build low in your stomach.

You sat upright, and his gaze traveled over you, open and hungry. “I missed you like this.”

The words made your pulse jump.

You moved faster.

Wally’s fingers tightened against your hips while you found a rhythm, each downward roll taking him deep enough to make your thighs tense around him. You braced your hands against his chest and adjusted your angle until his cock dragged over the place that made your breath catch.

Wally’s eyes sharpened, and he thrust upward carefully.

You gasped, and he did it again, watching your face. “There?”

You nodded.

That was all he needed.

His hips began meeting yours, the rhythm building between you without either of you having to talk through it. Your nails pressed into his chest when another upward thrust struck exactly right, and Wally’s breathing turned rougher beneath you.

The familiarity worked both ways. You knew when his grip meant he wanted more leverage, when the movement of his hips was beginning to lose its careful control, and how close he was getting from the way his mouth fell open when you tightened around him.

You leaned down and bit his shoulder.

Wally groaned sharply, one hand sliding up your back.

A second later, he rolled you beneath him.

He didn’t use his superspeed, but the movement was still quick enough to leave you blinking up at him as he settled between your thighs.

His mouth covered yours before you could complain.

The first thrust in the new position pushed him deeper.

Your head sank into the pillow.

Wally braced one forearm beside you while his other hand hooked beneath your thigh, lifting your leg enough to change the angle. His next stroke made your fingers dig into his shoulder. Wally answered by doing it again.

You wrapped your leg higher around his hip, and Wally’s mouth moved from yours to your jaw while his pace increased. The room narrowed to the movement of his body over yours, the sound of his breathing against your skin, and the growing pressure low in your stomach.

His hand slipped between you, and his thumb found your clit.

“Wally.”

“I know.”

There was no smugness in it this time.

His forehead rested against yours as he kept moving, thumb circling while his cock drove into you at the angle he knew would push you over.

Your second orgasm built hard and fast.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled him closer.

“I’m close.”

His mouth brushed your cheek. “Come for me.”

The words were enough to push you over the edge. Pleasure broke through you, your body tightening rhythmically around his cock while you clung to him. Wally swore against your neck and kept thrusting through the waves, his rhythm finally beginning to falter.

You felt the tension building in him.

His head lifted. “Inside?”

“Yes.” You tightened your legs around him. “Please.”

Wally groaned. His hips drove forward once more and stayed there as he came, buried deep while his body shuddered over yours. You held him against you through it, one hand moving slowly through his hair while his breathing turned ragged against your neck.

Neither of you moved for several seconds.

Then a quiet laugh escaped him.

You turned your head. “What?”

“All of this because we got stuck with one bed.”

You pushed weakly at his shoulder. “Do not give the hotel credit for this.”

“That’s fair.”

His smile softened.

The happiness in his face made your chest ache in a completely different way than it had earlier.

You loved him.

The feeling was still frightening. It probably always would be, at least a little.

This time, you let yourself say it anyway.

“I love you.”

Wally went still.

His expression changed so quickly that you almost wished you could take the words back just to say them again and watch them land a second time.

“I love you too.”

He kissed you slowly.

You touched his face.

“I should have told you.”

“Yeah.”

There was no joke in the answer.

Wally kissed you once more before easing carefully out of you. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a warm washcloth, cleaning you gently before rinsing it and coming back with one of the bottles of water from the table.

You drank while he pulled the blankets into something resembling order.

The pillow divider had not survived. One pillow lay on the floor, and another had been shoved almost to the foot of the bed.

Wally picked up the one from the floor and tossed it toward the empty side.

“I don’t think we need those anymore.”

“Probably not.”

He climbed back beneath the blankets and opened an arm.

You went to him without hesitating.

Wally pulled you against his chest, one leg tangling with yours while his fingers moved slowly over your back. The familiarity of it no longer felt like something you had to defend yourself against.

For several minutes, neither of you spoke.

Eventually Wally kissed the top of your head.

“We’re going to have to tell everyone.”

You lifted your head. “Or we could just not announce it.”

“I can do subtle.”

“You called me honey every five minutes tonight.”

“I was pretending to be your husband.”

“You enjoyed pretending to be my husband.”

His fingers slowed against your back.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I did.”

The quiet honesty of it made you look at him properly.

Wally held your gaze.

“Probably more than I should’ve.”

The familiar fear stirred beneath your ribs, the instinct to look too far ahead and turn every possibility into something that could be taken away.

You recognized the feeling this time and let it exist without obeying it.

“Maybe someday you won’t have to pretend.”

Wally went completely still.

“Someday?”

Heat climbed into your face. “Don’t make me regret saying it.”

His smile appeared slowly, softer than the grin you’d been expecting.

“I won’t.”

You rested your head against his chest again, and Wally’s arms tightened around you. His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek, his fingers moving lazily over your back.

For the first time in six months, being this close to him didn’t come with anything left unsaid.

The surveillance alarm woke you a few hours later.

You surfaced to pale morning light with Wally curled around you from behind, one arm secure around your waist while his other hand rested loosely over one boob. His face was buried against the back of your neck, and his morning wood pressed against your ass.

For one sleepy second, you forgot where you were.

Then the tablet chirped again.

“Wally.”

He made a quiet sound and pulled you closer.

“The receiver.”

His eyes opened immediately.

You both went still.

Voices carried faintly through the tablet.

Wally released you and reached across the bed for it while you sat up and pushed your hair away from your face.

“Rourke’s door opened.”

That woke you completely.

You pulled on your underwear and yesterday’s pants while Wally found his sweatpants near the foot of the bed and tugged them on before crossing to the window shirtless.

Rourke stood outside his room with the hard-sided case you’d seen the woman deliver hours earlier.

Another man was approaching from the stairwell.

You took the long-range camera from Wally and raised it.

“There.”

“I’ve got him.”

Wally sent the first facial capture to Barry while you photographed the buyer meeting Rourke beside the railing. Neither man seemed interested in conversation. The buyer opened a smaller case, showing Rourke something inside before snapping it shut again.

Rourke set his own case on the concrete between them.

You kept the camera trained on their hands.

The buyer opened it.

Metallic components sat packed inside black foam, matching the stolen technology from the briefing photographs.

“Got it,” you whispered.

Wally was already transmitting the images.

The buyer closed Rourke’s case and handed over his own.

The exchange was complete.

Wally touched his comm. “Confirmed handoff. Both targets still on the fourth-floor east walkway.”

Barry’s response came almost immediately. “Team’s moving.”

You kept photographing until the rest of the team closed in from both ends of the walkway. Rourke barely had time to turn before he realized he’d been boxed in, and his buyer made it only two steps toward the stairs before one of your teammates intercepted him.

Within a minute, both men were restrained.

Only after Barry confirmed the cases were secured did you finally lower the camera.

Wally let out a breath beside you. “Done.”

“Yeah.”

You started to set the camera on the table when his fingers brushed yours.

Neither of you pulled away.

Wally threaded his fingers through yours instead.

You looked down at your joined fingers, then up at him.

His hair was a mess from sleep, and there was a faint mark near his shoulder where you’d bitten him a few hours earlier.

He looked happier than you had seen him in months.

His thumb moved once across your knuckles.

You squeezed his hand.

Outside, the team began clearing the courtyard.

Behind you, the bed was a disaster, the abandoned pillow divider scattered across the sheets.

For once, you didn’t need to make a joke out of what came next.

The future was still uncertain, but Wally’s hand was warm around yours, and this time, the thought of what came next didn’t make you want to run.

credit to @uzmacchiato for the cherry divider ❤️💛

The confessional booth smelled like every prayer that had ever been spoken inside it, beeswax layered over old lacquer, the faint mineral trace of holy water blessed so many times the basin itself seemed to hold the memory. The wood beneath Matt's knees gave in the places other men had already worn through, their weight a kind of inheritance pressed into the kneeler over decades until the padding surrendered in permanent grooves.

His knees found them without searching.

Tonight the church felt like being held. Stone walls thick enough to muffle the city into something bearable, the sirens dimmed to a hum, the ten thousand heartbeats of Hell's Kitchen reduced to a murmur he could almost set aside.

Through the lattice, the priest's heartbeat held steady at sixty-two. Pastoral calm. The professional steadiness of a man who had heard worse confessions before the sun came up.

"Pray on it, son. The Lord sometimes asks us to love with open hands."

Matt's mouth twitched toward a smile that cost more effort than it was worth. "Open hands. Yes, Father. Thank you."

Your coat was already on when he came out of the kitchen.

He'd been making tea. Not because you'd asked; because the ritual bought him time. Water in the kettle, leaves in the strainer, the whole small ceremony of preparation stretching the visit by another ten minutes without requiring him to say stay.

The kettle hadn't even clicked off. Your mug was still in the cabinet — the one you'd claimed three months ago by using it twice, the one Matt washed by hand because the dishwasher ran too hot and the ceramic was cheap enough to crack. He'd bought a second one in case the first broke. You didn't know about the second one.

"Heading out?" He kept his voice easy. A question he already knew the answer to, delivered like he didn't.

"Yeah." You were checking your phone, your thumb scrolling through something he couldn't see. Your heartbeat was calm, steady. "Early session tomorrow. My therapist moved me to mornings."

The flutter came on mornings. Not a spike, nothing dramatic. Just the faintest skip in your pulse, the biological signature of someone rearranging a truth to fit a shape he needed it to hold.

The session was real. Matt knew this because you'd mentioned your therapist by title three weeks ago, had referenced a coping exercise once with specificity too precise to be invented. You were in therapy. That much was true.

Why you were leaving now, though, at 8:47 on a Tuesday while his kettle still heated; that part was architecture. A structure built on a genuine foundation, designed to support a reason you hadn't offered.

"That's good," he said. "Morning sessions are supposed to be better for retention. Something about cortisol levels."

The sentence was supportive, informed, correct in every dimension. He delivered it the way he delivered opening arguments: with ease that revealed nothing of the preparation behind it.

You pocketed your phone. "Thanks for dinner."

"Anytime."

The word landed between you. Matt heard you process it, a slight catch in your breathing gone before it could register on your face. Anytime was too open, too available, too much of a door left standing wide for someone who kept his own doors on a chain. He heard the catch because his ears were built for catching. He filed it the way he filed evidence: without alerting the source.

Your jacket was the one Matt liked — the dark one, canvas, the collar worn soft enough that it held the ghost of your cologne for hours after you left.

Matt had pressed his face into it once while you were in the bathroom. The scent was cedar, synthetic musk, something underneath that was just your skin. He'd memorised the composition the way he memorised case law: compulsively, completely, without any practical application beyond the knowing.

You left. The door closed behind you; Matt tracked every mechanical detail, the latch engaging, the weatherstrip folding against the frame, the deadbolt turning from the outside. You still had a key.

Six months ago, offering you one had seemed like a reasonable gesture — you'd been sleeping over three, sometimes four nights a week, and the logistics of coordinating arrivals and departures had started to feel like an argument neither of you wanted to have.

The key had been practical. The key had been, if Matt was honest with himself in the particular way he reserved for the confessional booth and nowhere else, a test. You'd taken it without comment. You used it without frequency. Some weeks it sat on your keyring untouched, a small piece of brass shaped like a question Matt was afraid to hear the answer to.

He'd need to ask for it back eventually, which would require a conversation neither of you had started.

The kettle clicked off behind him. He stood in his kitchen while your footsteps descended the stairwell. Fourth floor. Third floor. Second. The front door of the building opened into the street, your heartbeat joining the city's current, becoming one signal among thousands.

He should have stopped listening there. You were out. You were safe. The data he needed was complete.

He didn't stop.

Your pulse moved north on Tenth Avenue. Steady pace, no distress, no urgency, just the unremarkable rhythm of someone going home. Matt leaned against the counter beside the tea he'd made for no one, tracking you the way a satellite holds a signal: passively, automatically, so frictionless it barely qualified as a decision.

Your mug stayed in the cabinet. He wouldn't use it himself. That felt like a violation he couldn't articulate — drinking from the cup that was yours in his kitchen, the one domestic claim you'd made on his space, however accidentally. The backup mug sat behind it in the dark. Insurance against a loss you didn't know he was preparing for.

You reached your apartment twelve minutes later. He heard your key in the lock, your door closing, your shoes hitting the floor one after the other.

Your heartbeat shifted within minutes of crossing your own threshold, settling into a rhythm several beats per minute slower than anything he'd registered while you sat on his couch. In his apartment, your resting heart rate averaged sixty-eight. In yours, it dropped to sixty-three.

Matt had enough data points to confirm the pattern was consistent.

Your body relaxed when it left his proximity. The science of it was straightforward. The implication of it was something he folded carefully into the smallest possible shape and placed in the part of his mind where he kept the things he knew but couldn't afford to examine.

He filed this.

His phone buzzed at 10:14. The screen reader delivered your message in its flat synthetic cadence.

Hey. Thanks for tonight.

Then, tonelessly:

smiley face.

Four words, perfectly calibrated. Warm enough to prevent him from feeling entitled to hurt, too brief to carry anything beyond the gesture of having sent them.

Matt had a folder of these messages — not a literal folder, but the mental equivalent, a catalogue of every post-departure text you'd sent over six months. Their length had been decreasing. Their warmth had been thinning. Three months ago you'd sent I had a really good time, sleep well with a frequency that suggested sincerity. Now the messages arrived like receipts: proof of transaction, not evidence of feeling.

He typed back anytime for the second occasion that evening. The screen reader wouldn't capture the weight he'd placed in the word. Neither, he suspected, would you.

The apartment settled into quiet after that. The tea had gone cold.

Somewhere across Hell's Kitchen, your heartbeat pulsed at the edge of his awareness with the particular steadiness of someone who had stopped thinking about him the moment he walked through his own door.

Matt told himself he'd stop listening. He told himself the information was complete, that knowing you were safe was sufficient, that this was the last time.

These were the lies he was best at: the ones he told himself, the ones with no heartbeat attached to betray them.

$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @hisokamywaifu @froggibus @axtira @infinictus @aethertism

$ join taglist

$ vi part-2