ℳ𝒾𝓂𝒾

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𓆰♱𓆪 ⛪︎

Gardnerville was a very small town before the valley. You'd been watching the landscape change for the last hour — something out of an old western, the kind your father used to watch on television on Sunday afternoons, John Wayne and endless ochre horizons.

"Are we staying here tonight?" you asked after the waitress came back with your orders and stepped away.

"No, we're not very far now. Just stopped because you said you were hungry." He looked out the window. The main street — the only street — was nearly empty even at just past noon.

"Mhm," you hummed, quieter, looking back at him.

"You okay?" His eyes came to you.

The truth was that since he'd told you about the footage, your mind had been running a quiet, constant battle between reasoning and something closer to panic. And for some reason it was your hair that kept bringing you back to it — you kept threading your fingers through it without meaning to, thinking about the profile shot, the side of your face, your long hair identifiable on some grainy security feed being run on a news segment somewhere.

"Yeah," you said. "Just nervous. First time meeting a friend of yours."

He smiled at that, nodded. "Don't worry. He's going to love you. His wife too."

His wife. You thought it and didn't say it. It was hard to picture any friend of Hollis already married and living somewhere this remote.

After you finished eating he asked again if you were alright and whether you needed anything else from town — the way he said it carrying the implication that you wouldn't be coming back for a while.

After you said no you were back on the road — maybe for the last time in a while. 

You watched the valley open around you — snowy mountains behind you now, a wide flat green stretching ahead, livestock visible in the distance, ranches and properties passing every few miles. A peaceful landscape settling under the dim gold of dusk, peaceful enough that your eyes grew heavy. You had your head resting against the window, nearly under, when the road shifted to gravel and dirt and the change woke you. You raised your head. Wood-post gates ahead. Fencing either side, a barn, a granary, and further up the dirt track, a house with a porch light on.

"Thought you were asleep," Hollis said. He looked tired — he'd been driving since the car theft, since the casino. "We're here, honey."

He parked in front of the house and got out like it was nothing. You followed him, nerves crawling up the back of your neck. There was a couple on the front porch and the moment they saw Hollis a wide smile broke across the man's face. The woman beside him smiled too — quietly, warmly, the specific fondness of someone who hasn't seen a person in too long.

Hollis went straight to the bags, which left you to walk up to the porch ahead of him. Both of them were older than you'd expected — late thirties or forties, you'd guess. You couldn't place it. You couldn't place any of it — how Hollis knew ranch people in Nevada, how a boy from Chicago had ended up with friends like this.

The man came down the porch steps before you could introduce yourself and pulled you into a hug that surprised you completely.

"You must be y/n," he said, warm, easy. "I'm Robert. That's my wife Janice." He gestured to the woman behind him. "Make yourself at home. I'll give him a hand with the bags."

He was already moving toward the truck before you could respond. You watched him go, then turned toward Janice, who was watching you with a smile.

You noticed the slight curve of her stomach as you approached, her hand resting on it in that particular absent way. She looked at you and Hollis stepping out of the truck with an expression so genuinely fond it caught you off guard.

You were almost at the top of the steps when she spoke first.

"So you're y/n!" Her whole face lit up. "Oh, Hol talked so much about you."

"He did?" It came out before you could stop it.

"Of course he did! You're the whole reason he finally came to visit after all this time." Her arm came around your shoulders. "Come inside. Let me get you some tea. Leave them with the bags."

She steered you through the door and you followed her to the kitchen, which smelled like something that had been cooking low and slow all day. She was an easy talker. Questions arriving one after another without pressure, your age, about your hometown, genuine surprise when she learned you'd come all the way from Oklahoma. She told you about her kids briefly — already in bed, she'd introduce you properly in the morning — and about the property, and about how long they'd been out here, and you mostly listened and let it wash over you, the strangeness of being inside somewhere, somewhere with a kitchen and a family and a dog that came and pressed its nose to your knee and then wandered off again.

When Hollis and her husband came through the door Janice's whole face shifted — that specific tenderness, the kind you don't see often.

"Hol!" She stood. "You look so good. Could use some extra pounds though, have you been eating properly?"

She crossed to him and took his face in both hands, squeezing his cheeks lightly. He wrinkled his nose.

"It all went to his height apparently," her husband said from behind him, laughing. You laughed too.

You watched the three of them together — the way they moved around each other, the ease of it, the particular quality of her fussing at him and him tolerating it — and thought: this doesn't look like friends. This looks like something else. An aunt and uncle. A nephew who doesn't visit enough.

Hollis excused himself not long after, genuinely tired. You followed him.

"They're very sweet," you said, changing into something comfortable — which that night meant his shirt.

"Glad you liked them." He watched you from the bed, back against the headboard.

"Janice asked me a million questions while you two were getting the bags." You crossed to him and he pulled you into him before you'd fully decided to sit. "Robert, that's his name?"

"That's his name," he said.

"I know this wasn't exactly the plan," he started.

"I'm happy we're together," you said, before he could finish. Simply. Meaning it.

He looked at you for a long moment — studying you, the way he sometimes did when he was deciding something. "Me too," he said finally, quietly. "I'm happy, honey."

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

Next morning you woke before him. He was still deep under, his face tucked against your hair, the weight of his arm across your waist. You lay there listening to his breathing, to the birds outside, to voices somewhere below. When you finally tried to slip out from under him he tightened his grip and pulled you back.

"Wait," he said, sleep thick in his voice.

"Everyone's up already." You giggled when he buried his face further against your neck.

"Not us." He kissed your shoulder.

It took some time. Hollis being constitutionally opposed to getting up before he was ready, and you not being entirely convincing in your objections.

The table was already set when you two made it downstairs. Janice greeted you both warmly. Three kids sat waiting — two older boys and a small girl. You settled beside the girl. Hollis went around the table to the seat across from you, stopping on the way to mess up the older boy's hair.

"Look how big you are," he said.

The boy groaned and shoved him, both of them laughing. Hollis sat down between the younger two. "I don't know these ones yet," he said, gesturing at the smaller kids.

"Oh, right! Let me introduce 'em to y/n too" Janice sat. "That's Bob" — the older boy — "that's Timmy, and that's Betty." She pointed to each in turn. "And the one on the way is either Noah or Ada, we haven't decided."

"You two don't have a TV or something?" Hollis said, reaching for the waffles.

"Hollis," you said.

He laughed. Janice laughed too.

"I see you only got taller." Robert appeared in the kitchen doorway, walked up behind Hollis, and slapped the back of his head lightly. You covered your smile as Hollis frowned.

Breakfast was light in a way you hadn't felt in a long time — maybe since before you left Collinsville, maybe longer. The way these people moved around each other, teased each other, made space for each other at the table without thinking about it — it was so unlike the family dynamic you'd grown up knowing. And more than that, you felt included. Every time Hollis said your name in a story, every time they caught your eye to share something embarrassing about him, every time Janice refilled your cup without asking — it accumulated into something you didn't quite have a name for yet.

Afterward, Robert took you both around the property while he ran his morning routine. A small amount of animals — chickens, cows, sheep in the barn. You'd never fed a newborn calf before and spent a full ten minutes doing it while Robert watched with an amused expression. When he brought you to the horses you'd never seen Hollis's eyes go quite the way they did — lit up and immediate, moving straight to a white horse at the far end of the stable, talking to it in a low soft voice you'd rarely heard him use on anything.

"They look like twins," you said to Robert, nodding between the horse and Hollis — both tall, both with long pale hair, both carrying themselves like they were aware of it.

Robert laughed. "Good to know I'm not the only one who thinks so."

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

It didn't take long to fall into the rhythm of the place. Within a couple of days it felt almost as if you and Hollis had always been here.

Janice was the sweetest — she reminded you a little of Donna, that same motherly warmth, except Janice had a dry wit underneath it that would catch you off guard and pull a laugh out of you before you'd seen it coming. You did your best to be useful. You started with small things — offering to help cook, washing dishes, sweeping — the kind of help anyone could accept without feeling obligated. But Janice didn't just accept it. She drew you in like you'd been there for years, teaching you her recipes, the small tricks she'd developed over time, things done a particular way for reasons she'd explain and you'd try to remember. Things your own mother had never had the patience to pass on.

You weren't quite there yet, though.

One evening Janice stepped out and left you alone with the stew you'd been following step by step, and you almost turned it into something unrecognizable. Not entirely your fault.

"What are you doing?" Arms came around your waist from behind. You were already frowning at the pot.

"Stew," you said, voice tight with worry. "Or something like it. I'm not sure anymore."

"The smell's good." Hollis rested his chin on your shoulder. "But is it supposed to look like that?"

You laughed despite yourself and smacked his arm. "No," you said, somewhere between a whine and a laugh. "Hers was all colorful and... I don't know what went wrong."

"We'll sort it out." He unwrapped his arms from you, took the wooden spoon gently from your hand, and poured a small amount of the sauce onto his palm to taste. "It's not bad. Really."

He said it while visibly trying not to smile. You saw the corners of his mouth going.

"You're terrible," you said, pushing him lightly. He laughed.

"I'm being supportive."

"That's not supportive." You whined. "I'm a disaster."

He stepped closer, arms coming back around you, walking you gently toward the counter until you were up against it. Then he lifted you onto it in one easy motion, positioning himself in front of you.

"I don't mind," he said, smiling. "I could learn to cook. Or we could just order in every night."

He leaned in, hand at your waist, mouth finding yours. For a moment you forgot entirely where you were — forgot the stew, forgot the kitchen — until his fingers found the hem of your skirt, and then the smell of something burning brought you back abruptly.

"Hey." You pulled back, already sliding off the counter, pushing past him to get to the stove. "Look what you did."

"Me?" He followed, watching you turn off the burner.

"You." You looked at what remained of the stew and then looked at him, and he was already laughing, which made you laugh despite yourself. "I hate you, I really do."

That night you made him stand beside you while you confessed to Janice what had happened to her recipe. You were thoroughly flustered the entire time. She laughed — gently, genuinely — and only stopped long enough to turn and scold Hollis when he joined in.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

He moved differently around the property. When he wasn't with you, you'd find him following Robert around — dealing with the animals, doing repair work, chopping wood, fixing a section of fence that had come loose. It was a completely new version of him. Something domestic in a way you didn't usually get to see. You wouldn't have admitted it easily but it was attractive, watching him work with his sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, the particular focus he had when he was doing something physical. It also looked completely wrong on him in a way you found quietly hilarious — this city boy now covered in dirt and carrying fence posts like he'd been doing it for years.

One late afternoon you were standing on the porch when he came back from the fields. Mud on his jeans, on his hands, streaked across his white tank top in ways that suggested a genuine disaster had occurred somewhere on the property.

"What happened to you?" You held back your smile.

"There was a leak. I helped fix it." He said it simply, walking toward you in slow, unhurried steps.

"Right. Country boy."

"You mocking me, ma'am?"

He reached the porch and grabbed you before you could respond — pulling you clean off the step and into his arms. You grabbed his shoulders on instinct and held on, and it took you a moment but you did eventually register that his mud-covered hands were now on your white summer dress.

"My dress," you said, laughing. Not really caring.

"I can get used to it." He kissed your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. Your legs found their way around his waist without you deciding to, and his hands settled under your thighs, holding you there.

"Me too," you said quietly, looking at him. Your fingers moved lightly over the back of his neck. "This feels like a home."

"It does." His eyes were soft looking at you, softer than the fading light. "Do you miss home?"

You shook your head and smiled. "I said it feels like a home." You kissed him briefly. "Nothing like mine."

He held your gaze for a beat too long — processing it, storing it somewhere, giving it more weight than you'd necessarily intended. Then he kissed you again, and carried you back toward the porch until you made him put you down before anyone could see.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

"When I was helping Robert with the leak," Hollis said, stepping back into the bedroom after his shower, "we passed by a pond. Really nice spot. We should go."

You were sitting up in bed waiting for him. "Mhm. When?"

"Tomorrow." He dropped down beside you, hair wet. "We don't have much on tomorrow anyway. It's Sunday and Robert said he's taking Janice and the kids to church."

"What is it with you washing your hair at night?" You reached for the towel on the nightstand. "Come here."

He had that small mischievous smile as he shifted and laid his head in your lap, letting you do what you could with the towel. "So?"

"I like the pond idea." You pouted a little. It was exactly the kind of thing that excited you and he knew it.

"Then it's a date, honey." He smiled up at you.

It always did something to you when he settled into you like that. His whole frame took up most of the available space, which made the way he curled into you so naturally all the more disarming. It melted you in a way you'd stopped being embarrassed about.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

The pond wasn't far from the main house — just beyond the property line, a fence to hop and a few minutes of walking through tall grass and trees. But it was, as promised, nice. A clearing in the green, sunlight coming down through the canopy and catching the water like a spotlight. A wide flat rock sat beside the bank like it had been placed there deliberately.

Hollis dropped the bag you'd packed and pulled his shirt off. This time you didn't wait for him to call you in. You were far enough from anywhere that it didn't matter, so you stepped forward and undressed completely — your dress first, then everything underneath — and walked into the water without looking back.

You knew his eyes were on you when you glanced over your shoulder. He was standing at the bank, slightly stilled, before reaching for his zipper.

"You coming?" you asked.

He moved quickly after that, finishing undressing — fully, the same as you — and you laughed to yourself at the symmetry of it. You dove in before he reached the water, surfacing a few feet away, and when you looked back he was smiling in that particular way that meant he was already plotting something.

It stayed light for a while. Genuinely light, the kind of easy that had been rare on the road — him making stupid observations about the fish he could see near the bottom, you splashing water at him when he got too comfortable, stolen kisses that tasted like pond water, both of you laughing at nothing in particular. You couldn't track how long it went on. You stopped trying.

At some point you climbed out and sat on the flat rock, letting the sun work at drying you, and watched him from the bank.

He stayed in the water a little longer, floating on his back, eyes closed, face tilted toward the sun. You watched the way the light caught the edges of him—the line of his jaw, the rise of his chest, the way his hair fanned out in the water like something from a painting. He looked peaceful.

When he finally opened his eyes he found you so quickly, like he already knew where you'd be before even looking at you, something shifted in his expression. Not surprise — something like recognition. 

He moved toward you unhurried and you couldn't help but notice the mess he made of your heart whenever he walked your way. Handsome in every sense of the word. Water ran off him as he came out of the pond, and you watched the way it traced the lines of his shoulders, his arms, the narrow dip of his waist. He didn't rush. He took his time, letting you watch.

When he reached you, he didn't sit. He stood over you, blocking most of the sunlight with the width of his shoulders. His skin was still wet, cool when his hand came up to your face, water dripping down your neck, your chest. You didn't move. Just looked up at him.

"Watching me?" He braced one arm on the rock above your head and gently cradled your face with the other, tilting you back so your head rested in the crook of his forearm.

"I couldn't help it," you said, the flush already moving up your cheeks.

"My perverted angel." He smiled — nothing innocent about it — and the look alone made you feel instantly warm.

His hand moved from your face to your neck, and when he held you there, gently, his thumb at your pulse, he finally kissed you. You reached for him immediately — his shoulder, then his arm, loving the way his muscles shifted under your touch. His hand moved further down, finding your chest unhurriedly, like he was simply feeling you. He squeezed lightly, then teased your nipple, and the sigh that escaped you was involuntary. He pulled back just far enough to watch your face when it happened, smiling at what he found there.

When his hand trailed lower still, a shiver moved through you — partly the cold of his fingers against your warm skin, partly anticipation. You spread your legs for him at the exact moment his hand found your inner thigh, before he'd asked you to.

He teased — his thumb brushing over you lightly, sliding between your folds without quite touching where you needed it, doing just enough to make you wet and no more.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, his face close to yours.

His fingers finally did what you were aching for — slow, circular pressure on your clit, unhurried, deliberately gentle. You gasped and whimpered and he watched your face like it fascinated him.

"Holli." His name came out as a plea, your nails pressing lightly into his shoulder.

"Tell me, my angel." His voice was tender at the center and rough at the edges, the particular combination that got to you every time.

"I need you," you whined.

"Do you?" He whispered. "Do you really need me?"

You didn't get to answer. Two fingers slid inside you and your response became a nod, wordless and helpless.

He worked them slowly at first — almost torturously slow, curling slightly, finding the places that made your back arch and your legs try to close around his hand. When he picked up the pace, stroking deeper and harder, the sounds of the pond and the wind and the birds gave way entirely to the sound of your voice and the wet noise of his fingers moving inside you. It only compounded when his thumb found your clit at the same time, and you grabbed his forearm with both hands just to hold onto something.

You couldn't look away from him. His hazel eyes had you completely, wouldn't let you go.

You were already shaking, your orgasm building through you, your toes curling against the sun-warm rock — when he said it.

"I love you."

Quiet and calm, watching your face as you came undone beneath him.

You didn't answer. He kissed you before you could, slowing his fingers through your edge, then drawing them out of you gently. The need that followed was immediate — your hand trailing down his chest, his stomach, finding his cock and wrapping around him. You stroked him slowly as you kissed, messy and open-mouthed, both of you making sounds against each other.

Then he was between your legs, filling you in one long slow push. He kept that same unhurried pace — kept his hand firm at your jaw, keeping your eyes on his, not letting you escape his gaze for even a second. Every stroke deliberate. Every throb of him inside you pulling his words back to the surface.

You pushed him back and straddled him. He sat up, arms coming around you immediately, hands gripping your ass as you rolled your hips over him. You brushed the hair from his face, took his face in both hands, looked at him — and almost said out loud how beautiful he was. Instead, breathless, so sensitive you felt like you might come apart entirely, you said it.

"I love you." Your voice broke slightly on it, more feeling than volume. "I love you so much."

It came out like something that had been held too long. Hollis smiled — really smiled, the kind that reached all the way up — kissed your lips and panted against your mouth. His large hands pressed into your skin and pulled you into a faster rhythm, and you went willingly, chasing it together until he came undone beneath you with a low, drawn-out sound, face pressing into your chest, arms pulling you in so tightly you felt it in your ribs. He spilled inside you, warm and familiar, and you held his head against you while both of you caught your breath — his face buried between your breasts, your fingers in his hair, the water running beside you and the afternoon light warm on your backs.

"Say it again," he said. "Please."

He looked up. You held his face in your hands, thumbs moving over his cheekbones.

"I love you, Hollis."

He looked at you for a moment like he was taking it in properly. Then he pulled you close again, a low, quiet laugh against your skin. "I fucking love you.”

The aftermath was slow and suspended — both of you back in the water eventually, you wrapped around him while he carried you through it, neither of you in any hurry to go anywhere at all. 

The silence was interrupted by casual conversation, you casually saying how you didn't get to go to places like this back home while Hollis added how he used to sneak out as a teenager to go diving in a dam in Chicago.

"When I was a kid, there was this dam near my house. Wide one, deep as fuck. I used to sneak out some times and go there with my friends."

You lifted your head to look at him. His eyes were on the water, distant, like he was seeing something you couldn't.

"What did you do there?"

"Jumped off the cliffs. Swam. Smoked. Just..." He shrugged. "Felt alive, I guess. It was the only place I could feel like myself."

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen, sixteen." A small smile tugged at his mouth. "We thought we were untouchable. Like nothing could happen to us."

"Did anything ever happen?"

He laughed, low. "One time, my friend jumped and hit the water wrong. He was fine, but we thought he was dead for a solid minute. Scared the shit out of us. Didn't stop us from going back the next day though."

You smiled against his skin. "Sounds like you."

"Like me?"

"Reckless. In the best way possible.”

"Yeah. Guess I haven't changed that much.” 

You traced your fingers along his collarbone. The water moved around you both, slow and unhurried. “I mean, I wouldn't jump out of a cliff but this here was pretty fun, wasn't it?” You said and he laughed lightly.

“I don't need to jump off cliffs anymore. I'm gonna tell you a secret.” You looked, waiting and his gaze found yours. “I've been feeling alive ever since I saw you at that gas station.” 

“Ever since?” You asked, not fully buying it, but his gaze was unwavering. It gave you certainty.

“Every single day after that.”

You kissed him — not urgent, not demanding. Something slower. Something that said I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.

On the walk back, his hand in yours, you thought about the irony of it — that the pond had been where you finally said it out loud to each other. You'd sworn on blood. You'd crossed state lines and shared a bed every night for these past weeks. But you'd never said those words until today, in a clearing by the water on a farm in Nevada, miles from anywhere either of you had started.

Maybe the road had been too relentless for it. Maybe you actually needed to stop somewhere long enough, to be still enough, for it to find its way out.

It got you thinking about what love even was. Whether it lived in the calm — in the quiet moments only the two of you would ever know about. In a glance sideways on a long stretch of highway. A motel stop at dusk. His warm hand finding yours before you'd thought to reach for it. His body beside yours every night, a constant you'd stopped questioning. You were sure, thinking about it now, that you'd loved him for longer than today. But what bound you was more than love, or at least more than the word. You could call it devotion. You could call it despair. You could call it an aching need that overflowed you when you weren't managing it. But it was simpler than all of that. It was life. Life had brought you together. And as drastically as it sounded, you thought that only the far opposite of life could bring you apart.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

A few days later you were watching the kids in the living room while Janice rested. They were lovely, mostly — except for Timmy, who had a particular talent for finding things that shouldn't be broken and testing their limits. Currently it was his sister's doll. You managed that with patience, explaining carefully while the older boy mocked him from the couch, which made Timmy cry, which required a separate round of managing. You handled it. Somehow.

"You're actually good with them," Janice said, appearing in the doorway with two cups of coffee. "Did you have younger siblings?"

"Not really." You took the cup she offered. "But they're easy. Especially Timmy."

You winked at the boy and he beamed at you from the floor, entirely recovered.

"Do you want kids?" Janice asked.

You nearly choked. "No. I mean. Not now."

She laughed and patted your shoulder. "Relax. You two are very young. But who knows?"

"No." You widened your eyes. "No, no. There's no way."

You laughed nervously. Though somewhere underneath the laughter was the quiet, unwelcome awareness of how many times you hadn't thought about that, and the dread that followed.

Janice leaned in, her eyes catching the pendant at your chest. She reached out and held it lightly between her fingers. "I see he gave you his mother's scapular."

"His mother's?" The conversation shifted entirely. "Do you know her?"

"If I know her?" She laughed quietly. Then, leaning closer, lowering her voice: "I was her college best friend. I was there the day she found out she was pregnant with that boy."

You stared at her.

"He didn't tell you that," she said. Less a question than a realization.

"He just said Robert was a friend. That's why we were coming here."

"That dumbass." She groaned softly. "Okay. I'm going to tell you this because that boy cannot use his words to save his life. Robert was his father's business partner, until things got out of hand. We left Chicago a few years ago. Bob was only five."

"I'm sorry," you said, not entirely sure what else to say.

"Don't be. We made a life here. Away from all of it. We're happier here than we ever were there. And honestly— " She looked at you steadily. "I'm glad Hollis got out too. I couldn't have watched him turn into one of them."

There was something in her voice that wasn't just resentment. It was relief, old and deep, the kind that comes from having worried about something for a long time and finally being told it turned out alright. You sat with it quietly, and felt the itch of every question you now had no idea how to ask.

That night in bed, Hollis was telling you something about the property — something that had happened with one of the horses, you thought — when he stopped mid-sentence. You'd drifted without meaning to, your eyes somewhere past him, your hands around the scapular.

He watched you for a moment. You didn't notice.

"Y/n," he said.

"Sorry." You looked up at him. He was standing by the bed, watching you with that particular stillness that meant he was worried and trying not to show it. "I'm sorry."

"What is it?"

You sighed. Looked down at the pendant in your hands, then back at him.

"I was talking to Janice today." You kept your voice slow, careful. "She told me this was your mother's."

"It was," he said. Dry, simple.

"She told me. About her and Robert. That they were friends with your parents." You looked at him. Waited.

He crossed to the bed and sat on the edge of it, back to you. The silence stretched.

"If you don't want to talk about it— "

"It's alright." He said it to the wall in front of him. "I'm just not used to it. But yeah. They were friends. I grew up knowing them."

You moved closer, reached for his shoulder, hesitated briefly before pressing it lightly. Then you wrapped your arms around him from behind. His hand came to rest over yours where it lay against his stomach. He exhaled slowly.

"So," you said, quietly. "It's like meeting your family."

He laughed, but there was something bitter at the edge of it. "Might as well be. Robert's more of a father to me than my actual father has ever been."

It broke something loose in your chest — not just because of what he said, but because you recognized it. You knew what it was to feel that way about a parent, and you hadn't wished that on him. You kissed his shoulder. His neck. Rested your face against him.

"Everyone's escaping that man." His voice came low, rough at the edges.

"And your mom?" You felt brave enough to ask before you could stop yourself.

"She left him. Two years ago." His hand tightened over yours. "Left everything, actually. I don't blame her. A bad life, a worse husband, and a troubled kid. I would've done the same."

"Hey— "

"It's okay." He lifted your hand, pressed his lips to your knuckles. "I really don't blame her. I left because I didn't want to become what I was becoming. That's all." A pause. "You'll meet her one day. She's... She's something else, honestly. Really esoteric, super artsy. But she's sweet. You'd like her."

You laughed softly at how he said it. "Do you think she'll like me?"

"Who wouldn't like you?" He said it simply, like it wasn't even a real question. "She'll adore you."

You felt the warmth creep up your neck. "Stop it."

You tried to pull back and he caught your wrist, turning in one easy motion and pulling you into his lap. His hand found your face — that warm, steady hold that always made you look at him properly, whether you meant to or not.

"You're the most charming person I know," he said. "Anyone who doesn't love you immediately is out of their mind."

You didn't have anything to say to that. You just kissed him, and felt your heart ache with it — with how open he'd been tonight, how tender underneath all of it. You could see it clearly, for the first time without any fear attached.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

Routine was starting to grow on you. Waking up in the same bed every morning, lazy mornings that stretched without obligation, talking about the day before falling asleep — you loved all of it. For a while you almost forgot why you were here. While things were this peaceful, this quiet, it was easy to let the rest of it recede.

Until you caught Hollis and Robert talking in low voices somewhere on the property, and they went quiet the moment you came close enough to hear. Or you walked into a room and the conversation stopped. It bothered you — not because you needed to know, but because it made you feel like a child being kept from the adult table.

Once it happened while you were standing with Janice, and she frowned at them — mainly at Robert. "You could both be less obvious about it," she said, and went back to what she was doing.

Which raised its own set of questions. She knew. How much did she know, and why were you always the last to have any of it?

One evening you were gathering laundry for the next morning — you and Hollis had been taking turns, and this was yours — while he lay in bed with his phone. A rare enough sight that you noticed it. He seemed focused, so you tried to start a conversation. He gave you half his attention at best.

You dropped the laundry basket onto the mattress.

He looked up, eyebrows raised. "What's that for?"

"I'm trying to talk to you," you said.

"I'm sorry, honey. I'm just dealing with something." His eyes went back to the screen.

"What? What are you dealing with?"

He looked at you again, more carefully this time. "Our way out of here."

"Is that what you and Robert keep whispering about?"

"Among other things."

"And what does he know about us?"

"A lot."

"What about Janice? And why do I know nothing about any of it?" The annoyance in your voice was clear, and you weren't trying to hide it.

He sighed and set the phone down. "Come here."

It took you a moment, but you went. He did what you knew he'd do — hands at your hips, pulling you in until you were standing between his legs, his eyes coming up to find yours. Your hands settled on his shoulders on their own, and he smiled faintly.

"They know why we're here," he said, his thumb moving slowly along your waist beneath your shirt. "They know about the footage, half the things we've been doing. But there are other things — things that go back to Chicago. Things that don't involve you entirely. Not yet."

"Then tell me," you said quietly, threading your fingers slowly into his hair. "We're— I mean— we're something, aren't we?"

"Baby, we're way more than something." He laughed softly. "And I want to tell you everything. I just— I don't want to put this on you right now. Don't wanna worry you."

"I'm already worried, Holli." Your brows pulled together.

He took your hand from his shoulder and pressed his lips to your knuckles. "Do you trust me?" You nodded. "Then let me fix this. The things from Chicago, they don't touch you. Not for now. Let me sort it out, and when we actually get to start our lives, you'll know all of it. I promise. We'll have all the time in the world."

He kissed your hand again, and eventually you folded into him — your face tucked against his collar, his arms coming around you, warm and steady.

"Do you want me to do the laundry tomorrow?" he asked after a long, quiet while.

You laughed against his neck. Nodded.

"I'll do it, pretty girl."

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

The next morning you woke earlier than usual. Hollis's side of the bed was already cold — you could hear the shower running, and then stopping, and then nothing. A line of pale light slipped through the gap in the bathroom door.

You dragged yourself up, still half-asleep, and pushed the door open.

He was standing at the mirror, towel wrapped around his hips, hair wet, body still drying. If you'd been any more awake it would have been a sight worth stopping for.

"Morning, honey," he said, glancing at you.

"Why are you up so early?" You pressed the back of your hand to your eyes, trying to bring the room into focus. The pale bathroom light wasn't helping.

He turned slightly, cupped your face in one hand, and pressed his lips to the top of your head. "Going to town later with Rob. Figured I'd finish my chores first."

"Very dedicated of you," you murmured, looking up at him. He'd turned back to the mirror, studying his face with a particular expression.

"What do you think about this?" He gestured vaguely at his jaw.

You squinted. It took a moment — you'd never seen it before, not once during the whole trip. He'd always taken a razor to his face before anything had the chance to grow. But now there were faint lines of a mustache beginning, the suggestion of a goatee, and along his jaw a sparse, barely-there growth that had clearly been quietly happening while you weren't looking.

"Oh," you said, stepping closer to see him properly in the mirror. "I didn't even know you could grow a beard."

He laughed. "What do you mean? I'm offended!"

"I'm sorry!" You laughed too, at your own surprise. "You just... You always shave before it gets anywhere." You looked at him in the glass. "You're still handsome, honey." You rested your head lightly on his shoulder.

"Well." He shrugged. "Better get rid of it."

He reached for the shaving foam on the sink and the thought arrived so quickly and clearly that you just said it before it had fully formed.

"Can I do it?"

He turned to look at you. "Shave me?"

You nodded. He grinned, confused and amused in equal measure.

"Do you know how?"

"How hard can it be?" You took the foam from his hand, looked at it, looked at his face, and smiled. Already committed.

"Sure, honey." He was smiling too now, settling into the idea. "Go on."

"Sit there." You pointed to the edge of the bathtub and he obeyed without argument, lowering himself down, long legs spread wide, looking up at you with that particular expression — amused on the surface, something else underneath.

You stood in the space between his knees and got to work — spraying foam into your palm, working it across his jaw, his chin, his neck, above his upper lip. Careful and focused. His eyes stayed on your face the whole time. You'd have felt self-conscious once, under that gaze, but somewhere along the way that had changed. His attention still made your heart do something, but the urge to escape it was gone. It just felt like him.

"Don't move," you said, picking up the razor.

"Wasn't planning on it," he said, the smile still there.

You hesitated briefly before the first stroke and then started. Slow, short strokes, rinsing between each one. You were frowning slightly without meaning to, brows drawn together in concentration.

"You can press a little harder, honey," he said.

"Quiet." You didn't look up.

He laughed softly. You felt it through the hand steadying his jaw. "I said don't move."

"Alright, alright."

His hands found your hips. Not pulling you anywhere, not pressing — just resting there, warm through the fabric of your shirt, like they'd landed out of habit. You noticed and kept working. You were holding your breath somewhere in the middle of it and didn't realize until you let it out. His eyes hadn't left your face. Under the pale bathroom light they looked brighter than usual, that specific hazel that you'd learned to read before you'd learned it was something you were doing.

When you finished you took the towel and wiped away the remaining foam, turning his face gently to check both sides. Even. Clean. You reached up to the cabinet without letting him stand and found a lotion, which you applied slowly across his jaw and cheeks.

He watched with a knowing smile. "What are you doing?"

"You should moisturize after shaving." You kept your voice matter-of-fact.

"Yeah?" His smile was all teasing now, entirely unbothered by the skincare advice.

He pulled you closer — arms wrapping slowly around your body, his chin lifting toward your chest as he looked up at you. You hugged him back, fingers threading into his still-damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew he liked.

"Thank you," he said, after a moment. Quieter now. "I'm not used to it. Being taken care of."

You pouted. Your face went warm. "I like taking care of you."

"I know," he said. He caught your hand, pressed his lips to it, then stood — pulling you with him, both of you nearly stumbling in the narrow bathroom, and you laughed. He laughed too, steadying you both, his arms still around you.

"You're so good to me," he said, low. "So fucking good."

You pulled him down by the neck, closing the small distance until your noses touched, foreheads together, eyes level.

"I love you," you said.

"I love you." He smiled before he kissed you — warm, unhurried, the kind of kiss that took the rest of your breath without trying to.

He carried you back to bed, and the early morning became something slower and quieter, his body moving over yours lazy and unhurried, both of you still half in sleep, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

Later, Hollis went to town with Robert — something about the car — and you stayed with Janice. The usual rhythm. You'd just come back to the house from feeding the chickens when you found her on the porch, scissors in hand, trimming Timmy's hair.

"You do that yourself?" you asked.

"Easier than driving to the hairdresser every two weeks for a trim. I cut my own too." She didn't look up, focused on the back of Timmy's neck.

You watched her work, and without deciding to, your hands went to your own hair. You couldn't remember ever cutting more than a few inches off it. It had been long your whole life, as long as you could picture yourself.

And then — quietly, the way realizations sometimes came — you thought about the security footage. Your profile. Your hair. The one detail that maybe could make you identifiable even in a blurry image. A new life could come with new hair.

"After Timmy," you said, "would you cut mine?"

Janice looked up, a flicker of surprise giving way to enthusiasm. She hesitated when you told her how much — just above the shoulders, significantly shorter than anything you'd ever had. But she didn't talk you out of it. You sat down, and as the long strands of dark hair fell to the porch floorboards you felt the specific strangeness of watching something you'd carried for years disappear in sections. The chills moved through you. So did something that felt almost like relief.

When you looked in the mirror and brushed the new length back, you felt like someone else. Not unrecognizable — just new. The bangs Janice had cut, the layers, the way it all framed your face differently. Someone new and also still you.

"It looks so good," Janice said from behind your shoulder. "You look so girly."

You smiled at that. You felt it.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

Hollis came back late in the afternoon. You were in the kitchen putting together a snack for you and the kids when you heard him come through.

"Honey, Jan said you were in he— " He stopped.

You glanced back. "How was town?"

"The— " He stopped again, whatever he'd been about to say dissolving entirely. "You look— that's just— "

You felt a flicker of nerves. He was looking at you with that particular stillness, eyes moving over your face like he was processing something and hadn't finished yet.

"God, you look beautiful." He crossed the kitchen in a few strides and took your face in both hands — you felt small in the best way. "Did you just— "

"Do you like it?" You looked up at him, your face warm under his hands and his attention.

"So much." He leaned down and kissed you, brief and certain. "Didn't know you could get any prettier."

"Shut up," you laughed.

He kissed you again and pulled you in with one arm around your waist.

"That's seriously gross." Bob's voice from the table.

You pulled back, laughing. Bob and Timmy were both making faces of theatrical disgust.

"Y'all too nosy," Hollis said.

"Y'all disgusting!" Bob announced.

"Disgusting?" Hollis's voice went playful and low. "Nah, little buddy. You're done now."

He went after Bob, who scrambled off his chair and started running laps around the table. Timmy was already screaming catch him, catch him with tremendous investment. You stood by the counter laughing as the chase moved through the kitchen, into the living room, and out the front door — where Hollis eventually caught up with Bob and they both went down in a heap on the grass, and then Timmy was crying because he'd tripped over his own feet following them, and Hollis spent the next five minutes quietly negotiating with him not to tell Robert, apparently offering bribes you couldn't quite hear but could absolutely imagine.

You watched from the doorway, the afternoon light warm on the porch, and thought: this is what it looks like. Whatever it was they were building toward. This exact thing, right here.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

Later that night you were lying on top of him in bed, his hand moving slowly through your hair — a light, absent caress that made your already worn-out body feel even lighter. Then his hand came to your forehead and he started brushing your new bangs back and forth across your face, back and forth, like he was experimenting with them. You laughed and pushed his hand away gently.

"What are you doing?" you asked, smiling.

"I don't know. It's different." His hand moved to your cheek instead.

"Good different?"

"Definitely." He petted your head the way you'd pet a cat and you smiled despite yourself. "It makes your eyes look bigger."

"What?" You laughed. "Is that a compliment?"

"Of course it is. You look like a doll." He pulled you in and kissed you briefly. "My pretty doll."

You didn't know how he always knew exactly what to say, but it got you blushing and tucking your face into his neck before sleep took you both under.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

It was early morning — still dim, the light just beginning to come through — and you were in the barn with Grace, the newborn calf you'd been feeding since the first day. Her mother wasn't producing enough milk, and you'd taken over the bottle without anyone asking you to. She knew you now. When you came in calling her name she made small sounds of excitement that you found entirely disproportionate and completely wonderful.

"I see you two have gotten close," a voice said from the entrance.

Robert, leaning against the doorframe with his coffee.

"I'm basically her second mother," you said, still petting her forehead.

"You really are." He laughed. "You finished with her?"

"Just saying goodbye."

"Could you give me a hand with something?"

You ended up outside holding a fence post steady while he hammered it in, the morning cool and quiet around you.

"I think you know by now," he said between strikes, "but I've known Hollis since he was about this high." He lifted one hand to his waist. You laughed, thinking of the height of the man currently asleep in your shared room. "What was he like?"

"Impossible." He said it with the particular warmth of someone who'd loved a difficult person. "You know Timmy? Make it ten times worse. He used to follow me everywhere, asking questions like I'd have every answer. Wouldn't stop talking."

"That's genuinely hard to picture," you said.

"He'd tell you his whole life story if you asked only for his name." Robert laughed to himself. "Until he grew up and learned to keep things in. And then he kept too much in. You know how it is."

"Yeah," you said quietly. "He still does."

"He learned it for his own protection." Robert paused, setting the hammer down for a moment. "I can't imagine how things got after I left."

"He holds you in a high place, sir," you said.

"God, don't call me sir. Rob, Bob, anything else." You laughed. "But listen. I'm glad he found you. When he told me he was leaving Chicago with nothing but a car it scared the hell out of me. Then he told me he'd brought you along and that scared me even more." He laughed at that, something fond in it. "I gave him hell for it, honestly. But I think you might be the best thing that happened to that boy on this trip."

"I don't know," you said. "Sometimes I feel like I've made things harder for him. He says the opposite, but— "

"You drive him crazy, he told me that too." You looked at him, surprised. "But you make him feel. And that's something I was genuinely worried his father had taken out of him."

That landed somewhere deep. Not just the words but the weight of who was saying them — someone who'd known him as a child, someone Hollis trusted with things he didn't give anyone else. Knowing he'd talked about you. Knowing someone this important to him had looked at you and approved.

"You're making her do manual labor, old man?" Hollis's voice came from behind you.

"She's being helpful," Robert said, his tone shifting easily into something playful. "Unlike you."

"Give me that, honey." Hollis reached for the fence post and you started to say you could finish, then just nodded and stepped aside, watching the two of them take over like you hadn't been there at all, and feeling entirely at peace with that.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

A few days later you were coming back from the barn when you noticed Hollis out in the field with the white horse he'd taken to immediately, embarrassingly, on the first day. He was standing close to the animal, one hand on his neck, his face near his, talking to him in a low voice. You stood watching them for a moment before he noticed you and waved you over.

"You really like him," you said when you reached him.

"Her," he corrected, glancing at you. "Her name's June."

"Sorry." You smiled. "Hi, June. You're very pretty. You look just like my Hollis."

You said it softly to the horse, who turned her large head toward you at the sound of your voice. You reached up carefully and scratched at her neck. She shook her mane and you felt the muscles beneath your hand shift and twitch, which made you laugh.

"She likes you," Hollis said.

"How can you tell?"

"She didn't bite you." He said smiling. You laughed.

"Have you ever ridden a horse?" he asked.

"A long time ago. When I was little."

"Do you want to?"

You thought about it for a moment — but he was looking at you with that particular open smile, the one that made him look younger, and you already knew where this was going.

He helped you up on her first, bareback, his hands firm at your waist, lifting you with ease. You settled onto June's warm back, the muscles beneath you shifting as she adjusted to your weight. You grabbed a handful of her mane, steadying yourself, and felt the sun on your shoulders, the breeze catching your hair.

Then he mounted behind you — one smooth motion, the kind of ease that came from practice. His weight settled behind you, and you felt the solid warmth of his chest press against your back, his thighs bracketing yours.

"Alright?" His voice was close to your ear, low and warm.

"Yeah," you said, breathing out.

His arms came around you, both hands finding June's mane, his wrists grazing your sides. You loosened your grip on the mane, let your body settle into the motion of the horse beneath you. His arms were loose around you, not holding you in place but just there, bracketing you.

June started forward, a slow, easy walk that rocked you gently.

"Doesn't it bother her?"

"She's strong," he said. You could hear the smile. "You said she looks like me, but honestly she's more like you."

"How?"

"Stubborn. But sweet about it." The horse picked up a slow, steady pace and you moved with her, adjusting. "One time I was brushing her mane and she got annoyed and pulled away, so I stopped. Left her alone. And the second I walked off she followed me halfway across the field like a lost puppy."

"That's not what I do," you said, looking back at him.

"Sure, honey." He squeezed you lightly against him.

You leaned back into him anyway, just enough to keep the contact, and he let you. You passed through the open gate and out into the field, the valley spreading ahead of you, green bathed in the low gold of late afternoon.

"This is nice," you said quietly.

"Better than the car?"

"So much better." You exhaled slowly.

His laugh moved through his chest and into your back.

"We're leaving in a few days," he said, his voice shifting into something quieter.

"California?" you asked.

"Yeah. Finally." Something in his voice had weight to it — not reluctance exactly, but heaviness. Like the word had more in it than he was letting out.

"I'll miss this," you said after a moment. "I'll miss them." A pause. "But I'm ready to actually get somewhere."

He hummed. And for a while there was nothing but the sound of June's hooves moving through the grass, the wind passing low through the field, and his breath steady at the back of your neck.

Later that evening you sat on the front porch and watched the valley turn blue and then dark. You lost yourself in thought without noticing the temperature drop, and by the time you came back to yourself your fingertips were cold.

The front door opened behind you. You looked back and found Hollis in the frame of it, the inside light behind him, his silhouette filling the doorway.

"Dinner's ready," he said.

You didn't answer right away. He looked past you, out toward the valley. And then, like he'd understood exactly why you were sitting there without needing it explained, he came out and sat beside you. He stayed quiet for a long while, the same as you, watching the dark settle over the flatland and the mountains beyond it. You rested your head on his shoulder. He was steady in a way nothing else had ever been.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ⠀

The remaining days passed faster than you expected. Janice kept you close, always finding reasons to pull you into the kitchen or onto the porch, always starting conversations that drifted naturally toward something that felt less like small talk and more like advice she was offering sideways — about Robert, about their early years, about how things weren't always easy and how that was part of it. She mentioned once that Los Angeles was only seven hours from Gardnerville, that she sometimes thought about making the drive down with the kids. It was a small thing and she said it casually, but you heard what she was doing. Not only had you grown attached to this family — the feeling was mutual, and she wanted you to know it.

The hardest part was the morning of the departure.

Janice made a full breakfast — said you had a long drive and needed to be fed. Hollis pointed out there were restaurants on the road and she swatted him. It was all warmly comic and a little melancholic, the particular feeling of a last morning somewhere you weren't ready to leave.

Then Timmy overheard.

In all the weeks you'd known him, through all the tantrums and the broken toys and the crying jags over completely invented injustices, you had never seen him like this. His small round eyes went watery almost immediately. You thought at first it was Hollis he was upset about — but then you felt a small hand close around the hem of your skirt, and a small head press against your hip, and you understood he was trying, in his quiet way, to simply keep you there.

When it was time to actually leave, he wouldn't let go. When you shifted he started to cry — silently, the way children cried when they were trying not to be seen doing it.

"Oh, Timmy," you said softly, reaching down to smooth his blond hair.

"Don't go," he said, small and shy, barely audible.

"Honey, the car's— " Hollis stopped. He'd looked down and found Timmy at your skirt. You could see the amusement starting at the corner of his mouth and you gave him a look that said don't you dare and he held it back with visible effort.

He crouched down in front of the boy instead, one hand on his shoulder, eye level. Timmy looked away, his face going from sad to sulky and betrayed.

"You're taking her away," he said.

"I'm not— " Hollis almost laughed and caught himself. "I mean, we have to go home. But we'll come back."

"You don't know that. I heard Mama saying you were going to a whole other country."

"Another state, you fool," Hollis said, and you pushed his arm lightly. He grinned. "I'll bring her back. I promise. Like I promised you that chocolate and I delivered, didn't I?"

Timmy considered this with a small pout, working through the logic of it. Then he looked from Hollis to you.

"Don't forget about me," he said, smaller again, a different register than the one he used with Hollis.

You crouched and pulled him into a proper hug. "I promise I won't."

"Hey," Hollis murmured behind you, "where's that voice when you talk to me?"

You pushed him without looking.

The rest of the goodbyes were easier, as goodbyes went. Janice held you longer than anyone, whispering thank you against your ear and telling you that you were family now, that whatever you needed she'd be there. Robert was more contained in the way he always was — a long embrace, a few quiet words to Hollis that you didn't catch. Bob and Hollis bickered for a while the way they always had and then Bob gave you a shy, sideways hug like he wasn't entirely sure how. Betty was cheerfully oblivious to the whole departure, which was its own kind of mercy — her small wave and uncomplicated smile lightening something that might otherwise have been heavier than you could manage.

You left in a different car than the one you'd arrived in. The stolen truck was gone — you figured that was what the trip to town with Robert had been for. This time you didn't watch the farm disappear in the mirror. You looked at each of their faces one last time, properly, and then turned to face the road ahead.

Your eyes kept drifting to the driver's seat. Not checking on him — just out of habit. A habit you'd caught yourself in since the very first time he'd driven you anywhere. You noticed, not for the first time, that his roots had grown in darker, the blond giving way to his natural hair. You'd noticed before but neverf quite registered. This time you just reached over and took his hand where it rested on his thigh. He looked down at it, then at you, and brought it to his lips without a word.

Seven more hours.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

Vinnie did not notice how much she had taken over his room until he tripped over a plushie trying to get to his desk. At first it had only been her vape, the pink one she carried around like it was a fashion accessory. Then it was her gloss tube rolling off the edge of his desk, and her perfume bottle sitting next to his cologne.

Her hairbrush had taken up permanent space on his dresser and his hoodie pockets were carrying tampons he never remembered grabbing. He did not mind it. He actually liked it. But it was getting really hard to play it cool when his Twitch chat kept asking why his sheets looked like they were stolen from a childhood bedroom.

It was not just the bed either. His mirror had lip gloss kisses on sticky notes stuck to the corner. His laundry basket had three of her socks in it and one little pink pair of lace panties that he kept folding carefully and never gave back.

His closet had a fuzzy pink cardigan shoved into the back behind his boxing hoodie and a pair of slippers that did not belong to him. The worst part was that he never told her to stop. Every time she left something, she did it with a smile, half playful, like she was daring him to say no. And every time she came back, she’d find it exactly where she left it. She never said anything about that either.

She was his secret. The kind he wanted to keep and show off at the same time. He liked being selfish about her. Liked that only he got to see her in his bed, face buried in a Hello Kitty plush, mouth open just a little in sleep, hoodie riding up to expose soft thighs and smooth skin he could barely stop touching. The pink sheets were her idea, and he had not even fought her on it. If she wanted to turn his entire room into a Hello Kitty shrine, he would let her. As long as she stayed in it.

The night had been quiet, the kind of slow where his stream had ended early and he came back to the scent of her vanilla perfume clinging to his pillows. She was already in bed, legs tangled in his blanket, phone forgotten on the floor beside her. One of her wrists was tucked under her cheek. Her body shifted slightly when he stepped closer, but she did not open her eyes.

He stood at the side of the bed for a moment, watching the way her breath rose and fell softly. Her thighs were bare and the hoodie she wore had slipped off one shoulder. There were little lip gloss smudges on his pillowcase, the same light pink as the vape that sat charging beside his phone.

When he finally sat down, she stirred a little, turning toward him in her sleep. His hand reached down without thinking, fingers dragging gently up her thigh. The warmth of her skin made his breath catch. He leaned in, kissing her cheek softly before brushing her hair back from her face. Her eyes fluttered open, half-lidded, sleepy and soft, and he could see that lazy smile tugging at her lips.

“I was waiting for you” she whispered, voice raspy in that way that made his whole body react. She stretched like a cat, hoodie sliding higher on her thighs, plushie still hugged to her chest like she had fallen asleep mid cuddle.

He reached down and tugged it out of her arms, replacing it with himself. She whined a little but let him pull her against his chest. His hand slipped under the hem of her hoodie and found bare skin waiting for him.

“You always fall asleep in my bed like you live here” he said into her hair, voice low and teasing but honest. Her nose scrunched up as she shifted closer, pressing her mouth to his neck before she mumbled something about it feeling like home. He stilled at that.

Something heavy settled in his chest, slow and quiet. She always said things like that without thinking, like she did not know what they meant to him. Like she had no idea how much he wanted to keep her.

His hand moved lower, slipping between her thighs, finding the familiar heat that waited for him there. She gasped, legs twitching slightly as she shifted onto her back. Her hoodie bunched up around her ribs, exposing soft skin and those little pink panties that never stood a chance when he was like this.

Her eyes blinked up at him now, a little clearer, a little more awake, and he could already see the look he loved pulling across her face. The one that was equal parts nervous and needy. She knew what he was doing. She just liked when he made her admit it.

“Tell me” he murmured as he pushed her panties aside. She bit her lip, letting her legs fall open slowly. Her hand reached up and curled into the fabric of his hoodie. His fingers slid against her slick folds and he could feel how warm she already was.

“I missed you” she said softly.

He did not answer. Just smiled and leaned down, kissing her until she melted under his touch. Her lips were sweet, still sticky from whatever gloss she had been wearing earlier. He moved down her body, licking into her thighs, kissing the edge of her underwear before pulling them off completely. She looked up at him with those soft sleepy eyes and a whimper on her breath as he kissed her again, this time on her clit, slow and deliberate. She cried out, hands flying to his hair, pulling him closer like she was afraid he might stop.

He didn’t.

She came hard. Loud. Writhing on pink sheets with her fingers tangled in his hoodie and her voice cracking around his name. The plushie beside her rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a soft thump. Neither of them noticed.

When he finally crawled back up and kissed her, she was already gasping, legs still trembling as she whispered something like please under her breath. He was already hard. His pants were half undone. She reached for him like she always did, with both hands and a whimper that made him want to ruin her.

He pushed into her slowly, watching her eyes roll back as her legs snapped around his waist. Her hands clung to his shoulders and she moaned so loud it went straight to his head. He had fucked her in this bed a dozen times. But something about the way her thighs trembled, the way her nails dug into his skin, the way her little pink vape glowed beside the pillows while she cried into a Hello Kitty plush as he thrusted into her hard and deep, made this one feel different.

He fucked her like he was trying to paint her onto his sheets.

She took every inch with that perfect little whine, whimpering his name between gasps, legs shaking as he bottomed out again and again. Her mouth opened and her eyes fluttered and she kept begging him to slow down but he knew she did not mean it. She just wanted to feel every second of it. She just wanted to be full. And he wanted to give it all to her.

When he came, it was deep and rough, hands gripping her hips as he groaned her name and spilled into her with a final sharp thrust. Her body jerked under him and her nails dragged across his back. She was already leaking by the time he pulled out and she blinked up at him, dazed, glowing, completely undone.

He kissed her forehead and pulled the blanket over them both. She tucked herself against his chest and smiled into his neck.

“You are really gonna let me turn your whole life pink” she whispered.

He laughed and kissed the top of her head.

“You already did” he said.

Then he pulled the plushie off the floor and tucked it behind her head.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty. You know that, right?” He presses down against your hips, guiding the gentle friction between your clothed bodies.

“Vinnie…” Your skin is warm, tingling with the anticipation of more, but you can’t focus. You lift up, testing the back of your hand against the warmth of your cheeks.

Vinnie scratches at your thighs, his skin just as flushed as yours. “What is it, baby?” Your heart swells at the sight of him and your lower half aches. He looks so perfect underneath you, with half-lidded eyes and perfectly pink lips. “...You okay?” 

You shake your head from your thoughts and push a curled strand from his forehead. “Yeah, sorry. I just—” A faint call from behind Vinnie’s closed bedroom door interrupts you. You pout at your boyfriend. “I feel bad, Vinnie. She wants to come in.” 

“She’ll be fine.” Vinnie grips your hips once more, delicately urging you with his fingertips. “Let’s keep going.” 

Hera continues to cry.

“Vinnie.”

“Hera,” Vinnie warns. “Stop!” Hera meows even louder, scratching against the door wildly. Vinnie tosses his head back against the pillow. “Damnit. Cockblocked by my own cat.” 

“Don’t say that.” You drag two fingers against the scruff of his chin before sliding them down to his neck, connecting the distance between his moles. “She loves you.”

“I know,” Vinnie sighs. You and Hera were the two most important girls in his life. He couldn’t tell either of you “no” if he tried. “Can we,” he grabs your ass, “continue this later?” 

You gasp at the pressure of his hands and smack his chest. “You’re awful!” 

Vinnie smirks, still half-hard. “Yeah?” He bites at his bottom lip and pulls you closer against him, making sure you feel exactly what you’re missing out on. “Tell me how awful I am when I’m—” Hera yowls again and Vinnie rolls his eyes. “Oh my God.” 

You can’t help but giggle. 

Vinnie warned you about Hera before you even met her.

“She’s a princess. Just so you know.”

You’d laughed at the time, thinking he meant it in a cute way.

He didn’t.

He meant it in the “this cat thinks she owns my soul and will actively try to ruin your life” kind of way.

And he was right.

The first time you came over and sat on his couch, Hera jumped up behind you, stared at your head for a solid five seconds, and smacked your ponytail.

No hesitation. No fear.

Like, how dare you breathe near her couch and her man?

You turned around, blinking. “Did she just…?”

“She’s just saying hi,” Vinnie said casually, sitting beside you like this was normal.

Then Hera slinked across the back of the couch and sat behind Vinnie’s head, tail flicking, staring down at you like a queen assessing a peasant.

You tried to ignore it.

Until she started slowly pawing at his hoodie string. Then his hair. Then his shoulder.

You reached out to pet her.

She hissed.

At you.

Vinnie just smiled and said, “That’s her love language.”

It wasn’t.

After that, things got worse.

You weren’t allowed to cuddle him on the couch without Hera inserting herself literally, climbing onto Vinnie’s chest and wedging between your faces.

You’d be mid-conversation, knees pulled up on his lap, and Hera would leap into the space, plop down, and curl up like you were the third wheel.

She’d purr only when you weren’t touching her.

Rub her face against Vinnie’s hand, then swipe at yours when you reached over.

Once, she pushed your phone off the coffee table while staring you dead in the eyes.

Another time, you woke up to her sitting on your stomach in the dark like a shadow demon. Just staring. No purrs. No blinking.

Vinnie, of course, didn’t believe the full extent of it.

“She’s a sweetheart.”

“She clawed my sock off my foot.”

“She’s just playing.”

“She growled.”

“She’s expressive.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You raised a little villain.”

“She’s perfect.”

He said it while petting her like the most precious being in the world. Hera purred and gave you a smug look like she knew she’d won.

But then there were the cracks.

One night, you were half asleep on Vinnie’s chest while the two of you watched some late night anime rerun. Hera was curled up in her usual corner of the couch, giving you both the silent treatment.

You shifted, pulling the blanket up. Vinnie rubbed your back. You yawned, and his hand moved to your hair.

And Hera meowed.

Once.

Then again. Louder.

Vinnie looked over. “What?”

She meowed a third time, then stood, stomped across the cushions, and planted herself directly between the two of you, purring aggressively while staring at him.

He blinked. “You’re not serious.”

She pushed her head into his chin.

You stared. “Is she trying to…?”

“Shh. She’s asserting dominance.”

You rolled your eyes. “Over me?”

“She says you’ve gotten too comfortable.”

Eventually, a truce formed.

You brought her a treat once those freeze dried chicken ones she apparently considered worthy of her time.

She ate it, then sat on your thigh for exactly six seconds.

That was the day she allowed you into the kingdom. Kind of.

Now, she’ll sometimes curl up at the foot of the bed when you’re over.

But only if she gets there first.

She still gives you side eye when you kiss Vinnie in the kitchen.

Still knocks your things off the counter occasionally.

Still positions herself directly in the middle of the bed like a fluffy little wall.

But now?

If you stretch out your hand slowly… she doesn’t hiss.

She might even brush her cheek against your knuckle.

And sometimes only when she thinks no one’s watching she curls up near your hip and pretends she’s just trying to get warm.

But Vinnie knows.

And he grins every time.

Because Hera might still act like you’re stealing her man…