#Start Again Start Again Start Again: a prologue

[heesmiles]

FROSTBITE p.sh

synopsis ⤑ Sunghoon’s injury was comparable to the end of the world, at least for him it was. Having not been cleared in time to start practice with his team, Sunghoon is stuck practicing alone after hours, except he's not alone. Forced to share the rink with the practicing figure skaters was his version of hell, especially when one of them couldn't shut up about the fact that the world was their oyster and taking a positive look on life was the only way to live? How could he be positive when the only thing that made him happy was taken away from him. She had felt like frostbite sinking into his skin. Frostbite was quick, it stung and then it killed before you could even see it coming.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!sunghoon x figure skater!reader word count ⤑ 25k

warnings ⤑ smut, mentions of injury, grumpy x sunshine, ft. Ruka from baby monster, angst, probably more I'm missing...reader is heavily inspired by my yapping baby @beomiracles (serene).

crossing the line masterlist here.

Prologue. 

Sunghoon walked into the rink like a fallen prince returning to a ruined kingdom.

The cold welcomed him. Not with open arms, but with teeth. It bit through the seams of his hoodie, gnawed at the edges of his breath, and curled around the ache in his knee like a reminder. The air here was always sharp, always clean, always brimming with the promise of speed and sweat and glory. But tonight, it only felt hollow. Like an echo of the past, stretched thin over the bones of now. His blades scraped against the ice with a sound that used to thrill him. Now it felt surgical, sterile, like a scalpel carving open the truth he couldn’t avoid. 

He wasn’t on the team. Not really. Not anymore. Not while he recovered. And to Sunghoon, that meant the end of the world. Not playing hockey was his apocalypse. Jay said he needed time. Coach Bennett had nodded, voice clipped and clinical, masking the decision behind phrases like “risk mitigation” and “long-term recovery.” But Sunghoon knew what it meant: they didn’t trust his body, and maybe just maybe they didn’t trust him. What a load of bullshit. Sunghoon could play through the pain. He’s done it before. He wasn’t one to shy away from a little leg injury. Who cares, he’d push through. That’s what real pros did and Sunghoon would be a real pro one day. 

He clenched his jaw as the thought burned through him. His knee twinged again, and he tried not to limp, tried to walk like it didn’t hurt, tried to be the player he used to be. Every movement felt like a performance for an audience that had already left the theater. And then he heard it. A laugh. Light and lilted, drifting through the rink like glitter in a snow globe. He didn’t need to turn to know who it belonged to.

The figure skaters were still here. Of course they were. Sunghoon let out a groan, loud enough to be heard, sharp enough to cut. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. She was the worst of them. Not in talent, but in spirit. Always smiling, always talking like life was some golden sunrise just waiting to be kissed. She had that annoying, relentless optimism, the kind that made Sunghoon’s blood itch. It wasn't just naive — it was offensive. Especially to someone like him, whose world had cracked open and swallowed him whole. How can someone look at the world and life and all that it offers and be happy about that? Life chewed you up and spit you out like old gum whenever it had the chance. 

She was all light. He was the void that light avoided. Still, she twirled like the world had never wronged her. Every glide, every spin, every leap across the ice was effortless. She was a poem written in motion. And somehow, her presence made the silence of his isolation scream louder. He dragged a puck across the rink, his stick slicing through the quiet like a blade. The sound was dull, defeated. She didn’t leave. Of course not. She was too kind or too stubborn or too oblivious to understand that he didn’t want to share this place. Not with anyone. Especially not her. She skated past, the breeze of her motion catching his hoodie, lifting it for a fraction of a second. She left behind a sentence as light as her blades: “Pretty night, huh? Ice looks good.” 

Sunghoon didn’t respond. 

Not because he hadn’t heard, but because he had. Her voice sank beneath his skin like snowmelt — cold, but oddly soft. He hated that about her. Hated how she turned everything into beauty. How she made it look easy. But figure skaters didn’t know what it was to fall and stay broken. They didn’t know what it was to wake every day and feel your identity splinter under your ribs. They didn’t know how it felt to sit in the stands while your teammates practiced without you. Laughed without you. Moved on without you.  

He looked at her then, really looked. And for a moment, he thought of frostbite. 

Not because she was cold, but because she was warm — the kind of warm you feel right before the skin goes numb. Right before the blood stops moving. Right before the damage sets in. She had felt like that from the start. Quick. Unexpected. Beautiful. 

And by the time he noticed her, by the time he realized she was changing something in him, it was already too late. 

After. 

Sunghoon didn’t look at you again. Not when you moved like a falling star tracing soft-burning arcs in a frozen sky. Not when your laughter spilled into the rafters, bright as windchimes caught in a spring storm. Not even when you passed close enough for your perfume, warm citrus and something he couldn’t name to slip beneath his guard and settle in his lungs like memory. He focused instead on his own rhythm. On fury and fire, on the merciless repetition of sprints. Forward, brake. Backward, pivot. Turn. Drive. His blades carved the ice with the same fury that burned behind his eyes, every motion a prayer to reclaim what he’d lost. 

Jay said he wasn’t ready. Coach Bennett nodded like a verdict had been passed, and just like that, his kingdom of ice and glory had crumbled beneath him. Now, he ran drills alone in the shadow-hours, a ghost trying to resurrect himself one sharp breath at a time. This was supposed to be penance. Precision. Control. But then there was you. 

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not really. Not like that. Not with your reckless grace and your endless optimism. You spun where he sprinted. You leapt where he lunged. And you smiled like life hadn’t carved a hole in your chest and left you breathless in the wreckage. You were a contradiction. Light in a place he’d turned dark on purpose. 

Still, he moved around you. Like a storm steering around a cathedral. Like a soldier tiptoeing through a garden he didn’t believe in. Until you skated into his path. He didn’t see you at first, he was locked in the repetition, the heartbeat-thunder of his blades slicing the world into before and after. But then, there you were, gliding in without hesitation, your body all poetry and provocation.  

Sunghoon veered, instinct sharp and immediate. His edge caught. Balance tipped. His world lurched and for one heart-clenching second, he was weightless and helpless and human. He caught himself on the boards with a sharp breath, pain flashing down his leg like a warning flare. Behind him, your voice rose, bright, amused, infuriating.  

“That was a triple lutz of fury. You okay, Mr. Thundercloud?” He turned slowly, every muscle tight with the effort not to snap. 

“This is a hockey rink,” he bit out, eyes dark, voice heavy with disdain. “Not a ballerina recital.” 

You just grinned, like you hadn’t heard the venom — or worse, didn’t care. “It’s called figure skating,” you replied, the words wrapped in sunlight and sarcasm. “But I’ll let the insult slide… this time.” He stared at you for a beat too long. You were smiling. Like you’d won something. Like this was a game and he was your opponent. And for the briefest, strangest moment, he forgot how to breathe. 

Then he scoffed under his breath, muttered something bitter and small, and pushed off again away from your voice, your grin, your golden defiance. But your laughter followed him across the ice, light as snowfall, impossible to ignore. He skated harder. Faster. Angry at the sound. Angrier at the way it stayed. You were the flame he never meant to touch. But you’d already left blisters behind. 

The house loomed before him, golden-lit and quiet in the blue hush of evening. Sunghoon stepped across the threshold like a soldier returning from war, though the battlefield had only been frozen water and a girl who laughed like she belonged to the light. He limped. Not dramatically he would never allow that but enough that each step sent sparks of fire through his knee. His leg was screaming, a symphony of torn sinew and stubborn pride. He didn’t slow. Wouldn’t. Not for pain. Not for anyone. 

The frat house was unusually still for a Friday night. No bass shaking the walls. No shouted dares or the sound of someone racing through the halls with a fire extinguisher again. Just a soft, echoing quiet that pressed against the walls like an old quilt — threadbare, familiar. Heeseung was probably with his girlfriend, tangled up in the kind of love that softened even his sharpest sarcasm. And Jake, well, Jake had been quieter lately too. Ever since his girlfriend’s due date began casting long shadows across his smile. The house had learned to tiptoe around anticipation, around the hush of something sacred arriving. 

Sometimes Jay played his guitar in the evenings, those bittersweet chords bleeding down the stairs like spilled wine. But tonight, there was no music. Only the faint crackle of something cooking and the rhythmic clink of a wooden spoon against a pot. Sunghoon followed the scent to the kitchen, where Jay stood at the stove in a hoodie and sweatpants, sleeves pushed to his elbows, stirring something that smelled warm and nostalgic, tomato sauce, maybe. Garlic. Something close to comfort. 

Jay glanced up, eyes flicking to the limp before Sunghoon could hide it. “You okay?” he asked, brow creasing. “You’re pushing too hard again. You need to slow down.” 

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. The words hit like cold water, shocking, unwelcome. He dropped his stick against the wall with a dull thunk, the sound far too final. “I don’t need your concern,” he snapped, voice low, bitter. “And I sure as hell don’t need advice from the guy who kicked me off the team.” 

Jay’s stirring paused. The kitchen seemed to hold its breath. “You weren’t kicked off,” Jay said carefully, like choosing the wrong word might light a fuse. “It’s a recovery period. You know that. It’s just protocol—” 

“Protocol?” Sunghoon echoed, a scoff splitting the word in two. “You think I care what the official term is? You benched me, Jay. You and Coach. And now you want to play big brother?” Jay turned fully now, eyes steady but tired. “It’s not about playing anything. I care, Sunghoon. That’s why we’re doing this. You’re not ready yet.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” 

“Someone has to.” 

There it was. The truth, bare and blunt. And it cracked something in Sunghoon, something already splintered beneath the surface. He stepped back, breath short, throat tight with all the things he didn’t want to admit: that the rink didn’t feel the same, that he wasn’t sure he’d ever skate like he used to, that you haunted the corners of his mind like a flame that refused to go out. He turned on his heel, ignoring the flare of pain that shot up his leg. “Whatever. Just—keep your advice to yourself.” 

And then he was out of the kitchen, storming up the stairs two at a time like he could leave the conversation behind if he moved fast enough. The pain chased him anyway. At the top of the landing, he paused, one hand on the railing, the other clenched into a fist. The house was silent again. Jay hadn’t followed. The scent of sauce still lingered, but it no longer smelled like comfort. It smelled like a life that was continuing without him. 

He exhaled shakily. And behind his eyes, he saw the rink. Saw you. Spinning like the world was made of light. Smiling like you’d never been broken. He hated that it stayed with him. Hated it more that he wanted it to. 

Your dorm room was warm in the way a lived-in space should be. Golden light pooled against the far wall like honey, slanting through the blinds in stripes, soft and sleepy. The hum of a quiet Friday night filtered in through the window, distant laughter, footsteps echoing down the hall, the occasional door creak or hallway chatter swallowed by plaster walls. 

Ruka was where she always was at this hour, curled up at her desk like a monk in silent study, her headphones draped loosely around her neck, textbooks spread like sacred offerings across the surface. She barely glanced up when you opened the door, nose buried in something with a terrifying title, highlighter held like a dagger mid-stroke. You didn’t mind. 

The two of you weren’t close, not in the way girls braided hair and whispered secrets into pillows at three in the morning. But there was a quiet kind of companionship in coexisting. She listened. You filled the air. She was younger than you, ran with a different crowd. 

As always, you started talking. Words spilled from your mouth like marbles from an upturned jar, clattering over every thought you hadn’t had time to process. You flopped onto your bed and kicked off your shoes, legs hanging over the side like punctuation. “I swear the rink was cursed today. I could feel it in the air — like the ghosts of last season were judging me. And someone — won’t name names — almost ran me over. Again. Do I have a sign on my back that says ‘human speed bump’? Honestly, it’s impressive how fast he moves for someone with a busted knee. Like, hello? Take a nap, eat a granola bar, embrace mortality or something—” 

You paused to take a breath, dragging your fingers through your hair. “Anyway,” you continued, flopping dramatically onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers. “I survived. Mostly. Though Park Sunghoon nearly gave me frostbite with just a look. I swear, I’ve never seen someone skate like they’re mad at God.” That was when Ruka looked up. 

It was subtle — a tilt of the head, a flicker of curiosity beneath her steady gaze. But you caught it. The way her highlighter froze mid-air. The way one perfectly arched brow quirked in delicate, deliberate motion. “Wait,” she said slowly, voice soft but edged with intrigue. “Park Sunghoon?” 

You blinked, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Yeah?” 

“The hockey player?” 

You nodded, slower this time, as if each motion unlocked some hidden meaning. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, so rare and quiet it felt like catching a butterfly mid-flight. “He’s really cute,” she said simply. “I kind of have a crush on him.” And just like that, the air shifted. 

Not drastically, no thunderclap, no sudden gust, but in the way a still lake ripples when someone tosses a stone. The world tilted a few degrees. You stared at her. Not out of disbelief, but in the strange, dissonant surprise that came from hearing someone else say his name with softness instead of frustration. Because you had only ever spoken of Sunghoon with fire in your voice. Sharp-edged. Wry. Annoyed, mostly. 

But Ruka’s words were wrapped in ribbon. Gentle. Blushing. You laughed, more to yourself than at her. “Well, that makes one of us.” 

She looked at you then, really looked, head tilted, eyes curious. “You don’t think he’s cute?” You hesitated. The thing was… you didn’t know. Not really. He was all sharp lines and silent storms, the kind of boy who walked like he didn’t belong to the earth. Beautiful, maybe, but in the way wolves were, wild, cold, untouchable. 

“I think,” you said finally, drawing each word like a thread between your fingers, “he’s complicated.” 

Ruka smiled again, turning back to her textbook with a knowing kind of grace. “Those usually are.” And just like that, the moment passed. She was back to her quiet, and you were left staring at the ceiling again, wondering when his name had started tasting different in your mouth. Like something that might linger. Like something that might matter. 

Monday morning clung to the world like a yawn that never quite finished. The sky was that dreamy kind of blue, the color of notebook margins and sleepy eyes, and you were already two sips into your iced coffee, pretending it had magical properties. Your lecture hall buzzed softly with life, pages flipping, keyboards clacking, the distant groan of someone remembering they had a quiz. You sank into your seat and opened your laptop, but your fingers hovered above the keys like dancers unsure of the next step. Your mind? Miles away. Lost somewhere between calculus and chaos. 

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, drawing shapes in the condensation on your cup. “Finals are coming. Sure. Death approaches in a syllabus-shaped cloak. But we’re gonna be fine. We’ve survived worse. Like that chem lab last semester. Or the time you accidentally locked yourself in the practice rink because you thought the red button opened the door. That was fun.” You laughed a little to yourself, a soft musical thing, then added quietly, “Sharing a rink with Park Sunghoon? Pfft. Easy. He’s just one very grumpy man with a stick. It’s basically like living with a thunderstorm. Moody, loud, and occasionally electric — but you bring an umbrella and move on.” 

You told yourself this because optimism was your armor. Because the world was already heavy enough, and if you didn’t keep spinning, you feared you’d sink. And besides, you liked spinning. You liked believing that everything, in its own way, would bloom eventually. Your fingers tapped absent-mindedly on your notebook. You were mid-thought — something about figuring out a study schedule, maybe, with your chin resting in your hand, your eyes soft and unfocused, when the air in the room shifted. 

Louder voices broke through the usual murmur like a crack of thunder across calm skies. You blinked, sat up straighter. At the back of the lecture hall, four silhouettes gathered in a tight circle. You recognized them instantly. Jay’s dark hair, Jake’s easy posture, Heeseung’s lazy slouch. And Sunghoon, standing like a blade half-drawn from its sheath, tension coiled in every muscle. Their voices weren’t loud loud, but they carried. 

“I told you, I’m fine,” Sunghoon bit out, arms crossed like a shield. “You’re treating me like I’ve lost a leg.” Jay said something quieter — calmer — but you couldn’t make out the words. Sunghoon shook his head, jaw clenched. 

“I’m not some kid who needs babysitting. I could be out there with you. But instead? I’m stuck skating in circles with the goddamn figure skaters.” The words hit like a slap. No warning. No mercy. You blinked once. Twice. You looked down at your notebook, at the spirals you’d been doodling that suddenly looked like a fall. Like something unraveling. 

You weren’t surprised, not really. Not when you’d seen the anger in his shoulders, the way he moved like something had been carved out of him. Grief in motion. Frustration dressed in skates and scowls. Still, hearing it out loud… hurt. Just a little. Like biting into something sweet and finding the bitter underneath.

You forced a smile. Told yourself, He’s just mad. Just hurting. And people in pain say things they don’t mean. You knew that. You’d always known that. So you tucked the ache somewhere deep, beneath the layers of warmth you wrapped around your heart every day. You held your chin a little higher. Kept the sunshine burning in your chest even when the clouds gathered. 

Because that’s what you did. You stayed soft. You stayed bright. Even when the world gave you every reason not to. You glanced back at them one more time, just long enough to catch the storm still brewing in his eyes. Then you turned away. And smiled again. Even though this one didn’t quite reach your eyes. 

The late afternoon folded over the campus like a well-worn quilt, stitched in gold and quiet. Shadows stretched long and slow across the sidewalks, and the sky blushed softly, unsure whether it wanted to be day or night. You walked back to your dorm with your headphones on but no music playing, just the hush of your own thoughts echoing in the space between footsteps and fading sunlight. 

The building was its usual self: scuffed floors, sleepy corridors, the scent of someone's attempt at instant noodles clinging to the stairwell air. You climbed the steps like you always did, counting them beneath your breath like charms. 

One, two, three, four—everything will be fine.

Five, six, seven—you're stronger than this.

Eight, nine—just lace your skates and keep moving. 

Your key clicked into the lock, the door creaked open, and — Silence. Stillness, not unfamiliar, but… different. Ruka’s side of the room sat in its usual state of meticulous calm. Bed made like a hotel sheet ad, her books aligned like soldiers on her desk. But the chair was empty. Her headphones were gone. Her little desk lamp, usually the only star in your shared little galaxy was off. Your brows furrowed. She wasn’t the type to vanish without a trace. She was quiet, sure. Steady as a heartbeat. But dependable as gravity. On Saturdays, she studied. With her color-coded notes and an herbal tea steaming gently beside her elbow. A ritual. A rhythm.

You dropped your bag onto your bed and stood for a moment, frozen between thoughts. The silence was thick, pressing at your ears like water, and you almost called out her name, just to hear a sound bounce back. But you didn’t. You let it go. People have lives. Maybe she went out. Maybe someone swept her into a spontaneous adventure, a brief rebellion against her usual constellations. Maybe she just needed to breathe outside these four walls. You told yourself all of this, gently, while pulling open your bottom drawer.

Inside, your skates gleamed dully in the late-day light, blades catching the edge of dusk. You ran your fingers over the laces, the leather warm from where your dreams lived inside them. Then you pulled out your duffel, began packing with practiced hands, pads, gloves, that ridiculous fleece-lined jacket you never actually wore but always brought just in case. Each item folded like a promise. Each zipper, a punctuation mark. Each movement, a ritual. This is how we prepare. This is how we carry on. 

You glanced again at Ruka’s desk as you slung the bag over your shoulder, something quiet fluttering in your chest. Not quite worry, not quite longing. Just the awareness that something familiar had gone just a little bit strange.

You left the dorm with that feeling trailing behind you like a thread, caught in the breeze of your footsteps. Outside, the sky was starting to darken. Time to skate. Time to shine.

Even if someone else’s words still echoed like bruises in the back of your mind. 

The rink was a cathedral of echoes when you arrived, cold light spilling from the overheads like moonlight dragged down to earth. You stepped through the side door with your duffel swinging low and your breath fogging in the air, a silent offering to the frozen gods of routine. The chill kissed your cheeks the moment you entered, familiar and unbothered by your presence. The ice welcomed you without question unlike the boy skating circles at the far end of the rink, cutting lines through frost like he was angry at the surface itself. 

Park Sunghoon. 

You saw him the moment you stepped through the arch of metal and fluorescent glow. Sharp lines of movement, precise but edged with frustration, like a dancer trying to turn fury into choreography. He didn’t look up. Of course, he didn’t. You might as well have been a ghost to him, a passing flicker in his periphery. And still… his words from this morning clung to you like fog to a mirror. “I’m stuck skating in circles with the goddamn figure skaters.” 

You could’ve held onto that. Let it curdle in your chest. But you didn’t. You’d already chosen to let it melt like frost under sunlight. Because that was how you survived people like him, people with cold hearts and stormy eyes. You stayed warm. You stayed soft. Gooey, like a cookie. Even if his silence sliced like wind over bare skin. 

You moved toward the bench in the corner, began lacing your skates with steady fingers. A familiar rhythm. Loop. Pull. Loop. Pull. You took a deep breath. Told yourself that the ice was still yours. That joy could still be found here. And then you stepped onto it. The rink hummed beneath your blades. You skated a gentle warm-up, smooth glides and soft turns, tracing patterns in silence like a painter laying down the first strokes of something that might become beautiful. You didn’t look at him. Not really. But you felt him, like a shadow trailing just out of view. 

He kept his distance. Good. Let him.

You spun into your routine, finding the quiet joy in motion again. Practicing your turns, letting momentum carry you like a whispered secret. And then, a voice loud and shrill broke the icy silence between you two. “WOO! GO, SUNGHOON!” Your skate caught slightly on the edge of your turn, not enough to fall, but enough to blink you out of your trance. You slowed to a glide, turning toward the source. 

There, in the bleachers near the glass, waving like she was at a concert and not a cold, half-empty rink, was none other than Ruka. Your brows lifted before you could stop them. She had swapped her usual hoodie-and-headphones look for something more casual-cute. Perched on the edge of the seat like a cat in a sunbeam. And her eyes? They were locked onto Sunghoon like he was something out of a dream she’d once dared to whisper aloud. 

“Come on, you look great out there!” she called, clapping. “That last sprint? Totally NHL-worthy!” You blinked. Slowly. Sunghoon, mid-stride, skidded slightly, his jaw ticking as he looked over at her. Not a smile. Not a nod. Just the sharp exhale of a man who’d rather be anywhere else. His annoyance was visible in the set of his shoulders, the way he stared past her like she was fog on the glass, there but inconvenient. 

Your heart tilted sideways in your chest. Not because of the awkwardness. Not because Ruka was cheering for the very boy who had called your world a joke in a voice laced with disdain. But because you saw him. You saw how he stiffened under her praise, how his skates moved sharper, faster, like he was trying to outskate her words. Like kindness grated on him more than silence. Like admiration was a language he didn’t know how to read. 

You stayed still for a moment, one hand on your hip, the other brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. You watched the way he avoided your gaze with deliberate precision. Like even eye contact might unravel him. Then you took a breath. Pushed off. Returned to your own practice. 

Because the ice didn’t belong to him. And your light didn’t need permission to shine.

Still, as you skated, you felt something settle into your bones. Not quite sadness. Not quite jealousy. Just… the sharp awareness that everyone wore masks. Even the ones who scowled at sunshine and rolled their eyes at laughter. Especially them. 

The hours unfurled like ribbons across the ice, silver and slow. You and Sunghoon spun your separate galaxies across the same frozen sky, orbiting each other in careful silence. His skates tore into the rink with force, blades slicing like twin swords, while yours curved and dipped with the grace of moonlight slipping through branches. He was precision and thunder. You were rhythm and light. 

You didn’t speak. Not once. But you felt him. And somehow, that was worse. Every time he passed, your chest tightened just a little, remembering the way his voice had clipped those words this morning, how he’d tossed your world aside with a single breath. But the cold has a way of preserving more than just bruises; it clears the mind, too. By the time practice wound to a close, your hurt had melted into determination, soft and fierce. 

The locker room door creaked as you stepped off the ice. And there he was, Sunghoon, perched on the bench like a statue carved from winter itself. He sat hunched over his skates, fingers tugging sharply at the laces, his jaw tight, sweat painting constellations at his temple. You watched him for a beat. The way his leg trembled slightly. The sharp inhale when he shifted. Pain. Not just ghost pain, not the phantom ache of healing. Real. Present.

Your eyes narrowed, and the words came out before you could swallow them. “You’re doing it wrong,” you said, stepping forward, breath curling in the cold. 

Sunghoon didn’t look up. “Doing what wrong?” 

“Your stride,” you said, matter-of-fact but warm, like you were offering a cup of tea to a frostbitten soul. “That’s why your leg still hurts so bad. Your form’s all off.” 

He finally glanced at you, those glacier eyes narrowing, irritation flickering just behind them like lightning beneath snowclouds. “I’m what?” 

“You’re playing wrong,” you repeated, standing tall despite your worn skates, your cheeks pink from the chill and adrenaline. “You’re putting too much pressure on the outer part of your knee when you push off. You’re compensating for the pain, which is making it worse.” 

He scoffed. “And you’re what, a doctor now?” 

“Nope.” You smiled, brightly, undeterred. “Just someone who’s fallen on her ass about a thousand times. Figure skaters crash constantly, but we know how to angle our bodies so the impact spreads. It’s all physics. Leverage. Balance. Control.” He looked back down at his skates, tugging harder now, the muscle in his forearm twitching. 

“I can help you, if you want,” you offered, genuine, hopeful, stubborn. “Just with the angles. Not to overstep. Just to help you skate without pain.” He didn’t answer right away. For a heartbeat, you thought maybe — just maybe — he was considering it. That something in his storm-cloud gaze might soften. Then he snorted. “No thanks, Sunshine.”

The nickname was sharp, but not cruel. More like a brush-off wrapped in thin sarcasm, tossed over his shoulder like a towel. He stood, grabbed his jacket, and limped toward the exit, each step radiating quiet fury. You watched him go, your hands still resting on your hips, heart stung but not shattered. Because here’s the thing about sunshine. It doesn’t need permission to rise. It just does.

So you exhaled. Smiled again, just for yourself. And whispered under your breath like a promise: “Tomorrow, then.” Because you weren’t done. Not even close. The ice hadn’t melted between you yet.

You slipped through the dorm door with your skates still swinging from your shoulder, the scent of cold clinging to your hair like snowflakes that refused to melt. The hallway was dim, the kind of golden hush that only existed in the sliver of hours between late afternoon and true evening, and the air in your room felt just a degree warmer than the rink, barely but enough to sting your fingers with returning blood. And there she was.

Ruka. Curled cross-legged on her bed, laptop open, notebooks spread like wings around her. Her hair was tucked into a low bun, earbuds in, and she was scribbling something down with a pencil that had been chewed nearly to death. For a moment, you paused in the doorway. Something felt…off. Not visibly. Not loudly. But you knew people the way skaters knew their balance points — by instinct. You could feel when someone had shifted, even if they looked the same. She didn’t look up when you came in. 

Still, you offered a bright little sigh, a soft smile breaking across your face like morning light spilling across your pillow. “Hey, you disappeared before I left the rink.” You tossed your bag gently onto the floor and began tugging off your coat, the fabric whispering across your skin. “Didn’t even hear you leave. Were you skating again?” You played dumb, of course. 

Ruka blinked at her notebook, then slowly pulled an earbud free. Her eyes met yours. cool, calm, unreadable. “I wasn’t skating,” she said simply. 

You tilted your head, fingers pausing mid-zip on your hoodie. “Oh. So… what were you doing there?” 

it was a harmless question. Light as air. But her answer landed like a stone. “Just watching.” She turned back to her notes like punctuation, and you blinked. Something in her voice had been dipped in frost. Not biting, but distant. Measured. Not her usual soft-spoken stillness, the kind that let you chatter through silences without ever feeling unwelcome. No—this was different. This was cold. You stood there for a beat, hoodie half unzipped, heart tilting a little sideways. 

“Right,” you said, voice laced in artificial warmth. “That’s cool. I didn’t know you were a fan of the rink.” Ruka didn’t reply.

You let out a little laugh, quiet, the kind that fills a space just to prove you still can. And then, still smiling, you crossed the room and sat on your bed, your bones aching from practice, your mind unraveling in quiet questions. You didn’t press. You didn’t pry. That wasn’t your way.

But you thought about the way she had cheered earlier, about how her voice had filled the cold air with warmth meant for someone else. You thought about Sunghoon, skating like he could outrun something, and the way her gaze had followed him like he was the sun she’d never dared look at before. You lay back against the pillow, eyes on the ceiling. Sometimes, things shift before you see them coming. And sometimes, people surprise you in the quietest ways.

But still, you stayed kind. Stayed bright. Because even if the room was colder than you remembered, you refused to stop being the warmth. 

The night had softened by the time Sunghoon made it back to the house, the sky bruised with the fading violet of dusk, and the air bit at his skin like it resented his stubbornness. His leg burned. Not the sharp, immediate pain of an old injury flaring, but the deep, heavy ache of something being pushed past its breaking point. Again. 

The front door creaked open under his weight, and the warmth of the frat house spilled over him like syrup. thick and too sweet. Familiar voices tangled together just past the hallway. Laughter. The clink of plates. The low strum of Jay’s voice. He almost turned around. But pride is a chain wrapped around the ribs. And his wouldn’t let go. He stepped inside.

The living room glowed gold, lit by the low hum of lamplight and the occasional flicker of the muted TV. Jay was leaned back on the couch, an open water bottle in hand, while Jake sat beside his very pregnant girlfriend, who had her feet propped up on a pillow. Her belly rose like a gentle tide beneath her sweater, and her eyes shone with that ever-glowing light. soft, observant, and infinitely kind. Three heads turned as Sunghoon limped through the door, his hoodie half-zipped and damp with leftover sweat from practice. 

“You’re limping worse than yesterday,” Jay said, always the captain, always the voice of reason. 

Jake chimed in a beat later, his brows drawn in concern. “Why won’t you just rest, man? You’re not gonna heal if you keep pushing like this.” Sunghoon dropped his gear by the door with a heavy thud, his jaw tight, the pain crawling up his leg like a storm trying to find a place to land. 

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, not looking at them. “I don’t need a lecture.” 

Jay sighed, the sound edged with exhaustion. “It’s not a lecture, Hoon. It’s basic logic. You’re tearing yourself up out there. You think Coach Bennett’ll let you back in if you break yourself completely?” 

Sunghoon turned, irritation flashing sharp and raw in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be ‘breaking’ if you hadn’t pulled me off the ice in the first place.” 

“You’re not off the team,” Jay replied calmly, setting his bottle down. “You’re on a required recovery period.” 

“The same thing,” Sunghoon snapped. “Don’t split hairs.” 

A quiet cough cut through the tension, and Jake’s girlfriend — sweet as spring rain — shifted a little on the couch. “I think what they’re trying to say is… maybe listening to your body isn’t the worst idea,” she said gently, her voice like a balm. “I mean, sometimes we think we’re fine just because we want to be.” 

It should’ve landed like comfort. But it struck like a match. “Mind your business,” Sunghoon said sharply, the words out before he could call them back. The room froze.

Jake’s head snapped around, his eyes flaring. “Hey. Don’t talk to my girl like that.” The silence that followed was molten. Sunghoon’s anger flickered, dimmed, and died out in a single breath. He stared at the floor, guilt pooling heavy in his chest like sleet. 

“I didn’t mean…” His voice cracked, quieter now. “Sorry. That was—stupid. I’m sorry.” Jake’s girlfriend gave him a small, understanding smile. She always forgave too easily. That only made it worse. 

Sunghoon grabbed his water bottle and turned away, shoulders stiff, shame clinging to him like another layer of sweat-soaked fabric. He climbed the stairs slowly, every step a needle driven into the muscle behind his knee. When he reached his room, he shut the door softly almost tenderly and stood there in the quiet, staring at nothing for a long moment. The pain was still there, pulsing like a second heartbeat. But deeper than that — beneath the bruised ego and the battered pride was something else. 

Your voice, bright and persistent, kept echoing in his mind.

“You’re playing wrong.”“It’s all physics. Leverage. Balance.”“I can help you.”

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling just a little. It had sounded ridiculous earlier. But now, with the pain sharp and unrelenting, and the silence of the room pressing in like a judgment, your offer didn’t seem so foolish. Maybe it wasn’t pity. Maybe it wasn’t an insult. Maybe you actually knew what you were talking about.

He sighed and sat on the edge of his bed, leg stretched out in front of him like a broken line. The ice, the skates, the ache, the quiet praise you gave him even when he hadn’t earned it… it all blurred together. And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t try to push the pain away. He let it sit beside him like a mirror. Maybe see you again tomorrow. And maybe… he’d listen this time. 

The sky was the color of wet pearls as you made your way to the rink, the kind of soft gray that promised rain but never delivered. Your skates were slung over your shoulder, biting at your hip with every step, and your breath came out in visible puffs that floated like little ghosts of determination. You were a girl on a mission, fueled by blind optimism and an unyielding belief that even the most frozen things could melt if you were warm enough, loud enough, kind enough. And Sunghoon? He was a glacier. But even glaciers cracked under time and pressure.

The door to the rink groaned open and welcomed you with that familiar chill, that bite of air laced with the perfume of ice and steel. You stepped in like it was a cathedral, reverent in your own way, eyes scanning the space that had become your evening altar. He was there. Already. Park Sunghoon. Laced in shadow and silence. 

He sat on the bench near the boards, bent over his skates, fingers threading laces with a quiet intensity, jaw set like it was carved from marble. His hair was damp at the edges, the kind of mess that spoke of someone who didn’t care enough to fix it but hadn’t quite let go of vanity either. The light caught on the sharp curve of his cheekbone, and for a moment you paused just a moment because something about him looked… different. He looked Less angry. Or maybe just tired of being angry. You couldn’t figure out which was which. 

You marched up anyway, smile already blooming like a sunflower on your face, warmth radiating off of you in a way the ice couldn’t fight. “Okay,” you said, breathless not from the cold but from the flurry of thoughts bursting behind your eyes. “Hear me out. I’ve been thinking and don’t roll your eyes, this is important I’ve been thinking that maybe, just maybe, you need me.” He didn’t look up. You didn’t let it stop you. “Your form is off. I’m not just saying that to be annoying. I mean, I am annoying, but not this time. You’re straining the wrong muscle groups and you’re compensating for your knee in a way that’s going to make it worse. You’re going to tear something again and then you really won’t be able to play. And I know, I know I’m just a figure skater and you think I don’t get it, but we fall for a living. Literally. And we fall well. We learn to twist midair so the ice kisses us instead of cracking us open, and I could show you, I could help you—” 

“Okay.”

You blinked.

“What?”

Sunghoon finally looked up. His eyes met yours, dark and steady, but not cruel. Not cold. Just quiet. “I said okay,” he repeated, voice low but clear. “Meet me here. Every weekday. 6:30 p.m. sharp.” 

You stared at him, stunned into something dangerously close to speechless. “Wait. Wait, did you — did you say yes?”

“I did.”

“Well don’t deny me — wait. What.” A ghost of a smirk, barely there, almost imaginary curved at the corner of his mouth. “Meet me here on time, Sunshine.” 

You laughed, half in disbelief, half in relief, the sound tumbling out of you like birds startled into flight. “Sunshine, huh? You really can’t help yourself with the nicknames.” He stood then, tall and limping slightly, but not so much that you missed the way his frame shifted lighter. Like saying yes had peeled off a layer of armor. Like hope, when it finally arrived, it didn't have to announce itself loudly; it just had to be there. “6:30,” he repeated. “Don’t be late.”

You saluted with mock seriousness, grinning wide. “Sir, yes sir.”

He rolled his eyes and skated toward the ice, but this time… this time he didn’t avoid you. Not entirely. And just like that, a crack had opened in the glacier. Small. Fragile. But real. And you, all sun and stubbornness, were ready to shine straight through it. 

The next day dawned with a sky stretched in pale watercolor, as if the heavens themselves were yawning awake. And you moved with purpose, energy stitched into your limbs like golden thread, skipping down the hallway with your skates in one hand and a banana in the other, mid-bite, mid-monologue about how today was going to be the day Sunghoon learned the art of surrender. Not to defeat — oh no but to gravity. To momentum. To pain that teaches rather than punishes. 

The rink was quieter than usual when you arrived, its emptiness echoing with the soft hum of the refrigeration system beneath the ice. The air was its usual crisp kiss, sharp enough to sting but not to bruise. Sunghoon was already there, of course, punctual and pouting. He sat on the bench with his skate half-laced and his hoodie still on, like a knight begrudgingly preparing for a battle he didn’t believe in. You practically twirled in, dropping your bag with theatrical flair. “Alright, Captain Crankypants,” you called out, voice bright and bell-clear, “today we begin with the basics. Lesson one: how to fall like a pro.” 

He groaned, long and low, as if your very presence was the headache he couldn’t shake. “You want me to fall? On purpose?” His eyes flicked up at you, unimpressed. “Yeah, that sounds super smart.” You beamed at him, entirely unbothered. “Not just fall. Fall well. There’s an art to it, you know. A science. A rhythm. You can’t just slam into the ground like a dropped dumbbell, you’ll wreck yourself that way.” 

He scoffed, standing slowly, testing his weight on that healing leg with guarded precision. “Pretty sure falling’s the last thing I should be doing if I want to get back on the ice with my team.” 

“But that’s exactly why you should,” you replied, tilting your head, as if the answer was written in the frost forming along the glass. “Because falling isn’t the problem, Sunghoon. It’s how you fall. We don’t learn to stop gravity. We learn to meet it, roll with it, get back up without it stealing anything more than our breath.” His eyes narrowed, a storm cloud gathering, quiet but looming. “That’s figure skating stuff.” 

“Exactly,” you chirped. “Which is why you’re lucky you’ve got me.” 

He looked at you like you were speaking in tongues. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” 

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, laughing as you tugged on your gloves. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” With slow reluctance, like a stubborn mountain giving in to time, Sunghoon followed you onto the ice. His strides were careful, a ghost of his former fluidity trailing behind each push. You watched him move with a softness in your gaze, knowing he was fighting something far deeper than physical injury. He was mourning a version of himself that had been left behind in the locker room that day, when his knee gave out and the world fell with it. You stopped near center rink and turned to face him. “Okay. Watch me.” 

You let yourself fall, dramatically and deliberately. A gentle twist of the hips, a tuck of the arms, a controlled slide that kissed the ice instead of collided with it. You rose just as quickly, nimble and unbothered. “See? Easy peasy, gravity is greedy but we’re smarter.” 

He muttered something under his breath, something about this being ridiculous, but you caught the way his lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite disapproval. Just… conflict. And curiosity. “Try it,” you said, your voice dipped in sugar and sunshine. “Don’t think. Just fall. Trust that I’ll teach you how to land softer.” 

He hesitated, eyes flickering across the rink like it might mock him, like it might remember how once, not long ago, it had hurt him. But finally, with a sigh that could have been mistaken for wind, he crouched a little, awkward and stiff, and let himself go. It wasn’t perfect. Not even close. He landed with a thud and a grunt, half-turned and slightly off balance. But he didn’t scream. He didn’t wince. And he didn’t stay down. You clapped, delighted. “Not bad! You’ve got the makings of a Bambi-on-ice!” 

He rolled his eyes, but he was sitting up now, flexing his leg, and something in his face had shifted. A flicker of belief. A spark of possibility.

You offered your hand. He didn’t take it. But he stood on his own. And that, in your eyes, was progress painted in frost and stubborn hope. Practice ended in a flurry of silence and exhale, the kind that leaves your lungs aching and your limbs trembling from exhaustion masked as endurance. The rink had settled into a sleepy hush, the overhead lights casting silver puddles onto the ice like pools of moonlight spilled from a weary sky. Sunghoon had spent most of the hour gliding just beyond your reach, stoic and brooding, a storm cloud in a jersey, orbiting your sunshine in quiet, reluctant circles. But progress had been made. Not in leaps or bounds, but in small things: the twitch of a smile that he didn’t quite manage to kill, the way he didn’t protest when you told him his weight distribution was off. Tiny steps, quiet victories. 

You both sat now on the bench that bordered the rink, his skates half-untied, yours dangling from your fingers as you caught your breath. His hoodie clung to him in damp creases, his hair plastered to his forehead, and yet he still managed to look like he’d stepped out of some tragic poem. A sonnet of scraped ice and stubbornness. “So…” you began, voice light as lace, “about Ruka.” 

He didn’t look at you, only furrowed his brows deeper into the shadows of his lashes. “Who?” 

You turned slightly, lacing one skate in slow loops as you stole a glance at his profile. “The girl who was here the other day. Cheering for you like it was the Olympics.” Realization flickered across his face like lightning fast, dismissive. “Oh. The cheerleader.” 

You laughed, not unkindly. “She’s not a cheerleader, she’s my roommate. And she might have a tiny little crush on you.” Sunghoon groaned, tipping his head back as if the ceiling above might offer him divine rescue. “Great. Just what I need.” 

“What, adoration?” you teased, nudging his knee with yours. “Must be so hard.” He didn’t answer right away, his jaw working through something he didn’t say aloud. Finally, he muttered, “I don’t date.” 

You raised a brow. “Really?” 

“Hockey’s the love of my life,” he said, eyes sharp like ice shards, like truth he’d carved out long ago. “That’s enough for me.” You tilted your head, letting your hair fall like a curtain of gold and starlight across your cheek. “That’s a sad way to live,” you said gently, not accusing, just… observing. “Everyone deserves to love. To be loved.” 

He looked at you then, a long, lingering look, as if trying to decide whether your optimism was a costume or a calling. “I do love,” he said, softer this time. “I love the game. That’s all I’ve ever needed.” 

“But maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet,” you offered, voice barely more than a breath. He let out a short laugh — dry, not cruel. “Sounds like something out of one of those cheesy rom-coms you’d make me watch.” 

You smiled, undeterred, pulling your coat tighter around you as the cold began to kiss at your skin. “You’d be surprised what stories can teach you.” 

Sunghoon didn’t reply. He stood, the worn laces of his skates now untied completely, his posture tight, shoulders stiff with the ache he wouldn’t admit. He slung his bag over one arm and glanced at you, his expression unreadable under the dull glow of the rink’s overhead light.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, voice low.

“At 6:30,” you replied, standing too.

He nodded, already walking away, and you watched him disappear into the tunnel that led out of the rink, his shadow swallowed by silence. Still, even as the chill pressed into your bones and your breath misted in the air, you smiled. Because he hadn’t said no. And sometimes, that was the first word in a yes.

The frat house was pulsing, alive with sound and sweat and lights that flickered like epileptic stars. The bass thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat, the kind that didn’t come from within you but pressed on your ribs from the outside, trying to break in. It was the kind of night made for forgetting, flashing cups, flushed cheeks, dizzy laughter. But Sunghoon had nothing he wanted to forget, only things he was trying to survive. His body was a map of ache, his knee a smoldering ember, his back tensed and twisted, his temples drumming a painful rhythm. He should’ve gone to bed. Should’ve wrapped himself in the quiet and left the world to burn without him. 

Instead, he pushed through the crowd, ignoring the limbs that bumped against his shoulders, the haze of perfume and cologne, the drunk declarations and loud, sloppy choruses of songs everyone pretended to know. The lights made everything look fake — skin too bright, eyes too glassy. He moved like a ghost among the living. The kitchen was a marginally calmer pocket of air, though even it buzzed with tension. Soobin stood near the counter, arms crossed, stoic in a way that looked practiced. Yunjin stood in front of him, animated, eyebrows tight and lips moving too fast, too sharp. Sunghoon didn’t catch the words, but the emotion slapped against the tile floor like broken glass. Love turned into a battlefield over cheap beer and pride. 

Heeseung leaned against the fridge, sipping something bright and unholy from a red plastic cup, and Jay stood beside him, eyes flicking from Soobin and Yunjin to Sunghoon with a practiced detachment. “Rough night?” Heeseung asked, his tone too casual to be innocent. 

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He glanced at the tension in the room, the cracked silence in Soobin’s stance, the hurt in Yunjin’s voice. “What’s their deal?” he asked, jerking his chin in their direction. Jay shrugged, reaching for a half-empty bag of chips. “Who knows. Been like that all week.” 

“We try not to get involved,” Heeseung added, a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Sunghoon gave a noncommittal grunt and moved to grab a water bottle from the counter. The cold plastic stung his palm, grounded him for a second. The kitchen smelled like too many people and too many drinks, but it was better than the noise outside. 

Jay leaned in slightly. “Hey, by the way — a girl was walking around asking for you earlier.”  

At that, something in Sunghoon stuttered some quiet spark of thought, unspoken and unacknowledged. His mind flicked to you, impossibly bright and smiling, always halfway through a sentence, your words cotton candy and conviction. It was a fleeting hope, gone before he could even name it. Then Jay nodded toward the hallway, where Ruka stood, wearing confidence like perfume and eyeing the room like she owned it. 

Sunghoon’s mouth twisted. The little spark of hope snuffed out before it could catch flame. “Of course,” he muttered. He didn’t wait for her to notice him. He turned on his heel and left the kitchen, weaving back through the crowd, avoiding her gaze like it might pierce him. He wasn’t in the mood for polite smiles or coy compliments, not in the mood to be someone else’s fantasy when he couldn’t even bear being himself right now. 

He was almost free, fingers brushing the door to his room, sanctuary just a heartbeat away when her voice cut through the noise behind him. “Sunghoon, wait.” 

He froze. Not in obedience, but in dread the way a predator might freeze in the moment it realizes it’s been cornered. He didn’t turn around. Didn’t slow. Just kept walking, because if he didn’t look at her, maybe she’d vanish into the static of the party behind them. But Ruka didn’t vanish. She chased. Her heels clicked across the floor like punctuation in a sentence he didn’t want to read. Then her hand was on his arm — cloying, too warm, too familiar. He yanked away from her grasp like her touch burned. And maybe it did. Maybe everything burned lately. 

She flinched at his reaction, then softened her voice into something apologetic and breathy, practiced like a song she’d sung too many times. “I’m sorry, okay? I just— I wanted to say something.” He said nothing, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the stairwell. “She’s not who you think she is,” Ruka said then, her voice low but sharp, like a knife being slipped between the ribs. “That girl you’ve been skating with. All that sunshine and sparkle? It’s a show. She’s not that happy. She's actually really depressing.” 

The words echoed strangely in the space between them, bouncing off the noise of the house and falling like lead at his feet. Sunghoon turned then, slowly, like something ancient and brimming with wrath. His face was calm, but his eyes — his eyes held storms. Not the kind that pass, but the kind that drown entire cities. “Mind your business,” he said, his voice cold enough to crack glass. 

Ruka blinked, taken aback. Maybe she’d expected amusement. Maybe she thought he’d nod in agreement or laugh, or at the very least, care. But he didn’t laugh. And he did care and that infuriated him even more. He didn’t wait for her response. He turned and stormed back down the stairs, shoving past strangers with empty smiles and red plastic cups. The house felt suffocating, bloated with sound and people and things he didn’t have the patience for. His skin felt tight, his heart loud, his thoughts louder. 

Why did it bother him? Why did her words sink under his skin like a splinter?

She didn’t know you. Not really. Not the way he’d started to. Not in the way you spoke about falling like it was an art form, not in the way you tried to fix him like he was something worth mending.  He shoved out the front door, the cold air biting at his skin like it, too, had something to prove. His breath left in bursts of fog, pain pulsing behind his kneecap as if to remind him of every bruise he carried, every truth he refused to name. 

He walked towards the diner that nearly everyone frequented on campus. Hoping and praying for some sense of solace. 

The booth by the window smelled of syrup and coffee and the kind of late-night grease that clung to the bones of a day too long lived. The diner was warm in the way a memory is warm, buzzing neon lights humming above like lullabies, and the soft clink of forks on ceramic drifting through the air like wind chimes in a storm's lull. You sat alone, chin propped up in your palm, tracing swirls in the condensation of your water glass, legs still sore from practice but your spirit untouched, untouched the way a flame dances even after the wax is nearly gone. Your plate was half full, pancakes cut into clumsy quarters, syrup pooling in the valleys. You were halfway through recounting your own day in your head out loud, of course, because silence had never been your companion when the bell above the door rang. 

You looked up. The words on your tongue stuttered into stillness. Sunghoon. It was Sunghoon. 

Still dressed in the hoodie he’d been wearing at the rink, his hair damp with sweat or melted frost, eyes dark with something that stormed just beneath the surface. He paused when he saw you, shoulders sinking with theatrical dread. Of course, he thought. Of course you’d be here, light personified, smile too wide for the hour and heart too open for someone who’d barely gotten a thank you out of him. 

“Sunghoon!” you beamed, like the sky had cracked open just to drop this moment into your lap. Your voice, effervescent as soda fizz, bounced toward him like a pebble skipping across water. He groaned. It was low, dramatic, and pulled from somewhere that wanted desperately to be annoyed, but didn’t quite make it. “Of course you’re here.” 

“Where else would I be?” you grinned, motioning to the seat across from you like you’d always meant it for him. “So… what brings you to this fine establishment at such a glamorous hour?” 

“I was hungry,” he deadpanned, walking over with the kind of gait that whispered of pain. He didn’t explain the limp, didn’t bother to soften his tone. “Why else would someone come to a diner?” Your smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew.

“Touché,” you said, then leaned in with a twinkle in your eye. “Want to sit with me?” 

He opened his mouth, likely to decline with something sarcastic and sharp-edged, but the words caught on the way out. Maybe it was your smile, or the glow of the booth light painting soft halos in your hair, or maybe — though he’d never admit it —i t was just that being near you quieted something in him, something he didn’t know needed quieting. “Sure,” he muttered. 

He slid into the seat across from you, his movements slow, like each inch of space between pain and stillness had to be negotiated. You didn’t mention the way he winced as he sat. You just smiled again, folding your hands in front of you like this was a normal thing, the two of you, alone together in a corner of the night that didn’t feel so lonely anymore. Sunghoon didn’t tell you what Ruka had said. He didn’t tell you how it sat on his chest like a stone, how her voice echoed in his skull like wind through a cracked window. Because it wasn’t his to say. And because, deep down, he already knew it wasn’t true. 

He saw you fall on the ice and rise again like it was a song your body knew by heart. He heard the way your laughter curved around your words and the way your voice filled silence with life, not noise. No — whatever Ruka thought she knew of you, it was only a fraction, and not the kind he cared to carry. Instead, he stared down at your plate, brows raised. 

“Pancakes at midnight?” he asked. 

You shrugged, delighted. “Midnight pancakes fix all problems. Haven’t you heard?” 

He smirked then, small, fleeting. Like sunrise just peeking over frostbitten windows. “Heeseung says that all the time.” 

“Well he sounds like a pretty smart guy.” You quirked, picking at your pancakes leisurely. 

Sunghoon huffed a laugh — small but still there. “Sure.” For a while, the two of you sat in something not quite silence, not quite conversation, but alive and breathing all the same. And in the quiet hum of syrup-sticky booths and flickering neon signs, something invisible began to shift. The hiss of the coffee machine behind the counter had become a kind of lullaby, murmuring softly beneath the quiet chatter of the few remaining night owls nestled into booths and barstools. Across from you, Sunghoon picked at the edge of a sugar packet, his fingers deft and idle, not quite meeting your eyes, but listening in that particular way he always did, like he was preparing to argue but got caught up in your melody instead. 

You sat across from him, legs tucked under you like a child curling into a story, your face glowing with the heat of possibility rather than the diner’s neon haze. And he watched you, not that he’d admit it. Not that he knew what to do with someone like you. “I’m going to make the podium this year,” you said, sudden and certain, stabbing a lone pancake piece with your fork like it was fate itself. “I don’t care what place. Bronze, silver, first runner-up to the crowd favorite. I just want to stand there, see the crowd, and know I didn’t fall flat.” 

Sunghoon blinked at you. “Figure skating finals?” 

You nodded, then grinned. “The big ones. My coach calls it the crown jewel. The end of the season, the whole year in a single performance. I tanked last time. fell on my opening jump and never recovered. My blade caught the edge, and it all spiraled. Couldn’t hear the music over the panic. I was supposed to shine and instead I… dulled.” 

The words weren’t bitter, just honest. You spoke of failure with a sort of reverent gentleness, as if it were a bruise you had long since accepted. It surprised him how freely you gave that part of yourself away. No dramatics. No self-pity. Just truth. He leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. “And you’re trying again?” 

“Of course.” Your voice was light, but sure. “I owe it to the version of me that cried backstage and promised to do better. I owe it to the dream that didn’t die just because I messed up once. Besides, we fall all the time in figure skating on ice, off ice. You just get up and do it again.” Something in him shifted at that. The ice in his chest cracked a little more, as if the warmth in your voice could thaw even the places he'd long buried under frost and fury. 

You caught the flicker in his eyes and smiled, like sunshine breaking through cloud cover. “Don’t look at me like I’ve grown a second head. You’re the one always brooding like the main character in a sports anime.” Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but the edge was gone. He stared at the last of his fries, then slowly pushed the plate aside. “You’re weird,” he muttered, almost like it was a compliment. 

You beamed, unbothered. “Takes one to know one.” And just like that, between the flicker of fluorescent lights and the taste of melted syrup, the world felt a little less heavy. He didn’t tell you about Ruka. He didn’t mention the ache in his knee or the fact that, for the first time in a long while, he hadn’t felt like lashing out or retreating. He just sat there, listening to you talk about your music selection and how you were planning to bedazzle your new competition costume yourself  “with enough rhinestones to blind the front row” and something quiet inside him settled.

He didn’t believe in miracles. But maybe… maybe he could believe in second chances. Especially the ones that came in the shape of bright eyes, chipped diner mugs, and a voice that refused to give up. Even on him. 

The night air was a velvet hush wrapped around the world, stitched with distant traffic and the occasional hum of streetlamp flicker. The diner door swung shut behind you both with a bell's chime like the last note of a lullaby. Outside, the cold kissed your cheeks and painted your exhales into fleeting ghosts, trailing behind you like forgotten sentences. You walked beside him, your boots crunching gently over old salt and fractured pavement, the glow of the diner still soft behind you. He walked with his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, shoulders tense, as if he were always prepared for winter — even in spring. 

But you, you carried warmth like it bloomed from your chest. You talked, because silence begged to be filled and your thoughts were too colorful to keep caged. "I always liked walking at night," you began, voice barely louder than the rustle of your jacket. "When I was little, my dad used to say the stars came out just to eavesdrop on our dreams. I used to whisper to them before bed. Tell them everything I was too scared to say out loud." Sunghoon said nothing, only shifted slightly, head tilted as though your words trailed behind his ears like music on low volume. His footsteps matched yours, deliberate, steady. Listening. Always listening. 

You glanced up at the sky, where stars flickered shyly through the sprawl of city haze. “Some nights, when I’m scared before a competition, I still talk to them. Like, ‘Hey, I know I biffed the last triple loop but if you could just not let me crash this time, that’d be amazing.’” You laughed lightly. “They’re probably tired of hearing about my spiral sequences.” He almost smiled. Almost. You kept going, because silence in his company no longer felt daunting, only deep. A pool that welcomed your words, let them sink in, soak through. He didn’t need to speak. He just needed to be there, and somehow, he was. 

“I don’t think people realize how lonely it is to try to be great,” you mused. “Everyone sees the sparkle, the applause, the medals. But they don’t see the bruised knees. The missed meals. The days where you cry on the cold rink floor because you can’t land a stupid jump you’ve done a thousand times. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just chasing a spotlight that’ll burn me up before I ever reach it.” Still, no answer. Just his steady breath beside you, vapor blooming and vanishing. But his eyes had that quiet fire, the kind that flickered only for the things that mattered. 

“I think… that’s why I don’t let myself stay down. Because even when it hurts, I still want it. Not the spotlight. Just the chance. To be better. To feel like I’m flying again, even if only for four minutes.” The street turned quieter, the neighborhood dipping into darker corners, sleepy houses pressing close together like secrets being kept warm. You stole a glance at him then, expecting — what? A laugh? A scoff? 

But Sunghoon’s gaze was forward, brows drawn in thought. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t walk faster, either. He stayed at your side like a shadow that had chosen you. And then, after a silence long enough to count heartbeats, he said, low and rough, “What’s your program this year?” 

You blinked, surprised by the breach in his usual barricade. “It’s set to Clair de Lune,” you said quietly, suddenly shy. “I wanted something soft this time. Something like… falling in love with the sky.” He nodded once. Just once. And somehow, it felt like the biggest applause. You didn’t need him to say more. You didn’t need him to match your sunshine with light. He was the stillness where your words could echo and not be lost. And for that, you walked beside him in silence the rest of the way, the night folding around you both like a promise waiting to be made. 

The night had mellowed into something hushed and golden, a quiet that settled over your shared footsteps like falling petals. The city exhaled slowly, as if sighing into sleep, and still you walked beside him, two shadows drawn in parallel ink, aligned but never touching. Then, out of the hush, his voice rose like a single note plucked from a cello string, low and sudden. “What’s your deal with Ruka?” 

You blinked, startled by the sound, by the question, by the way his words cut through your stardust-thoughts like a falling star slicing the sky. You turned to him with raised brows, lips parted with a breath that hadn’t yet become a word. “Ruka?” you echoed, the name tasting foreign when it came from your mouth. 

He didn’t look at you, just kept walking, hands still in his pockets, his jaw set like stone worn smooth by time. It didn’t sound like idle curiosity. But then again, nothing about Park Sunghoon ever felt idle. You wrapped your arms around yourself, not because of the cold, but because something inside you had curled up, uncertain. 

“Oh, um. We’re not really close,” you said, the words spilling like marbles rolling across a hardwood floor — easy, but a little scattered. “She’s my roommate this year, just this year. My last roommate, Sakura, graduated early. We were kind of inseparable.” You smiled faintly at the memory, soft and aching. “She used to help me with my hair before competitions. Always had a bobby pin in her pocket, even if we were just going to the store. I miss her.” 

He said nothing, just nodded once. The moonlight caught his profile and painted it silver. “She’s really smart, Ruka,” you went on, feeling the silence ask for more even if he didn’t. “Always has her headphones in. Always studying. We talk sometimes, but mostly she just… lets me ramble. Which, you know, I tend to do.” You gave a light laugh, hoping the sound would cut the tension, soften the edges. 

But he didn’t laugh with you. He didn’t look at you. Just nodded again, like your words were being filed away in some hidden drawer inside him. And for a moment — brief and bitter and fleeting you felt a twinge. A single pulse of something dark and unfamiliar. It settled beneath your ribs like a secret. Jealousy. You didn’t want to call it that. You didn’t want to name the way your throat tightened when he asked about her, or the way your heart gave a suspicious little stutter at the thought of her name brushing his interest. 

Did he like her? The thought was ridiculous. Maybe. Maybe not. But it lodged in your chest like a thorn. And what surprised you most wasn’t the question. It was how much it mattered. You shook the feeling off with a practiced smile, the kind you wore in the mirror before competition, the one that told the world everything was okay, even if your knees were shaking. 

“She’s alright,” you said, voice light, breezy, so casual it almost disguised the knot in your gut. “But I think she prefers silence. I talk too much for her taste.” Still, he said nothing.

And you wondered, as the two of you drifted past sleeping houses and rustling trees, if you could ever stop wanting to know what was running behind his quiet eyes. Maybe he’d never say it. Maybe he didn’t even know it himself. But tonight, walking beside him through the tender hours of the dark, you wished he’d turn and say something that would loosen the twinge in your chest. Instead, he walked on. Still and silent. And you matched his pace, wondering if maybe that was enough. At least for now. 

The dorm room welcomed you with the kind of stillness that felt staged, like a scene waiting for the actors to step into place. The air was warm, tinged faintly with lavender and printer ink, the signature scent of shared space and sleepless study. You slipped inside quietly, the door closing behind you with a hush instead of a click. For once, your voice didn’t follow you in. 

You didn’t start with a story or a sigh, didn’t fill the silence with your usual cascade of chatter about a late-night craving or a skater’s cramp or how the moon had looked like a sugar cookie on the walk back. No, tonight you simply moved through the space like a ghost of yourself soft-footed, uncharacteristically quiet. Ruka was there, as always, hunched over her desk like a cathedral of discipline, shoulders drawn tight under the glow of her desk lamp. Her highlighter moved like a slow metronome across the page, precise and deliberate. But when you entered without a word, she paused. 

You didn’t notice at first. You were too focused on your routine kicking off your shoes, dropping your bag by the door, tucking your food container into the small fridge like you were sealing away the last hour of your night. The remnants of warm laughter and cool night air still clung to your skin, even as the fluorescent light washed everything colorless. It was only when she turned, slow and deliberate that you met her gaze. “I went to see Sunghoon tonight,” she said, her voice smooth but wrapped in something slippery. Something rehearsed. 

You blinked. Tilted your head. “Oh?” 

She nodded, looking back at her notes for a second like they might give her the courage to lie again. “Yeah. We talked for hours at his party. I just left from seeing him.” The words hung there like wet clothes on a line, dripping, sagging under the weight of their own fabrication. And you knew. You knew in the marrow of your bones, in the quiet thrum of your heartbeat still synced to the rhythm of footsteps beside Sunghoon’s. You knew because you had just walked home with him, the ache of his silence still pressed like thumbprints into your thoughts. But you said nothing.

You didn’t call her out or laugh or ask her why she thought you wouldn’t notice the lie curling like smoke between her syllables. You didn’t say, “Actually, I just walked home with him,” or, “That’s strange, he didn’t mention you.” No. Instead, you sat down at your desk, unzipping your jacket, fingers steady as you untied your shoes. You offered her a smile — small, polite, hollow in the middle and said, “That’s nice.” 

Ruka turned back to her notes, and you turned to face the wall, blinking slowly as if you could paint over the moment with enough quiet. And though you didn’t say it out loud, a strange new feeling began to settle beneath your ribs, something like suspicion, something like sadness. Not because of the lie itself, but because you couldn’t understand why she’d told it. What purpose it served. What it meant. But more than that, what unsettled you the most was how your heart gave the tiniest tug at the idea that she wanted Sunghoon to herself. That maybe, just maybe, she knew you were starting to want him too. And you hated how that made you feel.

By the time Sunghoon returned to the frat house, the storm of music and voices had softened into something gentler like rain losing its temper. The halls no longer throbbed with bass, just pulsed quietly with leftover laughter, the clink of bottles, the occasional shriek from the living room where someone was trying to revive a dying game of beer pong. The air smelled like stale cologne, cheap beer, and exhaustion.  

He pushed through the front door, body aching in ways he didn’t dare name, shoulders stiff with memory. The walk home had helped, a little. The diner even more so. Or maybe it wasn’t the diner, it was you. That smile. That damn voice of yours, all melody and motion, coloring every dull corner of his night until it looked like morning. He hadn’t even meant to go out. He just couldn’t stay there, not after the lies that curled out of Ruka’s mouth like perfume. 

Heeseung was sprawled across the couch with a bag of chips, half-asleep and still wearing his shoes. Jay sat nearby, nursing a water bottle like it was whiskey, his guitar leaning against the side table, untouched. They looked up when Sunghoon walked in, both of them clocking the shift in him, the unbrushed hair, the frown lines that had softened just barely, like something had tried to loosen their hold. Jay raised an eyebrow. “Where’ve you been?” 

“Diner,” Sunghoon muttered, heading toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water. His muscles cried out as he moved, his knee barking like it wanted to collapse. “You missed the show,” Heeseung said through a yawn. “Your little fangirl was here. Again.” 

Jay snorted. “Ruka. She was asking around for you. Whole place thought she’d get a kiss out of you before midnight.” Then came the question, as casual as it was crude, tossed out like a beer can into a bonfire. 

“So?” Jay leaned back, grinning. “You tap that?” 

The words hung in the room like fog, heavy and misplaced. Sunghoon didn’t even look up from the sink as he filled his glass. He stood still for a breath. Then another. “Hell no,” he said flatly. “I just went to the diner.” 

it wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t even irritated. It was simply true delivered with the sharp edge of certainty. A line drawn clean in the dirt. Jay let out a low whistle. Heeseung chuckled under his breath. “Didn’t know you were such a gentleman.” 

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He just sipped his water, jaw tense, eyes fixed on a spot on the counter like he was trying to smooth it out with sheer will.

Because what he didn’t say not to Jay, not to Heeseung, not even to himself was that he didn’t want Ruka. Had never wanted her. Not with her lipsticked lies and her eyes that always seemed to be searching for attention like it was currency. And yet, somehow, your voice kept echoing in his head like a melody he didn’t want to forget. “Falling is inevitable unless you can stop gravity.” He couldn’t stop gravity. Not on the ice. Not in his chest. And it was starting to terrify him. 

Monday came with the bite of wind and the soft shiver of pre-dawn blue, the kind of chill that kissed your skin and whispered promises of something new. The rink sat like a cathedral of silence, your shared sanctuary of sweat and bruised ego, laughter and aching limbs. The boards were cold. The air was colder. But you… you were warm, incandescent, still grinning as you laced your skates with hope braided into every loop. 

Sunghoon was already there, stretching his legs like the world had done him a personal disservice. He looked like he hadn’t slept well, but his eyes those, wintry things, found you easily, like a compass that refused to point anywhere else. His movements were stiff, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t complain as you chirped about your new routine, about your bruised knee from the spin you biffed on Saturday, about how this week felt like the start of something. He didn’t say much. He rarely did. But he skated. And fell. A lot.

You counted at least thirteen crashes before you stopped keeping score—some clumsy, some oddly graceful, all equally frustrating for him. Each time, he’d scowl, curse under his breath, and brush himself off like he was made of pride stitched too tight. But you never stopped encouraging him, your words a steady stream of sunlight spilling through his clouds.

“Better!”

“That fall was cleaner!”

“You angled your shoulder perfectly!”

He looked at you like you were ridiculous. Which, maybe, you were. But you were ridiculously happy to be here. With him. By the time the clock curled toward the last stretch of practice, he’d finally done it. Not a fall, but a landing. A descent that didn’t jar his bones, one where his body absorbed the impact like water receiving rain, smooth, natural, right. You gasped and your joy exploded out of you, bright and loud and uncontainable.

“You did it!” you cheered, skates clattering against the ice as you skidded over to him. “You actually did it, Sunghoon!”

He looked up from where he was still crouched slightly, his breath misting the air, eyes wide. And for the first time, the very first time, he smiled. It wasn’t a smirk. It wasn’t that half-tilted, cynical curl he used when he was being sarcastic or amused. It was real. Unburdened. And somehow, it made him look like a boy again, soft-edged, bright-eyed, touched by something other than pain or pressure. The moment lingered. Too long. 

His smile stayed, your breath caught in your throat like a fluttering thing. The distance between you thinned until there was only the sound of the ice humming beneath your skates, and then,  Then you kissed him. You didn’t think. You didn’t plan it. You just leaned forward, heart drumming in your chest like a war cry and a lullaby all at once, and kissed him — soft and sure, like the ice beneath your feet had whispered that you wouldn’t fall.

But he didn’t kiss you back. 

You pulled away instantly, horror creeping into your chest like cold water. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not like that—I mean I wasn’t trying to—ugh—Sunghoon, I just got caught up in the—” And then he was kissing you. Fast. Sure. No warning, no wind-up, just his lips on yours like punctuation, like a sentence he’d been writing in his head for days but didn’t know how to say out loud. You blinked when he pulled back. He looked stunned, maybe a little dazed. You were definitely breathless. And then, as if nothing had happened, you both went back to skating. Circling each other like stars in orbit silent, spinning, on fire. Neither of you mentioned the kiss. But neither of you forgot it. 

Outside the glow of the floodlights, just beyond the fragile safety of the rink’s boards, a shadow lingered silent and still like frost waiting to bloom. Ruka stood there, tucked in the hollow between concrete and glass, her presence cloaked by the buzz of overhead lamps and the trance of celebration that unfolded before her. She hadn’t meant to come. She had only wanted to stop by, to catch another glimpse of him, of Sunghoon in that candid, breathless space where his armor sometimes slipped. Maybe she would pretend it was a coincidence again. Maybe she’d bring him something warm, an excuse wrapped in a paper cup and a shy smile. But what she saw was not Sunghoon alone. 

Through the gleaming haze of the ice, through the rhythm of blades carving truth into frozen ground, she saw you. Beaming. Radiant in your joy. And she saw Sunghoon — grinning back. Not his usual strained grimace or practiced smirk. No, this smile was something else. Real. Unearthed. Unearned, in her eyes. And then, the kiss. Her breath caught like a gasp in winter wind. She pressed her palm flat against the glass as if to steady herself, as if to break through the divide between her and what she saw, a moment that didn’t belong to her but felt like it should have. That soft, charged touch of lips in the heart of the rink burned like a betrayal, even if no promises had ever been made to her. It was a kiss that seemed to split the ice beneath her feet. And she hated how gentle it was, how true. 

The rage came slowly, like an icicle forming drip by bitter drip. A seethe in her gut. A fire in her lungs. She had spent so much time watching, studying, calculating, positioning herself at just the right angle to catch his eye. She knew the timing of his strides, the way his brows furrowed when he was lost in thought. She had noticed him long before you had ever touched the same ice. And yet it was you — scatterbrained, sunny, ever-yapping you — that he kissed.

She backed away, breath coming out in little bursts of fog, eyes trained on the scene unfolding before her like a play she hadn’t auditioned for but still wanted a lead in. She didn’t care that he pulled away quickly. She didn’t care that you stammered your apology. All she could see was the connection, the tether stretching invisible and unbreakable between your smile and his rare, reluctant joy. She could feel the bitterness pool in her chest like ink in water, spreading fast and without mercy. You hadn’t seen her. Neither had he. You never noticed the fracture blooming quietly in the corner of the world you shared. But she did. And it stung, not because it was love lost, but because it never even had the chance to begin. 

The walk back to the dorm felt like treading on the edge of a dream, your feet barely touching the ground, your breath catching on the remnants of laughter that still lingered like glitter in your chest. The night air was cool, brushing your cheeks like a secret, the kind that only stars overhead seemed to know. You tucked your hands into your coat pockets, smiled like a secret was blossoming behind your lips, and tilted your face skyward, as if asking the moon to keep your moment safe. You had kissed him. Or maybe the moment kissed you, soft and strange and suspended in time, like a snowflake caught mid-fall. It didn’t matter who leaned in first, or that he hesitated, or that nothing had been said after. What mattered was the way the world tilted after. The way his eyes had widened before he kissed you back like something inside him had cracked open. Like he’d been waiting all along but just didn’t know it. Something had changed, undeniably and irreversibly, and it made your limbs feel like cotton, your thoughts like honey. 

There was a shift now. Subtle but seismic. You could feel it humming in the soles of your feet, echoing in the memory of the moment. You didn’t know what it meant yet, not exactly but something had softened between you two, and in that softness, you found a kind of quiet joy. When you reached your building, you entered with the reverence of someone carrying something precious. The hallway lights buzzed faintly, and your steps echoed gently down the corridor, a rhythm almost musical in its contentment. You reached your door and turned the knob, half-expecting to see Ruka with her usual mess of notebooks and headphones, wrapped in her silent storm of thoughts and solitude. But the room was empty. 

The lights were off save for the sliver of streetlamp that painted silver lines through the blinds. The air was still, undisturbed. Ruka’s bed was neatly made, her chair tucked in, her world untouched. And for once, you were grateful. You slipped inside and let the door close behind you with a soft click, as if trying not to disturb the fragile bubble that wrapped around your joy. There was something beautiful in the quiet, something that gave you space to breathe, to process, to smile without anyone asking why. You moved slowly, deliberately, putting away your things, peeling off layers like petals until only your giddy little heart remained.

And then, standing there in the low light, you allowed yourself to relive the glide of your skates, the crispness of the air, the look on his face just before he closed the distance. You pressed your fingers gently to your lips, almost to confirm they still tingled. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t spoken about it. Not yet. It mattered that it happened. It mattered that, for the first time in a long time, your heart felt like it had been seen. And for that, you let yourself float just a little longer on the dream of it all. 

The walk home was quiet, but for once, it didn’t feel heavy. Sunghoon’s limbs ached as usual, the kind of ache that seeped into marrow and muscle and made itself at home but tonight, it was quieter. Like even the pain had decided to take a breath, loosen its grip on his body and allow him a moment of peace. There was a strange calm moving through him, something light and unfamiliar. His mind replayed that kiss, not obsessively, but gently, like turning over a smooth stone in his pocket. The softness of your lips. The way you smiled before it happened. The burst of something warm and startling that bloomed in his chest when you leaned in, and even more so when he kissed you back. Like an ember flickering to life in a long-cold hearth. He didn’t want to overthink it, and yet, it sat with him now — steady, glowing, undeniable. But as the frat house came into view, that flickering warmth began to dim. She was there.

Perched like a stormcloud on the stone steps, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, face streaked with tears that glistened under the porch light. Ruka. Her presence felt like a sudden cold front, a sharp drop in temperature, a wind that bit instead of kissed. Sunghoon paused at the edge of the sidewalk, every instinct screaming at him to turn around and disappear into the dark. But she looked up. And she saw him. 

He kept walking. Slow, steady, bracing himself. The steps creaked beneath his weight as he stopped in front of her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and laced with quiet exhaustion. 

Ruka sniffled, wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her too-expensive cardigan. “I saw you,” she said, voice breaking on the edge of accusation. “I saw you guys… kissing.” 

Sunghoon blinked at her, unimpressed. “Okay?” he answered flatly, as if that alone should be the end of it. But of course, it wasn’t. “She’s a fraud,” Ruka spat, sitting up straighter now, her voice rising with that familiar, jealous tension. “That whole sunshine act? It’s fake. She’s just pretending to be all sweet and happy. But it’s all a show. She’s actually, she’s miserable. She’s depressing. She’s not what you think she is.”  

He stared at her for a long moment. The wind rustled the trees, and somewhere in the distance, someone laughed a sound so far removed from the bitter drama at his feet. Sunghoon exhaled, slow and sharp like a blade pulled from a sheath. “You know what?” he said, voice like ice over steel. “Maybe you could stand to be a little more like her.” Ruka’s mouth parted in shock, but he didn’t give her time to respond. 

“She’s kind,” he went on. “She shows up for people. She cares even when she doesn’t have to. She’s loud and ridiculous and warm, and yeah, maybe that annoys the shit out of me sometimes, but at least she’s not hiding behind fake tears and whispering poison about other people to make herself feel better.” Her expression crumpled, her mouth trembling. 

“You don’t know her,” she whispered. “Neither do you,” he snapped. “You don’t get to decide who she is because she threatens your tiny little world.” 

Ruka’s hands curled into fists on her knees. “If you really want to know who she is, look her up,” she hissed, the venom returning. “Look up last year’s figure skating finals. Her name. Go ahead. See it for yourself.” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. 

“Fuck off, Ruka,” Sunghoon said, and his voice was calm. Steady. Done. He pushed past her without another glance, the door slamming shut behind him like the end of a chapter. The warmth inside him didn’t dim this time. Not completely. In fact, it burned brighter now not in spite of her words, but because of the fact that he’d chosen to ignore them. That he’d defended you, and meant every syllable. He didn’t need to search your name. He didn’t care about the past you carried like quiet luggage. Because when he looked at you, all he saw was someone who got back up. Again and again. And that, more than anything, was real. 

Upstairs, behind the closed door of his room where the noise of the party below had faded to a dull, insignificant hum, Sunghoon sat on the edge of his bed like the silence itself had weight. It pooled in the corners of the room, settled on his shoulders, curled around his ankles. The warm echo of your kiss still lingered, on his lips, in his chest but so did Ruka’s voice. Sharp, needling. Insistent. “Look it up. Last year’s figure skating finals. Her name.” 

He didn’t want to. He knew better. He should have let it die on the doorstep where it belonged. But curiosity was a sly little creature. It nudged at him like a breeze slipping through a cracked window, whispering just look until he caved. So he did. 

With stiff fingers and an unsteady breath, he typed your name into the search bar, letting muscle memory carry him when intention hesitated. The first result glowed like a ghost: “Skater Meltdown at Regionals – Full Clip.” A thumbnail of you frozen mid-fall, your face blurred by motion, your body crumpling like something once fluid and graceful now shattered. He clicked play. 

The screen lit up with harsh white ice and the sound of polite applause. There you were, twirling onto the rink, arms extended, posture poised, the embodiment of elegance. And then it happened. A stumble, a miscalculation. The slip. The crash. You hit the ice with a sound that wasn't picked up by the microphones, but he could feel it all the same, sharp and echoing in his bones. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst came after. The camera didn’t cut away. It kept rolling as you stood up, only to fall again. And again. And again. Until your hands were shaking and your breathing was uneven and your eyes — oh, your eyes — were wild with disbelief, glazed with tears that refused to fall quietly. 

You broke. On camera. In front of judges and coaches and strangers and teammates and the faceless audience of the internet. You wept, not just from pain, but from something deeper, something raw and human and jagged with betrayal. You shouted through your tears, voice cracking like thawing ice, about how people only came to see the crash. How they clapped louder for the break than the recovery. How they waited for failure like it was a performance. Sunghoon felt something crawl into his throat and settle there — tight and aching. Not pity. Not embarrassment. But fury. 

Fury at Ruka, for daring to use this as a weapon. Because what he saw wasn’t weakness. What he saw was someone who got back up. Someone who, even in the middle of a storm that stole her breath and shattered her pride, still stood. Still tried. Still gave the world her tears because hiding them would’ve meant giving up entirely. He didn’t want to close the video. But he did. And then, with that same fire that lived in his limbs when he skated, he opened his phone and typed fast, not giving himself the chance to rethink it.

Sunghoon [11:43 PM]: Meet me at the rink. Please. 

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a plan. It was an instinct, pulled from somewhere honest and immediate. Because he needed to see you, not just the practiced, cheery version of you that lit up rinks and rooms, but you, unfiltered, unguarded, as real as you’d been in that video. He needed you to know that it didn’t scare him. That it didn’t change anything. No. If anything, it only made him want to fall with you. And this time, not get back up alone. 

The rink was dark when you arrived, the overhead lights low like the stars were keeping secrets. The air was biting, laced with the cold whisper of ice and memory. Your breath puffed in clouds before you, and your heart thundered a frantic beat in your chest. You’d gotten Sunghoon’s message and hadn’t hesitated, you didn’t even change out of your practice clothes, just threw on a coat and sprinted across campus as if your soul had sensed something fragile waiting on the other end. The moment you stepped inside, your voice echoed in the stillness. “Sunghoon?” 

No response. The silence felt unfamiliar, too thick, too full of unsaid things. You found him in the locker room, perched on one of the benches, still in his practice gear, his elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. The second you saw him, panic flickered behind your eyes. Was he hurt? Was something wrong? “Are you okay? Are you—oh my god, did something happen?” you rambled as you rushed to him, your hands fluttering over his arms, down to his knees, then back to his shoulders like you were checking for breaks or bruises. “Why did you call me? Are you hurt? Did you fall again? Why didn’t you just text what happened, Sunghoon, seriously, what is going—?” 

He didn’t say a word. Instead, his hands found your waist. Not rough or hurried, just certain. He pulled you into him like gravity had finally done its job. And before your voice could form another word, his mouth was on yours. Soft. Fierce. Unapologetic. Your breath caught in your chest, surprise flaring wide in your eyes, but you melted into him with instinct. There was no hesitation in the way you kissed him back. For a moment the ice outside, the night, the ache of the past, none of it existed. There was only the warmth of his touch, the sincerity of his hold, the vulnerability in that kiss. 

When he pulled back, your fingers lingered near his jaw, your gaze flickering with confusion. “Sunghoon… what’s going on?” He looked at you like he was still catching up to his own heartbeat, his voice quiet but steady. “Ruka showed up at the house. Told me to look you up. Last year’s finals.” 

The words dropped like ice in your stomach. You stepped back, just slightly, and your body stiffened before you could stop it. “Oh.” Sunghoon saw it immediately, the way your shoulders curled inward, how your eyes shimmered with tears you didn’t want to spill. Your lips parted like you wanted to defend yourself, but no argument came, only the truth, raw and trembling. “I had a breakdown,” you whispered. “A really bad one. I’d been practicing that routine for weeks, getting up at dawn, going to bed at two, skipping meals, skipping sleep. I thought… if I could just nail that trick, I’d prove I was more than just the bubbly girl with the pretty smile. I was exhausted and wired and terrified. And when I fell… it was like the world collapsed with me.” 

You paused, voice cracking. “But I got back up. I always do. Even when it hurt. Even when the crowd didn’t cheer.” Sunghoon stood, eyes never leaving yours, and took your hands in his — warm, calloused, steady. “I know,” he said simply. “I watched the whole thing. And you — you — were the strongest person I’ve ever seen.” 

Your lips quivered. “But I broke down. I was angry and ugly and scared and—” 

“And you got back up,” he said, firmer now. “You didn’t stay on the ice. You didn’t let it define you. I—” he exhaled, voice softening, “—I was going to quit. When I got hurt, when it felt like everything I’d worked for just vanished, I wanted to give up. I didn’t see the point.” He reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek. “But then I met you,” he continued. “And you reminded me that even when it hurts, we keep skating. That it’s not the fall that defines us, it’s the moment after.” 

A silence stretched between you, delicate and profound. And in that stillness, you smiled. Not the bright, performative kind you wore in hallways and crowded rooms, but something quieter. Realer. “Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t need to reply. The way his fingers laced with yours said everything. The space between you fizzled like ice cracking under a sudden flame. There was a flicker of hesitation in your eyes, an instinct, perhaps, to hold back but it crumbled under the heat of the moment. Your hands were still curled inside his, trembling slightly, not from fear but from the rawness of being seen. 

Then you kissed him. No hesitancy this time. No uncertainty. You surged forward, your mouth finding his with a quiet kind of desperation, the kind that had been building for weeks, hidden behind teasing words and soft glances, behind shared practices and unspoken understandings. His lips met yours like a dam finally breaking, and suddenly you were both lost to it. 

Sunghoon responded with a heat that startled even him. His hands slid from your waist to your back, holding you like he was afraid you might disappear. Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, clutching at the fabric like it could anchor you to something real, something burning and alive. There was nothing cautious about it now, the kiss deepened, mouths parting with breathless urgency, tongues tangling, exhales catching like thunder on the edge of a storm. You gasped softly against his mouth when he walked you backward, your spine brushing the cool lockers behind you. The contrast only made you shiver more, and he kissed you again to chase it away. His hands were in your hair now, cradling the nape of your neck like you were something precious. And you were, he kissed you like you were rare, like you were the first warmth he’d felt after winter. 

Your body curved into his as if you’d always belonged there. You could feel the way he was holding back, restrained despite the tension humming through every inch of him. And maybe that’s what made it even more electric, knowing how tightly he was wound, how carefully he moved against you even as his breath quickened and his hands lingered. “Sunghoon…” you murmured against his lips, dizzy from the intensity. 

He didn’t answer, not in words. But the way he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands trembled where they clutched at his chest was its own kind of vow. The air between you felt heady, thick with longing, the room humming with the pulse of everything unspoken. You weren’t sure how long you stood there in the glow of the locker room light, locked together in something fierce and tender and brand new. 

But when you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, the silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt full of everything still waiting to be said, still waiting to be felt. And neither of you ran from it. No, you welcomed it like an incoming tide washing over your heart and your entire being. Your forehead stayed pressed to his, your breaths mingling in the space between like steam curling from a fresh cup of tea. His hands still cradled your face, thumbs brushing gently over your cheekbones as if to memorize the texture of your skin, like maybe touching you was the only way to make sense of the storm inside him. 

You whispered his name again, barely a breath, and that was all it took. He kissed you once more, slower this time, deeper. There was a reverence in it, a kind of awe like he still couldn’t believe you were real and here and kissing him back. His hands slid down from your face to your waist again, and he pulled you in until there was nothing between you but heat and air. Your fingers wove into the dark strands of his hair, curling just slightly at the ends, tugging him closer in the most delicate, desperate way. 

The kiss grew from soft to smoldering, like fire catching slowly at first, then flaring brighter when the wind shifts. His lips moved against yours with more certainty now, more hunger, and yours responded in kind. It was dizzying, this exchange of breath and want, of emotion too big to name. Every brush of his mouth against yours made your knees weak, every sigh from his throat made your heart race like a drum in a thunderstorm.  You tugged at the hem of his shirt, not to take it off, but just to feel the warmth of him under your hands, the dip of his back, the rise of his spine, the solidness of muscle beneath skin. He shivered under your touch and kissed you like he was unraveling. 

He pressed you back against the lockers again — not harshly, never harshly — but close enough that you could feel every breath, every heartbeat, every inch of tension. His hands gripped your waist like he needed the contact to stay steady, like if he let go, the whole world might stop turning. “God,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick and rough and nothing like the usual sharp-edged sarcasm. “You drive me crazy.” 

You laughed softly into the kiss, breathless and glowing. “Good crazy or bad crazy?” 

He kissed you again instead of answering, and the answer was everything. For a long, lingering moment, the rink, the cold, the ice, the noise of the world, all of it faded away. There was only the warmth between you, only the taste of each other’s names on your tongues, only the ache of something new blooming fast and bright like spring breaking through the frost. 

With your back still pressed against the cold metal of the lockers you allowed yourself the luxury of tracing your hands up and down Sunghoon’s broad chest, feeling every contour, every muscle beneath your palms. Filthy thoughts filled your head as Sunghoon’s lips trailed down the expanse of your neck and collarbone. A gasp fell from your lips as he sucked on the skin where your neck met your collarbone. 

“Oh!” You squeaked, running your hands through his hair fisting the tufts in your nimble hands like your life depended on it. “Sunghoon…” Your voice trailed with heat laced in the words, want. “I want you.” 

“You want me?” He hummed, continuing his exploration of your neck. “How badly do you want me?” He was toying with you, playing with your need for him — your want. 

“So bad.” Your voice was airy — needy almost. His smirk said he loved it, the way you were willing to beg for him and willing you were. You don’t even remember the last time you’ve been touched so intimately, with someone you cared for so fiercely. The pure lust and adrenaline coursing through your veins had left you feeling like you were ablaze. 

“Beg for it.” His voice was sharp — stern. It was so so hot. The way lips let your body, the way his eyes searched your traveling down your body drinking you in. The way your chest rose and fell as red hot searing need coursed through you. You do anything he asks of you at this moment, anything. 

“Please” You whimpered, hands grabbing at his hoodie. “Please, fuck me.” Your voice was sweet and light your eyes wide as you stared up at him. “I need it so bad.” 

“Fuckkkk” He groaned and next thing you knew his hands were under your thighs lifting you in his arms in one fail swoop. “I can’t resist you, Sunshine.” 

“I don’t want you to.” You pant as his hands find your skirt lifting it enough to show your panties. It was going to be quick, dirty. And that's exactly how you needed him. 

“Take me out.” He hissed at you. Your hands reach for his sweatpants pulling them down just enough to release him from his boxers. He was hard, of course. The tip red and angry with need. Your hand made a fist around his shaft pumping up and down. 

“Oh fuck.” He groaned, his forehead falling forward to meet yours. “Touch yourself before i fuck you.” 

You listened carefully, moving your other hand down, pulling your white cotton panties to the side and rubbing at your sensitive nub with your fingers. “Oh my god.” You whined out. “Please Sunghoon, please” 

“Just a little bit more, baby.” He cooed, “You’re almost ready for me.” 

“I’m ready now.” You couldn’t contain the whimper that threatened to fall from your lips. “I need you, so bad.” 

“Okay, Sunshine.” He nodded, taking his length in his own hand all the whilst holding you up against the lockers. “I got you.” 

Sunghoon’s gazed fell from your face to where the two of you met, his tip slapping against your entrance like a knock. A gasp leaving your lips the instant he pushed into you — creating a beautiful stretch you felt through your entire body. 

Sunghoon started with a slow pace, allowing hips to tap against yours lightly. It was almost romantic the way his forehead rested against yours. His breath fanning your face with short pants. You were in love with this feeling — in love with this moment and how it consumes you whole. 

“Faster.” You whined, hands gripping Sunghoon’s shoulders with white knuckles. You were trying to ground yourself, the pleasure taking you to a whole other planet entirely. “Faster please Sunghoon.” 

Sunghoon said nothing, his only response was the quick motion of his hips against yours. The sound of skin slapping filling the silence of the locker room like a melody, it was a tune you’d grow to love if given the chance. “Oh– my god.” You chanted. “Oh my god.” 

“You close?” Sunghoon grunts, his voice gritty and harsh. “Take it.” 

“Yes.” Your head was weightless as it bobbled up and down in tune with Sunghoon’s harsh thrusts. “I’m so close.” 

“Gooood girl..” He cooed in your ear. “Cum for me.” 

Your end splashed into you like a tidal wave, washing over your body in an overbearing pleasure you’d never felt before. Your thighs trembled in Sunghoon’s hands as you rode out your high. Sunghoon falling suit, moaning your name like a mantra. You had never felt more connected to someone then you did in this moment. Tied together a web of emotion and something that felt so close to love. 

You were falling in love. It was fast and blinding and scary but it was true. You were falling in love. And you hoped and prayed Sunghoon was too. 

By the time you situated yourself it was almost too late into the night to try and sneak back into your dorm room. Plus the thought of seeing Ruka right now with the knowledge of what she had done had been sickening. Sunghoon offered for you to stay at his place and you were in no position to turn the offer down. You allowed him to take you home. You allowed him to worship your body until all hours of the night. And most importantly you allowed yourself to fall in love deeper and deeper as the clock ticked on. 

The morning sun trickled through the blinds in gentle stripes, painting golden bars across the sheets tangled around your legs. The air was still tinged with last night’s sweetness, a lull of warmth that lingered between your skin and his, and the scent of cold air and something distinctly him like mint and pine and a little bit of wild. You stirred slowly, your limbs heavy but content, the kind of ache that whispered of a night where nothing was said aloud but everything was understood in touches, in sighs, in the soft tremble of lips pressed together in quiet devotion. 

Sunghoon was already up, standing near the edge of the room, half-dressed and slipping his hoodie over his head. The light hit his face just right, catching the soft curve of his cheek and the tired determination in his eyes. He looked like someone ready to face something, and for once, not run from it. You sat up, the covers pooling around your waist like the soft folds of a curtain falling back. “You’re up early,” you murmured, voice still raspy with sleep and something sweeter. 

He glanced at you, and there was a flicker in his gaze, that rare smile he barely gave anyone, small, crooked, a secret stitched between two hearts. “I’m going to talk to Jay,” he said, adjusting the sleeves of his hoodie. “I want to ask him… to let me play again.” For a second, it felt like everything stopped. Not because you were surprised — no, you’d seen it coming, inching closer each time he took a fall and got up again, each time he looked at the ice with something softer than hate but because this was a moment of return. A full circle. A boy broken now choosing not to stay shattered. 

You smiled, and it was bright enough to make the room feel warmer. “You should,” you said, voice thick with pride. “You’re ready.” He stepped over to the bed, leaned down, and kissed you, quick and soft, like a promise sealed in the hush of morning. It wasn’t heated like the night before, but it burned all the same, quiet fire beneath skin.

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him like the final note of a song, leaving you alone with tangled sheets, sunlit silence, and a chest full of warmth. You fell back into the pillows with a sigh, fingers brushing your lips. Something had shifted. And you knew, with a certainty that reached down to your bones, that things were only just beginning. 

The cold kiss of the arena hit Sunghoon the moment he stepped through the doors, but it felt different now, less like an echo of pain and more like a memory rediscovered. The air smelled of ice and rubber and worn leather, a scent that once haunted him, now stirring something in him that almost felt like peace. Almost. He walked toward the rink, skates slung over his shoulder, confidence stitched into the rhythm of his steps. The moment he stepped past the glass, heads turned. Jake was the first to notice, eyebrows lifting in surprise, his helmet tucked under one arm. Heeseung followed, stopping mid-lace with a crooked smile playing at the edge of his mouth. Jay’s brows drew together in disbelief, and even Soobin looked up from where he was adjusting his gloves. Coach Bennett, stoic as always, stood at the edge of the rink with his clipboard like it was a shield. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Jay muttered, not unkindly, but wary. 

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. “I’m here to show you I’m ready.” The words settled into the air like frost, and no one moved for a moment. Coach’s lips pressed into a flat line. “Sunghoon…” 

“I’m serious,” Sunghoon said, voice sharp as skates on fresh ice. “I’ve been training, I’ve been pushing myself. I’m not here to sit on the bench and clap for everyone else. I want to play.” There was a silence, heavy and cautious. Jake rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Heeseung, who gave him nothing but a tight nod. “You’ve been through a lot,” Soobin offered gently. “It’s not about wanting. It’s about being cleared.” 

“I am cleared,” Sunghoon snapped, the warmth from earlier that morning slipping through his fingers like melting snow. “I’m cleared, I’m stronger, I’ve been working every goddamn day. But every time I come back here, you all look at me like I’m broken glass.” Coach Bennett looked down at his clipboard, unreadable. “It’s not about doubt, it’s about safety.” 

“Bullshit,” Sunghoon muttered. His jaw tensed, breath fogging in front of him. “You think I’d put myself back on this ice if I wasn’t ready?” Still, they didn’t move, didn’t soften. And something in him snapped, not the injury, not the tendon, but something deeper. A flare of frustration bloomed in his chest, blooming red hot. Heeseung, trying to defuse the crackle in the air, said, “Maybe just keep training with the figure skater—” 

Sunghoon’s head snapped up, and without meaning to, without even thinking, the words spilled out sharp and cruel. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” It felt like the words echoed, like even the boards flinched from them. A sting curled behind his ribs the moment it left his mouth, regret instantaneous, but pride, wounded and loud, kept him from pulling it back. “I want to come back to the real game,” he added, voice quieter, but iron-edged. “I’m done sitting out while you all pretend like I don’t exist.” 

A thick pause. Coach Bennett looked at him long and hard, then said slowly, “You can skate at next week’s practice. We’ll see then.” And just like that, it was done. But the victory tasted hollow on his tongue, and when Sunghoon sat to lace up his skates, the chill of the words he’d thrown, not at them, but at you, clung to him like frostbite. 

In the dim hush of the arena’s far bleachers, behind a column of shadow where the sun dared not reach, Ruka sat like a ghost in waiting, silent, calculating, and out of place. The buzz of the overhead lights hummed above her, flickering faintly, illuminating the sharp gleam in her eyes as she angled her phone just so. Her hand was steady. Patient. She shouldn’t have been there, wasn't allowed, wasn’t invited but Ruka had learned long ago that the world didn’t bend for those who asked politely. It bowed for the ones who took what they wanted. And right now, what she wanted was to unravel the ribbon of warmth that had started to thread its way between you and Sunghoon, to cut it with precision, to remind the world of who belonged in the spotlight and who didn’t. 

Her phone was already recording when Sunghoon stormed in, voice clear and edged with fire. She leaned forward, breath caught, her ears tuned sharply to every syllable. And then, there it was. The perfect storm. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” it hit the air like a slap, reverberating across the rink, and Ruka’s mouth curved into something that might have been mistaken for a smile if it weren’t so cold. Her thumb paused just long enough to ensure it had been captured, every inch of his exasperation, the tension in his voice, the pride bleeding into his posture. She tucked the phone into her coat pocket like a prize, one she’d deliver when the time was right, when the sting would land deepest. 

She didn’t care if Sunghoon hadn’t meant it. She didn’t care that he might already regret it. She wasn’t after truth, she was after control, and perception was always stronger than honesty in the court of whispered judgment. As the team fell into uneasy silence, she slipped out like a wisp of smoke, unnoticed and unseen, her heels light on the concrete floor, her breath misting in the chilled air. The doors of the arena sighed open and closed behind her with a hush. Outside, the sky stretched pale and gray, the wind carrying a sharpness that mirrored her resolve. 

Ruka wasn’t stupid she’d seen the way you looked at him, the way your smile bloomed for him like the first flower of spring. And more than that, she’d seen the way he looked back, that faint, unguarded flicker that once might have belonged to her but now seemed to burn only for you. So fine, she thought. If fire was what it took to make him see, then she’d set the whole thing ablaze. Let the ballerina dance on thin ice. She’d make sure the cracks came quick.

The front door creaked open with a burst of wind and sunlight, and Sunghoon stepped inside, shoulders high and heart thundering like blades against ice. His cheeks were flushed, not from the cold but from the triumph still coursing through him like static. The house was quiet, a rare lull between chaos, there you were. Sprawled across the living room floor in one of his oversized sweatshirts, your legs curled beneath you, your eyes bright as twin stars as they landed on him. The moment you saw his face, your own lit up like the sky on New Year’s Eve. 

"Did they say yes? What did they say? Oh my god, are you back? When do you start? What did Jay say? Wait, did Heeseung—" Your words spilled out like a melody, fast and tumbling and effervescent, each one building on the last in that way only you could manage. It was a deluge of sunshine, and Sunghoon didn’t answer — not with words, not yet. Instead, with one smooth movement and a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, he crossed the room in three long strides, swept you up with one arm around your waist, and kissed you. Firm, grounded, and breath-stealing. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for permission because it already knows it’s home.

You let out a delighted squeal, half-laughter against his mouth, your hands flying to his shoulders as your feet dangled above the floor. “I take it they said yes,” you murmured when you pulled back, breathless, the corners of your mouth lifting in that way that always made his chest ache a little in the best way. “Yes,” he said, barely above a whisper, but his voice held so much more than just agreement. It was relief and victory and hope. “Practice starts next week.” 

You beamed like you had swallowed the moon whole, eyes soft and full of a pride that wasn’t loud, but deep and unwavering. “I knew they’d say yes,” you said, cupping his cheek. “You were born for the ice.” He kissed you again, this time slower, with a touch more reverence, as if he was grounding himself in you. As if your faith in him was the thing tethering him to the world. And maybe it was.

He set you gently down, but your arms remained looped around his neck, unwilling to let go just yet. You leaned your forehead against his and closed your eyes for a beat. “I’m so happy for you, Hoon.” His name on your lips still made something in him tremble. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You would’ve,” you whispered. “But I’m glad I got to watch you do it anyway.” Outside, the wind whispered promises against the windows, and inside, in the soft glow of late afternoon, Sunghoon realized that somewhere between all the broken things, the injuries, the pressure, the pain he had found something whole. You. 

That night, the frat house was glowing, music vibrating through the walls like a heartbeat, laughter spilling out into the cold night air, the scent of cheap beer and cologne wrapping around the porch in a familiar haze. When Sunghoon leaned against your doorframe earlier, looking all casual with his hands shoved in his pockets and a soft smile threatening the edge of his mouth, asking you to come with him to the party, your yes had come quicker than your breath. There was no way you’d miss it not after the week the two of you had. So now, walking in beside him, hand ghosting near his like some secret tether, you tried not to look too amazed at the wild warmth of it all. Lights strung from the ceiling blinked like dying stars, red cups swirled in every hand, and voices collided like waves. It was chaos, but it was the good kind, the kind where possibility clung to the air like perfume.

Sunghoon didn’t even hesitate. He kept his hand on the small of your back, leading you through the crowd with a quiet confidence, and then he said it, just loud enough for the group clustered near the kitchen island to hear. “This is my girl.” It took you a second to process the words. Your heart leapt to your throat, and your smile tried to hide behind the cup in your hand, but you felt it. The gravity of it. How he said it so simply, like it wasn’t anything new, like it had been true for ages and he was just now stating a fact everyone should already know.

His friends turned toward you all at once, a mix of grins and raised brows. Jay was first to reach out, pulling you into a quick, one-armed hug. “So you’re the figure skater.”

You laughed. “Guilty.”

“I’m Jake,” said the one with dimples, his voice warm and curious, like he’d been waiting to meet you. “You’re way too happy to be hanging out with Sunghoon.”

You giggled and nudged your shoulder into Sunghoon’s. “I think I balance him out.”

“Or drive him insane,” Soobin added dryly from the couch. His arm was loosely slung around a girl who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. She was beautiful, no doubt, sleek and poised, but her smile was more of a formality than anything real. That had to be Yunjin. She gave you a quick nod. “You’re very…bubbly.”

“Is that code for loud?” you asked, grinning wide. “It’s okay, I get that a lot.” Soobin cracked a half-smile, and even Yunjin let out the tiniest huff that could’ve been a laugh if you squinted. Still, there was tension between them, an invisible thread pulled too tight. They stood close but didn’t seem to touch, not really. Their words skipped past each other like stones across water, and you wondered what storm brewed quietly behind their silence. Heeseung leaned in then, arms crossed, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “She’s the opposite of you, man. Like…completely.”

Sunghoon only shrugged, sipping his drink with a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. I know.” And the way he looked at you when he said it like it wasn’t a flaw, like it was the best thing about you, made your chest bloom with something warm and wild. You reached for his hand, and this time he didn’t hesitate. His fingers curled into yours like they belonged there, like maybe they always had. The music shifted into something slower, the kind of beat that made everything else fade, and the crowd swayed around you like the sea. You weren’t quite sure how the night would end, but for now, wrapped in the golden hum of laughter and light, with Sunghoon by your side and your name spoken like something precious between strangers who might become friends you were exactly where you were meant to be. 

The night had curled itself into comfort, like a candle-lit secret shared between strangers now growing familiar. You stood with Sunghoon and his friends in the corner of the room where the music wasn’t too loud, where voices could still dance freely. You were mid-laugh, something Jake had said, your face lit with that easy, golden joy you wore like a second skin. Sunghoon stood close to you, his arm brushing yours every so often, eyes softer than anyone had seen them in weeks. You didn’t know it, but he’d been watching you like you were a lighthouse in the storm, something to steer by. And then the room chilled.

It was subtle at first, just a shift in air, the way conversation dulled, footsteps falling heavy behind the group. You turned before Sunghoon did, and there she was. Ruka. Her presence bled tension into the moment, a sharpness that made smiles go stiff and gazes flick downward. She stood with her arms crossed, dressed like she belonged and yet looking so out of place. You smiled at her anyway, your voice honeyed and warm.

“Hey, Ruka! You made it, have you met everyone?” The sweetness in your tone was genuine, like you hadn’t noticed the way her eyes cut through you, like maybe this time would be different, like maybe she’d smile back and offer a polite nod. But she didn’t.

Instead, her lip curled, and her voice dropped low, sharp enough to wound. “Drop the act.” The words sliced through the air like glass breaking. The laughter stopped, your own breath hitching slightly as confusion passed across your face. “What?” you asked, softly, not in disbelief, but in the kind of gentle hope that maybe you’d misheard her.

“I said,” Ruka stepped closer now, venom twisting in her pretty mouth, “drop the fucking act. The bubbly sunshine girl thing? It's fake. And everyone here’s falling for it, but it’s pathetic.” A heavy silence fell. Jake blinked, Soobin muttered something under his breath. Yunjin folded her arms tightly. And beside you, you felt Sunghoon stiffen, like his muscles remembered rage before his mind caught up.

“Back off,” he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. But Ruka only laughed, a cold, humorless thing that curled at the edges like smoke. “Really? You’re defending her?” She looked at him, eyes glinting with something twisted and triumphant. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who said he was wasting his time with the ‘ballerina on ice.’”

You froze. The words hung between you like frost. You turned, your head tilting slightly toward Sunghoon, expression unreadable. But he was already shaking his head, already stepping forward. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice rising, urgent. “I was pissed, I was trying to prove I was ready to play again, and I said something stupid—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ruka said smoothly. “They can hear it for themselves.” She pulled out her phone, unlocking it with the ease of someone who’d been waiting for this moment. The recording played loud and clear, his voice unmistakable: “I’m just wasting time with the ballerina on ice. I want to come back to the real game.”

The words hit like a slap. Your chest ached, something invisible curling tight around your lungs. You stood still, perfectly still, like movement might make it worse. The others glanced between you both, some awkward, some stunned. Heeseung winced. Jay looked furious. Jake muttered, “Dude,” under his breath. Sunghoon reached for you then, eyes wide, desperate. “I didn’t mean it—” You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. But your smile, your radiant, effortless smile — wavered. Only a flicker, barely there, like a candle in the wind.

The music faded. Or maybe it didn't, maybe it still pulsed behind you, still thudded with the bass of cheap speakers and louder laughter, but in your ears it was gone. Replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat — wild and feral, pounding like fists against a closed door. Your cheeks flushed hot, but your hands had gone cold, and everything in the room blurred with the sting of unshed tears. Your eyes found Sunghoon’s, but it wasn’t safety you felt.

It was betrayal. And shame. Shame so sudden it roared up your throat and turned the warmth in your chest to something molten and broken. “Wait—” he whispered, stepping toward you. You pulled back.

He looked like he’d been struck, like the reach of his hand had meant everything. Maybe it had. But you were already moving, weaving between people, ignoring the murmurs and awkward stares, the way the group parted like water around you. Your heels scraped the floor. Someone said your name, maybe Jake, maybe Heeseung, but you didn’t turn back. You pushed through the door and into the yard where the cold night air hit your face like glass. You breathed it in too fast, too hard, hoping it would drown out the heat of humiliation clawing at your throat. The stars blurred above you, cruel and glinting. Behind you — footsteps.

“Wait—please,” Sunghoon called out, breathless. You spun on him just as he reached the porch, voice trembling with hurt and rage. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, voice cracking. “I swear I didn’t mean it.”

“Don’t lie to me.” You tried to keep your voice strong, but it wavered at the edges, shivering like frost under sunlight. “Don’t act like I didn’t hear it. Everyone heard it, Sunghoon.”

“I was angry,” he said. “They wouldn’t let me play, I—I said something I didn’t mean because I was desperate. I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t.”

“You called me a waste of time,” you whispered, voice breaking now. “You said I wasn’t the real game.” His expression collapsed. “That’s not what I meant—”

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to want something that bad?” You laughed, but it came out brittle and sharp. “To work every night until your legs give out? To fall and fall and fall and keep getting up? I gave everything to this. To the ice. To you.” Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, and you hated how fast they came, how they betrayed the tremor in your heart.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for you to kiss me. I didn’t ask to be anything more than the annoying figure skater who shares your rink time.”

“You’re not—don’t say that,” he said, stepping closer. But you stepped back.

“I should’ve known better,” you said, voice low now, shaking. “You were always going to go back to them. To the game. And I was just practice. Just something to pass the time.”

“That’s not true.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re more than that. You mean—fuck, you mean everything.” And then he said it.

“I love you.”

The words cracked the night in two. You stared at him, eyes wide, breath stolen clean from your lungs. But it was too late. You shook your head, tears still slipping down your cheeks, chest heaving. “Don’t say that now.”

“I mean it.”

“Then why did you say that?” The question hung between you like a blade. And he had no answer. Or maybe he did, but not one that could stitch the wound he’d just made. So you turned. You turned before he could see the way your whole body broke in half. Before he could see the shiver in your spine and the way your hands curled into your coat like it could somehow hold you together. You walked. Past the yard, down the sidewalk, away from the party that once felt like light. Sunghoon didn’t follow this time. And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

The days pass like shadows beneath your skates, faint and fleeting, yet always there. Each morning you wake with a hollow echo in your chest, a silence that’s grown too familiar. You lace up your skates like armor, wear your routines like battle hymns. You skate harder now, faster, carving the ice like it wronged you. Blades slicing through your thoughts, breath fogging in the cold as you spin through everything you can’t say. You haven’t spoken to Sunghoon since that night. You’ve seen him in passing, walking across campus, laughing with Heeseung outside the rink, nodding at Coach Bennett with that quiet intensity in his eyes, but you never linger. You turn corners when he comes close. Pretend not to hear when his voice drifts from down the hallway. You are your own silence, sharp and unyielding.

The dorm is no better. Ruka has become a ghost, and you let her be. You don’t look at her, don’t respond to her passive remarks or the way she sighs when you walk in. She’s tried to speak, maybe once, maybe twice, but you shut her out with the same coldness she once offered you. You spend more time out of the room than in it. Your application to switch dorms is in the system now, a silent wish sent to the stars. All you can do is wait. But the nights… the nights are the worst. Sleep doesn’t come easily anymore. Your mind replays everything, his voice, his kiss, the look on his face when you turned away. You wonder if he’s been practicing. You wonder if he hates himself for what he said. You wonder if he meant it.

That night, the silence in your room presses in too tightly, the hum of your mini-fridge too loud, the shadows too long. You grab your skates and your coat. The rink calls to you not just as an escape, but as something close to home. Familiar. Honest. The moment you step inside, the air hits you like memory. Cold. Quiet. Unforgiving. You walk past the front lobby, past the empty locker rooms, and step onto the bleachers with the intention of warming up slowly, maybe skating alone under the low light until the sun peeks over the horizon. 

But you stop short. Because he’s already there. Sunghoon. Alone. On the ice. He’s skating, not perfectly, not as fluid as you’ve seen before, but he’s trying. Focused. Determined. His brows are drawn together, the sweat at his temples shining under the low rink lights. He doesn’t see you at first. Doesn’t hear the way your breath catches. You don’t move. You watch him glide forward, stumble slightly, then correct. He exhales, pushes again. Again. And again. He’s practicing. Your chest tightens. 

At first, you want to run. The moment you see him standing there beneath the pale glow of the rink lights, alone, waiting, searching the dark for something like hope, your body tells you to turn around. To vanish into the quiet of night and not look back. You’ve been skating circles around your own heart for days now, tightening the laces of your silence so securely that the thought of unraveling them in front of him makes you tremble. But it’s too late. His eyes catch yours, and you freeze like a deer in the frost. The tension between you snaps taut.

“Wait,” he says, voice catching, breathless. “Please—don’t go.” You don’t speak. He steps closer, every movement slow, like he’s approaching something delicate, something sacred. His eyes are wide and shining in the cold, like he’s on the edge of something, begging not to fall.

“Just talk to me,” he says. “Please. I—I need to say something.” You don’t know what compels you to stay. Maybe it’s the quiver in his voice or the way your name falls from his lips like a prayer. Maybe it’s the days of silence, heavy as snowfall, finally breaking. But you nod. You sit. And you listen. “I’m sorry,” he says first, and the words drop between you like stones sinking into a still lake. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You don’t look at him yet. You’re afraid to. Afraid that if you do, your heart will unravel right there on the ice. He keeps going. “When you first asked me if I believed in love, I told you I didn’t. That it wasn’t real. That it was for other people, not me. And you, you just smiled like you knew something I didn’t. You said I just hadn’t found the right person yet.” You lift your eyes to meet his. He’s closer now. Kneeling in front of you, his palms flat against the boards, like he’s anchoring himself to you.

“I found her,” he whispers. “I found you.” The words hit you like a gust of wind, unexpected, sharp, and tender. You blink, and the tears finally come, soft and shimmering, gliding down your cheeks like melting snow. His gaze flickers, worried, but you raise a hand, just one, and rest it over his.

“What you said that night…” you begin, voice cracking like a brittle branch. “It hurt, Sunghoon. God, it hurt. But I don’t think it was the words, not really. It was the moment. The humiliation. Being exposed in front of everyone. Like I was something to be mocked.” He looks like he might cry too.

“I just wanted to feel safe with you,” you continue, softer now. “I wanted to be seen. And Ruka… she hates me for reasons I can’t understand. I don’t want to be in competition with her. I don’t want any of this.” His hand tightens around yours. “I know. And I hate that I let her use me like that. That I gave her the opening. But I swear to you none of what I said was real. You are not a waste of time. You are the only thing in my life that makes sense.” You lean your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his in the cold air between you.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you whisper.

“I mean every word,” he breathes. “I love you.”

Your lips tremble. And before either of you can speak again, you kiss him. It’s not the fiery kiss of confession or the desperate press of need. It’s gentle. Forgiving. It’s two broken pieces finding a way to fit again, not quite perfect, but perfectly trying. His arms circle your waist, pulling you in close, grounding you as your fingers brush his jaw, his neck, his hair. The kiss deepens with every second. Not in heat, but in heart. Like a vow passed between mouths too tired for words.

When you part, your foreheads stay pressed together. His thumb brushes away your tears. “I forgive you,” you murmur, voice trembling. “But please… no more lies. Not even the ones you tell yourself.”

“I promise,” he replies, voice raw. “No more.” And in that quiet, ice-slicked space between apology and absolution, you feel it, that something between you hasn’t shattered. It’s only just begun to bloom. 

Epilogue. 

The arena hums like a living thing, buzzing nerves and echoing chants, the chill of the ice rising into the rafters like ghosts of old games, old dreams. You sit somewhere in the middle of it all, wrapped in a scarf and a soft coat, heart thudding so loud it’s almost a drumline. Your fingers are clasped tight in your lap, your breath fogs in little puffs before your lips, and your eyes are locked on the rink like the story of your whole life might unfold across its frozen face. It’s his first game back.

Sunghoon. And you can’t remember the last time you were this full of feeling, pride, nerves, joy, a fragile ribbon of fear, but most of all, love. Love so big and bright and burning it feels like a comet carved into your chest. The lights above dim slightly, just a flicker, and then the team is called out one by one. The crowd roars like a wave, cresting and crashing with every name announced, jerseys flashing, skates hissing against the ice as the players appear. And then, there he is. Sunghoon skates out like he’s flying, his form clean and sharp and easy, like every moment he ever doubted himself has been burned away. The crowd cheers louder, not because they know the whole story, but because they can feel it. The comeback. The storm stilled. The boy who refused to give in.

You feel breathless watching him. And then, mid-glide, he turns his head. Finds you in the crowd like a compass always knows where north is. His eyes catch yours and in that moment, the noise fades. The arena, the lights, the cheers — all of it vanishes, melting away like frost under the sun. There’s just him. And you. He points at you — simple, easy, certain. And then his mouth moves, slow and deliberate.

“I love you.” Three words mouthed without a sound, but somehow louder than thunder. Your chest caves in, and a laugh breaks from your throat, trembling and tearful all at once. You nod, hand over your heart, mouthing it back: I love you too. And in that charged quiet between you, across ice and lights and distance, the ache of the past slips into something softer. Something holy. The game begins but you're not really watching the puck.

You're watching him. And he's not just skating. He's flying.

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[oddberryshortcake]

Twisted Wonderland - Blessings and Curses 

In Twst, it’s said repeatedly that blessings and curses are virtually the same thing, but are differentiated only by how they either positively or negatively affect the person who is spelled. 

This is interesting because of this, in some cases, spells meant to be blessings turn into curses, which a number of characters suffer from. Some curses can also be a blessing. 

There are now at least four characters who are canonically cursed in some form, with some being more explicitly stated as cursed, others implied, and some we don’t even know what’s truly going on, so I’ll be going over everything that we do know because this magic system is mysterious and I want to know more. 

Idia Shroud, the late original Ortho Shroud, STYX’s director (Idia’s father) and the late Aidne Shroud (Idia’s grandmother) have all been generationally cursed for hundreds of years since their ancestor was punished for trying to revolt against their rivals, the Jupiter Family. 

Their curse manifests itself as firey blue hair and the ability to incinerate blot at such a speed that overblot is impossible. 

The inability to overblot can be interpreted as a blessing, but if the Shrouds don’t produce blot/live in close proximity to blot, the curse will attack their magic force and destroy it, possibly harming their lives as well. 

Because of this, the curse makes the Shrouds uniquely qualified for blot research and protecting the rest of the world from the massive phantoms created by hundreds of overblotters across history. 

This curse prevents Idia from living a normal life and, as Idia has done research on himself and the family, concluded that it is the curse is unbreakable (as most curses appear to be) 

Idia also confirms that Grim is cursed, except Grim’s curse seems to be so old and complex that he can’t decipher what it is. Grim does have blot resistance, and its theorized that he’s a direbeast fused with some other kind of animal and possesses almost human-like intelligence. 

Idia is able to conclude that someone casted an ancient spell on Grim, but the person who did it and the purpose of the spell is unknown. 

This, paired with Grim’s insatiable desire to eat blot stones produced by overblotters, hasn’t been touched upon by the plot again as of right now, but the chimera creature that resembles Grim from the prologue is an indicator that we will find out what this curse is at some point. 

Next is Silver’s curse, which is different from everyone else because it was intended to be a blessing from the very start. 

And it was a blessing for around 400 years…Until he woke up and started experiencing negative effects from the spell, which made it a curse. 

This is more on the theorizing side since Silver’s sleeping problem is brought up only once in Book 7 and not touched on again. By the end of Book 7, his sleeping issue still isn’t talked about. Given the new guest room and chat voice lines that just dropped on JPN server, it’s implied that Silver is still struggling with his uncontrollable sleeping habit and he is not cured of his curse. 

But again, we won’t know if that’s actually the case until the story continues. 

People rightfully speculate that the reason behind his sleeping issue comes from his original blessing, which was to sleep until found by someone who loves him. He was in ageless sleep until he was found by Lilia, and then he started to age like a normal child but fell asleep suddenly with no explanation. 

It’s stated multiple times in vignettes and once in main story that Silver has been taken to doctors for his sleeping issue and no one was able to find anything, implying that curses are virtually undetectable outside of the STYX technology Idia has access to. 

The blessing met its criteria and him being awake proves that it has been broken, but the reason why he’s experiencing negative effects from something that saved his life is unknown and hopefully it’ll be explained later on. Lilia also theorizes that the spell may have fallen apart due to how unpredictably long he spent under it, but that was probably just him assuming he didn't meet the spell's criteria.

Given what we know, I theorize that, in some cases, excessive amounts of exposure to powerful magic can be harmful to people, especially humans who were spelled at such a young age. 

This is how a blessing can change into a curse, it’s now a part of him whether he wants it there or not. 

Maybe his body is just used to being asleep, he was like that for 400 years and has only been awake for 18 years. Maybe there’s something else at play, we don’t know. 

We have enough evidence to assume that he’s part of the cursed club (also he’s twisted from Aurora who is very famously cursed lol) 

But he’s in the same place as Grim where you know it’s there but you’re not entirely sure why. 

Lastly, Malleus has joined the cursed club as of the end of Book 7.

The Senate “blessed” him, and their intention truly was blessing. However, the effects of the blessings have become more of a curse to Malleus. 

Malleus himself even interprets himself as cursed. 

He was blessed to be so powerful that no one could do him any harm, however, because of his power he was harming everyone around him, including his loved ones, which is something that kept Malleus isolated and repressed.

Because the curse hindered his ability to express emotion, he was robbed of what he actually wanted, which was the ability to be happy, sad, and being able to hug someone without the fear of hurting them. 

Malleus is the best example of blessings and curses being virtually the same thing. What was a blessing in the eyes of the senate was a curse in Malleus’s perspective. 

Because of what happened, Malleus’s curse isn’t ‘broken’ per se, but he can no longer physically perform the kind of magic he was able to perform when both his horns were intact. 

I don’t know if there’s anything Idia, Grim and Silver can do to break the effects of their curses but we’ll have to see as the story goes on.

IN CONCLUSION, having consequences to powerful spells and an open interpretation of how magic can both save and harm someone simultaneously is a really interesting aspect of Twisted Wonderland that I hope gets expanded upon in the future. 

[copperbadge]

Novel! Is! Done!

It needs some continuity work -- there's two subplots that get lost for a bit in the middle and one that gets lost permanently about a third of the way in -- but it's a cohesive whole for the first time, and that stuff is window dressing -- necessary window dressing, but I'm no longer installing the damn windows. :D In fact, I may actually be removing content rather than having to add it, at some points.

It's clocking in at about 80K words, which is roughly what Lady And the Tiger ended up being, so I'm getting back into the flow of slightly slimmer books again. Overall, I'm pleased with it.

I'm traveling for the first two weekends in May, so I need to think about how to post -- it's not that I can't take my laptop with me but it's easier to respond to comments and consider how to incorporate feedback when I have bigger blocks of time at the computer. There's thirteen chapters plus prologue and epilogue, so if I start posting around May 12th I should have time to recover :D And the story opens in mid-May (albeit mid-May 2023) so that feels thematic.

All right. *rubs hands* time to close the laptop, head home, and take the evening off :)

[v0id-echoes]

I am once again here to remind you all that both In Stars and Time and its prototype are still on sale for a couple more days 🙏

they’re both peak you should get them if you haven’t already I promise they won’t ruin your life at all

[maandarinee]

ISAT prequel art book:

photo I sent a friend while playing ISAT:

[alohajix]

Marked by Midnight

Main Masterlist

Marked by Midnight’s Masterlist

Summary: In the fog-drenched town of Willowridge, [Y/N] has always felt the pull of the supernatural. She doesn't know why-only that it thrums beneath her skin, whispers in her blood, and haunts her dreams. She's spent her life searching for answers, for meaning in the symbols and shadows that call to her... and then she meets him.

Harry Styles is the last living heir of a bloodline the world believes to be extinct. A hybrid born of vampire and wolf, he's lived in silence, hidden behind the iron gates of Styles Estate, a crumbling estate thick with history, power, and curse. He doesn't take mates. He doesn't fall in love. Not anymore.

But fate doesn't care for rules.

When she stumbles into his world, a bond awakens between them-raw, ancient, irreversible. What begins as curiosity spirals into obsession. And as secrets unravel and darkness rises, one truth becomes terrifyingly clear: she was his long before they ever met.

And now... she may never leave.

Warnings: tension, obsession, biting, blood play, smut, strong language, supernatural themes (full warnings listed per chapter).

Words: TBD

author note: I'm just dropping this without warning. If someone starts asking questions, you guys haven’t heard from me, okay?? I'm sorry it was awful 😂 but since the first chapter is out in a week, I wanted to treat you with a little something since you guys are the best supporters out here. Thank you for reading me everyday, it means so much to me. Please enjoy this little gift from me to you, I love you 🫶🏻

***

Prologue — Marked by Midnight

Harry’s POV

I felt her the night she was born.

Not in any way that made sense—not in the sound of her cry or the weight of her breath—but in the shift that settled beneath my skin, a subtle crack in the air, like the world had tilted ever so slightly and left me standing at its edge, aware of something I could not see, but could no longer ignore. It was faint, quiet, the barest flicker at the base of my spine, as if a thread had been pulled taut between us, invisible and ancient, humming low with a truth I didn’t want to face.

The bond.

I knew it for what it was the moment it stirred.

It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.

But this one—hers—felt different.

It wasn’t a blaze, not then. Just a mark, soft and persistent, pressing into a part of me I had long since tried to numb, and I told myself it meant nothing. That I could walk past it. That I didn’t have to feel it grow.

I didn’t want it.

Not because I feared it wasn’t real, but because I knew—deeply, irrevocably—that it was.

I have lived long enough to know that bonds are not gifts, not promises, not salvation. They are chains, silent at first, but pulling tighter with every breath until you can no longer tell where you end and where fate begins. I’ve seen it before—the way it devours—and I wanted no part of it.

Not again.

Not with her.

So I let the years pass, keeping it buried beneath centuries of practiced silence. And still, I felt her—softly, distantly, like a shadow at the edge of thought, like a name I’d never spoken but had always known. Her dreams brushed mine when I wasn’t careful. Her fears echoed through me when the nights grew too quiet. I learned to push it away, to lock the bond down so tightly that I almost convinced myself it would fade, that she would live her life untouched by me, that whatever force had tied us would one day lose its hold.

But the bond never fades.

It waits.

And now, it has woken.

Stronger. Closer. Demanding in a way it never was before.

The mark has surfaced again, this time in her hands, her skin, her blood, and I know what that means. She’s no longer distant, no longer the girl in the dark corners of my mind. She’s here—or she will be soon—and the bond that has whispered for years now roars.

It doesn’t matter that I stayed away, that I tried to keep her free from this. None of it matters now. The bond has claimed her, as it has claimed me, and I can feel her moving closer with every breath. I can feel the weight of what’s coming, and the truth I have run from longer than I care to admit: I was never meant to resist her.

And I won’t.

I can’t.

Because bonds like this don’t break. They only tighten, pulling everything into their center until there’s nothing left untouched. Nothing left unburned.

I’ve kept her safe by pretending I wasn’t already hers.

But now, the time for distance is over.

She’s coming, whether I’m ready or not.

And I don’t know if I will save her—or if I will be the one to break her.

***

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk1990 @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @starryhaze-crystal @mads3502 @run-for-the-hills @twinklaei @belgianblondee@pbandnutella @maudie-duan @cat-loves-music @harrystyleshotwife @angeldavis777 @matildasatellite

[jazeswhbhaven]

My Very Own Demon Maid? | Being Threatened by an Exceptionally Skilled Maid Summary| React | Spoilers

Click the banner above to see my react to the prologue if you haven't seen it! The rest continues under the cut~

Leading in from the prologue let me just say....Levi fans are eating good if they ever wanted to see a whole different side of him. No lie if anyone has ever seen the movie "Secretary (2002)" Levi's Maid card gives the energy of the character "Lee" for his role here.

LETS GET IT..

Summary

💜When we left off for the prologue, Levi just had water thrown in his face, MC finally getting the idea of what he's looking for in a Master

💜Throughout the entirety of the roleplay session, Levi follows the maid's "guidebook" to a T. And he's loving every minute of it. Even gets a bit bold and starts feigning innocence or deliberately not listening in order to get a reaction from MC

💜MC is also doing amazing at their role, being the most dickish Master like in the book, asking Levi to do things over and over, yelling and getting onto him. Even showing a bit of envy that fuels Levi

💜As he dives even deeper to immersion, we realize that Levi is exploring this feeling that he craves, to serve, to endure, and most importantly, enjoy all of it. This was made for him

💜And then from here it builds up to MC instructing him to strip tease, and things get heated when they both get lost in the roles they've played, MC even had to rewind themselves for a minute

💜The sex built up so well, I'd swear we were watching a good erotica film

💜We get to play with the anal tail again, but before that? MC slipped in a finger and he was already ready for the plug, almost damn near swallowing up MC's finger

💜MC ofc, has to join in now, as if I were them this would be hard to ignore when he's acting like this???

💜So not only did MC start fucking Levi with the anal tail plug and their fingers at the same time at one point, they get creative, and give him a proper reach around at the same time too

💜Levi almost came a total of 3 times when MC was only just touching him or fussing at him. B e s t

💜A finish touch which had me losing my mind was when MC couldn't take it anymore, and climbed on top of Levi and he grabs their waist and starts pounding into them while reaching their head back to kiss them

💜All while promising to give all his services to MC.....PHEW

💜Even with the abrupt ending after sex, because MC once again got sleepy and Levi was out of the role he played...he still said something nice and tucked them in

💜This shot? Had me THROWN like??? -> His waist is so smol and slutty compared that ASS, damn

Screenshots!

Loving it, he's really getting the program!

You know, I really like that he's eating everything up like he is right now. We barely see him enjoy something so unapologetically without some kind of denial so when we get that piece of his personality? I forget where I'm at.

Yes. LET 'EM KNOWWWWW

Me thinking about how I would be delighted to see this animated as a show so I could see this scene play out

He's what now?? Oh damn Levi apologizing for something? Roleplay or not, this is golden.

*sorry censored heart just in case!* Anywaysss this is actually so hot that when MC asked for him to show them what he wanted to show...he does this

Same MC, same. Imagine, Levi is already 6 ft tall...standing on the Sofa probably makes him as big as Glas and well...👀

He moaned during that btw and what do you mean we "accidentally" fingered his gooch? For me that wouldn't be an accident.

I'm tellin' y'all he's going alll out on this and I'm enjoying this part of him. We don't really get many cards of MC being dominant like they are here where the character is desperately begging for this attention, and he just offered them to do anything with his body?? Yup.

OH!

DAMN MC OKAY!

real though

my reaction when I saw we get to play with the anal tail again

BITCH!!!???? ✨✨😩😩😩😭🥴

Oh this brings me back to his Attacker card....

Final verdict!!

Now I would talk about the date story but I don't have that. BUT I can only imagine it was similar to how he was with MC in the Butt Contest event when you pick him as the winner, which was cute ngl.

I give this card 9.8/10!

That nitpicky points is just because I wasn't feelin' the beginning due to that typical behavior we get from classic Levi...lol that's all.

As I said in the beginning of the react, Levi lovers will eat up this card. Curious and undecided about if you like submissive Levi? Check this out, it's a good look for him.

I liked this and his Torture Card a whole lot. As a person who has Levi on the lower end of the likeability scale, there's still events and cards where I do enjoy the dynamic between him and MC. I wonder what else the writers will have this devil get into...(lucifer too honestly like he's been having some banger cards lately)

As always thank y'all for all interactions on my reacts and the friends that still share with me so I can do these <3 Y'all are the bomb dot com. -Jaze🙏(✿◡‿◡)

[uuchii]

Unexpected Shift - PROLOGUE ~ Kwon Jiyong

Pairings: Kwon jiyong x Fem!Reader

Summary: you just transferred into another school after getting suspended, you just didn't know that you we're going to get stolen something on your first day.

Warnings: 2000s Highschool AU! Might be ooc (i am so sorry 🙏) , jiyong being kind of an asshole to reader?, bad grammer (english isnt my first language), a bit rushed since i made this in the middle of the night, slowburn enemies to lovers trope type of thing.

Author's note: this kinda sucks lol, its also my first ever series, im not sure if this fic would be doing good, so I'll see if you guys want another part xx

..

God, you felt your head ache just by thinking of it.

You didn't know why, it just happened. It was like a blur. you just got suspended at your school recently after you got into a fight and stabbed a classmate with a sharp pencil at the back, obviously your parents we're upset.

You we're a magnet for trouble, you just couldn't help it. You we're always independent to your decisions, yourself. Even if you try to convince yourself that you want to change, trouble finds through you. Like this one time.. you accidentally broke the classroom's window and your parents has to pay for it.

But it was also kind of a relief, you hated that school anyway, it was time to transfer into another school that could make you atleast change a bit.

And.. thats where you are, right now.

There you stood at the entrance of the school building with anticipation and uncertainty.. students and teachers past by you in the background, the wind gently breezes through your hair. You sighed as you gripped onto the straps of your bag behind you.

"i didn't expect this place would be so big.." you thought to yourself, you looked around in awe as you slowly started to walk towards the entrance.. until you bumped into someone, making your wallet (that was on your skirt's pocket) down to the ground.

"oh god- im so sorry-" you quickly apologized, you looked up to see a boy that seems to be the same age as you, His features are softer and less defined.. his hair appears to be short and dark, likely styled in a simple and casual manner, laid back look.

"its alright." He smiles. "You okay though?"

You nod "yeah.. im sorry again." With that you started to walk away in embarrassment. He stood there watching you walk away, but he spots your wallet and picked it up, assuming it was yours. he looked back at you knowing you would disappear before he could give this to you. "Yah! You forgot your wallet! He shouts.

That immediately grabbed your attention, and quickly went back to grab your wallet. "Oh, thank you."

"no worries." He nods in acknowledgement as he gives you a a grin before walking away. You watched him walk away and turned your attention back to the wallet and checked it first just incase.

"wait.. where's the money?!" You thought, you looked to the direction he walked from, trying to spot him but he was nowhere to be seen. You just realized that you have been stolen on your first day, especially that money was supposed to be for lunch.

Annoyance rises inside you. "That asshole.."

..

It took you a bit long to find your classroom but thankfully a teacher helped you on your way. You could hear laughter, chatting behind that door.. reluctantly knocked on the door twice.. it didn't take long to someone open the door, revealing the homeroom teacher, he greeted you with a warm smile. "Ah your the new transfere. Come in, come in." He gestured you inside, stepping back for you to enter.

you we're greeted by the sight of students talking loudly, some we're even sleeping, girls doing their makeup, taking pictures snd using their flip phones.. You stood infront of the class behind the white board.. the teacher stood beside you as he cleared his throat, trying to grab everyone in the class's attention.

"Everyone, settle down! We have a new student to join us today." His words seems to caught the students attention, their gazes seemed to point directly at you. You looked around at everyone, you couldn't help but feel like you we're being judged.

"miss, can you introduce yourself?" The teacher asked. You didn't have a choice everyone is already looking at you expecting for you to introduce. "Hello, im Y/N L/N." You just said your name, nothing else. Slience turned into hushed whispers before the teacher broke it off. "Okay, Y/N you can take a seat."

You nodded as you slowly made your way to find an empty seat, but then you spotted a familiar face.. it was the same guy that bumped into you and stole your money!

He then felt like someone is staring at him, he turned to look and there they made eye contact.

You could feel your annoyance creeping in yet again, you wanted to confront him but unfortunately you can't, you didn't want to cause a scene on your first day. Though, he could feel it. He gave you a sly smirk and gave you a small wave. It made you even pissed since how nonchalantly greets you after stealing your money.

You just scoffed and eventually you found a seat that wasnt that far away from him. You could still feel like he's staring at you.

His seatmate beside him looking between you two as he noticed the interaction. "Jiyong-ah, you know her?" He asked.

Jiyong just chuckled as he leaned back in his seat. "No, we just had an encounter earlier." His gaze was still onto her.

After class dismissed, you looked around as you see your classmates preparing to leave, this was your chance to confront to him.

You got up from your seat, you turned around and there he was laughing with his friends, talking to them.. a frown formed on your lips as you began to walk towards them. Of course his friends noticed you and then Jiyong.

"give me back my money." You said, straight to the point, You didn't look away from him. But he just chuckled. "I dont know what you're talking about."

"seriously? Your just going to pretend you didn't steal from me?" You scoffed, god you wanted to punch him so bad for his ignorance!

"i didn't steal from you." He said casually, slowly getting up from his seat. "It probably just blew away, its your fault for being irresponsible." He shrugs with that..sly smirk again.. as he walked past you, followed by his friends as they chuckled. You just watched them walked away.. the nerve on this guy- him putting the blame on you when he knows that he stole your money.

You just have a gut.. that you and him? You aren't going to get along pretty well.

[danieyells]

I don't go here re: tdb but why is Sinostra on probation? And how long have they been trying to get off of it?

So in the prologue Taiga(captain of Sinostra) injures the player character. Shortly following this Romeo(vice captain of Sinostra) uses some very aggressive methods to try and collect a debt, and then uses a smoke bomb inside the main school building which covers everyrhing in purple soot and tries to shoot the PC's finger off to get the valuable ring she was wearing(which they were trying to collect to return after it escaped but it got stuck on her.)

Romeo is caught by the Chancellor who puts Sinostra on probation primarily due to Taiga's bad behavior(going back before the PC's injury, as he's constantly destroying and consuming anomalies rather than capturing them alongside his. . .extensive disciplinary record) and Romeo's aggression and making a mess(Romeo would also likely have a disciplinary record but he's having it covered up I believe.)

SKIP FORWARD TO EPISODE 8. Hyde(Sinostra's advisor) gives Sinostra a mission which he says their success in will allow them to be removed from probation. In the end, in order to protect the group and get them out of a building that was magically sealed shut due to his greed, Romeo uses his stigma(the ability that one gets from making a deal with a demon and surviving, Romeo's is to make things into bombs) to blow up the stolen goods he was trying to take out of the building.

Romeo's stigma makes the explosions he creates more powerful based on how attached he is to the object he's throwing/blowing up. Romeo is extremely greedy and the (fake, illusionary) goods he unfairly gained would have (theoretically) been valuable, so understandably the explosion was huge and not only destroyed the anomalies about to attack them but brought the building down on them.

Anomalies are basically anything that defies 'common sense'--supernatural stuff. The public isn't supposed to know about them or the work that Darkwick and the Anomalous Investigation Institute do. So the fact that Romeo brought down a huge building in a big loud explosion couldn't be covered up. As a result of giving the Institute more work by creating a hard to explain situation, their probation was extended.

Also the fact that Taiga ate the anomaly, making it impossible to study it further, didn't help either.

And so they've been on probation since the start of the school year around eeeh six months ago in game. Probation just means no off campus missions except what's specially assigned to them, but because higher grade students(especially ghouls) usually get their credits from doing missions this severely impedes their advancement(and prevents Romeo from making money!)

And so this episode(16) they're going to ✨training camp✨, presumably once again being told by Hyde that they can lift their probation if they do well. But based on that Romeo is wondering if he's putting his trust in the right person I wonder if he's starting to suspect Hyde is being dishonest. . .but we'll see what happens in about two hours!!

Hopefully that answers your question lol

[nyssasorbit]

A few new Taiga theories...

This is more of a casual post just to share some thoughts that came up as I went through the new episode.

It was mentioned before that Taiga was a great student, but seemed to suddenly go haywire and possibly have his memory problems a few months prior to the game's start. I wonder if that is the exact moment where the time loop begins. Maybe Taiga doesn't necessarily have foresight or "multiple Taigas" in him—like how the mesmer matches don't affect the MC, maybe the looping time doesn't effect Taiga, so he's seen and lived every single loop himself. But everyone around him loops back living life as if everything had been normal and the loop never happened, so they see Taiga "suddenly" lose his mind when in reality, he's just gone back to the same point again out of who knows how many times.

Maybe his memory problems are because he simply has so many time loops to swim through in his brain. They're probably not exactly the same every time, but close enough that he can "come back to reality" during things like missions and get the group out of there alive. And/or, maybe he's willingly dissociating as a coping method from all the trauma he's endured thus far. The trauma itself may also be damaging him mentally to aid in dissociation/memory loss.

It seems like the time loops are pretty damn close to similarity though. Taiga seemed to be capable of predicting what the Hundun's next move would be despite the fact that everything behind the door was allegedly randomly-generated. He commented a few times how some had changed (I assume he meant from alternate timelines), but still managed to act on others as he usually does—as if he already knew what would happen. Not that we don't know this already, but that's probably also why Taiga's decided to be a loose cannon. Because he's probably tried behaving every possible way he could think of before with no change in results. If his prologue line is not the very first loop of time, then that probably is his question to the player: tell me what to do because nothing I try ever works [and I want this to end]. So he knows that no matter how he acts or what he fucks up, it really will hurtle towards the same ending, because everything looks the exact same as the hundred(s) of timeloops he's already lived through.

I think Taiga uses his luck to predict if the future will be the same. Like he did with Haru, he flipped a coin and vouched his stigma on it. I think he does the same too with the future—flips a coin, plays a round, does something that he can use to invoke his stigma. "Heads, the future is the same and the world ends, Tails, we can stop it/something changes/etc." but it lands on heads every single time. I think that weighs on his hopelessness because he knows how reliable his own stigma is. And maybe so late into the game, with nothing any different from before, his coins still landing on heads, he's chosen to simply endure until it starts all over again. He just wants to be carefree and happy until he once again has to go through all hell breaking loose, then time resets and it starts once more. Connecting this to his memory loss and back to the memory anomaly from the first Sinostra episode, perhaps he's also "gambling" away his memories in hopes he can change things. Maybe he's using memories as his "bet". Maybe that's also why he gambles as much as he does. Partially to sacrifice the horrible memories that plague him so he can live in blissful ignorance like everyone around him for a little while, and partially to wager them in attempt to change the future. Maybe Taiga's gambling over the months wasn't just him shutting down and ignoring the problem, maybe that was his last-ditch effort to do something before the imminent tragedy and reset.

Either he hasn't told anyone because he fears what may happen if he does, or he thinks they won't believe him, or more likely: Taiga has tried to tell everyone before what's happening. But that either made things worse or it simply did nothing to stop the time loop. He mostly seems to not act unless there's an emergency or someone else provides information he can act off of first, so I'm willing to believe that things become much worse if people are aware of the time loop. Or perhaps, the loop resets much sooner if he tries to make people aware.

There's a few options: 1. There is no known cure for the Kyklos's curse. Because if there was, Taiga could have enacted it by now and perhaps put an end to the time loop. Or, 2. Taiga knows the cure for the Kyklos's curse, but he's choosing to let the MC change either out of hopelessness or perhaps thinking something can be done after the fact. 3. A specific cure exists, but Taiga has not become aware of it through any timeline he's lived through. The MC is cured every time, so he has no concern about it because he know she'll be fine. 4. A specific cure exists, but even curing MC early on in the timeline does not stop their fate, thus he remains hands-off with the matter until a solution is presented by someone other than himself.

I think Taiga knows who the spy is, but like with everything else, he can't out them outright. It's not that he's trying to figure out who it is, but rather he's trying to get others to reach that conclusion. Maybe he thinks finding them is one of the keys to breaking the time loop.

I think Hyde is the major key factor for shit hitting the fan in the Worse Possible Endings for each time loop, but Taiga knows he can't do anything to the man without serious repurcussions.

I think Taiga has died in multiple different ways in different time loops. It's why he doesn't fear consequences, pain, or death itself. I think that's part of why he doesn't act against the powers that be more either, because he knows he and possibly others will suffer if he tries. We know "Darkwick has eyes everywhere" but we're now aware that Hodge and Podge may have some ability to tap into this sight, if not tapping into or otherwise sharing this ability with Hyde himself. (Perhaps that's why Hyde covers his eyes, so he can process his all-seeing vision without confusing it for what he could see in front of him with his own eyes? Or perhaps it only works if he covers his eyes. Theoretically, that means he could still see his surroundings perfectly fine, he just may view himself from a third-person perspective.) If this is true, then Taiga's hands really are tied in regards to trying to do anything. They are under constant surveillance by Hyde, other staff, possibly other ghouls, and seemingly a few anomalies thrown into the mix. There aren't many opportunities where he could fully act without being caught.

This is a bit more out there, but perhaps Hyde is also aware of the time loops. That could be another reason Taiga doesn't go against him, because he knows that Hyde isn't going to stop whatever he's doing as well. And what Hyde is doing may also be his own "research" into various methods he could take to stop the loop, or just seeing what triggers time to loop again out of morbid curiosity. That could be how and why Hyde got into the position he's in, but if that would be true, he's ironically a little more insane than Taiga.

At least when he's being sensible, Taiga is ironically the only character we can truly trust, simply because of the fact that he knows so much and there's clearly some little part of him that doesn't want things to end like they always do, or otherwise to go through yet another damn loop.

[tgmsunmontue]

Saga of Solitude 21/21

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. IceMav AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version). (Side Hangster, which is ALSO angsty).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001) THREE (2002) FOUR (2003) FIVE (2004) SIX (2005) SEVEN (2006) EIGHT (2007) NINE (2008) TEN (2009) ELEVEN (2010) TWELVE (2011) THIRTEEN (2012) FOURTEEN (2013) FIFTEEN (2014) SIXTEEN (2015) SEVENTEEN (2016) EIGHTEEN (2017) NINETEEN (2018) TWENTY (2019)

WARNING - this is ~25k long. Sleep first. Or make yourself comfy. Eat something.

HUGE thank you to all the people who have given this a chance, and especially those who have been my cheerleader/s from the start. @phisworld14 especially gets a special shoutout for putting up with me sending her messages constantly about EVERYTHING.

CHAPTER TWENTYONE – EPILOGUE

            “Come home with me?” Bradley asks. Part of him is terrified Jake might say no. He wants to talk, but doesn’t particularly want Ice and Mav within hearing range when he does so. There are limits for his personal groveling and humiliation and he edges them toward the door, leaves their drinks untouched where they are, which will no doubt annoy both Ice and Mav, but he has more important things to think and worry about right now and he hopes they’ll understand.

            “You really don’t live here?” Jake asks as he follows Bradley’s lead and puts his shoes back on.

            “No,” Bradley says, a little horrified. He also bites back the fact that he told Jake a little earlier that he wanted to take him to his parents. “I have my own place, a little closer to base actually.”

            “Okay. Well. I’m at your mercy. You’re my ride.”

            “Tell me where you want to go…” Bradley states, and he doesn’t just mean about vehicular transport. He’ll take Jake back to base if that’s what he wants. Or a diner, somewhere neutral. “You’re the one giving the directions right now…” he offers, and they’ve gone from talking about hot drinks to driving and they’ll get to the point eventually but it feels safer, circling the subject like this.

            “You better be serious about this Bradshaw…” Jake mutters, and Bradley knows then that he understands exactly what Bradley is saying. Offering.

            “Well, you’ve met my parents. Well. Half of them. Wait. Maybe one-third, because my mom and dad are dead…”

            “You’re rambling.”

            “You make me nervous,” Bradley admits, because if they’re going to do this… if he’s going to do this… then he needs to be honest and upfront from the start. At least when he can be, because sometimes he really struggles to identify how he’s even feeling, let alone voice it aloud. He should probably share that fact with Jake.

            “Do I now?”

            “Yeah. Why wouldn’t you make me nervous?”

            “I don’t know. You tell me…”

            “I’m… I’m terrified of fucking this up,” Bradley states, then sucks in a breath. “Again.” he says on an exhale and Jake’s lips twist into a half-smile and he so desperately wants to just lean over and kiss him, instead starts the Bronco and reverses down the driveway.

            “Pretty sure we’ll fuck it up. But…”

            “But?” Bradley asks, hope lacing his question.

            “Well. Bit of a difference between doing it by accident and doing it because you want to hurt someone… think we’ve hopefully moved past the deliberately hurting each other stage.”

            “Yeah. Years ago…” Bradley says, because it’s nothing but the truth, glances across at Jake who is staring out the window.

            “Mmm. Well then. As you said… you’d like to get to know me.”

            “Yeah.”

            “So what am I to you now?”

            “The guy I’m dating. My partner. My boyfriend. All of them… take your pick. Make up a name if you want to.”

            “Hmm. I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

            Bradley isn’t going to say that he has, because he suspects that that’s part of the problem. Jake wanted him to be all of those things years ago, and fuck if he’s only just starting to realize what he almost let slip through his fingers.

            “Then boyfriend it is…” Bradley offers quietly, throat feeling tight and he lets silence fall, focusses on driving but when he feels Jake’s fingers brush over his hand on the stick shift he turns his hand over, squeezes Jake’s hand and turns to smile at him. The tightness in his throat still there and he licks his lips and sucks in a deep shuddery breath. He drives, wants to say something, words tumbling over in his head, half-apology, half-explanation.

            “I’m sorry I wasn’t ready before.”

            “What?”

            “I wasn’t ready to be yours.”

            “Oh. And you’re ready now?”

            “I think I’ve been working on getting ready to be yours for the last decade. More than ready. If you’ll have me…”

            “You’re an idiot.”

            “That’s not an answer Jake…”

            “Well. It sort of is. Of course I’ll have you… even when I hated you I loved you.”

            “Jesus Jake…” Bradley says under his breath, because that’s heartbreaking and he wishes he could go back and change things. Wants nothing more than to reach over and kiss him; instead holds himself back, suspects that maybe they might need to take things a little more cautiously. Ease into an actual relationship with more open communication than they’ve had in the past. The last thing he ever wants to do again is hurt Jake.

…         …         …

            “Did I just hear Bradley?” Maverick asks, head poking around the corner, and he’s toweling himself dry, wearing only his boxers and Tom lets himself step forward and press a kiss to the curve of his shoulder, feels warm at the responding wide grin he gets from Pete.

            “Yes.”

            “Uh. Has he gone already?”

            “He was just here with Seresin.”

            “Hangman? Really?”

            “Maybe finally sorting out their relationship…”

            “Thought you said they didn’t have a relationship…”

            “Well. I think they might be taking the last ten years and trying to turn it into one.”

            “Oof. That’s…” Pete pulls a face and Tom purses his lips, because yes, they’re both familiar with how difficult that can be. “What did they come for exactly?”

            “Does it matter?” Tom asks, because he has his suspicions, given Bradley’s whole head-banging episode against the fridge, and Seresin’s expression as he took in the photos. He hopes it’s had whatever desired effect on Seresin that Bradley was aiming for. Knows Bradley will be wanting… something. Seems to have finally settled into his own skin and he wonders sometimes. “I know we did our best, but sometimes I think Bradley would have been better raised by someone…”

            “Don’t you dare say someone who loved him. We love him.”

            Tom sighs, shakes his head.

            “Maverick. Pete. That isn’t what I was going to say… I think he would have maybe found himself a bit sooner if he hadn’t spent so much of his life trying to live up to an ideal frozen in glass.”

            “What do you mean? Are you talking about Goose?”

            “No. Well. Yes. But… us as well. I’ve had so many people tell me that I must be so proud of him, because of everything he has achieved, everything he’s become. But then I try to recall how often I’ve told him that I’m proud of him and I… I come up empty. I don’t generally tell men under my command that I’m proud of them.”

            “Oh…”

            “Yes. And I don’t know if he’s been trying to live up to Goose, or to you, or to me… but to have any or all of us as people to try and live up to? The fact he’s not more messed up is a small miracle.”

            “You really think that’s what he’s been trying to do?”

            “I don’t know Mav…” Tom sighs, tired suddenly. “But if it were you? I know you had to fight against your own father’s reputation, but imagine having three reputations to either overcome or live up to…”

            “Shit.”

            “Yeah.”

…         …         …

            “So, uh. This is my place… my parents. My uh, real parents that is…”

            “You’re fine Bradshaw. Bradley…”

            He jerks his head, feeling inexplicably awkward and exposed showing Jake his home. This isn’t a place that he shares with people outside of his immediate family. Hearing Jake say his name, the first time he’s called him something other than Bradshaw or Rooster in years makes him feel fragile. He needs something to do with his hands, stop himself from reaching out.

            “You want a drink? I’ve got… a whole range.”

            “Just some water would be good. Stay hydrated and all that.”

            “Yeah, okay. Uh. Feel free to look around. I’ll go and grab some water I guess…”

            “You’re not worried about me finding all your secrets?”

            “You know all my secrets,” Bradley replies, because it’s the truth, and he likes that Jake has followed him into the kitchen.

            “Do I?”

            Bradley opens his mouth, ready to say yes, of course, and then pauses.

            “All the important ones. And I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just ask.”

            Jake takes him at his word, starts asking questions like he’s on a fact-finding mission and Bradley wonders if he’ll ever be given the opportunity to do the same. He doesn’t care if it takes him years to find out all of Jake’s secrets, he’s willing to wait however long it takes. They end up settled on the sofa, facing each other but just within touching distance. Jake continues to ask questions and Bradley continues to answer them.

            He ends up sharing facts about everyone he’s had sex with, that he remembers anyway. He does mention his one threesome but refuses to expound on it further when Jake raises a curious eyebrow. Then he’s talking about his time at the USNA, hiding his relationship with Maverick and Ice, using Tamsin and Petra, along with Sarah to offer a thin smoke screen to anyone just glancing past. His relationship with Natasha, and Jake seems surprised to learn that she’s known all of it for as long as she has. Mutters about her balancing skills and Bradley has no idea what he means by that.

            “Can I ask you a question?” Bradley asks, and Jake nods, waves his hand as if encouraging him to continue and he cannot believe how much he finds him so endearing and amazing.

            “Were you jealous?”

            “Which time?”

            “When you saw me with Tamsin and Petra. Were you jealous?”

            “Trying to stroke your ego there Rooster?”

            Bradley’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t let himself actually smile. He’s starting to realize that Jake uses his callsign when he’s getting defensive. Thing is, he’s pretty sure he’s just learnt a failsafe way of dismantling his walls as easy as breathing, and that’s admitting his own feelings.

            “No. Just wanted to let you know that I would have been, if our roles had been reversed. Fuck. I’m jealous of fucking Coyote some days…”

            “Yeah?” Jake asks, clearly surprised.

            “Yeah. Of course.”

            “You don’t have any reason to be jealous. Coyote is awful in the sack.”

            Bradley barks out a surprised laugh.

            “Is he?”

            “Fucked if I know, but… point stands. You don’t have to be jealous of him.”

            “I’m not jealous of the sex. Hypothetical or otherwise. It’s your close relationship with him. I want that with you.”

            “Well. It’s yours. If you want it.”

            “Yeah. I… I do want it.”

            “It’ll take a while.”

            “Years and years…” Bradley offers, confirms and the smile Jake gives him is small and hesitant, and he returns it, a little wider and brighter because it feels like a weight has lifted. They sit there, looking at each other, fingers just touching, brushing each other and it’s a sharp contrast to so many of their previous interactions. The conversation has left him tired, emotionally drained but also refreshed like he’s had a really good cleansing cry. Then Jake is shifting, moving closer and he holds his breath, watches as Jake kneels awkwardly on the sofa beside him, eyes meeting his.

            The kiss is soft, like spun sugar, delicate in its newness and just as sweet.

            “You want me to take you home? Or do you want to stay? Up to you,” Bradley says softly, and he’s quietly serious, runs gentle fingers down the side of Jake’s face, brushes hair back off his forehead. He’s going to be fine with whatever Jake chooses, whatever he wants; however, he wants to move them forward, his face is schooled into easy acceptance of giving Jake whatever he wants. Then Jake is shifting again, straddling his thighs and he moves a little to accommodate him, lets his hands rest on Jake’s legs, looks up at him and waits for an answer, tries not to get his hopes up.

            “I want to stay.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Take me to bed… please.”

            “Yeah?” Bradley asks again, needing to make sure, and his voice breaks on the question and Jake clearly thinks it’s funny, laughs into his chest, nodding his head.

            “Yeah.”

            He kisses Jake then, lets his hands settle on his hips, fingers reaching around to press into Jake’s ass, grinds them together as best he can and Jake is kissing him, fingers curling and tugging into his hair and he groans, wants Jake everywhere.        

            “Mission parameters?”

            “You’re such a massive dork…”

            “Yep. Guilty.”

            “Just… take me to bed. Then take me apart.”

            He’s not quite sure what Jake means by that, doesn’t want to stop and keep poking and prodding and asking questions. He’s familiar enough with Jake’s body at least to know what he likes and doesn’t like. He braces himself, wonders if this is going to end in hilarity, disaster or a trip to Urgent Care, but he stands, muscles straining as his fingers dig into Jake’s thighs and ass, holding him up. Jake squawking, arms gone tight around Bradley’s neck, and he’s swearing under his breath but he’s pretty sure Jake’s secretly pleased. And his bedroom is close.

            Jake isn’t light, though, and he grunts as he maneuvers around the furniture, distracted a little by the fact that Jake has decided sucking at his neck is a good idea. He pushes him against the wall, readjusts his hold a little so it’s more secure and Jake’s laugh is bright in his ears.

            “If you fucking drop me right now…”

            “We’re both going down before I drop you…” Bradley promises with a grin, because it’s maybe ten steps and he means it. He would rather fall to the floor with Jake in his arms than just drop him to the floor. Jake’s arms are tight around his neck as he takes the steps, and he doesn’t drop him onto the bed, but it’s a close thing and Jake seems to know it, if the amusement in his eyes is any judge.

            “You can carry me next time…” Bradley says wryly, lowering himself to lie as close to Jake as possible without simply lying directly on top of him like he wants to. Then Jake is pulling him, legs spreading to make room for him and Bradley doesn’t need more of an invitation than that, rolls and settles, lets his body blanket Jake and he looks down at him. Lets himself soak in the fact that Jake is here, in his bed, in his home.

            “Hi…”

            “Hi.”

            He grinds his hips a little, not hard, not fast, just… a little bit firmer than the pressure of where he’s resting, covers Jake’s mouth with his own, kisses and licks into his mouth, just sinks into the pleasure of the closeness, the way their bodies are moving against each other, hands exploring and plucking at clothes, fingers finding bare skin.

            “Fuck…”

            “This… okay?”

            “I’ll tell you if it’s not. Promise.”

            That makes him relax a bit, that Jake understands where he’s coming from and it gives him a little flare of promise that a relationship between them might not be quite as fraught with mines as it might have been otherwise.

            “Good. Thank you…”

            He shifts, sits up and separates them enough so they can strip each other’s clothes off, fingers gentle and smoothing over skin, kisses leaving invisible trails. He kisses his way down Jake’s body, still wonders if he’ll ever get used to the idea that Jake and him are… well. That there is actually a Jake and him. That Jake is giving them a chance together and he will do anything and everything to make it happen.

            Well. Nearly anything.

            “If I blow you can you still come if I fuck you?”

            “Oh you absolute asshole…”

            “What? We’re not that old…” Bradley says, not sure what he’s said to make Jake say that, to call him an asshole.

            “I wasn’t… yes. Yes. Please… yeah… that… that sounds perfect.”

            He licks and sucks and it’s something of a luxury, having Jake spread out in a bed, no time constraints and he realizes then why Jake was maybe calling him an asshole. It’s not the same as their first time, but it is very similar and he wants Jake come-drunk, warm and pliant beneath him. He slicks up his fingers a little, runs them over Jake’s hole as he blows him, sucks and licks while his fingers just circle and brush over, not pushing in, not yet. Jake said he wanted him to take him apart and Bradley can do that, knows how to do that. Hasn’t in a long time, but he hopes that Jake trusts him enough to let him take care of him, and not just with this.

            “Oh fuck… uh…shit… Bradley…”

            He sucks harder, feels Jake’s fingers curling in his hair carefully, the shifting in Jake’s hips as he tries to both push and press and stay still. He lets his jaw go slack, wants to drool and get Jake sloppy, wants to revel in the messiness and the fact that they have time, have each other. His own cock is hard, throbbing a steady tempo with his heart, blood hot. But he’s practiced, more experienced now, at ignoring and holding off and he feels single minded in his determination to take care of Jake first and foremost. He lets Jake’s cock hit the back of his throat a couple of times before he pulls off, kissing the head in sympathy as Jake whines at the loss of contact, of suction.

            “Jake… want you to fuck my throat… want everyone to know what I got up to with you tonight… think you can do that for me?”

            “Oh fuck…” Jake’s voice is barely an audible whisper, a broken sound edging toward a sob.

            “Soon…” Bradley promises.

            “Bradley…”

            He bites his bottom lip, but it does nothing to stop the smile he knows is on his face. Pleasure is bubbling through him and he settles back down to his task at hand, sucking Jake’s cock until he comes, tips over the edge into pleasure because Bradley is the one taking him there, step one in taking him apart. Jake’s fingers feel a little shaky in his hair and he groans as Jake shifts a little, his hips flexing and pressing his cock further into Bradley with restrained politeness. He doesn’t want that. He wants Jake mindless with pleasure.

            He reaches for Jake’s hand, the one resting on his head, curls his fingers around Jake’s and pulls his own hair and Bradley groans, repeats the movement and Jake is swearing under his breath and Bradley knows he’s got the message and lets his hand fall away. Jake’s fingers stay, tugging Bradley’s hair with an edge of desperation as his hips begin to jerk and Bradley lets his eyes glance up to Jake’s face. Their eyes meet and Jake’s eyes slam shut, like the sight of Bradley looking up at him is too much.

            “Oh fuck… you’re going to kill me…”

            Feeling a little perverse, he slows down, massages over Jake’s perineum, sucks each of his balls into his mouth carefully one after the other, drags his moustache up the length of Jake’s cock before sucking him back down again for a few drawn out seconds before beginning the process from the start. Jake is pleading with him, not quite begging to come, but getting there. The fifth or sixth time, Bradley’s lost count, Jake’s hand in his hair is tight, hiships jerking and twitching uncontrollably and he’s no longer making sounds that Bradley can recognize as actual words, although part of his name is making its way out of Jake’s lips, along with what he’s pretty sure is meant to be please.

            Jake’s body arches off the bed as he comes, and Bradley gags a little but he swallows and draws back, mouth and tongue gentler now, just holding Jake’s cock rather than trying to coax out an orgasm. Jake’s entire body is shaking, shuddering out its pleasure, his hand in Bradley’s hair now there, resting. He waits for Jake to either shift away or say something. Anything.

            “Fuck…”

            Yeah. That’ll do for a start.

            “You’re so fucking gorgeous…” Bradley says, and his voice is definitely rough and low. He starts peppering little kisses over the inside of Jake’s thigh, up over the jut of his pelvis, then over his stomach, murmuring more words as he kisses a path up Jake’s body, let’s his cock drag over the muscles of Jake’s legs and groans when Jake reaches and wraps his hand around his cock. “Only getting started in taking you apart…” Bradley says, and then he licks one of Jake’s nipples, can’t help but feel smug when Jake groans, his body shifting and pressing against him, seeking more of the touch and Bradley smiles as he licks over the over nipple, teases it a little with his teeth.

            Like he hoped, Jake has relaxed completely, his body warm and lax, and he gives in to the urge to kiss him, knows Jake doesn’t care about the lingering taste of come. He rubs against Jake’s body, grinds his cock against the flesh of Jake’s thigh despite Jake’s hand trying to give him an awkwardly angled handjob. He doesn’t need the added stimulation, already more than hard enough and he’s still got to prepare Jake for taking his cock. He grabs for the lube, has to scramble for a bit because he doesn’t want to look away from Jake.

            He moves his hand and presses in with a finger, takes his time, forces himself to be patient and build the anticipation in his own gut with the knowledge that he’s getting to give Jake pleasure. More pleasure. It’s that which helps him ignore the aching in his own cock, and he’s generous with the lube and stretching, isn’t going to ask how long it’s been but instead treat Jake exactly how he’s always wanted to treat him, with desire and reverence.

            “You good?”

            “You know it…” Jake says, but his words are slurred, legs spreading even further, his eyes fixed on Bradley. He rolls the condom on and slicks himself up, rubs the extra between Jake’s ass cheeks and bends down to kiss him again, lets himself just enjoy the intimacy of kissing and not needing to hurry it along. Jake’s hard again, his body shifting and chasing the friction Bradley’s body offers and he lets him grind and flex against him for a bit while they kiss, his own cock definitely hard and aching.

            “Come on… get your dick in me…”

            “So charming…” Bradley says, grinning and bending down to kiss him again, glad that the laughter and teasing has come back without even seeming to try. He shifts Jake’s legs, is already between them, rubbing and pressing the head of his cock against Jake’s hole.

            “I am the most charming… but I’m going to die of old age… hurry the fuuu– ”

            He presses and presses and presses, it’s hot tight all-encompassing driving him to pin-point focus as he holds himself fully sheathed in Jake’s body, hands shaking a little with the effort to not just fuck into him wildly.

            “You were saying?” he asks, but the playful bite sounds breathless to his own ears, and he shifts slightly and Jake clenches down and he groans, deep and guttural. “Jake… gotta move… please…”

            “Yeah… fuck yeah…”

            He takes that as implicit permission, pulls back slowly, halfway before pressing back in with a groan, his entire body shivering at the sensation. Jake’s low hum is promising and he repeats the movement, slow and steady, rocking into him. It’s a bit disorganized, holding Jake’s hips and legs and he pushes in, holds himself and grinds while also reaching for the pillows. He shoves them under Jake’s back and hip, and it’s a little awkward but they’re grinning at each other, and he feels light.

            Happy.

            He doesn’t want the feeling to end, doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to capture this feeling, of a first time without it being the first time, allowing himself to feel everything he does for Jake and trying to make Jake aware of it without saying anything. He will tell him, not right now, but soon enough. Jake’s fingers are digging into Bradley’s ass encouraging him on, breath warm and damp and he pants out Bradley’s name, mixed with expletives and delicious little sounds Bradley wants to hear more of. Hopefully for a long time.

            He comes with a punched out grunt, his mouth latched firmly onto Jake’s neck, the fingers of one hand clenched into Jake’s flank, the others gripping the sheet of the bed. It’s fine though, he’s pretty sure he’s going to have scratch marks down his back, Jake’s fingers and hands clinging to him even now. He kisses up Jake’s neck, along his jaw, licks into his mouth as he continues to ride out the lingering jolts of pleasure from his orgasm, his cock still hard as he thrusts a little languidly, grinding and circling his hips just right to press into Jake’s prostate. He pulls back a little, just enough to wrap his hand around Jake’s cock, to shift him a little so Jake can relax his legs and so he can jerk him off. If that’s what he wants.

            “What do you want Jake? Going to come for me like this? Or want me to finger you and suck you off again? Want to give you whatever you want. Want to give you everything…”

            Jake comes with a shudder, his ass clenching tight around Bradley’s cock and he lets out a low fuuuck as his body shivers with over sensitivity and he wonders what it is exactly that set Jake off. He looks forward to future investigation and he smiles as he places kisses everywhere he can reach with his mouth before he shifts, pulls out of Jake and kisses the little furrow in his brow, murmuring be right back. Jake’s fingers wrap tight around his wrist though and he stops, leans back down and runs his nose through the sweat damp hair around Jake’s ear.

            “Bradley…” whisper quiet.

            “Yeah baby…” Bradley whispers back and the endearment slips so easily from his mouth and he freezes for a second, wonders if Jake will mind. He remembers being unable to call him anything but baby. The little hiccupping sound Jake makes has Bradley concerned, worried that Jake’s crying… and fuck. He is. He kisses tears from Jake’s face, voice soft as he murmurs his apologies.

            “Shit Jake… sweetheart. I’m sorry…”

            “Just… don’t let go.”

            “Never again…”

            He doesn’t let go, shifts a little to reach for the box of tissues to clean up instead, but he doesn’t stop touching Jake, lets his fingers be gentle, lets himself press his lips wherever he wants. Like with the Bronco and the moustache he remembers the first time they fucked, how different Jake had been. A lot softer and trusting and Bradley wonders if he gets to get that back. Hell. He’ll work toward it for the rest of his life if he has to. Because Jake used to be come drunk and lazy after coming. That changed to terse abrupt departures and words, but right now Jake is in his arms, more alert but also far more relaxed and seems completely uninclined to move anywhere.

            And like their first time together he remembers their conversation afterwards, their frank and open words about what they liked and didn’t like. Both of them treating it like a debrief. No secrets between them. Fuck. Looking back no wonder it had fucked Jake up when he’d just pretended to not even know him when they’d started crossing paths professionally. Making their entire time together a secret that he couldn’t even share with Bradley.

            “We’ve… you’re… we’re definitely…”

            “Sexually compatible?” Bradley provides, and part of him relaxes even further, because this is the familiar ground they’re treading as well.

            “Mmm. Well. That and all the practice you’ve no doubt had…”

            Bradley’s eyebrows shoot up and he’s glad Jake can’t see him, because he’d accused Jake of being jealous, but he hadn’t seriously thought that he might be insecure about it. He can allay that fear or worry at least, and he makes Jake roll over so they’re facing each other, fuzzy in the dim light.

            “Most of my practice was a while ago now. I mean, I haven’t had sex with anyone but you this entire year, so…”

            “What?”

            “Jake… I’m not… when I was younger, yeah. But… not for several years now. You’ve been someone I always kept circling back to, and it probably wasn’t healthy. For either of us. But that was then. I don’t want anyone but you. Okay?”

            Jake is nodding quickly, lips tight, he’s swallowing like he’s holding back tears again and Bradley leans forward and kisses him, slow and thorough, lets his hands run all over Jake’s body and hopes he’s conveying the depth of what he’s feeling. He’s all in.

            “You know… talking about jealousy. You set a pretty unfair bar.”

            “What? What kind of bar?” Bradley asks, because that hadn’t been talking about jealously just now, although he supposes alluding to the past and all the people he has slept with might make Jake feel jealous.

            “Sexual expectations…”

            “Did I? When?”

            “The first time,” Jake mutters, sounding exasperated. “Kind of brutally unfair having you for an entire weekend when I was young, and then having to… experience so much shitty sex afterwards, knowing it could be so much better…”

            “Oh. I’m sorry. Should I have given you a shitty sexual experience?” Bradley asks with a laugh, leans is and bites playfully at the curve of Jake’s neck. He feels a flicker of possessiveness, of pride, that Jake has always compared the other people he’s had sex with to Bradley and found them lacking. Fuck. He’s never going to admit that aloud to anyone, although he suspects from the way Jake is looking at him his expression has given him away.

            “It’s why I sometimes had sex with you again. Because I was like, surely it can’t be as good as I remember it being. And then…”

            “I’d knock your socks off.”

            “And rip my heart to pieces in the process…”

            Bradley recoils, but he supposes it’s fair. They can’t ignore their very shaky and less-than-ideal past. All the times Jake has thrown acid-laden words his way and he knows that they were a coping technique, one he no doubt forced Jake to employ. Wonders if suggesting they get therapy together would be too much too soon. He wants… so much.

            “I’m sorry…”

            “You can spend the next ten or twenty years making it up to me… then we can figure out what we want to do.”

            Oh. He pulls back, tries to focus better in the half-light, wants to see Jake’s face better but all he can really see is the outline, but it’s enough.

            “Twenty years huh?”

            “Seems a good a start as any.”

            “Yeah… yeah it definitely is.”

            If Mav and Ice can figure out their relationship through DADT and marriages and children then he and Jake can surely figure it out as well.

…         …         …

            He pushes himself against Jake, lets his lips press into the curve of his neck.

            “Morning…”

            “Morning.”

            “You okay?”

            “Yeah. Just…” he shrugs then, face scrunching in the way Bradley has come to recognize as a little self-depreciating but inwardly annoyed with himself all at once, for doubting himself. It’s uniquely Jake and he suspects that not very many people get to see this side of him.

            “It’s a lot to have dumped on you in an evening and even more to process?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Anything I can do to help?”

            “You’re doing enough…”

            “Well… I can do more. I want to take you on dates, and have showers with you, and go and get haircuts, and go grocery shopping and fight over replacing the toilet paper and… everything. I want everything. Does that help?”

            Jake nods, quick and fast and Bradley lets himself cup Jake’s face in his hands and kisses him, slow and sweet. He’s spent years holding himself in check, has no reason to hold back now. Tries to put the way he’s feeling into actions, worried that if he speaks them out loud they’ll be too much for Jake. All at once after everything.

            “I want to take you dancing.”

            “Yeah? Line dancing?”

            “Yeah. That okay?”

            “Of course. I really enjoyed doing that with you last time…”

            The little smirk Jake gives him is softer and it fills him with warmth, a little more confident that they’ll be more than okay; that Jake feels comfortable enough to be soft with him, even after everything.

…         …         …

            Pete wakes up in pain, not a new experience, but still not one he thinks anyone likes. His back aches, and he knows he’s getting on in years, but the two ejections and crash landing haven’t exactly endeared his body to repeating any of it ever again. Then Ice’s hands are on him, large and warm and he’s pushing him back into the bed.

            “Where does it hurt the most?”

            “Uh. You don’t have to…”

            “Pete… let me. Please.”

            Pete lets out a sigh, and it morphs into a groan of relief as Ice’s hands press into the aching muscles around his spine, digging in and relieving some of the aching pressure that’s built up. He slumps a little bit more into the bed, feels Tom press a kiss to his shoulder and he wonders if he’s angling for sex. He’s not averse to the idea at all, would be more onboard if the pain wasn’t quite as distracting as it is. Although the longer Tom massages his back the more the pain slips away.

            “It’s not like I mind doing this. Not really. I don’t have anywhere I need to be…”

            “You’re a perverted old man…”

            “Mmm. I am. Can’t keep my hands off you. Even when our bodies are falling apart…”

            “At least they’re falling apart together.”

            “That’s almost poetic Mav…”

            “I should take up poetry.”

            “I’d love to read it.”

…         …         …

            He tries not to feel insecure about it, but when he hears Jake end the call with bye mom, love you his heart twists painfully. Jake hasn’t talked about his family at all. Bradley doesn’t know anything about them. He doesn’t know why Jake hasn’t mentioned them; if it’s some misplaced sense of guilt that his mom is alive and well, while Bradley’s mom is dead? Or is he embarrassed to be with Bradley? Or is it something else? He needs to know.

            “Talking to you mom huh?”

            “Yeah…” Jake says on an exhale, and he sounds tired.

            “Um. Everything okay?”

            “Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

            He’s lying. He doesn’t know how he knows, but it’s visceral and immediate, the knowledge that not only is Jake lying, but he knows him well enough now to be able to spot it without even trying. Why he’s lying is a completely different matter.

            “Jake… please tell me?”

            “How old were you when you came out to your family?”

            “Uh… shit. I… I was still at high school,” Bradley laughs, hit with the sudden memory. “I told Mav I thought I was gay, and I knew then I wanted to go into the Navy and Mav was telling me that it’d be hard and I remember thinking to myself what would he know?”

            Jake looks at him in shock.

            “You didn’t know he was gay?”

            “No! He’d married my mom. Ice was married to Sarah. I was a very self-absorbed teenager dealing with my mom dying and… yeah. In hindsight I can’t believe I missed it all, but…” he shrugs then, because he’s trying to get Jake to talk. “Anyway. They were all great. Supportive. Loving.”

            “You’re lucky.”

            “Yeah. I know,” Bradley says quietly. “Can you tell me?”

            The look on Jake’s face hurts, and he knows he’s not the one causing it, wraps his arms around him and just holds him. Wants to say not to worry about it, but also feels that this is something, a part of Jake, that he really should know about going forward.

            “I was back from my first deployment. Had my wings and feeling very accomplished and grown up. Figured I’d be able to survive if they kicked me out. I had places I could go. I was an adult. But… uh… knew kicking me out was definitely on the cards.”

            Bradley doesn’t dare say anything, just leaves the space for Jake to talk, organize his thoughts, wraps his arms around him a bit tighter.

            “They didn’t exactly kick me out, but they did ask me to leave. Haven’t invited me home. They asked me not to tell anyone else in the family…”

            “Wait. What?” Bradley asks, confused. Haven’t invited Jake home? Since his first deployment? To not tell anyone else?

            “Oh, they don’t want to disown a son serving in the great US Navy, but no one can know he’s gay.”

            “Jake…”

            “It’s fine. It is what it is. I just… I usually volunteer to take deployments so they cover the holidays… I call home and talk to my mom every couple of weeks, but…”

            “Oh baby…”

            “If I even refer to it, they just… ignore it, talk over it, or hang up on me. It’s…”

            “Fuck. I’m sorry Jake.”

            “It’s fine Bradshaw. Not all of us can have an idyllic coming out story…”

            “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

            “Do what?”

            “Make light of my own life like I had it easy.”

            “Looks pretty good to me from where I’m standing. Sitting. Whatever.”

            “Just… fuck. Jake,” he huffs out a breath of frustration. “It was… yeah okay. It is good. Now. And it’s definitely better than what you’ve got to deal with. But it’s not a competition. I’m… my dad died when I was three. I didn’t get it for like… two or three years, that he really wasn’t ever coming back. Then I spent most of my childhood freaking out that Mav wasn’t going to come back from every single deployment. It kind of fucked me up, and then, the person who had been stable in my life? She got cancer and died Jake. In under a year. Just… gone. And I was lucky, because I got to live with Ice and Sarah and see Tamsin and Petra grow up, and I was included in their family in every way. But I was… they weren’t my mom and dad.”

            Jake’s silent.

            “Do you think they would have been okay with you being gay?”

            “Uh. My mom and dad?”

            “Yeah.”

            Fuck. Given what Jake’s just shared this feels like taking a knife and twisting it, but he won’t lie.

            “I know they would have been, because my mom introduced Ice and Sarah. Married Mav. Slider, uh, Admiral Kerner, he told me that they did that because there had been rumors. Anyway… I know I had it good. I’m sorry your family don’t accept you and love you like they should. See every amazing part of you.”

            Jake hums under his breath and Bradley wonders what he’s thinking.

            “You’re pretty well adjusted despite everything.”

            “Oh,” Bradley snorts. “Trust me. I’m not. Or I wasn’t. Mav made me get counselling after my mom died and then… well. I went and got some more about five years ago.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah. I felt like I kept making the same dumb mistakes and figured I needed to work on that so…” he looks at Jake, his stomach in knots because he knows Jake is one of the reasons he wanted to be better. Won’t quite share that with Jake quite yet, because he was only one of the reasons, not the sole reason. But being this open and honest is still a struggle.

            “Well we can’t both be fucked up.”

            “You’re not fucked up Jake,” Bradley murmurs, and Jake rolls his eyes. “And even if you were, doesn’t change anything.”

…         …         …

            Bradley is a nervous wreck.

            He’s not worried about Mav and Ice. They’ve met Jake. They both like Jake, even if he hadn’t saved them, Jake can really turn on the charm when he wants to. Ice already liked him before he saved both him and Maverick from being shot from the sky, and Mav likes the fact that he’s an excellent aviator and clearly cares about him; he is not going to ask which one Mav considers more important. It’s the other people he loves who he needs to introduce Jake to and have meet Jake in turn.

            Tamsin and Petra.

            Except Tamsin and Petra are used to spotting bullshit from miles away. Their moms and dads both passing on all their skills and Bradley should be better at it considering, because Melissa is queen, but he suspects she’s also used to patients maybe stretching the truth a little or lot depending. Tamsin and Petra though, they’ve been exposed to the worst and best of them their entire lives and he really wants them to like Jake. Wants Jake to like them, and he wonders if he’ll be a little irrationally jealous anyway, like how he feels about Coyote sometimes.

            Plus it’s only been a week, but it’s Tamsin’s birthday so she’s coming home for the weekend, along with Petra, and it’s not Thanksgiving, but it’s still a family gathering and he’s bringing… he’s bringing Jake. It feels important.

            “Calm the fuck down. What are you so worried about?”

            “I just… I really want them to like you. And for you to like them.”

            “I’m easy to like. They’ll love me. And I’ve already got something pretty major in common with them, so I’m not too worried about not having common ground…”

            Bradley frowns, tries to think of what it is Jake could be talking about.

            “Don’t hurt yourself there Bradshaw… I’m referring to the fact that they love you.”

            “You love me?” Bradley asks dumbly, all his worries over the last day or so about saying the same words and feeling like it would be too fast and scare Jake away. Instead Jake is looking at him like he’s an idiot. “What?”

            “You’re an idiot. Of course I love you…”

            “Oh. I love you too.”

            “I’m aware. You tend toward flashy gestures, or silent acts… I’m slowly becoming wise to your ways.”

            “I have ways do I?” Bradley asks, imminently pleased by the fact that Jake is apparently learning things about him that even he himself might not be privy to. He wonders what exactly he’s said or done to make Jake so sure, wants to keep doing it. He slides his arms around Jake’s waist, can’t stop grinning at the fact that they just casually told each other they loved each other.

            “You have very obvious tells once you know what to look for. And I’m looking.”

            “That’s good… I want you to look.”

            “Mmm. It’s no hardship when you’ve not got a bad side…”

            “I don’t huh?” Bradley asks with a grin, wrapping his arms tighter and tucking his head into the crook of Jake’s neck to place a soft kiss, grins when he feels Jake’s body shiver all over and kisses him again, lets his moustache drag over sensitive skin.

            “You know you don’t…” Jake says, and he sounds pleasingly breathless. Bradley wants to take him to bed and continue to make him sound like that, rolls his hips a little so Jake knows exactly what he’s thinking, but will say words as well, knows Jake will like hearing them.

            “Mmm. Neither do you. Every part of you is good.”

            “You’re so cheesy…” Jake mutters, rolling his eyes but he still looks pleased. Happy.

            “Oh eww… it’s like seeing the parentals…”

            He jumps a little at the new voice and he looks over to see Petra and Tamsin standing in the doorway watching them and he flushes a little, embarrassed. He doesn’t think they’ve ever seen him even kiss someone, because he just didn’t ever do that type of thing with Callum, and that’s the only previous boyfriend either Tamsin or Petra might remember. He forces himself to relax, to remind himself he has nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s in his own house with his boyfriend and these are his sisters.

            “Speak for yourself. They’re fine. You’re fine,” Tamsin repeats to them this time, and Bradley grins at her, draws in a deep calming breath and untangles himself from Jake to give them both hugs of hello. Then he steps back to Jake’s side and wraps an arm around his waist again. Doesn’t want him to feel like he’s facing the three of them like some form of interrogation squad or weird interview panel.

            “Tamsin, Petra, this is Jake Seresin. Jake, these are my sisters, Tamsin and Petra Kazansky.”

            “You know, I’m thinking of changing my last name to Mitchell…”

            Bradley is pretty sure that’s bullshit, because Petra is a shit stirrer. Of course, Jake’s eyes have gone wide as he looks at Petra, he quickly looks at Bradley, an eyebrow raised and he shrugs helplessly. It’s obvious if you’re looking, and Jake has all the pieces, even if Bradley hasn’t implicitly spelled it out to him the Maverick is Petra’s biological father.

            “I won’t though. Dad would be all sad about it. So. You’re the boyfriend.”

            “Yep, nice to meet you.”

            “Hmm. You know he snores right?”

            Bradley opens his mouth to object, wonders where the hell this conversation is even going. They’re not meant to gang up on him… oh. Wait. Maybe that might help a little.

            “He doesn’t if he’s tired enough…” Jake says, expression deadpan and Bradley flushes, red-hot and immediate at the implication. Tamsin is laughing and he supposes Jake should start as he intends to go on, but a little of the harder tougher shell is there, he recognizes the layer for what it is now; Jake protecting his heart.

            “Oh ew… gross. I do not need to think about you two going at it. What do you know about cars?”

            “I know your brother is driving a better car now than ten years ago…”

            “That’s a matter of opinion. An incorrect opinion.”

            “What do you mean? I’m the one that told him he needed to get himself a Bronco…”

            “Are you now?”

            And they’re off, talking about cars and racing and Bradley had no idea Jake was even into cars that much, but Petra seems to be delighted to finally have someone new to talk to, and he has no idea if Jake’s making his opinions be the opposite of hers just to be ornery or whether it’s what he truly believes, but he’s grinning and then following Petra out to the Bronco and he feels something settle further inside him. They’re going to get on even better than he had hoped.

…         …         …

            Bradley doesn’t ask for favors. Doesn’t ask for much. Has never asked him to use his name or rank for anything to benefit him; in fact has gone out of his way to ensure he never received preferential treatment. But he has asked for this, and Pete had agreed immediately. He’s not even going to have to do paper work. Easiest favor ever. The Dagger Squad have been trying to make Hangman’s new nickname stick, give him a new callsign. Pete was there on the carrier, he heard what Bradley had said, what he’d called Hangman while he was woozy with pain and shock.

            Angel.

            They think it’s funny. He supposes it might be, if they hadn’t been so close to death. He can look back now and know that they got lucky over and over and over. Having Hangman be called Angel makes a joke of the matter though, one he knows neither he nor Bradley are ready to accept. He doesn’t know how Hangman feels about it. Some of them are maybe joking about it to deal with the pressure, but he also can’t let their coping technique impact the mental health of others.

            He also suspects Bradley doesn’t know or remember why they started calling Hangman Angel, but everyone has noted that Hangman doesn’t particularly like it, which might be why some of them are keeping at it. So he knows Bradley isn’t asking himself, but rather because he wants to make Hangman happy. Pete is pretty sure being reminded of the person you love nearly dying every time someone uses your callsign would be difficult. Along with the fact that Bradley could never call him angel as an endearment. That’s what he had realized when he’d heard the Dagger squadron members using it a couple of times. Bradley uses nicknames and pet names easily, making them up on the fly. He’s already heard him call Seresin baby and he’d quickly turned his head to hide his surprise. Pleased surprise, but still.

            So he’s going to let them know in no uncertain terms that Hangman’s callsign will not be changing.

            “Aviators… please take a seat.” Bradley and Hangman are notably absent, but they’re comfortable enough with him that they don’t hurry to obey, clearly feeling the more relaxed vibe he was aiming for. “Now, this is not a formal request, however I do want you to take what I am about to say to you seriously –”

            There’s a cough and he looks up to the open door to see Ice standing there, just out of sight of everyone else. He’s dressed in his service khakis, which is odd. He hates those, but he looks fierce and impressive and Pete lets his eyes wander a bit before Ice coughs again, sharper, and gives him a look coupled with an eyeroll. Oh. Oh fuck. Yeah. Having Ice deliver the request, despite it being an informal one, adds a significant weight to it.

            “Ah…” he looks between his husband and the Daggers. “Attention,” he states, and there’s some grumbling considering he just told them they could sit however when Ice steps forward the grumbling immediately stops and they’re all standing at attention. Natasha knows of course, and maybe Machado now, but everyone is looking a little unnerved.

            “You can sit down,” Ice says, and Pete supposes he doesn’t need to introduce him. They all know who he is. “I’m just here to inform you that Lieutenant Seresin will not be getting a new call sign. Am I understood?”

            There is a chorus of yes sirs and agreement and Pete is pretty sure this is overkill, but he supposes when Bradley asks for something they’re going to ensure it happens.

…         …         …

            Tom knows Bradley is nervous, despite both his and Pete’s reassurances that everything will be fine. For some reason Bradley seems to think that Melissa and Sarah are the harder nuts to crack, while he and Pete are both of the opinion that it’s Tamsin and Petra’s far more scathing assessments which are likely to carry more weight. However Tamsin and Petra both report back that they like Jake, which is reassuring. Even if Petra had had some scathing things to say about his vehicle preference. He hasn’t yet had an opportunity to see them all interact, and while he knows travelling two weekends in a row is exhausting, Tamsin and Petra are both still young and seem more than happy to come home for birthdays and Thanksgiving.

            Melissa and Sarah are completely charmed by Seresin, who has said charm dialed all the way up. Bradley clearly has to stop himself from laughing out loud when Petra calls Jake a suck up under her breath, because he just turns, waggles his eyebrows in Bradley’s direction suggestively and Petra is groaning. It makes his heart feel full, all his kids at the table for dinner, along with his closest friends and everyone happy. It’s good.

            “Jake! Come have a look at the photo albums…” Tamsin says as soon as they’ve finished eating. Tom knows a ploy to get out of washing up when he sees one, hides his smile around his mug of tea, catches Sarah’s smile across the room. Seresin seems more than willing to look through the family photo albums, and he’s not quite relaxed around Tom, he’s definitely getting on well with both Tamsin and Petra. Bradley groans and mutters about making himself useful doing the dishes and Tom follows him through to the kitchen along with Petra.

            “I like him. He’s good for you.”

            “Yeah. He is. And I love him so… I’m glad you like him because it would have made future family dinners awkward as fuck.”

            “What’s his family like?” Tom asks, curious.

            “Uh… not as accepting as ours.”

            “Oh shit. Really?” Petra asks, turning with soapy hands Tom has to duck out of the way of.

            “Yeah. He still talks to them. But… uh. He doesn’t visit. Don’t expect to meet them at our wedding or anything.”

            “Are you getting married?” Petra asks, but Tom is pretty sure his eardrums are ringing along with Bradley’s.

            “Not yet we’re not… Jesus. Shh! I haven’t asked him. Fucks sake Pet… we only just sorted our shit out…”

            “But you’re… thinking about it?” Petra asks, eyes wide and incredulous; she’s whispering now but Tom is pretty sure that that particular horse has bolted and no doubt dancing the tango in a field if Seresin and everyone else didn’t somehow hear her previous yelling.

            “If it’s not him it sure as hell isn’t going to be anyone else for me.”

            “That’s kind of sweet. Romantic.”

            “Well, I’m coming up on forty. Had to sort my shit out at some point right?”

            “Ugh. You’re so old…”

            Bradley snorts and Tom pulls a face, shaking his head and leaving them to it. If anyone asks, he’s too old to wash dishes by hand.

…         …         …

            Seeing Bradley with Seresin settles something inside him. That Bradley isn’t going to live a life surrounded by only family.

            “Does he make you happy?”

            “He drives me completely fucking insane. But… yeah. I’m really happy. Just… yeah. It’s really good.”

            “I’m glad. You seem happier.”

            “I was already happy Mav…”

            “I know, I said happier…”

            Bradley rolls his eyes but heads over to where Jake is sitting with Petra. Bradley has always reminded him of Nick, the moustache adding to the illusion when he decided to keep it nearly a decade ago. But he’s never seen Bradley in love before and it reminds him of the look on Goose’s face every time he saw Carole, or talked about her, or thought about her. He’d never seen that particular look on Bradley’s face until he watched him look at Jake Seresin.

            “You see it too?” Ice asks, coming to stand beside him.

            “Yeah. It’s a good look on him.”

            “Mmm. I have to agree. Come on, we’re holding up the gift giving.”

            Pete lets himself be led away, and they’re celebrating their family holidays, a combination of Christmas and Hanukkah with it falling over Christmas this year. Melissa is covering Christmas Day so they can all celebrate together today, the 30th. He knows better to ask Jake what his family are doing, simply includes him in all of their little family traditions and pretends not to notice the shine of tears when Tamsin had pointed out the newly added stocking to the hearth bearing Jake’s name.

2020

            "Dude, I'm happy for you both... really I am. I just... I want you to know when Jake loves, he loves deep and long. Hell, I thought he'd never get over the guy he fell in love with back in 2009...."

            Bradley cough-splutters on his drink.

            “Wait. A guy from 2009?”

            “Yeah. What? Shit. Has he not told you about him?”

            “Um…” Bradley starts and he has a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Not in so many words.”

            “Fuck. I didn’t mean to make trouble. I just… I assumed you guys would have talked about shit like that.”

            “Coyote, Javy. It’s fine. I know about the guy. If he ever comes back you have my full permission to knock him over the head and bury the body. Okay?”

            “Uh… okay. Yeah. Sure. Weird… you know him?”

            “Yeah, we’re acquainted,” Bradley mutters with a wry grin as he watches Jake across the Hard Deck. Jake’s personality hasn’t changed, he’s still arrogant and cocky, confident in his innate skills. His tongue can still be on the sharp side, and he doesn’t suffer incompetence or fools, however he seems to laugh easier. But when they’re alone all of Jake’s armor just dissolves away to nothing as long as he’s careful not to put him on the defensive. They’re still figuring things out but it’s been good. Better than good.

            “God. Go hang out with you man. Think they can see your heart eyes from space,” Javy says, shoving at him and Bradley grins, doesn’t need to be told twice. He strides across the bar and presses himself up against Jake’s back, hooking his chin over his shoulder where he stands watching Phoenix and Bob play pool.

            “Jake… baby… princess…”

            “What have you done?”

            Bradley can’t help but laugh against Jake’s neck, the fact he knows him so well. Phoenix is making gagging sounds and he and Jake both give her the finger which just makes her laugh and give it back.

            “I haven’t done anything wrong. Well. Not recently.”

            “Okay…” Jake says, and the word is drawn out, drawling and suspicious and Bradley can’t help but laugh again.

            “Just… I already apologized but I was made to realize just how much I fucked up. So I’ll just… keep being grateful every day that you forgave me for being an idiot.”

            “Uh. What?”

            “Just… something Javy said.”

            “What did he say?” Jake asks, and he’s getting stiff in Bradley’s arms, even more suspicious and Bradley shakes his head, angles down to capture Jake’s mouth with his own and kisses him until he relaxes, lets his body slump and cover him.

            “Javy just… he told me… about this guy… a guy you were really hung up on. How he really fucked you over.”

            “Oh…”

            “Yeah…” Bradley breathes. “Told him if he ever turned up again I’d help him bury his body…”

            “Yeah?”

            “Definitely. You have to try knock some sense into him first of course.”

            “God you’re an idiot.”

            “Less of an idiot now than I was ten years ago…”

            “Aren’t we all?”

…         …         …

            He finds Tamsin in the garage with the punching bag and he wonders if he should even ask. She’s got tear tracks down her face, but she’s not currently crying; she clearly didn’t think she needed to go for waterproof mascara this morning. He walks a wide circle so she can see him, doesn’t want to startle her and get a punch to the nose. When she sees him she plucks her ear pod out.

            “Hey papa…”

            “Hey. Didn’t expect you here. Uh. You want to talk about it?”

            “No. Yes. Maybe.”

            Pete nods, wonders if he should call in reinforcements. He’s never been good with crying, although he’d like to think he’s gotten better. Matured. He’s just worried he won’t know what to say to make things right. He will always try, but sometimes he worries that he’s making things worse.

            “Why are men idiots?” Tamsin bursts out, and thank fuck, that’s an easy question at least.

            “Oh, it’s years of evolution.”

            That makes her giggle-snort and he feels a welling up of pride that even through whatever she’s dealing with he’s made her laugh.

            “Which one in particular are we talking about? Or is it just… men in general?”

            “Ross.”

            Ah. The boyfriend. He probably should have guessed. Although Ross hasn’t ever been a problem before. He’s been around for years.

            “Oh. Do I need to provide an alibi?”

            Again there’s another laugh and Pete leans against the workbench.

            “Dad can provide an alibi for both of us if it comes to that, you and Bradley can help me bury the body…”

            “And what’s Petra doing in all this?”

            “Oh, she’d probably be the one to actually kill him.”

            “That bad?”

            “No,” Tamsin says with a loud sigh and Pete just nods slowly, because he’ll decide for himself.

            “He’s just… he dropped out. Decided he didn’t want to study engineering after all and now he’s just… bumming around.”

            “Okay… maybe he’s taking a while to figure his life out?”

            “He dropped out six months ago. He’s been living with me, but he just… sits around and smokes all day and I hate the smell. He isn’t doing anything…”

            “Is he maybe… depressed?” Pete suggests, trying to be even headed. For all he knows they could get back together. And Ross is, was, one of the nicer ones.

            “I don’t care if he is. Depressed or not I deserve a guy who won’t –”

            “Who won’t what?” Pete asks, wondering exactly how that sentence is meant to finish. His brain is offering up several possibilities and none of them are pretty. Shit. Maybe Ice will need to have an alibi ready. Not for murder, but maybe assault. Then again Tom would be right beside him.

            “Won’t steal and cheat.”

            “Hmm. Enough that you want to make a report to the police?”

            “No. I kicked him out, went to my landlord and asked to change the locks and deactivate my spare security fob just incase. Then went to campus security and asked them to keep an eye out for him. Just said he might loiter around and make a nuisance of himself. I just… I wasted three years.”

            “Oh. Oh sweetheart I’m sorry…”

            That seems to set off the tears, and he just opens his arms and hugs her, lets her cry and pats her on the back as she mutters about assholes and time wasters and he lets his mind wander a little, what he can do that would maybe make her feel a little better when he realizes that there is maybe something.

            “Just… I know you don’t like violence, but… give me a couple of minutes okay?”

            She wipes at her eyes and gives him a nod and he races off to Ice’s office, finds a photo of the offending Ross and quickly prints out two copies, before returning to the garage with them. He uses electrical tape to stick one copy to the punch bag, and then, to the newly acquired dart board he sticks the other.

            “There. No alibi required. And can I just say, if you want to talk to someone who can really commiserate about men being idiots, you should really talk to your dad. He’s had years of experience.”

            That really has her laughing and Pete grins.

…         …         …

            He doesn’t say the words very often. Not first. Struggles to say them to people who aren’t his family, wonders if he should tell Jake that that’s the case or whether he already knows. No. He won’t assume Jake knows anything. He’s said them before, repeats them effortlessly when Jake tells him first, easy as breathing. But he wants Jake to know. To be sure.

            “I love you Jake…”

            The smile on Jake’s face takes his breath away, wide and bright and the words are returned to him easily and he hopes his answering smile makes Jake feel the same way he does right now.

            “I love you too.”

…         …         …

            Fucking global pandemic.

            What the actual fuck is his life now.

            Everyone’s deployments are extended if they’re at sea, and he’s very fucking glad that the entire Dagger Squad are stationed together in North Island and their orders remain the same. Training, studying, simulations, flying, more training. It’s all still the same except not. The roads are emptier, shops closed, hospitals busier and Melissa and Sarah stop visiting. Tamsin and Petra both come home to finish their semester of study remotely, but Melissa refuses to let them stay with her and Sarah, insisting that they take her seriously.

            So they do. It’s an unusual way of living, and the bubble they create is odd. Tamsin and Petra bouncing between his place, and then staying with Ice and Mav. The fact that there is Harley, Ducati and Ceccato is a bigger drawcard. That and Mav drags Ice away to the hangar every other weekend under the guise of doing maintenance. He’s pretty sure that’s code for alone time but he’s not going to probe. Ice sends pictures of them flying and yeah, that’s nice for them.

            They’re asked to accommodate other officers in their homes if they can, so he invites Bob to join them, after Natasha and Coyote inform him that they’re going to bunk in together. That raises a few eyebrows, but he and Jake wisely both keep their mouths shut on the matter. It all happens so fast that he doesn’t really have time to tell Bob much of anything. He lets Tamsin and Petra know he’s going to have someone staying so they don’t take Bob out when they see him, but he’s reclined back on the sofa, feet in Jake’s lap when Bob appears in the doorway to the living room in his sleep clothes, eyes wide.

            “Rooster! Bradley! There’s a… there’s a woman in your kitchen.”

            “Blonde or brunette?” Bradley asks, a little distracted because Jake is drawing something on his ankle. He thinks it’s the outline of a dick but he’s not sure, trying to mentally visualize the image.

            “Uh… blonde? Does…”

            “That’s Tamsin. His sister. She must have come around late. Hair color wouldn’t have mattered. He’s got two sisters…”

            “Oh shit. Yeah. Sorry Bob. Come let me do a proper introduction.”

            Tamsin is standing and staring at the coffee maker as if willing it to go faster, and he wonders if she knows he’s set it up to make a large pot now, that she might be waiting a while. He goes over and gives her a hug and presses a kiss to the top of her head, because she’s all sleepy and grumpy, hair in a messy plait down her back and wearing her most comfortable sweatpants and t-shirt.

            “Tam, this is my friend Bob. Bob, this is my sister Tamsin. Her and our other sister Petra are taking turns spending time here…”

            “Robert. My name’s Robert… Bob is my callsign.”

            Bradley blinks, not expecting the correction at all.

            “Oh. Sorry. Robert Floyd. Callsign Bob.”

            “Nice to meet you Robert,” Tamsin says, and she’s reaching out to shake Bob’s hand, smiling politely, although her smile turns more grateful when Jake shoves his half-full cup of coffee into her hands as he enters the kitchen as well. It sounds weird to hear Bob called Robert.

            “Nice to meet you too. I didn’t realize Rooster had sisters.”

            “Uh… shit. Yeah. Sorry. I forgot to kind of tell you about my family…”

            Jake snorts and Bradley rolls his eyes, pokes out his tongue which just makes Jake grin at him.

            “I love our family. Our parents. Really. I do. I know how lucky I am to be so wanted, loved and supported. But seriously, if I have to deal with Papa’s hovering for another hour I’m going to snap.”

            Bradley snorts, because they’d stayed home this weekend rather than going to the hangar, and the shelter in place order is making Mav a little stir-crazy and making it everyone else’s problem. Hopefully Ice will take him out to the hangar so he can fly.

            “You’re, uh. Dads?” Bob asks, looking between Bradley and Tamsin, and Jake is wearing a shit-eating grin, clearly entertained and Bradley groans.

            “Shit. Knew I forgot to tell you. Sorry, with the whole… lockdown thing. Admiral Kazansky is –”

            “My dad.”

            “And Mav is her –”

            “Papa.”

            “Are you going to let me finish my own –”

            “Sandwiches!” Tamsin singsongs and Bradley groans and Bob looks amused.

            “So it’s not just me and Jake in our bubble. You’ll actually get a fair amount of choice. There’s us here, and then Mav and Ice at their place. Tamsin and Petra switching between the two. So… seven of us between two houses. And the base.”

            “Oh. That’s… that’s really good. Uh. Is there… do you have a mom?”

            “Of course. I have two of them as well. Mom and Mama. Sarah and Melissa. Mom used to be married to Dad, but it was all, like, a cover story. Pretty romantic really…”

            Bob is blinking and Bradley exchanges a look with Jake, because he’s glad Tamsin somehow thinks that Ice having to hide his feelings and emotions to Mav by marrying and having kids with a woman is somehow romantic… Ugh. He guesses they’re pretty extreme lengths, and Tamsin and Petra wouldn’t exist otherwise. But still. The coffee has finished and Jake pours himself a new mug, topping up Tamsin’s and then silently asking Bradley if he wants more and he shakes his head, unable to hide his smile though with the realization that they’re silently communicating in a way he’s used to seeing between Sarah and Melissa as well as Mav and Ice.

…         …         …

            Tom is glad to be retired. Because he has Zoom calls with his replacement and listens to how he has to deal with everything and is so infinitely glad that it’s no longer any of his concern. A global pandemic was never something he thought he’d have to manage, and he’s glad it’s not officially his problem. He looks up to see Seresin standing in the doorway to his study and he waves him in.

            “Sir…”

            “You can just call me Tom. I’m retired. Well. Mostly. It’s in process…”

            “Uh. Sorry. I call my own father sir…”

            “Oh,” Tom says, surprised. Not only is it the first time Jake has mentioned his family, but the idea of any of his children calling him sir makes him feel uncomfortable. Even Bradley only ever did so when there were other people around and they were both in uniform.

            “Was there something I could help you with?”

            “I just… sorry. Do you remember when we first met?”

            Tom leans back and nods.

            “2011. On board the Carl Vinson. We had dinner. I believe we all had steak because I was eating with you all.”

            “You had dinner with everyone who was in the class of 2010. I just… I wondered if you had any particular reason for that sir.”

            Smart boy Tom thinks to himself, and he nods again, waves a finger at the chair opposite his desk and Jake obligingly sits.

            “You’re wondering if it was a coincidence,” Tom states, and Seresin is nodding. “You’re right to question it, because no, it wasn’t a coincidence at all.”

            “So Bradley had told you about me?”

            “Not you specifically, no. We had a conversation around the matter, DADT, and…” Tom frowns then, tries and remembers what advice he had given Bradley. “I had my suspicions…”

            “Oh.”

            “Never did anything about them of course. Didn’t need to once DADT was repealed. However observation skills and following your gut are… useful. As is keeping meticulous and coded notes of everything you learn through the grapevine.”

            “Notes sir?”

            “Mmm. I have dozens of notebooks. They’d be quite damning if they fell into the wrong hands. If they figured out my code anyway. I believe Aubrey may have gotten close before deciding she’d rather not know.”

            “Who is Aubrey?”

            “My assistant. Ex assistant now I suppose. Invaluable. Would you like to learn it?”

            “Learn… your code?”

            “Yes. I think you would become quite savage in your desire to protect those you love.”

            Tom knows he’s judged the man correctly and he pulls out one of his notebooks, the one which actually details his thoughts on figuring out who Bradley’s potential ill advised hookup had been and knows back then he never imagined he’d be considering the man as his future son-in-law, however he suspects it’s only a matter of time.

            Sure enough Tom finds he enjoys Jake’s company more than he thought he would. It’s not quite as easy as it is with Bradley, or Tamsin or Petra, but Jake is easy going and respectful, and not just to Tom, but to Sarah and Melissa. Not that they’re seeing much of either of them at the moment, Melissa insisting on them staying away from her with her working in the hospital and at such a higher-level risk of exposure with her work. But he’s glad of the opportunity to get to know Seresin better.

…         …         …

            He and Jake are both promoted to Lieutenant Commander and he wonders just how much chatter is happening behind closed doors. Because yes, Ice might be retired now, however that doesn’t stop him getting phone calls, or consulted with big wide sweeping things. Bradley isn’t stupid. He knows Jake and Ice have developed some type of mentor-mentee relationship because Jake has the drive to try and prove himself. Bradley is finding himself more and more content with the smaller things now that he has Jake.

            He’s not surprised at all when Natasha and Javy announce that they’re together and finally giving it a go. They both give him significant looks and he wonders if Jake is getting the same looks. It’s definitely something they’ve talked about, something that they want for their future together. Then Natasha is asking Tamsin and Petra to be her bridesmaids and Bradley doesn’t have time to think about that, he’s too worried about his future hearing loss.

2021

            Bradley isn’t even thinking about it when he sees it. A ring in a shop window and his heart just… skips. He wants to buy it. Needs to buy it. Wants to see it on Jake’s finger and have everyone know that he’s taken, that he’s Bradley’s. He doesn’t think about it, just walks in, buys it and walks out, the weight of it in his pocket making him feel jittery with nerves. Don’t think, just do. Fucking Mav. Fucking Natasha making him think about it even more. He doesn’t head home, instead goes to Ice and Mav’s, nerves vibrating so much he can almost hear them jangling in his head. He lets himself in and goes and sits at the table closest to the kitchen and just stares at the ring he just bought.

            “Uh… if that’s an engagement ring I’m sorry to disappoint. I’m a married man…”

            “Fuck off Mav, you know it’s not for you.”

            “You want to propose to him?”

            “I… yes. I mean. I know it’s not been that long. But also…”

            “It’s been nearly two years. That’s plenty long enough.”

            “You think so?”

            “Yes. That man’s world begins and ends with you. I know how he feels because I feel the same way about Ice.”

…         …         …

            “You ever think about having kids?” Jake asks, and he sort of thought Jake had fallen asleep already.

            “Um. I love kids… I honestly haven’t thought about having them though. It’s not like we’d accidentally stumble into having them…” Jake huffs at that, and Bradley can’t tell in the dark if he’s amused or annoyed. “I would love to raise a family with you Jake, if that was something you wanted. It’s… it’s not a deal breaker for me either way. We have kids, great. We don’t have kids, still great.”

            “We’d make very cute babies…”

            “Yeah we would,” Bradley agrees, and the image of a baby with Jake’s eyes and blonde curls lights up in his brain, Jake lying there with a baby sleeping on his chest and oh fuck, maybe he’s not quite as on the fence as he thought.

            “How about we get married first…”

            “How very traditional of you Bradshaw.”

            “I’ll show you traditional,” Bradley mutters with a laugh and he blows a raspberry on Jake’s stomach, making them both laugh.

            “What? You going to knock me up and force a shotgun wedding?”

            “You want me to try?” Bradley challenges and Jake’s gaze goes dark.

            “Always want you to try darlin’…”

2022

            Tom isn’t sure what’s wrong, but Jake is pacing back and forth. Harley has given up trying to follow, has simply slumped down and is watching with his eyes. Tom would make a joke about wearing a track in the carpet but Jake is actually wringing his hands. It’s very out of character and he’d be worried if he didn’t already have a slight suspicion about what it might be about.

            “What’s wrong Seresin?”

            “When will Mav be home?”

            “Did you want to call him?”

            “No. No it’s fine. I just… I’ll wait.”

            “Did you need to speak to me?” Tom asks, because he’d been under that impression, but is now a little confused.

            “I, uh, want to talk to both of you…”

            Bingo.

            He hides his smile as best he can, glad then that he hears Mav’s bike in the drive, the garage door opening and closing.

…         …         …

            “Ice! Jake!”

            “In here!”

            “Hey…” Pete greets, looks around for Bradley. Separating Jake and Bradley is something he’d maybe count as a sign of the apocalypse, and he glances at Jake, ready to ask where his other half is when he notices Jake looks decidedly pale, maybe a little green.

            “Everything okay? You look like you’re about to be sick… Is Bradley okay?”

            “He’s fine. I just… uh. I needed to ask you both something. I, uh, already asked the girls…”

            “Smart move…” Ice says quietly, looking amused and Pete frowns.

            ��Asked them what?”

            “I want to ask Bradley to marry me…”

            “But isn’t Bradley…”

            Tom starts coughing loudly and he’s flailing out, accidentally kicking him and Ice doesn’t even apologize. Pete glares at him only to find Ice staring at him wide-eyed.

            Oh shit.

            He understands the kick to the leg now.

            “Sorry Jake. You were saying?”

            Jake’s eyes are narrowed, glancing between the two of them; he’s been a part of their family for well over two years now, marrying Bradley will simply be a formality. However Jake also knows them all much better, knows when they’re hiding something, or trying to bullshit him. He’s definitely become wise to their ways and it’s been pretty great including Jake in their family. He pulls Jake into a tight hug, tells him to go right ahead and ask Bradley and then Ice does the same and Jake finally looks less like he’s going to throw up.

…         …         …

            Bradley hasn’t planned anything big or romantic, although he guesses it’ll become romantic with retellings and nostalgia. But a walk along the beach, just the two of them, peaceful and quiet. He doesn’t even need to bribe Jake to leave the house to go out. They walk hand in hand and watch the sun creep closer and closer to the horizon, turning the sky pink and orange. He stops and turns, takes in Jake’s profile, bathed in the pain-orange glow of the sun and he wants to remember this moment forever.

            “Jake…”

            “Mmm… yeah?” Jake murmurs, finally turning to look at him and he smiles, steps in close, whispers the question he wants to ask against Jake’s cheek.

            “Will you marry me?”

            Jake pulls back to gape and stare at him, looking shocked. Like they haven’t talked about one day getting married.

            “Jake? Baby?”

            “You… but… I…”

            “How are you surprised by this? We’ve talked about getting married…”

            “Yes! But I asked Mav and Ice, and Tamsin and Petra!”

            “Oh… oh that’s sweet of you.”

            Honestly he’s surprised they all managed to keep it quiet from him.

            “But… you…”

            “You want me to take it back so you can ask me instead?” Bradley asks, biting his lip so he doesn’t burst into laughter.

            “No! You can’t take it back. But… yes. Yes I’ll marry you. Oh my god you fucking asshole…”

            “Yeah, there’s the Jake I know and love…”

            “Put your damn ring on my finger Bradshaw…”

            He slips the ring onto Jake’s ring finger, then brings it up to his mouth to press a kiss to where it now sits.

            “Love you.”

            “Yeah. Love you too. Can’t believe you beat me,” Jake grumbles and Bradley silences him with a kiss.

2023

            Because Jake thinks he’s funny he insists on them getting married on Bradley’s 40th birthday. The reasons he lists off are annoyingly logical, but Bradley knows it’s also because it means every year from now on Jake’s going to be able to say Bradley’s birthday present is going to be staying married to him. He can imagine it all too easily and it just makes him smile. Jake totally steals Petra to be his groom’s woman, along with Javy, leaving him with Natasha and Tamsin to stand up with him and he gets dragged along for massages and manicures, sends photos to Jake telling him he’s missing out, only to find out that the others are doing exactly the same thing.

            The ceremony is short, and it’s only about fifty people all up, and no-one mentions the lack of Jake’s family once. He suspects Javy has gone around and discreetly let everyone know the situation. He knows Jake tried to tell his mom. He also knows that she hung up on him and then didn’t answer his calls for five weeks. He doesn’t want to tell Jake what to do, but some days he really wishes he could. He’s standing on the side watching Ice dance with Tamsin and Mav with Petra when Jake leans into his side and presses a drink into his hand.

            “I figured it out…”

            “What?”

            “Your threesome. It was with Phoenix’s cousin and his husband.”

            “Jesus Jake, shh!”

            “Oh shit. She doesn’t know?”

            “No! Why would I fucking tell her that? I didn’t tell you! How did you figure it out?”

            “Oh. Patrick came over and congratulated me, and the way he kind of wiggled his eyebrows and then winked at me made me think he might have first-hand knowledge of exactly what I was locking down…”

            “Oh my god…”

            “I mean. They’re hot. And nice.”

            “Yeah. They are… but…”

            “Oh, you’re far too possessive to let anyone else into our bedroom huh?”

            “I… yeah. Sorry.”

            “Oh. Don’t apologize. I like it.”

            “Yeah, I know you do.”

            “Mmm. Come on. Dance with me.”

…         …         …

            “Huh. Can’t really call you Seresin anymore,” Tom muses and Jake grins.

            “No sir, you’ll have to start calling me Jake.”

            “When you start calling me Tom. Or Ice.”

            “Deal. Who do you think is going to be weirded out the most?”

            “Hmm. Tough call. But my money’s on Mav.”

…         …         …

            The Dagger Squad are officially reassigned; however he and Jake are sent to Fallon together, along with Natasha, Javy, Rueben and Mikey. The others are sent to Corpus and given that Tamsin is based in Houston with NASA doing something with her software engineering degree he lets her know that the rest of the Dagger will be in her neck of the woods. She’s coming up 27 and he’d be a little intimidated by her if she wasn’t also his kid sister. She has all of Ice’s confidence and ability to command attention and he knows she’s going to go places. Petra is also in Texas, although she’s working on the mechanics of racecars and driving them. With both there he and Jake take a long weekend and head to Corpus next time they have leave.

            It’s not the Hard Deck, but it’s still a Navy bar and when Petra walks in she draws attention; she’s wearing jeans and form fitting Wonder Woman t-shirt, nothing fancy at all but she’s still eye catching. Tamsin follows her, and she’s wearing a lilac-colored pantsuit, looking incredibly put together and he wonders what her colleagues think of her. Neither of them have seen him or Jake yet, and most people here are in civvies.

            “You got a name gorgeous?” one man asks, clearly deciding to try his luck and Bradley has seen this type of interaction play out before, although never in a Navy bar. This ought to be good.

            “I give names to those who earn them.”

            “And what do we need to do earn it?”

            “If you need to ask, then you’re already down and out.”

            Beside him Jake is rigid and he puts a hand on Jake’s arm to stop him from going over, pulls him back and shakes his head slightly.

            “Do not go there. They can both look after themselves. Trust me. Those newbies do not stand a fucking chance.”

            “You sure? There are five of them.”

            “Uh huh. Very sure. Made that mistake once. If they’ve been drinking it’s a different story, but even then, they just get vicious. Petra especially. Remember who their father’s are… Fuck. Think of Sarah and Melissa.”

            Jake nods, but his eyes don’t leave Tamsin and Petra. Tamsin has spied them now, is fighting back a smile and Bradley rolls his eyes at her as she subtly shifts them closer.

            “You’re hanging out in a navy bar near the base. Pretty sure that makes you base bunnies. What are you doing here if you’re not looking to…”

            “Looking to what? Enjoy a drink in peace and quiet? You don’t think that maybe I’ve come from the same base?” Petra asks, and she’s toying with them Bradley realizes.

            “We’re all naval aviators. Here for Top Gun. Do you know what that is?”

            “Oh my god… she’s going to eviscerate them,” Jake murmurs beside him, but he’s grinning widely and Bradley ducks to place a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth.

            “Yep.”

            “I do know what Fighter Weapon School is, and I also know that it isn’t here in Corpus. In fact,” Petra starts and Bradley meets her gaze and she grins, vicious sharp, as Jake toasts her with his bottle of beer. “In fact, I think you’re the new flight school intake and that I have more flight hours than all of you put together at this point in time.”

            A couple of the guys standing around look a little belligerent at that claim and he winces, hopes this isn’t going to end up in someone getting thrown out. Some of them are muttering about her not knowing anything about flight school and Bradley wonders what level of the stupid-barrel they’ve been scraping.

            “My father is the retired Admiral Kazansky. Yes. That Admiral Kazansky. My step-father is the retired Captain Maverick Mitchell,” Petra provides.

            “Oh god this is glorious,” Jake says to him quietly and Bradley has to concede that yes, it is indeed entertaining.

            “My brother is Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw, my brother-in-law is Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin. I think I have an idea of what flight school is. And it’s a far cry from Top Gun. Now, you gentlemen are stopping my sister and I from joining our brother and his husband.”

            Bradley takes that as his queue and he steps toward them, Jake following and they’re not in Corpus for work, but the others don’t know that.

            “Gentlemen…”

            Almost as one they all stiffen as if on parade and he keeps his face carefully blank, notes Jake does the same, although Jake also looks a lot more calculating.

            “Sir.”

            “Hmm. Slightly disappointed in the welcome my sisters received. Be better.”

            “Yes sir.”

            “Have a good evening.”

            “On the other side of the bar,” Jake adds, and there’s more yes sirs and mumbling agreement and they all move off, some with nervous glances over their shoulders.

            “This is why I don’t like coming to Navy bars,” Petra mutters, and Jake grins at her.

            “Petra, I am never going to want to meet you anywhere but a Navy bar from now on. That was amazing.”

…         …         …

            “Bradley… I’d like to talk to you about something.”

            “Sure, of course. What is it?”

            “I’d like to offer my services as a surrogate.”

            Bradley gapes, knows he must freeze because Jake reaches over and closes his mouth with a not-so-gentle finger on his jaw.

            “That’s a hell of an offer Petra…” Jake starts, cautious, and Bradley is already shaking his head.

            “We can’t ask you to do that.”

            “You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

            Bradley doesn’t know what to say, looks to Jake who is looking completely shook. He knows Jake’s family would never, that he continues to be amazed by Bradley and his weird family dynamics but loves them all the same.

            “And I know you would never ask. Which, again, is why I’m offering. You guys would make great dads. If that’s something you want to do.”

            “Holy shit… you’re actually serious.”

            “Of course I am. Mama is a doctor. I already talked to her about the risks.”

            “Thank you Petra. We’ll have to talk about it. You can change your mind as well…” Jake says, and he’s gone stiff and formal, Bradley doesn’t like it, but he’s also used to it, a rarer form of Jake’s defense system.

            “Oh. I know. Mama made me talk to someone. Several someone’s. Then said I probably wouldn’t change my mind until I was actually giving birth and cursing you both…”

            “You… that’s… quite the bombshell,” Bradley mumbles, reaching for Jake’s hand and gripping it, feels Jake’s fingers grip back just as tightly.

            “Well. I thought I’d tell you sooner rather than later. You’ll need time to figure everything out, because I’m only signing up until the baby or babies are born. I know I don’t want to be a mom.”

            “You’d… do it more than once?” Jake asks, voice rough.

            “Well, yeah. Of course. I can’t imagine growing up without my siblings. You need to have at least two.”

            “Holy shit…” Bradley breathes. “Thanks Pet… we’ll, uh, we’ll talk about it and let you know as soon as possible, okay?”

            “Yeah, of course.”

2024

            Tom doesn’t know quite what Pete is upset and worked up about, but he’s used to waiting him out. Sometimes Pete doesn’t know himself what it is that’s bothering him, and he’ll bring it to Tom soon enough. He suspects it has to do with Petra being pregnant, although it’s early days yet and Tom has already dealt with both Bradley and Jake freaking out over the whole ordeal. He’d brazenly told them that this is the easy part, that it’s once the baby is born that they’ll really start freaking out.

            Out of the four of them, he’s the one with the most experience of being around pregnant women. Of course, Sarah and Melissa are offering their own support, but Jake and Bradley have taken to asking any question that pops into their heads with no regard to how sensible or ridiculous it might be, or the time of day or night they’re sending the message. He’s taken to muting notifications, but leaving the ringing option on, because he does still want to be reachable in case of emergency. Asking his opinion between different formula brands does not constitute an emergency. Especially when the baby isn’t even here, is a good six or seven months away.

            Bradley has put in his papers to retire from the Navy. That’s fortunately timed to finish in six months, which is just as well as Tom cannot imagine him having nothing to do between now and then. Jake on the other hand has been busting his gut working on another promotion and Tom has tried to get him to ease off a little. With both Maverick and Bradley out, it leave Jake as the sole active aviator with air-to-air kills and he knows the Navy is eager to keep him, and keep him happy. Tom is just going to need to teach Jake how to tweak those to get his way sometimes, and to know when to capitulate.

            Bradley and Jake have talked about their plans, sought their advice about where to base themselves. Decided that North Island makes the most sense because while Bradley can and will follow Jake to those positions he’s deployed on land, but when he’s sent onto a carrier for months on end Bradley will be grateful for the support that he, Mav, Sarah and Melissa can and will offer. Especially when the second baby arrives, although that’s assuming Petra really goes through with this a second time, if Bradley and Jake haven’t changed her mind with their slightly unhinged behavior. It’s probably a good thing she’s in Texas for the next few months, insisting on working; she can choose to ignore them and Tamsin is there as well which is reassuring.

            “I… do you sometimes feel like you don’t deserve the life you’ve got?”

            “What?” Tom asks, looking up from the crossword and processes what he just heard; Harley stirs and looks at him with one eye open before settling back to sleep. “No. We’ve worked damn hard to have everything we have.”

            “Just… I know. We’re so lucky. We’ve got this amazing family. I just… I don’t think I ever thought of Bradley becoming a dad himself. Something else Nick and Carole will never see. We get to become grandparents and they…”

            “Well shit Pete… they didn’t get to be here for any of it, but it doesn’t mean we don’t deserve it. It’s not like we murdered them. And do you think they would want Bradley to be alone, or for us to miss out on it all. You were part of their family and always would have been if they’d lived.”

            “Yeah, yeah I know. I just. Bradley’s mine. I’ve always… he’s always held a special place in my heart. He’s my kid you know. Just… he’s going to be even more my kid.”

            “Uh. How exactly?”

            “He’s going to be the father of my grandkids… Our grandkids. I feel like I’m really part of their family now, my blood being tied into theirs with the baby. Holy shit. We’re going to have grandchildren Tom…”

            “Oh Pete… come here…”

            Pete doesn’t cry very often, wasn’t there for Petra’s birth or a lot of her childhood at all really, but he’s going to be around a lot for this. Doesn’t have any choice in the matter, unless he decides to disappear to the hangar for a couple of nights. He’s not going to tell Pete he’s being silly, emotions don’t work that way and he just can’t believe that he’s going to be a grandfather either. He had thought, assumed, that the joys in his life had been made clear to him and finite in their number, not that he might have new people enter his life.

            Naïve of him he supposes.

            Well, he’s got a few months to get used to the idea.

            He can’t wait.

…         …         …

            “Hey Tim Tam… what’s up?” Bradley asks, and she rolls her eyes at the nickname but he slides the packet of chocolate cookies and offers her one. Her and Petra are visiting for a week, bookended by two weekends. Jake is massaging Petra’s feet while they watch car racing and he’s well aware it’s their bonding time, so Tamsin hovering in the kitchen gives him an excuse and a distraction. He watches as she scans the wine rack and picks a bottle. He’d make a quip about her making herself at home but he suspects she bought nearly all of the bottles, and he’s always insisted they treat it like their third home. He can’t change up the rules on them now. He follow her out to the back garden, smile soft as they walk past Petra and Jake yelling at the TV, oblivious to them passing through. She’s obviously got something she wants to offload.

            “How did you know you were in love?”

            “Uh…” Bradley’s eyes go wide, because of all the questions he could be asked that is not one he even really has an answer to even now. “I don’t know if I’m the right person to answer that question. It took me years to figure my shit out. Maybe Jake would be better to talk to?”

            “Jake isn’t my brother… you are.”

            “I mean… Jake’s your brother-in-law. Okay. Sorry. I just… I really think he might have a perspective that would be more useful…”

            “Okay. Can I just talk to you for a bit first?”

            “Yeah. Of course. You know that.”

            “Okay. So… I think I’m in love.”

            Bradley bites back his first automatic response, because her shoulder punches hurt and she wouldn’t hesitate if she thinks he’s being a sarcastic shithead. It’s not always appreciated, not like it is with Jake and their friends.

            “Okay. I didn’t… uh. Is this a problem?” he finally settles on asking, because he hadn’t even been aware she’d been dating or seeing anyone, and that doesn’t mean she hasn’t met someone and fallen in love.

            “I thought we were just friends… but…”

            “One of the best foundations for a relationship is friendship. You’ve known them for a while then?”

            She nods then, chews on her bottom lip and she’s not meeting his eyes and that’s unusual…

            “Tamsin…?”

            “I just. I didn’t think I’d ever fall in love with a guy in the military…”

            “Wait. He’s… he’s in the service?”

            “Yeah…”

            “Do I know him?”

            “Yes.”

            “Who?” Bradley asks, and the protective streak he usually ignores has just raised its head and he’s wondering who the hell it is that has Tamsin sitting here looking so uncertain.

            “It’s Rob…”

            “Who the fuck is Rob?”

            “Robert.”

            “You… you mean Bob?”

            “I am not calling him by his stupid callsign!”

            “Uh…” Bradley starts, blinks, because of everyone’s callsigns Bob’s is by far the least stupid he’s ever heard. Much like the man, really. And he knew her and Bob had become friends during lockdown a few years ago, that Bob has been based in Texas at Corpus.

            “You know it’s not what he gets called at home right? All his family call him Rob or Robbie? Bob is definitely a callsign.”

            “You’ve… you’ve met his family?”

            “Um. Just through a video call once. They rang while we were having lunch and I told him to answer. So. Yeah.”

            “Bob.”

            “Yeah.”

            He likes Bob. Will like him a lot less if he hurts Tamsin, but…

            “If you have to fall in love with a guy then… yeah. He’s good. Nice. I like him. He treating you right?”

            She rolls her eyes at that and Bradley blows out a breath, puts both of his hands up in surrender. Heaven forbid he care. Jesus. He keeps his mouth shut and wonders what he’s going to be like if he has a daughter. Oh fuck. Well. At least he’s had plenty of practice.

            “Yes. I’m just…”

            “Just what?”

            “It’s not weird?”

            “Weird how?”

            “He’s… a bit older than me. Settled. Your friend and squadron member…”

            “How long have you guys been secretly dating?”

            “We haven’t. We became friends back in 2020, during –”

            “When he was living with us. Yeah. And…”

            “We just kept talking and then we’ve chatted and talked, had meals together whenever he’s been passing through. Then a couple of weeks ago he asked me if I wanted to go out for dinner and I asked as friends or something more and he… his whole face just lit up Bradley. Like I had maybe given him that magic of a Christmas morning as a kid? You know?”

            Bradley does know, and the fact that Bob is looking at Tamsin like that, it making her feel special and magical and… like she could be his entire world.

            “Yeah. Yeah I know… so you went to dinner?”

            “Mmm. He’s… he’s so funny. And sweet. And so handsome…”

            “Okay… you know Mav and Ice are going to have an opinion right?”

            “Yeah. That’s the other thing I wanted to talk about. Robbie –”

            “Robbie?”

            “Bradley! Focus!”

            “Sorry. Just, uh, go on.”

            “Rob seems to think I’m maybe worried about tell them, and I’m not. But he might be, and he doesn’t want to ask permission –”

            “Good,” Bradley mutters, and he still gets hit in the shoulder and he pulls a face. “I’m just saying! You get to make your own decisions!”

            “I do! And we all know it. But I think he wants to show me he doesn’t care about who my parents are.”

            “They’re nearly all retired…”

            “You really think that matters?”

            “No. I guess not. So… what? Bob’s just going to rock up to Ice and Mav’s and pick you up for a date all the way from Texas?”

            “Oh… oh my god Bradley! You’re a genius!”

            “Uh. Am I?”

            “That’s perfect! Thank you!”

            “No worries… any time,” Bradley offers, and wonders what it is he said exactly.

…         …         …

            Petra and Tamsin are both staying for a week, splitting their time between the three different houses. Petra is currently at Bradley’s letting Jake pamper her, which is maybe helping his little freakout about his impending fatherhood of making it worse. Pete’s not sure, he doesn’t remember freaking out this much, however he also knew he wasn’t really the one who’d be primarily responsible. Thinking about Petra and the rollercoaster accident, being the first of them on the scene to comfort her and make sure she was okay, well, he likes being there for them all.

            There’s someone at the front door. He grumbles under his breath as he heads towards it, because Tamsin is here, and Ice, and yet he’s the one getting up to answer the door. His attitude changes abruptly when he opens it and Bob is standing there looking equal parts steadfast and nervous.

            “Bob. What are you doing here?”

            “Evening Maverick. I’m here to pick up Tamsin?”

            “Tamsin?”

            Pete blinks. He wonders if Robert Floyd has any entries in any of Ice’s little notebooks he still hasn’t cracked the code for. He knows Jake has been gifted the notebooks, and taught the code and the idea of Jake Bradshaw climbing the ranks makes him smile.

            “Yes. Your eldest daughter?”

            “I… I know who Tamsin is. I just…”

            “Sorry Papa, I was just finishing getting ready. Hi Rob…”

            “Rob?” Pete asks, and Tamsin is there dressed in jeans and slouchy top, but her hair and makeup is all carefully done and she looks gorgeous.

            “Tamsin. You look beautiful.”

            “Thank you. Shall we go?”

            “Of course. Night Maverick.”

            “Night…” Pete says, watching as Tamsin skips down the front steps, Bob’s hand on her lower back. “How long has that been going on?” he mutters under his breath.

            “Who was it?” Ice asks, appearing in the door of his study and Pete waves wordlessly at the now retreating figures and looks at Ice.

            “You have anything on Robert Floyd?”

            “Robert Floyd? I… no. I don’t think so. Why?”

            “He just picked Tamsin up for a date.”

            Ice looks completely blindsided and it’s nice to have company there at least. He knows logically that they haven’t ever known details of any of Tamsin’s boyfriends prior to her bringing them home and them sitting through family dinners where he and Ice grilled them under the guise of polite interest. Robert Floyd though is someone that Ice can skip all those steps with. He’s aware it’s overstepping some boundaries, but he can’t bring himself to care. They’ve done it already for Bradley, doing it again for Tamsin seems easy. The door is already open.

            Except it isn’t.

            He’s retired. They’ve both retired.

            Doesn’t quite have access to the same resources as he used to.

            He could of course call in favors but… wait. What is he so worried about? Bradley and Jake will know Bob far better than any notes Ice might have. Plus Bob has already been around for several family dinners, he’s not going to be easily intimidated by them.

            “Huh. I wasn’t expecting that.”

            “Neither…”

            “Hmm. I’ll invite Aubrey over for dinner. Maybe have lunch with her on base one day this week. Maybe both.”

            Pete grins, because there’s the man he knows and loves.

…         …         …

            Tom comes home from lunch with Aubrey a little disgruntled. There’s nothing. Nothing. Robert Floyd has an exemplary service record, is skilled and well liked. Seems like a rule follower to the letter and he wonders if that type of person suits Tamsin, or whether he’s trying to press what he likes in Maverick onto her with how similar she is to him sometimes.

            He’s just going to have to trust that she knows what she wants. She’s never hesitated in ending her relationships that haven’t measured up to whatever ideal she holds. It’s fine. She’ll be twenty-eight at the end of the year. Hell. Petra is having a baby. They’re all old enough and adults and he needs to stop worrying so much. He walks into the kitchen, can hear noise which tells him it’s where he’s likely to find Maverick, and sure enough he’s there, standing on top of the stepladder he’s dragged in from the garage.

            “Mav… what are you doing?”

            “I’m baby proofing the cupboard up here.”

            “How is the baby going to get on top of the fridge Mav?”

            “This baby is going to have my genes, we have to prepare for every eventuality.”

            “And yet Petra never climbed onto the top of the fridge in her infancy. Just… deep breaths Pete. It’ll be okay. Kids are a lot more physically resilient than you think, trust me. We raised Bradley, Tamsin and Petra. A grandbaby should be easy. Its parents will be doing all the heavy lifting.”

            “I know… I just…”

            “You can worry, but how about we think

            His little pep talk has stopped Mav putting child-proof locks on the cupboard even he needs a step ladder to reach, but Tom gives in to the allowing of foam on every sharp edge. Knows Mav is anxious and this is his way of dealing with it, however he’s not going to imprison all his belongings in cupboards even Pete needs a stepladder to open.

…         …         …

            Bradley has never felt so ill-prepared in his life. Melissa has assured him that six weeks early is fine, that while it’s not ideal, there’s nothing to suggest anything is wrong. Despite all of that though he’s a mess. Tamsin is in the room with Petra. Melissa and Sarah are sitting with Mav and Ice across the room, because Mav looks as shaken and worried as he does. Jake’s knuckles are white on his knees and no matter how much Bradley tries he knows he’s not exactly a reassuring presence, his own nerves seeming to feed Jake’s and then feeding back to him. So they’ve settled on silence, not wanting to snap at each other through their joint worry.

            Then a nurse appears, looking at a piece of paper.

            “Bradshaw-Kazansky family?”

            “That’s… that’s us,” Ice is saying, standing and waving a hand at them all and Bradley is glad someone is there to do the talking. The nurse looks at the six of them, clearly unsure how it works but clearly decides she doesn’t care enough to ask, although she does a double take at seeing Melissa.

            “Mom and baby are both doing well. I was told mom would like to tell you the details. You’ll be able to all go in shortly, but I was looking for dad?”

            “Dads,” Jake croaks out. “We’re the dads…” he reaches for Bradley’s hand and they stand together, taking a step forward.

            “Okay. Well gentlemen, if you’d like to follow me?”

            They follow her and he tries to pay attention so he’ll be able to find his way back to the waiting room but gives up. He’ll ask for directions. Then he’s watching Jake undo the buttons of his shirt, sitting back in a large recliner and the nurse is placing a diaper-clad baby on his bare chest, covering the baby with a flannel sheet. She’s saying something about regulating body temperature, and kangaroo care and it’s all turning to static in his ears because Jake is sitting there with their child on his chest, his hand resting on its back, thumb moving back and forth and eyes transfixed on the top of its head. He’s never seen something so amazing.

            “Thank you…” he manages, quickly presses a kiss to Petra’s forehead. She’s grinning and looking pleased but tired, Tamsin is looking a little shell shocked and he wonders if he should ask or just be happy that the outcome is all he needs to know about. He goes and stands beside Jake before Tamsin pushes a chair toward him. It’s not anywhere near as comfortable as the recliner Jake is set up in, but nothing is going to make him move anytime soon. He runs his fingers over the soft fuzzy down on the baby’s head and then lets his hand rest on top of Jake’s, leans forward and presses a kiss to the side of his face.

            “Welcome to fatherhood… you look good. It suits you.”

            “Good. Not a look I’ll be getting rid of anytime soon. Yeah. I’m stuck with this one… Yeah, thank you Petra…” Jake adds, looking up at her with a watery smile and she smiles back.

            “You’re both more than welcome. I expect to always be the favorite Aunt. Sorry Tamsin, you’re automatically relegated to second place…”

            “I’m okay with that. Holy shit Petra, you were amazing… She was amazing.”

            “We’ll take your word for it,” Bradley says with a smile, because it had been something Petra had wanted, neither of them in the room. He knows Jake had been a little disappointed, however he suspects all of that is forgotten now that he’s holding their…

            “Is it a boy or girl?”

            “Oh. Boy bits. Five pounds and five ounces. You want to hear his name or wait for everyone to be here?”

            Petra had also asked if she could name the baby, considering she’s asked for very little else neither he nor Jake could say no. He trusted her to pick a color for his Bronco, he trusts her to pick a name they can live with, that the baby asleep on Jake’s chest can grow up with. The weight sounds good, he immediately wants to look it up, research average weights for premature babies.

            “Wait… we’ve waited this long,” Jake says without looking up and Bradley shares a smile with Petra and Tamsin.

            He snaps a picture of Jake with their newborn son, will send it to the Dagger group chat in a couple of days. Bob and Natasha will keep it quiet in the meantime, because they of course already know. Weirdly it’s Natasha who has had the hardest time adjusting to Bob and Tamsin dating, and given him the shovel talks to end all shovel talks. He doesn’t think Bob realized quite how close Natasha was to Tamsin and Petra, with her never talking about Bradley and his family out of habit despite being part of it for over a decade.

            Then Mav, Ice, Melissa and Sarah are entering the room, promising they’ll only be a few minutes to the nurse, who is nodding and smiling. Melissa has immediately picked up the medical chart, and Sarah is hugging Petra with tears streaming down her face and Bradley assumes it’s happy tears. Ice and Mav both hug him, then Tamsin and Petra, once Sarah has let her go. Then they’re all looking at Jake and he looks up, and no-one is going to mention that his eyes look wet.

            “You’re all here… let me introduce our newest family member. Mitchell Tom Bradshaw.”

            He hears Mav suck in a sharp shuddering breath, knows what it sounds like when someone is hit with too many emotions at once and lets himself feel smug. He knew she’d pick a good name.

…         …         …

            “They named him after us…”

            “Petra named him. She loves you. Us.”

            “We did good.”

            “Yeah. We did.”

…         …         …

            Even weeks later, finally home and functioning on less sleep than he’s used to, he will never get sick of the sight. Even better than he imagined, seeing Jake hold their son on his chest, tiny fingers curled around Jake’s index finger. He didn’t think he could love Jake more, that he could love someone else so fiercely and so immediately than he does Mitchell, but he does. His own happiness makes the tears on Jake’s face all the more shocking and he crouches down.

            “Hey. What’s wrong?”

            “Just… fuck them. I just… I’m always the one reaching out to them, making overtures and always having to make concessions to fit their world view. I’m over it. I don’t want our kids thinking that I’m okay with being treated like that…”

            “Jake…”

            “No. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. We have a kid Bradley. We’re married. And they… they don’t want to hear about any of that. They just care about my latest promotion. How much of me do they really care about if they don’t also care about the people I love huh?”

            He’s so proud of Jake making Commander, knows he’s got his eyes set on the long term and he’s more than happy to support that. Bradley sucks his lips into his mouth, because he’s glad that Jake has finally come to that conclusion, but had also never wanted to push it. They’re Jake’s family after all, and he’s never met them. Will likely never meet them now. Jake has other family who do love and care about him and that’s who Bradley will save his time for.

2025

            “I’m forty, I…is that too old to have a baby?”

            Bradley opens his mouth, promptly shuts it again, is fairly certain there’s not a right answer to that question. Mitchell is sitting in his highchair, chewing on a rusk and watching them both with wide eyes. He’s never seen photos of Jake as a baby, but the green eyes and blonde hair make it obvious to anyone with eyes which of them is the biological father.

            “Do you want me to call Tamsin?” Bradley offers, because he’s pretty sure a woman is probably the best person for Natasha to be talking to. “Callie? Melissa? Sarah? Uh. Petra?” he offers as a last-ditch attempt, because Petra is off racing in Australia somewhere and even before he’d have to figure out time zones he doesn’t think Petra would be someone with answers.

            “You’re my best friend, fucking deal with it…”

            “Uh. Right. Okay. You need to talk to Coyote. Uh. Chocolate? I mean, I can’t offer you wine…”

            She laughs wetly and Mitchell laughs as well, high and bright and her eyes slide sideways to him and Bradley wonders if having an eight-month-old baby sitting there when you’re freaking out about being pregnant is a good or bad thing.

            “Do you like it?”

            “What?”

            “Being a parent.”

            “Yeah. I… I love it. It’s… yeah.”

            “No regrets?”

            “Oh, I have plenty of regrets, but not about this. Not about marrying Jake or leaving the Navy…”

            “I just… Javy… he just… it was immediate. I don’t want him to propose because I’m pregnant!”

            “He’s had the ring for over three years. He’s not proposing because you’re pregnant. Well. He probably is, because that clearly made him pull the trigger but he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to ask you…” Jake says from the doorway and both he and Natasha turn to look at him, Mitchell squeals with delight and Bradley feels his insides his just turn to warm soupy goop watching Jake’s face soften as he looks back.

            “How’s my best boy… you been a good boy for daddy?”

            “What?” Natasha asks.

            “Javy. He’s all twisted up in knots thinking you’re going to end things with him.”

            “I don’t want to end things with him!”

            “Don’t tell me that, tell him. And ask him when and where he bought the ring. Man seemed to take lessons from the Rooster school of romance…”

            “Hey! It got me you didn’t it?” Bradley

            “Mmm. Despite my better judgement,” Jake teases and Bradley wraps his arms around him and hugs him tight, lifting him off the ground before placing a comically loud smacking kiss on his cheek because it makes Mitchell laugh.

            “Ugh. How are you both still so sickeningly sweet.”

            “We work at it,” Bradley replies with a laugh.

…         …         …

            It’s harder to get everyone together, schedules and careers spread out over the globe. However, Petra’s twenty-seventh birthday seems to be the focal point for the family gathering this summer. It’s a big lunch, timed between Mitchell’s naps and Tom won’t admit that he also likes having the odd afternoon nap now, something that the cats and dog all seem to agree is a good idea.

            Aubrey is coming, as is Slider. Natasha joining them is standard, however Machado will be coming with her, they’re apparently engaged and expecting a baby. And Robert Floyd is of course coming with Tamsin, Tom’s come to appreciate the quieter man, his calm assessment of situations and then cutting right to the heart of the matter. He understands now what Tamsin sees in him, other than the fact that he clearly dotes on her and thinks she’s amazing; a sentiment she for once seems to return. He’s glad, they both deserve good people.

            Wait.

            Is that a diamond he sees on her finger?

            He has some questions to ask.

…         …         …

            During lunch Pete takes every opportunity to steal away his grandson. He doesn’t need to, sees him frequently, however he loves the excuse to crawl around on the ground and play, even if his knees and back protest a little when he does it for too long. He’s not old yet and he can stretch it out.

            “Wait. His name is Mitchell Tom Bradshaw? I’d like to remind you that I was your favorite uncle when you were growing up kid!” Slider interjects into whatever conversation he’s having and Pete feels smug.

            “Only because my real favorite uncle became my dad,” Bradley says with a laugh, and then he’s saying that Petra chose the name and Pete’s glad the attention isn’t on him because he feels like he’s been sucker punched. Bradley has called him dad once or twice, the first time when he was a teenager and Pete remembers Bradley promptly bursting into tears. He’d thought that it had been a slip of the tongue more than anything else, not that Bradley seriously considered him his father. Stupid of him when he considers Bradley his son. He remembers at the time feeling a same of loss renewed afresh at the thought of Goose and he looks at Mitchell trying to chew on a rubber ball.

            “You know what I’m going to do Mitchell? I’m going to tell you all about your Grandpa Goose…”

…         …         …

            “So… you guys are going well.”

            “We are. You didn’t have to run off to Australia you know. We weren’t going to try and give him back.”

            Petra laughs at that, blows a raspberry on Mitchell’s stomach and shakes her head, smiling as he giggles and tries to crawl away.

            “I know. It wasn’t just for my sake though. I wanted to give you time to bond with him. And I did lie around on a beach for two weeks. Mama made sure of that. But. You guys ready to do it again?”

            Jake chokes on his drink, coughing and spluttering and Bradley looks at her incredulously.

            “Are you?”

            “I’m not saying right now, but maybe next summer?”

            “Fucking hell Petra… we have the easy part. It’s your body you’re…”

            “I’d argue that you have the harder part. A lifetime is a hell of a commitment. I don’t want to be a mom, but seeing the two of you like this? Knowing that’s because of what I did? I do want that.”

            “Then we’re not going to say no. We’d love to give Mitchell a sibling.”

2026

            Tamsin’s thirtieth birthday is a big deal, mainly because it’s also her wedding day. Jake’s already been warning Bob about the perils of having a partner sharing a birthday and wedding anniversary, telling him about how demanding and annoying people can be, making sure Bradley hears him, but it’s ruined by the badly hidden wink Jake sends in Bob’s direction.

            “As long as you don’t pass yourself off as the gift every year you’ll be fine,” Bradley says with a laugh, kissing Jake on the cheek and slapping him on the ass as he swoops down to pick Mitchell up and throw him into the air. He’s a robust two-year-old, and they joke about his middle name being Trouble rather than Tom. Silence has become incredibly suspicious.

            Petra is five months pregnant and has informed them that this pregnancy feels even easier; when Bradley expresses concern that he hadn’t been aware that the first one had been bad she just says she had no frame of reference then. She has no morning sickness, no extreme tiredness and also seems to be glowing the glow which people apparently talk of with regards to pregnant people. She does bemoan the fact that she can’t drink at her sister’s wedding, but then she shares a look with Natasha about how maybe that’s for the best and he wonders what happened there.

            Natasha and Petra are Tamsin’s bridesmaids, while Bob has asked him and Jake to stand with him. It’s a full Navy wedding, and it’s been a while since he’s worn his dress whites, but they still fit fine. Tamsin’s dress is white with gold detailing and her and Bob both can’t stop smiling. Jake looks equally stunning and Bradley can’t take his eyes off him.

            “I do love a man in uniform…”

            “Well, you sure got a wide range to pick from here.”

            “Only interested in one.”

            “Yeah? Do I know him?”

            “I think you’re familiar. Going to make the most of the empty house while we have it right? No chance of any interruptions…”

            “I like the way you think.”

2027

            “Ah, Uncle Ron… you were so upset about Mitchell not being name after you, I thought you should be the first to know. We named her after you…”

            “Jesus kid, I was kidding…”

            “Meet Slider…”

            The look Slider gives Bradley is so unimpressed it makes him burst into laughter at the sight. Serve the man right.

            “You’re not serious I hope, that’s a terrible name for a baby. Should have got Petra to name this one too…” Slider is saying, but he’s holding his arms out, ready to take the baby from Bradley, who doesn’t seem in any particular rush to let go of his daughter and Pete doesn’t blame him, he’s pretty sure she hasn’t slept anywhere but in someone’s arms since she was born three weeks ago.

            “Well, we agree on that at least,” Bradley says, settling the baby in Slider’s arms. He notes that Tamsin is off to the side and discreetly filming with her phone. Good girl. “Her name is actually Veronica Carole Bradshaw. Closest name to Ron we could both agree on…”

            “I… I was joking kid. You didn’t need to…”

            Pete smiles, knows a little how Slider might be feeling; has heard Jake talk haltingly of how Slider had been his first CO after flight school, that he’d held the man in high regard before he’d become part of his extended family. He continues to stack blocks with Mitchell so that he can measure his height against them and lets himself feel the sense of happiness that being surrounded by his family brings him now.

…         …         …

            He’s not expecting Jake home early, so when he hears the car he already knows something is wrong. Not usual or standard for a Tuesday afternoon. He doesn’t know what to expect, but Jake’s standing in the doorway to the garage and he looks pale, maybe a little green.

            “Are you okay?”

            “I… I’m… My dad’s died.”

            Oh shit. Bradley doesn’t know what to say. Isn’t going to offer his condolences. Wonders how Jake found out, because as far as he’s aware Jake hasn’t called his family since Mitchell was born nearly three years ago.

            “What do you want to do?”

            “I don’t fucking know.”

            Bradley nods, supposes that’s probably a normal response right now and hands Nic over. He hadn’t realized it when they’d been trying to chose a name, he’d agreed with Veronica after hearing about Jake’s professional relationship with Slider, despite thinking it was a mouthful. Then he’d heard Jake calling her Nic and Nicole and he’d realized that there was his dad’s name hidden alongside Slider’s, and in calling her Nicole it’s a combination of both his parents’ names.

            It makes him feel… it makes him feel.

…         …         …

            It’s probably the biggest argument they’ve had. Jake insisting he go alone, and Bradley insisting the complete opposite. Held in hissed whispers while the kids were sleeping he’d finally asked Jake if he’d let Bradley go alone if it was him. That had made Jake waver and Bradley knew then he’d be coming. Bradley doesn’t want to go to the actual funeral, but he wants to be there, waiting for Jake, to wrap his arms around him and remind him that he’s not alone anymore.

            He hears the knock on the motel door, loud, and he’s glad both kids are already awake. He answers it, Nic tucked up under his chest while she gums on her fist while her bottle warms up. Standing there is a woman who has to be Jake’s mother, the family resemblance is striking. With her is a younger man and woman. They also look related but Jake has never mentioned siblings and he feels uneasy.

            “Can I help you?”

            “Oh. I’m sorry. I was looking for…”

            Well fuck. She clearly thought Jake had come to Texas alone. He knows Jake told her he was getting married, because she’d hung up on him and then not answered his calls for weeks.

            “If you’re looking for Jake he should be back shortly.”

            “Who are you?”

            Well. He’s not going to lie. And if she’s here for Jake she can take everything that comes with him.

            “I’m Jake’s husband.”

            He can tell the words hit like blows, the older woman almost staggering back and he jiggles Nic a little. He’s torn between indignation that she dare come here, but also the other two are simply looking a little confused.

            “Daddy… I’m firsty…”

            “Is your water bottle empty?” Bradley asks, looking down at Mitchell and he can see her looking. Wants to step to block her view. Mitchell has Jake’s wide green eyes and blonde hair, there is no mistaking that Jake is his father.

            “Juice?” Mitchell asks, hopeful, and Bradley shakes his head, hides a smile.

            “I’ll get you some apple slices,” Bradley says to him, compromising. He resists all his internal manners to not apologize to the woman watching them. “Would you like to wait for Jake?”

            “Who’re you?” Mitchell asks, staring up at the now shocked looking woman.

            She can’t just hang up on this, pretend this doesn’t exist. She might want to try, if she turns and walks away now, lets Bradley close the door on her. But she is still Jake’s mom and this is the first time he’s met her, dressed in stained sweat pants, baby spit-up on his shoulder. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t feel any need to try and impress her.

            “I’m… I’m your Grandma?”

            “Like Nanny Sarah and Granma ’lissa?”

            Bradley bites his lips between his teeth, eyes narrowed and she’s looking between Mitchell and him with some sort of hope and sadness and he sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. He might want to snap and snarl but Mitchell is right there.

            “Yeah. Just like that darling. She’s Daddy’s mom.”

            “Oh. Can I meet your mommy too?”

            Bradley’s heart feels like it’s being squeezed tight in his chest.

            “No sweetheart, she died a long time ago.”

            Mitchell is frowning, and Bradley knows death isn’t a concept he’ll understand yet, vaguely remembers from firsthand experience.

            “Oh. Okay. Maybe later?”

            “No sweetheart. You can’t meet dead people…”

            He really wishes he wasn’t having such a wrought conversation with his son in front of an estranged family member.

            “Oh. Okay. Apple juice?”

            “Apple slices,” Bradley corrects. “But you can have a glass of water to dip them in, okay?”

            “Okay!”

            Bradley wishes everyone was as easy to please, turns back to his audience standing just outside the doorway.

            “I… look. I need to look after the kids. If you want to see Jake you can wait for him,” it’s June in Texas, and he hates that he’s about to do this. “Come in.”

            “Sorry, I missed you name…”

            Bradley uncharitably thinks I didn’t tell you my name but he smiles blandly, doesn’t offer to shake hands, uses Nic as a convenient excuse.

            “I’m Bradley Bradshaw.”

            “Bradshaw… that’s…”

            “Mmm. Jake took my name. He doesn’t have a particularly strong attachment to Seresin.”

            “Oh. And… the children?”

            “How about you tell me your names first,” Bradley offers, glad that for once Mitchell hasn’t decided to interject his name into the conversation, is happily dipping his apple slices in the cup of water and sucking the water off.

            “Jake hasn’t talked about us?” the young woman asks, and he thinks she’s maybe a little older than Tamsin.

            “Should he have?” Bradley asks, lets a little callousness bleed through into his tone, lets his eyes narrow toward Jake’s mom again.

            “We’re his cousins…” the guy says, and he seems annoyed at the idea of Jake not mentioning him. Bradley doesn’t care for their feelings at all. He pulls the bottle from the warmer and checks the temperature. One-handed he does up a bib around Nic’s neck and then settles her back into the crook of his arm, offering her the bottle which she sucks on with gusto.

            “Great. Jake’s never mentioned you. I think he was granting you all the same courtesy we were granted. Jake was told he wasn’t allowed to let anyone else in the family know he was gay…”

            “What? That’s ridiculous. Who would tell him that?” the man scoffs and Bradley looks at Jake’s mom.

            “Mrs Seresin, would you like to explain? Share where Jake heard that?”

            Bradley feels a little meanspirited as he listens to her stutter out her reasons, and he supposes twenty years ago in rural Texas, with a staunch church-going community it would have been shameful if you cared more about public opinion than your own child. But it wasn’t a community the forbid him from telling, it was his family. Jake’s cousins are looking more and more horrified, and he still doesn’t know their names. And he can’t remember Jake’s mom’s name either. She’s fallen silent and her hands are shaking.

            “I can’t make you anything right now, but please help yourselves to tea and coffee…” Bradley offers, nodding his head toward the kitchen. It’s all basic stuff, it’s not like this is their home, otherwise he’s fairly certain he wouldn’t have invited any of them in. Doesn’t know if he’ll ever want to invite her into his home. None of them move though.

            “Babe, I’m back. I got the –” Jake starts, but he stops mid stride upon seeing everyone there. Bradley watches as Jake’s face shutters and he feels bad that he’s been ambushed, should have maybe called him and given him a heads up. “Mom. What are you doing here?” Bradley steps in close to Jake, leans in and gives him a kiss to the cheek all while continuing to give Nic her bottle. He refuses to make anyone in this room comfortable except for his husband and kids.

            “You… you left the funeral before I could talk to you.”

            “You don’t want to talk to me mom. You don’t want to hear about what’s going on in my life. You made that very clear when you hung up on me each time I said Bradley’s name…”

            “What the actual… uh. Sorry.”

            Jake’s eyes swing to his cousins and Bradley wonders what tales have been getting told about Jake’s apparent refusal to visit. What kind of character do they think Jake has to not let his mom come here alone.

            “I think you should go. My number hasn’t changed. You can pick up the phone and call me just as easily as all the times I called you. I… I’m happy. I have an amazing family that all love me just as I am. If… if you want to try and be a part of that then… then you need to put in the work.”

            Bradley feels so proud of him, can see his mom accepting his words and nodding and Bradley wonders what Jake’s life would have looked like if things had been a bit different. She’s making her way towards the door and Jake’s cousins are looking between her and Jake.

            “It was nice to meet you Bradley.”

            “Hopefully next time we can meet under nicer circumstances,” Bradley offers, because that isn’t actually a lie, and he still doesn’t know her fucking name.

            “Hey man, sorry about the attitude earlier. I just… had heard shit. Not accurate shit. I’m Jackson. Nice to meet you and I’d say welcome to the family but… holy shit.”

            That makes Bradley and Jake both huff, Jake shaking his head and Bradley shifts Veronica back to upright, passing Jake the bottle before deciding to switch and give Jake the baby. He can probably do with the touch and comfort and Bradley will save wrapping him in his arms for when everyone has gone.

            “Yeah, wasn’t exactly going to roll out the red carpet…” Bradley mutters.

            “Nah man, I get it. It’s sweet. Everyone just thinks Jake’s this asshole leaving his parents behind and doesn’t call. Most people didn’t think he was going to show for the funeral. Don’t think anyone is going to be prepared for the truth…”

            “Can we tell people? Family I mean? Explain your side? I’m Joanne by the way… I… we’d… some of us would really like to get to know you. All of you.”

            “That’s honest at least,” Jake says with a sigh. “Yeah, go ahead and tell people. No worse than them thinking I’m a neglectful son I guess.”

            “We don’t care. Uh. We do care. But. Not about the whole… gay thing,” Joanne says awkwardly and Bradley wonders if Jake’s mom brought two younger cousins that she thought might be more accepting. A question for another day. Or maybe never. They’ll have to see how it goes.

2028

            He blinks, certain he’s seeing things but the view doesn’t change. Petra and Tamsin, both curled up on the sofa, curled against each other just like they used to do when they were small. A different house. A different sofa. But it’s definitely them. There are dozens of used tissues strewn all over the table and floor and he moves quietly, needs to tidy them up otherwise Ducati will wreak havoc and it’ll look like a snowstorm inside. He isn’t surprised about Petra, she’s staying with them. However Tamsin and Bob are meant to staying with Melissa and Sarah, all gathered for Veronica’s first birthday party which is meant to be tomorrow. Or rather later today. Well. There’s nothing for it.

            “Girls… you need to wake up…”

            “Dad?”

            “Yeah… It’s after midnight. Time for bed. The spare room is made up as well.”

            “Thanks.”

            “You’re welcome sweetheart. Everything okay?”

            “Yeah. Nothing a good cry didn’t fix.” He frowns at that, because crying has never equated itself to feeling better in his book, but Tamsin isn’t looking sad, instead she looks calm and relaxed, and he supposes she has been asleep. “You’re going to be a grandfather again. I was just… freaking out a little. Petra talked me through it.”

            “Oh. Oh sweetheart, congratulations,” he murmurs quietly, because he knows they’ve been trying for over a year, hugs her close and then holds his arm open for Petra to join in.

…         …         …

            Jake is promoted to Captain and Pete grips him in a tight hug, can’t begin to tell him what it means to see Captain Bradshaw adorn his name plate.

…         …         …

            Catherine Seresin is joining them for Thanksgiving.

            It’s taken over a year of careful phone conversations, some video calls and Bradley can concede that she has been trying. However neither he nor Jake want her staying with them, and he’s glad Jake said that first. They know she’s likely motivated by the fact that there are grandchildren in the picture, and he’s spoken to her on the phone a couple of times, when Jake’s asked him to answer.

            She is standing there now, looking at the photos on the walls and nearly every ledge and shelf above three foot. There are professional family portraits and promotion shots mixed with more candid family moments. They all tell a story and everyone they love is there, including his parents. He can see her studying them, likely trying to make sense and put faces to names. They’ve shared photos of themselves and Mitchell and Veronica.

            He has listened to Jake’s conversations with her, he’s also held Jake in his arms as he cried afterward. Wonders if she is aware of just how much hurt and damage she causes with her thoughtless comments. He knows he’s caused some of Jake’s past hurts, but he hopes like hell that they are indeed all in the past. He’s grateful that Jake trusts him enough to let himself cry and be vulnerable when he needs to be. Right now though Jake seems cautiously optimistic.

            Thanksgiving is going to be big. The first time everyone has been able to gather together since Tamsin and Bob’s wedding two years ago. Javy, Natasha and their twins are staying with them, and he’s glad it’s only for a few nights, although Mitchell is having a blast with his younger cousins staying. Having them as guests gives them a plausible excuse to offer Catherine Seresin a room at Ice and Mav’s place, which she’d accepted with grace

            “Trial by fire…” Bradley had muttered, because he doesn’t think Mav and Ice are difficult, but he grew up with them. He’s never thought about them from an outsider point of view before, let alone one who is sort-of homophobic. Ice and Mav both are incredibly protective though, won’t put up with any nonsense. Petra is also staying, along with Slider. Bob and Tamsin are staying with Melissa and Sarah, along with their newborn daughter, Natalie. The meal is going to be complete and utter chaos, but it will be full of laughter and love. The fact that Jake’s mom is going to be there is just something he’s going to have to deal with. Endure. Maybe it won’t be as bad as he thinks.

            Mitchell and Petra are coloring at the table, pictures of racecars because they’re both obsessed. Petra has already taken Mitchell for a ride on a skateboard, much to Bradley’s horror and Mav’s cackling glee. Bradley wonders if he’ll go bald or grey first. Nic has fallen asleep on Slider’s chest as he sits back in his recliner, both of them content and Ceccato has joined the pile. Ice is making dinner, insisting that he doesn’t need help.

            “You both look so handsome…”

            “Back when they knew what a solid night of sleep felt like,” Mav jokes and Bradley rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. Sleep has become a hot commodity. “That was Tamsin’s wedding, so they were already experiencing sleepless nights with Mitchell.”

            Catherine continues to look, asking questions of both Jake and Maverick and Bradley lets himself relax a little, knows he’s unlikely to relax completely until they’re back home.

…         …         …

            Tom stands in the kitchen and waits for the coffee to finish. He makes a large pot when Petra is staying, certain she drinks directly from the pot. It’s also his habit to make two cups of coffee and then take them back to bed when Pete isn’t staying at the hangar. He hears footsteps, turns, half expecting to see Mav or may Petra. Instead, it’s Catherine, looking tired.

            “Coffee?”

            “I… yes please.”

            “Happy Thanksgiving,” Tom says, passing her a mug and gesturing toward the creamer and sugar.

            “Thank you. Happy Thanksgiving…”

            It’s awkward, but he’s aware that she is trying. Has been trying. He knows Bradley doesn’t trust her, but his conversations with Jake about the matter make him think she’s simply been ignorant rather than malicious. They drink in silence for a few moments and he wonders what topics of conversation might be safe. Then Pete stumbles in and he feels relieved, given something to do. He pours another mug, directs his sleepy husband to a chair and presses a kiss to his forehead, well aware that he has an audience. Then Slider is staggering in looking grumpy and Tom sighs, pours another mug and sets the pot to refill.

            “Mitchell, I swear you have all the grace of a herd of elephants…”

            Pete simply grunts and Tom isn’t sure the other two are aware they have company.

            “Mitchell? I thought your name was Peter?”

            “Pete. Mitchell is my last name. Oh. Good morning Catherine…”

            “Oh. Morning. I… I didn’t realize Mitchell was named after you.”

            “Petra named him. Was her choice…”

            “And a very good choice she made too,” Tom says.

            “Petra… your daughter?” Catherine asks him, and Tom knows his surprise shows on his face. She hasn’t met Sarah yet, or Tamsin. Has no idea how much Petra looks like Pete. And how it’s very likely Jake hasn’t shared this information with her, either by simple omission or by choice.

            “Yes. Our youngest. She offered to be Bradley and Jake’s surrogate.”

            “Oh… I. I didn’t realize. Jake didn’t tell me.”

            “He likely has his reasons. She… she knew Jake and Bradley would make very good parents. Wanted to make that possible for them.”

            “That’s… very generous of her.”

            “Yes. Her mother’s influence I suspect,” Tom says quietly, because of course Petra had been able to talk with her about it in depth.

            “I look forward to meeting them both.”

2029

            He wraps his arms around Jake, presses a kiss to the back of his neck as he looks out at the back yard, no doubt thinking about work rather than the yard work which they’d talked about needing to do. He presses another kiss, runs his hands over Jake’s ass, hums appreciatively. Glad it’s early in the morning and they’ve had a good night’s rest and have until lunch tomorrow to spend time together.

            “Hey…”

            “Hey. You trying to start something Bradshaw?”

            “Maybe.”

            “Ah. So you did have ulterior motives by arranging for the kids to spend the weekend at their grandparents…”

            “It’s our anniversary…”

            “No it fucking isn’t,” Jake counters, turning around to face him and frowning.

            “Oh. No. Not wedding anniversary. I mean… today’s the day I saw you in the club, dancing.”

            “You remember the date?”

            Jake sounds skeptical and he guesses that's fair. Bradley would love to say that he does, that the date is seared into his mind. But that wouldn’t be true. He knew it was coming up through, and he has a record of all his stations and deployments, so he’d been able to look it up, so he can say with certainty that it is today. He kisses along Jake’s jaw as he explains, saying that he thinks twenty years is worth celebrating. That he feels lucky that he can pinpoint to almost the hour when he saw Jake.

            “Bet you didn’t think you’d end up married to me…” Jake says, and he sounds a little breathless already.

            “No. Didn’t think I’d ever get that lucky. Didn’t know DADT was going to be repealed so soon after. Had sort of resigned myself to a fairly solitary future…”

            “Surrounded by your loving family. Very solitary,” Jake says dryly and Bradley shakes his head, presses Jake against the kitchen bench, grinding against him.

            “You can be surrounded by people and still feel alone. I don’t though, not when you’re with me.”

            “I haven’t felt like that since we sorted our shit out…”

            “Which is coming up ten years now. Still an anniversary…”

            “Such a sap.”

            “Yep. I love you.”

            “Mmm. Love you too.”

THE END

[mr-crawlings-wife]

HOT POKER AMID ROSES

Prologue-7

Previous part, Masterlist, Next part

Warnings: Ace, nothing tbh

The cool morning breeze blows by us as I sweep the leaves in the opposite direction and towards the bins. Grim helps me by not causing trouble and loitering around.

Students pass by us every so often. The lack of crowds drive me to think that class probably starts even later.

Huh...wonder what those are like.

This is my third week of working here. It's been three weeks since Crowley appointed me as janitor. I usually spend my days taking care of the inner halls, places around the teachers offices, Crowley's office and of course, the classrooms.

Crowley mainly puts me to work on cleaning up the messes left by students. Whether that be repainting the walls, covering up a chipped corner of the desk, cleaning up broken beakers and mysterious potions that seldom burn through my mop.

Glad I didn't wipe with a towel.

I think as I look down at my hands, now holding a damp rag. I approach the large statues and climb onto their pedestals. There is not much space but I make do.

This is the first time I've had to work with so much people around. Even the classroom cleaning is usually after class hours.

I reach up, standing on my tiptoes, grabbing the statue with one hand and wiping the tips of her crown with the other.

The clothes I'm wearing right now are stuff Crowley handed me on my first day. Which has a clear distinction from every other attire worn by everyone else at this academy.

It raises a few brows and quizzical looks from passing students.

Or maybe it's just the fact that I'm daring to hold and stand on the pedestal of one of the great seven.

In this world, the great seven are seven people in the past who have shown feats of great magic or at least that's what I've read in the library books. They are revered, admired and respected. The easiest way to offend these people is to insult the great seven.

The one who's snout I'm polishing right now is-

"I didn't get to see it much yesterday. What's the deal with these seven statues? All their faces look pretty scary." Grim speaks up from behind me.

I have to crane my neck to look at him but also not fall off the statue. "Hmm?“

“Like, this lady here looks like she's got some reeeal anger management issues.“ Grim points at the statue I'm cleaning.

I look back at it and his words do match up.

The queen of hearts, this short women who's comically shaped with a pointy crown that almost pierced my finger and a permanent scowl.

She's notorious for her anger.

"You don't know the Queen of Hearts?" Some person behind me asks.

I look back again, this time greeted with the view of a boy, around my age, with bright red hair and a heart on his eye. He seems friendly.

I quickly realized he was actually talking to Grim and turned back to the statue.

"Queen of Hearts? Is she some kinda big deal?" Grim is obviously oblivious cause he never accompanies me to the library. Instead, opting to sleep.

"She was a queen who lived in a maze like garden of roses long, long ago. She was a strict woman who prized order above all. She wouldn't tolerate a rose being off-color, or her playing-card soldiers being out of step."

I stepped down from the pedestal and began to wipe where I'd been standing.

"She basically ruled over a kingdom of madness, but not one of her subjects dared to defy her. You wanna know why? Because the punishment for breaking a rule was immediate decapitation!"

Sounds like the late emperor's grandfather.

The boy was almost right behind me now. "Wah! That is seriously messed up!"

Grim seems to have a brain.

"Pretty cool, right? I'm a big fan. I mean, who would bother to obey a queen that was kind all the time?"

Sure but that's just straight up tyranny.

"Yeah, true. A leader needs to be strong."

I retract all statements.

I'm about to move onto the next statue.

"But puttin' that aside... Who're you?" Grim asks from behind. He sounds a bit fond. Like he's found a friend, a buddy to talk to. I put down the used dirty rag and stepped towards the bucket at the corner, being mindful to not bump into the red head.

"Name's Ace. I'm a first year student here, as of... today! Pleased to meetcha!" Ace smiles, revealing a set of pearly whites.

Grim pumps out his chest with all his might in response. "I'm Grim! I'm a prodigy whos plannin' to be, like, the greatest mage who ever lived!" He throws his paws up over his head. And then he points to me as I make my way towards the king of beasts. "That there's my far less interesting hench-human."

I sigh and look towards Ace, "Maomao."

He snickers, giving me a once over. "Maomao? Heh-what? Like a cat?"

i roll my eyes and turn away, climbing onto the side of the pedestal and wiping vigorously at the top of the lion's head.

Grim's focus shifts to the statue as well.

"So tell me, Ace. Is that lion with a scar in the eye a famous ruler too?"

"Of course!"

I then realised I'd forgotten something. Damn I'll need to redo the Queen statue. I haven't sprayed it down once.

"Hey, Ace." I speak, looking towards him. "Can you pass me the spray bottle?“

"That's the King of Beasts who ruled the savanna." He doesn't respond to me and wordlessly picks it up from the bucket and hands it to me.

So he doesn't think I'm inferior to him huh....or maybe he's just pretending.

"But he wasn't born into the throne - he had to earn it through hard work and elaborate schemes. When he became king, he decreed that the hyenas would be pariahs no more, and should live among his subjects as equals." He continued to speak, as I continued to work.

With the help of the cleaning spray I was able to get my job done much faster. God I was being so dumb. Why didn't I realise earlier?

"Sounds like a great guy! Not everyone's able to look past social status like that." Grim exclaims. I agree with him on this. The king of beasts is admirable.

I hang the used rag on the edge of the bucket and pick another clean one. I have eight rags in total. So I don't need to smear ones mess onto another.

Picking up a new one and dampening it, I move to the sea merchant's statue.

"Who's the lady with the octopus legs?" Grim asks Ace from beside me.

"The Sea Witch who lived in an underwater grotto." As Ace speaks, I find myself in trouble.

The sea witches statue is pretty spiky. She's surrounded by tentacles with sharp ends and the best spot to climb onto has nothing safe to hold around it. And I'm not tall enough to just jump on either.

"She basically devoted her life to helping troubled merfolk."

"Mmgh..." I make a noise of struggle as I attempt to grab the smooth part of a nearby tentacle.

"If they were willing to pay the price, she'd help them change their appearance, find love, whatever!" Ace's voice gets louder as he goes on.

"They say she was so good, there was no wish she couldn't grant." Suddenly, hands grab onto my sides and haul me up to the pedestal. Allowing just enough range to grab the statue's arm.

He's helping me???? But I didn't even ask...

I look at him but he's already made his way back to Grim.

"They also say the price was a tad steep, though.

But she was granting wishes! Of course it was!"

"Myaha! So you're sayin' that once I'm a great mage, gettin' rich off folks will be a total cinch?!" Grim is elated and scheming. Can't be a good idea for sure.

"Oh, oh! Do the dude with the big hat next!" Grim requests. I've fallen behind, no longer on track with them. I try not to let myself hurry through Ursula. That's the Sea Merchant's name.

I move down to each of her tentacles as Ace and Grim move onto the Sorcerer. Grim is the furthest from me while Ace is a bit closer.

As I done cleaning the front of the tentacles, I moved onto the rings of concrete in the back of them. They're a real pain to get through.

"That's the Sorcerer of the Sands. He was an advisor to a total dolt of a sultan. He was a smart guy. Really capable sort. He exposed this swindler once - some guy pretending to be a prince in order to trick the princess! After that, he got this magic lamp and became the greatest sorcerer in the world. Then, they say...... he used that power to become sultan himself!" Ace summaries the story perfectly.

He must be a great student. Or maybe they've been teaching this since elementry.

"Wow! Guess it's true that a mage needs to be an excellent judge of character, huh?" Grim rubbing his chin, thoughtful. He looks stupidly... adorable.

I'm done with the Sea Merchant. So I take my bucket and move a bit closer to them. Immediately they move further away and towards the Fair Queen.

"And what about this beauty over here?" Grim points at the statue. She's beautiful although her clothes are rather plain.

"She's a queen who was said to be the fairest in all the land. In fact, she used her magic mirror to check how she ranked on a daily basis! When it looked like her position was threatened, they say she'd do whatever it took to keep it. Can you even imagine the level of dedication it would require to keep a record like that? Also, they say she was a master of making poisons!"

The last bit caught my attention.

Poisons? Poisons...

"Geez. She's pretty, but that sounds kinda scary." Grim didn't share my enthusiasm but of course he wouldn't understand

"You think so? I gotta respect the hustle!" Ace seems more like minded with me.

"F-for sure... Sounds like she fought hard for what she believed in, and never gave up!" Grim sounds shaky, as if he's lying about his feelings. He's quick to change the subject even.

"And the one there, with the flaming head? Now THAT guy looks scary!" Just as Grim does that, I've finished my work on the Sorcerer Jafar statue.

"That's the King of the underworld!"

I make my way towards the Fair Queen. Deftly climbing onto her pedestal. "Single-handedly ruling a kingdom packed with rambunctious spirits - that takes competence!" I can feel Ace's eyes on me as he speaks.

"He may look scary, but he was a straight shooter who worked tirelessly at a tough job he never even asked for. I mean, this is the guy who was ordering Cerberus, the Hydra, and the Titans into battle for him."

That is true. Hades is by far the only one morally sound in the mythology of the island of woe and all the ones surrounding it.

"Hmm. That IS something. T'think he could have that much power and not let it go to his head! And that last one there, with the horns?" Him and Ace are moving onto the dark fairy while I'm still in the process of cleaning up the fair queen's pedestal.

"That's the Thorn Fairy who lived on a mythical mountain. She was noble and elegant, and a master of magic and curses - even by the standards of these seven! She commanded storms, covered the kingdom with thorns... She could use magic on a massive scale! She could even turn herself into a giant dragon."

I make my way to Hades and am in a pickle again. This time, it's the flames surrounding him.

Ooh. a dragon! What all monsters yearn to be!" Grim exclaims as I turn to Ace, about to ask for help when-

"Pretty cool, huh? Not like some piddling weasel."

What?

Taglist: @kittycat246 @wutap @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @boredselkie @krysthalina @frostines-blog @anastasia-426 @ghostlysyntaxed @neufora

[foreverromanticising]

for a long time | ln4

prologue: growing up beside you - paolo nutini

lando norris x fem!oc | 2.2k words | notes: highly recommend listening to the song of the chapter as u read, as always send me all ur thoughts i LOVE chatting

Seventeen was a pivotal age for Lando, an age that defined the path the rest of his life would follow; it was the year McLaren decided to keep a watchful eye on the boy’s career and the age he realised he loved her. It wasn’t some grand moment of realisation like he thought would happen the first time he realised he loved a girl, it didn’t look like any of the thousands of romance films she had forced upon him, but Lando was sure there wasn’t much difference in how it felt.

It was a quiet moment in her bedroom that had dawned this upon him but it made sense to Lando for he found more comfort in her bedroom than he ever had his own. His bedroom was barren besides the bare necessities and a few trophies dotted across shelves, but her bedroom was the picture of comfort. 

Over the years of knowing her and letting their friendship blossom into something larger than they were, he had learned to find solace in her bedroom, in the fairy lights that hung from her ceiling as she almost always refused the big light. As he moved through the different Formula series’, he had become accustomed to different hotel rooms and he knew if he wanted to go further than Formula 2 then he would have to learn to love them. But Lando wasn’t sure even Egyptian cotton bedsheets could compare to the feeling of coming home from a long day of meetings and driving, and being able to dive under her bedsheets. The mountains of pillows and blankets that she had collected over the years had created their own mould for his body alongside hers. 

Of course, he had already loved her, through stages. They were Lando and Phoebe, a pair that would cause everyone to roll their eyes at whenever they walked into a room together because, of course, they were together. But, never quite, together. Paired together in PE class when they were six, Lando would say though Phoebe would argue they were eight, and that had been their story written out in front of them. His house had always been a bike ride around the corner from hers so there was nothing stopping the two from spending every spare minute that they had with one another. 

Their friendship transformed over the years, going from more than classmates to best friends, so close it would take a world to tear them apart. Again, it wasn’t some dramatic realisation to realise how close they were, it was slow and natural; like it had already been decided by some higher power that they would remain attached by their hips. 

Their friendship changed with them; starting off small and scrawny before developing into a mature and stable, active connection. From eight to fourteen to seventeen, they learned to know each other just as they were beginning to learn about themselves. Their friendship faced all of the trials and tribulations from school; group projects, friendship falling outs, school dances, and crushes. 

Lando watched as Phoebe grew from the girl he knew in the playground who avoided any of the playground games, rather he would watch as she ran in the opposite direction from him whenever he approached her with the offer of joining in to play ‘tig,’. He watched as she started paying attention in classes, claiming school was actually serious to which he would roll his eyes back in response. But, he watched her with admiration as she would force him to join her in cycling to their local shop to grab another packet of flashcards. He wished he could share in a slither of her dedication when it came to learning but he much preferred watching in a focussed state, creating mind maps and posters galore, than actually creating those himself.

But, Phoebe understood that was where she and Lando differed. He wanted to keep his focus for driving and he refused to waste an ounce of it on learning about different types of clouds in geography class. She saw Lando make his way from karting to junior formulas, all the way into Formula 2, and she knew that wouldn’t be the end of his journey, rather only the beginning. His determination was unlike anything she had ever seen.

She respected his craft even if it began to drag them apart as they grew older, with how serious it had started to become for him. The Saturday nights that they would spend in Phoebe’s bedroom, maybe she was reading and he would be playing some video game, or they would crawl into her bed to watch countless films for hours on end; it didn’t matter what they were doing, every Saturday night was theirs. Obviously, Phoebe knew that this wasn’t forever, they were going to grow up and perhaps grow out of each other at some point but she craved to cling onto Lando whenever she could.

Though, this feeling of longing was reciprocated by Lando as he also had started to recognise how their Saturday nights together had grown thin, only few and far between compared to the constant it was only the year prior. His heart ached whenever he spent a Saturday night alone in a random hotel room; sure this was the path to the life his heart ached for in a slightly different way but he longed to have her under the same blanket with some romcom she praised so highly he couldn’t say no to her.

And that was how he came to realise his love for her, how he realised it was more than a friendship between classmates, that it stretched over seas and through the different cities; no matter what country he found himself in, whatever track he was racing on, she remained stagnant in his mind. 

So, when he finally had a free Saturday night, Lando found himself again perched upon Phoebe’s bed. Her windows were open and allowing the early summer breeze roll into her bedroom, the warmer air reminding her of how her exams loomed, getting far too close for what she could deem comfortable. But having Lando by her side for a night was enough to take her mind off of the dread she faced.

“I got an email today.” Lando began, hands fidgeting with one of Phoebe’s many teddy bears in his lap, hands fidgeting with the ears as he could feel her head whip around from where she sat at her desk - claiming she had the conclusion of an essay to finish before she could relax.

“Yeah, from who?” She questioned, wondering where Lando could possibly be going with this as she knew how quickly his life had changed; only a year or two ago, she would’ve assume the email was from a teacher and not felt the need to press any further, but everything had changed. The possibilities were endless.

“Mclaren…” He couldn’t fight the pure joy that dared to take over his face as he tried desperately not to allow himself to fall into a false sense of security by letting himself get excited over something too early on, too early that he would jinx it. But he had a good feeling about this, one that he wanted to share with her. “They just want to get to know me better, you can only be in the junior programme for so long before it gets a bit sad.”

“Lando, Mclaren have a free seat next season.” The cogs started to turn in her mind, the pieces of the puzzle finally clicking together correctly in Phoebe’s mind; her face lighting up to mirror his exactly.

“Yeah, they do,” He nodded his head enthusiastically. “I mean, it’s not mine but I dunno, I’ve got a few meetings lined up over summer and yeah, I don’t wanna jinx it.”

“It’s not your seat, yet,” Phoebe grinned and made her way over to her bed, crawling to sit beside Lando as the prospect of her best friend in Formula 1 far defeated any history essay she had to write. “They totally want you, don’t kid on like you don’t know it.”

“Right, don’t go around spreading this like its gossip, we don’t know for sure.” He rolled his eyes at her dramatics, though he couldn’t deny his heart skipped a beat as he watched her share in his excitement. 

“Oh, I’m totally going back to school and telling everyone as soon as possible that you’re a future Mclaren driver,” She could hardly get her words out before Lando was groaning and murmuring a ‘shut up,’ in response to her. “Just don’t go forgetting me when you’re a formula one driver, please.”

“As if I could do that.” Lando knew your words were simply teasing him but he knew they held weight for her, that perhaps below the surface that could be a genuine worry for her; a worry that he wanted to diminish as soon as possible.

“I dunno, you’re gonna be surrounded by millionaires and celebrities all the time, you’re not gonna be thinking about me and these stupid essays still.” Missing out a Saturday night here and there was one thing Phoebe had made peace with but she couldn’t hide that this hadn’t caused an almost domino effect of worries for her; Formula 1 was far more demanding than Formula 2, and whilst she couldn’t keep a hold of him forever, she definitely would’ve liked to.

“They’re gonna be my colleagues - if I get the seat - I’m not gonna want to spend more time with them than I have to,” He shook his head to emphasise his words for he knew that no matter how far away he was from you, you were the first person he longed to be back beside. “You can’t say anything, who knows you’re not gonna run off to uni and forget all about me.”

“Because starting uni is comparable to starting formula one.”

“You’re gonna make new friends, there’ll be new boys, and parties and people, living on your own, and you’re gonna have to keep up with all of that and remember about me too- I can see you forgetting about me by January.” Lando’s words came out with a laugh but Phoebe could read through his fake laugh like it was nothing.

“I promise you I’m not gonna forget about you just ‘cause I started uni,” She couldn’t believe his worries for she couldn’t comprehend the thought of ever forgetting about him, whether it be accidentally or on purpose. “Plus, no curfew ‘cause I’ll have my own place- if anything, we’re moving up in the world.”

“You say that like we’re sneaking around or something.” Though he laughed, Lando knew what she meant for at least one of their parents would interrupt and insist Lando had to go home, to stay focused on his training, if it wasn’t a Saturday night.

“You know what I mean, though,” She sat back against her headboard, knees pressed against Lando’s as she fought the tiredness that threatened to take over her body, instinctively curling against his body. “Just don’t go parking a Mclaren outside of my student accommodation and we’ll have no issues next year.”

“That was the first thing I was going to do, Pheebs, I can’t believe you’d ruin that for me.” He watched as her eyes started to struggle against the light, leaning across her bed to close over the curtains and allow the dim lighting to flood her room.

Only minutes passed before Phoebe had curled entirely into Lando’s side before the two even had the chance to select a film for the evening, her night of revision clearly catching up to her. He slid down to lay beside her properly, his hand searching for a blanket to pull over their bodies as he snuck his arm around her waist and pulled her into him. 

And, so, it wasn’t a loud moment filled with fireworks and speeches, but instead Lando realised he loved Phoebe in her bedroom, when she shared in his excitement; when anyone looking in on the two would’ve thought she was in the talks for a Formula 1 seat rather than simply mirroring him. When he realised that he was getting closer to everything he had ever dreamed of in the racing world meant he had less time with her. Less nights spent together, less bike rides, less of her in his life.

So, he figured there was no point in confessing to her just yet, not now. Lando was sure there would come a time and place that he would say how he felt to here, and her bedroom may have been the place of realisation but it wasn’t going to be the place of confession.

[verycoolusername1]

The Beginning

Summary: How the magic that is lakeside was born(aka the prologue)

A/N: The song here is we hug now by Sydney Rose from her recent ep, I know what I want. If yall wanted to know.

Anywho I actually wrote something :o

You have been friends with the hughes brothers for as long as you can remember. The shared sleepovers to the high school parties that extended to college.

The fun was neverending... then Jack met Trevor and Cole at a music store and you swore your heart fluttered at the sight of Cole. You blamed it simply on your teenage hormones and tried to ignore your feelings for him by dating other guys, those often didn't end well.

You would get your heartbroken everytime, you decided that if you were gonna cry about it, you might as well make a good song about it. You were writing in your notebook when Luke sat next to you, bored out of his mind.

"Are you done writing? I wanna hang out with you." Luke groaned.

"I'm almost done, Luke. No need to be all dramatic." You nudged him in the shoulder playfully.

"Jack, Cole, and Trevor are all hanging out at the beach and Quinn is doing Quinn things. It's just you and me here." Luke slumped down the wall.

"You're saying that as if it's a bad thing." You teased.

Luke begin to play on the piano in the living, playing random notes at a time. The boredom was really getting to him, a light bulb went up in your head.

"Wait play that again." You told him, Luke looked at you confused but played it again.

You took out your phone and recorded the sound. "Luke, I have an idea."

Luke looks at you, waiting for you to finish.

"We should start a band." You sit down next to him on the piano. "Play again."

Luke did as you said and begin to play again on the piano, continuing whatever melody you liked before and expanded on it.

You took a quick breath. "We don't see stars here, they're just city lights."

Luke glanced at you but continued to play, already getting a feel of the song.

"It's occasional but sometimes I'll see the moon, and I'll think of you."

The silence between you and Luke grew as he continued to play the piano, waiting for you to sing further. You sung the chorus of the song before going to the next verse.

Luke joined you this time, singing alongside you as the song progresses. "And in that dream, I will say everything I wanted. That everyday after May, I haven't found what I needed."

The two of you were in your own world that you didn't even notice that the others had come back.

"Sometimes I go to sleep, and I'm still seventeen." You rest your head on Luke's shoulder. "You still live down my street, you're not mad at me."

The others walked towards where you and Luke were, Trevor was about to speak before Jack stopped him.

Quinn came up behind the three boys and looked to where you and Luke were and looked on.

"You're just thinking it's a small thing that happened, the world ended when it happened to me."

As the song ended, you heard a form of clapping behind you. You and Luke turned around and saw the others looking at the two of you in amazement.

"That was nice." Cole smiled at the two of you.

"Do you guys normally do this when we're gone?" Trevor joked as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"We should just start a band." Jack exclaimed.

You and Luke shared a look before bursting into laughter. The others look in confusion before joining in.

"You guys are weird." Quinn shook his head and chuckled.

[kqtaswyq]

A NOBLE MASQUERADE

main pairings :: maomao x jinshi, xiaolan x basen

genre :: mystery, romance, fluff, angst, denial // dense protagonists !

PROLOGUE : In the empire’s quieter provinces, noble houses rise and fall with curious speed, their fortunes tied to marriages that seem too convenient, too well-timed. When strange rumors reach the palace, Maomao is sent under a false name, part of a small, disguised household led by the ever-unsettling “Master Enji.” What begins as a simple favor soon pulls them into the quiet rot beneath polite society—where nothing is quite what it seems.

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶

Chapter Two — Poison Petals, Velvet Thorns

The carriage had not stopped in two days.

That wasn’t an exaggeration. Maomao had counted—at first, out of curiosity, then in rising irritation, and finally, because it was the only thing keeping her from gnawing on the leather seat cushion out of sheer frustration. They paused just twice: once to swap horses in a silent transaction at the edge of a misty ravine, and once to hand over a box of provisions from a second, faceless traveler who said nothing and vanished into the woods like a ghost.

No inns. No lantern-lit towns. No fires. No signs. Just trees. Miles and miles of black pine and silver-barked birch, pressing in so close that at times, Maomao was certain they were moving through a tunnel of limbs rather than a road. The wheels crunched over gravel and dirt, up winding inclines, then down into moss-damp hollows. The sky turned slate grey and then pitch black. Repeat.

It wasn’t the strangest journey she’d ever been on, but it certainly ranked. Inside the carriage, the air had gone from stale to soupy. Chou-u was curled like a cat across her lap and Xiaolan’s, his face pressed to Maomao’s side, drooling blissfully. Xiaolan, poor thing, had long since nodded off, her hair mussed and head lolling against the window. Only Basen remained upright—riding silently just outside, his outline visible through the window flap, stiff-backed and vigilant. The man looked like he was ready to dive through the door at any moment and stab someone, which Maomao was beginning to appreciate more than she wanted to admit.

“Are we lost?” she asked finally, voice dry from disuse. “No,” came the answer from across the cabin. Jinshi sat with one leg crossed elegantly over the other, arms folded. The makeup was still on—plain, almost bland, erasing his celestial glow and replacing it with something oddly forgettable. And yet, in the flicker of passing lantern shadows, his eyes still gleamed too sharply for a common merchant. Too knowing. “You're sure?” she said. “We haven’t passed a village. Or a farmhouse. Or a single pig.”

“We’re expected,” he said mildly. “Expected by who?” “That’s classified.” Maomao gave him a thin smile. “And if I start classifying my cooperation, will we be turning around?” His lips twitched. “You’re free to walk, of course. I imagine we’re only another ten ri from the middle of nowhere.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”

Outside, the wind picked up again. Leaves scraped across the window, sharp and dry. Somewhere in the distance, a night bird cried once, then went silent. The next time the carriage stopped, it was without ceremony or fanfare. No shouted commands, no warning. Just the jolt of brakes, the clop of hooves slowing to a standstill, and Chou-u’s mumbled, “Are we there?”

Maomao pushed aside the curtain and peered out. A tall iron gate stood before them, half-hidden in ivy and hanging moss. Beyond it, a long drive curled through misty grass, leading to a house that loomed like a crouching beast on the hillside. Not a manor, she thought at once. It lacked the ornamental flourishes and bright paper lanterns that marked the homes of officials or titled nobles. This was older. Squatter. Thick-walled and fanged with black eaves.She could smell the damp stone from here.

Jinshi stepped out first. A servant emerged from behind the gate to open it—not the driver, not anyone they’d seen before. This man was dressed in grey, face bowed, and said nothing as he ushered them forward. Basen dismounted with a quiet grunt, giving the grounds a once-over. “No lights on the south wing.” “Good,” Jinshi said. “They were told not to wake the household.” Maomao narrowed her eyes. “What exactly is this household?”

“You’ll see soon.” Of course she would. Heaven forbid someone simply explain things. She helped Xiaolan out of the carriage while Basen scooped up a half-asleep Chou-u. The boy blinked blearily and then, with no warning whatsoever, clung to Maomao’s neck and said in a sweet, sleepy tone:

“Mother, are we there yet?” She froze. So did Xiaolan. Basen looked away with the expression of a man trying not to choke on his tongue. Jinshi only smiled faintly and stepped through the gate.

The interior of the house was dim, cold, and echoing. It smelled faintly of herbs and soot, like someone had tried to burn incense over mildew and failed. The entry hall stretched longer than it needed to, with polished stone floors and arched beams that cast shadows like ribs. Servants appeared quietly from side doors, bowing, never speaking. None made eye contact.

Maomao’s instincts twitched like antennae. She’d barely crossed the threshold when a middle-aged woman in dark robes approached them. She bowed to Jinshi, then turned to Maomao with a smile far too stiff to be sincere.

“Welcome, Madam Enji. Your quarters have been prepared.” Maomao blinked. “I’m sorry, what?” The woman’s smile didn’t move. “Madam Enji. Your room—” “She heard you,” Jinshi said calmly. “She’s just surprised. My wife often is, these days.” He stepped forward, taking Maomao’s elbow lightly. His hand was warm. Infuriatingly warm.

Maomao didn’t slap it away, which was a small personal victory. “Wife,” she hissed under her breath. “It’s part of the cover,” Jinshi murmured, just loud enough for her ears. “Surely the most brilliant woman in the Rear Palace can improvise.” “I’m going to poison your shoes.” “I look forward to it.”

Xiaolan let out a tiny squeak behind them. Chou-u, now wide awake and clearly thrilled with the situation, skipped ahead toward the stairs. “Where’s my room?” he asked brightly. “You’ll be with your nurse,” said the housekeeper. He spun around and pointed at Xiaolan. “With her?”

“No,” Jinshi said smoothly, placing a hand on Basen’s shoulder. “With him.” Basen looked alarmed. “Wait—” “Excellent,” Jinshi said, ushering Maomao forward before anyone could object. They followed the housekeeper down a long hallway lined with shuttered windows. Every door they passed was closed. No chatter. No laughter. No children. The place didn’t feel lived in—it felt watched.

Their assigned room was at the end of the west wing. It had one futon. One. Maomao stared at it. Then at Jinshi. Then back at the futon. Jinshi took off his overcoat and hung it on a peg by the door. “Don’t worry. I won’t ravish you.” “Oh, how reassuring.” “I’ll take the floor,” he said, already pulling a spare blanket from a chest in the corner. “Unless you’re the generous type.”

Maomao walked over to the window, tugged it open with a creak, and leaned on the sill. Cool night air slid in—cleaner than the stifling interior, but thick with something she couldn’t name.

She muttered, “Sleeping outside might be safer.” “I don’t doubt it,” Jinshi said softly behind her. “But I doubt we’re alone out there.” She glanced over her shoulder. He was standing still, half-shadowed, arms folded. The plain clothes suited him too well—he looked like a ghost of himself. No rings, no silk, no gold-threaded hair ornaments. Just… Jinshi. Unadorned. Watchful.

“I suppose this makes us a family now,” he said. Maomao snorted. “Do I get to claim your inheritance when you mysteriously fall off a roof?” “Sadly, I’m not the kind of man who can die in such an ordinary way.” He said it like a joke, but something flickered behind his eyes. Brief. Unreadable.

Maomao turned back to the window, her fingers brushing the sill’s warped edge. In the distance, the forest shifted again. Trees rustled. Something moved behind the treeline—too big to be a fox. Too quiet to be a man. She said nothing. Neither did he.

Morning arrived in shades of grey. The sun barely cleared the trees, casting long shadows across the stone paths winding through the estate’s interior gardens. Somewhere, a bird chirped once and thought better of it. Maomao emerged from the west wing rubbing her neck, a yawn caught halfway down her throat. She’d slept. A little. Jinshi had actually kept to the floor—though whether out of courtesy or caution, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she appreciated not waking up with his elbow in her side.

Now, wrapped in her outer robe and trailing behind a silent housemaid, she followed the scent of fresh ink. The estate steward—a tall, meticulous man with prematurely white hair—was already waiting for them in the study. Jinshi sat at the head of the low table, posture straight, eyes unreadable. The steward bowed deeply.

“We are honored by your presence, Master Enji,” he said. “As requested, I’ve prepared the family registers, land claims, and trade documents.” He gestured to several stacks of scrolls. Jinshi gave a courteous nod. “Excellent. I’ll review them personally,” he said. “My wife will assist.” That was Maomao’s cue.

She sat beside him, lips pressed in a polite, neutral line. As the steward bowed and exited, she reached for the top register and opened it, eyes flicking across the neat brushwork. The first few entries were unremarkable: dates of birth, marriages, titles, property transfers. Then she frowned.

Two sons were listed under the same mother—born only six months apart. Peculiar. She flipped a page. Another name appeared, scribbled and re-inked over a faded one. The birthdate had been altered—clumsily. She slid a finger along the margin. The fiber was newer. Replaced. Jinshi murmured, “Anything interesting?” “In the way a broken tooth is interesting.” He didn’t smile, but his eyes narrowed slightly, like he appreciated the metaphor.

Meanwhile, Xiaolan was doing her part. She wandered the kitchen wing with a friendly smile and wide eyes, cooing over porcelain and complimenting the tea blend while the servants whispered around her. It didn’t take much effort—her face was pretty, her manner sweet. People forgot to be cautious around girls like that. One maid leaned in as she poured water into the wash basin. “Did you hear about Lady Rong’s child?”

“Was something wrong?” Xiaolan asked softly. “Oh no, no,” the maid said too quickly. “Just… she changed after her illness. The fever, you know. She was so quiet before, but now she talks like a little prince. Even corrects the steward sometimes!” “Children grow in strange ways,” Xiaolan said gently.

The maid gave her a look. “She used to be afraid of dogs. Now she teases the mastiff.” Outside, Basen leaned against a tree near the training yard. He wasn’t trying to listen. But guards spoke loudly when they thought they were alone. “Boy’s got noble blood, no mistake,” one was saying. “Look how he holds his brush.” “Doesn’t mean it’s his blood,” said the other, more gruffly. “They said the real one had a birthmark.” “And this one doesn’t?” The first shrugged. “Didn’t say where.”

Back in the study, Maomao was reviewing another scroll when a soft knock came at the door. A servant entered, leading a woman with lacquered nails and sad eyes. She had a little girl clinging to her skirts, pale and fidgeting. “She’s been sick for days,” the woman said. “They said you’re skilled with medicines.”

Maomao raised her brows at Jinshi, who gave a slight nod. She knelt beside the child and gently touched her wrist. Pulse fluttered too fast. Skin pale but not cold. Gums slightly inflamed. She asked a few questions, then peeled back the girl’s eyelid. The sclera had a faint yellow tinge. “Has she eaten anything new lately?” Maomao asked.

The woman shook her head. “Only porridge. Boiled roots.” Maomao lifted the girl’s hand, inspecting the nails. She tapped one gently. The child didn’t flinch. No pain? Something was wrong. “She’s been dosed,” Maomao muttered. “Someone’s been giving her poppy extract.”

The woman went pale. “But—but she’s only five—!” Maomao nodded toward Jinshi. “Have your steward check the food storage. Quietly. Someone’s covering up an illness.” Jinshi’s voice was low. “Or a switch.” Maomao looked up sharply. The girl blinked at her. Her expression didn’t

match her age—too composed. Too flat. She’d seen that look before. In children trained to forget what they once were.

The dining room was made to impress, not comfort. High-backed chairs, a long lacquered table with gold inlay, calligraphy on scrolls so perfectly placed they may as well have been printed. Maomao didn’t like it. Nothing here felt lived in. It was the sort of room used once every year to perform wealth before locking it behind a screen again.

“Smile like a woman whose husband hasn't dragged her into a nest of lies,” she muttered. “I can’t hear you,” Jinshi said without looking at her. “But I assume it was affectionate.” They sat at the head of the table, with Maomao at his left, dressed more richly than she’d ever been in public—hair in tight coils, robe patterned with plum blossoms. It didn’t feel like her skin. It felt like someone else’s life.

Guests arrived slowly, one after another, with deep bows and polite voices. Lady Rong, the woman from earlier, entered last, holding her daughter’s hand. The girl gave Maomao a single blink before sitting down across from her. No smile. No greeting. Just the look of a cat who already knew what poison you were hiding under your sleeve.

The steward cleared his throat. “Honored guests. A toast, in welcome of Master and Madam Enji.” Wine was poured. Maomao took a sip. Her cup had the faintest tang of metal. She didn’t flinch. Across from her, the child stared. Not drinking. Beside her, Jinshi raised his cup and smiled faintly, the perfect host. “We’re pleased to be among family. The estate is lovely.”

Lies, all of it. The steward chuckled. “I trust it will feel like home in time.” “I doubt it,” Maomao said sweetly. “Our last home had fewer rooms and more rats. I find I miss the company.” That earned a strained chuckle from one guest and a cough from the steward. Jinshi gave her a sideways glance that said: Behave. She sipped again.

The meal began—bowls of seaweed soup, steamed duck, wild vegetables. Maomao watched the girl across from her pick at each item without eating. No child held chopsticks so precisely. No child ignored duck. Unless— “Is the food not to your liking?” she asked gently.

The girl looked up, eyes cool. “I don’t eat unfamiliar meat.” “Very wise,” Maomao said. The steward spoke quickly. “She was sick last winter, it made her cautious.” Maomao met his eyes. “And who treated her?” “A traveling healer,” Lady Rong said. Her voice was too smooth. “He didn’t stay.” Of course he didn’t.

Jinshi turned to the steward. “We’d like to meet the rest of the children tomorrow.” A beat. “Of course, my lord.” The rest of dinner passed in false smiles and hollow courtesies. By the end, Maomao’s cheeks hurt. As they left the dining room, Jinshi offered his arm like a proper husband. She took it. Once they were out of earshot, she whispered, “That girl was trained. She’s playing a role.”

“So are you.” “I’m better at mine.” He huffed a breath. “You’re enjoying this.” “I enjoy puzzles. Not pretending to be your wife.” “Yet you’re very convincing.” They reached their room. Maomao paused at the door. “This estate is rotten.” Jinshi’s face sobered. “Which makes us the maggots.” She looked at him. Then pushed open the door.

The night air outside their room was thick with stillness. Inside, Maomao sat by the window, her legs tucked under her as she quietly watched the grounds below. The moon was hidden behind clouds, leaving only the faintest outline of trees against the sky. Jinshi had already stripped off his outer robes, seated at the small desk, reviewing more scrolls. The faint friction of the brush against the paper was the only sound in the room.

She could feel his presence behind her, but the silence stretched too long. There was something too unnatural about it. She stood, her robe rustling softly, and walked to the door. With a brief glance over her shoulder to make sure Jinshi was absorbed in his work, she cracked it open. The hallway was dark, lit only by faint lanterns. A soft breeze drifted in through the cracks, carrying the scent of damp earth and old stone.

“Where are you going?” Jinshi’s voice was low, sharp, cutting through the quiet like a blade. Maomao froze. “I’m going to get some fresh air,” she lied, already stepping into the hallway. “Don’t wander too far,” he warned. “I’ve heard... unsettling things about this place.” She didn’t look back, though the weight of his words made her pulse quicken. Instead, she moved with purpose, her steps light and careful, slipping through the darkened hallways like a shadow.

The servants’ quarters were on the other side of the estate, far enough from the main house that they wouldn’t notice her slipping past them. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for—answers, maybe. Or perhaps just the relief of movement, something beyond the thick silence that clung to her like a second skin. But it wasn’t the servants she heard first.

It was the faint murmur of voices, low and conspiratorial, coming from just beyond the parlor. Maomao crept closer, sliding into a narrow passage that ran behind the walls. She pressed herself against the stone, straining to hear. “I told you to keep the child in her room,” a voice hissed, sharp and angry. “She’s restless,” another replied. “She won’t stay quiet.”

“Her behavior’s unnatural. And you were sloppy with the last switch.” Maomao’s pulse spiked. She recognized the voice—the steward. “I’m sorry, Master,” the second voice said, and Maomao caught the undertone of fear. “Sorry isn’t enough. You’ll need to do better. This plan depends on every detail. Every—” Maomao’s breath caught.

Footsteps. Too close. She darted back, her heart pounding in her chest. The hall narrowed ahead, the end of the corridor almost at her fingertips. She pressed herself against the wall, praying the sound of her breathing wouldn’t give her away. The footsteps paused just outside the room.

“I’m telling you, that woman—” the steward’s voice faltered. “Don’t underestimate her,” another voice cut in sharply. It was a deep voice, steady and cold. Maomao couldn’t place it, but it made her spine stiffen. “She’s clever. But she doesn’t know what’s coming.” The air in the hallway seemed to thicken, like the entire estate had drawn a breath. Maomao held hers, every nerve alert, every sense sharpening.

“There’s no room for error. No more mistakes.” The voice softened. “Understood?” “Yes, Master.” The footsteps moved away, and the voices faded. Maomao waited, her hand pressed against the cold stone, willing herself to breathe steadily. She couldn’t stay here. Not now. She backed down the corridor, away from the sounds, and slipped back to her room. The door closed quietly behind her, and she sank against it, her heart still racing.

Jinshi didn’t look up when she returned. He was still at the desk, carefully adding ink to his documents, as if he hadn’t noticed a thing. “I’m back,” she said, her voice rough. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked, his tone casual but with a strange undercurrent. “I’m not sure,” she replied, her gaze drifting to the window. “But I think the game’s much bigger than we realized.”

Jinshi didn’t respond right away, but Maomao could feel his eyes on her. “They’re planning something,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “Not just something,” he murmured. “Something dangerous.” And for the first time since they arrived, the silence in the room felt truly suffocating. The walls seemed to press in around them, and Maomao couldn’t shake the sense that whatever was happening here—whatever dark scheme they’d stumbled into—it wasn’t just about impersonations. It was something far worse.

“You were right,” she said, her voice a soft admission. “This place is rotten.” Jinshi’s lips twisted into a small smile. “I know.” Then, with chilling certainty, he added “And I think someone just slipped up.”

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶

author notes :: SOOOO SORRY LMAOO !! originally i said this would come out friday est but when i came back from school i literally passed out.. like why did i join so many clubs but anyways i hope you enjoyed this chapter and please leave any suggestions thanks so much for the support i read every comment and really appreciate them ! also been working on a skip and loafer au so please check it out when it's released !! ✧.*

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