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hanaaishi · 3 months ago

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PAIRING: Matt Rempe x AFAB! Reader

WORD COUNT: 4.7K

SUMMARY: A surprise bar fight in Gramercy lands Matt Rempe in Bellevue with a head laceration. But a missing bangle allows you to share an experience of a lifetime with him.

WARNINGS: Bigotry, Harassment, Hospitals, Medical Treatment, Swearing, and Violence

I dedicate this story to @2manytabsopen as part of the 2K24 Summer Fic Exchange.

This is my first time writing for a non-binary, asexual person of color. I tried my best to incorporate that into the story while following the instructions you provided in the initial ask. As a result, if I messed up on anything, I am deeply sorry.

That being said, it was lovely to write for you. I had a lot of fun researching Desi culture for the story.

@wyattjohnston @kurlyteuvo @callsign-denmark @avengedearth

The fluorescent lights of the Bellevue emergency room burned overhead as you knelt between endless rows of medical supplies in the storeroom with an open package of disposable syringes at your feet. You scooped a handful and placed them into their labeled plastic container alongside the others lining the chrome-wire shelf. After unloading and breaking down the cardboard, your eyes shifted to the Apple watch around your wrist, which read 6:09 pm. Unpacking today's delivery of medical supplies pared only a single hour away from your twelve-hour night shift, causing an exasperated sigh to fall from your lips. You adjusted your navy blue watch band and rose to your feet to provide your knees with much-needed relief after kneeling upon the hospital's mosaic tile floor for an extended period. A smile appeared as you took a few steps back to review your work and admire your pristine organization before tucking the cardboard under your arm and touching the light switch.

As you entered the hallway, an adagio melody of soft chatters reached your ears. Your nose picked up the remnants of a disinfectant miasma as if the hospital came to life and unleashed a deluge of germicide upon itself like the Overlook Hotel from The Shining. You look deeper into the hallway to your left and into the waiting room on your right, waiting for a code to begin over the intercom and a flock of nurses rushing around the corner with a crash cart. But the announcement never came, causing you to blink at the colleagues meandering past with their files and patients. The hospital's serenity continued to hold against the chaos of the bustling Manhattan streets outside, a rarity in the most populated metropolis in the country.

You closed the door behind you, waiting for the light on the card reader to turn red, signifying that the storeroom had locked. Afterward, you joined the flow of hospital staff wandering through the department on your way to the emergency room’s hospital bay, where the maintenance staff stored the recycling for easy disposal. Several nurses, who must have received a slight lull while waiting for new patients or test results, mulled around the central station. They stood against the white quartz countertop, filling out paperwork or discussing their plans for their next day off with the RNs assigned to monitor the systems for that shift. The handful of invalids who visited the emergency room that evening lay interspersed upon the flimsy white mattresses lining the hospital’s beds with their eyes fixated on their phones or a book in their hands. In one or two stations, a fortunate soul conversed with one of the scheduled doctors, who explained their diagnoses and proceeding prognosis through gestures toward their tablets and illuminated X-rays. Their mouths moved in gentle whispers, preventing you from picking on their reason for visiting. However, based on their relaxed demeanor, you deduced it was for non-critical injuries, like broken bones and simple sutures, and other everyday ailments as you wandered further from the department’s core.

After several moments, the expansive black sliding doors where the EMTs unloaded patients from their ambulances came into view. The sight added an extra bounce in your step, driving you to the recycling room in desperation to trash your cardboard and join your fellow nurses at the station or perhaps grab a cup of mediocre coffee the hospital stocked in the break area from local grocers. However, before you could take your break, one of the boxes slipped from your grasp and clattered to the floor, causing you to stop. As you bent down to retrieve it, a chill began to rise on your spine as the sound echoed through the ambulance bay. The hospital was well-lit, and you could still see bits of your co-workers' pastel scrubs in the distance, but an eerie silence had permeated the air. In the city that never sleeps, you often had a faint cacophony of horns honking and emergency services sirens always accompanying you. But there was nothing like seeing the dark storm clouds before hearing the thunder.

Suddenly, indistinct red and blue shimmers appeared on the off-white walls, causing you to lift your head and turn your attention to the dancing lights. You slouched your shoulders and rolled your eyes at the illuminations as the ambiance of the distant siren struck up once more and confirmed the proximity of an emergency service vehicle. Despite your odds, an incessant mantra began in your head, pleading with the lights to disappear and the siren to fade into as the New York City Police Department or Fire Department passed on their way to an emergency. The Universe sadly appeared to ignore your invocation as the lights and sirens grew ever closer to Bellevue, and you grimaced upon realizing that it was the FDNY, but not for a blazing inferno threatening to burn down several city blocks.

“Fuck!” you said under your breath as you recognized the youthful visage of one of the EMTs who often brought patients to the hospital through the bay doors. You grabbed the cardboard and leaned it against the recycling room door, making a mental note to dispose of it later if maintenance didn’t remove it first. Turning to the door, you grabbed a pair of sterile gloves from a nearby box and rushed out to meet the team.

The EMT smiled as he saw you emerging into the cool spring air from the building. “Evening! I have an interesting one for you: Matt, 22, got into a bar fight at The Foundry a few blocks down in Gramercy. His vitals are stable, and the only noticeable injury is this laceration on his forehead.” He pointed to a patch of gauze on the patient’s face, anchored with two pieces of medical tape. “Apparently, there was a group of rowdy patrons there, and Matt and his friends intervened, causing one of the guys to launch a beer bottle at Matt’s head. He declined to press charges, so no visits from PD, and seems alert. He’s also not too thrilled about getting checked out at the hospital because he’s afraid some guy named Peter would kill him, but I told him it was protocol.”

“Hi, Matt. I’m one of the nurses who works in the emergency room here. It looks like you have a nice cut on your head. We’re going to get you checked out and make sure you don’t have any other hidden injuries. And then, we should get you out by the end of the night. How does that sound?” you explained, approaching the stretcher and placing a comforting hand on the guardrail.

Matt turned his head, acknowledging you with his honey-almond eyes. Your grip around the bed rail tightened, and you tilted your head to study his features better as you neared the bed. Given the fact that the wound wasn’t actively bleeding, it appeared prime facie that the wound was superficial and wouldn’t cause a lasting scar to maim his handsome face. He wore a tense smile on his uneven pink lips and under an adorable button nose while a few strands of his long chestnut hair framed his square jaw. Noticeable dried blood spots on his white button-up peeked out from his dark grey blazer, but it was nothing that some coffee grounds would be able to take out. He also possessed a delicate aroma of juniper, possibly from a cologne that he bought on Fifth Avenue, which tied his outfit together and gave him a gentlemanly appearance. Intrusive began storming your subconscious, compelling you to remark on his handsomeness. However, despite the persistent urge, you remained in place and offered Matt a warm smile, hoping it would ease his fears. He regarded your face for a moment more before reciprocating your tenderness and spreading his lips into a more genuine smile.

The paramedic exchanged puzzled looks with his technicians waiting to roll Matt into the emergency room, wondering why you two were staring at each other. After a few moments, he cleared his throat to break the intimate encounter. “Yeah, so, that’s the story. Can we head into the emergency room to get him some help?”

“Oh, yes, I’m so sorry,” you replied as your brain uncrossed its wires, allowing you to re-comprehend human speech. You stepped back and turned your head to the aging brick wall constructing the hospital, pretending to stare at something to avoid eye contact with the technicians as they entered the ambulance bay.

Once they had passed, you fixed your eyes on their backs as they rolled Matt through the doors. The intrusive thoughts finally gave up the fight, but the battle left more questions than answers. You have worked at Bellevue for several years and received outstanding reviews on your bedside manner and standard of care for your patients. But you had never established an infatuation with a patient before. Perhaps it was his handsome appearance or the story of Matt selflessly placing himself between a group of drunk guys that made him sound like a hero in a fable. Whatever the reason, you pursed your lips at the thought of having to get back to work as you stumbled into the emergency room with the paramedic in tow.

The technicians guided Matt over to a nearby station at your instruction and parked the stretcher near the bed, allowing Matt to climb in on his own volition. It took some work, but he maneuvered his long, robust limbs comfortably onto the sterile striped sheets. You gave the EMTs a polite nod and thanked them for their assistance as they packed up their supplies and headed back to the ambulance with the stretcher, allowing you to return your attention to Matt. You raised the bed’s angle, giving Matt more solace and a better angle to examine his injury. Once everything was in place, you placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder and grabbed ahold of one of the pieces of medical tape.

“Alright, let’s look at this injury of yours. You’re going to feel a bit of discomfort, but it will only last a few seconds. Okay?” you explained. Matt responded with a nod, permitting you to remove the tape. Slowly, the adhesive separated from his ivory skin as you peeled it back, causing Matt to form a slight wince. The gauze lifted, revealing a long but otherwise clean cut an inch above Matt’s left eyebrow. “Oh, that’s not that bad. It’s a neat, straight cut, and there doesn’t appear to be any glass fragments there, which means that getting you sutured up will be easy. You relax here while I go see which general surgeon we have on call tonight.”

“Thank you,” Matt replied in his gruff tenor voice, shifting in his bed as he prepared to wait.

You returned to the storeroom once more and retrieved a series of butterfly strips and a non-adhesive bandage to help close the wound while you waited for the surgeon. As you tended to his wound, your eyes caught glimpses of a video playing on Matt’s phone. The pendant lights fastened from old canning jars hanging around the bar created a cozy ambiance for enjoying a nice stout or a lager after a long day at work, but it did not provide enough lighting for filming. Nevertheless, you could make out the contours of Matt’s stern face as he glared at another bar patron, who resembled the stereotypical blond, old-money villain from a romantic comedy. In the shadows, a man’s arm grabbed Matt’s bicep and attempted to drag him away from his scowling opponent, but Matt’s goliath frame stood firm. A few moments passed before the assailant launched himself at Matt, pushing him against one of the lacquered wood high-tops and punching him in the face. Matt's fierce right hook was the last thing you saw before the videographer concluded the recording, and the screen went black. After the video finished, Matt’s long fingers navigated out of full-screen mode and through the never-ending sea of comments and reactions from fans on Twitter.

“You have a nice punch there. Are you a boxer?” you asked as you focused on straightening a butterfly strip.

Matt let out a chuckle as he continued scrolling. “No, more like a hockey player. Some of the guys and I were out enjoying a couple of drinks before all of them returned home for the off-season, and we overheard a bunch of pricks from some Ivy League school out east. They were harassing some girls across the bar. I have two older sisters. If they talked to one of them like that, those guys wouldn’t be in the back of a police car; they would be in the back of a hearse.”

“Where did the beer bottle come from?”

“One of the douchebags bonked me over the head when I wasn’t looking. I’m lucky I got off with nothing but a simple cut.”

“You can say that again. On behalf of all female kind, I just want to say thanks.”

Matt furrowed his brow as you reapplied more medical tape to finish the dressage. “Female-kind? Not womankind?”

“Yeah, I’m non-binary,” you replied, grabbing wrappers and clicking the tape back into its case.

"Right on!” said Matt with a nod and his attention fixed on his Twitter feed.

You smiled and patted his shoulder as you rose from your stool and disposed of the wrappers in a nearby wastebasket. A warmth spread across your chest as you returned to the nurses' station to consult the on-call and see which number you needed to dial. You traced over each line until you saw the general surgeon’s name, a veteran with several years of experience in the hospital, and picked up the phone, tucking it between your shoulder and ear. In the several years you worked for New York City Health and Hospitals, you didn’t receive much hate for being a non-binary nurse. A few older patients would glare at you upon seeing the rose-colored button on your ID, informing them of your she/they pronouns. But they pursed their lips as you took their vitals, knowing that the wrong word would cause their bridge to healthcare to incinerate faster than the Great Fire of London. The others who accepted you often interrogated you on when you learned you were non-binary and what your thoughts were on the current political climate. While they were always well-intended, their line of questioning sometimes felt invasive. You weren’t participating in a pageant or running for city office, making your personal life irrelevant to their care. That is why Matt was such a breath of fresh air. He cared enough not to treat you like an oddity but didn’t overly care to the point that you became a fragile flower. He allowed you to be you without any regret.

A minute or two passed until a female voice belonging to the general surgeon came onto the line. You explained the situation and Matt’s status, prompting her to state she would be right down. The hospital stowed the surgeon's offices in another wing far from the emergency room, and it would take the doctor a few minutes to travel from her ivory tower. With little to keep you occupied, you returned to your stool in Matt’s station. The two of you conversed about anything you could devise — his hockey career, your nursing career, how he ended up in New York, how you found your way from Detroit. Eventually, the surgeon showed up and stitched together a nice line in his head before giving him instructions on proper wound care. The dissolving stitches would disappear over the next few weeks, but the hospital required Matt to return a week to ensure proper healing. Matt nodded at everything the surgeon said, causing a few more strands of hair to fall to his face. The surgeon’s voice faded to the back of your mind as you fiddled with your watch band once more, trying to ignore the melancholy weighing in your heart. Some of you wanted to see Matt and his aesthetic face again and listen to his charming cadence blather on about his summer. But he was a professional hockey player who had better things to do than visit one of the hundreds of nurses working in the Big Apple. He would likely visit the surgeon’s office through another entrance or even the Rangers’ physician. The possibility of seeing him again outside of one of the hospital’s entrances on your break did exist.

But would he remember you?

Unfortunately, despite your wishes, you never saw Matt again after that day. You rationalized that he must have slipped in and out to visit the surgeon on one of your days off. His presence left a bittersweet mark on your life, like a dent in a hockey rink, for you were glad you met him but sad he left so soon. But you had no time to dawdle on what could have been, for other patients required your attention. It was almost time for the City’s annual Desi Heritage Day, uniting the Indian, Pakistani, and Bangladeshi enclaves from around New York.

While reports of South Asians in the United States existed back to the 1700s, it wasn’t until the early 20th century that the Desi immigration began to increase. Today, New York City boasts one of the largest South Asian populations outside of California. It would only be befitting if the community celebrated their progress over the past 100 years. The Desi-American Association of New York obtains permission from the NYPD to block off a portion of Lexington Avenue at the heart of several Indian restaurants. They decorated the light poles and streets with colorful draping, flowers, and plastic folding tables lining the sidewalks, permeating the air with the delectable aroma of dishes from the local restaurants. You didn’t always receive a chance to visit the festival due to your work schedule, but you tried to get outside during your breaks to hear the dhols drumming in the distance.

This year, the hospital’s director of emergency medicine and human resources authorized you to have the day off to enjoy the festival after several previous tries. You immediately ran to your closet in your West Village loft and pulled out a gorgeous maroon kurta from the upper shelves amidst various clothes and sets of scrubs. It needed some cleaning and ironing from being stowed away for so long, but it was perfect for the occasion. The calf-length dress was solid in color, with two thin golden lines reaching from the shoulders down to the hemline. The tunic and the matching pants contrasted perfectly with the busyness of the dupatta, a long piece of chiffon with an aureate border and ornate flowers decorating the entity of the sheer fabric.

You made plans with a few friends to meet near 28th Street and put on your kurta, ready to enjoy some naan and biryani. But one thing was missing: a bangle your family gifted you before you left Michigan from New York. The only times you removed it were during showering and work. It always remained in a designated pocket in your bookbag, locked away in the nurses' lockers. But it disappeared without a trace over the past few days. You retraced your steps and searched high and low for any sign of it — your apartment, the hospital, and even the station where you treated Matt. However, there was no sign of it.

“Come on! Come on! You must be here somewhere!” you said as you lifted the pillows from your couch in the living area.

However, before you completed your quest, your phone rang an alarm, signifying it was time to gather your stuff and go. You hung your head and sighed, exasperated at your failure, before grabbing your phone off its charger in the kitchen and shoving it into a golden clutch. You also maneuvered a pair of crisscrossed chunky heals into place and draped the dupatta. After looking over your outfit again, you locked your unit door and went downstairs to the nearest subway station. It admittedly stung that you couldn’t find the bracelet, a treasured connection to your family and friends back home in the Midwest. But as the green line grew closer to the festivities, you remembered that the bangle could be replaced, but memories of celebrating your heritage with your friends could not. Outside the oblong subway windows, you caught glimpses of 28th Street Station’s tiled sign, causing you to rise from your plastic seat. The car stopped, allowing you and several other passengers to step out onto the musty underground. You followed the crowd through the exit turnstiles and the decrepit stairs toward the Manhattan streets. A familiar sound reverberated through the air as you returned above ground: the dhol with several other Desi instruments accompanying it. You followed the music until you came across a large gathering of Manhattanites and other New York residents of all ethnicities wandering through the blocked-off portions of the street. Women in delicate sarees and men in sleek jodhpuri suits mingled in the streets, catching up on lost time, while children did their best to draw mandalas with sidewalk chalk. The restaurants from the surrounding businesses help hand out sweet and savory Desi food to any souls who wander into the celebration, from butter chicken to jalebi.

“You look really nice today,” a man complimented behind you.

Your eyes grew wide upon recognizing that gruff tenor voice. A kaleidoscope of butterflies danced around your stomach as you mustered the courage to turn around to confirm the man’s identity. There was no chance it was an acquaintance or a co-worker from the hospital. It was Matt, and you knew it was Matt. Eventually, after several moments, you strengthened your resolve to turn your head around slowly. Matt met you with the warm smile he offered you as the FDNY rolled him into the ambulance bay. His laceration, which had long since lost its sutures, began to form a neat little line of scar tissue in his forehead. He had his hair brushed back, giving him adorable angel wings around the ears and wore a simple ensemble of a tan jacket and black jeans. Despite the casual attire, he still had a sense of suaveness as he shifted his tall frame around, waiting for you to break the awkward silence.

“Oh, thank you. It’s for the festival,” you replied, turning around to gesture and the frivolity behind you. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to return this,” said Matt as he dug out something from his pants pocket.

Your mouth fell open as he presented you with your lost bangle. You quickly grabbed it from his hands and spun it with your thumbs, searching for any scratches or scuffs under the light of the spring sun. But it was just as pristine and polished as the day it came out of the box. You shoved your hand through the middle of the bracelet, allowing it to gently slide down on your forearm near the three-quarter sleeves of your dress. “Where did you find it?” you asked after a few moments of silence.

“I saw it on the ground while I was leaving the hospital. It must have fallen out of your bag or something,” he replied.

“But why didn’t you return it to the nurse's station?”

“I held onto it because it seemed important, and I also wanted a reason to see you again. You seem like a cool person.”

“I appreciate that. But that also doesn’t explain how you knew I would be here.”

“Well, a famous office manager once quoted a famous hockey player in saying that you miss 100% of the shots that you don’t take. I remember you talking about a festival down the road, and this happened to be the only festival down the block from the hospital in the next few months, so I decided this was the best place to catch you, if any.”

You giggled at his reference and said, “It sounds like you went through a lot of trouble to get it back to me, and I appreciate it. This bracelet cost a pretty penny for my family, and it means a lot. So, thank you.”

“Of course, it’s not a problem. I hope to see you around. Have fun at your party,” Matt said, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning around to leave.

“Wait!” you cried out as you chased him, attempting to stop him before he became another face in the strangers walking up and down the sidewalks. He turned around and faced you upon hearing your exclamation, allowing you to catch up with his long gait. As you skidded to a halt before him, you continued, “You came all this way down to return my bracelet, so you might as well stay for the party. I know it seems overwhelming, but it’s actually a lot of fun and open to everyone. Think of it as a tiebreaker.”

“I do have to admit that it does look like a fun time. I was just under the impression I would be stepping on some toes by intruding,” he replied.

“Nonsense. You’re more than welcome here. Come on,” you protested before grabbing his hand and leading him towards the crowd.

It took some work, but you eventually found your friends mulling around your designated meeting area and introduced them to Matt. Their eyes widened as they watched you drag a rising defenseman from the New York Rangers over to them, but they quickly recovered and welcomed him into the group without complaint. As the sun climbed high into the sky, the lot of you led Matt around the streets, introducing him to other community members and showing him Desi cuisine. At first, you thought Matt might be nervous, being thrust into a world of new sounds and smells. But he took everything in stride as he slowly learned about the community’s history and customs. Even when he pronounced a word wrong, the two of you would share a laugh as you walked him through the word’s etymology. The same tingling sensation you felt at the hospital had returned as you watched Matt integrating himself into the culture. It had been a long season for the underrepresented demographics in the hockey community, leaving you a bit jaded over meeting stars like Matt. As the league says, business is business, and there seldom were any consequences for players who expressed maladaptive views. However, as you listened to Matt’s chuckle and how intently he listened to your heritage, you slowly began to believe that Matt could be one of the good ones.

The party went well into the afternoon until around dinner time when the Association determined it was time to pack everything up out of respect for the people who lived in Lennox Hill. You and Matt said goodbye to your friends before staying behind to assist the association volunteers in cleaning up from the celebration. Your hands gently guided a broom down the asphalt, pushing colorful flower petals into a pile, while Matt assisted in folding up the tables and loading them into the rental truck. The work went by relatively fast when you have a 6’8”, 240-lb man on the clock. Eventually, the attendees began to dwindle until you and Matt stood in the middle of the road. As you committed Matt's features to memory, a gentle breeze swayed your hair and dupatta.

“Thank you for such a wonderful time,” Matt eventually said, breaking the silence. “I definitely learned a lot.”

“It’s the least I could do after you return my bracelet.”

“I know you said this was a tiebreaker, but now I feel like I owe you again. Maybe I could leave you some tickets at will call when the season starts again. It would be my treat.”

“That sounds lovely. I think I’ll take you up on that offer in the fall,” you laughed. “I should probably get going. This kurta is beautiful, but I would prefer to change into something more comfortable.”

“Of course. If you don’t mind, may I escort you back to the subway,” replied Matt, offering you his elbow’s crook like a true gentleman.

You nodded and slinked your arm through the aperture he created. The two of you walked toward the Manhattan horizon, painted in soft hues of orange and yellow as the sun prepared to set, now friends brought together through the power of medicine.

#2k24 summer fic exchange #nhl #nhl hockey #nhl fic #new york rangers #matt rempe #matt rempe fic

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thirtysomethingloser92 · 1 month ago

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Chapter 3: And I Need You In My Life

Mini-series based off Cherry Lips. Summary: One night with world famous Remy Lebeau turns into something neither one of you expected. Warnings: Smut, Daddy Kinks, Bondage, Spanking, Choking, Threesomes (Amongst so much more), angst, fluff, romance.

As you sat on the hotel balcony with James, the warm Lisbon breeze brushing against your skin, you found yourself smiling despite the low hum of uncertainty still lingering in your chest. The city sprawled out below, a beautiful mosaic of tile rooftops and narrow streets, the Atlantic shimmering in the distance. It was the kind of view that made you feel like you were part of something bigger, something timeless. But right now, your thoughts were far from the scenery.

James Barnes, sitting across from you, leaned back in his chair, his signature grin plastered on his face as he swirled the beer in his bottle. His easygoing nature had always put you at ease, but tonight, you couldn’t shake the undercurrent of nerves that kept tugging at the edges of your thoughts. Still, James was doing what he always did—keeping the atmosphere light, playful, like it was his personal mission to make sure you weren’t overthinking everything.

It was funny, really—just a few days ago, you had properly met James for the first time when he picked you up from the airport. You’d spoken briefly the night you first met Remy, months ago when the band played in your hometown, but back then you were a stranger, just another face in the crowd. That night had been a whirlwind—Remy and his charm, the energy of the show, the hazy afterglow of meeting someone who would quickly become more important than you ever expected. James had been there too, of course, with his quick wit and laid-back attitude, but your attention had been focused on Remy. James was just another member of the band, another part of the backdrop.

But this time, things were different.

The moment you stepped off the plane in Lisbon, there James was, leaning casually against the railing in front of the arrivals gate, holding a sign with your name on it, with a pair of sunglasses and his hair tied back in a low bun, a grin plastered on his face so wide it almost looked ridiculous. “Welcome to Portugal, superstar,” he’d said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm as he pushed off the railing and grabbed your bag before you could protest. “Remy’s busy, so you’re stuck with me for now. Try not to be too disappointed.”

You’d laughed, rolling your eyes at the nickname he’d already given you, but there was something about the way he smiled that put you at ease immediately. The drive from the airport had been filled with easy conversation, the kind that made you forget you hadn’t really known him that long. He had that effect—like he’d been your friend for years, like there was never any need for awkward small talk or uncomfortable silences.

Now, sitting on the hotel balcony with him, that same comfortable energy lingered between you, though your thoughts kept drifting back to Remy. He was the entire reason you were here, after all. It had taken some convincing to get you to agree to come all the way to Portugal to meet him on this leg of the tour. You’d been hesitant at first—your job, the logistics, the idea of dropping everything just to chase after a guy who was always on the move. But Remy had been relentless.

“I’ll cover everything,” he’d said over the phone, his voice teasing but with that undercurrent of seriousness that always made your heart skip a beat. “Flights, hotel, I’ll even call your boss and ask for time off myself if I have to.”

You’d laughed at the thought of Remy sweet-talking your boss into giving you a few days off, but in the end, his persistence had won out. How could you say no to him? He’d made it seem so easy, like hopping on a plane to Lisbon for a few days was the most natural thing in the world. And now, here you were, sitting on this balcony with James, waiting for Remy to finish his soundcheck.

“You know,” James said, his tone teasing as he raised an eyebrow at you, “I’m starting to think you didn’t really come all the way to Portugal for Remy. I think you just wanted to hang out with me.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a grin. “Oh, totally. I’ve been dreaming about spending time with my favorite guitarist,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Remy’s just the bonus.”

James chuckled, leaning forward with a mock-serious expression. “I knew it. I’m the real catch here. Remy just doesn’t know how lucky he is to have me keeping you entertained while he’s off doing his whole ‘soundcheck’ thing.”

You laughed, shaking your head at his antics. James was always like this—quick with a joke, always ready to make you laugh, even when you were feeling unsure. It was one of the things you liked about him. He had this ability to make everything seem less heavy, less complicated. And right now, you needed that.

“I mean, you are doing a stellar job at keeping me company,” you teased, raising your glass in a mock toast. “Who needs Remy when I’ve got the great James Barnes here?”

He grinned, clinking his glass against yours with exaggerated flair. “Exactly. I’m telling you, I’m the real star of this band. Remy just stands there and looks pretty.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking your head at him. “Right, because that’s what everyone’s thinking when they’re watching you shred on that guitar. ‘Wow, this guy’s the real heartthrob.’”

James waggled his eyebrows, leaning back with a smug expression. “You’d be surprised. I’ve got fans, you know. They just don’t scream quite as loud as they do for Remy.”

You snorted again, shaking your head. “Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that.” The banter between you and James always flowed easily like this. There was no pressure, no awkwardness. He had this way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay, no matter how uncertain things seemed. It was almost like he could sense when you were getting too caught up in your thoughts, and he’d swoop in with a joke or a playful comment, pulling you back to the present.

And tonight, you were grateful for it.

But you could also tell that James wasn’t just being his usual playful self tonight. There was something more beneath the surface of his teasing remarks, a quiet thoughtfulness that didn’t escape your notice. He knew you were struggling with something, knew you kept retreating into your head, and he wasn’t about to let you spiral too far. James had always been protective of Remy, and that extended to you now, in his own way. It wasn’t just about keeping things light for the sake of a laugh—it was about making sure you understood that, despite your doubts, this thing with Remy was real.

Over the past few months, James had noticed the change in his friend. Remy had always been the charismatic one, the one who could charm a room without even trying, but there was a certain restlessness in him, a constant pull toward the next gig, the next city, the next distraction. He had relationships, sure, but they were fleeting—brief moments of connection that never seemed to stick, that never seemed to anchor him.

Until you.

James had seen it from the start, from that night months ago when you first met after the show in your hometown. He’d watched the way Remy’s gaze had lingered on you longer than it did on anyone else, the way his smile had softened just slightly whenever he looked your way. At first, James hadn’t thought much of it—he’d seen Remy flirt with a thousand people before—but this time, it was different. He could tell, even back then, that there was something about you that had caught Remy off guard, something that had shaken loose the edges of his usual detachment.

Since then, the change in Remy had been undeniable. He was still the same guy on stage—confident, magnetic, every bit the rock star—but when it came to you, there was a new kind of focus, a steadiness that James had never seen in him before. It was like Remy had finally stopped running, like he’d found something, or rather someone, that made him want to slow down, to stay.

And James, despite all his jokes and laid-back attitude, had noticed every bit of it.

He’d seen the way Remy’s entire demeanor shifted when you were around. There was a calmness to him now, a sense of purpose in the way he navigated the chaos of the tour. James had caught him checking his phone more often, smiling at messages he didn’t share with anyone else. He’d heard the way Remy talked about you when you weren’t there, how your name always seemed to come up in conversation—unprompted, natural, like you were already woven into the fabric of his life.

James hadn’t said much about it at first, letting Remy figure things out on his own. But the truth was, he could see how much you meant to his friend, even if Remy hadn’t fully admitted it to himself. The way Remy was with you—it wasn’t just a fling, and James knew it. He’d seen Remy’s flings, and this wasn’t it. This was something deeper, something that had settled beneath Remy’s skin in a way that James had never seen before.

And so tonight, as he watched you sitting there, nervously twirling your wine glass between your fingers, James felt that same protectiveness extend to you. He saw the doubts flickering behind your eyes, the way you kept retreating into your thoughts, and he couldn’t help but feel the need to reassure you. Not just because he liked you, but because he knew how much Remy did.

“You know,” James said, his voice a little softer now, though still carrying that familiar teasing lilt, “Remy’s been different since you came on the scene.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the seriousness in his tone. “Different how?”

James leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied you for a moment before speaking. “I’ve known Remy a long time,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I’ve seen him with a lot of people, and trust me when I say… this is different. He’s different with you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. You could feel your heart beating faster, a mixture of hope and uncertainty swirling inside you. “Different how?” you asked again, your voice quieter now, almost afraid of the answer.

James smiled, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t believe you didn’t see it. “He’s into you,” he said, the simplicity of his words carrying far more weight than you expected. “Like, really into you.”

You swallowed hard, the warmth of James’s words settling over you, but the doubts still lingered. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up,” you admitted softly, your fingers tracing the rim of your wine glass. “I don’t want to get invested and then… realize this was all just temporary.”

James leaned back in his chair, his grin returning, though this time it was softer, more knowing. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend I know exactly what’s going on in Remy’s head,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “But I do know this—he’s not the kind of guy to waste his time with someone he doesn’t care about. And he cares about you. You’re not just another stop on the tour for him.”

You stared at him for a moment, your heart racing as you tried to process what he was saying. You wanted to believe him—you wanted to believe that this thing with Remy was real, that you weren’t just another girl caught up in the whirlwind of his life. But still, the doubts lingered. They always did.

James must have seen the uncertainty in your eyes, because he leaned forward again, his expression softening. “Listen,” he said quietly, “I’ve seen Remy go through a lot of people, and it’s always been the same. He’s never been the type to stick around for long—he’s always moving, always looking for the next thing, the next distraction. But with you? It’s different. He’s grounded. I don’t know how else to explain it, but… you’ve got him in a way no one else ever has.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know what to say to the sudden surge of emotion rising in your chest. All you could do was sit there, staring at James, trying to make sense of it all.

Before you could say anything, though, your phone buzzed on the table, and you glanced down to see Remy’s name lighting up the screen. Almost done here. Be there in 20.

You smiled, your heart flipping at the message. Despite your doubts, despite the uncertainty, there was no denying how much you wanted to see him.

James noticed the smile on your face and grinned, leaning back in his chair with that familiar easygoing expression. “Told you,” he said, his voice light again. “He’s counting down the minutes.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head but feeling a little lighter now. Maybe James was right. Maybe you didn’t have to have all the answers right now. Maybe it was okay to just… let things happen, to trust that Remy wasn’t going to disappear the moment his tour moved on to the next city.

“Thanks, James,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “I think I needed to hear that.”

He raised his glass in a mock toast, his grin wide and playful again. “What can I say? I’m full of wisdom and charm. You’re lucky to have me.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Oh, absolutely. The real reason I’m here is for your endless wisdom.”

James winked, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “Glad you finally admitted it.”

<><><><>

It had all started innocently enough. After Remy had messaged you saying he’d be a bit late getting back to the hotel—something about a delay at the venue—you and James were left with time to kill. The original plan had been to relax: maybe watch a movie or scroll through your phones. But James, never one to sit still for long, had other ideas.

“Alright, we can’t just sit here like a couple of old people,” he said, jumping up from his chair, that mischievous grin spreading across his face. “We need a game.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his sudden burst of energy. “A game? What are we, five?”

“Exactly,” he shot back, pacing like a restless child. “And five-year-olds know how to have fun. What do you say? We could play… I don’t know… naughts and crosses?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Naughts and crosses? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

James stopped, turning to you with a glint in his eye. “Not just any naughts and crosses. Giant naughts and crosses.”

You blinked, unsure if he was serious, but knowing James, this wasn’t a bluff. “Giant? How?”

“Leave that to me,” he said, already pulling out his phone to make a call. You watched, half in disbelief and half laughing to yourself as he dialed the concierge.

“Hi, yes, this is James up in room 702. Is there any chance you could bring up a large sheet of paper? Like, really big. And some markers. Don’t ask—it’s for a very important… uh… creative project.”

To your surprise, about 20 minutes later, a somewhat bewildered but obliging concierge appeared at the door with an enormous roll of paper—probably meant for some hotel conference—and a handful of thick markers. You couldn’t help but laugh as James unrolled the sheet across the balcony floor, the paper sprawling out like some kind of absurd oversized art project.

“Voilà,” James said, with exaggerated flair, spreading his arms wide. “Now this is how you play naughts and crosses.”

You shook your head, grinning. “This is completely ridiculous.”

“And yet, you’re loving it,” James said, already kneeling down to draw an oversized grid with the markers. “Come on, admit it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, the absurdity of the situation making it impossible not to join in. So, you grabbed a marker, knelt down next to him, and the game began.

At first, it was all lighthearted fun. You both took turns marking your giant ‘X’s’ and ‘O’s’ on the grid, laughing at how utterly oversized everything was. But, as you probably should’ve expected, James’s competitive streak kicked in. What started as a simple way to pass the time quickly turned into a battle of strategy, complete with playful insults and over-the-top declarations of victory.

“You’re going down,” you declared, furiously drawing an ‘O’ in the middle of the grid, convinced you’d finally set yourself up for the win.

James just grinned, leaning forward with his marker poised. “Not a chance,” he said, his voice smug as he drew an ‘X’ in the perfect spot to block you once again. He leaned back, his grin even wider. “Checkmate.”

You groaned dramatically, throwing your head back. “This isn’t chess, you absolute cheater!”

James just laughed, shaking his head. “Hey, don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

The atmosphere was light and fun, your laughter echoing out into the night as the city of Lisbon hummed below. You were both so wrapped up in the game that neither of you noticed when the door to the suite opened quietly behind you.

Remy had returned, his footsteps soft as he stepped inside. He paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a fond smile tugging at his lips. He’d always liked watching you and James together. There was something about the way you two got along—the way you could go from teasing banter to full-on competition in a matter of seconds—that made him smile. He’d known James for years, and seeing him so comfortable around you, so at ease, just confirmed what Remy had already known deep down: you belonged in his world.

Remy had always been protective of his bandmates, especially James, but he trusted him with you. He liked how James could make you laugh, how he could pull you out of your head when you started to overthink things. And he liked that James could tease you without ever overstepping. It was a rare balance, and Remy appreciated it more than he could say.

For a moment, Remy just stood there, watching the two of you crouched over the ridiculous oversized game board, laughing and throwing playful insults like a couple of kids. It warmed him in a way he hadn’t expected. He was used to the chaos of his life on the road, the constant motion, the ever-changing cities and faces. But moments like this—moments where things felt simple, where you were happy—those were the moments he cherished.

Finally, after a few more seconds of watching in silence, Remy decided to make his presence known. He cleared his throat, his deep, Cajun-accented voice rumbling through the air. “So, this what y’all do while I’m gone, huh? Turn my balcony into a game room?”

You and James froze mid-move, your markers still hovering over the paper. You both turned to see Remy standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

James was the first to recover, jumping to his feet with exaggerated enthusiasm, throwing his arms wide. “Remy! You’re just in time to witness my ultimate victory.”

You rolled your eyes, still crouched on the floor, and shot Remy a grin. “Don’t listen to him. He’s been cheating the entire time.”

Remy chuckled, his accent deepening with amusement as he stepped out onto the balcony. “Cheatin’? With James? Non, couldn’t be. He’s too honest for that.” He shot James a teasing look, his eyes sparkling. “Right, mon ami?”

James clutched his chest dramatically, feigning offense. “How dare you question my integrity! I’m a man of honor.” Then, turning back to you with a sly grin, he added, “She’s just a sore loser.”

You laughed, standing up and dusting off your knees. “Sore loser? I was this close to winning before you blocked me, James.”

“Winning?” James scoffed. “I don’t recall any such thing.”

Remy’s smile widened as he watched the two of you go back and forth. He loved the way you could hold your own against James’s quick wit. There was a lightness to it, an ease that made him feel like everything was exactly as it should be.

“Y’all really committed to this, huh?” Remy drawled, his eyes sweeping over the oversized grid that covered nearly the entire balcony floor.

You shrugged, laughing as you gestured to the mess of paper and markers. “Hey, you were late. We had to find something to do.”

“Late?” Remy raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Chérie, I’m thirty minutes behind schedule. That barely counts as late.”

“In normal time, thirty minutes is basically an eternity,” James quipped, walking over to give Remy a playful handshake. “But don’t worry, I’ve been keeping her entertained.”

Remy’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his expression filled with that quiet fondness he never quite managed to hide. “Oh, I bet ya have,” he said, his accent wrapping around the words in that way that always made your heart skip a beat.

Despite the playful banter, there was a warmth in the air now that Remy was back. The oversized game on the floor was quickly forgotten as you stepped closer to him, the pull between you impossible to ignore. Remy’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his smile softening even more.

James, ever the perceptive one, sensed the shift in the energy and clapped his hands together. “Alright, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it. As much as I’d love to continue demolishing you at naughts and crosses, I think I’ll take my victory and go.”

You shot him a look. “You didn’t demolish anything.”

James winked, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “Keep telling yourself that.” He turned to Remy with a grin. “She’s a decent opponent, though. You might want to watch out.”

Remy chuckled, nodding toward the door. “Get outta here before I make ya play me, cher.”

James laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’m gone.” He gave you a final playful salute before slipping out of the room, leaving you and Remy alone on the balcony, the city lights flickering beneath the Lisbon sky.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Remy stepped closer, his hand gently brushing your arm as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Missed you, chérie,” he murmured, his accent soft and familiar, like home.

You smiled up at him, the warmth of his presence erasing any lingering tension from the night. “Missed you too.”

Remy’s eyes flicked to the giant game board on the floor, his lips quirking into a grin. “So… how bad did James beat ya?”

You laughed, resting your head against his shoulder. “He didn’t beat me! He cheated.”

“Mmhmm,” Remy hummed, clearly amused. “Well, next time, ma belle, you’ll have me on your team. Ain’t no way he’s winnin’ then.”

With the warmth of Remy beside you and the laughter from the night still lingering in the air, you couldn’t help but feel like everything was just a little more right with the world.

And as he leaned down to kiss you, all the doubts and uncertainties melted away, leaving only the easy rhythm of being with him, right here, right now.

As the door clicked shut behind James, the room settled into a comfortable quiet, leaving just you and Remy. The warm glow of the Lisbon evening filtered through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the floor. Outside, the city hummed with life—the distant clinking of glasses from nearby cafés, the murmur of people strolling the cobblestone streets—but inside, with Remy by your side, it felt like the world had slowed down. His arm was still wrapped around your waist, his thumb tracing lazy, soothing circles against your hip. It was small, familiar, grounding—a reminder that no matter how chaotic everything around him got, this was your space, your moment together.

He tilted his head down, catching your gaze with that playful, easy grin that made your heart skip a beat. “So,” he drawled, his voice thick with that Cajun warmth that never failed to make your knees a little weak, “what d’ya wanna do for the rest of the afternoon, chérie?” His accent curled around the endearment, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “I was thinkin’ we could go out, grab a late dinner somewhere. Just you an’ me.”

The idea should have been simple—a quiet dinner, just the two of you—but as soon as the words left his mouth, anxiety fluttered in your chest. Dinner out with Remy wasn’t just dinner. It was stepping into his world, where people stared, whispered, and sometimes even followed. It wasn’t just a peaceful evening for two; it was an event, whether you wanted it to be or not.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your smile faltering. “I don’t know, Remy…”

His brow furrowed in concern, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. He tilted his head, his dark eyes full of warmth and a little confusion. "Wha’s wrong?” he said softly,

You took a deep breath, chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to find the right words. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go out with him—you did. But being with someone like Remy meant living under a microscope, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that. The idea of stepping into the public eye with him terrified you in ways you hadn’t fully processed.

“It’s just…” you began, your voice soft, uncertain. “Going out with you… it’s not like it is with other people. You’re you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying his name like that made it more real. “If we go out, it’s not just us having dinner. There are cameras. Fans. People watching your every move. Watching me. I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of attention.”

For a moment, Remy didn’t say anything. His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek, his expression softening, his eyes searching yours. Then, after a beat, he spoke, his voice low and filled with emotion.

“Chérie,” he murmured, his voice a little huskier than usual, “listen to me, please.” He took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t wanna keep doing this in the shadows. I’m tired of keepin’ this all quiet, like I’m ashamed. I ain’t. Not one damn bit. I wanna take you out, show you off. Let you see this ain’t so bad.”

His words hit you square in the chest, his sincerity wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You looked up at him, your heart caught somewhere between the anxiety and the tenderness in his voice. You could see just how much this meant to him, how much he wanted to share this part of his life with you. And as much as the thought of stepping into the public eye with him terrified you, the idea of disappointing him—of keeping what you had hidden—hurt even more.

Remy, sensing your hesitation, reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He held it up with a crooked grin, his accent thick with that playful charm that always made you smile. “I’ll make you a deal,” he drawled, his eyes twinklin’ with mischief. “There’s a bright side to bein’ me, mon amour. I got connections.” He wiggled his phone in front of you, teasing. “I can book out a restaurant, a bar, hell, a whole damn rooftop if that’s what you want. Just us. No cameras. No fans. Just me an’ you.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. “You’d really book out a whole restaurant just for us?”

His grin widened, dimples deepening as his accent thickened, “I would. I’d book out the whole damn city if tha’s what it takes to make ya feel comfortable.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

He stepped closer, his grin softening into something more earnest as he looked down at you, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek. “Maybe,” he admitted, his voice low and tender, “but I’m serious, chérie. I just wanna be wit’ ya. We don’t have t’ make a big thing out of it. Just… let me take ya to dinner. Somewhere quiet, somewhere special. Just you an’ me.”

There was a softness in his voice now, a vulnerability that tugged at your heart. You could hear the plea in his words, see it in his eyes. He wasn’t just asking you to go out to dinner; he was asking you to trust him, to step out of the shadows with him, if only for tonight.

You sighed, rolling your eyes dramatically, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Fine,” you said, your voice soft but teasing. “But if I end up on the front cover of US, I’m blaming you.”

Remy’s grin was immediate, wide and triumphant as he pulled you into his arms. “Deal,” he said, pressing a quick, playful kiss to your lips. “Ya can blame me all ya want mon amour. Long as I get to take ya out.”

You shook your head, laughing softly, as you leaned into him, letting the warmth of his embrace settle your nerves. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here ya are, still puttin’ up with me,” he teased, his accent warm and low as he kissed the top of your head. “What does that say ‘bout you, huh?”

"It says I’m crazy," you muttered, your cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Remy chuckled, his voice deep and full of affection. "Toujours à la hauteur de mon fou,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "But I promise ya, chérie, tonight’s gonna be just the two of us. No cameras, no craziness. Just you an’ me. That’s all I care about.”

Despite your lingering uncertainty, you found yourself believing him. Maybe it wouldn’t always be this simple—maybe the world outside would always be watching, waiting for a glimpse of Remy with someone new. But right here, in this moment, his warmth wrapped around you and the sincerity in his voice made it feel like everything was going to be okay. You could handle this. You could handle him.

You smiled against his chest, your voice soft but sure, “Alright,” you murmured. “Let’s go to dinner.”

His grin lit up his entire face, his eyes sparkling with that playful charm you’d come to know so well. He pulled you in for another kiss, this one slower, more lingering, as if sealing the promise between you.

And as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, your heart beating in time with his, the weight of your uncertainty began to fade. Maybe it wouldn’t always be this easy. Maybe there would always be cameras and fans and scrutiny. But tonight, right now, you were willing to take the chance. <><><><><><> You stood in front of the hotel room mirror, silently debating with yourself as you tugged at the hem of your dress—one you’d brought along but hadn’t expected to wear. You’d spent the better part of the last hour rifling through your suitcase, trying to find something that felt right for the evening. Somehow, though, nothing seemed good enough. Not for a dinner with Remy. Not for potentially stepping into his world where everything felt so much bigger, so much more exposed.

You’d never been the type to fuss over what to wear. But tonight, every detail seemed important. The dress you’d finally settled on was simple, but it was one you loved—a soft, flowing fabric that hugged you in all the right places. Still, as you stared at your reflection, you couldn’t help but feel the unease twisting in your chest. It wasn’t just about the dress; it was about what came after you walked out that door.

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair, eyeing the sunglasses perched on your nose. You’d thrown them on as a joke—some kind of mental armor—but now, standing there, the ridiculousness of wearing sunglasses at night only seemed to amplify your nervous energy.

“Really?” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head. “Sunglasses at night?”

Before you could start second-guessing your entire outfit again, Remy’s deep, warm chuckle filled the room behind you, breaking the tension you didn’t even realize was holding you hostage. He was lounging lazily on the edge of the bed, his arms folded behind his head, watching you with that soft, easy smile that always made your heart skip a beat. He looked effortlessly cool, as usual. It was almost unfair how relaxed he looked, considering how much anxiety was twisting inside you.

“Ya laugh, but I think you’re pullin’ it off, chérie,” he drawled, his thick Cajun accent curling around the words like honey. “Could start a whole new trend: night sunglasses.” His grin widened as he winked at you. “Ya look amazing.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, turning to face him. “I look ridiculous, and you know it.”

Remy sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed with the kind of easy grace that always made you wonder how someone so laid-back could move with such confidence. He crossed the room until he was standing right in front of you, his large hands settling on your waist, pulling you gently toward him. He ducked his head slightly to meet your gaze from beneath the brim of your sunglasses, his expression softening as he looked at you.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere, his eyes searching yours. “An’ no one’s gonna recognize ya, I promise.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the anxiety roiling in your chest under control. “You really think a pair of sunglasses is going to help?”

His grin softened, his thumb brushing lightly over your hip as he held you close. “Trust me, chérie,” he said, his voice full of that easy confidence. “Besides, I already called ahead. Got us a table at a nice, quiet spot. No fans. No cameras. Just us.”

You wanted to believe him. You did believe him, at least on some level. But the knot of anxiety in your stomach wasn’t going anywhere. You turned back to the mirror, frowning at your reflection again. The sunglasses were ridiculous, but in a strange way, they felt like a buffer. A flimsy one, sure, but a buffer nonetheless. The truth was, it wasn’t just about being recognized or photographed. It was the idea of stepping into Remy’s world—his real world—where people knew his name, his face, and where they’d inevitably start knowing yours, too.

“I don’t know, Remy…” you said softly, pulling back slightly from his embrace. “It’s different for you. You’re used to this—the cameras, the attention. I’m not.”

Remy’s expression softened even more, his hands sliding up to gently cup your face, his thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks as he looked into your eyes. “I know, chérie,” he murmured, his voice full of understanding. “I know it’s a lot to deal with. But I’m right here. I ain’t gonna let anyone bother you. We’ll walk in, have a nice dinner, and if anyone even thinks about gettin’ too close, I’ll handle it.”

You bit your lip, your heart racing as you tried to imagine what that would look like. Remy had this calm, almost magnetic energy that made people gravitate toward him. But it wasn’t just the attention from fans that worried you—it was the scrutiny. The thought of being plastered across gossip blogs, dissected by strangers who didn’t know you, who only saw a girl standing next to someone famous… it made your stomach twist painfully.

“I just…” You sighed, trying to put your feelings into words. “I’m worried that I’m not cut out for this. For your life. I don’t want to hold you back or… or make things more complicated.”

Remy’s expression softened further, his gaze never leaving yours. “Ma belle,” he whispered, his voice low and full of affection. “Ya ain’t holdin’ me back. Not even a little. I want you with me, out there. I want us to live our life, not hide from it. You’re not complicatin’ things. You’re makin’ ‘em better.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes again. “Ya trust me, right?”

You nodded slightly, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. “Of course I trust you.”

His smile was gentle, his voice low and warm as he whispered against your skin, “Then trust me on this. I’ll take care of ya. Always.”

For a moment, the anxiety still clung to you, wrapping itself around your thoughts like a stubborn fog. But as you stood there, looking up at Remy’s calm, reassuring face, you felt it start to ease, just a little. You weren’t walking into this alone. He was right there with you—steady, protective, and ready to face whatever came your way.

You took a deep breath, glancing back at the mirror one last time. You still felt a little ridiculous with the sunglasses, but you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe it wasn’t about hiding. Maybe it was about taking small steps, trusting that Remy had your back, and knowing that you didn’t have to face everything all at once.

“Alright,” you finally said, your voice soft but certain. “Let’s go do this.”

The drive to the restaurant was quiet, the hum of the car engine a soft, constant sound beneath the low murmur of the city outside. Remy’s hand rested lightly on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, calming circles against your skin. It was a small gesture, but it grounded you, helping to keep the anxious thoughts swirling in your mind at bay. The city lights of Lisbon flickered outside the window, casting soft, shifting patterns of light across his face. Every now and then, he’d glance over at you, smiling softly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze—silent reassurance that you weren’t alone in this.

You watched the streets pass by, your mind a whirl of contrasting thoughts. Part of you was excited—Remy always had that effect on you, making even the most mundane things feel special. But tonight, there was a heaviness in your chest, a knot of nerves that refused to loosen. You knew what was waiting for you outside that car. The flashing lights. The strangers calling your name, asking questions you weren’t ready for. The world that came with dating someone like him.

As the car pulled up to the restaurant, your heart rate spiked. Through the tinted windows, you could already see them—paparazzi, waiting outside, cameras at the ready like a swarm of buzzing bees. It wasn’t a massive crowd, but there were enough people to make your pulse quicken. The streetlights reflected off the metal of their camera lenses, creating little flashes of light that made your stomach twist. You instinctively reached for Remy’s hand, gripping it tightly, and he immediately responded by lacing his fingers with yours, his grip firm and steady.

He turned to you, his dark eyes full of warmth and calm, the kind of calm that only came from someone used to this kind of attention. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice so soothing it almost made the noise outside fade. “It’s just a few steps, chérie. I got ya.”

You nodded, but your stomach churned with nerves. The sunglasses you’d worn as a flimsy disguise now felt laughable, like they wouldn’t do anything to shield you from the intensity of the flashing cameras and shouting voices. You glanced out the window again, watching as the photographers adjusted their angles, a few of them already starting to gather near the car. You could feel the weight of their focus, their curiosity, and it made your skin prickle with unease.

Remy’s hand tightened around yours, pulling your attention back to him. He leaned in closer, his voice low and reassuring. “I know it looks like a lot, but trust me, it’s just noise. Once we’re inside, it’s quiet. Private. Jus’ you an’ me, okay?”

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the rising swell of anxiety in your chest. You wanted to believe him—wanted to trust that everything would be okay once you got inside the restaurant—but the pressure of being in the public eye, of being seen, felt overwhelming.

“Breathe,” Remy whispered his other hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “You’re gonna be fine. I’m right here. Ain’t nothin’ gonna touch ya while I’m around.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding again, and Remy flashed you that easy, dimpled grin that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. “An’ if it all gets too much, we’ll leave. Simple as that.”

He pressed a light, reassuring kiss to your forehead before pulling back, giving you one last look that said more than words ever could. He was with you. You weren’t facing this alone.

The car door opened, and Remy stepped out first, his presence commanding as he unfolded from the car with a quiet confidence. The cameras went off immediately, a flurry of flashes lighting up the night like fireworks. The voices started, too—calling his name, trying to get his attention—but Remy, ever calm, turned back to you, offering his hand.

You hesitated for just a second, your heart hammering in your chest, but then you took his hand, gripping it tightly. The moment your feet hit the pavement, the flashes intensified, the clicking of cameras blending with the shouts of the paparazzi.

“Remy! Over here!”

“Remy, who’s the lady with you?”

“Remy, give us a smile!”

The voices were loud, intrusive, and the flashing lights felt almost blinding through the dark lenses of your sunglasses. Your stomach clenched painfully, the weight of their attention crashing over you in a wave. You kept your head down, your free hand clutching at Remy’s arm as your grip on his hand tightened. Even with the sunglasses, you felt exposed, like the cameras were seeing right through your flimsy disguise.

But Remy’s hand in yours was a lifeline, grounding you as he navigated through the crowd with practiced ease. His body angled protectively in front of you, shielding you from the worst of the attention. He didn’t rush, but his steps were deliberate, his calm presence guiding you through the chaos like a steady anchor.

“You’re doin’ good,” he murmured as you walked, his voice low and reassuring, barely audible over the noise of the crowd. “Almost there.”

It felt like forever, but in reality, it was only a few moments before you reached the restaurant’s door. The second you stepped inside, the world outside seemed to disappear, the chaos of the flashing lights and shouting voices cut off like someone had flicked a switch. The air inside was calm, serene, a stark contrast to the frenzy just moments before.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, your shoulders sagging with relief as the tension slowly drained from your body. The restaurant was nearly empty, just as Remy had promised. It was a small, intimate space with tables dressed in crisp white linens, candles flickering softly in the dim light. The soft hum of quiet conversation filled the room, accompanied by the gentle notes of jazz music playing in the background.

The atmosphere was warm, cozy, and private. There were no flashing lights, no prying eyes—just the soft glow of candlelight and the quiet clink of silverware. It felt like stepping into another world, one where the chaos of the outside couldn’t reach you.

Remy glanced down at you, his hand still holding yours, his thumb brushing the back of your hand in slow, comforting circles. “You okay?” he asked softly, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded, feeling the last of your nerves start to fade in the comforting warmth of the restaurant's atmosphere. “Yeah,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “I’m okay.”

His lips curved into a gentle smile, and he leaned in to press a quick kiss to your temple. “Told ya it’d be alright,” he murmured, his voice full of affection. “Now, how ‘bout we enjoy ourselves, huh?”

As you slid into the chair across from him, the warmth of the restaurant seemed to wrap around you like a protective blanket. The candlelight flickered softly, casting a golden glow that made everything feel intimate, private. The last remnants of your anxiety slowly ebbed away, dissolving into the quiet hum of the evening. Remy sat across from you, impossibly relaxed, his eyes glinting with that familiar easy confidence. It was like the chaos outside—the flashing cameras, the shouting voices—had never existed.

You looked at him, and for the first time that night, you felt completely at ease. Maybe stepping into his world wasn’t going to be as terrifying as you’d imagined. Maybe, with him by your side, you could handle it.

“Alright,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You win. It wasn’t so bad.”

Remy’s grin widened, his dimples deepening as he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head in a mock display of victory. “Told ya, chérie,” he drawled, his Cajun accent thick with amusement. “Stick with me, and you’ll be just fine.”

For the first time all night, you truly believed him. The tension that had knotted in your chest earlier had almost completely unraveled. Dinner had settled into an easy rhythm—conversation flowing naturally, laughter bubbling up between bites of food and sips of wine. You talked about everything and nothing, the way you always did. The atmosphere in the restaurant was cozy, with soft murmurs of other diners blending with the gentle notes of jazz floating through the air.

Eventually, the conversation wandered to his tour, as it often did. You asked him, casually, what came next—what he’d be doing when the shows were over, when the roar of the crowds had faded.

He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression settling over his features as his fingers idly traced the rim of his wine glass. “After the tour?” he repeated. “Well, it’s Grammy season, so I get to play dress-up for a night.” He smirked, but there was something distant in his voice, a subtle shift in his tone that didn’t escape your notice.

You smirked back, leaning forward slightly. “Oh, right. You gonna beat Taylor Swift this year?”

That earned you a deep, genuine laugh—the kind that lit up his whole face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You loved that laugh, loved the way it made everything around you feel lighter. But as the laughter faded, you noticed the way his expression shifted again. His smile lingered, but it was softer now, more subdued. He glanced down at his glass, turning it slowly in his hand, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

He hesitated, his thumb tracing a slow circle along the stem of the glass, like he was trying to gather his thoughts. His gaze flickered briefly up to meet yours, and then back down again, his jaw tightening a little, like there was something weighing on his mind.

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “What is it?”

He sighed, sitting up straighter, his fingers still gripping the glass as if it could anchor him. “It’s just… the Grammys, you know?” His voice was quieter now, more introspective. “It’s always been this big thing for me. The recognition, the whole world watching. But this year…” He trailed off for a moment, his lips pressing together in a tight line. “This year, it feels different.”

You leaned in, your brows knitting together in concern. “Different how?”

He sighed again, his fingers still tracing aimless patterns on the glass. “It’s hard t’ explain.”

There was a pause, a moment where something unspoken hung heavy in the air between you. You could see it in the way he fidgeted, in the way his eyes flickered toward you and then away again, like he was trying to decide whether or not to say what was really on his mind.

Truth was, he wasn’t talking about the awards. Not really. What was weighing on him wasn’t the pressure of winning or losing a Grammy—it was the idea of standing there, in front of the world, without you by his side.

For months, he had been juggling this—keeping this arrangement quiet, tucked away, just out of sight of the public eye. Part of him liked it that way. It was safe. No prying eyes, no questions, no nosy reporters turning your private moments into headlines. But there was another part of him—one that was growing louder by the day—that wanted everyone to know. That wanted to walk into that Grammy ceremony with you on his arm, to let the world see that you were his.

He wanted to ask you to come with him. To open up this relationship, to let it breathe in the light of day. To make it official in the eyes of not just you two, but the whole world. He could picture it vividly—the two of you walking the red carpet together, you dressed in something stunning, your hand in his. He could hear the questions from reporters, could see the flashing lights of the cameras. And most of all, he could imagine how fiercely proud he’d feel, standing next to you, showing the world that you were the person who mattered most to him.

But he stayed quiet.

Instead of asking you, instead of telling you how much he wanted to take that next step, he kept turning the glass in his hand, his jaw tight, the words lodged somewhere deep in his throat. He wasn’t ready. Or maybe he was afraid—afraid of what it would mean to share this part of his life with the world. Afraid of what the world might say. What it might do to you.

He didn’t want to drag you into the chaos that came with fame—the paparazzi, the scrutiny, the rumors. He didn’t want to see your name splashed across tabloids, to have strangers dissecting your life, your relationship, like it was entertainment. And so, for now, he kept the words locked inside, choosing instead to stay in this little bubble with you, where everything was simple, private, and safe.

You could sense the weight of his silence, the way something lingered on the tip of his tongue. But instead of pressing him, you reached across the table, your fingers gently brushing his hand. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice pulling him from his thoughts. “Whatever it is, you know I’m here, right?”

He looked up at you then, his eyes softening at your words, the tension in his jaw easing just a little. “Yeah, I know,” he murmured, his voice low and full of gratitude.

You smiled, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before leaning back in your chair. “Besides, you don’t need the Grammys to prove that you’re the best. I mean, I’d give you an award just for putting up with my shit.”

That broke the tension, a chuckle slipping past his lips as he shook his head, his grin returning. “Oh yeah? What kinda award?”

You grinned, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Best fuck. No contest.”

He laughed again, the sound lighter this time, the heaviness between you receding. “Well, damn, I’ll take that. Beats a Grammy any day.”

The conversation flowed easily again after that, the moment of hesitation fading into the background. But even as you both laughed and traded playful jabs, there was something unspoken lingering between you—the knowledge that, one day, the world would have to know. But for now, in the soft glow of candlelight, it was just the two of you. And that was enough. “I’m so, so sorry to bother you,” a restaurant worker said, standing just a few feet from your table, the nervousness clear in her voice as she fidgeted with a pen and a small notepad. “I just… I’m a huge fan, and I know you’re having dinner, but could I—could I maybe get a photo and an autograph? I promise, I’ll be quick.”

Remy blinked, the moment between you evaporating like smoke as he turned to the young woman with that easy, charming smile of his. “Of course,” he said, his voice smooth and kind. He stood up, signing her notepad and taking a quick photo, all the while maintaining his usual warmth, even if you could tell his mind was still somewhere else.

She thanked him profusely, apologizing again before practically skipping away, eyes bright with excitement. You couldn’t help but smile at how gracious he was with her, but when you looked back at him, you noticed his expression had changed again.

Remy sat back down, his smile fading as his eyes settled on you. For a moment, he just looked at you, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. His hand drummed lightly on the table as if he were weighing something in his mind. Then, he shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and whatever he had been about to say was swallowed back down.

He let out a soft sigh and forced a small, crooked smile. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he muttered, though you knew he wasn’t talking about the autograph. You could tell something had shifted in him, something he wasn’t ready to put into words. Something about the Grammys, maybe. Or maybe about you—about the two of you.

You smiled softly, deciding not to push him. “No worries,” you said, taking a sip of your wine. But as you looked at him, you couldn’t help but wonder what it was he had wanted to say—what had almost slipped out before the interruption.

The silence between you was comfortable again, but it was different now, laced with unspoken words, with the invitation that never quite made it to the surface.

The soft clink of silverware and the murmur of distant conversation filled the space between you, but you could feel Remy’s gaze lingering on you, like he had something on his mind. You looked up from your plate and caught him watching you carefully, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his wine glass.

“What?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve got that look. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He chuckled, but it was quieter than usual, more thoughtful. “Just thinkin’,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “About somethin’ I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

There was something in his tone that made you pause. You set your fork down, giving him your full attention. “Alright. Ask away.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if he were gauging how to phrase what he wanted to say. Then, he took a breath.

“What do you think of James?”

You blinked, surprised by the suddenness of the question. “James?” you repeated, tilting your head slightly as you considered it. “I mean, he seems great. He’s nice, funny, a cheater at mediocre games. But I like him. Why?”

Remy nodded slowly, like he was processing your words, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—a hesitation, maybe. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers still toying with the stem of his wine glass as he spoke, his voice a little softer now.

As Remy spoke, his words unfolding slowly, you could feel something shift in the atmosphere between you. The easy rhythm of the dinner—the soft clink of silverware, the distant hum of other diners—faded into the background as you focused solely on him. There was a vulnerability in his tone, something raw and unguarded that you didn’t often see in him. It made your heart ache a little, not out of jealousy or fear, but because you could sense how much this mattered to him. How much trust it took for him to open up like this.

When he said We were together, it took a moment for the meaning to settle in. You blinked, your mind catching up to the weight of the words, the slow unraveling of a story he hadn’t told you before. And then, as if a puzzle piece clicked into place, you realized what he was saying.

Together together.

It wasn’t just a friendship; it was more than that. You could feel the air shift again, this time because of your own emotions stirring beneath the surface—questions forming, not about him and James, but about the depth of his feelings, about what this meant for him to finally share this part of his past with you.

Your heart fluttered, not with anxiety, but with something gentler. You felt… honored, in a way. This was Remy, the man who was always so sure of himself, always so in control of his image, peeling back a layer of his history for you. He was letting you see a part of him you hadn’t seen before—not the musician, not the public figure, but the man behind all of that. The young man who had struggled, who had loved, who had lost.

And yet, despite the gravity of his admission, you didn’t feel unsettled. If anything, you were calm, steady. You looked at him—really looked at him—and you saw the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped lightly against the stem of his wine glass, as if he were bracing himself for your reaction. His vulnerability touched you deeply. It was a rare thing, for someone like Remy to reveal this much of himself.

You felt a warmth spread through your chest—not the kind of warmth that flares up with jealousy or doubt, but the kind that comes when you realize someone trusts you completely. And it made you love him a little more in that moment.

When you finally spoke, your voice was soft, a bit playful even, because you wanted to ease the tension, to show him that this revelation—while important—didn’t change anything for you. “Ohhh,” you said, nodding slowly as it all clicked into place. “You and James… together together.”

His laugh was quiet, almost shy—a rare sound from him. And you could see the way his shoulders relaxed just a bit, as if he hadn’t realized how much he needed your acceptance until he had it. “Yeah,” he said, confirming it, but there was still that hint of uncertainty in his eyes, like he wasn’t quite sure how you’d respond.

You took a moment, letting the silence settle between you, but only for a heartbeat. Because the truth was, this didn’t change anything. Not in the way he might’ve feared. You shrugged, flashing him a small, reassuring smile. “Okay. And?”

That and carried more weight than it seemed. It was a simple word, but what you really meant was, It’s okay. I’m here. This doesn’t scare me. You weren’t dismissing his past; you were accepting it. You were letting him know that this part of his life, this part of who he was, didn’t shake your foundation. If anything, it made you feel closer to him, more connected.

Remy blinked, clearly not expecting you to take it so easily. “That’s it?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. You could hear the relief creeping in, but also the disbelief—like he had been bracing himself for something bigger, something more complicated.

You shrugged again, leaning back in your chair, keeping your tone light but sincere. “Dude, it’s not a big deal. People have pasts. You and James were a thing. Cool. It doesn’t change anything between us.”

And it didn’t. The fact that he had loved someone before, that he had been with someone before—none of that mattered in the way he might have feared. What mattered was that he had chosen to share this with you. What mattered was that he was here, with you, now.

But even as you said the words, even as you reassured him, you couldn’t ignore the quiet hum of curiosity that lingered beneath the surface. You weren’t jealous of James, but you were curious about the depth of their relationship, about what it had meant to Remy. There was a part of you that wondered-How deep had their connection gone? What had they gone through together? What had made it end?

Still, you didn’t push. Not now. This was enough for tonight. You could ask those questions later, when the moment felt right. For now, you let the warmth of your words wrap around him, letting him know that you were still here, that nothing had changed between you.

But in your heart, you couldn’t help but feel a deeper sense of connection to him now. This was a part of Remy’s life that had shaped him, that had made him who he was. And the fact that he had trusted you with this piece of his past—it made you feel like you were seeing him more clearly than ever before.

You reached across the table, your fingers brushing lightly against his hand. He hesitated for a moment, then turned his hand over, lacing his fingers with yours. The tension in his shoulders melted away, and for the first time that night, you saw the shadow of uncertainty leave his eyes.

“I didn’t expect you to take it so well,” he admitted quietly, his thumb brushing lightly against your hand.

You smiled softly, squeezing his hand in return. “I care about you, Remy,” you said, your voice steady. “All of you. Past and present. That’s not gonna change.”

His eyes softened at your words, gratitude and relief flooding his expression. And in that moment, you knew that whatever had happened between him and James, whatever had shaped him into the man he was now, you were ready to accept all of it. Because that’s what loving someone meant—accepting their past, embracing their present, and looking forward to their future.

You didn’t need to know all the details right now. You didn’t need to dive into the complexities of what had happened between him and James. All you needed was this—his hand in yours, the quiet understanding between you, and the knowledge that you were in this together.

And as you sat there, your fingers intertwined, you realized that this was what Remy had needed all along—not just someone who loved him, but someone who understood him, someone who wouldn’t flinch when he revealed the parts of himself that were a little more complicated, a little more raw.

You could be that person for him. And you knew, without a doubt, that you wanted to be.

You smiled back at him, but your curiosity wasn’t quite satisfied. There was more to this, more to their story, and you wanted to understand it. Not out of jealousy or insecurity, but out of a desire to know him better—to know the people who had shaped him, the people who mattered to him.

“So… what happened? With you two?” you asked gently, your voice soft but probing, giving him the space to share without pressure.

Remy sighed, his gaze drifting away for a moment before it came back to meet yours. His fingers loosened slightly around your hand, but he didn’t let go. “It was a long time ago,” he began, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “We were young, still figuring things out. I think we both thought it could work, y’know? But it wasn’t easy, especially with everything goin’ on in our lives. The music, the fame… it complicated things.”

You listened intently, your heart softening as you imagined a younger version of Remy—before the fame, before the world knew his name—trying to navigate love and friendship with the pressures of a rising career hanging over him.

He paused, his expression thoughtful, as though he was sorting through memories that were both painful and fond. “We cared about each other,” he continued, “but it got to a point where we realized we weren’t meant to be together in that way, you know? The feelings were there, but… it wasn’t enough. We wanted different things, or maybe we just weren’t ready for the kind of relationship we thought we could have.”

You nodded, understanding more than you expected. Relationships—especially ones built on deep, longstanding friendships—were complicated. And when you added the pressures of fame, the constant spotlight, the grueling schedules, it made sense that things would become strained. You could hear the affection in his voice when he talked about James, how much history they shared, how much it had shaped them both.

“And now?” you asked gently.

Remy smiled, but this time it wasn’t the playful, easy grin you were used to. It was softer, tinged with nostalgia. “We’re still tight. He’s like family to me—always has been. We’ve been through a lot together, and even though we’re not… y’know, together anymore, we’ve got a bond that’s hard to break. I trust him with everything. Even when he cheats at mediocre games.” He smirked as you shook your head in response. “He did cheat,” You grumbled as you lifted the glass to your lips.

You could see how much James meant to him, how deeply their history ran. It wasn’t just about the romantic part of their past—it was about everything they had built together, all the moments that had solidified their friendship. And instead of feeling threatened or uneasy about it, you found yourself genuinely intrigued. You wanted to know more about this person who had been such an important part of Remy’s life.

Remy looked at you then, his dark eyes softening with something that looked like relief. You could tell that he had been worried—maybe not about how you’d react to James specifically, but about how you’d react to him opening up like this, about this part of his past that wasn’t always easy to talk about. He reached across the table, his hand finding yours, giving it a light squeeze.

“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. “I mean, it’s not exactly something that comes up in casual conversation, right? ‘Hey, by the way, me and my guitarist used to sleep together,’” He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head.

You smiled back at him, squeezing his hand in return. “I’m not here to judge,” you said, your voice sincere. “I like James, and if he’s important to you, then that’s all that matters to me.”

And you meant it. Relationships are rarely straightforward, and everyone has a past. But what mattered to you was the present—who Remy was now, and how he felt about his past. There was no jealousy or insecurity, just an understanding that his experiences, including his relationship with James, had shaped him into the person you loved.

Remy’s smile widened, a real, genuine smile that made your heart swell. The tension that had been hanging in the air dissolved, leaving only the warmth of understanding between you. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand in a quiet gesture of affection.

“Thanks for that,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with gratitude. “It means a lot to me, more than you know.”

You smiled at him, feeling a sense of closeness you hadn’t felt before. This conversation, this moment of vulnerability, had brought you closer in a way that was hard to describe. It wasn’t just about him sharing a part of his past—it was about the trust that came with it, the unspoken understanding that you accepted him, all of him, without hesitation.

“Anytime,” you replied, your voice soft but sure. And you meant it. You were here for him, for all the parts of him, not just the easy or glamorous ones.

For a few moments, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, hands still intertwined, the weight of the conversation slowly lifting. But your curiosity hadn’t completely faded. There was still more you wanted to know, more you wanted to understand about the person who had been such a huge part of Remy’s life for so long.

You replayed his words in your head—about him and James, about their bond, and the way their relationship had evolved into something that, while no longer romantic, was still special. Instead of feeling threatened, you found yourself admiring the way Remy could keep someone so important in his life, even after things had changed. It spoke to the kind of person he was—loyal, thoughtful, and capable of maintaining deep connections even in the face of difficult emotions.

As you sat there, reflecting on his confession, you couldn’t help but feel your own emotions deepen. There was a tenderness in the way he had shared that part of himself with you, and now, with the weight of that conversation behind you, he suddenly seemed lighter. It was as though a burden had been lifted, one that he hadn’t even realized he was carrying. His shoulders seemed to relax, the small lines of tension that had been etched into his expression softened, and his usual playfulness returned, but it felt different now—more open, more genuine.

Remy leaned back in his chair, his playful grin spreading across his face as he gestured toward the dessert menu sitting on the table between you. “Alright, enough heavy talk. How ‘bout we get some dessert? I hear the chocolate mousse here is killer.”

You laughed, the sound breaking the last remnants of the serious mood that had settled between you. “You and your sweet tooth,” you teased, shaking your head at him.

He shrugged, unbothered, as he grinned at you. The energy between you felt lighter, more relaxed. “Hey, life’s too short to skip dessert, chérie.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth of the moment wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Remy’s playful spirit was infectious, and just like that, the conversation that had felt so heavy moments ago seemed to melt away, leaving behind a deeper understanding between you. It was as though you had shed a layer of formality, of distance, and now stood on more solid, intimate ground.

But even as the mood lightened, the impact of his confession lingered in the back of your mind. You could feel it—the shift in your relationship. A new layer had been added, one built on trust and openness. It was like you had unlocked a piece of Remy that not many people got to see, and the fact that he had shared it with you made your heart swell with affection. You realized that you were more than okay with knowing about this part of him. In fact, you were intrigued—eager to learn more about who he was, about his past, about the people who had shaped him into the man sitting across from you.

And for the first time that night, you felt like you were really starting to understand him.

“Alright,” you said, leaning back in your chair and picking up the dessert menu with a playful smile. “Let’s see what they’ve got.”

Remy’s eyes sparkled as you scanned the options, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he leaned in slightly. “I’m tellin’ you, the mousse is the way to go,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial, as if you were sharing some secret.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, the easy banter between you flowing naturally, but now with an added layer of intimacy that hadn’t been there before. “Alright, mousse it is,” you agreed, setting the menu down.

As Remy flagged down the waiter to order, you stole a glance at him—this man who had just shared a part of himself that was so personal, so intimate. Seeing him now, with the weight of that conversation off his shoulders, you noticed how much lighter he seemed. The tension that had been there earlier, the guardedness, had all but disappeared, replaced by a sense of ease that made you smile.

You realized that this was what trust looked like. Not just the sharing of secrets or past relationships, but the way he had let himself be vulnerable with you, the way he had allowed you to see him as he truly was—flawed, complex, human. And in return, you had offered him acceptance, understanding, and a reassurance that you were here for all of it. That knowledge, that mutual trust, had deepened your connection in ways that words alone couldn’t.

As the waiter brought over the dessert, the rich aroma of chocolate filling the air, Remy grinned at you, picking up his spoon. “You’re not gonna regret this,” he said, his tone light and teasing.

You smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through you—not just from the promise of dessert, but from the feeling that something had shifted between you both, in the best possible way.

“I doubt I will,” you replied, taking a bite of the mousse. The taste was decadent, rich, but as delicious as it was, it paled in comparison to the sweetness of the moment between you and Remy.

As you sat there, sharing dessert and easy conversation, you couldn’t help but feel grateful. Grateful that Remy was the kind of person who could keep someone like James in his life, even after everything they’d been through. Grateful that he had trusted you enough to open up about it. And grateful that, after everything, you were here—together, stronger than before.

You realized that this was just the beginning. There was so much more to learn about him, about his past, about the people who had shaped him. And you were ready for all of it. Ready to dive deeper, to peel back more layers, to continue building this relationship on a foundation of trust, honesty, and understanding.

For now, though, you simply smiled at him across the table, feeling lighter, happier, and more connected than ever.

“Okay,” you said, after a few moments of comfortable silence, your eyes meeting his with a playful glint. “I admit it. The mousse is pretty killer.”

Remy’s grin widened, his dimples deepening as he leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself. “Told ya,” he said, his voice filled with that familiar playful confidence. But now, there was something more behind it—a softness, a warmth that hadn’t been there earlier in the evening.

And as the night continued, you felt that warmth settle between you both, like an unspoken promise—a promise that, no matter what came next, you would face it together, with the same openness and trust that had brought you here in the first place. <><><><><><> The cool night air wrapped around you both as you slipped out the back entrance of the restaurant, the kitchen staff giving you knowing nods as you passed. The clatter of pots and pans, the sizzle of food on the grill—it all seemed surreal, a chaotic contrast to the quiet intimacy that had settled between you and Remy. You hadn’t expected to leave through the kitchen, but after the conversation you’d shared over dinner, neither of you had been in the mood to deal with the inevitable flash of cameras waiting outside.

Remy had glanced at you as the waiter discreetly informed him the paparazzi were swarming the front. His eyes met yours with that signature, mischievous spark, and without saying a word, you both decided to slip away unnoticed.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to dodge the press, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. But right now, the idea of facing a horde of photographers felt like an intrusion on something that had become so personal between you. The weight of your earlier conversation still hung in the air, and you weren’t ready to let the outside world ruin that quiet understanding that had grown between you.

Once you were outside, the cool air hit your skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth inside the restaurant. The city hummed around you, but it felt distant, muffled by the near-silence that stretched between you and Remy. His hand found yours as you walked toward the car parked around the corner, his touch lazy and absent-minded, his thumb brushing over your skin in that familiar, soothing way that always made your heart skip a beat. You could tell his thoughts were still lingering on the evening’s conversation, just as yours were.

When you reached the car, Remy opened the passenger door for you, a small, playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Ya know,” he said, his voice low and almost conspiratorial, “I don’ think anyone even noticed us sneakin’ out. I’m getting’ pretty good at this.”

You laughed softly as you slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool against your skin. “Maybe we should make a habit of it. Leave the front entrance for the amateurs.”

He chuckled as he rounded the car and slipped into the driver’s seat beside you. “I’ll let ya in on a little secret,” he said, glancing over at you as he started the engine. “The back way’s more fun anyway.”

The engine purred to life, and as he pulled away from the curb, you felt the tension of the night begin to ease. The city lights flickered in the rearview mirror as you left the restaurant behind, driving deeper into quieter streets where the hum of traffic was just a distant murmur. The low buzz of the radio filled the car, soft and unobtrusive, but neither of you paid much attention to it. The weight of the conversation you’d shared earlier still lingered, but there was something comforting about it now, something that felt like a door had been opened and neither of you were in a rush to close it.

After a few moments, Remy glanced at you, his hand resting on the gearshift. “Wanna take th’ long way back?” he asked, his voice smooth, teasing, but with an undercurrent of something more. It wasn’t just about extending the drive—it was about savoring the quiet, the intimacy that had settled between you. It was about avoiding the end of the night for just a little longer.

You didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah,” you said softly, your lips curving into a smile. “That sounds perfect.”

He grinned, that familiar, crooked grin that never failed to make your pulse quicken, and without another word, he turned onto a winding road that led away from the city center. As the lights of the city grew dimmer behind you, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet hum of the car and the distant glow of the city skyline in the rearview mirror.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt like a continuation of the conversation you’d had back at the restaurant—a conversation that had shifted something between you. Remy’s confession about his past, about James, had been more than just a revelation about an old relationship. It had been about trust. It had been about letting you in, letting you see the parts of him that weren’t always easy to share.

And the fact that you hadn’t pulled away, that you’d listened and accepted it with grace and curiosity, seemed to have made something shift in him, too. You could feel it now, in the way he sat beside you, more relaxed, more open. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and you realized that, maybe, he hadn’t even known he’d been carrying it until now.

The road wound through a quieter part of town, tree-lined streets giving way to a scenic route that offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline. You recognized the area—a lookout that you’d passed before, but never stopped to appreciate. Tonight, though, Remy slowed the car as you approached the familiar spot, pulling into a small, empty parking lot that overlooked the city below.

As he parked, you glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Taking me to all the romantic spots, huh?”

He smirked, unbuckling his seatbelt before leaning back in his seat, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good view.”

You laughed softly, but there was a warmth blooming in your chest, a quiet thrill at the intimacy of the moment. You both got out of the car and made your way toward the edge of the lookout, where a low railing separated you from the drop below. The city stretched out before you, glittering in the darkness, the lights twinkling like distant stars. It was beautiful, and for a moment, neither of you said anything, just taking it in.

Then, Remy broke the silence with that familiar grin of his, the one that always had a hint of mischief behind it. “Y’know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “I’d absolutely fuck ya over this railing.”

You froze for a beat, his words igniting a spark of heat that shot through you. Then you burst out laughing, shaking your head as you leaned against the railing, the cool metal pressing against your palms. “For fucks sake,” you said, but there was a slight flush rising to your cheeks despite yourself, the thought of it—of being so exposed, so reckless—sending a shiver of excitement through you, “Now you’re just being reckless.”

He laughed too, but there was a certain edge to his gaze, a spark of something playful but also very real. He moved closer, just enough that you could feel the warmth of his body next to yours, and you couldn’t help the way your pulse quickened when his presence was so near.

“Am I, though?” he asked, his voice quieter now, his eyes locked on yours. His hand slid along the railing until it brushed against yours, the contact sending a small thrill through your body. “’cause I’m pretty sure you’re thinkin’ ‘bout it now.”

His words sent a jolt of heat straight through you, your body responding immediately to the raw intensity of his tone. You froze, your heart hammering in your chest as the image flashed through your mind—your body bent over the railing, the city lights stretching out below, Remy's hands gripping your hips, pulling you against him as the night wrapped around you both.

For a moment, you couldn’t speak, the vividness of the fantasy stealing your breath. Then you let out a soft, breathless laugh, turning slightly to meet his gaze. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” you teased, but your voice came out a little shakier than you intended.

He grinned, but there was a darkness in his eyes, something primal and hungry that made your pulse quicken. He stepped closer, his body now brushing against yours, his hand sliding up the railing until it found yours, his fingers curling around your wrist. “Oh, I’m dead serious,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’d bend ya over this railing right now, chérie. Don’t think I wouldn’t.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you felt the heat of his body pressing into your back, the weight of his words hanging between you. You could feel the tension between you, thick and electric, the line between playful banter and something much darker, much more real, blurring with every second.

His free hand slid up your side, fingers trailing lightly over your waist before settling on your hip, pulling you back against him. You could feel the hardness of his body, the heat radiating off him, and it sent a rush of adrenaline through you. The idea that you were here, in the open, with the city stretching out in front of you—the idea that anyone could drive by, could see you—only made the thought more intoxicating.

You let out a shaky breath, your body already responding to the closeness, the heat, the raw promise in his voice. “Remy…” you breathed, but even as you said his name, you didn’t pull away. If anything, you leaned into him, your body betraying your desires before your mind could catch up.

He chuckled softly, his lips brushing over the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “You like the idea of it, don’t you?” he whispered, his hand tightening on your hip, pulling you even closer. “Being right here, with the whole city below us… Knowing anyone could see us…”

You could barely think, your mind clouded with the heat of the moment, the way his body pressed into yours, the way his words seemed to wrap around you, pulling you deeper into the fantasy. You could feel the railing digging into your stomach now, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of his touch, and it only heightened the rush of anticipation flooding through you.

Your breath hitched as his hand slid lower, his fingers brushing over the curve of your ass, teasingly light but enough to send a shiver through you. “Tell me ya don’ want this,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “Tell me ya don’ wan’ me ta bend ya over this railing and fuck ya until ya can’t stand.”

A low moan escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you knew then that there was no denying what you wanted. The thrill of being so exposed, of being at his mercy with the city as your witness, was too intoxicating to resist. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, your body already aching for him, for the release that only he could give you.

You turned your head slightly, your lips just inches from his, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, “What if I do want it?”

Remy’s eyes darkened, his grip on your hip tightening as he pressed his body harder against yours, letting you feel every inch of him. “Then you’re in trouble, chérie,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Because your wish is always my command.”

Before you could respond, his hands were on you, strong and insistent, spinning you around so that your back was against the railing, your body trapped between the cool metal and the heat of him. His lips crashed against yours, the kiss hungry and demanding, and you could feel the desperation in the way he moved, the way his hands gripped your waist, pulling you against him.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed your body into his, needing to feel more of him, needing to close the distance between you. The city below seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the heat of his body, the intensity of his kiss, the way his hands roamed over your skin like he couldn’t get enough of you.

His hands moved to the hem of your dress, fingers pulling it up with a practiced ease that made your heart race even faster. The cool night air hit your bare skin, sending a shiver through you, but any thought of feeling cold disappeared the moment Remy’s hands were on you again, his touch hot and possessive.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck as he whispered against your skin, “Turn ‘round.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up, and within seconds, you were facing the railing, your palms pressed against the cool metal as you felt him behind you, his hands on your hips, guiding you into position. The anticipation was almost unbearable, every nerve in your body alight with need, with the thrill of being so exposed, so vulnerable.

You felt his hand slide between your legs, teasing you, and a soft gasp escaped your lips as he touched you just where you needed him. “You’re already so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Ya want this.”

You nodded, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts as you leaned over the railing, your body arching into his touch. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I want it.”

Remy’s fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you back against him as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “Good,” he growled. “Because I’m not holding back.”

And then he was inside you, filling you with a slow, deliberate thrust that made you cry out, your hands gripping the railing for support. The sensation of being so exposed, so vulnerable, combined with the intensity of him inside you, was almost too much to handle. It was raw, primal, and you could feel the tension coil tighter and tighter in your belly with each thrust, your body completely at his mercy.

The city stretched out below, indifferent to the passion burning between you, but in that moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just this—just the heat of his body, the sound of his breath in your ear, the way he moved inside you with a desperate, unrelenting rhythm.

You didn’t care who might see. You didn’t care about the cars that could drive by or the distant possibility of someone catching a glimpse. All that mattered was the intensity of the moment, the way Remy’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you harder against him, the way he filled you, over and over, until you were trembling, gasping for breath, completely lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice rough and low as he thrust into you, harder now, more desperate. “You feel so good, chérie.”

Your response was a breathless moan, your body arching against him, pushing back as you felt the tension inside you coil tighter and tighter, ready to snap. The railing dug into your stomach, grounding you, but the pleasure was overwhelming, consuming you, until you could barely think, barely breathe.

And then, with one final thrust, the tension broke, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense it left you shaking, your hands gripping the railing as your body trembled with the force of your release. Remy followed seconds later, his body shuddering against yours as he buried himself deep inside you, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both of you breathing heavily, tangled together in the aftermath. The city still glittered below, indifferent to what had just happened, but up here, it felt like the world had shifted, like something between you had deepened in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Finally, Remy pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips, his breath warm against the back of your neck. “Told you I’d fuck you over that railing,” he murmured, his voice low and satisfied.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your body still trembling as you straightened up, turning to face him. “Yeah, well,” you said, your voice teasing but shaky, “I’m not complaining.”

He grinned, that familiar, cocky grin that made your heart skip a beat, and leaned in to kiss you again, softer this time. “Next time,” he whispered against your lips, “I’ll take my time.”

You smiled, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of what had just happened, knowing that there would definitely be a next time. <><><><><><> The night had wrapped itself around the two of you as you made your way back to the hotel, the city lights casting a soft, ambient glow through the car windows. You could still feel the remnants of the evening clinging to your skin—the laughter, the shared glances, the unspoken tension that simmered just beneath the surface. The drive was quiet, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Instead, it felt like the two of you were savoring the aftermath of the night, letting it settle between you in the way only familiar intimacy could.

Remy had been quieter than usual, his hand resting casually on the gearshift, his thumb occasionally brushing against your knee as he drove. Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing over at you, a small, soft smile playing on his lips, as if he was still replaying the night in his mind. You were too, in a way. The conversation about James had opened something between you, something raw and delicate, but instead of feeling exposed, you felt closer to him.

When you reached the hotel’s valet, Remy handed over the keys with a relaxed grace. He slid his hand into yours as you walked toward the lobby, his touch warm and grounding. The quiet hum of the elevator accompanied you as you ascended to the penthouse, the city below shrinking away like a distant memory. But as soon as you entered the dark, expansive room, the soft glow from the fake fireplace and the glittering skyline beyond the glass windows greeted you, reminding you that the night wasn’t quite over.

In the calm of the penthouse, the energy between you and Remy shifted again—settling into something more comfortable, more domestic. You kicked off your shoes, sinking into the plush couch as the weight of the evening slowly melted from your body. Remy followed, his movements unhurried, and before long, his hands were working their way over your feet, massaging the tension out of you with slow, deliberate precision.

The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on you. It should have been simple, just a quiet moment to wind down after a long night, but there was something electric in the air. Something unspoken that lingered from earlier, waiting to be addressed but not quite ready to surface.

You wiggled your toes in his lap, half-joking, trying to lighten the mood. "Feet are still gross, you know," you teased, your voice playful even though your heart still beat a little faster than usual.

Remy grinned, his features softening, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Yours aren’t," he countered without missing a beat. "I’ve seen worse. Trust me."

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. "Well, that’s not exactly reassuring."

He chuckled, a low, easy sound that made your insides warm. Then, with a playful glint in his eye, he leaned down and pressed a quick, exaggerated kiss to the top of your foot. "Oh no, so gross!" he teased, pulling back with an exaggerated shiver as if he’d just kissed something toxic.

You burst out laughing, shaking your head as you nudged his leg with your foot. "You’re an idiot."

"And you love it," he shot back, that familiar crooked grin spreading across his face, disarming you in the way only he could.

And he was right. You did love it. You loved the way he could make you laugh, even when the night had been heavy with honest conversation. You loved the way he made you feel—comfortable, safe, like you could be yourself around him without having to hide anything.

After a while, the warmth of the penthouse and the lingering weight of the evening started to settle into your bones, and you could feel the need for a shower creeping in. The night had been long, and you could still feel the remnants of the restaurant on your skin—the scent of food, the warmth of the kitchen, the tension of dodging the paparazzi, the smell of him.

"How about a shower?" you suggested, your voice soft, the idea of washing off the night suddenly appealing.

Remy’s eyes flickered with interest, but he didn’t move from his spot on the couch. "You go ahead," he said with a lazy smile, his hand running absently over your calf. "I’ll be here when you’re done."

You nodded, feeling the pull of the bathroom calling you. The warm water would be a welcome relief, a chance to wash away the lingering tension of the evening. You stood, stretching slightly before making your way to the bathroom. The sound of the water filling the spacious shower echoed softly, and as you stepped under the spray, the warmth wrapped around you, soothing your skin and easing the last bits of tension from your muscles.

By the time you emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a thick towel, your body felt lighter, and your mind clearer. You dried off and slipped into your favorite pair of pajamas—soft, worn-in, and comfortable. When you padded back into the living room, Remy was still lounging on the couch, his eyes tracking your every movement with a lazy, appreciative gaze.

"You’re up," you said with a smile as you passed him, heading for the small kitchen area.

He leaned back, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. "Watching you cook in those pajamas? How could I not be?"

You shot him a playful glare, but the warmth in your chest couldn’t be denied. "I’m just making something simple," you called over your shoulder as you rummaged through the fridge, pulling out ingredients for a quick late-night snack. "Nothing fancy."

Remy chuckled, the sound low and teasing. "Good, because I’ve had your 'fancy' cooking before, and let’s just say, I’m still recovering."

You gasped dramatically, turning to face him with mock offense. "Excuse me? I’ll have you know that my cooking has improved significantly."

"Sure it has," he said with a grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he watched you chop vegetables. "But I’ll be the judge of that."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that crept across your face. The banter between you felt easy, natural, and it filled the space with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fake fireplace. As you worked, Remy continued to tease you from his spot on the couch, throwing in the occasional sarcastic comment about your cooking skills, but you took it in stride, tossing a few playful jabs back his way.

Eventually, you finished preparing a simple stir-fry, the scent of sizzling vegetables filling the air as you plated the food and brought it over to the kitchen island where Remy had now perched himself on one of the stools, watching you with that same lazy smile.

"Moment of truth," you said, sliding a plate toward him.

He picked up a fork with exaggerated seriousness, taking a bite as if he were a food critic about to deliver a life-changing verdict. After a moment of chewing, he nodded slowly, his expression unreadable.

"Well?" you asked, crossing your arms, waiting for his response.

He paused, drawing out the moment before breaking into a grin. "Not bad, chérie. Not bad at all."

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you took a seat next to him. "See? I told you I’ve improved."

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing. "Still wouldn’t mind teaching you a few things in the kitchen, though."

You smirked, meeting his gaze with a playful challenge. "Is that so? Well, maybe I’ll let you teach me… if you’re lucky."

Remy’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mix of amusement and something deeper. "I’m always lucky," he said, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate murmur.

The warmth between you grew again, the playful banter fading into something softer, more tender. The night stretched on, the world outside the windows reduced to a quiet hum as you sat there, side by side, sharing the simplest of meals and the quiet, comforting presence of each other.

After cleaning up the remnants of your impromptu late-night meal, you stood in the soft glow of the kitchen, the sounds of the city outside muted by the thick windows of the penthouse. The air between you and Remy had shifted again, settling into a quieter, more contemplative space. He watched you from the couch, legs stretched out lazily, a faint smile playing on his lips as you wiped down the counter and put away the last of the dishes.

There was something comforting in the domesticity of it all, the quiet rhythm of moving around the kitchen in your pajamas while he lounged nearby. But there was also something else—an undercurrent of tension, something unspoken hovering just beneath the surface, waiting to be addressed. You could feel his gaze on you, steady and thoughtful, as you finished up, and a small part of you wondered if he was thinking about the same things you were. About James, about what had been said—or, more accurately, what hadn’t been said yet.

You turned off the kitchen light and made your way back to the couch, feeling the warmth of the fire’s glow on your skin. Remy shifted slightly, making room for you as you sat down beside him, pulling your legs up onto the couch. Without a word, he reached for your feet, his hands finding their familiar place as he resumed the slow, soothing massage he’d been giving you earlier.

His touch was gentle but firm, and you felt yourself relax into it, the tension in your muscles unwinding as he worked his way over the arches of your feet. You let out a soft sigh, settling deeper into the cushions. The moment was peaceful, almost deceptively so, as if it were just another quiet night between the two of you. But you knew better. You could feel the weight of what was unsaid pressing down on you, lingering like a question that neither of you had asked yet.

After a few moments, Remy’s hands slowed, his fingers stilled, and he looked up at you, his eyes searching your face. The air seemed to grow heavier, thick with anticipation. His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft but serious.

“So... you really do like James, huh?”

The question hit you like a splash of cold water, sharp and unexpected. You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. You nodded slowly, furrowing your brow as you tried to read the expression in his eyes. “Yeah, I do. I mean, what’s not to like? He’s a good guy.”

Remy nodded, but there was something in the way his jaw tightened, the way his gaze flickered away from you for just a moment before returning, that told you this wasn’t just a casual question. He was weighing something, considering his next words carefully. He flashed a quick smile, trying to keep the mood light, but the tension in his face gave him away.

“Would you... sleep with him?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy and loaded. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you weren’t sure you’d heard him correctly. Your eyes widened as you stared at him, searching his face for any sign that he was joking. But he wasn’t. His gaze remained steady, unwavering, though there was no malice in it—just curiosity. A question that seemed to carry more weight than you were ready to confront.

James.

You’d thought about him before—he was undeniably attractive, with his quiet confidence and sharp wit. You liked being around him, the way his calm energy balanced out Remy's wildness. But the idea of sleeping with him? That was something else entirely, something you hadn’t let yourself fully consider. Now, though, the thought was there, hanging in the air between you and Remy, and it wasn’t going away.

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. Your feelings for Remy were undeniable. They’d been growing, deepening with every shared moment, every touch, every laugh. The thought of being with someone else, even someone like James, felt... complicated. Messy. And yet, there was a part of you that couldn’t shake the thrill of it—the idea of being with two men who clearly had a deep bond, and who both seemed to care about you in their own ways. It was intoxicating, but also terrifying.

Remy must have sensed your hesitation because his hand stilled on your foot, his voice softening as he spoke again. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna be pissed off if you say yes.”

You let out a slow breath, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly at the reassurance in his voice. He wasn’t trying to trap you. He wasn’t pushing you into something you didn’t want. He was just... asking. Giving you the space to be honest.

You thought about James again. You couldn’t deny the chemistry between you, the way you sometimes caught him watching you with that quiet intensity, like he was seeing something in you that even you hadn’t fully recognized yet. But it wasn’t just about attraction. It was about what this would mean—what it would do to the delicate balance you were navigating with Remy. The thought of crossing that line felt like it could complicate everything, or maybe... maybe it could open up something new, something you hadn’t even considered before.

After what felt like an eternity, you nodded, your voice quiet and uncertain. “Yeah... I guess I would.”

A slow, teasing smirk spread across Remy’s face, and he leaned back slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, really? Didn’t know you had a thing for my boy.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to shake off the tension with a laugh, but there was still a flutter of nerves in your chest. “Shut up,” you muttered, grabbing a nearby cushion and tossing it at him.

He caught the pillow easily, still grinning, but his expression shifted again, the playfulness fading as he set the cushion aside and leaned forward. His voice dropped, becoming softer, more thoughtful.

“Alright,” he said, his eyes locking with yours. “I’m gonna ask you something, and it’s totally fine if you say no. Nothing will change between us. I just... I need to know where your boundaries are.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy blanket. You trusted him, and the fact that he was giving you the space to say no—to set your own limits—meant more than you could express in that moment.

“Okay,” you said, swallowing hard. “Go on.”

He hesitated for a beat, his gaze searching yours before he finally spoke, his voice low and careful. “Would you consider... having sex with James? In front of me?”

The question hung in the air, thick and charged, and you felt a wave of heat rush through you. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. It was like the ground had shifted beneath you, like you were standing on the edge of something unknown, something that could change everything between you and Remy—and even between you and James.

You turned your gaze away from Remy, staring at the flickering TV screen as your mind raced. Did he mean a threesome? Or was he talking about something else? The ambiguity of his question only made it more complicated, more loaded. You tried to picture it in your mind—being with James while Remy watched. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. You weren’t sure if you could handle the intensity of that situation, the vulnerability of being watched by someone you were falling for while being intimate with someone else.

“Do you mean... like a threesome?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Remy shrugged lightly, his eyes never leaving your face. “It’s whatever you want. I’m not putting any pressure on you. If it’s something you’re into, I’m open to it. If not, we never have to talk about it again.”

Your thoughts spiraled. The idea of a threesome had never been something you’d seriously considered before, but now that Remy had brought it up, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of emotions. There was curiosity, of course, but there was also fear. Fear of how it might change things, how it might shift the dynamic between the three of you. And then there was James himself. How did he even feel about this? Was this something Remy had talked to him about, or was it just an idea he was floating to see where your head was at?

You tried to imagine what it would be like—being with James while Remy watched. Would it feel like a betrayal, or would it feel like stepping into something new, something exciting? Your heart raced as you thought about it, your mind returning to moments when you’d caught James watching you and Remy together, a quiet intensity in his eyes. You always wondered what he was thinking in those moments. Now, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

Remy’s voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. “You don’t have to decide right now,” he said gently. “I just wanted to ask. I wanted to be honest with you about what I’m thinking.”

You appreciated his honesty, but it didn’t make the decision any easier. You looked back at him, feeling the weight of his gaze, his patience. He wasn’t pushing you. He wasn’t rushing you. He was just giving you the space to explore the idea on your own terms.

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally, your voice soft. “It’s a lot to think about.”

He nodded, his expression understanding. “Of course. Take your time. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

The relief that washed over you was immediate, but the question still lingered in your mind, like a door that had been opened just a crack. You weren’t sure what lay on the other side, but you knew that once you crossed that threshold, there would be no going back.

And the scariest part? You weren’t sure if that excited you or terrified you. Maybe it was both. The dim light from the TV flickered across the room, casting long shadows as explosions and over-the-top stunts played out on screen. You and Remy had been half-watching some mindless action movie for the last hour, but the plot—or lack thereof—wasn’t what kept you entertained. It was him. From the moment the first terrible one-liner had been delivered, Remy had been on a roll, turning the cheesy dialogue and absurd scenes into his own personal comedy show.

“Chère, did ya hear that?” he asked, his voice dripping with that easy, melodic Cajun drawl that always seemed to make everything sound more laid-back than it was. He pointed at the screen, incredulous. “This fool done told his enemy, ‘I’m gonna rain down hellfire on ya,’ right before a karate kick. Man’s actin’ like he in the Matrix or somethin’. Who kicks in an explosion?”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing, the sound bubbling up before you could even try to hold it back. “Oh my God, stop!” you managed between giggles. “I can’t handle this movie anymore.”

“Well, I can’t handle them tryin’ to pass this off like it’s serious cinema,” Remy said, his voice full of mock indignation as he threw his hands up. “I swear, if one more car flips for no reason, I’mma start flippin’ my own damn self.”

He grinned at you, his eyes dancing with mischief, clearly pleased with himself for making you laugh so hard. You shook your head, still giggling, and leaned back into the couch, pulling the blanket he’d draped over your legs tighter around you. The warmth of it—and the steady rhythm of his hand gently massaging your calves beneath it—was lulling you into a comfortable haze. You were curled up at opposite ends of the couch, your head resting on a pillow, but his touch kept you grounded, connected.

“Y’know,” Remy drawled, his gaze flicking back to the screen just as another explosion rocked the scene, “if this movie gets any dumber, I’mma be expectin’ the bad guy to start monologuin’ ‘bout his childhood trauma like it explains all this.”

You snickered, pulling the blanket up over your mouth to muffle your laughter. “Don’t give them any ideas. That might actually happen.”

“Bet you five bucks it’s comin’ in the next scene,” he said with a wink. “Every villain gotta have some tragic backstory no one asked for.”

You laughed again, shaking your head at how ridiculous it all was—both the movie and how easily Remy could make you laugh. It wasn’t just the jokes, either. It was the way he made you feel so at ease, like the world outside didn’t matter as long as the two of you were here, wrapped up in this shared moment of silliness. He always knew what to say, how to make you feel lighter, even when everything else felt heavy.

But despite the easy laughter, your mind kept drifting back to the conversation you’d had earlier, the one that had left a quiet tension lingering between you, even now.

Remy had asked you something you never expected—if you’d ever consider sleeping with James... maybe even with Remy there, watching. The question had thrown you off completely. You hadn’t been able to shake it since.

You glanced away from the TV, your gaze drifting to the fire crackling in the hearth. Your thoughts swirled, conflicting emotions pulling you in different directions. There was a part of you that was undeniably intrigued. The idea of being with both Remy and James was… exciting. You found James attractive—there was no doubt about that. His quiet strength, the way he balanced Remy’s wild energy with his own steady presence, the way he sometimes looked at you with those piercing eyes that seemed to see right through you… it was hard not to wonder what it would be like.

And then there was Remy himself—so open, so disarmingly casual about it all. The way he’d asked you, like it was just another conversation, another thing to explore together. His lack of jealousy, his confidence in what you shared—it made you feel safe, like no matter what happened, he’d still be there, still be Remy.

But there was another part of you, a quieter part, that was scared. You were falling for him. Hard. You hadn’t planned on it, hadn’t expected it, but it was happening all the same. The idea of sharing him, even in this unconventional way, made your heart clench with uncertainty. What if it changed things between you? What if it complicated everything?

You couldn’t stop the questions from flooding your mind. How would it work—logistically, emotionally? Would they both be with you at the same time, or would it be Remy watching as you and James crossed that line? And after… would things ever be the same? Could you go back to the way things were, or would this shift everything between you?

The silence between you stretched out, heavy and thick with unspoken thoughts, until finally, you let out a slow breath and turned your head back toward him. “Okay,” you said, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “I’d consider it.”

Remy’s eyes lit up, the playful glint in them replaced by something deeper, something more intense. Before you could process it, he shifted, pulling you toward him with a sudden urgency. His lips crashed against yours, hot and possessive, his hand tangling in your hair as the other wrapped firmly around your waist. The kiss was full of raw need, a mix of gratitude and relief pouring out of him.

You gasped softly against his mouth, your hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back, falling into the intensity of the moment. His lips were rough but insistent, his body pressing against yours like he couldn’t get close enough, like he was trying to communicate everything he was feeling all at once.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath coming in short, heated bursts. “Merci, chère,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy, thick with emotion.

You blinked, still dazed from the intensity of the kiss. “Thanking me? For what?”

He sighed softly, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze serious now, all the teasing gone. “For trustin’ me,” he said, his accent a little heavier, the words coming out slow and deliberate. “This ain’t ‘bout the sex or some fantasy. It’s ‘bout trust. There’s a lotta folks I could do somethin’ like this with, but I don’t want to. I want it with you.”

His words hit you like a punch to the chest, the weight of them sinking in deeper than you thought possible. You’d expected this to be about desire, about some wild fantasy, but hearing him say that—hearing him frame it as something rooted in trust, in something real—made your heart swell in a way that left you breathless.

You nodded slowly, your throat tight as you whispered, “I get it.”

Remy’s expression softened, and he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before pulling back and settling into the couch again. His hand found your leg under the blanket, his fingers resuming their slow, gentle movements, grounding you in the moment.

But you could feel it—something had shifted. The weight of the conversation hadn’t disappeared; if anything, it had intensified. The movie still played in the background, but neither of you were watching it anymore. You could feel Remy’s gaze on you, studying you, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of your face, the way the firelight danced across your features.

The movie was barely registering anymore. It was just background noise now, the explosions, the bad dialogue—none of it mattered. Not really. Not when you were laying there, your legs stretched out under the blanket, your head resting at the opposite end of the couch. Not when he was sitting there, rubbing gentle circles on your calf, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his fingers.

Remy wasn’t even sure what he’d been saying a moment ago. Something sarcastic about the movie, or maybe about the ridiculous stunt the bad guy had pulled. He was always running his mouth, always throwing out some joke to make you laugh. And you always did. God, you laughed so easily with him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But then the laughter would fade, and the quiet would settle in, and that’s when it hit him. That’s when he felt it.

He glanced over at you, expecting to see that familiar, playful smile, but instead, he saw something else. The soft flicker of the firelight caught your face just right, casting a warm glow over your skin. Your eyes were turned slightly away, as if you were lost in thought, a small crease between your brows. You looked pensive, vulnerable, and in that moment, something shifted inside him.

For a second, his hand froze on your leg. His chest tightened, his breath catching in his throat. The realization washed over him slowly, like the tide creeping in, unstoppable and undeniable.

He was in love with you.

The thought hit him like a punch, knocking the wind out of him. And yet, it wasn’t surprising—not really. It was like he’d always known, deep down, that this was where it was headed. But he hadn’t let himself feel it until now. Until this moment, sitting here with you, the TV forgotten, the world outside no longer mattering.

His fingers started moving again, tracing slow, deliberate circles on your skin as he tried to process it. Tried to breathe through it. But his gaze—merde, his gaze was locked on you now, like he couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to. He just wanted to see you, to take in every detail, every soft line of your face, the curve of your lips, the way your chest rose and fell so steadily while his own heart felt like it was racing.

It wasn’t just about the sex. No, it was never just about that. He’d always known that with you, it was something more. The trust, the laughter, the way you made him feel like he could be himself—his real self, not the version people expected him to be. You saw him. And that scared the hell out of him, but it also made him feel more alive than anything else.

When you finally turned your head and met his gaze, it was like you could see right through him. Into him. And maybe you did. Maybe you understood without him having to say a word.

Because how could he say it? How could he put that into words when it felt too big, too overwhelming to speak out loud?

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at you, but something in your expression changed. Your eyes softened, just like his had. He watched as you took a slow breath, your chest rising and falling, and then you blinked, like you were coming to some kind of realization of your own.

It was terrifying, wasn’t it? This kind of thing. This feeling. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this—so sudden, so intense. But there it was, as clear as day between you now.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. What could he say that wouldn’t ruin it? That wouldn’t shatter this fragile, quiet thing that had settled between you?

Instead, he just kept his hand on your leg, tracing those soft, steady circles, feeling the warmth of you beneath his fingertips. His eyes stayed on yours, unblinking, as if he was afraid that if he looked away, this moment would slip through his fingers.

And for the first time in a long time, Remy LeBeau was silent. He didn’t need to fill the space with words or jokes. He just wanted to stay here, in this moment, with you.

Because now, he knew.

He was in love with you.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough. For now.

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