Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The light was different. Softer than it should be, like the sun had forgotten to set, bathing everything in a perpetual golden haze that clung to the edges of my vision, blurring the line between sky and sea. I was on the beach, the kind we used to visit on lazy weekends. Fine white sand stretching endlessly, dotted with seashells and the occasional driftwood, the air heavy with the tang of salt and seaweed. God, it smells like freedom. Sand warm and gritty between my toes, the ocean a vast, shimmering expanse that whispered promises of calm, drawing me in with its rhythmic pull. Grace was there, just ahead, her laughter cutting through the salty air, her small feet leaving fleeting prints in the wet sand as she darted toward the waves. Her hair was pulled back in that messy ponytail she loved, sunlight dancing on her cheeks, her pink swimsuit dotted with water spots. I reached out to call her name, my voice catching in my throat, but instead of staying put, I found myself moving forward, compelled by an invisible thread, stepping into the shallows where the water lapped gently at my ankles. It felt right at first, refreshing, but as I waded deeper, drawn by her giggles echoing farther out, the waves grew bolder, colder, rising to my knees without me realizing how far I'd gone. Wait, how’d I get here? This isn’t… I didn’t mean to go this deep. The sand beneath me shifted, pulling like quicksand, and I stumbled, heart thudding unevenly, a vague unease creeping in like fog rolling off the ocean. Something’s wrong.

Steve was beside me then, materializing out of the foam like he'd always been there. Water dripped from his hair, his shirt plastered transparently to the hard lines of his chest, muscles tense as if he'd just pulled me from the depths. His eyes locked onto mine, the blue in them darker than the ocean, holding me captive in their depths. "I told you not to go in." Did he say that? I don’t remember. The words echoed strangely, as if they'd been spoken before, in another time, another dream. I tried to respond, my mouth opening to say, "Steve, I didn't mean to- I just wanted to…" but the words dissolved into a choked gasp, swallowed by the rising water. I can’t breathe. The water’s too high, too cold. My head turned toward Grace, only she wasn’t there. Just the water, black now, swallowing the horizon.

"It doesn’t matter what you wanted," he said, tightening his grip on my arm. "You don’t see the danger until it’s too late." What danger? You’re the one holding too tight.

The beach seemed to tilt, the golden haze thickening until I couldn't tell where the water ended and the air began. In a blink, the ocean vanished, replaced by the cool press of sheets against my back. Sheets? When did I…? My head’s spinning, trying to catch up. My wrists were heavy above my head, bound by something soft yet unyielding. Silk ties? Rope? I couldn't tell, couldn't move to check. The room was dim, the air thick and humid, like a storm was brewing just beyond the walls, thunder rumbling faintly in the distance. Shadows danced on the ceiling, shifting shapes that looked like faces watching from afar. Those shadows… are they watching me? No, that’s crazy. It’s just the light. Steve sat by the headboard, his presence dominating the space, his silhouette broad and immovable. He held a pill between his thumb and forefinger, the small white tablet glowing faintly in the low light. "It's for your own good," he murmured, leaning closer until his breath brushed my face. My own good? Bullshit. What’s that even mean? I opened my mouth to protest, to demand what the hell he meant, why he thought he could decide this for me, but the room's edges softened, melting into a hazy white fog that swallowed the details, the bed, everything except his eyes. His face blurred last, leaving me adrift in the void, untethered, with only the lingering pressure of those ties reminding me I wasn't truly free.

When the world sharpened again, I was standing in front of a mirror, the glass fogged at the corners, the steam carrying a faint scent of salt and aftershave. A mirror now? This is moving too fast. My pale, hollow-eyed reflection stared back, distorted slightly at the edges, like the glass was breathing too, warping my features into something unfamiliar. I look… tired. Like I haven’t slept in days. But I don’t feel tired. I feel… alive. Behind me, Steve's hands settled on my shoulders, his palms seeping heat through my shirt like they were branding me. I want more. He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear, whispering, "Stay with me, Danny. You're mine now. I'll keep you safe, no one else can." Safe. Cage. Same thing with him. I wanted to hear words like that, but he twisted them further, adding in a lower growl, "You don't get to leave. Not without my say." I tried to respond, whispering back, "Steve, this isn't safety… it's a cage," but my voice echoed hollowly in the steam, and in the mirror, his reflection didn’t move when mine did. It just stood there, still, smiling faintly. That’s wrong. I turned, desperate to face him, to demand clarity, to shake off that hum that felt like it was rewiring my thoughts but the space was empty. The mirror showed only me now, alone, yet his touch lingered, pressing down, invisible hands that wouldn't let go, the fog on the glass clearing just enough to reveal a faint outline behind me, watching.

The hum faded, and suddenly we were arguing, the shift abrupt yet dreamily inevitable, like flipping a page in a book where the story had already decided its course. The walls closed in, a narrow hallway that hadn't been there before, with peeling wallpaper in faded blue patterns lit by a strange, flickering light. Another shift? My head’s spinning. The air grew thick with tension, the scent of ozone like before a storm, and my voice rose: "You can't just-" I didn't even know what I was accusing him of… of controlling me? Of deciding for me? But a flame burned in my chest that I couldn't extinguish, fueled by memories that weren't quite mine, fragments of real arguments bleeding into this surreal space: late nights at work, decisions made without me. He stepped closer, towering over me, his face shadowed and unreadable, eyes flashing with something feral. "I can," he cut me off loudly, the words echoing off the walls like thunder, reverberating in my skull until they drowned out my thoughts. "If it's the only way to keep you here." But I’m not going anywhere! His hand reached out, pulling me closer against my will, the hallway narrowing further as if the dream itself was conspiring to trap me with him.

Then, silence crashed over us, smothering the echoes, and we were sitting now, in what might have been our living room. The furniture shifting if I looked too hard: a couch that morphed into a desk chair mid-glance, walls that breathed in and out like living things, expanding and contracting with a subtle rhythm that matched my pulse. The light was warmer here, but with an undercurrent of artificiality, like stage lights in a play where I didn't know my lines. Steve was smiling and handed me a mug of coffee, steam curling up invitingly, the aroma rich and familiar, grounding me for a moment in the illusion of normalcy. But as my fingers wrapped around it, the ceramic dissolved under my touch, reforming into that same pill in my palm. Without thinking, compelled by some unseen force in his gaze I leaned forward, my tongue brushing its bitter edge, a compulsion I couldn't resist, even as a part of me screamed to stop. Why am I doing this? I don’t want this pill. From somewhere to my left, where was only wall, Grace's soft voice floated in, laced with a child's innocent worry that cut through the haze like a knife. "Danno," she said, "you're gonna forget again." Forget what? Grace, what am I missing? The pill tasted like regret, and the room spun, Grace's laughter from the beach echoing faintly, distorted, as if underwater, mingling with Steve's whisper from earlier, binding it all together in a web of control.

The spin slowed, and I was back on the beach. The sand was glass now, sharp underfoot, reflecting fractured images of the sky above, each shard cutting into my soles, the golden haze dimming to a bruised purple twilight. This hurts. This isn’t the same beach. Steve stood at the water's edge, his back to me, waves lapping at his ankles with increasing urgency, the sea seeming to obey him, rising at his command. I called out, but my voice was swallowed by the wind. Grace appeared beside him, her small hand slipping into his larger one, but when she turned, her eyes were Steve's. Piercing blue, accusing, holding me in place from afar. "Why do you always go in?" she asked, her voice his, overlapping in a dissonant chorus that sent chills through me, the words layering like chains. "Why fight it, Danny? Just stay under my watch." The water rose, cold fingers wrapping around my legs, pulling me under as the light dimmed further, the ties from the bed reappearing, binding me to the depths with a strength that felt all too real. Steve's face hovered above the surface, watching, waiting, his expression a mix of love and possession that chilled me more than the sea, his control woven into every thread of the dream, leaving me sinking, helpless, into the abyss.

I jolted awake, my heart hammering in my chest like a trapped bird, pounding so hard it echoed in my ears, drowning out everything else for a breathless second. I’m awake. I’m awake, right? The abyss lingered in my veins, that sinking pull clinging to my skin, making my breaths come short and ragged. I didn’t remember falling asleep. Not clearly, at least. Maybe I’d curled up beside him, maybe not. It doesn’t matter. My eyes adjusted slowly, the world coming into focus through the haze of lingering panic, and for a moment, I expected to feel his warmth beside me, steadying me like always. But the bed was still. Too still. The sheets on his side were rumpled, but... cool? No, that couldn’t be right. I blinked, my pulse still racing, thudding against my ribs as if the dream’s chains were wrapped around my heart. It was just a dream. He’s probably just in the kitchen.

Soft, honey-colored light spilled through the half-open blinds, brushing against the sheets in delicate streaks. The kind of morning that felt like a dream I’d already had. But something was off. The light danced in thin slivers across the hardwood floor, catching specks of dust that floated lazily in the air. Somewhere outside, a bird trilled, a fleeting sound felt too bright for the quiet of the room. Shut up, bird. Too loud. I turned my head, my cheek brushing the pillow, the faint scent of Steve’s cologne lingering in the fabric, and I noticed the faintest indent where his body might have been. I reached out, my fingers grazing the cool sheets, searching for some trace of him, some proof he’d been here. The absence stung sharper than I expected, and I let my hand linger, tracing the empty space where he should’ve been. My heart stuttered, the rapid beat shifting from the dream’s terror to something new, a creeping unease that started as a whisper in my gut. I reached out tentatively, my fingers grazing the cool sheets, searching for some trace of him, some proof he’d been here. The absence registered slowly, like fog rolling in, first a chill where his body should have pressed against mine, then the silence, unbroken by his steady breathing. My chest tightened, the pounding heart now fueling a gradual dread that twisted deeper: where was he? Had he left? I pressed my face into the pillow, inhaling deeply, chasing that faint cedar-and-leather scent that was so distinctly Steve. It wasn’t enough. I tried to summon the memory of his warmth, the weight of his arm draped over me in the night. Had he been here at all? The thought twisted something in me, a quiet panic that maybe I’d dreamed him entirely. No. Stop it. He’s real. He’s here. I roll onto my side, curling into the empty space, my fingers clutching the pillow as if it can anchor me. The scent of him is fading, and with it, a piece of my certainty. I whisper his name into the quiet, “Steve.” Please be here. Please.
On the nightstand sits a coffee cup. Still warm. Wait, warm? So he was here. The steam curls upward in delicate spirals, catching the light and carrying the rich, earthy scent of roasted beans. Something about that makes my chest pinch. Just a little. Like... had he been here a minute ago? Had he kissed my temple, whispered something? Or had I missed it entirely?

I blink slowly, the weight of sleep still clinging to my lashes, and try to shake the fog out of my head.

That lingering feeling of deja vu… like I forget something obvious. The room feels too still without him, the silence heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the ocean through the open window. I pull the blanket tighter around me, the fabric soft but not enough to fill the space he leaves behind.
But then that thought slipped in like a hand into mine: “He’s nearby. I just had to find him.”

And just like that, I let go of the tension I didn’t even realize I was holding.

He wouldn’t leave. Not unless I asked. And I hadn’t.

So it’s fine.

Everything’s fine.

My body felt... pliable. Loose. The sheets clung to my legs. My skin was warm under the blanket, my neck slightly damp with sweat.

I stretched one arm above my head, feeling the pull in my muscles, letting every joint pop into place. My shoulder cracked. My spine tingled. And in my mind, I felt the ghost of his steady hand pressing gently to the back of my head. His thumb on my nape. I want that now. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until the door opened with the softest creak.

“Morning,” I hear the kind of voice you want to listen to before your brain has fully woken up. “I checked on you earlier. You slept perfectly.”

“You were out like a light,” he added, a hint of amusement curling the edges of his words. “Didn’t even stir when I got up.” He was here. See? I wasn’t imagining it. His footsteps were soft on the hardwood, each step deliberate, and I caught the faint clink of his belt buckle as he moved closer. He’s wearing those jeans I like, the ones that hug his thighs just right, and I can’t help but notice the way his t-shirt stretches across his chest as he steps into the room, the fabric catching the light. The sight of him felt like coming home, like the world was right again. I let my eyes linger on him, taking in the way his shirt clung to his shoulders, the way his jeans sat low on his hips, the way his presence filled the room without trying. It was unfair, really, how he could look so effortlessly good, how he could make my heart stutter just by existing.
The sight of him washing away the lingering sadness like sunlight burning off morning mist. “You scared me,” I murmured. “Thought you’d vanished on me.” My lips twitched into a small smile. Steve paused, his gaze softening as he leaned against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket. “Vanished?” he said. “Not a chance, Danny.” Liar. You always vanish.

“I was just letting you sleep. You looked too peaceful to wake.” Peaceful? I was drowning in that dream. He stepped closer, the floor creaking under his weight, and I felt my heart stutter as he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead. His fingers lingered there and I leaned into the touch without thinking.
I sat up, the sheets falling around my waist, cool against my skin. The coffee cup was in my hand before I realized I’d reached for it, my fingers closing around the warm ceramic, the heat seeping into my palms.
“Still sleepy?” He leaned against the bedpost.

My lips curved into a small smile, and I felt my shoulders relax further, the sadness from his absence fading under his gaze. “Mm,” I hummed into the cup, the coffee’s bitterness sharp on my tongue. “Little bit.”

He smiled. “Come on. Bathroom first.” He jerked his head toward the hallway. “You’ll feel better once you’re up and moving,” he said, already turning toward the door, his broad shoulders filling the frame for a moment before he stepped out.
I didn’t rush to follow him. For a minute, I just sat there, hands loose around the warm cup, letting the steam touch my face. My brain was slow to catch up, still suspended somewhere between dreaming and the quiet glow of the morning. The soft click of the bathroom door opening sounded farther away than it was. I took another sip, savoring the bitterness, trying to memorize the feeling of being seen so completely, of being known in a way that felt like a gift I didn’t have to earn.
Eventually, I set the cup down, my fingers lingering on the handle, reluctant to let go of the warmth. My legs felt heavy as I swung them over the side of the bed, the hardwood cool under my feet. I stood slowly, stretching again, feeling the ache in my muscles from sleeping too deeply. The air was cooler in the hallway, and I shivered slightly, my bare arms prickling as I followed the sound of his footsteps and soft clink of glass from the bathroom. The air shifted cooler as I stepped onto the tile, a little shiver racing up my spine. I paused in the doorway, watching him for a moment, feeling something tender and strange uncoil in my chest. The bathroom light was bright, cooler than the bedroom’s haze. He was leaning over the sink, rinsing a cloth under the faucet, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the taut lines of his forearms. Then I stepped closer, close enough that the edge of the sink pressed into my hip. He glanced up, catching my eye in the mirror, and the corner of his mouth quirked up, a silent acknowledgment of my presence. I leaned on the sink while he opened the cabinet.

“You forgot your meds again,” he murmured. Meds? What meds?

“Oh,” I didn’t even try to pretend I remembered.

He handed me a pill, no label, just the familiar shape and texture under my tongue. I washed it down with a sip of water from a glass he’d left on the sink, the cool liquid a sharp contrast to the coffee’s warmth. His fingers lingered near mine as he handed it over. “You’re too trusting,” he said quietly. “What if I gave you the wrong one?” I don’t care.

I wanted to tell him I trusted him because he’d never given me a reason not to, but the words felt too heavy for the quiet of the bathroom. I grinned, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Then I guess I’m in trouble. But I’m betting on you knowing what you’re doing.”

He didn’t laugh, but his eyes softened, a flicker of something warm passing through them. “Finish your water,” he said, nodding toward the glass. “You need to stay hydrated.”

I complied, lifting the glass to my lips again and draining the glass, the clink against the porcelain sink loud in the quiet space. My eyes drifted to the mirror, catching my reflection. Behind me, Steve’s reflection was steady, his dark shirt a contrast to the bright tile.

I shifted, my hip brushing against the sink, and glanced at him. “What now?”

He didn’t answer right away, just tilted his head, studying me. Then he stepped closer, his hand brushing my arm as he reached past me to close the cabinet. “Breakfast,” he said finally. “But first, let’s get you cleaned up properly.” He nodded toward the sink. “Can’t have you looking like you just rolled out of bed.”

I laughed. “You saying I look rough?” Tell me I don’t. Tell me you like how I look.

“Never,” he said, as he handed me a towel. “Just saying you could use a little polish.” His fingers lingered on the towel as I took it. The moment stretched, and I knew he was waiting for me to move, to follow his lead. So I did, turning toward the sink, the towel soft in my hands, ready to step into whatever he had planned next. I splash water on my face, the coolness shocking my skin awake, and I gasped softly, the sensation pulling me fully into the moment. I ran the towel over my face, scrubbing gently, feeling the last traces of sleep slip away. Steve’s footsteps echoed softly as he moved toward the hallway, and I followed, the shift from the bathroom’s cool tile to the warmer hardwood of the corridor marking a change in the morning’s rhythm. The air grew richer as we approached the kitchen, the faint scent of toasted bread and citrus drifting from the open doorway. My stomach growled softly, a reminder of the world beyond the quiet intimacy of the bathroom. Steve glanced back, catching my eye with a knowing smile, as if he’d heard it. “Hungry already?” he teased, and I shrugged, feeling the ease of his presence settle over me like a warm blanket. “Starving,” for you, I admitted, letting my eyes linger on him for a moment too long, hoping he’d catch the double meaning. His smile widens, and I know he does, the glint in his eyes telling me he’s already planning how to answer that unspoken hunger.

The kitchen was bathed in soft light, the morning sun streaming through the window above the sink, casting long shadows across the counter. The scent of toasted bread was stronger now, mingling with the sharp tang of fresh oranges and the faint smokiness of bacon sizzling in a pan. Steve moved with purpose, his hands deft as he flipped the bacon, the sizzle filling the air with a comforting rhythm. “Sit,” he said, nodding toward the small wooden table in the corner, already set with a plate and a glass of orange juice. I slid into the chair, the wood cool against my thighs, and watched as he worked, his back to me, the muscles in his shoulders shifting under his shirt. “You didn’t have to go all out,” I whispered, my voice almost lost in the hum of the kitchen. But I’m glad you did. He glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Who says this is all out? Just making sure you don’t starve on me, Danny.”

He turned back to the stove, but not before I caught the faintest smirk on his lips. I sipped the orange juice, the tartness bursting on my tongue, and watched him slice a loaf of crusty bread. The sound of the blade against the cutting board was soothing, a quiet counterpoint to the sizzle of the bacon. He plated the food with care, arranging the bacon and toast with a reverent precision, and I felt a pang of gratitude for the way he made even the smallest moments feel significant.

As we ate, the clink of forks against plates filled the quiet, punctuated by the occasional chirp of birds outside. I glanced at Steve, watching the way his fingers curled around his coffee mug.
“You ever get tired of this?” I asked. “Taking care of me like this?” Please don’t say yes. I need you to keep doing this.

He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, and set it down, his eyes meeting mine. “Tired?” He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest. “Danny, if I was tired, I wouldn’t be here.” His voice steady, carrying a weight that made my chest tighten. “I do this because I want to. Because you’re worth it.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry, and looked down at my plate, pushing a piece of bacon around with my fork. “I just… don’t want you to feel like you have to,” I mumbled, my fingers tightening around the fork. I don’t want to be a burden. Not to him.

He reached across the table, his hand covering mine, stilling my nervous fidgeting. “Look at me,” he said softly, and I did, my eyes meeting his. “I don’t have to do anything. I choose this. I choose you.” Thank you… His thumb brushed over my knuckles, and I felt a warmth spread through me, loosening the knot in my chest.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I just… I’m not used to this.”

His smile was soft. “You will be,” he said, squeezing my hand before letting go. “Now eat. You’re gonna need your energy for what I’ve got planned next.”

I chuckled under my breath and took another sip of juice. Steve stayed seated for a moment, sipping his coffee like he had all the time in the world, then reached casually toward the counter. His fingers brushed over a closed leather-bound notebook that had been sitting there the whole time. I just hadn’t noticed it. He pulled it closer, flipping it open and fished a pen from the breast pocket of his shirt.

Without a word, he began jotting something down, his gaze flicking between the page and me. The scratch of the pen against paper was hypnotic in the quiet kitchen, mingling with the faint pop of cooling bacon grease.

The morning light filtered through the window, catching the faint stubble on his jaw, making it glint like flecks of gold.

I sipped my coffee. The coffee was stronger now, the bitterness blooming on my tongue, and I let it linger, watching him over the rim of the mug.

“You keeping tabs on me?”

He didn’t even look up. “Of course. I need to know how you’re feeling. I want you to feel good, Danny.”

And damn it, that made me smile. 

It felt good to be taken care of like that. To be watched. It was a strange kind of comfort. His attention felt like a spotlight, and I realized I didn’t mind being seen. “You’re gonna spoil me,” I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on the table, my eyes locked on his, daring him to take it further. “What happens when I get used to this?”

I expected him to laugh, but he didn’t. He finally looked at me, eyes softened, and he leaned forward, elbows on the table, mirroring my posture. “Then I keep spoiling you. Simple as that.” Good. Don’t stop.

I exhaled, the breath leaving my lungs slowly. “Okay.”

“Let’s play a game?” He stood, stretching slightly, and the movement made his shirt pull tight across his shoulders, reminding me how solid he was. “Something to wake you up,” he added, his lips curving into a smile that promised mischief.

That gets my attention. I blinked. “What kind of game?”

“You trust me, don’t you?” He stepped closer, and I could smell the faint cedar of his cologne, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my mouth go dry.
“Yeah,” I said.

“Then no questions. Three things. You do them, no hesitation. Think of it like... obedience training.” Obedience? I’d do anything you asked. You know that.

I raised an eyebrow and tilt my head, a small smirk tugging at my lips. He was already standing, already pulling something from the hall closet. “What’s in it for me?” I leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms.

 “You’ll see.” His smile sharpens. “Put this on,” he said, tossing me a shirt I didn’t recognize. Pale blue, crisp, with a faint floral pattern. New. Soft. The fabric is smooth under my fingers, cool against my skin, and I can’t help but wonder where he got it, why it feels so right.

I hesitated for half a second, my fingers pausing on the hem of my old t-shirt, then slipped it over my shoulders, the air cool against my bare chest. The new shirt sliding over my skin, the collar brushing my neck just right. The way it fit, the way the fabric moved when I shifted felt familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. Maybe I’d worn it before. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. I glanced at myself in the reflection of the kitchen window, catching the way the pale blue brought out the warmth in my skin. “Not bad,” I said, turning to face him, my lips twitching into a smile. “You’ve got good taste.”

He stepped close, fingers brushing my collar. Fixing it. Straightening the line at my neck. But his hands didn’t leave. They stayed, his thumbs traced slow arcs along my jawline. “You missed a button,” he said softly and reached down, deftly fastening the one I’d skipped. His knuckles brushed my chest, and I fought the urge to lean into him, to feel more of him, to let him keep fixing me in all possible ways.

“Beautiful,” he murmured and I feel my cheeks flush, my eyes dropping to the floor before meeting his again.

“What’s next?” I tilted my head slightly, trying to read his expression.
“Patience,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. He stepped back, his hands lingering on my shoulders for a moment longer before he turned, grabbing another, smaller notebook from the counter. “Second thing,” he said, flipping it open and tearing out a page. He handed it to me, his fingers brushing mine, and I glanced down at the paper, a single word written in his neat handwriting: Listen. “What’s this supposed to mean?” I asked, my brow furrowing. He didn’t answer, just pointed to the chair. “Sit. And listen. Really listen.” I sat, the chair creaking under me, and closed my eyes, focusing on the sounds around me. The hum of the refrigerator, the distant crash of waves, the soft rustle of his clothes as he moved. His voice came again, closer now, a whisper against my ear. “Good. Now tell me what you hear.” I swallowed, my heart pounding, and listed the sounds, my voice shaky but steadying as I spoke. “That’s it,” he said, his hand resting on my shoulder, grounding me. “You’re doing great.”

He didn’t move his hand right away. His thumb strokes once along the back of my neck before pulling away, and the skin there tingles in the sudden cool. I opened my eyes, blinking against the sudden brightness of the kitchen, and found him watching me with that same calm focus.

“Don’t lose that,” he murmured. “That stillness. Keep it.”

He stepped around me, coming to stand directly in front of me instead. He extended his hand toward me, palm open. Take it. Don’t think. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet with an easy strength that left me no choice but to follow. The moment I was standing, he moved behind me, his presence close enough to feel. His palm settled lightly between my shoulder blades and with that quiet touch, he steered me forward. Each step was slow. We crossed the kitchen like that until I faced the mirror, his reflection a solid presence at my back. The glass was cool under my fingertips as I steadied myself, and I saw my flushed cheeks, mussed hair, the pale blue shirt clinging to my shoulders. Behind me, Steve’s reflection was a study in contrasts, his dark shirt and steady gaze anchoring the moment. “Look at yourself,” he said. “See what I see.”

“And say it,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Say, ‘I trust you.’ Look at me when you do.” His hands rested on my shoulders.
I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze in the mirror, and the intensity in his eyes made my mouth go dry.

“I trust you,” I said. It feels strange on my tongue, like honey with a hint of lemon. Like something I’ve said before, but forgot how sweet it tasted. I wanted to say it again, to see that flicker of warmth in his gaze, but I held back, letting the moment stretch.

His reflection didn’t waver, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, a flicker of satisfaction. “Again,” his fingers tightening slightly on my shoulders. “Say it like you mean it.”

I swallowed, my throat tight, and repeated, “I trust you.” This time, the words felt heavier, rooting themselves in my chest. My reflection stared back, wide-eyed and vulnerable, but his presence behind me made it feel… safe.

His smile was slow, almost predatory, but there was a warmth in it that made my knees weak. “Good boy.” The words hit me harder than I expected. My chest swelled, a strange mix of pride and something that made my stomach twist but not in a bad way. I wanted to make him happy. I liked it. I felt my face flush, but I didn’t look away, not when his hands slid down my arms, his fingers lingering at my wrists.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked.
I didn’t respond, but the way my lips parted, the way my breath hitched, was answer enough and I ducked my head slightly, trying to hide the way his words affected me. But he didn’t let me hide. From behind me, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, his fingers tipped my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze again in the mirror's reflection. His body pressed close against my back, breath ghosting over my ear as he held me there. “Don’t do that,” he said softly. “Don’t hide from me, Danny. I want to see you.” His thumb brushed my lower lip, and I felt my breath stutter. The mirror held us both, his reflection steady behind mine. I wanted to stay there, suspended in that quiet intensity, but he stepped back, breaking the spell with a soft chuckle.

“Alright, enough staring,” he said, as he tugged lightly at the collar of the pale blue shirt he’d made me wear. “You look good, Danny. Too good to stay cooped up in here all day.” His eyes flicked toward the window, where the morning light was starting to sharpen, cutting through the haze of the bedroom. “Let’s get out. Somewhere real.”

I blinked, still half-caught in the warmth of his approval, my skin tingling where his fingers had been. “Out?” I echoed. “Where?”

He didn’t answer right away, just grabbed his keys from the nightstand, the metal jangling softly in his hand. “You’ll see,” he said, tossing me a quick, mischievous grin. “Grab your shoes. And don’t dawdle, you’re already moving like you’re still half-asleep.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I followed him out of the room, my bare feet padding against the hardwood. The air in the hallway felt cooler, carrying the faint scent of coffee still lingering from the kitchen. As I slipped on my sneakers by the front door, I caught him watching me again. “What?” I asked, tying my laces, my lips twitching into a smirk. “You gonna grade my shoe-tying skills now?”

“Could be part of the game,” he shot back, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re still on my clock, Danny. Don’t forget it.”

I stood, brushing my hands on my jeans, and met his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, echoing his earlier words, and the way his smile widened told me he caught it. He pushed off the doorframe, stepping close enough that I could feel the warmth of him again, his hand brushing my elbow as he guided me toward the front door.

Outside, the morning air was crisp, carrying the faint salt of the nearby sea. The truck was parked in the driveway, its dark paint gleaming under the sunlight, and Steve was already unlocking it. I paused for a second, letting the breeze tug at my hair. The sound of distant waves mixing with the chirp of birds, the air alive with possibility. Steve opened the passenger door for me, his hand brushing my back as I climbed in, a fleeting touch that left me wanting more. The leather creaking under me, and as he slid into the driver’s side, the truck’s familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around me. The air was cool against my skin, tugging at the loose strands of my hair, and I tilted my head back, letting it wash over me and I sat with one knee up against the dash, fingers drumming absently on my thigh.

Steve’s hand rested on the wheel, the other gripping his to-go mug. He hadn’t said much since we got in. Just turned the ignition, adjusted the AC, and looked at me like he’d already planned out the rest of the day.

I didn’t ask where we were going. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, it was that it didn’t feel necessary. The truck felt like an extension of him, a space where I could just be, letting him steer us wherever he wanted. I leaned back and watched the road stretch out ahead, a ribbon of asphalt under a sky too blue to be real.

“Still a little foggy?” he asked, glancing over as we pulled onto the highway, flanked by rolling hills dotted with wildflowers, their colors muted in the morning light. “You’ve got that look again,” he added, his eyes flicking to me before returning to the road. “Like you’re half here, half somewhere else.”

I shrugged, then smiled. “I’m always a little foggy around you.” The admission slipped out before I could stop it, and I felt a flush creep up my neck. I turned my head, pretending to study the passing scenery, but I could feel his gaze on me, warm and knowing. “That’s not a bad thing, is it?” I added, trying to deflect the sudden vulnerability.

His smirk widened, and he took a sip from his mug. “Well, that explains the coffee you spilled yesterday.” Yesterday? Was that real?

“Oh come on,” I laughed, nudging his arm. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Mm.” He set the mug in the center console, his fingers brushing the edge of my seat as he did. “You’re lucky it didn’t end up all over your shirt.”

“Would that have been the end of the world?” I raised an eyebrow, leaning back in my seat and caught the way his eyes flicked to me, lingering on the way the pale blue shirt stretched across my chest. I smirked, knowing I’d caught his attention.

He didn’t answer right away, just looked at me. The road stretched out ahead, but his attention was on me. “You’d be surprised what I’d do to keep you looking good,” he said finally. “You’re too careless sometimes, Danny.”

I snorted. “And what, you gonna tie me up next time so I don’t drop anything?”

I meant it as a joke, but the words came out too fast, and the silence that followed was… heavier than I expected. My heart gave a quick, unsteady thud, and I glanced at him, half-expecting him to laugh it off.

His grip on the steering wheel didn’t change, but his eyes flicked toward me. Slower this time. “Careful what you wish for,” he said. “I might take you up on that. So don’t tempt me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I murmured, but my shaky and too eager voice betrayed me. I felt warm rush straight to my cheeks and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too much. But I didn’t look away. Not even when his hand brushed my knee, squeezing once before returning to the wheel. He pulled his hand back, but the warmth lingered, a phantom touch that made me want to reach for him. “Keep your hands to yourself, or we’re gonna end up in a ditch.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, Danny. I’ve got this under control.” But the way he said it made me wonder if he was talking about the truck at all. I want to believe he’s got everything under control, that he’s got me under control.
The wildflowers outside blurred into streaks of yellow and purple, and I let my head tip back against the headrest, the breeze from the open window cooling the flush on my cheeks. Just breathe. Let it go.

“We’re almost there,” Steve said, his voice pulling me back to the moment. He took a sip from his to-go mug, then set it down, his fingers brushing the edge of my seat again. “You’re gonna like this. It’s loud, messy, alive. Just what you need to shake off that fog.”

I raised an eyebrow, turning to face him. “You’re taking me somewhere loud? Thought you liked me quiet and obedient,” I teased, leaning closer, my elbow resting on the center console.

“I like you all kinds of ways, Danny. But you’re gonna have to keep up with me out there.” His eyes flicked to me.

The truck slowed as we turned off the highway, the asphalt giving way to a narrower road lined with colorful signs and the faint hum of voices in the distance. The road felt familiar, the curve of it tugging at something in my memory, a faint sense of recognition I couldn’t quite place. I leaned forward, squinting at the signs, the names of streets and shops sparking a vague sense of deja vu. “This place looks familiar,” I said to myself. Steve glanced at me. “It should,” he said simply, hand resting on the gearshift, his fingers brushing mine for a moment. “We’ve been here before. You just don’t always remember.” His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning I couldn’t quite grasp, but I didn’t push. The air grew thicker, carrying the scent of fresh produce, spices, and caramelized nuts. Steve pulled into a gravel lot, the tires crunching as he parked, and I felt a shift, the world was opening up around us. He cut the engine, and the sudden quiet was filled with the distant clamor of the market, a lively pulse that tugged at my senses. I glanced at him, catching the way his fingers lingered on the keys before he pocketed them. “Ready for this?” he nodded toward the colorful sprawl of stalls visible through the windshield.

I grinned, unbuckling my seatbelt. “You say that like I’ve got a choice.”

“You always have a choice, Danny,” his eyes locking onto mine. “But you’re gonna like this one.”  He was out of the truck before I could respond, his boots hitting the gravel with a soft crunch. He circled around to my side, opening the door with a quick tug, his hand outstretched to help me out. The gesture was so natural that I didn’t think twice before taking it, his palm warm against mine, pulling me to my feet with an ease that made my heart stutter.

“Come on,” he said softer now as he let go of my hand but stayed close. I followed, the gravel sharp under my sneakers, digging into the soles as we stepped away from the truck. Steve paused by the tailgate, popping it open with a quick flick of his wrist, the metal creaking softly. He reached into the bed of the truck, pulling out a small stack of brown paper bags. He shook them out, the paper crinkling, and tucked a couple under his arm, handing me one with a quick grin.

“Gotta be prepared,” he said, closing the tailgate with a thud. “You never know what we’re gonna find.”

I raised an eyebrow, clutching the bag. “What, you planning to buy out the whole market?”

He smirked, adjusting the bags under his arm. “Maybe. Depends on what catches your eye.” He nodded toward the stalls, already moving. “Stay close,” he murmured, his hand finding my wrist, his fingers wrapping around it with just enough pressure to make me hyper-aware of his touch. I nodded, already feeling the pull of his presence guiding me forward.
The market was a riot of color and sound, a living, breathing thing that pulsed with energy. Canvas awnings in reds, blues, and yellows fluttered in the breeze, casting dappled shadows on the dirt path. Stalls lined both sides, their tables overflowing with glossy mangoes, papayas the color of sunset, and baskets of vibrant greens. The air was thick with the scent of grilled fish, sweet pineapple, and the sharp tang of freshly cut herbs. Locals called out prices in rapid-fire Hawaiian pidgin, their voices blending with the chatter of tourists and the high-pitched giggles of kids weaving through the crowd, clutching shaved ice in paper cones that dripped neon syrup onto their hands. I should’ve felt more alert, more here, but all I could really focus on was the way Steve’s fingers wrapped around my wrist.

“Don’t get distracted,” his lips close to my ear so I could hear him over the noise. “You tend to wander.”

“I like to wander,” I muttered under my breath.

He tightened his hold but I don’t mind the pressure. I kind of like it. His hand is warm, steady.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m holding on.”

I let him lead.
It was easy, too easy to follow his steps, to let him guide me through the maze of stalls.

We stopped at a stall piled high with apples, their skins glossy red and green, catching the sunlight like jewels. Steve let go of my wrist, his fingers brushing mine as he reached for an apple, turning it over in his hand. “These look good,” he said, glancing at the vendor, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile and a bright scarf tied around her head. “What’s the variety?” he asked. “Honeycrisp,” she said, her hands pausing as she looked up, her eyes crinkling with a knowing smile. “Sweet, crisp, good for eating or baking.”
Steve nodded, handing her a few coins from his pocket. “We’ll take a half-dozen,” he said, then glanced at me, his eyes softening. “You like apples, don’t you, Danny?” I nodded, caught off guard by the question, and he smiled, slipping the apples into one of the brown paper bags. “Thought so,” he said.

We moved on, weaving through the crowd, Steve’s hand finding mine again. Vendors shouting about fresh poke, a ukulele player strumming somewhere to the left, the sizzle of meat on a grill. Every few steps, I felt his grip tighten. Once when I lingered too long at a spice rack, the jars of turmeric and saffron glowing like tiny suns. Once when I paused near a cart selling sugar-coated macadamias, their caramelized scent making my mouth water. It wasn’t aggressive, more like… gentle reminders “Stay close. Focus. With me.” And I did, because the longer I let him steer, the quieter my mind felt, the noise of the market fading into a hum that didn’t overwhelm me.

We stopped at a stall with a hand-painted sign that read “Island Fresh Breads.” The table was piled with golden loaves, their crusts cracked and dusted with flour, the air thick with the warm, yeasty scent of just-baked bread. Steve picked up a small round loaf, still warm from the oven, and broke off a piece, holding it out to me. “Try this,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “Sourdough. Bet it’s better than anything you had in Jersey.”

I raised an eyebrow, taking the piece, the crust crunching under my fingers. “Big talk, McGarrett,” I said, popping it into my mouth. The bread was tangy, chewy, with a slight sweetness that lingered on my tongue. I made a show of chewing slowly, savoring it, then nodded. “Not bad. Not Jersey, but… not bad.”

He grinned, handing the vendor a few bills and slipping the loaf into brown paper bag. “Told you,” he said and tore off another piece, holding it out to me again. This time, his fingers brushed my lips as I took it, and I froze for a split second.

“You’re pushing it,” I muttered, swallowing the bread, my cheeks heating up as I looked away, pretending to study the stall’s display of braided rolls and sweetbreads.

“Am I?” he asked, leaning closer. “You seem to be handling it just fine, Danno.”

I rolled my eyes, but the grin tugging at my lips gave me away. “Keep it up, and I’m eating all this bread myself,” I shot back.

We moved to a lemonade stand next, the vendor squeezing fresh lemons into a glass pitcher, the tart scent cutting through the air. Steve stopped, pulling me gently to a halt, his hand still wrapped around mine. “You look like you could use a drink,” he said, handing the vendor a coin and passing me a cup, the glass cold and slick with condensation against my palm.

I took a sip, the lemonade sharp and sweet, the citrus bursting on my tongue. I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring it, letting the coolness slide down my throat. “Not bad,” I said, opening my eyes to find him watching me, his expression unreadable but warm. “Want a taste?” I held the cup out to him, tilting it toward his lips, my thumb brushing the rim.

He leaned in, taking a slow sip, his eyes locked on mine over the glass, the blue of them catching the sunlight in a way that made my breath catch. His lips grazed my thumb, just for a second, and I felt my heart thud hard in my chest. “You’re right,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not bad at all.”

I swallowed and forced a laugh to break the tension. “You’re gonna owe me a whole pitcher if you keep stealing my drink,” I said, taking another sip to hide the way my hands were shaking just a little.

He chuckled, his shoulder brushing mine as we started walking again. “I’ll buy you two, just say the word.”

At a stall selling handmade soaps, their surfaces swirled with patterns of lavender and mint, I stopped to pick one up, the scent sharp and clean in my nose. Steve stood beside me, his shoulder brushing mine, and I could feel the heat of him through my shirt. The vendor, an older woman with silver streaks in her hair, handed me a small sample, a sliver of soap wrapped in wax paper. I rubbed it between my fingers, the texture smooth and slightly oily, and held it up to Steve, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you think? Lavender suit me?” I asked, holding the sample under his nose, close enough that my fingers brushed his jaw.

He leaned in, inhaling deeply, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again, locking onto mine. “Smells like you already,” he said, the soap suddenly feeling heavier in my hand. He took it from me, his fingers grazing mine, and handed the vendor a few coins, adding the soap to our growing collection of bags. “For the shower,” he said, glancing at me with a smirk.
We drifted toward a stall draped in vibrant fabrics, the table covered with neatly folded sarongs and scarves, their colors bleeding into each other like a sunset over the ocean. I paused, drawn to a deep blue sarong with a subtle wave pattern, the fabric cool and silky under my fingertips. Steve noticed, stepping closer, his hand still lightly holding my wrist. “You like that one?”

I shrugged, my fingers lingered on the fabric. “It’s nice. Reminds me of the water out by your place.” I glanced at him, catching the way his eyes softened.

He nodded to the vendor, a young woman with a quick smile, and pulled out a few more coins. “We’ll take it,” he said, not even asking the price. The vendor folded the sarong with practiced ease, slipping it into a small paper bag, and Steve handed it to me, his fingers brushing mine again. “For when you’re sitting out back, watching the waves,” he said. I took the bag in my hands, and the quiet rustling of paper went with us as we moved on, his hand guiding me forward.

But when he finally let go, I noticed the faint imprint of his fingers around my wrist. It wasn’t red. Just... there. Like a shadow I didn’t want to wash off. “You’ve got a strong grip,” I said. I glanced at him, catching the way his eyes flickered to my wrist, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

“You alright?” he asked, tucking another brown paper bag into my arms, this one heavier, filled with something that smelled faintly of citrus and herbs.

I nodded, the bag rough against my skin. “Yeah.” I could feel the weight of it, the faint rustle of leaves inside, maybe lemongrass or basil and I wondered what else he’d picked up while I was distracted. I flexed my wrist again, the faint pressure of his grip lingering, and a stray thought flickered through my mind: what it would be like to feel it again, stronger, more deliberate. My cheeks heated up, and I looked away, focusing on the stall in front of us, where a vendor was arranging colorful jars of spices, their scents sharp and exotic, cutting through the sweetness of the air. “Good.” He looked at me for a second longer. “You’re being very good today.”

That made something flutter in my stomach. 

Which was stupid. 

Except it wasn’t.

I walked a little straighter after that. Let him take my hand again without thinking, his fingers slotting between mine like they were made to fit.

A little further on, the crowd thickened near a live demonstration. A woman weaving intricate baskets from dried palm leaves, her fingers flying with practiced ease. Steve pulled me closer to his side, his arm brushing mine as we watched. "Think you could learn that?" he teased, leaning in so his breath tickled my ear. I shook my head, mesmerized by the rhythm of her work. "I'd probably tangle myself up," I admitted, and he chuckled, his grip on my hand tightening reassuringly. "I'd untangle you," he whispered, quickly buying a small woven coaster, slipping it into my pocket with a wink. "For your desk. To remember today." I felt the texture against my thigh and I squeezed his hand back.

The market’s chaos felt distant now, like I was walking through a dream, and I realized I was smiling. Didn’t even notice when we passed the flower stand I usually linger at. The flower stand was a blur of colorful roses and lilies and bright yellow sunflowers but I barely registered it. My eyes were on him, on the way his jaw tightened slightly as he navigated the crowd, on the way his hand never left mine. “You didn’t stop for the flowers,” he said, glancing back at me with a raised eyebrow. “That’s a first.”

I shrugged, my thumb brushing against his knuckles. “Guess I had something better to look at.” I felt my face heat up, but his laugh made it worth it.

All I saw was him.

As the market’s energy began to settle, the sun dipping lower and casting long shadows across the stalls, I felt the weight of the bags in my arms, the crinkle of paper and the faint scents of coffee, bread, and citrus mingling together. Steve slowed his pace, his hand still in mine, and glanced at me, his eyes catching the golden light. “Getting heavy?” he asked, nodding toward the bags.

The paper crinkling as I shifted them. “Manageable,” I said, but my arms were starting to ache. “You planning to cook a feast with all this?”

He grinned, his fingers tightening around mine for a moment. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you carry it all.” He paused, looking out over the market, the crowd thinning slightly as vendors began packing up their wares. “Think we’ve got enough for today. Ready to head home?”

I nodded, the word home hitting me harder than I expected, conjuring images of his place by the water, the sound of waves, the quiet that always felt louder when he was there. “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go.”

He gave my hand a final squeeze before letting go, taking the heavier bags from me, and I felt the imprint of his grip on my wrist. “Come on, Danno,” he said, heading toward the truck, his stride steady and sure. The gravel crunched under our feet as we reached the truck, and I glanced at him, catching the way his eyes softened, like he was pleased with something I couldn’t quite name.

“You did good out there,” he said, opening the passenger door for me. “Didn’t wander off once.” He takes the bag from me, setting it in the back of the truck, and I flex my fingers, relieved to be free of the weight.

I laughed, sliding into the seat, the leather warm from the sun. “Only because you had me on a leash,” I teased, holding up my wrist where the faint shadow of his grip still lingered. His smile sharpened, and he leaned in, one hand braced on the doorframe, his face closer than I expected.

“Careful, Danny,” he murmured, his breath brushing my cheek. “You’re giving me ideas.” The words sent a shiver down my spine, and I bit my lip, trying to hide the grin that threatened to spill over.
“Ideas, huh?” I said, leaning back in the seat. “What kind of ideas?” Because I want your leash.
He didn’t answer right away, just looked at me with those unreadable eyes. “You’ll find out,” he said finally and shut the door, circling around to the driver’s side, and as the engine roared to life. The drive back was quieter, the hum of the truck and the soft rush of the breeze through the window filling the space between us. I leaned my head against the glass, watching the world blur past.

We passed a small roadside stand selling wildflowers, their bright colors a stark contrast to the dusty road. I turned my head, watching them blur past, and felt a pang of regret, maybe, for not stopping. “You wanted to stop, didn’t you?” Steve said, his voice pulling me back. I shrugged, trying to play it off, but he slowed the truck, pulling over to the side of the road. “Come on,” he said, cutting the engine and stepping out. I followed, confused but curious, and we walked over to the stand, where an older woman was arranging bouquets. Steve picked up a small bundle of daisies, their white petals soft against the green stems. “For you,” he said, handing them to me. I took them, the scent of fresh flowers filling my lungs, and felt my cheeks flush. “You didn’t have to,” I said, but he just smiled, paying the woman and guiding me back to the truck. “I wanted to,” he said simply, and I clutched the daisies, their weight a quiet reminder of his care.

On the way back, the truck’s cab felt smaller, the air thicker with the scent of daisies. I held the bouquet in my lap, my fingers tracing the soft petals, and glanced at him, catching the way his jaw tightened slightly, like he was holding something back. “You’re quiet,” I said, breaking the silence. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Tell me. For once.

He glanced at me, his eyes softening. “Just thinking about you,” he said. “About how you look when you’re happy. Like right now.”

My breath caught, and I felt my cheeks heat up again. “You’re gonna make me blush all day,” I muttered, looking down at the daisies to hide my smile.

“Good,” he said, reaching over to brush a stray petal from my knee. “I like seeing you like this. Makes me feel like I’m doing something right.” His fingers lingered on my knee for a moment.

“You’re doing a lot right,” I said softly. “More than you know.”

He didn’t respond, just squeezed my knee gently before returning his hand to the wheel.

By the time we pulled up to the house, the sun was higher, casting long shadows across the driveway. Steve grabbed the bags from the back, and I followed him inside, still holding the daisies, their stems slightly damp against my palm. The cool air of the house was a sharp contrast to the warmth outside, and I set the bouquet on the kitchen counter, careful not to crush the petals. My arms still tingled from where he’d held me. I didn’t want to admit how much I missed the pressure the second it was gone. “Feels like we were out there for hours,” I said, setting the bag down.

Steve dropped the bag beside flowers, then looked at me like he was already thinking three steps ahead again.

“You tired?”

“Little,” I said honestly. I shifted my weight, feeling the ache in my legs from standing too long, the faint buzz of exhaustion behind my eyes. “Market’s a lot,” I added, rubbing the back of my neck, my fingers brushing the damp hair there. “But it was… fun.” I found a glass pitcher in the cupboard, filled it from the tap, and slipped the stems inside. The water darkened around them, little air bubbles catching along the green.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “They fit here.” He gave me a look that didn’t need words. I leaned against the counter, the edge pressing into my hip, and kicked at the floor absently, my sneakers scuffing against the hardwood. The grit from the market’s gravel lot still clung to the soles. Steve’s eyes flicked down to my feet, and he tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “You’re tracking dirt all over my floor, Danny.”

“Didn’t realize you were such a neat freak,” my lips twitched into a smile as I bent to untie my laces. Before I could get far, Steve stepped closer, his hand brushing my arm to stop me.

“Let me,” he said softer now. He didn’t wait for my response, just dropped to one knee in front of me, his broad shoulders filling the space between us. My heart stuttered, and I froze, hands hovering uselessly at my sides as he looked up at me, his eyes catching the kitchen’s soft light. The air thickened, the scent of daisies mixing with the cedar of his cologne and I felt my face heat up under his gaze.

“Steve, I can-” I started, but the words died in my throat as his fingers found my ankle. He shifted closer, his knees brushing the hardwood, and then, God help me, he lifted my leg with a careful grip, pulling my foot toward him. He rested it on his thigh, the muscle firm beneath my heel. He didn’t rush, like he was savoring every second. His thumb brushed the edge of my sneaker, tracing the worn leather before he tugged gently at the laces, loosening them with a practiced ease. My breath hitched, and I gripped the counter behind me, the cool edge grounding me as my knees threatened to buckle.

He slid the left shoe off, his fingers grazing the arch of my foot through the sock, sending a shiver up my spine. The shoe hit the floor with a soft thud as he moved to the other foot. My cheeks burned, the heat creeping down my neck, and I bit my lip to keep from making a sound, though something dangerously close to a whimper was building in my chest. Then he reached for my sock and I swear my heart stopped. His middle and ring fingers slipped beneath the hem, hooking the fabric with a slow drag. He pressed them against the sensitive curve of my arch, the pads of his fingers warm and teasing as they slid down, peeling the sock away inch by inch. The sensation was electric, his touch lingering just long enough to make my skin tingle, and I couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped me, my fingers tightening on the counter. His eyes flicked up, catching the flush on my face, and a slow smile curled his lips.

“Relax, Danny,” he murmured. “Just taking care of you.” He pulled the sock free, his fingers brushing the bare skin of my ankle, and I felt my breath stutter, the air catching in my throat as he held my gaze.
Then he reached for my other leg. He lifted it with the same care, settling my foot on his thigh. The position felt impossibly intimate, my legs spread just enough to make me hyperaware of every inch of space between us. His fingers worked the laces of my second sneaker, loosening them with the same maddening slowness, his touch grazing the curve of my ankle, the arch of my foot, each brush of his skin against mine sending sparks skittering through me. The second shoe dropped, and his fingers slid beneath my sock, his touch lingering as he peeled the fabric away, exposing my skin to the cool air and the heat of his gaze.

My toes curled against his thigh, the muscle flexing slightly beneath me, and I couldn’t hold back the shaky exhale that slipped out, teetering on the edge of a moan. His eyes darkened, his smile deepening as he registered the sound, and his hands lingered on my bare ankles, thumbs brushing slow circles against my skin. The kitchen was silent except for the faint hum of the fridge and my own uneven breathing, loud and embarrassingly obvious in the stillness.

“There,” he said finally, “all clean.” He stood, his movements fluid, but he didn’t step back, staying close enough that I could feel the heat of him, his breath brushing my cheek.

I couldn’t meet his eyes, my face still flushed, my pulse hammering in my ears. “You’re… uh, you’re too much,” I managed, my voice rough, trying to play it off with a laugh that sounded more like a choke. I shifted my weight, my bare feet cool against the hardwood, and tried to ignore the way my skin still buzzed where he’d touched me.

He chuckled and leaned in just a fraction, his hand brushing my arm as he reached for the bags again. “You’re cute when you blush, Danno,” he said and stepped back, finally giving me space to breathe, and gestured toward the guest room with a tilt of his head. “Come on. Let’s do something fun.”

I followed him, my legs feeling unsteady, the memory of his fingers on my skin burning hotter than the sun outside. “What’s your definition of fun?” I asked, my voice still a little shaky. “Because I’m starting to think you’ve got a weird idea of it.”

He didn’t answer right away, just led me into the room.
The guest room was bathed in soft light, the big window letting in a golden glow that made the old wooden floor gleam like honey. The air was cooler here, and the cedar scent grew stronger. I paused in the doorway, watching him move, his back to me as he reached for something on the bed. There was a soft silk gray scarf in his hands when I turned to face him. It looked harmless. Everything about it did.

He stepped closer, smoothing the fabric between his palms. “I want to try something. A game.”

My breath caught somewhere between my ribs and throat. “A game?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s just a little test,” he murmured. His eyes held mine, the blue in them catching the golden light in a way that made it hard to look away.

“You’re making this sound intense,” I said, forcing a grin, but my voice came out shakier than I wanted, betraying the flutter in my stomach. I took a step closer, drawn to the way his hands moved, the way the scarf seemed to shimmer under his touch. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the test?”

“Close your eyes,” he murmured.

I hesitated for half a second, then let my eyelids flutter shut. The world dimmed, I felt a cool scarf slip over my face. My eyelashes brushed against it, and the sensation sent a tiny shiver through me. The air felt cooler against my closed eyelids, and I could hear the soft rustle of the scarf as he moved closer. My hands twitched at my sides, unsure where to go, as if the darkness had stolen my balance. “You trust me?” His voice came from my left, closer than I expected and I turned my head, trying to chase the sound.

 “You keep asking that,” I said, a grin tugging at my lips despite the disorientation. “Is this part of the test? Yes, I trust you.”

“Then listen. Find me.”

I took a cautious step, the floor creaking under my foot. The darkness amplified the faint rustle of my clothes, the distant hum of the world outside. Okay, focus. He’s gotta be near the bed. That creak sounded like it came from there. I reached out, fingers grazing the edge of a chair, its cool wood grounding me for a moment. “This is harder than it sounds.”

“Careful,” Steve’s voice teased somewhere to my right and I spun toward it too quickly. The room tilted for a second, my balance thrown off by the blindfold. I reached out blindly, my palms grazing the edge of a chair. My heart picked up, a thrill of adrenaline mixing with the disorientation. “Okay, okay, slower this time,” I muttered to myself, planting my feet firmly and taking a deep breath. The cedar scent was stronger here, near the dresser by the window, and I used it to orient myself, picturing the room’s layout in my mind.

“Good, Danny, just a small step left…yeah, like that,” Steve encouraged. “You’re doing fine. Listen to the floor; it’ll tell you where the edges are.” His words helped, cutting through the disorientation, making me focus on the subtle creaks under my feet instead of the spinning in my head. I took another step slower this time, my hands outstretched, fingers brushing the air like I was feeling for invisible walls.

Sometimes I thought I could feel him just out of reach, breathing against my skin, but every time I reached for him, he moved. It was maddening, the way I could sense his warmth but my hands found only air. “You’re cheating,” I said half-laughing as I reached out again, my fingers brushing nothing. “Stay still for two seconds, would you?”

His chuckle was soft. “Where’s the fun in that? Keep going. You’re getting better at this.”

I tilted my head, listening harder now. The faint rustle of his clothes, the soft creak of a floorboard as he shifted his weight. He was circling, I realized, moving in a slow arc around me, keeping just out of reach. The thought sent a spark of determination through me, and I took two careful steps forward, my hands outstretched, fingers trembling with anticipation. The air shifted, warmer now, like I was closing in on him. “Warmer,” he murmured closer to my left. I turned, my foot catching the edge of the rug again, and I cursed under my breath, the blindfold amplifying every misstep.

“Language,” his voice now directly in front of me, so close I swore I could feel the heat of him. I reached out, bold this time, and my fingers brushed the sleeve of his shirt, the cotton warm and slightly damp from the day’s heat. A thrill shot through me, and I grabbed for him, but he slipped away, leaving my hands empty. “Not yet,” he said somewhere to my right again.

“Steve,” I groaned, my grin widening despite the frustration. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re getting better at this,” his voice shifting to my left again. “Don’t rush, feel the air move. I’m circling back toward the door now. Take two steps forward, then one right.” I followed his instructions carefully, my hands outstretched and this time, when I reached, my fingertips brushed the sleeve of his shirt. A thrill shot through me, but he slipped away once more, keeping the game alive. To cope with the growing dizziness, I started counting my breaths, in and out, steadying myself like I did during stakeouts back in the day. It helped, grounding me in my body even as the blindfold stole my sight.

I paused after what felt like my tenth near-miss, my chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The room felt larger in the dark, like the walls had expanded, turning the familiar space into a labyrinth. “How big is this room, anyway?” I could hear the faint rustle of curtains from the open window, a breeze slipping in.

“Bigger than you think when you can’t see,” he replied. “You’re near the center now. Pivot slowly to your left… feel that? The rug under your feet. Step off it toward my voice.”

I did as he said, the transition from soft rug to cool hardwood sending a small jolt through my soles. I lunged forward, fingers outstretched, but grasped only air. A soft chuckle came from behind me now, and I whirled around, nearly losing my balance again. “Damn it, Steve, you’re like a ghost in here!”

“Not a ghost,” he murmured. “Just patient. You’re relying too much on speed. Slow down. Use your other senses. What do you hear? What do you feel?”

I stopped, forcing myself to stand still amid the spinning disorientation. My ears strained: the subtle shift of fabric as he moved, the faint creak of a floorboard protesting under his weight, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing almost with mine. The air felt charged, warmer where he had been standing moments ago. I turned my head, zeroing in on that warmth, and took a deliberate step, then another. My hand extended tentatively, and this time, I felt the brush of his arm. I grabbed hold, my fingers curling around his bicep, but he twisted away with a gentle pull, extending the chase.

“Almost,” his voice now from across the room, near the window I thought. “You felt me that time. Keep going. Imagine the layout: dresser to your right, bed straight ahead, door behind you.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see it, and rebuilt the room in my mind. Step by step, I navigated toward the bed, my toes bumping the edge of the frame. I skirted around it, hands grazing the soft comforter, the texture familiar and reassuring. “You’re by the window now, aren’t you?” I called out, a smirk tugging at my lips despite the blindfold. “I can hear the breeze on the curtains.”

“Smart,” he admitted, and I could picture his grin. “But don’t get cocky. Three steps forward, then stop.”

I obeyed, counting them out in my head, and halted just as my shin brushed something low. A footstool? No, the edge of the armchair in the corner. My pulse quickened; I was getting the hang of this, turning the game into a slow, deliberate hunt. The minutes stretched, each near-miss building the tension, making my skin hum with anticipation. Sweat prickled at the back of my neck from the effort, the concentration, but it was exhilarating, like solving a puzzle where the prize was him.

But then he changed the game. “Stop,” he said closer. “Turn to your right. There’s something there.”

I turned, cautious, my hands outstretched. My fingers brushed something smooth and cool. A small glass bottle on the dresser, its surface slick under my touch. “What’s this?” I asked, tracing its shape, the faint clink of glass against wood echoing in the quiet.

“Something I found at the market,” he said. “Smell it.”

I lifted it carefully, the bottle small and heavy in my palm. I brought it to my nose, the scarf still over my eyes, and inhaled. Lavender and sandalwood filled my senses. “You bought this today?”

“For you,” he said simply and my chest tightened. I set the bottle down, my hands trembling slightly, and turned toward his voice. “Where are you now?”

“Closer than you think,” he murmured and I felt the air shift, his warmth brushing against me. I reached out, bold this time, and my fingers found his arm. I gripped it, anchoring myself and he didn’t pull away.

“Got you,” I said, triumphant, my grin wide under the scarf.

His laugh was low. “Maybe I let you.”

Then his hands were on my arms, steadying me as my foot caught on the rug’s edge. I stumbled, a yelp escaping me, but he was there, catching me before I could fall. His grip was firm, his palms warm through my shirt, and my heart stuttered at the contact. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I breathed, my hands finding his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. He didn’t let go, and the silence between us felt alive.

“Good,” his fingers brushed my shoulders, then slid up the sides of my neck. “Can I try something else?”

I nodded before I even thought about it. I felt the scarf shift slightly, the fabric brushing my cheek, and I leaned into his touch, craving the connection. My breath hitched, feeling my pulse quicken under his touch. “What’s left?” I asked. “You’ve already got me blindfolded and stumbling around.”

His thumbs pressed lightly behind my ears. The pressure was gentle at first, but then his thumbs circled slowly, finding that sensitive spot just behind my ears, the one I didn’t even know could feel this electric. A shiver raced down my spine, spreading like wildfire through my veins, making my toes curl involuntarily. Oh God, that feels... too good. I bit my lip to stifle a soft gasp, my body arching subtly toward him without my permission, every inch of me hyper-aware of his proximity. Why does this make me want to melt right here? I could feel his warm breath ghosting over my skin, teasing the fine hairs at the nape of my neck, and I tilted my head slightly, giving him better access, silently begging for more without saying a word.

“Still with me?”

“Mhm.” Barely. You’re killing me here.

“Let me show you something.”

I felt his breath before I felt his soft lips just above the scarf’s edge, right at my temple. He didn’t kiss me. Just let his mouth rest there. His breath was warm, a soft caress against my skin, and I felt my entire body still, every nerve focused on that point of contact. “You’re killing me,” I whispered, and I felt his lips curve into a smile against my skin.

Then he whispered, “You’ve always been like this, you know. Even when you didn’t remember.”

The words catch me off guard. I blink beneath the scarf. What? My mind scramble, searching for the memory he was hinting at, but finding only warmth, a vague sense of familiarity.
Before I could ask, his lips moved again, this time to mine. And the question left my head entirely. The first touch was featherlight, his lower lip brushing the curve of my upper lip. Oh God. Finally. My breath hitched, and I leaned forward, chasing the warmth. His lips were soft, impossibly warm, and they pressed against mine with a deliberate slowness, molding to the shape of my mouth. The blindfold sharpened every sensation: the faint roughness of his stubble grazing my chin, the subtle give of his lips as they parted slightly, inviting me closer. I tilted my head, angling to deepen the contact, and his tongue teasingly touched my lips, making me tremble in the depths of my soul. My hands found his chest, fingers curling into the cotton of his shirt, anchoring myself as the world tilted into a haze of heat and need. His tongue moved more insistently now, tracing the edge of my lower lip before sliding inside, accompanied by a pleasant, demonstrative glide filled with the taste of coffee and the sweet aftertaste of lemonade from the market. My own tongue met his tentative at first, then bolder, curling against the slick heat of his, each movement a dance of push and pull, like waves lapping at the shore. I could feel the faint tremor in his breath, the way his lips pressed harder, parting mine further, his tongue exploring with a hunger that matched the ache in my chest. Perfect. Deeper, please.
My fingers tightened in his shirt, pulling him closer, and I felt his hands slide up my arms, gripping with just enough pressure to ground me. His lips shifted, catching my bottom lip between them, a gentle tug that made my breath stutter, my tongue chasing his as it retreated, only to return with a slow, deliberate stroke that felt like it was unraveling me. The warmth of his mouth was intoxicating fire that I couldn’t stop chasing, each brush and glide of his lips igniting a burning sensation in my stomach. I pressed closer, my tongue sliding against his, tasting the heat of him, the faint salt of his skin, the rhythm of our breaths syncing in the darkness behind the scarf.

“Steve,” I muffled against his lips and I felt his mouth curve, a smile breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second before he dove back in, his lips claiming mine with a new intensity. His tongue swept deeper, curling against the roof of my mouth, and I gasped, the sound swallowed by the heat of his kiss. The warmth in my core tightened, a subtle throb that made me shift slightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice. My hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there, desperate to hold onto something solid as the blindfold turned the world into a swirl of his warmth, his taste, the soft press of his lips.

His tongue gave one final, gentle sweep against mine before he pulled back, leaving my lips tingling, swollen, and aching for him. My breath came in shallow gasps, the blindfold amplifying the lingering heat of his mouth, the taste of him still vivid on my tongue. I felt his hands slide to my wrists, thumbs grazing slow circles against my pulse, and I knew he could feel it racing.

Then the scarf loosened, slipping from my eyes. Light slowly filtered through my lashes. His face was the first thing I saw. I blinked, adjusting to the light, and saw the way his lips were slightly swollen, the faintest flush on his cheeks.

“You did great,” he said softly. “You listen so well, Danny.”

My cheeks flushed hot, a warmth that spread down my neck and settled in my chest sweet like honey. I didn’t move, rooted to the spot by the weight of his words, by the way his voice wrapped around me. The truth is, I liked how his praise made me feel, how it made my heart beat faster. His approval was a tangible thing, a warmth that lingered like the afterglow of the kiss, and I wanted to bask in it, to chase that feeling again. My body reacted before my mind could catch up, a tightening in my jeans that I tried to ignore, but the flush creeping lower betrayed me, my breath hitching as I shifted my weight to hide it.  “I like making you happy,” I say without thinking. I wanted to see him smile, wanted to be the reason for it.

He smiles again. “You do,” he reached out, thumb brushing across my cheek. “You always do.”

The guest room felt charged, the air heavy with the scent of cedar and the faint lavender from the bottle I’d found during the game. The golden light from the window caught his hair, turning the dark strands to a warm bronze, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the way the shadows sharpened his jaw, the faint stubble glinting in the glow.

Steve stepped back, his hand lingering on my cheek for a moment before he let it fall. “Come on, let’s clean you up. You’re still a little… disheveled.” His eyes flicked over me. I let out a shaky laugh and ran a hand through my hair, trying to smooth it down. “Disheveled, huh? That’s what you’re calling it?”

He smirked, already moving toward the hallway, his stride confident, like he knew I’d follow. “You heard me, Danno. Come on.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said. My legs felt unsteady as I followed him out of the guest room, the hardwood cool against my bare feet. The hallway stretched out, the faint scent of the market’s herbs and citrus still clinging to my clothes, mixing with the cedar that seemed to follow Steve everywhere.

He led the way to the bathroom, pushing the door open with a casual nudge of his shoulder. The tiles gleamed under the soft light, and the air was cooler here. “Go on,” he said, nodding toward the shower. “I’ll grab you a towel.”

I nodded, stepping into the bathroom, and paused, my fingers brushing the hem of the pale blue shirt he’d picked out earlier. Shower alone? After that kiss? “You joining me?” I met his gaze, letting my lips curve into a slow grin, my body thrumming with the need to see how far I could take this.

“Tempting,” his eyes darkening as they flicked over me, lingering on the way the shirt hugged my chest. “But not this time, Danno.”

Damn. “Your loss,” I glanced over my shoulder as I began to unbutton the shirt. The door clicking softly behind me. I peeled off the pale blue shirt, the fabric sticking slightly to my skin, and let it drop to the floor. My jeans followed, the denim heavy with the day’s heat, and I kicked them aside, the tiles cold against my soles. The shower knob squeaked as I turned it, and water hissed to life, filling the room with a soft hum. I stepped under the spray, the hot water hitting my skin, washing away the sweat and grit from the market. I scrubbed quickly, using the bar of soap that smelled faintly of the lavender we’d picked up. The water pounded against my shoulders, loosening the tension in my muscles, and I tilted my head back, letting it run through my hair, rinsing away the stickiness of the day. My mind flicked to Steve’s hands, the way they’d guided me during the blindfolded game, the press of his lips against mine, but I shook it off, focusing on the sting of the water, the way it kept me grounded in the moment.

I didn’t linger, turning off the water with a quick twist of the knob, the last drops pattering against the tiles. Stepping out, I grabbed the towel from the rack, wrapping it low around my hips, water still dripping from my hair onto my shoulders. The mirror was fogged, my reflection a blurry outline, and I ran a hand through my wet hair, shaking out the excess water.

The shower left my skin pink and warm. I stood there for a moment, water still dripping down my neck.

He came in without knocking.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped behind me with a clean towel and started drying my hair. Gentle. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His fingers brushed through the wet strands, thumbs grazing the base of my skull. Every touch grounded me, tethered me. I didn’t even try to help. Didn’t reach for the towel. Didn’t protest. His fingers were careful, untangling the damp strands with a patience that made my chest ache. His thumbs pressed lightly at the base of my skull, a spot that made my knees feel weak, and I let my head tilt back slightly, giving in to the sensation.

He cupped my face when he was done, thumbs pressing softly against my cheeks. “Look at you,” he whispered. “All clean and soft.”

He tilted my face up, his thumbs resting just under my cheekbones. “You did well today,” he murmured. “You’ve been so good for me.

My eyes fluttered shut.

Good.

For him.
The words soaked in deeper than the heat of the shower.

He leaned down, his lips barely brushing my forehead. “That’s what trust is, Danny. Letting me take care of you. It’s how I know you’re okay.”
“You make it sound so simple,” I murmured and opened one eye, meeting his gaze. “What if I want to take care of you too?”

His eyes softened, and he brushed his thumb across my cheek again. “You already do, Danny. More than you know.”

I didn’t answer. I’ve heard this before, I thought.

But when I searched for the memory, all I could feel was warmth. A pulse low in my stomach. A craving to be closer. My body leaned into his like it already knew. I pressed closer, my chest brushing against his, and I felt the heat of him, the solidness of his body against mine. My hands found his arms, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
The bathroom’s steam clung to my skin as I pulled away from Steve. My fingers stayed curled in his shirt for a moment, as he stepped back with a soft smile. “Come on,” he reached out, his hand finding the back of my neck, his thumb brushing the damp hair there. “You need to eat. Can’t have you passing out on me.”

“You’re always feeding me,” I said, following him out of the bathroom. My bare feet padded against the hardwood, the faint scent of cedar giving way to the richer aroma of the kitchen as we approached, the tang of fresh herbs mingling with the faint sweetness of daisies I’d placed in a glass pitcher earlier.

Steve glanced back, catching my eye. “Someone’s gotta keep you in line.” He pushed open the kitchen door, and soft light spilled out, wrapping us in its glow. The counter was already cluttered with fresh herbs, a cutting board, a pan waiting on the stove and I realized he’d been planning this while I was in the shower, moving with that quiet efficiency that always made me feel safe.

I lingered in the doorway, watching him move, the way his hands worked with a kind of effortless grace. My eyes drifted to the daisies, their soft petals swaying slightly as a breeze slipped through the open window and I smiled faintly, remembering how he’d tucked them into my hands at the roadside stand. “You’re too good at this,” I said, leaning against the frame, my towel still slung low on my hips. “Makes me feel like I’m slacking.”

He chuckled, glancing over his shoulder as he pulled a knife from the block. “You’re not slacking, Danny. You’re just… letting me take the lead.” His eyes flicked down to the towel, then back to my face, a playful glint in his gaze. “Now go put on some actual clothes before you distract me too much.”

I grinned and pushed off the doorframe. “Yes, sir,” I said, mock-saluting as I headed back to the bedroom. The hallway was dim, the soft glow from the kitchen fading as I padded toward the bedroom, my bare feet cool against the hardwood. The towel clung to my hips, still damp from the shower, and I could feel the faint prickle of water drying on my skin. The air carried that familiar cedar scent, mixed with the lingering steam from the bathroom, and I let it guide me.
In the bedroom, the golden light from the window had softened, casting long shadows across the floor. The bed was still unmade, sheets tangled from where I’d tossed and turned, chasing dreams I couldn’t quite hold onto. I paused by the dresser, my fingers grazing the top drawer. My drawer, apparently. Inside, it was a mix of my things and his: a couple of t-shirts, a pair of socks, even a folded pair of boxers I didn’t remember leaving. And there, tucked to the side, was something new. A navy-blue t-shirt, soft-looking, with a small white logo on the chest I didn’t recognize. I held it up, letting it unfold. The thing was huge, way too big for me, probably too big for him, too.  It’d probably hang down to my knees. Steve’s? No, his stuff was usually broken-in, faded from too many washes. This looked pristine, like it had never been worn. I stood there, holding it, my thumb brushing over the fabric. Did he buy this for me? When? Why?

I smirked to myself, picturing Steve’s face if I walked out wearing this and nothing else but my boxers. No pants, no shorts, just his oversized shirt and my underwear. Why not? If he was gonna give me a drawer, I might as well make myself at home.

I dropped the towel, letting it pool on the floor, and slipped on a pair of dark blue boxers from the drawer. Then I tugged the shirt over my head, the soft cotton sliding over my skin. It was as big as I’d thought. Sleeves falling past my elbows, the hem grazing the tops of my knees, the shoulders sagging slightly. I caught my reflection in the mirror by the bed, and yeah, I looked ridiculous. The shirt smelled faintly of him. I rolled the sleeves up a bit, just enough to make it less comical, but left the hem hanging low, the fabric swishing against my thighs as I moved.

I padded back toward the kitchen, the hardwood cool under my bare feet, the oversized shirt shifting with each step. The faint sizzle of the pan grew louder, and I could hear Steve humming softly. I leaned against the doorway, crossing my arms, and cleared my throat. Hope he likes it. “This what you meant by ‘actual clothes’?”

“Back already?” Steve said without turning, his voice carrying that teasing lilt I loved. “Thought you’d take longer to… oh.” He glanced over his shoulder, knife in hand, and his words stopped short as his eyes landed on me. His gaze raked over me from head to toe, taking in the oversized navy-blue t-shirt, the way it hung loose, exposing my collarbone, the hem skimming my bare legs. A slow, appreciative smile curved his lips, the playful glint in his eyes turning molten as it lingered on the fabric draping over my frame. “Danny,” he said, “you’re gonna make it real hard to focus on dinner.”

I grinned, stepping into the kitchen, the shirt swaying slightly with the movement. “What?” I said, tugging at the hem, lifting it just enough to flash the edge of my dark boxer briefs before letting it fall again. “You told me to put on clothes. I put on clothes. Found this in my drawer, by the way.” I tilted my head, meeting his gaze, my cheeks heating under the weight of his stare. “Fits like a dream, don’t you think?”

He set the knife down, wiping his hands on a towel, and stepped closer. “Fits like it’s mine,” he reached out, his fingers brushing the loose sleeve, then sliding down to tug lightly at the hem, his knuckles grazing my thigh. “You look good in it, though.”

My cheeks burned, but I didn’t back down, tilting my chin up to hold his gaze. “Careful, McGarrett. You keep looking at me like that, dinner’s gonna burn.”

He chuckled, his hand lingering on the shirt for a moment before he stepped back, picking up the knife again. “Sit,” he said, nodding toward the table. “And try not to distract me too much, Danno. I’m working here.”

I laughed, sliding into the chair, the wood cool against my bare legs. The shirt bunched slightly around my hips, and I shifted, feeling the fabric slide against my skin. “No promises,” I said, resting my elbows on the table, watching him move with that calm, fluid grace that always pulled me in.

He cooks something simple, something warm. I don’t notice the details, just the way he moves.
I tried to help. Reached for a knife. Pulled a plate from the cabinet.

“No,” he said gently. “Not tonight. Just set the table.”

I felt my shoulders relax, the tension I hadn’t noticed slipping away. I nodded, moving to the table with the plates, the clink of ceramic soft in the quiet kitchen. “You’re bossy tonight,” I said, glancing back at him, the oversized shirt shifting as I leaned to place the plates.
He chuckled, stirring the pan. “You like it.”
I didn’t argue. I watched him from across the kitchen. Watched the way he stirred, the way he wiped his hands, the way he glanced at me every few seconds to make sure I was still there. When I turned to grab the silverware, I felt him behind me. His body aligning with mine, his chest brushing my back. His hands settled on my waist and I felt my breath catch, the fork in my hand forgotten. “You’re gonna make me drop this,” I said.

He didn’t speak. 

Didn’t move.

Just held me.

I let my head tip back slightly, resting against his shoulder, and I felt his soft breath against my hair. His hands tightened on my waist, and I felt his lips brush the back of my neck. The fork slipped from my fingers, the sound sharp in the quiet, but I didn’t pull away. 

I liked the way his hands fit. 

The way his presence filled the space around me. 

The way I didn’t have to think.

The moment stretched, until he straightened, breaking the spell with a soft clap of his hands. “Alright, enough lounging. We’ve got one more thing to do before dinner.” He jerked his head toward the back door, where the late afternoon sun was painting the backyard in shades of gold and orange. “Come on. You’ll like this.”

I followed him without hesitation, body moving on instinct the oversized t-shirt sways around my thighs with each step. The back door creaked as he pushed it open, and the air outside was cooler now, the heat of the day giving way to a soft breeze that carried the scent of grass and distant salt from the ocean. The backyard had a patch of wildflowers along the fence and a wooden bench under an old oak tree. Steve led me toward the bench, his hand brushing my elbow as we walked.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the bench, and I did, the wood warm under my thighs. He stood in front of me, hands in his pockets, the setting sun casting a halo around his silhouette. “You’ve been good today, Danny,” he said. “Really good. So I’m gonna reward you.”

My heart gave a quick thud and I tilted my head, trying to read his expression. “Another game?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not quite. Just… stay there.” He turned, disappearing back into the house for a moment, and I leaned back, letting the breeze tug at my hair, my eyes drifting to the wildflowers swaying gently in the evening light, and I can hear the faint buzz of a bee nearby mixing with the rustle of leaves. The world felt soft, waiting for whatever Steve had planned next.

When he returned, he was carrying a small polished wooden box with a faint carving of a wave on the lid. He sat beside me, the bench creaking slightly under his weight, and set the box between us. “Open it,” he said softly but carrying that familiar command.

I hesitated, my fingers brushing the smooth wood, the t-shirt’s sleeve slipping down my arm as I reached. I lifted the lid, revealing a thin silver chain with a small pendant shaped like a crescent moon. The metal caught the fading sunlight, glinting softly, and I felt my breath catch. “Steve…” I started, but he cut me off with a shake of his head.

“Don’t say anything yet,” he said, reaching for the chain. His fingers were careful as he lifted it from the box, the pendant dangling between us. “I saw it at the market. Made me think of you.” He paused, his eyes meeting mine. “Let me put it on you.”

I nodded and leaned forward slightly. “A moon for my moonlight.” His hands were steady as he fastened the chain around my neck, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin at my nape. “You’re always changing, but always mine.” The pendant settled against my collarbone, cool at first but warming quickly against my skin. “Looks good on you,” his thumb grazing the chain before he pulled back.

I touched the pendant, my fingers tracing its smooth curve. “You didn’t have to,” I said quieter.

“I wanted to,” he said simply and leaned back, his shoulder brushing mine. For a moment, we just sat there, the world quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves and the distant call of a bird.

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in streaks of pink and gold, and I felt his hand find mine, his fingers slotting between mine. “You’re mine, Danny,” he whispered. “You know that, right?”

I turned to look at him, my heart pounding, and nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

He smiled and squeezed my hand. “Good. Let’s go inside. Dinner’s waiting.”

We stood, his hand still in mine, and as we walked back toward the house, the pendant shifted against my skin, a quiet reminder of the day, of him, of the way he made me feel seen and cared for. The back door closed behind us, and the kitchen’s warmth enveloped us.