Chapter Text
The whispers in the hallways of Seabrook College had become a permanent background noise, a bizarre echo of the past.
"He just got here, how can they be so in love like that? It's definitely an act."
"Bright is dating that hot boy?The way she pushed all the boys away, I was expecting a true shining armor or stay single for ever." / "He sorta is a shining armor, haven't you seen how he takes care of her?"
"My brother says he's known them since high school...half the class was expecting them to announce their relationship back then, not now."
"But that makes no sense, he came here two weeks before the trail, and im pretty sure noone had seen them intracting,not to mention he's Vera's cousin"
"...suddenly he appeared at the trial and Nova said he's her boyfriend."
"I later saw them on the bench under the oak tree,it was so romantic."
It was astounding how, even in college, some people lacked the basic ability to mind their own business. The gossip was different now—less suspicious, more awestruck—but the sheer volume of it was just as exhausting as it had been in high school. A part of her, a part she was deeply ashamed of, wished in these moments that she wasn't a Bright, or the "golden student" of the law department. The spotlight that came with her name was a prison, every move she made becoming public domain.
But as she sat in her room on Sunday evening, the gossip was a distant annoyance. The real storm was brewing downstairs, set to arrive in exactly one hour.
It was difficult to say who was comforting whom. They’d fallen into an unspoken, sarcastic routine over the past week. On even days, she was the one assuring him that her family wasn't rabid dogs who would bite him just for being her boyfriend (hopefully), and that he just needed to be the Victor she’d known for years.
On odd days, he was the picture of relaxed confidence, telling her not to worry, that he could charm his way through any sensitive conversation and was looking forward to proving he could pass her dad's "lie detector test" with flying colors.
It was a good thing the dinner was on a Sunday—an odd day. So, theoretically, he was the calm one tonight. Theoretically, he was doing better than she was right now.
Nova let out a shaky breath, staring at her reflection. The sarcastic little game wasn't working. The knot in her stomach was tight enough to crack walnuts. He could play the confident charmer all he wanted, but she knew him. She knew the subtle tension in his jaw that betrayed his own anxiety. His "odd day" bravado was for her benefit, a shield he was holding up so she wouldn't see how much this truly meant to him—and how terrified he was of losing it.
She jumped as her phone buzzed on the dresser.
Victor: Just left the apartment. Vargas’s final advice was to ‘accidentally’ call your dad ‘sir’ the whole night. Vera said if I do that, she’ll disown me. Wish me luck.
A weak laugh escaped her. Even now, he was trying to make her smile. She typed back, her fingers trembling slightly.
Nova: Just be yourself. That’s all they need. And for the record… It's the only thing I need, too. See you soon.
She hit send, the message carrying a prayer with it. Please, she thought, just let them see the you that I see.
Taking a deep breath, she headed downstairs to the kitchen, where the warm, savory scent of roasting herbs did little to calm the underlying tension. Her mother, Eleanor, stood at the stove, stirring a simmering sauce with a calm that felt both reassuring and alien.
"You do realize," Eleanor began, not looking up from the pot, "that if you two act any differently than the way you've always been around each other, your dad is going to smell it from a mile away. He's got a sixth sense for performance."
Nova’s shoulders, already tight, crept higher. She moved to the counter and picked up a carrot and a knife, needing something to do with her hands. "Well then, it's a good thing we are not planning to pull any act," she said, the thwack of the blade hitting the board a little too forceful.
“Why are you so nervous, sweetheart?” Eleanor asked gently, turning to face her daughter. “You’re shredding that carrot into pieces.” She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I won’t lie, Nova. It seems things are moving quickly. He shows up, and within weeks, he’s your boyfriend and coming for dinner. Any parent would worry about that pace.”
Nova dropped the knife loudly. “I know how it looks,” she said, her voice tight with frustration. “But it’s not fast; it’s late. We’re years late.” She sank into a kitchen chair, her body folding in. “And now Dad is on guard all week like he’s going to catch a thief! The ‘Chief Bright’ act is in full swing, and it’s just... a lot.”
Eleanor smirked playfully. “That’s true, in a way. That boy has definitely stolen his daughter’s heart. And what do cops do with thieves?”
“Mom!” Nova complained, resting her head in her hands. “You’re not helping!”
Seeing her daughter’s distress, Eleanor softened her expression. She wiped her hands and walked over, sitting in front of Nova. Gently, she lifted Nova’s chin.
“Sweetheart, look at me. I understand that it worries any parent, and it worried me for a moment. But then I thought about it.” Her voice was low and sincere. “You’re twenty-one, and we noticed you hadn’t shown interest in anyone before. We were starting to worry that there was no good man for you. And I had my suspicions. From what I remember, Victor was like that.”
Nova’s wide, watery eyes met her mother’s. “Vera says he hasn’t paid proper attention to any other girl since high school,” she whispered. “She grew up with him and knows him better than anyone. Plus, you know how serious she is about things like this.”
“Yes, I do. I trust her judgment as much as I trust yours.” Eleanor squeezed her daughter’s hand. “That’s my point.” She paused, her gaze steady. “You’ve been happier and more grounded these past weeks than I’ve seen you in years. I know your feelings are real and genuine. I raised you to be kind yet sharp and strong, both physically and mentally, and I’m so proud of who you have become. The fact that both you and Victor have remained true to your feelings for each other, even when things weren’t official and he was away, speaks volumes more than any timeline.”
Just then, they heard a floorboard creak from the hallway. Both women turned their heads to see Ray leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking. “Yeah, it says they’re both unbelievably stubborn and silly,” he said, clearly eavesdropping.
Nova’s sweet expression shifted to sisterly annoyance. She shot her mother an apologetic look. “Sorry, one second. I warned him this would happen.”
Before Ray could react, Nova stood up. She marched over to him and gently grabbed his ear—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her point.
“Ow! Hey! I was just—” he protested.
“I said no eavesdropping, idiot!” Nova hissed, pulling him away from the door and down the hall, his protests fading as they turned the corner.
A moment later, she returned to the kitchen, feigning to dust her hands, as if finishing a messy job. “Done,” she announced, a spark of her usual spirit back in her eyes. She gave her laughing mother a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that.”
Eleanor shook her head, her laughter softening, but a hint of deeper emotion flickered in her eyes. “It’s alright. It’s good to see some things never change,” she said quietly, glancing from Nova to the spot where Ray had disappeared. “Watching your children grow up and step into their own lives is a profoundly beautiful experience, but it also carries a bittersweet weight. It can be both heartwarming and a little heartbreaking to see them take on new responsibilities. At the same time, it can feel daunting knowing that the outside world can be challenging and sometimes dangerous. As parents, the thought of not being there for them as much as we once were can bring a deep sense of worry, especially when it comes to their safety and well-being.
It's the greatest, most profound weakness a parent can ever know."
Nova’s playful demeanor vanished, her heart clenching at the raw honesty in her mother's tone. She crossed the room and knelt beside her mother's chair, taking her hands. "Mom," she said, her voice thick with sudden emotion. "We're not going anywhere any time soon. Don't put it that way, you're going to make me cry." She squeezed her hands, offering a wobbly, tearful smile. "I promise you, Ray and I will never grow up and we might still be right here, still acting like annoying children when we're seventy and seventy-two. We'll probably still be biting each other's heads off and giving you a headache over Sunday dinner. If that satisfies your worries."
Eleanor let out a watery laugh, blinking back her own tears as she cupped Nova's cheek. "It does, my starlight. It does."
She took a steadying breath, her expression firming back into its warm, resilient strength. "But my point is, Nova," she continued, her gaze locking with her daughter's once more, "as your parents, our only job is to ensure the future you've worked so hard to build—a future in law, in justice—remains bright. A supportive, loving, and strong partner is an essential part of that foundation. We just want to be sure he can be that for you."
She reached out, tucking a strand of Nova's hair behind her ear, her touch infinitely comforting. "But at the end of the day," she concluded, her voice full of unwavering support, "the decision is always yours, my dear. It's your heart. We just want to meet the young man who's finally earned your trust."
Eleanor gave Nova’s hands one final, reassuring squeeze before letting go. "Now," she said, her voice shifting back to its usual warm, practical tone as she stood up. "You should go get changed. He's going to be here soon."
The spell of the heartfelt moment broke, replaced by a fresh flutter of nerves. The reality of the evening came rushing back. Nova nodded, taking a steadying breath.
"You're right," she said, pushing herself up from the floor. She cast one last, slightly terrified look at her mother, who responded with an encouraging nod.
As Nova turned to leave the kitchen, Eleanor called out softly after her, "And Nova? Try to relax your shoulders. You look like you're marching into a courtroom, not a dinner."
Nova managed a weak smile over her shoulder before hurrying up the stairs, her heart beginning to beat a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The clock was ticking. In mere minutes, the doorbell would ring, and the inquisition would begin.
!---
The walk from his car to the Brights' front door felt like the longest twenty steps of Victor Ashlin’s life. Each step on the smooth path seemed like he was heading toward an awkward showdown filled with small talk and probing looks. In his hands, he gripped his peace offerings—a bouquet of cheerful white daisies, simple and genuine, since anything fancier, like roses, felt way too intense. And apparently, Nova's mom is a favorite.
When he rang the bell, the sound echoed in the quiet evening, almost like an ominous toll.
The door swung open, and for that one breathless moment, everything felt right again. There she was. His ray of sunshine. Clad in a soft cream sweater and black jeans, her golden hair cascading down her shoulders in waterfall style —just for him, a tiny voice in his head whispered. She barely had any makeup on, confident in her natural beauty in a way that always took his breath away. And there it was, the polymer 'N' necklace he’d carefully made for her years ago, resting against her cozy sweater. Seeing it, worn so proudly, eased his jangling nerves. It was like a little flag signaling her loyalty.
"Hey," she greeted him, her smile a bit uneasy, those ocean-blue eyes mirroring his own jitters.
"Hey, sunshine," he replied, relieved that his voice came out steady.
They moved in a familiar, almost instinctive rhythm like they were seasoned partners. A quick, tight hug that felt more like a comforting exchange than anything romantic. Then, a fast peck on each other’s cheeks—a casual, familial greeting that hinted at something deeper, like a shared secret. It lasted barely a second, but it grounded him.
She stepped aside, and he walked into the lion's den.
Eleanor Bright was the first to come over, her expression friendly but sharp. "Victor, it's so good to see you again," she said, her voice as kind as he remembered. She accepted the daisies with a genuine smile. "Oh, these are lovely. You shouldn't have."
"It's my pleasure, Mrs. Bright. Thanks for having me," he replied, the words rolling off his tongue like a rehearsed script. He handed her the wine next. "Just a little something."
"Please, I told you to call me Eleanor ages ago. This is wonderful, thank you."
Then she did something that completely caught him off guard. She stepped closer and pulled him into a brief, firm hug that felt motherly. It wasn't the clingy hug from Nova before; this was warm and simple, filled with an affection he realized he hadn’t felt from a mother figure in almost twenty years. It only lasted a moment, but it was enough to make him feel a little unsteady.
"Welcome back, Victor," she whispered just for him before letting go.
Well, now he knew where Nova got her endless kindness from.
As she pulled away, the man himself appeared from the living room. Chief Daniel Bright. He didn't dominate the space, but somehow, he filled it completely, drawing in all the attention. His gaze was calm and sharp, like he was analyzing everything.
Victor’s instincts told him to stand at attention. He forced himself to stay relaxed and extended his hand. "Chief Bright," he said, meeting the man's stare head-on. "Good to see you again, sir. Thanks for the invite."
The Chief’s handshake was firm, professional, and quick—more like an assessment than a welcome. "Victor," he acknowledged, his tone even. "We’ll see."
Then, a familiar, teasing voice broke the tension from the hallway. "Took you long enough to ring the bell. I thought you'd run away again."
Victor turned his head, a tired but genuine smirk on his lips. Ray stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking like he had the older-brother-knows-best vibe down to a science.
"Ray," Victor started, a playful challenge in his eyes. "You still remember this?" He initiated their complicated handshake.
Ray’s eyes sparkled, not missing a beat as he jumped into the next move. "I still run through it with Vargas sometimes. Can't say the same for the ‘outcast Dracula’ over here." His grip tightened in the final clasp, a silent challenge. "And my oath as an officer practically demands I arrest you for that terrible hairstyle. Trying to look like a tortured artist?"
Victor met the pressure with a competitive smirk. "It’s called having style, something you’d know nothing about in that uniform." He finally pulled his hand back, flexing his fingers a bit. "Feels like those desk jobs are softening you up, Ray."
"Please," Ray scoffed. "I could still take you in under ten seconds in an arm wrestle. Just like old times."
"Old times?" Victor laughed. "You mean the one time you won because you slicked the table? I remember that. I also remember who held the record on the pull-up bar after you bet a week’s lunch money."
Ray grinned genuinely, the competitive spark in his eyes. "Yeah, and I remember who had to sneak you into the gym after hours for a month because you were so obsessed with that record you wore out your own membership.”
The memory, a lighthearted piece of their shared past, hung in the air. Victor felt a wave of nostalgia, but he quickly tempered it with caution. He couldn’t let himself look too strong or too skilled. He relaxed his posture just a bit, admitting defeat. “A bet’s a bet. You got your lunches.”
“Damn right I did,” Ray said, taking advantage of Victor’s subtle surrender. He stepped in, threw Victor into a playful headlock, and with a grunt, shoved him back onto the couch.
Victor went down easily, the comfy cushions catching him with a soft thud. He landed with an exaggerated groan, playing up the loss. “Alright, alright! You win.”
Ray, standing proudly over the couch, finally let up. He looked down at Victor, who was dramatically fluffing the pillows around him, and a smirk crept onto his face. He reached out a hand.
“Come on, you big baby. Get up before you wreck the cushions.”
Victor glanced at the hand and then back at Ray’s smug face. The tension from earlier faded, replaced by the easy banter they always shared since childhood. He took Ray’s hand and let himself be pulled upright.
Nova stood nearby, shaking her head, a mix of fond exasperation and a playful grin on her face as she chimed in. “Don’t break anything, you two. You’re both too old for time-outs! And I can’t defend both of you in front of Mom’s judgmental gaze!”
Her heart swelled with warmth seeing them like this—Victor and Ray slipping back into their old groove like the tough years never happened. It felt like a missing piece of her world clicking back into place. She turned away, hiding her big smile while straightening a cushion on the armchair.
Eleanor’s voice, warm and practical, called out from the kitchen. “Nova, Ray, could you two come help me set the table?”
“Coming, Mom!” Nova yelled back, throwing a last, secret smile at Victor before heading toward the dining room.
Ray grunted in acknowledgment and followed her.
Without hesitation, Victor fell in step beside them. As they entered the cozy, herb-scented kitchen, he started rolling up his sweater sleeves, a casual move he made without thinking, just eager to help.
And there it was.
As the soft gray wool pushed up past his elbow, it revealed a pale, jagged scar running down over half his left forearm. It was old and healed, but its brutal history was hard to miss. To Nova and Ray, it was familiar—a part of his complicated life they’d learned to accept ages ago. But in the bright kitchen light, it looked different, almost out of place. This was no typical artist's accident or slip of a blade; it was something much darker.
He grabbed the hot pad from Eleanor, completely unaware of the scar he had just revealed.
“Ray, why don’t you and Victor bring the serving dishes to the table? Nova, you can take care of setting the places,” Eleanor instructed.
“Sure thing,” Ray replied, his eyes flicking to the scar for a split second before grabbing his own hot pad. To him, it seemed so normal it barely registered.
Victor moved efficiently, almost surprisingly so for a guest, finding his way in the kitchen routine. He followed Ray’s lead, carefully carrying heavy dishes from the counter to the big wooden dining table, his steady movements contrasting with the pale line on his arm.
Nova moved through the kitchen, effortlessly arranging plates and silverware, her heart swelling at the sight of Victor blending into the pulse of her family and how they stole glances and warm smiles moving around.
He wasn’t just an outsider trying to impress them; he genuinely contributed, making the atmosphere feel natural.
From his perch in the living room, Chief Daniel Bright had a front-row seat to the unfolding scene. His book lay forgotten in his lap as his keen eyes honed in on a detail that caught his attention—the scar. To him, it was more than just a mark; it told a story. He assessed its nature and the likely cause—a blade, not mere clumsiness. He noted the way Victor navigated the room, his demeanor calm, as if the scar were merely an extension of himself. He could see how easily his children accepted Victor, as if his past held no weight.
To them, he was simply a friend; to the Chief, he represented a puzzle piece in a larger, unsettling picture. A young man, returning after two years, moving with an unsettling poise and eagerness to help, stirred suspicion. Rather than mere comfort, this was the calm of someone familiar with navigating danger.
The inquiry had shifted from the doorway to the dinner table, and the Chief's suspicions now had solid ground. He was no longer just observing a boy; he was profiling an individual adept at playing a role, one whose history bore the marks of violence that could not easily fade.