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Sloane knew Hurley was the one when she watched her chew on a pen, examining police reports spread across the floor while Sloane trimmed her hair.
The moment was a quiet one; not the kind of night she expected that soul-thumping realization to hit her. They’d won the last race and were celebrating by taking a few days off from… everything. From being Lieutenant Hurley and her mysterious, scarf-wearing girlfriend; from being Lieutenant Hurley and the notorious thief The Raven; from being the Raven and the Ram, legendary racers. They could just be Sloane and Hurley, in love and hanging in their apartment for an evening while Hurley caught up on work. The realization hit her like a runaway train, perhaps one summoned through a portal when she glanced down at Hurley, clad in one of Sloane’s tank tops that hung off her like a sideless dress. Her hands faltered for a moment, scissors stilling; Hurley looked back at her, confused; Sloane just kissed her, trying to convey what she’d been thinking to Hurley through the simple motion, and everything settled back into peace.
Well, except for Sloane’s heart, which thumped against her chest like it was trying to give itself over to Hurley.
Hurley knew Sloane was the one when she took an arrow for her during the race a few weeks later, even when she didn’t have to.
It wasn’t unexpected. The realization hit her in that moment the same way the smell of Sloane’s perfume announced her return from the bathroom. Hurley had honestly been expecting it, awaiting that final seal on the grip Sloane had on her heart and soul. Fitting that it happened during the very thing that had brought them together in love. And in the moment, she communicated her realization the only way she could think of: she tugged Sloane into the passenger seat, yanked the arrow out of her leg, and kissed her to cast a healing spell. All in the instant before Hurley rammed the wagon who had shot at her girlfriend and send it spinning into two other wagons (a move that made Sloane’s eyes light up with stars as she scrambled up to the top of the wagon to keep fighting).
The knowledge settled easily in Hurley’s heart, making it beat even faster than before and filling her veins with the energy she needed to finish the race.
(Hurley had always been a bit behind when it came to love.)
Both of them knew the other did too when they locked eyes as they slid across the finish line, snatching first place with second only a breath behind. The bloody arrow was still clutched in Hurley’s hand, the world paused for the moment it took for that spark of knowing to pass between them.
The wagon slid to a stop. Hurley took a deep breath. Sloane collapsed into the passenger seat. And Hurley started to laugh.
Sloane broke down into her own giggle fit, both of them almost doubled over with their laughter. Hurley bonked her mask against Sloane’s in a mime of a kiss, trying to suppress the laughter bubbling past her lips so she could compose herself. Once they’d calmed down, they stepped out and collected their winnings, riding the high of that look all the way back home.
That evening was another peaceful one. Sloane was lounging on the floor with her back against the couch, all of their money surrounding the small journal she used to budget. Hurley was sitting on the couch, weaving flowers and feathers she’d bought on the way home into braids throughout Sloane’s hair, dressed in another of Sloane’s tank tops. Sloane tried to hide how she was leaning into Hurley’s touch instead of focusing on the budget.
“Hey, Sloane?” Hurley prompted.
“Mhm.”
“Do you want to get married?”
“Yeah.”
The ease of her answer surprised them both, in a pleasant sort of way. Hurley had been half expecting Sloane’s answer to be delivered in either her jumping up to kiss her or jumping up to vault out the window; this, though, she liked better. It felt more real.
“When do you think? Spring?” Hurley continued.
“Nah, winter. No races in the winter,” Sloane replied, marking off something on the budget. “Plus it won’t be boiling outside. Better wardrobe options.”
Hurley tied off a braid with a violet. “Good point.”
“I’ll wear a dress, but you should wear a suit,” Sloane teased. “You look good in suits.”
Hurley pretended she didn’t turn pink at that, draping her arms over Sloane’s shoulder and resting her cheek on her head. “You look good in suits too.”
“Yeah, but if I wear a dress I can get a skirt made of feathers,” Sloane retorted, resting her hand on Hurley’s.
“Sloane, you’re supposed to have a secret identity. That’s why we have masks.”
“I could just be a fan! But, no, I was thinking dove feathers. Something white, you know?”
They tossed ideas back and forth for the rest of the evening while Sloane worked on the budget. By the time Hurley got impatient and dragged Sloane to go to sleep, they had a solid plan, down to the outfits and location. Small chunks of their budget went towards the wedding each month, and every time either saw the word written on the bottom of the list their hearts flipped with that familiar spark. Something about seeing it made everything feel so real.
Of course, it felt a little less real when Sloane got ahold of the Gaia Sash.
It felt like a fever dream when Hurley dove into the vines to save Slone.
It felt like a memory of a childhood daydream when Sloane whispered what she thought would be her last words to Hurley.
They didn’t have time to think about it while the world ended for a few hours.
But afterward, while relaxing in their tree, Sloane had a thought. “Hurley,” she whispered.
Hurley looked up at her, blinking. “Sloane,” she replied.
“The date. We didn’t miss it.”
“...Oh, my gods. You’re right.”
And it felt real again.
A few adjustments had to be made: Sloane’s dress was made of feathers and petals from their tree, Hurley’s suit was formed from sewn together petals instead of fabric, the guest list adjusted to include the friends they’d made since their original plan and remove those who'd died… but that was good, they thought as they stood under their tree, staring into each other’s eyes. This wedding was better; it promised a longer forever (Hurley said so in her vows).
One guest approached them after, mumbling out a question of how they’d keep up that forever. Sloane looked down at Hurley, who had her face scrunched up in the way she did when she was thinking. “You never really get tired of your soulmate,” Sloane offered.
Saying it out loud seemed to seal it, and the guest was satisfied.
And forever began.