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Chapter Text

Lexa paused in front of the painting, drawn in by its quiet beauty. A little girl held out her hand, a multicolored butterfly perched lightly on her finger. The edges of the canvas softened into radiant smudges, like the moment might drift away if she blinked. It was captivating and truly a beautiful work of art.

She hadn’t planned to be here. Anya had shown up that morning uninvited, dragging her out with nothing more than a muttered, “You’re not rotting inside on my watch.” They’d ended up wandering into the city’s art quarter, eventually stumbling across a pop-up exhibition tucked between secondhand cafés and independent bookstores.

Aden was with Costia for the weekend. That was the arrangement, and they had stuck to it, even as everything else between them had quietly fallen apart. Six months had passed since the separation, but the wound still felt fresh.

She was still trying to get over the end of their marriage. Some days, she felt like she was making progress. Other days, like today, it hit her with the same quiet weight it had on the first night alone in the apartment. They had shared more than a decade together, built a home, a life, welcomed a child. And now, none of it resembled what she once imagined.

Lexa still wasn’t entirely sure where they went wrong. There hadn’t been a dramatic falling-out or some cruel betrayal. Just distance. Slow, creeping silence where conversation used to be. And by the time they tried to fix it, the damage had already settled in too deep.

She felt like she had failed Aden most of all.

He was still so young. Sweet, observant, thoughtful in ways eight-year-olds rarely were. He hadn’t asked many questions, but Lexa knew he felt the shift. Children always did. And even though they were doing their best to co-parent peacefully, Lexa still carried the guilt like a stone in her chest. Every bedtime she spent without him was proof she hadn’t held her family together tightly enough.

“Hey, Lex,” Anya murmured, nudging her lightly. “Check this out. This warrior figure kinda looks like you. But like... cooler. Way cooler.”

Lexa turned. The painting Anya pointed to showed a woman in faded war paint, standing tall with a spear planted at her feet. The figure was regal and sharp, eyes focused but not unkind, a quiet smile barely just curving her mouth. Lexa stared at it, her pulse skipping. The set of the jaw, the tilt of the head, it did kind of look like her. But still, with the paint streaked across the face, it could have been anyone.

It reminded her of the mystery sketches that had once appeared on her desk. She had been twenty-five then, just starting out at Arkadia High, doing her best to command respect from students barely seven years younger than she was.

Those first few months had been strange. She remembered second-guessing herself constantly, trying to hold authority in a room that felt more like a reflection of her recent past than a professional space. And then the sketches began to appear. Always in charcoal, and always unmistakably of her.

They were observant, detailed and intimate. The kind of attention that felt both flattering and invasive.

Back then, she’d assumed the sketches were from Costia. She had been covering the art classes that term, filling in for a teacher on maternity leave. One afternoon, Lexa had thanked her, a little bashfully, for the drawings left on her desk.

But Costia had only laughed, eyes crinkling with amusement. “I wish I could take credit for that, babe, but that wasn’t me.”

She’d leaned over then, tapping the edge of one of the sketches with a raised brow and a knowing smirk.

“You’ve got a secret admirer,” she teased. “Look at the shading on your lips. That’s not casual. That’s obsession.”

After that, the compliment felt different. Heavier.

Not knowing who had drawn them was unsettling. To see her own eyes, her mouth, the curve of her neck rendered in such precise detail… someone had clearly been watching her closely. It made her skin prickle, wondering which pair of eyes in the room had been studying her when she wasn’t looking. She never did figure it out. The outpouring of tributes faded as quickly as it had appeared.

There was something about this painting that reminded her of those old sketches, though she couldn’t quite say why. A voice pulled her from the memory.

“See something you like?”

Lexa blinked and turned. A woman stood a few feet away, long blonde hair pulled into a loose braid, blue eyes bright and steady. Her voice had a playful edge that was warm and curious.

Clarke had noticed her almost the moment she walked into the gallery. There was something about the way she moved, composed and quietly commanding, that drew Clarke’s eye without her fully understanding why.

She hadn’t recognized it at first. Not until Lexa paused in front of ‘The Commander’ and tilted her head just so. That was when it hit her.

She had drawn her.

All this time, sketch after sketch, she had been chasing a shape, a presence, a feeling. Now it stood in front of her, breathing. Clarke’s heart thudded as she realized she had been projecting her into her work without knowing it, conjuring her from memory and longing, line by line. Clarke thought, Huh, as the realization settled in.

Lexa turned toward her fully then, and Clarke felt her breath catch. Time hadn’t softened her. If anything, it had only sharpened the things that made her captivating in the first place. She was still beautiful, still composed. But something in her eyes had changed; they were quieter now, and carried more weight.

Clarke’s gaze dropped for the briefest second. No ring. Her heart skipped. It was a long shot, she knew, and maybe she was reading too much into it. But the opening, however slight, was undeniably there.

“I’m glad you stopped by,” she heard herself saying. “Welcome to my exhibition.”

Lexa gave a small nod. Her posture stayed guarded. “Thank you. The work is... remarkable.”

There was a pause, just long enough for Clarke to breathe.

“You look familiar,” Lexa said, tilting her head slightly. “Have we met before?”

Clarke’s heart skipped, unsure if Lexa really recognized her. She laughed gently and said, “I think I just have one of those faces.” She didn’t give Lexa time to linger on it. Instead, she turned toward the painting they had both been standing in front of. “That one is called ‘The Commander’. She’s a fighter. But not just for war. She fights for peace too. Balance.”

Lexa studied the figure. “She looks familiar,” she murmured, more to herself than to Clarke.

Clarke smirked. “Right? It’s almost like she wandered off the canvas and decided to browse the gallery.”

Lexa’s lips twitched, the faintest trace of amusement breaking through her usual reserve. “She has good taste, then.”

She didn’t say it like a flirt. Not quite. But Clarke caught the glimmer in her eyes and felt her pulse skip anyway.

Clarke, feeling brave or maybe just a little reckless, offered a small grin. “So, what do you think? Have I earned a spot on your favorite artist list, or should I tempt you with more gallery wine and a bit of charming persuasion?”

Lexa blinked at her, visibly caught off guard. A part of her, the wounded part, recoiled from the playful tone. But another, newer part, felt a surprising spark of curiosity. She hadn't been flirted with in so long, not like this. It was disorienting.

Clarke kept smiling, though her heart had picked up speed. “Kidding. Mostly. But I would love to hear what stood out to you. Maybe over coffee sometime? As a viewer, I mean. Not just as a face in the gallery.”

Lexa looked at her for a moment longer than felt comfortable. The offer was tempting, a sliver of normalcy in a life that felt anything but. But the walls she’d built were still too high. Then she smiled, polite but distant. “That’s kind of you to ask. But I think I’d just be poor company right now.”

Clarke nodded quickly, too quickly. “Of course. That’s totally fair. I just thought... never mind.”

Lexa gave another small nod. “The exhibition is beautiful. You should be proud.”

Before Clarke could respond, Anya’s voice cut in, louder this time. “Lexa, come see this! This one looks like it could literally murder someone with a single look, I love it.”

Anya appeared beside her, eyes bright with excitement. She reached out and gently tugged at Lexa’s sleeve. Anya’s presence was a familiar anchor, a comfortable shield.

“Please excuse me,” Lexa said quickly, casting Clarke a brief look before allowing herself to be pulled away.

Clarke watched them go, a flicker of disappointment settling in. It made sense. Lexa probably wasn’t single. It wasn’t unexpected, but it still tugged at something inside her.

At least she had tried. It was a long shot, and she had known that. Lexa's polite, distant smile echoed in her mind. Poor company right now. A gentle but firm rejection.

She hadn’t told Lexa who she was because she didn’t want to be remembered as she was back then. She wanted to be seen for who she had become. But even now, Lexa felt just as far away, and probably still out of her league.

Clarke thought that would be the last time she saw Lexa, another beautiful, fleeting encounter. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Two weeks later, they met again in the unlikeliest of places.

***** 

The last time Lexa saw her, she had left the gallery with Anya tugging at her sleeve and a tangle of questions she couldn’t quite sort through. Had that been flirting? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been in the dating game for so long, or maybe she never truly was. Costia was all she’d ever known. High school sweethearts. Seventeen years. Almost half their lives spent together. And now... she was trying to remember how to be alone again.

She hadn’t gone for coffee. She’d said no, told herself it was the right choice. But the truth was, she didn’t know how. She didn’t know how to start again or what she wanted. Not yet.

Now, two weeks later, she found herself here, surrounded by shrieking laughter and the thump of foam balls hitting plastic walls.

The indoor playground buzzed with chaos — a refuge for parents and kids escaping the relentless summer heat outside. Lexa sat at the edge of a rubber bench, trying not to flinch every time a child screeched too close to her ear. The air smelled like hand sanitizer, cheese fries, and old socks.

It was a Sunday. Costia’s weekend had fallen through at the last minute because of a work trip, so Lexa brought Aden instead. Lexa hated these places with their sticky tables, fluorescent lights, and the loud noises. But Aden loved it, and that was enough.

She was sipping terrible coffee from a paper cup when she heard it.

“Mama!”

Aden came running, breathless and pink-cheeked, dragging a girl behind him by the hand.

“Look who I found! It’s Madi from school!”

The girl, slightly taller than Aden, with wild blonde hair and a confident stance, offered a tiny wave but didn’t let go of his hand.

Lexa smiled instinctively. “Hi, Madi. It’s nice to meet you.”

But as quickly as they had appeared, the two of them vanished again into the maze of colorful tunnels and slides.

Lexa watched them disappear, her smile lingering a moment longer before she turned back to her coffee. The playground’s noise buzzed around her, but suddenly, a soft voice cut through the clamor.

“Lexa?”

Lexa looked up. It was her.

“I didn’t know our kids knew each other.”

She stood a few steps away, slightly breathless, one hand pressed against her chest as if she’d just run across the room. A loose tank top clung to her frame, streaked with what looked like glitter glue on one arm and a tiny smear of paint on her jeans. Her hair was piled into a quick, imperfect bun. No makeup. No stage lighting. Yet, she was still stunning.

Lexa rose slowly, her fingers still curled loosely around the coffee cup.

“Hi,” she said with a warm smile. “I realize I’m at a disadvantage because I don’t even know your name. How did you—?”

“I’m Clarke,” she said, extending her hand. “I heard your girlfriend call you that the other day,” she added gently, cutting her off.

Lexa took her hand in a brief shake, then frowned. “Girlfriend?”

Clarke hesitated for a moment, then smiled wryly. “Dirty blonde, stunning cheekbones, looks kind of… fierce? I mean… formidable.”

Lexa’s frown softened into a smirk as realization dawned. “Ah, you mean Anya.”

Clarke’s smile grew, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Exactly. Your formidable girlfriend.”

She hesitated, glancing toward where Aden had dashed off, then added more carefully, “Or… wife?”

Lexa shook her head, still smiling. “Neither. Just a very pushy best friend with no concept of personal space.”

Clarke laughed under her breath, then glanced at the kids, who were already plotting a return to the trampoline. “Of all the places to run into you. What are the odds?”

“Yeah,” Lexa said, trying to ease the sudden flutter in her chest. “Of all the places.”

Suddenly, a foam ball came flying out of nowhere, bouncing off Lexa’s shoulder. She glanced up and laughed. “Oh, the little monsters.”

Before they could react, another ball sailed right between them. Without thinking, Lexa reached out and caught it, her smile widening.

Clarke shook her head, amused. “Looks like we’re part of the game now.”

The moment their feet hit the pit, Aden whooped and launched a barrage of foam balls. Madi shrieked with laughter, diving behind a plastic ledge like she was in the middle of an ambush. Clarke scooped up an armful of foam and returned fire, nearly falling over in the process.

Lexa didn’t hesitate this time. She crouched low, grabbed a few foam balls, and aimed for Aden’s back. He yelped, spun around with wide eyes, then broke into a huge grin. Madi shrieked again, delighted by the unexpected betrayal.

It was loud and chaotic. Children squealed all around them. Bright colors blurred at the edges of her vision. Lexa felt her heart race, not with stress, but something else. Something lighter.

She ducked just as a ball whizzed past her head, laughing as she half-fell into the foam sea. For the first time in a long while, she wasn’t thinking about what came next. She wasn’t calculating or worrying or holding herself in check.

She was playing.

She turned toward Clarke to say something, but paused. Clarke was laughing too hard to notice. She was flushed and breathless, her hair a mess, her arms barely keeping up with Madi’s relentless attacks. There was a spark in her eyes, something bright and unguarded that caught Lexa off guard.

Clarke looked alive.

Then Clarke caught her looking.

“What?” Clarke asked, smiling through her panting. “Don’t tell me you’re surrendering already.”

Lexa grinned, eyes sharp with challenge. “Not a chance.”

And just like that, she launched a foam ball straight at her.

Clarke squealed, ducked, and threw one back. Lexa caught it one-handed and laughed, the sound unfamiliar and warm in her own throat.

For a few minutes, she forgot everything else.

The laughter didn’t stop after the ball pit. They helped the kids climb through rope bridges, timed races down the slides, and even teamed up for a few rounds of dodgeball in the foam arena. Lexa had forgotten how loud joy could be. How easy it felt, for once, to simply be present. Clarke’s laughter rang out beside her, bright and unrestrained, and more than once,

Lexa found herself watching instead of playing. Watching the way Clarke scrunched her nose when she laughed too hard. The way she talked to the kids like they were equals. The way she comforted Madi when she scrapped her knee. The way her eyes kept finding Lexa’s in quiet little moments between the chaos.

Eventually, they collapsed onto the edge of the play area, both a little breathless, hair messy, clothes slightly dusted with foam residue. Aden and Madi were still somewhere in the tunnels, shrieking in delight.

Clarke leaned back on her palms and glanced at Lexa, a hint of shyness behind her smile. “Soo… are you ready to have that coffee with me now? With us, I mean.”

Lexa didn't answer right away, her gaze caught on Clarke. There was a youthful vibrancy about her that made Lexa hesitate. How old was Clarke? Mid-twenties, maybe? But then again, she had an eight-year-old, just like Aden. Maybe she was simply blessed with a youthful glow.

Lexa knew how that felt. She still remembered her first week at Arkadia High, barely twenty-four and fresh out of grad school, getting yelled at by a senior teacher who mistook her for a student loitering in the hallway between classes. And how embarrassed he’d been when he found out she was the new teacher.

Lexa turned toward her, the corner of her mouth curving up. “How about we hop over next door when the kids are done?”

Clarke nodded. “Sounds like a plan,” she said, her smile soft and steady.

Chapter Text

It started with coffee.

Nothing dramatic. Just two tired moms with half-finished lattes, sitting in the shade outside a café while their kids annihilated cupcakes and plotted their next trampoline assault. But Lexa hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. About Clarke. About the ease of their conversation. The way she smiled when she listened. The way her laugh settled under Lexa’s skin and stayed there long after they’d said goodbye.

Lexa told herself not to read too much into it.

But Clarke kept appearing in her thoughts at odd times. In the pause between lesson plans, on her walk to the grocery store, in the quiet right before sleep. A warm presence. A soft pull. A lightness she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Playdates became the next logical step. Casual, friendly. For the kids, of course.

Only Aden and Madi got along suspiciously well for two kids who supposedly “just met”. They tore through Lexa’s apartment like a storm, built pillow forts that defied physics, and occasionally disappeared into suspicious silence that ended with giggling and glitter on the dog.

When it was Clarke’s turn to host, Lexa found herself lingering longer than planned. The conversations drifted past pickup times, past dinner, sometimes all the way to dusk.

Clarke was funny, thoughtful, and sharp in a way that caught Lexa off guard. She asked questions that didn’t feel like prying, and she listened like she genuinely wanted to understand. Lexa found herself leaning in more than she meant to. Laughing too easily. Letting her guard down in quiet, measured degrees.

One evening, over a second glass of wine after the kids had passed out mid-movie, Clarke poured a second glass of wine and passed one to Lexa. They sat on the back porch as the sky darkened, their conversation drifting into deeper waters.

Lexa told her about Costia. Not everything… just enough to explain the shape of the space she’d left behind. Seventeen years together. A marriage that ended quietly, without drama, but with a grief that sat heavy in Lexa’s chest like something she hadn’t quite figured out how to set down.

Clarke didn’t press. She just listened, nodding, her expression soft.

Then she offered something of her own.

She told Lexa about her high school boyfriend. The father of her daughter. They had tried to make it work, but it hadn’t lasted. “He wasn’t ready,” she said simply. “Not for fatherhood. Not for the weight of what our lives became.”

There was no anger in her voice. Just acceptance.

“Being around him and a newborn,” Clarke added, swirling her wine, “was like juggling two kids. I was always the one holding it all together. And eventually, I just stopped trying to hold him too.”

Lexa didn’t interrupt. She could feel the fatigue woven between Clarke’s words.

Clarke shrugged, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “Madi wasn’t exactly planned,” she admitted, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “But I can’t imagine life without her. She changed everything. For the better.”

These days, her ex showed up every few weeks to take Madi out for a movie or dinner, then slipped quietly back into the background. Clarke didn’t sound bitter, just tired. Like someone who had stopped expecting more a long time ago.

Lexa reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, quiet and steady. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

There was no judgment between them. Just a strange, gentle ease. Two people learning the shape of each other’s lives in small, tentative pieces. Walls softened. Silences filled with trust. And with every shared story, every sidelong glance, something unspoken settled between them.

*****

It was Clarke who kissed her first, on the balcony, with city lights glittering below and music playing softly from the speaker inside. Lexa didn’t pull away.

Something stirred in her that night, something that made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t in a long time. The kiss was intense and tangled, leaving them breathless and full of want. But they stopped short of going all the way. Yet that kiss left Lexa wanting more.

The next weekend, with Aden at Costia’s and Madi staying over at her grandparents’, Clarke showed up at Lexa’s door. No pretense. No small talk. Just a quiet moment on the threshold before she stepped inside like she’d been waiting her whole life for this.

There was no hesitation this time.

They kissed before the door had even clicked shut, hands finding each other with a kind of urgency that felt like remembering. Lexa backed them through the living room, barely able to breathe between kisses, Clarke’s fingers already sliding under the hem of her shirt.

By the time they reached the bedroom, Clarke was tugging Lexa toward her like she couldn’t bear another second of distance. Lexa pushed the door open, and they stumbled inside in a tangle of mouths and hands and quickened breath.

But then Clarke paused.

Her fingers lingered on Lexa’s waistband, and her gaze dropped for a second before lifting again. “I’ve never… done this before,” she confessed, her voice quieter now, the teasing edge replaced with something more uncertain.

Lexa stilled, just slightly. Her hand softened on Clarke’s waist. “Had sex?” she asked gently, teasing but cautious.

Clarke let out a small scoff, but it was laced with nervous laughter. “Obviously not that. Madi exists.” She hesitated, then added more softly, “I’ve just… never been with a woman.”

“Oh…” Lexa’s teasing tone faltered. She searched Clarke’s face for any sign of hesitation. “Are you even into women?” she teased, trying to lighten the air.

Clarke bit her bottom lip, then reached for Lexa’s hand. She guided it down between them, slow and certain, pressing Lexa’s palm to the damp heat between her thighs.

“I like you,” she whispered. “And you are making me so wet I don’t even care if I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Lexa stilled, her pulse skipping.

But then she leaned back just slightly, just enough to meet Clarke’s gaze. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“Oh no… I’m definitely ready.” Clarke’s hand tightened around hers. “I want this. I want you.”

Lexa’s breath hitched. The tension between them sharpened into something electric. She looked into Clarke’s eyes and saw a flicker of nerves, but no fear. Only trust. Hunger. Desire.

She kissed her again, slowly this time.

“Let me take care of you,” Lexa whispered.

What followed wasn’t rushed. Lexa led with patience and purpose, her hands reverent as they explored, coaxing breathless moans from Clarke with every gentle stroke. She took her time, mapping her slowly, thoroughly, like a language she already knew but had never spoken aloud.

Clarke came with Lexa’s name on her lips, trembling and breathless, as if something deep inside her had finally been unlocked. She didn’t know being with someone could feel like this. Like being undone and remade all at once. Like trust. Like being worshiped.

Lexa followed moments later, undone by the sound of her name in Clarke’s mouth and the heat of Clarke’s touch, the whole thing crashing over her like a wave too long held back.

They collapsed into each other, limbs tangled, skin warm and slick with sweat. Clarke’s body curled into Lexa’s like it had always belonged there.

“I think you broke me,” Clarke murmured, voice thick with afterglow.

Lexa smiled into her hair, smug and quiet. “The night is still young.”

*****

The next time they were together, it was at Clarke’s place.

They barely made it past the front door. Lips crashing, hands fumbling, like they had been holding back for far too long. It was wild at first, all breathless kisses and tangled limbs, the kind of urgency that came from missing someone you hadn’t even realized you’d been waiting for. Lexa pressed Clarke up against the hallway wall, mouths hungry, bodies already moving in sync.

Clothes were shed between kisses, between gasps and half-laughed instructions. Clarke’s fingers fumbled with buttons, her movements tentative at first, uncertain in places she hadn’t touched before. “Like this?” she asked once, flushed and breathless, and Lexa only smiled, guiding her gently. They stumbled to the bedroom, half-drunk on the rush of it all, on the thrill of discovery.

And when they finally reached the bed, everything shifted. The pace slowed, deepened. Lexa touched Clarke like she was learning a language, but Clarke was learning too. She was wide-eyed and curious, soaking up every sigh, every shiver. Her hands traced Lexa’s skin with reverence, sometimes pausing as if to memorize each inch. She watched Lexa closely, searching for reactions, looking for confirmation, hoping for approval. Her own desire grew with every soft moan she coaxed from Lexa’s lips.

They made love like it was the only thing keeping them tethered to the earth. Again and again. The sheets turned damp. The air thickened with the scent of skin, sweat, and something deeper. Between rounds, they talked, giggling and teasing. Clarke was sometimes sheepish, and Lexa remained endlessly patient. Their bodies were insatiable, and so were their hearts, drawn to more than just pleasure. They reached for presence. Clarke gave everything she had, not from experience, but from want.

It wasn’t just sex. It was hunger, yes, but also worship. Trust. Intimacy that ran deeper than the physical. Lexa kissed her like she needed her to stay, and Clarke touched her like she wanted to memorize every inch.

When they finally collapsed together, breathless and glowing, what settled between them wasn’t only satisfaction. It was comfort. A feeling of safety. Clarke’s fingers brushed lazily along Lexa’s arm, and Lexa noticed the way she kept reaching. A knee tucked against Lexa’s thigh, a hand finding her waist, her cheek resting close. It was subtle but constant, as if Clarke needed the reassurance of skin against skin to feel grounded.

Lexa didn’t pull away. She let herself be held and held back just as tightly. And in the quiet, with their breathing slowing and hearts still thudding in sync, she let herself believe that maybe this could be something real.

***

Morning filtered in through the blinds, casting golden strips of light across the walls. She stayed still for a while, listening to the rhythm of Clarke’s breath, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest. Clarke had fallen asleep bare-skinned beside her, hair tousled and lips slightly parted. Her body curled toward Lexa, trusting and open.

It had been a long time since Lexa let herself feel this way. She felt hopeful. Like maybe she could be happy again. Like she might have a chance to fall in love and be loved in return. This was still all quite new and undefined, but something in her had shifted, and for the first time in a long while, she wanted to chase that feeling.

Eventually, she slipped out from under the covers. The floor was cool beneath her feet as she pulled on her shirt and made her way to the kitchen. She prepared a simple breakfast: eggs, toast, coffee. When she peeked back in, Clarke was still asleep. She looked so unburdened in sleep, Lexa didn’t have the heart to wake her.

She wandered through the apartment quietly. The studio corner was cluttered with brushes, open sketchbooks, and unfinished canvases. On the bookshelf near the window, she trailed her fingers along the spines. Art theory. A few well-worn poetry collections. The Body Keeps the Score. A stack of children’s books. And tucked near the end, one that made her pause: Childhood’s End by Arthur C. Clarke.

She reached to straighten it, and that’s when she saw the yearbook. The spine was faded but unmistakable. Arkadia High School.

Her fingers hesitated for a moment, then carefully pulled it out. The corners were worn, the cover frayed. She opened it. Class of 2015. The year she had first started teaching.

Her breath caught as she turned the pages. Faculty first. Her own picture smiled back at her, barely older than the students, wavy hair falling just past her shoulders with a few braids woven in, eyes bright with purpose. There was a confidence in her posture, a spark in her gaze that felt distant now, like a version of herself she could almost remember.

A few pages later, she saw her. Clarke Griffin. Third row. Curly blonde bob. Glasses. Braces. Softer jawline, rounder cheeks. But the eyes were the same, and so was the smile.

Lexa stared, stomach twisting. She recognized her now. Clarke had been her student. How had she not remembered that?

A charcoal sketch fluttered out from between the pages. Lexa caught it midair. She found herself looking at her eyes, drawn in precise, intimate strokes. Beneath the sketch, scrawled in teenage handwriting:

“She had eyes like the morning stars.”

Lexa froze, the floor seeming to disappear under her.

That line. She remembered teaching it. Jane Eyre, week three of the semester. She had underlined that passage on the board, asked her students to analyze its metaphorical weight.

She hadn’t thought anyone had really been listening.

And now, here it was, folded between the pages of a yearbook. Her eyes drawn with care. And the quote written like a secret only now surfacing.

Back then, anonymous sketches had shown up on her desk for months. She’d never known who left them. Not really. But they’d stopped abruptly one spring. The same spring Clarke had left school early. Now it all made sense.

She remembered Clarke. She looked different back then. She was quiet and withdrawn. Creative. Gone before graduation.

She stood very still, the sketch trembling faintly between her fingers.

Had Clarke known who she was from the start?

Thinking back, Lexa realized Clarke had never asked her what she did. Was it because she already knew? Clarke had never offered her last name, never mentioned the name of her high school ex. Was she afraid it would jog Lexa’s memory?

And then something colder crept in.

Did Clarke have a crush on her back then? Was this all just about fulfilling a high school fantasy?

The idea unsettled her more than she expected.

Lexa returned the sketch to its place and shut the yearbook gently, almost ceremonially. She placed it back on the shelf, careful to align the spine perfectly.

She moved to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Her hands were steady, but her thoughts spun.

She’d taught Clarke once. English literature. Back when Clarke was seventeen, and Lexa was fresh out of her master’s program, trying to hide how terrified she was every time she stepped in front of a class.

Now, all these years later, she’d taught her something else entirely. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Lexa leaned against the counter and stared into the glass, the echo of Clarke’s voice still whispering through her mind.

She had taught her again. In a different way. With her hands. Her mouth. Her body.

And Clarke had let her. Clarke had wanted her.

Lexa wasn’t angry. Not really. Just… unsettled. Unsteady. She wasn’t sure what to feel, or what any of it meant now.

She had crossed a line without knowing. And now that she did know, she wasn’t sure what side she stood on anymore.

Lexa hadn’t recognized her. They had connected as adults. The time gap was real. So was the chemistry between them. But something inside her shifted anyway. Something that made the ground beneath her feel less steady.

She returned to the bedroom and slipped beneath the sheets. Clarke murmured something unintelligible and shifted closer, resting her head on Lexa’s shoulder.

Lexa let her.

She didn’t say a word. She just stared up at the ceiling and pretended her mind wasn’t racing.

She didn’t ask why Clarke hadn’t said anything.

She didn’t ask if Clarke had drawn those sketches.

She didn’t ask when Clarke had recognized her.

She just lay there, her hand resting lightly on Clarke’s back, and listened to the silence between them.

A silence Clarke wouldn’t notice, but one Lexa couldn’t ignore.

Chapter Text

Clarke folded a T-shirt and set it on the growing stack beside her. The late afternoon light slanted through the windows, warm and quiet.

Across the room, Madi lay on her stomach, surrounded by a loose circle of colored pencils and sketch pads. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she shaded the wings of a too-large dragon.

Without looking up, Madi said, “Aden says he has two moms and no dad. How is that possible?”

Clarke blinked, her hands pausing mid-fold. She set the shirt down and glanced over. “What do you mean?”

Madi rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. “He said he couldn’t play with me this weekend because he’d be with his other mom. But… he doesn’t have a dad. So… how does that work?”

Clarke smiled softly and walked over, settling beside her on the rug. “Families come in all kinds of shapes. Some kids have a mom and a dad. Some have just one parent. Some have two moms, or two dads. What really matters is that the people love each other… and love their kid.”

Madi blinked up at her. “But are they both really his moms?”

Clarke nodded. “In every way that counts, yeah. Maybe one gave birth to him, or maybe they adopted him, or maybe one joined the family later. But they both show up. They both love him. That makes them real.”

Madi rested her chin on her hand and looked over. “So… girls can marry girls?”

“They can,” Clarke said. “They do.”

There was a longer pause this time. Then: “Have you ever loved a girl?”

Clarke’s fingers tensed slightly against the fabric in her lap. She didn’t want to lie. But she also didn’t want to make it too complicated, not when Madi was asking with such quiet seriousness.

So she answered softly, simply.

“I think I’ve had feelings for a girl before,” she said, meeting Madi’s eyes. “And maybe one day, I’ll love someone that way again.”

Madi nodded, thoughtful. Like that answer made perfect sense.

“Okay.” She turned back to her drawing. “Can we have pancakes for dinner?”

Clarke laughed, the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding finally easing. “Yes,” she said. “We absolutely can.”

*****

Lexa hadn’t planned to see Clarke again so soon. But the following week, Clarke showed up outside her apartment with two coffees and a sketchbook tucked under her arm. Lexa hesitated before letting her in. Not because she didn’t want her there, but because she did. And that was the problem.

Clarke greeted her with a soft kiss, then stepped inside like she belonged. She settled onto the couch, curling her legs beneath her as she opened the sketchbook. “I started something new,” she said, holding it out.

Lexa took it with both hands, careful not to let their fingers brush. The drawing was expressive, all fierce posture and protective stance. Clarke was undeniably talented. Lexa studied it for a few seconds, then passed it back without a word.

Clarke accepted it slowly. “What do you think?”

Lexa forced her voice steady. “It’s strong. Confident.”

“You really think so?” Clarke asked, tilting her head.

Lexa sat at the opposite end of the couch, keeping space between them. Her thoughts spiraled. Was Clarke trying to impress her? Seeking approval like a student showing work to a teacher? The sketchbook, the visits, the glances. It all looked different now, and Lexa couldn’t figure out if she was overthinking, or finally seeing clearly.

Nothing between them had changed. But she had. And now she needed to get her head right. To decide if she could carry both truths: the girl Clarke used to be, and the woman now beside her.

Clarke watched her carefully, sensing the shift. Lexa was still here, still kind and attentive, still trying to be present. But something had pulled back. Her touch was more measured, her words more careful. Clarke couldn’t name it, but she felt it in the silence.

Her insecurities began to stir. Maybe Lexa had changed her mind. Maybe she didn’t find her mature enough. Or maybe Lexa found her too inexperienced. She thought they’d found something real. But now Lexa felt a step further away, like Clarke had misread the entire thing.

She tried to smile as she asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

Lexa blinked at the question. Her pause was just a beat too long.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “Just… tired.”

Clarke nodded, masking the pinch behind her eyes. She didn’t believe it, not really. But she didn’t press either.

*****

Lexa sat across from Anya at the kitchen table, her fingers wrapped tightly around a mug of tea she hadn’t touched.

Anya was halfway through microwaving leftover takeout when Lexa dropped the bomb.

“I slept with her.”

Anya turned around slowly, one brow already arched as she took in Lexa’s conflicted face.

“Was she that bad,” she asked, “or are you just this dramatic about orgasms now?”

Lexa didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink. Instead, she looked away, not wanting to meet Anya’s eyes.

That was enough to sober Anya. She tossed the dish towel onto the counter and leaned in, more serious now.

“Okay. What’s going on?”

Lexa hesitated. Then, quietly, “Clarke. The artist from the gallery.”

Anya’s eyes narrowed in recognition. “The really pretty blonde?” She glanced at Lexa’s expression. “Wow. I thought we were talking about a coyote ugly situation based on your face.”

Lexa let out a short, surprised laugh, then sobered just as quickly. “I just found out she was my student...”

The words hung in the air.

“Jesus, Lex,” Anya said, blinking. “How young is she?” She frowns, “I don’t remember her looking that young…”

“She’s not…” Lexa exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t think she was that young. She has an eight-year-old daughter. Aden knows her. But turns out she got pregnant senior year. Dropped out a few months before graduation. I guess I was her teacher for… less than a year?”

Anya narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to convince me, or yourself? That’s what… a seven-year age gap? That’s nothing. You had me bracing for something illegal.”

Lexa frowned. “Is it not? I would never date a student.”

Anya leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “Okay, but she’s not a student anymore. Hasn’t been in years. You’re not dating some freshly-graduated teen with a fake ID and a TikTok following. She’s a mother. She’s lived a whole life since then. This isn’t you crossing some ethical line in a classroom.”

Lexa didn’t respond right away. Her jaw tightened.

Anya tilted her head, more gently this time. “So what’s really bothering you? That it happened? Or that you didn’t recognize her?”

Lexa let out a sharp breath. “She looked different back then. And when we met at the gallery, she pretended not to know me.”

She paused, then added, “I’m pretty sure she used to have a crush on me.”

Anya blinked. “Wait, what makes you think that?”

“Remember those mysterious sketches I used to get back in high school? The ones left on my desk?”

“Those were her?” Anya frowned. “Okay, that’s… mildly creepy. But also kind of flattering? I mean, maybe she’s just grown into someone brave enough to act on it.”

Lexa shook her head. “Or maybe she never outgrew it. What if she’s just with me to live out some high school fantasy?”

Anya tilted her head. “Do you really believe that? What does your gut say? You’ve always been good at reading people.”

Lexa hesitated, gaze dropping to her hands. “No… I don’t think so. Not really. But love blinds you.”

Anya’s eyes narrowed, catching the slip. “Love?”

Lexa let out a quiet breath. “Not yet. But I’m falling for her. I wouldn’t feel this messed up if I didn’t care. But now I don’t know what this is anymore.”

“Did I cross a line?” she asked, softer. “Was there even a line to cross?”

Anya studied her for a long moment. “Depends,” she said carefully. “Are you asking as her former teacher… or as the woman who’s clearly in over her head?”

Lexa looked away.

“That’s what I thought,” Anya said. “Lex, you’re not some predator who groomed a student. You didn’t remember her. She’s not a kid. She’s a mother for goodness’ sake. You didn’t coerce her, or lie to her. You both walked into this as adults.”

Lexa stayed quiet, jaw tense.

“But if you’re holding back because you’re scared of looking bad, or feeling guilty over something you didn’t know, that’s not about the line. That’s about you.”

Anya softened, just a little. “So decide. Either walk away, or stop acting like you’re the villain in a story no one’s writing but you.”

Anya softened, just slightly. “Lex, if this is bothering you that much, talk to her. Ask. Don’t write the ending before you’ve even heard the full story.”

Lexa gave her a small, tired smile. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. And hey, if it turns out she really was just playing out a fantasy…” Anya shrugged. “At least you were hot enough to be someone’s unfinished teenage dream.”

Lexa rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Anya winked. “And yet, here we are.”

*****

In the days that followed, Lexa found herself pulling back.

Not in obvious ways. She still answered texts. Still agreed to meet. Still kissed Clarke when she showed up at her door. But the warmth behind her eyes dimmed, and she began to observe more than engage. She was present, but quieter. Gentler, even. Like she was handling something fragile she didn’t quite trust herself to hold.

She told herself she needed time. But the truth was, she needed answers. She needed to talk to Clarke, to clear the air, to understand how much of this was real and how much of it was rooted in the past. Until then, she had placed herself in a kind of limbo. Half in, half out. Wanting to believe, but too uncertain to fall.

And Clarke felt it. The distance. The hesitation. But she didn’t push. Not yet.

One night over dinner, Clarke said, “You’re hard to read sometimes. You know that?”

Lexa gave a faint smirk. “That’s the mystery. Keeps readers turning pages.”

She stirred her tea slowly, then added, more casually than she felt, “Job hazard, you know. Comes with the territory. English lit teacher and all.”

She looked up, just for a second, studying Clarke’s face.

Clarke hesitated, then smirked. “Explains the way you talk,” she said, lifting her glass. “All that quiet intensity and tragic subtext.”

There was a flicker in her eyes. Lexa saw it. A brief tension in the corners of her smile, quickly smoothed away.

Clarke didn’t ask what school, what year. She didn’t feign curiosity. She just moved on, like it didn’t matter. Like she’d clocked Lexa’s fishing and had no intention of taking the bait.

She returned to her sketchbook, head dipping as her pencil moved confidently. The outline of two elderly men playing chess in the park was already there; now she added details and shading with quick, sure strokes, capturing their familiar, relaxed postures and focused expressions.

Lexa watched her quietly for a moment. Then she decided to try something more direct.

“Do you still draw people without asking?”

Clarke blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Those sketches you used to leave,” Lexa said, her voice even. “On my desk. Back then.”

Clarke froze. The silence stretched between them.

So she did remember. How? When?

Lexa didn’t press. She leaned back, folded her hands in her lap, and gave a smile so small it barely counted.

Clarke hesitated. “I was young.”

“Did you know?” Lexa’s voice was calm, but there was weight behind the question. “Who I was, I mean. When we met again.”

Clarke looked down, her fingers curled loosely around her glass. “Yes.”

Lexa took that in. She didn’t flinch, but something in her shoulders shifted. “And you didn’t say anything.”

“I wasn’t trying to trick you,” Clarke said, her voice quiet but steady. “I just… I wanted you to see me as I am now. Not who I was back then. Not a student. Not a kid.”

Lexa studied her. “But you remembered me.”

Clarke nodded. “I did. From the moment I saw you at the gallery.”

“Was…” Lexa hesitated, unsure if she wanted the answer. “Was that warrior painting… me?”

Clarke looked down for a moment, then met her eyes. “I wasn’t thinking of you consciously when I painted it. But I guess all those sketches I did of you in high school… they kinda stuck with me. Got under my skin. Found their way onto the canvas without me realizing.”

Clarke tried to lighten the moment, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re kinda hot. Total artist’s dream. That jawline? Those eyes…”

She trailed off, her gaze drifting over Lexa’s face like she was sketching her from memory. “Honestly, it was hard not to draw you.”

Lexa didn’t speak, but the flicker in her expression said enough.

Clarke swallowed, her fingers tightening around her glass. “That came out wrong. I wasn’t trying to cross a line.”

Lexa didn’t say anything. She watched her quietly, heart caught in a slow thud behind her ribs. Clarke wasn’t teasing anymore.

She looked down, thumb brushing the edge of her sketchbook. “Back in school, I barely knew who I was. I was awkward, overwhelmed, and honestly, everything felt too big. And you were…” She exhaled, smiling faintly. “You were this calm, composed person I could never imagine even speaking to outside of class.”

Her eyes met Lexa’s again, earnest now. “I guess part of me just… looked up to you. More than I probably should have.”

Lexa blinked slowly, her voice still caught somewhere in her throat. She wasn’t sure what to do with the weight of that truth; what it meant now, or what it had meant then. But the look in Clarke’s eyes wasn’t that of a girl with a crush anymore. It was a woman offering honesty. And that mattered.

Lexa’s gaze dropped to the table. “You should have told me.”

Clarke let out a slow breath.

“If I had told you then… would you still have agreed to go out with me?”

Would she?

Lexa hesitated. “No. I guess I wouldn’t have.” Her voice was quiet. Certain.

Clarke nodded, like she already knew.

“This, what we've had these past few weeks, feels real. At least it does for me. It’s not about the past. I wasn’t trying to chase something old. I wanted to build something new.”

Lexa looked at her. Really looked. Clarke was older now, not that girl anymore. But pieces of her still flickered through. The earnestness, the hunger to be seen, the way she waited just a second longer than necessary for Lexa’s answer.

Clarke hesitated. “How did you... when did you realize?”

Lexa held her gaze. She didn’t speak right away. She didn’t have the words yet.

“That morning. At your place. I saw the yearbook. The sketch.”

Clarke sensed the shift. “Do you regret any of this?”

Her eyes dropped to her plate. “You don’t have to say anything,” she added gently. “I know this is a lot.”

Lexa could hear the vulnerability tucked between Clarke’s words. “No... no, I don’t. I just need some time. To sit with all of this.”

“I understand.”

They sat in silence, the weight of everything unspoken settling between them. After a moment, Lexa glanced at the clock, then back at her.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “Costia will be back soon with Aden.”

Clarke heard the shift in tone, subtle but unmistakable. She knew a dismissal when she heard one. She stood and began gathering her things.

Lexa watched her, then spoke before Clarke could reach the door. “She taught you too, didn’t she?”

Clarke paused, then gave a small nod.

Lexa flinched, just slightly, as if absorbing another layer she hadn’t prepared for.

She hesitated again. “Who… who is Madi’s father?”

Clarke’s hand stilled on the doorknob. “Finn,” she said softly. “Finn Collins.”

Lexa grimaced before she could stop herself. She remembered him. Floppy-haired, easy grin, wide receiver on the football team. A decent student, charismatic, and yes, she had taught him too.

This was starting to feel like a nightmare, as if the past had come back wearing a thousand familiar faces and she hadn’t even seen it coming.

Before Clarke turned to leave, she hesitated. She didn’t know if she was still allowed to kiss Lexa, but she leaned in anyway and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. Her eyes shone with uncertainty, like she knew she might not get another chance.

Lexa’s hand reached up instinctively and returned the gesture with a gentle brush of lips to skin. Clarke offered a small, bittersweet smile and then left without another word.

The door closed behind her with a quiet click. Lexa remained where she was, fingertips still resting lightly on her own cheek, the weight of everything slowly settling in.

***

Clarke lingered at the door, coffee mug empty in one hand, her sketchbook clutched to her side like a shield. She could feel the distance in Lexa’s tone, the way her voice had dipped into something formal, measured: her teacher voice. Lexa had always spoken to Clarke softly, never with that sharp, commanding tone. So when it slipped in now, it stung more than she expected.

She had leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to Lexa’s cheek, hoping for something, anything in return. And when Lexa’s lips brushed hers in a quiet, polite echo, it didn’t feel like tenderness. It felt like goodbye.

She left without another word.

By the time Clarke stepped into the elevator, her heart was already sinking and tears slipped quietly from her eyes.

Chapter Text

Clarke couldn’t remember the exact moment she developed a crush on Lexa — Ms. Woods. There was no cinematic shift, no grand realization. Just a quiet build, like charcoal smudging over time. Slow. Subtle. Suddenly everywhere.

She remembered how her heart would race whenever she caught even a glimpse of her in the corridor between classes. Ms. Woods always walked with purpose, tea in hand, never rushing, never flustered. Her heels clicked across the tiles in this steady, elegant rhythm that Clarke could recognize from down the hall. And if their eyes ever met, if only just for a second, Clarke would look away too fast, cheeks burning, pulse thudding in her ears like a drum.

She remembered how she’d start counting down the minutes before English Literature. Not because of the books, though she learned to love them too. But because it meant forty-five uninterrupted minutes of watching Ms. Woods speak, watching her hands move as she explained a passage, or the way her lips curled around certain words, or how her jaw clenched slightly whenever someone interrupted her mid-sentence.

It was ridiculous, how much Clarke looked forward to school back then. She’d wake up early to try and tame her curls, or put on a slightly nicer hoodie, as if Ms. Woods would notice or care. Of course she never did. She was a teacher. Clarke was just a student. But that didn’t stop her stomach from flipping every time she answered a question right and Ms. Woods nodded with that faint, approving smile. “Good insight, Clarke.” That praise alone could float her through an entire week.

She never told anyone. Not even her best friend at the time. It wasn’t the kind of crush you joked about in the locker room or scribbled hearts around in your planner. It was deeper than that. Quieter. Something she folded up and kept tucked between the pages of her sketchbook, drawn in charcoal outlines and hidden beneath layers of shading.

It was kind of an open secret that Ms. Woods had a fan club. Not official, of course, but the kind that showed up early for class and suddenly cared about poetry. She was beautiful and intelligent and carried herself with this quiet authority that made the rowdiest students sit up straighter when she walked into the room. She wasn’t like the other teachers. She was young, but not naive. Soft-spoken, but commanding. She didn’t try to be cool. She just was.

And Clarke had known, even then, that she was way out of her league.

It wasn’t just the age difference, or the fact that Lexa Woods looked like she belonged in a magazine while Clarke still tripped over her own shoelaces. It was that Ms. Woods never looked at any of them like they were more than students. She kept her distance with that gentle professionalism that made her untouchable.

And besides, everyone kind of assumed she was dating Ms. Greene, the art teacher. They never confirmed it, but they used to walk to the parking lot together after school, sometimes sharing an umbrella, sometimes laughing like there was an inside joke the rest of the world couldn’t touch.

And that was part of why Clarke had turned to Finn.

He was there. He was easy. He liked her. And he was nothing like Lexa. Popular, the football quarterback, a rule breaker and thrill seeker. A distraction. She’d lost her virginity to him and regretted it almost immediately. It had been awkward, fumbling. She kept waiting for the intensity others talked about, but it never came.

Then she got pregnant.

Her parents were disappointed, but supportive. She and Finn got married. It felt like the right thing to do. But it wasn’t. Just one bad decision after another. Except Madi.

Madi was the best decision she’d ever made.

Clarke had been forced to switch to online classes halfway through her last semester. Pregnancy complications landed her on bed rest, and everything shifted. But she still pushed through, taking her exams remotely, determined to graduate. And she did. Somehow, she made it work.

She went on to college to pursue an arts degree. It wasn’t easy. She juggled diapers and textbooks on barely any sleep. Her parents helped where they could. Finn didn’t. He was more invested in his fraternity than in his daughter. He wanted the full college experience, and his cheating was the final breaking point. After that, Clarke knew she and Madi were better off without him.

Between Madi, school, and the uphill climb of trying to build a future, for both of them, Clarke didn’t have time to date. She wasn’t looking, not then. Not even on the day of her exhibition.

Until Lexa walked in.

That pulled her straight into the present.

To Lexa.

And she was certain that Lexa had never noticed her in that way. Not back then. To Lexa, she had been just another quiet kid in the back row. Another name to grade. Another face in a yearbook.

But now?

Now things were different.

They had met as strangers, as equals, fully grown adults, and free from classrooms and rules. Clarke hadn’t planned it. She hadn’t pursued it. She hadn’t lied, at least, not outright. But she also hadn’t told the truth. And now Lexa knew.

Clarke stared at the ceiling that night, wondering if she had ruined everything by keeping it to herself. If all the warmth between them had quietly curdled into doubt the moment Lexa remembered.

She hadn’t meant to deceive her. But maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe the damage was already done.

*****

“So… who’s Madi?” Costia stirred oat milk into her coffee, watching the swirl settle before glancing up. “Aden won’t stop talking about her. ‘Madi did this’, ‘Madi said that’.”

“Yeah. He’s taken to her.” Lexa nodded, keeping it casual. “They go to the same school. Met at the playground a few weeks ago and suddenly became inseparable.”

“Huh.” Costia leaned back. “Kids pick their people fast.”

“They do,” Lexa said, a faint smile tugging at her mouth.

“And Clarke?” Costia tilted her head. “Sometimes it’s ‘Clarke told us this’ or ‘Clarke says that’.”

“Oh. Clarke is Madi’s mom.”

Costia was quiet for a moment, then said, “I should set up a playdate. Let the kids burn off some energy. Might be nice to make a new mom friend too. God, I need more of those.”

Lexa gave a small nod but didn’t respond right away.

Costia studied her. “You seem different lately.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“Lighter. Less tense. Happier.” Costia paused, considering. “Are you seeing someone?”

Lexa smirked into her drink. “Bit late for therapy, don’t you think?”

Costia let out a soft laugh and shook her head. “You always do that.”

“What?”

“Use humor to deflect. I used to think it was charming. Now I know it’s a defense mechanism.”

Lexa gave a small shrug. “I’ve been seeing someone. It’s still early.”

Costia looked surprised, but not upset. “Does Aden know?”

“No. And he won’t. Not unless it becomes something serious.”

“That’s fair,” Costia said. She hesitated. “Anyone I know?”

Lexa offered a small smile that gave nothing away. “I’d rather not say.”

Costia watched her for another second, then nodded. “Okay.”

Lexa glanced over, the question slipping out before she could second-guess it. “How about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

Costia smiled around the rim of her glass. “You know me. I meet someone, get bored, and then meet someone else.”

Lexa huffed a quiet laugh. “Still charming as ever.”

“Still honest,” Costia countered. She looked at Lexa again, more thoughtful this time. “But I don’t know. Lately, it’s been harder to pretend the spark’s enough. Maybe I’m getting old.”

“You’re not old,” Lexa said.

Costia snorted softly. “I’m older than you, remember?”

Lexa scoffed. “Yeah, by like eight months.”

“Trust me, it sneaks up on you,” Costia said, reaching for her coffee. Her fingers curled around the warm mug. “Wait until your back betrays you for the first time. That’s when it gets real.”

Lexa took a sip of her drink, amused. “Sounds like the gym is calling your name.”

Costia raised an eyebrow. “Please. The gym can leave a message.”

*****

Lexa was in the middle of sorting laundry when her phone buzzed on the counter. She ignored it at first, expecting it to be another work email. But then it buzzed again. A short pause. Then a third time.

Three messages.

She dried her hands on a towel and reached for the phone, stomach tightening when she saw the name. Clarke.

Clarke had kept her promise. She had given her the space she asked for and hadn’t reached out in a week. Until now. Maybe she had grown tired of waiting. Lexa knew she should have reached out first, but she hadn’t. And maybe, just maybe, she was the one acting like a child now.

Lexa opened the thread.

Clarke:
Hey. I didn’t know how to start this.
But apparently Madi gave Aden my number.
Costia just texted me to ask about a playdate this weekend. Are you okay with that?

Lexa stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

The simple question Are you okay with that? stuck with her longer than it should have. Maybe because, for a second, she thought Clarke was reaching out about them. But it wasn’t about that. It was about Aden.

She exhaled slowly and sat down, phone still in hand.

Typing back felt like more than just answering a text. It felt like deciding whether she wanted to open the door again.

She tapped out a reply, paused, then deleted it.

Tried again.

It’s fine. Aden will be happy to see Madi. He’s been missing her.
Thanks for checking.
Just so you know, Costia doesn’t know about us.

She read it over once, twice. The words looked simple, but they carried more weight than she expected.

She hit send before she could second-guess it.

***

Clarke’s phone buzzed just as she was putting Madi’s shoes on. She glanced down and saw Lexa’s name on the screen. Her heart skipped.

She opened the message.

It’s fine. Aden will be happy to see Madi. He’s been missing her.
Thanks for checking.
Just so you know, Costia doesn’t know about us.

Clarke read the words twice. A quiet ache settled in her chest. It shouldn't be a surprise that Lexa hadn't told Costia about them. Why would she? It was still all so new, so fragile.

She typed and deleted a reply, unsure how to bridge the distance that felt wider than any text could cross.

Finally, she tapped out a simple, steady message.

Understood. Thanks for telling me.

She stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the send button, then pressed it before doubt could take hold.

*****

The sun filtered through the living room windows as Aden and Madi tore around the space, their laughter echoing off the walls. Costia sat on the couch, sipping her coffee, eyes flicking occasionally toward the two kids but mostly focused on the woman sitting across from her.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to finally meet you,” Costia said, smiling. “Aden's enamored with Madi. I wonder if they’ll end up in the same class this school year.”

Clarke returned the smile. “She talks about him all the time. I think she believes they’re going to grow up and rule the world together.”

Costia laughed. “Well, with that kind of confidence, maybe they will.” She tilted her head slightly. “So, what do you do? When you're not raising a future world leader.”

Clarke shifted in her seat, brushing a curl behind her ear. “I’m an artist,” she said, offering a modest smile. “I just had a new exhibition a few weeks ago.”

Costia’s eyebrows lifted with interest. “Really? That’s amazing. What kind of art?”

Clarke pulled up images on her phone. Vibrant canvases full of color and texture. Costia leaned forward, eyes wide as she took in the bold strokes and emotional depth of the pieces.

“These are stunning,” she said. “I love how tactile they feel. Like I could reach in and get paint under my nails.”

Clarke smiled, thumb moving automatically to the next image. She flicked past the Commander painting without meaning to linger.

But Costia caught a glimpse.

“Wait… go back. That one. Who is she?”

Clarke hesitated, finger hovering over the screen. “Just… a character from a series I was working on.”

Costia studied the painting. The woman in the portrait wore black, with war paint streaked across her eyes. She stood tall, shoulders squared, gaze burning with quiet intensity.

“She looks familiar,” Costia murmured. “Like I’ve seen her somewhere.”

Clarke didn’t answer right away.

“She’s not based on anyone real, is she?”

Clarke met her gaze, expression careful. “Not exactly.”

“These are incredible,” Costia breathed. “You’ve got serious talent.”

Clarke shrugged modestly, glancing toward the kids playing. “Thanks. It means a lot.”

For a while, they talked about art, life, and the challenges of balancing creativity with parenting. The conversation drifted easily, as if they weren’t two near-strangers brought together by their kids, but colleagues catching up after time apart.

Costia shared that she had moved away from teaching but stayed in the creative field. “I manage a team of graphic designers now,” she said, swirling her coffee. “It’s rewarding, but I miss being the one doing the creative work. No one really tells you that the higher you move up, the more time you spend managing people instead of actually designing.”

Clarke nodded. “I get that. I’ve dabbled with digital, but I still prefer the physical medium. There’s something grounding about actual paint. The mess, the texture, the weight of it.”

Costia smiled, her posture relaxing. “There’s a kind of honesty to it.”

Clarke returned the smile. “Exactly.”

Costia felt an unexpected ease settle over the conversation. The unfamiliar woman in her home no longer felt quite so unknown.

Midway through the playdate, as Madi and Aden ran past them chasing each other, Clarke turned slightly to call out to Aden, and something about her voice, her profile, the way she smiled sparked a flicker of recognition in Costia’s mind.

“Wait,” Costia said slowly, brow furrowing. “You’re Clarke… Clarke Griffin, right? From Arkadia High? I taught you back then, didn’t I?”

Clarke blinked, surprised, but her smile was easy. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Costia laughed, shaking her head. “Unbelievable. I knew you looked familiar.” She leaned back with a grin. “Alright, you need to get more famous. I want bragging rights. So I can say ‘I once taught the Clarke Griffin before she was a household name.’”

Clarke laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

“Please do. I have a whole gallery of former students who peaked early. I could use a win.”

Costia smiled, about to reply, when Madi’s voice cut through. “Can we have some snacks, please?”

Aden nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I’m starving!”

Clarke glanced at them both, then back at Costia with a grin. “Looks like our future world rulers have other priorities.”

Costia laughed and stood up. “Alright, snack break it is. Let’s see what we’ve got in the kitchen.”

The two women exchanged a quick look, a quiet understanding passing between them before they followed the kids.

A few minutes later, the children had vanished into the playroom, their laughter drifting through the open door. Clarke and Costia remained at the kitchen table, mugs of tea between them. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it hovered at the edge of something more.

“Lexa taught you too, right? English lit?” Costia asked casually.

Clarke nodded.

“That woman does love her books,” Costia said with a smile. “She’ll talk your ear off if you get her started.”

Clarke laughed politely, the sound light but careful.

Costia swirled her tea absently. “Lexa told me she’s seeing someone.”

Clarke stilled, fingers tightening slightly around her mug.

“She didn’t say who,” Costia added quickly. “She never does, really. Always been private like that. Still…” Her voice softened, “I’m happy for her. I think.”

Clarke offered a careful smile. “It’s not always easy, watching someone move on.”

“No, it’s not,” Costia murmured, eyes drifting toward the window. “She was my best friend before she was my wife. And when things started unraveling, I kept thinking we could fix it. That we just needed time. Or space. Or maybe less of both.”

Clarke’s expression shifted, uncertain whether to speak. Costia wasn’t really looking at her anymore.

“I look at Aden and I wonder if we failed him,” Costia said, her voice quieter now. “Maybe we should have tried harder. Stayed longer. I don’t know. I just—” She gave a dry laugh. “Sorry. I’m oversharing. Dumping this all on you.”

Clarke blinked, caught between sympathy and discomfort. She reached for levity. “Hey, at least you got a few good years of marriage out of it. My ex was a walking cautionary tale.”

Clarke sipped her tea. “I lost a hundred seventy-five pounds after the divorce.”

There was a pause.

“Wait—” Costia’s brow furrowed for a second, then she smirked as it clicked. “That’s a good one.”

“I figured out I didn’t need to look after a grown man and a newborn at the same time,” Clarke added with a shrug.

Clarke gave her a sly smile. “Took me a while to realize the biggest baby in the house wasn’t the one in diapers.”

Costia laughed, the tension easing a little. “Brutal. I respect it.”

They both laughed softly, the mood easing just enough. But as Clarke sipped her tea, something coiled in her stomach. Costia didn’t know. Clarke hadn’t expected the conversation to turn toward Lexa, and now she wasn’t sure how to sit with it.

Eventually, Costia would eventually find out who Lexa was seeing. When she realized she had been confessing old wounds to the very woman who now shared Lexa’s bed, Clarke didn’t know how that would land.

But it was already too late to take it back.

Chapter Text

There was a knock at the door, quick at first, then softer, as if whoever was on the other side second-guessed it halfway through.

Clarke wasn’t expecting anyone. She wiped her hands on a towel, frowning slightly as she walked to the front door. When she opened it, she froze.

Standing there was Aden, grinning up at her with a slightly lopsided bouquet of wildflowers clutched in his hands. “These are for you,” he announced proudly.

Clarke blinked. “Oh… thank you, Aden.” She crouched to accept them, genuinely touched, even if she suspected he was acting under orders. “They’re beautiful.”

From somewhere deeper in the house, Madi shrieked, “Aden!” and the boy lit up like a firework. He gave Clarke a quick wave and darted inside, leaving the door open behind him.

When she looked up, her eyes met Lexa’s.

Lexa lifted a brow, her expression half-guilty, half-hopeful.

Clarke tilted her head and gave her a look. “Really? Sending the kid to do your dirty work?”

“Strategic delegation,” Lexa said dryly.

Clarke laughed.

“I’m sorry.” Lexa said, her voice soft.

Clarke took them slowly, her heart already racing. “You didn’t have to—”

“I did,” Lexa cut in gently. “I was trying to make sense of something that already made sense. I got in my own way. And yours.”

She exhaled, steadying herself.

“I didn’t cross a line. We didn’t. But I kept acting like we had, and that wasn’t fair to you.” She glanced up, her eyes steady. “I want to make it right. If you’ll let me.”

She took a slow breath. “I was wrong. About everything. About pulling back. About assuming the worst without giving you a chance to explain. I got scared, and then I let that fear convince me I’d done something unforgivable.”

Clarke didn’t say anything, not yet.

Lexa held up a paper bag, the logo of Clarke’s favorite takeout place peeking from the top. “Peace offering. I didn’t cook. Thought it’d be safer this way.”

Still, Clarke didn’t say anything.

Lexa stepped closer, voice gentler now. “Forgive me?”

Clarke looked at her for a long moment. Lexa looked remorseful. Truly remorseful.

Slowly, Clarke’s expression softened. Her fingers relaxed around the flowers. A small smile touched her lips.

“Depends,” she said. “Did you bring dumplings?”

Lexa held up the bag like a knight raising a sword. “Two orders.”

Clarke stepped back with a small smile. “Then you’re halfway redeemed. Come in.”

Lexa crossed the threshold, the weight in her chest loosening with every step. And this time, when she smiled, it didn’t falter.

“You owe me a week’s worth of kisses,” she said.

Lexa’s smile deepened, a little of her usual charm creeping back in. “Then I better pace myself. Wouldn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow, though her lips twitched with amusement. “Overwhelm me? That’s cute. You think you could.”

Lexa chuckled, stepping closer. “Is that a challenge?”

Clarke didn’t move back. If anything, she tilted her chin up, letting the closeness settle between them. “Maybe.”

Lexa’s gaze softened. There was a time she would’ve overthought this, second-guessed every word, every breath. But not now. Now, she knew where she stood, and who she wanted beside her.

She reached for Clarke’s hand. “I mean it. I’m sorry. For pulling away. I just… needed to get my head on straight. Figure out what this was. What I wanted.”

Clarke’s fingers curled gently around hers. “And?”

Lexa glanced down at their joined hands, then back up. “I want this. You. Whatever it looks like. I’m in, if you are.”

Clarke searched her face for a moment. Then, without a word, she rose onto her toes and kissed her. Slow, certain, warm. A quiet yes.

Somewhere in the background, they could hear the kids shouting from the playroom; Madi’s voice high with excitement, Aden responding with mock indignation. It made Clarke smile against Lexa’s lips.

She pulled back just enough to whisper, “We probably have ten minutes before someone comes running in with glitter glue in their hair.”

Lexa grinned. “Then I guess I should start paying off that week’s worth of kisses now.”

Clarke laughed, the sound light and easy. “You’ve got a long way to go, Woods.”

Lexa leaned in again. “Challenge accepted.”

*****

The air-conditioning hit them the moment they walked into Staples, cool and crisp against the summer heat. Clarke steered the cart while Madi and Aden darted ahead, marveling at every row like it was a treasure trove. Binders, notebooks, colored pencils. Madi had already begged for a Lisa Frank folder and Aden was holding up a giant ruler like it was a sword.

Lexa moved with purpose, scanning the aisles and picking up packs of highlighters, pens, and sticky notes with the same intensity she reserved for lesson planning. Clarke watched as she dropped a sixth pack of pens into the cart, and a stack of writing pads.

“Why are you getting so many pens and writing pads?” Clarke asked, eyebrows raised. “I don’t think Aden and Madi are writing essays yet.”

Lexa glanced over her shoulder. “They’re not for them. They’re for my students.”

“Oh,” Clarke said, surprised. “You buy supplies for them?”

“Sometimes they come to school without anything,” Lexa said with a shrug. “Parents couldn’t afford it. Or just… didn’t bother. I like having extras.”

Clarke stared at her for a beat, then sighed dramatically. “Okay, wow. I wanted this to be a surprise, but now you’re making me feel completely underprepared.”

Lexa looked over, one brow arched. “Surprise?”

Clarke hesitated, then smiled. “I’m kind of… starting at Arkadia High when school reopens.”

Lexa blinked. “As in… finishing high school?”

Clarke smacked her on the arm. “You’re hilarious.”

Lexa winced playfully. “Too soon?”

Clarke narrowed her eyes at her. “A little.”

Lexa’s expression softened into something warmer. “So… you’re going to be my colleague, huh?”

Clarke tilted her head, playful suspicion in her eyes. “You’re still teaching English Lit, right? Not promoted to Vice Principal or anything? You’re not going to be my boss, are you?”

Lexa laughed. “Nope, still just a humble English teacher. Although I might be up for Head of Department when Amanda retires next year.”

Clarke smiled. “I’ll be gone before that. I'm only covering for a semester while Mrs. Cotter’s on maternity leave.”

She glanced down at the half-filled cart. “What supplies do I need to get?”

Lexa thought for a moment. “Just a few extras of whatever you plan to start with. Acrylics? Charcoal? Maybe some sketchpads and spares. Keep the receipt. You can always return whatever you don’t use.”

Clarke smiled. “What would I do without you?” She leaned in for a quick kiss.

Lexa glanced around, startled by the public display. “While we’re on the topic of school… no PDA, okay? Never know when one of my students might be around. Proper conduct doesn’t only apply during school hours.”

Clarke raised a brow, her tone teasing. “Alright, Ms. Woods. I’ll behave.”

Lexa smirked, voice low. “You can do whatever you want to me in private.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow, grabbed a roll of cloth tape off the shelf, and dropped it into the cart with a smug little smile.

Lexa narrowed her eyes, both amused and intrigued. “Should I be worried?”

Clarke leaned in just enough to murmur, “Don’t say things you’ll regret later, Ms. Woods.”

Lexa didn’t miss a beat. She reached for a long wooden ruler, then a roll of twine, placing them neatly beside the tape. “You might need these too,” she said, voice low and teasing.

Clarke glanced at the items, then at her, eyes narrowing with amusement. “Should I be concerned?”

Lexa leaned in just a little. “Only if you don’t know how to use them.”

Before Clarke could come up with a comeback, Madi came barreling down the aisle, waving a glitter pencil case like it was a trophy. “Mom! They’re on sale!”

Lexa shot Clarke a look as they followed the sound. “You’re trouble.”

Clarke grinned. “You knew that when you kissed me.”

*****

The teachers’ lounge still smelled faintly of burnt coffee and dry-erase markers, the end-of-summer hum replaced by the quiet shuffle of returning staff. Lexa stood by the counter, grabbing a tea bag and filling up a cup of hot water. She greeted a few familiar faces with warm nods, exchanged a quick update about vacation plans with Amanda White, and stirred honey into her tea.

She had just turned to leave when the door opened.

Principal Thelonious Jaha stepped in, followed by a woman with a familiar stride and paint-stained tote bag slung over one shoulder.

“Morning, ladies, hope everyone’s easing back in alright.” Jaha said cheerfully, projecting his usual easy charm. “I’d like you all to meet our new substitute art teacher, Clarke Griffin. She’s one of our own, an Arkadia High alum, and an accomplished artist.”

Amanda White, Head of English perked up. “Welcome, Clarke. It’s lovely to have you back.”

Clarke smiled warmly. “Thank you, Mrs. White.”

“Oh, please. Call me Amanda. You’re not my student anymore.”

There was a ripple of polite laughter.

Clarke laughed lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Right. Amanda.”

Jaha gestured toward a couple of newer staff members and rattled off introductions, then turned toward Lexa. “And I believe you may have taught Clarke, Lexa? I’m a little fuzzy on the years. Age is catching up on me.”

Lexa didn’t miss a beat. She stepped forward with a smile that reached her eyes. “That’s right. It’s good to have her back.”

Clarke’s expression mirrored hers, familiar and easy. “You haven’t changed much,” she teased gently. “Still have your tea with way too much honey.”

Lexa smirked. “Some habits are worth keeping.”

Their exchange was subtle, casual, the kind that might pass as warm familiarity to anyone else. Amanda’s gaze lingered for a moment, as if noting something in Lexa’s tone, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she returned to her coffee, already fielding questions from a younger teacher.

Jaha clapped his hands once. “Well, I’ll leave you all to it. Lexa, maybe you can show Clarke around again, just in case we’ve remodeled anything since she graduated.”

Clarke raised a brow. “That’d be what… a new vending machine?”

Lexa grinned. “Two, actually. Budget miracles.”

As they stepped out into the empty hallway, Clarke bumped her shoulder gently against Lexa’s. “You handled that very professionally.”

“I’m a model employee,” Lexa murmured, lips quirking.

Clarke smirked. “Is the art room still in the same place?”

“Yeah,” Lexa said, falling into step beside her. “Let me walk you there. I’m still on new teacher duty.”

They reached the art room, and Clarke’s steps slowed as she stepped inside. The space was familiar, but the interior had changed. New shelves, rearranged furniture, different color swatches on the walls. Still, the bones were the same.

She took a slow breath. “Wow. I spent so many hours in this room… sketching, painting, trying not to fail geometry.”

Clarke exhaled. “Feels smaller somehow. Or maybe I just got taller.”

Clarke moved further inside, fingers brushing the edge of one of the long tables. “Feels like I blinked, and suddenly I’m back… only now I’m the one setting up.”

She moved to unpack some supplies while Lexa lingered by the door, letting the memories wash over her. It had been years since she’d been in this space. Not since Costia left.

It had been Costia’s classroom first. Lexa had helped her decorate it, hang student work, organize the drying racks. She could still see her bent over a crate of oil pastels, sleeves pushed up, stubborn smile on her face.

Back then, it had felt like something solid. Like they were building something that would last. But it hadn’t. Somewhere between work and late nights, between Aden’s needs and their own exhaustion, they’d stopped reaching for each other. And by the time they noticed, there was too much space in between to bridge.

She didn’t regret the end. But standing here now, watching Clarke move through the room, arranging brushes and testing drawers, a quiet part of her wondered where exactly it had gone wrong. Not because she wanted Costia back, but because she didn’t want to make the same mistake with Clarke.

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

George Santayana’s words echoed in her mind, a line she’d taught to hundreds of students, yet somehow never quite applied to herself. Maybe it was time she did.

“Hey,” Clarke called gently, noticing the far-off look in her eyes. “You okay?”

Lexa blinked and nodded, stepping farther in. “Yeah. Just... been a while since I’ve been in here.”

Watching Clarke buzz around the art room, all bright-eyed with sleeves rolled up, rearranging supplies with the kind of nervous excitement that only came with the pre-first week of teaching jitters, Lexa felt something stir. A quiet tug of memory, soft and persistent. She wasn’t like that anymore.

There had been a time when she was. Fresh out of grad school, armed with color-coded lesson plans and an overstuffed tote bag, thinking passion alone would be enough to reach every student who walked through her door. She used to stay up late reworking assignments, scribbling encouraging notes in red pen, believing each kid just needed the right book to fall in love with literature.

She smiled faintly. She definitely wore heels back then. Kitten ones, maybe, but heels all the same. She’d given those up after the first year, and her toes had thanked her for that.

She wondered what else she’d traded in without realizing. Was she still the teacher she had once hoped to be? Had the quiet disappointments chipped away at her? All the administrative red tape, apathetic parents, students who stopped trying before she ever had a chance to reach them? Or had she simply adjusted, grown sharper, more efficient?

Had she become jaded? Or just realistic? It was hard to tell sometimes.

Clarke, across the room, was humming to herself as she arranged jars of brushes on a shelf. There was paint on her wrist already.

Lexa’s smile lingered.

Maybe this was the reminder she didn’t know she needed. Not to go back to who she was, but to reconnect with what had brought her here in the first place. Not just to teach. But to believe it mattered.

Lexa took a step back and quietly closed the door. Clarke heard the soft click of the lock and turned around, one brow arched in amusement. Before she could say anything, Lexa was already striding toward her, purpose in every step.

And then she kissed her.

It started slow, sure, but quickly turned deeper. Lexa backed Clarke against the nearest table, her hands already sliding over Clarke’s waist and up beneath the hem of her shirt, just enough to feel warm skin. She kissed her like she meant it, like she wanted to taste every breath Clarke had to give.

Clarke responded without hesitation. Her fingers gripped Lexa’s collar, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. One of Lexa’s hands slid lower, firm at Clarke’s hip, anchoring her in place. The other tangled in her hair, guiding the tilt of her head, deepening the kiss with the kind of precision that came from knowing exactly what she wanted.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, Clarke blinked at her. “What was that for? Not that I’m complaining.”

Lexa’s smile curled, unapologetic. “Just a warm welcome to Arkadia High. Figured this might be our only shot without students lurking around every corner.”

She leaned in again, lips brushing Clarke’s ear. “Was that everything you imagined?”

Clarke gave a breathless laugh. “Not even close.”

Lexa pulled back just enough to pout. “Seriously?”

Clarke smiled, eyes soft and sure. “It’s a million times better. Because now I get to go home with you.”

Lexa rested her forehead against Clarke’s for a lingering moment before pulling back, still breathless. “As much as I hate to, I really need to go set up my classroom.” Her thumb brushed gently along Clarke’s jaw. “See you later?”

Clarke pressed one last kiss to Lexa’s lips, soft but charged. “Go, before I change my mind.”

Lexa’s laugh was low as she walked to the door, hips swaying just enough.

Clarke’s eyes followed every step. “That ass should come with a warning label.”

Lexa looked back over her shoulder, smug. “Eyes up, Ms. Griffin.”

Clarke leaned back against the table, the room quiet now, familiar in shape but filled with new meaning. She glanced around at the shelves, the drying racks, the soft light slanting through the windows. Same bones, different life.

It felt surreal to be back in this space. Not as the nervous student with a hopeless crush, but as a teacher. As someone who kissed Lexa against a worktable and got kissed back like it meant everything.

She smiled to herself, fingers brushing her lips. She wasn’t eighteen anymore. And this time, she wasn’t just imagining it. She got the girl.

Chapter Text

Clarke felt a flicker of unease about the playdate with Costia. She had assumed Lexa had given Costia a heads-up, now that they had cleared the air. But now, sitting across from Costia as the kids played nearby, she realized how much Costia was oversharing.

At the moment, she was talking easily about Lexa’s dry humor. “It’s not just wit,” Costia said with a fond, almost rueful smile. “It’s a shield. She’s always used jokes to deflect when things get too real.”

Clarke nodded slowly. “Huh. I never really noticed that.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them, and hung there, heavy with implication. Costia’s brow lifted in surprise, as if she caught the unintended meaning. Maybe Clarke shouldn’t have said that out loud. Maybe Costia did notice. Or maybe it was just coincidence, but she smoothly shifted the conversation to something lighter.

The moment passed, but Clarke couldn’t shake the feeling that some truths had settled quietly between them.

*****

Clarke pushed open the classroom door without knocking, a sharp hiss escaping her lips. “You haven’t told her?”

Lexa looked up from her desk, eyebrows lifting. “Told who what?”

“Costia. About us.”

Lexa shrugged. “It didn’t come up.”

Clarke’s voice tightened. “You need to tell her. I’m not trying to stake my claim or anything, but she deserves to know. Playdates are getting weird. She’s been… oversharing. Costia’s a good person—”

Lexa smirked, teasing. “You’re not falling for her, are you?”

Huh. Costia was right. Lexa really did use humor to deflect.

Clarke shot her a look and groaned, rolling her eyes. “I actually like Costia, okay? She’s smart, funny, easy to talk to.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to lose her as a friend just because you’re not ready to be honest. And I’m tired of pretending. It’s getting messy.”

Lexa’s tone shifted, a little defensive. “Have you told Finn, then?”

Clarke hesitated, then shook her head. “It hasn’t come up. But it’s not like you and him are braiding friendship bracelets anytime soon.”

Lexa looked around the empty classroom, lowering her voice. “This isn’t the place for this conversation. I’ll handle it.”

Clarke nodded once, lips tight. “Tell her, Lexa, or I guarantee you, it’s going to bite you in the ass when she finds out.

She turned and walked out just as students began trickling in, their chatter filling the hallway. Lexa stayed where she was, watching her go, the weight of more than just her lesson plans settling heavily on her shoulders.

*****

The night had settled in quiet and still, the hum of the dishwasher the only sound in the apartment. Lexa was in the middle of her evening tea, the soft glow of the kitchen light casting long shadows.

The knock came sharp and fast. Lexa barely had time to set down her mug before the door flung open. Costia stood there, arms crossed, eyes blazing.

“Are you dating Clarke?”

Lexa winced. That was Costia. No warm-up, no soft landing. Just a direct hit.

She didn’t answer fast enough.

Costia stepped inside without invitation. “Judging from your expression, I’ll take that as a yes.”

Lexa closed the door behind her. “We’re not together anymore, Costia. I don’t owe you—”

“You don’t owe me your dating history,” Costia snapped. “But you do owe me a heads-up when your dating history is sitting across from me, drinking lemonade in my kitchen, while I go on about you like you're some theoretical ex-wife I haven’t seen in years. Jesus, Lexa.”

Lexa flinched. “It didn’t exactly come up.”

Costia stared at her like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “God, Lexa. For someone who teaches English, your communication skills are tragically ironic.”

Lexa sighed. “Why were you even talking about me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I thought I was bonding with someone new, someone who seemed genuinely interested in being friends. I didn’t realize I was monologuing to the woman sleeping with my ex-wife.”

Lexa raised a brow. “If you said anything awkward, that’s on you. If you said anything flattering... this wouldn’t be a problem, would it?”

Costia let out a disbelieving laugh, part hurt, part frustration. “And there it is. Deflection. Humor. The usual.”

Lexa didn’t respond right away. Her shoulders lowered, her tone softer now. “I was going to tell you. I didn’t mean for you to find out like that.”

A beat passed, then Lexa chuckled under her breath. “Clarke was right. It did come back and bite me in the ass.”

Costia arched an eyebrow, still guarded but listening.

Lexa gave a small, sheepish smile as her thoughts drifted. “She gave me a similar speech this afternoon. Told me I had to tell you. Said she was surprised I hadn’t already.”

Something shifted in Costia’s expression. Her stance eased just slightly as she studied the look on Lexa’s face, the familiar warmth there, the unmistakable fondness.

“She’s not just some rebound, is she?” Costia asked, quieter now.

Lexa met her eyes. “No,” she said simply. “She’s not.”

There was a pause before Costia added, “Did you know she was our student? Took me a while to recognize her, but eventually, it clicked.”

Lexa’s shoulders tensed. “No. I didn’t know when we met. Besides, we’re all adults now.”

Costia tilted her head slightly, catching the shift in Lexa’s tone. “That’s not what I meant,” she said gently. “I wasn’t judging. I just… I know how careful you are about boundaries. I figured it must have shaken you.”

Lexa looked away for a moment, jaw tightening. “It did. I spiraled for a bit. Questioned everything.”

Costia nodded, waiting.

“I kept thinking I’d crossed a line without knowing. That maybe I wasn’t who I thought I was.”

The silence stretched.

“And then Anya told me to pull my head out of my ass.”

Costia scoffed. “Did she actually say that? I mean, I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Lexa smirked. “Not in so many words. But that was the gist of it.”

She hesitated, then added quietly, “Do you remember those mystery sketches I used to find on my desk?”

Costia blinked. “Of course. The eyes. The secret admirer. Obsession.”

Lexa gave a small nod, her smile turning wistful. “That was Clarke.”

Costia stared at her. “Seriously?”

“Found a similar one tucked inside her yearbook,” Lexa said. “Same paper. Same sketch lines. Same handwriting.”

Costia leaned back against the counter and let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s... full circle.”

“I know.”

Costia frowned, thoughtful, then snapped her fingers. “I knew that warrior painting she did looked familiar. That’s you, isn’t it?”

Lexa huffed a soft laugh. “She didn’t mean it to be. But her subconscious had other plans.”

There was a pause before Costia added, quieter now, “She’s nice. I like her.”

She crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter, letting out a quiet breath. “And for the record, I approve. She’s good for Aden. But you’re going to have to tell Aden yourself.”

Lexa gave a small nod, grateful and a little humbled.

Costia looked at her, expression softer now. “And next time? Just say something. I’m done trying to read your mind. It’s tiring.”

Before Lexa could respond, a voice echoed from the hallway.

“Mommy!”

Aden’s head popped around the corner, his eyes lighting up when he saw both his moms in the kitchen. He grinned, that gap-toothed smile of his stretching wide.

From his point of view, it felt like the best kind of surprise. Two of his favorite people, in the same room, not rushing off in opposite directions or handing him off with quick goodbyes. Just… there. Together. Like the world had tilted back into place for a moment.

“Can we have ice cream?” he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he already knew the answer.

Lexa glanced at Costia, who arched a brow.

“One scoop,” they said in near-unison.

Aden beamed. He didn’t know what they’d been talking about before he came in, and he didn’t care. The kitchen felt warmer now. Softer. Like home.

“Guess what we did in class today?” he asked, practically vibrating.

Lexa raised a brow. “Something amazing, clearly.”

“We did multiplication towers with blocks!” Aden said, bouncing on his toes. “Ms. Parker said we were learning about doubles. So we started with one block. Then she asked what’s one times two, so we added one more. Then two times two, so we stacked four. Then four times two, and we had to stack eight. And then—”

“It tipped over, didn’t it?” Costia said, smiling knowingly.

Aden threw up his hands. “It exploded! Blocks went everywhere! Madi tried to save it by holding the bottom, but it was too tall. We were all yelling, and Ms. Parker just laughed and said, ‘Congratulations, you discovered exponential growth… and gravity.’”

Lexa chuckled. “That actually sounds like a great way to teach math.”

“It was so cool,” Aden said, his voice rising with excitement. “And Madi and I worked on the same tower. We’re in the same class now! Isn’t that awesome?”

Costia glanced at Lexa. “You never mentioned they ended up in the same class.”

Lexa shrugged. “I didn’t really get the chance.”

Costia nodded, still a little surprised, then glanced at the clock on the stove. “It’s late. I should get going.”

Aden’s face dropped. “Already?” He hesitated. “My stomach feels kinda weird.”

Lexa’s eyes narrowed as she quickly scanned him. “Since when?”

“Just now,” he said, laying a hand on his belly. “Like maybe I ate too many grapes.”

Lexa raised a brow. “You barely touched the grapes.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked up at her with a hopeful kind of pout.

Lexa crossed her arms, amused. “You trying to guilt your mom into staying over?”

Aden gave a noncommittal shrug. “You said she’s coming back in the morning anyway…”

Costia exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”

“He’s got a point,” Lexa said, already disappearing down the hallway. “You’re back here in ten hours. Might as well stay.”

Costia didn’t protest when Lexa returned with an oversized t-shirt and joggers. “Still like the gray ones?”

“Always,” she said dryly, accepting them. “You enabling him now?”

Lexa shrugged. “Pick your battles.”

Costia turned back to Aden, who looked suddenly very innocent on the bed, arms tucked behind his head like he’d just remembered he didn’t feel that bad after all.

She gave him a look. “You little manipulator.”

He grinned sheepishly. “You’re already here.”

She sighed and ruffled his hair. “Yeah. I am.”

Lexa smiled softly, as she tucked him in.

Aden didn’t say anything else. But when the grown-ups weren’t looking, he pulled the blanket over his face and smiled quietly to himself. He was just happy they were both here.

He whispered softly, “Mission accomplished.”

*****

The door swung open, and Clarke blinked.

Costia stood there in one of Lexa’s oversized T-shirts, the hem brushing the middle of her thighs. Her hair was tied up messily, and she looked far too comfortable for a casual drop-off.

Clarke’s brain stalled for a moment.

“Hi, morning Costia,” she managed, voice lighter than she felt. “I… uh…”

Costia smiled, easy and polite. “Hi, Clarke. Was there supposed to be a playdate today?” She glanced behind Clarke, as if expecting to see Madi peeking from behind her legs. “I didn’t realize.”

Clarke cleared her throat. “No. No playdate. I was just…” She hesitated, trying not to glance past Costia into the apartment. “I was dropping something off. For Lexa.”

“Oh?” Costia’s brow lifted with just enough curiosity to make Clarke squirm. “Lexa didn’t say anything about expecting you.”

Clarke smiled tightly, clutching the paper bag in her hands. “It was sort of a last-minute thing.”

“I see,” Costia said, her tone mild. “Well, you caught us just wrapping up breakfast.” She shifted slightly, the shirt sliding across her shoulder in a way that seemed far too coincidental. “Do you want to come in?”

Clarke hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense.” Costia stepped back from the doorway. “We’re all friends here, right?”

Clarke stepped inside slowly, eyes scanning for Lexa. “Right. Friends.”

The scent of coffee lingered in the air. A half-eaten bowl of cereal sat on the counter. Clarke spotted Aden’s backpack near the couch.

Costia moved toward the kitchen. “Want some coffee? Or tea? Or are you strictly a drop-and-run kind of visitor?”

Clarke opened her mouth to respond, then promptly shut it. She wasn’t sure if she’d walked into an ambush or the pilot of an awkward sitcom. This was supposed to bite Lexa in the ass. Not hers.

Before she could answer, a door creaked open from down the hallway.

Lexa appeared, barefoot, still towel-drying her hair.

She paused when she saw Clarke, blinking once.

Then she smiled.

Clarke’s grip tightened on the paper bag.

Costia’s voice floated casually from the kitchen. “Lexa, you didn’t tell me you were expecting company.”

Lexa met Clarke’s eyes and mouthed, sorry.

Clarke, still flustered, managed a weak smile. “I brought your… pens.”

Lexa nodded. “Of course you did.”

Behind them, Costia took a sip of coffee, barely hiding her grin. “Well. I’m gonna get Aden ready.”

She disappeared down the hallway with suspicious enthusiasm, humming under her breath.

Clarke turned to Lexa, eyebrows lifted.

Lexa exhaled. “She knows.”

Clarke groaned. “And she’s having way too much fun with it.”

“Absolutely.”

They both laughed quietly.

From down the hall, Costia called out, “I liked the pens, Clarke. Great taste.”

Lexa winced. Clarke covered her face with the bag.

“Kill me.”

“You brought this on yourself.”

“Next time I’m texting.”

“Please do.”

Lexa leaned against the kitchen island, arms lightly crossed, watching Clarke with a small, amused smile.

Clarke narrowed her eyes at her. “You could’ve warned me.”

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Lexa said, not even trying to hide her grin.

“Yeah, well,” Clarke muttered, setting the paper bag of ‘pens’ on the counter. “Next time maybe tell me when your ex-wife is spending the night.”

Lexa’s smirk softened. “She crashed here. Aden faked a stomachache. Classic sabotage.”

Before Clarke could respond, Costia emerged from the hallway with Aden trailing behind, his hair slightly mussed and his backpack half-zipped.

Aden spotted Clarke and lit up. “Hi!” he chirped, then immediately frowned, his eyes scanning the room. “Wait… where’s Madi? What are you doing here?”

“Aden,” Lexa said, her tone a quiet warning.

He blinked at her, then glanced at Clarke, sheepish.

Costia, standing behind him, raised an eyebrow and shot Lexa a pointed look, tilting her head subtly toward their son. It was the kind of unspoken parenting language only co-parents could perfect.

Lexa sighed, running a hand down her face. “Right. Okay.” She crouched a little to Aden’s eye level. “Clarke came by to see me this morning, that’s all. No playdate today, bud.”

Lexa straightened, brushing past the moment. “Alright, backpack zipped? Water bottle?”

Aden gave a thumbs-up and then darted off to double-check.

Clarke glanced at Costia and whispered, “Did he really fake a stomachache?”

Costia looked pained. “He was very convincing.”

Lexa crossed her arms, watching them both with a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Almost like he wanted us all in the same room or something.”

Clarke smiled, but her gaze flicked quickly to Lexa.

Lexa didn’t smile back, nodding toward the door. “Alright bud, see you Tuesday.”

Clarke stepped aside to let them pass, her mind already spinning with what Costia and Lexa might or might not have picked up on.

And behind them, Aden slung his backpack on and grinned to himself. Mission: still in progress.

Costia glanced back at Clarke with a small, knowing smile, then said quietly to Lexa. “Don’t forget to tell him. He deserves to hear it from you.”

Lexa gave a quiet nod, eyes flicking to Aden.

“I’m serious,” Costia added.

Then she bent down to kiss Aden on the forehead. “Let’s go, buddy.”

As the door closed behind them, Lexa let out a long breath.

Clarke stepped up beside her. Lexa turned, bumping Clarke’s shoulder with a little smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Clarke gestured at the brown bag on the counter. “Can’t a girl surprise her girl with bagels?”

Lexa arched a brow. “Bagels? These wouldn’t happen to be strangely pen-shaped, would they?”

Clarke laughed.

“Not that I’m not grateful,” Lexa said, her voice softening, “but I’m meeting Anya for brunch. Remember?”

Clarke blinked. “Right… that totally slipped my mind. No worries. I’ll see you tonight, as planned.”

Lexa hesitated. “You should come. Join us.”

“I don’t want to intrude on best friend time.”

Lexa shook her head. “Anya’s been wanting to meet you for ages. Trust me, it’s not intruding. Though…” Lexa gave her a wary look. “She’s a little…”

“Formidable?” Clarke offered with a smirk, remembering the second time they’d met, when she’d mistakenly assumed Anya was Lexa’s girlfriend.

Lexa chuckled. “That’s one word for it.”

“She’s protective,” Lexa said, reaching out to brush her fingers lightly against Clarke’s hand. “But she’ll like you. You’ll charm her. You always do. She’s important to me. So are you.”

Clarke paused, the words sinking in. Then she pushed off the counter. “Fine. But if she roasts me over brunch, I’m going to put that cloth tape I bought to good use.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow, smirking. “So I win either way.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “Wait… you’re not actually into that stuff, are you? Not that I’m opposed to trying, but—”

“Hey, relax.” Lexa gently placed her hand on Clarke’s arm, a reassuring touch grounding the moment. “I’m kidding. You’re the one who brought that up first.”

But then her expression shifted, just a hint of something quieter behind her eyes. “Though sometimes… it is unburdening to give up control.”

Clarke blinked, a little thrown, the moment suddenly more charged than expected.

Before she could respond, Lexa was already pushing off the counter. “I’m gonna change really quick. Let’s get out of here. Anya doesn’t take kindly to people being late.”

Clarke stood there for a beat too long, her brain stuttering like a scratched record. One second they were joking about brunch, and the next, Lexa had casually lobbed a depth charge into her nervous system and walked off like it was nothing.

She blinked, shook her head, then blinked again.

“Unburdening,” she muttered under her breath, still rooted to the spot. “Okay. Cool. Casual. Totally fine.”

But it wasn’t. Not really. Not when the comment stirred up something she tried not to think about. How much she didn’t know. How inexperienced she actually was. Not just in the bedroom, but in this strange and fragile emotional terrain too. Lexa had history. Layers. Confidence. Clarke had one mediocre ex, seven years of avoidance, and a list of things she hadn’t even begun to explore.

She looked at the brown bag of bagels, then toward the hallway Lexa had disappeared into.

“Great,” she whispered. “Now I have to eat eggs and impress the terrifying best friend while wondering if my girl is low-key into bondage.”

She took a deep breath, smoothed her shirt, and told herself to pull it together. Then she followed after Lexa, because Anya was not the kind of woman you kept waiting.

Chapter Text

The brunch place Anya had picked was peak millennial. All white tiles, exposed brick, and matte black fixtures, with sunlight pouring in through wide, open windows. Plants dangled from the ceiling in macrame holders, and the menu was printed on recycled paper clipped to wooden boards. There were oat milk lattes, turmeric shots, and at least four types of toast. A neon sign on the back wall read “You Had Me at Brunch.”

Lexa had groaned when she saw it. Anya, of course, looked delighted.

They slid into a booth near the corner, Clarke beside Lexa, Anya across from them, already grinning like she was two steps ahead of the conversation.

Clarke had barely settled into her seat when Anya leaned forward, a wicked glint in her eye. “So you’re the one who made Lexa so unbearable lately. Like a hormonal teenager. Heart eyes, weird mood swings, showing up to meetings like she just discovered feelings.”

Clarke blinked, then smirked. “And you must be the one who’s been dying to meet me just to confirm I’m real.”

Anya blinked, then barked out a laugh and turned to Lexa. “Oh, I like her, Squid. I think you’ve finally met your match.”

Lexa groaned into her napkin. “Do not call me that in public.”

She paused just long enough to smirk. “Which school did you pick this one up from this time?”

“Remind me again why I thought this was a good idea?” Lexa deadpans.

Anya just grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Because no brunch is complete without me emotionally roughing up your love life.”

Anya ignored her. “Since there’s three of us now, we can order more and share. You don’t mind sharing, do you?” She glanced at Clarke, who shook her head.

“Great. Avocado toast, eggs Florentine, shakshuka, and let’s throw in an açaí bowl because I’ve committed to pretending I care about antioxidants this year.”

She flagged down the server and was halfway through ordering a round of mimosas when she paused. She turned to Clarke, then squinted. “Wait… you’re old enough to drink, right?”

Lexa’s head snapped up. She shot Anya a pointed glare. “Seriously?”

Clarke smiled, but her eyes sparkled. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or carded.”

Anya clapped a hand over her mouth, laughing again. “Oh, I like you.”

The server returned just in time, setting down three chilled flutes with a cheerful “Enjoy!” before retreating.

Anya leaned back, sipping her mimosa with all the satisfaction of someone who knew she was right. “Besides, I think you owe me a thank you,” she added, leveling Lexa with a pointed look. “And I fully intend to rub it in with a very loud, very smug ‘I told you so.’”

Lexa groaned again, dragging a hand down her face. “Of course you do.”

Clarke smirked into her napkin. “Should I be flattered or worried that you’re already collecting receipts?”

Anya shrugged, grinning. “Both. But mostly flattered. It takes someone special to prove me right.”

Lexa muttered, “Never should’ve brought you two together.”

Clarke reached over and brushed her fingers lightly against Lexa’s. “Too late now.”

Anya raised her mimosa. “To being right, and to Lexa finally dating someone hot and tolerable.”

Clarke clinked her glass. “I’ll take it.”

The dishes arrived, vibrant and inviting. The creamy avocado toast with its perfect sprinkle of chili flakes, the golden eggs Florentine nestled atop toasted English muffins, the rich, spiced shakshuka bubbling in its skillet, and the vibrant açaí bowl adorned with fresh berries and coconut flakes.

Clarke picked up her fork, eyeing the shakshuka with mild suspicion before taking a bite. Her eyes widened almost instantly. “Okay, wow. This officially ruins cereal for me.”

Beside her, Lexa took a thoughtful bite of avocado toast and smirked. “Good to know your standards are finally improving.”

Clarke tilted her head, playful and smug. “Please. I chose you. Clearly my taste is impeccable.”

Anya laughed, twirling a forkful of eggs Florentine. “God, you two are disgusting. Can you flirt after I’ve finished chewing?”

Clarke just grinned, unfazed, and reached for the açaí bowl like she owned it.

Wiping her mouth, Anya gave Clarke a pointed look. “So, I heard you’re teaching at Arkadia High now. How’s that going?” She flicked her eyes toward Lexa. “This one giving you grief yet?”

Lexa smirked, cutting in with a teasing tone. “Oh, Clarke’s got a growing fan club already. Honestly, I’m just glad she’s helping take the heat off me for once.”

Anya leaned forward with a sly smile. “So, Clarke, what’s it like being on the other side of the obsession for a change?”

Clarke felt her cheeks flush, the implication clear, then raised her mimosa with a wry smile. “Weird being crushed on by jailbait.”

Anya nearly choked on her toast, eyes gleaming. “Oh, she’s funny and self-aware. Lexa, you better hold on to this one.”

Lexa just shook her head, biting back a smile. “Trust me. I’m trying.”

The rest of brunch passed in a comfortable rhythm. Shared plates, light teasing, and easy conversation. The shakshuka was a hit, the avocado toast mysteriously vanished within minutes, and Anya insisted on finishing the açaí bowl alone, claiming it was for “health balance.”

Clarke held her own through Anya’s relentless commentary, dishing it back with just enough wit to earn her respect without stepping on any toes. Lexa mostly watched, quiet but clearly content, her hand brushing Clarke’s knee beneath the table every now and then.

By the time the check arrived, Anya leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Well. That didn’t suck. We should do this again”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Is that your version of a glowing review?”

Anya grinned. “It’s the highest praise I give.”

Lexa rolled her eyes fondly. “We’ll take it.”

***

As they stepped out into the warm mid-morning sun, Clarke let out a slow breath.

“That was… interesting.”

Lexa smirked. “That’s… Anya.”

Clarke shot her a look. “Did you know she gave me the speech when you were in the restroom?”

Lexa arched a brow. “The speech?”

“You know. ‘Hurt her and I’ll bury you in the parking lot’ vibes. With a side of ominous charm. She’s… terrifying.”

Lexa chuckled. “She likes you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

They reached Lexa’s car, and Lexa glanced sideways at her. “Got anything planned?”

Clarke shook her head. “Nope. You?”

Lexa unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for her. “Come over? We can watch a movie.”

Clarke slid in, smiling. “Only if I get to pick.”

Lexa shut the door, walked around, and slid into the driver’s seat. “You already picked me,” she said, starting the engine with a smug smile, “so I get to pick the movies.”

Clarke gave her a mock glare. “That’s not how negotiations work.”

Lexa glanced over, utterly unfazed. “Sure it is. You pick the girl, I pick the genre. Fair trade. Surrendering power is half the fun.”

Clarke rolled her eyes but leaned back in her seat, grinning. “Oh, so you do like playing games. Lucky for you, I’m a pro at winning.”

***

Lexa clicked through the options and settled on an action movie with explosions in the thumbnail. “Have you seen this?”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Never pegged you for an action movie person. Thought you were more the Little Women type.”

Lexa gave her a sidelong glance, smug. “I have... varied tastes.”

Lexa’s phrasing made Clarke pause. Something about the way she’d said “varied tastes” had her second-guessing, especially after that “unburdening” and "surrending power" comments earlier… it set off a quiet alarm. Lexa hadn’t really answered her before, just deflected like she usually did.

She hesitated, then blurted out, “Can I ask… you’re not, like, really into bondage and stuff, right?”

Lexa froze mid-click on the remote, turning to her with a raised brow and a flash of amusement. “Are you?”

Clarke blinked. “Am I what?”

Lexa let the question linger, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. “Into that kind of thing.”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “What? No… I mean, I don’t think so. I haven’t really… I mean, not like that.” Clarke winced. “It’s just, between how you said it earlier and the way you’re saying things now… I started wondering.”

Lexa chuckled softly, setting the remote down. “You’re cute when you spiral.”

Clarke groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Kill me now.”

Lexa gently tugged her hands away, her touch light but reassuring. “Hey. I’m teasing, but for the record… I’m not secretly hiding a dungeon in my closet.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes playfully. “That’s exactly what someone with a dungeon would say.”

Lexa grinned. “Touché.”

She leaned back against the couch cushions, gaze settling on Clarke again, steadier now. “But seriously. I’m not here to spring anything on you. We go at whatever pace works for both of us. No pressure.”

Clarke exhaled, her posture loosening. “Thanks. I just… sometimes I feel like I’m way behind.”

Lexa shook her head. “There’s no behind. There’s just what we want, and what we’re ready for. And if either of us ever wants to try something new… we talk. Deal?”

Clarke gave a slow nod, the tension easing from her shoulders. “Deal.”

Lexa picked the remote back up. “Now... back to explosions and emotionally stunted secret agents?” She turned back to the screen and hit play.

***

The city stretched out ahead of them, streetlights flickering across the windshield in a steady rhythm. Clarke turned in her seat, giving Lexa a sidelong glance.

“So… are you ever going to tell me where we’re going for dinner?”

Lexa’s lips curled into a secretive smile. “Where’s the fun in that? It’s a surprise.”

Clarke hummed. “Just making sure… you’re not about to whisk me off to some underground dungeon or anything… right?”

Lexa shot her a glance, amused. “Not unless you ask nicely.”

Clarke blinked, caught off guard. “You really need to stop saying things like that. I can never tell when you’re joking.”

Lexa smirked, eyes still on the road. “That’s not my fault. You make it too easy. Besides…” She let the words hang for a beat, “a dungeon’s a weird place for dinner. Why would I take you there when I could just eat you out at home?”

Clarke choked on air. “Lexa!”

Lexa grinned. “What? You brought it up.”

Lexa kept her eyes on the road but the corner of her mouth tugged higher. “Relax. Dinner first… dessert later.”

Twenty minutes later, Lexa pulled into a narrow gravel lot tucked between two aging buildings. The exterior of the restaurant didn’t scream for attention. If anything, it almost dared you not to notice it. Ivy crept up weathered brick walls, and a reclaimed wood sign hung slightly crooked above the door, painted in faded brushstrokes: No. 27. A mismatched collection of lanterns glowed gently along the awning, casting a soft, golden hue over the entrance.

Clarke tilted her head, curious. “This is… kinda cool.”

Lexa only smiled and got out.

Inside, it felt like stepping into someone’s dreamscape. The air carried the scent of rosemary and woodsmoke. The walls were layered with canvases, filled with paintings, collages, and handwritten poems. It looked like the inside of an artist’s studio that had never settled on just one medium. Colored glass bottles hung from the ceiling, catching the light and scattering warm, fractured patterns across the floor.

There were no uniform tables. Some were vintage writing desks, others old sewing machine stands topped with marble slabs. People sat on cushioned benches or repurposed church pews, tucked into corners or sprawled across velvet armchairs.

The host greeted Lexa by name and led them toward the back, past shelves filled with stacked books, potted herbs, and antique film cameras. They were shown to a cozy booth nestled into a little alcove, semi-hidden behind a curtain of macramé and ferns. The table was small, intimate, the wood smooth with age and candlelight flickering between them.

Clarke eased into her seat, her eyes scanning the room with quiet wonder.

“This is… definitely not a dungeon,” she murmured, lips curving into a smile.

Lexa slid into the seat across from her, her own smile lazy and pleased. “High praise.”

Clarke leaned her elbows on the table, still taking in the mismatched furniture, the flickering candles set in mason jars, the small stage tucked into the far corner with a guitar resting against a stool. “It’s beautiful,” she said, more sincerely now. “How’d you even find this place?”

“Anya,” Lexa replied, reaching for the menu. “She called it ‘pretentious in the best way.’ Figured you might like it.”

Clarke’s smile turned wry. “She’s not wrong. I feel like if you open the menu, it’ll quote Pablo Neruda before listing the drinks.”

Lexa flipped the page. “It actually quotes Audre Lorde. But nice guess.”

Clarke laughed, then picked up her own menu. “Okay, you win this one.” Her voice dropped slightly, teasing. “So… are you trying to seduce me with artisanal small plates and feminist poetry?”

Lexa’s eyes sparkled across the table. “Is it working?”

Clarke glanced around the candlelit room again and gave a soft, genuine nod. “Yeah. Yeah, it really is.”

The plates had been cleared, leaving only scattered traces of rosemary and lemon, a swirl of melted goat cheese on Clarke’s side, and the soft clink of silver against ceramic. The candle between them flickered inside a colored glass jar, casting a warm, fractured pattern across their corner booth. The air still carried the scent of charred herbs and honeyed wine.

Clarke’s finger traced the edge of her glass. Her eyes flicked to the side, catching a quote etched in delicate script on the water pitcher beside them.

“There are no new pains, only old ones we forget we’ve felt before.”

She tilted her head, then looked across the table. “Is that depressing or hopeful?”

Lexa smiled faintly. “Both,” she said after a pause. “Which is kind of the point, I think.”

Clarke watched her, the familiar curve of Lexa’s mouth, the slight crinkle at the corner of her eyes. There was something softer in her tonight, a kind of unguarded calm she didn’t always let show.

Lexa leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on the edge of the table. “Sometimes pain gives us clarity. Like figuring out what not to do next time. Or… who we don’t want to lose again.”

Clarke’s smile faded into something quieter. “Do you believe in second chances?”

Lexa nodded once. “I do.”

Clarke let the words hang for a beat, then glanced down at the wax pooled around the candle’s base. “I never really thought much about the future. I was too caught up in the present, putting out fires, trying to make everything work.”

She looked up at Lexa and gently placed her hand over hers. “I’m really glad you walked into my exhibition that day. You make me believe in second chances. Make me think maybe it’s okay to hope.”

Lexa didn’t look away. “You’re my second chance too,” she said quietly, her thumb brushing against Clarke’s hand. “One I never thought I deserved.”

Clarke’s breath caught, the depth in Lexa’s voice tugging something tender in her chest. The soft hum of the restaurant faded around them, candlelight flickering between their joined hands.

Lexa’s thumb brushed Clarke’s hand. Her voice was quiet, almost fragile.

“I’m falling for you. Harder than I thought. Faster than I planned.” She swallowed. “Before I walked into that gallery, I felt so lost. Like my world had lost its color. Meeting you… it’s like you slowly painted it back. Bit by bit, stroke by stroke.”

Her eyes searched Clarke’s, vulnerable now. “I want this. I want more. But only if that’s what you want too. Will you… be my girlfriend?”

Clarke’s breath caught. Her heart hammered. She looked up, eyes shining. “Yes. I want that. With you. Always with you.”

The candle flickered softly between them, casting a warm glow that felt like a quiet promise. Clarke squeezed Lexa’s hand gently, the weight of the moment settling around them like a delicate thread connecting two hearts.

Outside, the city moved on, unaware of the shift that had taken place in the corner booth of a tucked-away restaurant. Inside, they sat close, the silence between them full and unhurried. Nothing else needed to be said.

Lexa stood first and offered Clarke her hand. “Shall we?”

Clarke nodded, her heart steady even as it raced. She slipped her hand into Lexa’s, the touch familiar and new all at once. Together, they stepped out into the night, carrying the quiet beginnings of something real.

That night was theirs alone, their first fully shared as girlfriends. It started slow, a kiss that deepened with each breath, Clarke’s fingers threading through Lexa’s hair, Lexa’s hands firm on her hips. There was a hunger between them that couldn’t be quieted anymore. Not after everything they’d held back, not after all the late nights and lingering glances and promises tucked between words. Clothes came off in a trail across the floor, discarded like doubt, until nothing was left but skin and wanting.

Lexa took her time, learning the shape of Clarke’s body with her mouth, her hands, her breath. Clarke trembled under her, gasping, moaning, crying out her name in a voice thick with need. She came hard the first time, hips arching, back taut, eyes wide open as if trying to memorize every second. But Lexa didn’t stop.

She kissed her way down again, coaxing another wave, and another after that. Clarke clutched at the sheets, then at Lexa, nails biting into skin as she came undone over and over, each crest leaving her more breathless than the last.

And then it was Clarke’s turn.

She flipped them with a laugh and a growl, all flushed cheeks and wild eyes. Lexa let her take control, let her ride the edge of pleasure and tenderness as Clarke mapped her with a reverent sort of desperation. Lexa cried out for her, shuddering through her own highs, body shaking, lips chanting Clarke’s name like prayer.

They lost track of how many times — just that it wasn’t enough, not when it felt like they’d been waiting forever to feel like this. The world outside the bedroom could fall apart, and neither of them would’ve noticed.

Eventually, they collapsed into each other, legs tangled, faces buried in the crooks of necks, their skin still warm and slick from everything they’d poured into the night. They whispered soft nothings and quiet confessions, hands never still, as if afraid letting go would break the spell.

Sleep came slow, with limbs heavy and hearts full. They fell asleep wrapped around each other, sated and safe, finally feeling completely at home.

Chapter Text

The group chat pinged just as Finn stepped out of the gym. He glanced at his phone, still slick with sweat, thumb hovering over the familiar name:

ARK HIGH FOOTBALL BROS 🏈🏆🔥

Murphy:
bro… you’re not gonna believe who I just saw at No. 27

Bell:
hot waitress again?

Murphy:
nah
Clarke Griffin.
And bro… major glow-up.
Guess who she was with?
<pic of Clarke and her date>

Finn blinked.

Bell:
wait… is that Ms Woods?? the English teacher??

Dax:
holy shit
Ms Woods still looks exactly the same

Murphy:
yep
still hot
they’re both hot
honestly not sure who I should be staring at
and yeah… it was definitely a date-date, not just a friend hang

Finn’s stomach dropped. His thumb hovered over the screen, frozen.

Atom:
wtf
weren’t Clarke and Finn a thing? 💀

Murphy:
bro
They were like… full-on date night.
it was wine
candles
she was laughing and touching her arm and shit
100% date vibes

Bell:
damn, Finn
were you that bad in bed she switched teams?? 😭😭😭

Dax:
💀💀💀💀💀💀
someone check on the man

Murphy:
@Finn you alive bro?
blink twice

Dax:
nah he’s probs cryin into his vape rn

Atom:
🕯️🕯️🕯️ for Finn’s dignity

Finn didn’t finish reading the thread. He backed out. Tapped and held the chat.

Finn has left the chat.

He stared at the sidewalk for a long while before slipping his phone into his pocket and walking the rest of the way to his truck.

*****

The text came just after lunch.

Finn:
Downstairs. Got something cool to show Mads ;)

Clarke stared at her phone for a long second before letting out a sigh. Typical Finn, just showing up whenever he felt like it.

From across the room, Madi perked up at the familiar sound of a revving engine. She ran to the window, pressed her face to the glass, and lit up.

“Daddy’s here! He’s waving at me!” she squealed. Then, turning to Clarke with wide eyes, “Can I go down, please?”

Madi was already halfway into her sneakers when Clarke called out, “You’re not going anywhere without your booster seat.”

“I know!” Madi chirped from the doorway, grabbing her backpack like she was being picked up for a concert.

Clarke followed her down the narrow stairwell to the car park outside their apartment complex, then stopped short.

There, purring like a red flag on wheels, sat a sleek cherry-red sports car. Finn leaned against it like he belonged in a mid-budget commercial: sunglasses on, sleeves pushed up just enough to show off, smirking like the pavement was his runway.

Clarke muttered under her breath, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Madi squealed. “Whoa! This is so cool, Daddy!”

Finn grinned, opening the passenger side door with a dramatic flourish. “Only the best for my favorite girl. Come here, princess.”

Clarke walked up slowly, holding the booster seat in one hand. “She’s eight, Finn. She still needs this.”

Finn held up his hands, grinning. “Relax. I was just gonna—”

“No,” Clarke cut in, voice firm. “You’re taking it.”

He took it with a dramatic sigh, then gave her a look like really?

“Where are you taking her?”

“Just ice cream. Two hours, tops.”

Clarke crossed her arms. “You’re also two weeks late on child support. Again.”

Finn sighed, then turned on the charm like flipping a switch. “Come on, Clarke. Can we not do this right now? I’m here, aren’t I?”

Clarke stared at him, jaw tight, but said nothing.

From inside the car, Madi called, “Bye, Mommy!”

Clarke leaned in. “Be good, okay?”

“I will!” Madi beamed. “Love you!”

“Love you too.”

She watched the car pull out, the engine growling a little louder than necessary.

Clarke didn’t move until the sound faded down the street. Then she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

It was typical Finn to show up in a different flashy car every time. He worked for his father at a used car dealership that specialized in higher-end trade-ins, which meant he rotated through whatever came in, treating each vehicle like a new toy before it got sold.

He still had the charm. That easy grin, the smooth talk, the way he made every moment feel like it could turn into an adventure. It was part of what drew her to him back then. But standing here now, watching him lean against a borrowed car like a teenage heartthrob, Clarke could only think one thing.

He never grew up.

Clarke sighed, the weight of it settling deep in her chest. No matter what happened, no matter how far she wanted to move on, this manchild, the one who still acted like he was eighteen, would always be a part of her life. Because of Madi. Because of their daughter.

*****

Finn set the sundae down in front of her with a flourish. “Double scoop, marshmallow topping. Just like you like it.”

Madi grinned. “Thanks, Daddy!”

He ruffled her hair affectionately. “How’s my favorite girl doing? Still the smartest in your class?”

“I got full marks on spelling last week.”

“That’s my girl.” He leaned back with his milkshake, sipping casually. “So… what’s Mom been up to these days?”

Madi brightened. “She’s teaching at Arkadia High this semester. Same place where Aden’s mom works!”

Finn’s brow furrowed. “Who’s Aden?”

“He’s my new best friend.”

“And who’s his mom?”

“Lexa! She’s really cool. She helps me with English. She’s smart and funny. She helped me fix my reading journal.”

Finn’s milkshake paused halfway to his mouth.

Lexa. The name hit like a sucker punch.

A flicker of memory: dark brown hair, sharp green eyes, that too-serious voice that made you sit up straighter whether you meant to or not. His high school English teacher. The one who always looked at him like she saw through every smile, every deflection. Too poised, too distant, too untouchable.

His jaw tightened.

Madi went back to her ice cream, blissfully unaware.

He imagined Clarke across a candlelit table at No. 27, laughing, leaning in, holding hands with Ms. Woods. The idea sat heavy in his gut. His ex. With their old teacher.

He stirred his shake absently. “So she comes around a lot?”

“Sometimes. We have movie nights.” Madi licked her spoon.

It didn’t make sense. Ms. Woods never looked at her students that way. He knew that firsthand. Not for lack of trying. She never gave him the time of day, not even when he cranked the charm to full. And now? Now she was dating Clarke? Reading bedtime stories? Fixing reading journals? Slipping into Madi’s life like she belonged there?

Trying to replace him?

No matter how nice she seemed, Lexa Woods wasn’t Madi’s family. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to take his place.

“That’s nice,” he said slowly, then tilted his head. “But, you know… no matter how nice someone is, they’re not your real family. Right?”

Madi frowned a little. “I know that.”

“I mean, your mom’s allowed to have friends, sure. But no one’s gonna take my place. Or yours.”

Madi looked down at her ice cream, spoon pausing mid-air. “…Okay?”

Finn softened his tone. “I’m just saying… you’re my little girl. And your mom and I… we had something special once, didn’t we?”

Madi shrugged, distracted. “I guess.”

Lexa Woods. His old teacher. Stealing his girl.

Unbelievable.

He forced a chuckle, reaching across the table to tap her sundae cup. “Okay, okay. No more grown-up talk. You gonna finish that or should I?”

Madi pulled it closer, shielding it with her arms. “Mine.”

Finn smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The sweetness of the moment curdled under the weight of what he wasn’t saying.

Lexa Woods. She wasn’t just some rebound. She was a threat. Not just to his role in Madi’s life, but to his bruised pride. His place.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You know, sweetheart… sometimes grown-ups pretend to be friends, but they don’t always mean well.”

Madi looked up, cautious.

“Sometimes,” he went on gently, “people who aren’t family try to change things. Make you forget what really matters. Like who your real family is.”

Madi’s fingers curled around her spoon.

Finn’s smile returned, smoother this time. “But you’re smart. You know who loves you. Your real family will always be there.”

And as she went back to her sundae, he sat back, watching her.

No need to push. Not yet.

A few soft nudges. A doubt here, a story there. He’d remind her gently, who came first. He wasn’t the bad guy. He was just… making sure no one forgot.

*****

Clarke stared at the poem sitting neatly on her desk, an origami rose balanced beside it like a paper valentine. With a half-smile and a brow raised, she picked it up and turned to Lexa, who was organizing some papers nearby.

“Are you trying to woo me with poetry, Ms. Woods?” Clarke asked, her voice teasing as she handed her the note.

Lexa stepped closer, eyes lingering on Clarke’s lips before meeting her gaze. “Do I still need to?” she murmured.

She read the opening lines silently, then gave a soft, knowing smile. “Oh, I know this one.” Her voice dropped just a touch as she began to recite, low and warm, the words brushing the space between them like a secret.

“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes…”

Clarke wasn’t prepared for how her heart fluttered at the sound Lexa’s voice turning something so delicate into something intimate. Without realizing, she leaned in.

Lexa went on, her eyes lifting to meet Clarke’s, the softness in her tone now unmistakable.

“One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face…”

Clarke’s breath hitched. “How did you—”

Lexa gave her a small smile. “I’m teaching poetry this week in English Lit. She Walks in Beauty, Lord Byron.” Someone was definitely paying attention.

Then, with a teasing glint: “And I’m sorry to disappoint you, babe, but that wasn’t from me.”

Clarke blinked. “Wait. So you didn’t fold the rose either?”

Lexa shook her head, still grinning. “Nope. Looks like someone else is trying to steal my girl.”

Clarke gave a short laugh, though she was clearly unsettled. “It’s kind of flattering. And also… weird. Like, someone’s watching me kind of weird.”

She turned the rose over in her fingers. “Is this what it felt like? Getting all those sketches from me back then?”

Lexa hesitated, then smiled. “A little. But your gift standards were much higher. Honestly, you set the bar.”

Clarke winced. “God, I’m sorry. I don’t know what my teenage brain was thinking. Just, like, peak hormonal chaos.”

She paused. “And now I’m imagining my students having… the same kind of chaotic thoughts.” Her face twisted. “Ugh. Gross.”

Lexa laughed and bumped her shoulder gently. “Welcome to the other side.”

*****

The playground buzzed with the usual chaos of kids sprinting around, trading snacks, and yelling across the field. But off to the side, beneath the big angsana tree near the corner of the fence, Aden and Madi sat cross-legged on the sun-warmed pavement, peeling back the foil on their snacks.

Aden leaned closer, his voice low but brimming with excitement. “Okay, so my birthday’s in next week, right?”

Madi nodded, licking chocolate off her thumb. “Yeah. Are you doing a party?”

Aden shrugged. “No, but we’re going to the zoo. But that’s not the real plan.”

Madi tilted her head. “Then what’s the real plan?”

Aden checked over his shoulder to make sure no one else was listening, then leaned in like it was classified information. “I’m going to make a wish. Like, a real one.”

Madi blinked. “On your cake?”

“Duh. Where else?” He grinned. “But I’m not wishing for toys or anything.”

“So what are you wishing for?”

Aden’s smile turned a little softer, a little more secret. “All I want is for us to be a family again.”

Madi’s brows knit slightly. “You mean… you want your moms to get back together?”

Aden nodded seriously. “They still get along. They laugh. And Mama says Mommy’s coming to the zoo too. That means they’ll both be there. Maybe the birthday magic will kick in.”

Madi chewed her lip. “But what if it doesn’t work?”

Aden looked down, fingering the corner of his juice box. “I don’t know. But I still have to try. It’s what I want more than anything.”

There was a pause. Then Madi scooted a little closer and offered her last gummy bear to him.

“I’ll wish with you,” she said simply.

Aden smiled, and this time it reached his eyes.

*****

The room was quiet except for the hum of the dishwasher and the soft clink of mugs being set on the kitchen counter. Clarke leaned against the island, sleeves pushed up, fingers wrapped around a warm cup of chamomile.

Lexa joined her, mirroring the stance. She looked comfortable, but there was a flicker of tension under the surface, the kind that always came up when they danced near the edges of big conversations.

Aden and Madi had begged for a sleepover. Not that the adults minded. It was actually kind of nice, hearing laughter echo down the hallway from the playroom.

Clarke drew in a breath. “We should probably talk about how we’re going to tell the kids.”

Lexa glanced at her, brow lifted slightly. “You mean Madi and Aden?”

Clarke nodded. “They’re not clueless. And this... sneaking around thing... it’s not sustainable.”

Lexa hummed in agreement, thoughtful. “Do you think Madi will be okay with us?”

“Yeah,” Clarke said, with a small smile. “Finn’s never really been a stable presence. She’s used to it being just the two of us. Honestly, she might be thrilled. She’s not the one I’m worried about.”

Lexa turned toward her more fully, already sensing where this was going. “Aden?”

Clarke hesitated, then gave a small nod. “I think he still believes there’s a chance you and Costia might get back together.”

Lexa blinked, caught off guard. “Why do you think that?”

Clarke looked at her, gentle but direct. “Remember the stomachache? The one that mysteriously disappeared the second Costia agreed to stay the night?”

Lexa was quiet, the pieces clicking together. “I guess I thought he just liked having both of us around.”

“I think he does,” Clarke said softly. “But I also think he wants more than that. I think he’s still holding on to the version of family he lost.”

Lexa rubbed the back of her neck, the guilt creeping in slow and quiet. “I didn’t realize.”

Clarke placed her mug down, her voice gentle. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t tell them. I want to. But maybe... you need to soften the ground with him first. Let him know what’s coming. Let him grieve the version he’s been hoping for.”

Lexa gave a slow nod. “Yeah. You’re right.”

She didn’t say it aloud, but she was already thinking about what that conversation might look like, and how much of her son’s heart she was about to break in the process.

***

Clarke had fallen asleep not long after they put on the movie, curled into Lexa’s side on the couch, her hand tucked under her cheek, breath soft and even. Lexa muted the TV and stayed there, unmoving, watching the light from the screen flicker across Clarke’s face.

The room was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the apartment settling and the low hum of the city outside. Aden and Madi were asleep down the hall. Everything looked peaceful.

But Lexa’s mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

She had thought she and Costia were in a better place now. They were past the hard part — the sharp words, the impossible fights, the months of silence that had followed the split. They’d worked through custody, holidays, even birthdays without unraveling. They were parenting as a team again. Not as lovers, not even really as close friends, but as co-parents who showed up.

They didn’t flinch at each other’s names anymore.

They joked sometimes, traded stories, sent each other photos when Aden did something especially ridiculous.

It had felt like balance. A truce. Maybe even peace.

But clearly, she’d been wrong. Because somewhere in the middle of all that civility, Aden had taken the quiet as possibility. Had mistaken their comfort for a door that might still reopen.

And Lexa hadn’t seen it.

Her heart squeezed, guilt lapping up at her again. She should’ve realized after the stomachache stunt. After the way he’d lit up seeing the two of them in the same room. She had underestimated just how much Aden still wanted that original family, even if it had only ever existed in brief, carefully constructed moments.

She glanced down at Clarke again, at the faint line between her brows even in sleep. Clarke, who had trusted her enough to be here. Who’d let herself be part of a mess that wasn’t hers. And who would inevitably have to carry some of this fallout too.

Lexa exhaled softly and brushed a curl away from Clarke’s cheek.

She would have to tell Aden. Not just about Clarke. But about how love could look different than what he remembered. About how it could change and still be real. Still be safe.

And she’d have to do it soon, before the hope in him hardened into resentment. Because if there was one thing she couldn’t bear, it was being the reason her son stopped believing in love at all.

Chapter Text

The rain had started just after dinner, soft and steady against the windows. Lexa stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the patter and trying to find the right words. Aden was already in bed, the blue glow of his reading lamp casting shadows against the wall.

She knocked once on the doorframe. “Hey, bud. Got room for one more?”

Aden looked up from his comic and nodded, shifting over to make space. “You’re late. You missed the epic twist.”

Lexa smiled, slipping into the space beside him. “I’ll survive the spoilers.”

For a moment, they just sat there in the comfortable silence that lived between them: rain tapping on the glass, the faint rustle of pages, the warmth of his small shoulder against hers.

Then she cleared her throat. “Can we talk for a sec?”

Aden didn’t look up, but his fingers stilled on the page. “About what?”

Lexa hesitated. “You’ve been quiet lately. Especially when I drop you off at Mom’s. And last week, when you faked that headache at school…”

Aden shrank into his blanket a little.

Lexa continued gently, “Is it because you thought if I came to pick you up, maybe we’d all end up back home together again?”

His face gave her the answer before his mouth did. A small, embarrassed nod.

Lexa reached out, brushed her fingers through his hair. “Hey. I get it. I really do. I hoped that once too.”

Aden’s voice came out small. “So… it’s not gonna happen?”

She didn’t rush the answer. “No. It’s not. Your mom and I, we’re in a good place now. We just couldn’t stay married and be the kind of people we needed to be, for ourselves and for you.”

He didn’t speak, but his eyes brimmed with something fragile. She pulled the blanket up over his chest and tucked it in gently.

“We both love you more than anything in the world. That’s never going to change. But the way we’re a family… it’s just a different shape now.”

There was a long pause. Then Aden sat up, fists gripping the blanket. “That’s not fair.”

Lexa blinked. “I know it doesn’t feel fair—”

“No.” His voice cracked. “If you can just stop being married just because you don’t get along, then what happens if I mess up? Are you gonna stop being my mom too?”

Lexa’s heart broke right there. “Aden… never. Never, ever. That’s not how love works. You could make a thousand mistakes and I’d still be your mom. That’s forever.”

“But what if you get tired of me?” His voice trembled. “What if I’m too much and you both decide I’m not worth it anymore?”

Lexa moved closer, gently placing a hand over his clenched fists. “Aden, look at me.” She waited until he met her eyes. “You are not something we can stop loving. You’re our son. Nothing… absolutely nothing can change that.

His chin wobbled. He wiped his face on his sleeve, trying to hold it in, but the tears still came.

Lexa wrapped an arm around him and held him tight, his face tucked into her shoulder. “You’re the best thing we ever did,” she whispered into his hair. “You’re the one thing your mom and I always got right.”

After a long moment, his voice came out small. “I don’t want to celebrate my birthday anymore.”

Lexa pulled back slightly. “What? Why not?”

He looked down, his voice thick. “What’s the point? My birthday wish is never going to come true.”

Lexa felt the breath leave her lungs. She didn’t answer right away, just ran a hand slowly up and down his back.

Finally, she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Aden.”

He sniffed.

She tilted his chin up gently. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

Aden gave a small shrug, his lips pressed together.

Lexa didn’t push. She just stayed there beside him, holding his hand, letting him know he didn’t have to figure it out alone.

Then, in the smallest voice, he whispered, “Can I sleep with you tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

Lexa’s heart clenched. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Yeah, bud,” she said softly. “Of course you can.”

She helped him gather his pillows and blanket, then tucked him into her bed with the quiet care only a mother could give. He curled toward the center, small hands clutching the edge of the blanket, the furrow in his brow finally softening.

Lexa sat on the edge, watching as his breathing slowed. He looked peaceful in sleep, softer and somehow younger. For a moment, he seemed completely unburdened.

She reached for her phone and began to type out a message to Costia.

Outside, the rain kept falling, steady and soft against the windows, as if the world was offering its own quiet comfort.

***

The next morning, Aden woke up to the smell of pancakes and bacon. He padded down the hallway, rubbing his eyes, and stopped short when he saw both his moms standing in the kitchen.

“Mommy! You’re here!” he said, the surprise quickly melting into a smile.

Costia turned from the stove, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. “Hey, bud,” she said gently. “Heard you had a rough night.”

Lexa glanced over from where she was pouring juice, her eyes soft.

Aden shuffled closer, eyes darting between them like he still wasn’t sure if this was real. “Are we having… breakfast together?”

“We are,” Lexa said, sliding a plate onto the table. “Figured we could all use a good start today.”

Costia winked. “Besides, I’ve been craving your mom’s overcooked bacon.”

“Hey,” Lexa said with a smirk, “it’s called crispy.”

Aden giggled, some of the tension easing from his shoulders as he climbed into his seat. For the first time in a while, things felt just a little lighter.

Lexa set a glass of orange juice down in front of him, then crouched beside his chair so they were eye level.

“How about we try doing more breakfasts and dinners together from now on?” she said gently. “The three of us. As a family. Would that be okay?”

Aden looked at her, then over at Costia, who gave him a small nod and a smile.

He hesitated for just a second, then nodded slowly. “Yeah… I think I’d like that.”

Lexa reached over to tousle his hair. “Me too.”

Aden smiled. Maybe things wouldn’t go back to how they used to be, not exactly. But whatever this was, it felt warm and safe. And maybe, just maybe, it was going to be okay.

*****

The staff lounge smelled faintly of overbrewed coffee and microwaved leftovers, the kind of scent that clung to the upholstery and reminded everyone they were somewhere between work and almost-home. Lexa stood by the counter, her mug cradled between both hands, watching the steam curl upward. Clarke was by the sink, stirring sugar into her coffee, half-listening to the low murmur of voices from the hallway outside.

“You were right,” Lexa said, her voice low but certain.

Clarke looked up, teasing smile already forming. “That’s what every girl wants to hear. But right about what, babe?”

Lexa chuckled, the corner of her mouth twitching. “About Aden. I had a talk with him last night. It wasn’t pretty.”

Clarke turned, all traces of teasing gone. She gave her full attention, sensing the weight behind Lexa’s words.

“I think we should hold off on telling them about us,” Lexa continued. “At least for now.”

Clarke nodded, her voice gentle. “No hurry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Lexa’s shoulders eased a little. “I might have a little less time now too. We… came to a compromise... more breakfasts and dinners together. He needs that sense of stability, to know we’re still there for him… just not in the same way we used to be.”

Clarke reached over and gave Lexa’s hand a supportive squeeze. “Family comes first. Go fix whatever you need to fix. Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

Lexa stared at their joined hands for a beat, thumb brushing gently over Clarke’s knuckles. She really wanted to kiss her right then and there, consequences be damned. But the clatter of someone opening a yogurt behind them reminded her they weren’t alone. Instead, she squeezed Clarke’s hand back, grateful and grounded.

“Oh, and by the way,” Lexa added, a smirk playing at her lips, “I think I figured out who your secret origami admirer is.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“Jayden. Caught him folding a paper crane during silent reading. He nearly dropped it when he saw me looking.”

Clarke groaned. “Fantastic. I’m the muse of a poetic fifteen-year-old.”

She rummaged through her folder and pulled out a small folded note. “Speaking of… which unit are you on now? Haiku? I got this one yesterday.”

She unfolded the slip and read it aloud, deadpan:

“You speak, and I fade,
just a shadow at your door,
wishing you’d see me.”

Lexa snorted. “Wow. He’s dramatic.”

Clarke sighed. “He’s one dark hoodie away from writing me a sonnet in blood.”

Lexa chuckled. “You inspire the youth, what can I say?”

Clarke slid the note back into her folder. “If he starts reciting Sylvia Plath, I’m calling for backup.”

Lexa chuckled. “Don’t worry. I handled it. Gave him Othello. Told him to study it and write a 1000-word essay on the dangers of obsession. I don’t think he’ll be writing you again anytime soon.”

Clarke blinked at her. “God, you’re terrifying.”

Lexa smiled, completely unbothered. “Effective. Nobody messes with my girl.”

Clarke laughed under her breath and shook her head, muttering, “Poor kid doesn’t even know what hit him.”

Lexa leaned in slightly, voice low with intent. “Hey… once everything settles, we should plan a weekend getaway. Just the two of us. Let’s carve out some time that’s just ours.”

Clarke’s gaze held hers, warm and steady. “Yeah,” she said softly. “That sounds like exactly what we need.”

Clarke rested her chin on her hand, smiling faintly. “No lesson plans, no snack duty, no surprise pop quizzes from tiny humans.”

Lexa laughed under her breath. “Just a little peace. Maybe a lake. Maybe wine.”

“Definitely wine,” Clarke said, eyes crinkling. “And one of those places with awful Wi-Fi so we’re forced to actually relax.”

Lexa tilted her head. “You trying to get me off-grid?”

Clarke bumped her knee again, playful. “I’m trying to get you all to myself.”

That earned her a look, soft and full of fondness that reached Lexa’s eyes. She gave Clarke’s hand a small squeeze beneath the table.

“Deal,” Lexa said. “Just say when.”

Clarke leaned closer, playful. “Although, should I be worried no one can hear me scream and I can’t call for help?”

Lexa smirked. “You’ll be too busy begging me not to stop.”

Clarke blinked, then laughed into her coffee. “Oh my god. What happened to the quiet English teacher?”

Lexa sipped her tea like she was entirely innocent. “She’s on sabbatical.”

Neither of them noticed Amanda standing quietly in the doorway, a to-go mug in hand, her expression thoughtful but unreadable.

She had only stopped to grab her planner when she caught sight of Lexa and Clarke, their hands brushing gently, their voices low and warm, clearly more than just coworkers sharing a chat.

Amanda stayed for a moment, taking in the easy smiles and subtle closeness, the way Lexa seemed lighter these days. Then she smiled softly, almost to herself, before turning away.

*****

The sun was hot and the air smelled like popcorn and animal poop, but Aden didn’t mind. He had an ice cream in one hand, and his moms by his sides.

It was his birthday. He was nine today and they were at the zoo. Just him, Mama, and Mommy. No cousins, no friends, no distractions. Just the three of them. Almost like it used to be.

Almost.

They walked slow, letting him lead the way. He made them stop at the elephants twice, and again at the penguins, even though they kind of smelled. Then they reached the otters.

There were two of them floating on their backs, side by side, paws linked together like they were holding hands. Mama crouched beside him, pointing. “They do that so they don’t drift apart.”

Aden watched the otters for a long time, their tiny paws tight and still, even as the water gently rocked them back and forth. He didn’t say anything, but something about it made his chest feel weird. A little heavy. A little warm.

He glanced up at his moms.

They didn’t hold each other’s hands like before. They didn’t sneak kisses or share drinks or laugh in that quiet way when only grown-ups understand the joke. They didn’t touch much, except when they passed him snacks or helped wipe his face. They were nice to each other. Really nice. But it wasn’t the same.

Still, they were both holding his hands. And maybe that was enough. For now.

He looked back at the otters, still floating, still holding on. He squeezed both his moms’ hands a little tighter and didn’t say a word. He still wished, deep down, that things could go back to the way they were.

But today wasn’t for wishing. Today was just for being with them. All three of them, together.

They walked past the baboon enclosure, and Aden paused to watch.

The baboons were loud and wild, split into two noisy groups. Some were standing tall, hollering and shaking branches, others were stomping around like they were trying to scare each other off. It looked like a fight was about to break out. Or maybe it already had.

Aden’s stomach tightened. He didn’t like the yelling.

He remembered when his moms first split up. Back when he started going back and forth between two homes. They used to yell a lot then. On the phone, in the hallway, even in the car. It wasn’t like the baboons, but it felt just as scary. Like something was broken, and no one knew how to fix it. He hated it when the two people he loved most sounded like they didn’t even like each other.

Now, they didn’t yell anymore. They didn’t hold hands either. But at least they weren’t fighting. That had to mean something. He looked down at their hands in his, one on each side. Not touching each other, but still holding on to him. He guessed he should be glad.

Aden stopped in his tracks.

Just up ahead, behind a wide glass panel, was something so weird it made him blink twice. A big, fluffy golden retriever was lying in the middle of the enclosure… surrounded by three full-grown tigers.

And the tigers weren’t growling or chasing her. They were snuggling. One had its massive head resting on her back. Another was pawing gently at her side like it wanted her attention. The third just sat close, tail flicking, eyes soft.

“What…” Aden whispered. “Is that dog okay?”

A zookeeper nearby overheard and smiled. “She’s fine. That’s their mama.”

Aden’s eyes went wide. “Wait. Really?”

“Yup,” the zookeeper nodded. “The tigers were abandoned as cubs. This sweet girl helped raise them. Fed them, cleaned them, even taught them how to play. They still see her as their mom, even now.”

Aden stared at the scene, quiet.

The zookeeper added, “Families come in all shapes and sizes. This one isn’t built by blood... it’s built by love.”

Aden kept watching as one of the tigers licked the dog’s ear and the dog leaned into it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He thought about Mama and Mommy. About how things used to be. About how they weren’t really together anymore, not in the same house, not the way he’d always imagined families were supposed to be.

But they were both here today. They still made him pancakes. They still kissed him goodnight. They still showed up.

Maybe the zookeeper was right. Maybe love really was enough to make a family. Even if it didn’t look like other people’s. Even if it had sharp edges sometimes.

He reached for both their hands again, one on each side. Still his. Still warm.

And he held on tight.

Later that night, after dinner, they brought out the cake. It was still his favorite. It was a rainbow layered cake with fluffy white frosting and rainbow sprinkles on top.

His eyes lit up when he saw it. “Rainbow cake!” he grinned.

He loved rainbows. They were bright and colorful and made him feel happy just looking at them. There was something magical about how they showed up after the rain, like a secret sign from the sky saying things were going to be okay.

His moms smiled too, placing it in front of him as they lit the candles. The little flames flickered gently, waiting for his wish.

“Okay,” Mommy said, her voice warm. “Make a wish, birthday boy.”

Mama started the song, a little off-key, and Mommy jumped in right after, laughing as they sang Happy Birthday together. Aden beamed through it all, cheeks sore from smiling.

When the song ended, everyone leaned in. The room felt full even though it was just the three of them.

He stared at the glowing candles, their light flickering in his eyes.

For a moment, he thought about wishing for the same thing he always did: Please let them get back together. Please let everything go back to before.

But this time, he didn’t. He knew that wish wouldn’t come true. And maybe that was okay. So instead, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and wished for something else.

Let them always be happy. Let us always have days like this.

Then he blew out the candles, and the smoke curled up into the air, carrying his wish wherever birthday wishes go.

Aden turned to her as the last curl of smoke faded. “Can you stay over tonight, Mommy?”

Costia looked at him, surprised for only a second before her expression softened.

“If it’s okay with Mama,” Costia said gently. She glanced at Lexa, who gave a quiet nod, no hesitation.

Lexa smiled. “It’s your birthday. You get what you want.”

Aden’s face lit up again, brighter than the candles had ever glowed. He leaned into Costia’s side, letting out a small, content sigh.

Costia wrapped an arm around him and kissed the top of his head. “Then yes, baby. I’ll stay.”

And for the first time in a long while, Aden didn’t feel like he was missing anything. Not tonight. Not in this moment.

Chapter Text

The wooden playground looked like something out of a storybook with twisting ramps and high rope bridges all built into the frame of a giant faux tree. Kids darted in and out of tunnels, laughter echoing under the leafy canopy as the sun filtered through the branches above.

From a nearby bench, Clarke watched as Madi and Aden raced down the curvy slide, their shrieks trailing behind them like streamers. They tumbled out into the mulch in a heap of giggles, before scrambling to their feet and disappearing back into the maze of ladders and lookout points.

Clarke passed a cup of iced tea to Costia, then settled beside her on the weathered bench. The space between them felt calm, worn-in, an unspoken peace forged through time and mutual care for the same child.

“He’s good with her,” Costia said, eyes on the playground. “You can just see it. The way they click.”

Clarke nodded, her gaze following the blur of Madi’s ponytail as she climbed up to the highest platform. “Yeah. I think they both needed this. Someone their age who gets what it’s like when the adults in your life are figuring things out. Even if it looks a little different for each of them.”

Costia smiled faintly. “There’s something about how they just get each other, isn’t there?”

Clarke’s eyes followed them, her expression soft. “She’s been lighter lately. Madi. I think this friendship’s helped more than she lets on.”

Costia gave a soft hum, sipping her tea. “Aden too. He’s been… steadier. Like he’s not carrying the whole world in his backpack anymore.”

Clarke glanced at her. “That’s a beautiful way to put it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the bees and the creak of the wooden bridge under small feet

Then Costia spoke again, her voice quiet but clear. “Lexa’s always been the kind of person who carries everyone else’s weight before her own. She pretends she’s fine until she cracks. I’ve seen it. I’ve done damage I didn’t mean to, just by not knowing how to be what she needed.”

Clarke’s smile faded into something more serious, her attention fully on her now.

Costia wasn’t looking at her. She was watching the top of the treehouse where Aden had just appeared, waving down at them.

“She doesn’t let herself want things unless she’s sure she won’t lose them. She doesn’t take up space unless she’s sure it’s allowed.”

Clarke nodded slowly. “I’ve noticed.”

“I hurt her,” Costia said plainly. There was no dramatic regret in her voice, just quiet honesty. “Not in some big, unforgivable way. But I didn’t always see her the way she deserved. I think I loved the idea of her more than I ever really learned how to love the real her.”

Clarke stayed silent, the truth of it sitting heavy between them.

“So,” Costia continued, “this isn’t the part where I say ‘don’t hurt her or else’.” She gave a small smile. “This is the part where I say… don’t hurt her like I did. She deserves better. She deserves to be seen… and loved for exactly who she is.”

Clarke swallowed, emotion catching in her chest. “She does,” she said. “And I will. I mean, I’ll try my damn best to be what she needs. She’s already been that for me.”

Costia studied her for a second, then nodded once, satisfied.

Down on the lawn, Madi burst into laughter as Aden held up a stick like a wizard’s wand, dramatically casting a spell on her flamingo. They watched in silence as the quiet settled again.

“I like you,” Costia said eventually, sipping her tea. “Just don’t tell Lexa. I still need to maintain some mystery.”

Clarke smiled. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

*****

The soft hum of the library was occasionally broken by the tap of keyboard keys and the rustle of pages being turned. A group of students huddled around a laptop in the back corner, poorly disguising their giggles.

“Okay look,” Mia whispered, angling her screen. “The new ‘Arkadia High’s Hottest Teacher’ poll is up.”

“Ugh, that again?” Jayden muttered from behind a copy of Othello, barely looking up from his half-finished paper.

“Ms. Griffin is in the lead now,” Mia announced, scrolling. “By a lot.”

“Well, obviously,” Lena said, flipping through an old yearbook with dramatic flair. “She’s, like, stupid hot. Plus, rumor is she used to go here.”

“Shut up, for real?” Jordan leaned in, eyes wide. “You think she’s in there?”

A stack of dusty yearbooks teetered beside them as Lena’s fingers skimmed rapidly through the pages. “Hold up... wait… yep, finally found her! Whoa. She looked way different back then.”

“She looks so different. Like, braces and glasses different.”

“Lemme see! Lemme see!” Jordan practically lunged. “Ugh, that is wild. A full-on glow up.”

In the scramble, the book slipped from Lena’s lap and hit the floor with a dull thud, pages fanning out dramatically.

“Smooth,” Jordan muttered, bending down to grab it.

But then he paused, squinting at the page it had flopped open to. “Yo… faculty section.”

Lena leaned in over his shoulder. “Wait. That’s Ms. Woods!”

“And Ms. Griffin,” Mia said, eyes widening. “No way. Awkward.”

“Please,” Kai snorted. “Ms. Woods is totally with Ms. Griffin. Everyone knows.”

Mia blinked. “Huh? Since when?!”

“I saw them,” came a quiet voice from the next table. It was Amir, not even looking up from his book. “Ms. Griffin stormed out of Ms. Woods’s room a few weeks back. Full-on drama.”

“Oooooooh,” Jordan crooned. “Someone’s in the doghouse.”

Jayden groaned and slumped in his chair. “So that’s why she made me write an essay on obsession and jealousy in Othello. Girl’s projecting. This is emotional damage!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Lena said, holding up a finger like she was connecting dots on a crime board. “So, Ms. Woods is with Ms. Griffin… who used to be her student here?”

A chorus of gasps followed.

“OOOOOOOOOH,” Mia whispered dramatically.

Then, as if summoned from the shadows, Ms. Sanders, the librarian, materialized beside them. Arms crossed. Eyebrow raised. “Keep it down.”

“Sorry, Ms. Sanders,” they all chorused quickly.

She gave them a lingering glare before disappearing back to the front desk like a warden retreating to her tower.

As soon as she was out of range, the group leaned in again like co-conspirators.

“So do you think they were like, together-together back then?” Lena whispered.

“No way,” Kai said. “That’d be illegal-illegal.”

“Still kinda hot though,” Jordan said.

“Ew, stop,” Mia groaned, smacking his arm.

Jayden sighed dramatically, staring at his half-finished essay like it had personally betrayed him. Next time, he’d keep his teacher crush to himself, especially if she wasn’t even available.

Just then, Sienna passed by behind them, earbuds in, phone tucked half under her sleeve. Her face flushed when she caught them all huddled together. She veered fast toward the shelves like she’d forgotten something.

Lena squinted after her. “Okay… what’s her deal lately?”

“She’s been acting weird all week,” Mia whispered.

Jordan leaned in. “You think she’s got a secret boyfriend?”

“I know she does,” Kai said. "I saw her getting into some guy’s flashy sports car at the mall the other day."

Jordan’s mouth dropped open. “Was he… a student?”

“Definitely not a student.” Kai confirmed.

Lena made the drama face. “Okay now that’s spicy.”

“I bet it’s someone’s brother,” Mia said. “Or like a TA from the community college.”

Jayden frowned, suddenly uneasy. “You don’t think it’s like… creepy older, do you?”

Everyone quieted for a second.

Then Lena broke the silence, too intrigued to stop. “All I’m saying is, if she shows up with a fake engagement ring and drops out to ‘travel,’ we’ll know.”

Kai snorted. “God, I love this school.”

Ms. Sanders was back. Again. Like she had them on some internal radar. She didn’t even say anything this time — just raised one eyebrow and stared them down with librarian judgment.

And then, like salvation, the bell rang.

Chairs scraped. Papers rustled. The group scattered like roaches.

“Later!” Jordan hissed, grabbing his bag.

“Don’t forget to finish your creepy obsession paper!” Mia called after Jayden.

Jayden groaned. “Remind me never to crush on teachers again.”

Ms. Sanders stood there with her arms crossed, watching them flee.

Only Amir remained behind, still reading, completely unbothered.

*****

The door swung open before Clarke even knocked twice, revealing Lexa in a hoodie and sweatpants, hair tied back, warm and casual.

“Hey,” Lexa said, a soft smile already forming.

Clarke stepped forward automatically, balancing a bag of snacks in one hand, and leaned in to press a quick kiss to Lexa’s cheek. “Hi, babe.”

It was muscle memory. Natural. Effortless.

And then it hit her.

She froze. Eyes wide. The bag of chips rustled in her tightening grip.

Lexa’s smile stalled mid-curve, the door still half-open between them.

One second passed. Then two.

Behind them, Madi’s brow furrowed the moment Clarke kissed Lexa on the cheek.

“Mom? Why’d you kiss Lexa like that?”

Clarke’s eyes darted to Lexa. Lexa looked at Madi, then over at Aden, who had just wandered in from the hallway with two LEGO bricks stuck to his socks.

“Your mom kissed Mama?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Lexa cleared her throat. “Okay,” she said gently, “maybe we should all sit down for a bit.”

“Wait, am I in trouble?” Aden asked immediately, backing toward the couch with suspicion.

“Nope. You’re just getting snacks,” Clarke said, pulling a bag of pretzels from her tote and heading toward the kitchen. “Good snacks.”

“Do we get juice too?” Madi asked, following her mom.

“Juice and cookies,” Clarke confirmed.

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “Are we trying to bribe them?”

Clarke whispered, “Absolutely.”

Five minutes later, Aden and Madi were sitting cross-legged on the floor with cups of juice and a plate of cookies between them. Clarke and Lexa sat on the couch, close but not quite touching.

Lexa glanced at Clarke, and Clarke gave her a small nod.

Lexa started. “So… we wanted to talk to you two about something kind of important.”

She hesitated for a second, glancing between their faces.

Madi perked up immediately. “Are we going to Disneyland?”

Aden’s eyes lit with sudden hope. “Oh! Are we?”

Lexa blinked. “What? No. Why is that your first guess?”

Madi shrugged, licking cookie crumbs off her fingers. “You said it was important.”

Aden crossed his arms. “And Disneyland is important.”

Lexa exhaled through a smile, giving Clarke a look like, your daughter, clearly. Clarke just lifted her hands in mock surrender.

“Well,” Clarke said, nudging the bowl of snacks closer, “this might not be Disneyland, but it’s still big news.”

Madi’s brows knit together, then her face lit up. “We’re getting a dog?”

Aden gasped, wide-eyed, and clapped his hands over Biscuit’s ears. “Madi! He can hear you!”

Madi shrugged. “What? I don’t have a dog.”

“Nope, not about that either,” Clarke interrupted, amused. “This is… more about me and Lexa.”

The kids glanced at each other. Lexa continued carefully, “You both know we’ve been spending more time together lately. And we love hanging out with you, of course. But Clarke and I have also really come to care about each other.”

Madi tilted her head. “Like… best friends?”

Clarke smiled. “More than best friends.”

Lexa smiled, but her tone was gently steering. “The news is about us. Your mom and I. We’re… dating.”

Madi’s mouth dropped open mid-chew. Even Biscuit went still. Aden blinked. “Wait. Are you like girlfriends?”

Lexa’s smile faltered slightly, surprised at how fast he got there. “Yes. We are.”

The kids looked at each other. Madi was the first to speak.

“Oh. Is that why you kissed her?”

Clarke nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Aden sat very still. Not upset. Not exactly surprised. But something in his expression changed; his fingers pressed a little tighter into his juice cup, eyes unfocused like he wasn’t really seeing the cookies in front of him anymore.

Lexa was the first to notice. “Aden?”

His voice came soft, barely above a whisper. “So you’re not getting back with Mommy?”

Lexa reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “No, sweetheart. We’re not. But that doesn’t change how much we love you. Or how much your mom and I work together to take care of you.”

Aden’s fingers twitched in her grasp. “But it does change,” he said, voice hollow. “You’re not going to get back together. Ever.”

Lexa didn’t argue. She didn’t lie. “No. That’s not going to happen…”

Aden gave a small nod, like he’d already known but had hoped saying it out loud might change something. It didn’t. His throat bobbed.

Clarke reached over, her hand closing around his.

Lexa spoke gently, trying to bridge the silence. “You know what this means, though? That we get to see each other more often. More dinners. More movie nights. More time together.”

Aden stayed quiet. He stared at the cookie plate like it might offer a way out.

Lexa tilted her head. “Remember the dog at the zoo? The one with the tiger cubs?”

Aden glanced up slowly. “The golden retriever?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

His voice steadied a little. “The zookeeper said she wasn’t their real mom. But she took care of them. And they loved her anyway. Like she was family.”

He looked at both women, eyes searching. “It didn’t look like a normal family. But it still felt like one.”

Lexa’s expression softened. She reached for his hand again, warm and steady. “That’s exactly right. Family doesn’t always look one way. It’s about the people who love you, and take care of you, and show up for you.”

Clarke smiled. “And we love you. Always.”

Aden looked at them, then gave a tiny nod. “Okay.”

From the other side of the table, Madi perked up. “So… are we all going to live together now, or something?”

Clarke and Lexa exchanged a glance.

“Not anytime soon,” Clarke said gently. “But we wanted to be honest with you. Because we love you both, and you deserve to hear it from us. Not figure it out on your own.”

Aden reached for another cookie, his mind clearly still spinning as he tried to process it all. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened.

“Wait… so if you two get married… does that mean…” He turned to Madi, grinning. “You’d be my sister?”

Madi lit up instantly. The idea of Aden, her best friend, becoming her brother made her heart lift. But just as quickly, her smile faded. Her shoulders dropped as she looked down.

“But… Dad says no one else can be my real family,” she said quietly. “Only him and Mom.”

The room went still.

Clarke turned to her, voice gentle but steady. “He said that?”

Madi nodded. “He said even if someone’s nice, that doesn’t make them family. That only real family stays forever.”

Lexa’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t interrupt. Clarke took a breath.

Clarke’s expression softened. She reached across the table and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Madi’s ear.

“Sweetheart,” Clarke said gently, “Your dad will always be your family. No one’s trying to change that. We both love you so much.”

She glanced at Lexa, then back at Madi.

“But sometimes, families grow. Not to replace anyone, but just to make more room. More people who love you, who show up for you, who make you feel safe.”

“Lexa’s not trying to take anyone’s place. And she knows she’ll never be your dad. But she’s someone who cares about you. Who shows up. And that matters too.”

Madi looked uncertain, but her spoon stirred quietly in her bowl.

Clarke added, her voice a little quieter, “You get to decide who feels like family. And no one can take away the love you already have.”

Madi's voice was soft and unsure. “But if I love her… does that mean I’m betraying Dad?”

Clarke’s heart squeezed at the question. She reached out, gently taking Madi’s small hand in hers.

“Oh, bug,” she said softly. “Loving someone new doesn’t mean you’re loving someone else any less. Your heart’s big enough for both.”

Lexa stayed quiet, her gaze warm and steady across the table.

Clarke gave Madi’s hand a little squeeze. “It’s not a betrayal. It just means you have more people who care about you. That’s a good thing.”

Madi looked down at their joined hands. Her voice was barely a whisper. “But what if Daddy gets mad?”

Clarke brushed her thumb gently over Madi’s knuckles. “Then we talk about it. Grown-ups are supposed to handle their own feelings, not put them on kids. You’re allowed to love the people who make you feel safe and happy. That’s never wrong.”

Madi was quiet for a long moment. Then she leaned against Clarke’s side and let out a soft sigh. “Okay,” she whispered.

There was a pause. Then Madi looked at Aden and asked, “Wanna go build the fort?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

Clarke and Lexa stayed back as the two of them padded down the hall, already bickering over what kind of roof it should have.

Lexa let out a long breath. “Well. That went…”

“Better than it could’ve,” Clarke said. She glanced at Lexa. “Worse than I hoped.”

Lexa nodded. “But honest.”

Clarke slid her fingers into Lexa’s and gave a gentle squeeze. “They’ll be okay.”

Lexa glanced toward the hallway, where laughter was starting to bubble up again. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I think they will.”

They stood in the quiet aftermath, the echo of soft laughter and fort-building drifting faintly down the hall.

Clarke let out a slow breath and turned to Lexa, her brow creased. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that. Or them. I wasn’t thinking. I was just… tired. And kissing you felt normal.”

Lexa studied her for a moment, then pulled her into a gentle hug. “You kissed me,” she said softly, “because it felt natural to kiss me. That’s not something to apologize for.”

Clarke gave a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It wasn’t exactly the thoughtful, well-prepared conversation I had planned.”

Lexa smiled faintly and nudged her shoulder. “Yeah, well. You’ve never been one for long, drawn-out speeches. Just snacks and chaos.”

Clarke huffed a laugh. “Snacks and chaos. That’s my parenting style.”

“It worked,” Lexa said. “They heard us. They had questions. We answered, and they’re still having fun building forts.”

Clarke’s smile softened. “I just don’t want to get this wrong. Not with them.”

“You won’t.” Lexa reached out and brushed her thumb over Clarke’s cheek. “You’re showing up. You’re loving them. You’re honest, even when it’s messy. That’s what matters.”

Clarke leaned in, resting her forehead against Lexa’s. “How do you always know what to say?”

Lexa pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Only when it’s you.”

Clarke let herself rest there for a moment longer, breathing in the scent of pine and laundry detergent and Lexa.

In the hallway, something crashed, followed by Aden’s voice shouting, “That was your pillow roof, not mine!”

Clarke winced. “Should we check on that?”

Lexa shrugged, her eyes still on the hallway. “We could intervene… or we could call it conflict resolution practice and enjoy thirty more seconds of peace.”

She leaned back, tone easy. “You know this is probably going to happen every day when we’re living together.”

Clarke glanced at her, smirking. “I like that you said when… not if.”

Lexa turned to her, eyes soft. “Of course I said when.” She nudged Clarke’s knee with her own. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Then, a beat later, her smirk returned. “Besides, I already know where you hide the good snacks. That’s basically commitment.”

Clarke laughed softly and kissed her again.

They stood there just a little longer, hands linked, the sound of childhood chaos echoing down the hall and settling like home. It hadn’t been a perfect conversation, but it was real. It was theirs. And whatever came next, they were in it together.

Chapter Text

The cabin sat nestled by the lake, all weathered wood and a wide wraparound porch, surrounded by towering pines. The air was crisp with pine needles and damp moss, the sun glinting off the water in lazy ripples. A bottle of wine rested in a cooler by their feet, half filled.

Clarke sat cross-legged in her chair, sketchbook balanced on her knees, pencil moving in slow, steady strokes across the page. The scene in front of her was already coming together — tall trees, a quiet lake, soft shadows curling at the edges. Every so often, she glanced up, squinting behind her sunglasses, then went back to drawing.

Beside her, Lexa was buried in The Dresden Files, her legs propped on the railing, toes tapping in rhythm to some internal beat. A dog-eared corner peeked from the top of the paperback, and a faint smirk curled at her lips like she was halfway through one of the wizard’s snarky monologue.

They hadn’t spoken in a while, but the silence was the good kind. The kind that let the world breathe.

Birdsong drifted through the trees. A dragonfly buzzed lazily by. Somewhere across the lake, a loon let out its low, haunting call.

No papers to grade. No alarms No packed lunches or overflowing email chains. Just the lake, the trees, and the feeling of Clarke’s thigh brushing softly against Lexa’s.

“This was a good idea,” Clarke murmured, not looking up from her sketch.

“I have my moments.” Lexa turned a page, not missing a beat. “You seemed pretty convinced last night.”

Clarke blushed as she thought back to what happened the day before. They had arrived at the cabin just after lunch, still buzzing from the long drive and the thrill of having the whole weekend to themselves. No interruptions. No kids. Just them.

She’d been unpacking her sketchpads, half-listening to Lexa curse at the Bluetooth speaker. Something about her “outdoorsy survival playlist.” Clarke turned to tease her… and stopped cold.

Lexa was leaning in the doorway, shirt hitched slightly at the waist, hair loose around her shoulders, watching her with a hunger that made Clarke forget what she’d been doing.

They didn’t make it to the bed.

The first time was up against the wall, laughter turning to gasps as hands fumbled with buttons and zippers. Lexa kissed her slow and deep, and Clarke felt the week melt off her bones one sigh at a time. Clarke tugged Lexa closer, legs around her waist, her laugh caught and swallowed as Lexa rocked into her, hard and perfect. Her head hit the wall once, and she didn’t care. She just held on.

They didn’t bother being quiet. There was no one around to hear them. The nearest cabin was half a mile away, and the woods swallowed everything but the sounds of breathless moans and Lexa whispering her name like a prayer.

Later, they made it to the bed.

Bare skin tangled in soft cotton sheets, Clarke’s fingers tracing the lines of Lexa’s spine like she was trying to memorize her by touch. she was learning a language by touch. Lexa kissed her like she had all the time in the world. She took her apart piece by piece, using her mouth, her hands, and the way she looked up from between her thighs.

“I love how you fall apart for me,” Lexa had whispered.

And Clarke did. Over and over. Again and again, until her voice was hoarse and her body trembling with aftershocks.

But she gave back too. Clarke pulled Lexa beneath her, coaxing sighs from her lips with slow, deliberate kisses. Her mouth mapped familiar territory like it was sacred, like she already knew the places that made Lexa tremble. And she did. She knew the line of her jaw, the dip of her collarbone, the sound Lexa made when kissed just below her ear. She whispered her name like a promise, her touch reverent, her pace unhurried. Every movement said you’re safe here, you’re wanted, you’re known.

Lexa had always been gentle with her, attentive in a way Clarke didn’t know how to brace for at first. She was used to sex being rushed or half-considered, something to be gotten through or used to solve an argument. But with Lexa, there was no pretending. No performance. Just heat and hunger, yes, but also softness... care... devotion. Clarke had never been made love to like this. And that was what undid her. Not just the pleasure, but the feeling of being seen. Of being cherished.

She gave that back now in the way she held Lexa, in the way she pulled pleasure from her in waves. Until Lexa was gasping and arching and gripping Clarke’s shoulders like they were the only thing tethering her to earth. Until they both collapsed in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter, wrecked and radiant in equal measure.

Clarke rested her head against Lexa’s shoulder, her breath evening out as Lexa drew slow, gentle circles across her bare back. The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing and the faint creak of old pipes somewhere in the walls. They’d been quiet for a while, wrapped in that heavy-limbed stillness that only came after being well and thoroughly ruined. But then Lexa’s voice broke the silence, quiet and hesitant.

“Can I ask you something?”

Clarke hummed sleepily. “Anything.”

Lexa’s hand stilled against her back. “Do you ever… miss it?”

Clarke blinked. “Miss what?”

Lexa looked up at the ceiling, jaw tight with something unspoken. “The other stuff. Guys. I mean… you’re bi. And I know I don’t exactly come with the right equipment.”

Clarke lifted her head to meet her gaze. “Are you seriously asking me that after what you just did to me?” Her voice was light, teasing, but there was wonder there too. “Because I still can’t feel my legs.”

Lexa let out a quiet laugh, but her eyes still held that flicker of vulnerability. Clarke leaned in and kissed her, slow and deep, then pulled back just enough to whisper, “You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

Lexa raised a brow.

Clarke touched her cheek gently, grounding her. “I mean it. I’ve never had an orgasm during sex before. Not once. Not until you.”

Lexa’s eyes widened slightly, but she stayed quiet as Clarke continued.

“I haven’t been with anyone since Madi was born. And sure, I’ve… taken care of things. But this?” Her voice dipped, raw and unguarded. “It’s like you know my body better than I do. And not just physically. You listen. You’re patient. You pay attention.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she kept going. “And that thing you do with your tongue…” Her voice trailed off into a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I swear I blacked out for a second. If I ever die like that, just know I went out happy.”

Lexa’s smirk returned, warm and a little smug, but Clarke’s expression sobered again.

“Honestly?” Her voice dropped to something quieter, more intimate. “There’s nothing I miss. There’s nothing a man could give me that you don’t already. Maybe a few extra tools, sure, but that’s just logistics.”

Lexa’s brow lifted as her smirk deepened. “Good thing I came prepared.”

Clarke blinked. “What?”

Lexa rolled off the bed and crossed to the duffel in the corner. She unzipped it slowly, then turned and held up a harness with a strap-on already buckled in.

Clarke stared, wide-eyed. Her breath caught.

Lexa’s voice was low, steady. “Do you trust me?”

Clarke didn’t speak right away.

Her eyes flicked from the strap-on to Lexa’s face, searching. Not out of doubt, but anticipation. Heat bloomed low in her stomach.

“I trust you,” she said softly. Then, after a beat, voice dipping into something more playful, “But I get to use it on you later.”

Lexa’s smile was slow, wicked, warm. “Deal.”

She set the harness gently on the nightstand, then climbed back into bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. She brushed Clarke’s hair back from her face, fingers tender against her cheek.

“We don’t have to rush,” she said. “I just want you to feel good. All of you.”

Clarke nodded, her heart pounding. “Then come here.”

And when Lexa leaned in, Clarke met her halfway.

What passed between them wasn’t rushed or reckless, it was tender and deliberate. Clarke gave herself over not in surrender, but in deep, certain trust.

She let Lexa lead, and then she took the lead in return. When Lexa came undone in her arms, Clarke held her close, steady and soft, whispering her name like it meant everything. Because it did.

By the time dawn broke through the curtains, Clarke ached in all the best ways. Her skin was kissed raw in places, her thighs sore, her lips swollen from hours of laughter and gasps and half-spoken promises. Lexa was curled beside her, bare and beautiful, tracing circles on her hip with lazy fingers that promised they weren’t done yet.

For the first time in years, Clarke didn’t feel like she had given something away. She felt whole. She felt wanted. She felt loved.

Now, sitting on the porch in the cool afternoon air, sketchbook balanced on her knees, Clarke smirked to herself and murmured, “Yeah… you do have your moments.”

Lexa didn’t look up from her book, but her lips curved. “And some very persuasive techniques.”

Clarke nudged her knee beneath the table, cheeks still warm. “Cocky.”

Lexa turned a page, completely unfazed. “Confident.”

A laugh bubbled from Clarke’s throat as she sat up to stretch. “It’s getting chilly. I’m grabbing the other blanket. You want anything?”

“Just you,” Lexa said without thinking.

Clarke turned, laughed over her shoulder. “Flirt.”

Lexa watched her disappear into the cabin. She was halfway through checking her phone for signal when she heard Clarke’s voice again, sharper this time.

“Lexa.”

Her smile faded.

“What?” Lexa asked, already turning to follow her line of sight.

Two figures walked along the far dock, silhouetted by the lake. A man with familiar slouchy shoulders and a baseball cap. And beside him, too close and too cozy, a girl with a hoodie tied around her waist, her ponytail swaying behind her, every step too close to his. She laughed at something he said, reaching for his hand.

Lexa’s brows knit. “Is that—?”

Clarke’s voice was tight. “Yup, that’s Finn.”

Lexa blinked. “Of all the places, he just had to crash ours?”

Clarke didn’t respond. Her eyes had moved past him.

Lexa followed her gaze, and felt her stomach drop.

“Is that… Sienna?” she asked. “Isn’t she one of our seniors?”

“She is,” Clarke said, voice low. “She’s seventeen.”

Lexa’s wine glass hit the railing with a soft thud.

Clarke stood still, glass in hand, watching as the girl laughed and pulled out her phone. She raised it for a selfie. Finn leaned in, their faces close. Then she kissed his cheek. He turned. Their lips met. He kissed her full on the mouth, hands slipping under her shirt.

They stared, rooted to the spot. The kiss wasn’t brief.

Clarke’s breath caught. “Fucking Finn. When is he ever going to grow up? He’s twenty-eight years old, and still acting like a damn teenager.”

Lexa didn’t say anything at first. Her grip tightened around her glass.

Clarke closed her eyes for a beat, trying to steady the twist in her stomach. “Madi’s only nine years younger than her.”

“This is… not okay,” Lexa said quietly.

“Not even close.” Clarke’s voice was flat now. “He should know better.”

They stood in silence, the sounds of nature suddenly quieter, sharper. A bird called from the treetops. Someone started a boat motor in the distance. On the dock below, Sienna leaned her head on Finn’s shoulder with practiced ease.

Clarke sank slowly into a chair, the weight of it settling in her chest. “Do you think he knows? That she’s only seventeen?”

Lexa didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were still on the dock, watching the way Sienna clung to him.

Clarke’s fingers curled tighter around her phone. “Maybe she lied. Told him she was in college or something.”

Lexa’s jaw clenched. “He still should’ve asked. Should’ve been sure. He’s not a kid. He’s a grown man, a father.”

“Yeah, but he’s also… Finn,” Clarke muttered. “He doesn’t think things through.”

They exchanged a glance. As much as they wanted to storm over, they couldn’t jump to conclusions. Not yet. They decided to approach, give him a chance to either clear it up or dig his own grave. They needed to handle this carefully, for Sienna’s sake.

They walked over casually.

“Finn,” Clarke said smoothly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Clarke. Ms. Woods. Wow. Small world, huh?”

Clarke gave a tight smile. “Sure is.”

Sienna’s eyes widened, just for a second, before she schooled her face into something cooler. “Oh… hi, Ms. Woods. Ms. Griffin.”

Clarke folded her arms casually. “Didn’t expect to see one of our students out here. Hope you're not skipping any assignments.”

Finn’s brows creased. Our student?

Clarke didn’t miss the flicker of confusion that crossed his face before he smoothed it over.

Sienna, undeterred, offered a breezy shrug. “No worries, I’m all caught up. I finished everything on Friday.”

She tossed her ponytail, trying to pass for older.

Lexa nodded politely. “Good to hear. You’re one of the stronger writers in your year. Keep that up.”

Clarke turned her attention to Finn, her tone still pleasant but with a subtle edge. “You two… friends?”

Finn’s jaw tightened just slightly. “Bumped into each other. Decided to take a hike.”

Then he quickly deflected. “What about you two? A weekend getaway? Together?”

He said it like a challenge, eyes flicking between them.

Lexa lifted a brow but didn’t bite. “Just needed a break from work.”

Finn’s gaze lingered on Clarke. “Funny. You used to get so flustered talking about Ms. Woods back in high school.”

Clarke didn’t blink. “People grow up.”

Lexa stepped forward slightly, not aggressive, just enough to close the space. “Well. We’ll let you get back to your hike.”

Clarke looked at Sienna, her voice gentler now. “Get home safe, okay?”

Sienna faltered, just a beat. “I will.”

They walked away in silence, gravel crunching underfoot.

But just as they rounded the bend, Clarke heard it. It was faint but unmistakable.

“You’re still in high school?! You told me you were a senior in college!” Finn’s voice was low, sharp, panicked.

A softer voice followed, coaxing. “Technically, I never said college. You just assumed. Can’t we just forget it? We were having fun.” Then, more suggestively, “Besides… I turn eighteen next month.”

“Jesus Christ.” He ran a hand through his hair. “No. Get your things. I’m taking you home.”

Lexa stopped in her tracks.

Clarke turned slowly, her pulse spiking. They couldn’t see them now, but the tone said enough.

Lexa let out a breath, her voice tense. “So he didn’t know.”

Clarke’s voice was quiet. “He knows now.”

They stood for a long moment. The air felt colder. The lake still and glassy behind them.

Lexa finally spoke. “We still need to report it.”

Clarke nodded slowly, gaze distant. “Yeah. We do.”

Then she added, softer, more conflicted, “God, Madi.”

Lexa reached for her hand and gave it a steady squeeze. “We’ll figure that out too.”

They kept walking, the lake behind them still and glossy. Whatever peace they’d come here for was gone. They knew what they had to do, and there was no looking the other way.

Their weekend was over.

*****

Clarke found Madi on the living room rug, half-buried in cushions, crayons scattered around her like candy. She was coloring a lopsided unicorn, tongue peeking out in focus.

Clarke sat down beside her, folding her legs. “Hey, Picasso. That unicorn looks like it’s had a long day.”

Madi giggled. “She’s tired. She ran like… twenty races.”

“Well, I brought backup.” Clarke held up a juice box like a peace offering.

Madi accepted it with a dramatic sigh of relief, straw already halfway in her mouth before Clarke finished opening it.

As she watched Madi sip and settle back into her coloring, Clarke felt the weight she had been carrying start to stir again.

Since the incident with Finn and Sienna, she hadn’t been able to stop worrying. Madi seemed fine, cheerful and relaxed, but Clarke needed to be certain.

They sat in quiet for a while, the only sounds the soft scratch of crayon on paper and the occasional slurp.

“Hey,” Clarke said casually, keeping her voice light, “was it fun seeing your dad the other day?”

Madi nodded. “Yeah. He took me for ice cream. And let me pick the music in the car. He didn’t even complain when I played that one song five times.”

Clarke smiled. “That’s nice of him.”

She picked up a crayon and began coloring in a spare cloud. “You like spending time with him, huh?”

Madi nodded again. “He calls me his favorite girl.”

Clarke’s heart gave a quiet squeeze. “That’s sweet. And when you’re with him… you feel safe, right? Like he listens to you? Doesn’t make you do anything you don’t want to?”

Madi scrunched up her nose. “He makes me eat my veggies. He said Grandma used to make him finish his too because they’re good for you.”

Clarke let out a soft laugh, keeping her tone light. “That’s fair. But I mean the big stuff. It’s really important that you always feel comfortable. Even with grown-ups you know well.”

Madi frowned a little. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, sweetheart,” Clarke said quickly, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Not at all. I just wanted to check in. Sometimes… adults don’t always make the best choices. And it’s okay to tell me if something feels weird. Even if it’s your dad.”

Madi blinked. “He didn’t do anything weird. He just talks a lot.”

Clarke laughed softly, brushing her hand gently over Madi’s back. Relief settled in her chest, but she didn’t show it.

“I’m glad. I just wanted to make sure. You can always tell me anything, okay? Even if it’s scary or confusing. You’ll never be in trouble for being honest.”

Madi nodded slowly, then leaned into Clarke’s side. “You’re weird sometimes too, you know.”

Clarke smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Yeah. But I’m the good kind of weird.”

Madi giggled again and went back to her unicorn. Clarke stayed there with her, quietly coloring beside her, her hand resting over Madi’s back, protective and still.

And for the first time in days, Clarke let herself breathe.

Chapter Text

Principal Thelonious Jaha looked up from his desk at the sound of a knock. “Come in.”

Clarke entered first, followed by Lexa. The principal’s stern features softened slightly when he saw Clarke.

“Clarke,” he greeted, offering a warm nod. “How are your folks doing?”

“The usual,” Clarke said with a polite smile as she settled into the chair. “Dad’s been busy tinkering with his new project in the garage, and Mom’s still overworking herself, but what else is new?”

Jaha chuckled. “Sounds about right.” Then his expression shifted, more thoughtful. “Actually, Wells is back. Moved home a few weeks ago. For good, this time.”

Clarke blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“He mentioned you two hadn’t caught up in a while. You should reach out. I think he misses you.”

Clarke’s smile turned wistful, but she nodded. “I will.”

Jaha turned to Lexa with a courteous nod. “Lexa.”

“Principal Jaha,” Lexa said.

With the pleasantries out of the way, Jaha leaned back in his chair, folding his hands. “So ladies, what can I do for you both today?”

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a quick glance. Then Clarke spoke first, her tone even but serious. “We’re here about a student. It’s… delicate.”

Jaha raised an eyebrow but nodded for her to continue.

Clarke drew in a quiet breath. “We’re concerned about Sienna Reeds. One of our seniors. We believe she’s involved with someone significantly older. An adult.”

Jaha’s expression tightened. He reached for a notepad. “Do you have any proof?”

“No photos or recordings,” Lexa said evenly. “But we saw them together, and they were acting… intimate.”

“Off school grounds,” Clarke added.“We’re not here to accuse anyone unless it’s confirmed that boundaries were breached. Our priority is making sure she’s safe, and that this doesn’t escalate.”

Jaha looked from one to the other, then back down at the notes he’d jotted from their account. “So, to clarify,” he said slowly, “you’re reporting that one of our seniors, Sienna, is involved with an adult, but you're withholding the identity for now?”

Clarke nodded. “We’re focused on protecting her. That’s the priority. We want her to talk to someone. Make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s seventeen,” Lexa said quietly. “It doesn’t matter how mature she seems. She’s still a kid.”

Jaha tapped his pen against the notepad, then looked up. “Where and when did this happen?”

“Lake Haven,” Clarke replied. “Saturday.”

Jaha raised an eyebrow, “Lake Haven? That’s a bit of a ways from here. Both of you saw this firsthand?”

There was a pause.

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a glance, knowing what he was really asking.

Jaha’s tone remained neutral. “I don’t care what staff do outside of school, as long as it stays outside school hours and doesn’t interfere with your students. Keep it professional.”

Lexa gave a brief nod, her expression unreadable.

Jaha folded his hands again. “You were right to bring this to me. I’ll have the counselor speak with Sienna first. Discreetly. I’ll make sure she understands appropriate boundaries, and that nothing inappropriate continues. If there’s more to this, we’ll deal with it appropriately.”

Clarke’s voice softened. “Thank you. We just want her safe.”

Lexa added, “And that this doesn’t get brushed aside.”

Jaha gave a tight nod. “Understood.”

They left the office with no clear resolution, but at least for now, the concern had been heard.

A few steps past the office doors, Lexa glanced sideways. “So… how does Thelonious know your parents?”

Clarke gave a small laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “They’re actually family friends. My dad and Thelonious were college buddies.”

Lexa blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Clarke said, shrugging. “We used to spend holidays together sometimes. Barbecues. Beach trips. All that.”

“And Wells?” Lexa asked, clearly fishing now. “You two were close?”

Clarke snorted. “Our parents basically had our wedding planned by the time we were twelve.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

Clarke laughed. “Only if you’re planning to propose with a gummy ring and a Capri-Sun toast.”

Lexa chuckled. “Damn. I’d better step up my game.”

“Oh yeah,” Clarke said with a wry grin. “Everyone thought we’d end up together. And I did love him. Still do, in a way. But not like that.”

Lexa nodded slowly, thoughtful but reassured.

Clarke gave a small smile. “That’s actually how I found out Arkadia was looking for a sub. Mom mentioned it after Thelonious brought it up in passing.”

Lexa raised a brow. “So nepotism.”

Clarke grinned. “Networking. Big difference.”

Clarke let out a quiet breath as they walked, her hand brushing lightly against Lexa’s.

“I know it didn’t sound like much of a resolution in there,” she said, “but based on how he helped me back then… I do believe he’ll handle it right. He cares about his students.”

Lexa gave her a thoughtful glance. “You trust him?”

Clarke nodded slowly. “Yeah. He’s not the type to sweep something serious under the rug.

“When I was pregnant and everything fell apart, he never made me feel ashamed or like I’d messed up my future. I had to drop out for a while because of the complications. Everything was such a mess. But he made arrangements so I could keep up with school from home and even arranged for me to sit for the exams. Thanks to him, I still graduated with my class.”

Lexa was quiet for a moment, taking that in. “That’s… kind of incredible.”

Clarke nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think I ever really said thank you properly. But he never made me feel like I was a burden. He just… handled it. Even when it would’ve been easier to just let me fall through the cracks.”

Lexa’s expression softened. “That’s rare. And it explains why you’re not panicking right now.”

Clarke hesitated, her gaze distant. “He also knew Finn was the father.”

Lexa’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

Clarke went on, voice lower now. “I didn’t say anything just now, because we’re trying to protect Sienna first, not start a firestorm… but if Thelonious knew it was Finn she was seeing…” She trailed off, a shiver in her voice. “I don’t even want to imagine how that would go.”

Lexa exhaled slowly. “You think he’d confront him?”

“I think,” Clarke said carefully, “he’d make sure it ended. One way or another.”

They walked the rest of the hall in silence, the weight of what they’d just set in motion pressing down like the first hint of a storm.

Later that day, Jaha sends a discreet update to Clarke and Lexa:

Sienna met with the counselor. She admitted she was seeing an older guy. Twenty-eight. She says they hadn’t slept together, but had been on a few dates. When asked, she refused to say who it was. Just that he ended it when he found out her real age. Counselor will continue to check in with her. Parents notified. No further action needed unless contact continues.

Clarke exhaled slowly as she read, then handed the phone to Lexa.

Lexa scanned the message, jaw tightening slightly. “Well… it’s something.”

“Yeah.” Clarke rubbed her thumb along the edge of the couch cushion. “I still have to talk to Finn, don’t I?”

Lexa glanced over, brows raised. “You don’t owe him anything.”

“No,” Clarke agreed, “but Madi does. If he screws up again, she’s the one who gets caught in the fallout.”

Lexa was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Clarke leaned her head back, eyes on the ceiling. “Maybe it’s time I tell him about us, too. Officially.”

Lexa arched a brow. “Ready for that conversation?”

Clarke gave a dry laugh. “Not even a little. But I think it’s overdue.” She looked over at Lexa, smile softening. “You’re a part of my life now. I don’t want to hide that.”

Lexa reached over and laced their fingers together. “Then I’ll be right here. No matter how messy it gets.”

Clarke gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thanks. I think it’s going to get very, very messy.”

Lexa grinned faintly. “Please. I’m a teacher, with a kid, dating my former student–turned colleague, who has a kid and a manchild for an ex. Tidy was never on the table.”

Clarke laughed softly, shaking her head with a fond smile.

*****

Clarke hadn’t planned to confront Finn just yet.

Turns out, she didn’t need to look for him.

He was already waiting, leaning against a sleek midnight-blue Jaguar in the apartment parking lot when she pulled in with Madi.

“Daddy! That’s totally a boss car.” Madi called, perking up as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Are you here to take me out?”

Finn managed a tight smile. “Not today, princess. I need to talk to your mom.”

Clarke sighed, already bracing herself. “Let’s walk to the playground for a bit,” she said, keeping her tone light for Madi’s sake.

They strolled in silence down the familiar path, Madi swinging their hands between them until she spotted the play structure and took off toward the slides with a delighted squeal.

The moment she was out of earshot, Finn turned to Clarke, his voice sharp.

“You two ratted on me?” he hissed.

Clarke didn’t flinch. “We’re her teachers, Finn. She’s our responsibility.”

“I didn’t know she was underage!” he said quickly, hands up in defense. “I swear, Clarke. She told me she was a senior!”

“She is! A senior in high school! Not college!” Clarke exhaled slowly. “As far as I’m aware, she didn’t out you. You’re 28, not 18. Try acting like it. You can’t keep doing reckless shit and then act surprised when it catches up with you.”

His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t touch her. I ended it the moment I found out.”

“That’s something,” Clarke allowed, “but the fact that you were even in that situation… You need to start thinking about Madi. Everything you do, every dumb decision you make, it affects her too.”

Finn’s jaw worked, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “And what do you think she’ll feel if she finds out Lexa was your high school teacher?”

Clarke blinked.

For a second, silence stretched between them.

Then she said, calm but firm, “That’s not the same, and you know it. Lexa wasn’t involved with me until years later. After college. After Madi. We’re both adults. It’s a relationship built on consent and mutual respect.”

Finn looked away, jaw tight, arms crossed over his chest.

Clarke took a step closer, her voice steady. “If you really care about Madi, then show it. Be better. For her.”

He said nothing, eyes fixed on the horizon, nostrils flaring.

“And while we’re at it,” Clarke added, quieter now, “you’re two months behind on child support. That needs to stop.”

Finn’s head snapped toward her. “I’ve been dealing with things, Clarke.”

She caught the strain in his voice and studied him for a moment. “What’s going on?” Her tone shifted, softer now. “Is everything alright at the dealership? Is your dad okay?”

He hesitated, his posture faltering for the first time. Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked anywhere but at her.

“He had another surgery,” he muttered. “We’re not sure it did much. He’s still in pain. I’ve been covering shifts, trying to help my mom keep things from falling apart. The dealership’s bleeding money. I’m exhausted, and nothing feels like enough.”

Clarke’s expression shifted, some of the sharpness leaving her face. “I didn’t know,” she said, more gently now. “But you still should’ve told me. I’m not asking you to be perfect, Finn, just present. Madi needs you to show up. And when you don’t, when you mess up, she notices.”

Finn nodded stiffly, shoulders hunched like the weight was finally settling on him. “I’ll get it sorted,” he said, more to himself than to her. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I guess… Sienna was just a way to feel something that wasn’t falling apart.”

Clarke looked at him, tired and quiet. “You don’t get to escape through someone else’s kid.”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t argue either.

Clarke’s voice softened further. “Let someone help. Not me, and definitely not Sienna, but someone. Your mom, a friend, anyone. You’ve got to stop spiraling and dragging everyone down with you.”

He looked at her, tired and frayed around the edges. “And Lexa? You gonna let her keep judging me like she’s never made a mistake?”

Clarke didn’t flinch. “Lexa’s not judging you. She’s judging what you’ve done. There’s a difference.”

Finn scoffed lightly but didn’t argue.

Clarke glanced toward the playground, where Madi was hanging from the monkey bars, legs swinging. “She deserves better than two parents who keep screwing up and blaming each other.”

Finn followed her gaze. “Yeah,” he said softly. “She does.”

Silence stretched between them.

Clarke gave him a final look. “Then be someone she can count on.”

She turned and started walking toward Madi, her voice lighter as she called out, “Five more minutes, okay?”

Finn stayed rooted to the spot, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The afternoon sun caught the edges of Clarke’s hair as she walked toward the monkey bars. Madi laughed as she dropped to the mulch, landing with a thud and a grin that felt too big, too bright for a world this messy.

His chest tightened.

He used to be the one making her laugh like that. The one she ran to without hesitation. Now, there was hesitation in everything. In Clarke’s voice. In the way Madi asked if he was coming this weekend. In the way Lexa looked at him, sharp and guarded, like she was already bracing for him to fail again.

He hated that look. Mostly because she was right.

He had spent so long blaming the chaos on everything else, on the job, his dad’s decline, the pressure, Clarke, even Madi sometimes. But standing there now, watching his daughter swing her legs and laugh like the world was still simple, Finn felt the heavy, inevitable truth settle in.

He was the constant. The one thing that kept breaking. And what Clarke said wouldn’t let go of him.

Then be someone she can count on.

Not someone who showed up when it was easy. Not someone who chased teenage approval to feel wanted. Not someone who called avoidance survival. Someone better.

He let out a long breath, the kind that burned on the way out. He didn’t know where to begin. But maybe beginning wasn’t what mattered. Maybe it was staying. Owning it. Showing up, every single time, even when it was hard. Not with perfect answers. Not with "sorry" tossed around like a get-out-of-jail-free card. But with time. With consistency. With a version of himself Madi could actually rely on.

She glanced over and spotted him watching. Her face lit up and she waved.

He lifted his hand and waved back. And in that flicker of connection, that quick flash of trust still hanging on in her eyes, Finn understood something else.

He hadn’t lost everything. Not yet. But if he didn’t change, he would.

Chapter Text

The pub wasn’t fancy, but it had character. A couple of battered pool tables, a dartboard that leaned slightly to the left, and just enough noise to drown out work talk. Lexa sat with a beer in hand, half-listening to the familiar mix of tired banter and borderline inappropriate teacher gossip.

Zoe missed another pool shot by a mile and scowled. “This table hates me.”

“It’s not the table,” Shirin said, watching her with clinical detachment. “It’s your tragic disregard for Newton’s third law and basic geometry.”

Zoe raised an eyebrow. “Big words for someone who set her own sleeve on fire last month.”

“That was chemistry in action,” Shirin said, unbothered. “Controlled chaos. Look it up.”

Amanda, perched on a stool nearby, smirked. “You two bicker like an old married couple.”

Zoe deadpanned, “We’re just waiting for the staff handbook to approve workplace enemies-to-lovers.”

Lexa chuckled into her beer. “Pretty sure that’s buried in the appendix.”

From the corner, Darren leaned forward. “Anyone seen the latest Ark High Hottest Teacher poll? Who keeps making those?”

Amanda swirled her wine. “Last I saw, Clarke’s in the lead this year.”

Shirin gave Lexa a playful smirk. “Knocked off your throne, huh? You were reigning champ for what, three years?”

Lexa grimaced. “Not a title I ever campaigned for.”

Amanda grinned. “Wasn’t Clarke your former student? The student surpasses the master.”

Lexa didn’t answer, but her expression was answer enough.

Darren grinned. “So it’s true, then? You and Clarke?”

Lexa nodded, steady. “Yeah. We’re together.”

“How’d that happen?” Amanda leaned in, her tone curious but not unkind. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Lexa shrugged lightly. “A friend dragged me to an art show a few months back. We ran into each other. I guess Cupid had a quota to fill.” She took a sip, then added with a smirk, “Didn’t realize she used to be my student until later. But by then, it was too late.”

“I mean, it’s still kind of wild,” Darren said. “No offense, but I always thought you’d end up with someone who owned five pairs of hiking boots and did silent retreats in Bhutan.”

“She does silent retreats,” Lexa replied dryly. “In her art studio. With jazz and alphabetized paint tubes.”

Darren nudged her. “So the student finally schooled the teacher.”

Amanda groaned. “Be respectful. Clarke’s our colleague too.”

Lexa took a slow sip of her beer, then tilted her head at Darren. “Says the man who got a lap dance from his ex-student.”

Shirin blinked. “Wait. I haven’t heard this story.”

Darren sighed, already regretting it. “Bachelor party. My mates hired a stripper. She walked in, started dancing, and halfway through stammered, ‘Hi, Mr Barlow.’ Then she just… kept going.”

The group groaned in unison.

Amanda looked horrified. “What did you do?”

“What could I do?” Darren groaned. “Played along and waited for the music to end. Most awkward lap dance of my life. Tipped her generously, obviously.”

Zoe winced. “That’s not a tip. That’s reparations.”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Run,” Shirin offered. “Explode into vapor and escape through the vents.”

“That only works in your lab,” Zoe muttered.

“Exactly,” Shirin said, raising her glass. “Science saves lives.”

She took another sip, then added casually, “Still better than the time I was in labor, sweaty, screaming, and ready to murder someone, when one of my former students suddenly popped up between my legs and shouted, ‘OMG, Ms. Tan! It’s me, Jason from tenth grade! You’re doing great!’ I nearly kneed him in the face.”

Lexa burst out laughing, nearly spilling her drink.

“Alright,” she said, setting her glass down. “Let’s see someone top that.”

Amanda swirled her drink, then said breezily, “Honestly, it’s not even that rare. Teachers and former students end up together more often than people think.”

Zoe raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Amanda nodded. “Jaha married one of his former students. Back at his last school. They reconnected years later. Married now. Have a grown son and a golden retriever.”

They were still laughing when the door creaked open and Clarke stepped into the pub, shaking the cold from her coat. Her hair was wind-blown and she smelled faintly of rosemary and citrus.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, offering a quick smile. “Met a friend for dinner.”

Lexa rose automatically, pressing a brief kiss to her cheek as she helped with her coat. “You made it.”

Clarke stilled for just a second, subtle but noticeable. Her brow lifted slightly. She glanced around the table, catching the amused looks and crooked smirks.

“...Hi?” she offered, cautiously.

“Ah, the girlfriend’s here!” Darren grinned.

Lexa cleared her throat. Clarke blinked.

“Oh,” Clarke said slowly. “So… everyone knows?”

Zoe wiggled her eyebrows. “We’ve heard. And observed. Also, we’re very committed to staff gossip.”

Clarke laughed, settling in. “What did I miss?”

Shirin ticked off on her fingers. “We somehow ended up swapping horror stories about run-ins with former students. Darren got a lap dance from his, one of mine decided to say hi midway through labor, and apparently, Jaha married his.”

Clarke blinked again. “Huh. Wells never told me that.”

“Who’s Wells?” someone asked.

“Jaha’s son.” Clarke said, amused. “I just came from dinner with him. We used to go to school together.”

Amanda leaned back with a smirk. “Probably blocked it from memory. No kid wants to picture their parents doing... anything.”

Zoe groaned. “Honestly, same.”

Shirin raised her cider. “To emotional repression and selective amnesia.”

Clarke laughed. “Cheers to that.”

Lexa slid her a fresh pint. “You sure you’re ready to join this level of dysfunction?”

Clarke smiled, eyes warm. “I’m already here, aren’t I?”

Zoe topped up her wine and set the bottle down with a flourish. “Alright. My turn.”

She waited until everyone looked her way. “Third date. Guy takes me to one of those ‘Paint Your Muse’ portrait classes. Romantic, right? Candles, jazz, complimentary wine.”

Lexa leaned in, already bracing herself.

Zoe continued, “We’re setting up our easels when the instructor says, ‘And now, please welcome tonight’s model.’ This guy walks in, drops the robe, and boom. Full nudity. No shame.”

She paused for effect.

“And it’s Mr. Greaves. My high school history teacher.”

The groans around the table were immediate.

Shirin choked on her drink. “No.”

“Oh yes,” Zoe said, deadpan. “Spent the next hour trying to shade his collarbones while actively avoiding eye contact with… everything below the neck.”

Shirin laughed, covering her mouth. “Did he recognize you?”

“Oh, instantly,” Zoe replied. “Nodded and said, ‘Zoe Park. Always had great attention to detail.’”

Amanda clutched her side. “Did you finish the painting?”

“Barely. My date painted him like a Renaissance god. I sketched a potted plant and called it ‘emotional growth.’”

Clarke was wheezing. “Please tell me that wasn’t your last date.”

Zoe raised her glass. “Oh, it was. He ghosted me two days later. Honestly, I think he realized he was into men halfway through shading Mr. Greaves’ abs.”

She took a sip of wine, then added casually, “Saw them at a restaurant a year later. Holding hands. Rings and everything.”

She paused.

“I like to think I brought them together.” Zoe said dryly. “Through trauma and charcoal.”

Laughter was still bouncing around the table when Zoe took a smug sip of her wine.

Laughter rolled around the table again. Someone called for a rematch at darts. Zoe loudly accused Shirin of sabotage. Clarke leaned in, grinning as Lexa tried and failed to explain the pub’s weird chalk scoring system. For a few minutes, nothing else mattered except the buzz of easy company, half-finished drinks, and the kind of chaos that made long weeks easier to bear.

Amanda watched the group with quiet fondness.

Then, half to her wine and half to Lexa, she said with a small smile, “I’m glad you found someone. I was a little worried after you and Costia. It wasn’t easy... for either of you.”

Lexa’s smile shifted, softer now. “No. It wasn’t.”

Amanda looked over at Clarke, who was arguing playfully with Zoe about whether potted plants counted as portraits.

“Happy looks good on you,” she said.

Lexa glanced back at Clarke, something quieter in her gaze. “It feels good too.”

*****

Finn wiped his hands on a rag and stepped out from under the hood of a sleek black Lexus, the engine ticking softly as it cooled. The midday sun beat down on the cracked asphalt of Collins Prestige Autos, a secondhand dealership specializing in high-end cars. Though lately, it felt more like a showroom for slow sales.

The signs outside still gleamed, but business had taken a hit with the tightening economy. Fewer prospects, even fewer commitments, and mounting pressure.

Inside the small office, a desktop fan spun lazily, barely cutting through the stuffy heat. Finn’s dad dozed in a worn recliner behind the desk, a financial magazine folded over his chest and a cold cup of coffee untouched beside him.

“You should take the afternoon off,” he said softly, nudging his father’s foot. “Go lie down somewhere that doesn’t smell like exhaust.”

His dad blinked awake, bleary-eyed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sweating through your shirt.”

“It’s character.”

Finn rolled his eyes but didn’t push it. He checked the books instead, trying to make sense of the last two weeks. Four sales, Two financed, still short of their targets. He sighed and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts.

Marketing had never been his strength. Social media was a whole other world filled with hashtags, followers, and influencers. He knew he needed it to get more eyes on their inventory, but who could he turn to for help?

His thumb hovered over Clarke’s name. She was savvy with this kind of thing, a artist with an eye for art and design, and she was always on her phone. But was it appropriate? She wasn’t part of the business, and lately, their interactions had been... complicated.

Finn shoved the phone into his pocket. He reached for a blank notebook on the desk and began jotting down ideas.

Instagram account for Collins Prestige Autos
Highlight car features
Behind-the-scenes looks
Customer stories
Maybe a giveaway or two

Could Clarke help with the visuals? Or show him how to setup and manage the page? He wasn’t sure. But he knew he had to start somewhere.

The bell above the door jingled, and Finn looked up as a man stepped inside, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Still got that silver Porsche?” the man asked, hopeful.

Finn turned on his charm, straightening and offering a steady smile. “Let me grab the keys. Ready to turn some heads on your hot date?”

Finn handed over the keys with a grin. “Check this out. The leather seats are heated, perfect for those chilly mornings. And the sound system? Crystal clear. You can blast your favorite tunes and actually feel the bass. Oh, and the backup camera makes parking a breeze, even in tight spots.”

He gave a small laugh. “Plus, this baby’s got turbocharged engine power. It’s quick off the line and smooth on the road. Definitely a head-turner.”

As the potential buyer took the wheel, Finn silently prayed this would finally turn into a sale.

*****

Dinner with Wells and Clarke had started casual, with Lexa’s grilled chicken, garlic potatoes, and a bottle of red Clarke insisted was “just a table wine.” But between the teasing and shared laughter, Lexa started to feel the edges of something deeper.

She had been slightly apprehensive when Clarke mentioned Wells was coming over. Clarke wanted them to meet. She remembered him as a student. He was smart, articulate, and polite to a fault; the kind of kid who always turned in thoughtful essays and reminded others to clean up after lab. Being the principal’s son, he carried himself with a quiet pressure to always be proper.

She’d only ever known him in the context of teacher and student. Now, suddenly, he was here as Clarke’s close friend. It made Lexa feel like she was stepping into unfamiliar terrain. He was important to Clarke. That made it important they got along.

But it turned out, Wells was easy to like. He had majored in Public Policy with a minor in Literature, and within ten minutes of sitting down, he and Lexa were already swapping stories about shared professors from Polis College and playfully roasting the department’s quirks.

“So… does Mr. Hendricks still punish students with 8 a.m. Modernism?” Lexa asked, sipping her wine.

Wells winced. “Ugh. Still swears by Ulysses. Made us read it twice. Once in class, once in purgatory.”

Clarke chuckled, watching them with a fond smile. Lexa felt her relax beside her, and a part of her relaxed too. She liked seeing this side of Clarke; the one that existed before everything heavy.

Wells grinned, eyes sparking. “Has she ever told you about The Great Glitter Incident?”

Clarke groaned. “Don’t you dare.”

Lexa leaned in, intrigued. “Now you have to tell me.”

“Oh, it was legendary,” Wells said, clearly delighted. “Fifth grade. Clarke decided to make handmade Valentine’s cards for everyone in our class. But she used industrial-grade glitter. The kind that should be banned. Their house looked like a unicorn exploded. Jake was still finding glitter in his ear in June.”

Clarke dropped her face into her hands. “I was being thoughtful!”

“She also had a princess phase where she only answered to ‘Princess Griffin,’” Wells said far too cheerfully.

“I was five,” Clarke protested.

“I have evidence,” Wells replied, already pulling out his phone. “There were tiaras. Full princess gowns. And a mandatory curtsy or bow before anyone could speak to her.”

Lexa was laughing now, her shoulders relaxed with amusement. “Oh, I definitely need to see that.”

Wells began swiping through his camera roll, holding out the phone like it was sacred treasure. “Ah, here we go. This one has a tea party with stuffed animals. Note the royal wave. And this one’s the backyard coronation, a very official-looking one. And here, yes, that’s your mother curtseying.”

Lexa leaned in, smiling at the sight of a tiny Clarke in pink tulle and plastic heels, beaming like she ruled the world. “She was adorable,” she said softly, almost to herself.

Clarke let out a dramatic sigh as she stood. “I’m going to check on Madi before this turns into a full roast.”

Wells grinned after her. “All hail Princess Griffin. May her reign be ever glittery.”

Clarke flipped him off over her shoulder without breaking stride.

Wells tsked, mock-offended. “That is not very princess-like behavior.”

Lexa smirked into her drink. “Careful before she feeds you to the dragons.”

Wells watched her go, swirling the last of his drink as his gaze lingered down the hallway.

Lexa leaned back, her tone light. “I heard both your parents had your wedding planned by the time you were twelve.”

Wells laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, they were relentless. Joint family vacations, matching Halloween costumes… I think my mom still has the scrapbook. We were inseparable as kids.”

Lexa chuckled, but something in Wells’ expression made her pause. His smile lingered a moment too long, eyes soft with a quiet kind of yearning. It wasn’t just fondness, it was memory, and maybe a trace of what-if, caught in the space between what had been and what never was.

He looked down, then gave a small shake of his head, like he was brushing the thought away before it could settle. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more reflective.

“I’ve known Clarke since we were kids,” he said. “She was always the hopeful one. Saw the good in everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it. That changed in high school. Watching her struggle, especially with Finn being… well, Finn. It wore her down, made her more guarded. She had to be careful, always thinking of Madi first. It took her a while to come back from that.”

Lexa stayed silent, listening.

“She’s been through more than she lets on. I’m guessing you’ve picked up on that.”

Lexa nodded. “I have.”

He tapped his fingers lightly against his glass. “She hides her insecurities better than most. Keeps things close. But if you know where to look, it’s all there in her art.”

He paused, and then continued more gently, “I shouldn’t have to say this, but take care of her, yeah?”

Lexa didn’t hesitate. “I will.”

Wells studied her for a moment longer, then gave a small, approving nod. It felt more like quiet trust than a warning.

Then, with a sly look, Wells said, “You know her birthday’s in two weeks, right?”

Lexa frowned. She hadn’t known. There was still so much about Clarke she was only just learning. “I do now,” she said.

Wells let out a short laugh. “Please tell me you’re planning something.”

Lexa blinked. “Uh, I guess I am?”

Wells grinned. “You’re dating Clarke Griffin. You can’t let her birthday slide.”

“I thought she hated surprises.”

“She says that,” Wells said, waving a hand dismissively. “But she also cries over handwritten birthday cards. The bar’s low. Like, embarrassingly low.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly qualifies as a proper Clarke-style celebration?” Lexa hesitated. “I wouldn’t even know who to invite.”

Wells leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Leave the guest list to me. Most of her old friends would be back in town for Thanksgiving. The timing’s perfect.”

He was already typing on his phone, rattling off names.

Raven
Octavia & Lincoln, plus their kids
Bellamy & Echo
Monty & Harper, with their little one
Murphy & Emori

“We’ll keep it small and intimate. Well, as intimate as anything can be with kids tearing through the house.”

Lexa glanced at the list and blinked. She recognized most of them. She’d taught more than a few.

She realized, not for the first time, that she and Clarke had built something quiet and insular. A quiet rhythm of weeknights with the kids, mornings full of coffee and packed lunches, Sunday afternoons of lesson plans on her laptop while Clarke painted nearby. They’d been happy in their little bubble. Safe. Steady.

But Clarke had a world outside of that. A whole circle of people Lexa had barely met.

Could she fit into that world? Would she feel out of place among Clarke’s friends? Would Clarke one day look around at the life they’d built and feel like something was missing?

Wells glanced up. “Think there’s anyone from school Clarke would want there? Other teachers maybe?”

Lexa hesitated. Inviting staff could make things easier. Or a whole lot weirder.

She tapped her fingers lightly against her glass. “What do you think? Would that be... weird?”

Wells shrugged, thinking it over. “Depends who you ask. Teachers are human too, right? They’re not in teacher mode all the time. I bet some would actually enjoy a good party with moderate chaos and plenty of emotional damage.” He grinned. “If Clarke’s close with any of them, she’d probably want them there. Just don’t turn it into a full-on staff meeting.”

Lexa huffed a laugh. “Noted. No principal.”

Wells smirked. “Exactly. If my dad shows up, the party’s over before it starts.” He chuckled. “Keep it casual, keep it personal. People she actually wants to see.”

Lexa nodded slowly, the wheels in her head turning again.

Wells nodded. “Right. I’ll wrangle the friends, and you take care of the teachers?”

Lexa smiled, already feeling a little less overwhelmed. “Deal. I’ll keep it friendly... and minimally weird.”

Lexa glanced toward the hallway, hearing Madi’s laugh, and Clarke’s muffled voice.

Wells gave her a curious look. “You okay?”

She nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“You don’t have to throw her some huge thing,” he said, more gently now. “But it’d mean a lot to her. Just knowing you wanted to try.”

Lexa looked back at him, then offered a small, honest smile. “Thanks.”

Wells raised his glass slightly. “So. You in?”

Lexa reached for her phone, already opening her contacts. “Alright. Let’s plan a party.”

And just like that, they were in.

They both looked up as Clarke returned, already suspicious of whatever she’d just walked into.

“Were you two bonding while I was gone?” she teased.

Wells leaned back with a grin. “I was just reminding your girlfriend that you’re way too good for her.”

Lexa smiled into her tea. Clarke rolled her eyes. “Great. I leave you alone for five minutes and this is what happens.”

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun slanted through the kitchen windows, painting the floor in long streaks of gold. Clarke was chopping carrots while Lexa leaned against the counter, sipping from a mug that had long gone cold. The air was warm with the quiet hum of domesticity, until Lexa broke the silence.

“Hey… Thanksgiving’s in two weeks.”

Clarke glanced up, knife pausing mid-slice. “Yeah.”

“We haven’t really talked about it. Do you… have plans?”

Clarke shrugged lightly, brushing hair behind her ear with the back of her wrist. “Well, Madi’s the only Griffin grandkid, so my mom usually calls dibs. But to be fair, she invites the Collins over too. Kind of a joint custody thing, I guess, since Madi’s their only grandkid as well. It’s become this weird joint tradition since she was born. She smirked faintly. “And since my birthday’s two days after Thanksgiving, we usually just lump it all together.”

“Raven and the Blakes will be there too. They don’t really have family around, and mine kind of adopted them. My parents have this open-door thing for the holidays, for friends, neighbors, or anyone who’d otherwise be alone. Our table just kind of keeps expanding.”

She chuckled. “Raven’s basically the daughter my dad never had. They’ll spend hours in the garage messing with car parts, and honestly, with an actual rocket scientist involved, I’m half afraid one day the whole house is just going to lift off.”

Lexa laughed, then nodded. “We usually go to my parents’ for Thanksgiving and to Cos’s for Christmas. But my folks are off on a cruise this year, so… it’s just us.”

Clarke slid the chopped carrots into a bowl. “Then come to ours. Bring Aden. And if you want, invite Cos too.”

Lexa raises an eyebrow. “This would be… the first time I’m meeting your parents. Are you sure it’s a good idea to show up with my ex-wife?”

Clarke gave a short laugh. “Finn’s already going to be there. How much more awkward could it get?” She looked over her shoulder, her smile softening. “Besides, Madi would love to have Aden around.”

Lexa still looked unsure, her fingers tightening slightly around her mug.

“Cos is coming over for dinner later, right?” Clarke added. “I’ll extend the invite then. Let me just call my folks first. I haven’t exactly… had that conversation with them. Thought I’m sure they’ve heard about you from Madi by now.”

Lexa hesitated, then asked quietly, “Do you think they’ll have a problem? With you dating your… ex-teacher?”

Clarke turned, crossed the kitchen, and reached for her hand.

“Please,” she said dryly, eyes twinkling. “After Finn, I think anyone I bring home is an instant upgrade.”

Lexa laughed, tension easing from her shoulders.

“And besides,” Clarke added, “it’s not something new to them. They are, after all, close friends with Jaha and his wife, who you know, is his former student?”

Lexa gave a small smile. “Oh, right. Forgot about that.” She felt some of the worry ease away.

Clarke squeezed her hand and leaned in for a kiss, the kind that said we’re in this together, no matter what the holidays brought.

*****

Collins Prestige Autos was quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. The floor gleamed under the fluorescent lights, the scent of leather and engine oil hanging faintly in the air. Clarke was perched on a stool behind the counter, helping Finn compose a caption for the latest post on the dealership’s new Instagram page, and teaching Finn how to use Stories.

“No more emojis,” she said, gently nudging his phone away. “You’re selling luxury vehicles, not energy drinks.”

Finn chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Clean. Professional. Classy.”

She looked up from the phone, satisfied. “There. Posted. Give it ten minutes and your inbox is going to be flooded with heart reacts and lowball offers.”

Finn laughed, genuinely grateful. “Thanks, Clarke. I really mean it. I couldn’t have figured this out without you.”

She looked up at him, offering a small smile. “It’s just Instagram. Not heart surgery.”

Still, he stepped forward and pulled her into a quick hug, a gesture that felt familiar and comfortable, but nothing more.

The door to the showroom jingled behind them.

Clarke stiffened as she pulled away. Finn turned, his easy expression faltering the moment he saw who stood in the doorway.

Sienna.

Her voice cut through the tense silence. “Seriously?”

Clarke blinked. “Sienna.”

“You ratted on us,” Sienna accused, striding toward them. “You told the school, didn’t you? Because you wanted him for yourself.”

Clarke kept her tone calm. “That’s not what happened.”

“Right,” Sienna scoffed. “You just happened to be at the same place we were. You saw us and ran to the principal. All because you were jealous.”

“I was concerned,” Clarke said, voice still even. “You were underage.”

Sienna added, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Aren’t you with Ms. Woods? Does she know you’re cheating on her? Two-timing her?”

Finn stepped forward, trying to calm the situation. “Enough, Sienna. I will not have you disrespect the mother of my child.”

Sienna’s eyes widened. “You’re married? To her?”

Finn’s jaw tightened. “Was.”

Sienna’s glare snapped back to Finn. “Well, you’re not together anymore, and I’m eighteen now.”

Her voice rose, loud enough to echo off the glass windows. “We can finally be together. No one can stop us!”

Finn’s shoulders tensed. “Sienna…”

She stepped in closer, her tone softening, eyes searching his face. “I miss you. You said what we had was real. You said you felt it too.”

Clarke’s gaze flicked between them, heart tightening, but she didn’t interrupt. Instead, she stepped back.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” she said, already moving toward the side office.

She pushed through the door and stood just behind it, not meaning to eavesdrop, but just… unable to leave.

Inside, Finn took a long breath.

“You’re smart, Sienna,” he said, voice low and serious. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

“I want you in it,” she said quickly. “I don’t care what people think anymore. You don’t have to either.”

He didn’t answer right away.

“This shouldn’t have happened to begin with” Finn said. “I should’ve been the adult.”

“You were!” she insisted. “You cared. You still care. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

“I do,” Finn said quietly. “I care. Enough to tell you the truth.”

There was silence, heavy and fragile.

“I’m not your future, Sienna. I’m ten years older, running a secondhand car lot, trying to rebuild after screwing up half my life. You’re just starting yours.”

“But I love you,” Sienna whispered, tears glistening in her eyes, threatening to spill.

“You think you do. Maybe part of me wanted to believe that too,” he admitted. “But this isn’t love. Not the kind that lasts.”

Clarke heard the creak of leather as he stepped back.

“Go to college. Meet people your own age. Build something real. Don’t tie yourself to someone who’s still figuring himself out.”

“You’re just saying that because of her.”

“No. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

Clarke heard the quiet sobs before footsteps echoed, and the bell at the front door chimed again. Clarke turned, catching only the tail end of Sienna disappearing down the steps.

Finn stepped into view a moment later, eyes tired but resolute. He glanced at her.

“She’ll be okay,” Clarke said quietly.

Finn nodded. “I hope so.”

He looked down at his hands, then back up. “Thanks for staying.”

Clarke gave a small smile. “You did the right thing.”

“I’m trying,” he said quietly. “To do better. To be better. For Madi.”

Clarke reached out and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “She notices. Keep showing up.”

He nodded again, this time a little steadier.

“See you at Mom’s on Saturday?” she added. “Come early for the parade. Madi wants to watch it with you.”

A flicker of warmth crossed his face. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

*****

The front door swung open to reveal Clarke, arms full of grocery bags, with Lexa close behind, carefully balancing a pie. Madi and Aden squeezed past them, bubbling with excitement.

Jake Griffin stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, a dish towel slung casually over his shoulder. His smile was broad and warm.

Aden stepped forward politely. “Hi, Mr. Griffin. Thanks for having us.”

Jake’s face lit up. “Well, kid’s got manners! You’re welcome anytime.”

Madi tugged on Aden’s sleeve. “You have to see the treehouse! Papa reinforced the pulley system.”

Before anyone could respond, Madi grabbed Aden’s hand and darted outside.

Jake chuckled and pulled Clarke into a hug. “There’s my favorite daughter.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “I’m your only daughter.”

Jake grinned. “With that attitude, I might have to rethink. Raven’s my favorite, anyway.”

Clarke gasped, placing a hand dramatically over her heart. “Betrayal!”

Jake laughed it off and turned to Lexa. “And you must be Lexa.”

Lexa smiled, holding up the pie. “Hi, Mr. Griffin. I brought an apple rosemary crumble. Thought I’d try to impress.”

Jake’s eyes twinkled. “Impressed already. Please, call me Jake.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Did Clarke help with this? Last time she tried baking here, she nearly smoked up the whole house.”

Lexa shook her head with a grin. “Nope. I learned my lesson early on.”

Jake led them inside, the cozy warmth of the kitchen wrapping around them instantly. Abby was busy at the stove, stirring a pot with practiced ease, steam rising in soft clouds.

“Lexa, nice to finally meet you,” Abby said without turning, wiping her hands on her apron. “Thanks for bringing the pie.”

Lexa nodded, setting the pie carefully on the counter. “Happy to help. How can I pitch in?”

Abby glanced over her shoulder, assessing. “If you’re up for it, maybe help me peel and mash the potatoes? Raven usually tries, but today she’s banned from the kitchen.”

Lexa blinked. “Banned?”

She turned to look at Raven holding a pan with a charred mess inside.

She said sheepishly, “Sorry Mama G, I tried to make the roasted Brussels sprouts, but… I think I may have set them on fire.”

Abby sighed and shook her head. “Raven, you’re officially banned from the kitchen today. Go help Jake in the garage with his latest project. And if you blow anything up, there’s no dinner for either of you.”

Raven grinned and shrugged. “Got it, no explosions. Promise.”

Jake chuckled as he and Raven headed out. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s not destroy Thanksgiving.”

Jake leaned toward Lexa with a grin. “Don’t worry. Thanksgiving at the Griffins is always a bit chaotic, but it’s all love.”

Raven winked at Lexa on her way out. Lexa caught Clarke’s eye across the kitchen. Clarke just shrugged. “Pretty sure she messed up on purpose to get out of kitchen duty.”

Octavia and Lincoln arrived next, juggling coats and their two kids, Elias and Elara, and carrying a steaming dish of green bean casserole.

“Where’s the wine?” Octavia called as she stepped inside. “And who’s in charge of crowd control?”

The kids didn’t wait. Elias and Elara bolted straight for the backyard, joining Madi and Aden in a chaotic sprint toward the treehouse. Their laughter rang out as one of them shouted, “Race you!”

Finn showed up a few minutes later, clutching a six-pack of beer like it might smooth things over. A thin layer of tension clung to him. “Hey.”

Clarke met him at the door with a polite smile. “Hi. Madi’s out back.”

He nodded, grabbed a beer, cracked it open, and followed the sounds of the kids, slipping quietly into the background.

One by one, the rest of the guests trickled in. Bellamy and Echo brought a massive tray of baked mac and cheese for lunch, their arrival instantly raising the decibel level in the living room.

With each handshake and exchanged smile, she realized how much of Clarke’s life had been tucked away in a quiet bubble of family and work. This was different. Bigger. Messier. Beautiful in its own way, but also daunting.

Could she fit into this version of Clarke’s life? Could their two worlds really merge? Would she find her place here?

Costia came next with an artfully curated cheese and cracker board, already scanning the room for Aden.

Lexa stepped forward to greet her with a quick hug. “Aden’s in the backyard with the rest of the kids,” she said quietly. She kept her smile easy, though a familiar tightness tugged at the edges.

Finn came back in and switched on the big screen TV. “Guys! The parade’s already started!” His voice rang out.

The moment the words left his mouth, a stampede of feet echoed down the hallway. Madi was first through the door, dragging a protesting Elara behind her, followed closely by Elias and Aden, who nearly tripped over each other in their rush to the TV.

The big screen filled with color and movement. Massive balloons of cartoon characters floated down New York streets, dancers spun in glittering costumes, and marching bands played festive songs in tight formation. A giant Snoopy drifted by, followed by a float shaped like a pirate ship.

“Ooooh!” Madi gasped, flopping onto the rug.

“SpongeBob!” Elias shouted.

“Wait, wait! Next up are the minions!” Aden grinned, eyes glued to the screen.

The living room buzzed with excitement, laughter bubbling over as the kids claimed floor cushions, couch space, and even an overturned laundry basket as makeshift thrones.

Behind them, the adults hovered with warm drinks and amused smiles, the chaos familiar and welcome.

The sounds of the parade dimmed behind them as Clarke led Lexa up the stairs, past the bathroom and linen closet, and stopped in front of a bedroom door.

A hand-painted sign hung slightly crooked on it. Clarke’s name had clearly been there first, but a bright sticker now covered it with “Madi’s Room” in glittery letters.

Clarke smiled faintly. “She claimed it as her own pretty quickly.”

Lexa returned the smile. “Can’t say I blame her.”

Clarke pushed it open with a small smile. “Come on. Just for a minute.”

The room was softly lit by the afternoon sun streaming through sheer curtains. The bedspread clearly belonged to Madi, bright pink with tiny white stars and a plushie lineup standing guard at the pillow.

But the walls told a different story. Dozens of sketches and paintings were thumbtacked across one side, some childlike and others startlingly refined. A corkboard held faded ribbons and medals. The shelves were crammed with dog-eared books, framed photos, and small mementos from school plays and summer camps.

Lexa turned slowly, taking it in.

“So this is where Princess Clarke grew up,” she said softly, a teasing edge to her voice.

Clarke rolled her eyes, smiling. “Don’t let the ballerina lamp fool you. I was a menace.”

Lexa glanced at a crooked childhood photo of Clarke missing her two front teeth and holding a paintbrush twice the size of her head. “You were a cute menace.”

Clarke stepped closer, the warmth between them shifting subtly. “I still am.”

Lexa smiled but hesitated, gaze flicking to the door. “Clarke… your parents are literally downstairs.”

Clarke leaned in anyway, her hands sliding up Lexa’s arms. “So we’ll be quiet.”

Lexa looked torn between logic and desire, but Clarke kissed her before she could choose. It was slow and sure, familiar and charged. Lexa melted into it, her hands settling at Clarke’s waist.

Then, footsteps thundered down the hallway. Both of them sprang apart like teenagers caught in the act. Lexa nearly tripped over a plush unicorn. Clarke coughed, trying to compose herself.

After a moment of silence, Clarke grinned and muttered under her breath, “Making out with my girlfriend in my childhood bedroom? Check.”

Lexa snorted, still catching her breath. “Next up: getting grounded by your mom at twenty-seven.”

Clarke winked. “Worth it.”

As they stepped out of the bedroom, Clarke still adjusting her sweater and trying to look like she hadn’t just been thoroughly kissed against a bookshelf, Lexa leaned in close. Her voice was low, teasing. “So… what else is on this list of yours?”

Clarke flushed, color blooming in her cheeks, but the smirk that followed was pure mischief. “Wouldn’t you like to know? That’s for me to know… and maybe for you to find out.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that a challenge?”

Clarke walked ahead, tossing a grin over her shoulder. “Only if you think you’re up for it.”

Clarke started down the stairs, but Lexa paused for a second, catching her reflection in the hallway mirror. She smoothed her hair, adjusted the collar of her shirt, then gave herself a quick once-over.

Clarke stepped back up and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “You look fine, babe. Come on.” She took Lexa’s hand and led her downstairs.

The house was still wrapped up in the Thanksgiving parade on TV, voices and laughter filling the room — no one seemed to notice their brief disappearance. Well, everyone except Abby, who caught Clarke’s glance and raised an eyebrow knowingly.

Clarke gave a sheepish smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear like she hadn’t just snuck off with her girlfriend. She mouthed a silent What?

“Mom, check this out!” Madi called through a mouthful of mac and cheese, and Clarke smiled and headed over, grateful for the distraction.

Abby dried her hands on a towel and stepped up beside Lexa, her gaze steady and thoughtful. The laughter from the living room echoed faintly, but Abby’s attention didn’t waver.

“I haven’t seen Clarke smile like that in a long time,” she said softly. “And Madi’s completely taken with Aden. You’ve raised a good kid.”

Lexa offered a quiet, appreciative smile, already sensing there was more beneath the surface.

Abby continued, her voice calm but firm. “Clarke and Madi... they’re a package deal. If you’re not in this for the long haul, don’t string her along. She’s been through enough.”

Lexa met her gaze without flinching. “I know. And I am. I care about Clarke deeply. About both of them. I’d never hurt them.”

She felt the weight of Abby’s silence, the way her eyes lingered on her face, measuring every word. After a long moment, Abby gave a small nod — not quite convinced, but no longer uncertain.

“And your ex-wife?” she asked. “How does Costia fit into all of this? Is that going to be a problem?”

Lexa shook her head. “We’re co-parents. That’s all. We’ve worked hard to be on good terms, for Aden’s sake. But she’s my past. Clarke’s my future.”

Abby’s shoulders eased a little, but she didn’t smile. “Just make sure you don’t mix those two up.”

Lexa nodded. “I won’t.”

After a beat, Abby handed her a rolling pin. “Good. Now make yourself useful and help with the dinner rolls.”

Lexa took it without hesitation. “Yes, ma’am.”

That earned the faintest curve of a smile from Abby before they both turned and headed back toward the kitchen, the sounds of laughter still spilling in from the living room.

Once the parade ended, the house erupted into motion. The kids scattered upstairs to change, and within minutes, the backyard echoed with gleeful shrieks and splashes. One by one, they cannonballed into the pool, with Elias’s bellyflop earning the biggest splash and the loudest applause.

Finn waded in and hoisted Madi onto his shoulders just as Bellamy teamed up with Elias and Lincoln lifted a giggling Elara. On the far side of the pool, Aden scrambled up onto Lexa’s shoulders, steadying himself with determined focus.

“My knees are not built for this,” Lexa muttered, gripping his legs for balance.

“That’s because you’re old,” Aden said without missing a beat.

Lexa shot him a look. “Bold words for someone relying on me to stay afloat.”

Madi pointed at him dramatically from across the pool. “Traitor! You’re supposed to be on my team!”

Aden grinned. “Strategic betrayal!”

“You’re going down,” Madi warned, eyes narrowed.

“Try me!” he shot back.

From the patio, Clarke laughed, arms crossed as she watched the chaos unfold. “Should we stop them?”

“Absolutely not,” Raven called, already holding up her phone to film. “This is the best entertainment we’ve had all day.” She zoomed in with a grin. “My bet’s on Bellamy and Elias. How about you? Who you picking? The daughter or the girlfriend?”

Clarke snorted. “Don’t make me choose between my child and my love life.”

“C’mon,” Raven teased. “One of them’s definitely more competitive.”

Clarke side-eyed her. “And you think that’s not Madi?”

Raven laughed. “Fair point. That kid plays to win.”

In the pool, Madi let out a warrior cry and launched forward on Finn’s shoulders, nearly toppling Bellamy and Elias. Chaos erupted.

“Yup,” Clarke said, deadpan. “There it is.”

“You’re all gonna need chiropractors by tomorrow,” Echo added, sipping her drink.

“Worth it,” Lexa called from the pool as Aden leaned forward, already plotting his next move.

Clarke smirked. “You’re awfully confident for someone about to lose.”

Raven shot back, “Confidence is free. Victory’s gonna cost you.”

After a couple of splash-soaked, sun-drenched hours, everyone was thoroughly worn out. The kids peeled themselves away from the pool, dripping and giggling, before changing into dry clothes and claiming a corner of the living room to fire up the Switch for a chaotic round of Mario Party. Madi immediately declared herself undefeated. Aden challenged that within thirty seconds.

Lexa took the lull as her cue and slipped into the kitchen, carefully sliding the dinner rolls into the preheated oven. The warmth was comforting, the quiet a small reprieve from the noise outside.

The front door opened again.

Finn’s parents stepped in next, bearing a meticulously arranged fruit platter and tightly polite smiles. Clarke greeted them with warmth, if a touch of formality, and guided them inside with a practiced ease.

Last to arrive was Anya, invited at the last minute after Clarke found out she had no plans. She breezed in like she’d always belonged, two pints of gourmet ice cream under one arm and a bottle of red wine cradled in the other. She was already laughing at something Jake Griffin said on the porch, her voice bold and effortless as she stepped through the doorway like she owned it.

Later in the evening, as the living room buzzed with conversations and clinking glasses, Lexa found herself next to Bellamy while helping shift chairs around the extended dining table.

“So,” she said, glancing at him. “Clarke mentioned you’re teaching now?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy nodded, settling a chair into place. “Ancient history at Arkadia College. Mostly first- and second-year classes. Greek tragedies, Roman civics, that kind of stuff.”

Lexa’s eyes lit with recognition. “We probably have overlapping syllabi. I swear, most of literature is just emotionally repressed history with metaphors.”

Bellamy smirked. “Same ballpark, honestly. Just different centuries and worse sandals.”

Lexa laughed. “And way more guilt. Honestly, half of English lit is just people dodging therapy and writing poems instead.”

Bellamy smirked, raising his glass. “Here’s to centuries of unresolved trauma — expressed in flawless iambic pentameter.”

Lexa grinned. “I’ll take haikus. Easier to suffer in seventeen syllables.”

Across the room, Clarke glanced over from the kitchen island with a small smile, watching the two of them talk. She caught Lexa’s eye. Lexa offered a quiet grin back.

Yeah, maybe their worlds could overlap just fine.

Just then Echo approached, folding her arms with a knowing smile. “You know, from a detective’s perspective, I’d say criminals are just like bad poets… always leaving clues they think no one will catch.”

Bellamy laughed. “Sounds like you’ve got a knack for reading between the lines.”

Echo nodded. “Exactly. And Octavia and I make a good team because she’s the strategist, and I’m the one who follows the breadcrumbs.”

Lexa listened, intrigued, as Bellamy added, “I actually met Echo through Octavia. They introduced us at a barbecue last summer.”

Her watch beeped softly, and she quickly silenced it. “Excuse me, time to take the dinner rolls out of the oven.”

Lexa slipped into the kitchen beside Clarke, her voice low and warm. “Hey, babe,” she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

Clarke looked over, catching the slight tension behind her smile. “You alright?”

Lexa let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Just keep having to remind your friends to stop calling me Ms. Woods and please, just Lexa.”

“It’s a hard habit to break. Believe me, I know.” Clarke grinned, her fingers brushing Lexa’s elbow. “Saying your name used to feel like crossing a line.”

“Oh, is that right, Ms. Griffin?” Lexa teased, raising an eyebrow.

Clarke arched one back. “Survive tonight and you’re basically part of the tribe.”

Lexa shook her head fondly. “Survive tonight? I'm already game for a lifetime membership.”

Lexa carefully placed the warm dinner rolls on the table and wiped her hands on a towel. The chatter from the living room began to swell again as more guests drifted toward the dining area.

Clarke appeared beside her, calling softly, “Kids, time to wash up! Dinner’s ready!”

The kids scurried off to wash their hands, wrangling one another through the hallway, their laughter trailing behind them.

One by one, the adults settled into their seats around the long, folding table that now filled the living room. Plates were passed, and the aroma of roasted turkey and savory sides filled the air. The room hummed with the comforting sounds of family and friends, clinking glasses, soft laughter, and the occasional playful shout from the kids.

Lexa sat beside Clarke, their shoulders brushing as the room buzzed around them. She caught Clarke’s eye and smiled; beneath the table, Clarke’s hand found hers and gave a gentle reassuring squeeze.

Abby stood quietly by the kitchen doorway, watching the lively scene unfold in the dining room. Madi and Aden sat side by side, sharing jokes and passing dishes, their easy camaraderie a new but welcome sight.

Her eyes flicked toward Costia, who chatted politely with the others, though Abby sensed an unspoken tension beneath the surface, as if Costia was still trying to find her place in this tangled family web.

Then Raven, ever the snarky one, volleyed a sharp quip at Anya, who met it with a sly grin and clever retort that briefly caught Raven off guard. For once, Raven’s usual sharp tongue had met its match.

Jake shouted with a grin from across the room, “Abby! Hurry over before these vultures pick the bones clean!”

“I heard that!” Raven called, mock offended, mouth half full. “Who are you calling a vulture?”

Jake didn’t miss a beat. “You, obviously.”

Laughter rippled through the room.

Jake gently guided Abby down into her seat, carefully piling her plate with food. She smiled, pecked him on the cheek, and started eating.

When it came time for desert, Jake carried out Clarke’s birthday cake. Everyone gathered around, singing happy birthday. Clarke beamed as she blew out the candles, then sliced the cake to share.

After dinner, Aden slipped away from the table, snuggling up with Costia on the couch as she chatted quietly with Anya.

Meanwhile, Lexa huddled with Raven, Octavia, and Bellamy near the couch, their voices low as they finalized plans for a surprise party for Clarke.

“Think she suspects anything?” Raven whispered.

Octavia shook her head. “Not a chance.”

Bellamy grinned, holding up his half-eaten cake. “She’ll think this is it.”

Lexa looked up just as Clarke entered the room, eyebrows raised at their conspiratorial poses. Clarke gave a knowing smile. “Getting along nicely, I see.”

Raven smirked and teased, “Clarke’s using her teacher voice.” Then she nodded at Lexa, “Is that your doing?”

Lexa grinned. “She learned from the best.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “You know it’s not praise if it comes from yourself... Ms. Woods.” He said it with a mock-formal tone, earning a round of quiet laughter.

Lexa smiled, warmth spreading through her. She felt less like an outsider and more like part of the family.

Chapter Text

The house had finally quieted, the echo of laughter and chatter giving way to the soft hum of the dishwasher and the occasional creak of floorboards settling. The sink was stacked neatly with rinsed utensils, the platters washed and dried. Bellamy had taken out the last bag of trash with a mock salute as he and his family headed home.

Clarke rinsed the last glass and handed it off. Lexa loaded it into the dishwasher with practiced ease.

“So,” Lexa said, a half-smile tugging at her lips, “your friends are… interesting.”

Clarke snorted. “They grow on you.”

“It’s strange,” Lexa said, loading another dish. “Seeing a different side of them. So loose and free. Teachers usually get the more buttoned-up version.”

Clarke smirked. “Oh, you haven’t seen loose and free yet. Wait until the old folks clear out. That’s when all hell breaks loose.”

“They’ve been through a lot with me,” she added after a beat. “We’ve seen each other at our worst. Helped each other through. And somehow, we’re all still standing.”

“That explains the trust-fall energy in the living room,” Lexa teased.

Clarke tossed the dish towel at her. Lexa caught it and grinned.

Clarke leaned back against the counter, eyes lingering on the now-quiet space. “I do miss them. Apart from the Blakes who still live here, and Wells now that he’s back for good, most of them only come back for the holidays.”

There was a pause. Just enough space for honesty to drift in.

“They liked you,” Clarke said, quieter now. “Even back then. You were one of the more well-liked teachers.” She smirked. “Pretty sure a few of them had crushes on you too.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “Not just you?”

“Did you know you had an unofficial fan club?” Clarke grinned. “Pretty much everyone who actually bothered to show up early for your class.”

Lexa let out a soft laugh. “I always thought they were just… eager to learn.”

Clarke leaned in, voice low. “Oh, they were eager, alright.”

Lexa wrinkled her nose. “How am I supposed to go back on Monday and teach… knowing that’s probably still happening?”

Clarke gave a crooked smile. “Need me to claim you? A well-placed hickey on the neck should do it.”

Lexa shot her a withering teacher glare.

Clarke just laughed. “That doesn’t work on me anymore.” Her voice dropped a notch. “Now it kind of turns me on.”

Clarke leaned in, voice low and sultry. “Besides, what are can you do? Give me more homework? Send me to detention?”

Her fingers brushed just under Lexa’s shirt. “Spank me?”

Lexa’s breath caught, and whatever comeback she had disappeared into the dark.

Right then, the cuckoo clock chirped loudly from the hallway. Lexa jumped slightly, and Clarke burst into a grin, clearly pleased with her timing.

She pulled back, all innocence. “Wow. Look at the time.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes. “You planned that.”

Clarke hummed, strolling toward the sink with a swing in her step. “No idea what you’re talking about. I’m just a very good girl.”

Lexa snorted, muttering under her breath as she turned back to the dishwasher. “Dangerous woman.”

The dishwasher beeped as Lexa shut it and started the cycle. Clarke stretched, cracking her neck as she glanced toward the hallway.

“Alright,” she sighed. “I finally forced my mother to go lie down. Madi followed her like a tiny nurse, said she’s giving Nana one of her famous massages.”

Lexa chuckled. “Should we be worried?”

“Nah, Madi’s just going to sit on her back and talk about dinosaurs until she falls asleep. Works every time,” Clarke said, drying her hands. “Too bad Aden didn’t stay over. They could’ve built a pillow fort and declared war on bedtime.”

Lexa smiled softly. “He didn’t want Costia to be alone on Thanksgiving.”

Clarke glanced over, touched. “He’s thoughtful that way.”

Lexa leaned in a little, voice lower now. “So where does that leave us?”

Clarke smiled, the kind that made Lexa’s chest feel a little lighter. “You and I get my old room tonight.”

Lexa raised a brow and stepped in, brushing a bit of flour off Clarke’s cheek with her thumb. “Think the ghosts of ex-boyfriends past will mind?”

Clarke leaned closer, her voice low. “Trust me. Compared to what this room has seen? You’re an upgrade.”

She pulled back just slightly, grinning. “Just… don’t jump on the bed. Madi broke the last one trying to ‘break it in.’”

Lexa let out a breath of quiet amusement, letting Clarke take her hand and lead her down the hallway, their footsteps soft against the worn wood. The house may have quieted, but something in Lexa stirred with life. This strange new normal, this messy, blended family, and the woman leading her right into it. And for once, she didn’t feel like she had to brace for the impact.

They moved in sync, familiar now in each other’s space. Clarke peeled off her sweater and folded it over a chair. Lexa changed into a loose shirt before slipping beneath the comforter, letting out a quiet exhale. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender and old memories. Clarke turned off the lamp and climbed in beside her.

For a while, neither spoke. The house creaked gently around them. There were distant footsteps overhead, the soft thud of a closing door, and Madi’s giggles muffled through the floorboards.

Lexa’s voice broke the quiet. “Thank you. For today.”

Clarke turned toward her, propped on one elbow. “You mean for subjecting you a day of chaos and competitive pool games?”

Lexa smiled in the dark. “For letting me be a part of it. Of this. You, Madi… your world.”

Clarke reached for her hand beneath the sheets, fingers lacing easily. “It’s not just mine anymore.”

There was a beat of quiet, followed by a subtle shift in mood.

“So,” Lexa murmured, her tone suggestive. “You still haven’t told me what else is on this Griffin checklist of yours.”

Clarke’s hand slipped beneath her shirt, slow and confident. “I think we can strike a couple off tonight.”

Lexa’s breath caught, but Clarke didn’t stop. She leaned in, lips brushing Lexa’s ear, her voice low and firm.

“But you need to be quiet.”

The rustle of sheets was the only reply, the rest lost in the hush of a house that had no idea what it was about to sleep through.

*****

Lexa stirred as the first light of morning filtered through the curtains. Beside her, Clarke slept soundly, blonde hair fanned across the pillow, one arm tucked beneath her cheek. Lexa smiled softly, leaned in to press a light kiss to her temple, then paused, just for a moment, watching her breathe.

Can’t believe she’s mine, the thought came unbidden, warm and quiet.

She eased out of bed, careful not to wake her, then pulled on a hoodie over her T-shirt and stepped into a pair of sweats. A moment later, she padded softly down the hall.

The house was still, save for the soft hum of the fridge and a faint clatter from the kitchen. She turned the corner, expecting an empty room, and stopped short.

Jake Griffin stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, whisk in hand, working on a bowl of pancake batter.

Lexa blinked. “Is that the famous Jake Griffin recipe?”

Jake glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “The very one. You’re up early.”

“So are you.”

“Old habit,” he said, returning to his whisking. “Figured I’d get a head start before the stampede wakes.”

Lexa stepped closer, glancing at the array of ingredients laid out on the counter. “Need a hand?”

Jake gave her a nod of approval. “You any good with a spatula?”

Lexa smirked as she stepped beside him. “I can do this in my sleep,” she said lightly, then added with a glance at Jake, “though I’ll defer to the master if you’re feeling territorial.”

Jake chuckled. “Show me what you’ve got. Maybe then I’ll let you in on the secret Griffin recipe.”

Lexa flipped the final pancake onto the growing stack just as Madi burst into the kitchen, dragging a half-asleep Clarke behind her.

“Yay, Pops made pancakes!”

Clarke blinked at them, then yawned. “Are you trying to replace me as favorite daughter?”

Lexa turned, spatula in hand, her expression all innocence. “Depends. Does the favorite daughter do the dishes after?”

Clarke smirked. “Griffin rule. The one who cooks doesn’t clean. Don’t have to dethrone the favorite daughter.”

Jake chuckled as he slid another plate onto the table. “She’s got you there.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow, nudging Clarke gently with her hip. “Fine. I’ll settle for honorary daughter-in-law.”

Clarke arched a brow, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips. “Is that a proposal, Ms. Woods?”

Lexa didn’t miss a beat. “If it is, I’m definitely not doing it while you’re in dinosaur pajamas and bed hair.”

Jake set his coffee down with a grin. “Do I need to prepare… a toast?” He nodded toward the toaster on the counter.

Clarke groaned, muttering something about dad jokes, while Lexa shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips.

At the table, Madi was too busy drowning her pancakes in syrup to notice a word of it. She hummed contentedly, swinging her legs as she took another bite, blissfully unaware that breakfast had nearly turned into a proposal.

They sat around the table, the early morning sun spilling through the kitchen windows. The pancakes were warm, the coffee strong, and conversation easy. Madi chattered between bites, recounting a dream about a dinosaur tea party that Lexa listened to with mock seriousness and frequent nods.

Abby joined them halfway through the stack, sliding into a seat with a grateful sigh. “I don’t remember Thanksgiving being this exhausting when I was thirty.”

Jake handed her a plate already stacked with pancakes. “That’s because you didn’t have a grandchild trying to give you a deep tissue massage with her elbows.”

“I was being gentle!” Madi insisted.

“You were sitting on her spine, weren’t you, bug?” Clarke said, grinning into her coffee.

Abby waved a dismissive hand. “She talked about brachiosauruses for fifteen minutes. I’m not sure my vertebrae will ever be the same.”

They all laughed, right before a loud thud echoed from upstairs.

Everyone stilled.

Lexa looked up toward the ceiling. “That sounded… not good.”

Jake winced. “Raven.”

Clarke raised a brow. “Think she broke anything?”

“Probably just her pride,” Abby joked.

They listened for a beat, then heard a muffled voice through the floorboards: “I’m fine! Totally meant to do that!”

Clarke called back, “Need an ice pack or a helmet?”

“Don’t judge me, Griffin. I know all your secrets…”

Madi giggled into her juice.

Clarke shook her head, smiling into her mug. “Breakfast at the Griffin house. Never a dull moment.”

A few minutes later, footsteps padded down the stairs.

Clarke looked up — then did a double take.

Raven walked into the kitchen looking bleary but smug. And not alone. Anya followed a step behind, still in yesterday’s hoodie and with sleep-ruffled hair.

Lexa’s brow lifted as her gaze ping-ponged between them.

Raven grabbed a mug like nothing was out of the ordinary. “Morning.”

Clarke blinked. “Um. Morning.”

Anya offered a casual nod, cool as ever. “Ooo, pancakes.” She made a beeline for the table, stacked two onto her plate, and immediately drowned them in syrup without missing a beat.

Clarke tilted her head at Raven, a silent question in her eyes.

Raven shrugged. “Guest room was cold.”

Jake didn’t miss a beat. “When you heading back to D.C.?”

“Sunday night,” Raven said, pouring herself coffee.

Jake nodded. “You have time to help me with the car today?”

Raven grinned. “I’m all yours, Papa G. Let’s make this beast lift off!”

Abby tsked but couldn’t quite hide her smile as she reached for the coffee pot. “Just don’t come in smelling like motor oil before dinner.”

Later that afternoon, the house had settled into a slower rhythm. After helping tidy up and saying their goodbyes, Clarke and Lexa headed back to Lexa’s place with a container of leftover turkey and stuffing in tow.

***

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden light through the windows as Clarke rummaged through the fridge.

“Grilled cheese with turkey?” she offered, pulling out slices of sourdough.

Lexa nodded, already reaching for the pan. “And cranberry sauce. Trust me.”

They moved easily in the kitchen, a quiet dance of comfort and familiarity. The clink of plates and the sizzle of butter hitting the pan filled the space with a cozy, unhurried rhythm.

Just as Clarke was layering cheese over turkey, there was a knock on the door. Lexa wiped her hands on a dish towel and went to answer it.

Costia stood there with Aden, a tired smile on her face.

Lexa smiled. “Come in for a bit?”

Costia shook her head, before leaning in slightly, lowering her voice. “Hey, weird question… would it be okay if I brought someone to Clarke’s party?”

Lexa blinked. “Like… a date?”

Costia nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been seeing someone. It’s still new. But he asked if he could come, and I thought it’d be okay. Just wanted to check with you first.”

Lexa paused, masking her surprise. “Sure it’s fine. Thanks for asking.”

From the kitchen, Clarke called, “Turkey’s almost ready!”

Lexa gave Costia a quick nod. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Costia echoed, giving Aden a quick hug before heading back down the walk.

Lexa closed the door gently behind her, thoughts already flickering over this “someone”.

***

The living room echoed with laughter and the frantic click of controllers as Madi and Aden whooped in victory.

Lexa groaned, slumping back against the couch. “I’m getting too old for this. We’re getting schooled by children.”

“We trained them too well,” Clarke said, tossing her controller onto the cushion.

“Rematch tomorrow,” Aden declared triumphantly, already plotting strategies with Madi.

Later, the house had quieted again. Lexa sat on the edge of the bed, phone still in hand, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Clarke walked in with damp hair and an oversized T-shirt, toweling off as she flopped onto the bed beside her. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Lexa said, setting her phone down face-down. “Costia just… mentioned she’s seeing someone.”

Clarke paused, then tilted her head. “Oh. Really?”

Lexa nodded. “Yeah. A guy. First I’m hearing of it. She didn’t say much, just… that it’s new.”

Clarke raised a brow. “Huh. I didn’t know she dated men.”

“Neither did I,” Lexa murmured.

Clarke waited a beat. “Does that bother you?”

Lexa was quiet for a moment. “Not really. It’s not about who she’s dating. It’s more…” She exhaled, her gaze distant. “When Costia and I ended, it wasn’t because of one big thing. It was a slow unraveling. Needs we didn’t name. Conversations we avoided. We just… drifted.”

She paused, then added quietly, “Irreconcilable differences. That’s what we put on the papers.”

Clarke stayed still, listening.

Lexa’s voice dropped. “Now I wonder if this was one of those differences we never named. Maybe she didn’t even know it then. Or maybe she did and just… didn’t say.”

Clarke shifted closer, her tone gentle. “Do you think it would’ve made a difference?”

Lexa shook her head. “Probably not. But it still catches me off guard. Like I missed something. Like I didn’t really know her the way I thought I did.”

Clarke threaded their fingers together. “Or maybe you did. You just knew the version of her she was ready to be then. We’re all still figuring it out, even now.”

Lexa gave a soft smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Clarke bumped her shoulder lightly. “You’re allowed to feel weird about it. Doesn’t mean you want her back.”

Lexa turned to look at her. “I don’t. You know that, right?”

Clarke nodded, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Lexa studied her for a moment, then her voice softened. “Hey. You can say it.”

Clarke hesitated. “It’s stupid. Just for a second I wondered if maybe you… regretted it. Leaving her. Choosing me.”

Lexa sat up a little, her hand finding Clarke’s. “I don’t regret a single thing that led me to you. Not for one second.”

Clarke met her eyes, searching.

“She’s part of my past,” Lexa continued. “But you… you’re the one I see a future with.”

Clarke let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her fingers tightening around Lexa’s.

Lexa leaned in, forehead brushing gently against Clarke’s. “There’s no one else. Okay?”

Clarke gave a small nod. “Okay.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It was warm and steady.

Clarke shifted, propping herself up on one elbow. “She mentioned you were best friends before… all this.”

Lexa nodded slowly. “Yeah. We were.” Her voice softened. “That was one of the hardest parts. Not just losing a partner, but also losing my best friend.”

She stared at the ceiling for a moment, then added, “A part of me will always look out for her. I don’t think that ever really goes away.”

Clarke watched her, quiet for a beat. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“No,” Lexa agreed. “It’s just… complicated.”

Clarke gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Everything worth caring about usually is.”

Clarke reached over and nudged Lexa’s knee. “People change. Or maybe parts of them were always there. You’re not weird for feeling a little thrown.”

Lexa gave a small smile. “Thanks.”

Clarke grinned. “Besides, if he’s not good enough, I’m sure Anya will hunt him down and eat him for dinner.”

Lexa snorted. “She wouldn’t even bother seasoning him first.”

Clarke laughed, leaning into her. “Exactly. Straight-up feral judgment.”

A quiet moment passed between them, warm and steady.

Lexa exhaled again, but lighter this time. “Thanks for letting me say it out loud.”

“Anytime,” Clarke said, squeezing her hand. “That’s what pillow talk is for.”

The silence settled around them, soft and steady.

Lexa glanced at the clock on Clarke’s nightstand, then smiled. Her hand found Clarke’s jaw, steady and warm, as she pulled her into a kiss. It was deep and tender, carrying the weight of a silent promise. Clarke melted into it, gripping Lexa’s shirt like it anchored her.

When they finally pulled apart, Lexa’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s past midnight… happy birthday, babe.

Clarke blinked, momentarily dazed, then let out a quiet laugh. “You know, if all my birthdays start like this… I wouldn’t mind getting older.”

Lexa smirked, tucking a strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear. “Good. Because I plan on sticking around for all of them.”

Clarke smiled, then added, “You know, technically, I was born at 8:01 pm, so it’s not really my birthday yet.”

Lexa groaned. “Don’t ruin it, Griffin.”

Clarke smirked. “Just saying… you owe me another one of those kisses later.”

Chapter Text

The front door swung open and Clarke stepped inside, arms full of shopping bags.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CLARKE!” everyone shouted in unison.

Clarke jumped, nearly dropping the bags. Her eyes widened as confetti fluttered through the air and cheers erupted from the living room.

Clarke laughed, wide-eyed. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack on my birthday?”

From behind her, Raven let out a cackle, and Octavia shouted, “Let’s get this party started, bitches!”

Cheers erupted, music kicked in, and someone shoved a paper crown onto Clarke’s head as she was pulled into a hug by Madi. “Happy Birthday Mommy!”

Clarke blinked, then looked around, and her chest tightened in the best way. Familiar faces filled the room, old and new, friends from different corners of her life, gathered here just for her. Wells was chatting with Murphy near the fireplace. The Blakes were by the snack table, Octavia already fixing drinks. Monty waved from the couch with a grin.

She moved through the crowd slowly, letting the gratitude settle in her bones. She hugged Monty tightly, whispering a soft “thank you” into his ear. She laughed at one of Murphy’s dry, brutal jokes and rolled her eyes as she nudged Shirin, gesturing at Zoe who was already halfway through her second plate of food.

Lexa stood off to the side, drink in hand, her gaze following Clarke through the crowd. A smile tugged at her lips as she watched Clarke light up in every room she moved through, the joy so natural it made Lexa’s chest ache.

The kids had taken over the TV, locked in a fierce game of Mario Kart. They jumped up and down, shouting playful taunts at each other while snacks slowly tumbled onto the carpet.

Clarke made her way through the crowd toward Lexa, her eyes still shining from all the excitement. She didn’t stop walking until she was in Lexa’s arms, wrapping her up in a tight hug.

“You planned this?” Clarke asked, her voice soft against Lexa’s ear. “For me?”

Lexa pulled back just enough to look at her, hands still resting on Clarke’s waist. “I would rearrange the stars if it meant seeing you smile, babe.”

Clarke rolled her eyes fondly, but her smile was unstoppable.

Lexa smirked. “But full credit? It was Wells’ idea, actually.”

Clarke blinked. “Wells?”

Lexa nodded. “Apparently, he’s very invested in your birthday happiness.”

Clarke glanced over her shoulder, eyes scanning the room, and landed on Wells. He stood near the bookshelf, drink in hand, deep in conversation. The moment he noticed her looking, he smiled and tipped his cup in her direction, mouthing a simple, "Happy birthday." Her smile lingered as she turned back around, cheeks a little warmer than before.

The party was in full swing, with laughter spilling from the kitchen and the clink of glasses echoing beneath the low thrum of music. Someone had set up beer pong on the dining table, and now the ex-students were loudly egging their former teachers on, waving ping pong balls and chanting exaggerated team names.

Shirin and Lexa stood at one end of the table, facing off against Bellamy and Murphy, who were already talking a big game.

Murphy raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know teachers knew how to play beer pong.”

“Please,” Lexa said, rolling up her sleeves with a smirk. “All teachers were once students. You didn’t think we were born abiding rules, did you?”

Shirin lined up a shot. “Get ready to lose, boys.”

Bellamy snorted. “You wish.”

Murphy leaned over the table, squinting in mock seriousness. “This one's for every detention I ever got.”

Lexa arched a brow and hit him with her full teacher glare. For a second, Murphy froze like a deer in headlights.

“Okay nope,” he muttered, ducking behind Bellamy. “She’s still scary.”

Bellamy just laughed. “Told you not to poke the bear.”

Clarke strolled over with a drink in hand, grinning. “To be fair, you earned every one of those detentions.”

Murphy gasped, betrayed. “Et tu, Griffin?”

Someone from the crowd shouted, “Whose side are you on, Clarke?”

Clarke smirked, glancing between Lexa and the students. “I go where the winning team is.”

Lexa looked over her shoulder at her with a dry smile. “Good answer.”

The game had reached its final stretch. Only one red cup remained on either side of the table. Tension buzzed in the air, half the party now crowded around, cheering and heckling in equal measure.

Bellamy lined up his shot, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. “Watch and learn.”

The ball arced… then bounced off the rim.

The crowd groaned.

Shirin snatched the ball with the speed of someone who’d clearly played before. “No pressure, Lexa. But if we lose, I’m blaming your form.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, shaking out her wrist. She squinted at the cup like it had personally offended her.

Murphy muttered under his breath, “She’s gonna make that shot, isn’t she?”

Clarke, perched on the arm of a couch, grinned. “Oh yeah.”

Lexa flicked her wrist, the ball sailing cleanly through the air… and dropped straight into the final cup with a satisfying plunk.

The room erupted.

Shirin whooped, bumping Lexa’s shoulder as the two high-fived.

“Justice,” Lexa declared, smirking as Bellamy groaned dramatically and collapsed into a nearby chair.

Murphy held up his hands. “I demand a rematch. Preferably when she’s had two more drinks.”

From across the room, someone shouted, “Teacher squad for the win!”

Lexa glanced over at Clarke, who raised her glass in salute. Lexa mirrored the gesture, their eyes locking for just a second longer than necessary in the middle of the noise.

It was just a party game, but in that moment, Lexa felt like she’d won something else entirely.

“Great game, Lex,” Costia’s voice came from the side, light and easy.

Lexa turned to find her standing just a step behind, her expression relaxed, cheeks slightly flushed from wine or laughter.

“Lexa, meet Chad.”

Chad stood beside her with the polished confidence of someone used to being the center of attention. He was tall, well-groomed, and wore his charm like a tailored jacket. He extended a hand with a practiced smile.

“I’ve been hearing your name all week,” he said. “Figured it was time we met. Thanks for letting me tag along tonight.”

Lexa shook his hand, her grip firm. “It’s Clarke’s party. But nice to meet you.”

Costia smiled, and Chad slid a hand to her hip, fingers resting there like they belonged. He chuckled to himself. “She told me you’d say that.”

Lexa looked back to Costia. “You two enjoying the party so far?”

Costia opened her mouth to answer, but Chad cut in first. “It’s great. You’ve got a good mix of people. Not too stiff, not too wild. That’s rare.”

Lexa gave a tight smile before turning her focus back to Costia. “What time are you picking Aden up tomorrow?”

Costia hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Chad before she looked back at Lexa. “About that… would it be alright if he stayed with you through the weekend?”

Before Lexa could answer, Chad spoke up. “We’ve got plans. Just the two of us. Little escape from the city.”

Lexa’s eyes stayed on Costia. Her tone stayed even, but her words were deliberate. “Aden was looking forward to seeing you.”

Chad gave a short laugh, slipping his arm tighter around Costia’s waist and drawing her flush against his side. “Kids always want your time, but they’ve gotta learn the world doesn’t revolve around them, right?”

Lexa didn’t blink, but something in her jaw tightened.

Chad leaned closer to her. “You’re low on wine. Let me get you some more.”

“I’m fine,” Costia said, brushing his arm casually.

He kissed her temple anyway, before walking off toward the kitchen.

Lexa watched him disappear into the kitchen before turning back to Costia. “So… Chad,” she said, tone neutral. “How’s it going?”

Costia let out a small laugh, the kind people give when they’re not quite sure what’s being asked. “He’s... different,” she said, smiling.

Before Lexa could say anything more, Chad returned with a fresh glass of wine in hand. His arm slipped around Costia’s waist as he handed it to her, fingers resting comfortably against her hip.

“There we go,” he said smoothly. “Didn’t want you getting parched.”

Then, without missing a beat, he leaned in and murmured something to her, followed by a quick glance toward someone across the room. “Hey, come meet Murphy. He’s a chef and he says he has this fantastic recipe for…”

Costia gave Lexa an apologetic look as Chad gently steered her away, already calling out a cheerful greeting to someone else.

Lexa stood there a moment longer, watching them go.

Lexa watched him go. Clarke slid in beside her, holding a plate of mini cupcakes. “That him?”

Lexa gave a short nod, her jaw tight. “Chad.”

Clarke studied her for a second. “You okay?”

Lexa hesitated, eyes still on the crowd. “ I don’t know. Something about him doesn’t sit right. Maybe I’m just being overprotective.”

Clarke bumped her shoulder gently. “You’ve got every right to be protective. Especially when it comes to family.”

Lexa finally looked at her, her mouth softening a little. “I just hope I’m wrong.”

Not long after, it was time for presents.

Clarke had just finished unwrapping the last of her gifts, her smile soft as she read a note tucked into one of the cards. Around her, voices buzzed and music played low in the background, but Lexa stayed near the drink table, watching from a quiet distance.

Wells stood beside Clarke, laughing at something she said. His hand brushed her shoulder before he stepped back, fingers lingering a moment too long. He leaned in close, speaking with a familiarity that didn’t need context. His gaze held hers like they were the only two people in the room.

It looked casual. Friendly. Easy. But Lexa saw the way he edged closer, the way he smiled like he was remembering something only they understood.

She sipped her wine and looked away.

It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed the way Wells always seemed to be right where Clarke needed him. He’d volunteered to help plan the party before Lexa had even thought to offer. Back then, she’d chalked it up to loyalty. Old friends, nothing more. But now, watching him, she wasn’t so sure. Maybe he still had feelings for Clarke.

The thought landed heavily in her chest. Maybe this wasn’t just about old memories. Maybe it was a quiet attempt to stir something up again. To remind Clarke of what they once had — or worse, to show Lexa what she hadn’t yet built with her.

She set her glass down, fingertips resting on the rim like she needed the anchor. Maybe she was overthinking it. Letting her insecurities fill in blanks that weren’t there. Still, the twist in her gut wouldn’t ease.

It wasn’t jealousy exactly. It was the ache of being new. Of wanting to feel like she belonged in a space someone else had helped shape. Wells didn’t have to earn his place in Clarke’s world. He’d always been there. Lexa was still catching up.

And as Clarke kept smiling beside him, as if the years hadn’t carved any distance at all, Lexa felt something settle low in her chest. No matter how much she cared for Clarke, some bonds were shaped long before she came into the picture.

She wasn’t threatened by it. Not exactly. But tonight had opened a wider window into Clarke’s world, the people and the ease and the shared history, and Lexa was still figuring out where she belonged in all of it.

Anya appeared at her side nudging her playfully. “What’s up with Mr Heart Eyes? Is he trying to make a move on your girl?”

Lexa didn’t answer right away, her eyes still on Clarke. “So you see it too? It’s not just me?”

“You always scowl like that when someone flirts with your girl?” Anya sidled up beside her, tipping her chin toward the living room.

Lexa blinked. “I wasn’t scowling.”

Anya grinned. “You were watching him like you’re deciding… whether to kick him off the balcony.”

Lexa scoffed and took another sip. “He’s just… really close with Clarke. I think he likes her. I’m not sure if she knows.”

Anya raised an eyebrow, amused. “Did he not get the memo she’s taken?”

Lexa didn’t respond right away. Her eyes followed Clarke as she moved through the crowd, radiant and at ease. And somewhere beneath all her overthinking, Lexa felt a flicker of protectiveness rise.

Just then, the clinking of a glass cut through the noise. Chad had taken center stage near the drink table, raising his glass with a broad smile.

“To Clarke,” he said. “Who clearly has excellent taste in women,” he added, glancing at Lexa and winking. A few people laughed.

“And even better taste in friends. May your birthday be as timeless as your smile.”

The group laughed. Even Clarke rolled her eyes affectionately.

“Careful,” Costia teased beside him, loud enough to be heard. “Any more of that and people might think you planned this party.”

The room laughed again, but Lexa caught the flicker in Chad’s eyes, the brief tightening of his jaw before he forced a laugh with the rest. His arm slid around Costia’s waist, more pointed now, more possessive.

Lexa kept her expression neutral, though something in her shifted. She watched Costia lean into Chad’s side and realized, to her own surprise, that she didn’t feel jealous. Not even a little. What she felt was something quieter. Sadder.

Costia had once been her whole world. But tonight confirmed what Lexa had known for a while now — she was part of her past.

“Anyway,” Lexa said, pivoting. “Why are you here?”

Anya blinked. “Ouch.”

Lexa laughed lightly. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just... not like you to leave your cave. Especially not for something like this.”

“I’m here for moral support,” Anya replied dryly, gesturing at Lexa. Lexa arched a brow.

Just then, Raven looked over from the couch and smiled.

Anya sighed. “Okay, fineee. Raven made me come.”

Lexa arched a brow. “What’s going on with you two?”

“Just two consenting adults enjoying each other’s company.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all it needs to be.” Anya’s voice was even, and Lexa could tell she meant it. There were no illusions, no expectations. Raven was leaving soon, and Anya wasn’t pretending otherwise. Neither was built for long distance.

Lexa appreciated the honesty.

Just then, she spotted Clarke weaving through the crowd, smiling as she made her way toward them.

Anya leaned in and whispered with a smirk, “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Clarke only has heart eyes for you.” Then she slipped away toward Raven.

Lexa glanced at the clock and saw it was finally time. When Clarke reached her, Lexa didn’t hesitate. She pulled her in for a slow, deep kiss that left no room for doubt.

“Happy birthday for real, babe,” she murmured against Clarke’s lips.

From somewhere across the room, someone whooped, followed by laughter and a loud, “You go, girl!” and “Go get her, Ms. Woods!”

Clarke grinned, cheeks flushed, and leaned in again. “Best gift so far.”

Lexa smirked, her voice low and playful. “You get to unwrap your real gift later tonight.”

Clarke raised a brow, voice dropping to a murmur. “Don’t say things like that unless you’re ready to clear the hosue right now.”

Before Lexa could fire back, the lights dimmed and with theatrical timing, Wells emerged from the kitchen holding a cake ablaze with candles.

“Happy birthday to you…” he started, strong and confident, quickly joined by the rest of the room in a loud chorus.

Clarke blinked, surprised, then laughed and covered her mouth with her hand.

Wells kept walking forward, eyes locked on her. As he neared, Clarke felt Lexa go still. Her arm, once looped easily around Clarke’s waist, dropped away with an almost imperceptible hesitation.

Clarke didn’t have to look to know. She felt the shift, the way Lexa leaned back just slightly as Wells stepped into the spotlight. As he got closer, Lexa quietly retreated.

Wells held out the cake like an offering, his smile all boyish charm. “Make a wish, Griffin.”

Clarke looked at him, then at Lexa. She was smiling, but her eyes had lost their spark. There was something distant about her now, something guarded.

Clarke hesitated. The room had already started cheering again, voices calling out, “Blow them out!” but her focus stayed on Lexa. Her hand was no longer in Clarke’s, her touch pulled away without a word. The absence was small, but Clarke felt it everywhere.

She blew out the candles.

Applause broke out, but she reached for Lexa’s hand again, this time more firmly, threading their fingers together like she was anchoring them both.

“Thanks, Wells,” she said, voice light, eyes steady on Lexa. Wells set down the cake, gave a little bow and stepped back, retreating into the crowd. His gaze, however, lingered on Clarke’s hand clasped in Lexa’s, a subtle flicker in his eyes before he turned away.

The cake was cut. Laughter rang through the room as kids crowded the table, arguing over who got the first slice. Clarke handed out plates while Madi and Aden darted around her, already sticky with frosting. Someone passed Lexa a drink. Someone else called for a group photo.

They took pictures, starting with family, then with Clarke’s old school friends, and finally with the kids. Lexa stood beside Clarke through them all, her arm looped around her waist, smiling as flashes went off. She even laughed at one point, watching Octavia try to wrangle five sugar-high children into one frame.

Eventually, the energy shifted. The music softened. People spread out again. Some drifted toward the balcony, while others huddled near the drinks. The noise mellowed to a low, comfortable hum. With the chaos briefly settled, Lexa finally let herself breathe.

She couldn’t help how she had reacted earlier.

Clarke had noticed. Lexa could tell by the way Clarke’s grip had tightened, and how her focus had momentarily shifted. Lexa hadn’t meant to pull back, but she had. The moment Wells appeared with the cake ablaze and that boyish, confident smile, something in her recoiled. She had drawn inward without meaning to. Her guard had gone up, and her footing felt suddenly less sure.

It was stupid. Immature, even.

Wells hadn’t crossed any lines. It was Clarke’s birthday, and he was just being kind. Friendly. Maybe a little showy. But nothing that really warranted Lexa’s reaction.

So why did it feel like he was trying to prove something?

Lexa let out a quiet breath and watched Clarke laugh with Madi as the kids jostled for more cake. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. She looked happy. This was her night. Lexa didn’t want to dim it with her own insecurities.

Clarke didn’t say anything at first. She just reached for Lexa’s hand again, her grip a little firmer this time. Like she was reminding them both where they stood.

“Hey,” she murmured, just for her. “You okay?”

Lexa nodded, smiling like she meant it. But Clarke wasn’t sure she believed her.

Clarke leaned in without breaking the moment and murmured, “Still want to clear the house?”

Lexa huffed a quiet laugh and shook her head, her heart finally settling. Clarke didn’t let go. Neither did she. For once, she didn’t wonder where she stood. She knew.

Eventually, the party wound down. People gathered plates, stacked cups, and helped clear the mess before slowly trickling out. Hugs were exchanged, promises to catch up soon, the kind of soft goodbyes that came with full bellies and fuller hearts.

Raven was the last to leave. As she slung her jacket over her shoulder, she handed Clarke a folded-up lottery ticket with a wink. “For that bet I lost the other day. If it hits, I expect a buyer’s cut.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but took it. “You’re ridiculous.”

Lexa, already halfway through wiping down the counter, glanced over. “Who did Clarke bet on?”

Raven didn’t hesitate. “Madi. Obviously.”

Lexa clutched her chest in mock betrayal. “You bet against me?”

Clarke grinned, unfazed. “Oh grow up.”

Raven cackled and waved as she backed out the door. “Happy birthday, Griffin!”

The door clicked shut behind her.

They gathered a half-asleep Madi and a dozing Aden from the couch, coaxed them through brushing their teeth, and tucked them into bed with whispered goodnights and forehead kisses. By the time they finally made it to their own room, the apartment was quiet, the night settled around them like a blanket.

Clarke stretched, then turned to Lexa with a slow, knowing grin. “I believe I was promised a present to unwrap.”

Lexa looked at Clarke, and for a moment, every lingering insecurity slipped away. It didn’t matter what feelings Wells might have stirred. Clarke was here. Clarke was hers. And that truth settled deep in Lexa’s chest, steady and certain.

The kiss that followed was slow at first, then deep and claiming, the kind of kiss that said she’s mine without a single word. Clarke melted into it, breath catching as heat coiled low in her belly.

Clarke barely managed to breathe before she was tugging Lexa closer, fingers working at her clothes with growing urgency. Each layer came off, revealing soft skin and finally, the lace.

Clarke stilled, eyes dragging over the corset-style cami. Her breath hitched. The grin faded, replaced by something darker, heavier.

“Damn,” she murmured, voice low. “You’ve been hiding that all night?”

Lexa smirked, eyes glinting. “I was saving it.”

Clarke closed the distance completely, hands already sliding along Lexa’s waist, her voice a near-growl in her ear.

“Best. Birthday. Ever.”

Chapter Text

The next morning unfolded in quiet, golden light. The windows were open just enough to let the breeze in, carrying the scent of the garden and the faint chirp of birds. Clarke stood at the stove, carefully flipping slices of golden French toast in the pan, her damp hair twisted into a loose bun, while Lexa sliced strawberries at the counter behind her.

“Thanks again for watching Madi yesterday,” Clarke said, glancing over her shoulder with a smile.

Lexa smiled without looking up. “Did you have fun?”

Clarke laughed. “Yeah, we did. Started with shopping — we definitely went overboard. Then came spa day, which sounds relaxing, except Octavia went full general mode. Manicures, pedicures, full-body massages, way too much time soaking in a steaming jacuzzi.” She smirked. “Honestly, I think she planned the whole thing because she needed a break, but disguised it as a treat for me.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “Smart. Classic O.”

“We drank champagne in the jacuzzi. Raven started giving us sordid details about her latest hookup. It just sounded like a wild time… and then I realized she was talking about Anya.”

Lexa’s face scrunched in horror. “Gross. Please stop. Anya’s my friend, but she’s like family.”

“Yeah. I definitely didn’t need to know that Anya—”

Lexa quickly reached across the counter and clamped a strawberry-sticky hand over Clarke’s mouth. “Don’t. Please don’t continue that sentence.”

Clarke grinned against her palm, eyes sparkling. “Let’s just say,” she mumbled, pulling back, “there was some surrendering happening.”

Lexa groaned. “Nope. I’m done. Breakfast is canceled.”

Before Clarke could fire back, the soft patter of feet on hardwood interrupted them. Madi padded into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, hair tousled from sleep. Aden trailed behind her, alert but frowning slightly.

“Who surrendered?” he asked, gaze bouncing between them with suspicious curiosity.

Lexa didn’t miss a beat. She straightened, wiped her hands on a towel, and said, “The Trojans.”

Aden blinked. “Who?”

“The Trojans,” Lexa repeated, completely serious. “They let a giant wooden horse into their city, and that was pretty much the end of that.”

Madi climbed onto a stool, still squinting sleepily. “Why would they let a giant horse in? Wait, was it a rocking horse?”

Clarke turned from the stove, trying not to laugh. “No it wasn’t. They thought it was a gift.”

“It was not a gift,” Lexa added.

Aden frowned, tilting his head. “Why would they surrender to a giant wooden horse?”

“Not to the horse itself,” Lexa clarified, setting down her knife. “There were people in the horse, who snuck out when the Trojans were asleep and opened the city gates.”

Aden’s eyes widened. “That’s cheating.”

“It’s strategy,” Lexa said. “But yes. Also kind of cheating.”

Madi wrinkled her nose. “That’s so sneaky. I would’ve heard them.”

Clarke smiled. “You say that now. But I’ve seen you sleep through a thunderstorm and a cat fight.”

Aden leaned over to Clarke. “Did the Trojans ever get revenge?”

Clarke passed him a plate. “Nope. That was kind of the end of their story.”

Madi’s brows furrowed. “So… don’t accept weird gifts. Got it.”

Lexa smirked. “Especially if it comes from someone who’s been trying to destroy you.”

The kids launched into a spirited debate about what they would’ve done instead: fire, traps, underground escape tunnels.

Clarke glanced at Lexa, her voice low. “Good save.”

Lexa smirked without looking up. “You’re welcome.”

Clarke turned back to the table, brushing crumbs from her hands. “Hey,” she said casually, “do you two want to go to the park after breakfast? It’s supposed to be nice out.”

Madi perked up immediately. “Can we bring the scooters?”

Clarke nodded. “Of course.”

But Aden hesitated, his brow furrowing as he glanced at Lexa. “Isn’t Mommy picking me up?”

Lexa’s hands stilled for a beat. She looked over at him, her voice calm. “No, not today. We talked about that, remember? She’s picking you up tomorrow.”

Aden’s expression shifted, more puzzled than upset. “Oh. Okay.”

Clarke offered him a gentle smile. “We’ll pack snacks. You can race Madi down the hill again.”

Madi leaned across the table. “I always win.”

Aden scoffed. “Only ‘cause you cheat.”

***

At the park, the kids spotted a playground and immediately dashed toward it. Clarke and Lexa settled on a nearby bench as the late morning sun filtered through the trees. They watched Madi and Aden take turns on the flying fox, landing with soft thuds in the sand and laughing like it was the best part of their day.

A cool breeze drifted past. Lexa held Clarke’s hand between both of hers, her thumb brushing slow circles over Clarke’s knuckles.

Clarke broke the silence. “So… Chad. That was a whole thing.”

Lexa nodded. “Cos was supposed to pick Aden up today, but she asked if I could keep him instead. Chad had ‘plans’ with her. I told her Aden would be disappointed, and he actually said—” Her jaw clenched. “‘Kids always want your time, but they’ve gotta learn the world doesn’t revolve around them, right?’”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “He actually said that? About Aden?”

Lexa’s voice dropped, simmering with anger. “I wanted to put his head through a wall. Nobody talks about my kid like that. I honestly don’t know what Costia sees in him.”

Clarke’s expression softened with quiet understanding. “That’s really unfair to Aden. He deserves so much better than that.”

She gave Lexa’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re doing everything you can for him. He knows that. And that means the world.”

Lexa’s shoulders relaxed a little.

Clarke added gently, “If Costia can’t see it yet, she will. And we’ll be here, no matter what.”

Lexa shifted, a small smile tugging at her lips. “So, the birthday went pretty well. I was worried having teachers at the party might kill the mood.”

Clarke smiled, a playful glint in her eye. “Teachers at a party? Trust me, I’ve seen worse ways to kill a mood. Besides, everyone needed a little structure after last night. Maybe some student-teacher roleplaying.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk forming. “Where is your mind going with that?”

Clarke shrugged, grinning. “Hey, I said roleplaying, didn’t say who was playing who.”

She laughed. “Murphy looked like he was about to shit his pants when you glared at him during beer pong.”

Lexa smirked. “Glad to know I still have that effect... on some.”

Clarke smiled softly. “I’m glad he found Emori. She’s good for him.”

Clarke glanced toward the playground before speaking again. “Hey… can I ask you something?”

Lexa met her gaze. “Of course.”

Clarke’s brows drew slightly together. “Yesterday, during the cake cutting, I felt like you pulled away. Did something happen?”

Lexa stilled. She didn’t want to bring up her insecurities, so she did what she always did — she deflected. “No… I was just tired. It was loud, and I think all the people and noise hit me at once.” She gave a small shrug. “Big party, lots of energy. Honestly, it was past my bedtime.”

Clarke studied her. She heard what wasn’t being said but let it go. She just nodded and leaned in, close enough to remind Lexa she was there.

Lexa started to say something easy, something safe, then caught herself. She owed Clarke more than that. “We promised to be honest with each other, right?”

Clarke nodded.

“I don’t want this to come out wrong,” Lexa said quietly. “And maybe it’s nothing. But… I think Wells might have feelings for you.”

Clarke blinked, caught off guard. “Wells?”

Lexa added quickly, “I know it sounds ridiculous. But when he brought out the cake, something I had planned to do, I felt… displaced. Like I was watching the two of you from the outside.” Her voice grew quieter. “It made me feel like I didn’t belong.”

Clarke frowned slightly, thinking. Then she reached for Lexa’s hand, lacing their fingers.

“It might not be in your head,” she said gently. “He asked me out once, when we were fifteen.” Lexa looked surprised.

Clarke continued, “I said yes. It was one of those awkward teen dates. He brought me to the movies, got us nachos, tried to hold my hand halfway through a horror trailer.” She gave a small laugh. “It was sweet, but by the end of the night, I realized I didn’t feel that way. He was just Wells. My best friend. Like the brother I never had. So I let him down gently.”

She paused. “I really thought he’d moved past it.”

Clarke looked back at her. “You know I wouldn’t do anything to encourage him, right?”

“I know,” Lexa said. “You don’t have to. You’re like a mermaid’s siren call to lost sailors. Would be hard for someone to get over you.”

Clarke smiled. “That might be the most dramatic compliment I’ve ever received.”

“It’s still true.”

“Well… Finn got over me.”

Lexa’s voice was quiet but certain. “I don’t think Finn ever understood what he had. If he did, he wouldn’t have thrown it away.”

Clarke looked at her for a beat, warmth rising behind her eyes. “You really know how to flatter a girl.”

Lexa’s thumb swept over her knuckles again. “Trust me. I speak from experience.”

They sat in comfortable silence, the playground noise filling the air. Then Lexa said quietly, “I didn’t say anything last night because I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Clarke squeezed her fingers. “You could’ve told me. Even if it felt silly.”

Lexa gave a sheepish look. “Brooding at cake time wasn’t exactly part of the plan.”

Clarke laughed softly and leaned in, pressing her forehead gently to Lexa’s.

“If Wells does have feelings, that’s his to sort out. I’m here. I’m yours. Nothing about yesterday changed that.”

Lexa nodded, tension easing from her shoulders. “I know. I just needed to hear it.”

“Then I’ll keep saying it,” Clarke murmured. “As many times as you need.”

Before Lexa could reply, the kids came running back, flushed from the wind.

“Let’s go… it’s getting cold,” Madi said, hugging her arms. “Can we go to The Cozy Cone for waffles with ice cream?”

Clarke raised a brow. “Ice cream? You just said it’s cold.”

Madi grinned. “But waffles are warm.”

Aden chimed in, eyes bright. “We can get hot chocolate with lots of whipped cream.”

Lexa smiled. “That sounds fair.”

Clarke stood, brushing crumbs from her lap. “Alright. Waffles, ice cream, and hot chocolate it is.”

Madi and Aden cheered and raced ahead.

Lexa reached for Clarke’s hand as they followed, fingers interlacing naturally. They walked close, steady, their kids leading the way to the ice cream shop.

*****

Raven groaned against the pillow, wrists cuffed behind her back, fur warm and soft against her skin. She knelt, forehead resting on the headboard, breath ragged and uneven. Her patience thinned to a teasing edge, fierce, urgent, and waiting to snap.

“Stop teasing me, Officer,” she muttered, “I swear to God, if you keep doing that and don’t follow through—”

Anya dragged a slow finger down the center of her spine. “Then what?” she asked, voice low and unbothered. “You’ll arrest me?”

“You’ve been teasing me all afternoon.”

Anya leaned in closer. “That’s because I’m enjoying the view.”

Raven twisted just enough to shoot her a glare. “You’ve read me my rights three times and I’ve been up against this headboard for twenty minutes.”

Anya smirked, one knee pressing into the mattress. “Correction. You’ve been resisting arrest for twenty minutes. If you had just complied—”

“Complied?” Raven scoffed. “My hands are cuffed.”

“Exactly. And yet you’re still mouthing off.”

Anya leaned in closer, her voice a low purr. "I can think of a few other ways that mouth could be occupied right now." Her touch, a brush against Raven's skin, sent a jolt through her.

Raven groaned, half in protest, half in want. She opened her mouth to snap back, but her gaze flicked toward the clock.

She froze.

Her head snapped up. “Oh fuck.”

“We’ll get there,” Anya murmured, still in character.

Raven twisted hard, eyes narrowing at the numbers. When they registered, her whole body tensed.

“Anya. Unlock. Me. Now.”

“It’s Officer,” she growled. “And you’re still under arrest.”

“I’m serious. Uncuff me.”

Anya barely raised a brow. “That’s going to cost you.”

“Red. Red. Red.”

Anya dropped the act instantly. “What? What’s wrong?”

Raven yanked her wrists forward as soon as the lock clicked open. “I need to go. I’m going to miss my flight. I was supposed to leave ten minutes ago.”

She scrambled to her feet, already scanning the room. Clothes hit the floor as she hunted for her jeans. One boot went on, then came off again when she couldn’t find a sock. She muttered under her breath, half curses, half complaints about being left unsatisfied.

“I haven’t even packed. Why didn’t you tell me the time?”

“You looked at the clock an hour ago.”

“Yeah, and then you sat on me.”

Anya folded her arms, deadpan. “You didn’t exactly complain.”

Raven pointed at her with the sock. “Because I didn’t know the time then.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, still muttering about chargers, security lines and being all winded up. Anya sighed, pulling on pants and locating her own shirt.

When Raven reemerged, hair tied up and bag half-zipped, Anya grabbed her keys.

“Come on. I’ll drop you off.”

They walked out together, the sun hanging low and hot over the street. Raven tossed her bag into the trunk with a soft grunt, then leaned against the car for a second, gaze flicking back toward the apartment.

“Kind of a shitty way to end an otherwise mind-blowing weekend,” she said, voice casual but not joking.

Anya slipped her hands into her pockets, a faint smirk touching her lips as she met Raven's gaze. “Then don’t end it.”

Raven raised an eyebrow as she opened the passenger door. “You offering to drive me to DC?”

Anya met her gaze. “Call me after security. Find a quiet corner.”

Raven laughed, shaking her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I really don’t want to get arrested for real, for public indecency.”

Anya stepped around to the driver’s side. “Coward.”

“Realist.”

They got in. The car doors shut with a dull click, and the engine turned over like it had no idea what it was interrupting.

As Anya pulled out of the parking lot, her lips twitched. She kept her eyes on the road, but a small, wicked snicker slipped out.

“What?” Raven asked, side-eyeing her.

“Nothing,” Anya said innocently, but her grin betrayed her.

Raven narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

Anya only raised the volume on the radio.

*****

After The Cozy Cone, where the kids devoured waffles, ice cream, and grilled cheese sandwiches bigger than their faces, they made a quick stop at Collins Prestige Autos. The dealership was quiet, as most people were still comatose on leftover turkey from Thanksgiving weekend. Finn met them at the side entrance, waving them in like VIP guests.

Clarke barely got a word out before Madi ran up to him.

“Ready for our top secret project?” he said with a conspiratorial grin.

Madi nodded solemnly, eyes bright.

Clarke raised a brow. “She’s been doing that face since dessert. I’m assuming you put her up to this.”

Finn held up his hands. “Guilty. But I promise she’ll be back in one piece.”

Clarke crouched by the trunk, popping it open to grab the spare booster seat. “Just bring her back after dinner.”

Finn reached out to stop her. “No need for the booster.”

Clarke groans. “Not this again, Collins.”

“Calm down,” Finn said, already unlocking his car. “I finally got one. Brand new. Still has that new plastic smell.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “You sure?”

Finn smirked. “You want to come sniff it?”

Madi giggled. Clarke rolled her eyes but relented, handing over Madi’s water bottle instead.

“No sugar after six,” she warned.

“Aye aye, Captain!” Finn gave a mock salute.

Madi turned and shooed them off, arms flapping dramatically like she was herding geese. “Go! Shoo! It’s top secret, remember?”

Aden waved cheerfully from beside the display window. “Bye!”

Clarke lingered for a moment, watching Madi whisper something to Finn with exaggerated stealth. She sighed with a smile. “That face is going to be the end of me.”

Lexa leaned in just enough for her voice to be low. “We’ll get it out of her eventually.”

Clarke snorted. “Bribery. Bribery always works.”

Lexa shook her head. “If waffles and ice cream didn’t work, I’m not sure what else would have.”

Clarke sighed again, more fond this time. “We’ll figure it out.”

They walked back toward the car, fingers brushing, while behind them, Madi and Finn ducked behind a showroom vehicle like they were planning a heist.

“Oh! Wait!” Finn called out, jogging toward them. “Almost forgot.”

He held out a small package wrapped in what looked suspiciously like leftover dealership promo paper. A too-short strip of ribbon was taped crookedly on one corner.

Clarke blinked. “What... is this?”

“Relax. It’s not a bribe,” he said, holding it out. “Just a belated birthday thing. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the party.”

Clarke held the package carefully. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” Finn said. “But I wanted to.”

She looked up, and for a second, the old familiarity passed between them.

“Thanks, Finn. This was thoughtful.”

“Happy birthday,” he said, quieter now. “Really.”

Lexa stepped in, close enough for Clarke to feel her presence without breaking the moment. Finn gave them both a brief nod, then turned back toward Madi, who was now perched at the office desk, brow furrowed in deep concentration as she scribbled something onto a sheet of paper.

Clarke looked down at the awkward little package in her hands, then tucked it under her arm. “Should I be afraid to open this?”

Lexa smirked. “Yes.”

Clarke sighed. “Fantastic.”

On the drive home, Clarke sat with the box resting on her lap, fingers absently picking at the tape as trees blurred past the window. Eventually, she peeled the last corner free and lifted the lid.

Inside, cushioned by a single crumpled sheet of dealership invoice paper, was a white ceramic mug. It was pink and glittery, a crown above the G, with sparkly cursive lettering that read:

“Princess Griffin”

Clarke groaned. “This is going to haunt me till the day I die isn’t it?”

Lexa glanced over, a half-smile tugging at her mouth. “It’s a very Finn gift.”

Clarke turned the mug in her hands, thumbs brushing the handle. “Yeah. It really is.”

There was something oddly endearing about it — the mug, the lopsided wrapping, the way he’d waited until the last second to give it to her. He wasn’t always great at expressing things, but she could tell he was trying. Not just with the gift. With Madi. With everything.

And for the first time in a long while, she actually believed it.

She set the mug carefully back in the box, letting out a breath. “He’s trying.”

Lexa didn’t look over, but her voice was quiet. “I noticed.”

Clarke rested her head against the window, still smiling. “Let’s just hope he never tries wrapping anything ever again.”

She pulled out her phone, snapped a picture of the mug, and sent it to Wells.

Clarke:
Did you put Collins up to this?

A few seconds later, Wells replied with a gif of a glittering crown being placed dramatically onto a little girl’s head.

Wells:

Clarke muttered under her breath, “Traitor.”

Lexa glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. She squeezed Clarke’s hand, quietly showing she was there and on her side.

*****

Night had settled quietly around her. Anya was lazing in bed on crisp, fresh sheets, one leg hooked over the blanket, phone balanced on her chest when the ping came through.

Raven:
You absolute menace!
TSA opened my bag
And guess what was right on top?
A PURPLE FUCKING VIBRATOR
In front of everyone. Including an elderly couple who would not stop tsking.
I hate you.

Anya snorted, full-out laughing now, shoulders shaking as she grinned at her screen. She thumbed out a reply.

Anya:
Yup that’s what it’s for. fucking.
Thought you needed some help finishing 😊
A winded up birdy in a confine plane, not a good idea 
Or did you join the mile-high club? 😉

Raven:
You’re lucky I’m in a different time zone.

Anya:
Consider it a farewell gift.
Something to remember me by 😘

Anya locked her phone and let it fall beside her, still smiling as she thought about the wild weekend they’d had. It was a pity Raven lived all the way out in DC. If things were different, if she lived closer, maybe this could have worked out otherwise.

Then again, maybe not. Anya’s luck with relationships had never exactly been stellar. Short flings and fleeting sparks were more her speed. She’d built a life she liked, one that fit just right. It’s hard to be convinced out of singledom for anything less than extraordinary.

Chapter Text

The coffee machine sputtered weakly in the corner, its groan echoing the sluggish mood of the room. Teachers filtered in with half-full mugs and even more halfhearted greetings, their movements slow and laden with the lingering post-Thanksgiving haze.

Lexa stepped into the lounge just in time to see Clarke drop her bag onto the table and sink into a chair like gravity had doubled overnight.

Her hair was tied up in a lopsided bun, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, scarf slipping off one shoulder. She looked like someone who had fought sleep and lost.

Lexa crossed over, brow creasing. “What happened between last night and this morning? You look like you spent the night hunting an invisible mouse.”

Clarke didn’t look up. Instead, she dug into her bag and produced a crumpled envelope, sliding it across the table with a grim kind of finality.

Lexa picked it up and skimmed the heading.
NOTICE OF TERMINATION OF TENANCY

Her stomach dropped.

Lexa straightened, her brow furrowing. “Is that—”

“Eviction notice,” Clarke said, voice flat. “Happy Holidays, right?”

Lexa picked up the paper, scanning it quickly. “One month?”

Clarke rubbed her eyes, voice dry. “Whole building’s being sold. We’ve got until New Year’s to be out.”

Lexa looked back at her, a thread of quiet anger in her voice. “That’s barely any time.”

“I know.” Clarke pressed her fingers to her temple. “Madi was just starting to settle there. Her room finally felt like hers. And now we’re back to square one.”

She laughed once, sharp and humorless. “I’ve already seen six listings and three of them had the audacity to ask for five-figure deposits. Who has that just lying around?”

Lexa reached out, resting her hand gently on Clarke’s. “I’m so sorry.”

Clarke gave a shrug, like she was trying to brush it off. “It is what it is. I just… didn’t expect to spend the last month of the year stress-scrolling rental apps and packing my life into boxes during the worst time of year, with basically no savings because substitute contracts don’t cover winter break. Rent’s gone up, deposits are ridiculous, Madi’s going to have to switch bedrooms again… and on top of all that, my exhibit’s not even halfway done and I still can’t decide if anything I’ve made is even worth showing.””

She huffed a bitter laugh. “Apparently I can’t multitask adulthood.”

Lexa’s thumb rubbed lightly across Clarke’s knuckles. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

Clarke gave her a look, wry but soft. “You offering to carry a third of my moving boxes?”

“I’m offering to carry however much you need me to.”

Clarke hesitated, visibly trying not to let the weight of it all crack through. “I just… I thought I’d finally caught my breath. And now it’s like everything’s slipping again.”

Lexa reached out, her hand closing over Clarke’s. “Then I’ll help you steady it.”

Clarke didn’t answer right away, but her fingers curled into Lexa’s with quiet gratitude.

The warning bell rang, echoing down the hallways with its familiar brrring.

Clarke sighed, standing reluctantly. “Back to pretending I’m a functioning adult.”

Lexa glanced toward the door, then leaned in just enough to lower her voice. “Clarke… your shirt’s inside out.”

Clarke looked down, blinked, then groaned. “Oh my god.”

She scrubbed a hand over her face. “I’m gonna be late for first period.”

Lexa gave her a sympathetic smile, nudging her gently toward the door. “Come on. Let’s survive Monday first.”

They slipped out of the lounge together, parting ways at the corner with tired waves as they headed for their respective classrooms.

***

Clarke saw the clip before she even knew it had gone viral. Bellamy had texted her the link with a laughing emoji and a “Your kid’s famous now?” caption. She’d clicked it expecting something minor. Instead, she found herself watching a clip from the local news.

“Check out this cute little video that has been driving the internet crazy,” the anchor said, the screen behind her already transitioning to the clip. “You’ve heard of car commercials… but not like this.”

The footage cut to golden afternoon light and a gleaming yellow Chevrolet Camaro, black racing stripes glinting under the sun. Standing proudly beside it was Madi.

Clarke blinked. “Wait, is that—”

The video started.

It was.

Madi grinned into the camera, holding a toy Bumblebee in one hand. “Hey guys! Check out this 2019 Chevy Camaro A.K.A., the real-life Bumblebee! Look at those black stripes! This car doesn’t just look fast… it sounds like thunder when you start it up!”

She made a dramatic vroom, full action-hero energy, and the camera cut to stylized angles of the car as the engine revved.

“But wait! There’s more!”

The shot jumped to her flinging open the passenger door and gesturing at the interior like a pint-sized salesperson. “Check this out. The cupholders? They’re huge. Like, I can fit my jumbo slushie and a snack cup of Goldfish… AT THE SAME TIME! No juggling required. Grown-ups never talk about that, but it’s important!”

She climbed into the front seat, feet dangling inches above the floor. “Also, this seat? It heats up. So when you’re on your way to school and it’s freezing, your butt gets toasty. Instant mood boost. Science.”

Cut to Madi reaching for the rearview mirror, her face mock-serious. “And if you’re spying on your little brother in the back seat? This mirror sees everything. Zero sneakiness allowed.”

She ended with a wide grin and a wink to the camera. “Basically, this car’s got speed, snacks, and surveillance. What else do you even need?”

Peace sign. Hop out. One last line shouted with glee: “Catch ya later, speedsters! Don’t forget to like, follow, and ask your grown-up if they’re cool enough to drive Bumblebee!”

The video ended with her giving the car a loving pat before skipping offscreen, sunlight flaring behind her like she’d just wrapped a Marvel shoot, the Collins Prestige Auto logo and dealership details fading in right after.

Back in the studio, the anchor laughed.

“I mean, come on. Speed, snacks, and surveillance? Somebody sign this kid. That video’s already been viewed over ten thousand times since yesterday and picked up by multiple auto blogs. She might be the youngest car influencer on the internet, and possibly the most entertaining.”

Clarke found herself laughing before the clip was even halfway through, especially at the “speed, snacks, and surveillance” line. That was so Madi. The oversized slushie bit, the mock-serious face, the Bumblebee roar—it was all Madi. Smart, silly and full of flair.

But when the logo flashed across the screen: Collins Prestige Auto, stamped in the corner like a watermark, Clarke’s stomach gave a quiet twist.

Because yes, it was adorable.
And yes, it was harmless on the surface.
But it was also a kid — their kid — being used to sell cars.
What was Finn thinking?

She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or call Finn.

Maybe all three.

Filming Madi wasn’t the issue. Clarke had a cloud folder full of home videos Madi had begged to make: science demos, fake vlogs, doll unboxings. But those were private. This? This was a grey line. And Clarke could feel herself toeing it in real time.

She still wasn’t angry with Finn, but she was feeling protective. Madi’s joy shouldn’t be anyone else’s marketing strategy.

Before Clarke could even reach for her phone, Madi bounded into the room, having heard herself on the video. She was flushed and buzzing with excitement.

“Did you see it? Did you like the surprise? My teacher saw the video! And someone at the supermarket called me Bumblebee girl!”

Clarke crouched down and gently cupped her daughter’s face.

“You were amazing, bug,” she said honestly. “But next time you’re doing a project like that, I want to know before the internet does, okay?”

Madi’s smile wavered. “But it was a surprise.”

Clarke softened. “It was a great one. But you’re still a kid. And it’s my job to protect you.”

Madi blinked, then nodded slowly. “Okay. Next time I’ll tell you. But… you did like the video, right?”

Clarke grinned. “Loved it. Especially the part about the heated butt seat.”

That got a giggle.

Later that night, Clarke watched the video one more time. And this time, she smiled the whole way through.

Because yeah, Madi really was in her element.

And Clarke would protect that light with everything she had.

Clarke blinked, half impressed, half baffled. “How does your dad even know how to make a video like that?”

Madi beamed. “Wells helped us!”

Clarke blinked. “Wait… Wells helped you?”

Madi nodded eagerly. “Yeah! He was super cool about it. Said he took some media class in college and showed Dad how to shoot the angles and stuff. He even did the editing! We had so much fun!”

Clarke’s mouth tightened for half a second. Of course Wells would know what he was doing. And of course Finn would rope him in without saying a word.

She managed a steady, “That was nice of him.”

“Can I help Dad make more videos?” Madi asked, turning on her best puppy eyes.

Clarke raised a brow. “Let me talk to your dad first, okay?”

Madi gave a dramatic sigh but nodded. “Fine. But I already have ideas.”

Of course she did. Clarke could practically see them racing behind her daughter’s eyes.

But the unease lingered. It wasn't about Wells specifically; Clarke trusted him. It was the fact that no one had thought to loop her in. Her daughter had been filmed, edited, and shared online with the help of two grown men who apparently saw no issue in using an eight-year-old girl to sell a car.

It was one thing for a video to be seen by family and friends. It was another entirely for strangers to start recognizing Madi’s face.

Clarke glanced at Madi and gave her a soft smile. “Grab your water bottle. We’re going to look at a couple of apartment units.”

Madi’s brow furrowed. “Do we really have to move?”

Clarke knelt down to meet her eyes. “Sorry, bug. I know this is hard. I know you love your room. But we can’t stay here much longer.”

***

The apartments they’d viewed earlier were a bust. One agent wanted someone who could move in immediately, no exceptions. The other place was way beyond Clarke’s budget, too expensive for what it was.

Back at Clarke’s apartment, the kids sat at the kitchen table, heads bent over their homework, pencils scratching quietly against paper. Lexa was at the stove, stirring a pot and carefully seasoning dinner. Clarke stood nearby by the counter, scrolling through her phone with a tight jaw. She let out a frustrated sigh, her thumb jabbing the screen repeatedly.

Lexa glanced over her shoulder. “No luck?”

Clarke let her phone fall onto the counter with a dull thud. “Every decent listing I save is gone in a day. And the rest? Either sketchy or priced like I’m looking at a luxury penthouse.”

Lexa set down her spoon. “That bad?”

“It’s ridiculous. I’ve still got a few weeks, but apparently, so does everyone else in the city.” She crossed her arms and leaned back. “New job contracts, people relocating for January. I called one place and the agent literally said, ‘We’re prioritizing people who can move in before the new year.’”

Lexa frowned. “That’s not even legal if your lease runs until the end of the month.”

“I know,” Clarke muttered. “But they don’t care. They know someone desperate will pay.” She rubbed her forehead. “I just… I didn’t expect to be thrown back into this mess. Especially not during the holidays.”

Lexa turned off the stove and walked over, gently touching Clarke’s arm. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this on your own.”

Clarke looked at her, trying to keep her frustration at bay. “I’m fine. I’ll figure it out. I just… hate feeling like I’m scrambling.”

Lexa nodded slowly, weighing her words. “Then let me help. Even if it’s just going through listings. We’ll figure it out together.”

***

Clarke had just put Madi to bed, the apartment finally quiet. She hovered by the kitchen counter, phone in hand, then sighed and dialed Finn’s number.

It barely rang before he picked up, his voice bursting with excitement. “Clarke! Did you see the video? Engagement on our IG account is through the roof! Our lot hasn’t seen this many customers in ages. We even closed two sales today. Two! It took us two weeks to do two sales last month.”

Clarke chuckled. “Maybe you need to start paying Madi a consulting fee.”

“Honestly? She might deserve one. She came up with most of the script. We just helped polish it”

“She is pretty great,” Clarke said, a smile tugging at her lips. “And hey, congrats. It sounds like the place is finally getting some traction.”

“Yeah! I’m telling you, this could really turn things around.”

There was a beat of comfortable silence before Finn added, “Oh yeah, I transferred the child support I owed you. Let me know if you got it.”

“I’ll check. Thanks, Finn.”

She hesitated, then softened her voice. “Listen, I’m glad things are picking up. Really. But Finn, we need to be careful with how Madi’s involved. She’s still a kid. We’ve got to be careful.”

He paused. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. No more surprises.” Then he chuckled. “This whole thing was Madi’s idea. I guess she’s watched too many of those videos online. You know me, I wouldn’t be able to come up with something like this.”

Clarke exhaled, still gentle. “I know. And I’m glad it’s working. Just… next time, let me know first. We’ve got to be careful about what’s out there with her name and face on it.”

“Got it,” he said, tone more serious now. “Really.”

Clarke hung up, staring at the screen for a moment. Balancing Madi’s excitement with the need to shield her was going to be tricky. But they'd figure it out. Somehow.

*****

Costia hadn’t stopped thinking about how disappointed Aden had looked when she told him she couldn’t make the weekend. She’d promised more time together, just the three of them, and she didn’t intend to break that promise again. No more rain checks. No more last-minute plans with Chad. Tonight was for Aden. She missed him.

She barely made it up the walkway before the front door flew open.

“Mom! You’re just in time for dinner!” Aden barreled into her arms, beaming. “We made shepherd’s pie. I helped mash the potatoes!”

Costia laughed, catching him in a tight hug and spinning him once, his laughter echoing through the entryway. As she twirled him, her shirt lifted slightly, revealing a glimpse of bare skin along her back.

Lexa stood a few steps away, a towel slung over her shoulder, damp curls brushing the collar of her sweater. Her face lit up at the reunion, a soft smile tugging at her mouth. Then it faltered. Her gaze caught on a dark bruise just above the waistband of Costia’s pants.

“What happened there?”

“Oh, that?” Costia gave a quick shrug, her smile light, just a little too practiced. “You know me. Clumsy. Slipped in the shower. Tile floors and wet feet, not a great mix.”

Aden tugged at her hand, already dragging her toward the table. “Come! Sit!”

“Alright, mister.” She turned back to Lexa with a small nod. “I’m fine. Really.”

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Lexa said, half-chiding, half-worried.

Costia waved a hand, still smiling. “Come on, you’ve seen me. Grace of a newborn giraffe.”

It was true. Costia had always been clumsy, often finding bruises she couldn’t explain. She used to joke that her masseuse once pulled her aside, gently concerned and convinced she was in trouble, then shot Lexa a sharp look when she joined Costia after. Lexa had been completely confused until Costia explained.

She slipped easily into her seat, ruffling Aden’s hair as she settled beside him. “You would’ve loved this place we stopped at, baby. It’s called Cadillac Ranch. Picture this: ten old Cadillacs buried nose-first in the ground, like giant metal crayons sticking out of the dirt.”

Aden blinked. “Wait, what? Like actual cars?”

“Actual cars.” She grinned, reaching for her water. “All lined up in a row. People bring spray paint and tag them. It’s a total mess in the best way.”

“That sounds awesome!” Aden’s eyes lit up. “Did you paint something?”

“I did.” She leaned in like she was telling a secret. “I wrote your name in big blue letters across the hood of a pink one.”

“No way,” he said, grinning. “That’s so cool. Did you take a picture?”

“Of course. I’ll show you after dinner.”

“And then,” she went on, “we passed through this tiny town with a park full of massive totem poles. One of them looked like a dragon swallowing a man. I swear.”

Aden gasped. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious. I took a video for you. Figured you’d want to draw it later.”

He practically bounced in his seat. “Can we watch it after dessert?”

“Absolutely.”

Across the table, Lexa’s fork hovered in midair. The brightness in Costia’s eyes, the ease in her voice. She remembered the way Costia used to talk about driving Route 66. One of those someday things they never got around to when Aden was little. Life had been too full back then with routines, nap schedules, stacks of late-night grading.

And now, here she was, finally doing it. Lexa’s chest tightened, but not in a bad way. Just a quiet sort of ache. She was glad Costia had gone. Glad she got to see something she’d always dreamed about.

“That’s wicked!” Aden exclaimed, eyes wide as he flipped through the videos on her phone. “I wish I could’ve gone.”

“Next time, bud,” Costia said softly. “Next time I’ll bring you for sure.”

The promise came easy, but her eyes lingered on him a moment too long, like she was already missing him again.

***

Fall semester was over, and so was Clarke’s job. She finally had time to deal with... everything. But somehow, the last two weeks had still been nothing but frustrating.

Clarke slumped onto Lexa’s couch, one leg curled beneath her, the other dangling off the edge. Her laptop rested on her thighs, open to a screen littered with red “Application Closed” banners and half-loaded rental listings.

Lexa padded in from the kitchen and handed her a mug. “Chamomile. Thought it might help you resist throwing your laptop out the window.”

Clarke gave a wry smile. “Too late. I already fantasized about punting it off the balcony.”

She took the mug, breathing in the steam. “I emailed six places yesterday. Three said they’d already leased. One just ghosted me. The other two told me they’re prioritizing people who can move in immediately.”

Lexa sat beside her, tucking one leg up. “You still have time.”

“I know,” Clarke said quietly. “It’s just… everything feels tight. Like the city’s closing in.”

She glanced at Lexa. “And I hate the idea of dragging Madi through some last-minute scramble. She deserves better.”

Lexa was quiet for a moment. Then gently, “You know there’s space here, right?”

Clarke blinked. “You mean—?”

“I’m not saying you have to,” Lexa said quickly. “Or that you should rush. You’ve got time to figure it out. But if you don’t want to keep refreshing listings until midnight… the offer’s open. For as long as you need.”

Clarke stared at her, the weight of the past few days softening in her chest. “You’d really be okay with that?”

“With you?” Lexa said softly. “And Madi? Of course.”

Clarke settled back against the couch, taking a slow sip of chamomile. “I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Aden and Madi go to the same school. We could carpool in the mornings. You could drop both of them off before you head to school. They’re already here half the time anyway.”

Lexa smiled softly. “Exactly. It’d be easier. Less running around for all of us.”

Clarke hesitated, brows knitting. “What about Costia? Do you think she’d be okay with that?”

Lexa’s smile shifted, careful now, measured. “She doesn’t really have a say in this. But honestly? She’s fine with you. You’re… Costia-approved, for Aden.”

Clarke blinked, surprised. “You’ve talked to her?”

Lexa nodded. “More or less. She knows this isn’t about replacing anything. It’s just… life moving forward. For all of us.”

Clarke bit her lip, then asked quietly, “Are we moving too fast?”

Lexa shook her head, reaching out to squeeze Clarke’s hand. “I’m not offering because you’re being evicted. I did think about that, of course. But I was afraid you’d think it was too soon. And hey,” she added with a smirk, “maybe we’re just fulfilling the lesbians u-hauling stereotype. We just need to get you some flannels and Calvin Klein underwear to seal the deal.”

Clarke laughed despite herself, the tension easing. “I’m bi... Besides, you don’t even wear flannels or Calvin Klein underwear.”

“What can I say? I’m one of a kind.” Lexa grinned. “So I guess we’re only ticking one box on the lesbian bingo card. That’s progress.”

Clarke glanced toward the kitchen where Madi and Aden were quietly working on homework at the table. “Is this going to make things weird at dinner when Cos is over?”

Lexa reached over, brushing a stray hair behind Clarke’s ear. “Hey, we’re all friends, right? Just moving into a new normal.”

Clarke let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, a tentative smile creeping back. “Yeah. New normal. I like the sound of that.”

Clarke exhaled, feeling for the first time in days like she could finally breathe. “I don’t want to impose,” she said quietly, “but… if I can’t find anything in the next week, I’m seriously considering it.”

“No pressure,” Lexa murmured. “Just know… you’ve got a home here. If you want it.”

Chapter Text

“Hello?”

“Anya,” Costia whispered, voice barely audible. “I think I fucked up. I don’t know how to get out of this. I didn’t know who else to call. I’m scared.”

Anya’s voice was calm but urgent. “What’s going on, Cos? Where are you? Are you safe?”

“In the bathroom. He’s trying to break down the door.” Costia’s breath hitched. “I’ve already called 911, but I’m scared he’ll get in. I don’t know what he might do.”

“Stay on the line,” Anya said. “I’m coming. Just stay locked in there, okay? Keep talking to me.”

Costia nodded, even though Anya couldn’t see her. “Okay,” she whispered.

The pounding had been going on for minutes now, each heavy thud rattling the frame like it might splinter apart. Costia sat pressed against the cold bathroom wall, her whole body trembling. Chad hadn’t stopped.

“Open the goddamn door now, or I swear I’ll break it down and you’ll regret it,” his enraged slurs a muffled roar through the wood. The threats kept tumbling, rage boiling over.

“I’m on my way. Just breathe, Cos. You’re doing so well.” Anya’s voice was steady in her ear, a thread of calm against the storm outside.

Costia clutched the phone tight to her ear, fingers cramping from the grip, as if letting go would unravel her completely. Her back pressed against the cold tile, knees drawn up. “I don’t know how long the door will hold,” she whispered, barely audible over the pounding.

Her heart pounded furiously as she sped toward Costia’s, one hand clenched around the wheel, the other keeping the call connected.

“I think he’s gone,” Costia whispered a moment later, breath hitching. “It’s quiet outside.”

Anya’s voice stayed steady, trying to ground her. “Stay where you are, Cos. I’m almost there.”

When she finally pulled into the lot, relief hit her like a wave. Chad’s car was gone. A police cruiser stood outside, its lights casting sharp blue flashes across the building.

“I see the cops,” Anya said. “They’re here. It’s almost over. You’re safe now.”

She kept Costia on the line, her voice reassuring. “I’m on my way up. Looks like Chad left, I didn’t see his car.”

Down the hall, two officers were knocking gently on Costia’s door. “Police. We're here regarding the call. Please open up,” one called out.

Costia’s voice came from behind it, shaky but relieved. “Thank god.”

Anya moved to rush forward, but one officer held out a hand. “Hang on. Who are you?”

“I’m her friend. She called me.”

Costia opened the door a crack. “It’s okay. She’s with me.”

The officer gave a quick nod and stepped aside.

Anya was through the door in an instant. But when she saw Costia, she froze. Costia stood just inside, her cheek swollen, a nasty cut beneath her eye, dried blood caked on her skin. The sight hit Anya like a punch to the chest.

Two officers stepped inside, eyes sharp but voices calm as they introduced themselves. One moved through the apartment, checking the corners, closets, and windows in a quick but thorough sweep to ensure the threat was truly gone. Only when they were sure it was safe did the tension in the room begin to ease, if only slightly.

A female officer approached Costia gently. “I’m going to need to take some photos for the report. Is that alright?”

Costia gave a small nod, too dazed to find her voice.

The officer led her into the bedroom, away from the harsh light of the living room. She guided Costia to sit on the edge of the bed, then crouched to eye level, raising her phone with slow, respectful movements.

A soft digital click filled the room as the officer began documenting the injuries — the swelling on her cheek, the blood-crusted cut beneath her eye, the ugly bruises along her ribs and hips, some fresh, some already beginning to fade. Costia sat still, silent and stiff, her arms crossed tightly over her midsection like she could hold herself together that way.

When they were done, she guided her gently back into the living room and began taking her statement. Their faces softened with sympathy as Costia recounted the ordeal in a quiet, measured voice.

Anya moved wordlessly into action. She retrieved the first aid kit from under the sink and knelt in front of Costia. “Hold still,” she murmured, already tearing open a packet of alcohol swabs. Her hands were steady, but her jaw was tight.

Costia flinched as Anya gently dabbed at the dried blood, hissing when the sting hit. “Sorry,” Anya whispered. “This needs to be cleaned.”

She cut steri-strips to size and carefully pressed them over the gash beneath Costia’s eye. Her hands were steady even as her jaw clenched, fury barely kept in check.

Then she pulled out the travel mug and brewed a cup of tea, placing it into Costia’s hands. “Sip,” she said softly. “It’ll help.”

Costia’s fingers wrapped around the warmth like it was the only thing tethering her to the room.

After finishing his notes, the officer looked up and asked gently, “Would you like to file for a restraining order?”

Costia hesitated, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. Anya squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “Whatever you decide, I’m here.”

Costia took a slow sip of the tea, her voice low. “I’m not sure right now. I need a moment to think.”

Anya looked at her with concern. “Where’s Aden?”

“At Lexa’s,” Costia said softly.

Anya urged her to pack her things. After thanking the officers and wrapping up the formalities, she turned to Costia. “You’re coming home with me. This place isn’t safe anymore.”

The drive back to Anya’s was quiet, the weight of the night settling heavily between them. Anya glanced over at Costia’s tense profile.

After a long pause, Costia finally spoke. “Please don’t tell Lexa. Not yet.”

Anya nodded gently. “Okay. When you’re ready.”

*****

The restaurant was small and candlelit, tucked between a wine bar and a secondhand bookstore Clarke had always meant to check out. It wasn’t the kind of place she would’ve picked, not lately, not with the wrong signals she was trying hard not to send, but Wells had suggested it and she hadn’t argued.

Now she leaned back in her seat, swirling the last of her wine as the soft clatter of silverware and low hum of conversation filled the air around them.

“I just, ugh, it’s ridiculous,” she said, setting her glass down. “They sent us a letter days after Thanksgiving. I have a week left before we have to move out permanently. Great Christmas present eh? Apparently the new owner wants to flip it.”

Wells winced. “That’s brutal. Do you have any leads yet?”

“Two. One has black mold and a broken fire escape. The other’s a shoebox with a stove.” Clarke blew out a breath.

Wells gave a low whistle, then leaned back. “If you need a place, you know I’ve got a spare room. Rent-free. Just until you get sorted.”

Clarke shook her head, smiling gently. “That’s sweet, but I don’t think that’d be a good idea. Going from a quiet house to one with a kid? It’s a whole other ball game.”

Wells reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “It doesn’t bug me.”

Clarke stilled.

Something in his voice had shifted. Too careful. Too soft.

She met his eyes, uncertain. “Wells…”

“I’m still in love with you.”

Her stomach dipped.

“I never stopped,” he said. “Even back in high school, when you were with Finn, I wanted to say something. I didn’t, and I regretted it. I should have. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently.”

He exhaled. “Then I figured going away for college, putting some distance between us… maybe the feelings would fade. But they didn’t. Not really.”

His gaze held hers. “I came back because I had to know. I needed to at least tell you. Let you know this was still an option. That I was.”

Clarke pulled her hand back, heart heavy.

“Wells, what are you doing?” she asked quietly. “You know I’m with Lexa.”

“I know.” He leaned back, not defensive, just open. “But I figured maybe, if you knew… you might have a change of heart. We’ve both grown. I’ve grown. This is me trying to show you the updated version: Wells 2.0.”

Clarke looked down at the table, then back up. Her voice was steady. Honest.

“Wells… you’ve always meant a lot to me, just… not like that. I care about you, and I don’t want this to change our friendship. But I need to be clear — my heart’s somewhere else .”

Wells nodded, jaw tightening for a moment. “Right. Yeah. I get it.”

“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” Clarke said gently. “But I’ve learned half-truths only lead to more pain.”

Silence hung between them, not cruel, just fragile.

“If this friendship is going to work,” she said finally, “it can’t be something you’re hoping will turn into something else. That’s not fair to either of us.”

Wells gave a small, almost sad smile. “Okay.”

Maybe he meant it. Maybe he didn’t. But Clarke knew it would hang in the air, something unspoken sitting between them. She hoped it would pass. She really did. But she also knew she had to be ready to walk away if it didn’t.

*****

Costia emerged from the guest bathroom wrapped in an oversized hoodie, hair still damp, a mug of tea in her hands. The soft lamplight in Anya’s living room cast a gentle warmth over everything — the folded blankets, the untouched TV, the quiet. She settled into the couch with a sigh.

“Thanks again,” she said quietly, pulling her legs under her. “I’m sorry for barging in like this.”

Anya glanced over from the armchair. “Hey,” she said gently. “You’re my friend. It’ll never be an intrusion, okay? I’m here for you.”

Costia looked down at her tea, thumb tracing the rim. “You know, I never had a boyfriend before.”

Anya stayed quiet, just listening.

“But there was just something about Chad that caught my eye that night,” Costia said. “Maybe his confidence, the boyish charm. He was charismatic and seemed to know exactly what to say. He asked me out and I said yes.”

She gave a short laugh. “Our first date felt like something out of a movie. He picked me up with flowers. Opened every door. Ordered for me. Paid for everything. It felt… romantic. Gentlemanly.”

Her smile faded.

“I didn’t see it for what it was. Not then. I only realized later that all of it, the control, the decisions made without asking, that was just the start.”

Anya shifted forward, her elbows on her knees, eyes steady.

“The first time he got violent, he was drunk. After Clarke’s birthday party.” Costia swallowed. “He gave a toast, remember? Something dramatic. I made a joke. Said people might think he organized the party himself.”

She paused, pressing the mug to her lips, but didn’t drink.

“He was quiet in the car. I thought he was just tired. But at home, he exploded. Said I embarrassed him. That I mocked him. Made him look small in front of people. I tried to calm him down. I put my hand on his arm, and he shoved me. Hard. I hit the kitchen island. My back was bruised for a week.”

Anya’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing, letting Costia keep talking.

“There were other signs too. He never showed much interest in Aden. Said things like, ‘You already spend too much time catering to your ex. You deserve a life of your own.’ Like Lexa and Aden were… baggage.”

Costia stared into her mug.

“At first, him taking charge, especially in the bedroom, it felt freeing. New. Kinda thrilling, honestly. But it didn’t stop there. He started commenting on everything. What I wore. Where I went. Who I met. He didn’t like me going out to dinner with friends. He was loud with Aden. Harsh. Said I wasn’t being firm enough. That I needed to stop being soft.”

Her hand trembled slightly as she set the mug down. Her voice was low, almost numb.

“He’s like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde,” Costia whispered. “Some days he’s sweet, thoughtful. Makes me breakfast. Sends flowers. Then something flips and he becomes this completely different person. Cold. Cruel. I never know who I’m coming home to.”

Anya stayed quiet beside her, letting her speak at her own pace.

“Today… it wasn’t even a big fight. That’s the thing. It started so small. I told him I was meeting a friend for coffee. Just an old classmate. Harmless. Chad said it was fine. Gave me this absent nod like he didn’t care.” She let out a brittle laugh. “But when I got back, he was sitting in the kitchen like he’d been waiting. Lights off, drink in his hand, phone facedown. Just still. Too still.”

She swallowed. “He asked if I had fun. I said yeah. And then he said, ‘Three hours for coffee?’ Just like that. Quiet. No yelling. Just this slow, awful pressure in his voice. Like a fuse lit.”

Her fingers trembled. “Then came the questions. Did I touch his arm when I laughed? Did I lean in? Did I—did I bat my lashes like some cheap whore?” Her voice cracked on the last word.

“He asked if I opened my legs for anyone who smiled at me.”

Anya’s hand stilled on her back.

Costia didn’t look at her. “He said women like me were cockteasers. That I was begging for attention. That my top was… was basically an invitation. Said I looked like a slut trying to make up for being boring in bed.”

Her eyes shimmered with disbelief, as if she still couldn’t quite process it. “He just kept going. Cruel. Precise. Like he wanted to see exactly where I’d break.”

Anya clenched her jaw, saying nothing, just rubbed slow circles on her back.

Costia’s breath caught. “I tried to walk away. I was shaking. I just wanted to be anywhere but there. But he grabbed my wrist. Not hard. Just enough. That was worse, somehow. That restraint. That… control. He looked at me like he wanted me to say something, just so he could snap.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “He blocked the hallway. Got in my face. I turned my head, tried not to flinch. That’s when he hit me.”

Anya stilled.

“Back of his hand,” Costia murmured. “Right across my cheek. The ring he was wearing split the skin under my eye. I stumbled and he grabbed my shoulders, shoved me against the wall. Said he was teaching me a lesson.”

She hesitated, the silence thick. “I have bruises on my ribs. My hip. You can’t see them. But they’re there.”

She shook her head slowly, voice hollow. “I pushed off him. Slipped past and ran,” she said quietly. “Locked myself in the bathroom.”

“He banged on the door. Told me not to lock him out. That it was my fault for provoking him. That if I wanted to act like a whore, I’d be treated like one.”

Costia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s when I called you.”

Anya swallowed the burn in her throat. Her voice was steady, quiet, but full of warmth. “You did the right thing, Cos.”

“I should’ve seen it sooner,” Costia said, her voice cracking. “There were signs. So many.”

Her voice cracked. “I didn’t let Aden spend much time with Chad. I told myself I wanted to wait before introducing them properly, but deep down I think I already knew he wasn’t safe around my kid. I was just too scared to admit it.”

Her voice cracked completely. “I was so stupid, Anya. What kind of mother—”

“Stop,” Anya said gently but firmly. She reached over to take her hand. “Don’t do that. You were trying to believe in someone. That’s not a crime. You didn’t fail Aden. You protected him. You got out. That takes strength.”

She paused, then added, “But I want you to hear this too. He wasn’t just a threat to your son, he was a threat to you. You were in danger, Costia. And that matters. You matter.”

Costia wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I just feel like I’ve been living in a fog. And I don’t even know how I got here.”

“You got out,” Anya said. “You’re safe now. That’s what matters now. You don’t have to figure it out tonight,”

Anya reached over and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. Costia leaned in, quiet and trembling, her cheek pressed to Anya’s shoulder. She stayed like that for a long moment, still, fragile, but safe.

And then she broke.

Her breath hitched, and the tears came, silent at first, then sharp and gasping. Anya held her tighter, both arms around her now, solid and steady as Costia wept. No questions. No rush. Just warmth and presence and the quiet hum of safety.

It was the first time in weeks Costia let herself fall apart. And in Anya’s arms, she didn’t have to apologize for it.

***

Costia sat curled on the couch, the mug long forgotten on the table, burrowed under a blanket like she was trying to build a cave around herself, something small and safe where the world couldn’t reach her.

Her fingers hovered over her phone for a long moment. Then, finally, she tapped Lexa’s name.

The call rang twice before Lexa picked up.

“Hey,” Lexa said, cautious but neutral.

“Hi,” Costia said softly. “I was wondering if… if Aden could stay with you for a while. Just the week. I… things are complicated right now and I think it would be better for him.”

There was a pause. Then Lexa’s voice shifted, sharp and clipped. “Are you serious? Costia, we talked about this. You can’t keep doing this every time you want space to play house with Chad.”

Costia flinched. “It’s not—”

“I get it. He makes you feel good for a while and then you start pushing everyone else away. But Aden isn’t part of that cycle. He deserves better than this disappearing act.”

Costia’s throat closed. Her vision blurred. “Lexa, please. It’s not like that.”

“You can’t keep bailing on him whenever it suits you,” Lexa snapped.

Her chest tightened. Breaths came short and shallow, her fingers clutching at the edge of the couch. The phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a soft thud.

Anya was at her side in an instant. “Hey…hey… what’s happening?” Her voice stayed calm, hands gentle on Costia’s shoulders.

“I can’t—” Costia gasped. “I can’t breathe.”

“It’s okay,” Anya said softly, kneeling in front of her. “Look at me. You’re safe. Just breathe with me, alright? In… and out.”

Costia’s chest rose and fell in stuttering bursts. Her eyes were wide, unseeing. Anya took one of her hands and placed it against her own chest.

“Match me,” she murmured. “Right here. In… and out.”

Gradually, the trembling slowed. The air returned. Costia’s eyes blinked back into focus.

Anya glanced down at the phone still glowing on the rug. Lexa’s voice came through faint and tinny.

“Costia? Hello?”

Another pause.

“What’s going on? Are you okay? Talk to me.”

Anya picked up the phone, her voice steady but cool. “Lexa, it’s Anya. She can’t talk right now. I’ll call you back later.”

She hung up without waiting for a reply, setting the phone aside.

Lexa stared at her screen, the call abruptly ended. Her stomach turned.

Why was Costia with Anya?
What the hell was going on?
And why had she been so quick to assume the worst?

Chapter Text

“Did you hide the body?”

Aden’s voice carried from the living room, just loud enough to make Lexa pause in the kitchen.

Clarke glanced up from chopping vegetables, eyes narrowing. “Sorry, what now?”

Madi didn’t miss a beat. “In the game, obviously.”

Lexa wiped her hands on a towel and stepped into the doorway. “Should we be concerned?”

Aden turned from the screen with a grin. “It’s a forest infiltration mission. We’re trying to break into this old military bunker: Mt. Weather. If the guards spot a body, the whole place goes into lockdown.”

“Oh, well, as long as it’s strategic murder,” Clarke deadpanned.

Madi rolled her eyes. “It’s not real. You guys watch way worse stuff on the news.”

“That’s not the defense you think it is,” Lexa said, biting back a smile.

Madi refocused on the screen. “Aden, help me drag him to the river. We can dump him behind the reeds before the next patrol comes.”

Clarke leaned in to peek at the screen. Trees blurred past as the player crouched through underbrush, tagging patrols with thermal vision. “What game is this?”

“Shadow Protocol 2,” Madi answered. “You’re spies trying to break into a fortified mountain bunker without getting caught. You can go stealth or loud, but stealth gets you more XP.”

“XP,” Clarke repeated blankly. “I understood one of those words. Where’d you even get this?”

Madi didn’t blink. “Dad.”

Aden offered her the extra controller. “Wanna try? We’re breaching the outer fence next.”

Clarke looked at Lexa. “Do we want to be the parents who say yes to simulated espionage and body-stashing?”

Lexa shrugged. “Depends. Can we play co-op?”

“Four-player,” Madi said smugly. “But I’m not reviving you if you mess it up.”

“You are absolutely your mother’s child,” Clarke laughed.

Lexa stifled a laugh.

Her gaze lingered on Aden a moment longer. He was grinning, shoulders relaxed, caught up in the game with Madi, untouched by anything beyond the screen. That unburdened joy hit her unexpectedly.

Because just hours before, everything had been different.

Lexa had sat frozen, the quiet click of the call ending echoing louder than it should have. Anya’s words looped in her head: She can’t talk right now. Not won’t. Can’t. A cold knot had tightened in her stomach. She’d meant to be firm, to set boundaries. Instead, she’d pushed too hard and made everything worse.

Her thumb had hovered over the screen, tempted to call back. But something in her gut had told her to hold off. To let things settle. She’d felt stranded between wanting to fix it and fearing she’d only make it worse.

The kitchen door had creaked open behind her, and Clarke had stepped in, eyes sharp as they scanned Lexa’s tense posture.

“You okay?” Clarke had asked gently, leaning against the counter.

“I think I fucked up.” Lexa whispered, before forcing herself to meet Clarke’s gaze. “Costia called. Asked if Aden could stay with me this week.”

“And?”

“I thought she was trying to ditch Aden to spend time alone with Chad again. But Anya picked up. Costia couldn’t even speak. Something’s wrong. I’m not sure what. But it sounded bad.”

Clarke had crossed the room and sat beside her, saying nothing. Just sitting, solid and steady.

Lexa hadn’t moved. She’d stared down at the phone still in her hand, thumb trembling slightly as she tapped Costia’s name again.

Straight to voicemail.

She’d tried again.

Still voicemail.

“Maybe they’re still talking. Maybe Anya turned it off,” Clarke had offered gently, her voice soothing.

Seconds ticked by. Then she’d tapped Anya’s contact.

No answer.

She’d tried again, more insistently. Still nothing.

Lexa had stood abruptly. Pacing now. “I’m going over.”

Clarke’s eyes had widened slightly. “Do you want me to come?”

Lexa had paused. Then shaken her head. “No. I just… I need to know.”

***

The drive had passed in a blur. By the time she’d pulled up in front of Costia’s building, her knuckles were white on the wheel. She let herself in with her key.

Inside, everything had felt too quiet.

The apartment was shrouded in darkness. The heater ticking faintly in the background.

“Costia?” she’d called softly.

No answer.

She’d stepped in slowly, eyes scanning the space. The couch pillows were scattered. A mug lay tipped over near the coffee table. And on the floor near the rug, shards of ceramic from a broken vase.

She’d crouched down, heart pounding. No blood. Just water and broken glass. Still, her gut had twisted.

No note. No clue where they’d gone. She’d called Anya again.

Straight to voicemail.

She’d left without touching anything else, locking the door behind her.

***

Back at home, she’d found Aden in the hallway, his backpack slung over one shoulder and a stuffed bear in his hand.

“I packed early,” he’d said, bouncing slightly. “I even remembered my homework this time.”

Lexa had crouched in front of him, trying to keep her voice even. “Hey, buddy. Change of plans, alright? You’re staying here with me this week.”

Aden had frowned. “But I thought—”

“I know,” she’d said softly. “But your mom’s… she’s not feeling well right now. She needed a little time.”

He’d blinked up at her, concern flickering across his face. “Is she sick?”

Lexa had hesitated. Then reached out and smoothed a hand over his hair. “She’s just not up for company. I promise I’ll tell you when I know more.”

Aden had nodded slowly. “Okay. Can I still call her goodnight later?”

Lexa had swallowed hard. “We’ll try.”

She’d stood and pulled him into a hug, holding on just a little longer than usual.

But even with his small arms around her waist, her thoughts had spun, chasing worst-case scenarios like they had a life of their own.

“Ten more minutes, kids, then get ready for bed,” Clarke called from the kitchen, bringing Lexa back to the present.

The living room was lit now, warm and loud with laughter and controller clicks, but the phone call hadn’t gone through. Aden had tried calling Costia to say goodnight, but her number still went straight to voicemail.

Lexa had given him a flimsy excuse, saying maybe her phone had died. Aden had just shrugged, settling deeper into the couch beside Madi. “She’s probably with Chad again,” he said with a half-hearted scoff, eyes still on the screen. “He doesn’t really like it when she’s on the phone.”

Lexa’s stomach turned, but she didn’t respond. Just watched him play, trying to stay present in the noise while her thoughts slipped elsewhere.

She sat back down at the table, her hands idle, her mind anything but.

***

Costia sat curled on the edge of Anya’s couch, legs tucked under her, a blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. Her phone buzzed again on the coffee table. She didn’t reach for it. She didn’t have to.

Anya glanced over from the kitchen. “Again?”

Costia nodded faintly, eyes down. “It’s another unknown number.”

Anya walked over, drying her hands on a towel. “Let me guess. First it was ‘I’m sorry,’ then ‘it’s your fault’, and now we’re at ‘you’ll regret this.’”

Costia gave a tiny, broken laugh. It died quickly.

“I blocked him,” she whispered. “I blocked all of them. But he just keeps getting new numbers. Different area codes. Ones that look real. Like someone I might know.”

Her hands shook as she picked up the phone again, staring at the screen.

Unknown Number

The message preview glared up at her.

You think I won’t find you?

Anya took the phone before she could open it. Her expression hardened as she scrolled through the call log. Without a word, she powered it off.

Costia flinched.

Anya sat beside her and placed the phone face down on the table. “Every time it goes off, you freeze. You don’t breathe. He doesn’t get that power anymore. Not while you’re here.”

“I feel stupid,” Costia murmured.

Anya’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“For letting it get this far. For thinking I could fix it. That if I stayed calm, or didn’t push back, he’d stop.”

“You were surviving,” Anya said. “That’s not stupid.”

A gentle quiet eased between them.

Anya leaned back, close but not crowding. Her presence alone was steadying.

“You can stay here as long as you need,” she said eventually. “And if he shows up at your place again, we’ll deal with it.”

Costia turned her head slightly, eyes glassy. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Anya said. “I want to.”

Costia didn’t answer. She just nodded once, pulling the blanket tighter, her eyes locked on the darkened phone across the table. Still. Silent. Blessedly quiet.

She didn’t respond. Just pulled the blanket tighter and watched the now-dark phone across the table.

Anya reached over and pulled her into a hug.

Costia resisted, just for a moment. Then she sank into it, her head falling to Anya’s shoulder. Her breathing, finally, began to slow.

She still didn’t feel brave.

But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she had to be.

***

Costia had finally fallen asleep.

Anya eased the blanket up over her shoulders, careful not to wake her. Even with her eyes closed, her face stayed tense, as if bracing for something that wasn’t coming. Not here. Not tonight.

Anya stepped into the hallway and typed a quick message.

Anya:
Free to talk?

Her phone buzzed almost instantly. Incoming call: Lexa.

She answered with a quiet, “Hey.”

“How is she?” Lexa’s voice came tight and fast, already halfway to panic. “What’s going on? Why are you with her?”

Anya exhaled. “She’s safe. She’s here with me. Sleeping.”

“You didn’t answer before. I called three times.”

“I know,” Anya said. “I had to turn her phone off. Chad’s been blowing it up. She blocked him, but he’s using burner numbers. Every time it buzzed, she flinched.”

Lexa went still on the line.

“I didn’t know how bad it was until tonight,” Anya continued. “She was trying to keep it together for Aden. Trying to make it work. But she’s been scared for a while. He’s controlling. She said he’s never actually hit her till today, but the rest of it…” Her voice tightened. “He’s gotten in her head. Deep. And tonight, I think it finally cracked her.”

Lexa didn’t say anything. Just the faint sound of her breathing.

“She called you because she didn’t want Aden to see her like this,” Anya said quietly. “Didn’t want to scare him. Chad hit her, Lexa. Got her on the face.”

“And then you accused her of abandoning her kid for some guy.”

“I didn’t know,” Lexa said quietly. “I thought she was just—”

She paused, and then continued, “Is she really okay?”

“She will be. I’ve got her. She’s not alone. She's staying at my place till this blows over.”

The silence dragged, this one heavier.

“She left him, Lex. She just needs time to keep meaning it.”

Lexa’s voice cracked, barely audible. “Okay. Keep me updated.”

“I will,” Anya promised.

Lexa’s voice cracked. “Thanks for looking out for her.”

Anya ended the call and peeked back into the living room.

Costia hadn’t moved, but her hand had drifted toward the space beside her, fingers curled faintly like they were used to holding on to something... or someone.

Anya returned to the couch and sat down quietly.

She didn’t touch her, just stayed close, in case she reached out again.

***

The apartment was quiet. The call had ended minutes ago, but Lexa hadn’t moved. She sat on the couch in the dark, fingers still curled from where she’d held the phone, wondering where everything had gone wrong. How had she missed the signs?

She didn’t hear Clarke approach at first.

“Hey,” Clarke said gently.

Lexa glanced up. “Thought you were asleep.”

“I was. Then I realized you weren’t beside me.”

Clarke crossed the room and sat next to her. She didn’t press. Just waited.

Lexa exhaled slowly. Her voice was low. “I should’ve known.”

Clarke turned to her. “What do you mean?”

“There were signs,” Lexa said. “At your birthday party, he wouldn’t let her talk. Kept taking over the conversation. And the bruise I saw a few weeks ago on her back. She said she fell. I wanted to believe that.”

Clarke stayed quiet.

“I didn’t push,” Lexa said. “Didn’t ask again. I thought if it were serious, she’d tell me. But she didn’t.”

“You couldn’t have known this would happen.”

Lexa shook her head. “She’s the mother of my child. And I missed it.”

She paused, voice rough. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve said something. Called him out. Maybe… maybe none of this would’ve happened.”

Lexa exhaled, voice low. “I failed to protect her.”

Lexa’s eyes stayed on the dark floor. “I keep thinking… what if Aden was there tonight? What if Costia hadn’t called Anya?”

Her voice cracked. “What if she hadn’t called anyone?”

Clarke wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “But she did, Lexa. She reached out. She’s safe. We’ll get through this together.”

Clarke let the silence stretch. Her arm stayed around Lexa’s shoulders, steady and warm.

Eventually, she murmured, “Come back to bed.”

Lexa didn’t move at first. Her eyes were still on the dark window, her jaw tight.

“Just to lie down,” Clarke said gently. “You don’t have to sleep. Just… don’t sit out here alone.”

Lexa nodded, barely.

Clarke stood, waited for her to follow. Lexa rose slowly, body heavy with exhaustion, thoughts still churning. They moved through the dark apartment, quiet as ghosts.

Outside Aden’s room, Lexa paused.

Clarke turned, watching her. “You okay?”

Lexa didn’t answer. She opened the door softly and stepped inside.

The nightlight cast a faint glow across the room. Aden was curled on his side, blanket twisted around him, hair sticking up in soft tufts. Breathing steady. Peaceful. Oblivious.

Lexa stood there for a long moment. Everyone was safe for now, and that’s all that mattered. Her fingers tightened slightly on the doorframe. Then she pulled the door shut again, quiet as a breath.

The walk back to the bedroom was quiet.

Under the covers, the sheets were cool against Lexa’s skin. Clarke reached out, brushing a loose curl from Lexa’s forehead. Lexa closed her eyes but didn’t relax. The weight inside her chest hadn’t lifted, but Clarke’s steady presence made it easier to bear.

Clarke moved closer, her hand settling gently on Lexa’s arm, grounding her with quiet reassurance. Lexa accepted the touch, but didn’t seek more.

After a long pause, Lexa’s voice came, low and raw. “Thank you. For being here.”

Clarke kissed her temple. “Always.”

The room fell silent, save for their slow, even breaths.

Sleep didn’t come right away, but for the first time that night, Lexa felt like she could breathe.

*****

Early the next morning, Lexa’s phone was already in her hand. She dialed Anya without waiting, words rushing out the second the call connected.

“What can I do to help? Does she need an escort? Has she filed a restraining order? Are you okay with her staying at your place? Has she seen a doctor?”

Anya sighed, her voice tired but firm. “Lexa, calm the fuck down. It’s way too early for all that.”

Lexa blinked, startled by the bluntness.

“I’m here with her. We’re handling things. One step at a time, okay?”

Lexa swallowed hard, letting Anya’s words settle. “Right. One step at a time. I’m heading into class now. If there’s anything… anything I can do to help, please tell me.”

Anya’s voice softened, but still firm.

“Lexa, just breathe. We’re handling it. I’ll let you know if we need anything. For now, just… be there when she’s ready.”

With a final glance at the muted phone on the table, she stood and headed out the door, stepping into the bright, noisy hall of the school. The day had begun, but Lexa’s mind was already with Costia, and with the battle ahead.

*****

As Costia’s wounds slowly faded, the tension that had clung to her like a second skin also began to ease. Bit by bit, she started to return to herself, regaining the quiet strength and warmth that Anya remembered from before everything happened.

One evening, they sat together on the worn couch in Anya’s living room, a gentle rain tapping softly against the window. Costia was telling a story from work, her hands moving animatedly, her laughter easy and light.

Anya listened, smiling, feeling the room settle into something peaceful and steady. They moved through the evenings without pressure, sharing simple moments. Cups of tea, movies chosen more for comfort than distraction, and the quiet companionship of just being near someone who understood.

And finally, Costia was well enough. It was time to be reunited with her son. She opened the door wide, dropping her bag without a second thought.

“Hey bud, I missed you!” Costia’s voice was warm, a smile breaking across her face.

Aden’s eyes lit up as he ran into her arms. “Mommy! Are you feeling better? I missed you so much.”

Costia held him close, relief flooding her. “I missed you too. I’m getting there.”

She looked up and smiled at Lexa. “Hey Lex.”

“Hey Cos.” Lexa smiled as she watched Costia returning to her usual self. The invisible scars were still there, but they were slowly healing.

Chapter Text

The hum of the city filtered through Anya’s open window, the sounds low and distant, like a radio playing in another room. She stretched out on the couch, one leg hooked lazily over the backrest, a takeout container balanced on her stomach. The scent of chili oil and sesame lingered in the air. She’d eaten half, maybe less. The rest would go in the fridge and probably die there, like most leftovers in her life.

And that was fine. One of the perks of living alone is that no one will ever nag her about wasting food.

She flipped channels with one hand, not really watching, just enjoying the feeling of no obligations. No one waiting for her to come to bed. No need to explain her mood or the way she sometimes needed to go quiet after a long day. No guilt for wanting silence instead of conversation.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like people. She loved her friends. Loved flirting, the rush of attraction, the clean burn of a short-lived fling. But relationships, the kind with calendars and compromise and constant emotional inventory? That was something else entirely.

She’d tried, once or twice. Dated good people, decent ones. But inevitably, it all folded under the same weight: the slow erosion of space. Of self. The compromises that felt small until they weren’t.

Maybe it came from growing up an orphan. She learned early that the only person she could truly rely on was herself. No one to disappoint. No one to be disappointed by.

She took a sip of beer and let her head tip back against the couch.

People always assumed it was fear of commitment. That she was jaded or emotionally unavailable. But it wasn’t that, not really.

She liked her life. She’d built it exactly how she wanted. Quiet mornings. Long workouts. Taking off for a weekend hike without warning. Her home was her own — messy, clean, full of plants or not. No one else's toothbrush in her cup. No one else's laundry on her floor. No pressure to text back. No awkward birthday dinners with people she didn’t like.

She could flirt without strings. Hook up without follow-up. And when the occasional ache surfaced, loneliness around the edges, she rode it out like a passing wave.

It wasn’t emptiness. It was peace.

Her phone buzzed across the coffee table. It was a message from Costia. Just a meme. Dumb. Cute.

She smiled, and that was the problem. Because lately, solitude hadn't looked quite the same.

Costia had been staying over since the whole mess with Chad, at first for safety, then out of convenience, and then… just because. Spare clothes migrated to Anya’s dresser. Her favorite mug ended up in the rotation. She'd curl up on Anya's couch like she belonged there, like she'd always been part of the space.

And when Aden was with her that week, which was often, since she couldn’t go back to her place, they both stayed.

That should have been the tipping point.

Anya didn’t do kids. She never wanted her own, never saw the appeal of small, loud people demanding pieces of your day. But Aden wasn’t like that. He was quiet, observant, kind. He remembered things she said in passing and brought them up later, usually when she least expected it.

One morning, he’d asked if she liked peanut butter or almond better. When she said almond, he’d nodded seriously and said, “Cool. I’ll tell my mom. She’s gonna make you toast tomorrow.”

Another night, they sat on opposite ends of the couch, both pretending not to watch the same cartoon.

He was growing on her. They both were.

And strangely, none of it felt like an intrusion. It should have. Anya liked her solitude, prized it like armor. But their presence didn’t weigh her down. It felt… grounding. It wasn’t heavy nor loud. Just there in a way that made the apartment feel a little warmer. A little more lived-in.

She still kept her routines — morning jogs, late-night showers, ignoring breakfast if she wasn’t in the mood — but somewhere along the way, she’d started checking if there was enough oat milk for Costia’s coffee. If there were waffles in the freezer for Aden. She came back from the store once with chocolate granola she didn’t even eat.

That part caught her off guard.

She didn't want to want someone there. That was never the goal. She was happy being single. Her life was hers. It was uncomplicated, unshared and light. And yet.

The Chad situation had died down. Costia had gone back to her own place a few nights ago. Things were quiet again. Predictable. The way Anya liked it.

She could leave dishes in the sink. Fall asleep with the TV on. Let laundry pile up. Take up the whole bed, sprawl like a starfish, wear nothing but a hoodie and call it a day.

And yet.

She glanced over at the couch. The blanket folded over the back still smelled faintly like Costia’s shampoo. Her mug sat in the dish rack, drying next to Anya’s favorite pan. There was a small blue LEGO brick under the coffee table, half-hidden, like it had been left behind on purpose.

Anya exhaled slowly, the silence wrapping around her like a too-large coat. She wasn't lonely. Not exactly. But the quiet didn’t feel as restful tonight. It just felt… empty.

She shook it off and grabbed the remote. Flipped to something loud and fast-paced. Something that didn’t give her time to think.

But when the next text came through…

Costia:
Made it home safe. Night, you.

…she didn’t hesitate.

Anya:
👍🏻 Come by this weekend. I’ll make pancakes.

And then she added, after a beat:

Anya:
Just let yourself in.

*****

Lexa hauled the last box up the hallway and set it down with a soft thud. “That’s the last of it.”

Clarke looked up from the kitchen counter, unpacking a box. “Finally. Feels like we’ve been moving forever.”

Lexa hesitated, then said, “Hey, babe, you might want to hold off on unpacking though.”

Clarke straightened. “Why?”

“I just ran into Derek. You know the four-bedroom at the end of the hall? It’s up for rent. Mr. Hayden got posted overseas, had to break his lease.”

Clarke blinked. “Seriously? That place is massive. You thinking of upgrading?”

Lexa met her eyes. “I’m thinking about us. It’s well within our budget, if you’re interested. Big enough for the kids to have their own rooms. There’s even a fourth we could turn into a studio for you. Or a study. Whatever you want. Derek’s holding off on posting the listing until the end of the day.”

Clarke considered it. “It does sound like a good idea.”

Lexa hesitated.

Clarke frowned. “What? There’s a catch, isn’t there?”

“No, no.” Lexa shook her head. “I was just thinking… if we take the new unit, maybe Costia could move in here. She doesn’t feel safe at the old place. Chad’s still out there somewhere, and she doesn’t feel it’s safe for Aden.”

Clarke's expression shifted, concern overtaking the initial surprise. “Yeah. Of course. That makes sense.”

She was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Actually… I like that. It means Aden’s close. And Costia won’t be looking over her shoulder every time she opens the door.”

Lexa gave a faint smile, grateful. “You’re sure?”

Clarke reached out, touching her hand. “Completely. Let’s give her some peace of mind.”

*****

The next day, Lexa knocked gently on Costia’s door.

When it opened, Costia looked tired. She stepped aside silently, letting Lexa in.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Lexa said. “The bigger apartment down the hall opened up. Clarke and I are going to take it.”

Costia nodded slowly. “The four-bedder? That makes sense. The kids will love it.”

“There’s something else,” Lexa continued. “You said you haven’t been feeling safe lately. If you want… I could transfer my current lease to you. You’d be close, but still with your own space.”

Costia’s eyes lifted. It flickered with hope, but warred with hesitation. “Are you sure?”

“Completely. You’d be near Aden. Near me if anything comes up. And it’s a solid building. Security is good. It’s better than staying where you are, if you don’t feel safe.”

Costia hesitated. “And Clarke’s okay with your ex just down the hall?”

Lexa frowned. “Yes? You’re friends, aren’t you?”

Costia nodded. “Okay yeah. I’d like that. I’ll talk to my landlord tomorrow about getting out of my lease.”

“You know you could’ve just called, right?” Costia added. “You didn't need to come down.”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Lexa said.

“I am,” Costia replied quickly. “Yeah. I am.”

Lexa hesitated. Something about her tone didn’t sit right. She felt like she was being nudged out.

“You sure?”

Just then, a toilet flushed down the hallway.

Lexa’s body snapped to attention. She narrowed her eyes.

“Is Chad—” she hissed, already moving toward the kitchen. “Is that bastard here?”

She looked around for a weapon and grabbed the nearest thing: a kitchen knife.

“What? No, Lexa!” Costia rushed forward. “Put down the knife.”

A door opened at the end of the hallway. Lexa tensed, her grip tightening.

Then a familiar voice. “Was that our dinner at the door?”

Anya walked out of the bathroom, drying her hands on a towel.

Lexa exhaled, instantly deflated.

“Uh, Lex?” Anya blinked. “Why are you holding a knife?”

Lexa lowered it, muttering, “I thought you were Chad.”

Anya smirked. “Well, if you wanted me dead, you could’ve just let me eat Costia’s cooking.”

Costia crossed her arms, mock offended. “Hey…”

A knock cut her off. She opened the door, took the takeout from the delivery guy, and handed over a tip.

“For that, I’m not sharing any of my food with you.”

Anya leaned against the counter, grinning. “Oh no. However will I survive without lukewarm pad thai and passive-aggressive plating.”

Lexa shook her head. “Alright I’m gonna go. Looks like you're in good hands.”

Lexa turned to go, then paused at the door.

She looked at Anya. “Thanks for looking out for her.”

Anya’s expression softened, just slightly “Always.”

Lexa nodded. She gave Costia one last glance. “Let me know what your landlord says.”

“I will.”

Then Lexa slipped out, the door clicking gently shut behind her.

Ding. Anya’s phone lit up on the counter.

Raven:
Hey, I’m back in town for Christmas
You around?
A drink?
Maybe something more? 👅🍑
You still owe me something from last time 😏💦

Anya exhaled through her nose, half a smile tugging at her lips. Typical Raven. Direct as ever.

She typed back:

Anya:
I never leave debts unpaid… but some tabs are better closed.
A drink sounds good though. Let’s catch up. Just friends this time.

Raven:
Aww, too bad. I was looking forward to blowing your mind 🤯
You don’t know what you are giving up.

Anya:
Oh, I know exactly what I’m giving up.
Still gonna have to pass, Raven.
But drinks, sure. Just don’t get your hopes up.

She hit send, then smiled to herself, equal parts amused and proud of the line she’d drawn. Growth looked good on her.

She tossed her phone back on the counter with a shake of her head.

“Some things never change,” she muttered, but there was no heat to it. Just fondness, and a line she wasn’t going to cross.

Anya glanced at Costia as she set down her drink. “We should try their mango sticky rice next time. Reviews say it’s not bad.”

Costia hummed in agreement, still chewing. “Maybe some pineapple fried rice too.”

Anya smirked, leaning back. She still wasn’t sure what this was or what they were, but she could get used to it.

*****

Boxes, laughter, and chaos filled the hallway. They were moving again, but this time just down the hall. The kids were having the time of their lives rolling boxes like bumper cars. Raven, Octavia, and Lincoln had come to help, turning the whole thing into more of a party than a chore.

Raven shot Clarke a look as they passed each other in the hallway, both maneuvering the coffee table between them.

“Hey, what’s up with Anya? Has she found someone?”

Clarke raised a brow, cautious. “Not that I’m aware of. Why?” She squinted. “Do I even want to know?”

Raven gave an exaggerated sigh. “I told her I was back in town, figured we’d pick up where we left off. But she didn’t seem interested.”

Clarke smirked. “God, you’re like a walking thirst trap.”

“Excuse you, I’m a charming thirst trap,” Raven said with a grin. “Besides, we had a great time last time. I thought she’d be down.”

Clarke handed her a roll of packing tape. “Maybe she’s grown since then. You should try it sometime.”

“Rude,” Raven said, mock-wounded.

“True,” Clarke shot back.

Raven groaned. “Fine. Friends it is. I was just really looking forward to a good time.” She wiggled her brows. “If you know what I mean.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Do I ever not know what you mean? You’re about as subtle as a brick.”

“Tell Anya that. Maybe she’ll change her mind.”

Clarke laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, not holding my breath.”

Raven hefted another box with a sigh. “Tragic. Rejection is not the holiday vibe I signed up for.”

“Welcome home,” Clarke said dryly.

They saved the biggest for last.

The rest of the boxes had been hauled inside, and Clarke was halfway through unpacking the kitchen when a commotion echoed down the hallway.

“Turn! Turn! Turn!” Octavia shouted, arms flailing like she was guiding a plane to land. “Okay. Here we go! Pivot! PIVOT! PI-VOT!”

Lexa grunted, wedged between the armrest and the doorframe. “I am pivoting!”

“Pi-VAT!” Octavia shrieked dramatically, then doubled over laughing.

Lincoln snorted. “You sound like a dying goat.”

“It’s from Friends, you uncultured swine!”

“I’m going to pivot this couch into your face,” Lexa muttered.

“Beautiful,” Clarke called from the kitchen. “Truly a masterclass in teamwork.”

They finally managed to pivot the couch into the living room and wrangle it into place. Lexa and Lincoln collapsed onto it with matching groans of relief.

Clarke appeared a moment later, handing each of them a glass of ice-cold lemonade. “Well earned,” she said, amused. “You two looked like you were wrestling a bear.”

Octavia was still doubled over, breathless from laughter. “You were! It was majestic.”

Lincoln took a long sip and sighed. “She’s been on a nostalgic binge. Friends, every night, all week.”

“Oh, come on,” Octavia said, nudging him with her elbow. “Admit it. You think Ross is hilarious too.”

Lincoln gave her a look. “I think Ross needs therapy.”

Lexa raised her glass. “Agreed.”

Clarke checked her phone. “Pizzas will be here in ten. Thanks for the help, guys.”

At the mention of pizza, four kids came tumbling down the hallway, full of energy and anticipation.

Aden skidded to a stop. “Did someone say pizza?”

Elara’s eyes lit up. “Did you get the one with the stuffed cheese?”

Madi perked up. “Are there pineapples?”

Elias wrinkled his nose. “Pineapples do not belong on pizza.”

Octavia pointed at him, triumphant. “Damn right they don’t.” She gave him a high five.

Clarke scoffed from the kitchen. “Oh, come on. Sweet and salty? It’s classic.”

“That’s blasphemy and I won’t stand for it. Fruits do not belong on food.”

Lincoln leaned back, already resigned. “And here we go again…”

Raven, unfazed, said, “I’ll eat anything as long as it’s edible. Warm, cold, upside down. Griff, don’t forget the lottery tickets.”

Lexa raised a brow. “What’s with you guys and lottery tickets?”

Raven grinned. “Old tradition. Debts, dares, favors — settled with lottery tickets. One pool, one split. One day, we’ll win stupid big.”

Lexa chuckled. “So basically, you're buying hope.”

Raven shot back, “Hope, serotonin, and bragging rights. But if I win? I’m ghosting all of you.”

Lexa smirked as she slipped on her shoes. “I’m heading over to Costia’s to help her finish packing. Hopefully we’ll have everything moved over before dinner.”

Octavia waved her off. “Go. We’ll hang around with the kids, help Clarke with unpacking.”

Lincoln nodded. “And we’ll be here to help unload when you guys pull up with the truck.”

Lexa glanced around the room. “Sorry I’m not pulling my weight here.”

“Please,” Raven said. “You’re fine. Shoo.”

Aden practically bounced in place. “I still can’t believe Mommy’s going to be living just twenty steps down the hall! This is so cool!”

*****

Lexa crouched by an open box in the living room, sealing it shut with a strip of tape. The sound echoed through the half-packed space. Around her, flattened cardboard, packing tape, and the faint smell of old books hung in the air.

Anya emerged from the hallway, carrying a medium-sized box labeled "BATHROOM." She set it down by the door, wiping sweat from her brow.

“Last one,” she said.

Lexa stood and brushed her hands on her jeans, scanning the sea of sealed boxes. “How does she have so much stuff?” she muttered. “Was she secretly stockpiling for the apocalypse?”

Anya smirked. “She probably started while she was still married to you.”

Lexa snorted. “Yeah, my closet did feel a lot emptier after she left.”

They shared a half-hearted laugh. Anya moved toward the boxes, double-checking the labels, and then she stacked them on the trolley.

“Just in time,” she said. “We should finish loading these into the truck. Costia should be there with the food soon.”

Lexa hesitated. “Thank you. For being there for her. Through all the… Chad stuff.”

Anya shrugged, casual. “She’s my friend too. I care about her.”

Lexa nodded, then asked, “How is she? She seems better.”

Anya paused, a little too long.

Lexa straightened. “What?”

Anya shifted her weight, then met her eyes. “I need to tell you something.”

Lexa’s stomach clenched. She’d known something felt off.

Anya shifted her weight, hesitated, then looked her straight in the eye.

“I think I’m falling for her.”

Lexa froze. What? Of all the things she expected Anya to say, this wasn’t on the list. She didn’t answer at first. Didn’t know what to say. Her best friend. Her ex-wife. Her Costia?

Her thoughts spun. Was this recent? Or had Costia felt something back then? Was that part of why their marriage fell apart? Why her, of all people?

Lexa stared at her, disbelief flickering behind her eyes. “Seriously, Anya? Isn't Costia off-limits?”

Anya crossed her arms, jaw tight. “Shouldn’t that be her decision to make? She’s not yours anymore.”

“That’s not the point,” Lexa snapped. “You think I care because I still want her? This isn’t about territory. It’s about the people involved. Aden… You getting involved with her—” she shook her head “—it complicates everything.”

Lexa looked back at her then, like she was trying to decide if this was just another spark Anya would burn through and leave in ashes.

She stood up, tone cooling. “You know what this means, right? If you’re not serious about her… if this is just a fling… it’s going to get messy. For everyone.”

Anya’s eyes narrowed. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t already played out every possible version of how this could blow up?”

“I’m asking because you have a reputation,” Lexa argued. “You don’t exactly do long-term.”

“It’s not that I can’t commit,” Anya said quietly. “I just never had someone who made me want to… until now.”

Lexa let out a slow and steady breath.

“Does she feel the same?

“We’re figuring it out,” Anya said. “But yeah. It’s mutual.”

Lexa grimaced. She really hoped figuring it out wasn’t code for we’ve been sleeping together. That was an image she didn’t need. Her best friend. Her ex.

Anya ran a hand through her hair, frustration brimming just beneath the surface. “Look… it just happened, okay? I wasn’t trying to start anything. I didn’t go looking for it.”

Lexa studied her. For once, her voice held no sarcasm, just honest sincerity.

“I’m telling you,” Anya continued, “not for your blessing but out of respect. For you. For Aden. For her.”

An awkward silence stretched between them.

“Oh come on,” Anya added. “Doesn’t Costia deserve to be happy? Don’t you think I can make her happy? Don’t I deserve a shot at happiness?”

Lexa hesitated, her eyes searching Anya’s face. For a moment, her guard softened. “While you’re both figuring things out… just promise me one thing.”

Anya leaned in, curious. “Yeah?”

“Don’t tell Aden. Not yet,” Lexa said, voice low with caution. “He doesn’t need that kind of mess if it doesn’t work out. You’re his favorite aunt.”

Anya nodded slowly. “We won’t.”

Lexa studied her a moment longer, trying to make sense of it all. The truth was, it made sense… Anya was protective, steady, caring, the kind of person Costia could lean on. Maybe Costia would finally feel safe.

And Costia, for all her fire, had a softness that pulled people in. She could get under Anya’s armor in a way no one else really did.

Maybe that’s why it worked. Maybe Costia would finally feel safe. And maybe Anya would finally let someone in.

Her expression softened. A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Well… I guess if this works, it’d be pretty great. You and her. My best friend and my kid’s mom. Who would’ve thought?”

Anya grinned, relieved. “Right? Crazy, but maybe exactly what we all need.”

Lexa’s smile faded just a little as she leaned in, tone serious. “But if you hurt her... you’ll have me to answer to.”

Anya, with quiet confidence: “I won’t.”

***

The truck was quiet. Boxes shifted gently in the back as they drove. Lexa kept her eyes on the road, the earlier conversation replaying in her mind.

Anya’s phone dinged.

She glanced down, a small smile tugging at her lips as she typed a quick reply.

Lexa didn’t need to ask who it was.

She saw the softness in Anya’s expression. Soft wasn’t a word usually used to describe her, and yet here it was — soft Anya.

And when she thought about it, Costia had been lighter lately too. More herself, and less like someone bracing for impact.

Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe they were good for each other.

Lexa exhaled slowly and turned her focus back to the road.

She just had to get over herself.

Chapter Text

The bar was dim, strung with half-hearted tinsel and a sad plastic wreath slouched on the far wall. A muted football game played above the bar, the flicker of motion more distracting than engaging.

Anya and Raven sat at a high-top table near the window, their jackets draped over the backs of their stools. Half-drunk glasses of whiskey sat between them, catching the orange gleam of the bar lights.

Raven lifted her glass and clinked it gently against Anya’s.

“Merry… December 24th,” she said. “Or whatever noncommittal greeting won’t make you bolt.”

Anya smirked. “That’ll do.”

“You know,” Raven said, leaning back with a stretch, “most people spend the holidays with family. Or at least pretend to like them over glazed ham and passive-aggression.”

“I don’t do holidays,” Anya replied, sipping her drink.

Raven arched an eyebrow. “Right. You tolerate birthdays, but draw the line at forced cheer and matching pajamas. Got it.”

Anya’s lip twitched. “Pajamas are where joy goes to die.”

Raven snorted. “And here I was thinking you just came down from Mount Crumpit to glare at ornaments and judge the carolers.”

Anya’s smirk deepened. “I don’t do holidays. That includes taking the effort to spoil them.”

“Sure,” Raven said, mock-suspicious. “But you give off serious Grinch energy.”

Anya took a slow sip. “The Grinch had a dog. I’m not that sentimental.”

Raven grinned, then leaned back. “Okay, now that tracks.”

Raven watched her, something sharper entering her gaze. “You ever spend Christmas with anyone? Like ever?”

Anya hesitated. Then, quieter, she said, “Not really. Grew up in group homes. Holiday dinners were… microwaved. Always one kid crying in the corner.”

Raven winced. “Shit. That’s bleak.”

“It’s not a sob story,” Anya said quickly. “Just… never felt like mine to celebrate.”

Raven nodded, tipping her glass in silent acknowledgment.

“Well mine was always with a drunk mom, no food and surrounded by empty beer bottles,” she said, voice gentler now, “you can crash my pity party anytime.”

Anya chuckled softly. “Honestly? Sounds like my kind of party.”

A quiet lull settled between them, calm and unhurried.

Raven tilted her head, a slow smirk spreading. “The night’s still young. Sure you don’t wanna pick up where we left off?” Her voice dropped, teasing. “Officer?”

Anya snorted. “Why? Is Barney not keeping you satisfied?”

Raven groaned. “Seriously? You named it Barney?”

Anya grinned. “He’s the right color. Maybe you’re not turning him on enough. Gotta keep him charged up.”

“Okay, seriously. Enough with the innuendos. What is this, a comedy set?”

“What can I say? I aim to please. Or Barney does, at least. Satisfaction guaranteed, or your money back.” Anya snickered.

Raven rolled her eyes but smiled. “Come on. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“I have,” Anya said without hesitation. “But things are different now.”

Raven’s expression shifted. “Different how?”

Anya hesitated, then took a breath. “I’m seeing someone.”

Raven blinked. “Seriously?”

Anya nodded.

“Okay… who?”

There was a pause. Then, almost sheepishly, Anya replied, “Costia.”

Raven sat up straighter. “Costia? Like… Lexa’s Costia?”

Anya gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah.”

Raven stared at her for a beat, then gave a low whistle. “Well… damn. Didn’t see that coming.”

Anya let out a quiet breath, like she’d been holding it in. “Neither did I.”

Raven raised an eyebrow. “So what are you doing here with me instead of being with her?”

“She’s up at her folks’ for Christmas,” Anya said. “With Lexa. And Aden.”

“And you didn’t think to follow?”

“I don’t do holidays. Besides, it’s already awkward enough. I only told Lexa about this situation yesterday.”

Raven raised a brow. “And you’re already skipping out on family time?”

“I’m definitely not ready to meet the parents.” She paused. “I’ve never met any parents before.” Then, deadpanned, “Including my own.”

Raven snorted, then gave her a look. “So what happened? You just woke up one day and thought, hey, I wanna date my best friend’s ex-wife?”

Anya huffed a dry laugh. “Not exactly.”

She paused, picking at the label of her beer bottle.

“She stayed with me for a while. Things weren’t great in her personal life. I’d seen her upset before, sure, but not like that. She just… sort of folded in on herself.”

Raven didn’t interrupt.

“I remember wanting to just wrap her up in a bubble. Keep her safe from the world. Keep her safe with me.”

“And then there were these quiet days. Nothing dramatic. Just us, stretched out on the couch, each with our own book. One afternoon, I looked up and saw her smiling at something she was reading. She looked peaceful. At that moment, something in me shifted. I didn’t see her the same way after that.”

She let the words settle, then added, quieter, “It wasn’t a decision. It just… happened.”

Raven squinted, still processing. “Lexa’s cool with that? Damn. I’d lose it if my best friend dated my ex.”

Raven snorted. “Wait, actually that did happen. She not only slept with him, but married him.”

Anya raised a brow. “Wait. What?”

“We weren’t best friends then. That came later, after we both realized what a walking red flag he was. He was a two-timing bastard and neither of us knew.”

Anya turned, intrigued. “Seriously? Who?”

Raven smirked into her glass. “Your best friend’s dating her now.”

Anya blinked. “Clarke? No way. This night just keeps getting better.”

Anya leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “So what’s the deal with you and Finn, anyway?”

Raven sighed, swirling her drink. “He was my neighbor. We grew up together. He used to sneak me food when my mom traded our food stamps for booze.”

Anya’s expression softened, but she stayed quiet.

“It made sense back then,” Raven continued. “We were close. He was sweet. Caring, in that ‘boy next door’ kind of way. Eventually we started dating. But our houses happened to be right at the border of two different school zones, so we ended up in different high schools.”

She paused, mouth tightening slightly. “That’s when he met Clarke. I didn’t even know anything was going on until it was already too late. He’d gotten her pregnant.”

Anya raised her brows.

“Yeah,” Raven said flatly. “Clarke didn’t want the kid growing up in a broken home, so they tried to make it work. Got married. You know how that turned out.”

Anya exhaled a low whistle. “Damn.”

Raven snorted. “Yeah. High school sweetheart turned deadbeat cliché. We really nailed the whole coming-of-age thing.”

“Honestly? I’m just glad he didn’t get me pregnant too. Clarke and I would’ve ended up like some messed-up version of sister wives.”

Raven leaned back in her chair, lips quirking into a wry smile. “At least your gal’s got a perfectly functional and normal ex.”

Anya let out a laugh. “You mean Lexa?”

Raven raised her glass. “She’s stable, emotionally literate, and scary in a hot, brooding way. Yeah. I’d kill for one of those.”

Anya shook her head, amused. “In case you’re wondering, no, she doesn’t have a twin.”

Raven grinned. “Yeah, figured she’d be limited edition.”

Anya took a slow sip, then glanced sideways. “You really okay with Clarke now? After all that?”

Raven’s smile faded, but not completely. “Yeah. Eventually. We both got burned. Bonded over the ashes, I guess.”

They sat in silence, each lost in thought.

Then Anya spoke again, voice softer. “Still think about it? The way things went down?”

Raven looked at her drink, then back up. “Sometimes. But mostly I just wonder what the hell I saw in him. That part’s the real mystery.”

Raven rubbed the back of her neck. “Honestly, I haven’t had the best luck with exes. Most of them turned out to be assholes. So if my best friend dated one of them, knowing how they treated me? Yeah, that’d be hard to forgive.”

She shrugged, then grinned. “That’s why I’m happily single. Livin’ la Vida Loca, baby.”

Anya gave a slow shake of her head, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, okay. You win. Your story definitely beats being orphaned.”

Raven laughed, low and surprised. “Wow. That might be the darkest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

Anya clinked her glass lightly against Raven’s. “Happy to oblige.”

They sipped in sync, a comfortable beat passing before Raven leaned in again, voice low.

“So… Lexa’s really okay with it?”

Anya exhaled slowly. “She tries to act okay with it,” she said, eyes on her glass. “Me dating Costia, I mean. But I don’t know. I feel like I dropped it on her and just kept moving, like it was no big deal. And she’s still… catching up. Processing.”

She swirled the drink between her fingers. “It’s not like we planned it. It just happened. But I still feel like I blindsided her.”

Raven studied her. “You worried about the fallout?”

Anya nodded slowly. “Yeah. If it goes south, it could make things really awkward for everyone. We’re taking it slow as a result... even though…” She hesitated. “Sometimes I catch myself wanting more.”

Raven grinned. “Wait, you mean you haven’t hit that yet?”

Anya groaned. “It’s not that simple.”

Raven raised an eyebrow. “Is someone having performance anxiety?”

Anya shot her a look. “Were you even listening? I just said we’re taking things slow. I don’t want sex to get in the way while we’re still figuring things out.”

Raven smirked. “Thinking with your head instead of your—”

“Raven…” Anya cut in, deadpan.

Raven lifted her glass. “Gross. Responsible adults. Cheers to that.”

Anya leaned back, voice softening. “Besides, I don’t think Costia’s ready. She’s still pretty shaken by something that happened recently.

Raven’s smile faded a little. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

Anya nodded. “I want her to feel safe first. With me.”

They drank in silence for a beat, the murmur of the football game filling the space between them. Then Raven leaned her elbow on the table and tilted her head.

“Do you think you can ever do... normal?” she asked.

Anya gave a soft scoff, not unkind. “Define normal.”

Raven shrugged. “I don’t know. Sunday mornings. Groceries. Meeting the friends. Not bolting at the first sign of closeness.”

Anya tilted her glass thoughtfully, watching the amber swirl. “I think I want to. For the first time in a long time… I actually want to.”

Raven nodded, quieter now. “Then let’s hope Costia sticks around long enough for you to find out.”

Anya met her eyes. “Me too.” She paused, then smirked. “Though I’m not letting her near you. She’d probably fall for you in five minutes.”

Raven grinned. “Three, tops.”

They clinked glasses again, this time quieter. Outside, the sky darkened, soft flakes beginning to fall against the windowpane.

It was nearing midnight when the low hum of conversation in the bar shifted. A drunk guy in a Santa hat shouted “Merry Christmas!” across the room, and soon others echoed it, voices warm and slurred, glasses clinking.

Raven glanced at her phone, then looked over at Anya with a small smile. “Midnight.”

Anya raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Raven opened her arms and leaned in. “Merry Christmas, Anh.”

Anya stiffened at first, then gave in, letting Raven pull her into a quick, lopsided hug.

She grunted. “Mm.”

Raven didn’t let go right away. “Come on. Try it. You gotta start somewhere.”

Anya rolled her eyes, but when she pulled back, there was the faintest tug of a smile on her face.

“Merry Christmas,” she muttered, like the words tasted strange.

Anya felt her pocket vibrate. She reached for her phone, the screen lighting up with a new message.

Costia:
Merry Christmas. Thinking of you.

Anya stared at it for a second, then a quiet smile tugged at her lips.

Anya:
Right back at you. Hope you’re cozy.

She slid her phone back into her jacket.

“You know, if you ever need a wingwoman,” Anya said, almost casually, “I’m surprisingly good at spotting walking red flags now.”

Raven laughed. “Please. You’d scare off half the bar before I even got to the flirting part.”

Anya smirked. “AKA… the red flags. They wouldn’t run if they didn’t have anything to hide”

Raven burst out laughing, nearly spilling her drink as she leaned into the table. They clinked their glasses again, quieter still. Outside, the snow kept falling.

*****

The drive up the day before had been awkward. Not tense exactly, just quiet in all the wrong ways. Things unsaid, things that couldn’t be said. Not with Aden in the backseat humming along to the radio. So they’d filled the silence with music and small talk. Them, making small talk. A reminder of how far they’d fallen from knowing each other without needing words.

They had just finished clearing the dishes when Costia found Lexa alone by the sink, drying her hands on a dish towel. Aden’s laughter echoed faintly from the next room.

“I take it Anya’s talked to you,” Costia said carefully. “About us.”

Lexa didn’t look over right away. “She mentioned it.”

A quiet pause settled between them that was neither tense nor easy.

Costia stepped closer. “You know nothing ever happened while we were married. I never even looked at her that way back then. I wouldn’t have.”

“I know,” Lexa said quietly. She folded the towel with more care than necessary. “It’s not about that.”

Costia waited.

“It’s just…” Lexa finally looked at her. “She’s my best friend. Isn’t there some kind of unspoken rule? And what happens if this doesn’t work out?”

Costia hesitated. “We didn’t work out. We’re still here.”

She gave a small shrug. “It wasn’t planned. It just… happened. We didn’t even talk about it until recently. I didn’t want things to feel weird. But we both owe it to ourselves to at least figure out what this is.”

“It’s a little weird,” Lexa admitted, but her voice was softer now. “But I’m not angry. Just… surprised.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

Lexa finally asked, “Do you know what you’re getting into? Anya’s… she’s happy on her own. Dating someone like that isn’t always easy.”

Costia met her gaze firmly. “I know she cares, even if she doesn’t always show it. And I think I’m okay with that.”

Lexa nodded. “Just… give me a little time to catch up, yeah? I am happy for you two. Anya’s good people. She’s my best friend for a reason.”

Costia softened. “Of course.”

“But just…” Lexa gestured vaguely, like she was trying to waft the awkwardness away. “Just keep the PDA on the down-low for now, okay? I don’t want to have to bleach my eyes later.”

Costia chuckled, shaking her head. “We’ll try to spare your eyeballs. You do have pretty eyes… wouldn’t want to destroy those. Plus, Clarke would kill me.”

Lexa fluttered her eyelashes. “What, you think she wouldn’t want me if I didn’t have my pretty eyes?”

Costia smiled. “Nah, she’d want you for all the other reasons.”

Lexa’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile, the tension easing from her shoulders. She glanced toward the living room, where the sound of laughter made the moment feel lighter, more normal.

She opened the oven and pulled out the apple crumble, the scent of cinnamon and baked apples filling the kitchen.

Costia grabbed the bowls from the cabinet. “You scoop, I’ll serve?”

“Deal.” Lexa set the crumble on a trivet and handed her the serving spoon.

Aden appeared in the doorway, eyes wide. “Need help?”

Lexa gave him a look. “Offering or just trying to score the first bowl?”

“Both,” he grinned, already reaching for the ice cream.

***

Costia lay sprawled across her childhood bed, one hand on her stomach, the other curled around her phone. The house had gone still, wrapped in the hush of sleeping voices and settled dust. Everyone was asleep. Only she remained, awake in the quiet.

For once, her phone was usable. No relentless calls. No nasty voicemails. Chad hadn’t messaged her all day. Maybe he had finally moved on. Maybe he would leave her alone.

Anya’s voice came through the line, a little husky, a little tired. “I swear, if I hear one more Santa go ‘ho ho ho’ or one more bell ringing for donations…”

Costia smiled, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Truly the most wonderful time of the year.”

Anya let out a soft snort. “I’ll take a raincheck on that one.”

Costia shifted, eyes tracing the ceiling. “My dad was definitely out to embarrass Evan in front of his girlfriend. Payback for all the teenage angst he put them through. But he’s still ridiculously proud. Evan’s the golden child now. Final year of college, and he’s already lined up an internship at a robotics company in Seattle.”

“Baby genius,” Anya murmured.

“Total geek,” Costia said fondly. “Dad’s already planning to turn his room into a home gym the second he moves out. Evan threatened to drop out just to stop him.”

Anya snorted. “That kid’s gonna make it far.”

“What about you?” Costia asked. “You do anything today?”

“I did something different,” Anya said, but her voice shifted, softening. “Went for a hike. Pretty quiet on the trail. It was pretty chilly, but the view at the peak absolutely made up for it. It was… stunning.”

Costia rolled to her side, propping her head up on her hand. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wish you could have been there.”

Her breath caught, just a little. Costia closed her eyes. “Me too.”

Silence hung between them, not awkward. Just full.

“You open your gift yet?” Anya asked.

“Not yet. I’ve been waiting until I get a moment to myself. My mom’s been hovering like it’s her business.”

Anya laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s a parent-safe gift. I promise.”

Costia chuckled softly. “You sure? I know you. I didn’t want to scar my parents. Or Aden, for that matter.” She could hear Anya snickering. “That doesn’t sound very reassuring, Anh.”

Anya’s voice was warm. “You’ll like it. I promise. It’s not even that weird.”

“That’s what everyone says right before it gets weird.”

Anya snorted. “Oh come on, I’m not gonna give you a weird gift for our first Christmas.”

Costia raised a brow, even though Anya couldn’t see it. “You say that like there’s a weird gift already planned for our second.”

There was a beat, then Anya drawled, “No comment.”

There was another pause, lighter this time. Costia could almost picture Anya lying on her own bed somewhere, hair messy, hoodie on, phone balanced on her chest.

“Thanks for calling,” Costia said.

“Yeah.” Anya’s voice dropped even lower. “I wanted to hear your voice. Even if it’s just for a bit.”

Costia’s heart twisted, in that good, aching way.

“You can call anytime.”

A long beat. Then, gently, “Goodnight, Cos.”

“Goodnight, Anh.”

She stayed there a while after the line went quiet, phone still warm in her hand, a faint smile curving her lips. It still stunned her sometimes, how this rough, guarded woman could be so soft, and how that softness was just hers alone to witness.

Costia sat up a little and reached for the small box at her bedside. Everyone was asleep. The house was still. Safe enough to risk it.

She peeled back the wrapping, careful not to make noise, and lifted the lid. Inside was a mini zen garden set, with smooth sand, a cute tiny rake, a mini pagoda and a few polished stones. Nestled on top was a note in Anya’s unmistakable scrawl.

She could practically hear the deadpan delivery as she read it. “You can rake tiny lines instead of stabbing people.”

Below that, in smaller print, was a quieter message. “And maybe find a little peace while you're at it. You deserve that too.”

A quiet laugh escaped her. She smiled, lips tugging despite herself, the weight in her chest easing just a little.

Chapter Text

The Griffin house smelled like warm spices, sweet pastry, and too many different kinds of roasted meat. Clarke had cracked open a window to keep the fog on the glass from turning the place into a sauna.

Madi had taken over DJ duties with a playlist that somehow mixed Mariah Carey, Pentatonix, and the Frozen soundtrack. The usual suspects from Thanksgiving filled the living room and spilled into the hallway, with some seated on the floor and others sprawled across couches.

This Christmas, Abby had surrendered the kitchen to collective sanity. Everyone had chipped in for the pre-ordered Christmas menu. Bellamy and Echo had done the bulk of the pickup: roasted turkey, honey-glazed ham, beef tenderloin, and enough sides to fill the dining table twice over. Clarke brought pies — apple, pecan, and pumpkin, one of which had disappeared before dinner.

Finn’s parents arrived with a decorative fruit platter that looked like it came from a catering catalog. Finn himself showed up with two bottles of red, three of white, and a bottle of sparkling grape juice that Madi made a show of cradling like it was rare champagne.

By the time dessert rolled around, everyone was somewhere between food coma and bliss. Octavia had her head on Lincoln’s shoulder, eyes closed but smiling faintly at Elara’s attempts to teach Elias how to sing the alphabet backwards. Jake was opening a second bottle of wine. Abby swatted his hand half-heartedly, then took the corkscrew from him and did it herself.

Raven was stretched out like a starfish on the rug, threatening to roll toward the fireplace, when Clarke nudged her with her foot before passing her a slice of pie. She sat beside her on the rug, legs folded.

“Hey,” she said casually, “I thought Anya might come with you.”

Raven shrugged, mouth full. “Not for lack of trying. She doesn’t do holidays. I’m not about to poke the bear and drag her here.”

Clarke laughed softly. “Fair.”

Raven jerked a thumb toward the hallway. “Besides, I already brought fireworks. That’s enough chaos for one night.”

From across the room, Abby didn’t even look up. “Raven... no fireworks. The HOA already complained the last time you pulled that stunt.”

Raven pouted. “It was New Year’s. Barely even counts.”

Abby raised an eyebrow. “So was the fine.”

Clarke smothered a laugh behind her pie.

Raven was still grumbling about the old farts in the HOA being party poopers when she looked up and called across the room, “Hey, Mads! Saw your bumblebee video. It was legendary!”

Madi lit up. “I know, right? Wells helped. But Dad said we gotta ask Mom for permission if we want to make more videos. Apparently, Dad didn’t tell her about the first one before it went viral.”

Wells, sitting nearby with a fork still in hand, scratched the back of his head. “Sorry, Clarke. I thought you already knew. I wouldn’t have helped if I knew you hadn’t signed off.”

Clarke waved it off. “Well, it was kinda cute. I’m just glad Finn didn’t come up with any terrible ideas, like actually dressing her up as a sexy car salesperson. I don’t want my daughter being objectified.”

Finn, passing behind them with a glass in hand, gave a mild protest. “Hey, I wouldn’t do that to her…”

Clarke turned to Wells. “So,” she said, voice casual but warm, “how’s the new job coming along? Settled in well?”

Wells looked up. For a moment, something flickered in his expression. He set his fork down. “I actually tendered a couple of weeks ago.”

Clarke blinked. “What? Why?”

“A better opportunity came up,” he said. “I got a new job. Starts next month. Policy advisor for Senator Vasquez.”

Her eyes widened. “Wells, that’s… wow. That’s huge.”

Then it clicked.

“Wait. Isn’t Senator Vasquez based in D.C.?” Clarke frowned. “But I just got you back.”

“I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Dad’s pretty upset. Thought I was finally putting down roots.”

Clarke hesitated, chewing her lip. Then she asked softly, “Are you leaving… because of me?”

Wells glanced toward the window, then looked back at her. After a pause, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Vasquez chairs the subcommittee on science and innovation. The man’s got actual plans for clean energy investment, and he’s pushing for education reform that isn’t just lip service. They want me to help draft early policy around funding structures.”

He paused, as if to let that sink in. “I’d be working on the kind of stuff I used to write papers about.”

Clarke let out a soft breath of laughter. “That does sound like you.”

“I’ve been reading his floor speeches since undergrad. The guy was a physicist before politics. He’s smart. And weirdly idealistic for someone that far up the food chain.”

“You’re excited.”

“I am,” he said, almost breathless. “It’s the kind of work I got into this for. And I’ll be honest, I think I need to disappear into it for a while.”

She heard what he didn’t say. That she was part of the reason he needed the distance.

“Vasquez?” Raven had caught the tail end of the conversation. “Wells, are you serious?”

He looked up. “Yeah. You know him?”

Raven gave a short, impressed whistle. “Know of him? Please. He’s the one who pushed the LunaQuest Initiative. If it weren’t for him, NASA wouldn’t even be working towards going back to the moon. We’re gonna have a moon base, baby! And the Go-Sci Station? That’s him too. First of its kind, orbiting Earth with artificial gravity from those spinning rings.”

Wells shrugged. “Hopefully we get to Mars next. Would be nice to see that in our lifetime.”

“You’ll love working for him,” Raven said. “I’m based in D.C. too, remember? Which means you’re buying the first round.”

He laughed. “Deal.”

Clarke watched them with a faint smile. Something inside her eased. He wasn’t running away. He was running toward something that mattered.

She touched his arm. “I’m really proud of you.”

His gaze softened. “Thanks.”

Then Raven bumped his shoulder with hers. “Just don’t get too important too fast. I still want to be able to afford lunch with you.”

Wells grinned. “Give it a few years. I’ll try not to forget you.”

Just then, Finn approached with a drink in one hand and a hopeful expression. “Hey, me and Madi were thinking of more video ideas for Collins Prestige Auto.”

Wells raised an eyebrow. “Have you run it past Clarke yet?”

“Not yet,” Finn admitted.

Wells smirked. “You could always be the face of the channel. You’ve got the looks and charisma.”

Madi perked up. “Ooh yes! You just need sunglasses and a cool black leather cloak. You know, like Neo in The Matrix?”

Raven tilted her head. “Pretty sure Neo didn’t sell cars, bug.”

Madi nodded seriously. “But if he did, people would definitely buy them.”

Raven considered it. “Yeah, okay. I would. So, you gonna make your dad look cool, huh?”

Madi looked at Finn, beaming. “Cooler. He’s already cool.”

Finn pretended not to get choked up and gave her a gentle fist bump.

Ding ding ding. Echo tapped her fork against her wine glass.

“Alright! Time for tradition,” she called out, wiping her hands on a napkin.

Recycled Dirty Santa. It was their annual ritual. No money spent, no store-bought wrapping. Just gifts scavenged from closets or regifted with questionable sincerity. Each person had wrapped one earlier and placed it under the tree. Now, Raven held out a bowl of folded papers.

Madi picked first and grinned. “Seven!”

“Lucky,” Bellamy muttered.

One by one, numbers were drawn.

Octavia went first. She reached for a rectangular box wrapped in comic pages and peeled back the tape. Inside was a pair of novelty socks and a matching mug with a grumpy cat on it. She held it up with a proud grin.

“Classic!”

Lincoln picked next. He chose a flat box, tore through the brown paper, and held up a red apron with white lettering that read Kiss the Cook. The room cracked up.

“I almost brought that last year,” Raven said.

Abby snorted. “Why? Your genius disappears the moment you walk into a kitchen.”

Raven threw her hands up. “Hey… okay, I got nothing. The kitchen and I aren’t on speaking terms.”

Abby stood, marched over, and plucked the apron from Lincoln’s hands. “I’m stealing it. Sorry, love.” She looped it over her neck and gave Jake a pointed look. He leaned in and kissed her cheek.

Lincoln sighed dramatically and returned to the tree. This time he picked a package tied with twine. Inside was a well-used Route 66 guidebook, full of scribbled notes and faded sticky tabs.

His smile softened. “Always wanted to make this road trip. This will come in handy.”

Elias went next. He picked the biggest box. Elara leaned forward, curious. Clarke knew what was inside but said nothing.

“Uh… I think this is a ukulele?” Elias held it up like it might explode.

Bellamy raised a hand. “That’s mine. I’ll give you lessons.”

Elias looked skeptical, then grinned. “Only if I get to play Smoke on the Water.”

“That’s a guitar song.”

“Don't worry. You can figure it out.” Elias said confidently. “If not, I bet it’s on YouTube.”

Elara was next. She picked a glittery blue package and unwrapped it with care. Inside was a friendship bracelet maker.

Madi leaned over. “That one’s from me. You’re gonna love it. I got two sets for my birthday last year!”

No one tried to steal it, of course. Elara beamed and hugged Madi like she’d just received a unicorn.

Bellamy chose a medium-sized box wrapped in a T-shirt. His grin bloomed as he pulled out a collector’s edition of The Last of Us.

Madi picked next and came back grinning, holding a tin of chocolate. “I’m gonna share this with Aden,” she announced proudly.

Clarke frowned. The tin was beat-up, and the expiry date was only three months out.

Raven leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Or I could snatch it from you. It’s my turn.”

Madi clutched it tighter. “No. Don’t. I’ll… I’ll give you a massage if you don’t snatch it.”

Raven wiggled her eyebrows. “Deal!”

Clarke snorted. Raven had no idea what she’d just signed up for.

Raven turned to Bellamy, who was still admiring his box set.

“Oh man. Always wondered what the hype about this game was, now I get to—”

“Mine now,” Raven said, swiping it clean from his hands and flopping down beside Clarke.

Bellamy stared at her, betrayed. “You don’t even like survival horror.”

“I like winning.”

“Rude.”

“This game is rigged,” he muttered.

Raven grinned as she cradled The Last of Us like a trophy. “Rules are rules.”

Bellamy sighed dramatically. Resigned, he walked back to the tree and grabbed another gift. He unwrapped it slowly, then held up a sparkly pink manicure set complete with tiny bottles of glitter polish and butterfly stickers.

Madi clapped. “You’d look so good with sparkles.”

“I know,” Bellamy said with a straight face. “I’m starting a new era.”

Raven cackled. “You’re gonna be unstoppable with glitter claws.”

Jake picked next. He tore open a gift bag decorated with Christmas dinosaurs and held up a green sweater. A T-Rex wearing sunglasses and a Santa hat grinned back at him below the words T-REXCELLENT CHRISTMAS.

He laughed. “It’s in my size. This is fate.”

Echo unwrapped a small box and revealed three scented candles — lavender, sandalwood, and something labeled Winter Forest.

Clarke gently snatched them from her hands and lifted one to her nose. “My turn. Lexa would’ve loved these.”

“You’re playing this all wrong,” Raven tsked. “It’s Dirty Santa, not Romantic Gestures 101. The gift’s supposed to be for you, not your girlfriend.”

Echo picked again. She chose a box wrapped in faded elf-themed gift paper and tore into it, revealing a complete DVD box set of The Lord of the Rings trilogy. She smirked. “Thanks, Clarke. I like this way better.”

Raven snorted. “Who even has DVD players anymore? These would make great coasters. Or scare off birds.”

“We still have a player,” Echo said, aiming a pointed look her way. “Besides, LOTR is a classic. The making-of videos alone make this box set worth it.”

“Geek,” Raven muttered.

Echo grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

She glanced toward the window where the sky had gone fully dark and tucked the box onto her lap like something precious.

Finn stepped forward next. He hesitated before picking a box with torn corners. Inside was a snow globe of a city skyline and a folded gray scarf.

He looked up and simply said, “Thanks,” though no one knew who it was meant for.

His father, Thomas, unwrapped a slim hardback: Tuesdays with Morrie. His face lit up with a warm smile. “I heard this is good.”

“That yours?” Raven asked.

“Mine. It’s really good,” Abby admitted.

“Sentimental,” Clarke said, half under her breath.

The energy had shifted. The laughter quieted into pockets of conversation. Bellamy and Echo were trying to get Elias to strum a string. Madi was showing Elara how to make the friendship bracelets. Abby got out the egg nog while Octavia nodded off, and Lincoln draped a blanket over her without a word.

Only one gift remained beneath the tree.

Thomas’s wife, Margaret, pulled out a sudoku puzzle book with a mechanical pencil clipped to the coil binding.

“Oh, how lovely,” she said. “Something to keep my mind sharp.”

Clarke smiled. “That was Raven’s.”

“I approve,” Margaret replied, flipping to the first page. “Beats scented candles.”

Madi trotted over and climbed into her lap. “Grandma, I know how to do those. I’ll teach you.”

For a moment, the room was perfectly still. Everyone had a cup, a gift, a blanket, or a promise to rewrap something next year. Raven was muttering about sore shoulders. Bellamy still looked bitter. Jake and Abby clinked their mugs together. When Clarke glanced around, she found Finn already looking her way. He held her gaze just long enough to raise his mug in a silent toast.

Madi leaned against her side, her fingers sticky with chocolate, humming softly.

“Best Christmas ever,” Madi mumbled.

Clarke kissed the top of her head. “Just wait till you see what Santa left at home.”

Madi’s voice dropped. “I wish Aden was here. I miss him.”

Clarke nodded. “His grandparents miss him too. They don’t get to see him very often.”

“I know,” Madi said. “But I still miss him.”

“We’ll FaceTime Lexa and Aden later, okay? He’ll be back tomorrow.”

Madi smiled, content for now. Clarke held her closer and let the warmth of the room settle in like snowfall.

Later, Clarke propped the phone up on the table. Lexa answered first, hair tied up, smile tired but real. Aden crowded in beside her, cheeks flushed.

“Finally!” Madi grinned. “I saved you some chocolate. It’s the nice tasting kind.”

Aden groaned dramatically. “Ugh, I can’t eat another bite. Grandma cooked so much food, I feel like a stuffed turkey.”

“You missed Dirty Santa,” Madi said. “Raven stole Bellamy’s game. He looked like he was gonna cry.”

Aden laughed. “Wish I saw that.”

“You will,” Madi promised. “I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.”

Aden yawned mid-laugh. “Okay, I’m tapping out. I’m seriously about to fall asleep sitting up.”

“Night Ade,” Madi said. “I’ll see tomorrow.”

“Night,” he mumbled, already half gone as he shuffled offscreen.

Lexa glanced after him with a soft smile, then looked back at the camera.

Clarke nudged Madi. “You, by the way, owe Raven a massage.”

Madi groaned. “Ugh, I forgot. She better not ask for feet.”

Clarke grinned. “That’s the risk of bribery, kiddo.”

She padded off in search of Raven.

For a moment, it was just Clarke and Lexa.

“Hi,” Clarke said, quieter now.

Lexa leaned in a little closer on screen. “Hi.”

Clarke murmured, “I miss you.”

Lexa's eyes softened. “I miss you too. I'm not used to being away from you this long.”

“You’ve only been gone one night,” Clarke said, half-smiling.

“One long, lonely night,” Lexa replied. “Feels weird sleeping alone.”

Clarke leaned closer to the screen, her fingers brushing the edge like she could reach through. “Yeah. Same here.” A breath, then softer, “I keep rolling over expecting you to be there.”

Lexa’s mouth lifted in a half-smile, touched with ache. “I hate this part.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Clarke murmured.

Lexa raised a brow. “Oh?”

Clarke tilted her head, voice just above a whisper. “You’ll have to wait till you’re back.”

Lexa groaned, but the warmth in her eyes said she’d be thinking about that all night.

Before Clarke could reply, a groan cut through the background.

“This is not what I signed up for,” Raven whined from somewhere off-screen.

Madi's voice came next, upbeat and firm. “Trust me, it’s exactly how they do it on YouTube.”

Clarke nodded, half-smiling. “Madi’s got Raven pinned to the floor.”

Lexa huffed a quiet laugh. “How hard is she going?”

“Let’s just say Raven’s never asking for another Madi massage,” Clarke said. “And she’s definitely going to be sore in places she didn’t know had muscles.”

Lexa smiled. “Save some of that chaos for me tomorrow?”

“I’ll try,” Clarke said, voice softening.

Lexa tried to stifle a yawn.

“You’re tired,” Clarke murmured. “Get some sleep, okay? You’ve a long drive back tomorrow.”

“You too.”

“Merry Christmas, Lex.”

Lexa’s smile turned gentle. “Merry Christmas, Clarke.”

They lingered a moment longer than necessary, eyes holding on. Then Clarke ended the call, her smile still lingering.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low but bright in the sky as Lexa loaded the last bag into the trunk. She closed the trunk with a soft thud and reached for her phone just as it buzzed in her pocket.

Anya’s voice crackled through the phone. “Lex, is Cos still with you?”

“Yeah, she’s with the family. Why?”

“Is she okay? Her phone’s off. I’m afraid Chad’s…”

“I’ll check on her. Don’t worry.”

Lexa stepped back into the house and into the living room, where laughter and soft music filled the air. She found a spot next to Costia on the couch and sat down.

“Hey. You okay? Anya was worried when she couldn’t reach you.”

Costia didn’t answer right away. She pulled out her phone, turned it on, and handed it to Lexa without a word.

New nessages flooded in. One after another.

“Merry Christmas, you whore.”
“You think you can hide from me?”
“Answer me, bitch.”
“You can’t hide forever.”

Lexa’s jaw clenched. She turned off the screen, placed the phone on the coffee table, and shifted closer.

“Hey,” she said gently. “We won’t let him get to you. Okay?”

Costia gave the smallest nod, eyes fixed on her lap.

Lexa hesitated, then nudged her lightly. “You know what? We’re not ending our time here like this. Listen to this.” She glanced toward Aden and called out, “Hey Ade, what was that story you were telling me the other day? About Jason?”

Aden perked up immediately. “Oh! So we were doing this math test, right? Super quiet, everyone was focused. Then out of nowhere, there’s this sound… like the longest fart ever. I’m talking five whole seconds. Maybe more. Everyone just froze.”

He widened his eyes for effect. “And then the smell hit us. It was so bad, the kids around Jason started gagging. Shirley actually threw up. Madi threw an eraser at him in protest. Ms. Parker just shouted, ‘Everyone out!’ like it was a fire drill. We had to evacuate the whole room!”

He beamed. “And our test got cancelled!”

Costia gave a startled laugh. “I haven’t heard that one.”

Evan jumped in. “That reminds me. Once I was stuck on a train during a fault. This guy had diarrhea and couldn’t hold it. It was dripping down his leg. His face was so red. The smell was so bad. The old lady beside him fainted. I thought I was going to die. Longest hour of my life.”

His girlfriend, Carmen, smacked his arm. “Your mom’s still eating dessert.”

Irena grimaced. “And I’d very much like to keep it down, thank you.”

Evan raised both hands. “Right, right. I’m not volunteering for cleanup again if Mom hurls.”

Laughter rippled through the room again, lighter this time. Even Costia leaned into Lexa a little, her smile lingering. She squeezed Lexa’s hand in quiet thanks. Lexa gave her a small smile and squeezed back.

Later, Lexa stood in the hallway, phone in hand. She typed out a message to Anya.

Lexa:
Yeah. Chad’s been harassing her again. I think it’s time to get her a new number.

Anya replied almost instantly.

Anya:
Consider it done as soon as she gets back.

Lexa:
We’re heading out soon. I’ll let you know when we’re back in town.

***

Anya sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the screen. Her reply sent, she let the phone drop onto the duvet beside her.

First priority: get a new phone. And maybe something else too. A distraction couldn’t fix everything, but it might help.

She stood, grabbing her phone and keys. Shopping first. Then she’d find the quirkiest place in town to make Costia smile.

***

The place looked like someone had let a Pinterest board come to life. String lights hung from mismatched chandeliers, chairs didn’t match but somehow worked, and the menu was handwritten in chalk on a surfboard nailed to the wall.

Costia blinked up at the neon sign overhead: Waffle House of the Rising Moon.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Anya grinned as she held the door open. “Nope. Their wasabi fried chicken and matcha waffles are life-changing. Trust me.”

Inside, the smell was somehow both comforting and confusing. Costia trailed behind Anya to a booth shaped like a giant teacup. Just beside them, another table was flanked by carousel horses in place of chairs. She slid in and raised an eyebrow. “Do you have, like, a secret list of bizarre cafés or something?”

“Maybe,” Anya smirked. “But I save the weirdest ones for the people I like.”

Costia laughed, the first real one all day. And when their food came, it was chaotic, spicy, and absolutely delicious. In that moment, she forgot how tight her chest had felt all afternoon.

They were sharing the last bite of yuzu cheesecake when Costia dug into her oversized bag and pulled out a handmade cookie jar, with freshly baked cookies nestled inside. She handed it to Anya with a small smile. “Aden helped decorate these. The messier ones are his.”

Anya’s eyes lit up as she accepted the jar. Then she reached into her bag and slid a slim white box across the table.

Costia stared at it, then back at her. “What’s this?”

Anya shrugged. “You need a new phone. Yours is ancient.”

“Hey, I’m sentimental. Besides, you already gave me a zen garden.”

“Consider this part two.” Anya tilted her head, smirking. “The museum called. They saved a spot for your phone next to the Nokia.”

Costia let out a breathy laugh.

Costia opened it slowly, taking in the clean lines of the new iPhone. Her chest ached in that way gratitude sometimes did. “You really didn’t have to…”

“I know,” Anya added, voice softer now. “But I wanted to.”

Costia looked down, thumbing the edge of the box. “You realize for someone who ‘doesn’t do holidays,’ you’re making it really hard for me to top this next year.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Anya said, tone dry. “Next year you’re getting socks.”

Costia laughed.

Anya leaned back. “You should get a new number. Keep the old phone switched off, for evidence and in case someone important tries to reach you. You don't have to deal with him anymore. I can help check your old phone and make sure nothing important gets missed.”

“Thanks,” Costia said, glancing over at her. “And for not preloading it with your contact and installing five tracking apps.”

Anya smirked. “Not my style. But if you want to join my Apple Family Sharing, I won’t object. I’ve got some wicked games and Apple TV+. Distraction guaranteed.”

Costia let out a soft laugh, then leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Anya’s cheek. “Seriously. Thank you.”

Anya blinked, caught off guard. Her smirk faltered, replaced by something quieter. Her ears turned just a shade pink.

“You’re welcome,” she said, voice gentler now. “I just want you to feel safe.”

Costia smiled at her, warmth in her eyes. “I always feel safe with you.”

Anya didn’t say anything, just bumped her shoulder gently against hers. The sky overhead was turning navy. Streetlights blinked on. For once, Costia wasn’t in a hurry to get home.

Anya nudged her gently. “Come on. Let’s go get you a new number. Time to rejoin civilization.”

*****

The house had quieted into that warm, content lull that followed a long day of excitement. Madi and Aden had been glued to each other since Aden arrived, talking over each other as they tore through the last of the presents under the tree. Among the haul was a shiny new box of Mastermind, which they unwrapped with mutual curiosity.

Dinner had been simple, just the four of them, quiet and cozy. Now the kids were on the living room floor, deeply focused on the game, the little pegs and board spread out between them. Biscuit lay nearby, happily gnawing on the oversized bone he’d received for Christmas, tail thumping against the carpet every so often.

Madi squinted at the little pegs in front of her. “Wait… so if there’s one red in the right place and one white in the wrong place, that means…”

Aden leaned over, pointing at her guess. “It means one of these colors is in the right spot, and another one is the right color but in the wrong spot.”

“But which one?”

“That’s the point. You have to figure it out by trying different combos.”

Madi groaned and flopped back dramatically on the floor. “This is giving me a headache.”

Aden grinned. “It’s not that hard once you get the pattern. Look, if you change the blue to green and keep the red where it is…”

Madi propped herself up again. “You’re like a mastermind at Mastermind.”

Aden shrugged. “I read the instructions.”

Madi narrowed her eyes. “Nerd.”

He smirked. “Better than losing.”

She gasped. “I’m letting you win!”

“You’re literally not.”

Madi huffed, then leaned forward with fresh determination. “Okay. New guess. And if I crack your code, you’re on dish duty for a week.”

Aden raised a brow. “And if you don’t?”

“I’ll do yours.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You sure you wanna risk it? You’re kind of flailing.”

She gloated him. “Afraid to lose to a girl, Ade?”

He smirked. “Fine. You’re on.”

Madi nodded seriously, then shifted one peg over, replaced the last one with green, and pressed the guess into the board. “Boom.”

Aden checked the solution panel. His smirk faded. “No way.”

“Way.”

He double-checked, then groaned. “You got it?”

“I got it,” she said, holding out her hand. “Seven days. No complaints.”

“You tricked me.”

“I outplayed you,” she said, sipping her juice box like a queen. “I played this before. Just needed you to underestimate me.”

Aden scowled. “You pretended to be bad on purpose?”

She grinned. “It’s called strategy.”

He dropped back onto the rug with a dramatic sigh. “I feel betrayed.”

“You should. I learned from the best.” She poked his arm. “You taught me how to bluff.”

He groaned louder.

From the hallway, Clarke called out, “Everything okay in there?”

“Nothing,” Madi said sweetly. “Aden’s just really excited to do dishes for a week.”

Clarke raised a brow. “Oh really?”

Aden grumbled, “I’ve made a huge mistake.”

Lexa leaned in from the doorway, arms crossed, amused. “What’d she do?”

“Out-hustled me,” Aden muttered.

Lexa’s brow lifted. “Oof. Rookie mistake.”

Madi held up her juice box in a silent toast. “To underestimation.”

Lexa smirked. “You’ll do well in life, kid.”

*****

Ding. Anya glanced at her phone. A new message. From Costia.

She heard a quiet snicker from the other end of the couch.

Costia:
New phone, who dis?

Anya huffed a laugh, glancing up.

Costia grinned back at her, legs tucked beneath her, the soft glow of fairy lights flickering behind her. Her new phone sat on the cushion beside her, halfway through setup.

“You’re such a dork,” Anya said, thumbs already moving.

Anya:
It’s the hot girl you followed home, remember?

Costia’s next laugh came out full and unguarded.

Anya leaned in. “Hey. You want some ice cream?”

Costia hummed in agreement, still smiling, eyes half-lidded with contentment.

Anya grinned, picking up her phone again.

Anya:
One sec. Gotta get the pretty lady on my couch some ice cream. Brb.

Costia called out, “With cherry and whipped cream please.”

Costia:
She’s got you so whipped.

Anya:
If being whipped means dessert on her, I’m all hers.

Costia choked on a laugh, smacking her arm with a pillow.

Anya returned with two bowls of ice cream. “Here you go. I got you two cherries because I’m feeling generous tonight.”

A soft relief settled in Anya’s chest. Seeing Costia smile again and coming back to herself, it was more than she’d hoped for. And she was grateful to witness every bit of it.

Across the couch, Costia’s fingers danced over the screen again, updating contacts, replying to friends, rejoining chats that had gone silent too long. Each buzz and notification stitched together something that had slowly come undone.

By the time she curled under the covers, phone charging neatly on the nightstand, Costia’s eyes were heavier, her breathing slower. Anya stayed beside her until she drifted off, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

*****

The living room was quiet now. Just the hum of the heater and the soft rustle of sleeping bags as Madi and Aden shifted in their dreams. A few stray wrapping paper curls still lingered under the couch. The Christmas lights blinked lazily on the tree.

Clarke eased the door shut and padded back into the kitchen where Lexa stood rinsing out mugs.

“Hey,” Clarke said softly, touching her back.

“Kids asleep?”

“Like rocks,” Clarke said, leaning against the counter beside her. “You okay?”

Lexa nodded, drying her hands. “I’m about to be.” She stepped closer, tugging Clarke in for a slow, deep kiss. Her hands slid around Clarke’s hips, pulling her flush.

Clarke smiled against her lips. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Lexa’s smirk turned playful. “Because I believe someone promised she’d make it up to me.”

Clarke’s eyes darkened with a mix of challenge and warmth. “Well, lucky for you, I always keep my promises… especially when it involves a pretty lady.”

Her voice dropped, sultry and soft. “A pretty lady who’s all mine.”

Lexa’s eyes darkened, heat flickering through her gaze. The claim sparked something bold and hungry in her.

She stepped closer, voice low and thick with desire. “Is that a promise or a warning?”

Clarke’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Both.”

Lexa’s hands slid down Clarke’s sides, pulling her closer. The heat between them was undeniable, a charged current sparking in the air. Clarke’s breath hitched as Lexa’s lips traced the curve of her jaw.

“Bedroom. Now,” Clarke whispered, voice low but firm.

Lexa grinned, eyes dark with desire. “Yes, ma’am.”

They moved together, a rhythm quickening with every step. The world outside faded until only the soft glow of the bedroom lamp and their racing hearts remained.

*****

Night settled heavy around them. Costia was sleep, curled beneath the covers in her own bed, her breathing soft and even.

But Anya couldn’t sleep.

She lay awake beside her, staring at the ceiling, thoughts looping restlessly. The weight of everything Costia was facing pressed in like a tide she couldn’t hold back.

Quietly, she slipped out from under the blanket and padded into the living room. The old phone sat where Costia had left it earlier, screen dark, silent. Anya hesitated, then powered it on.

It lit up instantly.

Notifications stacked one after another. Missed calls. Messages. Voicemails.

Her jaw clenched.

What the hell had he sent?

Every line that loaded only deepened her rage. The last few were worse than usual. There were voice notes, too. She could imagine how much worse those would sound. Her fingers tightened around the phone. Her whole body vibrated with anger that wouldn’t settle.

Without hesitating, Anya opened the call log, tapped on Chad’s name, and held the phone to her ear.

It rang once. Twice.

“You finally calling me back, bitch?” Chad’s voice was slurred and smug.

Anya’s jaw clenched. Her grip tightened on the phone. Her eyes narrowed, darkening with anger. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

“Listen to me, you pathetic excuse for a man. Come near her again and I will rip your balls off, feed them to you raw, and make sure you choke on them. And if you’re still breathing after that, I’ll make sure you wish you weren’t.”

Chad didn’t speak. Just laughed, like something about this amused him far too much.

“Ohhh. So you’re why she’s ghosting me. New mistress, new life, huh? She really thinks she’s done with me.”

He paused, and then his tone sharpened.

“She traded me in for you, huh?”

Anya’s fists curled against her thighs.

Then he chuckled again, slower this time.

“Well. Do me a favor, yeah? Don’t go easy on her. She always responded better when things got rough. Cried a lot, begged sometimes. But you know that already, don’t you?”

He dropped his voice to a hiss.

“She’ll take it. She always does. And you?” His voice curled into a sneer, thick with malice. “You’ll love it. I can tell. You’ve got that edge. You're just like me. That’s why she picked you.”

Anya’s jaw snapped tight. “You sick fuck,” she spat. “We are not the same.”

He paused for a moment, then his reply came, slow and smug.

“Don’t get too comfortable. She’s on loan. So enjoy her while you can. Sooner or later, I’ll find her. And when I do? She’ll come crawling back. She always does.”

Then the laugh came again, but harsher now. Like the whole thing was a joke to him.

Anya’s jaw tightened further, a low, simmering rage burning behind her eyes. She could still hear him laughing hysterically just before the call cut out.

Click. Silence.

Anya stared at the phone, jaw clenched. Her pulse thudded in her ears.

How dare he! She was not him!

How dare he even try to put her in the same category. Like she was wired the same sick way. Like what she felt for Costia was twisted.

Ughhh. She wanted to hit something.

No. She wanted to hit someone. Drive her fist into his smug, taunting face, again and again until the sneer broke. After all, it was Boxing Day. And Boxing Day was… for boxing people, right?

Chad’s voice echoed in her head, dragging up ghosts she thought she’d buried. All the bullies from the group homes. The ones who didn’t need fists to hurt you. Just sharp and targeted words. Designed to crawl under your skin and fester. They didn’t shout — they smirked. Whispered things that made you question your worth. Made you feel small. Made you want to disappear.

She had hated them. Hated the helplessness they left behind. Chad had that same venom in his tone. Like he knew exactly where to cut.

She hated that he had put Costia through this, and still wouldn’t let go. That even now, after everything, Costia had to look over her shoulder. Still flinching at shadows. The injustice of it burned through her.

She drew a breath. Then another, slower this time. She wasn’t going to let this asshole live rent-free in her mind. That’s how the bullies won.

She needed to clear her head.

Meditate. Focus. Breathe.

Little by little, the fog began to lift.

“Anh?” A voice, almost a whisper, drifted from the hallway.

Costia.

Anya blinked. She turned toward the hallway.

Costia needed her. Not her rage, not her bruised memories, just her.

She stood, steadied herself, then went to her.

Costia stood in the hallway, hair mussed, one sleeve slipping off her shoulder. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep, but her brow furrowed.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

Anya nodded once, then reached out, brushing her thumb across Costia’s cheek. “Yeah. Just couldn’t sleep.”

Costia leaned into the touch, her hand finding Anya’s wrist. “Come back to bed? It’s freezing. My human heater went missing.”

Anya smiled, just a little. “Yeah. I’m right behind you.”

And she would be. Every step, every fight, for as long as Costia needed her.

Costia climbed back into bed, curling beneath the blanket. Anya followed a moment later, sliding in beside her. The room had gone still, save for the hum of the aircon and the soft rustle of sheets.

She reached for Anya like she always did now, seeking that quiet comfort, that grounding body heat. But her hand didn’t stop at Anya’s waist. It wandered.

Softly at first. Her lips brushed Anya’s neck. Her fingers trailed down her spine, over the hem of her shirt. The air between them shifted.

Anya didn’t move. Not right away.

Costia leaned in again, slower this time, her breath warming Anya’s jaw. Anya turned into it, meeting her halfway. Their lips collided, no hesitation now, all open mouth and hunger. The kiss deepened quickly, sharp with need, as if they’d both been holding back too long.

Costia’s hands slid into Anya’s hair, tugging gently, drawing a low moan from her throat. Anya’s fingers slipped beneath her shirt, trailing heat across bare skin, palms mapping the soft curve of her waist.

Costia pressed closer, straddling Anya’s thigh, her body flush and insistent. Her mouth left a trail along Anya’s jaw, then lower, breath catching when Anya’s hand traced the line of her spine. It was messy, breathless and charged. For a moment, it felt like falling.

Costia let her hand slide lower, her fingers brushing against the waistband of Anya’s underwear, hesitating just briefly before slipping beneath.

Anya flinched. Barely a second. But Costia felt it. Rejection. She froze, then pulled back immediately, retreating.

Anya moved too, just slightly, her hand closing around Costia’s wrist, gentle but steady, drawing her back.

“Wait.”

Their foreheads pressed together, breathing hard, trying to catch up to the heat they had just unleashed.

Anya’s mind raced, the sharp echoes of cruel words still bouncing around her head. This wasn’t how she wanted it. Not their first time. Not while her heart still knotted with anger and fear.

Costia stilled, her breath shallow. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Anya’s voice was firm. She brought Costia’s hand to her chest, holding it there. “No, baby. You didn’t.” She exhaled slowly. “I want you. I really do. I just don’t think I’m in the right headspace. Not tonight.”

Costia’s eyes dropped. Her shoulders curled inward.

Anya’s chest ached. She gently lifted Costia’s chin. “Hey. Where did you go just now?”

She waited a beat, then asked more gently, “Talk to me. Let me in.”

Costia swallowed. “I know you’ve had a lot more experience than me. I’m not there yet. But I wanted to try. I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t enough.”

Anya’s heart cracked wide open.

“I just…” Costia’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “Sometimes I worry that if I’m not fun or easy or… sexy, people get bored.”

Anya leaned in, their foreheads touching. “You never have to feel that way with me. Okay? I liked the kiss. I like you. You don’t need to prove anything. Just being here with you is enough.”

Costia’s lips parted like she wanted to argue, but instead she let out a shaky breath. Her shoulders loosened. The tension eased.

“You’re the best part of my every day,” Anya said, quiet and certain.

Costia blinked, like she hadn’t expected that.

Anya squeezed Costia’s hand, grounding her. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t want you to feel like you need to give me anything to keep me here. You already have me.”

Costia nodded, but the lines on her forehead didn’t smooth out.

“Hey.” Anya nudged her again. “I mean it. You don’t have to be anyone else with me.”

She reached for her, arm wrapping around her waist.

“C’mere.”

She pressed a kiss to Costia’s forehead. “I don’t want you because you’re easy. I want you because you’re you. And tonight? I just want to hold you.”

Costia exhaled, slow and shaky. Then she tucked herself into Anya’s arms, hiding her face in the crook of her neck.

And Anya held her. She felt safe in her arms. And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

“No, please don’t hit him…”

The words tore from Costia’s mouth, hoarse and raw.

Anya jerked awake. Heart pounding, she turned toward the sound and found Costia caught in the grip of a nightmare, fists clenched in the sheets.

“Costia.” Anya reached out, touched her arm gently. “Hey, hey… It’s okay. You’re dreaming. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Costia jolted upright in bed, breath ragged. Her eyes darted around the moonlit room, unseeing. The echo of a door slam still rang in her ears, even though it wasn’t real.

“He was yelling,” she whispered. “I couldn’t find Aden. The door wouldn’t open.”

Anya squeezed her hand,. “You’re safe now. You’re not there anymore. He’s gone.”

Costia leaned into the contact. “It felt real. Like I was right back in it.”

Anya just held her, silent, until the tremors subsided.

“It’s not real,” she murmured. “You’re here. He’s gone.”

The silence that followed stretched. Costia wiped at her eyes, her voice wavering. “I hate this. I hate that it still gets to me. That I’m this… person now.”

“You’re still standing. That says more than you think,” Anya said, her voice soft but steady.

Costia gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t know why you’re with me. I’m such a mess. You could be with someone who… who actually has their shit together.”

Anya studied her for a long moment, then said gently, “We’re all just at different stages of getting our shit together. I’m still figuring mine out too.”

Costia blinked, caught off guard. How could that be? Anya was the most put-together person she knew.

Anya hesitated. Her gaze dropped to the bedsheet between them, fingers brushing the crease. She hadn’t planned to share this. Hadn’t told anyone before. But something in Costia’s voice, the rawness of it, made her want to offer more than reassurance.

“I was a mess once, just a different kind,” Anya said. “Grew up an orphan. Abandoned. Bounced between group homes. Never felt like I belonged anywhere. Thought there was something wrong with me. If not why wouldn't anyone want me?”

Anya’s voice softened, drifting. “I remember this one night when I was seventeen, I fell asleep on the couch in my case manager's office. When I woke up, the office was shrouded in darkness. Just me and a bunch of file cabinets. I’d been forgotten.”

Anya lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “I sat in that dark office thinking, if I disappeared, would anyone even notice? Would anyone care? I was aging out. No one was going to adopt me. I didn't feel my life mattered.”

She swallowed. “I felt the four walls closing in on me, and so I fled. Climbed out the bathroom window and never looked back. Spent three years on the streets. Dumpster-dived. Slept wherever I could. No plan. No purpose. Just surviving day to day, wondering if my existence had a point.”

“One night, I ended up at Silverpine Bridge. Sat on the railing, feet over the water, thinking about going over the edge.”

Costia barely breathed.

“That’s when I first met Lexa,” Anya said, voice distant. “She was a stranger on a bicycle. Saw me sitting there and just decided to stop.”

“She pointed at the skyline and said, ‘Isn’t that the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen?’ Then she went on about the lights cutting through the fog, the smell of salt and smoke… She was so damn alive. Like she still believed the world was beautiful.”

Her mouth curved faintly. “She offered me half her sandwich. Tuna. I hate tuna. But I was starving.”

Anya let out a quiet scoff. “Then she climbed up and sat beside me. Gripped the rails so hard her knuckles went white. Said, ‘This is a lot harder than it looks,’ then asked how I was so calm when it was terrifying. She called me a badass.”

She shook her head, the corner of her mouth lifting. “The irony of it made me laugh. First time I’d laughed in a year. If only she knew I was a badass only cause I didn’t care what happened to me.”

“She has no idea,” she murmured. “But she saved me. Just by seeing me. Just by being there. Made me feel like I mattered, even for a moment.”

“It didn’t magically fix everything. But it was the first time I thought maybe there was more worth sticking around for. That maybe I should give life another shot.”

Beside her, Costia shifted slightly and reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together without a word.

“Lexa and I met again years later. She didn’t recognize me, and I never told her. I eventually tracked down my old case manager. Wanted my papers back. Kickstart my life. Found out her daughter had been in a car crash that afternoon. She rushed to the hospital. Called the office, tried to send word, but apparently, the message never got through.”

Costia frowned. “She didn’t forget you?”

“No,” Anya said quietly. “She spent all those years wracked with guilt, wondering what happened to me. I spent it thinking no one gave a damn. We were both wrong.”

She paused, letting the silence settle.

“That’s when I realized… the truth matters. But sometimes, it’s not the truth that breaks us, but what we believe about it. The stories we tell ourselves. And the ones we’re sure others believe too. True self-worth isn’t given by others; it has to come from within.”

She exhaled. “It took me years to learn that. To stop punishing myself.”

Costia’s voice was quiet. “How long did it take?”

Anya smiled faintly. “Long enough to know healing isn’t a straight line. But short enough that I’m glad I stuck around to find out.”

She glanced at Costia. “We fall. That happens. The more important thing is learning how to get back up.”

Costia swallowed hard. “Do you really believe I can be… okay again?”

Anya nodded. “Not overnight. But yes. I believe in you. And until you believe it too, I’ll keep saying it.”

Costia leaned into her then, head on Anya’s shoulder. “I’m scared all the time.”

“I know,” Anya said. “But you’re not alone.”

They lay back down, the space between them quiet and full of something warmer than words. After a moment, Anya brushed a hand gently over Costia’s hair.

“Try to get some sleep,” she murmured. “I’ll stay awake till you do.”

Costia gave a small nod, eyes already beginning to close, her breathing slowly evening out. Costia’s breathing slowed, her body finally softening into sleep, but Anya remained awake, just in case. In case the nightmares came back. In case Costia needed her.

She watched the gentle rise and fall of Costia’s chest, thumb brushing over the back of her hand. Then her gaze drifted to the window, where the city lights flickered like distant stars.

The memory had surface unexpectedly, pressing against her chest like a weight she hadn’t realized she still carried. Lexa had done most of the talking that night. She spoke excitedly about a girl in her class. Said she was going to marry her someday. No filter, no hesitation. Just two strangers in the dark, trading truths they never thought they’d have to explain.

She hadn’t thought about that night in a long time. And it was only now, with the memory unspooling in pieces, that she realized: that girl, Lexa’s forever… it was Costia. The woman curled against her now was the same one Lexa had once imagined a future with, decades ago.

A strange ache pressed into her ribs. It seemed like a shitty thing to do to the woman who had once saved her life. But she wasn't going to lay that on Costia. That weight was hers to carry.

She glanced down at her again. Asleep now, face relaxed, fingers still curled loosely in Anya’s own. Anya told herself she’d stay up all night if she had to. And maybe longer than that, if Costia ever needed. But at some point, the weight of the day caught up with her. Her eyes slipped closed, and sleep eventually found her too.

***

Morning light filtered weakly through the blinds, doing little to cut through the exhaustion clinging to Costia and Anya. They lay tangled beneath the covers, limbs heavy, the night's raw confessions still a silent weight between them.

Anya stirred groggily, eyes half-closed. “Is someone knocking?” she mumbled.

Costia, still cozy under the covers, shook her head. “Go back to sleep, babe. You’re hearing things.”

A soft knock came at the door… again. This time they both heard it. They both jerked awake, hearts racing.

“Mommy? Are you in there?” Aden’s voice, clear as a bell, pierced the sleepy haze.

Costia’s eyes snapped open in wide, cartoonish panic. She whispered urgently, “Shit. Hide! Now!”

Anya scrambled out of bed, nearly knocking over a lamp. She fumbled the closet door shut just as the bedroom door creaked open.

“Mommy?” Aden's head popped into the gap in the door, his eyes wide and curious.

Costia, still perched on the edge of the bed, forced a warm smile. “Hey, sweetie.”

“I missed you,” Aden whispered.

Costia headed towards him. “I miss you too bud. But how did you get in?”

Aden shifted on his socked feet, eyes downcast. “I took Mama’s keys,” he mumbled. “I had a nightmare… that you were hurt. I just needed to see that you were okay.”

Costia knelt and brushed his hair back gently. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry, alright? I promise.”

Then she gently began steering him back toward the hallway. “But you know it’s not safe to wander without telling anyone.”

Aden frowned, peering cautiously past the door. “Is someone in there? I thought I heard a voice.”

Costia quickly covered. “What? No, no I was just watching a video.”

Aden frowned, unconvinced.

She shifted her tone, trying to distract him. “Does Mama know you’re here?”

Aden’s smile wavered. “No…?”

Costia placed a hand on his shoulder, steering him down the hall. “Let’s get you some hot chocolate, yeah? And I’ll text Mama so she doesn’t worry. Next time, you have to tell her before you come over.”

Aden dragged his feet a little. “But she won’t let me come over. She’ll say not to disturb you.”

Costia’s smile softened. “It’s not about disturbing me. It’s about keeping you safe. We just need to be sure everyone knows where you are, okay?”

She squeezed his hand gently. “Promise me you’ll tell Mama next time before you come, alright? No sneaking off. Deal?”

He nodded, reluctantly.

A sudden series of frantic knocks broke the quiet. “Cos?” Knock knock knock. “Are you in there? Is Aden with you?”

Costia winced. She opened the door, revealing Aden just behind her.

Lexa let out a breath. Her eyes immediately landed on Aden behind Costia.

“I was so worried when I couldn’t find him this morning,” Lexa said, voice tight.

“I’m sorry,” Costia said quickly. “I was just about to text you. I didn’t know he came on his own without telling anyone.”

Aden ducked his head, guilt creeping across his face. He fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, avoiding both their eyes. “Sorry, Mama.”

Lexa knelt and wrapped him in a quick hug. “You scared me, love. You can’t just disappear like that.”

He nodded mutely.

As he shuffled toward the kitchen, Lexa stepped inside. Her gaze skimmed the entryway, then froze. A pair of sneakers sat tucked neatly beside Costia’s boots. Anya’s.

Lexa’s brow lifted. Her eyes met Costia’s, then slowly swept the room, a flicker of discomfort showing.

Costia followed her glance and visibly tensed. “Hot chocolate coming right up.”

Lexa followed. Her eyes lingered on the hallway, then the bedroom door. Her hand moved to the cabinet and pulled out a travel mug without asking.

Aden grinned. “I love Mommy’s hot chocolate.”

Lexa didn’t smile. “We’ll take it to go, okay? Madi’s really worried. She noticed you were gone when she started building the fort.”

Aden peeked from behind the counter. “But I just got here.”

“You’ll see Mommy again at dinner, okay?” Lexa’s tone was gentle but firm. “Let’s head back, and you can tell Madi all about your adventure.”

Aden gave a small sheepish grin. “Okay.”

Lexa took the travel mug, slipped her hand into Aden’s. “Come on, trouble.”

At the door, she turned to Costia. “We’ll talk later?”

Costia nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

Lexa held her gaze a moment longer, then turned and walked out, footsteps fading down the hall.

Costia shut the door and exhaled hard. She padded back into the bedroom. “They’re gone.”

The closet door creaked open. Anya peeked out, hair mussed. “Does she know I’m here?”

Costia grimaced. “Oh yeah. Clocked your shoes, stole your travel mug, and marched Aden out like it was a fire drill. Like she was afraid you’d spring out like a jack-in-the-box.”

Anya groaned. “Fantastic.”

She crawled out and flopped onto the bed. “So that’s what it feels like to come out of the closet.”

Costia blinked at her. “You’ve never—?”

Anya shrugged. “Didn’t have anyone to come out to.”

Costia propped herself on one elbow. “Usually there’s a big talk. ‘Hey, I need to tell you something.’ Then after a long pause, ‘I’m bi.’”

Anya smirked. “Damn. I missed my dramatic moment.”

Costia smiled, brushing hair from Anya’s face. “Well, I was there for it.”

Anya closed her eyes. “Yeah. You were.”

Costia rubbed her temples and sighed. “So. That was quite a morning.”

*****

Anya sat hunched at the café table, fingers curled around a lukewarm coffee. Her scowl deepened as Raven slid into the seat across from her, grinning.

“Well good morning, Grinch. How are you still this grumpy? Christmas is over.”

Anya barely glanced up. “Some asshole’s been harassing my friend. Sending nasty messages. Nonstop.”

Raven’s smirk faded. “No shit. Need help plotting revenge? I’m an expert. Maybe we can pull the cash-on-delivery pizza prank.”

Anya shook her head. “No. Besides, that punishes the pizza company and the delivery guy.”

Raven chuckled. “Fine. We could scrawl his number on bathroom walls. ‘Free blow jobs. Discreet.’ Or cut the buttons and zippers off all his shirts and pants. One girl I knew cut one arm and one leg off everything her ex owned. Very Picasso.”

Anya snorted into her cup.

Raven leaned in, voice gleeful. “Or this classic. Guy dumps wife for his secretary, lawyers screw her over, she’s got pittance. Before moving out, she stuffed half-eaten shrimp shells dipped in caviar into the hollow of all of the curtain rods. Slowly, the house starts to reek. No one can figure out why. They can’t sell it. She offers to take it back in exchange for dropping the settlement. Thinking the house was as good as worthless, he agrees. A week later, he moves everything out… including the curtain rods.”

Anya laughed. “That is a good one. Too bad I don’t have his address.”

Raven lit up. “Wait. Wait. I got the perfect one. I just read this one. Dude breaks up with a women by ghosting her. And get this. He makes up a fake Wookie roar contest, prints flyers and pastes it everywhere. People call her at all hours doing Wookiee impressions. Screaming into her voicemail. Here let me show you. It’s hilarious.”

She pulled up a video on her phone. A woman played back audio clips: howls, grunts, screeches. “I don’t know why he couldn’t just break up with me like a normal person. Someone called at 3am! I have kids, for goodness’ sake.”

Anya’s eyes watered with laughter. “Oh that’s a good one. I don’t know if she deserved it. But he totally does. It’s appropriate too. Beats me thinking about smashing his head in.”

Raven grinned, already opening her phone’s design app. “Let’s make the flyer. ‘Best Chewbacca Impression Contest. Call and leave your best roar to win $1,000.’ What deadline should we put?”

“None,” Anya said, still laughing. “He deserves the chaos. And he can’t go to the cops. He’s wanted.”

“Even better,” Raven muttered, tapping away. “Just need his number. And some scissors so we can cut the little tabs.”

“I’ll have to swing back to the apartment to check the number.”

Raven shrugged. “Fine by me. I’ve got nowhere to be. This is the most fun I’ve had since getting back.”

Anya gave her a look. “You really need to get laid.”

Raven smirked. “Pot calling the kettle black. Come on. Plotting revenge is sweet.”

Back at the apartment, Anya booted up Costia’s old phone. The screen lit up instantly, flooded with messages. She gave Raven the number and she immediately got to printing the flyers.

THINK YOU’RE THE ULTIMATE WOOKIEE?

Prove it.

Call [Chad’s number] and leave your loudest, growliest Chewbacca roar.

Winner gets $1000 and eternal glory.

Contest ends soon.

May the Force be with you… and may the best wookiee win.

She scanned the messages on the phone for anything important, jotting down the non-Chad ones for Costia. When she was done, she found Raven, already arranging the flyers in neat stacks near the printer.

The front door opened.

Costia stepped in, shrugging off her coat. She froze in the hallway. She could hear the soft whir of the bedroom printer. A beat later, Raven emerged, hair slightly tousled, a roll of tape in hand.

For a split second, Costia’s stomach flipped.

Anya and Raven had history. Raven was bold, unpredictable. And Costia knew better than anyone how easily trust could crack.

But then she remembered the night before. Anya’s fingers threading through hers. The way she had held her, not out of obligation, but because she wanted to. Costia breathed in. She knew Anya wouldn’t do that. Not to her. Not now.

Anya walked out seconds later, carrying a stack of printed flyers. She didn’t hesitate. Crossed the room and kissed Costia on the cheek.

“Hey babe. You’re home early.”

“Didn’t have much going on,” Costia said. “Everyone’s still on holiday. Figured I’d work from home if anything came up. What are you two up to?”

Anya hesitated.

Raven jumped in. “Oh, Anya’s helping me with a mini project. Needed a printer. You don’t mind if I borrow her for a bit, do you?”

“Uh… sure? Need an extra hand?”

“No no. I think we’ve got it.”

Anya stepped back, grabbing her bag. “Oh, by the way, Cos, you had some messages. I left the paper on the coffee table. I’ll grab those donuts you like on the way back. See you in a bit.”

She kissed her again, quick and warm, then disappeared with Raven down the hall.

Costia stood there, watching the door swing shut. A little breathless, a little unsure, but mostly okay.

She moved to the coffee table and picked up the sheet of messages. Her fingers traced Anya’s neat handwriting. She let herself smile.

By nightfall, the flyers were plastered all over town. Coffee shops. Bus stops. Comic shops. Bar bathrooms. Campus bulletin boards.

The next morning, Anya checked the old phone again.

It was blowing up.

Dozens of messages. Most were from Chad. And boy was he furious.

But some… some were oh so glorious. He had forwarded some of the voice memos he got. Guttural roars. Long, high-pitched howls. One that ended in a wheeze so ridiculous Anya nearly dropped the phone laughing. She couldn’t even find it in herself to be upset about his usual hateful messages.

Payback was a bitch.

And this one sounded like Chewbacca.

*****

Things had finally started to feel normal again. Costia hadn’t seen Chad in days. He didn’t have her new number. No calls, no texts. The silence had felt like air returning to her lungs. She was sleeping again. Eating. Laughing, even, when Anya made that face at her coffee.

Tonight she had stayed late, finalizing an important project for a client meeting the next day, half-thinking she might even be okay.

Then she saw him.

Her headlights cut through the dim basement carpark as she pulled into her usual spot. She shifted into park, reached for her bag… was about to kill the engine, when she froze. A shadow moved behind one of the concrete pillars. She squinted. A man, half-hidden in the dark, all too familiar.

Chad.

Her chest tightened. Fingers trembling, she immediately locked the doors. He stepped forward, slow and unsteady, swaying just slightly, eyes locked on hers. Costia grabbed her phone, frantically hitting the first name in her recent calls.

“Cos?” Lexa’s voice came through instantly.

“He’s here,” Costia whispered. “Lexa, he’s here.”

Lexa’s tone sharpened. “Where are you?”

“My car. In the basement.” Her voice hitched. “He’s… he’s coming closer. He’s looks drunk.”

“Keep the doors locked,” Lexa said firmly. “I’m coming. Do not open the door.”

But Costia was already shaking. “Lex, no… What if he hurts you?”

“He won’t. I’ll get building security on the way down. Just stay put, alright?”

Chad was right in front of her now, glaring through the windshield. His face was flushed, eyes bloodshot. He slapped the glass hard with his palm. The sound cracked through the silence.

Costia flinched hard.

“You think this little box can protect you?” Chad yelled. “Where’s your girlfriend now? You think she’s gonna save you?”

He leaned closer, breath fogging the glass.

“I know your psycho dyke girlfriend’s behind those prank calls,” he snarled.

Costia recoiled. “Get away!” she cried out, though the window muffled her voice.

“She think she can fuck with my life? I’m coming for her too. You’re mine,” he spat, saliva streaking the glass.

Costia’s whole body locked up. Her thoughts spun. Stay put, or run?

The engine was still running. With a trembling hand she reached for the gear and shifted it to drive. Chad caught on fast, stepping in front of the car with his arms spread, taunting her. “You won’t dare. You don’t have the guts. You always do what you’re told.”

Her foot hovered over the brake. “Move,” she whispered.

He slammed the hood. “Still the same little coward. Nothing’s changed.”

“I said move!”

Then she tapped the gas.

The tires squealed. The car lunged forward. Chad stumbled back, barely missing the bumper.

“You fucking bitch!” he shouted after her. “You think you can get rid of me? I’ll always find you!”

She swerved around him, heart pounding, hands white-knuckled on the wheel. She didn’t look back. As she raced toward the exit ramp, her phone buzzed in the passenger seat. Lexa.

She grabbed it at the first red light, hands still shaking.

“I’m okay,” she said, voice cracking. “I got out.”

“Don't come back,” Lexa replied. “Go to Anya’s. Security’s already on him for trespassing. He won’t follow you.”

“I won’t,” Costia whispered. “I’m not going back there tonight.”

She headed for Anya’s, the only place she felt safe.

***

Costia was wrapped up in Anya’s arms, both of them cocooned beneath a soft throw blanket on the couch. The television played some forgettable sitcom at low volume, more for company than entertainment. A mug of hot chocolate warmed her hands. Anya’s shoulder was warm against her temple, steady and grounding.

It had taken a long shower, and thirty minutes of silence before she had finally stopped shaking. Now, with the scent of cocoa and laundry detergent around her, her body was slowly remembering how to relax.

She reached for another sip. Anya’s hand rubbed lazy circles across her back. Neither of them spoke.

But Anya’s mind was miles away. The Wookiee prank was meant to rattle Chad, not push him into escalation. She’d kept Costia out of it on purpose, thinking it would shield her. Now it felt like she’d only made things worse. Guilt twisted low in her gut.

Then the program cut to a breaking news banner.

“—and we’re bringing you live coverage of a developing situation on the I-92.”

The television blared in the background, the footage grainy but urgent. A helicopter view showed a silver sedan swerving recklessly down the freeway, trailed by a dozen flashing lights.

“…the suspect is reportedly armed and considered dangerous,” the news anchor said. “Authorities are advising drivers to avoid I-92 near exit 23 as the pursuit continues. Expect major delays and steer clear of the area if possible.”

Costia blinked. “Is that..”

“High speed chase,” Anya said quietly, reaching for the remote to turn up the volume.

A news anchor filled in the details. “Reports suggest the incident began with a road rage altercation at a red light. A male suspect exited his vehicle to confront the driver behind him, then drew a firearm and shot the other driver in the shoulder before fleeing the scene. Police were alerted within minutes and have been pursuing the suspect for the last twenty miles. They believe he may be intoxicated, given his erratic driving.”

Costia frowned and leaned forward slightly, her mug forgotten on the coffee table. “That car looks like…”

Her stomach dropped. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Her phone vibrated on the table, the ringtone familiar. She answered without taking her eyes off the television. “Hey.”

“Please tell me you’re still at Anya’s” Lexa asked, voice tense.

Costia swallowed hard as she puts Lexa on speaker. “Yeah, I am. Why?”

“Security called the police,” Lexa said. “But he took off before they arrived. They’ve logged it. They’re looking for him.”

Costia’s eyes narrowed on the screen. “They may have found him. When did he leave?”

“About thirty minutes ago.”

Costia stared at the TV. “I think he’s on the news.”

“What?”

“Turn on Channel 5. Now.”

A pause. Then, in the background, the rustle of movement, and the muffled reporter’s voice on the television. Costia didn’t look away from the screen.

The car swerved again, narrowly missing a truck. Sirens screamed in the distance.

“Jesus,” Lexa muttered. “That’s him.”

They all watched in grim silence as a police cruiser caught up with him, then edged closer on the left.

Then it happened.

The cruiser tapped the back corner of the car. The sedan jerked violently, lost control, and flipped once, twice, a third time before crashing down on its roof in a spray of sparks and glass.

Costia’s breath caught.

A moment later, officers swarmed the wreck. They dragged a bleeding figure from the crushed driver’s seat and shoved him face-down on the asphalt. The camera zoomed in. Chad. Dazed, bloodied, and cuffed. Moments later the car caught fire.

Costia shook her head slowly. “He’s definitely not getting out of that one. Drunk driving, evading arrest, destruction of public property... and the news anchor said he shot someone. That piece of shit’s gonna rot in jail”

Anya wrapped an arm tighter around her.

Lexa exhaled sharply. “Talk about instant karma.”

Costia didn’t speak. Just kept watching as the ambulance lights lit up the scene in a flood of red and white, sirens wailing against the night.

The next day, the police called. Chad had been arrested at the scene and was being held without bail. They asked if Costia wanted to press charges. She said yes. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one. A few others had come forward too, with their own stories of assault.

Anya later confesses to Costia about the Wookiee prank — the contest flyers, the barrage of calls, the sheer pettiness of it all. Costia had stared at her in disbelief, then burst out laughing as they listened to some of them. For the first time in weeks, Costia felt the tension break, the weight lift just a little.

The legal process dragged on for months, full of hearings, statements and delays. But in the end, justice caught up. Chad was sentenced to thirty years in prison. Costia didn’t lose sleep over what came next. It’s over. It’s finally over. Prison could deal with him now.

Chapter Text

Costia padded into the living room wrapped in one of Anya’s hoodies, hair still damp from her shower. She blinked at Lexa, who was sitting on the couch with a mug in hand.

“You’re still here,” Costia said quietly.

Lexa shrugged. “Yeah. Clarke’s not back with the kids yet. She took them for ice cream. I’m too full to move. Anya really outdid herself tonight.”

Costia curled into the armchair across from her. “She did.”

Silence settled between them, not uncomfortable but weighted with the kind of history that didn’t need filling.

“She’s good for you,” Lexa said quietly.

Costia smirked. “Well, there’s definitely less takeout in my life now.”

Lexa laughed, the sound warm. Lexa’s lips curved. “I’m happy for you. For both of you. Feels like we both ended up where we were supposed to.”

She didn’t say it lightly. Costia’s smile softened.

Lexa ran a hand through her hair. “Anya’s one of the strongest people I know. But she’s been a lone wolf for a long time. It’s how she protects herself. She doesn’t talk much about her past.” She paused. “Actually… she’s never talked about it at all, except to say she had no family.” She glanced at Costia. “I guess you’re her family now.”

“Just… if she ever pushes you away, don’t read too much into it. She does that. Not because she doesn’t trust you. It’s just… her way of dealing. Just be there for her.”

Costia frowned. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

Lexa didn’t answer right away. She sat forward, eyes fixed on the floor. “She probably doesn’t even know I remember. It was a long time ago. I wasn’t supposed to be there. We’ve never talked about it since.”

“Silverpine bridge?” Costia asked quietly.

Lexa looked up, surprised. “She told you?”

Costia nodded.

“She doesn’t let people in easily,” Lexa said. "You mean a lot to her. You know that, don’t you?"

Costia let it sink in. Deep down, she’d known. But hearing it from someone else made it feel real in a way she hadn’t let herself believe.

Lexa’s gaze drifted. “I cycled past the bridge the next few days, but I never saw her again. I kept checking the news, afraid I’d hear something.”

Costia’s voice softened. “She said that moment changed everything.”

“I always wondered what happened to her that night,” Lexa admitted quietly. “Wondered if I could’ve done more. I was really glad to see her again.”

“She told me about you. That you stopped. You didn’t ask questions, but you said enough to make her believe there might still be more to life.” Costia glanced up at Lexa. “You never told me any of this back then.”

Lexa gave a small shrug. “It wasn’t my story to tell.”

“Is that why you pretended you hadn’t met before?” Costia asked, watching her closely.

Lexa finally looked at her. “She didn’t act like she remembered, so I played along. I figured maybe she needed that night to stay separate from her life now. I didn’t want to take that from her.”

“She remembered you,” Costia said.

Lexa’s expression didn’t change. “I know. I saw it in her eyes when we met again.”

Costia’s voice went gentler. “Is that why you’re telling me all this now?”

Lexa gave a small smile. “Well, I’m saying ‘take care of her.’ Threatening you with an ‘if you hurt her’ speech would be pointless. She’d ruin you all by herself. She can be terrifying.”

Costia let out a laugh, then sobered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Lexa gave a small, tired smile. “Good.” 

Her phone dinged. She glanced at the screen, then stood. “Clarke’s back with the kids. I should go.” She gave a faint nod and quietly slipped out of the apartment.

Costia stayed behind, eyes fixed on the shadows stretching across the floor. The weight of what Lexa had said lingered, full of things too big to name.

In the hallway, Anya stood still.

She hadn’t meant to overhear. She’d only come looking when she realized Costia hadn’t returned after her shower. But then she’d heard Lexa say her name. 

At first it felt like memory. Then it hit like truth.

It hadn’t been chance. Lexa had known. And she had stopped anyway. Had stayed long enough to make the difference. And now hearing Lexa say she was strong, that she was good for Costia… Lexa’s approval settled somewhere deep in her chest, surprising in how much it mattered, and how much lighter she suddenly felt.

She wasn’t just being tolerated. Lexa had been watching out for her back then, and still had her back even now.

Anya leaned a shoulder to the wall, breath catching quietly in her throat. For so long, that night had felt like a dividing line. Now she realized she’d never been alone on that bridge after all.

*****

The soft hum of the fan mixed with the rustle of packing paper and the distant clink of Lexa organizing her desk drawer. It was a lazy afternoon, sunlight stretching warm across the hardwood floors of their new home. The place still smelled like fresh paint and cardboard, but the daily essentials were out. They’d made it livable. The rest could wait.

Aden was with Costia for the weekend. Madi had gone to Finn’s. For once, they had no obligations, and no one to answer to.

Clarke knelt among her art supplies, sifting through bent sketchpads and jars of brittle paintbrushes, when something caught her eye. A folder, tucked loosely in a box labeled LEXA – WORK. Peeking from its edge was the corner of a sketch. An unmistakably familiar one.

Her pulse quickened. She crouched closer, easing the folder aside. There they were — her charcoal sketches, the ones she’d slipped onto Lexa’s desk years ago. Quiet, anonymous offerings from a younger Clarke, brimming with unspoken longing. She’d assumed Lexa had tossed them out.

Clarke sat down on the floor, cross-legged, her thumb brushing over the edge of one. There was a strange ache in her chest. Not sadness exactly, but something more tender.

“You kept them,” she murmured, more to herself than the room.

She flipped slowly through the stack, each sketch a snapshot of her younger self’s fixation. The curve of a jawline, redrawn obsessively. The tilt of a head. Shadows pooling under steady eyes. She could still feel her heart hammering as she’d left each one on Lexa’s desk during free period, pretending nonchalance while holding her breath.

Then she found it. The very first one.

It was rougher than she remembered. The shading uneven. The proportions slightly off. But it held something the later sketches lacked: raw, unguarded awe. Her chest tightened.

It had been the start of senior year. She’d walked into that first-period English Lit class with graphite still smudged on her fingertips and no real idea what she wanted for the future. Art, maybe. But not if Abby had anything to say about it.

Clarke could still hear her mother’s voice echoing in her mind: “Clarke, do you want to be a starving artist? I know you love art, and you can still do it… but in your free time. Choose a major that is practical. One you can rely on if art doesn’t pan out.”

Clarke had never drawn people before. Animals were easier. Safer. Their feelings weren’t buried under polite smiles or careful words. They wore their hearts in the twitch of a whisker or the bristle of fur.

She’d been shading a fox’s tail, charcoal dancing lightly over her sketchpad, when the door creaked open. A low, calm, yet commanding voice cut through her focus, like a current pulling her under.

“Good morning, everyone.”

Clarke froze mid-stroke. She looked up, and everything shifted. There she was, standing tall and composed, with an elegance that felt out of place in a high school classroom.

“I’m Ms. Woods. Lexa Woods. But you’ll be calling me Ms. Woods, of course.”

Her smile was mesmerizing. The kind that made you wonder what she wasn’t saying. But it was her eyes, they held a sharp, unflinching intensity that made Clarke forget how to breathe. The kind that dared you to cross a line and promised you’d regret it if you did.

“I teach English Lit. If you’re here, you either love books or lost a bet with the timetable gods. Either way, we’ll make it work.”

The class chuckled nervously. Clarke didn’t move. She couldn’t. She was mesmerized.

Clarke had never drawn people before. But the moment their eyes met, her fingers itched to try. She found herself sketching eyes for the first time.

It took five tries. Five English periods of stolen glances at her muse. She crumpled the first two. Smudged the third. The fourth looked like a sleep-deprived raccoon. But the fifth… the fifth nailed it. That spark. That glare. It was all there.

Now, years later, she held that sketch again. The lines were shaky, her technique crude by today’s standards, but this was where it all began. She traced the paper’s edge, lips curving faintly.

“Do you happen to know the artist?”

Clarke looked up. Lexa stood in the doorway, arms folded, smirking.

“She’s on my list,” Lexa added.

“Does your girlfriend know about this list?” Clarke asked.

Lexa tilted her head. “No, but I think she’d be flattered.”

Clarke rose to her feet, sketch still in hand. “Depends how many are on it.”

Lexa grinned. “Just one.”

Clarke raised a brow. “Good answer.”

Lexa stepped closer, plucked the sketch gently from Clarke’s fingers. “You were incredible. Even back then.”

Clarke gave her a soft look. “I can’t believe you kept them.”

“Of course I did.”

“You never said anything.”

“I didn’t want to make things weird,” Lexa said, brushing her thumb over the sketched eyes. “But someone spent time to draw this for me. Thought about me enough to do that. It didn’t feel right to throw them away.”

“The thing about art is… you put your whole heart into it, then you let it go,” Clarke murmured. “All you’re left with is a memory, or a picture of it. I never thought I’d see these again.”

Lexa tilted her head at another page. “How long did you stare at me to get this one?”

Clarke gave a faux-casual shrug. “Was still figuring myself out, so it took… a few English classes.”

Lexa’s brow lifted. “So I was your bisexual awakening and your muse?”

Clarke’s mouth quirked. “Well… that, and more.”

“More?”

Clarke crossed to her own box, dug past a stack of canvases, and pulled out a worn folder. Inside were sketches that pulsed with unspoken want. Abstract lines of a thigh, the curve of a hip, the gentle swell of a breast, a parted mouth. One bold piece showed Lexa, nude, reclined on a couch in a pose straight out of Titanic.

She held the folder out. “These didn’t make it to your desk.”

Lexa took them slowly, flipping through the first few sheets. “Is this… supposed to be me?”

Clarke gave a crooked grin. “Inspired by you. Eighteen-year-old me had a vivid imagination.”

Lexa chuckled softly. “She really did.”

Clarke leaned closer, voice dropping, “Eighteen-year-old me also didn’t know you had badass tattoos. And eighteen-year-old me certainly had no idea how much her imagination would fall short.”

Lexa’s brow arched.

“The real thing is a thousand times better,” Clarke added, lips curling.

Lexa flushed.

“Would you?” Clarke teased.

Lexa blinked. “Would I what?”

“Let me paint you,” Clarke said, lips twitching. “Like really paint you. As in, ‘draw me like one of your French girls’ level paint you.”

Lexa groaned into her hands. “Clarke, I can’t have erotic paintings of myself hanging in the house. We have children.”

“Who said anything about hanging it in the house?” Clarke’s grin turned wicked. “Maybe I’ll hang it in my next exhibition.”

Lexa’s eyes went wide. “Clarke… You wouldn’t.” Her tone was half challenge, half plea.

“Wouldn’t I?” Clarke arched a brow. “You know I could just draw you from memory, right? It’s all up here.” She tapped her temple.

Lexa groaned, shaking her head. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or shudder at being objectified.”

Clarke tilted her head, studying her with mock thoughtfulness. “You’re leaning toward flattered.”

Lexa shot her a look, part glare, part reluctant amusement.

Clarke leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “But if you need a safe word, let me know.”

Lexa turned her head, eyes dark. “Careful, Griffin.”

Clarke only smiled wider. “Or what? You’ll pin me down and make me beg?”

Lexa stepped closer, fingers grazing Clarke’s chest with deliberate slowness. Her voice dropped, low and teasing. “I guess you’ll have to find out…”

Clarke didn’t move, caught between a retort and a breath.

With a faint smirk, she reached for the hem of her shirt and peeled it off, slow and smooth, eyes locked on Clarke’s. The fabric hit the floor with a soft whisper.

Clarke’s breath hitched. The sketchbook slipped from her lap, forgotten.

Lexa turned, casting a smirk over her shoulder, gaze dark with invitation. Her belt slid to the floor with a soft clink. She sauntered away, hips swaying with quiet confidence, leaving a trail of clothes like breadcrumbs down the hallway.

Clarke stared, stunned for a second. Then she was up, chasing after her muse.

*****

Madi squinted at the phone screen, lowering it just enough to look at Finn. “Maybe you can say some facts about the car? Like how fast it is, why someone would want to buy it?”

Finn nodded slowly. “Alright. Let’s try it again.”

He straightened, flashing his best salesman grin. “This beauty hits zero to sixty in under five seconds. Sleek design, powerful engine, the kind of handling that makes you feel like you’re gliding over the road. Leather interior, premium sound system, every button right where you need it. It’s the full package…” He flipped his hair just enough to show off the boyish charm that had probably sold more cars than the actual specs. “And let’s be honest, girls dig bad boys in fast cars.”

Madi lowered the camera a fraction, blinking at him. “Cut.” She frowned. “Do girls really like bad boys and fast cars?”

Finn leaned back against the car, crossing his arms. “Some do.” His tone hardened, protective. “But not my girl. No bad boys are coming near you.”

She smirked, tilting her head. “Were you a bad boy with a fast car? Was that why Mom fell for you?”

Finn froze mid-smirk. “Uh…” His mind went into overdrive, imagining Clarke’s expression when Madi repeated this little chat. “Absolutely not. Nope. I was… a very nice boy. Who… occasionally drove at a safe and responsible speed limit.”

He held up a finger. “And for the record, bad boys are overrated. They’re immature, unreliable, and… usually smell like too much cologne.”

Madi grinned. “You’re panicking.”

“I’m not panicking,” Finn said, already pacing. “I’m just making sure my daughter grows up knowing that nice boys, actually, no, nice people, are the way to go. Respectful, kind, good credit score, probably own a golden retriever…”

She folded her arms. “You’re totally panicking.”

Finn stopped and pointed at her. “Clarke can never know about this conversation.”

Madi smirked. “I won’t tell her… if you let me drive this in the parking lot.”

“Absolutely not,” Finn said instantly. “Your mother would skin me alive, and I’m too young and handsome to die.”

Madi tilted her head, considering. “She’d probably ground me too… Fine. Ice cream, then.”

“Deal. Ice cream I can do.”

Madi smirked faintly, hitting record again. “Okay, Dad. One more take, but without the bad boy stuff.”

*****

Clarke’s head tipped back, a soft sound slipping from her throat. “Your fingers feel so good,” she murmured.

Lexa’s reply was warm and teasing. “I know what you like.”

Clarke lay sprawled on her stomach, cheek pressed into the mattress. “Harder.”

Lexa obliged, and Clarke let out a low, unrestrained moan.

“Better?”

“Mmh… yes. Don’t stop.”

“Don’t move,” Lexa said, her tone edged with quiet authority that made Clarke’s pulse skip. She punctuated it with a playful smack to her ass before setting her hands to work again.

Clarke exhaled, almost a groan. “God, yes.”

The slow, steady rhythm deepened, pulling another breathless gasp from her. Clarke’s fingers curled against the pillow, her body sinking into the sensation.

“You’re so tight,” Lexa said, almost to herself.

Clarke bit her lip, her breath catching as Lexa dug in deeper. A slow, steady rhythm. Pressure building. Every shift of Lexa’s weight sent a subtle jolt through her.

“Right there,” Clarke managed, voice muffled into the sheets. Another groan escaped her. She didn’t even care how desperate it sounded.

“You’re so tense,” Lexa murmured. “I could do this all night.”

Clarke made a sound halfway between agreement and encouragement, her fingers curling into the bedding, and then let out a loud moan.

Another few slow passes. Clarke’s lips parted, eyes still closed, the tension melting from her body.

Lexa gave one final firm press before stepping back. “There you go. Knots gone. You may thank me with your undying devotion.”

She wiped the oil from her hands, smirking. “Seriously, though… your shoulders were a crime scene.”

Clarke let out a lazy hum, not even lifting her head from the mattress. “Twelve hours in the studio and I’m one giant knot.”

“You’re going to burn yourself out before your big night if you keep that up.”

“That’s not happening.” Clarke rolled onto her back, hair a messy halo around her, skin still flushed from Lexa’s hands.

Lexa’s eyes dipped, lingering far south of Clarke’s face, her gaze unapologetically fixed on Clarke’s breasts. For a moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

“But no one’s allowed in the studio right now. Not even you. I want the whole thing to be a surprise.”

Her eyes tracked back up, mischief curling at the corner of her mouth. “Can’t I take a peek?”

Clarke arched a brow. “At the studio, or my boobs? Because you’ve already had a front-row seat to one of those today.”

Lexa’s eyes flicked up, mouth curving into a faint pout.

“And the answer’s still no,” Clarke smirked.

Lexa’s brows lifted, mock-wary, remembering their conversation from the day before. “Uh… you’re not painting nudes of me, are you? That would certainly be… a surprise.”

Clarke only smirked, giving nothing away.

“Clarke…” Lexa’s voice carried the warning of someone bracing for impact.

“Relax,” Clarke said sweetly. “I’m not putting erotic paintings of you on display.”

Lexa exhaled in relief.

“Unless someone asks about the whip,” Clarke added, eyes dancing.

Lexa froze. “Clarke.”

“What?” Clarke said innocently, but her eyes were glittering with mischief. “It’s tasteful. Very… art-house.”

Lexa groaned. “I can’t have erotic paintings of myself hanging around the house — let alone in public!”

“Might I remind you that my colleagues — your ex-colleagues — are going to be there,” Lexa’s voice edged toward panic.

“Don’t worry.” Clarke’s smirk deepened. “They won’t know which one is you.”

She paused, head tilting as if in thought. “Do they know about your tattoos?”

Lexa’s eyes widened. “Clarke…”

“I hope not,” Clarke added with mock innocence.

Lexa just stared, horrified. Images she did not ask for started flooding her brain — her colleagues standing around a framed artwork, tilting their heads, murmuring about “the composition” while unknowingly critiquing her naked form.

Clarke pushed herself up, stretching in a way that did nothing to help Lexa’s expression. She stepped close, pulling on a pair of shorts, the hem of her shirt brushing Lexa’s cheek as she leaned in to press a quick kiss there, soft but smug. Then she winked.

Then she sauntered toward the studio, hips swaying with deliberate nonchalance. “Back to work,” she called over her shoulder. “Got a deadline to meet.”

Lexa was still sitting there, caught between indignation and dread, already running through contingency plans to make sure her colleagues never set foot in that gallery.

Chapter Text

The front door swung open and the kids tumbled in first, backpacks bouncing, shoes kicked halfway across the entryway.

“Homework before screens,” Lexa called automatically, stepping inside with two grocery bags in her arms.

“We know,” Madi and Aden chorused, already darting toward their rooms.

Lexa shook her head, smiling faintly, and carried the bags into the kitchen. She unpacked them with practiced efficiency, stacking vegetables in the crisper and sliding a carton of milk onto the fridge shelf.

When the last bag was folded and set aside, she headed down the hall toward her bedroom.

She almost didn’t notice at first, catching only the soft pad of bare feet on hardwood and the low rush of running water. Then the bathroom door opened, and a woman stepped out.

She was young, striking, and carried herself with the kind of confidence that didn’t need announcing. The loose blue drape slung over her body skimmed sunlit skin, the thin fabric shifting with each step to hint at the curves beneath, the outline of her nipples faint against the weave. Her dark hair was swept into a loose chignon, a few strands falling artfully against her cheek, and there was something unmistakably Parisian in the way she moved — unhurried, graceful, as if the hallway were her runway.

She glided toward Clarke’s studio, the light from the tall window catching the curve of her shoulder before she slipped inside. Curious, Lexa followed quietly, stopping just short of the slightly ajar studio door. The woman stood near the window, back to the door, sunlight catching the curve of her bare side and hip. Lexa couldn’t see Clarke from this angle, but she could hear them.

“Like this?” the woman asked, shifting so the fabric slipped lower, exposing more.

Clarke’s smile was easy, friendly. “Perfect. Don’t move or I’ll have to chase that light all over again.”

She let out a low, teasing laugh as the fabric slipped lower, tilting her head. “The light make my breast look good too? Oui?”

Clarke’s tone stayed light, unfazed. “The light’s perfect. Don’t move. Just like that.”

“Ah… trèsw bien (very good),” the woman murmured, lips curving. “Mmm. You keep staring at me like that and I might start blushing,” the model teased.

Clarke chuckled, still mixing color. “You’re not the first to say that about my painting face. It’s a little intense.”

The woman smirked. “Intense is… nice. Oui.”

“Good,” Clarke said brightly. “That means we’re getting somewhere with this piece.”

The model tilted her chin, the drape threatening to slide further. “Do not worry. I can hold pose all day… especially with such pretty artist to look at.”

Clarke let out a faint laugh, amused but not distracted. “That’s sweet, but if you lock your shoulder for too long, you’ll regret it tomorrow.”

The model smirked, unabashed. “Then you massage for me, after?”

“I’ll give you the number of a good massage place nearby,” Clarke said, still smiling as she returned to her palette. “Much better at it than I am.”

“Mm… I am not so sure,” the model murmured, eyes flicking over her. “Somehow, I think your hands would feel better.”

The woman’s lips curved. “Or maybe we go together. Your shoulders, they must be tight also, oui?”

Clarke’s laugh was light. “Tempting, but I’m not much for sitting still when I’m not working.”

From the hall, Lexa arched a brow. If this was the model’s idea of subtle, she’d score it a solid three out of ten. Clarke, absorbed in coaxing the right tone from her paints, either didn’t notice or was politely pretending not to.

It was almost entertaining, watching the woman try her lines, though Lexa still thought she’d do everyone a favor by keeping them to herself. She shook her head with a faint smile and turned back toward the dining table, where a stack of essays waited for her red pen.

Inside the studio, Clarke was where she felt most herself. There was a rhythm to it, a pulse that slowed the rest of the world until all that mattered was the stretch of canvas in front of her and the way the light touched the subject. She began the way she always did, blocking in the model’s silhouette in broad acrylic strokes, chasing shape and movement before refining.

Acrylic was her trusted ally now. It was vivid, versatile, and forgiving. It dried quickly enough to capture fleeting light yet allowed her to build layers that hummed with color. She loved how one stroke could be flat and translucent while the next stood in raised relief, catching the light and casting the smallest shadow. The surface itself became part of the painting’s language, textured and dimensional under her fingers when she smoothed the paint in with her hands.

But lately, a quiet itch had returned. The pull of her first love. Charcoal. Where acrylics were generous, charcoal was uncompromising. There was no hiding hesitation in a charcoal line. It demanded commitment from the first stroke, the weight of the mark announcing exactly how sure or unsure she was.

She missed the dry, powdery drag of it under her fingertips, the way it clung to her skin, smudging at her wrist and elbow, a ghost of her process. Charcoal had no layers to hide behind, only the stark conversation between light and shadow, the immediacy of tone. Acrylic let her revise until she was satisfied. Charcoal forced her to decide when enough was enough. One felt like painting with a safety net; the other was walking a wire without looking down. And she realized that part of her missed that edge.

The thought landed with surprising clarity. Maybe that was what her next exhibition should be: charcoal. Coming full circle to where she began, not as a retreat into the past but as a way to measure the distance she had traveled. To take the subjects she might have drawn years ago and capture them again with the skill, restraint, and eye she had honed since. Not just the raw instinct of her early work, but the refinement that had come with years of practice. Then and now. The beginning and the becoming.

Even as she layered another sweep of acrylic blue against the model’s shoulder, Clarke found herself stripping away the color in her mind’s eye. She saw the curve of her collarbone in grey-scale, the deep shadow beneath her jaw, the soft gradation where the light faded across her hip. The image took shape in her head with the immediacy of a charcoal line. She wondered how it might look if the velvety precision of charcoal met with the textured, dimensional color of acrylic, but she decided that experiment could wait for another day.

She’d have to ask her Parisian model if she could do a second version for her own work — something for the exhibition, not the commission. For now, she kept painting, her brush translating color to canvas while her mind was already sketching in black and white.

***

The room they shared for working held Clarke’s easel by the window where the light was best, and Lexa’s desk tucked into the corner near the door. The faint scent of acrylic medium and varnish lingered in the air, a quiet reminder of Clarke’s presence even when she wasn’t there.

Most afternoons they worked in that space side by side, Clarke painting while Lexa marked essays, the companionable silence broken only by the scratch of a pen or the soft clink of a brush in water. Lexa hadn’t realized how much she liked those afternoons until they stopped.

Ever since Clarke began preparing for her exhibition, though, Lexa had been permanently banished. “No peeking” until opening night. Which meant the dining table had become her makeshift workspace, stacks of essays spread out in front of her.

Lexa sat at the dining table, red pen in hand, working her way through a stack of essays. She tried to focus on sentence structure and analysis, but kept tripping over the bold certainty of teenage arguments, as if declaring something enough times on paper made it true.

The studio door finally opened. The model stepped out, now in jeans and a fitted top, hair tousled from where the drape had been pinned. She crossed to Clarke with easy confidence, hand coming to rest lightly on Clarke’s arm.

“So… do you always make your models look this good, or am I special?” Her voice was warm, threaded with suggestion.

Lexa’s eyes flicked up from her papers. The woman glanced in her direction, just long enough to register her presence, smirked, and then deliberately looked back to Clarke without a word.

Clarke gave a polite, nonchalant smile. “I think the light did most of the work.”

The woman’s fingers lingered a moment longer before she stepped back. Clarke turned, guiding her down the hall toward the living room and the front door.

“See you at twelve tomorrow?” Clarke asked as they walked, already pulling the rag from her pocket to tidy a smudge of paint from her fingers.

“Oui. Cannot wait. Merci,” the model said, her smile lingering as she stepped closer, pressing a quick kiss to Clarke’s cheek before heading out the door.

Lexa’s pen paused mid-mark, a faint frown tugging at her brow. For all her effortless grace, the woman was trying awfully hard.

Clarke barely blinked. “Relax, Lex. She’s French.”

“That’s not how French people greet,” Lexa murmured as she pushed back her chair. She crossed the short distance, tilting Clarke’s chin up with a faint smile. “I do like how they kiss though.”

Her hands slid to Clarke’s waist, pulling her in with a kiss that was deep and claiming, leaving no question who she belonged to.

Clarke made a small sound against her mouth, one that was far from protest. Her fingers hooked into the front of Lexa’s shirt, tugging her closer until there was no space left between them.

When Lexa finally broke away, her voice was low. “You know she was flirting with you, right?”

Clarke’s smile curved, slow and knowing. “Oh, was she?”

Lexa’s brows rose, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Is this payback? Getting an actual French girl to paint because I wouldn’t let you paint me like one?”

Clarke’s lips twitched. “Maybe. She’s less trouble to pose than you’d be.”

Lexa’s eyes darkened. “Well she can’t have you. You’re mine.”

Clarke brushed her lips over Lexa’s again, softer this time. “All yours, Woods.”

Her smirk turned playful. “You know… I might have to make you jealous more often.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes in mock warning, but her grip on Clarke’s hips didn’t ease. “Try it and see what happens.”

*****

By the next afternoon, the front door swung open, letting in a rush of cool air and the sound of two kids talking over each other. Madi and Aden tumbled inside, dropping their bags before flopping onto the couch.

Lexa set her own bag by the wall, taking in the sight of Clarke’s closed studio door down the hall. From inside came the faint scrape of a chair and a low murmur of voices. Lexa wondered what surprise today might bring — and didn't have to wait long. She had just started toward the kitchen when the door opened.

The French model stepped out, fully dressed this time in a sleeveless blouse and fitted trousers, her hair loose and glossy over one shoulder. She moved with the same unhurried grace as yesterday, scanning the living room before her gaze landed on Lexa.

“Ah… Lexa, oui?” Her accent rolled over the name like it tasted good. She came closer, the soft click of her heels deliberate. “You are even more… what’s this word… charmante (charming)… in daylight.” Her eyes swept over her in a slow, unapologetic once-over.

Madi glanced up from her tablet, brow furrowing. Aden just kept chewing his granola bar.

Lexa’s mouth curved politely, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “How was your session today?”

The woman’s smile deepened. “Better, now I see you. Clarke est une femme très chanceuse… how do you say… very lucky.” Her fingers brushed along Lexa’s arm, trailing lightly before resting there, nails faintly grazing her sleeve.

Lexa’s brow lifted, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “Non, c’est moi la chanceuse. (No, I’m the lucky one.)”

From the hallway, Clarke’s voice cut in, casual but edged with a faint smile. “Should I be worried you’re trying to steal my girlfriend?”

The woman turned, her lips curving. “Steal? Non. But perhaps… borrow?”

Clarke’s eyes flicked to where that hand still rested on Lexa’s arm. Her smile stayed in place, but her tone was light with just enough bite. “She’s not available for loan.”

The model laughed softly, holding Clarke’s gaze for a beat before stepping back. “Pity. She would look good in Paris.”

The model stepped back, retrieving her bag. Clarke followed her to the door, discussing delivery details for the finished portrait. “I’ll do some final touch-ups this week. Where should I have it sent?”

The woman gave an address, then tilted her head, lips curving. “And perhaps… we find another reason to work together, oui? Maybe I commission something new. You are… very easy to look at.”

Clarke’s smile was polite but steady. “I’ll keep that in mind. And if you’re open to it, I’d like to do a charcoal study of you as well, for my own exhibition.”

“Charcoal…” The woman’s gaze lingered a moment, then she shrugged lightly. “Why not? Perhaps then… I will keep both.”

She slipped her bag over her shoulder, eyes warm with unspoken invitation. “Au revoir, Clarke. Au revoir, Lexa.” Then, with a teasing glint, “Garde-la bien, elle en vaut la peine. (Hold tight to this one. She’s a keeper.)”

She punctuated it with a quick, deliberate wink in Lexa’s direction before turning toward the door, her steps unhurried, almost a saunter. The faint click of her heels echoed in the quiet until the latch clicked shut behind her.

Lexa huffed under her breath, more amused than anything. The woman was clearly a flirt, the kind who treated it like a sport. Still, she had style. Lexa would give her that.

Clarke crossed the short distance from the hallway, bracing her hands on either side of Lexa’s chair, close enough that Lexa could feel the brush of her thigh. The smile still lingering on Lexa’s lips curved into something sharper.

“She was flirting with you,” Clarke said, voice low.

Lexa smirked faintly. “Oh, was she?”

“I didn’t know you spoke French. What did she say?” Clarke asked.

Lexa’s mouth twitched. “She told me to hold on to you… and feed you croissants daily to keep you from running away.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed, though her lips betrayed the start of a laugh. “Ridiculous.”

Lexa’s smirk softened, her voice dipping low as she leaned in. “Non, ce qui est ridicule, c'est de penser que je pourrais un jour te laisser partir. Tu es tout pour moi, Clarke. Je t’aime. (No, what's ridiculous is thinking I could ever let you go. You're everything to me, Clarke. I love you.)”

Clarke felt the words in her chest before she registered their meaning, the warmth in Lexa’s voice making her stomach flip. “God, I have absolutely no idea what you just said… but it’s unfair how good it sounds coming from you.” She leaned in, voice dropping. “Because it’s turning me on, and I can’t do anything about it right now.”

Her eyes flicked toward the couch where Madi and Aden were still within earshot, oblivious.

Lexa’s gaze held hers, a slow smile curving her mouth. “Then I’ll just have to make sure you remember it later.”

Straightening too quickly, Clarke smoothed her shirt like it might help her composure. “I’m going to… clean up… my brushes,” she said, already backing toward the hallway.

Lexa’s amused gaze followed her, one brow arched in quiet triumph. “Uh-huh,” she murmured under her breath, more than aware of exactly why Clarke needed a sudden escape.

Chapter Text

Dinner had gone long, the plates still warm on the table as conversation splintered into smaller pockets. They had started with pizza — an innocent enough idea until the topic of toppings came up.

By the time they’d placed the order, compromise had gone out the window. Four different pizzas sat half-eaten on the table: classic margherita, pepperoni, BBQ chicken, and the controversial Hawaiian that Clarke and Madi had ordered and proudly defended.

“Of course pineapple belongs on pizza,” Clarke said, reaching for another slice as if the argument was already won.

Madi lifted her own slice high and tapped it against Clarke’s in solidarity. “Team pineapple,” she declared.

“You’re both wrong,” Costia said, holding her BBQ chicken slice like it was Exhibit A. “This is the perfect topping. Sweet, smoky, savoury—”

“—and clearly the only correct choice,” Anya finished, snagging a slice from the box without looking up.

“Blasphemy,” Lexa cut in, deadpan, holding up her margherita like it was sacred. “Everyone knows this is the OG pizza.”

“You people have no taste,” Aden said, leaning back in his chair. “Am I the only sane one here?”

Costia arched a brow, smirking. “Sane is a strong word.”

“Please,” Aden said, gesturing to his pepperoni slice like it was definitive proof. “This is the only acceptable topping combination.”

“That’s fine,” Madi said, happily taking another bite of Hawaiian. “More for us.”

Lexa pushed her chair back with mock finality. “We are never doing pizza night again. Next time, we’re having pasta. Nobody fights over pasta.”

“Yeah. Everyone knows cream-based pasta is the best.” Madi said at once.

Aden looked personally offended. “Tomato-based. End of discussion.”

“Tomato’s boring.”

“Cream’s heavy.”

“You’re heavy.”

“Wow. Real mature,” Aden said, but he was grinning.

The laughter carried them through dessert, where bowls of fresh strawberries and cream were passed around the table.

At the far end of the table, Madi’s pasta-versus-pizza spat with Aden had already morphed into a new debate with Costia over whether strawberries were considered real berries.

“They’re called berries, so of course they’re berries,” Madi insisted.

“They’re not real berries,” Costia shot back, grinning. “Botanically, strawberries are impostors.”

Madi frowned. “That makes no sense.”

“They’re called aggregate accessory fruits,” Costia said, clearly enjoying herself. “The red part isn’t even the real fruit. The little seeds on the outside are.”

Madi stared at her like she’d just committed heresy. “You’re making that up.”

Lexa, passing by with a plate, smirked. “She’s not. But good luck winning this one.”

Aden took the chance to slip away before he was forced to take sides, flopping onto the couch next to Anya, eyes flicking to the television where a Home Alone rerun played.

“I’m glad Chad’s gone,” Aden said suddenly, eyes still on the screen. “I never liked him.”

Anya glanced over, careful. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, casual but certain.

They sat together for a while, the murmur of the screen filling the space before he spoke again. “Mom’s seeing someone. She has that look… like Mama did when she and Clarke started dating.”

Anya kept her voice even. “That so?”

“She’s happier. She laughs more.” He leaned back, legs stretched out. “I’m not gonna let anyone like Chad near her again. I mean it. If I think someone’s bad for her, I’ll tell her. And if they hurt her…” He smacked his fist into his palm, not hard but with enough emphasis to make his point. “I’ll make sure they regret it.”

Anya’s mouth curved, but the look in his eyes wasn’t just kid bravado. It carried weight. “Sounds like you’ve got it handled.”

Aden turned his head toward her. “I do.”

It wasn’t what he said, but the way he was looking at her that made what he said sound like an unspoken threat. Did he know?

Footsteps padded in from the dining area. Costia rounded the couch. “What did I miss?”

Aden didn’t look away from Anya. “I was just telling Anya I will always protect you.”

Costia’s smile warmed. “That’s sweet, Aden.” She ruffled his hair as she passed, settling on the other end of the couch.

In the next breath, Aden grinned and leaned back, his tone suddenly lighter. “Like in Home Alone, where Kevin took care of the bad guys all by himself.” He flicked a quick, pointed glance at Anya. “No one messes with my family.”

Anya almost laughed at the sudden shift, almost. But the way he held her gaze that extra beat made her wonder if it was really just a movie reference. Or if it wasn’t.

“You’d protect her too, wouldn’t you?” he asked.

Anya swallowed, the question heavier than it sounded. She nodded. “I won’t let anyone hurt her.”

“That’s why you’re my favourite aunt,” he said, and before she could reply, he leaned in and gave her a quick hug.

Anya managed a small smile, but the weight of the exchange lingered. Was that approval… or a warning?

***

It was nearly midnight. The house had settled into that heavy quiet that came only after the last guest was gone and the kids were finally asleep.

Lexa stepped out of the bedroom in her sleep shirt, barefoot, hair damp from a quick shower. She paused in the hallway, taking in the living room.

Toys were still scattered across the rug. Pillows had slipped off the couch. A half-eaten Hawaiian pizza sat on the coffee table, a couple of small bite marks along the crust. The sink was full.

Lexa sighed. Aden knew better than to leave a mess before bed. But now that Madi was here, the rules had apparently changed. Yet another thing she needed to address with Clarke.

She moved on autopilot.

She started with the cushions, fluffing and arranging them, then picked up the toys and dropped them into the basket. The pizza went in the bin. She wiped down the coffee table, cleared the cups from the dining area, and wiped the chairs. The kitchen was next. She rinsed the plates in the sink, loaded the dishwasher, and scrubbed the sticky ring someone’s juice had left on the counter.

It took nearly an hour, but by the end of it, the house finally resembled some kind of order. Not perfect, but livable.

Lexa poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, letting the cool rim rest against her lips for a moment before she drank. Her shoulders ached. A dull throb had begun at the base of her skull, the kind that came from pushing through when she should have stopped.

Footsteps padded out from the back.

Clarke emerged from the art room, hair mussed, tank top spattered with paint. She carried two used mugs in one hand, a jar of cloudy paint water in the other, and a bunch of brushes pinched between her fingers. Lexa’s eyes tracked her across the kitchen, watching as Clarke dumped everything into the now-empty sink with a clatter.

She rinsed only the brushes, set them on a towel to dry, and left the rest where they landed. Then she poured herself a glass of wine and flopped onto the couch, grabbing the remote like she’d been carrying the weight of the day herself.

Lexa stared at the sink. There were paint splotches on the sink, and one of the mugs still had cold coffee in it.

Her fingers came up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She set her water down harder than intended. “Are you going to clean that?”

Clarke blinked at her, the tension in her shoulders obvious even from across the room. “I will. I just needed a break.”

Lexa folded her arms, jaw tight. “You always say that. But it’s still there the next morning.”

“It’s just a couple things,” Clarke said with a shrug. “I’ll get to it.”

“No, you won’t. Because I’ll get to it. Like I always do.”

Clarke muted the television. “Why are you making this a thing?”

Lexa stepped away from the counter. “Because I just spent the last hour cleaning this house. And then you come out, dump more mess into the sink I just emptied, and act like I’m overreacting for being upset about it.”

“I didn’t ask you to clean,” Clarke said, voice sharper now.

“And I didn’t ask to feel like your maid.”

That landed. Clarke sat up straighter, eyes narrowing. “Stop yelling at me like I’m a kid, Lexa. You’re not my mom.”

“Then stop behaving like one.”

The silence between them thickened.

Clarke stood slowly, glass in hand. “You know what? Maybe I shouldn’t have come out here.”

It wasn’t about mugs. Or brushes. Or juice rings on the counter.

For Lexa, it felt like she was carrying the invisible labor, like she was the only one keeping their home in order. But Lexa knew she had been a bit too harsh with her words. It wasn’t that Clarke never helped, only that she left things for later, while Lexa needed them done now. To Lexa, the delay looked like disregard, and exhaustion made every little thing feel heavier than it should.

For Clarke, it wasn’t about ignoring the mess. She wasn’t deliberately leaving things behind, and she always cleared her messes, just not immediately. When her focus was on creating, tidying as she went was the last thing on her mind. Lexa’s standard of neat was different from hers, and when that gap showed, it felt like every small thing was being tallied against her. Already stretched thin by looming deadlines, being reduced to the clutter she left behind made her feel unseen.

Clarke grabbed her wine glass from the coffee table, watching Lexa for some sign she was willing to soften. Lexa said nothing.

“You know what? I’ll just get out of your way.”

She turned and walked down the hall, the sound of her footsteps fading toward the bedroom. Lexa didn’t stop her. She just stood there, rubbing at her temple as she stared at the mess still in the sink, certain it would be spending the night there.

*****

A cool breeze swept across the rooftop, tugging at Lexa’s sleep shirt and raising a faint shiver she couldn’t quite name. She stood near the edge, arms crossed, eyes drifting over the skyline. Beside her, Anya sat in a weathered patio chair, nursing a cup of chamomile tea while the soft hum of the city drifted up from below.

The dull throb behind her eyes had eased now that the ibuprofen had kicked in, though the tension still lingered in her shoulders. She’d come up here to let the cool air and the distance work on her, hoping it would clear her head after the fight.

“I love Clarke to death,” Lexa said, her voice low but irritated. “But if she leaves one more half-drunk glass lying around, or another paint stain on the couch…”

She turned, pacing a few steps. “There are blood-red stains on the armchair now. That stuff doesn’t come out.”

Anya took a slow sip of her tea, smirking. “Maybe you should just embrace the chaos. Add a few more stains. If anyone asks, say it’s intentional. It’s art.

Lexa grumbled, “Yeah, sure. Add some more and it’ll look like someone bled out on the couch.”

Anya laughed.

Lexa huffed. “It’s not like I’ve never lived with anyone before. I didn’t think moving in with someone again would be such a damn adjustment.”

Anya chuckled into her mug. “You really are an old fart. Sounding like a grumpy grandma already.”

Lexa shot her a look. “You’re older than me.”

“Exactly. I know one when I see one.”

Lexa cringed. “She told me to stop yelling at her like she was a kid, and I told her to stop behaving like one.”

“Oof,” Anya snorted. “Hope the couch is comfy tonight.”

Lexa groaned.

“You know you have to talk to her, right?” Anya pressed. “Agree on some ground rules. Or let it go. You’re older than Clarke, Lexa. Stop being so petty.”

Lexa scoffed. “I’m not being petty. I’m being—”

“Demanding,” Anya cut in, unbothered.

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “I was going to say reasonable.”

Anya grinned. “Mm. Tomato, tomahto.”

Lexa shook her head, a faint twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “Easy for you to say, coming from someone who doesn’t live with anyone.”

Anya waved her off. “Details.”

They let the quiet stretch for a moment before Anya spoke again, more thoughtful now.

“Aden knows,” she said.

Lexa glanced over. “Knows what?”

“That Costia’s seeing someone for sure.” Anya took another sip of tea. “After dinner, he told me she’s happier lately. Laughs more. Said he’d always protect her, and then he looked at me like he was…” She paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t know if he was warning me and giving his approval at the same time… or if it was pure coincidence.”

Lexa’s mouth curved faintly. “Aden doesn’t do coincidence.”

Anya huffed a quiet laugh. “Great… So he knows.”

They stood in comfortable quiet for a moment, enjoying the cool night breeze. Then Lexa glanced sideways, a slow smirk forming as she suddenly thought of something Costia did that would surely drive Anya insane.

She casually sipped her tea again. “So. How’s the honeymoon phase going?”

Anya’s brow arched, a hint of a grin tugging at her mouth. “Look at you, acknowledging my love life without wincing. I’m touched.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, her smirk deepening. “Can’t wait till you and Cos start living together.”

Anya blinked. “Wait... what does that mean?”

Lexa shrugged innocently, looking back out at the skyline. “Nothing. Just saying.”

Anya stared at her, deeply suspicious now.

“Lexa…”

Anya narrowed her eyes. “What does she do?”

But Lexa didn’t answer. She just let the silence stretch, the night wind tugging at her shirt as her smile gave her away.

***

Lexa stepped inside, closing the door with care. The apartment was still. Too still. The sink sat empty. The coffee table was bare. Not a single wine glass in sight.

Her gaze swept the living room. Her pillows weren’t on the couch, which meant Clarke hadn’t kicked her out of the bedroom. That had to be a good sign… right?

She crossed to the bedroom. The door creaked as she eased it open.

Empty. The bed was untouched. Clarke’s pillows were gone.

Lexa’s jaw tightened. Her eyes flicked toward the studio down the hall.

She padded down the hallway and knocked lightly. No answer. She tried the doorknob. Locked. Clarke clearly didn’t want to talk.

Sighing, Lexa turned away, retreating to the cold sheets waiting for her. She hated going to sleep with something unsaid between them, but Clarke wasn’t giving her a choice.

She’d have to sleep on it, whether she wanted to or not.

***

The next morning, the smell of toast and coffee drifted through the air as Lexa padded into the kitchen. Clarke stood at the stove in one of her oversized paint shirts, flipping eggs with mechanical precision.

“Morning,” Lexa said, voice soft.

“Morning,” Madi chirped from the table, already halfway through her toast. Aden gave a groggy wave, playing with his eggs.

Clarke didn’t respond. She slid eggs onto Madi’s plate, ruffled Aden’s hair, and moved around Lexa like she wasn’t there.

Lexa sat at the table. “Clarke—”

“Juice?” Clarke asked brightly, looking at Madi.

“Yes please,” Madi chirped.

“Me too,” Aden added.

Lexa’s jaw flexed. The silence directed at her was deafening.

“And can I have ketchup for the eggs please?” Aden asked politely.

Clarke reached into the fridge and set the bottle in front of him. “Don’t drown them.”

“I won’t,” Aden said, already squeezing. “Hey, Madi, wanna trade your toast for one of my sausages?”

“Only if you give me the bigger one,” Madi said, eyeing his plate.

“You always say that.”

Lexa gave a tight smile. “You two negotiating food again?”

Neither kid answered, already bargaining. Biscuit had finished his breakfast and now sat hopefully by the table, tail thumping, eyes fixed on any bite that might hit the floor.

Lexa looked back at Clarke. “Did you sleep okay?”

Clarke didn’t answer. She moved around Lexa as if she weren’t there, setting down mugs and pouring coffee for herself and juice for the kids. Lexa’s cup stayed empty.

Her throat tightened. “Clarke.”

Clarke turned to Madi instead. “What’s the plan for school today? You’ve got art, right?”

“Yeah! We’re making clay animals.”

“Oh good,” Clarke said, finally smiling. “Don’t forget your smock.”

Lexa’s fingers tightened around her coffee cup. The silence aimed squarely at her was unmistakable. Clarke was talking to everyone but Lexa.

And Lexa was getting it. Loud and clear.

***

Lexa picked the kids up from school, their chatter filling the car as they recapped recess drama and cafeteria injustices. She nodded along, smiling when appropriate, but her mind kept drifting.

Was Clarke still ignoring her?

The question lingered as they drew closer to the apartment.

When they stepped inside, Clarke looked up from the kitchen island where she was sketching on a notepad. “Hey, guys,” she said, rising to press a kiss to Madi’s head. “How was school?”

“It was fine,” Madi said, already launching into a detailed play-by-play of PE.

Aden jumped in with a story about someone losing a tooth in the middle of math. The two of them talked over each other, giggling and jostling as they dropped their backpacks.

Clarke smiled, listening as she leaned back against the counter. “Sounds like a wild day.”

“It was,” Aden confirmed solemnly, “very chaotic.”

Clarke nodded. “Alright, homework, please. No stalling.”

The kids were still chattering as they dragged their backpacks to their rooms.

Clarke didn’t look at Lexa. Didn’t speak to her.

Lexa followed her into the kitchen. “You’re really not going to talk to me all day?”

Clarke said nothing. She slipped past her and headed straight for the studio.

The door closed with a soft but final click.

Lexa stood there for a moment, jaw tight. Then she sighed.

Still in the doghouse.

In the corner, Biscuit lifted his head from his bed, tilting it as if in question. Lexa crossed the room and crouched beside him, running a hand over his fur.

“At least treats fix all your problems,” she murmured, pulling one from the jar.

Biscuit took it gently, tail thumping once before he settled back down.

The evening passed in quiet effort. Lexa made dinner from scratch, chopping vegetables with more force than necessary. The kids were sprawled on the couch, lost in their books.

She plated the last dish and wiped her hands. “Madi,” she said gently, “can you get your mom out here for dinner?”

Madi hopped up and knocked on the studio door.

Clarke came out a few minutes later, sat down, and helped herself to food without a word.

She asked the kids about their day, laughing softly at something Aden said. Lexa tried to catch her eye once. Then again. Nothing.

Madi perked up halfway through her meal. “I was talking to Dad about making more videos, and he said I had to ask Mom for permission.”

Clarke’s expression tightened for a brief moment. She schooled it quickly, but Lexa saw it. The nearly imperceptible eye-roll that never quite happened.

Clarke set her fork down. “It’s not about permission,” she said carefully. “It’s about making sure we’re on the same page before we put something public online. Once things go online, it stays there… forever! You’re not doing this for clicks, are you?”

Madi shook her head.

“Good,” Clarke said. “Because your self-worth doesn’t come from likes or comments. Happiness isn’t measured in clicks from strangers. If you enjoy making something, that should be the reason you do it. What kind of videos did you have in mind?”

Madi lit up. “Like educational stuff. How to pump your tires, check your oil, top up your wiper fluid. That kind of thing. For other kids. Dad says I explain things really clearly.”

Clarke nodded. “I’ll talk to your father about it, okay?”

Aden leaned forward, eyes bright. “That sounds so cool. Can I help? Can we do more car videos? Like how fast a sports car goes and what makes it go so fast? Or like, maybe how brakes work, or how to change a flat. I wanna learn how to shoot and edit. Do you think Wells would teach me before he leaves?”

Still, Clarke didn’t glance Lexa’s way. “Your moms and I will have a talk with Madi’s dad, and we’ll figure something out.”

Lexa offered a small smile, trying to bridge the gap. “That does sound like interesting skills to pick up. Learning how to shoot and edit a video? And next time my tire’s flat, you can help me change it.”

Aden lit up. “Yes! We can do a whole segment on emergency car stuff. Like what tools you need, and what not to touch.”

Madi grinned. “I can be the host, and Aden can be the cameraman-slash-mechanic-in-training.”

The two of them launched into excited chatter, tossing out titles for their imaginary channel between mouthfuls of food. Lexa leaned back, quietly watching them, her eyes drifting once to Clarke.

Clarke didn’t respond. She passed Madi the salad and refilled Aden’s water, and kept her gaze fixed anywhere but Lexa.

Later that night, as Lexa tucked Aden into bed, his small voice broke the quiet.

“Are you and Clarke fighting?”

Lexa paused, smoothing the blanket over his chest. “It’s nothing for you to worry about, buddy.”

“Did you do something wrong?”

She sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Sometimes adults disagree,” she said gently. Through the open door, she caught sight of Clarke in the hallway. “It doesn’t mean we don’t care about each other. It just means we need to talk and work things through.”

Clarke heard every word. She stayed in the shadows a moment longer, arms folded, jaw tight. She didn’t want to be the one to break first. But maybe this wasn’t about winning.

The kids were asleep. The house had gone still. They met under the low light in the living room.

“We need to talk,” Lexa said, her voice quiet but firm.

Clarke didn’t move. “Not sure I’m up for another lecture.”

Lexa stepped closer. “Clarke, come on. This is getting ridiculous.”

She fixed Lexa with a long, pointed glare. That tight-lipped, furious kind that said she’d been holding it in all day.

Lexa sighed in defeat. “I’m sorry.”

Clarke’s stance didn’t shift. “Do you even know what you are sorry about?”

“For yelling at you?” Lexa squeaked.

Clarke’s eyes sharpened. “Do you even see me as an equal, or will I always be that kid you once taught in high school?”

The words landed like a punch. Lexa flinched, actually cringing as she realized just how badly she’d fucked up.

“I don’t like it when you talk down to me,” Clarke said finally.

“I’m not—”

“You told me to stop behaving like a child, Lexa. Over some dirty mugs and a couch stain. You made me feel like I was fifteen and grounded.”

Lexa hesitated, then muttered, “Technically, you’re the one who said—”

Clarke’s glare cut her off, sharp enough to make her wish she’d bitten her tongue. Definitely not helping.

Her expression faltered “I didn’t mean it that way,” she said softly. “I was frustrated, but I shouldn’t have said it like that. You’re not a child. You’re… you’re the person I want to build a home with. I should’ve acted like it.”

Clarke’s glare eased. Not fully, but enough.

“I don’t like it when you don’t respect our space,” Lexa said. “I need order. Calm. I’ve always lived that way. I get that’s not how you create, but when the house is in chaos, it gets under my skin, and I end up taking it out on you. That’s not fair to you.”

They stood there in the stillness.

“I wasn’t trying to disrespect you,” Clarke said at last. Her voice had softened, though the edge was still there. “When I’m working, my head’s in the canvas. Keeping things perfectly orderly just isn’t where my focus goes. I’m not intentionally trying to create a mess, but I’m also not watching every little thing while I’m in the middle of something. But when you act like it’s a crime, it feels like you’re dismissing what matters to me.”

Lexa’s shoulders dropped, her tone gentler now. “I get that your focus is the work, not whether a mug makes it back to the sink. For me, order helps me breathe. If things pile up, it feels like everything’s closing in.” She hesitated. “We need a middle ground. I don’t want this to be the thing that undoes us.”

Clarke’s shoulders eased.

“Maybe we split it up,” Lexa went on. “The studio stays fully yours. Work however you need in there. I won’t hover. But the living room stays clean so it feels like a reset space for both of us. Shared spaces stay… shared.”

Clarke’s arms loosened slightly. “And the little things? Like the cups?”

Lexa hesitated, then nodded. “If it’s in the sink, just rinse it. Doesn’t have to be spotless, just… not left sitting. And no more paint or food on the furniture. That’s the line for me.”

Clarke exhaled, half a laugh in it. “Fine. I’ll try not to treat the couch like an extra palette. But you don’t get to glare at every coffee ring like it’s a personal attack.”

Lexa’s mouth curved, some of the tension easing. “Deal.”

For a moment, the weight in the room seemed to lift. But then Clarke’s shoulders tightened again, her eyes flicking toward the hallway. “If the studio’s just mine… we won’t be working in the same room anymore.”

The thought settled between them. They both knew what it meant. There would be no more afternoons with Clarke painting by the window and Lexa marking essays in the corner, the quiet rhythm of shared space holding them together even when they weren’t talking.

“I’ll miss that,” Lexa admitted.

“Me too,” Clarke said, softer now.

Lexa hesitated. “Maybe we only keep separate spaces when you’ve got a big job, like your upcoming exhibition — times when you need to be in the zone without worrying about order. The rest of the time, we still work in the same room.”

Clarke’s mouth curved faintly. “That… I can live with.”

The last of the tension eased from Lexa’s shoulders. She stepped closer, her voice dropping. “I missed you.”

Clarke’s eyes softened. “I missed you too.”

“Let’s never do this again,” Lexa murmured.

“Agreed.” Clarke closed the distance, arms slipping around her. Lexa held her tight, breathing her in, the day’s silence finally breaking in the simplest way possible.

Clarke tilted her head back, a sly smile tugging at her mouth. “Maybe you can find a more… convincing way to apologize.”

Lexa’s brow arched. “Oh?”

“Show me how sorry you are,” Clarke said, her voice low, brushing her lips against Lexa’s in a teasing ghost of a kiss before pulling back just enough to make her chase it.

Relief shifted quickly into something hungrier in Lexa’s eyes. She caught Clarke’s mouth fully this time, the kiss deepening as if she could erase the last twenty-four hours in the press of her lips. Clarke melted into it, her fingers sliding beneath the hem of Lexa’s shirt, tugging her closer.

By the time Lexa backed her toward the bedroom, Clarke was laughing against her mouth. “That’s better. Now we’re finally speaking the same language.”

Chapter Text

Aden hunched over the iPad, brow furrowed in concentration while Wells leaned over the back of his chair. On the screen, his voice echoed from their last take in the garage.

He and Madi were still in their outfits from the shoot, looking every bit the pint-sized mechanics in navy coveralls rolled at the ankles, with strap-on tool belts bouncing at their hips.

Madi’s had a tire gauge clipped beside the pliers, her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail like she’d been born ready for this. Aden’s sagged under the weight of a wrench he insisted on carrying, giving him the look of someone moments away from fixing or dismantling something important.

“Now that we’ve got all the dialogue we want to keep,” Wells said, tapping the timeline with the side of his finger, “let’s add some cutaways. That way, when you’re talking about wiping the dipstick, we can show the actual shot of the dipstick being wiped and going back into the tube. Then we cut back to your face.”

Aden slid his finger along the clips, trimming and dragging them into place. “Like this?” He hit play, and the video jumped from his explanation to a close-up of his own hands wiping the dipstick before returning to him smiling at the camera.

Wells grinned. “Perfect. Now let’s get the part where you’re doing your little ‘car smoothie’ speech.”

On screen, Aden appeared in the driveway, leaning against the car with the exaggerated swagger of someone who’d been a mechanic for all of two hours.

“Okay,” his recorded self announced, “so today we’re gonna check the oil in this car. Oil is like… the smoothie your car drinks so it doesn’t explode. And yeah, it’s grosser than any smoothie. It’s like broccoli juice mixed with mud. Don’t drink it. Not even a sip. I’m serious. Not like I’ve tried it or anything.”

Finn’s laugh carried from across the garage, where he was buffing the hood of one of the cars he planned to resell.

“Step one,” the video version of Aden went on, “pop the hood. This is the part where you feel like a superhero mechanic. Bonus points if you hum epic music while you do it.”

Cut to the close-up shot of him lifting the hood and peering into the engine bay.

“Step two. Find the dipstick. It usually has a little loop or handle, and it’s not for sword fighting… even though it totally looks like it could be.”

On screen, Aden yanked the dipstick out and gave the camera a mock sword salute before cutting to the next clip.

“Step three. Pull it out and wipe it clean. We’re not just being neat freaks here. We need a fresh start to see the real oil level. Also, pro tip? Don’t wipe it on your shirt unless you want your mom to go totally nuclear.”

Wells chuckled behind him. “That line’s staying in.”

The video showed the dipstick going back into the tube, then Aden leaning forward again.

“Step four. Stick it back in all the way, then pull it out again. This time, you check where the oil is on the stick. If it’s between the two marks, you’re good. If it’s low… your car is basically thirsty and you should give it a drink. But like, car juice. Not apple juice.”

He leaned toward the camera, face suddenly solemn. “Seriously. Please, please do not put apple juice in your car. I don’t care what your little brother says. Bad things will happen. Very bad.”

The clip ended with Aden making a disgusted face at the oil before flashing a triumphant thumbs-up.

“And that’s it,” the on-screen Aden finished. “You just saved your car from a super cranky engine meltdown. High five yourself… but maybe wash your hands first.”

Wells tapped the space bar to pause the video, a grin spreading across his face. “Kid, this is gold. You and Madi are gonna have a million views in no time.”

Aden straightened in his chair, trying to play it cool, but the flush of pride gave him away.

“Okay, my turn!” Madi hopped into the chair beside him and reached for the iPad. “Let’s work on mine now.”

Wells slid over to make room, leaning his elbows on the table. “Alright, tire pressure queen, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Madi tapped the screen, pulling up her footage. They huddled closer over the iPad, Wells pausing the video every few seconds to point out pacing tweaks or spots where a cutaway would make the explanation clearer.

“Right here, when you say ‘magic numbers,’ let’s flash to a close-up of the sticker inside the door,” he suggested, scrubbing through to find the shot.

Aden leaned in, offering, “And after she says ‘sad potato,’ we could show that clip of the flat tire from earlier. It’s funnier if people see it.”

Madi rolled her eyes but grinned, dragging the clip into place.

“Add those sad eyeballs on the flat tire,” Aden added quickly, “and a fart sound to represent all the air escaping.” He snickered at his own suggestion, already scrolling through the sound effects library like it was the most important task in the world.

Wells shook his head, smiling. “You know… I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that might actually work.”

The three of them traded ideas, trimming, reordering, and adding little sound effects until the flow felt just right. By the time they hit play on the final version, the transitions were seamless, the jokes landed, and the whole thing looked like it had been made by a team twice their size.

The first frame showed Madi crouched beside a gleaming silver sedan, one hand braced on the wheel like she was posing for a poster.

On screen, her voice was already brimming with energy.

“Hey guys! Today we’re talking about something super important — tire pressure! Because even the fastest car in the world is basically a sad potato if its tires are squishy.”

Finn let out a surprised laugh from where he was straightening a dealer plate. “A sad potato?”

Madi ignored him, grinning into the camera. “Step one. Find your tire pressure gauge. This little guy tells you if your tires are ready for action… or if they’re ready to flop like a pancake.”

The video cut to her holding the gauge up like it was a magic wand, complete with a tiny sparkle effect Aden had clearly added in editing.

“Step two. Look for the magic numbers. You can find them on a sticker inside your driver’s door or in the car manual. This is the car’s happy place for tire pressure. Like shoes — too tight or too floppy, and you’re gonna have a bad time.”

Another cut to Madi pressing the gauge onto the valve stem, the hiss of escaping air caught perfectly by the mic.

“Step three. Check your tire. If it’s too low, your car might feel tired. Get it? Tired?” She snorted at her own joke, then leaned toward the lens with mock seriousness. “It’s basically a sad potato. Like… the saddest potato in the world. You know, like when you drop your fries on the floor and the dog eats them. But for real, low pressure means your car gets wobbly, eats up gas, and your tires die way faster. So pump them up, buttercup.”

The next shot was her crouched dramatically beside an air compressor, sunglasses on like she was about to defuse a bomb.

“And step four, if you’re adding air, go slow and check a lot. Too much air and your car bounces like a basketball. Fun at the park, not so fun on the road.”

Cut to her giving the tire a playful pat.

“And that’s it! Healthy tires mean safe drives, less gas money, and no sad potato cars. Catch you next time, road warriors!” She tossed a salute at the camera before the clip faded out.

Wells leaned back, smiling. “Yep. This is going to be another hit.”

Aden pointed at the screen, mock-serious. “We’re totally famous now.”

Madi smirked. “Obviously.”

“Okay,” Aden said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Now we just need a channel name. Something epic. Something people remember. Like…” He snaps his fingers. “Pint-Sized Mechanics!”

Madi wrinkled her nose. “That makes us sound like a joke. I don’t want people thinking we’re just cute kids messing around.”

“You don’t like it?” Aden looked genuinely wounded. “It’s perfect! We’re small, we’re mechanics. Boom. Pint-Sized Mechanics.”

“Too obvious,” Madi shot back. “What about something professional, like… Drive Time Jr. or Kid Garage? At least that sounds smart.”

“Kid Garage sounds like a daycare,” Aden groaned. “Are we babysitting tires now?”

Wells, still lounging behind them, hid a grin. “For what it’s worth, ‘Pint-Sized Mechanics’ is catchy. And it fits. You two literally look like mini mechanics in those coveralls.”

Madi glared at him. “Whose side are you on?”

“Neither,” Wells said, holding up his hands. “Just saying, a good name is easy to remember. That one sticks.”

Aden leaned back with a triumphant smirk. “Told you.”

Madi crossed her arms, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a smile. “Fine. But only if I’m the lead mechanic.”

Aden gasped. “Unfair. We’re co-mechanics.”

“Lead,” Madi insisted.

“Assistant,” Aden countered.

“Okay, okay,” Wells cut in, laughing now. “How about you both settle for co-hosts of Pint-Sized Mechanics before this turns into a wrestling match.”

Madi and Aden exchanged a look, then broke into matching grins.

“Deal,” they said together.

From across the garage, Finn clapped his hands. “Love it. Pint-Sized Mechanics. And obviously, I’ll be your executive producer.”

Madi didn’t even glance up from the iPad. “Veto.”

Finn blinked. “What? Why?”

“Because you’ll try to rename it something like Finntastic Cars,” Madi said flatly.

Aden snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

Finn opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it and went back to polishing a hood ornament, muttering under his breath. “Finntastic would have been great.”

Wells chuckled and leaned over the kids again. “Alright, co-hosts, you’ve got your channel name. Next step is a logo.”

Aden’s eyes lit up. “Easy. A giant wrench with flames coming out of it.”

Madi groaned. “That looks like a monster truck rally. We need something clean. Like a tire with our channel name in it.”

“Boring,” Aden said. “What about a wrench and a tire… with flames?”

“Why are there always flames with you?” Madi demanded.

“Because flames are awesome!” Aden grinned, already sketching on Wells’s notepad.

Madi snatched the pen. “Absolutely not. Tire. Bold letters. No flames.”

“You’re no fun.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey, do you need a guest star for the next one?” Finn cut in, trying to ease the tension.

Madi turned, smiling sweetly. “Sure, Dad. We can call it Learning From the Best.”

Finn’s chest puffed with pride.

“…Mistakes,” Madi finished, already laughing.

“Hey,” Finn protested, “my videos have been doing well. We’ve been selling more cars since we started this whole IG thing. I’m not teaching anyone how to change their oil, but I can sell them a car that looks good doing it.”

Wells, still half-focused on the iPad, pointed at the two kids. “Speaking of mistakes… your moms know you’re doing these videos, right? I’m leaving town soon, and I’d really rather not have Clarke fly out to DC to kill me.” He paused, then added with mock dread, “Or worse… Lexa.”

Aden smirked. “Please. Mommy’s scary too when she wants to be. And she’s got Aunt Anya as backup, so… good luck.”

Wells blinked. “Wait, so is that a no?”

Madi scoffed. “Duh. Of course they know. I mean, they wouldn’t have dropped us off here otherwise.”

Wells gave them a skeptical look. “Fool me once…”

Still, he pulled out his phone and shot Clarke a quick text, just in case.

*****

In Clarke’s kitchen, her phone lit up on the counter. She glanced at the message from Wells, smiling as she typed back, Yes, they asked. Thanks for checking.

A second message pinged almost immediately. I’ll send you the final link before they post it, Wells promised.

Clarke shook her head, amused, and set the phone aside, only for it to buzz again, this time with an unfamiliar number and a long string of digits. She swiped to answer, balancing the phone between her ear and shoulder while rinsing a paintbrush in the sink.

“Hello?”

“Bonjour. Am I speaking with Clarke Griffin?” The voice on the other end was warm, lilting, and unmistakably French.

Clarke stilled. “Uh… yes?”

“I am calling to confirm — you are the artist who completed the portrait of Madame Fontaine?”

Clarke’s mind flashed to the French commission she’d just finished just last month. “I did, yes…”

“Très bien. I am with L’Atelier Moderne. We would like to arrange an interview for our upcoming issue.”

Clarke blinked. The name rang a faint bell, filed somewhere under fancy international art stuff. It was so far outside her orbit that suspicion rose first.

Was Raven pranking her again? Wouldn’t be the first time.

She sighed under her breath. “Right… okay, knock it off, Raven.”

There was a polite pause. “Pardon?”

She narrowed her eyes at the phone like it might sprout Raven’s smirking face. “I’m not sure how you’re pulling off such a convincing accent, Raven, but I’m not falling for this again.”

“Non, madame. I assure you, I am not… Reivon.” The caller sounded more puzzled than offended.

“Your number was shared with us by Madame Fontaine. She is a longtime patron of the arts, and a supporter of our magazine. She spoke very highly of your work and recommended that we contact you directly.”

It took another thirty seconds for the truth to sink in, and when it did, heat rushed to Clarke’s cheeks. She straightened, nearly sloshing rinse water onto her shirt. “Oh my god. You’re serious. I’m so sorry, I thought—”

The woman chuckled softly. “It is quite alright. May I send you the details by email?”

“Please,” Clarke said, her voice somewhere between mortified and giddy. She rattled off her address, thanked the woman twice, and hung up, staring at the phone like it had just offered her a golden ticket.

A new email notification sat at the top of her inbox, the sender’s name written in elegant serif letters that made her pulse skip.

She tapped it open.

Dear Ms. Griffin,

It would be our honor to feature your work in the upcoming issue of L’Atelier Moderne. We admire the sensitivity and strength in your portrait of Madame Fontaine and believe our readers will be equally moved…

Clarke read it twice, then a third time, her chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with nerves. The words didn’t feel real, yet here they were, neatly typed and waiting for her reply.

She exhaled shakily and only then noticed the flood of notifications stacked at the top of her lock screen. Her Instagram had dozens of alerts waiting. She frowned. She had put her phone on Do Not Disturb earlier, trying to protect her painting hours from distraction. Now the red bubble taunted her with triple digits.

Her feed was chaos, filled with likes, new followers, and comments stacking faster than she could scroll. At the center of it all was Madame Fontaine’s posts, a cropped teaser of the portrait showing only her face and bare shoulder, with Clarke’s signature visible in the corner like a stamp of authenticity.

The next picture showed the framed work in Fontaine’s airy Paris flat. Fontaine stood in front of it herself, posed deliberately so her body blocked the nude details, one hand on her hip and the other lifting a glass of champagne. The caption read: “Quand l’art te voit mieux qu’un miroir. Merci, @ClarkeGriffinArt.”

Clarke frowned, then copied it into Translate. The words popped up in English: When art sees you better than a mirror. Thank you, @ClarkeGriffinArt.

Her stomach flipped. She had known Fontaine had a presence online, and anyone that glamorous usually did, but she hadn’t realized it was this massive. Thousands of people were watching, liking, and sharing, and suddenly Clarke’s name was tethered to Fontaine’s in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

She usually got excited when one of her posts scraped past a dozen likes. Now her follower count was climbing so fast she could barely keep up. It didn’t feel real, and yet here it was, happening in real time.

No wonder L’Atelier Moderne had called. Recognition like that was every artist’s dream, and for years it had felt like a distant star, something she admired from afar but never expected to shine on her.

Clarke set her phone down on the counter and leaned back against the sink. The apartment felt unusually still, sunlight catching in the glass jars of brushes lined along the windowsill. She glanced at the paint-smeared water in front of her, then back at the phone, half-expecting it to buzz again and take it all back.

It didn’t.

Was this really her break? The piece that could finally push her work past small galleries and word-of-mouth commissions? Excitement fizzed through her, threaded with the same fear that always came before something new.

She thought of the times she’d nearly walked away — when the commissions dried up, when rent loomed larger than her earnings, when the silence of her studio left too much room for doubt. She’d been working toward this exhibition for months, juggling client pieces while carving out hours to build something of her own. And in the quiet stretches, she’d second-guessed everything. Was it enough? Was she enough?

Maybe now she had her answer.

Maybe she could finally prove her mom wrong about being a starving artist.

Her gaze flicked toward the studio, where half-finished canvases waited. For the first time in a long time, the possibilities didn’t feel like a gamble. They felt like a door swinging open.

She had not been pranked.
She had, apparently, gone viral.

The adrenaline fizzing in her chest demanded somewhere to go. She grabbed the phone and hit Raven’s contact.

Raven answered on the third ring, suspiciously casual. “Sup, Griffin?”

“You,” Clarke said without preamble, her voice bubbling with mock outrage, “are officially the worst friend ever.”

Raven barked out a laugh. “Uh… thanks?”

“I just got a call from L’Atelier Moderne,” Clarke went on. “They want to interview me, and of course I thought it was you messing with me, because obviously there is no universe where that actually happens to me—”

“Hold up,” Raven cut in. “They called you? Like, for real? That’s huge!”

“Yes, for real,” Clarke said, pacing the kitchen. “And do you know what I did for the first minute of the call? Accused this poor woman of being you.”

Raven burst out laughing. “Wow. You’ve got a real knack for handling your big breaks.”

Clarke groaned. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Nope,” Raven said cheerfully. “And I’m telling everyone at your opening that you thought your first international magazine interview was a prank.”

Clarke pressed a hand to her face but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her mouth. “Of course you are.”

“Relax, Picasso. The world finally caught up with you. About damn time.”

Clarke’s chest tightened, gratitude and disbelief tangling in her throat. “Yeah, well. Try telling that to the part of me still waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out and say I’m being Punk’d.”

Raven laughed. “God, you’re hopeless. Go answer your fancy emails.”

She ended the call with Raven, a smile still on her face as she tapped into her messages.
Just got a call from L’Atelier Moderne. Apparently they saw your portrait. Thank you so much for sharing it… this never would’ve happened without you.

The reply came almost instantly.
Mais bien sûr (But of course). When I love something, I do not hide it. Your work is too beautiful to stay in the shadows. Besides, I look magnificent, non?

Clarke huffed a laugh, pressing her palm to her forehead. That was exactly what she should have expected.

A second message blinked onto the screen before she could even think of a reply.
Next time I’m in town, you take me to dinner, oui?

Clarke let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. Was Fontaine still trying to flirt, or was that just her version of a thank-you dinner? With her, it was impossible to tell.

Before she could decide how to reply, the front door opened. Lexa stepped inside, unwrapping her scarf and setting her bag down by the entryway.

“Hey, babe,” she said warmly as she crossed the room, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Clarke’s lips.

Clarke barely let her pull back before blurting, eyes wide with disbelief, “You won’t believe what just happened…”

Chapter Text

Lexa insisted on taking Clarke out after her L’Atelier Moderne interview wrapped. In the days leading up to it, Clarke had pushed herself in the studio, nerves stretched thin as she balanced finishing pieces for the exhibition with preparing for the feature. On top of that, she was still managing the sudden flood of new commissions that had her booked solid for months. Tonight, Lexa wanted to give her something simpler: good food, and a reminder to breathe.

The restaurant buzzed around them, but Clarke barely noticed. She twirled her fork idly, still replaying the avalanche of notifications on her phone.

“I can’t believe this,” she muttered. “One post and suddenly I’m viral. It feels… ridiculous.”

Lexa set down her glass, studying her with that steady calm that always cut through Clarke’s spirals. “Sure, chance might have opened the door. But it didn’t keep them inside. They stayed because your work pulled them in, because it speaks to them. That’s what matters.”

“Maybe.” Clarke’s laugh was shaky. “Or maybe that was my five seconds of fame, and it’s already blowing over.”

Lexa shook her head. “If that were true, it would have already faded. Look at Pint-Size Mechanics. Those first videos of Aden checking the oil and Madi talking about tire pressure went viral. But the reason it keeps growing is because they’re learning and explaining it their way, making it their own. People see that, and they stay. Just like with your work. The post pulled them in, but it’s the depth that keeps them here.”

Clarke’s lips curved faintly. “You’re not wrong. They do make it their own.” Her voice dipped as doubt crept back in. “But what if this is just a fluke? What if I’m a one-hit wonder and people hate everything else? What if I’m really not that good, and I’ve just embarrassed myself in front of everyone?”

“Clarke.” Lexa’s voice was gentle but steady, grounding her before she could tumble further.

Clarke glanced up, caught by the certainty in her eyes. Still, the words kept spilling. “What if they come to the exhibition expecting brilliance and realize I’m just… average?”

“Clarke,” Lexa said again, softer now but unshakably sure. She leaned forward, her eyes holding Clarke’s. “You are not a one-hit wonder. You’re an artist who’s been pouring herself into this work for years. Of course there will be critics, because art is subjective. But that doesn’t take away from those who see your work and feel something real. That’s what lasts. And if you can’t believe it yet, then borrow my certainty until you do.”

Clarke’s throat tightened, but the spiral slowed. A small, wry smile tugged at her mouth. “You always know how to say the right things.”

Lexa’s lips curved. “Not always. But when it comes to you, I try.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but her chest warmed. “You make it sound so easy.”

Lexa tipped her head. “Have confidence in your work and it’ll show. People will feel that, even if you don’t see it yourself.”

Clarke exhaled slowly, setting her fork down. “You really believe that?”

Lexa reached for her hand, steady as ever. “I do. Enough for both of us.”

For a moment, the din of the restaurant seemed to fade, replaced by the quiet certainty in Lexa’s voice. Clarke squeezed her hand, her smile just a little surer. “Guess I should probably trust my number one fan,” she murmured.

Lexa’s lips curved. “Probably.”

They lingered just long enough to finish their wine before heading out into the night, the cool air brushing away the last of Clarke’s doubts as they made their way home together.

Clarke leaned into Lexa’s shoulder, the steady weight of her arm anchoring her as the cab carried them through the city. Out in the world she always felt like she had to keep it together, every doubt tucked out of sight, but here, pressed against Lexa, she didn’t have to. Safe in Lexa’s warm embrace, the knot of tension she had carried all night began to ease.

Her phone buzzed, and she answered softly, smiling as Madi’s voice came through. It was a quick goodnight, full of chatter about popcorn and movies before Aden grabbed the phone to add his own muffled goodnight. Clarke promised she loved them both and hung up, still smiling.

She slipped the phone back into her bag and glanced at Lexa. “Those two are officially Anya and Costia’s problem tonight. Hope they don’t give them too hard a time.”

Lexa’s mouth curved. “I think Aden knows about her and Anya.”

Clarke smirked, tilting her head. “Oh, then they are definitely in for a long night.”

Lexa chuckled, shaking her head. By the time they climbed the stairs to their apartment, Clarke’s laughter came easier.

The apartment door clicked shut behind them, muffling the city noise. Clarke leaned against the wall, tugging at the zipper of her jacket. “That was officially too much food. Next time, we’re splitting dessert.”

Lexa arched a brow, slipping off her shoes. “Next time, you’re not stealing mine.”

Clarke grinned, padding into the living room. “Stealing is such a harsh word. I was quality-testing.” She curled onto the couch and shot Lexa a look. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Lexa leaned back, smirking. “Stealing my dessert should have consequences.”

Clarke arched a brow, her grin widening. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do, spank me?”

Lexa tilted her head, trying to read her. Sometimes she was never quite sure where Clarke’s teasing ended and curiosity began. “Is that something you want?”

Clarke let out a shaky laugh, tugging at her sleeve. “Wow. Straight from cake to spanking. That’s… not where I thought tonight was going.”

“It’s not the first time you’ve joked about it.” Lexa’s lips curved, her gaze steady. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re teasing… or hinting at something more.”

The words tumbled free before doubt could stop her. “What if I do?”

Lexa’s brow lifted. “You want to be spanked?”

“God, no,” Clarke said quickly, grimacing. “That would just make me feel like a kid again. I mean…” She hesitated, fumbling. “You mentioned it before… giving up control. How, what—”

Lexa caught her hands before the spiral could take over, her thumbs brushing gently over her knuckles. “Hey. Breathe.” Her tone softened, steady and anchoring. “What are you curious about? We can figure it out together.”

Clarke’s shoulders loosened, her voice quieter now. “I just want to know what it feels like… to let go… of everything. With you.”

Something in Lexa’s expression shifted, the teasing fading into something warmer, deeper. She brushed her thumb across Clarke’s hand, aware of the quiet gravity in what Clarke had just given her. If they stepped into this, it could change their relationship. It might deepen it or it might complicate it. Maybe even both.

Still, Lexa sensed Clarke needed this unburdening. She needed someone strong enough to hold the weight she was finally setting down. And Lexa wanted to be that person for her.

She squeezed Clarke’s hand once, then stood, tugging her gently to her feet. Her voice was calm as she murmured, “Then come with me.”

Clarke’s pulse jumped, but she followed without hesitation as Lexa led her down the short hall toward the bedroom. Inside, Lexa turned to face her, their hands still linked. Her voice was steady and low, the kind of calm that made Clarke’s pulse race faster.

Lexa’s thumb brushed over her knuckles, her gaze unwavering. “I want to be clear about something first. I know we’ve joked before about dungeons and all that, but that’s not me. Giving up control isn’t about pain. It’s about trust.”

Her mouth curved into a slow, teasing smirk as her fingers trailed lightly up Clarke’s arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. “Think of it as a trust fall. Only here… you’re trusting me with your pleasure.” She leaned closer, her breath warm against Clarke’s ear. “Fais-moi confiance, mon amour (Trust me, my love).”

Clarke’s breath hitched, a flush climbing her neck. “No fair,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. “You know what speaking French does to me…”

Lexa’s smirk deepened as her hand slid from Clarke’s arm to her chin, tilting it up until Clarke’s lips parted on instinct. Her gaze held her there, dark and intent. “Tu n’as aucune idée de ce que je vais te faire (You have no idea what I’m going to do to you).”

Clarke whimpered, a tremor running through her as heat coiled low in her stomach.

Lexa’s eyes held hers, steady and sure. “Do you trust me?”

Clarke’s throat tightened, but she nodded, her voice quiet. “Always.”

Lexa smiled softly, then reached for the scarf draped over the chair, drawing it slowly through her fingers. She let the fabric brush across the back of Clarke’s hand first, soft and harmless, a promise in itself. When Clarke didn’t pull away, Lexa leaned in and kissed her temple, lingering just long enough to anchor her before lifting the scarf to her eyes.

Clarke drew in a breath, then slowly closed her eyes. The soft press of fabric followed, cool at first, then warm as Lexa tied it gently behind her head. Darkness settled in, strangely liberating. Every sound sharpened, every touch magnified. She flinched slightly as Lexa’s fingers brushed the inside of her wrist, then stilled when Lexa laced their hands together.

“Too much?” Lexa asked quietly.

Clarke shook her head, lips parting on a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Then Lexa’s lips found hers, and the world narrowed to that single point of contact. Without sight, the kiss was overwhelming. She tasted the faint trace of wine, felt the warmth of Lexa’s mouth, the sure hand at her waist holding her steady. Clarke’s pulse kicked hard, her fingers twitching with the urge to clutch at her, but she held still, letting the sensation crash over her as Lexa guided her back step by step until the mattress pressed against her legs. Clarke melted into the mattress beneath Lexa’s guiding touch, the kiss deepening as her senses drank in the heat and press of her body above her.

By the time Lexa finally pulled back, Clarke’s lips were tingling, her breath uneven. She let out a shaky laugh. “Wow.”

She could feel Lexa smirking even without seeing her.

“We’re just getting started,” Lexa murmured, her voice low and certain.

Lexa’s mouth found hers again, the kiss deeper and hungrier. Clarke yielded instantly, tilting up to meet her, hands lifting to pull Lexa closer. She threaded her fingers into her hair, trying to set the pace herself.

For a moment, Lexa let her. Then she caught Clarke’s wrists, not to pin but to still them, her touch gentle but sure. Her lips lingered on Clarke’s as she shifted, her voice low against her mouth.

She guided Clarke’s hands above her head, her fingers loosening as she left them there. “You won’t need them, ma chérie (my darling). Relax. Let me take care of you.”

A small, helpless whimper slipped from Clarke, her fingers flexing against the sheets. Every nerve screamed to pull Lexa closer, but the steadiness in her voice held her still.

“Lexa…” The name came out as half-groan, half-plea.

Lexa smiled against her skin, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of her neck, pausing to taste the spot that always made Clarke melt. Clarke trembled, every nerve on high alert as Lexa moved lower, taking her time. One button, then another, the fabric parting slowly, each shift making Clarke ache for her lips to wander further.

She traced a path across Clarke’s collarbone, then lower still, her mouth hovering over the swell of her breast. Clarke sucked in a breath, arms trembling with the effort of keeping still. When Lexa finally drew a nipple into her mouth, teasing with her tongue, Clarke gasped, arching into the sensation.

“God… Lexa…” she whispered, voice breaking.

She felt Lexa’s smirk curve against her skin just before her tongue flicked again, pulling another gasp from her lips. Then Lexa began to trail lower, each word punctuated with a kiss.

“Just…” a kiss beneath her breast.
“…let…” a slow lick along her ribs.
“…go.” her mouth closing around her nipple once more, teasing until Clarke writhed helplessly.

The torment of it had Clarke trembling, caught between wanting more and not knowing how much she could take. Lexa seemed to sense it, her mouth wandering lower, tracing a path down her stomach, further south until Clarke’s breath hitched on a sharp cry.

From there, everything unraveled, Lexa’s tongue and hands driving her higher, merciless in their patience, until the first shudder ripped through her. Clarke barely had time to catch her breath before Lexa pushed her over again, and again, each release sharper, messier, leaving her gasping, writhing, clutching at the sheets as though they were the only thing holding her together.

By the time Lexa was done with her, Clarke was utterly boneless, aftershocks still rippling through her muscles as she melted into the sheets. Her body hummed, her brain a blissful haze, every thought dissolved except the steady truth of Lexa’s hands and mouth. She had given in, completely, and Lexa had caught her. And if that was what surrender felt like, she knew she would gladly do it again.

Her lips parted, half-formed words slipping out in broken syllables, soft nonsense lost to the haze. Lexa hushed her with a kiss to her temple, a whispered “shhh” that settled her into silence, as her fingers gently eased the blindfold loose before tugging the fabric away. Light returned slowly, soft against her heavy-lidded eyes, and Clarke blinked once before melting into Lexa’s chest as strong arms gathered her close. For a moment, there was nothing but the steady rhythm of Lexa’s heartbeat, anchoring her.

Watching Clarke unravel beneath her touch was intoxicating. She had never wanted anyone more than in this moment. The taste of her still lingered on Lexa’s lips, and the sight of Clarke sprawled out, flushed and trembling, left her own body aching with need.

Clarke’s lips curved, a slow, lazy grin spreading across her face. Her voice was still unsteady, playful beneath the haze.

“Your turn.”

Before Lexa could respond, Clarke pushed up on unsteady arms, surprising them both as she shifted their weight. Lexa found herself on her back, a startled laugh breaking free before it softened into a groan as Clarke straddled her, determination sparking through the exhaustion in her body.

“Let’s see,” Clarke whispered, fingers sliding along her sides, “how many times I can make you scream my name.”

Clarke leaned down to kiss her, deep and hungry, while her hand slipped lower, past the line of Lexa’s hip and into the heat of her body. The sudden intimacy made Lexa jolt, her groan muffled against Clarke’s mouth until she tore free for air. Breathless, undone, the only word she could manage came out low and desperate.

“Clarke…”

And for the first time all night, Clarke wasn’t thinking about critics or exhibitions or whether she was enough. Here, with Lexa beneath her, she knew she was.

*****

“Okay. Are you two, like… together?”

Costia and Anya both jerked their heads up, caught mid-conversation on the couch. The TV flickered behind Madi, its light framing her small but determined figure as she planted herself in front of them, arms crossed and chin high with a little smirk tugging at her mouth.

She was enjoying this far too much, eyes glinting like she knew a secret, and the way she blocked their view left no room for escape.

“Madi,” Costia started carefully, her voice thinner than usual. “What—what do you mean?”

“I mean, are you dating?” Madi pressed. “Because you look like you are. And if you are, you should probably tell us, since you’re terrible at hiding it.”

On the rug, Aden groaned and flopped onto his back, dragging a pillow over his face. “Oh no. She’s doing it.”

He shoved the pillow aside, sat up, and gestured at them like he was tired of stating the obvious. “I would say it’s clear they are. I mean, the signs are all there.”

Costia blinked. “The… signs?”

“Uh, yeah.” Aden started ticking them off on his fingers. “You’re always smiling when she’s around, you sit way too close on the couch, you make her coffee exactly the way she likes it… and she’s over way more than before,” Aden said flatly, like the conclusion was painfully obvious. “Nobody does that unless they’re into someone.”

Madi jumped in eagerly, smug now with one eyebrow arched.. “And Anya picks you up from work sometimes. My mom says that’s a total girlfriend move.”

Anya coughed into her hand, her ears burning. “Wow, okay, this is…”

“Awkward?” Madi offered sweetly.

Costia said nothing. She just sank back against the cushions, wishing she could disappear into them.

Aden squinted at them, unimpressed. “And don’t forget the goofy look. Every time your phones buzz. Even Aunt Anya, who’s serious, like, ninety-five percent of the time.”

Madi wrinkled her nose. “Totally. It’s like, ding, message received, and suddenly you’re smiling at your phones like… love zombies.”

Aden made a loud, dramatic gagging sound. Madi doubled over and joined him, the two of them collapsing into laughter.

Costia stared at them, mortified. Anya muttered, “Love zombies?” under her breath, not sure if she should be offended or impressed by the creativity.

When the kids finally caught their breath, Aden tilted his head, suddenly serious again. “Shouldn’t you guys be the ones telling us what’s going on? You’re the adults.”

That stung more than either of them expected. Anya and Costia exchanged a wide-eyed look, both realizing how completely the kids had taken over the conversation.

“Right,” Costia said at last, fumbling for composure. “We… should probably talk about this properly.”

Madi arched a brow. “You think?”

Aden groaned, throwing his hands up. “Madi, you’re not even her kid.”

“So?” Madi shot back without missing a beat. “You’re my best friend. That makes it my business too.”

Aden buried his face in a pillow again, muttering something about never surviving this sleepover.

Madi plopped down beside him, yanking the pillow away. “Don’t be dramatic. This is important.” She turned on Anya, one eyebrow cocked, chin flicking toward Costia. “So… how long have you been secretly in love with her?”

Anya choked on air, eyes widening. But then she coughed, straightened, and her mouth curved into a slow smirk. “Don’t you mean how long has she been secretly in love with me?”

“Anya!” Costia hissed, smacking her lightly on the hand, her face burning.

Right on cue, both kids made loud, exaggerated gagging noises. Aden rolled dramatically onto the floor, clutching his stomach like he was about to be sick, while Madi doubled over beside him, groaning, “Ewww!”

Anya raised her brows, unimpressed. “Very mature.”

“Disgusting,” Madi declared between fake retches.

“Love zombies,” Aden added from the floor, before flopping onto his back like he had succumbed to the horror.

Costia groaned into her hands. “This is not how this conversation was supposed to go.”

Costia let out a breath, setting her mug down with trembling fingers. “Okay. Enough interrogating. Madi, thank you for… caring, but this really is a conversation for me and Aden first.”

Madi opened her mouth, clearly ready with another retort, but Costia’s gentle look stopped her cold.

Turning to her son, Costia steadied herself. “Yes. Anya and I are together. We wanted to wait for the right time to tell you, but it seems you’ve already put the pieces together.”

Aden peeked over the pillow, his voice cautious. “So it’s real?”

“It’s real,” Costia said softly. “But it doesn’t change how much I love you. You’ll always come first.”

Anya reached over, her voice low but sure. “He’s got veto power, you know. If he’s not okay with this, then it doesn’t work.”

Aden blinked at her, surprised by the weight of it. Slowly, he nodded. “…I’m okay. Just don’t get all gross around me.”

Madi snorted. “Good luck with that.”

Anya arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

“They already have the goofy smiles,” Madi said matter-of-factly. “Just pray you don’t walk in on them sucking faces.”

Aden groaned and hurled the pillow at her. “I don’t need that image in my head.”

Madi caught it against her chest, then flopped backward in mock horror. “Too late. It’s in mine now.”

Right on cue, both of them made loud, exaggerated gagging noises. Aden rolled dramatically onto the floor, clutching his stomach like he was about to be sick, while Madi doubled over beside him, groaning, “Ewww!”

Costia pressed one hand over her face, groaning, and Anya couldn’t help laughing. With her other hand, Costia reached over and squeezed Anya’s, her cheeks still warm but her smile slipping free. Anya gave her hand a firm squeeze back.

“See!” Madi crowed, sitting up just in time to point at their joined hands. “They’re doing it again!”

Aden muffled another groan into the pillow. “I’m doomed.”

“Alright, bedtime!” Anya cut in, clapping her hands as she and Costia stood to herd the kids down the hall.

There were more protests and a dramatic sigh or two, but eventually Aden and Madi shuffled toward the bedroom.

As they walked behind them, still hidden from the kids’ view, Costia leaned in quick and pressed a kiss to Anya’s cheek. Anya shot her a sideways look, fighting a smile.

Chapter Text

Anya pushed open her front door, already running late, only to freeze when she didn’t see the documents she needed on the dining table. She swore she had left them there this morning. She checked the counter. The couch. Even the stack of unopened mail by the door. Nothing.

Muttering under her breath, she retraced her steps, opening drawers and flipping through folders, but the documents were nowhere. She went to the kitchen for a drink to clear her head, only to open the cupboard and find condiments staring back at her. She blinked. What happened to my cups?

Frowning, she tried another cabinet. More neatly arranged items… just not where they belonged. Everything looked more organized, almost showroom neat, but none of it was in its proper place. She raked a hand through her hair in frustration. Either someone had broken into her place and decided to Marie Kondo it, or… suddenly Lexa’s smug little smile from that night on the roof flashed in her mind.

Oh.

Costia.

Sighing, she pulled out a mug… her mug, now on the wrong shelf… and made herself tea. With her phone pressed to her ear, she asked, “Hey babe, it’s me. Did you see a stack of papers on my dining table this morning?”

Costia didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, I put them in the drawer by the bookshelf so they wouldn’t get dirty.”

Anya closed her eyes, half-exasperated, half-relieved. “Thanks, babe. See you later.”

She took a last sip of her tea, then reached for a travel mug to take the rest with her. She opened one cabinet. Then another. And another. Nowhere.

“Of course,” she muttered, abandoning the search. She dumped the tea down the sink, rinsed the cup, grabbed her bag, and bolted out the door. She could practically see Lexa smirking when she found out.

On the drive home that evening, Anya kept circling the same thought. How was she supposed to bring it up without making Costia feel bad? She knew Acts of Service was how Costia expressed love. Tidying, leaving love notes, slipping little favors into the day… Anya had lost count of the mornings she wanted to do her laundry only to find the basket mysteriously empty, her clothes folded neatly in her dresser even though she had told Costia more than once she didn’t need to do that.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate it… just not in her space. She needed her space to stay hers. It wasn’t OCD… it wasn’t ASD… it wasn’t any of the “D”s. It was just that growing up, she had never had a room of her own… no corner to guard… no drawer she could keep untouched.

And now she did. A little apartment, messy in its own rhythm. Lived in. Organized chaos. Not dirty, not like a tornado had ripped through it. Finally, something that was hers, and hers alone.

But looking at her living room now, with every shelf neat and pristine, she felt out of place. Instead of comfort, it was like she had stepped into someone else’s house. It didn’t feel like hers.

Later, with takeout cartons scattered across the coffee table, Anya shook her head. “You know what? I forgot to bring some important documents to work this morning. Had to rush back during lunch to grab it before my meeting.”

Costia frowned sympathetically. “That sounds stressful.”

“Yeah. And it got worse. I swore I left the papers on the dining table, but when I came home they weren’t there. I tore the place apart, checked everywhere.” Anya set down her chopsticks with a sigh. “Finally, I caved and called you.”

A knowing look crossed Costia’s face. She looked sheepish. “Oh right… I packed them into the drawer by the bookshelf.”

Anya pointed her chopsticks at her. “Exactly. I never would thought to look for them there.” She gave a dry laugh, shaking her head. “I guess I should thank you, but I nearly had a heart attack before that meeting.”

Costia smiled faintly, a little guilty. “I just didn’t want them to get dirty.”

“Yeah. I get it.” Anya brushed it aside, though the unsettled feeling stayed.

They drifted into lighter talk, Costia recounting a client who had insisted their logo “pop more” by being both lime green and neon orange.

Anya arched a brow. “Please tell me you didn’t let them win that one.”

Costia smirked, shaking her head. “Of course not. I just helped them realize the better option was their idea all along. They walked away thinking it was their stroke of genius, and my team got to design something we’re actually proud of.”

Anya chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “You’re dangerous.”

The cartons were cleared away, and soon they settled into the quiet comfort of the couch. Anya touched Costia’s hand, waiting until the moment felt easy and quiet.

“Baby, you know I love you, right?” she began, her voice soft but steady. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. I love that you want to do things for me. And I want you to feel at home here.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “But could you maybe not… give the whole place a makeover? Like, I’m totally fine if you feel the cups need to look neater on their shelf. But the cups shelf should stay the cup shelf, if you know what I mean. When everything gets shifted around, it makes me feel disoriented in my own space.”

Costia blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it,” Anya added quickly. “I do. But this place… it’s the first space that’s really mine. Growing up, I never had a anywhere to call my own. Now I finally do. It may look slightly chaotic, but it makes sense to me. I know where everything is. And when things get moved, it feels like I don’t quite fit in my own space anymore.

The realization settled over Costia, her expression softening with guilt. “I didn’t know…I thought I was helping. I know you’re not big on gifts, so I figured this might be something I could do for you.”

Anya squeezed her hand gently. “I know. And it means a lot that you wanted to. But for me, it’s not about neat shelves or folded shirts. It doesn’t bother me if the mugs don’t line up straight, or if the papers are in a pile instead of a drawer. That’s a reflection of me. That doesn’t mean you can’t touch anything. I want you to feel at home here too. You’re a part of me now.”

She hesitated, then added with a crooked smile, “Just… nothing too drastic, okay? I don’t think my heart will survive coming home to flowery pink lace curtains straight out of a grandma’s house.”

Costia pulled back just enough to protest, mock-offended. “Hey, my tastes are not that bad.” Then, quieter, almost to herself, she mumbled, “I mean, I did choose you.”

Anya nudged her side with an elbow, grinning. “Exactly my point.”

Costia nodded slowly, exhaling as though the truth had finally landed. “Okay. I get it.” A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “Well, luckily I only had time to get through your living room this morning.”

Anya huffed out a laugh, shaking her head, though inside she was grateful her bedroom was exactly the way it was supposed to be.

Costia leaned against her shoulder, the tension easing between them. “I’ll leave your chaos alone. Though… would you mind if I moved it to the side if it’s in the way?”

“Hey, my floor’s not messy. But if you do find something in your way, you’ve got full permission to move it. Considering how easily you bruise, I’d rather you didn’t trip and break something.”

Costia smacked her playfully. “Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, babe.”

Anya grinned, looping an arm around her and pulling her closer. “Just looking out for you.”

Costia hesitated, then added softly, “Do you want me to put everything back where it was?”

Anya squeezed her hand again, her smile gentle. “No, it’s okay. I’m getting used to it. And besides, when you’re here, it’s ours. I want you to feel that too.”

Costia shifted slightly against her shoulder. “Does it help if I explain why I moved stuff around to where it is now? I swear there’s a logic to it.”

Anya chuckled, still holding her close. “Okay, bring it on. But fair warning, if your ‘logic’ ever involves moving my socks into the freezer, we’re going to have words.”

Costia laughed, the tension finally gone, and Anya pressed a kiss to her temple.

The apartment still gleamed a little too neatly, but with Costia curled into her side, it finally felt like home again. Maybe this was what home was supposed to feel like. Maybe this was where they belonged.

*****

The smell of grilled meat drifted across Thelonious’s backyard, mingling with the chatter of teachers gathered beneath strings of patio lights. Folding tables sagged under the weight of potato salad, wings, and half a dozen bottles of wine brought by guests who clearly hadn’t coordinated.

Clarke stuck close to Lexa at first, slipping her hand into hers as they wove through the crowd. It was the first time she had been back among so many of Lexa’s colleagues since leaving Arkadia High, and even though she had been gone less than half a year, it felt like another lifetime.

A hush rolled over the group when Jaha tapped his glass with a fork. He stood on the deck, his wife beside him, beaming as though the entire backyard were an extended family.

“Happy Teacher’s Day, everyone,” Jaha began, his voice warm and practiced. “First, a heartfelt thank you. You do the work that shapes the future, and I’m honored to celebrate with you tonight.” He gestured toward Amanda White, seated near the front with a wine glass in hand. “As you all know, Amanda is retiring after decades of service. Head of English, mentor to many, and a dear friend. We owe her more than words can cover.”

Applause swelled, Amanda raising her glass with mock solemnity before laughing at the teasing catcalls.

“And with Amanda’s departure,” Jaha continued, “we turn the page. I’m delighted to announce that Lexa Woods will be stepping in as our new Head of Department.”

The cheers were deafening. Shirin whistled sharply, Darren banged on the table, and even Amanda clapped the loudest of all. Lexa’s ears flushed pink as she inclined her head, trying to mask her smile. Clarke squeezed her hand, pride sparking in her chest.

“And finally,” Jaha said, his gaze shifting, “we’re also joined tonight by someone who is both an alum of Arkadia High and a former colleague. Clarke Griffin.” His smile broadened, his voice carrying easily. “Her work has been making waves in the art world, and with her upcoming exhibition, she’s put Arkadia High back in the spotlight. We’re lucky to welcome her back with us tonight.”

There was a ripple of polite applause before Jaha added with a grin, “Now, Clarke, I don’t suppose I could interest you in running a summer workshop while you’re here?”

A few chuckles rose from the staff, and Clarke smiled, shaking her head good-naturedly. The laughter faded into another round of polite applause, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks under the attention. Amanda reached across the table to pat her arm. “See? I always knew you’d make a name for yourself.”

“Don’t forget us when you’re famous,” Darren teased, raising his beer.

From the other side of the table, a woman with kind eyes leaned forward, recognition dawning. “Ahh, so you’re Ms. Griffin. My students certainly leveled up while I was on maternity leave, thanks to you.”

Clarke blinked, then smiled. “You must be Mrs. Cotter.”

Alice laughed. “Just Alice, please. Seriously, and thank you. I came back to a class that was sharper, more confident, more engaged. I owe you one.” She tilted her head, eyes bright. “Can you come back and run a workshop before you get too important for us? We could use more young artists leaving here feeling inspired.”

Clarke’s cheeks warmed, but she smiled. “I’m not famous. But… thank you. Really. That means a lot. Honestly, that sounds amazing. If I can carve out the time, I’d love to do something like that in the future.”

The party picked up again, plates refilled and drinks refreshed. Clarke found herself cornered in the best way by Amanda and Shirin, both eager for details about her exhibition. She was halfway through explaining her shift back to charcoal when something prickled at the back of her neck.

Across the lawn, a man lingered near the grill, stealing glances in her direction. Each time she met his eyes, he looked away quickly, adjusting his glasses or pretending to check his phone.

Clarke leaned subtly toward Lexa. “There’s a guy staring at me. He keeps looking away when I catch him. Is he one of yours?”

Lexa followed her gaze, brow knitting for a second before softening into amusement. “That’s Ethan Kim, the new Physics teacher.” She smirked. “He’s a fan of yours.”

Clarke raised a brow. “Like… a fan of my work, or…?”

Shirin, overhearing, nearly spit out her drink. “Oh my god, Clarke. Ethan? He’s harmless. Sweet as pie, socially allergic.”

“Basically a human golden retriever,” Darren added with a grin. “The man once blushed because Amanda asked him to pass the salt.”

“That was one time!” Ethan groaned, his voice carrying easily from the grill. His face was already turning red.

Lexa waved him over. “Come on, Ethan. You’re making Clarke nervous.”

Ethan shuffled forward, shoulders hunched, clutching a soda like it might anchor him. His ears burned brighter when Clarke smiled at him.

“I—uh. Hi.” He cleared his throat, words tumbling out too quickly. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I wasn’t… I mean, I was staring, but not in a creepy way. I just—” He pushed his glasses up nervously. “I really admire your work. I saw your artwork online, and when I heard about your exhibition, I marked the opening date right away. Wouldn’t miss it. And now you’re actually here, in the flesh, which is… kind of surreal.”

The earnestness in his voice cracked through the awkward delivery. Clarke’s tension eased, warmth blooming in her chest. “That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”

Ethan shifted from foot to foot. “This is probably dumb, but… could I maybe get your autograph? I mean, if you don’t mind signing a napkin or something.”

Clarke blinked in surprise, then smiled warmly. “Of course. Hand it over.”

From behind him, Darren stage-whispered, “Careful, Kim, don’t faint on her shoes.”

Ethan groaned, face turning crimson as he fumbled for a pen. “I’m not going to faint,” he muttered, nearly dropping the napkin before thrusting it toward Clarke. “Probably.”

Clarke bit back a laugh and took it gently, her smile softening the edges of his embarrassment.

Shirin smirked. “Remember when he called Newton’s third law ‘romantic’ during a staff meeting?”

“That was out of context!” Ethan groaned, covering his face with one hand.

Clarke chuckled, giving his arm a gentle pat. “Ignore them. I’m glad you’re coming. It means a lot.”

Ethan brightened instantly, eyes darting away as if he couldn’t hold her gaze for long. Around them, laughter rolled on, the teasing good-natured, the night unfolding with the kind of messy, genuine camaraderie that only teachers seemed to pull off.

Clarke stayed close to Lexa as the party stretched on, colleagues drifting over one by one to congratulate her on the new posting. Pride swelled in her chest as she watched Lexa steady and composed, accepting each word of praise with the quiet grace that made people trust her so easily. Clarke could see how much her colleagues respected her, and she couldn’t have been prouder.

As the laughter from Ethan’s flustered retreat faded, Amanda slipped in beside Lexa, her expression fond. “You’ll do well, you know. The department couldn’t be in better hands.”

Lexa inclined her head, humbled by the weight of Amanda’s words. “Thank you. I just hope I can live up to what you’ve built.”

Amanda smiled knowingly. “You’ll do more than that. You’ll make it your own.”

The crowd called for Amanda to give a speech, dragging her toward the deck, and Clarke leaned close enough for only Lexa to hear. “She’s right. You won’t just fill her shoes, Lexa. You’ll make this your own. You’ve already inspired a whole generation. You inspire me every day, and you’ll keep inspiring new generations to come.”

Lexa’s mouth curved faintly, her eyes dropping for a moment. “I don’t know about all that,” she murmured. “But if I’ve managed to inspire even one person… maybe that’s enough.”

Lexa let her eyes roam across the yard. Shirin was heckling Darren over a tray of charred burgers, Zoe was corralling everyone into a group photo, Ethan was still blushing as half the science department teased him. Amanda stood at the center, laughter bubbling over as glasses were raised in her honor. The chaos was familiar, but tonight it carried a note of finality, as if one chapter was closing and another had just begun.

Her mind wandered back to where it started. Ten years ago she had walked into Arkadia High, fresh out of grad school, with more lesson plans than experience. Costia had been there too, picking up substitute work in the art department while pregnant with Aden.

The months that followed were heavy and complicated, full of morning sickness and afternoons spent on their feet in front of restless students. They would go home drained, both of them trying to grade homework between doctor’s appointments and endless preparations for the baby, and Lexa making late-night runs to satisfy Costia’s cravings for everything from pickles to mango ice cream.

They had spent those early years in a blur of classrooms and night feedings with Aden. There were bottles at two in the morning, grading papers at the kitchen table, and the constant shuffle of two exhausted parents trying to keep up. They were always tired, always trying.

Lexa had been young and ambitious, determined to prove herself as a teacher and as a provider. She wanted to be everything at once: dependable colleague, devoted mother, steady partner. She loved both her work and her family with equal fierceness, but in giving so much of herself to being the reliable one, she had begun to drift from everything else. The weight of proving herself left little room for anything softer.

What started as devotion slowly hardened into distance. Their marriage shifted from partnership to co-parenting, and when things grew strained at home, she leaned harder into the one place she still felt steady. Work became both her refuge and her excuse, and the more she poured into it, the more the distance widened.

It was a cycle she did not know how to break. By the time she realized it, all that remained between them was Aden and the quiet truth that their marriage had already slipped away.

Yet even in the wreckage, teaching gave her something to hold onto. It filled the empty spaces and gave her purpose when the rest of her life felt unsteady. In the classroom she could measure her effort in the eyes of her students, see growth in the pages of their writing, and feel the rhythm of steady days.

The job sharpened her patience and tested her endurance. It reminded her that persistence could still bring change, even if it came slowly. And though it had been the wedge that ended her marriage, it was also the lifeline that carried her through the years after. She had made mistakes, but she had also grown.

And as the years carried her forward, life found a way to give her something unexpected: Clarke, first in the quiet awe of an art exhibition, then again by chance at a playground full of children’s laughter. One meeting might have been coincidence, but the second felt like something more. Slowly and carefully, they had begun again. Clarke had even stepped briefly into her world at Arkadia High, filling in as a substitute for a semester, before returning to her art with a clearer sense of who she was.

For Lexa, it was a reminder that balance was possible. That she did not have to choose between the work that gave her purpose and the love that gave her life meaning. And now, standing here as Head of Department, she could finally see the full arc of it all. The title felt heavy in her hands. For the first time, she wasn’t chasing perfection or clinging to survival. She was standing on the foundation of all of it, ready to lead, ready to move forward.

Clarke’s hand brushed against hers, grounding her in the present. Lexa let her shoulders loosen, the noise of the party settling into a warm hum. Ten years ago she had walked into Arkadia High uncertain of who she was becoming. Tonight, she could look at the arc of it all — the beginning, the losses, the rediscoveries — and finally believe she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Around them, Lexa’s colleagues laughed and clapped her on the back, Amanda beaming with pride, Shirin raising her glass in salute. Clarke watched it all with quiet awe, struck by how deeply respected Lexa was here, how naturally she belonged.

She leaned in, her voice low and certain. “I’m so proud of you, Lex. You’ve earned this. Every bit of it.”

The words settled deep in her chest, warm and steady. She got the girl, a son who made her proud every day, and now a place in her career she had worked years to reach. For the first time in her life, she felt she lacked nothing.

Her gaze drifted down to Clarke’s hand, to the bare finger resting against her own. The thought came quietly but with surprising certainty: maybe she was ready for that next step.

And as she let the possibility linger, Lexa understood something else too. Life did not always follow the plans you made for it. Her marriage with Costia had ended, yet from that ending came new beginnings. They had both found love again. Costia had found Anya, steady and fierce in her own way, and Lexa had found Clarke. The path had not been easy, but maybe it was meant to be. Maybe every twist and ending had brought them here, to where they belonged.

Tonight, she was happy. Truly happy.

Chapter Text

The gallery hummed with low conversation, the air faint with varnish, paper dust, and the chill of poured champagne. Clarke moved along the first wall of Muse, the one devoted to charcoal. Not just her past, but her past in conversation with her present. Early sketches, smudged and tentative, hung beside new charcoal works whose lines were deliberate and sure. The contrast was intentional. The fragile hand of a teenager placed right beside the steadier hand of the woman she had become.

She had framed them as a tribute and as proof of growth. Side by side, they showed more than new technique. They revealed how her way of seeing had changed. Where she once chased likeness in light outlines, she now built weight and shadow with confidence. Where she once recorded what was in front of her, she now reached for what sat beneath it. Mood. Memory. Meaning.

Across the room, the wall bloomed in acrylic. These pieces were not only her present, they were what charcoal had taught her translated into color and texture. Layered strokes lifted from the canvas and caught the light as guests passed. Children chased bubbles that seemed to shimmer in the varnish. Balloons drifted upward into a sky of layered blues. A field of flowers pushed toward a painted horizon, petals thick with paint, edges casting small shadows. Nearby, cherry blossoms fell in pale arcs, every stroke shaped enough to throw a faint edge on the wall.

Toward the middle, the two halves began to meet. Hybrid works bridged the gap in a quiet arc. A storm of charcoal birds rose into a dawn painted in orange and pink. A charcoal astronaut floated against the white of paper, and in the curved visor of her helmet, a planet glowed in acrylic blues and golds. These were the hinge pieces, where her first love and her current love spoke to each other. Charcoal gave her honesty. Acrylic gave her voice. Together, they pointed forward.

Guests stood several rows deep at the larger charcoal works. Curves caught in shadow. Half‑turned bodies. The suggestion of bare skin. Faces obscured so the intimacy belonged to the line itself. Amanda and Shirin hovered there, eyes bright and a little mischievous.

Shirin stepped forward first, eyes still on the nearest piece. “Clarke, you really outdid yourself this time.”

Clarke smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

“These are extraordinary,” Amanda added. Her gaze flicked toward Lexa across the room, then back to the art. “Are any of them… you know…?”

Clarke’s smile curved sly. “If you’re wondering whether any of these are Lexa, let me put it this way — would I want her hanging on someone else’s wall, being stared at day after day? Not a chance. For my eyes only.” She let the laughter crest, then tipped her head. “But then again, with a figure like that, it would be a crime not to capture it. So did I?”

She felt Lexa arrive at her shoulder, just in time to catch the last two words. A flush bloomed high on Lexa’s cheeks. Her eyes slid to a languid charcoal figure with a strong jaw turned half away. The placard read Untitled. For a heartbeat Lexa thought it might be her, then recognition clicked into place. The angle of the nose, the clean line at the throat… Madame Fontaine.

The French woman had flirted with both of them once, bold and unapologetic, and her commissioned acrylic portrait had gone viral overnight, filling Clarke’s inbox with requests and backlogging her studio for months. Clarke had said at the time about wanting to try a charcoal version for the exhibition, and here it was, slipped between older sketches as if it had always belonged. Fontaine had already previewed it and insisted on adding it to her collection, a companion to the acrylic that had made Clarke’s name.

On the far side of the room, Ethan Kim stood in front of one of the more erotic sketches, program limp in his hand. His ears had turned pink by the time he realized Clarke had noticed him looking. She gave him a polite smile and a small nod. His eyes went wide, and her face went hot so fast she had to turn away, stifling a mortified laugh.

Anya whistled from the next gallery, where a towering charcoal piece spanned most of a wall. A woman, a cowgirl on horseback, hat tipped low, whip arcing overhead, the horse frozen in pure kinetic tension.

Anya tilted her head, studying the lines of the rider’s shoulders and the set of her jaw. “You know,” she said, glancing toward Lexa with a slow smile, “that looks…familiar.”

Lexa stopped beside her, following her gaze. The rider’s face was shadowed beneath the brim, but there was something in the posture, the way the reins were held, the controlled tension in the arm that felt unmistakable.

“That could be anyone,” Lexa said carefully, though the faint color in her cheeks betrayed her.

Anya smirked. “Sure. Anyone with your exact stubborn shoulders and your ‘I can do this better than anyone else’ stance.”

Costia joined them, eyes bright with recognition and pride. “Her technique has refined so much. I still see the same stubborn eye she had back when I taught her, only now it’s sharpened with control.”

Before Lexa could recover, movement at the far end of the room drew her eye. Clarke was making her way toward them, pausing briefly to exchange smiles with a couple admiring one of the smaller pieces. When her gaze landed on Lexa, it sharpened just a fraction, before a slow, knowing smirk tugged at her mouth. Her eyes flicked deliberately to the sketch, then back to Lexa.

“Enjoying yourselves?” Clarke asked lightly, as though the question had nothing at all to do with the very piece Lexa was standing in front of.

She stepped closer under the guise of straightening a small placard beside the frame, leaning in just enough that only Lexa could hear her. “Have you spotted your tattoos yet?”

Lexa’s pulse spiked. She turned her head a fraction, eyes narrowing in alarm, but Clarke was already easing back, her expression the picture of innocence.

Trying to appear casual, Lexa let her gaze drift over the figure in the drawing again. The sweep of the rider’s arm. The shadows along the side of her torso. The curve of her thigh. And there, beneath the open edge of the shirt, just enough charcoal shading hinted at ink etched into skin. A mark only Lexa would recognize.

Her pulse kicked harder. The details were suggestive without being explicit, but now every dark line felt like it could be a deliberate clue.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Clarke,” Costia nudged Clarke’s arm. “I can finally brag that I taught you before you were famous.”

Clarke laughed. “Please do. It will make my mother feel better about all the paint I tracked through the house.”

Her gaze drifted across the room and landed on Aden and Madi. The two of them were planted in front of a canvas that showed children chasing bubbles, their heads tipped back in serious study.

“That one’s my favorite,” Madi was saying, her voice certain. “Doesn’t it look like the bubbles are really moving?”

Aden leaned closer, squinting critically. “It’s because she made the edges fuzzy. See? They’re not just circles. They’re kind of wobbly.”

Madi considered this, then nodded gravely. “Yeah. Real bubbles wobble.”

Clarke smiled, warmth tugging at her chest as the two of them folded their arms, standing like pint-sized critics who had just unlocked the secret of the piece. Nearby, a few placards bore small red stickers at the corner, quiet proof that some of the works had already found a home before the night was even done.

Clarke drifted back toward the hybrid room and stopped before a vertical piece that faced the path like a sentinel. Colored charcoal gave the portrait a quiet pulse. The figure stood in profile, shoulders squared, mouth soft. Most of the piece remained in charcoal, a study in light and shadow, but the eyes were left in green, the only saturated color in the work. Not a suggestion. Not an echo. Lexa, plain as breath.

Lexa reached it moments later. Her steps slowed. Clarke had let the color fade just before the irises. Green held the gaze, then bled to gray at the edges. Beginning and becoming, side by side. The same way they had found each other again.

The center piece was her newest masterpiece Commander, a fully black and white piece rendered in sweeping charcoal strokes this time and accentuated with black acrylic paint strokes, giving it a unique and interesting texture. It wasn’t a direct replica of the piece from her first exhibition, but the spirit was the same: a warrior in eyes covered with war paint, mid battle, wielding two blades, eyes steady and unflinching. Just a year ago, she’d painted the original without knowing whose presence she was trying to capture. Now, with every line laid in charcoal, she knew exactly who she was drawing.

The clink of glassware quieted. Voices softened and turned toward the front. Clarke moved to the center of the room. Her smile wavered for a second, nerves catching in her chest.

From the back, Raven cupped her hands, her voice ringing out clear and smug. “Just remember, folks, this is the same woman who thought her first international magazine interview was a prank call from me!”

Laughter rippled through the room, light and genuine. Clarke groaned, covering her face with one hand as her cheeks warmed. “Thank you, Raven. Truly setting the mood here.”

“Just keeping you humble, Griffin,” Raven shot back, raising her glass.

The laughter softened into smiles, and Clarke felt the tension in her shoulders ease. She let herself laugh too, then straightened, her voice carrying more steadily now.

“Thank you all for being here tonight. When I started working on Muse, I wanted it to be more than just a collection of pieces. I wanted a homecoming. Charcoal was my first love. It was what I reached for in high school, when I didn’t know how to put myself into words yet. The smudges on those early pages are me trying to learn how to see. Tonight I hung those pieces beside new charcoal works because I wanted them to speak to each other. They show where I began and how far I have come.”

Her gaze moved across the room, catching on the old sketches before settling, unshakably, on Lexa.

“The first person I ever drew wasn’t a model or a celebrity. It was Lexa. She was my muse back then, though she never knew it, and I barely understood it myself. And even when she wasn’t in my life, she kept finding her way into my work. In my first exhibition I painted a warrior. I did not see it then, but it was her. It has always been her.”

Her voice softened, though her words carried through the silence. “She wasn’t just my muse back then. She is my muse now. And she always will be.”

The room erupted in applause, some guests whistling, others cheering, while the flash of cameras caught Clarke’s flushed smile.

From near the back, Madi bounced on her toes, trying to see over the crowd. When that failed, she tugged insistently at Finn’s sleeve until he chuckled and scooped her up into his arms. Propped against his shoulder, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called out, “That’s my mom!”

Laughter rippled through the room, warm and indulgent. Finn grinned, steadying her with one arm. “She really is amazing, bug,” he murmured, pride flickering across his face as Madi leaned forward, eyes shining, like she wanted to take in every second.

Through the brightness, Clarke caught sight of her parents near the front. Abby’s eyes shone, full of quiet pride, while Jake gave her a steady nod before stepping forward.

“I’m proud of you, kiddo,” he said simply, his voice low but carrying as he stepped forward to pull her into a firm hug.

Clarke’s throat tightened, her smile wobbling against his shoulder before she steadied it. Of all the words spoken that night, none struck deeper.

When Jake finally eased back, Abby slipped in, cupping Clarke’s face in both hands before pressing a kiss to her temple. “We always knew you’d get here,” she murmured.

Clarke laughed softly, blinking back the sting in her eyes as she drew them both close for a moment longer.

The applause was still fading when an art critic stepped forward, hand extended and eyes alight. “Ms. Griffin, may I just say, this is your most cohesive work to date. The dialogue between mediums is assured, and the intimacy never gets lost in the scale. You’ve created something deeply personal without losing its universality. That balance is rare.”

Clarke flushed, her fingers tightening slightly around the stem of her glass as she shook his hand. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

He nodded, still studying the central pieces with a sharp, appreciative eye. “Your earlier exhibition showed promise, but Muse shows authority. You’ve found a voice that’s entirely your own. People will be talking about this for a long time.”

Cameras flashed again, catching the faint, startled smile on Clarke’s face as she tried to absorb the weight of his words.

Clarke thanked him, then felt a gentle nudge. Lexa tipped her chin toward the refreshment table. Ethan Kim stood there clutching his program, trying to look like he belonged and failing in a way that was sweet.

“You should give him a signed exhibition flyer,” Lexa murmured. “You would probably make his year.”

“Do not tempt me,” Clarke whispered back, smiling.

“You already have a fan club,” Lexa said.

“I only want to keep one member,” Clarke answered, eyes on her.

The crowd thinned. Bouquets were wrapped. Friends lingered in warm pockets near the back. Madi and Aden fought sleep on a bench and lost ground every minute, heads bumping and drifting apart, then finding each other again.

Lexa stood before a framed sketch from high school. The paper had yellowed a little at the edges. The line wavered, then found itself. It was her.

“You kept this,” she said as Clarke came to stand beside her.

“Of course,” Clarke said. “It is where everything started.”

“You mean your career.”

“I mean us,” Clarke answered. “Even if I did not know it then. You have lived in my work for a decade before I knew you, after I lost you, and now that I have you back. You have always been my muse.”

Lexa’s throat tightened, but before she could speak, Clarke reached into her pocket. The little box felt impossibly heavy in her hand.

“I don’t need more time to know this is what I want,” she said quietly, just for her. With careful fingers, she opened the box and held it out, the ring catching the gallery light.

She drew in a breath, her voice low but steady. “Lexa, my muse, you’re the love of my life. Will you spend forever with me? Marry me?”

For a moment, Lexa just stared, the air in her lungs caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. It was too soon, some might say. But not for her. Not for them.

Then, slowly, she reached into her own coat pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Her hands shook as she flipped it open, revealing a ring of her own.

“You beat me to it,” she said, smiling through the ache in her chest.

Clarke’s eyes widened, stunned into a breathless laugh. “You were—”

Lexa nodded, taking Clarke’s box from her and sliding the ring onto her finger with deliberate care. Then she offered her own. Clarke’s hands trembled as she slipped it onto Lexa’s finger, the fit perfect, inevitable.

“Guess this makes it unanimous,” Lexa murmured.

Clarke’s eyes shone, her grin breaking wide as Lexa pulled her in, the rest of the room fading until it was just them. She pressed her forehead to Lexa’s, laughter mingling with tears. “You’re stuck with me now. No returns.”

The rest of the room fell away as their mouths met in a kiss that was hot, deep, and certain, years of longing and love igniting all at once. When they finally parted, breathless, Raven let out a sharp wolf whistle that made half the room laugh and the other half clap again.

The congratulations came in waves. Champagne flutes lifted, hands clapped to shoulders, voices layering in warmth and joy.

Raven shoved her way through the crush, throwing her arms around Clarke before she could react. “Dibs on bridesmaid,” she declared. “I’ve already got the perfect speech written.”

Clarke laughed, still blinking back tears. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

“Since the day I met you,” Raven shot back with a grin, pulling Lexa into a hug next. “Don’t worry, Woods. I’ll make it embarrassing for both of you.”

Anya arched a brow, her voice dry as ever. “You do know bridesmaid duties don’t involve rigging up pyrotechnics, right?”

Raven’s grin widened. “Depends on the wedding. Wouldn’t be complete without it.”

Lexa gave her a sidelong look, muttering under her breath, “Absolutely not.”

The laughter swelled again, but Clarke only shook her head. She turned back to Lexa and pressed a quick, playful kiss to her mouth, wiping the faint frown from her face. The room cheered louder this time, the teasing dissolving into applause.

From the corner, Madi and Aden made loud gagging noises, scrunching their noses in perfect unison. The adults around them chuckled, the sound rolling easily through the room.

Aden nudged her with his elbow, his grin crooked. “Hey. Guess you’re my sister now.”

Madi wrinkled her nose, though her smile gave her away. “Well, that would make me the youngest, and everyone knows the youngest always gets spoiled.”

Aden groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “In your dreams,” he muttered, though his grin betrayed him.

Clarke’s fingers tightened around Lexa’s, the ring still warm where it had just slid into place. They both laughed softly, the rest of the room narrowing to the small circle of family and friends still lingering. Around them the gallery stood quiet, every sketch and brushstroke bearing witness as they stepped into a future that was entirely theirs.

Chapter Text

“Are you on the menu? Because you look like tonight’s special.”

The playful murmur came too close, brushing Lexa’s ear as a hand slid against her arm. Gin and lime hung in the air, the crowd pressing in while she waited for the bartender to finish their order.

Lexa eased her arm back smoothly as she turned to face the speaker, slipping free of the touch without breaking stride. A woman with dark, copper-tipped curls and striking eyes held her gaze, her mouth curved in a knowing smile.

Lexa’s expression was polite, her tone edged with dry amusement. “Does that line usually work?”

The woman only leaned in, confidence radiating from the sharp tilt of her jaw. “Would you like to find out?”

She reached up, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair back from Lexa’s ear before leaning in close. Her voice dropped to a low, sultry whisper. “You look more delicious than anything on the menu. I bet you taste even better.”

Lexa’s posture tightened almost imperceptibly, her jaw flexing as she eased a half-step back, reclaiming her space without making a scene. She lifted her left hand, her engagement ring catching the light. “Sorry. Taken.”

Unfazed, the woman’s eyes flicked to the ring, then back to Lexa with a grin that deepened the lines around her full mouth. “I don’t mind sharing. Room for one more?”

Before Lexa could respond, Clarke slid in smoothly at her side, one hand curling into the lapel of her jacket. Without so much as a glance at the other woman, she pulled Lexa into a heated kiss, long enough to leave no room for doubt. Lexa melted into it easily, her free hand finding Clarke’s hip as the world around them faded for a breathless moment.

When Clarke finally drew back, Lexa’s eyes stayed closed, still savoring the kiss lingering on her lips. A slow smile curved there before she opened her eyes, warmth reserved only for Clarke. Clarke turned her head then, her smile sugar-sweet as it landed on the other woman. “Sorry… was I interrupting something?”

The woman smirked, curls tumbling over one shoulder as she straightened, clearly entertained rather than chastened. “Not at all. In fact, that was the best interruption I’ve had all night. I’m Luna, by the way.” Her gaze flicked past them toward the table, chin tipping in Raven’s direction. “Fine, if she’s off limits… maybe I’ll try my luck with the other one.”

Clarke’s lips curved, her voice light with a thread of amusement at Luna’s persistence. “Good luck with that. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

Right then, the bartender slid their full order across the counter, glasses clinking together, as if punctuating the point. Clarke reached for the tray, still not sparing the woman a glance.

“Perfect timing,” she murmured to Lexa.

Drinks in hand, Clarke and Lexa made their way back through the crowded bar. The place hummed with low music, clinking glasses, and bursts of laughter from Wells’s co-workers scattered across high-tops. What was supposed to have been a quick drink with him had turned into being folded into his entire office party. Raven, of course, blended in immediately. Half the group already thought she worked there.

Clarke set the tray down with a pointed look. Raven smirked. “Took you long enough. Did someone try to hit on your girl again?”

Clarke slid the tray across the table. “Let’s just say Lexa is off the menu, but apparently you aren’t.”

Raven’s grin widened, eyes sparking with mischief. “Seriously?” She leaned back in her chair, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Well, finally someone in this city with taste.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, lips curving. “You’re welcome.”

Across the room, the woman from the bar was still lingering by the counter. Raven caught her eye and raised her glass in a mock toast, flashing her most shameless grin. The woman smirked back, clearly entertained.

Lexa’s lips curved faintly. “She’s incorrigible.”

Raven only shrugged, though her amusement slipped when she noticed Wells wasn’t joining in with the rest of them. Instead, he sat quiet, sneaking glances toward the other end of the bar where a woman in a navy wrap dress was lit up by conversation, her laugh low and melodic. One hand traced the rim of her glass as she spoke, her other punctuating her words with quick, animated gestures. Wells exhaled softly, wishing he were the one pulling that sound from her.

“She’s from my team,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Smart. Funny. Completely out of my league.”

Raven’s grin sharpened. “Challenge accepted.”

Wells blinked, pulled abruptly out of his fog. “What?”

Raven followed his gaze, smirking. “I know exactly how to make her interested.”

Wells eyed her warily. “I’m almost afraid to ask how.”

“Easy,” Raven said. “Make her think you already have a girlfriend.” She let her hand drift to his forearm, fingers idly stroking like it was second nature.

Wells frowned. “That makes zero sense. Why would she want me more if I was already taken?”

“Do you trust me?” Raven asked.

“No,” Wells said flatly.

Raven scoffed and smacked his arm lightly, the kind of playful swat that looked effortless between couples. “Hey, I’ve got the highest IQ at this table. If you don’t trust me, at least trust the brains.”

Clarke arched a brow. “This from the woman who once suggested hot-wiring a golf cart for a faster beer run, and nearly drove it into a pond?”

Raven grinned. “Details.”

“And the time you told Wells to dye his hair blond because it would ‘make his eyes pop’?” Clarke added.

Wells groaned. “Frosted tips. I looked like a rejected boy-band member for three months.”

Raven smirked. “That was a great idea. Well… maybe not for Wells. But it was hilarious. I still can’t believe you actually fell for that.”

Wells muttered, “You’re not exactly selling your point here, Raven.”

“Trust me,” Raven said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. She hooked her arm through Wells’s, leaning in like it was the most natural thing in the world. “People want what they think they can’t have. Instant intrigue.”

Clarke arched a brow. “Careful. At this rate Luna’s going to think you’re taken too.”

Raven pressed a hand to her chest in mock reverence. “Luna. Even her name sounds like it belongs in a love song.” Her grin turned sly as she leaned in closer to Wells. “And that’s exactly my point. Instant intrigue. The harder something seems to reach, the more irresistible it gets.”

She smirked, eyes glittering with mischief. “Maybe we’ll both get lucky tonight.” Then, as if to clarify, she added quickly, “Not with each other.”

Wells hesitated, already imagining of all the ways this could go horribly wrong. “I’m not sure manipulation is the best foundation for a relationship,” he muttered.

“It’s not manipulation,” Raven said with mock offense. “It’s… marketing.”

Clarke snorted into her drink while Lexa only shook her head, amused.

“You know, it might sound illogical, but there’s some truth to it,” Clarke said “Being taken sends a message that you’ve been vetted. It makes her wonder, ‘If she’s with him and she’s happy, what was I not seeing in him?’”

Wells shook his head. “Is this like some Jedi mind-meld thing?”

“It also makes you seem… less desperate, more approachable,” Clarke continued. “It’s like how a lot of women feel relaxed around gay friends. No expectation, no hidden agenda, and no risk of unsolicited dick pics.”

Wells frowned. “But I do have a hidden agenda.”

Lexa’s mouth curved. “She doesn’t have to know that.”

Raven smirked. “You realize we’re breaking about six different girl code rules by telling you this, right?”

Clarke shrugged. “If it works, we’ll call it charity.”

Wells lifted his glass. “And I do not send… uh, you know. That.” He made a vague gesture. “Do guys really send you those?”

Raven grinned. “Say it, Wells.”

Clarke’s eyes sparkled. “Go on. We’re all adults here.”

Wells shook his head firmly. “Not happening.”

Lexa’s mouth curved. “That’s probably for the best.”

“Oh, they send them,” Raven said cheerfully. “Sometimes with props. I got one next to a soda can for scale… and one wearing a tiny cowboy hat. Full-on yeehaw.”

Clarke choked on her drink, laughing. “You’re making that up.”

“Swear on my torque wrench,” Raven said. “And then they’ll ask for boob pics in return.”

Clarke shook her head, still laughing. “That’s… wildly optimistic.”

Lexa took a slow sip of her drink. “Also a very questionable barter system.”

Clarke smirked. “You might not have noticed, but since we sat down, she’s glanced your way three times.”

Wells blinked. “Three?”

“Four,” Raven corrected, still lazily tracing patterns on his sleeve. “You’re welcome.”

Lexa’s smile was faint but knowing. “Act relaxed. She’s walking over.”

Before Wells could recover, the woman in the navy dress reached them with a warm smile. “Hey. Didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

Wells tried for casual, but his voice was a touch higher than normal. “Hey Sarah. Yeah, just catching up with friends from back home.”

Raven gave his arm a final squeeze and grinned at the newcomer like she already knew her. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Wells blinked. “We have?”

Clarke’s foot found his shin under the table.

He forced a polite smile, ignoring the sting. “Right, introductions. This is Clarke, she’s an artist. One of her pieces is being featured at the National Gallery this month. That’s Lexa, her fiancée. And this is… Raven.”

Sarah’s gaze flicked between them, a faint, curious tilt to her head. “Nice to meet you all.”

Clarke smiled. “I’ve known Wells forever. Our dads are best friends. I still remember him trying to skateboard down my parents’ driveway when we were twelve. He ended up in the hedge. Though for a principal’s kid, I think he turned out pretty well. Survived high school, at least.”

Raven laughed. “Oh yeah. And I’ve still got photos from one of those summers when someone—” she glanced pointedly at Wells “thought frosted tips were a good idea.”

Wells stammered. “That was your—”

Raven cut him off smoothly. “Don’t ruin the story.”

Wells groaned. “Okay, that’s enough nostalgia for one night.”

Clarke checked her phone and exhaled softly. “We should probably head out. Big day tomorrow.”

Lexa nodded, already rising from her chair. “Yeah, we should get going.”

Wells glanced between them. “Thanks for coming.”

Clarke stepped in and pulled him into a quick hug, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. “Take care, Wells. See you at Thanksgiving?”

Wells nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

As Clarke and Lexa began weaving their way toward the door, Raven pushed back her chair with a grin. “I’ll catch up, Wellsy. Gotta grab another drink.” She winked at him as she stood, her eyes flicking deliberately toward the bar, and at Luna, still lingering there.

Sarah followed Raven’s glance and laughed under her breath. “Looks like your friend has good taste.”

Wells groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. “Please, don’t encourage her. Her head’s inflated as it is. Any more and we’ll need safety goggles when it pops.”

Sarah laughed, shaking her head. “Well, at least it’d be entertaining.” Her smile lingered, a touch more curious now. “So… Wellsy?”

Wells swallowed. “It’s… a long story.”

Sarah smiled, leaning in slightly. “Good. I like long stories. Especially when they’re embarrassing.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Wells caught sight of Raven slipping toward the door with Luna. She glanced back over her shoulder and smirked at him, eyes glinting with mischief. A moment later, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Your turn, the message read.

Wells huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Typical Raven, always two steps ahead, always pushing him into the deep end whether he was ready or not. But for once, instead of tightening his chest, the challenge eased something in him.

He turned back to Sarah, and for the first time all night, his smile felt easy. She met it with one of her own, warm and curious, her head tilting the way it did when she was really listening. “So,” she said softly, “are you finally going to tell me that story?”

Maybe this was the start of something.