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The countryside hunt had been meant to be uneventful … Kimi preferred it that way.
He had only agreed to come because staying at home meant enduring the other kind of torture: watching all of his brothers wrapped up in their marital bliss. Carlos and Charles constantly cooing over baby Ben. Alex and George writing disgustingly sweet love notes to each other in the same room. Lando and Oscar sneaking off for “walks” that never lasted less than two hours. Max and Daniel… well, the less said about the noises from their wing of the house, the better. He vowed to return home after they leave to their respective estates.
Kimi had learned the hard way that sleeping anywhere near a married Bridgerton’s room was an experience one only needed once before seeking out every possible excuse to be elsewhere.
So here he was, lingering at the back of the hunting party, letting the others chatter and show off while he enjoyed the rhythmic thud of his horse’s hooves and the crisp air.
But the weather had other plans.
The clear morning sky turned black in moments, as if someone had spilled ink across the heavens. The wind picked up sharply, rattling the trees, and then the storm broke with sudden, furious intensity.
Through the roar of rain, Kimi spotted movement.. a foal, its tiny body caught in a collapsed fence, legs thrashing in panic. Without hesitation, he swung down from his horse, boots sinking into the mud.
The animal’s terrified eyes met his, and he murmured low, steady words, inching forward. The rain plastered his hair to his face, soaking him to the bone. He crouched, one hand reaching toward the foal—
CRACK.
A branch above gave way under the storm’s weight, and Kimi didn’t even have time to look up before it slammed into his shoulder, the world spinning into black.
….
When he woke, his head throbbing and his arm bound in a sling, it was not the hunting lodge or the familiar confines of Bridgerton House. Instead, Kimi found himself in a small, warm cottage, the air thick with the scent of drying herbs, damp earth, and rain-soaked wood.
The steady hiss of the storm still battered the windows, but inside, it was quiet save for the occasional pop from the fireplace.
A figure knelt beside the bed, a young man, curls still damp from the weather, eyes an arresting shade of warm brown. His hands were deft and sure, checking the bandage at Kimi’s temple.
“I’m Oliver,” he said, voice soft but edged with the calm authority of someone used to being obeyed in emergencies. “You’re lucky I found you before the river rose. And before hypothermia set in.”
Kimi stared at him for a long moment, his usual reserve made heavier by the throbbing in his skull. He gave a single, slow nod.
Oliver’s lips quirked slightly, as though he’d expected nothing more. “Not much of a talker, are you? That’s fine. I’ve enough words for the both of us.”
For the first day, Kimi barely spoke …. a mixture of pain, exhaustion, and his ingrained preference for silence. But Oliver didn’t seem to mind. He moved around the room with quiet efficiency, tending the fire, steeping herbs, and checking Kimi’s injuries with a gentleness that bordered on reverence.
He scolded Kimi for going out in a storm, his voice low but laced with concern, and somehow slipped an extra blanket over him without Kimi quite noticing until the warmth sank in.
That night, when the wind howled and the rain lashed the windows, Oliver read aloud from a worn book, his voice steady and rich, as if determined to anchor Kimi to wakefulness, to safety. And Kimi…. who had always preferred solitude to small talk … found himself listening.
Really listening.
…..
Kimi had never been much for conversation over breakfast, but Oliver somehow made silence feel… pleasant. He moved about the tiny kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the scent of fresh bread and something sweet filling the air.
“Eat,” Oliver said simply, setting a plate before him. It was hot, perfectly cooked, and most surprising of all … exactly how Kimi liked it, though he couldn’t remember mentioning it.
Kimi took a bite. Warmth bloomed in his chest, and it had nothing to do with the food. Maybe this was why Lando kept writing embarrassingly long love letters about Oscar’s cooking.
…..
The storm had passed, and Oliver insisted they walk to stretch Kimi’s legs. They stopped by the riverbank, where the air smelled of wet grass and new sunlight.
“Don’t push yourself,” Oliver said, a hand hovering near Kimi’s arm as if ready to steady him at any moment.
Kimi didn’t need the support ….. but he didn’t mind it either. He caught himself wondering if this was how Carlos felt when Charles hovered, pretending not to worry but failing spectacularly.
….
That evening, Oliver read aloud again. Not because Kimi was injured anymore, but simply because he wanted to. His voice was low, deliberate, and for once, Kimi didn’t notice the passing of time.
Halfway through, Kimi found himself watching Oliver instead of listening to the story …. the way his curls fell forward, the small furrow between his brows when he concentrated.
Was this what Daniel saw when Max played the piano for him? Kimi thought maybe it was.
…..
When Oliver changed the bandage on his arm, his fingers brushed Kimi’s skin, warm and steady. “Does that hurt?”
“No,” Kimi said quietly, but the truth was his chest ached …. in a way that felt nothing like the injury.
His brothers were fools for letting their hearts be caught so easily. Fools. And yet… Kimi finally understood why.
…..
It was during those days …. when the world outside was still wet and grey, and the cottage was a haven of firelight and quie that Kimi found himself watching Oliver more than he should.
The way his dark curls caught the light like ink kissed by sun. The way he hummed under his breath when brewing tea, a melody so soft it felt like it was meant for Kimi alone. The small, almost imperceptible smile he gave when Kimi actually answered a question, as though such rare words were treasures to be hoarded.
And Oliver… for all his care, he never lingered in Kimi’s gaze for long. He laughed with him, listened to him, treated him as though he were not a Bridgerton but simply a man but each time their eyes met, there was a flicker of something else. Longing, sharp and sudden. A want that bloomed and withered in the same heartbeat, hidden behind lowered lashes.
It was a cruel dance, this restraint.
One evening, the rain fell harder than before, tapping against the windows like an insistent secret. The fire crackled low. Kimi sat on the chair by the hearth, his injured arm cradled in his lap, while Oliver leaned down to set another log in place. Their hands brushed briefly, unintentionally and it was as if the air itself forgot to breathe.
Kimi’s fingers twitched, wanting to curl around Oliver’s wrist, to hold him there, to anchor him. Oliver stilled, his head bowed, the flames painting his profile in gold and shadow.
For a moment, it would have been so easy. A lean forward. A whispered name.
But Oliver’s jaw tightened, and he stepped back, tucking his hands behind him as though afraid they might betray him. “You should rest,” he murmured, voice hoarse.
Kimi looked away, not trusting himself to speak. He had faced storms before but none so dangerous as this, the tempest that swelled in the quiet space between them.
And so they remained, aching in silence. Two men sitting close enough to touch, bound instead by the cruel knowledge that if they gave in, the world outside their cottage would not forgive them.
Still, Kimi thought, if he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the shape of Oliver’s hand in his own.
Almost.
…..
Kimi sat at the edge of the bed while Oliver rewrapped the sling around his shoulder. His fingers were warm, calloused, lingering a moment too long against bare skin.
“Too tight?” Oliver asked, his breath brushing Kimi’s ear.
Kimi could feel it the pull between them and tilted his head just slightly toward him.
For one dizzy heartbeat, it seemed Oliver might close that space.
But then Oliver pulled away abruptly, clearing his throat. “Better,” he said, too quickly.
Kimi flexed his hand to stop it from trembling.
…..
A clap of thunder woke Kimi, breath caught in his throat. Before he could sit up, Oliver was there, crouching by the bed, his hand hovering over Kimi’s cheek.
“You’re alright,” Oliver whispered.
Kimi reached up, catching Oliver’s wrist before he could pull away.
The touch was warm, grounding dangerous. Their faces were close, so close that Kimi could see the tiny flecks of gold in Oliver’s brown eyes.
If either of them leaned forward, their lips would meet.
Neither did. Oliver’s hand slipped free. “Get some sleep,” he said softly, and left the room before Kimi could answer
….
When Kimi was well enough to ride, the cottage felt suddenly too small. Oliver moved about it in a careful, deliberate rhythm folding blankets, rinsing cups, packing Kimi’s saddlebags never once letting his eyes linger on Kimi for more than a heartbeat.
“It’s better this way,” Oliver said quietly, his voice rough, as if the words scraped on the way out. He set the saddlebags by the door, his hands tightening on the leather straps. “You’re… you’re meant for grand houses and dinner parties. Rooms full of music and chandeliers. I’m just…..”
“You’re the man who saved my life,” Kimi interrupted, his tone sharper than intended. “That’s not ‘just’ anything.”
Oliver’s lips curved into something like a smile, but it was cracked at the edges. “Kimi… you are a lord. I’m a commoner. We live in two different worlds, and those worlds do not touch not without consequences.”
Kimi took a step forward, but Oliver raised a hand not in command, but in surrender. And then, before Kimi could speak again, Oliver closed the space between them, pressing his lips to Kimi’s in a kiss that was soft, brief, and unbearably careful. It tasted like rain and restraint.
“This is our first and last kiss,” Oliver murmured against his mouth.
Kimi stared at him for a beat at the damp curls clinging to his temple, at the way his chest rose and fell like he’d just run a race. And then, with a quiet, almost feral sound, Kimi caught Oliver’s wrist and pulled him back, crushing their mouths together in a kiss that was anything but careful. Deep. Demanding. A kiss that demanded to be remembered.
“At least make it worthy,” Kimi said when they finally broke apart, breathless, his forehead resting against Oliver’s.
For a moment, it seemed Oliver might pull him in again … but instead he stepped back, shoulders squared like a man holding himself together by sheer will.
Kimi left soon after, the sound of his horse’s hooves swallowed by the soft patter of rain. But when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Oliver standing in the doorway, rain soaking into his shirt, smiling that same smile the one that was as pained as it was kind. The image burned itself into Kimi’s mind, something to keep and curse in equal measure.
…..
Kimi had been home for less than two days before the Bridgertons descended.
Not descended as in “visited politely,” but descended like a hunting pack catching the scent of blood.
It began at breakfast. Carlos raised an eyebrow when Kimi barely touched his coffee. Lando leaned across the table and whispered something to Alex, who immediately started staring at Kimi like he’d grown a second head. Daniel dropped his fork dramatically and asked, “So, who’s the man?”
Kimi blinked. “What man?”
That was a mistake. Every head in the room turned toward him at once even baby Ben, who had been happily gnawing on a bread roll, paused mid-chew to watch the interrogation.
“You have the look,” Lewis said knowingly from the head of the table.
“What look?” Kimi muttered.
“The look of someone who’s yearning for something they can’t have”, Lewis replied, sipping his tea like the world’s smuggest fortune-teller.
Within minutes, he was surrounded. Lando was perched on the arm of his chair, Alex leaned forward on his elbows, Carlos had taken the seat directly across from him, and Daniel was already plotting a stakeout. Even Papa Seb and Dada Mark had joined in, the latter resting a gentle hand on Kimi’s shoulder.
“Tell us,” Seb said, far too sweetly to be trusted.
Kimi lasted all of ten seconds before muttering, “His name’s Oliver. He’s a medic. He saved my life.”
That, predictably, set off chaos.
“Ohhh, a hero!” Lando grinned.
“A commoner?” Daniel gasped, thrilled. “Scandalous!”
Lewis just raised an eyebrow knowingly. “And you’re not bringing him home… why?”
Kimi tried to shrug, but his ears betrayed him by going pink. “He thinks… we can’t. That we’re from different worlds.”
Seb made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “The Ton will always find something to gossip about, Kimi. That’s their job. Yours is to be happy.”
Mark nodded. “Your brothers married who they loved, not who the Ton expected. Do you think we cared what anyone said? No. We cared about each other.”
“And,” Lewis added pointedly, “do you really think we’d let some snobs tell a Bridgerton they can’t have what or who they want?”
There was a murmur of agreement around the table, a warmth that settled in Kimi’s chest despite himself.
“Go get him,” Seb said simply.
Kimi looked around at his absurd, meddling, unstoppable famil and realised they were right. He didn’t care about the Ton. He cared about a boy with kind eyes and a pained smile, standing in the rain
……
The rain had returned.
Not the gentle sort that made the countryside smell of earth and wildflowers no, this was the rain that blurred the horizon and drummed against Kimi’s hood like war drums.
He didn’t care.
The hooves of his stallion pounded against the sodden earth, mud splattering his boots, wind whipping at his cloak. Each stride carried him closer to the only place that mattered. He could still hear Oliver’s voice in his head soft, resigned, final: “This is our first and last kiss.”
Like hell it was.
Branches lashed at him as the path narrowed, the storm soaking him through, but the memory of Oliver’s hands warm against his chilled skin burned hotter than any fire. He saw again those eyes, that guarded smile, and the way Oliver had looked at him like he was something precious… before telling him to go.
By the time he reached the small cottage at the edge of the wood, his heart was pounding harder than his horse’s gallop. Light spilled from the single window, a beacon in the storm.
Kimi dismounted in one fluid movement, barely tethering his horse before striding to the door. He didn’t knock he pounded.
The door opened, and there he was. Oliver, curls damp, wearing that same guarded expression… until it cracked into shock.
“Kimi? What are you…you’ll catch your death out here!” Oliver grabbed his arm to pull him inside, but Kimi didn’t move.
“I didn’t come here to be sensible,” Kimi said, voice rough. “I came here because you think you get to decide for me. You think you can tell me that what I feel doesn’t matter because of who I am, or what the Ton will say. But I am a Bridgerton, Oliver, and the only opinion that matters to me is yours.”
Oliver’s hand trembled against his sleeve. “You… you can’t just…”
“I can.” Kimi stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “You saved my life. You took care of me. And somewhere in between, you stole my heart without even trying. I’m not taking it back, and I’m not leaving here without you.”
“Kimi…” Oliver’s voice cracked, but the longing in his eyes was unguarded now, raw.
Kimi reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a small silver ring ….nothing ornate, just something he’d taken from his own hand. “I’m not asking for the Ton’s approval. I’m asking for yours. Marry me. Come home with me. Let me love you, and let everyone else choke on their gossip.”
For a moment, all Kimi could hear was the rain against the roof. Then Oliver stepped forward, took his face in both hands, and kissed him like he’d been drowning for weeks and finally found air.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, Oliver’s forehead rested against his. “You are the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”
“Good,” Kimi murmured. “You’ll never doubt I’ll fight for you.”
Oliver laughed softly and didn’t stop him when Kimi pulled him into his arms and kissed him again, this time with the promise of forever.
…..
Sebastian Bridgerton leaned back in his armchair, sipping his tea with the smug satisfaction of a general who had won a war. Across from him, Mark was leafing through the latest Lord Whistledown column, grinning like the cat who’d got the cream.
“All married,” Seb said, savoring the words. “Carlos, Daniel, Alex, Lando, Lewis, Kimi… all settled with perfectly respectable husbands. No more late-night scandals. No more running interference with the Ton. We did it.”
Mark hummed in agreement, glancing toward the window where the winter sun streamed in. “Which means, love… we can finally take that long-delayed honeymoon.”
Seb’s smile turned positively wicked. “Two months in the south of France. Just us. No interruptions.”
It was at that precise moment that the door to the sitting room banged open, and a small child toddled in, shrieking with glee, “Granddadaaaaaaa!” before launching themselves at Mark’s knees.
Mark blinked. “Henry? Where’s your Papa?”
But before he could finish, another child barreled in, followed by two more. Somewhere in the hall, Carlos’s voice was shouting for Charles to “grab Grace, he’s trying to climb the banister again!”
Seb sat very still. “Mark.”
“Yes?”
“Why are there four children in our sitting room?”
“Five,” Max said helpfully, entering with Daniel in tow, each holding a baby. “Alex and George dropped the twins off, Lando and Oscar’s boy is in the garden, and Carlos and Charles… well, theirs multiply when you’re not looking.”
Seb pinched the bridge of his nose. “They’re reproducing like rabbits.”
Mark chuckled. “They are Bridgertons.”
Within ten minutes, the stately Bridgerton estate had transformed into a war zone of rattles, toy soldiers, and small humans demanding biscuits. Lewis was in the corner plaiting Henry’s hair while Nico supervised with a tray of milk, Kimi and Oliver were negotiating a nap schedule for their daughter, and Carlos was chasing his son down the hallway with the agility of a man used to toddler antics.
Seb looked at Mark over the din. “South of France?”
Mark grinned, bouncing a baby on his hip. “South nursery, maybe.”
Seb sighed… then smiled despite himself as three grandchildren piled onto his lap. “Fine. Honeymoon’s postponed. But when they’re all old enough for school, we’re disappearing.”
Mark leaned over, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “You love it.”
And Sebastian, surrounded by noise, mess, and every single piece of his heart had to admit, he really did.
....
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