Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her afternoon coffee sat cooling on the desk, forgotten for the moment as she shut down her work laptop and fired up the beast of a gaming PC beside it. Work had wrapped up early. Her emails answered, questions about the updated procedures addressed, and lab results for the outgoing product was already reviewed and logged. With nothing else left to do for the day, she figured she’d treat herself. No better time to dive back into the new game she’d bought a few weeks ago.

Tarja, her best friend and longtime partner in gaming crimes, had introduced her to two of her online friends, and saying they’d been having a blast would’ve been putting it mildly. The game itself was an MMO. It didn’t sound revolutionary at first, but it might as well have been a whole new world. She’d never really played one before. She’d always been a bit finicky about paying for subscription-based games, even with a solid and successful career at a rising startup.

But working remotely, among other things meant she had more time to herself than she sometimes knew what to do with. She’d dabbled in all kinds of games over the past few years. Racing games first. Then competitive shooters, which she learned wasn’t really her thing. Eventually, she found herself drawn to narrative-driven single-player titles. She loved those. They reminded her of the books she devoured growing up. But day after day of cycling between silence, screens, and a quiet apartment had started to wear her down.

She craved something interactive. Something social. Something alive.

One evening she caught Tarja playing Echos of Valisthea. She’d heard of the game before, some critically acclaimed MMO with a rabid fanbase —but she’d never given it much thought. That night, she spent an hour debating with herself, hovering over the download button before muttering, “Fuck it,” and diving headfirst into the free trial.

She hit the level cap within a few days. And by the end of the week, she’d bought a six-month subscription without a second thought. Money well spent.

A few weeks in, Tarja introduced her to two of her longtime online friends. One of them was Gav. He was hilarious, chaotic, and sporting a thick northern accent that Jill barely understood half the time, despite being from the north herself. He was the group’s designated scout and troublemaker, always running ahead, always getting caught in something they had to bail him out of.

And then there was Clive.

Clive had been quieter at first. Reserved, even. But when he spoke, it was with that voice—very low and just slightly rough. He didn’t say much, but when he did, it was impossible not to listen.

Or maybe that was just her. The others didn’t seem particularly affected by it, didn’t pause when he unmuted or react when he gave direction. Maybe, if she was being honest with herself, she just thought his voice was… cute.

There were times when the four of them were deep in a raid and Clive wouldn’t say a single word. Tarja had once called him out mid-fight, teasing that he needed to actually speak if he wanted to be their friend. Jill had jumped in, calling Tarja out for the play-bullying and insisting Clive was perfectly fine being quiet if that’s what he preferred.

Later that night, he messaged her.

“Thanks… for what you said earlier. And for saving me in the raid, too.”

She’d sent back a row of heart emojis, followed by a more thoughtful reply, telling him to just be himself, that she already considered him a friend whether he talked much or not.

That single exchange started a conversation that didn’t really stop. What began as a few friendly messages about game strats and nightly plans in Valisthea soon turned into longer chats, followed by much deeper ones. They started talking nearly every day, about where she was from, what she did for work, what she liked to cook, her hobbies, her passions.

Some topics were harder than others.

She told him, one night, that her passion used to be chocobo riding. It had been everything to her once. Her dreams of going big, of making it all the way to the Twin Games. That future had felt so certain, so close she could taste it.

He’d asked her why she no longer rode, he followed it up saying it was never too late, that she should still chase her dream. That he would be in the stands cheering for her as she crossed the finished line for the gold metal.

His words cut incredibly deep, but… It wasn’t his fault. All she said in response was that her passion now was gaming. And she said it plainly, and without apology.

Her parents didn’t seem to understand it. They thought her new hobby was a waste of time. Every family gathering turned into a performance, she’d smile, nod, and even lie about how often she was getting out, how active her life actually was. 

She didn’t really understand why it mattered to them so much. She stayed in shape. She did dumbbell curls, shoulder presses, seated rows, lateral raises, and tricep extensions. 

But that wasn’t the kind of strength they cared about, apparently.

She tried not to let it bother her. Gaming gave her joy. And the people she met in those virtual worlds stuck around more than most in real life ever did.

Still, the weight of disappointment lingered. She saw it in their eyes every time.

Her family came from a long line of athletes. Her mother was a three-time skiing gold medalist. Her father had taken home both a silver and a gold in ice hockey. And her sister? Bronze in figure skating at the last Games, and she was scheduled to compete again this year.

She was happy for her. Truly. But it never really seemed to occur to them how painful it was to be around them. Around all of that.

She’d even tried, once, to bridge the gap. She invited her mother and sister into her world, showed off her gaming setup and her library of completed titles. Her collection was huge, and she took pride in having finished every one of them. They'd smiled politely, said all the right things, but she could see it in their eyes. This wasn’t the same as their medals. Not to them.

Though one particular rule she was proud of was If she bought a game, she finished it, no matter how bad it was. She never allowed herself to quit. No exceptions.

Which was another reason why she’d been hesitant about MMOs in the first place. Echos of Valisthea was slated to get updates for at least five more years. There was no "beating" it. No final cutscene. No box to check off. And for someone like Jill, that had been hard thing to accept.

The game hadn’t really been about checking off bosses or grinding through raids.

It had those of course but more than that, It was about connection, about forging bonds, building trust, and learning to rely on others to face the fiercest enemies together.

And for Jill, that was something new. Exhilarating, even.

She’d thrown herself into it headfirst, backed up by her team of Tarja, Gav, and Clive. The four of them had been running a particularly brutal raid for the past week, slowly chipping away at the boss’s health bar with each attempt. Tonight, they were determined. Tonight was going to be the night they cleared it.

“Okay, I’m marking the Ice traps now, don’t stand in them this time, Gav,” Jill said through her headset, grinning as she adjusted her keyboard.

“Oi! That was one time!” Gav barked back. “And the trap moved!”

“They don’t move, Gav,” Clive’s voice came through, dry and low.

“I’m just saying, it looked like it moved,” Gav muttered.

Tarja laughed. “Focus up.”

The boss roared to life in the center of the arena, towering above them, wings outstretched and wreathed in flame. Jill’s screen lit up with effects, blinding golds and harsh reds as the first wave of attacks hit. Her fingers flew over the keys. Her rotation was muscle memory by now. She kept one eye on her cooldowns, another on her party's health bars.

“Limit break’s almost ready,” she said.

“Save it for the second phase,” Clive replied, voice steady. “I’ll cover the next AOE.”

Her heart pounded. Not because of the boss, but because of this. The rhythm of it. The way they moved as one. The unspoken trust between them. For a few hours, the rest of the world disappeared, her apartment, her body, and more importantly, her thoughts.

Here, she mattered. Her timing, her awareness, her skill.

And when the boss let out its final cry, collapsing in a burst of light and victory music, she let out a loud whoop. Torgal even barked in response from across the room, tail thumping against the floor like he knew they’d won too.

“Holy shit,” Tarja said. “We actually did it.”

“I got the mount!” Gav shouted.

“Congrats,” Clive said, and she swore she could hear the smile in his voice.

Jill leaned back in her chair, her heart still racing as her cheeks flushed.

They did a few more activities afterward—quick dungeon runs, and a few guild quests before each of them started signing off for the night. Clive and Gav were a few time zones ahead, three hours to be exact, which meant their nights always ended earlier than hers.

When they’d first started gaming together, Clive had usually called it a night pretty early. But lately, he’d been staying up later. Sometimes until nine which was really late for him, considering he had work first thing in the morning.

She often urged him to go to bed, telling him he needed the rest.

In response, he always had this slow, slightly delayed way of responding when he was tired, like his thoughts were dragging just a step behind.

It was absolutely adorable.

And… she couldn’t deny that she liked the extra time with him. Hearing his sleepy voice linger a little longer in her headphones. Watching his character wait beside hers, always the last to leave after the others had logged out.

She sighed as the logout screen appeared.

The room was quiet again. Just the hum of her PC fans and the faint shifting of Torgal near his food bowl.

Her coffee sat cooling on the side table. She reached for it, taking a slow sip, and glanced up at the calendar above her desk.

Physical therapy tomorrow.

She sighed again, though this time with less warmth.

Gods, she hated it. Absolutely hated it.

She hated the way they touched her, it was clinical and professional, but she still hated it. She hated the way people looked at her, their eyes sliding from pity to polite indifference. Hated the way the therapists pressed and rubbed at her legs, searching for sensation in places long since lost. 

The automatic feeder clicked and whirred. She looked over just as Torgal padded over to his bowl, his tail wagging lazily. Her loyal hound, he had been a lifeline through the worst of it, through the silence, the pain, the isolation, the crushing weight of the doctor’s diagnosis.

She turned her gaming chair to the side, fingers gliding over the armrests before she shifted into her wheelchair. With practiced ease, she propped her feet onto the footrests and rolled herself into the kitchen.

Cooking had always been a joy. Her kitchen made it easier, with custom countertops set lower than standard height, front-controlled stovetop, a side-opening oven, sliding drawers instead of cabinets, everything designed for reach and comfort. Even with all that, she still couldn’t see into the pot of pasta boiling on the stove. She stirred by feel, by sound, and by scent.

“Are you still hungry, boy?” she asked, giving Torgal a few gentle pats on the head as he rested his head in her lap while she stirred the pasta.

She wheeled herself over to the fridge, opened it, and grabbed a half-frozen snack from the door. With a casual toss, she sent it sliding across the floor. Torgal perked up and trotted after it with his tail wagging.

Later, she wheeled herself toward the bed. With a press of a button, the frame hummed to life, groaning mechanically as it lowered to her level. The sound was ugly, and grating– another thing she hated. She shifted from the chair to the mattress, the surface was soft and welcoming as it molded to her shape. She adjusted her legs one at a time, guiding them gently under the covers quickly, before she had to look at them.

She propped herself up on her pillows, glancing around the room until Torgal finally settled into his bed with a soft thump and a sigh.

With a breath of her own, she picked up her phone and started scrolling through the videos Tarja had sent her. Most were the usual chaos and memes, a few clips from their last dungeon run, but one thumbnail made her pause.

It was a convention. Valcon.

The video, taken from the year before, showed a sprawling convention center packed with people. Booths lined every wall, some showcasing artwork, others decked out in elaborate dioramas from in-game zones. Voice actors took the stage to roaring cheers, the head devs talked lore and teased mechanics from the upcoming expansion. Footage played on massive screens above the crowd. And the cosplays—gods, the cosplays were incredible. Knights in glimmering armor, mages with glowing staffs, whole groups dressed as raid bosses.

Underneath, Tarja had left a caption:

“Clive and Gav are going!! We should totally go. And LOOK! only a town over from us!”

Jill sent back a laughing emoji. It was easier than saying what she really felt.

Tarja replied almost instantly.

“I’m serious! I’m going. And I know the boys, especially Clive ;) would want to meet you!!”

She stared at her phone for a while before setting it down on her chest.

She did enjoy her friends. Really. She’d known Tarja from her last job, and she had never treated her any differently. It was a refreshing change from the usual cocktail of pity and polite silence she got from most people.

But Clive and Gav? They had no idea.

And what if they wanted to hang out after the convention? That meant flagging down a taxi or calling an Uber, enduring the quiet sighs or eye rolls as the driver loaded her wheelchair into the back. It meant them walking at her pace— no, slowing down for her. It meant maybe not being able to go to certain places at all, because too many establishments still didn’t want to pay for ramps.

She tried to imagine herself there, surrounded by the fans, music, lights, and energy. She imagined dressing up as Shiva, her favorite character. Shiva was an icon. A queen of frost, cutting through enemies with elegance and ice, soaring through the air in a glimmering storm of snow.

But Shiva wasn’t confined to a chair. She didn’t need ramps. She didn’t need help crossing cobblestones streets. She didn’t need to ask anyone to wait or slow down.

She pictured herself in one of Shiva’s intricate outfits—light blue silk, delicate embroidery, silver thread tracing lines like frostbite over bare arms. She imagined wearing it, surrounded by crowds, wheeling through a space built for everyone but her.

All she could truly feel was how far from Shiva she truly was.

Tarja knew a little, enough to understand how she had felt about it. How she rarely left her apartment. How isolating things had gotten, even though they lived only fifteen minutes apart.

And yet, the last time they’d seen each other in person had been over two months ago.

“I’ll think about it.”

Was what she wrote back. Which, of course, meant she wasn’t going. She just didn’t know how to let her friend down gently.

No reply came. Just the familiar sight of typing bubbles… appearing, disappearing… and then nothing.

Her shoulders slumped. She could practically feel Tarja’s disappointment through the silence. Clive and Gav would probably be disappointed too.

She tapped the video again, watching it replay. Her eyes scanned the distant crowd scenes. All the fans in costume, friends taking selfies, people laughing in line for food trucks or dancing awkwardly in the background. So much life. So much energy.

She hesitated before opening the official event website. She scrolled past the lineup, the panels, the cosplay contests… and there, at the very bottom of the page, was a small wheelchair icon. 

Disability accessible.

Her finger hovered near her lip. She started chewing on the edge of her nail—an old, terrible habit she couldn’t quite seem to break.

What would they even think? She wasn’t sure she was ready to meet more people. Especially not Clive. He seemed so sweet. So kind and thoughtful. She didn’t want meeting her in person to change the way he saw her in the game.

There, in the game, she was powerful. Mighty. Helpful. Someone people needed.

“There’s no one to watch over Torgal”

She typed quickly, sending the message before setting her phone down with a finality that felt like slamming a door. That was the end of it. No one could watch over Torgal. No matter how much she secretly envisioned dressing up, no matter how much she—

Her phone dinged.

“There’s a dog daycare right next to the convention! And the hotel allows pets!!”

Jill sighed, staring down at the glowing screen. Of course there was, and of course they did.

She had a list of a hundred excuses, and she knew Tarja would knock them down one by one. She opened the website again. Her eyes flicked to the date.

Two weeks away. The whole thing was only two weeks away. 

Her head dropped into her hands. She didn’t even have the time to think it over. No time to plan. No time to talk herself down in case she needed to back out.

Another sigh escaped her. Her gaze drifted across her contacts list, eyes landing on his name next to a fire emoji.

Was he really going?

Chapter Text

“Oil on one!” a sharp voice barked from across the garage.

“Heard,” Clive called back, wiping his hands on a rag as he approached the bay.

Out of the car stepped Old Lady Charon, her one eye squinted heavily with suspicion.

“Make sure ya do it right this time,” she snapped. “Last time you idiots gave me the wrong oil and fucked everything up.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, just shuffled into the waiting room, muttering something under her breath.

They absolutely hadn’t messed up her oil. Old lady Charon just didn’t maintain her car worth a damn. She showed up every few months for “routine maintenance” on a vehicle she’d run into the ground over the last decade.

He sighed, slid under the car, and stared up at the familiar tangle of components. Radiator needed replacing. Battery was nearly toast. Timing belt was about 20,000 miles overdue. But sure, an oil change would magically fix everything.

He found the bolt, twisted it, and let the oil drain into the pan below.

Of fucking course, it was Milky.

He frowned. That usually meant coolant leaking into the oil. More than likely a head gasket leak. It wasn’t just bad, it was terminal.

He stared at the swirling liquid, his own reflection rippled back at him. His hair had grown out longer than he liked, it was shaggy and unruly. A quick cut could fix that. His beard was just as quick, what used to be a five o’clock shadow had turned into something more feral and untamed.

He glanced at his left cheek, frowning at the swirling liquid. He hated this part of checking oil. 

A light kick tapped his boot.

“Hey,” a voice called. “You almost done? Charon’s driving me nuts in there.”

He heard the flick of a match and a cigarette. Cid, no doubt.

“Yeah, well,” Clive muttered, popping his head out from under the car, “wait till you hear she blew her head gasket.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Cid said, shaking his head while already dreading the fallout. “She’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

He gave Clive a sharper kick. “Come on, get up.”

Clive wiped his hands again, slid out from under the car, and followed Cid outside. He could feel it, this talk wasn’t just about the gasket.

“Listen, lad.” Cid exhaled a slow breath, cigarette pinched between two fingers. “I know times are rough. But you’re really runnin’ up my overtime clock, and I’m not sure I can keep stretchin’ it.”

Clive straightened, rag still clenched in his hand. His shoulders were tense, they had been for weeks now, but something about Cid’s voice made the weight settle heavier this time.

“Cid, please.” His voice cracked, low and hoarse. He cleared his throat, but it was too late, his weariness had already bled through. “Just a few more hours. I’m trying to—”

Cid raised a hand, not unkindly. “Aye, I know.” He took a drag from his cigarette, smoke curling through the early afternoon heat. “The convention. The one with the mages and chocobos and whatnot, yeah?”

He waved vaguely, like that whole world was too ridiculous to wrap his head around.

Clive shifted his weight, suddenly too aware of how grime clung to his shirt, how sweat clung to the back of his neck. He looked down, rubbing the heel of his palm over the edge of the rag until the fabric threatened to fray.

“There aren’t any chocobos in the game, they call them ’horses’” he muttered. “But… yeah.”

Cid raised an eyebrow, already walking toward the ashtray near the garage wall. He flicked the last of his cigarette into it just as another car rolled up, the front bell chiming with a tired ding.

“Bay two,” someone shouted from across the garage.

Cid didn’t move. “Does it really mean that much to ya? I never figured you for the video game type.”

“Why’s that?” Clive replied, raising a brow.

Cid shrugged, popping another cigarette in his mouth. “Guess stereotypes got the better of me. I always pictured the lot of you in your mum’s basement, pale as death, crumbs in your beard, three days past due for a shower.”

He paused, then smirked. “Not some dark, tall, and handsome type with the biggest tits this side of the Velkroy.”

Clive let out a dry chuckle, dragging in a slow breath through his nose. “It’s honestly all I’ve been thinking about,” he murmured.

He rubbed at his cheek, gaze dropping to the floor, suddenly quieter.

“I know it’s just a game, but…” he trailed off, struggling to find the words. How could he explain that it was more than that? That Echos was one of the only places he didn’t feel… broken? That somewhere between the raids and the quiet late-night chats, something within him had shifted.

He’d been more open. He came into work not completely drained like he usually was. He actually looked forward to clocking out. Even Cid had noticed the change.

His therapist kept telling him he needed to try. Practically begged him to form some kind of connection, any kind instead of shutting everyone out.

People said life inside a digital world couldn’t give you real connection. But it felt real to him. The voices in his headset. The inside jokes. The way she softly said goodnight as she waited for his character when everyone else logged off.

Cid sighed. “Sorry, lad.”

His heart sank, but then Cid clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Gonna need you to… clock out,” he said with exaggerated emphasis, one brow cocked in mock seriousness.

He blinked, then smiled despite himself. “Thanks, Cid.”

Cid clapped him lightly on the back again before heading toward the machine. The old screen blinked awake as he clocked out officially.

From here on out, the work would be under the table.

A little grease, a little sweat, and a few hours shaved off the official books but not in his paycheck. All to save Cid the trouble of overtime fines, taxes, and whatever other regulations he quietly ignored for the sake of his crew.

Cid was a great boss. Not that he had much to compare him to. Cid was his first and only boss outside the military. Maybe he’d just taken pity on him, being former military himself. Either way, Cid had given him a shot when no one else would. Mostly because no one else wanted to see that nasty, jagged, and ugly scar that married the left side of his cheek.

His time in the service had been hell. But honestly, his life before it wasn’t much better. His dad had died when he was young. His mother had practically kicked him out before he was even old enough to know what he wanted. Left to his own devices, he got involved with the wrong crowd, a group that called themselves The Bastards. They ran an illegal and brutal underground fight clubs in the inner city.

He was good at it. Damn too good. He was tall, broad-shouldered, built like a tower, most guys didn’t even want to step into the ring with him. But when they did, he broke every one of them down.

Eventually, the police got tipped off. The place was raided. Everyone involved was arrested.

The judge had planned to throw the book at him, five years easily behind bars. But then Joshua, barely sixteen at the time took the stand and gave a shaky, heartfelt testimony that nearly saved him.

Nearly.

Instead of prison, the judge gave him a choice: five years behind bars, or three in the military.

“If you’re gonna fight,” the judge had said, “at least fight with a purpose.”

Clive chuckled at the memory, even if there was no real humor in it. Three years in the military… Sometimes he wondered if he should’ve just taken the five.

He reached up, absently touching his cheek, then dropped his hand and shook the thought off.

When he got out, he was desperate for a job. The military didn’t exactly leave him swimming in savings. It was Joshua who handed him his old PC, the thing was barely held together by faith and duct tape. 

He applied everywhere. Anything that didn’t ask too many questions.

One of those jobs had been a mechanic’s apprentice. The pay wasn’t great, especially at the bottom rung with oil changes and tire rotations, mostly the grunt work. But the top guys, the ones doing diagnostics and rebuilds? They made decent money. 

And money, that’s what he needed.

Or maybe wanted more than needed. He wanted to meet his friends.

He’d started playing the game through Gav, his coworker at the shop who had recommended it. Gav had crossed paths with Tarja in the game. He never did get the full story of the two of them connected but he was glad they did.

He wasn’t exactly shy, though people might’ve thought so. No, he just had a hard time talking to people after his service. He always felt their stares, their eyes drifted towards the scar. Maybe that was why talking through the game felt a lot easier.

He glanced down at his phone, his thumb smudged with grease. The corner of his mouth tugged up into a small, involuntary smirk—the one that always happened whenever she messaged him. No matter what kind of day he was having, her messages alone found a way to break through the static of his head.

Her last message had been a question.’

“Are you really going?”

”Of course!” He replied back

What he hadn’t told her was that, while he had bought tickets, he only had enough money to cover two nights in the hotel of the three-day convention. The badge alone had taken a chunk out of his paycheck, but it was the hotel and the plane ticket that really stretched things thin.

Splitting the hotel room with Gav helped. The problem was, the cheapest return flight they could find didn’t leave until a day after the convention ended. Which meant two nights in the city with no hotel and no real plan.

Thankfully, Gav had a couple of distant relatives in the area who were reluctant, but willing to offer a couch or two.

He wanted to meet Tarja, sure. She was funny, sharp, maybe a little rough around the edges in that tough-love sort of way.

But Jill…

Jill was something else.

They’d only known each other for a little over a month, but Jill had already become his brightest spot in the day. His little anchor in the noise. His sunshine.

He hated how cheesy that sounded, even in his own head.

Still… he was a little ashamed to admit he had a bit of a crush on her. If only a tiny one.

Not that it made any sense, he didn’t know what she looked like, and she lived on the opposite end of the country. All he knew was her voice, her laugh, and that she was three years younger than him.

Though one thing still worried him, something that constantly sat heavy in his chest, holding him back more than he liked to admit.

It was the reason he stayed indoors so often. It had been the reason he didn’t meet up with Gav for dinner and drinks after work. The reason interviewers always chose someone else. The reason customers stared at him a second too long. The reason fancy restaurants always seated him in the back. The reason his old dating profile had only shown the right side of his face.

He absolutely hated it.

He’d spent months in the hospital after the accident, gone through surgery after surgery after surgery, all in the hopes of softening the scar.

But it never really faded. It was still there. It was still raised. Still a slightly different shade than the rest of his skin.

He even tried growing his beard out, thinking it might hide it, yet somehow, it just made it worse.

And now, all he could think about was Jill. How disgusted she might be when she saw him. How she might literally run away from him.

He imagined them all at dinner that first night, laughing and getting along easily,  and there he’d be… Quiet and stuck in his own head. What if they thought he didn’t like them? What if they thought he was rude? Or cold?

He imagined what she looked like.

Her voice was reserved, she had a gentle politeness that made even his stretches of silence feel safe. And aside form raids, she never raised her voice, she never pushed too hard for him to talk. She just... waited patiently and listened.

He pictured her with long, soft brown hair, like roasted chestnuts catching the afternoon light, tumbling over her shoulders in loose waves. Maybe she wore it parted down the middle, tucked behind one ear. Maybe it curled slightly at the ends. He imagined her eyes. Probably hazel. And he imagined her smile, maybe a bit shy, but honest.

His cheeks flushed before he even noticed it happening. He rubbed the back of his neck.

Stupid.

He barely knew her. They’d only been in the same server for what— six weeks? Maybe seven?

“Shiva would suit you,” he typed and hit send.

“How do you even know? You don’t know what I look like 😂”

“You save my ass as her every night. So it would only fit.”

Her reply came quickly;

“😊”

Then came the typing dots. They appeared. Disappeared.Reappeared. Disappeared again. And then finally:

“Hey, can I tell you something?”

“Always,” he replied.

The dots returned. Then vanished. Returned again. And then:

“Ugh.”

“What is it?” he asked, already feeling something tighten in his chest.

The dots flickered in and out again. Then:

“Can you promise me you won’t think of me any differently when you see me?”

The words came quickly after, like she was trying to get them out before she could take them back:

“I’m not exactly as calm, cool, and collected, or even helpful as I am in Echos.”

The hell was she going on about?

She was a big part of why Echos had stopped being just a game for him. Sure, the raids were thrilling. But what truly made a difference was… Just simply her.

And she was always there, always ready to lend a hand, whether she realized it or not. Why would any of that change just because they'd met?

“You’re more helpful than you know,” he typed, then hesitated. It seemed too simple.

He erased it and tried again:

“You’re more helpful than you realize. It’s not just in the game, either.”

He hit send.

“You’re always so sweet!” her reply came, these messages always made his heart skip a beat, more than he’d ever admit.

He tried not to read too much into it, but she didn’t talk to Gav or Tarja like this. He felt something special, maybe something growing between them. 

Was that even possible? From over 2000 miles away? Even if it wasn’t, It had been enough for him to delete his dating profile.

Which again, was silly.

Still, he had his own worries. The convention would be crowded, faces everywhere, strangers all around. Those first moments, when people looked at him, when they first saw the scar, always hit the hardest.

He stared at their chat for a moment, then typed:

“I guess it’s time I share something with you too then”

Her response was immediate:

“What is it?”

His fingers hovered over the keys, typed, deleted, and typed again. Eventually, he settled on:

“If I don’t talk much at first, don’t take it personally. It just takes me a minute sometimes”

“Of course! I won’t be offended at all 💙”

He sighed, feeling a bit better at ease until he heard the sounds of Charon in the distance.

“Move” She said practically shoving Gav out of the way, he could overhear her muttering as she got into her car, the attendants still having not finished pouring the new oil in.

“He wants to charge me how much?” She muttered as she closed her door, peeling out of the parking lot.

Cid came out of the main office, approaching him, “We’ll see her in a few days, yeah?”

He merely sighed, wiping his brow before heading back into the building.

- - - - -

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of activity—bags were packed, tickets finally booked, and luggage tucked beneath the plane. Now, all that separated him from the convention was a grueling four-and-a-half hour flight.

He adjusted his hoodie as he squeezed into the cramped economy seat, his long legs cramped in the limited space. Gav plopped down beside him, landing with the finesse of a falling boulder.

“Founder,” Gav grumbled, squirming as if trying to tame the seat into submission.

“What?” He asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“You should’ve bought two tickets—one for you, and one for your tits.”

Clive groaned, feeling the weight of the comment. A few passengers nearby stifled their chuckles, while others cast curious glances. Some eyes drifted to his chest, others lingered on his face, and some stayed there just a little too long.

It felt like a needle under his skin. As it always did.

Without a word, he pulled his hood up, sank lower into the seat, and plugged in his earbuds. The tablet in front of him lit up, offering a pleasant distraction, maybe a few episodes of a show to drown out his thoughts.

They couldn’t afford to fly in a day early, so they were traveling on the morning of the convention. Thankfully, in addition to the flight delay, the flight was timed well enough to give them a couple of hours to check into the hotel and settle down before meeting their friends.

He wasn’t ready. Founder, he wasn’t even close.

He glanced down at his phone, thumb tapping the screen to check his messages.

Still nothing.

Jill had been... distant. Over the past day, their messages had dwindled. When she did reply, it was short and clipped. Not like her usual self.

Had he said something wrong? Was she backing out? Did she not want to see him after all?

His stomach churned as the plane began to taxi. He opened her last message and read it again, even though he had it memorized.

Then, slowly and carefully, he typed:

“Taking off! I’ll text you when we land”

He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, then leaned back against the seat, watching the clouds blur past the window as the plane lifted off.

Chapter Text

Video games hadn’t been the only new hobby she’d picked up.

After the incident, she found herself stranded, completely cut off from the world she used to know. She was left searching for something, anything, to occupy her hands, her mind and her heart. Something to fill the silence that used to be filled with the pounding of talons and the roar of crowds.

Today, she sat in her desk chair, soft music humming from her computer speakers. Her voice followed the melody, gently and off-key in places, but full of passion as her fingers worked without looking, looping yarn in her lap..

It didn’t replace the thrill of riding.

Nothing could. 

The wind in her hair, the powerful weight of a living creature 3 times her size beneath her, the subtle shift in her hips that sent the bird into a sprint. The cheer of the crowd. The coldness of a medal slipping over her head, at least, what she imagined it might’ve felt like.

Crochet had started as a distraction from that. Her first project had been a row of chocobos, each one modeled after mounts she’d trained with over the years. She told herself it was cute. And it was, but after spending three nights crying herself to sleep with yellow yarn tangled in her lap, she realized it wasn’t healing. 

So she shifted focus.

The piece in her hands now was far from a bird. It was red and black, textured and horned. A stylized version of Ifrit, soft and palm-sized. The horns were a little shorter than the in-game model—she had tried making them accurate, but the damn thing kept tipping over due to its immense size. She’d finally conceded to slight creative liberties for the sake of stability.

Everything else was spot-on.

Down to the fiery thread she’d stitched around his claws. Down to the oddly sweet smile she’d given him. A silly expression for such a demonic creature, maybe, but it felt important. She didn’t want to capture Ifrit in battle. She wanted to capture the sweet and gentle creature behind the keyboard playing Ifrit. 

She’d made smaller plushes for Gav and Tarja too. But admittedly… she’d spent way more time on his.

It had to be perfect. The stitches, the proportions, the flame detailing. She’d restarted the entire body twice. Undone the legs. Recut the felt for the eyes more times than she could count. 

She just hoped he’d like it.

A few hours passed, and she nervously checked her phone, seeing the convention was starting soon. She wheeled herself down to the lobby, holding Torgal close on a short leash.

She usually took him out during off-hours as Torgal didn’t do well with men. When he was a pup, two teenage boys had pelted him with rocks while laughing. Another time while she was still living with her parents, a drunk neighbor had kicked him in the ribs for barking too loud.

He had gotten better—at least now he no longer tried to bite men on sight. Now he just growled. But he never seemed to forget.

It was one of the reasons dating had been so difficult. At least, that was the excuse she told herself.

Torgal’s tail began to thump against the side of her chair the moment headlights spilled across the sidewalk. He started bouncing in place, paws skittering slightly on the concrete.

Tarja pulled up to the curb and stepped out, dressed casually.

“Oh, I know, boy!” she said, laughing as she bent to ruffle his fur.

“It’s been a while,” she added, half-snarky, half-teasing, glancing over at Jill holding a fabric bag filled with something soft. She walked up and leaned down, pulling her into a hug.

“Who are those for?” she asked, eyeing the stuffed figures poking out the top. “One of them for Clive?”

“Yes,” Jill answered simply. “One of them is also for you.”

She didn’t miss the way Tarja’s mouth twitched in a smile as she opened the trunk. Jill carefully eased herself into the front seat while her friend loaded her chair into the back without comment.

Tarja never minded helping. Jill knew that. She also knew Tarja was her closest friend. But no matter how many times Tarja said it was no trouble, she couldn’t quiet the voice in her head that said she was a burden.

Everyone said she’d get used to her new life. And in some ways, she had.

She’d gotten used to the curious stares from children too young to know better. Gotten used to always calling ahead to ask about ramps, bathrooms, and doorway widths. Gotten used to never taking the stairs.

But this part, this need is what she hated. She hated watching her friend hoist the chair into the car like it was an extension of her body. Hated that they could no longer eat at their favorite restaurant downtown because of the steep cobblestone walkways and the set of stairs leading up to the lounge.

She hated it all. But she said nothing. And she smiled, because today wasn’t about that.

Today was the day she finally had a chance to take her experiences with Echoes outside the cramped walls of her apartment.

She had been counting down to this: the cosplays, the developer interviews, the voice actors, even a chance to try the teased expansion ahead of release. Even downtown would be lit up, the whole street turned into a celebration of the game she loved. Vendors selling themed merch, street performers, fans trading pins and fan art, she wanted to be part of it all.

She wasn’t much of a collector, more of a play-it-and-move-on type but she wouldn’t deny a Shiva-themed figurine would look good on her desk.

But most of all, she was finally going to meet him, the man who gave her butterflies without her ever seeing his face.

And that terrified her.

She felt guilty. She’d been dodging his texts. Not deliberately, just... from nerves. Somewhere along the way, she’d built this image in her mind. That there was something different between them, something she didn’t feel with Gav or Tarja. That maybe he understood her in a way no one else did. And in that same scenario she built up... it ended with him looking at her and recoiling.

Not from her words. From her chair.

It was irrational, maybe. But the thought was hard to shake. Dating had changed for her in ways she hadn’t expected since the incident. In the beginning, she tried to hide her condition, cropping her wheelchair out of photos, never mentioning it in her profile. But that didn’t sit right for long. She didn’t want to build something on a lie. So she stopped hiding.

After that, she went on a few dates. Even had a couple of short relationships. Her partners always said the same thing at first: “It doesn’t matter to me.” And maybe they meant it, at least at the time.

But the truth came out in the details.

They wanted to go hiking—she couldn’t. The weekend cabin trips had steep stairs and no accessibility options. Impromptu concerts where the venue had no accessible seating. Beach days where she’d be left sitting at the edge of the boardwalk while everyone else ran into the water.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to try. She just hated being the reason plans changed or were cancelled altogether. Maybe that had been the true reason why she didn’t seek anyone out.

Maybe that had been the reason why she clung to him, maybe because it was so much easier to live in this fantasy world where he didn’t know but still somehow liked her.

“Jill?” Tarja’s voice broke through her thoughts like a crack of thunder.

She blinked. “What?”

Tarja raised a brow. “I said, if things go well, feel free to “borrow” the hotel room with Clive.”

Heat rushed to Jill’s face instantly. This was going to be a long few days.

“I doubt it’ll come to that,” she muttered, and that was the truth.

Thankfully, the teasing ended there as they pulled into the hotel parking lot. The process of unloading wasn’t exactly quick, her condition saw to that but they managed. At least until they got to the front desk.

The accessible room they had booked, the last one available, had already been given away. Jill was prepared to let it go. She had gotten used to these little inconveniences, used to making do.

Tarja was not.

“We reserved the room,” she said firmly. “We paid for the room. We need the accessibility room.”

The attendant, flustered, explained that it had already been assigned to another couple who arrived earlier. It wasn’t until Jill rounded the corner in her chair that their expression changed entirely.

Suddenly, it was all apologies. The staff made a call to the current occupants of the room— an understandably irritated couple and informed them they’d have to switch.

Jill sat quietly as the voices around her escalated. Apologies, protests, explanations, and instructions. She just wanted to disappear. Crawl into a hole and vanish.

Unfortunately, the discomfort didn’t stop there.

The convention was held in the heart of downtown, where the streets pulsed with energy and chaos. Skyscrapers towered overhead, their glass faces reflecting the afternoon sun. Banner ads flapped from lampposts, each one marked with logos and stylized pixel art of the game’s iconic bosses. Somewhere in the distance, music thudded from a street performance, lost beneath the louder, more immediate noise of traffic and impatient voices.

The drop-off lane outside the convention center was a battlefield. Cars idled at odd angles, hazard lights blinking, people yelling across roofs. Everyone was either running late, in a rush, or angry about someone else getting in their way.

Tarja had barely managed to slow down near the curb before the honking began.

“Hurry up!” someone screamed from a truck two cars behind.

“You can’t park here!”

“You’re blocking the whole damn street!”

The blare of car horns became deafening. Jill flinched as one SUV leaned hard on its horn, the driver shouting out his window with his whole upper body halfway out the frame.

Tarja threw the trunk open and wrestled Jill’s chair into position, but no speed could ever be fast enough for this crowd.

“Just… Go ahead inside!” Tarja hissed, trying to keep her voice calm even as her knuckles went white on the handles. “I’ll park. Go inside.”

Jill barely heard her. Her heart thudded in her ears as she braced herself and moved into her chair, trying not to rush and fall, but still hurrying, knowing the longer she took, the more venom would be hurled their way.

She pushed herself forward with the plushie bag in her lap, the shouting behind her faded, but only slightly. 

The front of the convention center loomed ahead, massive glass doors opening and closing to a steady stream of people. Cosplayers posed by the entrance in elaborate gear, digital screens flickered with countdowns to panels and livestreams, and lines of attendees wrapped around the building.

Luckily there was an express lane for people with disabilities. As nice as that express lane was, she just needed a moment to collect herself. At least there was that, a silver lining  in this. Everything was going to be fine. Everything was—

Two children suddenly darted across the pavement in front of her, forcing her to clutch the wheels of her chair to stop short. The bag of plushies slipped from her lap and hit the pavement with a dull thud, spilling her hard work across the sidewalk.

She reached down, but her fingers just grazed the fabric due to the angle of the hill. No good. She twisted her chair so the side wheel faced the nearest one and leaned over again from the side. She’d have to do this one plush at a time. It wasn’t a big deal.

Everyone drops things.

She repeated it like a prayer. Everyone drops things.

But the longer she lingered there, crouched awkwardly in her chair, the more eyes she felt on her. Conversations lowered into murmurs. A few people stopped walking altogether. Some just stared. One woman whispered something to the person beside her like she wanted to help, but her partner just offered a faint shake of her head. 

Obviously no one wanted to lose their place in line. 

Her throat tightened. Her arms trembled slightly as she retrieved one plush and stuffed it back in the bag. Then the next. She wheeled forward, toward Ifrit, bending to reach and missed again. Her fingers brushed over its horn, but it slipped once again. 

To make matters worse,  when she wheeled forward to reach Ifrit, she glanced down, noticing her right shoe had slipped halfway off. She must’ve not pulled it on all the way when she left the hotel in the rush to leave. Or perhaps it slipped during her rush to get out of the car. 

Tears prickled behind her eyes, blurring the edges of the pavement. She was already on the verge. Already felt like such an outcast, unable to do the most mundane of tasks. This was stupid.

She wasn’t going to be able to do this. Not today. Maybe not at all.

She reached down again, but before she could try a third time, a hand swooped down and scooped up the Ifrit plushie.

“I—” she started, but her voice caught. She didn’t even look up. Probably Tarja, maybe a stranger doing the decent thing. Either way, she didn’t care. She just wanted to go back to the hotel and never leave the room again.

“Excuse me,” the voice said, warm and familiar like flint catching on old kindling. “You dropped this.”

She glanced up, only to find herself staring at quite possibly the most gorgeous man she had ever seen in her life. His hair was raven black and tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed in the best possible way. His eyes were piercing vivid blue like the ocean and they crinkled slightly at the edges with what looked like a mix of concern and curiosity. He was built like some kind of real-life video game protagonist: broad shoulders, long limbs, thick wrists, hands that looked like they could palm a boulder. One word echoed through her brain, unhelpfully—big.

Oh, and there was a scar just along his cheek, on the left side. It was soft and pale against the tan of his skin. It should’ve been intimidating, but instead, it made her heart stutter. It felt like the kind of mark a knight might carry home from battle. 

It was… incredibly cute on him.

She also found it curious and her mind already took her straight into the gutter— to other places of his body, wondering if similar markings appeared underneath.

Her throat felt tight. “T-thank you,” she managed, barely above a whisper.

There was something about his voice, it had been strikingly familiar but she couldn’t place where. 

He nodded, then glanced down at the plushie still in his hand. “Wait—is this… is this Ifrit?!” he asked, voice lighting up like a child’s.

“Yes!” she blurted, louder than intended. Her voice cracked a little. She flinched at her own volume, but he didn’t seem to notice.

All the weight of the hotel stress, the traffic, the honking, the people staring at her as she fumbled to collect herself—it vanished in an instant. 

“It’s absolutely meticulous,” he said, crouching slightly to examine it closer. “You even got the horns to scale.”

She lit up, not being able to help it. “Actually, they’re a little off,” she said, ducking her head as a smile pulled at her lips. “He kept falling over because of the length. So I scaled down the horns and scaled up the feet a bit to balance it out. In the game his feet are... smaller than they should be.”

She glanced up just then and saw the way he was looking at her, so genuinely interested, still crouched a bit to stay at her level and instantly flushed. What was she doing? Rambling about plushie proportions? He didn’t care about that. He was just being polite, returning something she’d dropped.

“It looks amazing,” he said quickly, almost cutting through her spiral like he could sense it. There was a bit of pink in his cheeks too. “You play Echoes?” he added, his voice laced with hope before he immediately winced. “I-I mean, obviously you do if you’re here. T-that’s… that’s a dumb question, sorry.”

He looked away, rubbed the back of his neck. The confidence had cracked.

She grinned, shy and crooked. “No, that’s not a dumb question,” she said warmly. “You’d be surprised how many people here haven’t touched the game. Some just come to sell stuff.” Then, trying not to sound too eager: “I actually just got through Drake’s Breath not too long ago. Ran it with some friends.”

His eyes widened. “Seriously? That’s, one of the hardest raids. My friends and I finished it not too long ago ourselves.”

She gave a small shrug, her fingers nervously fidgeting in her lap as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We were stuck on the boss for weeks,” she laughed, though her voice wavered just slightly. “Our friend tried to do the glitch with the horses.”

The stranger let out a warm, genuine laugh, like he knew exactly what she was talking about. “Mine did too. He got stuck, and we had to bail him out. Absolute disaster—but hilarious.”

His smile made her chest feel tight. She tucked her hair again, even though it didn’t need fixing, and offered a small smile of her own. A silence settled between them, the kind that felt oddly comfortable, and yet… electric.

Then she blinked, realizing she still hadn’t taken the plushie back from him. She’d been too focused on him.

“Oh—” he said, catching on. His voice dipped, suddenly shy once again. “A-are you selling these?” He glanced down at the plushie again. “I’d love to buy one, Ifrit is my favorite,” he added, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

“No!” she said, probably a little too abruptly. Her eyes widened the second the word left her mouth. “I mean—not that one,” she added quickly, her hands waving slightly as if to reel the moment back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. That one’s… really special. I made it for a friend.”

“Oh,” he said, drawing back a little, almost as if he was jealous. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I’m sorry,” she cut in gently. Her voice was softer now, tinged with something she hoped didn’t sound too much like regret. “I just made them for some friends. But maybe I could sell some in the future.”

He smiled, a small, understanding smile that made her stomach flip. Then, carefully, he placed the plushie in her lap.

“Well, I’d certainly buy one” he said softly, causing her the largest smile she’s had in recent memory..

As he stood up to leave, she finally got a full sense of just how massive he was. Broad shoulders and a towering frame. He blocked the sunlight for a moment.

Gods, this man was massive, she thought—and unfairly good-looking.

Before he could walk away, the stranger’s gaze drifted downward as he paused.

“Oh,” he murmured, then crouched back down beside her. “Do you mind if I?” he asked, his hands hovering politely near her foot.

She followed his eyes and felt a flush of embarrassment rise to her cheeks. Her right shoe still halfway off, dangling awkwardly. 

She wasn’t helpless. She could manage to put on and tie her own shoes; it just took longer, and often required balancing her bag or awkward angles in the chair. But he looked so genuinely concerned and eager to help. And if she was being honest with herself… She was looking for any excuse for him not to go.

She gave him a small nod.

His large hands moved with surprising delicacy, cupping her heel, gently guiding the shoe back into place. He laced it with care, looping the strings neatly, not too tight but not too loose. Not once did he fumble or rush. It was like he was afraid of hurting her, even though she couldn’t feel it.

She watched him work, unable to look away. His touch was thoughtful in a way she wasn’t used to.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He stood again, brushing his hands off, then offered a warm smile. “Of course.”

And just like that—her phone rang.

She blinked, startled back into reality, and answered. Tarja had asked her to drop a pin so she could find her. Jill quickly gave her the location and sent it over.

“Sorry,” she said with a sheepish smile as she looked back at him.

“It’s alright,” he said. Then his expression shifted, like he was working up the courage to speak. “I, uh… I’m supposed to go meet some friends. But maybe… I’ll see you around?”

She hesitated, heart fluttering in her chest. Part of her wanted to ask his name, anything to make sure this wasn’t the last time. But…

She didn’t want to pressure him. Besides, he was hard to miss, quite literally. Surely she'd spot him again.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I hope so...”

He smiled just a little and turned, glancing over his shoulder, almost like he’d forgotten something… or was thinking better of leaving.

He headed toward the back of the long line he’d stepped out of for her, now far behind where he’d most likely been. Guilt curled in her stomach. He’d given up his place in line just to help her.

Jill didn’t say anything right away. She was still staring at the crowd, at the line, at the spot where the stranger had vanished.

Tarja rolled up beside her a moment later, sunglasses pushed up into her hair. She said something, but all Jill could do was scan the crowd, trying to spot where he’d ended up in line.

Tarja followed her gaze, then cocked a brow. “Jill?”

She blinked, startled. “What?”

“I asked who that was.” A small grin tugged at the corner of Tarja’s mouth. “The guy you were talking to. He looked like he could bench-press the merch tent.”

“I… don’t know.” Jill shook her head, but her voice was a little too soft. “He was just passing by.”

“Mmhmm,” Tarja said, clearly not buying it. “Looked like he wanted to do more than just pass by.”

Jill made a face. “Tarja…”

She’d gotten used to this over the years, the way Tarja would nudge, but never shove her to do more. One date doesn’t mean a commitment , she’d always say. It was gentle. And while slightly annoying at times, Jill knew she just wanted her to be happy.

Tarja leaned her elbow on the armrest of Jill’s chair and gave her a look. “I’m just saying, he was cute.”

“He was…” Jill admitted, which was more ammo than she’d typically give her.

Tarja’s grin widened. “Clive’s got some competition, it seems.”

“He does not! I don’t—” Jill clamped both hands over her mouth, but it was too late.

Tarja beamed. “So if Clive were here, and that guy was standing right next to him, you’d—”

“Tarja!”

Her face went scarlet.

“Okay, okay,” Tarja laughed, raising her hands in surrender. Then she peeked over her shoulder at the line. “He’ll be a few people ahead of me, but you sure you don’t want me to go over with the ol’ ‘my friend over there thinks you’re cute’ ?”

Jill groaned into her hands as her face beamed even redder. “Please don’t.”

“Suit yourself,” Tarja smirked, wheeling her ahead toward the entrance. “Let’s go find the boys.”

Chapter Text

The con was an array of wonder.

Rows of stalls spilled across the convention center, their tables cluttered with hand-painted prints, handmade plushies, and glittering props. A sea of color surged between them, every direction filled with people dressed as their favorite characters. She spotted more than a few Ifrits and Bahamuts, even a scattering of Odins, each costume growing more and elaborate as the day went on. 

They all looked incredible, far better than anything she could have managed. Still, she felt the faint sting of regret for not dressing up herself. There were so many Shivas. All different heights, builds, and skin tones—each person stepping into their favorite character without hesitation or fear.

She wondered, half idly, if Clive or Gav had ever thought about dressing up. Gav, she suspected, would never have the patience for it, nor the eye for detail. And Clive… well, Clive had never been one for the spotlight. That thought unsettled her a little; the ones not in costume seemed the true minority here.

But no matter how much she tried to focus on the crowd, her mind kept circling back to him, the stranger. The way he had seen her. Really seen her, not just the chair.

Not that he hadn’t noticed it. Everyone noticed. Pretending otherwise was far beyond a lie.

She was used to the flicker of curiosity in people’s eyes, the silent question of what happened. Even when fleeting, the question always came, even if it wasn’t spoken. Though usually, the moment she mentioned once being a chocobo rider, they thought they had reached their answer. But that was only ever half-true. Her story wasn’t as simple as falling from a mount. 

“Do you know where they are?” Tarja’s voice pulled Jill from the spiral of her thoughts.

“Hm?” Jill muttered, blinking down at her phone. She thumbed open the last message from Clive. They were already here and waiting. The plan was to meet outside the entrance to one of the developer panels. They’d managed to score exclusive tickets to see the new expansion trailer before it went public. She should have been buzzing with excitement.

Instead, her mind wandered as she wheeled herself through the thick crowd, weaving past oversized props and clusters of cosplayers posing for photos. Her heart wasn’t in the moment. It was still searching, scanning every face for a glimpse of him, the stranger with the scar and raven-dark hair.

She should have asked his name. She should have asked for his number. Anything would do. Even the smallest scrap of detail would have been something to hold onto. 

Silly. That’s what it was. Silly to think she would have done anything with his information, even if she’d had it. What was she going to do? Text him? Ask him out? The idea seemed absurd. He hadn’t seemed particularly interested; he’d just wanted to buy a plushie. He had been kind, that was all.

And yet…

Her thoughts drifted traitorously, imagining the ridiculousness and real consideration she had of tugging off her shoes and dropping them in the middle of the con floor, just to see if he’d appear out of nowhere again, kneeling to tie them as he had done by the entrance.

“We’re supposed to meet them in five minutes,” Tarja reminded her, leaning closer as though Jill might not hear over the loud voices around them.

The words barely landed. Jill’s eyes kept pulling back to the sea of strangers, to any head of dark hair that made her pulse quicken for the briefest beat.

And with that came guilt. Clive and Gav had come all this way and here she was, fawning over the most attractive person she’d ever met.

Forget it, she told herself as she shook her head. You’re here to see Clive , she told herself.

Clive was smart, he was kind, he was thoughtful and sweet. The raven-haired stranger in all his good looks and shoe-tying skills could never match up to Clive. He would never stay up well past when he should have fallen asleep just to keep her company, or sit with her on the phone, his voice distracting her as thunder cracked outside her window.

Because she hated storms. There had been one the day of her incident, the sky tearing itself apart, rain hammering down in sheets. Lightning nearly everywhere. She couldn’t hear thunder anymore without thinking of that day.

Which was a shame because the entire reason she had been outside in the first place was because she used to love them.

She closed her eyes and let herself picture him, picture the man behind the keyboard. She’d never seen him face-to-face, not once, but her mind filled in the blanks anyway: Cherry blonde hair falling a little messy across his forehead, clean shaven with bright eyes, warmth radiating with kindness, and a smile that carried a spark of mischief. She imagined him much taller than her, but lanky in a way. 

Her stomach knotted as she wheeled toward the meeting spot. Her nerves were a mush. Would they see her and feel pity? Would they see her chair first and not her? Would they regret coming all this way once they realized she couldn’t keep up, and that their plans would undoubtedly have to change?

Gav had texted about going to the beach afterward, his excitement was plain through the screen. Both he and Clive lived landlocked, the pair probably had only ever seen the ocean in passing. She could picture them there, laughing, toes in the water, splashing like childern. And her? She’d be waiting at the boardwalk, sand sticking to the wheels of her chair, the salt air clinging to her skin. Watching. Always watching, but never participating.

“Ya must be Tarja!” said a voice that tugged Jill out of her spiraling thoughts. It wasn’t quite what she had imagined, a shade rougher maybe, but the accent was unmistakable.

“And I’m sure the both of ya know already that from all the times you called my name, tryin’ to heal youse,” he added with a chuckle.

Tarja laughed softly and stepped forward, pulling him into a friendly hug. He returned it without hesitation before glancing past her shoulder.

“And you…” His eyes landed on Jill. His brow creased, not in judgement, but in brief surprise, like he’d expected something different. “Jill?”

Her throat went dry. She nodded quickly. “Hi, Gav.” She extended her arm for a handshake, but he wasn’t having any of that. With a grin, he crouched down to her level and pulled her into a bear hug, cutting clean through the fragile awkwardness that clung to her.

She let out a startled laugh against his shoulder, caught between nerves and relief. 

“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” Tarja said quietly, though Jill caught the faint warmth in her tone.

“It is, I can hardly—whoa.” Gav stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as they landed on the plushies in Jill’s lap. “You made these?”

“Oh.” Jill shifted, holding up a little model of Sleipnir. “I thought you might like this one. For your favorite mount… and, well, that glitch you pulled, finally getting us through the raid.”

“By the Founder!” Gav practically snatched it up, turning it over in his hands like a priceless relic. “I—I don’t even know what to say!” His grin split wide, then faltered when his gaze fell on the other plushie resting in her lap. “Wait… is that Ifrit? Clive’s Ifrit? Oh–he’s going to love it!”

Jill’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric, heat rushing to her cheeks. “It is,” she admitted softly.

Tarja smirked, casting a knowing glance around the hall. “Speaking of which— where is he?”

Jill followed her gaze almost instinctively, eyes darting over the crowd as if the man she had built up in her mind might suddenly be standing there. Her shoulders slumped when Gav finally answered.

“He had to leave,” he said casually.

The words hit harder than she expected. Jill’s shoulders sank, heavy as stone, until she felt like she was folding in on herself, sinking past the buzz of the con floor. She had braced for nerves, for awkwardness, but not for absence.

“What?” Tarja asked, brows pinching. “Why?”

“Oh, he’s coming back,” Gav added quickly, and Jill’s shoulders shot up again, hope snaring her breath. “He had to run to the pharmacy. He didn’t realize they close early on weekends this far west.”

The mention tugged at a memory— one of their late-night chats, Clive had offhandedly mentioned he was on medication. He never said for what and she never asked, she was most likely on twice as much as him anyway.

“Anyway, he’ll be back any minute, he just had to get back in line.” Gav’s eyes roved the hall, expectant, as though Clive might materialize between booths.

Jill swallowed hard, the sound loud in her own ears. As much as she longed for him to finally appear, she almost wished the moment could be sooner. This edge between meeting and not-meeting was exhausting, the dread and hope warring in her chest. Breaking the ice would mean laying bare the truth of their friendship, and some part of her was terrified to know if it truly held the same weight in the real world.

But she knew it had to happen and if it needed to happen, best be over with it now.

“We should probably head in,” Tarja said, pointing toward the room.

They both nodded, Jill maneuvered her chair alongside her as they joined the slow shuffle of people into the auditorium. “You can thank me later, Jill,” Tarja added, passing her the ticket.

Jill tilted her head, puzzled. “For what?”

“I just got you really good seats.” Tarja’s grin was too smug to ignore.

Jill frowned, uncertain what that even meant. The convention had assigned seating, and she already had the disability-accessible space, arguably the best spot in the entire auditorium. One of the few silver linings of not being able to walk.

She rolled into place, her seat sat in a prime row, elevated just enough to see the full screen without obstruction. Two rows of people were in front of her, and further beyond, Tarja and Gav sat together. There was only one “normal” chair beside her, just one. Jill blinked, realizing the seat next to her was most likely already taken, hence why they didn’t sit together.

The lights dimmed.

A flare of color burst across the massive screen: brilliant turquoise waters crashing with sunlight, sails catching the wind, and distant storm clouds roiling at the horizon. The auditorium vibrated with the swelling orchestral score. Wave-swept decks and great ships creaked as they cut across glittering seas. Naval exploration. Cannons thundered. A harpoon whistled through the air. A shadow swept beneath the surface, scales flashing, Leviathan– the sea serpent, writhing and roaring as crews scrambled to their posts.

Jill’s lips parted in awe. For a moment, she forgot herself entirely. Her chest lifted as she imagined their rag tag team of outlaws—her, Tarja, Gav and Clive, all taking to the seas together. Would they be pirates? Privateers? Maybe smugglers of contraband aether? The thought made her grin, lost in the world.

This was what gaming was about, getting away from it all, getting away from the real world, the real issues, just for a glimmer of time, just so that—

“Excuse me,” said a voice as someone shuffled carefully into the seat beside her.

She barely noticed. Still fixed on the screen, she murmured a quiet “You’re fine,” and shifted her chair slightly to give the stranger more room.

Naval combat blazed across the screen, a cutscene showing crews firing harpoons while Leviathan rose from the deep, water cascading like a living mountain. Jill leaned forward instinctively, caught in the swell of it.

Then, out of habit, she glanced to her side.

Her pulse stuttered. The man sitting next to her wasn’t a stranger. He was the stranger.

The darkness of the auditorium cloaked most of his features, but not enough. That jagged scar carved across his face, familiar even in shadow, illuminated now and again by the shifting light of the trailer.

Her breath caught, heat rushing to her cheeks so fast it left her dizzy.

The trailer thundered to its close, Leviathan breaching with a roar, a storm splitting the skies, the expansion’s title slamming onto the screen. The crowd erupted with cheers, applause shaking the room.

But Jill didn’t clap. She sat frozen, hands curled in her lap, her heart hammering louder than any applause.

The stranger looked back at her, offering a small smile as the lights shifted and one of the developers walked onto the stage, thanking the crowd for their patience. A polite wave of applause rippled through the auditorium, but Jill hardly noticed.

She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him, from those eyes, that scar, that sense of familiarity that tugged at her chest. It was as if the rest of the world had blurred into background noise.

“H-hi again,” she whispered, almost afraid the words wouldn’t leave her lips.

His smile widened just slightly. “Damn, looks like I missed half the trailer,” he said, leaning closer so she could hear him over the murmurs of the crowd. His voice had that same timbre as before and it made her pulse quicken.

Did he… want her to explain it? The thought caught in her throat, fluttering like a thought desperate to be released into words. She’d tell him everything if he asked, down to the smallest sparkle of sunlight on those digital waves.

“You… didn’t miss too much,” she said quickly, then winced, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “I mean, it was mostly showing off naval stuff. Ships, crews, the Leviathan fight—it looked amazing. I was already imagining how it’d feel, sailing with my friends…” Her words trailed off, suddenly worried she sounded childish and silly.

He chuckled, meeting her silliness head on. “Leviathan, huh? Oh, I can’t wait.” His head tilted slightly, eyes flicking back to the stage where the developer launched into a spiel about combat tweaks. But then he glanced at her again, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So… pirates or privateers?”

Her lips parted, a rush of warmth blooming in her chest. She swallowed. “I was learning pirates,” she admitted softly, as if it were a secret. “We lean a little on the outlaw side of things.”

His grin deepened, conspiratorial. “Yeah. I can see that. Me too.”

Jill’s heart stumbled, beating too fast, and this time she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t completely swept away. It felt like the rest of the room blurred out, leaving only his gaze anchoring her in place.

“Clive, there you are!” Gav’s voice boomed across the room, shattering the spell.

Jill’s breath caught. Clive? Her head whipped around, searching the room with frantic eyes, as if he might step out from the crowd, smiling at her the way he did in her head. For a moment, the gorgeous stranger beside her completely faded away. All she could think was where? Where was he?

Her pulse raced faster, almost painfully, and she pressed a hand against her chest as if that might slow it. Calm down, she told herself. She didn’t need heart problems stacked on top of everything else.

“Gav,” the stranger answered, plain and steady.

Jill froze. Her thoughts scrambled to make sense of it. How did this stranger know Gav’s name?

Gav and Tarja were already weaving through the thinning crowd toward them. “Clive, this here is Tarja,” Gav said with a grin, clapping the man’s shoulder before the stranger pulled Tarja into a light hug.

Tarja’s eyes went wide the moment she looked between him and Jill. Her jaw practically hit the floor, but Jill couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t—

“—and it looks like you already met Jill,” Gav added, gesturing between them with casual cheer.

His head whipped around, staring at her. She saw the crimson swelling rush to his face, climbing higher with every passing second.

Her own face started to burn. It burned hotter than a forge fire, so hot she was sure it was visible, a flush as red as Metia. Slowly—almost against her will—her gaze slid back to him, and the smile he gave her was so familiar, so achingly warm, that her chest tightened with a sudden dawning realization.

She could almost feel herself sinking into her chair, sinking further and further and further. She wanted to run away, to hide in a room, if only to let the blood drain from her face so she could collect her thoughts.

She gleaned over at the stranger again. Or rather… Clive again.

No, she said to herself. What are even the chances…? This gorgeous stranger was…? No, it couldn’t be. The person she had been talking to this entire time?

Her fingers twisted together in her lap, knuckles pale. She tried to steady her breathing, but every time she looked at him, her chest tightened all over again.

She glanced over at this massive wall that was called a man, then at his hands, how did he even use a keyboard? They were massive. 

Of course . She thought, vaguely remembering when they first started playing he would accidentally heal himself constantly, even when he didn’t mean to. Because his hands were huge. One finger could cover two keys without even trying. It wasn’t until she suggested he switch to a controller that the problem stopped.

She wanted Tarja to wheel her away. Wheel her into oncoming traffic if she had to. Anything to escape the way her face was turning redder, and redder, and somehow even redder still.

Tarja cleared her throat, drawing the group’s attention. “Clive… Jill. Jill… Clive.”

“I-It’s nice to see you again, Jill,” he said softly and shyly, crouching down to her level.

She braced her hands on the armrests and leaned forward into a hug.

Oh.

Oh , he smelled like dusk and fire, chopped wood and maple.

Her arms tightened just a little, instinctively, before she caught herself clinging onto him, secretly hoping he’d take her with him when he stood up. 

Then something in her eased. Just like that. This wasn’t some intimidating beautiful stranger, this was the man she’d spent countless nights talking to, laughing with, venting to. The man behind the voice she knew so well.

He let go, rising back to his full height. Gods, he was massive.

She looked down at the plushie, Ifrit dangling in her arms as though she were guarding him, making sure he reached his master safely.

She smiled, remembering his reaction when they’d met outside, how his face had lit up when he saw it, how genuinely happy he seemed at something she had made.

“Here,” she said softly, holding out the plushie, “this one is yours.”

He chuckled, taking it gently. “How much do I owe you?”

She laughed, lightly, and he joined in, breaking some of the thin tension that had lingered between them.

He clipped it onto his belt with a premade hook that was attached, and she couldn’t help but glance up at him.

He was enormous. Broad shoulders, hands that could probably palm her entire head, towering over her even if she did by the grace of the gods manage to stand.

And then her eyes drifted down, taking in the sight of the tiny plushie now secured at his waist.

He looked absurd. Endearingly, ridiculously, utterly absurd, like a gentle giant wearing a toy as a badge of honor.

The four of them wandered out of the auditorium, Gav and Tarja walking ahead, animatedly discussing the new trailer. Clive lingered behind, staying close to Jill, he made sure her feet were properly settled in the wheelchair’s footrests. When they reached the door, he held it open for her with an attentiveness that made her heart flutter slightly.

What happens now? She wondered. Just the other night they stayed well past midnight, for him anyway talking about the difficulty with their parents.

He came forward with a terrible past about how terrible his mother was. About how once for a punishment she had once kept him locked inside his room while his brother played with the friends she had invited over.

They then had a serious chat about how it would have been nice if they had grown up together. They even both discussed how neither one of them had gone to their high school dances and how they could have gone with each other instead.

And now for some reason, meeting in person felt like their relationship had been reset. 

Was this normal? She had been looking forward to meeting him for so long, and now that she had she had no idea what to say. Could they have just picked up where they left off? Had he still been interested despite the chair? 

“So,” he said, somehow sensing her panic, glancing down at her with a hint of mischief in his eyes, “I guess we’re choosing pirates then?” His voice carried a teasing edge, but it wasn’t mocking, more like an invitation to continue their little game.

“I think so,” she replied, letting herself relax in his presence. “Don’t you?”

“I suppose,” he said, eyes flicking back to the line of the crowd, then returning to her with that calm, steady focus she had come to know through countless chats. “Gav is already wanted by three other factions, and Tarja is already labeled a traitor. We’re already outlaws, mind as well get paid for it.”

The group wandered outside into a row lined with video game merchandise, falling into a comfortable silence as they browsed.

“Jill!” he said suddenly, rushing toward an vendor stand.

“Look!” He pointed excitedly at a vendor’s display, though the table was a little too tall for her to see over.

Realizing quickly, Clive picked up the piece that had caught his eye. It was a keychain model of Inviticus, the legendary sword from the game.

He held it out to her, sunlight glinting off the blade’s polished surface. It was beautiful but the big, dumb smile on his face was even more beautiful.

She smiled softly, reaching to take it when—

“Hey!” the vendor snapped. “If you’re not planning on buying, don’t touch it!”

“S-sorry,” Clive muttered, quickly fumbling the keychain, “I was just—”

“I don’t care what you were doing,” the man cut him off. His thinning hair clung desperately to his scalp as he sneered. “You’ve the hands of an ogre, you’d break it in a heartbeat. And by the look of you,” he said, giving Clive a slow once-over, “you couldn’t afford it anyway.”

“You’re being incredibly rude,” Jill shot back, anger flashing in her eyes.

The vendor leaned over the table to glare at her.

“He was just showing me the piece since your table’s too high,” she snapped, her blood boiling.

“The table’s high so children can’t just grab things,” the man retorted. “Not my fault he also can’t read.” He jabbed a finger toward the small sign: Please do not touch.

“Okay, and you’ve never made a mistake?” Jill snatched the model from him and tossed it back onto the table with a clatter.

“Come on, Clive.” She gripped his hand with one arm and wheeled herself forward with the other. She refused to let his day be ruined over something so small.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered once they’d moved away. “He was an asshole. . I thought it was neat—until I found out who made it.”

“It’s alright,” Clive said quietly, still holding her hand. His tone was practiced, like he was used to this sort of thing. “I shouldn’t have grabbed it.”

“So?” she countered, feeling like she was defending him from himself. “You made an honest mistake. Do you really think that warranted him yelling at you?”

“I—” he stumbled, glancing down at the ground. “It was in clear sight. The sign, I mean.”

“Maybe. But would you have said that to someone else if they accidentally grabbed it?”

He glanced back at her, almost like he was conceding defeat. “No,” he muttered shyly.

She didn’t answer, just kept strolling along with his hand in hers as they caught up to their friends.

He chuckled, drawing her eyes back up to him. 

“What is it?” she asked playfully.

“Nothing,” he murmured, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “This just reminds me of the first time you defended me against Tarja. She called me out for not talking.” His teeth flashed in the light.

Gods, this man’s smile was going to be her undoing.

She laughed softly, drifting with him down the alley of merchandise. Maybe, in a way, they were resetting. And maybe… maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Chapter Text

He could count on one hand the number of crushes he’d had in his life. There was… Lysa in the third grade. He remembered plucking flowers from the garden and presenting them to her in class.

His young, eight-year-old brain hadn’t anticipated what would happen next. He hadn’t said a word, just handed them over and walked away. What followed was a chorus of laughter— whether at him or not, he never really knew. It hardly mattered, children laugh at a variety of things. Though the sting stayed with him far longer than it should have.

Caitlin in high school was another. They’d dated, for a time but every night seemed to end the same way: with his mother’s sharp voice calling her a whore, with him shouting back until his throat was raw, with Caitlin slipping quietly out the door. The cycle couldn’t last, and it hadn’t.

Later, there was the bartender at the place he’d settled into after the war. She had been kind and warm, always quick with a smile. For a while he thought there might be something there. But she had been going steady with someone else. They’d remained friends, though he visited the bar a lot less than he used to as he had grown tired of drowning his sorrows at the end of the bottle.

And then there was Jill. The last two crushes of his life had both been her—Jill, and Jill again.

The first Jill was the one he’d carried in his imagination, all brown hair falling in gentle curls, hazel eyes and a soft smile that always seemed to reach him despite his disfigured face.

But this Jill… the one rolling beside him now, the Jill he’d only just met hours ago in line, completely outshined every version of her he had ever imagined. Her silver hair caught the light in ways that stole his breath. Her voice that was always so soft over calls and voice chat was even gentler in person. Even when she’d nearly torn the head off that vendor, it had been soft.

He hadn’t expected the chair, but it made sense. Jill was a chocobo rider, injuries like that were heartbreakingly common in the sport. Still, he felt like a massive jerk remembering the times he’d urged her to keep riding, or the day he’d griped over the mic about being on his feet all shift. Every complaint, every careless word replayed in his mind under a fine-tooth comb.

He sighed. His only true regret was not knowing her sooner, not being there to help her through what must have been a terrible ordeal.

But Jill didn’t seem weighed down by those same thoughts, or if she did, she hid it well.

The lady that occupied every fiber of his thoughts was a few feet ahead, wheeling forward while Tarja and Gav howled with laughter over something at a nearby merch stand. They carried themselves with a natural ease he envied, no hint of the slight awkwardness that seemed to linger around him and Jill.

Though, he supposed that came from his hopefully-not-one-sided desire to take her back to the hotel with him. In reality, he had no idea where they stood. They’d flirted online, sure but had it meant anything? They’d even joked about being each other’s dates to their high school dances, but had that been just friendship? Would the flirting continue now, or simmer into something more platonic?

That was the difference between the pairs, he realized. Gav already had a steady partner, and Tarja seemed to be seeing someone too, if he remembered correctly. They simply knew where they stood.

Jill glanced back at him again, she’d been doing that every so often, as he drifted just behind her.

Gods, he thought. She was gorgeous.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of worry.

No , he thought. He was losing any sense of logic. She lived on the other end of the country, they’d only officially known each other for about an hour, and already he was planning their second, maybe even third date in his head.

“Yeah,” he said instead, forcing what he hoped was a soft smile. “Just a bit hungry.” 

At least that part was true, the airplane food had been incredibly dull, and he hadn’t had the chance to explore any options around the city.

She gave him a small smile back, one that showed the edge of her teeth, like she hadn’t meant for it to, before she glanced away.

“We can get some food soon,” Tarja called over her shoulder, weaving through the thick crowd.

Before Jill could answer, Gav tapped Tarja and tugged her toward a nearby booth where VR headsets hung from racks. The two of them slipped them on without hesitation, grabbing the bright plastic pistols as the game started up.

On the big screen above, their perspectives were displayed, shambling hordes of undead rushing toward them. Jill found herself laughing and cheering Tarja on as she nearly doubled Gav’s score, blasting through the swarms with frightening yet utterly determined precision.

It was silly, it was just a demo, nothing serious… and yet Jill couldn’t stop the little pang that tugged at her chest. Watching them throw themselves into it looked fun. She envied how effortlessly they got to join in.

“Ahh!” Gav crowed, ducking down onto one knee as a cluster of enemies swarmed him. He put his head down in defeat as his screen declared him the loser.

Jill’s gaze slid sideways to Clive, who stood quietly at her side, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Don’t you want a go?” she asked.

He shook his head with an easy smile. “I’m okay, zombies aren’t really my thing.”

But Jill knew, she felt the shift in his voice when he lied. He wasn’t skipping because he didn’t want to play, he was skipping because she couldn’t join in. He was choosing to stay beside her. The sweetness of it warmed her chest, but it pricked her with guilt too. Why should he have to hold back because of her?

This is exactly the reason she didn’t want to go. She had already informed Tarja that under no circumstances would they stop themselves from doing something just because she couldn’t.

“C’mon,” Gav said, thrusting the headset into his hands. “It’s fun.”

“Go ahead,” Jill added, forcing a smile as she gestured toward the game.

Clive turned the headset over in his hands, then rested his other hand lightly on the handle of her wheelchair. His brow furrowed as if he were debating with himself. 

Finally, he looked down at her.

“Will you join me?” he asked, offering the headset toward her.

“H-how?” Her breath caught. She wanted to, gods she’d love to, but she just physically couldn’t.

“Can you trust me?”

Her heart fluttered at the question. She hesitated only a moment before nodding.

Perhaps he’d have her watch his screen above them, pointing out enemies that he failed to notice. 

Whatever she expected, it wasn’t what he did next. With a sure grip on her chair, Clive wheeled her onto the open floor.

“Clive?” she asked, voice laced with a mix of curiosity and nervous laughter.

“Just trust me,” he said again, holding the headset in one hand and pressing the light plastic gun into her lap with the other.

She reluctantly slid the headset over her head, pushing back her hair as the low-poly battlefield came into focus. The world was blocky, slightly disorienting, but oddly immersive. She could only imagine how dizzying it was for normal people, who not only see but also move about within the virtual space.

She glanced around and caught sight of his avatar beside her, then it vanished behind her. The countdown ticked down, and for a heartbeat she wondered what in the world he was doing.

“Shoot!” Clive barked as the clock struck zero, his voice sharp with mock urgency. Her chair suddenly pivoted left as he guided it smoothly by the handles.

Her instincts kicked in. She fired, the plastic gun buzzed in her hand as the zombie collapsed in a spray of pixels. A laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it.

“On your right!” he shouted, whipping her chair toward the other side. Her hair flew across her face, and she let out a startled yelp.

“Sorry!” he muttered quickly, still wrestling with his own strength.

“Behind you!” she cried, seeing the red damage icon flash indicating an enemy right behind them.

“I got him!” he barked back, spinning himself halfway around and blasting it before it reached her.

“Go Jill!” Gav cheered from the sidelines, and though she couldn’t see her, Jill felt Tarja’s grin from across the room.

Her giggles turned into full-on laughter as Clive spun her chair again and again— sometimes in sharp pivots, sometimes in full circles when the enemies came from all directions. It was wild, reckless, and probably ridiculous to anyone watching, but she oddly found herself not caring in the slightest. 

In the headset, she couldn’t see anyone else, only the faint silhouette of his avatar twirling her around.

Though, one thought did rear its head.  

“W-we’re supposed to be playing against each other!” she managed to shout between bursts of laughter.

“Says who?” he shot back, knocking out an enemy that slipped into her blind spot. ”We can make our own rules.”

Her cheeks hurt from smiling. It was fast, frantic, and absolutely absurd, but most importantly, it was fun.

Eventually and mercifully, the game ended. Her final few shots going wild as nausea started to tangle with the VR spinning and Clive’s eager handling of her chair.

She yanked the headset off with a gasp of relief, blinking as the real world swam back into view. To her surprise, a small crowd had gathered around them. A light smattering of applause rose as her name appeared on the leaderboard, just a few points above Clive’s.

Her cheeks burned hot as Tarja smiled proudly from the sidelines, her eyes glittering like she’d just watched Jill win gold. Gav let out a low whistle, grinning as he gave her an exaggerated bow of respect.

“Good job,” Clive said warmly, his smile soft as leaned down toward her.

He returned the headset and plastic gun to the developers running the booth. They were staring, one spinning in place, chattering in rapid bursts of a language Jill didn’t understand, gesturing between the two of them, the headset, and the wheelchair as if their brains were sparking with ideas.

I think we worked up quite the appetite,” Tarja said, steering them toward the exit.

Jill’s mind spun with possibilities, restaurants she knew, options that might work but each one came with a silent calculation: steps at the entrance, narrow hallways, a curb without a ramp. She kept those thoughts to herself, fingers brushing the granola bar in her purse just in case she ended up sidelining herself. She wouldn’t stop the others from eating where they wanted.

“What about this place?” Gav suggested, phone already out, a restaurant pulled up with 4.3 stars rating and only a four-minute walk away.

Danny’s Grill. Great food. No ramp.

“Ehh, not really in the mood for sandwiches,” Tarja said quickly, casual as ever.

Gav just shrugged and kept scrolling. “Alright, what about this one?”

A Rosarian grill on the east side of town. That would mean a taxi. Hauling her chair. Extra time and effort.

“Ehh,” Clive said, scrunching his nose. “I love and miss my home, but I’ve had enough Rosarian food for one life.”

That made Jill glance at him in surprise. Clive always complained about missing Rosarian cooking. And Tarja? She was the least picky eater Jill knew. Why were they suddenly batting away suggestions?

Her guilt spiked when she caught Tarja’s all knowing eye. 

Finally, Gav stopped scrolling. “Alright, here’s one. Llocal bar, few blocks over. Food’s good, drinks even better...” He turned the screen so they could see.

She didn’t even look at the menu, she knew where it was and the fact there was indeed a ramp. 

Clive and Tarja nodded immediately.

Tarja glanced at Jill. “That okay with you?”

Jill’s throat tightened. She smiled anyway, relief softening the edges of her voice. “That’s fine.”

And just like that, they set off, the quiet weight in her chest lifting with each step they took. 

The four of them went out for an early dinner, the table cluttered with half-finished plates and drinks that none of them had the energy to finish. They’d tossed around the idea of hitting an arcade or grabbing a few drinks after, but exhaustion weighed heavy on the boys. Gav had his head propped in his hand, eyelids drooping as he fought to stay awake. Even Clive looked worn down, his attention drifting in and out as he tried to keep up with the conversation, nodding a beat too late at times.

Afterward, Jill stopped to pick up Torgal from the doggy day care. The moment he saw her, the overgrown, tail-wagging beast practically launched himself into her lap. His paws pressed against her shoulders as he licked her cheek, whining happily like she’d been gone for weeks instead of a day. She laughed, running her hands through his fur as he tried to curl himself into her, all eighty pounds of him vibrating with joy.

Back at the hotel, she was the first to claim the shower, warm water soothing the day’s aches away. She quietly thanked Tarja again for making sure they’d booked a place with an accessible bathroom. By the time she slid into bed, hair damp and body relaxed, she had already had a new message from Clive:

I hope the VR wasn’t too much

Her lips curved into an involuntary smile, the same smile she always seemed to wear whenever his name lit up her screen. Without hesitation, she typed back:

Not at all. I had a lot of fun :)

What started as a simple text turned into hours of back-and-forth. They drifted from one subject to another without effort.

There had been an awkwardness earlier that day, sure, when they’d first met face-to-face. But now? It was completely gone. She was curled beneath the covers, giggling quietly, her silver hair spilling over the pillow, her heart pounding at every new notification. He’d said Gav was already passed out, blaming the snoring for keeping him awake. But by ten o'clock, nearly one in the morning to the time he was adjusted to, Jill couldn’t help but wonder—was that really the reason he was still up?

Her fingers hovered over her keyboard before she finally typed:

You should go to bed, the jetlag’s probably getting to you

A pause. Then his reply:

I’m okay

Another pause. Then the one that made her breath catch: 

I like talking to you

- - - - -

She’s telling me I should get some sleep,” he muttered to himself, staring at the phone. “Does that mean she doesn’t want to talk to me?” His brain ran at a thousand beats a minute, pulling apart every word, every pause, every possible hidden meaning. He didn’t want to say goodnight.

Why not just say that? his mind argued. His fingers hovered over the screen, typing out the words, then deleting them, then typing them again. His chest felt tight, like if he said the wrong thing, she’d see through him—that he liked her far more than she could possibly like him. Finally, he hit send and rolled over on the bed, too nervous to look at the screen.

Minutes passed. Nothing. His stomach twisted. A few more minutes. Still nothing.

“Shit.” he muttered, did he say something wrong? Maybe he sounded too needy. Maybe she already regretted staying up this late. Maybe she only saw him as a friend, and he just ruined it by pushing.

The room felt colder than it was. The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence, but it did nothing to quiet the storm in his head. He tried to remind himself she was probably just busy, or maybe she’d fallen asleep. But the thought that she might not feel the same gnawed at him.

- - - - -

Meanwhile, across the city, Jill’s room hummed with a different kind of energy. The arctic chill of the air conditioner muffled the bustling nightlife below. Tarja had one of her crime dramas on, toothbrush in hand as she wandered between the bathroom and bed, humming along with the theme music.

But Jill hardly noticed. Her eyes were glued to her phone, lips curling into a smile she couldn’t fight as she scrolled through the trail of messages Clive had sent just in the past hour.

“What’s that smile about?” Tarja asked, stepping out of the bathroom.

“Hm?” Jill blinked, clearly having heard her but taking a few seconds to gather her scattered thoughts.

“That smile,” Tarja pressed, towel still wrapped around her damp hair as she flopped onto her bed.

“It’s… just a cute video I was watching,” Jill said, a little too quickly.

“Mm-hm.” Tarja raised a brow, pulling out her own phone. “Care to share?”

“I will in a bit,” Jill murmured, rolling onto her side and clutching the pillow tight against her chest.

Her gaze flicked back to her phone at his last message: “I like talking to you.” 

She started typing, but the three dots popped up. She froze. The dots vanished. She typed again, only for them to reappear. Vanish. Appear. Vanish.

She bit her lip, her cheeks warming as the ridiculous little tug-of-war continued. Finally, she gave in to a laugh, soft enough that Tarja didn’t notice, and typed back:

so do I :)

- - - - -

He sat on the edge of the bed, the glow of his phone lighting his face while Gav’s snoring filled the room like a saw through timber. His grin spread wider when Jill’s reply finally came through.

If she hadn’t minded talking to him this late, maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so strange if they talked more. Just the two of them.

Gav had already declared an unshakable desire to see the beach tomorrow, and Tarja seemed more than eager to play tour guide. He could sympathize, neither of them lived anywhere near the ocean but if he was being honest, his own reasons to see it had less to do with sand and salt air, and far more to do with imagining Jill in a swimsuit. 

He pushed the image away, biting down on the inside of his cheek. Even if they went, would she enjoy it? She probably saw the sea all the time, and he didn’t know how raw the subject of her accident was. He’d wait with her on the walkway if she preferred. Hell, he’d carry her into the waves himself if she wanted, though what he wanted most was just time with her.

Maybe… dinner. Maybe… a date.

It was bold. Maybe too bold. They’d only met in person that day, and already his heart was sprinting ahead of him. But hadn’t they already spent weeks talking over the phone and on their game? Didn’t that count for something?

Before he could second-guess himself, his thumbs rattled off his invitation. 

The moment he hit send, panic crashed into him. He tossed the phone onto the bed like it was about to explode, shoving both hands into his hair.

What was he thinking? Why had he done that?

The seconds crawled, stretching into what felt like hours. Still no light, no buzz, no answer. He flipped the phone face-down, smothered himself under a pillow, and let out a muffled groan.

- - - - -

She shifted onto her side, wishing she could kick her feet from excitement. Instead, she wriggled restlessly, trying and failing, to hide her grin.

“You’re killing me here,” Tarja said suddenly, hovering over her bed to peek at the phone. “What did he say?”

“I-it’s nothing,” Jill replied diplomatically.

“It’s something,” Tarja pressed, leaning closer. “Come on, what did he say?”

Jill stayed quiet, staring her down. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to share; it was just… complicated. Since the accident, dating had been hard, intimacy even harder. Most men insisted it wasn’t an issue, only to discover just how much she couldn’t do. Excitement always curdled into disappointment, and the thought of Tarja being disappointed was almost more unbearable than her own.

But maybe—just maybe— one date was harmless enough to let herself fan the flames of Tarja’s curiosity.

“…Clive asked if I wanted to get dinner tomorrow night,” she admitted softly.

The words barely left her mouth before her mind spun into a storm. Did she even pack something decent to wear? It was summer, she had light clothes for comfort, but nothing she’d call “date-worthy.” Maybe Tarja could drive them back to grab something from home. Or… maybe a quick shopping trip.

Was she overthinking it? Was it even a date?

Without missing a beat, Tarja beamed and drifted toward Jill’s suitcase like a woman on a mission.

“I’m not sure I brought anything cute,” Jill confessed.

“What about this?” Tarja asked, holding up a sundress.

Jill frowned. It was cute, but it showed off too much leg. She didn’t even like looking at them herself, let alone showing anyone else.

“This one?” Tarja offered, already reading her expression.

Jill considered, then rolled closer and tugged the fabric from her hands. “Maybe… if I pair it with a cardigan.” But it was still far too warm.

Tarja stepped back, appraising her like a stylist. “Do you know what he’s wearing?”

“No.”

“Do you know where you’re going?” Tarja fired back before Jill could answer.

“Not yet,” Jill murmured, biting her lip. “I was thinking Martha’s. I’ve been there for work before.”

“Oooh, fancy.” Tarja’s eyebrows shot up as she tossed the discarded outfit back into the case. “Might wanna ask what he thinks though, he’s the one asking you.”

Jill glanced down at her phone and froze. Two more texts had popped up beneath his invitation:

Only if you want to.
Sorry, I know Gav and Tarja wanted to go the beach…

“Jill!” Tarja groaned, nearly snatching the phone from her hand. “You didn’t even reply yet? Put the poor boy out of his misery, damn!” She tossed the phone back into Jill’s lap, shaking her head with a grin.

- - - - -

“Yes!”

That was all the reply said.

Clive stared at his phone like it was a riddle he couldn’t solve. Yes… to the time? To going to the beach? To the dinner itself? He figured it must’ve been to the date, because in any other context, it wouldn’t have made sense.

His chest tightened, but in a different way now. Less panic but more a jittery swell of anticipation. He jumped off the bed and yanked open his suitcase.

He had packed exactly enough clothes for the trip, plus his ratty sleepwear. No button-downs, no nice shoes. Nothing “date-worthy.”

“Gods,” he muttered, sinking onto the edge of the mattress, was this even a date? He supposed if she didn’t want it to be they could market it off as just two friends grabbing dinner. 

Hopefully Jill wouldn’t mind casual. But what if she did? She worked a good job— far better than good. Meanwhile, he was scraping by, holding things together paycheck to paycheck.

It wasn’t that he was lazy, he worked his ass off but times were rough. And if this date became something more, how could they even make it work?

He couldn’t afford to fly across the country every other weekend. She could, working from home gave her that freedom but it wouldn’t be fair to put all the burden on her.

His thoughts spiraled until—

SSHHHHRRRKKK

Gav rolled over, unleashing a snore so thunderous Clive swore the walls rattled. It was like a volcano erupting out of his chest.

Clive burst out laughing, pressing a hand to his face. He needed to stop overthinking. It was just one maybe date. 

One date with Jill Warrick.

He let himself fall back onto the mattress, head thudding into the pillow. A thousand scenarios played through his mind—what he’d say, what she’d laugh at, how the night might end—but he pushed them all aside and let his grin stretch freely before sinking into the mattress.

Chapter Text

Jill found herself outside the barn, just as she had on countless holidays before. The cool breath of early autumn swept through her silver hair, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth. Her family ranch always buzzed with life during the holidays– laughter spilling from the kitchen, the clatter of dishes, the murmur of relatives catching up. Yet here she was, slipping away for the same reason she always did. 

The itch to ride was impossible to ignore. Her second year at university had only just begun, her assignments already finished ahead of schedule, and the thought of taking Snow out for a run tugged at her stronger than any feast or small talk indoors.

And her parents wouldn’t complain, the Valisthean Games loomed ever closer, and she knew she needed every spare moment in the saddle if she wanted to fall back into rhythm.

She paid no mind to the storm clouds gathering above, nor the sudden pick-up of wind that tugged at her sleeves. It would only be a short run.

“Snow!” she called as she stepped into the barn. Her prized chocobo lifted her head at once, trilling a soft greeting from the gate. Jill’s heart eased at the sight, letting her out of her gate.

“Snow!” she called again, her voice lifting against the low rumble of thunder far off in the distance. Her chocobo let out a soft warble, shaking her head with enough force to make her feathers ripple like a wave. Jill smiled despite herself, pressing her forehead briefly against Snow’s before leading her out into the open air.

The field stretched wide and golden before them, the scent of cut hay still lingered in the air. The storm was still miles off, nothing more than a bruise of gray along the horizon, and she told herself she would only be gone for a half-hour. Just enough to feel the wind in her hair, just enough to clear her head.

She swung herself into the saddle and clicked her tongue. Snow responded instantly, talons digging into the earth as she took off at a brisk trot, then a steady run. Jill leaned forward, her heart lifting in rhythm with every stride. The world blurred around her, the fence line, the patches of tall grass, the flutter of startled birds taking off.

She stretched her hand out, her fingers skimming the tops of the tall grass as Snow carried her forward, the blades of grass cool and damp against her skin. The wind rushed past, tugging at her jacket, filling her chest with a lightness she never found anywhere else. Not in the lecture halls, hunched over notes and assignments. Not in the cramped silence of her dorm. Not even in her car, where freedom was still bound by roads and rules. 

The fields fell away into shadowed woods, the open sky gave way to a canopy of branches. Snow’s pace never faltered as she wove between the trees, talons thudding against damp soil. The forest smelled rich and alive, the scent of rain still clinging to the air. Crimson leaves clung stubbornly to their branches, others fluttering loose to stick against the ground in sodden patches.

Jill leaned low, her body moving with Snow as they darted between trunks. She ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, laughter slipped past her lips when a spray of wet leaves brushed her cheek. Puddles scattered the trail, rippling and splashing as Snow’s talons cut through them, leaving a trail of disturbed water behind.

Another roll of thunder cracked in the distance, much louder this time. The sound reverberated through the woods, startling a flock of birds from their roost. They took off in a chaotic flurry above her head, black wings against the bruising gray sky.

Her exhilaration dimmed, replaced by the first hints of caution. She gave Snow a reassuring pat along the neck, steadying her own nerves as much as her chocobo’s. “Come on, girl,” she called over the restless rustle of the wind. “Let’s head back.”

Before she even cleared the woods, the rain came suddenly, pelting against her shoulders and face in heavy sheets. In the span of moments, the path she’d taken was gone, swallowed by mud and runoff, every talon throwing up water.

“Come on, girl,” Jill urged, her voice rose with unease as she pressed Snow forward. The chocobo’s feathers slicked under the downpour, each stride slower than the last. They broke past the treeline, rounding the low hill that looked out over her parents’ estate and the barn, its red roof glistening dark beneath the storm. 

Through the haze of rain, she thought of the warmth waiting inside. Her family would be gathered in the sitting room, her mother already fussing with the barely functional oven, her father arguing that it worked fine. And her poor boyfriend awkwardly in the middle of it all, trying too hard to be polite. 

She should have been there with him. Should have been at his side, easing the weight of introductions and the inevitable judgmental stares. Instead, she had chosen this one last run, one more taste of freedom before the night pulled her back into duty. Hopefully he’d forgive her.

The thought tightened in her chest as she urged Snow faster, the barn so close she could almost hear the faint echo of voices carried through the storm.

A jagged bolt tore down nearby, striking the earth with a force that rattled her teeth. For one breathless instant, there was only a blinding white light and then the world rang like a bell, a high-pitched screech in her ears that drowned out everything else.

Snow screamed, rearing in terror. Jill clung to the reins, heart hammering. With a violent buck, the chocobo threw her from the saddle.

She hit the sodden ground hard, the breath ripped from her lungs as mud smeared her palms and cheek. The air tore from her lungs in a single, ragged gasp. Agony lanced up her ankle the instant it twisted beneath her, a sickening crack drowned out by the pounding rain. Mud smeared her palms, her cheek, the taste of grit filling her mouth as she struggled for breath.

Every nerve screamed at once. Her ribs ached like they had caved in, her back stung where stones had torn through her shirt, and the sharp, white-hot fire in her ankle made her cry out despite the storm swallowing her voice. The rain pelted down, relentless, needles against her skin, blinding her eyes until all she could see above was a blurred, spinning sky split open by lightning.

Jill could only glance up at the sky, ignoring the fire in her ankle as she saw it…

The sterile lights of a hospital room, the glare in the doctor’s glasses as he examined her lower half. She had been crying, choking on her own sobs, when his lips began to form the words that would change everything…

But it was also the words that saved her life.

She bolted upright, gasping. Her chest heaved, damp hair clinging to her temples. Sweat? Or perhaps it was tears?. It blurred her vision until she felt the warm rasp of a tongue across her hand.

“Torgal,” she whispered, finding the dog perched beside her, whimpering as if he could chase the nightmare away with his affection. She let out a trembling breath, stroking his head. “Good boy.” She forced a smile for him, though her hands still shook.

Across the room, Tarja remained curled beneath her blankets, blissfully unaware of her inner turmoil. Good. Jill was relieved not to have woken her. She sighed, glancing out the window at the still, quiet darkness of early morning.

She shifted onto her side, shut her eyes, then rolled back again. The sheets tangled around her legs, the silence pressed in. Finally, with a frustrated huff, she reached for her phone on the nightstand. Sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon.

To her surprise, the screen lit up with a few unread messages, Clive’s name glowing at the top. The time stamps were placed about an hour ago.

Her lips curved before she even opened them. He’d mentioned once, offhand, that he had nights where sleep didn’t come easily. From what Gav had said, it probably tied back to his military years, though Clive rarely spoke of that part of his life.

What about this one? his first message read, followed by a photo of a steakhouse downtown. Two more followed,  snapshots of other restaurants, all familiar to her.

Jill hugged the pillow closer, smiling into its softness as she typed. I like them all :)

She set the phone down, but it buzzed almost immediately.

Oh, hey! What are you doing up?

I could ask you the same,she typed back, clutching her pillow closer, trying to suppress the smile tugging at her lips despite the shadow of her dream.

A bit of jet lag. A bit of Gav snoring came his reply.

Her grip on the pillow tightened, a thought sparking in her mind. She started typing, paused, erased. Should she really say it? Her thumb hovered over the screen, nerves and want tangling together.

It’s too bad you weren’t here with me instead. The words glowed at her, too bold, too revealing. She quickly deleted them, casting a glance at Tarja, who was snoring softly in her cocoon of blankets.

Finally, she settled for something much safer. We should trade roommates haha, she wrote, hitting send before she could overthink it.

The three dots appeared almost instantly. Oh you wouldn’t survive Gav He talks in his sleep

She laughed silently into her pillow, warmth blooming across her chest. Her thumbs flew before she could stop them. I meant you, she replied with a string of laughing emoji’s.

She could hear Tarja’s voice in her head, teasing as always, offering to hand over the hotel room if they wanted it. Jill would be lying if she said the thought hadn’t tempted her. But no, there was no chance of that happening. And if it ever did, it wouldn’t be tonight.

It wasn’t Clive. Not at all. Clive was sweet, handsome, kind, and just absolutely adorable in every best possible way. No, the problem was her. 

Her previous serious relationship had scorched nearly every amount of confidence she had. It had been with the same boyfriend who had been there when the incident happened.

On the surface he had been patient and kind but intimacy between them had withered after the incident. Six months of trying, of psyching herself up, of whispering you can do this before reaching for him, only to feel nothing but cold dread the moment it began.

And then she found the sudden messages from the woman he’d been seeing behind her back for the entire six months following her diagnosis. It was bad enough he had cheated, but the words he used to excuse the cheating cut deeper than any injury. The cruel things he’d said about her body and her condition. The mocking way he described her legs, useless and limp. Boneless. Dead weight. How she just “lay there,” as if she were nothing more than a lifeless doll.

Even now, the memory made bile rise in her throat. If she had been insecure before, now those insecurities were carved into her like scars.

She knew Clive wasn’t capable of cruelty like that. But knowing didn’t erase the feelings that clung to her. She didn’t feel sexy. She didn’t feel desired. 

Nearly five years had passed since the incident. One would think she’d have adapted by now, learned to live comfortably in her own skin. Maybe if the words had come from a stranger, or a one night stand, she could have brushed them off. 

But from someone she had trusted, someone she had believed would stay despite her life-changing limitations, the betrayal had been unbearable.

After that, every date blurred into the same cycle. She was always upfront, always clear from the beginning: anything physical would have to wait until she was ready. Most promised patience, but like clockwork, two months in, the questions would start. Did she even find them attractive? Was she ever going to let things progress?

Each time, she felt smaller. Each time, she was reminded of all the other things she couldn’t do anymore, of the long list of ways her body had betrayed her.

In truth, she had all but cut herself off from dating. 

So why had she said yes when Clive asked her to dinner? Why throw caution to the wind now?

The fact that he was impossibly good-looking was undeniable, sure, but it wasn’t that. There was something softer despite his monstrously huge figure. Maybe it was the sad puppy look he got when he tried to mask his worry?

Would Clive understand, if it ever came to… dating? Would he still want her, despite the limits of their relationship? Would he be willing to wait?

Should she tell him now, before anything had the chance to begin?

Or was that too much?

Her thumb hovered over her phone, over his last message, the teasing ease of it. Was this even a date? He hadn’t invited Gav or Tarja, but that could’ve been coincidence. They were likely off doing their own thing. Just because it was the two of them didn’t automatically make it something more.

The day greeted them much the same as yesterday, save for the absence of slightly awkward introductions.

The four of them gathered for lunch, though it had been intended as breakfast before plans inevitably drifted. From there, they’d decided on the local aquarium before splitting off again.

Clive looked every bit as good as yesterday, though he’d grumbled about forgetting his razor. A faint stubble had already settled across his jaw, framing his handsome face. Jill caught herself watching him as he leaned over his plate, fork in hand. Tarja and Gav were locked in some animated conversation about who-knew-what, leaving her free to notice the rest of him.

His hair was a disaster. Not unwashed or neglected, but wild, rebelliously untamed, no matter how clearly he had tried to force it into order. Yesterday, she had chalked it up to jet lag from the flight. Today, she knew better, it was simply just the way it was.

Maybe it was his shampoo. Or maybe—her lips nearly curved at the thought, it was one of those “32-in-one” bottles that promised shampoo, conditioner, body wash, motor oil, baby formula and sports drink all in one. Whatever the reason, the chaos suited him. It was messy, stubborn, a little ridiculous… and unfairly charming.

They floated through the convention center afterward, weaving through stalls of merch, competing in silly games, sneaking glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Time moved strangely, slow enough for Jill to notice every detail, every flicker of expression, yet fast enough that suddenly they were at the aquarium.

She was nervous, yes, but also buzzing with excitement. Two nights ago, she hadn’t even known what he looked like. Now she was scheduled for a date with the man.

And maybe that was part of the thrill. It was exciting, a little reckless, and surprisingly risk-free. In a few days, he’d be gone. If it didn’t work out, they’d still remain friends, no harm done.

But what if it did work? What if this man—the one the hair that refused to behave— was right for her? What then, when he flew back across the country and left her with nothing but what-ifs?

“Hey,” Clive said, pointing toward the water, pulling her from her thoughts. “There, do you see him?”

Jill shifted forward in her chair, pressing up on the rims for a better angle of the stingray exhibit. “No… not from here. I can only see part of the tank.”

The walkway was narrow, and with her chair parked where it was, she was already conscious of blocking the line. She could see the impatience in people's eyes. She wanted to move on, to give others their turn, but she also wanted to actually see the stingray before leaving.

“Just wait a second,” Clive said warmly, still tracking the shadow with his finger. “He’s circling back around.”

She caught a flicker of movement on the right in the tank when suddenly her chair lurched forward, jolting a few feet without her control. Her stomach dropped. She twisted around, heart hammering, to see a man about her age squeezing past her.

Her throat tightened. She hated when people touched her chair. As if she were luggage. As if her body and her control over it wasn’t enough already compromised.

Before she could swallow the burn in her chest, the man snapped, “Hey! Get out of my face!”

Her gaze darted up. Clive stood inches from him, shoulders squared, his height looming. His voice was low, steady, but sharp as a knife.

His eyes narrowed towards the main. “Don’t touch her chair.”

The man gave a nervous laugh, defensive now. “All I did was move her a few feet so I could see.”

“Then say excuse me,” Clive shot back, unflinching. “Ask. Don’t just move her.”

Jill’s chest ached. Yesterday, at the vendor’s table, he’d gone silent under someone else’s words. Now, with her, he was an immovable wall. Protective without tipping into reckless anger.

The man clicked his tongue, rolled his eyes, and stormed off.

Something shifted in the crowd around them. The impatient shuffle of feet quieted. People gave her space now, patient and suddenly polite, as if Clive’s words had drawn an invisible line they all decided not to cross.

Jill pressed her lips together, wishing the crowd’s eyes would scatter anywhere but her. She hated being the center of attention. Still, her chest felt warm, not just from embarrassment. Clive’s voice, that quiet firmness, still echoed in her ears. She was grateful, yes… but there was something else tangled up in it.

The moment softened when the dark shape finally drifted past the glass. The stingray glided with slow, deliberate grace, wings stretching wide as though it were flying beneath the water. Jill leaned forward, her breath catching. 

The creature drifted with effortless grace, every movement bound to the water yet unchained by it. She couldn’t help but envy such freedom.

“Are you alright?” Clive asked at last, his voice steady but edged with concern. “Does that happen often?”

It wasn’t exactly rare, though she wished it were. “More often than it should,” she admitted honestly.

“Well,” he said as he stepped a few paces ahead, and she wheeled forward to match him, “it won’t happen while I’m around.”

The words lingered, warm and stubbornly certain. She couldn’t help but smile.

It was nearly an hour before the maybe-date and her heart hadn’t stopped racing. After the aquarium, the four of them had grabbed a quick snack to tide them over. Tarja and Gav had plans to head down to the boardwalk later, while she and Clive would head off on their own.

They’d settled on the Hideaway. It was a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, over a hundred years old, still run by the 3rd generation owner Otto. The food was pretty good and the drinks were even better.

“What about this one?” Tarja asked, holding up a knit sweater and jeans, her brows arched like she’d just solved the problem.

Jill shook her head, chewing her lip. “I was thinking….” She pointed toward a soft long-sleeved top folded neatly on the bed, paired with dark jeans and her favorite boots. A light jacket hung nearby, one she could shrug on once the evening chill settled in.

Tarja tilted her head, lips curling in approval. “I’m really proud of you,” she said, setting the clothes she’d been holding onto the counter.

“Hm?” Jill blinked, still perched on the edge of her bed.

“Clive,” Tarja answered with a sly smirk. “I like him.”

Jill froze. That was the highest praise Tarja had ever given her outright. Normally, the compliments she gave her were laced with subtleties, offered sparingly. For someone else? It was the equivalent of winning the Valisthean Peace Prize.

“I saw the way he acted at the aquarium,” Tarja continued. “The stupid smiles the both of you had playing that VR game. The way you stood up for him when that merchant got snippy.” She gave Jill a soft smile. “He’s a really nice guy.”

That alone put him leagues above anyone Jill had dated before. Usually, Tarja didn’t voice her opinion until after Jill had already ended things or worse, until she had to point out that the guy had been a walking red flag from the start.

Great. Not that Jill didn’t welcome Tarja’s approval, it meant the world but now it felt like more pressure. If this fell apart, she wouldn’t just be letting herself down. She’d be disappointing Tarja too.

She sighed, staring at the floor. Tarja sank down beside her and slipped an arm around her in a quick side hug.

“I know it’s been a challenge,” she said softly, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “But no matter what happens, I’m proud of you for putting yourself out there.”

Jill’s eyes misted over at the words, her chest tightening with the fragile warmth of them. Tarja’s grip tightened once more before she pulled back, springing up to fetch her purse.

“What are you and Gav doing tonight?” Jill asked, quickly brushing a tear from her cheek.

“The pier,” Tarja replied, slinging the purse strap over her shoulder. “And after that… who knows.” She reached for the door, purposely leaving her hotel key card on the dresser.

“Tarja, you forgot your—”

“It’s so I don’t walk in,” Tarja interrupted, shooting her a wicked grin, “in case your date goes very well.”

Heat rushed to Jill’s cheeks, and she half-covered her face with her hand. “I’m not even sure it’s a date,” she admitted, her voice small. “I don’t even know if—”

“Well, Clive thinks it’s a date,” Tarja cut in, swinging the door open.

Jill’s head snapped up. “Wait, how do you—”

But the door had already closed, Tarja’s laughter trailing through the hall. “Have fun!” came muffled from the other side.

She sighed as she glanced down at Torgal, who had nearly collapsed from making new friends at the dog daycare. He rested on his paws, eyes half-closed, content to be near her but clearly worn out.

Jill had gotten herself ready for the date, reminding herself to breathe as she pushed aside the whirlwind of thoughts about what might happen, or what might not. Her pulse felt like it was racing a thousand miles an hour, hammering against her chest.

Time had clearly slipped by, because a knock at the door made Torgal perk his head up and bark once, sharply.

“It’s okay,” Jill murmured, patting him gently before wheeling herself toward the door.

When she opened it, Clive was standing there, hair still adorably tousled, though clearly tamed a little from his usual chaos. He wore a simple black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled just past the elbows, paired with dark jeans and casual sneakers.

“H-hey,” he said softly, a nervous edge to his voice. “Sorry to show up unexpectedly. I know we said we’d meet in the lobby… I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. If you’d rather stay here, that’s fine.”

“What? No, I—I…” Jill’s eyes flicked to the clock; she was already ten minutes late. “I’m so sorry.” She stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in, then froze and raised a hand in a stop motion as she glanced at her hound.

Torgal, surprisingly, was quiet, licking his own paw instead of growling or nudging her for defense. Strange, she thought. Normally, he would have positioned himself between her and any potential threat.

She’d wanted him to stay outside, just in case, yet another reason she wouldn’t be returning to the hotel room tonight. But she couldn’t leave him in the hallway, and she had already run late.

Jill let out a soft sigh and gestured him in.

Clive stepped inside, eyes flicking between Jill and her hound. “Wow… he’s bigger than I expected,” he said softly, taking a careful step forward.

Jill froze, a strand of her silver hair slipping behind her ear as she clasped a small earring in place. “Clive, wait—be careful!” she said sharply, waving a hand. “He doesn’t—he’s… He’s cautious around new people.”

Torgal’s ears perked at her warning, tail giving a slow wag. Clive crouched slightly, hand extended with the gentlest of gestures. “You’re just a big puppy, aren’t you” he said in a soft, calm tone.

Jill held her breath, unsure if she should intervene, fingers fiddling with her other earring. They were both big puppies.

For a moment, Torgal simply sniffed his hand. Then, almost as if reading the tension in the room, the large hound leaned forward, tongue darting out to lick Clive’s knuckles. His tail thumped against the floor in slow approval.

Jill blinked, a laugh escaping despite herself. “Well… I guess that means he likes you,” she said, shaking her head as she wheeled a little closer, trying to calm her still-buzzing nerves.

Clive straightened, grinning as he patted the hound’s fur. “Guess so” He gave Torgal a gentle scratch behind the ears, careful to keep the motion slow and steady.

Torgal responded with a soft, contented whuff, leaning into the touch as if giving his personal seal of approval over the man.

Jill finally allowed herself a small smile, finishing her earrings and taking a calming breath. 

Somehow, actually seeing Clive calmed her nerves a little. He remained patient, crouched just enough to pet Torgal, his hand moving slowly and gently as she finished up. Jill grabbed her purse, phone, and hotel keys, wheeling herself toward the door.

She glanced back at her two puppies. She couldn’t believe it— Torgal was sitting calmly, letting a complete stranger pet him, and by the grace of the gods, his tail was even wagging.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said softly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she pushed the door open.

“I-It’s alright,” he replied, voice low and a little shy.

She stole a glance at him, noticing the small, almost imperceptible fidget with his pants pocket.

A soft smile tugged at her lips. Somehow, she realized Clive seemed just as nervous as she was. And somehow, that made the thought of going on this date a little less intimidating.

Clive opened the door to his rental car and knelt slightly, guiding Jill’s chair into position. She felt a brief flicker of embarrassment at the extra attention but quickly pushed past it, reminding herself of Tarja’s constant words that it was nothing to be ashamed of. Clive certainly didn’t seem to care.

Once secured, he slid in beside her, and the engine hummed to life. They pulled out onto the streets, the city unfolding around them. Neon signs flickered overhead, streetlights glinting off the wet asphalt from an earlier afternoon rain. The forecast promised lain later.

Jill traced the lights with her eyes, the reflection dancing in the car window, as the buildings and passerby blurred past. The hum of the tires, the faint scent of the city, the rhythmic passing of headlights, it was oddly calming.

She let herself relax against the seat, watching Clive focus on the road. Downtown stretched around them like a tapestry of lights and motion, the evening slowly winding them forward toward the small restaurant tucked somewhere downtown.

“Turn here,” she said quietly, pointing as Clive smoothly pulled into a packed parking lot.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, glancing over the wheel as he saw a car pull into a spot. He circled once, then again, then a third time. He drove down the road, spotting another opening, only to realize the old city structure didn’t have a safe curb, and the sidewalks looked dangerously uneven.

He drove back into the lot, making a few more laps before letting out a frustrated sigh. “Sorry, Jill,” he said, glancing over at her.

She blinked. Why was he apologizing? He didn’t control the traffic.

“I’ll circle one more time and then—”

“Wait, Clive! Go back to the front,” she interrupted.

He raised an eyebrow but obeyed, making another loop. Jill pulled out the small handicap sign dangling in her purse. With a sheepish grin, she stuck it onto his mirror and held it there with a triumphant little laugh.

As they slid into the designated space, Clive let out a soft chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling, the white of his teeth flashing in the dim parking lot light. The tension broke, replaced with that warm, easy feeling that made her heart lift.