By May, spring had finally settled in for good.
The last traces of winter had disappeared from the edges of sidewalks and rooftops, replaced by the soft green of new leaves and the faint sweetness of flowers beginning to bloom along fences and garden paths. The evenings came slower now, stretching out in long ribbons of golden light before melting into dusk. The world felt softer somehow less sharp, less urgent.
For Willy, that softness felt almost unfamiliar.
For so long, his life had been measured in routines, targets, rankings, and the quiet pressure of always having to stay at the top. Even in the months after Tim came back, after the danger had passed and the house they shared had begun to feel like a real home again, some part of Willy had still held itself taut. Waiting. Preparing. Bracing.
But that evening in May, sitting on the back porch beside Tim, he finally let himself loosen.
Their porch was small, nothing extravagant just two chairs, a narrow table between them, and a railing that looked out over the backyard and the line of trees beyond it. The grass had turned thick and green again. Somewhere nearby, a neighbor's wind chime stirred softly in the breeze.
Willy sat sideways in his chair, one leg folded beneath him, his shoulder tucked against Tim's. Tim had his arm draped loosely along the back of Willy's chair, fingers occasionally brushing the fabric of his sleeve whenever the breeze shifted.
The sky above them was slowly changing color.
At first, it had been pale blue streaked with gold. Then the sun dipped lower, and everything turned warmer soft amber over the rooftops, copper along the clouds. Now dusk was beginning to settle, and the horizon glowed faintly violet.
Willy loved evenings like this.
He loved the stillness of them. The permission they gave to simply stop.
Tim handed him a mug of tea, warm against his palms. Willy accepted it with a quiet hum of thanks.
"You always make this too sweet," Willy murmured after taking a sip.
Tim smiled without looking at him. "And yet you always drink it."
"That's because you'd pout if I didn't."
"I don't pout."
Willy leaned back slightly to look at him. "You absolutely do."
Tim finally glanced down, one eyebrow raised. "You're dramatic."
"That's rich, coming from someone who once sulked for an entire day because I beat you at cards."
"I was strategically silent."
Willy laughed softly, the sound carrying into the quiet yard. It felt good easy and light. The kind of laughter that came naturally when your body had finally learned what safety felt like.
For a while, they sat in companionable silence.
The porch light behind them hadn't been turned on yet, and Willy liked that. He liked the dimness. The world felt smaller in the dark, more private. It was just them, the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of traffic far enough away to sound almost soothing.
June was close now.
The thought had been sitting at the back of Willy's mind for weeks, growing louder with every passing day. The final competition was something he had spent years working toward. It was the thing people expected him to dominate, the thing his name was already attached to before he even stepped onto the line.
He had dreamed of this since he was younger.
And yet, now that it was almost here, what he felt most wasn't excitement.
It was fear.
Not fear of losing.
Not exactly.
More the fear of how much it mattered.
Willy stared out at the darkening yard and let out a quiet breath.
"June is close," he murmured.
Tim was silent for a moment, then nodded.
"Yeah."
Willy curled his fingers more tightly around the mug.
"You nervous?"
Tim tilted his head slightly, considering.
The fading light softened the angles of his face. He looked calm in a way Willy had always envied like someone who could stand in the middle of a storm and still find a place to plant his feet.
"Not really," Tim said at last.
Willy huffed softly. "Of course not."
Tim smiled a little. "What about you?"
Willy didn't answer right away.
Instead, he watched as the first stars began to appear faintly overhead.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before.
"A little."
Tim turned toward him fully then.
Willy could feel the weight of his gaze even before he looked back.
"You're the best shooter in the country," Tim said gently.
Willy gave a tired smile.
"That doesn't mean I don't care."
Tim's expression softened.
"I know."
Willy let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
It was stupid, maybe. To be this afraid after all these years. To have done this so many times and still feel like his chest tightened every time something important got close.
But Tim had always been the only person Willy never had to explain himself to.
He could say the ugly things to Tim. The selfish things. The fears he'd never admit to anyone else.
He set the mug down on the table and leaned more fully into Tim's side.
Tim's arm came around him automatically.
"I keep thinking about everything that could go wrong," Willy admitted quietly. "One bad shot. One mistake. One second where I let my head get in the way."
Tim's fingers brushed slowly over Willy's arm.
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
Willy tilted his head to look at him.
Tim's eyes were steady dark in the fading light, but warm.
"You trust me, don't you?" Tim asked softly.
Willy frowned slightly. "That's not fair."
"Answer me."
Willy exhaled through his nose.
"Yes."
"Then trust me now."
The words were simple, but they landed somewhere deep.
Tim wasn't the kind of person who made empty promises. He never had been. Even in the worst moments during silence, distance, danger Tim had always come back. Always found his way back to Willy somehow.
Willy closed his eyes briefly.
"Just… promise you'll be there."
Tim's hand slid up to the back of Willy's neck, thumb brushing gently beneath his ear.
"I always am."
Willy believed him.
He wanted to bottle that moment somehow the warmth of Tim beside him, the fading spring air, the certainty in his voice and keep it for every moment he would need courage later.
Instead, he just turned his head and kissed him.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't desperate.
It was slow and soft and full of all the things Willy didn't know how to say out loud.
Tim kissed him back the same way patiently, like he had all the time in the world.
When they finally pulled apart, Willy rested his forehead briefly against Tim's shoulder.
"Don't let me spiral in June."
Tim laughed quietly.
"I'll consider it."
"You're awful."
"You love me."
Willy smiled into his shirt.
"I do."
The stars came out fully after that, and they stayed on the porch until the tea went cold.