The winter faded exceptionally slowly that year, the way it often did whenever the cold didn't quite desire to give up its stubborn hold on the city. White snow still lingered in frozen patches along the stone sidewalks and beneath the tall trees, while the crisp air softened day by day into something far lighter and warmer.
For Willy and Tim, the beautiful months stretching between January and June passed in a peaceful blur of daily routine, quiet anticipation, and deep happiness.
The university shooting club officially became the center of their entire universe.
Not that the sport hadn't always occupied a major role in their lives, but now, with the intense qualification rounds actively underway and the grand final championship scheduled for June, the entire complex seemed to pulse with an entirely new kind of electric energy. Every single afternoon practice carried a little more psychological weight. Every single shot echoing through the hall mattered just a little more to the scoreboard.
Willy, however, existed in a wonderfully unique place within that entire competitive circle.
His boots were already safely across the finish line; his place in the grand final was entirely secured.
Being recognized as the top-ranked shooter in the country held its beautiful advantages. His stellar historic records guaranteed him a direct, unyielding place in the main summer competition, meaning his heart didn't hold a single need to fight through the agonizing qualification rounds like the rest of the roster.
The vast majority of athletes would have gladly utilized that massive free window to simply relax and sleep.
Willy executed the exact opposite strategy.
He trained even harder, pushing his physical body to the absolute limit.
"Your mind knows you don't actually have to prove a single thing to the federation right now, love," Logan told him one crisp afternoon as they stood side by side near the equipment lockers.
Willy carefully adjusted the leather strap of his heavy shooting bag. "Personally... my hands aren't trying to prove anything, Logan."
Logan raised a sharp eyebrow in disbelief. "Your frame is actively practicing flat on that range for three full hours every single day."
"That is perfectly normal for a dedicated shooter."
"For your hyperactive brain, maybe," Logan countered with a soft smile.
Willy smiled faintly but didn't offer a single verbal argument to defend his routine.
Across the wide room, Tim was methodically preparing his specialized equipment for the fast-approaching second qualification round.
Seb immediately noticed the way Willy's eyes kept drifting dreamily in that exact direction.
"Let your heart relax a little bit," Seb said, playfully nudging his elbow against Willy's side. "Your handsome boyfriend possesses more than enough skill to survive this match."
"I hold absolute knowledge regarding his skill, Seb," Willy replied softly, his gaze never wavering.
But his eyes still faithfully watched every single micro-movement his husband executed.
Tim had shifted slightly ever since the official qualifications initiated their calendar.
Not in any obvious, cold way his lips laughed the exact same beautiful way, his mouth talked with the same rich melody, and his hands teased Willy with the same domestic sweetness but there was a much deeper, unyielding focus marking his demeanor during training hours. An absolute, razor-sharp concentration that appeared on his face the exact microsecond his boots stepped onto the active shooting range.
Ethan leaned his back against the brick wall nearby, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he watched Tim prep.
"He consistently executes that specific habit," Ethan said thoughtfully, his voice low.
"What specific habit?" Seb asked, turning his head.
"That unique habit where his face pretends to be a match isn't actually important to his pride."
Seb frowned in confusion. "But this national qualifier is incredibly important to his standing."
Ethan smiled slightly, a knowing look passing through his eyes. "Exactly, Seb."
Before Seb's mouth could formulate a secondary query to decode that cryptic statement, the loud whistle of the head coach blew through the complex.
The row of new competitors moved swiftly toward the white shooting line.
Tim took his designated position with absolute calmness, adjusting his stance with a slow, geometric precision that made him look completely untouchable.
Willy watched his framework closely from the very back of the room, his heart executing a steady hum.
Every single shooter on the national circuit possessed their own unique, messy rhythm under pressure. Some were visibly tense, their fingers trembling; some were overly confident to the point of arrogance; others were so visibly nervous their breathing was ragged.
Tim looked like absolutely none of those things.
His tall frame simply looked... perfectly, beautifully calm.
The sharp shots soon rang out through the hall in steady, rhythmic intervals.
Crisp. Controlled. Masterful.
When the official round scores were finally posted across the board later that afternoon, Tim had effortlessly qualified for the next bracket, landing straight at the top.
Seb immediately dashed forward, throwing a heavy arm around his broad shoulders with a joyous shout. "I KNEW IT! MY INTUITION IS A VERIFIED COGNITIVE SCIENCE!"
Tim laughed out loud, his balance nearly giving way under Seb's sudden weight. "You are going to physically knock my frame over, Seb."
"A hundred percent worth the risk," Seb declared proudly, his face beaming.
Willy stepped forward next, a radiant smile breaking across his lips as he wrapped his arms securely around Tim's waist in a quiet, warm hug.
"Was my execution good, love?" Tim asked softly, his voice dropping into a private murmur against Willy's ear.
Willy nodded firmly against his chest. "Incredibly good."
Tim's smile was small, private, but beautifully warm.
The passing weeks stretching between the tournament rounds quickly settled into an exceptionally easy, comfortable domestic rhythm.
There were bright morning lectures at the university campus.
There were high-energy afternoon training sessions at the indoor club range.
And there were beautiful, quiet evenings spent inside their own home.
Their house, small, incredibly warm, and always slightly, endearingly messy with open books and sports gear, became a favorite gathering place for their entire inner circle more often than not.
One chilly evening in the early days of March, Seb and Ethan arrived at their doorstep, loudly arguing about a takeout beverage before their boots even crossed the welcome mat.
"Your lips literally drank my entire beverage, Seb!" Ethan accused, pouting aggressively.
"Personally, my system required the energy influx far more than yours did," Seb replied without a single shred of shame.
"That is officially not a valid logical excuse!"
"It becomes an absolutely valid excuse when my heart loves your existence unconditionally," Seb declared smoothly.
Ethan stared blankly at him for a long, silent microsecond before letting out a highly dramatic, melting sigh. "Unfortunately for my pride, that specific argument works flawlessly on my emotions every single time."
Logan, who was sitting quietly at the kitchen table reviewing a training manual, muttered under his breath, "You two are entirely exhausting to observe."
Al burst into a loud, roaring laugh from his comfortable spot on the living room couch.
Tim stood calmly near the stove, his fingers gently stirring a pot of steaming soup, while Willy leaned his shoulder right against his side, occasionally stealing small pieces of fresh bread the exact microsecond Tim's eyes weren't looking.
"My vision actively saw that criminal move, love," Tim said softly, not even turning his head from the pot.
"Your vision saw absolutely nothing, Grant," Willy replied with total calmness, popping the bread into his mouth.
Tim turned around, a beautiful smirk pulling at his lips as his hand lightly smacked Willy's fingers away from the cutting board. "This is officially terrible, lawless behavior inside my kitchen."
Willy grinned wickedly, his eyes sparkling with pure devotion. "Well, it is an exceptionally good thing that my wedded husband is a billionaire who commands elite connections. Your power can simply protect me from the law."
Tim rolled his eyes dramatically at the tease, but a soft, breathtaking smile completely filled his face.
Later that exact night, after every single friend had finally vacated the premises to return to their rooms, Willy and Tim ended up lying flat on the living room carpet in a state of beautiful, happy exhaustion.
The small heater hummed away softly in the corner, spreading a beautiful warmth.
Willy comfortably rested his head right on Tim's stomach, listening to the steady rise and fall of his breathing. "Personally... my right arm feels like it might physically detach from my shoulder and fall off by morning."
Tim lazily ran his long fingers through Willy's soft hair, his touch incredibly tender. "Your mouth utters that exact same tragic complaint every single week, sweetheart."
"Because the physical reality is entirely true every single week," Willy murmured, closing his eyes.
Tim chuckled quietly, the vibration of his stomach moving softly beneath Willy's head.
After a quiet moment of absolute peace, Willy tilted his chin up slightly to look into his dark eyes. "Why exactly did your hands start practicing shooting in the first place, Tim?"
Tim's fingers stilled for a fraction of a microsecond in his soft hair.
After a quiet moment of absolute peace, Willy tilted his chin up slightly to look into his dark eyes. "Why exactly did your hands start practicing shooting in the first place, Tim?"
Tim's fingers stilled for a fraction of a microsecond in his soft hair. A sudden, deep shadow of a long-forgotten memory crossed his dark eyes before he looked back down at his husband.
Then, his voice dropped into an incredibly soft, raw whisper. "Because of my cousin. I made a solemn promise back then... and I had to learn how to keep it."
Willy blinked in absolute surprise, his mind trying to process the unexpected answer. "Your cousin? You've never really told me about that part of your childhood."
"I will, love," Tim admitted with a beautiful, mysterious smirk, leaning down to press his lips against Willy's forehead. "When the final match is over, my lips will unroll the entire history to your heart. I promise."
But his mouth didn't offer a single additional file to explain the painful past further tonight.
Instead, he simply changed the direction of his hands and kissed Willy's lips with an absolute, lingering sweetness that beautifully banished the heavy query from the room.
By the arrival of April, the national qualification rounds had become infinitely more intense.
Far fewer shooters remained active on the scoreboard. The casual, friendly atmosphere inside the university club completely shifted into something razor-sharp and fiercely competitive.
This time around, Willy chose to sit high up in the spectator stands instead of leaning against the back wall, his legs bouncing restlessly against the metal bleachers from pure nerves.
Seb noticed the vibration immediately. "Your entire framework is literally vibrating, Willy."
"I am entirely steady, Seb."
"You are absolutely vibrating like a phone," Seb insisted.
Al glanced over from the adjacent step, nodding in agreement. "He definitely is."
Willy let out a loud, miserable groan, hiding his face in his hands. "Personally... my heart absolutely hates this part."
"Your mind actually loves it," Logan said calmly from behind them.
"No, my soul loves the active act of shooting," Willy corrected fiercely, looking down at the lanes. "This current setup is just... agonizing waiting."
Down on the bright range floor, Tim stepped forward to occupy his designated lane once again.
This time around, something about his entire aura looked completely different to the trained eye.
Sharper.
Infinitely more defined.
Logan leaned his chest forward slightly against his knees, his calm gaze locking onto Tim's stance. "So... that is exactly what his character looks like."
Seb frowned, entirely confused. "What?"
"When his pride finally stops holding back its true strength," Logan murmured, his voice dead serious.
Seb blinked rapidly. "What on earth are your words discussing, Logan?"
But Logan didn't offer a single syllable to answer the question.
Tim gracefully lifted his heavy pistol, his grip locking into place.
The entire massive room instantly fell into a dead, breathless silence.
His physical movements were incredibly smooth, flawlessly precise. Every single shot landed in the target with a quiet, terrifying certainty.
When the official scores were finally illuminated across the digital boards later that afternoon, Tim's name was comfortably nestled among the absolute elite top shooters moving forward into the final bracket.
Willy didn't even hold the patience to wait for the dense crowd to clear the stairs.
He marched straight down to the range floor, his boots stopping right in front of him.
"Your hands are completely, utterly incredible, Tim," Willy said quietly, his voice thick with an intense pride.
Tim smiled a little bit shyly, a soft blush coloring his cheeks as his fingers gently reached out to catch Willy's hand. "Not even half as incredible as your own soul, love."