By the arrival of May, the beautiful spring had finally settled into the town for good.
The absolute last traces of the winter cold had completely disappeared from the stone edges of the sidewalks and the sloping rooftops, swiftly replaced by the soft, vibrant green of new leaves and the faint, sweet aroma of flowers beginning to bloom along the wooden fences and garden paths. The quiet evenings came much slower now, stretching out across the sky in long, elegant ribbons of golden light before gently melting into the soft dusk. The entire world felt infinitely softer somehow less sharp, less urgent, and beautifully calm.
For Willy, that level of pure softness felt almost unfamiliar to his senses.
For so long across his youth, his entire existence had been measured strictly in daily routines, paper targets, national rankings, and the quiet, heavy pressure of always having to stay at the absolute top of the board. Even in the beautiful months after Tim had finally returned to his arms, after the intense danger had completely passed and the small two-story house they shared had begun to feel like a real home again, some deep part of Willy's mind had still held itself perfectly taut. Waiting for a threat. Preparing for a storm. Bracing for impact.
But on this particular evening in May, sitting quietly on the back porch directly beside Tim, he finally allowed his frame to completely loosen its hold.
Their wooden porch was small and intimate, nothing extravagant, just two comfortable chairs, a narrow coffee table resting between them, and a white railing that looked out over the green backyard and the beautiful line of tall trees beyond it. The grass had turned thick and richly green again under the spring rain. Somewhere nearby, a neighbor's delicate wind chime stirred softly in the gentle evening breeze, creating a beautiful melody.
Willy sat sideways in his chair, one leg folded comfortably beneath his frame, his shoulder tucked perfectly against Tim's side. Tim had his long arm draped loosely along the back of Willy's chair, his fingers occasionally brushing against the soft fabric of his sleeve whenever the breeze shifted directions.
The vast sky above their heads was slowly changing its colors.
At first, it had been a pale, beautiful blue streaked with bands of gold. Then the warm sun dipped lower beneath the treeline, and absolutely everything turned warmer, a soft amber glow over the rooftops, a rich copper light along the edges of the clouds. Now, the soft dusk was beginning to settle over the town, and the horizon glowed faintly with a beautiful violet hue.
Willy completely loved evenings like this.
He loved the absolute stillness of them. He loved the quiet permission they gave his racing mind to simply stop and breathe.
Tim gracefully handed him a warm mug of fresh tea, the ceramic feeling wonderfully warm against his bare palms. Willy accepted the beverage with a quiet, contented hum of thanks.
"You always make this blend far too sweet, love," Willy murmured softly after taking a slow sip.
Tim smiled warmly without even looking over at him, his gaze fixed on the sunset. "And yet, your lips always drink every single drop of it."
"That is only because your face would pout for hours if my hands didn't finish it."
"Personally... my face doesn't pout," Tim countered smoothly.
Willy leaned his back slightly away from the chair to look closely at his features. "Your character absolutely does."
Tim finally glanced down at him, one dark eyebrow raised in amusement. "You are being incredibly dramatic, Willy."
"That is exceptionally rich, coming from a man who once sulked in the bedroom for an entire day simply because my hands beat your cards at the table."
"Personally... my mind was being strategically silent during that game," Tim corrected with a smirk.
Willy laughed out loud softly, the beautiful, bright sound carrying easily into the quiet yard. It felt so good to laugh like this, easy, light, and carefree. It was precisely the kind of natural laughter that came forward only when your physical body had finally learned what true safety felt like after a long war.
For a long while after that, they simply sat together in a beautiful, companionable silence.
The porch light behind their chairs hadn't been turned on yet, and Willy deeply liked that darkness. He liked the dimness of the evening. The entire world felt much smaller and more private in the dark. It was just the two of them, the soft rustle of the green leaves, and the incredibly distant hum of city traffic that was far enough away to sound almost like a soothing lullaby.
June was incredibly close now.
That heavy thought had been sitting quietly at the very back of Willy's mind for weeks, growing louder and more persistent with every passing day on the calendar. The final championship competition was something his hands had spent years of intense training working toward. It was the singular event people expected his talent to completely dominate; his name was already attached to the gold medal before his boots even stepped onto the white line.
He had dreamed of this victory ever since he was a young boy.
And yet, now that the microsecond was almost here, what his heart felt most wasn't a rush of excitement.
It was a lingering fear.
Not a fear of losing the match.
Not exactly that.
It was more the deep, terrifying fear of just how monumentally much this victory mattered to his entire future.
Willy stared blankly out at the darkening yard, letting out a quiet, shaky breath into the spring air.
"June is incredibly close, Tim," he murmured softly.
Tim remained silent for a brief moment, digesting the words, then offered a slow nod. "Yeah, love. It is."
Willy curled his fingers much more tightly around the warm ceramic of his mug. "Are your hands nervous about the targets?"
Tim tilted his head slightly, seriously considering the query.
The fading evening light beautifully softened the sharp angles of his handsome face. He looked entirely calm in a way Willy's heart had always deeply envied, like a man who could stand perfectly still in the dead center of a massive storm and still easily find a solid place to plant his boots.
"Not really," Tim said at last, his voice steady.
Willy huffed softly, a tiny smile playing on his lips. "Of course your mind isn't."
Tim smiled a little bit, his eyes crinkling. "What about your own heart, Willy?"
Willy didn't offer a verbal answer right away.
Instead, his eyes watched quietly as the very first silver stars began to appear faintly overhead in the violet sky.
When his mouth finally spoke, his voice was much quieter and softer than before. "A little bit."
Tim turned his entire upper body toward him fully then, abandoning the horizon.
Willy could feel the immense weight of his deep gaze even before his own eyes looked back to meet it.
"You are the absolute best shooter in the entire country, sweetheart," Tim said gently, his voice like silk.
Willy gave him a tired, vulnerable smile. "That ranking doesn't mean my heart doesn't care about the outcome, Tim."
Tim's expression softened completely, his dark eyes melting with an infinite tenderness. "I hold absolute knowledge of that, love."
Willy let out a long breath he hadn't realized his lungs were holding onto.
It was stupid, perhaps. For his mind to be this deeply afraid after all these years of high-level matches. To have stood on that range so many times and still feel like his entire chest tightened painfully every single time a major event got close to his life.
But Tim had always been the singular person on this planet Willy never held a need to explain his emotions to.
He could say the absolute ugliest things to Tim. The most selfish thoughts. The deepest, darkest fears he would never dare admit to a single teammate or coach.
He gently set his tea mug down on the narrow table and leaned his entire physical weight more fully into Tim's warm side.
Tim's strong arm came around his waist automatically, pulling him flush against his chest.
"Personally... my mind keeps thinking about every single variable that could go wrong on that range," Willy admitted in a quiet whisper against his neck. "One bad trigger pull. One tiny mistake with the alignment. One microsecond where I let my frantic thoughts get in the way of my focus."
Tim's long fingers brushed slowly, soothingly over the bare skin of Willy's arm. "Your hands won't execute a single mistake, love."
"Your mind can't possibly know that for certain."
"Personally... I do know it," Tim countered with absolute conviction.
Willy tilted his head up slightly to look directly into his face.
Tim's steady eyes were dark in the fading spring light, but they radiated an incredible, comforting warmth.
"Your heart trusts my words, don't you, Willy?" Tim asked softly, his gaze locked onto his.
Willy frowned slightly at the prompt, his cheeks warming. "That is officially not fair, Grant."
"Answer my mouth, love."
Willy exhaled softly through his nose, his walls dissolving completely. "Yes. I trust you."
"Then let your heart trust my words right now," Tim murmured.
The simple words were incredibly basic, but they landed somewhere profoundly deep inside Willy's soul.
Tim was absolutely not the kind of person who ever made empty, hollow promises to anyone. He never had been that way. Even in the absolute worst, darkest moments of their history during the endless days of radio silence, vast physical distance, and lethal danger across the borders Tim had always faithfully returned. He had always managed to find his way back to Willy's side somehow.
Willy closed his eyes briefly, inhaling his familiar scent. "Just... promise your boots will be standing right there at the range."
Tim's large hand slid up smoothly to cradle the back of Willy's neck, his warm thumb brushing gently beneath his earlobe to ground him. "Personally... I am always right there beside you, sweetheart."
Willy believed his words completely.
His mind desperately wanted to bottle this exact magical moment up somehow, the radiating warmth of Tim's chest beside him, the fragrant fading spring air, the absolute certainty in his rich voice and keep it safe inside his pocket for every single future moment his heart would require intense courage on the line.
Instead of trying to freeze time, he simply turned his head slightly and kissed his husband's lips.
It wasn't a dramatic kiss. It wasn't born from a desperate panic.
It was slow, incredibly soft, and beautifully full of all the profound emotions Willy's mouth didn't know how to frame out loud to the room.
Tim kissed his lips back in the exact same manner patiently, deeply, like his heart possessed all the time in the universe to hold him.
When their lips finally pulled apart a fraction of an inch, Willy rested his forehead briefly against Tim's solid shoulder. "Don't you dare let my thoughts spiral out of control in June, Tim."
Tim laughed quietly, a low, beautiful vibration against Willy's cheek. "Personally... my mind will consider that case."
"You are completely awful."
"And yet, your heart loves my existence completely."
Willy smiled beautifully right into the fabric of his dark shirt. "Personally... I do."
The silver stars came out fully across the midnight sky after that, and the two of us remained sitting closely on the dark porch until the sweet tea had gone completely cold.