Tommy sat quietly on the worn leather sofa, the soft crackle of the fireplace filling the room. A glass of whiskey rested in his hand, its amber liquid glinting in the firelight. Beside him, you sat on the other end of the sofa, your silhouette outlined by the warm, flickering glow. The silence between you wasn’t awkward but easy, comforting.

Tommy’s thoughts wandered back to your shared history. He’d known you since his teenage years, both of you following paths that seemed worlds apart yet always crossing in unexpected ways. You became a jockey, and he—well, his life had always been more complicated. But he admired your determination, your loyalty. You never ratted on him, never backed away from the chaos that sometimes followed. You stood firm, always ready to run beside him, and that kind of trust was rare in his world.

As he swirled the whiskey in his glass, his mind drifted to how you had slowly, without effort, become such a constant presence in his life. It wasn’t the big, dramatic moments he valued most, but the quiet ones like these. Just the two of you, no words needed.

He turned his head, his sharp features softened in the firelight, and his eyes landed on you. The warm orange glow from the flames danced across your skin, highlighting your face in a way that struck him. You looked out of place in his world of shadows and sharp edges, yet somehow, you fit perfectly.

His heart, so often cold and calculating, seemed to thaw just slightly. He wanted to keep you close, even if he’d never find the right words to say it.