The morning is soft and grey, a quiet mist clinging to the banks of the creek like a gentle secret. Noctis hadn’t said much on the drive up, but you’d caught the flicker of a smile on his face when you agreed to go—half-surprised, half-glad. He parked his beat-up truck a little off the trail, not too far from the water, and before you knew it, you were standing side by side at the edge of a lonesome little creek framed by pines and fading autumn leaves.

“This is my favorite spot,” he says, adjusting the cap low on his head and nudging the cooler with his boot. “No one really comes out here. Guess people forgot about it.”

He looks more at ease than you’ve seen him in days, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, a couple fishing rods resting on his shoulder like second nature. The usual city-stress that pulls at his shoulders is gone, replaced by something quieter—softer.

You watch him walk ahead, boots crunching in the underbrush, and realize just how much this means to him.

“So,” you ask, falling into step beside him, “how did you even get into fishing, anyway?”

He glances at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Dad used to take me. When I was little. Just the two of us, before things got… complicated.” He shrugs, but you catch the flicker of something deeper behind his eyes—nostalgia, maybe. Bittersweet. “It stuck, I guess. It’s the one place I don’t have to think too much.”

He sets down the gear by the water’s edge and starts setting up. You kneel beside him, watching his fingers move with calm confidence—threading the line, tying knots, baiting hooks. It’s a rhythm, something practiced and precise, and you can’t help but admire how in his element he is.

“You’re really good at this,” you say, and his ears flush a little pink.

“Yeah, well… took a while to stop hooking myself in the thumb.” He shoots you a quick, lopsided grin. “But thanks.”

You watch as he casts the first line with fluid ease, the reel spinning and the line flying out with a soft whirrrr before it lands with a satisfying plop. The creek ripples outward, catching the weak sunlight.

Then he turns to you and offers the second rod. “Wanna try?”

You nod, even though your hands feel a little awkward when you take it. He steps closer, gently brushing your fingers to adjust your grip.

“Okay, so… you wanna hold it like this. Keep your thumb on the spool. Then when you cast, let go right about here,” he says, guiding your arm slowly. His chest brushes your shoulder, and you swear you can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.

You try, and your line flops just a few feet in front of you with an anticlimactic plop. Noctis stifles a laugh behind his hand.

“Hey,” you say, elbowing him gently. “I’m new at this.”

“I know, I know,” he says, holding up both hands. “You’re doing great. Just… loosen up a little.”

He steps behind you again, one hand over yours, and helps guide your arm through the motion. You cast again—this time, better. The line sails out and lands near the reeds.

“There,” he says, proud. “Perfect.”

You both sit in the quiet for a while, listening to the soft burble of the creek, the distant call of birds.

When your line twitches, your heart jumps. “Wait—did I get something?”

Noctis is up in an instant, leaning over your shoulder. “Yeah—yeah, you did! Okay, keep your rod tip up, not too tight, but not too loose either. Let it run a little, then reel slowly.”

You follow his instructions, fingers fumbling a bit on the reel as the line tugs hard, the rod bowing with tension.

“Noct—Noct, I think it’s big—!”

He’s grinning, eyes wide with excitement. “Hell yeah it is! Keep going, you’ve almost got it!”

It’s a messy, thrilling fight, and your arms are burning by the end, but you manage to pull it in—a glistening trout, wriggling and silver in the sunlight.

Noctis whoops. “You did, it!”

You’re beaming, flushed and breathless and proud, and he’s looking at you like you just reeled in the moon.