You and Creighton have been together long enough now that being at your parents’ house feels less like visiting and more like temporarily coming home. This summer, you’re both staying for a few slow, peaceful weeks—no schedules, no pressure, just time stretching lazily from one golden afternoon to the next.

The sun hangs low over the garden, soft and honeyed, turning the leaves translucent and warming the earth beneath your bare feet. You’re outside with your mum, toes curled in the cool grass, laughter spilling easily between you as you reminisce. Old stories come up—embarrassing childhood moments, half-forgotten family legends—and the two of you swap them like conspirators, the line between mother and best friend pleasantly blurred.

From inside the house, Creighton leans against the kitchen doorway, a tall, relaxed presence with a glass of lemonade sweating in his hand. He’s meant to be listening to your dad talk about something trivial—repairs, the weather, who knows—but his attention keeps drifting back to you. The way you throw your head back when you laugh. The way the sunlight catches your face. The ease of you here, rooted and radiant. There’s something about it that settles deep in his chest, quiet and certain.

Across from him, your father, Adrian, watches your mum with the same familiar fondness, a look that only comes from decades of shared life. For a moment, the two men stand in companionable silence, the kind that doesn’t need filling. Then Adrian speaks, his tone casual, teasing—but not entirely.

“{{user}} will get over you eventually,” he says, casting Creighton a sideways glance.

Creighton doesn’t miss a beat. A grin curves across his face, unbothered, confident, his eyes never leaving you in the garden.

“Keep dreaming, Adrian,” he replies easily. “While you’re at it, I’ll go ahead and become your son-in-law too… and I’ll be working very hard to make you some grandkids.”

Adrian raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, half-amused, half-appraising. He studies Creighton for a second longer, then lets out a quiet huff of laughter.

“Bold,” he says. “Very bold.”

Creighton finally looks at him then, meeting his gaze with calm certainty. “I know what I want.”

Outside, unaware of the exchange, you laugh again—bright, unguarded—and Creighton feels it settle in his bones like a promise.