MATT STURNIOLO

| drunk-texting him

JJ MAYBANK

| your protective best-friend

MATT STURNIOLO

| cry for help

MATT STURNIOLO

| trying to take you home

JJ MAYBANK

| pheromone perfume

MATT STURNIOLO

| you’re a singer!

MATT STURNIOLO

| grumpy with him

JJ MAYBANK

| bad brownies

JJ MAYBANK

| a crush on the flower-shop girl

MATT STURNIOLO

| late night drunk calls

MATT STURNIOLO

| pregnancy with matt

JJ MAYBANK

| situationship

MATT STURNIOLO

| mornings

JJ MAYBANK

| average school morning

MATT STURNIOLO

| the father of your twins

MATT STURNIOLO

| seeking his comfort

TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

| waking up in his bed

JJ MAYBANK

| pillowtalk

TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

| party boy

MATT STURNIOLO

| must-needed vacation !

MATT STURNIOLO

| im so sorry, im late

JJ MAYBANK

| hospital helper

MATT STURNIOLO

| cat dad!

MATT STURNIOLO

| gilmoregirls!au—matthew returns

KY NEWMAN

| club classics

MATT STURNIOLO

| backstage (singer!user)

Tucker Huntington

The sea breathed outside the house, steady and patient, as if it had always known how this day would unfold. Kiko sat at the edge of her father’s sleeping mat, her fingers wrapped tightly around her own wrist. The room smelled of salt and crushed leaves, of medicine brewed too many times to still feel hopeful. Her father’s chest rose and fell in shallow intervals, each breath a small victory, each pause a quiet terror. “You should rest,” he said, his voice thin but steady. His eyes—still sharp despite everything—watched her carefully. “I will,” Kiko lied, gently. She always did. He smiled, faint and knowing. “You say that like your mother.” At the mention of her name, the soft scrape of footsteps sounded from outside. Nomi stood in the doorway, a bowl cradled in her hands, her hair loose and dark against her shoulders. She looked as though she’d just come from the shore—there was always a trace of water about her, like the ocean followed her out of affection. “Odem teaches patience,” she said quietly, setting the bowl down. “Even for those who lead.” Kiko stood, pressing her forehead briefly to her father’s. “I’ll come back,” she murmured. He nodded. “I know.” She stepped out into the light—and straight into chaos. “Chief—!” “Princess—!” “Something’s happened!” Kiko didn’t hesitate. She squared her shoulders and moved forward, bare feet firm against the packed earth. Her hair—thick, wild, curling in every direction—fell down her back like a living thing, unbound and unbothered. She looked every bit like the sea itself: beautiful, powerful, and entirely uninterested in being tamed. “What is it?” she demanded. They led her to the center of the village, where a man knelt with his hands bound. He was taller than most, pale-skinned, his clothes strange—stitched oddly, worn thin in places, nothing like theirs. His hair was sun-lightened and tangled, his face marked with equal parts exhaustion and awe. He looked up when she approached. And forgot how to breathe. Kiko noticed the stare immediately. Her jaw tightened. “Who are you?” she asked. The man swallowed. “My name is Tucker,” he said slowly, carefully, as if the words themselves were fragile. “I didn’t mean any harm. I didn’t know anyone lived here.” A lie. Or at least a half one. “This island is not empty,” Kiko said. “Nothing is.” She circled him once, eyes sharp, assessing. No weapons. No marks of a crew. No arrogance in his posture—only fear, and something else. Wonder. “Why are you here?” she asked. “To learn,” he said, too quickly to be rehearsed. “To see what the world still has in it.” That earned him a laugh from one of the elders. Kiko did not laugh. She studied him for a long moment, then gestured. “Bring him with me.” Tucker stiffened as he was pulled to his feet, but he didn’t resist.

Tyriq Withers

Tyriq noticed before she said anything. He always did. He was across the room at first, digging through his bag, but his movements slowed when he glanced up and saw her—shoulders a little tighter, jaw set in that way she did when she was pretending she was fine. He walked over, easy, not making it a big deal. “Why you look like that?” She shook her head immediately. “I don’t. I’m fine.” “Mmm.” He didn’t believe her for a second. He leaned against the dresser, watching her, not pushing yet. “You got that ‘I’m fine but I’m actually not fine’ face on.” A small exhale left her. “It’s nothing, Ty.” He stepped closer, voice softer now. “Then tell me the nothing.” She hesitated. Because it felt stupid. There wasn’t a real problem to point at—no argument, no harsh words. Just a feeling sitting heavy in her chest, made worse by everything else going on in her body and mind. “I just…” She swallowed. “I feel like they’re being weird with me.” “Who?” She told him. Explained the dry texts, the way they’d been distant, how they were still watching everything she posted but not really showing up anymore. “And it’s dumb,” she added quickly, shaking her head. “Like, it’s literally nothing. I just—” her voice wavered slightly, betraying her, “—I feel like they don’t like me anymore or something.” There it was. Tyriq didn’t laugh. Didn’t brush it off. Didn’t hit her with a “you’re overthinking.” He sat down next to her instead, elbows on his knees, looking at the floor for a second like he was actually thinking about what she said. Then he looked at her. “That’s not dumb.” She blinked. “It is.” “It’s not,” he said, more firmly this time. “You care about them, right?” She nodded. “Then yeah. That’s gonna feel weird when something changes. Even if you can’t explain it yet.” Her grip on her phone loosened a little. He reached over, gently taking it from her hand and setting it beside her. “Also,” he added, tilting his head, studying her face, “you’re already feeling everything ten times stronger right now.” He glanced down at her position with a heating pad strapped against her hip and ibuprofen beside her.