Chapter Text
Still today…
Arrival: act of coming to land or journey’s end; from Anglo-French ‘arrivaille’; from Old French ‘ariver’, to come to land.
The afternoon sun painted circles on the wooden floor, dust mots dancing in the air. The patio doors were open and the breeze gently stirred the wisps of hair that had escaped from Lucy’s ponytail. She opened the next box—and then let the flaps pop out of her hands with a tiny sigh and sat back.
“What?” Tim asked from where he was neatly lining up her books on his shelf.
Their shelf, their shelf.
“I didn’t think I had this much stuff.”
A smirk pulled at his mouth. “Right, who’d have guessed, considering there were only around four thousand items on that spreadsheet?”
Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. “There were not.”
“Fine, three thousand then.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Maybe, but you’re stuck with me now. Pretty sure Penn hung up his cowboy hat on the back of your door first chance he got.”
Lucy tried to give him a stern look, she really, really did. But in the end the laughter bubbling up in her chest won, and it spilled out of her. It released something, too, the knot in her stomach no longer as tight. In fact, she’d felt much more grounded than she had all week—ever since Miles and Celina left a few hours ago, leaving them alone.
Maybe it was because it was over now. Not the actual move; the unpacking would probably take a few more days. But the worrying and the spiralling and the obsessive thinking—that was over. Her brain had been oddly quiet all afternoon while they unpacked. There was no going back now. And she didn’t want to back. Tim’s place might not have felt like home just yet the way her apartment once did, but despite everything that still hung between them, despite everything that was different now, she felt like she’d arrived.
She’d be okay.
They’d be okay.
“Yeah.” Her lips curved into a smile. “I live with you now. And Kojo. He’ll be so excited.”
“He’ll also be restored to factory settings when Genny drops him off tomorrow. I know she lets him sleep on the couch.”
“You are aware that so will I, right? And I’ll let him sleep in bed with me, too, when you’re not here.”
“You bought him a two-hundred-dollar cushion to sleep on,” Tim reminded her.
“So?”
“My point is that thing has better support than our mattress.”
“If you want a new mattress, we can just get a new mattress.”
“It’s not about the mattress.”
“What is it about then?”
“You spoiling our dog.”
“Oh, like you don’t. You cook him breakfast.”
“I cook you breakfast, too.”
“Uh-huh.”
Tim smiled and returned his attention to the books. Lucy finally started digging around in the box in front of her: candles and candle holders, a vase wrapped in a blanket, and two sofa cushions.
“You don’t regret it,” Tim asked after a while, “do you?”
“What?”
“Moving in with me.”
“No. But it’s only been five hours. Give it some time.”
He snorted. “That’s comforting.”
“I mean,” Lucy said thoughtfully, fighting the smile pulling at her lips, “we already argued about where to put the rice cooker.”
“We didn’t argue.” Tim rolled his eyes. “We had a difference of opinion.”
“That’s one way of framing it. And I still have no idea why you’d think the top shelf is a suitable place for an item I use several times a week. I’ll need a step ladder to get it down every time you’re not around.”
“Maybe I want to feel needed.”
“Or make sure I depend on you.”
“That’s a lot to take from an argument about where to put a rice cooker.”
“Ha, so you admit we were arguing.”
Tim smirked. “We always argue, Lucy. What?” he asked when she didn’t reply right away. He leaned against the shelf, looking at her.
“Eventually we’ll have a real argument, though,” she said softly. “A fight. And then we won’t be able to just ‘take the night off’ to cool down.”
“There’s always the guest room.”
“I’m not going to make you sleep in the guest room just because I’m mad at you.”
“That’s a little sexist, don’t you think? Why am I the one who’d hypothetically have to sleep in the guest room?”
“Nobody is sleeping in the guest room.” Lucy’s lips twitched. “Well, unless your snoring gets worse, then I just might.”
“I don’t snore,” Tim said indignantly. “Five hours of officially living together and you’re already making false accusations.”
“I’m stating facts.”
“If that’s how you want to spin it, sure. Maybe I will sleep in the guest room tonight.”
“That would be a shame, though, because I have plans for later.”
“Plans, huh? And what would those plans include?”
“You naked on top of me at some point. After I take a nice, long bath with one of those bath bombs Celina gave me as a farewell present.”
He smiled, dragging his eyes slowly up her body even though she was wearing her rattiest T-shirt and was covered in dust. “I could get onboard with that.”
“I’m serious, though,” Lucy said quietly. “I don’t want us to go to bed mad at each other. I want us to talk about it even if it’s hard. I want to have those hard conversations with you. I don’t want to ever not talk with you.”
Not talking, keeping secrets, not trusting each other was only part of what had broken them. But sometimes Lucy suspected that even if Tim hadn’t blown up their relationship to punish himself, they’d have broken up eventually. Because there had been issues, and it hadn’t been just Tim—it had been her, too. Them. The irony wasn’t lost on her. They could communicate with a single glance, but had failed to communicate when it had mattered the most.
She wasn’t going to let that happen again.
“I want that too.” Tim gave her one of his new, soft smiles, and she suddenly remembered what he’d said all those weeks ago when he’d asked her to move in with him:
I love you. I want to be with you. You are my future, Lucy.
It hadn’t been a proposal, but it had been a declaration, and it had carried more weight than all the other times he’d told her he loved her. He’d meant it—she was it. And there weren’t any vows yet, though she hoped there’d be eventually; but she knew they’d be there for each other for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health until the end.
---
This morning there had been lasts. And now… now there would be firsts. So many, many firsts.
Lucy felt a certain thrill when she ordered take-out online and put in Tim’s address, her address. Like, somehow, this tiny act made it suddenly real even though she’d ordered food to his home—their home, theirhome—before. And when she walked up his driveway—their driveway, their driveway—later, balancing a bag of take-out and a bag of groceries in her arms, it hit her again: I live here now. I’m home.
Inside, Tim was waiting for her. Had probably cleared and set the table already, definitely unpacked another box or two, maybe even showered while she’d wandered through the supermarket to stock up on some of her favourite stuff before picking up their food.
It wasn’t a fancy first meal, and she had plans to celebrate this occasion properly—with a homecooked meal and a nice bottle of wine once everything was unpacked. But it was still a first. And there’s be so many more.
Small ones: coming home from work; sitting out in the patio at night with Kojo lying between them; having friends and family over.
Big ones: their first Halloween, their first Thanksgiving and their first Christmas; celebrating their birthdays; coming home after their first vacation.
But it wasn’t just the firsts—because this wasn’t just a move or just a chance. It meant something, and it marked the beginning of something, too. Lucy didn’t necessarily think that far ahead even though they’d talked about it a number of times now, and not just jokingly—or while drugged. But… when they decided to start a family, this was where it would happen.
Where she’d get pregnant.
Where they’d find out.
Where they’d bring their child home to.
But… not just yet. First, she wanted to spend time with Tim, just Tim, and settle in her leadership role, establish herself even though more than three months into her new position she finally felt somewhat confident. But eventually—probably sooner rather than later given that Tim was already in his forties—her focus would slowly shift to other things. Children. Hopefully marriage, because while she knew she didn’t need a piece of paper to prove how committed they were to each other, she wanted it—and she thought that Tim did too.
“You okay? You’ve been staring off into space for the last five minutes.”
Lucy blinked and looked at the chopsticks paused halfway to her mouth, then at Tim.
“Right.” She gave herself a little shake and dropped the chopsticks onto her plate. “Sorry. Yes, I’m okay. I was just… thinking.”
“About what?”
She smiled. “The future. All those firsts, among other things.”
“Yeah.” Tim sat back, looking thoughtful.
“What?”
“I am so incredibly lucky that you gave me, us, another chance. That you moved in with me. That… you want a future with me. I don’t have the word to express how happy this makes me.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But I know you are. I can see it. And so am I. And I’m looking forward to all those firsts with you—and everything else.”
“Me too.”
“Right now I can’t wait to have that bath though. I feel disgusting.”
“Go ahead.” Tim threw his napkin down and reached for her plate. “I’ll take care of this. I have a system for loading the dishwasher anyway.”
Lucy snorted. “You and every other guy I know. What’s the deal with this masculine compulsion to load a dishwasher a certain way?”
“It’s about running it efficiently.”
“I thought it was about getting clean dishes,” Lucy smirked. “But sure.”
“Go take that bath.” Tim sighed and rolled his eyes—but she could tell he was trying not to smile.
---
The water had long since cooled off and the suds vanished. Tiny waves lapped lazily against Lucy’s body whenever she moved a little. She must have dozed off, the heady smell of lavender and the long day, making her tired; she was woken by a sudden rush of cold air and Tim asking, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she murmured and opened her eyes, blinking into the light. “Just a little tired.”
Tim closed the door to keep the warm air inside and then just stood there, looking at her. There was that smile again, so soft and light, as his gaze travelled over her body. It made her heart skip a beat, the way he looked at her. Open and honest, and she found it hot, not just that honesty but that he was so matter-of-fact about finding her attractive. That it just was. For some reason, it gave it more weight.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Beautiful, huh?”
“Gorgeous.”
“So… what kind of things would you do for this gorgeous girlfriend of yours?” Lucy asked with a tiny smile and sat up, water trickling slowly down her breasts.
“That depends,” Tim said carefully, his gaze dipping for just a second before finding her eyes again.
“Wash my hair?”
His lips twitched. “Is that what you expect now? Me waiting on you hand and foot?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“And what do I get in return?”
“You get to satisfy your weird obsession with my hair.”
“Well, you do have gorgeous hair.”
She tilted her head. “Which you like to pull.”
“Which you like me to pull,” he pointed out.
“True,” she admitted. “You know, maybe I’ll let you do that later.”
“Uh-huh.”
And still he looked at her, the need, the want evident in his eyes now. He went to sit beside the tub and reached for the showerhead while she turned sideways, pulling her knees to her chest. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes with a quiet sigh. She loved this, not just because Tim was surprisingly good at washing her hair but also because he genuinely seemed to enjoy it—and not just when they were having sex in the shower. He gently massaged her scalp, the steady rhythm of his fingers instantly relaxing her, and patiently ran shampoo through her hair over and over again, careful not to tangle the lengths.
“I like making you feel good,” he’d told her once.
Always giving, almost never asking. Even more so now than when they were together the first time. He was so, so happy; he’d do almost anything for her now if only she asked. So she didn’t. Not a lot, anyway, because she wanted to take care of him in every way, too.
Balance.
The tips of his fingers brushed softly against the back of her neck.
Then slid over the slope of her shoulder.
Then skimmed down her arm.
And then fleetingly brushed along the swell of her breast in what might have been an accidental touch—but which she knew definitely wasn’t.
“I like it when you touch me like that,” she murmured softly, eyes still closed. He merely hummed quietly in response, but he snuck in other brief touches as he carefully washed out the shampoo:
Her collarbone.
The hollow of the throat.
The valley between her breasts.
First tendrils of arousal whispered quietly through her body.
A few moments later she stepped out of the tub and into the fluffy towel Tim was holding open for her. Again he was watching her with that look—and instead of letting go so she could dry off, he closed his hand around the front of the towel and tugged her closer. He gazed down at her, his erection pressing into her stomach, pupils already blown wide with need, desire, want. His fingertips traced the curve of her neck where her hair clung to her damp skin and water trailed into the towel in tiny rivulets.
“Your shirt’s getting wet,” she murmured.
He shrugged, didn’t answer. She glanced up. His eyes were heavy-lidded, half-closed, maybe not even truly seeing her; when he lowered his forehead to hers and kissed her, the gesture carried a strange hesitancy.
And maybe… maybe they were meant to be teasing, those fleeting, hesitant touches. But she didn’t think they were. It felt like another first even though it wasn’t: like he was getting to kiss her for the first time only now—had yet to discover her and didn’t know her at all.
Oh.
Lucy understood with a sudden sense of clarity. She’d thought she understood what her agreeing to move in with him meant to Tim, but now she could see that she hadn’t, not really. And, ironically, it was the same reason she’d been so anxious for weeks and had driven herself, and Tim, a little crazy:
It wasn’t just a move.
It was a transition. One that carried weight and meaning. And for him, while he’d been so happy after they’d started dating again, this marked the new beginning. Not that Wednesday three months ago, not her saying yes to moving in. Today. Because, maybe, there was still a part of him that had been afraid she wouldn’t go through with it, that had doubted her commitment. Not because he doubted her, but because that part didn’t believe he deserved to be happy—even after hours and hours of therapy.
But now she was here, confirming that she really, truly was giving him another chance.
Was giving them another chance.
She shouldn’t be surprised. She’d kept him at arm’s length, had refused to let him back in for a long, long time. She’d had things to figure out, had to look after herself first before she could even start thinking of them again. And he’d followed her lead in every way, had given her time and space, hadn’t pressured her once. But it couldn’t have been easy, must have been so frustrating at times. And through it all she’d known that he still loved her, that he still wanted her, that she was everything for him.
Now it cracked her wide open.
She let out a slow breath and curled her fingers into his shirt, pulling him to her the same way he was holding her to him. She wondered absently if he even realised how careful he was with her at times, as if he was still afraid of crossing a line that no longer existed.
“I love you,” she murmured.
And: “I want you.”
And: “I’ve forgiven you.”
Because, maybe, this was something he needed to hear more than just once or twice to believe it.
“I know.” She felt his lips curve into a smile before he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth and drew back, meeting her eyes. “I love you too.”
He gently tugged at the towel, pulling her out into the bedroom with him—and she froze, surprised and touched, because…
Tim could be romantic, though he didn’t really need it for himself. Mostly, it was for Lucy’s sake because it was something she enjoyed. He didn’t need two dozen lit candles—and yet that was exactly what was waiting for her now: on the dresser, the shelf in the corner, by the window. They flickered softly, casting their golden glow over the room.
She looked up, biting her lip. “That’s… I didn’t…” She curved her hand around his cheek with a soft smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The hint of a pleased smile crossed his face, and then he added, after a beat, “I put a fire extinguisher under the bed though. And in the living room.”
Lucy laughed. “Other people hide condoms in the rooms they plan to have sex in. You went for fire extinguishers.”
“Uh-huh. Do you want LAFD traipsing through the ruins of our house because we knocked over a candle and didn’t notice? We’d never live that down. Also, I happen to like this house—I put a lot of work into it.”
She gave a tiny, incredulous laugh. “Our house. I really live here now.”
“Yeah.” Tim’s face softened. “You really do.”
Lucy trailed her hands down his shoulders, splayed them over his chest. The gesture was automatic by now, or maybe instinct: find the steady thud-thud-thud of his heartbeat.
And then she stepped away from him, tugging the towel out of his grasp so that it fell open and slid down her body. His gaze followed immediately.
“I remember saying something about wanting you naked on top of me,” she said pointedly. “I am naked. You are… not.” She slowly stepped back until she hit the edge of the bed, then sank down, bracing herself on her elbows.
Tim lifted his gaze to her face, and for a moment their eyes met, a smirk tugging at his lips. He pulled his shirt over his head in a single, fluid motion and shoved his jeans and boxers over his hips, watching her watch him. His erection sprang free, and it struck Lucy, not for the first time, that there was something powerful in knowing, seeing that someone desired you so much—desired you not just for your body but for who you were. And it broke her heart a little too, also not for the first time, because despite his desire and his love for her, despite his level of devotion, he'd made himself let go of her.
Pain.
Punishment.
And he’d punished her too, had inflicted pain on her too, but it wasn’t the same. Now though… now she hoped they could be happy, hoped that the next time he felt the need to punish himself, he’d talk to her. Because she knew that moment would come eventually; Tim might be aware of the why now, might understand why he’d done it, but no amount of therapy in the world would completely erase what had been ingrained in his brain since early childhood.
“Lucy?”
Lucy blinked, looked up to find Tim standing in front of the bed, looking both amused and a little worried. “Ah, sorry. I was just thinking about something.”
“About what?”
This. Us. Commitment.
She smiled and extended her hand for him to grasp, slid her fingers firmly into his. “That I want us to be happy.”
“I want that too,” he said quietly, and when she tugged at his hand, he followed willingly. He settled next to her, his skin blazing hot against hers. In the candlelight he looked soft—but then, he’d always let her see a softer side of him even before. It wasn’t just that, though. It was everything: the way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he moved. Lighter. He wasn’t the man she’d met all those years ago, but she loved every version of him.
She trailed her fingertips down his cheek before grasping his chin, tipping his head so she could brush her mouth over his. She felt his hand settle on the back of her neck, fingers buried in her damp her, and when she kissed her this time there was no hesitation. He licked her mouth open for a taste of her, shifting his body a little so she was pressed flush against his chest. His erection was trapped between their bodies, the sheer heat radiating off him making her skin sizzle. She slowly ran her hand down his chest, across his stomach, his abs hard beneath her touch, tense in anticipation. She smiled against his mouth as she closed her hand around his length, soft, velvety skin and hardness, a perfect contradiction. He’d probably had plans to make tonight about her like he so often did, take his time with her, but this was about them.
Their life together.
Their future.
Their pleasure, not just hers.
He twitched in her hand as she tightened her grasp, squeezed hard, and his fingers on her neck tightened in response, nails biting into her skin. She grazed her teeth along his bottom lip, then swept her tongue into his mouth. The softest moan somewhere in the back of his throat, another twitch when she ran her hand down his length, gripping the base—and her own body readying itself for what was to come: arousal pooling between her thighs, slick and hot.
He nudged her thigh with his knee; she tilted her hips, let her legs fall open. His hand skimmed the curve of her shoulder, resting on her throat for a second; it made her feel vulnerable in the best way, that gesture, and claimed—and so, so wanted.
And then he let it wander lower, his palm closing around her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple, already hardened into sensitive peaks. Jolts of electricity sparked along her veins, shooting straight into her core. She moaned, the sound muffled by his mouth.
After all this time he was so attuned to her body, knew exactly what she needed, could read her so, so easily. But she could read him too, felt what he needed in the way his body tensed or didn’t, the way his fingers dug into her skin, the way he moved against her, seeking her touch. She dragged her fingers back up his erection, circling his sensitive tip with her thumb, slowly spreading the precum already gathered there.
He let out a slow breath, still caressing her breast, and then slowly trailed his hand lower, fingers combing through the curls at the apex of her thighs. There was no teasing: she was wet and ready. He dipped two fingers between her folds, opening her just a little—and then simply slid into her, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit.
She smiled into his mouth, felt herself flutter around his hand as he stretched her. There was no rhythm either: he simply touched her everywhere. Thrust into her again and again, slowly at first, then faster, spreading her arousal as he did. Worked his thumb over her clit in short flicks and firm strokes. Let his fingertips dance against the inside of her thighs.
Maybe it wasn’t meant to tease her, but it still drove her wild, made her want more. Not just fleeting touches, but him. Deep. She broke away for a moment, sucked in a lungful of air as she met his eyes, which were hazy with pleasure. “Come inside me,” she whispered, breathless. She let go of him and dug her fingers into the back of his thigh, pulling him on top of her. His weight crushed her into the mattress, but she didn’t care; she drew a shallow breath and moved under him until her legs were free, until she could wrap them around his waist.
His tip brushed against her, slipping through her folds. Once, twice, a third time, but not enough, only teasing. And then he finally, finally reached down, dragged his entire length through her slick heat with slow, deliberate purpose before nudging her open. She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down, tilting her hips to meet his, because she wanted him now, now, now.
He sunk into her to the hilt.
She let her head fall back and her eyes flutter shut as her body opened and stretched around him, made space for him inside her. Her muscles clenched, once, twice, adjusting to being filled by him—and he slid impossibly deeper, opening her just a little more. She still could barely breathe, his entire weight on her; it made her feel lightheaded and dizzy, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as her body pulsing around the fullness at her core… and she didn’t want it to stop.
He rolled his hips back, sliding out of her almost all the way, dragging slowly along her walls as he did. She fluttered and clenched around his tip, her body trying to draw him back in, desperate with need now.
He cupped her face, kissed her until she saw white pinpricks of light dance behind her eyelids. And then—when she could barely stand it anymore, when a whimper clawed its way up her throat because she needed him—he thrust back into her with a powerful snap of his hips. She cried out, half in surprise, half at the feeling of him hitting deep, deep, deep, her back arching.
Afterwards it was a quick, messy rhythm. He rose above her, his arms on either side of her face now. She sucked in a greedy breath, then she dragged his head down for yet another kiss while she brought her hips up to meet his. More, more, more. Always more. He slammed into her again and again and again. Opened her for him, filled her, claimed her. The sound of their bodies meeting, his quiet groans and her needy whimpers echoed through the room, stoked the fire at her core.
The pressure was unbearable now. She was drawn tight, about to snap. She wrapped her arms around Tim’s neck and just held on as he thrust into her, each deep stroke messier and more desperate than the last. The sounds, the feeling of him sliding into her slick heat… Lucy squeezed her eyes shut.
Almost.
She started to clench around him, her thighs trembling.
Almost.
And then, finally, the next deep thrust sent her over the edge. She groaned into his neck, or maybe it was a sob, clinging to him as her body gripped him, drawing him in, wave after wave of pleasure surging through her. He drove into her relentlessly, a thin sheen of sweat on his skin now, salty and masculine. His body locked suddenly, instinct making him bury himself deep, and he came in a pulsing rush of heat inside her, spilling himself completely.
---
“This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for tonight.”
The lay under the blanket, their legs entangled, Lucy’s head on Tim’s shoulder.
She smiled. “I figured you had some elaborate plans. But I just wanted you tonight.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “I’ll save them for later.”
“Looking forward to it, especially since we have several more rooms to go.”
Tim drew back a little, frowning. “What?”
“I remember saying something about wanting to have sex in every room of the house. And the backyard.”
“Right. No more judgy roommates. Or other disturbances,” he added after a beat. “And now you can be as loud as you want.”
Lucy lightly slapped his chest. “I’m not loud.”
“Uh-huh. I’m pretty sure Kojo went crazy the other night because he thought I was murdering you.”
“That was the first time he ever did that. It can’t have been because of my… enthusiasm. I’m always enthusiastic.”
“Yeah, but it was intense. Maybe a certain decibel level sets him off.”
“You’re not half as funny as you think you are,” Lucy said, but her lips were twitching. “But on a different note, it’s good to know he’d try to defend me if you ever did try to murder me.”
She could practically hear Tim roll his eyes. “He’s lived with me longer than he lived with you and yet he loves you more.”
“That’s because I’m the fun parent. I give him treats, I let him cuddle on the couch with me, I buy him new toys…”
“In other words, you spoil him.”
“Is it really spoiling if you do nice things for someone you love?”
For a moment Tim was silent. Then he sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s a good point.”
“Yes. Besides, you’ve made up completely arbitrary rules about what he’s allowed to do. The only bad thing about letting him sleep on the couch is that he sheds.”
“Maybe I just don’t like dog hair on the couch.”
“Well, I promise I shed worse than Kojo and my hair is a lot longer. So by that logic I’m not allowed to sit on the couch either.”
Tim stared at her. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“I know. But I also know it’s one of the things you appreciate that about me.”
“If that’s what you think.”
“It’s what I know.”
“Like I said, you’re impossible.”
Lucy smiled, and then she turned onto her side, curling up against him. His arms came around her, holding her close. “I’m happy,” she murmured into his chest. “Let’s be happy together.”
“Yeah.” She felt his lips brush against the crown of her head. “Let’s.”
I want this. Every day. Us together.
My life. Your life. Our life.