Archive of Our Own

It starts like most things do—with two people, a shared ride, and a little space between them.

The Benz doesn’t ask questions. It simply waits. For footsteps, for voices, for laughter that slips in when the doors shut and the world goes quiet.

First, they’re just coworkers. Then, they’re friends. Then, they’re everything.

Seatbelts click. Drinks spill. Heads doze against windows and hands inch closer across the console. There are fights. There are flowers. There are silent moments so heavy with love that they change the air inside the cabin.

The Benz hears every whispered confession. It feels every shift—the weight of hope, of hesitation, of hands brushing for the first time, of rings slipped onto fingers, of a child giggling in the backseat.

This isn’t just a car.

It’s where they became who they are.

This is their love story—from the passenger seat.

First Ride

“…You really don’t mind?” Nani asks as the car door shuts behind him with a quiet thunk.

Sky’s already sliding into the driver’s seat, tossing his bag into the back. “Nope. Not at all.”

Nani hesitates before buckling in. “I could’ve just grabbed a taxi or something.”

Sky snorts, starting the engine. “In this rain? No way.”

The cabin fills with the low hum of the car coming alive. Outside, the streets glisten wet under the city lights. Inside, the air’s a little too cold from the aircon, the seats smelling faintly of mint gum and leather cleaner. The car is tidy. Almost too tidy.

Nani sits stiffly, hands folded in his lap, shoulder brushing the door like he’s trying not to intrude. Trying not to take up space.

Sky glances over as he pulls out of the lot, one hand on the wheel, the other flicking the volume knob. A soft indie beat starts to fill the quiet. Nani doesn’t recognise the song.

“You good?” Sky asks, casual but gentle.

Nani nods. “Yeah. Sorry. Just—wasn’t expecting a ride home.”

Sky huffs a laugh. “You looked like you were about to hop on one of those motorcycle taxis. Not happening.”

A beat. Nani blinks at him. “Oh.”

Sky shifts in his seat, like he hears himself too late. “I mean—not like I’m trying to babysit you or anything. I just…” He runs a hand through his hair, glancing sideways. “They’re dangerous. Especially in the rain. And you don’t seem like the type who’d yell at a driver to slow down.”

“I’m not,” Nani admits. Quiet. His mouth twists into a small, surprised smile. “You didn’t have to, though.”

“I wanted to,” Sky says, and then, like he has to justify it: “I live like five minutes from you anyway. It’s on the way.”

Nani glances over, finally relaxing enough to lean back into the seat a little. His profile is soft in the streetlights. “Still. Thanks.”

Sky shrugs, but there’s something faintly pleased in the way his fingers tap the steering wheel. “Passenger princess duties start now, by the way. You’re in charge of snacks and playlist next time.”

Nani lets out a breath of a laugh. “What if I have bad music taste?”

Sky grins. “Then I’ll judge you silently and make passive-aggressive comments.”

Nani turns toward the window, but Sky catches the upward twitch of his lips, a habit Sky’s learnt Nani does when he’s shy. He reaches over to turn the volume up just a little, lets the quiet fill back in. The silence is better now—less brittle, more comfortable. Two people slowly learning how they fit together.

By the time they pull up in front of Nani’s apartment, neither of them really wants to get out.

“Thanks again,” Nani says, fingertips on the door handle.

“Anytime,” Sky replies, and means it.

End of Day

“…You didn’t have to wait, you know.”

A soft click as the passenger door swings open, with the tail end of Nani’s voice. His bag hits the floor of the car with a soft thud as he slides in, smelling faintly of stage lights and sweat.

“I didn’t mind,” Sky replies, sliding into the driver’s seat. “You weren’t that late.”

“Forty minutes.”

Sky shrugs, buckling his seatbelt. “I got to sit in peace and eat half a bag of shrimp chips. That’s a win in my book.”

Nani rolls his eyes, but it’s softened by the smile tugging at his mouth. He doesn’t apologise again. He just clicks his belt into place and leans back into the passenger seat like it’s muscle memory now.

Outside, the sky’s a wash of orange-pink, last traces of sun caught on the edge of glass and concrete. Sky shifts into reverse, pulls out of the lot with one hand on the wheel, the other already reaching for the aux cord.

“You get to pick today,” he says. “But if you play anything depressing, I’m making you buy me dinner.”

Nani scrolls through his phone, humming. “No promises.”

The soft hum of something mellow and low-tempo fills the car. Sky doesn’t complain, just drums his fingers lightly on the wheel, matching the beat. They fall into a quiet that’s easier than it used to be. Not quite comfortable, but something approaching it.

A few blocks pass like that—music low, windows cracked, evening air slipping in.

Then—

“You really don’t mind driving me every day?” Nani asks suddenly, without looking over.

Sky glances at him, then back at the road. “I wouldn’t keep doing it if I did.”

“Still. It’s kind of a lot.”

“I like the company,” Sky says, quick, like it came out before he could check it. Then, quieter: “And it’s not like I have anything better to do after work.”

Nani lets that sit for a moment. His gaze is fixed on the window, but Sky catches the way his fingers brush over the hem of his shirt, picking a loose thread. A small, idle movement. A tell. Sky had been getting better at reading them.

“…Okay,” Nani says eventually. Not quite smiling, but not frowning either.

They ride a little longer in silence. The sky dims. Traffic thickens. The car becomes its own little capsule of calm.

At a red light, Sky finally speaks again, voice easy.

“You still owe me snacks, by the way.”

“I gave you those fruit chews on Tuesday.”

“Those were mine before you even opened the pack.”

Nani glances over with a huff of a laugh. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

“I’m writing that down. I’m holding you to it.”

When they pull up outside Nani’s building, he moves a little slower to unbuckle this time.

“Thanks,” he says, as always.

Sky nods. “See you tomorrow?”

Nani pauses, hand on the door handle. “You mean in the car, or…?”

“Both,” Sky says. “Obviously.”

That earns him a quiet smile. Real, this time.

“Yeah. See you then.”

Sky smiles all the way home.

Morning Routine

“…You’re late.”

“I’m three minutes late,” Sky grumbles as Nani climbs into the passenger seat, he hands over a strawberry milk like a peace offering.

“Three minutes and thirty-nine seconds,” Nani replies, already buckling his seatbelt. “What’s this?” He grabs the bottle from Sky.

Sky glances down at the bottle, then back at Nani. “A treat. For you. Because I’m late.”

“Did you know you were going to be late,” Nani says simply. “Or are you late because you stopped off for this?”

Sky huffs, cheeks turning a furious red, he turns back to face the wheel. He just starts driving, ignoring Nani’s pointed smirk and knowing look.

It’s early—barely past sunrise—but the car is warm, quiet, familiar. The same playlist Nani made two weeks ago is still playing softly from the speakers, and Sky hasn’t changed it since. Nani’s shoes are half untied. Sky’s hoodie is inside out. Everything is soft around the edges now, like the mornings have worn them into each other.

There’s a pack of strawberry gummies on the dash. Sky eats one without thinking. He doesn’t really like sweets—never has—but Nani buys them almost every morning, and it’s just easier to pretend they’re his favourite than to say anything now.

“You’re quiet today,” Nani says eventually, voice low over the hum of the road.

Sky shrugs. “Just tired.”

Nani hums. He leans his head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded. “Long night?”

“Ran lines. Rewatched some old scenes. Couldn’t sleep.”

A pause.

“…You’re doing great, you know,” Nani says, not looking at him.

Sky glances over, then back at the road. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It’s soft. Earnest.

Sky doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just reaches for another gummy and chews it slowly, like he needs something to do with his mouth before something stupid comes out.

“Thanks.”

The word settles quietly between them, like condensation on the windows.

They pull into the studio lot a few minutes later. Neither of them moves to get out right away. It’s too comfortable, the engine still running, the playlist winding toward something quiet and acoustic.

Nani’s the first to speak again.

“I’ll bring something salty tomorrow,” he says, almost offhand. “You’re not really a sweets guy, right?”

Sky freezes for a beat. “What? No, I am.”

Nani just raises a brow.

Sky clears his throat. “I mean, I can be.”

Nani snorts, grabs his bag, and opens the door. “Right. Sure.”

The cold air rushes in, and Sky misses the warmth the second it’s gone.

But then—Nani leans back in before closing the door.

“Khun Sky. We’re late. Come on.”

Sky groans. “It’s three minutes, not three hours.”

“Tell that to P’Som.”

Sky grumbles something under his breath, but he’s smiling as he shuts off the engine.

Nowhere else I’d rather be

The car door clicks shut, and Nani exhales like he’s been holding his breath all day.

Sky doesn’t say anything at first—just starts the engine and lets the low hum of the aircon fill the quiet between them. The lot is mostly empty now, most of the crew already long gone. The sun’s dropped out of sight, and the city’s glow is just starting to flicker on.

Nani sinks into the seat like he’s part of it. He doesn’t even reach for his belt right away. Just presses his fingers against his eyelids and sighs.

“Tough day?” Sky asks, eyes on the road but voice soft.

Nani nods without looking up. “Director was in a mood. Kept asking for takes without saying what was wrong.”

Sky hums. “That scene turned out good, though. You were great.”

Nani doesn’t answer for a moment. Then: “Didn’t feel like it.”

Sky glances over as they roll to a stop at the exit. “Well, it was.”

It’s quiet again, but not uncomfortable. Just… stretched out, the kind of silence that doesn’t need filling.

They drive for a while like that—Nani with his head leaned back, Sky with one hand on the wheel and the other resting loosely on his thigh. The playlist has looped back to the beginning again. Neither of them notices.

Halfway through a red light, Nani speaks.

“Do you ever feel like you’re just… faking it?” he asks, quietly. “Like people say you’re good and you smile and nod, but all you can think is, ‘what if they find out I’m not?’”

Sky doesn’t answer right away.

He turns the corner, the street stretching quiet and familiar in front of them.

Then, “Yeah,” he says. “A lot more than I let on.”

That earns him a glance—quick, but sharp with curiosity.

“You’re so—confident, though.”

“I’ve just had longer to practice pretending.”

Nani watches him for a beat. Then looks out the window again. “…Same.”

Sky taps his fingers against the wheel. “Maybe we should tell each other when we’re faking it.”

Nani huffs a quiet laugh. “So, like, every day?”

“Exactly.” Sky grins. “I’ll go first: I hated that lemon milk you brought me last week.”

Nani turns to stare at him. “You said it was your favourite.”

“I panicked! You looked so proud!”

“You drank the whole thing.”

“I was trying to be polite!”

Nani laughs—really laughs this time, head tipped back slightly, the exhaustion cracking just long enough to let it out. It’s the sound of someone letting go.

Sky watches him from the corner of his eye, smile tugging at his mouth.

They pull up to Nani’s apartment, but neither of them moves.

Nani’s voice is quieter again when he speaks. “Thanks for driving. Always.”

Sky shrugs, but there’s no teasing in it this time. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Nani doesn’t answer right away. Just sits there, looking at Sky like he’s trying to work something out.

Then, finally, he nods. “See you tomorrow?”

Sky taps the steering wheel lightly. “Obviously.”

Sleepyhead

The door shuts with a familiar thunk. Nani doesn’t speak—just exhales and melts into the seat, head tipping back, lashes fluttering low. His bag thuds weakly to the floor.

Sky starts the engine, glancing over. “You good?”

Nani hums. “Tired.”

“Long day?”

“Long week.”

Sky chuckles and shifts into drive. “You want to nap? I’ll wake you up before we get there.”

Nani doesn’t answer right away. He’s already slouching further down, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, cheek pressed half-heartedly against the window.

Then, muffled: “Wouldn’t be so bad if your car had pillows.”

Sky grins. “Sorry, Your Highness. I forgot to bring your royal sleep accessories.”

Nani snorts, eyes still closed. “I meant a real pillow. Not this stupid window.”

“You could always use me as a pillow,” Sky says, half-teasing, half-meaning it.

There’s a beat.

Then Nani mumbles, without opening his eyes, “Your shoulder’s bony.”

Sky barks a laugh. “Wow. Insult me and refuse the offer. Incredible.”

Nani doesn’t reply—just pulls his hoodie tighter and lets his head loll to the side, toward Sky but not quite touching.

The car slips through the quiet streets, golden lights blurring past the windows. The playlist is low and familiar now—background to everything. Nani’s playlists are all that fills the Benz these days.

Nani’s breathing evens out, steady and slow. Sky drives softer, turns slower. Like he doesn’t want to wake him.

They hit a red light. Sky glances over. Nani’s head has tipped just far enough to rest lightly against the edge of the seat. His lips are parted. Peaceful. Soft in a way he rarely lets himself be when he’s awake.

Sky watches him for a moment longer than he should. Then looks away, clearing his throat.

“Drama queen,” he mutters under his breath—but there’s no bite in it. Just fondness, thick and quiet.

When they finally pull up outside Nani’s building, Sky doesn’t wake him right away. He just sits there, letting the engine idle and the music drift.

Nani stirs after a moment, eyes blinking open, dazed. “We home?”

“Yeah,” Sky says softly. “Didn’t mean to let you pass out that hard.”

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Nani mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. “You drive too smooth.”

Sky grins. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Nani yawns and grabs his bag, moving slower than usual.

“See you tomorrow?” he asks, still sleep-warm.

Sky nods. “Obviously.”

For Your Naps

The door opens with a slow creak, and Nani slumps into the passenger seat like he’s already halfway to sleep. His hoodie’s pulled up over his head, and his bag drops to the floor with a soft thud.

“You always look like you’re dying at the end of the day,” Sky says, not unkindly.

Nani grunts. “I am dying.”

Sky huffs a laugh. “Well. Good thing I came prepared.”

Before Nani can ask what he means, Sky reaches into the back seat and pulls out a small plush pillow—round, squishy, fluffy, and stupidly cute, with embroidered eyes and a red nose.

He shoves it into Nani’s lap without ceremony. “Here. For your naps.”

Nani blinks at it. Then at Sky. “…Are you serious?”

Sky shrugs, keeping his eyes on the wheel as he starts the car. “You complained about the window. Figured this was better.”

There’s a pause. Nani picks up the pillow, turns it over in his hands.

“It has freckles.”

“Didn’t notice that part,” Sky mutters, suddenly very focused on adjusting the mirrors he hasn’t touched since he first got the car.

Nani smiles, slow and smug. “You went out and bought a pillow just for me.”

“You sound so full of yourself right now.”

“You did,” Nani insists, grinning. “You bought me a nap pillow.”

Sky groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You’re so annoying when you’re right.”

Nani leans his head against the window, still cradling the pillow in his lap. The teasing fades out into something gentler, quieter.

“You don’t like things in your car,” he says after a moment. “You always keep it clean. Uncluttered.”

Sky shrugs again, but it’s slower this time. “It’s okay. I don’t mind if it’s for you.”

The air shifts—just a little. The kind of pause that leaves something unsaid hanging between them.

Nani doesn’t look at him, but he doesn’t smile either. His voice is softer now. “Sky.”

Sky glances over.

Nani’s eyes are on the dashboard, unreadable in the dark. “You’re gonna make me start liking you or something.”

Sky’s breath catches—just for a second. He tries to laugh it off, light and careless.

“Terrifying thought.”

Nani finally smiles again. “Yeah. Horrible.”

They don’t say anything else for the rest of the ride, but the plush stays tucked in Nani’s arms the whole way home.

And the next day, it’s still there—waiting on the passenger seat when Nani climbs in.

Eventually, it becomes a fixture in the car.

One of the handful of things Sky makes space for.

Only ever for Nani.

His only exception.

Midnight Run

The car pulls up outside Nani’s building just past midnight.

He’s already waiting in the lobby, hoodie sleeves tugged down over his hands, flannel pyjama pants pooled over the backs of his slippers. When he climbs in, he’s holding a ridiculous plush under one arm like it’s part of him.

“You came,” he says, smiling like it’s a joke, but also not.

Sky glances at him as he starts the car. “You texted ‘I want khao mun gai or death.’ I assumed it was urgent.”

Nani yawns into his sleeve. “Both are still on the table.”

Sky’s wearing basketball shorts and a worn T-shirt, hair slightly flattened like he only just got out of bed. The air in the car smells like laundry and peppermint. Soft and half-asleep.

“I can’t believe you’re out in slippers,” Sky says, pointing down at Nani’s feet.

“You’re in flip-flops.”

“These are versatile. Stylish, even.”

“You literally have bed hair right now.”

“You brought a plush.”

“It’s emotional support,” Nani deadpans.

They both dissolve into quiet laughter, the kind that tumbles easily between them now. It’s warm and a little silly, amplified by the empty roads and the way city lights blurred like watercolours on the windshield.

They find an open shop tucked on a corner, lights buzzing overhead, grill already half shut. Sky orders for both of them because Nani’s too busy yawning and looking at the fried chicken display like it’s art.

By the time they’re parked again—two steaming takeaway boxes between them, greasy plastic bags rustling in the dark—they’ve somehow ended up just a little closer than usual. Shoulders brushing as they lean over the center console.

“Gods, I love food after midnight,” Nani sighs around a mouthful. “Tastes better when it’s slightly cursed.”

Sky chuckles, tearing into his own box. “We should make this a tradition.”

“Late-night food and existential dread?”

“Exactly.”

They eat in comfortable silence for a while, punctuated by soft groans and the occasional curse when something’s hotter than expected. The car smells like fried garlic and soy sauce now, and neither of them seems in a hurry to open the windows.

At one point, Nani leans sideways, head knocking gently against Sky’s shoulder.

Sky stiffens for a fraction of a second—just long enough to register the warmth, the pressure—before relaxing into it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You falling asleep on me?” he asks, voice low.

“Mm. No. Just resting my eyes.”

Sky doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything else. Just lets him stay there, cheek against his shoulder, fingers still curled loosely around the plush pillow tucked between his lap and the gearshift.

Outside, the city hums. Inside, time slows down.

And somewhere in the quiet—under the soft glow of the dash lights, with their hands sticky from food and hearts a little too full—they both feel it.

That shift.

Neither of them says a word.

But neither of them moves away, either.

Something Like Love

The car door opens before Nani can even reach for the handle.

Sky’s already out of the driver’s seat, hoodie half-zipped and hair still wet from his shower, holding a cup of iced bubble tea in one hand and a crumpled bakery bag in the other.

“For you,” he says, as casually as if it’s muscle memory now. “They had your strawberry cream buns again.”

Nani doesn’t question it. Just takes the bag with a soft “Thanks,” and slides into the passenger seat like it’s his seat—because by now, it is.

The moment he shuts the door, his phone connects to the Bluetooth without a word. The intro to one of his playlists starts up automatically—something slow and dreamy and just a little too romantic for 10 a.m. on a Sunday.

Sky doesn’t comment. He just drives.

Nani peeks into the bag. “You got two.”

Sky shrugs. “Figured you’d want one for later.”

He doesn’t mention the tiny My Melody keychain tucked at the bottom of the bag, but Nani finds it anyway. He doesn’t say anything about it either, just turns it over in his hands and smiles out the window, cheeks a little pink.

They’re not headed to set today. There’s no work. It’s a day off. But Sky had texted want to go for a drive, and Nani had said yes without asking where.

There’s a plushie already on the seat waiting for him—another one. Sky didn’t say it was new, but Nani knows it wasn’t there yesterday. This one’s a soft mint green bunny with droopy ears and a crooked smile. He pulls it onto his lap, hugging it against his chest like a reflex.

They drive like that for a while—no destination, no purpose. Just the two of them, drifting through the city in their little sealed world.

At a red light, Sky’s hand drops from the wheel and—without looking—rests briefly against Nani’s knee.

It’s not the first time. It’s happened a few times now. Always soft. Always fleeting.

But this time, Nani doesn’t look away. He doesn’t laugh it off. He just stays very still. Like if he were to move it might break the moment.

Sky pulls his hand back before the light turns green.

They don’t speak about it. The silence stretches, but it’s not awkward. Just full.

Later, Nani catches Sky watching him. The kind of look that lingers a second too long. That says, I’d tell you, if I knew how.

And Nani—fingers still curled around that stupid green bunny—doesn’t ask.

He just looks back at Sky, soft-eyed, and smiles.

Evidence

“Bro. You’re late,” Tay slurs, sliding into the passenger seat and immediately dropping his phone, keys, and half a kebab onto the floor.

Sky exhales through his nose, hard. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Am I?” Tay grins, eyes half-lidded, voice far too loud for this hour. “’Cause you were real cranky when I called. Like you were about to say no.”

“I was about to say no,” Sky mutters, pulling away from the curb. “I have plans.”

“With your boyfriend,” Tay sing-songs, stretching the word out with all the obnoxious joy of a drunk best friend causing problems on purpose. “Gonna watch a movie, maybe cuddle, maybe—” he gestures vaguely toward the backseat— “defile some upholstery?”

Sky takes his hand off the wheel long enough to slap Tay in the back of the head.

“Ow!”

“Shut up.”

Tay groans dramatically and sinks lower in his seat. “You used to be cool.”

Sky doesn’t answer. Just adjusts the volume of the radio like the conversation’s not happening.

But Tay’s not done. His bleary gaze sweeps across the dashboard, the seat, the console between them—and then he starts snickering.

“… Oh my gods. You really did it.”

Sky glances over. “Did what?”

“You turned your car into a shrine.” Tay picks up the plush bunny that’s wedged between the seats. “There are like five of these in here. There’s a My Melody hanging off your mirror. And bubble tea straws in the cupholder. Who are you?!”

Sky snatches the bunny out of his hand and tosses it gently to the back seat. “They’re not for you.”

“They’re for him,” Tay cackles. “You don’t even let me eat in your car. Now you’ve got sugar crusted into the aircon vents and a literal pillow in the back like he lives here.”

“He kind of does,” Sky says before he can stop himself.

Tay goes quiet. Just for a second.

Then, softer: “Yeah. I know.”

They drive in silence for a few blocks. Tay hums along to a song Sky didn’t realise was still playing. The city’s quiet now, streets mostly empty.

“You in love with him or what?” Tay asks finally, like it’s nothing.

Sky doesn’t answer.

He just tightens his grip on the wheel.

And that silence is answer enough.

Tay nods. “Okay. Just—don’t wait too long, man.”

Sky exhales, steady this time. “I know.”

No One Else

The sun’s still climbing when Sky unlocks the car. It’s one of those warm, washed-out mornings, the kind that makes everything feel softer than it should.

Nani slides into the passenger seat without a word, still in his oversized tee and the same black sweatpants he’d slept in. Hair mussed. Pillow lines faint on his cheek. Sky pretends not to notice how badly he wants to brush his thumb across them.

They’re supposed to go shopping—snacks for the apartment, a new phone charger for Nani, maybe more milk tea if they feel like being indulgent. It’s lazy, and domestic, and quietly everything.

But as Nani settles in, something flickers behind his eyes.

He shifts slightly, then frowns. The seat’s too far back. Reclined at a strange angle. Not how he always leaves it.

His fingers automatically reach for the lever, adjusting it with more force than necessary. Then he glances at the dash.

“…The bunny moved,” he says, softly. Not looking at Sky.

Sky blinks. “What?”

“The green one. It was up here yesterday.” His eyes flick toward the passenger side door. “Now it’s back there.”

Sky follows his gaze. The plush bunny is slumped awkwardly in the back, ears folded, like it’s been tossed aside.

Nani goes still.

He doesn’t say anything else, but the air around him shifts. Quieter. Closed off. Like his thoughts are spiralling inwards, unspoken.

He’s never really said it—not out loud—but the car has become their space. The passenger seat his seat. The playlist his. The toys and crumbs and bubble tea straws all his mess. No one else ever sits here. No one else ever touches anything.

So, for a moment, just a flicker, something cold crawls under his skin.

Someone else was here.

Someone close enough to lean back that far.

Close enough to shove the bunny aside like it didn’t matter.

Close enough to sit in the spot he hasn’t realised he claimed until just now.

Sky must see it in his face, because his voice comes quickly.

“I had to pick up Tay last night,” he says, gentle. “He was drunk. Loud. Tried to steal your bun—succeeded, actually. Got soy sauce on the seat.”

Nani still doesn’t look at him. Just buckles in, a little too neatly.

Sky adds, quieter, “He was just messing with stuff. It was just Tay.”

It was an unspoken reassurance. This is just for you.

There’s a beat.

Nani exhales. The tension doesn’t vanish completely, but his shoulders drop slightly. He nods.

“Okay.”

Sky glances at him, then back at the road. “…Didn’t know you’d notice.”

“I notice stuff,” Nani says simply.

They fall into silence, engine humming low beneath them. The city passes by in hazy morning light. Familiar roads. Familiar playlist. But something’s shifted in the air between them—something warmer, heavier.

At a stoplight, Sky’s hand slips from the gearshift. Without thinking—maybe on purpose this time—he rests it gently on Nani’s thigh.

It stays there.

A full second.

Two.

Nani doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shift away.

He just looks over, lips parted like he might say something—but he doesn’t.

Sky’s thumb moves once. Barely a graze.

Then the light changes, and he takes his hand back to the wheel.

Neither of them speaks.

But Nani’s smile lingers a little longer this time.

And the bunny is back in the front seat when they return home.

Something Changed

The car hums gently beneath them, tires whispering against the road.

City lights flicker past in quiet streaks—soft neon blues, warm golds, the occasional red glow that blooms across the dash and paints Sky’s face in passing shadows. The air inside is warm, too warm. Not from the heat, but from everything else.

They’re both quiet.

Not the kind of silence that means there’s nothing to say, but the kind where too much has been said already. Just not out loud.

Nani stares out the window, lips parted, cheeks still a little pink. He hasn’t stopped fidgeting—adjusting the sleeves of his jacket, tugging slightly at the hem of his shirt, shifting in his seat like he can’t get comfortable. He looks like someone trying to act normal after doing something decidedly not normal.

Sky’s hand is on the wheel.

His other hand rests on Nani’s thigh.

It landed there somewhere around the expressway and hasn’t moved since. Not heavy. Just… there. Steady. Warm. Claimed.

Nani hasn’t said anything about it.

Hasn’t asked him to move it.

Hasn’t looked at it, either.

But his breathing’s changed. A little slower. Shallower. Like he’s aware of every inch of contact.

The silence is louder than the music playing.

They both know dinner was too much.

Too soft. Too sweet. Too matched.

The evening plays in reverse in their heads: the dinner, the candlelight, the two wine glasses they didn’t finish because they kept smiling into them instead. The way Nani’s shirt somehow matched Sky’s jacket, like they’d coordinated without meaning to. Or maybe they had meant to, just never admitted it out loud.

They’d walked out smiling like they were still pretending. Like Sky’s hand on Nani’s lower back didn’t mean anything. But now, in the car, that pretending feels paper thin.

Nani shifts in his seat again, cheeks still faintly pink from the whole evening.

“The food was good.”

Sky nods, too fast. “Yeah. That…that place was nice.”

“You’ve never taken me there before.”

Sky clears his throat. “Figured I’d save it.”

“For what?”

Sky doesn’t answer.

They lapse into silence again. It’s not uncomfortable—it’s heavy with something else. Something fragile and humming under the surface. Nani presses his lips together, gaze flickering down to his lap. His legs are crossed toward Sky, knees tilted in his direction like a magnet.

Nani looks down at the hand on his thigh. Doesn’t touch it. Doesn’t push it away.

They pull up in front of Nani’s building. The car slows, idles.

Neither of them breathes.

“You okay?” Sky asks, his voice low and careful.

Nani nods, then shakes his head. “It just—felt like…”

“Like what?”

“Like more than dinner.”

Sky’s thumb rubs a slow circle through the fabric of Nani’s pants. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to.

Nani swallows, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never dressed like that just to eat with a friend.”

Sky lets out a soft laugh, all nerves. “You looked nice.”

“You looked nervous.”

“I was nervous.”

“Why?”

Sky’s quiet for a long time. Then, finally: “Because it felt like something I wasn’t supposed to want.”

Nani turns to him. His knees shift slightly, drawing them closer. “But you did.”

Sky’s smile is small. “Yeah. I really did.”

Nani presses his hands together, knuckles going white for a second. “I don’t think we’re just friends anymore.”

Sky’s hand is still on his thigh. Warm. Grounding. “When did we stop being just friends?”

“I think…” Nani glances away, blushing. “Maybe somewhere between the red threads and the matching keychains and the third sleepover.”

Sky laughs quietly. “Yeah. That’ll do it.”

The moment stretches.

Soft city lights spill across the windshield, catching in the quiet between them like dust in sunbeams. Sky should say goodbye. Nani should go upstairs. But neither of them wants to break the spell.

Finally, Sky blurts it—half-panicked, half-sincere.

“So that was a date, right?”

Nani startles, then blushes deeper, nearly recoiling into his seat. “You idiot. I mean…did you want it to be?”

Sky looks at him. Really looks at him. All open eyes and hopeful ache.

“I think I always did.”

Nani’s smile breaks slow across his face, unsure and radiant. His whole body seems to exhale.

“Then yes. It was a date,” he says.

And then—

Sky leans in, gentle, almost hesitant. It’s not a practiced kiss. Not confident or choreographed. It’s soft and unsure, the way people kiss when they’ve thought about it too long, when it’s been building behind every look, every drive, every hand on a thigh they pretended was just friendly.

Their lips meet—tentative and warm, breath mingling between them. A flutter more than a press.

Nani’s hand curls into Sky’s jacket. Sky’s fingers slip around the side of his jaw. They don’t deepen it. They don’t need to.

When they part, it’s only by inches.

Nani’s still flushed, eyes glassy with something like disbelief. “So…do I get to be your faen now?”

Sky grins, heart thudding. “You’ve kind of been that for a while.”

Nani leans back into the seat, smiling like his whole body is weightless. “Yeah. I guess I have.”

Sky reaches over, hand finding Nani’s. Their fingers tangle easily, like they’ve done this a hundred times in dreams.

And in the silence that follows, it’s suddenly very clear:

They were never just friends.

Not really. Not for a long time.

Before Work

The passenger door swings open with its usual soft click, and Nani slips inside, hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists, fingers still tugging at the hem of his shirt like he’s trying to smooth away the sleep.

Sky doesn’t even pretend not to stare. It’s early, way too early, but Nani still somehow smells like warm fabric softener and face cream and something subtly sweet, like whatever he puts on his lips without thinking.

“Morning,” Sky says, smiling into it before the word’s even halfway out.

Nani leans over before buckling in—fluid, unthinking now—and presses a quick kiss to Sky’s cheek. It’s soft. Just the barest brush of lips and breath.

Sky grins. Doesn’t let him get away with it.

Fingers hook into the front of Nani’s hoodie, curling around the strings like reins. “That all I get?”

Nani’s eyes widen, half flustered, half amused. “Sky—”

Sky tugs him in before he can finish, just enough to steal a proper kiss. Slow. Sweet. Nothing deep, but full of the kind of affection that lingers. It’s practiced and clumsy all at once—new but right.

Nani makes a tiny protesting noise against his lips before he pulls back with a scolding pout.

“You can’t kiss me like that before work,” he mutters, cheeks already pink. “Now I’m gonna be thinking about it all day.”

Sky leans back, smug. “Good.”

Nani swats his shoulder with the back of his hand. “I have lines to remember!”

“You’ll do great,” Sky says, turning the ignition like he didn’t just completely derail Nani’s entire brain. “You always do.”

Nani buckles in with a sigh, mumbling something under his breath that definitely includes the word menace.

But he’s smiling the whole way to set.

And when Sky parks, Nani’s fingers brush over his hand before he reaches for the door. A small, wordless thanks. A promise to do it all again tomorrow.

Take You Home

The sky is already dimming, that soft lavender blur between day and night washing over the city like a lullaby. The streets are quieter now, headlights reflecting off rain-streaked pavement, soft music humming low from the car’s speakers.

Nani’s head is tilted against the window, hoodie bunched under his cheek, mouth parted in sleep. His legs are curled up slightly in the seat, one socked foot tucked beneath him, the other resting against the dash in a way Sky used to complain about, before he fell in love with every part of this.

Sky glances over at him at every red light.

His hand rests gently on Nani’s thigh, thumb stroking slow, idle circles through the soft fabric of his sweatpants. His other hand lifts occasionally, brushing through Nani’s hair, carding gently at the roots, letting him sleep deeper.

It’s the kind of silence that feels like safety.

And when they reach the familiar turnoff—Nani’s building down one street, Sky’s down the other—Sky doesn’t even hesitate.

He drives home.

Because that’s what they do now.

Because Nani’s toothbrush is already in his bathroom.

Because his slippers are by the door.

Because it’s normal.

He pulls into the parking garage, kills the engine. The quiet deepens.

For a long moment, Sky just watches him.

The way his lashes rest soft against his cheeks. The slight scrunch of his brows. The tiny exhale that’s more a sigh than a breath.

Gods, how he loves him.

Sky unbuckles his own belt, then Nani’s, moving carefully so he won’t wake him. He slips out of the driver’s side, quietly circling around to the passenger door.

Opens it.

Leans in.

Presses a soft kiss to Nani’s cheek.

Then another. And another.

Nani stirs, groggy, murmuring something that sounds like Sky’s name but never fully makes it to words.

Sky smiles. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you inside.”

He hooks an arm under Nani’s knees and another behind his back, lifting him in one smooth, practiced motion. Nani curls into his chest instinctively, arms tucked close, face buried near Sky’s collar.

He’s still half-asleep, barely murmuring, but Sky hears it.

Just a whisper.

“Love you.”

Sky stills.

His heart doesn’t.

He closes his eyes, presses his cheek to Nani’s temple, breathes him in.

“I love you too.”

Sky nudges the car door closed softly, carrying Nani upstairs.

To what was slowly becoming their home.

Soft Launch, Hard Teasing

It starts the second Tay’s in the car.

“I call the aux,” he says, climbing into the back seat with a bag of chips, and enough chaotic energy to power a small city.

“You absolutely do not,” Nani says, deadpan, not even looking up from his phone as Sky pulls out of the parking lot.

“Oh my gods,” Tay groans, flopping into Ohm’s side. “You’ve turned into him. Do you hear yourself? ‘You don’t get the aux.’ Ugh. Disgusting.”

“He’s always had the aux,” Sky says mildly, one hand on the wheel, the other already settled on Nani’s thigh like second nature. “It’s just his playlist now.”

“Exactly,” Tay yells. “It’s all slow Thai ballads and those weird sad love songs in Japanese I don’t understand. I miss when this car had vibes.”

“This is the vibe,” Ohm says around a mouthful of snacks, elbowing Tay off him. “Sad, in love, domesticated.”

Sky doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed. He just shifts slightly in his seat and lets his thumb brush against Nani’s thigh.

Nani goes a little pink. Keeps looking out the window like it’s nothing.

Tay gasps like he’s witnessing a crime. “See! That! That right there!”

“What?”

“The hand thing! You always do the hand thing now. Like—like that’s your seat, and he’s your emotional support passenger princess.”

Nani glances over at Sky. “Am I?”

Sky, without hesitation: “Obviously.”

“Oh gross,” Ohm groans, burying his face in his hoodie.

“So gross,” Tay agrees. “Also—what the hell is in this now?” He starts ruffling through the seat pocket. “A stress plushie. Bubble tea coupons. A lint roller?”

“It’s not for you,” Sky says, flat.

“It’s a shrine to Nani,” Ohm says, delighted. “I bet there’s even snacks—”

“Don’t touch the konjac jellies,” Nani says, finally cracking a smile. “He bought those for me.”

“Unbelievable,” Tay moans. “You used to be cool. You used to yell at me for leaving fingerprints on the dash.”

Sky shrugs, not bothering to deny it. “Nani doesn’t leave fingerprints.”

“Oh my gods,” Ohm whispers. “They’re fully broken.”

“You know what’s worse?” Tay adds dramatically. “They do this in front of us. Imagine what they’re like when we’re not around.”

Sky raises a brow, calm. “Want me to demonstrate?”

“NO,” both Tay and Ohm yell in unison.

“Jesus,” Tay mutters. “Get a room. Not a vehicle.”

Nani finally laughs, leaning his head briefly against Sky’s shoulder before sitting up again. “This is the room.”

Sky grins. “Exactly.”

Don’t Drop Me Off

The traffic is barely moving.

Red brake lights stretch endlessly ahead of them like a taunt, reflected in the windshield, in the glass of the side mirrors, in the silence.

Sky drums his fingers against the steering wheel. Once. Twice. Then stops.

Nani hasn’t spoken in fifteen minutes. Not since they left the studio lot.

His arms are crossed, body angled slightly toward the window. Not cold, exactly. Just… tense.

Sky exhales. “You’re mad.”

Nani doesn’t look over. “I’m tired.”

“Right. So you’re tired and mad.”

Nani turns his head slightly, just enough to glance at him. “Why do you always do that?”

“What?”

“Put words in my mouth.”

Sky’s jaw tightens. “I’m just trying to figure out what I did.”

“I didn’t say you did anything.”

“You don’t have to. You’ve been radiating it since we left the lot.”

Nani huffs out a sharp breath, looking back out the window. “It’s not you, okay? I’m just—”

“—tired. Yeah. Got it.”

More silence.

The kind that feels thick, sticky, like it’s pressing in around them. Trapped in the car, in this tiny moving box that used to feel like theirs. That used to feel like safety.

Tonight, it just feels cramped.

Sky shifts his hand off the gearstick. It hovers, like he wants to reach out but doesn’t know how.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Nani mutters suddenly. “You finished hours before I did.”

Sky blinks. “Why wouldn’t I wait?”

“Because I was stuck on that reshoot and I was grumpy and annoying and—”

Sky’s voice rises, exasperated now. “You think I wait for you because it’s convenient?”

Nani goes quiet again.

The traffic doesn’t move.

Sky exhales through his nose, trying to reel it back in. “I waited because I wanted to. Like I always do.”

Nani swallows.

Then, quietly: “I just… I needed some quiet. And you were—hovering. And then you got weird when I didn’t want to talk, and now you’re being defensive, and I don’t know how to fix it when I already feel like shit.”

Sky’s hands tighten on the wheel. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel worse.”

“Well, you did.”

Another long pause.

Outside, horns honk somewhere in the distance. Sky doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

Then—

“Can you just drop me home tonight?” Nani says, not looking at him. “I think I want some space.”

That’s what does it.

The air shifts. Sharpens. Hurts.

Sky’s hands still. His jaw works silently, like he’s fighting the immediate impulse to argue, to plead, to pull over and make him talk. He stares at the road ahead. Then at Nani. His Nani.

The one who sleeps against the window. Who kisses his cheek before matcha. Who makes playlists and moves the bunny plush and leaves boba straws in the cupholder.

The thought of dropping him off like it’s nothing makes Sky’s chest ache.

“…I don’t want to go to sleep tonight without you,” he says, soft. Honest. Bare.

Nani’s breath catches. He still doesn’t look over.

Sky swallows. “We’re just tired. That’s all this is, right? It’s not about the car, or waiting, or space—it’s just a long day. And you’re my person. And I don’t want to end the day like this.”

Nani’s fingers uncurl from where they’ve been clenched in his lap.

“I don’t want to either,” he says finally, voice quiet and frayed. “I just—sometimes I get overwhelmed and I don’t know how to say it without sounding like I don’t want you there.”

Sky nods slowly, eyes still on the road, on the lights ahead. “Then just say that.”

A pause.

Then, softer: “I’ll always be there. Even if you need quiet. I’ll sit with you in silence all night if that’s what you need. Just don’t ask me to drop you off like we’re strangers.”

That’s when Nani turns to him.

Really turns.

And the look on his face is all guilt and love and tiredness, too—bone-deep and honest.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean it.”

Sky reaches over, finally letting his hand settle over Nani’s thigh like always.

This time, Nani’s hand comes to rest on top of it.

“I’m just tired,” he says again. “But I don’t want to be tired without you.”

Sky lets out a soft breath—half relief, half ache. He squeezes Nani’s thigh gently.

“Then let’s go home.”

And this time, they sit in the traffic not as silence, but as calm.

Still tired. Still tender.

But together.

Somewhere Private

Nani’s just buckled in when Sky reaches into the centre console, pulling out a small white paper bag with soft pink handles and the tiniest My Melody sticker sealing the top.

He hands it over without looking, one hand already on the wheel.

“What’s this?” Nani asks, brow lifting.

Sky shrugs. “Happy four months.”

Nani blinks, caught between a smile and a sigh. “Sky.”

“You’re gonna pretend you didn’t remember again?”

“I didn’t forget,” Nani mutters, undoing the sticker, “I just thought we weren’t doing gifts.”

“We aren’t. Only for you.”

Inside the bag: a limited-edition My Melody doll—plush and tiny, with a pastel ribbon stitched around her neck—nestled beside a small box of Nani’s favourite konjac jellies and a velvet pouch. When Nani opens it, a pair of simple silver hoops slide into his palm, identical but for the tiny pink heart charm on one of them.

“You’re disgusting,” he says softly, but his fingers are already grazing the plush like it’s precious. His voice drops a little. “These are really nice.”

“They reminded me of you.”

Nani glances sideways. “Small and cute?”

“Rare and hard to find.”

A beat.

Nani leans across the console and kisses Sky on the cheek. “You spoil me.”

Sky grins. “Of course I do, princess.”

Nani tucks the doll onto his lap, slipping the pouch with the earrings into his coat pocket. His fingers trace the side of the box of sweets like he’s committing it to memory.

Sky starts the engine.

The drive to dinner is almost peaceful.

Golden hour spills through the windows, lighting Nani up like a painting. He’s reclined just slightly in the passenger seat, arms crossed loosely over his chest, ankles tucked neat beneath him like he belongs exactly where he is.

He looks stunning. Black slacks hugging his thighs, a sheer top layered under a dark blazer, sleek silver detailing at his throat and ears. His hair’s brushed back smooth but still soft at the edges, lips a glossy pink that catches the light every time he smirks.

Sky’s shirt is unbuttoned too far, and he knows it. White linen, open at the collar, silver chain just barely visible. He looks like the kind of man who leaves heartbreak in hotel rooms and takes his dates somewhere with wine lists in French.

He’s also currently trying not to drive into oncoming traffic.

Because Nani’s fingers—light and teasing—have made their way to the inside of his thigh.

And they’re not just resting there.

“You’re quiet,” Nani says, tone innocent, gaze tilted toward the side mirror.

Sky shifts in his seat. “I’m driving.”

“That never stopped you from running your mouth before.”

Sky slants him a look. “You wanna keep that hand?”

Nani hums. “You’re so grumpy when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered.”

“You’re gripping the wheel like it said something about my ass.”

Sky exhales hard through his nose. “Nani.”

“Yes, bibi?”

“Stop.”

“You don’t want me to.”

Sky doesn’t answer. His jaw tightens. His foot presses slightly harder on the pedal.

Nani leans in close, whispering against his cheek. “You’re not gonna fuck me in the restaurant, are you?”

Sky’s breath catches.

He doesn’t pull over.

But he thinks about it.

They’re halfway home when Nani’s hand drifts again.

It starts with a casual rest on Sky’s thigh. Innocent.

But then his thumb rubs just slightly over the fabric. Just high enough.

Sky glances at him.

“Nani.”

“Yes, bee?”

Sky inhales. His fingers tighten on the wheel. “You want to get us arrested?”

“You’re driving too slow to get arrested.”

“I’m driving the speed limit.”

“You’re already hard.”

Sky swears under his breath, glancing quickly at the road signs.

Then takes the next left.

They wind through a couple quiet back streets until he pulls into an empty parking building, quiet and half-lit, a view of the city through one wide, open bay window. The kind of place meant for late-night lovers or bad decisions. Lucky for them, they qualify for both.

As Sky kills the engine, Nani arches a brow.

“This isn’t home.”

Sky turns toward him. “You said I was hard.”

Nani smirks. “I also said you drive slow.”

“Get over here.”

Sky’s voice is low. Calm, but crackling with dominance.

Nani just smiles—slow and smug like he’s won something. Because he has.

He always does.

He climbs into Sky’s lap like it’s second nature, like he was built for this. Like his body only works when it’s wrapped around Sky. Straddles him in the driver’s seat with practiced ease, knees bracketing Sky’s thighs, hands resting against his shoulders, pulling him in close.

Their noses brush. So do their chests. The heat between them is immediate.

“You know,” Nani murmurs, eyes shining with mischief, “we do have to be careful.”

“Yeah?” Sky breathes against his mouth, already dragging him in, voice rough with arousal. “Then be quiet.”

Nani opens his mouth to tease, but Sky kisses it shut.

It starts slow—hungry but measured. Sky’s hands slide beneath Nani’s blazer, dragging down to grip his hips, blunt fingers kneading. The kiss deepens. Tongues meet. Heat builds.

“You think I didn’t see what you were doing at dinner?” Sky growls softly, breath catching on every syllable. “With that fork trick. And licking your damn spoon like—”

“I was hungry,” Nani says innocently, biting his lip.

“Oh, baby,” Sky murmurs, squeezing hard at his waist, pulling him in until their hips grind. “You’re gonna be.”

Nani shivers, eyes fluttering shut at the contact. He rolls his hips down, smirking at Sky, cock already stiffening in his slacks, the drag of friction just enough to make him gasp. “Mmh—fuck.”

“You’re such a brat,” Sky mutters, mouth now tracing along Nani’s jaw, breath hot against his cheek.

Nani’s laugh is breathy, cocky, dissolving into a sigh when Sky kisses below his ear. “Your brat.”

That’s what does it.

The kiss turns filthy—teeth knocking, breath stolen, lips wet and bruising. Sky’s hands cup his ass, pulling him close, grinding up into him. Nani’s hands slide beneath the open buttons of Sky’s shirt, palms hot against bare skin, nails grazing just enough to make Sky shudder.

The front seat is too cramped. Their legs are tangled, the console in the way. Nani bumps the gearshift with his knee and Sky growls.

“Back seat. Now.”

They scramble like teenagers, clumsy with need. Nani hits his shin on the cupholder, hisses through a laugh. Sky grabs him mid-fumble and pulls him back into his lap the second they land in the back, mouths finding each other again like magnets.

The blazer goes first, tossed somewhere in the dark. Buttons follow. Hands everywhere.

Then Nani slides down.

Settles between Sky’s thighs with a wicked look in his eyes.

“You gonna behave down there?” Sky asks, voice already wrecked, low and sharp as his knuckles brush against Nani’s jaw.

“Nope,” Nani smirks, wicked and gleaming.

He sinks to his knees between Sky’s thighs, the tight squeeze of the backseat forcing him close. It only makes it filthier. Intimate. Inevitable.

He unbuckles Sky’s belt with one hand, slow and teasing, watching Sky’s face the whole time. Then unbuttons and drags the zipper down, knuckles grazing hot skin. His other hand wraps around the base—fingers tight, thumb pressing into the flushed head, spreading the slick already leaking from the tip.

Sky groans, head tipping back. “You’re a menace.”

“Mmhm.” Nani leans in close, breath ghosting over him. “Your menace.”

Then—he licks. One long, slow drag from base to tip, tongue flat and wet. He noses at the head, kisses it like it’s sweet, then parts his lips and takes Sky in halfway.

The heat of it makes Sky swear. One of his hands flies to Nani’s hair, tangling tight.

“Fuck,” Sky breathes, jaw clenched, breath shaky. “Just like that, baby.”

Nani pulls off only long enough to lap at the head again, smearing spit with lazy circles of his tongue, teasing the slit. Then he sucks him back in, deeper this time. Sky’s cock fills his mouth, stretches his lips wide. His jaw aches already—and he loves it.

Sky’s hand tightens in his hair, guiding him gently but firmly. “You look so good like this,” he says, voice shaking with restraint. “Fuck, baby. Your mouth—Gods—”

Nani grins around him, eyes bright and wet. He pulls off again just to spit on the head and stroke him a few times, then dives back down. His lips glide messily down the length, hand twisting at the base as he hollows his cheeks and takes him deeper.

He doesn’t stop when Sky hits the back of his throat—he presses in, swallows around it.

Sky chokes out a groan, hand fisting in Nani’s hair, the other braced against the fogged-up window. “Shit—Nani—breathe, baby—”

But Nani just hums in response, the vibration making Sky twitch in his mouth.

Tears prick the corners of his eyes. His throat works to take more, drool slipping down his chin. His hand pumps what won’t fit, wrist flicking, messy and relentless.

“Look at me,” Sky says suddenly, voice hoarse.

Nani lifts his eyes. Even through the blur, he locks onto Sky’s face—tense and flushed, his chest heaving.

Sky moans, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Nani blinks up at him, eyes glassy, mouth full, chin dripping with spit.

“Up. Now. I need you.”

He pulls off with a wet, obscene pop, lips swollen and slick, strings of spit stretching from his mouth to Sky’s cock. He licks his lips.

“Can’t take it?” he teases, voice hoarse and raw from the stretch.

Sky growls—low and sharp—then grabs him by the shoulders and drags him up.

“Watch it,” Sky mutters against his ear, his voice molten. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

Nani barely gets a breath in before Sky is dragging him, pushing him over the seat. The leather is cool against his palms. He plants his hands against it, ass up, slacks tugged halfway down his thighs, shirt bunched around his waist.

“Look at you,” Sky murmurs, hand smoothing over the curve of his ass, then gripping tight enough to bruise. “Such a fucking tease. All dinner—showing off. Getting me hard under the table like you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I did know what I was doing,” Nani pants, grinning into the window.

Sky laughs, breath hot at his spine. “Yeah. I figured.”

Then—two fingers, slick from spit, press to his hole. Gentle. Intentional. Nani jolts, bracing himself as Sky slides in slow. Deep. Curling.

“Ah—fuck—Sky—” he gasps, head knocking against the window.

“Shh, baby,” Sky murmurs, pressing his other hand into Nani’s hair, guiding his face down, soft but firm. “Don’t want the whole world hearing how needy you sound, do we?”

Nani shudders. “You like when I’m loud.”

Sky chuckles, dragging his fingers back and pushing them in again. “You’re right. I do.”

He works Nani open with slow, deliberate strokes, fingers pressing just right—brushing that spot again and again until Nani’s thighs are shaking, whines muffled into the fogged glass.

“Fuck, please,” Nani gasps, voice breaking on the last syllable as he arches his back, hips rolling helplessly, trying to chase the stretch of Sky’s fingers. “I need it—I need you—I’m ready, ‘Ky, please—”

Sky hums, low and approving, as he presses in deeper, sliding a third finger in with practiced ease. The stretch is sudden—full—and Nani cries out, head dropping forward against the glass, cheek fogging the window with every panting breath.

Sky doesn’t rush. He scissors his fingers slow, deliberate, letting Nani feel every curl, every press against that sweet spot that makes his thighs tremble and his cock leak steadily onto the ruined leather below.

“Gods—” Nani whimpers, hips canting back into the touch.

Sky leans forward, mouth warm at the back of Nani’s neck. He presses a kiss there—slow and reverent—right over the place that always makes Nani shiver.

“You’re perfect like this,” Sky whispers, voice rough with heat but softened by something tender, something deeper. “Bent over, begging for me. Mine.”

Nani shudders.

Sky lingers for a breath longer, kissing his nape once more—then slowly pulls his fingers out, watching as Nani’s body clenches around the loss.

“Such a good boy,” Sky murmurs, hand smoothing down the curve of Nani’s spine. “You ready to take me now?”

Nani only nods, desperate, already rocking back with need.

There’s a clumsy shuffle behind him—Sky fumbling in the tight space between the front and back seats, clothes half-off, belt hanging loose somewhere on the floor. The car is hot now, breath fogging the windows, every surface sticky with anticipation. Nani braces himself against the seat, body already open and aching.

Then—

The blunt head of Sky’s cock presses against him, not quite breaching, just dragging slow and deliberate through the mess he’s made of Nani.

Nani gasps, the sound sharp and high. “Sky—”

His voice cracks around the name, wrecked with need. His hands scrabble for purchase on the seat—leather slick beneath his palms, nowhere to grip, nowhere to ground himself.

“Patience,” Sky murmurs, though his voice is shot too—low and strained, breathless with restraint. “You wanted to tease me, baby? Huh? All night with your pretty little mouth and those fucking eyes? Now you take it my way.”

He pushes in—just the tip—and then pulls out. Again. Barely breaching him. Just enough for Nani to feel it, to ache around the edge of being filled. Sky’s cock is thick, heavy, and Nani can feel the heat of it, the way his body clenches down greedily every time Sky rocks forward and pulls away.

“You fucker—please—” Nani sobs, back arching, thighs trembling.

Sky chuckles. Low. Dangerous. “Look at you,” he mutters, hands gripping Nani’s hips like he owns him, holding him still. “Mouthy little brat can’t even take a little teasing now?”

He shallowly fucks him with the tip—again and again—just enough to make Nani fall apart. The friction is unbearable. The hunger burns between them, thick and filthy and so much.

And then—without warning—Sky slams in.

All the way.

Nani’s scream is muffled by the fogged-up window, his face pressed to the glass as his body bows under the weight of it. The stretch knocks the breath from his lungs, and he claws at the seat, tears springing to his eyes.

“Fuck—too deep—ah, fuck—‘Ky—”

“You love it deep,” Sky growls into his ear, his hands unforgiving, dragging Nani back with every brutal snap of his hips. “Don’t even try it—you love when I fill you up. You need it. Just like this.”

He drives in again—deeper, harder.

The sound of skin slapping fills the car, echoing off the windows. The interior rocks faintly with every thrust, the suspension creaking as the car shifts under the force of them.

Nani sobs into the window, voice thin and wrecked. “Gonna break your fucking suspension—”

“Worth it,” Sky snarls, fucking him harder. “You’re worth it. All of it.”

He leans in, teeth sinking into the slope of Nani’s shoulder—just enough to sting—before trailing open-mouthed kisses down his spine, worshipping every inch he can reach.

His grip never falters. One hand traveling up to tangle in Nani’s hair, pressing him into the window, the other sliding beneath him to wrap around his cock—stroking him in rhythm, claiming every part of him.

“You’re mine,” Sky whispers into his ear. “So fucking beautiful like this. All wrecked for me. All mine.”

Nani trembles, legs shaking, body split open and soaked with sweat. “Gods—Sky—Sky—fuck—I love you—ngh”

Sky’s voice breaks. “I know. I know, baby. Love you too—fuck—I love you—”

He fucks Nani through it—through the moans, the messy babbling, the shaking thighs and ruined slacks. Everything is soaked now—sweat, slick, come, the fog from the glass mixing with their breath.

Nani comes first, choked and silent, whole body seizing as his orgasm rips through him. His cum stains the leather, dripping from Sky’s fingers, his body twitching under the force of it.

Sky’s not far behind—hips stuttering, breath catching, his voice cracking with something too soft for how filthy this is. “You’re perfect—fuck—mine—mine—”

He buries himself deep one last time, cock pulsing inside Nani, groaning into his shoulder as he falls apart, shaking.

For a long moment, all that’s left is the sound of their ragged breathing, the creak of the car frame, the obscene wet noise of them still joined.

Then Sky slumps forward, arms winding around Nani’s waist, forehead resting against his spine.

“…You okay?” he mumbles, voice raw.

“Uh-huh,” Nani breathes, still pressed to the fogged glass, dazed and trembling. “That was…”

Sky hums. “You’re never allowed to tease me at dinner again.”

“I absolutely am.”

Sky groans and nudges his nose against Nani’s shoulder.

Nani hums, nuzzling in close. “Happy four months.”

Sky laughs against his hair. “You’re such a brat.”

“Your brat.”

They stay like that for a while—sweaty, flushed, clothes half-on, limbs tangled and the windows fogged with love and filth and everything in between.

The Sky reaches for him, pulling him down into his lap again, sticky and boneless. He kisses Nani’s temple.

Sky groans. “We’re gonna have to clean this whole damn car.”

“Worth it,” Nani echoes, smiling against his shoulder.

And honestly?

It is.

Which One Had the Orange Door

The car is a mess.

There’s a crumpled map wedged in the cupholder, half a smoothie sweating into the center console, and a pile of real estate brochures slumped in Nani’s lap like exhausted passengers of their own.

“Okay,” Sky says, one hand on the wheel, the other digging blindly into the back seat. “Which one had the weird orange door you liked?”

“I didn’t like it,” Nani says, flipping through the pile. “I just said it was memorable.”

“It looked like it belonged in a haunted Scooby-Doo episode.”

“Exactly.”

Sky stares at him.

Nani shrugs. “I’m a man of taste.”

They’re parked outside yet another building, waiting for the agent to text back with the passcode. Sky has his sunglasses pushed up into his hair. Nani’s stolen them three times already.

Between them: open chips, a half-eaten onigiri, and a bento box Sky picked up that morning specifically because he knew Nani would forget to eat something real.

Nani’s currently holding out a spoonful of rice like it’s an offering.

“Eat,” he says.

“I’m driving.”

“You’re parked.”

Sky opens his mouth obediently, and Nani feeds him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re a menace,” Sky says, chewing.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Sky mutters. “You liked the one with the too-small kitchen.”

“You liked the one with the pink bathroom!”

Sky points at him. “You also liked the one with the pink bathroom.”

“…Okay yeah.”

They burst out laughing.

It’s been five apartments and three arguments (none serious), one very awkward agent who clearly recognised them and kept trying to be subtle, and two snack stops. Nani’s changed into slippers in the back seat at least twice. Sky’s sunglasses have migrated to the gearshift. The backseat is now a paper wasteland of floor plans and “great bones.”

And still—still—they haven’t found the one.

“We’ll know when we know,” Sky says, handing Nani a bottle of water. “Right?”

Nani nods. “Yeah. I just like doing this with you.”

Sky glances over.

The sun’s streaming in through the windshield, catching on the hoops in Nani’s ears, the pink charm glinting. His My Melody plush is perched between the gearshift and the phone holder, like a co-pilot. There’s lip balm rolling around near the pedals, and a piece of candy in the cupholder that Nani keeps forgetting to eat.

Sky smiles. “We could live in the car.”

Nani leans his head against the seat. “Honestly? Less paperwork.”

They drive to the next place singing along to a playlist Nani made last month, one hand in Sky’s lap, the other pointing dramatically at houses they pass.

“Look,” Nani says as they pull up to the next building. “That one has an orange door too.”

Sky groans. “Absolutely not.”

They never made it all the way home.

Instead, they’re curled into each other in a random parking lot across from a 7-Eleven, bags of fried chicken skin and fish balls balanced on Sky’s thighs, Nani dipping sticky fingers into the sauce cup like it’s his full-time job.

The windows are cracked to let out the heat, and the car smells like sweat and soy sauce, and that specific kind of exhaustion that only comes from trying to build a future.

Nani has both feet up on the passenger seat now, knees tucked under his chin, Sky’s hoodie draped over him like a blanket. He’s chewing thoughtfully, the corners of his mouth still red from dipping sauce.

Sky watches him, smudging grease off Nani’s lower lip with his thumb. “Still want the pink bathroom?”

Nani hums, then leans into the touch. “No. I want something classier.”

“Like marble?”

Nani makes a face. “No, that’s too cold.”

“Hardwood?”

“Better. Maybe light oak. I want something warm. That looks good with sunlight.”

Sky nods, taking another bite of his chicken. “You’re hot when you talk about interior design.”

Nani snorts. “Shut up.”

They sit in silence for a while, passing food back and forth, sipping watered-down sodas. Sky’s head tilts onto Nani’s shoulder at one point. Nani doesn’t even flinch—just leans into it, lips brushing Sky’s temple.

“I want a room just for my dolls,” Nani says suddenly.

Sky doesn’t even blink. “Okay.”

“And shelves that wrap all the way around. Like a library but for little guys.”

“Like a museum.”

“Exactly.”

Sky nods solemnly. “And a room for our gaming.”

“Just one?”

“A big one.”

Nani pretends to think. “We can combine it. Doll museum with a gaming centre.”

Sky groans. “You’re gonna put Melody next to my PC.”

“She deserves prime seating.”

Sky grins. “Fine. But I want an outdoor area.”

“Balcony or yard?”

Sky leans in, murmuring against his cheek. “Whatever lets me kiss you in sunlight.”

Nani goes still for a second. Then turns, slow, lips brushing Sky’s jaw. “You’re such a romantic when your mouth isn’t full of fried chicken.”

Sky laughs, low and warm. “You make me soft.”

“Mm. Floorboards and kisses.”

“I’d buy a house for that.”

“Don’t,” Nani says, pretending to panic. “I’m not ready for a mortgage.”

“Well, it’s a little late to say that.”

They both laugh, tired and sweet and full.

Eventually, Sky kicks his seat back. Nani climbs into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, curling there under the hoodie, head tucked into the crook of Sky’s neck, their legs tangled like roots.

Sky’s fingers run slow through Nani’s hair, and Nani hums, half-asleep.

“Whatever it looks like,” Sky murmurs, voice low and steady, “as long as you’re in it, it’s home.”

Nani doesn’t respond at first.

Just presses a soft, lingering kiss to the underside of Sky’s jaw.

Then: “Same.”

They cuddle just like that until here ready to leave, dream house still just a fantasy—but the love already built, solid and warm between them.

Everything We Own That Matters

The Benz is full.

Not with furniture. Not with essentials.

With dolls.

Dozens of them. A rainbow army of plushies, bubble-wrapped figurines, delicate keychains packed with obsessive care. My Melody is riding in the back, buckled into the center seat like a third partner. There’s a box half-open in the back with tiny bunny ears poking out, and another nestled between Nani’s feet.

“Remind me again,” he says, squinting at the rearview mirror, “why we paid professional movers if we’re personally escorting your entire Sanrio collection?”

Nani hugs a pillow to his chest, pouting. “They’re fragile.”

“They’re plush.”

“They’re emotionally fragile.”

Sky glances over.

Nani’s wearing one of his oversized tees and soft joggers, his hair tied up in a messy bun, cheeks still flushed from the whirlwind of packing and double-checking and labelling every single box in three different colours.

He looks beautiful. Radiant. Like home.

Sky softens. “Yeah, okay. Fine. I’d carry them all in my arms if you asked.”

“I know,” Nani says smugly, snuggling deeper into the seat. “That’s why I love you.”

The car smells faintly like cardboard and takeaway from the lunch they forgot to eat. The aircon hums low. Outside, the moving truck is just a couple streets ahead, and beyond that, waiting at the end of the journey—their house.

Not big. Not flashy. Not perfect.

But right.

A sun-filled balcony. A kitchen they argued about tile for. A third bedroom that’ll be Nani’s doll haven-slash-Sky’s gaming lounge. A long hallway where their future will hang in crooked photo frames. A space that belongs to them, entirely and finally.

Nani breaks the quiet first.

“You’re sure it’s not too small?”

Sky reaches over, wraps a hand around Nani’s thigh, grounding. “No. It’s not.”

“What if the internet sucks?”

“I’ll fix it.”

Nani peeks over at him, lip quirked. “What if the neighbours are weird?”

Sky grins. “Then we’ll be weirder.”

Nani laughs, soft and warm and sleep-touched. “Okay.”

They fall quiet again. The kind of quiet that feels full, not empty.

At a red light, Sky turns to him.

“Feels big to me,” he says. “Even if the space isn’t. ‘Cause it’s ours.”

Nani leans over the console and kisses him without a word.

My Melody wobbles in her seat.

Sky pulls away just enough to mutter, “Don’t look, Melody.”

They both break into soft, breathless laughter.

The light turns green.

They keep driving.

And just ahead of them, their whole life is waiting—boxes and keys and echoes in empty rooms. A home full of chaos and love and doll-filled shelves and playlists that belong to both of them.

And this moment?

This moment is where it truly begins.

Just Ours

The car is quiet.

The kind of quiet that hums beneath tired bones and heavy clothes, beneath makeup rubbed raw, and compliments that didn’t feel like compliments at all. Outside, the city fades away, glittering and loud. Inside, it’s just them again—Sky’s Benz rolling slow through the night, the headlights casting everything in a warm, forgiving blue.

Nani shifts in his seat, heels kicked off, blazer folded neatly over his lap. He’s already wiped the foundation off his cheeks with a napkin he found in the glovebox. There’s a smear of eyeliner still clinging to the corner of one eye, but Sky hasn’t said anything. Just let him settle.

“They’re so quick these days,” Nani murmurs, voice quiet. “With digging into our business.”

Sky’s fingers tap once against the wheel. “I know, baby.”

“They asked about the house before we even walked the carpet.”

Sky hums. “We weren’t exactly as careful as we could’ve been this time.”

“I know.” Nani exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “I posted the flowers in the entryway. You tagged the cafe near the park. There was a photo of the moving truck.”

“You can literally see our names written on the boxes,” Sky says, smiling faintly.

Nani groans. “I just didn’t think they’d say it. Not like that. Not during an event.”

Sky reaches across the console, his fingers brushing Nani’s thigh. “I know.”

“It felt so—violating, kind of. Like… they said it with this tone like it was confirmation, like we owed it to them.”

“Yeah.”

A stretch of road glides by. The silence settles deeper.

Nani rubs at his temple. “Do you regret it?” he asks softly. “Being private, but not secret. Instead of…secret?”

Sky doesn’t answer right away. Just laces their fingers together, slow and careful, grounding.

“No,” he says. “Never.”

Nani looks over at him.

“I mean it,” Sky says. “I like the way we do this. I like holding your hand when no one’s looking. I like not pretending when they are. We built this. It’s ours.”

Nani’s voice is softer now. “I don’t regret it either. I like that people know you’re mine.”

Sky squeezes his hand. “I am.”

Nani nods, then hesitates. “I just get annoyed when they take it too far. When they talk like it’s theirs to uncover. Like we’re some kind of… story.”

Sky glances over, smiling a little. “You’re not a story.”

Nani raises a brow.

“You’re my life,” Sky says simply. “That’s not for anyone else to narrate.”

That pulls something tender from Nani’s chest. He shifts closer, resting his head against the window, eyes on the blur of streetlights.

“I’m not scared of being known,” he says after a moment. “Just… sometimes I wish we could keep things a little softer. A little more ours.”

“You know what’s ours?” Sky murmurs.

“What?”

“This car,” he says, thumb grazing Nani’s knuckles. “This moment. You, kicking your shoes off and sulking about the press. Me, thinking about how stupidly pretty you looked tonight even when you were glaring at that reporter.”

Nani huffs a laugh, soft and real.

“We’ve still got this,” Sky adds. “Always.”

Nani lifts their hands and kisses Sky’s fingers, one by one.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah. We’ve got this.”

They drive the rest of the way home with their hands still tangled together. The world outside might keep guessing—but in here, it’s simple.

Sky. Nani. And the future they’re already living in.

Chosen by the Cat

“It’s just a visit,” Sky says, voice low but clearly unconvinced. “We’re just looking.”

Nani’s already half-turned in his seat, face lit up like he’s on the way to Disneyland. “Of course,” he says, far too quickly. “Just looking.”

Sky raises a brow. “You’re lying.”

“I’m manifesting.”

Sky sighs and drums his fingers on the wheel. “I wanted a dog.”

“You said eventually. When we’re home more.”

“I still said it.”

“You also said I could pick this one.”

“I said we could talk about it,” Sky mutters, but his lips are already twitching at the corners. He’s been listening to Nani go on about wanting a cat for three months. At first, it was subtle. A photo saved. A passing comment about a rescue he’d seen online. Then it became TikToks and pouty eyes and well-timed “don’t you think we’d be good cat dads?” whispers in bed.

Sky is doomed, and he knows it.

They stop at a red light, and Nani glances over at him, eyes wide and hopeful.

“She’s going to love us,” he says softly.

Sky shakes his head, smiling. “You haven’t even met her yet.”

“I have a feeling.”

The carrier is perched delicately in the backseat, wedged safely between a folded hoodie and a box of litter the shelter gave them. Inside, a small, fluffy white cat is meowing indignantly, nose pressed to the mesh like she’s already trying to escape into her new life.

Nani has turned in his seat no less than five times to coo at her.

“Baby,” Sky says, amused. “Sit properly.”

“She’s scared.”

“She’s fine.”

“She’s tiny.”

“She literally picked a fight with that tabby twice her size and then climbed into your lap like she owned it.”

“Exactly,” Nani says, turning again. “She chose me. You can’t argue with fate.”

Sky sighs, glancing in the rearview mirror. “We didn’t have to go home with a cat today.”

“LOOK AT HER,” Nani gasps, pointing dramatically as the kitten meows again, paw pressed to the side of the carrier. “’Ky. She’s perfect.”

Sky tries not to smile. Fails.

“She’s gonna ruin the couch.”

“I’ll train her.”

“You’re gonna spoil her.”

“She deserves it.”

Sky laughs under his breath. “You’re ridiculous.”

“We’re fathers now.”

“She’s going to sleep in the bed, isn’t she.”

“Yes.”

Sky reaches over and squeezes Nani’s thigh gently. “I wanted a dog.”

Nani leans over the console and kisses his cheek. “You’ll get your dog.”

“When?”

“When she’s trained.”

“She’s a cat.”

Nani grins. “Exactly.”

The kitten meows again, louder this time, and Nani spins to check on her like a worried parent on the first drive home from the hospital.

Sky watches them both—his boyfriend and their tiny, chaotic new housemate—and something warm settles in his chest.

This isn’t just a day off.

It’s the start of something.

The start of family.

Of Course It’s Yes

Sky has both hands on the wheel.

Which normally wouldn’t be strange—but today, they’re clenched, knuckles pale, thumbs tapping a frantic rhythm against the leather.

Nani watches him from the passenger seat, brow raised, arms crossed loosely.

“You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re acting very weird.”

“I’m driving.”

“You’re driving weird.”

Sky huffs. “How can I drive weird?”

“You’re going under the speed limit. You never go under the speed limit.”

“That’s responsible driving.”

Nani leans in closer, squinting. “Are you nervous?”

Sky’s ears go a little pink.

Nani grins. “You are.”

“I’m not nervous,” Sky insists, eyes fixed on the road.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Ohhh,” Nani says, dragging the sound out. “A surprise that makes you sweat through your shirt?”

Sky tugs at his collar. “I’m not sweating.”

“You’re dripping, babe.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Sky finally glances over, eyes wide and so soft. “No. I really don’t.”

Nani stops teasing. Just smiles, gently now. “You’re being very suspicious.”

“Can you just—trust me for a bit?”

Nani nods, still smiling. “Always.”

They tumble into the car.

Nani first, breathless and glowing, half-tripping into the seat with laughter still caught in his throat. Sky follows, cheeks flushed, jacket askew, hair a mess from where Nani had dragged both hands through it seconds ago.

The doors shut.

The world narrows to just them.

Sky exhales, drops his head back against the seat with a groan. “That was not how it was supposed to go.”

“It was perfect.”

“I dropped the ring.”

“You panicked.”

“There were ants! Everywhere!”

“You said ‘this wasn’t the plan but you make me lose my mind so can you marry me anyway.’”

Sky covers his face with both hands. “Romantic.”

Nani twists toward him, eyes shining, hand already outstretched—and there it is. The ring. Glinting on his finger. Too elegant for how messy the moment was. Perfect for how honest it felt.

“You idiot,” Nani says softly. “You absolute, incredible idiot. I love you.”

Sky drops his hands and stares at him. “So that’s a yes?”

Nani lets out a laugh that cracks halfway through with emotion. “Of course it’s a yes.”

Sky reaches for him, and Nani climbs across the console without hesitation, pulling him in with both arms, pressing kisses anywhere he can reach—cheek, jaw, forehead, lips.

And then Nani laughs again, burying his face in Sky’s shoulder. “You know we’re going viral for this, right?”

Sky freezes. “Wait, what?”

“Those two girls by the fountain? They had their phones out while you were fighting ants in the grass looking for the ring while I was crying like a fool.”

Sky groans. “No.”

Nani is beaming. “Yes.”

“They’re going to think I proposed in a ditch.”

“You did propose in a ditch.”

“I was going to wait for the sunset,” Sky mumbles into his neck. “I wrote out this whole speech—”

“I would’ve said yes if you asked me in the drive-thru,” Nani breathes back. “I would’ve said yes two years ago.”

Sky holds him tighter.

They sit there for a long time, tangled across the front seats, hearts racing in sync, until Nani pulls back just enough to look at him again.

“So,” he whispers. “You just gonna sit here or are you gonna take me home, fiancé?”

Sky grins, head still spinning. “Home.”

His voice is sure now. Steady.

“Our home.”

Engaged. Unhinged.

The car door swings open and Ohm slides into the backseat, already talking. “Okay, but if we’re late because Sky takes fourteen years to find parking again—”

He stops mid-sentence.

Freezes.

Eyes locked on Nani’s hand resting delicately on his lap, fingers casually flexing against the curve of the console.

“Wait. WAIT.”

Sky, behind the wheel, doesn’t even look up. “Buckle your seatbelt.”

Ohm grabs Tay’s arm just as he climbs in beside him. “DID YOU SEE IT?!”

Tay frowns. “See wha—”

“THE HAND. THE RING. THE FINGER.”

Tay whips his head around. “Oh my gods—”

Nani glances back innocently, lifting his hand with the most unbothered expression on his face. The sunlight catches on the sleek band, silver against his skin.

He wiggles his fingers.

Ohm screams.

“NO ONE TOLD ME YOU WERE ENGAGED. I WAS IN THIS CAR TWO WEEKS AGO.”

“Congratulations to me,” Nani says smugly.

Tay is practically crawling over Ohm to get a closer look. “Is that Cartier? Is that bespoke?!”

Sky grins, adjusting the mirror so he can watch the chaos. “It’s one of a kind. Like my fiancé.”

“Oh my gods, I’m gonna throw up in your car,” Ohm groans. “You didn’t even soft launch—you just skipped straight to ‘surprise, we’re spending forever together.’”

“Okay but—look at it,” Tay says, grabbing Ohm’s arm again. “It’s so clean. So classic. It’s so them.”

“Of course it is,” Sky says, smug as hell. “I have taste.”

“YOU DROPPED IT IN A BUSH,” Nani shouts, laughing.

Sky glares. “It was a mildly grassy incline.”

“He fought ants for it,” Nani tells the backseat like it’s the most romantic thing in the world.

“I would’ve helped,” Tay wails. “I would’ve brought gloves. I deserved to witness this.”

“There’s probably a clip online of it by now. A couple fans were filming right as Sky fumbled the ring and dropped it.”

“Nani, please stop.” Sky begs.

Ohm presses a hand to his chest. “I’m feeling lightheaded. Pull over. I need a moment.”

“You are so dramatic,” Nani says, grinning as Sky pulls away from the curb.

“Me? You’re engaged and you didn’t tell us?! What’s next? A baby? Are we skipping straight to a wedding in Paris?!”

“No,” Sky says smoothly. “We’re skipping to the part where I get to call him my husband.”

That shuts them both up.

Just for a second.

Then Tay screams into the seat.

Ohm nearly kicks the back of Sky’s headrest.

Nani blushes, full and warm, but doesn’t stop smiling.

Sky reaches over and laces their fingers together on the console.

Tay’s still babbling. Ohm’s threatening to plan the bachelor party himself. The city rushes by in a blur of gold and chatter.

But in the middle of it all, there’s Sky and Nani—soft, steady, and wrapped in the chaos of people who love them enough to lose their minds.

Exactly the way it should be.

A Little Bit of Forever

They tumble into the car in fits of laughter and champagne-laced breath, the night still clinging to their clothes like glitter.

Nani slumps into the passenger seat with a loud, satisfied sigh, cheeks flushed pink, his tie long gone, top buttons undone, ring catching the streetlight as he runs a hand through his hair.

Sky watches him for a second—just watches, like he still can’t believe this is real. That this is his life. That this—tipsy and glowing, messy and smiling—is his almost-husband.

Nani tilts his head lazily. “What?” he slurs, smiling. “You’re starin’.”

Sky just reaches over to help him buckle in. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m celebrated.”

Sky huffs a laugh, settling back behind the wheel. “You told the DJ he was cute.”

Nani gasps, scandalised. “I did not.”

Sky lifts his left hand from the wheel, wiggles his fingers—ring glinting twin to Nani’s. “You gestured with your engaged hand. Bold of you.”

Nani groans, tossing his head back. “I was thanking him for the playlist!”

Sky grins. “You also said he played ‘our song’ like he knew what was at stake.”

“Okay, that part I might have said.”

They both dissolve into giggles, breathless and giddy.

“You’re a menace,” Sky says.

Nani smiles, eyes fluttering shut as his head tips against the window. “You’re stuck with me.”

Sky’s quiet for a beat. Then: “Good.”

Nani blinks one eye open. “Ugh, don’t make me cry again. My whole face is already falling off.”

“You already did cry. Twice.”

“Shut up. I’m in love.”

Sky reaches over, fingers brushing against the back of Nani’s hand. “Me too.”

They sit in that soft silence for a while—Sky driving slow through sleepy city streets, Nani humming under his breath, drunk on more than just champagne.

“Everyone was so happy for us,” Nani mumbles eventually, voice warm and distant. “I thought it’d be too much. But it just… wasn’t.”

Sky nods. “They love you.”

“They love us.”

“Yeah,” Sky says, smiling to himself. “They really do.”

Nani shifts, blindly reaching out until his hand finds Sky’s thigh. “You sure you don’t want a bachelor party?”

Sky grins. “Why? You trying to get rid of me for a night?”

“Maybe I wanted to see you dance on a table.”

“You’ll see that at the wedding.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

They stop at a red light. Nani turns to him, eyes glassy but full of the softest kind of affection.

“You know I’d do it all over again, right?” he says. “All of it. The hiding, the waiting, the rumours. Every stupid part of it. Just to end up right here.”

Sky’s hand tightens around his. “Me too.”

The light turns green.

They keep going. Forward. Together. Into a future they already know by heart.

To the Ends of the Earth (and Then Home)

The suitcases are piled in the backseat, wedged in with stray bouquets, a pair of forgotten boutonnieres, and Nani’s pristine white jacket—discarded somewhere between the reception and the car, collar still kissed with Sky’s cologne.

Sky’s at the wheel, in a perfectly tailored black suit, tie undone, hair a little messy from all the hugs and dancing and chaos. He keeps glancing over, can’t stop himself, because beside him in the passenger seat is his husband.

Nani’s still in the rest of his suit: white, elegant, achingly beautiful. His sleeves are rolled up, and he’s barefoot, one leg tucked beneath him, his smile lazy and permanent.

They’re still laughing.

They haven’t stopped since they got in the car.

Sky reaches blindly into the back and tugs at a crumpled plastic bag. “Do we seriously only have peanut M&Ms in here?”

“We had croissants,” Nani says, eyes sparkling. “But Tay stole them.”

Sky groans. “He gave a speech and robbed us.”

“He cried halfway through it.”

“You cried too!”

Nani gasps. “Did not!”

“You got misty when your mum hugged me.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It absolutely counts.”

They dissolve into more laughter, both of them too high on joy and sugar and sheer disbelief to stop.

Outside, the city hums by. Inside, the car feels like it always has—like safety. Like theirs.

Nani shifts a little, reaching for Sky’s hand across the console. Their matching rings clink together softly.

“So,” Nani murmurs. “You really booked the flight for tonight?”

Sky grins. “I wanted to leave married and wake up halfway across the world with you.”

Nani hums, brushing his thumb over Sky’s knuckles. “Egypt,” he says quietly. “You’re really taking me.”

“I told Tay about it before I ever met you,” Sky says, glancing at him. “Swore I’d take the person I loved the most.”

Nani turns toward him, face soft, eyes glassy again.

“You remembered.”

“I dreamed it.”

There’s silence for a moment—golden and warm and thick with love.

Then:

“Can we ride camels?” Nani asks.

Sky laughs. “Yes.”

“And—get a weird touristy photo of us in the desert wearing dramatic sunglasses?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll carry my suitcase through the sand?”

“Baby, I’ll carry you.”

Nani grins so wide it nearly splits his face. “You better.”

Sky leans over at a red light, presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “I married you, didn’t I?”

They keep driving, fingers still tangled.

A soft, glowing quiet settles.

Then Sky glances at him again, voice casual. “So… should we get a dog when we get back? Since we’ll be having a break from work?”

Nani sits up straight. “Seriously?!”

“I mean, she’ll have a cat sibling. We’ll figure it out.”

“Oh my gods. Oh my god... I want one with big ears. And one of those curly tails—no wait, wait, one of the sad-looking ones with the old man eyebrows.”

Sky chuckles, shaking his head. “We’re gonna have a zoo.”

“We already do.”

He’s not wrong.

But Sky’s never smiled wider in his life.

And as the city gives way to the stretch of road leading toward the airport—and toward Egypt, and toward forever—he feels it again:

That quiet, impossible certainty.

He chose right.

The Next Piece of Us

“I can’t believe this is finally happening,” Sky says for the third time in seven minutes.

Nani grins, barefoot in the passenger seat, hugging a bag of dog treats like it’s sacred. “You’re more excited than our wedding day.”

Sky gasps. “I was calm and composed on our wedding day.”

“You stepped on your own vow card and called my dad Uncle.”

“I was overwhelmed by love.”

Nani laughs, leaning over to steal a quick kiss to Sky’s cheek at a red light. “You’re a mess.”

Sky’s eyes are bright, fixed on the road like it’s leading them to the next great chapter of their lives. Which, technically—it is.

“We’ve had a cat a year,” Sky says. “I’ve waited so patiently.”

“You pouted for a month when she chewed your PlayStation cord.”

“She knows I’m weak. She used it against me.”

Nani snorts. “You’re soft.”

“I’m ready,” Sky counters. “To be a dog dad. To have hair all over the seats. To buy those leash-attachment seatbelts.”

“You already bought them.”

“I bought three sizes.”

Nani laughs again, quieter now. “You’re going to be so good at this.”

Sky glances at him. “You’ll be better.”

“We’ll be good together,” Nani says.

Sky doesn’t say anything—he just squeezes Nani’s hand once, before turning into the shelter parking lot, heart full to bursting.

She’s in the backseat in a little harness, flopped over with her big head smushed into a blanket. A white fluffball of a Samoyed, with a pink tongue and eyes full of mischief.

Sky keeps looking at her in the mirror like she’s made of starlight.

Nani glances over at him. “You’ve checked on her six times in two minutes.”

“I just wanna make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s asleep.”

“She’s our daughter.”

Nani laughs, turning in his seat a little to peer into the back. “She’s basically just you in dog form.”

Sky grins. “You think so?”

“She’s clingy. Loud. Always smiling. Obsessed with me.”

“I see no lies.”

Nani reaches back and strokes a hand over her fur. “She’s perfect.”

Sky’s voice goes a little quiet. “So are you.”

They drive in a soft silence for a while. The kind that comes with years of love, and new beginnings folded gently into the space between breaths.

Then Nani speaks, voice casual—but only just.

“We’re really doing it.”

Sky glances over. “Hm?”

Nani’s eyes stay on the dog in the mirror. “The whole thing. Life. Family. A home. A cat and a dog. Next year… who knows.”

Sky smiles. “Yeah.”

Nani turns to him, smile soft. “Maybe next time… it’ll be a crib in the back seat.”

Sky goes still for a second.

Then looks over, heart in his throat.

“You serious?”

Nani shrugs one shoulder, but his voice cracks just a little. “I think I could be.”

Sky reaches blindly for his hand, threads their fingers tight. “You’d be the best dad.”

“So would you.”

They drive the rest of the way home with the dog snoring softly behind them, Nani humming under his breath, and the entire future unfolding in front of them—gentle and golden and waiting to be built, one quiet, perfect day at a time.

After the Credits

The city’s quiet around them. Just the low hum of night traffic, the occasional motorcycle buzzing past. Their last shoot wrapped earlier in the day, and now—no more scripts, no more call times, no more long hours under studio lights.

A break. Indefinite until they decide otherwise.

Sky’s car is parked at the top of the hill near their favourite lookout spot. The same one he once drove Nani to, late at night, for greasy food and sleepy laughter. Years ago, now.

Nani’s curled sideways in the passenger seat, head resting against the window, legs pulled up. His makeup’s wiped off, his hair a soft mess. There’s a sleepy, content glow on his face.

Sky rests a hand on his knee. “Tired?”

“Mm. A little.”

Sky hums. “Feels weird. Being done.”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a beat. The air between them is gentle, familiar. It doesn’t need to be filled.

Then Nani says, quietly, “I was watching you today.”

Sky glances over. “Yeah?”

“When you were with those kids on set. The extras.”

Sky chuckles. “One of them tried to teach me a TikTok dance. I failed miserably.”

“You let her win the thumb war.”

“I absolutely didn’t.”

“You so did,” Nani grins. “And you gave her your snacks.”

“She said she didn’t like what was in the green box. I made a sacrifice.”

Nani’s still smiling, soft and fond. “You’re so good with kids.”

Sky looks at him fully now. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know.”

“But?”

Nani shrugs a little, gaze falling to their hands. “It’s been a while since we brought it up. And now that the series is done…and we’re taking a break…we’ve got time.”

Sky’s thumb moves gently along Nani’s knee. “You still want to try?”

“I think so.” His voice is quiet but steady. “I think I’m ready to start figuring it out.”

Sky’s silent for a moment, but his hand doesn’t stop moving. Just slow, comforting circles.

“We always said one, right?” he says softly.

Nani nods. “Just one. At least to start.”

“We’d… need to really look into everything,” Sky says. “Options. Timing. Surrogacy, or adoption, or…” He trails off.

Nani nods again. “I know. It’ll take a while. And it won’t be easy.”

Sky smiles. “But it’ll be ours.”

“Ours,” Nani echoes. He leans into Sky’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. “Can you imagine? A tiny person. With your goofiness.”

“With your sass.”

“Gods help us.”

Sky laughs quietly. “Do you want to start… really planning? Meetings, maybe. Just to ask questions. No pressure.”

“Yeah,” Nani says. “I think I do.”

Sky leans over and presses a kiss to Nani’s hair. “Okay.”

And just like that, the car is quiet again. But not empty.

It’s full—of dreams, of beginnings, of one more step toward forever. Outside, the stars flicker in the dark.

Inside, two people sit hand in hand, looking toward the road ahead.

The Shape of Our Future

“I think she liked you,” Sky says as he pulls onto the road, soft jazz playing low on the radio. “She kept handing you her puzzle pieces.”

“She gave me the corner piece,” Nani says, voice quiet but glowing. “That’s trust.”

They both laugh gently. Nani’s holding a pamphlet in his lap, thumb brushing over the folded edge like it might open differently the third time he reads it.

“She had such big eyes,” Nani murmurs. “And she asked if you were a chef.”

Sky grins. “That was my fault. I told her I liked cooking and she asked if I was on MasterChef.”

“You said yes.”

“She looked so impressed.”

“She offered you a grape as a reward.”

Sky reaches over and tugs on Nani’s hand. “You like her.”

Nani’s quiet for a long beat. “You did too.”

Sky hums, focusing on the road. “Yeah. I really did.”

They’re in traffic, parked in a sea of red brake lights. Nani’s leaning his head against the window, hair soft from the wind, voice barely a whisper.

“We don’t have to rush it. I just… keep thinking about her.”

“I know.”

“Her drawing. The one she gave you.”

Sky glances at the folded crayon-scrawled paper still tucked into the console. “The one of the house?”

Nani nods.

“She said it was ours,” Sky says.

“She doesn’t even know what that means yet,” Nani murmurs. “But she drew three people. That third one—she meant that.”

Sky’s quiet.

Nani turns toward him slightly. “Do you think we’d be enough for her?”

Sky doesn’t answer immediately. Then: “I think we’d be everything.”

The new house smells like wood and light and possibility. There’s still boxes in the back seat, stacked between bags of dog food and another cat tunnel Nani picked out.

They’ve just left another agency. No spark, no match, not the right place.

But the moment they get in, Nani’s fingers reach for the drawing again.

Sky watches him for a moment. “You’re still thinking about her.”

“I haven’t stopped.”

“Me either.”

Nani presses his cheek to the window, eyes glassy. “What if we wait too long?”

Sky reaches across and takes his hand. “Then let’s ask.”

Nani looks at him.

Sky smiles, gentle but sure. “If she’s still there—if she wants us—we’ll know.”

Later that week, after another meeting—this one full of warmth and the word possible spoken softly by the caseworker—they sit in the car and say nothing for a full five minutes.

“Her favourite colour is pink,” Nani whispers. “You heard that, right?”

“I already ordered paint samples.”

Nani turns to him, stunned.

Sky shrugs. “Just in case.”

Nani smiles, slow and radiant. “She asked if she could meet the dog.”

“She can.”

“She asked if we lived together.”

“We do.”

“She asked if we were going to love her.”

Sky’s voice wavers, but it doesn’t break. “I already do.”

Nani leans in and kisses him—soft and long and trembling at the edges.

They sit like that for a moment, the air thick with unspeakable hope. The house is ready. The room is ready. They are ready.

Now it’s just a matter of waiting to hear if she is too.

Room for Three

They’re in the parking lot of a baby store, two carts already overflowing with tiny socks and foldable step-stools and sparkly hair clips that neither of them put there on purpose. It’s raining softly, Sky’s finishing a bottle of green tea, and Nani’s scrolling through booster seat reviews like it’s life or death.

The phone rings.

They freeze. One heartbeat. Two.

Nani’s the one who picks it up, hand shaking slightly as he puts it on speaker. “Hello?”

“Hi—Sky, Nani? It’s Manee, from the agency.”

Sky immediately sits up straighter. “Yes. We’re here.”

“I wanted to call you both together, so I hope this is a good time…”

Nani’s heart is thudding in his throat.

“It’s good,” he manages. “It’s good.”

There’s a pause. Then:

“She said yes. It’s official. You’ve been approved.”

The air vanishes from the car.

Sky’s breath punches out of him like a sob. Nani presses both hands to his face, body trembling with something too huge to name.

“You’re really saying…” Sky’s voice is ragged. “We’re her parents?”

“You are.”

They cry—quiet, shaking, not even bothering to wipe their faces. Their hands find each other across the console, tight and shaking.

“Thank you,” Nani says. “Thank you, thank you.”

“She asked if she could bring her pink giraffe.”

Sky laughs through the tears. “We’ll have a seatbelt ready for it.”

“I’m going to scream,” Nani says.

Sky leans against the garage wall, arms crossed, grinning like the smug husband he is.

“I told you it clips in before the base is adjusted.”

“She’s gonna think we’re idiots.”

“She already thinks I’m cooler.”

“Excuse me—I got her the glitter shoes.”

Sky walks over, gently taking the straps from Nani’s hands. “You’re doing fine, PaPa.”

Nani glares, but there’s no heat in it. “That name is going to break me, you know.”

“I already cried about it in the laundry room yesterday.”

Sky tightens the last clip and pats the seat proudly. “There.”

Nani folds into his side. “We’re really doing this.”

Sky kisses his hair. “We are this.”

She’s wearing a pink cardigan over a dress with cartoon clouds. Her shoes light up when she walks. The stuffed giraffe in her arms is almost as tall as she is.

She’s waiting just inside the agency doors when they pull up, nose smushed against the glass, eyes wide and hopeful.

When they step out, she waves frantically, little fingers curled around the giraffe’s neck. “Hi!!”

Sky’s voice breaks before he says anything. Nani squeezes his hand once and then drops it to crouch beside her first, just like they planned.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Nani says softly, smiling wide. “You ready to go home?”

She nods fiercely, eyes already sparkling. “I brought my giraffe.”

“I’m so glad,” he says, voice wobbly. “She can sit with you.”

Sky steps in then, kneels beside them and opens his arms. “Can I lift you up?”

She studies him for one long moment, head tilted—then nods. “Okay, PhorPhor.”

Sky’s breath hitches. He lifts her with the gentlest care, her little hands holding tight to his collar as he walks her around to the car. Nani hovers behind them, one hand against Sky’s back, the other wiping at his eyes.

Sky buckles her in slowly, carefully. “Tell me if anything feels tight, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, still examining everything like she’s sizing up her new kingdom. “Can my giraffe have her own seat?”

“She can sit next to you,” Sky says. “But she has to wear her seatbelt too.”

She giggles. “Okay! She doesn’t like rules, but she’ll listen.”

Sky finishes adjusting the strap, then presses a kiss to her hair before stepping back. Nani gives him a trembling smile as they climb in—Sky in the driver’s seat, Nani turning in the passenger seat to look back.

The door shuts with a soft thunk. The world outside goes quiet.

Inside, it’s their family.

Their daughter.

She peers around the backseat with sharp eyes. “Why are there so many toys in here?”

“They’re Nani’s,” Sky answers immediately, biting back a grin.

Nani gasps, spinning in his seat. “They are collectibles!”

She bursts into giggles, delighted. “You’re silly, Papa.”

Sky’s eyes go glassy again. He reaches across the console and laces his fingers with Nani’s, thumb brushing over his ring.

“Is it true we have a cat and a dog?” she asks seriously.

“It’s true,” Nani says. “The cat is very fancy and the dog is very fluffy.”

“What are their names?!”

“Meeple and Sunday,” Sky tells her. “Meeple is your sister. Sunday is your other sister. You’ll have to let them smell your feet when you get home.”

“That’s gross,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“That’s family,” Nani says solemnly.

She kicks her light-up shoes once. “Will I get to meet Grandma and Grandpa?”

“You will,” Sky says. “And Uncle Tay and Uncle Ohm.”

“Are they gross too?”

“They’re very gross,” Nani says immediately.

Sky laughs, light and easy, full of something he doesn’t have words for. He turns to look at her in the mirror again—this tiny, fierce, beautiful little person in the backseat of their car, holding a giraffe and asking about her future like it’s already hers.

And it is.

He squeezes Nani’s hand.

“PhorPhor? Papa?” she says softly.

“Yeah, princess?”

“I’m really glad you picked me.”

Sky’s heart stops. Nani lets out a soft, broken breath beside him.

“You picked us too,” Nani says, voice thick.

She beams, satisfied.

Sky lets out a laugh that sounds a little like a sob.

Nani turns his hand over and kisses his knuckles.

They drive off slowly, the weight of their daughter’s whole world now in the car with them—and it fits, just like it was always meant to.

Backseat royalty

“PhorPhor,” she says, voice sweet and suspicious from the booster seat. “Who are we picking up?”

Sky glances at her in the rearview mirror, one hand on the wheel. “They’re your uncles.”

Nani shifts in the passenger seat, twisting around so she can see him properly. “Uncle Tay and Uncle Ohm. You’ve seen their pictures, remember?”

“The one with the glitter eyeshadow,” she says slowly. “And the one who fell off the paddleboard.”

“That’s them.”

She hums. “Are they nice?”

Sky laughs. “They’re a lot, but yeah. They love you already.”

The car’s barely stopped when both back doors slam open at once.

“Oh my gods—is that her?” Tay gasps, one leg still outside, body halfway launched into the backseat. “Look at her!”

“Hi!” Ohm beams from the other side, holding a bag of dinosaur figurines and a suspicious amount of stickers. “I brought bribes!”

She stares at both of them, wide-eyed behind oversized heart-shaped sunglasses.

“You’re loud,” she says to Tay.

Tay clutches his chest like he’s been shot. “She speaks! With discernment!” His eyes are already watering. “She’s perfect.”

“She’s mine,” Ohm says, pushing in further with the dinosaur bag. “I’m your favourite uncle now, right?”

“I just met you,” she replies flatly. “You don’t even know what kind of dinosaurs I like.”

Sky barks a laugh. “Gods, she’s brutal.”

“She’s perfect,” Nani whispers, heart in his throat, face cracked open in the biggest smile. “She’s so ours.”

“Hi, baby,” Tay says, already wiping at his eyes, voice shaking. “You’re even prettier than your photos. I’m Uncle Tay.”

“I know,” she says, reaching out with one hand to pat his face gently. “You’re the one PhorPhor said cries a lot.”

Sky chokes on a laugh. Nani smacks his thigh.

“Traitor,” Tay mumbles, and then dissolves into full tears. “I love her. I’d die for her. I’ll fight her future suitors.”

“She’s four,” Sky mutters, adjusting the mirror so he can see all three of them better.

“I’m four and three quarters,” she corrects primly.

“I’m buying you a pony,” Ohm blurts, pressing a triceratops into her hands. “Do you want a pony? Or a jet ski?”

“Do either of those come with better dinosaurs?” she asks seriously.

Ohm falters. “I—I’ll check.”

She leans back smugly, legs swinging. “Good answer.”

From the front, Nani’s face is flushed with pride. Sky reaches over, grabs his hand, squeezes once.

Their girl—sassy, self-possessed, wearing mismatched socks and owning the whole backseat like it’s a throne. Their friends falling apart around her.

A family. Loud, chaotic, perfect.

And she hasn’t even had her juice box yet.

Sky pulls back onto the road, glancing at the mirror. Behind them, Tay is trying to teach her a secret handshake while still dabbing at his tears, and Ohm is busy laying out three different dinosaur species across her lap like offerings.

“She’s got them wrapped around her fingers,” Sky murmurs.

Nani smiles, soft and full, never looking away. “Of course she does.”

They watch for another beat—Tay gasping like she just insulted his dance skills, Ohm scrambling to change her favourite colour with a sticker bribe. She just hums, swinging her legs like a princess in court.

And Sky and Nani keep driving, hearts full, laughter easy, and their girl reigning from the backseat like she was born for it.

Everything That Moved Us

The sun’s starting to dip, casting a warm, golden hue over the driveway. The Benz is parked under the shade, doors open, trunk popped, mats pulled out and dusted. A quiet breeze rustles through the trees above, and the scent of lemon cleaner hangs in the air.

Sky is kneeling beside the passenger seat, pulling out a crumpled snack wrapper and a forgotten tiny My Melody charm. He holds it up, brow raised.

Nani, barefoot on the lawn with a trash bag in one hand and a cat curled at his feet, looks up and squints. “I told you not to throw that out. That’s from our second anniversary.”

“It’s sticky,” Sky says flatly.

“It’s sentimental,” Nani corrects, marching over to snatch it from him and toss it into the “keep” box.

Across the grass, their daughter squeals with laughter, chasing Sunday in uneven circles. The dog is half-heartedly fleeing, tongue out, tail wagging, while Meeple lounges at the edge of the driveway, blinking slowly like she’s above it all.

Sky leans against the car, watching them, eyes soft. “They’re going to crash into something.”

“They always do,” Nani replies, walking back toward the trunk, his loose shirt fluttering in the wind. “At least it’s not the hydrangeas this time.”

Sky grins and ducks into the backseat again. There’s a faint stain on the seat cushion—orange juice from a road trip gone wrong. A small plush keychain dangles from the back of the headrest. The booster seat is already unlatched, sitting quietly by the hedge, like it knows.

The Benz is old now. The edges of the leather are worn. The screen flickers sometimes. It doesn’t smell like new car anymore—it smells like them. A decade of them.

Of Nani asleep against the window after a long shoot.

Of tentative thigh touches and hesitant, blurted confessions.

Of Nani’s tiny giggles and Sky’s uneven breathing.

Of whispered “was that a date?” and the softest “yes.”

Of defiled back seats and reclined chairs.

Of matching rings, stifled tears, and the sticky sweetness of post-party kisses.

Of a tiny voice in the backseat saying “PhorPhor?” and the world cracking open.

It’s seen it all. And held it all. Every version of their love, mapped into its leather and silence.

Sky slides the front seat forward and finds the old car pillow tucked into the corner, faded and well-loved. He presses it against his chest for a second before setting it carefully into the last box.

“You alright?” Nani asks, brushing grass from his ankle as he joins him.

Sky nods. “Yeah. Just… saying goodbye.”

Nani leans against the frame beside him. “It really was with us the whole time, huh.”

“Our first friendship rides. The after-dinner kisses. You sleeping in the passenger seat every third day.”

“You leaving your snacks in the glovebox and forgetting them every time.”

Sky smiles. “Our whole relationship happened in this car.”

Nani rests his chin on Sky’s shoulder. “It’s a little stupid how emotional I feel.”

“It’s not stupid,” Sky says quietly. “It’s where I fell in love with you.”

Nani closes his eyes for a second, breathing him in. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

Sky turns to kiss his temple. “We’re getting a bigger car now.”

“A family car.”

“One with more room. A bigger trunk.”

“A cupholder that isn’t broken.”

Sky chuckles. “Maybe a sunroof.”

Nani hums. “It won’t be the same, you know.”

“I know,” Sky says. “But this one got us here.”

They both look out to the yard, where Sunday is now flopped in the grass and their daughter is trying to balance a daisy crown on her head.

Meeple still hasn’t moved.

Nani watches them, then glances back at the car.

“We should take one last picture,” he says softly. “With all of us.”

Sky pulls out his phone without hesitation. “Get everyone in.”

He calls their daughter over. She skips toward them, Sunday bouncing behind, Meeple trailing slowly like she’s doing them a favour. Nani crouches by the back tire, pulling their daughter into his lap. Sky settles beside them, arm around Nani’s waist, the car door still open behind them.

The photo is warm and a little messy.

Feet bare. Sky’s hair mussed. Nani’s shirt half untucked.

A family framed by the car that held their beginning.

It won’t go viral. It won’t hang in a gallery. But it will live in their house forever—framed near the new front door, right above the hook where they keep their daughters school bag.

And when they climb into their new car for the first time, a few days later—Nani in the passenger seat, daughter in the back, Sky behind the wheel—they all buckle in with a quiet, steady joy.

They aren’t driving into the unknown anymore.

They’re just going home.

Together.