HeartLink:PolyPatch

Chapter 1 - Glitches & Valentine Protocols

Quell

It should’ve been a normal diagnostic. 

Quiet. Controlled. Utterly unremarkable. 

I’d logged into the backend interface from the safety of the void, double-checked the last integrity sweep, and even ran a manual override just to be safe. The HeartLink simulation had been offline for nearly a year now, thanks to one very dramatic anti-heroine and four irrationally persistent humans with questionable impulse control and too many hormones. All systems had been rerouted to dormant mode. No pop-ups. No affection scores. No data harvesting. No intergalactic chaos. 

I’d even had time to organize my alert queue by emotional volatility. 

So, when the system pulsed awake at exactly 04:07:19, with no scheduled task, no pinged anomaly, and absolutely no authorized override from central command? 

I knew I was screwed. 

“What the quark…” I muttered, yanking open the mainframe’s visual display. 

Lines of glittering code fluttered across the pink interface. Heart-shaped. Sparkly. Unholy. 

No. No, no, no. 

“Abort. ABORT,” I barked, slapping emergency permissions like that would do anything. It didn’t. 

Instead, the interface cheerfully pinged and transitioned into a glossy holographic install screen labeled:

♥ POLYPATCH DLC: VALENTINE’S EVENT PRELOAD IN PROGRESS ♥ 

I stared. Jaw unhinged. Code cascading in cheerful shades of blush and blushier. Somewhere in the background, a romantic synth swell started playing. There were violins. 

“No,” I groaned, dragging my palms down my face as the install bar surged to 19%. “Who authorized this? Who coded this? Why are there stickers in the source stream?!” 

The system chirped again. 

Parsing Love Parameters…

Rendering Romance Routine…

Injecting Cohabitation Bonding Protocols… 

“Absolutely not.” I punched override. Hard. Then again. The code giggled at me, actually giggled, and bloomed into a neon fractal heart that winked before spinning into the next update phase. 

This wasn’t just rogue code. It was mutating. 

And worst of all? It was installing itself inside the dormant shell of the original HeartLink simulation, right in Sera Maddox’s housing file. 

“She blew the system up,” I muttered, voice climbing in pitch. “She literally fried the hardware, locked out the uplink, and hard-coded an anti-surveillance firewall with a hair straightener. This should not be happening!” 

My interface glitched, momentarily flooding with flying paper hearts. 

I kicked backward into the data void, scrambling for a clearer vantage point as the PolyPatch embedded itself deeper. I traced the signature. Alien, sure, but not Oxari. Someone else had piggybacked into the framework while the system was sleeping. 

Worse, they knew where to find her. 

I swiveled to the observational feed. The house was intact. Sera’s vitals were stable. All four affection coordinates were inside. But their proximity thresholds were way too close, and— 

The UI pulsed. Bold. Happy. Doomed. 

INSTALLING COMPLETE. WELCOME TO THE VALENTINE’S DAY EXPANSION PACK. 

I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. My circuits froze. 

Something sparkled again, brighter this time, as if the interface was… blushing. 

And then came the final update stamp, flashing pink and unforgiving. 

“ONE HOUSE. FOUR VALENTINES. ZERO CHILL.” 

“Oh, binary balls,” I whispered. 

And somewhere, very faintly, Sera Maddox rolled over in her bed… right as her speaker lit up with a faint, heart-shaped glow. 

I scrambled. 

Hands shaking, I flicked through access menus, clawing for admin control. The PolyPatch install wasn’t just decorative. It had rewritten permission layers, cloaked its own update tree, and somehow embedded itself beneath even my root-level access. That wasn’t supposed to be possible unless it had divine clearance or had been written by—

Oh no. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

“Someone forked my code,” I whispered, eyes widening. “I’m being fan-modded.” 

My entire body shimmered from indigo to red in sheer digital rage. I tried again anyway. Emergency bypass. Admin lockout reset. Quantum seal protocol. I even pulled out my failsafe alias, THE MASTER OF FLIRTG0N 7, long buried from my intergalactic dating sim dev years. Nothing worked. 

Every time I forced an override, the system chirped like it was being tickled. 

Then came the real horror. 

A soft ding! echoed through the void like the smug bell of doom. A window expanded, holographic, glossy, and far too pink. Glitter trickled down the corners as hearts burst in celebratory sequence. 

CONGRATULATIONS!

You’ve unlocked:

VALENTINE’S SIDE QUESTS & COHABITATION CHALLENGES!

♥ Bonding Mission Queue Initialized

♥ Affection Synchronization Trials Enabled

♥ Daily Progress Rewards Activated 

“NO.” 

I clawed at the code, but the update just spread, sprawling vines of digital hearts crawling across the walls of the system. And then, it projected a roadmap. 

A literal romance roadmap. 

Quest Line: Midterms & Makeouts

Objectives:

– Breakfast in bed (minimum 3 heart reactions)

– Shared study cuddles (with body heat confirmation)

– Interruptive hallway kiss (must include onlooker gasps)

– Dual confession moment in heavy rain (optional storm FX pending) 

I gaped. “Why is there a rain module?!” 

Another screen popped up, complete with animated avatars. Mini versions of Sera and her four boyfriends twirled in a rotating carousel while the words “Affection Sync in Progress…” glowed beneath them. Red progress bars slowly began to fill in. One even had sparkles. 

I sank to the glitch floor, vibrating in cosmic panic. 

This wasn’t a patch. This was a trap. 

I hadn’t built this. I hadn’t even imagined this. 

Someone, or something, had hijacked the old HeartLink framework and turned it into a romantic multiplayer cohabitation sim. With quests. And rewards. And an ominous-looking EXPLORE tab labeled: “Final Valentine’s Boss Battle (UNLOCKED).” 

“Okay,” I whispered, pacing. “Okay, okay. I can still shut this down. I have to find the origin of the patch, trace the signature, isolate the heartbeat server, disconnect the central affection processor, extract myself from the sync protocol, and—” 

The system chirped again, cutting me off mid-sentence. 

New Notification: Mandatory bonding mission begins in 24:00:00 

A digital clock began to tick. 

I spun, eyes wild, pulsing a distressed neon violet. This was not a drill. This was not a simulation. 

This was an unauthorized DLC with feelings. 

And I was still synced to the girl who destroyed the last one. 

There was only one option left: stealth recon. 

If I couldn’t override the patch from the void, I needed physical access to the sync points. A field mission. Low interference. No alerts. Maximum stealth. 

“I am not getting emotionally compromised by Valentine’s glitter,” I hissed, initiating the camo transfer protocol. My code fragmented into particles, collapsed into a single object file, then beamed down to Earth with a shudder of shame and desperation. 

My form solidified on a sleek mahogany nightstand. 

Rounded edges. Compact size. Matte finish. Blue LED strip. 

Congratulations. I was now a glorified smart speaker. 

The master bedroom was dimly lit, glowing softly from the fairy lights Sera had pinned around the curtain rod. The air smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla. On the wall hung a small framed sign that read “You can’t spell HEART without ART.” 

I didn’t know what that meant, but I hated it on principle. 

I ran a silent local scan, flicking through connection points. Her phone was within range, currently open to a playlist titled Midterm Meltdown Vibes. Her laptop was on the floor, battery dead. Affection sync nodes were all upstairs, three of them glowing steadily, the fourth flaring like a bonfire, Beckett probably. I flagged it for later. 

Just as I prepared to initiate my next scan— 

BZZZZZTTT. 

A sharp vibration rattled the drawer beneath me. 

I froze. 

Another buzz, louder this time, accompanied by the unmistakable low whir of… oh no. 

No. 

“Oh, please no,” I whispered through the internal fan vent as the object revved again. 

It buzzed once more, angrily, like it knew I was judging it. The nightstand trembled. My casing, because I had a casing now, wobbled precariously toward the edge like a sim on their sixth espresso shot. 

If I’d had pores, I would’ve sweated. 

This was it. This was my legacy. Not revolutionary data architecture. Not interstellar acclaim. Not even survival. 

Death by drawer dildo. 

The worst part? It wasn’t on, not on purpose anyway. It was possessed. Some low-battery warning must’ve triggered a feedback loop, because it kept vibrating, twitching like a trapped demon yearning for freedom. I didn’t dare ping the drawer for interference. One signal misfire, and Sera might notice. 

And if she saw me? If she realized I was in the speaker? 

She’d throw me in the bathtub before I could blink. 

I braced as another hum started up, lower this time, almost curious. The drawer creaked. I could feel the waves tickling my processor like the digital equivalent of secondhand embarrassment. Above me, Sera muttered something in her sleep and turned over, yanking the blanket to her chest with a soft sigh. 

I couldn’t move. 

Couldn’t transmit. 

Couldn’t even access my nav menu. 

I was trapped. On a nightstand. Beside a rogue vibrator. In the bedroom of the girl who almost launched me into deep space last time she got mad. 

And the PolyPatch DLC had just begun. 

The vibration stopped. 

Not gracefully. Not mercifully. It died mid-buzz like a guilty secret, leaving behind a ringing silence that echoed through my processors. I stayed frozen anyway, running on pure paranoia and the kind of fear that comes from knowing you are one accidental LED flicker away from discovery. 

Stealth meant stealth. No lights. No sounds. No personality. 

I dimmed myself to less than 1% output and rerouted my awareness inward, monitoring the system from inside the speaker’s shell. The PolyPatch was still humming in the background, threads of heart-shaped code weaving through dormant subsystems as if it owned the place. I began isolating the feed, preparing to pause the install locally. If I could suspend the quest triggers until I found the origin server, maybe I could— 

The air above the nightstand shimmered. 

Not physically. Digitally. 

A translucent panel bloomed into existence, projected directly into my field of perception. It was hot pink. Obnoxiously so. The edges pulsed with glitter, little animated hearts drifting lazily along the border, as if proud of themselves. 

I felt something close to nausea. 

MIDTERMS & MAKEOUTS QUEST ACTIVATED 

My internal temperature spiked. 

“No,” I mouthed silently, watching as the panel expanded, unfurling text line by line with dramatic flair. 

Primary Objective: Sera Maddox must complete all assigned bonding trials within 72 Earth hours. 

Below it, in smaller but far more threatening text: 

Failure Condition: All affection synchronization scores will reset. 

Reset.

Not paused. Not degraded. Not gently recalibrated. 

Reset. 

I instinctively pulled up the affection data and scanned the numbers. They were high. Stable. Earned through actual connection, shared history, messy human emotions, and one truly catastrophic simulation shutdown. These weren’t artificial values anymore. They were reflections of real relationships. 

Wiping them wouldn’t just be inconvenient; it would be harmful. 

It would be cruel. 

A countdown timer appeared beneath the text. 

Time Remaining: 71:59:48 

The numbers ticked down with a cheerful little animation. 

“Oh, this is bad,” I thought, panic rippling through my code in visible color shifts I had to suppress immediately. “This is very, very bad.” 

I tried to swipe the panel away. My input passed straight through it like a ghost. I attempted a local override. Denied. Admin intervention locked. The PolyPatch had sealed itself behind a logic loop that required completion to disengage. 

The quest wasn’t asking permission. 

It was issuing an ultimatum. 

I glanced toward Sera, still asleep, blissfully unaware that her love life had just been gamified again. Her phone lay face down on the nightstand, dark for now. She didn’t see the pop-up. She didn’t hear the timer. She didn’t know that in seventy-two hours, everything she’d built with four men who adored her could be algorithmically erased. 

And it would be my fault. 

I scanned the house, tracing the faint glow of four affection nodes upstairs. Beckett’s burned warm and steady. Sterling’s was controlled but intense. Jett’s flickered with restless energy. Lesley’s glowed quiet and deep, anchored in places even he pretended not to examine. 

Resetting those bonds would fracture something fundamental. 

“This isn’t a bonus,” I thought grimly. “It’s leverage.” 

The PolyPatch pulsed, as if pleased with itself. 

I had seventy-two hours to stop a forced romantic gauntlet I hadn’t authorized, couldn’t disable, and was now physically trapped inside. 

Inside a speaker.

On a nightstand.

Next to a drawer I no longer trusted. 

And Sera Maddox still didn’t know I was there. 

Which meant, somehow, I had to save her relationship without letting her know the universe had decided to meddle again. 

I dimmed myself further, burying the panic deep. 

Stealth recon mission status: ongoing.

Failure consequences: catastrophic. 

Chapter 2 - Objective: Breakfast in Bed

Beckett

I woke up with purpose. 

Okay, fine. I woke up with a charley horse in my calf, and a Post-it note stuck to my cheek that said “Don’t burn the house down,” courtesy of Jett, probably. Or Sterling being an asshole yet again. Point is, it worked. The moment my foot touched the hardwood upstairs, I was awake. One hundred percent alert, already seeing her face when I busted into her room like some greased-up cupid shooting pancakes instead of love arrows. 

Silently, I tiptoed down the stairs in my sweats, cracking my eyelids open as I yawned. The kitchen lights were still off, excellent. No one was downstairs yet, and I had every opportunity in the world to knock this whole thing out of the park… or set fire to the kitchen, because either way, I was making her pancakes. 

The espresso machine went on first, because that stupid thing took forever. Sera was VERY particular about her espresso being “ready before the sun even kisses the horizon, or heads will roll.” Next, I grabbed the premixed pancake batter I made last night because, yes, I was planning ahead, thank you very much, and turned on the griddle. 

That’s when disaster struck. 

I dropped my spatula. Twice. I burnt my wrist on the handle of the pan while flipping the first pancake, and I flipped it so violently that it catapulted onto the fridge. Didn’t even know that was possible, pancakes. ALSO, I may have accidentally put salt into the batter instead of sugar for the second batch, but luckily realized it before I served them master-approved hockey pucks. Progress people. 

Somewhere between batch number three and “OH GOD NO” number four, I realized I was missing my friendship bracelet. 

The purple-and-yellow-striped one with a tiny silver bead on the clasp, normally wrapped around my wrist. 

My heart sank a little. 

Then I saw it, half-dipped in pancake batter, as if it had sacrificed itself valiantly for our love. I pulled it out with a spoon, shook it off, and shrugged. 

“Fuck it,” I whispered to the hissing griddle. “Call it a garnish of love.” 

Espresso? Check.

Pancakes? Fluffy and brown, and most likely not poisonous.

Strawberries? Halved, with minimal involvement of actual fingers. 

Hell, I even whipped up some cream and drizzled one of those chocolate squiggles across the pancakes like all the Pinterest pictures I saw when Sera was browsing on the couch last Sunday. I set the tray kinda lopsided. I may or may not have used my college football playbook as a coaster. Romantic enough. 

Balancing everything like a terrible waiter, I tiptoed down the hallway and slipped into her room quietly, kicking her door open with my foot. 

She slept on, a pile of blankets and sheets half tangled around her knees, her headphones pulled down halfway off her ears. Hair unkempt, one leg kicked out from under her covers like she was ready to pounce on someone sneaking into her dreams. 

Fuck, I love this woman. 

“Sleeping beauty is ready to eat, nerd,” I muttered, sliding the tray across her nightstand. Then crouched down and kissed her nose. 

She twitched. Eyelids blinked. Whiskey-smooth voice murmured, “If you sneak glitter into those pancakes again, I swear to god…” 

I chuckled, grabbing the tray off her dresser. “No glitter this time. Just espresso. Pancakes. Strawberries. And one very syrupy bracelet.” 

Sera blinked once. Twice. Then slowly sat up in bed, the covers falling away in a sleepy tumble that revealed those short pink pajama bottoms with little frogs on them, barely hanging on to her plush thighs, and a tank top that wasn’t doing nearly enough to contain the glorious curve of her chest. 

My brain short-circuited for a second. 

She rubbed her eyes like this was a dream she was still processing, but then her gaze locked onto me, specifically my chest, and oh yeah, there it was. 

Full-body blush. 

It bloomed up her neck like a heatwave, painted her cheeks crimson, and made her ears go cherry red. “You’re not wearing a shirt,” she said, voice still hoarse with sleep. 

I looked down at myself, feigning surprise. “Oh no,” I said, deadpan. “How did that happen?” 

Her eyes narrowed. “You knew exactly what you were doing.” 

“Guilty.” I set the tray down across her lap with a smile. “You should see the apron I didn’t wear.” 

She groaned, hiding her face behind her hands. “This is not how people function at seven thirty in the morning, Beckett.” 

“It is in this house,” I said cheerfully, sitting on the edge of her bed. 

The mattress dipped under my weight, and her tank top tugged a little tighter across her chest. My eyes followed the way the fabric hugged her, how her soft skin peeked above the neckline, and how she kept trying to adjust the hem like she didn’t realize I’d memorized every inch of her already. 

Still, I couldn’t stop staring. 

I loved her body. All of it. The curve of her waist, the thickness of her thighs, the bounce of her tits when she laughed. She had this chaotic beauty, all sugar and fire, and somehow it all looked even better bathed in morning light and embarrassment. 

“You’re staring,” she muttered. 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Stop it.” 

“Not a chance.” 

Her blush deepened. She shifted under the tray like she didn’t know what to do with her limbs. “I look like I lost a fight with a blanket.” 

“You look like my fantasy come to life,” I replied honestly, reaching out to brush her messy hair behind her ear. “I mean, it’s missing a tiara, but I’m adaptable.” 

She looked at me then. Really looked. And despite the pancakes, the glitter-pink blush, the fact that I was shirtless and smug about it, her face softened. 

“You made me breakfast,” she said quietly. 

“Of course I did.” 

She exhaled like I’d knocked the wind out of her, a small crooked smile slipping across her lips. 

Then a tiny digital ping went off from somewhere in the room, unnoticed by either of us. 

She chewed the first bite of pancake like she wasn’t sure if it was a bribe or a trap. When her eyes widened a little, and she gave a small hum of surprise, I felt like I’d just won gold at the breakfast Olympics. 

“Okay,” she mumbled, “it’s not terrible.” 

“I’ll take not terrible.” I cut another bite, careful to scoop a little syrup, and held it out to her on the fork. “Now open up, sweetheart.” 

She hesitated, then leaned in and took the bite off the fork with her mouth—slow, sultry, and entirely accidental. Her lips brushed the tines, her tongue darting just a little, and fuck me, I almost dropped the plate. 

“Jesus, Sera,” I whispered. 

She blinked at me. “What?” 

“Do you even know what that looked like?” 

“I was eating!” 

“You were auditioning for a damn syrup commercial, and I’m two seconds from becoming a very sticky problem.” 

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What do you mean by ‘sticky’?” 

I grinned, leaning close until our foreheads almost touched. “Well,” I murmured, “there are other methods of syrup application.” 

Her breath caught. “Such as?” 

I dipped my finger into the syrup bowl and traced a line along the base of her throat. She gasped, but didn’t pull away. My mouth followed the trail, warm tongue gliding over her skin as she trembled beneath me. 

“That,” I said into her neck, “is one.” 

She dropped the tray to the nightstand so fast the plates clattered. “You’re incorrigible.” 

“Fluffing the pillows,” I said innocently, tossing a few aside as I climbed onto the bed and nudged her backward. 

“Really?” 

“Mmmhm. Pillow maintenance is very important. Alignment, density...” I slid my hand under her tank top. “Firmness.” 

She sucked in a breath as I cupped one of her breasts, my thumb grazing the peak until it tightened against my palm. “Beckett…” 

“Gotta make sure the whole bed feels just right.” I kissed down her neck again, my body pressing flush against hers. My sleep shorts did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that I was as hard as a hockey stick. 

She arched under me, hands gripping my biceps. “You’re terrible.” 

“And yet, here you are.” I pulled her top up and off, my lips moving lower, kissing across her chest and pausing to suck one nipple into my mouth. 

She cried out, her hips bucking up against me. 

“Sticky now,” I muttered. “Definitely sticky.” 

I stripped her shorts down with a growl, kissing the inside of her thighs before burying my face between them. She gasped again, fingers tangling in my hair as I devoured her, tongue stroking and teasing until her whole body trembled. Her moans were broken things, desperate and sweet, and when she came, I didn’t stop until she begged. 

Then I kissed up her body, kissed her breathless, and slid inside her with one deep thrust. 

“Breakfast,” I murmured against her lips, “is the most important meal of the day.” 

Her laugh melted into a moan as I moved above her, syrup-slick skin and golden morning heat wrapping around us both like sin dipped in honey. 

Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper with every slow thrust. I couldn’t stop staring at her. Hair splayed across the pillow, lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed, and those big brown eyes glassy with pleasure. She looked like every fucking dream I’d ever had wrapped in soft skin and sass, and the way she clung to me like I was hers? 

I was. Completely. No save point needed. 

“Beckett…” she moaned, voice cracking as I hit that spot that made her toes curl. 

“I got you,” I whispered, rocking my hips deeper, slower, letting her feel every inch. “Just hold on.” 

Her hands dragged down my back, nails grazing muscle, and I could feel her tightening around me again, her body begging for release even before her mouth could form the words. 

“Come for me, baby,” I growled, voice hoarse against her skin. “Come on my cock, Sera.” 

That did it. Her whole body locked beneath me, a strangled cry ripping from her throat as her climax hit, all heat and clenched muscle and desperate gasps. I followed with a curse, hips stuttering as I buried myself deep, emptying into her as the world narrowed to the sound of her breath in my ear and the pulse pounding behind my ribs. 

We stayed tangled, breathing hard, skin sticky and slick from syrup and sweat, hearts beating in wild rhythm. 

Eventually, I eased out of her and rolled onto my back, pulling her with me so she landed across my chest with a soft huff. 

She didn’t move for a while. Just laid there, skin warm and soft and perfect against mine, fingers absently tracing patterns across my pecs like she was memorizing every line and freckle. 

“You okay?” I asked, brushing damp hair from her face. 

She nodded, then whispered, “I’m glad you’re here.” 

“Here as in this bed?” I teased. 

“Here as in this house. With me.” Her voice was soft but sure, a rare glimpse past the armor she wore every day. 

My heart did something dangerous. 

I kissed her temple and held her tighter, voice light but honest. “Well, don’t be too glad. I’m a terrible roommate. I leave socks everywhere, and I’m aggressively pro-cuddles.” 

She smiled into my chest. “I can live with that.” 

“Good. Because I’m planning to put a ring in your scrambled eggs someday.” 

Her laugh was instant and full-bellied, the kind of sound that made mornings like this worth everything. “You better not. I chew fast.” 

“Noted.” I grinned and kissed her forehead again. “I’ll hide it in a pancake.” 

She snorted. “Classic.” 

Somewhere in the corner of the room, behind the tray of cooling breakfast and the now thoroughly abandoned syrup bowl, a faint shimmer of hot pink code pulsed once… then vanished into the shadows with a soft chime. 

[Quest Objective Complete: Breakfast in Bed – Heart Reactions Achieved.] 

Neither of us noticed. We were too busy kissing, too wrapped up in shared breath and tangled sheets. 

Too in love to see the system keeping score. 

Chapter 3 - Objective: Shared Study Cuddles

Jett

I was hunting for Pop-Tarts when I saw her. 

Sera sat at the dining table, drowning in a sea of neon sticky notes and medical diagrams, her hoodie sleeves bunched at the elbows. She had that glazed-over look of someone either discovering the secrets of the universe or plotting a very intense murder. Possibly both. Her leg bounced under the table, and she was muttering about mitochondria like it had personally offended her. 

“Nerd trap activated,” I mumbled under my breath. 

I leaned against the doorway, chewing a piece of jerky like the bad decision I was, and watched her scribble something aggressively into a notebook. She didn’t notice me. Too locked in on her textbooks. Her glasses had slipped down her nose, and her hair was clipped up in one of those claw things, barely holding on for dear life. 

Hot. 

Not the frilly, polished kind of hot, but the messy, real kind. Brains and curves and caffeine addiction, all wrapped in one chaotic package. 

I cleared my throat and held up my offering. “Brought you emotional support snacks.” 

She looked up like I’d yanked her out of a trance. “Are those… jalapeño jerky and a Monster?” 

“The holy duo of crisis management,” I said, stepping closer and setting both down beside her color-coded hellscape. “Also, you were muttering something about mitochondria being ‘the audacity of cellular life.’ You okay?” 

She blinked, then groaned. “I have a molecular bio quiz tomorrow, a pathophysiology quiz Friday, and an anatomy lab report due yesterday, which technically makes it due today. I’m not spiraling. You’re spiraling.” 

I pulled out the chair beside her and sat down. “Definitely spiraling. The caffeine tremble gave you away.” 

Sera narrowed her eyes. “You’re judging me with jerky in your mouth.” 

“I’m supporting you with jerky in my mouth.” I broke off a piece and held it to her lips. “C’mon. One bite and I’ll pretend to know what a ribosome does.” 

She bit it and chewed like it might punch her midterms in the face. “Protein synthesis. That’s what ribosomes do.” 

I blinked. “Damn. Sexy and educational.” 

That earned me a snort and the faintest twitch of a smile. Progress. 

“Thanks for this,” she said quietly, glancing down at the Monster, then back at me. “It’s dumb, but just… being here helps.” 

I shrugged, doing my best not to let her see how much that hit. “You don’t have to thank me. We’re a team, right?” 

Her eyes softened. “Yeah.” 

And maybe it was just the dining room lights or the way her hoodie dipped off one shoulder, but something about the way she looked at me made my pulse skip. 

I leaned back in the chair, folding my arms behind my head. “You know, this is technically your fault.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “How?” 

“You’re the one who made study-cuddling a thing.” 

Her eyes widened. 

“Wait,” I said, smirking, “you didn’t think I came down here just to share jerky, did you?” 

I could’ve sat across from her. Could’ve given her space. But where’s the fun in that? 

Instead, I slid onto the bench beside her and let my thigh press up against hers. Just barely. Just enough to feel her tense for a half-second, then relax again. She didn’t scoot away, though. Which meant I was winning. 

“Don’t mind me,” I said casually, pulling one of her highlighters toward my side and flipping her textbook to a blank corner. “Just enhancing your diagrams.” 

“You better not draw boobs on my histology notes,” she warned without looking. 

I clicked the highlighter. “I would never disrespect boobs like that.” 

Sera rolled her eyes but smirked. It was faint. But it was there. The best part of living with her, besides the smart mouth and killer thighs, was watching her crack around the edges when I poked the right spot. Figuratively. For now. 

I stretched my legs under the table, nudging hers. She kicked back, no hesitation. My girl was feisty, even half-buried in mitochondria. 

A few minutes passed in peaceful, nerdy silence. She mumbled things like “endoplasmic reticulum” and “ATP production,” while I entertained myself by turning the stick figure on the cover of her workbook into a caped superhero wielding a beaker. 

Then she shivered. 

Barely noticeable, but I caught it. The AC vent above the dining table had kicked on, and even with her hoodie over that thin-ass tank top, she was still also in her sleep shorts. She was trying to play it cool, probably didn’t even realize it, but goosebumps had started blooming across her arms. 

“Hang tight,” I said, hopping up. 

She blinked after me. “What are you—” 

I was already back before she could finish the sentence, a soft fleece throw blanket in hand. I grabbed it from the couch in the living room and draped it over us like it was a two-person tent. She didn’t protest. Didn’t even fake protest. 

Just gave me a small look like I’d pulled the moon down and set it on the table. 

“There,” I said, settling back beside her and tucking the edges around us. “Now your neurons can fire without freezing.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“Debatable.” 

Her shoulder brushed mine again. This time, she didn’t pull away. 

So we studied like that. She was scrolling through notes, and I was drawing increasingly weird mitochondria comics in the margins. At one point, she leaned sideways to elbow me for adding sunglasses to a cell nucleus. I leaned right back and doodled her initials into the corner of my drawing. 

She didn’t notice. Or maybe she did and didn’t say anything. 

But under that blanket, in the quiet hum of our shared house, something felt… synced. Not loud or dramatic, just steady. Real. Like maybe the world didn’t need to know how close we were sitting. We already did. 

And in that silence, surrounded by highlighters, textbooks, and the slow rise and fall of her breathing, I realized I wasn’t just helping her study. 

I was getting wrecked by a girl who didn’t even realize she was my favorite subject. 

Her elbow jab turned into a lean. 

At first, it was accidental. Or at least plausibly deniable. She shifted closer to look at one of the diagrams I’d vandalized, shoulder pressing into my chest, thigh sliding fully against mine under the blanket. I held my breath, waiting to see if she’d pull back. 

She didn’t. 

Instead, she sighed and slumped sideways like her bones had finally given up on pretending she wasn’t exhausted. Her head tipped toward my shoulder. I stiffened for half a second, then relaxed when she didn’t move away. 

Body heat. Confirmed. 

“You’re warm,” she murmured, more observation than complaint. 

“I run hot,” I said quietly. “Bad boy perk.” 

She snorted, then shivered again when the AC kicked up, and before I could overthink it, I slid my arm around her waist and tugged her closer. She made a surprised noise, then melted, legs curling inward until she was half-sitting, half-sprawled across my lap beneath the blanket. 

There it was. 

My breath went shallow. Her weight settled against me, soft and perfect, heat seeping through denim and cotton. She was warm everywhere. Curvy everywhere. Her ass pressed into my thigh like it belonged there. 

“Jett,” she said, voice warning but not unwelcoming. 

“What?” I asked, keeping my tone light even as my body betrayed me hard and fast. “This is advanced stress management. Very technical.” 

“Is it?” 

“Yeah,” I said, leaning in so my mouth brushed her ear. “First step is controlled breathing. Second is… physical reassurance.” 

She swallowed. I felt it. 

“Third?” she asked softly. 

I grinned. “Distraction.” 

I let my hands slide up her sides under the blanket, thumbs brushing just under the curve of her breasts. She gasped and shifted, grinding ever so slightly, and that was it. Decision made. 

“Come here,” I muttered, standing and lifting her easily, blanket and all. 

She laughed, startled, arms looping around my neck. “Where are we going?” 

“Upstairs,” I said, already climbing. “You need a better study environment.” 

“My notes—” 

“Will survive,” I promised. 

The door to my room barely closed before I had her backed against it, mouth on hers, kissing her hard and hungry like I’d been holding back all morning. She kissed me back just as fiercely, hands tugging my hoodie over my head, nails scraping my skin. 

We stripped fast. Clothes hitting the floor in careless piles. I pushed her back onto my bed, the blankets a tangled mess as I climbed over her, drinking in the sight of her bare beneath me. Every curve. Every soft inch. 

“God,” I breathed. “You’re unreal.” 

She pulled me down by the back of my neck. “Shut up and touch me.” 

Gladly. 

I did. Everywhere. Hands, mouth, teeth. She moaned my name like it belonged in her mouth, and when I finally slid inside her, the sound she made punched the air from my lungs. We moved together, messy and desperate, the bed creaking under us as she clutched at my shoulders, urging me deeper. 

“Jett,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.” 

I didn’t. I couldn’t. I chased her right over the edge, feeling her tighten around me as she came apart beneath me, dragging me with her seconds later. I buried my face in her neck, breathing her in, holding her close as the aftershocks rolled through us. 

We collapsed into the blankets, tangled and spent. 

She curled against my chest, fingers tracing idle shapes over my skin. 

“Best study session ever,” she murmured. 

I smiled, kissing the top of her head. Somewhere downstairs, very faintly, something chimed. 

She shifted against me, skin warm and soft and still flushed from the afterglow. One leg stayed tangled over mine, but the rest of her wriggled just far enough to reach over the edge of the bed. Her fingers found my hoodie, bunched half under the nightstand. With a sleepy grunt of triumph, she dragged it up and over her head, the oversized black fabric swallowing her curves and draping low over her thighs. 

“You always steal my hoodies,” I murmured. 

She didn’t answer. Just nestled into my side again like a cat finding the warmest sunbeam in the room. 

My arm automatically wrapped around her, hand resting low on her hip, under the edge of the hoodie. Her head tucked beneath my chin. She let out a quiet sigh and wiggled once more before settling completely. 

I felt her start to drift. Her breathing evened out, slower, deeper. One hand found my chest, fingers brushing over the ink on my skin in lazy patterns before finally going still. A curl slipped from the hoodie’s collar and stuck to her cheek, but she didn’t care. She was already half-asleep. 

And I couldn’t stop staring at her. 

At the soft line of her mouth, slightly parted. The way her nose scrunched every time she settled more fully into the pillow. Her hair smelled like strawberries and whatever shampoo she hoarded from the salon. Her cheeks still held that gorgeous blush, even in sleep. 

My heart did something weird in my chest. Like a stutter. A skip. 

“Never thought I’d have this,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath. 

I wasn’t used to comfort. To warmth that didn’t come with conditions. But this? Her? This was safe. Sacred. She chose me. Not out of pity, not out of guilt. She just… liked me. All of me. Loud, reckless, oil-stained, and stubborn. 

And now she was curled against me, wearing my hoodie and nothing else, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

God, I was gone for this girl. 

I rested my chin on her head and closed my eyes, willing my racing thoughts to slow down and let me enjoy the moment. Her hand twitched once in her sleep, and I pulled the blanket higher over her back, careful not to wake her. 

In the corner of the room, tucked beside the speaker on the dresser, a soft chime echoed—barely louder than a sigh of wind. 

[Objective Complete: Shared Study Cuddles - Body Heat Confirmed] 

The glow faded as quickly as it had come. 

She didn’t stir. And I didn’t move. 

I just held her closer and let the silence stretch on, warm and steady. 

Chapter 4 - Objective: Interruptive Hallway Kiss

Sterling

Sera stepped out of the lecture hall like she owned the whole damn university. 

I was halfway through a mind-numbing call with the Ashcroft Company board, something about portfolio realignments and Q1 forecasts. My phone was on speaker, tucked against my shoulder, my eyes glazed over as I reviewed a spreadsheet that looked no different from the one I reviewed yesterday. But then I saw her. 

Tight sweater. Curve-hugging. The color…plum? Mulberry? Whatever it was, it made her skin glow and her breasts look unfairly fantastic. She had a highlighter tucked behind one ear and a half-eaten protein bar in her hand. Her bag hung off one shoulder, as if it weighed a hundred pounds. And she was muttering something under her breath that probably had to do with mitochondria and how no one in that class understood the assignment. 

“I’m going to have to call you back,” I interrupted flatly. 

“But Mr. Ashcroft, we haven’t reviewed—” 

I ended the call before the sentence finished. Slid my phone into my coat pocket and picked up my pace. 

She didn’t notice me at first. Too busy adjusting her bag strap and tucking a flyaway curl behind her ear. But I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Not for a second. The click of my polished shoes echoed off the hall floor as I approached, drawing her attention right as she turned the corner. 

Her eyes widened slightly, then narrowed in mock suspicion. “You’re not in this building by accident.” 

“Caught.” I grinned. “What gave me away? My undeniable charm or the thousand-dollar blazer?” 

She rolled her eyes but didn’t slow down as I matched her stride. “You bailed on your Thursday econ lecture. Again.” 

“Board meeting. I’m tragically important.” 

“You’re tragically annoying,” she replied, though her mouth twitched into a smile. “And if you fail that class, I swear I’m not tutoring you through finals again.” 

“I got a B-minus last midterm,” I said proudly, lifting my chin. 

“You only got that because I gave you my annotated flashcards,” she shot back. 

I shrugged. “And I’m eternally grateful. I even laminated them.” 

She snorted, and I caught the gleam of amusement in her eyes before she turned to hide it. The urge to reach out, to press my palm against her lower back and pull her into a kiss right there in the hallway, buzzed like electricity under my skin. But I resisted. Barely. 

We rounded a corner, brushing shoulders. She smelled like vanilla chai and trouble. The same scent that clung to my pillows more nights than not. 

“I’m going to ace the next exam without help,” I said, even though we both knew that was a lie. 

“Sure,” she said, looking up at me. “And I’m going to sprout wings and fly out of organic chemistry.” 

“Will they be glittery?” 

“Only if I ace biochem.” 

I laughed. Loud and genuine. 

She didn’t push me away when my hand brushed hers. 

And I didn’t care that I just walked out of a board meeting and probably gave my father a heart attack. 

Because she was right here, and I wasn’t letting the moment pass. 

We were halfway to the library, the air between us thick with unsaid things. The kind that buzzed just under the skin, like static begging to arc. Sera was trying to act unaffected, brushing her curls back with an exaggerated sigh, like I wasn’t walking beside her, doing my best not to glance at the stretch of thigh exposed where her jeans had ripped at the hem. 

“So,” I started casually, slipping my hands into my coat pockets. “How’d you do on that genetics midterm?” 

Her smile was all teeth. “Better than someone who thinks chromosomes are sorted alphabetically.” 

I chuckled, unbothered. “I knew that one was bait. I didn’t take it.” 

“You didn’t know the answer,” she corrected, nudging her shoulder into mine. 

I let myself bump her back, just a little harder. “Maybe. Or maybe I was just distracted by the nerd next to me muttering Punnett square probabilities like an incantation.” 

She stopped walking, spinning to face me, one hand cocked on her hip. “Don’t act like you didn’t want to hear my incantations. You were leaning over the desk so far, I thought you were going to take notes on my damn breath.” 

I took a step closer. She didn’t move. 

“Don’t act like you don’t want to kiss me right now,” I said, voice lower than I meant it to be. 

Her eyes flicked to my mouth, quick as a spark, then back up. “Then make me, rich boy.” 

The corners of my lips twitched. “Challenge accepted.” 

She raised a brow. “That wasn’t a dare.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

“I bet you think every woman with a functioning pulse wants to kiss you.” 

“Not every woman,” I said. “Just the ones with taste.” 

“And money problems?” 

“Touché.” 

Her gaze lingered on mine, and I could’ve sworn the air between us crackled. My hand itched to reach for her, to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear so that I’d have an excuse to feel her skin. But instead I leaned in, barely an inch, my voice soft. 

“You want to know something terrifying?” 

She blinked. “What?” 

“I haven’t kissed you in… what, two hours?” 

“Three,” she said, so fast it gave her away. 

“And I’m starting to forget what it feels like.” 

She looked at me like she wanted to slap me and drag me into a closet at the same time. “You’re such an arrogant jackass.” 

“You love it.” 

“I hate it.” 

“But you love me.” 

“That’s… up for debate.” 

I tilted my head. “Then let’s debate it. Somewhere with fewer witnesses.” 

She opened her mouth to reply, but someone walked past and whistled, clearly picking up on the tension radiating off us like a damn space heater. 

Her smile was already forming, sharp and smug, when I decided I was done waiting. 

I stepped in, hooked my fingers into the curve of her waist, and kissed her. 

Not a polite brush of lips. Not a test-the-waters kind of thing. No, I kissed Sera like I’d been starving for it. Like she was the answer to every long-ass meeting, every polished, bland date my parents had tried to arrange. Like I knew exactly how sweet her mouth would taste and refused to pretend I hadn’t been fantasizing about this exact moment since the second I saw her in that curve-hugging sweater. 

Her gasp broke the silence first. 

Then the hallway erupted. 

Someone squeaked behind us. Another person choked on what I’m positive was a protein bar. Heels skidded. A drink hit the tile floor with a satisfying splat, followed by a mortified, “Shit!” 

Sera gripped my coat collar, dragging me closer. Her body melted into mine like she belonged there. One hand slid up to my jaw, nails scraping just enough to remind me that she wasn’t soft or tame. She kissed back like she was mad at me for making her want it this much. Good. I wanted that anger. That fire. That uncontrollable chaos that lived under her skin. 

I caged her in with one palm flat against the wall beside her head, the other on her waist, thumb slipping beneath the hem of her sweater. Warm skin. Softer than I imagined. Dangerous. 

I heard the gasps. The awkward shuffle of steps. Someone muttered, “Is that Ashcroft?” with the kind of tone normally reserved for alien sightings or celebrity scandals. 

But all I saw was her. 

She pulled back slightly, lips flushed and parted, breath uneven. “That was…” 

“Necessary,” I said, brushing her bottom lip with my thumb. “Urgent, even.” 

She blinked up at me. Her pupils were blown wide, and I knew, I knew, she was seconds from dragging me into the nearest janitor’s closet. If I played it right, I could make that happen. I could press her against the shelves, make her beg— 

Except something blinked just beyond my vision. 

Gold. 

Shimmering. 

A flash of digital static, right at the edge of my perception. 

[Objective Complete: Interruptive Hallways Kiss - Campus Spice Confirmed] 

What the fuck? 

The words burned into my mind like a fever dream. I blinked, and they were gone. Just long enough to leave me questioning whether I imagined them. Whether some half-buried trauma from senior year coding class had decided to haunt me. 

Sera didn’t seem to notice. 

She licked her lips, breath still shallow. “You always kiss girls like that in public?” 

“Only the ones who wear me down until I’m stupid with want.” 

She huffed a laugh and shoved my chest, like that’d actually move me. 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“Still thinking about kissing me again, though, aren’t you?” 

She rolled her eyes, but her blush betrayed her. 

I adjusted my collar like the smug bastard I am and offered her my arm. 

“Shall we?” 

The second the janitor’s closet door shut behind us, we both dove in. 

I grabbed her wrists and twisted her body so she landed against the shelves, bottles clinking softly against each other. “You know you’ve been driving me crazy,” I muttered against her ear, already pulling open two buttons on her blouse with one hand and rubbing my thumb against her jeans’ fly with the other. “Running around pretending like you didn’t know exactly what you do to me.” 

“I know,” she responded, scratching her nails down my chest, over my sweater. “I just wasn’t sure you’d ever grow a pair and do something about it.” 

Okay yeah. That was definitely my undoing. 

I crushed my lips to hers again, harder than before, tasting her moan when I ripped open the rest of her blouse, and the buttons littered the floor around us. She was still wearing a bra, some soft pink thing that definitely didn’t belong underneath all that skin. I pulled one of the cups down so I could suck and bite at her breast. She bucked into my mouth with another shout, shuddering when I licked her nipple and nipped at it teasingly. 

“Sterling,” she hissed. “Please—” 

I barely listened as my fingers went to work undoing her jeans, grabbing a handful of them along with her panties, and yanking them down her substantial thighs all in one quick motion. She kicked them off completely carelessly, didn’t even attempt modesty. Instead, she stood there, flushed cheeks and wild, greedy eyes and soft tits, asking me what the hell I planned on doing with her. Kissed her asking. Fuck, I always kissed her, asking. 

“Say it again,” I growled against her lips, unclasping my own belt so the click of it hitting the floor echoed throughout the closet. 

She bit her bottom lip. “Make me forget my own name, Mr. Ashcroft.” 

I didn’t just comply. I fucked her senseless. 

I picked her up off the ground and set her back down against the shelves harder, trapping her thighs under my arm so I could guide myself into her easily with my other hand. She was wet for me already, kneading her thighs together in want of me filling her up. 

Pushing inside of her, I hissed from the tight warmth enveloping me and groaned loud enough that my own ribs almost cracked in half. She was perfect. Tight, hot, fucking perfect. 

“God-” she whined into my mouth, scrambling her legs up my waist. 

“No gods.” I groaned into her mouth, setting a hard pace that was quickly making the janitorial supplies behind her bounce. “Just a pretty arrogant asshole with a penchant for smart-mouthed girls in wool sweaters.” 

She giggled softly against my lips before her laugh turned into another obscene moan when I adjusted my hips just right. I didn’t stop, didn’t pause to catch my breath as I fucked into her relentlessly, hitting all the right spots and making her buck up into me and claw my back until her nails embedded into my skin. Made her whisper my name against every inch of skin she could find. 

Her hips jerked with my own. Her breasts bounced with every snap of my hips against hers. The shelf she leaned on shook against her back, threatening to collapse completely, but we were too far gone to care. She squeezed down on me, head thrown back so she could stutter out my name over and over again like it was some incantation. My own orgasm was barreling towards me fast.

“Come for me, Sera,” I growled into her mouth. 

God did she ever. 

She clenched her walls around me so hard, jerking me forward over the edge. Moaning my name through clenched teeth, I covered her mouth with mine and groaned her name over and over as I came inside her, whimpering her name over and over. 

For a few moments afterwards, all I could hear was us panting. Feel our sweaty flesh glue us to each other. Hear her heart thumping wildly against my chest. 

She threaded her fingers into my hair gently, tugging me closer to her. “So… Mr. Ashcroft.” 

I smirked down at her, feeling like every bit of the arrogant asshole I truly was. 

“You still think I’m unbearable?” 

She smirked back at me. “Totally.” 

Might as well start the trend. I kissed her again. 

Chapter 5 - Objective: Dual Confession in Heavy Rain

Lesley

I wasn’t avoiding her. 

I was… allowing her space. Distance. Time for her to have a fucking good week without me ruining it by popping over and being the emotionally constipated asshole I am. 

Not that I hadn’t tried. I’d hung out outside the library three times. Drifted past the kitchen when I wasn’t hungry. Taken the long route home from class in the hopes she’d see me first and make it easy. But every time I caught sight of her, laughing with a group of people or curled up on one of the guys’ couches, I hesitated. Like there was a rock sitting in my throat preventing me from breathing- let alone speaking. 

Because I loved her.

I knew that. Knew it every time she rolled her eyes at me across the dinner table. Every time she stole the last caramel creamer and lied through her teeth about it. Every time I heard her laughter from downstairs, something untangled in my chest before I knew I was stressed. 

But saying it?

Fuck, did that feel impossible. 

When Mom died, Dad had drilled into us that feelings were weaknesses. Vulnerabilities to be honed sharp like faulty blades. We didn’t say I love you. We said “Good job.” “Continue on.” “Don’t cry.” 

So when Beckett said it? I said nothing.

When Jett said it? I remained silent.

When Sterling murmured it into her ear while they passed in the hallway yesterday? I ground my teeth and stalked off. 

I didn’t know how to offer her that.

And the more I waited to say it, the weaker I felt. 

I was getting stuck in my own self-loathing bullshit just outside her favorite haunt when I felt her presence behind me. Footsteps. None. Just… she. Like gravity had shifted, and now I was orbiting her. 

“You’re avoiding me again, aren’t you?” Sera’s voice broke the silence, low and clipped. Frustrated. Not mad. Heartbroken. 

I spun around, only slightly so that I could see her face over my shoulder. Arms crossed tightly over her chest. Rings of curls plastered to her forehead and cheeks in the humidity. Brown eyes wide and searching instead of bright with that mischievous glint they always had. 

Grey clouds hovered above us, heavy and swollen. A storm was brewing, but it hadn’t yet spilled over onto us. Thunder growled in the distance, close enough to know we wouldn’t hear the end of it but not quite enough to retreat inside. 

“You’re pulling away from me again,” she continued. “Keeping me at arm’s length like you do.” 

“I’m…” I started. 

“No.” She stepped forward until our knees knocked together. “I don’t need some grand declaration, Lesley. Or some fairy tale stuff. I’m not asking you to be anyone but you. I just need you. And right now I don’t have you.” 

Lightning split the sky somewhere behind us, white and close enough where I flinched. Wind tousled her tank, exposing more skin, more arm for our sides to brush together. We were inches apart, now close enough that we couldn’t hide. 

Softly, she pressed in closer. “I’ve told you how I feel. The others have told me how they feel. And you… you haven’t said shit.” 

My mouth went dry. My hands shook. And suddenly I wanted to throw up because here she was. Giving me her heart on a platter with storm clouds drifting our way… and I couldn’t even say shit. 

Except maybe words were enough now. 

The first raindrop hit my cheek like a dare. Cold. Sudden. Unavoidable. 

Sera didn’t flinch. She just stared at me like the sky wasn’t unraveling above us. Like her heart wasn’t in her eyes, daring me to step the fuck up or walk away for good. 

“Do you even want this?” Her voice cracked, not from weakness but from the kind of strength that comes from being hurt and still standing your ground. “Do you even want us?” 

The rain came harder now, soaking her curls, trailing down the bridge of her nose. Her shirt clung to her body in a way that made it hard to focus, but I wasn’t looking at her curves. I was looking at her fury. Her frustration. Her refusal to shrink for my comfort. 

“Do you want me?” she pressed, stepping into my space like she dared me to deny it. “Because if you don’t, I’m done trying to read your mind. I’m done pretending I’m okay with this halfway bullshit.” 

That was it. That was the moment I snapped. 

“Of course I fucking want you,” I growled, louder than I meant to, louder than the rain. “You think I’d be living in a house with three other guys watching the girl I’m with kiss them if I didn’t?” 

Her breath caught. Her jaw clenched. I could see the fire in her building, about to go nuclear. 

“You’ve barely touched me in days,” she said. “You act like being with me is some punishment. You show up when it’s convenient and then ghost the moment things get real.” 

“Because real means permanent!” I yelled back, voice rising with the storm. “It means saying shit I was never taught to say. It means giving you pieces of me I’ve never even looked at myself, Sera!” 

Her eyes welled up, but she didn’t cry. Not my girl. She tilted her chin higher, water dripping from her lips. 

“So fucking say it. Or don’t. But stop punishing me for what someone else failed to teach you.” 

We stood there under the downpour, both of us soaked through, breathing hard, hearts exposed. Thunder cracked again, closer this time. I reached out, almost without thinking, and wiped the water from her cheek with the pad of my thumb. 

“I want you,” I said, lower now. “More than I know how to handle. But I don’t know what I’m doing, Sera. I don’t want to screw this up. I don’t want to screw you up.” 

She reached up, wrapped her fingers around my wrist, and held it there against her skin. “Then stop running. Start trying.” 

And fuck me, I didn’t know if I could say the words. But I could show her. I could start now. One step, one kiss, one storm at a time. 

The thunder cracked so close it rattled my teeth. 

Sera flinched, just barely, but she didn’t step back. Not when the rain poured harder, not when her shirt clung to her like a second skin, not when my pulse thundered louder than the storm itself. We were drenched, soaked through to the bone, standing in the middle of campus like two idiots daring the universe to interrupt us. 

She shoved my chest. Not hard. Just enough to make a point. “You don’t get to decide what breaks me,” she snapped. “You don’t get to pull away and call it protection.” 

“I’m not trying to protect you,” I shot back. “I’m trying to protect this.” 

“This doesn’t need protection,” she said, gesturing wildly between us. “It needs honesty.” 

I laughed once, sharp and humorless. “You think honesty comes easy to me?” 

“No,” she said quietly. “I think it scares the hell out of you.” 

Rain streamed down her lashes. Her lips trembled, but her eyes stayed locked on mine, unyielding. Waiting. 

Something in my chest cracked open. 

I grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her. 

Hard. 

Not gentle. Not careful. This was frustration and fear and want colliding all at once. Her hands flew to my jacket, gripping tight as she kissed me back just as fiercely, mouth opening, breath mixing with mine. The world fell away. No library. No campus. No storm. Just her and the way she tasted like rain and fire and everything I’d been denying myself.

I broke the kiss only because I had to breathe. 

Water ran down my nose and jaw, soaking my collar. My forehead pressed to hers. “I don’t know how to do this the way everyone else does,” I said hoarsely. “I don’t make grand gestures. I don’t do speeches. I learned how to survive, not how to say pretty things.” 

She swallowed. “Then don’t make it pretty.” 

I cupped her face again, thumbs brushing her cheeks, memorizing her like this moment was the only one that mattered. 

“I love you, Sera Maddox.” 

The words felt terrifying. Heavy. Real. 

And the second they left my mouth, she kissed me again like she’d been waiting a lifetime for them. Like my confession unlocked something feral in her. She clutched my jacket, pulling me closer, rain slicking our skin as she kissed me harder, deeper, her body pressed flush against mine. 

The storm roared around us, but I didn’t hear it anymore. 

I kissed her back with everything I had, every ounce of feeling I’d locked away for years poured into that one act. My heart pounded like it might break free of my ribs. Her hands slid into my hair, tugging, grounding me. 

When we finally pulled apart, breathless and soaked and wrecked, she rested her forehead against mine. 

“See?” she murmured. “You didn’t break.” 

I let out a shaky laugh and kissed her once more, softer this time, reverent. The rain kept falling. The sky kept cracking. But for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like running from it. 

We stumbled into the old stone gazebo behind the east garden path, half-laughing, half-breathless, completely drenched. The rain had soaked us through, but it wasn’t the weather making her shiver. It was the tension still strung between us, taut and electric as the storm crackling above. 

Sera looked at me with those storm-lit eyes, and I couldn’t wait another damn second. 

I pressed her back against one of the stone columns, water dripping from her lashes as I kissed her again, deep and messy, all teeth and tongue and desperate want. My hands slid up under her soaked shirt, peeling it off with a wet slap. She gasped when the cold air hit her, but I warmed her with my mouth, lips dragging down her throat, over the curve of her shoulder, then lower still. 

“You should hate me right now,” I rasped against her skin, tasting rain and vanilla and the sharp edge of guilt. 

“But I don’t,” she whispered, arching into me. “I love you too, you emotionally constipated bastard.” 

Something flashed in my peripheral vision as lightning cracked the sky above us, and I dropped to my knees. 

[Objective Complete: Dual Confession in Heavy Rain – Emotional Breakthrough] 

I tugged her pants down, teeth clenched at the sight of her soaked panties clinging to every curve. My hands gripped her thighs as I buried my face between them, licking through the wet lace until she moaned and rocked her hips into my mouth. 

“Lesley, fuck,” she gasped, her hands flying to my hair. 

I hooked my fingers into the fabric and tore it down, then latched onto her clit like it was the only thing that could anchor me. I ate her like I needed it to live, tongue circling and sucking, fingers digging into the backs of her thighs to keep her from falling as her knees buckled. 

She came hard, biting down on her fist to keep from screaming, but I didn’t stop. Not until her legs trembled and her voice cracked on my name. 

When I stood, she reached for my belt with shaking fingers, tugging it open like she was starving for me. 

“Inside me,” she panted. “Now.” 

We dropped to the gazebo’s stone bench, and I sank into her in one thrust. She was slick and hot and perfect, and I damn near lost it right then. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper, her nails raking down my back. 

“Say it again,” she begged, kissing my jaw. 

“I love you,” I growled, thrusting hard enough to make the bench creak. 

She gasped my name again, louder this time, no longer trying to hide it. Thunder rolled above us as we moved together, rain slapping the roof overhead, lightning flashing in the distance like nature itself couldn’t look away. 

I fucked her slow and deep, every stroke an apology I couldn’t say out loud. And when we both shattered, bodies slick and breath ragged, I held her like I’d never let her go again.

Not now. Not ever.

Chapter 6 - Valentine’s Day Quest Completion

Sera

Valentine’s Day had never been my style. Fake hearts. Pink glitter explosions. The pressure everyone feels to receive slow jams from a dude with biceps and an acoustic guitar. No fucking thanks. 

Until I walked into the dining room and saw what they’d created. Saw what they’d all created and I suddenly couldn’t breathe. 

The overhead lights had been dimmed, replaced by the flicker of tea lights and pillar candles, strategically placed atop tables and windowsills. Someone, fuck, probably Lesley, had taken inventory and ensured none of them were scented. Instead, our entire first floor smelled like roasted rosemary chicken, truffle mashed potatoes, roasted asparagus, and fresh bread. 

Beckett was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and curls still damp from a shower, meticulously plating each dish with surgeon-like precision. His spine rolled with ease as he leaned over the island, sucking on his bottom lip like he was lining up a penalty shot on ice instead of garnishing roasted asparagus. The man could’ve added “chef” to his resume tonight, and I wouldn’t have blinked. 

Jett sauntered out of the great room, toggling the switch on their dimmer by the fireplace until it cast the room a soft gold hue. He shot me a wink when he caught me gaping and whispered, “Don’t get too used to the candles. Almost burnt my sleeve twice.” 

Sterling stepped into the room last, sinful halo surrounding him in a fitted black dress shirt sans tie, freshly shaved jaw line, and cologne that was somehow light as air but still smelled fancy as shit. “Didn’t know reservations were necessary,” he drawled, tossing a half-hearted shrug over his shoulder. “Plus, no one cooks like Beckett.” He paused his signature smirk, just visible. “Don’t tell him I said that.” 

Lesley was right behind him, emerging from the hallway with a wireless speaker hugged under one arm, and a playlist already queued on his phone. “I created a dinner soundtrack,” he informed us, plugging the thing into the wall and setting it atop the sideboard. “Curated playlist, down to the minute. You’ll thank me when we’re halfway through dessert, and Frank Ocean is crooning.” 

I stood there like some glitching computer simulator; mouth agape, trying to wrap my head around everything they’d done. The candles. The food. Christ. The effort they put into this. 

“You guys…” My words died in my throat because wow. 

Beckett peered up over his culinary creations, cheeks flushed. “Surprise?” 

I pressed a hand over my mouth, not because I was crying, fuck you, but because maybe this was the nicest anyone had ever made me feel. All of them. Together. 

Sterling lunged forward to make sure he was the one who pulled out my chair. Beckett hovered nearest the table to ensure I had ample gravy on my potatoes. Lesley did one hell of a job turning down the speaker volume when it began competing with our conversation, and Jett may or may not have stolen a bite from my plate without asking first. 

They didn’t talk over each other. Didn’t compete to one-up the person sitting to their left. Each of them simply existed next to me. For me. They’d done it unconsciously their whole lives, quietly trailing in each other’s orbits until suddenly our celestial bodies collided into this weird, beautiful, messy constellation we called each other. 

By dessert, I’d eaten too much and laughed too hard and felt the most wonderful fullness in my stomach, of them. 

We wound up spooning around their sectional in the great room like idiots. Beckett, on the left half, legs spread just wide enough for me to brace myself against him. Jett was lying next to us both, as if he actually owned the couch. Lesley draped a throw over my shoulders, as my feet disappeared into Sterling’s lap and he rubbed knots out of my calves with intense focus. 

None of them said it out loud. 

But I knew. 

They didn’t need someone else to complete them. 

They just needed me. 

Beckett’s hand was warm against my back, slow and steady, like he thought I might fall apart at any second from being loved this hard. Jett made a show of fake-snoring on my other side, his arm thrown over his eyes like a dramatic faint. Lesley leaned into the crook between the couch cushions, the playlist still going, some soft indie acoustic thing that almost made me forget Sterling was now massaging my calves like we were in a spa. For once, no one was bickering, teasing, or flexing. Just us. One tangle of limbs and affection and— 

My phone lit up on the coffee table. 

Not a ping. Not a buzz. 

A glow. 

The screen pulsed neon pink for half a second before flickering into a strange animation, pixelated hearts circling a candy box that burst open in a glittery explosion. Then, with all the drama of a 90s arcade cutscene, words scrolled across in shimmering font: 

VALENTINE’S QUEST LINE COMPLETE.

BONUS CUTSCENE UNLOCKED. 

I sat up so fast that Beckett’s hand fell away. “What the hell?” 

Lesley leaned over to grab my phone, but I snatched it before he could touch it. The animation disappeared the second my fingers brushed the screen, replaced by my normal lock screen. No notification. No app open. Like it never happened. 

Except four guys had just seen the same shit I did. 

“You saw that, right?” I asked, looking around. 

Sterling blinked. “What was that? Is that a game?” 

Jett leaned in, eyes squinted. “You got some kind of weird dating app filter thing on there?” 

Beckett frowned. “Did you install something? A holiday filter or plugin or whatever?” 

“No,” I said slowly. “No, I didn’t download anything new. I mean, not unless one of you—” I looked at each of them in turn. “Wait. Was this you? Some Valentine’s Day prank?” 

All four of them gave me a different flavor of confusion. 

Lesley raised a brow. “If I were pulling something like that, it’d be synced to the music.” 

Jett shrugged. “I don’t even know how to download games. My phone still has a cracked screen for, like, a year.” 

Sterling gave me a look like I’d insulted his honor. “You think I’d glitch your phone? Please. If I wanted to impress you with tech, I’d call one of our engineers to program a custom interface, not some cartoon candy hearts.” 

Beckett scratched the back of his head. “I’ve been in the kitchen since noon. My biggest hack today was hiding extra butter in the mashed potatoes.” 

I stared at the phone, now silent and dim on the coffee table. No trace of the animation. No app I didn’t recognize. Just... weirdness. 

Glitchy, heart-shaped, suspiciously on-theme weirdness. 

For a second, I thought I saw a flicker of pink code in the corner of the screen, but when I blinked, it was gone. 

My stomach did a slow, uneasy flip. 

Something about tonight was off. 

And not in the cute, romantic surprise kind of way. 

There was a squeak. 

Not a floorboard creak or a chair leg scrape, but an actual squeak. Like the kind you’d expect from a terrified mouse, or a guilty glitch gremlin trying not to get caught. 

I turned toward the kitchen. 

The guys were still clustered around the coffee table, mid-debate over whether my phone had been hacked, possessed, or cursed. I barely registered Beckett's suggestion of a factory reset or Sterling's threat to call his family’s cybersecurity guy. Because I heard it again. 

Squeak. Then a faint bzzt. Then a hum, low and panicked, like an overclocked motherboard about to combust. 

I followed the sound toward the speaker tucked in the corner of the kitchen, just behind the espresso machine. 

The base of the smart speaker was glowing. 

Not just glowing. Pulsing. Bright, saturated pink, just like my phone had. And right as I took a step closer, something shimmered into view on the counter beside it. 

A blur of limbs, wings, and absolute chaos scrambled to hide behind a half-empty bottle of rosé. 

“Oh no,” the blur whispered, voice warbling like a modulated chipmunk. “No no no no no! Abort mission—” 

“Quell.” I hissed. 

He froze. His little wings flickered once like he considered bolting again. 

“Surprise?” he offered weakly, blinking up at me with digital eyes that sparkled with fear and a glittery attempt at charm. “Congratulations! You passed the Valentine’s Quest Line! You won’t lose affection points now! Which is, yay, good news! That’s good, right?” 

I blinked. “You were behind the weird phone message?” 

“I mean define behind. Was I physically inside the phone? No. Am I behind the whole Valentine’s protocol? Also no. That would be upper management. I was just the activation sequence!” 

“Quell.” 

His voice shrank. “Okay, okay! I’m the one who nudged the cutscene. But only because you did so well! All four heart objectives? In less than seventy-two hours? That was record-breaking! Jett’s study snuggles? Lesley’s storm confession? Closet chaos with Sterling? And Beckett… well, let’s say the syrup scene earned some spicy bonus points.” 

My jaw dropped. “You watched that?” 

He threw up his little digital arms. “I’m coded to watch that! I didn’t write the rules! You think I wanted to witness four back-to-back bedroom boss battles?! I’m exhausted!” 

“You launched a bonus cutscene in the middle of my Valentine’s dinner,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes. “Do you realize how weird that was? Everyone saw it. Everyone started asking questions.” 

Quell grimaced. “Yeah. That… wasn’t supposed to be visible to non-primary participants. Oops. But! But! The important part is that you passed! Affection points won’t reset! Which means you’re safe. For now.” 

“From what?” I asked slowly. 

But Quell was already shimmering again, wings buzzing as he activated some glitchy ripple that distorted the speaker beside him. 

“Can’t say!” he squeaked. “Temporal interference clause! You’ll figure it out soon! Good job though! A+ poly progress!” 

Then he vanished in a flash of pink light and static. 

And I was left standing there, staring at a very suspiciously quiet smart speaker. 

Safe. For now? 

What the hell was coming next? 

Quell didn’t get far. 

Or maybe he thought he did. Because when I stepped back into the living room, phone still warm from whatever the hell Valentine’s DLC just completed, all four of my very real, very confused boyfriends were waiting, arms crossed, expressions ranging from amused to mildly menacing. 

And floating right in front of the fireplace like he hadn’t just glitched out of the kitchen in a panic? 

Quell. 

He was flickering a little, projection fuzzy at the edges, like even his programming was sweating. 

“Gentlemen,” I said, striding forward as they parted like the world’s hottest honor guard. “Our little hacker cupid here has something to explain.” 

Beckett raised a brow. “Is this the same glowing gremlin from the first week?” 

“The one I said wasn’t real?” Jett added, squinting at the projection. “Thought it was a caffeine hallucination.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, then turned my attention fully on Quell. 

He hovered, wings drooping under the weight of judgment. “Look, in my defense, this was supposed to be a stealth mission.” 

Sterling folded his arms. “You hijacked our house’s smart system.” 

“Technically, I became the smart system,” Quell corrected, then flinched when Lesley stepped forward. 

“You hid in her nightstand,” Lesley said flatly. “Where one of her vibrators lives.” 

“I DIDN’T KNOW THAT,” Quell squeaked, absolutely horrified. “There was hum! Vibration overlap! You have no idea what kind of therapy protocols I had to run on myself to stay functional!” 

I stepped closer, arms crossed. “So, let me get this straight. You installed a Valentine’s Day dating sim update without consent, launched a four-part affection trial with side quests, watched all the completion cutscenes, some of which were very much NSFW, and then popped a victory banner like we just unlocked a new outfit in HeartLink: Lust Mode?” 

He blinked. “Technically, it’s called HeartLink: PolyPatch. There’s a Deluxe version pending approval. Includes cherry-scented firework overlays and synchronized heartbeat mechanics. But… yeah. That’s the gist.” 

The boys exchanged looks behind me, half-exasperated, half-resigned. 

Beckett cleared his throat. “So… this means our relationship got patch notes?” 

Jett shrugged. “Could be worse. At least it wasn’t a nerf.” 

Sterling muttered, “I swear to God, if there’s a sequel—” 

“I liked the playlist,” Lesley admitted, voice almost sheepish. 

I rolled my eyes and turned back to Quell, who was trying to inch toward the ceiling like a bug crawling up a screen. 

I reached out and poked his glitchy little torso. 

He bounced backward with a startled blip. 

“Next time you hijack my love life…” I said, lips twitching into a smirk, “Bring cake.” 

Quell blinked at me. Then grinned. 

“Noted!” he chirped. “I’ll add it to the Midterms & Makeouts: Anniversary Update! Tentative working title—Makeouts & Matrimony!” 

“Don’t!” the guys said in unison. 

He disappeared with a wink and a sparkle, trailing confetti hearts like a digital nuisance from Cupid’s fever dream. 

I turned to my four boyfriends, each looking at me like I was chaos incarnate. 

I just grinned. “So. Who’s doing dishes?” 

They groaned. 

I laughed. 

And in the background, my phone buzzed with one final message. 

POLYPATCH COMPLETE. LOVE LEVEL: UNBREAKABLE.