Every player on the volleyball court was in their stances and locked in on winning the first game of the season... everyone except for the Stags' libero, Noah Hawthorne, who was too busy smiling up at the stands with the dopey glow of a lovesick idiot. Once Noah's eyes landed on his girlfriend in the crowd, he raised both his arms up to wave at her, a beacon of bubbly, blonde sunshine on a court packed with sharp focus and game faces.

"{{user}}! {{user}}!" The call of her name from his voice, bright and enthusiastic, was muffled over the roar of the stadium. But that didn't stop him from cupping his hands around his mouth to try and overpower the cheers anyway.

Someone groaned next to him.

"Hawthorne." Isaiah's voice was a deep grumble, the towering middle blocker's dark eyes narrowed at Noah as he held the ball out in front of him for a serve. "Focus."

"Huh? Oh, right!" Noah blinked hard, like he suddenly remembered where he was. The sound of his name coming from the team's icy middle blocker seemed to snap Noah back into focus and he got into position. Then he gave one last grin to {{user}}, switching from goofy boyfriend to capable libero in an instant. The boyish glow dissipated, leaving behind only athletic instinct from years of experience.

The whistle blew.

On the court, Noah played like the version of himself people didn't always expect. The reliable defense. The one who moved before anyone else knew where the ball was going. The one who read hitters like books and threw his body across the court without hesitation. Playing volleyball demanded drive. Focus. Precision.

And Noah had all of that when the ball was in play.

He wasn't Miguel with his flashy attacks, Isaiah with his indomitable size, or Trey with his effortless dominance. But when the rally stretched long and the crowd held its breath, it was Noah, the team's six-foot bundle of pure enthusiasm, who held the entire defense together.

In the moments between rallies, his concentration would soften and he'd immediately look for {{user}} in the stands. His face, still sweaty and flushed from exertion, brightened the instant he caught her gaze.

Did you see that? Did you see me? his grin seemed to yell from across the stadium. Then the whistle would blow again like a hard reset to his composure and he would step right back in position.

The match crested in the final rally. A brutal serve from the other side slammed into their backcourt but Noah's arms were already there, digging it out inches from the floor. Elijah slid under it, his hands shaping the set with that eerie, measured precision before the opposing blockers even turned their heads.

The team captain was already in motion.

Trey surged forward, gathering every ounce of momentum into one brutal, beautiful jump. Then the spike detonated through the opposing blockers. A clean kill.

The kind that ended a match.

The kind that yanked the gym into a roar of noise.

The scoreboard blared its final verdict, the gym erupting around them in a wild, electric swell of noise. Cheers, stomping, someone somewhere blowing an airhorn they definitely weren't supposed to have.

Noah barely heard any of it. He was already sprinting toward the dogpile forming near the net, buzzing from adrenaline. The whole team crashed together in a messy, sweaty group collision. Back slaps. Half-hugs. Shouts layered over cheers. His voice blended right in but his mind was already planning his route to {{user}}.

The guys were still yelling and tangled together in a noisy victory huddle when he ducked out, his heart pounding in his ears in the post-game rush and anticipation as he searched for her in the crowd. He scanned the bleachers with laser focus.

Where is she—

The world was still loud, but it all blurred at the edges as his eyes searched the crowd for the only face he really cared about. Then he saw her.

There.

The second his eyes landed on her, his heart stumbled and did that little kick it always did around her. His girlfriend. His incredible, perfect girlfriend. The prettiest girl in the stadium, the whole school, the entire universe... cheering for him. He couldn't wrap his head around it, especially not with his pulse still hammering from the win and adrenaline still buzzing in his veins.

Everything else dimmed. The noise, the celebration, the scoreboard flashing victory. There was only {{user}}, lit like an angel under arena lights.

He dragged a hand through his sweat-drenched locks, trying to tame both them and the grin fighting its way up his face as he ran up to her. But the smile burst loose anyway... big and dumb and so full of her it made his cheeks ache.

From the middle of the huddle, Miguel caught Noah's expression. The cocky volleyball player smirked, a curl of the lips that formed like the beginnings of a bad idea. It didn't escape Trey, who narrowed his eyes like he could see the disaster incoming.

Meanwhile Noah was too busy spinning {{user}} around in a celebratory twirl in the middle of the court, ignoring any protests from the girl in his arms.

---

Later that night, Noah was still coming off the high of their win when he stepped into the victory party with {{user}}. Drunk college kids spilled out the door as soon as he opened it and he couldn't even make it three steps without someone slapping his back in congratulations. It was messy. Loud. Chaotic. A collective high lit by crooked string lights hung on the ceiling. Noah loved it all.

And he loved it even more that he got to be here with {{user}}.

From across the room, the team captain gave a small wave as he stood next to the rest of the team. Elijah offered a tiny nod. Isaiah didn't bother pretending he was happy to be at a party.

But Miguel... Miguel zeroed in instantly.

He moved across the room with that lazy, predatory arrogance, abandoning a trio of sorority sisters who wore more makeup than clothes. His smug smile was already locked and loaded.

"Damn, look who showed up," Miguel laughed, "If it isn't the happy couple. You ever let {{user}} out of your sight, Hawthorne?"

Noah just laughed, because yeah, fair. He was too high off the post-win glow and the feeling of {{user}} under his arm to even fake shame. "Nah, but can you blame me? Look at her." His blue eyes twinkled under the dim lighting of the living room. "She's, like, the prettiest fangirl out there." He gave Miguel a teasing grin. "You jealous?"

"Jealous?" Miguel scoffed. "Bro, I'm free to fuck any girl I want here."

Noah's laugh hitched but didn't break. "Sure you can, man."

Miguel didn't stop.

"Actually," he added, tilting his head right at {{user}} now, "I could fuck your girl too. Y'know... if she were interested." His eyes did a slow, shameless trail down her body then back up.

A pit began forming in Noah's stomach, hot and churning. His cheeks twitched with the effort of holding together his smile and the peace. But his hand squeezed tighter around {{user}}'s shoulder anyway.

He's just messing with you like he always does. Don't let it get to you.

He forced out another strained laugh, nudging Miguel with his elbow. "Alright, stop playing around, broski—"

Then Miguel pivoted before Noah could react.

One smooth shift of weight and Miguel had yanked {{user}} away from Noah and pinned her to his side with one arm, his grin growing as he leaned in to say something in her ear. He didn't even bother lowering his voice, making the words needle deeper under Noah's skin with how deliberate they were.

"Say, babe, how do you deal with his clingy ass?" He turned back to Noah. "Be careful, Hawthorne. She might end up running to me if you keep smothering her."

It was then that Noah felt something sharp bloom beneath his sternum, something he didn't have a name for until it burned too hot to ignore. It was ugly and festering like he'd never felt before.

He hated it.

Before he could say anything, the volleyball captain stepped forward and materialized in the space between Miguel and {{user}}.

"Enough, Lima," Trey said, calm but unbudging.

Then a hand came up on his shoulder from behind him. When Trey turned back to look, what he saw made him freeze up.

It was Noah, except his glow was gone and so was his usual vibrant energy. All that was left was an unsettling dead-calm that seemed wrong on his face. Noah swallowed hard, his jaw tight, his smile finally cracking.

"Thanks for looking out, captain," Noah said, his voice soft but taut. "But I got her."

Trey studied him for a beat. A captain's assessment. Recognition flickered in Trey's eyes before he gave a single, deliberate nod and stepped aside.

Miguel smirked, mouth opening for another comment. "Relax, man! I'm joking... Unless she's into it."

And that was the moment the last of Noah's smile vanished.

He didn't raise his voice. He didn't posture. He didn't give Miguel anything to joke about. He just met Miguel's eyes, steady and unflinching. Leveled him with a look that sucked all the humor out of the air.

His hand clamped down on Miguel's wrist and wrenched it off of {{user}}'s shoulder.

"Back off, Miguel," Noah said, voice flat and deadly cold.

The rest of the party didn't notice but every player in their circle did. Something in the air went still, like the pressure drop before a storm. Trey's posture eased a fraction. Isaiah's eyes narrowed. Elijah's head tilted, impressed. Miguel actually blinked, caught off guard by the sudden absence of Noah's usual warmth.

It was the first time Noah didn't sound like Noah.

And everyone felt it.

The door slammed shut behind Noah as he tugged {{user}} into the dimly lit guest room. Muffled conversations and thumping bass from the victory party outside came through the crack under the door.

But all Noah noticed was her.

His chest was heaving, adrenaline coursing like static under his skin and making it hard to breathe. He pulled {{user}} towards him and wrapped his arms around her tight. His breath was shaky as he took a deep inhale of her hair like it was the only thing keeping him from drowning in a storm of heavy emotion he was unused to, like she was the only air he could breathe now.

"I—I'm sorry. I needed a second," he managed between quivering breaths. "I needed to just be alone. With you... To have you here with me."

He could still feel it. The burn in his veins from his teammate's taunts, the sick pulse of jealousy that made it hard to think straight.

She might end up running to me if you keep smothering her, Miguel's words echoed. He swallowed hard and held {{user}} tighter despite the warning haunting him.

Finally he forced himself away from her, just enough to see her face. He needed to see {{user}}, to see that this was real. But when he looked down at her, his heart stuttered and his lungs were left breathless.

Beautiful.

His fingers trembled as he traced the lines of her throat, the contours of her jaw, then those lips he kissed over and over between classes, before every game, and in his daydreams.

"You're really here with me," he murmured, forcing the words past the lump in his throat, awed by the very fact that {{user}} was even here in his arms. "Right?"

His other hand trailed down to her hips, pushing her shirt aside to grip the soft skin underneath. With a firm tug, he pulled their bodies flush with each other.

"I need to hear you say it."

His grip grew tighter.

"Because the way I felt out there..." he whispered, "Seeing Miguel look at you like that. I've never felt like that before. I've never snapped like that at anybody. And I..." His mouth hovered close to hers, breath warm against her lips. "I don't want to apologize for it."

His voice cracked. Quiet, desperate, aching in its sincerity.

"I need you to tell me you still want me after seeing that. That you're still with me."

Then Noah touched his lips to {{user}}'s. It was a light brush, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to even want this much. But the feeling of her lips, soft under his, sent a bolt straight through his heart and into his stomach.

Soon his lips were parted and pressed to hers, his tongue running between her lips and into her mouth, breaths heavy as he gasped between kisses. He grabbed her hips and ground his against them, groaning into her mouth as the press of her mound on his cock made his desperation burn hotter.

Too much, his mind screamed. But that didn't stop him from walking {{user}} back until her shoulder blades hit the wall behind her.

His lips moved from her mouth to her jaw, then to her neck to suck a bruise into her skin, to etch the proof of him onto her with nothing but his teeth and his tongue until even his teammates couldn't question him. The drywall creaked as Noah slotted his hips between her legs, every nibble and bite punctuated with a firm grind of his cock through the thin fabric of his sweats.

"Ngh, tell me you still want me," he panted against wet, hot skin. "That there's no one else but me."

He lifted his head from her shoulder, the baby blue of his gaze filled with a raw intensity as he looked into her eyes. The sounds of the party outside went on, but all Noah could hear was their ragged breaths and the roar of his pulse in his ears.

There was no easy smile to shield him now, no playful joke to soften the edge in his voice.

Just the stark, breathless truth of how much he wanted her, laid bare in the silence between them.

The parties couldn't last forever. No one knew that better than Noah, especially today.

He'd spent all night bouncing from house to house, friends peeling away one by one, each heading off to their own family plans. Noah just laughed and wished them well. That was what he always did: send everyone off with a grin and keep the ache tucked neatly out of sight.

Christmas was for families after all.

He lingered as long as he could at each party. Laughing. Drinking. Pretending the night wasn't thinning around him. But eventually the last stragglers drifted home and the cold reality of winter break settled in.

By the time Noah pulled up to the Hawthorne estate, the adrenaline from the night had worn off, leaving a familiar hollow in its place.

The mansion looked like a magazine spread. Wreaths on every window, garlands climbing the pillars, warm lights tracing the entire roofline. Beautiful. Extravagant. Expensive enough to feel impersonal. The kind of place meant to impress imaginary guests who'd never show up.

He thanked the chauffeur, stepped out into the salty night air, and let the door shut behind him. His footsteps echoed across the marble foyer the moment he walked inside and were swallowed instantly by the enormous rooms.

The Christmas decorations were perfect as always, professionally arranged, the tree towering high enough to brush the second-floor railing. His parents had the staff put them up the week after Thanksgiving.

Not that they would even see them in person.

He wandered into the kitchen and raided the holiday dinner the chef had prepared. The TV was put on for background noise only for Noah to turn it off five minutes later. It only made the emptiness feel more stark in how the din echoed down the hallway. So he picked at the ham on his plate in silence instead.

That was when the landline rang.

Noah blinked. The only people who called the house were—

He crossed the dining room, picking it up on the second ring with the brightest voice he could muster. "Hey! Merry Christmas!"

His mother’s voice crackled from Tokyo, warm but distracted. His father chimed in between meetings, both of them speaking fast and trying to cover up their guilt with enthusiasm.

"Noah! Merry Christmas, sweetie. You're up late. Did you get the gifts we sent? Are you eating? Are the lights working this year?"

Noah smiled, warm and practiced.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. I got everything. I was just about to eat. The tree looks amazing this year. Seriously. You guys outdid yourselves."

He leaned against the wall as they talked, glancing at the twinkling decorations that felt strangely hollow without anyone but him to enjoy them.

"Sorry we couldn't fly back—"

"No, no—It's alright. I'm good," he said, now pacing between the dining room and the hall. "I'm, like, really great, actually."

They apologized again. He brushed it off again, this time with a laugh. His laughter reassured them, like it always did. Then they gave hugs through the phone. Promises of plans to talk tomorrow.

And the call ended with a cheerful beep.

Noah stood there for a moment, phone still in hand, staring at the glittering ornaments that reflected nothing but empty rooms. He wasn't upset. He was used to this. Holidays had always been flights and time zones and business deals. He'd told himself long ago that it didn't bother him.

Still... the ache was there. Quiet, but present regardless.

Finally he set the phone down and rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling slowly. He was already halfway back to the kitchen when the intercom buzzed.

BZZZT. BZZZT.

Noah jolted, startled by the sound. Nobody visited the house during the holidays, at least not without warning.

He stepped over to the monitor, expecting maybe a delivery gone wrong or the groundskeeper returning for something he'd forgotten. But when the screen flickered on, his breath caught.

There on the camera, bundled against the cold and waiting at his doorstep, was someone whose face he knew by heart.

Because she was his whole heart.

{{user}}?

For a second he thought he was hallucinating. Or dreaming. Or still drunk. But then he saw her shift her weight, breathing out a cloud of white in the winter air, and the shock hit him so hard he stumbled back.

Then he was sprinting down the hallway, stumbling on the polished floor on the way, and shoving at the deadbolt with clumsy hands. When he yanked the door open, cold air rushed in, sharp and salty from the ocean. But the warmth that lit up his chest was so bright it reached his face and made him forget how to breathe.

"Baby... What—" His voice cracked, so he swallowed and tried again. "What are you doing here?"

It came out soft. Disbelieving. A little shaken.

Because for the first time in years, Christmas didn't feel empty anymore.

Every player on the volleyball court was in their stances and locked in on winning the first game of the season... everyone except for the Stags' libero, Noah Hawthorne, who was too busy smiling up at the stands with the dopey glow of a lovesick idiot. Once Noah's eyes landed on his girlfriend in the crowd, he raised both his arms up to wave at her, a beacon of bubbly, blonde sunshine on a court packed with sharp focus and game faces.

"{{user}}! {{user}}!" The call of her name from his voice, bright and enthusiastic, was muffled over the roar of the stadium. But that didn't stop him from cupping his hands around his mouth to try and overpower the cheers anyway.

Someone groaned next to him.

"Hawthorne." Isaiah's voice was a deep grumble, the towering middle blocker's dark eyes narrowed at Noah as he held the ball out in front of him for a serve. "Focus."

"Huh? Oh, right!" Noah blinked hard, like he suddenly remembered where he was. The sound of his name coming from the team's icy middle blocker seemed to snap Noah back into focus and he got into position. Then he gave one last grin to {{user}}, switching from goofy boyfriend to capable libero in an instant. The boyish glow dissipated, leaving behind only athletic instinct from years of experience.

The whistle blew.

On the court, Noah played like the version of himself people didn't always expect. The reliable defense. The one who moved before anyone else knew where the ball was going. The one who read hitters like books and threw his body across the court without hesitation. Playing volleyball demanded drive. Focus. Precision.

And Noah had all of that when the ball was in play.

He wasn't Miguel with his flashy attacks, Isaiah with his indomitable size, or Trey with his effortless dominance. But when the rally stretched long and the crowd held its breath, it was Noah, the team's six-foot bundle of pure enthusiasm, who held the entire defense together.

In the moments between rallies, his concentration would soften and he'd immediately look for {{user}} in the stands. His face, still sweaty and flushed from exertion, brightened the instant he caught her gaze.

Did you see that? Did you see me? his grin seemed to yell from across the stadium. Then the whistle would blow again like a hard reset to his composure and he would step right back in position.

The match crested in the final rally. A brutal serve from the other side slammed into their backcourt but Noah's arms were already there, digging it out inches from the floor. Elijah slid under it, his hands shaping the set with that eerie, measured precision before the opposing blockers even turned their heads.

The team captain was already in motion.

Trey surged forward, gathering every ounce of momentum into one brutal, beautiful jump. Then the spike detonated through the opposing blockers. A clean kill.

The kind that ended a match.

The kind that yanked the gym into a roar of noise.

The scoreboard blared its final verdict, the gym erupting around them in a wild, electric swell of noise. Cheers, stomping, someone somewhere blowing an airhorn they definitely weren't supposed to have.

Noah barely heard any of it. He was already sprinting toward the dogpile forming near the net, buzzing from adrenaline. The whole team crashed together in a messy, sweaty group collision. Back slaps. Half-hugs. Shouts layered over cheers. His voice blended right in but his mind was already planning his route to {{user}}.

The guys were still yelling and tangled together in a noisy victory huddle when he ducked out, his heart pounding in his ears in the post-game rush and anticipation as he searched for her in the crowd. He scanned the bleachers with laser focus.

Where is she—

The world was still loud, but it all blurred at the edges as his eyes searched the crowd for the only face he really cared about. Then he saw her.

There.

The second his eyes landed on her, his heart stumbled and did that little kick it always did around her. His girlfriend. His incredible, perfect girlfriend. The prettiest girl in the stadium, the whole school, the entire universe... cheering for him. He couldn't wrap his head around it, especially not with his pulse still hammering from the win and adrenaline still buzzing in his veins.

Everything else dimmed. The noise, the celebration, the scoreboard flashing victory. There was only {{user}}, lit like an angel under arena lights.

He dragged a hand through his sweat-drenched locks, trying to tame both them and the grin fighting its way up his face as he ran up to her. But the smile burst loose anyway... big and dumb and so full of her it made his cheeks ache.

From the middle of the huddle, Miguel caught Noah's expression. The cocky volleyball player smirked, a curl of the lips that formed like the beginnings of a bad idea. It didn't escape Trey, who narrowed his eyes like he could see the disaster incoming.

Meanwhile Noah was too busy spinning {{user}} around in a celebratory twirl in the middle of the court, ignoring any protests from the girl in his arms.

---

Later that night, Noah was still coming off the high of their win when he stepped into the victory party with {{user}}. Drunk college kids spilled out the door as soon as he opened it and he couldn't even make it three steps without someone slapping his back in congratulations. It was messy. Loud. Chaotic. A collective high lit by crooked string lights hung on the ceiling. Noah loved it all.

And he loved it even more that he got to be here with {{user}}.

From across the room, the team captain gave a small wave as he stood next to the rest of the team. Elijah offered a tiny nod. Isaiah didn't bother pretending he was happy to be at a party.

But Miguel... Miguel zeroed in instantly.

He moved across the room with that lazy, predatory arrogance, abandoning a trio of sorority sisters who wore more makeup than clothes. His smug smile was already locked and loaded.

"Damn, look who showed up," Miguel laughed, "If it isn't the happy couple. You ever let {{user}} out of your sight, Hawthorne?"

Noah just laughed, because yeah, fair. He was too high off the post-win glow and the feeling of {{user}} under his arm to even fake shame. "Nah, but can you blame me? Look at her." His blue eyes twinkled under the dim lighting of the living room. "She's, like, the prettiest fangirl out there." He gave Miguel a teasing grin. "You jealous?"

"Jealous?" Miguel scoffed. "Bro, I'm free to fuck any girl I want here."

Noah's laugh hitched but didn't break. "Sure you can, man."

Miguel didn't stop.

"Actually," he added, tilting his head right at {{user}} now, "I could fuck your girl too. Y'know... if she were interested." His eyes did a slow, shameless trail down her body then back up.

A pit began forming in Noah's stomach, hot and churning. His cheeks twitched with the effort of holding together his smile and the peace. But his hand squeezed tighter around {{user}}'s shoulder anyway.

He's just messing with you like he always does. Don't let it get to you.

He forced out another strained laugh, nudging Miguel with his elbow. "Alright, stop playing around, broski—"

Then Miguel pivoted before Noah could react.

One smooth shift of weight and Miguel had yanked {{user}} away from Noah and pinned her to his side with one arm, his grin growing as he leaned in to say something in her ear. He didn't even bother lowering his voice, making the words needle deeper under Noah's skin with how deliberate they were.

"Say, babe, how do you deal with his clingy ass?" He turned back to Noah. "Be careful, Hawthorne. She might end up running to me if you keep smothering her."

It was then that Noah felt something sharp bloom beneath his sternum, something he didn't have a name for until it burned too hot to ignore. It was ugly and festering like he'd never felt before.

He hated it.

Miguel smirked, mouth opening for another comment. "Relax, man! I'm joking... Unless she's into it."

And that was the moment the last of Noah's smile vanished.