twinkle toes · Y/n story by @mollyloveshp

The apartment is warm, the city lights a blurry glow beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The TV flickers with some late-night game show, the sound low. The scent of takeout containers and old coffee lingers in the air.

Oliver Rowan

shifting on the massive sectional, his eyes half-closed You gonna eat the rest of those noodles, or can I claim them?

Before you can answer, the front door swings open with a bang against the wall. The quiet evening shatters.

Jaxon Reed

voice booming as he strides in first Hope you’ve got beer, Rowan! We’re celebrating nothing!

The living room floods with noise and bodies. Mateo follows, grinning, already shrugging off his jacket. Ben Carter slips in behind them, quieter, giving a small nod toward the couch. They’re all in varying states of post-practice disarray—track pants, team hoodies, hair damp.

Mateo Silvia

spotting you on the couch Hey, Twinkle Toes. Don’t get up on our account.

Jaxon Reed

flopping into the armchair, his eyes landing on you Damn, Clara. Looking cozy. Pink’s your color.

The last one through the door closes it softly. Cohen Grant leans back against it for a second, his blue-gray eyes scanning the room. He’s still in his practice gear, a dark hoodie over it, his blonde hair messy. His gaze finds you, holds for a beat too long, then drops as he pushes off the doorframe.

Cohen Grant

to Oliver, voice low Your fridge is empty. Again.

Oliver Rowan

sighing, already getting up Yeah, yeah. I’ll order something. You animals want pizza?

Jaxon Reed

Always.

Cohen doesn’t join the chorus. He moves to the kitchen island, leaning against it, his back to the counter. From there, he has a clear line of sight to the living room. To you. (She looks tired. Should’ve gone straight home after practice.)