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Lucy had always considered herself a relatively grounded person.
She paid her bills on time. She owned three different types of insurance. She had a spreadsheet for vacation days and a standing monthly appointment with her therapist. On most days, she felt like a functioning adult.
And yet, here she was: sitting cross-legged on her couch in pyjama pants, stress-eating microwave mac and cheese straight from the plastic bowl, and googling “hire fake boyfriend for wedding weekend no judgment pls.”
The search results were not comforting.
She scrolled past the top few links, which were clearly just romance novels. One of them had a cover with abs so shiny they looked waxed. Another had a cowboy. She didn’t need a cowboy. She needed someone with basic social skills, a clean record, and a face that wouldn’t make her grandmother ask if he’d “just been let out.”
Her cursor hovered over a link titled “Rent-A-Date.” She clicked.
The site loaded with a pastel pink background and a header that said “No partner? No problem!” in looping cursive font.
Lucy narrowed her eyes. Below that, in aggressively cheerful text: Available for weddings, birthdays, family dinners, or revenge plots!
There was a stock photo of a man winking while holding a bouquet of roses in his teeth.
She clicked away immediately.
Next.
Be-My-Boy.com.
A sleek black-and-red site with a loading bar that said “Finding your fantasy…”
Lucy didn't even wait for the page to finish loading before she slammed the tab closed. Absolutely not. That was not the vibe. She wanted fake affection, not… whatever that was going to turn into.
She took another bite of her mac and cheese and sighed. It wasn’t even hot anymore. Just lukewarm cheese paste. It was also the third time this week she’d eaten it, which felt symbolic somehow.
RomanceRUs.com. The next link on the list.
She hesitated. The name was terrible. But she was out of options, out of time, and already halfway into her second glass of wine.
She clicked.
The website loaded with a dull blue background and a functional-looking layout. A header across the top read:
Professional companionship for platonic social engagements. No funny business. Unless you ask nicely. ;)
Lucy blinked.
That… was almost normal. The font wasn’t Comic Sans. There weren’t any shirtless men trying to smoulder through her Wi-Fi. There was even a FAQ section. That felt responsible.
She scrolled.
Browse by: Personality Type | Location | Availability | Level of Acting Commitment
Each profile had a username, a brief bio, and what appeared to be a five-star rating system. There were options like:
CuddleKing92 – “Easygoing, great with moms, fluent in fake PDA.”
TallTony – “You bring the drama, I’ll bring the jawline.”
BurnSalmon7 – “Will eat anything your family serves. May bring dessert.”
Lucy stared at that last one.
There was no profile picture. Just a black hoodie icon and a three-star rating that read: “Showed up late but charmed my grandma. Would probably hire again.”
She wasn’t sure if that was a red flag or a glowing endorsement.
She sat back on her couch and sighed.
This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Possibly a prelude-to-Netflix-true-crime-documentary kind of idea.
But the wedding was in four days. Her ex was going to be there. Her aunt was already texting things like “Excited to meet your mystery man!” with far too many exclamation points.
Lucy looked at the microwave tray of congealed cheese in her lap.
“Fine,” she muttered to herself.
And clicked “Contact.”
By the time the response came in, it was nearly 11:00 PM.
Lucy had nearly talked herself out of the entire thing. Twice.
She’d written and rewritten her request like it was a cover letter. Deleted the word “desperate.” Changed “please pretend to love me” to “act like you mildly tolerate me.” Left it sitting in the message box for a full forty-five minutes while staring at the wall and wondering what kind of person voluntarily listed “may bring dessert” as a professional skill.
Eventually, she’d hit send and walked away from her laptop like it might explode. She’d even tried to go to bed. Tried being the operative word.
Her phone buzzed on her nightstand.
1 New Message — RomanceRUs.com
Her stomach turned. Or maybe that was the mac and cheese.
She opened it.
BurnSalmon7: Hey — saw your request. Just need a few details: venue, date, timeline, and how convincing you want the performance to be. Looking forward to pretending we’re wildly in love.
Lucy blinked. That was… oddly normal.
Lucy_H: Hi. It’s a wedding. My cousin’s. Saturday afternoon. I mostly need you for the ceremony and after party. Basic fake boyfriend package — not over the top, just… believable enough.
BurnSalmon7: Got it. I’m good with hand-holding, compliments, polite small talk. Not a problem if your aunt grills me about our “future plans.”
Lucy_H: God. You have no idea how accurate that is. Yeah, if you can sell it for a few hours, I’ll cover your rate plus dinner.
BurnSalmon7: Deal. Want to meet the day before? Just to set expectations and make sure I’m not secretly 65?
Lucy hesitated. That… was a fair point.
Lucy_H: Coffee Friday morning? I’ll bring an agenda. You bring… not crocs.
BurnSalmon7: Ruthless. See you Friday, Not My Girlfriend.
She rolled her eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at her mouth.
She tapped out the name and address of her favourite café and hit send before she could overthink it.
He seemed normal. Maybe a little too confident, but she could deal with that. At least he could form full sentences and didn’t start with “m’lady.”
Maybe this wouldn’t be a complete disaster after all.
Lucy arrived five minutes early.
Not because she was nervous. Definitely not because she was nervous.
She just liked to be prepared. That was all. She liked to pick the table, face the entrance, and pretend she wasn’t secretly waiting to be disappointed by a man she found off a website that could easily double as a front for pyramid schemes or crime rings.
The café was her favourite—cosy but overpriced, the kind of place with indie folk music playing softly and a chalkboard menu that required too much effort to decode. She’d been here often enough to know exactly what she wanted, so she claimed her usual seat by the window, ordered a black coffee, and checked her phone even though there were no new notifications.
This was fine. Totally fine. Not weird at all.
The bell over the door jingled.
She glanced up.
A man walked in wearing jeans, a plain t-shirt, and a hoodie zipped halfway up. Tall. Broad shoulders. Pink hair.
Wait. Pink hair?
Lucy blinked.
He spotted her instantly, grinned like they were already old friends, and headed her way with a binder tucked under one arm.
A binder. Bright blue. Covered in glittery stickers. The title, in all-caps Sharpie:
MISSION: MATRIMONIAL MISDIRECTION
Lucy had a very bad feeling.
He slid into the seat across from her like they’d done this a hundred times before, like she hadn’t hired him online while elbow-deep in emergency mac and cheese.
“Lucy,” he said, beaming like he’d just found her name on a winning lottery ticket. “Pleasure to be your contractual companion in emotional deception.”
She stared.
“...You brought a binder.”
“Of course I brought a binder,” he said, as if she were the one being unreasonable. He thumped it onto the table with reverence. “This is a high-stakes performance. I’m not showing up to a wedding blind. This”—he flipped it open—“is our story.”
Lucy blinked again, slower this time. “…Our story.”
“Yep.” He turned to the first page, laminated. “We met at the grocery store. You were reaching for the last bag of ethically sourced coffee grounds in the entire aisle. Our hands touched. Sparks flew. The rest was destiny and caffeine.”
Lucy pressed her lips together. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“I laminated it,” he said, dead serious.
Then, with the flourish of someone who had absolutely spent too much time on this, he turned to the next page. There were bullet points. There were decorative hearts in the margins.
“Your favourite flower is sunflowers. Your favourite colour is yellow but only warm yellows, not the highlighter kind. Our first kiss was in a park—October, crisp air, leaves falling around us like a Hallmark movie. You wore a scarf. I stole it. You pretended to be mad. We laughed. I called it…” He paused for dramatic effect. “‘The Autumn Smooch Incident.’”
Lucy put her face in her hands.
“This is too much.”
“No,” he said brightly, reaching into his hoodie pocket and pulling out a flash drive. “ This is not enough. What’s our couple song? I made playlists.”
“You made—”
“Four,” he said proudly. “Surviving Dinner with the In-Laws, Dramatic Airport Goodbyes, Driving Into the Sunset, and Emergency Makeout. You know. Just in case.”
She stared at him across the table, stunned into a rare, horrifying silence.
And he just smiled, like this was the most normal Friday morning of his life.
Lucy took a deep breath, sat back, and gave him her best editorial stare — the one she usually reserved for authors who sent 200k-word fantasy manuscripts without a single comma.
“Okay,” she said, calm and deliberate. “Let’s set a few boundaries.”
Natsu nodded solemnly. “Lay ’em on me.”
“No unnecessary touching.”
“Got it.”
“No speeches about fate or soulmates.”
“Fair.”
“No flash drives.”
He hesitated. “Not even Emergency Makeout ?”
“Especially not Emergency Makeout.”
Natsu sighed like she’d just cancelled Christmas but nodded anyway, tucking it back into his hoodie. “Harsh but fair.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small notebook, flipping it open to a list she’d scribbled the night before. “We walk in together. You say hi to the bride and groom, make polite small talk, stay within five feet of me at all times, and if my ex tries to start something, you laugh like I just told a really good joke and then say something vaguely threatening.”
“Vaguely threatening is my specialty,” he said, jotting that down in his binder like it was gold. “Should I fake an accent?”
“No.”
“Just checking.”
Lucy took another sip of coffee. “We need to agree on basic facts—how long we’ve ‘been together,’ what you do for a living—”
“Freelance mechanic,” he said instantly. “Drives a pickup, great with animals, once rescued a cat from a drainpipe.”
She blinked. “…That’s surprisingly believable.”
He looked smug. “I do my research.”
“You do something, ” she muttered.
He grinned. “Don’t worry, Lucy. You hired the best.”
And god help her—she was starting to believe it.
They spent the next twenty minutes hammering out details. Natsu took notes like a man prepping for a mission behind enemy lines: how long they’d “been together” (ten months, just long enough to explain comfort without triggering the marriage questions), how they met (grocery store coffee aisle, unfortunately canon now), and who in Lucy’s family he should absolutely avoid.
“My uncle,” she said grimly. “If he asks what your intentions are, just fake a stroke.”
“Got it,” Natsu said. “Full face twitch or subtle?”
Lucy paused. “…Go with your instincts.”
By the time her coffee was gone and her nerves had finally stopped doing the Macarena, she felt—against all odds—kind of okay. Like maybe this wouldn’t be a total disaster.
Natsu closed his binder with a flourish, securing it with a glittery star sticker. “I’ll wear something semi-formal. Promise not to fight anyone unless provoked. And I’ll memorize your fake middle name tonight.”
“I don’t have a fake middle name.”
“You do now. It’s Evangeline. Adds mystery.”
She shook her head, but she was smiling, and unfortunately, he noticed.
“See? You’re already less stressed,” he said, standing and slinging the binder under his arm. “Told you. I’m great at this.”
Lucy stood too, brushing crumbs off her skirt. “We’ll see.”
He leaned in just slightly as they stepped away from the table, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “You’ll be swooning by the first dance.”
“I’ll be drinking,” she said flatly. “Heavily.”
Natsu laughed, bright and easy, and held the café door open for her like a gentleman who didn’t currently have a laminated document in his hoodie.
They stepped out into the sun-drenched sidewalk.
And for the first time all week, Lucy didn’t feel like bolting straight into traffic.
The countryside blurred past the window in soft greens and golds, early afternoon light flickering through tree branches like a blessing Lucy didn’t trust.
Her hands were folded tightly in her lap. Her dress—a deep, almost champagne colour with delicate lace along the sleeves—felt too nice for how much she was currently sweating. The curls she’d spent all morning coaxing into place were holding. Mostly. For now.
Next to her, Natsu drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, humming along to something upbeat on the radio like they weren’t headed straight into a social minefield.
She glanced over.
The suit was criminally flattering. Dark grey, well-fitted in the shoulders, a crisp white button-down, and a red tie that matched absolutely nothing but somehow still worked. It pulled just a little across his chest when he turned the wheel—a detail she tried very hard not to notice.
“You okay?” he asked, cutting a look her way as the road curved.
“Peachy,” she muttered.
He grinned. “You say that like someone who’s about to commit arson.”
“I’m not not considering it.”
They passed a wooden sign: HARTLEY ESTATE — PRIVATE EVENT.
The venue was one of those Pinterest-wedding places: ivy-covered gates, cobbled paths, white garden chairs probably rented for a small fortune. And all of it surrounded by rolling fields and suspiciously photogenic horses.
Natsu let out a low whistle. “Fancy.”
“My cousin only does two things well: hold grudges and host events that cost more than most cars.”
He glanced at her again, softer this time. “You look amazing, by the way.”
She blinked. “I—thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
He smirked. “This tie’s choking me.”
“Good.”
They pulled into the long gravel drive. Up ahead, she could already see the crowd milling around the garden.
Showtime.
Lucy inhaled deeply, rolled her shoulders back, and reached for the door handle.
But Natsu beat her to it—slipping out, circling the car, and opening her door like a goddamn rom-com lead.
She blinked up at him, startled.
He offered a hand.
“You ready to lie to everyone you’ve ever loved?” he said, casual and bright.
And somehow, she was.
Lucy had exactly three seconds of peace.
Three whole seconds of calm as they stepped through the garden gate, gravel crunching beneath their shoes, sun warming the back of her neck. She adjusted her clutch. Smoothed her dress. Took a single step forward.
And then Natsu—true to his word, god help her —reached over and took her hand.
Not a shy, subtle, hand-brushing move. No. A wholehearted, confident interlace like they’d been doing this for years. His palm was warm, his grip was steady, and Lucy’s soul momentarily left her body.
She tried to give him a warning glance—something between easy, tiger and if you ruin my life I swear to God —but he was already grinning and turning toward the crowd.
“Hey there!” he called, like they were walking into a family reunion and not the social battlefield of her worst nightmares. “Beautiful day, huh? Love what you’ve done with the chairs!”
Lucy regarded him with quiet horror.
The chairs. He was complimenting the chairs.
A few heads turned. Smiles flickered in their direction.
Natsu squeezed her hand like they were in on some shared joke. “Breathe,” he murmured. “We’ve got this.”
Then, with absolutely no warning, he waved at a cluster of unfamiliar relatives and said with soul-crushing confidence, “Hi! I’m Natsu—Lucy’s boyfriend. So nice to meet you all!”
Lucy wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole.
One of her aunts—the one who collected ceramic frogs and asked invasive questions—looked them both up and down and gave a polite but pointed smile. “Well! Lucy didn’t say she was bringing anyone.”
“Oh, she definitely did,” Natsu said, like a liar, like a criminal, like someone who hadn’t memorized a binder titled Mission: Matrimonial Misdirection. “She talks about you all the time.”
Lucy nearly choked.
He leaned closer to her ear, voice still chipper: “Was that the frog one?”
Lucy nodded once, sharply, the corners of her mouth twitching upward against her will.
And as they kept walking—greeted more people, smiled through clenched teeth, dodged questions she wasn’t ready for—she realized something terrible.
He was good at this.
Really good.
And even worse?
He was having fun.
They were halfway to the refreshment table when Lucy felt it — that drop in air pressure, that creeping awareness of smug cologne and too-white teeth and the exact brand of ego she’d once dated out of pity and maybe trauma.
She didn’t even need to look up to know.
“Lucy,” came the voice, smooth and self-satisfied.
She braced.
Loke was already mid-smirk when she turned, champagne flute in hand, hair slicked back like a game show host with a trust fund. He looked her up and down with a slow, deliberate gaze that landed squarely in ew territory.
“I was wondering if I’d run into you,” he said, smiling like they shared a secret. “You look—wow. Stunning.”
She opened her mouth, ready to hit him with something brisk but polite—
—and then Natsu stepped forward, hand still snug in hers, smile radiant and weaponized.
“Hi,” he said, tone bright and friendly. “I’m Lucy’s boyfriend.”
Loke blinked. “Boyfriend?”
“Yeah. You know,” Natsu said, already launching into the script like he’d been waiting for this moment, “we met in the coffee aisle at the grocery store. We both reached for the same ethically-sourced dark roast and—bam—fate. It was instant. Her eyes said ‘get your own caffeine’ but her aura said ‘this is destiny.’”
Lucy stared at him, helpless.
He was off-script. He was adding aura lore.
“Really,” Loke said, smile straining slightly. “Didn’t think Lucy was into the whole… loud, reckless, human sparkler thing.”
“Loud and reckless, maybe,” Natsu said agreeably. “But I’m also charming as hell with parents. Especially judgmental ones.”
Loke chuckled. “Well, I hope you’re not taking it too seriously. Lucy’s always been… flighty. Emotional.”
“Oh no,” Natsu said. “I’m all in. I already have our couple song picked. And a list of future vacation spots.”
Lucy made a noise in the back of her throat. Possibly a prayer.
Loke scoffed. “That’s cute.”
Natsu tilted his head. Smile still in place. But something in his posture changed—just a hair. Still casual. Still friendly.
But louder.
“Oh, it’s adorable ,” he said. “I’ve already cried about her twice. Once during a dog commercial, once while she was heating up leftover pasta. I have a playlist titled ‘Lucy’s Smile.’ Her laugh is my ringtone. I’ve memorized her coffee order, her star sign, and the exact pitch she sighs when she’s annoyed with her job.”
Someone turned. Then another. The crowd started to shift, subtly, like an audience responding to a rising curtain.
Cana, two rows back, pulled out her phone.
Mirajane, by the floral archway, was full-on clapping.
“She’s smart,” Natsu continued, gesturing like a man delivering a TED Talk. “She’s sharp. She’s way out of my league, and I wake up every day hoping she never figures that out. You don’t just date Lucy Heartfilia. You honour her presence. You thank the universe and buy her snacks.”
Lucy wanted to melt into the ground.
“You know what Lucy isn’t ?” Natsu said, with an easy, toothy grin. “She’s not someone you talk down to. She’s not someone you ‘run into’ with your smug face and discount cologne pretending it’s an accident.”
Loke flushed.
“Babe?” Natsu turned to her. “You want me to stop?”
“I want to evaporate, ” Lucy whispered.
“Great,” he said brightly. “That means I’m doing amazing.”
He beamed at the crowd.
“Anyway,” he finished, tossing an arm casually around her shoulders like he thought this was a rom-com and he was the lead , “we’re gonna grab some drinks. You have a good one, Loaf.”
“It’s Loke.”
“Sure it is.”
And just like that, Natsu steered her away, humming, while Cana wolf-whistled and Mira wiped away a single tear.
Lucy didn’t speak for three whole seconds.
Then: “What the hell was that.”
“A masterclass,” Natsu said, completely unrepentant. “You’re welcome.”
They made it a couple steps around the corner before Lucy elbowed him—lightly, but with meaning.
“You can’t just monologue at people,” she hissed. “That was— what was that? You summoned an audience.”
Natsu handed her a drink he’d swiped from a passing tray, entirely unfazed. “That was what we in the business call a dramatic flourish.”
“You’re not in any business. I hired you on a site that probably sells knockoff vitamins.”
He sipped his drink and smiled. “Still the best decision you’ve made all month.”
Lucy opened her mouth. Closed it. Took a sip of her cocktail to shut herself up.
They wandered toward the edge of the garden, away from the bulk of the guests. A breeze picked up, carrying the faint scent of roses and expensive catering. The twinkle lights in the trees were already flickering to life above them, delicate and soft and romantic, and it was starting to feel a little like a movie she didn’t mean to star in.
Natsu leaned against the trunk of a tree, one hand in his pocket, watching her with that same relaxed ease that made it so hard to remember he was technically on payroll.
“Thanks,” she said after a beat, softer now. “For... intercepting.”
He shrugged. “You looked like you were about to throat-punch someone. I figured I’d buy you time.”
“I was considering it,” she admitted. “Just a little.”
“Still can,” he offered. “Wedding hasn’t started. I’ll be your getaway driver.”
Lucy laughed—quiet, involuntary, genuine.
He looked pleased.
She took another sip of her drink and glanced sideways at him. “You didn’t have to say all that stuff, you know. About my laugh and coffee order and... my aura.”
“Yeah, I did,” he said, still looking at her. “It made him shut up, didn’t it?”
She didn’t respond right away. Her heart was doing that annoying fluttery thing, the one she’d firmly blamed on pre-wedding nerves and champagne bubbles and not her fake boyfriend’s stupid warm voice.
The lights in the trees flickered again.
He nudged her gently with his shoulder. “So? Am I earning my rate?”
She snorted. “You’re lucky I didn’t double it out of emotional damages.”
Natsu smirked. “Still worth it.”
The hush fell slowly.
It started at the edges—guests drifting toward the chairs, laughter fading, conversations quieting as the garden transformed around them. The soft swell of string music floated from somewhere unseen, and Lucy’s stomach fluttered in time with it.
She stood frozen for a second, drink still in hand, watching rows of white chairs fill with dressed-up strangers and distant relatives. Twinkle lights glowed in the canopy overhead. The aisle had been scattered with pale pink petals. The officiant, a woman in gauzy robes and the calm of someone who probably meditated twice a day, adjusted her folder at the front.
Natsu nudged her gently. “C’mon. Second row. Can’t pretend we’re emotionally co-dependent from the back.”
Lucy didn’t move.
He tilted his head. “You okay?”
“I just…” She swallowed. “I didn’t think it’d feel this real.”
He didn’t make a joke. Didn’t tease.
He just offered his hand again, same as before—open, steady, patient.
She let him take hers.
They walked together down the aisle—not the aisle, thank God, just an aisle—and slid into the second row as the bride’s family claimed the front. Natsu didn’t let go of her hand, and she didn’t ask him to.
The ceremony began with soft words, laughter, a breeze tugging at the petals on the grass. Lucy watched the couple stand together in front of everything.
It should’ve been boring. It should’ve been awkward.
Instead, Lucy found herself squeezing Natsu’s fingers when the officiant talked about love being patient, being honest, being built—not on perfection, but presence.
She felt him squeeze back.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it?
She’d hired him to be present. Nothing more. Nothing real.
So why did it feel like she was getting pulled into something she couldn’t name?
The bride laughed. The groom beamed. The crowd let out a gentle aww as they kissed.
Lucy’s fingers hadn’t moved.
The ceremony ended in a rustle of chairs and polite applause.
Lucy exhaled slowly, blinking back into awareness as guests began drifting toward the cocktail area—a patio space strung with lights, shaded by trees and fancy umbrellas, where waiters circled with champagne and things on sticks that barely qualified as food.
Natsu hadn’t let go of her hand once.
“I’ll grab us drinks,” he said, low and warm by her ear, before stepping away with a wink and a bounce in his step like he hadn’t just heard a speech about eternal commitment and answered it with a knuckle squeeze.
Lucy took the opportunity to drift toward the outer edge of the patio, where no relatives could corner her, and no opinions about her dress could sneak up from behind.
She needed air. Not because of the dress. Not because of the ceremony.
Because of him.
She caught sight of him weaving through the crowd, snagging two drinks like he belonged here, like he wasn’t technically for hire . He was laughing at something someone said. Shaking hands. Charismatic as hell. She watched him for a beat too long.
She saw the moment something caught his eye.
Across the lawn, tucked beside the reception tent like an afterthought, was a gleaming white photobooth—wedding-themed, naturally, with a gold script sign that read Capture the Magic. A box of props stood beside it, all boas and fake mustaches and tiaras. Someone had already left behind a crumpled veil and novelty glasses that said Team Bride.
Lucy didn’t even have time to step back.
Natsu reappeared at her side, handed her a glass of champagne, and pointed. “You. Me. Booth. Now.”
“I just—what? No!”
“C’mon,” he said, already steering her with a grin. “We need proof this happened. For tax reasons.”
“I swear to God—”
But she was laughing. Traitorously. And being led by hand across the grass like they weren’t fake-dating for the price of a suspiciously low invoice. She set her champagne on a nearby table as they passed; his disappeared in one gulp.
They climbed inside the booth, squeezed close together on the little bench, the curtain falling shut behind them like a confession.
Natsu immediately grabbed the feather boa and put it on her like a scarf.
Lucy smacked him with a glittery plastic wand.
The camera clicked. Flash.
He put on the fake mustache. She stole the veil. He kissed her cheek dramatically like a European film villain. She choked on laughter. Flash.
The photos spat out a moment later, full of chaos and squished grins and one extremely blurry shot where she was mid-eye-roll and he looked like he’d just won the lottery.
Natsu held them up triumphantly. “We’re art.”
She was still giggling when he paused. Looked at her. Tilted his head.
“Round two?”
She blinked. “What, we didn’t humiliate ourselves enough?”
“This time, no props,” he said. “Just us.”
Her breath caught.
The silence between them stretched, soft and oddly charged. She didn’t move. Neither did he.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
They slid back onto the bench. Closer, this time. No wigs, no veils, no distractions.
The countdown flashed: 3… 2…
She didn’t know what possessed her, but she turned slightly—just enough that their shoulders touched more deliberately. Natsu shifted too, his knee brushing hers.
Click.
In the second frame, he looked at her. Really looked.
Click.
In the third, she laughed again—but softer now. Less teeth, more heart.
Click.
The fourth she would never be able to look at without feeling something. Her eyes were on him. His were still on her.
The strip printed.
She stared at it, stunned by how real it looked.
He handed it to her, smiling. “Something to remember me by.”
She rolled her eyes, but her fingers curled carefully around it like it mattered.
Like he did.
The sun dipped low as guests were ushered under the reception tent for dinner. Round tables glittered with fairy lights and too many forks. The centrepieces were tall, elegant things Lucy barely noticed because her brain was still short-circuiting from photobooth whiplash.
Natsu pulled out her chair like a gentleman— of course he did—and sat beside her with the easy grace of someone who didn’t realize he was committing emotional warfare.
The table filled quickly. Cousins. Friends. Strangers she half-recognized from family reunions and blurry childhood photos. Everyone already slightly buzzed from cocktail hour and asking questions she wasn’t ready for.
“So, how long have you two been together?” someone asked before Lucy had even unfolded her napkin.
“Ten months,” Natsu said, jumping in without a beat. “We met in the grocery store, coffee aisle. She stole the last box of chai tea right out from under me.”
Lucy blinked.
“Oh my god, that’s adorable,” someone else cooed.
“I let her take it, obviously,” he added, “but only because she looked criminally pretty.”
Lucy made a strangled noise. Someone laughed. Someone else fake-swooned.
She took a very long sip of wine.
“Honestly,” a different cousin said, nudging her, “I didn’t think you had it in you. You always date guys who wear turtlenecks and talk about their screenplays.”
Natsu leaned in, stage-whispered, “Turtlenecks?”
She kicked him under the table.
The meal arrived—some fancy three-course ordeal that looked great on Instagram and tasted like ambition—and for a moment, Lucy found herself actually enjoying it.
Not because of the food. Because Natsu kept stealing bites off her plate like it was normal.
Because he whispered dumb commentary about the table décor.
Because when someone asked about their “first kiss,” he launched into a completely made-up story about The Autumn Smooch Incident, and Lucy couldn’t even correct him because he made it sound better than any kiss she’d actually had.
Dessert hadn’t arrived yet, but the wine was flowing and half the tent was buzzing with laughter. Lucy was mid-sip when her Aunt leaned forward, voice cutting through the chatter. “So, when’s the engagement?”
Natsu didn’t miss a beat. “Ask again at dessert,” he said with a grin. And then—God help her—he winked.
A wink. A full-on wink.
Cana screamed. Mira clapped like she’d just seen a proposal.
Lucy leaned toward him, smile frozen, voice low and dangerous: “I hired you to be boring.”
Natsu replied under his breath, “I don’t know how.”
She wanted to strangle him.
She also wanted to kiss him.
Possibly both.
The tent eased into that golden-hour lull between courses — champagne glasses half-empty, conversation humming in pockets around the room, the band tuning up somewhere near the dance floor.
Her cousin and her new husband were tucked together at the head table, glowing and polished, while a rotation of family members took turns with the mic. First came the proud uncle who cried halfway through his toast. Then the older cousin who definitely went off-script. Then the father of the bride, whose touching speech was only slightly ruined by the fact that he kept mispronouncing the groom’s last name.
Lucy sipped her drink and tried to keep a low profile. Her heels were starting to pinch. Her cheeks still felt faintly warm from the ceremony. And her hand — which Natsu had somehow reclaimed sometime between the third course and now — was still gently folded over hers on the white linen tablecloth.
She didn’t pull away.
Someone at the microphone cleared their throat.
“And now,” came the emcee’s cheerful voice, “we’d love to invite up a few friends of the couple for any final toasts!”
A beat of polite applause.
Lucy relaxed. Good. Friends of the couple. Not her problem.
Then her aunt’s voice rang out, clear as a bell from the next table over: “Lucy, dear! Why don’t you say something?”
Lucy choked on her wine.
She turned, wide-eyed. “I—I’m not—”
“Oh, come now!” the aunt called. “You’re practically family!”
She opened her mouth, desperately trying to form any words that weren’t please let me perish instead, when beside her, Natsu stood up.
Fully. Casually. With the kind of confidence only possessed by golden retrievers and people who’ve never bombed socially in their lives.
“I’ll do it,” he said brightly.
Lucy turned to him, horrified. “You will not.”
He winked. “Sure I will. I’ve got this.”
And then he was walking toward the mic.
Walking.
Toward the mic.
Like a psychopath.
Lucy buried her face in her hands.
Up front, Natsu adjusted the stand like he did this professionally, gave the crowd a smile that was all mischief and warmth, and launched in.
“Hi. I’m Natsu. Lucy’s boyfriend.”
A few titters from the crowd. A smile from the bride. Lucy peeked through her fingers, equal parts horrified and… reluctantly intrigued.
“I wasn’t originally gonna give a speech,” he continued, “but then someone asked Lucy, and she looked at me like she was about to fake her own death to avoid it—so here I am.”
Laughter now. Actual, genuine laughter.
He smiled wider.
“I don’t know the couple super well,” he said. “But I know a thing or two about showing up for someone. About knowing, deep down, that you’d do anything to make the day easier for them—even if it means monologuing in front of sixty strangers with a suspicious amount of shrimp cocktail on their plates.”
Lucy slowly lowered her hands.
He wasn’t… bombing.
In fact, he was kind of killing it.
“I know that sometimes, the best thing you can give someone is just your presence. Your belief in them. Your willingness to rescue them from awkward small talk and pretend you like their favourite movie if that’s what the moment calls for.”
More laughter. Cana wheezed into her napkin. Mira audibly sniffled.
“So here’s to showing up,” Natsu finished, raising his glass. “To loving out loud. And to never, ever letting the creepy ex win.”
Half the room cheered. The other half clapped.
Lucy wanted to hide under the table. Or kiss him. Possibly both.
He made his way back like it was nothing.
And when he sat down, flushed and beaming, she leaned in and whispered,
“That was... not terrible.”
Natsu grinned. “High praise.”
She rolled her eyes.
But she let him grab her hand again.
Servers swept away the last of the dessert plates, the chatter softening as a corner of the tent transformed into a small dance floor.
The lights dimmed gently, shifting from golden warmth to a softer glow as the DJ tapped the mic and called the room to attention.
“Alright, folks,” he said, his voice buttery smooth over the speakers. “Please welcome our happy couple for their first dance.”
Polite applause rippled through the tent as the bride and groom stepped onto the dance floor. The music swelled — something acoustic and slow, probably romantic if Lucy hadn’t been too busy panicking to hear the lyrics.
She lingered near the edge of the floor, half a glass of champagne in hand, watching them sway in the twinkle-lit garden tent like something out of a bridal magazine. The bride looked radiant. The groom looked like he couldn’t believe his luck.
It should’ve made Lucy roll her eyes.
Instead, she found herself smiling — just a little. Even chaos had its moments.
Beside her, Natsu slid into view like he’d been waiting for the perfect cue. He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching the couple with a contemplative look she wasn’t used to seeing on him.
“You’re quiet,” she said, sipping.
“Just thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
He grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “They look happy.”
“They are,” Lucy murmured, surprising herself with how much she meant it.
They watched in silence for a beat longer, the music folding around them like fog. More couples began stepping onto the floor — bridesmaids with groomsmen, grandparents with a wobble in their steps, friends who wanted to live the moment even if they weren’t in it.
And then—
Natsu offered his hand.
Palm open. Expression unreadable.
Lucy blinked. “What?”
“Dance with me.”
Her stomach did something stupid. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he said simply. “But I want to.”
For a moment, she hesitated.
Then, because the music was soft and the air was warm and the stars were coming out, she set her glass down and slid her hand into his.
The second their fingers touched, something sparked under her skin.
He led her onto the dance floor with casual confidence, like he’d done this a hundred times. Like the suit wasn’t a little too tight across the shoulders. Like he hadn’t just charmed half the tent with a completely made-up love story
His hand found her waist, gentle but steady. Hers rested on his shoulder, light and unsure.
“You know how to do this?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
He smirked. “I’m full of surprises.”
Then they moved.
Slow at first. Tentative. But then—
He spun her once, just to show he could. Brought her back in like she was meant to be there.
Lucy’s breath caught.
“You’re actually good at this,” she said, a little accusing.
He laughed. “You say that like you expected me to trip over your feet.”
“I did expect that.”
They kept moving, step by step, the music folding them in. Around them, other couples blurred into softness.
For a few minutes, Lucy forgot everything else.
All she knew was the way Natsu’s hand fit against her spine, the way his thumb brushed her fingers without thinking, the way his smile—when it was quiet like this—felt like gravity.
She didn’t say anything.
Didn’t have to.
And when the song ended, she stayed in his arms just a second too long.
He didn’t let go right away either.
They stopped moving, but neither of them stepped away.
The music faded into something more upbeat, laughter rising around them as couples peeled off toward the bar or the patio or their next chaotic decision. But Lucy didn’t notice any of it.
She only noticed him.
Natsu stood close—too close—their hands still joined, her other hand still lightly resting on his shoulder. His eyes met hers, and the lightness she was used to seeing in them wasn’t there anymore.
This was different.
Warmer. Quieter.
Realer.
He looked at her the way no one had looked at her in a long time. Not like she was a project or a puzzle or something to win.
Just… like he saw her.
And then, because the universe had no chill and apparently neither did her heartbeat, his gaze dropped—slowly—from her eyes to her mouth. Then back again.
Lucy forgot how to breathe.
She swallowed, suddenly aware of every inch between them—and the far smaller space left to cross. Her fingers tightened slightly where they held his. Her head tilted just enough. She was leaning in before she even realized it.
“They’re cutting the cake!”
The shout cut across the tent like a fire alarm. Cheers erupted. Clapping. Someone nearby yelled, “C’mon, I want frosting!”
Natsu blinked.
Lucy blinked.
They jumped apart like they’d been caught doing something illegal.
He scratched the back of his neck. She reached for her glass, which was no longer there.
“We should…” she started, then gestured vaguely toward the crowd.
“Yeah. Cake,” Natsu said quickly. “Can’t miss cake.”
They didn’t look at each other as they followed the herd toward the table.
But her lips still tingled like they remembered the kiss that didn’t quite happen.
And Natsu?
He was definitely planning to steal her frosting.
By the time they reached the table, a crowd had already gathered—phones out, smiles wide, half the room chanting “kiss kiss kiss!” even though the newlyweds were just trying to cut a cake, not re-enact a romcom finale.
The bride, radiant in her reception dress and high on sugar and champagne, made it through one ceremonial slice before smearing frosting on her husband’s cheek like a war declaration. He retaliated immediately, gently shoving a bite into her mouth with exaggerated ceremony. The crowd lost it.
Lucy hung back by one of the tables, trying to will the heat from her face and pretending her pulse wasn’t still echoing in her ears.
Natsu, of course, was having the time of his life.
He’d found a plate, two forks, and an absolutely enormous slice of cake. “Strategic dessert acquisition,” he declared proudly, returning to her side.
Lucy arched a brow. “Strategic?”
“Yeah. Didn’t want you passing out from lack of sugar.”
She stabbed a fork into the frosting. “Uh-huh. Totally not because you wanted first dibs.”
He grinned, already taking a bite. “Call it whatever you want.”
They shared the cake without thinking, trading bites with casual familiarity that made Lucy feel wildly un-casual inside. And just when she was starting to believe the moment might actually be quiet, her aunt reappeared like a horror movie jump scare.
“There you two are,” she said brightly, appearing over Lucy’s shoulder like the ghost of matchmaking past. “I have to say, I love him.”
Lucy choked on frosting.
Natsu, of course, smiled like he’d just been knighted. “Thank you, ma’am. She’s the one who made me this charming.”
“Oh, she did not ,” Her aunt laughed, then fixed her gaze on Lucy. “So. When do I get to plan your bridal shower?”
Lucy turned to salt.
Natsu didn’t miss a beat. He held up his fork, perfectly timed.
“We said after dessert, didn’t we?”
Wink number two.
Lucy dropped her face into her hands with a groan.
Cana walked by with her phone filming again, whispering, “I’m saving this for your actual wedding.”
The noise faded behind them as they stepped outside—just far enough from the tent for the music to blur into background hum, the laughter to become distant echoes.
The night was clear. Cool. Crisp in that early-autumn way that made everything feel a little closer to magic.
Overhead, the stars were out in full force.
Lucy took a breath and let it out slowly. Her heels clicked once on the stone path before she veered onto the soft grass.
Natsu followed without a word.
They stopped beneath a tree at the edge of the property, just far enough for the fairy lights to blur into golden specks behind them. From here, the wedding felt like a dream—beautiful and loud.
Lucy tilted her head back to the sky.
“Look,” she murmured. “You can actually see them.”
“The stars?”
“Yeah. It’s too bright in the city.”
He was quiet a moment, then said softly, “You know what’s wild?”
She looked at him.
He was staring upward too, hands in his pockets, hair a little messy from the wind, tie slightly loosened from all the dancing and drama and speeches.
“I used to think stars looked better in photos,” he said. “You know, edited. Fake.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m starting to think maybe fake things aren’t always better.”
Her heart stuttered. Just once.
The silence stretched between them, gentle and expectant.
“Hey,” he said, voice low, not teasing for once. “This whole day, I’ve been doing my best impression of a very convincing boyfriend. But I just wanna check…”
He turned to her, earnest. “You okay?”
Lucy nodded. Swallowed. Looked away.
“Yeah,” she said. “Just… didn’t expect any of this.”
“The wedding?”
“The binder. The speeches. You.”
That surprised a soft laugh out of him. “Good surprise or bad one?”
She hesitated.
“Still deciding.”
He smiled. She did too, without meaning to.
And for one dizzy second, under the stars, if this were real—if this weren’t fake—
She’d lean in.
She’d kiss him.
She’d—
“Cold?” he asked gently.
She blinked. “A little.”
Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. It smelled like him and it was warm.
She adjusted it, fingers brushing the cuff where his wrist had been.
When they headed back inside, their hands brushed once. Then again.
The third time, his fingers caught hers—and didn’t let go.
The party lingered on inside, music shifting into a mix of throwback hits and dance floor anthems. Guests laughed, champagne fizzed, sparklers got passed around. But Lucy had hit her limit about ten minutes ago.
She stood near the tent’s edge with Natsu at her side, watching someone’s uncle attempt the worm while a bridesmaid filmed from three angles.
“Okay,” she said, soft but final. “I’m done.”
“Done like you wanna sit down?” Natsu asked, eyes still fixed on the worm attempt, clearly invested.
“Done like I want to leave this place and never think about it again.”
He grinned. “Say no more.”
They slipped away from the crowd as subtly as anyone could when one of them was Natsu. Which meant: not subtly at all. He snagged two breadsticks from the buffet table on the way out—an act he tried to downplay by tucking them under his arm like stolen scrolls of ancient knowledge.
Lucy stared at him as they stepped into the cool night air.
“Are you serious?”
“What? They’re warm. And long. And vaguely weapon-shaped.”
“That is not why people take breadsticks.”
“Then I’ve been doing it wrong my whole life.”
They reached the parking lot in companionable silence—Lucy still wearing his jacket, Natsu cheerfully swinging his car keys on one finger, and both of them riding that weird high that comes from just barely surviving a family function.
“Lucy.”
She stiffened. Immediately.
The voice came from the far end of the lot. Smooth. Familiar. Laced with smug superiority like it always had been.
Loke stepped into view, hands in his pockets, a knowing smile tugging at his mouth. Dressed in a pale-blue dress shirt and too much cologne, like a walking advertisement for emotional unavailability.
“I was wondering if I’d see you again,” he said. “Alone.”
“She’s not,” Natsu replied instantly, stepping half in front of her. Not aggressive—just present. Solid.
Loke’s eyes flicked to him. “Right. The boyfriend.”
He said it like a joke. Like a challenge.
Lucy opened her mouth—to defuse, or explain, or just say please go away —but she didn’t get the chance.
Because Natsu held up a single breadstick.
“This man bothering you, babe?”
Lucy blinked. “Please don’t call me babe.”
“Right. Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “This man bothering you, chai-thief?”
Loke scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m rarely serious,” Natsu said, still holding the breadstick like a sword, “but I am always committed.”
Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is not happening.”
“I just wanted to talk,” Loke said smoothly, ignoring the breadstick. “That’s all. See how you’re doing. You look great tonight, by the way. Really great.”
“She always looks great,” Natsu said.
Loke rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking to you.”
“Well I am talking to you,” Natsu replied, stepping forward. “And you don’t get to show up and act like you didn’t treat her like garbage and then make it her problem.”
Lucy’s breath caught. Loke’s smile twitched.
“And what’re you gonna do about it?” he asked. “Poke me with your breadstick?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
There was a tense pause. A breeze lifted the edge of Lucy’s dress.
Loke muttered something under his breath and made to brush past.
Natsu stepped into his path, brandishing a breadstick. “En garde.”
“I am not—” Loke started.
“Too late,” Natsu said, swiping.
Loke jerked back, glaring. “You can’t be serious.”
“You insult the breadstick, you insult me.”
Lucy groaned. “You are not breadstick-duelling my ex in a parking lot.”
But Natsu already lunged again, clipping Loke lightly on the forehead. The breadstick snapped with an undignified crack.
Loke stumbled back, more startled than hurt, hand flying to his head. “Did you—did you just hit me with a breadstick?!”
“It was gourmet,” Natsu said solemnly, lowering the shattered stub like it was a sword he’d just retired from service.
Lucy stared, wide-eyed. “You did not just duel my ex with carbs.”
“I defended your honor,” Natsu said. “With carbs.”
She wanted to be mad. She wanted to be furious. She should’ve been mortified.
Instead, she started laughing—first in disbelief, then in helpless, shoulder-shaking snorts.
“I cannot believe you,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
Loke—still holding his forehead like he’d been gravely wounded—let out an annoyed noise and turned sharply. “You’re both insane.”
He stalked off across the gravel lot, muttering to himself about lawsuits and starch-based violence. His car engine roared to life, peeling out dramatically like he was trying to win the breakup retroactively.
Lucy turned to Natsu.
He held out the second breadstick.
She took it with a sigh.
“You’re lucky I’m too tired to process this properly,” she said, nibbling the edge.
Natsu grinned. “You’re lucky I didn’t bring the marinara sauce.”
She gave him a side-eye and started walking. He fell into step beside her easily, matching her pace like he’d done it a hundred times before.
The night air had gone cooler now. The stars still hung above them, quiet witnesses to whatever fever dream this entire day had been.
“You okay?” Natsu asked, not teasing this time.
Lucy nodded. “Yeah. Weirdly, yeah.”
They reached his car. She turned, leaning her back against the door.
He leaned on the other side of it, still holding half a breadstick like a souvenir.
“I meant what I said, by the way,” he said eventually.
She blinked. “About what?”
He smiled. “You always look great.”
Her face went warm. She looked away, not trusting herself to reply.
He didn’t push.
Just bumped her shoulder with his, gently, and said, “So. Ready to make our getaway?”
“Only if you promise not to challenge any more wedding guests to duels.”
“No promises.”
And when they got into the car, their breadsticks rode quietly in the cupholders—like trophies from a night neither of them would ever be able to fully explain.
Natsu adjusted his seat with a grunt and flicked on the headlights. The road stretched ahead, empty and dark, washed pale under moonlight and the occasional streetlamp. He didn’t say anything at first—just drove, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting lazily by the gearshift.
Lucy stared out the passenger window, watching trees blur past in the dark, her hands folded in her lap like they needed something to do. Her heels pinched slightly, her dress was wrinkled from the ride, and she was still kind of sugar-buzzed from champagne and cake—but mostly, she was just... still .
Still processing. Still unravelling the last few hours.
“You good?” Natsu asked, glancing at her at a red light.
She nodded before she even thought about it. “Yeah. Just tired.”
He hummed. Not pushing.
Lucy shifted slightly in her seat. “That whole thing with Loke was… something.”
“I stand by every decision,” Natsu said mildly. “Especially the breadstick.”
She gave him a sideways look. “You know that’s not what people mean when they say ‘break bread.’”
“I broke it on his face . It was symbolic.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. She dropped her head back against the seat, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “God. What even was tonight.”
“Team-building exercise,” he offered. “Possibly a dream sequence.”
“Definitely going in my memoir.”
Another small silence stretched between them. Natsu flicked on the turn signal and turned onto her street, easy and unhurried, like he’d done it a hundred times. Like this was normal. Like tonight had been more than pretend.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it?
It was supposed to be fake. A buffer. A band-aid. Something to get her through the reception and the slow-motion horror of seeing her ex again. It wasn’t supposed to feel easy . It wasn’t supposed to feel nice .
But here she was, soft in the passenger seat, warmth curling in her chest, watching the corner of his mouth twitch every time he smiled.
And none of it felt fake.
Not even a little.
They pulled up to her house, headlights washing over the porch steps. Before Lucy could even reach for the door handle, Natsu was already out of the car.
Of course he was.
She barely had time to blink before her door opened from the outside.
He stood there, holding it like he hadn’t just declared war with breadsticks an hour ago. His tie was still loose, his shirt rumpled, and yet somehow, he still managed to look like a damn Hallmark movie.
Lucy sighed, grabbed her clutch, and let him help her out.
They didn’t speak as they walked the short path to her front door. The crickets were loud. The street was quiet. The ridiculous events of the night stretched between them like a shared secret neither of them quite knew how to name.
She unlocked the door and turned back toward him.
She turned back toward him, one hand still resting on the doorknob. The porch light above buzzed faintly, catching in his hair and highlighting the absolutely absurd amount of frosting still dried to his sleeve. He hadn’t noticed. Or hadn’t cared. Both felt equally likely.
“Well,” she said, voice a little too bright, “no one got arrested. Or divorced. So that’s a win.”
“Loke almost got hospitalized,” Natsu offered, cheerful as ever. “By a breadstick.”
She groaned and covered her face with one hand. “Please don’t ever repeat that sentence in public.”
“Too late,” he said. “It’s going in the Yelp review.”
“Yelp review of what ?” she demanded.
“My services. Fake boyfriend. Bread-based duellist. Amateur wedding hero.”
“You’re so—” She broke off, letting her head thump gently against the door. “I don’t even have a word for what you are.”
“Handsome,” he offered.
“Inexplicable.”
“I’ll take it.”
She laughed, and it felt a little too good to do so. The kind of laugh that took the edge off the night, that smoothed out the ache in her cheeks from smiling so much.
He just stood there, like he was waiting for her to open the door or say goodbye or maybe both.
But she didn’t want to.
Not quite yet.
Lucy lifted her head again and looked at him. Really looked at him.
Messy hair, slightly too-tight suit, red tie askew. That familiar spark in his eyes like he was just waiting for her to say something outrageous so he could match it. And beneath all the chaos—kindness. Steady, unflinching warmth that had never once wavered, even when she’d expected him to flake or fumble or just… be fake.
But he hadn’t been. Not once.
She swallowed.
“Hey,” she said, quieter now. “Really… thank you. For tonight.”
Natsu’s grin softened. “Yeah?”
“I mean it,” she said. “You were… great. Better than great. I didn’t think I’d actually enjoy it. But I did. A lot.”
The space between them shifted. Like something inside it had clicked into place without either of them noticing.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at her like he was trying to memorize this version of her—flushed from laughter and candlelight, toes peeking out from her strappy heels, still wearing the perfume her cousin had gifted her months ago.
She hesitated.
Not because she didn’t know what she wanted—but because she did.
This was supposed to end here. A polite goodbye, maybe a joke, a wave. Maybe a “see you around” that didn’t mean anything.
But she didn’t want it to end.
She didn’t want to go inside and have the night dissolve into memory.
And if he wasn’t going to do something about it…
Then screw it.
“Okay,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “Screw it.”
And she reached up, grabbed his face in both hands, and kissed him.
It was instinct. Impulse. Survival.
Because if she let him walk away now—after everything tonight had been—she didn’t know if she’d be able to pretend it hadn’t meant something.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move.
She’d barely had time to panic, to think oh god what have I done, before he kissed her back.
And then everything changed.
Natsu didn’t ease into it, not really. He didn’t hold back like he was unsure or testing the waters. He just stepped into her like he meant it—like he always had. His hands found her waist immediately, rough and warm through the fabric of her dress, pulling her in until there was barely space between them. Her spine hit the edge of the door with a soft thud, but she barely felt it.
Her fingers curled into his jacket, then slid up into his hair, tugging gently like she needed something to anchor her. His mouth was warm, steady, just a little bit reckless—like the rest of him. Like every moment they’d spent pretending tonight had just been a performance, when it was anything but.
The kiss wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t practiced. But it was real.
And that made it dangerous.
He tilted his head, deepening it, and she gasped softly into the space between them. That was all it took—one breathy sound, unintentional, surprised—and he responded instantly. His grip tightened. His mouth slanted harder over hers, and then—yes—just a brush of tongue, not demanding but asking, tasting. Testing.
Lucy whimpered.
God help her, she actually whimpered. Her entire body went warm with the embarrassment of it, but Natsu didn’t laugh. Didn’t mock. His only reaction was to pull her closer, one hand pressing firm and steady against the small of her back.
And then it was just a blur.
Her arms wound around his neck. Her fingers slid deeper into his hair. His thumb swept against the curve of her waist, and she leaned into him like she didn’t care about anything else—not the night, not the porch light buzzing above them, not the fact that she was still technically in heels and slightly tipsy and had cake crumbs down the front of her dress.
It was just him.
And this.
And the quiet, shocking fact that she didn’t want to stop.
He kissed her like she was something he’d wanted for a long time. Not frantic, not greedy—just completely present. Like he hadn’t come here tonight expecting this, but now that it was happening, he wasn’t going to waste a second of it.
She let her lips part slightly more. Let the kiss slow. Soften. Her heart was hammering, but her body moved on its own—tilting her chin, shifting her weight, leaning into the warmth of his chest like it made perfect sense.
And then he exhaled against her mouth.
It made her shiver.
When she finally pulled back—slowly, hesitantly—her eyes fluttered open, and her breath caught again. Not from the kiss this time, but from the look on his face.
Natsu stared at her like she was a miracle.
And for the first time in a long time, Lucy didn’t want to run from that.
Didn’t want to write it off as a mistake or a moment or something she could pretend hadn’t happened.
She opened her mouth to speak.
And realized she had no idea what to say.
He didn’t speak right away.
And then—of course—he grinned.
“If you wanted a second date,” he said, voice rough from the kiss, “you could’ve just asked.”
Lucy made a strangled noise and dropped her forehead against his shoulder, cheeks blazing. “Oh my god, you’re insufferable.”
“You kissed me first.”
“You were supposed to behave!”
He just laughed, arms still snug around her waist. “Never agreed to that.”
She blinked, pulled back slightly to look up at him.
He smirked. “Careful. You’re making it hard to go home.”
“You’re the worst,” she whispered. She didn’t sound mad, though—more breathless, pink-cheeked, wide-eyed, still clinging to him like her heart hadn’t stopped racing since the first time his mouth touched hers. Her voice dropped even softer. “I don’t want it to end.”
It slipped out before she could stop it. Honest. Unfiltered.
Natsu’s smile softened instantly.
“It doesn’t have to,” he murmured.
And then he kissed her again.
It was slower this time. Less frantic. More sure.
His hand slid up to cup her jaw, tilting her chin just right, and she leaned into it like she’d been waiting for that exact touch all night.
She didn’t even remember backing toward the door. Just the feeling of his mouth on hers, her fingers tangled in his jacket, the porch light buzzing overhead and the way the world felt impossibly far away.
Then the door opened.
And they stumbled inside, still kissing, still laughing a little between breaths.
Her back hit the wall with a gentle thump. His hands found her waist again. She wasn’t sure if she pulled him in or if he just never stopped moving forward.
And then—
With zero ceremony and all the grace of someone who had definitely done this before—
Natsu kicked the door shut behind them.
One Month Later
Lucy was curled up on the couch in her favourite hoodie—correction: his hoodie, which had somehow migrated into her closet and stayed there. A lukewarm bowl of microwave mac and cheese sat in her lap, more comforting than appetizing, but it had been that kind of week and her brain was running on carbs and fumes.
The TV murmured in the background. Her inbox was blessedly empty. The world, for once, was quiet.
Until her phone buzzed.
She didn’t look at it right away.
But it buzzed again. Twice. Then a third time.
With a groan, she reached over, thumbed it open, and blinked at the notification lighting up her lockscreen.
1 New Message — RomanceRUs.com
[New Message: BurnSalmon7]
She stared.
Then blinked again.
“No,” she muttered. “No way.”
She tapped it open.
There, in classic chaotic formatting, was a brand-new message from the very same man she’d once hired to fake-date her through a family wedding.
BurnSalmon7: hey. so. question. how do you feel about haunted hayrides? asking for a friend. (me. the friend is me.)
Lucy stared at the message, half a spoonful of mac and cheese suspended mid-air. Her phone screen glowed brightly against the dim room, mocking her with its lack of context or common sense.
She sighed. Set the bowl aside. And typed back.
Lucy_H: Just need a few details: venue, date, timeline, and how convincing you want the performance to be.
A pause. Three dots popped up, vanished, returned, vanished again—like he was either weighing his answer or wrestling his autocorrect into submission.
BurnSalmon7: amazing. i knew i could count on you. details incoming. pack a sweater.
She narrowed her eyes.
Lucy_H: Wait. What kind of sweater situation are we talking about. Bonfire chic? Axe-murderer escape scene? Flirty lumberjack?
BurnSalmon7: yes. also it’s not a murder. probably. (but you do need to sign a waiver.)
Lucy groaned and flopped back on the couch.
Lucy_H: WHAT AM I GETTING INVOLVED IN
BurnSalmon7: quality time 🧡
That gave her pause.
She stared at the emoji. Then at the phrase. Then at the space between the two and how it made her chest do something weird and fluttery that had nothing to do with carbs or poor life decisions.
She typed and retyped a dozen replies before settling on:
Lucy_H: This better not end with me getting chased by a man in a pumpkin mask.
BurnSalmon7: depends. how do you feel about couples’ activities?
Lucy: I swear to god if this is a murder mystery dinner party...
BurnSalmon7: now i kinda wish it was.
She dropped her phone onto the blanket beside her and covered her face with both hands.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t boring.
And somehow, she knew she was going anyway.
The GPS had stopped talking ten minutes ago, which was either a sign of her arrival or a sign that she’d finally driven beyond the reach of civilization. Trees lined both sides of the gravel road, their branches arching overhead like nature was trying to keep secrets.
Lucy slowed her car, squinting through the windshield at a wooden sign half-covered in ivy.
Rosehill Inn — Countryside Lodging & Retreat
She stared at it for a beat.
Then checked the text Natsu had sent her that morning:
“you’ll know it when you see it. trust me :)”
That was not the reassuring logistical information she’d wanted. That was the kind of message someone sent before a cult retreat or a a weekend that ended with local news coverage.
But then, through the trees, she spotted him.
Natsu.
Standing near a small parking lot, arms waving above his head like a traffic cone in a windstorm. Same red hoodie as always—paired with actual jeans, which was already suspicious—and a grin that could power a small town.
Lucy pulled in slowly. Parked. Killed the engine.
Then just sat there, watching him.
He was practically vibrating with energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet like this was the start of a quest and not whatever… this was.
She opened the door and stepped out. “Okay,” she said cautiously, eyeing the charming main house in the distance. “Is this a prank? Is this where you lure me into a forest and tell me I’m joining your commune?”
“Nope,” he said, already moving toward her. “It’s cooler.”
Before she could reply, he grabbed her hand—warm and firm and so damn casual about it—and started walking like she wasn’t two seconds from demanding a full itinerary.
“Are you gonna explain anything?” she asked, letting him lead her up the porch steps.
“I could ,” he said, nudging open the front door. “But wouldn’t it be more fun to just let it happen?”
She gave him a look.
“Reception’s this way,” he added innocently.
The inside of the inn was all warm wood beams, vintage lanterns, and flickering fireplaces. The kind of place that smelled like cinnamon and the possibility of good decisions.
The receptionist—an older woman with chic glasses and a lavender cardigan—looked up as they approached the desk. “Welcome to Rosehill Inn,” she said cheerfully. “Do you have a booking?”
Natsu nodded. “Yep. Under Dragneel.”
She flipped through the reservation binder. “Ah—yes. Natsu Dragneel and…Mrs. Dragneel?”
Lucy blinked. “You did not.”
“I thought it’d be faster,” he said, utterly unapologetic.
The receptionist smiled. “You two are booked for the full weekend couples package—how exciting!”
Lucy opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Wait. Couples ?
The woman kept going, already highlighting a map with practiced efficiency. “You’ve got access to the private cabins, the garden soaking tubs, complimentary breakfast delivery, sunset hiking trails, paddleboat rental on the lake, and our cosy in-room fireplace. And of course, the romance dinner this evening—”
“Oh my god,” Lucy muttered.
“—which is in the greenhouse,” the receptionist finished. “Candlelit. Very popular with our honeymoon guests.”
Natsu nodded solemnly. “Sounds perfect.”
Lucy’s soul briefly left her body.
The woman handed over a room key in the shape of a tiny wooden heart. “Enjoy your stay, lovebirds!”
“Thanks!” Natsu grinned, already tugging her toward the hallway.
Lucy dragged her feet, trying not to combust. “You didn’t tell me it was this kind of place.”
“You didn’t ask,” he replied innocently.
As they stepped out onto a winding path toward a row of rustic cabins, the birds chirped, the sun shone, and Lucy’s dignity tried to climb out the back of her head.
Lucy scoffed, the sound half a breath. “It’s not like we’re a couple .”
Natsu glanced over at her, eyebrows raised in mock confusion. “We’re not?”
That brought her up short. Not physically—he was still leading the way—but her brain sort of… tripped.
“I mean—” she started, but the words got tangled in her throat.
He just grinned, looking ahead again, his fingers still linked through hers. “We are.”
And then, without waiting for a reply, he gave her hand a tiny swing. Back and forth. Easy. Thoughtless.
Like they’d been doing it forever.
It felt right.
Like this was always where her hand belonged. Which, inconveniently, meant she’d have to keep him around.