The world outside was white and silent, January snow covering the streets like a blanket. The sun had barely risen, but the kitchen was already warm, golden light spilling across the wooden floor.
Tim stood at the counter, stirring sugar into two mugs of coffee. The smell drifted through the house, that faint, rich scent that always pulled Willy out of sleep.
Willy padded into the kitchen in a loose sweatshirt, his hair still messy. "You're up early," he murmured, voice rough from sleep.
Tim smiled over his shoulder. "Habit."
Willy leaned against the doorframe, watching him. For a moment, he didn't say anything. He was still getting used to this mornings without worry, the sound of the kettle instead of the click of encrypted messages, the comfort of a quiet house shared with the person he loved.
Tim noticed the look in his eyes. "You're thinking again," he said softly.
Willy smiled faintly. "Just… realizing how strange it feels to be normal."
Tim handed him a mug. "Then let's get used to it."
Willy took a sip and sighed in contentment. "You make the best coffee."
"I make the only coffee you drink," Tim replied, amused.
"Same thing," Willy said, sitting down at the table.
The kitchen window fogged with warmth. Outside, the world was white and still. Inside, it was calm, the kind of calm that comes only after surviving chaos.
They had been home for two weeks now, since that night when Tim had returned and told him the words Willy had longed to hear: "It's over. We're safe."
In that time, they'd relearned how to live and how to exist without looking over their shoulders. They'd cooked meals together, watched bad movies until midnight, and laughed at small, ordinary things.
The house had become a sanctuary, a small two-story home on the edge of town, with a fireplace, creaking wooden floors, and a balcony that overlooked the frozen lake. It was the kind of place people built dreams in.
For the first time, it truly felt like theirs.
After breakfast, they drove to the university shooting range. The qualifying round for the national team was only days away. The air buzzed with quiet intensity and everyone wanted to be among the top ten.
Willy was already one of the most well-known shooters in the country, but he wasn't taking any chances. He trained like someone who still had something to prove.
Tim, of course, was right beside him.
They changed into their training gear, the same way they had hundreds of times before, but today, everything felt different. There was no danger now, no secrecy, no fear that their closeness might draw attention. Everyone knew they were together, and no one cared.
When they walked into the range hand in hand, a few teammates smiled, some waved, others whispered good-naturedly.
"Power couple's here," Al joked.
Willy laughed. "You make it sound like we're celebrities."
Tim grinned. "You kind of are."
"We kind of are," Willy corrected, bumping his shoulder playfully.
Tim only smiled, but he didn't argue. He never did when it came to this to competition, to titles, to ranking.
He didn't need to.
Because he knew something Willy didn't: in quiet, private hours when no one was watching, he was every bit as skilled as Willy perhaps even more. He'd always hidden it behind easy smiles and the role of supporter, but his aim, his focus, his stillness were unmatched.
The sound of gunfire filled the hall crisp, precise, rhythmic.
Willy stood at the line, his grip firm, his breathing steady.
Tim watched from a few feet away, arms crossed, expression unreadable but eyes soft with admiration. Every time Willy fired, the bullet found the center of the target with effortless precision.
"Perfect," Tim murmured under his breath.
When Willy turned to look at him between rounds, Tim smiled and nodded. A small gesture, but it said everything: "You've got this."
Later, when the session ended, Willy approached him, wiping his hands on a towel.
"You're staring again," he said, teasing.
Tim chuckled. "Can you blame me?"
"Depends," Willy said. "Was it admiration or distraction?"
"Admiration," Tim said smoothly. "But if it distracted you, I'll take credit for that too."
Willy laughed. "Not a chance. I hit all ten."
"I know," Tim said. "I counted."
Willy shook his head, smiling as he packed up his gear. "You're impossible."
"Only with you," Tim said, his voice quieter now.
For a moment, the noise of the range faded into the background. They just stood there, eyes locked, smiles soft. There was something about being here together: the familiarity, the connection, the unspoken trust that made the rest of the world blur.
They were more than teammates. More than competitors. More than lovers.
They were two halves of the same rhythm.
That evening, back at the house, the wind howled outside, but inside the fire crackled warmly.
Willy was sprawled on the couch with his head resting on Tim's thigh, scrolling through updates about the upcoming qualifier. "They're saying it's going to be intense this year," he said. "New talent from the East division. Apparently, someone's been training off-record. They're calling him a mystery shooter."
Tim's hand stilled briefly in Willy's hair before he resumed the gentle motion. "A mystery shooter?" he repeated lightly. "Sounds dramatic."
"Apparently he broke three records in private trials," Willy said. "No name, though. They're keeping it secret until the qualifiers."
Tim hummed noncommittally. "Interesting."
"You think it's real?"
"Could be." Tim's tone was calm, almost too calm. "Guess we'll find out soon enough."
Willy sighed, setting his phone aside. "Doesn't matter. I'm not letting anyone take that spot."
Tim smiled, his fingers tracing small patterns along Willy's arm. "You won't. Don't worry, you won't lose to him. If you lose to anyone, it will only be me."
"Still," Willy murmured, eyes closing. "Sometimes I worry I'm not as good as people think."
Tim leaned down slightly, his voice soft and steady. "You're better."
Willy smiled at that, eyes fluttering open. "You always say that."
"Because it's true," Tim said. "And if you forget, I'll remind you as many times as it takes."
There was a pause warm, comfortable, filled with the quiet hum of the fireplace.
Willy looked up at him. "You know, sometimes I wonder how I got lucky enough to have you."
Tim brushed his thumb along his cheek. "You didn't get lucky. You chose me. This means that I am lucky to have become your husband and other half."
Willy smiled, his gaze tender. "Then I must've made the right choice."
He sat up and kissed him, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that said everything words couldn't.
The next morning, the snow had stopped. The world outside glittered like glass.
Tim woke early, slipping quietly out of bed. He stood at the window, watching the pale light crawl across the frozen lake.
In the stillness, his thoughts turned inward. He hadn't told Willy about his own ranking about the fact that before the mission, before everything, he'd been part of a covert international team, where shooting wasn't a sport, but a necessity.
He had learned precision in the hardest way where one wrong move cost more than points.
Now, though, the competition wasn't about survival. It was about joy. About living again.
He knows how important this competition and victory is for Willy. It's also very important to him, because he has to fulfill a promise he made years ago.
Soon he will have to make a choice: the happiness of his loved one or the promise he must fulfill.
Behind him, Willy stirred. "You're thinking again," he mumbled sleepily.
Tim turned, smiling softly. "You're stealing my line."
Willy sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Can't help it. You've been staring out there for ten minutes."
Tim came back to the bed, sitting beside him. "Just enjoying the quiet."
Willy rested his head on his shoulder. "You okay?"
Tim nodded. "Perfect."
"Good," Willy said. "Because after breakfast, we're going to the range again. I want you to shoot with me this time."
Tim blinked. "Me?"
"Yes, you," Willy said, smiling. "You need to practice shooting too. You can't just go to the club to watch me all the time. I know your results are always good, but that won't be enough for the competition."
Tim hesitated the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Maybe," he said. "We'll see."
Willy poked his side. "That's not a no."
Tim laughed softly. "We'll see," he repeated, kissing the top of his head.
Three days later, the qualifiers began.
The competition is opened by the current top 10. That's why there were so many spectators.
The shooting complex was buzzing with reporters, athletes, and coaches. The energy was electric.
Willy stood at his station, calm but alert. He had trained for this moment every breath, every movement rehearsed to perfection.
From the crowd, Tim watched, his heart pounding with quiet pride. He knew exactly how difficult this would be and how much control it took to be this consistent.
Competition rules: The top 10 will participate first, and the top 3 will automatically advance to the finals. The remaining seven participants will have to compete with newcomers to maintain their top 10 spot.
When the final score appeared, Willy's name shone at the top of the board.
Number one.
The hall erupted in applause.
Tim clapped with everyone else, but his smile carried something deeper, a private warmth that went beyond pride.
Number Two - Sebastian.
The top 2 were not surprising at all. Everyone was expecting this result.
As Willy stepped down from the platform, he ran straight into Tim's arms.
"I did it!" he said, breathless, laughing.
Tim hugged him tightly. "Of course you did."
Willy pulled back, eyes bright. "Top ten secured. Now all that's left is the main event in June."
Tim brushed his thumb across Willy's cheek, his voice low. "You're unstoppable."
"Not without you," Willy said. "I'm looking forward to your competition. We'll meet in the finals."
Tim smiled, but his gaze lingered soft, knowing. "Then I will do everything for this."
That night, they sat together on the couch. Willy leaned against him, eyes half-closed. "You think I can win in June?"
Tim hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, "I don't think I know."
Willy smiled. "How are you so sure?"
Tim kissed his hair. "Because I've seen what you're capable of."
He didn't add the rest that he had also seen what he himself could do, and that one day, maybe soon, they'd stand on the same line as equals.
For now, though, this was Willy's moment.
And Tim was content to let him have it.
Outside, snow began to fall again soft, gentle, endless.
Inside, their world was warm and quiet, their hearts steady with something stronger than victory, hope and love.