Winter faded slowly that year, the way it often did reluctantly, as if the cold didn't quite want to give up its hold. Snow lingered in stubborn patches along sidewalks and under trees, while the air softened day by day into something lighter.
For Willy and Tim, the months between January and June passed in a blur of routine, anticipation, and quiet happiness.
The shooting club became the center of their lives.
Not that it hadn't always been important but now, with the qualification rounds underway and the final competition scheduled for June, the entire club seemed to pulse with a new kind of energy. Every practice carried a little more weight. Every shot mattered just a little more.
Willy, however, existed in a strange place within that system.
He was already in the final.
Being the top-ranked shooter in the country had its advantages. His previous record guaranteed him a direct place in the main competition, meaning he didn't need to fight through the qualification rounds like the others.
Most people would have used that time to relax.
Willy did the opposite.
He trained even harder.
"You know you don't actually have to prove anything," Logan told him one afternoon as they stood near the lockers.
Willy adjusted the strap of his shooting bag. "I'm not proving anything."
Logan raised an eyebrow.
"You're practicing three hours a day."
"That's normal."
"For you, maybe."
Willy smiled faintly but didn't argue.
Across the room, Tim was preparing his equipment for the second qualification round.
Seb noticed the way Willy's eyes kept drifting in that direction.
"Relax," Seb said, nudging him with his elbow. "Your boyfriend is going to survive."
"I know," Willy replied.
But he still watched.
Tim had changed slightly since the qualifications began.
Not in any obvious way he laughed the same, talked the same, teased Willy the same but there was a deeper focus to him during training days. A quiet concentration that appeared the moment he stepped onto the range.
Ethan leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed.
"He does that thing," Ethan said thoughtfully.
"What thing?" Seb asked.
"That thing where he pretends something isn't important to him."
Seb frowned. "But this is important."
Ethan smiled slightly.
"Exactly."
Before Seb could ask what that meant, the whistle blew.
Competitors moved toward the shooting line.
Tim took his position calmly, adjusting his stance with slow precision.
Willy watched from the back of the room.
Every shooter had their own rhythm. Some were tense, some overly confident, some visibly nervous.
Tim looked like none of those things.
He simply looked… calm.
The shots rang out in steady intervals.
Sharp. Controlled.
When the results were posted later, Tim had easily qualified for the next round.
Seb immediately threw an arm around his shoulders.
"I KNEW IT!"
Tim laughed, nearly losing his balance.
"You're going to knock me over."
"Worth it," Seb declared proudly.
Willy stepped forward next, wrapping Tim in a quiet hug.
"Good?" Tim asked softly.
Willy nodded.
"Very."
Tim's smile was small but warm.
The weeks between rounds settled into an easy rhythm.
Morning classes at the university.
Afternoon training sessions at the range.
Evenings at home.
Their house small, warm, and always slightly messy became a gathering place for their friends more often than not.
One evening in early March, Seb and Ethan arrived arguing loudly about coffee.
"You drank mine," Ethan accused.
"I needed it more," Seb replied without shame.
"That is not a valid excuse."
"It is when I love you."
Ethan stared at him for a moment before sighing dramatically.
"Unfortunately, that argument works on me."
Logan, sitting at the kitchen table, muttered, "You two are exhausting."
Al laughed from the couch.
Tim stood near the stove stirring soup while Willyleaned beside him, occasionally stealing pieces of bread when Tim wasn't looking.
"I saw that," Tim said without turning around.
"You saw nothing," Willy replied calmly.
Tim turned and lightly smacked his hand away.
"Terrible criminal behavior."
Willy grinned.
"Good thing my husband is a billionaire and has good connections. You can protect me."
Tim rolled his eyes but smiled.
Later that night, after everyone had gone home, Willy and Tim ended up lying on the living room floor in exhaustion.
The heater hummed softly nearby.
Willy rested his head on Tim's stomach.
"I think my arm might fall off," he said.
Tim lazily ran his fingers through Willy's hair.
"You say that every week."
"Because it's true every week."
Tim chuckled quietly.
After a moment, Willy tilted his head up slightly.
"Why did you start shooting?" he asked.
Tim paused.
Then he answered simply.
"Because you loved it."
Willy blinked.
"You're lying."
"A little," Tim admitted.
But he didn't explain further.
Instead he leaned down and kissed Willy softly.
By April, the qualification rounds had become more intense.
Fewer shooters remained. The atmosphere in the club shifted.
This time Willy sat in the stands instead of the back wall, legs bouncing restlessly.
Seb noticed immediately.
"You're vibrating."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Al glanced over.
"He is."
Willy groaned.
"I hate this."
"You love it," Logan said calmly.
"No, I love shooting," Willy corrected. "This is just… waiting."
Down on the range, Tim stepped forward again.
This time something about him looked different.
Sharper.
More focused.
Logan leaned forward slightly.
"So that's what he looks like."
Seb frowned.
"What?"
"When he stops holding back."
Seb blinked. "What are you talking about?"
But Logan didn't answer.
Tim lifted his pistol.
The room fell silent.
His movements were smooth, precise. Each shot landed with quiet certainty.
When the results were posted later, Tim was comfortably among the top shooters moving forward.
Willy didn't even wait for the crowd to clear.
He walked straight to him.
"You're incredible," Willy said quietly.
Tim smiled a little shyly.
"Not as incredible as you."