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𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 paced her living room, her stomach in knots, phone clutched in her hand as though sheer willpower could make it ring. What if Kreese had gotten to him? What if this time Johnny wasn't the one who walked away? No—she shoved that thought out. Her Johnny was a fighter. He always had been.

She grabbed a cherry water from the fridge, trying to steady her shaking hands, and flicked on the stereo. Joni Mitchell's Carey filled the quiet, and she forced herself onto the couch, flipping open the latest Pioneer Woman magazine. The words blurred.

A sharp knock jolted her to her feet.

"Coming!" she called, tossing the magazine onto the table as she hurried to the door.

When she opened it, Johnny was standing there—beat up, bruised, but alive. Relief crashed through her chest so hard it nearly knocked her over.

"Johnny. Thank God." She grabbed his hand without thinking, pulling him inside as though the world might try to steal him away if she didn't hold on tight. "I was worried about you."

"I told you, I'm a survivor." His smirk was cocky and rough around the edges, but the way his eyes softened on her made her chest ache.

Stella shook her head, blinking back tears. "No, I had this horrible feeling, that something was going to happen to you, especially after—"

"Hey." His voice dropped, firm but gentle. He reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin like he didn't want to let go. "I'm not going anywhere, princess."

Her breath caught. She covered his bruised hand with her own, holding it like it was the most precious thing in the world. "You're hurt. Come with me."

In the bedroom, Johnny sat on her vanity chair, grumbling at the ice pack she pressed into his hand. Stella leaned close, smoothing ointment along the line of his neck, her fingers brushing the roughness of his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, almost leaning into her touch.

"What's on your mind?" she asked softly.

"I thought he was dead." His voice was low, ragged. "I honestly thought I would never see him again, and I never wanted to see him again."

"I know." Stella capped the ointment, her own chest tightening at the weight of his pain. "I'm so sorry. I wish I knew what to say, but I just don't."

She put the kit away, then sat beside him. "But I do have to ask... do you have any idea what you're going to do since he's back?"

Johnny's jaw tightened. "Well, I'm not letting him in the dojo, if that's what you mean. He brainwashed my friends and I. My buddy Dutch is in prison because of it, my buddy Bobby became a priest because of it."

"All I ask is this," Stella said as they walked back into the living room, her voice trembling but firm. "Don't let the whole no mercy thing get to my brother. I saw something at the tournament that I didn't like."

Johnny glanced at her, brow furrowing. "What?"

"August's face." Her throat tightened. "He's never been that aggressive. He's always had our mother's kindness. Please, Johnny. I don't want him to lose his way, or even go down the wrong path. I promised my mom I would always protect him if something happened to her. I want to honor her."

Johnny didn't hesitate. He pulled her into his arms, his grip strong, steady. "Your brother's a good kid. Don't worry. I won't let him go astray."

She nodded, then rose on her tiptoes to brush a kiss against his lips. He tightened his hold, pulling her into him fully, their embrace saying everything words couldn't.

"Thank you, for everything, Stella Blue. I truly mean that."

Her lips curved against his shoulder. "Hey, it's no problem. You were there for me—now I want to be there for you. Anytime you need me, you give me a call, okay? Just remember, my door is always open to you. Day or night."

Johnny tilted her chin up, eyes locked on hers. "Same goes for me, princess. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" He kissed her lips once more, lingering a second longer than before, like leaving was the last thing he wanted.

"Goodnight, Johnny." Stella whispered, smiling as she walked him to the door, her heart already aching for tomorrow.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

The next morning, Stella met the girls — Lori and Kara, along with Carter and Amy, who'd become such a part of the group it was like she'd always been there. They'd taken over a corner booth at the café, the table already cluttered with lattes, omelets, and every condiment known to man.

"So how is August enjoying being the reigning All Valley champ?" Kara asked, daintily pouring ketchup in a neat zig-zag across her hash browns.

Stella sprinkled salt and pepper on her omelet. "I mean, he worked hard for it, but I told him not to let it go to his head."

Amy leaned back with her latte. "So... what exactly happened last night?"

Stella hesitated, then leaned forward. "Johnny's old sensei, Kreese, showed up." She stabbed her fork into her omelet. "Total nightmare."

Lori nearly dropped her mimosa. "Wait, ew. Isn't that guy, like, dead?"

"That's what Johnny thought too," Stella said. "But no, apparently not. He said something about being away for a long time. Anyway—after the confrontation, Johnny came over to my place. I patched him up and... we kind of kissed."

The table erupted.

"You kissed him?!" Lori squealed, loud enough that people at the next table turned. Kara immediately smacked the back of her hand against her sister's arm.

"Ow!" Lori yelped, rubbing the spot. "Rude."

"Lori, shut up," Stella muttered, though she couldn't stop the flush in her cheeks.

Lori leaned in, eyes sparkling. "Please tell me you two are going to get together soon. I'm literally exhausted watching this whole back-and-forth thing. Like... give the people what they want."

"For real, Stell," Kara said, her tone softer but firm. "You've been dancing around this forever."

Stella started to protest. "For fuck's sake, he's—"

But Amy cut her off with that quiet, knowing tone of hers. "They're not wrong. This kind of thing happens. Beautiful younger woman, complicated older man... I've seen it before. Sometimes it's a mess. But sometimes..." she trailed off, stirring her coffee again, "...it turns into something real. Something beautiful."

Carter set down his fork, giving Amy a look. "In what reality does that actually work?"

Amy smirked, unbothered. "In the one where people actually let themselves be happy."

"Don't be such a buzzkill," Kara said, rolling her eyes at Carter before turning back to Stella. "What matters is you figuring out where you stand with Johnny. If he's serious about you, amazing. If not, you deserve to know now. No limbo."

"Exactly." Lori flipped her hair and nodded, like it was already settled. "It might not be the fairytale answer you want, but at least you'll know. And honestly? From the way he looks at you, babe, I think he's obsessed."

Stella picked at the edge of her napkin, her chest tight but her lips betraying a small smile. "You guys are too much."

Kara raised her coffee cup. "We're not too much. We're just right. Now go get your man."

Lori clinked her mimosa against Kara's cup, grinning. "Yeah. Stars are hot, Stell. And so is Johnny Lawrence."

Amy chuckled softly, sipping her latte. "Guess that settles it."

Carter shook his head, though his lips curved in amusement. "This is what I get for brunching with Hilton energy and a barista philosopher."

Kara smirked. "Welcome to the group, Carter. This is the package deal."

"And you love it," Lori added, leaning into him with a grin.

Carter gave her a resigned smile. "Unfortunately... yeah. I kinda do."

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Later that night, Stella sat curled up on her couch, her light pink Miss Elaine nightgown flowing softly around her. It was her favorite, though she knew Johnny loved it even more—he could never look at her in it without losing a little of his hard-edged composure. George Jones' A Picture of Me Without You floated through the apartment, the twang of steel guitar pulling at her heart as she scribbled notes in her notebook.

A knock at the door broke her concentration.

"Hey, you. Come on in."

Johnny stepped inside, his gaze flicking down at her nightgown before he quickly masked it with a smirk. She shut the door behind him and led him toward the sofa.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked.

"No thank you, princess. I'm fine." Johnny dropped onto the couch, trying to sound casual, though his eyes lingered on her just a second too long.

Stella sat close beside him. "So how are you feeling? Your knuckles and neck any better?"

"Yeah," Johnny nodded. "I'm feeling a lot better—thanks to you." His smile softened, then he gestured toward the open notebook on the coffee table. "What about you? How's the studying? And that work up at the hospice center?"

"Oh, it's going good. I have this one patient who plays with the call light all the time, just to see how long it'll take the nurses to get down there."

Johnny barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "That is the kind of patient I aspire to be."

"Don't you dare," Stella said, laughing with him, her eyes warm.

But then Johnny's expression shifted. Serious. Intent. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Look, I'm here to talk about us."

Her laughter faded. "What about us?"

"I want you to tell me how you feel before I say something by being a total dumbass." His voice was gruff, but there was no hiding the edge of nerves beneath it.

Stella chuckled, shaking her head. She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. "No, you're not a dumbass. Complicated? Yes. But..." her voice softened, "I really like you. I think about you all the time."

His jaw flexed, relief mixing with something deeper in his eyes. "So do we want to go with that? You like me, I really like you, and we see where this goes?" His thumb brushed the back of her hand, rough but gentle. "Because I don't want to lose you."

"Yeah," Stella whispered, her smile tender. "I'd love that. And don't worry, Johnny. I'm not going anywhere. And tonight, neither are you. It's late—I don't want you driving back to Reseda this late."

His smirk returned, but softer this time. "Guess you're stuck with me then, princess."

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Later, Stella turned off the vintage lamp by her bedside. The room fell into the soft glow of moonlight. She laid her head against Johnny's chest, his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek, and his calloused fingers threaded slowly through her silky brunette hair. The nightgown brushed against his arm, and it took everything in him not to lose his composure.

"Goodnight, princess," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"Goodnight, Johnny," Stella whispered back, her hand tracing idle patterns across the ridges of his abs through his t-shirt. With every breath, every quiet heartbeat, the space between them dissolved a little more—two people falling, faster than either of them could stop.