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Stella woke with her throat burning, the taste of salt and grief still lingering. The clock read 3:05 AM. She sat up slowly, expecting the familiar shadows of her California apartment—but no. The walls, the soft floral curtains, even the faint scent of cedar and lavender... she was back in her childhood bedroom in Austin.

Her chest tightened. This isn't real.

Wrapping her silk robe around her shoulders, she padded softly down the stairs. The house was warm, humming with voices. When she reached the dining room, she froze.

There they were—Nathan at the head of the table, broad and steady, trying to carve into overdone Cornish hens with that grounded patience only he carried. Beside him, Janette sat delicate and soft, her eyes carrying that gentleness that always made Stella feel safe. August leaned back in his chair, boyish pride in his grin as he teased.

And then—
Stella's breath hitched.

Ava.

Her mother sat radiant at the table, in a baby-blue babydoll dress, her golden hair swept from her face, luminous and soft as moonlight. The smile that broke across her lips could shatter Stella into dust.

"Mama?" Stella whispered, her voice breaking.

Ava's eyes lit, kind and full of pride. "Hey sweetheart. Why don't you come sit by me? Your food's getting cold. I even poured you a cherry water."

Stella staggered forward, but her knees nearly buckled. She's dead. She's dead.

"What—what are y'all doing?" Stella's voice cracked, desperate.

Nathan glanced at Ava, his rugged face softening as he admitted, "I'm sorry about the hens, darlin'. Didn't have the right pan. Bottoms are burnt and raw." He looked at her like she was still the love of his life, like nothing else in the world mattered, because, even in her death, she was still the love of his life.

"Oh, my sweet Nathan." Ava's laugh tinkled through the room, unbothered, gentle. "This is perfect. We're together. That's what matters. Just this once won't hurt."

"Yeah, unless it kills us." August smirked.

"Augie." Janette's soft voice lilted, chiding with love as she cut into her plate.

Stella's stomach twisted. Her chest heaved. This can't be happening. "How—how is she here? She can't be here!"

No one answered. They just kept eating, chatting lightly. Ava leaned toward August with that radiant motherly smile. "So, your grandmother tells me you're taking karate. How's that going, sweetheart?"

"It's going great. My sensei says I'm the best in class," August beamed.

They laughed, they shared stories, the room filled with warmth. But Stella couldn't breathe. Tears blurred her vision as sobs ripped from her chest.

"What the hell is going on?!" she screamed. "She's dead! She shouldn't be here! Why are you all acting like this is normal?!"

Her voice broke in desperation. "Please—someone listen to me!"

Still, no one looked at her. They just carried on, wrapped in the glow of Ava's presence.

Stella crumpled, frantic and shaking. "Damn it, she's dead! She's dead! She's dead!" Her sobs came raw, guttural. "Mama, you said you'd never leave me! You said you'd always be here! I need you... and now you're—"

Her jaw locked. No sound would come. Panic ripped through her.

Darkness bled into the corners of the room. The warm light dimmed, then swallowed everything whole. Ava began to dissolve, her body scattering like stardust. Nathan, Janette, and August remained, still eating, oblivious.

And then, her mother's voice—clear, melodic, a crystal bell—echoed through the darkness:

"I love you, Stella Blue. You've made me proud. It's time to let go. Forgive your friend, Johnny."

The faint scent of Penhaligon's Bluebell filled the air, the ghost of her mother's perfume wrapping her like a final embrace.

Stella fell to her knees, sobbing so hard her body shook. Her grief was bottomless, unbearable. But underneath it—quiet as a heartbeat—she knew the truth. would never hurt her, and she knew he wouldn't make the same mistake he made as a teenager. He wasn't that reckless boy anymore. She was just so conflicted on what to do. All she knew, she needed him back in her life.

──────

Stella stirred awake around, her gaze drifting to the framed photo of Ava on her bedside table. For a long moment she just looked at it, her chest tightening, before she swung her legs out of bed. The soft teal fabric of her favorite Miss Elaine nightgown fell gracefully around her, lace gathered delicately at the front with a tiny rosebud sewn in the center. Barefoot, she padded into the living room, the cool floor meeting her steps as she moved toward the kitchen to fix herself a glass of iced tea.

She poured herself a glass of iced tea, the clinking of the cubes filling the quiet, then curled onto the couch. The TV flickered on, spilling warm light across the room as CMT played Keith Whitley's Don't Close Your Eyes. The music washed over her, heavy and haunting. Before long, her eyelids drooped. Pulling a blanket over her, she drifted back into sleep.

Outside, Johnny sat parked in the Challenger, nursing a bottle of whiskey but barely drinking it. His mind kept circling back to the sight of Stella's tears, and worse, the moment she flinched because of him. The memory hit harder than any punch he'd ever taken. He'd sworn he'd never scare her, never be like the people who had scared him.

"Goddammit," he muttered, slamming the bottle down. He made up his mind. He wasn't going to let her go to bed thinking he was just another guy who lost control.

He got out of the car, his boots heavy against the pavement, and stalked up to her floor. At her door, he hesitated just long enough to curse himself again, then knocked.

After a minute, Stella opened the door, her blue eyes bleary with sleep, the teal Miss Elaine nightgown draping softly around her frame, lace gathering at the front with the tiny rosebud at its center. Her hair was tousled, her beauty soft, unguarded. "Johnny? What are you doing out this late?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Can we talk? It's important." His voice was rough, stripped of its usual swagger.

Stella studied him for a beat, then nodded and pulled the door open wider. He stepped inside, the faint scent of her vanilla soap grounding him instantly.

"What's going on? Is everything okay? Is August—?" she started, worry sparking.

"Your brother's fine, princess," Johnny cut in gently. "I came here to talk about what happened."

They sat down on the couch, the TV still low in the background. Stella turned toward him, her hands folding nervously in her lap. "Johnny, I—"

"No, princess. Don't." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on her. "Don't apologize. I'm sorry I raised my voice. And I'm so damn sorry I—" His throat caught. "I scared you."

"Hey." She stopped him, her own voice breaking. "I raised my voice too. But I just... I wanted you to think first before you strike first. Because one day you'll strike with the wrong person, and it could get you hurt bad. And I don't want to think about that." Her eyes shimmered, tears threatening. "You mean so much to me."

Johnny leaned closer, his roughness crumbling at the sight of her breaking. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere, princess." His hand hovered, almost afraid to touch her. "I'm sorry I made you flinch. That's the last thing I'd ever want. You know I'd never hurt you. Please... don't be afraid of me. You mean everything to me." 

"Johnny..." She smiled faintly through her tears and reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I know you'd never hurt me. You've proven that more than once. I'm not afraid of you."

Relief hit him like a punch to the gut. He buried his face in her shoulder, his voice muffled. "I'm so sorry, Stella. Please forgive me."

"I forgive you, Johnny." Her voice was soft but steady. She shifted into his lap, her nightgown brushing against his jeans as she wrapped herself around him. Resting her forehead against his, she whispered again, firmer this time, "I forgive you."

Something in him broke. With a rough exhale, Johnny pressed his forehead to hers, inhaling her scent—sweet and grounding—before kissing her. Not the careful brush of lips from earlier, but a desperate, hungry kiss that carried every regret, every longing, every ounce of love he had locked away. His hands roamed down her shoulders, gripping her waist like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

Her fingers tangled into his hair, pulling him closer, urging him deeper. She let him unravel against her, let him strip down all the swagger and bravado, because for Johnny, this—this soft, unguarded closeness—was something he had never given to anyone else.

When she finally led him to her bed, he climbed in beside her, eyes burning as he let his hands slide over her waist. Stella turned to him, her blue eyes soft and steady, lips parted in invitation. He kissed her again, slow at first, then with a heat that surprised even him. Their mouths molded together, breathless and consuming, until he pulled back just long enough for a few tears to slip free.

"Johnny..." she whispered, brushing them away with her thumb, her touch gentle, almost reverent.

Something cracked open in him at that—Cobra Kai tough guy stripped bare. He kissed her harder, lips trailing from her mouth down her neck, claiming yet worshiping, desperate yet tender. Her sighs sent shivers down his spine, grounding him in the one truth he could never deny: she was it. She was everything.

His hands skimmed her back, strong but shaking, holding her like he might lose her if he ever let go. Her fingers wove tighter into his hair, pulling him closer, letting him pour out all the things he didn't know how to say.

"Stella..." he breathed against her collarbone, his voice cracking, her name escaping him like a prayer.

And she held him, anchored him, whispered softly against his lips, "You don't ever have to hide with me. I've got you."

For the first time in years, Johnny let himself collapse into someone else's arms, not as the fighter, not as the screw-up, but as a man who had finally found where he belonged. He drew her closer, memorizing the silk of her nightgown beneath his hands, tracing the tiny rosebud at the front as if burning it into his memory.

Because she wasn't just his peace—she was his purpose. His anchor. His forever.

And for Stella, Johnny Lawrence—Cobra Kai badass—finally learned how to be gentle.