The Fantastic Eight and Their February Surprise - 4. Honest Hearts

After the younger teens had settled into their bunks, exhausted, Altair and Cane stepped outside into the cool night air.

Altair paced the dirt path in front of the cabin, his mind racing with ways he could better protect them. Cane leaned against the cabin wall, watching him. “You did well in there,” he said quietly.

Altair stopped pacing, his shoulders rigid. “Did I?” His voice came out rough, scraped raw by the night’s events. “I almost kicked them out, Cane. I was ready to. If you hadn’t stopped me…” He ran a hand through his blond hair.

“But I did,” Cane said, stepping closer. “And you listened. You changed your mind. That’s what matters.”

Altair let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”

Cane’s expression softened, his aqua eyes searching Altair’s face. “You know, I wish you’d show this side of yourself more often. The real you. Not the asshole persona you hide behind.”

Altair’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What are you talking about?"

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Cane said, his voice low. “The way you just were with those kids. Genuine. Caring. That’s the Altair I…” He paused, swallowing hard. “That’s the Altair I’ve always known was in there.”

Altair’s breath hitched, his walls crumbling. “Cane…"

“I’m not done,” Cane said, stepping even closer, until they were barely a foot apart. “If we’re talking about being honest, then I need to say this. I’m in love with you, Altair. I have been for a long time. And I know you might not feel the same way, but I can’t keep pretending—”

“Stop,” Altair said, his voice breaking. He grabbed Cane’s hand, his grip desperate. “Just… stop.”

Cane’s heart sank. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“I love you, too,” Altair blurted out, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ve always been in love with you. I was just too scared to admit it. Too scared to lose you.”

Cane’s eyes widened, hope and disbelief warring on his face. “You… you mean it?”

Altair out a shaky laugh. “Yes. I’m in love with you, Cane. I’m so stupidly, terrifyingly in love with you, I don’t know what the hell to do about it.”

Cane’s smile was blinding. “I do.”

Cane closed the distance between them, his hands cupping Altair’s face. The first kiss was soft, tentative, like they were both afraid the moment would shatter. But then Altair’s hands found Cane’s waist, pulling him closer, and the kiss deepened into something hungry and desperate.

Years of longing and unspoken feelings poured out in that moment. When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, foreheads pressed together.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Cane whispered.

Altair smiled, a real one, unguarded and bright. “Same.”

They kissed again, this time with more urgency, hands tangling in hair and clutching at shirts. Cane’s back hit the cabin wall as Altair leaned into him, their bodies fitting together perfectly.

When they finally pulled apart, Cane grinned, his lips swollen and eyes bright. “So, what now?”

Altair smirked. “I didn’t assign us personal cabins for no reason.”

Cane laughed, lacing their fingers together. “Fair enough.”

As they walked toward the coaches' cabins, hand in hand, Altair felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: trust. Not just in Cane, though that was there too. Trust in Cane's intention to stick around, to see him through the ugly moments and the beautiful ones alike.

But more importantly, he trusted himself. Trusted himself to be vulnerable, to let someone in, to live honestly instead of hiding behind the walls he'd spent years building.

The old Altair would have sabotaged this moment, would have said something cruel to push Cane away. But standing here, their hands linked, Altair realized something: if Cane saw the real him, all the flaws and fears, and had still fallen for him, then maybe he wasn’t such a loser that wasn’t worth loving.

Back at the younger teens' cabin, the adrenaline that had carried them through the fight began to fade, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion. Win insisted on checking Demon over, his pale hands hovering uncertainly over the wounds beneath Demon's borrowed hoodie.

Demon pulled off the hoodie, revealing scratches already fading to faint pink lines.

“Whoa,” Win breathed, fingers ghosting over Demon’s ribs where a gash had been moments before. “You heal crazy fast.”

Demon shrugged, trying for casual despite the way his heart hammered. “Demigod heritage. Comes in handy.” His voice came out rougher than intended.

Win’s eyes lifted to meet his, something vulnerable flickering in their depths. “I was terrified when you came back like that. Covered in blood, barely standing.”

“I’m okay,” Demon said, catching Win’s hand. “But I’m really not okay with almost losing all of you tonight.”

Win’s breath caught. “Demon…”

“Win, I like you,” Demon blurted out. “A lot. And I know this is terrible timing, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Win’s smile was slow and genuine. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Demon’s grin was instant and bright. He cupped Win’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and kissed him. The kiss quickly became heated. When they pulled apart, both breathless, Demon rested his forehead against Win’s.

Across the cabin, Angel knelt beside Erik, his violet eyes fixed on the angry red burns circling Erik’s wrists. The silver rope had left its mark, even after the werewolf healing had done its work. The scars were pale against Erik’s dark skin, raised and shiny.

“They left scars,” Angel whispered, voice tight with guilt. “If we’d just been faster...”

“Hey.” Erik caught Angel’s hand, stilling his anxious movements. “You saved me. You and Win both.”

Angel’s jaw clenched, his eyes still fixed on the scars. The guilt was eating at him.

Erik watched him for a long moment, then said softly, "Would it make you feel better? If you drew blood from me?"

Angel shook his head. "Just like Win, I don’t need much blood. I would never—"

Erik sighed and shifted, cupping Angel’s face, his touch warm. “I know. And I’m fine, Ace. Really.”

Angel leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed. “I was terrified of losing you.”

“You didn’t,” Erik said, his hand raking through Angel’s pale locks. “Thanks for fighting for me.”

Angel’s eyes opened, violet meeting green. The intensity there made Erik’s breath catch.

“I’ll always fight for you,” Angel whispered.

Erik closed the distance between them, kissing Angel with a tenderness that made his chest ache. It was slow, deliberate, a promise.

When they pulled apart, Angel’s cheeks were flushed, his composure shattered.

“I really like you,” Erik said simply.

Angel’s smile was small but genuine. “I like you, too.”

Across the cabin, Demon caught Angel’s eye and grinned, giving him a thumbs-up. Angel rolled his eyes but smiled.

Opening their hearts to someone else felt like a bigger risk than fighting any darkness, but for the twins, it was a risk worth taking.