Letting You Go in Alaska

Chapter 6: Adfectus

Elara's Pov

I've seen him smile.

The thought doesn't leave as easily as it should. It lingers quietly at the back of my mind, softer than the laughter around me, but somehow more persistent. It's strange how something so small—so simple—can stay like this, repeating itself without asking for attention.

We only met yesterday.

And yet, I notice it.

The difference.

The smile he had before—the one on the plane, the one when we first spoke—it existed, but it never stayed long. It felt careful, like something measured before being shown. Not fake... but not entirely free either. Like he was aware of it, controlling it, making sure it didn't reveal too much.

But today...

That smile earlier, when he laughed after we fell into the snow—it wasn't like that.

It wasn't suppressed.

It wasn't forced.

It wasn't something he felt obligated to show.

It just... happened.

And for some reason, that matters more than I expect it to.

We stand side by side again, the slope stretching endlessly in front of us. The cold air brushes against my cheeks, sharper now, but easier to ignore. My hands tighten slightly around my poles—not from nerves, but from habit, something to ground myself in the moment.

I glance at him.

He's looking at the horizon again.

Still quiet.

But not distant.

Not like before.

"It's fun, isn't it?" I ask, my voice softer than usual, almost careful. "Enjoying life like this... not thinking about anything else."

For a second, I wonder if I said too much.

If I crossed into something I shouldn't have.

Then he smiles.

Small—but real.

He doesn't look at me immediately. His gaze stays on the horizon, like he's thinking about it properly before answering.

"...yeah," he says, exhaling lightly. "It is."

There's a pause.

A quiet one.

Then, a little softer—

"...a genuine kind of happiness."

The words settle between us, simple but honest in a way that doesn't try to impress or hide anything.

And somehow... that makes them heavier.

I feel something shift in my chest.

Not discomfort.

Not confusion.

Just... awareness.

I smile without thinking.

And before I can overanalyze it, I reach out and grab his wrist.

"Then come on," I say, a little brighter this time. "Let's not waste it."

He blinks, clearly caught off guard—but he doesn't pull away.

He lets me pull him.

That alone is enough to make me smile a little more than I should.

We push forward together, skis carving lightly against the snow as we rejoin the slope. The movement comes easier now—not perfect, but familiar enough to feel natural.

Behind us, the others follow.

Sophie is already talking again before she even catches up. "Okay, I swear I'm better now. That first fall? Warm-up. That didn't count."

"It definitely counted," Laine replies, gliding past her with ease.

"It did not."

"It did."

Hannah laughs softly, shaking her head. "You were on the ground longer than you were standing."

"That's not true—okay, maybe a little—but still."

I let out a small laugh, the sound slipping out naturally.

And for a moment, everything just... flows.

We ski again.

Not seriously.

Not competitively.

Just enough.

Sophie still stumbles occasionally, though she insists she's improving. Hannah stays close to her, steady and patient, laughing whenever Sophie exaggerates her frustration. Laine moves ahead and circles back, like she's making sure no one ends up too far behind.

And Hale...

He stays.

He doesn't withdraw.

He doesn't step away like he might have before.

He reacts. He responds. He laughs—quietly, yes—but genuinely enough that it doesn't feel fragile anymore.

And I notice.

More than I should.

My gaze drifts back to him more often than necessary. Not enough to be obvious... but enough that I'm aware of it.

There's something about the way he is right now—like he's allowing himself to be here, even if just for a while.

And for reasons I don't fully understand... I want to protect that.

Even if it's temporary.

Even if it doesn't last.

We eventually slow to a stop, the cold settling deeper into our clothes, our breaths visible in the air.

"I'm starving," Sophie declares immediately, placing a hand dramatically over her stomach.

"You're always starving," Laine replies.

"This is different. This is post-ski starvation."

"That's not a real thing."

"It is today."

Hannah laughs, her voice soft. "What do you want to eat?"

Sophie turns without hesitation. "Alaskan king crab."

Of course.

No one argues.

Not seriously.

It feels like the natural next step.

The ride back is quieter.

Not silent—but softer.

The kind of quiet that comes after something enjoyable, where no one feels the need to fill every second with noise. Sophie still talks, but slower now, her energy settling just a little. Hannah responds here and there, her voice calm. Laine drives, steady as always.

And beside me—

Hale.

Closer than before.

Not in a way that feels intentional.

Just... natural.

We don't talk for a while.

And somehow, it doesn't feel awkward.

It just feels... comfortable.

By the time we arrive at the restaurant, the warmth inside greets us immediately, wrapping around the cold that still lingers on our skin. The place is lively but not overwhelming, filled with soft conversations and the faint scent of seafood.

Sophie is already excited, practically vibrating in her seat the moment we settle in.

"This is it," she says, almost glowing as she looks around. "This is the moment."

"We just got here," Laine replies dryly, not even looking up from the menu.

"Exactly."

We sit, order, and wait—but it doesn't feel like waiting. The conversation moves easily, drifting from one topic to another without effort, overlapping in places, soft in others, like no one feels the need to rush anything. By the time the food arrives, the table is already warm with voices.

Sophie leans forward the second the crab is set down. "Oh my god..." she breathes, like she's been personally delivered a miracle.

Hannah laughs, covering her mouth slightly. "You're being dramatic again."

"I'm not," Sophie insists, eyes still locked on the food. "This is important."

"It's food," Laine says.

"It's important food."

I shake my head, smiling despite myself, then glance at Hale.

He's focused on the crab leg in front of him, studying it like it's some kind of puzzle. His movements are careful—too careful—like he's trying to figure out the right way to do it without making a mess or breaking it wrong.

"...do you need help?" I ask.

He glances at me, then back at the crab, letting out a small breath. "...maybe."

I shift a little closer, showing him how to c***k it properly, guiding his hands just enough for him to understand the motion without taking over completely.

"Like this," I say, keeping my tone light.

He follows, slower at first, then a little more certain. "...oh," he murmurs, almost to himself. "That makes more sense."

"There," I add with a small nod. "You've got it."

"...thanks."

This time, when he smiles, it isn't just there—it reaches. His eyes follow, softening in a way that doesn't feel restrained or measured. It's open, unguarded... real.

And I realize, a second too late, that I've been looking at him for longer than I should.

Long enough for everything else to blur at the edges.

Until I feel it.

A gaze.

I turn slightly—and there's Laine, already looking at me. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to. There's a quiet understanding in her expression that lands immediately.

My face warms before I can stop it. I look away too quickly, lowering my gaze to the crab in front of me like it suddenly demands my full attention.

Peel. c***k. Focus.

Don't look up.

Laine lets out a quiet chuckle.

"Something funny?" Sophie asks, narrowing her eyes.

Laine shakes her head lightly, the hint of a smile still there. "Nothing. I just remembered something."

"What?" Hannah asks, curious.

"A video," Laine says, calm as ever. "A cat staring at a puppy for too long... then panicking when the owner noticed."

There's a brief pause.

Sophie blinks. "...what?"

Hannah tilts her head, confused but smiling. "That's random."

"It was funny," Laine replies simply.

"...okay."

They move on, the conversation shifting as easily as before, but I don't—not really. Because I know exactly what she meant, and it only makes everything worse.

I try to focus on the crab again, but my thoughts keep slipping, drifting back to that moment. I glance up—just for a second—and catch Hale laughing at something Sophie said.

His shoulders relax as he does, and his eyes... they're smiling again.

Not careful.

Not guarded.

Just real.

I look back down quickly, but this time I'm smiling too, the warmth lingering a little longer than it should.

Because maybe—just for a while—this is enough.

And maybe... even if we're still strangers, I can help make it last a little longer.

***

By the time we leave the restaurant, the cold slips back in around us, sharper than before—but the warmth from earlier doesn't quite fade.

It lingers in the way we walk together, in the way no one feels the need to rush.

"So what's next?" Sophie asks immediately, already stepping ahead of us, turning around mid-step. "We can't just end it there. That was too good."

"You just ate," Laine says, pulling her coat tighter as she follows. "Give your stomach a break."

"That's not how vacations work," Sophie argues. "We need a plan."

"Or," Hannah adds softly, "we don't plan and just... see where we end up?"

"That's dangerous," Sophie says.

"That's fun," I reply, smiling a little.

Sophie points at me like I just proved her point. "See? This is why we need structure."

Laine exhales, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "There's a river not too far from here," she says casually. "We could go fishing. It's simple. Quiet. No thinking required."

Sophie pauses. "...do we at least get something out of it?"

"If you catch something."

"That sounds like work."

"It is."

Hannah laughs softly. "I kind of want to try it."

I glance at Hale briefly, then back at the group. "Same," I admit. "It sounds... nice."

Sophie looks between all of us, then sighs dramatically. "Fine. But if I get bored, I'm blaming all of you."

"No one's stopping you from cheering," Laine replies.

"I will be the best cheerleader," Sophie declares.

And just like that, without any real discussion, it becomes the plan.

Now, standing here at the river's edge, I finally understand what Laine meant.

The river runs quieter than I expect, its current moving steadily beneath a thin layer of ice forming along the edges.

It isn't frozen completely—not yet. Water slips through where it can, flowing around what it cannot hold, and for a moment, I find myself just watching it, a little too focused on something so simple.

It feels... alive in a way I didn't expect.

Cold air brushes against my face, sharper here than it was on the slopes, and I instinctively pull my sleeves down further, rubbing my hands together for warmth.

"This is it?" Sophie asks, squinting at the river like it personally disappointed her. She crosses her arms dramatically. "We just... stand here?"

"That's how fishing works," Laine answers without looking at her, already focused on setting up her rod with practiced ease.

"That's boring," Sophie groans.

"That's patience."

"That's boring patience!"

Hannah lets out a soft laugh, crouching slightly as she peers into the water. "So the fish just... bite it?" she asks, genuinely curious.

"Eventually," Laine replies.

Hannah tilts her head. "Eventually sounds long."

"It is."

"I don't like that."

"You don't have to," Laine says calmly. "You're not the one fishing."

"I'm supporting you emotionally!" Sophie insists, placing a hand over her chest.

Laine exhales lightly. "That's not needed."

"It is needed."

I can't help but smile at that, the warmth of the moment settling despite the cold, before I glance down at my own fishing rod.

And just like that—

my confidence disappears.

I adjust my grip, trying to copy what I vaguely remember from watching Laine, but it feels off. Too stiff. Too awkward. When I try to cast, the line barely moves before dropping into the water like it gave up halfway.

"...okay," I mutter, scrunching my nose slightly. "That was... not it."

I try again.

Still wrong.

From the corner of my eye, I see Sophie watching me now, hands clasped together.

"You got this!" she cheers.

"That didn't help," I reply, trying not to laugh.

Then I feel it.

A gaze.

I turn slightly.

Hale.

He's watching me—not in a judging way, but in that quiet, observant way of his, like he's already figured out what I'm doing wrong.

I meet his eyes.

And without thinking too much about it, I give him a look.

Help me.

Please.

He pauses for a second before letting out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly.

"...need help?" Hale asks, his tone light but gentle.

"Yes," I answer immediately.

No hesitation.

None.

He sets his rod aside and walks over, stopping just close enough that I become very aware of his presence.

"Okay," he says. "First—your grip."

When he reaches for my hands, I don't expect the way my breath catches.

His fingers adjust mine carefully, guiding rather than correcting harshly. His touch is steady, warm even in the cold, and it makes it a little harder to focus than it should.

"Relax your wrist a bit," he adds, glancing down at my hands. "You're holding it too tight."

"Oh... okay," I say quietly, trying to follow.

"Like this," he continues, shifting my fingers slightly. "Yeah, that's better."

Then he steps just behind me.

Closer.

My shoulders stiffen for a second before I force myself to relax.

"Now the cast," Hale says, his voice right beside me. "Don't overthink it."

His hand moves over mine again, guiding the motion.

"And... cast."

I follow through.

This time, the line moves smoothly, cutting through the air before landing properly in the water.

"...oh!" I blink, surprised. "That actually worked."

Hale lets out a small chuckle. "Told you."

It's a simple moment.

But my heart is beating way too fast.

And I'm suddenly very aware of how close he still is.

"...now you wait," he says, stepping back just enough to give me space again.

I nod quickly. "Right. Waiting. I can do that."

The water moves quietly in front of me. For a moment, nothing happens, and I start to wonder if I somehow messed it up again.

Then—

it tugs.

"Wait—wait—something's happening!" I say, panicking slightly.

"Don't panic," Hale says immediately, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Just reel it in. Slowly."

"I am reeling it in!" I protest.

"You're rushing it."

"I don't know what I'm doing!"

"I know," he says, laughing softly now. "That's why I'm telling you."

I huff, but follow his instructions anyway, forcing myself to slow down.

And then—

it breaks the surface.

A fish.

My eyes widen. "I—"

"I got it!"

The excitement bursts out of me before I can stop it, and I turn to him instantly, grabbing onto him without thinking.

"I got it!"

Hale catches me on instinct, steadying me as I bounce slightly from the excitement. He laughs—soft, surprised, but real.

"Yeah," he says, looking at me with that same warmth. "You did. Congratulations."

For a second, I just stay there.

Then—

"—ahem."

I freeze.

Slowly, I turn my head.

Sophie is grinning.

Hannah is trying not to laugh.

Laine is just... watching.

My brain catches up.

My arms.

His hands.

How close we are.

I pull away immediately, nearly stumbling back. "I—I caught it..." I mumble, suddenly very interested in the fish again.

"...yeah," Hale replies, scratching the back of his neck slightly. "You did. Good job."

"Oh my god," Sophie says, breaking into laughter. "That was adorable."

"Sophie!" I protest.

Hannah giggles softly. "It was kind of cute..."

"It was just a hug!" I insist.

"Of course it was," Laine says, a faint smirk on her lips.

"Because I caught a fish!"

"Very emotional fish," Sophie adds.

"That's not—" I stop, covering part of my face. "You're making it worse."

Hannah smiles gently. "It was a really good catch, Elara."

"Thank you," I say quickly.

Sophie leans closer. "You hugged him like you won a competition."

"I was excited!"

"Very excited."

I let out a small groan, turning away slightly, but when I glance back—

Hale is still smiling.

Still here.

Still part of this.

And somehow, that matters more than the embarrassment.

I let out a quiet breath, my shoulders relaxing as I look down at the river again.

Maybe this is what it is.

Not perfect.

Not planned.

But real.

And maybe... just maybe...

that's enough.

*****

End of Chapter 6