Chapter 78

Rowan nods once, slow and deliberate, then reaches for her glass and takes a small sip like she’s grounding herself before stepping into something important.

“Okay,” she says, setting it down. “I’ve got one.”

Naomi and Celeste both turn toward her.

Rowan looks between them, steady, calm—no accusation in her eyes, just intention.

“What do each of you need from this,” she asks, voice even, “to feel safe and chosen—not just wanted?”

The question settles into the room like a weight. Not heavy. Just real.

Celeste exhales first, rubbing her palms together like she’s warming up before a confession. “I need honesty,” she says quietly. “Even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially then.” She glances at Naomi, then back to Rowan. “I need to know that if I say something out loud, I won’t lose you for it.”

Naomi nods, listening.

Celeste continues, voice steadier now. “I need reassurance—not constant, not coddling—but knowing that I’m not going to be punished for being human. I’ve spent so long trying to manage outcomes instead of feelings, and I can’t do that here. Not if this is real.”

Rowan absorbs that, nodding once. “Okay.”

Then she turns to Naomi.

Naomi doesn’t answer right away. She leans back, fingers tapping lightly against her glass, eyes unfocused for a beat as she gathers herself.

“I need consistency,” she says finally. “Not perfection. Not certainty about the future. Just… consistency in words and actions lining up.” She looks directly at Celeste now. “I need to feel like I don’t have to earn clarity. Or beg for it.”

Celeste’s jaw tightens slightly, but she doesn’t interrupt.

Naomi continues, softer but no less firm. “I need to know that my feelings don’t get minimized because I’m strong or because I usually handle my shit. Being composed doesn’t mean I’m not affected.” She glances at Rowan briefly. “And I need mutual effort. I don’t want to be the emotional translator for everyone.”

Rowan lets out a slow breath. “That makes sense.”

Naomi adds, almost casually but with unmistakable sincerity, “Oh—and I need lots of hugs and kisses. Subtle touches. Hands on my back, fingers brushing mine. I need to feel like you want me—no matter what I’m doing, no matter what the moment looks like.”

The room goes quiet for a beat.

Rowan’s expression softens immediately, like that answer clicked something into place. Celeste’s shoulders drop, relief flickering across her face.

“That’s fair,” Rowan says gently. “Very fair.”

Naomi finishes, voice warm now instead of guarded. “Affection isn’t reassurance for me—it’s connection.”

Rowan nods again, thoughtful. “Okay.” She looks between them, a small, sincere smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you for answering that honestly.”

She picks up her glass, lifts it slightly. “That’s the kind of stuff that actually gives this a chance.”

Naomi clinks her glass gently against Rowan’s.

Celeste follows a beat later.

Naomi turns toward Rowan fully now, her voice softer, intentional.

“And you?” she asks. “Rowan—what do you need?”

Rowan blinks, caught off guard for half a second. Not by the question itself—but by being asked so directly. So cleanly. No guessing. No reading between lines.

She exhales, sets her glass down, and rubs her thumb along the edge of the table like she’s steadying herself.

“I need…” She pauses, then lets out a quiet laugh. “I need to not feel like the newest piece in something already moving.”

Both Naomi and Celeste still.

Rowan continues, eyes honest. “I need to feel like I’m being chosen, not added. Like this isn’t something I have to catch up to or prove myself worthy of.”

Naomi nods slowly. Celeste’s jaw tightens—not defensively, but with recognition.

“I need reassurance too,” Rowan admits. “But not in words alone. I need follow-through. I need to know that if things get messy or public or complicated, I’m not the one who gets sacrificed because it’s easier.”

That one lands.

Rowan swallows. “I’ve worked really hard for my career. My independence. My sense of self. I can’t disappear into someone else’s orbit—even if I love being close to it.”

Naomi leans in just a little. “That makes sense.”

Rowan glances at her, then back to Celeste. “I also need communication that doesn’t feel like I’m pulling teeth. If something changes, I want to know. If feelings shift, I want to hear it. I don’t want to guess where I stand.”

Celeste nods, slow and deliberate. “You deserve that.”

Rowan hesitates, then adds the last part—quieter, but no less important.

“And I need affection,” she says. “Not hidden. Not rationed. I need to be touched like you’re proud to want me. Like it’s not a secret.”

Naomi smiles softly at that. Not teasing. Not drunk. Just warm.

Rowan finally exhales, shoulders loosening. “That’s it. That’s what I need.”

For a moment, no one speaks.

Then Naomi reaches out—not rushing, not claiming—just placing her hand over Rowan’s.

“Thank you for telling us,” she says. “That took courage.”

Celeste leans closer too, her voice steady. “I hear you. All of it. And I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re an afterthought in this.”

Rowan nods, eyes a little glossy now—but smiling. “Okay,” she says quietly. “Then I’m in. Fully.”

Naomi squeezes her hand once. Gentle. Affirming.

“Good,” she says. “Because that’s exactly how we’re doing this.”

The knock comes sharp and sudden, cutting clean through the moment.

Celeste perks up first. “That’s gotta be the pizza,” she says, already pushing herself off the couch. “I’ll get it.”

As soon as she’s out of the room, Rowan moves on instinct—lining up three shot glasses again, the soft clink of glass on glass filling the space. She pours with an easy confidence, measured but generous.

Naomi doesn’t move.

She just watches Rowan.

Rowan feels it before she looks up. That steady, unblinking attention. She finishes pouring the last shot, sets the bottle down, then glances up with a small grin.

“What’s up, Nae?” she asks lightly. “You’re staring.”

Naomi doesn’t look away.

“I’ve never had you in my space like this before,” she says quietly. “Not like this.” Her voice softens, thoughtful. “And I’m just… imagining what it would look like day to day. What you look like here. All the time.”

Rowan’s hand pauses for half a beat. Then she picks up Naomi’s shot and holds it out to her, their fingers brushing as Naomi takes it.

“How does it look?” Rowan asks, eyes locked on hers.

Naomi exhales slowly, like she’s choosing the right words from somewhere deep in her chest.

“It looks like an open sunflower field,” she says. “Wide. Warm. Safe.”
She swallows, then continues, a little embarrassed but honest.
“It feels like the sun touching your skin for the first time in spring. Like a deep breath of fresh air after being inside too long.”

Rowan’s smile softens.

Naomi keeps going, hands gesturing vaguely as if trying to paint the feeling. “It’s like finally getting to lay down after a long day. Rain sounds in the background. A good book. A glass of wine. No pressure to be anything except… present.”

She shakes her head, a quiet laugh escaping her. “I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

Rowan doesn’t hesitate. “It makes sense to me.”

Her voice is steady. Certain.

Before Naomi can respond, the door opens again.

Celeste comes back in balancing pizza boxes and a bag of wings, eyes flicking immediately between them. She narrows her gaze playfully. “Okay,” she says slowly. “Why does Rowan look like she just got emotionally serenaded?”

Rowan laughs, setting the shots down. “She did.”

Naomi groans. “Hey—leave me alone. I can’t help it.”

Rowan grins wider, clearly enjoying herself. “She basically said I’m the sun, moon, and stars,” she teases, bumping Naomi’s shoulder lightly. “And that she can’t wait to see what this relationship brings. That she wants to know what loving me—and being loved by me—feels like.”

Celeste pauses, then smiles—soft, genuine. “Wow.”

Naomi lifts her shot defensively. “She asked!”

Rowan raises hers too, eyes bright. “And I liked the answer.”

Celeste sets the food down and reaches for her glass. “Well,” she says, amused and warm, “if that’s the energy tonight… I picked the right pizza.”

Naomi sets her shot glass down a little harder than necessary and exhales.

“Okay,” she says, rubbing her hands together like she’s bracing herself. “Just so you both know… I think you might get emotional drunk Naomi tonight.”

Rowan and Celeste glance at each other, then back at her.

Rowan squints. “Emotional how?”

Celeste tilts her head. “Yeah. That’s… concerning.”

Naomi lets out a breathy laugh that wobbles at the edges. “Because,” she says simply, “I kinda want to cry right now.”

Rowan chuckles. “Why do you wanna cry?”

Naomi points at her. “Okay—don’t laugh. And don’t judge me.”

Rowan presses her lips together, already softening. Celeste stays quiet, attentive.

Naomi’s voice drops, losing its joking edge.
“Guys… I haven’t been loved properly in a really long time.” She swallows, blinking hard. “Like—really seen. Really chosen. Really held. I think I forgot what it feels like.”

The room stills.

“And the thing is,” Naomi continues, staring at the floor for a moment before forcing herself to look up, “everyone always comes to me with their baggage. Their trauma. Their problems. Their emotions. I’m always the one listening, giving advice, being the shoulder to cry on. I’m the person people call when everything is falling apart—because that’s who everyone needs me to be.”

She laughs softly, but it’s tired.
“And I love being that person. I really do. But lately—honestly, even before this whole situation—I’ve been feeling like I was about to break.”

Rowan’s smile fades completely. Celeste’s hand tightens around her glass.

“I couldn’t breathe,” Naomi says quietly. “My emotions were all over the place, and half the time they didn’t even feel like mine. I was carrying so much that my body was literally screaming at me to slow down, to stop, to listen… and I didn’t.” She shakes her head. “I was on the verge of a downhill spiral, and I just kept telling myself I was fine.”

She hesitates, then admits, “It felt like I didn’t have anyone to talk to. Like everyone was always busy when I finally needed someone.”

Celeste immediately shakes her head. “I was never too busy.”

Naomi looks at her gently. “I know. But there were moments—real moments—where I’d text the group chat and say, ‘Guys, I need you,’ and no one would respond for hours. Someone was filming, someone was doing a photoshoot, someone was creating. And I get it—life happens. But after a while, I just… stopped asking.”

Her voice cracks.
“By the time someone did respond, I’d already convinced myself it was nothing. That I was being dramatic. When in reality, I was struggling. Bad.”

She wipes at her cheek, frustrated more than anything.
“I’m tired. Like—physically, emotionally, spiritually exhausted. I don’t know how much longer I could’ve kept carrying everything by myself.”

Rowan reaches out first, her fingers threading through Naomi’s hand, grounding and warm. Celeste shifts closer, wrapping an arm around Naomi’s shoulders without hesitation, pulling her into her side.

Rowan’s voice is steady, certain. “Hey. We hear you.”

Celeste nods, pressing her cheek lightly against Naomi’s temple. “We see you.”

Rowan squeezes Naomi’s hand. “And we’ve got you. Fully. Whatever support you need to get back to your peace—space, reassurance, rest, honesty—we’re here.”

Celeste adds softly, “You don’t have to carry everything alone anymore.”

Naomi exhales, finally letting herself lean into them, her shoulders sagging as if she’s been holding herself upright for years.

“Good,” she whispers, voice thick. “Because I really don’t want to anymore.”

Naomi suddenly squirms, laughing as she tries to wiggle out from between them.
“Okay—okay, get off of me,” she says, grinning. “Y’all are smothering me now.”

Rowan scoffs, not moving at all. “Excuse you, this is affection.”

Celeste snorts. “You literally said you needed hugs and touches.”

“I did,” Naomi says, still laughing, finally slipping free. “Not a full human sandwich.”

That breaks whatever heaviness was left.

They grab pizza boxes off the counter, settling back into the living room—cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the couch, grease on their fingers and zero shame about it. Naomi steals a slice off Celeste’s plate. Rowan steals a wing off Naomi’s. Absolute chaos.

Naomi pours another round of shots, lining them up again like it’s muscle memory.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she says when Rowan raises a brow. “Tonight is healing.”

Celeste raises her glass. “Questionable healing.”

Celeste shifts on the couch, lifting her glass slightly like she’s calling the floor.

“My turn,” she says.

Rowan and Naomi both look at her.

Celeste takes a breath, then turns her attention fully to Naomi. “So… how are you going to handle the press when it comes to us promoting the movie and being in public together?”

Naomi raises an eyebrow slightly, listening.

Celeste continues, more carefully now. “I know you’re used to being behind the scenes. And this”—she gestures between the three of them—”isn’t exactly subtle. Do you want us to say we’re all together? Or… what does that look like to you?”

Naomi exhales slowly, considering it. She doesn’t rush her answer.

“In the beginning,” she says thoughtfully, “I think it makes the most sense for it to just be you two publicly.” She lifts a hand when Rowan’s expression shifts. “Not because I’m ashamed. And not because I’m hiding.”

Rowan stays quiet, attentive. Celeste watches closely.

“It’s about timing,” Naomi continues. “The movie matters. Your careers matter. I don’t want our personal lives to become the headline and drown out the work you’ve both put into this.”

Rowan nods slowly. “Okay.”

Naomi softens. “But hear me when I say this—I’m not disappearing.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “I’ll be at every press conference. Every premiere. Every long-ass interview day where you’re exhausted and smiling through it anyway.”

Celeste lets out a quiet breath, relieved.

“I can work from anywhere,” Naomi adds with a shrug. “So I want to be present. Even if I’m not on the carpet with you at first, I’ll be right there—off to the side, backstage, in the audience. Wherever.”

Rowan tilts her head. “And later?”

Naomi meets her eyes without hesitation. “Eventually, I want to be introduced as your girlfriend.” She glances between both of them. “Your girlfriend. Not a secret. Not a rumor. Not an afterthought.”

Celeste’s chest rises with a slow inhale.

“I’m okay with patience,” Naomi finishes. “As long as we’re honest about where this is going.”

Rowan smiles then—small, genuine. “I like that answer.”

Celeste nods. “Me too.”

Rowan lifts her glass. “Look at us. Communicating like adults.”

Naomi laughs softly. “Don’t get used to it.”