All Chapters of Fluid: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Hawk leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, watching Quill wrestle with a stubborn IKEA manual. The kitchen smelled faintly of coffee and sawdust from the makeshift furniture projects they’d started but hadn’t finished. Their new place was beginning to feel like home... Kind of. It felt like a chaotic mess more than anything at that moment. “We need bedding,” Quill muttered, tossing the manual onto the table with a resigned groan. His dark hair fell over his eyes, but he didn’t bother pushing it back. Hawk just smiled at how frustrated Quill was over something that small. “Something that doesn’t feel like sandpaper or retains the sweat smell that hovers around you constantly. And plates that match. Or, you know, plates at all. Silverware would be fantastic as well. You know, metal ones, not plastic. I mean, we are adults, right?”Hawk smirked and sipped from his mug. “You planning a dinner party or something?”Quill shot him a look. “I just want to eat off something that i

Conversation filled the apartment, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter from Lilly on the speakerphone. It offered no hint of the storm churning beneath Hawk's skin. He tried to focus on the weights he was lifting, but his attention was split. Across the room, Quill sat reclined on the couch, flipping through a sketchbook. Lilly's laugh came through the speakerphone he'd propped on the coffee table. He was describing a project idea with excitement as Lilly cleaned her office downstairs. Hawk adjusted his grip on the barbell. He pressed it upward, his muscles straining under the weight. He'd brought the equipment up from the gym days ago, unwilling to leave Quill alone for long. Each rep felt like a battle against his thoughts, which circled endlessly around the easy camaraderie he heard between Quill and Lilly."You've ruined your entire schedule now," Quill teased.Hawk set the barbell back onto its stand with a sharp clank. "I'll work it out. Sometimes you have to break

Hawk’s shoulders slammed against the damp, cracked concrete wall as a fist collided with his ribs. The dull ache of hours past was nothing compared to the fresh, sharp agony spreading through him now. Blood trickled from his lip, the copper tang mingling with the mildew and sweat clinging to the air. They’d kept him upright for nearly five hours, the chains digging deeper into his wrists each time his knees buckled. The Deltas worked in typical precise, brutal shifts, ensuring the punishment never stopped for more than a moment.The whip cracked again with a sound that seemed to echo off the walls. The leather struck his already raw back, and the skin tore under the relentless assault. Pain seared across his shoulders and spine. Still, he didn’t cry out. The defiance in his silence seemed to irritate them more than any words could have.“Stubborn bastard,” one of them sneered, his boots crunching over the dirt-caked floor as he circled Hawk. A steel baton slammed into Hawk’s side. Hi

Hawk moved in silence, blood dripping from his fur in thick, wet streaks that mapped a path of everything he'd survived to get here. Every step across the landing sent pain cutting up through his legs, but he welcomed it. He wore it like proof. His body had taken more than it ever had before, had broken in places that would scar permanently, and yet it carried him up one more level. The stairs groaned beneath his weight, old wood creaking under his sheer size.He was bigger than before, heavier from weeks of pushing his body past its limit, built for this exact moment whether he'd known it or not. His claws curled hard against the steps, carving shallow lines into the wood without meaning to.He reached the top. Paused. Stared down the hall.No guards. Not even a whisper of breath on the air. No shifting shadows. No footsteps. Nothing.Just the door at the end. Cracked open. A glow from a desk lamp bleeding out through the gap. No commands being shouted. No smug Delta watching the ha

Hawk's shift came slower, more deliberate, each crack of bone echoing through the trees. His body moved like it was being reassembled piece by piece. Blood still covered him, and each tremble beneath the skin said he was running on sheer will alone. When it finished, he stood tall, barely steady, his chest rising hard with every breath. Quill didn't say anything. He couldn't. His chest tightened under the weight of it all. The sight of Hawk standing upright, blood-soaked and trembling, sparked relief so sharp it nearly took him down. But beneath it was something else, something that cracked him open in a way he didn't know how to brace against. It wasn't fear. It wasn't awe. It was the raw, staggering realization that the boy he loved had become something else entirely. He stepped forward. One foot, then the other. His knees quivered beneath the effort. The ache in his bones warned him to stop, but he couldn't. He had to see. Had to feel that Hawk was real. Heat radiated from Hawk,