Friday morning in the Pit carried a different hum. It wasn’t louder, exactly, but charged. Like the air before a summer storm. A few team members had already noticed the videographer setting up discreetly in a corner, the small camera perched on a tripod rather than a bulky rig. No lights, no booms, no production circus. Just one quiet lens.

  That had been Holly’s condition.

  She stood with her arms folded, watching as the videographer adjusted the focus. “No staging,” she reminded him firmly. “No asking her to repeat things, no ‘could you say that again but slower?’ None of that. You’re here to observe, not direct. Got it?”

  The videographer, a patient-looking man in his thirties, nodded quickly. “Got it. Fly on the wall.”

  “Exactly.” Holly gave a sharp nod, then scanned the Pit until she found her target.

  Ariel sat at a desk, one leg tucked under herself, a steaming mug of tea at her elbow. She was laughing at something Ravi had said, her hand pressed to her chest, cheeks flushed from the warmth of it. Even from across the room, Holly felt her heart squeeze. This was what people needed to see. Not a performance. Just her.

  She walked over, crouching beside Ariel’s chair so her voice didn’t carry. “Hey, Red.”

  Ariel swiveled toward her, eyebrows raised. “What’s up?”

  “Before we start,” Holly said gently, “I just want to check—are you okay with this?”

  Ariel’s eyes flicked toward the camera, then back to Holly. “Okay as in… not about to puke? Or okay as in… I won’t run screaming into the bathroom?”

  “Either. Both,” Holly said with a crooked grin. “I don’t want you doing this if it feels wrong.”

  Ariel fiddled with her pen, tapping it lightly against the edge of her desk. “It feels… weird. Having someone record me at work. But…” She took a breath, green eyes softening. “It’s not bad-weird. Just… new.”

  Holly reached out, covering Ariel’s hand with her own. “Then that’s enough. Just remember—you don’t owe anyone a performance. You don’t have to look at the camera, or think about it, or pretend to be anything. Just… be you. Laugh at Ravi’s dumb jokes. Drink your tea. Doodle monsters in the margins of your notes if you want. That’s what people want to see.”

  Ariel tilted her head, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “You make it sound easy.”

  “That’s because it is,” Holly said. She leaned in closer, her voice low and full of warmth. “You’re already incredible, Red. All you’ve got to do is… forget the camera’s there.”

  Ariel studied her for a long moment, then nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Okay. I can do that.”

  Holly squeezed her hand once more before standing. “That’s my girl.”

  As she walked back toward the edge of the Pit, Holly cast one last look over her shoulder. Ariel had already turned back to her team, gesturing animatedly at a code snippet on Ravi’s monitor, laughter bubbling around her. The camera’s red light blinked faintly, but Holly hardly noticed.

  Because Ariel wasn’t pretending. She was just being herself. And that was more than enough.

  The camera blinked quietly in its corner, its presence almost invisible among the shuffle of keyboards and the low hum of conversation. Holly had tucked herself off to the side, pretending to scroll her phone while really watching Ariel slip into her day as if nothing unusual was happening.

  Morning

  Ariel arrived at her desk with her second mug of tea, sliding into her chair with a soft grunt that drew chuckles from the team nearby. She leaned over Ravi’s shoulder to glance at his monitor.

  “Did you seriously name that variable ‘ButtMonster’?” she asked, green eyes wide with mock disapproval.

  Ravi smirked. “Temporary. I’ll change it before it goes live.”

  “You’re going to forget,” Ariel said, grinning as she scribbled a sticky note and slapped it on his desk: rename ButtMonster. Laughter bubbled across the row of desks. The camera caught it all—the leader of the team, not as a boss handing down directives, but as part of the rhythm.

  Late Morning

  In a small meeting room, Ariel stood with a dry-erase marker in hand, half her handwriting slanting sideways across the board. She doodled a blob-shaped creature with stubby legs, then circled it.

  “Okay, imagine this little guy appears when the player chops too much wood. Like… punishment for deforestation.” She turned, cheeks pink as laughter filled the room. “I’m not saying we’ll do it. I’m just saying—what if?”

  Someone added a mustache to the doodle. Ariel laughed, proclaiming that now they had to use it. The camera captured the moment she leaned against the board to catch her breath, her laughter infectious enough to spread across the team.

  Afternoon

  Later, she crouched beside a junior dev’s desk, green eyes narrowed at the tangle of code on the screen. “Okay, see this loop? That’s why it’s crashing. It’s eating itself alive.”

  The dev groaned. “I was staring at that for an hour.”

  “Because you were looking here,” Ariel said, tapping the wrong line. “But the problem’s here.” She grinned, pushing off her knees. “Don’t feel bad. I once shipped a QA build where a sheep asset was labeled ‘Carrot.’ Crashed the whole farm system.”

  The junior dev blinked, then laughed. “Seriously?”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “Seriously,” Ariel said, her tone fond. “And Jim never let me live it down. You’re in good company.”

  Late Afternoon

  Back in the Pit, Ariel gathered the group around the big whiteboard. Her sweater sleeves were pushed up, hair falling in loose waves around her flushed face. She scribbled bullet points with fast, messy handwriting, then turned to face the team.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. We’ve got three weeks until vertical slice. That means we can’t do everything. So, what’s the most fun we can make this, right now? That’s our north star.”

  The group chimed in with suggestions. Ariel listened intently, nodding, cracking the occasional joke. The camera lingered on the way she leaned against the table, arms crossed, her whole body angled toward her team. Not distant. Not authoritative. Present.

  By the time the day wound down, the board was covered in scribbles, the air full of tired laughter, and Ariel’s cheeks flushed with the effort of keeping up with everything. She flopped into her chair, hugging her tea mug to her chest like a lifeline.

  The camera caught the moment Holly slipped behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder. Ariel glanced up, soft smile curving her lips, her whole posture easing in that instant.

  No lines. No script. Just Ariel, tired and glowing, at home in the work she loved.

  The apartment was warm and quiet when they stepped inside, Ariel kicking her shoes off with a sigh that seemed to come from her bones. Holly set her bag on the counter, then moved into the kitchen with her usual ease, opening cabinets, humming faintly under her breath. Ariel trailed after her, still flushed from the day, her cheeks pink and her curls slightly mussed from the hours spent leaning over code and whiteboards.

  “What are we making?” Ariel asked, lowering herself onto one of the stools at the counter with a contented groan.

  “Something simple,” Holly said, tugging a pot from the cabinet. “Pasta. Garlic bread. And I snagged some of that olive tapenade you like.”

  Ariel leaned her chin into her hand, watching her fiancée bustle around. “That sounds heavenly.”

  Holly glanced over her shoulder, catching the dreamy look in Ariel’s eyes, and grinned. “You’re wiped.”

  “I’m good wiped,” Ariel corrected softly. “It was… kind of fun, actually. The camera, I mean. I thought I’d hate it, but once I forgot it was there…” She shrugged. “It just felt like a normal day. A really good day.”

  “That’s exactly what I wanted.” Holly tipped chopped garlic into the pan, the sizzle filling the room. “Not you performing. Just you being you. That’s what people will connect to.”

  Ariel’s lips curved in a shy smile. “You make it sound like I’m magic or something.”

  “You are,” Holly said simply, and when Ariel blushed, she added, “Besides, I saw you out there today. Laughing, doodling dumpling monsters, helping Ravi untangle his spaghetti code. You light up that whole room, Red. And now, everyone else will get to see it too.”

  Ariel ducked her head, fiddling with the ring on her finger, but she didn’t argue.

  By the time the pasta was done, the kitchen smelled of garlic and basil. Holly carried the steaming pot to the counter, and Ariel reached for the plates, but Holly shook her head. “Sit. You earned it.”

  Ariel laughed, sinking back onto her stool. “You’re ridiculous.”

  Holly twirled a forkful of pasta, blew on it, then held it out across the counter. “Open up.”

  Ariel hesitated just long enough for her blush to deepen, then leaned forward, lips parting to accept the bite. She chewed, eyes fluttering shut. “Mmm. Okay, that’s actually perfect.”

  “I know,” Holly teased, spinning up another forkful for herself. “Now tell me—what was your favorite part of today?”

  “Honestly?” Ariel swallowed, licking a bit of sauce from her lip. “When everyone started adding their nonsense to the idea board. I felt… proud, I guess. Like maybe I actually made the day lighter for everyone.”

  “You did,” Holly said, gently offering her another bite. Ariel leaned forward again without hesitation this time, smiling as Holly fed her. “That’s what this whole campaign is about. Showing that leadership doesn’t have to be about barking orders or crunching numbers. It can be about laughter. About remembering why games are fun.”

  Ariel chewed thoughtfully, then gave Holly a lopsided grin. “So I just keep being myself?”

  “Exactly.” Holly reached across the counter, brushing a strand of hair from Ariel’s face. “And I’ll handle the rest.”

  For a moment, Ariel just looked at her, eyes bright and soft. Then she reached for her fork, twirled up a bite, and held it out across the counter. “Your turn.”

  Holly leaned in, letting Ariel feed her this time, the moment so domestic and sweet that she thought her chest might burst.

  Dinner carried on like that—bites traded back and forth, laughter bubbling between them, conversation circling between work and wedding plans and what movie to watch after. By the time the plates were empty, Ariel’s shoulders had loosened, the last of the day’s nerves slipping away.

  And Holly thought: if the world saw even a fraction of this—Ariel’s joy, her warmth, her love—it would understand everything.

  The dishes were stacked neatly in the sink, the kitchen lights dimmed to a cozy glow, and the two of them had migrated to the couch with blankets and the quiet comfort of a Friday evening stretching ahead. Ariel settled against the cushions, her belly pleasantly full, sweater tugged slightly tight across her middle. Holly sprawled across her, head pillowed on Ariel’s soft belly, one arm draped lazily over her hip.

  The only sound was the low hum of the heater and the occasional rustle of the blanket when Holly shifted to get more comfortable. Ariel absently threaded her fingers through Holly’s long blonde hair, the strands smooth between her fingertips.

  “You’re amazing, you know that?” Ariel murmured.

  Holly tilted her head just enough to look up, violet and hazel eyes catching the warm light. “Oh? What brought this on?”

  “Watching you today,” Ariel said softly. “The way you handled everything with Abigail. The campaign. Making sure I felt safe. You just… you always know exactly what I need. Before I even realize I need it.”

  Holly smiled, cheek pressing deeper into Ariel’s belly as if to claim her spot. “That’s because I’m a genius.”

  Ariel laughed, the sound bubbling up until her stomach shifted under Holly’s head. “No, seriously.” Her hand trailed gently down to cup the side of Holly’s face. “You make me brave. I never thought I’d be comfortable being the center of attention. But with you beside me, it doesn’t feel scary. It feels like… I can just be myself, and somehow that’s enough.”

  Holly’s smile softened, and she nuzzled into Ariel’s palm. “It’s more than enough. It’s everything.”

  Ariel’s fingers slid back into her hair, combing slowly. “You turned my whole world upside down, Hols. In the best way. You pulled me out of that coffee shop corner and made me realize I was worth loving. And now you’re out here making sure the rest of the world sees me the way you do.”

  “Maybe not exactly the way I do,” Holly teased gently, eyes glinting. “If they knew half of what I think when I look at you, this campaign would have to go on an entirely different platform.”

  Ariel’s cheeks flushed, but she laughed, swatting lightly at her shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “I’m yours,” Holly corrected, voice low and certain.

  They fell into a comfortable silence, Ariel stroking Holly’s hair as Holly traced idle circles against the curve of her hip. The world outside could wait. Tonight was just theirs: warmth and the quiet magic of being loved.

  Ariel exhaled a long, contented sigh. “I could stay like this forever.”

  Holly murmured, half-drowsy, “Good. Because that’s the plan.”