Words: 1409

It was only early afternoon.

At home, Amy and Hamilton let the warmth and coziness seep into them. Though it wasn't long of a walk from the parking spot to the home, it had gotten chilly outside and the brisk air whipped around by wind was cold enough to get Amy sniffling and shivering.

The heat of their moment back in the rink had dissolved into a silence between them, a tugging sensation they both felt in the pits of their stomach, making the car ride a struggle for both. To not address the attraction that settled on top their shoulders like a fog of sexual tension, Hamilton felt antsy and anxious to get closure.

He needed to know if her willingness to kiss him meant her willingness to consider him as a potential boyfriend. She had agreed to the date. Then there was that low-key flirting and hand holding, that moment they had in the rink. If those weren't signs, he didn't know what were.

In the living room, assembled conveniently well, were the boys. All five of them. With the exception of Dan and Atticus, they were glaring quite harshly at Hamilton, who bristled at the judgmental gazes.

Obliviously, Amy stepped into the living room and with a smile, greeted them, "What are you guys doing, sitting here?"

Dan and Atticus saw the spark in the air crackle between the guys before Amy did and they shared a glance and promptly darted out of the vicinity.

"Did you really go out with Hammer?" Jonah asked, looking expectantly at Amy, hoping that she would excuse her absence.

"Yeah, it was great!" Amy revealed, perhaps a little breathlessly for their liking.

Her cheeks, are they flushed from the cold or did something happen?

Ian narrowed his eyes, and in his sickly sweetest voice, inquired as to how the date went. He watched suspiciously as Amy's eyes darted to Hamilton who smiled slyly.

"We uh...just skated, that's all."

The British queried, "'That's all' is it?"

Amy shrunk away from his gaze. "Yeah, I mean, it wasn't for long though."

"Oh? Pray tell, why was that?"

"Uh–it just–"

Hamilton stepped in dramatically, "Poor Ames here caught a cold, am I right?" He had his hands on her shoulders, giving her a squeeze to signal her part.

With a rather convincing cough, Amy nodded, even leaning back on Hamilton and feigning sudden weakness by holding his hands in hers for leverage.

He cleared his throat. "So I will escort milady upstairs and get her rested."

He held up a hand, "No, no, she'll be fine with just me," when he saw the guys make a move to get up from the couch.

Ushering Amy up the stairs, Hamilton paused outside at the top. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. "You really do have a cold Ames. You're hot."

Amy turned around to face him, a smug smile and raised eyebrow telling him all he needed to know.

"I mean yeah, you're hot, but you're also feverish. You actually need to sleep, babe."

"Babe?" Amy coughed and tried to cover it up by patting his chest reassuringly. "I'm not that tired." But she was interrupted mid-sentence by a yawn. Sheepishly, she grinned at Hamilton whose expression screamed I-told-you-so, allowing him to guide her into her room.

She smiled up at Hamilton as he tucked her in. Through her soft laughter, she said, "This is weird, you're being all gentle."

He glanced at her, giving her an odd look before he leaned down, breath hot on her neck, and asked in the huskiest voice she's ever heard out of him, "Would you rather me be rough?"

Amy's eyes widened and she felt her insides combust, the ashes of her sanity numbing her mind. She yanked the covers over her head and tried to calm her everything.

That escalated so fast. Someone get help, I'm having breathing problems.

She heard a chuckle before the blanket was peeled off her face. Hamilton pressed his hand to her forehead again.

"I'll go get something for your fever. Try sleeping, okay?"

Amy nodded meekly, still on hyperdrive from his sinful deed.

She heard the door click shut and sighed a breath of relief. Come to think of it, she was feeling a bit sluggish now that the high of ice-skating has come down. The occurrences in the rink happened in such rapid succession that it caught up to her now, and Amy felt the weariness set in.

Her eyelids began shutting, despite her willing herself to stay awake and well (it was only early afternoon), but her mind refused. Her cough was sawing at her throat, so her motivation to stay up was dwindling, overcome by the need to rest and forget.

Hopefully she'll forget the shamefully frisky things she did today. Actually, she corrected herself – the past few days have been hectic and different. She wasn't used to the change in pace and lifestyle. This wasn't her. It worried her how much her actions reflected the way she was deep down; hormonal, hyper, and a thriller.

She distinctly heard the door open again just as she was about to shut her eyes and allow herself to relax, but opened them again to see Hamilton come in.

He was carrying a tub of water and draped over his arm was a face towel. He shut the door with his foot, and waddled over to the side of her bed.

Amy smiled appreciatively up at Hamilton.

"Thanks for this, Ham."

Reaching down, he swept a stray wisp of her bangs back into place and smiled just as sweetly back, "Anything, Ames."

She felt her heart skip a beat. Literally. She had to close her eyes and take a breather to calm herself. When did he become so invested in me?

A part of her knew he was interested in her appearance. Honestly, she was too. The makeover did her a 180, but Amy was surprisingly reluctant to admit that that was all that drew the Holt to her. The majority of her fought for dominance and wanted acknowledgement from Hamilton that they were romantically a "thing."

Amy slumped further into the bedding. This is hard. Was it always this hard? She quickly dismissed it as fleeting conflict when Hamilton placed a cool, damp towel on her forehead, the coldness soothing the tension on her head. She sighed. She would dwell on the matter later.

Her eyes slipped shut again and this time, Hamilton didn't bother waking her. Her consciousness faded away, and he became a fuzzy, indistinct figure in the background.

*
*
*
*

Amy's body jerked awake, surprised into consciousness by a loud metallic clatter. She sat up groggily in bed, her heart beating frantically at the sudden noise.

"What?" She asked mid-yawn, her eyes squinted as she glanced around her room. They widened in shock.

There, standing by her bedside was Hamilton with his fist raised, the other fist clutching the collar of Jake's shirt, nearly lifting him up.

Amy gasped. Quickly throwing the covers off of herself, she got up to put a hand on Hamilton's shoulder. He glanced at her from the side and unclenched his fist. He let go of Jake and looked away, but his breaths were heavy and his eyes were angry.

She rubbed his back gently, "How about you go and get some air?"

Hamilton looked back at her and his stormy blue eyes softened to uncertainty. With another prompting look, Amy got him out the door.

When the door shut again, she turned to face Jake, who was watching the exchange apathetically. His poker face shifted once he made eye contact with Amy. His jaw set and his dark eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly in suspicion.

Amy stared at him crossly. "What happened?"

He remained silent. The tension was thick, neither of them saying a word.

Jake, being the more impatient of the two, spoke up. "How do you feel about Hamilton?" He observed her carefully, searching her expression for any giveaways, but years of experience has tempered her acting skills.

"I'm not obligated to tell you that," Amy replied stubbornly. "Now, are you going to tell me what just happened? Because I'm pretty sure I have the right."

Jake looked sternly at her before slumping in defeat. He plopped down on her bed, burying his face into his hands. When he looked up, she was ready for an explanation.

He sighed.

A/N: If y'all liked it, vote? Thank you~