A/N: In light of the protests and the horrific actions of the police – currently and historically – I wanted to take the time to comment on the impact of those events on this story. First of all, I wholeheartedly support Black Lives Matter and ALL of the protests, including (and especially) defunding the police. Cops are bastards who use their power to hurt, oppress and murder people. It's a racist institution that needs to be dismantled for so many reasons.

So, why is this story heavily feature the police if I feel that way? Honestly, it wasn't originally going to. Sting wasn't supposed to be a major character in 'how to become a wildfire' and he didn't have a backstory when I started to write him. Then he started to become a source of safety and comfort for Gray; someone he could trust to help if he needed it. It was an ideal – someone who was powerful enough to change things, but kind enough to use that power for good.

Sting's story here is one of someone using their trauma to help other people. It's not representative of real life, and I recognize that this isn't the kind of relationship that police have with people. It's not the kind of relationship that I've had with the police either. It's wishful thinking.

I had considered not finishing the story, but it's important to me, so I've decided on this, instead. I'm going to continue to follow the plot of 'how to become a wildfire,' and then Sting's going to make some different decisions that will involve him leaving the police force and focusing on working with people and trauma instead.

In addition, for each remaining chapter, I'm going to donate $20 to Black Lives Matter.

home \ ˈhōm
noun
: a familiar or usual setting:congenial environment
also : the focus of one's domestic attention

.

xvii
winter
age twenty-four

.

Sting proposes to Rogue completely by accident.

"I can't believe it's been five years." Sting stares down at the sobriety chip in his hand, running his thumb over the raised 'V.' They're sitting up in the tree house in Rogue's parent's back yard, wrapped in a blanket to stave off the chilly night air.

"You've come so far," Rogue says, kissing Sting's cheek and shuffling closer to him. Sting returns the kiss, then looks out across the yard toward the house. The lights are off – it's just past midnight – but Sting remembers the view from when he'd slept up here as a little kid. He'd stay hidden, watching Rogue's mom kiss his forehead and Rogue's dad help him with homework, wondering why his dad didn't love him the same way.

The memories ache. It's worse than usual today, tugging at his stomach and making him feel untethered, and he grips the sobriety chip a little harder. Then Rogue's hand closes around his and he runs his thumb gently across Sting's wrist.

Sting exhales, turning his hand and sliding their fingers together so that the coin is pressed between their palms like a promise. Rogue leans in and kisses Sting's nose, and the memories of being lost and lonely are replaced with a quiet, gentle affection.

"I love you," Rogue says softly. "And I'm so proud of you." He leans back and gazes at Sting, lips curved up in the smile that Sting's loved for so long. It's the same smile he'd give Sting when they were little – when he'd pop his head over the edge of the tree fort, dragging up a bag of snacks and making Sting feel safe.

"I love you, too." Sting reaches out and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind Rogue's ear. "Thank you."

Rogue shakes his head, turning and pressing a kiss to Sting's palm. "You did all the work," he insists.

Sting shakes his head. "No, for…" He tips his head back to stare at the constellations through the roof of the tree fort. He feels six and eight and eleven and twenty-four all at the same time, and all of those versions of him are deeply, desperately in love with Rogue. "For being my home."

Rogue kisses Sting's hand again. "Always," he says. The moonlight plays off his hair and casts shadows across his face, and his lips are warm, pressing against the flutter of Sting's pulse in his wrist.

They sit in silence for a little bit, leaning against each other and watching the stars in the sky.

"It's weird," Rogue says after a while. "Thinking about someone else living here."

Sting nods. He can just see the edge of the 'FOR SALE' sign in the front yard, put up three days ago when Rogue's mom had told him they were moving to a smaller house. The idea of someone else sitting in Rogue's old room, someone else's kids playing in the yard, someone else drawing on the driveway with chalk... it makes Sting feel empty, somehow.

"I wish..." Rogue sighs, voice trailing off as a puff of white into the night air. Sting tips his head, studying the expression on Rogue's face. His brow is drawn, the same as when he's doing the crossword in the mornings before he asks Sting what an eleven-letter word for 'destiny' is. His hand is warm, thumb tapping out an absent rhythm against the back of Sting's fingers, and he kicks his legs in time to the beat.

"What?" Rogue asks, looking over at him, and Sting is suddenly hit by all of his memories of Rogue's smile.

Five years old and hiding in the playground together, grinning at each other and digging in the sand.

Seven years old and kissing Rogue's cheek while he holds a bouquet of dandelions Sting picked for him.

Nine years old, cuddled under a blanket and giggling while reading 'Hardy Boys' books with a flashlight.

Eleven years old and lying up in the fort, listening to music and wishing they could be together forever.

"Marry me." The words tumble out before Sting can think about them and he watches Rogue's eyes go wide. "Marry me, and we'll buy the house from your parents. We can live here." Sting can feel his hand shaking in Rogue's and he can barely breathe, but it feels so right. "We'll get all the Pokémon games, and we can buy ice cream all the time, just like we promised. Remember?"

Rogue nods slowly, expression somewhere between stunned and ecstatic, and Sting can feel himself starting to cry, even though the smile that's creeping across his face. "Marry me," he says again, softer this time. "We'll make a home here. And maybe…" He takes a deep breath. "Maybe our kids can play here, someday. Just like us."

"Sting," Rogue breathes, and then they're kissing desperately under the night sky. Sting's hand finds its way into Rogue's hair and he pulls Rogue closer.

"I love you," he whispers, a promise against Rogue's lips. "Marry me?"

"Yes," Rogue says, laughing wetly as he presses their foreheads together. "Yes. You're my favorite person."

Sting holds Rogue tight, not bothering to wipe away the tears, and whispers, "You're my favorite person, too."

Natsu cries when Sting asks him to be the best man.

"I thought I was the one who cried at everything," Sting teases as Natsu wipes his face with his sleeve. The picture on the computer screen is a bit blurry, but it's better than a phone call.

"Shut up," Natsu grumbles. "I'm allowed to have feelings, too, asshole."

Sting laughs, swallowing down the lump in his own throat and blinking to keep back the tears. "So, is that a yes?" he asks.

"Of course." Natsu looks up at him with wet eyes and a bright smile. "When's the wedding?"

"We're, um... not sure yet." Sting leans back in his chair as Lector pads into the room and hops up on his lap. "I kinda proposed by accident."

"How the hell did you manage that?" Natsu asks, laughing, then shakes his head. "Why don't you tell me in person – I'm gonna be in town next weekend for Laxus' bachelor party."

Sting nods. He'd gotten the invitation as well – a simple text with a date, time, and the address of a nearby bar. It's been sitting on his phone for nearly a week, unanswered.

"You don't have to come," Natsu says gently. "He'll understand. We can have brunch or something together later."

Sting reaches into his pocket and fiddles with the chip there. He's been around alcohol since getting sober – Rogue's parents have a drink of wine with dinner occasionally, or Rufus will get a beer when they're out for lunch. This is different, though, and Sting has grown enough now to know that he can't handle it.

"Brunch sounds good," he says, looking back up at Natsu and smiling. "Text me when you're here and we'll figure something out."

It's nearly midnight on Saturday when Sting's phone goes off. He groans, rubbing his face and reaching out blindly for the side table to grab it. Natsu's name flashes on the screen and Sting sighs.

"I meant in the actual morning, dumbass," he grumbles, moving to turn the ringer off. Then the words under Natsu's name register and he's suddenly wide awake.

Ellie is here.

Sting pushes himself up on one elbow, blinking the sleep from his eyes and opening the message. A blurry photo is attached to it of a young guy with short, black hair, leaning against the bar with a drink in his hand.

He's here, Natsu's message says. I found him.