Yours Truly, Austin Post - Post Malone

43

Austin has a week before his next concert, the one that’ll take them to Ireland. He gathers Ava and Grayson in the lounge, his expression unusually serious—brows furrowed, lips pressed into a straight line. The air tenses around him.

Grayson and Ava share a glance, a shrug, then look back at Austin. Just as concern starts to bubble up, his face breaks into a wide, mischievous grin.

“We’ve got a serious decision to make,” he announces, drawing the moment out. “We’ve got a whole week. No shows. No press. Just the three of us. So... three choices, and you two get to pick. Skiing in Austria, yachting off the coast of Greece, or hunting the best chocolate in Switzerland.”

Ava and Grayson instantly huddle together like secret agents, whispering fervently. They ignore Austin’s impatient tapping and shushing him twice. After an intense debate, they finally face him again.

“Greece,” Grayson declares. “On the yacht. I wanna go diving. Ava wants to... uh, what was it again?”

Ava leans in and whispers something in his ear.

“Oh, right. She wants to sunbathe and be fed grapes by a Greek god.”

Another whisper.

“Correction. Two Greek gods.”

Austin scoffs, standing with a playful roll of his eyes. “Diving, yes. Greek gods, no.” He gestures toward the hallway. “Pack your bags. We leave in thirty minutes. Ava—hang back a second.”

Grayson bolts off, bursting with excitement. Ava raises an eyebrow, just as Austin strides up and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her tight against him in one smooth, bold motion.

“I’m a teeny tiny bit possessive,” he murmurs, his lips grazing her ear. “I don’t share well. So, if there are any Greek gods on that yacht, they’ll be overboard before they can blink.”

He winks, then strolls off casually, leaving Ava stunned and blushing. She needs a full minute, alone behind her door, to pull herself together. Her legs feel like jelly, and her smile is impossible to contain as she leans back against the door, heart hammering.

Greece is more beautiful than any photo can capture. The second they step off the jet, Ava has her phone out, snapping pictures of the cobalt skies and golden sunlight. They’re whisked to a port where a gleaming superyacht waits, bobbing gently in the harbor.

It hits Ava again—how incredibly rich Austin is. It’s easy to forget. He’s so grounded, so normal. But here, surrounded by luxury, the reminder is loud and clear. Then again, she hasn’t had to cook a meal or pack a bag in weeks—everything is done for them. A ridiculous lifestyle, yet oddly comforting. Though, Austin does still make Grayson make his bed every morning.

As they board the yacht, the crew lines up to greet them. Ava shakes hands politely until she reaches a deckhand who looks like he walked straight out of a myth—tall, golden-skinned, jaw like carved stone.

She glances at Austin. He’s already giving her side-eye. Poor guy, she thinks. He’ll be overboard by sunset at this rate.

The yacht is stunning. Marble floors, plush lounges, a private hot tub, and a crew that seems to vanish the second they’re not needed. The ocean is a shimmering expanse of glass, and the sun always feels like it’s shining just for them. They dive, swim, and bask in lazy afternoons.

Ava does sunbathe. Her skin glows caramel, her hair lightens with every salty swim. No Greek gods feeding her grapes—so she feeds herself, lounging like royalty. Sometimes, she catches Austin watching her from across the deck. He always snaps his gaze away like a guilty schoolboy.

One evening, as twilight wraps the sky in soft pinks and purples, Austin steps into the lounge.

“That kid talks a big game,” he says, shaking his head fondly. “Argued for twenty minutes that he wasn’t tired, then passed out cold the second his head hit the pillow.”

Ava giggles, pouring hot water into a mug. “Classic Grayson. You want some tea?”

There’s a pause. A stillness.

When she turns, Austin’s expression is distant.

“I can’t drink tea, Ava,” he says quietly. “I can’t even stand the smell.”

Her heart lurches. “Oh… Austin. I’m so sorry—I didn’t think—” She grabs her cup, pours the tea down the sink, and starts washing the mug. Scrubbing it too hard, over and over again.

“Ava, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. That was thoughtless. I should’ve remembered.”

“Ava.”

“I wasn’t thinking. Stupid—”

“Ava. Stop.”

She freezes, hands trembling under the faucet, unable to meet his eyes.

“Turn around,” he says gently.

She does, slowly, pain etched across her face. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

“I know,” he says. “And it’s okay. You can drink tea. Really. I don’t mind. I just… can’t.”

“No,” she insists. “I’ll get rid of it all. Every bag, every drop. I even have hand cream with tea in it—I’ll throw that out too. No tea. It’ll be a rule.”

Austin tilts his head, something soft blooming in his eyes. He steps forward, raises a hand to her cheek, and pulls her in.

The kiss is gentle. Honest. Full of all the things they haven’t said. Ava melts into it, her knees barely holding her up.

But then he pulls away. His eyes cloud with conflict. He steps back, frowns, then spins on his heel and walks out, leaving her standing in stunned silence.

She lifts her fingers to her lips, still tasting him there. Her heart twists. Maybe she misread the moment. Maybe he realized in that kiss that he didn’t feel what he thought he did. And if he’s only trying because of their shared past—because of Grayson—that would be worse than not trying at all.

She finds him on the deck, hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders tense. That pose—she’s seen it before. It’s his shield.

“Austin...” she says softly, her voice barely rising above the sea breeze. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I’m still figuring things out too. And if we’re just friends… I can live with that. I don’t want you to feel like you have to try, just because we’ve got history.”

He turns, slowly, and his eyes glisten in the moonlight.

“I liked it,” he whispers. “I liked how it made me feel.”

Her breath hitches.

“I like you, Ava. I like how you make me feel.”

She walks to him, slow and steady, stopping just inches away. “I think… I think they’d be okay with this,” she whispers, voice trembling. “I don’t think we’re doing anything wrong.”

Austin bites his lip, then lifts his hands to her face again. The second kiss is deeper, fuller, layered with grief, longing, and something too tender to name.

And again—Ava’s knees go weak. And this time, she lets herself fall.