Always Kind of Was

The road to Forks is a familiar one, even after two years. Evergreen trees blur past your window, their towering forms casting long shadows over the asphalt as your car hums along the highway. You didn’t realize how much you missed this stretch of Highway 101 till now–how the trees leaned in like close friends, how the air smelled like rain (because of course it does), how the damp air curled in through the cracked window and made everything smell like pine needles and rain. Your fingers tap against the steering wheel following the beat of the radio, restless.

Your phone buzzes in the passenger seat.

Jake : You close yet?

A smile tugs on your lips. You can practically hear the impatience in his text.

You : Like 20 min out. Chill

Jake : Chill?? I’m literally pacing right now

You roll your eyes but a smile tugs on your lips. Jacob Black has always been like this–all energy, no patience. Some things never change.

Jacob Black. Your best friend since before you could spell your own name. You had shared everything with him growing up–scraped knees, projects in his garage, secret forts built from moss and driftwood down by First Beach. And as you drive past The City of Forks Welcomes You sign, your chest warms.

The last time you were here, you were fourteen, saying goodbye with a promise of visit. Your dad’s job pulled your family to the buzz of Kirkland, where everything was cleaner, faster, and more modern. But like got in the way, as it does–school, your dad’s new job, the four-hour distance between Kirkland and Forks. Still, you and Jake kept in touch. Late-night calls, stupid texts, the occasional letters (because Jake thought it was funny to mail you doodles of his terrible car sketches and self-portraits). Still, Forks was yours in the way it mattered and now, thanks to your parents’ sudden, nostalgic purchase of a cozy summer house on the edge of town, it could be again.

You weren’t the same girl who had left, and from his photos, he wasn’t the same Jacob, either. He’d grown taller, broader . His baby face and chubby cheeks you used to pinch sharpened into somethin old, something you didn’t quite know how to name. And still–he was Jacob. Your best friend.

But now, you’re back.

Your parents arrived yesterday to get the house ready and you had stayed behind to finish packing, insisting on driving yourself. You needed the time to think and to tame your nerves.

Because Jake is…Jake.

When you were kids, it was simple. He was the little boy who taught you how to skip rocks, who let you steal bites of his fry bread at the rez cookouts he would invite you to, who tried to feign annoyance but eventually grin when you called him Jakey just to annoy hi,

But now? You’re not sure who he is. What you guys are.

Your phone buzzes again.

Jake : I’m at your house btw

Jake : Tick-tock you better not be bailing on me

You scoff.

You : ?????

Jake : Your mom said I could wait for you so hurry up

Of course he was. You groan, but your pulse kicks up anyway.

----

You could see your parents were already inside the house by the time you pulled up–a modest, moss-draped place tucked between pines, just off a gravel road. Your parents’ car is parked out front. Parked right next to it is a black motorcycle.

Your stomach flips.

Slowly, you pull into the driveway right behind your parents car park, take a deep breath, and step out. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and pine needles. The front door is slightly ajar and you push it open.

“Mom? Dad?” No answer. You drop your bags in the foyer and head up the stairs, looking for your room at the end of the hall–

And then you see him.

Jake is leaning against your bedroom door frame, arms crossed, impatiently tapping his foot. He’s taller. A lot taller. His shoulders are broader, his frame more solid than the lanky boy you remember, and his hair was shorter now, shaggier, like he hadn’t bothered with it much. And when you made eye contact, his fake looked at you like he’d forgotten how to breathe. Something passed between you in the silence.

“Hey,” you said. Your voice came out softer than you meant it to.

“Took you long enough,” his face twitches slightly and he snaps out of whatever trance he was in, now grinning like he’s just won something.

“Shut up,” you reply, but you’re smiling.

He pushes off the doorframe and closes the distance between you in two strides. He pulled you into a hug that wrapped around your whole body. His warmth is immediate and almost startling, like standing in front of a bonfire. His hand lingered at your back a moment longer than necessary, but you don’t mind. You missed him. A lot .

“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair.

You smile against his chest. “Missed you too, Jakey.”

He exhales sharply and chuckles, like the words punched the air out of him. Then, slowly, his arms tighten around you.

“You still gonna call me that?” his voice is low, but there’s that familiar teasing lilt in it.

You pull away from him and look up to meet his eyes, smirking. “Mhm. Deal with it.”

He snorts. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Please,” you say, stepping back with a grin. “You’d cry if I stopped, just like how you always did.”

“Only a little,” he shoots back, and there’s a spark in his eyes now, brighter than you remember. You’re not sure what it is–relief, maybe, or him just being awkward and shy.

Before you can reply, the sound of the front door creaking wider makes both of you glance down the stairs.

“Sweetie?” your mom calls up. “Is Jake still here?”

He winces slightly, already backing toward the stairs. “I should probably–”

“You’re staying for dinner!” she shouts before he can finish.

You blink. “Wow, ambushed.”

“I’ve been here ten minutes, she’s already planning the menu,” Jake mutters under his breath, then louder: “Uh–I mean, I don’t want to intrude–”

“Nonsense! You’re basically family.” your mom responds brightly.

He glances back at you, eyebrows raised, lips twitching like he’s holding back a smile. “You set me up.”

“I did not. She just knows you too well. Besides, you’re the one that came her before I even got to Forks.” Jake just shakes his head and shoots you a glare, muttering something under his breath as he follows you down the stairs. You can feel the energy buzzing off him–slightly nervous, but trying not to show it. He’s still smirking like an idiot, but it’s more to himself now, like he can’t quite believe he’s here again either. With you, in person, not over text or call.

The house smells like Mrs. Meyers lemon cleaner and whatever your mom is preparing in the kitchen. Jake hesitates in the foyer, glancing toward the kitchen like he's debating a quick escape, but your mom appears before he can make a move. She wraps him in a hug like no time has passed and Jake stiffens for just a second before relaxing into it, careful and gentle in a way that makes you smile softly.

“You grew up on us,” she says, pulling back to look him over. “Look at you!”

Jake rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flushed but smiling. “Still the same guy. Just a bit taller.”

“A bit ? You always did shoot up like a weed,” she laughs, already turning back toward the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry. We’ve got enough to feed a whole pack.”

He blinks at her words and nods. “Yeah. Starving.”

And then your dad strolls in from the backyard, wiping his hands on a rag, the scent of grass and sprinkler water trailing behind him. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the only kid in this town I trust near a sprinkler system. Bet you could fix ours without even looking at it.”

“I’m your guy.” he smiles, rubbing the back of his neck again. It was always a small habit you noticed he did when he felt awkward, shy, or nervous.

Your dad claps him on the shoulders as he passes. “Glad to see you again, kid.”

And just like that, he is. Wrapped into the space like he’s always belonged, fitting in the rhythm of it, even if the walls are different. Even if everything is different.

You watch him as he sinks into the chair next to yours, still buzzing a little like he doesn’t know where to put all the energy. He’s quiet now, but not in a bad way–more like he’s soaking it in, anchoring himself to something familiar. You slide a glass of water toward him and he takes it without looking, but his fingers brush yours for half a second too long.

And while he’s still Jake, it’s not exactly the same. But neither are you.

Chapter 2: poncho punch

Chapter Text

The first few mornings of May in Forks arrived slowly, like the sun was still shy about showing its face. Contrary to popular belief, summers in Washington do come—and when they do, the clouds finally pull back and the sun becomes a welcomed guest after months of gray. Today is one of those quietly golden days. You wake to soft light filtering through your window blinds and the gentle tap of birds on the roof. Rolling onto your back, your eyes trace the knotty wood ceiling above you. It smelled faintly of old books and damp earth from the rain earlier in the week–and part of you liked that the house hasn’t tried to be anything other than what it was. Forks never changed much.

But Jacob did. And you still haven’t quite figured that out.

You see him most days now, which you don’t mind—actually, you kind of like it. You never had that many friends in Forks to begin with, and the few you did have moved away, just like you had. Jake would show up with that lopsided grin and some excuse to get you out of the house—down to First Beach, out by Sol Duc, or just cruising around in his rebuilt Rabbit, pointing out every small thing that has changed since you were last here. He makes it feel easy, like old times, but there’s always something unsaid in the air between you. Like every sentence hangs with an ellipsis.

This afternoon, he came by again. You’re both on the porch swing, spending one of those perfect slow afternoons doing absolutely nothing. Your parents are out for the day—visiting friends, maybe, but you didn’t ask. You’re busy…with Jake. Your knees are hugged to your chest, one earbud in, and Jake’s got the other. He’s nodding along to the playlist you made—Beyoncé, Nelly Furtado, and his now not-so-secret favorite: Avril Lavigne.

“It’s getting kinda hot,” he says suddenly, tugging the earbud out. “Otter Pop?”

You grin. “Yes, please. Can you get me—”

“Poncho Punch. Yeah, I know.” He’s already standing, smirking. “Be right back.”

You laugh as he jogs inside like it’s a mission. A few minutes later, he returns with two hilariously oversized Otter Pops. The kind your parents bought in bulk just because they were cheaper than the regular ones.

He tosses you the orange one, keeping the red one for himself.

“You still eat the red ones first, huh?”

“This one’s got a bite,” he says, tearing the plastic with his teeth. “Kinda like me. Fiery. Intense. Unapologetically cool.”

You snort. “Please stop psychoanalyzing your artificially dyed sugar water, weirdo.”

He grumbles but sits down beside you anyway, unwrapping his pop fiercely . You do the same. The earbuds go back in, and you both fall into that easy rhythm again—breeze in the trees, tires on gravel in the distance, his arm warm where it brushes yours.

For a while, it’s like no time passed at all. But you still can’t quite believe the shift in him. The height. The new muscles. The serious way he carries himself sometimes, like he’s older than he should be. When you asked, he’d just muttered something about a growth spurt, but you didn’t buy it. You didn’t change that much, not really. But Jake always insisted you had.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he tenses slightly as he pulls it out. One glance and his jaw tightens.

“Everything okay?” you ask, still eating your popsicle.

“Yeah,” he says too fast, shoving the phone back into his jeans. “Just Sam.”

You tilt your head, eyebrows furrowed. “Sam Uley?”

“Mhm.” He hesitates, then shrugs like it’s no big deal, “The guys are hanging out tonight. You should come.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. Bonfire at the beach. Everyone’ll be there.”

Everyone . You bite your lip. You’d been looking forward to a quiet night settling in, but the idea of seeing Embry and Quil again makes your chest lift a little. You alway loved tagging along with the three of them, even if they were total chaos. Quil and Embry never treated you like you couldn’t keep up–and Jake never loved that. He was always protective over you for some reason.

“Okay,” you say after a moment. “Yeah, I’ll go.” Then you pause. “But I thought you didn’t like Sam?”

Jake rolls his eyes slightly, like he expected this question.

“Things change,” he pauses. “I got over it. We’re…cool now.”

You give him a look. “That’s it?”

He shrugs again, but his smile is a little crooked. “I dunno. Sometimes you realize you were wrong about people.”

You decide not to press. Not today, at least.

Your Otter Pop drips a bright orange line down your wrist and you fumble for the hem of your shirt–but Jake’s faster. Without a word, he leans in, catching the melting trail with his thumb, wiping it gently from your skin. His touch lingers, warm and a little too careful. You glance up and for a second–just one second–he’s looking at you like he’s seeing something new. Like he’s remembering something old.

The moment passes. He leans back with a grin that’s too casual and shoves his finished Otter Pop wrapping into his other pocket.

“I’ll pick you up at eight.”

And just like that, he stands, heading down the porch steps like nothing happened–like his fingers didn’t just leave a burning line on your skin.

–

You spend the next few hours cleaning up, texting your parents (who are, predictably, still out), and trying not to overthink the way Jacob had looked at you earlier.

Because it had been different than anything you were used to.

You’d known Jacob Black since you were kids and had seen every version of him–from the scrawny eight-year old who challenged you to races on the beach (and won every time) to the sulky fourteen-year-old who pretended not to care when you told him you were moving. You don’t remember the exact moment when you met Jacob. He was just there–holding your hand when you jumped off the jungle gym, pushing you on the swing, playing tag. Somewhere along the way, he just stuck.

But the way he’d stared at you today–like he was seeing you for the first time–that was new. You shake your head. You’re probably just imagining things.

At exactly 8:00 PM, the roar of Jacob’s motorcycle cuts through the quiet of the evening. You grab your jacket and head outside where he’s waiting, helmet in hand.

“You sure you’re okay on this thing?” you question, eyeing the bike.

He smirks. “Scared?”

“No,” you lie.

He laughs and tosses you the helmet. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach flip, but you climb on behind him anyway, gripping the sides of his jacket as the engine rumbles to life beneath you.

“Hold on tighter than that,” he says over his shoulder. “Unless you wanna eat pavement for dinner.”

You roll your eyes but slide your arms around his waist, pressing closer. His breath hitches, barely, before he revs the engine and takes off. The wind rushes past as you speed down the road, the trees blurring into one long streak. Jacob’s warmth seeps into you, even as the cool air nips at your cheeks, his back solid against your chest and despite your earlier nerves, you find yourself relaxing.

Because this is Jacob–with him, you’ve always been safe.

First Beach is just as you remember it. Smoke and salt in the air, the crash of waves blending with the snap of logs in the bonfire. The group’s already gathered–Embry, Quil, Sam, and a few others you barely recognize. You remember their faces from around La Push, though you’d never known them well. The ones you can’t quite recall the name of sit slightly apart from the rest, arms crossed but with a faint smile when they catch your eye.

You didn’t expect to be greeted like someone returning home, but Embry jumps up first, nearly tackling you with a hug.

“No way it’s you!”

Quil follows right behind him, shaking his head. “City life didn’t ruin you after all.”

“Shut up,” you retort, hugging him too. “Barely a city, even.”

Sam offers a polite nod and a small smile. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” you reply tight-lipped, still taking it all in.

Jacob stays close to your side as you find a spot around the fire. You catch Quil nudging Embry and whispering something that sounds like, “She’s basically part of the–” before Sam shoots them both a look that shuts them up. You raise an eyebrow but don’t question it.

Despite the unfamiliar faces, the night settles into a rhythm. The heat of the fire, the low rumble of conversation, the occasional laugh from Paul that always seems louder than it needs to be. You talk with Leah for a while, glad for the presence of another girl. She's blunt, dryly funny, and easy to talk to once she warms up. It's nice—not being the only one. Someone mentions the old Quileute stories, and a few of the guys start joking about them, but you catch the shift in their expressions. Something passes between them.

You smile faintly. “I remember Billy used to tell us those stories,” you say quietly. “You never believed any of them, Jake.”

Jacob doesn’t laugh. Instead, he looks at the fire, then at you. “Maybe I was wrong.”

There’s a silence there, brief but thick.

It’s only your second full day back, but you’ve caught Jacob staring more than once—longer than before, longer than friends should. You catch him doing it again now, the firelight reflected in his eyes, something unreadable behind them. He looks away when you meet his gaze. Eventually, the others begin to drift off, pairing up or heading home. Quil tosses another log into the fire with a lazy salute before he disappears with Embry into the dark.

“Bonfires aren’t the same without your terrible ghost stories,” you say.

Jacob smirks. “You were always the one who got scared, not me.”

You both laugh softly.

When it’s just the two of you left, the sounds of the ocean fills the quiet, waves crashing in rhythm with your pulse. Jacob stands and offers you a hand. You take it, letting him pull you to your feet–but when you go to let go, his fingers linger, just a second longer than they need to.

The ride back is quieter. The wind bites a little more than before, but Jacob’s presence keeps you grounded. When he pulls up in front of your house, he doesn’t cut the engine right away. The night hangs suspended between you, thick with something unspoken.

“Thanks for tonight,” you murmur, voice nearly swallowed by the hum of the bike.

Jacob finally turns to look at you, his dark eyes reflecting off the porch light. “Anytime,” he says, low and earnest, like he means it in every possible way.

You hand him his helmet, and your fingers brush against his, sending a jolt up your arm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant, like a kid waiting for reassurance.

You smile and nod. “Obviously.”

On the porch as you fumble for the keys, your heart still thuds from the ride–or maybe from the way his hands lingered, the way his voice dipped when he said “anytime.” All these little moments of extra long touches and the loaded glances are stacking up, and as you close the door behind you, something settles heavy in your chest: something is changing. You don’t have a name for it yet, but it’s there, undeniable as the tide.

Chapter 3: oil and honey

Chapter Text

You: I’m walking by your place

Jacob: I’m in the garage

You: Should I swing by?

Jacob: You already are

Jacob: Get in here

You slip through the side door and find him crouched next to a half-disassembled motorcycle. The smell of oil and dust clings to the air, warm and metallic. He doesn’t look up right away–just twists a wrench, tightens something, and wipes his hands on a rag that’s seen better days. You’re perched on an overturned crate, watching as Jacob wrestles with a stubborn bolt, his biceps flexing under the strain.

“You just loiter outside people’s garages now?” he asks without turning.

“I make exceptions for guys who owe me gummy worms,” you retort, referencing the other day at your place when he spilled your entire bag of sour Trolli’s on the ground.

He finally glances up. There’s a smudge of grease on his cheek and that tired grin he always throws your way when he’s caught off guard.

“Then you better earn ‘em.”

You sit cross-legged on the concrete floor beside him. No invitation needed.

“You’re gonna strip it,” you say.

“I’ve got it,” he mutters.

“You don’t got it.”

He shoots you a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You wanna try?”

You nudge him aside. “Move over, hotshot.”

He huffs but scoots back, arms crossed as you take the wrench from him. You brace yourself, adjusting your grip, and twist. The bolt gives almost immediately.

Jacob stares.

“...Okay, yeah, that’s bullshit.”

You grin, tossing the wrench back to him. “Maybe you’re just weak.”

He catches it easily, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, I’m weak?”

“Mmhm.”

He leans in closer and the air between you feels hotter. You’re hyper aware of the way his gaze lingers on your face, the way his chest rises and falls just a little faster. Your pulse stutters and you can hear his pick up. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he leans back into himself and grabs the hem of his shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it onto a nearby toolbox. Sunlight streams through the open garage door, gilding his skin as he drags a hand over his brow, muscles shifting under the sheen of his sweat. Those are new.

You blink and you realize you’re staring.

He hesitates, glancing at you. “Sorry, I should’ve asked first. Do you mind if I–?”

“No,” you abruptly respond, maybe a little too quickly. “It’s–it’s fine. Hot. It’s hot…out.”

Jacob smirks, but there’s something unreadable about his expression as he turns back to the car. You swallow hard, trying (and failing) not to stare. The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable, just charged.

“You remember when we got stuck on the side of the road in the middle of summer?” you ask, just to say something and break the silence.

Jacob snorts. “You passed out from heatstroke.”

“I did not pass out. I was resting my eyes.”

“You were snoring. On the side of the road.”

You shove him and he laughs, shoulder bumping against yours. Your own laugh escapes, softer than his, and when you glance up, he's already looking at you. His smile doesn't fade so much as settle, something unbearably fond in the curve of it. Like your laughter isn't just sound but honey, the slow drip of something golden and sweet. Something worth savoring on his tongue.

–

You end up staying longer than you meant to.

The conversations start with harmless updates–school, your mom’s new obsession with puzzles, the neighbor’s cat that keeps trying to sneak into your room. Jacob nods along, humming in acknowledgment as he tightens a bolt, but his responses aren’t just filler. He listens in that way of his, sharp and present, tossing in a question here and there like he’s cataloging every detail.

He tells you about Billy’s latest attempt to organize the shed, how he nearly dropped a toolbox on his own foot. He says it like it’s nothing, but the way he smiles when he says Dad is soft around the edges. You’d always loved Billy—how he treated you like another kid, feeding you both saltine crackers until you groaned, scolding Jacob halfheartedly when he caught you two sneaking out late. And Jacob, for all his teasing, had a quiet adoration for his father he’d never say out loud.

You watch his hands as he works. There’s something steady about them, even when the rest of him seems like it’s working twice as hard to hold still. Your dad wasn’t wrong when he joked about Jacob being the only one he’d trust around a sprinkler. There was something unfairly competent about him, like he could fix anything if he just willed it hard enough.

“Here.” Jacob nudges a socket wrench into your palm without looking up. “You’re not just here to sit pretty.

You scoff, stretching your spine (you’d been hunched beside him for an hour like some kind of gremlin). “When have I ever sat pretty?”

He doesn’t answer, just smirks–that infuriating, knowing tilt of his mouth, like he’s got a secret tucked behind his lips. You elbow him, then pretend to inspect the bike’s engine with exaggerate focus, turning the wrench like you know exactly what you’re doing, copying him.

“So,” you drag out, poking at a loose valve. “How’s the rest of life going?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Y’know, like…” You tap the metal, clink clink. “Any super interesting secrets you’ve been keeping from me? Or how you’ve been dealing with my absence–which, obviously, was devastating for you. Or…” You grin. “Girls?”

Jacob freezes mid-turn, then slowly looks up at you, brow raised. "First off," he says, voice dry, "no secrets. You know I wouldn’t keep any from you. Second, yeah, real tough without you. Had to find a new punching bag and everything." He flicks a grease-stained rag at you. "And no. Been too busy." A pause. "You?"

“No secrets here,” you say lightly. “And not seeing you was no biggie, really.” You snap the wrench playful. “And nope.”

He snorts. “Liar.”

“Prove it.”

For a second, it feels like when you were kids again by daring each other and toeing the line. But then the sunlight shifts, painting the garage in a dimmer gold and Jacob leans back, stretching his arms over his head with a groan. You did a pretty good job at not staring for the past few hours, but your eyes slowly drift before snapping out of it quickly.

“Dinner?” he asks, like it’s nothing.

You glance at your phone and realize the hours have slipped away like minutes. “I could eat.”

There’s no discussion, no plan, just the easy understanding that you’ll figure it out together. You grab two of his jackets (both of which still smell like motor oil and the pine-scented soap Billy loves to buy), lock up the garage, and pile into his truck. The windows stay cracked, letting in the cooling sunset air and the radio murmurs some old rock songs under the rumble of the engine.

Jacob drums his fingers on the steering wheel, quiet for once. But it’s a good quiet. The kind that doesn’t need filling.

–

Back at his place, you help unload the random assortment of things in the kitchen—barbecue-flavored Pringles, cheddar cheese, and, most importantly, gummy worms, along with a few other necessities. Billy’s out, probably at Charlie Swan’s or fishing with one of the other dads. The house is quiet in a way that doesn’t feel empty.

“We’re healthy, huh,” you joke, eyeing the scattered lineup of junk food across the counter.

“I’m very self-sufficient,” Jacob says. “I’ll cook something up.”

“Right,” you reply, deadpan. “With your two whole dishes: scrambled eggs and grilled cheese.”

“Don’t knock the classics,” he shoots back, pouting slightly as he starts pulling out a pan and whatever kitchen gadget he can fish out of the drawers.

You put a movie on in the background before joining him to help concoct whatever his limited cooking skills can manage, keeping a close eye on him to make sure he doesn’t burn the place down. The TV’s volume is up, but neither of you really watches. You talk over it, and the clatter from the kitchen practically drowns it out anyway.

Once the chaos ends—and you both survive—you grab your plates: triangle-cut grilled cheese, scrambled eggs, a side of Pringles, two cups of water, and the gummy worms. You set everything down on the coffee table and settle into the couch, finally ready to pay attention to the movie.

Somewhere between finishing the second half of your grilled cheese and the third time the remote glitches, you catch Jacob watching you from the corner of your eye.

“What?” you ask, looking over at him.

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

You squint at him, but he doesn’t offer more. Instead, he leans back on the couch and tosses a pillow lazily in your direction.

“I’m just saying,” he adds after a second, “you’re easy to be around.”

It’s casual. Simple. But the way he says it lands heavier than it should.

You pause, just long enough that he notices. Then you nod, smiling, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You too.”

And you mean it.

–

When you leave, he walks you to the door. The porch light flickers as he opens it. Your mom’s parked nearby—Jacob offered to drive you back, but you felt bad about how much he’s been driving you around lately, so you called her instead.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, leaning on the frame.

“Is this a standing appointment now?”

“Guess so.”

You smile, step down the stairs, and walk toward the car. You don’t look back, but you can feel him watching until you slide into the passenger seat.

When you get home, your phone buzzes once.

Jacob: Gummy worms were a good call

Chapter 4: manuals

Chapter Text

Summer stretched on like a golden thread. Slow, warm, and full of stolen moments.

That Friday, he showed up at your door with two milkshakes and a crease between his brows. That one was on you. Texting Help me and Come now probably made it sound more life-threatening than it was.

To be fair, it was urgent… ish.

You hadn’t packed for fancy. When you threw things into your suitcase for the summer, you were thinking lake days, bonfires, and living in sweat shorts and oversized tees. Not a birthday dinner at some nice restaurant where your parents expected you to wear a dress.

Which–you didn’t bring.

Jake shut the door behind him, holding out one of the milkshakes. Chocolate, extra whipped cream, hold the cherry, straw already in.

“You good?” he asked, voice low, careful. His expression was all concern, like he thought he’d find blood on the floor.

You grinned and took the shake. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make it sound… catastrophic.”

He raised an eyebrow, already halfway through his own milkshake. “That’s one word for it.”

“I have a wardrobe emergency.”

He blinked. “You dragged me here for… fashion advice?”

“I didn’t drag you,” you argued, sipping. “I invited you.”

“To shop.”

“Yes. Please?”

Jake looked at you like he was trying to be annoyed, but his mouth twitched like he was losing the battle. “You couldn’t just ask like a normal person?”

“You would’ve said no.”

“Exactly.”

“Which is why I had to be a little dramatic. You’re here, aren’t you?”

He gave you a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. Let’s go, but you owe me.”

“For what?”

“For emotional distress.”

You grinned. “You’re such a baby.”

“You keep calling me names, but I still showed up with milkshakes. Because I’m nice.”

“And handsome,” you added, sarcastic.

“And humble,” he continued, deadpan.

You headed for the passenger side door, about to open it when he groaned.

“I’m driving again?” he muttered, resting his hands on the hood of the car like this was the greatest injustice he’d ever known.

“I prefer to be called your passenger princess,” you respond sweetly. “You know you love it.”

He rolled his eyes but opened the door for you anyway, mock-chivalrous. “Milady.”

You curtsied dramatically before getting in. “What a gentleman.”

Jake shut the door with a shake of his head and walked around to the driver’s side.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he said as he slid in beside you.

“You’d be lost without me.”

“Tragically,” he agreed. But he was still smiling. He started the car and pulled out of the driveway, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Seriously though,” he starts. “What if I was doing something important when you texted? Like… saving someone’s life?”

You shot him a look. “Didn’t know Jacob Black was a local repairman during the day and Batman at night.”

He smirked. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“Clearly. And even if you were doing something heroic, you still came anyway.”

“Of course I did,” he replied, voice steady. “Anything for you.”

You felt your face warm. Jacob had always been a sweet talker. Maybe too good at it. Sometimes his words wrapped around you like ribbon—easy to get tangled in. You could never tell if it was intentional or just him being… Jake. It was probably why your parents adored him so much.

“Okay, Mister Smooth Talker,” you said, trying to shake it off. “Let’s go. Take me shopping, since you’re the best, kindest, most caring friend ever.”

Friend.

You cringed the second the word left your mouth–and caught him doing the same.

Growing up, Jake was always just that. Your friend. Your best friend. But coming back after being apart for over a year, something felt off. Or maybe too much. The butterflies you tried to ignore when he looked at you like you were the only person on Earth. The way he touched you—casual but intentional—like the arm he threw over your shoulder during movies or the hand he wrapped around your waist to steer you away from the edge of the street downtown.

Your hormones said one thing, but your brain wouldn’t let you gamble a decade and about a half of friendship on a crush you weren’t even sure you had. Plus, you weren’t someone who followed feelings anyway. You buried them. Swallowed them down before they could complicate things, not because you’d been burned before–but because the future was terrifying. Relationships, careers, everything that forced you to commit or risk falling.

Or maybe some deep, unspoken part of you already knew.

That no one else could ever really fill that space the way one person could. Just one person.

You shook the thought out of your head and leaned back in your seat, tapping your foot to the rhythm of the song he was blasting.

Thankfully, Jacob Black likes you.

No one else in the world would volunteer for a multi-hour shopping trip, drive the full hour to Port Angeles, hold all your bags, and trail behind you like a very large, very reluctant puppy.

Originally, the plan was simple: one dress, maybe a pair of shoes. But that plan unraveled quickly. You weren’t built for restraint when it came to shopping. One store turned into five. Then you remembered you needed a gift for your dad. Then you thought about your friends back home and how they’d want little trinkets. And then you saw a fishing lure you thought Billy would love.

And for all his sighing and groaning and dramatic dragging of feet, Jacob didn’t actually mind. He liked being with you. Always had. Even if you were dragging him into—

“No. Not another one,” he groaned as you tugged on his arm, pointing to a small antique shop tucked between a bakery and a dive bar.

“Jacob, I swear this is the last one. Please.” You gave him the eyes–the ones he could never say no to when you were younger.

He exhaled like you had just asked him to lift the Eiffel Tower. “Fine. But you owe me ice cream.”

“Of course.”

The bell above the door chimed as you both stepped inside. The shop smelled like cedarwood, salt air, and dust. Shelves were packed too tightly, old jazz hummed softly from a crackling speaker behind the counter and the entire place felt like someone’s cluttered memory box.

You drifted to the far right aisle, fingers brushing old trinkets, worn postcards, cracked teacups. Jake veered off in the opposite direction. As much as he liked to complain, you knew he like to get lost in places like this—easily entertained by weird old knickknacks and gadgets.

You weren’t even sure why you came in. You already had everything, but something about places like this always made you linger.

And then a glint of silver caught your eye.

Dangling from a spinning display was a small, slightly tarnished keychain. Manual gear shift. Realistic detailing. The knob even moved. It looked like something pulled straight from a decades-old set of keys. Without thinking, you plucked it off the hook and turned it in your fingers.

It reminded you of the garage. Of Jacob’s hands stained with grease. Of the way he half-smiled when something finally worked after hours of tinkering. Of how you’d sit on the old stool, legs curled up, watching him work in the golden light of late afternoon. Somehow, that had become your thing.

You wanted to buy it without a second thought.

As you approached the front counter, still scanning for Jacob, you placed the keychain down and fished out your wallet.

“Just this?” the cashier asked.

You nodded without looking up, pulling your card from your back pocket. He was young. Shaggy blond hair. Disheveled. Looked about your age.

“How much?” you asked, card in hand.

“Five bucks,” he answered, smiling. You gave him a polite, tight-lipped smile back and started digging for cash instead.

“You from around her?” he asked casually.

“Uh, no. Just visiting from Forks. You know it?”

“Yeah, I know Forks. Kinda guessed you weren’t local. Think I’ve met every pretty girl in Port Angeles already.”

He was flirting, awkwardly. You gave a soft laugh that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Thanks, I, uh… yeah. I only have four.”

“That’s alright. Four is good for–” he was cut off by a dollar sliding across the counter beside you.

You turned. Jacob.

His jaw was tense, eyes sharp on the cashier. You could tell he was grinding his teeth–something you’d told him a million times to stop doing.

“Oh, um–receipt?” you asked, flustered.

The cashier handed it over quickly. You grabbed it and the keychain, shoving both into your pocket before heading for the door, Jacob at your heels. The sound of all the bags rustling behind you made you laugh quietly.

Outside, Jake placed a hand on your back and steered you toward the sidewalk.

“We’re never going back there,” he muttered, jaw still tight.

“Jacob,” you giggled, “It’s all good. He wasn’t being weird.”

“He was two seconds away from being weird.”

You hesitated. You didn’t know what to say. Jacob had always been protective. But that? That felt like something else.

“Thought Batman only came out at night,” you teased, bumping his shoulder. “Thanks for saving me from the horror of being flirted with.” You widened your eyes and dropped your jaw, planting your hands dramatically on either side of your face like you were reenacting The Scream.

“You look like a psycho next to me. Stop that.”

And you do. You slowed near the crosswalk and stepped aside, stopping in front of a cozy little restaurant. Jacob followed closely. You pulled the keychain from your pocket and held it in your fist.

“Wait.”

He raised a brow as you stepped in front of him.

You opened your hands and held it out for him. “For you.”

He blinked, surprised. Gently, he took it from you, his calloused fingers brushing against yours.

“You weren’t supposed to pay for it, but I guess it’s a team effort now. It just… reminded me of you. And the garage. Us, y’know?”

He stared at it. Turned it over in his palm. Flicked the tiny shift knob with his thumb. Silent for a long moment.

“Do you like it?” you asked, unsure.

Finally, he looked up.

His smile was slow, wide, and genuine. And in the sunlight, you could see it–the warm streak of caramel hidden in his dark eyes. You never noticed it and always thought they were just a shade of dark brown, but now you do.

“I love it,” he said quietly, voice low and sincere.

“Good.” You grinned. “Ice cream now?”

He nodded, and the two of you started walking, shoulders brushing, toward the pier and the rundown little shack that had the best cones in town.

As you walked ahead of him, Jacob couldn’t help it—his thoughts went back to you. To the way you looked in the antique shop, the way you always knew what would make him smile. To the day you came back to Forks. The day he imprinted on you.

Chapter 5: full moon

Chapter Text

You have always loved Jacob Black.

But Jacob Black has always loved you.

Since the moment he met you, he knew. You were it. The one. And his crush on you? It was never really a secret. Everyone knew.

Billy knew first–long before Jacob even figured it out himself. He saw it in the little things: the way Jake would bolt for the first aid kit whenever you got a papercut, how he gave you the last bite of his sandwich even when he was still starving, and how he made a fool of himself dancing and singing off-key just to hear your laugh.

Billy rooted for you both in his own quiet way. He was there through everything–the good and the heartbreak. He noticed the way Jake flopped onto his bed and kicked his feet in the air like a kid after seeing you, saw the corner of his mattress cluttered with balled-up tissues from the day you told him you were moving to the few months that passed after you were gone.

He was never afraid to share his feelings with his dad, but this–this part of him, the part that loved you–was different. It felt too raw, too big. Too real.

Jacob Black was brave. Braver than most. He adapted to his phasing and new lifestyle faster than anyone expected. He faced monsters–real ones–without hesitation.

But losing you? That was what scared him.

And when you left, when the two of you went from inseparable to one hundred fifty miles apart, it almost broke him. Any further and he was sure he would’ve snapped. It was like some part of him had been ripped out and he didn’t know how to get it back.

Then you came.

The moment you walked down the hallway and looked at him for the first time in over a year, he felt everything crash over him like a tidal wave. His arms ached to you again. But when your eyes met–just for that moment–every system in his body misfired. Then lit up. Then misfired again.

And then he imprinted.

On you.

It wasn’t supposed to be like that. He thought he was prepared, thought he understood what imprinting meant. He didn’t expect it to be you. He didn’t even think it could be you. But he didn’t want it to be anyone else because no one else was you.

You had always been his everything. Now, you were his everything and nothing at the same time.

He needed you in ways he didn’t understand. He needed to see you. Hear your laugh. Feel your presence. It was all-consuming. Steady. Terrifying.

So he didn’t tell you.

He acted normal–or tried to. Even when everything inside him felt like it was shifting again, he thought keeping the truth from you was the right thing to do–at least for now. That keeping you away from the supernatural part of his life was protecting you. But maybe it was just protecting himself.

Things in Forks had been quiet lately, which was the only reason he had so much time to spend with you. But tonight? Patrol had picked up again and it seemed it would for the next couple days. Now, he’s rushing through the trees, pounding the damp earth beneath him as he shifts back and heads towards Emily’s.

You’re still on his mind. Always.

The porch light is glowing softly when he reaches the house. He opens the door and steps inside, shaking the cold from his limbs.

“How was patrol?” Emily calls from the kitchen.

“Quiet. Easy,” Jacob replies, a little breathless. He snatches a muffin from the counter and drops into a chair, stretching out his legs. “Need help?” he asks with a grin, even though he already knows the answer.

Emily gives him a look. “Not from you. Trying to avoid setting this place on fire tonight.”

He laughs around a mouthful of muffin as the rest of the pack filters in–wet footprints, muffled voices, and the usual chaos.

Paul groans and throws himself on the couch. “Dude. If I have to hear your inner monologue about her one more time–”

“You could phase out, you know,” Jacob mutters.

“I did. For like, five minutes. You were still thinking about her. Constantly.” Paul throws an arm over his face. “I swear, it’s like background noise now. Vampire, trees, squirrels, Jacob, Jacob, Jacob, her. Her smile. Her laugh. Her socks.”

“They were mismatched,” Jacob mumbles.

Embry chuckles. “He’s got it bad, bad.”

Leah, who’s been leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, raises an eyebrow. “Honestly? He’s been more himself with her back than he’s been in months.”

That quiets the room for a beat.

“Dinner’s ready!” Emily called out, cutting through the low murmur of post-patrol silence.

Instantly, the kitchen erupted into chaos—the shuffle of chairs, the scraping of plates, the bickering and teasing as the pack surged toward the table. Except Jacob. He stayed quiet, eyes down, mechanically loading his plate but barely tasting anything.

After dinner, everyone filtered out in different directions—Paul and Jared arguing over something dumb, Embry stealing another muffin on his way out, Quil making a joke about Sam’s “dad voice” before disappearing into the trees. Jacob lingered, collecting plates and stacking them neatly. Emily gave him a small, grateful smile as she took them from his hands.

“Thanks, Jake. You’ve got good manners for a wolf,” she teased gently, patting his back. “Go get some air.”

He gave her a nod and slipped outside.

The porch was quiet, soaked in moonlight. Sam was already out there, leaning against the railing, arms folded across his chest, eyes cast up at the sky like he was waiting for something.

A full moon. Ironic.

He hesitated for a second before walking over. They weren’t close—not like he was with Embry or Quil. For a long time, Jacob resented Sam. Thought he was a cult leader. Thought he stole his friends. But then Jacob phased and he started to understand. Started to see Sam in a different light. Maybe not a friend, but something like a quiet leader who carried more weight than he let anyone see.

Jake stood beside him without a word. The air was crisp, the breeze soft. Cicadas buzzed in the dark, their song a low, steady hum.

Sam spoke without looking at him. “You know, when I first phased I thought I was losing my mind.”

Jacob didn’t say anything, but he listened.

“I was the only one then. No one to talk to about it. No one to warn me. I thought I was broken,” Sam continued, his voice low. “Eventually I got a handle on it. But then I imprinted. And that was harder.”

Jake’s brow furrowed, eyes flickering on him. “On Emily.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. On Emily.”

He let the silence stretch.

“I was still with Leah,” he said, voice heavier now. “And I loved her. I really did. But imprinting doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t care about timing. Or history. Or who gets hurt.”

Jacob looked away, jaw tight. He’d heard the story before—but hearing Sam admit it, here, in the quiet, made it more real somehow.

“I fought it. Every day. For a long time,” Sam said. “Because how do you look someone in the eye—someone you hurt—and tell them it wasn’t your choice? That your heart doesn’t belong to you anymore?”

Jacob swallowed. “Do you regret it?”

Sam finally looked at him. “No. I love Emily with everything I have, but the pain it caused? I’ll always carry that.”

Jacob was quiet for a beat. Then he muttered, “I don’t feel guilty.”

Sam tilted his head, waiting.

“I’m just… scared,” Jacob admitted, voice rough. “It’s not just a crush anymore. It’s like—she’s in my blood now. Every second I’m not with her feels wrong. Like my skin doesn’t fit. But I don’t want her to feel like she doesn’t have a choice. I want her to pick me. Not because of some supernatural magic, but because she wants to.”

“That’s the thing about imprinting,” Sam said, thoughtful. “It doesn’t erase your personality. It doesn’t make you perfect. It just binds you. Makes your soul certain, even when your head is a mess.”

Jacob let out a short breath. “My head’s more than a mess.”

Sam cracked a small smile. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”

Suddenly, the screen door creaked behind them.

“Okay, seriously?” Paul’s voice rang out. “Can you two stop brooding out here. Some of us are still getting hit with your feelings at full blast, and it’s starting to mess with my appetite.”

Jacob groaned. “You eavesdropping?”

“We’re psychically linked, not eavesdroppers, genius,” Paul shot back, walking out onto the porch. He looked at Jacob, crossing his arms. “She likes you. Seriously. It’s kind of gross how cute it is.”

Jacob looked down, shoulders tense. “You don’t know that.”

“Okay, Romeo. She texts you first. She looks at you like you’re the sun. And you think we can’t tell? You’ve been howling about her in your head for weeks. Every little thought you have about her since you phased. I swear it’s like being trapped in a Nicholas Sparks movie.”

Quil leaned out the door behind Paul, muffin in hand. “He’s right dude. She’s into you. She always has been.”

Embry’s voice drifted from inside. “We’ve been placing bets. I said you’d crack by next week. Paul’s got Thursday.”

Jacob buried his face in his hands, groaning. “You guys are the worst.”

Sam laughed quietly and clapped him on the shoulder. “They’re not wrong. I got Sunday.”

Jacob didn’t reply, but his heart beat a little louder in his chest.

He still wouldn’t tell you. Not yet. But he was thinking about you. And the thought of you thinking about him too? That scared him more than anything else because it meant hope.

And hope, for Jacob Black, was the most dangerous thing of all.

Chapter 6: click

Chapter Text

Thursday came. Then Sunday. Then the next week still flew by. And Jacob still kept his mouth shut-still too afraid of what you'd say, how you'd react, what you'd do.

Rather than letting his fears consume him, he was at your place. Again.

He came by without knocking. It'd become so routine your mom had stopped acting surprised at his sudden appearances. She greeted him like a second son-handing him a slice of banana bread and reminding him to take off his shoes before tracking dirt inside because she'd just cleaned.

"Smells good in here," Jacob said as he stepped into the kitchen, taking a deep breath. His hair was still damp from a shower, cheeks flushed with leftover warmth.

"My mom's in her baking era," you said, handing him a cup of tea.

He took it, lifting his pinky the way you'd taught him during the pretend tea parties you'd forced him into with your stuffed animals. "Tell her to never leave it."

You leaned against the counter beside him, raising an eyebrow. "You just like anything you don't have to make yourself."

"Gotta take what I can get." He shrugged, biting into the banana bread and following it with a sip of tea.

Your mom came back into the kitchen, holding one of those old cookie tins from Costco-the kind everyone used for sewing supplies or random junk. She wore a smile that meant she was either amused or had found something worth sharing.

"Look what I accidentally packed," she said in a sing-song tone, popping the lid off. "Voilà!"

Inside: a mess of childhood leftovers. Coins from every state and a few countries you'd ever been to, a tiny pouch of your baby teeth (gross, Mom), and under it all, pictures. Lots of them.

The first one you pulled out was a Halloween photo-Jacob grinning wide, both front teeth missing.

"Oh my god," you laughed, loud and bright. "You look like you used to eat table legs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

Jacob flushed and rolled his eyes. "Shut up. Like you don't have a massive green snot bubble hanging out of both nostrils."

You instinctively sniffed and wiped your nose, shooting him a glare. Your mom gave you both one last fond look before mumbling something about laundry and disappearing down the hall, leaving you with the box.

As you kept digging through the photos, Jacob leaned over your shoulder. You could feel the soft heat of his breath on your skin. He reached out, placing his hand over yours to stop you on one picture, then gently pulled it out to look closer.

It was the two of you beside your bikes, the first time without training wheels. Jacob was on the ground mid-cry, while you knelt beside him, clutching a fistful of Starbursts.

"Remember when you used to bribe me with candy to kiss your scraped knees better?" you recall, chuckling.

His laugh was warm, low. He traced a slow circle over the photo with his thumb.

"You charged me five Starbursts for a single Band-Aid."

"You were a terrible negotiator."

"I was eight."

The memory settled between you —sweet and familiar. You remembered every part of it. His bloody knees. His bulging pockets full of crumpled wrappers. You'd pretended to be annoyed, but you'd never been able to say no to him.

He glanced over at you, a slow grin forming.

"You've always been trouble, you know that, right?"

You didn't miss a beat. "Yeah? I normally charge double for lasting psychological scars."

Jacob barked out a laugh, head tilting back just slightly. "Figures."

He flipped to the next photo: the beach, a little fort in the corner.

"Remember the houses we built on First

Beach?"

You snorted. "The ones you swore wouldn't collapse?"

"They held up."

"For twenty minutes."

Jacob grinned, unrepentant. "Still worth it."

You gave him a playful shove, but he caught your wrist before you could pull away, shaking his head with a teasing smile. His voice dropped, soft but amused. "You were holding my hand the whole time it came down."

"You were crying."

"I was eight," he repeated, then, quieter, "Still made sure nothing hit you, though."

And he had. Even when the branches gave way, even as you both ducked into the sand, Jacob had shielded you. You ended up with a scraped knee. He'd needed stitches.

There was a pause. Then:

"Don't you ever think this is so weird?" he asked.

"What is?"

"You and me. Sitting here, looking at old pictures. In Forks. Like no time's passed."

You shifted slightly, resting your head against the counter to face him. "Yeah. I do think about it."

He looked at you, really looked. "And?"

"And... I think we were always gonna come back to each other."

He was quiet for a second. Then, softer than you'd ever heard him:

"I hoped you'd say that."

The words hung in the air between you, quiet and full. You didn't respond, just looked at him for a moment longer, and then-

"Let's go to the drive-in," Jacob said suddenly, standing and stretching. "The guys were planning on going tonight. They're playing Click."

You blinked. "The Adam Sandler one?"

He grinned. "Yeah. Time travel remote. Dumb, but kinda genius."

—

It wasn't long before you were in a crowded lot surrounded by pickups and blankets and the smell of cheap popcorn drifting from the snack shack. Some guys were already there-Embry was draped across the truck bed like a cat in the sun, and Quil was dramatically recounting a story to no one in particular, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

You loved summers here. The weather was warm during the day, but around sunset, the sun glowed gently like a comforting hug. It was a soft kind of golden hour, the kind that made everything feel like it was happening inside a dream. Not too hot, not too cold. Just right. The leaves rustled with the last of the daylight creatures still scurrying, lianas swaying gently as if the trees themselves were settling down for the evening. The sounds of nature made the perfect kind of background noise for the buzzing conversations spread out across the field where the massive screen shone bright above everyone.

Jacob found you a spot to sit up front on a blanket-just the two of you. Not totally on purpose. Not totally by accident either.

The movie started, the screen flickering to life with the opening scenes of Click. You leaned into the humor easily, laughing at the dumbest jokes-loud, unfiltered, the kind of laugh Jacob hadn't heard in years. His head tilted slightly as he listened, eyes not on the screen, but on you.

There was something about the sound of it— your laugh-that made his chest ache in the best way. He wanted to record it, bottle it, play it back on a loop forever.

"Oh my god," you giggled, pointing at the screen. "He really paused his boss to slap him in slow motion."

"Peak cinema," Jacob said with a smirk.

"It's so stupid," you said, still laughing.

"But you're still watching."

"And you're still listening to me talk instead of watching the movie."

He looked down, caught. "Guilty."

The summer heat faded as the movie went on, traded for a creeping chill carried in by low-hanging clouds. The rustling of animals died down too, like the whole forest was tucking in for the night. You shifted slightly, brushing against Jacob's side, and he didn't say anything.

He just leaned a little closer.

About a quarter through the movie, a drizzle started. Soft at first, like a whisper against the skin. Then stronger. People groaned and scrambled-some pulling blankets over their heads, others bolting toward their cars or the snack shack awning.

"C'mon," Jacob said, grabbing your hand and pulling you up with a laugh. "Before you get soaked."

You both sprinted to his car, rain plastering your hair to your forehead, clothes sticking to your skin like cling wrap. He fumbled the keys but managed to unlock it just in time, and you dove into the passenger seat, breathless and laughing.

He started the engine, the radio kicking on low.

Warm air pushed through the vents. Then, without a word, Jacob pulled his hoodie over his head and handed it to you.

He didn't say anything. Just sat there quietly, looking at you. Letting the movie play. Letting the moment stretch.

A knock on the window snapped him out of it.

"Dude. Dude. Is she wearing your hoodie?" Embry's face was practically pressed to the glass, eyes wide with a grin.

Jacob cracked the window an inch. "Go away."

Quil leaned in over Embry's shoulder. "She's out cold," he whispered with a smirk.

"Man, this is peak romance. All you're missing is a playlist and some candlelight."

"Shut up," Jacob muttered, but his voice lacked any real bite.

Embry squinted. "She drooled on your seat."

"She did not—" Jacob looked over, then frowned. “…She did."

The two of them broke into cackles, backing away from the car as Jacob rolled the window back up.

When the quiet settled again, Jacob looked at you once more. Still asleep. Still curled into his hoodie like it belonged to you. His hoodie. His car. His heart, probably. Despite the teasing, despite the rain, despite the ache that never quite left his chest when he looked at you-Jacob smiled.

Chapter 7: promise you

Chapter Text

“Get in,” he said, leaning against the Rabbit with that annoyingly unreadable expression on his face.

You narrowed your eyes. “What happened to hi, hello, how are you? I like what you did with your hair today?”

“Hi, hello, how are you? I like what you did with your hair today.” he repeated, flat, monotone.

You gave him a long look. “Charming.”

He just grinned. “Are you getting in or what?”

You slid into the seat with a dramatic sigh, the passenger seat now permanently adjusted to your height. “Where are we going?

“You ask too many questions.”

“You say that every time. Hasn’t stopped me yet.”

He didn’t answer this time. Just passed you the aux cord like a peace offering and rolled the windows down halfway, letting the warm summer air rush through the car as he pulled onto the road. With the wind came chaos–your hair, freshly styled after an hour following some impossible tutorial online, was instantly undone.

You shot him another look, batting it back down. “You’re a menace.”

He smirked. “You look better that way anyway.”

You scoffed and started scrolling through your iPod, flicking through your playlists. Every song you landed on felt wrong for the moment, so you skipped past them all, frustrated.

“Dirty hands, mysterious behavior, emotionally repressed–what more could a girl want?” you start. “You could be kidnapping me and dragging me off to your evil lair right now, and I wouldn’t even question it.”

He laughed, that real, rare one that made your chest tighten for reasons you weren’t ready to name. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’d be bored without me.”

“I would. No one else is as annoying.”

“You love it.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

He gave you a sideways glance, not quite smiling but definitely close. “Now no more questions. I’m taking you somewhere.”

You leaned forward, turning the volume up once you finally landed on a song that felt right. Without thinking, you held up an invisible microphone to his mouth mid-chorus. He didn’t hesitate—he joined in, off-key and dramatic, his usual cool composure completely shattered as the two of you jammed out to a throwback from when your parents were your age.

By the time he parked the car, your voice was hoarse from laughing and singing too loud.

You’d say you enjoyed nature–most of the time. Especially the kind of nature Western Washington offered: lush and untouched. But not like this.

Not when you’d mentally prepared for a couch nap and a rom-com, not a full-body cardio session up the side of a mountain. Not when your hair was ruined, your skin sticky with humidity, and your deodorant had clearly given up something around the second incline.

“Is this… punishment?” you cry as you hiked, dragging your feet behind Jacob’s much longer stride.

The forest buzzed around you with the sounds of birds and rushing water, damp and green and teeming with life. The trail twisted upwards with no mercy. Halfway up a steeper hill, Jacob dropped back to walk beside you.

“You good?” he asked, holding out his hand without thinking.

You took it, out of breath. “What do you think?”

He squeezed gently. “Just checking. Not trying to lose you to a root or something dumb.”

“I’ve survived worse than a rogue tree root.”

He smiled, but didn’t let go of your hand.

“Like being dragged to some random forest in Clallam without warning,” you added. “No heads-up, no prep, and it’s like the hottest day of the year.”

“Oops. I thought you liked surprises.”

“I like surprises. I don’t like feeling like a rotisserie chicken.”

“Okay, valid.”

You let go of his hand to reach for the water bottle tucked in the side of his backpack. You hadn’t brought anything, but of course, Jacob had–you eyed him with mock suspicion as you drank.

“At least one of us came prepared.”

He shrugged, bashful. “You complain a lot for someone who took like, twelve pictures of a fern back there.”

“It was a very aesthetically pleasing fern.”

You hiked for another twenty minutes, your annoyance fading as your body adjusted and the surroundings quieted. You passed a couple of elderly hikers on their way down—sprightly and cheerful, which made your suffering feel dramatic in comparison.

The trail turned beautiful the higher you climbed. Small waterfalls trickled down mossy rocks, carving gentle paths into the dirt. You dipped your hands into one of them to cool off, then dragged Jacob over and made him rinse his grimy fingers too, despite his argument that the stains were just from grease.

“They don’t wash out,” he insisted.

“That’s what worries me.”

Eventually, you hit a tricky section of the trail—a narrow edge where the mountain had caved in slightly, the path eroded. You paused at the edge, your stomach twisting as you looked down. It was steep. One wrong step and you’d be the rock that just skittered off the ledge and vanished from view.

“Wouldn’t wanna be that rock,” you muttered, nerves creeping into your voice.

Jacob stepped in front of you. “I’ll go first. Just hold my hand, okay? I won’t let you fall.”

You stared at the path, then at him. “This is some Final Destination level stuff right now.”

He offered you a soft smile. “Promise you. You’re okay.”

He went ahead slowly, then turned, holding out his hand like a lifeline. You took it.

The path was sketchy, but he kept you steady. He held on like it mattered.

“Thanks, Jake,” you said once you reached the other side.

“Of course.”

“I don’t wanna think about going back across that.”

“We’ll roll you down the hill if we have to.”

By the time you reached the lookout, the trees parted to reveal a sweeping view so beautiful it knocked the breath from your lungs. Lake Crescent sparkled below, Mount Olympus towering in the distance. The forest rolled in green waves, soft and endless.

“Wow,” you whispered.

“Yeah. Wow.” He was looking at the view—but also, you.

“Was it worth all my kicking and whining?” you asked.

Jacob smirked. “Debatable.”

“Oh, please. You whined more than I did when we were shopping in Port Angeles.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

He didn’t answer—just looked at you with that half-laugh, half-defeated expression like he wanted to argue but couldn’t come up with anything.

“That’s what I thought,” you teased, grinning.

“Whatever.” He nudged you lightly with his shoulder. “Swim?”

You turned to him. “You brought swim stuff?”

He gestured behind him. “You think I hiked all the way up here without planning that?”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re lucky I like surprises.”

Jacob grinned. “I’m lucky, period.”

The lake sat nestled in a basin of stone and evergreens, glassy and blue even under the graying sky. You’d barely kicked off your shoes before Jacob was already waist-deep, grinning like a little kid as he splashed water up at you.

“You’re insane,” you laughed, toeing the edge of the shore. “That water looks freezing.”

“Only at first.”

You gave him a look. “That’s what people say right before hypothermia sets in.”

“Come on, you’ll survive.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a yes—but a second later you were running in, shrieking as the cold wrapped around you like ice. Jacob laughed, deep and loud and contagious, and you couldn’t help but laugh too, the kind that left your ribs aching and your eyes squinting as you dunked under and came up gasping.

You splashed him. He splashed you back harder. Eventually you both stopped trying to win and just floated, side by side, breathless and soaked, hearts thudding out a rhythm you were trying hard not to count too closely.

When you got out, dripping and shivering, the air felt warmer by comparison. You sat beside him on a flat rock, shoulders barely brushing. The world was quiet around you except for the distant call of a bird and the gentle ripple of water behind you. The sky was starting to shift—clouds parting to reveal a soft pink glow bleeding into the horizon.

You watched it for a while, not talking. Your hair clung to your cheeks, your clothes stuck to your skin, and his arm was warm next to yours.

Then, softly, almost to himself, Jacob said, “This is my favorite day.”

You turned your head a little, startled.

He was still looking at the sky, but something in his jaw had gone soft. “I don’t know. It just is.”

You wanted to say me too—but it felt too much. Too naked. Instead, you nodded.

“It’s different this summer,” you murmured after a beat.

Jacob glanced at you, then back at the lake. “Yeah.”

“Things feel... not like they used to.”

He gave a low hum. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot.”

You both fell quiet again, the kind that didn’t feel awkward—just full of things neither of you were sure how to say.

“What’s it like?” he asked eventually.

You blinked. “What’s what like?”

“Being gone. Moving. School. All of it.”

You leaned back on your palms, gaze drifting back up to the sky. “It’s bigger. Busier. Faster. People talk fast, drive fast, eat fast. It’s like no one has time for anything. They don’t even say hi when they pass you on the sidewalk.”

Jacob didn’t interrupt. He just listened, like he always had.

“I don’t know if I like it,” you admitted quietly. “I mean, there’s a lot to do. And I know it’s where I’m supposed to be right now, but it doesn’t feel like home.”

He looked over at you. “Forks still does?”

You nodded. “Forks is weird. And small. And it smells like mildew half the year.”

He smiled.

“But yeah. It’s home.”

You picked at the edge of the towel wrapped around your knees. “Do you ever think about when we were kids?”

Jacob leaned back on his elbows. “Yeah. All the time.”

“Back when everything made sense. Or at least, felt like it did.”

“Back when the worst part of the day was if it rained while we were on the jungle gym.”

You laughed. “Or if Billy made us eat that weird canned chili again.”

“Still scarred.”

A breeze moved through the trees, stirring the scent of pine and wet stone. You turned to find Jacob already looking at you.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t look away. “You’re making it easy.”

You felt heat crawl into your cheeks. “What? The sweat dripping down my face does it for you?”

Jacob laughed, nose scrunching slightly. “Yeah. That and the fact you still have moss in your hair.”

You groaned, immediately reaching up to find it. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was admiring it,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You flicked a bit of grass at him. “Loser.”

He grinned and flicked it back. “Takes one to know one.”

You both sat there a little longer, your knee touching his now, and neither of you moved away.

“Do you ever get scared?” you asked suddenly. “Of growing up. Of... I don’t know. Leaving things behind.”

Jacob exhaled slowly. “Yeah. I used to think I had everything figured out. Like I’d just be here forever. Fixing bikes. Hanging out. But lately... I don’t know. It’s like everyone else is changing, and I’m stuck.”

You nodded. “Maybe that’s why this summer feels so weird.”

“Maybe.”

“Everything’s in-between.”

Jacob looked at you again, and this time you didn’t look away.

“We’re not the same kids anymore,” you said.

“No,” he agreed, his voice low. “But I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

Chapter 8: hollow bones

Chapter Text

Since you got back, Jacob found small ways to be around again: dropping by to fix the deck light without being asked, showing up with a socket wrench like he'd just remembered your dad had mentioned the grill was busted. He was around enough that your parents started teasing you again, throwing each other knowing looks over dinner like they knew something you didn't.

You got comfortable. Too comfortable.

Lately, the nights had started to feel off.

He bailed more. Told you he was busy. Said he was tired. You didn't push, but you noticed. The way his eyes drifted toward the treeline more often. The way his phone would buzz and he'd get quiet. He never said it, but you knew there was something pulling him away from you-something heavy he didn't want you to carry with him.

Jacob hadn't texted. Not a blurry sunset picture.

Not even his usual dry, late-night "you alive?" that you'd come to expect when the house was quiet and everyone else had gone to bed.

You stared at your phone too long, your thumb hovering over his contact, but you didn't type anything. You expected the dots to pop up on your screen first, like maybe he was already thinking of you.

That weekend, you waited for him at the dock for a fishing day and a swim. You stood with your pole, glancing at your phone every few minutes. When five o'clock came and went, you sat down instead, feet dangling in the water.

Then the minutes turned into nearly two hours.

Five missed calls to voicemail. You weren't sure why you kept waiting.

Jacob: I'm sorry I can't make it

You: That's it?

Jacob: I'm sorry

You left him on read. He eventually promised to make it up to you. Matilda and chocolate cake.

But tonight, the storm hit before he did.

You waited too long in the living room, your parents eventually giving up and kissing your head before heading to bed. You wandered into the kitchen instead, looking for something— comfort, distraction, sugar. Anything.

The storm outside was violent. Unseasonal. Like it didn't belong in a lazy summer night. You stood at the window with a glass of water, blanket around your shoulders, the lightning making brief ghosts of the trees outside.

Then-two sharp bangs on the door.

Your heart leapt up into your throat. You opened the door, blanket still clutched, anger already stitched into your expression.

Jacob stood there, soaked. Shirtless, barefoot, hair flattened to his face, his body steaming faintly in the cold night air.

"Why the hell are you not wearing clothes, Jacob?" you snapped before you could stop yourself. "Where are your shoes? You're gonna catch a cold—"

You dragged him inside, grabbed a towel, shoved it into his chest. "Clean your feet before my mom sees those prints and has a heart attack."

He didn't say anything, just quietly doing as you said.

"You bailed on me again, and now you show up like this?" You threw your blanket over his shoulders out of reflex. "What is up with you lately?"

"I'm sorry," he said, voice low like it hurt to say anything at all.

"Couldn't you have texted me? Called?"

He pushed his hair back and looked at you.

"Didn't think it would come down this hard."

"You scared the hell out of me," you admit, quieter this time. "I thought something happened."

"I'm okay." He hesitated. "Didn't mean to scare you."

You hugged him-brief, sharp-and he froze before returning it, his hands settled lightly on the small of your back.

"No cake, I'm guessing?"

He looked away. Not a funny joke, you guess.

"I'm not staying. I just-Just wanted to come by.

Say sorry."

Your chest tightens.

"That's it?"

"I have to go soon."

You studied him. The way his jaw clenched. The flicker of something in his eyes he couldn't quite hide.

"Don't lie to me, Jacob. Just-don't. I'm not mad that you missed things; I'm mad you didn't tell me you would. I'm not a stranger-you don't need to vanish. And I'm confused. Confused why you don't respond for hours, why you show up at one in the morning, why your clothes are missing." you let out a slight laugh at how ridiculous you sound.

"I know."

"Then why do you keep doing it?"

"It's complicated."

"Yeah. That's what people say when they don't want to talk about things. Avoid things."

Silence. Then a soft "I don't want to hurt you."

"That's not your call."

You didn't realize your voice was shaking until he looked at you, his brow drawn, almost like it hurt him.

“I'm leaving soon, Jake. I only get you for the summer. Everyone else gets you the rest of the year and I hate feeling like I'm begging for scraps of time from someone who's supposed to be my best friend."

He winced, like that hit harder than he expected.

"Stay,"

you almost beg. "Just until the storm slows."

"I can't."

"Why? Is it something I did? Something I said?"

"No." It came out sharp, too fast. "No. It's not you, no."

You stared at him. At the way his hands fidgeted with the edge of the towel. At how he couldn't look you in the eyes anymore.

"You used to tell me everything," you said.

"I still want to."

"Then tell me why it feels like you're not really here anymore."

You didn't mean for it to sound like a plea, but it did. Soft and breaking and too close to the truth.

Jacob didn't move. His eyes flickered to yours, then down to the floor again, like he couldn't stand to meet the look in your face. Like it might burn.

You watched him breathe. His chest rose and fell too slow, like each inhale was a choice he had to make. The towel in his hands hung limp now, damp and wrung out at the edges where his fingers twisted the fabric.

He shook his head once, barely. "I can't explain it."

"You mean you won't."

"It's not the same thing."

Your throat tightened. "It is when you used to tell me everything."

"I still want to." he repeats, this time more desperate like he's trying to get you to understand something hiding behind his words.

"Then do it." You took a step closer. "Just be honest. Tell me whatever it is that makes you disappear. That makes you lie about why you don't come around. That makes you look at me like you're already halfway gone."

You didn't raise your voice, but something cracked under the surface-raw and hollow. He heard it. His jaw tensed. His eyes flicked to the window as thunder rolled again in the distance.

For a second, he looked like he wanted to bolt.

Like staying here any longer was going to ruin something.

He didn't move, didn't say anything, didn't even try.

The thunder outside cracked louder this time, a low roar rolling through the floorboards. Rain lashed the windows in steady waves, but inside, the silence thickened like fog. You could feel it clinging to your skin-heavy, electric, expectant.

"Say something," you said, quieter now. It didn't come out angry. Just tired. Bone-deep and quiet, like you'd already given him all the fight you had.

Jacob's lips parted, then closed again. His eyes shifted-your face, the floor, the towel in his hands-anywhere but yours. Like he was hunting for an answer that didn't exist. Or one that wouldn't destroy you both.

"I..." His voice cracked, barely there. This wasn't the Jacob Black you knew and loved. He scrubbed a hand down his face, jaw tight, rainwater still dripping from the ends of his hair.

"I don't know how."

You stared at him. This boy used to finish your sentences, used to look at you like the world made sense. Now he stood soaked and silent in your living room, unable to finish his own sentence, and he felt farther away than ever.

The rain pounded down harder as if on cue, the wind howling against the side of the house, rattling the windows like fists against glass.

You didn't move. Neither did he.

"I hate this," you said, almost a whisper. "I hate pretending like everything's fine when it's not. I hate wondering if I did something wrong. If l said too much or not enough. I hate how I keep waiting for you to come back-to actually come back-but every time you show up, it's like I'm watching you from the other side of a glass wall."

He flinched, not visibly, not much-but you noticed. A ripple in his shoulders. A breath that caught too hard in his throat.

"I'm still me," he said, low and shaky.

"Then why don't you feel like you?"

Jacob swallowed hard. He turned away like he couldn't stand being seen by you as if he would come undone if he looked at you too long.

The towel hit the floor.

"I can't stay tonight."

The words landed like a blow. You didn't know what you expected-but not that. Anything but that.

You nodded slowly, lips pressed together.

"Right. Of course."

You stepped back to give him space, even though all you wanted to do was close it. Grab his hand. Shake him. Ask him what the hell he was doing-why he was running when you were right here, asking him to stay. But you didn't because what good was holding onto someone who was already slipping away? Making the choice to do so?

He moved toward the door, slow but sure, like each step pulled him farther into a choice he didn't want to make. The storm outside surged louder, wind curling beneath the frame like it was trying to claw its way in and keep him here.

His hand hovered over the doorknob.

You didn't say his name.

He didn't say yours.

The door opened with a groan and the cold rushed in. Damp and bitter. He stood there for a second, shoulders hunched again, back to you, like he might turn around. Like he wanted to.

Like maybe, just maybe, he'd choose you this time over whatever secret he was hiding.

But then the door clicked shut and he was gone.

You stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space where he had just been. The towel still lay on the floor, the rain still pelted the windows, the silence stretched until it wrapped itself around your chest like a second skin.

You were alone and this time, it wasn't an accident.

Chapter 9: things you don't say

Chapter Text

Death is imminent. Most don’t get the luxury of reaching the end of their life naturally–peacefully. Most don’t die knowing their life was well-lived, well-loved.

You, however, were going to take that luxury away from Jacob Black.

Thirty-five hours, forty-two minutes, eight seconds. That’s how long it had been since you last saw him, since that night. You hadn’t texted, but neither had he.

To be fair, he knew you needed more space than he did. Jacob always seemed to know that about you–how when your emotions boiled over, you needed quiet. Stillness. Time alone to cool off so you could speak your mind without every word carrying too much heat, especially ones you didn’t mean.

And he was right.

Which only pissed you off more.

Because if he understood you that well–understood what you needed, how you worked, how you shut down–then why did he keep you under the dark, like you hadn’t spent your entire lives knowing each other inside-out?

He knew you wouldn’t reach out first. You weren’t the kind of person who broke the silence until you were ready, and he knew that. You knew that he knew that. Which made it all worse because even if he knew you needed space, even if he understood it down to a science, a part of you still wished he’d done the opposite anyway. You wanted him to prove you wrong, to show up at your doorstep soaked and breathless and say, screw space, I care too much to stay away.

But he didn’t.

And maybe there was no right move he could’ve made. Maybe there was no winning. Maybe this whole situation was designed to screw you both up.

When Jacob felt things, he felt them with everything in him. He was stubborn. He loved hard and fast, but he always, always, put others before himself. That’s why it felt natural for him to throw his life into danger without blinking–because protecting Forks from real monsters gave him purpose. It distracted him from thinking too hard about stuff that really scared him.

Like feelings.

Like you.

Everything had happened too fast. The shifting, the imprinting, the supernatural chaos. One second he was just a kid worrying about homework, dreaming about a girl who moved away. The next, he had fur, paws, responsibilities, and a cosmic bond telling him the person who kept him grounded was now the axis his entire universe spun around.

You didn’t do anything wrong and it wasn’t something you said. You just existed, and somehow your existence alone became the thing Jacob needed to survive.

When you left, he told himself the crush would die quietly. And it did–kind of. It fizzled out, but not really. Never really. He buried it, shoved it down with both hands, and then you came back and suddenly it was like he didn’t need air, or food, or sleep. Just you.

You being near him rewired everything. The progress he’d made–the person he was trying to become–froze. Halted like his growth hit a red light and never got the green again.

He never wanted to hurt you. Not ever. He wanted to do the opposite, to protect you and preserve your peace by keeping you from the heavy, tangled mess of what he was now. The last thing he wanted was to trap you in something you never asked for.

And the worst part? He knew you’d understand because you always did. You’d listen and nod and hold space for him the way no one else could.

That made it scarier.

Because if you understood, then it’d be real. It would mean accepting what he was, what you were to him, and what that might do to you.

Not seeing you sucked. But knowing you were hurting because of him? That made his skin crawl, his chest ache. He could feel it–literally–because of the damn imprint, the cosmic tie that tethered his every heartbeat to yours.

And lately, with patrols getting more intense, with rogue vampires creeping through the tree line again, Jacob’s already limited time had shrunk even more. Which meant pushing you further out. Which meant more guilt. More regret. More thoughts circling like vultures.

And everyone noticed.

“You look like crap,” Embry told him one afternoon, smirking around a half-eaten granola bar as Jacob slouched deeper into the worn couch in Emily’s living room.

Jacob didn’t bother answering. His arms were crossed, hair a mess, dark circles etched under his eyes like bruises.

Quil threw down a reverse card during their lazy Uno game and raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, man. You’re gonna implode. Or imprint-sulk yourself into an aneurysm.”

“I’m fine,” Jacob muttered.

“Liar,” Embry replied immediately, not even looking up from his cards.

“You’re not sleeping. You’re screwing up on patrols. You let a tree root punk you last night. A root, Jake.” Quil gestured toward the bandage around Jacob’s thumb. “That’s embarrassing for all of us.”

Jacob sighed through his nose. “Yeah. I know.”

There was a pause.

Then Quil leaned back and said, “Look. I’m saying this because I love you, bro. But you’re being a total idiot. A certified, capital ‘I’ idiot. You know it. We know it. Probably even the trees know it at this point.”

“Great pep talk,” Jacob replied, sarcastic.

“I’m not done,” Quil said. “You don’t even have to tell her the wolf stuff yet. Honestly, I wouldn’t. She’s already trying to figure out why you’re acting like this moody-loner-slash protector hybrid. You’re already giving off major Angel-from-Buffy vibes. Don’t make it worse by dumping a werewolf-shaped bomb on her.”

Embry snorted. “For real. If you disappear dramatically one more time, she’s gonna start journaling about you in cursive.”

Jacob cracked a reluctant smile but didn’t say anything. Then, without looking up, he tossed his last card onto the pile. “Uno out.”

Quil blinked. “Wait–seriously?”

Jacob just leaned back against the couch, looking up at the ceiling, eyes dull. “Doesn’t mean I’m winning at life.”

Embry let out a low whistle. “Damn. That was darker than expected.”

“Talk to her,” Quil said again, more serious now. “You don’t have to say everything, just something. Something real, honest, because not saying anything? That’s what’s killing you.”

Jacob was sad, but so were you.

Not just sad. Confused. Conflicted. Hurt. Stuck somewhere between rage and ache and it all sat heavy in your chest like a weight you couldn’t breathe under.

You were drinking a glass of orange juice and staring at the fridge like it had answers. Maybe if you looked hard enough, the swirling storm inside your brain might settle.

“You’re looking at the fridge like red laser beams are gonna shoot out of your eyes and evaporate it,” your dad said, stepping into the kitchen with that familiar dry tone, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder. He clocked your slumped posture and pinched brows instantly.

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Practicing for my victim.”

He walked over and rubbed your shoulders, then kissed the side of your head in that comforting, fatherly way he always did. “Black? Don’t do that to my boy.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m just so annoyed. Like why is he acting like a freak and being so secretive? I’m not asking for the government’s confidential top-secrets. I just want him to be honest.”

“I was just like him,” your dad says, smiling as he opened the cabinet and pulled out a mug. “Young. Rebellious. Mysterious. It didn’t help when I fell in love.”

You raised a brow and perched up a little, staring at him like he’d said something criminal. “With Mom? You? Mysterious?”

He smiles with pride written all over his face.

“Mom said you used to call her five times a day and show up to her work ‘accidentally’ like, three times a week.”

He nodded solemnly. “That was me being mysterious.”

You laughed, for real this time.

“I once tried to impress her by dancing backwards down the hallway in rollerblades while holding a boombox in high school. Hit a locker, flipped over, broke my wrist, passed out, hospitalized. She was sitting next to me when I woke up. That’s when I knew she was the one.”

You blinked. “You never told me that version.”

“Because I looked like an idiot,” he replied, sipping his coffee. “But an idiot in love.”

“So what’s that got to do with Jacob acting like an emotionally repressed cryptid?”

He chuckled, deep and loud from his belly. “Everything. You kids think love is clean. It’s not. Sometimes it’s stupid and messy and makes you act like a weirdo who stares at a fridge. But if you don’t deal with it head-on, it eats you alive.”

You stared into your juice, feeling heat crawl up the back of your neck.

“Just… don’t wait too long,” he advises, heading for the hallway. “I’d like a warm thank you in your wedding speech, not a cold one on your deathbed. Go talk to him before your temper rips him apart.”

Your dad disappears down the hallway, leaving behind the faint scent of coffee. You take another sip of your orange juice and just sit there, watching the condensation slide down the glass, listening to the silence settle in the house like fog. Your thoughts churn quietly beneath the surface–heavy, sharp, loud, impossible to name. You look down at your hands and they’re still, but everything inside you is not.

You don’t know how much time passes. Maybe a few minutes. Maybe an hour. But eventually, after thirty-seven hours, twelve minutes, and fifty-six seconds of silence and distance, you throw on (his) hoodie, grab your keys, and drive.

The road is muscle memory. You’ve taken this route so many times, it’s etched into your bones. You pass the place where Jacob taught you how to skate, where he pushed you too fast down a hill and nearly gave you a concussion. Where he laughed so hard he fell over with you.

Eventually, you’re on the reservation, the ocean wind shifting in through the cracked window, and the ache in your chest building like pressure before a storm.

You park in front of a small, red wooden house that always looked too much like a barn. A little weathered by time, but standing.

You barely knock before the door opens.

Jacob looks tired, his hair messy like he had just woken up, his chest rising and falling concerningly fast. He looks at you like he wasn’t expecting you but was hoping you’d come anyway. But you don’t give him a chance to speak.

You step forward and just let it all out.

“Do you know how much it hurt not knowing what the hell was going on with you? I felt like I was screaming into a void and you just stood there watching. Do you know what it feels like to have someone look at you like you’re everything one second and then like you’re a stranger the next? Like they’re holding behind some thick wall and you’re not allowed through, no matter how hard you pound on it?”

You don’t even notice your hands are shaking until you grab at the sleeves of the hoodie.

“I came here thinking things would be different–or maybe just the same in the ways that mattered. But you’re not talking to me, Jacob. Not really. You show up, you bail, you look at me like I’m the answer to a question you won’t even ask. And I’m trying. God, I’m trying to be patient and soft and understanding, but I’m not a mind reader. I don’t want to be. I want you to trust me enough to say something. Anything.”

He’s still. Watching you. Breathing heavy.

You keep going, voice cracking just slightly now.

“Because this isn’t fair. I know you’re going through something, I see it. But it feels like you’re grieving something I don’t even know about, like there’s this shadow over you and you won’t let me near it. You shut me out and I feel like I’m just waiting for the version of you I used to know to come back. But maybe that version is gone. And if he is, at least say that. Is that too much to ask for? Too selfish?”

There’s a moment of silence. He doesn’t move.

Then he steps aside and lets you in.

You follow him into the warmth of the house, your heartbeat still thudding, your throat dry. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a long breath before finally looking at you again.

“I can’t tell you,” he says, voice low but steady. “And before you get mad again–just listen. I want to be honest with you, more than anything, but there’s this part of me I didn’t ask for. Something that’s not entirely mine to explain. And I don’t even understand it yet.”

He swallows, his eyes are shining too, but he blinks quickly.

“It’s been eating me alive since before you came back. Every time I look at you, there’s this war inside me wanting to protect you and wanting to keep you as far from me as possible, and I don’t know how to handle that. I don’t even fully know what I am right now, let alone how to share that with someone else.”

He finally steps closer. “And I know you’re hurt. I hate myself for hurting you, but I’m hurting too, and I don’t have the words or the tools to fix this yet. I just need more time. I promise I’ll tell you–everything. But right now, if I did, I’d only be handing you a burden that I’m still trying to carry myself and I can’t do that to you.”

You breathe in slowly, heart thudding against you ribs.

“Nothing about you is a burden to me, Jacob,” you whisper. “I love and care about every inch of your soul. You know that, right?”

“I do,” he says quietly, “And that’s what terrifies me. Why do you seem to love and understand me more than I do myself? Just let me figure this out first. Let me become the person who deserves that kind of love. Then I’ll tell you. I swear.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Then you nod once, slow.

“Okay, I trust you. Don’t go breaking it, Jake.”

“I won’t,” he replies almost immediately. “I swear I won’t.”

“You’re not kicking me out now, are you?” you ask, voice soft.

“No,” he says, voice low, like the word had been waiting in his chest this whole time. “Stay. Please. Stay.”

There’s something raw in the way he says it–not desperate, exactly. Just sincere, like he’s finally admitting that he needs something.

You stop, half-turned toward the door, and look at him.

“Okay,” you say softly.

You drop your keys on the table, toe off your shoes, and glance around the room like it’s unfamiliar, even though you’ve been here a hundred times before. Everything feels a little warped, like the air’s heavier now, slower. Jacob stays quiet, eyes following you with that same unreadable look. Part guilt. Part relief. Mostly something deeper–something wounded and tender.

You shift your weight, then glance down at your phone. “Crap. I forgot my charger.”

His voice is steadier now, a little warmer. “Top drawer on my desk. Might still be that old one you left.”

You nod, grateful for something simple, and head toward his room.

His room smells like him–that mix of pine and clean laundry and something warm you can’t quite name. Possibly familiarity. You flick on the light and go to the desk.

You open the drawer and pause.

The overhead light flickers softly, catching on the edge of something crinkled and colorful nestled between loose batteries and old screws.

Starburst wrappers.

Dozens of them.

Some smoothed flat, others crumpled into little cubes like they’d been stuffed into a pocket in a hurry. Pink, orange, red–every color, every flavor. You pick one up, your fingers still recognizing the texture, the weight of it. A soft breath escapes you before you can help it.

Jacob’s voice floats in from the hallway. “You find it?”

You don’t answer right away. You’re still staring into the drawer, holding a piece of your shared history between your fingers.

He steps into his room. “Hey, you okay?”

You hold up the wrapper without turning around. “You kept these?”

A pause. You can feel him stop in the doorway behind you.

Then, quieter: “What do you mean?”

You look back at him, your expression a mixture of incredulous and something tender. You shift back slightly so he can see inside the drawer. His eyes land on it–on the sea of familiar colors–and something in his face changes. Softens.

He walks forward slowly. “I forgot I still had those.”

You raise a brow. “Did you, though?”

Jacob scratches the back of his neck again, half a smile playing at his lips. “Okay. Maybe I knew. But only because I never wanted to throw them out.”

You turn toward him, arms folded loosely, a pink wrapper still in your hand. “Why?”

He looks down at the drawer, then back up at you with a sort of quiet vulnerability. “Because they were yours. Ours. I don’t know. I guess… I held onto them because they reminded me of a time when things made sense. When getting a kiss from you only cost a few pieces of candy.”

You scoff lightly. “You were constantly broke.”

“I know.” He smiles. “But you still patched me up anyway. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You shake your head, stepping closer. “You’re such a sentimental idiot.”

“I’m aware.”

He meets your eyes, and something heavier settles between you. A beat of silence. A shared knowing. You search his face for something—an answer, maybe. Or a reason why you’re still here, why your heart still aches when it comes to him.

“I missed this,” you say, your voice quieter now. “Us. Before everything got complicated. But I’m glad we talked.”

Jacob nods, almost solemn. “Me too.”

You inhale slowly, chest tight with the things you haven’t said. Then he reaches out and pulls you in gently, his arms wrapping around your waist like they were made to. You fold into him without resistance. The hug is soft at first, then stronger. He tucks his chin over your shoulder, and you stay that way–for a long, quiet moment. No words. Just breath, warmth, and the ache of being known too well.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His hands are still resting on your arms. “Let me make everything up to you.”

You tilt your head, suspicious. “How?”

“Tomorrow,” he says, but certain. “Be free at six.”

You blink. “You’re giving me a time but not a plan? Again?”

His smile tugs to the side, sheepish. “I swear I won’t drag you hiking this time. Not without warning or verbal consent, at least.”

“Hmm,” you pretend to mull it over. “But I’m expecting, like, a five-course apology.”

He raises a brow. “You’re getting a pack of Starbursts and my sparkling company. Anyone else would be fighting for that.”

You snort, despite yourself. “Modest, aren’t we?”

“I’ve been told it’s one of my more annoying qualities.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile’s already taken over. “Guess I’ll allow it.”

He leans in a little, playful but tentative. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, softer now. “I’ll be there.”

He grins. “I’ll take what I can get.”

There’s a beat. Just the quiet hum of the room and the distance between you shrinking a little more.

You tilt your head. “We’re okay?”

Jacob meets your gaze, steady and warm. “We’re okay if you’re okay.”

You nod, voice just above a whisper. “Then we’re okay.”

And you don’t need to say anything else. Because right now, in his hoodie, in his room, in this moment—you are.

Chapter 10: all ears

Chapter Text

“You’re kidding me,” you breathe, eyes wide, mouth parted in disbelief. “I haven’t been here in years.” You glance over at Jacob, a grin pulling at your lips, unable to hide the giddiness bubbling up.

Jacob chuckles, pulling into the gravel lot with no marked lines—just scattered vehicles and uneven tire tracks. “Glad you finally like one of my surprises.”

Your attention is already out the window. A faded banner reading Clallam County Fair sways in the breeze above the entrance gate. Just past the fence, you catch glimpses of neon rides spinning in the sunset—the pendulum, the drop tower, the Ferris wheel slowly turning in the distance. An assortment of food trucks spew out the scent of butter and fried batter, the neon signs on their rooftops flickering like they're trying to compete with the stars. Colored lights blink against the dusk sky, casting glows of pink, green, and blue.

You haven’t been here since you were a kid, but everything about it still sparks the same thrill.

Clallam’s fair was practically a summer tradition. Your family came every August, and more often than not, the Blacks came too. You and Jacob would run around the grounds until your legs gave out, pockets stuffed with tickets and sticky candy wrappers.

Jacob hops out, walks around, and opens the door for you without a word. There’s a smile on his face, something steady in it.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

He buys your tickets at the booth—no arguing, no letting you pull your wallet out—and then the two of you are walking into the fairgrounds, swallowed by sound and scent and light. The air smells like sugar and grease, like popcorn, dirt, and fried everything. The noise is a blur of laughter, distant screams from rides, and distorted announcements over crackly speakers.

The moment stretches, weightless and buzzing with energy. You take a slow look around, soaking it all in. The lights, the scents, the old familiarity of it. You glance at Jacob, and he's already watching you like he’s cataloging your expressions, quietly satisfied.

Without hesitation, you drag Jacob straight into the clutter of vendor stalls and merchandise stands. He doesn’t complain. In fact, he plays along so well that you end up breathless from laughing. You bop him on the shoulder with an inflatable hammer, and he retaliates by sticking a tie-dye bucket hat on his head and dramatically posing like a model.

“How do I look?” he asks, puffing his chest.

“Like a tourist at Woodstock,” you reply, and he nearly drops the oversized sunglasses he’s trying on.

You drift from booth to booth, weaving through macrame jewelry, bootleg graphic tees, and glitter tattoos. The light around you shifts as the sun continues to dip, casting long shadows beneath the rows of vendor tents. The buzz of the rides eventually pulls your attention forward. The sound of squeaky hydraulics and a child’s distant scream over laughter reminds you of what you haven’t done yet.

You nudge Jacob’s arm. “Okay, time to get serious. Froggy roller coaster?”

He groans, already shaking his head as you pull him toward it.

“You do realize we’re, like, four feet too tall for this?” he mutters, ducking his head to squeeze into the car.

“Shhh,” you hush him, giggling. “It’s nostalgic.”

The ride is barely faster than a brisk walk and feels more like a jostle than a thrill, but you still scream at the top of your lungs for fun. Jacob groans the whole time, but he’s smiling when you get off. After that, it becomes a rhythm—ride, laugh, wander. The sky fades from dusty lavender to a deeper navy as you wind your way toward the game booths, still glowing under harsh fluorescents.

You eye the Down-a-Clown setup skeptically.

“All these games are rigged,” you say, crossing your arms. “So unfair.”

But then you spot it—a comically oversized stuffed bear, locked away behind the mesh like some carnival trophy.

Jacob catches you staring and halts.

“I’ll get it for you,” he says, as if it’s already decided.

You laugh, unconvinced. “These games are a scam. You won’t win it.”

“Wanna bet?”

He grabs your wrist and leads you to the booth. The teenage attendant barely glances up before Jacob slaps down his ticket and collects the softballs. His arm moves with effortless precision, each ball knocking a clown down with perfect accuracy. You stare, slack-jawed, as his score climbs higher and higher.

When the timer buzzes, Jacob turns to you, smug grin stretched across his face. He jerks his chin at the stunned worker, who reluctantly hands him the bear.

“Told you,” he says.

You try not to look impressed. “Show-off.”

“Say it again. Slower.”

You roll your eyes but smile, hugging the bear. “You’re carrying this, by the way.”

“Obviously.” He adjusts it over his shoulder like it’s nothing. “Why’d you want this thing anyway?”

You shrug. “Kinda reminds me of you.”

He gives you a side glance. “What, big and awkward?”

“Soft and annoying.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Fair enough.”

By the time you make it to the food area, Jacob’s got a glowing LED necklace around his neck and you’re sporting a light-up headband and a psychedelic scarf he won for you in some dart-throwing contest. He’s showing off, clearly, and you let him. The smell of fried dough and sugar is practically magnetic, and your stomach growls so loudly Jacob raises an eyebrow.

“Hungry much?”

“Starving.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence as you eye the concession stand. The line moves fast, the air thick with the sounds of batter sizzling and syrup being drizzled over funnel cakes. The murmur of nearby families—kids tugging on sleeves, parents negotiating over snacks—creates a cozy kind of background noise.

When it’s your turn, you glance at the menu board, but you already know.

“Let’s get an elephant ear.”

Jacob’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Haven’t had one of those in years.”

“Then we have to.” You turn to him. “Split one?”

He hesitates, just for a second. There’s something flickering behind his eyes, but then he nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

You take the greasy paper plate from the vendor and bring it back to the bench, sitting side by side, thigh to thigh, like it’s second nature. Powdered sugar clings to the air between you, catching the glow of string lights above.

“She used to give us five bucks,” he says eventually, voice low. “Said it had to cover one ride and one snack, so we always picked this.”

You glance at him. “Your mom?”

He nods once, then shrugs. “She’d always sneak us extra, though. Pretended she didn’t.”

You don’t say anything. Just smile gently.

You sit together on a bench tucked just to the side of the stand, sharing the elephant ear like no time has passed. The sugar sticks to your fingertips and the warm dough melts on your tongue. Jacob pulls off a corner piece, his thumb brushing against yours for a second. You tear off a bite and chew slowly, savoring it.

He looks over, about to say something, and then pauses.

“You’ve got—” He reaches out and gently brushes the powdered sugar off your nose with the pad of his thumb.

You blink. “That obvious?”

“Blinding,” he says dryly, but there’s a softness in his eyes now.

“She used to wipe powdered sugar off my face too,” he murmurs. “Always said I ate like a baby bear.”

You smile, quiet. “You kind of still do.”

He lets out a breath—half a chuckle, half something else—and leans back slightly, the moment stretching between you.

“Thanks for sharing,” you say.

He looks at you like you’ve just said something far more important than that.

“Yeah,” he says. “Anytime.”

The remaining golden hour haze dips low over the fairgrounds, stretching shadows long and warm across the grass. Everything glows—soft amber dusted over cotton candy stands and glittering off the tops of ride canopies. The Ferris wheel lights flicker on one by one like tiny galaxies sparking into life.

Jacob stands and offers a hand. “What do you say? One more ride?”

You glance up at the Ferris wheel, your hand tightening slightly around the bear. “Only if you promise not to rock the cart.”

“No promises.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

“I’ll build you a little shrine in my garage. Right next to my toolbox.”

He smiled—just a flicker—and stood. You gathered your loot with exaggerated effort, wrestling the oversized bear under one arm, your prize haul dangling from your wrists. He waited, steady and quiet, before you both turned toward the Ferris wheel, weaving through the soft-buzz quiet of the fairgrounds.

The crowd had thinned to a gentle hush. Most of the families were gone now, their sugar-high kids dozing in backseats, while the fair itself exhaled into twilight. Faint, dreamy music floated from the booths, that old-timey kind of tune that made everything feel slightly cinematic. The lights above you blinked softer now, more glow than glare, and it all felt slower, like time was giving you a moment.

By the time you reached the Ferris wheel, only a couple pairs stood ahead of you—couples leaned into each other in that quiet, familiar way that said the day had been shared, not just spent. You wondered for a second how you and Jacob looked from the outside. Old friends, maybe. Or maybe two people pretending not to fall into something that had been waiting.

When it was your turn, the ride operator barely glanced up—his bucket hat was pulled low, and his hoodie looked like it had survived too many summers. He waved you into the gondola with a tired gesture. You stepped in first and slid onto the cool metal bench, tucking the oversized stuffed bear between your legs. Jacob followed and settled onto the seat directly across, his knees brushing yours for the briefest moment before he leaned back. The gondola gave a small jolt as the wheel creaked back to life beneath you and slowly, the world began to fall away.

Below, the fair became a tilt-shift version of itself. The booths looked like dollhouses, the people like toys, voices blurring into a low, distant hum. A breeze stirred your hair and cooled your skin, and everything below felt small and far away.

“They look like ants,” you said, peering over the edge. The structure gave a little creak, and you immediately flinched back. “This thing’s got to be fifty years old.”

Jacob gave you a sidelong look. “Why would you say that now?”

You grinned, unapologetic. “Just making conversation. But seriously—how sketchy is this thing?”

He shrugged, arms stretching out across the back of the seat, casual and broad-shouldered and smug. “It’s fine. Probably. Structurally questionable, yeah, but it’s survived this long. If anything goes wrong, I’ll just jump us to safety.”

You snorted. “Oh, great. Heroic and delusional. That’s new.”

The gondola rocked gently as the wheel moved again, taking you higher. You were almost at the top now. The sky had deepened into full navy, stars beginning to blink out from the velvet. Below you, the fair shimmered like a constellation of lights and motion. Distant laughter, golden bulbs, and the fading scent of kettle corn made it feel like you were watching someone else’s dream.

Jacob went quiet. You glanced at him—and for a second, just watched.

The colored lights from the wheel rolled slowly over his face—blue, then pink, then soft gold. They lit the sharp curve of his cheekbone, the line of his jaw, the thoughtful set of his mouth. He looked older up here, or maybe just more real, like the version of him you’d always been moving toward.

He caught you staring.

You looked away, cheeks warming. “This, uh... this kinda feels like a date,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off but meaning every word.

There was a pause. Not heavy. Just quiet.

Jacob leans further back, arms draped over the railing behind him. “That a bad thing?”

Your breath caught. “No,” you said, softer now. “Not a bad thing.”

The wheel turned again, dipping low before lifting you back into the sky. This time, it didn’t stop. The operator wasn’t even watching—just scrolling through his phone with his chair tilted dangerously far back.

“Guess we’re getting bonus rounds,” you murmured, settling deeper into your seat. The stuffed bear finally slumped forward between your knees, its oversized head lolling like it was trying to bow out of the moment.

Jacob glanced at it and smirked. “Even the bear knows it’s third-wheeling.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, nudging the bear’s fuzzy snout with your toe. “He’s trying to be respectful.”

Jacob’s eyes met yours again, softer this time. “Yeah. He gets it.”

The breeze was stronger this high, catching at your hair and brushing cool across your cheek. Everything below faded to a hum. It felt like the world had hit pause, holding its breath just long enough for you both to hear your hearts beating. You looked down, fingers fiddling with the bear’s plush paw in your lap. Then up at him again.

And then the words just fell.

“Have you ever been in love?”

You hadn’t planned it. They just slipped out, raw and unguarded, landing between you like a match dropped in tall grass.

You winced. “Sorry. That was random. Never mind.”

But Jacob wasn’t laughing.

He was watching you.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I am.”

Your heart tripped.

You sat up straighter, your pulse thudding in your ears. “You—”

“I didn’t mean to say it here,” he interrupted gently. “Not in some squeaky gondola with a lopsided bear third-wheeling us, but I’ve known for a while.”

You couldn’t look away from him.

“I’m in love with you,” he said again, slower this time, like he wanted each word to land. “I think I have been since before I understood what it was. You were always there—even when you weren’t. And when you came back… everything made sense again.”

Your throat tightened. The silence was full of stars and fairground lights and the sound of your heart catching in your chest.

“I didn’t want to mess it up,” he said, voice quieter now. “Didn’t want to pull you into my world before I knew how to say it.”

You watched him through the soft glow of the Ferris wheel lights. He looked steady, but there was a flicker of nervous energy in the way he sat—one knee drawn up, his hands loosely clasped in his lap.

He glanced down at the bear slouched between your legs like it had passed out from secondhand tension.

“But then I looked around.” He gave a small, sheepish shrug. “We’re a hundred feet in the air, on what might technically be our first date—chaperoned by this guy.” He nodded at the bear, now slumped even lower like it was trying to disappear out of embarrassment. “And yeah, the view’s mostly just overpriced funnel cake and busted string lights—but it’s quiet. You’re here. And somehow it feels exactly like us.”

You smiled, heart pressing against your ribs. “You’re not wrong.”

You didn’t think. You didn’t have to. You leaned forward, and so did he—both of you bridging the space across the small gondola until your knees bumped, and your fingers brushed in the middle.

“I love you too,” you whispered. Your smile trembled. “You idiot.”

Jacob laughed—quiet, breathless. The sound wrapped around your chest like a hug. He turned his hand, palm up, and yours slid easily into it.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice low.

Your nod was barely more than a breath. “Yeah. Please.”

He moved slowly, crossing the space between you like the moment was something sacred. When his lips met yours, it was careful and full of everything he hadn’t been able to say—warmth, certainty, the ache of time spent waiting. He tasted faintly of cotton candy and that cheap strawberry lip gloss you’d swiped on in the car mirror, not expecting this. Not tonight. But maybe you should have.

His hand came up to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Like you were something breakable and golden and his.

You kissed him back like you meant it, like you always had.

When you pulled away—barely, just enough to rest your forehead against his—the sky behind him cracked open in a bloom of color. The fireworks.

You hadn’t even noticed the countdown. But now the world outside the gondola was glowing—bursts of red, gold, green, silver—each one lighting up his face like something out of a dream.

You sat there, suspended above it all, heart pounding, breath tangled with his. And for the first time in forever, it didn’t feel like you were falling.

It felt like you were finally caught.

Chapter 11: keep up

Chapter Text

You don’t sleep much. Not really.

You lie on your back, tangled in sheets, your room dim except for the moonlight bleeding through the window. One hand rests lightly on your lips, as if pressing there could keep the memory from slipping away. Like if you let go, it’ll fade. You close your eyes and replay it—again.

The way his voice dropped when he said I think I am, like he was afraid of what it meant but more afraid not to say it. The look in his eyes—like you were something rare and breakable, something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch. The tilt of his head, the way his nose barely brushed yours, like he was giving you time to back away. And then—everything warm and weightless and right.

You roll onto your side, sighing into your pillow. Jacob’s name loops in your head like a song stuck on repeat—familiar, rhythmic, a little annoying because you can’t turn it off. Your thoughts are stuck in a feedback loop of what ifs and did he mean it? and how long has he felt this way?

You think about the ride home. Quiet, but not awkward. Just full. Like there were too many words between you, all of them hovering, waiting, tangled up in what had already been said and done. You’d glanced at him more than once, caught that quiet smile still on his face—the kind that doesn’t ask for attention. Not his usual grin or his cocky smirk, but a soft pull at the corners of his mouth, like he was holding something close to his chest.

You swore he hadn’t stopped cheesing since you kissed.

He’d watched you wrestle the oversized bear into your doorway like it weighed fifty pounds, and his smile only deepened when you turned and caught him watching. You felt stupid then. The bear was too big, too much, too ridiculous. But he didn’t care. He wouldn’t. Would he?

Your fingers brush your lips again, and they still feel the shape of him—like your skin memorized the moment and doesn’t want to forget. The kiss hadn’t been fireworks (though there were those too). It was something slower and warmer, like stepping into the lake during a summer dusk, when the air is gold and the water wraps around you gently.

He kissed you like it was something he’d been holding in for years. Maybe he had. Maybe you had too.

Jacob was different now, sure. His physical differences were the most evident, but he was also quieter in some ways, heavier in others. Yet, he was not entirely different, especially not at the core. Not where it counted. He was still the boy who held your hand crossing logs in the forest, who dared you to jump off cliffs you were scared of, who made faces at you while Billy gave him a lecture. Your best friend. Your constant.

And maybe more.

You used to tell yourself it was platonic. That the jealousy was just old habits from when you were kids. But now you remember it all too clearly—how your stomach twisted when other girls talked to him at the beach, how you hated when they laughed at his jokes, how you always tried to pretend it didn’t bother you. He teased you once for getting possessive, back when you were younger, and you brushed it off, but it never really went away. You just got better at hiding it.

Maybe your love for him wasn’t just a flicker. Maybe it was a slow-burning thing. and it was always just there.

You flip onto your stomach with a groan, your cheek pressed against your pillow, still warm from all your tossing and turning. The bear sits in the corner of your room now, slumped like it knows too much. You swear it’s judging you.

Even though the ride back was silent, it wasn’t a bad silence. Just a new one. Like the space between two people standing on the edge of something they’re too scared to name. You crossed a line tonight. You kissed him. He kissed you. And now you’re here, back in your room, wondering if that one moment unraveled everything or just finally revealed it.

What if it meant everything to you and only a little to him?

What if it was just the Ferris wheel, the fireworks, the sugar-rush, the nerves?

But then why would he have looked at you like that?

You remember how gentle he was when he said goodnight. How you whispered thank you, and he shook his head. You don’t have to thank me. I’ve always wanted to. That’s what he said.

Wanted to what, Jacob?

Take you to the fair? Win you the bear? Kiss you?

Be with you?

You weren’t ready to ask. Not yet. So when you said, “I’ll text you tomorrow,” at the door, Jacob knew what that meant.

It didn’t mean you didn’t want to talk. It meant you needed time to think—to untangle everything knotted up in your chest. And he would, too. So he just nodded, didn’t ask for more because he got it. He always had.

You groan again and press your face into your blanket like maybe you can smother the thoughts into silence, but your heart is still wide awake. Still in that janky gondola, still floating, still brushing noses and hands and hearts.

When you finally walked inside, the door closed behind you, the bear dragging against your hip like dead weight. But you swear—your heart was still in his truck.

And maybe part of it still is, but there were just too many maybe’s.

—

The morning hits soft and golden.

You blink awake slowly, lids sticky with sleep, limbs tangled in sheets that feel too warm and too light all at once. For a moment, you forget why your chest feels full—why your lips still tingle like they’re remembering something your brain hasn’t caught up to yet.

Then it hits you.

The kiss.

His hands.

The look in his eyes like you’d hung stars for him.

You inhale, quiet and deep, as if trying to hold the memory in your lungs.

Outside, birds are chattering like they’ve got stories to tell—perched right on your windowsill like tiny, feathered neighbors catching up on the latest gossip. Your whole room is washed in sun, that golden kind that only happens right before noon, warm and slow, like the world itself is giving you space to process.

You don’t move right away. You just lie there in your pajamas, hand resting on your stomach, feeling your own heartbeat thrum steady under your palm. You let your gaze drift to the hoodie still hanging on the back of your chair—the one Jacob gave you when it started to drizzle at the drive-in. You slip it over your head without thinking. The fabric’s soft and a little worn at the cuffs, and it still smells like him still.

You pad downstairs barefoot, teeth unbrushed, trailing thoughts behind you like loose threads.

The kitchen smells like cinnamon and strong coffee. Your mom is standing at the stove, stirring something with a wooden spoon and humming a little off-key. She doesn’t turn when you enter, just says casually, “Morning, sunshine. Sleep okay?”

You mumble a half-answer as you pour yourself a mug. “Yeah. Sort of.”

She glances over her shoulder—just briefly—but you can feel her eyes land on the hoodie. Then the change from tiredness to flustered in your fave. Then the way you’re standing in front of hrr like you forgot why you came. She doesn’t say anything right away, just hums again, this time with a knowing lilt.

You lift your mug, trying to hide behind it. “What?”

Your mom arches a brow, lips twitching. “So… are you and Jacob a thing now?”

You nearly spill the coffee.

“Excuse me?”

She shrugs, stirring like this is any other morning. “What? You two have been orbiting each other for years. I just figured something finally shifted.”

“Clear to who?” you demand, but your voice is too soft to sound truly defensive.

“Everyone,” she says, flipping a pancake like she’s talking about the weather. “I mean, come on. He used to follow you around like a duckling. Always showing up at our doorstep with some broken toy or snack he swore you had to try.”

From the living room, your dad’s voice cuts in over the rustle of a newspaper. “Kid’s had a soft spot for you since you were six. Don’t act surprised.”

You turn toward the hallway, scandalized. “Dad!”

“Don’t ‘Dad’ me,” he calls back. “We just figured it was your story to figure out.”

Your mom smiles into her spatula. “Which I guess you finally did.”

You stand there stunned, coffee forgotten in your hand, the world slightly tilted on its axis. They’d all just known? This whole time? When you thought you were being subtle? When you weren’t even sure how you felt yourself?

You press your palm to your forehead, trying to breathe around the heat crawling up your neck. “This is—this is actually insane.”

“Is it?” your mom says, scooping the pancake onto a plate. “Or is it exactly where you were always headed?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your thoughts are too loud, too tangled with the night before—the slowness of his voice when he said I think I am, the way his fingers threaded with yours like he’d done it a hundred times before, the kiss like something unfolding and familiar and new.

You take another sip of coffee. It’s cooled a little, but the warmth lingers.

The weight of your entire childhood bends forward into this moment—into this one, inevitable truth that maybe everyone else saw before you did:

You were always heading here.

To him.

—

It takes you all day to send the text.

Not because you don’t know what to say–but because saying anything feels like cracking open something you’re still holding with both hands. And also because you’re more nervous than you’d like to admit

You’re typing, erasing, typing again until you finally settle on something to say. You stare at it for a more than a few minutes before closing your eyes and pressing send.

You: Wanna come over?

The reply comes fast.

Jacob: Yeah, I’ll come by

You sit with that. Not just the message, but the knowing that comes with it—the way he didn’t hesitate like he was already halfway out the door.

When you hear the soft rumble of his motorcycle climbing up the street, your heart jumps. You pad out to the porch barefoot, the air thick with the scent of cut grass and rain-soaked pavement. Everything’s glowing–quiet and gold under the porch light, fireflies drifting lazily out by the edge of the yard like embers that forgot they were supposed to burn out.

The swing creaks softly as you settle into it, tucking your knees up into the hoodie, fingers curled around the armrest like it might keep you steady. You let the breeze move through you.

He pulls into your driveway and parks.

He walks slow, but not cautious. His footsteps crunch faintly on the gravel and the porch light catches in his hair as he steps up—wind-tossed, like he’s run his hands through it a dozen times on his way over. There’s a tightness in his jaw he’s not bothering to hide. His eyes find you and stay there.

“You got here fast,” you murmur.

His mouth curves, but it’s not quite a smile. “Didn’t want to make you wait.”

His gaze lingers, trailing from the curve of your legs tucked beneath the borrowed hem of his hoodie, all the way up to your face. There’s something raw in the way he looks at you, like he’s caught between disbelief and devotion, as if the mere fact that you’re here—that he’s here, real and tangible beside you—is something fragile he’s afraid to blink away.

“You look cozy,” he says, voice low, roughened at the edges like he’s still reining in the night.

You smile softly. “Wanna sit?”

He hesitates only long enough to shrug out of his jacket and toss it over the railing before he sinks down beside you. The porch swing shifts under his weight. You sway gently, shoulder to shoulder, but not quite touching.

For a minute, neither of you says anything. The night folds in around you—humming with bugs, still damp with the aftertaste of the fair. You can still smell the kettle corn on your skin, still feel the tilt of the Ferris wheel in your knees. Still see the way he looked at you when you weren’t pretending anymore.

Your voice breaks the silence first, soft and almost surprised. “It’s kind of wild that it’s only been a day.”

Jacob lets out a low breath–not quite a laugh, more like the sound of someone still catching up to the weight of things.

“Feels longer,” he murmurs, gaze drifting somewhere out past the porch steps. The trees sway gently, lit silver under the moonlight.

You look over at him, brows raised. “Longer in a bad way?”

“Nah. not bad. Just…” He shakes his head slowly, his profile carved in shadow and porchlight. “Everything’s different now. Feels like I’m still trying to believe it actually happened.”

It. You know exactly what It is—that unspoken thing between you, thick in the air like the scent of rain before a storm. You nod, your pulse kicking up again, the way it always does when the silence between you turns this heavy, this honest.

“Yeah, I get that.”

Your fingers worry at the cuff of your sleeve—his sleeve, really—the fabric softened from wear, warm and familiar against your skin.

“I didn’t think I had the guts to say it out loud,” you admit after a beat, voice dropping lower, like a secret. “But I meant every word.”

Jacob finally looks at you, his eyes warm, steady, and a little amazed.

“I know you did,” Jacob says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I’m really glad you did.”

He shifts slightly beside you, his shoulder brushing yours in the quiet. “’Cause I’ve been carrying it too,” he adds, and then, after a pause and a breath like he’s finally letting go of something he’s held for years, he says softly, “For a long time, actually.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It’s thick with understanding, with everything neither of you had words for until now.

You tilt your head back against the porch swing, the wood creaking softly beneath you. The night air is thick with summer sounds—the distant chirp of crickets, the faint rustle of leaves—and the porch light casts a warm glow that softens Jacob’s profile into something almost tender.

“Can I ask you something?” you say, voice low.

He looks over, a hint of a grin already tugging at his lips. “Anything.”

You take a breath. “Were you waiting on me to catch up this whole time?”

Jacob doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and turning his hands over like the answer’s hidden in his palms.

“I wasn’t waiting,” he says finally, his voice rough but steady. “I was just hoping you’d say something sooner.”

You glance at him, catching how the porch light makes his jawline sharp, his broad shoulders relaxed but steady. There’s something in his eyes now—something softer, quieter—like he’s trying not to look too serious but can’t quite help it.

“Didn’t want to scare you off,” he adds, that half-smile curling his mouth. “Even if I wanted this. Wanted you.”

Your breath catches. “And now?”

Jacob looks back at you, that smirk still there, playful but sure. “Now? I just want to be wherever you are.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. “Yeah, because I’m so easy to keep up with.”

He shrugs, eyes crinkling with that familiar warmth. “Hey, I’m winging it as much as you are. Never done this before either.”

You look away for a second, feeling the weight of it all settle in your chest. “Feels like something just… flipped. It’s weird.”

“It did,” he agrees, voice low but steady. Then he shifts a little, his knee brushing yours—a casual closeness that somehow feels electric. “You’re not just some girl I like. You’re the one I’ve always liked. Since forever.”

You don’t say anything. Instead, your hand reaches out on its own, fingers curling into his, and he laces his around yours like it’s the simplest, most obvious thing in the world.

You meet his eyes, searching for something you can’t quite put into words. “I’ve liked you too. Always. Even when I didn’t want to admit it.”

He squeezes your hand, that grin spreading wider now, the kind that reaches his eyes. “Guess we were both just too stubborn to say it first.”

You laugh, the nervous edge finally fading, replaced by something warm and steady. The swing rocks softly, your feet bare on the porch boards, and you sit there tangled together in that quiet, perfect moment.

Then you grin, feeling bold. “So… does this mean I get to call you my boyfriend now?”

Jacob laughs–deep and easy, the kind that feels like home. “God, I hope so.”

You laugh, a little breathless. “Well, now I feel better.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Better, huh? What were you worried about?”

You shrug, trying to act casual but feeling your cheeks warm. “I don’t know. I was thinking about you all night. Couldn’t sleep.”

Jacob’s eyes narrow in mock suspicion. “Oh really? You were thinking about me?”

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile. “Yeah, okay, maybe. But don’t get any ideas.”

He leans in a little closer, voice dropping into a teasing whisper. “Oh, I already have plenty of ideas. So, what exactly were you thinking about?”

You hesitate, then shake your head. “Okay, never mind. That’s a question for another day.”

Jacob laughs softly, the sound low and warm. “Fair enough.”

You both sit in the quiet for a moment, the night wrapping around you like a comfortable blanket.

“So…” you say finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Now what?”

Jacob’s gaze flicks to your lips, then back to your eyes, slow and sure. “Now I kiss you.”

And he does.

His lips are softer than you remember—not like grease and oil or strawberry gloss from the night before at the fair, but fresh, cool, with that unmistakable hint of mint. Like he’d brushed his teeth just knowing this moment was coming. Smooth move.

Chapter 12: everything, anything

Chapter Text

You fell back into the same rhythm with Jacob—slow, familiar, easy. Days blurred into each other, a string of late breakfasts, errand runs, lazy beach afternoons, and movie marathons curled under blankets. But now, something was different. Tangibly different. All the affection that used to simmer beneath the surface had finally found permission to rise, and Jacob didn’t hold back.

His hand was always in yours when you were out whether you were at Thriftway picking up groceries or just wandering around town. He wanted to make sure the entire population of Forks (who already assumed you were together anyway) had zero doubts. His fingers would thread through yours, warm and steady, thumb brushing circles into your skin like muscle memory.

At home, it was worse (or better, depending on how you looked at it). His arms would wind around your waist and tug you in against him the second you sat on the couch, like you might slip away without him noticing. During movie marathons, he’d mumble some excuse—You’re too far or M’cold as if he was ever cold—as he practically folded you into his chest.

Sleepovers, once innocent and a little awkward, turned into tangled limbs under quilts and whispered conversations at midnight. Your mom didn’t care, but your dad? While he still loved Jacob, he now watched him with the deeply suspicious eyes of a man with a teenage daughter and an attractive and built teenage boy sleeping under his roof.

But your favorite part?

His kisses.

God, his kisses. Always unhurried. Always like he had nowhere else to be. He kissed you like he was trying to make up for lost time, which he probably was.

You used to think he was already kind of touchy, kind of needy. Turns out, that was nothing compared to now. Now that you were officially something—his, and he was yours—it all doubled. Tripled. His hands found you constantly. His voice was thick with pet names that made you groan and swat at him, but you never really minded.

“Babe,” he’d murmur into your hair, or “sweetheart” in that rough voice when you’d just woken up and he was looking at you like you’d hung the damn moon.

“Don’t call me that,” you’d mutter, blushing, shoving him half-heartedly.

He’d just grin, wide and wolfish. “You love it.”

You did. More than you could admit.

Still, no matter how wrapped up in each other you were, both of you could feel the clock ticking. Each long day spent side by side only made it clearer—summer was slipping through your fingers like sand, and your return to school, to life away from Forks, was waiting on the other side.

Jacob felt it too. You could see it in the way he held you a little tighter, kissed you a little longer. He kept saying he was making up for the first two months of summer you’d spent dancing around each other. But even when he smiled, the shadow of your departure hovered behind his eyes.

And today?

He was tense. Quiet. His fingers played with the hem of your sleeve as he drove, his jaw set, eyes flicking to you and then back to the road.

“Let’s go to Emily’s,” he said—almost a demand, voice low, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be around people or just needed to get out of his own head.

You glanced at him, brow furrowed. His hands were on the wheel, grip a little tighter than usual. His gaze was fixed forward, jaw set.

“You okay?” you asked gently.

He didn’t look at you. Just gave a quick nod and said, “Yeah.”

But it didn’t sound like yeah. Not really.

Still, he reached for your hand without looking, threading his fingers through yours. His thumb brushed lightly across your skin, and the tightness in his shoulders eased just a little.

You didn’t press. Whatever it was, he’d say it when he was ready.

So you just squeezed his hand back and said, “Yeah, let’s go. I haven’t seen everyone since… you know.”

His mouth twitched, half-smiling now. “Since we got our act together.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “Took you long enough.”

“Worth the wait,” he said simply, and reached across the console to lace his fingers with yours.

You didn’t say anything, just squeezed his hand because no matter how much time you had left, you were holding onto every second.

—

The second Jacob’s truck rumbles into Emily’s driveway, you feel it—that unmistakable pressure of multiple eyes watching from behind the front windows like a hoard of nosy sitcom neighbors.

You glance at Jacob.

“Are they seriously just waiting in the window?”

He doesn’t even look up. “Yup.”

You peer closer. Sure enough—there’s Quil, face squished dramatically against the glass like a cartoon character, and next to him, Jared’s doing some sort of exaggerated pointing gesture like you’re celebrities pulling up on the red carpet.

“I could still throw it in reverse,” Jacob mutters, hand ghosting toward the gearshift.

“Too late,” you say, grabbing his arm. “You’re committed now. No coward exits.”

He casts you a sideways look, but there’s a flicker of something else beneath the faux-annoyance. “I’m only walking in because you’re coming with me.”

You laugh, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Smooth.”

“Mm. I thought so.”

You’re still teasing each other as you step out, but the second your feet hit the gravel, the front door bursts open like someone kicked it. Quil emerges in all his dramatic glory, arms spread like he’s greeting long-lost relatives.

“Well, well, well,” he booms, voice carrying over the crash of the nearby surf. “Look who finally grew a pair.”

Jacob doesn’t even miss a beat. Middle finger up, pace steady, expression unfazed. His grip on your hand tightens just slightly, not enough for anyone else to notice—but you do. You give his hand a small squeeze in return, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

Embry materializes out of nowhere, slinging a familiar arm over your shoulder like he’s done it a thousand times. “So,” he starts, his voice dangerously casual, “now that you’re officially dating our boy here, you should probably know—”

Jacob yanks him off so hard Embry stumbles, catching himself on the edge of the porch railing.

“Don’t,” Jacob warns, though he’s fighting a smile.

Everyone else explodes.

Paul whistles loud and obnoxious. Jared makes exaggerated kissy noises while Leah tosses a paper plate in his direction. Even Sam, who usually stays above the chaos, hides a smirk behind his water bottle.

“They’ve been like this all day apparently,” Jacob mutters as he guides you up the steps. “Ever since I told them.”

You lean into him just enough that only he can hear you. “I think they like me.”

Jacob huffs a laugh. “They liked you before. This just gives them a new reason to be annoying about it.”

Inside, Emily greets you both with a warm smile and a hug that smells like brown sugar and rosemary. The kitchen is filled with the familiar clatter of plates and the rich scent of something roasting in the oven. Someone’s already sliced a pie. Leah’s at the stove helping Emily stir a sauce. Seth is in the corner sneaking bites off a cutting board and pretending like no one sees him.

Dinner is loud and cozy—a whirlwind of laughter, teasing, and passing plates too heavy with food. You find yourself sandwiched between Jacob and Embry, who tries to steal a bite off your plate until Jacob stabs his fork down with just enough menace to make a point. At some point, Paul tries to ask who kissed who first, and Jacob gives him a look so dark it shuts down the conversation instantly.

But it’s good. Familiar. The kind of evening that makes you forget time is passing. That makes you forget the ache in your chest every time you think about the clock running down on summer.

By the time everyone’s had second helpings (and in some cases, thirds), your stomach is dangerously full and your cheeks hurt from laughing.

You’re leaning back in your seat, fork dangling uselessly in your fingers when Jacob leans over and murmurs, “Wanna go for a walk?”

You blink. “Walk?”

He nods once, casual. But there’s something under the surface—a tension in his jaw, a spark behind his eyes.

You stretch slightly, groaning. “Honestly? Yeah. If I don’t walk this off, I might actually explode.”

Jacob smirks, brushing his knuckles against your knee beneath the table. “Emily’s out here cooking like she’s trying to single-handedly feed a small army.”

You laugh softly, letting your head fall toward his shoulder for a second. “And succeeding.”

“Barely,” he teases. “We’re still bottomless pits. But you—yeah, you might need the walk more than any of us.”

The sun had dipped just below the trees, leaving the forest around Emily and Sam’s house aglow in the soft lavender hues of early evening. You and Jacob followed a narrow trail behind the house, weaving through towering pines and mossy undergrowth, the quiet buzz of insects and the distant rush of the creek filling the silence between you.

“They really tried to kill me in there,” you said, patting your stomach dramatically. “I don’t think Emily’s ever let a plate go empty in her life.”

Jacob smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. She sees us and just starts piling food like we’re starving or something.”

“I swear she gave me four pieces of cornbread.”

“Five,” he said. “I was counting.”

You bumped your shoulder into his. “Creep.”

He chuckled, but his thumb ran a steady line across the back of your hand, like he was working up to something.

His smile faded a little, not completely, but enough to let something quieter settle between you. “I’m glad you came tonight.”

You glanced over at him. “Me too.”

There was another pause, heavier now. Jacob kicked at a pinecone. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

You looked up at him, sensing the shift. “Everything okay?”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “This might sound insane, but I need you to believe me.”

You stopped walking. “You’re starting to freak me out.”

“I’m not trying to.” He turned to face you fully. “Just—listen.”

You nodded, and he took a step closer.

“I’m not exactly… normal,” he started.

“I’ve known that, yeah.” you try to joke and lighten the mood, but he gives you a look. A serious one he rarely ever wears.

“I don’t mean, like, weird hobbies or anything like that. I mean a not-human normal.”

You blinked. “Not human?”

“You know when you left—when you moved—things changed for me. More than I ever really told you.”

You waited, heart tightening.

“I got sick. Thought it was just stress, maybe the flu. But then it was like something broke loose inside me. I was so angry all the time. So on edge. Then one day, I just—shifted.”

You blinked. “Shifted?”

“Phased,” he corrected, glancing at you. “Into a wolf.”

You didn’t laugh. You didn’t move. You just listened.

Jacob let out a breath. “I’m a shapeshifter. Like in the legends. It runs in our blood, kicks in when there’s danger near. Like vampires.”

You stared at him. “Wait—vampires are real?”

He nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately.”

You blinked again. “So your dad wasn’t lying all those times he told us those stories?”

Jacob gave you a crooked smile. “Nope. Turns out Billy was laying down straight facts.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “And here I thought he was just really committed to the bit.”

Jacob chuckled, but there was a flicker of something searching in his eyes. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

You shrugged. “Well, I haven’t passed out yet. That’s a win, right?”

He tilted his head. “You don’t think I’m making it up?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Jake. You literally showed up at my house shirtless and steaming. Either you’re something freaky and supernatural or you’re part sauna. Personally, I’d rather have a werewolf boyfriend than the latter.”

He let out a real laugh then, loud and grateful, the tension in his shoulders finally easing.

Jacob swallowed, then took a step closer. “I tried to keep it from you,” he said, voice hoarse. “I didn’t want to scare you off. I wanted you to fall for me on your own. Not because some magic forced it. But I can’t—” His voice cracked. “I can’t be away from you like this. It hurts.”

You stared at him, the pieces clicking into place. The way he hovered protectively at your side. The way his whole demeanor changed when you were upset or scared. The knowing looks shot every time you were at Emily’s, the whispering on the beach when they thought you weren’t listening.

“When I walked away that night,” he went on, “I thought I could give you space. I thought maybe that was what you needed. But it was like someone took a knife to my chest and just left it there. It took everything in me not to turn around and stay.”

You stepped closer, heart thudding.

“I’m not asking you to love me back because of the imprint,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I just needed you to know because I don’t think I can keep pretending anymore.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” you asked softly.

He looked down, ashamed. “Because I didn’t want to ruin this. I didn’t want you to feel trapped.”

“I don’t feel trapped,” you whispered. “I feel confused. And a little overwhelmed, but I don’t feel trapped.”

“I need you to understand,” he said, stepping even closer, “that you’re not just someone I care about. You’re it. You’re everything.”

Your breath caught, but you didn’t step back. “Then tell me what imprinting really means.”

Jacob hesitated for a long moment, then said, “It’s like gravity. It’s not something we choose. But the second our eyes met, I knew. It wasn’t just a crush or some old friendship. You became the center of everything. You’re in every thought. Every instinct. Every heartbeat. I can’t go five minutes without wanting to be near you.”

The words dropped into the hush of the forest like stones.

You didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

“I’m still me,” he said, gentler now. “But you... you’ve always been the constant. Even before the imprint.”

You looked up at him, your throat tight. “So it wasn’t anger that triggered it?”

He shook his head. “It was pain. Because you were gone, and I didn’t know how to exist without you.”

You stared at him, letting the words settle. The honesty in them—the weight, the ache. And despite everything, despite the impossible truth, the wildness of it all, one thing stood out clear as day:

He was still the same Jacob Black you’ve loved.

Without thinking, you reached for him. He caught your hands, held them against his chest.

“I’m here,” you said quietly. “Still here.”

His jaw tensed, but his eyes softened. “You don’t know what that means to me.”

You did. Because deep down, it meant everything to you too.

And as the woods rustled softly around you, Jacob leaned in and kissed you—slow and certain, like a relief was lifted off his shoulder.

When you finally pulled apart, you smiled, breathless. “You’re still you, Jake. The rest just makes you... more furry.”

He laughed, forehead resting against yours. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re stuck with me.”

“Good,” he murmured. “That’s exactly where I want to be.”

Chapter 13: however long

Chapter Text

“Be honest,” you start, pulling out a sandwich wrapped neatly in foil. “Did Emily pack this for you?”

Jacob let out a scandalized gasp. “Excuse you. I made that with my own two hands.”

You raised a brow. “Right. And by made, you mean unwrapped and re-wrapped?”

He grinned, those familiar crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “Details.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. The blanket beneath you was soft from use, spread across a patch of tall grass that swayed gently with the breeze. The clearing was quiet—just birdsong, the hush of wind, and the occasional creak of a tree shifting in the distance. The sun was beginning to dip, golden light spilling low across the field, painting everything in amber.

Jacob lay down beside you, propped on one elbow. You watched him from the corner of your eye. He looked peaceful here, the soft light catching in his hair, turning the edges gold.

“Hi,” you said, voice quiet.

“Hi,” he replied, turning slightly so your noses were nearly touching.

You’re looking at each other with soft smiles for a while, just admiring. His lashes, his hair, his eyes. Then a tiny piece of fuzz drifts onto his cheek, and you reach over to gently brush it away.

“Sometimes,” he says, voice quieter now, “I think about what it would’ve been like if none of this had happened. No wolves. No imprinting. Just us. Just normal.”

You glance at him. “Would you want that?”

He hesitates, then shrugs a little. “Part of me wonders. But no—I wouldn’t trade this. Not even close.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Even with all the chaos?”

“Even then,” he stopped to meet your eyes. “Because you’re in it. And if you’re in it then I’d choose it every time.”

You swallow hard and look away, blinking fast. The clouds are turning pink now, dusted lavender at the edges. A single star appears, faint but steady, near the horizon.

“I want you to know that I never wanted you to feel like you have no choice. If… this ever gets too much, if it’s not what you want—I want you to leave. I want you to do what’s best for you.”

You turned to him sharply. “Shut up.”

His brows shot up.

“I’m serious,” you said, nudging him. “You don’t get to say something like that and expect me to be okay with it.”

“No, listen. I’m just saying—”

“Make me,” you interrupted.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Make you what?”

“Shut up and listen,” you whispered.

He leaned in, eyes flickering between yours and your lips. You kissed him—slow, lingering, the kind of kiss that says everything words fall short of. His hand came up to cradle your cheek like you were something precious. When you pulled back, you stayed close, noses brushing, breaths mingling.

There’s a long pause, the kind that lingers gently, filled with everything you’re both too full to say.

“I don’t know how long I’ve got,” Jacob says quietly. “Could be years. Could be more. Or not.”

You turn to him, your voice steadier than you expected. “However long it is, I want it. All of it.”

He smiles, a little sad, a little in awe. “Hopefully more than once every two years.”

You let out a soft laugh, swatting his arm. “Hey! It wasn’t fully my fault.”

His smile fades into something quieter, something weightier. “Whatever time I have,” he says, eyes locked on yours, “it’s yours.”

The sky was pale and overcast, the kind of muted gray that felt like holding your breath. Dew clung to the grass, dampening your sneakers as you carried the last suitcase to the trunk.

Jacob was already there, waiting. He took it from your hands without a word, loading it carefully. You wiped at your eyes, quickly, hoping he hadn’t seen.

He had.

But he didn’t say anything—just opened his arms.

You stepped into him like it was instinct, burying your face in the soft cotton of his hoodie. He held you tight, one hand cupped around the back of your head, the other warm and steady at your waist.

“I’ll come back,” you whispered into his shoulder.

“I’ll be here,” he said. “Always.”

“We’ll call,”

“We’ll text,”

“You can come for Thanksgiving. Winter break. Spring.” You clung tighter. “You don’t have to wait until next summer.”

His lips pressed gently to your temple. “Okay.”

Your parents were already settled in the car, giving you the quiet space you needed but clearly ready to leave. You stepped back just enough to meet Jacob’s eyes one last time.

He leaned against your car’s passenger door, arms crossed, his face carefully guarded—too composed for what you both felt.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His forehead dropped to yours. “I know. It’s just—”

“Four hours,” you finished softly. “I know.”

He kissed your cheek, careful not to draw attention from your dad’s watchful eye.

When he pulled back, he exhaled, a breath that sounded like it hurt more than he let on. “Go,” he said, voice low. “Before I steal you back.”

Your mom slid into the driver’s seat, already holding the keys. You climbed into the passenger side, grateful your dad was driving your car—because you knew you wouldn’t make it through the drive without breaking down.

The engine hummed as you pulled away. You glanced in the rearview mirror.

Jacob stood in the driveway, hand raised in a quiet wave, watching until you disappeared from sight.

Your house feels too clean. Too quiet.

Your parents don’t ask questions when you head straight upstairs. They just watch you with that soft, careful expression people get when they know you’re holding something fragile in your chest.

You drop one of your bags by the door and stand in the middle of your room for a second, like you’re waiting for it to feel like yours again. The walls are the same. The sheets still smell like your detergent, but the silence feels different now. Too thin. Too still.

You sit on the floor and unzip your bag.

There’s a sweatshirt that doesn’t belong to you. A folded flannel. A faded bracelet made of string and wood. You don’t rush. You just keep unpacking, piece by piece, until your hand brushes something crinkled in the pocket of the bag.

A candy wrapper. An orange Starburst.

You smooth the crumpled wrapper out instinctively, the paper trembling slightly between your fingers. There, scrawled in the middle in messy, smudged Sharpie, are the words Kisses still owed.

A laugh bubbles up, but it’s tangled with a sudden swell of tears, and you’re not sure whether you’re laughing or crying. The feeling lodges deep in your throat, a mixture of sweetness and ache that makes your chest tighten.

Your fingers curl around the wrapper as you close your eyes, letting the quiet weight of it settle inside you.

It always kind of was Jacob Black.

Always was.

Actions

Kudos

Comments

Pages Navigation

Edgemaster on Chapter 1 Wed 14 May 2025 02:30PM UTC

Omgg will there be more? 😻😻I really loved the start of this ✋😝😝

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
the_summer_soldier on Chapter 1 Tue 01 Jul 2025 05:24AM UTC

Oh my gosh this is so cute. Jacob is the best 🫶 also, I can’t stop giggling abt the pack comment lol

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
TinySakura on Chapter 2 Thu 22 May 2025 11:18PM UTC

Okay. I absolutely ADORE this.

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
Weird_Fan23 on Chapter 2 Wed 18 Jun 2025 08:52PM UTC

I had to Google wtf an otter pop was 😂😂

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
TinySakura on Chapter 3 Thu 22 May 2025 11:53PM UTC

This is adorable. I wonder where in the series we are though…

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
Blue_Envyy on Chapter 4 Sat 17 May 2025 03:42AM UTC

PLEASE LET THEM GET TOGETHER SOON IM BEGGING

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
TinySakura on Chapter 4 Thu 22 May 2025 11:57PM UTC

This is so cute. I’m gonna scream like a fangirl.

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
Blue_Envyy on Chapter 5 Sat 17 May 2025 03:48AM UTC

Lowkey best fanfic I've read in a while please keep writing!!

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
TinySakura on Chapter 5 Fri 23 May 2025 12:05AM UTC

I just want good things for all of them.

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
ummimjustagirl on Chapter 5 Mon 20 Oct 2025 09:19AM UTC

hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have - Lana Del Rey

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
zz_mars on Chapter 5 Tue 21 Oct 2025 04:32AM UTC

i love them all!!
the bets?? they are so fucking funny

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
Blue_Envyy on Chapter 7 Sun 18 May 2025 03:21AM UTC

Just kiss already bro 😞

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
pineapplewarhead on Chapter 7 Sun 18 May 2025 07:14AM UTC

Thank you for feeding usssss

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
TinySakura on Chapter 7 Fri 23 May 2025 12:17AM UTC

This is so sweet. What’s gonna happen if Bella comes back?

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
Blue_Envyy on Chapter 8 Tue 20 May 2025 12:13AM UTC

WHAT

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
Guiltytomfooler on Chapter 10 Wed 21 May 2025 04:25PM UTC

I AM SCREAMING !! THIS IS EXACTLY THE FANFIC I'VE BEEN CRAVING FOR SOOO LONG. I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
Blue_Envyy on Chapter 10 Thu 22 May 2025 12:40AM UTC

YESSSSS 🙌🙌🙌
THS K THE NESYB ☝️👍👍🙌

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
zz_mars on Chapter 10 Tue 21 Oct 2025 07:26AM UTC

YES OMG I LOVE IT!! THE SOFTNESS THE LOVING LOOKS GOD GIVE ME MOREEE

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
vvampirempiree on Chapter 11 Wed 21 May 2025 05:52PM UTC

ughjekdhwkhdks omg one of the best x reader fics I’ve read in a longgg time I’m actually obsessed

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread
Blue_Envyy on Chapter 11 Thu 22 May 2025 12:48AM UTC

You know this is exactly what I needed to happen 🧍‍♀️

Comment Actions
- Reply
- Thread

Actions

Work Header