❝ MASTERLIST: OTHERWISE KNOWN AS THE RABBIT HOLE OF MY OBSESSIONS. ❞
˚ ✩. ── CATALOGUE !
i only write female reader inserts or female characters. i do not write minor x character content, dark or harmful themes, and i only write for certain fandoms that i love and know well. everything here is written with care and for fun, so please respect that.
˚ ✩. ── RULES !
i do not consent to my work being copied, translated, reposted, or used anywhere including character.ai or any ai. steal, ai-generate, or claim my fics as yours and you will be blocked immediately, no exceptions. minors are fine just stay off anything marked mdni.
˚ ✩. ── INBOX / REQUESTS !
i am not accepting requests at the moment and my inbox does not accept messages from anonymous blogs. thank you for understanding.
˚ ✩. ── KEY / LEGEND !
each piece is marked so you may know what waits inside —
✧ for smut
❀ for fluff
✶ for angst
˚ ✩. ── JAKE SERESIN !
₍🗒₎┊A HANGMAN-MADE DISASTER │ON HOLD
You swore you hated Jake Seresin. Then you got drunk, got stupid, and now you’re staring at a very real, very positive pregnancy test in his shirt while his baby plots world domination in your uterus.
PART 01 ≡;- ✶❀ 10.7K WORDS
PART 02 ≡;- ✶❀ 12.3K WORDS
PART 03 ≡;- ✶❀ 11.3K WORDS
PART 04 ≡;- COMING SOON!
.˚ ₍🗒₎┊THREE STEPS BEHIND │✶ 4.9K WORDS
You wore the dress. He wore a t-shirt. You waited ninety-seven minutes. He smiled like nothing was wrong. And when you said you were tired, he still thought love was enough.
.˚ ₍🗒₎┊BEST FRIEND BLINDNESS │✶✧❀ SHORT SERIES
You have always been Jake’s constant, the friend who stays, supports, and never asks for more. One night meant to be easy and familiar begins to feel different, filled with small moments, strange tension, and thoughts you have spent years avoiding. By the time the night ends, something has shifted, even if neither of you is ready to name it yet.
PART 01 ≡;- ✶❀ 18.6K WORDS
˚ ✩. ── CLARK KENT !
.˚ ₍🗒₎┊IN CASE YOU’RE READING THIS │✶❀ 12.9K WORDS
You, a hopeless romantic who leaves a note in a library book on a whim, and him, the quiet stranger who writes back signing only as “C.K.” It wasn’t meant to be anything, just a moment, a message, a maybe, but somehow it becomes something more.
.˚ ₍🗒₎┊CAROLINE DAISY KENT │✶❀ ON-GOING SERIES
Caroline Daisy Kent, daughter of Clark and the reader, grows up between Metropolis and Smallville with endless questions, a spark of her own and the small adventures that come with being her parents’ little girl.
DADDY DOESN’T WEAR A CAPE ≡;- ❀ 2.1K WORDS
CAROLINE KENT AND MR EGGRY ≡;- ❀✶ 2.9K WORDS
MOMMY AND DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL, ALWAYS ≡;- ❀ 4.3K WORDS
.˚ ₍🗒₎┊YOUR PERSONAL KRYPTONITE │✶✧❀ 3.4K WORDS
After a terrible day, you collapse on Clark Kent’s doorstep, and what starts as comfort slowly turns into something messy, overwhelming, and completely consuming.
.˚ ₍🗒₎┊PRETEND UNTIL FOREVER │✶✧❀ 22.6K WORDS
You have a problem, and it involves showing up to your sister’s wedding with a fake fiancé to keep your family off your back. The plan is simple enough, except Clark Kent agrees to play the part, calm and infuriatingly perfect, and suddenly nothing feels fake at all. How long can you survive the day without your carefully built lie unraveling completely?
.˚ ₍🗒₎┊SHOULD’VE RUINED THE FRIENDSHIP│✶✧❀ 11.2K WORDS
Clark Kent is getting ready for his wedding, yet the stillness of the morning stirs memories he thought he’d long left behind. Between nerves and nostalgia, he finds himself returning to the fragments of his past that made him who he is.
˚ ✩. ── BOB FLOYD !
.˚ ₍🗒₎┊SHY GUY FINISH FIRST │✶✧❀ 15.7K WORDS
You were just trying to blow off steam at the hard deck, maybe flirt your way out of a dry spell, but then quiet, polite Bob Floyd snapped, cornered you in the bathroom, and showed you exactly what eight months of pent-up want really looked like.
˚ ✩. ── BRADLEY BRADSHAW !
.˚ ₍🗒₎┊CRAWLING BACK TO YOU │✶ 11.5K WORDS
Eight months after signing the divorce papers, Bradley sees you again at Mav and Penny’s wedding. It’s supposed to be simple. Small talk and nothing serious, but the thing is, the love never really left.
˚ ✩. ── DR SPENCER REID !
.˚ ₍🗒₎┊IN SICKNESS AND STILL │✶❀ 2.4K WORDS
You wake up sick, expecting Spencer to avoid you like he always does with germs. Instead, he stays, takes care of you, and shows you just how much he loves you.
˚ ✩. ── JOHNNY STORM !
.˚ ₍🗒₎┊FREEZE ME, BABY │✶❀ 5.7K WORDS
You’re hired to babysit Franklin, but Johnny’s the real handful. He’s all fire, you’re all ice, and somehow that just makes things worse, or better, depends who you ask.
.˚ ₍🗒₎┊FREEZE ME, BABY (PART II) │✶❀ 4.6K WORDS
Johnny Storm asks you to train with him and you accidentally give the human torch a cold after blasting him with too much ice, and now he’s sick, pathetic, wrapped in five blankets and begging you for a hug while you try very hard not to combust from secondhand embarrassment or feelings.
❝ AND TRUST ME, THE RABBIT HOLE ONLY GETS DEEPER FROM HERE. ❞
new year baby things, i suppose? starting over and growing older all at once, which feels both poetic and mildly illegal. it still feels strange to type, but i am 20 now, stepping into a new year and a new decade at the same time, standing in that quiet in between where everything feels unfinished and full of possibility, and also thinking, WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?!
this past year was heavier than i expected, slower in places, overwhelming in others, and i am still learning how to sit with all of it without losing myself along the way, STILL VERY MUCH A WORK IN PROGRESS. thank you for being here through it, for reading, for waiting, for caring, for making this space feel steady when everything else felt uncertain, it has meant more to me than i know how to properly put into words.
as we move into this new year together, i hope you are kind to yourselves. i hope you grow without burning out, i hope you chase the things that feel right, and i hope you forgive yourselves on the days you fall short, BECAUSE WE ARE ALL JUST DOING OUR BEST REALLY. there is no rush to become anything more than you already are!!
here’s to new beginnings, to fresh pages, to becoming while still remembering, and to figuring things out as we go, ONE SLIGHTLY CONFUSING YEAR AT A TIME. thank you for sharing this moment with me.
i'm so glad you feel like yourself after your break :). I was just thinking about you today and seeing that you posted really made my day <3
i’m so sorry this reply is late 🥹🩵 that’s really kind of you, thank you!! i didn’t realise how much i needed the break until i took it, and coming back to messages like this genuinely means so much to me!! i hope you’re doing well, and i’m really glad i could make your day a little brighter!! happy new year as well!!🩵
Before the year ends, I just want to send a huge thank you for all the time and care you put into writing fics for Jake Seresin. Your work doesn’t go unnoticed.
Here’s to a new year of inspiration, comfort writing, and creating at your own pace. Happy new year! 🎆🩵
thank you so much, love!! this genuinely means a lot to me 🩵 writing jake has been such a comfort for me too, and knowing it brings something to others makes all the time and care worth it. thank you for being here, for reading, and for the kindness you always leave behind. wishing you the softest start to the new year!!🤍
i hope today meets you gently, wherever you are, whether it’s loud and chaotic and full of family, or quiet and slow with a mug of something warm in your hands. this year has been a strange one for me, stretched thin in places i did not expect, and i went quiet when i needed to, but you were still here, still reading, still leaving the kindest words, and i do not think i have said thank you properly for that :)
it means more than i know how to explain, knowing my writing found its way to you, knowing these little worlds were kept somewhere safe by people who cared. thank you for the patience, the understanding, the love you show not just to the stories, but to me as well!
i hope you eat well today, that you laugh, that something small and ordinary makes you smile, and if christmas feels heavy this year, i hope you are kind to yourself about it. rest if you need to, step away if you need to, come back when you are ready.
sending you so much love this christmas, and always!! 🎅☃️🎄
word count : 18.6K words
pairing : jake seresin x f!reader / hangman x switch (reader)
synopsis : you have always been jake’s constant, the friend who stays, supports, and never asks for more. one night meant to be easy and familiar begins to feel different, filled with small moments, strange tension, and thoughts you have spent years avoiding. by the time the night ends, something has shifted, even if neither of you is ready to name it yet.
content warnings : emotional tension, jealousy but unlabelled, mild alcohol use, poor communication, bad decisions, rom com logic, navy inaccuracies, and an author (me) who really tried to use american english but definitely failed somewhere ;(
author’s note : i lovelies, this is part one because this fic is definitely getting long and i think it’s going to be split into three parts, maybe more if i lose control again. i also haven’t proofread this properly yet because ellipsus, which i use to write because it’s ai free, has been acting a bit unhinged lately and fighting me every step of the way. please excuse any mistakes for now, and check the comment below for the full author’s note. thank you for being hereeee!!
masterlist
You and Jake had always existed together, not in a way either of you ever chose out loud, but in the quiet, accumulative way things happened when you kept ending up in the same places over and over again.
Back in college, before flight suits and call signs and the weight of expectations, it had been shared lectures and late nights, you sitting cross legged on the floor of the library because all the chairs were taken, Jake slouched beside you, stealing your highlighters and your snacks like they were communal property.
He had always been confident, even then, loud and sure of himself in a way that made people gravitate towards him, while you were steadier, more observant, the one who noticed when deadlines crept up or when he was about to say something that would get him into trouble.
It followed you into flight school without either of you questioning it.
Long nights hunched over manuals, Jake pacing the room because he could never sit still when he was stressed, talking through procedures out loud while you listened and corrected him, half distracted, already knowing where he’d trip himself up.
He complained constantly, about instructors, about unfair calls, about how no one seemed to see how hard he was trying, and you were there for all of it, grounding him when his ego ran too hot and steadying him when the confidence slipped.
When he failed a check ride and tried to brush it off like it didn’t matter, you were the one who found him later, sitting alone with his helmet at his feet, jaw tight, eyes distant, and you didn’t push or lecture, you just sat down beside him and stayed until he finally admitted he was scared.
Jake leaned on you in ways that felt almost unconscious. Bad days always led him back to you.
Too much bravado, you reined him in. Too much doubt, you reminded him who he was.
You were the person he trusted to tell him the truth without softening it, the one who could cut through his bullshit with a look, and he never questioned why it was always you.
It never felt like something you had to think about either, because loving him had slipped into your life so quietly you hadn’t noticed it happening.
You were just there. You always have been.
By the time you were actually flying, not just training for it, the dynamic was set so deep it felt permanent. The squad saw it, joked about it, rolled their eyes when the two of you showed up together like you always did.
You were the one they looked at when Jake got too cocky, because you were the only one who could talk him down. You were the one who stayed behind after briefings to make sure he actually understood the parts he pretended not to care about.
People laughed and called you his handler, his conscience, the one who kept him in line, and it never occurred to anyone that there might be more to it than that.
Jake certainly never thought about it.
Why would he? You were supportive, constant, unfailingly there.
You teased him about bad dates and women who never lasted, you listened without judgment, you never made it awkward or asked for anything in return.
Everyone had already decided you weren’t the romantic type, had tucked you neatly into a box that felt safe and familiar, and Jake believed it because it made sense, because it meant nothing had to change.
To everyone else, you were easy to read, or at least they thought you were, and once people thought they had you figured out, they stopped paying attention. You wore what worked, not what turned heads, flight jackets thrown on over old T shirts, boots that had seen better days, hair pulled back because it was easier and because you hated the feeling of it getting in your way.
You never lingered in front of mirrors, never fussed over makeup beyond what was necessary to look awake and professional, and when someone joked about you not owning a dress, you laughed it off because it was simpler than correcting them.
The way you moved through the world didn’t help either. You sat however was comfortable, legs sprawled, elbows on tables, voice level and unsoftened. You swore when you were annoyed, laughed when something was actually funny, and shut things down quickly when they edged too close to disrespect.
You didn’t flirt, not in the way people expected, didn’t perform softness or play coy, didn’t shrink yourself to make anyone else feel bigger. Most of the time, you listened, and when you spoke, it was usually to say something practical, something grounding, something that kept things from going off the rails.
So the assumptions came easily. Tomboy. One of the guys. Probably a lesbian. People said it like it was a harmless conclusion, like it explained everything they needed to know. You never bothered to correct them.
Letting them believe it meant fewer questions, fewer raised eyebrows when you stayed single, fewer explanations about why you never brought anyone around. It wrapped around you like armour, kept expectations low and curiosity even lower.
Around Jake, it only reinforced the picture they’d already painted. You treated him the same way you treated everyone else, familiar and unguarded, teasing him when his ego got too loud, grounding him when he started to spiral.
You were careful without even realising it, never letting your touch linger, never holding his gaze a second too long, never doing anything that might make people pause and look twice. From the outside, it looked easy, like romance simply wasn’t on your radar at all.
And because appearances were comfortable, people didn’t look any deeper. They didn’t notice the way you paid attention to everything, or how much of yourself you kept tucked away to fit into the role they’d assigned you. They saw what you showed them, and that was enough.
It kept things simple.
It also meant no one ever thought to wonder what it cost you to stay there.
It showed up in little moments, the kind that seemed harmless at the time, the kind you laughed off because that was easier than sitting with what they meant. Like the times Jake would sling an arm around your shoulders without thinking, casual and familiar, and you’d feel people’s eyes on you, the brief flicker of curiosity before they settled on an answer that made sense to them. You never let it linger.
You always shifted just enough, ducked out from under his arm with a joke, gave them something else to look at.
There was that one time at the grocery store, late at night after a long day, both of you still in flight jackets because neither of you could be bothered to change. You were arguing in the cereal aisle about whether he actually needed another box of sugary crap when you noticed a pair of women a few aisles down, whispering and glancing over, eyes lingering in a way that was unmistakable.
They smiled at you, then at Jake, the kind of look people gave couples who looked annoyingly comfortable together.
You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly hurt.
Jake had a box of cereal tucked under his arm, something aggressively sugary, the kind that advertised happiness in cartoon fonts.
“You don’t need that,” you said, tapping the box with your finger. “You’re going to die young and it’ll be my fault for enabling you.”
“I fly jets,” he said easily. “I deserve sugar.”
“You deserve vegetables.”
He ignored you, obviously, already reaching for another box, when you noticed them. Two women a few aisles down, pretending to debate pasta shapes while very clearly watching him. Not both of you. Him. Their eyes followed him when he laughed, lingered when he leaned on the trolley, bright and interested and painfully obvious once you clocked it.
Of course.
You felt that familiar, stupid twist in your chest, the one you’d learned to swallow quickly, because there was nothing productive about standing there thinking about why it bothered you. You didn’t want the assumptions. You didn’t want the looks. You didn’t want to be part of the equation at all.
So, you did what you always did: you fixed it.
“My girlfriend is going to kill me if I forget the oat milk again,” you said, casual, a little louder than necessary. “She already thinks I do it on purpose.”
The shift was immediate. One of the women glanced at you, then back at Jake, and the tension eased, relief washing over her face like you’d just clarified the rules. They didn’t whisper anymore. They just watched him, openly now.
Problem solved.
Jake, unfortunately, chose that moment to turn into an idiot.
“Your what?” he asked, brows knitting together as he stared at you.
You didn’t look at him. You kept scanning the fridge. “My girlfriend.”
“Uh … when did you get a girlfriend?” he asked, genuinely confused. “You never said anything.”
You felt your eye twitch. Internally, you were already weighing your options, none of which involved committing murder in a public supermarket.
“Jake,” you said through your teeth, still smiling. “Don’t.”
“I’m serious,” he said. “Who is she?”
You grabbed the oat milk yourself and dropped it into the trolley a little harder than necessary. Fictional. Imaginary. Completely made up because you were tired of playing a role you never asked for.
You leaned in closer and muttered, “She does not exist.”
He blinked. “What?”
You finally looked at him then, lowering your voice. “Those women were checking you out. I said that so they wouldn’t think we were together.”
There was a beat where his brain clearly caught up to his face.
“Oh,” he said.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He glanced down the aisle, finally noticing what you’d clocked minutes ago, the way one of them smiled when their eyes met, the way he instinctively straightened, confidence clicking back into place like muscle memory.
“Oh,” he said again, this time with a grin. “Wow.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re welcome.”
“You could’ve told me,” he said.
“And ruin the fun?” you shot back. “Also, don’t flatter yourself. I did it for me.”
“For you?”
“So people stop assuming I’m your girlfriend,” you said, pushing the trolley forward. “It’s exhausting.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re oblivious,” you said. “We make a great team.”
At the checkout, the cashier smiled politely, glancing between the two of you. “Together or separate?”
“Separate,” you said instantly.
Jake frowned. “You sure?”
“Yes,” you said. “Unless you’d like to explain my imaginary girlfriend.”
He snorted. “Fair.”
You paid, grabbed the bags, and walked out into the night like nothing had happened, heart steady, expression easy, everything neatly packed away where it belonged. Just another assumption redirected, another moment smoothed over before it could get complicated.
It wasn’t the first time you’d done something like that, and it definitely hadn’t been the last.
You’d lost count of how many moments you’d quietly redirected over the years, how many assumptions you’d corrected before they had the chance to settle, how often you’d stepped sideways just enough to keep yourself out of the story people wanted to tell about the two of you.
It had become instinctive, almost automatic, like checking your mirrors before changing lanes, something you did without thinking because the alternative felt dangerous.
You’d done it at bars when someone’s eyebrows lifted in that knowing way and you’d laughed first, too quick, too easy, shutting it down before Jake even realised what was being asked.
You’d done it at squad events, dropping the word girlfriend into conversation like a casual detail, something offhand and unimportant, just enough to steer curiosity elsewhere.
You’d done it in passing comments, in body language, in the careful way you never let your touch linger, never let your gaze stay a second too long, never let yourself soften around him in public.
It was easier to manage the narrative than to deal with the fallout of letting it exist. Easier than watching people reassess you, easier than feeling the weight of questions you weren’t prepared to answer, easier than risking the way Jake looked at you changing.
Because once something was named, once it was acknowledged, it couldn’t be packed away again, and you had built your entire sense of safety around keeping things exactly where they were.
You told yourself it was self preservation, that it was practical, that it kept things simple. You told yourself you weren’t lying so much as editing, trimming the edges of reality so it fit into something manageable.
The truth felt too big, too exposed, too likely to ruin everything you’d built with him, so you kept choosing the version of yourself that asked for nothing.
Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like a choice.
It became a habit, rather.
And habits were hard to break, even when they started costing you more than you ever meant to give.
And speaking of habits, some of them followed you straight onto the tarmac, clung to you just as stubbornly as the heat and the sweat and the way Jake always found your wing without even looking for it.
Training ended the way it usually did, engines screaming, adrenaline still buzzing in your veins long after you brought the jet down, hands steady even though your body was already aching in that familiar, satisfying way.
When the canopy lifted, the heat rushed in immediately, thick and heavy, sweat already soaking through your flight suit, hair damp at your temples as you shoved your helmet under your arm and climbed down the ladder. The smell of fuel hung in the air, sharp and metallic, mixed with salt and effort and the kind of exhaustion that felt earned.
Jake was already out of his jet, of course he was, flight suit half unzipped, shirt plastered to his chest, sunglasses on like he hadn’t just worked himself to the edge. You didn’t even look his way at first. You didn’t need to.
The results were barely out before it started.
“Holy shit!” Rooster said, wiping sweat from the back of his neck. “She beat you again.”
Phoenix laughed, loud and unapologetic as she did. “Again, Hangman? That’s rough.”
You finally glanced over then, tugging your gloves off slowly, watching Jake’s mouth curve into that familiar, disbelieving grin.
“Okay,” he said, holding up a hand. “Let’s not act like that was a blowout.”
You snorted. “You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true,” he shot back. “I was distracted.”
You tilted your head. “By what? Your own ego overheating?”
That earned a chorus of laughs, someone clapping you on the shoulder hard enough to jostle you forward.
“Hell of a flight,” Payback said. “You flew like you woke up mad at the sky.”
You shrugged, breath still a little unsteady. “Sometimes it deserves it.”
Jake leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing something important. “You got lucky.”
You leaned in just as close, eyes bright despite the sweat dripping down your spine. “Scoreboard doesn’t do luck, Hangman.”
The oohs came immediately, Jake groaning as he threw his hands up, though the grin never left his face.
Everyone looked wrecked, hair damp, faces flushed, flight suits clinging uncomfortably, the whole group buzzing with leftover adrenaline and heat and that sharp edge of competition that never quite went away.
Mav’s presence cut through the noise like it always did.
He stopped in front of you first, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, taking you in with that quiet, assessing stillness.
“Nice flying,” he said. “Clean, controlled, didn’t let Seresin drag you into his bad habits.”
Jake let out a dramatic sigh. “Sir.”
Maverick barely looked at him. “You flew well, too,” he added, finally turning his head. “But loud doesn’t always mean smart.”
A few people laughed. Jake straightened anyway, clearly pleased despite himself.
Mav’s gaze swept over the rest of the squad. “You all pushed it today. That’s good. That’s what practice is for. Just remember, beating each other here doesn’t mean anything if you can’t keep it together when it counts.”
Then his eyes flicked back to you. “Consistency like that doesn’t happen by accident,” he said. “Keep doing whatever you’re doing.”
Something warm settled in your chest at that, pride curling in under the exhaustion, muscles aching in a way that felt worth it. Someone handed you a bottle of water, and you drank greedily, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
Jake caught your eye over the rim of his sunglasses, sweat running down his jaw, expression hovering somewhere between competitive and something quieter.
“Don’t get comfortable,” he said. “I’m taking you down next run.”
You capped the bottle and smiled at him, easy, familiar, automatic.
“Sure you are,” you said. “Whatever helps you sleep.”
And just like that, the noise swelled again, laughter and movement and heat pressing in from all sides, everything slipping back into its usual place.
Winning felt good, but it felt safe too, because for now it was still just flying, still just competition, still just habit.
And you were very good at habits.
Of course Rooster was the one to break the lull, because Rooster never let a moment breathe longer than necessary.
“So,” he said, clapping his hands together like this was a foregone conclusion, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt, grin already locked in. “Hard Deck. Drinks on Hangman, obviously. We gotta celebrate Switch embarrassing him in broad daylight.”
A chorus of agreement followed immediately.
“Oh absolutely,” Payback said. “I’ve been waiting all week for this.”
Jake scoffed, tugging his flight suit the rest of the way down, shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back. “First of all, I was not embarrassed. Second of all, why am I paying?”
“Because you lost,” Phoenix said sweetly, not even looking at him as she wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt. “And because we enjoy watching you suffer.”
You snorted before you could stop yourself, heat still buzzing through your veins, adrenaline making everything feel a little louder, a little looser.
“I accept,” you said. “As the winner, I feel that’s only fair.”
Jake turned to you, incredulous. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Am I?” you asked, tilting your head. “Because it feels earned.”
Phoenix finally looked up then, eyes flicking between all of you, wrinkling her nose theatrically. “Okay, hold on. Hard Deck is fine, but can we all agree on one thing first?”
Rooster groaned. “Don’t ruin this.”
“We are disgusting,” she said plainly. “I am not drinking next to any of you until you shower. You smell like jet fuel and poor life choices.”
“That’s the vibe, Tash.” Rooster protested.
“It’s not,” she shot back. “It’s a biohazard.”
You glanced down at yourself then, at the sweat clinging everywhere, at the way your flight suit felt like it had been glued to you. She wasn’t wrong.
“Yeah,” you said. “She’s got a point. I’m pretty sure my skin is trying to escape my body.”
“Traitor,” Rooster muttered.
Bob finally spoke up from a few steps back, quiet as always, helmet tucked under his arm, glasses slightly fogged at the edges from the heat. He smiled, small and gentle, like he found all of this more amusing than he let on.
“I wouldn’t mind a shower first,” he said. “Hard Deck will still be there.”
Phoenix pointed at him immediately. “See? Bob gets it.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “Of course Bob gets it.”
Bob shrugged, still smiling. “I like a clean body.”
That earned a few laughs, the tension easing into something familiar and easy. You caught Bob’s eye for a second longer than necessary, the way you always did, his smile widening just a fraction before he looked away again.
“Alright,” Rooster sighed dramatically. “Fine. Everyone showers, but we’re not letting Switch escape this. Tonight’s about her.”
You blinked. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Phoenix said. “Switch beating Hangman? That’s at least two rounds.”
Jake jabbed a finger in your direction. “I want it on record that I’m demanding a rematch.”
You grinned, slinging your helmet under your arm as you started walking towards the locker rooms. “Get in line, loser.”
As the group moved together, laughter bouncing off the concrete, sweat drying slowly on your skin, it all felt dangerously normal again, teasing and rivalry and shared victories folding back into place like they always did.
Another habit, which means that another night that would probably mean more than it was supposed to.
By the time you got back to your flat, the city was all glittering lights and distant hums and sirens that felt almost comforting after the day, like it had its own rhythm and you were part of it whether you wanted to be or not.
You kicked off the flight suit and threw it over the back of the chair without even looking, slid into something easier, more you, leather jacket thrown over a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled because practicality always wins over showing off, boots laced tight, the kind of outfit that says you know what you’re doing and you don’t need anyone to notice.
Hair pinned back loosely, a few strands falling where they liked, and your lips were barely there, just chapstick, but enough to remind anyone paying attention that you’re still Switch, still sharp, still impossible to ignore if you wanted to be.
You caught your reflection for a second and smirked at it, tilting your head, eyes lingering, thinking not bad, Switch, not bad at all. You looked dangerous if you wanted, careless if you chose, annoyingly confident without trying, and you knew it, and that felt good.
That felt like power. That felt like something no one could take from you.
Your keys slid between your fingers, and your pride waited out there, engine already thrumming faintly in anticipation. The supercharged Ninja H2 Carbon, sleek, fast, lethal, yours, and it practically hummed at you like it knew you belonged on it, like it knew tonight was going to be something.
Swinging your leg over, settling into the seat, you flexed your fingers against the controls and felt the weight of it beneath you and smirked because honestly this was your playground. Everyone else could still be sweaty and chaotic, but this, this was precision, control, speed.
You were Switch. Always Switch.
The engine roared to life at the twist of your wrist, and the city opened up, lights streaking past like it was all in slow motion, wind whipping your hair loose, cold in a way that made your skin tingle, the smell of petrol and asphalt and possibility mixing with the adrenaline still thrumming in your chest from training. You loved it. You loved the rush, the way it made you feel alive, untouchable if you wanted to be, entirely, deliciously untouchable.
Hard Deck wasn’t far, but that didn’t stop your brain from racing. You imagined the teasing, the laughter, the groan Jake would inevitably let out when he saw you walk in looking effortless and put together while everyone else was still sticky from sweat.
You grinned because he’d never notice until it was too late, and maybe tonight you’d let him stew a little, maybe tonight you’d let him squirm, maybe tonight he’d realise that winning against you in the sky didn’t make him immune to losing on the ground.
Your fingers brushed the throttle again and you whispered to yourself, not like anyone could hear over the roar, “Not too fast, not too reckless, just enough to be Switch,” and it felt like a promise and a warning at the same time and you laughed softly because it was true and also because no one could see how much you were grinning under your helmet.
The lights of Hard Deck drew closer, bright and sparkling like it was daring you to walk in, and heat from the day still clung to your skin, mixed with the wind, mixed with adrenaline, mixed with a kind of quiet anticipation you hadn’t let yourself feel in a long time. Sexy, chaotic, sharp, entirely yourself, and you knew it.
You parked the Ninja, kicked it onto the stand, ran a hand through your hair and tugged the jacket tighter over your shoulders and muttered under your breath, “Alright, Switch, let’s see how the boys handle this one,” and somehow it felt like everything was about to explode and you loved it already.
The door slid open and immediately it hit you, the smell of beer and sweat and lingering jet fuel and someone had clearly been frying food and the heat of bodies still buzzing from training and somehow it all mixed into the kind of mess you loved, the kind that made you grin before you’d even stepped fully inside. And of course, Fanboy spotted you first because he always did and he had that ridiculous way of pointing like he’d discovered treasure.
“There she is!” he yelled, voice cracking a little and a few heads whipped around and everyone started laughing and grinning and somehow the whole room felt like it got louder just because you arrived, because apparently your presence could do that.
You rolled your eyes but smirked anyway because yes, of course it was fanboy, and yes, he had to be dramatic about it and yes, you secretly loved it. “Relax,” you said, sliding past the bar, jacket still on, hair messy from the ride and wind, chapstick catching the light just enough to remind people you were still you, still Switch, still lethal if they dared. “I only just got here. You’re all sweaty anyway. Sit down before someone actually melts.”
“Too late,” Payback muttered from the corner, shirt clinging to him in all the wrong ways, hair plastered down and shiny with sweat. “I’m already melting.”
“Gross,” Phoenix said without looking up, flicking you a glance that made you grin because she was always that one that pretended to hate you but couldn’t resist noticing. “And you too, Switch. Don’t act like you’re not dripping.”
“Am I?” you said, shrugging one shoulder and letting the jacket catch the light, letting the room notice just enough. “Hah! I think I’m glowing. You might want to check your specs.”
Fanboy bounced in place, pointing at you again like it was a revelation, like the world had suddenly aligned. “She’s glowing! Look at her! Switch, you look… lethal. Sexy lethal. I can’t even.”
You laughed, letting it spill out, shaking your head because yes, this was exactly the kind of attention you liked, messy, chaotic, half-teasing, half-serious, and you let it sit just long enough to enjoy it. “Maybe I should start charging cover at the door.”
Payback snorted, leaning against the bar and giving you that look that said he was pretending to be annoyed but you knew better. “I’d pay to see you take down Hangman again. I’d pay double if you tease him first.”
“Oh, I do tease him,” you said lightly, voice calm but there was that glint in your eyes, that little heat you always let slip when you were enjoying yourself. “The real question is if he survives it.”
Phoenix laughed, snorting and trying to hide it. “God, the way you talk about him Switch, do you even realise how dirty you sound right now?”
You tilted your head and smirked and let the words linger just enough for them to stew. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Maybe it’s more fun leaving you to wonder.”
Fanboy was practically vibrating now, gesturing like you were some rare bird that had just flown into their midst. “She’s dangerous. I’m telling you, she’s dangerous and sexy and just—I can’t even. Switch walks in and the whole room tilts.”
You laughed again, tilting your head, glancing around at everyone, feeling the small, familiar thrill run under your skin. You loved it, loved the way they all flustered themselves around you, loved the chaos, loved the little dangerous power of knowing exactly what you were doing without needing anyone to notice, and the way they couldn’t help but notice anyway.
“Speaking of chaos and danger,” Phoenix said, voice dropping conspiratorially like she was letting you in on a scandal, “I feel like this is the perfect time to ask about your sex life. You can’t just waltz in here looking like that and not have stories, Switch.”
For a second the room froze like someone had pulled the pause button, and then chaos hit all at once. Fanboy was practically vibrating in place, pointing at you like you’d just become a national treasure. “YES! Finally! Spill it! Tell us!”
Payback leaned forward, elbows on the bar, hair still damp and plastered to his forehead, grin wide, eyes glittering with that awful, insatiable mischief he always had. “Come on, Switch, one story, just one. I’m begging. I need to know if you’re actually human.”
You tilted your head, letting the words hang between you, teasing, deliberate, letting them stew in the suspense. “You’re all going to be disappointed,” you said lightly, smirk already tugging at your lips, letting the small thrill of control run through you like electricity.
“Did someone say sex?”
And of course, that was exactly when Rooster’s ears pricked up. Or maybe it was that his brain short-circuited the moment he caught the word, because he popped up from behind a stool like a meerkat who had just spotted a predator, eyes wide, mouth half-open.
The room lost it.
“Oh, my God,” Phoenix gasped, hands flying to cover her mouth, “Rooster, don’t act like you didn’t hear that. You have perfect hearing for everything else and suddenly you’re deaf?”
Fanboy lost it entirely, hopping from foot to foot, pointing at him again like he’d just won some kind of lottery. “She said SEX, dude! SEX! Not that we didn’t expect you to hear it, but seriously, you’re ridiculous!”
Rooster groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I did not mean to hear it! I was just… walking by!”
“Uh-huh,” you said, voice smooth and teasing, letting it drip slow and deliberate. “Totally accidental, obviously. Purely coincidental that you popped your head in like that.”
Phoenix snorted, nearly falling off her stool laughing. “Purely accidental my arse. You stopped everything you were doing to come eavesdrop, didn’t you?”
Rooster sank into a chair, rubbing at his forehead like he’d just been scolded as a child, and you bit your cheek to keep from laughing too loud because honestly, it was perfect. He was flustered, exposed, caught in a moment he never expected, and you loved every second.
And then you noticed him, tucked in a corner, quiet, calm as ever, everything about him impossibly still except for the faintest tilt of his head, the tiniest smirk that made your chest tighten just a little. Bob Floyd.
He had arrived quietly, glasses catching the light just enough to make it clear he’d seen everything and was letting it roll off like he didn’t care, but you knew better. That little smile told you he noticed, he was observing, and somehow that made the teasing and chaos feel even sweeter because he was there, silent but present, watching everything with that quiet kind of amusement.
You caught his eye for a split second, just long enough for a little thrill to curl up your spine, and he gave a small nod, like he appreciated the mess without wanting to touch it, and your chest squeezed at the tiny gesture, because he was always like that, calm but somehow in on everything.
Fanboy shrieked again, pointing at you like a fool, Rooster groaned and hid his face in his hands, and you leaned back, smirk wide, letting it wash over you, the noise, the chaos, the little bursts of heat that made you feel alive.
“See,” you said, voice smooth and casual, almost mocking, letting your eyes flick to Bob again for the tiniest second, “this is why I love coming here. Absolute chaos, everyone flustered, and you just… watch.”
Bob’s smile widened just a fraction, the one that made your stomach twist in that familiar way, and you let yourself enjoy it for a moment before turning back to the squad, letting them continue to stumble over themselves.
“You’re all ridiculous,” you said lightly, letting the words roll out like silk over sharpened steel, “absolutely ridiculous.”
And the room erupted again, laughter bouncing off the walls, Rooster groaning louder than before, Fanboy squealing like a kid on a sugar high, and you grinned, letting the messy, chaotic, teasing energy wash over you because this; this was exactly where you thrived, exactly where you belonged, exactly the kind of night that made you feel untouchable, alive, and entirely, irresistibly Switch.
Rooster finally looked around, squinting a little as if it had suddenly occurred to him that something was off. “Where’s Hangman?” he asked, voice hesitant, like he was half-worried he’d missed something obvious.
You gave him a look that could have killed, one brow arched, lips tugging into the tiniest smirk, the kind that said am I his mum, really? “Honestly, Rooster,” you said, voice calm, almost teasing, “the guy can take care of himself. Probably off somewhere with a chick or two, or maybe he’s sulking somewhere because I embarrassed him again. Either way, not my problem.”
Fanboy snorted, bouncing slightly in place like he couldn’t contain himself. “Ooooh, I like that. So Switch is single tonight, right? Free to dish out all the stories without Hangman whining in the background?”
You rolled your eyes, smirking, letting him stew for just a second. “Free as a bird, if you mean that.”
And then, because you’d been glancing toward the corner anyway, your eyes caught Bob, calm as ever, helmet tucked under his arm, glasses slightly fogged from the training, expression faintly amused but quiet. Fanboy, of course, spotted him at the same time and immediately zeroed in.
“Oi,” Fanboy called, pointing, “what about him? Bob? Surely he’s got someone in the background, right? You’re not just single and mysterious all the time, are you, Floyd?”
Bob blinked, tilting his head just slightly, and you almost laughed at the way he simply let the question hang, that faint little smile creeping onto his lips that made your chest twist because it was sweet, gentle, like he knew exactly how to handle teasing without overdoing it.
You leaned back, smirking at him, letting Fanboy fidget a little more. “Looks like you’ve been caught, Bob. He’s got a little mystery, but honestly, if he does have a girlfriend, I’d be impressed. Sweet little guy, too quiet to give anything away.”
Bob’s smile widened just a fraction, that faint tilt of amusement and warmth that made your chest squeeze, and you let yourself enjoy the moment, the way it felt soft in the middle of the loud, sweaty room.
Fanboy was still bouncing, muttering about needing details, Rooster looked like he’d been caught between caring and panic, and you leaned back further, smirk still in place, watching it all unfold.
Tonight was full of small victories, teasing that stung just enough to be funny, and little glimpses of people you liked seeing in the softer, sweeter light, and somehow it all felt ridiculously good.
“Honestly,” you said, tilting your head at Rooster, “he’s fine. Probably off charming someone somewhere or just quietly being Bob. Either way, leave him be.”
Fanboy grinned like he’d won something and muttered under his breath, “I swear, Switch, you make everything more interesting,” and you laughed softly because he wasn’t wrong. You always did.
You leaned back against the bar, smirking at Fanboy bouncing like a maniac and Rooster still looking vaguely panicked about Hangman’s absence, when Bob finally spoke, voice calm and quiet but somehow cutting through the noise like he always did.
“I’m not sure why I feel singled out here,” he said, pushing his glasses up slightly, smiling faintly but teasing, the kind that made your chest squeeze just a little. “It’s not like I have a scandalous sex life worth spilling.”
Fanboy’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “Wait, hold on! Are you saying… you’re single? Bob Floyd? The sweet little genius pilot who never says a word? Single?”
Bob tilted his head, calm as ever, voice low and almost amused. “Apparently so. I suppose some of us just… prefer to observe.”
You snorted, grinning at him. “Observe? Bob, mate, you’re not just observing. You’re winning at it quietly. That’s even worse. Everyone else flails around like idiots and you just… stand there and watch. You’re teasing us all without moving a muscle! That’s so cool!”
He shrugged slightly, still holding that faint little smile. “Perhaps. Or maybe I just enjoy seeing how ridiculous you all look when you get carried away.”
Fanboy groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “Ugh, he’s not even embarrassed! He’s enjoying this! Bob, you’re unfair, man!”
You laughed, shaking your head, eyes flicking to him. “He’s sweet, though, isn’t he? Quietly enjoying himself without needing the attention, that’s why he’s impossible to tease properly.”
Bob’s eyes met yours for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and his smile widened just a touch. “I’d say you make it entertaining for everyone, Switch. I can see why you enjoy it.”
You blinked at that, heat curling somewhere deep and familiar, and grinned because yes, he noticed, yes, he gets it, and yes, you like that he’s the calm in the middle of the room, quietly appreciating the mess without being messy himself.
“See,” you said, voice soft and teasing, “everyone here is ridiculous, but you… you’re somehow worse. Quietly worse.”
Bob chuckled quietly, a small, low sound that made your stomach flip, and muttered under his breath, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Fanboy groaned again. “Oh, it’s official. Robert Floyd is secretly a legend. I love him already.”
You laughed softly, leaning back a little, heart still buzzing.
Phoenix finally got serious, voice cutting through the lingering laughs and teasing like someone had flicked a switch. “Alright, everyone,” she said, sliding onto a stool and crossing her arms, “seriously, Maverick dropped something in the debrief this morning, and we need to pay attention before we get too distracted by Switch’s glorious victory over Hangman.”
The table quieted a little, everyone suddenly remembering that yes, even on nights like this, training didn’t stop for anyone.
“Apparently,” she continued, voice tight, “we’ve got a mission coming up. Navy detail, top-secret stuff, only two of us are going to be sent in. It’s over at the Norfolk base, the training facility there, and only a couple of people get picked to actually go in. Everyone else will be backup and support, but the two people who go in… it’s serious.”
You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head, smirk tugging at your lips without really meaning it. “Oh, only two? That’s generous. I assume there’s a catch.”
Phoenix shot you a look, half-annoyed, half-amused. “The catch is that you don’t get to pick, Switch. Maverick decides. And yes, it’s serious. You don’t get to tease your way through this one.”
Fanboy groaned from the corner. “Of course, it’s always serious when Switch is involved. Can’t we just send everyone else and let her sit back?”
“Not happening,” Payback muttered, voice low, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know she’s not going to sit back. She’s going to volunteer before anyone can blink.”
You smirked again, because of course, that’s what everyone thought, and of course, you were going to let them think that for now. The mission sounded serious, maybe even dangerous, and part of you felt the familiar pull of adrenaline curling under your ribs. Not just from speed or competition, but from the idea of being chosen, of being one of the two who actually went in.
Bob, quiet as always, lifted his gaze, glasses catching the light faintly, and murmured, calm as ever, “Sounds like it’s going to be interesting. Whoever Maverick picks is going to need a steady partner. That could get tricky.”
“Tricky is my middle name,” you said lightly, voice teasing, letting the words hang just enough to make him glance at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Rooster, who had been half-listening while still recovering from earlier teasing, frowned slightly. “So who’s he thinking about sending?”
Phoenix shook her head. “No clue. He didn’t say. He only made it clear that only two are going in and everyone else stays out. Top brass, high clearance, top-secret stuff. You know the drill. Keep your heads on straight.”
You leaned back, letting the leather of your jacket creak under you, smirk still in place. “So basically, everyone gets to sit around nervously and speculate while Maverick decides who actually gets to be useful. Perfect.”
Fanboy groaned again. “I swear, Switch, you’re impossible. You make everything sound like a game even when it’s serious.”
“Of course I do,” you said lightly, shrugging, letting the thrill curl under your skin again. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”
Bob’s quiet chuckle faded into a small frown as he leaned a little forward, voice low but serious. “Switch,” he said, and you noticed the way he tucked his helmet under one arm like he was trying to seem casual, “in the Norfolk exercise, if we’re sent in as the two operators, how are you planning to handle the comms? Standard Navy protocol, or are we improvising once we’re inside the facility?”
You lifted an eyebrow, smirking faintly because of course he’d ask something like that, and even though the room was still noisy around you, your voice stayed calm, measured, with the tiniest edge of satisfaction curling in your chest.
“I’d follow standard protocol for secure channels, obviously, but I’d be running two backups simultaneously, one encrypted comms feed with redundant routing and a secondary VHF line just in case the first goes down. Add in signal scramblers to prevent any triangulation, which leaves us free to manoeuvre without detection. We’d also pre-map the facility comm nodes and assign sector control to each of us before insertion. And if anyone tries to jam, I’ve got contingency routing baked in. Net result: minimal risk of losing contact and maximum situational awareness. Calculations are solid, and it keeps us operational.”
Rooster’s jaw dropped slightly and he immediately shook his head. “Nah, nah, nah, Switch. That’s overcomplicated. You’re wasting time. Simple, secure comms, like Maverick said, just stick to standard channels, don’t mess around with all that redundant crap. You’ll only confuse yourself.”
You gave him a sharp look, that little tilt of your head that meant do not start, and let a faint smirk creep onto your lips. “Rooster, save it. I’ve already calculated the probability of signal failure, redundancy load, and net operational efficiency versus standard protocol. Even with your simple channels, we’d be looking at a thirty-two percent risk of total blackout in the worst-case scenario. Thirty-two percent, Roo. You don’t get to argue with numbers.”
He opened his mouth again, clearly wanting to, but you just shook your head, leaning back slightly, eyes glinting, letting him simmer for a moment. Bob, on the other hand, tilted his head, faint smile tugging at his lips, impressed without saying it outright, and you felt that small heat in your chest, the one that came from knowing you had nailed it and he noticed it too.
“Exactly,” you said lightly, voice calm but carrying that little weight of satisfaction. “Numbers don’t lie, and neither do contingencies. Stick to the plan, and we stay in control. That’s the point, right?”
Fanboy groaned loudly, flopping back against his stool and throwing his hands up like he was personally offended. “We are at Hard Deck, why are you guys talking about work? Ugh, seriously, can we not do this tonight?”
You rolled your eyes, smirking because yes, he was right, but part of you secretly loved the way he got so dramatic over the tiniest things. “Oh, poor Fanboy,” you said, voice smooth and teasing, letting the corner of your mouth tug up, “do you need a hug, or are you just going to continue whining for the next hour?”
Payback snorted from across the table, towel still draped over his shoulders from training, voice low and amused. “Let him whine. It’s hilarious.”
Phoenix rolled her eyes but smiled faintly, leaning back with her phone tucked under one arm. “I kind of agree. Can we all just enjoy the night? Drinks, food, teasing Switch, maybe stop pretending we’re in a briefing room for five minutes?”
You leaned forward slightly, voice playful but still sharp. “I can enjoy the night just fine, Phoenix, but part of me lives for the look on Rooster’s face when someone mentions probability of failure. Makes it worth it.”
Rooster groaned again, rubbing at his temple, muttering, “I hate you all sometimes.”
And then Penny appeared at the edge of the table, tray in hand, balancing drinks like it was some kind of art, placing them down with a soft clink that made everyone lean in just a little. “Here,” she said lightly, voice calm but warm, “drinks for everyone. Thought you might need a little liquid courage after all the nerd talk.” With that, she left.
Fanboy immediately grabbed one, grinning like it was Christmas morning. “Finally! Something fun to focus on.”
You picked yours up casually, letting the light clink against the glass, and smirked at Bob, who had shifted slightly to let his drink rest next to him, careful and deliberate as ever. “Liquid courage, Bob? Or are you just going to sip it politely while everyone else loses their minds?”
He glanced at you, calm, faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I can enjoy the night and stay operational. One does not exclude the other.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head, heart still buzzing from the adrenaline of earlier. “You make it sound like a war strategy, not a drink.”
The laugh barely finished leaving your mouth when something shifted, subtle enough that you almost ignored it at first, just a change in the air, a familiar scent cutting through the mix of alcohol and salt and sweat that Hard Deck always had. It hit you low and sharp, that clean cologne you’d smelled a thousand times before mixed with something unmistakably Jake, and your chest tightened before your brain could catch up, instinct louder than logic like it always was with him.
You stilled, fingers tightening just slightly around your glass, and turned your head towards the door without even thinking about it, heart doing something stupid and unhelpful as the lights from outside spilled in.
And there he was.
Jake strolled in like he owned the place, flight jacket slung over his shoulders, that familiar swagger in his step that had always grated on you and grounded you at the same time, except this time his arm was wrapped casually around someone else. A woman. New. Beautiful in a way that felt intentional, glossy hair falling perfectly over her shoulders, dress hugging her in places you refused to look at for more than a second, heels clicking against the floor like she knew exactly the effect she had. She laughed at something he murmured into her ear, leaning into him like it was the most natural thing in the world, like that space had always been hers.
Something cold settled in your stomach.
It wasn’t sharp, not exactly, more like a strange hollowness, like the room had tilted just enough to throw you off balance even though you were still standing perfectly still. You told yourself it was nothing, that this was expected, normal even, because Jake was Jake and Jake dated and Jake always brought someone new around eventually. You’d teased him about it enough times. You’d been supportive. You’d smiled and nodded and pretended it didn’t matter because that was the role you’d perfected.
Still, your chest felt tight, breath catching just a fraction, and you hated that your eyes kept tracking him automatically, watching the way his hand rested at her waist, the way he leaned down to say something and she laughed again, bright and easy and entirely unbothered.
Get a grip, you told yourself, jaw tightening as you took a slow sip of your drink, forcing your expression to stay neutral, casual, unbothered. This was just Jake. This was just another girl. This was just how things were.
And yet, something about it felt off.
It crept in quietly, that strange, uncomfortable feeling you couldn’t quite name, a dull ache under your ribs that didn’t make sense and therefore annoyed you more than anything else. You weren’t jealous. That was ridiculous. You didn’t do jealous. You were happy for him. You were always happy for him. That’s what best friends did.
Still, your gaze flicked back to the door before you could stop it, watching as he guided her further inside, arm still firm around her shoulders, and you felt that odd tightness again, deeper this time, settling somewhere it hadn’t before.
You shifted slightly, rolling your shoulders like you could shake it off, like you could physically dislodge the feeling if you tried hard enough. It was nothing. Just a surprise, and a habit. You know, just your brain misfiring because Jake had always been there, always within reach, and now he wasn’t, not in the way you were used to.
Jake, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate. Once he spotted where you were sitting, he shifted his grip around the woman at his side and started weaving through the crowd towards your table like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he hadn’t just walked in and subtly rearranged the atmosphere of the room. She stayed close to him, hand resting on his arm, heels clicking softly against the floor, head tilted up as he said something low to her that made her smile.
Phoenix noticed immediately.
“Alright,” she said under her breath, already sitting up straighter, eyes flicking around the table in warning. “Everyone behave. Be nice. Do not be weird.”
Fanboy rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder he didn’t strain something. “I’m always nice.”
“You are absolutely not,” Payback muttered, taking a sip of his drink.
Rooster scoffed. “Define weird, because that feels very subjective.”
Phoenix shot him a look that could ground an aircraft. “You know exactly what I mean.”
There was a chorus of exaggerated sighs and half hearted groans, chairs shifting, postures adjusting in a way that screamed barely restrained curiosity. Bob, though, just smiled softly to himself, fingers laced around his glass, eyes warm behind his glasses like he found the whole thing quietly amusing. He glanced at you for a brief second, catching the corner of your mouth lifting despite yourself.
You couldn’t help it. The teasing smile came naturally, familiar and reflexive, tugging at your lips as you watched Jake approach, watched the way the boys immediately tried to look casual and failed. You leaned back slightly in your chair, shoulders loose, expression easy, like you were watching a scene you’d seen a hundred times before, even if this version had a new variable walking beside him.
Jake stopped at the edge of the table, grin still firmly in place, arm tightening just a little around her waist. “Hey,” he said, voice bright, eyes flicking to you first before he caught himself and looked around at everyone else. “You guys started without me?”
Phoenix smiled sweetly, the kind that came with a warning label. “We were just about to order another round.”
Jake laughed like she had personally insulted him, that loud, easy kind of laugh that made everyone glance at him, shaking their heads but secretly glad he was here. “Wow,” he said, throwing a look around the table. “I step out for five minutes and you’re already having fun without me?”
“You’re late,” Phoenix said casually, voice smooth but sharp enough to sting a little. “We were trying to behave, not that it really matters.”
Jake scoffed, rolling his shoulders, eyes immediately snapping to you, just like always, bright and searching and somehow comforting even if it got under your skin. And before you even realised it, before your brain could stop you, you did it, the stupid little friendship clap, palm to palm, twist, back of hands bumping, that ridiculous ritual you’d been doing for years without even thinking.
“Dude,” you said automatically, shaking your head at him. “You’re late.”
He blinked at the word, just once, like he wasn’t sure it belonged in this context, then grinned anyway, because of course he did. “Dude?” he repeated, amused. “That’s new.”
You shrugged, leaning back in your chair, casual, smirk tugging at your lips. “Felt right. Especially since you lost today.”
“Oh come on,” he said, pointing at you, mock offended. “You got lucky.”
“Lucky,” you echoed, smirking wider. “Sure, whatever helps you sleep tonight, loser.”
Fanboy snorted, Rooster groaned, Payback laughed quietly into his drink. “She cooked you today, man,” Fanboy said, still smirking.
Jake rolled his eyes but the smile never left his face. “I’ll get you next time, Switch. Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late,” you said easily. “Loser.”
He opened his mouth to argue but then remembered the reason he was here in the first place. He shifted slightly, hand going to the girl’s back, adjusting her so she moved naturally into the group, and finally gestured to her like he’d been waiting to introduce her. “Right, okay. Guys, this is Amber.”
Amber stepped forward with a smile that was bright and warm, effortless but deliberate, like she’d practiced once and realised she didn’t have to try that hard. Hair glossy and falling neatly over her shoulders, dress hugging her in all the right places without looking like she was trying, makeup subtle but polished, lips glossy, everything coordinated. She smelled faintly floral, soft but not overpowering, like something expensive and delicate.
“Hi,” she said, voice sweet, confident, and clear. “I’ve heard a lot about you all.”
Her eyes flicked to you, just for a second, curious, almost appraising, like she was trying to figure out what your place was in all of this. You met her gaze without flinching, expression calm, fingers resting against your glass, smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth because you could tell she was already measuring and it amused you.
“Welcome,” you said lightly. “You picked a lively table.”
Phoenix slid a chair out smoothly for her. “Sit before they scare you off.”
Amber laughed softly at that, a light sound, and glanced at Jake like she was checking if this was normal behaviour or some kind of test. “I think I can handle it,” she said, still smiling as she sat down, smoothing her dress under her thighs in a way that felt very deliberate, very aware of herself.
“Bold words,” Fanboy said, lifting his beer slightly. “We’re a lot.”
“And loud,” Payback added.
“And emotionally unavailable,” Rooster chimed in, entirely too proud of himself.
Phoenix shot him a look. “Speak for yourself.”
Amber laughed again, shoulders relaxing a little. “I’ve been warned,” she said, glancing at Jake.
Jake grinned. “I told you they were harmless. Mostly.”
“Debatable,” you muttered, lifting your glass to your lips, eyes flicking briefly to Amber and then away again, like it didn’t matter, like you weren’t clocking every tiny movement without meaning to.
Bob leaned forward slightly, polite as always, smile soft behind his glasses. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said gently. “We’ve heard… a lot about you, too.”
Amber’s eyes brightened. “Only good things, I hope.”
Bob hesitated for half a second, then smiled wider. “Mostly.”
That got a laugh out of the table, even Jake, who shook his head and reached for his drink. “See, this is what I deal with.”
“You love it,” Phoenix said, already signalling Penny for another round. “Otherwise you wouldn’t keep bringing people here.”
Amber glanced around again, taking everything in, the noise, the familiarity, the way everyone leaned into each other’s space without asking. Her eyes landed on you once more, just briefly, like she was still trying to solve a puzzle she hadn’t been given all the pieces to.
“So,” Fanboy said, unable to help himself. “How did you two meet?”
Jake opened his mouth but Amber beat him to it, smiling. “Through mutual friends. He was very annoying.”
You snorted quietly into your drink before you could stop yourself.
Jake turned to you immediately. “Hey.”
“What?” you said innocently. “She’s not wrong.”
Amber laughed, glancing between the two of you now, curiosity sharpening just a touch. “You must be Switch,” she said, tone friendly but searching. “He talks about you all the time.”
There it was.
You lifted your brows slightly, amused, shrugging like it meant nothing. “All lies, I promise.”
Jake scoffed. “Rude.”
Phoenix hid a smile behind her glass. Rooster watched the exchange with far too much interest. Bob shifted slightly beside you, quiet but observant, like he felt the subtle shift in the air even if he didn’t name it.
“Well,” Amber said lightly, breaking the moment before it could stretch too far. “I’m glad to finally put faces to names.”
Penny arrived then with the drinks, setting them down with a knowing smile, the clink of glasses cutting through the conversation just enough to reset the table, to give everyone something to do with their hands.
“To surviving another day,” Payback said, raising his glass.
“To beating Hangman,” Fanboy added, nodding at you.
You lifted your drink in response, smirk returning. “Cheers to that.”
“And speaking of that,” Rooster said suddenly, far too casually, leaning back in his chair with that look that meant he was about to be annoying on purpose. “Switch here has been suspiciously quiet about her personal life lately.”
Your stomach dipped just a fraction.
You felt it immediately, the way the table shifted, the way everyone’s attention slowly, deliberately, turned towards you like spotlights clicking on one by one. Fanboy’s brows lifted in interest. Payback tilted his head. Phoenix gave Rooster a warning look that he ignored completely.
“What personal life?” you said, deadpan, already regretting sitting up straighter.
“Oh come on,” Fanboy chimed in, grinning. “You can’t just be out here embarrassing Hangman on the daily and not give us something. You seeing anyone?”
Jake took a sip of his drink at exactly the wrong moment.
He choked, coughing hard enough that Amber immediately leaned in, hand rubbing his back, concern written all over her face. “Baby, baby, you okay?” she asked softly.
You watched it happen with a detached sort of amusement, lips pressing together to stop yourself from smiling.
“I’m fine,” Jake said hoarsely, waving a hand, clearing his throat. “Went down the wrong way.”
“Sure it did,” Phoenix muttered.
You rolled your eyes then, finally letting it show, lifting your glass again like it might shield you from the attention. “Absolutely not,” you said. “My love life is not a topic of discussion.”
Rooster grinned wider. “That’s a no then?”
“That’s a none of your business,” you corrected easily, tone light but final. “Some of us enjoy a bit of mystery, you know.”
Fanboy groaned. “Boringggggggg.”
Amber laughed lightly, but there was something a little too sharp under it, something just off enough that you felt it without knowing why. She shifted closer to Jake, fingers curling around his arm, holding onto him like she was making a point, smile still perfectly in place as she looked at you.
“So,” she said, tilting her head, voice sweet in a way that felt rehearsed. “You and Jakey have known each other for a long time, right?”
Jakey…?
You nodded easily, not thinking twice about it. “Yeah, uh, since college.”
“That’s… wow,” she said, brows lifting, squeezing Jake’s arm just a little tighter. “That’s a really long time to be so close, hah.”
Jake laughed, oblivious, leaning back into his chair. “Switch has basically been around forever.”
You snorted. “Rude.”
Amber smiled again, but this time it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I just think it’s interesting,” she said, gaze flicking between the two of you. “You don’t really act like… how people usually expect, you know?”
You blinked, genuinely confused. “Uh. Thanks? I think.”
Phoenix shifted beside you, watching Amber carefully now. Bob went still, fingers tightening slightly around his glass.
Amber continued, still smiling. “I mean, you don’t dress like most women, and you don’t really talk about dating, and you’re always with my Jakey, so I guess I was just wondering…” she trailed off, letting the implication hang.
You laughed softly, waving a hand. “Oh, that. Yeah, uh, people just assume things,” you said honestly. “I don’t really bother correcting them unless it gets annoying.”
Jake frowned slightly. “Assume what?”
You glanced at him, amused. “Mate, people think we’re together all the time. Or that I’m not interested in anyone at all.”
Amber’s grip tightened again, her smile sharpening. “That must be frustrating,” she said quickly. “Having people misunderstand you like that.”
“It’s fine,” you replied, sincere, shrugging. “I’m used to it.”
Amber hummed softly at that, smiling, still holding onto Jake’s arm like it was an anchor she didn’t quite trust. She tilted her head again, studying you a little more openly now, gaze slow and deliberate, lingering on your jacket, your boots, the way you sat too comfortably in your own skin.
“So,” she said, voice light but pointed, “have you ever wanted something… different?”
You blinked. “Different how?”
She shrugged, nails brushing Jake’s sleeve as she spoke. “I don’t know. Softer, maybe. More traditionally feminine. Dating, settling down, all of that.” She laughed quietly, like she was joking, but her eyes stayed on your face. “I mean, you’re very… not that.”
There was a pause. Not an awkward one yet, but just long enough for something to shift in your chest, a subtle tightening you didn’t fully understand. You laughed it off instinctively, because that was what you always did.
“I suppose not,” you said honestly. “I like what I like.”
Jake shifted beside her. “Amber.”
“What,” she said quickly, still smiling. “I’m just curious.”
Phoenix’s jaw tightened. Bob glanced at you, concern flickering briefly across his face before he looked back down at his drink.
You tilted your head, trying to understand where this was coming from. “I don’t really think about it that much,” you admitted. “Clothes are just clothes. I’ve got other priorities.”
Amber nodded, but her smile thinned. “Right. Flying. Jake. The squad.” She laughed again, a little too quick. “You must spend more time with him than anyone.”
You shrugged again, slower this time. “We work together.”
“Still,” she said, eyes flicking to Jake and then back to you. “It must be hard, being so close to someone who dates a lot.”
That was when it landed wrong.
You felt it then, that faint prickle along your spine, that sense that you’d stepped into something without realising there were lines drawn on the floor. You shifted in your seat, smile softening but not disappearing.
“I don’t really keep track of his dating life,” you said lightly. “That’s his business.”
Jake frowned now. “Amber, seriously, it’s fine.”
She squeezed his arm, still smiling. “I know. I just like understanding the people in his life.”
You nodded, polite, genuine, even as something in your stomach twisted in a way you couldn’t quite name. “Yeah. Fair enough.”
Amber smiled again, but this one was sharper, tighter, like she’d decided something. She leaned in a little closer to the table, still pressed into Jake’s side, fingers visibly curled into his sleeve. “I just think it’s interesting,” she said, voice light, almost playful, “how some people get very comfortable playing the role of the girlfriend without actually being one.”
The table went quiet.
Not dead silent, but close enough that you could feel it, glasses pausing halfway to mouths, someone’s chair creaking because they shifted without meaning to. Phoenix’s brows knitted together. Fanboy stared down at his drink like it had suddenly become fascinating. Bob froze, jaw tightening just slightly.
Jake stiffened immediately. “Amber,” he said quietly, leaning in, voice low and urgent. “Hey. Stop it.”
She laughed softly, waving him off. “What? I didn’t mean anything by it.”
You blinked, genuinely startled, then laughed too, a quick breathy sound that surprised even you. “It’s fine,” you said, holding up a hand, trying to smooth it over because that was what you always did. “Really.”
Amber turned fully towards you now, eyes bright, smile widening. “I just mean,” she continued, undeterred, “it must get confusing sometimes, right? People thinking you’re something you’re not. I’d hate that.”
You tilted your head, studying her properly for the first time, not defensive, not angry, just trying to understand what she was reaching for. “I don’t,” you said simply. “I’m pretty clear about who I am.”
There was a beat.
Then she laughed, louder this time, and tightened her grip on Jake, practically draping herself over him. “Well,” she said brightly, glancing around the table like she needed witnesses, “just to be clear, I’m Jake’s girlfriend.”
Jake grimaced. “Amber.”
She ignored him, smiling at you again, sweet and pointed. “So you don’t have to worry about any confusion.”
Something settled in your chest then, calm and steady, almost disappointing in how little it hurt compared to what everyone else seemed to expect. You smiled back, easy and unbothered, even if the room still felt stiff around you.
“Good to know,” you said lightly. “Congratulations.”
There was a pause, the kind that stretched a little too long, and then Rooster let out a loud, awkward laugh, waving his hands like he was trying to physically sweep the tension away. “Alright, alright, that’s enough of that. How about we… Switch, hey, you and me, we go grab another round of drinks?”
You blinked at him, a little surprised, but the relief in the air was palpable. “Sure,” you said, standing and brushing your hands lightly over your jeans.
Jake stiffened slightly beside Amber, glance flicking toward you as if he wanted to say something, but his lips pressed together, then he muttered, “Excuse me,” and started moving toward the door with Amber at his side.
Amber laughed softly at something he said and rested a hand on his arm as they walked away, clearly content to monopolise him.
Before he disappeared completely, Jake paused, glanced back at you, eyes soft and apologetic, and mouthed a quiet, “Sorry.”
You met his gaze, shrugging with a tight-lipped smile, because there wasn’t anything to say, not that you wanted to admit anyway.
Rooster draped one arm casually over your shoulder, tugging you just a little closer, his grip light but grounding, like he wanted to make sure you felt safe from the tension you’d just left behind. “Don’t worry about her,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Amber’s just… insecure.”
You tilted your head, genuinely confused, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Insecure? About what?”
He chuckled softly, like he knew something you didn’t, eyes flicking toward the bar as if the answer was somewhere in the shadows. “You know… just… stuff. She’s holding onto him too tightly.”
You frowned, brow furrowing. “Holding onto him? What does that even—”
He sighed, cutting you off before you could finish, shaking his head, the weight of it heavy but not unkind. “Never mind,” he said, a little exasperated. “You’re smart, Switch. Smart as hell, but you’re not smart enough to notice everything. Ugh.”
You blinked at him, trying to make sense of the words, the tone, the vague warning wrapped in amusement. “Wait—what exactly am I not noticing?”
Rooster just shook his head again, letting the question hang unanswered, a small smirk on his face, and tugged you gently toward the bar. “Someday you’ll get it. Until then, just… let’s get the drinks.”
The night went on in its usual blur, the kind of blur that wrapped around you and made the hours stretch and shrink all at once. Drinks came and went, laughter spilling over, conversations looping and folding in on themselves, jokes recycled with slight variations, and the soft clink of glasses punctuating the rhythm of it all.
You leaned against the bar more than once, letting the warmth of the room settle around your shoulders, the low hum of music, chatter, and the occasional shout from the other side of the floor creating a comfortable background to your thoughts.
At some point, the haze of the evening wrapped its fingers around your mind, dragging you from one group to another, catching snatches of conversation, half-forgotten details, moments of insight that you’d tuck away for later, things you noticed about the way people moved, the way they laughed, the way they held themselves.
Amber appeared at the edges of your awareness now and then, a presence that made your chest tighten for reasons you didn’t let yourself name, always near Jake, always leaning in, always smiling, always measuring something you couldn’t quite place.
You moved through it all the way you always had, with that practiced casualness, the smirk tucked in your pocket, the hands busy but relaxed, the mind alert to everything and nothing at once.
You found yourself laughing at jokes you’d already heard, offering comments that slipped past most of the table without a second thought, watching Bob quietly observe, Phoenix keeping an eye on the squad, Rooster and Fanboy arguing over nothing that seemed important only to them, and Payback leaning back like he didn’t care but still caught everything.
Hours passed and the haze thickened. You didn’t notice exactly when the lights dimmed a fraction, when the crowd thinned slightly, when conversations slowed into comfortable murmurs.
Time was fluid here, and you let it flow over you, letting your body relax while your mind catalogued, assessed, and filed away each tiny movement, each glance, each laugh. For a moment, the night was simple, and it was easy, and the tension that had been coiled so tightly earlier unspooled just enough that you could breathe, just enough that the lingering knot in your chest softened, though it didn’t entirely disappear.
By the time the night wound down, the table had thinned, voices lowered, and the floor had cleared enough for people to start thinking about heading out. Penny came up to you all, brushing hair behind her ears, bright practical smile on her face. “Alright, you guys,” she said, sweet but firm. “Be careful driving, okay? Don’t do anything stupid, and watch out for each other!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rooster muttered, already grabbing someone by the arm.
Sure enough, there was Fanboy, leaning way too heavily on you and Rooster, one arm slung over your shoulder, the other on Rooster’s, staggering like he had two left feet. “Nooo,” he whined, voice slurred. “I can walk, I’m fine, I’m… king of the streets, yeah…”
“Uh-huh,” you said, steadying him with one hand, smirking. “King of the streets, right. Let’s see you survive getting to Bob’s car first, yeah?”
Rooster laughed, tugging harder. “Move it, man, you’re heavy and it’s freezing.”
Fanboy hiccupped, swaying dangerously. “I… am… invincible. Like… like Switch over here. Yeah, yeah, invincible… I respect you, Switch…”
“Thanks, mate,” you said lightly, rolling your eyes, “but I think you respect your own reflection more right now.”
Behind you, Bob and Phoenix were attempting the same heroic feat with Payback, who had collapsed into a heap of limbs, arms flopping like noodles. Phoenix groaned, voice exasperated but amused. “Bob, he’s gonna fall over again!”
“Not on my watch,” Bob muttered, straining under Payback’s weight. “Come on, man, almost there!”
Payback hiccupped loudly. “Bob… I love you… I love all of you…”
Phoenix rolled her eyes, dramatically. “Why do I even let you guys out at night?”
Fanboy, still halfway to Bob’s car, glanced over his shoulder. “Switch… promise me… we’ll have more nights like this…”
“Only if you survive the walk, king of the streets,” you replied, tugging him forward, grinning despite the cold.
By some miracle, with your balance, Rooster’s grumbling, and Fanboy’s obvious attempts to collapse, you made it to Bob’s car. You plopped Fanboy into the passenger seat with a thump, Rooster holding his legs so they didn’t splay.
Bob and Phoenix finally wrestled Payback into his seat behind them. Phoenix muttered about how utterly ridiculous the squad was, while Payback waved like he was conducting a parade.
“Alright,” Bob said finally, tired but amused. “Everyone accounted for. Switch, you good to ride out?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, adjusting your jacket and sliding onto your Ninja H2, revving it softly so it purred under you. “But you lot… some of you really need to sort out your drinking game, seriously.”
Rooster snorted. “That’s what makes it fun, dude.”
A faint scent drifted through the night air, sharp and unmistakable, pulling your attention before your brain had even processed it. You turned your head swiftly, and there they were, Jake wrestling with a very drunk Amber, trying to keep her upright as she leaned against him like she was made of rubber.
“Amber, seriously,” Jake muttered under his breath, low and tired, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other gripping her hand like he was holding a rope. “You are going to fall over if you don’t bloody stand straight.”
“I am NOT falling!” Amber slurred, swaying dramatically, one foot stepping sideways like she was auditioning for a slapstick show. “I am perfectly fine! Perfectly! You, ugh, don’t understand me!” She jabbed a finger at him and nearly smacked him in the face.
Jake groaned, dragging her toward the curb. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I AM NOT UNBELIEVABLE!” she shrieked, hiccupping loudly. “You're the worst! The absolute worst! And why does Switch get to be all calm and clever, huh? Why me?”
You blinked, leaning lightly on your bike, grin tugging at your lips. That was Amber in full, glorious, dramatic mode, completely unrestrained and utterly impossible.
Jake muttered something under his breath as he half-supported, half-dragged her to a taxi waiting a few metres away. She kicked out randomly, nearly catching a passing pedestrian, arms flailing, a miniature hurricane of tantrum and liquid courage.
“I AM A PRINCESS!” she hollered, tipping back against him with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. “THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!”
The taxi driver leaned out of the window, eyebrows raised. “Ma’am, you need to sit down.”
Amber thumped the side of the cab with her hand, voice high and theatrical. “I WILL SIT WHEN I DECIDE TO SIT!”
Jake huffed, gripping her firmly and guiding her inside, bracing as she practically fell into the seat, legs flailing, then slammed the door with a final dramatic thud that rattled the windows.
You stayed put in the car park, hands resting on your bike, shaking your head slightly, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips. The scene had been ridiculous, chaotic, absurd, and yet perfectly in character for both of them.
Jake leaned closer to Amber, murmuring something you couldn’t quite hear, probably some half-hearted joke or teasing comment, because it made her giggle, a light, tinkling sound that cut through the night air.
She pushed him playfully, a mock glare on her face, teasing him with a soft, “Oh, come on, babyyyyy.”
Before you knew it, she tried to kiss him, leaning in with exaggerated drama, lips puckering, but Jake twisted his head at the last second. Her lips met his cheek instead and she squealed in mock protest, giggling again.
He sighed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck, then turned toward the taxi driver and handed over a few notes, giving Amber’s address with an efficiency that contrasted sharply with her ridiculous antics. The cab doors closed with a soft clang and Jake waited until the taxi pulled away, headlights fading into the distance.
For a moment, he just stood there. His shoulders slumped slightly, hands brushing through his hair, and even though you only saw his back, you could tell he had closed his eyes, letting the night fill him. He inhaled slowly, exhaling heavily, like he was carrying everything from the night in his chest, releasing it into the salty breeze drifting in from the beach nearby.
You pushed yourself off the bike, boots hitting the ground with a solid thud, the engine ticking softly behind you as it cooled, and before you even gave yourself time to think better of it, your mouth moved first, because that was always how it went with him.
“Wow,” you said, tone light, sharp with that familiar bite, head tilting as you took him in from a distance. “Didn’t know babysitting was part of your flight hours now. Thought that cost extra.”
Jake stiffened, then turned, eyes going wide for half a second like he’d been caught doing something illegal, or emotional, or both. “Jesus, Switch,” he breathed, hand flying to his chest. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”
You lifted a shoulder, smirk settling in easy. “Relax, Hangman. You’ll live. She will, too. Eventually.”
His expression shifted then, surprise melting into something softer, warmer, the kind of smile he saved without realising for you, the one that showed up before his brain could stop it. “You stayed,” he said, like the fact itself meant something.
“Someone had to make sure you didn’t fall asleep in the car park,” you replied, dry. “Or get abducted by drunk civilians.”
He laughed, proper and loud, the tension peeling off him in layers, and then he was moving, jogging toward you with that familiar, reckless confidence, arms already opening wide. “C’mere.”
You saw it coming a mile away.
“Nope,” you said immediately, stepping aside at the last second, letting him barrel forward with all the momentum of a golden retriever that had misjudged a turn.
“Woah, woah, woah,” Jake yelped, stumbling, boots scraping against the tarmac as he windmilled dramatically, barely catching himself before eating concrete. “Oh, come on!”
You clicked your tongue slowly, head tipping to the side as you slid your hands into your jacket pockets, shoulders relaxed, posture casual in a way that came naturally to you, like you hadn’t just watched him nearly kiss the ground because he forgot how gravity worked around you.
“Tsk,” you said, shaking your head, eyes dragging over him lazily. “All that confidence and still taken out by your own feet. Tragic.”
Jake straightened fully, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket, affront written all over his face. “You sabotaged me.”
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Pretty sure the Navy teaches you how to walk without faceplanting, Seresin.”
He scoffed, pointing at you accusingly. “You moved on purpose.”
“Of course I did,” you replied easily, lips quirking. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you tackle-hug me in a public car park. There are standards.”
Jake let out a laugh that was all teeth and trouble, pointing at you like he’d just found his opening. “Standards,” he repeated, scoffing. “You literally ride a death machine to the bar and wear the same jacket like it’s stitched to your skin.”
You snorted, shifting your weight, chin lifting. “It’s called consistency, Hangman. Something you wouldn’t understand given how often you change your mind, your plans, and apparently your girlfriends.”
“Ouch,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock pain. “That one hurt.”
“Good,” you replied sweetly. “Means it landed.”
He narrowed his eyes then, that familiar spark lighting up behind them, the one that always meant he was about to do something stupid. “You know what,” he said slowly, grin spreading, “you’ve been running your mouth a lot tonight.”
You barely had time to register the warning before he suddenly took off, boots pounding against the tarmac as he sprinted straight for you.
“Oh my God, absolutely not,” you yelped, laughter bursting out of you as you spun on your heel and bolted, jacket flapping, trainers slipping slightly as you headed straight for the beach.
“Get back here, Switch!” Jake shouted behind you, laughing too, voice loud and unrestrained, chasing you without hesitation.
You ran like a child let loose, lungs burning, laughter spilling out of you uncontrollably, shoes sinking slightly into the sand as you hit the shoreline. The air smelled like salt and freedom and something reckless, waves crashing nearby as you kicked up sand, heart hammering with pure, stupid joy.
“You’re gonna regret this!” Jake yelled, closing the distance, his laughter chasing you just as much as his footsteps.
“Big talk for someone who already ate it once tonight!” you screamed back, breathless, laughter shaking you as you ran closer to the water, feet cold now as the tide kissed your ankles.
Your foot caught in the sand and suddenly the ground disappeared beneath you, a sharp little yelp tearing out of your throat as you went down hard, knees and hands sinking into the cold, damp shore, sand spraying everywhere and sticking instantly to your palms, your jeans, your jacket.
“Oh, bloody hell,” you laughed, breathless, pushing yourself up immediately, scrambling to your feet because you could already hear him behind you.
Jake lost it.
He doubled over, hands on his stomach, laughter ripping out of him so hard it echoed over the beach, pointing at you like you’d just put on a private show just for him. “Oh, my God,” he managed between gasps. “Did you see that? Switch, you absolutely wiped out!”
“Shut up!” you shot back, already moving again, sand clinging to you, shoes squelching as you bolted forward. “I slipped!”
He coughed, straightening slowly, dragging in a breath like he was trying to recover from nearly laughing himself into an early grave. “Worth it,” he wheezed, wiping at his eyes. “Totally worth it.”
You didn’t wait for him to fully recover. You took off again, laughter spilling out of you, heart racing, and the moment he realised you were still running, something feral lit in his expression.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Jake said, voice dropping, grin sharp as he lunged forward once more.
You were almost at the edge of the water, feet skimming the frothy surf, heart hammering, thinking you could make it without getting wet, when suddenly strong arms wrapped around you from behind.
“Gotcha,” Jake said, grinning like a madman, and before you could protest, he hoisted you over his shoulders effortlessly, your legs kicking and flailing as you laughed uncontrollably. “Oh, you’re mine now,” he added, a laugh rumbling in his chest, and started heading toward the water.
You thwacked his back hard, still laughing. “Put me down, you lunatic!”
He only laughed more, taking long strides through the sand, but then you yelped and pinched him hard on his side. “No! My leather jacket will get wet and ruined!”
Jake let out a sharp, surprised scream, stumbling and almost dropping you. “Ouch! That hurts!”
He ended up plopping you onto the sand with a soft thud, both of you laughing so hard it hurt. You scrambled to your feet, chest heaving, hair sticking to your damp skin, and watched him rub the side you’d pinched, his face pouting just enough to make you grin.
“I warned you,” you said, still gasping for breath, a teasing tilt in your voice.
Jake only grumbled, mock indignation in every movement, but his eyes sparkled, and you couldn’t help smiling that ridiculous, wide smile. You kicked off your shoes, pulled your leather jacket off, and tossed them somewhere dry, preparing for round two.
Before you could even take a proper run, Jake lunged again, catching you in his arms like it was second nature, and hoisting you onto his shoulders. He kicked off his own shoes quickly, placing his phone carefully on top of them to keep it safe, and started moving toward the water.
“Jake!” you screamed, a mix of protest and laughter, your voice nearly drowned by the waves and his booming laugh. “I’m not ready!”
“Too late!” he yelled back, long strides carrying you closer and closer to the surf, and you shrieked again, laughter spilling out of you uncontrollably, wind whipping at your hair, sand sticking to wet skin, the cold edge of the water lapping at your toes.
Jake paused for a moment at the water’s edge, looking down at you still perched on his shoulders, sand sticking to your legs and jacket half-tossed to the side. “Ready for this?” he asked, voice teasing, grin wide and mischievous.
“Ready-ish,” you panted, still laughing, arms gripping his shoulders like your life depended on it. “Just… don’t… drop me!”
“Not a chance,” he said confidently, but the gleam in his eye said otherwise. With a sudden lunge forward, he plunged into the surf, cold water splashing around both of you instantly, soaking your hair, clothes, and what little remaining dignity you had.
You shrieked, laughing hysterically, trying to cling on as he splashed through the shallow waves, the water icy against your skin. “Jake! I’m freezing!” you yelled, breathless, sand and water mixing around your feet and legs.
“Good! That’s the point!” he called back, ducking under a small wave deliberately, water spraying over both of you, making you squeal and slap at him.
Eventually he lowered you into the water, still laughing, and you both waded deeper until the waves lapped at your chests. “Okay, okay, you win,” you admitted, coughing slightly as the cold bit into you, but a grin tugged at your lips anyway.
Jake shook his head, water flying off him, and nudged you playfully. “Win? You were almost in the water and I had to save you.”
“Oh, save me, sure,” you said, smirking despite the chill. “More like drag me into the freezing ocean like a maniac.”
He laughed, throwing his head back, eyes sparkling. “Exactly! And now we swim.”
The cold bit at first, but the alcohol in your system gave a pleasant, warm buzz that made the ocean feel exhilarating instead of unbearable. You kicked off the sand completely, diving into the small waves with reckless abandon, and Jake followed immediately, splashing through the water with long, confident strides.
You swiped at him playfully, water flying everywhere, and he retaliated, scooping up a handful and throwing it at your face. You sputtered and laughed, swiping more back, the ocean around you turning into a blur of foam, spray, and golden moonlight.
The moon hung low and full above the horizon, casting silver paths across the rippling water, turning everything ethereal and unreal. You could see it reflected in Jake’s hair, wet and plastered to his forehead, the droplets sparkling like tiny diamonds in the pale light. He grinned at you, teeth flashing, eyes wild, and for a moment you swore the world had narrowed to just the two of you, the moon, the waves, and the sound of your laughter bouncing off each other.
You dove under a small wave, surfacing with a splash right at his chest. He grabbed you around the waist, yanking you into a playful spin, both of you howling with laughter, water sloshing over your shoulders. You swiped at him again, laughing breathlessly, and he pretended to stagger back as if you’d actually knocked him off balance.
Wave after wave you chased each other, diving, spinning, flailing, arms tangled in water and salt, the cold nothing compared to the rush of adrenaline and the warmth of being alive, reckless, and untethered. Your laughter rang louder than the waves themselves, echoing under the vast, silver moon.
Eventually, you both slowed, chest-deep in the water, breathing hard, faces wet, hair plastered to your foreheads, eyes glinting in the moonlight. You just floated there for a moment, staring at each other through the gentle, rolling waves, water dripping from your lashes, and the world around you felt impossibly still and peaceful.
“You’re ridiculous,” you said between breaths, a smile tugging at your lips even as the salt stung your skin.
“You’re one to talk,” he replied, shaking water from his hair, laughter still lingering in his voice.
And there you were, chest to chest, surrounded by the soft rhythm of the small waves, moonlight painting everything silver, laughing at each other like children who had no care in the world, knowing that even in the chaos of your lives, this moment was yours and his alone.
The laughter slowly faded, leaving just the sound of small waves lapping against your bodies, and for a moment, the world shrank to nothing but him and you. You found yourself staring at his eyes, the blue-green swirl that had always had a way of pulling you in, blue on the outside, green in the centre, almost glowing in the silver light of the moon.
He was doing the same, and you could feel the quiet intensity in the way he held your gaze, something unspoken, teasing, familiar, and dangerous all at once. You were about to say something, anything, when a rogue little wave hit you square in the chest, water rushing up your nose and mouth, and you choked, sputtering violently.
Jake’s laughter rang out, deep and teasing, and you couldn’t help but join in, coughing and wiping water from your face. Without thinking, you splashed some of it back at him, and he yelped, flinching slightly before grinning again.
“Oh, really?” he shouted, water dripping off his hair, voice a mixture of laughter and challenge.
You didn’t answer. Instead, with a wild gleam in your eyes, you dove at him, fingers tangling in his wet hair and shoving his head under the water for just long enough to get him laughing and gasping.
When he popped back up, sputtering and wiping at his eyes, you didn’t hesitate. In one fluid move, you climbed onto his shoulders, laughing so hard your stomach ached, feet kicking wildly in the water, holding on tight to his back. He froze for a second, eyes wide, and then laughed, realizing what you’d done.
“What the hell are you—” he started, voice muffled by laughter, and you wrapped your arms around his neck from behind, backhugging him like a human floater, legs dangling in the water as he tried to regain balance.
“You’re my personal buoy now, Hangman!” you yelled, grinning over your shoulder, water dripping off your hair and face.
Silence settled between you, soft and unforced, the kind that didn’t itch or beg to be filled. You stayed draped over him, using him shamelessly as your floater, feet kicking gently behind you to keep yourself balanced, the water cool against your calves, steady and calm now.
Jake adjusted without a word, instinctive, grounding himself in the sand beneath the surface, and one of his hands came up to find yours, guiding it properly around his neck, fingers lacing with yours like it had always belonged there. His grip was warm, secure, anchoring you as much as the water held you both.
You rested there, chest against his back, cheek close enough that you could feel the heat of him through the sea-soaked fabric, his breathing slow and even. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to.
The moon hung impossibly large above the horizon, pale and glowing, its reflection stretching across the water in a silver path that shimmered with every small movement of the waves. You watched it quietly, blinking salt from your lashes, listening to the rhythm of the ocean and the steady thud of his heart beneath your hands.
Jake tilted his head slightly, gaze lifted toward the sky, and you followed it, the two of you floating there together like the world had narrowed down to this exact moment. The laughter from earlier felt distant now, replaced by something softer, heavier, something that settled in your chest and stayed there.
Your feet kicked lazily, just enough to keep you buoyant, and his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, absent, unconscious, like it was simply what his hand did when yours was there.
You breathed in, slow and deep, the scent of salt and night air filling your lungs, and for once, you didn’t catalogue the feeling or try to name it. You just let it exist, suspended under the moon, wrapped around the boy who had always been there, floating together in the quiet.
Jake’s voice finally broke the silence, low and careful, carrying over the gentle lap of the water. “Switch… I… I’m sorry about earlier.”
You blinked at him, tilting your head, curiosity pricking through the haze of the night. “What?”
He swallowed, throat tight, eyes flicking down to the water between you before back to the moon above. “Amber… she was being rude to you.”
You laughed softly, shrugging, the sound airy and light. “It’s fine, really. She was valid. Honestly, I get it.”
“No, Switch,” he said firmly, voice sharper now, insistence threading through the calm. “She crossed the line. That wasn’t valid, that was just… plain rude.”
You exhaled slowly, a tired, amused sigh that puffed into the salty air. “Jake… she’s valid. She’s allowed to react like that. She’s your girlfriend, after all.”
He blinked at you, sharp, incredulous, and you could see his jaw tense even through the soft glow of the moonlight. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he said flatly, cutting you off before you could even protest.
You froze for a moment, eyebrows rising, heart doing that little jump that always betrayed itself when it came to him. “Wait… what?”
Jake ran a hand through his hair, voice low and careful, like he was choosing each word. “She’s just… a woman I slept with once. I invited her to Hard Deck because… well, I was bored, alright?”
You blinked at him, incredulous, tone rising despite the calm of the water around you. “Bored?”
He shrugged, almost sheepishly, eyes flicking away. “Yeah, bored. Nothing more to it.”
You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head, floating slightly in the gentle sway of the water. “Right, okay. So what you’re saying is… You’re going to let her go because she’s boring you?”
He grinned, a little too smug and then nodded, and you immediately scoffed.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered, lips curling.
“Hey,” he said defensively, water dripping off his shoulders, “I can’t help it if she’s… not exactly riveting.”
Your eyebrows shot up, and you pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation, voice sharp now, teasing but full of weight. “Seresin, that is exactly the kind of thing you shouldn’t be doing. You don’t get to toy with people like that, alright? Especially not someone you bring into your circle just because you’re bored. That’s… that’s rude, and you know it.”
He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but you just shook your head, eyes narrowing slightly, though the corner of your lips tugged in a warning smirk. “You really need to think before you act, Hangman. Seriously. Not everything is a game, and not everyone’s supposed to be a… filler for your amusement.”
Jake blinked at you, incredulous, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Wait… you’re really telling me this? Now? You know me, Switch… I do this all the time.”
You held his gaze calmly, voice soft but firm, cutting him off before he could deflect. “Yes, Jake. I know you do it all the time. And I should have never tolerated it. Seriously, you need to stop acting like other people are just… distractions. You need to think before you act, and Amber doesn’t deserve to be used like that.”
He swallowed, eyes flickering, and after a long pause he admitted, almost reluctantly, “I’m… I’m just using Amber to—”
“To what?” you asked sharply, tilting your head, your patience thinning, even as your chest still thumped from the cold water and adrenaline.
He exhaled, running a hand over his damp hair, gaze heavy and frustrated. “I’m just… using her to make someone I like jealous.”
You felt your stomach twist, not with jealousy exactly, but that tight, bitter awareness of the ridiculousness of his schemes. Slowly, carefully, you let your grip on him loosen, letting yourself drift back in the water so you could face him fully.
“Jake Seresin,” you said, voice low but trembling slightly with exasperation, eyes locking onto his, “that is… completely ridiculous. You cannot use someone to make someone else jealous. That is manipulative, it is cruel, and it is not how people are supposed to be treated. Not Amber, not anyone. You don’t get to do that, not ever.”
He stayed silent for a moment, absorbing the weight of your words, and you shook your head slowly, letting the moonlight glint across the water and your hair plastered wet against your face. “Honestly… I don’t even care if it’s supposed to be a game. Stop using people to get what you want, because it’s not clever, it’s just mean, and I am so done with you doing it.”
Jake’s lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing slightly as he let out a low, reluctant sigh. “Come on, Switch… it’s not like that. You’re twisting it, okay? I’m not — I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. It’s just… complicated.”
You blinked at him, raising an eyebrow, voice sharp even though your body was still shaking from the cold and adrenaline. “Complicated? Jake, using someone to make someone else jealous is not complicated, it’s childish and selfish. And you know it.”
He ran a hand through his wet hair, water dripping down his face, and stepped a little closer, voice quieter now but still firm. “I know, I know, it sounds awful. But you don’t get it because you… you see the result, not the reason. I wasn’t trying to be cruel. I just… I didn’t know another way to get through to someone. It was stupid, yes, but not mean.”
You crossed your arms over your chest, shaking your head slowly, incredulous. “Jake, this is exactly the kind of ‘reason’ that gets people hurt. There is no excuse for treating someone like a pawn, not for a game, not for attention, and definitely not because you can’t figure out how to deal with your own feelings. Do you even hear yourself?”
Jake’s jaw tightened, water sloshing around his hips as he ran a hand through his dripping hair. “Switch… I’m figuring it out, alright? I just—”
“You’re figuring it out?” you snapped, voice rising, frustration cracking through the calm night. “Jake, you say that every single time, and nothing changes! Someone always gets hurt, and you just… fumble around thinking it’ll magically work itself out. I know you, damn it. You never figure it out! Not really, not completely, and people get hurt because of it!”
He opened his mouth to argue again, but you weren’t done. “And I’m sick of it! I’m always saving you, always catching the mess before it destroys everything, and what happens when I need you? Huh? Where are you when it matters, Jake? I’m here, every single time, cleaning up the chaos you leave behind, and you… you don’t even notice!”
Jake’s eyes widened, as if your words hit him harder than anything before, and he started to speak, but you cut him off mid-step with another surge of anger. “No! You don’t get to argue me down! You don’t get to brush it off like you’re figuring something out when all I see is a trail of people you leave behind, and I’m so tired of being the one who holds it all together!”
His face shifted then, expression hard and almost desperate, and he finally snapped back, voice low but sharp. “And maybe that’s because you won’t open yourself, Switch! Maybe that’s why I have to… I have to do this my way because you won’t let anyone in!”
Your laugh came out sharp and humourless, cutting through the quiet like a snapped wire. “What does that even mean?” you shot back, anger finally breaking loose, chest heaving, water sloshing around you as you took a step closer. “Explain it to me, Jake, because right now it sounds like absolute rubbish.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, frustration written into every line of him, eyes bright and a little wild. “It means you shut everyone out,” he said, voice rising now, matching yours. “You shut me out. You shut everyone out. You carry everything on your own and when I ask if you’re okay, you smile and say you’re fine, that it’s alright, that you’ve got it handled, and then you move on like nothing ever happened.”
You scoffed, shaking your head. “That’s not the same thing.”
“It is,” he insisted, stepping closer too, water rippling between you. “You never ask for help. You never let anyone take care of you. You don’t lean on anyone, not even me. And don’t tell me you don’t need it, because I know you do. I see it. I’ve always seen it.”
Your throat tightened, anger burning hot behind your ribs. “So what, that makes it okay for you to use people and hurt them?”
“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying it’s exhausting watching you pretend you’re made of steel when you’re not. I want to be there for you, Switch. For God’s sake, we’re best friends. I’m supposed to be there for you, and you won’t let me.”
You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, the sound tearing out of you before you could stop it, hands coming up as you splashed the water in frustration. “No, don’t you dare,” you snapped, voice rising, echoing slightly over the quiet sea. “Don’t shift the topic, Jake. We’re talking about you. This is about you and the stupid things you do, not me.”
He blinked, jaw tightening, water dripping from his lashes as he stared back at you. “It is about you,” he shot back immediately, tone heated now, defensive but desperate all at once. “It’s about both of us, and you know it.”
“No,” you said firmly, shaking your head, anger burning hot in your chest. “That’s what you always do. You mess up, you hurt someone, and then somehow it turns into a conversation about me and my issues instead of you owning your crap.”
“That’s not fair,” he argued, stepping closer again, the water sloshing between you. “I’m not dodging it. I’m saying this isn’t one sided. You don’t get to lecture me like you’re completely innocent here.”
You scoffed, eyes flashing. “Innocent of what, Jake? Of not using people? Of not dragging other people into my mess because I’m bored or jealous or can’t communicate like a grown man?”
Jake blinked, eyes narrowing, and his jaw tightened, water dripping from his hair. “You think it’s just about that?” he said, voice low but tense. “It’s not. It’s about feelings, Switch. You don’t get that because you don’t… you don’t let yourself feel half the time!”
You tilted your head, incredulous, anger still simmering under the surface, voice sharp. “Feelings? Oh, so now this is about my feelings? Maybe if you actually dealt with yours instead of dragging people along like they’re props, we wouldn’t be having this conversation!”
Then, silence fell between you like something heavy and fragile all at once, your chest rising and falling too fast, breath loud in your ears, the cold salt air burning a little as you dragged it in.
The water rocked gently around you, waves brushing your ribs, your shoulders, nudging you closer and then easing away again, like the sea itself was trying to calm you down when you clearly could not be bothered to listen.
Jake did not look at you.
He dropped his gaze to the water, jaw tight, shoulders tense, hands clenched and unclenched beneath the surface like he was physically holding himself back from saying the wrong thing again. The moonlight shimmered across his arms, across the slow ripple of the sea, and for a few seconds neither of you spoke, just stood there letting the waves crash softly into you, over and over, washing away nothing at all.
Then he inhaled deeply, a shaky breath that you felt more than heard.
“Do you ever wonder,” he said quietly, still staring down, voice low and careful like he was stepping onto thin ice, “what would it be like if you actually let someone choose you instead of pushing them away first?”
Your eyes widened at his words, chest tightening in a way that made it hard to think straight. You blinked at him, trying to process, trying to read the expression on his face that was half serious, half unsure, like he’d just thrown himself off a cliff and was waiting to see if you’d catch him.
“I… what?” you managed to say finally, voice small even though your heart was hammering, legs trembling slightly in the water as if the tide itself was aware of the tension.
He lifted his gaze slowly, blue-green eyes glinting in the moonlight, catching yours with something raw and unguarded, and impossibly charged. “I mean… I mean, you always do everything yourself. You handle it all. You think no one else can, or should, or maybe you just don’t trust anyone to. But… what if I could? What if I wanted to? And you just let me?”
You swallowed hard, arms tightening around him instinctively even though you weren’t really touching yet, a shiver running through you that wasn’t entirely from the cold. The waves slapped gently against your sides again, small and steady, and suddenly the world felt impossibly small, like it had shrunk down to the two of you and the sea and the moon hovering silently above.
“I… I don’t…” you began, hesitating, because you didn’t know if your voice would betray you, because letting him in even a fraction felt like stepping off the edge into the unknown.
Jake inhaled slowly, like he was bracing himself, and then he said it, quiet but deliberate, the kind of words that landed sideways in your chest and knocked the air right out of you.
“I don’t need you to be strong with me.”
You blinked, brow furrowing immediately, confusion cutting straight through the haze of emotion. “What does that even mean?” you asked, breath catching, because it sounded important and terrifying and nothing like the Jake Seresin you knew, the loud one, the reckless one, the one who never spoke like this.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes fluttered shut, lashes dark and wet, and he stepped closer, close enough that the water sloshed between you, knees bumping, skin brushing. Then his hands came up slowly, carefully, like he was afraid you might bolt, his palms warm and rough against your cold, wet cheeks, thumbs brushing just beneath your eyes.
Your breath stuttered, body going utterly still, heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it over the surf.
“I mean,” he said softly, eyes still closed, forehead almost touching yours now, “you don’t have to hold it together around me. You don’t have to be the clever one or the composed one or the one who’s always fine. You can fall apart, Switch. I won’t leave. I won’t get bored. I won’t run.”
He finally opened his eyes then, blue green and earnest and terrifyingly sincere, searching your face like he was memorising it.
“I just want you to let me be there,” he murmured. “Even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy.”
You stood there, frozen, water lapping at your waist, heart hammering like it was trying to escape your ribs. His words settled over you, heavy and insistent, and you opened your mouth, then closed it again, because nothing you could say seemed enough, or even right.
Jake let out a soft sigh, wet breath misting slightly in the cold night air, and his hands slid down from your cheeks, resting lightly on your shoulders. He didn’t pull away completely, didn’t step back, just stayed there, patient and steady, watching you with that intensity that made it impossible to look anywhere else.
“I notice everything,” he said quietly, voice low, almost reverent. “Everything. The way you scrunch your nose when you’re annoyed, the way you bite your lip when you’re thinking too hard, how your shoulders tense when you’re trying not to show it… even the little ways you laugh that no one else catches because you think no one’s paying attention.”
You blinked, heart stuttering, unsure how to respond, speechless as the words seeped in.
He swallowed and went on, slower now, careful, like each word was measured, but urgent at the same time. “I see when you’re pretending to be fine, and I see when you’re not. I notice when you’re holding back, trying to keep everyone else from seeing how much you carry, how much you actually care, and I notice how much you hide just to make it easier for everyone else… easier for me.”
Your chest felt tight, words stuck in your throat. You wanted to say something, anything, but all that came out was a shallow inhale, the kind that left your lungs aching and your mind spinning.
“And…” he hesitated, eyes tracing the curve of your jaw, the way your hair clung to your wet cheeks, the faint shimmer of moonlight in your eyes. “…I notice you. All of you. Even the parts you don’t think anyone does. Even the parts you hide the most.”
You were speechless, still standing there, chest heaving too fast, water cold against your skin, mind spinning from the raw honesty in his voice.
You wanted to say something, anything, but it all lodged somewhere between your throat and your lungs, leaving you exposed in the moonlight, completely unguarded, and it felt impossibly heavy and yet sharp in the best and worst way.
Your hands twitched at your sides, wet hair plastered to your face, and you just stared at him, the moonlight catching the tension in his jaw, the intensity in his eyes, the way he was looking at you like he could see all of you at once, the clever, reckless, untouchable Switch that no one else ever noticed, and the part of you that only he ever seemed to.
The waves lapped gently around your thighs, steady and indifferent, and you felt the years of him being right there, always close, always reckless and loud, folding into this quiet, surreal moment that had nothing to do with jokes or flights or bets, and everything to do with just him and you and the way he saw you.
You opened your mouth, then closed it again, trying to find something to anchor yourself, anything that did not feel like you were standing on the edge of something you were not ready for, and all the clever lines, all the teasing, all the jokes you usually hid behind fled at once.
Your chest tightened, stomach doing flips, and for the first time, the water did not feel cold at all, it barely even registered against the heat rising from your skin, the strange, electric chaos of feeling seen in a way that terrified you.
And after a long beat, your brain finally caught up enough to let out the only thing that made sense in the middle of all this, dripping, heart hammering, completely overwhelmed, and somehow entirely Switch.
a small life update and a jake seresin fic i am way too excited about :)
hello my lovelies!!🤍
the holidays are here and everything has been a bit all over the place lately, i have been a little more absent than usual, mostly just taking a step back and breathing for a bit, but i promise i have still been around. a lot of that time has gone into writing because jake seresin has been living in my head rent free again, and i really think i missed writing him more than i realised!!
so while i have been quieter, i have been working on a jake fic that slowly turned into a full rom com without me even noticing. i started it about a month ago and somehow it is already over 29 thousand words, which is kind of insane to type out ;)
it will probably be in two parts because there is just too much going on for one, but i am genuinely so excited to start sharing it with you. this story has been such a comfort to write and i really hope it feels like that when you read it too!
how are you all doing? i hope the holidays are treating you kindly. it is cold where i live, which is not surprising since it is winter, but it has that quiet, cosy kind of cold that makes you want to stay in, wrap yourself up, and create things, which probably explains the word count :(
thank you for sticking around and being patient with me, and for always being so kind and supportive. i cannot wait for you to meet this fic and scream about jake with you!! 🤍
Awe Anna you are SO back 😭💗 and we missed you SO much...when you dropped that Clark Kent fic I had to sit there for a minute like… girl… are YOU okay? 😭 because that hurt way more than I was mentally prepared for😭💔
So I just wanted to check in and see how you’ve been doing? 🥺
hiiiii!! thank you so much, this made me smile 💗 i’m so sorry for the late reply, it’s been a lot lately and that clark kent fic was me spilling a bit of how not okay i was, so i get why it hit hard 😭 the month i took off socials really helped me slow down and start feeling like myself again, and posting that fic just now was me testing the waters and feeling my spark come back a little, so thank you for checking in, it really means a lot 😅🩵
word count : 11.2k words
pairing : clark kent x f!reader
synopsis : clark kent is getting ready for his wedding, yet the stillness of the morning stirs memories he thought he’d long left behind. between nerves and nostalgia, he finds himself returning to the fragments of his past that made him who he is.
content warnings : fluff, angst, bittersweet moments, emotional introspection, nostalgic scenes, unresolved tension, friends-to-lovers energy, soft heartbreak vibes, memory-heavy storytelling, light comedic chaos, gentle hurt/comfort undertones, and minor grammatical errors, i am sorry.
author’s note : hello my lovelies, i’m really sorry for being gone for a month, i needed to step away from socials and just breathe for a while, let things settle and collect themselves, and now here i am, finally, with a small piece of writing i’ve been holding onto, a slow, messy little fic that means a lot to me. yes, this one is inspired by the song ruin the friendship, and i wanted to let the feelings of it spill into something i could share, even if it’s short and unfinished in places. i also want to apologise for any grammatical errors, i haven’t proofread it, but i hope you can feel the heart in it!!
masterlist
Glistening grass from September rain is the first thing Clark notices when he steps out of the shower and wipes a small circle of fog from the mirror, the world outside his window softened into that pale morning glow that always seems to make everything feel slightly unreal, as though the day has been wrapped in some gentle hush that only grows heavier the more he tries to breathe through it, and he pauses there for a moment with water still dripping from the ends of his hair, letting the sight settle into him in that strange, careful way you handle things when they matter far too much.
The droplets on the lawn catch the light like tiny beads of glass, scattering it across the room in faint silver reflections, and it unsettles him more than he wants to admit, because it feels intentional somehow, like even the weather has decided to acknowledge that this is not an ordinary morning and that he is not quite the calm, collected man he has been rehearsing in his head for weeks.
He moves back to the mirror with the same hesitant determination he had when he first laid out his suit last night, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt before he begins fastening each button with a precision that feels a touch ridiculous when his hands are still slightly damp and trembling.
The tie rests across the dresser, innocent enough in its careful fold, yet somehow it feels like the single greatest challenge of the day, because the moment he picks it up his fingers stumble in that familiar awkward way they always have, looping and tightening and loosening with a rhythm that is almost meditative, or at least it would be if not for the faint shake in his hands that betrays every thought he has tried to keep quiet.
The knot refuses to sit right, the collar tilts unevenly no matter how many times he smooths it down, his hair curls rebelliously at the sides despite being combed flat only seconds ago, but he keeps going, keeps adjusting and straightening as though trying to convince himself that control over these small details will somehow anchor him against the enormity of what is waiting for him beyond this room.
His reflection holds his gaze with a calmness he doesn’t feel, eyes steady and a little too bright for comfort, the kind of brightness that comes from nerves pressed tight beneath the surface, from anticipation wound so finely it threatens to snap if he breathes too deeply.
It is not fear exactly, more a growing pressure in his chest that pulses with every heartbeat, reminding him that this is a moment he will remember long after the day ends, a moment that feels bigger than him in ways he cannot quite name.
He takes a slow breath, then another, the kind of measured breathing you resort to when you are trying to keep something tender and overwhelmingly beautiful from knocking someone off balance before someone even have the chance to step into it properly.
He adjusts his cuffs, smooths the front of his jacket, runs his palm once more over the lapel as though grounding himself through the fabric, and the rain-washed light pouring through the window makes him appear softer, older, somehow more honest than he ever intends to be when people look at him.
Today is important.
Today carries the weight of every version of himself he has tried to grow into, and as he stands there in front of the mirror, perfecting the smallest details with hands that are steadier but not entirely certain, Clark realises, with a quiet kind of ache, that he always assumed this day would come to him with certainty, yet instead it finds him standing here feeling fragile in a way he has never allowed himself to feel, his heart impossibly full and impossibly hollow all at once.
Clark eased himself onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight in that familiar, lopsided way it always had, and for a moment he just sat there, letting his hands rest on his knees and trying to slow the restless pulse that had been thrumming through him since the morning began, the kind of pulse that made every small, ordinary movement feel like a deliberate act, like the act of breathing itself was a rehearsal for something much larger than himself, something that had been waiting for him all his life.
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the radiator and the occasional drip of water from the shower he had taken only minutes before, steam still clinging to his skin in soft, lingering wisps, the clean, sharp smell of soap and shampoo filling his senses, grounding him just enough to remind him that this was real, that this day was real, and that he could not stall forever.
His hands went automatically to the drawers of the dresser as he leaned forward, rummaging through neatly folded shirts and the stray cufflinks he never wore, brushing past crumpled notes and forgotten receipts until something cold and metallic pressed into his palm.
His lucky charm bracelet.
He held it there for a moment, coiled and familiar, the metal chain catching the soft light from the window in tiny, glinting flecks that made his chest tighten in a way he could not fully explain, as though the object itself were pulling the past into the present, and he breathed a little heavier, a little too fast, because memory has a way of settling like weight on your lungs, and he had forgotten how heavy it could feel until now.
He blinked.
And suddenly, the world was too bright.
The walls of his room glowed in that sharp, early-afternoon light of Smallville sun spilling through the blinds, and he felt seventeen again, the weight of all those years pressing backward into him as though time had bent and snapped him into place on that bed he remembered too well.
The plaid blanket was still folded crookedly at the foot, the posters on the wall still peeling slightly at the corners, and everything smelled faintly of sweat and old books and summer sun, and for a heartbeat he could not quite breathe through the strangeness of it all.
A loud knock on the door made him jump so violently he nearly fell off the mattress, and his heart kicked into his throat before he even had the chance to think. The door swung open, too quick, too sudden, and there she was.
She burst into the room like a hurricane, her hair already frizzing from the walk across campus, a bag half-unzipped on her shoulder, papers stacked in precarious towers under one arm, her entire body brimming with energy that seemed impossible to contain, as though every nerve ending were alive and shouting all at once, and Clark felt the air press in around him as though the space itself recognised the force of her presence.
She flopped onto his bed with no hesitation, sprawling across it in a way that made the sheets dip dangerously, her eyes blazing, her lips moving before he could even open his mouth, words tumbling out in an unstoppable, breathless torrent.
“I can’t believe this, Clark, I literally cannot believe this,” she began, sitting up and gesturing wildly, “my editorial should have won, should have won, and it did not, and I am not exaggerating when I say that the injustice here is colossal, epic even, and you have to tell me how this happened, because if you do not tell me now I am going to combust right here on your bed and it will be entirely your fault!”
Clark’s hands found their way to his knees again, gripping the fabric of his jeans as he blinked at her, half-amused, half-dumbfounded, because she was radiant and chaotic and entirely unstoppable, and he could not figure out if he was terrified or elated, or both at once, which only made the feeling in his chest tighten more sharply.
Her voice rose and fell, spilling over the edges of her words like a river breaking its banks, her gestures painting the air in wild, looping arcs, her energy too large to be contained by the small room, too bright to be ignored, and yet somehow, despite the chaos, he could feel every word, every frustration, every desperate, indignant beat of her heart, and it lodged itself in his own chest, warm and heavy and impossible to shake.
She flopped back down onto the bed, arms spread, and continued to rant about the injustice of it all, the betrayal of the judges, the poor taste of the faculty, and how her carefully crafted metaphor about the vending machines had clearly been superior in wit and insight to the editorial that had won.
Clark just sat there, breathing a little faster than he wanted to admit, listening, because it was impossible not to be pulled in, impossible not to be caught by the force of her in motion, by the sheer vivid, wild energy that always made him feel simultaneously exhausted, enthralled, and entirely alive.
He remembered the way her laugh had cut through the cafeteria last week, the way her pen always had ink smudges on her fingers, the way her words had a habit of landing in his chest before they landed anywhere else, and in that moment, surrounded by her storm, it was impossible to tell where the memory ended and the present began, and he realised with a quiet ache that he had never stopped noticing, had never stopped feeling, and had never truly learned to breathe without her, even if he didn’t know it yet.
Clark watched her flail across the bed, arms twisting through the air in a motion so wild it was almost impossible to follow, hair spilling over her face in dishevelled tangles that caught the light from the window in flashes of copper and gold, and he could feel the tension in his chest tighten, the way it always did when she was like this, impossibly alive and impossibly bright, a storm that seemed to consume the room yet somehow left him rooted to the spot, breath caught somewhere between awe and exasperation and the strange, nameless tug of something deeper that he could neither name nor untangle, and for a long moment he simply sat there, shoulders stiff, hands pressed to his knees as though holding himself upright against the force of her presence, unable to speak, unable to move, and yet unwilling to look away.
Then, she hurled the pillow at him, an almost perfect arc that struck him squarely in the chest with enough force to make him stumble back a step, the fabric sagging between his fingers as his heart lurched in a way that had nothing to do with the physical impact and everything to do with the sheer, untamed energy she carried with her like some kind of living, breathing chaos, and he fumbled to adjust his glasses, fingers trembling slightly as they pressed the frames higher on his nose, trying to restore a semblance of composure that he knew he had already lost the moment she had opened the door.
“Why—why did you just—?” he asked finally, voice caught somewhere between curiosity and the faintest edge of incredulity, because she was impossible to predict and yet somehow entirely inevitable, like a force of nature that had chosen him for reasons he did not yet understand.
She pointed a sharp finger at him, trembling slightly from the effort of flopping across the bed, and the motion alone made him feel like he had been struck again, not physically but in that odd, hollow place beneath his ribs that had always ached a little whenever she drew near, and her voice was low, insistent, edged with fury and frustration and the kind of intensity that left no room for him to argue or step back.
“Do not even start with me, Clark Kent,” she said, eyes blazing, hair falling half across her face in chaotic tangles that he wanted to smooth but knew he never could, “I am not here for your pity. You don't get to look at me like I am some project, like you are the only one who understands, because I am capable of feeling everything on my own, capable of rage and despair and triumph and failure, and if you think I need you to cushion it, you are mistaken. Completely and utterly mistaken!”
Clark’s mouth opened once, twice, and he realised with a quiet, dizzying sort of panic that he had no words that could match the force of her, that anything he said would sound small and clumsy and utterly inadequate, and the way his chest tightened as he finally forced out, “I—I’m not pitying you,” was almost painful in its simplicity, almost unbearably human in its honesty, because even those words felt like they could betray him, as though every syllable had weight he could not measure.
And then, as she settled back on the bed, sprawled like she owned the space, her energy still radiating outward, Clark found himself noticing her in ways that were almost unbearable in their intimacy, the way her brow furrowed slightly when she paused mid-rant, the way her lips pressed together when she tried to hold back an outburst and failed anyway, the faint tremble of her hands as they rested across her lap for only a second before twitching back into some grand gesture, and he realised with a quiet, aching certainty that he could watch her forever and still never reach the edges of her, that she was made of these infinite, fractal pieces that refused to be tamed.
He remembered how she carried herself when she was passionate about something, the way her shoulders would tense and her spine would straighten, the way she leaned into her own conviction so fully that it was impossible not to feel it too, as though her determination had gravity, as though the air around her could not help but bend toward the force of her presence, and he thought, as he watched her now, that he could feel it in the hollow of his chest, in that small, unspoken place where no one else had ever reached him.
Her laugh came back to him unbidden, bright and untethered and a little sharp at the edges, the kind of laugh that made him want to smile even when he wanted to scowl, the kind that made his stomach tighten with something that felt like both joy and pain at once, and he thought about the way she’d scrunch her nose when she was frustrated, the way she would tap a pen against the edge of a desk while she thought, the way she’d look at him sometimes with the faintest glimmer of acknowledgment that said she knew he was there, that she noticed him in the quiet, small ways that everyone else missed.
He could feel her energy in the room still, even now in memory, and it pressed against him in that gentle, insistent way that made him ache, made him long, made him realise with a clarity that was both unbearable and beautiful that she had always been impossible, and that impossibility was exactly why he had never been able to look away, never been able to stop noticing her, never been able to stop wanting to exist in the same space as someone who felt so fully alive, so entirely present, so human in every sense of the word.
Clark leaned back against the headboard, glasses slightly crooked, hands resting lightly on his knees, and he thought about her in long, spiralling threads of memory and feeling, about the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she laughed, the way she could fill a room with herself and yet somehow leave a quiet, lingering space for him to inhabit without a word, and he felt the ache of knowing that he had never been able to say the things he felt, that he had never been able to fully honour the way she existed in the world, and that ache settled in his chest like something he would carry forever, because she had been everything, and he had been helplessly human in response, noticing her in ways no one else ever had.
Clark blinked and the world shifted again, the bright room dissolving into the warm, golden haze of another memory, another fragment of a time that smelled of hay and sun and the faint, earthy tang of the farmyard, and he found himself standing there, hands cupped around a small handful of feed that slipped and scattered like tiny golden sparks through his fingers, the grains crunching softly under the weight of the sun that pooled across the ground and made every shadow sharp and alive, and for a moment he just stood, heart hammering in a way that was both familiar and alien, chest tightening with the quiet, inevitable thrill of being seventeen and caught somewhere between anticipation and chaos.
Then, he heard it, high and jagged and impossible to ignore, a scream that seemed to pierce through the air like lightning striking the soft warmth of the afternoon, and his head snapped up before he could think, eyes widening as she appeared across the yard, hair streaming behind her in wild tangles, eyes wide with a mixture of terror and delight, arms pumping as if she could outrun the very force of the world itself, and his chest constricted in that sudden, sharp way it always did when she was like this, impossibly alive, impossibly present, impossibly herself in a way that made the ground beneath his feet feel simultaneously stable and hollow.
And then, he saw them, the geese, flapping and honking with a terrible enthusiasm, wings beating against the air as though the universe had conspired to make her chaos manifest in a form that was equal parts ridiculous and merciless, and he felt that strange, familiar twist in his chest, the combination of panic and amusement and the acute, unpredictable ache of noticing her, noticing the way she moved through the world as though gravity had been rewritten in her favour, as though she had been born to be a storm that nothing could contain, not even a flock of angry birds.
She tripped on the uneven ground, and instinct propelled him forward before his mind had time to catch up, arms reaching for her as momentum carried them both tumbling down into the haystack with a soft, thudding crash that sent dust and straw into the air, and she landed on top of him, limbs sprawling, chest pressed to his, hair falling across his shoulders and brushing against his face, and for a suspended heartbeat he could barely breathe, caught between the absurdity of the moment and the strange, searing awareness of her warmth, the weight of her energy pressing against him in a way that left him simultaneously exhilarated and flustered, entirely human and entirely undone.
She did not pause, however.
She leaned back slightly, head thrown, eyes wide, mouth open in another scream at the geese, her fingers stabbing at the air in wild, precise gestures, and Clark could only blink down at her, cheeks warming, stomach twisting in that sharp, impossible way, noticing everything; the way her eyebrows drew together in fierce concentration, the subtle flare of her nostrils, the way her fingers flexed and twitched with motion, the faint tremble in her voice that betrayed both her exhilaration and her frustration, the way she smelled of sun and hay and something that was distinctly her own, the way her energy filled the space so completely that he felt simultaneously invisible and entirely tethered to her chaos.
“She thinks we’re in this together!” she yelled, pointing at a particularly large goose that honked and charged toward them, wings flapping as though mocking her, and he adjusted his glasses, feeling the metal press lightly against his nose, aware of the absurdity of the situation, aware of how utterly flustered he felt with her sprawled on top of him, and yet unable to stop noticing, unable to stop feeling the ache that came from being caught in the orbit of someone who existed so fully, so recklessly, so impossibly alive that to watch her was to feel the edges of the world sharpen and blur all at once.
“Maybe you should—uh—get off the haystack,” he said, voice cracking in ways that would have mortified him if she noticed, because everything about her made him clumsy, made him painfully aware of every inch of her, every little movement, every breath she took.
She whirled her head toward him, eyes wide, eyebrows raised, a grin that teetered on exasperation and amusement splitting her face. “Get off? Do you even see what’s happening? They are trying to take me down. Literally! The geese are conspiring against me. This is a full-blown assault!”
Clark swallowed, trying to push some stray strands of hay from his eyes, trying to focus, trying to be rational. “I know, I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”
His words came out softer than he intended, but he couldn’t stop noticing, couldn’t stop feeling that tight coil in his chest whenever she was like this, wild and unstoppable and entirely unaware of the effect she had on him.
“Get hurt?” she echoed, laughing like it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. “Clark Kent, I am fine! I can handle a few geese! Honestly, I do not need you hovering over me like some worried parent.” She poked him lightly in the chest with one finger, leaning closer, hair tumbling over her shoulder.
“Do you always worry this much or is it just me?”
Clark blinked, heart hammering, cheeks burning hotter than he thought possible, and he tried to find words, something that wouldn’t betray how flustered he was, how aware he was of her weight on him, how acutely alive she made him feel. “I… I just… you’re… really… intense,” he said, stumbling through the words like a fool, voice catching halfway, because how could he explain that he had been flustered by her for years, that she made his chest ache and his mind scramble even when she was just being herself, even when she was yelling at geese??
She stared at him for a long moment, incredulous, and then threw her head back in a feral laugh, the kind that made the whole barnyard feel like it was spinning. “Intense? That is the best you’ve got, Clark?? Intense? Really?! I am being attacked by geese and your vocabulary betrays you.” She jabbed a finger at him again, still laughing. “You are ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!”
Clark blinked, cheeks heating, feeling that strange twist in his chest again, the one that always came when he noticed her like this, entirely unrestrained and completely oblivious to the way she affected him. “I… I just mean… you’re… you’re very… alive,” he said, weak and stammered, but somehow it was the closest he could come to the truth, the only way he could try to explain what it felt like to watch her move through the world like fire and wind and sunlight all at once, and she just laughed again, shaking her head, hair tangling around her face.
“You are hopeless, Clark Kent,” she said, voice low now, teasing but still sharp, and he felt it like a light touch to his chest, like she had named something inside him he hadn’t realised was so obvious. “Absolutely hopeless.”
And Clark swallowed hard, adjusting his glasses with hands that were suddenly clumsy and small, chest twisting with the unrelenting, dizzying realisation that he had been, and always would be, hopeless for her, hopelessly captivated, hopelessly flustered, entirely, painfully, human in a way that made him ache with the intensity of noticing her, of caring for her, of wanting to exist in the same orbit, even if she never had the faintest clue.
Clark blinked, and suddenly the bright, golden haze of the farmyard dissolved, replaced by the soft hum of the library, the smell of old books and polished wood and that faint hint of autumn in the air, and there she was, perched on the edge of the steps, shoulders hunched like the world had just pressed down and forgotten to pick her back up, eyes rimmed red and glistening in the soft light, hair falling in careless waves that refused to obey, and he felt the familiar twist in his chest, the ache that came from noticing her so completely, so achingly human, so impossibly alive even when she was quiet and broken.
He approached slowly, hands stuffed in his pockets, careful not to look like he was hovering, careful not to make it worse, and he said, softly, “Hey… you okay?”
She looked up at him, eyes rimmed pink, and sniffed. “No,” she said bluntly, voice quiet, tight. “He’s a—he’s just a complete—ugh, I can’t even—” She threw up her hands and groaned, twisting her face toward the ceiling like the library itself owed her an explanation, and Clark’s chest twisted again because she looked so human in that moment, so impossibly alive and yet so small, and he wanted to fix it but knew he couldn’t.
He shuffled closer, because he had to do something, and said, “Well… I mean… I could try scaring some birds? That usually works for me when nothing else does.”
She blinked at him, completely unimpressed. “Scaring birds?” she said, voice sharp but there was a twitch of something at the corner of her mouth, like she was trying not to laugh. “What kind of ridiculous comfort is that?”
Clark shrugged, utterly awkward, cheeks warming. “The… uh… the only one I know that doesn’t make you roll your eyes at me immediately.”
He made a small honking noise, flapping one arm weakly, and she covered her mouth with a hand, cringing but still letting a small laugh escape, just enough to make his stomach flip.
“You are such a dork,” she muttered, shaking her head, hair falling forward over her eyes, “absolutely, hopelessly, embarrassing dork. I cannot believe anyone could stand you sometimes.”
Clark’s heart did that sharp twist again, because he knew she wasn’t angry, not really, and that laugh, even that tiny, reluctant one, felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds. “I’ll take it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, trying not to let it sound like too much, trying not to let himself notice how much he was captivated by her in every way. “I’ll take the tiny laugh as a win.”
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and rolled her eyes at him again, more gentle this time, almost teasing, almost soft. “You really are the worst sometimes. Do you even understand how ridiculous you are?”
Clark’s lips twitched into a grin, awkward, human, entirely flustered. “Probably not,” he admitted, “but that’s half the charm, isn’t it?”
Her laugh came again, soft, quick, slightly forced at first but growing warmer, and he felt that coil in his chest loosen just a little, that ache settle into something almost bearable, almost like hope, and he knew, as he stood there beside her, watching her finally breathe through the sadness, that being near her, making her feel even the tiniest bit better without ever making her feel small, was worth every awkward stumble, every ridiculous noise, every flustered heartbeat he couldn’t quite control.
She shook her head, looking at him like he was insane but in a way that made him want to grin all the same. “You know, I hate that you can make me laugh even when I feel like crying. It’s unfair. You’re unfair.”
Clark swallowed hard, eyes flicking to hers, heart hammering, and he whispered, almost to himself, “I’m not trying to be.”
She tilted her head, eyebrows slightly furrowed, a small, sharp edge to her voice that made him flinch in the best possible way. “Is that all men do?” she asked, voice quiet but laced with something bitter, like she had asked it before and gotten nothing but hollow answers, “Make you feel…awkward and embarrassed and somehow responsible for everything that’s wrong with the world?”
Clark blinked, heart hammering, because the question wasn’t just about him, it was about her, it was about the entire way she carried herself through disappointment and heartbreak and the way she never wanted anyone to pity her, and suddenly the air felt impossibly thick between them, like it could shatter with the weight of everything she was daring him to see.
He swallowed again, trying to find words that wouldn’t sound stupid, trying to find words that could reach her without patronising her, but all he could manage was, “No…no, not all men,” and then he froze, because the truth was messy and chaotic and entirely human and entirely him, “I… I don’t think that’s what anyone should do…at least, not to you. Not you.”
She laughed softly, low and bitter, shaking her head as if he had said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. “Well, that’s comforting,” she muttered, “to know that there’s…at least one who might…maybe…try not to ruin everything.”
Clark’s lips twitched into a grin, awkward and small, because he could feel the heat crawling up his neck again, the pulse in his throat reminding him that every moment with her, every word, every pause, every awkward attempt at humour or comfort left him entirely flustered and dizzy and more aware of her than he had ever been of anyone else.
“I’ll…try my best,” he said, voice low, almost a whisper, because anything louder felt like it might break the fragile edge of the moment, “but I can’t promise I won’t be ridiculous.”
She rolled her eyes, a small smile flickering across her lips despite herself, and that tiny, reluctant warmth tugged at him in ways that were entirely unfair, entirely human, and he realised, again, with that familiar ache in his chest, that he would do anything, anything at all, to make her feel a little lighter, a little less alone, even if it meant embarrassing himself into oblivion every single time.
Clark blinked again, and suddenly the sunlit hall stretched before him, filled with chairs lined in careful rows, tassels bouncing with the nervous energy of hundreds of graduates, and there she was, standing at the podium, shoulders straight, hair catching the sunlight in a way that made it glow like it belonged to someone larger than life, voice carrying through the hall with a confidence that made his chest tighten in a mixture of awe and aching pride he could barely contain
It was their graduation day.
“…and that is why,” she was saying now, voice steady but carrying a wild, almost reckless spark, “even when you feel like you are drowning, even when every part of you is telling you to give up, to stop, to settle for the easy version of life, you cannot. You have to fight for the ridiculous, beautiful, messy version of yourself, the one that makes mistakes and rants and yells and screams and still gets up the next day because you are stubborn and you are human and that is everything that matters.”
Clark’s pulse hammered in his throat. He could feel his hands clenching on his knees, fingers pressing into the fabric of his trousers without thinking, because every word was her, entirely her, carrying all the years he had watched her stumble and fight and triumph in ways that made him ache with admiration and affection that felt impossible to contain.
His chest twisted in that familiar way, the ache sharp and warm and entirely human, because she had always lived in the edges of extremes and here she was, spilling herself into words that carried both fire and vulnerability, and he wanted to stand and shout and cheer and cry all at the same time.
“And even if you fail, even if the world turns and you find yourself staring at the floor wondering how you got here, remember that the only person whose approval you need is your own, the only person who can ever truly decide your worth is the one standing in your own shoes, refusing to let the weight of someone else’s expectations define the rhythm of your life, and I refuse to let anything, anyone, dictate that for me, because I am alive and messy and human and entirely mine.”
Clark’s eyes had found hers now, scanning the hall but only landing on her, and when she caught him, that smile spread across her face; wide, untamed, bright in a way that made the sunlight look pale by comparison, and his chest swelled so violently that he almost couldn’t breathe, almost couldn’t think, almost couldn’t do anything but stand and clap and try not to make a fool of himself in front of everyone, because she had done this, she had worked so hard, and every ounce of him wanted her to see that he was utterly, hopelessly, endlessly proud of her.
He started clapping before anyone else did, hands loud against each other, heart hammering, pulse spinning, because the ache of noticing her like this, alive and triumphant and impossibly brilliant, was too sharp and too sweet to contain, and he didn’t care who saw, didn’t care if he looked ridiculous, because she deserved it, because she was everything and he could barely hold it all inside without exploding.
She finished her line, breath catching slightly, and the room erupted into applause, but Clark’s focus never left her, never even flicked to anyone else, because she was standing there, proud and wild and utterly breathtaking, and when she finally looked down at him, that same wide, mischievous, radiant smile lighting up her face, his chest twisted, warm and heavy, and he felt dizzy in a way that was entirely human and entirely him, caught in the orbit of her brilliance, trying desperately to translate the impossible amount of pride and affection and chaotic, spiralling love he felt into something, anything, she could recognise.
Clark blinked again, and suddenly he was standing on the familiar front yard, the grass damp underfoot, the air carrying the smell of earth and home in a way that made his chest tighten with a strange mix of nostalgia and anticipation, and there was her dog, tugging at his sleeve, claws skittering on the pavement, tail wagging like it had a plan of its own, and he shook his head, rubbing his eyes under his glasses as if that could steady the strange surge of feeling that always came when he was here.
And then his attention snapped upward, drawn to her as she appeared at the gate, one hand gripping a folded envelope, hair bouncing as she ran, cheeks flushed, the world somehow lighter and sharper all at once, and she opened the gate, closed it behind her with a soft click, and then settled herself beside him on the low wall, both of them holding their envelopes with that shared, trembling awareness that this moment mattered more than either of them could fully explain.
He glanced at the paper in his hands, smooth and crisp and impossibly full of possibility, and memories flooded him in chaotic, spiralling waves, that day they had first sent these applications off together, standing side by side in her kitchen, laughing nervously, arguing quietly over the order of the forms, hearts hammering in synchrony with the tiny electric hum of expectation, and now here they were, finally here, holding the tangible proof of years of waiting and hoping, and he could feel it in every nerve ending, the anticipation coiling in his chest like it wanted to burst.
She drew in a deep breath beside him, shoulders lifting as she exhaled, eyes bright, and she murmured softly, almost shyly, “We should open them at the same time.”
Clark bit his lip, heart skipping, because the suggestion carried weight he hadn’t anticipated, and yet he nodded, because it felt right, because there was a rhythm to this, a kind of ritual between them that made the world shrink down to just the two of them, and the envelopes they held like tiny, fragile keys to the next chapter of their lives.
“On the count of three,” she whispered, breath mingling with his, and they held the papers tighter.
One. Two. Three.
They tore them open together, small rips of paper breaking the tense silence, hearts hammering, the world narrowing to the edges of the envelopes in their hands, and then she paused, and Clark didn’t need to read his, because he already knew the words that would be there, the acceptance he had been quietly certain of for weeks now, the relief already blooming warm in his chest.
His eyes, instead, were fixed on her, watching her as she scanned the page, fingers trembling slightly, lips parting, eyes widening, and then, like a burst of sunlight, she jumped up, tossing the envelope into the air and cheering with a kind of wild, unrestrained joy that made his chest lift and ache all at once.
“I got in! I got in! Caltech, Clark! I actually got in!” she screamed, voice bright and raw, and her arms flung wide, almost knocking him backward, almost shoving him into the earth, but he caught her elbow instinctively, laughing and shaking his head, unable to stop grinning at the impossible, beautiful force of her happiness.
She spun slightly, eyes still sparkling, and then, catching her breath for the briefest moment, she glanced at him, voice teasing but bright, “What about you? Did you get in too, or am I the only one celebrating like a maniac right now?”
Clark’s lips curved into a small, shy smile, warmth blooming in his chest, because he knew exactly how she would react, and he wanted this moment to be theirs in every way. “I got in too,” he said softly, holding up his own envelope for her to see, “Metropolis University… they said yes.”
Her eyes widened, and then she laughed, pure and unrestrained, that wild, chaotic energy spilling over again, and she leapt forward, arms wrapping around him before he even had a chance to brace himself. Clark stumbled back slightly, surprise catching him, heart hammering in a completely different rhythm, but instinctively he caught her, arms sliding around her waist, holding her close, and suddenly the world shrank until it was just the two of them, breathing, laughing, hearts thudding in synchrony, the warmth of her pressed against him more intoxicating than anything else he had ever known.
She hugged him tightly, cheek pressing against his chest, and he could feel every heartbeat, every rise and fall, as if the rhythm of her joy had anchored itself inside him.
He hugged her back just as fiercely, fingers pressing into the small of her back, holding her like he might somehow keep her from floating away, because this was her, impossibly alive and radiant, and he wanted desperately to let her feel how proud he was, how much he adored her, without a single word, without spoiling the simplicity of the moment.
Her hair brushed against his collar, soft and warm, and he could feel the curve of her shoulders beneath his arms, the way she leaned into him with that perfect balance of trust and wild energy, and the ache in his chest twisted into something sweet and tender, something that made him want to hold onto this moment forever, to carve it into his memory so that even years from now, he would remember the weight and warmth of her in his arms, laughing and trembling with the unstoppable force of a girl who had just conquered the world.
His world, to be exact.
They pulled apart slowly, hesitantly, like neither of them quite knew how to stop touching without losing the fragile intensity of the moment, and Clark felt the heat crawl up his neck, pulse hammering in his ears, because she made him feel alive in a way that was sharp and dizzying, impossible to ignore, and he swallowed hard, trying to steady himself while pretending he wasn’t entirely undone by the warmth of her presence.
She stepped back a fraction, tilting her head, fingers twisting nervously at the edge of her sleeve, eyes flicking to his for just a second before looking away, and her voice, small but edged with that blunt honesty he had always known, cut through the quiet.
“So… what now?” she asked, and Clark could hear the undercurrent of worry beneath the words, the way she always asked the hard questions even when she tried to keep them light.
“We’re going to be in different states, Clark. Hours apart, thousands of miles, and somehow I’m supposed to know what that means for us, but I don’t. Do you?”
Clark’s mouth went dry, a dizzying, panicked weight settling in his chest as he searched for words that felt adequate, that could hold the force of her presence, the enormity of what she was asking.
He blinked, adjusted his glasses, shoved his hands into his pockets, and finally admitted softly, almost breathlessly, “I… I don’t know. I guess we figure it out. Somehow. One step at a time, I guess.”
She let out a soft, incredulous laugh that was half exasperation and half warmth, shaking her head slightly, that crease forming between her eyebrows that made his chest twist, the tiniest flicker of vulnerability peeking through her usual wild energy.
“One step at a time... ?” she said, voice lighter now, teasing but still carrying that tiny tremor beneath it, “That already makes me nervous.”
Clark rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks burning, gaze flicking from her to the ground and back again, heart hammering, because she had always had the ability to make him feel both enormous and completely small at the same time, and he found himself grinning despite the panic in his chest.
“Maybe,” he said quietly, voice faltering just slightly, “but I think we’re both stubborn enough to survive it. I hope.”
She looked at him for a long moment, eyes searching his, that same wild, sharp, untamed energy shining behind the warmth, and then she exhaled softly, leaning back against the wall, a sigh that was half relief and half disbelief, lips tugging into a small, reluctant smile. “I hope so too,” she murmured.
Clark blinked twice, and suddenly the airport stretched before him, the smell of coffee and exhaust and polished floors mixing with the dull hum of rolling suitcases and distant announcements, the world buzzing around them like it had no concern for the weight pressing on his chest, and there she was, standing with her bag slung over one shoulder, hair slightly mussed from the drive, eyes bright but holding that tiny flicker of panic that betrayed how much this goodbye hurt even as she tried to mask it with a grin.
He shifted his weight, hands shoved into his pockets, because he didn’t quite know where to put them, didn’t quite know how to anchor himself against the storm of feeling rising in his chest, and he swallowed hard, eyes tracing the way she stood, all wild energy and impossible light, and for a moment he wanted to freeze time, to hold this precise, impossible second in his hands so that neither of them had to face what was coming.
She glanced up at him, and that grin, forced just slightly, trembled at the edges, and he noticed the quick inhale before she said, “I can’t believe this is really happening.”
Clark’s lips pressed into a tight line, heart hammering, pulse rattling through his chest like it had its own agenda. “I know,” he murmured, voice low, breath catching, because every word felt too small, too insufficient for the ache in his chest. “I… I’m going to miss you. More than I can… say.”
She laughed softly, a sound that was half nervous, half heartbreak, and she shook her head, tugging her bag strap tighter over her shoulder. “You sound like everyone else at airports ever. It’s supposed to be dramatic, I guess.”
Clark gave her a small, crooked smile, because she made it impossible to be anything but human, impossibly chaotic, impossibly tender. “I don’t care about dramatic,” he said, stepping closer, hands hovering at the edges of her arms before settling lightly on her shoulders, feeling the warmth of her against him, “I care about you. About this. About not losing… us.”
Her smile softened, faltering, and she pressed a hand to his chest briefly, as if to anchor herself to the solid, steady weight of him, to make the moment real. “I don’t want to lose us either,” she whispered, voice low, catching, and her eyes flicked away for a second, masking something that felt like both fear and hope intertwined.
Clark blinked again, and then leaned down slightly, resting his forehead against hers for the briefest instant, a fleeting, impossible contact that somehow contained all of the unspoken words and the ache in his chest and the overwhelming want to hold onto her until the world allowed it, and she pressed against him just enough to anchor herself in that human, warm, trembling presence, as though both of them were afraid to let go but knew they had to.
“I… I—” he started, throat thick, voice catching even in the small, fleeting distance between them, and then the words died, lodged somewhere between his heart and his lips, because speaking them out loud felt like stepping off a cliff into a world he wasn’t ready for, because how could he condense the entirety of all the years, all the chaotic adoration, all the human, messy love he carried for her into anything so fragile as speech.
He swallowed, gaze fixed on her eyes, drinking in the wild, impossibly alive energy that had always undone him, that had made him ache with longing and pride in equal measure, and he knew, he knew, that if he opened his mouth to confess, he would shatter the fragile moment, he would risk everything just to make it real, and yet somehow, the thought of staying silent, of not telling her, felt heavier than any fear he could conjure.
Clark exhaled slowly, shoulders tightening as he forced himself to step back just slightly, because even the smallest move away from her felt like betrayal, and he pressed the weight of all those unspoken words into the briefest squeeze of her hands before letting go, a trembling, human gesture that said everything and nothing at the same time.
He wanted her to know without saying it, wanted her to feel it in the way his fingers lingered, in the ache that made his chest tight and his pulse hammer, but he couldn’t speak it, couldn’t risk breaking the tenuous magic of being this close, this raw, this unbearably alive together.
“I… I just…” he muttered finally, voice almost swallowed by the hum of the airport, “I… I care about you more than anything, and I… I just—” and then he faltered, lips parting and closing again as the impossible weight of truth pressed against him, because the words were larger than him, larger than the world around them, larger than the brief seconds they had together before she would leave, and he realised with a quiet, dizzying sort of ache that he was utterly, hopelessly human in that moment, entirely undone by the magnitude of how much he loved her and the impossibility of ever saying it aloud.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to catch the tremor in his voice, the way his hands lingered too long on hers, the little shift in his posture that betrayed him even though he tried to look composed, and she let out a small, soft laugh that was half teasing, half exasperation, and it hit him like a wave he wasn’t prepared for, because even in the midst of his own chaos, her laugh grounded him, reminded him of every wild, infuriating, brilliant thing he loved about her.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she said quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, smile tugging at the edges of her lips, “you don’t have to say anything grand. Just… look at me like that and I know.”
Clark blinked, swallowed, and the words that had lodged in his throat shifted just enough for him to speak, though he knew they were nothing compared to the storm he felt inside.
“I… I just want you to know,” he said, voice low, careful, trembling in the way only the truth of his feelings could make it, “that I’m… I’m proud of you. And I… I care about you, more than you probably realise.”
Her eyes softened, that untamed, impossible light in them dimming just slightly into something warmer, something shared, and she pressed her hand lightly against his chest, feeling the rapid drum of his heartbeat beneath her fingers.
“Clark,” she said softly, voice catching in the best, most human way, “I know. I always know. You don’t have to say it out loud to make me feel it.”
He nodded, lips parting in a small, awkward smile, wishing desperately he could fold the moment into his chest and keep it there forever, wishing he could say everything he felt without losing the fragile balance of it, but he knew some things were too big, too raw, too human to ever be fully spoken, and he let it stay unspoken, letting the warmth of her hand, the brightness of her smile, the ache in his chest carry the words he could not.
For a long moment, they just stood there, inches apart, letting the hum of the airport fade around them, letting the world shrink until it was only them, only this small, impossible moment of shared recognition, shared longing, and shared chaos, and Clark felt something ache and bloom and twist inside him in a way that was entirely human, entirely alive, entirely hers.
Clark’s throat went dry as she shifted slightly, the weight of the bag on her shoulder pulling at the small space between them, and then she dug into her pocket, fingers brushing against something solid, something familiar, and she held it out to him with that perfect, infuriating mix of mischief and tenderness.
“Here,” she said, voice light but teasing, “so you don’t forget me while I’m off conquering the world or, you know, actually doing work instead of sulking about missing me.”
He blinked, staring down at the small metal chain in her hand, the delicate links catching the overhead lights and glinting in a way that made his chest tighten, and then she smiled that impossible smile, the one that always made him ache and lift and fall all at once, and shoved it gently toward him.
“I’m not saying you have to wear it all the time,” she added, “but don’t lose it, and if you do, I’m coming after you, so consider this a warning.”
Clark took the bracelet in his hands, fingers brushing hers as he held it, and the cold, familiar weight of the metal felt impossibly grounding, almost like she had pressed a piece of herself into him, something small and enduring that would survive the miles and the hours and the inevitable chaos of the months ahead.
He lifted his eyes to hers, and she was already smirking, hair messy from the wind, eyes sparkling with mischief even as her lips quirked in that tiny, sarcastic curve.
“I’m probably going to go back home after the semester ends anyway,” she said lightly, shrugging as if the information was mundane, “so it’s not like I’m wasting money or anything. Consider this a loan of my time and presence, temporary, precious, and slightly unbearable, but mostly worth it.”
Clark laughed softly, a little breathless, fingers curling around the bracelet as he fastened it on his wrist, feeling the small, tangible link to her like a quiet, unspoken promise, like a heartbeat he could carry with him even when she wasn’t there. “I’ll take it,” he said quietly, voice low and raw, “and I’ll take you with it.”
Her smile softened, even for just a fraction of a second, and she leaned forward, brushing the tiniest of kisses against his cheek, just enough to leave warmth lingering in its place, just enough to make him ache in the most human, beautiful way possible.
“Man?”
“Good,” she said, voice light again, teasing but underlined with something deeper, “because you’re stuck with me, Clark Kent. For better or worse, metal chains and all.”
“Clark?”
“I—yeah,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, heart hammering, “I know… I’m stuck with you.”
“Man? Earth to Clark?”
“Don’t make it sound like I’m sentencing you or something,” she murmured, voice light but quivering just beneath the surface, “because I like being stuck with you… even if it’s just for now, before I have to go… ”
“I know…” he whispered.
“Okay, Clark… I should really go now,” she said, voice low, almost lost under the hum of the airport, “but I want you to remember this. That… I’m thinking of you too, okay? Even if it’s just in the little, impossible ways I always do.”
“Clark Joseph Kent!”
A sudden shake at his shoulders pulled him out of the swirl of memories, yanking him from the warmth of her laugh and the ache in his chest back into the bright, sterile light of the room, and he blinked, disoriented, heartbeat still lingering somewhere between panic and nostalgia.
The urgency in Jimmy’s voice hit him like a splash of cold water, and he turned, meeting his best friend’s worried eyes, that familiar mix of concern and disbelief that always managed to make Clark feel both seen and absurd at the same time. “What’s wrong?” Jimmy asked, gripping his shoulders lightly, shaking him just enough to make him focus.
Clark opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, and all that came out was nothing, fumbling for some excuse or explanation that didn’t exist.
“Clark, I’ve called your name three times now,” Jimmy pressed, a hint of frustration softened by concern threading through his voice.
Clark let out a shaky laugh, low and uneven, gripping the metal chain on his wrist, feeling the familiar weight anchor him, and finally he managed, voice quiet, breathless, “I’m… just nervous. It’s… it’s a big day.”
Jimmy smirked, the teasing glint in his eyes returning, hands sliding from Clark’s shoulders to his upper arms, shaking his head like he always did when Clark got too lost in his own head.
“You? Nervous? Clark Kent? Today’s the day, buddy, so try not to pass out before you even get to the altar.”
Clark laughed again, quieter this time, blinking rapidly to stop the tears threatening to surface, gaze dropping to the floor, fingers curling slightly around the bracelet, feeling the metal press lightly against his skin, a small, grounding reminder that he could hold onto something solid even as everything inside him spun.
“Yeah… yeah, you’re right,” he muttered, voice soft, and for a moment he just let himself breathe, letting the weight of the moment settle in, tethered to the small human things, to Jimmy’s familiar presence, to the bracelet on his wrist, and to the fact that this day was finally here.
Clark took a deep breath, hands tightening just slightly around the bracelet on his wrist, the metal pressing into his skin in that comforting, grounding way, and he lifted his eyes to Jimmy, blinking rapidly to clear the last of the lingering haze from the past that still clung to him.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” he said, voice low but carrying that faint, flustered humour that Jimmy knew all too well, “I just… need to memorise my vows one more time.”
Jimmy raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into that half-smile, half-grin that always made Clark feel equal parts teased and seen. “Vows, huh? You’ve been rehearsing those in the mirror for weeks, Clark. What, now they suddenly look like ancient hieroglyphics you can’t decipher?”
Clark let out a nervous laugh, tugging lightly at the chain again, eyes flicking down to the floor before meeting Jimmy’s.
“It’s… it’s just… I want them to be perfect,” he admitted, voice cracking ever so slightly under the weight of all the emotion he was carrying, “I want it to… feel like… like everything I’ve ever felt for her, and somehow that’s impossible to put into words without sounding ridiculous.”
Jimmy shook his head, chuckling, the warmth in his eyes grounding Clark in the moment, and he clapped him lightly on the shoulder.
“Man, you’re already doing better than you think. Just say what you feel. That’s all you need. She’ll know. Trust me.”
Clark swallowed, a small, shaky smile tugging at the corners of his lips, blinking rapidly again as he let the words settle.
“Yeah… yeah, you’re right,” he murmured, voice low, and he turned, stepping toward the door, letting the soft weight of the bracelet remind him of everything he couldn’t put into words yet, the ache, the love, the impossibly human longing that had carried him all the way to this day.
Jimmy called after him, teasing but full of warmth, “Just don’t faint halfway down the aisle, alright, Kent?”
Clark laughed, a quiet, breathless sound, shaking his head as he muttered, almost to himself, “No promises,” and with that, he took a deep, steadying breath, fingers brushing the metal of the bracelet one last time before he stepped fully into the corridor, toward the day that would change everything.
A few minutes later, he’s finally at where he should be.
Clark stepped forward, each movement measured, heart hammering in a way that made the floor beneath his feet feel both solid and impossibly unsteady at the same time, fingers brushing lightly against the bracelet, that small weight grounding him even as his pulse raced.
He inhaled once, then again, steadying himself as much as he could, and the soft shuffle of feet and distant murmurs of the guests blended into a muted background hum that felt both far away and unbearably close, like the world had shrunk to just the corridor before him, just the day, just this moment.
And then, the doors opened.
Clark froze for the briefest instant, breath catching in his chest, because there she was, framed in the light, walking slowly toward him, impossibly radiant and achingly human all at once, hair slightly lifted by the motion, the fabric of her dress flowing around her like it belonged to the air itself, and his chest constricted with a sort of dizzying, vertiginous awe that made his stomach twist and his hands shake despite every attempt at composure.
Halfway down the aisle, hands gripping slightly at his sides, fingers brushing the metal of the bracelet for grounding, he noticed the faint tremor that had been creeping into them, the small, almost imperceptible shake that betrayed how entirely undone he was by her presence, by the ache of seeing her like this, and the impossibility of the moment pressed down on him like a weight he both feared and welcomed.
And that’s when it hit him.
He was going to marry her.
Lois Lane.
And then it hits him, yes again, sudden and impossible, like the air has shifted just enough to remind him of everything he has lost, everything he has carried, and everything he never got to say.
She is not here.
The one who had thrown pillows at him and screamed at geese, who had pressed the bracelet into his hand with that wild, infuriating smile, who had made his chest ache without even trying, she is not here, and the hollow of her absence is sharper than he ever could have imagined.
He remembers the way life had pulled them apart, the way the world seemed suddenly too big, too indifferent, when school ended and they went in separate directions, when Alexander had called with news that had made his chest tighten and his stomach fall, and he had flown home anyway, desperate to hold onto something he could never reach, whispering words at graves and empty spaces, wishing he had kissed her anyway, wishing he had ruined the safe boundaries they had maintained, wishing he had said everything before the world decided it was too late.
Because she had been gone for years now, taken by something small and cruel and meaningless, and he had never found a way to stop the ache that followed her absence like a shadow stretching through his life.
Her laugh, impossible and wild, haunted him on quiet mornings, in the soft light of rainy lawns, in the moments when life should have felt ordinary, but nothing had been ordinary after she was gone.
She had left and taken a part of him with her, leaving only traces, memories sharp and tender, moments he could never recover, and the world continued its relentless motion, indifferent to all he had lost.
And, he regrets it.
He regrets the countless times he had held back, the times he had let fear or prudence or the small, impossible cruelty of timing stop him from telling her what he felt. He regrets the afternoons he had spent staring at her, laughing with her, sitting beside her, holding her hand for the briefest second and pretending it had meant nothing, because he had never allowed himself the honesty to say that it had meant everything.
He regrets the stolen glances, the almosts, the maybes, the times he should have leaned in and kissed her anyway, the times he should have risked the friendship for the love that had been thrumming beneath the surface all along.
He regrets the silence, the words swallowed, the letters never written, the chances he had been too cautious to take, and the knowledge that none of it could ever be retrieved or undone or repaired.
It had not been convenient, not in the slightest, but the ache of it still lives in him, tangled in his chest like a storm he cannot untangle, and it follows him here, down the polished aisle, through the soft shuffle of shoes and rustle of fabric, through the murmurs of the guests and the quiet light falling across the floor.
It threads itself through every step, through every heartbeat, through the way his hands tremble lightly around the bracelet she gave him, the tiny metal weight grounding him even as the memory of her presses up against his ribs with a force he cannot control.
All the almosts and maybes, the things he never said, the reckless words he never dared to speak, they swirl around him like wind through autumn leaves, sharp and sweet and unbearably human, and he carries them forward even now, carrying her absence into the present, carrying the memory of her impossible, untamed life into this one small, perfect, terrifying day.
He blinks slowly, the light of the hall bright and almost unforgiving, and he lets himself breathe, just enough to keep from being swallowed by the ache, feeling the faint weight of what could have been pressing against the metal on his wrist, pressing against every thundering pulse of his heart, reminding him that some loves are not meant to arrive on time, that some moments are gone before you even realise, and yet they leave their mark, indelible and untamed, long after the world has moved on.
The ghost of her laughter lingers in his chest, mischievous and sharp, the memory of her wild, unstoppable energy like a wind that refuses to die, and he can almost see her, almost feel her brushing past him in the small spaces of his life, whispering at him that he should have kissed her anyway, that he should have risked it all for the moments that mattered.
The ache coils tighter in his stomach, twists around his ribs, and for a heartbeat he feels like he is seventeen again, staring at her in a hallway, wishing he had said more, done more, lived more with her.
Clark swallows, throat tight, and the regret that has been threading through every year, every step, every heartbeat comes crashing in, a bitter, sweet, unbearable wave that he has carried alone for far too long.
He can feel it now, sharper than ever, even as he steps forward, because she is not here, and he is moving forward anyway, carrying the memory, the absence, the love, the regrets, all of it pressed into the small metal weight on his wrist, into the pulse of his own chest, into the quiet, trembling human heart that is still, impossibly, achingly, alive.
She is gone.
She is no longer here.
She is gone, and the world continues its relentless motion, indifferent to the parts of him she took with her, and yet he carries her in every pulse of his heart, in every breath he drags in as he steps forward into a life that will never include her, and he knows, with that impossible, sharp clarity, that some love lingers far beyond its time, that some regrets press into the soul and refuse to let go.
All he can do, all he has ever done, is whisper at the quiet corners of memory, at the spaces where she should have been, aching and fragile and entirely human, thinking of all the reckless almosts that should have been, the words that should have tumbled from his lips in the heat of a moment that never came.
He should have ruined their friendship, and then kissed her anyway.
Rules: Open your Pinterest account, and copy the first 6 images that come up from the home screen. what does it say about you? is this an accurate perception?
Thank you for tagging me @xreader1989! 🧡
I’m tagging: @hangmanwrites @punk-in-docs @milkyykiddo and anyone else who wants to participate 🫶🏻
Oop, I just saw this, lovely may I apologise for being late to it 🥲 Anyway, here are my Pinterest images!! They are totally random, I know, but I think they actually say a lot about me. I love exploring all sorts of things (my brain really has no aesthetic loyalty), and Pinterest has been one of the few things keeping me sane lately (scrolling there at 2 a.m. somehow feels therapeutic). I basically live off it at this point, not even kidding 😅
Sooo this new fic I’m writing is actually based on something personal that happened to me, and instead of just sitting in my room being miserable about it (which I definitely did anyway, let’s be real), I decided to turn it into a fic because why suffer alone when I can emotionally damage all of you with me, right? just a warning: this fic HURTS like brick-to-the-chest, lying on the floor questioning your life choices kind of pain (I did this).
yes it is ANGST. Does it have a happy ending? Uh... er... since it’s based on my real experience, guess what (even I don’t know yet and that’s slightly concerning).
It’s only been three days since I started and I’m already over six thousand words in, and I’m not even halfway through (pacing? never heard of her). I’ll probably see you in about two weeks ?… perhaps sooner if my brain cooperates, maybe later if I spiral into the void (again).
Thank you so much for all the lovely messages, I genuinely appreciate every single one of you. I love you guys loads. You can always message me whenever, my inbox is always open for screaming, crying, gossip, emotional support, anything (I basically live online anyway).
hi my lovelies, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? i know i’ve been quiet for some time and i’m really sorry for disappearing like that, it wasn’t planned, i just needed a bit of space to figure things out. things have been quite hard recently, and i won’t go into every detail, but something happened with my partner that really shook me...
it’s one of those moments where you think you know where you stand with someone, and then suddenly you don’t, and it hurts in ways you don’t even have words for. i think i just needed to step away for a bit, to stop pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t, to let myself sit with it and heal slowly rather than trying to push through and fall apart halfway :)
it’s strange, because i’ve missed being here so much, i’ve missed talking to you and sharing things and writing the way i always do, but every time i tried to come back, the words just wouldn’t come out right. i think i’ve been a bit scared, if i’m honest, scared that i wouldn’t sound like myself anymore, that maybe i lost that spark somewhere along the way. but i’m trying, really, to find it again, to find me again, even if it takes a little while longer.
uni has been exhausting, work hasn’t given me much rest either, and it feels like i’ve been running on empty for weeks, but i’m still here, still trying to keep going. i might need another week or so before i can properly be back, i hope that’s alright, i just want to return when i can give you something genuine, not something rushed or half-hearted:)
i’ve been writing in bits whenever i can, and i promise my fic is still happening, it’s growing slowly, quietly, and i’m actually really proud of it. once it’s finished, it’ll be up, and i hope you’ll love it as much as i do.
thank you, truly, for being so patient with me. i see your messages and tags, even when i can’t reply, and they mean more to me than i can ever say. you’ve made me feel so supported and loved even in silence, and that’s something i don’t take for granted. i love you all so much, my lovelies, and i’m so grateful that you’re still here, waiting, understanding, and just being you ☺️🩵
also googling the difference between american english and british english, second-guessing “affect” and “effect,” checking if “ironic” is truly ironic, and forever battling with american spellings that sneak into my drafts