hey guys! because of some technical difficulties with this blog, i’m moving to @jinjjaitsroughh and will continue posting over there. the teaser will stay up here, but the full fic will be posted on the other account 💗
synopsis: jake sim has been your best friend your entire life–even longer if you count the months spent in your mothers’ wombs. your moms (also best friends) have been hoping, praying, and not-so-discreetly begging for you and jake to be a couple for as long as you can remember. after eighteen years of dealing with it, you’ve had enough. you pitch your solution to jake: pretend you finally are a couple, only to prove the point of how you’re better off as friends. but as the line between what’s real and what’s fake blurs, you start to wonder… are you really?
content: friends to lovers, romcom, fluff, angst if you squint (half of it’s fake), idiots in love, fake dating, layla cameo! rain soaked jake scene, high school au, jake and reader are both seniors in hs and 18, nostalgia, kys jokes, accidental cuddling, flowers, they don’t know how to be bad for one another lmao, mild language, reader is an overthinker, cheek kisses, real kisses, attempts at humor </3, some text messages, nicknames, they’re kind of really dumb and oblivious i’m sorry, avoidant attachment anxiety (oops), denial of feelings, but they get their crap together in the end i promise!! petty arguments, banter, falling asleep together, and other stuff i probably forgot to mention
word count:
full fic: 32.4k
pt1: 18.5k
pt2: 13.9k
now playing ˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞: ruin the friendship by taylor swift, illusion by one direction, beginning middle end by leah nobel, valentine by laufey, you’re still the one by shania twain, pancakes for dinner by lizzy mcalpine, anyone by justin bieber, change my mind by one direction, i was made for loving you ft ed sheeran by tori kelly, mary’s song (oh my my my) by taylor swift, catching feelings by justin bieber, night changes by one direction
It’s finally Valentine’s Day. The long anticipated day circled on your calendar, the pinnacle of your plan, the expedited fall of your fake relationship. You can’t wait. You spend all day running around your house, double checking details and making sure everything goes according to plan. Your mom assumes your frenetic state is just regular date nerves, and she’s not wrong. She’s not entirely right, either. Even though you know it’s not a real date, that you really have nothing to be nervous about, you can’t help the jitters running through you.
You think about what Jake said last night before leaving his thought unfinished. That was irrational, right? There wouldn’t be anything to miss, you and Jake are the same as you’ve always been. Aren’t you? Sure, maybe you hug more than you used to and talk on the phone longer than ever before, but that doesn’t mean anything. Does it? The more you think, the more confused and muddy everything becomes. You decide to distract yourself by getting ready for dinner, getting a head start so you don’t run out of time.
After you finish your hair and makeup, you change into your dress. It’s beautiful. When you bought it months before, you didn’t have a specific occasion in mind to wear it. There were no fancy Valentine’s dates on your calendar then, but you just couldn’t resist it. It’s a maroon mini dress with a cinched waist, tulle bodice, and sheer sleeves that hug your arms perfectly. Perfect for the dinner occasion and location. You pair it with a pair of black heels that raise your height by an inch or two, guaranteeing Jake will still have a considerable amount of inches on you.
Jake and his mom arrive early, because of course they do. You hear his car door shut outside and muffled greetings from downstairs, signaling that the last stage of the plan is finally being initiated.
The fourth and final phase: falling apart.
You take one last look in the mirror on your vanity, inhaling deeply. This is it. The whole point of this little scheme, the intended end goal. It all happens tonight. Just get through this dinner, make sure it goes wrong, and you’re free from a lifetime of romantic pronouncements about you and your best friend.
You make your way downstairs to find Jake standing with the moms in your living room, his back to you. He’s holding yet another bouquet of roses, unsurprisingly.
“Oh, Y/N!” his mom exclaims when she sees you. Her hands come up to cover her gasp. “Bug, you look beautiful.”
Jake turns around, his eyes meeting yours. His lips part and you can hear him catch his breath. “Wow,” he breathes out. “You look…” He looks you up and down then flushes slightly. “Wow.”
You feel your own face heat up, your flushed tone matching his. “Thank you,” you smile. “You look wow, too.” And you mean it.
Jake looks good all the time, but gosh, you just love how he looks in red. He’s wearing a dark red sweater, the shade close in color to your dress, with a button up white collar peaking through the neckline. His hair is styled out of his face, a diverge from his usual messy look. He looks older. Sophisticated. Grown. It hits you unexpectedly, the realization that this boy is the same boy who used to camp with you in the backyard, the same boy who chased you with worms and wrestled you to the ground in the dirt. Somewhere between then and now, that boy grew into the sweet, respectful, hilarious, understanding, handsome young man standing before you now. His rough edges, though not completely rounded, softened through maturity and growth and countless lectures from both his mother and you alike. You got to see him through every stage of life, just like he saw you. And in that moment, you’ve never been more grateful that Jake Sim was your best friend.
“Thanks,” he says back, stepping toward you and not taking his eyes off of yours for a second. He seems to remember he’s holding a bouquet in his hands and gives it to you. “Here,” he offers with an easy laugh. “Last one, I promise. For this week, at least.”
You take the roses from his graciously, giving them a good, long sniff. “They’re lovely, Jake.” You reach up and loop an arm around his neck, giving him a quick hug. “Thank you.”
He grins down at you. “Only the best for my girl,” he says with a wink only you can see, facing away from your moms.
Your stomach does an Olympic level gymnastics routine hearing him call you that. It sounds so sincere, so natural from his lips that you almost forget that it’s not true. Still, you smile wide, holding the flowers blithely in your arms and looking at both of your moms.
“Are we ready to head out?” you ask. “Our table should be ready at 6:30. I don’t wanna be late for the reservation.”
“Let’s get going then,” your mom agrees, grabbing her purse off the side table by the door. “Who’s driving?”
“Actually, do you mind if we drive separately?” Jake broaches. “If that’s okay with you guys.”
“Of course,” his mom smiles. “We’re already crashing your dinner, we’ll give you lovebirds at least some alone time.” She wags a finger between the two of you. “Even though you’re alone, though-”
“Mom!” Jake cries out, making a whiny noise. “Yes, there’s nothing to worry about.”
His mom and yours cackle amongst themselves, snatching a pair of keys off the hook and heading out the door. You follow the pair as Jake fishes his own keys from his pocket, holding them up in front of you.
“One last ride as my wonderful girlfriend?” he asks, opening the passenger side door for you.
“One last time.” You nod, taking a seat with the bouquet in your lap. You watch as he carefully shuts the door and goes around the car to the driver’s side.
He plops down behind the wheel, turning the car on and reversing out of your driveway as your journey to The Claw begins. As always, you hold the responsibility of music for the car ride. You go ahead and play your ultimate playlist of love songs. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all, what else were you to do?
The sound of I Was Made for Loving You by Tori Kelly and Ed Sheeran fills the space of Jake’s car. You put the phone down and get lost to the song, gazing out the window at the trees and buildings flying by.
‘I’ll take this chance, so call me blind
I’ve been waiting all my life,’ plays, the lyrics echoing in your mind.
You look at Jake, just admiring the view of him driving, something so simple yet so comforting. His eyes are on the road, focused on the lanes, but you just watch him. His effortlessly perfect side profile, the way one of his hands rests lightly on the wheel, the other raking through his hair. The setting sun provides a luminous glow, the golden light half shining on his face through the windshield. He squints a little to shield his eyes from the glare before flipping down the sun visor. He then suddenly turns to you, catching you off guard. You jump back a little, feeling like the kid who got caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“You good?” Jake asks at your reaction, a slight smirk on his face. He immediately knows you were looking at him probably longer than you should’ve been.
“Couldn’t be better,” you reply with fake nonchalance, averting his gaze. A couple more songs play before you feel like the moment has faded enough to speak. “Hey,” you shift in your seat so that you’re facing him. “Don’t miss the turn, it’s right up here.”
“I knew that,” Jake says with fake snark. “I’m an excellent navigator.”
“Right,” you say flatly, dragging out the vowel. “The journey to Riki’s house shall remain unmentioned.”
He scoffs loudly. “Whoa, first of all,” he clicks his blinker on to signal the upcoming turn, “it’s not my fault he lives in the middle of freaking nowhere.” Defending his point further, “And the pin he dropped me was inaccurate by two miles. Two miles!” He sighs. “I just wish I could apologize to that family of squirrels.”
“Well,” you say reassuringly, “I’m sure they’ll never forget a car pummeling into their home. You gave them a core memory, if you think about it.”
Jake laughs, “Way to look on the bright side of things.” He then frowns, looking over the parking lot. “Looks pretty packed.”
Sure enough, there isn’t a single open space despite the vast square footage of the lot. You knew The Claw was a popular destination for Valentine’s dates, but you severely underestimated how many of those dates would be driving their own cars. Geez. Did nobody carpool anymore?
“I blame this on lack of chivalry,” you state upon seeing the parking situation. “If more guys picked up the girls for their dates, half this lot would be empty.” You click your tongue. “Romance is truly dead.”
“Talk about love in the air,” Jake murmurs. “Should I get a valet?”
An idea comes to you. “No. Let’s park across the street.” You point to a clearing perfect for parallel parking. There’s much more space, a couple cars already setting the outline for your car to follow. “I’ll parallel.”
He looks at you like you just announced plans to board NASA’s next rocket. “Seriously? You hate parallel parking.” His expression worsens. “Like genuinely, would-rather-die than parallel park.”
You grin. “Exactly. How rude of my boyfriend, who knows how much I hate it, to make me parallel park the car for our date.”
Jake’s eyes light up and he chuckles lowly, “How horribly inconsiderate of me.” He turns the car around and drives over to the spot, lining the car up to park. “I’m still doing the actual parking,” he asserts. “I’m not actually gonna make you do that.” He checks over his shoulder before reversing into the spot and straightening out.
“Aww,” you say, touched by the gesture. “Because you know how much I hate it?”
“Well, that,” he admits, putting the car in park and turning his head to you, “and that I don’t trust you with my car.”
Your shoulders sag. “I’m offended by that.”
He laughs at how quickly you deflated. “It’s just a safety precaution.” He turns off the car and looks past you out the window. “There they are.” He points out the window.
The moms have just arrived in your mom’s car. They luckily found an empty space in the main lot, quickly getting out and heading inside the restaurant.
“I’ll go in first. You should walk a bit behind me. Act all overstimulated and I’ll tell them it’s cause you were parallel parking.” He winces. “They’ll want to bite my head off immediately.”
You honestly feel yourself get emotional at how easily he formulates the plan on the spot. What a perfect co-conspirator. Jake exits the car and walks around the front to your side again to open your door, grabbing your hand to help you out of the car.
“You ready?” he breathes out, voice riddled with anticipation and just a hint of nerves.
You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Ready. Let’s ruin this relationship.”
He breaks into a full faced grin, playfully yanking you up so you’re standing level with him. The cool night air is blowing around you, the breeze stronger than it’s been lately. It’s blowing your hair around, some stray pieces falling into your face and threatening to cling to your lip gloss. Jake reaches up and fixes the out of place strands, gently pushing them out of the way with the tips of his fingers. He’s so focused, genuine concentration showing on his face. It’s so endearing you want to smack him upside the head (lovingly, of course). When he’s pleased with the end result, he sighs contentedly, his eyes tracing over your face before meeting your gaze.
“Wait,” he announces, “can I see your phone?”
You hand it to him without question, trusting him fully. “For what?”
“Your dress matches the rose bushes,” he points out, signaling to the greenery behind you. Sure enough, the dark red flowers perfectly complement your dress.
“Let’s take a picture.” He opens your front camera and holds the phone up to take a selfie of the two of you.
You oblige easily, smiling at the camera. Jake follows, grinning wide. After snapping a couple more shots than necessary, he hands the phone back to you.
“That should do.” He maintains his smile, only now looking at you instead of a camera.
Right as you feel your pulse be at risk of picking up, you clear your throat. “They’re probably waiting for us inside.”
“Right,” Jake agrees, taking a step back from you. He turns to go, but stops and turns back around. He holds his hand out to you in a silent question. You answer, taking his hand in yours. “This feels right,” he says as you walk down the sidewalk hand in hand. “For the date, I mean.”
“No, yeah, totally,” you concur, “it’s a nice touch. For the date.”
It’s all just for the date. Obviously.
As you reach the fancy doors of the restaurant, you and Jake exchange a look that confirms that it’s go time. From this moment on until the end of the night, you were the most incompatible couple on the planet. Both of your moms are waiting outside the entrance, smiling as you approach them.
“Sorry to keep you guys waiting,” Jake apologizes. “This one was taking forever to park.” He gestures to you with his thumb.
You exhale shakily, looking stressed. “You know I hate parallel parking, Jake.”
He shrugs dismissively. “Exposure therapy. Learn to do hard things, Y/N. Life is all about doing things you hate.”
Your moms side eye each other, confusion and slight panic in their eyes. Perfection.
You do nothing but close your eyes, taking a deep breath to compose yourself and letting it out slowly. “Whatever. Let’s go inside.”
Jake goes and opens the door for your moms, politely letting them walk through in front of him. After them, however, he walks in himself, letting the door shut behind him. You fight the urge to smile. Here it comes, the anti-boyfriend. You open the door for yourself, shuffling to catch up with the rest of them.
“Jake,” his mom says, “how come you didn’t get the door for Y/N?” Her brows are furrowed, genuine bewilderment on her face.
“Forgot,” is all he replies. Without another word, he walks up to the hostess at the counter. “Table for four under Sim, please.” You made the reservation under his last name, just for an added touch.
“Yes, right this way.” She smiles politely as she leads your party to a nicely dressed table near the center of the room.
You can see why the restaurant is such a popular date spot for couples. The whole floor is dimly lit, warm ambience lighting bathing the walls. In the back of the room is an actual life cellist playing classical renditions of the most popular love songs of the last century; right now, he’s performing a beautiful string version of Islands in the Stream. The chatter is minimized, mostly quiet conversation accompanied by loving glances. If there was one word to sum it up, it would be romantic.
Your moms take a seat… and Jake does, too. You pull out your own chair and sit down as well. The hostess hands you each a menu and announces she’ll be back soon with glasses of water for the table before walking away, but your mom and Jake’s seem to be too mentally preoccupied to peruse the appetizers. They’re both flitting their eyes back and forth between the two of you, then looking sideways at each other, communicating through looks alone. Even at casual dinners between your families, Jake always pulls your seat out for you. He has since he was thirteen. To not do it now, on Valentine’s, at The Claw? Not a good look.
“What are you thinking of getting?” you ask in general to everyone sitting at the table.
Jake pretends not to notice the suspicious looks of the mothers, opening his menu with an air of obliviousness. “I heard the salmon here is really good,” he comments thoughtfully.
“Ah, that’s my favorite,” your mom says, feigning normalcy. “The sauce it comes with is so delicious.”
“I love it,” Jake’s mom agrees, “but I’m feeling more like a steak tonight. It’s been a long week.” She lets out an exhausted laugh.
“Oh, tell me about it,” he commiserates. “This relationship stuff is not for the weak. Nobody told me that the week leading up to Valentine’s Day was going to feel like preparing a bomb for war.”
“Comparing our relationship to nuclear warfare,” you remark sarcastically, eyes on your menu. “Well, isn’t that sweet?”
“Have you ever met yourself?” Jake asks, a cutting tone lying underneath his words. “Because if you did, you’d understand that’s a perfectly appropriate analogy.”
You don’t retort, instead scoffing briefly and poking your tongue to the inside of your cheek. “I think I’ll get the chicken alfredo.”
“Ew,” Jake says as if he’s five years old and being offered broccoli.
You turn your head at him. “What do you mean ‘ew’? How do you ‘ew’ chicken alfredo?”
“Shrimp is better,” he argues. “Objective opinion.”
“That’s an oxymoron.” You squint your eyes at him like he’s stupid, cause he’s acting as such. “There’s no such thing as an objective opinion, opinions are inherently subjective-“
“Yada, yada, yada,” he cuts you off, moving his hand in a talking motion. “It’s not that deep.”
Across the table, your moms are watching back and forth like it’s a high stakes tennis match. Their faces are equal parts shock and intrigue.
You sit up a little straighter, retracting your head in annoyance. “You literally started this argument,” you point out to him. “I just said I wanted to order chicken alfredo-“
“Yeah,” he interrupts again, “which is dumb, because shrimp is better.” He looks back down at the menu, totally ignoring the nasty stink eye you’re giving him.
“Then why don’t you order the shrimp alfredo?” you spit out the question, your voice laced with irritation.
“Hmm,” he hums to himself, considering your suggestion. “Nah,” he says a second later. “I don’t want that.”
You quietly groan, your hand coming up to pinch the top of your nose bridge between your eyebrows. “Then order something else.”
He rakes his eyes over the menu, carelessly surveying before announcing, “This all looks weird. Where’s the normal food?”
“Of course you would say that,” you murmur under your breath.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks back, daring you.
You let out a short laugh. “I just mean because you have the palate of a toddler.” You fake pout at him. “Is poor Jakey sad because there’s no chicken nuggets and fries on the fancy restaurant menu?”
Jake dramatically places his hand on his chest like you’ve personally insulted his entire bloodline, past, present, and future. “I do not.”
Before you can smack him over the head with your menu, the waitress comes back, bearing four glasses of water. She places one in front of each of you then asks, “Can I get you guys any appetizers? Or do we need some more time?”
You open your mouth to say you probably need a couple more minutes, but Jake beats you to speak first.
“I think we’re ready to order main courses, actually.” He directs his attention toward your moms. “You have your orders, right?”
Jake’s mom looks slightly confused due to the previous conversation, shooting your mom a questioning look, but says, “Yes, we do.”
“Perfect.” He smiles politely at the waiter. “I’ll have the chicken alfredo.”
You gape at him. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” he responds simply, folding up his menu in front of him. “What about you?”
You turn back to the waiter and tell her courteously, “I’ll also have the chicken alfredo.”
“Aww, matching meals for the couple?” she asks, smiling at your parallel orders.
“Yup,” Jake responds, pulling your chair closer to him so he can throw an arm over your shoulder. “That’s me and my girl.”
Despite your bickering just minutes ago, his sweet words—albeit performative—make your stomach do that flippy thing again. You give the waiter a smile as well, your hand coming up to give Jake’s arm a quick squeeze. Your moms then order the salmon and steak entrees, respectively.
“So, two chicken alfredo pastas, one salmon entree, and one steak entree, medium rare,” the waitress repeats, reading off of her notepad. “Can I get you anything else for now?”
“Could I order a glass of red wine?” Jake’s mom asks. Upon receiving a questioning look from her son, she justifies, “I’m not driving! Let a woman have a little fun.” She and your mom laugh amongst themselves.
“Of course, ma’am,” the waitress says cordially, “If that’s all, do you mind if I take these extra menus?” At your unanimous nod, she collects three of the menus on the table, leaving yours in front of you. You all exchange thanks before she leaves the table to take your order to the kitchen.
“Wow,” Jake says, leaning back in his chair and patting his hand on his stomach, “I can’t wait for that pasta to come out. I’m starving.”
You kick him under the table.
“Ow!” he exclaims, kicking you right back. “What the hell?”
You stomp on his foot, digging your heel in. “You’re so annoying.”
He yelps, pushing your chair away from him as a distance of safety. “You’re so mean to me.” He gets up in your face, ready to start another argument, and you’re right there with him.
“Uh,” your mom butts in, trying to diffuse the situation, “you know what I was wondering?”
You and Jake both hold fire, turning your heads to look at her.
“I’ve been wondering,” she continues, “what made you guys decide to start dating? I mean, after so many years of being best friends, what changed?”
“Ooh, I’ve been wanting to know, too!” Jake’s mom seconds.
“Oh.” Jake relaxes slightly, his body language loosening.
You feel at ease, too. You’re not worried about what’s about to come out of his mouth; the two of you rehearsed alibis for questions just like this.
He casts you a glance. “Well,” he pauses, thinking through his answer. “I guess I realized that… she’s always been there, you know? My whole life, it’s always been ‘Jake and Y/N.’ And I wanted it to stay like that. I can’t really pinpoint the exact moment I started seeing her in a different way,” he says, “there wasn’t some big realization or anything like that.” His eyes become slightly distant. “It just hit me one day.” He looks down at the tablecloth, recalling the memory with a soft smile on his face. “She was over at my house one Saturday, just sitting on the couch. Layla was laying on her lap and I went over and joined them. She put her head on my shoulder and everything just… clicked. I can’t explain it.”
Both your moms coo at his story, pouting emotionally. You chuckle as well, remembering the day he was talking about and finding it cute how he was able to spin it in a romantic light. The two of you had previously agreed to create backstories for your feelings; his was that day at his house, yours was a couple weeks ago when he just held you while you cried over some random movie you’d just finished. These were real moments that occurred, just seen through a retrospective, rose-colored lens. You didn’t expound on the details, though. You kept the stories short and sweet, just enough to make the moms go ‘aww’ but not too much to where they’d think you’re madly in love. You weren’t truly evil, after all. Tearing apart a teenage infatuation is better than doing so to something deeper, something real.
That’s why you’re taken by surprise when Jake keeps going.
“I know, I know. It sounds so cheesy,” he cringes. “But it wasn’t a new feeling I felt. I think it was just me realizing what that feeling really was. What it meant. Why I’d been feeling it for so, so long.” He’s full on grinning now, getting carried away by his storytelling. “It was like this warmth in my chest whenever she was around. This feeling of safety, genuine contentment. Like everything would be okay as long as she was by my side.”
You feel a heat start to creep up your neck until it reaches your face, but it’s not from flattery or embarrassment. It’s fear. You have no idea what he’ll say next. This wasn’t apart of the plan. In an attempt to calm your nerves, you take a long sip of water with shaky hands. Why do you suddenly feel like a meteor is about to drop on you? The feeling Jake is currently going into great detail about perfectly describes the monstrous sentiment that’s been burdening your subconscious for weeks now.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he laughs lightly, “there are definitely still times when she drives me up the wall, but even then, that feeling is still there lingering under everything.” He breathes out, half an exhale, half an unbelieving chuckle. “I guess that’s when I realized that I was in lo-”
You abruptly start choking on your water, sitting up straighter and coughing. You grab a napkin to wipe away the stray droplets and pat your face dry.
“Oh, my- Y/N, are you okay?” Jake asks worriedly, hand coming up to gently pat your back.
You wave your hand, trying to dismiss the concern among your table. “I’m fine,” you rasp, although your eyes are watering, “just went down the wrong pipe.”
Right as you’re terrified that Jake’s going to continue on with his segment, the blessed waitress returns with Mrs. Sim’s bottle of red wine. You could fall to the floor and kiss her feet.
Jake’s mom thanks the waitress then pours herself a glass, swishing it around before taking a sip. “What about you, Bug?” She thankfully switches the conversation over to your version of that moment, meaning Jake can spew on no longer.
“Oh,” you laugh a little, looking over to him and placing your hand on top of his. He takes hold of it immediately. “It was kind of the same as what Jake was saying. A realization of like, ‘whoa, this guy is sort of everything I’ve ever wanted.’”
The moms sigh dreamily. Jake flushes.
“He crashed into my room after school on the day I was absent. I’d woken up with a fever and stayed home sick, so he was coming over to give me the work I missed for the day.” You think back on the memory yourself. You were holed up in your room all day long binge-watching movies, surrounded by a mountain of tissues, because that’s all you had the energy for.
“He really has impeccable timing, coming in right as I finished the saddest movie I’d seen in a while. Just completely bawling my eyes out when he walks in.” You chuckle out of embarrassment for your past self. “He asked if I was okay. I said, ‘oh, totally,’ and then let out another sob.”
Next to you, Jake snickers slightly under his breath, recalling the memory just as vividly as you are. “It was really cute,” he adds, trying to make you give yourself some grace.
You roll your eyes affectionately. “Anyway, I told him I just finished a sad movie and it was a stupid reason to be crying so hard. He didn’t laugh at me, didn’t agree or call me dramatic. He asked if I needed a hug.”
“Oh, Jake,” his mom croons, her eyes visibly starting to water. “That is so sweet.”
“Isn’t it? And it made me want to cry even more, so all I could do was nod yes at him. Then he just crawled into bed next to me and held me without another word.” You look at him with a lopsided smile. “It was when I was laying there, his arms wrapped around me, that was when it all… clicked,” you echo Jake’s words from earlier. “It just felt right. Like that’s where I belonged.” You playfully shove your shoulder against him. “Plus, he grew up pretty cute, I guess.”
Jake chuckles and loops an arm back around your shoulder, pulling you in so you’re flush against his side. Before you have time to process what’s happening, you feel his warm breath on the side of your head. You freeze while he plants a quick, soft kiss on your temple. You blink once, twice and then recompose yourself, laughing along with everyone else at the table.
“That is adorable, you guys,” your mom tells you. “We always knew this would happen!”
“Sorry it took us this long to catch on,” Jake jokes, directed at the moms but his eyes stay on you. He’s looking at you in a way that has you thinking, Wow, that one-week acting camp he did the summer before 5th grade really paid off.
Conversation drifts from subject to subject, comfortably carrying on while you wait for your food. When the topic reaches your moms’ book club activities for the week, you take the opportunity to excuse yourself from the table to go to the restroom. Not that you actually need it, but to recalibrate your plan. Once you’re safely in the powder room, surrounded by fellow ladies touching up their lip combos, you take out your phone to text Jake.
you:
read this casually
say ur texting heeseung abt sport stuff
jakey <3:
weird thing to roleplay but sure
what’s up?
you:
we need to fight again or something
it’s all very…
sweet rn
jakey <3:
well duhhhh
fake relationship has to be believable
you:
i think we’re all good on that part
im pretty sure they’re one question away from asking what our first born will be named
jakey <3:
bridget 🥹
you:
HELLO
jakey <3:
ik ik i get what you’re saying
come back to the table
i think they think ur having stomach problems
you:
OH OK LEMME JS DIE
jakey <3:
noooo don’t kys ur so sexy haha
you:
oh my gosh this is why we’re breaking up
jakey <3:
:(
side note omg they probably think im secretly in love w hee cuz
i’m grinning at my phone but i said i was texting hee
😭😭
you:
I KNEW THERE WAS ALWAYS SMTH BETWEEN U GUYS
jakey <3:
NOOOOO
You laugh to yourself as you turn your phone off, putting it back in your purse. You take a good, long look in the mirror, staring yourself down. Okay. Time for the real drama to begin.
You return to your seat at the table just in time to hear Jake defending Heeseung against something.
“Really,” he convinces, “he’s one of the funniest guys I know. Top tier humor.”
“Then share his joke!” his mom pleads. “I’m nosy. I wanna know what he said that was so funny it had you giggling like a schoolboy.”
You bite your tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Was that really his reaction to your little text thread?
Jake shrugs, desperate to get out of the hole he keeps digging deeper for himself. “It was an inside joke, you wouldn’t get it.”
His mom groans. “Oh, you’re no fun.”
“We can have inside jokes too, you know.” Your mom nudges Jake’s mom and then says, “Bermuda shorts.” They both immediately start cackling, laughing so hard they soon become out of breath.
You and Jake eye each other with amused but tired expressions. This type of behavior from your moms is nothing new, you’re both used to them acting like children who giggle at the smallest things.
“You guys are impossible,” you remark, though you’re still smiling at their laughter. “Unable to be serious even for a second.”
Jake snorts. “I can see where you get it from.”
Viewing this offhand comment as the perfect opening to pick a fight, you slowly turn your head to him, your eyes narrowed just a fraction. “What does that mean?”
“You do know that you also can’t be serious if your life depended on it, don’t you?” He scoffs lightly. “Sometimes it feels like you can’t read the room.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Oh, really? You know that you’re not any better, right? Walking around everywhere grinning like the world is sunshine and rainbows.” Your body leans away from him, a newfound tension making you straighten your spine. “It’s not, Jake.”
“Of course,” he mutters under his breath, eyes looking away from yours. “You always have to spin stuff back on me. Can’t take a joke if it’s about you,” he adds spitefully before taking a sip of water.
You will your eyes to burn, to slowly start welling with tears. If you focus, you can act like his words truly sting you (they don’t; you know Jake would never say anything like that to you and mean it). “That’s a super nice thing for my boyfriend to say to me on Valentine’s Day,” you choke out, trying to accentuate your voice cracks. “True love, isn’t it?”
“My gosh,” Jake chuckles with a heavy air of exasperation, “you’ve been acting like this ever since we started dating.” He looks at you, gaze loaded, but you can tell there’s a glint of amusement deep in his eyes. “Is this how it’s going to be now? Just because we’re a couple, I can’t joke around with you anymore?”
“Obviously that’s not the problem here, you buffoon,” you scold back, exhausted tears close to spilling. “Even before we were dating, I always hated when you acted like this.”
“Like what?” he challenges, eyes daring.
“Like a dick,” you spit out, crossing your arms and fully turning away from him.
The whole time you have this exchange, your moms’ laughter from across the table steadily dies down. They’re both frozen watching the two of you argue back and forth. Unlike the petty argument over the menu earlier, this one doesn’t feel like it can be so easily resolved. They eye each other warily, clearly discerning whether or not they should step in to break things up.
“Geez,” Jake says lowly, “didn’t know I’d be out with queen of all emotions tonight.”
If looks could kill, he would certainly be dead by now. You fix him with one of your most deadly stares. “What exactly are you trying to say?”
He huffs out a laugh. “You’re so sensitive tonight. Is it that time of the month?”
The silence that falls across the table is the funniest unfunny thing you’ve ever seen. That line was your idea. You knew it would send this relationship past the point of no return, because in full honesty, Jake was always a champ whenever it came to dealing with you during that time of the month. He always perceived it as more like you getting possessed for a couple days a month than a biological occurrence, but he understood it nonetheless. He knew that whatever venomous, sad, vitriolic words came out of your mouth were probably just hormones. As he became more accustomed to this version of you, he learned how to play his cards right. When to bring you snacks and run his fingers through your hair, or when to leave you completely alone until he was given the OK to come over again.
“Jaeyun!” his mom warns, having heard enough from him. The look she gives him is dangerous, conveying a message clear and concise: cut it out.
Jake’s head snaps up at the use of his Korean name. You can see genuine fear in his eyes. His mom typically only called him by his other name under two circumstances: one, when she was extremely proud of him, and two, when she was extremely pissed at him. Now, based on context clues, Jake can infer that she’s probably not calling him that because of the first reason.
“Sorry,” he says to her immediately, conviction clear on his face. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
His mom is still just staring at him coldly, waiting for him to do what she’s silently instructing.
“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He turns to you. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that and I shouldn’t have just assumed you were hormonal because you were upset with me.”
You soften. Even though you weren’t actually mad at him and you know Jake would rarely ever ask you such a question, seeing him so sincerely contrite makes you warm. “I forgive you, Jake.” You still don’t smile. If anything, it’s worse now. Instead of angry, you’ve grown quiet. “But honestly… is that how you think of me now? Just an overdramatic, sensitive mess you have to walk around like some emotional landmine?” You finally allow the tears to spill over, salt streaming down your cheeks.
The look he gives you causes a pang in your chest. Ever since you were kids, Jake has always hated seeing you cry. Call it a soul tie or emotional codependency, but whenever he saw you sad enough to shed tears, it felt like a hole was being carved in his own heart. Even though it’s orchestrated and you reassured him he wouldn’t actually make you cry, he still does not enjoy seeing you like this.
He swallows hard. “Baby, no, of course not…” He hesitates whether or not he should raise his hand to wipe away your tears. He makes a move to, then freezes, deciding against it. “All I’m saying is you’ve been a little,” he carefully chooses his words, knowing this needs to be enraging enough to keep the fire burning. “Emotionally delicate,” is what he lands on.
The slap to his face ends up landing right across his cheekbone.
Full disclaimer, you really have to hand it to Jake. First off, the slap was his initial idea and insistence. You never would’ve actually hit him, no matter how many times the urge crosses you. He had to reassure you about a dozen times that it wouldn’t actually hurt him before you agreed to do it. Despite the countless times you rehearsed this (timing the slap, testing how hard you should hit him, making it look realistic), his reaction is really what sells it.
He turns his head at the perfect moment, timed so that contact was still made, but not nearly as bad as it seemed. His hand flies up to his cheek, holding where he’d just been struck. He winces and looks at you incredulously.
Your moms gasp sharply, eyes blown wide at what just happened. “Y/N-” your mom starts, voice heavy with shock.
“How’s that for emotionally delicate?” you ask Jake bitterly.
“Why in the world would you do that-“ he questions, not moving from his position, just glaring at you.
“That’s enough from the both of you,” your mom scolds. “You’re both eighteen now. This is ridiculous.”
“We shouldn’t have to be breaking up arguments between you two like you’re five years old,” Jake’s mom joins in. “What has gotten into you tonight?”
“You can’t just slap Jake across the face because he’s being annoying,” your mom reprimands you. “And you,” she turns her target on Jake, “you know better than to say things like that to anybody, let alone Y/N.”
Jake slumps in his seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I know,” he murmurs quietly.
You huff, still appearing upset but willing to defuse the situation to satisfy your mothers. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I guess it’s just finally getting to me after all these years.”
“I agree,” he says, looking more mildly irritated than truly mad anymore. “Maybe there is such a thing as too much time spent together.”
“Well, in that case,” your mom offers, “maybe college will be a good breather for you guys. You’ll finally have some space between you for the first time in your lives. Though we’re mostly to blame for that.” She smiles guiltily.
A heavy silence settles at the mention of that dreaded word. College. Neither you nor Jake have fully committed to schools yet, but you’ve both applied and gotten accepted to a handful, a few overlapping. The option of attending the same school was extremely enticing, but you’ve heard the horror stories of best friends who do so. Someone always ends up getting hurt, the relationship strained by newfound adult struggles, busy schedules, and new social circles. You and Jake were strong in your relationship, you knew, but you were still unsure if you wanted to take that risk.
“Have you guys been thinking more about that?” Mrs. Sim asks gently, casually. She knows the weight the topic has been carrying lately.
“Yes,” you and Jake answer at the same time. The tension diffuses a bit, your bodies naturally gravitating toward each other again.
“That’s good!” She takes another sip of wine. “What are your thoughts lately? Are you still considering the same school?”
You and Jake speak simultaneously again, only this time your answers conflict. He says yes. You say no.
“Uh,” he chuckles nervously but he’s not smiling. “No?”
“I mean,” you say slowly. “I think… recent developments in our relationship play a big part here.”
“So do I,” he agrees. “All the more reason for us to go together, isn’t it?”
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. “Jake,” you try explaining, “couples who go to college for each other never end well. I’ve seen it. I don’t want that to be us.”
He’s looking at you like you suddenly started speaking a dead language. “So what, we just do long distance for four whole years and hope for the best?” He grabs your hand, gentle but firm. “I don’t want to do that, Y/N.”
“What if we don’t, then?” you ask quietly, unable to look him in the eyes.
“Don’t what?” he presses, though he already knows the answer. “Don’t do long distance?”
You finally lock eyes with him. “What if we just… don’t?”
He stares at you. Searches your face for further information, but doesn’t find anything. The whole table is so silent you could hear a hairpin drop. Your mom and his exchange looks that say, Is this really happening? Now?
“You… “ Jake starts then stops, swallowing like he’s fighting the words that want to come out of his throat. “Do you not want to stay together in college?” Somehow, he looks more hurt than when you literally slapped him in the face.
“I’m just trying to be realistic. For both of us.” You go to squeeze his hand comfortingly, but he removes it, resting it on his thigh. You flinch at his reaction. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this now-”
“No, let’s talk about this.” he demands. “Here. Now. With our moms.” He looks at them across the table. “I think now’s as good a time as any.”
In all perfect timing, all your food arrives at that exact moment. The now familiar waitress cheerfully hands out the entrees, oblivious to what she just walked in on. It’s comical how no one breaks a smile as she places the dishes in front of you.
“Just wave me down if you guys need anything else,” she informs before walking away.
Looking to drag out the argument—and because you’re absolutely starving-–you announce, “Let’s eat!”
Five minutes pass without a single word being spoken. You and Jake avoid eye contact with both each other and your moms, the tension steadily growing with each unsaid word.
Jake finishes a bite of his pasta and simply asks, “Why?”
You’re still mid-bite, chewing to swallow before you answer him cautiously. “What do you mean ‘why?’”
“Why do you want to break up?” He takes another bite, unhurriedly eating like this is casual dinner conversation.
You put your fork down. “I didn’t say I want to break up.”
“You didn’t say you want to stay together, either,” he highlights. “Sounds like wanting to break up to me.”
“Jake, please just think about it. Life is gonna be so different. We’re gonna be so different,” you sigh. “We’re gonna be trying new things, meeting new people… what if one of us meets someone else we want to be with?” Not that you could even remotely picture anyone more perfectly suited for you other than Jake, but you’ve heard this breakup line countless times from other people.
“I already know that’s not gonna happen, Y/N,” he says immediately. “I only want you. I’ll only ever want you.”
You know it’s fake. You know it’s just a line to fit into your make believe story. But still, hearing him say that feels like taking a knife to the chest for reasons you don’t understand.
“You can’t know that, Jake-” you try, but he cuts you off again.
“But I do know. That’s all I’ve ever known.” His words come out fast, like he’s been waiting to spit them out for ages. He then decides to rip the bandaid off. “If you don’t plan on us having a future, then why are we even together?” He looks down at his lap. When he looks up to you again, you’re taken aback by his red rimmed eyes, like now he’s the one on the verge of tears.
Seeing that brings your emotions right to the surface again. You quickly feel streams rolling down your face. “Maybe you’re right,” you say brokenly. “Maybe we’re better off as friends. Maybe this,” you gesture between the two of you, “was a mistake.”
He exhales shakily. “Maybe it was.” Breaking eye contact, he looks across the table to your moms like he just remembered they were there. “Oh,” he says uncomfortably, “I really didn’t want to do this here. In front of you guys.”
“We’re really sorry,” you emphasize, a glum look in your eyes. “I know how long you’ve waited for this and I didn’t want to ruin things.” You wipe away a tear with the back of your hand.
“Oh, Bug.” Jake’s mom smiles sadly. “You both could never disappoint us. Really.” Though she stops speaking, she still looks as though she has plenty of unfinished thoughts.
Because you’re convinced they share one mind, your mom picks up where her best friend left off. “We don’t mean to impose or intrude on your relationship,” she says as preamble, “you two are young adults and can make those decisions on your own. But,” she adds as she stares at you and Jake dead on, “are you seriously ending your relationship like this? Over one bad night and a couple arguments?”
“Mom,” you speak softly, aware that this situation is less than ideal. “It isn’t really about that. I think it’s been building up all along.” You look to Jake. He nods.
“This whole time, we always wondered if things would truly change if we became a couple,” he explains, a bittersweet tear falling down his face. “Turns out they did, and they didn’t.”
“What do you mean?” His mom questions, genuinely trying to understand why two people who were basically created for one another were choosing to call things off.
“Jake and I love each other,” you state plainly. “That never changed.”
“And it never will,” he says decidedly. “With this new label, though, came just this pressure. Like there’s something to legitimately lose now. I never had to worry about that before.”
“It’s just for the better,” you finalize. “By breaking up and going back to being just friends, things can be easy again. There’s no heartbreaks, no miscommunication or dumb grudges held over simple things. We can just go back to being us. Jake and Y/N.”
Jake smiles through his tears. “Like it’s always been.”
“And how it always will be,” you finish for him. “Besides,” you say, “these past few weeks have made me realize we were really better off as friends, anyway.”
The words roll off your tongue with practiced ease, but they leave a bitter taste in your mouth. That’s not how the past few weeks have gone. If anything, all you’ve come to realize is how good of a couple you and Jake could be. But that’s out of the question. That’s not the point of all this. The plan was simple from the beginning: fake date for a short while, go on a date, show why you couldn’t actually be together, break up, and get your moms off your backs forever. You’ve succeeded. So why don’t you feel like you have?
Your mom nods solemnly, processing the reasons just given to her. “I applaud you two for being so mature about this. That takes guts.”
You give her a small smile to show your thanks for her support over your joint decision. Finally, she gets why it’s been a bad idea all along for you and Jake to date.
“I do have to say,” she continues, which you didn’t expect, “I’m going to miss the two of you together like this. I haven’t seen Y/N that happy in God knows how long. You don’t even know it,” she says to Jake, “but the way she looks at you? Goodness. I’ve never seen her look at anyone like that.”
Your throat catches. You had no idea you were so convincing without realizing it.
“Jake, too,” his mom agrees, speech directed at you. “Ever since you became official, all I see from him is smiles every minute of the day. Even at night, I can hear his little giggles when he texts you. It’s so cute.”
Jake obviously was unaware of this, his brows furrowing in bewilderment.
“We have thin walls,” Mrs. Sim expounds when she sees his expression. “I know what you get up to.”
He blushes with nothing else to say. You, however, are just a little confused. Neither your gaze nor Jake’s giggles had been intentional levers in your plan, yet they just elevated the illusion altogether. Yay?
“We’ll still be us,” you affirm to them. As a joke, you add, “Jake just won’t kiss me or bring me flowers every time he comes over. This is a positive for his lips and bank account.”
“Exactly,” Jake backs you up, “and we won’t fall asleep together on the couch anymore. Maybe.” His foot nudges yours under the table.
Both of your moms don’t speak for a moment. From your perspective, they appear to be going through all five stages of grief within the span of one minute. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally–acceptance.
“If this is what you decide on, of course we’ll love and support you no matter what,” your mom says. “Just let us apologize for being the root cause in the first place,” she chuckles lightly.
“Oh, she’s right,” Jake’s mom echoes. “I guess it’s kind of our fault for always saying you guys would be good together. That’s our bad.”
Your mom winces sympathetically. “So, so sorry for that, kids. I promise we’ll stop now.”
Oh, how no words ever sounded sweeter to you in all your life. Mission completed. End goal achieved. You turn and give Jake a knowing look which he mirrors exactly. You guys did it. Never again will you have to hear some overused spiel about your intertwined destinies. The adrenaline of your success kicks in, putting a pep in your step and lifting your mood. You still have to act a little downtrodden, though. You did just break up with your boyfriend, after all. So you put on a mixed expression, one that says, I’m bummed our romantic relationship has come to an end, but now we can go back to being just best friends. Yipee!
You and Jake go through dinner like nothing ever happened, immediately falling back into your lighthearted banter and personal yet unserious jabs at one another. Plates are cleared, glasses emptied, and Jake covers the bill. A gentleman even if there is no girlfriend to impress, simply the outcome of being raised right.
As your group of four exits the building (Jake held the door for everyone this time, yourself included) and heads to the parking lot, your mom asks, “Are you two still riding together?”
“Yeah, of course,” Jake replies without a second thought. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“Well,” your mom laughs awkwardly, “you two did just break up.”
“Oh, yeah,” he says. Brilliant. Tragic. You can really tell your fake relationship ending will scar him for years to come.
“We’re fine,” you tell your mom. “Nothing’s wrong. Promise.”
“Trust you, sweetie,” she smiles, giving you a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you at home.” She moves next to hug Jake. “Thank you for dinner, young gentleman.”
He chuckles. “Of course. You guys have spent plenty more money on snacks for us, anyway. Goodnight and drive safe.”
Mrs. Sim squeezes you tightly, bidding goodbye. “Have a good rest of the night, Bug.” She leans in closer to your ear and says quietly, “I really am sorry things didn’t work out between you two. Just know that no matter what comes next, you’ll always be my favorite.” You know that she means it.
Her words melt your heart. It’s such a sweet sentiment. “You too, Mrs. Sim. And thank you.”
Jake hugs his mom goodbye with a quick, “I’ll be home by curfew, love you!”
You part ways and go to your respective vehicles. When the door shuts after you, you let out a long, heavy sigh and slump in your chair. Jake looks over at you and you lock eyes. Silence hangs in the air for one, two, three seconds before it breaks.
“Oh, finally!” you exclaim, hands running over your face in both exhaustion and victory.
“I can’t believe we did it,” Jake says in disbelief. He grins wide again, his smile blinding even in the dark of his car. “We actually did it!”
“That was the most elaborate scheme I’ve pulled in my entire life,” you comment as you buckle your seatbelt and kick off your heels. “Gosh, my feet have been killing me all night.”
“You should’ve told me,” Jake frowns, turning the key in the ignition and pulling out onto the main road, “I have an extra pair of sneakers in here you could’ve worn instead.”
You snort at his suggested solution to your foot pain. “Right, because the oversized Jordans with the dress really go well with Valentine’s at The Claw.”
“You could pull it off,” he argues, like that’s all the evidence he needs.
You ignore him. “Okay, favorite moments from tonight. Recap, go.”
He hums to himself for a second, no doubt replaying the dinner in a flashback film reel in his mind. “You calling me a dick was pretty good,” he says thoughtfully. “That’s gotta be at least top three.”
You laugh brightly, clapping your hands together once. “That was so vindicating, I can’t even lie to you.”
“Oh, I’m sure it was,” he remarks sarcastically, “I can’t count all the times you’ve looked like it’s just been brewing on your tongue.”
“Hey,” you defend, “at least I didn’t actually mean it this time.” You turn your head at him to see him attentively watching the road while he drives. “What’d you think of my crying? Was it convincing.”
He side eyes you and says flatly, “Yeah, maybe too much so.”
“Meaning?” You ask, awaiting compliments on your acting.
“It, like, hurt me,” he shudders then shakes his head. “I really hate seeing you like that. It was so realistic, you looked so freaking sad, it made my chest hurt a bit.” He stares blankly ahead.
“Wow,” is all you can respond. After a few seconds of silence except for the quiet rumble of the car tires against the road, you add, “I’m even better than I thought!”
He laughs at that, sighing defeatedly. “Guess you are. Good job on that.”
You smile triumphantly to yourself, glad to know you gave a convincing performance. “Your crying was amazing too, by the way,” you tell Jake. “You looked absolutely miserable.”
“To be honest, I kind of was.” One of his hands rests on the wheel, the other propping his head up as he leans against the window. “Or it felt like I was, anyway.”
“Really?” You ask. Here you’d been thinking Jake was just really into his performance, the whole time he was actually feeling horrible. “Why? I’m sorry about that,” you frown at him. “I didn’t know you’d feel that way.”
“Neither did I,” he admits. “I wasn’t expecting to. It just felt so real for a second, you know?” He runs his hand through his hair, eyes still on the road. “Talking about the future like that, things changing, the thought of losing you…” he drifts off, zoning out while he stares at the dark night in front of him.
“Jake.” You say his name softly, breaking him out of his trance. “That was all dramatized, overexaggerated.” You think of the right word to describe it. “Fake.”
He lets out a long breath, but that word doesn’t seem to comfort him. At all. “You’re right. It just made me realize I really, really, hate the idea of losing you.” He breaks his stare at the road, eyes meeting yours.
“You won’t ever lose me.” You give him a soft, reassuring smile. “You don’t ever have to worry about that.”
His eyes search yours, like he’s checking that you’re telling him the honest truth. Then, he lets out another breath, this time a considerably shakier one that turns into a broken laugh. “Thank you for that. You won’t ever lose me, either.”
You snicker at that thought. “Like you could ever get away from me,” you say, letting him know he’s stuck with you for the foreseeable future and beyond. He’s still looking at you, and you swear you see his eyes drop down to your lips for the smallest fraction of a second. Suddenly sweating, you look away, your gaze flitting to the windshield. “Jake, the light!”
He startles, quickly turning his head back to look at the road, slamming on the brakes until you jerkily skid to a stop under the red light. “Whoa,” he pants, “that was close.”
You swallow, frantically looking out the window so you don’t have to look at him. “Yeah, it was.”
The rest of the car ride passes by in a blur. Comfortable silence falls between you once again, a few stolen glances sneaking in every now and then. You connect your phone to the car again, resuming the love songs playlist without thinking about it. When Pancakes for Dinner by Lizzy McAlpine starts playing, you stupidly feel like you’ve just played the most scandalizing song in existence. Every word burns your ears and you seriously cannot make eye contact with Jake for the life of you. This has never happened before. Even that road trip three years ago when you fell on him in the backseat and accidentally elbowed him in the balls was less agonizing than this.
After what feels like an eternity, you finally pull up to the curb outside your house. Because you are the luckiest eighteen year old alive, right as Jake puts the car in park, a heavy downpour of rain starts pounding the roof of the car, streaming down the windows and collecting in huge droplets.
“Oh, damn,” Jake hisses, rummaging around in his backseat and coming up empty handed. “I don’t have an umbrella.”
“It’s okay,” you say quickly, desperate to get out of this confined space with him before you do something stupid. “I can just run-”
“You’ll slip,” he rebuffs, putting it out of the question. He sits up like he’s just had a stroke of genius. “Wait, I got it,” he says. He then starts to pull his sweater over his head, layers riding up in the process and flashing you with a glimpse of his torso.
“WHOA, WHAT?” you practically scream, backing up against the passenger side window. Surely you fell asleep in the car and this is some twisted dream you’re having right now.
He removes the red sweater and pulls his undershirt back down, leaving him in a white button up. “Relax, you pervert,” he cackles, holding the sweater up between you. “We can hold this over our heads while we walk to the door.”
“We?” You question sharply, eyebrows raising.
“Yes, we,” he repeats with a roll of his eyes. “I always walk you to the door.” His eyes catch the bouquet of roses put aside on his dashboard. He grabs them with one hand, holding the sweater in the other.
You just nod cooly, unbuckling your seat belt and grabbing your heels in one hand and your purse in the other. It’s just a short walk across your yard, going barefoot isn’t going to kill you tonight. The way Jake Sim is looking at you, however, just might.
He’s shamelessly staring at you from the driver’s side, eyes wistful but discerning, like he’s trying to figure something out. You feel like he’s looking at you with x-ray vision, seeing right past your flustered exterior and into your soul, where he’ll discover all the confusing feelings you’ve been pushing down for weeks now. You are terrified, to say the least. You shift your body to open your door, but before your hand can even pull the handle, Jake is there on the other side, opening it for you. He props the flowers under one arm so he has a free hand to offer you as assistance out of the car. His eyes are shining with that unknown emotion, and you offer back a quick smile as you get out and try to dodge the incoming raindrops.
Jake smoothly raises the sweater over the both of you with one arm, blocking most of the rainfall from your heads. You start moving toward your front door, speed walking through the grass and up your driveway, and you can’t help but giggle at the innocent fun of it all. You could almost pretend that you’re just two kids again, trying to outrun the weather like it’s your biggest opponent. You safely make it under your porch covering and you turn around, feeling a little breathless for reasons that have nothing to do with your almost-jog through the rain.
Apparently the sweater was not as equally distributed as you thought, because while your hair is mostly dry on top, Jake’s is damp enough that it’s dripping. All the hair gel is washed away, wet strands falling into his face. If it bothers him-–which it probably doesn’t, really—he doesn’t show it, simply grinning down at you. You’re enjoying the view in front of you. A wet-haired Jake in a white button up smiling at you with a bouquet of roses in his hand? Oh, absolutely.
You sort of forget for a moment that he is still a living, breathing human being with thoughts and actions, so it brings you back to reality when he asks, “Is your mom home already?”
Fully conscious again, you crane your neck to take a peek at your windows. You can see warm light behind the shutters both upstairs and in the kitchen, a good sign that your parents are home, awake, and bustling about. “Yeah, I think so,” you answer, turning back to look at him.
He nods but he looks distracted. One whole second of awkwardness crawls by, and you immediately decide that you hate it and never want to feel that ever again.
“So, I should probably…” You gesture to the front door and turn to go inside, but Jake’s hand on your arm stops you.
“Y/N, wait.” He all of a sudden looks a bit sickly. You assume it’s just from the rain and the cold. He’s pale, shaky, and his eyes look kind of wild. When you just look at him with a questioning expression, he explains expertly, “Uh.” He lets go on your arm, his hand returning to his side. He looks at you, then at the flowers in his hand. “Don’t forget these. And… you never said what your favorite part of the night was.”
You break into a smile, feeling relieved that that’s all he wanted to know. Chill out, you tell yourself mentally. You’re freaking yourself out for nothing. Nothing weird is going on. You take the flowers back into your own arm, cradling them while you hold your shoes and purse in the other. “Oh, yeah,” you laugh, taking a moment to think about it. You stare him dead in the eyes. “I just gotta tell you, it was definitely slapping you in the face.”
“I told you you’d enjoy it!” Jake howls with laughter, clearly satisfied to see that his suggestion was appreciated. “And you were so worried about it, for what?”
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you say in defense, laughter trailing off. “Are you sure I didn’t hit you too hard? You’re not gonna wake up with a bruise tomorrow or anything?”
“I’m fine.” He turns his head so you have a clear view of where you hit him, showing off his high cheekbones and notably unblemished face. “Not a scratch.”
“I still feel kind of bad for actually hitting you, though,” you continue. “Not to say I haven’t wanted to do that for a long time, cause I totally have.”
He waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. If anything, it’s just a boo-boo.”
That terminology jogs your memory, sending you back to elementary school, when you and Jake were in first grade, playing on the playground during recess. You tripped on a rock and fell, skimming your elbow on the pavement. Jake walked with you to the nurse and sat with you while she bandaged you up, all while you cried from both the pain and the sting of the antibacterial topical. For the rest of recess, you sat on the bench, longingly watching all the other kids play. Jake was right beside you.
“Why don’t you go play with everyone else?” you asked him, sniffling. “Jay and Sunghoon are playing tag.”
“I don’t wanna,” he answered simply, legs swinging off the bench. “I wanna sit here with you.”
“Why?” you asked again, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve. “This isn’t fun.”
“I won’t have fun if you don’t. I’ll stay with you.” He pointed to the bandaid on your elbow. “Does it still hurt?”
You nodded silently, your little hand rubbing at it soothingly. “But it’s just a boo-boo.”
“Can I try something?” Jake tilted his head, his unruly hair flopping into his eyes. “My mommy does this to my boo-boos. It makes them feel all better.”
You were willing to try just about anything to feel better, so you waited for him to do whatever it is he’s talking about. He leaned down and puckered his lips, dropping a short kiss right over the bandaid.
“Did it work?” he asked nervously.
Your crying stopped. You let out one last long, shaky sniffle and look at Jake with teary eyes. “It did. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
He grinned brightly, smiling wide even though he was missing two of his front teeth. “I told you it makes them feel all better! It’s like magic.” He hops off the bench and holds out his hand. “Let’s go play now!”
You giggle and follow him, chasing him onto the playground to go play tag.
You smile fondly at the memory. Then an idea hits you. “Hey. Can I try something?”
He narrows his eyes at you, interest piqued. “Sure… what?”
You move in, face much closer to his than before. “Lucky for you, someone once told me the magic fix for boo-boos.” You swerve your head and plant a kiss right on his cheek, holding for a few seconds for good measure before pulling away. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. “Did it work?” you ask quietly, eyes boring into his.
He nods slowly, then quickly, pupils blown and mouth slightly agape. “Yeah.” He swallows, flushed down to his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “It did.”
You smile. “Good.” You turn away, walking to your front door. Right before you turn the handle, you look back at your best friend. “Goodnight, Worm.”
“Goodnight, Bug.” He waves at you, waiting to make sure you’re safe inside before he returns to his car.
Once inside, you watch him through the peephole, observing how he throws the sweater over his head again as he runs back to his car. The engine roars back to life, headlights shining down your street, and then he takes off. The second he disappears from your vision, you exhale deeply, leaning your head against the door.
You’re exhausted and confused, greatly looking forward to sleep even though it’s only 10:00 P.M. You drop your shoes by the door and walk into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, finding your mom sitting at the dining table. Surrounding her are various scraps of paper, which you recognize upon closer inspection as Valentine’s cards, all adorned with hearts and glitter.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she greets you when she hears you walk in. “I just remembered this box was stored up in the closet. It’s full of all your Valentines from when you were little.”
“Oh, wow,” you breathe out, taking a seat next to her and looking at all the notes splayed across the table. “I didn’t know you kept all of these.” You hang your purse off a chair and lay the bouquet next to you on the table.
“Of course I did,” she says. “I figured you’d want them one day. Aren’t they just adorable?” She sees the roses and nods at them. “That really is a beautiful bouquet.”
“They are,” you agree, noticing all the details close up. You look down at the roses again. “And it is.” Drawing attention back to the cards, you comment, “This is so cute, it’s like a mini time capsule.”
Concealed under a stack of valentines, you see a rounded corner, set apart from all the rectangle and square-cut cards. You pull it out and find that it’s a heart cut out of red construction paper, trimmed with lace around the edges. It’s messy in a way that’s cute, so obviously decorated by a little kid. The glitter glue is faded and some of the gems have fallen off, but you can still read the text written on it. Your heart stops.
To: Y/N
From: Jake
Scribbled out in Jake’s messy kindergarten handwriting is the exact same thing as what’s written on the Valentine he gave you yesterday. After making that connection, you quickly realize that it’s an entire replica of the card that you’re holding in your hands now. That had to have been on purpose. Were you supposed to know that? Is that why he looked like he was waiting for you to say something else, to notice something else?
“Mom,” you say, voice wobbly, “when is this one from?”
She glances over at what you’re holding and smiles when she recognizes it. “Aww, that was your Valentine’s Day in kindergarten. We had you guys make matching cards for each other and then exchange them. Mrs. Sim should still have Jake’s, too.”
You hum in response, eyes still taking in every detail of the card. “Do you mind if I take this to my room?”
“Of course you can,” she replies happily. “It’s yours anyway. I was just keeping it safe for a bit.” She eyes you a second longer, looking at you in that way only moms can. “Are you okay? After everything that happened tonight, I mean.”
“I am.” No, you’re not. “Nothing’s gonna change between me and Jake.” Yes, they already have. “We’re good.” Are you?
You give her a tight smile and retreat up to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you with a definitive click. You walk over to your desk, where you’d left Jake’s valentine from yesterday. Placing the old valentine right next to it, you gasp seeing them side by side. They’re nearly identical, from the color of glitter glue used to the placement of the stick on gems. He recreated what was probably the first valentine he ever gave you.
Your heart swells at the realization, tears welling up behind your eyes for what feels like the millionth time this night. You wipe them away quickly, trying to get a hold of your emotions again. It’s just so incredibly sweet that Jake would do such a thing. Sweet that he would put the effort in, sweet that he even remembered this ancient relic from over a decade ago. You just can’t help but wonder why. Why would he do all that just for a fake Valentine’s date you both knew wasn’t going to end well? Why would he show up with a gorgeous bouquet of roses and still give you a tulip because he knew they were your favorite? Was he really that invested in your little romantic ploy just for the fun of it?
Could it have been that he simply wanted to do those things? Just because he wanted to? For you?
Your head hurts. You need sleep. Putting your racing thoughts on pause, you decide to get ready for bed. You change into your favorite pajama pants and an old hoodie, your favorite. It’s not until you slip it over your head, wiggling your arms in the worn in, oversized sleeves, that you remember this used to be Jake’s hoodie. You freeze, staring at your wall, then let out a groan. You can’t escape the thought of him. He’s everywhere. This hoodie is his. There’s pictures of him plastered all over your bulletin board. The tulips he got you are sitting on your dresser, held by the vase he made.
Your lives are so intertwined, Jake is basically apart of your entire existence.
You feel like your room is shrinking by the second, memoirs of Jake closing in on you faster and faster, so you retreat to your one reliable solace: your bed. You turn off the lights and slip under the covers, grabbing your phone for the first time since the restaurant.
Of course there’s notifications from him.
jakey <3:
hey
tonight was so fun
we did a great job!!
#FINALLYFREE
it was truly my deepest honor to be your fake boyfriend :)
also when u could
can you send the pics we took on ur phone??
thanks ur the best !
You type back a quick reply before opening your photos app.
you:
yes
gimme one sec
Scrolling to your gallery, you click through the pictures Jake had taken right before you’d gone into the restaurant. There’s multiple photos, all of you and Jake standing in front of the rose bush, grinning ear to ear. You unconsciously smile when you see them.
You select all the pictures and send them to your chat with Jake.
you:
[attachment: 7 images]
hereee
He reads the message instantly, notifying you that he’s been lurking, waiting for you to send them.
jakey <3
AAAAAAA
these turned out so niceee
we look so good
you:
yeah
they’re cute
Gun to your head, you could not explain why you’re being so dry. It’s like your brain doesn’t know how to respond anymore, overthinking every word your fingers type out. You start typing, dude my mom just showed me a valentine from like kindergarten that you gave to me lol. You delete it. You try again, hey, thanks again for agreeing to all this. i know it wasn’t easy and maybe made you confused like i am right now- backspaced immediately. What are you even trying to say?
Jake was always your go-to person for any and all of your qualms about life. But now, you feel like you can’t talk to him. Because how are you supposed to talk to him when you need to talk about him?
jakey <3:
are you typing out the declaration of independence rn
you
what
no
why?
jakey <3:
your little text bubble has been bubbling for like
five million years
you:
oh
oops
Jake’s own typing bubble pops up, then disappears, bubbles for fifteen seconds, and is gone again.
jakey <3:
are you ok?
you:
i’m fine
just tired
think i’m gonna go to bed now
jakey <3:
oh
okay
sweet dreams bug
Even though it irks your soul, you leave him on read. You don’t trust yourself to respond without saying something you’ll regret in the morning. You shut your phone off, plug it in on your nightstand, and collapse onto your bed. Much to your surprise, sleep overtakes you almost immediately. Fake dating your best friend really takes it out of you.
It doesn’t feel like the peace lasts long, however. After what feels like only 15 minutes of sleep, you’re woken up by a recurring tapping sound at your window. You open one eye, squinting at the early morning light coming through your curtains. The sun’s up, so you’ve evidently been sleeping for more than 15 minutes, that’s for sure. You aimlessly grab around until you feel your hand wrap around your phone, yanking it off the charger and holding it up so you can check the time. Your screensaver displays 7:14 am. Too damn early on a Sunday morning for whatever’s going on outside your window. What is going on outside your window, anyway?
You crawl out of bed, limbs cramping from exhaustion as you walk toward your window. You yank open your curtains, hissing when the sunlight hits your face. Blinking rapidly as your eyes adjust to the light, you open your blinds and stare down at your yard. You blink again, frozen.
Jake is standing on your lawn, camped out below your bedroom window. Just like last time, he’s throwing pebbles up at your room, only this time, there’s no extravagant gifts or signs to win your affection. It’s just him.
You’re now wide awake.
You learned your lesson last time when you almost got hit in the face with a rock, so you don’t open the window, just pull up the blinds. When Jake finally sees you, his eyes go wide, like he wasn’t fully expecting you to wake up. He mouths something you can’t hear and you just stare at him dumbly. He makes a phone symbol with his hand, holding it up to his ear and then pointing back at you.
Catching his drift that he’s telling you to go get your phone, you scurry back to grab your phone where you left it thrown aside among your blankets and pillows. There’s already an incoming call from him when you pick it up. You answer right away, holding your phone up to your ear while you go back to the window, now able to hear and see Jake.
“Good morning,” he says casually, voice audible through the speaker.
“Good morning,” you reply back, albeit distractedly. “Uh, Jake?”
“Yeah?” He sounds like he’s holding his breath over the line.
You squint at him down below, crossing your arm under the one that’s holding the phone up. “It’s seven in the morning. Why are you in my yard?”
He laughs—that beautiful, rich, cheerful sound that makes your heart do a somersault in your chest. “Oh, right,” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he just realized this isn’t a normal thing to do. “I was worried about you.”
“About me?” You point to yourself, eyebrows raised.
He nods from his spot in your yard. “Yes, you. You were acting all weird last night when I texted you and…”
“And you what, Jake?” You bite your lip absentmindedly, nerves running rampant through you. You don’t even know what you want him to say, but you’re holding out hope for something.
“I didn’t know,” he starts off quiet and slow, “if I had messed things up last night. With you.”
You shut your eyes and let out a deep breath through your nose. Your body burns with embarrassment. Gosh, you’re such an idiot. Of course that’s why he’s so concerned. You had to go ahead and let your feelings almost come to surface, and now everything is messed up. He probably thinks you had a freaking stroke after what you pulled with that stupid cheek kiss last night. The magic solution for boo-boos? At your big age? He definitely thought some weird body swap happened in that moment, because why on earth would you act so out of character? It probably terrified him, maybe even made him uncomfortable. You’re his best friend, why are you going and catching feelings from a made-up relationship that was your idea in the first place? It’s pathetic. It’s humiliating. He probably came all the way over here so he could let you down easy in person. That’s even worse! What are you supposed to do now? Are you supposed to just pretend like this never happened? That you never jumped in without thinking, lost all your resolve, and came to the realization that your moms have been right all along: you and Jake are meant to be together? You want to curl up into a ball and never, ever uncoil. You start thinking of logical excuses for your dumb behavior. Sorry about that, I was temporarily possessed-
“I wasn’t sure if I crossed a line.” The heaviness in his voice makes you put a pin in your unrelenting thoughts. “If I scared you away.”
Your brain isn’t working. “Um,” you say intelligently. “What?”
He sighs deeply over the phone starts pacing back and forth in your yard. “Do you… do you think I was too much last night?”
Too much? Oh, Lord, he was everything. “No,” you answer honestly. “Is this about dinner? ‘Cause you were perfect.”
He chuckles in relief. “Oh, okay. Good, that’s good. I just,” he pauses, his steps also coming to a stop. “You looked kind of… terrified?” He turns the statement into a question, like he’s looking for confirmation.
Crap. You knew you should’ve practiced your poker face one more time. One stupid slip and everything blows up. Wait. Maybe he didn’t realize what exactly you were so afraid of. You cough. “Of what?”
“When I was telling the story of when I realized I wanted you.” The way he mentions it like it was a true tale makes you lightheaded. “I didn’t even finish it and you started choking on your water.”
Damn it, you’re too obvious. “Oh! That!” You try to laugh it off, which comes out way too loud and way too high pitched to be authentic, and he knows that. “That was completely unrelated.”
“Right,” he agrees, but you can tell from his tone he does not believe you one bit. He’s onto you. “And after, when I drove you home. You were looking at me like I was gonna whip out a machete and skin you alive.”
“Whoa,” you object, locking eyes with him through the window. “That because you just started randomly stripping in front of me-”
“I took my sweater off, I wasn’t going full nude,” he laughs fully, doubling over for a second before looking at you again. “I wasn’t aware my bare stomach was such a sensitive topic for you.”
Neither did you. But due to recent events, you’ve concluded that it very much is. “Shut up,” you tell him, fighting the burn in your face. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”
“Hm,” he hums. That’s all he does. It infuriates you.
“Look,” you start, beginning to realize you won’t win this time, “if you came over just to check on me, I assure you, I’m fine-”
“That’s not why I’m here.” Jake keeps his eyes on you, challenging, daring you to ask why.
You fall for it, hook, line, and sinker. “Then what are you doing here?” you ask tiredly.
Now it’s his turn to look like he’s on the verge of imminent explosion. His free hand starts fidgeting and he’s not looking at you anymore. Here it comes. He’s feeling bad because he doesn’t want to absolutely crush your soul with his clarification of your relationship: best friends and nothing more.
You don’t want to play this part anymore. You’re done. “Jake, you don’t have to.”
His head shoots up, confusion clear on his face. “What?”
“I know what you’re going to say,” you begin quickly, trying to get it out as fast as possible so you have to suffer for a shorter amount of time. “We don’t have to talk about it. We can just carry on like none of this ever happened, and just forever maintain that our moms were wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” he asks, voice airy. His eyes are wide again as he looks at you.
Every second of eye contact stings. You turn around and walk a few steps, eyes darting all around your room in hopes of finding a distraction. “You know what,” you laugh nervously. Seriously, what is going on? “Wrong about us being meant for each other, wrong that we’re a good couple-”
“What if I agree with them?”
Your whole body locks up on the spot. You take a short glance at your window. One step closer and you’d be able to see him again. You feel like you’ve started burning up and the blood in your veins has turned to ice, simultaneously.
“... what?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.
Jake laughs breathily, and you can picture it perfectly in your mind even though you can’t see him. “Can you just come down here, please? I’d rather not do this over the phone.”
You don’t answer him; you can’t. All you can do is hit the red button to end the call, grab a pair of slippers, and fumble with your doorknob before remembering your door swings out, not in. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a pack of gum sitting on your dresser. You grab a stick of gum and unwrap it quickly, shoving it into your mouth and chewing furiously. Just in case.
You stumble down the stairs, through the living room, and past the kitchen, but a pop of color catches your eye. You backtrack a few steps, taking a long look at the bouquet of roses Jake gave you before the date, now lying on your kitchen table.
Their deep red pigment is taunting you, a tantalizing reminder of the illusory hoax of a romance you just embarked on. A small jab at whatever it is you’re feeling right now. Then you realize they’re just dumb flowers, and Jake is waiting for you behind that door. You take off without a second thought.
The door swings open, slamming loudly behind you as you run out onto your lawn. He’s waiting there in the same spot, his back toward you. Jake hears you approach and turns around, smiling when he lays eyes on you.
“Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi,” you reply just as faintly.
He takes in your frazzled appearance, from your well-loved pajama pants, to your messy bedhead, to your tired yet bright eyes, to the oversized hoodie you’re wearing. He grins wider when he recognizes it as one of his own. “Nice hoodie.”
Your eyes expand like saucers and you wrap your arms around yourself like that hides the garment. You feel like you’ve been caught with some serious contraband and not just a hoodie. “I’ll give it back to you,” you rush to explain, ridden with guilt. “Today, if you want!”
“Keep it.” He laughs and takes a step closer toward you. “You wear it better, anyway.”
You blush, ducking your head to keep him from seeing. He notices anyway. He always notices.
“I found your valentine,” you say out of the blue, not wanting a single second of silence. “The original one.”
His eyes soften. “Really?”
You nod. “My mom was going through a whole box of old cards and stuff when I got home,” you share. “She said it was from kindergarten.”
“It is,” Jake confirms. “I’ve had it in my bottom drawer for ages now. The one you gave me.”
You weren’t expecting him to say that. You were in his room all the time and apparently had no idea he was storing nostalgic pieces of paper in there, right under your nose. You can’t help but ask, “Why?”
“My mom always wanted it to be kept safe,” he says, “but also said she wanted me to keep it close.” He stops, just looking at you, debating whether or not to continue. “Same with this.”
He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded origami rose. The color is faded, edges frayed slightly by the passage of time.
He holds it up in front of you. “You gave me this with that card in kindergarten,” he says fondly, looking at it with adoration. “One day in second grade, I was mad at you. You kept calling me Worm all day at school, and I came home absolutely done with you.”
You don’t say anything, just listen intently. You’ve never heard this story before.
“It’s stupid, really, but I told my mom I didn’t want to be friends with you anymore,” he chuckles, reminiscing as he stares at the paper flower. “I said I was gonna throw this away because you made me mad and I didn’t want to see you.” His eyes fix on yours. “She sat me down and told me, ‘Jake,’” he begins, doing his best mom voice, which makes you laugh a bit. “‘Y/N is a very special friend to you. I think if you stopped being friends with her, you’d be very sad.’
And then she asked me, ‘How would you feel if she got a new best friend and started calling him Worm instead of you?’” He laughs louder, shaking his head. “Man, that made things even worse. That scared me, the thought of you hanging out with someone else. That’s when I decided I was never going to stop being your friend, and I was going to do everything in my power to make sure that you’d never want to bother anyone as much as you wanted to bother me.”
For some insane reason, your eyes start to water the more he goes on. You remember that day. You’d thought calling him Worm was funny; he was okay with it when you guys were outside of school, anyway. He became annoyed with you and didn’t say goodbye when he went home. That made you sad for the rest of the day. The next morning when you saw Jake, you expected him to still be mad at you. He wasn’t.
“I remember,” you laugh. “The next day at school, I thought you were gonna ignore me the whole day. I felt bad.” You smile at the memory. “You gave me a hug when I saw you.”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, first and last time for a long, long while.” He winces, “I could tell right away you hated it.”
“My opinion’s been swayed,” you say, testing. You look at him and give him a small, knowing smile. “I think I’m starting to get it now.”
He half smirks. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” You shift your focus off of his eyes because you can’t handle how he’s looking at you. Looking over his shoulder at the trees surrounding your house, you comment haphazardly, “Man, they really need to trim those hedges. Look at ‘em all overgrown and messy.”
“Y/N.” The tone in his voice makes you freeze again.
“Jake,” you respond in the same way, trying to disguise your internal panic. “What?”
“I don’t care about your foliage.” He takes one step closer to you. “And neither do you.”
“That’s not true,” you deny quickly, “I am very passionate about nature and gardening.”
He doesn’t break a smile, just takes another step. “You can’t grow a plant to save your life.”
“Well, that’s rude,” you scoff, your heart hammering in your ears as he closes in on you. “You know, I think if I really put my mind to it-”
“Y/N,” he repeats again, “why are we talking about vegetation?”
You purse your lips. “I…” No excuses come to mind. “I don’t know, Jake.”
Another step. “Do you even remember why you’re down here?”
“Because,” you swallow, the air all of a sudden feeling thick and heady. “You asked me to come down,” you recall, “so you could tell me why you’re really here.” You close your eyes for one second, take a deep breath, and bite the bullet. You lock eyes with him. “Why are you here, Jake?”
He just stares at you for around four seconds. You start to think, Oh, damn it, he’s trying to phrase how to let me down slowly, and brace yourself for impact. But then he moves forward again, hand reaching out. He freezes. Takes another hesitant step and retracts it. You hear him exhale audibly, heavily, before he surges forward so he’s standing right there in front of you.
“Oh, my gosh,” he says, “I can’t do this anymore. Screw it.”
You expect the rejection to come quick, bitter and stinging. It doesn’t happen.
Jake twirls the paper rose in his hand, looking at it as if it’s made of gold. “My mom never let me throw this away,” he reminds you. “She always said I’d regret it cause I might need it someday. I guess she was right.” He looks at you again. “Y/N, I’m losing my mind.”
Your throat is dryer than a desert. Somehow you will yourself to ask, “Over what?”
“You!” He laughs in disbelief, moving even closer. “I couldn’t sleep at all last night. Not a single second.” He temporizes whether or not he should keep going. “I…” he starts slow, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t want to ruin things. Between us, I mean.”
And so it starts, you believe. Next will come the line about how this was fun, but you really are better off staying friends. You look down, eyes lasering in on the blades of grass beneath your slippers.
“But I can’t help it.”
You so incredibly slowly raise your head to look him in the face. His pupils are blown, mouth slightly agape and his cheeks are slightly flushed.
Jake swallows, opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Y/N, I can’t pretend anymore.” His eyes survey yours, checking for any signs of discomfort or hesitation. He doesn’t find any and continues. “I know this was all just fake to get our moms off our backs,” he starts, “and I know none of it meant anything and it was all just a means to an end.” Both of his hands brush through his hair, gripping his scalp before dropping down again. “But I’ve never felt like something was more right. Ever. In my entire life.”
All you can do is stare at him, unable to even blink or nod or offer any sort of acknowledgment.
He goes on, “I don’t know if it’s all in my head and I’m just crazy or what,” he says, “but there’s no way you didn’t feel something these past few weeks… is there?”
You shake your head quickly, urging him to go on.
“I’ve been going insane ever since last night,” he says. “Well, for longer than that, but especially since last night. Being out with you, taking you on a date, holding your hand, getting to go on and on about how I adore you,” he gushes, eyes bright. “That was the best thing ever.” His smile flickers for a second, now unsure. “And it wasn’t real.”
“Jake…” you say, trying to find your voice. It’s shaky and subdued, but it’s there. “That was all just apart of the plan wasn’t it? All rehearsed lines and made up feelings.”
He lets out one short laugh, closes his eyes, then looks up to the sky like God is playing some cruel joke on him. “I should find it flattering that you think I’m that good of an actor.” He looks back at you. “Seriously, Y/N, do you think I’m freaking Christian Bale or something?” He sighs then goes quiet, so quiet you could swear you hear his heartbeat. “I wasn’t faking anything. I haven’t been for a while now.”
Letting his words hang in the air, you take a long few seconds to fully soak in what he’s saying. From his side, it’s been real. Since even before last night. You’re looking at him, but not really seeing him, his features blurring together by the second as your vision becomes hazy. It feels like the world is tilting on its axis.
“Hey,” he says upon noticing you looking dazed. His brows knit slightly with soft concern. “Are you okay?”
His voice shakes you out of it again. “Tell me you’re being one hundred percent serious right now,” you say instead of answering his question. “Swear on Layla.”
He changes his expression to an earnest one, eyes locked straight on yours. “I’m being fully honest with you. I swear on Layla, I’m the worst fake boyfriend ever.” His hands twitch at his sides, hesitant to touch you before he gives in, gently holding both of your hands in his. “I need to know,” he says quietly, just for you, “that it’s not just me. It’s not all in my head.” His eyes stare into yours, glassy and full of emotion.
You want to tell him of course it’s not in his head. You want to tell him that you feel the exact same, right down to the evident panic displayed in his eyes. But it needs to be right. You start thinking it over. For the first time in your life, you legitimately have no idea what to say to Jake. You just look at him with your lips parted, breath hitching every couple seconds like you’re about to say something, but then nothing comes out.
His body falters, doubt and embarrassment flashing across his face, head tilting down. His hands holding yours tremor, and you already know what he’s probably thinking. He read the situation wrong. You don’t feel the same. He has to go jump off a cliff now.
You hear sirens going on in your head when he tries to release his grip on you, his hands loosening and preparing to back away. You can’t let it be like this. In a frenzy fueled by adrenaline that’s kicked in way too late to be useful, you clutch his hands in yours.
“Stop,” you say hurriedly, voice strung with alarm. “It’s not.” You swallow, finally finding the words. “It’s not just you. It’s not all in your head.”
Jake slowly lifts his head, peeking his eyes at you. “It’s not?” he asks timidly.
You shake your head no, unable to stop explaining now that you’ve started. “I thought I messed up, that I would ruin our friendship if I let these… new feelings happen,” you explain. “It just felt so stupid to me, you know? I mean, after all these years we both spent, like, aggressively detesting a romantic relationship, I just,” you pause, thinking. “I felt like I’d be conforming to some dumb cliche.”
He laughs brokenly, easing the tension slightly. “I get it,” he says. “Really, I do. Except it just makes me feel kind of like an idiot. Like it took me this long to realize what everyone’s been saying forever.” He looks at you in full. “What was in front of me this whole time.”
Your entire body shivers, feeling like it’s been electrocuted and doused in water at the same time. You think back to the conversation you had in his kitchen about relationships of years past, or more so the lack thereof.
“Did you really mean what you said that night in the kitchen?” you ask. “When I asked you why you never really dated anybody?”
Jake facepalms, his eyes squeezed shut. “I was hoping you didn’t register that.” He drags his hand down his face with a groan. “Yeah. I did,” he admits. “I didn’t even think about what I was saying. It just came out.” He eyes you warily. “Do you… think that’s weird?”
You consider the big picture from Jake’s perspective. “Not really,” you answer. “If anything, you could blame it on being brainwashed by our moms. I’m sure there’s some psychological backup to that.”
“That would be a lie,” he confesses. “That has nothing to do with them and everything to do with you, Y/N.”
There he goes again with those perfectly crafted words that turns your stomach into a wildlife reserve for very active and annoying butterflies.
“The story of when I realized I was falling for you?” he recalls. “The one that I pitched and ‘altered?’ Completely accurate.” He smiles lopsidedly. “It’s how you’re always there. And I don’t mean the same always like how my mom’s always yelling at me to stop leaving my shoes by the door, or how we always have homework on Tuesdays.”
He reaches up and brushes away a strand of hair that’s been blown into your face by the light morning breeze. “I mean always as in, I can’t think of a single time I’ve needed you by my side and you weren’t there. The good, the bad, the ugly, the downright humiliating. You know it all, Y/N,” he breathes out. “You know me.” He locks eyes with you. “You’ve seen every version of me. Every birthday, every stupid phase, every pubescent hormonal imbalance—you saw all of it. And you stayed.”
Against your will, the tears in your eyes threaten to spill over upon hearing his impromptu speech. In your eyes, not having Jake in your life wasn’t even an option in any circumstance, especially not for something as minimal as a couple moody days or miscommunications. Your relationship was stronger than that. It was resolute, built on eighteen years of life spent together, things only the two of you understand, countless petty arguments that only strengthened your bond.
“If I had to picture myself with anyone, it’s not even a question,” he states firmly. “It would be you. No matter when you asked me, it would always be you.” He takes a long, deep breath. “I can’t imagine ever loving anyone the way I love you.”
You pout, fighting back the tears. Your heart is on the verge of explosion. “I feel the same way.”
“Y/N.” He takes hold of your hands again. “I mean it. I love you.”
“I know,” you say with a smile, feeling all sappy. “I love you too, Jake.”
“No, like,” he pants, running a hand through his hair once. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”
The world should explode right about now. Cracks should spread throughout the ground before you’re swallowed by an enormous sinkhole.
But it doesn’t.
In fact, it feels like quite the opposite. That horrible, heavy feeling that’s been in your chest for the past couple of weeks? Gone the second those words leave Jake’s mouth.
Your grin is so wide your cheeks ache. “I love you too, Jake,” you repeat again.
He smiles brightly, all the tension melting from his shoulders as he pulls you in for a hug. A real hug, one where you don’t care if it looks believable or not. You melt into his embrace, eyes fluttering shut as you take a deep breath, breathing him in. He smells like sunshine and his laundry detergent and that something so undeniably Jake. You wish you could turn it into a candle scent and keep it burning for the rest of your life. You sigh in content, nuzzling into his chest with a satisfied smile on your face. Everything feels right like this.
“Do you know what made me decide to finally suck it up and tell you?” he asks after a moment of comfortable silence, his cheek resting against the top of your head.
You hum in question, too happy to actually form words.
“It was what you said at dinner,” he says. “When you said we’d go back to being friends and nothing would change, I just wouldn’t kiss you and bring you flowers anymore.” He pulls back so that you’re still close but face to face now. “Hearing you say that felt like I was being robbed. I don’t want that,” he confesses. “I want to keep kissing you and bringing you flowers.”
A wave of warmth spreads over you. You feel lightheaded, but remain composed. “Yeah?” you breathe out, eyes flicking down to his lips, unable to help it.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he mirrors you, simply nodding. You wonder if this is going to hold out for long, but then he swoops down and kisses you warmly on the cheek. When he pulls away, you feel like your skin is burning where his lips touched.
“Was that… okay?” he asks nervously, unsure if he crossed a line.
You don’t smile. “No.”
He looks at you like you’ve just slapped him across the face again. “Wh-what?”
“It wasn’t okay,” you say quietly, leaning closer to him, lips almost brushing his. “You missed. Try again, Worm.”
His face breaks into a grin, the former worries leaving in an instant. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” You nod, smiling back at him.
Obediently following your orders, he closes the distance between you, and this time, fully presses his lips against yours. You shut your eyes instinctively, focusing on the feeling. His lips are warm and soft. It’s tentative at first, just a gentle pressure like he’s testing the waters, giving you time to shove him off if you wanted to. You don’t. You really don’t. You smile into the kiss at his bashfulness, hand coming up to comb through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you and deepening the connection. Feeling your confidence, he meets you with equal fervor, hands reaching up to cup your face. You can feel him smile back against your lips, tilting his head slightly to change the angle, opening your mouth with his. He groans softly without meaning to, and you can’t help but giggle, pulling away slightly to catch your breath.
“What?” he asks breathlessly, eyes still closed, forehead pressed against yours.
“I just,” you laugh out faintly. “Wow.”
He opens his eyes. “Yeah,” he agrees, “wow.” He clicks his tongue. “You taste minty,” he says like he’s making a discovery, “and I know you didn’t take the time to brush your teeth before you came down here.” A knowing look comes across his face and you want to die. “Did you… chew gum before coming down to see me?” He smirks. “You were planning on kissing me, weren’t you?”
You flush so quickly it’s embarrassing. “No, I was not,” you deny, very much not true. “It’s just common courtesy to not have bad breath-“
“Nah,” he interrupts, still smiling. “You just wanted to kiss me.”
You roll your eyes, annoyed, and try to back away from him, but he wraps his arms around your waist, anchoring you to his body.
“Oh, shut up,” you laugh, pushing lightly against his chest. “If you’re gonna be a jerk about it, then I’ll just go back inside and act like this never-“
He cuts you off with another kiss, lips back against yours like they’re magnetized. He sighs happily, arms tightening around you as you kiss him back.
“You know you can’t just kiss me now whenever I’m arguing with you,” you say in between kisses.
“I know,” he says, then pecks you on the lips. “But,” he adds after another peck. “It’s worth a try.” He kisses you long, exhaling through his nose and holding you against him.
You could try to retort again, but you have a feeling that’s not going to get you very far right now. So you drop it, relishing fully in the moment. You’re here with Jake. The two of you together. For real. No performances, no staged affection or scripted drama. Just him and just you. You hate to admit it, but your moms have been right all along. It was always going to be you and Jake in the end.
Operation Big Fake Date with Jake was an astounding failure. And you couldn’t be more glad.
“Yeah, he’s over here,” your mom says into the phone. She’s on a call with Jake’s mom, who had no idea of her son’s whereabouts this morning. “They’re in the yard.” She takes a sip of her coffee, standing by the window and watching as Jake kisses you again and again. Shaking her head, she just chuckles lightly before walking back to the counter. “They sure do make up quick.”
a/n: holy freakin moly bro this took way longer than i thought but it's finally out and i am soooo gladdddd!!! this is the first full fic i've ever finished so it's lowkey my firstborn child </3 i hope you enjoy these idiots in love as much as i did :)
synopsis: Jake Sim has been your best friend your entire life–even longer if you count the months spent in your mothers’ wombs. Your moms (also best friends) have been hoping, praying, and not-so-discreetly begging for you and Jake to be a couple for as long as you can remember. After eighteen years of dealing with it, you’ve had enough. You pitch your solution to Jake: pretend you finally are a couple, only to prove the point of how you’re better off as friends. But as the line between what’s real and what’s fake blurs, you start to wonder… are you really?
content: friends to lovers, romcom, fluff, angst if you squint (half of it’s fake), idiots in love, fake dating, layla cameo! rain soaked jake scene, high school au, jake and reader are both seniors in hs and 18, nostalgia, kys jokes, accidental cuddling, flowers, they don’t know how to be bad for one another lmao, mild language, reader is an overthinker, cheek kisses, real kisses, attempts at humor </3, some text messages, nicknames, they’re kind of really dumb and oblivious i’m sorry, avoidant attachment anxiety (oops), denial of feelings, but they get their crap together in the end i promise!! petty arguments, banter, falling asleep together, and other stuff i probably forgot to mention
word count:
full fic: 32.4k
pt1: 18.5k
pt2: 13.9k
now playing ˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞: ruin the friendship by taylor swift, illusion by one direction, beginning middle end by leah nobel, valentine by laufey, you’re still the one by shania twain, pancakes for dinner by lizzy mcalpine, anyone by justin bieber, change my mind by one direction, i was made for loving you ft ed sheeran by tori kelly, mary’s song (oh my my my) by taylor swift, catching feelings by justin bieber, night changes by one direction
a/n: ohhhhh my gosh i'm so happy that this fic is finally done! i started writing this in JANUARY and was supposed to finish it by vday, so this is a very delayed release 😭 but i’m so excited to get to share this w you all. thank you soooo much for almost 500 notes on the teaser, that’s insane 🥹🥹🥹 anyway hope u enjoy ! 😛
“I don’t know why she doesn’t just break up with him already,” you say, venting your frustration. Your close friend Quinn and her boyfriend got into another fight, therefore meaning you got to deal with another week listening to how horrible he is.
“Love’s tough, man,” Jake says solemnly, scrolling mindlessly on his phone.
The two of you are posted up in his childhood bedroom, the same one where you once ran into the dresser and broke your wrist. You had been playing a very intense game of “rocket tag” (as dubbed by your six year old selves) and barrelled into his dresser in the dark. You felt that deafening crack of bone and immediately started crying. Jake came into the room a second later, first declaring victory as he laughed and tagged you on the shoulder, then kneeled down to ask you if you were okay, reassuring you that everything would be fine. That pretty much sums up the nature of your relationship.
You and Jake have been best friends since birth. Literally. You both had no say in the matter. Your moms have been best friends since high school, remaining just as close despite the odds in college and beyond. As years passed, weddings were thrown, and families expanded, your moms were over the moon to find out that their respective babies would be born exactly a month apart. Jake came first, kicking and screaming his way into the world with a fiery nature only he possessed. A month later you joined him, just as loud but with your own special attitude about you.
Your first play date was when you were a week old. Jake’s mom brought him over to your house to meet you for the first time, she and your mom both ooh-ing and ah-ing as the two of you did nothing but wriggle next to each other on the floor of the playpen. They snapped a picture which is still framed today in both of your living rooms.
Since then, you’ve never known life without Jake. He’s always just been a known presence, like how there were always stars in the sky and always laundry to be done. There was always Jake.
You’re currently lying on his bed, on your back with your legs propped up against the wall, your toes pointing toward the ceiling. He’s sitting in the rolling chair by his desk, one leg tucked underneath him, the other swaying the chair back and forth in a comfortable rhythm.
“Like you know anything about love,” you snort, breaking into a laugh. “Your one and only love was your girlfriend of one week in seventh grade.”
Jake looks up from his phone and frowns, his fist flying to his chest as if you stabbed him. “Don’t talk about Naomi like that. My heart never healed from when she dumped me in the hallway after geography.” He winces, then smiles and rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you’ve done any better.”
You scoff indignantly. “Excuse you. I had a beautiful, heated, loving relationship with Nick for one whole month in sophomore year.”
“Right,” he drawls, “how could I forget? He cornered me after school and threatened me because he saw me get in the car with you when your mom picked you up. Asked me if I was trying to ‘swoop in on his chick.’”
You purse your lips and sigh dramatically. “Man, he was the one.”
“Whatever happened to Naomi and Nick anyway?” he asks, still not looking up from his phone. It’s now turned sideways, so you know he just started a game of FIFA.
“I genuinely believe they’re dating now,” you say seriously. “I saw someone post something a while ago.”
Jake’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he looks up at you. “Seriously? Huh. Good for them.”
“Randomest couple ever,” you comment. “Who would’ve thought?”
“Hm,” Jake ponders, tilting his head toward the ceiling. “Honestly, I think they’re a good match. She was always asking me to, like… ‘protect her’ or something. Like I could do much with the wide array of seventh grade muscles in my arsenal. Nick’s the guy for her.”
You guffaw, sounding like a chicken, sending Jake into his own fit of laughter. While you’re still trying to get ahold of yourself, his bedroom door opens and his mom pokes her head in.
“Hey, kiddos,” she says with a warm smile on her face. “Just came to see if you guys wanted any snacks.” She looks from your comfortable lounging to the happy expressions on your faces. “You guys are just too cute,” she remarks, shaking her head. “Laughing like an old married couple.”
“Mooooom,” Jake groans, throwing his head back. “Don’t be weird.”
You laugh again. “Thanks, Mrs. Sim. Don’t old married couples fight, though? Must be a sign we’re not meant to be.” You shrug defeatedly. Jake cackles.
“Oh,” she tuts, pouting. “You guys just need to stop being so opposed to it and give in. It’s bound to happen someday.”
Both you and Jake grimace at the same time at the suggestion of you two as a couple.
“I’m good, actually,” you decline with a pained face.
“No, thank you.” Jake actually fake gags.
Your smile drops. “Okay, dude, I’m not that unappealing. Tone it down.”
He nods in apology. “My bad, gang.” He turns back to his mom. “I think we’re good, Mom.” He smiles sweetly. “Thanks.”
“Just call if you need anything,” she says before leaving the room.
“Thank you!” you call out after her as you can hear her footsteps retreating down the stairs. “Your mom is the best,” you sigh. “I would marry you just so I could have her as my mother-in-law.”
Jake just blinks at you. “Your love for me is so pure.”
“Seriously, though,” you say, staring at the ceiling fan turn slowly. “Don’t you find it so funny how they’ve pushed for us to be a thing, since, like, literal birth? When are they gonna call it quits?”
“Have you met either of our mothers?” he questions like you’ve been replaced by a robot. “Never, that’s when.”
“I don’t get why we’d ever risk ruining our friendship, you know?” you expand, still watching the propellers spin. “Like, imagine if we dated and were just the worst couple ever.”
Jake scoffs and leans back in his chair. “That’s probably what it would take for them to finally drop this whole thing.”
A light bulb goes off in your brain.
You sit up so fast you’re light headed, your blood flow not evening out yet.
“That’s it!” you exclaim excitedly, a manic grin on your face.
His brows furrow. “What’s it?”
“That’s how we get them to stop,” you explain, planning it all out in your head. “We pretend that we’re finally a couple, but then we act so incompatible and just awful together that they’ll see we’re better off as friends.”
His eyes flicker, a spark of intrigue burning behind them. “And we make them think that we are just so terrible together, even go through a nasty breakup right in front of them.” He’s now wearing an evil grin matching yours.
“Exactly!” you fight the urge to scream. “Make it so bad that they never even bring up the topic of us dating again. Like they think we’re so traumatized but we’re still friends.”
“Ooh-hoo,” Jake whistles out, low. “I love your twisted brain. When should we do it, though?”
“Valentines.” You snap your finger when the thought comes to you, your brain now working overtime. “Think about it. The holiday of love?”
His smile grows even wider, if possible. “We act like we have some big plans for the day, then royally screw them up.” He’s getting that crazy look in his eye that you know all too well. “It all goes down in flames.”
You nod in enthusiastic agreement. “It’s perfect.” You can’t help but rub your hands together maniacally. “So how should we start?”
“Well, Valentines is in what, like two weeks, right?” Jake asks. “I say we start dropping hints about it now, so that by the time the big day rolls around, we’ve got all this build up that we could crush.”
You simply hum, nodding your head but zoning out. You’re scheming in that twisted brain of yours, as Jake called it. This will take strategic planning and diligent execution. It couldn’t just be a one and done type deal, you needed credibility. It had to be believable.
“I’m gonna start saying like, ‘Oh my goodness, Mom, Jake looked so handsome today,’” you announce. Consider this the first phase of the plan.
Jake snickers. “Are you serious?” he asks, fighting back another laugh. “Is that gonna work?”
You groan and stare at him with tired eyes. “You have no idea how much my mom will freak out when she hears those words come out of my mouth. I kid you not, every time we come back from seeing you, she says something like, ‘Don’t you think Jake looked nice today?’ or ‘You two looked so good together, you’d make such an attractive couple.’”
“Holy crap,” he mumbles, dragging his hands over his face, grinning like a little kid. “This is gonna be so much fun.”
Before you go home that night, you and Jake agree to start setting your plan into motion. Operation Big Fake Date with Jake starts now.
The name is a work in progress.
Jake is very keen on it.
You are not.
The first phase: laying the groundwork.
You descend down the stairs and go say goodbye to his parents before you leave as per usual. Jake follows close behind you, ready to strike when needed.
“Bye, Mr. Sim!” you call out to his dad, who’s sitting on his favorite recliner in the living room.
He smiles affectionately at you. “See you, Y/N. Always a pleasure to have you over.” He looks from you to Jake, like he’s in on a secret that you two don’t know about. He just chuckles to himself and shakes his head, turning his attention back to the sports game he was watching on the TV.
Jake’s mom is sitting at the kitchen counter, nursing a cup of hot tea like she does every evening. You remember the first time you saw her like this. You were five years old and sleeping over at their house while your parents were out of town for a wedding. You and Jake were so excited about a two day long sleepover, you had barely bothered to say goodbye to your parents. He fell asleep in minutes, exhausted from all the playing you had done earlier in the day.
You, on the other hand, tossed and turned for what felt like hours, unable to close your eyes. You missed your parents. You felt guilty for not saying goodbye long enough. What if they decided you were a bad daughter and didn’t want to come back? Your five year old brain was then racing with ridiculous scenarios in which you were disowned by your family, shattering your tiny heart.
Eventually you gave up, taking your blanket with you and waddling down the stairs, eyes puffy and hair a mess. Jake’s mom was sitting in the same spot with the same mug, reading a book. She caught you out of the corner of her eye, looking at your sniffling as you walked toward her.
“Y/N, sweetie, what’s wrong?” she asked, looking at your sad eyes and red cheeks.
You tried to tell her how you felt, but no words came out. Instead, you started crying again.
She smiled at you with sympathy and moved off her chair toward you, crouching down to your height. “Hey, Bug,” she said, wiping your tears with the back of her hand. “Do you wanna come sit with me for a little bit?”
You nodded through your tears and followed her to the couch, where she wrapped your blanket around you and cradled you on her lap. She just sat with you in silence, stroking your hair the way you like in a steady rhythm that made you sleepy. Your crying subsided, only a few residual sniffles coming out every now and then.
“I miss mommy and daddy,” you whispered, burying your face in the crook between her neck and shoulder.
“Aww,” she cooed, reaching up to rub your back soothingly. “I know, sweetheart. But they’ll be back before you know it.”
You raised your head and looked at her with an intense stare for a toddler. “Promise?” you asked as you wiped your nose on your sleeve.
She smiled down at you and lightly pinched your cheek, crinkling her nose at you. “Promise.”
You instantly felt at ease. You always knew you could trust Mrs. Sim. Soon after, you drifted off and fell asleep on her lap. Instead of returning you upstairs to Jake’s pull-out trundle bed, she stayed with you on the couch all night.
Needless to say, you love her like she’s your own mother.
“You heading out, Bug?” she asks when she sees you walking over. The nickname has still stuck even after all these years.
It started when your moms had taken you and Jake out for a picnic when you were 5 months and Jake was 6 months. A ladybug landed on your nose and you just stared up at it, giggling. The moms started calling you their little lovebug, and eventually ‘Bug’ became your second moniker. There was once an incident where six year old Jake, wanting to be included too, pitched his own nickname idea: Worm. He doesn’t like talking about it. You still call him by it when you want to get on his nerves, which is fairly often.
“Yeah,” you confirm, going to hug her goodnight. “It’s getting late and I think my mom wants me home.”
“Oh, please,” she dismisses with a wave of her hand. “You know you’re welcome to stay over any night.”
You smile, never failing to feel welcome in the Sim home. They’ve told you time and time again that you’re like an honorable additional child to them. Not to mention all the times Mrs. Sim adds in a sing-song voice, ‘Y/N Sim has a nice ring to it…’
“I know, I know,” you agree, “but I have some stuff to do at home. Besides, Jake is sick of me.”
“Never,” Jake says from his spot against the wall. He’s leaning against it with his arms crossed, a smug but soft smile on his face. He grabs his keys off the hook and walks over to you and his mom, swinging them around on his pointer finger. “But your mom would prefer if you went home to clean your room.”
“Shh,” you silence him, putting your finger up to his lips. “These deeds must not be thought.”
He snaps his teeth to try and bite your finger, to which you speedily retract your hand and exclaim, “EW,” then flick him on the forehead. “Cannibal.”
“Acquired taste,” Jake corrects, grinning to show off his fabulous smile and pointed canines. The four years he had braces surely paid off. “C’mon, let’s head out.” He gestures with his arm toward the door. “Get out of my house so I can go to bed.”
You roll your eyes at him and hug his mom once more.
She whispers in your ear, “You let me know if he annoys you too much.” She winks when you pull back.
“You’ll be the first to know, trust me.” You force out a giggle, trying to look giddy yet shy. “But honestly… I’m starting to think he’s not that bad,” you whisper back.
It’s comical how her eyes widen and her face lights up, as if all her dreams are coming true.
“Anyway,” you perk up, acting normal again, “you’re right, we should go.” You grab him by the hand and drag him out the door, shouting a goodbye as you exit.
“GOSH, Y/N, YOU’RE HOLDING MY HAND SO TIGHT,” Jake says, making sure he’s loud enough that his parents could hear him through the front door. You’re not even holding hands anymore, just putting on a show.
“YOU KNOW YOU LOVE IT,” you shout at the same volume as you walk toward his car. Both of you then fake obnoxiously loud laughter before you get in.
“Okay,” he whispers when the car doors shut. “That was good.”
“Why are you whispering? They can’t hear us anymore, you bozo.” You look at him like he just spawned onto earth.
“Leave me alone,” he complains, making a snarky face at you, “you can never be too safe.”
“Whatever,” you remark and get back on topic. “Yes, that was good. I can already picture your mom’s face behind that door.”
Jake lets out a breathless laugh. “She probably went over to my dad and asked him to check on the savings account for our wedding.”
“Oh, you guys have one of those too?” you say sarcastically. “Thought it was just me. It’ll be the event of the century.”
He just laughs again, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. He wordlessly hands you his phone to play some music. You’re always DJ when Jake drives. You go to your shared Spotify mix and play Illusion by One Direction. As he turns the key in the ignition and pulls out of the driveway, you start cooking up the next part of your plan.
“Phase one: part one is done,” you announce over the music. “Now we gotta start dropping hints to my mom.”
“Should we just do it now when I drop you off?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the road. “Like, I don’t know… we go in all lovey-dovey or whatever.”
“I like the way you think, Sim,” you commend. “We can work with that.”
You pull up to your house and Jake kills the engine.
“You got it?” you ask him, making sure he knows the game plan.
“Got it,” he affirms.
He walks you to your front door and the two of you enter, taking your shoes off at the entryway.
“I’m home!” you announce, walking into the kitchen.
You find your mom hunched over the stove, taking out something out of the oven. She turns at the sound of your voice and smiles big when she sees you and Jake.
“Hello!” she greets, removing her oven mitts and shuffling over to the two of you.
She hugs you first and gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, then beams at Jake with open arms. He accepts the hug with equal enthusiasm. You smile to yourself watching them, knowing that Jake has just as special a bond with your mom as you do with his. She used to call him ‘her Jakey’, a nickname he somewhat grew out of once you guys reached high school. His heart still warms whenever it slips out, though.
“Hey, Mrs. L/N,” he smiles into the hug. “Hope you didn’t mind me keeping this one out too late.”
“You could keep her forever if you wanted to,” your mom teases, looking at you like she’s waiting for you to say something about it. Usually you would groan out a complaint and tell her to stop it, that things aren’t like that between you and Jake.
Now, though, you try to hide a smile and look away, flustered. Your mom’s reaction is identical to her best friend’s.
“If only she’d let me,” Jake says back with a sigh. “I’m trying, trust me.” He winks at you, to which you blush and roll your eyes.
Your mom looks like she just won the lottery.
“So, whatcha baking?” Jake changes the subject, peering over at the counter hungrily.
You can tell your mom is trying to remain calm at the obvious development between the two of you. She looks like she’s in a trance before she snaps back into focus. “Oh! It’s your favorite, actually.”
His eyes light up. “Nanaberry bites?”
At her nod, Jake practically sprints over to the counter, pinching his fingers greedily while he feasts his eyes on the treats. Nanaberry bites were your mom’s specialty and Jake’s favorite snack since forever. They’re strawberry banana bread baked in mini cupcake tins, heaven in every bite. When Jake was still learning how to talk, he had condensed the name to ‘nanaberry.’ Everyone thought it was adorable and started calling them that, too.
“Can I have one? Please?” he begs, mouth practically drooling.
“Of course,” your mom says. “Just be careful, they’re still hot.”
He plucks one from the pan and immediately stuffs it in his mouth, panting from the heat as it burns his tongue. “Ah, ah-“
You take a seat at the counter beside him. “She said be careful,” you chide, taking one for yourself and carefully tearing it in half so it releases some steam. You pop one half into your mouth. “Mm,” you hum approvingly. “So good, Mom.”
“Thanks, Bug,” she says sweetly. “Why don’t you send some home with Jake? For his parents,” she offers.
“Oh my gosh,” Jake whines through his mouthful of nanaberry. “You’re the best.”
Your mom smiles at him lovingly and goes to get a tupperware container for him to take home. While her back is turned, Jake looks to you and raises his eyebrows with his hand in an OK symbol. You nod quickly and he pumps his fist in the air for a millisecond before your mom turns back around. You resume your content smile and Jake goes back for a second helping of nanaberry bites.
“I was just on the phone with your mom,” she says to Jake while she places a few of the mini muffins into a container. “She said you two were on your way over here.”
You and Jake make eye contact and smile at each other knowingly. You can see your mom’s eyes nearly pop out of her head but pretend not to notice.
She clears her throat and eyes the two of you, then starts speaking slowly, like she’s testing the waters. “You know, she said you were heading over because it was getting late and Jake was tired…”
“Oh,” Jake remarks like he’s surprised by this. “Did she? I feel fine. Great, even.”
“Really?” Your mom tries to act nonchalant about this fact, like she isn’t overanalyzing the situation. You see right through her. She just hums.
“No,” you say to Jake. “Go home. I’m tired. Of you.”
Jake’s jaw drops in fake hurt. “You wound me. I just wanted to spend some more time with you.” He pouts.
You sigh and go over to him, grabbing him by the sleeve of his hoodie and pulling him up. “C’mon, Worm,” you say.
“Hey,” he warns. “What did I do to even deserve being called Worm right now?”
“You exist,” you simply state.
Jake looks at your mom and points a finger at you. “She’s bullying me!” He grabs the container of baked goods before you start dragging him away from the counter.
“You like it,” you object, still pulling him toward the door.
Your mom’s boisterous laughter echoes throughout your house as you stop at the door. You drop his arm and stare into his eyes, setting into motion the next part of the plan. You pull Jake into a full hug, wrapping your arms around his waist as he wraps his around your shoulders.
An important piece of information would provide helpful context here. You and Jake do not hug.
You were physically comfortable with one another, obviously. There was no problem with the two of you being close. More often than not, you’d be found with Jake’s head on your shoulder or vice versa, sitting close enough that your arms touched, even holding hands was a casual occurrence.
But hugging?
That was crossing a line.
You’ve both hated hugging ever since you were little. You thought it was uncomfortable and awkward, the way your bones would contort when Jake squeezed you too hard, how weird it felt to be flush against one another. He hated it just as equally. He didn’t like how sweaty your neck was as a kid, how your bony elbows would dig into his sides, or the way your chin would poke his shoulder.
“Is she looking?” you whisper, your cheek pressed against Jake’s chest.
“I think so,” he murmurs into your hair.
After approximately 3 more seconds—long enough to mean something, not long enough to be obviously performative—you step back from him, peering up into his eyes.
“Call me when you get home,” you tell him as he puts his shoes back on.
“Of course,” he replies, smiling. He waves to your mom, who is watching you from afar, dumbstruck. “Goodnight! Thanks for the nanabread bites.”
“Anytime!” she calls back to him.
“Okay, now get out,” you say as you shove him out the door. “Bye!” You slam the door in his face.
You turn around to see your mom standing there like she just witnessed a murder. Then her expression shifts from that of shock to a smug one.
“So,” she asks casually, going to fiddle with some more baking stuff, “anything new going on?”
You take a seat at the counter again. “With me?” You pause and pretend to think for a second. “Hmm, not really.”
“So things with you and Jake are…?” She looks at you like she’s unsure if you’re going to giggle or go on your usual tangent about how you guys are just friends.
“They’re… things.” Your noncommittal answer gives a hint of mystery, yet still the promise of something more. “Don’t you think he’s matured a lot recently?” You let your gaze drift to something across the room, eyes losing focus.
“How so?” she pushes a little further.
“I don’t know,” you shrug your shoulders. “Lately he’s just been so… dreamy.”
“Dreamy?” Your mom repeats, a satisfied smile slowly but surely making its way onto her face. You rarely ever called Jake anything better than ordinary looking.
“Maybe he’s always been like this and I’ve been in denial,” you think out loud. “Maybe. It’s just… different.” A yawn overtakes you and you give in, stretching your arms above your head. “I’m tired. I’m gonna head upstairs,” you get up from your seat and give your mom a quick kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight. Love you!”
“Love you, too!” she says back. You’re already halfway up the stairs.
Once you’re safe in your room, you flop onto your bed and pull out your phone. You go to call Jake, but before you can, his contact pops up on your screen in an incoming call. Perfect timing.
“Hey,” he answers when you pick up. You can tell from the audio quality and muted background noises that he’s still driving. “How’d it go?”
“Great!” you reply, excitement coursing through your veins. “I called you dreamy and she looked like I had just gifted her an all-expenses paid trip to the Bahamas.”
Jake cackles over the phone. “Awesome. I really think the hug sold it.”
“Same,” you agree. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’s already texted your mom about it. Are you almost home?”
“I’m pulling in now,” he says. You hear him park the car and turn the engine off, his phone disconnecting from the bluetooth. “The lights are still on.” His voice is clearer now. “My mom’s probably waiting for me to walk in so she can celebrate their prophecy coming true.”
You laugh because it’s true, then freeze when you hear a creak outside your door. Your mom. “I think I’m being surveillanced,” your voice drops to a whisper. “My mom’s outside the door.”
“Oh, I got it,” Jake says. The car door slams over the line and you can hear him walking the path to his front door. “Put me on speaker. I’ll put you on, too.”
You do what he says, making sure your volume is maxed out.
You hear him turn the doorknob and enter in. “Y/N,” he says at a loud but normal volume. “Hey. Just calling to let you know I’m home now.”
Catching on to his plan, you respond, “I’m glad, Jake. Thanks again for dropping me off.”
“Of course.” His voice echoes somewhat and you can picture that he’s passing through his living room. “Anything for you. Oh, hey, Mom,” he greets her briefly. “I’m on the phone with Y/N, do you need anything before I head to bed?”
“Oh, no,” you hear her say in the distance, her smile evident in her voice. You can already see her sitting on the couch, smiling contentedly like all is finally right in the world. “You go ahead.”
“Love you, Mom. Goodnight! So, Y/N, how do you feel about going out tomorrow?” With that, he barrels up the stairs to his room. “Okay, your turn,” he whispers into the phone. “Am I on speaker?”
“Yes.” You hold your phone up high so that the sound carries. “Go for it.”
“I had a really nice time today, Y/N,” he says loud enough that he could be heard through the door. “I know this might sound weird but,” he breathes in and out. “I miss you already.”
“I miss you too, Jake.” You laugh softly. “I’ll see you again tomorrow.”
“That’s so long from now,” he complains. “Like, twelve whole hours.”
“Guess you’ll just have to wait it out, then,” you tease.
He groans but then lets out a light laugh. “You’re killing me.”
“That’s what I was born for,” you joke. Partly true, in a way. “You’ll never know peace as long as I’m here.”
“If peace means a life without you, then I hope I never know it.” His words hang in the air over the line. You know that it’s just to play into your story, but you can’t help the warmth that settles in your chest when you hear him. Even if it’s performative, it’s sweet.
You can’t let Jake know you think that, though. “You’re so sappy,” you say. “Somebody watches too many romcoms.”
That much is true. It’s not a widely known fact, but Jake is a romantic comedy enthusiast. He prefers the term ‘tenderhearted cinephile.’ His Letterboxd profile is impressive, stacked with films spanning across genres and decades. Ask him about the golden age of romcoms and you’ll be stuck for the next hour listening to him spew about the superiority of filmmaking in the 90s and 00s.
“I find them inspiring,” he defends. “They help me out with real life events.”
You laugh which turns into a yawn. It’s been a long day of scheming and pretending to have feelings for your best friend.
He hears it. “You falling asleep on me?”
Reflecting on the rest of your endeavors, you think you have enough evidence for today. “I’m getting kind of tired,” you yawn again. “I think I’ll start getting ready for bed soon.”
“Aw,” Jake says solemnly. “I wanted to talk more.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” you assure him. “I always do.”
“Okay,” he relents, drawing out the vowels. “Fine.”
“So…” you try and figure out how to end the call. “Goodnight?”
Jake then has a stroke of genius and pulls out the oldest trick in the book.
“No,” he tells you. “You hang up first.” The cheesiest line spoken by lovesick teenagers worldwide. His romcom marathons have been leading up to this very moment.
“No, you,” you tease back.
He groans dramatically. “At the same time?”
“At the same time,” you repeat.
“Okay,” he starts counting off. “Three, two, one!”
You hit the red button to hang up. The call ends. A second later, you get a text notification from Jake.
jakurrr:
was that good
i felt like shakespeare bro
you:
YES AMAZING
the line about never knowing peace was golden
jakurrr:
oh that
i was talking about the whole ‘you hang up first’ bit
i’ve thought the other thing for a long time actually
you:
seriously?
jakurr:
yeah
i think i had an epiphany in 8th grade
you:
that’s actually adorable
ru in love w me tell me now 🥹
jakurrr:
shut up ho
like i’d want ur stank self
you:
KYS OMG
ion een curr fr
jakurrr:
oh yeah?
if i’m gone then who’s gonna be apart of your little plan
you’d be bored without me
you:
man i hate you
jakurrr:
😛
thought so
you:
wait lemme change ur contact name
for realism
[screenshot]
princess aegyo golden baby puppy sim jaeyun🤤🤤:
ARE WE DEADASS
BRO DO NOT NAME ME THAT
you:
you’re no fun
this is why we’re not together
[screenshot]
how bout that
jakey <3:
see that’s better
NORMAL LOOKING
i’ll change urs too
[screenshot]
you:
i will not stand to be called
‘yn pookie wookie bear’ by ANYONE
r you serious
jakey <3:
OBVIOUSLY THAT WAS A JOKE AS WELL
[screenshot]
this good???
You load the picture he sent. It’s a screenshot of your profile with the contact name ‘bug bite :).’
you:
STOPPP THATS SO GOOD
SAUR CUTE AUR EM GEE
jakey <3:
are you mocking my accent
you:
😐
so not everything is about you actually
why do you even have an accent again 💔💔
#poser #notanaussienational
jakey <3:
MY PARENTS HAVE ACCENTS???
you:
ok and
they lived there they have an excuse
you’re just attention seeking
jakey <3:
i love you too
you:
🥰
jakey <3:
ok but fr im actually BEAT
i’m gonna go to sleep
goodnight bug
you:
goodnight worm
jakey <3:
SHUT UP I WAS SIX
you:
<3
i’ll lyk the next phase of the plan tmr 😈
You turn your phone off and go get ready for bed. Later, as you lay in your bed and stare at the ceiling in the dark, you feel so accomplished. Operation Big Fake Date with Jake was off to a spectacular start.
The next few days follow the same cycle. You and Jake hang out, act suspiciously close and unusually nice to one another, then linger around when you’re supposed to say goodbye. Rinse and repeat. Phone calls become a nightly occurrence as well.
They span longer now, past the necessary sophistry and conversation constraints. Last night, you’d stayed on the phone for three hours ranking your favorite birthday parties of years past. He chose his 5th birthday as his top pick. It was a dinosaur themed slip-n-slide party with a volcano cake. You chose your 12th birthday. It was simple but fun, a day spent at the pottery studio with your closest friends. Jake had made a frighteningly deformed excuse for a vase and gifted it to you, signed with his handprint. You keep it on your dresser still, changing the flowers when you remember to.
Now that the foundation has been laid, it’s time to start making bigger moves.
The second phase: building your credibility.
“A movie night?” your mom asks when you bring up the subject. “You wanna have Jake over for a movie night?”
“Well, yeah,” you reply. “We do movie nights all the time.” Just two weeks ago, he was over to binge watch all The Hunger Games movies with you. It was a nearly 12 hour ordeal, going in chronological order from Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes through Mockingjay - Part 2. It took sheer willpower and four energy drinks to stay awake the whole time.
“I know,” she says, well aware of the fact. “You’ve never asked before, is all.”
“Just double checking,” you smile at her. “So, yes?”
“Of course,” she answers, “You know Jake is welcome over anytime.”
You clap your hands together. “Awesome, thank you!”
You text him to come over around 6:00 and start planning your attack. Barricading the living room with fluffy blankets, big pillows, and enough snacks to feed a small country.
At 5:50, there’s a knock at the door. You get up to get it, but your mom beats you to it.
“Hi, Jake,” she greets him, probably bringing him in for a hug. You can’t see the door from your spot on the couch. “Oh my! These are beautiful!”
You’re confused at what she’s talking about, but then Jake rounds the corner, holding a sizable bouquet of tulips in his hand.
“Wow,” your jaw drops. “What are those for?”
“For you,” he says, holding them out to you when you walk over. “Or,” he coughs, “for the vase. I figured it was time you switched the flowers out.”
Your grin is huge as you take them from him. “Thank you so much. You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” he smiles back. “But I wanted to.”
“I’ll go put them in the vase real quick,” you tell him. “Be right back.”
When you come back from showing the flowers to their new home, Jake is sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone. You take a seat next to him and check over your shoulder to see if your mom’s nearby.
You lean in and whisper, “The flowers?! So good.” You fist bump him. “You didn’t tell me about it.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” he whispers. “Thought of it after our call last night.”
“Genius.” You nudge his shoulder and smile. You lean back into the couch and tuck your feet in under you. “So,” you say regularly again, grabbing the remote. “What do you wanna watch?”
“You planned this whole thing and don’t even have a movie picked out?” Jake smirks then stretches his arms so that one of them falls behind your shoulders. “I know what you’re trying to do,” he says with a wink.
You scoff playfully and go to shrug his arm off, but he tightens it around your shoulder. You give up the fight and relax, melting further into his side. Scrolling through movie options on the TV, you get to the romcom section and give Jake a knowing look. “Thoughts from the expert?”
He looks thoughtfully at the screen, fist coming up to rest under his chin. “What are we thinking? Classic? More rom, less com? Sad ending? New?”
“Classic. Not too old, though, relatively modern. More rom, less com. Happy ending,” are the requirements you give him.
“Got it,” he says immediately, clicking through titles until he lands on the one he’s looking for. “Perfect.”
You’re not surprised when you see what he’s picked. You should’ve seen it coming from a mile away. “Oh, of course.”
“What?” he asks defensively, laughing. “It checks all the boxes! And it’s so good!”
You can’t help but giggle a little. “I just can’t believe that To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before is still your favorite movie after all this time.”
“That’s because it’s a timeless masterpiece,” he explains logically. “And I think it’s the perfect choice. We could watch it for inspiration.”
“For?” you question.
He raises his eyebrows like it’s obvious. “Fake dating, hello?” He lowers his voice, “we’re basically the same as them. Take notes.”
“Shoot, you’re right.” You reach for the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. “Jake Sim, friend to women. Soft guy.”
He scoffs. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re like, you know,” you pop a piece of popcorn into your mouth. “Soft. Considerate. Has a mental catalogue of romantic comedies. Drinks matcha with strawberry cold foam.”
“God forbid a guy was raised right and has interests.” He grabs a handful of popcorn, shoving it into his mouth. “And elevated taste in beverages.”
“Classy,” you remark sarcastically, taking the remote from him and pressing play on the movie.
He rolls his eyes and mumbles a comeback through his chewing. “Whatever,” he says after he swallows. “Let’s look coupley.”
Agreeing with his suggestion, you turn and lean further into him, curled up so that you’re snuggled up even closer under his arm. Jake shifts further back, sighing comfortably as he crosses his legs and props them up on the coffee table. You’re close enough you can feel his breath hitting the top of your head.
“This is good,” he whispers down at you. His hand starts absentmindedly tracing patterns on your upper arm.
You smile up at him and turn your attention back to the TV. You’ve watched this film about a million times, but it never gets old. Really, you’re the reason it’s Jake’s favorite movie anyway. You forced him to watch it with you in seventh grade and the rest is history. He was hooked. After that, the two of you watched the two sequels and the spin-off series together, offering every piece of insight and critique.
Around the time Lara Jean and Peter go to the ski lodge, you feel your eyes start to get heavy. You glance at the clock on the wall. It’s barely 7:00. But between the soft illumination of the TV screen, the chill of the room, and the steady beat of Jake’s heart, you’re helpless to the lull of sleep pulling you under. I’ll just shut my eyes for a second, you think to yourself. That’s the last thing you remember before passing out.
The credits roll and the sequel, P.S. I Still Love You, starts playing automatically. By now, Jake has noticed that you’ve gone quiet. He peeks down to see your face, only to be met with you knocked out cold, limp against his body. He finds himself smiling at your predictability. You always fell asleep on movie nights, no matter how hard you tried not to. He shifts slightly, trying to get more comfortable, and you let out a sigh, burrowing closer to him. His shoulder is aching from being in the same position for nearly two hours, but he doesn’t want to wake you. You look so peaceful.
He tries to prop you up against the cushions, attempting to maneuver his arm out from behind your neck. He succeeds and you fall back against the pillows, toward the other end of the couch. Wanting to be more comfortable, he shifts his body so that he’s laying horizontally on the couch, resting his head on his arm. A couple minutes pass before you start wiggling on your side of the couch, tossing and turning. He’s about to laugh at you when you, still asleep, adjust your position, flipping around and ending up right next to him. It’s like even unconscious, your body knows he’s near, and therefore must be close to him. You’re now laid right next to him, your head on his chest.
Jake chuckles lightly to himself at how clingy you are when you sleep. He considers waking you up, or moving you back, but just then, you shiver against him. It would just be plain heartless of him to banish you to the far end of the couch, cold and lonely, wouldn’t it? He reaches slowly for the blanket thrown over the top of the couch, careful not to move too much as to not wake you. He drapes it across the two of you, welcoming the warmth. You sigh contentedly, one arm coming up to lay across his chest, hand dangling off the couch. He accepts his fate as your newfound pillow and goes back to watching the movie, making a mental note to wake you up when this one ends.
He doesn’t make it much further himself, though. By the time John Ambrose shows up, Jake can feel that familiar weight behind his eyelids. He doesn’t bother looking at the clock, but he knows it can’t be later than 9:00. Surely that’s still early enough for a quick power nap, right? Everything feels so serene at the moment. The dialogue of the movie has been reduced to background chatter. The fluffy material of the blanket that’s insulating him despite the coolness outside. You, your weight on top of him a comfortable reminder, grounding him. He lets his eyes close, just for a fraction of a second. Soon enough, he’s gone.
You wake up first. Sunlight streams through the blinds of your living room, rays creating patterns on the carpet. The first thing you notice is that you are not in your bed. The second thing is that you’re rendered incapable of moving. There’s an arm wrapped securely around your shoulder. You look up and see Jake sleeping soundly, his breathing soft and even, his lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks. He looks… beautiful. Golden beams washing over his face and his hair, mussed from sleep, falling over his forehead. Looking at him like this, you feel strange. Even though the room is warmer now and you have a blanket around you, you feel a chill run through your body. A weird, dull ache settles in your chest. Before you can decipher what this means or why it’s happening, Jake stirs, letting out a deep breath that turns into a yawn. You quickly put your head back where it was before, resting against his chest, and pretend to be asleep.
You feel him lift his head to look down at you. As if realizing what position the two of you are in, he releases his arm from around you. You start shifting then, figuring that’s a reasonable event to cause you to awake. You push yourself from off him and sit up, rubbing your eyes.
“Good morning,” you say groggily, followed by a yawn. “Did we fall asleep?”
“Guess so,” Jake replies, voice grovelly from sleep. “I didn’t mean to. I was gonna go home after the second movie. Sorry.” His hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck.
You shake your head at him. “No, it was totally okay. I haven’t slept that well in ages, actually.” There was an abnormal assurance you felt last night. Like being next to him meant that sleep could truly be an escape, that nothing from the real world could infiltrate into your dreams.
He smiles softly, glad to be of assistance. You just sit and stare at each other for a few seconds, brains still waking up. Jake then blinks and the smile falls from his face.
“Ah, crap,” he says, turning and shuffling through the blankets and pillows, “I didn’t tell my mom I was sleeping over. Where’s my phone?”
You get up and start to help him look for it when your mom walks in. She’s holding her usual morning cup of coffee, taking a sip and looking at the two of you with nothing short of total adoration.
“It’s fine,” she announces to you both, “I talked to your mom last night, let her know you’d be staying the night.”
Relief washes over Jake’s face. “Thank you so much,” he says with utmost gratitude. “I was worried she might have my head on a stick.”
“She was fine with it,” she assured him. “Just said to let her know next time.” Your mom glances at the clock. “She’ll be here soon, actually.”
“My mom?” Jake asks in surprise.
Your mom nods, “She’s coming over for breakfast.”
You and Jake look at each other, and you know you’re both thinking the same thing. A perfect opportunity to forward your plan.
“That’s great,” you proclaim, silently communicating to him with your eyes. Of course, he picks up on it.
“We’ve been wanting to talk to the two of you.” Jake finishes for you. “Together.”
You swear your mom could almost drop her coffee cup and start doing backflips out of happiness. She knows what you’re getting at. It’s obvious. Wanting to appear composed, however, she simply takes another sip and hums in acknowledgment before disappearing into the kitchen again.
When she’s out of view, you and Jake quietly high five, saluting your impromptu script.
“That was good,” you mouth. “Quick thinking.”
“We work good together,” he mouths back with a quick smile.
A couple minutes later, you hear the front door open. Jake’s mom strolls into the house, holding a platter of breakfast sandwiches like an offering. Your mom happily welcomes her and gives her a hug, making a comment about how delicious the sandwiches look.
You then hear her murmur under her breath, “They’re over there,” and you know she’s referring to you and Jake.
You’re both still lounging on the couch, more similar to your placements from last night as opposed to this morning. Your legs are curled under you, your head resting on Jake’s shoulder while he props his feet on the coffee table again. You decided to finish the movie marathon from where you left off last night.
“So,” Jake’s mom greets as she walks into the living room. “How was the last minute sleepover?” She sits down on the arm rest of the couch.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Jake apologizes. “I would’ve texted you if I had known.”
“We just fell asleep,” you back him up. “It was an accident.” Neither of you make a move from your current position.
She laughs at your scrambling up an explanation, ruffling his hair playfully. “You guys are fine,” she says. “You just fell asleep, right? We don’t need to talk to you guys about-“
“Oh, my gosh, Mom!” Jake exclaims, hands flying up to cover his ears. He’s steadily turning beet red.
You feel your own face heat up at her words, growing worse by the second.
She puts her hands up defensively. “I had to ask! Just making sure. You’re still our babies, we don’t need any shared grandchildren.” She’s clearly enjoying how mortified you both are at this conversation. “Yet,” she adds with a mischievous look.
Jake stands up so suddenly you jolt, falling away from him.
“I, uh-“ his voice is an octave higher than usual. He clears his throat, “I need to brush my teeth. Excuse me.”
He speeds away to the bathroom, desperate to get away from this conversation. He kept a spare toothbrush at your house, anyway.
His mom cackles at how flustered he got. “Goodness,” she sighs, leaning back in the recliner, “the way he reacted, you’d think he was raised by a nun.”
You can’t help but laugh along with her, your momentary embarrassment fading fast.
“Come,” she says, standing and offering her hand to you. “Let’s eat, Bug. I’m starving.”
You take her hand and walk to the kitchen, where your mom is arranging various breakfast foods on the table.
“This looks amazing,” you compliment your mom. There’s a spread of pancakes, plates of fruits, and an impressive array of cereals displayed upon your dining room table. Your stomach rumbles at the sight, and you realize the last thing you ate was half a pack of sour gummy worms. Fourteen hours ago. You make an effort to stop yourself from drooling. “I need.”
“There’s eggs on the counter,” your mom offers as she plates the table. “Where’s Jake?”
“Brushing his teeth. Or wishing he was never born. Not sure.” His mom goes and grabs the utensils from the drawer, placing them next to the plates.
You stifle a laugh and swallow it away. “Do you guys need any help?”
Your mom nods toward the fridge, “Could you grab the milk and the orange juice?”
“Sure,” you reply, walking over to get the drinks. You set them on the table just as Jake reappears.
He’s returned to his regular shade, the embarrassment now gone from his face. He does a once over of the table and throws his hand on his stomach. “Oh,” he groans theatrically, closing his eyes in exaggerated agony. “I’m literally gonna die. I’m so hungry.”
“You say that every hour,” you point out blankly.
He stops his little bit and narrows his eyes at you. “Yeah? And guess who always responds with, ‘ME TOO’? You do.”
Your jaw drops at his accusation. “It’s called offering commiseration."
“It’s called being big,” he corrects you.
You gasp. “You-”
“Okay, children!” Jake’s mom interjects. “That’s enough going at each other’s throats for one morning. Let’s eat.”
The two of you have an unspoken agreement to squash the argument, taking your seats begrudgingly. Neither of you are really bothered, you simply enjoy teasing each other.
You’re seated next to Jake, your moms across from you. As you grab a pancake from the stack, Jake pours himself a bowl of Lucky Charms, filling it all the way to the top.
“If you keep eating like that, you won’t make it past thirty,” you remark snidely.
He doesn’t even look at you, continuing with pouring milk in the bowl. “Meaning I only have to spend twelve more years with you? God forbid.” He winks. “I’ll stop just for you.”
In your head, you’re still amazed at how naturally he comes up with these things. “I’d hate for our time to be cut short. I’m not done with you yet, Worm.”
Instead of fighting back about the nickname like he normally would, all Jake does is smile at you before shoving a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. You go on eating your pancakes, carefully watching the moms in your peripheral vision. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see them looking at each other in astonishment. Just as they should.
After you finish your plate, you clear your throat, looking at both of your moms. “There’s something Jake and I wanted to talk to you guys about,” you announce, setting your fork down.
Your mom finishes chewing the strawberry she was eating, looking back and forth between you two. “What is it?” she asks, unsure.
“Is everything okay?” his mom follows up, a mix of skepticism and excitement on her face.
You look to Jake for support, to which he reaches up and grabs your hand resting atop the table. “It’s nothing like that,” he clarifies.
“We just, um,” you pause, appearing nervous, keeping your eyes on Jake.
“Y/N and I…” He looks at you again, gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, and looks back to your moms. “We’re dating.”
Just as you’d suspected, both of your moms look as if they’d just been granted a million dollars each and solved world hunger all in one go. They’re both grinning from ear to ear, and Jake’s mom actually starts to cry a little.
“Oh,” she sniffles, wiping at her eye with a napkin. “I always hoped you guys would end up together one day.”
Your mom energetically taps her on the shoulder. “Do you remember when we found out we were due around the same time? And we started making up all these scenarios about what our babies would be like together? Oh!” she exclaims toward you and Jake. “This was definitely my favorite one.”
“And here you guys were always fighting it,” his mom teases, wagging her finger at you both. “The two of you were inevitable.”
“How long have you been dating?” your mom asks, extremely invested.
“About three weeks,” you answer. Truthfully, it’s only been one week since you’ve embarked on your journey of fake romance, but you figure that duration of time is enough to be considered remotely legitimate. “We wanted to figure things out for ourselves first. But, we wanted to tell you guys, too.”
“We love you both so much,” Jake adds on, “and we knew that you’d be happy for us.”
His mom guffaws, “Happy is an understatement.” She stands up from her seat and goes around the table, giving you and Jake a hug. “I love this. And you!”
You and Jake both chuckle and look at each other and smile, but it’s not because of what your moms think. You’ve just completed phase three: the reveal.
That afternoon, after Jake and his mom leave, you go up to your room to decompress and think about the next stages of your plan. You’re laying on your bed, scrolling social media, when you get a message from your mom.
mom ❤️🩹:
Took this while you guys were asleep.
Too cute not to share :)
[photo]
It’s a picture of you and Jake, presumably taken this morning. Jake is sprawled on the couch with you curled up against his side, your head on his chest. You’re both asleep, peaceful expressions on your faces. Your arm is slung over his torso, fingers unconsciously gripping at the neckline of his hoodie while his arm wraps around your shoulder protectively. It’s genuinely adorable.
Your pulse picks up just slightly as you think about how that part wasn’t planned. You weren’t supposed to fall asleep, Jake wasn’t supposed to sleep over, and the two of you weren’t supposed to end up cuddling on your living room couch all through the night. But it just… happened. And you don’t regret it at all.
you:
Awwwww
Mom this is so cute 🥹
mom ❤️🩹:
So so happy for the two of you
Finally!!!
Your heart stings a little seeing her message. Her genuine excitement. You feel bad for lying straight to her face, for letting her believe that you and Jake were really together. You catch yourself before it consumes you, shaking the feeling away. This was all for the better. You crush their hopes and dreams for good, they stop bothering you about it, and you and Jake get to stay together forever. Platonically.
You don’t allow yourself to think about it further, instead opting to text Jake.
you:
omggg bro
my mom took a pic of us sleeping
[photo]
jakey <3:
WHOA WAIT
THATS SO CUTE
we look like a real couple 🥹
you
LMAOAOAOAO
RIGHT
jakey <3:
i’m gonna make that my lock screen 💯
you:
WAIT THATS SMART
jakey <3:
😼 ik
[screenshot]
fireeeee
you:
total accident too
passing out on the couch was not apart of the plan lol
jakey <3:
didnt mind tho
:))))
You don’t know how to respond to that. You react with a heart emoji instead of an answer. You turn your phone off and toss it somewhere on your bed, looking around for something to do to clear your head. That’s when you see it. Your eyes land on the misshapen vase sitting on your dresser, newly filled with the fresh tulips Jake brought over last night. There’s a small white tag you hadn't noticed peeking out amongst the petals. Curious, you pluck it from the bouquet, holding it gently between your fingers.
You unfold the miniscule piece of paper and read what’s written inside. It’s not a crazy monologue, or an obviously formulated over-the-top love note. All it holds is a simple message.
to: Y/N
my favorite girl forever.
love, worm :)
And for some reason, it doesn’t feel like it’s a part of your joint scheme. It doesn’t feel like the dramatized and corny one liners Jake’s been spewing out for the past week. It just feels like him. Sweet. Simple. Easy. It possesses the casual, uncomplicated love you’ve shared your entire lives. The unspoken rule that no matter what, you would always have each other to lean on.
It’s how Jake guarded you and your snail collection on the playground in first grade, shielding the fragile shells from your rowdy classmates, all because you wanted to give them a safe crossing to the bushes. It’s how when you reached your teens and your hormones caused you to find him the most annoying creature on earth, he fought the urge to scream right back at you. Rather, he asked his mom how to get you to stay his friend, focusing on keeping your friendship even though you pushed him away. It’s how he would listen to you rant for hours about whatever was bothering you and being able to read you like an open book. You needed advice? He’d give it. You simply wanted an open ear? He’d sit silent, nodding along with genuine attentiveness. It’s how despite the thousands of petty arguments you two have had, no matter how mad he was at you, he’d still drop everything in a heartbeat for you if you called him. It’s how just last week, he’d agreed in a millisecond to take part in your stratagem of romantic deceit, not an ounce of hesitation in his body.
Eight words, that’s all that he wrote. Because that’s all he needed to say, isn’t it?
You’ve always known that Jake was a good guy. In fact, he was often deemed one of the best guys. The kind of guy who seemed to live life on easy mode: effortlessly social, naturally athletic, smart without trying to be. What you didn’t realize was how good he was to you, specifically. You know Jake loves you. You know you love Jake. Maybe, though, there’s something else you’re missing. Something that lies underneath, thrumming through your bloodstream.
You don’t text him about the note. You don’t allow yourself to count it as something viable, something real. You do, however, pin it on your bulletin board. That seems like a natural thing a girlfriend would do when receiving a cute note. It now hangs next to a polaroid picture of you and Jake from two summers ago, the last day of break before your junior year of high school. You were hanging out at your close friend Jungwon’s house, one last hurrah before classes started. You smile fondly thinking back on the memory.
It was elementary fun, intense rounds of Twister and heated rivalries in a game of Monopoly that lasted the whole night. You were surrounded by some of the people you love most in this world, but things were still getting loud. You slipped out to the balcony to catch a moment of silence, relishing in the feel of the cool night air on your skin. Jake found you soon after noticing you’d disappeared. He knew you and how you got in situations like this. He wasn’t overly concerned, just checking up on you like he always did. Spotting a camera someone had left outside, he nudged you for a picture. Tired from the socializing, you languidly rested your chin on his shoulder while he grinned for the shot. The flash went off, temporarily blinding you and making you both laugh. Once the photo developed, he gave it an approving look, then slipped it into your back pocket without another word. You sat out there together in silence, just enjoying each other’s presence until Heeseung called you back inside, announcing that a game of Apples to Apples would be starting up soon. Jake took your hand and you walked back in together. That’s just the way things were. That’s how they’ve always been.
Seeing his note right next to the picture of you two eases something in your soul. It feels right, like that’s where both items belong. Together.
You don’t really sleep that night, at least not as well as you did the night before. You more so drift in and out of consciousness, staring into the dark of your bedroom and then closing your eyes and seeing you and Jake. The fragmented dreams play in parts, a choppy slideshow of your friendship through the years.
Three years old, playing in the dirt in your backyard. A few years later, riding scooters down his street as if trying to escape the imminent nighttime. Eleven years old, pummeling each other with snowballs in the winter. Thirteen years old, sitting on your roof while the sun slowly sank down beneath the trees. Seventeen years old, driving around in his car with the windows down, music blasting and wind blowing through your hair.
You wake up tired, dazed, and groggy. Whatever it is that has ailed you lately, you need to get over it. You’re so close to completing your plan. You roll over with a groan, blindly feeling around for your phone. Checking your notifications, you see new texts from Jake, timestamped 45 minutes ago.
jakey <3:
good morning mastermind
so i was thinking
today i should ask you to be my valentine
like BIG
like so obvious ykwim
wait dont reply
its gonna be a surprise 😛
Just then, there’s a clatter against your bedroom window. Maybe it was a stupid bird, you think to yourself. A second later, another clatter. Was that a rock?
You go over to your window and slide it open, sticking your head out to see what’s going on.
“Wait, no!” you hear in the distance. You end up narrowly dodging a flying pebble that was headed straight for your face. It lands on your floor with a clunk.
“I’m so sorry!” Jake shouts from down below. He’s standing on your lawn, right beneath where your bedroom is. In his hands, he’s holding a large heart shaped box, a ladybug Pillow Pet, and another bouquet of flowers, roses this time. Attached to the front of the chocolate box is a paper sign with the words, YOU’RE THE ONLY LADY I WANT TO BUG scrawled across in thick black marker.
You are genuinely rendered speechless, mouth agape, just staring at him standing there.
“Can you, uh,” he shouts up again, “can you come down here?”
You blink, your consciousness kicking back in. “Right,” you shout back. “Yeah, of course.”
You leave your room and head downstairs, passing by your mom in the kitchen on your way to the front door. She’s sitting at the table, drinking her morning coffee.
“Is Jake out there?” she asks curiously. “I could’ve sworn I heard his voice.”
“He is,” you confirm, still moving toward the door. “He asked me to come dow-”
As you swing the door open, there in the doorway stands Jake in all his fabricated romantic glory. He’s there on your doorstep, arms still full of his offerings of love.
“Hi,” he breathes out.
“Hi,” you echo, taking in all of the details close up now. You hear your mom gasp loudly somewhere behind you, but you don’t turn around. You keep your eyes on Jake.
“So, I have a question,” he offers. “And I’m really hoping I know the answer already.” He takes a step closer. “Y/N,” he begins, “will you be my valentine?”
You smile, nodding while you move closer to him. “Yes, Jake,” you say, taking the bouquet of flowers from his hand. “Of course I’ll be your valentine.”
He grins wide, pulling you in for a hug. He smells like roses and fresh laundry and just Jake. You let yourself indulge in the scent before pulling back slightly, your face inches away from his. He’s looking into your eyes, searching for acclamation from you. You nod your head in the slightest, confirming that it’s perfect. Jake then looks over your shoulder, prompting you to turn around, too.
Your mom is beaming, smiling proudly while holding up her phone, recording the whole thing. “Adorable!” She puts the phone down. “Nicely done, Jake.”
“Thanks for your help,” he returns sincerely. “I think it went pretty well, all things considered.” He flirtatiously nudges your shoulder, then sends you a wink.
You turn to your mom. “You helped with this?” You thought that you were supposed to be the one making secret plans, not the other way around.
“The moms and I conspired last night,” Jake confesses, not looking one bit guilty. “I wanted it to be perfect.” His eyes are bright, refulgent. He looks so happy.
“It was.” Somewhere deep in the back of your mind, that tiny voice comes alive again. Imagine if it was real, it whispers to you. You tell it to shut up. “Thank you, Jake.” You’re impressed by all the effort he’s put in for a relationship that doesn’t actually exist. “Really. You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to,” is all he justifies it by. That’s enough. “Here,” he readjusts his hold on the gifts. “I’ll help you put these up in your room.”
You walk upstairs together in a charged silence. The moment your door closes, you start talking.
“Jake. That was adorable.” You’re still amazed at how good it was. “The chocolates? The sign? The ladybug Pillow Pet? Even the roses, just… wow.”
“Oh, that reminds me.” He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a singular pink tulip, holding it out to you. “Because I know these are your favorites. That matters more.”
You melt. What the hell.
You reach out to take the flower by the stem, your fingers brushing against his. “I really don’t know what to say.” You haven’t stopped smiling since you saw him. “This is amazing.”
“It was pretty easy, believe it or not,” he expounds. “Every year, you buy these chocolates, whether you have a valentine or not. You truly are the only lady I want to bug, that just sums us up. And I remembered you used to have a ladybug Pillow Pet when we were kids.”
You pout at his thoughtfulness. “You remember that?” You hadn’t imagined that was even significant to him.
“‘Course I do,” he says softly. “How could I ever forget Spotty Scotty?” He laughs, the sound carrying throughout your room.
“Gosh,” you set the flowers down on your bed and replace their occupancy with the stuffed animal. It’s soft and plush. You run your fingers over the fur, silky to the touch. “I haven’t seen one of these in years. Not since-”
“Since you lost Spotty Scotty on that road trip when you left him at a gas station,” he finishes for you. “You called me crying about it.”
You laugh lightly. “How lame,” you joke. “It was just a dumb stuffed animal.”
“Hey,” Jake interjects, warning in his tone. “No, he wasn’t. He meant a lot to you.”
Thinking back on all the time you spent moping about after losing Spotty Scotty, the emotions you felt come flooding back. That, mixed with the sincerity behind Jake’s gift, makes your eyes start to burn.
He sees it immediately, hands coming up to rest on the sides of your arms, thumbs smoothing comfortingly. “You okay?” he asks gently.
“I’m fine,” you blink away the incoming tears and clutch the Pillow Pet a little tighter in your arms. “This just means a lot.”
He gives you a lopsided smile, like he totally understands.
“Especially just for a fake Valentine’s proposal,” you add. You don’t mean it as a dig. It’s just the truth.
Jake falters for a fraction of a second. If you blinked, you’d miss it. His smile twitches and his eyes dim slightly, his thumb on your arm slowing down by a small measure. “Right.” His tone is flatter than it was a minute ago. He clears his throat. “So, now that we’re officially valentines, we should get started on how the actual day’s gonna go.”
“Okay,” you agree, your emotional high steadily dwindling. “I was thinking we go for dinner at The Claw. I made a reservation last week.”
“Whoa, on Valentine’s?” Jake’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The Claw was one of the most popular restaurants in town, especially for couples and especially on Valentine’s. “Do I have to pay?” He’s half joking. He’s heard from his friends how expensive those entrees are.
You stare at him, expression blank, for exactly one second, then roll your head about lackadaisically. “I thought about it, but I don’t want to make you-”
“I was just kidding.” He cuts you off. “I don’t mind paying.”
“Even though it’s for a date meant to be the downfall of our heavily falsified romantic relationship?” You tilt your head, waiting for him to backpedal. He doesn’t.
“Yes,” he maintains his position. “We want our moms to think we’re a bad couple. That doesn’t mean they also have to think I’m a bad guy.” He pauses. “How are we even supposed to get our moms there with us?”
“I have an idea.”
Fast forward to Wednesday, you and Jake are bustling about in his kitchen. Valentines is on Saturday, and you still have yet to confirm that your moms will be there with you at The Claw. Tonight is a regular dinner between your two families, a common occurrence, although the atmosphere has adjusted given that you and Jake are now “dating.” The first twenty minutes of dinner were spent reliving your most embarrassing childhood moments, listening to story after story. You tuned it out, instead focusing on feeding Layla, Jake’s family dog, under the table until you got caught.
Both sets of parents are at the dining table, laughter over wine echoing through the house. They sent you and Jake to go retrieve the dessert from the fridge, giving you a quick moment to debrief your plan.
“Got it,” Jake says, holding a plate of cheesecake in his hands as he kicks his fridge shut with the back of his foot. “Could you grab the extra plates?”
You navigate the kitchen seamlessly, knowing it like the back of your hand. You grab the plates from an overhead cabinet and place them on the counter. “I think we should ask them now,” you say under your breath. Your parents are out of earshot, but better safe than sorry.
“Me too,” he agrees. “But, oh my gosh, I can already hear them making fun of us.” He winces, closing his eyes like he just had a vision of it happening.
You laugh once. “Why?”
“Because,” he explains, “it’s our first Valentines and we’re gonna spend it with our moms.” He lets out an airy laugh. “It’s funny.”
“Hey,” Jake’s mom calls from the other room, “can you grab some fruits from the fridge? The cheesecake needs toppings.”
“Yes, Mom!” Jake calls back. He turns and opens the fridge again, standing there with his back to you while he looks for said fruit. “Who was your last valentine, anyway?” he questions over his shoulder.
“Hm,” you ponder, leaning your forearms on the counter. “I mean, last year, Jungwon and I were valentines as friends. Does that count?” It wasn’t a big deal, you just bought each other candy and took a couple pictures together.
“Sure,” Jake offers, still rummaging through the contents of his fridge, though now he’s accumulating a stack of fruit containers balanced on his forearm. “But, like, you guys weren’t really a thing.” He pauses. “Were you?”
You can’t help but snort at his question. “Me and Jungwon? A thing? That’s a good one.” Sure, Jungwon was one of your closest friends, but your relationship was more akin to two evil homeless cats stalking the streets as opposed to lovers.
“Just asking, you never know what people really feel,” he defends, still turned around. “He used to have a crush on you freshman year, you know.”
“I did know, actually,” you confess. “Jay told me about it in the science lab one day. He got over it a week later, though.” You laugh at the memory. “You know, I really never expanded my dating pool like I thought I would in high school. Middle school me would be severely disappointed.”
“At least you’ve got a second, albeit fake boyfriend now,” he jokes. “That’s gotta count for something.”
“I’ll put you on my extensive list of lovers, for sure,” you quip back. “What about you?”
Come to think of it, Jake hasn’t had much of a dating life, either. Though definitely not for lack of interest. He was smart, funny, nice, and attractive (though you hate to admit it). Many of your friends have asked for his number, and you’ve given it, trying to play wingwoman. You’d never hear about it after that, though. Nothing ever progressed, it seemed.
“What do you mean?” he asks further.
“How come you haven’t had a girlfriend since seventh grade? I mean, it’s not like you haven’t had anyone interested.” You can recall a long list of girls that have fawned over Jake Sim. “I’ve seen the plethora of valentine cards spill out of your locker every year. Hell, I’ve even helped people write some of them.”
He turns around finally, balancing the stack of fruit on his arm. “I guess I never really thought about it,” he admits, like he himself is thinking about it for the first time. “I just wasn’t interested back. Nothing was wrong with any of them, they were really nice, it’s just,” he pauses for a second, thinking through his wording. “I could never see myself with any of them. Does that make sense?”
You consider it. He’s always been a practical guy, so it makes sense he’d take the same approach to dating. Why waste time if you know there’s no point? “I guess,” you shrug. Then the thought comes to you, just out of plain curiosity. “Who did you see yourself with, then?” There had to have been a slip, a moment of weakness where he liked someone else. At least once.
“You,” he says simply and honestly without missing a beat. Without even looking up at you, he starts rearranging the fruit containers so he can hold them in one hand, the plate of cheesecake in the other. “Don’t forget the plates,” he adds like nothing happened.
You don’t say anything, just move in a daze until somehow you end up back in your seat at the table. That feeling in your chest is back. Again. You ignore it. Again.
“So, you two,” your dad addresses you and Jake, “what are your big plans for Valentines?”
Jake swallows his bite of cheesecake and answers before you can. “We have a reservation at The Claw. Feels so fancy and grown up,” he laughs.
“Well,” your dad says, “you guys aren’t little kids anymore. You’re eighteen now, heading off to college soon. Crazy to think about.”
“Oh, don’t bring that up!” your mom scolds him, “I’ll start crying if we talk about it. It seems like just yesterday you were crying because you had diaper rash-“
“Okay, I think we’ve reached the limit on the nostalgia for today,” you interrupt, having had your fill of old stories. “We were supposed to go on a double date with some of our friends, but,” you wince. “Things aren’t going so well between them right now.”
“Oh, no,” Jake’s mom says. “Always so sad when couples don’t work out. Just hurts everyone involved.”
You and Jake look at each other, knowing exactly what the other is thinking.
“Not that that would happen to you two,” his mom adds on quickly. “I think we all know you guys will last.”
Neither of you can respond to that and keep a clean conscience.
“Our reservation was for a party of four,” you get back to the topic of the date. “But since our friends canceled, we have no one else to go with.”
“We were wondering,” Jake starts casually, “if any of you wanted to come with us?”
“Not that we want to ruin your Valentine's plans,” you quickly add on. “We know it’s an important night for you, too.” You bite the inside of your cheek, silently pleading. Please, please take the bait.
“We would love to!” Jake’s mom accepts. Upon receiving a confused glance from her husband, she clarifies, “Not us,” she gestures between herself and your mom, “us.”
“Ooh, yes!” Your mom agrees, clasping her hands happily. “That sounds wonderful. I love The Claw.” She looks at you and Jake. “Are you sure you’re okay with us coming along? That wouldn’t intrude on your night?”
“Not in the slightest,” you smile brightly. “We’d love to have you two there. It’ll be fun.”
“Aww,” Jake’s dad teases. “Even though they’re bigger now, our babies still love their mommas.”
Jake shoots you a look that says, Called it. He just nods his head. “Yes. And that’s not a crime.” He takes another bite of cheesecake, piling on the blueberries as garnish. “Sorry to steal your Valentines,” he atones to both your dads.
“Against you two, we never stood a chance,” your dad laughs. He has a point. You find it comical how quick your moms were to ditch their husbands for their kids. “But it’s okay. We can reschedule.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jake’s dad confers. “All that matters is that the ladies are happy. You’ll grow to learn that, someday.”
“Yeah,” Jake says absentmindedly, sneaking a glance at you. “I’m sure I will.”
The rest of the week comes and goes in the blink of an eye. Before you know it, it’s Valentine's eve, and you’re preparing both mentally and physically for the big day.
Jake comes over in the evening, bearing another set of gifts—this time featuring a small heart-shaped piece of paper. When he hands it to you, you eye it curiously. You’re in your bedroom, your playlist of 90s love songs playing through a speaker providing an appropriate atmosphere for the upcoming holiday. You were in the process of getting everything ready for tomorrow–finalizing an outfit, double checking the reservation, doing some last minute room cleaning so you wouldn’t be grounded–when he knocked lightly on your door before entering.
“Aww,” you coo, looking at all the detail on it. It’s a handmade valentine, cute and crafty like the ones you make in elementary school. Red construction paper cut into a heart, trimmed with lace around the edges and glitter glue embellishments. The top left corner reads, To: Y/N, From: Jake. It’s adorable and juvenile. “This is so cute!” You look up at Jake and see him eyeing you expectantly, like he’s waiting for you to say something else, to notice something.
When all you do is furrow your eyebrows slightly, he just lets out a breath and says, “Thanks. I thought you’d like it.” His eyes lose focus for half a second before he blinks. “So, tomorrow. What’s our game plan?”
“I’m glad you asked.” You set the valentine on the corner of your dresser, right beside his vase full of the flowers he got you. “Our reservation’s at 6:30. You drive over here with your mom, but we take two cars to the restaurant, me and you and our moms.”
Jake nods thoughtfully, his hand coming up to scratch his chin. “Sounds good. And how’s the sabotage gonna go?”
“Okay,” you take a deep breath and grab both sides of his face. His skin is warm to the touch. “Jake, I need you to promise me something.”
He looks worried, like you’re about to tell him you murdered someone and need his help to hide the body. Not that he’d hesitate for even a second, if you did.
“I need you to be the worst fake boyfriend ever tomorrow,” you tell him, your tone and face dead serious. “Whatever you’d want to do, whatever you think is right, you do the opposite. Can you do that?” In the background, Brighter Than Sunshine by Aqualung fades out, You’re Still the One by Shania Twain playing next.
He matches your expression and nods in earnest. “I solemnly swear, Y/N.” He rests his hands on your wrists, just holding, offering support. “I promise to be the worst fake boyfriend you’ll ever have.”
You break out into a grin and spontaneously pull him into a hug. The urge just overtakes you. Even though you’ve never been a hugger, the past few weeks with Jake have made you rethink your stance on the matter. You’ve come to enjoy the physical closeness, the warmth, the way you can hear his heart beating steady under his chest. You get why hugs have gotten the reputation of this utmost wonderful expression of affection. It’s one of the most natural proofs of love. With how perfectly he can rest his chin on your head, how snugly you can nuzzle into his neck—it’s like you and Jake were designed to fit together like puzzle pieces. He initially freezes when you wrap your arms around him, still getting used to this version of you, but soon after melts into your embrace. He lays his cheek on your head and the two of you inattentively start swaying in a slow, comfortable rhythm, accompanied by the low noise of the song.
“Do you think it’s actually gonna work?” Jake asks quietly. You know what he’s referring to. This whole plan, the unnecessarily elaborate scheme to get your mothers to stop bugging the two of you.
“I don’t really know,” you admit to him. Truthfully, you’re not sure anything could enervate your moms’ certainty that you and Jake are meant for each other. “I hope so.”
“Yeah, me too,” he says, but his voice is reserved, distracted. He pauses for a breath. “I’m kinda gonna miss this.”
You hum in question, arms still wrapped around him. “Miss what?”
“This,” he says. “Us.” That plain, simple word containing a multitude of meanings, lifetimes spent and countless reinventions of love.
“There will always be us, Jake,” you tell him, although you understand what he’s getting at. This version of you together. “That won’t change, even after this is over.”
“I know, I know,” he sighs from somewhere deep in his chest. “It’s just-” He cuts himself off. “Never mind. You’re right.” He holds you a second longer, then embraces you just a little harder before letting go, stepping back from you. “I’ll see you tomorrow. 6:00 PM sharp.” He smiles. With a fake salute and nod of his head, Jake leaves, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.
synopsis: Jake Sim has been your best friend your entire life–even longer if you count the months spent in your mothers’ wombs. Your moms (also best friends) have been hoping, praying, and not-so-discreetly begging for you and Jake to be a couple for as long as you can remember. After eighteen years of dealing with it, you’ve had enough. You pitch your solution to Jake: pretend you finally are a couple, only to prove the point of how you’re better off as friends. But as the line between what’s real and what’s fake blurs, you start to wonder… are you really?
content: friends to lovers, romcom, fluff, angst if you squint (half of it’s fake), idiots in love, fake dating, layla cameo! rain soaked jake scene, high school au, jake and reader are both seniors in hs and 18, nostalgia, kys jokes, accidental cuddling, flowers, they don’t know how to be bad for one another lmao, mild language, reader is an overthinker, cheek kisses, real kisses, attempts at humor </3, some text messages, nicknames, they’re kind of really dumb and oblivious i’m sorry, avoidant attachment anxiety (oops), denial of feelings, but they get their crap together in the end i promise!! petty arguments, banter, falling asleep together, and other stuff i probably forgot to mention
word count:
teaser: 1.5k
full fic: est ~30k (read here!)
now playing: ˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞 ruin the friendship by taylor swift, illusion by one direction, valentine by laufey, you’re still the one by shania twain, pancakes for dinner by lizzy mcalpine, anyone by justin bieber, change my mind by one direction, i was made for loving you ft ed sheeran by tori kelly, mary’s song (oh my my my) by taylor swift, catching feelings by justin bieber, night changes by one direction
A/N: soooo this was supposed to be released on valentine's day but clearly that did not happen!! it's finally almost done and i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it :) comment for tags!
“I don’t know why she doesn’t just break up with him already,” you say, venting your frustration. Your close friend Quinn and her boyfriend got into another fight, therefore meaning you got to deal with another week listening to how horrible he is.
“Love’s tough, man,” Jake says solemnly, scrolling mindlessly on his phone.
The two of you are posted up in his childhood bedroom, the same one where you once ran into the dresser and broke your wrist. You had been playing a very intense game of “rocket tag” (as dubbed by your six year old selves) and barrelled into his dresser in the dark. You felt that deafening crack of bone and immediately started crying. Jake came into the room a second later, first declaring victory as he laughed and tagged you on the shoulder, then kneeled down to ask you if you were okay, reassuring you that everything would be fine. That pretty much sums up the nature of your relationship.
You and Jake have been best friends since birth. Literally. You both had no say in the matter. Your moms have been best friends since high school, remaining just as close despite the odds in college and beyond. As years passed, weddings were thrown, and families expanded, your moms were over the moon to find out that their respective babies would be born exactly a month apart. Jake came first, kicking and screaming his way into the world with a fiery nature only he possessed. A month later you joined him, just as loud but with your own special attitude about you.
Your first play date was when you were a week old. Jake’s mom brought him over to your house to meet you for the first time, she and your mom both ooh-ing and ah-ing as the two of you did nothing but wriggle next to each other on the floor of the playpen. They snapped a picture which is still framed today in both of your living rooms.
Since then, you’ve never known life without Jake. He’s always just been a known presence, like how there were always stars in the sky and always laundry to be done. There was always Jake.
You’re currently lying on his bed, on your back with your legs propped up against the wall, your toes pointing toward the ceiling. He’s sitting in the rolling chair by his desk, one leg tucked underneath him, the other swaying the chair back and forth in a comfortable rhythm.
“Like you know anything about love,” you snort, breaking into a laugh. “Your one and only love was your girlfriend of one week in seventh grade.”
Jake looks up from his phone and frowns, his fist flying to his chest as if you stabbed him. “Don’t talk about Naomi like that. My heart never healed from when she dumped me in the hallway after geography.” He winces, then smiles and rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you’ve done any better.”
You scoff indignantly. “Excuse you. I had a beautiful, heated, loving relationship with Nick for one whole month in sophomore year.”
“Right,” he drawls, “how could I forget? He cornered me after school and threatened me because he saw me get in the car with you when your mom picked you up. Asked me if I was trying to ‘swoop in on his chick.’”
You purse your lips and sigh dramatically, “Man, he was the one.”
“Whatever happened to Naomi and Nick anyway?” He asks, still not looking up from his phone. It’s now turned sideways, so you know he just started a game of FIFA.
“I genuinely believe they’re dating now,” you say seriously. “I saw someone post something a while ago.”
Jake’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he looks up at you. “Seriously? Huh. Good for them.”
“Randomest couple ever,” you comment. “Who would’ve thought?”
“Hm,” Jake ponders, tilting his head toward the ceiling. “Honestly, I think they’re a good match. She was always asking me to, like… ‘protect her’ or something. Like I could do much with the wide array of seventh grade muscles in my arsenal. Nick’s the guy for her.”
You guffaw, sounding like a chicken, sending Jake into his own fit of laughter. While you’re still trying to get ahold of yourself, his bedroom door opens and his mom pokes her head in.
“Hey, kiddos,” she says with a warm smile on her face. “Just came to see if you guys wanted any snacks.” She looks from your comfortable lounging to the happy expressions on your faces. “You guys are just too cute,” she remarks, shaking her head. “Laughing like an old married couple.”
“Mooooom,” Jake groans, throwing his head back. “Don’t be weird.”
You laugh again. “Thanks, Mrs. Sim. Don’t old married couples fight, though? Must be a sign we’re not meant to be.” You shrug defeatedly. Jake cackles.
“Oh,” she tuts, pouting. “You guys just need to stop being so opposed to it and give in. It’s bound to happen someday.”
Both you and Jake grimace at the same time at the suggestion of you two as a couple.
“I’m good, actually,” you decline with a pained face.
“No, thank you.” Jake actually fake gags.
Your smile drops. “Okay, dude, I’m not that unappealing. Tone it down.”
He nods in apology. “My bad, gang.” He turns back to his mom. “I think we’re good, Mom.” He smiles sweetly. “Thanks.”
“Just call if you need anything,” she says before leaving the room.
“Thank you!” You call out after her as you can hear her footsteps retreating down the stairs. “Your mom is the best,” you sigh. “I would marry you just so I could have her as my mother-in-law.”
Jake just blinks at you. “Your love for me is so pure.”
“Seriously, though,” you say, staring at the ceiling fan turn slowly. “Don’t you find it so funny how they’ve pushed for us to be a thing, since, like, literal birth? When are they gonna call it quits?”
“Have you met either of our mothers?” He questions like you’ve been replaced by a robot. “Never, that’s when.”
“I don’t get why we’d ever risk ruining our friendship, you know?” You expand, still watching the propellers spin. “Like, imagine if we dated and were just the worst couple ever.”
Jake scoffs and leans back in his chair. “That’s probably what it would take for them to finally drop this whole thing.”
A light bulb goes off in your brain.
You sit up so fast you’re light headed, your blood flow not evening out yet.
“That’s it!” You exclaim excitedly, a manic grin on your face.
His brows furrow. “What’s it?”
“That’s how we get them to stop,” you explain, planning it all out in your head. “We pretend that we’re finally a couple, but then we act so incompatible and just awful together that they’ll see we’re better off as friends.”
His eyes flicker, a spark of intrigue burning behind them. “And we make them think that we are just so terrible together, even go through a nasty breakup right in front of them.” He’s now wearing an evil grin matching yours.
“Exactly!” You fight back a scream. “Make it so bad that they never even bring up the topic of us dating again. Like they think we’re so traumatized but we’re still friends.”
“Ooh-hoo,” Jake whistles out, low. “I love your twisted brain. When should we do it, though?”
“Valentines.” You snap your finger when the thought comes to you, your brain now working overtime. “Think about it. The holiday of love?”
His smile grows even wider, if possible. “We act like we have some big plans for the day, then royally screw them up.” He’s getting that crazy look in his eye that you know all too well. “It all goes down in flames.”
You nod in enthusiastic agreement, “It’s perfect.” You can’t help but rub your hands together maniacally. “So how should we start?”
“Well, Valentines is in what, like two weeks, right?” Jake asks. “I say we start dropping hints about it now, so that by the time the big day rolls around, we’ve got all this build up that we could crush.”
You simply hum, nodding your head but zoning out. You’re scheming in that twisted brain of yours, as Jake called it. This will take strategic planning and diligent execution. It couldn’t just be a one and done type deal, you needed credibility. It had to be believable.
“I’m gonna start saying like, ‘Oh my goodness, Mom, Jake looked so handsome today,’” you announce. Consider this the first phase of the plan.
Jake snickers. “Are you serious?” He asks, fighting back another laugh. “Is that gonna work?”
You groan and stare at him with tired eyes. “You have no idea how much my mom will freak out when she hears those words come out of my mouth. I kid you not, every time we come back from seeing you, she says something like, ‘Don’t you think Jake looked nice today?’ or ‘You two looked so good together, you’d make such an attractive couple.’”
“Holy crap,” he mumbles, dragging his hands over his face, grinning like a little kid. “This is gonna be so much fun.”
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