#ft.jamie

[daphneharris]

The apartment was quiet when Daphne unlocked the door, the kind of stillness that told her Jamie wasn’t home before she even called his name. "Jamie?" she called out, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet space. She toed off her shoes by the entryway, dropping her bag onto the couch with a tired thump. The trip with Ollie had been good, needed, but the long drive and the constant low buzz of worry in her stomach had worn her raw. Now that she was standing back in their space, the tension she’d been trying to ignore for days started to sink its hooks in again. Her hand drifted toward the front pocket of her jacket, fingers brushing the plastic wrapper she’d been trying not to think about since the day she’d left. The test. She’d carried it around, convincing herself each time that now wasn’t the right moment, that she couldn’t handle the answer yet. But she was home now. There were no more excuses.

Daphne closed her eyes briefly, then exhaled sharply through her nose, muttering to herself, "Okay. Enough putting it off." She walked toward the bathroom, flicked on the light, and stared at her reflection for a moment. Then, with another unsteady breath, she unzipped her jacket pocket and pulled the little box out, the cheerful pink lettering on the packaging feeling like a cruel joke. Everything after that happened in a mechanical blur: tear the foil, follow the instructions, wait. The soft click of the plastic against the edge of the sink felt absurdly loud in the tiny room. When it was done, Daphne set the test down on the counter face-down, unable to look yet. She turned on her heel and stepped out into the hallway, needing space, needing air, needing something normal to do with her hands. In the kitchen, she grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it at the tap, and pressed the cool rim against her lip before even taking a sip. She leaned one hip against the counter, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor, the faint sound of the fridge rumbling beneath the silence. /@jamiedoylex

[herbrokenmelodies]

may this beautiful night never end

who: himiko & jamie @ofpantheons where: abyss nightclub

Amidst the pulsating beats of the music and vibrant neon lights that painted the room hues of electric blue and deep purple, Himiko stood at the heart of her domain, the nightclub she had built from dreams and ambitions. The air hung thick with exhilaration, laughter, booze and vape fumes. Everywhere she looked bodies moved with the music, swaying and twisting with upbeat energy. The dance floor was a chaotic sea of colours and shapes, a celebration of life and freedom.

Her eyes scanned the room, making sure that her favourite clients were doing well as their eyes were alive with excitement and contentment. She gave a small wave to her security team with a light nod to check in with certain rooms upstairs and at back. Quickly, checking her phone to see if she was needed but everything was running perfectly smoothly.

This was the perfect time to take a victory lap to the bar. Himiko deserved a shot or two and hopefully she would not be drinking all by her lonesome. She smirked when she saw a familiar face, Jamie, looking good in the flicker of the neon light. Himiko knocked on the bar signalling her bar tender two shots.

Inching closely behind Jamie, Himiko lowly whispered into Jamie's ear."Take this shot and tell me how cute you think I am." Whilst pressed close to her, pushing the shot glass into her hand. "Bottoms up!"

[daphneharris]

The restaurant felt eerily hollow after closing. Daphne had ignored her father’s pointed "Go home early tonight, Daph," because something about it felt wrong. The way his eyes hadn’t quite met hers, the tense line of his shoulders. So she’d lingered, slipping silently into the shadowy coat closet when the last staff member left, heart thudding against her ribs. The lights were off now, except for the faint glow spilling from the hallway that led to her father's office. The door there was closed, but not fully. Just enough for a thin line of light to cut across the floor. Through the thin door, voices carried: her father’s, low and tense; the mayor’s, older and demanding. Daphne fumbled her Walkman from her purse, pressing record with trembling fingers as the words filtered through:

"…campaign funds need cleaning, Harris. Enzo’s does it clean, no questions. Ten grand wired through your books this week—"

"Kline, I’ve got a daughter who works here—"

"Then make her not work late. Protection’s worth more than her paycheck. Or do we need to discuss those health inspections?"

Daphne’s stomach plummeted, cassette whirring as she stumbled backward, bile rising in her throat. Her father laundering money? For the mayor? She couldn’t listen to this. Not anymore. The Walkman nearly slipped from slick fingers as she slowly backed away, her movements quieter now but less controlled, like her body was acting on instinct. She turned, slipping back through the dining area and into the kitchen, the familiar space suddenly feeling foreign. Her thoughts were too loud as she sank down against one of the lower cabinets, her back hitting it a little harder than she meant to. Hands trembling slightly, she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small, hastily rolled joint. It wasn’t something she did often—just sometimes, when things felt like too much. And this was definitely too much.

The denial choked her as tears burned hot tracks down her cheeks. Her father wasn’t supposed to be this man; crooked deals and threats whispered behind closed doors. Daphne leaned her head back against the cabinet and exhaled slowly—upward, toward the vents, watching it curl and disappear. The haze began to settle over her, softening the jagged edges of her surroundings, turning the terrifying reality into a distant, muffled hum. She stared at the swinging double doors of the kitchen, her vision swimming a little. Her body began to loosen, just a little. Her eyes shifted lazily across the room before they suddenly stopped. There was someone there, and for a second, she didn’t even react. Just stared, her mind slow to catch up, her vision slightly unfocused. Her brows knit faintly, lips parting as she blinked, trying to clear the haze just enough to make sense of it. "…Jamie?" Her voice was quiet, almost disbelieving. She pushed herself up just a little from the floor, her hand bracing weakly against the cabinet. "Are you really here?"

@jamiedoylex

[daphneharris]

daphne&jamie: sweet lies

The morning air in Hawkins was crisp, but inside Enzo’s, it was already thick with the scent of roasted garlic and fresh espresso. It was comforting and familiar, the one part of her life she could always step back into without question. Daphne hung her coat on its usual hook, smoothing down the neat lilac dress that her father insisted was polished but friendly. Then she adjusted the hostess pad on the podium, an unnecessary ritual that gave her hands somewhere to go while her brain caught up. She moved through the dining room like a ghost of her usual self. Her hair was pulled back into a clip with more severity than usual—she hadn't slept. Not really. She had spent the night staring at the ceiling, replaying the sound of her own door clicking shut and the heavy silence that had followed.

By 10:00 AM, her father had already emerged from his office, clapping his hands with uncharacteristic glee. He had been "enormously impressed" by the young man who had shown up for the interview—a man who was "serious, diligent, and didn't have his head in the clouds." Daphne listened to him as always, nodding like a porcelain doll, her heart hammering against her ribs until she thought it might shatter the fine silk of her bodice. She wanted today to feel ordinary. But ordinary wasn’t waiting for her.

From the corner of her eye, through the small window in the swinging kitchen door, she caught a familiar shape—the last person she’d expected to see again so soon. Jamie. For a second, she just stood there, frozen with the reservation book open in her hands. A dozen emotions hit her in messy succession—surprise, relief, tension that went straight to her stomach. He looked different under the kitchen lights. More grounded, maybe, or maybe she was just seeing him without the watercolor haze of that night between them.

When he turned, their eyes met through the narrow window. Daphne froze, breath catching without warning. The hum of the restaurant fell away; there was only that sliver of glass between them, his face half‑lit by the harsh fluorescent light. He looked exactly the same and nothing like he had that night. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. She didn’t wave, didn’t speak. Just stood there gripping the edge of the host stand, her pulse echoing in her ears, unsure whether she was relieved or terrified that he’d actually shown up.

@jamiedoylex

[daphneharris]

The Harris house smelled like expensive perfume and the faint floral notes of the fresh arrangements Daphne’s mother had insisted on placing everywhere. Crystal glasses gleamed on the long dining table, and soft music already drifted from the living room where a few early guests were mingling with glasses of champagne in hand. It was exactly the kind of carefully curated evening her parents loved to host, small but impressive. Daphne stood near the staircase in a soft lavender dress that fell just above her knees, arms loosely crossed over her chest. She’d smiled politely when guests greeted her, played the part of the gracious daughter, but the smile never quite reached her eyes. Ever since that night in the restaurant when she’d overheard her father and the mayor, everything between her and her dad felt strained. She was careful around him now. Watchful. The easy affection she used to feel had been replaced by a quiet tension she couldn’t quite shake. She hadn’t even wanted to be here tonight, but refusing would have caused more questions than she was ready to answer. "Daphne, darling," her mother called from the hallway, adjusting an earring as she hurried past in a sleek black dress. "The caterers are running a little behind, but the extra servers your father hired should be arriving any minute. Would you be a dear and answer the door when the bell rings?" Daphne nodded, offering her mother a small, distracted smile. "Of course, Mom." A moment later, the doorbell chimed through the house, perfectly on cue. Daphne smoothed down the front of her dress, took a steadying breath, and walked toward the grand front door. She pulled it open with the polite, practiced smile she’d been wearing all evening.

And froze.

Standing on the doorstep in a crisp white server’s shirt and black vest with the rest of the hired help, was Jamie. Her Jamie. For a split second, Daphne’s heart stuttered in her chest. Her lips parted in surprise, eyes widening as they locked onto his. The tension she’d been carrying all night cracked under the sudden rush of warmth, confusion, and something sharper. He was here. Working. For her father. And she hadn’t known. "Jamie…?" she breathed, voice soft enough that only he would hear it, her fingers tightening around the edge of the door.

//@jamiedoylex

[daphneharris]

If you know, you know 🤍

[xreachfortheskylarx]

¿

send ؟ for my muse to drunkenly confess something they think about your muse! @hazyjamie

“Jamie’s pretty cool, let’s me rant about how bad waitress is without complaining which… makes him one of the best people here. Totally think he should just quit and go do something fun though, you’re only young once and you gotta make use of that. But if he ever takes something off my plate again, I’m going to kick him because that’s just not right… You gotta ask first.”