vy

Your fiancé was away from the house for hours on end.

Practicing to fill the shoes of his uncle wasn’t an easy job. It required his full focus and dedication, which also means limiting his time with you.

You didn’t mind. You knew how dedicated he was to this role, wanting everything to turn out perfect.

It didn’t matter if he was gone from early mornings till late evenings. At the end of the day, you were the one he came home to.

You were standing at the kitchen counter when you heard the door open, keys dropping onto the side table and thud on the floor.

Before Jaafar got home, you decided to make milkshakes for you and him. You had went out earlier to do a little grocery shopping for the needed items.

You gathered vanilla ice cream, milk, vanilla extract, along with whipped cream, syrup, and cherries for the toppings.

You had started making the milkshakes about an hour ago and were finishing the toppings on yours.

“baby? I’m home.”

“In the kitchen!”

You could hear Jaafar’s footsteps coming towards you as you plopped one last cherry onto your shake before turning around, meeting jaafar’s eyes.

“mm, what ya makin pretty?”

You slid your hands around his neck as you felt his hands settle at your waist, “some milkshakes..wanted to maybe watch a movie and talk about your day while we drink ‘em.”

“sounds perfect.”

Jaafar plants a kiss on your forehead before patting your hips and letting go, “i’ll go freshen up and change, then i’m all yours.”

“don’t make me wait too long!”

“never!”

Ი︵𐑼

You and Jaafar were finally settled on the couch. He had changed into some grey sweats and a white tank top.

You both decided on watching some new romance movie that had just come out, forbidden love or whatever it was about.

Right now, you truly just missed your fiancé and wanted to be in arms as he talked your ears off.

He told you about the dance instructors he met, the songs he rehearsed, anything he could remember he told you.

You didn’t say much in response, just nodding your head with a few nosies of agreement from time to time.

It’s not like you weren’t listening, he knew you were. He just also knew that you missed him and would prefer hearing his voice rather than your own.

“Oh! my favorite song we rehearsed today had to be human nature, it’s such a beautiful song and his vocals are amazing in it.”

“mhm..”

You had finished your milkshake a few minutes ago. Your head now just resting on Jaafar’s chest as he continued to ramble.

Eventually, the movie started to get a little boring, and you could feel your eyes growing heavy. You tried your best to stay awake, not wanting to fall asleep while Jaafar was still talking, but you couldn’t fight it. Your eyes slowly closed as you felt sleep take over.

Jaafar continued talking until he noticed you had stopped responding to him, along with your slow breaths.

He looked down at your face, realizing you had fallen asleep on him.

He smiled to himself before grabbing the remote and turning off the TV. He, slowly, slipped himself from underneath you to put your glasses in the sink, deciding to worry about dishes later.

He then hooked his arms under the back of your knees and his other placed on your back as he picked you up, carrying you to your shared bedroom.

He placed you in bed carefully, making sure he didn’t disturb your sleep, before walking over to turn off the overhead light.

Slipping in bed next to you, he pulled the covers up and wrapped his arms around your waist before pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“Goodnight, pretty girl.”

a/n: my husband, also part 1 will be my next post and if it’s not…dw

he’s always stealing candid pics of you when you’re not looking. you’re half asleep on the plane with your mouth slightly open? click. you’re staring out the window at the sunset with that soft little smile? click. you’re struggling to open a snack bag like it personally offended you? click.

every trip has an official 'photo diary'. he’ll sit on the hotel balcony at 2am editing the day’s pics while you’re curled up in bed and he keeps whispering 'babe look at this one' every five seconds. you pretend to be annoyed but you love seeing how he sees you

jaafar is BIG on the 'stop, you gotta stand right here' moments. you’ll be walking through some pretty european street and suddenly he’s grabbing your hand, spinning you around, and positioning you in the golden hour light like you’re his personal muse. “just trust me, baby” — sir i’ve been standing here posing for ten minutes my legs are tired

he has an entire section on his camera roll labeled 'you + the world' and it’s the softest shit ever. pictures of your hands intertwined with different city backgrounds, your silhouette against mountains, you laughing while feeding street cats in italy…he prints some of them and puts them in a little travel journal he keeps

lowkey protective of his camera but will let you use it without hesitation. the one time you accidentally changed a setting and took blurry pics he just laughed, kissed your forehead, and said 'we’ll call these abstract art'

nighttime balcony shoots are a THING. after a long day exploring he’ll set up his camera for long exposure shots of the city lights and make you model in his hoodie or his jacket. half the time it turns into a full-on makeout session and the pics come out all blurry and dreamy and he still keeps them because 'they feel like us'

he gets this really focused look when he’s taking pictures of you and it makes you shy every single time. like the way his eyes soften behind the lens? lethal. you once asked him why he takes so many and he just shrugged and said 'i never wanna forget how you look when you’re happy with me'

surprise photo dumps on his close friends story that are literally just 47 pics of you. his friends are in the group chat like 'jaafar we get it' and he replies with more pics 💀

whenever you’re feeling insecure or having a bad travel day he pulls up the camera and starts hyping you up through the lens until you’re giggling and posing. it’s his love language at this point

by the end of every trip your suitcase has a new stack of printed polaroids or film scans that he secretly got developed. he labels them with dates and little notes like 'first time you tried real gelato' or 'the day you stole my heart in santorini again'

he’s not just documenting the places you go, he’s documenting the love story in real time and it’s the most jaafar thing ever 🥹

When you’d made it, you titled it ‘dancing in the kitchen’ and cringed slightly to yourself as you did, embarrassed at your own yearning for something that had felt so far out of reach. Now, though, it just makes you smile, that simple dream that had felt lightyears beyond reality was your everyday life. 

As you bend to take your shoes off, your back aches in protest, and you stand with a grimace. It seems like every day for the last few weeks had been a constant flurry of motion. There was always something for you to do, somewhere for you to go, someone for you to meet. It was always fun, that liveliness that summer brought no matter how old you got. Now, though, after weeks of going nonstop, you needed a break.

All you craved, with your whole body and soul, was a quiet night in. And, like Jaafar could read your mind, it seemed like that was exactly what was in store for you.

There’s something simmering on the stove, and when you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, you have the perfect view of Jaafar bent over the cutting board. The music is louder in here, still quiet enough to fade into the background but loud enough to cover the sounds of you coming home, especially with how focused Jaafar seems.

You take in the shape of him, the t-shirt stretched across his back and the sight of his arms as he chops something, head dipped down. As much as you enjoy watching him from a distance, you crave his contact and cross the space to reach him. Featherlight, you skate your hands along his ribs, wrapping your arms around his waist and feeling him jump at the contact as you rest your head against his back.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he says, setting the knife down to twist in your hold, desperate to see you. The two of you have both been so busy, it seems like the only time you get to spend together is while you’re both asleep. As silly and dramatic as it sounds, he’s missed seeing you, feeling you like this.

In response, you just hum, a relaxed state of being taking over your body and making it nearly impossible for you to form a full sentence.

“You’re lucky I didn’t stab myself with that knife,” he continues, and you laugh, a sound that never fails to warm his heart. You push yourself upwards, and Jaafar bends down to kiss you softly.

“You’re dramatic,” you counter, speaking into the fraction of space between you before kissing him again. You’d be perfectly content to stay like this forever, but your jeans are digging into your hips and dinner is only halfway finished, so you pull yourself away.

By the time you return, jeans swapped for clothes better suited to a night of doing nothing, Jaafar’s made his way back to the stove, stirring something in a saucepan that continues to sizzle.

“Smells nice,” you say, leaning yourself back against the countertop and taking in the scene in front of you. Jaafar turns to smile at you over his shoulder, shaking his head when he realizes you were already looking. The music playing softly from the speakers fills the room, interspersed with the sounds coming from the stovetop.

The song ends, the beginning notes of the next one making a smile come to your face before you even realize it. It’s a song that had played on one of your first dates with Jaafar, and you’d gone home and added it to the playlist as you laid in bed, replaying your time with him over and over again in your head. 

Hearing it now makes you feel all sappy, and you’re considering if it would be too distracting if you went over to Jaafar and wrapped your arms around him again.

Before you can move, though, Jaafar is sliding the pan off the burner and turning towards you, hands reaching for you across the small space. You meet him in the middle of the kitchen, looping your hands around his neck as his find your waist. The two of you start to sway in time with the music, neither of you saying a word.

You’re simply enjoying being in each other’s company, cherishing the little moments of being together that have seemed few and far between in recent weeks. It’s a double-edged sword, having so many exciting things going on, especially when they pull the two of you in opposite directions.

Now, though, none of the matters, and it’s like the universe shrinks down to a pinhead. All that exists is you and Jaafar, dancing together in the kitchen, bathed in golden light as the sun begins to set over the skyline.

“Haven’t heard this song in forever,” Jaafar says quietly, looking down at you with an expression so full of love it makes your teeth ache.

“That’s what happens when a playlist is twelve hours long,” you joke, wrinkling your nose when Jaafar sticks his tongue out at you, the mood shifting towards something sweet and playful as the exhaustion of the week starts to evaporate, simply from being together. 

There’s always music playing in your apartment, sometimes its sweet and slow like this and other days, it’s the opposite end of the spectrum. In your weeks and months and years spent together, you and Jaafar have found a rhythm that’s wholly your own, filling the space you share with the things most important to you, like love and laughter and warm memories and always, always music.

The beat picks up, growing as the song progresses, and Jaafar shifts his hold, gently pulling your hands free to grab one in his own. He spins you outwards as the music swells and then tugs you back in, the both of you grinning and breathless with laughter by the time the song ends. It fades into something else, but the two of you keep swaying together. 

For a while, dinner sits forgotten on the stove as the two of you dance to the music that fills the kitchen, jazz fading into classical fading into something else entirely. The two of you are too wrapped up in each other to really notice, the music fading to the background like something in a movie.

After what felt like weeks without spending any real time together, the closeness of your bodies is like a balm to your exhaustion. The feeling of his heart beating in his chest, his pulse thrumming in his throat, relaxes you like nothing else. You feel his breathing, his lungs expanding and deflating beneath your palms as you settle your hands on his ribs, your hips moving together to the beat.

You feel his warm skin beneath your hands, exploring the map of his body like its uncharted territory. It very well could be, for all that you’ve been able to spend time like this lately. There’s something sensual about it, perhaps, but none of it is sexual. You both just want to be as close as possible, want to share the same air and time your breathing together the way you’ve synched your movements to the music.

Eventually, you’ll have to return to reality, eat and wash the dishes and complete whatever other household tasks have been neglected due to your hectic schedules. But you’ll do it all together, brimming with joy and trading kisses and laughter as the music floats through your apartment for the rest of the night, having become such a fixture of the evening you forget to turn it off before tumbling into bed.

this was so sweet omggg thank you for the request!! love me some good domestic fluff <3 please don't hesitate to send in an ask with any sort of request, i love hearing from you guys!! hope you enjoy this <3

2023 los angeles

if someone would've told you that during your acting class you would've fallen in love, you would've called them crazy. you hadn't walked into that classroom looking for anything other than becoming a better actor. romance wasn't part of the plan, and neither was finding someone who would slowly become your favorite part of every week. somehow, though, love had a way of slipping through the cracks when you weren't paying attention.

jaafar was different. he was kind, soft-spoken, endlessly patient, and so genuinely sweet that it caught you off guard. there was never any need for him to be the loudest person in the room or the center of attention. instead, he had this quiet warmth about him that naturally drew people in, and before long, you realized it had drawn you in too.

your teachers quickly noticed how well the two of you worked together and started pairing you for scene work whenever they could, always commenting on the "natural chemistry" between you. you didn't mind in the slightest. jaafar was an incredible actor, completely committed to every scene, and working opposite him always made you feel like a better performer yourself.

somewhere along the way, though, those scenes stopped feeling like just assignments.

every time the class was given a romantic monologue or an intimate scene, jaafar would look at you with such unwavering focus that the rest of the room seemed to disappear. he always held your gaze just a heartbeat longer than necessary, his eyes carrying a softness that wasn't written anywhere in the script. it was enough to make your pulse stumble, enough that more than once you nearly forgot your next line because all you could think about was how convincingly he looked at you.

the acting coaches praised the authenticity between you two, and neither of you had the heart to admit it was becoming less and less like acting.

then came the dates.

about a month into the class, jaafar had asked if you'd wanted to grab coffee before rehearsal one morning. the invitation had been casual enough that it didn't make your heart race until after you'd already said yes. the two of you exchanged numbers, met at a small coffee shop before class, and somehow spent nearly three hours talking.

he told you stories about his family. funny moments growing up, memories with his parents, stories about his siblings, aunts, and uncles that always made him smile while he told them. you noticed he never actually said anyone's name, but you hadn't thought much of it. everyone shared things differently, and if he wasn't ready to introduce names into those stories, you weren't going to pry.

instead, you found yourself wanting to know more about him.

he asked about your childhood, where you grew up, what first made you fall in love with acting, your favorite films, the places you wanted to travel, the dreams you hoped acting would someday make possible. every answer only led to another question, and before either of you realized it, you were laughing so much that you nearly forgot you had class to get to.

after that, the dates became a weekly tradition; sometimes it was coffee before class, other times it was dinner afterward. sometimes you'd wander around a bookstore for an hour, recommending your favorite novels to each other. other times you'd see a movie together, only to spend the drive home happily picking apart every performance like the acting students you were.

being together felt easy.

your first kiss happened after one of those dates, ironically, it was because of the michael movie. you had been scrolling through your phone when an article caught your attention, mentioning that the upcoming michael jackson biopic was still holding auditions as the filmmakers searched for the right actor to portray michael.

you turned your phone toward jaafar.

“you should audition for this,” you told him, having no idea that the very role you were showing him was the reason he was in your acting class to begin with.

jaafar looked down at the article before letting out a quiet chuckle to himself. there was something almost surreal about the moment. nobody in the class knew why he was really there. to everyone else, he was just another actor trying to sharpen his craft, another student chasing auditions and hoping for a big break.

if only you knew.

“i think you'd be really good for it. you're naturally soft-spoken like michael was, and really cute like michael,” you say without even thinking about it.

“oh, so you think i'm cute?” jaafar latched onto the one part of your sentence that made your composure immediately crumble.

you bit down on your lip as warmth rushed to your cheeks, silently cursing yourself for letting that one slip.

“yeah, yeah, you are... but seriously, i know taking on the king of pop would be a lot, but i think you can do it,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to the movie.

jaafar's smile softened instantly. you had no idea how much those words meant to him. you didn't know he'd already been cast and the entire reason he'd spent the last several months in acting class was because he was preparing to become michael.

you didn't know the countless hours he'd spent questioning whether he was good enough, whether he could carry the weight of portraying not just a global icon, but his own uncle.

yet somehow, without knowing any of it, you looked at him and saw exactly what the filmmakers had seen. you believed he could do it before you even knew there was something to believe in.

he wished, more than anything, that he could've told you the truth right then and there.

“only if you audition for ola ray,” he said instead, teasing you about being his love interest in thriller. you giggled, your cheeks somehow growing even warmer as you rolled your eyes, unable to stop smiling.

“if they do a part two, i'll wait and audition for iman for remember the time, michael's first on screen kiss in all of his short films,” you said with a teasing smile.

jaafar raised an eyebrow. “oh, yeah? if you wanted to kiss me, you could just ask.” for a split second, your brain completely short-circuited. you stared at him, trying to decide if he'd actually just said that or if your imagination had gotten the better of you.

“hmm, you're so confident you're gonna get the role?” you teased, finally finding your footing again.

he laughed, shaking his head. “no, so if i don't, i'll have to watch you kiss someone else.”

your smile only widened. “now who wants to kiss who so bad?” you teased, thoroughly enjoying the way his cheeks immediately turned a deep shade of red.

it was impossible not to smile triumphantly at finally making him just as flustered as he'd made you, but your teasing only lasted for a moment. almost without thinking, you found yourself leaning a little closer across the table and jaafar noticed.

his smile softened again, his expression losing every ounce of playful confidence as something quieter settled over him. he lifted one hand slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, before gently cupping your jaw. his thumb rested lightly against your cheek, his touch careful and warm, as if he was still making sure this was really happening.

you both leaned in at the same time, closing the last few inches between you until your lips met in the middle in a soft, lingering kiss, right there in the middle of the coffee shop. it was gentle and tentative in all the best ways, like two people who had spent months dancing around their feelings had finally allowed themselves to stop pretending they weren't there.

when you finally pulled back, neither of you could stop smiling.

acting class had changed after that.

not because you and jaafar started acting any differently, but because now that your feelings were out in the open, neither of you were particularly good at hiding them anymore. there was still a level of professionalism the two of you maintained during class, always committed to your scenes and giving each other honest notes afterward, but the little things had become impossible for everyone else to miss.

the way he'd instinctively save the seat beside him before every class started, how the two of you were always the last to leave because one conversation somehow turned into five, or the soft smiles that would spread across both of your faces whenever your teachers announced you were paired together again. it didn't take long before everyone in the class realized there was clearly something more going on between the two of you.

for months, your lives settled into a routine that felt so natural it was hard to remember what acting class had been like before jaafar walked into it. the two of you continued performing together and keeping things mostly professional while you were there, but the moment class was over, he was yours.

some nights he took you out to dinner, while other nights you cooked together in your apartment, laughing every time one of you inevitably made a mess in the kitchen. movie nights became a weekly tradition, usually ending with your dog atlas insisting on curling up across both of your legs at the foot of your bed, refusing to move no matter how many times either of you tried.

sleepovers became so common that waking up beside jaafar started feeling as ordinary as waking up alone once had, and somewhere over the course of those months, he realized he didn't want to keep calling you the girl he was dating. he wanted you to be his girlfriend.

then came the day.

the moment graham king walked into your acting class, every conversation in the room came to an abrupt stop. nobody expected one of hollywood's biggest producers to casually walk into an acting studio, and judging by the confused looks everyone exchanged, no one had the slightest idea why he was there.

after introducing himself, he began talking about the michael biopic, explaining that after an extensive search, they had finally found the actor who would portray michael jackson.

sitting beside jaafar, you leaned over with a grin and gently nudged his arm. “did you audition like i told you to?” you tease.

jaafar let out a small laugh, but it did little to settle the nerves that had been building in his stomach since the moment he'd walked into class that morning.

you had noticed something was off almost immediately. he had been quieter than usual, smiling whenever you looked at him but seeming distracted, as though something was constantly pulling at the back of his mind. you'd assumed he was nervous about an audition or maybe something going on with his family, never imagining that the reason for his anxiety was sitting only a few feet away from him.

because jaafar already knew exactly why graham was there.

he knew that within the next few minutes, everyone in the room would learn who he really was, and as excited as he was for the announcement itself, all he could think about was you.

for weeks he'd been carrying around a completely different plan for today. after class, he was going to take you to dinner at one of your favorite restaurants before finally asking you to be his girlfriend. he'd thought about what he wanted to say more times than he could count, wanting the moment to be perfect because that's what you deserved.

now, he wasn't sure if he'd even get the chance.

he'd never wanted to keep something this big from you. graham had made it clear from the beginning that nobody in the acting class was to know he was jermaine jackson's son or michael's nephew. the entire point of sending him there was so he'd be treated like every other aspiring actor, not like someone with one of the most recognizable last names in the world. he needed to learn, to struggle, and to grow without anyone treating him differently because of who his family was.

still, that didn't stop the guilt that had quietly settled in his chest over the months he'd spent getting closer to you.

he'd told you stories about growing up, about his parents, his siblings, his aunts and uncles, carefully dancing around names every single time. there had been so many moments he'd wanted to tell you the truth, especially as your relationship became more serious, but every time he thought about it, he remembered the promise he'd made and convinced himself he'd explain everything once he was finally allowed to.

he just hadn't wanted you to find out like this.

“and we're excited to announce the lead for the michael movie is... jaafar jackson,” graham said. your entire body seemed to freeze.

you watched as jaafar slowly stood from his seat, an almost shy smile spreading across his face before he walked over to graham and accepted a congratulatory hug. for a moment, you couldn't hear anything except the pounding of your own heartbeat, your brain struggling to catch up with what had just been said before the room suddenly erupted into applause, cheers, and countless voices talking over one another in complete disbelief.

“this is jaafar's first acting role, so we sent him here to get some acting lessons and told him not to tell anyone his surname or that he's michael's nephew or that this class was to help him prepare for the role, so jaafar didn't lie to you all, we did,” graham explained, almost as though he knew exactly what everyone in the room was thinking.

while your classmates crowded around jaafar with congratulations and endless questions, his attention never left you. through the sea of people between you, his eyes searched your face, desperately trying to read an expression he suddenly couldn't understand.

you looked completely stunned.

your eyes were wide as you sat quietly in your seat, your hands folded together in your lap while everything you'd learned about jaafar over the last year replayed in your mind. all those stories about his family where he had never once said a name. the countless conversations you'd had about auditions and acting. every date, every night he'd spent at your apartment, every moment you'd shared together. for months, you'd fallen in love with a man who had kept something so unimaginably huge from you.

but even through the shock, graham's words echoed in your mind. jaafar didn't lie to you all, we did. he hadn't been allowed to tell you.

that realization didn't erase your surprise, but it kept your heart from immediately assuming the worst because, knowing jaafar the way you did, you couldn't imagine him willingly keeping something like this from you unless he truly had no choice.

your acting teacher eventually dismissed class early, knowing nobody was going to be focusing on scene work after an announcement like that.

the second you stood from your chair, jaafar felt his stomach drop, you were the first person to walk out of the room.

his smile faded almost instantly as panic settled over him. after quickly excusing himself from graham and apologizing to the classmates still trying to congratulate him, he hurried after you, his only thought being that he couldn't let you leave believing he'd intentionally kept this from you.

“baby,” he gently grabbed your wrist once you were both outside and turned you around. you didn't pull back from him, but you also didn't know what to say. t

here were so many thoughts racing through your mind that you couldn't seem to grab onto just one long enough to put it into words, and judging by the nervousness written all over jaafar's face, he was terrified of what you were about to say.

“this whole time?” you finally asked, your voice quieter than you'd intended and jaafar's heart sank.

“i wasn't trying to be malicious, or trick you, or intentionally lie to you, i promise,” jaafar says, his voice soft and full of sincerity. you nodded.

“i know but i just... i mean i get it, but... we've been going on dates for nearly a year, i've told you things i've never told anyone... i invited you into my home, my bed... i let you meet my dog, i don't let anybody meet atlas, because he usually hates everyone,” you say, and hearing yourself say it out loud makes you realize how ridiculous that last part sounds. despite everything weighing on your heart, you couldn't help letting out a small laugh. “but he really loves you,” you say, and jaafar can't help laughing too.

“i really love atlas too. i wanted to tell you, so many times, i did,” he says and you frown, because that was the other thing that held jaafar back from asking you to be his girlfriend.

he didn't want to enter a serious relationship with you if you didn't know the truth. every time he'd thought about asking you, the excitement of finally making things official had been followed by the same nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

if you found out afterward, would you think he'd built your relationship on a lie? would you feel betrayed that something so significant had been kept from you for so long? he wanted the two of you to start that next chapter with complete honesty between you, but every time he'd come close to telling you himself, he remembered the promise he'd made to graham.

he'd convinced himself that once the announcement was public, he'd finally be able to explain everything to you, answer every question you had, and then ask you to be his girlfriend knowing there would be no more secrets between you.

“did you not trust me? i wouldn't have said anything to anyone,” you say and jaafar immediately shakes his head.

“i know, baby... i know you wouldn't. i should've told you, i should've never let it be an ambush like that in class,” he says, guilt evident in his voice. “i hated watching you find out like that.”

you slowly ran your fingers back through your hair, trying to make sense of the last several months before your eyes suddenly widened.

“so months ago during one of our early dates when i told you that you should audition for the movie because you'd probably be good for it...” you trail off and he nods.

“yeah...” he says. you let out a disbelieving laugh, still trying to wrap your head around it.

“and all the stories about when your uncle would take you, your siblings, and your cousins to the amusement park and to the zoo, you really meant—” he gently cuts you off.

“family days at neverland ranch,” he says as he bites down on his lip to suppress a smile.

the words hung in the air between you, and suddenly every conversation you'd ever had with him replayed differently in your mind. all those stories he'd told you over coffee, during late-night drives home, or while the two of you were curled up watching movies suddenly had names attached to them.

he hadn't been vague because he didn't want to share his life with you. he'd been vague because he was trying to share as much of it as he could without breaking the promise he'd made.

“wow... wow,” you say, because you're not sure what else to say. “so michael is really your uncle?” you ask and jaafar nods.

“yeah.”

“so who's your dad?” you ask.

“you can't tell?” he asks with a teasing smile.

you roll your eyes, but you find yourself studying his face again, this time with completely different eyes than before. you'd spent nearly a year memorizing every feature of his face without ever thinking about who he resembled, but now that you knew the family he came from, the resemblance became impossible to ignore.

recognition washed over you almost immediately, followed by a laugh as you realized you'd noticed it before and convinced yourself you were imagining things.

“i always thought you looked like jermaine, but thought i was crazy for thinking that,” you say, and jaafar laughs while shaking his head.

“well you'd be right, jermaine is my dad,” he says.

you nodded slowly, and the silence that settled between you felt different this time. the brief moment of teasing had faded as the reality of everything finally settled over you. for nearly a year, you'd been falling in love with someone from one of the most well-known families in music, and you'd had absolutely no idea.

somehow, despite everything that had just changed, when you looked at jaafar, you still saw the same man you'd shared countless dinners with, the same man atlas adored for reasons neither of you could explain, the same man who held your hand during movies and kissed you goodbye after every date. he didn't suddenly feel like someone else.

he still felt like jaafar.

“i should probably... go now,” you say, needing a little time to process everything you'd just learned. jaafar's heart immediately dropped.

“wait, before you do... can i tell you what i wanted to tell you today?” he asks, and you raise an eyebrow, surprised that after everything that had just happened, there could possibly be something else he wanted to say.

“you had something to follow up being told you're michael jackson's freaking nephew?” you ask, and a soft chuckle escapes him.

“i had a whole plan for today, for after class. i was going to ask you to get dinner with me again, and i had this whole speech prepared,” jaafar says.

you raise an eyebrow. “a speech?”

“a big one,” he says, the nervous smile on his face making it obvious he'd probably rehearsed it over and over in his head.

despite everything still swirling around in your mind, the image of jaafar standing in front of his bathroom mirror practicing a speech made the corners of your mouth lift into the first genuine smile you'd had since graham's announcement. seeing that smile appear on your face seemed to let him breathe for the first time all afternoon, and you realized he wasn't worried about whether you knew he was a jackson anymore.

he was worried about whether you still wanted whatever the two of you had been building toward for the last year. you walked over to the bench nearby before sitting down, then looked up at him and nodded toward the empty spot beside you.

“okay, i'll hear your speech,” you say.

jaafar lets out a quiet laugh, relief softening every bit of tension in his face as he realizes you're giving him exactly what he'd hoped for.

a chance.

“during this dinner, i wanted to tell you that i’ve never met anyone like you. i had come to this acting class to learn, before taking on the weight of a global icon, i expected to go through monologues, learn techniques, learn what it means to be an actor, but i hadn’t expected you,” jaafar says.

your smile immediately softens, warmth blooming in your chest despite everything that had happened over the last hour. he was standing there in front of you, clearly nervous, pouring his heart out exactly the way he'd planned to before his entire world had been turned upside down. as sweet as it was, though, you couldn't resist teasing him just a little.

“is the whole speech this corny?” you ask. jaafar lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he looks down at the ground for a second before looking back at you.

“that right there, is one of the things i love most about you, because i'm in love with you... and i was scared that if you knew who i really was that maybe you'd end up only seeing the jackson name. you made me feel normal, where i didn't have to be the man who came from a famous family, i could just be jaafar, a first time actor trying to learn what the hell to do,” he says.

you let out a soft laugh at the end of his sentence, but it was quickly overtaken by the sting behind your eyes.

he loved you. he hadn't stumbled over the words or said them by accident. he'd said them with complete certainty, like he'd been carrying them around for months, just waiting for the right moment to finally let you hear them.

suddenly, the shock of everything you'd learned that afternoon became so much smaller than the man standing in front of you. the famous last name, the movie, the pressure that was about to consume his life, none of it seemed nearly as important as the vulnerability in his eyes as he waited for you to hear him out.

“jaafar…” you say.

he gently shakes his head with a small smile, he's not done.

“i love our movie nights. i love when atlas lays on our legs and i can't move because it means i get to have you closer. i love when you dance while cooking when you think no one's watching you. i love how you yell at characters in movies for making dumb choices. i love you, baby, and i'm sorry i didn't tell you who i was sooner and you had to find out with everyone else, but i would love for you to be my girlfriend, if you'll still have me,” jaafar says.

your eyes widened as the last of his words settled over you, and before you could stop them, tears spilled down your cheeks. every little thing he'd listed wasn't some grand romantic gesture, they were the ordinary moments, the quiet moments, the ones that happened when nobody else was around.

he hadn't fallen in love with some perfect version of you, it made your heart ache in the most beautiful way.

jaafar finally let out the breath he'd been holding before walking over and sitting down beside you on the bench. the adrenaline that had been carrying him through his confession suddenly disappeared, leaving him feeling almost lightheaded as he took a slow, steadying breath. he'd finally said everything he'd spent weeks rehearsing.

now all that was left was your answer.

“i love you too, jaafar... it hit me so hard it scared me, but seeing you curled up asleep in my bed, i just thought to myself... i always want to wake up like this, next to him. i don't care what your last name is. i don't care if you came from the richest family or the poorest. i love you, and i would love to be your girlfriend,” you say.

the moment the words left your mouth, the nervousness he'd been carrying all day completely melted away. without wasting another second, jaafar reached up and gently cupped your face before pulling you toward him, kissing you with everything he'd been holding back for the last hour.

you melted into him just like you always did whenever he kissed you, your arms naturally wrapping around his neck as your fingers found the curls resting against the nape of his neck, gently playing with them the way you knew he loved. the kiss was slow and unhurried, filled with every emotion the two of you had struggled to put into words that afternoon.

when you finally pulled apart, neither of you moved very far away. your foreheads nearly touched, your noses brushing as you both smiled through damp eyes, completely content just to exist in the quiet moment the two of you had fought so hard to get back.

“the next few years... however long it takes to make this movie... it's going to be a lot,” he whispers to you.

you nodded before answering just as quietly. “i know.” there wasn't any fear in your voice, only understanding.

you'd watched how dedicated he'd been to acting over the last year, and if portraying michael required even more of him than acting class had, then you already knew the road ahead wasn't going to be easy. you weren't walking into this relationship expecting all of his time or attention. you knew this role meant something bigger than either of you.

“between rehearsals and filming, i don't know what my schedule will always look like, but i promise... i will always prioritize our weekly dates,” jaafar says.

you smiled and nodded.

you'd already anticipated that the movie was going to consume most of his life for a while. it was the opportunity of a lifetime, one he'd worked unbelievably hard for, and you would never ask him to choose between you and the dream he'd sacrificed so much to achieve.

instead, you reached over and intertwined your fingers with his.

“i'll be here every step of the way,” you promise.

the conviction in your voice made something soften behind his eyes. through everything that had happened that day, through the fear that you'd walk away after learning who he really was, the only thing he'd wanted was for you to still choose him, and you had.

“i love you,” he says.

the words still felt new.

hearing them sent warmth flooding through your chest all over again, and you couldn't stop the smile that spread across your face. you weren't used to hearing someone say them to you like that, with such certainty and tenderness, but you already knew you could spend the rest of your life listening to him.

“i love you too,” you whisper back.

his smile only grew before he leaned in and kissed you again.

He spends a lot of time on his phone these days. Scrolling through his camera roll and letting the corner of his lips twitch in amusement at the numerous photos he keeps of Tanner and Penny, flicking through social media and slowly feeling his brain rot away, whatever it takes to keep his mind busy and away from his situation.

Tonight, he lays on the couch, Petunia tucked into the crook between his outstretched legs despite how large she has gotten in the past year. The weight of her against his body is reassuring – a reminder that he’s still loved despite it all, even if it was mainly by his spur-of-the-moment dog. One hand drags a soothing line along the crease between her eyes while the other scrolls through social media, half-lidded in that weird liminal space between boredom and mildly entertained.

Just as he’s about to finally set the device down and let his brain wash away with Survivor re-runs, his phone buzzes with a singular text, peaking his interest again. The name on the message is what has him sitting up so fast that it startles the golden retriever on his lap.

If he looked back on any time in his past, Frank would find you. He had been great friends with your older brother, especially since your family had lived next door for as long as he could remember. He had spent a lot of time at your house or at social mixers that your parents tended to throw for the neighborhood, smiling at the side of your brother as you had bickered as siblings do.

It wasn’t like you had spent a lot of alone time together. A quick conversation in the kitchen as he came down for a snack, a playful taunt from his lips when you had tried a new outfit or hairstyle, splashing you with the hose when you were just watching them gallivant outside during the hot summers.

One of the last times Frank saw you, you were still a teenager. Wide-eyed and yet still believing that the entire world was against you, friendship bracelets littering your wrists and a streak of red in your hair from when your mother had finally allowed you to add just one color.

You had sat behind the shoulder of your brother, arms crossed over your chest as both of your families and numerous friends from the neighborhood crooned their sadness that he was leaving for college. The entire day of his going away party, you had stayed quiet and compliant, although you had never attempted to leave.

That night, as the crowd dwindled and everyone started cleaning up, you had curled one arm around his waist like you were afraid to touch him and murmured an “i’ll miss you” into his ribcage. He had simply pulled you closer until you were forced to add your other arm around him, squeezing you closer and whispering the secret right back into your hair. You’ve talked every now and then since he left. Your parents are still close to his own, which means he tends to see you every time he visits his family, although the two of you never mention the night he left. Sometimes, you’ll send him a quick text asking a medical question. 

How do you know if your sunburn is sun poisoning? 

What’s an emergency-room level fever? 

My finger is swollen but I can move it. Is it broken?

He always entertained the small bits of conversation he could grab from you, even when he had been with Abby. When she had asked about you, he had just called you his childhood friend’s younger sister, even if it made something churn in his stomach.

And now, after a few months of no medical inquiries hitting his inbox, there you are.

YOU: i have a question FRANK: you always do YOU: this isn’t about my health FRANK: didn’t know you could ask questions that weren’t about your health YOU: ha ha YOU: listen YOU: hold on. can i call you?

Frank sits up a little taller, passing an apologetic glance towards Petunia when she lets out an annoyed groan at how much he’s fidgeting. He looks around his apartment like you’re going to be able to see his cluttered living room through the phone before responding with the most nonchalant yes he can muster.

His phone rings only a few moments later, a young photo of you filling his screen from your contact. He answers after letting it vibrate once against his palm, clearing his throat before the microphone turns on. “Hello?”

“Frank!” His name comes out in a squeak. “Uh, hey. How are you?”

He can’t help the small smile that blooms, looking around his empty apartment. You weren’t filled in on his divorce yet, he assumed. “Peachy,” he lies easily. “What’s up?”

There’s rustling on your side of the line before a heavy sigh. “Hey, I need to ask you a favor. It’s big, and it’s okay if you don’t have an answer right now, but I just… I don’t know.” Your words are rushed, nervousness seeping through every word.

“Hey,” he coos calmly. “Stop freaking out or you’re gonna make me think you need help hiding a body.”

“Ha-ha.” A sarcastic response just like the one you had texted him. He grins again at the thought. “Okay. I’ll cut to it.”

Another heavy sigh seeps through the speaker, crackling in his ear. “Is there any way I can stay with you for a week? I know that you have Tanner and Penny, plus I don’t know how Abby will feel about it, but I’m waiting for my new place in Pittsburgh to open up, but my new job needs me to start this week and it won’t be available until Tuesday at the latest and I don’t really know how many nights at a hotel I can afford or mentally stand.”

Frank’s eyebrows raise so high on his forehead that he’s sure they’ve integrated themself into his hairline. His lips part, then close, then part again as he runs your rushed words through his head over and over. Then, he swallows, shaking his head. “You’re moving to Pittsburgh? I thought you were living with a boyfriend or something, a few minutes from home.”

“Uh, yeah.” You laugh, although it sounds strained. He can imagine you now, twirling a strand of hair around your pointer finger as you paced. He saw it a lot during the teenage years, watching you try to convince your parents through the phone that you really wanted to go to a friend’s sleepover, even though you were actually trying to sneak out to some house party. “No boyfriend anymore. No boyfriend, no home. Bye-bye. To Pittsburgh, I go, seeking employment opportunities.”

He’s quiet again for another moment, mulling it over. His thoughts run so fast that he finally peels himself off of his couch, taking a page out of your book and pacing along the line of his rug. 

He must’ve been quiet for way too long, because you speak again. “You can take your time to give me an answer. I’ll drive down there at the end of this weekend, so there’s a few days to think it over. I just wanted to ask in advance rather than show up on your doorstep.”

And thank God you didn’t. You’d find your way to “his” house and be greeted by his ex-wife, who still says his name with a slice of distaste. You’d find out from her about everything that’s happened in the past two years of his life – drug addiction, rehab, divorce, custody agreements, consistent loneliness minus man’s best friend, Petunia.

“Uh,” he says stupidly.

Everything he could say turns into dust on his tongue, unable to get out a single word. How does he explain all of this? That the charming teenager you once knew, who was consistently surrounded by good friends that were always willing to celebrate him, had lost his college sweetheart in a messy divorce after throwing his back out, getting addicted to benzos and almost losing his job?

Lord knows Frank has lost all of his ego at this point in his life, other than his promise of being a good doctor, but he can almost ensure that you liked who he was as a teenager. His childhood and teenage years were filled with your wide eyes, asking him to open jars for you or to drive you to some friend’s house. When your first boyfriend had broken up with you, he had been the one who had picked you up from his house, ignoring the squeeze in his chest at the sight of your red eyes as he promised not to tell your brother.

“Can we talk about it? When you come in on Sunday?” He asks. 

Three days. Three days is all he has to figure out what exactly he’s going to tell you. Three days to come to terms with the fact that you may never see him the same ever again.

He isn’t sure why he cares so much. His parents knew of his divorce, of his ten-month stint in rehab. It’d been hard enough to tell them, and he had survived, but telling you feels like an entire weight sitting on his chest.

Your next words come out too hopeful. “Yeah! Okay!” Then, with a grin so wide he can hear it without seeing your face, you make a last minute addition. “At least I get to see you once, even if Abby ends up saying no to me staying.”

Abby, Abby, Abby. Why did you feel the incessant need to bring her up? Even if he was still married to her, he had known you way before she had even existed, had had numerous conversations about topics that didn’t include her.

Instead of being annoyed about it, he chooses to instead stick to the happy feelings that you being excited to see him gave him. “Yeah. It’ll be good to hang out again,” he responds. “Can update me on what Adrian did to have you runnin’ from him.”

“Adam,” you correct. He knew that, of course, but he feels warm at the laugh that shortly follows. “I’ll happily get into that. My brother doesn’t allow me to talk about him much anymore, so I have a lifetime worth of bad stories and ruined memories and icks to rant about.”

Now, it’s Frank’s turn to laugh. “Noted. I will happily listen.”

“I know you will. You always did.” Your voice gets softer as you trail off. 

Warning bells go off in his head at the first fluttering beat of his heart. Oh, this is wrong. So, so wrong. 

Before you can say anything else and mess with his head more, he lets out a heavy sigh. “Alrighty, sunshine, I have to get to bed so I can get to my shift in time tomorrow. Text me on Saturday and we can figure out a place to meet, okay?”

You let out a soft groan into the phone, probably evidence of a late-night stretch. “Okay, Frank. Talk to you Saturday.”

“See you Sunday,” he responds in a murmur.

He’s not the one that hangs up.

For all of Friday, your name does not grace his phone. He checks every free moment that he gets during his shift, but each time he is met with a blank notification screen.  If it wasn’t for the fact that you sat at the top of his messages and call log, he’d be able to convince himself that he made the whole situation up. You weren’t moving to Pittsburgh, you weren’t asking to stay at his apartment, he didn’t have to finally owe up to all of his transgressions.

Every time Frank reminds himself of the fact, an uncomfortable feeling crawls up his spine until it settles in his chest, pressing down on his lungs until he is aware of every heartbeat. He feels foolish for the way he digs the heel of his palm into his sternum, pressing his eyes closed and trying to will his body to stop punishing him for his brain’s doing.

He’s never been good at being vulnerable. As a child, he’d split his knee open falling off of his bike just to get up a moment later, laughing until he wheezed despite the dull ache in his leg and the blood trickling down his calf. As a teenager, he’d met heartbreak and hard times with a persistent need to show how well he was doing despite it all, even if he was just proving it to himself.

And now, as an adult, he goes the route of just ignoring it. Letting himself indulge in the things that he knows he shouldn’t, not allowing anyone to see past the mirage he has set up. He’s Frank Langdon, MD, an excellent emergency medicine resident with a confidence big enough to outweigh any Olympic athlete.

Unfortunately, with you, he cannot act like everything is okay. He knows that the second he looks into your wide eyes, staring into a memory of what he used to have and what he used to be, everything will fizzle up like the spark at the end of a detonating cord. You’ve always brought out his honesty, a personal truth serum in the form of billowy hair and flavored lipgloss.

Saturday morning, it rains in Pittsburgh. He doesn’t get to see it much due to being in the hospital all day, but the smell of petrichor seeps in the ambulance bay and water droplets cling to the hair of everyone who comes through the doors. Whenever he gets a free chance, he sits in the bay, listening to the rain hit the concrete and letting his mind dull for a moment.

It’s late, moonlight filtering through dark clouds to barely illuminate the flooded street. The thunderstorm that’s been threatening to arrive all week has finally decided to make its dramatic entrance, just in time to add upon Frank’s soured mood.

His mother would throw a fit if she saw what he was doing now. Clothes soaked and stuck to his skin, his hoodie doing absolutely nothing to keep the cold out, perched on his family’s roof. It’d been too easy to climb out of the window in his bedroom, especially with everything in his head screaming at him to just get out of the house.

Now, he sits in the rain, arms wrapped around his knees as he watches the raindrops glide down the shingles and into the gutter. All the collected water pours out into his yard, creating a larger and larger puddle as the night goes on.

He’s not sure how long he’s been out here, listening to the soft patter of the rain and the frequent booms of thunder. His mind has been more occupied by other things, such as the heavy scolding he had gotten from his coach after tonight’s game, or the passive-aggressive brush-off he had gotten from his girlfriend when he had tried to invite her out to the diner afterwards.

It was stupid, how much the sport controlled every aspect of his life. He had no intention of becoming a D1 athlete, and the only reason he had committed to the team in the first place was due to the need for a social life and perhaps the chance at a scholarship. Instead, it had affected everything else in his life. His classmates and teachers opinion of him, his father’s pride, his schedule, his own self-esteem.

“You’re gonna catch a cold! Or get struck by lightning!”

Frank barely hears the yell over the downpour, head turning and eyes squinting to try and look through the mist. Your bedroom light sticks out like a lighthouse on the shore, backlighting your silhouette from where you lean out your window.

His brow furrows. “It is way past your bedtime!” he calls back. It’s all an assumption. He has absolutely no idea what time it is.

Rather than respond, you disappear away from the window. He’s just about to turn around and pretend you had never been there when your outline appears again, now in a thick coat. Before he can even think about what you may be doing, your foot peeks out of your window, finding the thick branch of the tree that stretches between your houses.

“Hey! No!” He scolds. Either his voice is carried away by the storm or you choose to ignore him, because a few minutes later, your boot-covered feet are atop his roof.

As soon as you find solid footing, you unfurl an umbrella that he hadn’t been able to see before. You clutch something to your chest as you slide over to where he sits, thigh pressing against his as you settle.

“Here,” you say. “I brought you a new sweatshirt so you don’t turn into an ice cube. It’s one of my brother’s, I think.”

You hold the umbrella up and pass the hoodie over to him. He palms it for a moment, stealing the warmth before glancing at you in his peripheral. “How am I supposed to change into this?”

“I won’t look, if that’s what you’re worried about. But, just a fair warning, I’ve already seen your bare torso plenty of times in the last years we’ve known each other.” The remark is deadpan, but even in the dark, he can see the amusement in your eyes.

He rolls his eyes, reaching over to gently nudge you in the side. Without another word, he reaches down to pull off his drenched hoodie, setting it beside him. His chest is bare for just a moment before he tugs the new hoodie on, arranging his body so that he doesn’t accidentally stick his now-dry sleeve back into the rain.

After he has it situated, Frank turns back to you. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

You squirm to make sure the both of you fit comfortably beneath the umbrella, pressing closer to Frank. If you notice the way you’re practically tucked into his side, you don’t give any inclination, and he’s not exactly itching to bring it up. 

“Don’t mention it,” you reply sheepishly. “You look sad enough without the wet dog look.”

A cold wind breezes over the two of you, a shudder wracking your body. Without thinking about it too hard, he raises his arm to drape it over your shoulders, fingers pressing into your bicep as he rubs up and down to create friction. Rather than fight, you sink into the touch, relaxing beneath his touch.

This was fine. This is what friends did, he lies.

“Why are you choosing to torture yourself with this weather?” You ask, forehead leaning against his chest. “We could be cozy in bed right now.”

You pause, then quickly add, “Our own beds. In our separate houses.”

He laughs, giving you a soft squeeze. The sound fades out slowly as he thinks more about your question, eyes looking out upon the neighborhood again. “Had a hard day.”

A knowing hum is your answer, plucking at the ends of your sleeves to keep your hands busy. “Because of the game?” You guess.

Now that you’re not shivering anymore, he drops his arm, palm flattening on the roof behind your hips. He’s not exactly ready to uncurl himself from you, but there had to be a bit of distance, for his sake. “Something like that.”

Your lips twitch in dissatisfaction at the answer, brow furrowing as you look up at him. As soon as he finally catches your eye, your palm covers his knee, ignoring the way his jeans stick to his skin. “You can talk about it if you want, Frank. Or even if you don’t want to and it’s just that it’ll help.”

A smile unfurls on his lips before he can stop it, a fond look eclipsing over his face. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in for a hug and letting out a relieved sigh when you prop your chin on his shoulder. “I don’t need to but thank you, sunshine. I‘m glad you came out here.”

Your nose presses into his skin, breath brushing against the side of his neck. “Of course. Couldn’t let you catch a cold all on your own, you’d get lonely.”

After a moment, you finally pull back, lips spreading into a grin. “Wanna come over? We can watch a movie if you’re still not able to sleep.”

“I am not climbing across a tree into your room,” he immediately responds. Your face falls and he scrambles to add, “but you can come over to mine?”

Immediately, that grin is back, making him laugh. He pats at your arm playfully before grabbing the umbrella from you, gesturing towards his window. “Go ahead. I’ll keep you dry.”

Frank’s interrupted from his reminiscing by a few buzzes in his pocket, pulling out his phone with a hefty sigh. Almost like he’s summoned you, his screen is littered with multiple texts from you.

YOU: it is saturday YOU: we need to plan a place to meet tomorrow YOU: and by we, i mean you. i don’t live there YOU: what do you suggest?

He responds quickly with the location of some diner he used to frequent when he just got out of rehab, his second text a simple thumb’s up emoji and a question mark. The less words he used, the better, especially with the way all of his emotions tend to go on overdrive talking to you.

You respond quickly. It’s simple, an agreement and a note about how you were excited to see him, but it still makes his chest tighten.

That night, alone in his apartment yet again, Frank sits down on his couch with a journal on his lap. It’s still wrapped in the plastic, purchased brand new on his way home from work alongside the pack of pens resting next to his thigh. He glances down at Petunia, who’s draped herself over his feet in the exhaustion lingering from her nap, chewing on the inside of his cheek in thought.

Finally, he presses his thumbnail into the plastic until it gives way, ripping the rest of it off soon after. He cracks open the pens next, curling his fingers around one and leaving the rest in the package.

He had journaled a lot during his time in rehab. His therapist had brought it up after he’d stonewalled her during his first few appointments, retreating into an invisible shell as he went through withdrawal and felt the dull pain in his back for the first time in what felt like ages. She’d ran the pad of her finger over the outside of the journal as she explained to him that it’d be good for him to get all of his feelings out, even if he continued to ignore her in person.

At first, he thought it was stupid. Writing until his hand cramped wouldn’t take back the fact that he was an addict, or that he craved these stupid pills that he thought he was only taking for a persistent pinched nerve, or that his wife had looked at him like some kind of criminal as she tucked a crying Tanner behind her back when he said goodbye. The cramps wouldn’t cover up the persistent ache in his chest that everything he had ever worked so hard to have and to keep had been wiped away by a stupid mistake, something that he could’ve controlled if he was even an ounce of a better man.

It started as letters to Abby. She never answered the ones that he actually sent, so he decided to stop embarrassing or restraining himself. He filled up page after page with his crimes and confessions, writing about their good memories in hopes of trying to push away the present. At the end of each letter, he’d tally up how many times he had written out an apology and try to push to add more the next time he wrote, as if any condolences would be enough to cover up what he had done.

Then, he branched out. He wrote to Dana and Robby and his parents, keeping all of the words hidden and safe and locked in his journal. Within the pages he could confirm that none of his words would be twisted by those who already thought negatively of him. He could just be the Frank Langdon he knew himself to be, even if his opinion got a bit shaky sometimes.

He wrote to you. After he had scrawled your name on the page in his doctor handwriting, he stared at it for a while, wondering what had possessed him to think of you in a time like this. Admittedly, he hadn’t remembered the last time you had crossed his mind and it wasn’t because you had shown up at a family event with a new boyfriend and a new hair color.

Rather than stop himself, he let himself write whatever came to mind. He wrote about all the times he had helped you out and you had said “I’m sorry,” until he pinky-promised you that he didn’t mind. A subconscious smile pulled at his lips when he wrote about the time his father had burnt the hot dogs on his grill for the fourth of July and you had still eaten the entire thing, even if he could see the grimace on your face with every bite. 

He talked about how it was now his turn to apologize to you. For not thinking of you as often now that he had moved away and gotten out of medical school. For all the times he had secretly judged you for all of your vices, such as your need for constant change or your inability to find your boyfriends interesting after a few months. For not being the perfect guy you always saw him as.

Frank’s newly eighteen. He sits on his roof, the same spot he’s gone to every single time he finds his mind to become a bit too much. It’s become a sanctuary without walls since that night you had crawled out here and sat with him, even if it ended in the both of you waking up with a cold when the morning light came in. Some nights, you still come out and join him, limbs pressed together as you both acted like they weren’t.

Like clockwork, you join him about ten minutes after he’s settled onto the shingles. You don’t even grace him with a greeting. You just sit down, pulling your knees to your chest and trying to find what his eyes have decided to focus on.

“The cardinal over there?” You guess.

He nods without looking at you. He doesn’t need to look at you, not when the wind brings your perfume to him like an offering and your body heat seeps through his clothes despite how cold your hands always tend to be. 

The both of you are quiet for a moment, listening to the sounds of the cars driving through the neighborhood or the planes flying overhead. Every once in a while, he catches you trying to find what he’s looking at, like a curious child.

You break the silence with a heavy sigh, head turning to look at him. He finally allows himself the grace to look at you, giving you a soft smile to show that he’s okay. 

“I’m going to miss you,” you confess. “While you’re away at school.”

Frank nods again, even though it’s not really a rebuttal to what you had said. Realizing his lack of response, he reaches out to wrap his fingers around your forearm, giving it a soft reassuring squeeze. “I’ll come back,” he promises. “I’m not gonna leave this place in the rearview mirror.”

Now it’s your turn to smile, eyes following his hand as he returns it back to his lap. “Good,” you reply. “Who else is gonna pick me up from bad dates and sneak me cigarettes?” That mischievous grin that you wear like a second skin, or like an armor depending on the conversation, pops up. 

“Some other sucker,” he retorts. 

That silence returns when your giggle ends, hanging over the both of you. Unable to sit in the silence, you break it with another confession.

“I always thought you were too cool for anything when I first met you.” Your thumb brushes over your kneecap, wrinkling and smoothening the fabric of your jeans. “Even as young as we were, you seemed like you didn’t want to hear anything from anyone. Always your way or the highway. And then you became friends with my brother and you were everywhere and you were such a nerd.”

You laugh at his eye roll, passing him a look that tells him to wait for your point and not say anything. “I realized you weren’t too cool very quickly. Your limbs were too lanky and you fumbled over your words and you overcompensated by holding onto that same oozing confidence I had seen the minute we had moved in.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip for a moment before you continue. “But even if you’re not as untouchable as I thought you once were, I still think you’re perfect, Frank.” Despite the raw way the words come out, you say them louder than your murmured confessions, sporting a wide grin. “I hope you remember that when you’re becoming a big hotshot doctor.”

Frank sighs as he runs his fingers over the fresh pages of his brand new notebook, listening to the sound of paper fluttering. He grips the pen in his hand tighter, finally cracking the spine of the journal as he peels it open on his lap.

For the first time since he left rehab, he writes.

On Sunday morning, Frank arrives at the diner half an hour early. As he settles into the booth, his fingers tighten around the bag he carries, glancing around like you’d pop up out of nowhere.

While he waits, regretting his decision to have come in early in order to avoid the awkwardness of an introduction, he finishes two glasses of water and asks for another refill. His body feels unbelievably hot and he feels fidgety, adjusting his position in his seat multiple times and squirming at the crack of leather that follows every time he moves.

Five minutes after the time the both of you had agreed upon, the bell above the door chimes. His head turns so fast that a tendon pops, eyes landing upon you.

He wasn’t expecting you to look the same. Every time he sees you, no matter how long or short your time apart has been, there’s something different about you. A new color added to your hair or a complete change, a new style of outfits, another decorative piercing. A new tattoo if you were feeling extra adventurous in some foreign country.

Even knowing that, his breath catches at the sight of you. His blue eyes are wide when you finally look at him, your face brightening while he looks like a deer in headlights. He tries to match your smile, but it’s very obviously shaky.

When you get closer, he finally stands up, hand propped on the back of the booth as he greets you. “Hey, stranger.”

He can not find a single trace of anxiety on your features as you grin, reaching out to jab your finger into his chest. “Says you,” you tease. You slip into the opposite side of the booth, palms flattening on the table. “You’re the one who’s too busy to come home these days. It’s been, what, two years or so?”

Frank’s chest tightens again. He sits down to hide the tremble in his knees, exhaling so hard that a napkin flutters. “It’s been, uh, a busy two years,” he responds. “Would’ve come out if I could.”

You grab a menu, already feeling at home in this diner you’ve never been to. “With what? Saving lives? Or is Abby keeping you busy?”

There’s her name again, falling off her lips as if you get a dollar for every time that she’s mentioned. He grabs his own menu to try and hide the shaking of his hands, holding it up to hide his face.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

“Abby and I aren’t together anymore,” he admits. He lets the words drop off of his tongue rather than trying to say them gently. He had tried the gentle approach with everyone else he has told and it had only ended up one of two ways – they either pitied him until he couldn’t take it anymore or felt disgusted by the fact that he let himself cave into his addiction.

He spares a glance at you again once there’s enough quiet to suffocate him. You stare at him, your menu now laying flat on the table, and he decides to just keep going while you’re stunned already to rip off the bandaid. “We divorced after I went to rehab.”

You physically recoil in surprise, blinking your eyes as you try to put together all of the information. “Okay.” You draw out the word, trying to fill the space as if you were afraid he’d suddenly drop another bomb. “That’s not what I was expecting out of this catch-up. I thought you were just going to tell me fun stories about working in an emergency room.”

To his surprise, you thread your fingers together, resting both of your elbows on the table and holding his eyes. “Do you want to explain, or leave it at that?”

Frank’s shoulders lower more and more as he spills it all. Now that the harsh facts are out there, it’s easier for him to let everything else spill out. The back injury, the benzos addiction, the fallout at work, the rehab and the divorce. He tries not to let the emotions of them seep through, tries to stick to just the facts, but there’s a few things that slip through the cracks.

It’s easy to spill his guts to you. His own personal truth serum.

When he finishes, he clears his throat, suddenly bashful. “And there’s one more thing.”

He finally reaches into the bag he brought along, fingers closing around the journals inside and pulling them out. Before he can second guess it, he slides them across the table, watching as your hands move to keep them from falling off. 

“Diaries?” you guess lightheartedly.

“Kind of.” Frank chuckles, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. “I wrote a lot in rehab. My therapist recommended it. There’s a, uh, letter in there. For you. It’s where the tab is.” 

His fingers flick at the sticky note that’s just peeking out from the pages, glancing up at you through his eyelashes. “I trust that you won’t dig through the entire thing, but it’s okay if you do. Just know you’ll probably know more about me than you want to.”

You beam up at him before rifling quickly through the pages, taking brief glances at the scrawlings on the pages before letting it shut again. “Are you sure, Frank? This seems really personal.” 

He shrugs, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, you’re about to stay with me, aren’t you? You’ll see enough of my bad moments this week, so we might as well start now.”

His flaws are completely forgotten as you lean forward, somehow brightening more. The glow of the sunlight through the window is nothing compared to the way you look right now. “Really? You’ll let me stay with you.”

A laugh bubbles out of him before he can stop it, shaking his head. “You’ve bugged me for most of my life, we can’t ruin the tradition now.”

With a huff, you grab the wadded up piece of paper from his straw before tossing it at his forehead, grinning like a madwoman. “Jerk.”

For the rest of the day, Frank helps you move whatever you need into the spare bedroom of his apartment. The both of you pick up where you left off the last time he saw you, bickering over who gets to pick up the larger items and bigger boxes – you because of Frank’s bad back or Frank because he wants to be a gentleman.

After a shared dinner of takeout and him watching you coo over Petunia for half an hour, he finally admits to you that he needs to sleep for work the next day and retreats to his bedroom. With a pep in his step from finally spending a night socializing instead of staring at meaningless social media posts, he showers and gets ready for bed, forcing his dog to roll over onto her side of the bed before settling beneath the duvet.

He’s halfway asleep when there’s a couple knocks at his door. Fatherly instincts have him immediately shooting up, startling Petunia awake. “Yeah?” He calls out tiredly as he runs his fingers through the dog’s fur, soothing her back to sleep.

The door opens to reveal you, donned in soft pajamas and hair pulled up out of your face. The sight of his journal in your hands has him leaning over to click on his bedside lamp, illuminating his room and you in a warm glow. “What’s wrong?”

You hover in the doorway for a moment, lips parted when no words come out. Your mouth closes as you step closer, sitting down on the edge of his bed near his legs. He doesn’t move.

“You didn’t need to apologize,” you finally say. “For all of it.”

Frank runs a hand through his hair, the other still petting Petunia to try and calm the heavy beating of his heart. “I felt… feel like I needed to,” he admits sheepishly.

You prop one knee up on the mattress, somehow getting even closer to him. He tries not to squirm at the familiarity of it all. “None of what you’ve gone through the last couple of years has been your fault, Frank,” you murmur. “Addiction is a disease, not something someone willingly puts themselves through. You did the work through rehab and therapy, which is an apology enough for me.”

Your fingers brush against his duvet, tracing shapes next to his covered knee. “Your letter was sweet.” You continue, watching your fingers. “I’d forgotten about a couple of those things. It was nice to be reminded. I’m surprised you remembered.”

“I’ve been known to have a freakishly good memory,” he muses awkwardly.

That makes you finally look at him, giving him a soft grin. Your hand moves to curve over his knee, a shiver moving down his spine at the contact. “Imagine my surprise when I get to the end, my eyes hurting from squinting at your doctor handwriting, and I find out that –”

“ – that I wanted to kiss you.” He finishes the sentence before you can say the words. “The night of my going away party, when you told me that you were going to miss me again. I wanted to kiss you, because most people hadn’t even told me once and you had told me three times. I wanted to kiss you that night because I had wanted to kiss you many nights before that and never had.”

Frank sits up, hand finally leaving Petunia to grab yours and pull it away from his knee. His other hand moves to cup your cheek, giving a small smile when you lean into his palm. Your cheeks are warm beneath his touch, like only your hands are destined to be cold. Maybe it’s because they’re meant to be held by him, he thinks.

He leans forward until his nose brushes against your cheek. “No boyfriend?” He whispers against your skin. Just checking.

“No boyfriend,” you breathe out.

As soon as the last syllable leaves your tongue, he kisses you, seizing the opportunity of your lips still being parted. He kisses you like he’s trying to steal the air from your lungs, hand curling around the back of your neck to pull your lips closer.

He only pulls away when Petunia nudges at his elbow, jealous of the attention not being on her anymore, laughing breathlessly. He presses his forehead against yours. “You’re wrong to say that I didn’t need to apologize. I have to apologize for not kissing you sooner.”

You copy his breathless laugh, leaning back to breathe some of your own air. “I’ll take that apology,” you respond. You press your lips together to try and hide your giddy smile, staring at him for just a moment.

This is everything he’s ever wanted, he thinks. You’re beautiful like this, freshly kissed by him and euphoric, bathed in the aureate light of his lamp. Being here with you won’t fix any problem that he’s created, but it is the first thing that’s felt right in a very long time.

Then, in the blink of an eye, you stand, still clutching his journal in your hand. “Okay. I’m going to bed.”

Frank scrambles at your sudden pull away, sitting up further, much to the chagrin of the dog laying her head on his thigh. “You’re going to bed? Your bed?”

You stop at the doorway, turning to grin at him. “I’ve bugged you all of your life. We can’t ruin the tradition now,” you mock. 

With that, you give him a small wave, closing his bedroom door behind you.

He lets out an amused scoff at the click of his door, staring at it for a few moments to make sure you were serious and not just pulling his leg. When he faintly hears the sound of your bedroom door shutting, he groans, falling back onto his pillow and letting Petunia drape herself back over his torso. Then, he laughs, raising his hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

2019

The air in the living room of the Hayvenhurst estate always smelled faintly of old wood polish, jasmine, and the heavy, lingering scent of whatever cologne Jaafar’s uncles had left behind after their Sunday visits. It was August 2019. The California heat outside was brutal, baking the asphalt of the driveway, but inside, the air conditioning hummed a low, steady note that kept the house cool enough to require a sweater if you sat still for too long.

You weren’t sitting still. You were perched on the edge of the piano bench in the alcove just off the main living area, your fingers tracing the smooth, familiar grain of the mahogany wood. You knew this piano better than your own. You knew the exact key—three octaves above middle C—that had a slight, almost imperceptible click if you pressed it too hard, a remnant of a rainy Tuesday seven years ago when Jaafar had spilled a bottle of cream soda during a particularly heated debate over a Stevie Wonder chord progression.

Beside you, Jaafar was hunched over the keys, his large, slender hands hovering just above the ivory. In public—like at the family dinner two nights ago where some executives from a streaming platform had dropped by—he was a ghost. He had spent the evening with his shoulders slightly rounded, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, offering nothing more than polite, soft-spoken murmurs and that small, practiced nod that made him look like he wanted to dissolve into the wallpaper. People called him mysterious. They called him timid, the quiet Jackson who carried the weight of a dynasty on his back without saying a word.

But here, three inches away from you, he was loud. Not in volume, but in presence.

"Look, if you don't use the major seventh here," Jaafar muttered, his voice dropping into that rhythmic, animated cadence he only used when his chest wasn't tight with anxiety, "the whole bridge sounds like a cheap commercial. It’s tacky. Tell me it’s tacky."

"It's not tacky, Jaafar, it's just standard pop," you said, leaning your shoulder against his arm, feeling the solid, familiar warmth of him through his white t-shirt. "Not everything has to be a masterclass in jazz fusion."

"Standard pop is lazy," he shot back, a bright, genuine grin breaking across his face as he turned his head to look at you. His dark eyes were wide, dancing with that sharp, competitive energy that the cameras never caught. He leaned in closer, his elbow nudging yours off the bench. "And you love jazz fusion. Don't lie to me. I remember your middle-school playlist. It was embarrassing."

"We swore never to speak of 2011" you warned, a small laugh slipping from your throat before you could catch it, your hand coming up to swat at his chest.

Jaafar caught your wrist mid-air. His grip wasn't tight, just steady, his thumb resting against the inside of your wrist where your pulse was ticking a little too fast. For a second, the laughter died down between you, leaving only the low hum of the house and the weight of his stare. He didn't let go immediately. He just looked at you, his thumb shifting in a tiny, absentminded circle against your skin, his expression softening into something raw, something that felt too heavy for a Tuesday afternoon in August.

Then, the heavy front door clicked open.

The sound resonated through the hallway, sharp and demanding, and the shift in Jaafar was instantaneous. It was like watching a curtain fall. His grip on your wrist vanished, his hands dropping back to his lap, his shoulders instantly squaring as that familiar, guarded reserve settled back over his features. The animated boy who had been teasing you a second ago was gone, replaced by the quiet young man who didn't want to trouble anyone.

"Jaafar? Honey, are you in there?"

Yashi’s voice carried from the foyer, followed by the soft, rhythmic click of heels on the hardwood. But there was another pair of footsteps behind hers—lighter, unfamiliar, and hesitant.

You stood up from the bench before you could think about why you were doing it, your fingers instinctively smoothing down the fabric of your jeans. Your chest felt tight, a dull, familiar ache beginning to bloom behind your ribs because you already knew who it was. The family had been whispering about her for three weeks. The new girl. The one he had met at a gallery opening in downtown LA, the one who didn't know how he looked when he was five years old and crying over a skinned knee on the gravel behind the studio—a detail she’d never see unless she sat through the old, grainy VHS tapes his mom used to pull out on rainy afternoons.

"In the living room, Aunt Yashi” Jaafar called out, his voice dropping back into that polite, muted tone. He didn't look at you as he stood up, his eyes fixed on the arched doorway.

When they walked in, the room felt smaller. The girl—Meredyth—was beautiful in a way that felt entirely intentional. Her hair was perfectly straight, her linen dress immaculate despite the valley heat, and she held herself with a cautious, quiet dignity that matched Jaafar’s public persona perfectly. She looked like the kind of girl who belonged in a frame, not someone who would sit on the floor of a messy rehearsal room eating lukewarm takeout at two in the morning.

"There you are" Yashi said, smiling warmly as she stepped into the room, her eyes darting from Jaafar to you, then back again. There was a brief, flicker of something careful in Yashi’s expression—a look you had seen his mother and his aunts give you both for years, a silent observation of the space between you. "Meredyth wanted to see the piano. I told her you two were probably hiding out here."

"We weren't hiding" Jaafar said softly, offering Meredyth a small, gentle smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He stepped forward, his movements formal, almost stiff, as he reached out to take her hand. "Hey."

"Hey," Meredyth replied, her voice low and sweet. She looked over his shoulder, her eyes landing on you, and the polite smile she offered was polite, but empty. The kind of smile reserved for a piece of furniture or an old family acquaintance who came with the house. "You must be the best friend."

The word felt like a physical weight in your mouth. Best friend. Ten years of late-night voice notes, shared secrets, and the specific way he took his coffee when he was too tired to function, reduced to a label that felt like a polite exclusion.

"Yeah" you said, keeping your voice steady, your hands sliding into the back pockets of your jeans so no one could see them shaking. "Yeah, I am. Just helping him with some arrangements."

"She’s the only reason the bridge doesn't sound like a cheap commercial," Jaafar spoke up suddenly.

The defense was quick, quicker than usual for him in front of strangers, and when you looked at him, his eyes were fixed on you, sharp and intense, as if he were trying to signal something across a crowded room. But the subtext was too heavy, the tension in the air turning into something sharp and suffocating, and you couldn't breathe under it. Not with Meredyth’s hand now resting casually on his forearm, her fingers neat and polished against his skin.

"Actually, I should get going," you said, the lie tasting like copper on your tongue. "I told my mom I'd help her with some things at the house before dinner."

"You're not staying for dinner?" Yashi asked, her eyebrows furrowing as she stepped closer. She reached out, her hand resting on your shoulder with a familiarity that made your throat tighten. "TJ and the boys are coming over. Katherine asked about you this morning."

"No, I... I can't tonight, Yashi. Sorry," you murmured, keeping your eyes on the older woman because looking at Jaafar felt like staring directly into the sun. "Tell Miss Katherine I'll stop by later this week."

You didn't wait for Jaafar to say anything. You didn't want to hear his polite, quiet "bye" in front of her. You walked past them, the scent of Meredyth’s expensive, floral perfume mixing with the old mahogany of the room, and you didn't look back until you were in your car, the engine turning over with a loud, solitary rumble that felt far too loud for the quiet driveway of Hayvenhurst.

Two weeks later, the space between you had grown into an ocean.

It wasn't a sudden break; it was a slow, deliberate erosion. You stopped answering his texts within five minutes. When he called at midnight, asking if you wanted to come over and listen to a rough mix of a new track, you told him you were already in bed, even as you sat on your own bedroom floor, staring at the ceiling with your knees pulled to your chest. You didn't sign up for the Sunday dinners anymore. When Taj or Taryll texted the group chat about a barbecue, you were suddenly too busy with work, too tired, too far away.

You were erasing yourself from the narrative before someone else could do it for you.

The confrontation didn't happen at the house. It happened on a Thursday evening at the old community center three miles away, the place where the two of you had taken those lessons on the upright piano with the chipped keys when you were fourteen. You had gone back there under the pretense of picking up an old notebook you’d left in the storage locker, thinking the building would be empty by seven.

The main hall was dark, the only light coming from the amber streetlamps outside filtering through the high, dusty windows. But as you approached the small practice room at the end of the hall, you heard it.

A singular, repeated chord progression. It wasn't perfect. It was hesitant, the timing slightly off, followed by a sharp, frustrated sigh that you would recognize anywhere.

You stopped at the threshold of the door.

Jaafar was sitting at the piano, his head buried in his hands, his long fingers tangled in his dark curls. He looked exhausted. The denim jacket he wore looked too heavy for his frame, and the quiet of the room seemed to press down on him in a way that made him look younger, smaller, like the boy who used to hide behind the equipment boxes during his family's rehearsals.

"You're rushing the transition," you said quietly from the doorway.

Jaafar’s head snapped up. The defensive, guarded expression he usually wore in public started to form, but the moment his eyes landed on you, it crumbled entirely. His shoulders slouched, his hands falling heavily onto his lap, and the look he gave you was so full of raw, unfiltered hurt that it made you want to step backward.

"You're avoiding me," he said.

There was no preamble. No polite small talk. His voice was rough, the words coming out flat and heavy into the empty room. He didn't move from the bench, but his eyes locked onto yours with a desperate, demanding intensity that you hadn't seen in weeks.

"I've been busy, Jaafar" you lied, stepping into the room but keeping your distance, your back resting against the cold metal of the filing cabinet by the door. "Work has been—"

"Don't do that" he interrupted, his voice rising, the sharp, outgoing edge of his private self cutting through the quiet. He stood up from the bench, his movements sudden, his keys rattling in his pocket as he took two long strides toward you before stopping himself, as if remembering the invisible boundary you had drawn between you. "Don't give me the PR answer. I know your schedule. I know when you're working, and I know when you're just... not here."

"Jaafar—"

"My mom asked where you were on Sunday" he said, his voice dropping into something quieter, something that sounded dangerously close to a plea. "TJ asked. Siggy asked. Everyone is asking me why you aren't around anymore, and I don't... I don't know what to tell them because you won't even look at me when we're in the same room."

"You have a girlfriend, Jaafar" you said, the words coming out sharper than you intended, the truth finally spilling out into the space between you like shattered glass. You looked down at your shoes, unable to hold his gaze anymore. "Things change. You have Meredyth now. You don't need your childhood friend sitting on your piano bench every afternoon. It’s weird. It’s not fair to her."

"Meredyth has nothing to do with this," he spat, his frustration bubbling over. He took another step forward, and this time he didn't stop until he was standing right in front of you, so close you could smell the faint scent of the mints he always chewed when he was nervous. "She doesn't know anything about the music. She doesn't know why I don't like playing that specific chord, and she doesn't... she doesn't make me feel like I can actually breathe when the room gets too loud."

"Then why are you with her?" you whispered, your voice breaking as you finally looked up at him, the tears you had been holding back for weeks finally pooling in your eyes, heavy and hot. "If she doesn't know you, Jaafar, why are you holding her hand in front of everybody? Why are you leaving me in the corner?"

Jaafar froze. His mouth parted slightly, his breath catching in his throat as he looked down at your face, watching the first tear slip down your cheek. The anger vanished from his expression, replaced by a sudden, terrifying vulnerability that made his hands tremble slightly where they hung at his sides. He reached out, his long fingers hovering just an inch away from your face, wanting to wipe the tear away but stopping, his thumb twitching in the empty air between you.

"Because it's safe" he whispered, his voice cracking, the confession sounding like it was tearing its way out of his chest. "With her... it doesn't matter if I'm just the quiet one. She likes the quiet one. But with you..." He let out a ragged breath, his eyes dropping to your lips before rushing back to yours, full of a terrifying, hidden truth. "With you, I have to be real. And being real scares the hell out of me."

Before you could answer, before you could decipher the heavy subtext hanging in the dark room, the sound of a car horn honked from the street outside—short, polite, and familiar. Meredyth was waiting for him.

you've been having a rough shift, rougher than usual. the atmosphere at PTMC felt strange and the patients you've dealt with today were crazier than usual. you could've sworn it was just sleep deprivation that made you feel like that, until javadi leaned against the desk you were currently sitting at.

"am i the only one who feels like everyone has gone crazy?"

you looked up from your screen, where you were actively charting about a patient that had shot a nail through their left hand with a nail gun. that alone felt like the appropriate response to javadi's question.

"you're not alone," you sighed, typing out a few more words into the chart. your hands felt like they were only seconds away from cramping.

"oh, thank god." she sighed out of relief. "i genuinely thought i might be having some sort of weird stroke."

"nope. but the er might be," you stated. that was your weak attempt at being humorous.

javadi's mouth twitched into a position that could almost mirror a smile if she wasn't absolutely exhausted. "you can say that again."

"just a few hours left. we can do this," you tried cheering her up, knowing that you didn't even believe in that statement yourself. five more minutes and you might just collapse on the floor.

right then, the overly enthusiastic version of frank langdon, that you rarely saw ever, appeared next to the both of you. "if you keep chit-chatting like this, robby might just kill you."

"hello to you too," you said, your entire body fighting a battle against sleep.

"jesus. you look like the epitome of death," he declared when he saw just how terrible you looked at the moment. you could've sworn you saw concern appear on his face. but again, that could've just been sleep deprivation tricking your mind into believing something that wasn't true at all.

"how are you so… energetic right now?" javadi asked the question both of you were wondering.

"what? this shift has been great!"

"of course you'd think that," you commented, forcing a sarcastic smile on your face.

he stared at you like what you just said was utterly ridiculous and ultimately crazy. "what?"

"nothing," you rolled your eyes. or at least you think you did. your body was starting to become so numb to the point that you weren't even sure if your body was operating properly.

"hey, if you have that much energy, you can always just take my patients," javadi said to him.

just as langdon was about to utter a sarcastic response, dana rushed over to the three of you, all gathered around the same desk.

"langdon, mel's looking for you. she's in central nine."

"oh, okay. i'll be there," he said again with way too much enthusiastic energy for both you and javadi.

dana's eyes wandered from your face to javadi's. "you two don't get paid for sitting around and talking shit, now do you?" she said. you'd almost think she was being judgemental if you didn't know better.

"yes, ma'am," you responded, sarcasm slipping into your tone. your gaze fell on langdon who was still leaning against the desk, rocking on his heels.

"you can go, you know."

"and leave you here? c'mon, aren't you fascinated to know what case mel needs help with?" he was now the one trying to cheer you up. javadi's whole presence shifted at his words, from exhaustion to curiosity.

"not really."

"you're so boring."

"mhm," you hummed. "now scram, boy."

he just huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. he did end up departing, but not without giving you a playful pat on the shoulder. you fought the smile that tried to appear on your face at that, but you could feel just how your heart slightly fluttered.

"now what was that?" javadi said, her eyebrows raised. her whole exhausted demeanour was now completely gone. the tea was apparently more important.

"what?" you feigned.

"i mean, he clearly wanted you to come with him."

"nope," you physically forced yourself to look back at the chart, only to notice that the screen had already returned back to the original desktop.

"yes!" she insisted.

you just ignored her words, signing back into the computer. you could hear her sigh, but she took that as a sign that you weren't willing to talk about it.

the shift was coming to an end, you only had one patient to treat before you could hand out all of your responsibilities to the night shift.

you were currently picking out a specific syringe from the supply room, having to lean on your tippy toes as you tried to reach for it from the top shelf.

that was when langdon opened the door with too much force which startled you to the point that you could've sworn you were having a heart attack. "jesus fucking christ!" you almost lost your balance, having to grab the shelf in front of you.

"sorry! sorry- i didn't know anyone was here," he immediately apologized, lowering his voice.

"you're fine, just… christ." you placed your hand on your chest, feeling your fastened heartbeat. the door closed behind him and the air started to feel warmer from both of your bodies being cramped in the same room.

you tried to reach for the syringe, cursing to yourself. i mean, god, why would they put such an important item so high up? what was the logic behind that exactly? to have every nurse and doctor in the world struggling, apparently.

"you need help with that?" he asked. he tried to bit back the teasing smile that was fighting to emerge on his lips.

you would've loved to refuse the offer, but you seriously needed the syringe, it was your one way ticket home. so, you let out a sigh loud enough to make sure he heard your frustration and muttered, "fine."

then he leaned closer than you expected him to, reaching out for the syringe. his scrub top was itching way too high that you could see the waistband of his boxers. you had to physically force yourself to look away.

after he also struggled to reach the item, he finally caught it with his fingertips. "yes, baby!" he cheered to himself.

with your already red cheeks, the smile that had been forced on your face from his cheer was making you look way too smitten. you bit your cheek to try to suppress it before he could notice.

he handed you the syringe, grinning like a man who've just won the olympics. "see? i've still got it."

you tried to hide your flustered expression with sarcasm, something that came easy to you. "what a gentleman."

"uh huh, you're welcome."

"now, what did you need?"

"well," he cleared his throat. "you remember when i said that i didn't know you were here?"

"yeah?"

"well, that was a lie. i knew you were here. i specifically came here looking for you." he scratched the back of his neck, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"oh," you uttered, your eyebrows now raised. "what for?"

"i know you're exhausted," he started.

"you can say that again," you joked. though, your body had already forgotten sleep ever since his shirt just happened to ride up right in front of you.

"-but i have a very good case for you!" he said with too much enthusiasm.

"no," you immediately shut him down. "i'm so close to finishing my shift."

"please." he held his hands against each other, practically pleading. "it'd be a great teaching case. this is still a teaching hospital, right?"

god, why was he being so persistent? and why was it making your cheeks warmer than they already were?

"i promise it won't take long."

"if i say yes, you owe me," you pointed at his chest with your index finger.

"yes, anything!" he released his hands from each other, now holding them in the air.

"fine," you surrendered. "but- i need to go see my patient first."

"yes, of course. it's not critical or anything."

"okay…"

the both of you continued to stand there for a second too long. "i'll just-" he moved to the door.

"yup."

"come find me in north 2," he said, opening the door.

"okay." and that was when he slipped out of the room, letting the door close behind him.

you let out a deep breath out, one you didn't even know you were holding in the first place. what the fuck was going on today?

you did go see langdon's patient, which happened to not be an actual teaching case, but an adult dressed as a disney princess for a kid's birthday party. langdon found it hilarious enough for him to show it to you and you would've called it a waste of time if you also didn't find it sort of funny. and it's not like you'd complain about getting to spend more time with him.

but now you were once again charting, the endless cycle of being a resident. but it was your last patient's chart and then you were officially free from the ED, so you pushed through it.

"oh my god, when is he going to stop staring at you?" you heard trinity say under her breath.

when you raised your eyes from the computer screen to trinity, she was already staring at you.

"what?"

"langdon," she pointed with her chin to the right.

when your eyes drifted to the direction she was pointing to, your eyes locked with the exact suspect.

you quickly averted your gaze back to your computer screen, feeling your cheeks once again getting warmer for what was probably the tenth time today.

"i don't know why he's doing that."

you could hear trinity groan. you were sure if you looked at her right now, she'd also be rolling her eyes. "yes you do."

you shut the chart you were actively working on and swiftly moved closer to trinity, leaning against her desk. "i swear to god, he's been acting so weird today."

"today?" she mocked.

you ignored her comment and kept explaining yourself, "yeah, like… he keeps asking for me to come work with him on cases and-"

trinity cut you off with your name. "you seriously haven't noticed?"

"what?"

"oh my god," she said, clearly irritated by how oblivious you could be sometimes. well, more often than just sometimes.

"you haven't noticed how everytime you walk into a room he crosses his arms, just to show off? or- or how he always gives you space when working on a patient, like he's memorizing where you like to stand.

she started to list the idiotic things langdon does for you, something she found very aggravating. "he's also always wherever you are. i mean, god, he's practically like a dog when it comes to you."

with each thing she let roll from the tip of her tongue, you started to realize exactly what trinity meant. like finding a key to a locked door. you finally started to uncover just what was behind it.

"ask him for your coffee order and he probably has it memorized!"

you let your gaze wander back to him while listening to trinity's words. he was at the exact spot your eyes had found him in before and, of course, his eyes were still on you.

"told you," she just retorted, giving you a disbelieving side eye and turned back to her screen.

but you couldn't help the smile that was now so clear on your face. because she was right. and hearing those words from trinity might've just been the best thing ever.

2026 los angeles

you've always thought jaafar was an affectionate drunk.

having been friends for the last ten years, you'd seen jaafar drunk a multitude of times, but tonight was a little extra. you didn't blame him, though. tonight had been the premiere of the michael movie in los angeles, and you knew just how hard he'd worked on it over the last three years of his life. the film had cost him more than long hours and endless rehearsals. he'd lost his relationship with his ex-girlfriend because of it. she couldn't handle that nearly every spare moment he had disappeared into rehearsals, filming, and the overwhelming responsibility of carrying a story that meant so much to him.

jaafar had taken the breakup surprisingly well. it didn't seem to bother him that she'd left, but it meant everything to him that you hadn't. you'd stayed, just like you always had, never asking him to choose between you and the role he'd poured himself into. somewhere after the relationship ended, he'd finally admitted something to himself that he'd spent years trying to ignore.

he'd been in love with you for a long time. looking back, he realized the only reason he'd ever started dating maddie was because he never believed you could possibly look at him the way he looked at you, and he couldn't bear the thought of ruining the friendship the two of you had built. having you in his life was the most important thing. it didn't matter what role you occupied in it, as long as you were still there.

when jaafar asked you to attend the premiere with him, you immediately agreed. you'd been ecstatic when he'd first landed the role, and ever since then, you'd watched him dedicate every ounce of himself to portraying his uncle the way michael deserved to be portrayed. you knew this wasn't just another acting job to him. it was personal. it was family. it was an opportunity to give michael's story the care, dignity, and justice it had always deserved.

there had been countless nights during filming when jaafar would show up at your apartment long after rehearsals ended, sometimes well past midnight. the sound of the lock turning would make your heart jump before you remembered you'd been the one who gave him a spare key. by the time you walked into the living room, you'd usually find him already collapsed across your couch, exhaustion written into every line of his body.

he'd always apologize, insisting he hadn't wanted to wake you, but admitting he just couldn't bring himself to go home. your apartment had become a place where he could finally let the weight fall off his shoulders. whatever waited for him at home had never offered the same comfort you did.

after watching him give absolutely everything to this role, there was nowhere else you would've been tonight.

then came the after-party.

people had been praising jaafar all night, congratulating him, telling him how incredible he'd been, but none of it carried the weight your words did. every time you told him how proud you were, that shy, wide smile spread across his face, so reminiscent of his uncle's that it never failed to make your own smile grow in return. he'd lean in close enough for only you to hear, whispering a quiet thank you against your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

each time he caught you telling someone else about the months of work, the relentless rehearsals, and the dedication he'd poured into becoming michael, something inside him softened a little more. he'd never really had someone outside of his parents brag about him like that. coming from them was expected. they were his parents. but you didn't have to do any of it, and yet you spoke about him with a pride that made it feel like his accomplishments belonged to you, too. every word only made him fall a little harder for you.

but you couldn't help bragging about him. you were so unbelievably proud of him, and you wanted everyone in the room to know exactly how hard he'd worked to get here. every compliment people gave him felt deserved, every congratulations long overdue, and hearing others finally recognize everything you'd watched him sacrifice over the last three years filled you with a quiet kind of happiness.

you'd also been in love with jaafar for years, you'd just never been brave enough to tell him.

just like he'd assumed about you, you'd spent years convincing yourself he could never possibly feel the same way. when he started dating maddie, every insecurity you'd buried suddenly felt confirmed. you'd smiled through it because that's what best friends did, but behind closed doors, it had devastated you more than you'd ever admit. still, as the months went on, you noticed something that kept your heart from breaking completely.

having a girlfriend hadn't changed the amount of time he spent with you. if anything, he still showed up at your apartment just as often, still called you first, still wanted you beside him for everything that mattered.

you'd never had anything against maddie. she'd always been kind enough to you, but you knew she didn't like you. she never fully believed jaafar whenever he'd tell her that you were "just his best friend," and that you were a girl she "didn't need to worry about."

she worried anyway, especially when it seemed like jaafar continued spending more time with you than he did with her. that had been another reason she'd eventually broken up with him.

what maddie never understood was how you could be so oblivious. the first time jaafar introduced the two of you, she'd seen it immediately. the way he looked at you. the way his attention instinctively drifted back to you no matter who else was talking. the way his face softened whenever you laughed. to her, it had been painfully obvious that jaafar was completely in love with you.

to you... he was just your best friend.

selfishly, you'd been relieved when they broke up. the guilt over feeling that way lingered, but you couldn't deny the quiet comfort that settled over you afterward. you had jaafar all to yourself again.

watching him now, moving effortlessly through the room as cameras flashed around him, stopping to pose with other celebrities who'd come to celebrate the premiere, accepting their praise with that bashful smile that somehow still hadn't changed after all these years, made something warm bloom inside your chest. he looked genuinely happy. lighter than he'd been in months. his smile was so wide it seemed to brighten everything around him. he deserved every second of it.

you also knew the exact moment he got drunk.

jaafar was… shy, at least in public. around people he trusted, his personality came alive. he'd joke around, laugh until he couldn't breathe, tease everyone in sight, and somehow become the loudest person in the room. but industry events were different. he usually stayed reserved, speaking when someone approached him, smiling politely, and letting everyone else command the attention.

but, now... he was everywhere, talking to everyone. shaking hands, laughing, and dancing. you knew exactly what that meant.

you were halfway through a conversation with his brothers, randy jr. and jermajesty, when jaafar suddenly appeared beside you and reached for your hand without a second thought.

"come on, mama, dance with me," jaafar had said, earning matching smirks from his brothers, both of whom had known for years that jaafar was hopelessly in love with you. ever since maddie ended things, they'd been relentlessly telling him to stop dancing around his feelings and finally tell you the truth.

"someone's had lots of liquid encouragement," you tease and jaafar rolls his eyes, his grip on your hand tightening.

"please?" he asks again as his lips form into a pout. his brothers immediately burst into quiet laughter.

"come on, girl, you see he's practically begging," randy jr teases you and you roll your eyes before squeezing jaafar's hand and letting him pull you toward the dance floor, the whistles and teasing calls from his brothers following close behind.

jaafar wastes no time spinning you beneath his arm before pulling you flush against his chest. you naturally slide your arms around his neck as the two of you begin swaying together with the music, his hands settling comfortably at your waist like they'd always belonged there.

"did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?" he asks and you laugh, because he has. multiple times, actually. from the moment he'd picked you up earlier that evening, he'd found every excuse possible to compliment you.

"yes, j, thank you again," you say with a smile.

"no, no... really... you're the prettiest person i've ever seen," he says and you feel warmth immediately spread across your cheeks. your heart stumbles for just a moment before you gently shake your head, convincing yourself it was only the alcohol talking.

jaafar had always been an affectionate drunk, that was all this was, you told yourself.

"you're so drunk right now," you say with a small giggle and jaafar's smile immediately widens at the sound.

"your giggle is like music to my ears, always has been," he says as he spins you again, and you feel warmth rush back into your cheeks.

"you're really laying it on thick tonight," you say and jaafar gives you a playfully exasperated look.

"good god, woman, can you just take a compliment?" he teases, making you laugh even harder as you roll your eyes. every word that came out of his mouth only convinced you further that he was definitely drunk.

"okay, fine... thank you jaafar, you're very sweet," you say and he smiles like you just handed him the greatest gift he'd ever received.

"only for my favorite girl," he says and you shake your head again, brushing the comment aside just as the song comes to an end. jaafar takes a step back before giving you an overly dramatic bow that makes another giggle escape you.

"this isn't bridgerton, j, you don't have to bow to me," you tease and he looks up at you with a grin that somehow manages to be both playful and impossibly sincere.

"you always have to bow in the presence of a queen," he says, and you instinctively bite down on your lip as heat blooms across your face for what feels like the hundredth time that evening. "do you want another drink?" he asks.

"i think you need to be cut off," you say and he immediately sticks his bottom lip out into another exaggerated pout, letting out a drawn-out whine.

"come on, i'm not even that drunk," he says and before you can stop him, he's already weaving his way back toward the bar in search of another drink.

with a quiet sigh, you turn back toward randy jr. and jermajesty, only to find both of them already watching the two of you with knowing expressions. neither of them had taken their eyes off you during the entire dance, and judging by the amused looks they exchanged, they were probably continuing whatever conversation they'd been having while you were out on the floor. they were once again wondering how two people could spend so many years orbiting each other without realizing what everyone else seemed to see so clearly.

you simply shook your head at their brothers' antics, and they laughed. randy jr. flashed you an encouraging thumbs up, making you roll your eyes before turning to follow after jaafar. somehow, you already knew it was going to be a long night.

you were right.

by the time the premiere festivities finally came to an end, jaafar was so drunk he could barely stay on his feet. randy jr. and jermajesty had to help you guide him out to the car, each of them taking one side while you stayed close in case he lost his balance. despite how exhausted everyone else looked, jaafar remained blissfully unaware of the spectacle he was creating.

the entire ride back to your apartment, he talked almost nonstop.

he rambled about how happy he was that the movie was finally out in the world, still sounding amazed that people had embraced it the way they had. every compliment he'd received throughout the night seemed to surprise him all over again as he replayed conversations out loud, admitting more than once that he hadn't expected so much love.

every few minutes, his attention would drift back to you. he'd smile softly before offering another compliment; your eyes were so pretty, your face was perfect, and you were the best person he knew.

he thanked you again for agreeing to be his date that night, telling you he couldn't have imagined sharing such an important evening with anyone else.

you accepted every compliment with a smile, quietly thanking him each time, while stubbornly reminding yourself they only existed because alcohol had loosened his tongue. if he were sober, you were sure he wouldn't be saying half these things.

by the time the driver pulled up outside your apartment building, jaafar was leaning so heavily against you that you had to wrap an arm around his waist to help steady him. together, you managed to get him upstairs and inside, guiding him toward your bedroom.

the second he reached the bed, he practically collapsed onto the mattress with a long, satisfied sigh, every ounce of tension finally melting out of him as the familiar comfort of your room settled around him, you couldn't help but shake your head.

"god, j, you're heavy," you tease. jaafar's eyes slowly flutter open, and he lazily lifts a finger to point at you.

"don't do that, mama," he says, his words slurring together just enough to make you laugh again.

you shake your head affectionately, knowing he's far too drunk to bother trying to change on his own. as much as he insisted he was "not even that drunk," there was no chance he was sleeping comfortably in his tailored premiere suit. thankfully, being the great best friend you were also meant routinely stealing his clothes whenever he left them at your apartment, so you had more than enough options for him to sleep in.

you start to stand from the edge of the bed, but before you can take more than a step, warm fingers wrap loosely around your wrist. "where are you going?" he asks, his voice carrying the unmistakable hint of a whine.

"do you want to sleep in your suit?" you ask with a laugh. he slowly shakes his head. "okay, then i have to get you some clothes," you say.

"my clothes that you always steal?" he says as his eyes drift closed again, and another laugh slips past your lips. "they look better on you anyway," he mumbles.

your breath catches. for just a second, your heart forgets how to beat before you quietly force yourself to breathe again, repeating the same thought that had carried you through the entire evening.

he's just drunk, that's all this is.

carefully slipping your wrist from his relaxed grip, you walk over to your dresser and pull open the drawer that, somehow, held almost as many of jaafar's clothes as it did your own. you grab one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants before making your way back to the bed.

"okay, j... you're gonna have to help me out here, can you undress yourself?" you ask. his eyes slowly open again, finding yours almost immediately.

your heart softens at the sleepy, unfocused look he gives you. there was something so disarmingly gentle about him like this, all the walls he'd carefully kept around himself throughout the evening completely gone.

"can you help with the buttons, please?" he pouts and you laugh as you sit beside him.

"of course," you say.

you help him sit upright before reaching for the buttons on his dress shirt while he lazily shrugs out of his suit jacket. your fingers work carefully down the front of the shirt, freeing each button one by one.

jaafar barely notices the jacket slipping onto the bed beside him because he's too busy watching your hands.

his gaze stays fixed on the way your fingers move, gentle and patient as they undo each button, and his mind drifts somewhere it probably shouldn't. he'd imagined you this close more times than he cared to admit, dreamed about your hands on him in moments that looked nothing like this, moments far more intimate than helping him out of formal clothes after too much to drink.

instead, this was you taking care of him, again.

"you're such an angel," jaafar mumbles as you help slide the button-up from his shoulders before guiding the t-shirt over his head. "always taking care of me," he says.

"you're drunk, i couldn't leave you to fend for yourself," you tease with a smile.

he immediately shakes his head. "no, no... even when i'm not... not drunk, you always take care of me... always brought me lunch on set... dinner if it was a late night... even before the movie... always lookin' out for me... i wish you'd let me take care of you too," jaafar says before another yawn overtakes him.

the room falls quiet as his words settle over you far more heavily than you expected them to.

you'd never thought twice about the things you did for him. showing up on set with food when you knew he'd forgotten to eat, dropping by after long rehearsal days, making sure he had someone waiting for him whenever life became too much... none of it had ever felt like a sacrifice. you hadn't done those things because you were trying to prove you were a good friend, you'd done them because you loved him.

you just never imagined he'd noticed, and somehow, it wasn't even that realization that lingered the most, it was the last thing he'd said.

i wish you'd let me take care of you too.

"because that's what best friends do, j, and you do take care of me, all the time... now, can you take your pants off?" you ask and jaafar's lips pull into the slightest smirk.

"if you wanted to get into my pants, you just have to ask," he teases and you laugh, immediately rolling your eyes.

"boy, shut up and strip so you can put these sweatpants on," you say.

jaafar's laugh fills the room, bright and completely unguarded, the kind of laugh that only ever came out around people he trusted. still smiling to himself, he unzips his pants and pushes them down his legs without another complaint. you help him step into the sweatpants before pulling them up for him, making sure he's comfortable.

the second he's changed, he curls farther into your bed with another contented sigh, the familiar mattress seeming to melt every remaining ounce of tension out of him.

you can't help smiling.

almost absentmindedly, your fingers drift into his curls, gently combing through them. the touch is soft, affectionate, something you've done countless times over the years whenever he was exhausted enough to let you fuss over him. tonight, though, he unconsciously leans into your hand, chasing the warmth of your fingertips as though it were the safest place in the world. the movement is so instinctive it makes your chest ache.

"thank you, mama," jaafar mumbles and your smile only grows.

"i just need to change and then i'm getting you water," you say. jaafar gives a sleepy nod, his eyes drifting closed once more as you quietly stand.

walking over to your dresser, you pull out a pair of soft cotton shorts before reaching for one of jaafar's oversized t-shirts that had somehow become a permanent resident in your drawer. you quickly change out of your dress, draping it neatly across the chair in the corner of your room before padding down the hallway toward the kitchen.

you grab your prescription ibuprofen, knowing tomorrow morning would not be kind to him, then fill a glass with cold water before heading back.

the sound of your footsteps draws jaafar's attention almost immediately, and his eyes slowly open. the moment they land on you, a sleepy smile spreads across his face. his shirt hung loosely over your frame, covering your shorts, leaving only the view of your bare legs, and he couldn't seem to look away.

even after you sat back down beside him, he was still staring.

"what?" you ask.

"i told you... you look better than i do in my clothes," he says. you roll your eyes, refusing to let yourself read into another one of his drunken compliments.

"here, take one of these and then try to go to sleep," you say as you hand him an ibuprofen and the glass of water.

"why is the pill so big?" jaafar asks and you laugh.

"it's prescription ibuprofen so it's stronger than the over-the-counter stuff, which is why you only need one," you say. jaafar nods obediently before taking the medicine. once he's finished drinking, you take the glass from his hand and set it carefully on the nightstand beside the bed.

"now get some sleep, j, you earned it," you say.

he nods again. "thanks for coming with me tonight, i love you," jaafar says.

those words don't catch you off guard. he'd said them a thousand times over the years, always as naturally as breathing. they had never carried any expectation behind them, only the quiet certainty that the two of you loved each other as best friends.

you smile warmly before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss against his forehead. "i love you too, jaafar," you say.

instead of settling back into the pillows, jaafar slowly shakes his head. with visible effort, he pushes himself upright until the two of you are sitting at eye level. his gaze stays fixed on yours, hazy from the alcohol yet carrying an unfamiliar kind of determination beneath it.

"no... no i mean, i... i think i'm in love with you... i think i always have been," he slightly slurs.

your breath catches so sharply it almost hurts, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. your mind goes completely blank, refusing to process what he just said because it doesn't make sense. it can't make sense.

jaafar... in love with you? no, that couldn't be right.

you've been best friends for nearly ten years. ten years of late-night phone calls, movie nights, inside jokes that no one else understood, holidays spent together, borrowed clothes that somehow never made it back to him, and countless moments that had always felt safe because you'd convinced yourself they were nothing more than friendship. you'd spent years carefully burying your own feelings because you believed he could never possibly return them, and when he started dating maddie, you'd accepted that as proof you were right.

your heart immediately wanted to believe every word he'd just said, but your head refused to let it. he was drunk. incredibly drunk. people said things they didn't mean when they'd had too much to drink. they got emotional, affectionate, sentimental. that was all this was. it had to be.

you slowly shake your head, offering him a small, patient smile that does little to hide the way your heart is pounding against your ribs.

"go to sleep, j... you're drunk," you say. jaafar's expression immediately falls.

"you don't believe me," he says. the disappointment in his voice tugs at your heart, but you force yourself to push past it. if you let yourself believe him, even for a second, you weren't sure you'd be able to recover if he woke up tomorrow with no memory of any of this.

"i don't think you believe you... go to sleep," you say, taking another slow breath as you try to steady yourself. the initial shock had begun to settle, but it hadn't made his confession any easier to process. if anything, the words seemed to echo louder the more you tried to convince yourself they didn't matter.

"only if you lay with me," he says. another wave of warmth spreads through your chest.

there was nothing unusual about the request. the two of you had fallen asleep beside each other countless times over the years after late-night movies or conversations that lasted until sunrise. there had never been anything romantic about it, at least, that's what you'd always told yourself.

"okay," you say.

jaafar immediately scoots across to the other side of the bed, making room for you where he'd been lying only moments before. as soon as you settle into the mattress, you're greeted by the lingering warmth he'd left behind, and before you've even gotten comfortable, his arms find their familiar place around you.

he gently pulls you back against his chest.

his face nestles into the crook of your neck with a quiet sigh, and one of his hands slips beneath the hem of your oversized shirt before coming to rest lightly against your stomach. his palm is warm against your bare skin, and despite how many times the two of you had fallen asleep tangled together like this, the simple touch suddenly feels different.

everything feels different, because now all you can hear are the words he'd spoken only minutes earlier. i think i'm in love with you, and i think i always have been.

your eyes remain fixed on the dark room in front of you while your thoughts race in circles. every instinct begged you to believe him, to turn around and tell him you'd loved him for years too, but reason continued pulling you back. he wasn't thinking clearly. he'd had too much to drink. tomorrow morning he'd probably wake up embarrassed, with no memory of anything he'd confessed, and you'd rather carry the weight of your own feelings forever than risk losing the friendship the two of you had spent nearly a decade building.

"i love you," jaafar says again. his voice is barely above a whisper as the words brush against the sensitive skin of your neck. a few seconds later, his breathing begins to deepen, the steady rhythm telling you he'd already drifted off to sleep.

you lie awake for what feels like hours, staring into the darkness while his arms remain securely around you. his confession replays over and over in your mind until you can't remember the last thing either of you said before it. every time you start to let yourself imagine that maybe he'd meant it, you immediately pull yourself back.

he was drunk, that was all, wasn't it? eventually, another thought settles into your mind. would he even remember saying any of it in the morning?

the answer begins to reveal itself the moment the sun comes up.

jaafar isn't surprised when he wakes curled around you.

it isn't the first time the two of you had fallen asleep like this, and if he were being honest, it had become one of his favorite things over the years. waking up with you tucked safely against him always made your apartment feel a little more like home.

what does surprise him is the lack of agony pounding behind his eyes. the headache is there, he can feel it, but instead of the unbearable hangover he was expecting, it's little more than a dull ache lingering at the edges of his temples.

his gaze drifts toward your nightstand, landing on the prescription bottle labeled 600 mg of ibuprofen, and he understands immediately. you'd taken care of him again.

a quiet smile tugs at his lips as he silently offers a prayer of thanks, grateful not only for the medication but for you.

his memories of the night before are frustratingly scattered. he remembers walking the red carpet, sitting through the premiere, feeling an overwhelming mixture of nerves and pride as the credits rolled. he remembers pieces of the after-party, conversations blending together beneath music and laughter, but everything after that dissolves into hazy fragments.

somehow he'd ended up at your apartment, though that part didn't surprise him in the slightest. whenever life became overwhelming, whether it was because of exhaustion, celebration, or heartbreak, he always seemed to find his way back to you.

you start to wake up when you feel jaafar stirring behind you. the subtle shift beneath his arm draws his attention, and as he loosens his hold, you turn over until you're facing him.

"hey, sleepyhead, how are you feeling?" you ask. his smile returns almost instantly.

"not as much on my deathbed as i expected to be... thank you," he says. you smile back, relieved to see him looking more like himself than the man who you’d helped stumble through your front door only a few hours earlier.

your mind can't stop circling back to the night before. you want to ask him about what he said.

more than anything, you want to know if he remembers saying it at all.

but before you can bring yourself to ask, you realize there's something you need to know first. you need to know how much of last night he actually remembers.

"so... how much of last night do you remember?" you ask, and the familiar shy smile immediately returns to jaafar's face, the kind that always seemed to appear whenever he thought back on a good memory.

"i remember the premiere and the after party... but i don't remember how we got back to your apartment," jaafar says.

your heart sinks before relief quietly settles over it just as quickly.

if he couldn't remember getting back to your apartment, then he couldn't possibly remember everything that happened after. he didn't remember you helping him change, falling asleep wrapped around you, or the confession that had completely turned your world upside down.

that realization both comforted you and broke your heart at the same time. a part of you had desperately hoped he'd wake up remembering every word so you could ask him if he'd truly meant it, but another part was grateful you didn't have to watch him deal with the embarrassment of confessing feelings he probably never intended to reveal.

"you had a quite a bit to drink... which you deserved to... you worked hard on this movie, you deserve to celebrate and be celebrated," you say. jaafar smiles, the praise making his shoulders relax.

"thank you for taking care of me," he says. you nod before leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss against his cheek.

"always," you say. as he reaches over to grab his jacket, his eyes catch on something sitting on your nightstand; his phone plugged into your charger.

he pauses for a moment, quietly taking it in. you'd gotten him home safely, changed his clothes, made sure he drank water, gave him medicine before bed, and even thought to charge his phone so it wouldn't die overnight.

they were all such little things, the kinds of things most people probably wouldn't even think twice about, but with you, those little things had always meant the most. you had this quiet way of caring for him without ever expecting recognition for it, and every time you did something like that, it reminded him why you had become the safest place in his life.

"can you hand me my phone, mama?" he asks. you nod, leaning over to unplug it before placing it in his hand. he scrolls through the flood of notifications waiting for him, letting out a quiet sigh as reality slowly returned. "i have some press to do today, but i'll call you later?" he asks.

"of course... have a good day, j," you say. he smiles as he gathers his suit from around your room before leaning down to press a soft kiss against your forehead, then he leaves.

true to his word, he calls you later that evening after his press obligations are finished. you watch your phone ring until it eventually stops, instead of answering, you send him a short text telling him you were busy and that you'd call him back later.

you never do.

over the next several days, you begin pulling away in ways you hope aren't obvious, but to someone who knows you as well as jaafar does, they stand out immediately. your phone calls go unanswered, your replies become shorter and less frequent, and eventually you turn your location off because you know that if he can't get ahold of you, his next step will be showing up at your apartment unannounced and you couldn't let that happen.

every time you thought about seeing him, all you could hear was his voice from that night. i think i'm in love with you.

those words refused to leave you alone, and no matter how many times you reminded yourself he'd been drunk, your heart stubbornly clung to them. being around him now felt impossible because you no longer knew where the line between friendship and everything you'd secretly wanted for years actually existed.

while you were trying to convince yourself that distancing yourself was the right thing to do, jaafar was slowly unraveling.

at first, he'd accepted every excuse you gave him. everyone got busy, work got hectic, and schedules stopped lining up sometimes.

but then days passed, then a week, and with every text he sent became a little more concerned than the last. is everything okay? did i do something? are you mad at me? please just tell me what's wrong.

when those messages went mostly unanswered, panic started settling in. desperate to figure out what had happened, he even asked jermajesty to call you, thinking maybe you were only avoiding him.

you didn't answer his call either, because you knew jaafar too well. you knew he'd eventually ask one of his brothers to try to reach you, so you stopped answering anyone.

life continued moving around you as though nothing had changed. you went to work every day, kept up with your routine, and answered just enough of jaafar's messages to reassure him you were alive, but never enough to actually have a conversation. every notification from him made your chest ache because he genuinely had no idea why you were disappearing from his life.

by the time you got home from work that afternoon, your phone was filled with missed calls, unread texts, and voicemails from him.

your heart twisted, this wasn't fair anymore. whatever happened that night wasn't his fault, and avoiding him for something he couldn't even remember only made you feel worse.

with a heavy sigh, you unlocked your phone and opened his contact, finally deciding you were going to call him back.

before you could press the button, a knock echoed through your apartment and your head snapped toward the front door. slowly, you crossed the room until you reached it, peering through the peephole, your breath caught.

it was jaafar.

he looked up the moment he heard the lock click, and as soon as you opened the door, he stepped inside and immediately pulled you into his arms so tightly that you barely had time to react. as you wrapped your arms around him, you felt the rigid tension he'd been carrying for days finally begin to melt away, and when a quiet sniffle escaped him, your heart broke.

he'd been crying.

"j..." you say softly, but he only shakes his head as he pulls you closer.

it's been weeks since he'd seen you, weeks since he'd heard your voice outside of the occasional short text, and weeks of wondering if you'd been hurt, if something had happened, or if he'd somehow done something terrible without even realizing it. standing here with you finally in his arms, he isn't ready to let go just yet.

when he eventually does, you quietly close the door behind him and gesture toward the couch, silently inviting him to sit down, but he doesn't move. he stays rooted where he is, his eyes never leaving yours, as though he's afraid that if he gives you even an inch of space, you'll disappear again.

"why have you been so distant from me? what did i do wrong? i can't fix it if you won't tell me what i did," he says. the desperation in his voice makes your heart ache.

you immediately shake your head. "you didn't do anything wrong," you say.

his expression only grows more conflicted. the hurt never leaves his face, but now it's joined by genuine confusion. if he hadn't done anything, then none of this made sense.

"what's going on?" he asks.

you let out a slow breath, your eyes dropping to the floor as you search for words you'd been avoiding for weeks. eventually, you look back up at him, finding him watching you with the same patience he'd always given you, even now.

"the night of the premiere... something happened and i... i guess i didn't know how to handle it, or didn't want to be embarrassed and i didn't want you to be embarrassed either, so i... i don't know, i pulled away instead," you say.

the crease between jaafar's brows deepens. he searches his memory, trying to piece together whatever happened after the parts of the night he could still remember, but everything beyond the after-party remained frustratingly blank.

"what happened the night of the premiere?" jaafar asks.

you take another deep breath. "after i helped you change... you thanked me for going to the premiere with you and said you love me," you say.

for just a second, jaafar has to fight back a laugh. was that really what all of this had been about?

"i always tell you i love you... you know that," jaafar says and you sigh.

"i know... but when i said it back, you said that you think you're in love with me, and that you always have been, and when i told you to fuck off and go to sleep," that time he does laugh. "you got upset that i didn't believe you, and i would've talked to you about it the next morning, but you didn't remember anything, so i didn't want to embarrass you or be embarrassed myself if i brought it up and you said you didn't mean it," you say, finally letting out everything you'd been carrying by yourself.

"oh," jaafar says quietly. the single word barely leaves his lips before the realization crashes over him.

his eyes widen. for years, he'd imagined what it might feel like to finally tell you the truth. after things ended with maddie, he'd come closer than ever to confessing, convincing himself that if there was ever going to be a right time, that had been it. but every time he worked up the courage, fear won instead. the thought of losing his best friend had always outweighed the hope that maybe, just maybe, you felt the same way.

so he'd kept loving you in silence, yet somehow, without meaning to, he'd told you everything while he was drunk. except instead of bringing the two of you closer, you'd spent weeks pulling away because you'd convinced yourself none of it had been real.

he didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of it all or cry over how much unnecessary pain the two of you had put yourselves through.

"i'm sorry... i know i shouldn't have avoided you like that, i just didn't know what to do," you say. before you can say anything else, jaafar closes the small distance separating you.

his hand gently comes up to cradle your cheek, his touch so careful it makes your heart skip. his thumb slowly brushes along your jaw as he looks at you with an expression of tenderness you've never seen directed at anyone else.

"i did mean it... i may not remember, but if i told you that i'm in love with you, it's because i am," he says.

the words settle over you, quiet and unwavering, spoken without alcohol to soften them or courage borrowed from champagne. this was jaafar, standing in front of you completely sober, looking into your eyes as he chose to tell you the truth all over again.

still, your heart struggled to believe it after spending years convincing yourself he could never love you that way, hearing him say it now almost felt too impossible to trust.

you slowly shake your head. "you don't have to do that, j," you whisper.

jaafar's expression softens even more as he gently shakes his head, refusing to let you hide behind the same fear that had kept both of you apart for so long.

"listen to me, mama..." he says, and you slowly nod, waiting for him to continue.

"i love you, i'm in love with you. you're the one constant in my life... this movie has consumed me for the last three years and even my own girlfriend didn't stick around, but you did, you've always been there, and she was just a placeholder for you anyway... i only started dating her because i didn't think you'd ever feel for me what i feel for you," jaafar says.

your eyes widen as every assumption you've spent years clinging to begins unraveling in front of you.

this whole time, you'd believed him dating maddie had been confirmation that you would never be anything more to him than his best friend. every time you'd seen them together, every time he'd mentioned her, you'd quietly convinced yourself that whatever feelings you carried for him would always have to remain yours alone.

but somehow, you'd both been living the exact same fear.

jaafar slowly lowers his hand from your cheek before gently taking yours instead. without breaking eye contact, he places your palm against the center of his chest, right over his heart, and keeps it there beneath his own hand.

"do you feel that? the way my heart beats for you? i'm so in love with you it scares me sometimes, not because of you, but because what if we give this a try and it doesn't work? not only do i lose the love of my life, but i lose my best friend too... so i pushed my feelings aside because having you in my life as my best friend is more bearable than losing you completely," jaafar confesses. beneath your hand, his heartbeat is steady, strong, and impossibly real.

by the time he finishes speaking, tears are already streaming freely down your cheeks. every wall you'd spent years building around your heart crumbles beneath the weight of his words, leaving nothing but the love you'd worked so hard to hide.

"you won't lose me, j... never," you whisper through your tears.

jaafar's expression softens even further as he leans in, pressing gentle kisses just beneath your eyes, catching your tears with his lips before they can fall any farther.

"i love you, too... it's always been you," you say as you look back at him.

the moment the words leave your mouth, the smile that spreads across his face is unlike anything you've ever seen.

he laughs quietly, almost as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing. he'd spent so many years imagining what it would feel like to hear you say those words, wondering if that moment would ever come, and now that it finally had, it almost didn't feel real. hearing you tell him you loved him, not as a friend but in the same all-consuming way he'd loved you for years, filled him with a happiness so overwhelming it left him almost breathless.

he doesn't waste another second, jaafar closes the remaining distance between you, gently bringing your lips to his. the kiss is everything you'd imagined it would be and somehow still so much more.

his lips are impossibly soft against yours, lingering just long enough to make your heart race before he kisses you again with a tenderness that speaks louder than any confession ever could. every year of longing, every moment he'd spent convincing himself he could never have this, pours into the way he holds you.

when you feel his tongue gently brush against your lips, silently asking for permission, you part them for him without hesitation. a quiet moan escapes you as he deepens the kiss, and your fingers instinctively tighten around the fabric of his shirt while his hands settle more firmly against your waist, holding you as though he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.

he'd imagined kissing you more times than he could count; late at night, during long drives, every time you'd smiled at him, and every time you'd fallen asleep beside him. none of those fantasies had ever come close to what it actually felt like.

when he finally pulls away, the two of you are left breathing the same unsteady breath, your foreheads naturally coming together as neither of you is willing to put more than an inch of space between you.

"don't ever do that to me again, please," he says softly. the vulnerability in his voice makes your chest tighten. he isn't talking about the confession; he's talking about losing you, and about believing, even for a few weeks, that you'd chosen to walk out of his life.

you nod immediately, another shaky breath leaving you. "i won't... i'm so sorry," you say.

jaafar gently shakes his head before pressing another kiss to your temple, then your cheek, your jaw, and finally your forehead, each one slower than the last, as though he were making up for every kiss he'd spent years never allowing himself to give you.

"i love you, jaafar," you say.

the words earn that wide, radiant smile all over again, and he closes his eyes for just a moment, letting himself savor the sound of them in your voice.

jaafar laughs, a warm, melodic sound that makes a few heads turn. he reaches over, wrapping his hand over yours where it rests on your knee. his thumb gently rubs the back of your hand. "i promise we'll get some the second this set wraps up. but look, you're doing great. just clap when everyone else claps."

"noted," you tease, tilting your head up. "you look incredibly handsome today, by the way."

jaafar pauses, a slow, appreciative grin spreading across his lips. a slight flush touches his cheeks, making his eyes look even warmer. he reaches over, wrapping his hand over yours where it rests on your knee, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand.

"is that so?" he murmurs, tilting his head closer to yours. "well, i could say the exact same about you. you’re so beautiful i can barely focus on the match."

"i'll let you get back to it," you laugh, though you don't miss the way his grip tightens affectionately.

the crowd gasps as something happens and the ball lands right on the white chalk. jaafar looks back just in time, joining in on the applause, his hand still tightly holding yours.

when the players finally head to their benches for the changeover, jaafar stands up and extends his hand to you. "alright, first-timer. let's go find those strawberries before i get completely distracted."

As a rising star in the industry, currently in the spotlight thanks to the incredible success of Michael, Jaafar was invited to the 2026 FIFA World Cup opening match between the US and Paraguay in Los Angeles. Allowed to bring guests along, he not only wanted his brothers, Jermajesty and Randy Jr., by his side, but also you, his girlfriend.

A world cup is a big thing, but nothing could have prepared you for the absolute fear surging through your every vein right now. This isn’t just any event, not just a football game. This is your first public appearance as Jaafar Jackson’s girlfriend. You first time walking a carpet. Your first time standing in front of hundreds of photographers who seem to know exactly who you are, having done their thorough research despite never even seeing you before.

A small part of you thinks that once you step out of this car, everything changes. Because before that moment, you were just you. The girl who got to spend lazy mornings and quiet evenings with Jaafar. The girl who knew every version of him but especially the one that existed away from the cameras. The girl who laughed at his absolutely terrible jokes and stole his hoodies. The girl who danced around with him in the kitchen with no worries in the world.

Today the world is going to get a glimpse of you, the girl Jaafar Jackson chose, who he loves with all of his heart. No pressure.

You feel like prey, just waiting to be devoured by the hungry predators surrounding you.

“Hey, everything alright?”, Jaafar’s gentle voice pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you feel his warm hand on your thigh, giving a gentle squeeze. Slowly, you tear your gaze away from the passing view outside the window and turn toward him. His brown eyes meet yours, warm and steady, carrying that familiar softness you always get lost in.

“Y-Yeah.” Not very convincing.

“You look like you’re about to jump out of the car”, he remarks with a soft smile.

You let out a nervous laugh, glancing down at your hand that you now intertwine with his on your thigh. You avert your gaze again, not being able to stand the pure affection you find in his eyes, meant only for you.

Jaafar has always had a way of seeing through you. It doesn’t matter how carefully you try to hide your emotions, how much effort you put into looking calm and collected. He notices the little things. The way your fingers fidget. The way your breathing changes. The way you stare out the window, letting a storm of thoughts consume you. You really tried to not look overwhelmed and apparently, you terribly failed.

“Sorry”, you shrug with a shy smile, nervously smoothing down your pants with your free hand. Since the dress code isn’t super formal – it is a football match after all – you’re wearing a cream tailored fitted vest and flowing wide-leg trousers. Subtle jewellery adorns your ears, wrists and fingers and black sunglasses tie everything together. Your outfit perfectly complements that of Jaafar, who is wearing a cream button-down shirt with a textured pattern, left slightly open at the collar, paired with matching tailored trousers that give him a relaxed yet polished look. The soft neutral tones compliment his warm complexion, while the dark sunglasses add just enough edge. Jaafar, as always, looks effortlessly put together, which somehow makes it unfair and so much more difficult for you.

He isn’t dressed like he is trying to impress anyone while you, on the other hand, are very much trying to do just that.

His brothers also match the colour scheme, all dressed in cream, white and black. A choice that also subtly signals which team you’re rooting for. That is at least for today, because the three of them are supporting Colombia as well while you are rooting for your country, too.

“Don’t be”, Jaafar says with a slight grin, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re going to do amazing. They’ll love you.”

Easy for him to say. He’s already accustomed to the spotlight, the cameras, the eyes. Everyone loves him. Of course they do. There is nothing to not love about him. But the idea of millions of strangers having opinions about you and your relationship makes your stomach twist in discomfort.

“I just don’t want to mess this up”, you admit quietly.

Jaafar’s eyebrows pull together like he has a hard time understanding what you just said. “Baby..”, he starts and the nickname makes your heart jump. “You’re not going to mess anything up.”

“Unless you trip”, Jermajesty adds out of nowhere, sitting across from you. He had been playing on his phone just moments ago, but the conversation didn’t go past him. Not that he could have missed it, you’re literally sitting right in front of him.

“Bro.”

Randy next to him snorts but quickly regains his composure and jabs his elbow into Jermajesty’s side, being the older, responsible one and all that. Jaafar, on the other hand, shoots his brothers a death glare.

“What? I’m just preparing her for every eventuality. I didn’t say it would happen!”, Jermajesty immediately defends himself, raising his hands in surrender.

“Not helpful.”

“Maybe keep your tips to yourself next time”, Jaafar suggests with a smile so bittersweet it makes his brother swallow hard. It’s a smile that is somehow both amused and threatening enough to make Jermajesty hesitate.

“Nah. I promise if anyone is going to mess it up, it’s going to be me”, Jermajesty says with such confidence as if he has already planned the entire disaster in his head. “Aaaaand I’ll shut up now”, he quickly adds when he receives another death glare, basically jumping headfirst back into his phone.

Despite yourself, you laugh. Somehow, their banter was exactly what you needed. The nerves that had been twisting your stomach begin to loosen. You know that you are not alone. That when you step out of this car, you won’t just have Jaafar beside you. You’ll have people who genuinely want you to feel comfortable, who will stand beside you and make sure you feel safe.

“I got you, baby”, Jaafar whispers softly, guiding your intertwined hands to his mouth to place a gentle kiss on the back of your hand without breaking eye contact. The warmth radiating from him, his touch, his presence, the certainty in his eyes, slowly melts away the tension you’ve been carrying, your shoulders slumping back into the seat. You can’t help but lean over and give him a quick kiss to the cheek, making him smile brightly.

It takes around two more minutes to reach the venue and you immediately tense up again, your breath catching in your throat. With the stadium towering ahead, your gaze falls on the throngs of photographers lining the blue carpet, eagerly waiting for the next celebrity guest. It isn’t until the car door opens that the sounds from outside truly reach you: distant music from the stadium, the constant clicking and shuttering of thousands of cameras, and people.

Jermajesty and Randy step out of the car first, followed closely by Jaafar though not before he whispers a few more reassuring words into your ear.

“Eyes on me.”

“What?”

“When it gets overwhelming, just look at me.”

Like the true gentleman he is, he waits by the door and extends his hand to help you out of the car. Meanwhile, his brothers are already posing for photos in front of the backdrop, completely comfortable in all the chaos.

You, however, feel like your knees might give way beneath you. You place your hand in Jaafar’s and let him gently pull you out of the car, making sure you don’t trip (even though Jermajesty would have probably loved if you did, proving his prediction). The second you are out of the car and the first photographer spots you, the shouting grows impossibly louder.

“Jaafar!”

“Over here!”

“Jaafar, a picture with your girlfriend!”

“Can we get one together?”

“Look this way!”

To say you are overwhelmed is an understatement, your heart racing, but Jaafar makes sure to tightly secure your hand in his, leading you onto the carpet and in front of the backdrop. Lights flash in an instant, not allowing you to even get into position.

Jaafar’s hand slides to the small of your back naturally, allowing him to pull you against his side without obscuring your matching outfits. You can’t help but grin, his closeness automatically calming your nerves by each second. Both of you smile at the cameras, giving them time to get the perfect shot of you, giving them exactly what they came for.

“One without the sunglasses!”

You both immediately follow the request, taking off your sunglasses to give them unrestricted views of your faces. Jaafar gives you a playful pinch at the waist that catches you off guard, making you look up at him with a giggle, one hand resting on his chest. The cameras keep snapping photos of you, even when you stop paying them any attention and simply gaze at each other. Which is exactly what Jaafar had in mind: making you forget everything around you, focussing solely on him.

Later, this will turn out to be your favourite photo: the two of you looking at each other with unconditional affection, beaming smiles and a look that suggests you’re in a world of your own.

“Can we get a picture of just her?”

The request takes you completely by surprise, but before you can even react, Jaafar smiles proudly and steps aside to leave the spotlight to you without any hesitation. At first, you hold tight onto his hand, your eyes practically pleading with him to stay, but he gives you such an encouraging smile that you can’t help but go along with it.

Suddenly, you feel incredibly shy without him by your side, but the photographers are telling you exactly how they want you to pose and what to do. You give them what they want, and maybe even a little more, and realize you’re actually starting to enjoy it a little. Standing nearby, Jaafar looks incredibly proud as if he were witnessing something beautiful, something he had never seen before in his life and now cannot tear his eyes away from. He truly is your biggest supporter.

It doesn’t take long before Jaafar is back by your side, and the two of you move along the carpet as a unit, heading toward the far end where his brothers are already waiting. Both of them are looking at you with broad, knowing smiles, making you lower your head in embarrassment as you reach them.

“There they are!”

“The celebrities.”

“Don’t even star-”

“How was it, little Miss I’m-so-scared-I’ll-mess-it-up-but-end-up-stealing-everyone’s-spotlight-anyway?”, Randy interrupts, clearly enjoying himself, not letting the opportunity pass to tease you a little. All three of them knew you would do an amazing job. There was never any doubt about it.

“Why’s no one asking me?”, Jaafar says, rolling his eyes dramatically as he slips his hand from yours and flexes his fingers with an exaggerated pout. “Might need a new hand.”

Your eyes drop to his hand immediately. “Oh God. Did I squeeze too hard?”, you ask in alarm, wasting no time in taking his hand between both of yours and cupping it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. In a way, it was – like an anchor keeping you steady. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, baby.”

The concern on your face causes his teasing expression to break.

“I’m just playing with you, baby. It’s all good”, Jaafar laughs, flashing you one of his perfect smiles before he gently frees his hand from yours, placing it against your chin and tilting your face toward him. Then he presses a soft kiss to the corner of your lips.

“So.. are you guys going to pounce on each other, or can we go inside?”, Jermajesty asks in all seriousness, making you burst out laughing. Jaafar gestures for them to go ahead and you follow them. On the way to your seats, Jaafar interlocks your fingers again.

“You okay?”, he asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

As soon as you step out into the stands, it finally hits you where you are and what a special event this is. Who gets to say they attended the opening match of a World Cup and in the very country where they live, no less? The atmosphere is ecstatic, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Thousands upon thousands of people are filling the stadium, flags waving, chants echoing.

Randy leads the way and finds your seats with ease. They are located in the main stand in a separate area reserved for special guests, so-called “Business-Seats”, allowing for a bit of privacy and security. It even has an exclusive lounge offering catering before, during, and after the match. Eventually, you find yourself in a seat between Jaafar and Jermajesty, with Randy on Jermajesty’s other side.

Your body is still overflowing with adrenaline from before, making it nearly impossible for you to sit completely still. You look around constantly, taking everything in: the massive screens, the field, the crowd. Everything feels entirely surreal.

You snap a few photos to look at later and maybe even post. Since your relationship is completely official now, you’re free to post whatever you want without having to worry that people might piece together who you were with, or where and when you were there. You don’t have to hide anymore and even pose for the boys’ selfies.

You notice Jaafar’s camera land on you, making you smile shyly. You lean against his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his phone and thus his snapshot.

“Delete that one”, you say immediately, feeling embarrassed about the way you look in it.

“No”, Jaafar replies, holding his phone out of reach so you can’t make a grab for it.

“Jaafar”, you whine, trying to reach it anyway.

“It’s cute.”

“It’s not!”

“It is! You look so excited.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop smiling nevertheless.

“Any predictions?”, Jermajesty eventually asks, looking between all of you with an amused smile. “Winner gets to choose where we’re eating tonight. Losers are paying.”

“2:0”, Randy replies, sliding his sunglasses back over his eyes as the sun hits his face.

“3:0”, you state with no hesitation, feeling confident in your answer.

“3:1”, Jaafar immediately chimes in, looking at you with a playful sparkle in his eyes that tells you the challenge is on.

“I’m going with 4:1”, Jermajesty claims with an approving look at the line-up on his phone.

“In your dreams maybe”, you giggle. He places a hand over his chest, pretending to be offended.

“Wow. No faith in our team?”

“I’m just being realistic”, you respond with a sweet smile. Jermajesty opens his mouth to argue some more but is quickly shut down as music fills the arena and the lights dim. The opening ceremony begins shortly after, and the entire stadium seems to come alive. The field transforms into a celebration of football, culture, and everything that makes the World Cup such a massive event.

You all watch in awe, completely captivated.

At one point, the cameras begin scanning the VIP sections and the giant screens above the field show some of the celebrities attending the match: Tom Cruise, Leonardo DiCaprio, David Beckham. The crowd immediately reacts every time someone familiar appears.

You watch along with everyone else, but deep down, you can feel the nerves slowly creeping back in. Because if the camera is scanning the VIP section, what’s stopping it from landing on Jaafar? And if it lands on Jaafar, it will inevitably land on you.

Your hand unconsciously tightens around his for a moment, but thankfully, the camera moves on before you have to worry about being on the giant screens. A small sigh of relief escapes you.

You are not too keen on a full stadium of seventy thousand people to know you’re here.

“You okay?”, Jaafar asks again.

“Yeah.”

When the match finally begins, the atmosphere becomes even more intense. You quickly realize that all of you are much more invested in the game than you expected, leaning forward, screaming, complaining, cheering.

Even Jaafar, who had seemed so calm earlier, is completely caught up in the excitement. “Come on!”, he shouts, jumping slightly in his seat when the USA nearly scores, making you laugh. His excitement is adorable, warming your heart.

And just like that, the first half goes by faster than you expect. By halftime, the scoreboard shows exactly what you predicted: 3:0. You turn toward Jaafar with the biggest smug smile.

“I would like to remind everyone of my prediction”, you announce proudly. You lean back in your seat, completely satisfied. “I’d actually like to go home now and spend the rest of the evening basking in this victory.”

“Don’t be too confident, baby”, Jaafar winks at you. “It’s not over yet.”

The halftime entertainment begins, giving everyone a chance to relax before the second half, which will undoubtedly be just as exciting. You and Randy decide to make yourselves useful and head toward the lounge to grab food and drinks for everyone. Inside, the atmosphere is completely different from the stadium. Still busy, but much calmer. The lounge is bustling with a mix of guests – influencers, models, actors, athletes, and also people you’ve never seen before. Then again, plenty of them are probably thinking the exact same thing about you.

You gather everything you need and carefully balance the drinks and food as you make your way back to your seats alongside Randy, who’s carrying the other half. The second Jaafar sees you approaching, he’s already standing. Before you can protest, he’s taking half the things from your hands, preventing anything from falling.

He smiles one of his sweet smiles at you, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your cheek once you sit down again. “Thank you for the fries.”

You laugh, knowing they are his favourite. “You’re welcome.”

Down on the field, you can see a few cheerleaders performing, otherwise the stands are relatively empty, which is not at all typical for American halftime shows. However, you realize too late that the camera operators are having some fun, moving through the stands to get people to kiss. You thought kiss cams were strictly an American football thing, but apparently, they’ve adopted the tradition for the World Cup, too. You freeze when you suddenly see your face on the giant screen in front of you, your eyes wide.

Except it’s not Jaafar who’s shown next to you, but Jermajesty. For a moment, nobody reacts. The entire situation is so absurd that your brain can’t even process it. You and Jermajesty simply stare at the screen in utter bewilderment.

Jermajesty immediately starts waving his hands frantically and making an X with his arms, trying to signal to the cameramen that they have made a mistake, but the damage is already done, a flush rising in your cheeks. Randy is doubled over with laughter, completely losing it, and Jaafar isn’t doing much better, struggling to compose himself.

“Unbelievable”, he mumbles through a fit of laughter. But then his eyes soften and he does something you don’t expect: He reaches over, placing one hand gently against your jaw. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he turns your face toward him and kisses you. In front of seventy thousand people.

A wave of cheers rises around you, louder than before. The kiss lasts no more than five seconds, but it’s long enough to make you forget the world around you and the embarrassment you feel. It’s only Jaafar and you in the biggest stadium in the world.

When he pulls away, his forehead almost touches yours and the smug smile on his face makes you laugh. You immediately hide your heated cheeks behind your hands, shaking your head at him as the camera moves on to its next victim.

“You know that’s going to be all over tabloids tomorrow, right?”, you say shyly, pinching the bridge of your nose. Jaafar’s smile only grows while Jermajesty and Randy are having the absolute time of their lives, barely containing their laughter. You try to block them out by scooting forward in your seat, turning your back a little more toward them.

“Probably”, Jaafar shrugs, settling back into his seat while draping one arm casually over the backrest behind you. “Next to all the pictures they took of us on the carpet.”

“Great”, you sigh while sinking into your seat, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips either way. “I can’t believe you actually just kissed me in front of the entire world.”

“Technically”, he says, holding up a finger. “I just wanted to make sure that everyone knows who you’re here with.”

Laughter bubbles out of you as he nods toward his brother, who now has the decency to look slightly offended by the entire situation. “I was an innocent bystander”, Jermajesty defends himself.

Jaafar shoots him a mock glare until you all burst out laughing at the same time, drawing puzzled glances from the people around you. Suddenly, your embarrassment vanishes and your heart returns to its normal rhythm.

Throughout the entire second half, Jaafar’s proximity is palpable, his touch never leaving you: his hand over the back of the seat, on your thigh or interlaced with yours.

The game picks right back up where it left off. The USA continues to dominate and despite Jaafar’s warning not to get too confident, your prediction remains safely intact. That is until Paraguay scores and the scoreboard destroys your prediction, showing a 3:1.

“Told you so”, Jaafar teases, dragging out the words in a sing-song voice, pinching your side which makes you squeal. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking defeated, so you lightly push his shoulder. You try to ignore his further teasing close to your ear, but the smile on your face gives you away.

“I’m still in the game!”, Jermajesty proudly announces. The next moment, he clutches his head in frustration as the USA squanders another chance.

Even though you lost your little competition, you can’t tear your eyes away from the game, it’s just too much fun. Then, when the USA scores to make it 4:1 in the final seconds of overtime, you all leap from your seats and cheer. Jermajesty, of course, the loudest of all. Jaafar laughs beside you before wrapping his arms around you and briefly lifting you off your feet in celebration. You barely have time to react before he sets you back down, both of you laughing.

“Oh, he’s never letting this go”, Jaafar says, shaking his head.

“You’re going to be so sick of me!”, Jermajesty cheers loudly.

When the final whistle blows and the USA ultimately wins, the entire stadium erupts once more. Slowly, the stadium begins to empty, but the excitement remains. Since the traffic leaving the stadium is going to be insane, you decide to wait it out in the lounge. Which also happens to give you a temporary escape from Jermajesty’s endless chatter about how he perfectly predicted the game.

Jaafar introduces you to a few guests you recognize and plenty you don’t, but everyone is surprisingly welcoming. Every time Jaafar introduces you, hearing the word girlfriend leave his lips in a public setting makes your heart skip.

What surprises you most is that everyone is so friendly and warm. You had spent the entire day imagining judgment, whispers, people analysing every little thing about you. But instead, they smile at you or compliment your outfit or ask how you enjoyed the game. They make it feel like you belong.

At some point, while you’re talking with a group of guests on your own, you catch Jaafar watching you from across the room, admiring you. When you catch his eyes, he gives you the sweetest smile ever. One that says: ‘See? You’re okay. I’m so proud of you.’ The second he’s at your side again, he leaves a gentle kiss on your temple.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

About an hour after the final whistle, you’re finally sitting inside the car on your way home. The adrenaline is slowly fading, leaving behind a feeling of exhaustion. Your head rests against Jaafar’s shoulder as you watch the city lights pass by outside the window.

Occasionally, one of his brothers talks about the match or laughs about the kiss cam moment that will probably haunt Jermajesty forever, but other than that, there’s a comfortable silence.

Your mind is spinning, thinking back to everything you’ve experienced today, to every moment that scared you so much beforehand, but that you handled so well. Somewhere along the way, you stopped feeling like you were being introduced to the world, but more like you were being welcomed into it.

And Jaafar played the biggest role in making it such a pleasant experience for you.

You think about how your hand barely left Jaafar’s the entire day. Your hand moves without thinking, sliding down his biceps until your fingers find his. You intertwine them together on his lap.

“You okay?”, Jaafar asks quietly. You feel him press a kiss into your hair after taking in the familiar scent of you. The question makes you smile. Because of course he asks, even now.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Megan chimes in, leaning in with her elbows on the table as if to hear you better.

“When Jaafar turned twenty-one, I was twelve.” You tell them slowly, feeling a prickle of insecurity running down your spine from how intently your friends are staring at you. One of them even has her mouth dropped open, as if you’ve shocked her that badly.

“So how old are you saying he is now?” Cassie pipes up again, tilting her head to the side as if she’s trying to do the math in her head and coming up short. Your words just aren’t making sense to them, like you’re purposefully playing a prank on them.

They all knew Jaafar was older than you, but none of them ever thought he could possibly be older than twenty-three, maybe twenty-four, but even that was pushing it. Most of them still refused to believe you, assuming that he could only be a few months older than you. He didn’t look a day over twenty, but with what you’re insinuating, he’s almost a decade over.

“He turns thirty in a few weeks,” you say simply, taking another sip from your drink as the table erupts in shrieks and shouts. Everyone’s voices were overlapping, yelling excitedly that you had to be lying, that there was no way your boyfriend was twenty-nine years old.

You just sat back and let them talk over themselves with a pleased little smile on your face. You remember the first time you found out how old Jaafar was, and how you laughed in his face when he told you. He’d sat you down on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as if he had something extremely difficult to tell you.

At this point, you’d only been on a handful of dates, and while you knew he was older than you, exact ages had never really come up. And, quite frankly, it barely ever crossed your mind. The two of you had such a good time together no matter what you were doing, and all of your thoughts seemed occupied by him even when you were apart.

So when Jaafar sat you down and told you that he was twenty-eight years old, almost twenty-nine and a whole eight years older than you, you laughed at him. His brow furrowed and he straightened his stance, looking at you with disbelief.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you squeak out through your laughter, and Jaafar braces himself for the rejection he’s certain is coming, “this has to be a fucking joke.”

“Why would I lie about it?” He asks, and even after only a few weeks of knowing each other, you catch on to the concern lacing his voice. You do your best to calm down, taking big, dramatic breaths to steady your heart rate and get your giggles under control. 

“That’s not what I mean,” you reach for him, grab his hand where it had fallen on the cushion between you and squeeze, “it’s just that there’s no way you’re telling me you’re almost thirty.”

“I’m not almost thirty,” he says defensively, voice creeping up an octave in a way that makes you grin, “I’ve got over a year till I’m thirty.”

“No, I know,” you scooch closer, “but it’d be easier for me to believe that you’re nineteen.”

As if to prove your point, you reach over and settle your palms on either side of his face. You look at him intently, as if you’re searching for something in his features. Jaafar can’t look you in the eye, the experience far too intimate, especially with him already feeling so stressed about this conversation, your reaction.

You just lean forward and plant a kiss on the tip of his nose, smiling when he scrunches up his nose at the contact.

“So you’re not gonna turn and run away because I’m too old?” Jaafar asks, and it makes you scoff that this was even a possibility he was expecting.

“Please, it’ll take a lot more than that to get rid of me,” you tease, leaning forward again, “plus, you’re too cute for me to leave.”

You snap back into reality when you realize your friends have all quieted down, the shock of the moment evaporating the more they sit with it. The rest of the night passes unremarkably, with no more revelations shocking the group. When you return home, kicking off your shoes and locking the door behind you, Jaafar is there to greet you in a matter of seconds.

“You’ll never guess what happened,” you say with a beaming smile before Jaafar’s able to even greet you. He’s grinning at you, at your excitement, looking at you fondly in a way that makes your heart hammer against your ribs.

“What happened?” He asks, always game to go along with your antics, even when they’re at his expense. 

“None of them knew how old you are,” you say matter-of-factly, and Jaafar gets a confused look on his face, even though he’s still smiling at you. “They all thought I was lying to them.”

“How did that come up?” Jaafar inquires, watching as you lean yourself back against the counter. After spending the whole night apart, he’s craving your presence, so he crowds you in, pining you back with his hands on either side of your hips on the countertop, looking at you with that confused sort of smile the whole time.

“Dunno,” you shrug, “well, at first they were mad at you for not inviting me to your twenty-first birthday.”

“You were twelve,” he counters with a grin, and you smile back at the fact that the two of you had the same exact thought.

“I know that, but they didn’t,” you tell him, “and then they asked how old you really were, and I said twenty-nine, and then they all yelled at me.”

“They yelled?” His concern comes back, always looking out for you even if it has to be retroactive.

“I guess it was more like yelling near me,” you correct yourself, “they just couldn’t believe it.”

“Well, you couldn’t either,” he teases gently, and you settle your hands against his ribs. In return, he shifts his hold onto your hips with a gentle squeeze that has you beaming up at him.

“I know,” you say sweetly, “you’re just too pretty, it’s unbelievable.”

Your shameless flirting hits him like a train, and he goes all shy in an instant. No matter how long the two of you are together, how often you heap compliments upon him, he can never get used to that raw adoration you have for him. It’s too much to handle in such a large dose, with your attention fully on him, it’s like his brain just shuts down.

Ducking his head, Jaafar thinks back to a few moments before and then straightens up, leveling you with an unimpressed look. 

“Did you say twenty-nine, or almost thirty?” He asks, and you grin because you know he sees right through you.

“Almost thirty,” you say, and Jaafar groans dramatically, slumping forward and resting his head against your shoulder.

“You have to stop saying that,” he grumbles against your skin, “I’m not thirty yet.”

“That’s why I said almost.” Your response is cheeky, and it makes Jaafar squeeze your hips again, an increase in pressure that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s like he doesn’t know the effect he has on you, when he does things like this.

“I’m twenty-nine until the day I turn thirty,” he straightens up, takes in the mischief in your eyes and bites his bottom lip in an attempt to contain his smile, “stop saying almost thirty. It makes me feel old.”

“You are old,” you tease, and Jaafar’s shoulders slump as he sighs dramatically.

“You’re so mean to me, I don’t know what to do with you,” he purses his lips as if he’s thinking, racking his brain for a response even though you both know where this is going.

“I can think of a few things,” you practically purr, and for a few seconds, the two of you lapse into silence, just staring at one another. Jaafar cracks first, his smile taking over his face as he laughs at your ridiculous comment. You follow soon after, amazed that you could hold it together for so long.

The two of you are just a giggling tangle of limbs, pressed against the counter, and you’ve never been happier.

this was such a good request omggggg i hope you enjoy!!! i'm happy to cook up more age gap jaafar if you guys want i lowkey absolutely completely love this whole vibe. like this is so me i can't lie