👼🏻

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 🥹

Not because she had anything against the family, on the contrary, she was a fan of them. It just simply would have sounded ridiculous.

The first time she met Jermajesty, he had been sitting in the back row of a university classroom, half asleep and completely uninterested in whatever presentation their professor was giving. She remembered that much clearly. She also remembered arriving late that morning, rushing through the door with an iced coffee in one hand and her laptop tucked awkwardly under her arm, already embarrassed before the day had properly started. The room had been nearly full by then, forcing her to take the only empty seat she could find, which happened to be next to him.

Unfortunately, her entrance only became more humiliating from there.

The strap of her bag caught on the leg of a chair. She stumbled. The coffee tipped forward. Several drops splashed across the desk.

Including directly onto the notebook of the stranger sitting beside her.

For one horrible second, the entire room seemed to freeze.

Y/N remembered staring at the mess in complete horror, mentally preparing herself for an awkward apology and what would undoubtedly be a very uncomfortable semester.

Instead, the guy beside her looked down at the coffee staining his notes, then up at her.

'So,' he said casually, 'is this your way of marking territory?'

The laugh escaped before she could stop it.

That had been the beginning.

Looking back, Y/N couldn't pinpoint exactly when the friendship had become important. There had never been a specific moment. No dramatic event. No life-changing conversation. It happened gradually, settling into her life so naturally that she hardly noticed it happening at all. One day they were simply classmates exchanging notes before exams. A few months later they were spending entire afternoons together between lectures. Then came late-night phone calls, shared meals, study sessions that somehow turned into hours of talking about everything except studying, and eventually the kind of friendship where neither person needed a reason to reach out anymore.

Jermajesty became part of her daily routine before she even realized it.

There were days when they exchanged dozens of messages without thinking about it. Days when he was the first person she called after receiving good news. Days when he sat with her through disappointments she didn't want to talk about with anyone else. Their friendship had always been easy in that way. Comfortable. Neither of them needed to perform around the other.

That was probably why she had been so annoyed when she discovered he had conveniently forgotten to mention one very important detail about himself.

She still remembered the exact moment.

They had been sitting outside the university cafeteria during their second year, sharing fries and complaining about an assignment due later that week. The conversation had been completely normal until another student walked past and casually asked Jermajesty whether he was attending a family event for the Jacksons that weekend.

The Jacksons.

Y/N had blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then slowly turned toward him.

'JacksonS?'

Jermajesty had looked up from his phone. 'Yeah?'

She narrowed her eyes.

'Jackson as in…thee Jackson?'

'Yeah.'

The answer had come far too quickly. Y/N stared at him in disbelief.

'You are a Jackson?'

He shrugged. 'Technically.'

'Technically?'

'What?'

'Since when? You never told me that.'

'Since…forever? You never asked.' He said with a chuckle.

To this day, she hated that response.

Mostly because it was impossible to argue with.

Meeting his family had happened a few months later. Y/N had spent almost a week debating whether she should accept the invitation. She wasn't nervous about meeting people. She was nervous about feeling out of place. Family gatherings had always felt deeply personal to her. The idea of walking into someone else's family celebration made her feel like she would be intruding somehow.

The reality couldn't have been more different.

She had barely stepped through the front door before being welcomed inside.

Nobody treated her like a stranger.

Nobody made her feel as though she didn't belong there.

The atmosphere surprised her. There was laughter everywhere. Conversations happening over one another. Music playing somewhere in the background. Relatives moving from room to room. The house felt alive in a way that immediately put her at ease.

The second visit was easier.

The third felt normal.

By the fourth, someone had already sent her into the kitchen to grab plates.

By the fifth, she was helping clean up after dinner.

Eventually the invitations stopped feeling formal and started feeling expected.

Somewhere along the way, Y/N stopped being Jermajesty's friend who occasionally visited and became a familiar face everyone recognized.

The transition happened so naturally that she never noticed exactly when it occurred. Jermajesty often joked accusing her of stealing his family to which Y/N always reminded him that his family had made the choice willingly.

The only exception to all of this was Jaafar.

Over three years of friendship, dozens of family gatherings, countless visits and somehow she had never met him.

At first, she assumed it was coincidence and after a while, it became a running joke.

Every visit came with a different explanation.

Jaafar was filming.

Jaafar was rehearsing.

Jaafar was travelling.

Jaafar had work.

Jaafar had left twenty minutes ago.

Jaafar would be there next time.

Eventually Y/N started referring to him as a myth. A celebrity version of Bigfoot. Because everybody swore he existed, everybody claimed to have seen him. Yet somehow she always missed him.

Which was why, as she drove toward Jermajesty's birthday party that afternoon, balancing a gift bag on the passenger seat beside her, she had absolutely no reason to think the day would be any different from all the others.

As far as she knew, she was heading to another family gathering.

Another birthday.

Another afternoon surrounded by people she genuinely loved and appreciated.

The Jackson house was already buzzing with activity by the time Y/N pulled into the street.

She shouldn't have been surprised. After years of knowing Jermajesty, she had learned that no Jackson family gathering ever stayed small for very long. A birthday dinner somehow became twenty people. Twenty people somehow became forty. Relatives appeared from nowhere. Family friends arrived with extra food. Children multiplied the moment nobody was paying attention. The entire thing always unfolded with a kind of organized chaos that somehow worked despite looking completely unplanned from the outside.

Even before stepping out of her car, she could hear music floating from the backyard. The bass carried faintly through the afternoon air, blending with distant laughter and conversations she couldn't quite make out. A few cars were already parked along both sides of the street, forcing her to squeeze into a spot farther away than she would have liked. Grabbing the gift bag from the passenger seat, she made her way toward the house, smiling to herself when she noticed the front door standing wide open.

That was another thing she had grown used to.

Nobody knocked anymore.

At least nobody in the family.

People simply walked in.

The first time she had visited years ago, she had stood awkwardly on the porch for nearly five minutes trying to gather enough courage to ring the doorbell. Now she barely made it halfway up the driveway before the door flew open.

'Well, look who decided to finally show up.'

Jermajesty's voice carried across the front steps and Y/N immediately rolled her eyes.

'Hello to you too, birthday boy.'

'What took you so long?'

'What took me so long?' she repeated. 'I've been driving for twenty minutes.'

'You could've driven faster.'

'That's illegal.'

'It's a birthday.'

'That doesn't make it legal.'

Jermajesty grinned before stealing the gift bag directly from her hand and hugging her.

Some friendships changed over the years but theirs never really had. The teasing had remained exactly the same since university.

Before Y/N could continue arguing, a familiar high-pitched voice suddenly echoed from somewhere deeper inside the house.

'Nini!'

A smile spread across her face instantly.

She barely had enough time to turn around before a small figure came running through the hallway at full speed. Abu Bakr appeared a second later, tiny legs moving as quickly as they possibly could as he charged straight toward her. The little boy practically launched himself at her knees, forcing her to crouch down just in time to catch him.

'There you are,' she laughed, wrapping her arms around him.

'Nini came!'

'Yeah, Nini came.'

The nickname had followed her for nearly a year now.

Nobody really remembered when it started. When Abu Bakr had first begun talking, he struggled with pronouncing her name properly. After several attempts that sounded nothing alike, he eventually settled on 'Nini' and stubbornly refused to call her anything else. Every correction failed. Every attempt to teach him her real name ended with him repeating 'Nini' even louder than before. Eventually everyone surrendered.

Now half the family used it too.

Abu Bakr pulled back just enough to examine her face.

'You late.'

Y/N gasped dramatically.

'Excuse you?'

'You little bit late.'

Jermajesty immediately burst out laughing.

'I'm not late.'

'You late.' Abu Bakr nodded with the confidence of someone delivering undeniable facts.

Y/N couldn't even argue anymore.

The kid was too cute.

She stood up and lifted him onto her hip with the ease of someone who had done it dozens of times before. Abu Bakr immediately settled there, making himself comfortable as he absentmindedly reached for one of the bracelets around her wrist. The movement was so familiar that neither of them thought twice about it.

Their friendship had been unexpected from the beginning.

The first few times she visited, Abu Bakr had treated her with deep suspicion. He watched her from across rooms. Refused to answer questions. Occasionally hid behind family members whenever she tried speaking to him. Then one afternoon she accidentally built what was possibly the ugliest Lego tower ever created. The structure had leaned sideways before collapsing entirely. Abu Bakr stared at the disaster for several seconds before announcing, in complete seriousness, that it looked 'ugly.'

After that, they became inseparable.

Now he followed her around whenever she visited.

The moment she entered the house, he claimed her attention for the rest of the day.

The backyard was where most people had gathered. Strings of lights hung overhead despite the sun still shining brightly above them. Several long tables had been arranged across the patio, covered with food that would probably continue growing throughout the afternoon as more relatives arrived carrying dishes. Music played softly from speakers near the house while conversations overlapped from every direction. Some people sat together beneath umbrellas. Others stood around talking. Children darted between adults, occasionally stopping long enough to steal snacks before disappearing again.

The atmosphere felt familiar.

Comfortable.

Warm.

Y/N found herself relaxing almost immediately.

This was exactly why she enjoyed coming here because nobody expected anything from her, nobody cared whether she looked perfect or said the right thing.

She could simply exist.

Over time, the family had stopped treating her like Jermajesty's best friend and started treating her like someone who belonged. The difference was subtle, but she felt it every time she visited. Nobody introduced her anymore. Nobody asked who she was. Family members greeted her the same way they greeted each other.

She wasn't just a guest anymore.

After spending nearly half an hour moving between conversations and greetings, Y/N eventually settled into a chair beside Jermajesty near the back of the yard. Abu Bakr immediately climbed into the seat next to her before changing his mind and crawling directly into her lap instead.

Jermajesty shook his head.

'I don't know why I bother.'

'You sound jealous.'

'I am jealous, my little brother prefers my best friend.'

Abu Bakr didn't even acknowledge him.

Instead, he held up a small toy truck.

'Nini, look.'

'I am looking.'

'My truck.'

'That's a very nice truck.'

'It go fast.' The little boy nodded seriously.

Y/N matched his seriousness.

'That sounds dangerous.'

Abu Bakr seemed pleased by that answer.

The conversation drifted naturally after that. Relatives came and went. Stories were shared. Old memories resurfaced. At one point Jermaine was halfway through telling a story about something that had happened years ago when his attention suddenly shifted toward the entrance of the backyard.

His entire face lit up.

'Ah!'

The interruption caught everyone's attention.

'There he is!'

Several people turned.

Y/N followed their gaze.

A man had just entered through the side gate.

Jaafar. 

At first, she only recognized him from photographs she had seen online over the years, and the ones Jermajesty shared wit her from the family album. The family talked about him often enough that she already felt vaguely familiar with the idea of Jaafar despite never actually meeting him. Three years of near misses had created an oddly strange situation where she knew stories about him before knowing him.

The backyard seemed to brighten with energy as soon as he arrived.

People stood to greet him.

Several relatives immediately pulled him into conversations before he had even taken more than a few steps.

Y/N watched quietly from her chair.

After hearing his name for so long, curiosity was natural.

He moved through the crowd slowly, greeting people one at a time. Hugs. Handshakes. Quick conversations. The ease with which he navigated the gathering immediately told her everything she needed to know. He wasn't arriving as a celebrity. He wasn't arriving as the lead actor from a major film.

He was arriving as a son. A brother. A nephew.

Family.

As he drew closer, Y/N found herself noticing details she couldn't see from a distance. The tiredness lingering around his eyes. The relaxed way he carried himself. The curls. The easy confidence.

And then he smiled.

That was the first thing that truly stood out to her.

Not his appearance.

Not the fact that she already knew who he was.

The smile.

It transformed his entire face. The kind of smile that reached his eyes before it reached his mouth. The kind of smile that made other people smile back without realizing it.

For a brief moment, Y/N understood why everyone seemed so immediately drawn to him.

Beside her, Jermajesty stood from his chair.

'Finally.'

Jaafar laughed at whatever his brother said in response.

A few moments later, he reached their section of the backyard. Only then did Jermajesty seem to remember that the two of them had somehow never crossed paths before.

'Oh, right.' A grin immediately spread across his face. 'You guys haven't met.'

Y/N stood as well.

For the first time, Jaafar's attention shifted fully toward her.

'This is Y/N,' Jermajesty said. 'My best friend.'

The title wasn't new. He had introduced her that way for years yet hearing it always made her smile. Jermajesty then looked at her.

'And this is my brother, Jaafar.'

Finally.

After three years of hearing stories.

After three years of somehow missing each other.

The introduction happened in the simplest way possible. Jaafar extended his hand first.

'Nice to meet you.'

His voice was soft, calm and friendly, just like the rest of the Jacksons. Y/N accepted the handshake.

'Nice to meet you too.'

The exchange lasted only a few seconds.

Just a handshake. A greeting. Two strangers finally putting faces to names they had both heard countless times before.

Yet as they pulled apart, Y/N found herself thinking that meeting Jaafar felt strangely similar to finally meeting someone she'd heard about for years. Not unfamiliar exactly. Just new. Like opening the last chapter of a story everyone else had already been reading.

And judging by the amused look Jermajesty was trying very hard to hide, he was far more entertained by the introduction than either of them were.

The introduction should have been the end of it or at least that was what Y/N expected.

People were constantly arriving and leaving at Jackson family gatherings, conversations splitting and merging every few minutes as relatives moved around the backyard. Jaafar had only just arrived himself. There were still family members greeting him from across the yard, cousins trying to pull him into conversations, and several people who clearly hadn't had the chance to say hello yet. Y/N assumed he would disappear into the crowd almost immediately. It would have been the normal thing to do.

Instead, after speaking with a few relatives and exchanging greetings with people nearby, he eventually found his way back toward the table where she and Jermajesty were sitting.

The realization caught her slightly off guard.

Over the years, Y/N had become fairly good at reading social situations. She knew when conversations were driven by politeness and when they were driven by genuine interest. Family gatherings were full of both. There were always those brief interactions where people exchanged a few pleasant words before moving on to the next person. Nobody thought twice about it.

This didn't feel like that.

Not yet, anyway.

Jaafar settled into one of the empty chairs nearby while another conversation unfolded around them, and somehow the two of them ended up speaking again. The transition happened so naturally that neither seemed particularly aware of it. One topic became another. One story led into a second. Every answer somehow opened the door to another question.

The strangest part was how easy it felt.

For years, Y/N had heard stories about Jaafar without ever meeting him. Not intentionally. It was simply impossible to be friends with Jermajesty and not hear his brother's name occasionally appear in conversation. There were updates about filming schedules, travel plans, funny family stories, birthdays he couldn't attend, holidays he arrived late for. Over time, she had developed a vague picture of who he was without ever realizing it. Now, sitting across from him for the first time, she found herself quietly comparing the real person to the version she had built from years of secondhand information.

The real version was far more relaxed than she expected, funnier too, that became obvious fairly quickly.

'You know,' she said eventually, leaning back in her chair as a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, 'I think I'm mostly just relieved.'

Jaafar looked up from the drink in his hand. 'Relieved?'

'Yeah.'

'Why?'

Y/N laughed softly. 'That you're real.'

His smile appeared again. 'I had a feeling this was coming.'

'Oh come on, you can't blame me.' She gestured toward him dramatically. 'For three years I've been hearing the same thing every time I come over.'

Jaafar already looked amused as she continued.

'Jaafar's filming.'

A finger lifted.

'Jaafar's rehearsing.'

Another.

'Jaafar's travelling.'

Another.

'Jaafar just left.'

Y/N pointed at him. 'At some point I genuinely started wondering if everyone was lying.'

'They weren't.'

'See? That’s exactly what a myth would say.'

The laugh that escaped him this time was louder and for reasons she couldn't explain, Y/N found herself smiling back automatically.

Across the backyard, Jermajesty immediately noticed. He had actually tried to leave them alone for a while. Tried being the important word. The effort lasted less than twenty minutes.

Now he sat several tables away beside Randy Jr., pretending to pay attention to a completely unrelated conversation while very obviously keeping track of whatever was happening between his best friend and his brother.

'You need help.' Randy didn't even bother hiding his amusement.

Jermajesty looked offended.

'Why?'

'You've been staring for ten minutes.'

'I haven't.'

'You absolutely have.'

'I was looking around.'

'At them.'

'At the backyard.'

'Which part?'

Jermajesty hesitated. 'The...grass.'

Randy laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink.

The truth was that Jermajesty couldn't help finding the situation entertaining. For years, Y/N and Jaafar had existed in the same orbit without ever crossing paths. It had become something of a running joke within the family. Every time Y/N visited, Jaafar happened to be elsewhere. Every time Jaafar stopped by, Y/N had already left. The timing became so ridiculous that even family members started commenting on it.

Yet now that they had finally met, both of them seemed surprisingly comfortable, as if they had skipped past the awkward stranger stage entirely.

Meanwhile, Jaafar found himself making a similar observation.

The longer the conversation continued, the more he understood why Y/N's name came up so often.

The realization became impossible to ignore once he started paying attention. She knew everybody. Not just their names. The actual relationships. The stories. The inside jokes. Family members greeted her without hesitation. Conversations picked up where they had apparently left off weeks earlier. Nobody treated her like a visitor.

At one point an aunt walked past and handed Y/N a plate to carry inside without even asking. Y/N accepted it automatically. Neither seemed to think anything of it.

That small moment somehow told Jaafar more than any explanation could. She belonged here.

The thought lingered in the back of his mind longer than expected.

Hours passed faster than either of them realized.

The sun slowly disappeared beyond the rooftops, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold before darkness settled over the neighborhood. The string lights hanging above the backyard gradually became the primary source of light, casting a warm glow across conversations that showed no signs of ending anytime soon. Music continued playing softly somewhere behind them. More food appeared. Someone started telling old family stories. Laughter erupted every few minutes from different parts of the yard.

It wasn't until Y/N glanced at her phone that she realized how late it had become.

The expression on her face immediately changed. 'Oh, wow.'

'What?'

She turned the screen toward herself again.

'I didn't realize it was this late.'

The statement seemed simple enough yet for a second, Jaafar felt oddly disappointed and the realization surprised him.

Eventually, the familiar ritual of goodbyes began.

It took significantly longer than it should have.

Jackson family gatherings made leaving almost impossible. Every goodbye turned into another conversation. Every conversation led to another hug. Every hug somehow delayed departure by another ten minutes.

By the time Y/N finally made it to the front of the house, she felt like she had already said goodbye at least six separate times.

She was searching through her purse for her car keys when footsteps approached beside her.

Looking up, she found Jaafar standing there.

'I'll walk you out.'

The offer felt natural. The sort of thing anyone in the family might have done. Even so, Y/N smiled.

Together they made their way down the driveway while the sounds of the party faded behind them. The evening air had cooled considerably since sunset, carrying the distant hum of traffic and occasional bursts of laughter from the backyard.

'I had fun talking to you today.'

The honesty of the statement caught Y/N slightly off guard.

She glanced toward him.

A smile appeared almost immediately.

'I had fun too.'

A brief pause followed.

Then she laughed.

'Although I still think you might be a myth.'

Jaafar groaned. 'You're never letting that go, are you?'

'Absolutely not.'

'Good to know.'

They reached her car.

For a second neither moved.

Then Y/N unlocked the driver's door.

'Well.'

'Well.' She smiled. 'It was nice finally meeting you.'

Jaafar returned the smile effortlessly.

'Likewise.'

'Hopefully it won’t take another three years to meet again.' She said chucking. 

'Oh, I will make sure it won’t happen.' He looked down at her while smiling. 

A few moments later she was pulling away from the curb, taillights disappearing into the darkness beyond the street.

Jaafar stood there a little longer than necessary before turning back toward the house. Jermajesty spotted him almost immediately. The grin on his face was a warning sign and Jaafar knew it.

'So.'

There it was.

Jaafar sighed. 'So.'

Jermajesty's smile widened and Jaafar already regretted sitting down.

Yet despite himself, despite knowing exactly what reaction he was about to receive, he found his thoughts drifting back toward Y/N anyway. Toward the stories she had told. The way she laughed. The fact that somehow she had become part of his family's life years before he ever met her.

'She is…very nice.'

'Right? Told ya.' 

'...Tell me more about her.' 

Jermajesty looked like Christmas had arrived early and practically sat up straighter in his chair. 

And somewhere deep down, Jaafar realized he had just made a very serious mistake. Because judging by the look on his brother's face, he wasn't going to hear the end of this anytime soon.

The drive home gave him too much time to think.

The roads were quieter now, most of the traffic having disappeared hours earlier. Music played softly through the speakers, but his attention barely registered it. Instead, pieces of the afternoon kept replaying in his head. Small moments. Random comments. Fragments of conversations that should have been forgettable but somehow weren't.

It was strange.

He had met her only a few hours ago.

Yet somehow she no longer felt like a stranger.

Meanwhile, several miles away, Y/N was experiencing a similar problem.

She had changed into an oversized T-shirt nearly twenty minutes ago. Her makeup was gone. Her hair was tied into a messy bun balanced somewhere on top of her head. She was curled up beneath her blankets, scrolling aimlessly through social media while half-watching a show she wasn't really paying attention to.

The day should have been over.

Instead, her phone suddenly vibrated beside her.

The screen lit up.

Jermajesty 🥳

you make it home?

She typed back:

Y/N

yes mother

The reply came almost instantly.

Jermajesty 🥳

good good

so

what did you think of jaafar?

Y/N immediately groaned and dropped her head back against the pillow.

Of course.

Of course this was where the conversation was going.

She should have seen it coming.

The introduction had happened hours ago, yet apparently that was enough to send Jermajesty into full matchmaking mode.n Not that she thought he was actually trying to set them up.

After staring at the screen for a moment, she finally replied.

Y/N

he seems nice

The answer lasted on the screen for approximately two seconds before another message arrived.

Jermajesty 🥳

damn, that’s it?

Y/N laughed despite herself.

Y/N

what do you want me to say?

Jermajesty 🥳

idk

you guys talked for like three hours

Y/N

we did not talk for three hours

Jermajesty 🥳

2 hours and 47 minutes

Y/N stared at the screen.

Then:

Y/N

why do you know that

Jermajesty 🥳

don't worry about it

Y/N

i hate you

Jermajesty 🥳

❤️

She immediately threw her phone onto the mattress beside her.

This idiot.

A smile still appeared anyway.

After a few minutes, she reached over, locked the screen, and set the phone on her nightstand. The room was quiet now. The only sound came from the television still playing softly in the background.

Slowly, her thoughts drifted back toward the afternoon.

Toward conversations beneath string lights.

Toward easy laughter.

Toward dark eyes and an annoyingly nice smile.

The realization made her groan into her pillow and this was exactly why she didn't want to entertain Jermajesty's questions. The last thing she needed was encouragement.

A few moments later, her phone lit up again.

One final message.

Y/N almost ignored it.

With a sigh, she reached for the device.

The notification preview showed only three words.

Jermajesty 🥳

he's asking questions

Y/N blinked.

Then sat upright.

Y/N

what does that mean

No answer.

She waited.

Nothing.

Another minute passed.

Still nothing.

Y/N

jermajesty jackson

Silence.

Y/N

JER!!!!

Nothing.

The message remained on delivered and somehow that was worse because now her curiosity had been planted. Now she wanted to know.

There is a specific kind of torture that only people who have worked on a film set truly understand.

It's not the hours. It's not the twelve hours on your feet, the repeated takes until your smile stops looking real, the artificial cold of the studio that seeps into your bones. It's none of that.

It's when the camera points at you and asks you to look at someone as if you loved them, and the problem isn't the pretending. The problem is that somewhere across six months of filming, you stopped needing to pretend.

You played one of Michael's girlfriends, a character created specifically for the film. A woman who loved Michael Jackson in the most complicated way possible: with admiration, with desire, with the awareness that some loves are born too large to fit inside a single life. The script demanded intimacy. It demanded that you and Jaafar share a space that had no room for professional distance.

And Jaafar had been a problem since the very first rehearsal.

You remember the exact day you realized it.

Scene 34. The Motown party, 1964. You had been in position for forty minutes while the crew adjusted the lighting, and his hand was on your waist because the script said so, and you were talking about nothing, about the catering, about a song he'd heard that morning, and then he said: "You laugh differently when you actually find something funny."

You had looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"You close your eyes a little." He had said it with a disarming naturalness, as if watching you were simply something he did, with no intention of hiding it. "It's different from your scene laugh. That one's the real one."

The camera wasn't rolling yet. No one else had heard.

You had looked away and said it was time to get back into position.

But something had shifted that day, and you never managed to put it back.

The film had premiered six weeks ago.

Since then, you and Jaafar had shared red carpets, interviews, press panels, and a number of moments you had stopped counting, moments when the cameras were on and you needed to be professional while every memory from the set pulsed beneath the surface like something alive.

The internet had noticed.

Of course it had.

"the chemistry between them in the film doesn't look like acting, sorry" "can someone explain why he smiles differently when she talks?" "not saying anything, just observing"

Your publicist had sent a message last week: keep it professional, okay? Press tour runs through July.

You had responded with a thumbs-up emoji and stared at the ceiling for twenty minutes.

The 2026 Met Gala is, in theory, just another press obligation.

In theory.

You arrive with your stylist and your publicist and a dress that took three months to build, hand-embroidered, a direct reference to 1960s Harlem, a tribute to the era you spent months inhabiting. You know you look good. You know because your stylist went silent for ten seconds when you put it on, and his silence always means exactly that.

What you don't know, what no one warned you about, is that Jaafar will be right behind you in the entrance line.

You hear him before you see him. His voice has a specific frequency that your nervous system learned to recognize before your brain catches up.

When you turn, he's already looking at you.

He's in a black suit, impeccable cut, something subtle and gold on the lapel that suits the night's theme without looking like he tried. He always had that irritating gift of seeming like he hadn't tried. You know, from six months on set, that he tried very hard.

His eyes travel down your dress once, not quickly enough to be discreet, slowly enough to be intencional, and return to your face.

He doesn't smile right away. He just looks, for a moment that lasts longer than it should, and then the left corner of his mouth lifts.

"You look" He starts, and stops. Starts again. "Hi".

"Hi." Your voice comes out steady. Small victory.

"I didn't know you were going to be here."

"The guest list has been on the website for three weeks, Jaafar."

"I know." He says it with a calm that unsettles you. "I just prefer it when it's a surprise."

The night unfolds in layers.

You are photographed separately, then together, for press purposes, obviously, it makes sense, and there is a moment in front of the cameras when the photographer asks you both to move closer, and Jaafar places his hand on the small of your back with the faintest pressure, almost nothing, and you hold your smile in place on pure professional muscle memory.

Inside, he finds you near the bar.

It isn't an accident. You know it isn't an accident because he crossed a room full of people to get to where you were standing.

"Water or champagne?" He asks, already signaling to the bartender.

"Champagne. I need it."

He laughs. Orders two.

You stand side by side, shoulders nearly touching, and watch the room for a while. It's a skill you developed on set, the ability to be silent together without it becoming strange. You always thought that meant something. You tried not to think too hard about what.

"Your Vogue interview was really good." You start, because talking about work is safe.

"Yeah, it went well." He agrees, but there's something in his tone that says he knows exactly what you're doing. "Did you see what fans are saying about it?"

"I never read the comments."

"Liar"

You drink your champagne.

He smiles at his glass.

"They think we have chemistry." He says it like a neutral observation about the weather.

"We had six intense months on set. It makes sense that it shows on screen."

"Is that all it is?"

You look at him.

He's looking back, and there is nothing neutral in that expression. There's something direct, patient, like someone who has waited long enough and decided to stop pretending they're waiting for any other reason.

"Jaafar…" Your voice comes out as a warning that you both know you're not sure you want to give.

"I'm just asking."

"You're not just asking."

"No." He agrees, without looking away. "I'm not."

Later, after another hour of the event, after more conversations with people whose names you'll forget by morning, after three more moments where you found each other on opposite sides of the room and felt his gaze before you went looking for it, he appears at your side again.

This time, he tilts his head slightly toward a discreet exit near the staircase.

"There's a terrace."

"I know there's a terrace."

"Come with me."

It isn't a question. It isn't an order, either. It's an invitation that carries the weight of everything left unsaid across six months of filming and six weeks of press, and you stand there looking at him for a moment while your publicist networks on the other side of the room and every camera is pointed somewhere else.

You go.

The terrace is nearly empty. New York below is loud and indifferent, and the May air has that ambiguous temperature that can't decide between warm and cool.

You lean against the railing. He stands beside you, close enough that you feel the warmth of his arm without him touching you.

"Press runs through July." You speak first, because if you don't put it out there now, you'll forget to. "We have four more red carpets confirmed. Two major interviews. If we-"

"I know." He interrupts, quietly.

"So you understand why this is-"

"I understand everything you're thinking." He turns his body slightly toward you. Not much. Enough. "I know you're calculating. What the press will say, how it'll play in interviews, whether anyone will use it to pull focus from the film. I know how your mind works."

You open your mouth. Close it.

He knows how your mind works. Six months on set. Of course he does.

"And yet you brought me out here."

"Because I'm tired." He says it with a simplicity that knocks the ground out from under you. "I'm tired of being careful. Of calculating the right angle for every camera so it wouldn't be too obvious. Of standing on the other side of every red carpet because that was the sensible thing." A pause. "Aren't you tired?"

Your throat tightens.

Yes. The answer exists before you can build any argument against it. Yes, I'm tired, I've been tired for months, tired since scene 34 when you said my laugh was different and I realized you'd been paying close enough attention to notice.

But you say:

"This isn't simple."

"I know it isn't simple." He doesn't back down. "I'm not asking for simple."

"What are you asking for, then?"

He's quiet for a second. You watch him think, that specific habit of his, which you learned to tell apart from the silence of when he has nothing to say.

"One night." He says at last. Voice low, almost private, built only for you. "We forget the film, the press tour, July, what the fans are saying, what your publicist thinks. We forget all of it for one night." His eyes find yours and stay there. "And tomorrow we decide what to do with the rest."

The warmth rises up your neck and down your arms and you hate how your body simply responds to him like that, without asking permission, as if six months on set had wired something directly between his presence and every nerve in your skin.

Your publicist is in the ballroom. There are photographers in every corner of this event. You have an interview on Tuesday.

You look at his mouth for one second, just one, and feel everything you built out of practical reason begin to unravel at the edges.

"What if one night isn't enough?" You hear your own voice come out, and it betrays you completely, because it doesn't sound like an objection. It sounds like the opposite.

Something shifts in his expression. It goes quieter, warmer.

"Then we figure that out tomorrow too." He says.

He doesn't move. He leaves the decision to you, that's another thing you learned about him, that he always leaves the decision to you, and you never knew whether it was consideration or cruelty, because either way the result is the same: you with no external reason to say no. Only your own.

And your own are losing.

When you close the distance between you, inches, only inches, he meets you halfway.

The city stays loud below.

You stop calculating.

His lips find yours with an urgency months in the making, like someone who has finally stopped holding something heavy, and you respond before you're conscious of having made that decision, your hands rising along the lapel of his suit jacket because your body has its own memory and that memory knows the texture of the fabric over his shoulders, knows the exact height you need to be to reach him, and all of this is information you stored without realizing it.

He presses you gently back against the nearby wall, behind the heavy white curtains that frame the terrace entrance, the thick fabric creating a world of two, and one of his hands grips your waist with a firmness that has nothing technical about it, nothing contained, nothing the set ever allowed.

You gasp against his mouth.

He makes a low sound in his throat that travels directly down your spine.

There's something almost absurd about realizing, in this specific moment, that you spent six months convincing yourself the chemistry was purely professional. That it was training, context, the pressure of a set. That any other actress in your position would have felt the same thing.

His hand shifts slightly up your waist, fingers pressing through the embroidered fabric of your dress, and you think: no. she wouldn't have.

And then you hear footsteps.

You separate in a simultaneous reflex, two actors who spent months learning to read the room on a set, and that instinct doesn't disappear when the cameras go away. You step back once, then twice. You raise one hand and run your thumb discreetly beneath your lower lip, checking. Jaafar looks out at the city skyline with the expression of someone simply enjoying the view, and you would have found it convincing if you didn't know exactly what his real expression looks like when he's doing that.

"Oh my god, I have been looking for you two everywhere!"

Your publicist appears through the gap in the curtain like a small, determined force of nature, already with her hand on your arm, already pulling you away, already muttering about scheduling and windows of opportunity and how Anna isn't staying for the after-party, so it's now or never.

You go because there's no reasonable choice not to.

But you turn.

It's automatic, that impulse to look back that you should have learned to control months ago and clearly haven't. Jaafar is where you left him, leaning slightly against the railing, the white curtains still moving behind him.

He smiles.

That specific smile. The one that starts on the left side first, slow enough to be deliberate, the one you spent six months on set cataloguing as not professional, not professional, not professional and filing somewhere that clearly wasn't safe enough.

He bites his lower lip, light, deliberate, and says:

"See you around."

You turn back before your face gives you away completely.

Not quite in time to stop the smile from spreading.

At 2:17 in the morning, during the after-party, you receive a message.

"tomorrow still exists."

You stare at your phone for a long moment.

Then you reply:

"i know."

jaafar had gone completely still. you saw the instant conflict break across his face, the dark eyes clouding over with a heavy, aching sadness. as much as he wanted to be yours, he told himself he couldn't. not fully. his life was a runaway train of obligations, and you—with your brilliant mind, your beautiful soul—deserved to be treated like a priority. you deserved someone who could give you the world, not someone who could only offer you spare hours in the middle of the night.

so, he broke it off. the very next day.

initially, you were utterly devastated. the rejection tasted like ash in your mouth. you spent nights crying into your pillow, bitterly wishing you’d just kept your mouth shut. you told yourself that having a piece of him, a fraction of his time, was infinitely better than having none at all. you missed his laugh, his low voice, the safety of his arms.

but life had a strange way of shifting gears. amid your heartbreak, a love island casting recruiter began to relentlessly dm you. at first, you ignored it. but the notifications kept popping up, and eventually, the idea of completely reinventing your summer and escaping the ghost of jaafar became too enticing to pass up. you responded, breezed through the interview process, and made the final cut as part of the original cast.

from day one in the villa, you were gold. the media, the viewers, the internet—everyone absolutely fell in love with you. you were logical, fun, and effortlessly sexy. you were officially deemed the people’s princess.

and the men in the villa? they were just as infatuated. you had boys stumbling over their words just trying to breathe the same air as you.

back in la, jaafar was living out his own personal version of hell.

he watched every single episode from his couch, his heart hammering against his ribs in a sickening rhythm. every challenge where you had to kiss another man made his stomach turn. every time he saw a guy trace his fingers along your waist or whisper in your ear on the daybeds, an pain flared in his chest. he gripped his phone so tight his knuckles went white. he wanted to tear the screen down. he missed you so much, the realization hitting him like a physical blow: he hadn't saved you from a mess; he had just given the rest of the world the chance to see the queen he was stupid enough to let go.

six weeks flew by. you didn't win the show, but you did find a genuine connection with a guy you really liked, landing a spot in the final four. the public loved you as a couple.

the moment you got your phone back at the holding villa before flying back to the states, thousands of texts, tags, and dms flooded in. but one text stood out sharply, cutting right through the noise. it was from, jermajesty.

“im proud of you for doing what’s best for you and all, but going on love island for the world to see knowing jaafar’s still hung up on you is crazy.”

your jaw tightened. you didn't even hesitate, your thumbs flying across the keyboard.

“i don’t know if you remember correctly, but your brother broke up with ME.”

you hit send and refused to give it another second of your energy. you had no time to feed into the negativity or the past. you were a star now.

except, the real world had a brutal way of crashing down. over the next couple of weeks, the man you had coupled up with on the show was hit with a tidal wave of drama waiting for him back home. exes coming out of the woodwork, secret texts, messy internet exposure. you wanted absolutely no dealings with it. your dignity was worth more than a reality tv romance, so you broke it off immediately.

it wasn't a life-or-death heartbreak. you’d only known the guy for a few months but it still left a stinging bruise on your soul. sitting alone in your apartment, you couldn't help but let the dark thoughts creep in.

why could you only find emotionally unavailable men?

was this all life had to offer you?

what did it say about your character that you kept choosing people who couldn't hold space for you?

right then and there, you made a vow to yourself. you were keeping your personal life entirely private from now on. no more public romances, no more performing for the cameras. not everyone was rooting for you, and that was fine, because there were still millions of people who were.

and jaafar was one of them.

the moment he heard about the breakup through the grapevine, something shifted in him. the passive yearning wasn't enough anymore. he couldn't just sit back and watch you slip into the shadows.

just before your birthday, a massive delivery arrived at your door. three overflowing, breathtaking bouquets of pristine white roses. your breath caught in your throat as you took them inside. you found the small, elegant card tucked into the stems. opening it, your eyes traced the familiar, elegant handwriting:

“wishing you happiest of birthdays, i’m so proud of you my love. xo, j”

he’d sent them a few days early, knowing you love to go out of the country for your birthday. it was your tradition.

you sat the card down, your heart beating a frantic rhythm against your ribs. you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about him over the past few months. you thought about him while you were in that villa, during the quiet mornings by the pool before the cameras started rolling. you thought about him more than you’d ever admit to anyone.

you didn’t come looking for viral moments or “gotcha” questions. instead, you listened attentively. you made your guests laugh while ensuring they felt comfortable. and somehow, by the end of every interview, it felt less like journalism and more like a conversation between friends.

“welcome back, everybody,” you beamed, leaning forward slightly to connect with the lens. “today i’m joined by the incredible cast of michael.”

the cast waved and smiled, the energy in the room instantly lifting.

nia long, coleman domingo, juliano valdi. and finally… jaafar jackson.

the moment you’d seen him walk into the studio earlier your brain had completely malfunctioned. because what the hell? nobody had warned you. not a single soul had informed you that this man looked like that in person.

the pictures online did him absolutely no justice.

his smile alone should’ve come with a warning label. he wore a simple, tailored shirt that fit him perfectly, and his curls fell just right over his forehead. thankfully, years of professionalism kept your face neutral. mostly.

across from you, nia was already grinning. you and nia had known each other for years. she was one of the bigger names that you’d interviewed back when you were first starting out and you’d interviewed her countless times since. you loved her dearly and so did she.

which was exactly why you should’ve known she was up to something.

while you adjusted your notes and checked your earpiece, she leaned slightly toward jaafar. just enough for you not to notice.

“see?” she whispered, nudging his elbow. “i told you she was gorgeous.”

jaafar looked over at you while you were laughing with one of your producers, gesturing with a pen in your hand. his stomach immediately flipped.

“yeah,” he muttered quietly, clearing his throat. “she is.”

nia’s smile widened. she had him exactly where she wanted him. completely.

the interview began smoothly. you asked thoughtful questions. questions about responsibility, legacy, grief, art. the emotional weight of portraying real people.

“there’s a lot of pressure attached to this project,” you said, your voice dropping to a softer, more intimate register. “how did each of you navigate stepping into shoes that meant so much to millions of people? coleman, let’s start with you.”

coleman shifted in his seat, nodding thoughtfully. “you know, you have to approach it with reverence, but also find the humanity. we aren't just playing icons; we're playing real family dynamics. it requires a lot of vulnerability.”

“and it shows in the footage,” you responded, nodding before turning your gaze. “jaafar, what about you? especially with the familial connection, how did you balance that pressure?”

the answers were heartfelt and honest. exactly what you loved. and throughout the entire interview—

you couldn’t stop noticing jaafar. not because he was attractive.

well.

partially because he was attractive. but mostly because of the little things. he rubbed his knee whenever he got nervous. every single time. the way he took in his bottom lip. the way he twirled the ring on his finger.

whenever he was about to answer a particularly personal question, his hand would move to his knee and start rubbing absentmindedly, his fingers smoothing over the fabric of his pants. it was adorable.

and his smile.

lord.

every time he talked, every time someone made a joke, that smile appeared. soft, genuine, slightly shy. it transformed his entire face. you found yourself looking away more than once because you were determined to remain a professional. he quite literally gave you butterflies every time he spoke, his voice low and incredibly gentle.

meanwhile, jaafar was having the exact same problem. because every time you laughed, his attention snapped toward you. every single time. it was becoming embarrassing. especially since the rest of the cast had started noticing. nia was shooting him knowing looks, and coleman had a slight smirk playing on his lips. jaafar knew he would be getting an earful later.

after nearly an hour of conversation, you clapped your hands together, the papers in your lap rustling.

“okay, before i let you guys go, we’re playing a game.”

collective cheers went around the room. juliano pumped his fist in the air, while coleman leaned back with an amused groan. you laughed at their excitement.

“it’s simple. michael song versus michael song. you pick the better one.”

“oh no,” coleman sighed, rubbing his temples playfully. “this is how friendships end. you’re trying to tear this cast apart.”

“oh yes.” you smiled deviously. “absolute chaos is the goal here.”

the game started out simple.

billie jean versus smooth criminal. the cast chose smooth criminal.

“the choreography tilts the scale, it just does,” nia argued, and you nodded in agreement.

rock with you versus remember the time. rock with you was the victor.

human nature versus dirty diana. human nature obviously.

the cast surprisingly agreed on most choices. until disaster struck. you looked down at your card. then back up, biting your lower lip to hide a smirk.

“hmm.”

immediately suspicious, nia pointed a manicured finger at you.

“what’s that face? look at her face, y'all.”

“oh this is about to reveal character.” you said dramatically.

juliano laughed, shaking his head. “just ask the question!”

you took a deep breath, building the suspense.

“man in the mirror…”

everyone nodded, already prepared to shout it out.

“…versus the lady in my life.”

silence.

then one by one.

“man in the mirror,” coleman said firmly.

“man in the mirror,” nia echoed.

“man in the mirror,” juliano piped up.

your jaw dropped.

“WHAT?”

the entire cast burst out laughing at your genuine distress.

“y’all cannot be serious.”

“it’s man in the mirror,” juliano said, leaning forward with a massive grin. “it's a classic!”

“absolutely not.” you argued with the child, pointing your pen at him. “you are too young to understand the romance of it all.”

“absolutely yes.” juliano fired back, laughing.

you sat forward dramatically, resting your elbows on your knees.

“you people don’t understand.”

more laughter echoed through the studio as the producers joined in on the debate.

“no seriously. the intimacy. the yearning. the longing.”

you placed a hand over your chest, closing your eyes for effect. nia was crying laughing, wiping the corner of her eye.

“here she goes,” nia chuckled.

“i’m serious!” you pointed around the room. “maybe i’m just a hopeless romantic but the lady in my life is superior. the vocals at the end? the breakdown? come on!”

across from you, jaafar couldn’t stop smiling.

he loved watching passionate people talk about things they loved. and you? you lit up. your hands moved when you spoke. your eyes sparkled. your entire face became animated, your smile blinding. you were absolutely gorgeous.

it was impossible for him to look away.

“i actually agree,” jaafar spoke up, his voice cutting through the laughter. “it’s one of michael’s most slept-on songs and the vocal performance on it is incredible.”

“exactly!” you shouted, your eyes locking onto his.

“see?” you said triumphantly as you pointed in jaafar’s direction, looking at nia and coleman. “finally, someone with taste! thank you, jaafar.”

“but it’s still not beating man in the mirror,” juliano interrupted, completely ruining the moment.

everyone exploded with laughter again.

“juliano!” you gasped, putting your head in your hands.

“i’m right!” the boy insisted.

“you’re wrong!”

“i’m literally correct!”

the debate continued for several minutes, filled with playful banter and overlapping voices. and despite your best efforts—

man in the mirror ultimately won. a tragedy. a crime. an injustice. you were robbed and you informed the audience of this fact repeatedly, looking directly into the camera with a heartbroken expression.

finally, you smoothed down your outfit and smiled warmly at the cast.

“seriously, thank you all for being here. this movie means so much to so many people, and honestly, spending time with you all today, i can tell why this project worked.”

their expressions softened, the comedic energy shifting back to mutual respect.

“you guys have incredible chemistry. but more importantly, you’re all genuinely beautiful people.” you smiled.

for a second, jaafar forgot how to breathe. because the way you said it felt sincere. not media-trained. not rehearsed. sincere. he swore your eyes lingered on him for just a fraction of a second longer than the others, or maybe it was just his imagination.

his cheeks immediately warmed. thankfully the cameras stopped rolling before anyone could notice.

“and we’re clear.” one of your producers said from the back.

everyone began removing microphones. stretching and chatting. the technical crew started moving around the set, and the energy immediately relaxed into casual hums of conversation.

nia pointed at you as she stood up.

“i told y’all.”

you laughed, unclipping your own mic pack.

“told them what?”

“that you’re the best in the game.”

your hand flew to your chest.

“ms. nia, stop it.”

“oh don’t start. you know you’re the best.”

“thank you. i love you longtime, hunny.”

“i love you more. let’s meet for lunch soon! i mean it, text me!” nia said as she wrapped her arms around you tightly, inhaling your perfume.

coleman then walked up to you, extending a hand before pulling you into a warm hug, expressing his gratitude and appreciation for you. “you’re an amazing interviewer and an even better soul. keep doing what you're doing.”

“thank you so much for coming, send my love to the hubby,” you told him, beaming.

across the set, juliano leaned toward jaafar, watching you interact with the crew.

“she’s so pretty.”

jaafar looked over. once again, you were wrapped up talking to someone else—fixing a loose script page, laughing about something with a production assistant. completely unaware of the eyes on you. his smile appeared again, soft and helpless.

“she definitely is.”

juliano immediately grinned, a mischievous spark in his eyes.

“do you think i can get her number?”

“absolutely not, buddy.” jaafar laughed, a genuine, deep sound as he patted him on the back. “you're a little too young for her, don't you think?”

a few minutes later the cast started heading toward the exit saying their final goodbyes, their voices fading into the hallway.

you were gathering your notes for your next interview, stacking the papers neatly into a folder, when a familiar voice stopped beside you.

“hey.”

you looked up. and there he was. he had stayed behind while the others walked off. close enough now that those stupidly pretty eyes were somehow even more distracting, catching the remaining studio light.

“hi!” your voice bounced a little higher than usual.

jaafar smiled. the smile. there it was again. lord help you.

“i just wanted to say thank you for having us once again.”

“of course. it was an absolute pleasure.”

“we’ve done so many interviews for this press tour, but nothing topped this one. i can see why nia loves working with you so much. you make it easy.”

and there it was. that nervous habit again but this time, it was him and that darn lip. adorable.

you laughed and your expression softened, your heart doing a strange little dance.

“that’s very kind of you to say. thank you, jaafar.”

finally, he glanced toward the door where the rest of the cast waited, the muffled sound of juliano's laughter drifting back in. then he looked back at you, holding your gaze.

“i hope i run into you again soon. maybe outside of a studio.”

your heart did a tiny little flip. the dangerous kind. the kind you ignored. because you were a professional. mostly.

you smiled, your cheeks tingling.

“i hope the same. i'm sure our paths will cross.”

his grin widened, clearly pleased with the answer. for a second, neither one of you moved. the space between you felt suddenly charged, the ambient noise of the studio fading into the background. then nia’s voice echoed loudly from down the hallway.

“jaafar! the car is waiting! let’s go!”

he sighed dramatically, but laughing anyway.

you laughed, shaking your head.

“you should probably go before she comes back in here to drag you out.”

“probably,” he agreed reluctantly. he took a few steps backward toward the exit, still smiling, still looking at you. “see you around.”

“bye, jaafar.” you waved your fingers at him and sent him on his way with a warm smile.

and as he disappeared down the hallway, juliano immediately appeared beside him, slinging an arm over his shoulder. already talking. already playing around. the two got along like brothers which you really admired.

while back inside the studio, you looked down at your notes, trying to focus on the next set of questions. then you looked toward the door he’d just walked through, the silence of the room suddenly feeling a bit more noticeable. and despite being the professional you are—

you couldn’t stop smiling either.

a couple weeks after the interview. your good friend quen called you for an interview of your own. she invited you to be on her youtube series, feeding starving celebrities to which you accepted of course.

“welcome to the fsc kitchen!” quen yelled, tossing her hair back and gesturing wildly toward the entrance. “introducing the queen of interviews, the baddest thing walking, my favorite vixen. ITS MY GIRL.”

you walk out, matching her chaotic energy immediately. you two jump around the kitchen excitedly, screaming and hugging each other like you haven't seen each other in years, even though you just texted this morning.

“welcome to my show hunny,” quen says, catching her breath and smoothing down her top.

“thank you! i’m so excited to be here.”

“it was a longtime coming.”

“yes yes yesss,” you agree, clapping your hands.

out of nowhere, edm began blasting from her speakers to which you both broke out into model poses, doing your best white girl club dances—complete with the fist pumping and the awkward hip sways. the camera crew was cracking up behind the lenses.

“okay okay,” quen said once the music subsided, wiping a fake tear from her eye. “would you like to know what’s on the menu today?”

“well of course my queen.”

“we’re doing lemon drops for the bev because i heard those are your favorite! then we’re doing salmon rice and potatoes. and lastly for dessert, we cheated and just bought a cheesecake girl.”

“amazing.”

first up was the drinks segment. while you prepped the ingredients—slicing lemons and grabbing the shaker—quen started asking her first set of questions, leaning against the counter with a look of pure mischief.

“you’re known for being super confident, while also being very sweet and caring,” quen began, watching you measure the lemon juice. “did you have an experience in your life that made you this way or have you always been this way?”

you answered while you started making your lemon drops, pouring the liquid into the shaker. “truthfully speaking, i didn’t always have this confidence but when i got to college? i just knew i was that girl.”

you both started laughing, quen nodding along.

“like walking across campus, you literally couldn’t tell me nothing,” you continued, shaking your head at the memory. “not a damn thing.”

you both continued to laugh and joke around until you grabbed the tequila bottle. you quickly covered the label of the tequila bottle with your palm, looking directly at the main camera. “no free promo, not sponsored.” you joked.

“not until they cut the check!” quen shouted.

the camera crew lost it.

“you’re terrible.” she told you.

“i’m professional.” you shot back.

“you’re ridiculous.”

“same thing.”

the next question came naturally.

“for your age, i feel like you’re doing so many big things in your life. wait- how old are you now?”

“i’m twenty six,” you said, before stopping and pointing a lemon knife at her. “wait- how old are YOU?”

“twenty five.”

“ayeee,” you cheered, clinking your fresh lemon drop glasses together. you both began to mumble the lyrics to sza’s 20 something’s song at the same exact time which caused you to burst into a fit of laughter.

the segment continued on and while you prepped the salmon, seasoning it generously on the cutting board, she asked more questions that got deeper and deeper, moving from your career goals to your personal life.

“okay, i gotta ask,” quen said, lowering her voice like she was letting the audience in on a secret. “have you ever had a crush on any of your guests?”

you paused, a piece of salmon in your hand. “like on my show?”

“no, on my show,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes so hard it looked painful. “yes, your show, girl!”

you both shared a loud laugh before you actually thought about her answer. your brain instantly took a trip back to a couple weeks ago. the shirt. the open buttons. the nervous knee-rubbing. the smile that should've come with a warning label. jaafar was the first person you thought about.

“can i plead the fifth?” you laughed, your cheeks beginning to hurt.

“absolutely not. this is feeding starving celebrities, not a court of law. spill it.”

you sighed, leaning your weight against the counter before telling the truth. “jaafar jackson.”

quen let out a piercing scream that probably blew out the audio levels in the control room. she jumped up and down, hitting the counter. “no way!”

“yes way, quenlin,” you muttered, covering your face with your hands from pure embarrassment, wishing the kitchen counter would just swallow you whole.

“well, jaafar jackson if you’re watching this… hit my girl up!” quen screamed directly into the camera, winking dramatically. “she is single, she is successful, and she likes your uncle's music! call her! and if you’re worried about the teeny tiny age gap, she’s the most mature person i know!”

you busted out laughing, throwing a dish towel at her to make her stop.

the show continued to move on, the salmon smelling incredible as it cooked, and finally it came to a close as you both stuffed your faces with the store-bought cheesecake after you edit farmed for social media.

“i loved having you, please come on more often. my soul sister,” quen said, giving you a massive hug as the closing music started to play.

“i love you, quenlin. thank you for inviting me.”

the next few days for you were insane. the moment the episode dropped on youtube, the internet took it and ran. the interview was being clipped and posted everywhere on all platforms—tiktok, twitter, instagram reels. shade room reposted it. people were making edits of you and jaafar from your original interview, putting them side-by-side with your confession on quen's show.

one very specific clip.

“have you ever had a crush on any of your guests?”

“…jaafar jackson.”

you wanted to die. your phone wouldn’t stop ringing. your friends wouldn’t stop texting. your coworkers wouldn’t stop laughing.

your bosses? absolutely unbearable. you walked into the office three days later and immediately knew something was wrong. everyone looked excited. too excited.

your personal assistant practically sprinted toward you.

“good morning.”

you narrowed your eyes. “what happened?”

“nothing.”

“you’re smiling too hard.”

“am i?”

“yes.”

he slid his phone across the desk. you looked down and nearly choked.

“oh my god.”

there it was. a notification. one very simple notification. normal people wouldn’t have reacted like that. but you were far from normal.

jaafarjackson started following you.

the entire office erupted.

“HE FOLLOWED HER.”

you covered your face wanting the floor to swallow you whole.

“this is humiliating.”

“this is incredible.”

your boss immediately clapped his hands.

“okay.”

you pointed.

“don’t.”

“we need to capitalize on this.”

“oh my god.”

“we need jaafar back on the show.”

“we do not.”

“immediately.”

you dropped your head onto the desk.

hard.

everyone laughed.

“i’m going home.”

“you’re not.”

“i’m quitting.”

“you’re not.”

“i’m changing my name.”

“you’re definitely not.”

somewhere across the city— jaafar was experiencing his own version of embarrassment. because after watching the clip approximately seventeen times and smiling every single time, he’d finally worked up the courage to hit follow. the interview with quen showed an entirely different side of you. he was so intrigued. a mentally sane person would say he was obsessed.

good thing he wasn’t mentally sane.

and now? he’d somehow agreed to come back on your show. which meant in just a few days— the two of you would be sitting across from each other again.

the next few days leading up to the interview, nervousness fell upon you like a heavy blanket. you couldn't pace around your apartment without staring at your phone, replaying the clip from quen's show in your head and cringing into your pillows.

“what if he thinks i’m a weirdo?” you groaned to your reflection in the mirror while getting ready. “oh my gosh, i can’t handle this.”

you had to remind yourself that you were a professional journalist. you worked in the craziest of circumstances. a little awkwardness never hurt anybody. at least, that’s what you told yourself to get through this interview.

the day finally came, and unbeknownst to you, jaafar was just as nervous as you. he had been shifting around in his dressing room for an hour, adjusting his collar and asking his team if his hair looked alright.

when he finally walked out onto the studio floor, every piece of self-control you had left the window. he looked entirely too good. he was wearing a gold silk shirt that made him look incredibly warm and approachable, and the studio lights caught the exact same warmth in his eyes.

you had about thirty seconds to pull yourself together before he approached you. you took a deep breath, smoothing down your dress, trying to force your heart to stop hammering against your ribs.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice a little lower than usual.

“hi!” you replied, maybe a little too quickly.

the two of you hugged—a brief, slightly tense embrace where you could swear you felt his heartbeat too—and barely exchanged words before your stage manager was clapping her hands, ushering you both onto the set.

“we’re rolling in three… two…”

your media training kicked in just in time. the familiar warmth of the lights helped ground you.

“welcome back, everybody,” you said, looking into the main lens before turning to your guest. “welcome back, jaafar. although it hasn’t been long since we had you the first time, how have you been?”

jaafar adjusted himself in his chair, his fingers immediately finding his knee to give it a quick, nervous rub before he caught himself and smiled. “i’ve been good, thank you. and yourself?”

“i’ve been great,” you said, a mischievous tilt finding its way back into your voice. “busy doing my own interviews and whatnot.”

jaafar’s eyes sparked with instant amusement. “so i’ve heard.”

the two of you shared a genuine, lingering laugh, and just like that, all the awkward tension went out the window. the comfort you had established during your first meeting came rushing back, making the studio feel small and private again.

you began to ask him more personal questions, moving away from his role as michael and focusing on him as an individual. you asked him about his family dynamic, what it was really like growing up as a jackson in the midst of such a massive legacy. you asked him what he initially wanted to do growing up before the artistry caught up with him.

“there's a moment for everyone,” you murmured, leaning in attentively. “when did you realize that your family was as prominent as they are? not just in the music industry, but their deep influence on the world, and on black culture specifically?”

jaafar listened intensely, his gaze locked onto yours. he answered beautifully, speaking with a humility and depth that made your heart do that dangerous little flip again. he spoke about watching his father and uncles, about the responsibility he felt to honor that history, and how much he valued the love the community showed his family.

towards the end of the interview, the control room chimed in your ear, reminding you of the segment your producers had cooked up. you cleared your throat, looking down at the fresh set of cue cards.

“okay, my team has put together some questions for us to answer,” you said, immediately turning your head to look directly into your specific camera with a warning glare. “these ARE NOT my questions, by the way! i would like that noted for future purposes.”

jaafar let out a soft chuckle, shifting in his seat to face you fully. “ask away.”

you looked down at the first card. “alright. are you dating anyone?”

jaafar didn't even hesitate. he happily responded, “no, i am not.”

you nodded slowly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear while giving a slow, knowing, look directly into the camera lens. the silence in the studio broke instantly as everyone on set started laughing uncontrollably at your expression.

“i too, am also single,” you responded smoothly, turning back to him.

jaafar reached over, playfully pulling the next card from your hand to read it himself. “alright, my turn. who was your celebrity crush growing up?”

you closed your eyes, bracing yourself. “barack obama, and i will not be explaining further.”

jaafar burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking. “that’s insane.”

“he has aura, jaafar! next question!” you argued, laughing with him.

you hesitated before reading the final card in your hand. your eyes scanned the text, and for a second, you considered throwing it across the room. but professional duty called, so you read it anyway, your voice dropping a little. “when seeing my recent interview with quen… hearing that i have a crush on you… how did you react?”

the studio went dead silent, everyone waiting for the response.

jaafar instantly got nervous, but he didn't look away from you. his expression softened completely. “i was taken by surprise,” he answered honestly, his voice quiet and sincere. “you’re a very beautiful woman. very intelligent. i have to admit… i watched the clip for days.”

your jaw slacked slightly, a intense wave of heat rushing to your face. “oh please, you flatter me, jaafar,” you said, blushing profusely and trying to use the cue card to fan your face.

“i’m serious,” he said, his gaze dropping to your lips for a split second before he flashed that million-dollar, panty dropping smile.

the sheer charm of it was lethal. you had to cross your legs immediately, the physical tension between the two of you suddenly becoming unbearable. you could hear a producer in the back whispering a faint “oh my god.”

right then, one of your executive producers walked onto the set, holding just one more single cue card. she had a massive smirk on her face.

you cannot be serious, you thought to yourself, your eyes narrowing into a fierce glare as she handed it to you. she just gave you a silent thumbs-up from behind the camera and scurried back into the dark.

you cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. “before we close, we have a quick game to play.”

the producers had thrown together some random, convoluted party game—something involving rolling dice or picking matching cards—but the rules were clearly rigged from the start. no matter what choices were made, the penalty or the reward ultimately resulted in you two sharing a kiss either way.

jaafar looked at the card, then looked at you, an incredibly nervous but thrilled smile taking over his face.

“well,” jaafar murmured, leaning forward over the small table separating your chairs. “rules are rules.”

your heart was beating so loud you were certain the microphones were picking it up. “yeah. rules are rules.”

you both stood, talking small steps toward one another. when his hand gently reached up to rest against the side of your neck, his thumb brushing your jawline, your eyes fluttered shut.

the moment his lips pressed against yours, the entire studio seemed to vanish. it wasn't a quick, awkward cheek-peck for the cameras. it was soft, lingering, and incredibly deep. for a second, it felt like you were entirely melting into the warmth of him, your hand instinctively rising to touch his forearm.

then, a sharp beep from a camera battery brought you crashing back to reality.

you quickly remembered that you were on camera, surrounded by your entire production crew. you pulled away, your breath catching in your throat, your lips tingling.

jaafar’s eyes slowly opened, looking completely dazed, his hand lingering in the air for a second before he dropped it to his side.

you forced your voice to work, looking toward the main camera with everything you had left. “and… that is all the time we have for today. thank you for watching. don’t forget to buy your tickets to michael and follow us on all socials!”

“and we’re clear!” the director called out.

the lights didn't even dim before the set fell into a strange, buzzing quiet. you closed the interview, stacking your cards with trembling hands. across from you, jaafar still stood, completely speechless from what had just happened, his eyes fixed on you like he was trying to figure out if he was still dreaming.

finally he mustered up the courage to ask, “are you busy tonight? i would love to take you out.”

you couldn’t help but feel that nia long was somewhere, rubbing her hands together and laughing wickedly, knowing that this had been her plan all along.

DRACO MALFOY

masquerade ball @lqveharrington

The Malfoys hold a masquerade ball in hopes of finding Draco a wife

prince!draco malfoy x lady!potter!reader

library meeting @comfortcharacterwrites

after Lucius Malfoy finds out that his son had been failing Charms, he assigns a tutor to Draco, whom he inherently dreads meeting — that is, until he falls in love with you

word count : 3.3k

the space between reality and you @honeyedprongs

A girl who lives her life in her head.

A boy who refuses to let her disappear into it.

Longing, self-destruction, and the terrifying reality of being loved back.

word count : 1.9k

unanswered questions in closed spaces @noncakeanywhere

As it turns out, proximity breeds fondness. A month of detention with you in a small space; rat tails and rotten weeds for company. What better witnesses for a disastrous fall into...what exactly?

Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader

gone in a flash @ros3mari3

You don’t hear it all at once. It comes in fragments, in passing whispers that you almost ignore until one name pulls everything into focus.

Draco x Reader (amnesia/angst)

fever dreams and devotion @honeyedprongs

One sleepless winter night.

One clingy, feverish husband.

And several increasingly pathetic requests for “just one more kiss.”

word count : 1.5k

hopelessly devoted to you @irisjustlikeheaven

draco's parents are against your relation ship. he does what they say, you have to accept his decision.

draco malfoy × fem!reader

________

MATTHEO RIDDLE

why’d you only call me when you’re high @faestria

you're sick of mattheo's affection being limited to when he's high.

word count : 986

words are futile devices @l8vrgrll

It has been a long time since mattheo left hogwarts. All he could think about now, was you, and it was killing him.

you were supposed to stay @simplyastra

In a world falling apart, you were the only thing that ever made sense to Mattheo Riddle. So when he almost loses you— he breaks in a way no one has ever seen before.

absolutely not @riddlemelater

beater!Mattheo helps you pick a dress for a night out in hogsmeade with the quidditch team. The only problem is he's not much help, especially not when your dress is that short.

word count : 1.2k

what hurts you hurts me @simplyastra

Soulmates shared everything. Including scars. When Umbridge's detentions begin exposing soulmate pairs throughout Hogwarts, one bloody sentence on the back of your hand changes everything.

personal fav

obedience @my-hearts-kickdrum-type-beat

Your boyfriend loves you. His friends think he worships you. You're alright with both interpretations.

word count : 0.6k

who is who ? @edilzzi

You have an enormous crush on Mattheo Riddle. Although, you're way too busy pushing your nose into books and being an angel for such a popular guy to look your way. That never stopped you though, your little 'harmless' ways to stalk him around hogwarts has gotten way more ridiculous than ever, as if your eyes lingering on him for way too long wasn't enough. But as time passes by, you slowly notice his figure disappearing within your sight. That's when you realize.. With how frequent you observe his presence in front of you, you never acknowledged watching behind you.

Word count : 4.4k

SMUT / MDNI

________

THEODORE NOTT

library of secrets @harringtonsb1tch

when you decide to surprise your boyfriend by learning Italian behind his back but losing the track of time leads to him finding out earlier than you wanted.

her favorite slytherin @simplyastra

A black cat starts spending every evening in the Slytherin common room. The entire school assumes she's Theodore's. Theodore assumes she's his. The cat disagrees.

personal fav

sweet like cinnamon @ldrfanatic

is it possible that the entire time you've been dating theo, you've somehow not noticed that he's only this sweet with you?

theodore nott x hufflepuff!reader

word count : 3.1k

the nott so fake relationship @cipheress-to-k-pop

After your boyfriend cheats with your best friend, you enlist Theodore Nott in a fake relationship to get revenge

word count : 10.1k

quidditch captain rivalry headcanons @padmespetal

theodore nott x ravenclaw!reader

puppy love @eviesnotebook

Theo is completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with you but you think he's just a friend. A really nice one.

theodore nott x fem!reader

word count : 1.7k

divination for dummies @obsessedwithceleste

When the tarot cards tell you you’re going to fall in love, sometimes it’s best to just listen to them

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw! reader

word count : 6k

________

BLAISE ZABINI

too long together @simplyastra

Three hours trapped in a dusty storage room with Blaise Zabini wasn't how you planned to spend your evening. Surprisingly, it wasn't how you wanted it to end either.

beautiful chaos @simplyastra

Blaise Zabini liked things neat, orderly, and predictable. Unfortunately for him, you collected flowers, carried emergency glitter, and had approximately seventeen hobbies at any given time.

Blaise x chaotic!reader

No more tears @lexamiele

after you catch your boyfriend cheating, his worst enemy finds you crying in an empty classroom.

word count : 4.7k

don’t get it twisted @obsessedwithceleste

4 times you prove you’re a true Slytherin + the 1 time Blaise finally accepts it.

Word count : 3.4k

Eternity @ravenclaws-stuff

Blaise Zabini x muggleborn!reader

on the first day of christmas @rarebambi

tooth rotting fluff

word count : 397

________

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

irresistible @cipheress-to-k-pop

Lorenzo doesn't like it when people other than him receive pretty privilege. Hypocrite.

Word count : 14.4k

Berkshire blue @redeemingvillains

you and lorenzo are...exclusive... or so you thought... but as the days before the berkshire winter ball dwindle and he deftly avoids asking you to be his date, you're left wondering what you really mean to each other.

Word count : 3k

untitled @lxve-fool

the quiet girl seems to only despise enzo and he’s determined to figure out why

lorenzo berkshire x shy!reader

in touch, but out of reach @obsessedwithceleste

When a secret admirer sends you a mysterious parcel at breakfast, you figure you shouldn’t let the pretty locket enclosed inside go to waste.

Lorenzo Berkshire x Ravenclaw! reader

word count : 5.4k

you said it didn’t mean anything @speaknowgirl3184

secret kiss in the library turns into weeks of stolen moments. Except you overhear him telling Blaise it was “nothing.”

word count : 4k

finding sunshine @obsessedwithceleste

soulmate! au in which the writing on your skin will appear identically on your soulmate.

word count : 4.5k

game of deception @ellas-enchantments

After finding out you were just a bet, an unexpected hero comes to your rescue. But why would this near stranger be so kind to you? What secret is he hiding? And when it comes to love, can you roll the dice without falling for his charm?

word count : 4.7k

strictly casual @kinzis-writing

It was common knowledge to everyone that Lorenzo Berkshire, or any of the Slytherin boys really, didn’t commit to one girl for long. They were womanizers and refused to try to commit to an actual relationship. You two didn’t get along at all; yet you still ended up in his bed. Only one condition, no feelings, no-strings-attached, and never call it a relationship. Everything was going smoothly… until it wasn’t.

word count : 11.4k

Lorenzo Berkshire x Fem! Hufflepuff! Reader

________

TOM RIDDLE

You’ve gone soft @anawritez-posts

A teenage Tom Riddle time-travels into his future and immediately insults his older self..

cinnamon afternoon @yourstarryswan

Hitting a brick wall in potions class is tough for y/n who tries her hardest to keep her grades up. Lucky she got assigned a tutor..

what he notices @tomriddlehyper

Tom Riddle notices many things, but recently, all he can notice is the Hufflepuff girl that has wormed her way into his life.

mdni

obsessively adored @tomriddlehyperfixataion

The knights of Walpurgis were a secret group within the halls of hogwarts, made up of pureblood heirs and 2nd born sons, all dreaming of a 'brighter' future for their kind. their leader? Tom Riddle, refined cruelty in a human body. nothing mattered more than his goals. except for one, his beloved (y/n). who had the ability to make Tom Riddle stop in his tracks and abandon everything for her.

________

ADRIAN PUCEY

in a league of your own @obsessedwithceleste

When it comes out that Saint Potter is cheating on you with none other than Ginerva Weasley, your brother is pissed, and Adrian is there to pick up all the pieces.

Adrian Pucey x Slytherin! Wood! reader

word count : 3.8k

wish you were sober @my-hearts-kickdrum-type-beat

After the swiftest and smuggest victory in Hogwarts quidditch history, the Slytherins held their usual party. Blared music, flowing drinks, the works. The sweetest words come out when alcohol goes in; but are they ever true?

Adrian Pucey x Malfoy! Reader

word count : 3.2k

Before and after @limerenze

adrian comforts y/n during + after a panic attack while they both deal with the aftermath of the second wizarding war

word count : 2.3k

________

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

everyone knew you and reese wilkerson were close. everyone knew you two had been friends for years. hell, you were each others' best friend.

however, what you two had was clearly deeper.

reese would always pay for your meals. when walking through a crowd, his hand always rested on the small of your back. half of his closet was inside yours. when he talked about his future, all his plans involved you.

just friends, though, right?

you two had never talked about your relationship. you were always just best friends, conjoined at the hip, and nothing more.

to everyone else, they could tell something deeper was there.

lois and hal talked about it before bed, saying how good you were for their son. malcolm and stevie theorized how far reese has gotten with you. dewey even called you his sister-in-law to the buseys.

you always buried your feelings deep down. you didn't even realize you harbored those kinds of feelings towards reese. he never put a label on it, so why should you?

the day you realized your feelings was the day that your life came crashing down in front of you.

you don't know when or how it happened. all you could remember was the burning feeling of jealousy in your stomach when you saw reese talking to that pretty girl after school one day.

after that, you ignored him.

you no longer walked with him to class, and you didn't wait for him to drive you home after school. of course, reese noticed. he was confused. especially because you had never been this frosty with him before, not since the fourth grade when he stole your fruit snacks.

that weekend, you were at his house for dinner. while you may be mad at reese, you were not mad at the rest of his family, and you wouldn't miss your saturday dinner with them for the world.

when reese heard the doorbell ring, he jumped out of his bed to answer it. he pushed malcolm, who was closer to the door, just to let you in. you pushed past him, however.

you greeted malcolm and dewey, cooed at jamie who was preoccupied with his toys, and made your way into the kitchen.

you didn't even spare reese a glance.

"trouble in paradise?" malcolm teased, earning a swift punch to his shoulder from reese.

you talked to lois while she prepared dinner, and even helped her with chopping some of the vegetables. she loved your company, you were like the daughter she never had.

"so," she said, taking a break from tenderizing the meat reese had brought home from the butcher's. "how has school been?"

"fine," you sighed. "tedious, but fine."

"i hear prom is coming up," she approached the topic casually. her and hal were determined to find out the true nature of your relationship with reese.

"any boys ask you to be their date yet?"

you scoffed.

"as if," you continued chopping vegetables, not looking up once. "none of the boys at school like me."

lois gave you a knowing glance, one that you didn't see due to your hyperfocus on the vegetables in front of you.

"why not, you're a pretty girl," she said. "any boy would be lucky to have you."

a loud crashing noise interrupted your conversation.

"mom," the sound of reese's voice called into the kitchen. she sighed, giving you an apologetic look before leaving to find the source of the noise.

once dinner was ready, you were all sat around the table. unfortunately, your spot was always next to reese. when he pulled out his chair to sit next to you, all you could think about was the way that girl was laughing, and how interested he looked.

while malcolm was arguing with lois over something mundane, you felt reese's leg against yours. you ignored it, thinking it was an accident. the table was small for the amount of people sitting around it.

however, when he purposefully tried nudging your knee with his, you turned your body the other way.

you heard him sigh in response, and while the argument between malcolm and lois ramped up, he whispered to you.

"why are you ignoring me?"

you didn't answer, and you acted like you didn't even hear him. you didn't know why you were ignoring him. maybe, you were mad that another girl was getting his attention.

or maybe, deep down, you were ignoring the feelings you had for your best friend.

dewey noticed the tension between you two. while hal was getting involved in whatever argument was happening, dewey picked up on the way you blushed while you turned away from his older brother. he noticed the confused and somewhat pained expression that overcame reese's face.

after dinner concluded, you helped lois with cleaning up. reese lingered, picking up plates and trying to be as close to you as possible.

of course, lois noticed.

"it looks like you two have this under control," she said, dropping the towel she was using to dry the dishes. she gave you a soft smile before leaving the kitchen.

you and reese cleaned the kitchen in silence.

"are you mad at me?" he asked. he sounded so genuine and hurt, you couldn't ignore him anymore.

"no," you answered quietly. "i'm not mad at you."

silence again. reese thought about your words. he thought about everything he did that week, trying to pick out a moment that you could've possibly been upset about.

then, it hit him.

"is it about that girl?"

you nearly dropped the plate you were currently washing. your face turned beet red, and reese immediately noticed. a grin spread across his face.

"it is!" he exclaimed. he placed down the dishes that he was holding. "you're jealous."

"i am not," you averred. your face told another story. your cheeks were red, and you avoiding his gaze. reese poked at your side as you started to clean the plate faster.

"yes, you are," he laughed. you moved onto the next plate, scrubbing it impossibly fast. "you were upset that i was talking to that girl."

then, he realized what that meant.

"somebody likes me," he teased. your face was on fire and the butterflies in your stomach were going crazy. you wanted the earth to swallow you whole.

he took a step closer to you.

"it's okay, i like you too."

you finally turned to face him. reese was sporting a blush similar to yours, despite his teasing. he reached out to grab your hands, and you let him.

"she's a friend," he explained.

"we're friends," you retorted.

"well, yeah," he said. "but i'm in love with you, not her."

reese immediately dropped your hands, his hands flying to cover his mouth once he realized what he said.

"i didn't mean that. i mean i did, but—"

you cut him off with a kiss. you were cautious at first, but his hands moved to your hips and pulled you closer. he deepened the kiss, like he had been waiting for the moment for years.

to be honest, reese had been waiting for this moment for years.

his hands traveled to your ass as he hoisted you onto the counter. your hands snaked into his hair, and he groaned into the kiss.

"ew, get a room."

you broke apart as fast as you could to see dewey with a disgusted look on his face.

"get outta here or else," reese threatened, moving away from you to chase dewey out. dewey looked at reese, and then his lips, before laughing.

"or else what? you're not so tough when you got lip gloss all over your face," he responded.

"i should go," you said, sliding off the counter. reese turned around, panic in his eyes.

"wait, i'll walk you out," he said. you smiled at him, nodding softly as a sign of confirmation.

you bid your goodbyes to the rest of the family, making sure to thank lois for the lovely dinner.

once outside, reese awkwardly played with the zipper on his hoodie.

"so," he started. you looked at him expectedly, but he was focused on his zipper.

"i really do like you, if you couldn't tell," he admitted, cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

"i like you too," you said quietly. he put his arm around you, pulling you close.

reese kissed the top of your head, and although no words were said, no labels were given, you knew you were his.

and he was yours.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚