#(( i did it... ))

Lightning splits the dusky sky beyond Seven's window, the grey-bellied clouds igniting purple and blue. A clap of thunder is his only warning before the room blinks into darkness and Seven's first thought—more reflex than anything—is Jackie. The wind-swept rain beats against his window and it's Jackie, JackieJackieJackie, that fills his mind.

If Seven was normal, he'd grab his phone. He'd make sure Avina is alright, then check on Kieran, then ask where Pope is (because the latter never checks his texts), and once he knew his friends were okay, a normal Seven would try to figure out what happened. He'd peak into the hallway. Maybe he'd find a production assistant. Maybe he'd just find Avina.

Instead, Seven sits on his bed with his hands tight around his notebook thinking of Jackie.

She hates the rain, and she hates the dark, and when they were fourteen, her power cut out during a summer storm.

Her parents were working (like always) and Seven snuck out his house to bike four blocks in the pelting rain. It was stupid, but a branch fell through a downstairs window and she thought someone had broken in. When Seven got there, he found her hidden away in a closet, shaking. She tackled him with a hug even as he made a puddle on the floor.

So Jackie hates the rain, and she hates the dark, and Seven knows this and is paralyzed by it. Worry courses through him and it's annoying how rationally he knows one thing and physically his body assumes another. Jackie always does that to him. She's an involuntary response triggered by the parts of himself obsessed with wanting her.

Seven tosses his notebook on the covers and stands.

Then sits back down.

Despite what his adrenaline thinks, Jackie doesn't need him. It's night. She's probably asleep or with her band and even if not she's probably perfectly fine. She's not fourteen shaking in a closet and Seven is not fourteen biking in the rain.

And yet.

Seven fumbles for his phone in the dark, knocking over no less than two empty water bottles, the hotel phonebook, and the copious amount of bracelets he set on the bedside table before finding it. He's halfway to the door when it receives a knock.

It must be Avina. His face burns. He was not going to run to Jackie's room like some freak. He tells himself that, over and over, until he's convinced it's true.

A softer knock brushes against the door.

"Sev?"

He throws it open.

Jackie's lips are parted, eyes wide as her hand hangs in the air. She's in her pajamas—the hem of the Misfit Alley hoodie she's had since high school hovering above a pair of fluffy jellyfish shorts.

Seven's heart relaxes into a slower, softer rhythm. All at once, like the power blinking out, he feels better.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi." Her phone is clutched loosely at her side, it's flash spilling light across the carpet. "Did I wake you?"

"I was working." Only a half-lie. He was trying and failing at writing a song that didn't drift back to the only thing he ever writes about.

She gives a sheepish sort of smile. "I was too, but, you know. The lights."

"The lights."

"Yep." Jackie toes her sock at the ground.

She's fidgeting. This new thing between them, fragile and sweet, is usually good when they're alone, and yet she's fidgeting. An old, bitter part of him starts to hurt.

Why is she so unsure when it comes to him? Why does she bother trying? The thought is unfair and unreasonable and Seven still wants to ask why Jackie showed up at his door at all, but he already knows the answer. It's the same reason he was on his way to showing up at hers. Reflex.

How much of Jackie actually wants him?

Lightning bleaches the hallway, followed by another crack of thunder. Jackie flinches and Seven realizes he's the most selfish dick in the world for spiraling like he is.

"You can come in. If you want." He tries not to cringe at the sweat sliding down his palms. He feels like he's asking her on a date. "Do you want to?"

Seven expects her to smile. To utter a small 'thank you' as she brushes past him and into the room.

But Jackie doesn't move. She glances down the hallway to the windows and the storm outside of them. In the half dark, Seven can't read her expression. His brain can't seem to fill the blanks her hesitance has left.

"I didn't want to be…I didn't want you to half to—" She closes her eyes. "Sorry, I'm being weird. I should leave before I say something dumb."

Jackie turns and the desperation it fills Seven with is almost painful.

"Wait!" He catches her empty hand. "Don't leave."

Part of Seven wants her to fall in his arms, the same way she did when he opened that closet door. He knows it won't happen. He knows too much time and not enough words have created a gap they might never fully bridge. They will never be fourteen again and Seven will never stop wishing they were. If only because, here, when faced with the choice to stay or go, Jackie doesn't immediately stay. She hasn't even said anything, and yet Seven feels rejected all the same.

When he thinks of letting go, of giving a bullshit apology about overstepping and pretending he's fine without her, she laces her fingers with his. She softens. "Okay."

"Really?"

"If you want me to."

He does. More so than he's ever allowed to admit. "Okay."

They both step into the room, siting on the bed thigh-to-thigh. Seven would feel self-conscious of the mess if he could see it. As it stands, the flash from Jackie's phone is only bright enough to bathe their faces in a cool glow.

Seven waits for Jackie to speak. He feels like he's already said too much tonight. It takes her a moment, Seven notes, watching her from the corner of his eye. She looks peaceful. No longer fidgeting. No longer unsure. Maybe that's a wishful observation.

He can’t tell anymore with her—what’s real and what’s imagined.

"Do you," Jackie begins. She turns to face him. "Do you remember biking in the rain?"

Seven lets himself smile. "Duh."

"God…I kind of wish you didn't. I'm still so—"

"Jacks." He hasn't called her that in ages. It aches to do so, but the smile it draws from Jackie is worth it. She's so bright. "Do not say sorry."

She rolls her eyes. They've had that conversation a million times before. "I overreacted. There was no axe-murderer."

"Good, cause I don't think I could've fought off one anyways. I was skinny back then."

"And you still came."

"It was you," he says, voice dangerously soft. Any lower and it'd be washed out by the rain.

Jackie's reaction is satisfying. She gapes for a second, cheeks puffed like a goldfish. She squeezes her hands in her lap, abandoning her phone on the sheets beside them. "You're so…"

Seven tries not to grin. "I'm what?"

"Corny." She places the back of her hand on one cheek, then the other, all while avoiding his gaze. "I'm still thinking about how you swung my mother's lamp like a baseball bat."

The back of his neck gets hot. They ventured downstairs to investigate a noise and Seven mistook a shadow for the 'axe-murderer'. "It wasn't a lamp it was a coat rack."

"Yes it was! My mom hounded me about that lamp for weeks."

"I never touched a lamp."

Jackie leans in. The proximity isn't new, but the context is and it's a different kind of dangerous. "Liar."

Seven laughs, willing himself to ignore the heat of her body and the smell of her lotion.

It's cherry.

"Fine. If I did—"

"—you did."

"If I did break a lamp," he says. "Tell your mother I'm not sorry."

Jackie snorts. "Jerk."

"I know. I was a real knight in shining armor."

"Broken property aside, you really were my hero." Her hands fidget in her lap again. "Always have been."

That makes Seven frown for some reason. "Do you still…"

He cuts himself off when he realizes he doesn't know what he's asking. He forces himself to let the thought go. It doesn't have a place here, on his bed, with Jackie Belle looking at him like he hung the stars. In this moment he chooses to believe her, if only for now.

"Sev?" She places a hand on his leg, brow pinched.

He places a hand over hers. "Can I kiss you, Jackie?"

All the other times they've kissed it was on a whim, but Seven wants…Seven wants this to be on purpose. He wants Jackie to choose this.

Her eyes flick down to Seven's lips.

"Please do," she says.