#ft.jamie

who: himiko & jamie @ofpantheons where: abyss nightclub

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And froze.

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

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

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