#human ribbit

Logically, he knew he’d been like this for months. Still, every now and then, usually when he was tired, he’d catch himself expecting ears that weren’t there or reaching for a balance that no longer existed. Human legs were objectively more practical than whatever cartoon nonsense Caine had given him, but that didn’t stop them from feeling weird.

By the time he stepped through the doors of the Tri-Angle, the feeling had mostly faded. The booths sat mostly empty. A few customers occupied tables near the windows, but the bar itself had been unofficially claimed hours ago.

Pomni occupied her usual stool, scrolling through something on her phone. Ragatha sat beside her, nursing a drink while listening to Kinger explain a programming problem nobody else seemed to understand. Gangle had somehow managed to balance a sketchbook on the bar despite actively participating in the conversation.

"Look who finally showed up." Zooble's voice projected easily across the bar.

Jax glanced up long enough to spot Zooble behind the counter before dropping onto an empty stool. His jacket landed across the backrest beside him.

"Missed you too."

"You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago."

"I had a route."

"You always have a route."

"That's generally how the job works."

This wasn't unusual. Delivery routes rarely took his social schedule into account, and somebody on the other side of the city had apparently decided that a replacement refrigerator constituted an emergency.

A glass slid across the polished wood and came to a stop in front of him. Jax looked down.

“No egg white," Zooble smirked.

The corner of Jax's eye twitched. “Oh, come on.”

Across the bar, a smile appeared on Pomni’s face. "You did spend an entire adventure telling everyone you were vegan."

"I spent one day being forced to be vegan."

"There was a vote," Ragatha pointed out.

"There were seven of you."

"That's still a vote."

"It's not a vote when I'm outnumbered six to one."

A snicker escaped Pomni. "That's literally how votes work."

Gangle rested an elbow on the counter, snickering. "Democracy spoke."

"Democracy can shut up."

The entire bar dissolved into laughter. Pomni choked on her drink, which only made Ragatha grin harder. Kinger didn't even attempt to hide his amusement.

Jax took a long sip of his whiskey sour and decided it was, unfortunately, excellent.

From there, the conversation veered elsewhere. Ragatha was halfway through a story about a difficult client, and Pomni kept interrupting with increasingly ridiculous questions while Gangle sketched quietly between comments. Kinger contributed occasional observations that somehow made the story more confusing every time he spoke.

Jax mostly listened. The rhythm felt familiar. Different setting, different bodies, but the same people.

The others had adjusted to their new lives surprisingly well. Pomni and Ragatha had returned to accounting and real estate. Gangle’s manga had somehow gained an audience. Kinger wrote code. Zooble owned a bar.

Somehow.

Jax still wasn't entirely sure how that one had happened.

"...and then she asked if the sink was original," Ragatha continued, face beginning to flush from the alcohol.

Pomni groaned. "No….was it?”

"I swear! It was installed four months ago."

The group collectively winced.

A message buzzed in from Pomni's phone before anyone could continue the conversation. She looked down at the screen and smiled.

The expression didn't go unnoticed.

"Uh oh," Zooble remarked from behind the counter.

Pomni looked up. "What?"

"That face."

"What face?"

"The one that means you know something the rest of us don't."

Pomni locked her phone as she spoke. "She's on her way."

The announcement was received with instant approval. Ragatha's smile returned, and Gangle abandoned all pretense of working on her drawing pad, setting her pencil aside entirely.

"Apparently, the shoot ran late," Pomni explained. "She said she'll be here soon."

"Again?" Ragatha asked.

Pomni nodded. "At least she's actually leaving this time. Last week, they kept her there for another two hours."

Gangle leaned forward. "Did she send pictures?"

Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the phone from Pomni, who surrendered it with surprising ease.

Jax should have minded his own business.

Instead, his gaze dropped to the screen, as did everyone else's.

The photo had obviously been taken during the shoot. Professional lighting softened the image, while somebody had apparently spent far too much time on your makeup. The outfit looked expensive. Unnecessarily expensive, if you asked him.

Gangle's eyes widened. "Oh, she's gorgeous."

Ragatha sighed in agreement. "She really is."

Jax rolled his eyes and took another drink.

Just then, the front door opened. His attention shifted automatically toward the sound before he could stop himself.

A couple stepped inside. Neither of them was you.

He looked away fast.

On the other side of the counter, Zooble watched the entire exchange unfold. Their attention lingered before they slowly set down the glass in their hand.

"Oh, brother."

Jax glared over. "What?"

"Nothing," Zooble replied.

That answer had never once meant nothing.

The conversation resumed shortly afterward, though not with much success. Gangle was still scrolling through the photos, and Ragatha had somehow convinced Pomni to send her a copy of one.

"You know," Kinger began, "there's actually a mathematical reason people find symmetrical faces attractive—"

The front door opened again.

This time, the reaction around the bar was immediate.

"Oh, there she is!" Ragatha slid off her stool before anyone else could beat her to it.

You entered carrying far more bags than any one person should reasonably be carrying. A garment bag hung from one shoulder, while two shopping bags occupied one hand and your phone occupied the other.

Your eyes swept across the room. The moment you spotted the group, your shoulders visibly relaxed.

"There she is," Pomni echoed.

"Finally," Gangle added.

You laughed as Ragatha relieved you of one of the bags.

"I said I'd be here,” you beamed.

"You said that an hour ago."

"It wasn't my fault."

"That's exactly what somebody at fault would say."

Jax remained where he was.

Three months. Three months of Friday nights. Three months of group chats. Three months of seeing you at least once a week.

Time had done very little to solve this particular problem: you'd walk into a room, and his attention would find you anyway. It should not have felt like this anymore.

You were still laughing at something Pomni had said when your gaze finally landed on him.

Your smile persisted while you lifted a hand. "Hey, Jax."

His grip closed tightly around the glass.

"...hey, kid.” The response came easily enough.

Your smile remained, but it dulled around the edges. Not enough for most people to notice.

Unfortunately, ‘most people’ weren't sitting at this bar.

You had spent years trapped together, learning each other's habits, moods, and tells. The change was small, but it was there.

Jax saw it.

So did everyone else.

"Still hauling boxes around?" you asked after a moment.

"Unfortunately."

You smiled sympathetically. "That bad?"

"I delivered a package to a guy this morning and he asked if I could wait while he opened it."

"Why?"

"No clue. I left before I found out."

A laugh escaped you. The sound should've felt familiar.

Instead, something about the exchange felt stiff. Like the two of you were reading from a script neither of you particularly liked.

"Seriously, though. How's the new route?"

Jax shrugged. "Fine."

You moved your attention away from him after that, adjusting the bags higher onto your shoulder. "Well. Since everybody's here..."

Gangle sat up straighter. "Did you bring stuff?"

"...maybe."

Gangle narrowed her eyes. "You brought stuff."

"I might've brought stuff."

"You definitely brought stuff."

Whatever awkwardness had loomed over the group evaporated instantly.

Within seconds, everyone had gathered around the bags while you attempted, unsuccessfully, to maintain some level of order.

Ragatha received a small collection of makeup samples and began inspecting ingredients. Pomni somehow ended up with three different keychains despite insisting she only wanted one.

Kinger was handed a promotional stress ball shaped like a camera. He turned it over in both hands, squeezing it experimentally.

"Oh…wow! It compresses."

"That's generally how stress balls work," Pomni stated the obvious.

Kinger squeezed it again. "Interesting."

Gangle's gift produced the strongest reaction.

You had apparently convinced someone involved with the shoot to part with a signed copy of a limited-edition manga volume.

Gangle made a noise Jax wouldn't have thought to be humanly possible. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

She looked down at the manga, then back at you. "You are."

"I'm literally holding it,” you laughed.

Gangle squinted at the autograph. "You could still be kidding."

Jax remained where he was.

Not because he wasn't interested. Mostly because he knew exactly where this was headed.

A small box was placed beside his glass as you shifted your attention back to him.

"There."

Jax looked down. The logo was instantly recognizable: his favorite candy.

The expensive kind. The kind he complained about buying every single time he bought it.

You waited patiently for him to take it.

"...You can give it to somebody else." Jax leaned back into his seat. The words left his mouth before he had time to reconsider them.

Around the bar, the conversation faltered.

Your hand remained resting against the counter.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I don't really eat those anymore." Jax stared fixedly into his drink.

It was a terrible lie. Everyone knew it.

Just three weeks ago, Jax had spent nearly twenty dollars on the exact same candy during a gas station stop.

You slowly looked down at the box. Then back at him. The smile you'd been wearing all evening finally faded.

"...Oh."

Slowly, you pulled the box back toward yourself.

Over the counter, Zooble set down a glass with considerably more force than necessary.

Jax didn't look over. He already knew what expression he would find.

The worst part was that he'd earned it.

Nobody really recovered after that, though the conversation limped forward anyway. Pomni made a valiant attempt to change the subject as Kinger became distracted, explaining something about package-tracking algorithms. Gangle continued staring at her manga every few minutes, as if it might disappear if she looked away for too long.

You participated when spoken to and smiled when appropriate. Still, something had changed.

Jax could see it every time his attention drifted in your direction.

An hour later, the group began filtering out one by one.

Kinger left first after remembering an early meeting. Gangle spent nearly five full minutes thanking you for the manga before Ragatha physically guided her in the direction of the door. Pomni followed shortly afterward.

Eventually, only Zooble, Jax, and you remained. And the uncomfortable silence occupies most of the room.

You gathered the last of your things and slid off the stool.

"Well…"

Nobody seemed entirely sure how to respond to that.

Your eyes fell on Jax, and for a moment, he thought you might say something else.

Instead, you offered a small smile.

"...goodnight, Jax."

For years, those words would've been followed by something else. A joke. A kiss. An argument. Sometimes all three.

Now they were just words.

"Night."

The smile didn't quite reach your eyes this time. Then you turned and headed for the door. The bell hanging above it chimed quietly as it swung shut behind you.

Silence descended over the bar.

Jax reached for his whiskey sour, but the glass disappeared before he could take a sip.

"...What the hell?" his voice grew sharper.

Zooble was already carrying it toward the sink. "You've had enough."

"I've had one."

"You've had enough."

The glass vanished below the counter.

Jax glared.

Zooble glared back.

Neither blinked.

Finally, Zooble shook her head.

"You're such an asshole, you know that?"

Monday afternoon, Jax stood on the porch of a bright yellow house while someone's golden retriever tried to steal a package out of his hands.

"We're not doing this today."

The dog ignored him. Jax wasn't surprised. Most of his customers seemed equally uninterested in listening.

Eventually, the owner appeared and apologized profusely, dragging the retriever back inside. Jax snapped the delivery photo, marked the package as delivered, and headed back toward the van. His phone buzzed before he even reached the driver's seat.

Jax already knew what that meant. Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, sighing. The circus group chat, of course, was active.

Kaufmo: found this loser hiding in a coffee shop

Enclosed was a photo. Jax froze. It took him less than a second to recognize you.

You sat across from Kaufmo in a booth, one hand wrapped around a milkshake while the other was raised high in what looked like an extremely dramatic argument. The photo had clearly been taken without permission.

You looked annoyed. You also looked happy.

Jax hated that he noticed the second part.

A sigh escaped him as he tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and started the engine. Whatever. The light turned green, and Jax pulled onto the road.

Three minutes later, his phone buzzed again. Jax lasted another thirty seconds before reaching for it at a red light.

Pomni: WAIT Pomni: is that the pancake place Kaufmo: she says ‘unfortunately’ Gangle: i need to know if the pancakes are actually that big Kaufmo: stand by

A new photo appeared. This one was significantly less flattering. You were halfway out of the booth, reaching across the table while Kaufmo laughed hard enough to blur half the picture. Jax’s eyes fixated on yours.

Kaufmo: her phone’s dead so she would like everyone to know that this image was posted without her consent Kaufmo: and that she is threatening me Pomni reacted with a laughing emoji. Ragatha has saved an image. Kaufmo: the threats continue

Another photo appeared. Jax locked his phone, switched it to silent, and tossed it onto the passenger seat. Problem solved.

The rest of the route carried on as normal. Packages got delivered, signatures got collected. Somebody answered the door wearing a bathrobe at two in the afternoon, which was a sight Jax would've preferred not to have seen.

His phone remained silent.

The next delivery brought Jax to a house occupied by a man who apparently viewed accepting a package as the onset of a lifelong friendship.

"...and then my neighbor tells me the fence isn't on my property line."

Jax nodded politely. The phone vibrated in his pocket.

"...which would've been fine if he'd actually talked to me initially."

Another vibration.

"...but instead he starts quoting zoning regulations."

The phone vibrated again. Jax resisted the urge to bang his head against the nearest available surface. Following what seemed like an eternity, the man finally accepted his package and wished him a nice day.

Jax was back inside the van before the front door finished closing.

The phone came out immediately: forty-three unread messages.

His eyebrows lifted.

"...what the hell?"

The group chat had taken a sharp turn into an argument about giant pancakes. Pomni seemed convinced Kaufmo was exaggerating their size, while Gangle demanded additional photographic evidence. Judging by the steady stream of messages, neither of them had any intention of dropping the subject.

A newer photo sat near the bottom of the conversation. Before he managed to think better of it, Jax tapped it open.

The selfie had clearly been taken without your knowledge. You sat beside Kaufmo this time, your face partially hidden behind one hand as you giggled at something he'd said. Kaufmo looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Friday night hadn't even been three days ago. At the bar, most of your smiles had looked forced. Every conversation had seemed slightly off, like you were trying to convince everyone that nothing was wrong.

Here, whatever Kaufmo had said had you laughing so hard you had to hide your face.

His thumb drifted toward the keyboard before he could stop it. The message box opened. He typed something, hovered his thumb over send, then deleted the entire thing.

The light turned green before he could come up with anything better.

Ten minutes later, Jax was sitting outside another house, waiting for someone to answer the door, when he reached for his phone again.

The group chat was still active.

Pomni: wait Pomni: gangle your new chapter is trending again Gangle: WHAT Ragatha: congratulations!!! Gangle: NO NO NO NO Kaufmo: she's having a normal reaction

Jax scrolled upward. The coffee shop photos had already disappeared beneath newer messages.

His thumb hovered just above the keyboard before dropping away.

Whatever he'd considered saying earlier had missed its chance. The conversation had already moved on.

Three weeks passed.

The first thing to disappear was the greetings. At first, Jax didn’t notice.

There had been a "hey, Jax" whenever you walked through the door. Then it became a wave from across the room. Eventually, even that disappeared.

The effort disappeared with it.

No more checking how work had gone, no more lingering beside his stool while everyone else talked. No more trying to force conversations that clearly weren't going anywhere.

The strange part was that you never stopped showing up.

Every Friday, you still passed through the doors of the Tri-Angle. You still spent hours with the group. You still smiled when somebody told a joke.

If somebody hadn't been paying attention, they probably would've said everything was fine.

Jax had been paying attention.

Friday nights still belonged to Zooble.

The Tri-Angle was crowded enough that evening for Zooble to complain about it at least twice. Still, by ten o'clock, the group had claimed their usual section of the bar. Kaufmo was arguing with Pomni about something. From across the bar, Kinger was attempting to explain a programming problem that nobody understood.

You weren't there.

Nobody thought much of it. Late-night shoots had a habit of destroying whatever plans you'd made beforehand, and it had become a common occurrence for you to stumble into the bar an hour behind schedule, hair and clothes wind-whipped enough to suggest you'd sprinted directly from work. Waiting for you had become part of the routine, which was why nobody bothered to check. You always showed up eventually.

People continued to talk as drinks disappeared. The evening settled into its usual rhythm.

Sometime around midnight, Ribbit's phone buzzed.

She glanced down automatically, thumb already moving toward the screen. As her eyes scanned across the unlocked screen, her eyebrows pulled together.

Pomni noticed immediately. "What’s wrong?"

"...she says she's staying home tonight." Ribbit sighed.

The conversation stalled. For a moment, nobody seemed entirely sure what to do with that.

Then Ragatha laughed.

She'd spent the last twenty minutes finding increasingly questionable things funny, so nobody paid much attention to it. At some point, she'd also started leaning against Pomni for balance despite being perfectly capable of sitting upright on her own, which was usually a pretty reliable indicator that she'd had too much to drink.

"Honestly?"

Zooble let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, no."

"No, seriously." Ragatha pointed her glass in Jax's general direction. The gesture missed by several feet. "I don't even blame her."

"What does that mean?" Jax frowned.

Ragatha lazily blinked at him. "What do you mean, what does that mean?"

"Ragatha."

That only seemed to make her laugh harder.

"No, I'm serious."

The smile never left her face. "Why spend Friday night feeling miserable when she could stay home?"

The entire table went silent. For the first time all evening, Ragatha seemed to notice the reaction she'd gotten.

"What?" she asked, looking between everyone. "You all know I'm right."

"Ragatha," Zooble warned.

"What?" She laughed again, her glass clinking on the counter. "Every Friday, she comes in here and tries to talk to him, and every Friday he acts like she's some random person he met at a bus stop."

Across the table, several people suddenly found their drinks fascinating.

Jax felt his jaw tighten. "Can we not do this?"

"Do what?" Ragatha asked.

"Whatever this is.” He glared.

Ragatha laughed. "Oh my god, see? That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

Jax groaned. “Fantastic. Great conversation.”

Ragatha paused to take another sip of her drink before continuing. “You've been acting weird.”

"That's a pretty rich statement coming from this table."

Pomni groaned. "Don't drag us into this."

"No, please do," Kaufmo muttered. "I'd love to hear where this goes."

Ragatha squinted at Jax. "I'm serious."

"Dangerous thing to say after four drinks."

Ragatha ignored him. "You've spent the last three months acting like the two of you never happened."

Jax's expression stiffened. "Oh, here we go. Great."

"I’m serious, Jax.” The amusement had mostly disappeared from Ragatha’s voice now. "You act like she was just some friend from work."

"Ragatha."

"You called your girlfriend 'kid.'"

Jax let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, come on.”

Nobody joined in.

"It was one time," he shot back. "I call everyone 'kid,' for god's sake."

"Not her." The response came from Pomni before she seemed to realize she'd said it out loud.

The table went quiet again. Jax hated that.

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

Ragatha stared at him for a second.

"The point is that she kept trying." She slumped farther against the bar, a quiet laugh slipping from her. "Most people would've given up way sooner. But she didn't."

Jax said nothing.

"And every time, you acted like she was a total stranger."

"That's not what happened."

"It kind of is," Ribbit said quietly.

Jax's head snapped in her direction. Ribbit didn't look away.

Ragatha sighed. "You know what the worst part is?"

The second Ragatha asked the question, Jax dragged a hand down his face.

"She kept giving you chances." The smile was completely gone now. "And you kept wasting them."

Ragatha looked down into her drink. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.

"...I don't think she's staying home because she had a long day."

The words hit harder than they should have. Because Jax knew exactly what she meant.

"You guys spent years glued to each other. You used to follow each other everywhere." Ragatha slumped further against Pomni, who looked like she wanted to disappear beneath the bar. "And then we get out, and suddenly you won't even look at her."

"I look at her."

Unfortunately, that only made Ragatha laugh harder.

"There!"

"What?"

"You said it like that."

Jax threw his hands up. "What is that even supposed to mean?"

Ragatha looked around the table. "See? He doesn't even know he's doing it."

"Oh my god," Jax muttered.

Nobody seemed particularly willing to rescue him. Gangle glanced up from the sketchbook she'd been hunched over all evening.

"She's right." Gangle’s voice was so quiet that Jax nearly missed it. She shrank slightly under the attention turned her way, but she didn't take back her words. "You always notice."

Jax frowned.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You still look at the door every time it opens, and you knew she wasn't coming before Ribbit read the text." Gangle looked back down at the page in front of her. 

“...you always notice."

Nobody spoke. Jax hated that even more.

Across the bar, Kinger set his glass down. "I thought you were going to marry her,” he commented.

The radio silence that followed was immediate.

Pomni buried her face in her hands. "Kinger."

“What?” he insisted. “They were together for years.”

"Not helping."

"Oh."

Realization slowly crossed Kinger's face.

"...sorry."

Jax pushed back from the table so abruptly that his stool nearly tipped over.

"Yeah. Alright.”

He snatched his jacket off the back of his chair.

"Have fun."

"Jax—" Pomni started.

"Don’t." The word came out sharper than he'd intended. Jax shoved his arms into the sleeves. "I'm done."

"Where are you going?" Pomni asked.

"Work."

Kaufmo glanced toward the windows. "It's...after midnight?"

"Congratulations." Jax yanked his jacket straight. "You can tell time."

Then he turned and headed for the door.

"Jax," Zooble called out to him.

He didn't stop.

Behind him, Ragatha sighed into her drink. "I still think I'm right."

"That's because you're drunk," Zooble replied.

The door slammed shut before Jax could hear the rest.

The first hour wasn't so bad.

Jax spent most of it angry.

Angry at Ragatha. Angry at Kinger. Angry at Pomni and Kaufmo and Ribbit and Zooble. Angry at Gangle for apparently keeping track of how often he looked at the door like some kind of deranged wildlife researcher.

Mostly, he was angry that nobody had disagreed.

The warehouse sat mostly empty at this hour. A few trucks were still being loaded beneath harsh fluorescent lights, but otherwise, the building had settled into the strange half-silence that came with late-night shifts.

Jax preferred it. People couldn't ask stupid questions if they weren't awake.

A supervisor handed him a clipboard.

"Didn't know you were on tonight."

"Yeah."

The man cast a glance at his watch. “Volunteered?"

"Something like that."

The supervisor looked unconvinced. Jax didn't bother to elaborate.

Twenty minutes later, he was back on the road.

The city looked different at two in the morning. Traffic had thinned, and most storefronts were dark. Streetlights painted long stretches of pavement gold and orange beneath the windshield.

For a while, the deliveries gave him something else to focus on.

Work had always been good for that. Give Jax a route, a truck, and enough packages to keep him busy, and most problems became significantly easier to ignore.

Then he stopped at a red light and looked up.

A modeling campaign from last month covered the side of the building across the intersection.

Jax recognized it immediately. Of course he did. You were wearing the same outfit he'd seen in at least a dozen behind-the-scenes photos by now.

He stared at the billboard in disbelief before dragging a hand down his face.

The light turned green. Jax drove on.

Twenty minutes later, he delivered a stack of magazines to a convenience store. The top copy slipped while he was unloading the bundle.

Jax caught sight of the cover before he could look away. You gazed back at him from the front page.

The photo looked familiar.

Jax remembered the shoot because you'd hated it. Half the evening had been spent listening to you complain while Ragatha stole fries off your plate and Pomni attempted to guess how many times you'd threatened to quit.

Apparently, the answer had been seven.

Jax remembered all of it.

He remembered you showing up on a Friday night, still annoyed about it. He remembered Ragatha stealing the jacket from the shoot and refusing to give it back for three hours.

The memory arrived so easily it annoyed him.

Jax shoved the magazine back into the stack and headed for the truck.

The route continued. The roads had mostly emptied by now. It should've been easier to focus.

Instead, every few stops brought another reminder.

A clothing store window displayed part of a campaign you'd modeled for last winter. A bus shelter featured a cosmetics advertisement he vaguely recognized from a group chat photo.

Later, he passed a coffee shop and remembered Kaufmo's stupid pancake pictures.

The connection irritated him.

None of it should've meant anything. Three months had passed.

Jax stopped at another light as someone crossed the street ahead of him.

For half a second, he thought it was you. The jacket looked familiar, and the walk did, too. Then the woman turned and kept going. Wrong person.

Jax exhaled sharply through his nose and drove on.

Ten minutes later, it happened again.

A reflection in a storefront window caught his attention. Jax looked over automatically, then realized it wasn't you.

The irritation lingered considerably longer than the mistake itself. Jax spent the next several blocks trying very hard not to think about why he'd looked in the first place. The effort went about as well as expected.

The route had ended nearly half an hour ago, but he kept driving anyway. At some point, downtown had replaced the suburbs. The streets felt tighter here, buildings crowding closer together as they disappeared past the windshield.

It wasn't until a bookstore appeared on the corner ahead that something clicked.

The memory came from those first few weeks after escaping, back when everything still felt like a hazy dream.

You'd spotted the bookstore through the passenger window and immediately started talking. Jax couldn't remember what book had started the conversation anymore. He only remembered promising he'd take you there next week.

Next week never happened.

The bookstore vanished behind him.

A few blocks later, he passed a movie theater. Jax remembered promising to take you there, too. He swore under his breath.

This whole night was a long, elaborate joke.

Everywhere he looked, there you were.

Not actually. That would've been easier.

Instead, every reminder seemed to prompt another. A billboard turned into a conversation. A conversation turned into something he'd forgotten he'd promised. Before long, Jax was thinking about things he'd spent the last three months trying very hard not to think about.

You always notice.

Most people would've given up way sooner.

"Yeah, well,” Jax murmured, voice low in his throat. The empty truck offered no counterargument.

This was getting ridiculous.

Three months. Three months of everybody minding their own business. Then suddenly, in the span of one night, everybody had an opinion.

I thought you were going to marry her.

Jax clenched his grip on the wheel hard enough that his knuckles went white. Kinger had said it with the same certainty he'd use to tell someone the sky was blue.

A horn sounded behind him.

Jax flinched.

The light had turned green.

He accelerated through the intersection, took the next right automatically, then another.

A minute later, he looked up. The apartment building sat half a block ahead.

Jax’s eyes widened. He genuinely couldn't remember deciding to come here.

Then he looked at the street signs. The recognition settled heavily in his stomach.

He knew this route.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

At some point, without meaning to, he'd driven straight to you. The building remained stubbornly unconcerned as Jax dropped his head back against the seat. This was a terrible idea.

An unbelievably terrible idea.

Unfortunately, leaving would've required admitting he was here in the first place.

The banging violently ripped you from the middle of a dream.

Your eyes jerked open.

For a few disoriented seconds, you just stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what was happening. The apartment was dark. The clock beside your bed read 3:12 AM.

The banging came again, aggressive enough to rattle your bedroom door.

"What the hell?" You shoved the blankets aside and stumbled out of bed. The knocking hadn't stopped by the time you reached the living room.

Whoever was outside apparently possessed neither patience nor self-preservation.

"Holy shit, I'm coming!"

The pounding stopped.

You reached the door, unlocked it, and yanked it open. The annoyance died immediately.

Jax was standing in the hallway.

You genuinely thought you were still dreaming.

His jacket was half-zipped, and his hair looked like he'd been dragging his hands through it for hours. There was something wrong with his expression.

You'd seen Jax annoyed before. You'd seen him frustrated. This was neither of those.

He looked absolutely furious.

"Jax?"

"You stopped trying."

You blinked. “What?"

"You stopped trying." The words came out sharp enough to cut glass.

You gave him an empty stare.

"...have you completely lost your mind?"

"You stopped trying."

"It’s three in THE MORNING."

"I know what time it is, for god's sake." Jax’s voice was practically a snarl.

"...why are you at my apartment?"

"Because apparently somebody has to say something!" The exclamation echoed down the hallway.

Your jaw dropped. "Are you serious right now?"

"Oh, I'm dead serious."

The anger hit all at once. Months of frustration and confusion crashed together, along with every unanswered question you'd spent the last three months trying not to think about. Three months of wondering what the hell had happened.

"You don't get to do this."

"Do what?"

"THIS." You pointed directly at him. "You spend months acting like I don't exist, and then you show up here in the middle of the night acting like I'M the problem?"

"I never said you were the problem!"

"Then what exactly are you saying!?"

"You gave up!"

Suddenly, the fact that Jax was standing outside your apartment at three in the morning seemed significantly less ridiculous than what had just come out of his mouth.

"...I gave up?"

"Yeah."

"I gave up?"

"That's what I said."

You laughed. The sound carried absolutely no humor. "I spent months trying to talk to you."

"I know."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"No, you DON'T." Every word came louder than the last. "You wouldn't look at me."

"I looked at you."

"Yeah, from across the room. Amazing. Should I throw you a parade?" The sarcasm dripped from every syllable. "You want a trophy?"

Jax's jaw tensed. "You know what I mean."

"No. Apparently, I don't." You stepped forward. "So explain it to me."

"You stopped showing up."

"I missed ONE FRIDAY!"

"It wasn't ABOUT FRIDAY!"

"THEN WHAT WAS IT ABOUT?!"

The question hung in the air for less than a second before both of you started talking at once.

"You spent months—"

"Because every time I—"

"You shut me out—"

"That’s ridiculous, I never shut you out—"

"That is complete bullshit—"

"Maybe if you'd actually listened—"

Neither of you seemed capable of finishing a sentence before the other interrupted. Every answer turned into another accusation. Every attempt to explain something only made the other person angrier. The conversation jumped from missed calls to awkward Fridays at the bar to every miserable interaction that had piled up over the last three months, each accusation dragging another one behind it. It picked up speed with each turn until both of you were screaming over each other.

"I kept trying!"

"I KNOW!"

"Clearly you DIDN’T!"

"You think I didn't notice?"

"Then why didn't you DO ANYTHING!?"

For the first time all night, Jax didn't have an answer. The silence felt abrupt after all the shouting. The two of you just stood there, glaring at each other, both breathing hard from an argument that had gotten completely out of control.

"You know what your problem is?" you demanded.

Jax laughed. "Please. Enlighten me."

"You're cold."

His expression darkened. "Don't."

"You're calculating."

"Stop."

"You spend months pretending you don't care, and then you show up here acting like—"

"STOP."

"—like you're somehow the VICTIM in all of this." Your voice cracked. You continued anyway.

"You're cold! You're calculating! You're as cold as ice and I AM SO SICK OF—"

Jax yanked you forward by the collar, mouth crashing into yours harsh enough to knock the breath from your lungs. The rest of the sentence vanished instantly.

The force of it knocked you backward a step. Jax immediately followed, one hand finding your waist before you could create any real distance between the two of you. The movement felt almost instinctive, like he couldn't stand the space for even a second.

For one stunned heartbeat, your brain stopped working.

Your hands found the front of his jacket. His found your waist.

The kiss wasn't gentle. Neither of you seemed interested in gentle anymore.

Every bit of frustration you'd spent months swallowing seemed to collide in the space between you. When you finally broke apart, it was only because breathing had become a practical necessity.

Jax barely gave you the chance.

The moment you inhaled, he dove in again, his forehead knocking briefly against yours in the process.

You winced. Jax laughed against your lips, but the sound was submerged the second you grabbed his jacket and pulled him back down. Your fingers twisted deep into the fabric, one side of it becoming completely bunched beneath your grip. 

"You are unbelievable.” You hated how breathless you sounded.

"So I've been told." You hated how pleased he looked.

You hated that none of it mattered. The argument wasn't over.

Jax’s mouth found your neck before you could continue it.

He backed you into the apartment without giving either of you a chance to reconsider. The front door slammed shut behind him as the living room blurred past in disconnected pieces.

The back of your knees collided with the couch, and by the time you realized what was happening, it was already too late.

You dropped flat onto the cushions with a startled sound.

Jax followed immediately afterward, one hand braced against the back of the couch as he climbed onto you. Your arms wrapped around his neck.

His jacket remained twisted, and your shirt collar had been pulled crooked somewhere near the front door.

The argument still lingered between the two of you, unfinished and impossible to ignore. You could feel it in every frustrated movement, every rough attempt to pull the other closer.

Jax was even harder to ignore.

"Still mad at me?" his breath was hot against your ear.

You didn’t meet his eyes. "Extremely."

The corner of his mouth curled into the most infuriatingly self-satisfied smirk you'd ever seen.

"Good."

He didn't wait for an answer. His mouth found yours again, one hand tangling in your hair as if he could pull you right into his chest.

You were definitely going to have bruises tomorrow.