#jack brewer

It’s nearly midnight by the time your friend finally heads home. Honestly, it was your fault for assuming the mall would still be somewhat busy. You knew the neighborhood was mostly families, and it was a school night — but the only available showing of the new movie started fifteen minutes before closing.

So now here you were, stepping out of the theater into the open-air mall, the cold night air wrapping around you like a reminder that you’d miscalculated. Aside from the last straggling employees in the theater lobby, everything else was shuttered and dark. The problem with outdoor malls is that once the sun went down, it turned into a ghost town.

That’s when you heard it.

Footsteps.

A second set — behind yours. Steady. Not too close, but close enough that your pulse jumped.

A part of you wanted to stop and see if they stopped too, but the thought of hearing their steps approach made your stomach twist. So instead, you picked up your pace, heading toward the mall’s main walkway. Maybe Joan, the mall cop, was still doing her patrol. Maybe someone on night shift would be nearby. Someone.

You kept telling yourself you were imagining it — the way the steps matched yours, the faint scrape of gravel, the silhouette that slipped behind a lamppost just a little too slowly.

You were staring straight ahead, hyperfocused, when you collided with someone — solid, warm, and definitely not a lamppost.

“Whoa— hey,” A familiar voice said, hands catching your elbows before you could stumble back, “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

You blinked up, lungs finally unclenching—

Jack Brewer.

You didn't really know him but Jack was infamous at Seaford High and was quite popular for his good looks.

Also the fact that it was well known he could kick ass.

Relief washed through you so suddenly it was like being dunked in cold water — shocking but grounding. Your shoulders sagged, breath stuttering out of you.

“Everything okay?” He asked, brow furrowing.

It was obvious you weren’t. You were breathing too fast, clutching your keys between your fingers like claws, gripping your dead phone so tightly your knuckles were turning white. And on top of it all — you could feel tears gathering, that hot, stinging pressure that gave you away instantly.

“Oh. Yep.” You nodded too quickly, “Totally. Fine.”

Jack gave you that look — the one halfway between Really? and I can see your heart trying to exit your body.

“You sure?”

You hesitated.

Jack Brewer. Kim Crawford’s best friend. And Kim — the girl who kicked a guy in the balls for making a sexist joke. If she trusted Jack, he had to be decent. And he’d always been kind to you. Respectful. Smiley. No one had ever given you a reason to doubt him.

“I think someone was following me.” You breathed out.

Jack went still.

His eyes sharpened. His posture shifted — not panicked, but alert. Focused.

“Where?” He asked softly.

You glanced over your shoulder. Nothing. Just the long stretch of empty walkway and a mall directory sign creaking in the wind.

“I don’t know,” You admitted, “Maybe I’m imagining it. But it felt… weird.”

Jack nodded once, thoughtful, “Where are you headed?”

“Oh, I’m just going back to my place.”

He straightened, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag, “I’ll walk you home.”

Your eyebrows lifted, “Jack, you don’t have to—”

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled — small, steady, reassuring, “I’m already headed that way.”

He definitely wasn’t. But your hands were still shaking too badly to refuse twice.

He fell into step beside you, and while you kept darting glances toward every shadow, Jack walked with that calm, easy confidence he always had. You wondered what it must be like — to never feel unsafe at night. Then you briefly wondered if Kim ever felt that way either, despite being just as skilled.

“So,” Jack said after a few steps, “What were you doing out so late?”

It startled you out of your vigilance for a moment. You looked up at him, “Oh — I came for a late showing of that new movie.”

“Now You See Me?”

When you nodded, his face lit up, "How was it?”

“Not good.”

Jack winced playfully, “That’s tragic. I’ve been waiting to see it.”

A small laugh escaped you — shaky but real.

After a moment, feeling rude that you hadn't reciprocated, you asked, “What about you? Why are you out this late?”

He shrugged his duffel bag higher on his shoulder, “Championship next week. I just wanted to get in a little extra training.”

“At midnight?”

He grinned sheepishly, “I know. Sensei said I could lock up, and… I don’t know. I just wanted to practice while it was quiet.”

“It’s nice that you’re so passionate about it,” You admitted, “I wish I had a hobby or a passion like that sometimes.”

Jack shot you a sideways look, something amused flickering in his eyes. After a moment, he nudged your shoulder lightly, “You know… maybe you should give karate a try.”

That made you laugh — a soft, surprised sound that eased some of the tension still clinging to your nerves.

“Jack, I can’t even open a water bottle sometimes. I think my true potential would be… how do I put this… extremely unrealized in karate.”

Jack laughed too — a bright, warm sound that echoed in the quiet street, “Trust me. If Milton can do it, then I’m sure you can.”

You blinked. Then laughed again, “Oh yeah. I keep forgetting Milton does karate.”

Jack nodded proudly, “He’s a green belt now. When I met the guy, he was still a beginner.”

“He’s really come out of his shell since you moved to Seaford,” You said, smiling at the thought, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so sweet. He always holds the door for everyone.”

Jack’s steps slowed just a little — so subtle anyone else would’ve missed it. A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. It shouldn’t have meant as much as it did, but hearing someone talk kindly about a friend he cared so much about?

That hit different.

“Yeah,” He said softly, warmth threading through his voice, “He’d be really happy to hear you say that.”

You glanced up at him, “Well… it’s true.”

Jack swallowed, his smile lingering — softer now, almost shy, “You’re sweet too.”

Heat crept up your cheeks before you could stop it. You laughed under your breath, looking down for a second and then back at him, “Well… thank you.”

For a moment, it didn’t feel like midnight anymore. Didn’t feel like you’d been terrified twenty minutes ago.

It felt like this — walking home beside Jack Brewer, the streetlights turning his hair gold, the night air quiet and safe. For a moment, you could’ve sworn this walk was the most important part of your day.

The conversation softened as you approached your street — the kind of soft where every sentence felt like it lingered in the air a bit longer than usual.

And before you knew it, you were at your building, standing in front of your door, the porch light flickering gently above you.

“Well,” You said quietly, fingers playing with your keys, “this is me.”

Jack nodded, shifting his duffel bag on his shoulder. He looked… reluctant to leave, “Yeah. Looks like it.”

You smiled up at him — really smiled this time, “Thank you. For walking me home. I know you didn’t have to.”

Jack returned the smile with one that made your stomach tilt, “You’re welcome.”

There was a small pause — warm, not awkward.

You hesitated, shifting your keys in your hand, “Please… let me know if there’s anything I can do to repay you.”

Jack shook his head immediately, “You don’t have to repay me.”

“But still—”

“Okay,” He cut in, voice warm but firm, “how about this?”

You blinked up at him.

“The next time you’re scared to walk home…” His eyes softened, “Just give me a call.”

Heat rushed to your face so fast it made you blink.

“Oh.” You tried to sound normal, “O-okay. I will.”

Jack’s lips twitched like he could see right through you and thought it was cute.

“Good.” He stepped back a little, hands sliding back into his pockets, the picture of casual confidence except for the faint pink on the tips of his ears, “Then… I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Your heart did the flip again — the one it kept doing around him, “Yeah. See you.”

Jack nodded, gave you one last soft smile, and turned to walk away. He didn’t leave until you unlocked your door and stepped inside.

And even then, he lingered for a heartbeat longer — just to make sure.

***

The next morning, you walked into school with a little skip in your step. The sun shone bright enough to make the day pleasant, but not hot. Your outfit felt perfect, your breakfast avocado had been flawless, and you couldn’t deny that the thought of possibly running into Jack today sent a flurry of butterflies straight through your chest.

After yesterday, you kept replaying your conversation with him, his gentle request for you to call if anything ever happened. It had you squealing quietly under the covers that night, cheeks burning. You could clearly see why so many girls had crushes on him. For a moment, you even caught yourself smiling at your locker combination, thinking about him.

Then something slipped out and fluttered to the floor.

A piece of paper. Folded twice.

Your brow furrowed as you picked it up, thinking perhaps you’d accidentally dropped a worksheet or misplaced notes. But the words on the page immediately stole the air from your lungs:

I saw you last night. You shouldn’t be alone with him. He doesn’t deserve you. I do.

A cold, prickling chill ran down your spine. Your breath hitched, and your eyes darted around the crowded hallway. Everyone else was laughing, exchanging papers, switching books—completely unaware that your world had just tilted.

Trembling, you shoved the note into your bag and marched straight to the office. Forty minutes later, you were still sitting there, chewing on your thumbnail, nerves fraying while security reviewed the tapes. The principal tried to stay calm, but your parents eventually barged in, having arrived in a whirlwind after being called.

“Any luck?” Your mom asked, urgency in her voice.

The principal’s phone buzzed, and he spoke quickly into it, “Unfortunately… this hallway has three hundred students passing through every morning. Security didn’t see anyone unusual.”

“Can’t we call the police about this?” Your dad pressed.

“Considering the note doesn’t contain any explicit threats and no actual harm has been carried out, the police won’t be much help. No physical harm, no known suspect, and technically, it could be a prank. They can take a statement—that’s it.”

“So… that’s it?” You whispered, voice small, the panic and frustration tight in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” The principal said gently, “For now, just stay aware. If anything else happens, come straight to me.”

Your hands were numb as you left the office. The morning had evaporated—first period was gone, and you were now well into second.

“Text us constantly, okay? Every class, every free period.” Your mom reminded you.

“We’ll try to drive you this week, but our shifts overlap—” Your dad added.

“I know, I know.” You murmured, feeling the weight of their worry pressing down on you. They wanted to protect you, but they simply couldn’t be everywhere at once.

“Do you want to go home? We could try taking the day off?” Your mom asked.

You shook your head, “No… I’d rather be here. There are more people, you know?”

“Baby, are you sure?” Your dad said softly, “Whoever did this could be a student. Maybe we should consider switching schools—”

You nodded, but your mind had already started to spiral, back to the note now filed in the principal’s office as part of an evidence trail. Your stomach twisted, and your chest felt impossibly tight, cold and heavy all at once. The icy grip of fear settled deep inside you.

And suddenly, last night with Jack—the warmth, the comfort, the way he’d made you feel safe—felt impossibly far away.

***

The third period dragged on in a haze. You tried desperately to act normal—taking notes, answering questions, nodding when spoken to—but your mind felt completely empty. Maybe it was luck that none of the teachers noticed the absolute daze you were in. Or perhaps they did, and simply didn’t want to bring it up. The words from the note burned in your chest, a cold, unwelcome weight that refused to leave, no matter how loudly the teacher droned on.

You kept glancing around, half-expecting to see the figure from last night lurking somewhere in the crowded halls. It was ridiculous—the hallway was bustling, hundreds of students moving in every direction, laughing, swapping papers, completely oblivious to your panic. And yet, every shadow, every shifting figure in the corner of your eye felt threatening.

By the time fourth period rolled around, you were hyper-aware of every movement. Someone brushed past your desk, jostling you slightly, and your heart immediately leapt into your throat. You clenched your pencil tighter, telling yourself it was normal. It had to be.

A long, weary sigh escaped you as you opened your locker again to swap out books for the next period. Empty. Everything in its place. You closed it a little too forcefully, and the clang echoed down the hallway.

Kim, your locker mate, turned at the sound, eyes sharp and curious as she caught the absolute run-down expression on your face.

“You okay? You look… pale.” She asked, voice casual but cutting.

You shook your head and forced a laugh, though it came out a little too short, a little too tight, “Yeah, yeah. Just tired. Late night.”

Kim narrowed her eyes, unconvinced, but she didn’t press. You hesitated a moment, then decided to speak, “Hey… did you happen to see anyone unusual hanging around by my locker this morning?”

She gave you a blank, slightly puzzled look, “Not that I remember… why?”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a weak smile, “No reason. Don’t worry about it.”

Kim didn’t look fully convinced, giving you a small, lingering glance before turning back to her own locker.

Before she could ask anything else, your phone buzzed in your hand. Your mom, checking in, as she had been all day. You answered quickly, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. The audible sigh on the other end only made your stomach twist tighter. It had been barely a couple of hours of this, and already you could feel your nerves fraying.

By lunch, exhaustion had settled over you—not physical, but mental. Your body was tense, muscles taut like piano wire. You moved through the cafeteria quickly, keeping your head down, glancing over your shoulder more times than you could count.

When you finally grabbed your lunch, your eyes scanned the cafeteria for your friends, who had gone ahead while you took the call with your mom. That’s when you saw him.

Jack Brewer.

He was walking past, casual as ever, with that easy smile that seemed to light up everything in its path. When his gaze landed on you, he waved. Your chest did a strange little flip—something you immediately tried to bury under a tight, cautious smile. You couldn’t let yourself wave back too openly, not with the thought that someone might be watching the interaction. Instead, you offered a small, careful smile before heading over to your friends.

Kim, watching you, raised a brow at the interaction.

“You two know each other?” She asked, curiosity edged with suspicion.

Jack shook his head lightly, shrugging, “Nah… we just ran into each other at the mall last night.”

His smile didn’t falter, even as you moved past him. Your friends greeted you warmly, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased just slightly. But deep down, you knew the note, the fear, the unknown presence lingering somewhere nearby—none of that was going away.

Still, just seeing Jack, even from a distance, made the weight feel a little lighter. For now.

***

Jack’s footsteps echoed down the crowded hallway as he made his way toward Kim. He spotted her leaning against her locker, scrolling through her phone, and hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Hey… uh, is everything okay with you?” He asked, trying to sound casual, though there was an edge to his voice—a concern he couldn’t quite hide.

Kim looked up, eyebrows raised, “What? Where’s that coming from?” Her tone was sharp, half-annoyed, half-curious.

Jack ran a hand through his hair, “I’m only asking because… I got this weird note in my locker.” He fished it out from his bag and handed it to her.

Kim took it, reading the short, chilling message quickly:

She belongs to me. Stay away from her.

Her eyes narrowed, the words sinking in. “Uh… okay… what?” She held the note at arm’s length, confused, “Who’s this about?”

Jack shrugged, a little defensive, the unease clear in his tense shoulders, “I… don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

Kim blinked, and then a memory clicked—your nervous voice, the question you’d asked her earlier. Her gaze sharpened, flicking up at him, “Wait. You got this in your locker?”

Jack nodded slowly, the unease in his chest growing,. “Yeah… why?”

Kim’s mind raced, connecting the dots, “You said you hung out with (Y/N) last night, right? What were you two doing together?”

Jack furrowed his brow in confusion, “Uh… she ran into me. Said she thought someone was following her, so I walked her home.”

Kim pressed her lips into a thin line, glancing at the note again, her sharp eyes narrowing. Then, finally, her voice dropped to a low, certain tone, “I think this… might be about her. (Y/N). I think she got a similar note in her locker today.”

Jack’s stomach sank. His confusion evaporated, replaced with a jolt of concern that tightened around his chest.

“She told you this?” He asked quickly, a little desperate.

“No,” Kim said, shaking her head, “But she’s been acting… off all day. Nervous, jumpy, keeps looking over her shoulder. And she asked me if I’d seen anyone weird hanging around her locker this morning.”

Jack’s mind raced. His chest tightened, a protective instinct kicking in before he even realized it.

Kim watched him for a moment, her eyes narrowing knowingly, “You’re going to be careful, right?”

“Yeah. Don't worry about me."

Kim sighed, closing her locker shut, "Kind of hard not to. You're like a trouble magnet."

***

You were shoving your notebooks into your bag after fifth period, fingers stiff and clumsy from the constant anxiety buzzing under your skin. You swallowed around the tightness in your throat and slipped your phone away.

You shut your locker door.

And nearly jumped out of your skin.

Jack was standing there.

Not close—he’d left a noticeable gap, like he’d approached slowly, carefully—but close enough that the sudden sight of him made your heart slam against your ribs.

“Oh—sorry,” He said immediately, hands lifting in surrender, “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Your pulse slowly unclenched, “No, no, you’re good. Just… jumpy today.”

Jack hesitated. And that alone made your nerves spike.

He wasn’t awkward—not from what you’d seen of him around school. He was always loud, always joking, always moving with a kind of restless confidence that made people look. But now? He looked… out of place in his own skin. Tense. Focused. Like he was worried one wrong move might set off a landmine.

“Um,” He started, rubbing the back of his neck—a hesitant gesture that felt borrowed from someone quieter, “Can I talk to you for a sec? It’s kind of… important.”

Your brows knit together. The prickling at the back of your neck sharpened. Jack Brewer had no reason to seek you out—not really. You weren’t close. You weren’t even in the same friend group. Most days, your conversations didn’t go beyond polite nods in class.

Your eyes flicked around the hallway, hyperaware of every pair of eyes. Every whisper. Every passing student who might be watching.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, voice tightening.

Jack let out a slow breath through his nose—the kind people take when they’re trying to break something gently, “I—I really don’t want to freak you out more than you already are. But I think… I think you should see this.”

He reached into his backpack.

Your stomach dropped before the paper even appeared.

He held it out—folded, creased, the edges slightly bent. Something about the way he offered it, careful and solemn, made your fingers shake as you took it.

You unfolded it.

Your vision swayed the second the words registered.

Your throat tightened so sharply you couldn’t catch a breath.

“Oh my god,” You whispered, the words cracking apart, “Oh my god—Jack, I’m so sorry. I’m—this is all my fault.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up, confusion breaking through his tension, “Hey—hey, what? Why are you apologizing? What’s going on?”

You pressed the heel of your hand to your forehead, fighting to steady your breathing, “I don’t know. I swear I don’t know. Everything is just—happening so fast and—”

Your voice buckled under the pressure in your chest.

“And now you got dragged into it because of me.” The shame burned hot and deep, “I’m so sorry.”

Jack stepped half a foot closer—not enough to crowd you, just enough that you could feel his presence, warm and grounding.

“(Y/N),” He said softly, firmly, “stop apologizing. This isn’t your fault. Whoever wrote this—that’s on them. Not you.”

Your jaw trembled as you looked up at him, eyes shiny, “Aren’t you scared?”

Jack blinked. Then scoffed—quiet but sharp, “Yeah. For the idiot who thought it was a good idea to pull this shit.”

His voice softened, "Are you?"

You tried to inhale, but it came out thin and shaky, “Terrified.”

***

The past week had been… exhausting.

Every day, your parents had been picking you up from school—making sure you weren’t alone for even a second. It was comforting, yes, but as the days went by and nothing else happened, a small part of you began to wonder if maybe you had been a little overdramatic. You hadn’t gotten another letter. No strange footsteps behind you. No shadows lingering at the edges of your vision.

Maybe it really had been a one‑time thing. Maybe it had come from some girl obsessed with Jack, meant to scare you off. Not the first time it’s happened, you imagined. And honestly, you couldn’t entirely blame them.

Still, your parents refused to “pretend like nothing had happened,” ever the overprotective ones.

Until today.

Both of them were stuck at work—meetings, deadlines, emergencies that couldn’t be avoided. Their voices over the phone had been apologetic, worried, but firm:

“Stay in the library until we can get there. Don’t leave. Don’t—just… stay there.”

So now you were tucked into a corner of the school library, books stacked around you like a makeshift barricade, waiting for hours that stretched endlessly. The clock ticked with cruel slowness. You checked your phone for the hundredth time. Still nothing from your parents.

Just the low hum of fluorescent lights and the soft scratch of pencils across paper.

And then you noticed him.

Jack.

He was accompanying Milton—no surprise there; the ginger practically lived in the library. Jack looked bored, leaning on one foot and scrolling on his phone while Milton rambled about something.

But then his eyes lifted. Found you. Held.

His expression shifted—barely, but enough—and he murmured something to Milton before heading in your direction, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he approached.

“Hey,” He said quietly, careful not to break the library hush, “What are you doing all the way back here by yourself?”

You shrugged, trying for casual even though your shoulders were tight with leftover nerves, “Just… waiting for my parents. They’re picking me up later.”

Jack’s brow furrowed, faint but noticeable. He glanced around the library as if checking who else was there before looking back at you, “Later? How long are you stuck here?”

“Until the end of the day,” You admitted softly, “They both have work. There’s… no one else.”

He paused, processing that. Then he gave you the small, determined half‑smile you were starting to learn meant he was about to insist on something.

“Then I’ll walk you home.”

You froze, “Oh, no—you don’t have to—”

“Don’t worry about it,” He cut in gently, “I’d feel bad if you were stuck here for the rest of the day.”

You shook your head quickly, polite but firm, “No, really, Jack. I appreciate it. My parents just want to pick me up, you know—because of safety and… things.”

“I’d like to see this person try something on me,” He said, leaning back slightly, confidence slipping into his voice. “I’m a triple black belt, you know.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped, “Show‑off.”

He grimaced instantly, “I know. I’m embarrassed too. So don’t make me show off even more and humiliate myself. Just let me walk you home?”

Your teeth pressed gently into your lip.

Part of you wanted to refuse—to prove you were fine, that you didn’t need protecting. But another part—the part that remembered the note, the panic, the cold dread—wanted to accept the moment he offered.

Finally, you exhaled and nodded, barely above a whisper.

“Okay.”

Jack’s shoulders loosened, just barely. A small, relieved smile tugged at his lips as he straightened.

“Cool. I’ll tell Milton I’m heading out in a minute. Just pack up whenever you’re ready.”

You pursed your lips to hide a smile.

***

It had been a few days now. Every afternoon, like clockwork, Jack had shown up after school to walk you home. At first, it had been awkward—half-smiles, hesitant conversation—but now it had become routine, a small comfort in a week that had otherwise been tense and exhausting.

Still, guilt gnawed at you every time he appeared, backpack slung over one shoulder, that familiar confident stride in place.

“You really don’t have to do this every day,” You said one afternoon, keeping your voice low as you walked beside him, “I mean… I’m sure you’ve got more important things than walking me home.”

Jack glanced at you, eyebrows lifting, that half-grin tugging at his mouth. “Nah,” He said casually, “We usually just hang out a bit before it’s time for class at the dojo anyway.”

You bit your lip, shaking your head, “That makes me feel worse. You should be hanging out with your friends, not me.”

His grin widened, and there was a playful twinkle in his eye, “I am hanging out with a friend.”

Your eyes widened slightly, warmth spreading across your face, “Oh.”

He shrugged, nonchalant but sincere, “Don’t overthink it. I like walking you home.”

But as the walk continued, you couldn’t shake the guilt. He was always rearranging his time, always adjusting his plans, and you hated that you were making him do it.

You hesitated, then blurted out, “I just… I feel bad that you’re constantly changing your schedule for me. I don’t want to make you miss out on things.”

He tilted his head, curious, “Miss out on what?”

"I dunno. Whatever you usually do, I guess."

You shrugged, trying to make it sound casual, but your chest was tight. “Maybe… maybe I could just—” You trailed off, unsure how to say it without sounding desperate.

Jack raised a brow, clearly intrigued, “Maybe you could…?”

“I don’t know,” You muttered, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets, “Join you at the dojo sometimes? I mean, I won’t get in your way or anything, but…”

His eyes softened, and that same faint smirk tugged at his lips, “You mean… watch me train?”

“No,” You said quickly, cheeks heating, “I mean… if it’s okay, I could come early and wait until your class is over? That way you’re not rushing, and maybe you won’t have to skip stuff for me.”

Jack laughed softly, a warm, easy sound that made your heart flutter, “You know what? That actually sounds… kind of nice. And, trust me, I don’t mind. Really.”

***

The dojo took a bit of getting used to. It was always either way too warm, making the back of your shirt stick to the mat, or freezing, the kind of cold that made your fingers ache no matter how much you rubbed them together. But you didn’t have it in you to complain—not today, not when Jack was already doing you a favor just by letting you hang out here.

And if you were being honest… you liked the atmosphere. There was a rhythm to the place, a pulse of energy that was hard not to get swept up in. The sharp thud of feet against mats, the faint smell of sweat mixed with cleaner, the occasional grunt of effort—it all felt alive.

Jack’s friends were funny, too. Kim was always excited to see you, lighting up whenever you came into the room. Milton, ever the sweetheart, made sure you were included in every joke or drill. And Jerry… well, Jerry was a tornado of energy, impossible to ignore, but somehow he always managed to make space for you in his chaotic orbit. Watching them train was almost mesmerizing, but Jack was the one you couldn’t take your eyes off. Precision, focus, control—he moved like he owned the space, but when he glanced at you, there was something softer behind the confidence.

And those glances… Jack caught your eye occasionally, just long enough to make your stomach flip. One moment he was demonstrating a move, the next his gaze lingered a fraction too long on your hands as you struggled to mimic him. And then—oh, that little smile, the one that made your cheeks warm without a word.

Some afternoons, he’d demonstrate little things for you—how to shift your weight, how to hold a guard, how to breathe like it mattered. He was patient, careful, leaning close enough that you caught the faint scent of his shampoo, the warmth radiating off him. You stumbled through a clumsy punch, and he laughed softly, not mocking but amused.

“You’re getting the hang of it, (Y/N).” He said, and you rolled your eyes, sure he was just indulging you.

“Oh yeah, I’m clearly the next Bobby Wasabi.” You quipped, grinning.

He chuckled, a sound that made your stomach flutter, “Right. Just a couple more centuries of training and you’ll be amongst the greats.”

“Hey,” You teased, stepping closer, “A student’s only as good as their teacher, you know.”

Jack leaned casually against a training dummy, smirk tugging at his lips, “Oh? Then I guess I’m doing a fantastic job.” His gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary, slipping south for a second before snapping back to your eyes. That small, unintentional glance made your heart thump like a drum.

You laughed nervously, brushing your hair behind your ear, and he chuckled again, shaking his head, “Stop smiling like that. You’re distracting me.”

“Me? Distracting you?” You said, feigning shock.

“Yeah,” He said, smile widening, “You have that effect.”

You squared your shoulders, pretending to look serious, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you, and threw a half-hearted punch. Jack sidestepped with a laugh and caught your wrist lightly, "You probably shouldn't have done that."

Your stomach fluttered at the heat of his hand around your wrist, the way he held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary.

Jack’s thumb brushed against the inside of your wrist, barely there, like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. His grip wasn’t tight—more guiding than restraining—but it sent a spark straight up your arm anyway.

"You're teasing me." You murmured softly.

Jack’s lips twitched, like he’d been caught—and absolutely didn’t regret it. His thumb stilled for half a second, then traced that same spot again, deliberate this time.

He tilted his head, eyes flicking from your wrist back up to your face, reading you a little too easily. “If I were really teasing you,” He said, stepping closer, “You’d know.”

***

The dojo had mostly cleared out by the time Jack finished his last drill. The mats were scuffed, the air still warm with leftover energy, but the room felt quieter now—like it was finally exhaling.

You sat on the edge of the bench near the wall, backpack at your feet, legs swinging absently as you watched Jack towel off. He looked exhausted in that way that only made him more endearing—hair damp, shoulders rising and falling as he caught his breath.

“You ready?” He asked, grabbing his water bottle.

You hesitated, “Uh—actually, you don’t have to walk me home today.”

Jack paused mid-sip, brows knitting together, “Why not?”

You stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder, “You’ve got that championship coming up. You should be training, not cutting out early because of me.”

He scoffed lightly, “I’m not ditching anything.”

“I know,” You said quickly, shaking your head, “But still. I don’t want to interrupt. My dad’s gonna stop by and pick me up anyway, so it’s fine. You really don’t have to worry about it.”

Jack studied you for a moment, like he was deciding whether to argue. Then he exhaled—slow, resigned—and nodded, “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am.” You promised, offering a small smile.

He didn’t move to go back to training right away, though. Instead, he leaned against the wall beside you, close enough that your arms almost brushed.

A beat of silence settled between you.

“You nervous about the competition?” You asked softly.

“Nah,” He said easily, “Not really.”

Another pause.

The kind that made you suddenly aware of how close he was. How the room seemed to narrow, like it had decided it only cared about the two of you now.

Jack shifted, running a hand through his hair. “Hey, uh…” His voice dropped, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to—”

At the exact same time, you said, “Can I tell you something?”

You both froze.

He let out a quiet laugh, more nervous than amused, “You go.”

“No, you.” You said immediately.

“No, really,” He insisted, eyes warm now, hopeful, “What were you gonna say?”

Your heart thudded. You swallowed.

“I just… I wanted to say that—”

Your breath hitched and the words slipped away, because Jack was looking at you differently now. Not casual. Not playful. Really looking at you.

For a moment, the world felt unbearably still.

His gaze flicked down—just for a second—to your lips.

Your chest tightened.

Without thinking, you leaned in a fraction.

He did too, slow and careful, like he was giving you time to change your mind.

The space between you shrank.

And then—

“Who wants Falafel Phil’s?!”

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

Rudy burst through the side door, loud and grinning, clapping his hands together. “You gotta keep your energy up if you wanna tr—” He stopped short, eyes darting between the two of you, “…Oh. Did I interrupt something?”

Jack straightened instantly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Rudy.”

Your face burned, heart still racing, breath uneven. If he’d been one second later, you might’ve—

“Hi, Rudy.” You managed.

Rudy smirked. “Don’t mind me,” He said, already backing away, pointing vaguely behind him, “I’ll go get us dinner.”

Before either of you could recover, your phone started ringing.

You glanced at the screen.

Dad.

“Um,” You said quickly, answering, “Yeah—yeah, I’m here. Okay. I’ll come out.”

You hung up, suddenly very aware of how fast your heart was still beating.

“My dad’s here,” You said softly, “I should go.”

Jack nodded, disappointment flickering across his face before he masked it with a small smile, “Yeah. Tomorrow?”

You smiled back, warm and breathless, “Tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you then.” He said.

“See you, Jack.”

You walked toward the door, heart buzzing, knowing—deep down—that whatever you’d almost said… wasn’t going to stay unspoken much longer.

***

The next morning felt… unreal.

Like the world had shifted slightly off its axis and you were the only one who could feel it.

You stood by Jack’s locker longer than you probably should have, pretending to reorganize your bag while your eyes flicked down the hallway every few seconds. Each time footsteps approached, your heart jumped.

He never came.

Just as you were debating whether you should head to class, your phone buzzed in your hand.

Jack: I overslept. I’m so sorry 😭 running late—promise I’ll find you at lunch ❤️

Your breath caught.

You stared at the little red heart longer than necessary, lips pressing together to keep from smiling like an idiot in the middle of the hallway. Your thumb hovered over the screen, imagining him on the other end—hair messy, probably pacing, definitely overthinking whether that heart was too much.

It’s fine. See you at lunch, you typed back, heart racing anyway.

As you slipped your phone into your pocket, warmth lingered in your chest. Last night still felt unfinished, like a sentence cut off halfway through—but somehow, that only made it better. Anticipation buzzed beneath your skin.

You had no idea how quickly that feeling would shatter.

***

The final bell had just rung. Most students had already poured out of the building, their voices echoing faintly from the main hallways. You were heading toward the side exit, backpack slung over your shoulder, ready to meet Jack so the two of you could walk to the dojo together.

You couldn’t really blame yourself. After a month of nothing—no notes, no sightings, no threats—you, your parents, and even the school had slowly started to believe it might go nowhere. That whoever it was had lost interest. Or gotten scared. Or realized it wasn’t worth it.

You were almost convinced of it yourself.

That was when you felt a tug at your elbow.

You turned sharply, acid crawling up your throat in surprise— and then immediately relaxed.

It was just a classmate.

Someone you recognized but barely knew. A familiar face from class. A boy you’d exchanged polite hellos with, maybe once helped pick up his papers when they’d spilled across the floor.

Nothing more.

“Oh,” You said, confused, “Hi?”

He smiled.

Wide. Wrong.

“You remember me.” He said.

Your skin prickled.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you,” He continued, stepping closer, “You keep avoiding me.”

Your heart started pounding. He wasn’t doing anything—nothing overt, nothing obvious—but there was something in his eyes that made your stomach twist, your lunch threatening to come back up.

You stepped back, trying to wrench your arm free.

He stepped forward.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t noti—”

“Of course you didn’t notice,” He snapped, the words coming through clenched teeth, “How could you, when you’re spending all your time with Jack?”

Your breath caught.

“Could you let go, please?” You murmured, trying again to pull away.

His grip tightened.

His fingers dug into the socket of your elbow, sharp and painful, like he was trying to wrench you into place. You sucked in a breath.

“I told you to stop hanging out with him,” He said, “Why didn’t you listen?”

“I—I—um—”

His smile faltered, eyes burning, “You were nice to me. You smiled. You talked to me. And then suddenly you’re walking around with him.”

“I didn’t mean—I was just being nice—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He yanked you closer.

You gasped, panic exploding through your chest—

A hand clamped down on his wrist.

Hard.

So hard he was forced to let go.

When you looked up, Jack was there.

His grip was iron-tight, veins standing out along his forearm, his entire body coiled and shaking with restraint. His glare was lethal.

“Back. Up.” Jack said, voice low and dangerous.

“You stole her,” The guy spat, “She used to want me.”

Jack didn’t even look at him.

He only looked at you.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded shakily, barely able to breathe.

That was when the guy snapped.

“You’re mine!” He screamed, thrashing, “She’s mine! I’ll kill you—I swear I’ll kill you!”

Jack didn’t argue. Didn’t bother trying to talk. Didn’t hesitate.

He just moved.

It was over in seconds—clean, precise movements, controlled but brutal. A twist, a strike, a takedown. The boy hit the floor hard, gasping as Jack pinned him there without mercy.

By some miracle, a teacher finally heard the commotion.

Everything blurred after that—voices shouting, campus security rushing in, hands pulling the boy up as the police were called.

You barely registered any of it.

You were shaking.

Your knees gave out, and Jack caught you instantly, pulling you into his chest. One arm wrapped tight around your shoulders, the other cradling your head, pressing you firmly against him like he was anchoring you to the ground.

They hauled the boy to his feet.

He started screaming.

“And you!” He yelled, eyes wild as he strained against the guards, “You led me on! You’re gonna pay for this—I’ll kill you too! You deserve it!”

Your body went rigid.

Jack’s arm tightened immediately.

“Don’t listen,” He murmured into your hair, “Don’t look. I’ve got you.”

A broken sound escaped you—something between a sob and a gasp. You couldn’t cry. You couldn’t think. You just breathed, shallow and fast, your ear pressed to Jack’s chest, counting the steady beat of his heart.

Safe. Still here. Still breathing.

“It’s over,” Jack said quietly, holding you just as tightly, “I promise. It’s over.”

***

The police were finally taking statements, the boy handcuffed and furious as he was led away. The chaos of the last few minutes had drained all the energy from your body. You sat on the edge of the bench near the office entrance, staring at your hands in your lap, mind completely blank.

Jack crouched in front of you, hands gentle as he inspected your arms and shoulders. “Are you sure you’re okay? Nothing hurts?” His voice was soft, careful, and the concern in his eyes made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, not quite meeting his eyes—until he brushed a loose strand of hair away from your forehead, thumb lingering there like he wasn’t ready to let go.

For the first time since the confrontation, something else broke through the fog—relief, leftover adrenaline, and a deep, overwhelming affection that had been quietly building for weeks.

Before you could overthink it—before fear or doubt could get in the way—you leaned forward.

Your hands found his shoulders. Your lips pressed against his in a sudden, honest kiss, all impulse and emotion.

Jack froze for half a second, breath catching—then he softened completely, kissing you back without hesitation. One hand came up to your waist, steady and protective, the other resting lightly at the back of your neck. The world narrowed until there was nothing but him—the warmth of his touch, the solid reassurance of his presence, the steady rhythm of his heart grounding you.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and a little shy, your foreheads nearly touching, you glanced up at him.

“You’ll still walk me home… right?”

Jack’s lips curved into a soft smile, his thumb brushing comfortingly over your hand.

“Yeah,” He said quietly, “Always.”

***

bonus:

The dojo smells like sweat and disinfectant, the familiar thud of feet against mats echoing through the room. You’re sitting on the edge of the mat, legs stretched out, half-watching Jack spar with one of the younger students while you sip from your water bottle.

Kim drops down beside you, scrolling through her phone. “Hey,” She says casually, “A bunch of us are going to see that new horror movie tonight. You wanna come?”

You blink, “Uh—yeah. Sure.”

Kim squints at her screen. “Okay, but just so you know… the only showing left is, like, really late.”

You shrug, “That’s fine.”

She grins, satisfied, “Cool. I’ll text you the details.” Then she hops back up and jogs off to the change rooms.

The second she’s gone, you feel it.

Jack’s presence.

He appears in front of you like he teleported—towel slung over his shoulder, eyebrows already pulled together, "You know I'm coming with you, right?"

"Oh, absolutely," You agreed, looking up at your boyfriend who immediately greeted you with a kiss, "I'm not going unless you're there to protect me."

***

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@noonasoul

More specifically, the sound of a skateboard rolling down the sidewalk, followed by the scrape of the rider dodging the uneven sidewalk tile you still manage to trip over, then the rumble of wheels pivoting onto the cobbled path leading to your backyard. 

After that, it’s quiet for a moment. 

Grass rustles, and in the dimming light, a hand presses to your window, wiggling it open. A skateboard and a beat up sticker adorned helmet drop onto your beanbag, and in the next breath, Jack Brewer is hoisting himself through your window.

“What, no falafel?” You ask playfully, noting the lack of takeout containers from Falafel Phil’s in his hands. But one look at his face leaves the joke dry and dead in your throat. 

“Hey,” you start, stumbling out of bed on half numb legs from sitting for so long. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Your brow is furrowed with worry, and you reach out in an instant. Your soft hands meet the smooth plane of his cheek as you angle his head this way and that, clearly worried that he got in another fight. It wouldn’t be the first time he finished something some other douchebag started, and you’re sure it wouldn’t be the last. 

“I’m fine.” He says, catching your hand with his and walking past you to pace around your room for a moment. 

Your judgemental silence makes one thing crystal clear; you know something happened to leave him reeling like this, so he might as well just tell you when he’s ready to. 

A wry flicker of a smile crosses his face for a moment, his chest tightening strangely at just how well you know him. There’s a soft noise as you sit back down on your bed, watching him in patient silence. 

He’s grateful you know him so well, and that you know him well enough to tell he has no clue where to even start. 

“...Bad practice?” You ask cautiously, clearing the way for him to start filling you in. 

He lets out a dry, sharp laugh. 

“Bad doesn’t even start to cut it.” He mutters. He runs a hand through his hair. “But hey, if you count not representing the Wasabi Warriors in the Battle of the Dojos, and everyone thinking I’m some shallow, petty loser, then.. Sure. A really, really bad practice.” 

He scoffs, finally turning to face you. 

His stomach flips at the look on your face. You look… horrified. You open and close your mouth for a moment, searching for the words as you process this. A panicked heat starts to creep up his neck in that brief moment, as the worst possible outcome flashes through his mind in high definition. 

It’s laid out clearly - the way you’d reprimand him for not representing the Wasabi Warriors in the Battle of the Dojos, how you’d say he’s being dramatic and over reacting. His stomach twists as he pictures you taking Carson’s side too. Or worse… pitying him, assuming this really is some childish cry for attention over something as trivial as losing a single sparring match. 

“Wh- okay, well… first of all, everyone is wrong. You’re not petty or shallow or a loser.”

You state it so bluntly that it takes him a moment to process the meaning of your words. 

“And you’re not like that. You don’t just drop out of something like that for no reason, especially something so important to Rudy.” You add, fire growing in your chest at the outrageous circumstances you’re only beginning to learn of. 

“So what happened? Start at the beginning.” You urge, setting aside your textbooks to make room for him on your bed. 

Jack is still for a moment. He looks at you with a tender, fragile sort of skepticism. 

That’s the look that really makes you want to march down to his dojo and tear everyone there a new one. That’s the look that makes it obvious just how deeply his trust in his friends, his sensei, has been rattled. 

You hope for his sake it’s not fully broken.

He crosses your room in a few short strides and flops onto your bed, the daffodils printed on your duvet wrinkling beneath him. He throws an arm over his eyes and lets out a shaky breath, fighting a sudden surge of relief that leaves him nearly in tears. 

There’s a soft tug at his wrist, and he knows you’re playing with the bracelets he’s wearing - a familiar habit that’s strangely grounding. He lets out another dry, almost weepy laugh, the kind that shakes his shoulders and chest for a moment. 

“...You know that guy? Carson?” 

You know from the way he spits the name that things with the new guy have gotten drastically worse since you last talked about it a day or two ago. 

“Yeah?” You start, a defensive edge in your voice at the mention of his name. You’ve been wary of him since Jack first told you about him, since he first pointed Carson out to you at school between periods. 

Jack hesitates, really trying to find the most neutral way to explain what happened. You’re the last person who believes him, the last one in his corner. If he’s not careful, if he somehow drives you away too-

He squeezes his eyes shut, dismissing the thought. 

“Turns out he knows how to work a bo staff too.” Jack starts. 

Your fingers still on the end of a woven bracelet on his wrist. 

“...Uh-huh,” you nod, waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t have to look at you to know exactly what the look on your face is. 

Distaste. 

“This is so stupid,” he mutters before continuing. “He shows up at the dojo with Kim, who apparently went to Rockchella together after I bailed so I could practice-”

“Wait, wait. She went with Carson?” You clarify indignantly. “You’ve been looking forward to Rockchella for months.”

Jack was looking forward to it because he had wanted to go with you. So did you. 

That’s the whole problem with sneaking around in secret, it makes it hard to be seen attending public events together. He was hoping to take his whole friend group so he could “bump into you” by “accident”, and slip away together. 

…But obviously that’s not how things worked out. 

“Yup.” Jack confirms. “Then he crashes my practice with Rudy, rubbing it in my face about what a great time he and Kim had. I mean- he looked me right in the eye and said, ‘thanks for the tickets, man. We had a GREAT time’.” 

Jack’s imitation of Carson’s words, of the way he had said it makes your skin crawl. 

“He said that?” You demand incredulously. 

Somehow every word out of your mouth does the opposite of every conversation he’s had over the last three days. A strange sense of security about his anger settles over him as you make it clear that you feel the same way about Carson that he does. 

“That’s not all,” he adds, feeling the way you hang on his every word. “He put some lame EDM song on his iPod and started dancing with Kim in the middle of my private practice with Rudy. Apparently he’s the one who taught Kim how to ‘dance’.” 

He throws up air quotes around dance - you both know that Kim is enthusiastic at parties, but… well, the nicest way to put it is that she looks like a baby giraffe taking its first steps while trying to scratch an itch at the same time. 

Not good. 

Jack’s free hand fists in your duvet, tugging at the faded yellow flowers as he focuses on managing his frustration. 

“That is so disrespectful. What, is this the first time he’s ever set foot in a dojo?” You demand rhetorically. 

Once again, you’ve successfully put into words everything Jack felt and knew, but couldn’t quite verbalize. 

“I know! Then, he decides to stick around to watch me practice.” Jack adds. Your brow furrows. “...Weird.” You scoff. Jack lets out a dry laugh, agreeing. 

“So I finish the kata Rudy and I had been working on, and Carson’s all, ‘wow, looks good Jack. You’re PROBABLY the best guy for the job.’”

Jack narrates, reliving the growing tension as he speaks.

“So obviously I’m like… what do you mean probably? I’m literally the only one at the dojo who works the bo staff.”

“Yeah!” You interject, agreeing with him. “I was about to say, does he think Eddie is just going to go out there with a bo staff and do some jazzy tap number?” 

The mental image is vivid. Jack can see Eddie ripping off his gi to reveal a sparkly, bedazzled tux, catch a top hat that someone throws to him, and use a bo staff as a cane in a campy old musical number. 

He lets out a sharp laugh, momentarily distracted from everything that’s been weighing on him. 

He’s silent for a moment, and you drop your hand from his wrist, a look of fearful disbelief crossing your face. 

“...He didn’t actually-” 

“No.” Jack interjects your skeptical train of thought. “He didn’t make Eddie break out the tap shoes. Honestly, that would have been way better.”

He mutters the last part, and you let out a puff of air. You don’t know whether to be relieved that Eddie won’t be breaking out into a theatrical vaudeville number in the middle of a tournament, or worried that Jack would prefer that over whatever actually went down. 

There’s a beat of tense, dreading silence as you wait, too afraid to ask. 

Jack lets out a deep sigh, that prickling, itchy heat crawling back into his chest. 

“He started trying to bait me. Like… he started talking all this crap about how he’d let me take this tournament, and he’d get the next one. Like he’s doing me some kind of favor.” Jack spits, growing tense. He lets out a bitter laugh. 

“So of course I’m not just gonna let him get away with that. I told him, ‘let’s see who’s the best. This is about representing the dojo, not patting myself on the back.’ Rudy got us set up, and-”

Jack cuts himself off, swallowing thickly, trying to stifle the rage and injustice burning him up from the inside. 

“Well, his first mistake was trying to go up against you.” You state, waiting for him to collect his thoughts. 

Jack lets out a dry snort. 

“Sure. Until he broke my bo staff.” 

The statement makes your fingers freeze in place again. You don’t know when you started fidgeting with his hand again, but you’re sure as hell not moving at all after that bombshell. 

“...He broke it?” You repeat incredulously. You open your mouth, overwhelmed by this information, unsure what needs to be said first.

“Yup. Shattered it right down the middle.” 

You blink once. You let out a disbelieving scoff. 

Jack finally lifts his arm from over his eyes, blinking a few times as he risks a look at your face. There’s a flash of bone deep nerves before he processes that the disbelief and disgust on your face is directed at Carson’s actions, not at Jack himself. 

“What- I mean… can that even happen? They’re not supposed to do that, right?” You demand, half rhetorical. 

Catharsis floods his system. He sits up suddenly, giving you a look of desperation, needing now more than ever to be understood. 

“I tried telling them that!” He exclaims in frustration. “I told them - look, you know Carson better than I do. But I’ve been doing martial arts for my WHOLE LIFE, and I’ve never- like, not once - seen a bo staff just shatter like that. Is there any chance that he might have cheated?” 

You twist around to look at him, your eyes wide with apprehension as you brace yourself for whatever his friends said in response. 

“Which is a totally reasonable thing to ask, by the way. That’s weird.” You emphasize. Your stomach twists sickeningly, unable to understand how the hell his friends couldn’t see the obvious reason for him asking after something as bizarre as a bo staff snapping in half like a fucking toothpick. 

Jack just scoffs, half angsty and half relieved by the way you’re actually listening to him right now instead of brushing him off. His stomach squeezes with the realization hitting him once again that nearly everyone he trusts dismissed him so quickly, without so much as a second thought. Everyone but you, of course.

“They didn’t seem to think so.”

Your face freezes for a moment, struggling to understand how his alleged friends could just betray him so easily. 

Jack’s phone rings and you catch the name on the screen before he sighs and declines the call. Kim.

“Eddie told me there’s no shame in being number two, and that he knows it must be hard not being ‘top dog’ anymore.” 

Your blood pressure rises.

“And Kim looked me dead in the eye and asked if I only said that because Carson took her to Rockchella instead of me.”

Your room is silent for another moment.

Your eyes grow wide, expression serious, and you let out a long, low puff of air. You’re fighting tooth and nail not to crash out on his behalf right now, but good god is it taking all your strength to find it in you not to do something drastic. 

Jack… knows you pretty well too. And he knows if he doesn’t just bite the bullet, just get the worst of it over with and tell you now, you might end up decapitating someone - probably Carson. Or, you know… leveling the entire city of Seaford to rubble. Which ever happens first. 

Jack braces himself to rush through the last part, to just rip off the bandaid. 

“I went back to the dojo to talk to Rudy, but it was just Carson in there alone. He started trying to act like we were buddies, and I told him. ‘Look, you’re good. But you’re not that good.’ And he looked me right in the eye and said-”

Jack hesitates for a fraction of a second, his stomach twisting before he chokes it out. 

“...’I was good enough to take your place, and all I had to do was use a weighted bo staff.’” Jack’s voice is tight. “He said if I try to tell anyone, I’ll just look like a sore loser.”

He flops back onto your soft floral duvet, full of frustrated resignation. 

For the third time that night, your room is eerily quiet. 

“He said what now?” You demand, voice low and tense. 

A vindictive part of Jack feels nothing but deep satisfaction at the indignant rage he incited in you. It’s justified, a part of him says, to let himself revel in the outrage finally experienced by someone other than himself. To soak in the reality that he’s not fucking crazy, that it’s not jus tin his head like literally everyone around him has been telling him it is. And there’s a strange sense of intimacy somewhere under all that, one that he’d rather not acknowledge right now. It’s the sort of closeness, the solace you only find rarely, like a lush oasis in an arid wasteland. 

But then there’s the louder, deeper part of him that speaks up over the crackling flames burning in him. He didn’t tell you this to try and upset you, he doesn’t want you to be pissed off or upset because of him. Actually, he doesn’t want you to be pissed off or upset at all, if he can help it. He knows you’re trusting him, which means you’re also taking your cues from him. If he told you right now that he wanted to make Carson disappear, you’d… probably already be holding rope and a shovel. 

He lets out a wry laugh at the mental image. 

“OH MY GOD!” 

Your exclamation pulls him from the thought as you launch yourself off the bed. This time you’re the one pacing frantically around your bedroom while Jack tries to calm you down. 

“It’s okay-” Jack starts, but he’s cut off with a bitter laugh from you. 

“Oh-ho-ho, it is so fucking far from okay.” You spit, already ranting and raving. “The only thing okay about this whole fucking situation is- is-”

You let out a sharp breath. 

“I don’t know! Nothing, I guess!”

You let your hands fall to your sides as you continue on your tirade. Jack calls your name carefully, trying - and failing - to get your attention. 

“-Swear to god, I should just go down there now and call out his skank ass in front of everyone!”

“Hey, you don’t have to…” He starts, but you’re on a roll. He’s sure he couldn’t stop you if he wanted to at this point, so he closes his mouth, watching as you verbally annihilate Carson.

You reach some sort of a flow state, slinging out incredibly specific, creative insults, cussing out Carson - some of the bombs you drop, even Jack hasn’t heard before now - and going on about what an insult he is to the entirety of the martial arts world as a whole.

Thankfully you wear yourself out before Jack has to start seriously worrying about your blood pressure, or you losing your voice. You let out a furious roar, flopping back down onto your bed.

The mattress shifts, and Jack is laying beside you. 

You turn your head, too exhausted from your tirade to care about how close your faces are to each other. 

“...I fucking hate him.”

Your conclusion is simple, and right to the point. 

For the first time tonight, Jack lets out a proper laugh, with a proper smile. 

“Yeah.” He agrees. “Me too.”

You can’t help but smile back, letting your eyes flutter closed to soak in the brief moment of respite from all the bullshit going on around you.

Maybe now would be a good time to try and gently steer the conversation toward something that won’t lead you to property damage or bodily harm on his behalf. 

“Oh, I totally forgot.” He starts. His tone is so much more relaxed now, and you can tell this won’t be something you have to get up in arms about again. 

…Hopefully. 

“You’re never going to guess who tried to give me a pep talk in Falafel Phil’s.” He states. 

You open your eyes, looking at him curiously. 

“Sensei Ty. From the Black Dragons.” 

You gasp, swatting at his chest as a disbelieving laugh escapes you. 

“Shut up, he did not!” You protest playfully, already cringing at the idea of Ty of all people trying to have a heart to heart with anyone. Especially Jack. 

A little bit of tension drops from Jack’s shoulders as you laugh. 

“He did! He tried to talk me into joining the Black Dragons, and representing them in the Battle of the Dojos.” Jack scoffs at the ridiculousness of the idea. You both know he’d throw himself into a series of saw traps before even thinking about setting foot near the Black Dragon’s dojo. 

Your laughter fades a little too quickly, and you stare up at the ceiling with a focused look. The gears in your head are turning, and a plan begins to crystalize in your mind. “Wait… what if you did, though?” You propose slowly, turning to look at him again. 

Jack lets out a confused breath of a laugh, and slowly turns to look at you like you just grew a second head. 

“...Uh, what do you mean what if I did?” He asks, debating whether or not to check your pupils for signs of a concussion. Maybe you pulled some kind of brain muscle when you were ranting earlier. That would make more sense than… this. 

You sit up suddenly, eyes lighting up strategically. 

“Seriously, this could be exactly what you need right now.” You start. 

He begins to protest, but you cut him off. 

“Represent the Black Dragons, and beat Carson on live TV in front of everyone.” You state. But unlike Ty’s proposal, your plan has more nuance. 

“Either you kick his ass and prove you’re better than him, or - and I have a feeling this case is way more likely - he tries to cheat again. Weighted bo staff, or…” You trail off, realizing you have no clue how else someone would cheat at karate. 

“Whatever.” You finish quickly, waving away the example and drawing a reluctant chuckle out of Jack. 

“Look, someone who has to cheat his way into a competition is going to have to cheat to win it too. You know what he’s doing, which means you can expose him.” You state.

“Literally get proof on film, and eye witnesses.”

You finish. You quirk your brow, daring him not to see any merit to the idea. 

He opens his mouth. 

He closes it again. 

“Besides,” you add as an afterthought, “Their gis would really make your eyes pop.”

He lets out a bark of laughter as the idea takes root in his mind, mapping out into a plan identical to the one in your head.

“That…” He starts, sitting up slowly. “That just might work.”

He seems to snap out of his daze of planning logistics and preparing for all kinds of hypotheticals when he realizes the Black Dragon dojo is closing soon. He stands up suddenly. 

“I- I’m gonna go find Ty, tell him I’m on board.” He states. “Don’t tell-”

“Make sure you don’t-” You both start to say the same thing, and pause, exchanging a soft laugh at how in sync you are. You make a my lips are sealed gesture, tossing him the imaginary key, which he pretends to catch. 

His phone rings with a call from Kim. Again. She called him twice on his ride over, and he let it go to voicemail both times. He sighs, rolling his eyes and silences the ringtone. 

“The Black Dragons close soon, so-” he starts, but you’re already shooing him off with affectionate excitement. 

“Go, go!” You encourage, coaxing him toward your open window.

He grabs his skateboard and puts his helmet on. He starts to climb out your window, then pauses like he forgot something. 

“Oh- uh…” 

He crosses the room again, standing in front of where you’re seated on the edge of your rumpled bed. 

“Thank you for this. For… believing me.”

Before you can answer, he leans in, hesitating for only a moment when his stomach does a flip at how gorgeous you are up close. 

He tilts his head, kissing you. It’s warm and dizzying and full of gratitude, and over way too fast for your liking. 

You blink a few times, trying to get your head to stop spinning from the feeling of his lips on yours, and he’s already half out your window. 

“See you at the tournament.” He says, buckling his helmet. 

He drops out the window, and the last thing he hears as he starts to skate away is the sound of your voice calling out, the smile on your face audible in your tone. 

“I wouldn’t miss it!”

At first, you thought he was joking. After all, who would need a kiss to feel confident enough to compete? But Jack wasn't kidding. He was dead serious.

It all started a few months into your relationship. It was a weekend tournament at the dojo, and Jack was gearing up for his biggest fight yet. You were there, cheering him on as always, but there was one problem: Jack refused to step onto the mat without you giving him a good luck kiss first.

The atmosphere was electric, everyone buzzing with excitement, but Jack was oddly distracted, pacing back and forth, looking at his phone, tapping his foot. You were seated in the front row, watching as he checked the clock every few seconds. He was getting antsy.

"Jack," you called, your voice cutting through his nervous energy. "Are you okay? You're acting weird."

He turned to you, his face serious. "I need it," he said, crossing his arms. "I can't start without it."

You frowned, not understanding at first. "Start what?"

"My match!" he replied, his voice almost frantic. "I can't compete without my good luck kiss. It's the rule, remember?"

You blinked. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Dead serious," Jack said, his eyes locking onto yours. "It's the only way I can do my best. You know the rules."

You looked around at the crowd, who had clearly heard your exchange. Some of them were chuckling, others clearly confused, but Jack wasn't going to budge. His gaze never wavered from you, waiting for your response.

You let out a soft laugh, partly in disbelief and partly in fondness for him. "I can't believe you're making me do this in front of everyone," you said with a smile.

Jack grinned, a little sheepishly but still confident. "Hey, if it means I win, it's worth it. Come on, just a quick kiss, and I'll be good to go. Promise."

You shook your head, knowing there was no convincing him otherwise. The more you fought it, the longer he would delay starting, and that wasn't something you were about to let happen—not when you knew how much this meant to him. With a sigh, you stood up, walked over to him, and planted a kiss on his lips, not too long but just enough to show you were in this with him.

Jack's face lit up immediately, the nervous energy that had been clouding his expression instantly replaced by a confident smile. "Thanks, love," he said, his tone now light and full of excitement. "Now I'm ready to crush it."

He gave you a thumbs-up before running off to take his place on the mat, the crowd giving him a round of applause. You watched him, shaking your head with a smile. It was crazy, but that little kiss seemed to work every time. He was unstoppable after it.

Jack breezed through his match, dominating his opponent with his usual skill and ease. He was fast, precise, and absolutely in his element, his focus unshakable now that he had what he needed. You cheered him on, watching with pride as he claimed yet another victory.

A few weeks later, another tournament was coming up, and Jack was gearing up for yet another showdown. This time, he was competing for a chance to be named the dojo champion, and everyone knew he was more than capable of winning it. But as usual, the night before the competition, Jack was restless.

You were both sitting together in the dojo's lounge area, talking about the next day's event when Jack suddenly turned to you, his face serious.

"I can't do it tomorrow without you," he said, his eyes earnest.

You blinked, unsure where this conversation was headed. "Do what?"

"Compete. I can't fight if I don't get my good luck kiss first. It's like... my ritual. You know this by now." Jack gave you a teasing smile, but you could see the sincerity behind it.

You felt your heart warm at the thought, but also, a little part of you couldn't help but laugh. "I've kissed you before every match, Jack. It's not like this is new."

"I know," he said, leaning in closer, his voice lowering. "But it's important. Really important. You've got to understand—it's more than just a kiss. It's like... you're my good luck charm. I need you to believe in me, and when you give me that kiss, I feel invincible. I can't explain it, but it works every time."

You paused, looking into his eyes. His words were more heartfelt than you expected, and you realized just how much this little tradition meant to him. It wasn't just about superstition; it was about your support, your belief in him.

"I believe in you, Jack," you said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. "And I'll give you a kiss whenever you need it, okay?”

Jack's eyes sparkled, and his grin widened. "Deal," he said, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek. "Now I'm ready. Tomorrow's mine."

The next day, Jack entered the dojo with the same confident energy he always had. But as soon as he saw you, his expression shifted. His nerves returned, but they weren't the same kind of nerves—more like excited anticipation.

"Okay, here we go," Jack said, taking a deep breath. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a little bit of playfulness, but you could see the seriousness behind them. "Don't forget the kiss, okay?"

You smiled and walked over to him, your heart swelling with affection for the goofy, passionate guy you loved. "I haven't forgotten. Don't worry."

You leaned in and kissed him on the lips, a soft, reassuring gesture. His eyes closed for a second, and when he opened them again, they were filled with an unwavering confidence. "Thanks."

"Now beat him" you said gripping his gi. "Yes ma'am." True to his word, Jack went on to dominate the competition, making every move with precision, his focus sharper than ever. You cheered him on, watching with admiration as he took home the trophy.

Afterward, as he held the title in his hands, Jack turned to you with that mischievous grin of his. "See? I told you it works.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "You and your traditions. altough I have to admit, it seems to be working for you."

"Can't win without it," Jack said with a wink. He reached for your hand, giving it a squeeze. "Thanks for being my lucky charm. I'm gonna need that kiss next week, though."