#jesse fluff

2:04 am – jackson, wyoming

joel miller was a light sleeper these days. the world didn’t give him the luxury of deep sleep, not after everything he'd seen, done, and lost. so, when a floorboard creaked down the hall, his eyes snapped open instantly.

he laid still, listening.

another creak. quieter this time. then—something muffled. like a whisper. like a giggle.

his jaw clenched. slowly, joel sat up in bed, his hand instinctively reaching for the revolver resting on the nightstand. but this wasn’t the sound of danger. it was softer. familiar. young.

coming from your room.

joel’s daughter.

his biological daughter.

you’d come to jackson nearly two years ago, a girl hardened by the world but still carrying that spark in your eyes—so much like sarah’s it hurt sometimes. it had taken time, but the two of you had carved out something real. quiet dinners. shared patrols. sunday mornings fixing fences together.

he was protective of you. maybe too protective. but he didn’t care.

and now, at two in the goddamn morning, someone was in your room.

he stood slowly, silent as death, padded barefoot across the hardwood. your door was closed. but the light from your lantern was flickering under the crack. and then—another sound.

a breath.

not yours.

joel’s nostrils flared.

he knocked once, hard.

you yelped. “shit—uh, just a second!”

joel opened the door anyway.

and there he was.

jesse.

half-kneeling on your floor, frozen like a deer in headlights. his hair was a mess, lips red, a guilty look painted all over his face. his boots were tucked beneath your bed. your shirt was crooked. the window was open.

joel blinked. once. twice.

you were already rushing forward, hands up. “dad—wait—this isn’t what it looks like—”

jesse coughed. “okay, it’s exactly what it looks like.”

joel glared. “you better be real proud of that answer, son.”

you froze, heart slamming in your chest so loud you were sure your dad could hear it. jesse was still crouched on the floor like he hadn’t figured out how legs worked. the room smelled faintly like the two of you—sweat, heat, something a little sweeter and messier—and the open window gave away everything joel needed to know.

his eyes flicked over the scene with slow, terrifying precision.

the window. jesse’s boots. your wrinkled shirt. the slightly tousled bedsheets. jesse’s flushed face.

and then, his eyes landed back on you.

“want to explain,” joel said, low and gravelly, “what the hell is goin’ on here?”

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. you couldn’t lie to joel. you had tried once when you were fourteen, and he didn’t talk to you for a week. not out of anger—but disappointment. that was always worse.

you exchanged a look with jesse, who winced like he’d rather face a clicker naked in the woods than meet joel’s gaze again.

you swallowed hard. “i invited him over.”

joel blinked. slowly. “through the window?”

“i didn’t want to wake you up.”

he stared at you for another long moment, then turned to jesse.

“and what, exactly, was the plan here, jesse?” joel asked. “you were just gonna sneak in, spend the night, and sneak back out like some kind of goddamn teenager?”

jesse raised both hands like he was being held at gunpoint. “sir, i—i swear i wasn’t trying anything bad. we just wanted to spend time together, that’s all. talk. hang out.”

joel’s eyes narrowed. “hang out? at two in the mornin’? you got a curfew i don’t know about?”

“no, sir. but—uh—i mean, we’ve been seeing each other for a while now, so…”

you let out a little breath like he’d yanked off the bandage for you.

joel stiffened.

“you’ve been what?”

you took a step forward. “we’ve been… dating.”

joel’s jaw worked. he didn’t yell. he didn’t cuss. he didn’t storm out. but the quiet—that bone-deep silence that came only when joel miller was trying very hard not to explode—that was somehow worse.

“i see,” he muttered. “and how long’s this been goin’ on?”

you hesitated. “four months.”

that did it.

“four months? you’ve been sneakin’ around for four months under my nose?” he turned to jesse. “and you—you thought it was a good idea to crawl through my daughter’s goddamn window in the middle of the night?”

jesse stood up slowly, hands still raised in peace. “i didn’t want to disrespect you, sir. i—i was gonna tell you. we both were. i just… we didn’t know how.”

joel stared at him for a long moment. then turned back to you.

“bed. now.”

“dad—”

he pointed. “now.”

you opened your mouth, then sighed and dropped into your bed with a groan. jesse gave you an apologetic look, then turned to joel.

“i’ll leave. i’m sorry.”

“you bet your ass you are,” joel said, stepping aside to let jesse pass. “next time you wanna see her after dark, you knock on the goddamn front door. you understand me?”

“yes, sir.”

joel followed him all the way to the front door, where jesse slipped out into the cold without another word. joel locked it behind him, then turned back toward your room.

you were sitting up now, arms crossed over your chest, jaw set.

“can we talk about this?” you asked quietly.

joel came back in, slower this time. he sat down on the edge of your bed, ran a hand through his graying hair, and sighed like the weight of the world had settled back on his shoulders.

“you’re my kid,” he said, finally. “i already lost one daughter. you think i’m gonna just sit back and watch someone crawl through your window like this is high school?”

“i know you’re just trying to protect me,” you whispered. “but i’m not a little kid anymore.”

“you’ll always be my little girl.”

you looked away, throat thick.

“i care about him,” you said. “he makes me feel safe. and seen. and he’s… he’s good to me, dad.”

joel’s expression softened just a hair. “he better be.”

you offered a small smile. “he is.”

joel stood. “no more sneakin’ around. you wanna see him, fine. but he comes through the front door. with respect.”

“yes, sir.”

he reached out, brushing a hand over your hair. “get some sleep.”

7:41 am – jackson town hall, front porch

jesse was already awake.

scratch that—he hadn’t slept.

after joel miller stared him down like a man deciding whether or not to bury a body, jesse hadn’t dared close his eyes. instead, he’d sat on the edge of his bed in his shared house, heart hammering, hands still trembling slightly.

now, he was standing outside town hall with two mugs of coffee—one for him, one for maria.

she eyed him over the rim of her own mug as she stepped outside. “you look like hell.”

“i feel worse,” he admitted, handing her the cup anyway.

maria raised an eyebrow. “let me guess—this has something to do with joel storming past my house at two in the morning like a man on a mission?”

jesse winced.

“yup.”

maria took a long sip. “so. what did you do?”

he rubbed the back of his neck. “it’s more about what we did.”

maria’s brows lifted slightly.

“i was… uh… sneaking into her room,” jesse confessed. “and joel caught me.”

there was a beat of silence. then maria burst out laughing.

“you tried to sneak into joel miller’s daughter’s bedroom? are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“in hindsight?” jesse muttered. “yes.”

she leaned against the porch post, shaking her head. “you’re lucky he didn’t put a bullet through your thigh.”

“i thought about jumping out the window.”

“you should’ve.”

jesse groaned, rubbing his face. “he looked at me like i’d burned down his whole world.”

“because you’re not just dating any girl,” maria said gently. “you’re dating his girl. his biological daughter. he doesn’t have a lot of people left, jesse. you know that.”

“i know,” he said softly. “that’s why i feel like shit.”

“you should.” maria patted his shoulder, then offered a hint of a smile. “but i’ve seen the way you look at her. and i’ve seen the way she looks when you’re around.”

he glanced up, hopeful. “yeah?”

“you’re not going anywhere. joel will see that eventually. just don’t sneak in through any more damn windows.”

“message received,” jesse muttered.

10:00 am – your house

you emerged from your room like you were stepping into a war zone. joel was already up, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and a hammer in hand, fixing something small and wooden—probably one of ellie’s broken carvings.

he didn’t look up when you entered. just nodded toward the counter.

“there’s food.”

you grabbed a piece of toast and buttered it in silence. the room felt heavy. like you were both pretending last night hadn’t happened.

but you were tired of pretending.

“i meant what i said,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

joel’s hands slowed. he looked up.

“i care about him. i’m not just… messing around. jesse’s not like that.”

he met your eyes. “you think i don’t see that?”

you blinked. “so… you’re not mad?”

“oh, i’m still mad,” he said, setting the hammer down with a clunk. “mad that he disrespected the house. mad that you kept this from me. but i’m not mad that it’s him.”

you stared.

joel leaned back in his chair, sighing. “i may not act like it, but i pay attention. jesse’s a good kid. one of the only ones who stood by you when things got hard. when you came back from that rough patrol with ellie… he was the first one at your bedside. i remember.”

your throat tightened.

joel continued, quieter now. “he’s got a good heart. loyal. quick on his feet. just—next time? tell me. don’t make me find out by walkin’ in on you two.”

“i wanted to,” you whispered. “we just… weren’t sure how.”

joel’s voice softened. “you don’t have to hide from me. i’m your dad. i might be a grumpy son of a bitch, but i’m always in your corner. you hear me?”

you nodded, eyes burning. “i hear you.”

he stood, ruffled your hair gently, and muttered, “now go tell that poor boy he’s not banned from the house.”

you laughed, relief bursting like light through a window. “really?”

“don’t make me regret it.”

1:12 pm – jackson garden area

jesse was halfway through stacking crates of produce when he heard your voice behind him.

“hey, trouble.”

he turned, eyes wide—and then softened with the smallest, most bashful grin.

“you’re here. that’s a good sign.”

you walked up and wrapped your arms around his waist without a word, just buried your face in his chest. jesse pulled you in instantly, arms tightening like he thought you might disappear.

“i thought he was gonna kill me,” he mumbled into your hair.

“he almost did.”

“i deserve it.”

you looked up. “he said you’re not banned.”

jesse blinked. “seriously?”

you nodded. “he’s mad. but not about us. he knows you’re good to me.”

jesse softened. “i love you, you know.”

you swallowed. “i know.”

you pulled him in closer, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt.

“i love you too.”

6:28 pm – your house, jackson

jesse stood outside your front door, holding a small paper bag in one hand and nervously tapping the fingers of the other against his thigh.

he looked like he was about to walk into an ambush.

because, in a way, he was.

inside was joel miller. the same joel miller who’d caught him sneaking through a second-story window like a hormone-drenched raccoon just twenty hours ago.

the same man who could clean a rifle blindfolded, break a man’s nose in two seconds, and give silent disappointment like a death sentence.

the door creaked open, and you peeked out.

“hey,” you whispered with a crooked smile. “you’re early.”

“i wanted to prove i know how to use the front door,” jesse said, holding up the paper bag like a peace offering. “i brought wine. well… it’s not really wine. it’s that fermented berry stuff maria makes.”

you giggled and stepped aside. “come in. he’s—uh—on the couch.”

jesse’s posture tensed immediately. “great.”

“relax,” you said softly, squeezing his hand as he stepped inside. “he’s trying.”

joel didn’t get up when jesse entered. he was sitting on the couch, carving something into a piece of wood, glasses perched low on his nose. the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

he glanced up. then back down at the carving.

“jesse.”

“mr. miller.”

the air went tight. for about three seconds.

then joel sighed and gestured to the table. “food’s gettin’ cold. sit.”

jesse blinked. “wait, really?”

joel looked up again. “you want me to change my mind?”

“no, sir.”

he scurried over.

you sat between the two men like a human buffer zone.

dinner was stew—hearty, warm, and made with actual fresh potatoes tommy had bartered for. you’d helped cook, which you hoped might earn you some daughter-points if things went sideways.

the first few minutes were silent. forks scraped. fire popped. jesse looked like he was calculating every move like it might trigger a landmine.

then joel finally spoke.

“so,” he said, not looking up. “you two… serious?”

you nearly choked on your bite. jesse froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

“i mean,” jesse said carefully, “i’d like to think so. i care about her. a lot.”

joel slowly raised his eyes.

jesse sat up straighter. “i’m not playing games. i don’t want anyone else. just her.”

you glanced at joel, who studied jesse for a long, hard moment.

then he hummed. “good answer.”

jesse blinked. “really?”

joel chewed, then nodded. “you got guts, i’ll give you that.”

jesse visibly relaxed. “thanks.”

“i still don’t like the window thing.”

“understood.”

joel took another bite. “you ever sneak into this house again, i will break your legs.”

“yes, sir.”

you sighed. “dad…”

joel smirked faintly. “kidding.”

“are you?”

“mostly.”

7:18 pm – after dinner

you were washing dishes at the sink, joel drying. jesse offered to help, but joel grunted something about “earning your keep next time” and waved him to the couch.

he stood awkwardly for a second before walking to the fireplace, staring at the wooden carving joel had left on the mantle.

it was a horse. roughly shaped, but detailed. the mane curled just right.

jesse picked it up.

“this is beautiful.”

joel looked up. “not finished.”

“i didn’t know you carved.”

joel shrugged. “only when i got somethin’ on my mind.”

jesse turned the horse over in his hands, then looked at you.

“you still have that little owl he made you?”

“of course i do,” you said, smiling. “it’s on my nightstand.”

joel’s ears turned slightly red. “didn’t think you kept it.”

“i keep everything you make me,” you said softly.

he didn’t say anything to that. but the tiniest flicker of something passed over his face—something softer. pleased. almost bashful.

8:00 pm – the couch

you and jesse were curled up together under a blanket. joel sat in his chair with a half-empty glass of that berry “wine,” legs crossed, his eyes flicking between you and the fire.

jesse had his arm around you, and you were nestled against his chest, legs folded beneath you. the fire was warm. the room smelled like cinnamon and old wood. and, miraculously, joel hadn’t kicked jesse out yet.

joel finally spoke again.

“you ever hurt her,” he said calmly, “i don’t care how long you’ve been in this town—i will send you packin’.”

jesse nodded solemnly. “i’d let you.”

you poked him in the ribs. “that’s not the right answer.”

“it’s the safe answer.”

joel cracked a grin. “smart boy.”

you looked up at him, a slow smile forming. “you like him.”

“don’t push it,” joel muttered.

jesse tried to hide his laugh in your shoulder.

8:37 pm – porch

jesse stood on the porch, your hands in his, moonlight brushing the tops of the trees behind him.

“i still can’t believe i survived dinner with joel miller.”

“i think he likes you,” you whispered.

“he threatened to break my legs twice.”

“yeah,” you said with a grin. “but that’s basically his way of saying ‘welcome to the family.’”

jesse leaned in, his voice softer now. “then i’ll take it.”

you kissed him slowly, sweetly, right there on the porch your dad built with his own hands.

inside, joel watched from the window—eyes narrowed, but not angry. not anymore.

there was a little peace in his expression. a little quiet pride.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said quietly, shifting her eyes from her plate to his and crossing one arm across herself to rub the outside of the other. 

“Yeah baby,” Jesse purred with a cocky grin. “I mean, I got the dinner but you brought the dessert.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a treat,” he said with a wag of his eyebrows. “Want to take the party back to your place?”

“Oh, um. I’ve got to work early, so I think that’s all I’ve got time for now. But thanks again,” she offered, trying to mask the cringe on her face with a disingenuous smile. 

“Alright, your loss… heheh…”

“Yeah…”

They made their way to the door of the restaurant, Jesse holding it open for her as she shuffled awkwardly past him. She hesitated on the sidewalk, turning back to face him with that same feeble grin. Another thanks for dinner. An offer to walk her home. Declined. A question about another date. After a long, uneasy pause, that was also declined.

Jesse kept up his best face, chest puffed and confidence set firmly in place, until she disappeared around the corner, then he slumped, turning to begin his own walk home. A glance at the chrono reminded him that he wasn’t allowed back in the apartment he shared with Kix for another hour and a half… The cramped flat they rented together didn’t allow for much privacy, and his roommate had been excited to take advantage of the alone time with his partner from Right to Love, a matchmaking service for clones wanting to live as freely as they were able since the war had ended and they were released from service. 

The endless flashing lights of the Coruscant streets were oppressively bright as he plodded aimlessly, unsure of where to go. A deep sense of resentment was growing within, and he didn’t realize he was muttering under his breath until a few strange looks from passersby clued him in. Many of his brothers had found immediate success with Right to Love, now experiencing the joys of a relationship in ways they’d never thought possible when they’d been nothing more than property their entire lives. And yet here he was, having tried to connect with five different people now, each one entirely put off by the end of the first date. His assigned case manager at Right to Love had assured him that matches weren’t always perfect the first time around, and sometimes the process took a little longer to ensure the ideal fit. 

Doubt was growing in the pit of his stomach as he walked. What was it about him that was getting in the way? He was throwing himself wholeheartedly into this pursuit, and yet each attempt seemed to be less encouraging than the last. The resentment began to coil in his chest, heating up into anger, and he leaned into it. Anger was familiar. Anger, he could deal with. It made him feel powerful and in control, pushing aside any tendrils of fear or sadness that lay at its core. A sign up his head caught his eye, and he turned abruptly to barge through the door. 

Music thumped inside, the small crowd on the dance floor moving as one to the beat, and he jostled his way around the edge to find a seat at the bar. He waited for a while, watching the bartender help customer after customer, including those that had arrived after him. When the man began polishing some glasses, Jesse finally called out, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Can I get some service here?”

The bartender slowly finished wiping his glass, sidling down to the end and resting his palms on the counter with no attempt to hide the disdain on his face. 

“Did your giant face tattoo block you from seeing the sign on the door?” he drawled. “No clones. Go back to your own district.”

“You’re living in the past,” Jesse growled, the snake in his chest twisting and hissing. “Credits are credits. What does it matter who they come from?” 

“Just get out,” exhorted a Zabrak on the stool beside him who’d had his back firmly turned to him from the start. “Before we make you.”

He’d had enough.

“Go ahead and try,” he snarled, smacking a fist on the counter and rising to his feet. The Zabrak was in his face immediately, flanked by a nat-born and a Weequay who looked far too excited to throw hands. 

“Know your place,” the nat-born taunted, leaping forward to throw a swing, which Jesse dodged and countered with one of his own, sinking a fist into the man’s stomach and earning a satisfying grunt of pain. The brawl exploded, quickly changing the three-on-one situation into an entire mob set on teaching the clone a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. The ARC trooper held his own, ducking and swinging, using leverage to toss one body into another, but the blows were coming from every direction. A foot to the back of his knee knocked him off balance, right into someone else’s fist.

The next thing he knew, he was unceremoniously thrown onto the sidewalk among a litany of curses and insults, and he scrambled to his feet, body throbbing with numerous bruises from the punches and kicks that had landed as he’d tried to hold them all off. His nose was bleeding, and he wiped it on his sleeve before pinching it hard, stalking toward his building in a tornado of rage. 

He sat outside on the stoop for the remaining hour, ruminating on the sheer injustice of it all. But eventually, the hot indignation quieted, and in the stillness, he fought to stuff down the disappointment that whispered judgment and failure in its place. 

* * * 

“Come on, give it a try.” Kix straightened his scrubs as Jesse slouched against his bedroom doorway. “It’ll be a different dynamic. Might be helpful.”

“I don’t need help,” Jesse scoffed, folding his arms across his broad chest. 

“I know,” Kix affirmed quickly, “But the food carts in the square are delicious. So bring your next date and just come along for that.” He smoothed a hand over his neatly-cut hair and tilted his head at his mirror, checking that the first few letters of his head tattoo were hidden as much as possible by his dark locks. The medical clinic he worked at had some fairly strict rules around personal appearance, and considering how difficult it was to find clone-friendly jobs, no matter how qualified they were, he wasn’t about to risk losing his placement over something as trivial as that. 

“Fine,” Jesse huffed. “I’m doing this for the ronto wraps, you know.”

Kix grinned, clapping him on the back and squeezing his shoulder as he headed for the front door. “You’ve been doing too much upper-body, vod. Have a leg day.”

“Hah. Go clean some crusty old geezers, di’kut.”

“Oh please. I’m saving lives out there,” Kix threw over his shoulder as the door closed behind him. Jesse sighed. That did seem like a much better purpose than his own job as a personal trainer at a local gym, where most of his clients were flaky hopefuls who wanted to get into shape without putting in the time and work that it required. It paid well enough, though, and gave him an outlet for a sense of purpose as well as a place to exercise. If he were honest, he’d hoped he’d meet someone there, figuring they’d be more aligned with his interests and lifestyle, but after months upon months of dismal prospects, he’d gone ahead and applied at Right to Love. He sighed, turning to rummage in the cooling chamber until it was time for work.

* * * 

Days of work and leisure blended together, and Jesse found himself spending more time at the gym, adding cardio sessions on top of his bodybuilding regimen as a way to blow off steam. He finally got another match from Right to Love and agreed to go on the double date with Kix and his partner, laboring a disproportionate amount of time over what to wear. He didn’t want to admit it, but with each date he felt increasingly desperate. Desperate to prove that there wasn’t something wrong with him. Desperate to feel like he had access to the whole variety of options for a “normal” life. Desperate to enjoy the care, intimacy, and connection that some of his brothers had found. 

He straightened the long-sleeved henley shirt and rolled up the sleeves a little. Ladies loved the forearms, right? Slipping a wallet into his back pocket, he checked his reflection one last time and ventured into the living room where Kix was waiting for him. 

“Here goes nothing,” he grumbled. 

“That’s the spirit,” Kix nodded sagely, a fond smirk on his face.

The square had a weekly event where all the food carts in the vicinity would gather to offer their delectable delicacies, and there really was something for everyone, making it a very popular attraction. Jesse swaggered beside his date, Kix and his partner bringing up the rear, and shared stories of valor and bravery as she nodded and made small sounds of agreement here and there. The four of them had shared some snacks from a variety of vendors and were now walking it off along the city streets. 

Coming to a somewhat scenic overlook of a steep dropoff with many Coruscant levels stretching down below, the four of them sat on a couple of benches. Kix stretched his arm across his partner’s shoulders, and they nestled into his side with an affectionate gaze. Jesse shifted awkwardly beside his date, a beautiful redhead that made his mouth go dry when he tried to talk. Yet he’d pushed past it with bravado and confidence, he felt simultaneously certain and completely unsure of her interest. Kix was murmuring in his date’s ear, bringing a demure smile to their face, and Jesse turned to look at the redhead beside him. 

“So… You mentioned some adventures in the jungle… Did I tell you about our campaign on Felucia?” he asked, launching into the story before she was able to respond. He wove an exhilarating tale of their encounter with both Separatist forces and the Commerce Guild, finishing with a flourish and grinning proudly. 

“Sounds like the war was wild,” she offered.

“You’re karking right it was,” he laughed, attempting to slip his arm around her shoulder as well, but she stood up quickly. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I… I’m gonna go.” 

Jesse watched her leave, speechless, then was flooded with embarrassment as he felt the eyes of Kix and his partner on his back. He slowly turned to face them, and the empathetic looks on their faces added insult to the injury. 

“See you at home,” he muttered to his brother, nodding to Kix’s partner and stuffing his hands in his pockets as he trudged back to their apartment. Kix watched him for a long time, nodding at the murmured condolences from his partner, who was incredibly kind and gentle, both admiring and strong in their own right, and he was regularly blown away at the fact that he’d been able to find them. Their compassion only served to deepen his own hope that his brother could find whatever it was he was looking for. 

* * * 

The next morning, a much-needed day off of work for both of them, Jesse was sprawled on the couch with a lazy hand resting on the steaming mug of caf on the nearby side table. Kix was scrambling some eggs in the kitchen, casting the occasional glance over the counter at his brother’s dejected slump. He was torn; Jesse was notoriously stubborn, but Kix also knew him better than most anyone else, and if he kept continuing in the same pattern, he would likely keep getting the same result. He flipped the eggs one more time and turned off the burner, scattering some shredded cheese over the top of them and putting a lid over the pan to melt it all together. 

“You… uh… seemed different last night,” he ventured, picking up his own caf, now mostly cold, and sitting in the armchair across from the downcast clone. 

“Mmm,” was the only response. 

“Does it always go that way?”

“Mmm.”

“What’s… What’s with the swagger stuff?” Kix asked, abandoning the subtlety. Jesse cast a hard look at him, but he caught the quickly-concealed flicker of hurt beneath the tattooed face.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Just doesn’t really seem like you. Did you answer the questionnaire honestly?”

“Yes!” Jesse said defensively, furrowing his brow.

“Well… then that might be why the dates aren’t going so well, if they’re expecting you to act… normal. You’re smart and pretty down-to-earth most of the time. Last night it felt more like you were trying to prove yourself somehow.”

His words stung, and Jesse balked at the feeling of being perceived so accurately. But a sense of resignation had settled in again, and he shrugged, attempting a nonchalant facade. 

“I’m just gonna get a pet. That’ll have to lo–... to put up with me, right?”

“Sure,” Kix sighed. “I’ve heard good things about P4V.”

“Look, di’kut, I know I can’t even get a second date, let alone some bedroom action, but I don’t think I have the credits for a sex worker… At least not a good one.”

“Classy as always,” Kix rolled his eyes. “It’s not a brothel, it’s called Pets 4 Vets. They have a variety of service animals to help with the difficult aspects of adjusting to civilian life.”

“I want a good-sized Massiff, not some fluffy little Loth-rat to lick me when I have ‘big feelings’,” Jesse snorted. 

“Kriff, you are thick sometimes.”

“Just these thighs.”

“Right. Just try it.”

“We’ll see.”

* * * 

You stroked a hand down the bogling's back, running fingers along the soft fur of its fluffy tail. It leaned into your touch with a contented noise, and you closed the cage behind it, watching it begin delicately eating its food before moving to the next kennel. You’d been working at Pets 4 Vets for a while now, and you felt thoroughly at home amid a great group of coworkers and an even better assortment of animals from every corner of the galaxy. They were all either in the process or finished with their training to be emotional support animals for the veterans who had served the Republic so well. You’d been a little unsure around the clones at first, not having spent any time with them before this, but they’d grown on you quite a bit and you’d been amazed at the complexity and individuality of each one. You’d also developed a knack for pairing them with animals, although it still took a few tries at times. 

“Good morning, tookas,” you said warmly as you slid the food bowl into the next crate, watching the two loth-cats eye it lazily from where they were curled around each other in the corner. They were a bonded pair, and last summer they had surprised the entire staff with a full litter of the most adorable babies you’d ever seen, who had since grown and been placed into loving homes. None of you had been too eager to see the parents leave, however, and it just so happened that none of the troopers so far had been the ideal match for them. The two of them roamed the clinic during the day, curling up near computer terminals or gracing guests in the lobby with their tails high in the air. At night, all the animals were tucked into their cozy kennels until morning, when they’d be fed and let out into their various programs for the day. Some had hours of training, others enjoyed free time inside or out, and some simply spent as much time as possible shadowing the clinic staff. 

“I wish I got breakfast in bed,” you murmured as you closed their door, watching the loth-cats yawn and nuzzle one another. You felt a deep sense of longing in your chest, and moved to the next cage to try to keep your mind from continuing on its current trajectory. But it was a lost cause. “Wish I had someone to wake up next to as well,” you continued. The dating scene hadn’t been kind to you, and if you were honest, you’d pretty much given up. Your friends urged you to keep the dream alive, to go on double dates with them and to meet the various eligible bachelors they knew, but nothing felt like a good fit. You assumed the problem was with you. And that was alright. You were happy enough on your own…you said. The clinic staff was a tightly-knit group, for the most part, and you authentically loved the animals. You felt fulfilled by the unconditional love you shared with each one, and you were so proud at the growth you got to witness as they went through training. 

The horde was fed, each one was released to its daily duty, and you began to clean all of the kennels, wondering if you should take your friend up on her offer to check out 79s. It felt completely out of your comfort zone, however. Not because of the clones, but you just generally weren’t a fan of loud, raucous environments, and you weren’t much of a drinker… So it didn’t seem like a very attractive prospect. As much as you were mocked for it, you weren’t really keen on one night stands, nor were you good at “keeping it casual”. You wanted a relationship with depth and longevity. Sometimes you wondered if the taunts about you were correct, that you had in fact watched too many cheesy holofilms and now had an unrealistic view of romance. 

Whatever.

A few hours of cleaning were followed by an hour or so at your computer, reviewing and categorizing the new applications. You didn’t realize you’d been completely hunched the entire time, your back rounded as you tapped away at the keys, and would have remained blissfully unaware if the receptionist hadn’t commented on it as soon as she popped in. 

“Geez, you look like a shrimp,” she laughed, dropping a data card on your desk. 

“You’re a bit of a cod yourself,” you teased, and she giggled, swatting your arm. “What’s this?”

“A new app. I was gonna bring him back here in person but he said he had lots of ‘big important stuff’ to do.” She rolled her eyes. “Quite the cocky one. He didn’t want to go through the interview process because he ‘knew what he wanted and it was a big dog’.” A chuckle followed the words as they both nodded. They were familiar with the type.

“Did you tell him he has to do an interview if he wants anything at all?”

“Yup. Said you’d contact him.”

“Lucky me.”

“Thought you might like a challenge. It’s been quiet for you lately,” she grinned.

“Considerate as always,” you smiled right back. 

“Have some fun with him. He could use someone taking him down a peg or two. Although I thought I could see the remnant of a black eye, so maybe someone already tried. He’s a big boy, too.” A suggestive wink.

“Oh boy. Can’t wait.”

Next Chapter

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"Are you sure?" you ask, looking at him curiously. Jesse smiles at you and nods.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" he assures you. "Hmm... Okay. I haven’t been ice skating since forever," you agree.

An hour later, you are standing in front of a frozen lake.

It is surrounded by trees and some mountains. The tops of the mountains and the trees are white from the snow, just as the ground and the ice. Here and there, little colors of green, brown or gray shine through. Even though the sun is shining, the air is cold, and your breath comes out of your mouths in small clouds. Nonetheless, this place is beautiful. You almost can't believe you are the only ones here.

While Jesse excitedly pulls on his skates, you take your time and, admittedly, play a little bit dumb. It is just so much fun to see him help you. Just as you are thinking that, he goes down on one of his knees in front of you and carefully ties the laces of your shoes.

"Come on. I'll hold your hand so you don't fall," he promises you, pulling you up and onto the thick ice. You comply and follow him happily.

At first, you are a little bit wobbly on your feet. Like you said - it is the first time in a long time that you go out on the ice again, so it feels a bit weird in the beginning.

"You're doing great. Just do it like me, left and right, left and right," Jesse explains, and a smile tugs on your lips. You hold his hand a little tighter and feel his warm fingers squeezing back. Even though your hands are separated due to gloves, you can still feel some warmth spreading.

As you go on, you are getting more confident in your movements, and after a short time, Jesse is just a little bit too slow for you.

"Hey, I thought you had never been ice skating before!" he yells after you as you leave his side to skate a little bit in front of him.

Laughing, you turn around and start sliding backward. Yes, sometimes Jesse isn't the only show-off in this relationship.

"I haven't said that!" You giggle and reach your hands out again. He grabs them, and together you circle each other in a playful way.

Chuckling, you draw closer after some rounds, and the closer you come, the quieter you get.

In the end, you are standing close to each other and looking into each other's eyes. Slowly, you move your face closer to his, and just as your lips are about to touch, your foot slips, and you are falling.

Jesse, a gentleman through and through, tries to catch you. Instead of helping you, you accidentally pull him down with you. A moment later, you are both hitting the hard ice with your asses.

Well, you at least. Lucky as always, Jesse lands right on top of you and starts chuckling.

"Well, I knew I was good, but I never thought I would sweep someone off their feet literally," he hums happily.

"Haha, so funny." You try to be serious, but your lips betray you as you start to grin uncontrollably.

He isn't wrong; he has kept sweeping you off your feet since the first time you met.

TAGLIST:

jackson summers smelled like firewood, river dust, and warm grass. it clung to your skin like sun-warmed linen, filling your lungs with something halfway between peace and ache. you’d been walking the narrow path between your porch and jesse’s house for three summers now, barefoot half the time, holding a jar of something or a stack of books you knew he’d never actually read.

jesse always smiled when he saw you. it was that kind of lazy, crooked grin that said i know you, and i missed you, and please don’t tell me you brought another one of those old sci-fi novels.

today, you hadn’t brought anything. just yourself, in a sleeveless tank and cutoffs, and a need to move.

tommy had been on edge lately—something about patrol reshuffles, tensions with a few settlers. maria was working too much. home didn’t feel heavy, just… distant. but jesse’s house? that was familiar.

you hadn’t expected to find him shirtless out back.

he didn’t see you at first. his back was to you, drenched in sunset light, the warm bronze of his skin catching every glint of sweat. his arms flexed as he brought the training sword down in one smooth, deliberate arc, feet planted wide, focus honed in. every movement was efficient. controlled.

you froze halfway between the fence and the back steps, heart thudding in your throat.

holy shit.

you’d known jesse was strong. of course you did—he was a patrol leader, always moving, always sparring, training the newer recruits with a light voice and firm hands. but seeing him like this? alone. focused. muscles tense beneath golden skin. hair tied back in a loose, messy bun that made your stomach do something unreasonable.

he turned.

his eyes found you like they always did. like gravity.

"hey." his voice was a little breathless. "thought i heard something."

"sorry," you said, stepping fully into view. you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks already warm. “didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“you’re not.” he pulled the tie from his hair, running a hand through the damp strands. “just keeping sharp.”

you watched the sweat roll down the line of his throat, chest rising with each breath.

“looks like it.” you smiled. “you training or trying to make someone pass out?”

that grin—god, that grin—split his face. “that depends. is it working?”

you laughed, but your voice caught just slightly. you hoped he didn’t hear it.

he grabbed a towel from the porch railing and slung it over his shoulders, wiping down his face and chest. “you eat yet?”

you shook your head. “didn’t feel like staying in.”

“come inside. i got leftover stew. not great, but edible.”

you followed him, half dazed. his back was a roadmap of scars and strength. you wanted to trace every line with your fingers, press your mouth to the space between his shoulder blades and—

you stopped yourself. barely.

inside, the house was cooler. shadows moved across the walls in the fading light. you watched him move around the small kitchen like he’d done it a thousand times, and he probably had. jesse had always been reliable. stable. the kind of person who made you feel safe even in silence.

he handed you a bowl, fingers brushing yours.

“thanks.”

you sat across from each other at the small table. there was a quiet hum outside—the buzz of crickets, the hush of summer night folding in. it made you ache for something you couldn’t name.

“how’s tommy?” jesse asked between bites.

“stressed. you know how he gets.”

“yeah. he needs to let maria handle it sometimes.”

you tilted your head, smiling faintly. “what about you?”

“what about me?”

“you been okay?”

his gaze lingered a little longer than usual.

“i’ve been better,” he admitted. “but i’m still here.”

you nodded. that meant something, coming from him.

you watched the way he ate—methodical, thoughtful. his hands were big, capable. his forearms were still slick with sweat. and your mind… wandered.

you’d thought about him before. of course you had. late at night, hands between your thighs, biting your lip to keep quiet in the dark. you’d imagined what his mouth would feel like. his hands. the weight of him, the sound of his voice murmuring things you’d never heard from anyone before.

but this—sitting across from him, knowing how much you cared, how deep it all went—that made it sharper.

“i missed this,” you said, quietly.

he looked up.

“this,” you continued. “just... being around you.”

he set his spoon down.

“i missed you too.”

there was something raw in his voice. something that made you brave.

“you ever think about...” you hesitated, watching the way his eyes searched your face. “us?”

the silence stretched. not uncomfortable. just... heavy.

“yeah,” he said at last. “more than i should.”

your pulse thudded behind your ears. “why haven’t you said anything?”

“didn’t wanna mess it up. you’re... important to me. more than anyone.”

your throat felt tight. “you wouldn’t mess it up.”

he stood. you followed suit, bowl forgotten. the air felt different now—thick with everything unsaid.

you stood in front of him, barely a breath apart.

“jesse,” you whispered.

he reached up slowly, brushing your cheek with the back of his knuckles. his hand trembled slightly.

“you sure?”

you nodded.

his lips found yours like an answer to a question you’d been asking for years.

jesse’s mouth was warm.

he kissed you like he’d been waiting years for it—slow at first, then firmer, more deliberate. one hand settled against your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone, while the other gripped the edge of the table behind you. like he needed the anchor. like touching you wasn’t already grounding him to the moment.

you melted into him, hands finding his waist, fingers grazing bare skin. he was still damp from training, heat radiating off him in waves. his breath hitched when your mouth opened under his, letting him deepen it, tongues brushing, tasting, claiming.

the kiss broke, but neither of you moved away.

you looked up at him, lips tingling, heart thudding like it had its own desperate rhythm.

“still sure?” he asked, voice low.

“i’ve never been more sure of anything.”

something in him cracked then—his restraint, maybe. because he surged forward, lifting you onto the edge of the kitchen table with a strength that made your thighs tighten around his hips automatically. you gasped softly, your hands sliding up his chest, nails dragging lightly over firm muscle, lingering at his shoulders.

he groaned against your mouth, one hand bracing beside your hip while the other slid up the back of your thigh, fingertips grazing bare skin.

“jesus, you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “you don’t know what you do to me.”

“i think i do,” you breathed.

you dragged your lips along his jaw, down his neck. he shivered. his hips pressed forward just enough to make you feel how hard he was, and the friction made your breath hitch.

his hand slipped beneath your tank top, calloused palm splayed across your back. his skin on yours—it felt like wildfire. you tilted your hips toward him, a soft whimper escaping your lips as he kissed down the line of your throat, his teeth grazing sensitive skin.

“jesse…”

your name in his mouth sounded like a prayer. like surrender.

his other hand moved to your thigh, pushing your shorts up higher, thumb brushing the edge of your underwear.

you were seconds away from losing it—from pulling him closer and begging him to touch you where you needed it most—when a voice called out from the front yard:

“jesse?”

both of you froze.

“…shit.”

tommy.

jesse pulled back fast, hands flying off you like you’d burned him. you scrambled off the table, tugging your tank top back down and smoothing your hair, heart racing like you'd just sprinted down the main road.

the front door creaked open.

“jesse? you here?”

“yeah! just—” jesse cleared his throat, voice cracking slightly. “just had dinner.”

you darted behind the wall near the hallway, trying to catch your breath, cheeks flushed, legs unsteady.

tommy’s boots clunked into the kitchen.

“didn’t mean to barge in. maria’s lookin’ for you. patrol rotation got changed for tomorrow.”

“right.” jesse’s voice was tight, but even. you could imagine the forced casual look on his face. “thanks.”

tommy hesitated. “you alright? you look flushed.”

“just finished training.”

a pause.

“someone else here?”

jesse glanced toward where you were tucked out of view. you heard it in his voice—soft, firm, protective.

“yeah. she’s here.”

a beat of silence.

“…alright,” tommy said slowly. “well. i’ll let you two be.”

you waited until you heard the door shut, then exhaled shakily.

jesse appeared a second later, lips pursed, one hand dragging through his hair. he looked both wildly frustrated and apologetic.

“sorry,” he muttered. “that—was not how i wanted that to go.”

you stepped closer, touching his chest, where his heart still pounded hard.

“it’s okay,” you said softly, smiling. “just makes me want you more.”

he groaned, eyes squeezing shut.

“don’t say that unless you want me to lose my mind.”

you leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

“maybe i do.”

jesse didn’t let go of you for a long time.

you stood there in the quiet after tommy left, the door shut and the world holding its breath. his hands were on your waist, your fingers curling around his biceps like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go.

“i thought he was gonna come in here and see you half undressed on my damn table,” he muttered, voice tight with frustration and barely contained laughter.

you laughed softly against his chest. “you’d have had to explain that real fast.”

“he’d kill me.”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, a crooked smile tugging at your lips. “i’d protect you.”

his face softened. something passed through his expression—something deep and unguarded.

“i’d burn down the whole fucking town for you,” he said, voice low and rough.

you didn’t kiss him right away. not because you didn’t want to—but because you felt it. that weight. that truth. jesse didn’t just want you. he loved you. it wasn’t in the words—it was in the way he held your face like it was something delicate. in the way he hadn’t touched you again since tommy interrupted, even though you could feel how much he wanted to.

so you closed the space. hands sliding into his hair. lips on his. this time, there was no rush. just heat. reverence. a slow, aching build that started in your chest and spread everywhere.

he walked you backward, guiding you through the house with practiced care, never breaking the kiss. you ended up in his room, lit only by the fading light through gauzy curtains. it smelled like cedar and something that was just him.

you fell into the bed with a breathless laugh, and he followed, bracing himself above you.

“you still sure?” he asked again.

“i want you,” you said, eyes locked with his. “all of you.”

that was all he needed.

jesse kissed you like a man starved. like everything in him had waited years for this moment. his hands slid up beneath your shirt, lifting it slowly, worshipfully. when he peeled it off, he paused, eyes dark and reverent as he looked at you.

“you’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice rough with restraint.

you tugged his own shirt off, finally baring the rest of his body to the low golden light. every inch of him looked carved from heat and memory—sweat-slicked muscles, scattered scars, broad chest rising and falling like he couldn’t catch his breath.

you touched him like you were memorizing. palms sliding up his sides, fingertips brushing the dip of his waist.

he kissed down your neck, over your collarbone, lower—lips and tongue tracing paths that made your back arch. when his mouth found your chest, your breath hitched, and you felt his smile against your skin.

he took his time. he kissed down your stomach, his hands firm on your hips, thumbs brushing your ribs. he mouthed over the waistband of your shorts, and you swore you felt your soul leave your body.

“jesse,” you whispered, breath trembling. “please…”

he looked up at you from between your thighs, expression so full of hunger and tenderness it made your heart stutter.

“i got you,” he said. “just let me take care of you.”

and he did.

he kissed you like he meant it. like you were the only person left in the world and he wanted to taste every part of you. when his mouth moved lower, you moaned, one hand tangled in his hair, your hips rising instinctively to meet him.

he was slow. attentive. devoted.

every flick of his tongue, every deep kiss, every soft murmur of your name between breaths had you spiraling. he held you down gently when your thighs trembled, grounding you with strong hands, guiding you through the wave.

when it crested, when the pleasure hit like a warm rush breaking against the rocks, you cried out his name, clutching him like you’d fall apart otherwise.

he kissed his way back up your body, chest pressed to yours, eyes searching your face.

“you okay?”

you nodded, pulling him down into a messy kiss. “more than okay.”

your legs wrapped around his hips, and you felt him—hard, hot, aching—grinding against you.

“need you,” you whispered. “now.”

he hesitated just for a second, brows furrowed like he was trying not to lose control. then he leaned his forehead against yours.

“tell me if you want to stop. i mean it.”

“i won’t,” you said. “i want this. i want you.”

he kissed you again, slow and deep, and you felt him push inside you with a groan that went straight to your core.

your body arched into his, hands gripping his back as he filled you completely. the stretch was intense but perfect, like your bodies had been waiting for this alignment all along.

he moved slowly at first—thrusts deep and rhythmic, grinding into you with a control that made you dizzy.

“fuck, you feel incredible,” he breathed into your neck. “i’ve thought about this so many times…”

“me too,” you moaned, rolling your hips up to meet him. “god, jesse…”

the pace quickened. his control started to slip. you clung to each other like lifelines, your bodies slick with sweat, breath tangled, moans muffled against skin.

it wasn’t just sex—it was something more. something that had been building for years beneath the surface. love, unspoken. need, finally given permission to break free.

you came together, the climax hitting like lightning—his name on your lips, yours on his. he held you through it, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.

when it was over, he collapsed beside you, both of you gasping, covered in heat and glow and something close to awe.

he pulled you into his chest, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“i should’ve told you sooner,” he whispered. “how i felt.”

“you just did,” you whispered back, fingers tracing his collarbone.

outside, the summer night had deepened. crickets chirped. a warm breeze stirred the curtains.

inside, the world was quiet. safe. full.

it starts the way patrols always do — early, groggy, and cold enough that you hate every breath that escapes your mouth.

dina’s up ahead with ellie, half-wrapped around each other as they joke about something you can’t hear. jesse walks next to you, rifle slung loose over his shoulder, jacket stained with a smear of dried blood that isn’t his. he’s got that easy pace he always keeps — steady, watchful, too calm for the world you live in.

“you good?” he asks, voice low.

you nod. “just tired.”

“no kidding. ellie made me haul her ass over that fence back there like she’s five-foot-twelve.”

you crack a smile, barely. “she’s five-three.”

“and dense,” jesse mutters, loud enough for ellie to catch. she flips him off over her shoulder without looking back.

the terrain’s rougher than usual. spring melted most of the snow, but now the forest is thick with mud and half-frozen puddles. your boots are soaked, pants clinging to your skin, and your backpack’s heavier than it should be with all the wet gear weighing it down.

at some point, the patrol splits. dina and ellie take the west loop, heading toward the ridge line. you and jesse are on the eastern loop, checking the old outposts near the river.

it’s quiet once they’re gone. quieter than you like.

jesse keeps close, eyes scanning. his shoulder brushes yours now and then, just enough to make your heart jump stupidly. you’ve had a crush on him longer than you’d ever admit. it’s one of those things you tuck down somewhere deep, behind the routine, behind the safety of distance. he’s funny, sure. dependable. warm. maddeningly charming in that irritating, understated way. and he flirts with everyone, so anything he says to you feels like part of the script.

but it still hits.

especially now, when it’s just the two of you, soaked and mud-streaked, trying not to slip as you pick your way downhill toward the river trail.

“think we’ll make it to the cabin before dark?” you ask.

“if we don’t get stuck in another fucking bog,” he mutters, hopping over a tree root. “you okay back there?”

you’re not okay. your legs ache, you’re covered in god knows what, and something warm has been slowly soaking through the side of your shirt since that scrape with the infected earlier. but you nod anyway.

jesse frowns. “you’re bleeding.”

“i’m fine,” you lie.

he doesn’t buy it. he never does. a few minutes later, you’re sitting on a moss-covered rock with your jacket off, and jesse’s crouched in front of you with his brow furrowed, gently tugging the fabric of your shirt up to inspect your side.

“jesus,” he mutters. “it’s not deep, but you’re soaked through. you’ll get sick like this.”

you shiver, partly from the cold, partly from the heat that flushes up your spine as his fingers brush your waist. they’re calloused. careful. frustratingly tender.

“we’re not far from that old cabin by the river,” he says, looking up at you. “you remember the one?”

you nod, swallowing.

“we’ll hole up there. warm up. clean this up.”

“yeah,” you say softly, not quite meeting his eyes. “okay.”

you walk the rest of the trail in silence.

it’s nearly dusk when you reach the cabin — a one-room thing tucked back into the trees, just sturdy enough to be safe, just isolated enough to feel like the rest of the world is somewhere else entirely.

you step inside, dripping, shivering, filthy. jesse checks the place quick, sets up the small heater, and grabs the emergency med kit from the box near the door. by the time you drop your pack, your hands are shaking too hard to unclip your vest.

jesse sees. he doesn’t say anything, just moves toward you and starts undoing the straps with gentle fingers.

“you always play hero until your teeth are chattering,” he says, not unkindly.

you shrug, throat tight. “you’d do the same.”

“yeah, but i look good doing it.”

you let out a quiet laugh.

jesse pulls back slightly, eyes tracing your face. “you want to warm up before we clean that cut?”

you hesitate. then glance out the back window — where the narrow river runs past, glinting silver-blue in the low light. it’s not deep, but it’s wide enough. slow enough. and clean.

“we’re covered in mud and god knows what,” you say. “if we’re gonna wash the wound, we might as well wash everything.”

jesse arches a brow, but there’s no teasing in it. just agreement. quiet understanding.

“you sure?” he asks. “we’ll stay close. keep watch. but the water’s gonna be freezing.”

“i know.”

your pulse drums loud as you both gather towels from the supply bin, grab the little lantern, and head out the back.

the river is colder than you expected. of course it is. the sun’s almost gone, and you’re waist-deep in spring runoff, holding your breath as you splash water over your arms, your chest, your stomach.

jesse’s maybe ten feet away, turned mostly away from you, standing in soaked boxers and a tank that’s clinging to his skin. every inch of him is dripping — his hair slicked back, jaw tight, muscles flexing each time he moves.

you try not to stare.

you fail.

“you okay?” he calls.

“fine,” you manage.

your shirt’s off, pressed against a rock behind you. your bra and underwear are soaked, thin and clinging to every curve. there’s no privacy, not really — not when the world is so still and your breath fogs the air between you like smoke.

jesse glances over his shoulder. pauses. you see it happen, the split-second where his eyes catch on the way your bra clings to your chest, where your hips break the surface of the water, how your fingers tremble as you scrub at a bloodstain that won’t come out.

he turns fully then. still watching you.

you don’t say anything.

you don’t have to.

because something is shifting — slow and deep, like the current under your feet. something that’s been there for months, maybe years, winding tighter and tighter until the moment breaks and neither of you can pretend anymore.

you don’t breathe right for a second. not when his eyes find you like that — low, heavy, unreadable.

jesse’s been your friend for too long to mistake that look.

that’s not friendship.

that’s not even patience.

that’s hunger held behind his teeth.

the river’s freezing, but your skin burns.

you turn slightly away, not out of modesty — not really — but because you’re not sure you’ll be able to look him in the eye if you keep standing there like this, chest heaving, barely covered, heart galloping against wet skin.

“sorry,” he says suddenly. low. rough. “didn’t mean to—”

you shake your head fast. “don’t.”

he stops. silence settles again. the river hushes around your legs.

“you’re not doing anything wrong,” you say quietly. “i just…” you don’t know how to finish that sentence. not without peeling yourself all the way open.

jesse moves closer, slow through the current. you feel it — the ripple against your thighs, the weight of him closing in. he doesn’t touch you. not yet. but he’s near enough now that your nerves spark under your skin.

“you’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“it’s cold.”

he tilts his head. “is that all?”

you look at him. really look.

his chest rises and falls a little faster now. his arms are slick with water and streaked in mud and blood, and his dark eyes are locked to yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks.

and then, softly, “can i help?”

you blink. “with what?”

his voice is warm. low. too honest. “whatever you’re fighting in there.”

your breath hitches. you don’t know how to answer that.

so instead, you whisper, “come here.”

jesse closes the space between you.

your fingers reach for him like they’ve wanted to for months. maybe longer. they skim the side of his jaw, trail down the curve of his throat, rest on the dip of his collarbone where his tank clings, see-through and soaked.

you look up. he doesn’t move.

you press your hand flat over his chest — slow, careful. his heart hammers against your palm. he’s not so calm now.

his eyes fall to your mouth. then down, where your soaked bra clings tight and your skin peeks through lace, and you’re suddenly very aware of how sheer everything feels in this half-light.

jesse takes a slow, steadying breath. then his voice comes rough — like he’s not sure if he should say it at all.

“i’ve wanted you like this,” he says, “for longer than i should admit.”

you stare at him.

he keeps going. almost breathless now. “i didn’t know if you ever thought about me that way. you’re… careful. and i didn’t wanna fuck up what we already had.”

you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. because you’d been doing the same damn thing. pretending the way he made you feel didn’t gnaw at your bones every time he looked at you a certain way.

so you whisper, “you didn’t fuck anything up.”

then, before you can second-guess it, before you lose your nerve, you lean in and kiss him.

his mouth is warm, wet from the river, and he tastes like salt and heat and something deep and familiar. he exhales like he’s been waiting for it — like it knocks the air out of him.

his hands slide up your sides slowly, gently, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

you’re still half-dressed. soaked, trembling, river water dripping down your spine, but none of that matters.

your fingers find his waist, then his back, dragging his soaked tank higher as you press into him.

he groans softly into your mouth, hips tightening against yours. you feel every inch of him — firm, tense, solid. when you pull back just enough to breathe, your forehead rests against his. jesse looks at you like he’s never going to let you go.

“you still cold?” he asks, voice hoarse.

you shake your head. “no.”

he huffs a soft laugh, then kisses you again. slower this time, deeper.

you stumble out of the water together not long after.

you don’t talk about it, not right away. you just grab the towels, moving fast, shivering as the chill sets in.

jesse turns his back as you strip off the rest of your wet clothes, but you catch the way his eyes flick over his shoulder once. you don’t stop him.

you change into a spare long-sleeve shirt and fresh underwear — no pants — wrapping yourself in one of the towels. jesse does the same.

you move into the cabin, breathless, wet hair dripping, trying not to slip.

he lights the heater and spreads both sleeping bags near it, unzipping them fully to make a shared bedroll. it’s not subtle. but neither of you cares anymore.

you crawl into it together, bodies barely apart, damp and warm and burning beneath the surface.

jesse brushes hair from your cheek, searching your face in the flickering light.

“still sure?” he murmurs.

you nod, breath caught. “yeah. are you?”

“i’ve never been more sure.”

and then his mouth is on yours again — deeper this time. hungrier.

he kisses you like he’s starved for it, like he’s spent months keeping his hands off you and finally, finally gets to give in.

you roll to your back as he climbs over you slowly, weight settling between your thighs. his hand slides up your leg, finding your waist beneath the thin shirt you threw on.

his voice breaks against your neck.

“tell me if you want me to stop.”

you nod, nails curling into his back.

“i don’t want you to stop.”

his lips drag down your throat, wet and warm, until he finds the spot just beneath your jaw that makes you gasp. he lingers there, sucking softly, tasting skin and salt and the hint of the river still clinging to your collarbone.

your fingers twist in his shirt, pulling at it until he gets the hint. he sits up, breath shaky, and tugs the wet thing off over his head.

he’s beautiful.

you’ve seen him shirtless before. changing during patrols, sun-soaked and sweat-drenched.  but not like this. not lit by soft firelight, skin still dewy from the river, with muscles shifting as he hovers over you like he’s desperate to taste more.

his eyes roam your face. then lower. you know what he’s thinking. you sit up, slowly, fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt. jesse doesn’t help. he watches. lets you move at your own pace.

his breath catches when you lift the fabric over your head. “fuck,” he murmurs. low. reverent. “you’re so—” he doesn’t finish. just leans in and kisses you, softer than before, hands moving slow as they trace your waist.

his mouth drops to your chest, to the top curve of your breasts, his tongue flicking along your skin with delicate care.

then, gently, “can i take this off?”

you nod.

his hands ease the straps of your bra down your arms, one at a time. when he slides it off fully, he still doesn’t rush. doesn’t grope or grab. he looks.

takes you in like he’s never seen anything more perfect.

his lips press over your breast — first one, then the other — and when his mouth wraps around your nipple, you gasp, arching into him.

he hums against you.

his hands cradle your ribs, mouth working you with slow, deliberate licks.

“jesse,” you whisper. “please.”

he lifts his head, eyes dark and steady. “tell me what you want.”

your cheeks are flushed, chest heaving. “you. i want you.”

“you have me,” he says. “all of me.”

his hands slide down to your thighs, then higher, finding the edge of your underwear. he hesitates. “can i?”

you nod, voice thick. “yes.”

he pulls them down slowly. watches your face the whole time. when you’re bare for him, his breath shudders.

“jesus,” he murmurs. “you’re perfect.”

he kisses down your stomach, tongue dipping into your navel, then lower —

you gasp when his mouth finds the inside of your thigh. your legs tremble, but he holds you gently, pressing kisses along the crease of your hip.

and then, finally, his mouth finds you.

you cry out, hands flying to his hair.

he groans, low and deep, like the taste of you does something to him. his tongue moves slow, then firm, licking long, deliberate strokes that make your thighs shake. his hands spread you gently, opening you up, his thumbs anchoring on your hips. his tongue flicks over your clit, then circles it. steady, slow. until you can’t stop the sounds from spilling.

you’re not used to this, to someone taking their time.

jesse is worshiping you. every movement is careful. focused. like he’s memorizing the taste of you.

your hips buck, and he holds you down, murmuring against you, “that’s it, baby. let me make you feel good.”

you whimper his name, already so close.

he groans again, like your voice alone is enough to undo him. his tongue moves faster, and your body tenses.

you come hard, gasping, legs shaking around his head. he doesn’t stop just eases you through it, licking you gently, soft and slow, until your thighs stop twitching and your body melts back into the sleeping bag.

jesse kisses the inside of your knee once, then crawls up over you.

you grab his face and kiss him hard. tasting yourself on his tongue and he groans, grinding against you, his cock hard through the soft fabric of his underwear.

“need you,” you breathe. “now.”

“you sure?”

“yes.”

he slides out of the last of his clothes. slow, deliberate. you reach for him, pulling him into you.

he lines himself up, hands trembling slightly.

“breathe with me,” he murmurs. “just like this.”

he pushes in slowly. you gasp, fingernails digging into his back, and he stills, forehead pressed to yours. “you okay?” you nod, breathless. “yeah. yeah. keep going.”

he sinks deeper, filling you inch by inch, until he’s buried all the way inside.

“fuck,” he whispers. “you feel—god.”

his hips start to move — slow, gentle thrusts, rocking into you like he’s scared he might hurt you, like this moment is holy.

you moan, legs wrapping around his waist. he picks up the pace, just enough, rolling his hips in steady waves. your hands trail down his back, feeling every muscle shift, every inch of tension in his body.

“look at me,” he says, voice hoarse.

you do.

his eyes are wild. dark, reverent, full of something deeper than lust.

his thrusts grow rougher, rhythm faltering, and your moans spill freely now, no need to hold anything back. he reaches between you, thumb brushing your clit, and you gasp, body arching.

“jesse—fuck—”

you come again, shuddering around him, and he groans your name like a prayer. his hips stutter once, twice, then he spills into you with a deep, ragged moan, face buried in your neck.

you hold him through it, both of you trembling, wrapped around each other like you’ll never let go.

you stay tangled like that for a while, the kind of silence that doesn’t ask for anything. his breath is warm where it slips against your shoulder, chest still rising a little too fast from everything he just gave you. your fingers are twisted in his damp hair, anchored there like if you let go, the moment might end.

outside, the river hums softly behind the patrol cabin. the fire inside has dwindled to nothing but glowing embers, painting the walls in soft red-orange flickers. the worst of the chill is gone, but his body is still your favorite kind of heat.

when he finally pulls out, it’s slow, careful. he murmurs a soft apology when you wince at the shift, but you don’t let him go far. your arms wrap around his shoulders without thinking, holding him close even as he shifts to reach for the blanket.

he tugs it over both of you and you nestle into him again, your head resting on his chest, the thump of his heartbeat steady under your ear. one of your legs remains draped over his, the weight of him grounding you in the quiet. he’s still slightly damp from the river, and he smells like pine and smoke and sweat and you.

his fingers start to trace slow, lazy shapes along your spine. the touch makes you hum, eyes slipping closed for a second as you melt further into his chest.

“you okay?” his voice is hoarse, wrecked from groaning your name, but there’s concern threaded into it.

you nod against him. “yeah. just…” your breath hitches a little. “overwhelmed.”

“me too,” he says, barely louder than the fire crackling in the corner.

you lie in silence again, your fingers brushing small circles into his bicep, his hand steady on the small of your back. then, eventually, he shifts slightly, just enough to look down at you.

“so,” he says, lips curving. “that happened.”

you let out a soft laugh against his skin. “that definitely happened.”

he hums, like he’s still trying to wrap his head around it. “been wanting to do that for a long time.”

you pull back a little, just enough to see his face. your heart flips. “really?”

he gives you a look, part amused, part exasperated. “you seriously didn’t know?”

you shrug. “i figured you flirted with everyone.”

“yeah, maybe,” he murmurs, voice a little quieter now. “but i don’t stay up late thinking about everyone. don’t make excuses to switch patrol routes. don’t spend months losing my mind every time someone else talks to you.”

your lips part. something tender and raw unfurls in your chest, fluttering right under your ribs.

“jesse…” you whisper.

he shrugs again, sheepish this time. “just being honest.”

you reach up and cup his cheek, your thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. “you could’ve said something.”

“you could’ve too,” he says, smile teasing now.

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too. “guess we’re both idiots.”

“maybe,” he murmurs, and then his hand slides up to rest over yours. he leans into your touch like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. his voice drops, low and a little hoarse. “but if it brought me here with you, in this bed, in this moment…” he trails off. “i don’t regret a damn second of it.”

your throat tightens. you lean in and kiss him, slow and soft this time, just your lips brushing his like you’re still trying to memorize the taste. he pulls you closer, one arm wrapping around your waist as he deepens it just a little.

you stay like that for a long time. kissing, breathing, tangled beneath the thin blanket as the fire dims.

eventually, when your lips part again, he presses his forehead to yours and whispers, “we should probably clean up. again.”

you groan into his neck. “don’t make me go back in the river.”

“nah,” he laughs. “i’ll use the last of the clean water and a rag. just let me take care of you.”

and he does.

he cleans you up gently, like it means something — and it does. he murmurs soft apologies when your hips flinch from how sensitive you still are, kisses the inside of your thigh after every careful wipe. when he’s done, you do the same for him, warm cloth against his chest, his stomach, brushing over the soft patch of hair trailing below his navel.

you both get dressed after that, reluctantly pulling back on your underlayers and loose shirts just in case someone stumbles across the cabin in the morning.

but neither of you moves far from the sleeping bag.

you curl into his side again, this time with your head tucked under his chin, his fingers combing through your damp hair.

it’s quiet for a while.

then jesse breaks the silence. “you think they know?”

you blink sleepily. “who?”

“ellie. dina. the rest of them.”

you snort. “they’ve probably been placing bets on when we’d finally snap and fuck in a cabin.”

jesse groans. “i hope they never find out.”

you grin. “you’ll crack in like three days.”

he laughs. “you underestimate my ability to deflect.”

you prop your chin on his chest, watching him through the dim light. “you think this is just a one-time thing?”

his expression sobers immediately. “no. not even close.”

your heart trips.

“me either,” you whisper.

he leans up and kisses you again — slow, with the promise of something more behind it. something lasting.

you fall asleep like that, his arms around you, your face pressed into the crook of his neck, both of you warm and worn and finally, finally on the same page.

you wake slowly, tucked into the crook of jesse’s arm, your cheek pressed against his bare chest. the air is cooler than last night, but he’s warm around you, and the low rise and fall of his breathing is steady, grounding. the fire in the corner has long since burned to ash, leaving only a faint red glow in its place, barely enough light to paint the outline of his collarbone.

you don’t move. not yet.

it all rushes back in pieces. the river. the soaked clothes. his hands. your mouth. the weight of him inside you and the way he said your name like it meant something permanent. there’s still a soft, aching soreness between your thighs — not painful, just a memory. proof. your fingers curl against his chest, instinctive, like if you hold onto him long enough, none of this will disappear when the sun comes up.

he stirs just slightly, and his hand finds your waist, brushing gently across the hem of your shirt. “you awake?” he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

you nod, your lips grazing his skin. “yeah.”

his grip on you tightens just a little, and he hums low in his chest. “you still okay?”

you pull back just enough to meet his eyes. there’s no hesitation when you say, “better than okay.”

his mouth curves into a tired smile, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “good,” he murmurs. “real good.”

you both fall quiet again. outside, a breeze rustles through the pine trees behind the cabin, and a few birds chirp, faint and far off. jackson won’t expect you until later in the day, but still — the illusion of time is starting to slip away, and you know the patrol’s almost over. the world is waiting.

eventually, you shift beneath the blanket and sit up, wincing slightly as the cold air hits your legs. your underwear and pants are still damp where they’d been left drying near the hearth, but you start pulling them on anyway. the mood shifts just a little — not because of anything said, but because neither of you wants to say it.

jesse stays quiet for a moment before he sits up too, his hair tousled, one side flattened from your fingers. he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches you move. “don’t go yet,” he says softly.

“i’m not,” you promise, and you mean it. you aren’t running. not now, not from him. “we just have to move eventually.”

“yeah,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “figured.”

you both clean up in silence. fold the blanket. stuff gear into your packs. weapons checked, ammo counted, boots tightened. it’s second nature, the familiar rhythm of routine after patrol, but everything feels different now. heavier. lighter. more intimate.

jesse stands at the cabin door when you're done, hand on the latch, his eyes on the early morning light spilling across the forest. “ready?”

you glance back once more, at the fire pit, the makeshift bedroll, the imprint of your night still soft in the air. then you nod. “yeah.”

the walk back is quiet.

not uncomfortable — just thoughtful. he stays close, occasionally brushing your knuckles with his own like he needs the contact. there’s a tension there, but not the bad kind. more like the wires between you are buzzing too loud now to ignore, and both of you are too lost in your heads to speak just yet.

you reach the gates of jackson by early afternoon, a light layer of sweat on your brow and dirt smudged across your cheeks. a few guards nod in greeting, none of them looking long enough to notice how close you walk beside him now, how your fingers hover near his like they’re missing something.

but dina notices.

you make it halfway down the main road before you hear her voice — loud, familiar, teasing.

“well, well, well. if it isn’t the golden patrol team.”

you glance over and spot her perched on the porch railing outside the greenhouse, boots kicked up, an apple half-eaten in one hand. ellie’s beside her, arms crossed, brow lifted.

jesse groans under his breath. “shit.”

“you’re late,” dina points out, sliding off the railing. she eyes the both of you like she’s scanning for clues. “you run into trouble?”

“just the usual,” jesse says casually, but his hand flexes on the strap of his pack.

“mm-hmm.” ellie steps forward, narrowing her eyes at you. “you two look… refreshed.”

jesse coughs. you shoot ellie a look.

“refreshed?” you echo, arching a brow.

“yeah,” she says. “like you had a life-changing moment in the woods.”

“or in a cabin,” dina adds, grinning.

you feel your face flush instantly. jesse shifts beside you, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

“jesus christ,” he mutters.

“we’re fine,” you say, trying not to sound like you’re lying. “it was just a long patrol.”

“uh-huh,” dina sings, giving you a pointed once-over. “you’re wearing jesse’s shirt.”

you glance down.

fuck. you hadn’t noticed. your flannel must’ve gotten mixed up when you were folding things — the one you have on is definitely his, a size too big, sleeves rolled sloppily at the wrist.

“shit,” you whisper.

ellie actually snorts. “subtle.”

jesse steps in before you can respond. “look, are we getting grilled or can we go eat?”

dina raises her hands, mock-innocent. “sure, sure. you do your thing.”

but as you walk past, she whispers, “you owe me details later.”

you glare. “in your dreams.”

jesse leans in close as you walk away, lips near your ear. “you really did take my shirt.”

“shut up,” you mumble.

but you’re smiling.

later that night, you find yourself on your porch steps, clean and full and a little too wired to sleep. the moon hangs low over jackson, the stars above just beginning to peek through. people are settling down for the night. porch lights click off one by one.

you hear the soft crunch of boots before you see him.

jesse appears at the bottom of your steps, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, hair damp from a recent shower.

“hey,” he says.

your heart does that thing again — the gentle trip, the quiet ache.

“hey.”

he steps up beside you, nodding toward the stars. “can i sit?”

you nod, scooting over. he drops down beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.

you sit in silence for a minute.

then, softly, he says, “so… what now?”

you don’t answer right away. you feel him looking at you, patient but open, waiting for whatever you’re willing to give.

“i don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” you say quietly.

“good,” he replies, voice warm. “’cause i wasn’t planning on letting you go.”

you glance over at him. “you sure?”

“have been for a while,” he says. “just took me too damn long to do something about it.”

you reach for his hand. his fingers slot into yours without hesitation.

“i’m yours, if you still want me,” you say, the words soft but steady.

he turns fully, cups your face in his hand, and kisses you — slow, deep, full of the kind of certainty that doesn’t ask questions.

when you break apart, breathless and smiling, he rests his forehead against yours.

you never planned to be close to jesse.

when you first got to jackson — bruised, half-feral, and starving for peace — you’d kept everyone at arm’s length. jesse included. especially jesse.

he was too easy with people. too quick to smile, to joke, to help someone carry their basket from the greenhouse or fix a roof before anyone asked. people like him didn’t make it in the world you grew up in. people like him got killed.

and yet, he made it.

and somehow, you started letting him in.

it started with patrols. you were good — fast, sharp-eyed, smart with a blade. but jesse was reliable. steady. someone who could read your mood with a glance and adjust his pace to match yours. he didn’t talk to fill silences. he didn’t make you explain when you needed quiet.

he just walked beside you. always beside you.

eventually, you found yourself walking beside him when it wasn’t assigned. volunteering to take his shift. checking on his horse in the stables when he couldn’t. bringing him a clean rag for his busted knuckles after a fistfight that wasn’t his fault.

somewhere along the line, people started to notice. tommy. maria. even ellie, who raised her eyebrows every time she caught you handing jesse something and muttering “don’t make a big deal out of it.”

jesse never made a big deal of it.

that’s what made it worse. or better.

or… something.

he let you orbit. let you get close and pull back and close again. no pressure. no expectations.

just — jesse.

and now, standing in the stables while the snow spits against the roof, you try not to admit how much you look forward to these mornings.

you’ve been up since before dawn, already halfway through brushing the saddles when he walks in.

“i was starting to think you’d fallen asleep in there,” you say, not looking up.

jesse leans on the stall wall like it’s the most comfortable place in the world. “you beat me here again.”

“you’re slippin’, jesse.”

he grins. “nah, you’re just trying to make me look bad in front of tommy.”

“i don’t have to try.”

that earns you a low chuckle. he picks up a brush and joins you, like he always does. comfortable. easy.

you both work in silence for a minute. the kind of silence that only exists between people who get each other.

then, casually, “you good?”

your hand stills on the saddle for a second too long.

he notices. of course he does.

“i’m fine,” you say.

“you always say that when you’re not.”

you glance over. he’s not looking at you, just brushing in slow, even strokes.

“it’s joel,” you mutter. “he’s been...distant. worse than usual.”

jesse finally looks up.

“he say something?”

you shake your head. “no. that’s the thing. he doesn’t say anything at all.”

you grab another rag and scrub harder than necessary. “it’s like...since ellie came around, i don’t know. i’m not mad at her. she’s great. i just feel like i got replaced. like there’s no space left for me.”

jesse sets his brush down. he steps closer, nudging your shoulder gently with his.

“joel’s not good at this kind of thing.”

you scoff. “he’s not good at any kind of thing.”

jesse laughs ,full and warm , and your chest loosens just a little.

“he does love you,” jesse says more seriously. “in his own way. you just… you’re too similar. stubborn. guarded. he doesn’t know how to meet you halfway.”

you nod. then shrug.

“i’m tired of trying to reach him first.”

“you shouldn’t have to.”

you look up at jesse. he’s closer than he was a minute ago. that quiet, steady gaze fixed on you.

“you’ve always been enough,” he says, soft. “with or without him.”

it hits deeper than you expect.

so you clear your throat and mutter something about checking feed levels. because if you let him keep looking at you like that, you’ll do something stupid.

like kiss him.

again.

tommy and maria’s place is loud with conversation and quiet music. jesse sits beside you on the couch with his arm over the backrest — casual, but his fingers brush your shoulder every time he shifts. your skin burns under your jacket.

maria’s telling some story about the early days of jackson, and jesse’s laughing along, nodding at all the right places. he fits here.

you want to believe you do, too.

but when joel walks in — late, cold-eyed, shoulders stiff — the warmth in your chest flickers.

he greets ellie with a quiet word, nods at tommy. you? he glances right past.

you set your plate down and excuse yourself.

jesse follows five minutes later.

you’re leaning against the back railing, hands wrapped around a chipped mug. the air bites, but you don’t feel it much.

“he didn’t mean it,” jesse says softly, stepping up beside you.

“i know,” you whisper. “it just still sucks.”

he doesn’t offer advice. just stands next to you, close enough to lean on if you needed it.

you want to tell him that this — he — is the only thing that’s felt right lately. but the words catch in your throat.

so you just bump your shoulder against his.

he bumps back.

two weeks later…

the mornings are colder now. the chill seems to live under your skin.

you haven’t been sleeping well. haven’t been eating right, either. you keep telling yourself it’s the stress.

until the nausea starts.

until your hands shake.

until you miss your second period.

the first time, you didn’t panic. cycles were always irregular, especially under stress. you chalked it up to long patrol shifts and poor nutrition.

the second time, though?

you knew.

you steal a test from the clinic one night after guard shift. walk it out past the main fence, into the greenhouse where no one ever goes unless something needs repairing. you sit on a pile of old crates, hands shaking so badly you almost drop the box.

five minutes later, you’re staring at a thin pink line.

your stomach drops.

you’ve been through a lot in this life — enough that nothing should surprise you anymore.

but this?

this does.

your hand curls protectively around your belly even though nothing’s there to feel yet. just possibility. just everything.

you whisper it like it might not be real.

“i’m pregnant.”

then you breathe out—

“fuck.”

you spend two days rehearsing the words.

each version falls apart in your mouth. jesse, i have something to tell you. jesse, something happened. jesse, you’re going to be a dad.

every attempt sounds wrong. hollow.

because how do you say something like this? how do you break a moment so quiet and safe — this precious little friendship that’s been slowly warming into more — with a truth that might tear it apart?

you’re not scared of jesse.

you’re scared of losing him.

that’s the difference.

you find jesse behind the stables at dusk, repairing one of the loose gates with a hammer and nails that look too big for the job. he’s whistling quietly to himself, something slow and sweet. it’s a sound that usually comforts you.

but tonight, your stomach’s twisted into knots.

he glances up as you approach. his face brightens immediately.

“hey,” he says, wiping his hands on his jacket. “didn’t think i’d see you tonight.”

you open your mouth.

close it.

your heart’s hammering so loudly you can barely hear yourself think.

“i need to talk to you,” you say. “it’s… kind of big.”

jesse straightens up. his smile fades a little, replaced by something more alert. concerned.

“okay. what is it?”

you hesitate.

then, with a breath so sharp it hurts:

“i’m pregnant.”

the words fall into the air like they don’t belong to you.

you brace for silence.

instead, jesse blinks.

then — slowly — his lips part in something that almost looks like awe.

“you’re serious?”

you nod.

and he doesn’t back away. doesn’t freeze. he steps forward, hands gentle, like he’s afraid touching you too fast might break the moment.

“you’re pregnant,” he repeats, softer this time. there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — stunned joy, quiet disbelief.

you press your lips together, fighting the panic rising in your chest. “i didn’t plan it. i didn’t know for a while. i didn’t even— i wasn’t sure i should tell you.”

his brows furrow at that. “why wouldn’t you?”

“because it might ruin this. us. and because i know the world’s already hard enough. and i didn’t want you to feel stuck or—”

he cuts you off by reaching out, cupping your face with both hands so gently it makes you ache.

“hey,” he whispers. “hey.”

you stop talking. stop breathing.

his thumbs brush against your cheekbones.

“you’re not ruining anything. you hear me? not even close.”

your eyes burn. he leans in, forehead resting against yours.

“are you okay?” he asks, voice raw with care. “have you been feeling sick? have you been scared, doing this alone?”

a sob claws its way up your throat. you nod helplessly.

“i didn’t want to be,” you whisper. “but i didn’t know how to tell you.”

he presses his lips to your forehead and holds them there. his voice shakes.

“you’re not alone in this. not for one damn second.”

you press your hands against his chest — just to feel something steady. his heartbeat. his warmth.

“i don’t know what to do,” you whisper again. “i don’t even know if i’ll be good at this.”

“you will,” he says, without hesitation. “you’ll be fucking amazing.”

you look up at him — and that’s when you see it:

his eyes are wet.

he’s smiling through it.

“i didn’t expect this,” he says, “but… i think i already love them. and i love you.”

you suck in a breath.

it’s the first time he’s said it.

you open your mouth to speak — but he’s already pulling you into his chest, burying his face in your neck, holding you like you’re both breakable and the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

“i’m scared too,” he murmurs. “but i want this. i want you. i want us.”

you close your eyes.

and for the first time in weeks, you feel something settle in your chest.

hope.

you’ve had nightmares that felt easier than this.

even now, even with jesse’s arms around you the night before — even after he kissed your forehead and promised, “whatever happens, we’re in it together” — the panic still simmers just beneath your ribs.

you sit outside joel’s house on the bench beside the woodpile, staring at your hands like they hold a map you can’t read.

you’re not sure how long you sit there.

the door creaks open.

you don’t look up until his boots are on the stairs.

joel pauses, brow furrowed. he’s holding a mug of coffee. his eyes sweep over you in that quiet, unreadable way he always has.

“you waitin’ for me?”

your voice is a whisper. “yeah.”

he nods once, sets the mug down on the porch rail. doesn’t sit.

just looks at you, hands in his coat pockets, stiff and wary.

it’s already hard.

“i need to talk to you,” you say.

“you alright?”

you shake your head.

“not really.”

he tenses. “did something happen?”

you draw in a slow, trembling breath.

“there’s no easy way to say this. so i’m just going to.”

a pause.

“i’m pregnant.”

joel stares at you.

still. silent.

then he looks away.

you see it happen — not anger, not sadness, but something darker, colder. something shuttering.

“is it jesse’s?”

you swallow. “yeah.”

his jaw tightens. he turns away from you completely, facing the road, hands clenched.

and it’s worse than you imagined. because he doesn’t shout. he doesn’t argue. he just shuts down.

you speak again, desperate to fill the space.

“i didn’t plan this. i didn’t want to hide it. i just— i was scared. i know we haven’t—” you stop yourself. “things between us haven’t been easy.”

joel doesn’t move.

you rise to your feet. you’re shaking.

“i didn’t want to disappoint you.”

he finally turns — and when he looks at you, his expression is sharp.

“you think that’s what this is about?”

“i think you’ve barely looked at me since we got to jackson,” you snap, voice cracking. “i think you’ve been trying so hard to be ellie’s dad you forgot you already had a kid.”

the second the words leave your mouth, you regret them.

joel flinches like he’s been struck.

and then the mask cracks.

“you think that was easy?” he growls, stepping forward. “you think it was simple? i was tryin’ to protect all of you—her, you—”

“you left me behind,” you say. “over and over.”

silence.

he stares at you.

and for the first time, you see it: guilt. raw and unfiltered.

“i didn’t know how to do both,” he says finally. “didn’t know how to fix what i broke with you. wasn’t sure you wanted me to try.”

you wipe at your eyes, furious.

“i wanted you to care.”

“i do.”

you laugh — short and bitter.

“now? or because i’m pregnant?”

joel’s expression flickers again — pain, this time. real.

and you finally hear what he doesn’t say. that he’s scared. that he thinks he’s already lost you.

“i’m not asking for you to be happy,” you say, quieter. “i just want you to understand. jesse and i… we’re doing this together. we’re keeping it. and you can either be in their life or not. but i’m not apologizing for it.”

he breathes out — slow, shaky.

and then, quietly:

“does he love you?”

you blink.

“yes.”

joel nods once. slowly. like it hurts to do it.

“then you’ll be okay.”

you don’t cry until you’re in jesse’s arms.

he finds you just outside the dining hall, ducked into the alley, hands gripping your knees. he doesn’t say a word. just crouches, wraps his arms around you, and pulls you against his chest.

you sob into his shirt.

“i told him,” you whisper.

he presses a kiss to your temple.

“how’d it go?”

“i don’t know,” you choke. “he didn’t yell. just looked… like i’d ripped something open.”

jesse holds you tighter.

“maybe you did,” he says softly. “but maybe it needed to be.”

you breathe against him, trembling.

“do you think he’ll come around?”

“i think he loves you more than he knows how to show. and i think that kind of love’s hard to kill.”

you don’t say anything.

but you believe him.

you do.

the next day…

joel shows up at your door at dawn.

you open it bleary-eyed, wearing jesse’s shirt.

he clears his throat awkwardly.

“don’t mean to wake you.”

you step aside. “you didn’t.”

he hands you something.

you blink down at it — a small wooden carving, rough around the edges. a rabbit. the kind dad used to make for you when you were little.

your throat tightens.

joel shrugs.

“thought maybe they’d want one.”

you look up at him, heart thudding.

and for the first time in what feels like years, he looks at you — really looks at you — and says:

“i’m gonna try harder. if you’ll let me.”

you nod.

and something broken finally starts to mend.

the first person who officially finds out — without accidentally overhearing or figuring it out by vibe — is maria.

you’re not even the one to tell her.

you walk into the stables mid-morning and she’s there already, arms crossed, talking with a patrol lead about broken stirrups. when she sees you and jesse walk in together — your hand in his, his hoodie draped over your shoulders — her eyes narrow like she’s solving a murder.

then her gaze drifts ever so subtly to your stomach.

you swear under her breath, she murmurs: “oh for fuck’s sake. i knew it.”

jesse grins. “hey, maria.”

“you couldn’t have waited a month before glowing like that?” she mutters. then, without missing a beat: “congratulations. you’re both insane.”

you open your mouth — no idea what to say.

but then she walks over, squeezes your arm with surprising gentleness, and adds, “if you need extra rations, you come to me. no questions.”

you blink. “you’re not mad?”

“i was fifteen when i got pregnant the first time,” she says. “this place was a hell of a lot less safe back then. if i can do it, you sure as hell can.” then, more quietly: “and jesse’s not tommy, but he’s close enough.”

you blink at her.

she smirks. “that’s a compliment.”

jesse beams. “i’ll take it.”

you find yourself walking hand in hand with jesse along the main street, warm tea in one hand and his fingers threaded through the other. the gossip’s already spreading. you’ve seen the looks. heard the whispers.

but surprisingly, they’re not cruel. just... excited. curious.

“did you hear jesse knocked her up?”

“honestly, they’re kinda perfect. i mean, annoying. but perfect.”

“i thought she hated him.”

“no, that was foreplay.”

everything shifts a little.

tommy insists you and jesse move into a cabin on the south side of town — something “quieter, with real insulation,” he says. you can tell it’s his version of being protective. he’s the only one who calls you “kid” still, even as he hauls lumber for the crib jesse is trying (and failing) to build by hand.

you catch joel standing on your porch once, just staring down at the wood.

you don’t ask what he’s thinking.

but when he sees you through the window, he just gives a nod — slow, almost respectful — and walks away.

later, jesse wraps his arms around your waist from behind and murmurs, “he’s trying.”

and you nod. because he is.

and for now, that’s enough.

he reads books now.

actual books — found in the old school library, dusty and yellowing, titles like the pregnancy guide for expectant dads and what to expect when you’re completely freaking out.

he reads out loud sometimes. especially the ridiculous parts.

“‘in the second trimester, your partner may experience increased mood swings, cravings, and emotional sensitivity—’ oh. so nothing’s changed.”

you hit him with a pillow. “asshole.”

but he just laughs and kisses your cheek.

he’s built shelves. painted the crib. brought back tiny booties from a trade run like it’s the most important thing he’s ever done.

you catch him talking to your stomach once when he thinks you’re asleep.

the morning sun slipped through the thin curtains, painting the wooden walls of your bedroom in hazy gold. your throat felt dry. your limbs, heavy. you didn’t have to open your eyes to know he was still there.

jesse lay next to you, one arm thrown lazily across your stomach, his breath slow and even, warm against the crook of your neck. the smell of cedar and gunpowder clung to him—something about it grounded you and pulled you apart at the same time. you couldn’t believe you’d actually done it.

you’d slept with him.

jesse.

jesse, who everyone in jackson knew had once loved dina more than the stars above this broken world. jesse, who always smiled at you like he knew some joke you didn’t. jesse, who had touched you last night like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

you’d both come back late from patrol. the bar was closing up. one drink turned into three. there’d been laughter, stories, and the way his eyes lingered a little too long on your lips. when he offered to walk you home, your gut told you it wasn’t just a friendly thing.

you hadn’t stopped it. maybe you didn’t want to.

your sheets still held the warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, the quiet desperation in the way he whispered your name like it hurt to say it. but now, in the early light, all of that shimmered like a dream you weren't sure you should’ve had.

you didn’t expect anything after. you weren’t delusional. he hadn’t made promises. hadn’t said sweet nothings. but there had been softness in his eyes. and for one moment, you let yourself believe it might mean something.

until two days later, when you saw him holding dina’s hand again.

you hadn’t meant to see them. it was pure accident. you were helping maria at the community board, organizing the supply rotation lists, when jesse walked past. dina was with him, her head tilted toward his shoulder, her laugh echoing like it belonged there.

your breath caught. maria must’ve noticed because she paused her scribbling and looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly. you dropped the clipboard.

“you okay?” she asked.

“yeah,” you replied too fast. “just… clumsy.”

but your chest had hollowed out, your stomach turned to lead. you hadn’t talked to jesse since that night. he’d gone quiet. distant. and now you understood why.

he’d gone back to her.

you told yourself you didn’t have the right to feel this way. it was one night. he didn’t owe you anything. but you couldn’t stop the ache that clawed at your ribs like guilt or something worse. you curled inward, swallowing the heat rising in your throat.

and then the nausea started.

you thought it was stress. patrol shifts had been long. your body ached constantly, your head pounding most mornings. you didn’t think much of the way food suddenly smelled too strong, how the thought of jerky made you want to gag.

but when you were late—really late—you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

you didn’t say anything to anyone. you snuck into the infirmary when most people were asleep, hands trembling as you pulled open drawers until you found what you needed.

the test sat on the bathroom counter, the little window filling slowly. you refused to look. your legs had gone numb from sitting on the edge of the tub, your heart thudding so hard it felt like it might shake the walls.

when you finally dared to glance over, your entire body froze.

positive.

the world tilted. your breath came shallow. your chest tightened like it was being crushed under the weight of a thousand things you weren’t ready to face.

you were pregnant. and jesse was back with dina.

you didn’t tell anyone.

not at first.

you kept it inside like a dying thing, letting it eat you alive. you stopped going to the bar. you gave excuses to skip patrol. you spent most days in your room, lying still, hand over your stomach like if you pressed hard enough it might all go away.

you didn’t cry. not yet. you just went quiet.

but jackson noticed. dina came knocking once, asking if you were okay. you lied, of course. told her you had a cold. she didn’t push.

jesse didn’t come at all.

you figured he didn’t care.

“what’s going on with you?”

ellie caught you in the greenhouse. you were hunched over a set of dying tomato plants, trying not to throw up from the earthy smell. she leaned against the wooden frame of the door, arms crossed, expression tight.

“nothing,” you mumbled.

“don’t give me that.”

you didn’t answer.

she stepped closer, voice lowering. “you haven’t looked me in the eye in days. everyone thinks you’re sick. maria’s worried. even tommy asked where you’ve been.”

“i’m fine.”

“bullshit.”

you broke then. your eyes burned, and the words came out in a whisper so faint you weren’t sure she heard you.

“i’m pregnant.”

ellie blinked. “what?”

you stood up too fast. the nausea hit you again. you grabbed the edge of the workbench, knuckles white.

“i’m pregnant,” you repeated, voice shaking. “and it’s jesse’s.”

she didn’t say anything for a long time. just stared at you, jaw tightening.

“…does he know?”

you shook your head violently. “no. and he can’t. he’s with dina again. i’m not going to ruin that for him.”

ellie’s eyes darkened. “you didn’t get pregnant on your own.”

“i don’t want to hurt him.”

“he deserves to know.”

you turned your back to her, heart pounding in your throat. “please don’t tell anyone.”

maria showed up at your door the next day.

you didn’t invite her in. she stepped inside anyway, her eyes scanning your pale face, the tired slump of your shoulders.

“ellie told me,” she said simply.

your stomach dropped.

“i told her not to—”

“and she was right not to listen.”

you collapsed onto the couch, burying your face in your hands.

“i can’t tell him,” you whispered.

“why not?”

“he’s with dina. he looks happy. i’m not going to be the reason that falls apart.”

maria sat beside you, quieter than you expected. after a moment, she spoke.

“you’re not responsible for his choices. you didn’t trick him. you didn’t plan this. but you are responsible for yourself. for that baby. and whatever happens, he deserves to know.”

“he’ll hate me.”

maria gave you a sad smile. “or maybe he’ll surprise you.”

you didn’t sleep that night.

you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, your hand resting lightly against your belly like that could protect something so small from the storm that was coming. every time you closed your eyes, your thoughts spun into worst-case scenarios. jesse yelling. jesse denying. dina finding out and hating you.

you didn’t want to hurt anyone. you just wanted to breathe again.

by morning, your mouth was dry and your legs felt like lead. but you got up. you pulled on your thickest jacket, your oldest boots, and left your house before the sun could warm the town. you passed a few early risers but didn’t look up. didn’t stop. every step toward the main hall made your chest ache.

jesse was scheduled for a supply run today. if you didn’t catch him now, it might be another week. and you couldn’t wait that long. your body wouldn’t let you. your heart wouldn’t survive it.

you found him near the stables, tying a sack to one of the horses. he looked like he always did—calm, collected, like nothing ever touched him too deep. he was smiling at one of the stablehands, his voice low and friendly. it made your throat burn.

you stopped a few feet away. froze.

jesse turned toward you like he felt you before he saw you. his eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t expected you—like maybe part of him thought you’d disappeared.

“hey,” he said, stepping forward. “you okay?”

you didn’t answer. just stood there, your lips pressed together, your fingers twisting in the hem of your sleeve.

“you... haven’t really been around lately.”

he sounded unsure. like he was trying to gauge if you were angry or hurt or something else entirely. your chest tightened.

“can we talk?” your voice came out small. “somewhere private?”

his brows knit together. he nodded slowly. “yeah. sure.”

you ended up in one of the old storage sheds behind the greenhouse. no one used them anymore—too much broken furniture, too many forgotten things. it was cold, but you welcomed it. at least it numbed your fingers.

jesse stood with his arms crossed, watching you carefully.

“you’re kind of scaring me,” he said softly.

you looked down at your boots. swallowed the lump in your throat.

“i’m pregnant.”

silence.

you didn’t look up. you couldn’t. you felt his body tense. heard his breath catch.

“what?”

your voice was barely a whisper. “it’s yours.”

his hands dropped to his sides. he took a half-step back, like he needed space to breathe.

“you’re… sure?”

you nodded.

more silence. it stretched and stretched until it felt like it might snap in half.

then, quietly—

“fuck.”

you finally looked at him.

he wasn’t angry. not exactly. just stunned. like the ground had shifted underneath him and he hadn’t quite found his balance yet. his mouth was slightly open, brows drawn together like the weight of it was sinking in all at once.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

you blinked, your throat tight.

“because you went back to dina. and you looked happy. i didn’t want to ruin that.”

jesse shook his head, stepping forward.

“you wouldn’t ruin anything.”

“i didn’t want to be some mistake you regretted. i didn’t want to mess things up.”

his eyes softened then, mouth parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“you’re not a mistake.”

he said it like he meant it. like it hurt to even think otherwise.

“i didn’t go back to dina,” he added after a beat.

you blinked.

“but i saw you two—”

“we’ve been talking,” he said, slowly. “trying to be friends. but it’s not like that. we’re not… together.”

your heart skipped.

“you didn’t come see me,” you murmured.

he looked guilty.

“i didn’t know if i should. i didn’t know what that night meant to you. i thought maybe you regretted it.”

you let out a quiet laugh, bitter and sharp.

“seems we’re both really good at avoiding shit.”

jesse stepped closer, his voice gentler now.

“what do you want?”

the question hit harder than anything else.

you opened your mouth. closed it. opened it again.

“i don’t know.”

he nodded. waited.

“i want… i want to feel like i’m not alone in this,” you finally said, voice cracking. “i don’t want you to stay just because you feel guilty. but i also… i don’t think i can do this by myself.”

jesse exhaled. stepped close enough that you could feel his warmth.

“you’re not by yourself. not anymore.”

and then he reached for your hand, and for the first time in weeks, your body didn’t flinch.

news traveled fast in jackson.

you didn’t mean for it to get out. but people noticed things. jesse walking with you to maria’s office. the way he lingered by your side during meal shifts. the way dina’s smile faltered every time she caught him looking at you like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

and then, ellie told her.

you didn’t ask her to. but part of you was glad she did. because you didn’t have it in you to say the words yourself.

dina showed up on your porch that night.

you didn’t know what to expect. maybe yelling. maybe a slap. maybe a list of every way you’d ruined her life.

instead, dina just stood there, eyes glassy, jaw tight.

“how far along?” she asked.

“seven weeks.”

she nodded. looked down at the porch like it had answers she couldn’t find.

“he’s gonna be a good dad,” she said after a moment. “he was always good at taking care of people.”

you didn’t know what to say. so you said nothing.

“i’m not mad at you,” dina added quietly. “i was… but i’m not. it’s complicated. always has been.”

and then she left, leaving behind nothing but the creak of wood and a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

jesse started showing up more.

he’d bring you hot tea after patrol. fix the squeaky hinge on your back door. leave little jars of peanut butter in your cabinet because you mentioned once that you missed it. he didn’t push, didn’t force himself into your space—but he was always nearby. always steady.

you’d lie in bed some nights, his jacket tucked under your pillow, wondering how it had all gone so wrong and right at the same time.

you still didn’t know what you were to him. not really. but the fear that used to wrap around your ribs like chains was loosening. slowly.

you let yourself start to hope.

just a little.

it started small.

jesse would sit on your porch after patrol, dirt still on his boots, arms crossed over his chest like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to come closer. you’d bring him a blanket, sit beside him without saying much, and he’d glance at you like he was trying to memorize your face all over again.

you never talked about that night.

not the way you wanted to. not with all the feelings laid bare. but you didn’t need to—not yet. there was something heavier in the air now. something more important than regret or confusion.

there was a future growing inside you. one that kicked at night when you were half asleep and made you cry over stew that was a little too salty. one that reminded you—this wasn’t just about you or jesse anymore. this was about the tiny heartbeat that pulsed under your skin like a secret trying to get out.

jesse started coming by in the mornings. he’d bring you bread wrapped in a napkin or a peach from the greenhouse. he always smiled when you opened the door, like it surprised him that you kept letting him in.

and every time, your walls chipped a little more.

“you sleep okay?” he’d ask one morning, pouring water into the kettle like he’d done it a hundred times.

“not really,” you’d mumble. “i had a weird dream about a mushroom the size of a horse chasing me.”

jesse laughed, low and warm. “you’re gonna have to stop eating before bed.”

you smiled, and for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like a lie.

ellie came by one afternoon with her guitar strapped across her back.

“i’m not good with babies,” she said without even sitting down. “but i figured i should learn.”

you blinked, startled.

“ellie—”

“maria told me you’ve been trying to do this whole thing on your own for too long. she’s right. so i’m here. whatever you need. diapers, supplies, terrible lullabies, you name it.”

your throat tightened. “thank you.”

she nodded, then pointed at your stomach. “i’m gonna teach that kid how to play the guitar. even if it takes fifteen years.”

you laughed. for real this time.

“deal.”

jesse took you to your first checkup in the clinic, and he didn’t let go of your hand once. even when your fingers were clammy. even when the nurse asked, “dad, you coming in too?”

you saw something shift in his eyes at that—dad—but he didn’t flinch. just nodded and followed you in, squeezing your hand gently like a promise.

the monitor beeped softly as they searched for the heartbeat.

and then—

there it was.

fast. strong. tiny. like a hummingbird’s wings fluttering beneath your ribs.

you stared at the screen, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. jesse leaned forward, watching with the quietest expression you’d ever seen on him—like he was witnessing something holy.

“that’s our kid,” he whispered, his voice rough.

and for the first time, you let yourself believe it.

ours.

you still had bad days.

days when you couldn’t get out of bed. days when the weight of what was coming pressed so hard on your chest it felt like you couldn’t breathe. days when you wondered if jesse would wake up one morning and change his mind.

but he never did.

he showed up every time. arms full of supplies. pockets full of dumb stories. hands steady when yours were shaking.

“we don’t have to have it all figured out,” he’d say, kneeling by your bedside, brushing hair away from your face. “we just have to keep showing up.”

and somehow, that was enough.

one night, near the end of your second trimester, jesse stayed after dinner. the house was quiet, dimly lit by lanterns. rain tapped gently against the roof.

you sat on the floor, legs stretched out in front of you, rubbing the small ache in your back. jesse sat behind you and, without a word, began to massage your shoulders. your eyes started fluttering shut.

he hesitated. “can i ask you something?”

you nodded.

he looked nervous.

“do you think… do you think there’s a chance this could be more than just co-parenting?”

your breath caught.

he wasn’t looking at you—just staring at his hands in his lap like he was afraid of the answer.

“i mean,” he continued, “i know i fucked up. i know the timing’s all wrong. but when i think about you, and the baby, and all the mornings we’ve been spending together… i don’t know. it feels right.”

you turned toward him, heart thudding.

“it does,” you whispered. “feel right.”

his eyes met yours, full of hope and something deeper. something you’d both been avoiding.

you leaned in first. he met you halfway.

the kiss was soft, unhurried. not desperate or messy like that night months ago. it was full of breath and quiet and everything you’d both been too scared to say until now.

when you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“i want this,” he said. “not just the baby. i want you.”

you closed your eyes.

“i want you too.”

when the baby finally came, it was snowing.

the labor was long, painful, terrifying—but jesse was there the whole time, holding your hand, whispering to you through every contraction, every scream, every hour of it.

and then—

you heard the cry.

tiny, sharp, so full of life it knocked the air from your lungs.

“it’s a girl,” the nurse said, gently wrapping the newborn in a blanket before placing her on your chest.

your arms trembled as you held her. her skin was soft and pink, her eyes squeezed shut, her cry loud and strong.

you looked up at jesse. he was crying. completely undone.

“she’s perfect,” he choked out.

you nodded, breathless.

“hi, g/n,” you whispered.

jesse kissed your forehead.

“thank you,” he said. “for not giving up. for letting me be here.”

you leaned into him, exhausted but full in a way you hadn’t known was possible.

“we’re gonna be okay,” you said.

and you meant it.

jackson wasn’t quiet. not ever. but in your little house, with your daughter asleep on your chest and jesse’s arms wrapped gently around you both, there was a calm that felt like peace.

the three of you—messy, scared, brave—somehow fit together.

and for the first time in your life, you weren’t afraid of the future.

jackson was quieter in the mornings, when the snow hadn’t yet started to fall and the town hadn’t fully woken. the quiet was a gift—fleeting, rare. jesse liked that about mornings. he especially liked them now, because they always started the same way:

looking for you.

you weren’t hard to find. usually, you were already moving—tending the goats behind the stables, folding up clean laundry on the porch of your small house, or making your way back from the greenhouse with your arms full of vegetables you refused to let anyone else carry.

this morning was no different. jesse found you near the community kitchen, a basket in your hands and a scarf pulled tight around your neck.

you looked up, your face lighting up in that way that made his whole chest warm. “good morning baby.”

god, that voice. that smile.

he was useless every time.

“hey,” he said, walking straight to you. his hands were already moving before he finished the word—reaching for the basket, brushing your gloved fingers in the process. “you shouldn’t be carrying this.”

you raised a brow, amused. “it’s lettuce.”

“it’s heavy lettuce,” he replied, already tucking it under one arm and using the other to pull you into his side. “let me do something. justify my existence.”

you laughed, soft and lovely, and leaned into him as you walked together toward the house.

inside, it was warm—thankfully. jesse knelt down to help you remove your boots, but you stopped him with a hand gently on his shoulder.

“jess, honey. i’m not ninety.”

“i know. you’re stronger than all of us,” he said, grinning as he stood up again and pressed a kiss to your temple. “still gonna help you. sorry, it’s a compulsion now.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “you’re impossible.”

“yeah,” he murmured, pulling you in again, resting a hand over the soft swell of your belly. “but you love me anyway.”

six months along. that’s what the doctor said, when they’d finally confirmed it. six months of this strange, fierce little life blooming inside you, and six months of jesse practically becoming your shadow.

he didn’t hover. not in the way that felt smothering. he watched. he noticed. he was just there—the way people were when they couldn’t bear the idea of you slipping out of their reach.

he walked you to patrol meetings, even when you insisted you were just checking in. he stood behind you during supply runs, always one step behind, like he could catch you if the earth gave out beneath your feet.

but you never pushed him away. and not because you needed him—but because it meant something to let him take care of you.

you weren’t weak.

but letting him love you like this?

it made you feel strong in a new way. anchored.

that afternoon, jesse had kitchen duty—which he hated, but tommy had made the schedule and “there’s no use arguing with the damn mayor,” as jesse liked to say, especially if he were to one day run jackson himself.

you were resting on the porch, a blanket around your legs, warm tea in your hands, when he came stomping up the steps, flour on his pants and something exasperated in his expression.

“he made me make bread,” jesse announced, collapsing into the rocking chair beside you.

you tried not to laugh. “the horror.”

“actual bread. kneading and everything. i feel like my hands are going to fall off at any point.”

you reached over, brushed a fleck of flour from his jaw with a gentle finger. “poor thing.”

jesse looked at you for a long second, eyes tracing over your face, your slight smile, the shape of you beneath the soft cardigan you wore.

“thank you, love,” you said softly, just like you always did, and just like always—it broke him.

something in his chest just caved in.

he leaned forward without a word and kissed your forehead, letting his hand rest again on the curve of your belly.

you covered his hand with yours.

the wind blew gently across the porch. the rocking chairs creaked in rhythm.

and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

the next day, you insisted on walking to the stables alone.

“i’m not made of glass honey,” you said.

jesse kissed your forehead and let you go—reluctantly.

but by the time you returned, the clouds had rolled in and the wind had picked up, carrying snow and bits of ice through the air.

you were halfway to the house when the basket slipped from your hand, scattering fresh hay across the path.

jesse had just about bolted out the front door the moment he saw you bend down.

“hey—hey, babe, don’t—stop—just, let me—!”

you straightened as he reached you, your cheeks red from the cold.

“i was fine,” you said gently, though you let him pick up the basket.

“i know. i know you were. but still.” his hands moved, brushing snow from your coat, from your hair, lingering just a second too long on your cheek. “you don’t gotta do everything alone.”

“i’m not,” you said. “i’ve got you.”

and jesse? he just about short-circuited.

later that night, you sat together in bed, the fire casting shadows on the walls. he was rubbing your feet—something you hadn’t asked for, but he did without fail every night now.

you were reading. he was just looking at you. eyes soft. tired, but content.

“you always look at me like that,” you said, closing the book. “why?”

“like what?”

“like i’m your favorite story.”

he paused, “because you are.”

you blinked, startled by the quiet sincerity in his voice.

“i mean it,” he added, kneeling in front of you. “you… you gave me something i didn’t know i’d ever have again. a real life. something to hold on to. someone who sees me.”

you reached down, cradling his face in both hands.

“i do see you,” you whispered. “and i love what i see.”

he pulled you into him, rested his forehead against yours. for a while, neither of you said anything. you didn’t need to.

there was safety in the silence.

love in the quiet.

a few days later, a patrol party came back late—shaken, not hurt, but quiet in a way that said something almost went wrong.

you were helping unload supplies when you heard jesse’s voice across the yard—loud, frantic.

“where is she?”

you turned, confused, just in time for him to rush to you, eyes wide and scanning every inch of you like you might disappear.

“i’m fine,” you said, catching his face between your palms. “i’m right here.”

he exhaled hard, like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

“i thought—someone said you might’ve gone out with them. i didn’t know—i just—” he broke off.

“i’m okay,” you said again, softer now. “i’m okay, love.”

and there it was. that smile. that voice. that "love" that undid him every time.

he kissed you right there, in front of the watchtower and half the town, like it didn’t matter who saw. and maybe it didn’t. not anymore.

One Month Later

snow was starting to melt. the world was still cold, still broken—but life was happening anyway.

you were eight months along, glowing in a way jesse swore he’d never get used to. stronger than ever, still doing too much, still letting him help.

and jesse? he still looked for you first thing every morning. still held your hand like a tether. still kissed your forehead like a vow.

the day you felt a kick so strong it startled you, jesse dropped the mug he was holding and stared at your belly like it had just spoken.

“she’s strong,” you whispered.

“like her mama,” he murmured.

“like her papa, too.”

the nights were warmer now.

you lay curled in bed, jesse beside you, one arm beneath your head, the other resting on your stomach. the baby kicked gently beneath his palm.

“you’re gonna be a great dad,” you whispered sleepily.

he kissed your temple. “only ‘cause you’re her mom.”

you smiled. “thank you, love.”

and just like always—

jesse melted.

he smiled into your hair, held you closer, and whispered: