“Exactly.”

“You have no taste. You lack… enlightenment.”

“I have standards. And I lack nothing,” he shoots back, flashing that grin that should come with a warning and a government-issued permit.

While you aren't truly mad, you try to pretend, but then he starts singing. Purposely loud and off-key, twisting the lyrics into something ridiculous to make you laugh.

Absurdly, it works.

By the time you stop for gas, you’re not speaking to him. Not because you’re actually mad, but because he knows he’s charming, and you refuse to reward that.

You lean against the car while he pays, scrolling your phone like you’re deeply invested in something.

He comes back with snacks. “It was the last one,” he says, holding out your favorite chocolate like he’s presenting a tribute to a mildly hostile queen. “Peace offering.”

You don’t take it.

He raises an eyebrow. “Still doing this?”

“I don’t negotiate with men who insult Sleep Token.”

“Alright,” he nods thoughtfully, "but I didn't insult them. I just chose not to listen to them." With a smug grin, he unwraps the chocolate and takes a bite.

Your head snaps up. “You did not!”

“Oh, I did,” he says, chewing slowly. “And wow. This is really good. Shame you’re missing out.”

You snatch it out of his hand so fast it would impress a magician.

He laughs, head tipped back slightly, sunlight catching on his sunglasses, a bead of sweat on his throat drips down into the collar of his shirt.

It hits you, sharp and inconvenient. You like him. Not just in a ‘this is fun’ casual way. You like him in the 'this feels dangerous and real' whole-lot-terrifying way.

Great. Fantastic. Brilliant timing.

You shove the chocolate into your mouth like it will choke the realization.

The teasing settles into something softer once you're back on the road. Windows down, music lower, the world stretching out in long, lazy miles.

You’re turned slightly toward him, one leg tucked up under you. He has one hand on the wheel, the other on your knee, loosely holding your fingers while his thumb smooths over your knuckles.

“You’re staring,” he says casually.

“I’m not.”

He glances over, smirking. “You’re doing it right now.”

You look away immediately. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” he challenges.

You hesitate, just for a second, but it's enough for him to notice because usually you’d accept the challenge by kissing him to stop the charm and smugness from leaking out.

His demeanor shifts, no longer teasing, but curious. “Something on your mind?”

“Just thinking,” you shrug.

“Dangerous.”

“Please. I think all the time.”

Jake chuckles. “And I usually end up in the dog house.” He pulls your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “What’s on your mind?”

You don’t answer because the truth is sitting right there, heavy and impatient at the back of your throat, like a tickle that you can’t clear away but has decided, inconveniently, that now is good enough.

You should ignore it. You should swallow it down. You should absolutely not say anything while he’s driving seventy miles an hour.

So naturally you say, “I think I’m in love with you.”

The car jerks to the side, but only slightly. Years of training keep him in control, but the mood shifts.

Pulling your hand from his, you clap it over your mouth like it will physically grab the words and shove them back in.

“I,” you start, voice muffled. “I didn’t. That just...”

He’s too calm. “You’re in love with me?” he repeats, not looking at you.

“I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Like what? Out loud?”

“Jake.”

Finally, he glances over, the look on his face isn’t panic or confusion, it’s warm and soft, and it makes your stomach drop in an entirely new way.

“You picked a hell of a time,” he says.

“I know,” you groan, dragging your hands down your face. “I was going to be cool about it. Maybe wait until we weren’t in a moving vehicle. Face to face.”

“Bold strategy.”

“Shut up.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, then looks back at the road. A beat passes. Two. Three. You brace yourself for the deflection, the gentle letdown.

“I was going to say it first.”

Your head snaps toward him. “What?”

He shrugs, like he didn’t just casually rearrange your entire emotional framework. “Been trying to figure out when. Didn’t think blurting it out at the Hard Deck or between gas stations was the move, but...”

"You’re kidding.”

“I don’t joke about stuff like that.”

“You literally just ate my chocolate out of spite.”

“That was different, that was war.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. A small, disbelieving, half-hysterical laugh. “You’re serious?”

“I’m serious.” He reaches over, his hand finding yours, giving it a steadying squeeze. “I love you.”

Your heart tries to somersault out of your chest. “I love you too.”

Jake smiles at you. “You’re still not touching the aux,” he adds.

"Hey," you protest, "I just confessed my love...”

“Doesn’t mean I trust your playlist.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re in love with me,” he shoots back, grinning smugly.

You roll your eyes, but your fingers tighten around his anyway. “Yeah, unfortunately for me.”

Jake laughs, and you turn to hide your smile.

You stopped at the same gas station on the way back to Fighter Town, and Jake had emerged with a magnet of your favorite chocolate bar. It lived on the fridge in the apartment you shared with Jake until you left. Now it lives on your fridge.

Hugging a coffee mug, you stare at the faded souvenir, wondering how it all came to this. Funny how a cheap magnet could become a token for a life you no longer have. You kept it because throwing it away felt too much like admitting your relationship was over.

“Hey.”

Jake’s voice startles you from your reverie, and you twist to see him leaning against your bedroom door. Shirtless and beautiful and rested. The dark circles and redness his eyes had worn last night are nearly invisible.

“Morning.”

His eyes move beyond your shoulder, and when that boyish smile appears, you know he's seen the magnet and had a brief flash of the same memory that sent you spiraling into the past. His smile fades faster than yours had, and the silence that follows is heavy, filled by the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the city waking up.

Neither of you can pretend last night didn’t happen, and neither of you knows what happens next.

Jake scratches the back of his neck. “I still think Sleep Token sucks.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “You still have no taste.” You take one last look at the magnet, then move to grab another mug from the cupboard.

“Do you regret it?” Jake blurts at your back.

“What?”

He’s at your side before you’ve set the mug down. “Do you regret it?” he asks again, “Not last night or this morning or whatever.” He frowns, shaking his head like he’s trying to shake his thoughts into order. “Us. Do you regret us?”

“No,” you say softly, “I don’t regret any of it.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “I know last night doesn’t magically fix anything, and I don’t expect it to," he winks, "although I was in top form."

You roll your eyes, chuckling, “There he is.”

“Seriously,” he sighs, taking your hands, “can I come back tonight? Or tomorrow maybe?”

“Jake.”

“I don’t mean,” he gestures vaguely toward your bedroom. “Well, okay, maybe I mean that a little, but that’s not what I’m asking.” He takes a deep breath. "I’m asking if I can come back and have dinner with you? Can I call you when Rooster does something stupid today? Can I send you videos of dogs doing cute stuff? Can we go to dinner and you steal my fries when I specifically told you to order your own?”

Your eyes well with tears because you miss all of those seemingly trivial things. “Stolen fries taste better.”

He chuckles but brushes his thumb over your knuckles, and it seems to ground him. “I know we can’t just pretend nothing happened. I know I hurt you, and there are things we need to talk about. What I’m asking is,” he smiles weakly before dropping his gaze to where your hands are joined. “Can we start over?”

“Start over?” The hitch in your breath draws his attention back to your face.

“Not all the way over." The gravity in his tone contrasts with the glint in his eyes. Lifting his chin toward the refrigerator, he asserts, “I’m not sitting through the Sleep Token phase again.”

“It wasn’t a phase.” Your attempt at sterness is thwarted by the involuntary curl of your lips.

It seems to ease the tension in him. The urgency in his voice is gone. “I don't want to erase how this began or pretend we haven’t loved each other,” he sighs, “or ignore that I screwed this up.”

He squeezes your hands, searching your face as he seemingly searches for words. The vulnerability in his expression is so rare that your body reacts with a sharp stab in your chest.

“We’ll go slow this time, like normal people.”

“We’ve never been normal people.”

“That’s true.” He grins. “Just... let me take you on a date tonight?”

“A date?”

“Yeah. It's been a long time since we've done that. So let me take you on a real date.” He rolls his eyes, smirking, “I’ll even let you pick the playlist.”

You gasp. “Wow”

“I know. Huge personal growth.”

Your laugh feels lighter than any you’ve managed in months. Jake watches, hopeful and terrified.

“One date,” you agree.

His grin arrives slowly, bright as the rising sun.

Part 6 - Dagger Mission - The Dagger team proves their expertise in stealth tactics.

A/N 2: I'm sure I'll be exploring more of these 2 in the future so be sure to get on my tag list so you don't miss it.

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It should have been comforting, but Jeremiah wasn’t stupid. Drew had flown home unannounced in the middle of the night, right after eating a big dinner at his parents’ fancy country club. And had he been wearing . . .? 

Jeremiah stretched up so he could see the pile of clothes Drew had stripped off before he’d gotten sick. Neat khaki pants and a blue collared button down - another clue. Drew traveled in comfortable clothes, in case he got motion sick and needed to dash to an airplane bathroom or fling himself out of a quickly stopped car. He’d never fly in “club attire” if he could avoid it. Something clearly had happened in Atlanta. 

And now there was no way Jeremiah was going to sleep, not with his thoughts racing like they were. Because of course his mind went immediately to I told you so. He’d warned Drew that his father’s attention wasn’t real, that his family, and their uptight, barely tolerating his lifestyle attitudes hadn’t changed overnight. And now, it seemed like Jeremiah had been right. 

He didn’t feel good about it though. Or vindicated or justified or anything except sad. Because Drew must be devastated. And right now his boyfriend’s pain was more important than Jeremiah’s own hurt at having his concerns brushed aside. There’d be time later to talk about that, about why Drew had seemingly found it so easy to leave, and to take Jeremiah love for granted.

But he couldn’t - he wouldn’t - go there. Because going to those thoughts would make it too easy to admit how much he was hurting too. And if he admitted that, well then he’d not be able to be the support Drew needed right now. So he lay in the dark, listening to his boyfriend’s breathing, and thought about what to say in the morning when Drew told him what had happened. Because getting his reaction right was crucial if he wanted to fix everything - for both of them. And with that thought, Jeremiah rolled over and finally fell asleep.

Not surprisingly, he woke up first. Drew was still sound asleep, splayed out like a starfish across the mattress, when Jeremiah carefully wiggled out from underneath him and into the bathroom, and then the kitchen, where he began gathering ingredients to make breakfast. The vanilla cream for Drew’s usual morning latte was expired so he put on the kettle for tea instead and then began making the pancakes, adding blueberries to his and chocolate chips and bananas to a stack for Drew. The kettle had just begun to whistle when Drew slouched in, looking rumpled and exhausted.  Jeremiah mentally braced himself. 

“Good morning love; I made pancakes - banana chocolate-chip.  And scrambled eggs.” He put a mug of tea on the counter and got out the sugar and milk. 

“I’m not really hungry.”  Drew accepted both the tea and then a kiss, turning his head to meet Jeremiah’s lips with his. 

“Is your stomach still upset? You seemed to sleep okay last night.” Jeremiah fixed himself a plate and left the serving dishes on the island, a subtle hint for Drew to join him.  The nurse shrugged.

“It’s fine.”  He didn’t say anything else; just rotated the mug of tea in his hands. 

Jeremiah sighed to himself. He’d expected and prepared for Drew to confess what had happened in Atlanta that had sent him home so abruptly. There might be dramatic tears, righteous anger, shame, embarrassment. Jeremiah anticipated it all. Eventually there would be an apology and then - after they talked a little about why Jeremiah had been hurt - forgiveness. And then Jeremiah could go back to being the rock and support Drew needed and deserved and fuck his father and the rest of his family. 

That was how it was supposed to happen. But Drew didn’t talk to him about it. Instead he dumped his mug of tea in the sink and dragged his suitcase from the front hallway into the laundry room. When Jeremiah followed him, he muttered that he needed a shower and disappeared in the direction of the bedroom.

Jeremiah wanted to ask if he wanted company, but there was a sudden lump in his throat that prevented the words. He was still standing, frozen in the bedroom, when he heard the sound of a harsh retch through the closed door.  He’d taken only half a step forward when the lock clicked and the shower turned on.  

Jeremiah’s own stomach dropped. His first, wild thought was that he’d misread the situation completely and that Drew had come home to tell him he was staying in Atlanta. But there was no way that could be true, no matter how closed off Drew was being. Jeremiah was still confident enough in their relationship to know that. 

And he also knew that he couldn’t wait for Drew to share what had happened. So he swallowed his own nausea and his pride and went back to the kitchen to clean up until he heard Drew get out of the shower and go back to the laundry room. 

“Drew.” Jeremiah hovered in the doorway, watching his boyfriend dump clothes from his suitcase into the wash.  Nothing was folded or organized in the packing cubes Drew liked to use and all his dress shirts were wrinkled.  He began making a separate pile of them, and another of his ties, as if Jeremiah wasn’t standing there and hadn’t spoken.

He tried again.  “What happened, sweetheart?  What happened in Atlanta?” There was no way to sugar coat the question.  

Drew’s mouth tightened. “Nothing.  Nothing happened; I’m fine.”  

Jeremiah bit back the urge to point out that Drew was acting anything but fine; he’d likely get defensive at the accusation.  He changed tactics.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” Obviously it hadn’t been a planned surprise, and Jeremiah hoped Drew wouldn’t try to pretend it was. The elephant hovered in the room, enormous already and getting bigger.  But Drew ignored it.

He shrugged instead, pouring detergent into the machine and switching it on.  “I missed you,” he said simply. “Didn’t you miss me?  I thought that’s what you’ve been saying every time we talked.” There was a challenge in his tone. 

“Of course I missed you,” Jeremiah scoffed. “And you know it.”  Now it was him trying to keep the anger out of his voice.  “But that doesn’t answer my question.” 

Drew finally met Jeremiah’s gaze. The pain in his expression was so palpable Jeremiah almost flinched. “Please let it go,” he pleaded, but quietly. “Just . . . can’t you be happy I’m home?” He gulped suddenly, and Jeremiah remembered the retch from the bathroom. Drew shook him off.

“I’m fine,” he said for probably the fifth time since the previous night. Jeremiah didn’t believe him any more now than he had the first four times.  He didn’t say so though.  And didn’t say the other things he wanted, that it was hard to be happy Drew was here when it was obvious he was keeping something hidden.  Or to ask why it was that Drew still didn’t seem to trust that Jeremiah had his best interests at heart. He just didn’t have the energy to fight at the moment. 

So he nodded but didn’t agree out loud.  “Noa and Rory’s engagement party is tonight,” he said instead. “They’ll be happy you’re here to join them.”