Hey, Besties. The name is Jessi. She/her. 35 in age, younger at heart. Welcome to the page that was supposed to be multi-fandom but somehow has turned into a Bad Omens fic page 💀 Asks are open 💚🖤
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Spicy chapter. Nothing graphic but implications an such. 🖤
In the world of Jolly Karlsson, five years wasn’t a long time.
Five years was album cycles. Tours. Long nights in studios arguing over lyrics and mixes.
Five years was bunks and flights and exhausted mornings with too much coffee.
But five years loving Y/N?
That felt endless.
Because every single second of it had been restrained. Controlled. Swallowed down until it nearly hollowed him out.
And now, suddenly, in one single night, he’d gone from thinking he lost her, to having her beneath him looking at him like he deserved every single ounce of love she had.
That alone nearly unraveled him.
Jolly hovered over her for a second longer, just looking at her again while his hand brushed slowly along her thigh beneath the hoodie she still wore.
Her eyes stayed fixed on his, completely unguarded in a way he’d never seen before, and that terrified him almost as much as it consumed him.
Because Y/N had always been expressive.
Always loud. Always affectionate.
But this? This was different.
This was every hidden feeling finally allowed into the open.
“You keep staring at me like that,” she whispered softly, fingers brushing through his hair again, “and I’m gonna start getting nervous.”
A breathy laugh escaped him. “Baby,” he murmured, “that would make both of us then.”
That got the faintest smile from her.
Jolly leaned down and kissed her again slowly, his hand sliding carefully under the hoodie at her waist. Her skin warmed instantly beneath his palm, and he felt the small shiver that moved through her body.
His chest tightened painfully.
Because this? This was the final layer.
The forbidden one.
The one he’d thought about more times than he’d ever admit out loud. The one he convinced himself he’d never touch.
And now she was here beneath him letting him love her openly.
Jolly kissed her deeper, slower, carefully pulling the hoodie upward as he did. Y/N lifted her arms immediately to help him, her cheeks pink when the fabric finally disappeared.
His breath visibly caught.
Not dramatically. Not because he hadn’t seen women before.
But because this was her. And that changed everything.
The look on his face softened so much it nearly hurt her chest.
“Don’t do that,” she whispered immediately.
He blinked. “Do what?”
“Look at me like I hung the moon.”
Jolly laughed softly under his breath before leaning down and pressing a kiss just beneath her jaw.
“You kinda did in my world.”
That made her close her eyes briefly with a quiet groan. “See?” she muttered. “This is why I said the thoughts were unholy.”
Jolly smiled against her skin. “Tell me one.”
“No.”
“Coward.”
She laughed softly as his mouth moved lower, kissing slowly across her neck.
“I had a lot of thoughts about your hands,” she admitted eventually.
That made him pause instantly. “Yeah?”
Y/N nodded once, visibly embarrassed now. “Especially when you’d braid my hair.”
Jolly nearly lost his mind immediately. “Jesus Christ.”
“You asked.”
“And now I regret asking because I’m actively trying to survive this gracefully.”
She laughed again, and the sound hit him directly in the chest.
God, he loved making her laugh.
Even here. Even now.
Jolly kissed lower slowly, reverently, like he was memorizing her.
And honestly? He was.
He knew almost every layer of her already.
He knew how she sounded when she was tired versus irritated. Knew the difference between her fake laugh and her real one. Knew exactly what mood she was in based on how hard she closed cabinets. Knew which songs made her emotional. Knew she danced while cooking and sang louder when she thought nobody was listening.
But this? This was new territory.
And somehow even more intense than he imagined.
His lips moved from her mouth to her neck, then lower to her shoulder.
Y/N’s breathing changed immediately when he kissed the constellation of birthmarks there; three tiny marks clustered together near her collarbone.
Jolly smiled softly against her skin. “I love these.”
Y/N blinked down at him. “What?”
“These little marks.” His thumb brushed over them gently. “They look like a constellation.”
The expression on her face almost ruined him again.
Because nobody had ever looked at those things twice before.
Jolly kissed them softly.
Then lower.
His fingers brushed carefully along the scar near her hip next.
Another thing she’d never thought much about. Another thing he looked at like it mattered.
“You got this when you were seventeen right?”
Y/N blinked in surprise. “You remember that?”
“You slipped on ice while carrying coffee.”
She stared at him. “You remember why I got a scar?”
“You cried because you dropped the coffee.”
That got a startled laugh out of her. “I was more upset about the coffee than the bleeding.”
“I know.”
Jolly kissed the scar softly too, and looked up at her. “I love this too.”
Y/N’s chest physically hurt.
Because he said these things so easily, as if loving every piece of her wasn’t difficult at all.
Meanwhile, she’d spent years terrified she was too much.
Too loud. Too emotional. Too clingy. Too in love.
And now Jolly was looking at her like none of it scared him.
His mouth moved lower slowly after that, kissing across warm skin while her fingers tangled tighter into his hair.
And every reaction she gave him only made him more obsessed.
The sharp inhale when he touched her. The way her back arched instinctively. The tiny noises she clearly didn’t mean to make.
Jolly wanted all of it. Needed all of it.
Not in a selfish way. In a consuming way. In the way he wanted to learn her completely.
Y/N’s fingers tightened suddenly in his hair when his touch changed slightly.
Jolly noticed immediately.
His eyes flicked upward briefly just to watch her expression.
Breathing uneven. Lips parted. Trying and failing to stay quiet.
“Tell me,” he whispered softly against her skin.
Y/N shook her head instantly, embarrassed.
“Baby.”
A weak laugh escaped her. “I don’t know how.”
Jolly’s expression softened, “Then I’ll figure it out.”
That almost made her cry, because even here, he was still careful with her heart. Still treating this like something emotional instead of just physical.
His movements shifted slowly after that, adjusting every couple seconds based on her reactions.
Learning. Paying attention.
Y/N’s entire body reacted to that more than anything else.
The way he listened. The way he cared. The way every tiny sound she made visibly affected him.
When she finally came undone the first time, her fingers curled tightly into his hair as her body shook beneath him.
Jolly helped her through it carefully, kissing her inner thigh afterward before moving slowly back upward.
If she was honest, the tenderness of that nearly destroyed her more than the intensity itself.
He kissed back up her body lazily, lips lingering everywhere like he still couldn’t get enough of touching her.
Then, finally found her mouth again.
Y/N kissed him immediately, fingers trembling slightly where they rested against his neck now.
Jolly’s forehead dropped briefly against hers as both of them tried catching their breath.
“You okay?” he whispered instantly.
Y/N laughed weakly. “You are seriously asking me that right now?”
“Yes.”
That softened her all over again. “I’m more than okay.”
Jolly kissed her once before settling himself carefully between her legs again.
The moment nearly broke both of them completely, because suddenly there was nothing separating them anymore. Nothing holding either of them back.
Y/N’s nails dug lightly into his back as he moved slowly at first, both of them breathing unevenly already.
Jolly’s hand found hers as she gripped sheets, fingers intertwining tightly as he held her there, grounding both of them.
His other hand shifted her leg carefully, angling her closer exactly where he wanted her; exactly where she needed him.
The airy little “fuck” that escaped her mouth after that nearly sent him over the edge.
Jolly groaned softly under his breath. “Baby…”
Y/N’s face flushed harder at the sound he made.
Because apparently she wasn’t the only one unraveling here.
His composure cracked every time she reacted to him.
Every sharp inhale. Every tighter grip. Every whispered sound of his name.
And when she said his name? Nothing prepared him for that.
Years.
Years imagining this, and somehow reality was infinitely worse.
Or better.
Probably both.
Jolly kissed along her neck slowly while his movements grew rougher, deeper, less restrained every couple seconds.
Y/N’s head tilted back against the pillow, eyes closed now as she clung to him.
One of his hands still held hers tightly against the mattress. The other slid beneath her back when she arched again, pulling her impossibly closer.
“That’s it,” he whispered roughly against her throat.
Y/N’s entire body trembled.
Jolly kissed lower again, then bit gently enough near her neck to leave a darkening mark. Which completely shattered her composure.
His name left her mouth, breathless and wrecked.
Hearing it like that almost finished him.
“Fuck,” he groaned softly.
Y/N’s grip tightened everywhere at once as another wave built harder this time.
Jolly felt it instantly.
The tension in her body. The way her breathing stuttered. The way she started clinging.
“That’s it baby,” he whispered again, voice rough now. “I got you.”
Her body shook when she came apart again.
Jolly held her through every second of it, forehead buried against the crook of her neck while he chased his own release.
Low sounds escaped him now too, completely uncontrolled; that affected Y/N almost as much as everything else combined, because Jolly was always composed. Always restrained.
But right now he sounded completely wrecked by her.
His movements lost rhythm for a second before he buried his face harder against her neck with a broken groan, riding both of them through the aftermath while her fingers slid shakily through his hair.
Neither of them spoke for several long seconds afterward.
Just breathing. Holding onto each other. Trying to come back down enough to function.
Eventually, Jolly lifted his head slightly, looking down at her with completely blown pupils and flushed cheeks and an expression so openly emotional it hurt.
Y/N smiled weakly. “Well.”
A breathless laugh escaped him. “Well, what?”
“That felt better than anything I’ve been able to imagine.”
That made him laugh harder, forehead dropping against hers again. “Yeah,” he whispered softly.
Then kissed her once more.
Slow. Deep. Completely ruined in the best way while the world around them kept moving.
When Y/N pulled away, Jolly barely had time to catch his breath before she whispered softly against his mouth, “My couch is not an option.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
Then she kissed him again, like she still couldn’t quite believe she was finally allowed to do this openly after seven years of secretly wanting it.
“But,” she murmured against his lips, “my bed is.”
Jolly physically felt heat settle low in his stomach at the quiet confidence in her voice.
Then she smiled faintly. That somehow made it worse.
“Clothing,” she added softer, “is what’s optional.”
A laugh escaped him immediately, breathless around the edges. “I see this unlocked a whole new level of boldness.”
Y/N hummed lightly, fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Not really a new level,” she whispered. “Just… a broader spectrum.”
Jolly laughed again, forehead falling briefly against hers. “Jesus Christ.”
She smiled wider. “I have five years of pent-up thoughts, sir.” Her voice dropped lower then. “And at least half of them are unholy enough that I probably need to seek a priest immediately. Those thoughts were innocent, and then I hit 16, and the devil himself came for my thoughts.”
That almost killed him.
Jolly groaned softly under his breath, hands tightening instinctively at her waist. “Care to enlighten me?”
Y/N’s eyes sparkled immediately.
“Mmm.” Her fingers toyed lazily with the hair at the back of his neck. “I’m more hands-on than a storyteller.”
The sound that left him after that was somewhere between a laugh and a low curse. “You’re dangerous.”
“I’ve been told that.”
Before she could say anything else, Jolly’s hands slid downward and hooked carefully behind her knees.
Y/N inhaled sharply in surprise just as he lifted her effortlessly.
Instinct took over immediately; her arms wrapped around his neck. Legs around his waist.
That alone nearly undid both of them. Not that this was anything new.
He’d carried her like this a hundred different times over the years.
When her legs hurt after long tattoo sessions. When she fell asleep on the couch. When she got dramatic and insisted she was “literally dying” after wearing heels for too long.
Jolly would just pick her up while she protested weakly and carry her anyway.
It had always been easy and natural.
But now?
Now there was something entirely different wrapped around it. Now every point of contact burned.
Y/N kissed him again immediately once he steadied her against him.
Not gentle this time.
Still emotional. Still soft around the edges, but deeper and needier. Like seven years of restraint were finally cracking apart.
Jolly kissed her back instantly, walking them into the house without breaking contact for more than a second.
The door shut behind them.
He reached blindly for the lock and turned it. Then he hit the light switch.
Darkness softened around them except for the warm glow deeper inside the apartment.
Y/N laughed softly against his mouth when he almost walked into the wall. “Focus, Karlsson.”
“You are actively ruining my concentration.”
“Good.”
God, he loved her.
Loved her so fucking much it almost made his chest ache.
Jolly carried her toward the bedroom slowly, kissing her between every few steps while she laughed softly every time he got distracted again.
The lamp on her bedside table cast warm golden light through the room when they entered.
Jolly kicked the bedroom door shut behind him before nudging his shoes off near the bed.
Finally, he carefully laid her down on the mattress and stopped just to look at her for a second.
Y/N’s hair spread slightly across the pillow beneath her. His hoodie hung off one shoulder from how much they’d been grabbing at each other already. Her cheeks were flushed pink, lips swollen from kissing him, eyes soft and emotional and so overwhelmingly full of love for him it nearly knocked the air from his lungs again.
Jolly hovered in place above her.
Y/N looked up at him. “What?”
He shook his head slowly. “You are…” His laugh came out weak. “Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“This is actually real.”
That softened her instantly.
Jolly sat slowly on the edge of the bed, one hand sliding carefully over her thigh beneath the oversized hoodie she wore, stopping at those godforsaken tiny shorts.
Or what he assumed were shorts.
Barely though.
His thumb brushed lightly against her skin, and he physically saw her shiver.
His expression immediately shifted.
Concern replacing heat instantly. “You okay?”
Y/N’s chest tightened violently at how fast he checked. How careful he sounded. How much he clearly needed to make sure she was alright.
She nodded softly. “More than okay.”
Jolly’s eyes searched hers for another second before he leaned down and kissed her forehead gently.
The intimacy of that somehow hit harder than the heavier kisses because this was Jolly. Especially when it came to her.
Not rushed. Not selfish. Every touch intentional.
Y/N reached up slowly and touched his face again, fingertips brushing softly over the stubble along his jaw.
“You know,” she whispered, “this is the first time I’ve ever kissed you without pretending it was platonic.”
Jolly groaned immediately. “Don’t say shit like that right now.”
She laughed softly. “Why?”
“Because I already feel emotionally unstable and overwhelmed.”
Y/N smiled warmly and tugged him closer again. “Good.”
He kissed her again before she could say anything else. Slower this time.
His hand slid carefully into her hair while hers rested over his heart. Neither of them missed how violently it was beating beneath her palm.
Y/N smiled softly against his mouth. “Nervous?”
Jolly pulled back just enough to look at her. “You should hear yourself.”
She huffed a quiet laugh. “Fair.”
Another kiss. Another breath. Another year of tension unraveling itself slowly between them.
Jolly’s forehead rested against hers again eventually, both of them breathing unevenly now.
“This feels dangerous,” he admitted quietly.
Y/N blinked softly. “Dangerous?”
“You’ve spent seven years wanting to be with me.” His thumb brushed over her cheek gently. “And I’ve spent five wanting to be with you.” A pause. “Now suddenly neither of us has to behave anymore.”
That got a genuine laugh out of her. “Oh no,” she whispered dramatically. “Whatever shall we do.”
Jolly smiled helplessly. “Probably make up for lost time.”
Heat bloomed across her face immediately.
“There’s the blush,” he murmured softly.
“Oh shut up.”
“No.”
Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately before tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt. “You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“I genuinely thought the first time we kissed, you’d be rougher.”
Jolly blinked. Then looked mildly offended. “I’m hurt.”
She laughed quietly.
“I’m serious,” she continued. “I thought all the tension would make you…” She gestured vaguely. “Less gentle.”
Jolly’s expression softened instantly as his hand slid carefully along the side of her face again. “You deserve gentle.”
That one hit her directly in the heart, because underneath everything else, Jolly had always done one thing consistently: taken care of her.
Even before he admitted what this was.
Y/N swallowed hard as emotion threatened to climb back up again.
Apparently, he noticed immediately.
“Hey,” he whispered softly.
She blinked quickly. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
His thumb brushed beneath her eye carefully. “You know how many years I wanted to do this?”
Y/N smiled faintly. “Slightly less than me.”
“Smartass.”
“You love it.”
“I really fucking do.”
The honesty in his voice made warmth spread through her chest again.
Jolly kissed her once more before finally pulling back enough to glance toward the oversized hoodie she wore.
His hoodie.
His expression shifted slightly. Fond and still ruined.
“You stole another one while I was gone.”
Y/N looked down dramatically. “Allegedly.”
“Baby.”
She laughed softly. “They smelled like you.”
That wrecked him instantly all over again.
Jolly leaned forward until his forehead dropped against her shoulder with a groan. “You cannot keep saying shit that makes me want to cry.”
Y/N buried her fingers gently in his hair. “Well,” she whispered warmly, “you’re the one who showed up on my porch emotionally devastated.”
“I was having a crisis.”
“You were having several.”
“Still am honestly.”
She laughed quietly again, the sound softer now as her fingers continued combing through his hair slowly, and for a minute, neither of them spoke.
They just stayed there tangled together beneath warm lamplight, breathing each other in like they were trying to recover years they never should have lost.
Eventually, Jolly lifted his head again and looked at her carefully. “You tired?”
Y/N smiled softly. “Not even remotely.”
“Good.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly at the tone in his voice.
Jolly’s hand slid slowly up her thigh again beneath the hoodie, eyes darkening just slightly this time.
Because now the emotional flood had settled enough for something else to finally surface properly.
Years.
Years of wanting her. Years of pretending every accidental touch didn’t linger too long afterward. Years of forcing himself not to think too hard every time she climbed into his lap or kissed his cheek or fell asleep against him.
And now she was here, looking at him like she wanted every bit of him just as badly.
Y/N noticed the shift, a small smile tugged at her lips. “There he is.”
Jolly huffed softly. “You are significantly too smug for someone wearing my clothes.”
She tilted her head innocently. “You gonna take them back?”
His eyes dropped briefly to her mouth again before meeting her gaze.
The wind blew gently around them. Cicadas could be heard along with the crickets. Somewhere off in the distance, a motorcycle echoed.
But on that porch, there was nothing but them, and years of want and pain floating between them out in the open.
Jolly’s hands still held her face, thumbs brushing under her eyes when new tears appeared before they could fall, even though he knew new ones would replace them immediately.
“I’m sorry.” He repeated again quietly.
Jolly’s eyes dropped to her mouth and then back to her eyes. It was subtle for anyone who didn’t know Jolly. But Y/N knew Jolly.
Her breath caught as he leaned down and finally kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed or desperate in the way years of tension probably should have made it. It was gentle and careful, as if he was terrified of mishandling something precious now that he finally had it in his hands.
A small sound escaped Y/N the second his lips touched hers, soft and shaky and completely overwhelmed. Her hands moved from his wrists to his chest instinctively, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt like she needed something solid to hold onto.
And God.
The feeling of her finally kissing him back nearly ruined him.
It felt exactly like her: warm, soft, emotional in a way that settled deep into his bones immediately.
Jolly’s hands stayed cradling her face the entire time, thumbs brushing softly under her eyes every couple seconds as if he physically couldn’t stop touching her now that he finally could again.
Years.
They lost years to fear.
Somehow, even with that realization sitting heavy between them, the kiss stayed tender.
The exact way he knew she deserved.
Not something rough and overwhelming. Not something selfish.
This wasn’t about finally getting what he wanted. This was about finally loving her out loud.
When they finally pulled apart, neither of them moved very far. Jolly rested his forehead back against hers immediately, breathing unevenly.
Y/N’s eyes stayed closed for another second before slowly opening again.
The look in them nearly dropped him to his knees; relief, love, heartbreak, happiness.
All tangled together so deeply it physically hurt to look at.
Jolly swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered roughly. “I let you go through all this alone.”
Y/N smiled softly through lingering tears.
“It just means,” she whispered back, “you have years to make up for.”
A broken laugh escaped him immediately. “Oh, I absolutely do.”
Her nose brushed his slightly when she smiled wider.
Jolly stared at her for another second before shaking his head faintly like he still couldn’t believe this was actually real.
Then quietly, “Five years.”
Y/N blinked. “What?”
Jolly huffed softly. “Five years I’ve loved you.”
Her breath caught instantly.
“You loved me seven,” he continued quietly. “I loved you five.”
Y/N stared at him in complete shock. “What?”
Jolly laughed weakly at her expression. “Yeah.”
Another small shake of his head. “I remember exactly when it happened too.”
Y/N’s lips parted slightly.
Jolly’s eyes drifted away from her for a second, unfocusing slightly as the memory surfaced.
“I came downstairs one morning,” he said quietly. “Mom wasn’t home.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth despite himself. “And you were standing in the kitchen making breakfast for me and the guys.”
Y/N blinked slowly, already trying to place the memory.
“You were singing to one of the demos Noah sent you.” His smile widened slightly now. “Loudly.”
Y/N huffed softly. “That sounds right.”
“You were wearing my hoodie.” Her cheeks flushed immediately. “And those godforsaken tiny shorts you’ve always loved.”
She laughed through embarrassment. “They were comfortable.”
“They were a problem,” he corrected immediately.
That earned a real laugh from her this time.
Jolly smiled helplessly at the sound before continuing. “You looked over your shoulder at me and smiled.” His voice softened noticeably now. “And you said, ‘morning Jollybean.’”
Y/N physically melted at the memory.
Jolly rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I still don’t know what the fuck was different about that day.” His eyes found hers again. “But something punched me directly in the gut.”
The honesty of it made her chest ache.
“And I haven’t stopped loving you since.”
Y/N covered her mouth briefly as fresh tears filled her eyes all over again.
Jolly laughed softly. “Trust me, I tried ignoring it.”
“You did a shitty job,” she whispered.
“Apparently.” He shook his head again. “I tried dating other girls.” His face twisted slightly. “Clearly those always fell apart.”
Y/N stayed quiet and just listened. Because hearing him say these things after years of silence still felt unreal.
“Emma tried getting serious too fast,” he admitted, then immediately sighed. “But honestly?” His expression turned guilty again. “She was a distraction.”
Y/N’s eyes softened.
“A fucking terrible distraction,” he muttered.
That got another small laugh out of her.
Jolly smiled faintly at the sound before continuing. “We went to this upscale fancy bullshit restaurant once.”
Y/N immediately groaned. “Oh no.”
“Exactly,” he laughed. “The entire time all I could think was you would absolutely fucking hate this place.”
Y/N smiled wider now.
“You’d be offended by the portions.”
“Correct.”
“You’d make fun of the menu descriptions.”
“Absolutely.”
“And the waiter?” Jolly laughed harder now, tears still lingering in his eyes. “You would’ve had a fucking field day.”
Y/N snorted.
He smiled. “That reaction is exactly the reaction I would have expected.”
The warmth in his face now was devastating.
“Coffee shops were worse.”
Y/N tilted her head slightly.
“All I could think about was how you’d be roasting my coffee order.”
“I mean, your order is embarrassing.”
“There it is,” he said instantly.
She laughed again and his chest physically tightened at the sound.
Because God, he missed that. Missed her. Missed this.
“You’d make some dry little comment under your breath,” he continued softly. “Or steal my drink after swearing yours was better.”
Y/N smiled knowingly. “Mine usually are.”
“Debatable.”
“Not really.”
“There she is,” he repeated.
Y/N blinked softly. “What?”
Jolly looked at her. “That’s the girl I’ve been losing my fucking mind over for the last how many weeks.”
The softness in his voice nearly knocked the air from her lungs.
Jolly’s hand slid carefully from her face down to the side of her neck, thumb brushing lightly against her skin.
“And the worst part?” he admitted quietly.
Y/N’s breathing slowed instinctively under his touch. “What?”
“I genuinely thought I was protecting us by not saying anything.”
That one hurt both of them.
Jolly shook his head weakly. “I kept thinking if we never crossed the line, I’d never lose you.”
Y/N’s eyes watered again immediately.
“And instead?” His voice cracked softly. “I almost lost you anyway.”
Silence settled around them for a second, full of emotions neither of them knew what to do with yet.
Then Y/N smiled faintly through tears. “Well.”
Jolly lifted an eyebrow slightly.
“You gonna stand on my porch all night?”
A breathy laugh escaped him. “Depends.”
“On?”
His eyes dropped briefly to her lips before meeting her gaze again. “Whether or not your couch is still an option if I completely ruin my life by refusing to leave you alone now.”
Y/N laughed softly. She then reached up and grabbed his face exactly the way she always did and kissed him again before he could overthink another thing.
Besties, I realized I never added in like one of the biggest moments... the tattoo. It was a part of 'them', and I completely forgot about putting the actual tattoo moment into the story like an idiot. So, here's and epilogue just for the tattoo moment.
A month before the wedding, Y/n woke up with one very clear thought.
She was going to die today.
Not literally.
Probably.
But her spine was about to be used as Veronica’s personal canvas for several hours, and even though Y/n had tattoos, even though she knew the pain was temporary, even though this tattoo had been living in her head for years, her body had decided to respond with full theatrical dread.
Nick found her sitting at the kitchen island, coffee untouched, staring into space.
He paused in the doorway. “You look like you’re waiting for bad news.”
She slowly turned her head toward him. “I am the bad news.”
He blinked once. “Okay.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You did not.”
“I did. I’ve chosen violence against myself.”
Nick walked over, clearly trying not to smile. “It’s a tattoo appointment.”
“It’s a spine tattoo appointment,” she corrected, pointing at him. “Those are very different emotional categories.”
He leaned against the counter across from her, hair still messy from sleep, expression soft with amusement. “You’re the one who wanted it.”
“I still want it,” she said immediately. “I just also want to complain the entire time.”
“That sounds more accurate.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re supposed to comfort me.”
“I am comforting you.”
“No, you’re observing me like a nature documentary.”
Nick’s mouth twitched. “In my defense, you are fascinating under stress.”
She threw a napkin at him.
He laughed, catching it against his chest before stepping closer. “Come here.”
“No.”
“Come here.”
She sighed dramatically but let him pull her into his arms anyway. The second his arms wrapped around her, some of the tension in her shoulders eased against her will.
Traitorous body.
Nick kissed the top of her head. “It’s going to look beautiful.”
“I know.”
“And Veronica’s going to take care of you.”
“I know.”
“And I’ll be there the whole time.”
She closed her eyes against his chest. “That’s the only reason I haven’t canceled and fled the country.”
“Good to know I’m useful.”
“You have occasional value.”
He laughed softly, holding her just a little tighter. “Ready?”
“No.”
“We have to leave.”
“Still no.”
“Baby.”
She groaned into his shirt. “Fine. But if I die, tell Gloria she can have my mugs.”
Nick pulled back enough to look at her. “Not your books?”
“She’d ruin the organization system.”
“Valid.”
By the time they got to Veronica’s studio, Y/n had worked herself into a steady, dramatic silence. Nick knew her well enough by now to understand the difference between actual panic and theatrical suffering.
This was theatrical suffering.
Mostly.
Veronica’s studio was warm and familiar, with plants crowding the windows, framed flash sheets on the walls, and music low enough to settle under the hum of the machines. It smelled like disinfectant, coffee, and whatever candle Veronica definitely wasn’t supposed to burn in a studio but did anyway.
Jolly was nowhere to be seen, which Y/n noticed immediately.
“Where’s your menace?” she asked.
Veronica glanced up from her station. “Getting food. Which means we have about fifteen minutes of peace before he returns with fries and emotional damage.”
Nick muttered, “Sounds right.”
Veronica smiled as Y/n approached the tattoo bed. “There she is. The almost bride.”
Y/n pointed at her. “Do not start.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely starting.” Veronica grinned, snapping a glove onto one hand. “You’re one month away from legally attaching yourself to Nicholas Ruffilo. This is a historic event.”
Nick looked over. “Why do you say my full name like I’m being charged with something?”
“Because emotionally, you are.”
Y/n laughed despite herself, carefully removing her jacket and setting it aside. She had worn a loose button-up specifically for this, easy to reverse and slip off enough for access without feeling fully exposed. Nick had helped her pick it out, and by helped, he mostly stood in the doorway and said everything looked good because he was useless when she was trying to be practical.
Veronica motioned toward the bed. “Alright. On your stomach, gorgeous.”
Y/n stared at the table like it had personally wronged her.
Nick stepped beside her, voice soft. “You okay?”
“No.”
“Still doing it?”
“Yes.”
“That’s my girl.”
She shot him a look. “Don’t be cute when I’m suffering.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You absolutely can.”
Veronica hummed. “He really can’t. Unfortunately, you chose one of the pretty ones.”
Y/n climbed onto the table and settled on her stomach, folding her arms beneath her head. The paper crinkled under her, cold for the first second before her body warmed it. Nick pulled a chair close beside her, sitting near her head so she could see him without moving too much.
Veronica adjusted the back of Y/n’s shirt carefully, exposing the length of her spine. Her touch was professional, gentle, and familiar enough that Y/n didn’t tense.
Then Veronica picked up the stencil.
For a moment, the room went quieter.
Because this was the piece, the one Nick had drawn at her kitchen table.
The sword, elegant and centered. The vines wrapping around it like they had grown there naturally. The roses placed with intention, some blooming fully, some still opening. Petals scattered down the length of it like something beautiful had survived being torn apart.
Veronica smiled as she positioned the stencil against Y/n’s back.
“This is going to be stunning with your wedding dress,” she said.
Y/n made a muffled noise into her arms. “Don’t make me emotional before you stab me repeatedly.”
“I’m serious.” Veronica smoothed the stencil carefully. “The tattoo is elegant, the dress is elegant, I know damn well the wedding itself will be elegant.”
Nick’s eyes moved from the stencil to Y/n’s face.
“You ready for this?”
Y/n huffed. “No. I’m ready to accept death and pass away peacefully.”
Nick snorted. “God, you’re dramatic.”
She rolled her eyes, cheek pressed to her forearm. “And yet here you are, marrying me in a month. Dramatics and all.”
Nick smiled softly, his expression shifting in that way that still managed to reach straight into her chest after all this time.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
Veronica gagged loudly.
“God, you two are disgusting.”
Y/n lifted one hand just enough to flip her off. “You act like you and Jolly are any better.”
Veronica paused. “Fair.” Then she grabbed another glove. “But it’s disgusting outside looking in.”
Nick scoffed. “Feel our pain. We get secondhand embarrassment from you two.”
Veronica shrugged. “I can’t help that even after all these years, I still can’t keep my hands off him.”
Nick made a face so severe that Y/n started laughing into the table.
“Please stop.”
Veronica deadpanned, “Please. I bet you bend her over that vanity at the club when the others are gone.”
Nick’s entire face went red.
Y/n’s head snapped up. “Veronica!”
Veronica lost it immediately. “Exactly what I thought.”
Nick covered his face with one hand. “I hate all of you.”
Y/n dropped her head back down, shoulders shaking. “I’m going to murder you.”
“You won’t,” Veronica said brightly. “I’m tattooing you.”
“That is the only thing keeping you alive.”
Nick leaned closer to Y/n, still pink. “Can we never speak of that again?”
Veronica called from behind them, “Your silence confirms everything.”
Y/n groaned. “Start the tattoo before I change my mind and throw myself into traffic.”
Veronica laughed, but her voice gentled when she moved back into position. “Alright. Deep breath.”
Nick reached for Y/n’s hand. She took it immediately.
The first buzz of the machine filled the room, low and sharp, vibrating through the air. Y/n closed her eyes, breathing through the anticipation more than the pain.
Then the needle touched her skin.
Her fingers tightened around Nick’s.
“Fuck,” she hissed.
Nick’s thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“You’re threatening the table with your face.”
“I hate helpful people.”
Veronica chuckled. “You’re doing fine.”
“I hate that fucking phrase too.”
Nick leaned down slightly, voice warm near her ear. “You want me to distract you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Gloria texted me this morning.”
Y/n cracked one eye open. “Why?”
“She said, and I quote, ‘Do not let her chicken out. She needs that tattoo for the dress, and also because I’ve already told everyone it’s happening.’”
Y/n stared at him. “She told everyone?”
“Probably.”
“I’m taking her key.”
“You say that every week.”
“One day I’ll mean it.”
Veronica kept working, the machine moving steadily along the first lines. “Gloria’s coming to the wedding early, right?”
“She’s basically living at the venue the week before,” Y/n said. “She has spreadsheets.”
Nick nodded gravely. “Terrifying spreadsheets.”
“She color-coded the emergency kit,” Y/n added.
Veronica paused just long enough to look impressed. “Actually, I respect that.”
“You would.”
The pain settled into a rhythm after the first stretch. Not comfortable, but manageable. Y/n found the pattern in it; the buzz, the burn, the drag of it, Nick’s thumb moving slowly against her hand. Veronica worked with calm focus, occasionally wiping the ink and checking her lines.
Hours passed in pieces.
Jolly returned at some point with fries, exactly as promised, and was immediately banished to the corner after making one comment about Y/n “earning her bridal war paint.”
“Joakim,” Veronica said without looking up.
He froze with a fry halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“Corner.”
“I’m a grown man.”
“Corner.”
He went.
Nick smirked. “Nice.”
Jolly pointed at him from across the room. “Don’t get comfortable. I know things.”
Nick immediately looked away.
Y/n smiled into her arms. “Everyone knows things because all of you are incapable of minding your own damn business.”
Jolly nodded. “Community is important.”
“Gossip is not community.”
“It can be.”
Veronica wiped Y/n’s back again. “Honestly, with this group? It absolutely is.”
By the time Veronica started shading the roses, Y/n’s nerves had fully burned away into exhaustion. Her body felt heavy against the table, her hand still loosely holding Nick’s. He had barely moved except to stretch when Veronica told him to stop sitting like a gargoyle.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
Y/n turned her face slightly toward him. “I’m alive.”
“Proud of you.”
“I’m brave.”
“Incredibly.”
“I deserve cake after this.”
“You can have whatever you want after this.”
She smiled faintly. “Dangerous promise.”
“I stand by it.”
Veronica made a soft approving sound as she worked. “You know, I remember when he brought me this sketch.”
Y/n’s eyes opened a little more. “He brought you the sketch?”
Nick looked suspiciously quiet.
Veronica smiled. “Oh yeah. After you decided I might be the one to do it, he came by with the drawing like some protective little art dad.”
Y/n slowly turned her head toward Nick. “Art dad?”
Nick sighed. “I wanted to make sure the design translated right.”
Veronica continued, “He said, ‘Don’t make it too heavy, she wants elegance.’”
Y/n’s expression softened.
Nick avoided her eyes. “You did.”
“And,” Veronica added, clearly enjoying herself, “‘The petals can’t look placed. They need to fall naturally.’”
Y/n’s smile turned warm.
Nick rubbed the back of his neck. “You were very specific.”
“You listened.”
His gaze finally met hers. “Always.”
The word was simple and quiet.
But it filled the space between them anyway.
Veronica groaned. “There it is again. Disgusting.”
Y/n laughed softly. “You’re just mad because you love love.”
“I love tattoos and Jolly’s face. Everything else is negotiable.”
From the corner, Jolly said, “That was beautiful.”
“No one asked you,” Veronica replied.
The final stretch was the hardest.
Not because the tattoo changed, but because Y/n was tired. Her skin was angry, her body tense from staying still so long, and the anticipation of being done made every minute feel twice as long.
Nick noticed the shift before she said anything.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
She did.
His voice dropped, gentle enough that the others faded out. “You’re almost done.”
“I know.”
“You’re doing so good.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re using your soothing voice.”
“Is it working?”
“Annoyingly, yes.”
He smiled, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Good.”
Veronica finished the last details with patient precision. The scattered petals were delicate, almost weightless against the strength of the sword. The vines looked like they belonged wrapped around it. The roses softened the whole piece without making it fragile.
Finally, the machine stopped.
The silence felt loud after.
Y/n let out a breath so deep it sounded like she’d been holding it for the entire appointment.
“Done?” she asked cautiously.
Veronica wiped carefully one last time, then leaned back with a slow grin. “Done.”
Y/n closed her eyes. “I survived.”
Nick laughed. “Barely.”
“I saw heaven.”
“You saw the floor.”
“It was spiritually significant.”
Veronica helped her sit up slowly, warning her not to twist too fast. Y/n moved carefully, every inch of her back aware of itself. Nick hovered just enough to be useful without smothering her, one hand steady at her elbow.
“Mirror time,” Veronica said.
Y/n stood carefully in front of the mirrors, her breath already caught somewhere in her throat before she even turned.
Then she saw it, and everything in her went quiet.
The tattoo ran down her spine like it had always belonged there.
The sword was elegant, not harsh. Strong but graceful. The vines wrapped around it with organic movement, roses blooming in places that felt almost symbolic without being obvious. The petals scattered downward like little pieces of softness falling from something sharp.
It was exactly what she wanted.
No.
It was better.
Nick stood behind her, looking at it over her shoulder in the mirror, and his expression was open in a way that made her chest ache.
Y/n swallowed. “Holy shit.”
Veronica grinned. “Yeah.”
Y/n’s hand lifted toward her chest, feeling the weight of it.
“It’s perfect.”
Nick’s voice came softly behind her. “It’s you.”
That hit harder than she expected.
Because he was right.
For so long, she had separated herself into pieces.
The café. The club. The tattoos hidden beneath sleeves. The softness.
The sharpness. The woman who survived a marriage that made her feel owned. The woman who learned to choose herself again.
This tattoo somehow held all of that.
A sword with roses.
Strength and softness.
Protection and beauty.
Every version of her at once.
Veronica’s expression softened when she saw Y/n blinking too much.
“Oh no. Don’t cry yet. I haven’t wrapped you.”
Y/n laughed shakily. “I’m not crying.”
Nick smiled. “You are.”
“Shut up.”
He kissed her temple. “Never.”
Veronica cleaned and wrapped the tattoo with careful instructions, half professional and half threatening.
“No sun. No soaking. No scratching. No dramatic bridal breakdowns that involve you lying on the floor.”
Y/n looked offended. “That last one feels targeted.”
“It is.”
Jolly looked up. “Can she still get married?”
Veronica deadpanned. “No, Jolly. I tattooed her spine and canceled the wedding.”
He nodded. “Just checking.”
Nick shook his head. “You two are exhausting.”
Y/n looked at Veronica. “How do you live with him?”
Veronica glanced toward Jolly, who was currently eating fries from a bag like a raccoon. Her expression softened despite herself.
“Unfortunately, I love him.”
Jolly smiled around a fry. “She does.”
Y/n looked back at Nick, who was already watching her.
“Unfortunately,” she said softly, “I understand.”
Nick’s smile changed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Veronica sighed loudly. “I need you both out of my studio before I become physically ill.”
Y/n laughed and carefully pulled her shirt back into place with Nick’s help. Every movement tugged at her skin, but she didn’t care. She kept glancing at herself in the mirror, still stunned.
Nick noticed.
“You like it?”
“I love it.”
His smile went soft. “Good.”
She turned toward him fully then, careful of her back, and reached for his hand. “Thank you.”
He frowned slightly. “For what?”
“For drawing it,” she said. “For listening. For knowing what I meant even when I didn’t have words for it.”
Nick’s expression went quiet. “I just put what you described on paper.”
“No,” she said softly. “You saw me.”
That silenced him.
Veronica, for once, didn’t interrupt.
Nick stepped closer, brushing his thumb over her fingers. “I always see you.”
Y/n smiled, emotion settling warm and steady in her chest. “I know.”
That was the difference now.
She knew.
Not hoped. Not wondered.
Knew.
A month from now, she would walk down the aisle in a dress chosen with the same care as every other part of their life. Elegant. Soft. Hers. The tattoo would sit beneath it, hidden in some places, visible in others, a secret and a statement all at once.
And Nick would be waiting at the end.
The tired guy who once walked into her café at 8:30 every morning. The man who saw every version of her and stayed. The man who drew a sword and roses from the shape of her thoughts and somehow turned it into something permanent.
Veronica cleared her throat dramatically. “Okay, before this gets gross again, the aftercare sheet is in the bag. Also, if you ruin my work before the wedding, I will personally haunt you.”
Y/n took the bag. “Noted.”
Jolly lifted his fries. “Congrats on surviving.”
“Thank you. It was touch and go.”
Nick slid an arm carefully around her waist, mindful of her back. “You ready to go home?”
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Besties! I am so sorry I had the audacity to leave y'all on a cliffhanger. My computer has chosen violence the last few days because it's dramatic and did not appreciate me uploading my daughter's prom photos accidently to it and not my memory drive. But! Jade is being nice to me tonight and not being dramatic. 🖤
Y/N stared at him.
For a second, she genuinely couldn't process what she'd just heard.
Not because she didn't understand the words. But because she'd imagined them so many times over the years that reality almost felt impossible.
Jolly stood on her porch, looking completely shattered: red eyes, tear-stained cheeks, shoulders slumped beneath a weight he'd finally stopped trying to carry alone.
And somehow that hurt almost as much as everything that came before it.
Because she loved him.
God, she loved him.
And seeing him this broken wasn't something she'd ever wanted.
Not even when she was angry. Not even when her heart was breaking.
"Jolly..." she whispered.
His eyes immediately found hers again.
The look on his face nearly destroyed her.
Hope. Fear. Regret.
Like he was waiting for the verdict.
Waiting for her to tell him he'd waited too long. That he missed his chance. That she'd finally given up.
Y/N wiped at her face quickly and laughed through another wave of tears. "You're an idiot."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah."
"No," she continued, voice wobbling. "Like an actual idiot."
A watery laugh escaped him. "That's been established."
She shook her head, then took a breath. "You know, when you saw me and Nick?"
The smile vanished from his face instantly.
Y/N saw it happen.
Saw the tension return. Saw the guilt.
"He wasn't holding me because there was something going on."
Jolly's jaw tightened. "I know that now."
"I know," she said softly. " But I need you to hear this."
His eyes locked onto hers.
"That was him holding me while I fell apart."
The words hit him like a punch.
Y/N looked down briefly. "I couldn't do it anymore." A tear slid down her cheek. "I spent days pretending I was okay."
Another laugh escaped her.
Only this one sounded exhausted.
"I cleaned the same spot at the reception desk three times."
Jolly closed his eyes.
Because he could picture it perfectly.
"I kept moving because if I stopped..." She swallowed."...I had to think."
His chest tightened.
"And Nick took the rag away from me." The memory made her smile faintly through tears. "He told me the desk was begging for mercy."
Jolly huffed a tiny laugh despite himself. Then it vanished again because she looked heartbroken.
"And when I finally stopped moving?" Her voice cracked. "I couldn't hold it together anymore."
The silence between them stretched.
"He just held me."
Jolly looked away.
Guilt crawling under his skin again.
"I saw you."
Y/N nodded. "I know."
"He didn't tell me until later." A pause. "I thought..."
He stopped.
Y/N shook her head. "I know what you thought."
Neither of them needed to say it because they both knew.
She took another shaky breath. "This has been really hard."
Honesty; simple and painful.
The kind that carried more weight than dramatic speeches ever could.
"I don't think I've ever hurt like this before."
Jolly physically flinched.
Y/N immediately noticed.
"I know." His voice cracked. "I know."
She wiped her face again. Then laughed softly. "Your mom is the only one who knew I was sleeping in your bed."
Jolly froze.
Y/N looked embarrassed now.
"It started as an accident." A small smile tugged at her lips. "The first time, I just sat in there." She shrugged. "Then I fell asleep."
Jolly stared at her, unable to look away.
"Your mom found me the next morning." A pause. "She made sure I was awake before Freja could catch me." A weak laugh escaped her.
Jolly swallowed hard.
Y/N looked away briefly. "Freja would sit on your bedroom floor with me."
His chest physically hurt now.
"Sometimes we'd just sit there." She laughed quietly. "Well. She'd talk." Another tear escaped. "I'd mostly stare at nothing."
Jolly's throat tightened.
"Because you've always been the place where I felt safest."
The words hit him hard because even now, after everything, after Emma, after the confusion and hurt and distance.
"You were still the place I went."
Jolly lowered his head, unable to hide the tears gathering again.
"So your room felt safe." Y/N shrugged slightly. "Your bed felt safe." A pause. "You felt safe."
His eyes squeezed shut. That was somehow worse, knowing she'd gone there for comfort while he was actively causing her pain.
"I still made your food." She laughed softly. "Which is honestly pathetic."
Jolly immediately shook his head. "No."
"I timed it." She smiled weakly. "Like I always do."
Her eyes drifted away.
"I knew when you'd get home because Nick texted me what time you guys would land, like he always has."
Jolly's heart cracked all over again.
"I didn't feel right not making you something."
The confession hung between them.
Y/N rubbed her arms. "I almost stayed."
Jolly looked up immediately as the words knocked the air from him.
"What?"
She laughed sadly. "I almost stayed." A pause. "Like ten times." Another pause. "I'd finish cooking and think maybe I should wait."
His heart hammered painfully.
Y/N looked away. "But if you didn't choose me..." Her voice broke. "...I didn't know how I'd react."
The truth of it settled heavily between them. Because she genuinely hadn't known. And neither had he.
For a second, neither spoke; they just stared at each other.
Years of history stretched between them.
Seven years.
Thousands of moments. Thousands of opportunities. Thousands of reasons they should've had this conversation sooner.
Y/N finally took another breath. "I can't even be mad at you."
Jolly blinked. "What?"
She smiled softly. Tears still falling. "I didn't say anything either."
His brows furrowed. "Y/N—"
"No." She shook her head. "I was scared too." A humorless laugh escaped her. "You weren't the only one obsessed with everything that could go wrong."
Jolly stared.
Because she was right.
"I spent seven years not saying anything." She wiped her face. "Seven years." A pause. "I don't think it would be right to sit here and act like all of this is entirely your fault."
His eyes watered again because she was still giving him grace.
Y/N smiled through her tears.
Somehow, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Just because you feel like you don't deserve this..." She stepped a little closer. "...doesn't mean I don't want it."
The words stole every coherent thought he had.
Jolly let out a shaky, breathless laugh. The kind that escaped when emotions overwhelmed everything else.
"Yeah?"
Y/N tilted her head.
And for the first time since opening the door, he saw a glimpse of the woman who stole his hoodies and bullied him relentlessly; a tiny spark. A tiny bit of confidence. A tiny bit of her.
"Jolly." Her voice softened. "I've been waiting seven long fucking years to hear you tell me you love me in a non-platonic way."
The laugh that left him after that sounded wrecked.
Completely wrecked.
And before he could stop himself, he crossed the space between them.
Fast.
Like, if he didn’t touch her immediately, he might actually lose his mind.
Y/N barely got a breath in before his hands were suddenly on her face, carefully, like she might disappear if he held too tight.
His forehead dropped against hers instantly.
Both of them shaking. Both crying.
Jolly let out a broken sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
“Seven years,” he whispered against her skin like he still couldn’t process it.
Y/N nodded slightly. “Yeah.”
His thumbs brushed under her eyes automatically, wiping tears away only for more to replace them immediately. “I am so fucking sorry,” he whispered.
Y/N shook her head softly. “You’re here now.”
That one undid him all over again.
Because she said it like it mattered more than the pain did. Like, despite everything, him showing up still meant something.
Jolly closed his eyes tightly for a second before finally whispering, “I love you so much it scares me.”
Y/N’s hands finally lifted then, resting carefully against his wrists; grounding him. Steadying him.
And when she spoke again?
Her voice was soft enough to ruin him permanently.
“Good,” she whispered. “Because you scare the absolute shit out of me too.”
Jolly couldn’t tell you what happened in the last ten minutes.
One second, he was laying in bed staring at the ceiling with her smell wrapped around him from every direction.
The next, he was standing on Y/N’s front porch at nearly two in the morning, breathing like he’d run the entire way there.
His chest rose sharply as he stared at the front door.
The living room light was on, which meant she was awake.
Y/N inherited a lot from his mother over the years, but one of the biggest things was her hatred for unnecessary lights being left on. If a room was lit up at this hour, somebody was actively in it.
His hand shook slightly as he reached for the doorbell.
The second he pressed it, his heartbeat slammed painfully against his ribs.
Suddenly, every thought in his head started colliding into each other.
What the fuck was he doing? What if she didn’t want to see him? What if he was already too late?
Movement shifted faintly behind the curtains.
Jolly swallowed hard.
Then the door opened, and the world stopped.
Y/N stood there in small sleep shorts and one of his hoodies.
His hoodie.
Hair slightly messy like she’d been lying down before he interrupted her night. Bare faced. Soft around the edges in that sleepy way that always destroyed him, even when he pretended it didn’t.
Her eyes widened the second she saw him. “Jolly?”
The way she said his name almost fucking ruined him immediately.
Jolly looked away first because he physically couldn’t hold her gaze yet.
“I…” He laughed weakly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know what the fuck happened between now and ten fucking minutes ago.”
Y/N stayed quiet, watching him carefully.
“One second I’m laying in bed,” he continued unevenly, “and suddenly I smell your shampoo and your perfume, and now I’m standing here.” His voice cracked slightly around the edges. “Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing both hands over his face now. “I wanted to talk to my mom before I fucking showed up here.”
Y/N’s expression shifted immediately.
Concern. Confusion. Heartbreak.
All tangled together.
Seeing that look directed at him almost made him lose it right there. Because he did that. He put that expression on her face.
Jolly looked at her again finally, and she immediately saw it.
Saw how wrecked he looked.
Tour exhaustion sat under his eyes, but this was deeper than tired. His face kept changing every couple seconds like he couldn’t hold onto one emotion long enough before another one crashed into it.
Guilt. Panic. Relief. Fear. Something else she couldn’t place.
All fighting for space.
“I’m an actual fucking idiot,” he finally said hoarsely.
Y/N blinked slowly.
Jolly laughed once under his breath, but there wasn’t anything funny about it. “You really don’t know what the fuck you have until it’s not there anymore.”
The words hit her straight in the chest.
He looked away again immediately after saying them.
Like admitting it hurt.
“I have been fucking miserable,” he admitted quietly, “since you left that day while I was inside.”
Y/N’s breath caught.
“And the day you came over to talk to Freja,” he continued, voice rough now, “and my mom wouldn’t let me outside because you didn’t want to see me?”
He swallowed hard.
“That was probably the closest I’ve ever come to testing my mother’s strength and willpower.” A shaky breath left him. “Because all I wanted to do was go after you.”
Y/N stared at him silently.
Jolly laughed weakly again and looked down at his hands. “And the fucked up thing?” he whispered. “She was right to stop me.” He paused. “Because I didn’t know what I was doing.”
The tears hit him suddenly.
Not dramatic. Not loud. Just annoyingly there.
One blink and his eyes glossed over completely.
Jolly noticed it immediately and cursed under his breath, turning his head sharply away.
“Jesus Christ.”
Y/N’s chest tightened painfully.
Because Jolly didn’t cry.
Not really. Especially not like this.
He rubbed aggressively at his eyes with the heels of his palms before looking back at her.
“I missed everything,” he admitted quietly.
Every word sounded pulled straight from somewhere raw inside him.
“I missed braiding your hair.”
Y/N’s lips parted slightly.
“I missed you grabbing my face and aggressively kissing my cheeks like a fucking psycho.” A watery laugh escaped him. “I missed feeling you against me all the time.”
The honesty of that almost knocked the air from her lungs.
“I missed hearing you sing in the kitchen while you cooked.” His voice broke harder now. “I missed hearing that stupid fucking nickname.”
Y/N physically felt tears burn her own eyes at that.
Because for years, years, he complained about Jollybean. Rolled his eyes. Threatened murder dramatically every single time she used it. And now he looked devastated, admitting he missed hearing it.
Jolly dragged in a sharp breath, suddenly like he was trying to keep himself together and failing miserably. “I missed you so fucking much,” he whispered.
The confession shattered something between them.
Not in a bad way. No, it was in the way truth finally does after being buried too long.
Y/N’s hand tightened slightly around the edge of the door.
Jolly looked at her hoodie then.
His hoodie.
And his chest visibly tightened all over again.
“You were sleeping in my bed.”
Y/N froze.
He laughed weakly through another tear. “I got home and something felt off the second I walked into my room.” His voice dropped softer. “Then I laid down and everything smelled like you.”
The vulnerability on his face was devastating now.
“Your shampoo was all over my pillow.” Another shaky breath. “Your perfume was on my blanket.” He swallowed hard. “And suddenly I realized you were there while I was gone.”
Y/N looked down immediately. Like she’d been caught doing something embarrassing.
But when she glanced back up?
Jolly looked destroyed by the realization.
Not angry. Not weirded out.
Absolutely ruined.
“You slept in my fucking bed while I was across the country pretending distractions were gonna fix this.”
Y/N’s eyes watered harder.
“Jolly…”
“No,” he interrupted immediately, voice cracking. “Please let me say this.”
And something in his expression made her stay quiet.
He took another shaky breath. “Emma.”
The name tasted bitter coming out of him now.
“I am so fucking sorry.”
Y/N immediately shook her head. “You don’t—”
“Yes, I do.”
Sharp. Firm.
“Yes, I do.” He repeated quieter. “She came to the house to hurt you because she was pissed off at me.” Jolly’s jaw tightened hard again. “And I handed her the fucking weapon to do it.”
Confusion flickered across Y/N’s face.
Jolly laughed bitterly. “She wanted to know why I didn’t want her near you if I wasn’t there.”
Y/N blinked.
Jolly nodded once. “Yeah.”
Another tear slid down before he wiped it away angrily.
“She wanted to know what the fuck was so special about you that I was so madly—”
He stopped abruptly. Like the words physically punched him in the chest on their way out.
Jolly inhaled sharply. His eyes squeezed shut.
And then finally, everything broke.
The tears came harder now. His shoulders shook once as he covered his mouth briefly with his hand, trying to get himself together and failing completely.
Y/N stared at him in shock.
Because this wasn’t Jolly slightly emotional.
This was devastation. This was years of restraint collapsing all at once.
He looked back at her finally, eyes red and glassy and completely wrecked.
“What was so special about you,” he whispered brokenly, “that I was so madly fucking in love with you.”
Y/N stopped breathing.
Actually stopped.
Because she’d imagined this moment for years.
Seven fucking years.
And somehow reality hurt worse than fantasy ever could.
Jolly laughed weakly through tears again. “God, I love you.”
The words came out shattered. “I love your annoying fucking personality.” Another breath. “I love how loud you are. How you sing constantly. How you steal everything that belongs to me like some tiny criminal.”
Y/N covered her mouth as tears spilled down her cheeks now too.
“I love how every room feels so fucking wrong when you’re not in it.” His voice cracked violently. “I love how you know me better than I know myself.” He shook his head weakly.
“And I think the reason this hit me so hard…” Another tear slid free. “…is because for the first time in years, you stopped reaching for me.”
That one broke her completely.
Because he noticed.
He noticed.
All those tiny things she convinced herself only mattered to her? He noticed when they disappeared.
Jolly looked at her like he was terrified now.
“I know I don’t deserve this,” he whispered. “I know I hurt you.” Another shaky breath. “But if there is even the smallest fucking chance that you still want me after all this…” His voice cracked completely. “I swear to God I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never question being loved by me again.”
Besties, I do hope you enjoyed this story. As usual, I had fun writing it. I'll be doing a Mafia!Noah story next. So as usual, if you'd like to be on the tag list let me know. If you've requested to be permanently tagged, I already have you down in a notes doc.
Life kept moving after that.
That was the beautiful thing about it.
Nothing stopped.
Their love didn’t suddenly turn life into some perfect movie where hardship vanished, and everything revolved around romance. Real life kept happening around them constantly, and somehow that made everything stronger instead of weaker.
Y/n still opened the café before sunrise most mornings. Still complained when suppliers sent the wrong syrups. Still had regulars who acted personally victimized if she took a mental health day.
She still danced Fridays and Saturdays at the club, too. The only difference now was Nick occasionally appearing halfway through the night just to lean against the bar and watch her with that same stupid look in his eyes he’d had since the beginning.
The girls at the club caught on fast.
“Oh god,” one of them groaned one night when Nick walked in. “The bassist is here.”
Y/n looked over from fixing her bracelet. “And?”
“And you get all soft.”
“I do not.”
The girl pointed dramatically toward the floor. “You literally walk differently when he’s here.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s not,” Veronica cut in from where she sat near the stage, already eating fries she absolutely didn’t need. “It’s disgusting, actually.”
Y/n flipped both of them off while trying not to smile.
Nick, meanwhile, still found ways to bother her at both jobs.
At the café, he’d lean over the counter just to distract her while she worked. At the club, he’d text her from across the room things like:
you look pretty
Which should not have affected her, considering they literally lived together now.
And yet somehow it still did every single time.
Nick’s life stayed equally busy.
Studio days. Tour rehearsals. Late nights working on music.
The only difference was now Y/n existed inside all of it naturally.
Sometimes she’d sit in the studio, curled up on the couch, editing her manuscripts while the guys worked. Sometimes she traveled out for random weekends during tour. Sometimes Nick came home exhausted and found her asleep on the couch, surrounded by notebook pages because she’d gotten lost in writing again.
Their lives didn’t merge all at once either.
They threaded together slowly, like they were always supposed to fit that way.
Nick loved domesticity more than either of them expected.
He loved waking up beside her. Loved hearing her hum while making coffee. Loved the way her books slowly multiplied across every flat surface in the house.
Even the chaos became precious.
Persephone eventually stopped looking personally offended by Rosie’s existence. Not friendly exactly, but tolerant at least. Hades remained convinced he was the dominant animal in the house despite weighing less than one of Rosie’s paws.
Nick once walked into the kitchen to find Hades sleeping on Rosie’s back while Rosie looked deeply resigned about the situation.
“She’s accepted her fate,” Y/n said solemnly.
“I think she’s scared to move.”
“That’s fair, honestly.”
Two years passed quietly.
Not because they were uneventful.
Because they were full.
Full of routines. Of fights that ended in sleepy apologies. Of late-night drives and grocery store runs and writing deadlines and tour exhaustion.
Full of love in all the unglamorous ways that actually mattered.
Somehow, after all that time, Nick still looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was real.
Y/n noticed it most when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.
The little moments.
Watching her laugh with Hailey, listening to her ramble about book plots, looking over at her during crowded rooms because she anchored him automatically.
The terrifying part?
She still felt the exact same way.
Which was how they ended up back at the night market on their two-year anniversary.
The same strings of lights stretched overhead. The same crowded rows of vendors. The same smell of food and incense drifting through warm evening air.
Y/n smiled the second they walked in.
“Oh my god,” she laughed softly. “This feels weirdly nostalgic now.”
Nick squeezed her hand gently. “That makes us sound old.”
“We’re ancient, actually.”
“You’re twenty-eight.”
“My knees say otherwise.”
He laughed quietly, brushing his thumb over her knuckles while they walked.
The night unfolded slowly.
They wandered through vendor tents, stopped for food, laughed at overpriced handmade pottery neither of them needed.
At one point, Veronica texted:
if you don’t bring me market snacks don’t come to the studio tomorrow
Y/n snorted while showing Nick the message.
“That woman threatens us constantly.”
“She’s consistent.”
The lanterns were already floating in the water by the time they reached the bridge.
Y/n slowed instinctively the second she saw it.
The same bridge. The same soft glow reflecting across the stream beneath it. The same place they stood the night she started to realize missing him might feel dangerous.
For a second, neither of them said anything.
They just leaned against the railing beside each other, listening to distant music and water moving below.
Then Y/n smiled softly. “Still one of my favorite nights.”
Nick looked over at her quietly.
“Mine too.”
She turned slightly toward him, resting her arms along the railing.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I think this is the exact spot where I started to realize I was completely screwed.”
Nick laughed softly. “Oh yeah?”
“Mmhm.”
“How screwed are we talking?”
“Hopelessly.”
That expression crossed his face again then.
That warm, wrecked softness, she still didn’t fully know what to do with.
Nick looked away briefly, exhaling through his nose like he was steadying himself for something.
Y/n narrowed her eyes immediately. “What are you doing?”
“Potentially ruining my own life.”
“That sounds concerning.”
Nick laughed nervously this time.
Actually nervous.
That caught her attention instantly because Nick rarely got visibly nervous anymore around her.
Then he stepped back slightly and reached into his pocket.
Y/n froze. “Oh, my god.”
“Yeah,” Nick muttered weakly. “That’s kind of where I’m at too.”
Her hands immediately flew to her face as realization crashed into her all at once. “No way.”
Nick looked almost offended. “You think I’d bring you here for no reason?”
“You bring me places constantly!”
“Not with this level of emotional distress!”
Y/n was already laughing and crying at the same time by the time he fully got down onto one knee.
Suddenly, the world went quiet around them.
Not literally, obviously.
The market still buzzed softly nearby. Lanterns still drifted below them. People still moved around the bridge.
But none of it felt real anymore.
Only him.
Nick looked up at her with nervousness and certainty colliding all over his face.
“You know,” he started softly, “I had this whole speech planned.”
Y/n laughed shakily through tears. “Of course you did.”
“But honestly,” he admitted, “I think you know already.”
She did.
She absolutely did.
Nick smiled softly then, emotion visible in every inch of him.
“You turned my life into something that finally feels real,” he said quietly. “You made home feel like a person instead of a place. And every version of my future that exists in my head has you in it now.”
Y/n covered her mouth immediately as tears slipped free.
Nick laughed breathlessly at the sight.
“So,” he said softly, pulling the ring free at last, “would you marry me?”
There wasn’t even half a second of hesitation.
“Yes.”
It was emotional enough that her voice cracked around it.
“Yes,” she repeated through laughter and tears. “Obviously yes.”
Nick looked genuinely relieved for one hilarious second before standing quickly enough that she barely had time to react before he kissed her, laughing against her mouth because they were both emotional disasters now.
The ring slid onto her finger perfectly afterward.
Y/n stared at it for one stunned second before looking back at him.
“You realize Gloria is going to pass out.”
Nick groaned instantly. “Oh, my god.”
“And Veronica is going to become unbearable.”
“She already is.”
Y/n laughed softly before wrapping both arms around his neck.
Her fiancé.
Holy Hell.
Nick held her close immediately, forehead resting against hers while the lantern light reflected softly beneath them.
Standing there on that bridge where everything once shifted quietly between them, it felt full circle somehow.
The realization didn’t go away. If anything, it settled deep under her ribs.
Y/n tried to ignore it for the first couple days after the show. Tried to tuck it somewhere quieter while life shifted around them again.
But it stayed.
Persistent.
Every time Nick kissed her forehead absentmindedly while passing through the kitchen. Every time he reached for her in his sleep automatically. Every time she caught herself thinking home and pictured him before anything else.
It stayed.
Moving in together only made it worse. Or better.
Terrifyingly better.
Nick’s house stopped feeling like his surprisingly fast.
Boxes filled the living room for maybe three days before everything slowly settled into place.
Her sweaters appeared folded beside his hoodies. Her books stacked themselves onto shelves that had sat half empty before.
Tiny things shifted naturally: her favorite mug beside his coffee maker, her rings left near the sink, her hair ties somehow ending up in every room imaginable
Rosie lost her mind with excitement about all of it.
The cats, however, had opinions.
Very strong opinions.
The first introduction lasted maybe thirty seconds.
Rosie approached Persephone with her usual overwhelming friendliness, tail wagging hard enough to qualify as dangerous.
Persephone hissed immediately.
Loudly.
Then looked at Y/n with such genuine betrayal it almost felt personal.
“Oh my god,” Y/n laughed while crouching beside her. “Don’t look at me like I committed a crime.”
Persephone continued staring. Judgment radiated off that cat like heat.
Nick snorted from the couch. “She absolutely thinks you ruined her life.”
“I brought her a sibling.”
“You brought her a horse.”
Meanwhile, Hades fully believed he could take Rosie in a fight despite being approximately twelve pounds.
The first time he launched himself toward her, Y/n physically yelled. “HADES NO—”
Rosie simply blinked sleepily from her spot on the floor while Hades bounced harmlessly off her side like an aggressive marshmallow. The dog barely reacted.
Which, unfortunately, reinforced every delusion Hades already had.
“He thinks he’s winning,” Nick said weakly through laughter. “He’s a tabby, there’s nothing in that head.”
“Hey,” Y/n defended automatically.
Hades immediately ran face-first into a wall.
Nick pointed instantly. “Case in point.”
Somehow, though, it worked.
Not perfectly. Not immediately. But gradually.
Rosie learned not to chase, Persephone learned dramatic glaring was ineffective, Hades continued living in a reality entirely separate from everyone else’s.
Slowly, impossibly, everything blended together.
Their lives. Their routines. Their spaces.
One day, Y/n caught herself walking through the house and realizing it no longer felt temporary.
It felt lived in.
Like a place where people existed instead of just staying.
An actual home.
Which honestly? Scared her almost as much as it comforted her.
That realization sat with her too.
Right alongside the other one.
The bigger one.
The one she still hadn’t said out loud.
A few nights later, Y/n stood in the kitchen making dinner while Nick leaned against the counter nearby, talking absentmindedly about tomorrow.
The café had reopened fully now. Tour life settled back into routine. Everything moved normally again, except now there was always another person woven into it.
“Steph wants to do dinner after you close tomorrow,” Nick said while stealing shredded cheese off the cutting board.
Y/n smacked his hand lightly without looking.
“You’re annoying.”
“You love me.”
The words hit her chest so suddenly she nearly dropped the knife.
Not because of what he said.
Because of how automatically her brain answered:
I do.
Nick kept talking, oblivious. “And Noah mentioned something about maybe doing drinks later, but honestly, I think he just wants an excuse to complain about management in person—”
Y/n smiled softly to herself while stirring the pan.
The kitchen smelled warm: garlic, herbs, and something comforting.
Music played low from the speaker near the fridge.
Rosie snored somewhere in the living room while Persephone loafed dramatically in the doorway, pretending she wasn’t monitoring dinner progress.
And Nick? Nick stood there in sweatpants, talking about absolutely nothing important while absentmindedly reaching over every few minutes to touch her somehow, a hand brushing her lower back. Fingers catching hers briefly. A kiss against her shoulder when he passed behind her.
Ordinary.
That was the thing.
It wasn’t some huge moment; no dramatic speech. No sweeping realization.
Just this.
This life they built so naturally together.
Suddenly, the words didn’t feel huge anymore.
They just felt true. So true, they slipped out before fear could stop them.
Y/n smiled faintly at the stove and said softly, “I love you.”
Silence.
Nick stopped mid-word. Actually stopped.
It was like someone physically unplugged him.
Y/n froze instantly.
Oh no.
Her entire body went still while her brain caught up half a second too late.
The words hung there between them.
Real. Clearly spoken.
No taking them back now.
Slowly. Very slowly. She turned her head toward him.
Nick was staring at her.
Completely stunned. Staring at her like his brain genuinely needed a second to reboot.
Y/n’s heart immediately started trying to kill her.
Cool.
Great.
Fantastic.
“I—” she started weakly.
Nick blinked once. Then again.
“You—”
“Oh my god,” Y/n muttered, immediately turning back toward the stove like maybe she could physically throw herself into the pasta and disappear. “Pretend I didn’t just say that.”
“What?”
“That was terrifying, actually.”
Nick still hadn’t moved. “You love me?”
The raw disbelief in his voice made her chest ache instantly.
Y/n laughed nervously while covering part of her face with one hand. “See, now that you repeated it out loud, it somehow got worse.”
“Baby.”
Her heart stuttered painfully at the tone of his voice.
Soft. Wrecked. Almost disbelieving.
She finally looked at him fully then.
She immediately regretted it because Nick looked like he had just been emotionally hit by a truck.
“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” she admitted quietly. “It just kind of…”
“Happened?”
She nodded once.
Nick stared at her for another second like he still couldn’t fully process the fact that this conversation was real.
Then suddenly he was moving, crossing the kitchen in two quick steps before cupping her face in both hands.
“You love me,” he repeated again, quieter this time.
Hearing him say it didn’t make it feel terrifying anymore.
Y/n smiled shakily. “Yeah,” she admitted softly. “Apparently, I really do.”
Nick let out this breathless laugh that sounded dangerously close to emotional, then kissed her hard enough to interrupt whatever else either of them planned on saying.
Y/n laughed softly against his mouth, hands instinctively grabbing the front of his shirt while Nick held her like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss her or stare at her.
When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers immediately. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to say that,” he admitted quietly.
Y/n blinked. “What?”
Nick smiled helplessly. “I’ve been trying so hard not to say it too soon.”
That hit her right in the chest.
“How long?” she asked softly.
Nick huffed a quiet laugh. “Honestly?”
She nodded.
“The night you fell asleep on my chest while we watched that terrible rom-com.”
Y/n stared at him. “That long?”
“I was in trouble immediately.”
She laughed shakily, emotion creeping too close to the surface again. “You hid it well.”
“No, I didn’t,” Nick said immediately. “Everyone knew.”
“That seems accurate, honestly.”
Nick smiled again with a look that showed he was completely gone for her.
“I love you too,” he said quietly.
No hesitation. No fear.
Just certainty.
That nearly wrecked her more than saying it herself because she believed him instantly.
Nick brushed his thumb lightly across her cheek while studying her face like he wanted to memorize this exact moment forever.
Then his expression shifted slightly. “Is something burning?”
Y/n blinked once.
Then smelled it.
“Oh fuck.”
Nick burst out laughing as she immediately turned back toward the stove in horror.
“The pasta!” she yelled.
“You confessed your love and cremated dinner simultaneously.”
“This is your fault somehow.”
“How is this my fault?”
“You emotionally overwhelmed me!”
Nick laughed so hard he had to brace himself against the counter while Y/n tried unsuccessfully to save dinner.
And honestly? The ridiculousness of it made the whole thing even more perfect.
Not cinematic. Not polished.
Just very them.
Just two people in a warm kitchen surrounded by unpacked lives and sleeping pets and burnt pasta, finally saying the one thing they’ve both felt for weeks
Jolly stood alone in the kitchen staring down at the plate for longer than he should have.
Steam still curled faintly from beneath the cover when he finally lifted it. The smell hit him immediately: warm, familiar, devastating.
His absolute favorite. Of course it was.
Because, apparently, even heartbroken, Y/N still took care of him.
That realization sat like concrete in his chest.
The sticky note remained clutched loosely in his other hand; her handwriting burned into his brain.
Foods in the microwave. Got done at 1:36.
He looked at the clock again.
1:52 now.
Fourteen minutes.
That was all.
Fourteen fucking minutes separated him from seeing her.
Maybe less if she lingered outside for a second, debating whether she should stay. Maybe she stood in this exact kitchen staring at the microwave, wondering if she should wait. Maybe she almost did.
The thought hurt worse than he expected.
Jolly exhaled slowly through his nose before finally pulling the plate out and setting it on the island.
The kitchen was quiet.
Too quiet.
No humming. No voice. No, Y/N sitting on the counter, swinging her legs while talking his ear off.
Just silence.
Somehow, that made the room feel bigger than it actually was.
He grabbed a fork mechanically and took the first bite.
The second the flavor hit his tongue, his chest tightened painfully.
Jesus Christ.
It tasted exactly right.
Not close. Not “good enough.”
Exactly right. Honestly, it tasted better every time she made it.
Because, of course, she learned how to make it perfectly.
Another bite followed automatically, and somehow it only made it worse.
Every single thing about this meal carried her fingerprints all over it.
The seasoning balance she adjusted because she knew he liked it slightly stronger than his dad. The fact the food was still warm enough because she timed it knowing roughly when they’d get home. The stupid paper towel folded under the plate because she knew he hated condensation making the bottom wet.
Tiny things. Always tiny things.
Jolly swallowed hard.
Every bite cracked something else open inside him because suddenly all he could think about was every other time he’d eaten this meal with her nearby.
Y/N stealing food directly off his plate while claiming it was “tax” for cooking.
Her laughing when he’d smack her hand away, only for her to steal more anyway.
Her sitting on the counter talking nonstop about the tattoo shop while he half-listened and half-watched her.
The way she vented. The way she got louder when she was excited.
How she’d always ask about tour like she genuinely cared about every little detail. How she somehow remembered every city they mentioned.
Every venue. Every complaint.
He took another bite and physically felt his throat tighten.
Because none of those memories had ever seemed important before.
Not really.
They were just…
Her.
Normal. Constant. Something he assumed would always exist.
And now suddenly every single one of those moments felt priceless.
Jolly set the fork down abruptly and braced both hands against the counter, lowering his head for a second.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath.
But even that lacked bite.
Because deep down?
He knew exactly why it hurt this badly.
The food wasn’t the problem.
It was the absence.
Everything about this meal screamed her.
Except she wasn’t here. Which made the kitchen feel unbearably fucking empty.
He forced himself to finish anyway.
Not because he was hungry. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he could stomach anything right now.
No, he finished it because she made it.
Because she still thought about him enough to come here after work at one in the morning and cook for him.
Even now.
Even after he hurt her.
That realization almost made him sick with guilt.
By the time he finished eating, the ache in his chest had settled into something duller.
Jolly cleaned the dish automatically, rinsing everything and putting it away the exact way his mother liked. His body moved on habit while his mind spiraled somewhere else entirely.
The sticky note stayed folded in his pocket.
He couldn’t bring himself to throw it away.
Eventually, he shut off the kitchen light and headed upstairs.
The house creaked softly around him, familiar and still.
Freja’s bedroom door sat open when he passed it.
Empty.
He already knew she’d gone back to Folio’s after picking him up from the airport earlier.
Still, seeing the room dark twisted something strange in him too because all he could think about suddenly was years ago.
Y/N younger. Louder somehow. Every ounce of chaos compacted into a tiny human being with zero boundaries and too much confidence.
He could practically hear it.
“Jollybeaaaan.”
That obnoxious stretched-out yell every single time he walked past Freja’s room.
Every time. Without fail.
Usually followed by her throwing something at him. Or trying to steal his phone. Or demanding he listen to some song she swore would “change his life.”
Jolly stopped in the hallway briefly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
God.
He missed her.
Not vaguely. Not casually. Not in some abstract distant way.
No.
He missed her in the kind of way that physically ached. The kind where the silence she left behind was louder than actual noise.
He swallowed hard and forced himself to keep moving.
Once inside his room, he shut the door quietly behind him and leaned against it for a second.
Something felt… off.
His eyes scanned the room slowly.
Nothing looked different.
Same posters. Same desk. Same guitar in the corner. Same clothes thrown over the chair because he apparently still lived like a teenager despite being fully grown.
But something felt shifted.
He couldn’t place it.
Jolly pushed himself off the door and moved on autopilot after that.
Tour routine.
Unpack essentials later. Brush teeth now. Shower tomorrow. Sleep first before he collapsed standing up.
He changed into sweatpants slowly, exhaustion finally catching up with him now that the adrenaline of being home began to wear off.
His thoughts drifted automatically toward tomorrow.
Toward his mom. Because there was absolutely no way she wasn’t cornering him the second she woke up.
And honestly? He knew he needed it.
Because right now his brain felt like a disaster zone.
Part of him wanted to go find Y/N immediately. Part of him thought he should leave her alone another day. Part of him wanted to show up at her apartment and beg.
Actually beg for forgiveness he absolutely didn’t deserve but selfishly wanted anyway.
He rubbed a hand down his face roughly as he moved toward the bed.
“Get your shit together,” he muttered quietly.
But there wasn’t much conviction behind it.
He pulled the blanket down and climbed into bed slowly, exhaustion heavy in his bones now.
Everything was fine.
Right up until his head hit the pillow.
Then he froze completely.
The smell hit him instantly.
Soft shampoo. Then her perfume. Faint but unmistakable.
Y/N.
Jolly’s entire body went still.
His heartbeat kicked hard against his ribs as he slowly inhaled again just to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.
No.
Definitely her.
On his pillow. On the blanket pulled halfway over him.
Everywhere.
Suddenly, the room feeling off made perfect sense.
Because she’d been here.
Not once.
Repeatedly.
His chest tightened so violently it almost hurt.
Jolly sat up slowly, eyes scanning the room all over again but differently this time.
Now he noticed things.
The blanket was folded slightly wrong at the corner because she never fixed it exactly the way he did. One of his hoodies missing from the chair. The slight shift in the pillow beside him like someone had laid there recently.
His throat tightened.
She’d been sleeping here while he was gone.
Curled up in his bed surrounded by things that smelled like him while he was halfway across the country pretending distractions would solve anything.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered hoarsely.
He slowly laid back down again almost cautiously this time.
Then another realization hit him.
The hoodie smell thing.
Folio’s words echoed viciously in his head; By day three, they stop smelling like you.
Jolly closed his eyes hard.
Because now? Now he understood why the room smelled different. Why it felt lived in. Why her scent was woven into his sheets.
She hadn’t just visited.
She’d stayed. Repeatedly.
Lonely enough. Heartbroken enough. Still loving him enough to sleep in his bed while he was gone.
Jolly stared at the ceiling in the dark, her scent wrapped around him from every direction.
He genuinely didn’t know how he was supposed to survive until morning.
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The next morning felt almost unreal in its normalcy.
Y/n woke up tangled halfway on top of Nick, one of his arms still wrapped around her waist, while morning light stretched lazily through the curtains. For a second, she just laid there listening to him breathe.
Home.
The thought came easily now.
Dangerously easily.
Nick stirred a little beneath her, still half asleep, and tightened his arm around her automatically.
“Morning,” he mumbled against her hair.
“You’re clingy.”
“You say that like you’re not physically laying on me.”
“…Details.”
He laughed softly, still rough with sleep, before finally cracking one eye open to look at her properly, and immediately smiled.
That stupid soft smile that kept catching her off guard.
“What?” she asked suspiciously.
“You’re here.”
Her chest tightened instantly. “Still dramatic after tour, I see.”
“Extremely.”
He kissed her before she could say anything else.
Slow. Sleepy. Warm.
The kind of kiss that made getting out of bed feel deeply offensive afterward.
Unfortunately, life insisted on continuing.
Which was how Nick ended up standing in her café an hour later in a black hoodie and backwards hat while she opened.
It felt right immediately.
Like he’d always been part of her morning routine.
He leaned against the counter, sipping coffee while she moved around the café getting everything ready for the day. Every now and then, she’d glance over and catch him watching her with that same softened expression he’d worn all night.
“You know staring is technically rude,” she informed him while arranging pastries.
“You know you’re cute when you’re bossy?”
“I’m going to start charging you extra.”
“Worth it.”
Y/n rolled her eyes despite smiling.
The bell above the door hadn’t even chimed with the first customer yet when Nick spoke again.
“So…”
She looked over immediately. “That tone sounds dangerous.”
“It’s not dangerous.”
“That’s exactly what dangerous people say.”
Nick snorted softly into his coffee before setting it down. “Do you wanna come to the show tonight?”
Y/n blinked. “The show?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged casually, though she caught the slight nervousness underneath it immediately. “Steph’s driving out with Hailey anyway, so if you wanted to come, you wouldn’t have to worry about driving there. Then I’ll bring you home after.”
For a second, she just stared at him.
Logically, she knew this part existed.
The concerts. The venues. The actual world of Bad Omens outside headphones and coffee shop conversations.
But suddenly being invited into it fully?
That felt different.
Important somehow.
And honestly? A little intimidating.
Nick noticed immediately.
“You absolutely don’t have to if it’s too much,” he added quickly. “I just thought—”
“Nick.”
He stopped instantly.
Y/n smiled softly, “Of course I’ll come.”
The relief on his face was immediate enough to make her chest ache.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Before she could even finish laughing at how quickly his mood shifted, he was already pulling his phone out.
Y/n narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Texting management.”
“Right now?”
“Need your pass waiting at will call.”
She laughed outright then as he typed rapidly.
Need a pass for Y/n. Keep it with Steph’s.
Then immediately another text.
And make sure security knows she’s with us.
Y/n leaned against the counter, smiling helplessly at him.
“You know,” she said after a second, “I’ve been a fan of you guys for years, and I still have yet to actually see you live.”
Nick looked up immediately. “…Seriously?”
She nodded. “Timing never worked out.”
“That feels illegal somehow.”
“You’re telling me.”
Nick looked genuinely offended on her behalf.
“Well,” he said firmly while sliding his phone back into his pocket, “we’re fixing that tonight.”
The night was nothing like she imagined.
And honestly? That surprised her most.
As a fan, you only really saw the polished parts.
The lights. The music. The stage presence. The final product.
You never really thought about everything underneath it.
The machinery of it all.
The venue itself buzzed with movement before doors even opened. Crew members moved equipment with practiced ease, voices carrying over soundchecks and feedback hums. Cases rolled across floors. Lighting techs adjusted things overhead while someone yelled about cables somewhere behind the stage.
Controlled chaos.
That’s what it was. Somehow, everyone knew exactly where they belonged inside it.
Y/n stood near Steph and Hailey for a second, just taking everything in while Nick got pulled briefly into conversation with someone from production.
“Overwhelming?” Steph asked gently beside her.
Y/n looked around slowly. “Honestly? Kinda.”
Steph laughed softly. “Yeah. First time seeing it from this side usually is.”
Hailey tugged on Y/n’s hand immediately after. “The lights are my favorite part.”
A few feet away, Nick looked over mid-conversation instinctively.
The second he saw Y/n smiling beside Steph and Hailey, something visibly eased in him.
Steph noticed too immediately.
“Told you,” she murmured under her breath when Nick finally walked back over.
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Told me what?”
“That she’d be fine.”
Nick huffed quietly.
Because god, he’d been nervous about this part.
Not because he thought she’d embarrass him or not know how to act.
Never that.
He just knew how overwhelming this world could be. The noise, the people, the constant movement, the way touring blurred everything together into organized insanity.
But Y/n?
Y/n slipped into it almost effortlessly.
Like she always did.
She stood beside him during the openers while he explained random venue things quietly in her ear between songs.
“That guy’s our monitor engineer.”
“The one aggressively yelling?”
“Yeah. We love him.”
She laughed softly.
Then, during another set, she leaned closer slightly.
“You guys have so many people.”
Nick looked over at her. “Well yeah.”
“I just never thought about it before.” She watched crew move equipment near the side stage thoughtfully. “Fans don’t really see all this. How many people it takes.”
Nick’s expression softened. “That’s because when everyone’s doing their job right, you’re not supposed to notice.”
That stuck with her.
All night, honestly.
The invisible moving parts. The people behind the curtain. The strange little ecosystem that kept this entire machine alive.
Through all of it, Nick kept checking her expression.
Like he needed reassurance she wasn’t overwhelmed.
Every single time, she smiled back at him. Every single time, his shoulders relaxed a little more.
By the time Bad Omens got ready to go onstage, the venue had transformed completely.
The crowd roared loud enough she felt it in her ribs.
Lights dimmed. Energy shifted instantly.
And suddenly Nick wasn’t just Nick anymore.
Not fully.
He still was Nick. Her Nick. The man who stole fries off her plate and walked into poles because Veronica sent him pictures.
But he was also this.
A performer. A musician. Someone the crowd screamed for before he even stepped onto the stage.
Y/n stood side stage with Hailey on her hip for the first couple songs, the little girl bouncing excitedly while lights flashed across the venue.
“LOOK,” Hailey yelled over the music. “DADDY.”
Y/n laughed softly. “I see him, baby.”
Then her eyes found Nick, and for a second everything else disappeared.
Because she’d never seen him like this before.
Not really.
Not through videos or clips online.
This was different.
The confidence. The energy. The way he moved naturally with the music like it lived inside him.
And god, the way he looked over and found her almost instantly despite the crowd and lights and chaos around him, was like his brain searched for her automatically.
Her chest tightened painfully.
By the middle of the set, Hailey had migrated back to Steph for snacks, and Y/n found herself standing closer to the stage alone.
Watching him.
Watching him laugh at something, Noah yelled between songs. Watching him move with effortless familiarity through a world he built with these people. Watching the crowd scream lyrics back at them.
Suddenly, something in her cracked wide open.
Hard. Almost violently.
Like realization finally caught up after weeks of trying to outrun it.
It hit her so fast it genuinely stole her breath for a second.
Not infatuation. Not attachment. Not fear. Not comfort.
Love.
Hopelessly.
Completely.
Terrifyingly.
She was madly in love with him.
The realization landed like a fucking truck because suddenly every piece clicked together at once; why missing him felt unbearable, why his voice settled her instantly, why home started meaning him somewhere along the way, why moving in together didn’t scare her as much as losing him did
Oh.
Oh no.
Her eyes burned immediately.
Onstage, Nick looked over again and smiled softly the second he found her.
Like seeing her there mattered more than anything else in the room.
That was the moment she knew she was absolutely done for.
That was the first thing Y/n noticed once the initial shock of him actually being home settled enough for her brain to function normally again.
Not clean in the sterile way it had looked when she stayed there before tour. Not quiet. Not untouched.
Alive.
His bag sat abandoned near the front door because neither of them cared enough to move it further than that. Rosie had nearly tackled Y/n when they walked in, whining loud enough that Nick laughed while trying to hold onto both of them at once.
“Okay—Jesus—alright,” he muttered through laughter as Rosie shoved her giant head under Y/n’s arm, demanding affection immediately.
“I missed you, too, baby,” Y/n laughed, crouching down enough to pet her properly.
Rosie leaned dramatically into her, nearly knocking her sideways in the process.
Nick watched the scene for a second longer than necessary.
The dog. The girl he spent six weeks missing so hard it physically annoyed him.
His house finally feeling right again.
Something in his chest eased so deeply it almost hurt.
Y/n looked up at him from the floor beside Rosie, immediately catching the expression on his face.
“What?”
Nick blinked once like he got caught thinking too loudly. “Nothing.”
“That’s a lie.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “It just feels normal,” he admitted.
That hit her hard.
Normal.
Like she belonged here. Like this wasn’t temporary.
Rosie barked once loudly, deciding the emotional moment had gone on long enough.
Nick snorted. “Apparently, she agrees.”
The rest of the night unfolded slowly after that.
No grand plans. No trying too hard.
Just them existing together again after weeks of screens and time zones and countdowns.
Takeout containers eventually littered the kitchen island because neither of them had the energy to cook. Nick stole bites of her food despite ordering his own. Y/n complained every single time while still automatically angling the container closer to him afterward.
“You literally have the same thing.”
“Yours tastes better.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Yet here we are.”
She rolled her eyes while smiling anyway.
God, she missed this.
The easy back-and-forth. The way silence never felt awkward. The feeling of his knee bumping hers under the table just because he wanted to touch her somehow.
At one point, she caught herself just staring at him while he talked.
Nick paused mid-sentence immediately. “What?”
Y/n shook her head softly. “Nothing.” A small smile tugged at her mouth. “I’m just getting used to you being real again.”
That visibly affected him.
She saw it immediately in the way his expression softened.
“C’mere,” he murmured quietly.
She went without hesitation.
Nick pulled her between his knees the second she reached him, arms wrapping around her waist automatically while his forehead rested against her stomach for a moment like he just needed a second.
Y/n’s fingers slid into his hair instinctively. “You okay?” she asked softly.
He nodded once against her. “Yeah.” His voice came quieter now. “Just tired of missing you.”
The thing both of them had been dancing around for weeks was now out in the open.
The exhaustion of distance.
Not enough to break them, but enough to wear grooves into both of them.
Y/n leaned down slightly, pressing a kiss into his hairline. “You don’t have to anymore,” she whispered.
Nick looked up at her then.
Like he still couldn’t fully believe she was here instead of trapped behind a screen somewhere hundreds of miles away. Then he tugged her closer again and kissed her slow enough it almost hurt.
Not rushed. Not desperate.
Like relearning. Like reminding himself she was tangible.
The takeout stayed forgotten after that.
The world outside did too.
At some point, they migrated toward the bedroom without either of them fully deciding to.
It just happened naturally.
A hand finding another. A kiss lingering too long.
The instinctive pull toward closeness after deprivation.
By the time Y/n fully registered where they were, one of Nick’s hoodies was halfway hanging off the dresser, her shoes abandoned near the doorway, his shirt somewhere on the floor beside the bed.
Neither of them cared enough to fix any of it.
The bedroom lights stayed low, warm shadows stretching across tangled sheets, while the city outside carried on unnoticed beyond the windows.
And in the middle of all of it, was just them.
Finally.
Y/n curled against his chest while Nick laid partially propped against the headboard, one arm around her shoulders beneath the blankets. His fingers moved absentmindedly along her spine underneath one of his old shirts she’d stolen at some point during the night.
Outside, distant traffic hummed softly.
Inside, everything felt suspended.
Neither of them wanted to move too much.
Like too much movement might somehow remind the universe they’d been apart at all.
“You know,” Y/n murmured eventually, voice muffled slightly against his skin, “we probably seem insane to everyone around us.”
Nick laughed quietly, the sound vibrating through his chest beneath her cheek. “Oh, absolutely.”
“Like deeply concerning.”
“Mhm.”
She tilted her head just enough to look up at him. “We survived six weeks.”
“We did.”
“And immediately became codependent again.”
Nick grinned faintly. “I never claimed emotional stability.”
Y/n laughed softly before settling back against him again.
The quiet stretched comfortably after that.
The kind of silence that only exists when two people know each other well enough not to constantly perform around each other.
Nick’s hand kept moving lazily along her back.
Up. Down.
Slow enough it almost lulled her to sleep.
She didn’t realize how much tension she’d been carrying until now.
Until this exact moment, curled against him with nowhere else to be.
No countdown hanging over their heads. No call ending because someone had to sleep. No aching distance sitting between every conversation.
Just him.
Warm.
Solid.
Home.
Her eyes burned unexpectedly.
Nick noticed immediately.
His hand stilled slightly against her back. “Hey,” he said softly. “What’s wrong?”
Y/n shook her head once against him. “Nothing.”
“That’s not a convincing answer.”
She laughed quietly despite herself. “I’m okay.”
Nick tipped his head slightly, studying her face for a second before understanding slowly settled across his expression.
“Oh.”
Y/n looked away immediately. “It’s stupid.”
“No,” he said gently. “It’s not.”
She swallowed once before answering honestly. “I think part of me still expected to wake up and this all be temporary.”
That hurt him more than she probably realized.
Not because he was offended. Because he understood exactly why she felt that way.
Nick’s hand slid up into her hair slowly, fingertips scratching lightly against her scalp.
“Hey,” he murmured again. This time softer. “I’m here.”
And god, that nearly undid her because he said it so simply.
Like it was obvious. Like it mattered. Like he intended to keep being here.
Y/n pressed her face against his shoulder for a second, breathing him in just to steady herself emotionally.
Nick held her through it without rushing her.
No fixing. No pushing.
Just there as she needed.
Eventually, she huffed a small laugh against him. “You know what’s embarrassing?”
“What?”
“I spent half this tour talking to your hoodies.”
Nick barked out a startled laugh. “You what?”
“I said it was embarrassing.”
“That’s genuinely the cutest thing you’ve ever admitted to me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, absolutely yes.”
She groaned dramatically while hiding her face against his chest.
Nick was still laughing softly when he kissed the top of her head.
“For the record,” he murmured, “I almost fought a pole because Veronica sent me a picture of you.”
Y/n lifted her head immediately. “Almost?”
Nick paused. “Walked directly into a pole.”
She stared at him for one long second.
Then dissolved into laughter so hard she nearly fell off him entirely.
“Oh, my god.”
“In my defense—”
“You have no defense, I already told you that ruined credibility.”
“You looked really pretty.”
Nick laughed, full and warm and finally relaxed in a way he hadn’t been in weeks.
That was the thing about this night.
It wasn’t built around grand declarations. It wasn’t some cinematic reunion full of dramatic speeches. It was softer than that.
More intimate.
Two people quietly settling back into each other after realizing distance didn’t lessen what existed between them.
If anything, it clarified it.
At some point, Y/n grew quiet again, fingers tracing absent patterns against his chest while sleep slowly tugged at the edges of her.
Nick noticed immediately. “Tired?”
“A little.”
“You should sleep.”
She shook her head instantly. “No.”
He smiled softly. “Baby.”
“I spent six weeks sleeping without you. I’m staying awake for at least a little longer.”
That expression crossed his face again then.
That wrecked one. The one she still didn’t fully understand the power of.
Nick leaned down slowly, kissing her with all the tenderness in the world tucked into it.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against hers. “I missed you so bad,” he admitted quietly.
Y/n’s chest tightened painfully. “I know,” she whispered.
Because she did.
She saw it every time he looked at her tonight.
In the way he kept touching her absentmindedly like reassurance. In the way he watched her move through his house like he still couldn’t believe she was there. In the way he relaxed more with every passing hour.
Her hand slid up slowly, fingers brushing along his jaw before settling against his cheek. “I missed you too.”
The words stayed suspended there between them for a second. Heavy with everything underneath them, neither was quite ready to say out loud yet.
But close.
Dangerously close.
Nick kissed her again before either of them could think too hard about it, and eventually, the conversation faded after that.
Not abruptly. Just naturally.
Y/n curled fully into his side beneath the blankets while Nick held her close enough that not even air seemed allowed between them anymore.
The takeout containers still sat forgotten in the kitchen. Clothes remained scattered across the bedroom floor. Rosie snored somewhere in the hallway.
And in the middle of all of it was just them.
Wrapped around each other tightly enough to make up for six weeks apart. Ignoring the world outside because for one night, they could.
Jolly stared at his phone for a full five minutes before finally hitting call.
The bus was quieter tonight.
Not silent, but quieter in the way it got after long conversations finally settled into everyone’s bones. Noah was asleep in the back lounge, Folio had headphones on pretending he wasn’t paying attention to anything, and Nicholas sat across from Jolly, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.
Watching him.
Because of course he was.
Jolly ignored him.
Or tried to.
The ringing cut through the silence once.
Twice.
Then… “Hey,” Emma answered.
Too casual. Too normal.
Immediately, something in Jolly snapped tighter.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing?”
Silence met him for half a second.
“…What?”
Jolly laughed once.
Sharp. Humorless.
“Oh, don’t fucking do that.”
“Jolly—”
“No,” he cut her off immediately. “What the fuck made you think showing up at my house was a good idea?”
Across from him, Nicholas slowly lowered his phone.
Emma exhaled softly through the speaker. “I was introducing myself.”
“Bullshit.”
The word cracked out of him instantly.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
His voice was low now. Controlled in that dangerous way that meant he was trying very hard not to actually lose his temper.
“You did not drive over to my parents’ house just to introduce yourself.”
Emma scoffed quietly. “You’re overreacting.”
Jolly leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“Then why the fuck did my sister tell her boyfriend you walked in and went straight for Y/N?”
That made Emma pause.
Jolly caught the hesitation immediately.
Nicholas did too.
Emma sighed softly. “I was curious.”
Jolly laughed again. That same bitter sound.
“Curious.”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
Emma’s tone sharpened slightly now too.
“About the girl, you specifically said you didn’t want me around if you weren’t there.”
Jolly closed his eyes briefly.
Jesus Christ.
“Emma—”
“Seriously,” she continued. “What was I supposed to think about that?”
Jolly roughly rubbed a hand down his face. “You weren’t supposed to do anything because it stopped being your business when I ended things.”
Emma went quiet.
Then colder, “So that’s it?”
Jolly’s jaw tightened.
“You break things off with me, and suddenly I’m not allowed to question why there’s some girl you’re clearly obsessed with?”
Emma laughed softly. “Really? Because it was pretty obvious at your house.”
Jolly stayed silent.
“She knows everything about you,” Emma continued. “It’s honestly kind of fucking weird.”
That hit something immediate in him.
“No,” he said flatly. “It’s not.”
Emma scoffed. “Jolly—”
“That’s what happens,” he cut her off sharply, “when you’ve known someone most of your fucking life.” The pause was heavy. “And honestly?” he continued. “It’s not any of your fucking business to begin with.”
Emma exhaled slowly. “She acted like she hated me.”
Jolly’s eyes narrowed immediately. “She was civil.”
“She was cold.”
“She was hurt,” Jolly snapped before he could stop himself.
The bus went dead quiet.
Nicholas slowly looked away.
Emma caught it immediately.
A dangerous pause filled the line.
“…There it is,” she said softly.
Jolly clenched his jaw. “You hurt someone who didn’t do a damn thing to you,” he said instead of responding.
Emma sounded genuinely offended now.
“I didn’t do anything to her.”
Jolly laughed bitterly again. “You walked into my fucking house, making it seem like you and I were still together.”
“We were talking.”
“Not anymore.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No,” Jolly said sharply. “I actually don’t.”
Emma’s breathing became audible through the phone. “I was trying to understand why you ended things so suddenly.”
Jolly rubbed at his forehead. “And your solution was to go after Y/N?”
Emma laughed weakly on the other end. “Even I could see that.”
That hit him straight in the chest.
“And honestly?” she continued. “I think you liked knowing she’d always be there.”
Jolly’s stomach twisted.
Because the fucked up part? She wasn’t entirely wrong.
“I think,” Emma said carefully now, “you realized too late that she might stop.”
Jolly swallowed hard.
“And that scared you.”
Nicholas watched him carefully from across the bus now.
Because Jolly wasn’t yelling anymore. Wasn’t even fighting.
He just sat there looking wrecked.
Emma sighed softly. “I wasn’t trying to hurt her.”
“Well, you did.” His response was immediate. And if I’m being honest?” Jolly continued quietly. “I think you knew exactly what you were doing.”
Emma didn’t answer.
That answered enough, though.
Jolly leaned back slowly. “She never did anything to you.”
“No,” Emma admitted softly.
“She was nice to you even though she didn’t have to be.”
Another silence.
Then Emma quietly asked, “Are you in love with her?”
The question hit differently now.
Three weeks ago? Jolly probably would’ve dodged it, denied it, or laughed it off.
Now? Now he just looked out the dark bus window and answered honestly.
“…Yeah.” No hesitation. No excuses.
Emma let out a shaky breath, “I wish you would’ve figured that out before me.”
Guilt twisted in his chest immediately.
“Yeah,” he admitted quietly.
Emma sighed. “I really did like you, you know.”
Jolly closed his eyes briefly. “I know.”
“But I’m not going to sit around waiting for someone whose heart already belonged to somebody else.”
That one stayed with him because she wasn’t wrong there either.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Emma laughed softly. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Me too.”
The call ended a minute later.
No screaming. No dramatic ending.
Which somehow made it feel worse.
Jolly sat there staring at the dark phone screen for a long time after.
Nicholas finally spoke first. “You good?”
Jolly laughed weakly. “No.”
Nicholas nodded once. “Fair.”
—
The drive home after tour felt different now.
Heavier.
Like every mile closer made his chest tighter instead of lighter.
Normally, coming home felt easy and exciting.
Now? Now all he could think about was her.
What if she wasn’t there? What if she was? What if he’d already ruined this beyond repair?
He barely heard half the conversations around him as they unloaded gear and filtered out toward their cars.
Noah clapped him on the shoulder before leaving. “Good luck.”
Jolly frowned. “With what?”
Noah just gave him a look, then walked away.
Asshole.
The drive to the house felt too short and too long all at once.
His fingers tapped anxiously against the steering wheel the entire time.
By the time he pulled into the driveway, the house was dark except for the kitchen light over the stove.
His chest tightened immediately.
Because maybe? Maybe she was there like usual.
He grabbed his bag quickly and headed inside.
The house was quiet. Everyone was asleep.
He dropped his keys onto the counter and immediately headed toward the kitchen before he could stop himself.
Instinct. Hope. Stupidity.
Maybe all three… Actually? Definitely all three.
But the second he stepped fully into the kitchen, he stopped.
Because she wasn’t there.
No music playing quietly from her phone. No sarcastic comment about him finally showing up. No Y/N sitting on the counter, stealing pieces of food while pretending she wasn’t.
Just silence.
Something sank heavily in his chest.
Then, he saw it: the sticky note on the fridge, bright against the stainless steel with her handwriting.
Jolly stepped closer slowly and read it.
Foods in the microwave. Got done at 1:36.
His eyes flicked toward the clock.
1:50 AM.
Meaning he’d just missed her.
By literal minutes.
Jolly stared at the note for a long second before slowly reaching for the microwave handle.
He opened the door, and sitting on a plate was one of the stupid complex meals he loved that only she and his mother knew how to make properly. One that she’d make every time he’d come home from tour. There was a cover sitting over it to ensure it would stay warm longer.
Jolly just stood there staring at it. Her note still clutched tightly in his hand.
She unlocked the café that morning with a tired sigh, flicking the lights on one by one while dawn still barely stretched across the windows.
The routine carried her automatically.
Machines on. Pastries out. Inventory check. Music low.
But her brain wasn’t fully in it.
It kept drifting.
Back to him.
Forward to him.
Always him somehow.
She set a stack of cups down a little harder than intended before tipping her head back dramatically toward the ceiling.
“Two days, Y/n,” she muttered to herself.
Hades, perched like a gargoyle near the espresso machine, blinked slowly at her.
“You have two more painstakingly long days,” she continued, pointing at absolutely nothing, “and then he’s home.”
The cat yawned.
“A show tomorrow. A show the day after. Then he’s home around midnight if I’m lucky.”
She pressed both hands dramatically against the counter. “We can do this.”
The bell above the door chimed.
One of her regulars walked in and immediately snorted. “You talking to the cat again?”
Y/n straightened immediately. “Mind your business, Mark. I'll have you know, my cats have been wonderful companions,”
The man laughed while approaching the counter. “Tour almost over?”
She blinked. “Am I that obvious?”
“You alphabetized your syrup bottles yesterday.”
“They needed structure.”
“You’re spiraling.”
She sighed deeply. “I miss my boyfriend.”
“That’s unfortunately adorable.”
Y/n pointed at him threateningly while reaching for a cup. “I reserve the right to refuse service.”
The day carried on after that in the same strange blur most of her days had taken on lately.
Regulars came and went. Tourists asked for recommendations. A college student camped in the corner for three hours pretending to study while definitely flirting with another customer.
The rhythm of the café moved around her naturally, and she moved with it on autopilot.
But underneath all of it sat this constant buzzing anticipation.
Like her whole body had shifted into countdown mode.
There were moments throughout the day where life settled long enough for the reality of things to hit her unexpectedly.
Like when she caught herself making two coffees out of habit. Or when a song Nick liked came on over the speakers and suddenly her chest hurt for no reason. Or when she checked the time and instinctively calculated where he probably was.
It was exhausting.
And honestly? A little fucking pathetic if you asked her.
By closing time, she felt wrung out from her own brain.
The sign flipped. Lights dimmed slightly.
She moved through cleanup slowly, hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows while she wiped down the counter.
The bell above the door chimed.
Without turning around, she sighed. “Sorry, we’re closed.”
Silence.
Then:
“Damn.”
Her entire body went still.
“Guess I’ll come back in the morning then.”
The rag slipped from her fingers.
No.
No fucking way.
Her heart jumped so violently it actually hurt.
For a second she genuinely thought she imagined it. That her brain finally snapped from six weeks of missing him.
Slowly, almost afraid to, she turned her head over her shoulder.
And there he was.
Nick.
Standing just inside the door with his duffel bag hanging off one shoulder, hoodie slightly wrinkled from travel, exhaustion written all over his face.
And smiling at her like he’d been waiting to see that exact expression.
Y/n stared at him.
Actually stared.
Like her brain physically couldn’t catch up to what her eyes were seeing.
“What?”
The smile on his face softened instantly. “Hi.”
That was it.
That single word completely shattered whatever composure she had left.
“Oh my god.”
The words came out breathless.
She moved before she even fully realized she was moving, coming around the counter so fast she nearly clipped her hip on the edge of it.
Nick barely had time to set the bag down before she hit him.
Hard.
Her arms wrapped around his neck so fast it knocked the breath out of him slightly, and he caught her immediately with both arms around her waist like instinct.
“Whoa—”
“You’re here,” she breathed.
Not asked. Not questioned. Just absolutely stunned.
He buried his face against her neck immediately, holding her so tightly she could feel the tension leave him in waves.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m here.”
And god his voice.
Not through a phone. Not distorted through speakers or shitty connections.
Real.
Warm against her skin.
She made this small broken sound against his shoulder that nearly wrecked him on the spot.
“I thought you had two more shows,” she said quickly, pulling back just enough to look at him properly.
“We do.”
“Nick.”
“The last two are close enough to drive,” he explained, one hand sliding up into her hair automatically. “Folio was going home too and the guys basically told us we were idiots if we didn’t.”
“You came home early.”
“Yeah.”
Y/n just looked at him.
Eyes already glassy.
Like she genuinely couldn’t process the fact he was physically standing in front of her right now.
Nick’s expression softened even more at that.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
Then he cupped her face in both hands.
And that did her in completely.
Because his hands were warm. Solid.
Not imagined through memory or recreated through distance.
Real.
“You’re actually here,” she whispered.
He laughed softly, emotional around the edges himself now. “I know.”
She shook her head once like she still didn’t believe it. “I kept counting days.”
“I know.”
“I cleaned my apartment three times.”
“That sounds accurate.”
“I finished my book because I missed you too hard.”
That made him laugh properly; tired and warm and so fond it physically hurt her chest.
Then suddenly he kissed her; like he couldn’t help it anymore. Like six weeks finally snapped all at once.
Y/n melted into him instantly, hands gripping his hoodie like she was scared he’d disappear if she let go.
And Nick? Nick kissed her like someone finally letting himself exhale.
All the missing her. All the calls. All the distance. All the nights staring at his phone.
Gone.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing harder than they should’ve been.
Nick rested his forehead against hers immediately.
“You have no idea how bad I needed this,” he admitted softly.
Y/n laughed shakily through the tears she was trying not to let fall.
Y/N’s side of things wasn’t much better. Or maybe it was.
Really depended on how someone looked at it.
Because unlike Jolly, she wasn’t confused.
There was no denial left in her.
No pretending. No, carefully built walls, convincing herself it was one-sided crush territory she’d eventually grow out of.
No.
That illusion had shattered the second Emma walked into the Karlsson house smiling like she belonged there.
After that?
Everything became painfully clear to everyone around her.
Not that they hadn’t already known on some level.
You didn’t spend years learning someone down to microscopic details just because they were your friend.
Not the way Y/N did.
Not the way she remembered things. Not the way she watched him or built pieces of her life around him without even realizing she was doing it.
Mrs. Karlsson saw it fully now.
Freja definitely did.
Even Elias picked up on the fact that something was wrong because Y/N wasn’t as loud lately. Still loving. Still present. But quieter around the edges in a way that felt unnatural coming from her.
The Emma situation had hit a nerve nobody could soothe.
Because it wasn’t even jealousy at that point.
It was grief.
The kind that sat in your chest and hollowed things out slowly.
And the worst part? Y/N couldn’t even be angry at Jolly.
Not really.
Because Emma was who he was with, who he’d seemingly chosen.
Which meant Y/N had no claim to anything she was feeling.
So she just sat in it.
Alone most nights.
Mrs. Karlsson tried.
God, she tried.
One evening, Y/N sat at the kitchen island, absentmindedly peeling the label off a beer bottle while Mrs. Karlsson cooked dinner nearby.
“He’ll figure it out,” she said gently without looking up from the stove.
Y/N gave a weak hum. “Maybe.”
Mrs. Karlsson sighed softly. “Not maybe.”
Y/N stared at the bottle in her hands. “You don’t know that.”
“No,” his mother admitted. “I unfortunately don’t.”
That honesty almost hurt worse.
“But I know my son,” she continued quietly. “And I know what he looks like when he’s pretending something doesn’t matter when it actually matters too much.”
Y/N swallowed hard.
Mrs. Karlsson looked over then. “And you matter entirely too much.”
Y/N looked away immediately.
Because hearing it out loud made her chest ache.
Freja tried too.
Less gentle than her mother; more frustrated on Y/N’s behalf than anything else.
One night, they laid on Freja’s bed surrounded by snacks and some horrible reality show neither of them were actually paying attention to.
“He’s going to come home and choose you this time,” Freja said suddenly.
Y/N laughed quietly without humor. “You sound really convinced for someone who isn’t him.”
Freja rolled her eyes. “Because I have eyes.”
Y/N stared at the ceiling. “Emma wouldn’t have came over if she didn’t think she was the one he wanted.”
Freja sat up immediately. “Or she came over because she was insecure.”
Y/N shook her head. “People aren’t insecure without reason.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“No,” Y/N said softly. “It’s realistic.”
Freja looked at her for a long second. “You really think he’s coming home to her?”
Y/N’s silence answered enough.
Because what else was she supposed to think? Emma existed in a space Y/N never let herself believe she could occupy.
Publicly. Openly. Normally.
And meanwhile, Y/N was sitting there feeling like her heart was breaking over a man who technically had never even been hers to begin with.
Nicholas tried helping where he could, but being across the country limited things.
And he was balancing his own exhaustion on top of trying to keep the band from combusting after forcing Jolly’s emotional breakdown on the bus.
So most of it came through phone calls late at night. Usually, when Y/N was trying not to spiral.
“You need to sleep,” Nicholas said one night over speakerphone while Y/N laid sprawled across her couch staring at the ceiling.
“I am sleeping.”
“No,” Nicholas replied flatly. “You’re horizontal and dissociating.”
Y/N huffed softly. “Semantics.”
Nicholas sighed. “How bad tonight?”
Y/N hesitated too long.
Nicholas immediately caught it. “…Y/N.”
She rolled onto her side, finally, curling into herself slightly.
“I miss him.”
Quiet. Small. Honest.
Nicholas closed his eyes briefly on the other end of the line.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”
“I hate this,” she whispered.
“I know that too.”
Silence stretched for a minute.
“I feel stupid,” she admitted.
That one hurt him a little.
Because Y/N was many things, stupid was never one of them.
“You’re not stupid.”
“I am,” she argued quietly. “Because I knew better.”
Nicholas frowned. “Knew better than what?”
“Than hoping.”
That one sat heavy.
“He never actually chose me,” she continued. “Not really.”
Nicholas opened his mouth, then stopped himself.
Because he knew things. Too many things.
But they weren’t his to say.
So instead, he carefully said, “You don’t know that yet.”
Y/N laughed softly. Broken around the edges. “That sounds suspiciously optimistic.”
Nicholas leaned back against the bus wall. “Maybe I’m choosing violence and hope tonight.”
That got the faintest breath of a laugh from her.
Tiny. But real.
And honestly? At that point he’d take it.
Still, once the calls ended? Y/N was alone again.
And that’s when it got bad.
During the day, she could function.
Work helped. Running the shop helped. Freja helped.
But nighttime?
Nighttime was cruel.
Especially in her apartment.
Too quiet. Too empty. Too much room for her thoughts to echo.
Sometimes she cried.
Not dramatically. Not loudly.
Just silent tears while lying in bed staring at nothing.
Other nights, she’d end up at the Karlsson house.
Those nights were somehow worse.
Because eventually she’d wander upstairs.
Past Freja’s room. Past the bathroom. Stopping outside Jolly’s door.
Every single time.
Like her body moved there on instinct.
At first, she told herself she wouldn’t go in.
Then she started sitting in there “just for a minute.”
Then eventually, she stopped pretending.
Now she’d sit on his bedroom floor for hours sometimes.
Knees pulled tightly to her chest, one of his hoodies swallowing her whole, just staring at whatever managed to catch her attention that night.
The edge of his desk. The posters on the wall. His guitar leaning in the corner. The stupid crack in the ceiling she’d noticed when she was fifteen and laying upside down on his bed, annoying him while he tried writing.
Little things.
Always little things.
Sometimes she’d sit there in silence. Other times she’d cry quietly into the sleeves of whatever hoodie she stole that week.
Because yeah, she still stole them.
Even now.
Maybe especially now.
And that honestly felt the most pathetic part of all. That even heartbroken, even trying to convince herself to let go, she still found comfort in him. Or whatever pieces of him she could keep close.
One night, Freja found her there.
Y/N sat on the floor beside the bed, chin resting on her knees while absentmindedly tracing the cuff of the hoodie over her fingers.
Freja lingered in the doorway quietly for a second before speaking.
“You okay?”
Y/N laughed softly without looking up. “No.”
Freja’s chest tightened immediately.
She walked in slowly before lowering herself onto the floor beside her best friend.
Neither spoke for a minute.
Then Freja quietly asked, “You wanna know something sad?”
Y/N glanced at her slightly. “What?”
Freja smiled weakly. “This room smells more like you than him lately.”
That almost broke her.
Y/N’s face crumpled instantly as she covered her mouth with her sleeve, trying to stop the sound that escaped her.
Freja immediately moved closer, wrapping both arms around her while Y/N folded into her.
“It hurts so bad,” Y/N whispered brokenly.
Freja held her tighter. “I know.”
“I don’t know how to stop loving him.”
That one nearly made Freja cry too.
Because there was no dramatic solution.
No magical answer. No “just move on.”
Not after seven years. Not after growing up beside someone until they became stitched into every piece of your life.
“You wanna know the really fucked up part?” Y/N whispered against her shoulder.
Freja rubbed her back slowly. “What?”
“If he came home tomorrow and looked at me the way I wanted…” Her voice cracked. “I’d forgive everything in a heartbeat.”
Freja closed her eyes hard.
Because yeah, Y/N loved Jolly in the kind of way that didn’t leave room for self-preservation.
Everyone around them was finally starting to understand just how deep it actually went when it came to her.
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Not silent; there was always some kind of noise. The hum of the road beneath them, the occasional vibration from someone’s phone, Noah’s music low through a speaker somewhere toward the front lounge.
But quieter.
Nick sat near the back with his legs stretched across the couch, phone still in his hand after the call with Y/n ended. The screen had gone dark a couple minutes ago, but he hadn’t put it down yet.
He was still letting it settle.
She said yes.
Well… essentially yes.
Somehow that felt even bigger.
Because Y/n didn’t do impulsive emotional decisions. Everything with her came layered in thought and caution and contingency plans. Even when she wanted something, there was always part of her analyzing it from every angle first.
So the fact she’d smiled instead of panicked? The fact she admitted she wanted it too?
That sat warm and heavy in his chest in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
Across from him, Folio glanced up from his phone first. “She really agreed to it?”
Nick looked over, unable to stop the small smile pulling at his mouth. “…Yeah.”
There was no immediate screaming like Gloria did with Y/n. No dramatic gagging noises from Jolly. No Noah pretending to cry over Nick becoming domesticated.
Just a strange sort of stillness.
Then Folio smiled. “Damn.”
Somehow, that one word carried more sincerity than any teasing would have.
Jolly sat up slightly from where he’d been half-sprawled across the opposite seat. “That’s huge.”
Nick nodded once, looking down at his phone again, like maybe the conversation would replay itself there.
“She said Gloria already texted her boss for moving boxes.”
That finally got a laugh out of Noah. “Okay, that’s insane behavior.”
“Apparently, Gloria’s been waiting for this moment since she met Y/n,” Nick muttered.
“That woman scares me,” Jolly admitted.
“She scares everyone,” Folio replied.
But even then, the teasing stayed soft around the edges because they saw it too.
Maybe not all of Y/n’s side. She was quieter with her feelings. More guarded. The kind of person who let things show through actions long before words.
But Nick?
They’d watched this happen to him in real time.
And honestly, looking back now, the change started way earlier than he realized.
The first day he walked into that coffee shop, something shifted.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Enough that Noah noticed him going there more often than necessary. Enough that Jolly started asking why getting coffee suddenly took forty-five minutes. Enough that Folio caught the way Nick talked about her before he even realized he was talking about her differently.
“She treated you normal,” Noah said suddenly, voicing the thought out loud.
Nick looked up.
Noah shrugged lightly. “That was the thing.”
And yeah, it was.
The guys all remembered the story because Nick repeated pieces of it without realizing he kept circling back to her: a girl with a tattoo of the band logo on her wrist looked him dead in the eye and treated him like he was just some tired guy buying coffee before work.
No weirdness. No trying too hard. No awkward fan behavior.
Just:
“Morning, Nick.”
Like he was ordinary. Like she saw him first instead of everything attached to him.
It did something to his brain instantly. Even if he didn’t fully understand it at the time.
“You were cooked from day one,” Jolly informed him casually.
Nick rolled his eyes. “I was not.”
“You absolutely were,” Folio cut in. “You started lingering there immediately.”
“And you smiled at your phone for like a week straight after she gave you her number,” Noah added.
Nick frowned slightly. “Did I?”
All three of them looked at him.
“…Dude,” Noah said flatly.
Nick huffed quietly, rubbing a hand over his face.
Maybe he had.
The thing was, though? The change was impossible to miss now.
The way his shoulders visibly relaxed whenever he talked to her. The way he smiled at texts without realizing it. The way his mood shifted entirely depending on whether or not they got to talk properly that day.
Hell, even the way he handled touring was different.
Not worse; just more emotional. More attached.
There were nights schedules got so packed they barely got five minutes together, and those were always the nights Nick seemed off afterward. Quieter. Restless.
Not angry. Just missing something.
The guys noticed every single time.
“You know what’s weird?” Folio said after a minute.
Nick looked over. “What?”
“You seem calmer.”
That caught him off guard.
“What?”
Folio shrugged. “You’re happier.”
Noah nodded slightly in agreement.
“You still spiral,” he clarified. “But like… differently.”
Jolly pointed lazily from across the bus. “Before her, your whole life was routine.”
Nick frowned slightly. “It still is.”
“Kinda,” Jolly said. “But now you’re not as bad since she came around.”
That landed harder than expected, because it was true.
Before Y/n, Nick’s life stayed carefully contained. Predictable. Manageable. He relied on routine more than he realized because routine meant control.
Wake up.
Coffee.
Studio.
Tour.
Repeat.
Relationships existed around his life before, but Y/n existed inside it.
She became part of the structure itself.
And maybe that was why moving in together didn’t feel insane to him, despite how fast it probably looked from the outside; she already felt woven into every part of his day anyway.
“She made you softer,” Noah said suddenly.
Nick narrowed his eyes immediately. “That sounded insulting.”
“It wasn’t.”
Weirdly enough, though, it really wasn’t.
Because Nick had softened.
Not weaker.
Just more open. Less detached from everything around him. More willing to let himself be known instead of just understood from a distance.
Folio leaned back against the seat, smiling faintly to himself. “There was genuinely a point where I didn’t think you’d ever let someone in like this,” he admitted.
Nick looked over at him quietly, because that was probably true, too.
The band had watched him keep parts of himself locked down for years. Not intentionally cruel. Not emotionally unavailable in some dramatic way.
Just careful.
Nick liked routine because routine couldn’t hurt him unexpectedly. Touring already brought enough instability into his life. Fame complicated everything else.
So eventually, he stopped expecting permanence from relationships.
Then Y/n walked into his life with messy buns and oversized hoodies and treated him like he was normal.
That was the thing that cracked him open.
Jolly smirked, “You know she’s already stuck with us forever now, right?”
Nick snorted quietly. “You say that like it’s a threat.”
“It is.”
Noah pointed. “Especially him.”
“Rude.”
“Accurate,” Folio corrected.
Nick laughed softly under his breath, finally setting his phone down beside him.
For once, none of them ruined the moment. No jokes about marriage. No gagging noises. No dramatic commentary. Because beneath all the usual bullshit, they were genuinely happy for him.
Over the moon, honestly.
Because they’d all quietly wondered at one point if Nick would ever let himself have something like this.
And now?
Now he looked at someone like they hung the fucking moon, and she looked right back at him the exact same way.
The closer tour got to ending, the worse Y/n became.
Not emotionally unstable worse.
Just restless.
Like her body knew something was coming and didn’t know what to do with itself in the meantime.
She cleaned things that didn’t need cleaned. Reorganized shelves at the café twice. Changed her sheets three times in one week.
And somehow, through sheer force of emotional avoidance, she finished her book.
Actually finished it.
Every free second she had went into it.
Editing. Rewriting. Deleting entire paragraphs only to put half of them back. Staring at the same sentence for twenty minutes because suddenly every word looked fake.
Nick joked one night over FaceTime that she stress-wrote an entire novel.
Honestly?
He wasn’t wrong.
But eventually, there was nothing left to tweak.
No more edits. No more excuses.
Just the terrifying final step of sending it where it needed to go.
She hit submit at two in the morning, wearing one of Nick’s hoodies, and immediately laid face down on her bed afterward like she’d survived combat.
Not the yelling. Not Nicholas laying every ugly truth out in front of him, piece by piece, until there was nowhere left to hide.
It was the silence after.
The way Jolly’s jaw kept working like he had words clawing to get out, but none of them actually came. His breathing had gone heavier somewhere in the middle of Nicholas talking, shoulders tight enough to snap, eyes darting everywhere except directly at any of them for too long.
And still? Nothing.
No denial. No defense. No “you’re wrong.”
Just silence.
A loud sigh finally cut through the room. Folio leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
“Seven and fourteen.”
Jolly blinked, looking over at him sharply. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
Folio didn’t blink. “They’re numbers,” he said flatly. “The answer to the same question just worded differently.”
Jolly frowned harder.
“Like those annoying questions on tests,” Folio continued. “Where the teacher changes the wording but the answer stays the same.”
Nicholas immediately shot him a warning look. “Folio.”
Folio held a hand up without looking away from Jolly. “Respectfully, Nick?” he said. “I’m done watching this.”
Nicholas’s jaw tightened slightly.
Folio kept going. “This information,” he said, motioning vaguely between himself and Jolly, “is shit I learned.” His tone sharpened. “You have no part in it.”
Nicholas stayed quiet.
“This will not fall back on you,” Folio added firmly. “I’ll make damn sure of it.” A beat. “You are not losing the trust she has in you because of me.” Folio pressed his lips together for a moment. “However,” he continued, “if I have to hear my girlfriend cry one more fucking time because she’s worried sick about her best friend?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m gonna start saying a lot more.” A pause. “And none of it’s gonna be nice.”
The room went quiet again.
Jolly stared at him for a second before scoffing lightly. “What the hell are you even talking about?”
Folio looked at him like he genuinely couldn’t believe he still didn’t get it.
“The age is fourteen,” he said.
Jolly frowned.
“The years is seven.” Another beat. “Keep it in mind.”
Something flickered across Jolly’s face.
Recognition.
Tiny. But there.
Nicholas noticed it immediately. So did Noah.
Folio pushed off the wall slowly. “Now,” he said, “I don’t actually think the problem is that you love her.”
Jolly’s eyes snapped to him.
Before he could speak, Folio kept going. “The problem,” he said evenly, “is that you’re fucking terrified of what happens if it doesn’t work.”
Silence.
“Because you refuse to look at the positives.” Folio stepped closer. “You only focus on what you lose if things go bad.” Another step. “Not what the fuck you gain if things go right.”
Jolly looked away immediately.
And Folio laughed softly under his breath. “Are you really this fucking stupid?"
“Watch it,” Jolly snapped.
“No,” Folio shot back immediately. “You watch it.”
The edge in his voice surprised everyone.
Even Nicholas looked at him differently now.
“Do you seriously think,” Folio continued, “that girl acts the way she does with you with everybody?”
Jolly scoffed immediately. “That’s literally her personality.”
Folio nodded slowly. “So, you are stupid.”
Jolly glared at him hard enough to kill lesser men.
Folio didn’t care.
“When,” he asked calmly, “has she ever hung all over one of us the way she does you?”
Jolly opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Folio kept going. “When has she stolen our hoodies and refused to give them back for three fucking days?”
No answer.
“When does she steal our food? Drinks? Phones?”
Jolly’s jaw tightened.
“When does she sit between our legs on the floor and lean against us?”
Every example landed harder than the last.
“Better yet,” Folio added, “when has she ever asked any of us to braid her hair?”
Nothing.
Because the answer was obvious.
“She doesn’t,” Folio said.
His voice softened slightly now; not kinder, just more certain.
“She can walk up to a pile of black hoodies,” he continued, “and somehow knows exactly which one is yours.”
Noah muttered quietly, “That one’s always freaked me out.”
Nobody acknowledged him.
“Food and drinks?” Folio continued. “If she really wants to try something from us, she asks.” A pause. “With you?” He pointed directly at Jolly. “She just fucking takes it.”
And the worst part?
Jolly knew he was right. Not once, though, did he ever think twice about it.
“She’s fallen asleep leaning on Noah during movies.”
Noah lifted a hand slightly. “Once.”
“Twice,” Nicholas corrected automatically.
Noah looked offended. “Traitor.”
Folio ignored them. “Sometimes she leans on Nick for a few minutes.”
Nicholas stayed silent.
“But you?” Folio said as his eyes locked onto Jolly again. “That girl has literally jumped on your back to tackle you.”
Jolly rubbed a hand over his face slowly now, like the headache had finally become unbearable.
“She doesn’t sit on our laps,” Folio continued.
Every word was another nail.
“She doesn’t grab our faces to kiss our cheeks.”
Noah nodded faintly. “We lean down because she’s short.”
“Exactly,” Folio said.
Then looked back at Jolly.
“Let's add to it. Have you ever noticed something?”
Jolly didn’t answer.
“You’re either the first or the last person she says hi or bye to.”
That one hit differently.
“You are never in the middle.”
The room fell silent again because even Noah looked like he hadn’t consciously realized that before, and now he couldn’t unsee it.
Folio exhaled slowly through his nose. “Hoodies,” he said again.
Jolly closed his eyes briefly.
“Did you ever stop to think about why it’s always three days before she gives them back?”
No answer.
Folio laughed quietly. “I figured this one out over the years,” he admitted.
Jolly’s eyes opened again reluctantly.
“By day three,” Folio said, “they stop fully smelling like you.”
Jolly completely froze.
“So she brings it back,” Folio continued, “and steals a new one.”
Noah physically grimaced. “Jesus Christ.”
Nicholas rubbed a hand over his mouth like he was trying not to laugh and lose his mind simultaneously.
And Jolly? Jolly looked wrecked.
Like every single thing he’d spent years refusing to look at was suddenly standing directly in front of him.
“And here’s my personal favorite,” Folio added.
His tone softened just slightly now.
“Did you know she knows how to braid her own hair?”
Jolly’s head snapped up.
Folio nodded once. “She learned the first time we went on tour.”
Silence.
“She just pretends she can’t,” Folio said quietly. “So she has a reason to be near you.”
That one finally broke through the last wall.
Jolly looked away so fast it was almost violent.
His chest rose sharply once. Then again.
Nicholas watched him carefully now.
Because there it was.
Finally.
The moment it all actually started sinking in.
And the fucked up part? Nobody in the room pitied him. Because Y/N had lived with this for seven years, and Jolly couldn’t even survive one conversation about it without looking like he was falling apart.
The bus had gone dead silent after that.
Not uncomfortable silence. Not even angry silence. Just the kind that settles after someone drops a truth so heavy nobody quite knows where to put it or what to do with it.
Jolly stood there for another second, chest rising unevenly, before finally dropping down onto the edge of the couch like his legs gave out under him.
His elbows rested on his knees. Hands clasped in front of his mouth. He inhaled sharply through his nose and stayed there for a second too long.
Folio watched him carefully. “The numbers clicking yet?” he finally asked.
Jolly laughed once under his breath.
Not amused. Almost disbelieving.
Then he lowered his hands slowly. “I don’t believe that.”
Folio frowned slightly. “Believe what?”
Jolly looked up at him finally. “I don’t believe she’s loved me that long.”
The confession sat strangely in the air.
Not because it was shocking, but because of how genuinely shaken he sounded saying it.
Folio leaned back against the wall again. “But she has, Jolly.”
Simple.
No dramatics. No exaggeration.
“That’s seven years,” Folio continued quietly, “of swallowing down her own bullshit for one reason or another.”
Jolly looked away immediately.
Seven years.
The number sounded worse every time someone said it out loud.
Nicholas finally sighed and leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “You’re not the only one who obsesses over what happens if something goes wrong,” he said.
Jolly glanced toward him.
“But honestly?” Nicholas continued. “At this point, I don’t even know if that matters much.” He paused. “Because Emma stopped by the house today.”
Jolly’s head snapped up instantly. “What?”
Folio nodded once and repeated, “Emma came to the house.”
Every muscle in Jolly’s body visibly tightened.
“And she went right for Y/N.”
Jolly stared at him. “What the fuck do you mean she went right for Y/N?”
Folio shrugged slightly. “Exactly what it sounds like.”
Nicholas huffed quietly. “She tried playing this whole sweet introduction angle,” he said. “Like she was just introducing herself to everyone.”
Jolly leaned back sharply. “Unbelievable.”
“She was fishing,” Folio added bluntly.
Jolly rubbed a hand over his face hard enough to drag his skin with it. “There was no reason for her to even fucking be there.”
“No,” Nicholas agreed calmly. “There wasn’t.”
Jolly laughed bitterly under his breath. “Jesus Christ.”
Folio watched him carefully. “Y/N handled it,” he said.
Jolly’s eyes flicked to him immediately. “How?”
Folio’s mouth twitched slightly. “She obliterated every angle Emma tried making, and told her she wasted her time when all she was trying to do was enjoy her day off.”
That earned the smallest breath of relief from Jolly.
Tiny, but noticeable.
“Still fucked with her though,” Folio added.
And there it was again.
That guilt. That immediate heaviness settling right back onto Jolly’s chest.
“Because,” Folio continued, “that woman is clinging to any possible thread that you might’ve come home this time and chosen her.”
Jolly stared at the floor. “…There was never anything to choose.”
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Oh?”
Jolly leaned back slowly, exhausted all over again. “Emma and I weren’t even talking by the time we left.”
The entire bus stilled.
Noah blinked first. “…What?”
Jolly let out a hollow laugh. “Meaning,” he said tiredly, “I broke things off before we even got on the fucking bus.”
Silence.
Nicholas sat back slightly. “Interesting.”
Jolly rolled his eyes weakly. “Don’t start.”
Noah frowned. “Wait, seriously?”
Jolly nodded once. “She wanted to meet everyone,” he said. “I told her maybe eventually after we got back.”
Folio crossed his arms. “And?”
“And she asked if I actually wanted this to go somewhere.” Jolly exhaled sharply through his nose. “She saw the hesitation immediately.”
Nicholas hummed softly, as if to confirm every suspicion he already had.
“It became a whole thing,” Jolly muttered. He paused, then looked away. “And I fucked up.”
Noah frowned. “How?”
Jolly laughed bitterly again. “I let it slip that I didn’t want her near Y/N if I wasn’t home.”
The bus went silent all over again.
Folio blinked slowly. “…You said that out loud?”
“Not intentionally,” Jolly snapped. “It just came out.”
Nicholas rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to hide the look on his face.
“She obviously didn’t buy the excuse I tried giving after,” Jolly muttered.
“Because there isn’t a good excuse for that,” Noah said carefully.
“No shit.”
Jolly leaned back harder into the couch now, staring at the ceiling.
“Emma was supposed to be a distraction,” he admitted quietly.
Nobody interrupted him now.
“That’s all she was supposed to be until tour started.” His voice sounded rougher now. More honest. “And then my mom basically ripped me apart that day she came over to talk to Freja and wouldn’t let me see Y/N.”
The three of them stayed quiet.
“Trust me,” Jolly muttered, rubbing both hands down his face now, “I know how I feel.”
That got everyone’s attention immediately.
“I’ve been hyper-aware for months,” he admitted. A humorless laugh left him. “Aware longer than that.”
He shook his head. “But when she pulled back?”
His throat tightened visibly.
“And left that night while I was inside?” A pause. “It’s been driving me fucking insane.” There was real, raw frustration in his voice now. “Emma stopped being a distraction from Y/N,” he admitted quietly. “She became a distraction because Y/N wasn’t around anymore.”
Noah winced slightly at that.
“Not exactly my proudest moment,” Jolly muttered.
Nicholas finally spoke. “No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”
Jolly nodded once. “I know.”
Silence stretched again.
Then Folio finally asked quietly, “Yeah?” He tilted his head slightly. “And how’d ignoring it work out for you this time?”
Jolly scoffed softly. “It didn’t.”
Simple. Honest. Final.
He sat there for a second longer before finally speaking again.
Quieter this time. Honestly, more exhausted than angry.
“…I’ve loved her for a long time.”
Nobody moved.
“Since she was sixteen, if I’m being honest.”
Noah’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
Jolly rubbed a hand through his hair roughly.
“It just made it easier to ignore because technically I was already an adult.” His jaw tightened. “So I latched onto that.” He laughed once under his breath. “Then eighteen hit and suddenly I didn’t have that excuse anymore.”
Nicholas watched him carefully now.
“So I ignored it harder.” Jolly’s eyes closed briefly. “Told myself it was one-sided because nothing about her changed.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word. “She still acted the same with me.”
A longer pause sat between them.
“But I think…” he started quietly, then stopped.
Noah leaned forward slightly. “What?”
Jolly swallowed hard. “I think I convinced myself it had to be one-sided because if it wasn’t…” His laugh this time sounded miserable. “…then I was fucked.”
Nobody joked. Nobody interrupted.
Because they could all hear it now. Really hear it.
“I never let myself fully feel how much I loved her,” Jolly admitted. His eyes stayed locked on the floor now.
“Not really.” A pause. “Because as long as she was there?” His throat worked hard. “I could pretend it wasn’t consuming me.”
That one hurt.
Even Nicholas looked away for a second after that.
“But then she left.” Jolly laughed weakly again. “And suddenly I had no choice but to sit in it.”
Every ugly part of it. Every realization. Every moment replaying itself in his head differently now.
“Even when I was with Emma,” he admitted quietly, “I’d think about Y/N constantly.”
Noah sighed softly under his breath.
“We’d go somewhere to eat, and all I could think was how Y/N would bitch about the menu.”
Folio snorted despite himself.
Jolly smiled faintly for half a second. “Or somebody would walk by wearing something ridiculous and all I could hear in my head was whatever smartass comment she’d make about it.” His smile disappeared just as quickly. “She never left my fucking head.”
Silence. Heavy silence.
“I’d wake up and instinctively check my phone expecting twenty texts from her, or voice messages because she was too lazy to type.”
Noah laughed quietly.
Jolly’s chest tightened again. “She’s in lliterally everything,” he admitted. “Every routine, every habit, every good thing.”
His eyes finally lifted toward them again. “And I think the reason this hit me so hard?” He swallowed hard. “Is because for the first time since she was nine years old…” His voice dropped quieter. “She stopped reaching for me.”
Nobody in that bus had an answer for that. Because there wasn’t one.
Jolly leaned forward again, elbows on his knees. “My mom made it very clear I wasn’t supposed to go near her until we got home.” He huffed softly. “Probably because she knew I’d cave immediately.”
Nicholas finally nodded once. “She was right.”
Jolly laughed weakly. “Yeah.”
Silence hit again.
Then, quieter, he finally said, “I miss her.”
Not dramatic. Not poetic. Just devastatingly honest.
“I miss her voice, her stealing my shit.” He took in a shaky breath. “The way she’d just exist in my space like she belonged there.” His jaw tightened again. “And the fucked up thing?” He looked down at his hands. “She always did.”
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