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gretavangroupie · 3 months ago

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Still, Us

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 30.7k

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol, Smoking, Angst, Begging, Heartbreak, Sadness, Crying, Talks of Marriage, Touching, Kissing, Graphic Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Masturbation, and More.

Listen to the Playlist: Apple Music | Spotify

A/N: Wow this has been a long time coming. Sorry that I have been a little bit MIA lately, it was never my intention, life got crazy! I hope you will accept this as an apology. I have poured into this for weeks and I truly couldn’t have done it without the constant support from @gretavanmoon and @jakeyt. They have given me the drive to keep going even when I felt like giving up. This story would not have happened without them. Period. Anyway, I hope you like it and will accept my apology for being away so long. I have so much more planned for you all and I cannot wait to deliver. As always thank you so much for every comment, like, and reblog. It means so much to me to know that you enjoy my writing. ❤️

Frankenmuth, Michigan

May 2014

“Jake, can you please turn it down just a little bit?” you plead, your feet propped up on the dashboard, and your hand hanging leisurely out the car window. The warm air feels magical as it glides through your fingers. You’d both been waiting for the warmer weather to blow through town and it was finally here.

You turn to look at Jake, his brown shaggy hair finally growing out like he wanted, just barely dusting over the tops of his shoulders now as it blows around him in the wind.

“Turn down ‘Shooting Star’? Bad Company? Come on Pops, you know that’s not gonna happen,” he smirks, looking at you over the tops of his wayfarers. “This is like the story of my life.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head as you smile, watching him dramatically mouth the words to you as you coast up 83 towards your house. Jake is your best friend, has been for ten years now, and as you readied yourself for college life, he continued to pursue the dream he’s had since you’d known him, but now bringing his brothers into it with him.

“It’s hardly the story of your life,” you quip, “Maybe the life you wish you had.” you tease, elbowing him in the arm over the center console.

He laughs as he purses his lips, and pushes you away, “Yeah you say that now, but watch. We are getting that damn record deal, I don’t care what it takes.”

You turned to look at him again as the two of you pulled off the freeway and headed toward your exit. He believed it. He truly did, and you believed that he would do exactly as he said. He has always been that way. Some would say he is hard headed, but you would say he is just determined.

“I know, I know,” you start, being quickly cut off.

“You’re still coming right?” he urges, looking at you before looking back at the now green stoplight.

“Of course I’m still coming!” you laugh, “I pledged twenty bucks to be there, remember?!”

“Damn right, and you better be in the front where I can see you,” he grins, “Or should I say, where you can see me.”

You roll your eyes at him again, watching the shit eating grin stretch across his face. “You're so full of yourself Jacob Thomas, it's gonna get you in trouble one of these days, and I'm not gonna be there to save you.”

He puts his hand over his heart and looks absolutely offended by your comment, “Save me? Baby doll, you know I don’t need saving. You need saving. From yourself.”

“Oh really? How so?” you ask, challenging him with a quirk of your brow.

He smirks as he keeps his eyes on the road, fingers tapping against the steering wheel, “You’re headed to college to be some hot shot lawyer or something. You’re way too cool for that, Pops. You should stick with me and the guys.”

You groan as he pitches his grand idea to you for the hundredth time.

“Seriously. You can do so many other things. You can tour, party, see the world, instead of sitting in some bleak office building reading dusty law books all day.” he says matter of factly.

“Jake…” you whine, knowing this conversation always goes nowhere and leaves your mind a mess of emotions.

He sighs as his car comes to a stop in the driveway of your parents house. He looks over to you, and his voice is stern, “I’m serious Poppy. You’re a freebird, you’re not cut out for that boring life. I know it.”

You cut your eyes at him as you twist in the seat to face him, “So instead I can be some groupie, waiting on you guys hand and foot, cleaning up beer cans, and holding your hair back when you puke in some nasty bar bathroom? No thanks.”

He huffs in annoyance, “You know damn well that you'd be more than that. You'd be like…an honorary member of the band. You're not really the groupie type. You're far too good for that.” he says, twisting a lock of your messy hair over your shoulder. You can't help but to feel heat start to creep up your chest from the simple gesture.

“You think so?” You ask timidly, your eyes locked in on his tawny brown eyes.

His demeanor softens, and his finger twirls around the same lock of hair, “Poppy you are, without a shadow of a doubt, the smartest, toughest and coolest chick I’ve ever met. You are so much more than just some groupie.”

The nickname he gave you sounds different somehow– sweeter, maybe, in this moment. In an effort to quickly break the mounting tension growing between the two of you, you nudge him hard in the arm, “You going soft on me, Kiszka?”

He laughs in response, his fingers releasing the lock of your hair and running them through his own before bringing it to rest on the steering wheel, “I may be many things, P, but soft is not one of them.” he grins playfully. “Now get out, I’ve got practice in ten minutes.”

You scoff and toss the passenger door open, grabbing your tattered bookbag on the way. As you shut the door he leans over the center console to look at you through the open window, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head.

“You know it’s just because I’m gonna miss you, Pops. More than I care to admit.” he confesses.

“I know, Jake.” you answer, tossing your bag over your shoulder. “I'll miss you too.”

“Good. Oh, don’t forget I can’t pick you up tomorrow morning. We’re heading straight to Groovebox after classes to set up.” he says, flipping his glasses back down.

“I remember,” you say with a playful eye roll.

“Don’t be late, Y/N,” he says sternly, lifting a brow.

“Rich coming from you,” you taunt, beginning to walk to your front door.

“M’never late, just running on my own time,” he winks. “Catch up with you later, P,” he says finally, pulling away as Bad Company begins blasting through the speakers once more.

—

Jake 8:57 PM: which shirt should I wear tomorrow

You 8:58 PM: Um, maybe that denim button down you like? With the pearl buttons?

Jake 8:59 PM: it’s dirty

You 9:00 PM: Ok uhhhh, what about that colorful shirt with the aztec looking patterns on it

Jake 9:00 PM: do you think that will look good on camera

You 9:01 PM: Yes

Jake 9:02 PM: do you think I should like, iron it or whatever

You 9:03 PM: Do rockstars iron their clothes?

Jake 9:04 PM: see you tomorrow ;)

The air is a bit cooler now that the sun has set, the wind whipping right through your thin shirt as you reach for the door handle to Groovebox Studios. Tonight was the night, finally. This has been all Jake has talked about for weeks and weeks on end. Tonight they would record seven songs, live, in front of all of their friends and family, and anyone else that pledged enough money to be there. It had been grueling listening to Jake torture himself over what songs they would choose to record tonight, but they finally narrowed it down. At least, you hoped they did since everyone was here and waiting.

As you entered into the lobby it was bustling with familiar faces, all waiting to step into the studio to watch the session. You could hear the guys warming up through the wall, the wail of Jake's guitar immediately sticking out to you. You could also hear the crashing of the cymbals as Danny tested his kit and the deep thrum of Sam’s bass. You nervously picked at your fingernails as you waited to be let inside, eager to see the guys, but mostly Jake. You needed him to know you were here, on time, at that.

A few minutes later the large double doors opened and everyone filed into the small studio. You weren’t really sure what to expect but there were bright lights, and cameras everywhere, scattered between recording equipment and wires. Jake hadn’t noticed you were here just yet, but you saw him immediately in the shirt the two of you decided on last night. Something about that made you warm inside but you forced it back down where it came from. It was Jake. It wasn’t like that. Right?

The first song began, the guys seeming completely relaxed and not at all phased by the large equipment and people surrounding them, watching their every move. Josh’s voice was as strong and confident as Danny’s drums. Finally, Jake looked up from his guitar and let his eyes scan the crowd. A small and relieved smile filled his face as his eyes met yours. A small nod of his head said everything you knew he wanted to say, seeing you there supporting him in the front row of people. You knew that being there meant a lot to him, and gave him the extra boost of confidence he needed to make it through this set.

You were completely transfixed watching him play, giving everything he had for those seven songs. It seemed to fly by in a flash, the show ending with all four guys sweaty and a little winded. The crowd that showed up for them broke out into a round of cheers and applause as you all marveled at the budding talent in front of you. You watched as Jake placed his guitar in the stand and moved towards the producers of the show, thanking them profusely as he shook their hands.

Immediately after that though, his eyes found you. He walked straight towards you, ignoring everyone else around, wrapping you in a sweaty hug.

“Well, P, you made it on time,” he grins, pulling you in tight against him, your head resting against his chest. He smelled of sweat, cologne and faintly of smoke and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your knees just a little bit weak.

“How was it?” he panted, “Sound alright?”

You laugh pulling away from his grip, “Jake, that was amazing! Of course it sounded alright.”

He smiles as you pull away, fidgeting with the tip of his nose, “Yeah? You’re not just saying that ‘cause you’re my best friend, right?” he says with his signature smirk.

“When have I ever sugar coated anything, Jacob?” you taunt.

He laughs as he playfully runs his hand through his damp hair, “Valid point.” he smirks, looking around briefly, “Stay right here for a sec. Don’t go, just need to go say hi to some people. Wait, you’re comin’ to the house right?”

“Is this you inviting me?” you tease, knowing you never need an invitation at the Kiszka household.

He rolls his eyes, not playing into your little game one bit, “Yes, I’m inviting you smartass. Like you even need an invite.”

You nod your head and shoo him away to go talk to the people who came out to support him, but you can't help but feel special that you were the first person he wanted to see after such a big night.

You watch as he moves from person to person, saying his hellos, shaking hands and talking about the show with each one. He was his normal, charismatic self, except for the small glances over to where you were waiting. It was as if he didn’t want you to go anywhere without checking on you every so often. You’re able to find a quiet corner of the studio to relax for a moment, and you find yourself watching him like he’s the only thing in the room.

He is still surrounded by everyone, laughing and talking. He is so in his element, being the center of attention. You're happy for him, he deserves it, but you find it a little annoying how every girl's eyes were glued to him. No matter how many times you push these thoughts away, they keep resurfacing. It's all in your head, you keep telling yourself, trying to shake the idea of being anything more than friends with him, yet you can't help the fluttering in your chest.

Twenty minutes later he is walking back over to you, the crowd of people slowly beginning to filter out as the rest of the guys begin to tear down their equipment.

He comes to stand next to you, and his face is a bit more solemn now, the adrenaline from the show now long gone. “So I’ll see you at the house?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. “Just gotta pack up real quick, then make a quick beer stop then we will be home.”

“Beer stop? Did you forget we are 18?” you laugh.

He rolls his eyes playfully, “Did you forget I have a fake ID?” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Plus, I heard Sara Matthews is working tonight, and she won’t question it.”

“Getting started on the whole bad boy rock and roll thing early, huh…”

He lets out a laugh as he gathers his guitar cables from the floor and slings them over his shoulder, “I’ll have you know that I’ve been a bad boy for a long time now, baby doll.”

An hour and a half later you’re finally back in Frankenmuth and turning onto his street. You can see a few cars parked outside the house but you don’t see their van just yet. You laugh to yourself wondering if Jake was busted for his fake ID yet, or if Sara still had that crush on him from fourth grade. When you see the familiar set of headlights behind you, you know it's the latter.

The van comes screeching around the corner, sliding into the driveway and nearly taking out the mailbox. You laugh, recognizing Josh’s driving anywhere. He cuts the engine and jumps from the driver's seat with a grin. Jake slips out of the back door, pulling his guitar case from the backseat, his other hand holding a twelve-pack. Wordlessly, he trots up to your car, nodding at you to join him as he makes his way across the lawn and into the house, leaving the door wide open behind him.

You slowly walk up the steps, a weird feeling starting to settle in your stomach as you enter through the front door. Music is already blaring from the basement, and the loud hum of multiple people chatting is growing louder the further you walk. You take in a deep breath as you turn the corner into the living room. A giant group is already gathered around, sipping drinks and mingling in the dimly lit room. Your eyes scan the sea of people and you recognize some of the faces from the studio, and the rest are most likely here just to party.

Your eyes scan the room for Jake, wondering where he took off to, but then you see him come bounding down the stairs in a clean blue t-shirt and a smile. He makes a beeline straight for you, his eyes locked on yours as he navigates the crowd. He finally reaches you, his hand landing on your shoulder and ushering you away from the crowd of people. “Come here,” he murmurs under his breath as he drags you down the hall towards the kitchen.

You follow behind him as he makes his way into the kitchen, and you know he is dead set on enjoying his well deserved twelve-pack. As predicted he takes out two cans, popping the tabs and handing one to you. “Well, let's toast.”

You take the silver can from him, cold in your hand, “Okay, let’s…”

He lifts his beer up towards you with a smirk, his eyes locked on yours, “I guess I just want to say thank you for putting up with all of this the last few years, I know it hasn’t been easy,” he grins, his eyes raking over you, “You put up with a lot of bullshit from me, but even after all of that you’re still here.”

You tap your can to his, “Where else would I be?” you breathe.

He takes a moment to study your face, his eyes tracing over your cheeks, your nose, your chin as they land on your own eyes. The two of you silently stand next to each other, the sounds of the rest of the party still loud and present from the other room, and you can nearly feel his heart beating against his chest from where you’re standing. The unspoken feelings rushing between the two of you are almost palpable. He doesn’t answer your question, instead choosing to remain quiet as he keeps his eyes trained on you.

You pull the can to your lips, sipping at the bubbly beverage, only slightly wincing at the taste.

He laughs watching you try to drink the beer, trying to hide the grimace as the hops tickle your taste-buds, “It’s an acquired taste, Pops.” he grins, “And you’re going to have to get used to it before you get to college.”

You sigh, “It's not like college is some big party. I doubt it's like the movies.”

He laughs, resting his can on the counter next to him, “Sure it is. Beer flows like waterfalls, parties happening every day, you’ll even have a couple different flings I bet–” he pauses for a moment, his expression growing serious, “Just have fun, Pops. Get the full college experience.”

“I'll try, but I have to take this seriously. Definitely no flings or beer waterfalls or whatever.” you answer, skirting around that subject the best you can.

“Well yeah, take things seriously, but don’t count yourself out of a little fun, too.” he says, resting his palm behind his head. He’s quiet for a moment before he continues, “Maybe you’ll meet some fancy law student…fall in love and get married and all that.”

“I don’t know, Jake…” You say nervously. “That’s not why I’m going to college.” Why in the world were you two talking about this? You could feel your cheeks growing warm. Doesn’t he know that the only future you’ve ever planned is the one with him in it?

He raises an eyebrow at your flushed expression, “What’s wrong Pops, planning out your dream life as we speak?”

You roll your eyes in annoyance, “No, Jake.” you grit out. “Can we like…go party or are we gonna stand here and play twenty questions about my love life all night?”

He raises his hands in surrender, “Fine, fine, we can go join those losers.” he murmurs, pushing himself off the counter. He lifts his hand in the air, motioning to the living room, “After you.”

A few hours later you find yourself laying on the basement floor in a pile of blankets, your mind hazy and free as you bask in the feeling of the alcohol swirling through your veins. Jake is laying next to you in a similar state, staring up at the warm string lights strung across the walls. Josh, Sam, and Danny are already passed out on the other side of the room, their snoring turning into a symphony as usual. Your body feels warm and weightless as you turn your head to the side to look at Jake.

He notices your movement, turning to face you, a small smile on his face as he watches you, a long empty can of beer clutched lazily in his hand. His cheeks are flushed and rosy, and you’re pretty sure he isn’t entirely with it considering you’ve lost count of how many beers he’s had since the party started. He lets out a small laugh, the kind he’s only capable of making when he’s like this, “You know what I just remembered?” he slurs, his words coming out slowly.

“What?” you answer, pursing your lips.

He grins, “Remember when we were kids, we’d sit on the edge of Cass River and throw rocks into the water for hours…‘til the sun would go down…” he mumbles, his gaze trained on the blue blanket beneath him. “We’d talk for hours, and it was just…So peaceful. We were best friends–” he trails off, running his tongue over his lower lip.

You nod, his words causing a slight tingle in your stomach as your own mind begins to wander. He is still watching you, his eyes traveling over your face, over your hair before he speaks again, “And we’re still best friends now…right?”

“Yeah of course we are, Jake. Me going to college isn’t going to change that.” you answer softly, seeing the worry painted across his face.

He nods his head, a small smile creeping up on him, “I know. I know, I just…” he pauses, his thoughts coming a little slower now, “I just don’t know what I’m going to do without you here. I’m used to you bein’ around, it’s gonna feel weird…different.”

“It’s not like I’ll never come home, and you can call me and text me whenever you want. You know that. Where is all of this coming from, Jake?”

He sighs, his eyes dropping from your face and looking instead at the ceiling, “I dunno, I just…I guess I’m realizing it a bit more now that it’s actually about to happen. You’re going to school hundreds of miles away, with other people…other guys, and I won’t be there to keep those idiots in check.”

You giggle a little, the thought of him fending off guys a little humorous. “I already told you, I’m not going to college looking for guys. I’m going to become a lawyer, and I have to focus on the LSAT and getting into law school and everything else. Guys are going to be the last thing on my mind.”

He lets out an exasperated breath, “I know, Pops. That wasn’t my point.” he mutters before rolling onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. His eyebrows are furrowed together as he looks at you, “I’m just worried about you, okay? I don’t want some douchey frat guy to come up and ruin everything…”

“Ruin what?” you ask, furrowing your brows.

His cheeks turn a light shade of pink and he looks away for a brief moment, but his gaze immediately returns on yours. “This.” he mutters softly, motioning a hand between the two of you. “Us. Our friendship, our bond. You know what I mean so don’t pretend that you don’t.”

“Nothing is going to come between us, Jake. I wouldn’t let that happen.”

He nods, a small hint of a smile creeping across his face, the tension in his shoulders slowly releasing, “I know you wouldn’t…it’s just me being a dumbass, as usual.”

“Jake, you're not a dumbass. I get it. I have the same worries you know. For all I know you’ll meet some super cool girl when you guys inevitably go on tour, and next thing you know you’ve forgotten my name.”

He laughs, moving his hand to playfully swat at you, “Come on now…there’s no way I’m going to forget your name, you’re the only girl I ever think about.”

You feel your heart lurch into your chest at his confession. He may not mean it the way you’re taking it, but part of you wonders if maybe he does.

“So it’s agreed, no douchey frat guys for me, and no rockstar girlfriends for you,” you tease.

He laughs again, his fingers lightly brushing against the skin of your arm, “If that makes you happy then yes…agreed.” he grins, watching as the motion of his hand leaves a trail of goosebumps down your arm. “Just promise me one thing…”

“What’s that…” you answer.

“Just, tell me…if you do– if you start to fall in love. Just tell me first.” he breathes.

You can see the sincerity in his face, and hear it in his words. He really thinks…

“Jake, guys don’t– they don’t see me like that,” you pause. “It’s never been like that for me.”

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, a frown on his lips growing by the second. “Bullshit.” he mutters, “Guys don’t see you like what?”

You muster up the courage thanks to the alcohol in your system, and tell him what you really think. “I’m not the kind of girl that guys fall in love with. I am plain– average old, Y/N. I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

He scoffs and turns onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows, “Plain and average? Is that what you really think?” he asks with disbelief. “Y/N, you’re beautiful, and the guys around here are just too blind to see it. There are guys who would kill to be with you, for just one single chance.”

“I don’t know, Jake. Maybe. But like I said, I don’t care about that. Once I make it on at a firm, maybe I’ll consider it.” you say.

He studies your face, the alcohol starting to dull his inhibitions, his thoughts coming out unfiltered at this point, “You’re thinking like, ten years in the future P! You’re about to go to college and you’re talking like you’re never gonna meet anyone or pay anyone any mind. For ten years! You’ve got to live, Poppy! You’ve never even been kissed for Christ’s sake!”

“Wow,” you breathe, the hurt washing over you.

He sighs, realizing that he might have gone too far, “I didn't-” he stops, looking away from you before he speaks up again, “I'm sorry, that was shitty. I didn't mean to say it like that.”

“No, it’s fine. I mean, you’re right.” you reply.

He looks back at you, his fingers running over your arm again, “No, it’s not…I shouldn’t have said it like that. It’s just, you think so little of yourself sometimes and it drives me insane. You are like…the most amazing person ever, and I don’t–” he stops himself, biting down on his bottom lip, “I just don’t understand how guys don’t see it.”

You’re a little taken aback, this is the first time that his true feelings about you have really come out. You’re unsure what to even say.

“Thanks, Jake.” you smile, “I’ll let you know how my love life is going ten years from now.” you giggle.

He looks at you for a long minute, and you can see the wheels turning in his head.

“I have a better idea,” he says, taking a deep breath. “We’re 18 now, right?”

“Right…” you answer hesitantly.

“If you’re sure that you are dead set on waiting until you’re done with school to be with someone…” he pauses.

“I am…” you confirm.

“Alright, when we are thirty, if neither of us are married…” he pauses, “Let’s marry each other.”

Shock fills your features, and you can tell that he notices by the smile pulling across his lips. He laughs lightly when you finally muster out a few syllables, “Come on P…it’s the perfect plan. If we’re both still single by thirty, we’ll get hitched.”

“Married?! Jake, you don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t want to marry me!?”

“Sure I do. You’ve always been my girl,” he murmurs, still smiling, “and we’ve already established that no other guy will ever know you better than me. We’ve been best friends since we were kids, been through every high and low, you’re the only one who’s stuck with me through it all…so,” his voice trails off, “if we’re both available at thirty, I see no reason why we shouldn’t marry each other. Plus, our parents would love it.”

“Jake, this is crazy,” you pause, “I can’t let you do this. You can’t make that kind of promise…”

He leans back against the pillow behind him, his expression growing serious as he turns and looks at you, “I think I can. And I wouldn’t be promising if I couldn’t keep it. You’re it for me, Poppy. You always have been...”

“I didn’t think– Do you– I didn’t think you felt that way about me…”

He lets out a dry laugh, watching the realization starting to hit you, “How could you not know? We’ve spent our entire lives together…this is nothing new.” he sighs, pausing for a moment, “I should have probably said something before, but…I think a part of me was afraid that you didn’t feel the same way and I would end up ruining everything and lose you…” he pauses. “Why do you think I’m over here telling you not to fall in love with some stupid college guy? I want it to be me, P…I’m your guy. I always have been. The question is, do you feel the same?”

“Of course I do Jake. I– I just…” you stammer. “I’m sorry I don’t even know what to say, I–”

Your heart is racing and your eyes are glued to his every movement. You want to scream from the rooftops, but right here in the moment you can barely form a word.

“Say you feel the same, that’s all you need to say.” He gently takes up your chin, his thumb running across your bottom lip, “Say you want it to be me.”

Your eyelids grow heavy as his warm thumb brushes your lip, “Yes,” you breathe, your eyes locked on his. “I feel the same.”

He lets out a low breath, the words that you’ve just spoken going straight to his gut, “You know I’ve wanted to kiss you for as long as I can remember.” he murmurs, his fingers still resting against your chin.

“Really…”

He nods his head, a small smile creeping up on the corner of his mouth, “Yeah. Since middle school, at the very least. Maybe even earlier…” he pauses, “It’s a shame you’re making me wait until we’re thirty.”

You smile at him playfully, “I mean...maybe we don't have to…”

A low grin slowly spreads across his face, “Don’t tease me, P.” he murmurs, his fingers still lingering on your chin and gently tugging at your bottom lip.

“Who says I am?” you whisper.

His breathing is becoming ragged as he gently runs his thumb over your bottom lip once more, “Poppy…say yes…” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

“To what?” you breathe.

“To the pact. To kissing me. To all of it.” he mumbles, his thumb still stroking over your bottom lip, his free hand slowly traveling from your neck to the small of your back, gently pulling you towards him.

Your eyes flick to his, the string lights glowing in the reflection of his eyes. You can feel his body pressed against yours in the most delicious way, the closest you’ve ever been to each other. “Yes, Jake.”

And just like that, his lips are crashing into yours, his hand moving from your lower back to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, a low breathy moan leaving his lips as he pulls you into him even more. His kiss is slow and tender at first, the taste of beer still lingering on his lips as he moves them over yours in a languid back and forth, but it soon turns desperate and hungry as his tongue presses urgently against yours, a low growl leaving his chest, all of the feelings and emotions that he’s harbored for years releasing themselves in this one moment. But within seconds, it’s over.

He rests his forehead against yours, the two of you breathing in and out heavily. The kiss has both of you in a daze, your mind struggling to focus on anything other than the fact that your best friend just kissed you. Your first kiss. A content smile stretches across your face before you let your head fall into the crook of his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne as he wraps his arms around you.

He holds you tightly against him, his chin resting at the top of your head as he runs his fingers across your bare arm. The feeling of your body pressed against his is one you’ve dreamed about for years and now experiencing it for the first time, you never want him to let you go.

“Thank you, Jake.” you say softly into his chest.

He pulls you in even tighter, his heart rate finally starting to return to normal as he presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “For what?” he hums softly.

“For being my first kiss. I always wanted it to be you.” you answer.

A smile spreads across his face and he squeezes you a little tighter again. “Me too, Pops.” He pauses, his hand finding a loose strand of your hair and twisting it around his finger, “and for the record, I hope I’m your last.”

You laugh, but then an idea strikes you. “Oh yeah, about that. Don't we need to like, sign our names on the line or something?” you say playfully.

He pauses for a moment, looking down at you but quickly realizing what you mean. A small smirk spreads across his face and he lets out a small laugh, “I don’t know if we’ve got a pen and paper down here…”

You shrug as you look at him, but then he quickly reaches his hand into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled gas station receipt from his beer run earlier in the night. “Will this work?”

“I don’t see why not?” you grin.

He reaches up behind the two of you, digging around in the pocket of Josh’s backpack that was left on the couch, pulling his hand out with a smile. “A pen.”

The two of you spend the next few minutes ironing out the fine print of your arrangement, before Jake takes the liberty of writing out the words on the back of the receipt paper.

‘At age 30, if both parties are single they will enter into marriage with each other.’

You both sign your names beneath the words, the act feeling strangely good and you can tell you both are feeling it. “So it’s official…” you say, letting your eyes meet his.

He stares down at the receipt, the ink of your signatures drying on the back. A weird feeling of finality washes over you as he slowly nods his head, “Yeah, I guess we’re really doing this.”

“The pact.” you grin, leaning into his shoulder.

He lets out a soft laugh as he looks down at you, his arm wrapping tighter around your shoulders, “The pact,” he repeats softly, before pressing another kiss to the top of your head and sealing your fate as you know it.

Northwestern University - Chicago, Illinois

2015

“Yeah, fuck–” he groans, “keep doing that, baby…”

Your eyes flick up to meet his icy blue eyes, his tip nudging the back of your throat as you take as much of him as you can. You know it won’t be long now, you can feel the tightening of his abs as he fights off his release. You release him from your lips with a pop, dragging your tongue up the underside of his cock for dramatic effect. You can hear the bass line of ‘Starboy’ thundering through the walls of the fraternity house party still happening downstairs, momentarily pulling you from the moment you found yourself in.

You feel Trevors hand as it lands on the back of your head, returning you to your task. Again you take him into your throat, never letting your eyes part from his as your hands cup his balls.

“Fuck baby doll, you’re fuckin’ amazing,” he groans, his cock starting to jerk with need.

You wince as the pet name rolls off his tongue, taking you back to a place you’d rather not remember right now. Right back to Jake.

Jake. Where was he right now? What was he doing? Surely he wasn’t at the back of some girl's throat. What were you doing?

Suddenly you feel him as his cum starts to paint the back of your throat, swallowing him down with every grunt that leaves his chest. You pull off of him quickly, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. Your mind is suddenly a jumbled mess of thoughts, the single word sending you into a tailspin of guilt.

“Felt good as fuck, baby,” Trevor says, pulling up his jeans.

You give him a curt smile as you pull yourself up off of the dirty bathroom floor. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“What?” he questions, grabbing his red cup from the bathroom counter. “Baby?”

“No.” you answer quickly. “Baby doll. Don’t call me that. I don’t like it.”

“Sorry, babe. My bad.” he says nonchalantly. “You good?” he asks, turning to open the bathroom door.

You let out a sigh, “Yeah. I’m fine.” you answer, watching him spin the door knob to open the door. The music from the party hits you full force, and that combined with the alcohol in your system hits you hard. “Actually, I think I’m gonna head out.”

“Why, the party is just getting started, it's only two,” he says, ushering you down the stairs. “And I thought you were coming home with me tonight.”

“Eh, I need to be at the library tomorrow morning first thing. I have an exam tomorrow afternoon.” you say, “I’ll call you though, yeah?”

He shakes his head, “Whatever, babe. Later.”

Relief washes over you as you free yourself from Trevor, and make your way through the party and out into the fresh air of Fraternity row.

“Fuck. What the fuck are you doing, Y/N?” you grit out, making the short walk back to your dorm. The air is starting to chill as fall begins to wash over Chicago. You kick yourself the entire way to your door, immediate regret setting in as you let your mind wander back to Jake.

It had been a few weeks since the two of you spoke, and you definitely hadn’t let him know about your little ongoing situation with Trevor. You didn’t even truly know if you needed to. It wasn’t serious, and that was the deal, right?

As you lock the door behind you, you toss your bag onto your desk, hearing the loud thud as your phone hits the wooden table. It reminds you that you haven’t looked at it in hours. Pulling it from your purse you see a few Instagram notifications but more importantly you see that you missed call and a missed text from Jake. You wonder if you were on his mind, too.

Jake 1:46 AM: Pops, call me when you can, I have big news.

Your eyes flash to your clock seeing it read out 2:32 AM, and you wonder if he is still up. If he would answer your call. You decide to try, knowing he keeps late hours. The line rings out four times before you hear his raspy voice answering the call.

“Hey Pops,” he says, and you can tell you’ve woken him.

“Shit, sorry, I woke you up didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay. Nice to hear your voice instead of reading it on a screen,” he laughs, clearing his throat. “It’s late Poppy, where have you been all night? Are you just getting home?”

You feel hesitant to answer but decide on the truth, “Yeah, I– I was out. I was at a party with some friends.”

You hear a deep hum as he takes in your words and you already know what he’s thinking. “Did you have fun?”

“Um, yeah I guess so…” you lie. “But that's not why I’m calling, I saw your text. What’s up, is everything okay?”

He lets out a soft sigh, his voice still thick with sleep, “Yeah everything is fine. Everything is great actually. Sorry to just text you out of the blue like that, but I wanted to– I just wanted to tell you over the phone instead of texting.” He pauses for a moment, as if trying to gather his thoughts, “It took a while but, the deal went through. We were signed for an album and we’re gonna tour it.”

“Oh my god, Jake!”

“We are releasing a fucking album, Pops.” he repeats.

“I don’t even know what to say, I am so– I am so proud of you Jake! I can’t believe it! I mean, I can but, you know what I mean!” you gush.

You hear his soft laugh from the other end of the phone, “You don’t really have to say anything. Or you can scream or do whatever. I just needed to tell you. I wanted you to be the first person to know.”

The words then hit you, “Wait, I’m the first person you’ve told?”

“Yeah, you’re the first.” he laughs, “You’re the one I need to tell everything to, first. Just how it's always been. How I want it to always be.”

“I’m so proud of you, Jake.”

You can hear his smile on the other end of the phone, “I’m proud too. God, I wish you were here, Pops. Wish you were here celebrating with me.”

A sigh leaves your lips, “I wish I was there too.”

“Pops, listen, it– It might be a while before we can see each other again. We– we’re going to be touring all through the spring. All over the place…”

“Oh, I–”

“No, no, don’t worry or anything, I just mean I will miss you, that’s all. But you’re doing your thing in Chicago and I’m doing mine out here. Just kinda the paths we are on right now.” he pauses, “But I’ve still got a couple of weeks at the end of the year before we go. We can see each other then, right?”

You bite your lips together as you try to stay positive, “Yeah. Yeah of course.”

“Good.” he answers, “Just keep on going, Poppy. We’ve got this.”

“Yeah. Yeah we do.” you answer quietly.

“Alright, well, we should probably get some sleep, it’s late. But one more thing before you go…” he trails off.

“What’s that…”

“Just…” he pauses hesitantly, “We’re still, us, right?”

“Yeah, Jake. We’re still us. Nothing has changed.” you confirm.

“Okay. Well, goodnight, Pops,” he says, his voice growing sleepy again.

“Goodnight, Jake.” you whisper, hitting the red button to end the call.

As you collapse down onto your lumpy dorm room bed you run your hand over your face. You try to shake the hollow feeling in your stomach at the thought of everything being okay, but you couldn’t shake the nagging sense of unease washing over you as you pull the blankets over your head.

December 8, 2015

Jake 4:27 PM: When do you come home for winter break?

You 5:09 PM: I’m not sure yet. Cramming for finals currently.

Jake 5:20 PM: good luck pops

December 19, 2015

Jake 11:47AM: We are leaving for Detroit to get a van and trailer. I can’t believe we are really going on tour. Miss you.

December 22, 2015

Jake 9:57 PM: I saw your mom today and she said you won’t be home for Christmas. Would it be weird if I came to see you? Let me know.

December 25, 2015

Jake 7:46 AM: Merry Christmas, Pops.

You 9:04 AM: Merry Christmas, Jake. Miss you. I’ll call you soon.

December 29, 2015

You 12:03 PM: sorry I haven’t called, I’ve been so busy. When do you leave for tour?

Jake 1:10 PM: January 8th. We’ll be in Chicago on the 24th, should I leave you a ticket?

You 1:27 PM: Can you leave two?

Jake 1:30 PM: Anything for you pops. Can’t wait to see you.

January 23, 2016

Jake 8:46 PM: leaving the venue in Springfield heading towards Chicago. See you tomorrow?

You 9:23 PM: Yes ❤️

Northwestern University - Chicago, Illinois

January 24, 2016

“So what’ve you got going today babe?” Trevor asks, rolling over to face you.

“Honestly not a lot. I have a class at 1:00 then I guess I am just going to come back here and get ready to go to that show. You still want to come with me right?”

“Yeah for sure, sounds like a good time,” he says, kissing your shoulder as you sit up on your elbows. The sheet now barely covers your naked bodies, the light sheen of sweat now dry.

A knock on your door startles both of you, your head snapping to the right to look at Trevor, “You think it’s the RA?”

“Fucking hope not,” he whispers, quickly pulling himself up out of your bed.

You jump up, grabbing a t-shirt and pulling it over your head as you rush to the door. You push back your hair and take a deep breath as you open the door, but much to your surprise, it’s not the RA.

“Jake?!”

“Hey, Pops,” he grins, his smile lighting you on fire. His hands are in his pockets, and he seems almost nervous.

“Jake what– what are you doing here?” you rush out, taking in the sight of him for the first time in a long time. His hair is longer now, and he seems as if he's added a little bit of muscle tone.

“We got into town early, thought I’d surprise you,” he answers, his eyes flicking up and down your body as he takes in your current state.

Before you even have time to explain, Trevor walks up behind you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“All good, babe?” he asks, his eyes locked on Jake.

You see the exact moment that realization hits Jake and you swallow harshly, “Yeah, yeah, um everything is fine. This is my friend Jake. He’s in the band we’re seeing tonight.”

You watch as Jake lets out a small huff of air, anger washing over him. “Jake,” he nods, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Trevor answers.

“I see you’re busy, Pops. I’ll uh– catch you later.” he says, looking at you before walking away. You don’t even have time to speak before you hear the elevator doors opening. You shut your dorm room door with tears welling in your eyes, doing your best to not let Trevor see, but a huge lump has formed in your throat, and you feel like you might be sick, so you quickly dart into the bathroom before Trevor can question you.

Your blood is rushing around furiously as you pick up the two tickets at willcall under your name. Trevor seems oblivious to your anxiety, though, you are doing your best to keep it under wraps. The energy in the small venue is buzzing around you and your excitement doubles once you step through the double doors and enter inside. There are a few people gathered at the front of the stage, and you and Trevor step up behind them. Your heart is pounding as your eyes catch on the drum kit, seeing the band's logo displayed proudly. It won't be too much longer until they go on stage, opening for the main act, and you know more people will begin to show up after they start.

“So you’ve seen them before?” Trevor asks, turning to look at you.

“Um, yeah kinda. But not like this. Not on a big stage with lights and real sound equipment,” you answer, doing your best to shut him up.

Your eyes are focused on the side of the stage where you see a few familiar faces getting ready to go on stage. A smile stretches across your face and your heart starts to pound harder, knowing Jake will be in front of you in mere seconds. The house music starts to quiet down and you watch as Josh takes the stage. He is followed by Sam and Danny, and finally you see Jake step up with his red SG.

They immediately begin playing, and Josh starts talking to the crowd of people that have gathered around you. There are more people here than you would have thought, but you chalk it up to their successful shows in other surrounding states. But you’re more so shocked at the sheer presence of them on the stage. In seconds Jake’s guitar is commanding the attention of the entire venue, all eyes on him. Part of you wants him to look at you, but the other part of you is still feeling guilty about this morning's earlier interaction.

As your attention focuses on him, you notice that his attention seems to be focused on everything but the crowd of people in front of him, in fact he seems to be looking over the crowd as he strums out the chords to the first song. It’s then you realize that he seems to be intentionally not looking for you. You hate to admit that it hurts.

The performance begins, and Josh starts the opening lyrics to a song you've never heard before, but it's incredible. You can't help but notice that the lyrics seem almost as if they could be about you, and it sends chills up and down your spine. Surely not.

It's then that Jake's eyes meet yours, locking in on you as Josh continues to sing. Your breath is caught in your chest and as you struggle to blink you see Jake look over at Trevor. Your heart begins to race, your cheeks turning flushed. It seems as if time has stopped, like the two of you are the only people here, in the entire world. You hold his gaze again for a moment before he rips his eyes away, returning his focus back to the music.

The show continues this way, the constant back and forth as the two of you look at each other, speaking silently as he plays guitar. It feels like an eternity before the show is finally over, their set is ending and the guys are walking offstage. The crowd erupts into applause and cheers, and you and Trevor begin to make your way towards the back of the venue, but not before Josh spots you and wraps his sweaty arms around you.

He looks flushed and out of breath but still has a million dollar smile plastered across his face, “Y/N! I’m glad you made it out. Did you enjoy the show?” he says, but doesn’t let go of the hug despite him dripping sweat onto your shoulder.

“Of course I did! I always do, you guys were amazing!” you shout, hearing the headliner start their set. “It’s nice to see you on a real stage where you belong.”

He lets out a low laugh, finally letting go of you, “It’s still unreal. I can’t even pretend like I’m used to it. Thanks for being here.” he pauses. “I don’t know where Jake ran off to but I’ll find him and send him your way.”

“Thanks,” you smile, seeing him wave over his shoulder.

You turn back around to see Trevor standing beside you, a small hint of confusion on his face. He looks like he has something he wants to say, and you know exactly what it is.

“Yes, I know the whole band, and yes Jake is a twin,” you smile.

He shakes his head and looks down at the sticky bar floor before looking back at you. “No actually it's not that. I saw the way you look at him, Y/N, at Jake… Like you couldn’t take your eyes off of him for the entire show. And how he couldn’t take his eyes off you either. Not once.”

Panic begins to set in, your heart rate immediately spiking, “What? No. I– I watched everybody, Trev.”

He raises an eyebrow as he stares you down, “No, you didn’t. You watched him.” he replies, his face growing serious as he looks you over, “I’m not stupid, babe. You’ve been with me for a while now, and I have never once seen you look at me the way you were looking at him.”

“No, you’re imagining things,” you say dismissively, seeing Jake appear in the crowd, heading your direction at possibly the worst time.

“No, I’m not imagining things,” he mutters, his words turning cold. “Just admit it. Say that you have feelings for him.”

Jake finally makes his way over to you, and by that point the tension between the three of you is as thick as molasses. Jake’s face changes the moment he sees the expression on your face.

“Hey Pops, what’s going on? Everything okay?” he asks, his eyes flickering between you and Trevor.

“Um–” you stammer, unsure what to say to diffuse the tension between you and Trevor.

Trevor looks at Jake, his eyes narrowing at your obvious discomfort, “Just settling an issue here, that’s all.”

Jake looks at him, obviously confused and concerned, “What issue is that?”

“Oh, so you’re going to play dumb, too?” Trevor quips, “Of course.”

Jake’s face turns serious as his eyes narrow, “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, man. You want to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

“Not much to tell. I can just tell when a guy and a girl have feelings for each other. We’re working through the issue right now.” he answers nonchalantly, gesturing in your direction.

“Trevor!” you snap, your face burning with embarrassment.

He shrugs his shoulders, “What? We are. Am I wrong? You’ve got feelings for this dude, right?”

Jake is standing stock still, his eyes wide and focused on you as Trevor mentions the feelings you’re not supposed to have.

The tension in the air is palpable, the realization of what he’s saying slowly settling in on him. “Right?” he asks again. You can’t bring yourself to look at either one of them, your gaze remaining locked on the ground.

“No. I don’t Trevor. You are my boyfriend. Jake is…just a friend…from back home. I'm here with you.” you answer, feeling your own heart break as the words pierce through Jake, too.

He stands there, his face expressionless as your words sink in. He’s frozen, staring down at you, but your head is still glued to the ground and you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

Trevor lets out a breath, “We’ll just have to agree to disagree then. All I’m saying is the way you were looking at him just now, and the way he was looking at you…there’s something between you two that isn’t just a regular thing, and I see it.”

“No man, she's right. We are just friends. Nothing more. Never have been, never will be. Isn’t that right, Pops.” Jake says, and you can feel the venom in his words.

You dare glance up at him, but the moment your eyes meet you regret it. His face looks like stone, the light in his eyes now replaced with a dark, dull anger. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen Jake like this, his gaze locked on yours, staring you down.

“Right, Pops? We’re just friends,” he repeats, but his voice lacks the comfort of the countless times he’s said those words before to you. There’s no reassurance in there this time, no hint of a smile. This is not the Jake you know. The Jake that you love.

“Right,” you breathe, wishing more than anything you could just disappear into thin air.

He holds your gaze for just a moment longer, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you, waiting for something more from you, but you just can’t say it, your voice having abandoned you.

“Okay, great, well uh– thanks for coming out. See ya ‘round, Pops.” You watch as he nods his head toward you dismissively, turning and disappearing into the crowd.

The feeling of him walking away from you, the anger in his face and in his words, it’s leaving you with an unbearable emptiness feeling in your chest. Your head is swimming with everything that has just transpired. You’re unable to move, but Trevor breaks you out of your trance with a hand on your shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Part of you wants to stay, to leave Trevor and find Jake and make things right, but you know you can't. It's too late. The damage is done. You let him lead you out, your head down as you stumble out of the venue. The night sky is cold and black, the weight of the moment still fresh. You let Trevor lead you away from the venue. Away from Jake.

You make the trip back to your dorm in silence, both of you just wanting to forget about the whole thing and curl up in bed and sleep. He doesn’t try to talk, but you can feel his tense energy radiating off of him next to you, and you aren’t totally sure if he’s angry with you or just the situation in general.

As you slide into your bed, your mind is still replaying the moments back in the venue. Jake’s face as you denied having any feelings for him. The way he used a nickname that once was special between you two and somehow made it sound so cold. The way he didn’t argue when you denied your feelings to Trevor. And the worst part of all, your inability to correct him.

The sheets feel heavy on top of your body, and you’ve never felt more lonely. The person who knows you best is a couple miles away from you, and at the same time he’s never felt more distant. You want to try and sleep, hoping the morning can bring you some reprieve but you instead end up staring at the ceiling and letting the tears quietly fall.

Northwestern University - Chicago, Illinois

November 10, 2016

“Miss Y/N?” the dorm attendant calls out as you walk through the entry doors.

“Yes?” you answer, stopping at the desk with a smile.

“You had a delivery come this morning,” she smiles, “a big beautiful one.”

“Me?” you ask, not expecting any deliveries.

“Yes, stay right here and I will get it,” she says, scampering off to the back office to retrieve your package.

However, when she steps out your heart nearly drops. It’s not a package at all. It's a giant bouquet of flowers, but not just any flowers. Your eyes instantly begin to fill with tears, and a familiar ache in your heart flares up. Poppies, at least two dozen of them in a bright pink vase. They are all blooming and vibrant and you don’t even need to read the card to know who they are from.

You accept them from her with thanks, and rush back to your dorm room as fast as you can. The tears are beginning to stream from the corners of your eyes as you kick the door shut behind you. You place the flowers on your desk, and with shaky hands you pull the tiny red card from the holder.

The outside of the envelope reads ‘Happy Birthday’ in bold handwriting. You look at the envelope one more time before ripping open the seal and pulling the card out. The front of the card has a handwritten message. ‘Have a great birthday, Pops.’

There’s no signature, but you know who it’s from. You open the card and find the inside blank, except for one simple phrase written in the middle.

‘Still us, right?’

You feel like your heart has exploded in your chest, the tears falling faster now. You feel a knot in the pit of your stomach as you read those words again and again, your brain unable to wrap your head fully around what they mean. You know what he’s really asking, and the feeling of shame and guilt over the way that you left things is even stronger now.

“What did I do?” you whisper to yourself. You never wanted to hurt him, that was never your intention. You let your head sink, your eyes landing on the beautiful multicolored flowers on the desk. You let the tears continue to fall, the guilt and helplessness washing over you in a fresh wave. You let your head fall into your hands, trying to will yourself to do something, anything, but the feeling of despair and the memory of how Jake’s face looked that night in the venue is like a heavy weight on top of you.

Should you call him? Text him?

You look around your dorm, as if a sign would pop up and tell you exactly what to do. You turn and look at your phone, your hands shaking as you reach out toward it. You think about calling him, you think about texting, but what would you say?

You want to say how sorry you are, how much you’ve missed him, and how much better everything would be if you could both go back and do that night over again...but what good is saying those things now? It’s too late for regret, no matter how badly you want to go back and change the last few months.

You pick up the phone, your fingers shaking slightly as you dial his number. The phone rings for a few seconds until you hear his voice on the other line. “Poppy?”

“Jake,” you reply.

“Hey,” his voice responds, a little bit of surprise and relief in it. He hesitates before continuing, “Guessing you got the flowers?”

“I did. Jake, they are so beautiful. I love them.” you answer. There’s an uncomfortable silence between the two of you, the elephant in the room growing larger by the second.

“Yeah, I’m really glad you like them,” he replies, his voice sounding less surprised and a little bit of normalcy starting to return to the conversation. He lets another pause linger between the two of you, the silence feeling strange after all the time you’ve gone without speaking to each other. Then he speaks again. “I wasn’t sure you were going to call.”

“I wasn’t sure you would answer,” you say sheepishly.

He lets out a gentle chuckle, the sound of his laugh somehow still warming your heart. “Yeah, to be honest I was a little hesitant to answer. But I’m glad you called.” he says quietly.

“I um– I got your…note.” you breathe.

A pause fills the line before he speaks again, this time quieter. “Yeah, it’s just been kind of heavy having the distance between us lately. I just… needed you to know that the way things ended last time we saw each other, I never meant to…” he trails off, suddenly unsure of the proper words to say.

“Jake, I-” you start, but he interrupts you.

“No, you don’t have to say anything,” he says, a sense of urgency in his voice. “Please don’t feel bad, okay? I just needed you to know that we’re still…” he fades off again, that familiar feeling of helplessness filling the air. He takes a moment before continuing, “You’re still my best friend and you always will be. I don’t want us to lose that. I don’t want to lose you any more. You’re my girl, Pops. Always will be.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Jake,” you confess, your voice cracking with pain.

“I know.” he replies, letting out a sigh, “And I understand.” Another moment passes between the two of you before he speaks again. “Listen, I’ve got to go, we are going on soon and Josh is breathing down my neck, but I’m glad you called. It means a lot to hear your voice. Let’s try and…I don’t know, talk more?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry to keep you, I just…” you pause, “Have a good show, Jake... a-and thank you for the flowers.”

“Of course, anything for my girl,” he answers, “and Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you…” you trail off.

“Call soon?” he asks, the volume in the background starting to grow louder.

“I’d like that,” you breathe, feeling the distance from him even more than before.

“Good. Okay, well have a good night, P.” he says softly, and right before you think he’s hung up you hear him whisper, “It’s still us, Poppy.”

“Still us,” you confirm, the call ending as the words leave your lips.

January 4, 2017

Jake 8:12 AM: Just signed the contract for a headlining world tour. I can’t believe it, Pops.

You 7:58 PM: I’m so proud of you Jake

March 28, 2017

Jake 11:04 PM: Just walked past a street vendor selling red poppies. Apparently they are a big thing here. Thought of you. Miss you.

You 11:24 PM: I miss you too. Where are you at these days?

Jake 11:30 PM: In Paris right now, England tomorrow, then Scotland. It’s beautiful here.

You 11:32 PM: I can only imagine.

Jake 11:33 PM: One day, Pops.

June 7, 2017

You 12:25 PM: Did I just see that you guys are playing Lollapalooza?! Jake!

Jake 1:49 PM: You did, can you believe it?

You 1:50 PM: We used to daydream about that

Jake 1:56 PM: No more dreaming. Can I save you an Artist wristband?

You 1:58 PM: You’d do that for me?

Jake 2:00 PM: Of course poppy, you’re my girl.

August 3, 2017

Jake 8:09 AM: P, it’s show day and I haven't heard from you. You still coming? Your wristband is at will call.

You 10:23 AM: Jake, I am so so so sorry. I can’t find anyone to cover my shift tonight at work. I’ve been trying for weeks. I hate to miss this. I am so sorry. :(

Jake 10:40 AM: Ahh, it’s alright P, there will be more. I’ll catch you at the next one.

You 10:45 AM: I won’t miss the next one. I swear.

Jake 10:46 AM: I’m holding you to it. Call soon.

November 10, 2017

You 2:21 PM: Thank you for the poppies Jake. They are even more beautiful than last years bouquet. Miss you so much.

Jake 3:04 PM: Anything for you, Y/N. Happy Birthday.

February 18, 2018

Jake 7:34 PM: *Open in Spotify* - Bad Company - Call On Me

You 7:45 PM: I remember listening to this album in your car non stop senior year lol

Jake 7:48 PM: Still one of the very best. I always think of you when I hear that one though.

You 7:50 PM: Even if I called on you I don’t think you could get here very quickly. Last I saw on Instagram you guys were in Belgium.

Jake 7:54 PM: We are, but all you need to do is say the word, Pops.

You 8:00 PM: Miss you.

Jake 8:01 PM: Miss you more.

April 4, 2019

Jake 7:48 PM: My mom said she got your graduation invitation in the mail today. So proud of you Y/N.

You 8:21 PM: It feels like it went by so fast. I can’t believe it’s over. I actually just received my acceptance letter from the University of Michigan today. I’m officially going to Law School.

Jake 8:30 PM: You continue to amaze me Poppy. I’m glad we both get to live our dreams.

You 8:32 PM: ❤️

University of Michigan Law School - Ann Arbor, Michigan

August 12, 2019

You 7:52 AM: I’m freaking out, what if I can’t do this Jake

Jake 8:00 AM: what?

You 8:01 AM: It’s my first day of classes at UofM

Jake 8:02 AM: Do you think I wasn’t petrified the first time I stepped onto a real stage? I know you can do this P. If I can do that, you can do this. You can do anything.

You 8:03 AM: Thanks Jake

Jake 8:05 AM: Call me later and let me know how it went. We are on break for the next week so I’m free whenever.

November 10, 2019

You 3:47 PM: Jake! You’re so sweet. Gorgeous flowers, but I have to know how you got my new address?

Jake 3:50 PM: Don’t worry about that, I have my ways. Happy Birthday my girl. I’ll call soon.

University of Michigan Law School - Ann Arbor, Michigan

May 18, 2020

You can faintly hear a persistent buzzing, the sound pulling you from your sleep. You realize it’s your phone buzzing away on your nightstand with an incoming call. You roll over, reaching for it in the darkness of the room, noticing the time on your alarm clock says 2:47 AM. You wipe the sleep from your eyes as they adjust to the harsh light of your phone, but that's not what really wakes you. It’s the name on the screen that has you sitting up straight in your bed.

“Jake?” you breathe, sliding your thumb against the glass. “Hello?” you answer groggily.

“Poppy…” he replies, his voice deep and gravely.

“Jake, what's wrong, is everything okay? It's like 2:30 in the morning?” you rush out, your heart starting to pound.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up, baby doll,” he answers, “I just…I needed to hear your voice.”

You can hear the slurring in his words and you know he's had too much to drink. That, and he hasn’t called you that pet name in years, “What’s going on, Jake? You don’t sound okay.”

He’s silent for a moment, seemingly gathering the right words to say, “‘M fine, Pops. It’s just been a bad day. Hell, it’s been a bad week. A bad month. Everything is fucking exploding in our faces.”

“What do you mean?” you ask nervously, clutching your sheets in your fist.

He lets out a deep sigh, “God, everythings just falling apart. With the album, with tour–” he cuts himself off. There’s another pause before he speaks again. “It’s just all such a mess and I miss you, Pops. I miss you so damn much. I don’t know if I can do all of this.”

“What? What do you mean? Is it because of all this Covid stuff?” you ask.

“That, and so many other things. We had all these plans to release the new album and tour and then everything came to a screeching halt. We’re essentially in lockdown now, and I don't know when we will start up again. I can’t just sit, Pops, you know that. I just can’t,” he sighs heavily. “But it’s not just that,” he pauses for a moment, his words becoming a little more slurred, “There’s a million things, and I know I sound so whiny, but–”

“No, go ahead, get it all out. Tell me. I'm here. I'm listening.”

“I don't even know how to put it all into words. There’s just so much. The pressure, the uncertainty, the loneliness of it all, the shit with the label, my parents calling all the time asking what's going on, Josh bitching everytime something doesn’t go his way. Nothing is going right,” he pauses, “and you're not here.”

“I know. I know I'm not, but I think I understand a little bit at least. All my classes are virtual right now, finals and everything. It’s not how I ever imagined Law School going. I don't think I have left my apartment in weeks. I haven’t talked to a real person in a while. It's scary and everything is uncertain right now. I get it Jake. I do, and I miss you. I miss you so much.” you answer.

“Yeah, exactly,” he sighs, “I just feel like– everything is going wrong and falling apart and I don’t know how to stop it. I just want…I want you,” he pauses, “I want you here. Things would be better if you were here. You would know what to do.”

“Well, where are you? Are you…at home or–”

“I’m locked in this fucking house in Nashville. Feel like a fuckin’ prisoner. All I can do is play guitar and write and drink, and– I just need out.” he groans.

“Nashville...You–You live in Nashville now? In a house? I had no idea you guys left Michigan.” you say a little despondently.

“See, this is exactly what I mean. I want you to know these things. You deserve to know. I– I should’ve called. But, yeah, we got a place last year. Me and Josh. It made sense with us starting to record and touring, being centrally located and all that. But it’s not my permanent home. This is not what I want.” he adds hastily.

“Yeah, I understand, that makes sense, I just didn't know,” you pause, “I wish- I mean, how far are you from Ann Arbor? You know you can always come visit for a while. I’ll be busy with school work but at least we could…” you trail off.

“I’d say maybe…six hours, give or take,” he answers, and his mind starts to wander a little. “I wish I could just hop in the car and come to you. I miss your face. Just you, in general,” he says, the drunken honesty coming through. “But the label has us on fucking lockdown. Can’t leave the city even if we wanted to.”

“Oh. Okay. I understand.” you answer, pain coloring your tone.

He picks up on your change in tone, his voice growing a bit more sober, “Shit, no, P. I didn’t mean to upset you. I don’t want you to feel like I wouldn’t just drop everything and come to you right now, you gotta believe me. I wish I could. I’d leave now and be there by morning.”

“No, Jake it’s fine, I get it. I was just daydreaming.” you answer, swallowing thickly.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything. I feel like everything has just been too much and I just wanted to hear your voice. But I shouldn’t have called you like this, I know you’ve got a lot of stuff going on with school right now. I shouldn’t have burdened you with my bullshit.” he says, his voice sounding just as pained as yours.

“Never apologize for that Jake. That’s what I’m here for. I want to know, and I know you would do the same for me if the roles were reversed.”

“I’d do anything for you, Y/N. You know that I would,” he responds, his words almost a whisper now. You can still hear the buzz of alcohol in his voice, but now it’s only a slight slur instead of drunken rambling. “You were always my person. My safe place.”

“And you’re mine,” you whisper.

You can hear him sigh heavily on the other line, and the two of you let a comfortable silence fall over the line. You’re both lost in your thoughts, just content to hear the other breathe. He finally breaks the silence, his voice quiet and hoarse, “When I get out of this hell hole, I’m coming to find you. I need to see you again. It can’t be another year without you.”

“You know where to find me,” you grin.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. He’s silent for a moment, just listening to you breathe. “I should let you get some sleep. You got school and work and… life to deal with tomorrow, huh?”

“Sadly, yes. But, I– enjoyed this. I’ve missed your voice. It’s nice to lay here with my eyes closed and pretend like it's old times.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, “This was good. I feel better now, I really do. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. We’ve got a lot to catch up on…and I’m sorry I had to be drunk to find the balls to call you.” he giggles. “Can I call you again sometime soon? Preferably when I’m a little more sober?”

“Please do,” you answer with a laugh.

He laughs softly along with you, the sound of his laugh is familiar yet different after all this time, “Okay, I’ll call you soon then. I promise. Goodnight, my Pops.”

“Goodnight, Jake.”

Detroit, Michigan

March 13, 2022

“And send,” you whisper to yourself, finally leaning back in your office chair as the email flies into the ether. You let out a deep exhale, checking the time. Only one more hour before you leave for the day. You take in your surroundings, seeing your colleagues still busy and working away on case files and reports. It wasn’t easy landing this job and it has been taxing to say the least, but in a few years you would be up for partner and you would do anything to make your dream a reality. Today though, you were leaving a little earlier than usual. You had plans tonight, plans you weren’t one hundred percent sure you should follow through with, but it had been years after all, and part of you is dying to see him. Jake.

You’d been following along with the band's success for years now, watching them grow to crazy levels of fame in such a short amount of time. You think back to the night Jake called you, so worried about the new album, and now it was their most successful release to date. It truly was incredible and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to see them play it live. And tonight, you would.

When you saw that they had plans to play in Saginaw you knew you had to make the drive. You requested the time off and now today was the day. Your heart has been in your throat all day waiting for it to drop to your stomach the moment you see him on stage tonight. It only took a few messages with Karen to find out that you had standing tickets waiting for you. Stating that ‘Jake wouldn’t have it any other way’. You could tell she missed him, missed all her boys actually, and you knew the pain all too well.

You knew he would look different, from the pictures you’d seen you could tell his hair was longer, and his boyish figure was now that of a man. But he wasn't the only one, all of the guys' looks had changed dramatically, and part of you felt like you hardly knew them anymore. You had no plans of telling Jake that you would be there tonight, you wanted to see him play a good show without the burden of knowing you were out in the crowd watching. You have your outfit picked out and waiting for you on your bed, knowing you only had a few quick minutes to change and get on the road when you clocked out at the office for the day. Now, all there was left to do was wait.

The traffic couldn’t have been worse. The freeway was congested with an accident and roadwork, and as your hands gripped the steering wheel you began to feel nervous that you might not make it in time. You pushed away the nervous feeling, turning up the volume of the music playing through your car speakers. You’d done your research, listening to the new album a hundred times over, and tonight you’d put that knowledge to the test as you tried your best to sing along with every song they would play. As you sang along now, you let go of your stress and relaxed into the music, watching as miraculously the road cleared in front of you and you continued on your way to Saginaw.

With your ticket in hand you searched for your seat in the crowd, finding yourself surrounded by familiar faces. Faces you hadn’t seen since you left home. It felt like a big reunion in section 102, and you couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off of your face if you tried. When you finally found your seat you looked up to see Karen sitting a seat away, turning to face you as you sat down next to her.

“Oh honey, you made it,” she cooed, pulling you in for a hug.

“Yeah, yeah I did! Got stuck in some terrible traffic leaving Detroit, I didn’t know if I was going to make it on time.” you answer, waving hello to a few other friendly faces around you.

“I am so glad you’re here, I haven’t seen you in years! You really should come home and see everyone soon. We all miss you!” she says, with a soft smile, “I’m glad he sat you with us. Right where you should be.”

You give her a confused look and she laughs.

“Look around, you’re in the family section,” she pauses, and suddenly you realize shes right. “I can’t wait to see them play tonight, it’s been a year or so.”

“Well I guess I should confess that I haven't seen them since their first little tour. I think they were openers. It was back in college.”

“Oh well, you’re in for a surprise then. They are just fantastic now, they’ve really stepped it up since then. Oh, Jake is going to be so happy to see you.” she gushes.

“I actually didn’t tell him I was coming,” you pause, “we haven’t talked in a little while. He’s been busy touring and I’m working at a firm now. Life hasn’t been the best to our friendship.” you confess.

“Oh honey I hate to hear that. You’ll have to come with me after the show to see everybody. I’m sure they would all love to say hello.” she offers.

“Like backstage? I don’t know. Maybe. I–”

“No excuses, we’re going.” she smiles, just as the lights dim and music begins to play through the arena.

Your heart is positively thumping in your chest as you hear what you believe to be Josh’s voice as he talks over a piece of music. You feel your insides grow warm as he talks, your eyes filling with tears as you listen to the beautiful words he's crafted. The crowd explodes in cheers full of anticipation as the arena goes black and the curtain covering the stage begins to flash with red lights.

You’re scared of what you will see when the curtain drops. Scared of the changes you’ll see in their faces, the changes you’ll notice in their playing, but mostly you’re scared that he may not recognize you if he does see you, because that would crush you.

Suddenly the curtain falls down to the ground as loud music begins to fill the arena. Your eyes are immediately on Jake, his long dark hair and his two piece suit. He looks so amazing you feel like you could fall to your knees right here in the stands. But then, he spots you, and for that few seconds it’s just the two of you there in that arena.

A wave of shock sets in as soon as his eyes land on you. For a brief moment you can hardly believe that it’s real, that you’re seeing him in person and not just in the memories that haunt you during the dark hours of night. But there he is, living his dream right in front of your very eyes.

He stands in front of the crowd, guitar in hand. The bright spotlight is so white it almost hurts your eyes, but once your vision adjusts you’re struck by the sight of him. He’s slightly sweaty and disheveled, his jacket open and hair already sweaty and messy. He’s never looked more handsome than he does standing on that stage. He stands still for a moment, the shock of seeing you here has shaken him to the core, that is obvious to you. But he quickly shakes it off, and continues with the show, playing for the crowd that is screaming his name.

By the third song you are having to pick your jaw up off the floor. The way he is working the crowd is a vast difference from the last time you watched him play, still shy and unsure of himself on stage. He’s got a presence to him now, a confidence that you don’t remember seeing when you first watched him play years before. It shows in the way he moves on the stage, in the way he plays to the crowd, and in the way he works the guitar like it’s an extension of himself. He plays his heart out for the next hour, his movements smooth and precise. Jake is in his element just like he always knew he would be.

The encore is upon you, and you can’t wait for him to be back on stage. Finally, he bounds up to the stage again, his energy and excitement at an all time high. You can tell he’s having the time of his life, the lights and cheers making him feel like he could fly. Josh is right behind him, grabbing the microphone and beginning to speak. “Thank you all for an incredible night,” he yells to the crowd, “But we’re not done yet. How about another one?” The room fills with loud cheers again. Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest as Jake turns his body to look at you, pointing his guitar in your direction as he acknowledges you. Your cheeks are on fire as he sends you a smile, Karen grabbing your arm as she watches the interaction.

“Told you he’d be happy to see you,” she shouts over the music.

You feel overwhelmed with emotion and excitement; not just by the fact that he spotted you in this giant crowd, but also by the fact that he is so clearly expressing a level of happiness because you’re here right now. The connection you feel to him is unlike anything you’ve felt in a long time.

He finishes the show with his heart on his sleeve. It ends on an incredibly high note, and he takes one last bow to the crowd as they start to leave. He starts walking off the stage, Josh in tow and you realize that now, you will go backstage with Karen and you’ll have to face him.

“Alright honey, you up for saying hello?” she asks, both of you making your way out of the aisle and towards the floor.

Your body is shaking with nerves as you answer her, “Yeah, I should. It’s been too long.”

You and Karen make your way to the back where the band is waiting, still a little winded from the show. A few roadies are already packing up the stage equipment, and the crew is helping to dismantle the set. There is so much going on behind the scenes that you had no clue about. So many moving parts and pieces.

Karen ushers you back towards the dressing rooms, each of the guys having their own space to dress and prepare. When did they get so fancy?

“Okay, Jake should be right through there, I’m going to go find Josh. Come find me if you need anything.” she says, leaving you at his dressing room door.

Your hands are shaking, you’re unsure if you’ll even be able to raise your hand to knock. You smooth out your skirt and take a deep breath, fixing your hair a little as you try to calm your nerves. It’s Jake. It’s just Jake.

Finally getting over the shock and nervousness, you knock softly on the door. You hear shuffling behind the door and your heart starts to pound in your ears. You hear him call out through the door, “Just a minute.”

Your heart jumps into your throat as you hear his voice through the door. It sounds like he’s just getting out of the shower, and with a towel wrapped around his waist he opens the door. The shock on his face is undeniable as he sees you standing there. He was expecting anything but you. “Pops,” he whispers, saying your name as if he were trying to convince himself that you were real.

“H-hi Jake,” you stammer, your nerves making themselves known.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at you in disbelief. He’s still dripping wet from the shower, beads of water running down his bare chest. His face relaxes and a familiar softness sets in, a soft smile crossing his face. “You’re really here.” His gaze roams over your body, drinking in every inch.

“Yeah, I'm here. You were–you were so amazing, I–”

It’s as if the sound of your voice brings a wave of peace over him, and before you know it he’s pulling you into a tight embrace, his body still damp from the shower. He pulls you against him, your body pressed to his bare chest. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and you can feel his breath on your skin as he holds you. “I’m so fucking happy to see you,” he murmurs.

You hug him back, feeling all the guilt and nerves melt away from you, in a way that only he can manage. You can feel the water starting to seep through your clothes, and you pull away, looking between you with a smile. “You're wet, and naked,” you laugh.

He blushes at your words, suddenly remembering that he’s still just wrapped in a towel. “Shit,” he says, feeling an unusual shyness that he usually doesn’t feel around you. He steps back to the side of the door, holding it open for you to enter as he gives you a nervous smile. “Come in, just give me a sec and I'll change.”

“I can wait out here if you want, I know that we–”

“No, come in Pops. Please,” he says firmly, the towel still wrapped around him. It’s still hard to take your eyes off of his bare chest, but you walk into the room, trying to keep your focus on anything but him, not wanting to stare too long.

You watch as he saunters across the room, his long brown hair down to the middle of his back now, and dripping with water. You swallow harshly as your eyes travel over the curve of his ass in the towel, but you pull your eyes away before he turns around. He grabs a bag and slips into the bathroom, pushing the door shut behind him. You can hear a nasty cough come from behind the door and you furrow your brows. Is he sick?

You stand there by the couch, suddenly noticing the small bottle of cough syrup sitting at the edge of the side table. A few moments later, he emerges from the bathroom, dressed in worn jeans and a clean white t-shirt. He sits down on the couch and he lets out another few coughs, trying to clear his throat as he looks up at you. “Sit down,” he says, gesturing towards the spot next to him on the couch.

You take a seat next to him, and let out a soft breath. “Are you feeling okay?” you ask.

The cough is still in his throat, but he nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just have this damn cough that I can’t seem to shake.” He looks you up and down, finally being able to observe you as closely as he wants to since you showed up at the venue. “You look great,” he says, a warm smile on his lips.

You blush at his words, your eyes meeting his. The one thing about him that’s stayed the same over the years. “Thank you,” you say shyly.

His smile turns into a grin, the same boyish smile that you’ve always loved. “Of course.” He lets his gaze linger on your face, drinking you in as if he’s trying to memorize every little detail. He’s unable to keep his hands to himself, and before you know it he’s reached towards you. His fingers wrap around your wrist, and he gently pulls your arm towards him.

The feeling of his skin against yours causes the dam to break, “Jake, I–”

He doesn’t let go as he lets both of your hands rest in his lap. That same electricity that used to pass between you is there, and you can tell that the connection you’ve always had is as strong as ever despite the distance. He speaks softly, knowing how heavy the air between you two is. “I know.”

“No, please I–” you start, but you’re quickly cut off as the dressing room door flies open and a blonde woman, around the same age as you steps inside.

The sudden intrusion is like a bucket of ice water, and you pull your hands away from him as if you’ve been caught doing something wrong. He looks back at you, his expression soft and apologetic before he looks up at the new presence in the room. You look over at Jake, expecting to see some kind of reaction from him, but he actually just looks mildly annoyed.

“Hey, Viv,” he answers, turning his body to face her. She looks between the two of you, an expression on her face you can’t quite decipher.

She gives him a small smile, and she doesn’t even glance in your direction as she walks into the room. You try to stay as small as possible, as if trying not to be seen. She crosses her arms as she stands on the other side of the room. “How did the show go?” she asks, her voice is casual and unbothered. You suddenly feel like you shouldn’t be here.

“Was fine, got a little winded and lightheaded by encore,” he answers and she nods her head.

“Well, the crowd was big tonight and it got hot, plus all the lights. That'd make anybody winded,” she says, still keeping her focus on him. You sit there, feeling slightly uncomfortable, wondering why she seems so comfortable in his space. She starts to dig around in the bag on her shoulder and you turn to look at Jake.

The whole situation feels weird, and you don't understand why she is just standing there, going through her purse, while you and Jake sit there. His eyes flick over to you and you can see slight annoyance in them as he looks back at her.

Then it hits you like a ton of bricks. She’s not just some stranger. She’s here with Jake. For Jake. Oh god how could you be so stupid. Of course he’s seeing someone. You quickly shoot up, grabbing your bag and tossing it over your shoulder as quickly as you can, feeling so stupid to think tonight would be the night you’d work things out. She’s waiting for you to leave.

Jake’s eyes go wide as he sees what you’re doing, “Wait, no, Pops, where are you going?” He stands up from the couch, reaching his hand out to grab your arm but you pull away from him.

“I’m sorry– I didn’t know. I– You were amazing tonight, I’m sorry I–I didn’t know you— I’ll go–” you stammer, making your way to the door.

Jake practically lunges across the room, reaching the door at the same time you do. He turns you around to face him, the panic in his eyes apparent. “No, don’t go, let me explain–”

“No, no, you don’t have to. I understand. I shouldn’t have come back here. I don’t belong back here. I’m sorry,” you mumble pushing your way through the heavy wooden door.

“Poppy!” you hear him shout, his voice echoing through the busy hallway as you search for the nearest exit. You don’t turn around. You refuse to look back and let him see you like this. Your heart is absolutely more crushed than it ever has been, but you should have expected it. He is a rockstar and you’re…just Y/N.

He moved on, he found someone else to confide in. Someone that matches him. Someone else to trust with his secrets. Someone else to think of day and night, and finally you understand how he felt that night so long ago. Replaced.

You hear his voice fade as you walk out of the venue, leaving your heart behind you in a single, devastating moment. The warm night is replaced by a cold breeze as you step out, the tears falling down your face as you realize the past was just that. The past.

Frankenmuth, Michigan

December 31, 2022

The air is frigid outside, you’re sure this is the coldest winter you’ve ever experienced, even growing up here. There aren’t enough layers in the world, let alone in your suitcase. Thankfully in just two days you will be back home in Detroit where it's not too much warmer, but definitely not as cold as Frankenmuth. You’ve been home for the last two weeks visiting your parents, not seeing them nearly enough since you started at the law firm after graduation. It’s been nice to be home, but something about it feels different now. You are riddled with nostalgia and the memories seem to come back with a vengeance the longer you’re here. Memories you have all but pushed away lately, not letting them into your heart as you once did. Currently you and your parents are sitting in front of the fireplace sipping on wine as you watch the Rockin’ New Year’s Eve special on TV. The wine is warming you up a bit, but not nearly enough.

You’ve now brushed off dozens of invites from co-workers and even some old friends who are out on the town tonight, celebrating ringing in the new year. You know you should go, but something is telling you not to. Even your parents asked why you’re spending the evening at home instead of seeing old friends. You wish you had a good answer for them, but you don't.

“You really should go, honey,” your mom continues, finishing off her glass of red. “You’re only young once.”

“I know, but I just…I feel so disconnected from this place. I haven’t talked to these people since highschool,” you pause, “I just feel like I’m better off here.”

“I agree with your mother, hon,” your dad adds, “It will be good for you to get out. All you do is work these days. You deserve a night off.”

You let their words sink in as you look at your phone, seeing the ignored text from your old friend Isabelle begging you to meet her at Tiffany’s for a drink. Honestly, the thought of stepping into that bar again rattles you.

“Just one drink hon, ring in the new year,” your dad says, sending you an encouraging wink.

You look at her text again and let out a sigh, “Alright, fine. Maybe you’re right. It would be okay to let loose just a little. Tonight of all nights.”

“Thatta girl,” he says, nodding his head.

With the decision made you text Isabelle back, letting her know you will meet her there in thirty as you rush upstairs to change into something that isn't sweatpants and a hoodie.

It’s an eerie feeling walking into this bar, a place you used to frequent so often, so long ago. It’s been years since you've been back but it's exactly the same as you left it. The dining patrons are long gone, making way for the locals that use the bartop as their own personal therapy space, but tonight it’s a little different. It’s New Year's Eve and the bar is filled with unfamiliar faces. Of course, there are a few you recognize from high school, that much you expected. The air in the bar is much warmer than the air outside, thanks to the large group of people filling the small space. The lights are dim and music is playing from the old jukebox in the corner. The floor is already sticky from spilled drinks, and the air smells faintly of cigarettes.

“I’m gonna grab a drink, what do you want?” Isabelle asks, snaking her way through a group of people.

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” you answer, knowing it doesn't really matter.

She disappears into the crowd and you look around in search of a table you can ditch your jacket at. Most are taken, but you spot one in a corner with no occupants. You walk briskly towards it, throwing your jacket down onto the inevitably sticky table top as you sit and wait for Isabelle. You let your eyes wander through the bar picking out familiar faces, and even taking in some new ones, but you can’t seem to shake the feeling of uneasiness you’ve had since you walked through the door. Something is different, you just don’t know what.

A few minutes later a drink is placed in front of you that looks to be a whiskey and coke, and you secretly cheer that it's not something overly sweet.

“Made them a double cause the lines’ a bitch,” she says, taking her first gulp.

“Good call,” you smile, taking your own sip and letting the bubbles burn the back of your throat. Maybe your dad was right. You did need this. You and Isabelle sit and talk for a little while, letting the alcohol seep into your system and cast away your cares. But then you hear something. Something you haven’t heard in a long time. A song from long ago that has made a permanent home in your memories.

Through the crappy speakers you hear the opening notes to “Good Lovin’ Gone Bad” by Bad Company. You smile to yourself, thinking back on just how many times Jake played that album that summer. You both had practically every single lyric memorized by the time you left for college. A pang shoots through your chest as you picture him in your mind, and your mood suddenly sours.

“Hey, I’m gonna hit the bathroom real quick,” you pause, “Save our table?”

“Duh, see you in a few,” she says, taking another gulp of her drink.

You begin to make your way to the bathroom, needing a minute to yourself to freshen up and get Jake out of your head. You finally make your way to the opposite side of the bar, the bathrooms in your sight. But much to your surprise, something else oddly familiar catches your eye and your heart lurches up to your throat. No. It can’t be.

His back is towards you, but you would recognize his shoulders and hair anywhere. You spot him with a group of guys, all drinking and having a good time. A wave of nostalgia hits hard, remembering how things were back in the day before you both went your separate ways and he shot to stardom. The way you could walk up to him without second guessing it. Now you’re not so sure you can.

You try to turn around and walk away, knowing it's best to just go, but something has you frozen to the floor. You can see the way he holds the crowd at the bar, telling stories and cracking jokes in the same way he did at parties back in high school. He's a star in every sense of the word, but when the laughter fades for a second, you can almost see the sadness underneath it all.

He doesn’t notice you, at least you think he doesn’t, as you push forward and rush into the bathroom. Your heart is pumping harder than it has in months and you feel like you might be sick. There is no way you are going to be able to get out of this bar without talking to him, so you decide you need to pull it together and pretend like he isn’t even here.

You fix your make up, and smooth down your hair, taking a good long look in the mirror. You’ve got this. It’s just Jake. You take a few deep breaths and square your shoulders, preparing to face him and any uncomfortable conversation that may follow. You open the door and walk out into the bar, looking around as you do. You don't see him at the bar he was at before and for a split second your brain doesn't register that fact at all, but as you make your way out to the dance floor you look a few tables over and realize he is standing there, with his hands in his pockets watching you with the same intensity you’ve always seen from him.

He looks so handsome and he doesn’t even know it. His long brown hair hanging over his shoulders, his corduroy shirt hanging open and messy over his t-shirt. He is exactly the Jake you’ve always known. The Jake you always wanted. There’s a mustache, too, you notice. The accent of hair, complimenting his upper lip in a way that has your entire chest heating. It’s the perfect touch to his pretty face, adding a masculine touch that you hadn’t known was necessary for his overall aura until this moment.

Because god did he look impossibly more alluring with that addition.

You know it’s only a matter of time before you two speak, and you have no idea what he is thinking. But for once, Jake doesn’t hide his feelings from you, his eyes are glued to you, refusing to look away. Willing you to come to him, and your body listens.

You walk towards him, each step feeling heavier than the last, as if you're walking through quicksand. Your eyes stay locked on his face despite the nervousness running through your veins, and you can feel the electricity pouring off of him. He looks like he wants to say something, but he just stares at you. You can feel the memories of you together crashing through your head like a wave. You get closer and closer, the world around you fading away, until you’re standing right in front of him.

“It was you, wasn’t it. The song,” you ask, putting the pieces together immediately. “You knew I was here. You knew I would recognize it.”

His jaw clenches in response, and he lets a sad smile touch his lips before he says anything. “Yeah, it was. I saw you walk in. I knew it’d work,” he replies, the familiar rasp in his voice is softer than you remember, but still as deep and soothing as ever.

“Guess you were right,” you smirk, watching as his body language starts to soften.

He lets a soft chuckle escape, and he relaxes a little bit. You can see the tension melting away from his shoulders. “Some things never change, huh?” he says, his eyes roaming over your face and body briefly, taking in every detail he can.

“I didn’t know you were home,” you confess.

“I didn’t know you were home.” he says gently, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He looks down for a moment, as if he’s trying to find the right words. “I should’ve told you.”

You nod your head, “I could’ve called you too,” you pause, biting your lip, “It’s just ever since that night–”

“That night was not what you think. I wish you would’ve let me explain, Pops.” he urges, his hand reaching out to rest on your arm.

“It's- It's the past now Jake, you don't owe me anything,” you answer, the nickname searing a sore spot in your heart.

“Bullshit,” he snaps. “You know exactly what I owe you. But I’m not going to talk to you about this in a bar, surrounded by all these people,” he drops his hand from your arm, running it through his hair instead. “Come with me, please.”

You look around for Isabelle, but of course she is nowhere to be found, “Okay.”

He leads you out the back door of the bar, into the cool winter air. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and grabs one, placing it between his teeth before lighting it just as quickly. He looks over at you for a moment, watching as you rub your arms to keep warm. “You’re cold,” he observes, noticing the goosebumps on your exposed skin.

“My jacket is inside,” you answer.

He shrugs off his corduroy shirt, draping it over your shoulders, before pulling you in a bit closer to him. The smell of tobacco and his cologne overwhelm your senses as he presses against your side. The heat radiating off of him is warm, and you instinctively bring the shirt closer around you, breathing in the familiar smell of him.

“Listen, Pops,” he pauses, taking another drag of his cigarette, “I’ve wanted to call you a hundred times since that night, explain what you think you saw…”

It hurts you to know he's thought about it too. “So why didn't you?”

“I was scared,” he admits bluntly, a cloud of smoke escaping his lips as he does. “You are the last person that I ever wanted to hurt, believe me. But you didn’t even let me get a word in. You left and just…” he sighs. “I didn’t know what the hell to do with myself. Still don’t. I think we are here right now in this shitty ass bar because the universe decided it was time for us to figure this shit out.”

“Maybe it is,” you agree.

He lets out a long exhale of smoke, his breath visible in the cold air. “You’ve always been smarter than me,” he says, throwing his cigarette to the ground and shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know where to start, but I need you to hear me out here.”

“I'm listening,” you answer.

He paces to the edge of the sidewalk, running a nervous hand through his hair as he tries to compose himself. He takes a deep breath before he speaks again. “I know you think you know what you saw that night, but it wasn’t… That woman, Viv– Vivienne, she is our Tour Medic. Like our travel doctor. A few days before that show…I’d been sick. I didn’t want to admit it then, but I will now. I was sick, too sick. I shouldn’t have been performing. We needed to cancel those shows. I hid it the best I could, and I shouldn’t have and it made it all worse,” he pauses. “That night she came in to check on me after the show. I’d avoided her as long as I could and I think she just knew. She was coming to tell me that she was taking me to the hospital for my cough. She and I both knew it wasn’t normal and my time was up.”

“I– Yeah, I remember…I asked you…”

“I know. I know you did. Even you knew. I was going to tell you… But then, you– I don’t know you just freaked on me, and left. I wanted to explain but I wasn’t ready to admit what was going on.” he pauses, his lips trembling from the cold. “I went to the hospital that night and found out I had pneumonia. Bad. I– I was there for three days. I laid in that hospital bed and replayed you running out over and over again, Poppy. I wanted to call you and tell you but I just couldn’t. I was drained mentally and physically.”

“Jake, oh my god– I– I feel so stupid– I’m so sorry–”

“No, Pops, it’s not your fault. I know how it looked. I was just being too selfish to tell the truth.” he admits. “But now, you know.”

“You were in the hospital, Jake. I had no idea, I–We used to tell each other everything…What if something happened to you and I–” you trail off.

His body tenses at your words, and his expression morphs into a mixture of guilt and regret. “No, you’re right,” he says, defeated. “I was just…ashamed, I guess, that my body was failing me. It was such a low point…But I shouldn’t have let you walk out like that. I should have chased after you.” He looks back over at you, your face illuminated by the glowing neon bar signs and slowly he brings his hand to cup your cheek. “I can’t believe I let you go.”

Suddenly you hear the inside of the bar erupt with cheering and the loud countdown starting. “It’s almost midnight,” you whisper.

He looks back at the bar, then back at you, “I guess it is. I didn’t even realize it.” He says, his eyes glued to your face. The countdown gets closer and closer, and you can tell he is nervous. He looks almost afraid as he continues to talk. “I’ve really missed you, Y/N. I’ve thought about you so many times over these past few years, and it feels like no time has passed, but everything has changed,” he pauses, “I wish things could go back to the way it was.”

The world feels so still in this moment, even with all the ruckus inside the bar. “Ten seconds,” you note, eyes glued to his face as his warm hand rests on your cheek. He steps forward, his body so close to yours that you feel as though you’ll become one in this moment. The cold forgotten, his body almost feverish beside you. He runs his thumb across your cheek, his eyes glued to yours as the countdown gets lower and lower.

“Jake,” you whisper, your voice trembling with want.

He takes another step closer, his body inches apart from yours, and his lips only a breath away from yours “Poppy,” he whispers, his hot, shaky breath caressing your skin as he does. “I need you.”

“Three, two, one…”

Everyone in the bar cheers all around you. He’s so close now, you can hear the sharp inhales that are escaping his lips, and in the moments after the chaos of the New Year erupts, he closes the distance between the two of you. His lips are on yours in seconds, his hand pulling you in, his touch soft and needy.

The kiss is slow, it’s as if time has frozen in this sweet, tender moment. His hands slide into your hair, bringing your face to his, wanting all of you. The kiss is quickly growing desperate and needy. He pushes you against the brick wall of the building, his body pressing into yours, your heart racing as his hand moves from your hair to your waist. He gently lifts your leg pulling it around his waist as this kiss of reunion deepens even more. It’s filled with emotion and years of wanting, and your body is filled with an overwhelming sense of electricity.

He kisses you with everything he's got. His body craving your touch for so long. He pulls your body against his, wanting to feel every inch of you that he can. He deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth effortlessly, as if he’s memorized every curve, every crevice. You feel your stomach churning with need for him. The need for more.

You bring your hands up to wrap around his shoulders, the kiss getting deeper and more desperate with each passing moment. His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you tighter against his body, as if he can’t stand to have you away from him for even a second. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, and he lets out a low moan, his need for you stronger than ever. It’s as if no time has passed at all. Suddenly you’re right back in his basement kissing him for the first time.

You break the kiss, his name falling from your lips as your eyes open to meet his. “Jake...”

“P-Pops,” he stutters, struggling to find the words through his ragged breaths. “Fuck, I never should’ve let you go. It’s you, it’s always been you.” He presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his grip on you just as tight, if not tighter. “You– You just light a fire in me that everyone else seems to put out.”

You let your lips press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw before moving to his ear, “I’ll always be the one with a match to bring you back.”

“Goddamnit, Poppy,” His eyes flutter shut, and you can see that the sensation of your lips on his skin has driven him towards a bliss he hadn't experienced in a long, long time. The way your body fits against his is as natural now as it's ever been. It's as if you were molded to fit in his arms– as if nothing else in the world could ever feel as perfect as this. “I never want to let you go. I'm so goddamn sick of letting you go,” he whispers.

The desire is growing between your legs, and you can feel the evidence of his pressed against your stomach. Instinctively you rub against him, causing a growl to leave his chest. You’re no longer eighteen in the basement. You’re adults who need more.

He moves his body against yours, a low moan rising from his throat as he does. It’s as if he can feel the fire he’s lit up inside of you, and he’s desperate to fan the flames of the inferno that has always been there. “I’ve missed you so damn much,” he gasps, his hands starting to roam over your body. “Say you feel this. Say you feel it too.”

“I've always felt it Jake. Always.”

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, leaving small kisses, before sinking his teeth in gently. His hands are everywhere, as if he can't decide where he wants to touch first. He presses himself against you, his body flushed with need. “I want you,” he whispers, his words hot against your skin.

“I want you.” you pant, arching your neck to give him more.

He takes full advantage, his lips and teeth working their way up and down your neck, leaving a trail of marks in their wake. He can feel your need growing, and he responds to it with his own. He presses his body against yours with a primal force, his hand moving to cup your face, bringing your lips back to his. The kiss is hungry and needy, his tongue slipping into your mouth, searching for what he has been missing as his free hand finds the waistband of your jeans.

His hand begins to make a slow descent into your jeans, his rough fingertips sliding against your soft delicate skin. They brush the hem of your panties as his tongue continues to memorize yours. Your heart is pounding, your body aching for his touch where you need it most as the sound of “Auld Lang Syne” and distant fireworks boom around you.

A soft sound of need escapes from the back of your throat, the anticipation of his touch building an excruciating ache between your thighs. He uses his thumb to brush against the front of your panties, teasing you, as he breaks the kiss to whisper against your skin. “Do you know how badly I want you?” he asks, his voice low and rough, before returning to your neck and biting down softly.

You nod against him, still breathing harder than ever. He takes his time, his fingers running a lazy path against your skin, and you feel the heat growing between your legs as his touch gets closer.

He lets his fingers graze over the thin lace material of your underwear, gently tracing up and down in an agonizingly careful manner. His lips break away from your neck and move instead to your ear, his teeth taking the lobe gently. “I’ve dreamed about you like this, every night since the last time we touched,” he whispers, his voice raspy and low. “I’ve ached to feel your skin on mine, your body trembling under my touch.”

You feel his fingers move lower and lower until the heat of his touch is coated in your desire for him. “Jake,” you whine, totally lost in this moment with him.

His breath catches in his throat when he feels just how much you want him, and he lets out a low moan that makes your whole body tremble. “Fuck,” he whispers, his fingers tracing slow circles over your warm sensitive flesh. His lips find their way back to your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin, making your spine tingle as you whine.

“Shhh,” he coo’s, silencing your whimpers with a soft kiss. He slips his fingers past the fabric, his touch growing more intense as he finally finds what he’s been craving this whole time. “So soft. So beautiful,” he gasps. He moves his hand in a gentle rhythm, his fingers slipping between your folds, finding your sweet spot effortlessly. You feel euphoric, and at complete mercy to his touch. “Can you feel me? Can you feel what you do to me?”

“Yes,” you whine, “I feel everything.”

His fingers move faster as they dip inside, trying to get as deep inside of you as he can, desperate to feel every inch of you. “I dreamed up a hundred different ways to make you fall apart in my arms,” he whispers, his eyes locking on yours, “and nothing comes close to reality. Come home with me, Pops. Stay with me.”

Just as you start to feel your release creeping closer, the bar door slams next to you, pulling you both from the moment. Your eyes snap to Jake’s and his to yours as he quickly realizes the compromising position you’re in, removing his hand from your jeans.

He quickly steps back, straightening his shirt as you desperately try to regain your composure. You look around, hoping that whoever walked out of the bar doesn't look your way and catch you two in the state you were in. You're both panting, breaths ragged and desperate, and forced to ignore the needy ache that lingers between your legs.

It's as if a bucket of water has been dumped over your head, making you see clearly. Your eyes meet Jake's, his expression still waiting for you to answer his question. But as this rush of clarity takes hold of you, you realize exactly what you've done.

Your eyes are glued to each other, but this now feels different. Everything feels different. It’s as if the air around you is suddenly thick with unspoken words, the gravity of the situation crashing down around you both. He’s just staring at you, his chest still heaving as he tries to slow his own breathing. He clears his throat, breaking the silence that hangs in the air. “Poppy…”

Your head begins shaking, “No, Jake, we– we can’t do this– we…”

You're at battle with your own mind, fighting for what you want versus what you know is right.

His whole body goes rigid, the disappointment in your words written all over his face. He lets out a shaky breath, as if it physically pains him, “No– Don’t say that, we can, Poppy, please,” he begs softly.

“Jake we– we’re strangers. We know nothing about each other anymore. We– You’re a rockstar, you live in Nashville. I live in Detroit, I finally work for a firm. This is what we wanted. Isn’t it? This was our dream right? We can’t– You can’t…”

He swallows hard, trying to process what you’re telling him. You know you’re right, this is what you both wanted. He runs a nervous hand through his hair, his eyes looking for something to distract him from the crushing reality you just threw out in front of him.

“I know,” he whispers. He takes a deep breath, his mind and body still screaming to hold you. But the reality of it all is hitting you both like a train, and he’s trying desperately to keep his mind present in the moment. “I know all of that…I just–I don’t give a damn that I’m a rockstar, or that you live in Detroit,” he mutters, a defensive tone to his voice, “It’s you that’s missing, Pops. All day. All night. It’s you that’s in my head day in and day out. I want you. I always will. That is never going to change. We will never be strangers.”

Tears start to form in your eyes at his confession. You want to go with him. Run away and pretend nothing else matters. But it does, and you can’t. It can never be, no matter how badly you both want it.

His voice cracks, and he can feel the walls around his heart starting to crumble as he looks at you. He reaches out, taking your face in his hands, his thumb brushing over your cheek softly. “It’s always been you, Poppy. It will always be you,” he whispers, his hand continuing to graze over your skin as if he was trying to memorize every tiny detail. “So please, just– forget it all. Come home with me.”

Your lips begin to tremble, knowing that you’re about to break his heart. Again. “Jake… I can’t.” you say, letting a tear slip from your eye.

You see the moment the weight of your words hits him, like a slow motion car crash that feels unavoidable. The look of complete defeat on his face makes you want to take it all back, tell him that you’re just as desperate as he is to throw everything aside. But you can’t. It’s just not possible. He lets his hands fall slowly from your face, and the space between your two bodies growing feels like your heart shattering all over again. “Okay.”

For some reason, that breaks you, your tears falling faster now as you see the pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you breathe, leaning in to kiss him softly one last time.

He returns your kiss with his own, gently taking your face in his palms. It’s as if he’s committing the feel of you to memory, the way he’s holding you, the way your lips fit so perfectly together. He doesn’t want to let go, and he holds the kiss as long as he can, until breathing becomes a desperate fight for air. When he finally does break the kiss, he whispers against your lips just loud enough for you to hear, “It’s still us, Pops.” and with that, he lets you go, leaving him there as small snow flurries begin to fall to the ground.

With a heavy heart you finally make your way inside your childhood home, tossing your coat onto the couch. You collapse into your bed, letting the tears fall now that you’re alone in your solitude again. You can hear the snow falling harder now, tapping against your bedroom window. You can still feel the faint remnants of his touch on your skin, his warmth lingering in your heart as you remember the taste of his lips. Jake. Your Jake. Yours for only minutes before you pushed him away. But you know it's for the best.

You drag yourself up from the bed and change into your cozy pajamas, realizing you are still wearing Jake’s shirt. You bring it to your nose and breathe in his smell, sending you into a new round of tears. You put the shirt back on and crawl back into bed, needing to feel his presence close to you. You bring the neck of the shirt up, enveloping yourself in it like a blanket, your body still trembling with need.

It feels like it's been hours. You're exhausted, but your mind still won't put Jake to rest. There’s no escaping the fact that you're still just as hopelessly in love with him as you were the first time you met. As if he is thinking of you too, your phone buzzes next to your head, his name illuminating the screen with a text.

Jake 1:42 AM: I keep thinking about what happened. I can still taste you on my lips. I know what you said, and I understand but I can’t let it be over, Pops. I just can’t.

Your heart shatters reading his message. You know how he feels because you feel the exact same way. You don’t even know what to say to him, so you just don’t. You lock your phone and put it back on your nightstand, turning off the lamp and attempting to sleep this terrible, beautiful night away. There is, however, an unbelievable thrum between your legs that you can’t seem to ignore.

You toss and turn, trying so hard to sleep, but it’s pointless. The only thought going through your brain is of Jake. That deep need for him is building in intensity, your body wanting his touch desperately, your mind remembering every detail of the time you spent wrapped together against the building just an hour ago. You let your hand wander down beneath the sheets, your fingers pushing beneath the waistband of your pants.

He’s all you can think of. It’s as if the flood gates are now wide open, and you’re finally allowing yourself to let Jake occupy every space in your mind and body, and there is nothing else you need. You close your eyes, but all you can see is Jake’s face. His strong, handsome features, the way his lips form as he speaks…

With your eyes shut tight, you picture his body hovering over yours. The scent of him, his touch, the way his body felt against yours as he leaned into you. You let yourself fantasize about him being here with you, wanting you and only you. You imagine the way his lips felt all over your skin, the way he let his teeth graze over your neck and collarbone. The memory of it makes you shiver and your fingers work faster and faster, seeking the release you’ve craved for so long.

You feel like you’re right at the peak of surrendering to this imaginary version of him, when you hear your phone start to ring. Your eyes shoot open as you pull your hand from under your sheets. You reach for your phone but this time your brain is too hazy to think clearly. You see his name on the screen, along with a picture of him you set as his photo years ago. Against your better judgement you slide your thumb across the screen, needing to hear his voice.

“Hello?” you breathe, your voice coming out as a breathy pant.

His voice sounds soft and vulnerable, “Hey…” he breathes, sighing on the other end of the line, “I didn’t think you’d answer…I was just laying here, can’t sleep. I don’t know why I called, I just, I saw you read my text earlier and you didn’t answer– I don’t want this to be us. I never want that.”

“I know,” you pause, trying to even your breathing, “I'm sorry.”

“How can this be it?” his voice sounds strained now, the emotion in it pulling at your heart, “How is this the end? I can't make sense of it, all I can think about is you.”

Hearing his deep, gravely voice has your hand slipping back under the sheets, resuming its previous work. “I– I never said it was the end…”

“The way you walked away sure made it seem that way,” he says, and it breaks you in two.

“It took everything I had Jake, you have to know that,” you say, your voice even more breathy than before and you know that you need to calm down before he takes notice, but the sound of his voice has your hand continuing to move.

He notices the slight change in your tone, picking up on the way your breathing gets more shallow and more uneven, “Are…Are you okay? You sound…different. Where are you? You sound like you’re out of breath.”

“I'm at home now. In my bed,” you pause, breathing into the phone, “Where are you?”

He lets out a shaky sigh into the phone. You know he’s figured it out, and if you know him like you think you do he isn’t going to change the subject.

He wants nothing more than to be there, to hear every noise he could pull out of you, to feel every shiver and tremble as he worships every inch of your body. “I’m…I’m in my bed too. But I haven’t turned the light off yet.”

“Turn it off, Jake,” you breathe.

Your self control is gone. You want this. No, you need this.

You can hear him inhale a sharp, stuttering breath, a quiet, breathy moan escaping him as he takes in your words. He knows what you’re asking for. He’s wanted it in some form for years. The phone jostles a few times before he says, “Done.”

You hum in response, continuing to run your fingers through your soaking wet folds. Something about the sound of his voice and the smell of his cologne wrapped around you has you soaking in this moment and throwing your cares to the wind.

“Let me send an Uber, Poppy, please,” he manages to breathe, the desperation in his words sending a shiver down your spine. “Come to my hotel. I fucking hate not finishing what I start.”

“So finish it,” you tease.

“God damn. Get in the Uber, Y/N.”

“No, no Uber. Just this. Just...talk to me Jake,” you whine.

His breath catches in his throat and he lets out a groan, the sound going straight to your core. You can hear him moving around in his bed, shifting to a more comfortable position, the sheets rustling as he does. You know he wants to touch himself, but he’s trying to resist. “I don’t know if I can just talk. Not knowing you’re…like that.”

“For what it’s worth, you felt better,” you confess in an airy breath.

“Fuck, Pops,” he groans, “You don’t even know how many times I’ve thought about you like that. I’d die to have you on my fingers again.”

“I want you,” you breathe, “But I know this is the only way I can have you.”

He is quiet for a bit, the only sounds you can hear from him are the heavy breaths he’s trying so hard to control. You’re picturing it all, imagining exactly what he looks like on the other end of the line.“You can have me,” he whispers, his voice low and rough, “I’m all yours, baby.”

“You've never been mine, Jake…”

“I’ve always been yours,” his words are spoken quickly, his voice almost a pleading whine. “I’ve always been yours. You’ve always been mine. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

His words sear through you, your fingers circling your clit faster now, causing a whine of pleasure to leave your chest.

“Fucking hell, Poppy.” His voice comes through the phone, raw and ragged. “Are you…Is there a way…Can I see you at least?”

You think about it for a second, and you know the sight of him will send you straight to that sweet release you've been chasing all night. “Only if you join me…” you counter.

“Do you think my hand isn’t already wrapped around my cock, listening to you whimper like that? Thinking about you touching yourself in all the ways I’ve dreamed of?”

“Show me, Jake.” you breathe.

You quickly switch your phone to Facetime, your thumb hesitating over the call button. You know that there’s no coming back from this, but you can’t help yourself. You need to see him, and you’re not going to let your fear stop either of you from taking what you both want. “Answer the call.”

You press the button and watch as his face fills your screen, his chest heaving with each ragged breath he takes, his silver necklace laying against his body. He’s propped up against the headboard, his skin flushed with a light sheen of sweat that makes your body heat up even more. “You…” he whispers, “God, look at you. You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

“Jake…” you moan his name, your hand moving faster and faster.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty. I can’t….I need…” he stops, unable to find the right words.

You stop suddenly, realizing that he can’t see that much of you. “Hold on,” you say, dropping your phone to the bed as you peel your shirt over your head, leaving your chest exposed. This will be the first time he’s seen you like this, but you feel more confident than ever. You prop your phone up on a pillow, allowing him the full visual of you.

He sucks in a sharp breath as your shirt comes off, his eyes going wide as he stares at your bare chest, completely mesmerized by you. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, his eyes glued to your body, “You are so perfect. It’s not even possible that someone is this perfect,” You watch his hand move, disappearing under the sheets and moving slowly down his body until he starts to move the sheets so you can watch. “I want you to see me, too.”

It’s dark but you watch as he props his phone up the same way, giving you the exact same view. His cock is hard and throbbing in his hand, bigger than you ever dreamed of, but exactly what you felt beneath his pants at the bar tonight. “Jake, I wish–”

“Say it,” he responds quickly, unable to wait another second to hear your words. He’s almost painfully hard right now, but he needs to hear it all. “Please say it, baby. Talk to me.”

The new pet name sends you spiraling, admitting things you would never admit in the light of day. “I want to feel you. I need to know how you would feel inside of me. I need you, Jake. All of you,” you whine, watching his hand stroke his cock a little faster.

“Fuck, I’ve never wanted anything like I want that. I need you, too. I need to feel every single inch of your body. I need to do all the things I’ve dreamed about. You have no idea how many times I’ve laid here thinking of you. Wishing that I had you in my bed.” He stops his hand, trying to keep his mind together. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” you answer.

He pauses for a moment, as if he’s afraid to give in to the moment completely. But his need for you is stronger than his common sense. “Take your panties off, but don't touch yourself again. Not until I tell you to. I want you to listen, I want you to feel this.”

You comply, sliding your panties over your legs and tossing them to the floor. He can see all of you now, your wetness glowing in the dim light of the phone.

“You’re everything,” he moans softly, his hand moving again. “You are as perfect now as you’ve ever been. I can’t believe I’m seeing you like this.”

“Tell me what to do, Jake,” you plead.

The control he’s desperately trying to keep is starting to crack. Every part of him is wanting to rip that phone from his hand and be there with you. “Touch your inner thighs,” he requests, his voice sounding low and strained. “Just your thighs, don’t touch anywhere else.”

You comply, running your fingers over your thighs as the sound of his voice gives you goosebumps.

He watches you, his eyes glued to the way your fingers move over your skin. His hand slowly working over himself, his need to touch you growing. “Good girl…Does it feel good to touch your skin?” he asks, his hand moving faster.

“Yes, but I wish it was you,” you admit, your legs starting to shake with anticipation.

“I know,” he whispers, “I know, babydoll. You have no idea how desperately I need it to be my hands.” He bites the inside of his cheek, fighting back the words he wants to say.

“Jake,” you practically moan his name, your back arching as the need for him consumes you from the inside out. You let your eyes flutter closed as you let your hands roam over that most sensitive part of you. “It feels so good but it’s not enough. I need to…I need…” you plead, your whimpers filling the void between you.

He can’t take it anymore. Your desperate whimper has shattered the last bit of his resolve, leaving only pure desire in its place. As much as he wants to watch, to see every bit of you come unraveled, he can’t stand it anymore. He has to see you. “Look at me, baby.”

Your eyes flick to his, seeing them dark and blown out with lust.

“Spread your legs, let me see you,” he growls, and slowly you do as he says, placing the phone back down against the pillow.

Watching you spread your legs is the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. The way you’re trembling underneath your own touch makes him let out a soft moan, his hand starting to work faster. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes, completely entranced by you. “Touch your clit for me, baby.”

Your hand moves without hesitation as his words ignite something inside of you. He gasps, completely hypnotized by everything he’s seeing. “Slowly, baby,” he whispers, drinking every moment in. “Don’t rush it.”

Your fingers move in soft, slow circles over your clit as you do what he requests, desperate to obey him. You’re already so close to that edge, his voice is sending you flying. “That’s it, just like that,” he’s praising you, and the look in his eyes says he’s as close as you are. “Keep doing it, baby. Don’t stop.”

“Are you touching yourself, Jake? Are you hard for me?” you ask, knowing he needs this release as much as you do.

He groans, his head dropping back as your voice fills his ears. “God, yes. You have no idea how hard I am right now. All I want….No, all I need is to bury myself inside of you. I need to feel you, all of you, every warm inch… I need it more than air. I need you, baby. I need you so badly.” he says, flipping his phone around to show you his beautiful cock as he works it with his hand. Precum has started to gather on the tip and you wonder how he tastes.

“I want to taste you, Jake. I want to feel you in my throat. I want to swallow down every last inch of you. So fucking bad,” you whine.

“Jesus…” his words come out as a strangled gasp. “I want that, too. I’ve dreamed of having your mouth wrapped around me, of seeing you on your knees, swallowing my cum. I want it so badly, baby. I’d give you everything.” he says. “Put two fingers in baby, move your thumb to your clit.”

You sink two fingers into yourself, the camera positioned perfectly for him to watch how your body takes the digits. “Oh god, Jake,” you cry, wishing more than anything it was him.

“Oh fuck, look at you. I’m never going to forget this. I’m never going to be the same after seeing you like this.” He takes a moment to just watch your body, his hand still moving furiously on his length. “I need you to keep going, just like that, but start with a third one. I want to see how much you can take, because that’s how much I’m going to give you. As soon as I get my hands on you, I’m going to wreck you, Poppy.”

“Please Jake, I’m so close,” you whine, adding a third finger.

His chest is heaving, his hand moving at a rapid pace. His eyes watch your every movement, drinking it all in. “I know, baby,” he responds, his voice ragged. “I can see you getting tight around those fingers. I need to hear you Poppy, I need to see your face as you come for me.”

“Come with me, Jake. Please,” you beg.

“Together, then, ” he breathes. “I’m fucking close. Come for me, baby. Right now.” He’s on the edge, and watching you is going to take him over. “I’m right there, you have no idea. Just come, baby. Look at me, let me see my girl fall apart for me.”

Your eyes lock on his as you fall apart against your own fingers. Your mind tricks you into thinking it's him, letting loose the most powerful release you’ve felt in years as his name falls from your lips.

He sees the wave hit you, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Hearing his name in that moment does it, it’s all he needs. He gasps as he watches you and lets go, “Fuuuuck,” he whimpers, shuddering as release begins to wash over him. “Y/N…Poppy...” he grunts, “I’m coming, I’m fucking coming,” he grunts, his body tensing as his cum lands on his bare chest in several hot spurts.

It’s like a freight train, the way it builds and then comes crashing down. And then it’s over. All that’s left besides the ragged breathing is the blissful silence. And as it clears, you find him there staring at you like it’s the first time he’s seen you. He looks so vulnerable, so open. His body is still, but his chest is rising and falling as the last hints of what you did are still visible on his chest in the dim light. The words hang between you, heavy with the impact of everything you just did.

“Poppy,” he whispers, still catching his breath.

That word breaks your heart, and you find yourself unable to speak for a minute. The weight of all of this is taking over your chest and you have to swallow to find your voice. “Jake,” is all you can manage to say.

He just stares at you. It’s like a dream. You’ve been here, in this moment a million times, but it’s never been real until tonight. All of this feels so impossible, and you’re still trying to make sense of it.

“I…” he tries to speak, but his voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t know what to say.”

Your guilt overtakes you, “I'm sorry...That I ran from you again. I didn’t want to. I just–”

He shakes his head, the pain of it all visible in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” he says softly, his voice almost a whisper. “I get it. We both know why you did. I just wish…” he trails off, the words caught in his throat.

“I wish things were different,” you finish.

“Yeah,” he sighs heavily, the weight of it all hitting him. “We’ve been wishing that since the day we met,” It hangs in the air for a bittersweet moment before he speaks again. “Maybe in another life.”

“Yeah, maybe so,” you whisper. “But Jake?”

“Yeah, P?” The way he says it, the way he says your name, it feels so intimate.

“We’re still us, right?” you ask, your eyes welling with tears. You hope he doesn’t notice.

He stares at you for a moment, taking everything in. “Yeah, we’re still us.” He responds quietly. There’s a long pause before he speaks again, but his face is filled with so many different emotions. “We’ll always be us.”

A single tear falls down your cheek, “You promise? Forever?”

His heart is breaking, watching that tear fall. He’s desperate to brush it away, but he can’t. He can’t touch you. He can’t hold you. He can’t tell you that it’ll be okay. He just has to watch from afar, wishing for more. “Yes, baby. Forever. I promise.”

You nod your head and swallow down the lump in your throat, finally meeting his eyes again, “Happy New Year, Jake.”

You can tell he is shattered just the same as you are, but he is doing everything he can to keep it together. “Happy New Year, Poppy,” he responds quietly, trying his absolute hardest to steady his voice. “I’m glad you were my midnight kiss.”

“Me too, Jake…” you trail off.

He forces a soft smile, trying desperately to hold on. “I should let you get some rest,” he says quietly, the words making his chin tremble.

You nod, “Yeah, it’s late…”

“Okay,” he whispers, hating every second of this. “You get some sleep.”

“You too,” you murmur.

“I’ll try,” he says, his voice so weak. “Goodnight, my beautiful Poppy.”

Your voice comes out cracked and thick with emotion, “Goodnight, Jake.”

You want so badly to say more. But the lump in your throat is too strong. You stare at him through the screen, trying to memorize every tiny detail in this moment, knowing that this is how things are going to be.

“Bye, love,” he breathes, desperately hoping that you don’t hear the word that slipped out, but you do. The screen goes dark, the call ending as you drop your phone to the bed.

For a minute, you just lie there, staring into the darkness. It just feels so empty without him. The loneliness is almost oppressive, and you need…something. You’re desperate for his touch, for his smell, for anything. You finally sit up, grabbing his shirt that you had pulled off earlier and putting it back on. You crawl under the covers, pulling the shirt over your head.

You curl up to his shirt, pulling it up over your nose and closing your eyes. It feels like if you could just will it hard enough, maybe you’d feel him here, in your bed, holding you. But you can’t, and you know you have to live with the memories of how he felt pressed up against you at the bar, instead. He’s just a few miles away, on the other side of town, in his bed, probably thinking the same goddamn thoughts. And here you are, separated from him, but no less in love with him than you ever were. Your arm is draped over your pillow, your eyes fixed on the wall across from the bed. You’re trying desperately not to cry, but the tears start anyway. You pull his shirt over your eyes, trying to just disappear in it, hoping it will give you just a bit of comfort. But it doesn’t.

You know you have to live with the decision you made, even though it's not what either of you wants. You let yourself cry until you can’t anymore and then you just lie there, in the darkness of your childhood bedroom, holding his shirt like a goddamn lifeline. You’re fighting the sobs that are trying to tear out of your chest.

It just doesn’t make sense. You’ve always been so sure of yourself, and of your life. But right now, the only thing you can be sure of is that you love this man more than you ever thought possible, and you’re going to have to spend the rest of your life knowing that you will never be able to tell him how you really feel about him. How you’ve always felt about him, because though it may be true, it doesn’t change anything. You can’t be together, and that's what hurts the most.

November 10, 2026

Detroit, Michigan

You drop your car keys into the ceramic dish by your front door, the metallic clang echoing through the house. Your coat is dripping with rain, the weather not giving you a single ray of sun the entire day, in fact the forecast even calls for snow. As you hang it on the coat rack you’re sure to fish your phone out of your pocket, still receiving a few sporadic birthday texts here and there.

There’s a text from your parents congratulating you on your milestone birthday, a few messages from friends and of course the obligatory ones from random old classmates you haven’t seen since high school. You’re almost at the bottom of the messages when you’re suddenly hit with a wave of disappointment. You don’t know if you were expecting him to reach out today, but it doesn’t make you feel any less deflated that he hasn’t. Not a call, not a text, no flowers, nothing. Part of you wonders if he’s finally moved on from your friendship, or whatever it was.

Today was a busy day like any other, maybe even busier than usual. You spent most of the day preparing your client in the office for trial next week. It’s everything you’ve ever worked for. You were finally living the life you always dreamed of, but for some reason, you knew something was missing. It felt incomplete.

You drop onto the couch, the heavy November rain against the windows is the only noise in the house. Now that you are finally home, your exhaustion is starting to hit you, and your thirty minute commute in the rain and traffic didn’t help. You reach for the remote on the coffee table and flick the T.V. on. Nothing is really jumping out at you as you browse through the channels so you just leave it on the news, not really bothering to pay attention.

You can’t help but dwell on the fact that you haven’t heard from Jake today. Today of all days is the one you count on each year. Big beautiful poppies always show up at your door when you least expect it, but now at 6:30 with no delivery trucks in sight, you let your heart fall. You lean your head back against your couch, letting your eyes close as you think of all the years you took it for granted. You can’t help but smile when you think about it. How thoughtful he was to send poppies specifically. They always were significant to you, a special moment between you and Jake all those years ago.

You can remember it clear as day. Jake was the first to get his license having a birthday in April, his beat up old sedan now his pride and joy. He insisted he drive you everywhere, to school, to work, everywhere. He just loved the freedom. It was about a month after he got his license when you got a text from him, telling you he wanted to take you somewhere. This wasn’t strange because again, he insisted on driving you everywhere. But this was different, it was early in the morning, and he told you it was a bit of a drive. He gave you no other details, but told you to be ready for him to pick you up in an hour. It was a warm day, dressing yourself in a pair of cut off shorts and a tank top, fastening your hair into a braid as you waited to hear his car pull into your driveway.

The engine of the car was loud, the windows rolled down. Music was blasting from the stereo as you opened the passenger door to the car. He was already turned to face you, a wide grin on his face, “You ready?” he asks, looking you up and down, with a nod you reach for the door handle as he speaks again.“Well, get in, we’ve got a drive ahead of us.”

You spent two whole hours on the road, him not giving you a single clue to where you were going the entire time. You’d never been with him in the car for this long, but there wasn’t a single nerve coursing through you. You were completely at ease, you remember that perfectly. He sang along to every song that came on and you couldn’t help but to stare at him, even then you were totally and utterly in love with him.

When the car started to slow, you saw it. Right there through the passenger side window you saw the biggest field of flowers you’d ever seen. You didn’t even know the place existed. It was stunning, as far as the eye could see, flowers. Thousands of them. Red, yellow, orange, pink, every color you could imagine. Your eyes were filled with wonder, and you looked over at him, his eyes still on the road, but his smile was present.

“I knew you would love this,” he said as he pulled off the main road. He brought the car to a stop and turned to look at you, studying the awestruck look on your face. “Come on,” he said simply, climbing out of the car and walking around to your side to open the door for you.

As you got out you walked along the overgrown pathway towards the field of flowers, the sun shining down harshly on your shoulders as bees buzzed around overhead. “Where are we?” you asked, letting him lead you.

“Fennville,” he smirks, flipping his sunglasses down to his nose.

“How did you know this was here, we are in the middle of nowhere?” you question.

“Heard some people talking about it at Kroger, thought of you.” he answers, rubbing his hand over his mouth.

“Do you know what kind of flowers these are? I’ve never seen them before.”

“Yeah, they’re poppies.” he smiles, snatching one up from the ground and tucking it behind your ear. Your heart swelled at the act and it was right then you had a new favorite flower.

He led you deep into the field, the two of you spending hours exploring and picking the beautiful flowers. He eventually sat down in the middle of the field, lying down to watch the sky, patting the ground next to him for you to join him. You laid next to him, your heads turned to look at one another. You remember exactly how the sun cast his face in the most incredible glow, the flecks of gold in his eyes stood out more than ever, and the freckles that dotted his nose were almost shimmering. Your mind drifts back to how effortlessly you two could just be together. You couldn’t get enough of his attention, and he was never scared to give it to you. You just existed together, comfortably, calmly.

He twirled a beautiful red petaled stem between his fingers as he looked up to the sky, listening to the nature that surrounded the two of you. “You know, these kind of remind me of you.” he says, softly.

“Really?” you breathe, feeling sleepiness take you over as you lounge in the warm sun.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, staring at the flower between his fingers. “They’re not afraid to stand out, to be bold. They grow wild and free and they are just so full of joy. You can’t help but smile when you see them. The rest of the field is so plain, but they fight to get their share of the sun. Just like you.” He looks over at you when you don’t respond. You’re almost asleep, the heat of the sun and the beautiful afternoon sending you into a blissful trance.

You turn to look over at him, he is staring up at the sky, his profile completely visible. You’d never been around anyone who paid such close attention to the little details about you, the thought alone made your heart skip a beat.

“So soft and beautiful,” he continues, letting the stem fall from his fingers and reaching over to lightly lay the flower between the two of you, “and you’re just as unique as these are. They don’t grow everywhere, they’re rare.”

You let his words sink into you, and unbeknownst to him you felt exactly the same way about him. You looked to the field, the poppies dancing hypnotically in the breeze around you, and the colors on their petals almost sparkled in the sunlight. You were surrounded by hundreds of thousands of them, and every single one of them was beautiful.

That was the day your nickname was born, Jake refusing to call you anything else after that. You loved it, it was special, and no one else knew why. They didn’t need to. There was no hiding the flush from your cheeks that day, or the flutter in your heart each time he let it slip out. You couldn’t deny its significance, you were completely lost to the boy that was lying next to you in the field of poppies, and you didn’t know it then, but you always would be.

As beautiful and special as the memory was to you, it also hurt, knowing that today was the first time since that day that he hasn’t sent them to you on your birthday. The memory now feels tainted and forgotten. You pull yourself up from the couch and make your way into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine to try and ease the pain that has suddenly crept up upon you.

You feel the cold air from the open fridge as you pull out a bottle of Pinot Grigio, the neck of the bottle clinks against the edge of the glass as you fill it up more than you should. You move to the counter and lean against it, staring blankly out the kitchen window into your backyard. Darkness has settled in, and you're reminded once again that you are entirely alone with these thoughts. No one to pull you out of your head, no one to whisper sweet nothings to you.

You even tried to make plans with friends tonight, hoping to share a few drinks and laughs to ring in your thirtieth, but each person you asked had plans, or perfectly valid reasons they couldn’t. Families to tend to, and partner work events. If you didn’t feel alone then, you certainly do now. It’s not like the weather was the best either, all around this day was a bust.

You stand in the empty kitchen, surrounded by all the silence and feeling so utterly alone. You lift the glass to your lips and take a heavy swig. You try to shake off the feeling that this might just be the most miserable birthday you've ever had. Unable to stand the silence a moment longer you wander over to your album collection, your fingers searching through the shelf for the one album you know will help soothe the ache inside you. You smile when you see the familiar cover, pulling the vinyl from the sleeve and placing it gently on the turntable. The unmistakable sound of Bad Company begins to play through the speakers as you sit on your couch and drink your wine, wondering where Jake is tonight and if he feels this too.

You stare out the window, watching the rain and now snow fall together, your head starting to feel fuzzy. You drink your wine as you listen to “Weep No More”, wishing that it would numb you in ways that would make the ache disappear, but it doesn’t. It just reminds you of how lonely you are, how lonely you have been for so long. As the guitar solo sounds through the speakers, you lean your head back against the couch and close your eyes.

Next thing you know you find yourself waking on your couch, the record begging to be flipped and your wine glass empty on your coffee table. The rain is still pouring and the clock now reads 8:43. You decide to call it a night, placing your glass in the sink and closing the turntable until next time. You drag yourself upstairs, changing into a pair of pajamas and pulling your hair into a knot at the top of your head. You crawl into your bed, ready for this day to be over and as you turn off the light, the last thought on your mind is Jake. Just like always.

It's hard to fall asleep, your brain just won't shut off. Your mind is still working overtime, memories playing in double time. It's a vicious cycle, and a cycle that you get stuck in every year on your birthday. Each year, one year older but no less sad. You close your eyes tightly, doing the only thing you can do right now which is force yourself to fall asleep. Or try to, at least.

As you start to drift off thunder clatters in the distance and though it’s soothing, it wakes you, causing you to toss and turn. Just as your eyes begin to close, you hear it again, but it sounds strange. A few seconds later you hear it again, and your brain fully wakes as you sit up in your bed. You listen again for the sound, and as you hear it you realize it's not thunder at all, but the sound of someone knocking on your front door.

A bolt of panic runs through you. Who the hell would be at your door at this time of night? You look at your phone, it's almost ten-thirty. No one you know would be stopping by unannounced, and at this hour? You get up, quietly walking from your room, down the stairs and toward the front door. As you get closer, the rain and the knocking both get louder, causing you to grow even more confused as nerves start to gather in your stomach.

You take a deep breath as you gather your courage, twisting the lock and opening the door. The second the door opens, a gust of cool, wet air blows through the house. The rain, now seemingly heavier than before pours onto your front porch step, the sound almost drowning out the sound of your thumping heart. You peer through the dark, rain drenched night and you swear your heart stops at the sight. Your mind can hardly comprehend what you’re seeing.

In the dark, with rain pouring down around him, you see Jake. In jeans, a t-shirt and a very drenched leather jacket, holding the largest bouquet of multi-colored poppies you’ve ever seen, petals heavy with rain.

“Poppy?” he says. He's breathing hard and he looks incredibly panicked. You again notice the bouquet in his trembling hand and your brain starts to piece the situation together.

“Jake? What’re you–”

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I was supposed to be here hours ago, but there was a wreck once I hit 75, and then the traffic–” he says, water dripping from the end of his nose as he talks.

A wave of shock washes over you at the fact he's really here. Right here at your doorstep no less. “Oh my god– Come inside!” you urge, seeing his cold, wet body start to shake.

He nods his head and starts to shake the water off of himself like a dog as he steps into your house. His hair is sopping wet, and the way his shirt clings to his chest…well, you’re trying to push down that thought. He looks like he’s barely holding it together. As soon as you shut the door behind him he holds out the bouquet, wanting you to grab it. “Happy Birthday, Pops, sorry they’re late.”

Your heart shatters. Of course he didn't forget. “Jake...Thank you...But– You're here, in Detroit, what are you–”

“It’s your birthday, Pops,” His voice is shaky and his body is shivering slightly. He's soaking wet and he's going to get sick if he stands here in those wet clothes any longer. So, you reach out and take his hand, tugging him with you as you walk toward your living room. He follows you in and stands awkwardly next to the couch as you turn to face him. You can’t take your eyes off of him, and you notice the look in his eyes is off, like your presence has him hypnotized. You notice his eyes move up and down your body, taking in your pajamas.

You quickly look down at yourself, feeling slightly self conscious and he instantly notices. He shakes his head as if reading your mind. “No, don’t. You look perfect to me.”

You feel bashful, and unsure of what to say, so instead you rush to the bathroom to grab a towel for him to start drying himself off.

“Thank you.” he mumbles and takes the towel from you, trying to dry his face and hair. You watch as he rubs the towel over his head, his shirt comes off his body and you're almost knocked backward. There were a few times throughout the years you'd see him shirtless but, my god, did he look good now. You're trying to take little glances, hoping he's too busy drying off to notice.

“Jake, don’t think that I don’t want you here, but…Normally you just…send the flowers. I can’t believe you drove eight hours to deliver them, in this weather no less…” you question, crossing your arms across your braless chest.

He stops drying his hair and stares at you. You can see the look in his eyes. It’s intense, and it’s not just because he’s freezing. He’s trying to read you, he’s searching for something. He stands there, in his wet jeans, with only a towel thrown over his shoulders. He is looking at you intensely, and your heart starts to pound in your chest.

He bites his lip, and his eyes dart down your body for a split second. He swallows and continues to dry his hair, the air around you suddenly feeling much heavier. He looks you in your eyes. “The flowers didn’t feel like enough this year.”

“Jake, they are always enough. They are more than enough,” you whine.

He drops the towel to his side, the damp strands of hair clinging to his face. You see his chest rising and falling, trying to steady his breathing, but he seems to be failing. He walks towards you and you back up until you are pressed against the wall. He gets in so close you can feel his body heat, and he gently reaches up to take your chin into his hand. His fingers are still cold, and the feeling of them on your skin almost burns. His voice is rough as he looks at you deeply, he’s searching every inch of your face. “No. I couldn’t let you be alone, to sit there all night long with a glass of wine in your hand, just staring at the flowers. Not this year, Pops. This year is different.”

“Different?” you breathe.

“It's your thirtieth birthday, Poppy.” he smirks.

“Yeah?” you answer, still not on the same train of thought he seems to be on.

He takes a deep breath, and you can see the nervous look come over his face again. His eyes flick down to the floor, his cheeks start to get red. He can’t look at you. This entire thing is so incredibly intense, and you can feel the anticipation in the air. He takes a deep breath and then lets his eyes meet yours.

“You know, I have traveled all over the world. I have seen people and places so beautiful your mind can hardly comprehend it. I’ve seen waterfalls and caverns, and cliffs and fields so big and vast you feel small compared to them. What I’m saying is that, I’ve been to so many places and seen so many beautiful things, but none of them, nothing, compares to you.”

You blink at him, awestruck by his words. “Jake…”

He doesn’t give you a second to speak. He’s nervous and he’s scared, and all of this is coming out unfiltered. “I mean it, I’ve been to so many gorgeous places, I’ve met so many people and nothing has captivated me the way you do. I have searched the whole damn world, and everywhere I looked, I was looking for you. Always looking for you, thinking about you.”

You don’t even know what to say. Just two hours ago you were laying in your bed missing him, and now hes here, in front of you spilling his soul.

“I could go to the edge of the ocean and see the beauty of the sunrise, but it’s nothing compared to the way your eyes light up when you laugh. No matter where I go, or how many new things I see, I can tell you that there isn’t another you. You’re rare. You’re my one in a million, wild and free Poppy. I’d give up every single thing I have to wake up next to you in that poppy field again, just to be next to my girl. Just me and you.”

Your lips part to speak but he’s not done.

“It's been twelve years since that night in my basement. Twelve years that I have thought of you day in and day out. I know that at the time you probably didn't mean it. Who really means anything they say when they're eighteen?” he laughs. “The thing is, I did. I did mean it Pops. You're all I’ve ever wanted, so much so that I signed the back of a gas station receipt to prove it.” he says, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He reaches inside and pulls out a well worn, tattered and wrinkled receipt, barely hanging on to life. Signed on the back with both of your names. Your heart lurches in your chest as your fingers grab the delicate paper from him.

He rubs his hand over his mouth, trying to find the courage to keep going. “And I still mean it today, Poppy. Twelve years later, and I still feel it, I still feel everything…for you.” His eyes don’t break from yours, and you can feel all the walls he’s put up starting to come crumbling down. You can see that he’s terrified, but he’s fighting to keep those emotions tucked away. “I’m ready to make good on that pact, Y/N. I never forgot. Not for a second.”

You look at the receipt in your hands, seeing the words scribbled down so carelessly, promising yourselves to each other at age thirty. Your names are still there, though the pen is faded. You hadn’t thought about that night since it happened, and seeing this has flooded your mind with the memory. The night you kissed him for the first time. “I can’t believe you still have this.”

“Of course I do,” he says, his voice shaking. “It’s the only thing that has kept me going. How do you think I got through all these years?” His eyes are still locked on yours, he is trying so goddamn hard to keep everything inside him. He’s fighting the tears that are attempting to come, “Every time I thought time was up, every time it looked like we wouldn’t make it, that this thing we have was hopeless…I’ve had that piece of paper. It was something to hold on to...” his voice drifts off, his eyes are watering now. “A piece of you when I couldn’t have the real thing.”

You see his eyes fill with tears, and you can’t take it anymore. You reach out to him, your hand touches his stubbly cheek. You wipe his tears away with your thumb. You’re not even sure what to say right now or what to do, just that you need to touch him. He reaches up and grabs your hand, holding it against his face, desperate for your touch.

The walls are coming down, he can no longer hold back. “God…you have no idea, no idea at all the hold you’ve had on me, Poppy. You don’t understand how much I’ve loved you for so long. You know how much I still do. Even if I never said it, even if I didn’t fight for it…I still kept loving you, more and more with every single day. You were always there, in my heart, in my mind. For twelve years, shit, longer than that, you’ve been my everything.”

Love. He loves you. He’s always loved you.

“Jake, I lo–”

He pulls your hand from his cheek, resting your fingers on his mouth as he slides them across his lips, taking in the feeling of you. Then, his eyes meet yours again. “And listen, I don’t even know if you have a boyfriend, or– or if you’re seeing anyone…I never let myself look, but I’m here, I have time, and I want this Poppy. I want you. I want to do this. It’s finally time for us.”

This feels like you’re in a dream. You’re watching some fantasy of yours unfold right in front of you. You would be convinced that this isn’t really happening, if it weren’t for your hand still against his lips. Your heart aches, and you feel like maybe it’s too good to be true. The man you’ve been in love with since you were young, the man who keeps you awake at night, is telling you what you’ve dreamed of.

“Jake, you– you want to be… with me? Like…that?”

“Of course I do,” he says, his voice cracking, “I’ve wanted it forever. I wish I could go back and change things all those years ago….I wish we could have just been together the whole time. But right now…I just need you to hear me when I say that I want you, I’ve always wanted you. I’ve only held on and I’ve only pushed through for you. Everything I’m doing is for you. For us. You’re my girl, Pops. I’m ready to make it official.”

You feel your own eyes starting to well with tears, the words coming from his lips are everything you’ve ever wanted. The part of your life that has felt so incomplete has suddenly vanished from the second you opened your front door. It’s him, it’s always been him, and now he’s here, asking you to be with him in the way you planned all those years ago.

“I won’t promise you that it’ll be easy. This isn’t going to be pretty. We’re not kids anymore. We’re not those two dumb teenagers who made a promise on a piece of paper not knowing what life had in store for them. We’re in the real world now, and it’s messy. It's hard. We both have demanding jobs and work long, tiring hours, but I know we can do this. I want to do this. With you. No one else.” he whispers as he rubs your cheek with the back of his fingers, his knuckles dragging along your skin like he’s trying to absorb the feeling of you.

“But– Married? That seems like a big leap,” you breathe.

His mind drifts for a moment as he tries to put together the words. “Is it a big leap? I don't think it is. If you think about how long I've loved you, the idea of us being together, it's not too soon. I've waited twelve years to be here with you. I've taken every single step just to get to this moment, and now I know, even through all the bullshit, there's no one else for me. I want to be married to you.”

“It just– it seems scary,” you whisper, feeling his hand wrap around your waist.

He steps even closer, his hand wrapping around you and pulling you against him. His damp chest pressed to your thin tank top. You can hear the sound of his breathing, and feel his hands as they roam gently over your body. “It is scary, it’s terrifying. Being without you is scary, and the idea of me losing you completely scares me the most. But, what if we just try? What if we stop running and just try?”

Your eyes meet his as his thumb rubs small circles on your lower back.

He leans forward ever so slightly, closing the distance even more between your bodies, like he’s pulled into your gravity. A faint noise escapes his lips as he breathes against your mouth. “Sometimes you just have to jump and trust that the net will appear.”

It’s as if your breath has been stolen from your lungs, “I–”

He’s so close, all you can see is the gold flecks in his eyes. His lips skim across your cheek, your skin is on fire. You can feel the air from his nose brush against your face, his hand around your waist is holding you so close. His touch is lighting you up inside like fire, you’re completely hypnotized by him.

“I want to do this, Y/N. I have a long time off, and I want to spend it with you, making this work. I love you Poppy. I’ve loved you forever. We can do this. Say yes. Say yes to this, Poppy.”

“You’re sure about this?” you breathe, letting your lips brush his.

“Every nerve in my body is telling me this is right. I know in my soul that this is it. It’s you, it’s only ever been you….” he whispers, his hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, pulling your body into him as his mouth ghosts over yours. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me like I want you, P.”

“I want you, Jake. I always have.” you confess, cupping his cheek with your hand. His face falls into your touch as he groans with relief.

“Do you love me?” he asks, his tone vulnerable and pleading.

“Yes. I do. You know I do. I’ve loved you since the day I met you,” you answer, brushing your thumb under his eye.

He breathes against your palm, your name murmured out in a soft whimper. “Say yes, Poppy. Be mine. Marry me.”

There’s no hesitation, no second guessing. You know this isn’t some fairytale that you’re going to wake from. The only man you’ve ever loved, the one man you’ve dreamed of for years is standing in front of you asking you to marry him.

“Yes.” The word falls from your mouth so easily, it's as if you haven’t even thought it through. This could be the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done.

Your heart is pounding, the word feeling so final on your tongue.

And as you look at him, you have no idea what the future will hold, but what you do know is that he’ll be in it, and that’s all you’ve ever wanted.

But… this was Jake. You needed to be fully honest with him.

Your present, real life wasn’t going away. There was a crafted reality that didn’t involve him, in ways you didn’t care to address at this moment.

Though, you couldn’t lie to him. You had to tell him. There was one issue. It wasn’t so drastic that it could get in the way of this for you two, per se. It just seemed wrong to go through with what you felt was about to happen, without informing him of your current situation.

But, logic was escaping you quickly.

As soon as he was leaning in to kiss you, his lips so full and soft, you lost the ability to rationally think. Any thought besides Jake Kiszka himself was far and fleeting from your mind.

Tonight was meant for you two.

Right now, this could be it. All you had to worry about was right now. At this moment, you could venture into a universe where things seamlessly fall into place. Just like you always wanted.

A little secret kept from him in this moment was the least important thing to you as you felt his lips finally brush against yours, his mustache tickling your upper lip.

The harsh beating of your heart calmed as soon as you felt his lips touch yours.

Tonight was tonight.

Tomorrow’s reality could set in just as soon as you felt him like this, the way you've always dreamed of— even if only this once.

Taglist: @wetkleenex-gvf @joshym @farfromthehomelands @sacredstarcatcher @britney-gvf @stardustjake @jakesmustache @starshine-wagner @mweasley19 @emsfallingsky @joopsenthusiast @ageofbajabule @ladywhimsymoon @vanfleeter @myleftsock @joshskittytickler @ageoflou @freefallthoughts @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @literal-dead-leaf @welllauragvf @writingcold @bizzielisteningtogreta @neptune2324 @itsafullmoon @violet-hayes @gvfmarge @demonrat444 @mybussyinchrist @cl0ver-j4de @earthgrlsreasy @what-i-read-home-of-reblogs-mama @mama-likes72 @lenagvf @laurngvf @racheljuneeee @farfromthehomelands @cat3rpillarbaby @cassiesgreta @jarmonicasweat@ghostly--photography @josh-iamyour-mama @raviolilegs @gvfmarge @milkgemini @jaketlove @watchingover-hypegirl @ageoflou @cl0ver-j4de @takenbythemadness @lightmyloverry

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weekendpassrevoked · 3 months ago

Text

Easy's Songbird - Chapter 13 *new*

authors note: for you who have already read the original chapter 13, this is the new version. you can refer to the masterlist on my tumblr to see what is old and new.

welcome! as you can see, this chapter has been completely rewritten. one of the main things i realized with the original formatting of this story was that i was jumping major events crucial to the timeline and development of easy company. the ft.benning march being one of them. as such, please enjoy this important chapter and the music that comes along with it

songs: "I Wanna Be a Cowboy's Sweetheart" - Patsy Montana/Ruby Leigh, "Sixteen Tons" - Traditional American Folk/Tennessee Ernie Ford, "Wayfaring Stranger" - Traditional American Folk/Dolly Parton, "Barbara Allen" - Traditional Scottish Ballad/Dolly Parton, "Red River Valley" - Traditional American Folk/The Andrews Sisters

spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1ogLZLI24Z8aiIKRYiGQdK?si=UGvy7--mRHqP_elLtBASVw&pt=9c9b16e8f348fed463101bf6aa74c8f9&pi=cMRbZGSWQNm1U

Camp Toccoa, August 10th, 1942

The weeks passed by quickly, the warm summer turning into mild autumn. August soon arrived, marking the end of their basic training and the beginning of their basic jump training. Personally, Isabella was elated. The jump training aspect of boot camp had been something Sink hadn't touched upon. He had taught her what would be covered in theory, but never had her physically try it.

As they began, she started to understand why physical fitness was so important as a paratrooper.

The mock door at the training yard loomed over them, a crude simulation of what they'd experience on an actual aircraft. At six feet off the ground, it wasn't particularly high, but the purpose was clear—learn to exit properly or risk injury before you even hit the ground.

Isabella stood in line with the rest of Second Platoon, watching as each man took his turn. Jump, land, roll. Again and again.

"Remember," the Sobel barked, pacing in front of them, "you're carrying gear. You're carrying a weapon. You're jumping into the unknown, potentially under fire. You screw this up, and it won't matter how much PT you've done or how good your marksmanship is. A broken ankle in battle is a death sentence."

Isabella shifted her weight, feeling the familiar knot of anticipation tighten in her stomach. Her gaze flicked toward the front of the line, where Guarnere was readying himself.

"Watch the landing," Gene murmured beside her. "That's where most injuries happen."

She nodded, eyes tracking Guarnere as he jumped, legs together, body slightly curved, landing with a practiced roll that absorbed the impact.

"Nice form," Malarkey commented from behind her. "Bet he practiced that in the mirror."

Skip snorted. "Yeah, right after he practiced his pickup lines."

Isabella bit back a smile, grateful for the momentary distraction from her nerves. She'd faced countless challenges since arriving at Toccoa—grueling runs up Currahee, Sobel's targeted harassment, late-night marches, and the near-constant physical exertion that came with training. But something about jumping, even in practice, stirred a different kind of anxiety.

"Vega," Lipton called, nodding toward the platform. "You're up."

She stepped forward, hyperaware of the eyes on her. It wasn't just her platoon watching now—men from other companies had gradually gathered around the training area, curious about the female paratrooper they'd been hearing about.

"Great," she muttered under her breath, "an audience."

Luz grinned from his spot in line. "Just imagine them in their underwear."

"Luz, that's the opposite of helpful," she replied dryly, earning a few chuckles from the men nearby.

The Sobel eyed her skeptically as she approached the platform. "Remember, keep your legs together, arms in, chin tucked. Land on the balls of your feet, roll to distribute the impact."

"Yes, sir," she replied, climbing up.

Standing at the edge, she took a deep breath, mentally running through the instructions. The six-foot drop wouldn't normally intimidate her, but knowing this was just the beginning—that in a few weeks they'd be jumping from actual aircraft thousands of feet above the ground—made her pulse quicken.

'Focus, Isabella. You've got this.'

"Now, Corporal!" Sobel barked.

She jumped, tucking her body as instructed, legs together, arms in. The ground came faster than expected, and she hit with more force than she'd anticipated. Her landing was solid, but her roll wasn't as smooth as Guarnere's had been—she came up a bit awkwardly, knees slightly scraped.

"Not bad, Vega," he called, "but you need to soften that landing. You hit like a rock."

She nodded, brushing dirt from her uniform as she moved back to the line.

"Nice job," Gene said quietly as she took her place beside him.

"I botched the roll," she admitted.

He shrugged. "First try. You'll get it."

As the day progressed, they moved from basic jumps to more complex training—landing with gear, accounting for wind drift, emergency procedures. Each repetition helped Isabella refine her technique, but by late afternoon, her muscles ached from the constant impact.

"Alright, listen up," Sobel announced as they gathered for the final briefing of the day. "Tomorrow, we move on to the harness training. You'll learn how to control your descent, how to handle your parachute in different conditions, and most importantly, how to avoid becoming a casualty before you even fire your first shot."

He paused, scanning their faces.

"I don't care how fast you can run Currahee or how many pushups you can do. In the air, you're all equally vulnerable. You train hard, you train right, or you don't jump at all. Is that clear?"

A chorus of "Yes, sir!" rang out.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Dismissed."

As they headed back toward the barracks, Isabella felt a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. Her knees were sore, her palms scraped raw, but there was something undeniably thrilling about what they were learning.

"You okay, Vega?" Winters asked, falling into step beside her. "You took some hard landings out there."

She straightened slightly at his presence, not having noticed his approach. "I'm fine, sir. Just need to work on my technique."

Winters nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I noticed your first few attempts. You're trying to control the landing too much. Sometimes you need to let your body absorb the impact naturally."

She considered his words. "Makes sense. I think I'm overthinking it."

"That's common," he said with a slight smile. "Just remember, we're all learning this for the first time. No one expects perfection on day one."

"Except Sobel," she muttered before she could stop herself.

Winters raised an eyebrow, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Captain Sobel has... high standards," he said diplomatically.

She bit back a smile. "Yes, sir."

As they neared the barracks, Isabella noticed a familiar figure leaning against one of the adjacent buildings, watching their approach. Lieutenant Speirs from Dog Company, his expression unreadable as ever.

Since their brief encounter that early morning months ago, their paths had crossed occasionally—mostly passing glimpses during training exercises or in the mess hall. Each time, there was a strange tension, not exactly uncomfortable but charged with something she couldn't quite name.

Winters noticed her gaze shift. "Lieutenant Speirs seems to take an interest in our training progress," he commented neutrally.

Isabella quickly averted her eyes. "Does he?"

Winters didn't respond immediately, but there was a hint of curiosity in his glance. "Dog Company will be joining us for the advanced jump training at Fort Benning a few months from now," he said finally. "We'll all be working more closely together soon."

She nodded, trying to maintain a casual demeanor despite the unexpected flutter in her stomach. "Good to know, sir."

As they reached the barracks, Winters paused. "Get some rest, Vega. Tomorrow's going to be even more demanding."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

After he departed, Isabella lingered outside for a moment, stretching her sore muscles and enjoying the evening air. When she glanced back toward where Speirs had been standing, he was gone.

Inside the barracks, the men were already discussing the day's training, comparing notes on their performances and speculating about what was to come.

"I'm telling you," Luz was saying as she entered, "they make it out like jumping's the hard part, but it's landing that'll kill you."

Malarkey nodded sagely. "My cousin broke both ankles in a bad landing. Washed out before he ever saw combat."

"That's reassuring," Isabella remarked, dropping onto her bunk with a wince.

Liebgott glanced over. "You took a beating out there, Birdie."

She shrugged, trying to appear unfazed. "I've had worse."

"Yeah, like that time Skip stepped on your foot during drill," Malarkey teased.

Skip threw his hands up in mock defense. "Hey, that was one time!"

"Three times," Isabella corrected, pulling off her boots to examine the emerging bruises on her shins. "I'm pretty sure my toes are permanently flattened."

The banter continued as everyone settled in, the familiar rhythm of their conversations a comforting backdrop. Isabella had grown accustomed to their voices, their habits, their quirks. Despite the rocky start, Second Platoon had gradually accepted her as one of their own—not just tolerating her presence but actively including her.

As she leaned back on her bunk, letting the chatter wash over her, Gene appeared beside her, offering a small tin of medicinal balm.

"For the bruises," he explained quietly. "Trust me, you'll want this tonight if you plan on walking tomorrow."

She accepted it gratefully. "Thanks, Gene. You're a lifesaver."

He huffed a soft laugh. "Not yet. But that's the idea, isn't it?"

Later that night, after most of the men had fallen asleep, Isabella sat on her bunk, journal open in her lap, writing by the dim light filtering through the window.

“August 10th, 1942

Dear Journal,

Jump training started today. It's as challenging as I expected, maybe more so. My body feels like one giant bruise, and we're only beginning. It's hard to imagine doing this for real—leaping from an actual plane, not knowing what's waiting below. There's something terrifying about it, but exciting too.

The men did well today, especially Gene and Guarnere. Even Liebgott, who grumbled the entire time, executed his jumps perfectly. I'm still struggling with the landing. Lieutenant Winters gave me some advice about not overthinking it. I'll try tomorrow.

I saw Lieutenant Speirs again today. He was watching our training from a distance. There's something about him that...

She paused, pen hovering over the page. What was it about Speirs that caught her attention? His intensity? The quiet confidence? The way his gaze seemed to cut through pretense?

...that's different from the other officers. More intense, more focused. Lieutenant Winters says Dog Company will join us for advanced training at Fort Benning, so I suppose we'll be seeing more of him and his men.

I received another letter from Cameron today. He's doing well, advancing in his training. I miss him terribly, along with Lucas, Darren, and Sina. I've been writing to them as often as I can, but it's not the same. I haven’t heard from Michel Alejandro in a while either.

Sometimes I wonder what Mama and Papa would think if they could see me now—jumping from platforms, running miles in full gear, training to parachute into combat. Would they be proud? Terrified? Both?

I'm exhausted, but I can't help feeling that we're building toward something important. These men—my platoon—they've become more than just fellow soldiers. They're becoming something like family.

Time for sleep. Tomorrow brings new challenges.”

She closed the journal, tucking it safely away in her footlocker before settling back onto her bunk. The barracks was quiet except for the soft sounds of sleeping men—Luz's occasional mutter, Skip's light snoring, the rustle of sheets as someone turned over.

Outside, the moon cast silver light across the camp, illuminating the training grounds where tomorrow they would continue their journey toward becoming paratroopers.

Isabella closed her eyes, her body weary but her mind still active, replaying the day's jumps, Winters' advice, the glimpse of Speirs watching from the shadows.

In a few months, they would move on to Fort Benning for the real jumps—actual aircraft, actual parachutes. The thought sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

As sleep finally began to claim her, one thought lingered:

'I'm actually going to jump out of a plane.'

The idea was still as terrifying as it was thrilling. But with each passing day, with each new skill mastered, she was getting closer to becoming what she had set out to be—a true paratrooper.

Camp Toccoa, August 15th, 1942

Five days into jump training, Isabella had finally mastered the landing.

"Much better, Vega," Sobel called as she executed a perfect roll, coming up smoothly to her feet. "You finally stopped fighting gravity."

She grinned, preening at the praise (even if it was from Sobel), brushing dust from her uniform as she rejoined the line. Her body had adjusted to the constant impact, muscles learning to absorb and distribute the force properly. The bruises from her early attempts were fading, replaced by a growing confidence.

"Someone's been practicing," Malarkey remarked as she took her place beside him.

She shrugged, but couldn't hide her satisfaction. "Just took some getting used to."

"Next week we start with the 250-foot tower," Skip reminded them, a hint of nervousness in his voice despite his attempt at nonchalance. "That's a hell of a lot higher than these practice jumps."

Isabella had heard about the towers—massive structures used to simulate actual parachute descents, with trainees suspended from cables to practice controlling their fall. The thought made her stomach tighten, but she pushed the anxiety aside.

"We'll be fine," she assured him, though she wasn't entirely convinced herself.

As the day's training continued, Isabella found herself partnered with Liebgott for a series of equipment checks—practicing how to identify and address parachute malfunctions mid-descent.

"Remember," Sobel emphasized, "you'll have seconds—not minutes—to make these decisions. Hesitate, and you die."

Liebgott examined his mock parachute rigging with careful precision, his usual brashness replaced by focused attention. "Check the risers, then the lines," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Look for tangling, check the canopy..."

Isabella watched his methodical approach with mild surprise. "You're good at this."

He glanced up, a hint of defensiveness in his eyes. "I pay attention."

"I didn't mean it as an insult, Lieb" she clarified. "It's impressive."

His expression softened slightly. "Yeah, well. Not looking to become a pancake on my first jump."

The blunt imagery made her laugh despite herself. "Fair enough."

As they continued through the drill, Isabella noticed a group approaching their training area—Dog Company men, led by Lieutenant Speirs. Her hands fumbled slightly on the rigging, and she silently cursed herself for the momentary lapse in concentration.

Liebgott noticed her distraction, following her gaze. "Dog Company joining the fun?"

"Looks like it," she murmured, returning her attention to the equipment check. "Lieutenant Winters mentioned they'd be integrating into some of our training sessions."

Liebgott made a noncommittal noise, but there was curiosity in his sideways glance. "You know Speirs?"

Isabella kept her expression neutral. "Not really. Met him once or twice."

She could feel Liebgott's skepticism, but mercifully, he didn't press the issue. Instead, he completed his equipment check with exaggerated thoroughness. "All clear. Your turn, Birdie."

As she took over, demonstrating the proper inspection sequence, she was acutely aware of Dog Company watching their training exercise. She refused to look up, focusing entirely on the task at hand, determined not to make any mistakes.

"Good," Sobel commented as she finished. "Remember, your life depends on this equipment. Treat it accordingly."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of training exercises, with Dog Company occasionally rotating through the same stations. Isabella managed to maintain her professionalism, though she couldn't help noticing how different Speirs' company seemed from Easy—more regimented, perhaps, less prone to the banter that characterized her own unit.

By the time they were dismissed for the day, the sun was beginning to sink low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the training field. Isabella's muscles ached from the exertion, but it was a satisfying kind of exhaustion—the proof of progress.

"Hey, Birdie," Luz called as they headed back toward camp. "Rumor is Sobel might let us have a weekend pass coming up before we ship out to Fort Benning. You got plans?"

She raised an eyebrow. "What kind of plans would I have?"

"I dunno, maybe visit that family of yours?" Luz suggested. "You talk about them a lot."

The mention of her family brought a pang of homesickness. "They’re in Florida. That's too far for a weekend pass."

"Well, some of us are heading into town," Malarkey chimed in. "Nothing fancy, just a chance to remember what civilian life feels like."

Isabella considered it. She hadn't left camp since arriving in February, and the prospect of a brief escape was tempting. "Maybe," she said finally. "I'll think about it."

As they approached the main camp, Isabella noticed a figure waiting near the headquarters building—Lieutenant Nixon, seemingly engaged in casual conversation with Speirs. The sight of the two officers together sparked her curiosity, but she kept walking, not wanting to appear nosy.

"Vega," Nixon called as they passed. "Got a minute?"

She stopped, surprised. "Yes, sir."

Nixon nodded toward the headquarters building. "Colonel Sink wants to see you."

The sudden summons sent a ripple of concern through her. "Is everything alright, sir?"

"Just a check-in," Nixon assured her, his expression giving nothing away. "Nothing to worry about."

As she followed Nixon toward headquarters, she was uncomfortably aware of Speirs watching their departure. Something in his gaze felt more assessing than usual, more intent.

Inside, Colonel Sink was waiting, his office as meticulously organized as she remembered.

"Private Vega," he greeted, gesturing for her to take a seat. "How's jump training treating you?"

"Well, sir," she replied, sitting at attention. "It's challenging, but I'm making progress."

Sink nodded, studying her with that same keen observation he'd shown during their early training sessions. "I've been receiving regular reports about your performance. Lieutenant Winters speaks highly of your adaptability."

"Thank you, sir."

Sink leaned back slightly in his chair. "I wanted to check in personally before you move on to Fort Benning. Project Blitz is under a lot of scrutiny, as I'm sure you can imagine. Your success or failure will determine whether more women follow in your footsteps."

The weight of that responsibility settled heavily on her shoulders. "I understand, sir."

"The War Department has taken a particular interest in your progress," Sink continued. "They'll be sending observers to Benning to assess the project's viability."

Isabella swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Observers, sir?"

"Nothing for you to worry about," Sink assured her, though his expression suggested otherwise. "Just military officials evaluating the program. Your job remains the same—train hard, jump well, and prove that this experiment is worth continuing."

She nodded, trying to project confidence she didn't entirely feel. "Yes, sir."

Sink studied her for a moment longer, then his expression softened slightly. "You've come a long way since February, Isabella. Keep it up."

"Thank you, sir."

As she left headquarters, the evening air cool against her face, Isabella mulled over Sink's words. Observers from the War Department meant higher stakes, more pressure. If she failed, it wouldn't just be her career at risk—it would impact every woman who might follow.

Lost in thought, she almost collided with Lieutenant Speirs, who was still lingering nearby.

"Sorry, sir," she said, quickly stepping back.

Speirs regarded her with that same inscrutable expression. "Training going well, Corporal?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, surprised by the direct question. "Looking forward to Benning."

He nodded slightly. "I hear the first jump's the hardest. After that, it's just falling with style."

The unexpected touch of humor caught her off guard, and she couldn't suppress a small smile. "I'll keep that in mind, sir."

For a brief moment, something shifted in his expression—a flicker of... what? Interest? Amusement? It was gone before she could identify it.

"Dog Company will be training alongside Easy at Benning," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I look forward to seeing how Sink's project performs."

There was no judgment in his words, just a simple statement, yet Isabella felt a familiar tension return. Was he skeptical of her abilities, like so many others? Or merely curious?

"I'll do my best not to disappoint, sir," she replied, keeping her voice even.

Speirs held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. "I don't doubt that, Corporal."

With a slight nod, he turned and walked away, leaving Isabella with the distinct impression that she'd just passed some kind of test—though what kind, she couldn't say.

As she made her way back to the barracks, the twilight deepening around her, Isabella reflected on the day's events: mastering the landing, the impending visit from War Department officials, the brief but loaded exchanges with both Sink and Speirs.

Fort Benning would be a new challenge—real jumps, real risks. But it was also one step closer to deployment, to the real war waiting across the ocean.

She was ready for it. She had to be.

When she entered the barracks, the familiar sounds of her platoon-mates—Luz's storytelling, Skip and Malarkey's bickering, Gene's quiet conversation with Liebgott—welcomed her back to the world she'd come to know so well.

"There she is," Guarnere called when he spotted her. "What'd the brass want, Birdie? You getting a promotion or something?"

She shook her head, settling onto her bunk. "Just checking in before Benning."

"Speaking of which," Penkala chimed in, "anyone else nervous about jumping from an actual plane?"

"Nah," Luz replied with exaggerated confidence. "It's just like jumping off a diving board, except, you know, a few thousand feet higher."

As the conversation devolved into good-natured teasing about who would freeze at the door, Isabella found herself smiling despite the pressure weighing on her mind. These men, with their jokes and their worries and their unwavering determination, had become her anchor in this strange new world.

Whatever challenges Fort Benning brought—whatever observers came to judge her fitness for this role—she wouldn't face them alone.

She had Easy Company. And somehow, that made all the difference.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As August turned into September, and September into October, and so on and so forth, December finally came.

Isabella suffered greatly in this time, not remotely used to the cold that plagued the states north of Florida. She had taken advantage of her winter uniform which was thick and made of wool. At one point she had even stormed into Sink’s office, begging him to let her wear a scarf outside of regulations. Much to Sobel’s chagrin and Isabella’s delight, Sink had agreed.

Along with the biting cold came the imminent arrival of 2nd battalions move to Fort Benning to continue their jump training. Unsurprisingly, Isabella was quite sad at having to leave Toccoa. It had become her second home and she had many fond memories there. But orders were orders and that’s all there was to it.

Unfortunately for Isabella and the rest of the battalion, Colonel Sink had read about a Japanese Army battalion that had set a world record for marching 100 miles in seventy-two hours. As a result, Sink had decided the 2nd battalion was going to beat that record by marching the entire way to Fort Benning.

Isabella had been begged by the entirety of Easy Company to talk to Sink, and even if they hadn’t begged her she would’ve done it anyway. It was absolutely ridiculous and no amount of respect she held for Sink would change that opinion.

"With all due respect, sir, have you lost your mind?"

The words slipped out before Isabella could stop them, her usual filter completely abandoned in the face of what she could only describe as pure insanity.

Colonel Sink raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. "Excuse me, Corporal?"

Isabella took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. She had stormed into his office the moment she'd heard about his plan, not even bothering to knock—something she could only get away with because of their established relationship. The secretary outside had tried to stop her, but Isabella had been too quick, too determined.

"Sink," she said, dropping the formality now that the door was closed behind her, "marching 118 miles in full gear, in December, seems completely insane."

Sink leaned back in his chair, regarding her with that familiar calculating gaze. "The Japanese did it."

"The Japanese didn't do it in the middle of winter," she countered, folding her arms across her chest.

"Are you suggesting the men of the 506th aren't capable of surpassing what the enemy can do, Isabella?" There was a challenge in his voice, but also a hint of amusement at her boldness.

Isabella bit the inside of her cheek, recognizing the trap. "No. I'm simply concerned about the practicality of such an undertaking. And the frostbite. And the potential pneumonia. And—"

"I get the picture," Sink interrupted, raising a hand to stop her. "War isn't practical, Corporal. And neither is jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. Yet that's exactly what we're training to do."

She couldn't argue with that logic, but still... "The men—"

"Have been training for this exact scenario," Sink finished for her. "Long marches, physical endurance, mental fortitude. This is what we've been preparing for."

Isabella shifted her weight, trying to find the right words. "Yes, but a hundred and eighteen miles? In three days? Even you have to admit that's excessive."

Sink's expression remained immovable. "We're not just any unit, Isabella. We're paratroopers. The best of the best. And I intend to prove it."

She exhaled slowly, recognizing the familiar stubborn set of his jaw. It was the same expression her father wore when his mind was made up, an unmovable force of pure determination.

She changed tactics, studying his face more carefully. "This isn't just about beating a record, is it?"

A flicker of something—approval, perhaps—crossed his face. "Go on."

"It's about proving what the Airborne can do. What we can endure." She paused, the realization dawning on her. "It's about showing the War Department that we're ready."

Sink nodded slowly, pleased with her perception. "The eyes of the entire Army will be on us, Corporal. This march could determine the future of the Airborne project."

Understanding washed over her. This wasn't just some arbitrary test of willpower or a personal challenge Sink had concocted. This was strategic—a deliberate demonstration meant to validate everything they had been working toward.

"And Project Blitz," she added quietly, the pieces falling into place.

"Indeed." Sink leaned forward, his gaze intent. "Your performance on this march will be closely scrutinized. The War Department has expressed... concerns about a woman's ability to endure such physical demands."

Isabella straightened, indignation flaring. "I'll complete the march."

"I have no doubt," Sink replied with genuine confidence. "But this isn't just about finishing, Isabella. It's about how you finish."

The weight of his words settled on her shoulders. This wasn't just about her personal achievement anymore—it was about every woman who might come after her, every door that could open or close based on her performance.

"I understand," she said, her determination hardening.

Sink studied her for a moment longer, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. "The battalion moves out at 0600 tomorrow. I suggest you prepare those boys of yours."

As Isabella turned to leave, Sink called after her. "And Corporal?"

She paused at the door. "Sir?"

"That scarf better not slow you down." The return to formality signaled the end of their private conversation.

Despite everything, she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "Wouldn't dream of it, sir."

When Isabella returned to the barracks, she was met with a barrage of hopeful faces.

"Well?" Malarkey asked, practically bouncing on his heels. "Did you talk him out of it?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "No such luck."

A collective groan rippled through the room.

"You're kidding," Skip muttered, falling back onto his bunk dramatically. "A hundred and eighteen miles? In December?"

"Three days," Penkala added miserably. "That's nearly forty miles a day."

Isabella sat on her bunk, rubbing her temples. "It gets better. Full pack, combat gear, and a rifle."

Liebgott cursed under his breath. "Is he trying to kill us before we even reach Benning?"

"Actually," Isabella said, "he's trying to prove what the Airborne is capable of. The entire project is still under evaluation. This march could determine whether it continues."

That silenced the complaints, at least momentarily. Everyone in the room understood what was at stake—they had all volunteered for this, had all fought to be part of something special.

"Well," Guarnere said finally, "guess we better show 'em what Easy Company is made of, then."

Gene, who had been quietly listening from his bunk, turned to Isabella. "What about you? Anything specific about Project Blitz?"

She nodded, appreciating his perceptiveness. "The War Department has 'concerns' about whether a woman can handle this kind of endurance test."

Liebgott scoffed. "Bunch of desk jockeys who've never seen you run Currahee."

"You'll show 'em," Luz said confidently. "Hell, you'll probably finish ahead of half these guys."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Penkala muttered, though there was no real heat in it.

"Did your rank help at all with Sink?" Guarnere asked, raising an eyebrow. "Thought you two had some kind of teacher-student thing going."

Isabella gave him a wry smile. "We do, which is probably the only reason I wasn't disciplined for barging into his office and calling him insane to his face."

Malarkey's eyes widened. "You didn't."

"Oh, she did," Luz laughed, clapping her on the shoulder. "Our Corporal Birdie, telling off a Lieutenant Colonel. You've got guts, kid."

"Or a death wish," Liebgott added, though he looked impressed.

Isabella shrugged. "When you've known someone long enough, you can speak your mind. Besides, he expects me to challenge him when necessary. Always has."

"And this wasn't necessary enough?" Skip groaned.

She gave him an apologetic look. "I tried. But once Sink has made up his mind, there's no changing it. Trust me, I know him well enough to recognize when he's immovable."

Isabella stretched, feeling the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders. "Alright, enough complaining. We all need to prepare. Extra socks, preventative bandaging for our feet. We should check each other's packs to make sure we're not carrying anything unnecessary."

The men nodded, already moving to inventory their gear.

"I'd kill for my winter boots from back home right about now," Malarkey said wistfully. "Army issue isn't meant for this kind of distance."

Isabella couldn't help but agree. The standard-issue footwear was decent enough for regular training, but for a hundred and eighteen miles in winter conditions? She was dreading the inevitable blisters.

Gene appeared beside her, offering a small tin. "Foot powder," he explained. "And I've got extra bandages if you need them."

"Thanks, Gene," she said, accepting the tin gratefully. "I have a feeling we're all going to need it."

As the evening progressed, the barracks buzzed with preparation. Men checking their gear, swapping tips on how to prevent chafing, sharing what extra supplies they could. Despite the grumbling, there was an undercurrent of determination—even pride. This wasn't just any unit; this was Easy Company. And if anyone could do this, they could.

Isabella organized her pack methodically, prioritizing essentials and eliminating anything that added unnecessary weight. Extra socks went in first, followed by bandages and medical supplies she might need. Her journal and letters remained, though she wrapped them carefully in a waterproof cover. Some things were worth the extra weight.

As lights-out approached, a strange calm settled over the barracks. No one was under any illusions about what tomorrow would bring—it would be brutal, exhausting, potentially dangerous in the December cold. But there was also a sense of shared purpose, of being part of something bigger than themselves.

"Hey, Birdie," Luz called from across the room. "You still got that scarf Sink let you have?"

She nodded, pulling it from her footlocker—a simple olive-drab wool scarf, nothing fancy, but it would make all the difference in the biting cold.

"Lucky," Malarkey said with a dramatic sigh. "The rest of us are gonna freeze our ears off."

Isabella rolled her eyes. "I offered to ask him if everyone could wear one, but you all said it wasn't worth the risk of him changing his mind about mine."

"And we stand by that decision," Skip declared solemnly. "Your comfort is a small price to pay for our entertainment when Sobel has a conniption about your special treatment."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. Captain Sobel had indeed been livid about the scarf exception, especially coming directly from Colonel Sink. It was a small victory, but a satisfying one nonetheless.

"Get some sleep," Gene advised, his voice cutting through the banter. "Tomorrow's going to be one of the longest days of our lives."

As the lights went out and the barracks grew quiet, Isabella stared up at the ceiling, her mind racing despite her body's exhaustion. A hundred and eighteen miles. Three days. Full gear.

Could she do it? Would her body hold up? What if she failed, not just herself, but every woman who might follow in her footsteps?

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe deeply.

'One step at a time,' she told herself. 'Just like everything else. One step at a time.'

Toccoa to Fort Benning, December 2nd, 1942 - Day One

The pre-dawn air was bitter cold, seeping through layers of wool and cotton to chill the skin beneath. Isabella pulled her scarf higher, covering her nose and mouth, grateful for the small barrier against the freezing wind.

Around her, the entire 2nd Battalion assembled in formation, breath forming white clouds in the darkness. The men stomped their feet and rubbed their hands together, trying to generate warmth before the long day ahead.

"Easy Company!" Sobel's voice cut through the quiet morning. "Fall in!"

They lined up quickly, packs secure, rifles in hand. Isabella took her place in Second Platoon, Lieutenant Winters moving among them for last-minute inspections.

"Remember," he said as he passed, "pace yourselves. This isn't a sprint."

When he reached Isabella, he paused briefly. "Your pack secured properly, Vega?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He studied her for a moment longer. "Stay hydrated, even in the cold. And if you need assistance, don't hesitate to speak up."

"I'll be fine, sir," she assured him, though his concern was touching.

Winters gave her a small nod before moving on, but Isabella caught the worry in his eyes. He'd never say it outright, but she knew what he was thinking—the same thing everyone was thinking. Could she do this? Could a woman march a hundred and eighteen miles in full combat gear?

'Watch me,' she thought, determination hardening like steel in her chest.

Colonel Sink addressed the battalion briefly before they departed, his voice carrying across the assembled companies.

"Men of the 506th," he began, and Isabella caught his slight pause, his eyes finding her in the formation before he continued, "you are about to embark on a journey that will test your physical limits and your mental fortitude. One hundred and eighteen miles in three days—a challenge the Japanese Army has set, and one we will surpass."

He surveyed them, his expression stern but proud. "The eyes of the Army are upon you. Show them what paratroopers are made of."

With that, the order was given, and the battalion began to move.

The first miles passed relatively smoothly. The rhythm of marching was familiar to all of them by now, and despite the cold, spirits remained high. Men sang cadences, told jokes, anything to distract from the long road ahead.

Isabella kept pace easily, her breathing steady, her stride matched to Gene's beside her. This was the easy part, she knew. The real test would come later, when muscles began to fatigue and the initial adrenaline wore off.

"How're you holding up?" Gene asked quietly after the first hour.

"Fine," she replied, adjusting her med bag slightly. "Just getting warmed up."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Let me know if you need anything."

As the sun rose higher, the temperature gradually increased, though it remained cold enough that no one dared remove any layers. The pace was relentless—not punishing, exactly, but steady and unyielding. Every hour, they were allowed a brief five-minute break to drink water and adjust their gear. No sitting, no removing packs. Just a momentary pause before continuing on.

By noon, the first signs of fatigue began to show among the men. Conversation died down, replaced by the steady sound of boots on the ground and the occasional cough or grunt of exertion. Isabella's shoulders ached from the weight of her pack, and her feet had begun to throb in protest.

'Don't think about it,' she told herself, focusing instead on the rhythm of her breathing, the cadence of her steps. 'Just keep moving.'

During the brief lunch break—cold rations eaten standing up—Malarkey sidled up beside her, his face already showing signs of strain.

"How's it going, Birdie?" he asked, taking a swig from his canteen.

She shrugged, wincing slightly at the pull on her sore shoulders. "Still walking."

"That bad, huh?" he grinned.

She couldn't help but smile back. "Not as bad as Sobel's 12-mile marches."

"Yet," Skip chimed in, joining them. "We've still got a long way to go."

Winters moved through the platoon, checking on each man, ensuring everyone was eating and drinking enough. When he reached their small group, his eyes immediately went to Isabella.

"Corporal," he nodded. "Everything alright?"

"Yes, sir," she replied automatically.

He studied her for a moment, as if trying to determine whether she was being truthful. "Remember, this is a marathon, not a sprint. Conserve your energy."

"I will, sir."

As the day wore on, the march became increasingly grueling. The novelty had worn off, replaced by the harsh reality of physical exertion. Men began to fall out of formation—some briefly, needing a moment to adjust equipment or catch their breath, others more permanently, picked up by the trailing vehicles when they simply couldn't continue.

Isabella gritted her teeth against the growing discomfort, refusing to show any sign of weakness. Her feet were on fire, her shoulders screamed with every step, but she kept moving, one foot in front of the other, her gaze fixed straight ahead.

"How're you really doing?" Gene asked during the late afternoon break, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

She exhaled sharply. "Like I've been run over by a truck. Twice."

He huffed a soft laugh. "Join the club."

"Is it showing?" she asked, suddenly concerned.

He shook his head. "No more than anyone else. But I know what to look for."

She nodded, grateful for his honesty. "I'll make it."

"I know you will," he replied simply, with such conviction that it bolstered her flagging spirits.

As dusk began to fall, the temperature dropped rapidly, the chill becoming more pronounced with each passing minute. Isabella pulled her scarf tighter, grateful for the extra layer even as guilt pricked at her conscience for having something the men didn't.

Just when it seemed the day's march would never end, the order came to halt. They had reached their first checkpoint—thirty-five miles covered, with a hasty camp to be set up for the night.

Isabella's body practically screamed with relief as she was finally allowed to remove her pack, though years of military discipline kept her from collapsing onto the ground like she desperately wanted to. Around her, men were setting up small shelters, their movements slow and stiff from the day's exertion.

"Jesus Christ," Liebgott muttered, massaging his shoulders. "And we have to do this again tomorrow?"

"And the day after," Guarnere reminded him grimly.

Isabella sat on her pack, finally allowing herself a moment of rest. Her feet throbbed with each heartbeat, and she dreaded removing her boots to inspect the damage.

"You made it, Corporal," Winters said, appearing beside her with a small nod of approval.

"First day down, sir," she replied, trying to inject more confidence into her voice than she felt.

"Get some rest," he advised. "Tomorrow won't be any easier."

As Winters moved on, she noticed Colonel Sink walking through the camp, observing the men. When he spotted her, he changed course slightly, making his way toward her position.

"Corporal Vega," he acknowledged, his voice carrying the formal tone he always used in public. "How are you holding up?"

"Still walking, sir," she replied, matching his formality despite their earlier casual conversation.

A hint of a smile crossed his face. "Good. I've had reports from Lieutenant Winters about your performance today. Seems you're proving those War Department concerns unfounded."

Isabella straightened slightly, pride pushing through her exhaustion. "Just doing my job, sir."

Sink nodded, his gaze sweeping over the camp. "Keep it up, Corporal." His voice lowered slightly. "I knew you could do it."

With that, he continued his rounds, leaving Isabella with a renewed sense of determination despite her aching body.

After he left, Isabella finally removed her boots, wincing at the sight of her raw, blistered feet. She wasn't the only one—all around the camp, men were dealing with similar injuries, applying bandages and foot powder with grim determination.

Gene knelt beside her, medical supplies in hand. "Let me see."

She didn't protest as he efficiently cleaned and dressed her blisters, his touch clinical but gentle.

"It's going to be worse tomorrow," he warned, applying the last bandage.

"I know," she sighed. "But I'll keep going."

He nodded, seeming to understand the determination behind her words. "We all will."

Dinner was cold rations again, eaten quickly before the bone-deep exhaustion took over. Isabella found herself surrounded by her usual group—Gene, Luz, Malarkey, Skip, Penkala, and Liebgott—all of them too tired for much conversation but taking comfort in each other's presence nonetheless.

"Heard Dog Company's leading the pack," Luz mentioned between bites. "Speirs has them moving like they're not even tired."

Isabella wasn't surprised. Lieutenant Speirs had always struck her as the type who could march to hell and back without breaking a sweat. Just thinking about him brought a strange flutter to her chest, one she quickly attributed to exhaustion.

"How many dropped out today, you think?" Penkala asked, his voice hushed.

"Dozens," Gene replied. "From across the battalion. Not so many from Easy, though."

There was a quiet pride in his words that they all shared. Easy Company had something to prove, just like she did.

As night fell fully, Isabella retreated to her small shelter, her body crying out for rest as she lay between Gene and Liebgott. She should have fallen asleep immediately, given her exhaustion, but her mind was still active, replaying the day, analyzing her performance, worrying about tomorrow.

She pulled out her journal, wincing at the effort it took to hold a pencil with her stiff fingers.

“December 2nd, 1942

Dear Journal,

First day of the march completed. Thirty-five miles down, eighty-three to go. I'm still walking, still with Easy, though I'd be lying if I said it was easy. My feet are blistered, my shoulders feel like they're on fire, and I'm pretty sure I've discovered muscles I never knew existed, all of which are now screaming at me.

But I'm doing it. One step at a time, just like I told myself. The men seem surprised—not that I'm keeping up, exactly, but that I'm not showing how much it hurts. Little do they know I've had plenty of practice hiding pain. Growing up with three brothers teaches you that much.

Colonel Sink was right about the War Department watching closely. I've spotted several officers I don't recognize, observing from vehicles that occasionally pass by. Taking notes, I assume. Judging whether a woman belongs in the Airborne.

Well, they can watch all they want. I'll be marching all the way to Benning, no matter what it takes.

Two more days to go. I can do this. I have to do this.”

She closed the journal, tucking it safely away before finally giving in to the exhaustion pulling at her. Tomorrow would come all too soon, bringing with it another grueling test of endurance. But for now, she allowed herself the small comfort of rest, knowing she had made it through day one.

As sleep claimed her, one thought lingered, a quiet promise to herself and to all those watching:

'I will not fail.'

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Toccoa to Fort Benning, December 3rd, 1942 - Day Two

Isabella woke before dawn, her body stiff and unyielding, every muscle protesting at the slightest movement. For a moment, she simply lay there, staring up at the canvas above her, dreading what the day would bring.

‘Dear God, somebody fucking kill me.’

She bit back a groan as she forced herself to sit up, the cold morning air biting at her exposed face. Around her, the camp was beginning to stir, men moving with the same pained reluctance, cursing under their breath as they prepared for another day of marching.

"Morning, Birdie," Gene greeted, his voice low as he approached with a steaming cup. "Coffee. Three sugar with milk. Thought you might need it."

Isabella accepted it gratefully, the warmth seeping into her cold fingers. "You're a saint, Eugene Roe."

He gave her a small, tired smile. "Just doing my job."

"Is this medicinal coffee?" she asked, taking a cautious sip. "Because I think I might need something stronger to get through today."

He huffed a soft laugh. "Wouldn't that be nice."

As she drank her coffee, Isabella assessed her physical state with clinical detachment. Her shoulders were deeply bruised from the pack straps, her feet were a mess of blisters, and every joint felt like it had been filled with sand. But she could move. She could walk. And that was all that mattered today.

Reluctantly, she pulled on her boots, wincing as the leather pressed against raw skin despite the fresh bandages Gene had helped her apply. Standing was an exercise in willpower, but she managed it without showing the pain on her face.

"How bad?" Gene asked quietly, watching her with a medic's trained eye.

"I'll live," she replied, attempting a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.

He nodded, respecting her determination without pushing further. "Let me know if you need anything during the march."

By the time they assembled for formation, the sun was just beginning to crest the horizon, casting long shadows across the frost-covered ground. Isabella took her place with Second Platoon, noting the stiff movements and grimaces of pain around her. She wasn't the only one suffering.

Sobel paced in front of the company, his eyes sharp as he inspected them. "Easy Company! Today we continue our march. I expect the same discipline and determination you showed yesterday. Anyone who falls out will answer to me personally."

His gaze lingered on Isabella for a moment longer than necessary, searching for signs of weakness. She met his stare evenly, refusing to be intimidated.

"Move out!" he barked.

The first mile was excruciating. Every step sent jolts of pain through her feet and up her legs. Isabella gritted her teeth, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other, establishing a rhythm that would carry her through the day.

“Hey Birdie, how about you sing for us?” Luz suggested as they settled into the march, his voice strained but determined to lighten the mood. The men of Easy Company slowly but surely began to murmur, asking her to entertain.

Isabella was reluctant, but she would do it. She performed because she enjoyed making people's lives easier through music, to give them a moment of happiness in a world so dangerous.

“Alright,” she started. “But if Sobel tries to eat me alive for it then I’m throwing you all under the bus.”

"Something to keep us moving," Malarkey suggested, wincing as he adjusted his pack.

"Yeah, none of that sad shit," Liebgott added. "We're miserable enough already."

Guarnere spoke up. "Give us something with some life to it, Doll. Something to keep our feet moving."

Isabella thought for a moment, then smiled. "I've got just the thing.”

She took a deep breath, pushing through the fatigue in her muscles and the pain in her feet. After a moment to find her pitch, she launched into "I Wanna Be a Cowboy's Sweetheart," her voice clear and confident in the morning air.

“I want to be a cowboy's sweetheart

I want to learn to rope and to ride

I want to ride o'er the plains and the desert

Out west of the Great Divide

I want to hear the coyotes howlin'

While the sun sinks in the West

I want to be a cowboy's sweetheart

The life that I love best”

The upbeat, lively rhythm of Patsy Montana's hit immediately caught the men's attention. Isabella's voice carried through the ranks, the quick tempo perfectly matching their marching cadence, giving their steps a newfound energy and purpose.

When she reached the yodeling sections, several men turned their heads in surprise. The complex vocal technique echoed across the line of marching soldiers, showcasing a skill none of them had known she possessed. Her voice dipped and soared through the difficult passages with practiced ease.

"Holy shit," Skip muttered, eyes wide with amazement.

Even Sobel looked impressed, eyebrows raised as Isabella effortlessly navigated the yodeling that had made the song famous. The men around her began to smile despite their exhaustion, some even laughing in delighted surprise at this unexpected talent from their normally reserved medic.

Malarkey grinned at Guarnere. "Did you know she could do that?"

"Not a clue," Guarnere replied, shaking his head in wonder. "Girl's been holding out on us."

“I want to ride Old Paint, goin' at a run

I wanna feel the wind in my face

A thousand miles from all these city lights

Goin' a cowhand's pace

I want to pillow my head near the sleeping herd

While the moon shines down from above

I want to strum my guitar and "odo-lay-ee-dee"

Oh, that's the life that I love”

As Isabella continued through the song, the spirits of the men visibly lifted. Their steps became more coordinated, finding rhythm in the music. The pain in their feet and the weight of their packs seemed to recede, if only temporarily, replaced by the shared experience of this unexpected performance.

“Now I have found my cowboy sweetheart

And he taught me to rope and to ride

And we've settled down in a California town

Out west of the great divide

Our two little cowgirls have two kids of their own

That makes me a yodelin' grandma

I'm still ridin' side-by-side with my cowboy sweetheart

He's a rootin'-tootin' cowboy grandpa”

When she finished, there was a moment of stunned silence before the men erupted in cheers and whistles.

"Again!" someone called from further back in the line.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Luz asked, genuine amazement in his voice.

Isabella smiled, a slight blush coloring her cheeks at the attention. "Taught myself. A good yodel carries across the farm better than any dinner bell."

"Well, it's carrying us across Georgia, that's for sure," Skip quipped, earning laughs from those around him.

Lieutenant Winters, who had made his way back to check on the commotion, couldn't hide a slight smile. "That's quite a talent, Corporal."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, surprised by his approval.

"Anything that keeps the men moving is fine by me," he added quietly before moving back up the column.

As they continued marching through the morning, Isabella moved through her repertoire of upbeat songs. When they hit a particularly difficult uphill stretch, she launched into "Sixteen Tons," her voice dropping into a surprisingly powerful lower register that contrasted with her yodeling from earlier.

“Some people say a man is made out of mud

A poor man's made out of muscle and blood

Muscle and blood and skin and bones

A mind that's weak and a back that's strong”

You load sixteen tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

Saint Peter don't you call me, 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the company store”

The strong, steady rhythm of the work song matched their labored steps perfectly, the lyrics about struggle and endurance resonating with their current situation. The men joined in on the chorus, their combined voices creating a determined rumble that seemed to push them up the hill through sheer force of will.

"She's got range," Gene commented quietly to Guarnere as they trudged upward. "Didn’t think she could sing like that."

Guarnere nodded, impressed. "Girl's full of surprises."

By midday, word of Isabella's impromptu concert had spread through the ranks. Even men from other platoons were requesting songs, shouting suggestions whenever they passed nearby during water breaks.

During one such break, Lieutenant Nixon approached her, canteen in hand.

"Quite the morale officer you've become, Corporal," he remarked with his characteristic wry smile.

Isabella shrugged, taking a careful sip of water. "Just trying to make the miles go by faster, sir."

"Well, it's working. I haven't heard this much chatter from the men since we left Toccoa." Nixon glanced toward where Sobel stood conferring with other officers. "And our illustrious captain seems to have decided it's not worth shutting down."

"Surprised he hasn't tried," she admitted.

Nixon's smile turned knowing. "Even Sobel can see the men are marching better with the music. And Colonel Sink mentioned he could hear the singing from half a mile away. Seemed to approve."

As they resumed the march after lunch, Isabella's voice was beginning to show signs of strain from hours of continuous singing. Noticing this, Gene appeared at her side with his canteen.

"Water with honey," he explained. "For your throat."

She accepted it gratefully. "Thanks, Gene. You're a lifesaver."

"Just doing my job," he replied with a small smile. "Can't have our songbird losing her voice."

Refreshed by the sweet mixture, Isabella began a haunting rendition of "Wayfaring Stranger." The change in pace and mood created a different kind of energy—contemplative but no less powerful. Her voice soared on the sustained notes, demonstrating impressive breath control even while marching.

“I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger

Travelling through this world below

There's no sickness, no toil, nor danger

In that bright land to which I go

I'm going there to see my Father

And all my loved ones who've gone on

I'm just going over Jordan

I'm just going over home”

The song's themes of hardship and hope resonated deeply with the exhausted men. Even those who had been joking earlier fell silent, moved by the emotion in her performance.

When she finished, there was no cheering this time—just a respectful quiet before conversations slowly resumed, more subdued but somehow more purposeful than before.

"That was beautiful, Birdie," Luz said softly.

She nodded her thanks, not trusting her voice for casual conversation after the demanding song.

As the afternoon wore on, she alternated between spirited numbers that kept their energy up and gentler songs that provided moments of reflection. Her voice became a constant companion to their march, setting the pace, lifting spirits, sometimes simply reminding them that there was beauty still to be found even in their suffering. Her medicine the music she sang so devotedly.

When they passed Dog Company at a crossroads, Isabella was in the middle of "Barbara Allen," her voice crystal clear as she navigated the traditional ballad's complex melody. She noticed several Dog Company men glancing their way, some with evident curiosity, others with barely concealed envy at Easy's relative high spirits despite the grueling march.

Lieutenant Speirs was among them, his expression characteristically unreadable as he efficiently directed his men. For just a moment, his eyes met hers across the distance—a brief, neutral acknowledgment, nothing more—before he returned his attention to his company.

By the time they halted for the night, Isabella's voice was reduced to a raspy whisper, but the effect of her day's performances lingered in the improved morale of the company. Men who would normally have collapsed in exhausted silence were talking quietly as they set up camp, recounting favorite moments from the day's impromptu concert.

"You should rest that voice," Gene advised as they ate their evening rations. "Won't do us any good if you can't speak tomorrow."

She nodded, too hoarse to argue even if she'd wanted to.

"I've never heard someone who could sing so many different ways," Malarkey commented, genuine admiration in his voice. "Where'd you learn all those songs anyway?"

Isabella took a sip of water before responding in a whisper. "My brothers taught me some, although we usually write the songs we perform.”

"Well, you just became Easy Company's official entertainment," Skip declared. "Sorry, Luz, you've been replaced."

Luz clutched his chest in mock offense. "I'm devastated."

Their laughter, though tired, was genuine—a precious commodity after a day of such brutal physical demands.

That night, as she settled into her bedroll, Isabella felt a quiet sense of satisfaction beneath her physical exhaustion. Today, she had contributed something uniquely hers to their shared ordeal—not just her endurance or her medical skills, but her music. Her gift.

In this company of men, where she had fought so hard to find her place and prove her worth, she had finally shared a piece of herself that had nothing to do with being a soldier or a medic. Just Isabella, the girl who loved to sing.

And somehow, it had made them all stronger.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Toccoa to Fort Benning, December 4th, 1942 - Day Three

The final morning dawned clear and bitter cold. Isabella's breath formed white clouds in the frigid air as she prepared for the last leg of their journey. Her body protested every movement, muscles stiff and sore beyond anything she had experienced before.

'Dear God, please just let me finish this godforsaken march without my legs falling off.'

Despite her silent prayer, there was something different about the atmosphere in camp—a sense of anticipation, of impending achievement. They had come this far. They could make it the rest of the way.

"Last day, Birdie," Gene said as he handed her a cup of coffee, now a morning ritual between them. "How's the voice?"

She attempted to respond, her voice coming out in a raspy, husky whisper. "Still here. Barely."

Gene raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Shouldn't be using it at all. Your vocal cords need rest."

Isabella shrugged, taking a grateful sip of the coffee. "Last day. Worth it."

"You've got more grit than sense sometimes," he replied, but there was admiration in his tone. "Added extra honey to that. Might help."

As they assembled for the final day's march, Isabella could feel the collective determination of Easy Company. They were battered, exhausted, feet raw and muscles aching, but they were going to finish this thing together.

Sobel paced in front of them, his usual stern expression firmly in place. "Forty-five miles today, gentlemen. I expect every single one of you to complete this march. No exceptions, no excuses."

His gaze lingered on Isabella for a moment longer than necessary, as if expecting her to be the first to falter. She met his stare evenly, refusing to be intimidated even as her entire body screamed in protest at the mere thought of another day's march.

As they set off, the first few miles passed in grim silence, each man focused on simply putting one foot in front of the other. Isabella marched between Liebgott and Malarkey, their movements stiff but determined.

"Christ, this is quiet," Skip finally commented from somewhere behind them. "Makes the miles feel longer."

"Hey Birdie," Luz called out, "think you've got one more song in you?"

Isabella hesitated. Her throat was raw, her voice barely more than a rasp. Gene had advised against using it at all. But looking at the exhausted faces around her, she knew what they needed—what they all needed—to make it through this final stretch.

"What do you want to hear?" she asked, her voice rough and husky.

"Something that'll get us to Benning," Guarnere replied.

Isabella nodded, taking a careful sip from her canteen before launching into "Wayfaring Stranger." Her normally clear soprano had transformed into something deeper, raspier—but the new timbre added a haunting quality to the old spiritual that seemed to resonate with their current ordeal.

"I am a poor wayfaring stranger

Traveling through this world below

There is no sickness, no toil, nor danger

In that bright land to which I go"

Her damaged voice gave the song a raw, emotional quality it might not have had otherwise. The men fell silent, listening as she sang of hardship and hope, of a traveler pushing through difficulty toward a promised destination.

When she reached the chorus, several men joined in, their voices blending with her raspy one in a rough harmony:

"I'm going there to see my father

I'm going there no more to roam

I'm just going over Jordan I'm just going over home"

As the song ended, there was a moment of respectful silence before Malarkey spoke up.

"Your voice sounds different, Birdie. Kind of... I don't know?"

She managed a smile. "It's called vocal damage, Malark."

"Well, it sounds good," he insisted. "Different, but good."

Isabella shook her head, amused despite her exhaustion. Leave it to these men to find something positive in what was essentially an injury.

Throughout the morning, she continued to sing, though more sparingly than the day before. Her damaged voice could only handle so much, and she had to take frequent breaks to sip water and rest her vocal cords. The songs she chose were slower, requiring less technique than her performances of yesterday.

"Red River Valley" proved particularly effective, its steady rhythm matching their marching pace perfectly. Even with her raspy voice, or perhaps because of it, the emotional resonance of the old cowboy song seemed to affect the men deeply.

"From this valley they say you are going

We will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile

For they say you are taking the sunshine

That has brightened our pathways awhile"

By midday, Isabella's voice was fading fast, each song requiring more effort than the last. During their brief lunch break, Gene appeared at her side with his canteen.

"More honey water," he said, holding it out to her. "Though what you really need to do is stop singing entirely."

She accepted it gratefully. "Last day, Gene. They need it."

He studied her for a moment, then sighed in resignation. "You're treating them, you know."

She raised an eyebrow, not understanding.

"As a medic," he clarified. "You're treating them without ever touching them. Healing something we can't reach."

Isabella had never thought of it that way, but as she looked around at the men—exhausted but somehow still holding onto their determination, still finding moments of laughter despite their suffering—she realized he was right. Medicine wasn't just about bandages and sulfa powder. Sometimes it was about giving people a reason to keep going when their bodies wanted to quit.

"One more big push," she said, her voice now barely audible. "We'll make it."

As they resumed the march after lunch, Isabella found herself increasingly unable to sing, her voice reduced to a painful whisper. The men, noticing her struggle, began to take up the songs themselves, their rough, untrained voices carrying the melodies she had taught them over the past two days.

"I Wanna Be a Cowboy's Sweetheart" proved particularly popular, though their attempts at yodeling ranged from amusingly bad to downright painful. Isabella couldn't help but laugh silently at their efforts, which only encouraged them to try harder, competing to see who could produce the most ridiculous yodel.

"Jesus Christ, Malarkey, you sound like a dying cat," Liebgott complained after a particularly disastrous attempt.

"Let's hear you do better then," Malarkey challenged.

Liebgott's attempt was, if possible, even worse, sending the entire platoon into fits of laughter despite their exhaustion.

Around mid-afternoon, something unexpected happened. As they passed through a small town, people began to line the streets, watching the battalion march past. Word had apparently spread about their attempt, and the locals had come out to witness it.

An elderly man, his chest decorated with medals from the First World War, stood at attention and saluted as they passed. Children waved small American flags. Women offered cups of water to the marching soldiers.

"Would you look at that," Malarkey murmured, surprise evident in his voice.

Isabella felt a surge of pride, of purpose, seeing the faces of the people they were training to protect. This wasn't just about setting records or proving themselves to the War Department anymore. It was about being worthy of the expressions of faith and hope.

The brief morale boost carried them through the next several miles, though the physical toll continued to mount. By late afternoon, even the strongest among them were showing signs of severe fatigue. Conversation had ceased entirely, every ounce of energy reserved for the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other.

Isabella found herself marching between Liebgott and Gene, the three of them supporting each other without words. When Liebgott stumbled slightly on uneven ground, she steadied him automatically, just as he had done for her earlier when her knee had threatened to buckle.

Small acts of camaraderie. Tiny moments of shared determination. This was what had brought them through—not just individual willpower, but the collective strength of soldiers who refused to let each other fail.

During a brief water break, Isabella noticed Colonel Sink moving through the battalion, checking on his men personally. When he reached her position, he nodded in greeting.

"Corporal Vega. How are you holding up?"

She tried to respond, but her voice had finally given out completely. Instead, she gave him a thumbs up, straightening despite her exhaustion.

Sink's eyes narrowed slightly, clearly noting her silence. "Lost your voice, I see."

She nodded, feeling a bit like a child caught misbehaving.

To her surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. "Heard you put on quite a performance these past two days. Lieutenant Winters mentioned it boosted morale considerably."

Isabella managed a small smile, shrugging modestly.

"Resourceful," Sink commented. "Using what you have to support the mission." He glanced around at the exhausted men of Easy Company. "That's what makes a good soldier."

With that unexpected praise, he moved on, continuing his inspection of the battalion.

As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, a ripple of energy moved through the ranks. Word passed back from the front of the column: Fort Benning was in sight.

Isabella felt a second wind rise within her, pushing back the exhaustion, the pain, the doubt. They were almost there. Almost finished.

The last five miles were both the longest and the shortest of the entire march. Each step was agony, yet the end was so close that it pulled them forward like a physical force.

And then, suddenly, they were there. The gates of Fort Benning loomed ahead, and beyond them, the parade ground where their march would officially end.

As they passed through the gates, Isabella became aware of people lining the route—other soldiers, officers, civilians—watching as the battalion completed its historic march. Some were merely curious, others openly impressed by the sight of men who had marched 118 miles in three days.

And some, she couldn't help but notice, were staring specifically at her—the lone woman in uniform among hundreds of men, completing the same grueling test of endurance.

The battalion marched onto the parade ground in perfect formation, despite their exhaustion. Colonel Sink took his place at the front, back straight, head high, showing no signs of the fatigue he must have felt.

"Battalion, halt!" The command rang out, and as one, they stopped.

For a moment, Isabella simply stood there, not quite believing it was over. Three days. One hundred and eighteen miles. And she had made it. They all had.

"Battalion, dismissed!"

A ragged cheer went up from the assembled men, though it was far more subdued than it might have been if they weren't all on the verge of collapse.

Isabella felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to find Lieutenant Winters beside her.

"Well done, Corporal," he said simply, but there was genuine respect in his eyes.

She nodded her thanks, her voice now completely gone but her pride evident in her posture despite her exhaustion.

As the formation broke up, she spotted Colonel Sink in conversation with several officers she didn't recognize—more War Department officials, most likely. One of them glanced in her direction, said something to Sink, and received a nod in response.

Before she could wonder too much about it, she was surrounded by her platoon-mates, all of them equally exhausted but sharing in the triumph of the moment.

"We did it," Luz declared, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Hundred and eighteen miles of pure hell, and we made it."

"Never doubted it," Guarnere added, though his grimace as he shifted his weight said otherwise.

Skip dramatically collapsed onto the ground. "Someone carry me to wherever we're sleeping tonight. I don't think my legs work anymore."

Isabella silently laughed, pulling out her journal and scribbling on a blank page: Get up, Skip. You've made it this far on your own two feet. Might as well use them a little longer.

That night, despite her exhaustion, Isabella took a moment to write in her journal before sleep claimed her.

“December 4th, 1942

Dear Journal,

We made it. One hundred and eighteen miles in three days. My feet are a mess of blisters, every muscle in my body is screaming, I've completely lost my voice, and I'm pretty sure I'll never look at a pair of boots the same way again, but we did it.

Easy Company finished the march intact. Not a single dropout. I'm proud of that—of them—more than I can say. We're a real unit now, forged in shared suffering and determination.

Sang as long as I could today, until my voice finally gave out completely. Gene called it "treating without touching"—using music to heal something medicine can't reach. I'd never thought of it that way before, but he's right. Sometimes the best medicine isn't in a medic's bag at all.

The War Department officials were watching us the whole way, especially me. I don't know what they'll report back, but I hope they saw what I know to be true: that determination and courage aren't exclusive to men. That women can endure, can push through pain, can be soldiers in every sense of the word.

We’ll begin official jump training soon. Five jumps to earn our wings. After the past three days, leaping out of a plane almost seems easy by comparison. Almost.

I'm too tired to write more. But I wanted to mark this day. To remember what it felt like to push beyond what I thought possible. To prove—to myself more than anyone—that I belong here.

One step closer to being a paratrooper. One step closer to the war waiting across the ocean.”

She closed the journal, tucked it away, and finally allowed herself to surrender to sleep, the deep, dreamless rest of someone who had earned it entirely.

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