#quiet corners

[missedmilemarkers]

[kmalexander]

One Thousand

This is the one-thousandth post on this little website. It’s wild to think I’ve gotten to this point at all. Wilder still that it’s been nearly four years since I hit a milestone here. (Previously: 800. 600. 400. 200.) When I was last here, I had just finished draft one of Gleam Upon the Waves, a book that has been out for a few years now, and a work of which I am incredibly proud. (Now, if only…

[sadgirlautumn]

“kids spend too much time on their devices” well what else are they supposed to do? there’s no corner shops with pinball machines in them on every corner anymore. there’s no malls or stores in small towns for teens to hang out in without being suspected of shoplifting or kicked out for loitering. sidewalks are too broken for them to ride their bikes and there’s no bike lane in the street to make it safe for them. i just don’t understand where they expect these kids to go when they keep taking places away from them. and yes having no safe public places for them is what leads a lot of teens into addiction if they end up at a place where people aren’t truly looking out for them.

[framefeatures]

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[0vergrowngraveyard]

bothersome creature

[asvidema]

sunrise

[kaces-graham-crackers]

Stirring the Quiet - (1) Sweet Mistakes

Jenna Ortega x Reader

Summary: In the bustling streets of Hollywood, The Daily Grind café offers solace to those seeking peace—famous or not. Y/N, co-owner of the cozy shop, wasn't expecting a masked Jenna Ortega, a regular, hiding in plain sight. Is it just you, or did the spilled sugar not turn out to be the only thing that sweetened your day?

Word Count: 1.1k

The smell of espresso hit me like a warm hug the second I opened the door to The Daily Grind. We'd only been open for three weeks, but the place already felt like my second home. Wilma, my best friend and now business partner, had really nailed it with the cozy vibe— mix of warm lighting and cushy chairs that practically begged you to sit down and spill your deepest secrets into a cup of coffee. We were doing pretty well for ourselves. A lot of it had to do with how we ran things. We prided ourselves on being a low-key spot where even the biggesr stars could come in and out without anyone batting an eye. No paparazzi, No instagram Stans, just people famous—or not trying to enjoy their coffee.

We've had a few people challenge our "No photos, videos, or interrupting other customers of any caliber." rule—a sign clearly displayed at the top of the menu and outside the café. The moment a camera was raised, we'd calmly walk over and politely ask them to leave. If that didn't work, we had a quiet agreement with the boutique's security guard next door—one glare from him, and they usually scurried off. Our café was a sanctuary, and no one would ruin that for our customers. After all, our motto was "We serve coffee, not fame. Take a sip." Today had been like any other day: customers trickling in, ordering their usual, and leaving with smiles. But something was different tonight. Maybe it was the way the door chimed a little softer than usual or the quick sound of shuffling footsteps. I didn't look up right away, as I was too busy balancing a stack of to-go cups while trying not to trip over that corner of the rug that always seemed to curl up, which, let's be honest, was my usual struggle. But I felt it—a shift in the atmosphere. Someone was trying way too hard not to be noticed. I peeked over my shoulder just in time to catch a figure in a hoodie, sunglasses, and a face mask slipping into the booth in the back corner.

I chuckled lightly, nearly knocking over the cups I had stacked. Of course, someone who tried not to stand out only made them stand out more. But hey, this was Hollywood; people like to stay incognito. I walked up beside Wilma as she finished giving a customer their order. She was also watching the spectacle; Wilma leaned in, wiping her hands on a towel. "That hoodie's been here three times this week. Any hunch who it could be?" We, of course, leave celebrities alone here, but we like to talk between ourselves to try and figure out who it is. I shake my head. "No, but they're definitely someone. No one hides like that unless they're trying not to be recognized." Wilma smirked. "Duh—You can tell by how they keep looking over their shoulder." Our eyes met, and she gave me a knowing look. Her smirk grew into a giant grin. "Your turn, mascot," she said, tossing her towel over her shoulder as she walked away. I blinked, confused. "Wait, what? What is that supposed to mean?" She stopped briefly. "Maybe you'll have better luck talking to them. After all, you are the people's favorite barista and a great icebreaker. She looks anxious, so work your little charisma magic." And with that, she disappeared into the back, leaving me staring at the mysterious figure, wondering how I'd gotten roped into this.

As I walked over, I flipped to a new page in my notepad and repeated my mantra when serving customers: Treat everyone the same, whether they're the guy from down the street or some A-lister hiding from the world. No fuss, no fanfare. I tried to stay calm not to scare them out of the café. There was no need to be weird or awkward about it I'm just going to—oh. As I slid up to the table, I managed to knock over the sugar container. Smooth, Y/N. Real smooth. With a quick glance, I crouched down to pick it up, hoping I hadn't drawn attention to either of us. When I stood back up, the figure in the hoodie had their head down, but I could feel them watching me. Great, now I spooked them. "Uh, sorry about that," I chuckled nervously, brushing the sugar off my apron. "That usually only happens on Wednesdays, more than I'd like to admit." A soft giggle escaped from under the mask. Before I could attempt to piece the giggle to a voice she pulled down her mask just enough for me to see her face.

Jenna Ortega.

I blinked, not sure why my brain of all times decided to short-circuit now.

Jenna—freakin'—Ortega was sitting in my café, laughing at my stupid joke.

"Don't worry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've seen worse." I swallowed, trying to play it cool, even though my hands were suddenly very sweaty. "Uh, yeah, sorry about that. I wasn't expecting..." I trailed off, realizing how dumb I sounded. I mean, who was I expecting? Jenna looked around cautiously, lowering her mask completely once she realized no one had recognized her. "I just...needed to get away for a bit. You guys are pretty discreet." I nodded, my heart still racing. "Yeah, absolutely. This is a judgment-free zone. No one here will treat you like, you know...you." A soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and I tried not to stare. "Good. I could use a place like that right now." "Well, you found it," I said, sending her a warm smile. "Is the other barista not here today?" she asked, fumbling with the strings of her hoodie. "Wilma? Yeah, she's hiding in the back. I can go get her if you'd like?" she softly cleared her throat, "No, that's alright, she just knows my usual." "Well, I promise not to screw it up." I smiled, flipping back to a blank notepad page. "Alright, I'll hold you to that. I'll have an iced coffee with caramel and whipped cream." She smiled back at me. I nodded, jotting it down and turning back to the counter. "Coming right up." As I worked on her drink, I couldn't help but glance back over. There she was, sitting quietly, reading a book with her headphones around her neck, looking a lot more calm. Just another person needing some space and quiet in a world of phones, lights, and cameras 24/7. It felt great that our little café was something special for people. Not just because of the stars who might show up but because we somehow created a space where people could just be. And that? That was worth all the spilled sugar in the world.

[archivewriter1ont]

Bountyhunter: Everyone stopped shooting...I’m going to check it out.

Echo: (handcuffed to a chair) I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

Bountyhunter: Why?

Echo: I’m pretty sure there’s a mean, scary monster on the other side of that door.

Bountyhunter: *scoff* Whatever. *opens door*

Hunter: *charges in snarling, knives drawn*

Bountyhunter: *screams*

Echo: Told you. ☺️

Part Two of "Echo Gets Kidnapped" | Part One

[esteemed-excellency]

can I offer you some roughly sketched sappiness in this trying time?

[justabeewithapen]

Just a quick question related to your AU but have Doey ever befriend any of the ex employees?

If I am understanding you correctly (and please feel free to let me know through asks!) but I think you are asking if he was ever actually friends with the employees who showed him sympathy before they got reassigned/fired. I don't think anyone was left with him long enough for a proper friendship to develop. The first few times (before they started really cracking down on it) he did get somewhat comfortable around a few scientists, but his outbursts often caused injury so even the most sympathetic worker kept an amount of distance. After an incident where a scientist didn't fully shut the door before coming in while Doey was having a break down (they were worried for him) and he made a break for it out the door, Playtime Co. decided it was a liability. Doey was too independent to train like Yarnaby through "affection" anyway, and his instability meant even if an emotional connection was established, he might accidentally kill his handler anyway. By the time he had himself in control enough that theoretically a human handler would work, he already had a reputation and the occasional pity toy or blanket or meal is all he gets and he is generally wary of those because basically any adult who was nice to him would disappear.

[kmalexander]

Forgotten Frequencies, Vol. 1: Lovat - Available Now!

Inspiration can descend like a squall. After I shared a recent Quiet Corner on TikTok, a reader asked me: “Do you have a playlist for reading your books to?” It was a great question! As many of you know, in the past, I’ve put together playlists of tracks from various artists that have inspired scenes/chapters/moments within the Bell Forging Cycle. Yet, even as I shared how to find those, I…

[whoiisshe]

[mexican-neji]

i think all of team gai was the weird kids in the academy, even neji- who we usually assume to have gotten the sasuke popular kid treatment, which is believable but i think he might've been the weird quiet kid. somebody that the other kids don't really bully but they generally stay away from because he's a little off. maybe a few obnoxious kids might try to poke at him and get a reaction, which he would ignore until they get on his nerves too hard and, despite not being one to talk much, reads them to filth in front of everybody and then continues silently doing whatever he was doing. neji also wasn't popular with girls like sasuke was because the girls were a little scared of him. he'd just sit outside in the same spot every day seemingly staring at nothing and that was enough to creep everyone out. he kinda looked like a ghost too with his pale skin and eyes and long dark hair. and when he did open his mouth, he always said something really strange and used words nobody else their age understood. just an all around weirdo

[itspileofgoodthings]

always thinking about when I was talking to a friend about IX about Ben’s death and she said “there was a whole lifetime in his smile” and I just. think about that forever.

[kaces-graham-crackers]

Stirring the Quiet - (9) The Distance Between Heartbeats

Jenna Ortega x Reader

Summary: The six months starts. Distance lingers, the silence heavier than you expected. You both don’t name what this is—because naming it means admitting something has changed. Jenna calls miles away at the crack of dawn, wearing your favorite hoodie, like she’s afraid of what the quiet might say. And you don’t know if time will keep you both together—or pull you apart.

Word Count: 5.4k

The days leading up to her departure blurred together, slipping through my fingers no matter how tightly I tried to hold onto them. I wasn't counting down in dread—not exactly—but every moment felt sharper, more defined like I was imprinting them into my memory so I could replay them later when the silence got too loud. Jenna must have felt it, too. She never said it outright, but she didn't have to. It was in the way she lingered a little longer when I walked her to her door, her fingers curling around my wrist like she wasn't ready to let go just yet—in the way she caught me staring and didn't call me out on it, just met my gaze with something unreadable before shifting closer. On the way, she reached for my hand absentmindedly—across café tables, on the subway, while wandering through the city streets—like it was second nature. There were dates—real ones, not just stolen moments disguised as friendship. We returned to the fall festival before the season changed, browsed through holiday markets as Christmas lights flickered in shop windows, and stayed up too late watching old horror movies in her apartment while the city outside lay wrapped in moonlight. She kissed me in the quiet moments when the world felt like it had shrunk down to just the two of us—soft, unhurried kisses that carried the weight of something neither of us wanted to name. Because naming it would mean admitting that, soon, she'd be gone. And then, the day arrived. I told myself I wouldn't make it harder than it had to be. I wouldn't make it dramatic. But as I gripped the steering wheel, sneaking glances at Jenna in the passenger seat, I knew there was no way to prevent this from sinking in. She was leaving. And even if it wasn't forever, even if it wasn't goodbye, it still felt like something between us was stretching into an unknown space neither of us could define.

Jenna sat with her hands tucked into the sleeves of my hoodie—her new favorite thing to steal, apparently—legs pulled up slightly onto the seat. It was oversized on her, the sleeves swallowing her hands, the fabric bunched around her frame like a second skin. The scent of my detergent, my warmth, still lingered on it, but she wore it like it was hers—like she hadn't straight-up claimed it the moment I let my guard down. The car was filled with the soft hum of music, something low and slow that neither of us had the heart to change. Outside, the city passed in hazy smears of neon and streetlights, but Jenna wasn't paying attention. Her fingers tapped against her knee, her eyes flickering over the familiar streets, the buildings, and the people like she was trying to memorize them before they slipped away from her view. Or maybe—just maybe—she was trying to memorize this. Us. Here. Now. I tightened my grip on the wheel, focusing on the road even as my chest tightened with something I didn't have a name for. I could feel the weight of time pressing in on us, the reality of this being our last drive together before she left. Before, everything shifted into phone calls, text messages, and missing moments instead of making them. She sighed quietly, sinking deeper into my hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her fingers as she could disappear inside them. "I hate this part." I didn't have to ask what she meant. I swallowed, forcing a smirk even though my throat felt tight. "Hate saying goodbye, or hate the part where you steal my clothes and then leave me here to suffer?" Jenna rolled her eyes but didn't fight the way the corner of her mouth twitched. "You act like I don't look better in your hoodie." I glanced at her, noticing how she was practically drowning in it. The hood pulled up just enough to shadow her face. And yeah—she did. She really did. "Not the point," I muttered, shifting gears as I pulled onto the highway. Jenna hummed, unconvinced, resting her chin against the collar of the hoodie like she knew what she was doing to me. Like she knew I wasn't mad about it at all. But I didn't press it. Because if she wanted to take a piece of me with her—something to hold onto while we were apart—I wasn't about to stop her.

The hum of the engine filled the spaces where words wouldn't come, where the weight of what was left unsaid settled in the air like fog. Jenna kept her eyes on the passing scenery, but I could tell she wasn't really seeing it. She was somewhere else. Maybe in the weeks leading up to this moment—each date, each stolen glance, each whispered promise wrapped in something fragile, something neither of us wanted to break. Maybe she was already ahead of us—six months into the future, where the distance had settled between us like an ocean we'd have to learn to swim through. I didn't want to think about that. Instead, I focused on now. On her curled up in my hoodie, stealing warmth from something that would outlast this moment. On the way, her fingers traced absentminded patterns against her knee as if she could distract herself from the inevitable. On the way, she shifted slightly closer without really touching me, her presence filling the car in a way that made my chest ache. My grip on the wheel shifted. "You still excited?" She hesitated before answering, and that alone told me everything. "Yeah," she said finally, but it was softer than I expected. Less sure. "I mean, I've been looking forward to this for so long, but… I don't know. It just feels different now." I glanced at her, catching the way she chewed at her lip, her gaze flickering to me before shifting back to the window. "You mean because of—?" I gestured vaguely between us because saying it out loud made it feel too real, too raw. Jenna let out a quiet laugh, but there was no amusement in it. "Yeah. Because of that." I nodded, exhaling slowly. "Yeah. Me too." She turned to me fully then, one hand pulling at the sleeve of my hoodie, twisting the fabric between her fingers like she was debating something. And then, just as I was about to ask what was on her mind, she reached out, letting her hand settle lightly over mine where it rested on the gearshift. I stilled. Her touch was soft, barely there, but the impact was immediate—like all the air in the car had shifted as the weight of the moment had finally landed between us. "I don't want to go," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I mean, I do. But I don't." I swallowed around the lump in my throat, willing my voice to stay steady. "I don't want you to go either. But you have to." She sighed, her thumb brushing absently over my knuckles. "I know." Silence stretched between us again, but it wasn't heavy. It was something else—something unspoken, something that filled the car with all the things we wanted to say but didn't know how to. When we finally pulled into the airport parking lot, neither of us moved right away. Jenna stared straight ahead, shoulders tensing slightly as she let out a breath. "This is the part where we pretend it's not a big deal, right?" I huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. "Yeah. I guess so." But it was a big deal. And we both knew it.

The walk through the terminal was slow, stretched by the weight of each step. I carried her bag even though she insisted she could handle it, and she let me, which felt like its own kind of goodbye. We stopped just before security. This was it. Jenna shifted on her feet, looking at me with something unreadable in her expression. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure what she was thinking. "You're gonna be okay, right?" she asked again, like she needed the reassurance like she needed to hear it one last time. I let out a slow breath, forcing a small smile. "I should be asking you that." Her lips quirked, but her eyes stayed serious. "You should. But you won't." I shook my head. "Nope." She exhaled sharply, her hands balling into the sleeves of my hoodie. "This sucks." "Yeah," I agreed, voice softer now. "It does." And then, without warning, she grabbed the front of my jacket and pulled me in. The kiss was immediate—no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just her and me and the weight of everything we couldn't put into words. It wasn't soft. It wasn't tentative. It was something else entirely—something desperate, something that tasted like goodbye and promise all at once. Her fingers curled into the fabric, pulling me closer like she could press me into her skin like she could take me with her. And I let her, let myself sink into it, let myself feel everything I'd been trying to ignore since the moment she told me she was leaving. When she pulled back, she didn't go far. Forehead resting against mine, breath mingling in the space between us, she whispered, "I'll call you when I land." I nodded, throat tight. "I'll be waiting." Her fingers lingered for a second longer before she finally, finally stepped back. And then, with one last glance—one last moment where the entire world narrowed down to just the two of us—she turned and walked toward the gate. I stood there long after she disappeared through security, watching the space she had just occupied, feeling the weight of her absence settle into my chest. Six months. I could wait. I would wait.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that made everything feel heavier than it should've, stretching across the empty space like a weighted blanket I hadn't asked for. The door clicked shut behind me, locking me into the quiet, and for a moment, I just stood there, keys still in my hand, staring at the dimly lit kitchen like it might have some sort of answer for me. Mr. Noodles had other plans. There was a soft thump, then another, and before I could react, the small, fluffy traitor leaped onto the kitchen counter, tail flicking as he blinked up at me like he knew something was off. He could tell the apartment wasn't supposed to feel this empty. I sighed, dropping my keys into the dish by the door before walking over and running a hand through his fur. "It's just you and me now, buddy." Mr. Noodles let out a soft purr, pressing into my touch, and for a second, I let myself sink into the familiar rhythm—the simple comfort of something still being the same. But the quiet still settled in. I moved through the motions of dinner without really thinking. I popped a frozen meal into the microwave. I listened to the hum as it spun, the artificial glow from the appliance making the kitchen feel even more empty. I grabbed a fork, took the tray, and made my way to the couch, collapsing into the cushions like I could sink into them. Remote in hand, I scrolled aimlessly, looking for something to fill the silence. But nothing looked right. Nothing felt right. Not when— I froze. The cursor had landed on a show—our show—the one we had binged together, the one that had started as background noise but turned into something else entirely. My thumb hovered over the play button, and my heart hammered in my chest. And then, like a cruel trick of the mind, the memory hit.

The apartment had been warm that night, filled with the low flicker of the TV and the sound of Jenna's soft laughter as she curled up beside me, tucked comfortably into my side as if she belonged there. Mr. Noodles had claimed the armrest, his tiny body rising and falling in time with his steady purrs. The show played on, but neither of us was paying attention anymore. Not when Jenna had decided, for whatever reason, to lean over and whisper something absolutely absurd about one of the characters—something so ridiculous I nearly choked on my drink. "Jenna," I groaned, shaking my head, "you can't just say stuff like that." She grinned, unrepentant. "Why not? I'm right." "You're insufferable." "You like it." I had opened my mouth to argue—to try and argue—but she had seen it coming, dodging slightly, giggling as she moved just out of reach. A challenge. One she should've known better than to throw down. "Oh, you think that's funny?" I asked, already shifting. Jenna caught the shift too late. "Wait—" Too late. I moved fast, my fingers finding her sides and tickling just enough to make her dissolve into laughter. She squirmed beneath my touch, her face scrunching up as she fought back. "No—!" she gasped between breathless laughs, pushing at my hands. "Okay—wait, stop—!" I didn't stop. Not yet. Not until she flipped the game, managing to shove me back against the cushions, her hands finding my shoulders as she straddled me. Her hair was a little messy from the scuffle, and her breath was still uneven from laughter. It should've been funny. It should've just been playful. But then, the laughter faded, the energy between us shifting, deepening into something else entirely. The show was still playing, but it may as well have been white noise now. Jenna's hands were still braced against my shoulders, and mine had settled against her waist without even thinking. Her eyes softened. Her breathing slowed. And then—she leaned in. It was slow, deliberate, her fingers trailing up the back of my neck, the warmth of her palms grounding, anchoring, claiming. I barely had time to react before her lips pressed against mine, soft, sure, and aching with something I couldn't quite name. I kissed her back just as eagerly, sinking into the moment, into her, every thought slipping away until there was nothing left but the way she felt, the way she tasted, the way she was. When she finally pulled away, she lingered, eyes searching mine, lips parted like she was trying to remember how to breathe. And then, just above a whisper, she said, "Promise me." I swallowed, still catching up. "Promise you what?" Her fingers traced absent patterns at the nape of my neck, eyes flickering over my face like she was memorizing me, holding onto me. "Don't watch it without me." I let out a breathy laugh, tilting my forehead against hers, my own hands tightening slightly at her waist. "That's what you're thinking about right now?" She didn't smile. Didn't waver. "I'm serious." The weight of it hit me all at once. This wasn't about the show. This was about us. About her realizing, in real-time, just how much she was going to miss this—miss me. About her trying to hold onto something, even if it was as simple as a show we had made ours. My heart clenched, my throat tightening at the sight of her so bare, so unguarded. I cupped the side of her face, my thumb brushing against her cheek, offering her the one thing I could. "I promise," I murmured. "I'll promise you anything if it's gonna ease that pretty head of yours." She exhaled shakily, closing her eyes for half a second before pressing another kiss—softer this time—to the corner of my mouth, lingering like she didn't want to go. Like she didn't want this moment to end. I blinked back to the present. The frozen dinner sat untouched beside me. The TV screen still hovered over the show, and the cursor still hovered over the play. I swallowed hard, setting the remote down without pressing anything. Instead, I sat back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, and let the quiet settle in. Let myself miss her.

The ceiling had never felt so heavy. I had been staring at it for over an hour now, sprawled in the middle of my bed, drowning in the quiet. Not the kind that settled or soothed—not the kind I was used to. This was something else entirely. A weight. A presence of absence. The apartment felt bigger without her. I knew that didn't make sense. Jenna had never lived here—she had her own place, her own space, her own life that ran parallel to mine but never quite fully merged. And yet, she was in everything. In the lingering smell of coffee from the cup she had stolen that morning. The extra blanket still draped over the couch was the one she always wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak. In the hoodie that was supposed to be hanging over the chair in the corner—but wasn't.

I had half a mind to call her out on it. To text her and say, You really couldn't leave me with that one, huh? But I already knew what she'd say. She had claimed it a long time ago—long before she threw it on, taking it with her. It's comfy. It smells like you. It's basically mine now.

The apartment was too still, too empty. My brothers were gone for the week, off on their annual Brother Week, which was essentially just an excuse for them to disappear on some poorly planned road trip and do whatever it was that brothers did when left to their own devices. Normally, I would have tagged along for at least part of it—keeping them from getting arrested or stranded in the middle of nowhere. But this time, I had stayed behind. And now I almost regretted it. At least with them here, the noise would have been enough to drown out the quiet, to keep me from feeling the way Jenna's absence had settled into my chest, deep and persistent. Mr. Noodles hopped onto the bed, landing against my side with an indignant little thump. He stretched out, pressing his warm little body against my ribs, tail flicking as he made himself comfortable. "Yeah, yeah," I muttered, running my fingers through his fur. His purr rumbled against me, steady and grounding like he wasn't concerned that the world had shifted under my feet. I exhaled, rolling onto my side, eyes flicking toward my phone. The screen was dark. No missed calls. No texts. I knew it was too soon. She was still in the air, somewhere between here and where she needed to be. Still caught in the in-between. And I was still here. Waiting.

The plane hummed, steady and rhythmic beneath her, but Jenna barely noticed. She had been staring at the same page of her script for the past ten minutes, eyes scanning over the words without really absorbing them. The reality of the past few hours was still sinking in—the goodbye, the kiss, the way your voice had wrapped around her name right before she turned to leave. Six months. She exhaled, shifting slightly in her seat, fingers tracing the corner of the page before flipping it shut. She wasn't getting any work done like this. "You always read scripts that intensely, or are you just trying to melt it with your eyes?" Jenna blinked, looking up to see the woman sitting next to her. She was familiar—not in a friend way, but in a Hollywood-you-know-of-each-other kind of way. Sophia Reyes. Rising indie darling, critically acclaimed for her last project. "Dangerous Hour" Sharp eyes, effortless charm. The kind of presence that lingered even after she left the room. Jenna smirked, setting the script aside. "I was trying to focus. Didn't work." Sophia hummed, tilting her head slightly. "Something more interesting on your mind?" Jenna hesitated for half a second but knew her silence was already an answer. Sophia raised a brow, a teasing smile pulling at her lips. "The person you kissed at the airport?" Jenna's stomach flipped, and she forced herself not to react too much. "You saw that?" "Not just me," Sophia said, shrugging. "A few of us. You weren't exactly subtle." Jenna huffed, shaking her head, but she could feel the heat creeping up her neck. Sophia leaned back in her seat, watching her. "So, partner? Lover?" She paused, then smirked. "Secret affair?" Jenna rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. She thought of your hands on her waist, the weight of your forehead against hers, the way you had whispered, "I promise you anything if it's going to ease that pretty head of yours." Her chest ached, but in a way that felt good. In a way, that told her you were still with her, even from thousands of miles away. She glanced back at Sophia, expression steady, voice firm. "They're my lover." Sophia's smirk didn't falter, but there was something thoughtful behind her eyes now. She hummed again like she was filing that information away for later. "Lucky them." Jenna didn't respond. Just leaned back into her seat, letting her eyes slip shut as the plane carried her further away from you. But before sleep could fully claim her, before the hum of the plane could lull her into something close to rest, a memory surfaced—one she hadn't even realized she had tucked away for safekeeping.

It had been raining that night. A slow, steady drizzle that made the city glow in slick reflections, puddles catching neon signs and stretching them into distorted colors. You had both been walking home from some late-night café run, hands stuffed into your pockets, shoulders brushing as you moved through the nearly empty streets. Jenna remembered shivering slightly despite the warmth of her jacket. It wasn't cold, not really, but the rain had a way of sneaking past layers and settling into her skin. You had noticed—because, of course, you had. Without a word, you had shrugged off your hoodie, the one she had been eyeing since the moment you met up that evening, and draped it over her shoulders before she could protest. She had tried anyway. "You're going to freeze." You had just grinned, unfazed. "I run hot." She had rolled her eyes, but her fingers had curled into the fabric, pulling it tighter around her. It smelled like you—like coffee and something faintly sweet like the cologne you always swore you barely used. It was also warm, the residual heat from your body sinking into her own, and she hated how much she liked it. Hated how much she wanted to keep it. But the moment that stuck with her wasn't the hoodie or the rain or the way the streetlights painted everything in muted gold. It was when you had stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk, head tilting up toward the sky. "What are you doing?" she had asked, hugging the hoodie closer. "Listening," you had said simply, eyes flickering back to her. "Doesn't it sound different at night?" She frowned slightly, confused, but then she listened. Really listened. When the world was quieter, the rain didn't sound the same. It wasn't just white noise. It was softer, almost melodic, weaving between distant car horns and the occasional sound of laughter spilling from a bar a few blocks away. She had never noticed before. But you had. And as she stood there beside you, her hair damp, your hoodie draped over her shoulders, she realized that was one of the things she liked most about you. The way you noticed things no one else did. The way you found something worth holding onto in the smallest, most ordinary moments. Jenna had looked at you then—looked at you. And maybe it was the rain, the streetlights, or the way your eyes softened when you caught her staring, but something had shifted. She had felt it. Later, when you had walked her back to her apartment, she had hesitated before stepping inside. Not because she didn't want to go in but because she wasn't ready to let the night end. You had sensed it because, of course, you had, and before she could second-guess herself, you had reached out—just the tiniest action, the briefest brush of your knuckles against hers. That had been enough. She had grabbed your sleeve and pulled you just a little closer. Not a kiss, not yet, but something close. A moment that lingered in the space between. "Keep it," you had murmured, glancing at the hoodie she was still wrapped in. "Looks better on you anyway." She had scoffed, but she hadn't argued. And when she had climbed into bed that night, the hoodie still faintly smelling like you, she had fallen asleep faster than she had in weeks. Now, thousands of miles away, Jenna let out a slow breath, fingers unconsciously curling against her arm, where the memory still lingered. Yeah. She could do six months. Because you'd still be there.

The wheels touched down smoothly, the faint jolt barely registering in Jenna's tired body. It was too early, but the city outside was already waking up, golden morning light stretching across the skyline as the plane taxied to a slow stop. She didn't waste time. The moment the seatbelt light dinged off, she reached for her phone, fingers moving on instinct before she even thought about it. The script was in her bag, and the emails were waiting for her—all of it could wait. She needed to hear your voice. Jenna stepped off the plane, adjusting her hoodie—your hoodie—over her head as she made her way through the private exit where her security team, Greg and Will, were already waiting by the car. Greg, the shorter one, was quick to flash her a grin. "Welcome back, boss. Miss us?" Jenna barely glanced at him as she slid into the backseat, phone in hand. "Yeah." Taller and quieter, Will shut the door behind her before entering the passenger seat. "Smooth flight?" "It was Fine," Jenna muttered, already pulling up your contact. Greg glanced at her through the rearview mirror, smirking as he started the car. "Didn't even hesitate. You calling them already?" Jenna ignored him. Will, ever the serious one, just exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Let her be, Greg." Greg shrugged, amused. "I'm just saying she barely got into the car before dialing. That's devotion, man." Jenna glanced at him but didn't bother defending herself. She tapped her screen, bringing the phone to her ear. The phone rang once. Twice. And then— "Jenna?" Your voice hit her like a punch to the chest. Immediate. Familiar. Like home. Her eyes fluttered shut, exhaling softly. "Hey, Slick." You sighed, and she could practically hear the relief in it. "You landed safely?" "Yeah. Just got in the car." She shifted, tugging the sleeves of your hoodie over her hands. "You stayed up, didn't you?" A pause. Then, quieter, "…Maybe." Jenna smiled. Greg made a mock gagging noise up front. "God, you're both so gone for each other. It's disgusting." Jenna reached over and smacked the back of his seat. Will sighed. "Greg, drive the damn car." But Jenna wasn't paying attention to them anymore, not when she felt the softest vibration against her wrist—a gentle buzz from the distance bracelet you had given her before she left. She looked down, her heart twisting. You had touched yours. Without thinking, Jenna pressed her fingers against it, signaling back. The moment she did, another vibration came in return. She exhaled slowly, eyes flickering shut for a moment. A memory bloomed in her mind—the weight of your arms around her, the warmth of your body against hers in that quiet moment before she left.

The suitcases stood by the door. Neither of you acknowledged it. Jenna stood before you, the soft glow of your bedroom lamp casting shadows along the curve of her cheekbones. The room was quiet, save for the city's hum outside and the fabric's faint rustle as she played with the bracelet. You had just fastened it around her wrist, fingertips brushing against her pulse point, lingering in a way that made Jenna's breath hitch. "It vibrates," you murmured, tracing the tiny sensor with your thumb. "When you touch it, mine will buzz too. So that you know, I'm thinking about you." Jenna swallowed, staring at the matching bracelet on your wrist. She lifted her gaze, eyes flickering between yours, and something shifted in her chest—something deep and heavy with the weight of missing you before she left. You smiled softly. "Go on. Try it." Jenna hesitated before pressing her fingertips against the bracelet. A second later, yours buzzed. Your eyes softened, and she felt that quiet pull between you—a connection, even in the distance. Jenna let out a shaky breath, and before she could stop herself, she stepped forward and pulled you in—arms tight, breath unsteady, chest pressing against yours. You caught her without hesitation, letting her fold into you. "I'm gonna miss you," you whispered against her temple. Jenna squeezed her eyes shut, tears silently falling. "You better." You laughed, soft and fond, before spinning her in your arms, earning a surprised yelp that turned into laughter. The moment slowed. Your forehead pressed against hers. She felt your breath fan across her lips, your hands steady on her back, anchoring her. "You'll use it when you miss me, right?" she murmured. You grinned. "Of course." But Jenna's fingers curled into the collar of your hoodie—her hoodie now, actually—and her voice was quieter this time, almost fragile. "Promise?" You reached up, fingertips brushing away the stray tears, thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. "I promise," you murmured, your free hand resting on the small of her back. "Anything for you, Jen." She kissed you then. Slow. Deliberate. A silent, unspoken goodbye that wasn't a goodbye at all.

You chuckled, snapping her out of her daze, and she could practically hear the smile in your voice. "Okay, maybe a little. But it's fine. I wanted to hear from you anyway." Jenna leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. The hum of the car and the distant sound of the city outside faded into the background. "Yeah?" "Yeah." A beat passed, then softer, "I missed you." Jenna swallowed. She knew it had barely been a day, but that didn't make it any easier. She tugged at the hoodie's sleeve, fingers fidgeting as she let out a quiet breath. "I missed you too." Greg and Will remained silent in the front, professional as always. However, Jenna still turned toward the window for a little privacy. "You get any sleep?" you asked. "A little." She glanced at the city passing by, familiar streets stretching ahead. "You?" A pause. Then, with a teasing lilt, "Not really. Your fault." Jenna smirked. "Oh? Do tell." "You left and took my favorite hoodie hostage. The betrayal kept me up." She laughed, a genuine one, and Greg side-eyed her in the mirror with a knowing look. She ignored him. "You're an idiot," Jenna murmured, shaking her head. "And you're still in my hoodie," you shot back. "Smells like me, doesn't it?" Jenna didn't answer right away. She shifted, fingers tugging at the sleeve again, biting back a smile. "Maybe." Your laugh was soft, but she could hear the way your voice dropped slightly, more intimate now. "Good. Then you won't forget me." "Like that's possible," she muttered. A pause. Neither of you spoke, but the silence was comfortable. The kind that didn't need filling. Jenna sighed, glancing at the skyline again. "I'm gonna be busy for a while, but I'll text when I can. And you better pick up when I call." "Always," you promised. Something warm settled in her chest. Greg pulled up to the hotel, slowing to a stop. Jenna hesitated. She didn't want to hang up yet. "You still wearing the bracelet?" you asked, like you knew. She glanced down at her wrist, at the simple but significant piece of jewelry you had given her before she left. "Yeah," she murmured. "Still wearing it." "Good," you hummed. "Then I'm still with you." Jenna closed her eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in. "You are," she whispered. Will cleared his throat slightly, signaling that they had arrived. Jenna sighed. "I gotta go." "I know," you said, voice soft. "Call me later?" "You know I will." A pause. Then— "Jenna?" "Yeah?" "Try not to miss me too much." Jenna scoffed, rolling her eyes even as a smile broke through. "Impossible." And with that, she hung up, gripping the phone tightly before exiting the car.

[gammaraydeath]

accidentally getting a peek into the broader mass effect fandom feels like witnessing this