Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The buzzing of the school bell signaled the end of rest time, sending waves of students drifting back inside. Some hurried straight to their classrooms, others lingered at their lockers, and a few dawdled, laughing and gossiping as if the day would wait for them. Tori was one of those stragglers, moving at her own pace as she gathered books for her next class. Earbuds tucked in, her head bobbed lightly to the rhythm of the song flowing only for her. What she didn’t notice—what no one ever seemed to notice—was the pair of eyes fixed on her, burning holes into her from across the hall. Jade West’s gaze lingered, sharp and unyielding, as though she could memorize every detail simply by staring.

 

Biting her lip, Jade exhaled the breath she’d been holding for far too long. Her hands rubbed absently along her own arms, chasing away the goosebumps rising there. Just staring at the brunette was enough to unravel her, filling her with an unspeakable pleasure that was just so wrong—but felt so right.

As Jade watched Tori shut her locker and drift down the hallway, something inside her snapped loose. She followed, her strides lengthening until she was only a few paces behind. Her eyes dragged over the Latina’s body with a hunger she didn’t bother disguising. The sway of her hips taunted her, the snug fabric of her shirt outlining curves Jade had memorized a thousand times in her head. Even the soft waves of Tori’s hair seemed like an invitation, brushing along her shoulders as if daring Jade to reach out and take a fistful. Heat tightened in Jade’s chest, spiraling lower, until her breath came rough and shallow, a predator starved for something she knew she shouldn’t want.

The hallway swallowed them both.

Tori walked without urgency, earbuds still humming a beat only she could hear. Her fingers tapped lightly against the spines of her books, her mouth twitching at some lyric, as if the world were hers alone to enjoy. Around her, the crowd shifted and thinned, yet she moved unbothered, flowing through it with a careless rhythm.

Jade followed.

Each step was deliberate, measured, her boots clicking against the linoleum in a tempo that only she noticed. Her eyes never left the girl in front of her. She devoured the movement of Tori’s shoulders as she adjusted her backpack, the faint bounce of her hair catching the overhead light, the curve of her calves as her skirt swayed. It was torture and indulgence all at once — a feast she couldn’t touch, not yet.

Her throat tightened as Tori pushed open the classroom door. Jade slipped in behind her like a shadow, her pulse spiking when the faint scent of Tori’s shampoo drifted back — coconut, something cheap, sweet, maddeningly perfect.

Tori didn’t notice. She never did.

She slid into her usual seat by the window, dropping her bag with a sigh, tugging her earbuds free. The world dimmed around her, leaving only the low hum of voices and the scrape of chairs. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, absently chewing her lip as she fished a notebook out of her bag.

Jade watched from the doorway a moment too long. Her nails bit into her palms, grounding her against the raw ache of need coiling inside. Then, at last, she moved — slow, deliberate — weaving through the desks until she settled into the chair directly behind Tori.

The desk creaked as Jade lowered herself, and she felt a wicked satisfaction as Tori straightened unconsciously at the sound. Not fear, not suspicion. Just an animal instinct, a flicker of awareness that something had shifted in the air.

Jade smiled.

Her gaze dropped to the loose curls brushing against the back of Tori’s neck. She imagined reaching forward, winding one strand around her finger, tugging just enough to make Tori turn. Her hand twitched on the desk, aching with restraint.

Tori, oblivious, leaned forward on her elbows, scribbling the date across her notebook page. She tapped the pen against her lip before writing the first line, tongue darting out to wet her mouth in thought.

Jade’s stomach twisted, heat curling low. She let her eyes linger shamelessly on the curve of Tori’s back, the slope of her shoulders under the thin fabric of her shirt, the faint rise and fall of her breathing. Every detail was a secret gift, one she could unwrap endlessly in her mind.

The room filled slowly with other students, voices overlapping, footsteps dragging. None of it mattered. Jade heard nothing beyond the faint scratch of Tori’s pen.

Her thoughts spiraled.

What would she do if she leaned forward right now, close enough for her breath to stir the hair at Tori’s ear? What if she whispered something cruel, something cutting — just to see Tori flinch, to see her eyes widen? She wanted to be inside that reaction, to drink it down until there was nothing left of the girl but her pulse and her silence.

Her thighs pressed together under the desk, breath catching sharp and fast. She dug her nails harder into her palms, forcing her face into its mask of cool indifference. If anyone looked, they’d see only Jade West — detached, aloof, untouchable. No one would ever guess how close she was to breaking.

Tori stretched suddenly, arms lifting overhead with a soft sigh before settling back into her chair. Jade’s eyes snapped down, tracing the shift of fabric over skin, the delicate line of her waist. Her pulse roared in her ears.

Tori, for her part, thought only about how warm the classroom felt. She fanned herself with a loose sheet of paper, humming faintly under her breath, unaware of the heat burning into her from behind. She felt it sometimes, that odd heaviness, but always dismissed it. Just nerves, just the press of too many bodies in one room.

The teacher’s voice cut through, sharp and commanding, pulling the class into order. Books opened, pens scratched. Tori bent dutifully over her notes, brows furrowed in concentration.

Jade barely registered a word. Her eyes stayed locked on the delicate slope of Tori’s neck, the subtle rhythm of her breathing, the tiny, human details that no one else ever noticed but her.

And in that moment, Jade decided — she wouldn’t just watch. Not forever.

This closeness, this proximity, wasn’t enough.

Not anymore.

The minutes bled together in the classroom, stretched thin and fragile. The teacher droned on at the front, diagrams scrawled across the whiteboard, words that barely made sense even to the ones trying to listen. Pens clicked. Paper rustled.

Tori tapped her pen against her notebook, trying to keep up, brows furrowed. She felt sluggish, distracted. Maybe she hadn’t slept enough, maybe the music still rang faintly in her ears, but something about the air felt heavier than usual. She shrugged it off, shaking her head slightly before refocusing on the page.

Behind her, Jade sat still as stone. Her gaze tunneled on every little movement, every sound Tori made. The faint scratch of her pen. The sigh when she got stuck on a word. The way her hand swept a curl out of her face, only for it to slip forward again, teasingly.

Jade’s chest rose and fell too quickly. Her pulse thrummed in her fingertips. She needed something, anything, to hold onto — proof that Tori Vega wasn’t just a passing ghost she followed through the halls.

Then she saw it.

A pen rolled toward the edge of Tori’s desk, nudged aside carelessly as she flipped a page. It teetered for a moment, then settled against the corner, threatening to fall.

Jade’s hand moved before her brain did. She reached forward, swift and silent, and caught it between her fingers.

For the briefest second, her skin brushed the smooth wood of Tori’s desk. Her knuckles nearly grazed the sleeve of Tori’s shirt. Electricity crawled over her skin, sharp enough to make her bite her lip until it hurt.

Tori startled faintly at the motion, head turning halfway — but Jade was already leaning back, pen hidden beneath the lip of her desk, face unreadable.

Tori blinked. The pen was gone. She frowned, glancing around her notebook, under her elbow, on the floor. Nothing. With a quiet sigh, she dug another one out of her bag and kept writing.

Jade closed her fist around the stolen pen, her palm damp. She turned it over once, pressing her thumb into the smooth plastic, imagining the faint warmth that lingered from Tori’s touch. Her breath shook, barely controlled. It was nothing, just a pen — but in Jade’s grip, it became a secret tether, proof that she could reach out and take something of Tori’s whenever she wanted.

She slipped it into the pocket of her jacket, burying it deep like a relic. The weight settled against her thigh, grounding her, thrilling her all at once.

Tori leaned forward again, scribbling notes. She chewed absently at the cap of her replacement pen, lips pursed in concentration, eyes narrowed at the whiteboard. The world shrank down to the scrape of plastic against paper, the low murmur of the teacher’s voice.

But something still itched at her. A nagging sense that she was being watched. She shifted in her seat, rolling her shoulders, glancing quickly over her shoulder — but Jade was already bent over her own notebook, pen tapping lazily as if she were bored out of her mind.

Tori shook her head. Paranoia. That was all. She was imagining it.

Still, the skin at the back of her neck prickled.

Jade lifted her gaze once Tori turned away again, her lips curling at the sight of the girl’s unease. It was delicious. That faint, restless frown. The small twitch of her shoulders. Even when Tori told herself there was nothing wrong, her body whispered the truth: she felt Jade there, even if she didn’t understand it.

And that was enough to keep Jade steady.

The class dragged on, the sound of chalk and muttering voices filling the air. Tori twirled her hair absently, tried to focus, and failed. She told herself she was just tired. Just distracted. Nothing more.

Behind her, Jade rested her chin on her hand, staring holes through the back of Tori’s head, through the thin curtain of curls that shielded her. Her other hand stayed pressed against her jacket pocket, against the stolen pen. Her secret.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

This was just the beginning.

Chapter Text

Tori’s phone buzzed against the blanket, making her flinch. She grabbed it quickly, pulse still unsteady, only to see her mother’s name flash across the screen.

Mom: We’ll be home late tonight. Dad’s stuck in a meeting. Can you handle the chores?

Tori groaned, flopping back against the pillow. Of course. Her gaze flicked toward the laundry basket sitting half-full in the corner, the silent reminder of responsibility. She typed back a quick Got it before tossing the phone aside.
Dragging herself out of bed, she scooped up the basket, muttering under her breath when one of Trina’s sweaters slipped free. She kicked it back toward her sister’s door without a second thought.
“Nope. Not doing yours,” she grumbled. “You can handle your own mess for once.”
The weight of the laundry pressed against her hip as she padded barefoot down the hallway. The house creaked with the shifting of old wood, familiar sounds that usually faded into background noise. Tonight, though, each groan seemed louder, echoing behind her steps like a second set of feet.
Tori tightened her grip on the basket and shook her head. Paranoid. That was all.
She flicked on the stairwell light, bathing the steps in a yellow glow, and made her way down carefully, the banister cool against her palm. The hum of the refrigerator greeted her from the kitchen, the faint tick of the clock above the mantle filling the silence in slow, steady beats.
In the laundry room, she set the basket on the floor with a sigh.

Tori crouched in front of the basket, fingers digging through the heap of tangled fabric, damp with the faint musk of worn cotton and detergent residue. She pushed aside a pair of jeans, then one of her cheer tops, then the soft pastel hoodie she sometimes wore to bed. But her brow furrowed when she came up short.
Her favorite white shirt — the one she had tossed in yesterday after dance practice, the one streaked with a faint line of glitter she hadn’t managed to wash off — wasn’t there.
At first, she thought maybe she’d made a mistake. Maybe she’d left it in her room, or maybe it had slipped somewhere behind the basket. She dug deeper, her movements a little sharper now, breath catching as clothes rustled louder in the quiet laundry room.
Nothing.
She sat back on her heels, exhaling through her nose, strands of her hair falling into her face. “Great. Just great.” Her voice sounded louder than she expected in the stillness, bouncing faintly off the tiled walls.
Pushing herself up, Tori scanned the room — the basket, the counter, the shelf where they kept extra towels. Nothing. It was ridiculous to feel unsettled over a missing shirt. Shirts vanished all the time in the Vega household. Trina had a bad habit of “borrowing” things without asking. The dryer sometimes ate socks, maybe shirts too. It was no big deal.
But still… she remembered clearly tossing it in. The way it had slipped from her fingers, the faint sweat-stale scent still clinging to the fabric before it disappeared into the pile. She knew she had put it there.
Her chest tightened for a second before she shook her head, laughing weakly at herself. “Relax, Tori. It’s just a shirt. Not the end of the world.”
She gave up the search, grabbing the detergent box she had come down for. When she shook it, the hollow, empty sound reminded her why she was standing here in the first place. With a sigh, she padded toward the storage cabinet by the corner, the soles of her feet whispering against the cool floor.
The cabinet door squeaked faintly when she opened it, revealing the neat row of replacement supplies. She pulled out a fresh bottle of detergent, setting it carefully on the counter. Her mind lingered, though — on that shirt. On the way it seemed to have simply… vanished.
Somewhere deep inside, a prickle of unease stirred. The air felt thicker now, as if the house itself was listening.

The washing machine rumbled to life with a low churn, water sloshing faintly inside. Tori closed the lid with a soft thud and stepped back, brushing her hair from her face. One chore done. At least her parents wouldn’t nag her about that.

She flicked off the laundry room light and pulled the door shut behind her.

The house was hushed again, shadows stretching long across the hallway. Her bare feet pressed against the smooth floor as she moved, her steps echoing louder than they should have in the stillness.

Then—

A creak.

Faint, but sharp. From upstairs.

For a moment she just stood there, pulse pounding in her ears. The house sometimes made noises — old wood settling, pipes humming — but this had felt… heavier. More deliberate.

Finally, she took a cautious step forward, then another, and made her way to the stairs. Each tread creaked faintly under her, her body tense as though bracing for something to answer back. Shadows clung stubbornly to the corners, the dim light from the living room not quite reaching the upper landing.

By the time she reached the top, her palms felt clammy.

Her bedroom door loomed ahead, just slightly ajar the way she’d left it. Nothing unusual. Just her room. Just her safe space.

She stepped inside, shrugging off the unease as best she could. The door clicked softly shut behind her.

 

Jade’s mouth went dry, tongue suddenly thick in her mouth. Her fingers itched, curling into the shelf as if she could reach out and bridge the impossible distance between them. The twisting knot in her stomach tightened with every small, oblivious movement Tori made, each one a cruel tease.

She could tell, unmistakably, that Tori’s body was alive in ways that made Jade ache — the way her muscles shifted as she stretched, the subtle rise and fall of her breath, the faint scent of her skin mingling with the clean laundry in her hands. It was unbearable, a delicious torment she didn’t want to endure but couldn’t stop herself from watching.

Her mind screamed, half in delirium, half in longing. She wanted nothing more than to tear that shirt from Tori’s body, to feel the warmth of her skin, to claim what was hers in secret. Every nerve in her body burned, every heartbeat a drum echoing in the small space of the closet.

And then —

Tori bent to gather the clothes from the bed, oblivious to the danger of her proximity. She lifted the damp shirt and padded toward the closet, the lamp casting her shadow long across the floor. Jade’s chest tightened violently as the shirt hovered in Tori’s hands, the faint scent of her skin mingling with the smell of freshly laundered clothes tugging at something raw and consuming in Jade’s mind.

Time seemed to stretch as Tori opened the closet, shirt raised, ready to toss it inside. Jade’s entire body tensed, the temptation screaming in every fiber of her being. She pressed herself closer against the shelf, eyes locked, struggling to contain herself as the girl she wanted more than anything came almost within reach — and still, unknowingly, remained just out of her grasp.

Tori straightened, brushing her hands over the rest of the clothes before stepping back. She gave the room a quick glance, as if ensuring everything was in its place, and then moved toward the bed to change into the soft shorts and tank top she had pulled out earlier.

Jade’s heart pounded violently in her chest, every beat a reminder of how close she was to the girl she craved, how impossible it would be to touch her without revealing herself. Her fingers itched, curling into the shelf, every muscle trembling with the tension of restraint.

Every motion, every innocent adjustment Tori made, was an excruciating tease. Jade’s mouth went dry, and a shiver ran down her spine. She wanted nothing more than to reach out, to tear the fabric from her, to claim even a fraction of what was hers in this private, stolen moment. And yet, she remained still, hidden in the shadows, drinking in every detail, letting the obsessive hunger coil tighter and tighter in her chest.

Tori sank onto the edge of her bed, legs stretching lazily, shoulders releasing the tension of the day. She leaned back, arms propping her up, head tilted toward the window as if soaking in the last glow of evening light. Her movements were slow, unguarded, utterly relaxed — completely unaware of the eyes burning through the closet walls.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, hammering against her ribcage as she drank in every detail: the soft rise and fall of Tori’s chest, the gentle curve of her waist, the way her shorts clung just so to her hips. It was unbearable — exquisite, torturous, impossible to look away from.

Her breath came fast, shallow, catching every time Tori shifted or stretched, hair brushing her bare shoulders. Jade’s mouth was dry, a low ache twisting through her stomach, a hunger she couldn’t name fully but didn’t want to resist. She wanted — needed — to cross the line, to pull her from that bed, to feel the warmth of her skin under her hands. And yet, she remained pressed into the dark, teeth clenched, every nerve quivering, savoring the delicious, excruciating torment of being close but unseen.

Tori finally pushed herself up from the edge of the bed, slipping under the covers in her soft shorts and tank top. She sighed softly as the mattress cradled her, body sinking into the familiar contours of the bed. Limbs stretched just slightly before curling into a comfortable position, and her eyes fluttered shut, the weight of the day finally giving way to drowsiness.

Jade remained pressed into the shadows of the closet, every heartbeat loud in her chest, every inhale a desperate whisper against the thick, quiet air. Seeing Tori so unguarded — so completely unaware of her presence — was both agony and ecstasy. The way the blankets shifted against the soft curve of Tori’s body, the faint rise and fall of her chest with each slow, relaxed breath… it was more than Jade could endure.

Her fingers twitched against the closet wall, jaw tight, stomach knotting with a delicious, twisted ache. She wanted to move, to reach out, to bridge the distance between them in a single, reckless motion. And yet, she stayed, barely breathing, drinking in the sight of Tori completely at ease, completely vulnerable.

Time slowed around her, thick and suffocating, every second stretching with the weight of her obsession. Jade could feel the heat pooling low in her body, the twisting hunger in her stomach, the ache in her chest that wanted nothing more than to have Tori entirely, even if just in secret. And all the while, Tori lay there, peaceful, unaware, and utterly, unbearably tantalizing.

Chapter Text

Jade sat in front of the mirror, elbows pressed into the edge of the vanity, her chin hovering over her palm. Her fingers toyed with her lower lip, dragging, pulling, pressing, kneading until the skin was raw and sensitive. The hum of the fluorescent bulb above her buzzed against her skull, sharp and unrelenting, throwing a sterile white light over everything—but it didn’t matter. The light couldn’t touch the shadow in her chest, the heat coiling there whenever she thought of Tori.

And Tori was everywhere. Every reflection in the glass, every corner of the room, every nerve ending in her body carried the echo of that perfect, untouchable girl. Tori’s brown hair, soft and gleaming, tangled over the pillow like it had been made for Jade’s fingers alone. The way her lips parted slightly in sleep, slow breaths rising and falling in a rhythm that made Jade ache in places she didn’t even know could ache. The way her skin caught the light in a way that made Jade want to map every inch, memorize every curve, burn it all into memory so she could hold it in her mind forever.

Jade hated it. Hated how effortless it was to see her. Hated how just imagining Tori curled up under the blanket, body bare of armor or pretense, could twist Jade’s stomach into knots so tight they threatened to split her ribs. Hated that she hadn’t slammed the door on last night’s memory, that she’d let it seep into her bones, drip into her thoughts like poison she couldn’t expel.

She picked up her eyeliner, hand trembling, the pencil scratching against the wood of the vanity as if it were mocking her. The line she drew across her lashes was shaky, uneven. And instead of the black curve, all she could see was Tori stretching, arm reaching above her head, tank top sliding just enough to hint at softness, perfection, life. Tori, whose every little movement made Jade’s pulse spike, whose smile made her teeth grit, whose laugh lodged itself in Jade’s chest like a knife coated in honey—sweet and lethal.

The reflection in the mirror sneered at her, sharp and accusatory. But it wasn’t weakness. It was fire. Burning, gnawing, a knot of want coiling low in her belly, tightening every time she imagined the taste of Tori’s skin, the weight of her body pressed against hers, the helplessness that made Jade’s blood roar with possession.

She pressed her fingers harder into her lips, tasting the faint salt of her own obsession. Muted murmurs escaped, soft, ragged: Mine. But the word felt too small, too simple. It didn’t encompass the way her chest ached for Tori’s nearness, the way every nerve in her body screamed to touch, to mark, to claim.

The room seemed to shrink around her, the walls closing in with shadows that whispered with Tori’s name. She could see her everywhere—in the soft curve of the chair in the corner, in the way the sunlight hit the desk just like it had hit Tori’s hair that morning. Every surface, every flicker of movement, was a reminder of what she wanted, what she couldn’t have…yet could never stop wanting.

She shivered, the chill crawling along her spine, as her mind spun further. Tori brushing hair back from her face, the subtle curve of her neck catching the light. Tori laughing, so bright, so unaware of the storm Jade was brewing over her, of the way Jade wanted to collapse into her, drown in her warmth, leave marks on her that would never fade. Tori standing too close in the hallway, a scent of vanilla shampoo drifting, heart too careless, life too untouchable. And someone else noticing? Someone else daring to step too close? Jade’s jaw clenched until her teeth hurt, fingers digging into her palms, nails biting through skin. No. No one. Not ever.

Jade’s reflection looked back at her with wide, frantic eyes, pupils blown, lips parting over ragged breaths. The vanity reflected more than her face—it reflected every ache, every desire, every obsession that had been building since the first time Tori had laughed in her presence, since the first stolen glance had lodged itself into her chest. She wasn’t in control anymore. She hadn’t been for a long time.

And it was unbearable. Sweet, sharp, unbearable. Every breath tasted like Tori, every thought of her twisted the air into fire. Jade leaned closer to the mirror, fingertips brushing over her lips as if tasting the word, tasting the feeling, letting it sink.

Mine.

Not in the casual way people claimed things. Not in a whisper of ownership. Mine like she would gnaw at the edges of the world until Tori was the only thing that existed in it, like she would claw and burn and bleed to ensure that no one else could ever touch her.

Jade’s chest heaved. Her nails bit into her palms, leaving crescent moons of pain. She imagined Tori’s hand in hers, small and warm, and the thought made her dizzy, made her want to pull her into the shadows and keep her there forever. Every inch of her body was alive, every sense hyperaware, tuned only to Tori—the soft sigh of her breath, the brush of her hair, the scent of her skin lingering like a sweet, impossible drug.

And Jade whispered it again, a prayer, a vow, a confession:
“Mine. All of you. Every piece. Every sound, every breath. Mine.”

Because no one else could have her. And Jade would make sure of that.

Jade stalked through the halls of Hollywood Arts, boots clicking like gunshots against the polished floor, each step measured, predatory. She moved with the kind of sharp precision that made people step aside without question. Her locker slammed with a calculated thud. Lipstick reapplied in deliberate strokes, crimson against pale skin. Phone checked, ignored, set aside. Everything in its place. Everything under control.

Until she saw her.

Tori.

Sunlight poured from the high windows, streaking across Tori’s hair like it was liquid gold, every strand alive, shimmering, falling with careless perfection. She laughed at something she’d read in a text—or maybe at nothing at all—and Jade’s chest tightened so fast it was almost painful. That laugh, soft, musical, carried a weight that no one else could hear, a pull that twisted Jade’s stomach into knots. Every tiny tilt of her head, the faint scrunch of her nose, the curve of her lips—all of it was too much. Too much and not enough, never enough to satisfy the hunger coiling in Jade’s chest.

And there was a boy. Some idiot. Some blundering mortal standing far too close, smirking, leaning in like proximity could make him relevant. His shoulder brushed against Tori’s, casual, testing boundaries. And she let him. She smiled back, soft and patient, eyes warm and bright. Not rolling her eyes, not pushing him off—just…allowing. And Jade’s stomach twisted with an edge of envy so sharp it made her teeth ache.

Jade’s fingers curled into the strap of her bag until her knuckles were white, nails biting crescent moons into her palm. Her pulse hammered in her temples. She wanted to snap him away, tear him from her world, press Tori into shadows and never let her go. She wanted to mark her, own her, carve her into the walls of the universe so that everyone, everything, knew she was hers.

Jade moved before she could think. Predator in motion, boots hammering against the floor, the crowd parting instinctively. Her shadow fell over the boy like a stormcloud, eyes narrowed, teeth clenched, lips tugging into a dangerous curve.

“Well, well,” she drawled, voice low, soft, venomous. “Didn’t know cockroaches learned how to talk.”

The boy stammered, fumbling, face draining of color. “Uh—I was just—”

“Wasting oxygen?” Jade’s words cut him like shards of glass. She tilted her head, pupils blown, heartbeat wild, watching the tiny twitch of panic in his eyes. “Figures. You’re…good at that.” Her lips curved faintly, cold and deliberate, tasting the chaos she stirred.

The boy’s mouth opened, then shut. He turned on his heel, disappearing into the crowd, leaving Jade’s glare burning into his retreating back.

And Tori…Tori’s soft brown eyes were on her, bright, unaware, blindingly innocent. The faint brush of sunlight against her cheek, the way her hair caught it and tumbled across her shoulder…Jade’s lungs felt tight, suffocated by want. She imagined running her fingers through it, weaving it between her own, pressing Tori close, feeling the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the warmth radiating off her skin, her heartbeat syncing, slowing, bending to Jade’s will.

The scent—Tori’s scent—vanilla, sunlight, something impossibly sweet and real, swirled around Jade’s senses. She inhaled it like air she couldn’t survive without, wanting it to fill her lungs until it lodged in her blood. Every small movement of Tori’s—the tilt of her hip, the micro-shift of her weight, the barely-there catch in her breath—etched itself into Jade’s mind. She memorized it all. Every second that Tori existed in the same space as her was catalogued, filed, burned into memory, a map of obsession no one else could read.

Jade’s fingers flexed, nails biting into her palms, body humming with the need to possess, protect, consume. She wanted to disappear into Tori’s orbit, wanted to make the world vanish until there was only the girl in front of her, only Tori, only hers.

She leaned just a little closer, letting her eyes drink it all in, letting the faint curve of Tori’s smile twist something inside her, letting the warmth of desire and possessiveness swirl like fire in her chest.

Mine.

The word whispered against her lips, soft, ragged, fierce. Tori didn’t hear it, couldn’t hear it—but Jade did. She felt it in every cell, every breath, every pulse. And it was enough. For now.

Until the next second, the next glance, the next brush of Tori’s hair across her shoulder. Until Jade could touch her, claim her, own her completely.

Jade had taken her usual seat at the far edge of the cafeteria, tray untouched, boots propped on the chair across from her. She wasn’t hungry. She rarely was when her mind was still replaying hallway encounters and half-annoying, half-amusing thoughts about Tori. The chatter of students blurred into background noise until she spotted Tori walking in, tray in hand. Instantly, Jade’s focus sharpened.

There were open seats everywhere. Friends waved, calling her over. But Tori walked past them all and dropped her tray onto Jade’s table with a grin.

“Don’t look so thrilled,” Tori teased, sliding her tray across like she owned the place.

Jade arched a brow, lips tilting into a faint smirk. “You’ve got the whole cafeteria begging for your company, Vega. Didn’t realize I was your charity case today.”

Tori unwrapped her sandwich with exaggerated care. “Oh, please. Sitting with you is way more entertaining than listening to them argue about who’s posting what on The Slap.”

“Entertaining,” Jade repeated flatly, eyes narrowing. “That’s one word for it.”

“You prefer irresistible?” Tori asked, biting into her sandwich like she knew exactly how to push Jade’s buttons.

Jade’s jaw tightened. “I prefer silent.”

“Liar,” Tori said instantly, grinning, clearly expecting the response. Jade’s smirk twitched despite herself.

“Careful, Vega. Keep pushing, and I’ll make you regret sitting here.”

Tori leaned her elbow on the table, chin resting on her hand, eyes studying Jade with that infuriating calm smile. “You always say that. And yet here we are.”

For a second, Jade almost forgot to breathe—not because she couldn’t handle Tori, but because she couldn’t handle how easily Tori could mess with her head. She dug her nails into her palm under the table to keep herself grounded.

“Maybe you’re just too stubborn to take a hint,” Jade said, tone sharp, banter her shield.

“Or maybe,” Tori countered lightly, “you like that I don’t.”

Jade rolled her eyes, trying not to let a twitch of a smile slip. Tori leaned closer, lowering her voice just enough so that it was teasing rather than casual.

“You’d miss me if I stopped bugging you.”

“Doubt it,” Jade shot back, though the words came faster than she meant.

“You’d miss this,” Tori pressed, tapping the space between them with a grin. “The back-and-forth. Admit it—you like having someone keep up with you.”

Jade scoffed, hiding the faint twitch in her stomach that betrayed her. “Vega, I could replace you with a brick wall and get the same results.”

“Sure,” Tori said, unfazed, taking another bite. “But you don’t. You let me sit here every time I try.”

Jade rolled her eyes again, trying to ignore how easily she was drawn into the rhythm of Tori’s teasing. “You’re delusional if you think I ‘let’ you do anything.”

“And yet,” Tori sang softly, “I’m still here.”

Jade stared, smirk tugging at her lips. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Nope,” Tori said, beaming. “Not when it comes to you.”

Jade exhaled sharply, trying to cover the small spike in her heartbeat. “You say things like that, Vega, and people might get the wrong idea.”

“Maybe I want them to.”

Jade blinked, smirk firming again. “You wouldn’t survive the fallout.”

“You think I can’t handle people knowing I like sitting with you?” Tori teased, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You should stop talking,” Jade muttered, though her tone had softened.

“Why?” Tori asked, voice light.

“Because you’re annoying,” Jade said, and Tori’s grin widened, utterly unbothered.

“Annoying. Totally the reason,” Tori replied, slow and deliberate, watching Jade’s face like she had the scoreboard of their little game memorized.

Jade finally gave her a sharp glare, but Tori didn’t flinch. She just held the gaze, smug and calm, until Jade’s mouth opened—then closed again, no words coming out.

“Thought so,” Tori murmured, smiling like she’d won.

“Don’t get cocky,” Jade warned.

“Too late,” Tori said with a laugh, and Jade leaned back, smirk firmly in place. “You’re exhausting.”

“Funny. I was just about to say the same thing,” Tori shot back, perfectly timed.

Before Jade could reply, Cat plopped down beside Tori, cheerful as ever, Robbie wobbling behind her with his tray. “Hi guys!” Cat chirped, completely oblivious to the charged banter that had just dominated the table.

Jade smirked again, finally letting herself relax—just a little. Some things didn’t need to be said aloud to be understood.

The school was long since locked up, but Tori hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten until she stepped outside. Hours of rehearsal had blurred together — practicing her lines alone in the auditorium, waiting for Sikowitz who never showed, losing track of time. By the time she packed up and left, the sky had shifted into that heavy indigo just before full night, swallowing the campus in a quiet, creeping darkness.

The courtyard lights hummed with a faint, metallic buzz, flickering against cracked pavement. The air smelled faintly of damp grass and old concrete. Tori hugged her bag closer and picked up her pace toward the gate, each step echoing like a warning.

That was when Kyle showed up.

Jade hadn’t meant to follow Tori tonight. Not exactly. She’d been leaving too, cutting through the back lot, when she noticed him leaning against the gates like a stray dog, posture sloppy, smirk too self-assured. She should’ve kept walking. She should’ve minded her own business.

But she didn’t.

Her boots carried her back into the dark, and she melted against the wall, half in shadow, half in fury, watching him corner Tori. Every muscle tensed, pulse hammering. Watching Tori stand her ground — the flare of anger in her voice, the way she didn’t flinch — almost pulled a smirk from Jade. Almost. But not enough.

When Kyle peeled away, muttering under his breath, Jade didn’t follow Tori. She followed him.

The park path was dim, lit only by a few tired streetlamps that buzzed and shook overhead. Gravel crunched under Kyle’s shoes as he muttered, hands shoved into pockets. Jade moved like smoke, brushing against the long grass at the path’s edge, swallowed by shadow. She wasn’t impulsive. Not anymore. If she was going to do this, it had to be clean. Quiet. Final.

Her fingers brushed the cold steel hidden inside her bag — scissors she’d slipped in earlier that day. Not for Kyle. Not for anyone in particular. Just because she liked the feel of the weight in her hand. Now, they had a purpose.

Kyle stopped near the bend, pulling out his phone. Its glow painted his face in a sickly, unnatural blue. He typed quickly, muttering. Probably about Tori. Probably some crude message he thought would impress his friends.

Jade stepped from the shadows, movement silent.

“Congratulations,” she said softly, voice smooth and empty.

Kyle jerked, spinning around. “What the—Jade?”

Her expression didn’t change. Ice carved into her features. “You’ve officially run out of chances.”

“What are you talking about?” His laugh was nervous, eyes darting left and right, realizing too late how isolated the path was. “Look, I was just talking to Vega—”

“You don’t get to say her name.”

Her hand moved before he even processed the glint of steel. No rage, no yelling. Just precise, deliberate motion.

Kyle stumbled back. His phone hit the gravel with a dull thud. His voice caught — half protest, half panic — before silence swallowed him. Crickets chirped. Lamps buzzed. The world didn’t care.

Jade crouched, gloved hands working quickly. The scissors slipped back into her bag. Heart hammering, but focus sharp.

She dragged him by the arms off the path, into thickening brush. Branches tore at her jacket, snagged at his clothes, as if the park itself resisted. She found a hollow where the ground dipped — a drainage ditch choked with leaves, hidden from view. Perfect.

She shoved him down. Gravity did half the work. The body rolled once, settling half-concealed by the overgrowth. She kicked leaves and dirt over him, molding the shadows to swallow the shape.

Her breath came faster, sweat cooling against her skin. She wiped his phone with her jacket before sliding it into her bag. That would need to disappear later.

A quick check of herself — hands, jacket, boots. Careful. Too careful. But a faint dark smear clung stubbornly to her sleeve. Barely visible under the weak lamplight. She tugged it down, jaw tightening. Later. For now, the job was done.

He’d been waiting — leaning against the chain-link fence like he had all the time in the world. His smirk looked different in the poor light, sharper, more jagged.

“Vega,” he called. “Burning the midnight oil?”

Tori froze, heart hammering. She hadn’t expected him. Not here. Not now. She swallowed, forcing steadiness into her voice.

“Go home, Kyle.”

He laughed, stepping closer. “What’s the rush? I just wanted to talk.”

“I told you already — I’m not interested.”

Kyle’s grin widened, eyes cold and predatory. He moved closer anyway, slow, deliberate, daring her to react.

Something inside Tori snapped.

“No!” she barked, louder than intended, voice cracking across the empty campus. “Leave me alone, Kyle! You keep showing up, you keep pushing — I’m done. If you follow me again, I swear I’ll report you.”

Her hands trembled, but her eyes didn’t drop. She’d said it. Out loud.

Kyle froze. Then amusement faded, replaced by annoyance, then something darker.

“Fine,” he muttered, jaw tight. “Whatever.” He stalked off down the path toward the bordering park.

Tori stayed frozen, chest heaving, until he was gone. Then she hurried in the opposite direction, homeward, oblivious to the shadow detaching itself from the building’s side. Cold eyes tracked Kyle as he disappeared beneath the trees.

Jade lingered a moment, staring at the ditch. Kyle was gone. Not just out of Tori’s life — out of existence. No guilt. No relief. Just certainty. He’d crossed a line. She’d erased it.

When she walked back down the path, hands trembling faintly, steps were steady, unflinching. She didn’t look back.

Because this wasn’t about Kyle.

It never was.

It was about Tori.

The next morning, the school buzzed like a kicked hornet’s nest.

“Did you hear?” Cat whispered at the lunch table, eyes wide. “Kyle never made it home last night! His mom’s freaking out.”

“They’re probably overreacting,” Beck muttered, brow furrowed. “He probably crashed at a friend’s place.”

Tori sat quietly, hands around her juice box. She didn’t speak. Didn’t add to the theories or jokes bouncing around the table.

Her eyes drifted across the cafeteria. There Jade was, slouched in her usual seat, picking at the edge of her muffin with a perfectly bored expression, rehearsed almost.

Almost.

Because, just above the cuff of her black sleeve, Tori caught a faint rust-red stain, dried into the fabric like a secret too stubborn to wash out. Tiny, but enough.

Tori blinked once, slow, steady, sipping her juice. To everyone else, it looked like nothing. Just a glance. A silence stretching too long. But to Jade, it was a question.

Chapter Text

The morning light at Hollywood Arts always looked too clean for how the place really felt — too bright against the scuffed lockers, too warm over faces that hid everything beneath practiced smiles. The hum of chatter and slamming doors blurred into a kind of noise that made thinking difficult, but Jade still felt it — that hum under her skin that hadn’t left since that night in the park.

She walked fast, head down, boots biting the floor in steady rhythm. Every movement around her seemed amplified. Someone laughed near the vending machines, someone else brushed past with a bag that hit her shoulder, and still — in the middle of it all — she could feel it. The tug. The pull toward the part of the hallway where she always was.

Tori.

It wasn’t something Jade even tried to control anymore. Her eyes just found her — like gravity, like instinct.

Tori was leaning against a row of lockers, talking to a girl from their music class — smiling, casual, sunlit in that effortless way that made Jade’s chest tighten. The world around them felt duller somehow. The flicker of fluorescent lights caught in Tori’s hair, turning it into something that glowed faintly gold. The edge of her smile, the curve of her neck, the soft motion of her hand as she gestured mid-conversation — it all burned slow and vivid in Jade’s mind.

Jade had spent the morning pretending to listen to Sikowitz ramble about monologues, but her head had been full of something else entirely. The sound of a branch snapping. The hush of the park, empty except for her heartbeat. Kyle’s voice going sharp and then cutting off too soon. And underneath it all, the thought that wouldn’t die — if anyone finds out, I’ll never see her again.

Her fingers twitched against her notebook. She’d scrubbed her hands raw that night even though there’d been barely anything there. No blood. No trace. Just the echo of what she’d done. But guilt wasn’t the right word for it. Guilt was for people who regretted things. Jade didn’t regret protecting what mattered. She regretted that she had to hide it. That she couldn’t tell Tori that everything was safer now.

Now, watching Tori laugh at something the other girl said, Jade felt that same flicker — dark and soft all at once. Relief. Possession. Fear wrapped in something almost tender.

Tori looked too calm. Too untouched by the storm still running through Jade. How could she? How could anyone look like that when Jade still woke up hearing the faint crunch of gravel, the sound that marked the end of it all?

A bell rang somewhere distant, echoing down the hall, but Jade didn’t move. Her gaze stayed locked. Her throat felt tight. It wasn’t until Tori’s laugh faded that Jade realized she’d been staring long enough for her vision to blur slightly.

Someone called her name — Beck maybe, or Cat — but she didn’t turn. Couldn’t. Because right then, Tori looked up.

Their eyes met.

It was only a second — a heartbeat, maybe less — but everything froze.

Tori’s smile softened. It wasn’t the polite kind she gave to everyone else. It was something smaller, quieter. Like she’d seen Jade there all along and wasn’t surprised.

Her eyes flicked down, then back up, and the smallest spark passed between them — invisible to everyone else, but it lit Jade’s chest like static catching fire.

Tori said something to the other girl, waved her off, then started walking toward her.

Jade’s pulse stuttered. The air in the hallway felt thinner, sharper. She tried to look casual — pretended to fix the strap of her bag, pretended she hadn’t been watching — but her body betrayed her. Her hands shook just enough that she had to clench her fists to hide it.

Tori’s steps were unhurried, almost lazy. Her shoes made soft clicks against the tile. She didn’t rush, didn’t hesitate — she just walked like she always did, like she belonged wherever she went. Close enough now that Jade could see the faint shimmer of gloss on her lips, the edge of sunlight on her skin.

“Hey,” Tori said, smiling like nothing in the world had shifted. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”

Jade blinked, pulse still too loud in her ears. “Didn’t.” Her voice came out lower than intended.

“Rough night?”

“Just… loud.”

Tori tilted her head, studying her face for a second longer than necessary. Her eyes softened, the kind of look that could fool anyone into thinking she genuinely cared. Maybe she did. Maybe that was what made it worse.

The air between them shifted — subtle, but enough that Jade could feel it press against her skin. The hum of voices down the hall blurred into nothing, fading under the steady beat of her pulse. She didn’t want to look away. Every detail of Tori’s face was too clear — the faint pink on her cheeks, the smudge of lip gloss, the way her hair caught the fluorescent light like a halo trying too hard to disguise itself as normal.

“You okay?” Tori asked softly, breaking the silence.

Jade hesitated. “Yeah,” she said, then added, “Just… thinking.”

“About what?”

Jade’s jaw tightened. “You don’t really want to know.”

Tori took a small step closer — not enough for anyone to notice, but enough for Jade to feel the warmth radiating off her. “Try me.”

The way she said it — calm, patient, like she had all the time in the world — nearly undid Jade. She wanted to tell her everything. Every thought, every pull, every thing that kept her up at night. But that was dangerous. Tori didn’t need to know what it meant for Jade to feel this way — not yet.

Instead, Jade smirked. “You’d get bored.”

Tori shook her head, smiling. “You always think I will. But I never do.”

The words barely landed before Tori’s hand brushed her shoulder — quick, casual, the kind of touch that should’ve meant nothing. But Jade felt it like a live current.

Her skin burned under the fabric. Her breath caught before she could stop it. It wasn’t the first time Tori had touched her — they’d hugged before, bumped arms in crowded halls — but this was different. It felt deliberate. Grounding. Like Tori knew exactly how to quiet the storm in her chest.

And then it was gone.

Tori’s hand slipped away, but the warmth lingered.

Jade’s fingers twitched at her side. She wanted to reach up, to press her palm where Tori’s had been, to hold the ghost of that touch for just another second.

Tori’s smile lingered, soft and unreadable. Then she turned, hair brushing over her shoulder as she walked away — her silhouette folding back into the rhythm of the hallway crowd.

Jade watched her go.

Watched the sway of her hair, the unbothered pace of her walk, the way the light followed her like it was drawn to her too. The sounds of the hallway returned — lockers slamming, laughter, footsteps — but none of it reached her properly.

All she could hear was her own heartbeat, steady and too fast, echoing in time with the click of Tori’s shoes fading down the hall.

Jade exhaled slowly, the air sharp in her lungs. The world felt like it had tilted just slightly off-center.

For now, Tori was safe. Still here. Still smiling.

And for now, that was enough.

....

Tori’s pen hovered over a list, poised between two names. Under her breath she walked the names without meaning to: Jade West — a turn of sound that had become a private rhythm in her mind — and then other faces, other small actors in the theater of their days. The names did not make her breath quicken so much as catalog what she already knew: everyone was a variable. Everyone was an equation she could balance if she wanted to.

Her father folded the remaining papers and stretched. He looked younger for a brief second, as if some task could unwind lines from his face. “You should head to bed,” he said, softly. “You have practice tomorrow, right? Don’t burn yourself out.”

Tori laid the folder down with a measured hand. “I’ll do a few more checks. I want to make sure there aren’t any inconsistencies.” The lie was small and neat. He believed it without needing much convincing.

He studied her then, and in that look something like a question brushed his mouth. “If anything worries you, Tor—”

She did not let him finish. “I know,” she said. She kept her voice thin with normality. “I know.”

He left on the next breath, tucking a scarf into his jacket like the man of routine he was. She watched him go down the hallway, the doorway swallowing his silhouette until it was only a rectangle of dimness. After the house clicked and closed behind him, she sat at the desk under the lamp and allowed herself to exhale for the first time in a while that felt unbothered.

The room was intimate then, all the small details coming forward: the faint nick on the desk’s edge where she’d carved initials as a child; the blot of leftover ink; the way a stack of post-it notes always drifted to one side. She sorted the papers again, this time slower. She smoothed the photograph she had moved earlier and set it somewhere less conspicuous beneath a report stamped with “ADMIN ARCHIVE.” She nudged the USB toward the pad of sticky notes, not placing it away but leaving it where it would be easy to misremember. These were not acts of erasure so much as acts of misdirection — the kind that depending on your vantage could be nothing at all.

She made a show of replacing the lamp’s shade as if she were tidying. Her fingers lingered over the desk for a moment, the way someone’s hand might linger over a map before folding it away. Her chest did not flutter with guilt. It settled with a confidence that felt like a choice made and kept. The rightness of it sat in her like a cloak.

Outside, the night breathed. The city kept its distant hum. She took a long breath and let the air fill the hollow that had formed where uncertainty might have been. It fit there neatly. She closed the laptop then, the screen’s light folding into black with a small whisper of circuitry. She stacked the files in neat rows, labeled a couple of folders with a careful, even hand.

When she stood, she paused at the doorway and looked back, not to see if anything had been missed but to rehearse her calm again. There, on the desk, everything presented the appearance of an investigation in progress. Nothing looked tampered with in a way that anyone would notice at a glance. That was the cruel art of it: to leave the impression of order while rearranging the margins.

As she walked up the stairs she could hear the slow creak of the house, the same notes she had learned to anticipate when she was small. She passed the window that faced the street and paused, watching the silver thread of a car passing in the distance, the outline brief and anonymous. She thought of Jade like a shape in a photograph she had already chosen to frame: distant, essential, almost religious in the way it could be both absence and presence.

In her room she sat at the edge of her bed and turned the lamp on for a slanted pool of light. Her phone lay face down on the blanket; she didn’t want the glow, she did not want the urgent reach of someone else’s concerns. She opened a notebook instead and began to write lines that were not meant for anyone: everyday lists, small household notes. The ritual steadied her the way a metronome steadied a singer’s breath.

There was no triumph in her movements, no wildness. Even her satisfaction was cool and private. She pressed the tip of the pen into the paper until the nib bent and then eased, the small pressure making a quiet mark. The words she chose were ordinary: milk, calls, practice. Between them she made a single note in a corner — a shorthand only she would remember — and the positioning felt deliberate enough to be meaningless to anyone else who glanced this notebook later.

She slept that night like someone who had closed a door softly behind them: certain of the room’s shadows, not afraid of what was under the bed. She did not imagine consequences. She held only the neatness of her choices, the knowledge that she had arranged things exactly how she needed them to remain.

Downstairs, somewhere in the late hours, the case file sat with a single photograph tucked under a heavier report. If anyone opened the drawer the next morning, they might find the image and see the timestamp and think how simple it was to follow fact to fact. They might not notice how the margins had been softened or how the edges had been made to look less prominent. They might only see a work in progress.

On her pillow, she turned her face to the window and watched the strip of sky over the roof. The stars were indifferent. Her hand moved to her throat as if feeling for the steady rhythm there. She smiled there, a small, private curve that had nothing to do with innocence and everything to do with possession. It was a smile that said she had accounted for every possible angle and found their edges unsharpened.

The house kept its ordinary shape until morning, and in that pause she rested — not the kind of rest that lets you forget but the kind that steels you for the careful work ahead.

Chapter Text

The sound of pages of script being flipped is the only thing breaking the silence in the room — a random classroom we hijacked to rehearse in.

Well, technically, it’s not silent. Andre’s voice rises now and then as he debates something with Beck — probably about lighting or music or some other thing I couldn’t care less about. Robbie’s still trying to get Cat’s attention from across the room, failing so hard it’s painful to watch.

I drift my eyes back to Tori. My Tori.

The girl’s sitting cross-legged on top of a desk, her script balanced on her thigh, lips moving quietly as she mumbles her lines. The overhead lights are dim — one of the bulbs near the door flickers every few seconds, casting her face in a soft, uneven glow.

We’re rehearsing for the upcoming Showcase Night. Every year before summer break, Hollywood Arts holds it — a tradition more like a celebration than an evaluation. It’s not for grades or scouts; it’s just for the rush of being on stage. Still, everyone treats it like it’s the end of the world.

I don’t even know how long we’ve been here. The clock says ten-thirty, but it feels later — the kind of late where your brain hums from exhaustion, where every sound feels sharper, heavier.

Tori’s mumbling her lines again, head tilted the way she does when she’s trying to remember a word. Her tongue peeks out, wetting her lip before she catches it between her teeth.

That tongue. Those lips.

It’s unfair, really — how something so small could drag my attention away from everything else.

“You’re overthinking it,” I say finally, flipping my own script closed. The paper feels rough between my fingers, too warm from my hands.

“I’m not,” she insists, eyes still glued to the page.

“You are. You’re doing that thing.”

Her head lifts, brows furrowed. “What thing?”

And then she looks at me — really looks. Her brown eyes are this strange mix of warmth and defiance, like bronze when light hits it just right. For a second, I forget the line I was supposed to say next.

I could imagine her beneath me, looking up with those wide brown eyes — the kind that always catch the light and make it impossible to think straight. Half-lidded, mouth opens slightly due to the intense pleasure I cause. The thought flickers, dangerous and fleeting, before I shove it back down.

“Your face,” I say instead, leaning against the desk. “The one that screams I’m trying too hard.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling now — that reluctant kind of smile that creeps up before she realizes it.

Andre’s laughter bursts from the other side of the room, loud enough to echo against the walls. The spell breaks a little.

I chuckle under my breath, flipping my script shut just as Andre calls out,
“Guys, I think we can end the session here! It’s getting late — my grandma’s probably asleep by now!”

I roll my eyes. Classic Andre.

Honestly, I’m not dying to keep rehearsing either, but if it means spending another hour in the same room as this beautiful Latina? I’d stay until sunrise.

I would. I’d do anything just to be close enough to breathe the same air, to smell her shampoo when she passes by.

To exist in her orbit.

“It’s nearly eleven?! I don’t wanna go home alone!” Cat squeals, clutching her phone like it’s her last hope.

I sigh and sling my bag over my shoulder, already feeling the fatigue settle into my bones. I can feel someone’s eyes on me — a weighty kind of stare — and just as I’m about to turn to catch who it is, Robbie steps into my path.

I fold my arms across my chest, frown sharp enough to kill. It’s a universal sign for go away, but apparently, he doesn’t speak that language.

“Hey, Jade! Could you maybe help me—”

“No.”

He blinks. “I didn’t even—”

“Still no.”

I turn and head for the door, fully intending to wait by my car until Tori’s safely gone. That’s the plan, anyway — until Cat grabs my arm.

Her grip is sudden, high-pitched voice follows right after:
“Jade! Can you drive us home?”

I almost snap at her for touching me, but one word sticks out. Us?

“Us?” I echo.

Then Tori steps up behind her, smiling that soft, polite smile that makes everything inside me twist. Her hands are clasped behind her back, and she’s leaning slightly forward, eyes warm and expectant.

“Trina said she didn’t wanna drive at night,” Tori says, rolling her eyes with a small laugh. “Said it’d ruin her ‘night routine.’”

She tilts her head, smile turning sweet. “But only if it’s not a problem for you, Jade.”

Would it be bad to admit that smile makes me want to jump her bones right here?
No. It’d just be honest.

Cat’s voice breaks through again. “Pleeease, Jade!” she whines, shaking my hand like a child begging for candy.

I sigh, leaning back against the door, shaking my hands loose from Cat's hold, crossing my arms across my chest. “And what do I get in return?”

Cat hums, face scrunching as she tries to come up with something.

Before she can answer, Tori chimes in — casual, but her tone carries a spark. “Or… if you don’t wanna drive us, we could just spend the night at your place instead.”

Her grin widens, showing off that perfect row of teeth and high cheekbones.

I straighten instantly. “Fine. Grab your stuff before I change my mind.”

“Yeah! Sleepover!” Cat cheers, throwing her hands up like a five-year-old.

I leave the room as quickly as possible, heart pounding too fast for no reason I’m willing to admit.

Tori Vega is spending the night at my house.

The universe must really like me tonight.

By the time I reach the parking lot, I’ve almost managed to calm down. I toss my bag onto the passenger seat and sit there for a moment, exhaling slowly. If I don’t get my head straight, I’ll make a fool of myself before we even leave school.

A few minutes later, I see them through the windshield — two silhouettes approaching under the flickering lamplight. Cat’s skipping, of course, and Tori’s trailing behind her, hair swaying with every step.

The doors open, and Cat practically dives into the backseat like she’s jumping into a pool of her own energy. The sound of her bag hitting the seat follows, sharp and careless.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Tori—calmer, slower—picking up my bag and setting it neatly on her lap like it belongs there. Then she reaches for the seatbelt. The quiet click echoes through the car, and she tugs the strap across her chest -causing the swell of her breast to be more visible- adjusting it without even noticing what she’s doing to me.

My eyes flicker down before I can stop them. The seatbelt presses against her shirt, drawing a line that makes the rise and fall of her breathing painfully obvious. The air in the car feels heavier now, thicker.

I press my tongue against my teeth, forcing my jaw to lock, hands tightening around the steering wheel until I can feel the strain in my knuckles. The leather squeaks under my grip.

Control. I remind myself. I need control.

As we drove down the road, I turned the radio up—loud enough that the bass buzzed faintly against the doors. Cat’s voice blended into the music, her words turning into a blur of cheerful noise. It’s not that I don’t like her; I do, in small doses. But sometimes her energy feels like static in my brain, and right now, I need quiet.

The city outside slipped by in streaks of orange light and shadow. Streetlamps glowed against the windshield, flashing across Tori’s face every few seconds—light, dark, light again. She was staring out the window, her reflection soft in the glass, lost in whatever world her mind had wandered into.

I glanced at her once, twice. Her profile was calm, lips parted slightly, eyes focused on something I couldn’t see. I wish she wouldn’t look away like that. I wish she’d turn to me instead.

I push the door open and step inside, letting the familiar chill of my house wrap around me. The sound of footsteps and chatter follows right behind. I toss my bag onto the sofa without a second thought and make a beeline for the kitchen—something about the quiet hum of the fridge feels grounding after hours of lines and lights.

“Woah! Your house is huge, Jade!” Cat’s voice burst through the silence, as if she hadn’t just spent hours talking nonstop.

“If you guys want something to eat, grab whatever’s in the fridge,” I say, pulling open the door and reaching for a cold water bottle. The light from inside spills across the tiles, harsh and white against the dim living room.

Behind me, Cat had already claimed the sofa. The cushions sank under her as she snatched the remote and began clicking through channels.

“We could watch a movie before we sleep!” she exclaimed, like it was the most brilliant idea she’d ever had.

“Cat, it’s way past our bedtime,” Tori said, her tone half amusement, half exhaustion. She dropped her bag beside mine on the sofa, the sound soft and final.

“Aw, but this is a sleepover,” Cat whined, dragging out the word like a child begging for candy.

“It’s not,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. God, I’d probably strained a muscle from how many times I’d done that tonight.

“Aren’t you tired, Cat?” Tori asked gently. I glanced over at them — Tori’s back to me, her head tilted toward Cat, that soft tone she uses when she’s trying to coax someone into reason.

Cat blinked, her expression slipping for a moment. “Y-yeah,” she mumbled, lowering her head. “The rehearsal took a ton of my energy. I’m super tired.”

I raised a brow. That was a lie. Cat could go forty-eight hours without sleep and still bounce around like she’d just had five cups of sugar. Something was up — but I didn’t have the energy to care right now.

“There are enough bathrooms for everyone, so that means you guys don’t need to take turns showering,” I said, twisting the cap back onto the bottle.

Tori nodded. “Do you have a change of clothes that we can use, Jade?” she asked — finally turning around to face me.

“Yeah. I’ll grab them for you. Cat, you can use the bathroom on the first floor.”

I set the water bottle down on the counter and started for the stairs. My footsteps were quiet against the wood, but I could hear hers trailing close behind me — too close.

Halfway up, I stopped without thinking. Tori bumped into my back, soft but sudden.

“Oomph.”

I turned. And suddenly she was right there. Close enough that the air between us felt thick, warm. I caught a whiff of her shampoo — something clean, floral — and beneath it, her perfume. Sweet, faint, and hers.

My throat tightened. My fingers twitched at my sides, aching to touch her. Don’t, I told myself.

I fight to keep my hands at my sides, nails digging into my palms. Get it together, Jade. Mentally scolding myself.

I forced myself to speak before my thoughts slipped any further.

“Go straight and turn left — the bathroom’s somewhere around there.” My voice came out rougher than I wanted.

Before she could say anything, I turned on my heel and walked away — too fast to look back, too fast to think. I headed straight for my room, grabbed two sets of clothes from my drawers, and forced myself to breathe.

By the time I went back downstairs, Cat’s laughter was echoing faintly from the other side of the room. I left her clothes neatly folded by the bathroom door.

Then I headed back upstairs. Slowly this time.

The house was quiet, except for the faint hum of running water. As I neared the second bathroom, the sound grew clearer — rhythmic, muffled — and my pulse started to match it.

I stopped right in front of the door. My hand lifted, hovering over the knob.

This was it. The thought that’s been clawing at me since the first time I saw her — since she smiled at me like she didn’t know what she was doing.

As I twisted the doorknob gently, the muffled sound of running water grew clearer. Steam rolled out from the narrow crack, curling around my ankles, hot and damp, carrying that faint scent of soap that I knew too well. The air felt heavier, thicker—like it wanted to swallow me whole.

I stepped inside, quiet as possible. The mirror was fogged, the light dim behind the haze. Through the hiss of the shower, I caught it—her soft humming. Familiar. Too familiar. Make It Shine, maybe? Of course it would be.

My brain felt useless, melting under the weight of her voice, her scent, the warmth wrapping around me. My body soap—my scent—clinging to her skin right now. The thought made something coil hot and uncontrollable low in my stomach.

I exhaled, shaky, realizing only then that the door behind me was still open. Turning, I caught sight of a small pile of clothes on the counter—her clothes. The neat little stack looked so harmless, yet it made my pulse jump.

I shut the door slowly, the click of the lock sounding louder than it should’ve. My fingers reached for the counter before I could think, tracing the soft fabric. They were still warm from her body.

Another breath. Another tremor in my hands. I couldn’t tell if it was guilt, or excitement, or both—but I knew I was already too far gone.

The glass walls of the shower were blurred with steam, shapes shifting behind them like a dream I wasn’t supposed to have. I could barely see her—just a soft outline, the movement of her hand, the curve of her shoulder through the haze.

Could she see me too?

Do I want her to see me?

The thought made something in my chest twist and spark, burning low and deep.

My gaze dropped to the sink. Her clothes were there—warm from her skin, soft and careless in their pile. My fingers brushed over the fabric, lingering longer than they should have. Every thread felt electric, like a secret pressed into my palm.

I look back down at the change of clothes in my hand, fingers brushing over the soft fabric before I set them neatly on the sink. The motion is calm—too calm, like I’m forcing myself to act normal when every nerve in my body is anything but.

I lifted her shirt, and there they are. The only thing that I'm here for.

I picked up Tori’s underwear and shoved it in my pocket.

As I picked up her bra, I brought it closer to my face and smelt it.

Gosh, she smells so good. I couldn’t help myself—couldn’t resist—the temptation to press the garment even closer to my face. Rubbing it all over my face.

I stopped the action and licked the inside of the bra, all while the owner of the garment was in the same room as me, oblivious to what I was doing.

I proceeded with the action; I licked it to the point where my tongue started to feel sore. I need this.

This is the closest thing I’ve ever been to Tori’s body. I want to own every minute of it.

I bite, smell, lick, and suck.

I imagine it as her perky nipples, those dark brown nipples are going to be the death of me.

Suddenly, I heard a loud sound. Like a bottle hitting the floor of the shower.

I stopped my action.

I pulled the garment away from my face. I placed it in the same spot the owner left it.

I’m tempted to stay. To see what she’s doing in there. To see her naked body covered in water, to see the water drip from her body, to see her perky nipple, to see her glistening cunt from the shower she took earlier.

But I chose not to; I already got what I want, and I need to leave now before I lose control.

I paused outside the door for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of the shower. Each drop hit the tile like a drumbeat beneath my skin.

When I finally tore myself away, I shut the door quietly and made my way to my room. The moment I locked it behind me, I let my head fall back against the wood, breath shaking.

Pulling Tori’s underwear out of my pocket and bringing it closer to my nose — faint, sweet, unmistakable. It clung to me like a ghost I couldn’t shake. My pulse was racing, my thoughts spinning out of control.

“Tori…” I whispered under my breath, the name a confession and a promise all at once. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”