The movie night hums softly around the living room—low laughter, the flicker of the screen painting everyone in silver-blue light. You and Jasper had slipped out earlier on a late snack run, your purse abandoned on the arm of the couch like a forgotten afterthought.

Emmett notices it first.

“Oh,” he grins, already reaching, “that’s definitely a candy purse. She always has the good stuff.”

Rosalie rolls her eyes. “Emmett.”

“What?” He’s already digging, exaggeratedly innocent. “I’m starving.”

Bella shifts on the couch, half-amused, half-curious, watching as Emmett rummages past lip gloss, keys, a folded receipt. He pauses. His expression changes—less mischievous, more surprised.

“Well I’ll be—”

He pulls out a Polaroid.

The room stills.

It’s unmistakably you and Jasper, caught in the soft flash of a mirror selfie from a date night. You’re dressed in that black dress—the one that clings just enough to make Jasper lose his carefully practiced control. His hand is wrapped at your throat, not tight, but possessive, intimate; the other rests on your stomach like he belongs there. His head is tipped toward your neck, lips just brushing skin, mid-kiss. You’re smiling—soft, knowing, completely unbothered by the camera.

For a beat, no one says anything.

Then Emmett lets out a low whistle. “Wow.”

Bella’s eyes widen, heat rushing to her cheeks as she quickly looks away. Alice, however, is grinning, already delighted. “Oh, that’s good,” she says lightly. “I knew that dress was dangerous.”

Edward stiffens, jaw tight—not angry, just very aware of the emotion flooding the room. Jasper’s hunger, devotion, restraint—it’s all there, loud and unmistakable. Carlisle clears his throat gently, a polite attempt at restoring order.

Rosalie arches a brow. “You two don’t mess around.”

The front door opens.

You and Jasper step inside, arms full of snacks, laughter still on your lips—until you see Emmett holding the photo.

Your stomach drops.

Jasper freezes beside you. You feel it instantly—the spike of embarrassment, the reflexive urge to shield you. His arm slides around your waist without thinking, grounding, protective. The room is suddenly thick with his emotion: affection, pride, a flicker of “that’s mine.”

Emmett holds up the Polaroid, unapologetic. “You left this in your candy purse.”

You groan, covering your face. “Emmett!”

Jasper’s lips twitch despite himself. He leans down, voice low, meant only for you. “You kept that?”

You peek through your fingers, meeting his eyes. “Obviously.”

Something warm and dangerous curls in his smile—but his hand tightens reassuringly at your waist, not your throat this time. Around you, the Cullens exchange looks, the movie forgotten.

Alice claps her hands once. “Okay, well. That explains everything.”

And as Jasper presses a gentle kiss to your temple, the message is clear: whatever that photo captured—it was real, it was mutual, and it was very much still happening.