A year passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. By the end of the school year, you and Jackson had made a significant decision—to move into your father’s second house together. It had taken a bit of convincing, but your father, to your surprise, was entirely supportive of the idea. He even helped arrange a few things to make the transition smoother. Once you received his approval, the two of you packed up your belongings, filled boxes with your shared memories, and set off to begin a new chapter together.

The house was everything you could have hoped for—spacious yet warm, modern yet comfortable. It sat on a quiet street, surrounded by tall trees that filtered sunlight through their leaves in soft golden patterns. From the very first day, you both worked in sync to make it your own. Jackson handled most of the heavy lifting, while you focused on details—arranging furniture, picking curtains, adding little decorations that brought life to each room. Slowly, the once-empty house began to feel alive, filled with laughter, shared meals, and quiet evenings spent side by side. Within just a few weeks, it no longer felt like a new place—it felt like home.

One afternoon, Jackson was walking down the school hallway with Luke when he happened to overhear your voice from around the corner. You were chatting with your friends, laughter spilling easily between your words. He smiled, intending to come over and join you—until a certain part of your conversation caught his attention. You were talking about hair colors, and the topic had turned to blond hair. “I think Jackson would look really good with blonde hair,” you had said, your tone light and thoughtful. Jackson froze for a moment, his hand brushing through his dark hair, a small grin forming on his face.

That comment lingered in his mind for the rest of the day. After classes ended, he decided to act on it. He stopped by a nearby store, bought a bleaching kit, and carried it home with a sense of quiet determination. He didn’t want you to see anything until he was done—it was meant to be a surprise.

Once home, he carefully read through the instructions, his brow furrowing in concentration. He laid everything out neatly on the bathroom counter: gloves, mixing bowl, brush, and towel. It was his first time ever dyeing his hair, but he was confident he could handle it. He mixed the bleach with precision, sectioned his hair as the guide instructed, and began the process, checking the mirror frequently to ensure everything was going as planned.

An hour later, the transformation was complete. Jackson stared at his reflection, surprised at the unfamiliar figure gazing back. His once-dark hair was now a soft shade of gold that caught the light beautifully. He smiled, imagining your reaction, then decided to wait for you in the living room.

He sat on the couch with a towel draped over his shoulders, intending only to rest his eyes for a moment. But exhaustion from the long day and the bleaching process soon overtook him, and he drifted off to sleep.

When you returned home, you immediately noticed the faint chemical scent of hair dye in the air. Following it to the living room, you found Jackson fast asleep on the couch. His head rested against the armrest, his expression calm and peaceful. The dark hair you were so used to seeing was gone—replaced by a bright, golden blonde that softened his features and gave him an almost ethereal glow.

For a moment, you simply stood there, smiling quietly. The evening light streaming through the windows caught the strands of his hair, turning them into a halo of gold. He looked almost angelic like that—serene, radiant, and completely unaware of how breathtaking he appeared in his sleep. His breathing was soft and steady, chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm. Occasionally, a faint frown would cross his face, as though he was lost in a dream he couldn’t quite escape.