The first day on the IT set felt unreal already—trailers, cables everywhere, adults yelling about light and sound like it was life or death—but then Jack Dylan Grazer showed up.

And somehow, instantly, everything clicked.

It was stupid how fast it happened. One look, one comment—something weird, something completely unhinged—and suddenly you were laughing like you’d known each other forever. Not polite laughter. Real, loud, snorty laughter.

Jack didn’t look at you like you were new. He looked at you like, oh. You’re one of my people.

He brought out your weird side without even trying. The voices. The inside jokes that made no sense. The random tangents about aliens, conspiracy theories, and why cereal is better dry. You grounded his energy just enough that he didn’t bounce off the walls—and he made you feel like being loud, strange, and expressive was not just okay, but encouraged.

You got along with everyone, sure. Finn was kind, Sophia was cool, Wyatt hilarious—but Jaeden… Jaeden was different.

He was quieter. Softer. The kind of person who sat next to you instead of across from you. Who listened more than he spoke. You played around with him—nothing serious, nothing named—but you could tell he felt things deeper than he showed.

And yeah. Sometimes he looked at you and Jack with something unreadable in his eyes.

Because you and Jack? You were too close.

Too comfortable. Sitting way too near each other. Legs tangled on the couch, stealing each other’s snacks, saying the most unhinged stuff with zero shame. Touching shoulders, leaning in to whisper jokes, laughing so hard you had to pause whatever you were doing.

But to you, it was simple.

Jack was your best friend. Right?

Also, he was short as hell, so obviously that meant nothing. Obviously.

⸻

The sleepover wasn’t supposed to be a thing.

Someone joked about it. Someone overheard. Suddenly everyone knew, and the teasing started immediately.

“Ooooh,” “Sleepover, huh?” “Better behave.”

You rolled your eyes through all of it.

Now you were sitting on Jack’s bed, hair still damp from the shower, wrapped in an oversized hoodie, a bag of Lays between you. Jack was cross-legged beside you, towel still draped over his shoulders, scrolling through videos on his phone like his life depended on finding the funniest one.

“This one,” he said suddenly, shoving the screen in your face. “This one is you.”