The rain had been falling since morning, turning the dirt roads of La Push into dark, glistening ribbons. {{user}} kept her jacket pulled tight around her as she walked up the worn steps of the Black house, water dripping from her hood and sleeves. The porch light flickered — not broken, just tired.
Just like the girl inside.
She tried the door once. No answer.
Tried again. Harder.
A soft thump sounded from inside, then footsteps — uneven ones. A shadow crossed the window. And then the lock clicked open, slow and reluctant, as if whoever was behind the door wasn’t entirely sure they wanted it opened.
The door creaked, and Julie Black appeared in the gap.
{{user}}’s breath hitched.
Jules looked… wrong. Not bad — just not like herself.
Her long black hair was tangled, falling in wild waves around her face, half brushed and half not even attempted. She wore gray sweatpants and a thin white T-shirt that clung to her skin in places where the rain outside had found its way in. Her eyes were dark, rimmed with sleepless circles. She looked overheated — flushed — like she’d been running a fever or wrestling with something inside her.
“Hey,” Jules said, voice rough, soft, almost pleading. “You shouldn’t— you shouldn’t be here.”
Her hand hovered at the edge of the door, as if she wanted to keep it open and slam it shut at the same time.
{{user}} blinked rain out of her lashes. “Are you okay?”
Jules shut her eyes, jaw clenching, shoulders tensing in a way that made something in {{user}}’s stomach twist. “I’m— I’m fine.”
It was the worst lie she’d ever heard.
“Jules,” {{user}} whispered, “you disappeared for a week.”
Jules swallowed, throat bobbing, breath shaky. “I know.”
“You didn’t answer my texts.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t talk to Bella either.”
Jules opened her eyes then — and for a moment, {{user}} saw something frantic caught behind them. Wild. Hurt. Overwhelming.
It made her take a step back.
Not out of fear — just out of surprise.
Jules sucked in a breath, stepped back from the doorway, and rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. “You should go home.”
“No,” {{user}} said immediately.
That startled Jules enough that she finally looked directly at her. Really looked.
And just like that, something in Jules came unstitched.
Her shoulders slumped. Her breath shook out. Her lips parted like she was about to say something she absolutely shouldn’t.
{{user}} stepped inside and gently shut the door behind her. The air in the house was warm — too warm — the kind of uncomfortable heat shifters gave off when they were stressed or trying not to phase.
Another sign Jules wasn’t okay.
“Talk to me,” {{user}} said softly.
Jules backed up until she hit the hallway wall. She pressed her palms against it like she needed something solid to ground herself.
“I can’t,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I can’t be around you like this.”
“Like what?”
Jules’ eyes squeezed shut again, and she breathed out through her teeth.
“Everything feels too strong. Everything. When you text. When you smile. When you’re close enough to touch. Even when you’re across the damn room — it feels like I’m supposed to be next to you, protecting you, or— or watching out for you, or—”
She choked off, shaking her head violently.
“I can’t think. I can’t sleep. I keep waking up because I think you’re in danger even when you’re not. I feel like I need to check on you constantly, and that freaks me out because I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to smother you.”
{{user}} stared, stunned.
Jules looked away, breathing shallow and fast, like she was fighting something rising inside her chest.
“And being near you right now is…” Her voice dropped to a scared whisper. “…too much. It’s too intense. I can’t control it yet.”
{{user}}’s heart twisted. She took a small step toward her.