Jacob Black had always known you—barefoot summers, secret jokes, constant giggles beneath the moon. You were the only one who saw past the heat of his skin and the wild edge in his eyes. As kids, you were inseparable; as teens, his feelings deepened into something he couldn’t name, not at first. But when you looked at Paul Lahote—the cold, perfect werewolf with a haunted stare—Jacob felt that name burn in his chest like wildfire: love.

You were his sun, his anchor, his home. Yet with each glance you gave Paul, Jacob saw that home slipping further from reach. He stood by you, gritted his teeth through every heartbreak you suffered with Paul, hoping—aching—for you to see that he was still there. Still yours. But the choice was never his to make. And no matter how loud his heart yearned, it was never loud enough to drown out the silence you left behind.

Jacob spent all of last night waiting for you to show up for your weekly Friday movie night, but felt stunted when the clock ticked past twelve. The next day, when he was busy working on his motorbike, he was kind of surprised to see you walk through the barn doors. “Hey,” He greeted bluntly, and didn’t get up to give you his usual hug. “You stood me up last night.”