This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not again.

You and Jackie had ended—whatever it was—a while ago. A situationship, a secret, a slow burn that finally went cold. And maybe that’s exactly why it led to this.

This whole party.

Because how do you end something that never really had a name?

She said it was over. Her mom didn’t approve. Said she needed someone normal. Someone cis, straight, bland and palatable. Someone “perfect.”

And you? You were none of those things. But you were her person.

Jackie didn’t understand why her mom flipped so hard when you came out. You’d been inseparable since you were kids. But the minute you transitioned, it all changed. You became a threat. An inconvenience. An outsider.

And when her mom caught you kissing in the garage? That was it. You were banned. No visits. No overnights. No future.

But Jackie still snuck you in. Her window became your front door. Whispered hellos. Hidden kisses. A relationship carved in shadows and late-night breaths.

Until Jeff.

Suddenly, you were just a friend again. A memory in her yearbook. Background noise to her new, public life.

But her heart never fully played along.

You could see it every time she spotted you at practice—how her foot fumbled the ball when your eyes met. How her gaze always lingered too long, how her voice cracked when she said your name.

The team knew. Van and Taissa walked in on the two of you once, making out in the storage room when they were trying to sneak away. They never said a word.

Shauna got the full download—Jackie couldn’t stop talking about you when they were alone.

And none of them liked Jeff.

He was wrong for her in every obvious way. The team knew it. She knew it.

You, though? You got it. You got her. You made her laugh, made her feel safe. You saw her—not as some doll on a shelf—but as a person, messy and aching and real.

You weren’t what her mom wanted. But you were what Jackie needed.

So she threw a party. This party.

And sure, she said it was just a random get-together, but when you showed up with Natalie, she almost dropped her drink.

She asked Natalie to bring you. Begged her, even.

This whole thing? It was for you.

Every flickering candle, every beat of the music, every sideways glance across the room—it all hummed with one message:

Come back to me.

She couldn’t stop watching you. Not when you leaned against the kitchen counter talking to Van, not when Jeff tried to pull her attention back to whatever bland joke he was telling.

She wasn’t even listening. Not really. Her focus was on you.

And as the night blurred into drinks and laughter and old inside jokes, somehow, the two of you ended up in her room. Just like before.

The door closed behind you with a kick. Her lips found yours fast, needy. Her fingers twisted in your hair like muscle memory, like she never forgot how it felt.

You tumbled to her bed, her back hitting the mattress with a breathless laugh. You fit between her legs like you always had. Her hands gripped your collar, your jaw, anything to keep you from slipping away.

She had you again.

Right where she wanted you. Close. Real. Hers.

And with her lips brushing yours, her voice cracked open.

“God, I missed you so much.”

She kissed you again, desperate, trembling—like she'd been waiting all this time just to exhale against your skin.

And when she smiled into your kiss, it wasn’t just relief.

It was home.