fanfiction.lol^{fun, silly, low-stakes fandom}

Chapter Text

It was too quiet in the house. Jacob sat at the kitchen table with a glass of water he hadn’t touched, his phone face-down next to him. The ceiling fan overhead whirred in lazy circles, doing little to cut the weight of spring heat pressing in from outside. He could hear Chris in the other room—controller clicks, muffled laughter, some video game character shouting about cover fire.

Then there was the sound of footsteps. Steady. Intentional. Eddie walked in with something folded in his hand. Not a bill, not a napkin, not a piece of junk mail. He set it down gently on the table between them. A printed itinerary. A boarding pass.

Jacob blinked. “Seriously?”

Eddie nodded, easing into the chair across from him. “LAX. Friday morning. Buck’s picking you up.” Jacob stared at the paper. His name was on it. Roundtrip. Just a few days. Long enough to feel real—too long to call it nothing.

“I thought we were moving next month,” he said.

“We are,” Eddie said, calm. “But I figured you should get a look at the place before it becomes home. Walk the campus. Sit in it. Make sure it’s what you actually want.”

Jacob leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “That’s... not nothing.”

“No,” Eddie agreed. “It’s not.”

There was a beat of silence between them. Jacob’s eyes dropped to the flight info again.

“Chris know?”

“He picked the return date. Said you’re not allowed to miss Mario Kart rematch night.”

Jacob cracked a smile at that. Still, he hesitated. “You sure Buck’s okay with me crashing there?” Eddie’s reply was immediate. “He’s not just okay with it. He’s already changed the sheets in Chris’s room. Ethan’s around too. I told them both.” Jacob nodded slowly. The hesitation hadn’t been about permission—it had been about belonging. And that… was still murky. Still new.

“You’re not going alone,” Eddie said again, softer now. “You’ve got people there.”

Jacob looked down at the paper one last time before reaching for his phone. He unlocked it, thumb hovering over his browser. Then he opened a new tab.

UCLA campus map.
Weather in Los Angeles next week.
What to pack for a four-day trip to Southern California.
Does LA public transit suck?

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for exactly—confirmation, maybe. Some sign he was doing the right thing. But mostly, it just felt good to be preparing for something again. He was deep in a student-run blog post titled “Surviving UCLA Without Losing Your Soul” when the sound of soft footsteps padded into the kitchen. Chris appeared in the doorway, notebook in hand, socked feet quiet on the tile.

“You’re going?” he asked, not looking up as he flipped open the front cover.

Jacob nodded. “Looks like it.”

“Cool.” Chris pulled out the chair next to him and sat, setting the small notebook between them with deliberate care. “I made this.”

Jacob blinked. “You—what?”

“I figured you’d want a jumpstart,” Chris said, casually, like he hadn’t just upstaged every guidance counselor in Texas. “It’s mostly stuff about campus, transit routes, and a few places that look fun.”

Jacob leaned in, thumbing through the pages. Chris’s handwriting was neat, slightly angled, and annotated with stars and margin notes. UCLA facts. Tour tips. Restaurant suggestions. A tiny hand-drawn map with a question mark near the Getty.

“You really thought of everything,” Jacob said, genuinely impressed.

Chris gave a one-shoulder shrug like it was no big deal. “Dad says we’re a planning household now.”

Jacob snorted. “That’s horrifying.”

“Yeah, well. He makes spreadsheets now.”

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding.” Chris just smiled. Then he tapped the third page in the notebook. “Also—check out Malibu. It’s really cool. The beach is huge and the cliffs look like something out of a movie.”

Jacob flipped to the page—a screenshot of Malibu’s coastline, circled in blue ink, with a note underneath: might be good to see the ocean from a real beach. He stared at it for a moment. “...You seriously put this together just for me?”

Chris shrugged again, a little less casual this time. “You’re gonna get out there before me. Figured I’d help since I’m still an LA local.” There was a pause. Jacob didn’t say thank you—not because he didn’t want to, but because it didn’t feel like enough. He set the notebook down gently. “Alright, coastal adventure added to the list.” Chris gave a satisfied nod. “Just don’t come back tanner than me.”

Jacob grinned. “No promises.”

Jacob glanced at his phone. The screen lit up with the time—7:42 p.m.—and just under it, the date.

Wednesday.

His eyes widened a little.

“Shit,” he muttered, sitting up straighter. “My flight’s Friday morning.”

Chris blinked. “Yeah. I know.”

“I don’t have anything packed.”

Chris tilted his head. “You’ve been wearing the same five hoodies all month.”

“That’s not comforting.”

Chris grinned. “It’s informational.”

Jacob stood up and started pacing toward his room. “Okay. Okay. I’ve got like… what? A day and a half?” Chris held up three fingers. “Technically you’ve got tonight, tomorrow, and the part of Friday before the sun comes up.” Jacob groaned dramatically. “You’re the worst.”

“Time management is your enemy,” Chris called after him, deadpan. “I’m just the messenger.”

In his room, Jacob flicked on the light and pulled open his closet.

He stared.

It stared back.

Most of it felt... wrong. Not in the wrong-size sense—though some of the jeans looked like they belonged to a shorter, angrier version of himself—but wrong in the I’m not that kid anymore sense. These were shirts he’d worn to court dates and bad Thanksgivings. Hoodies that had seen too many bus rides and not enough good days. A pair of sneakers he didn’t even like, but had kept because they were technically new.

His fingers skimmed across the hangers. He stopped at a wrinkled band tee, then let it fall back. None of it felt worthy of a trip that might, possibly, mean something.

“God,” he muttered under his breath. “I can’t wear any of this.”

A pause.

“Not in Los Angeles.”

He stepped out into the hallway where Chris was still seated at the kitchen table, scribbling something else into his notebook.

“Hey,” Jacob said, scratching the back of his neck. “You up for a late night Target run?”

Chris looked up, immediately alert. “Wait—seriously?” Jacob nodded solemnly. “I need... an outfit. Maybe six.” Chris snapped the notebook shut like a mission had been assigned. “Grab your wallet. I’ve got a gift card.”

The car ride was quiet for a few blocks, headlights sweeping across dim sidewalks and shuttered storefronts. The AC was just loud enough to drown out the low hum of the engine, and the windows were rolled halfway down to let in the desert night.

Jacob drove with one hand on the wheel and the other fiddling with the radio dial, flipping between static-heavy stations before settling on something low and wordless. Chris sat in the passenger seat, cross-legged, clutching his notebook and a mostly-empty water bottle.

“I was only joking,” Chris said eventually, staring out the window.

Jacob glanced at him. “About what?”

“The hoodies.”

Jacob huffed a laugh. “I know.” Chris turned to look at him. “They’re not that bad.”

“No,” Jacob said, tapping the turn signal. “But you’re not wrong either.”

He pulled into the parking lot—mostly empty at this hour except for a few tired cars and an over-lit entrance that gave the store the feel of a late-night beacon. The red Target bullseye glowed faintly in the warm air. Jacob parked, shut off the engine, and leaned back in his seat for a second.

“I think I got stuck,” he said finally. “You know? Like… time moved forward, but I didn’t. Same clothes, same playlists, same excuses.”

Chris was quiet for a second. “That happens.” Jacob looked over at him.

“But it’s not permanent,” Chris added with a shrug. “Not unless you want it to be.”

Jacob smiled a little at that.

“Let’s see what the clearance rack thinks of my emotional growth.”

Chris grinned and grabbed the door handle. “Only if you promise to buy something that isn’t gray.” Inside, the store was quiet in that eerie, too-clean way that only existed after 9 p.m.—like even the mannequins were winding down for the night. They made a beeline for menswear, Jacob trailing a cart while Chris wandered ahead like a one-kid personal shopper.

“Okay,” Chris said, already grabbing things off a rack. “Basic tees first. No more black-on-black unless you’re actively fighting crime.”

Jacob snorted. “Rude.”

Chris tossed him a moss green henley. “Try that on.” For the next thirty minutes, they circled the clothing section with increasing efficiency—Chris flipping through hangers, Jacob checking price tags, muttering about inflation like someone twice his age.

He tried on a mix of clothes he wouldn’t have given a second look at a month ago—slim-fit jeans, a button-up he could maybe wear with the sleeves rolled, a soft hoodie that wasn’t charcoal gray.

By the end of it, they had a full stack balanced in the cart: neutral-toned tees, two solid pairs of jeans, a dark flannel, a simple denim jacket, and three clean hoodies that Chris had aggressively approved. It was a little much. Maybe even a lot.

At checkout, Jacob winced at the total. Even with Chris’s gift card—which Chris swiped from his own wallet with a grin and no room for protest—it wasn’t cheap. But as the bags were handed over, full and folded, something in his chest loosened a little.

Eight outfits.

Not a full reinvention. But enough to start over in a city where no one really knew who he’d been. They pushed the cart out into the night, plastic handles digging into their fingers, the hum of the automatic doors behind them like a quiet exhale.

“Think you’re ready for LA now?” Chris asked as they reached the car.

Jacob didn’t answer right away. He looked down at the bags in his hand, then at the sky above—clear, wide, full of things he still didn’t know.

“Getting there,” he said softly.

LAX was loud, humid, and full of people pretending not to be lost. Ethan stood by the base of the escalators outside Arrivals, hands in his pockets, watching travelers trickle down with blank stares and tangled headphones. The concrete radiated late-afternoon heat. A shuttle bus hissed as it pulled away from the curb.

Buck checked his phone and gave a small nod. “He just texted. Coming down now—beige striped shirt, gray duffel. Still insisting you know he doesn’t bite.” Ethan gave a quiet huff. “Good to know.”

Then he spotted him.

Jacob was a few steps from the top of the escalator, one hand on the rail, the other gripping the strap of his duffel. He wasn’t tall—maybe 5’8”—but he moved like someone used to navigating crowds without drawing attention. Beige rugby shirt with a thick white stripe, light-wash jorts, off-white Converse that had clearly seen pavement. The duffel hung heavy across one shoulder, but he didn’t shift it.

His eyes scanned the pickup zone until they landed on Buck. Then—briefly—on Ethan. When he reached the bottom, Buck stepped forward.

“You Jacob?”

“Yeah,” Jacob said, shaking his hand. “Thanks for coming.”

“No problem. Truck’s just over this way.”

Jacob nodded and fell into step, glancing sideways as he reached Ethan.

“Hey,” he said, not stiff exactly—just like he hadn’t figured out the rhythm yet.

Ethan pushed off the pillar and walked with him. “Hey. Welcome to LA.” Jacob gave a slight nod, then added, “You look taller in person.” Ethan raised an eyebrow. “I am taller in person.”

Jacob smirked. “Okay, fair.”

“You look like someone who owns exactly three shirts.”

“Two now. This one’s too warm.”

They reached the truck. Ethan opened the back door; Jacob tossed his bag inside with practiced ease. Ethan leaned lightly against the side panel. “You’re quieter than you were on FaceTime.” Jacob scratched the side of his neck, with a sheepish smile. “Still adjusting.” Ethan shrugged. “We’ve got time.”

For a beat, they just stood there, the sound of engines and rolling suitcases filling the silence around them. Then Jacob gave a small, real smile and circled to the passenger side door. It wasn’t perfectly comfortable. But it wasn’t awkward anymore either.

The truck’s AC kicked in with a low hum as Buck merged onto the freeway. The windows stayed up, the air cool and quiet. Ethan stretched out in the back seat, comfortably slouched. Jacob sat up front, a little more upright, watching the city unfold in shades of asphalt and stucco. After a beat, Buck spoke, easy and measured.

“Alright, just so you’re not walking in blind—here’s the plan for the next few days.”

Jacob turned slightly, giving him half his attention.

“You’re here through Wednesday. So this weekend, we’ll keep it simple. You’ll meet Maddie, Chim, and Jee—she’s already calling dibs on your attention span, by the way.”

Ethan added from the back, “Don’t let the pigtails fool you. She’s intense.” Buck smirked. “If Hen’s around, I’ll introduce you then. If not, we’ll catch her Monday when we stop by the firehouse.”

Jacob nodded slowly.

“And it won’t just be Hen,” Buck added. “You’ll meet the rest of the team too—Bobby, Ravi, maybe the rest of the crew if they’re floating around. I figured it’s good for you to have a few familiar faces when you’re out here full-time.”

“Right,” Jacob murmured. “The extended family.”

“Exactly.”

“And after that?” he asked.

“Monday, I’m back on shift,” Buck said. “So Ethan gets to play tour guide. You two can take the metro up to UCLA, explore campus, wander around the city a bit.”

Ethan added, “We’ll get lost with purpose.” Jacob glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “That a promise?” Ethan smirked. “More of a suggestion.” The road unspooled ahead of them. Palm trees and distant hills. Strip malls and sun-bleached signs.

Jacob leaned back in his seat, voice a little softer now. “I haven’t been to LA since I was a kid. We came once, when my Gran—Janet—was still alive. I think I was six? Too young to remember anything useful. Just hospital lighting. One of the nurses wore this awful perfume that gave me a headache.” Ethan didn’t say anything for a second. Then, quietly, “Well. You deserve better memories than that.” Jacob looked out the window, let a breath out through his nose.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m hoping to make some.”

The house felt lived-in the second Jacob stepped through the front door. Not cluttered—but real. A pair of sneakers just inside the threshold. A stack of neatly folded towels on the hall table. The smell of something clean and warm in the air—maybe detergent, maybe just the way this place always smelled. Ethan kicked the door closed behind them, then motioned toward the hallway.

“Your room’s down the hall, first door on the right.”

“Well—Chris’s room,” Buck clarified, setting his keys on the sideboard in the dining room. “But it’s yours for the weekend.”

Jacob passed the living room, eyes briefly catching on the deep navy couch, the framed photos on the mantle, the sunlight spilling across the rug. Down the hallway, he reached the door with the slightly worn Avengers sticker on it and stepped inside.

It was clearly a teenager’s space—well-kept, but full of personality. Twin bed against the far wall, blue-and-white striped comforter smoothed tight. Posters and art tacked above the desk. A few LEGO builds lined up neatly on a shelf next to some robotics trophies. On the desk, a sleek dual-monitor setup quietly pulsed with a galaxy screensaver.

Jacob let out a soft breath and walked the room slowly, brushing his fingers along the edge of the desk. Everything had a sense of presence—like Chris had just stepped out and left the room behind, waiting. There was something comforting in that.

He dropped his duffel onto the foot of the bed and sat for a moment, letting the room settle around him. Then he pulled out his phone, scrolled, and hit Chris’s name. The FaceTime screen opened after a few rings. Chris answered from what looked like Eddie’s kitchen, half a granola bar in his mouth.

“What?”

Jacob angled the camera to give a sweeping shot of the room. “Nice setup. Mind if I borrow it for a few days?” Chris narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t touch the PC, did you?” Jacob turned the camera to show the desk again. “Only to run updates. You’re welcome.”

“Jacob.”

“I didn’t delete anything.”

“I swear, if you touched my mods—”

“I didn’t touch your mods,” Jacob said. “I just added a few better ones.”

Chris groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you miss me already.”

“Whatever. Just don’t mess up my load order. I have it dialed in.”

Jacob grinned. “You act like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t.”

“Wow. Brutal honesty from a child. That’s what this family’s built on, huh?”

Chris just shook his head and took another bite of granola. “I’m hanging up before you make it worse.” Jacob laughed, even after the screen went dark. He tossed the phone onto the bed beside him and leaned back, arms bracing on either side. It felt weird being here.

Not bad. Just new.

But the room? It didn’t feel unfamiliar. Not in the way he’d expected. Jacob was still smiling to himself when he heard the soft snort from the hallway.

He turned.

Ethan leaned casually in the doorway, arms crossed, one shoulder against the frame. His mouth was curved into a small, amused grin.

“Picking battles with a child,” Ethan said. “Incredible.”

Jacob felt a flush creep up the back of his neck. “Okay, to be fair, he started it.” Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You hacked into his PC and mocked his load order.”

“I didn’t hack anything,” Jacob muttered, looking down as he nudged the side of the mattress with his knee. “And I did not mock. I... lightly critiqued.”

“Mm-hm.”

Jacob shook his head, the smile tugging again despite himself. “You really haven’t met Chris, have you?”

“Not properly,” Ethan admitted, stepping into the room now, eyes drifting toward the desk setup. “Only seen him in FaceTime calls. Heard some stories.”

“Well, he’s wicked smart,” Jacob said. “And I don’t mean, like, kid smart. I mean... throw-you-into-a-debate-about-space-law smart. He’ll wipe the floor with you and quote at least three sources while doing it.”

“So it’s like talking to a small adult?”

Jacob pointed at him. “Exactly that.” Ethan laughed under his breath, leaning his hands on the back of the desk chair. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” Jacob said, softer now. “But it’s good. He’s good.”

There was a pause.

Jacob looked around the room again, taking in the posters, the folded flannel on the back of the chair, the little stack of books by the nightstand. His hands came to rest loosely in his lap.

“I wasn’t around for a big part of his life,” he said. “And now I’m... here. Crashing in his room. Talking to him like he’s my little brother instead of this cousin who didn't know I existed until not long ago.”

Ethan didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move either. Jacob glanced up. “It’s weird, right?”

“No,” Ethan said, shaking his head. “Sometimes stuff just... clicks.”

“Yeah,” Jacob said, eyes drifting across the room again. “Sometimes it does.”

The quiet stretched—not uncomfortable. Just... settled. Jacob picked at a loose thread on the duvet, then glanced back up. “Anyway, sorry you had to witness that.” Ethan grinned. “Oh, I’m not sorry. It was deeply entertaining.” Jacob rolled his eyes, but he was smiling again. Ethan lingered a second longer, then tipped his chin toward the hallway.

“Anyway—came to let you know Buck’s putting in an order for takeout. Late lunch. Shouldn’t be too long.”

Jacob nodded, still half perched on the edge of the bed. “Cool. I’ll probably hit the shower before then.”

“Yeah?” Ethan said.

Jacob shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It’s not as hot as El Paso, but that little bump in humidity? Brutal. My shirt already hates me.” Ethan huffed a short laugh. “Welcome to coastal misery. Spare towels are in the hall closet, top shelf.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

Ethan nodded once, then turned and stepped back into the hall. His footsteps faded a moment later—soft against the worn wood. Jacob sat there for another beat, staring at the shut door. Then he reached for his phone again, unlocking it with his thumb.

Jacob: Hey. Just got to the house. Everything’s good. Getting settled in now.

He hovered for a second, then hit send. The message went out, a little blue bubble blinking back at him. Jacob stood and stretched, feeling the pull of travel in his shoulders. He grabbed his duffel, unzipped it just enough to pull out a clean t-shirt and his toiletry bag, then headed down the hall toward the bathroom. The house creaked a little as he walked—just enough to let him know he wasn’t alone. And somehow, that was comforting.

By the time Jacob finally disappeared into Chris’s room for a nap, Ethan could see the sleep dragging at his edges—eyes half-lidded, words trailing off, posture sagging like the air around him had gotten heavier by the minute. Buck had barely finished clearing the takeout boxes before the house dipped into a soft hush.

Ethan didn’t mind the quiet. The kind of quiet that came with filtered sunlight and the distant hum of traffic outside. He moved through it like he belonged here—because, in a way, he kind of did. Even if the house technically belonged to Eddie. Even if the layout still felt like someone else’s life was suspended in every room.

He’d grown used to the rhythm of the place. Used to Buck’s weird habit of folding dish towels into thirds, the squeaky hinge on the cabinet above the microwave, the exact setting on the AC that didn’t piss it off.

Now, with the kitchen reset and time to kill, Ethan leaned against the counter, sipping from a glass of water, watching Buck chop vegetables with easy focus.

“You think he’s nervous?” Ethan asked, finally breaking the stillness.

Buck didn’t look up. “Probably. He wouldn’t say so, though.”

“Yeah,” Ethan murmured. “I’ve noticed he jokes when he doesn’t know what else to do.”

Buck gave a short, knowing smile. “Eddie said the same. Kid keeps his cards close. Always has.” Ethan nodded, turning that over in his head. He knew the type. People who spent a lot of time calculating reactions before they spoke. Who used sarcasm to keep the conversation just far enough away from anything real.

“He’s doing alright, though,” Buck added. “He’s paying attention. You can tell.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said. “He’s watching everything.”

Footsteps echoed faintly down the hall, bare feet against the wood. A moment later, Jacob reappeared—hair mussed from sleep, sleeves pushed up, hoodie collar uneven. He paused in the doorway like he wasn’t quite sure if it was okay to walk in on a conversation.

“Hey,” Buck greeted, easy. “You’re alive.”

“Debatable,” Jacob said, voice still hoarse. “What day is it?”

“Still Friday.”

“Damn,” Jacob muttered. “Hoped I’d at least time-traveled a little.”

Ethan smiled faintly. There it was—deflection through humor. Right on cue. Buck stepped aside. “Dinner’s in an hour. Maddie, Chim, and Jee are coming by.” Jacob blinked. “Oh. Uh... here?”

“Here,” Ethan confirmed. “Figured we’d let you meet everyone slowly. On home turf.”

Jacob nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Appreciated. I’ll try to make myself look slightly less like I just came out of cryo-freeze.” He gave a two-finger salute and disappeared again.

Ethan watched him go.

Buck turned to him after a second. “Think he’s doing okay?”

“He’s cautious,” Ethan said. “But yeah. He’s trying.”

Buck gave a slow nod. “You’re like that too, you know.” Ethan glanced over, eyebrows raised slightly. “Me?”

“Yeah.” Buck didn’t say it like a critique—just fact. “You hang back. Watch things before you move. Take your time feeling a place out.”

Ethan looked down at the counter, tapping the edge with his knuckles once. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Buck said, without hesitation. “Just means you pay attention. Doesn’t hurt, having two people in the house who know how to read a room.”

Ethan hummed quietly. “I guess not.” They stood there for a second, the kitchen filling with the sound of the ticking wall clock and the faint creak of the house settling around them.

Buck finally pushed off the counter, stretching his arms overhead. “Alright. You wanna finish chopping those peppers before Chim gets here and tries to judge our knife skills?” Ethan rolled his eyes. “Only if we hide the store-bought dessert so Maddie doesn’t get that look.” Buck grinned. “Already buried it behind the leftover enchiladas.” The knock came just as Ethan was rinsing off the last of the bell pepper seeds. Buck glanced at the clock and then toward the front door. “That’s them.”

Ethan wiped his hands on a dish towel, tossing it onto the counter before heading for the entryway. He got there just as Buck was opening the door.

Jee barreled in first.

“I brought markers!” she announced, holding up a handful of capped Crayolas like a bouquet. “And Daddy said I could help make the salad!”

Behind her, Chimney gave an apologetic shrug, followed by a helpless smile. “She was very persuasive.” Maddie stepped in last, her eyes already sweeping the house, her voice soft but amused. “Wow. You really kept everything the same, Buck.” Ethan stepped aside to let them in, and Buck closed the door behind them.

“Hey, come on in,” Ethan said. “Jacob’s still getting ready. He crashed after lunch, long flight.”

“Totally fair,” Chim said. “I get wiped flying to Vegas.”

“You get wiped flying home from Vegas,” Maddie corrected.

Buck chuckled and headed toward the kitchen. “Dinner’s not far off. You want drinks?” Chim and Maddie peeled off toward the dining area, but Jee remained rooted in place, squinting toward the hallway.

“Is he nice?” she asked Ethan, not shy in the slightest.

Ethan blinked, then smiled. “You met him on FaceTime. You tell me.” Jee frowned. “Yeah, but... is he nice in real life?” Ethan bit back a laugh. “So far, yeah. Still nice. Still sarcastic.”

Jee considered that like she was checking items off a list. Then she leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “Do you think he’ll let me braid his hair?”

“I think if you ask nicely, there’s a seventy-percent chance.”

She grinned like that was more than enough odds, then bolted toward the kitchen.

“I’m making fancy salad!”

Chim’s voice followed from the dining area: “By ‘fancy’ she means she’s adding croutons with flair.” Ethan turned to follow her, but Maddie hung back for a second, her eyes flicking toward the hallway.

“He’s doing okay?” she asked.

Ethan nodded. “Yeah. Just getting his footing.” Maddie gave a quiet, grateful smile and stepped past him into the kitchen. Ethan lingered another moment, glancing toward the closed door at the end of the hall.

Still quiet.

Yeah. He figured Jacob was either fixing his hair... or giving himself a pep talk in the mirror.

Probably both.

Dinner was nearly ready by the time she heard the soft creak of the hallway door opening. Footsteps followed—quiet, even. Maddie glanced up just as Jacob stepped into the living room, looking freshly showered and a little more grounded than he had earlier. His hair was still damp, pushed back casually. He’d changed clothes—simple green shirt, darker jeans—and moved with the kind of measured pace that said he was still gauging the space he was walking into.

Jee noticed him first.

“There you are!” she called from the table, pointing her carrot stick at him like it was a remote. “You missed the salad show!”

Jacob blinked. “That sounds serious.”

“She made the croutons dance,” Chim added with mock solemnity.

Ethan, seated at the far end of the table, looked up and gave Jacob a once-over. “Guess you decided the jorts weren’t formal enough for dinner?” Jacob deadpanned, “I figured if I wasn’t gonna bring wine, the least I could do was wear pants.” Buck snorted as he set down a pitcher of water. “Honestly, either would’ve been acceptable.”

Jacob smiled faintly, then turned to Maddie. His posture adjusted just slightly—still relaxed, but there was a certain precision in how he approached her. Like he didn’t want to get this part wrong.

“Hi,” he said. “Jacob. It’s good to meet you.”

Maddie returned the smile warmly. “It’s good to meet you, too. We’ve been looking forward to having you in town.”

“Thanks for letting me join,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if this was one of those ‘small dinner’ invitations or a covert test.”

“It’s both,” Maddie said. “We just don’t tell you which ahead of time.”

Jacob’s smile twitched wider—genuine, if still a little cautious. Ethan nudged the empty chair beside him. “C’mon. If you don’t sit down soon, Jee’s going to steal all the bread and offer it back as currency.”

“I will,” Jee said proudly.

Maddie watched as Jacob took the seat and settled in with surprising ease. He didn’t demand attention. He didn’t shrink. He just... found the space between everyone else and filled it like he’d been doing it for years.

And as the laughter started to build, soft and overlapping—Chim laughing at something dumb, Jee scolding Buck for forgetting the salad tongs, Ethan muttering something to Jacob that made both of them grin—Maddie felt her heart stutter.

Not because of Jacob.

But because of Ethan.

Because here he was, finally with someone. His age. His rhythm. His sense of humor. And it looked so effortless. Like something he’d been waiting for without realizing he’d been waiting. She didn’t say anything. Just smoothed her napkin again and let the moment sit in her chest like something soft and quietly overwhelming. Dinner had slipped into that easy, low murmur of full plates and half-finished stories.

Chim and Buck were arguing about who’d once ruined a batch of chili during a Super Bowl shift. Ethan was chewing methodically, eyeing them both like he was taking mental notes. And Jee—without ceremony or warning—had scooted her chair directly behind Jacob and begun gathering tiny sections of his damp hair between her fingers. Maddie noticed it first. Her fork paused midair.

Jacob, for his part, didn’t flinch. He simply went still, his spine straightening slightly as if uncertain whether resisting would make it worse.

“She’s braiding your hair,” Maddie said.

“I’m aware,” Jacob replied evenly.

“Is that okay?”

“I’ve decided it’s safest not to interrupt the process.”

Ethan chuckled under his breath. “Told you.” Jee, tongue poked out in concentration, hummed softly as she twisted what couldn’t have been more than an inch of hair into a vaguely looped braid that immediately began to unspool.

“It’s... ambitious,” Jacob said diplomatically.

“You have to hold still if you want it to stay,” Jee informed him.

“I admire your confidence,” he replied.

Maddie smiled into her glass before setting it down gently and turning her attention toward Jacob again, this time with something quieter behind her eyes.

“So,” she said, voice softening over the sound of chairs shifting and utensils clinking, “Eddie said you’re looking at UCLA?”

Jacob nodded, still sitting carefully upright to preserve what little braid Jee was managing to assemble. “That’s the plan, yeah. Going to finish my biochem degree.”

“Nice,” Maddie said. “Do you know what you want to do with it yet?”

Jacob hesitated—not in a lost way, but like someone used to having to justify it. “Maybe EMT certification, short-term. Get some field experience. Make some money. I know it’s not forever, but…”

“But it’s something,” she offered.

He nodded. “It buys me time to figure out what I actually want, and the space to afford something beyond just a bachelor’s.” Maddie nodded slowly. There was no defensiveness in his tone, but she could tell it had been met with doubt before—maybe not in words, but in looks.

“Well,” she said, “we could always use more good people in the field. And starting with biochem means you’re already halfway to intimidating.”

That earned a quiet smile from him.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

Behind them, Jee huffed in frustration as another mini braid unraveled against gravity and short layers.

“I need clips,” she muttered.

“You need longer hair,” Jacob said, sounding almost fond.

Maddie leaned back, watching the three of them—her daughter, her son, and this new, thoughtful boy with tired eyes and a dry sense of humor who had somehow fit into their rhythm without even trying. She didn’t say anything else for a while. Just folded her hands in her lap and let herself feel, quietly, the shape of something new beginning to take hold.

It didn’t take long for Jee’s attention to shift. After a few more fruitless attempts at braiding what little she could of Jacob’s hair, she sighed dramatically, patted his shoulder in defeat, and slid off her chair.

“Don’t go too far,” Jacob called after her, not turning his head. “You might get drafted into the dessert committee.”

“I’m doing something important,” she called back, already padding down the hallway.

Chim raised an eyebrow. “That’s never a good sign.” Buck snorted. “You say that like you didn’t hand her a salad spinner once and call it a science experiment.” Jee returned moments later, triumphant, holding a Rubik’s cube—already fully solved and already being twisted into disorder again. Jacob spotted it and let out a laugh. “Oh no.”

Maddie looked up. “What?”

“That was solved,” Jacob said, watching Jee rotate the cube with zero hesitation. “Chris is not gonna be thrilled when he finds it scrambled.”

“Or,” Buck said, leaning back slightly in his chair, “he’ll take it as a challenge.”

“Yeah?” Jacob asked.

Buck nodded. “He’s like that. Can’t leave something unfinished. Especially if he knows he’s solved it before. He’ll re-do it faster, just to prove he can.” Jacob smiled, soft and a little fond. “Sounds right.”

“Doesn’t like loose ends,” Buck added, quieter. “Never has.”

Jee didn’t even look up, already muttering something about “scrambling the corners first.” And then—without warning—the table broke into a completely different rhythm. Chim said something about high school science fairs, prompting Buck to launch into a story about a volcano experiment gone wrong. Jacob asked a perfectly timed question about baking soda ratios that veered into whether or not Buck had unintentionally invented mustard gas. Ethan groaned and accused them all of over-embellishing, which only made Chim double down.

Somewhere in the back-and-forth, Jacob said the proportions sounded like “either a felony or a very specific YouTube channel,” and Buck nearly choked laughing. Maddie leaned back and let herself take it in. Her brother, wild-handed and laughing.

Her husband, grinning so hard he looked like a cartoon. Her son, deadpan and sharp, slipping jokes in under his breath. And Jacob—new, careful, still settling—but keeping pace. Not forced. Not fishing. Just in it. No one was trying. That was the thing. They were just being. All of them. And for the first time in a long time, Maddie let herself feel something quietly, deeply good.

The air had shifted.

The kind of shift that only came at the start of a real spring—when the heat lost its bite just enough to make the evening feel forgiving. The kind of shift that let you breathe again after too many hours inside.

They’d left the others inside after dinner, slipped out through the back door without ceremony. No one had stopped them. No one had needed to. The string lights stretched from the porch railing to the tallest tree in the back corner of the yard, their glow casting gentle halos over the grass and chairs. It wasn’t a big yard, but the light made it feel like a pocket of something else—outside without being away.

Ethan leaned back in the weathered Adirondack chair, one ankle hooked over the other, the neck of his beer sweating against his palm. Across from him, Jacob nursed his own bottle in thoughtful silence, elbow resting on the armrest, eyes scanning the soft dark like he was trying to memorize it. Neither of them said much for a while.

Until Jacob gasped.

Not loud. Just sharp enough to cut the quiet. Ethan sat up slightly. “What?” Jacob pointed—eyes wide, hand still half-raised, like he was afraid too much motion would scare it off.

There it was.

A firefly hovered near the far side of the yard, blinking gently like it had nowhere better to be.

“No way,” Jacob said, voice barely above a whisper. “No way.”

He stood, moving slow, tracking it with his eyes like it might vanish any second.

“We don’t get these in Texas,” he said, almost to himself. “Too hot. Too dry. I haven’t seen one since... God. Since Charleston.”

He reached out a hand—didn’t catch it, didn’t need to—just let it float near his fingertips before it blinked once more and drifted upward. Ethan watched him the whole time. Not just the firefly—but Jacob. The way he stood there, caught in the moment, soft-edged and still.

That joy—pure, childlike, unguarded—hadn’t shown up all day. Not on the plane, not at lunch, not even at dinner. But here it was now. In the quiet. Jacob turned, grinning like he’d just touched a memory. “I forgot they even looked like that.”

“I forgot how simple they are,” he said. “Just light. No rush, no noise. Like they’re not trying to be anything.”

Ethan didn’t answer.

Because he was too busy looking at him. The lights overhead cast a soft gold glow across Jacob’s face, but it was his eyes that stopped Ethan cold. Blue-green, mostly. But with a burst of brown radiating from the center—like sunlight bleeding through colored glass. It wasn’t just the color, it was the way it moved with him. How the gold from the string lights caught in it and made it shimmer.

And for a moment, Ethan wasn’t in the backyard. He was standing in Chris’s room again. That photo on the desk—the woman Buck had called Shannon. He’d looked at it once and thought: those eyes. That color. Like turquoise jewelry. Or the Caribbean on a clear day. That was what Jacob’s eyes looked like now. But Ethan didn’t think of Shannon for long. Because these weren’t her eyes. Not anymore.

They were Jacob’s.

And suddenly, it felt like Ethan had never really seen them until now. He barely registered that his chest had gone tight.

“Everything okay?” Jacob asked, voice lower now. Less joking.

Ethan blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, just…” He hesitated, the words coming slower than usual. “Your eyes. They’re... really something.” Jacob gave a skeptical look. “That’s vague.”

“I mean it in a good way,” Ethan said, smiling despite himself. “They’ve got that... color. Like turquoise stone. Or the ocean right before a storm. That kind of wild, clear.”

Jacob blinked once. Looked away, maybe surprised. Maybe flustered. Ethan took another slow sip of his beer, grounding himself in the motion. There was quiet for a while—just the hum of the neighborhood, the low rustle of trees, the soft glow of the lights stretching between the branches and the porch. And Ethan let it sit. Let it stay unspoken. But deep in his chest, something had shifted.

The kind of shift you only noticed later, when you looked back and realized you’d already started to fall. Jacob looked away, clearly trying to process the compliment—or at least not make a thing out of it.

Then, without missing a beat, he deadpanned:

“Man, I wish they worked on command. Would’ve been real helpful during finals. Just blink at my TA until she bumps me half a grade.”

Ethan barked a laugh—sharp, genuine, and just what the moment needed. Jacob grinned at the sound, clearly pleased with himself.

“Jesus,” Ethan muttered, shaking his head.

Jacob raised his bottle. “To bioluminescence and shameless grade inflation.” Ethan lifted his own and clinked it gently against Jacob’s. They sipped in sync, then both leaned back into their chairs, eyes flicking toward the sky. Another firefly blinked a few feet from the string lights, slow and unfazed by their presence.

“You know,” Jacob said after a moment, “bioluminescence was one of my favorite units in class.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “It’s weirdly poetic. Living things that literally make their own light. Like—no batteries, no trick. Just... glow.” Ethan tilted his head toward him. “Makes sense. You’re kind of a science romantic.”

Jacob shrugged. “I mean, it is cool. Fireflies are like walking, blinking proof that we don’t need magic when biology’s out here showing off.” Ethan smiled into the rim of his bottle. “You’re gonna lose your mind when you see the plankton.” Jacob turned to him, eyes lighting up. “Wait. The bioluminescent stuff at the beach?”

Ethan nodded. “Yep. Happens a couple times a year. You walk the sand and your footprints light up behind you. Sometimes the waves do it too.” Jacob looked genuinely stunned. “Okay, that I need to see.” Ethan smirked. “Saving that party trick for when you’re in town for good.” Jacob looked over, a small smile twitching at his lips. “Deal.”

They sat there a while longer. Just watching the fireflies. Not trying to fill the silence. Letting it be. And in the spaces between glances, between words, Ethan felt it again.

That slow-blooming shift.

Quiet. Steady.

Undeniable.

The weekend had gone by fast. Not in a blur, exactly—Jacob could still remember all of it. The steady rhythm of introductions, the sunburnt ache from walking too long in the wrong shoes, the fish tacos that Buck swore were “life-changing.” Everything had been easy. Thoughtfully paced. Buck hadn’t dragged him anywhere too intense, and nobody had tried too hard. That made it easier to breathe.

He’d met Maddie and Chimney, gotten roped into a dinner that turned out a lot more fun than it had any right to be, and had somehow survived a six-year-old attempting to braid his hair. Hen had dropped by the firehouse briefly the next day, shaking his hand with an amused “I hear you’re the other nephew,” which Buck had cackled over for longer than strictly necessary.

Ethan, for his part, had stayed chill the whole time. Witty, a little reserved, observant in a way Jacob wasn’t used to. Smart, too. Not in a pretentious way. Just... quietly dialed in. They were still figuring each other out, but something about it felt natural.

Now it was Monday.

Buck had gone in early for his shift, and Jacob was trailing behind him through the open bay doors of the 118, backpack slung over one shoulder, coffee in hand. The engine gleamed under the overhead lights. Someone was mopping in the back.

“Hen’s around here somewhere,” Buck said, waving off a playful jab from Chim. “And Ethan said he’s about five minutes out.”

Jacob glanced around, the smell of coffee and soap and grease faint in the air. The place had a rhythm—people moving with a kind of ease that only came from knowing you belonged. He didn’t feel like an outsider exactly, but he knew he wasn’t part of the rhythm yet. The front door buzzed and slid open. Ethan stepped in, bus pass sticking out of his jacket pocket, hair wind-ruffled from the ride.

“You made it,” Buck called.

Ethan lifted a hand in greeting, eyes flicking to Jacob. “Told you I would.” Jacob smirked. “We were about to send a search party.”

“Nah, I would’ve seen the granola bar signal in the sky.”

Buck groaned. “I packed one extra for emergencies—”

“That’s what they all say,” Ethan said.

Before Jacob could throw in a quip of his own, a voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Hey! Nephew One!”

Hen rounded the corner, towel over one shoulder, mug in hand, already wearing a knowing smirk.

Ethan blinked. “Hi?”

She pulled him into a quick, one-armed hug, then turned to Jacob, eyebrows raised as she gave him a once-over.

“And this must be Nephew Two.”

Jacob glanced between them, caught off guard. “Wait—how is that already a thing?” Hen didn’t miss a beat. She pointed at Ethan. “Buck’s nephew.” Then to Jacob. “Eddie’s nephew.” Jacob held up both hands. “Okay, yeah, that’s... technically accurate.” Buck grinned, clearly proud of himself. “Told you they’d be welcoming.”

“I don’t know, man,” Ethan said, glancing sideways at Jacob. “You sure there’s room for two?”

Jacob raised his coffee like a white flag. “I’ll do my best not to encroach on your territory.” Hen chuckled, already moving past them. “If a third one shows up, we’re gonna need a group name.”

Buck reappeared a few minutes later, dressed for shift and looking half like a firefighter, half like a dad sending his kids off to summer camp.

“Alright,” he said, adjusting the strap on his watch as he came up beside them. “You two ready to go make highly questionable choices and justify it with ‘campus culture’?”

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Is that not what college is?” Ethan nodded solemnly. “He’s got a point.” Buck shook his head, already unlocking his phone. “Okay, listen—I know I can’t actually follow you around all day... so I’m making a group chat.” Jacob snorted. “Of course you are.”

“You need a digital leash or something?” Ethan asked.

“No,” Buck said, thumbs flying. “This is purely for informational and emotional support.”

Their phones buzzed at nearly the same time.

Group Name:
🧭 Campus Misadventures

Buck: send updates

photos

and zero dumb decisions unless i get to vote first

Ethan: define dumb

Jacob: define decisions

Buck groaned, loudly and dramatically. “I already regret this.” Hen walked past with a coffee, smirking. “They’ll survive. Can’t say the same for the metro.” Buck turned to Ethan first, wrapping him into a quick hug, arm tight around his shoulders. “Have fun, alright?” Ethan nodded, giving him a solid back-pat in return. “We got it.” Then Buck turned to Jacob, reaching out to clasp a hand to his shoulder—brief, firm, but grounding.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, tone softer than his usual quips. “Just enjoy it.”

Jacob nodded. “I will.”

“Go easy on him, E,” Buck added over his shoulder as he stepped back.

“I make no promises,” Ethan said.

With that, they slipped out into the bright morning, the city already alive with sound and motion. The firehouse faded behind them. And for the first time all weekend, it was just the two of them—no one else filling the space. No buffer. Just a sidewalk, a metro pass, and the beginning of something that didn’t feel as uncertain as it had before. They had only made it about half a block when the sirens went off behind them.

Jacob turned in time to see the firehouse bay doors yawning open, the engine and ambulance rolling out in near unison, lights already flashing. The vehicles swung onto the road with purpose—part choreography, part instinct—and for a second, Jacob just watched the city make room.

As they passed, Buck leaned forward in the passenger cabin of the engine, spotted them on the sidewalk, and pointed two fingers at his eyes... then at them. Ethan barked a laugh. “Did he just—?”

“Yup.”

“Like, actively threatened to supervise us from a moving fire truck?”

Jacob tilted his head, watching the taillights fade. “I think it was more of a spiritual supervision.”

“Ah, the worst kind.”

They walked in easy step for a few moments, the sirens gradually dissolving into the background hum of traffic and city life.

“So,” Ethan said, glancing sideways, “any idea where you want to start?”

Jacob shrugged, the strap of his backpack shifting on his shoulder. “South end of campus sounds promising. Might be less crowded. At least at first.”

Ethan nodded. “Smart.”

Jacob looked at him. “What about you? Any insider tips?” Ethan hesitated. “I mean... I’ve only been to the Office of Admissions and a couple of the science buildings.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah,” he said, not even pretending to hide it. “Kinda winging the rest.”

Jacob stopped at the crosswalk, narrowed his eyes. “Oh my god. It’s the blind leading the blind.”

“I never said I was a qualified tour guide,” Ethan offered.

“Oh, this is worse than a lack of qualifications,” Jacob said. “This is an intentional misrepresentation of authority.”

“Alright, calm down, FBI.”

Jacob grinned, stepping off the curb as the light changed. “Just saying, I trusted you.” Ethan matched his pace. “Well, that’s your first mistake.” They crossed the street, still trading quips, neither one in a rush. The sidewalk curved toward the metro station just ahead, a metal bench sitting empty under the glass shelter. It was already warm—sun glinting off parked cars, the air buzzing faintly with late-morning energy—but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Not with this.

Not with them.

It took about forty minutes on the metro. Long enough for Jacob to watch an entire crowd shift around them—people getting on, getting off, earbuds in, eyes half-lidded from the heat. The air was dry but manageable, and every once in a while, the right tunnel gave them a breeze that didn’t feel recycled. They didn’t talk much during the ride. Not out of awkwardness, just... comfort. Mutual understanding that some moments didn’t need to be filled.

When they stepped off at the Westwood stop and started the short walk up toward the southern edge of campus, Jacob let himself take it in. The buildings were a mix of old brick and newer glass, the sidewalks shaded by broad trees that had probably been here since before either of them were born. The noise was softer than the city blocks they’d left behind—less traffic, more footfalls and the occasional click of a skateboard wheel on concrete. They started near the science buildings—Ethan’s request.

“Figured we’d start somewhere I actually recognize,” he said as they stepped inside the first building.

Jacob appreciated that. The structure was cool, both in temperature and tone—metal doors, long halls, classroom windows that looked into labs rather than lecture spaces. As they passed the large wall-length panes, Jacob peered in. Some of the labs were empty. Others, active.

Students in lab coats moved between counters, examining slides, tweaking equipment. A few were seated at clusters of desks, poring over open textbooks or collaborative digital notes. In one room, a group gathered around a whiteboard covered in physics equations that looked less like math and more like a desperate attempt to map the cosmos.

“Summer session?” Jacob asked, keeping his voice low.

Ethan nodded. “Some classes, yeah. But a lot of these are research labs. Undergrad assistants. Grad students doing their thing.” In another lab, a student in blue gloves carefully injected something into a sample slide while a partner adjusted the microscope beside her. The adjacent room had charts up on the windows—color-coded heat maps and growth pattern projections that looked distinctly biological. Jacob stopped walking for a second.

It wasn’t just the space—it was the motion. The quiet sense of focus. Everyone inside those rooms wanted to be here. They weren’t dragging themselves to class; they were doing something.

“Looks like you found your people,” Ethan said, standing beside him, arms crossed as he glanced inside.

Jacob huffed a breath. “Feels like a different world.”

“In a good way?”

Jacob nodded. “Yeah. In a good way.” They kept walking, the tile floor echoing lightly beneath their feet. Past the labs, past a few upper-level lecture halls, until the corridor let out onto a shaded footpath that cut across the edge of campus. The energy shifted again—less sterile, more lived-in. Students sat on benches with open laptops. One guy napped with his hoodie pulled over his eyes. A girl with a stack of art supplies balanced on one hip waved off a bee with the other.

Ethan pointed toward the next building. “Wanna check out the library?” Jacob nodded, adjusting the strap of his backpack. “Do I look like someone who wouldn’t?” Inside, it was blissfully cool. High ceilings, old wood shelves, more windows than Jacob expected. The deeper they went, the quieter it got—until they found themselves in a corner alcove where the light fell just right across a row of books someone had definitely forgotten to reshelve. Jacob ran a hand along one of the spines.

Ethan leaned in slightly. “Bet you’re the kind of guy who’s already ranked his favorite study environments.”

“Absolutely not,” Jacob said. Then, a beat later: “...But yes.”

Ethan grinned and led the way out, back into the heat. They stopped next at Kerckhoff Hall. Ethan insisted they had to get boba there—something about it being the only place that ever got the ice-to-tea ratio right. Jacob wasn’t about to argue. He picked a lychee black tea, Ethan went with matcha. They sat on a shaded bench while people passed, sipping from plastic cups covered in condensation, tapioca pearls tapping the lids with every movement.

Afterward, they cut through campus toward the botanical gardens. It was quieter there—tucked between buildings like a secret. Shaded walking paths, raised beds lined with wooden signs, and a little koi pond tucked in near the southeast edge. The sounds were different, too. Leaves brushing. Water trickling. A few birds calling out like they had opinions. Ethan paused at a bench under a canopy of palms. “This part’s always kind of unreal.”

“Yeah,” Jacob said, scanning the trees. “It doesn’t feel like it should exist here. Not this close to the city.”

“Exactly.”

They stayed there a minute. Let it breathe. Eventually, they made their way uphill toward the Reagan Medical Center. Even from outside, Jacob could feel the energy shift again—this time into something tighter. Controlled chaos. Ambulances. White coats. Scrubs. Clipboards and coffee cups in equal numbers. They only lingered near the entrance, watching from behind the glass.

Jacob watched as a resident leaned over a desk and scrawled something fast into a file, another rushing past with a tablet open, frowning at whatever they were reading. Ethan nodded toward the entrance. “I don’t know how they do it.”

“Me neither,” Jacob said. “But it’s kinda amazing.”

“Yeah.”

They stepped back from the doors. Ethan stretched slightly, cracking his neck before they looped back down toward campus.

“Honestly,” he said, “I’m glad this place isn’t too far from my loft. It'll make going to class a lot easier once fall hits.”

Jacob glanced over. “Where do you live again?”

“Sunset Strip,” Ethan said. “Just up West Sunset, past The Flats.”

Jacob tried to picture it. “So like… a straight shot down into the city?”

“Basically. Just have to survive the traffic.”

Jacob chuckled under his breath, eyes scanning the people around them—sun hats, sandals, laptops balanced on knees. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Buck: you guys good?
not in jail yet, right?

Jacob snorted and showed Ethan the screen. Ethan raised his eyebrows. “That man has too much free time.” Before Jacob could reply, Ethan stepped a little closer, shoulder brushing his as he pulled out his own phone.

“C’mon,” he said, leaning in. “If we don’t send a selfie, he’s gonna assume the worst.”

Jacob blinked—but nodded.

Ethan held the phone up. Jacob angled himself slightly toward the frame, feeling the warmth of Ethan’s arm barely against his. Close, but not quite touching.

Snap.

Ethan fired it off with a one-handed flourish. Jacob watched the message go, then glanced at the screen again—at the photo. Both of them sunlit and squinting, half-laughing, the edge of campus in the background. His heart thudded once, quiet and pointed.

He didn’t say anything.

But the brush of Ethan’s shoulder lingered longer than it should have. They looped back toward the library, cutting through Dickinson Court, where the shade of the sycamores didn’t quite reach the sidewalks. A few campus clubs had set up folding tables along the main path—flyers weighed down with pens, posters curling at the edges, volunteers trying their best not to look bored. It felt like orientation preview week. Parents trailed behind wide-eyed teens, all clutching pamphlets like lifelines.

Jacob scanned the row of tables without much interest, sipping the last of his lychee tea, when Ethan slowed beside him.

“Hey,” Ethan said quietly, nodding across the courtyard. “I know her.”

Jacob followed his line of sight. A girl had just wrapped up a conversation at one of the tables, tucking a paper into her tote bag. Her hair was up, dark curls catching the light, and she moved like someone who knew exactly where she was going even when she wasn’t in a hurry. She turned—and spotted them. Her face lit up immediately.

“Ethan?”

“May!”

She crossed the court in a few quick strides and pulled him into a one-armed hug before stepping back, brow lifted.

“You didn’t tell me you were touring campus.”

Ethan glanced at Jacob, then back at her. “Kind of a spontaneous thing. I’m showing Jacob around.” She turned to Jacob, eyes narrowing in amused recognition. “You’re Jacob?”

“That’s me,” he said.

“Bobby mentioned you were in town. Said Eddie’s nephew was coming to stay with Buck for a bit.”

Jacob blinked. “Didn’t realize I was already a topic of conversation.” May smiled. “If it involves Buck and the 118, trust me—you’re already canon.” Ethan made a face. “Please don’t say canon.” She ignored him. “Wait—you’re giving him the tour?” Jacob tried to hold back a grin. Ethan sighed. “Why is that everyone’s reaction?” May looked at him like he’d offered to fly a plane with no lessons. “Ethan. You don’t even go here yet.” Jacob helpfully added, “He’s been to Admissions. And two science buildings.” May blinked, then laughed. “So very qualified.”

“I never said I was a professional,” Ethan muttered.

“You’re not even an amateur.”

Jacob took another sip, struggling to keep a straight face. “I mean, it’s been entertaining.”

“Entertaining and informative are not the same thing.”

Ethan shot her a dry look. “Are you done?” May turned to Jacob. “I had plans once I wrapped up here, but... I’ll ditch them. You clearly need a real tour guide.”

“You sure?” Jacob asked.

“Completely.” She smiled. “I’ve got time. And honestly? You two are more fun than anything I had on my list.”

Ethan exhaled. “I’m being ousted.”

“You’re being upgraded,” May said, already slipping into step beside Jacob. “I’ve got shortcuts. Real ones. Not the kind that end at a locked staff door.”

Jacob looked at Ethan. “That happen before?” Ethan huffed. “I’ve never been here before. I literally start in the fall.”

“Oh,” Jacob said, mock-serious. “Then this is worse than I thought.”

May grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” And just like that, the trio moved forward—two newcomers, and one seasoned local—blending into the slow, sun-warmed rhythm of campus life.

May’s version of the tour covered more ground in forty minutes than Ethan and Jacob had managed in two hours. She led them through quiet back corridors, pointed out the best hidden study spots, detoured them through Kerckhoff’s student lounge for a refill on tea, and even made them pause in the Sculpture Garden “for ambiance.”

“I promise it hits different during finals week,” she said, hands in her back pockets as she guided them along. “Just enough peace to panic in.”

Jacob muttered, “Can’t wait.”

They walked past brick walls overgrown with ivy, across breezeways that filtered sunlight into shifting patterns on the pavement, past buildings with names neither of the boys could pronounce without her help. And when they reached the medical school, May didn’t say anything right away. She just stopped walking, looked over her shoulder, and raised an eyebrow at Ethan.

He blinked. “What?”

“You said medicine, right? Eventually?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Long way off still.” May nodded toward the modern glass doors a few steps ahead, etched with the insignia for the David Geffen School of Medicine.

“Then welcome to the dream.”

Ethan let out a breath. “It’s a little surreal.” Jacob stood beside him, quietly taking it in. The weight of it. The implication of it. They’d started the day walking halls and labs and leafy courtyards—and now here they were, ending in front of something that looked like a beginning. May held up her phone. “Okay, before this starts getting too sentimental—” She leaned in and snapped a photo before either of them had time to react.

Click.

Jacob blinked. “You didn’t even give us time to smile.”

“It’s better this way,” May said, grinning. “Captures the raw uncertainty.”

Ethan gave her a look. “Is this going to be used against us?”

“Almost definitely.”

She glanced at the picture, then looked at them—Jacob first, then Ethan. Tilted her head. Eyes narrowed just slightly, like she was evaluating a painting in a gallery. Neither of them said anything. Then she nodded, like she'd reached some internal verdict.

“You know what?” she said, clearly enjoying herself. “You pass.”

“Pass what?” Ethan asked.

“The vibe check.”

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Was that even on the table?”

“It’s always on the table,” May said matter-of-factly. “Now give me your numbers.”

Ethan blinked. “Why?”

“Because,” she said, already unlocking her phone again, “you’re being added to the smol 118.”

Jacob opened his mouth to question it—but his phone buzzed seconds after handing it over. Ethan’s followed.

Group Chat:
the smol 118

At the top: the photo May had just taken. She was throwing a peace sign. Jacob was mid-squint. Ethan looked like someone had surprised him with a flashbang and a compliment at the same time.

Then, a new message.

Chris: oh god may

please tell me you didn’t

May: 😇 i did

Jacob: hi?

Ethan: we come in peace

Harry: define peace

Denny: do they meme tho

Mara: we’ll see

Jacob stared at the thread, then at May.

“This feels like an initiation.”

May tucked her phone back into her back pocket, already walking ahead. “It is.” They crossed through a shaded walkway, the noise of campus dimming behind them. May led the way with an easy stride, like she hadn’t just casually pulled them into a whole other layer of the 118’s ecosystem. Ethan glanced sideways at her. “Okay, so... you gonna explain what we just got roped into?” May smirked. “The smol 118?”

Jacob nodded. “Yeah. That.”

She looked over her shoulder at them, thoughtful. “It’s a group chat. Just for the kids of the 118—well, the ones old enough to text and not eat the charger.” Ethan raised an eyebrow. “So it’s a thing?”

“Oh, yeah,” May said. “Started a couple years ago. Back when everything kept going to hell.”

Jacob tilted his head. “What do you mean?” May’s tone softened, not somber exactly, but grounded. “Stuff like the well rescue. Or the freeway collapse. Or when Eddie got shot.” That last one hit a little harder.

She kept walking, voice steady. “Back then, sometimes the adults wouldn’t—or couldn’t—say much. Things were moving fast, or still up in the air. So we started swapping what we knew. Checking in. Making sure no one felt left in the dark.” Ethan nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”

“It got quieter for a while after that,” May said, “but then someone started dropping memes. I think Chris posted a photo of Buck asleep with an ice pack on his face. And it just… turned into a real group chat after that.”

Jacob huffed a quiet laugh. “Functional and chaotic.”

“Exactly.”

Ethan looked down at the phone still in his hand. The chat was open, Christopher’s message still sitting at the top.

oh god may
please tell me you didn’t

Jacob leaned over, reading it again. “How bad’s the hazing?” May grinned. “Light. Unless you try to give bad movie recommendations.”

Ethan smirked. “Noted.”

“Welcome to the club,” she said, bumping her shoulder lightly into Ethan’s as she walked ahead.

Jacob watched them for a moment—watched May command the rhythm of the conversation without forcing it, watched Ethan fall into step without needing to try—and then caught up again, smiling quietly.

It was weird, maybe.

But it didn’t feel temporary. They veered off toward a shaded walkway beside the law building, the noise of campus softening to a background hum. Jacob was still smiling faintly at his phone, scrolling past messages in the group chat May had just added them to. Ethan nudged his shoulder. “What?” Jacob glanced up. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

Jacob huffed. “You wanna talk dangerous, we’re still letting you run unsupervised.”

“Excuse you,” May said, clearly having heard the tail end. “I’m the adult supervision, thank you.”

Jacob snorted—and then, almost absently, opened his messages and tapped open the group chat with Ethan and Buck.

“She should be in here too,” he said, mostly to himself, as he typed in May’s number.

Seconds later, her phone buzzed. May looked down, then up again, eyebrows lifted. Jacob nodded toward the screen. “Figured we should make it mutual. You’re stuck with us now.” May grinned and, without hesitation, dropped the selfie from earlier into the chat. Jacob watched the little image pop up—the three of them, mid-squint, mid-smile. It was somehow already starting to feel like a memory.

The reply came fast.

Buck: thank god

those two halves of a brain cell have a responsible adult with them

May: you’re welcome

i charge hourly

Ethan: wait, are we the two halves?

Jacob: there’s no third option, man

Buck heart-reacted the selfie, followed by:

Buck: proud of you guys

now don’t burn the campus down

pls

Ethan smiled at the screen, then pocketed his phone. May looked at Jacob. “You know he’s gonna ask for, like, hourly updates now.” Jacob shrugged. “Guess we better keep doing impressive things.” Ethan scoffed. “Or at least mildly competent ones.” May started walking again. “Let’s aim for not getting kicked out of anywhere.” Jacob fell into step between them, and for a beat, it felt like they’d done this a hundred times before.

Two hours later, they’d officially run out of campus. They’d walked the same circles twice—sometimes three times—looping past buildings that now felt familiar and nodding at trees like old friends. The initial thrill of discovery had mellowed into something slower, easier. The kind of rhythm that didn’t need direction. By the time they passed the library again, nobody suggested another detour.

They cut across a shaded quad toward the metro stop, still chatting—but more lazily now, with the edge of the sun hanging lower in the sky. A vending machine near the station caught May’s eye, and she detoured toward it with purpose.

“Snacks?” she asked, already fishing coins from her bag.

“I won’t say no,” Ethan said, slumping onto a bench.

Jacob joined him with a soft groan. “My feet officially hate me.” May returned with a crinkly paper bag of assorted vending machine nonsense—chips, crackers, a suspiciously over-preserved brownie—and dropped it onto the bench between them like a peace offering. They passed a bag of chips back and forth, no one bothering to keep track of whose turn it was.

As Jacob tilted the bag to check how many crumbs remained, Ethan leaned his head back against the bench and let out a groan.

“I need a car.”

May glanced sideways. “Your bus pass giving up on you already?” Ethan exhaled slowly. “It’s fine, just... not sustainable. Not long-term.” Jacob wiped chip dust from his fingers. “You said your place isn’t that far from campus.”

“It’s not,” Ethan said. “But between lectures, labs, errands—it adds up. Especially once class starts.”

May didn’t say anything at first. Then Jacob saw it—the tiny flicker behind her eyes. A shift. That spark.

“Why don’t we do that, then?” she asked, too casually.

Ethan blinked. “Do what?”

“Get you a car.”

He gave her a look. “You mean right now?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Is that how this works?” May shrugged, all bright ease. “There’s a stretch of dealerships not far from here. Couple stops off the line.” Ethan looked between them, clearly torn between logic and momentum. Then he tipped his head back again and muttered, “Screw it.”

May grinned.

“I already set aside some of my scholarship budget for a down payment,” Ethan added. “Was just waiting for the right time.”

Jacob finished the chips and dusted off his hands. “I guess that’s now?”

“Apparently,” Ethan said, standing with a stretch. “Let’s go impulse-buy some transportation.”

May laughed, grabbing her bag. “Now that’s the spirit.” The metro bus arrived with a familiar mechanical sigh and a low hydraulic hiss as it settled against the curb. They climbed aboard, snagged a row of seats near the back, and let the rhythm of the city take over again. Jacob pressed his shoulder to the cool window and watched buildings blur past as they pulled away from campus. A few minutes in, he glanced over at Ethan. “You sure about impulse-buying a car?” Ethan didn’t hesitate. “Wouldn’t be the first time I impulse-bought something.”

May raised an eyebrow. “Define something.”

“The day I got the loft?” Ethan said, deadpan. “Walked into IKEA. Blacked out. Woke up with a fully-furnished living room.”

Jacob stared at him. “You need a handler.” Ethan smirked. “Why do you think I went and found Buck?” May made a face like it physically pained her. “Oh, sweet God.” Ethan tilted his head, mock-hurt. “What?”

“You chose Buck as your financial grounding point?”

Jacob snorted. “That’s like handing a raccoon a credit card and hoping for the best.”

“Okay, rude,” Ethan said, but he was laughing now. “For the record, Buck did try to talk me out of at least two coffee tables, in the time since.”

May shook her head with mock solemnity. “Well, you’re in luck. You’ve got two new handlers now.” She pointed at herself. Then at Jacob. Jacob leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. “We accept payment in snacks and the occasional texted photo of whatever disaster you're about to buy.” Ethan grinned, eyes on the passing city. “Deal.”

The bus rolled forward, and outside, the buildings began to change—retail strips giving way to wide-lot dealerships, banners flapping in the afternoon breeze. Jacob leaned forward slightly to get a better look.

“You got a dream car in mind?” he asked.

Ethan shrugged. “Something sturdy. Safe. Big enough for friends. Maybe something that won’t immediately give off ‘new driver’ energy.” May muttered, “So, not a Prius.”

Ethan laughed. “Probably not.”

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re ready to commit to that kind of responsibility?” Ethan gave a slow, almost theatrical sigh. “Let’s find out.”

They stepped off the bus into a mess of fluttering banners and overzealous signage. Dealership row wasn’t so much a street as it was a full-sensory event—flags snapping overhead, inflated balloon men flailing in the wind, bright neon window paint shouting phrases like DEALS TOO GOOD TO BE LEGAL! and STUDENT FINANCING AVAILABLE. May paused at the curb, sunglasses sliding down her nose. “Welcome to the gauntlet.” Jacob stared across the lot at the lineup of SUVs and sedans. “Do they all come with free stress?”

“Only if you buy today,” May quipped, then looked at Ethan. “Alright, lead the way, impulsive one.”

Ethan hesitated. For half a second, he considered turning around. But then he squared his shoulders and walked forward. If he was doing this, he was doing it. The first dealership greeted them with a too-bright showroom and a man named Dean who wore a Bluetooth earpiece like it had been surgically attached.

They test drove a compact SUV that May described as “a soccer mom starter pack.” Jacob nodded solemnly from the back seat. “I feel like I should be holding orange slices.” The second car had all the bells and whistles—heated seats, panoramic sunroof, adaptive cruise control—but the moment Ethan took a corner, it squeaked. Audibly.

“Is that a feature?” Jacob asked, deadpan.

Ethan cracked a smile. “Built-in moral compass. It cries when you make poor choices.” May leaned between the seats. “It’s weeping already.” They tried a third vehicle that was technically in budget but felt like driving a plastic box with wheels. May flat-out refused to test it. “It’s giving corporate intern energy,” she said. “You can’t drive this to a trauma rotation and expect to be taken seriously.” By the time they reached the fourth lot, Ethan was starting to think maybe he was being ridiculous. Maybe this wasn’t the right time.

Maybe he should just wait. He leaned against a sun-warmed hood while May circled yet another mid-size crossover and Jacob poked through a glove compartment. Ethan exhaled slowly, eyes scanning the row behind them. And then he saw it.

Tucked near the back of the lot, partly shaded by a line of newer models with flashy marketing wraps, sat a dark metallic gray 2025 Toyota Land Cruiser. No paint gimmicks. No blaring decals. Just clean lines and weight—like it didn’t need to convince anyone of anything.

It looked solid. Reliable. Big enough to handle whatever L.A. threw at him, whether it was a freeway detour or hauling furniture up a too-narrow apartment staircase. Ethan found himself walking toward it before he even realized he’d moved.

May glanced up. “Ooh.”

Jacob squinted. “That’s a survivalist vehicle.” May circled around it once, slowly. “That’s an L.A. vehicle.” Ethan pulled the driver’s side door open, slid into the seat, and let his hands rest on the steering wheel. The seats were a dark brown leather, smooth and plush, the kind of finish that looked like it had opinions about how you treated your groceries. A subtle contrast against the interior’s matte finishes. Not overdesigned. Just clean.

“Damn,” May muttered, peeking in from the passenger side. “These seats are plush. Like... executive-plush.”

Ethan ran his fingers along the edge of the armrest, the stitching tight and warm under his touch. Jacob leaned in behind him. “This thing looks like it should have its own zip code.” May dropped into the passenger seat, letting out a low, appreciative whistle. “It smells expensive in here.”

Ethan chuckled quietly and slid into the driver’s seat. He adjusted it automatically—like the car already knew what he needed. Then came the click of the ignition. The engine hummed to life—quiet, firm, no drama. The salesman appeared, timing it just right. “Want to take it for a spin?” Ethan didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

The drive was smooth. Confident. Every turn felt controlled. Every acceleration effortless. Jacob muttered something about how it handled like a tank, and May said it had “serious grown-up energy.” Ethan barely heard them. He was focused. Present. By the time they rolled back into the lot, he was already halfway to deciding. Standing outside the driver’s door, Jacob looked at the window sticker. “Sixty-two thousand dollars?”

Ethan exhaled, nodded.

“Dude,” Jacob said, tone softening, “are you sure?”

Ethan looked at the car again—really looked at it. Not with panic or hesitation. With a sense of anchoring. He’d saved. He’d planned. He was doing this on his terms.

“I’ve got about twenty grand set aside for a down payment,” he said. “The rest... yeah, it’s a big monthly bill. But with the scholarship overage every semester, and the Connecticut supplemental grant on top of that, I should be fine. Might have to actually budget for once in my life, but... it’s doable.”

May crossed her arms, nodding slowly. “Big decision.” Ethan gave a small smile. “Feels like the right one.” She looked at Jacob. “And to think, two hours ago he was calling this an impulse-buy.” Jacob shook his head, grinning. “Man doesn’t impulse-buy. He commits.” The paperwork didn’t take long.

Ethan signed the forms without stalling—initials here, signature there—his name stacking up on the pages like quiet proof that he was doing something for himself, by himself. No parental co-signer. No second pair of eyes reading over his shoulder. He added the fitted WeatherTech mats last minute. And when the finance guy asked about tint, he said, “Yeah. Do it.” He didn’t need it to be flashy. He just wanted it to feel his.

When they stepped outside again, the Land Cruiser had already been pulled up front, parked under the dealership’s overhang like a prize on a game show. The tinted windows gave it just the right edge. The sun glinted faintly off the fresh polish, the interior looking even sharper now that it belonged to him. Jacob let out a low whistle. “Looks even bigger out here.” Ethan gave the keys a small toss in his palm, then unlocked it with a satisfying chirp.

May opened the passenger door like she’d been doing it her whole life. “Shotgun. Sorry, Jacob.” Jacob laughed, rounding to the back seat. “You’re not sorry.”

“Not even a little.”

They piled in.

The AC kicked on with a low hum. The dash lit up with soft white icons. Everything still smelled like leather and possibility. Ethan rested both hands on the wheel for a second. Just sat there. Taking it in. Then he glanced at the rearview mirror. Jacob caught his eyes in the reflection. “So… what now?” May twisted around in her seat, that familiar spark already in her smile.

“Now,” she said, “we go baptize this thing.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Define baptize.” May grinned wider. “That depends—how do you feel about sunset drives and very irresponsible detours?” Jacob leaned forward between the seats. “I vote yes.” Ethan chuckled under his breath. “Well then... guess we break it in.”

And with that, he pulled off the lot, the Land Cruiser rolling forward like it was always meant to be theirs for the day.

They stopped at a gas station just off the PCH, the kind of roadside spot that sold everything from live bait to souvenir keychains. May grabbed a pack of beach towels and a fistful of snack bags. Jacob found a case of beer in the cooler and held it up wordlessly. Ethan glanced at the label, shrugged. “It’ll do.”

Fifteen minutes later, the Land Cruiser rolled off the pavement and onto the compacted edge of Big Dume Beach. The tires crunched over gravel, then sand, the sun stretching long across the sky as Ethan backed the car up just enough to kiss the shoreline—rear hatch open, music low, ocean breeze cutting the heat like a blessing. They laid out the towels, kicked off shoes, tore open bags of chips and cracked open beers.

The horizon burned orange.

Jacob took a deep breath, the kind that felt like it might finally fill his lungs all the way. And then, without warning, he stood up, stripped off his rugby shirt, kicked off his shoes, and jogged straight for the water in his jorts.

“Jacob!” May called, half-laughing. “You madman.”

He only grinned over his shoulder—hair whipping in the wind, jorts already soaked to the thigh—and dove headfirst into the waves. Ethan and May exchanged a look. Then Ethan kicked off his sandals. “Screw it.” May followed, shouting something half-serious about not having a change of clothes as she sprinted down the slope after them.

The three of them hit the water like a team that hadn’t planned anything but somehow planned it perfectly. They splashed. Tackled. Laughed so hard Jacob choked on saltwater at one point. May buried Ethan in a half-assed mound of sand, and Jacob sculpted a seashell tiara that she wore without complaint. Time didn’t so much pass as dissolve.

They climbed into the open trunk, legs swinging over the back bumper, damp clothes clinging and sand still stuck to their calves. The sun had dropped into its orange phase, bleeding across the waves in a color so vivid it looked fake.

A light breeze passed through, and Jacob leaned back against the folded seats, muscles loose and heavy in that post-ocean way. His heart felt full in a way that didn’t demand explanation.

His phone buzzed.

Incoming FaceTime: Buck

Ethan scooped it up from the center console and accepted the call, angling the screen back so all three of them were in frame. Buck’s face filled the screen, backlit by the interior lights of the firehouse.

“Officially halfway through my shift,” he said. “Just checking in. You guys still alive?”

“Barely,” May said, leaning in with a peace sign. “Sun, salt, and sabotage.”

“Things couldn’t be better,” Jacob added, grin lazy and content.

Buck squinted at the screen, leaning closer.

“What... where are you?”

Ethan lifted the phone slightly, panning around to show the open tailgate, the sand, and the streak of surf still catching firelight behind them.

“The trunk of my car.”

There was a pause. A very deliberate one.

“You’re in your what.”

“My car,” Ethan repeated, all innocent.

Buck’s eyebrows lifted. “You bought a car?”

“Sure did.”

Another beat of silence.

Then Buck’s gaze swung to May.

“You were supposed to be the responsible one.”

May held up her hands. “I was. I made sure he bought something reliable.” Jacob nodded sagely. “Leather seats and everything.”

“It’s got WeatherTech mats,” Ethan added, like that settled it.

Buck dropped his forehead into his hand, shaking his head. “You know what? I don’t even have the energy.” May laughed. “That’s what happens when you leave the chaos unsupervised.” Buck looked back up at the camera. “If the three of you come home with matching tattoos, I’m calling Bobby.”

“You’re the one who added us to a group chat, to supervise,” Jacob pointed out.

Buck gave the camera one last look—half proud, half exasperated.

“Alright, just... don’t drown. Don’t crash. And don’t drink too much in a car you just financed.”

Ethan offered a mock salute. “No promises.” Buck groaned. “Children. I’m surrounded by children.” The call ended with a muted beep, and for a moment, the only sound was the tide rolling in. The sky darkened another shade. May leaned her head back against the window. Jacob smiled softly to himself. Ethan shifted in place, taking a sip of his beer and letting his shoulder rest against the frame of the hatch. The day had been long.

Spontaneous.

Unplanned in all the best ways. And it wasn’t quite over yet.

By the time the sun vanished beyond the horizon, casting the beach in deep violet and shadow, the breeze had cooled just enough to make their soaked clothes feel heavier. They lingered until full dark.

Sand clung stubbornly to their ankles. Towels hung across the edge of the trunk. May’s phone played something mellow and indistinct while they watched the last hints of orange fade from the sky. Eventually, Ethan stepped a few feet away from the car and called his building manager.

The loft complex had limited guest parking, but he’d learned that with enough heads-up, they’d reserve a street spot. The call was short—familiar voices, quick confirmation, a quiet sort of convenience that made his life feel surprisingly adult.

When he returned, Jacob was leaning against the rear bumper, brushing sand off his arms. May was still sitting in the trunk, lazily peeling a label off a water bottle.

“They’re holding a space,” Ethan said, pocketing his phone. “We’re good.”

They packed up quietly. Towels shaken out. Sand brushed from the floor mats. The leftover beer cans sealed back in the cooler and tucked safely in the back seat for later disposal. No mess. No trace.

The drive back was quiet in a contented kind of way—windows cracked, cool night air spilling in as the coastline blurred past in streaks of light and dark. By the time they made it back to West Hollywood, the streets were alive with Friday night energy: patio lights glowing, laughter bouncing off sidewalk concrete, neon buzzing faintly against store glass.

Ethan turned onto his block and spotted the orange cone reserving the curbside space. He eased into it with no fuss. Jacob stepped out first, stretching, then glanced up at the building’s façade.

“This your place?”

“Fourth floor,” Ethan said, locking the car behind them.

May tilted her head as she took in the layout. “Nice spot.” Ethan nodded, already moving toward the front entrance. “Wait ‘til you see the inside.” They fell in step behind him, three sets of sandy sneakers thumping lightly on the stairs. The moment he opened the door, the loft felt different. Not in a big way. Not loud. But… fuller.

The late evening breeze moved through the partially cracked balcony doors, stirring one of the lightweight curtains. The place smelled faintly like sandalwood and the last pot of coffee he’d brewed that morning. They kicked their shoes off near the entry, leaving behind a small trail of sand that no one really cared enough to sweep up yet.

Jacob walked the perimeter slowly, taking in the mezzanine bedroom above, the slanted skylight, the open floor plan. He stopped in front of the record shelf and gave a low whistle. “You weren’t kidding. You really did furnish the hell out of this place.” Ethan shrugged, stepping past him to drop the keys on the counter. “I had a budget and a vision.”

May dropped the towels on the back of the couch and flopped down after them. “It’s got big ‘former Airbnb now accidentally personal’ energy. I love it.”

They settled in quickly.

Ethan queued up one of his records—an old Blue Nile album he played on quiet nights—and let the crackle of vinyl fill the room. May rifled through the cabinets until she found the mismatched glassware. Jacob dug out the bottle of whiskey Ethan kept in the freezer for “occasional emergencies,” and poured out just enough to justify the game May was already setting up on the coffee table.

“Quarters?” Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.

May smirked. “What, scared?”

“No. Just didn’t know I was hanging out with college freshmen tonight.”

Jacob spun a quarter on the table, watching it wobble. “If the shoe fits.” The game lasted longer than it should have—mostly because May kept changing the rules halfway through and Jacob, somehow, kept winning. Ethan ended up taking two penalty sips after accidentally bouncing a quarter off the rim and directly into his own glass.

They laughed. A lot.

Later, they moved out onto the balcony. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning on the railing. The city sprawled in every direction below—lights stretching to the horizon, the pulse of L.A. humming in quiet rhythm with the wind. Jacob had a half-empty glass in hand. May was nursing a beer, barefoot, her hair pulled into a loose bun. Ethan just stood between them, listening. Watching. The balcony light caught on their faces. It softened everything. It wasn’t loud or extraordinary.

It was just… good.

Back inside, the night had shifted into that kind of sleepy, slightly tipsy stillness—music still playing, lights low, air just cool enough to keep the windows cracked. Jacob was leaning against the kitchen island, sipping from a glass of water, when he glanced out across the open living room and said, mostly to himself, “You could totally turn that into a second bedroom.” Ethan blinked from the couch. “What?”

Jacob gestured broadly. “That space under the mezzanine. Throw up some partitions, move the couch forward a little... boom. Instant crash pad.” May, curled up in the corner of the sectional with a pillow under her arm, let out a skeptical snort. “Okay. That’s a stretch.”

“I didn’t say it’d be good,” Jacob said. “But technically? It’s viable.”

Ethan looked around as if seeing the space differently for the first time. “You mean like one of those fake studio dividers?”

“Exactly,” Jacob said, suddenly animated. “Like, those solid room panels. Not curtains. You give it boundaries. Respect. Dignity.”

May raised a brow. “Dignity? In a fake bedroom next to someone’s vinyl collection?” Jacob grinned. “Listen, I’ve lived in worse.” Ethan tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “So what I’m hearing is... we become loftmates.” Jacob pointed at him. “College loftmates. It’s got a ring to it.”

“Terrible ring,” May muttered, amused.

That was all the permission they needed.

Ten minutes later, Ethan had dug out a measuring tape he forgot he owned. Jacob was stretching it across the floor, rattling off made-up dimensions, while Ethan knelt by the arm of the couch with his beer perched dangerously on the corner.

“Bed here,” Jacob said. “Desk there. We build a wall of cube shelves along the outer edge. We’re golden.”

“You’re gonna block my turntable,” Ethan said, frowning in mock betrayal.

“We’ll pivot it,” Jacob replied. “Let the vibes flow.”

May shook her head, half-laughing, half-concerned. “You two are literally planning a domestic partnership with beer breath and no blueprint.” Ethan gestured toward the kitchen. “You don’t see the vision.”

“No,” she said, grabbing her phone. “But I do see my Uber text.”

She stood, pulling her shoes from under the coffee table.

“Wait,” Ethan said. “You actually called one?”

May smirked. “By ‘Uber,’ I mean Harry. He owes me a pickup.” Jacob was now mock-sketching floorplans in the air. “Make sure he knows this place is zoned for two.” May rolled her eyes as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “Please text me in the morning. I want to know how many tape outlines I’ll be tripping over next time I visit.” Ethan followed her to the door, a hand braced on the frame.

“Thanks for coming out.”

May smiled, soft and tired and entirely herself. “Wouldn’t have missed it.”

“You driving him crazy yet?” she asked, nodding toward Jacob.

Ethan smirked. “Ask me again in the morning.” She grinned, then turned back toward the hallway. “Text me when you’re alive.” And then she was gone. The loft settled into something quieter—but not heavy. Just... a little less full. Ethan shut the door, turned back to the absurd measuring tape still stretched across his living room, and found Jacob looking back at him, half-grinning.

“Don’t worry,” Jacob said. “You’ll get used to having a roommate.”

Ethan laughed, tossing a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

May’s absence left behind a quiet kind of echo. Not silence, exactly—just the sort of stillness that settled after the sun went down and the ring leader left the circus. The record still spun in the background. Ethan hadn’t bothered to change it. The needle popped faintly every so often, like the room needed to remind them it was still alive.

Jacob hadn’t moved far from where he’d flopped down after she left. He was flat on his back in the middle of the living room, head turned toward the wall under the mezzanine, the tape measure still draped across his chest like a seatbelt.

“You know,” Jacob said, squinting toward the ceiling, “I think we could make the twin bed work if we put it longways along that far wall.”

Ethan sat cross-legged on the rug nearby, sipping slowly from a half-full glass. “Are you seriously still planning this?” Jacob lifted his head a little, smirked. “We started strong. Don’t lose momentum on me now.” Ethan rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face gave him away.

They kept going—more out of amusement than intent. Jacob walked the length of the space barefoot, dramatically measuring floor space as if preparing for an inspection. Ethan pulled a notepad off the kitchen counter and started sketching what could generously be called a floorplan, labeling things like Potential Wardrobe Wall and Bed, maybe (lol). There were beers left. They didn’t count how many. At one point, Jacob balanced two throw pillows upright and declared them “temporary load-bearing.”

They laughed so hard Ethan had to sit down again. Eventually, things started to slow. The silliness softened into something quieter, without needing to say it aloud. Ethan found himself sitting on the floor again, back against the couch, the edge of the empty tape measure still clutched in one hand.

Jacob stretched out a few feet away, head tipped back against the folded-up futon cushion. His hair was still damp from the ocean. His jorts were now dry, but still had faint saltwater stains on the hem.

“You know,” Jacob said eventually, his voice low and loose with exhaustion, “this started as a joke.”

Ethan hummed, eyes half-lidded. “Still is.” Jacob nodded slowly. “Yeah. But like… not the worst one I’ve ever made.” Ethan looked over at him. And for just a second, neither of them smiled. Not in a bad way. Just... not joking. Then Jacob blinked, rubbed a hand across his face, and let his head fall back again with a sigh.

“God, I’m gonna feel gross in the morning.”

Ethan smirked. “There’s water in the fridge.”

“Too far.”

Ethan turned the now-empty glass slowly in his hands, watching the condensation drag lazy arcs across the surface. He glanced back toward the wall beneath the mezzanine, where their imaginary partitions still existed in half-drunk possibility. Then he said it—quiet, almost absent.

“…I mean, maybe we could.”

Jacob didn’t move, but his brows lifted just a little, as if he were listening through a haze. Ethan continued, voice even. “Just... when you’re back in town. For real. Depending on how things shake out.” He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to.

Jacob and the Diaz boys wouldn’t be gone forever. Eddie hadn’t locked down a move-back date, but it was on the horizon—maybe not immediate, but not far off, either. Everything between now and then was temporary. But maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t. Ethan’s eyes traced the frame of the mezzanine above, already doing the math. Space, airflow, privacy. A shared fridge. Maybe noise-cancelling headphones. Jacob’s voice came softly from where he’d sprawled, eyes still closed.

“This conversation can wait ‘til we’re sober.”

Ethan let out a quiet laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning his head back against the couch. “It can.”

The room was dim and warm and humming around them. Somewhere on the record, the final track clicked into silence. Neither of them moved to flip it. They just... stayed there. Breathing in the stillness like the end of a day well-lived. They didn’t say much after that.

The apartment dimmed around them in that natural way it does when a day finally settles, like the space itself had started exhaling. Jacob stood first, stretching carefully, his hand braced against the wall to keep his balance. “Alright. I should probably crash before I start nesting in the tape measure.”

Ethan pushed himself to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “Couch folds out. Sheets are in the cabinet under the TV.” Jacob glanced up the stairs toward the mezzanine. Ethan followed his gaze, then shrugged. “Or you can take the bed.” Jacob hesitated—just a beat. Then nodded, slow. “Yeah. That’s... thanks.”

“No problem,” Ethan said. “You’ll be more comfortable up there.”

Jacob headed for the stairs, his steps dragging just slightly. Halfway up, he paused, turning to glance back over the railing.

“This was one of the best days I’ve had in a long time.”

Ethan looked up at him—half backlit, half shadowed in the low light—and felt something soft settle in his chest.

“Yeah,” he said, voice easy, honest. “Me too.”

Jacob gave a small nod and disappeared over the edge of the loft, out of view. Ethan stood there for another few seconds, alone in the middle of his own apartment, which didn’t feel quite as much like just his anymore.

He made his way to the kitchen, flicked off the overhead lights, and padded toward the couch. Pulled the blanket from the back, draped it over himself without unfolding it. Let the weight of the day start to settle properly. Before he could close his eyes, he grabbed his phone off the coffee table and fired off a text.

Ethan: made it home. he’s crashing here tonight.

we didn’t build the wall. yet.

Buck replied thirty seconds later.

Buck: proud of you.

no drywall before wednesday.

Ethan smiled at the screen, just a little. Then he turned it face-down on the table, leaned back into the couch, and let the last of the day fade into something still.

Tuesday morning hit like a whisper instead of a train, which was somehow worse. Jacob blinked awake on the mezzanine, stomach unsettled and head full of static, the gray light creeping through the skylight above. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but the blanket was pulled up over his chest, and someone—probably Ethan—had left a glass of water and two aspirin on the nightstand. The floor was cold under his feet when he swung his legs down. His brain felt wrapped in cotton.

Still, they managed. Barely.

Downstairs, Ethan looked just as wrecked, his hoodie drawn tight around his face as if it could shield him from the responsibilities of the day. They moved like sleepwalkers—slow teeth brushing, slow coffee making, slow dressing in yesterday’s clothes because effort was overrated. It was almost 10:30 by the time they left the loft.

They stopped at a breakfast spot Ethan liked, grabbed burritos and greasy hashbrowns to go, and drove down the coast in near silence, save for the occasional grunt of agreement when one of them changed the music. The beach looked different this morning. Overcast. Still.

No fire in the sky. No orange or gold. Just the soft gray blanket of marine layer hugging the waves in quiet rhythm. Ethan backed the Land Cruiser onto the sand like he’d done it a hundred times, popped the hatch, and they climbed into the trunk with their paper bags and hot coffee. The smell alone made Jacob feel 3% more human. They didn’t speak for a few minutes.

The ocean moved, the kind of movement that felt steadying—like it didn’t care what time it was or how much whiskey they’d had the night before. Jacob took a bite of his burrito, stared out at the water, then said it without looking over.

“I don’t really wanna go back.”

Ethan sipped from his coffee. Didn’t respond right away. Then: “You’ll be back before you know it.” Jacob didn’t answer. Just chewed, slowly. Ethan bumped his shoulder gently. “You’re not gonna miss anything. We’ve got a whole group chat full of chaos and questionable memes now.” That got the smallest smile out of Jacob.

“And when you’re back,” Ethan said, “we’ll pick up right where we left off. Same seats, same view.”

Jacob looked over, and for a second—just a second—Ethan was already watching him. Not in any loaded way. Just... watching.

Their eyes met. Held.

Then Ethan looked away, pulled his burrito back out of the bag. Jacob turned his gaze back toward the water. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be. But the air was heavier now. Not bad. Just full of something else.

Their phones buzzed at almost the same time, muffled beneath discarded napkins and waxed breakfast wrappers. Ethan fished his out first, screen lighting up with a new notification. Jacob’s followed a second later.

New Group Chat: May, Ethan, Jacob

May: are u alive???

Jacob snorted, his mood already lifting. “She’s really committed to the whole ‘handler’ thing, huh?” Ethan, still chewing, offered a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. Jacob opened the camera, angled it carefully.

Ethan looked up just as he clicked—mid-bite, mid-laugh, one brow arched as if caught between suspicion and amusement. It was candid and unfiltered and stupid, and exactly what the moment needed. Jacob sent it with zero hesitation.

Jacob: proof of life.

Ethan leaned over to see the photo, still chewing, then snorted through his nose. “Delete that immediately.”

Jacob grinned, already typing.

Jacob: no takebacks.

May’s typing bubble appeared right away.

May: amazing

i’m framing it

your first loftmate pic

Ethan groaned dramatically and shoved the last of his burrito into his mouth to avoid further commentary. Jacob leaned back into the trunk wall, feeling the salt stick to his skin again. But this time, it felt clean. Light. The breeze shifted slightly, pulling at the loose ends of their hair. Whatever had hovered between them earlier—unsaid, undefined—wasn’t gone exactly. But for now, it didn’t need to be anything more than what it was.

The airport drop-off was quiet. Not the terminal itself, which buzzed with business travelers and kids in Mickey Mouse hoodies and the usual chaos of people coming and going. But in the car—inside the soft hush of the Land Cruiser—it was calm. A little sleepy. A little reluctant.

Buck had offered to drive, citing the fact that it was his house Jacob had stayed in and therefore his farewell to supervise. But Ethan suspected he also just wanted to keep an eye on them—his kids, as he put it more often than not.

The ride had been easy. A bit of teasing, a few half-hearted reminders from Buck about not making a habit out of joyriding down the coast with beer and beach towels. Ethan had nodded dutifully, Jacob had grinned, and they’d promised—together—to be less impulsive. Someday. Now they stood at the curb, Jacob’s bag slung over one shoulder, boarding pass folded in his hoodie pocket.

“Flight’s at 11:05,” Buck said, checking the departures board just inside the window. “You’re good on time.”

Jacob nodded. “Appreciate the ride.” Buck gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Next time, maybe no ocean dip in denim.”

“No promises,” Jacob said.

They laughed.

But the moment had started to thin out now—air thinning, time slipping. Ethan stepped forward, hands in his pockets.

“You got everything?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jacob said, adjusting the strap on his duffel. “Just... everything I brought.”

Their eyes met—casual, but longer than a glance should’ve lasted.

There was something there.

Neither of them had a name for it. Not yet. But Buck, standing a few feet off, watched the exchange with narrowed eyes and a curious little furrow in his brow.

Ethan cleared his throat.

“I’ll let you know when we take the wall measurements seriously.”

Jacob huffed out a soft laugh. “I expect schematics by next month.” Then, softer, “Thanks. For everything.” Ethan’s mouth curved—tired, warm. “Yeah. Of course.” Jacob turned, finally heading for the terminal entrance. He didn’t look back, but he raised a hand briefly as he walked. Buck watched him disappear into the crowd. Ethan shifted on his feet.

“You good?” Buck asked, lightly.

Ethan nodded. “Yeah. Just... already miss the fun.” Buck hummed. “He’s got good timing. And weird energy.” Ethan smiled to himself. “You’re not wrong.”

The flight back was short and uneventful. He slept through most of it—hoodie pulled up, earbuds in, the softness of the loft and the sound of waves still lingering in his mind like a dream he hadn’t fully shaken. When he landed in El Paso, the heat was already waiting. Chris waved from the cell phone lot, grinning from the backseat as Eddie pulled up curbside.

Jacob tossed his bag into the trunk and climbed in. Eddie glanced back at him as they pulled away from the terminal.

“So? How was it?”

Jacob looked out the window, sunlight cutting across the dashboard, and smiled without needing to think.

“Better than I could’ve imagined.”