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Jake let the door click shut behind him. He didn’t bother with the lights—just dropped the keys into the bowl and drifted to the couch.
The apartment was quiet in the wrong kind of way, like it had forgotten he lived there. He kicked off his shoes, peeled off his jacket, and collapsed onto the couch, like he was hoping it would swallow him whole.
Die Hard was already queued up. Of course it was.
He hit play without thinking, letting the familiar noise fill the room like a cheap stand-in for company. The screen flashed with explosions, casting jittery orange light across the walls. He didn’t really see the screen.
He pulled a half-eaten bag of gummy worms from under the coffee table. Stale. Sour. Vaguely plastic. Perfect.
She’d looked beautiful tonight. Warm. Lit by the amber glow of the bar, eyes shining as she smiled at someone else. Someone who’d asked her first without a punchline. Someone brave.
He chewed a red-and-blue worm slowly, jaw tight.
If he’d said something weeks ago, maybe—
But that’s not how it went. Not with them. Not with him.
On screen, John McClane shouted into a walkie talkie. Jake turned the volume down.
No matter how many times he’d watched this movie, he always waited for the same line.
“Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs…”
He mouthed it as it played. Laughed, but it wasn’t funny.
He had always known so much about her—how she took her coffee, the rhythm of her typing, the sound she made when she was thinking through a lead. But he’d never really noticed how she tucked her hair behind both ears. Not until now.
He curled his knees into his chest, chewed another gummy worm, and tried not to think about her hair—the way she looked lit up by someone else’s attention.
He’d had her beside him for so long, he forgot what wanting her felt like. Until tonight. Until it felt like falling off a cliff.
There was nothing to do now. Nothing to fix. Just sit in this shitty apartment, chewing stale candy, pretending she wasn’t already slipping into someone else’s future.
He let his eyes close.
The movie played on.
He wasn’t sure what woke him. Maybe the sound of McClane shouting. Maybe it was that feeling—when something shifts, and your body knows before your brain does.
He blinked against the TV glow. The gummy worms were still in his hand. One stuck to his shirt. Classic.
Then came the knock.
Not loud. Not urgent. But real.
He sat up, heart suddenly too aware of itself. For a second he wondered—Charles, a neighbor, the Italian mafia.
But he knew it wasn’t.
The knock came again, sharper.
He blinked, wondering if the knock was real or just a ghost of hope.
He pushed off the couch, stepped over the mess, heart thudding like always when things were about to change.
She stood with her hands tucked into her coat sleeves, shoulders tight. Same red shirt as before, clinging to her like a memory that refused to fade. Her cheeks were pink—from the cold, the walk, or maybe something else. She didn’t look heartbroken or glowing, just paused. Her eyes looked into him like they held a question she hadn’t yet learned to ask.
She looked beautiful. She always did. But it hit different now, like something he’d hidden in plain sight.
“Hey,” he said, surprised but steady. “Did something happen?”
She shook her head. “I saw you. At the Keychain. During the date.” She winced slightly. “I mean, it wasn’t a date… but it was supposed to be. And then I saw you. And—”
Jake's mouth tilted, unsure whether to smile or wince. “Right.”
“I didn’t think you’d be there.”
He nodded. Didn't offer an excuse. He didn't have a good one.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I was gonna crash your date.”
“It was not a date.”
He shrugged, looking down at his socks. “Well… he thought it was. And you were—” He stopped. “You did the thing.”
Amy blinked. “What thing?”
“The double tuck.”
Her brow furrowed, puzzled.
He gave a faint, self-conscious smile. “Rosa says you do it when you like someone—tuck your hair behind both ears. You did it tonight. With him.”
“That’s not… I don’t do that on purpose.”
“Doesn’t matter. I saw it. I thought, cool. She’s into him. Perfect guy—closes cases like a machine, got that jawline, drinks whiskey neat—”
He looked at her then. Really looked. Like maybe this wasn’t just another moment to pack away.
She swallowed. “I saw you, and everything got… weird. Like the room shrunk. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I just kept seeing you. Like you’d just gotten punched.”
This wasn’t how she talked or acted. But something in her was buzzing—loud and alive, and now she was here, with no script to fall back on.
Jake laughed softly, humorless. “Yeah, well. Kind of felt like that.”
She stepped closer. Almost touching. Her breath caught slightly, a faint shiver running down her spine. The hallway light cast faint shadows.
“What’s going on with you?” she asked, voice quiet, unsure.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Just—” He stopped, words caught on his tongue. “But then you laughed like that… and I remembered what it’s like. Being the reason.”
They stood, letting the dust settle. The quiet stretched between them. Not heavy. Just real.
Jake turned slowly, not moving closer, but looking at her like the first time he’d allowed himself to.
“You came all this way,” he said. “Why?”
Amy opened her mouth, then closed it.
“I don’t know.” She looked at him. “I just… needed to see you.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the floor, like if he looked at her too long, it might cost him something.
She exhaled. “I was halfway home before I realized I didn’t want to be anywhere else but here.”
His brow furrowed. The word came quiet, automatic. “Why?”
She met his eyes, steady, no defense.
“Because I’ve been pretending I don’t feel this. For a long time. And tonight, seeing you—I couldn’t pretend anymore.”
Something in him kicked, sharp and sudden. He stepped closer, unaware.
“Amy…”
She shook her head. “I told myself it was just timing. That we were partners. That it would ruin everything. But the truth is… I was scared.”
He closed the distance, so she had to look up.
“I don’t know how to be cool about this,” he admitted. “I’ve tried. Thought it would go away. Thought you’d meet someone like that guy and I’d just deal. But every time you smile at me, I’m right back where I started.”
Amy swallowed hard. “Where’s that?”
He looked at her like the answer was obvious.
“Where I never left.”
She didn’t speak. Just blinked, then smiled softly, a small crack in her carefully held walls.
Her eyes met his. Not searching, seeing.
Jake didn’t move.
There was something brittle in the silence. Not fragile—just sharp.
One more second and it might break her. Or him.
And then she kissed him.
No hesitation. No warm-up. Not sweet, just sure. He met her halfway, maybe before he even realized he was moving.
Then he kissed her back.
Slow at first. Careful. His hands came up to her face, cradling her jaw like she was something he'd been afraid to want this openly. She leaned into it. Into him. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, not pulling, just holding on.
The kiss deepened without either of them deciding it. Just gravity. Just the inevitable conclusion of every almost and not yet and not like this that had ever passed between them.
She made a small sound against his mouth and he pulled her closer, one hand sliding into her hair, undoing whatever careful thing she'd done with it.
Her coat slipped off her shoulders as he pressed in, hands tracing under her shirt, desperate to map every inch.
Without breaking the kiss, he stepped back, closing the door behind them with a fumbling hand. His arm twisted the lock blindly, then returned to her—mouth on hers, guiding them deeper into the room.
Amy’s fingers threaded into his hair. He groaned low, the sound vibrating against her throat.
His mouth dragged down her jaw, along the delicate line of her neck. Her knees buckled.
He lifted her off the ground in one sudden motion. She wrapped her legs around his waist on instinct, breath catching as she held on.
They stumbled through the studio like a stormfront—laughter giving way to urgency, mouths seeking, hands greedy, intent.
He lowered her onto the bed with a care that made her chest ache. Like she was breakable, precious, and he’d never forgive himself if he rushed it.
Then he surged up to meet her, kissing her like it wasn’t just want—it was worship. Like he’d waited years for the right to be gentle, and he had.
Her fingers dragged under his shirt. She didn’t ask. She just pulled it off, threw it aside. She needed to feel him—his skin, the heat, the proof.
He kissed down her sternum, breath catching like it hurt.
She felt the world tilt under his mouth—so careful, so sure—and it cracked something in her chest. “Jake—”
“I know,” he said, voice rough. His eyes flicked up, unreadable and full. “Me too.”
He ran his hands along her sides, slow, mapping the edges of her ribcage, the dip of her waist. His thumb brushed just under her bra and lingered, savoring.
He pushed the fabric up, not off, and kissed the newly revealed skin like a secret. She let out a breathless laugh, but he didn’t look up. He was focused—steady—like every part of her deserved this kind of attention.
She arched into him, her hand sliding along the slope of his back, down, tugging at the waistband of his jeans.
His breath hitched when her fingers slipped just beneath. But still, he didn’t rush.
“Fuck, Ames…” he breathed, voice shaky with restraint.
He shifted down, coaxing her thighs open with his hands and mouth, deliberate, never hurried. Her bra slipped free as his hands trailed upward, palms cupping her breasts with a careful reverence, like he was afraid to break the moment. She murmured his name, a quiet plea.
Then her fingers moved to his belt, fumbling slightly.
He stilled her hand, just for a moment.
Then, without a word, he reached for the drawer beside the bed, retrieving the foil packet.
She reached for him, breath caught, hands learning the weight of him.
He kicked off the last of his clothes, all tension and trembling restraint.
The first slide into her was slow—staggering. Like his body didn’t quite believe this was real.
She gasped, breath punched from her lungs. He stilled, barely in, like he couldn’t move until she asked.
Her nails dug into his back. “You feel—” she gasped. “God, Jake.”
He sank deeper, eyes locked on hers the whole time. Her whole body shuddered—stretching around him, welcoming him like she’d been made for this weight, this ache, this exact kind of closeness. Each stroke stripped something from her—control, breath, thought.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was right—in the messy, aching, real kind of way.
She clung to him, hips rising to meet his rhythm. His fingers dug into her hips, anchoring them together as the rhythm quickened, harder now, desperate.
And then, just for a moment, they froze. Eyes met. Wide, dark, shimmering with every feeling they’d hidden for years: fear, longing, relief, wonder. Their lips met in a hungry, knowing kiss, sealing that silent understanding, before Jake let the rhythm snap back—hard, unrelenting. He moved inside her with reckless need, each thrust burning with desire, and she melted into him, gasping, grasping, finally letting herself fall apart in the fire of them.
“God, Ames. You’re gonna kill me.” His voice was wrecked, teeth catching on her shoulder.
They moved like a confession—each thrust carving out something unspoken, her body answering his.
He thrust harder, once, twice—just to feel her fall apart again—and she did, moaning into his mouth like it hurt to hold it in.
The air thickened with breath and quiet gasps, the soft rustle of sheets, the desperate drag of lips. He bit gently at the curve of her shoulder, muffling a groan as her nails raked down his spine.
He kissed her again, slow now, dragging it out. She moaned into his mouth, grounding herself in the weight of him, the press of his body, the ache blooming sweet and sharp inside her.
When she came, it was sudden—her breath hitching as she gripped his shoulders, clinging. Her whole body seized, breath breaking apart as she clenched around him—tight, shuddering, gone. The heat bloomed behind her eyes, sharp and golden, and all she could do was hold on as she came apart around him.
He followed with a raw, bitten-off gasp, hips stuttering as she felt him unravel into her—trembling, deep, completely hers.After, they didn’t move.
Still tangled. Still stunned.
Jake buried his face in her neck, breath shaky but steadying. Her hand slid into his hair, slow, soothing.
No words. Just that kind of quiet that doesn’t need any.
In the morning, Jake woke first.
He watched her sleep, tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertips, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with the softener from his sheets.
The apartment felt different now. Like it remembered.