Like Real People Do

It was almost midnight when I showed up. Well—climbed up. Her bedroom window was unlocked again. I didn't even hesitate this time.

My knuckles ached like hell. Lip split, jaw tight. There was probably a decent-sized bruise blooming beneath my eye, and dried blood still crusted where I couldn't quite reach in the boys' locker room mirror.

Still. I didn't care. I just needed to see her.

I pushed the window up quietly, slipped one leg through, and then the rest of me followed with a wince.

The room was dark, except for the soft glow of string lights and her bedside lamp. She was curled under the covers, facing the wall, and airpods in, with a book in her hands. I wasn't sure she'd even heard me until—

She turned. Her eyes landed on me, then widened.

"Jordan?"

"Hey," I rasped. She threw the blanket off in one movement and sat up. "What the hell—are you bleeding?"

"I've been better."

She was already out of bed and crossing the room, hair a mess, sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder. She looked like warmth incarnate. "What happened?"

"Locker room fight," I muttered. "One of the guys said something about you." Her hands paused midair. "What kind of something?"

I looked at her, jaw tightening. "Nothing I want to repeat. But I hit him. Hard. And maybe again after that."

"Jordan," she whispered. Her voice cracked on my name.

"I couldn't let it slide."

She didn't yell. She didn't scold. She just looked at me like I'd handed her something fragile and real.

"Sit," she said softly, nodding toward her bed. "I'll be right back."

I sat. My whole body hurt, but it was easier to breathe now that I was here. She came back with a little white box, flipping it open with trembling fingers. She knelt in front of me and took my face in her warm hands. "You have blood on your cheek," she murmured, voice thick.

"Didn't know where else to go," I admitted.

She was quiet for a long second. Then, more softly, "You got into a fight over me?"

I looked at her, into those summer sky blue eyes. Really looked.

"I didn't care what he said about me. I've heard worse. But the second he said your name like that—like it was some kind of joke—I couldn't let it go. I won't let anyone talk about you like that."

Her eyes searched mine, like she wasn't sure if she should be mad or grateful or both. "I don't need you to fight my battles, Jordan."

"I know," I said. "But I wanted to."

Her fingers stilled over my cheekbone, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "You're bleeding a lot." She dabbed my cut with an alcohol wipe.

"You should see the other guy." I winced.

She rolled her eyes but didn't move. "You're such an idiot."

"Yeah," I breathed. "But I'd do it again."

And then—softly, slowly—she leaned in and kissed the unbruised side of my face, just beside the cut.

Not a dramatic kiss. Not a movie-scene moment. Not because it was romantic. But because it mattered.

"I hate that you got hurt," she whispered looking at me, "but I love that you showed up anyway."

My eyes fluttered shut. I didn't deserve her. But God, I wanted to.

I put my hands on her waist and she inhaled sharply. She let a slow breath out as she continued to dab the various cuts on my face. She glanced at me and grabbed my right hand from her waist. She looked at it and whispered, "God, you can be so stupid sometimes, you know that?" 

"Yeah. But it's hard to think clearly when you're the only thing in my mind."

She softly smiled up at me and brushed her lips against my knuckles, so gently I barely felt it. She began to wipe the blood. I winced at the burning sensation and clenched her hand tightly in mine.

"Sorry, so sorry." I held her hand tighter. She started wrapping my hand in gauze, and kissed my hand again, as if for 'good measures.'

Her fingers slowed as she finished wrapping the gauze, her thumb brushing along the inside of my wrist, like she wasn't ready to let go yet.

"I swear," she whispered, "if you show up like this again, I'm not patching you up. I'll just leave you on the lawn like a wounded raccoon." I huffed a laugh. "Worth it." She looked up. "You're infuriating."

"And you're here," I said. "Still."

We stayed like that for a second—her kneeling in front of me, my hand in hers, everything quiet except the hum of her bedside lamp and the thunder of my pulse.

Then, slowly, she stood. I followed, unsure of what came next, until she reached out and touched my cheek again. Her fingers were soft and hesitant, like she was afraid I'd pull away. I didn't.

She looked up at me, eyes wide and searching. "You should stay," she said quietly. "Just tonight."

I swallowed. "Are you sure?"

She nodded once. "You look like hell. And you climbed through my window again, so I feel like I owe you at least a pillow."

I smiled. "Deal."

We didn't say anything else as I kicked off my shoes and followed her to the bed. She pulled back the blanket and climbed under, and I slid in beside her, careful not to shift too much.

For a while, we just lay there—close but not touching, until her hand found mine in the dark. Fingers laced like it meant something. Like it always meant something. Her head turned on the pillow. "Jordan?"

"Yeah?"

She hesitated. Then, barely a whisper: "You scare me." I turned to face her. "Why?"

"Because I think… this might really matter."

My heart thudded against my ribs. "Then let it," I said. She looked at me like she wanted to believe me. Like she already did.

And then—just as soft, just as brave—she leaned in. Our noses brushed. And then her lips touched mine, featherlight, like a question.

I kissed her back like an answer.

It wasn't a long kiss. It wasn't perfect. But it was ours.

When we pulled away, she rested her forehead against mine and whispered, "Please don't disappear."

"I couldn't," I said, my voice rough. "Even if I tried."

We fell asleep like that—her head on my chest, my arms around her, the scent of her shampoo in my lungs, and the quiet certainty that something had changed.

Something had started.

And for once, I wasn't afraid of where it might go.

~~~~

Elyse Gates

I woke up to the sound of rain tapping against the window.

For a second, I didn't move. My brain hadn't caught up to my body yet—not until I felt the rise and fall of steady breathing beneath my cheek. The warmth of someone else's skin against mine.

Jordan.

His arm was wrapped around me, snug and instinctive. My head was resting over his chest, legs tangled somewhere beneath the blankets. I could hear his heartbeat—slow, even. Safe.

I hadn't imagined it. Any of it.

The fight. The blood. The way he looked at me like I was the only real thing in the world. The way I kissed him and he kissed me back. Like we were finally saying what neither of us had been brave enough to say out loud.

And now, here he was. In my bed. Sleeping like it was the only place he ever wanted to be.

I looked up at him.

His face was soft in the morning light. The bruise beneath his eye was already turning a sickly purple, and the corner of his lip was still split. But somehow, he still looked beautiful in a quiet, broken kind of way. Like someone who didn't know how to ask for care, but was starting to believe he deserved it.

I reached up and gently brushed my thumb over the corner of his lip. He stirred, just barely, and his arms instinctively tightened around me.

I almost smiled.

I didn't want to wake him. But I also didn't want to stop looking. Not yet.

Eventually, his eyes fluttered open, hazy and golden and still a little dazed. He blinked down at me, a slow smile pulling at his mouth. "Hey," he rasped.

"Hey," I whispered back.

He looked like he couldn't believe he was still here. Like he was still waiting for the floor to drop out.

He smiled—barely there, lopsided, still healing. His lip was split, the bruise under his eye darker in the early light, but somehow, he looked softer than ever. Like someone who hadn't run. Like someone trying to stay.

"Sorry for bleeding on your pillow," he murmured. I snorted quietly. "I'll survive." A second passed. Then he said, "I don't really want to move."

"You don't have to."

Another pause. He looked down at me, eyes a little more awake now, a little more serious. "I think that was the best sleep I've had in years."

My chest pulled a little at that. "You're not just saying that because I have the world's fluffiest comforter?"

"I'm saying that because for the first time in forever, I didn't feel like I had to be anything."

I didn't say anything for a second. Just let his words hang in the air. Then I leaned up, carefully, and kissed the corner of his mouth—soft, slow, just to the side of the split.

He stilled. Just for a second.

"I like this version of you," I whispered. "The one who doesn't try so hard to pretend he's not scared."

His breath hitched a little. "You make it easier to stop pretending."

I rested my forehead lightly against his. His fingers brushed the side of my face and trailed down my jaw. No dramatic promises. No sudden declarations.

Just this.

Two people in the quiet. One heartbeat at a time.

I didn't know how long we stayed like that, breathing the same air. Just... us.

Eventually, Jordan shifted beneath me and whispered, "Can we just stay here forever?"

I smiled against his chest. "You'd hate it after like an hour. No snacks. No soccer. No dramatic exits through windows."

He huffed a laugh. "Okay, fine. Maybe not forever. Just... a while longer?"

"Deal," I said, nestling closer.

His hand moved absently up and down my back, fingertips tracing invisible lines, like he didn't even realize he was doing it. Like it was second nature. And for some reason, that was what got me—more than the kiss, more than the fight, more than the bruises.

This. The quiet.

The way he held me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I like mornings with you," he mumbled.

I looked up, brushing his dark brown hair off his forehead. "You've known me for like twelve mornings, max."

"Yeah," he said sleepily. "And this one's already my favorite."

I rolled my eyes, but it was the kind of smile I couldn't stop if I tried.

He blinked slowly. "You're not gonna make me leave yet, are you?"

"No," I said. "But you're definitely gonna have to sneak back out the window before too long."

He groaned. "Okay." He pulled the 'y' almost whiny, and pulled me up closer and buried his face in my neck.

We lay there for another few minutes, too warm and too full of new feelings to move.

And then, softly: "Do you think this... us... is real?"

I pulled away just barely and looked at him. His eyes were wide open now—earnest, nervous, kind. I rested my hand gently on his heart and touched my forehead to his.

"Feels pretty real to me."

He kissed my forehead, slow and careful, like a promise.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said.

"You better not," I murmured.

~~~~

I found Kaylie exactly where I knew she'd be—sprawled across the living room couch, a blanket twisted around her legs and a half-eaten bag of gummy worms on the coffee table. The TV was playing some random teen drama with way too much glitter and betrayal, but she looked fully invested.

"Hey," I said, flopping down next to her.

She gave me a sideways glance. "You've got that face."

"What face?"

"The 'I'm about to tell you something dramatic and potentially life-altering, but I'm going to pretend it's casual' face."

I blinked. "That's... terrifyingly accurate."

Kaylie paused the show with one eyebrow raised, her full attention now on me. "Spill El." I tugged my knees up onto the couch, hugged a pillow, and took a breath. "Okay. So. Last night, Jordan came over."

Kaylie tilted her head. "Came over... as in at your door?"

I hesitated.

"Elyse."

"Okay, fine, no. He climbed through my window again."

Kaylie gasped like I'd just told her I got married in Vegas. "Oh my GOD. Juliet, is that you???"

"Shut up."

"No, you shut up. What do you mean 'again'? How many times has he scaled your house like a lovesick ninja?"

"Twice. Well, I guess three times. Wait, actually-"

"You can't even keep track?" She pointed dramatically. "That's way more times than acceptable. Continue."

I buried my face in the pillow for a second, then peeked out. "He got in a fight."

Kaylie sat up straight. "What? With who?"

"One of the soccer guys. They were being disgusting and said something about... me. Jordan lost it." Her jaw dropped. "He fought someone because of you? Wait—was it like a hot, tortured, brooding fight? Or like a clumsy mess with flailing limbs?"

I burst out laughing. "Probably a little of both. He showed up bleeding." Kaylie's face softened. "And you took care of him."

"I patched him up. And then..." I trailed off, but my cheeks were already burning. Kaylie leaned in like a cat sensing secrets. "And then..."

"He stayed the night." Her jaw practically hit the floor. "No. Shut. Up."

"I swear! But not like that," I added quickly. "We didn't—y'know. He just... slept next to me. We held hands. Talked. We... kissed."

Kaylie slapped the pillow between us. "You kissed! I knew it. You've been floating around like some lovesick cloud."

"I have not."

"Girl. You sighed at your toast this morning."

I tried to fight a grin. I really did. "It was good toast."

"Mmhmm. And he's clearly good Jordan." I covered my face with both hands. "I cannot believe I'm telling you all this."

"You promised I'd be the first to know when it got real." She nudged me with her foot. "And sis, it sounds real." I peeked out from between my fingers. "It is. I think it really is." Kaylie's voice softened. "I'm happy for you, Elyse. He's not just some dumb crush anymore, huh?"

"No," I said quietly. "He's not."

Kaylie nodded, then reached for the gummy worms like the moment hadn't just shifted into something quietly emotional. "Okay. That's actually adorable and I'm going to allow it."

"Gee, thanks."

"But just know," she added, mouth full, "if he ever hurts you, I will fight him. I'll use my keys. I'll go for the knees."

"Noted," I laughed. "You're terrifying."

"I'm loyal," she corrected. I leaned over and bumped my shoulder against hers. "Thanks." She nudged me back. "Always."