I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 63: Quiet Moments, Loud Hearts
Jon's Perspective
Sam's room was quieter now. The warmth still lingered in the sheets, in the air, in the look Sam gave him as she lay curled up on her side, watching him pull his shirt over his head.
"I can drive you to the Pritchetts'," she offered, her voice soft but sincere.
Jon shook his head with a small smile. "Nah. I left my car at school, remember? I'll just take a bus back, pick it up, and drive from there."
She sat up, her hair still slightly tousled from their time together, frown tugging gently at the corners of her lips. "Then let me drive you to school at least."
Jon leaned in and kissed her forehead, slow and reassuring. "Thanks, Sam. But I think I need a little time to just… be with my own thoughts right now."
She didn't argue. Just nodded, eyes warm with understanding.
Jon left the house, the cool evening air wrapping around him like a soft balm. He walked a couple blocks to the nearest bus stop. The sun was lowering, casting long shadows over the neighborhood, painting everything in hues of gold and quiet.
He boarded the bus and found a seat by the window. As the engine hummed to life and the bus rumbled forward, Jon leaned back and let himself drift into thought.
Being back together with Sam—really back—felt like getting his breath back after being underwater for too long. He hadn't realized just how much of himself had been tied up in missing her. During the break, he tried to shut that part down. Tried to be logical. Tried to focus on school, football, anything else.
It didn't work.
She was in everything. In the songs he skipped on his playlist because they reminded him of her. In the empty seat beside him at lunch. In the jokes he wanted to share but didn't text.
He got it now, at least a little. The fear. The intensity. How fast it all moved. How terrifying it is to need someone so deeply it feels like gravity shifted just for them.
And yet…
He wouldn't trade it. Not for anything.
The bus slowed and hissed to a stop. Jon stepped off, the school lot quiet and mostly empty now. His car sat in the same spot, waiting faithfully for him.
He walked to it slowly, keys already in hand. As he opened the door and slid into the driver's seat, he paused.
He just sat there for a while.
Hands resting on the wheel. Eyes on nothing.
Thinking.
Feeling.
Processing.
Then, inevitably, a grin broke across his face. A helpless, unstoppable grin. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the memory of her hands, her breath, her laugh wash over him.
He chuckled to himself, shook his head, and finally turned the key.
The engine roared to life, and Jon pulled out of the lot, the setting sun behind him.
Jon cruised down the familiar streets with one hand on the wheel, the other drumming rhythmically on his thigh to the beat pulsing through the speakers. Some catchy indie track played—he didn't know the name, didn't care. It was background music to a kind of joy that needed no lyrics. The smile on his face felt fused to his skin now. Permanent. Incurable.
As he pulled into the driveway of the Pritchett house, he reached for the knob and turned the volume down before killing the engine. The silence that followed was comforting, like a deep breath.
The house looked… better than usual.
The light hit the windows just right. The garden looked greener. The front door, less like a threshold and more like the gate to something safe and known.
Had it always looked this beautiful?
Or was he just in such a ridiculously good mood that even bricks and stucco seemed poetic?
He shook his head, laughing to himself as he stepped out and made his way inside.
The moment the door opened, a minor domestic squabble reached his ears like a familiar sitcom laugh track.
"—I'm just saying, mijo, if you put the lechuga next to the tomatoes, they get soggy faster!" Gloria insisted, her hands animated.
Manny, ever the gentleman debater, countered, "That's not science, Mom. That's you trying to reorganize the fridge again based on vibes."
In the living room, Jay sat on the couch, casually watching a rerun of some old western, but his eyes slid toward Jon as soon as he walked in.
"What's gotten you in such a great mood?" Jay asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jon tried to brush it off. "What do you mean?"
Jay didn't look away from the screen as he replied, "Kid, you were practically skipping. If I didn't know better, I'd think you just landed a date with a supermodel or won the lottery."
Jon blinked. How the hell did Jay read him like that?
"I—It's nothing," Jon mumbled quickly and made a beeline for his room before the conversation could go anywhere.
He shut the door behind him and let out a breath.
His room, his haven. Familiar and quiet.
Jon dropped onto his bed like a puppet whose strings were finally cut. He didn't realize how drained he was until gravity yanked him into the mattress.
The day had been… a lot.
The emotional whiplash with Sam. The euphoric relief of being back together. Football practice. And, well… whatever you'd call what happened in her bedroom. Whatever word meant exhaustion and ecstasy at the same time.
He felt himself drifting.
Then—
Meow.
A soft plop on his chest.
He looked up to find Ghost, his fluffy orange tyrant, standing on him like a judge presiding over a guilty defendant.
"Seriously?" Jon muttered.
Ghost meowed again, louder this time. Indignant. His blue eyes were judgment incarnate.
"I've been in the room for, what, sixty seconds?"
Ghost's tail flicked in righteous fury.
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, Your Highness," Jon said with exaggerated sarcasm as he hauled himself up and went to the food bowl.
Ghost pounced on the kibble like he hadn't eaten since the Nixon administration.
Jon returned to the bed, slumping onto it with a groan. He smiled again, softer this time. Less dazed, more grateful.
Today had been chaos. But good chaos.
And for once, everything felt like it was falling into place.