Chapter Text
It is Jamie’s first night officially moved into her dorms, and out of her childhood home. Her first night of what will be her new normal for the next year, maybe even for the next four years as she finishes her degree.
It is also her first night filled with so much certainty that she won’t have a visitor tapping on her window pane, there to gift her with shy smiles and fireflies that she swears she can feel fluttering around in her stomach, making her glow, too.
She wouldn’t find Cove if she were to go open her window now. She wouldn’t find the sea breeze, either, thick with salt settling over her tongue. She wouldn’t even find California. Just the foreign-ness of New York City air, taunting her with the gravity of her decision to go so far away from home. It had felt so smart on paper- New York was one of the fashion capitals, after all, and she had grown to retrace both her moms’ footsteps in regards to the fashion world. If she ever wanted to make a name for herself in the industry, she needed to get her name out there, come from the reliability of New York’s prestigious programs, rub elbows with the important connections that she could find here.
It feels like far less of a need right now, or even a good idea, as she lays alone in the dark, the span of the continent between her and home. Between her and Cove.
Cove. Her beautiful best friend, so stalwart and safe, who’s always been by her side.
Only her best friend, she has to remind herself, trying her best to stuff down the longing that never seems to go away. She’s known she’s in love with him for so long she can’t even be sure when her crush shifted to something more. Maybe she has loved him from that first moment, with the breeze billowing through the strands of his seafoam hair as the moonlight refracted through his tears, and she’d only learned to call it love somewhere along the way. She supposes the when of it doesn’t really matter, though. All that really matters is that she does love him. She knows it with the same bone deep certainty that she knows she needs oxygen, or water. She needs Cove, too.
She needs him so much that she has spent years terrified that if she were to confess her love, she would just lose him, instead. Cove has always been skittish and nervous. A runner, she thinks, remembering two eight year olds sitting underneath the “Now leaving Sunset Bird” sign with boxes of juice and muffins from a backpack. She doesn’t know how she would survive it if he were to run from her.
She had thought this summer would be her perfect chance to confess to him. After all, she was leaving for school and he was staying in Sunset Bird. If he had been horrified at her love, at her desire for more then he wouldn’t even need to run, because she’d be giving them space anyway. Space for her to nurse her broken heart while she coaxed him into staying friends with her, into forgiving her for overstepping the parameters of their relationship.
But then he’d spent all summer fretting over not wanting things to change, not wanting to lose what they have, and she couldn’t tell if he was purposefully trying to drop her hints to stay in line, but she had done so nonetheless.
For a moment, she had hoped, when he’d shown up at her front door with a poppy and asked her on his not-so-surprise outing as a date that maybe that meant he wanted more, too. But when she’d confronted him the next night, after his actually-a-surprise outing, he’d talked more about how much he wanted things to stay the same even with the distance between them, and she’d felt something within her crumble. Her careful, cautious Cove was already so afraid of the changes coming, of the possibility of losing her. She couldn’t bring herself to add extra cruelty to that with her confession, to burden him with the greedy way she craves him. She can control it. She has to.
The next day, standing in her room, she’d said as much as she dared, telling him she’d give anything for him. He’d smiled at her, so soft and shy, telling her she didn’t need to give anything. You already have me, he’d said. At the time, she couldn’t explain the lump those words brought to her throat, the unshed tears that had burned her eyes.
Now, shuffling restlessly in an unfamiliar bed, she’s finally able to put her finger on the pulse of her sadness.
But I don’t have you, she wants to scream. He isn’t hers. Here she is, over a thousand miles away from him, Coveless and cold, and he has enough free time now to maybe fall in love with someone else. He told her he is panromantic, so he could literally be swept away by anyone, because she has no real claim on him. He could fall in love with anyone just as quickly as she fell for him. And while she’s felt at least a little bit of safety, with Cove being demisexual, if he were to be in love… She hiccups a wet sound, and rolls sharply into her pillow to muffle herself. She may be alone in her dorm for one more night before her roommate is set to move in, but she has no idea how thin these walls are.
Still, the thought won’t leave her. What if her fear of losing Cove has kept her silent so long that she might have wasted her last chance at being his? What if she’s already lost him for good? Oh God, by the next time she sees him in person, he could be in love with someone else, fucking someone else. God, what has she done?
“I don’t have you,” she whispers to herself, her voice cracking as surely as her heart.
Her first night in New York is spent sobbing herself to sleep.
****
Day by day, she settles into her new routine. A slow transition, she feels some nights, when she’s particularly overwhelmed with navigating the busy streets of the city. She’s well enough used to crowds, with the tourists at Sunset Bird, but she sees now why everyone called the town sleepy. In comparison to the bustle of New York, her hometown is far more relaxed than the high strung city in which she now resides.
Or maybe it’s just her who doesn’t know how to relax. Not without Cove sneaking into her room, pulling her into his warm embrace and surrounding her with his familiar scent on the days she’s too exhausted to do anything else. She doesn’t have him.
Instead she has to make do with the sound of his voice distorted through her phone speakers.
“I think I better understand little eight year old Cove,” she tells him.
He huffs at her phrasing, then simply prompts her with an “Oh?”
“You remember what you told me on Poppy Hill, that last morning of summer? About how it felt, not knowing where you were going to sleep, where you were going to eat.”
She pauses for just long enough that he prompts her again, his acknowledging hum sounding far more somber than his earlier ones. Still, he gives her the space to put it into words. God, how she loves him for that. Finally, she manages, “I was empathizing before, when you talked about it. But I get it now, personally. What it’s like for everything familiar to just be… gone.” She laughs a choked sound. “It makes me want to run to Poppy Hill and wait for you to find me.” She sucks in a shaky breath. “It makes me feel even worse about it all, somehow, knowing that I did it to myself. Like I’m not allowed to want to run home because… well, because I did this.”
Cove is quiet, but she can hear him breathing, so she knows he’s there. Then, so soft she almost misses it, he whispers, “Jamie…” She gasps at the emotion swimming in the sound of his voice saying her name. She tries her very best not to file away the sound of it for later, for imagining that whisper tickling her ear as he leans over her, the weight of his body warm and pressing. She fails miserably in her efforts, the fantasy coalescing in her brain, solid enough to make her shiver.
Cove continues talking, though, and she has to focus. “I’ll always come find you. Even if it’s over a phone call.” He laughs weakly, and the cadence is almost worried. “Just don’t go finding yourself another Jamie and forgetting about me.”
She scoffs. “I don’t think I’d enjoy meeting another me.”
“Another me, then,” Cove says, so quickly that she can’t finish her own response.
She tries to keep her laugh light and reassuring, far removed from the depths of her want for him that is clawing up her throat, trying to escape her lips in some variation of the words I’m not going to fall in love with someone else, Cove.
Instead she says something safer. “Ridiculous. I couldn’t forget you even if I tried. And I can’t imagine ever wanting to try.” Then, though risky, more words spill out from her like she can’t hold back the entire tide of her heart, like a spray of droplets slipping past the dam of her silence. “There is only you.”
His response is unintelligible through the static of her phone, but she’s not confident it would truly be coherent words even if his mouth was at her ear. She thinks his mumbling sounds like relief, though. She’s relieved, too, she thinks, at the fact that he wants to be remembered, that he cares so much. Like maybe he could really be within her reach.
But their conversation meanders as he asks her about classes, trying to help her remember the goals that brought her to New York, and she can’t help but picture him sitting on Poppy Hill, their spot, while some other person skips over to him and takes her place.
I don’t have you, she mourns. All she can do is throw herself into her schoolwork and hope that she can scrape together enough time for a trip to visit back home. Hope that by the time she makes it, it isn’t already too late.
****
It is crisp and cool in late October. Logically, she knew that New York was a much colder place, but as the Fall marches on, every day seems to surprise her with its chill. She wears a jacket now, most days. She remembers how criminally good Cove looks in a jacket, the rare instances she’s seen him in one, like on their trip to the redwoods so long ago. Nowadays he’s more likely to let himself freeze like he had on their ice rink date.
She almost instinctively corrects herself away from calling it a date, but hadn’t it technically been one? At least the day before, he’d used the word, so it’s feasible that it could be applied to ice skating, too. Right?
It probably doesn't matter. He’d seemed to be using the term to mean a fun outing, rather than as a segue for actually dating her. At least she had been able to cling to him that day, helping to keep him warm as they both tried desperately not to fall on their asses while fumbling across the ice.
She also remembers the enticing way his eyes had widened when she’d told him she liked that he didn’t wear many layers. She still can’t decide if that counted as her flirting, or if he’d even taken it as a come-on. She does wonder, every day as she pulls on her own annoyingly practical layers now, if he would be disappointed to see her like this, succumbing to the wintery air and bundling up. But it isn’t like the ice rink, where she was able to cuddle up to Cove for warmth. There is no set of warm Cove arms in New York.
A fact that is especially tragic tonight, sitting in the quietest corner she could find of a rooftop party. Her roommate, Vanessa, firecracker that she is, has been a bit ham handed in trying to involve Jamie in the local social scene. As a fellow fashion major, too, she’d absolutely insisted that they had to show up to this halloween party with killer costumes, so for once, Jamie is outside without any extra warmth, wearing only her last minute sewing project costume.
Vanessa had managed to snag the great thrift shop find of two plain black underbust corsets, and had insisted it would be easy enough to throw together the rest of a pirate costume for them to match with. Truthfully, she’d been right, even if there had been several late hours over the last week that Jamie had been sure she’d resort to murder for the added stress of the new task.
Now, though, she’s on a rooftop with the combined forces of New York Fall in full swing, the late hour, and the added altitude chill from the tall city buildings trying very hard to freeze her as she sits, wearing only an off the shoulder chemise with her corset overtop. Thankfully her skirt has a few layers for fullness and that makeshift pirate look, combining fabrics and textures, reaching all the way down to the tops of her boots and acting as a sorely needed blanket for her legs. At least it’s something. Vanessa had pinned the hem of her skirt up, tucking the end into her belt and exposing one leg like a thigh slit design. She’d tried to talk Jamie into doing the same, and now, shivering on the rooftop, Jamie is astronomically thankful that she decided against it.
There’s nothing to be done, really, about her bare shoulders and collarbone. She tries her best to ignore the chill the same way that she ignores the background noise of the ongoing party from her little corner alcove, where she’s managed to sneak away to call Cove.
She has to call him twice before he answers, which is a rarity that almost makes her wonder if she accidentally dialed Jeremy instead of Cove, but a quick glance at the contact screen assuages that worry. Finally, at the tail end of the second call, just when she’s debating if she will dial a third time or just give up, he picks up, sounding out of breath. “Jamie! Hi.”
Her shouted name makes her laugh. “Cove!” She responds in kind. Then, “I’m sorry, is this a bad time? I probably should have texted first to see if you were free.” It’s not really something she’s used to doing, as intimately familiar as she always has been with his schedule. Now though, between full time work for him, and her class schedules, not to mention the smatterings of little things that come up, that’s no longer the case. The reality of that makes her chest ache.
“No, no,” he rushes to say, so eager that it puts her at least a little at ease. ”Sorry, I was just…” he laughs a self conscious sound, and she can picture him threading his hand nervously through his hair, can picture his telltale blush along his high cheekbones. “Well, I was in the ocean. Only a little bit!”
Her giggle is immediate and incredulous. “Cove, it’s almost November!” Not that she hasn’t many times in the past been his partner is such daring deeds, the two of them laughing through the refreshing shivers of the brisque autumn ocean. “And I’m not even there to help rub some warmth back into you.”
Her throat immediately tightens. Oh God, she shouldn’t have said that. It was too much, too forward. Fuck, she’s only had one beer at this stupid party and already she is making mistakes.
Almost in an echo of her mental response, Cove cries “Oh my God, Jamie!” His voice is flustered and something she could maybe call scolding, but it’s not actually reproachful the way she anticipated. His sputtering laugh helps to uncoil the tension in her ribs, at least. Perhaps she’s been bold enough through the last ten years of teasing him that he doesn't pay it much mind anymore. The idea of that causes a war within her- one part is warmed at their familiarity, while the other is covered in a volume of chilled goosebumps that the rooftop breeze could never hope to instill. “At least hearing from you is warming me up enough.”
She wonders if her own panic made her miss him hyping himself up to say such a bold thing back to her. Is he flirting with her? Maybe she should flirt back, just in case.
Then again, maybe he didn’t need to steel himself, maybe it was easy to say because it didn’t mean anything deeper, and she missed nothing at all.
Maybe it’s the beer, but she decides to take her chances and push just a little more. “Hm, well maybe you should talk to me more so you can warm me up, too.”
There is a loud, crinkling static that blares through her speakers, making her pull her phone sharply away from her ear. She thinks, distantly, she hears a muffled shout of “Oh my God!” from Cove. After a moment of fumbling as she calms herself from that jumpscare, she hears Cove reappear on the other side. “I- sorry, Jamie, I dropped my phone.” A nervous chuckle. “What has you cold?”
Should she count that as a win? Maybe not, but she’s going to. “It’s cold in New York,” she says, and bites her lips before she remembers that she’s wearing lipstick and pulls back, trying to relax. “And I’m not wearing a jacket.”
He huffs a short, breathless laugh. “I feel like this is where I should say something about how we ought to have learned a lesson or something from the ice rink.”
She hums, her teeth digging into her cheek. “I don’t think the lesson I took away had anything to do with bringing a jacket.” Her voice feels warm, like melting chocolate dripping off of her tongue. She hopes it’s warming him, too. She remembers his arms against her palms as she rubbed them up and down, remembers him doing the same for her. Remembers the way they wrapped each other up, and thinks that she might actually burn all of her jackets if only Cove were here.
She is robbed of the chance to truly take in the texture of Cove’s gasp, or breath, or whatever his response might have been, because he is drowned out by Vanessa’s voice as she rounds the corner, taking in Jamie’s sitting form. “Jamie, there you are!” The shorter girl puts her hands on her shapely hips as her eyes dart all over, their rich, almost carmine shade of brown barely visible in the shadows of the bricks. “Damn Jamie, did you sneak over here to call your ocean boyfriend? Tell him you’re busy.”
Jamie has largely given up correcting Vanessa over the phrasing of boyfriend, since despite her protests, the girl is bound and determined to keep using the term- but she doesn't think she’s ever actually said anything about that to Cove. It felt like too sensitive a topic. So for a brief moment, she flounders over what he might think, either if he hears her denying it too strongly, or if it might seem like that’s what she tells people without his consent… She stutters for a moment before managing “I- Yes, I’m talking to Cove. And I’m not really busy.”
“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie,” Vanessa says, clicking her tongue. Her sharply angled bob shifts as she leans in towards Jamie, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “You are a ridiculously stunning woman at a party. Of course you’re busy.” She winks, her dark lashes fluttering. “You know, I think after you disappeared, almost every other single person in the room has made their way over to me to ask aaaaalll about you.”
Jamie rolls her eyes at Vanessa’s waggling brows. “Then I’m happy to have sent you the foot traffic. Cove is more interesting.”
Vanessa blazes past her blatant dismissal. “El even asked me if you were one of my models!” She giggles while Jamie blushes. “What a tragedy for all of us that the answer is no. You really are a knockout.” Her burgundy painted lips tilt up delicately. “Especially in that corset.”
“You,” Jamie huffs, “are entirely too pleased with finding these.”
“I sure am,” Vanessa says proudly, drawing a smile out of Jamie. “And my reward is getting to see you in it. So come on and rejoin the mingling so I can get the full viewing pleasure experience. I’ll grab you another drink.”
She finds herself sighing in a long suffering way. Vanessa really can remind her so much of Terri sometimes, though her roommate is a level of brazen Jamie isn’t sure she’s yet met a match for. Maybe she won’t ever meet another such person, and Vanessa is simply in a league all her own. “Fine. Just… give me five more minutes with Cove?” She asks hopefully.
Vanessa narrows her eyes. “Two.”
Jamie rolls her eyes at the bargaining, waving her hand as both a dismissal and a non-committal answer as she brings the phone back up to her ear. She’s not sure when she’d lowered it, but as it comes back to her ear, she can still hear the reassuring sound of Cove’s breathing, and she exhales her relief.
“Perfect!” Vanessa beams at her. “See you soon, sugar tits,” she croons teasingly. She laughs uproariously at Jamie's reddening cheeks, answering Jamie’s barely sputtered questions of why with a coy “Because you look absolutely delicious, darling.”
She groans a low, anguished sound, feeling absolutely mortified knowing that Cove probably heard that entire damned exchange. She takes a few breaths, trying to gather her nerves before she faces him in the aftermath of that.
Then, quietly, she hears, “Jamie…?”
“Mmhmm?” she manages to squeak out, letting him know she is listening to him again.
“Are you okay?”
She huffs a breath of a laugh that ends up sounding just a tinge bitter, though she can’t place exactly why it would. She swallows before saying, “How could I not be, when I’m hearing your voice?”
There’s a pause for a few beats of her heart before he chuckles, the sound of it dry. “Is it a Halloween party? Are you dressed up?”
She’s grateful for the topic change. “Yeah. As a pirate. Probably not an outfit meant for lonely New York rooftops.”
His laughter is warmer this time, more rich. “I guess you can take the girl out of the ocean, but…”
Her mouth cracks into a smile. “Too true.”
“Well, I’ve seen all your halloween costumes, haven’t I? Since we would always trick or treat together.” He clears his throat, “That is to say, we like dressing up. Celebrating the season. You and me both, the Halloween spirit…”
He trails off as she giggles. “Where are you going with this, Cove?”
“I’d just like to see pictures, is all,” he mumbles, so quiet she has to cover her other ear to pick him up.
“Oh,” she blinks, surprised. “Sure, I’ll make sure Vanessa gets a couple.” She groans, remembering. “Speaking of which, I should probably go before she comes back over here to drag me by force.”
He huffs a short laugh. “Yeah, probably.” A breath. “Hey, Jamie?”
She finds herself matching his tone, her voice coming out just as breathy and low. “Yes?”
“Would you call me when you get home?”
Her heart shudders through her chest with a hummingbird rhythm. “I can do that. It might be late, though. I can always send a message so I don’t wake you?”
He hums a negative sound, and she can picture the soft smile on his face as he shakes his head, the way the wisps of his green hair must be swaying with the motion like tiny threads of silk. “That’s ok. I’ll wait up.”
How is she supposed to do anything but love him? Helplessly, hopelessly, wholly. She belongs to this man.
I don’t have him, she has to remind herself, and it hits her like a splash of cold seawater.
“Of course, Cove. I’ll talk to you soon.”
For a brief moment, neither of them hang up. They both sit on the line, breathing, and Jamie closes her eyes, imagining what his chest might feel like under her cheek, how those breaths of his would feel on the skin of her cheek. She’s sure that her racing heart is the source of her trembling rather than the wind, this time. Then, finally, like breaking a spell, a burst of laughter startles her from across the roof, and she gathers her senses, hanging up the call.
Vanessa is delighted when Jamie asks for some good photos of her look, so much so that it’s almost enough to make Jamie regret asking her in the first place. Vanessa spends twenty minutes flitting around her, posing her, smoothing her hair, tilting her chin. She cheers when Jamie takes a photo hiking up her skirt, exposing the thigh high fishnet stockings underneath, the bright bangle of an anklet resting just above the top of her boot. Jamie tries to tell herself that she’s taking these to show Cove all the elements of the ensemble, to give him the full effect, but even she knows that’s a lie.
She wants him to see her leg, see what he might think of the thigh high look. Most of all, she wants him to see that she’s still wearing anklets for him, all the way in New York.
Vanessa sends her only three photos, what she considers the “best shots,” and Jamie forwards them to Cove before she finally rejoins the fray of the party.
****
Jamie manages to coax Vanessa to let them leave at half past midnight, which she considers to be a wild success, considering her roommate’s propensity for late nights. Vanessa pouts playfully the whole way home, though Jamie can tell she’s actually quite pleased over the whole night. After all, not only did she manage to get Jamie out and involved in conversations with new people- some of which might be great connections for them- but she also got Jamie dressed up and got some painstakingly particular pictures of the whole thing. Jamie can tell that Vanessa’s smile is one of grand accomplishment more so than it is one of being put out by Jamie’s much earlier schedule.
She even got Jamie to drink another beer, despite Jamie’s best attempts to keep from doing so.
So now, as they cross the threshold back into their dorm and scrub up for bed, Jamie finds herself feeling what might be termed as tipsy. She doesn’t know, she’s never really drank before. It’s probably a bad idea to talk to Cove now, right? He hasn’t even responded to the photos she sent so maybe he did end up falling asleep, and she could get out of the whole thing seamlessly.
Still though, she did promise him.
So at the very least, she dials his number, mostly expecting it to go to voicemail where she can leave a quick message for him and then go to sleep, hopefully to wake with a better handle of control over herself with which to talk to her best friend whom she is desperately in love with.
Cove answers her after one ring, making her heart stop.
“Jamie,” he says, his voice sounding almost relieved. “That wasn’t too late after all.”
She hums, trying to gather herself. “I managed to be more persuasive than usual at getting Vanessa to agree with me, I guess.” She blinks a few times, trying to clear the buzzing feeling in her head, in her very veins at talking to Cove while she lies in bed. “I’m glad I didn’t make you have to wait up very long.”
“It’s no trouble, Jamie.” A breath, then two. “Actually, I should probably be thanking you for being willing to call me, because I think I’d just be worrying otherwise.”
“Hmm, well, I wouldn’t want to leave Cove James Holden to worry all by his lonesome. I’ll call you anytime you ask.” Closing her eyes, she almost could feel like she’s floating, adrift on the cool waves of the ocean, the sound of Cove’s soft, sputtering laughter like a buoy that holds her up. “Especially since I can’t sneak into your bed all the way from here.”
He coughs, a choking sound reverberating from her phone, and it’s enough to make her open her eyes again to squint up at the shadows arcing across her ceiling.
She’s not sure how much time passes before Cove huffs. “Since when were you ever the one that did the sneaking?”
She hums again, and doing so helps her find her voice, helps her remember how to form words so she can reply. “I would, if you’d let me.” She laughs, but it comes out of her throat as more of a sleepy, half formed grunt. “And I wouldn’t let you take the floor.”
There is silence on the other end, and Jamie finds herself matching his breathing with its slow, deliberate rhythm. “I could maybe be convinced,” he finally says, voice hardly above a whisper.
She hums her approval. Distantly, she feels a thrumming energy in her body at his words, a hot sensation seeping slowly outward from her belly like a drop of ink in water. Wake up and pay attention, a part of her urgently prods, and she blinks sleepily, trying to focus.
“Hey, Jamie?”
“Mmmhmmm?” She manages, still trying to squint to pull her focus more into the present moment.
“Are you falling asleep?” His voice is tinged with amusement, and she can picture his smile like the warm rays of the sun.
“Yeah,” she whispers.
Cove chuckles. Normally he is the one with the earlier bedtime than her, as prone as he is to late night or early morning escapades. As prone as he always has been to come tapping at her window to bring her with him, she should be more used to it. But the time difference only seems to offset their schedules that little bit more, like a constant reminder of their distance.
“Vanessa was right,” he says finally, voice so soft that it makes her feel pliant right alongside it, like her body is matching him. “You look stunning.”
She can only swallow. His words make her melt like a summer ice cream cone, and she feels a wet sensation at her core as though to further prove it. You don’t have him, she tries to remind herself, doing her best to stamp out the hot embers flickering inside of her, like a combination of desire and devotion flaring from her chest, spreading lower.
Miraculously, he continues. “And I really, really like the anklet. You look very…” he trails off, and she hears the quick, staccato breaths of him hyping himself up, of his resolve building. “Sexy.”
She thinks she gasps, but it comes out as more of a dreamy exhale than a sucked in breath. She thinks she manages to swallow back the way hearing Cove so explicitly and forwardly call her sexy, and not just the anklet makes her want to moan. She is moderately confident she manages to wrangle the sound into a throaty hum. Suddenly, with the dizzy, spinning sensation of her head, and with Cove’s forwardness, she feels like this all might actually just be a dream, like she might have already fallen asleep. The idea gives her unprecedented levels of courage. “Wore it for you,” she mumbles, voice feeling garbled with her sleep.
She thinks she might hear a tiny squeak of her name, maybe some other words, or maybe sounds that aren’t meant to be words at all in Cove’s signature, flustered way. She imagines her ear being pressed to his chest instead of a phone speaker, cuddled up to him as she falls asleep, imagines feeling the vibrations of his voice rather than just the sounds of it. Imagines the texture of his warm, smooth skin under her fingertips.
You don’t have him, she tries to remind herself, as though she could chase away the dream like it is nothing but an omen of future heartbreak to be immediately burned. For the first time, the reminder does nothing to cool her down, does nothing to stem the tide of her hope.
She falls asleep without hanging up.