Chapter Text
The road to Forks is a familiar one, even after two years. Evergreen trees blur past your window, their towering forms casting long shadows over the asphalt as your car hums along the highway. You didn’t realize how much you missed this stretch of Highway 101 till now–how the trees leaned in like close friends, how the air smelled like rain (because of course it does), how the damp air curled in through the cracked window and made everything smell like pine needles and rain. Your fingers tap against the steering wheel following the beat of the radio, restless.
Your phone buzzes in the passenger seat.
Jake : You close yet?
A smile tugs on your lips. You can practically hear the impatience in his text.
You : Like 20 min out. Chill
Jake : Chill?? I’m literally pacing right now
You roll your eyes but a smile tugs on your lips. Jacob Black has always been like this–all energy, no patience. Some things never change.
Jacob Black. Your best friend since before you could spell your own name. You had shared everything with him growing up–scraped knees, projects in his garage, secret forts built from moss and driftwood down by First Beach. And as you drive past The City of Forks Welcomes You sign, your chest warms.
The last time you were here, you were fourteen, saying goodbye with a promise of visit. Your dad’s job pulled your family to the buzz of Kirkland, where everything was cleaner, faster, and more modern. But like got in the way, as it does–school, your dad’s new job, the four-hour distance between Kirkland and Forks. Still, you and Jake kept in touch. Late-night calls, stupid texts, the occasional letters (because Jake thought it was funny to mail you doodles of his terrible car sketches and self-portraits). Still, Forks was yours in the way it mattered and now, thanks to your parents’ sudden, nostalgic purchase of a cozy summer house on the edge of town, it could be again.
You weren’t the same girl who had left, and from his photos, he wasn’t the same Jacob, either. He’d grown taller, broader . His baby face and chubby cheeks you used to pinch sharpened into somethin old, something you didn’t quite know how to name. And still–he was Jacob. Your best friend.
But now, you’re back.
Your parents arrived yesterday to get the house ready and you had stayed behind to finish packing, insisting on driving yourself. You needed the time to think and to tame your nerves.
Because Jake is…Jake.
When you were kids, it was simple. He was the little boy who taught you how to skip rocks, who let you steal bites of his fry bread at the rez cookouts he would invite you to, who tried to feign annoyance but eventually grin when you called him Jakey just to annoy hi,
But now? You’re not sure who he is. What you guys are.
Your phone buzzes again.
Jake : I’m at your house btw
Jake : Tick-tock you better not be bailing on me
You scoff.
You : ?????
Jake : Your mom said I could wait for you so hurry up
Of course he was. You groan, but your pulse kicks up anyway.
----
You could see your parents were already inside the house by the time you pulled up–a modest, moss-draped place tucked between pines, just off a gravel road. Your parents’ car is parked out front. Parked right next to it is a black motorcycle.
Your stomach flips.
Slowly, you pull into the driveway right behind your parents car park, take a deep breath, and step out. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and pine needles. The front door is slightly ajar and you push it open.
“Mom? Dad?” No answer. You drop your bags in the foyer and head up the stairs, looking for your room at the end of the hall–
And then you see him.
Jake is leaning against your bedroom door frame, arms crossed, impatiently tapping his foot. He’s taller. A lot taller. His shoulders are broader, his frame more solid than the lanky boy you remember, and his hair was shorter now, shaggier, like he hadn’t bothered with it much. And when you made eye contact, his fake looked at you like he’d forgotten how to breathe. Something passed between you in the silence.
“Hey,” you said. Your voice came out softer than you meant it to.
“Took you long enough,” his face twitches slightly and he snaps out of whatever trance he was in, now grinning like he’s just won something.
“Shut up,” you reply, but you’re smiling.
He pushes off the doorframe and closes the distance between you in two strides. He pulled you into a hug that wrapped around your whole body. His warmth is immediate and almost startling, like standing in front of a bonfire. His hand lingered at your back a moment longer than necessary, but you don’t mind. You missed him. A lot .
“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair.
You smile against his chest. “Missed you too, Jakey.”
He exhales sharply and chuckles, like the words punched the air out of him. Then, slowly, his arms tighten around you.
“You still gonna call me that?” his voice is low, but there’s that familiar teasing lilt in it.
You pull away from him and look up to meet his eyes, smirking. “Mhm. Deal with it.”
He snorts. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“Please,” you say, stepping back with a grin. “You’d cry if I stopped, just like how you always did.”
“Only a little,” he shoots back, and there’s a spark in his eyes now, brighter than you remember. You’re not sure what it is–relief, maybe, or him just being awkward and shy.
Before you can reply, the sound of the front door creaking wider makes both of you glance down the stairs.
“Sweetie?” your mom calls up. “Is Jake still here?”
He winces slightly, already backing toward the stairs. “I should probably–”
“You’re staying for dinner!” she shouts before he can finish.
You blink. “Wow, ambushed.”
“I’ve been here ten minutes, she’s already planning the menu,” Jake mutters under his breath, then louder: “Uh–I mean, I don’t want to intrude–”
“Nonsense! You’re basically family.” your mom responds brightly.
He glances back at you, eyebrows raised, lips twitching like he’s holding back a smile. “You set me up.”
“I did not. She just knows you too well. Besides, you’re the one that came her before I even got to Forks.” Jake just shakes his head and shoots you a glare, muttering something under his breath as he follows you down the stairs. You can feel the energy buzzing off him–slightly nervous, but trying not to show it. He’s still smirking like an idiot, but it’s more to himself now, like he can’t quite believe he’s here again either. With you, in person, not over text or call.
The house smells like Mrs. Meyers lemon cleaner and whatever your mom is preparing in the kitchen. Jake hesitates in the foyer, glancing toward the kitchen like he's debating a quick escape, but your mom appears before he can make a move. She wraps him in a hug like no time has passed and Jake stiffens for just a second before relaxing into it, careful and gentle in a way that makes you smile softly.
“You grew up on us,” she says, pulling back to look him over. “Look at you!”
Jake rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flushed but smiling. “Still the same guy. Just a bit taller.”
“A bit ? You always did shoot up like a weed,” she laughs, already turning back toward the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry. We’ve got enough to feed a whole pack.”
He blinks at her words and nods. “Yeah. Starving.”
And then your dad strolls in from the backyard, wiping his hands on a rag, the scent of grass and sprinkler water trailing behind him. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the only kid in this town I trust near a sprinkler system. Bet you could fix ours without even looking at it.”
“I’m your guy.” he smiles, rubbing the back of his neck again. It was always a small habit you noticed he did when he felt awkward, shy, or nervous.
Your dad claps him on the shoulders as he passes. “Glad to see you again, kid.”
And just like that, he is. Wrapped into the space like he’s always belonged, fitting in the rhythm of it, even if the walls are different. Even if everything is different.
You watch him as he sinks into the chair next to yours, still buzzing a little like he doesn’t know where to put all the energy. He’s quiet now, but not in a bad way–more like he’s soaking it in, anchoring himself to something familiar. You slide a glass of water toward him and he takes it without looking, but his fingers brush yours for half a second too long.
And while he’s still Jake, it’s not exactly the same. But neither are you.