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Jett didn’t flinch when the stage lights hit her. She didn’t blink at the shimmering banners, the hush of the audience, or the rows of judges seated with tight, expectant faces. She had done this before, too many times.
Her competition harp stood under the spotlight, its rose-gold accents catching every beam. This was not Benny. Benny lay at home, sealed away in its climate-controlled case. This instrument was colder, larger, precision-built, impressive in the way money and legacy always were. Jett didn’t love it, but she could make it sing.
She looked the part as well. Gone were the layered skirts and jackets she donned when she wanted to disappear. Tonight she wore pale fabric that clung like water, a sheer but opaque white dress that floated around her ankles when she walked. The outfit regulations had relaxed this year, and her mother had approved each piece carefully. With Noelle absent, her mother had taken over styling duties too, nestling delicate mirrored ornaments into Jett’s heavy black curls, which she’d straightened before spiraling down her back.
She rarely wore her hair like this.
So when she stepped onto the stage barefoot, glowing and silent as moonlight, the whole room seemed to hold its breath. That was the point. She was the goddess in the half-light, the one who woke the world.
Later in the song, as her hands eased into the transition to sleep, the lights would shift to a deep twilight blue and the stars in her hair would come alive. That would be the moment people remembered, the clip that looped in video edits and inspired longing captions. But not yet. For now, she simply played.
Every note shimmered. Every chord wrapped the silence and held it gently. Her body swayed with the rhythm, never showy, always natural, always hers.
The last note faded. The silence that followed felt soft and respectful but too shallow to be real. She rose, bowed once, and left the stage with her face as smooth and unreadable as before.
Behind the composure, a familiar ache bloomed like a bruise pressed too soon. It did not matter how clean the notes had been, how flawless her technique, or how graceful she had looked.
She missed Kris.
“She’s barefoot?”
Susie leaned forward on Kris’s bed, blinking at the screen. “Okay. That’s kinda metal.”
Kris, half-sitting against the headboard, didn’t respond. Their fingers were tangled loosely in their hoodie strings. Their eyes hadn’t left the screen once.
Noelle, meanwhile, had both hands clasped over her mouth.
“She wore that?” she whispered. “She actually wore it?”
Susie glanced over. “Wait, you picked it?”
“I didn’t think she’d say yes!” Noelle squeaked, practically vibrating. “That’s the goddess set. Goddess hair, goddess flow, barefoot serenity… oh my god, did you see the curls? Kris, did you see how far down her back-”
“She looked good,” Kris murmured.
Noelle nodded like it physically hurt to hold in her pride. “Right? Her mom did the stars, but the dress is exactly how we designed it. The sheer layering? The movement before the lighting shift? That was exactly how we practiced it.”
Susie tilted her head. “Wait... that song. I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”
“You haven’t,” Noelle said. “She wrote it.”
Susie blinked. “She wrote that?”
Noelle beamed. “Every note.”
Kris’s expression didn’t change, but something in their posture did subtle like a quiet ache settling behind their eyes.
“She should’ve kept the harp,” Susie muttered. “The other one. Benny. That new one’s too shiny.”
“She can’t,” Noelle sighed. “Competition rules. Benny’s too customized.”
“Still,” Susie said, folding her arms. “Didn’t feel like her.”
Kris’s fingers curled tighter around the hoodie string.
They said nothing.
Then, softer than dusk:
“She didn’t smile.”
Kris hadn’t noticed the window was unlocked.
They were still watching the livestream, which had just cut to intermission, when a talon gripped the sill, followed by a wing, a grunt, and a very winded Berdly tumbling headfirst into the room.
“What the-” Susie jerked halfway off the bed. “Did you just climb in through the second floor?!”
Berdly collapsed dramatically on the rug, gasping like they’d scaled Everest. “It was faster than ringing the doorbell!”
Noelle was already covering her mouth, trying not to laugh.
Kris, deadpan, slowly turned to shut the window behind them.
Flat on their back, Berdly held up their phone like it was sacred. “Okay. I have tea.”
Susie groaned. “This better be worth the acrobatics.”
“Oh, it is,” Berdly said, pushing up their glasses with entirely too much flair. “I have officially cracked the Jett Calloway mystery. And let me tell you, she’s not just the delicate harp angel you all thought.”
Noelle sat up straighter, suddenly alert. Kris didn’t move, but their eyes locked on.
“Apparently,” Berdly began, “Jett has a reputation in the classical music competition scene.”
“What kind of reputation?” Noelle asked.
“The ‘everyone hates her because she’s too good and they can’t prove she’s cheating’ kind,” they said with a flourish. “The other competitors treat her like she’s radioactive. They complain she gets special treatment, but the only reason there’s extra security is because someone once tried to sabotage her harp mid-performance.
“They what?” Susie blurted.
“It’s worth more than a car,” Berdly added. “Custom-built. Rose gold accents. Reinforced frame. They almost sued the organizers into oblivion. Now she has guards assigned to her and the harp at every major show.”
“That’s insane,” Noelle whispered.
“She’s that good,” Berdly said smugly. “And the kicker? That dreamy, ethereal goddess look tonight? All her. The dress code relaxed this year, and she leaned all the way in. Even choreographed the lighting and sparkle timing with the crew.”
Kris blinked.
Noelle beamed. “I helped with the outfit. Her mom did the stars, though.”
“You should see her rhythm game records,” Berdly continued. “She’s undefeated in Pulse Drop Riptide. Has like four different mechanical keyboards tuned just for arcade keys.”
“She has a game room?” Susie turned to Kris. “You never mentioned that!”
“I’ve never been in it,” Kris murmured.
“She’s sitting top-three in multiple games,” Berdly said, flinging open a bag of gummy worms. “Rhythm Forge, Neon Rush, Redline Cascade, her chains are nearly perfect. That gaming room’s probably wired tighter than a pro studio.”
Kris didn’t answer. But their hand curled at the hem of their hoodie. Their mouth twitched, just faintly. A soft warmth, barely visible.
Noelle caught it. “Wait… you think it’s hot, don’t you?”
Kris didn’t deny it.
Berdly waggled his brows. “I mean… calm, collected harp goddess by day, digital destroyer by night? That is kinda spicy.”
Kris raised a brow.
“Not for me,” Berdly added quickly. “For you. Obviously.”
Susie was howling now. Noelle had both hands over her face, squealing.
Kris just turned back to the screen, the ghost of a smile finally blooming.
They called her name like it was inevitable.
“First place: Jett Calloway.”
The applause was deafening. Camera flashes followed. She rose from her seat like she’d done it a thousand times and walked across the stage in a slow, unhurried glide. Her bare feet made no sound on the polished wood.
She accepted the trophy with a gracious nod, her expression serene, untouchable. Not joyless. Just distant. Like she wasn’t quite there. Like this didn’t belong to her, even though it was engraved with her name.
They tried to ask for a photo with the other winners.
She stood politely, her rose-gold harp gleaming beside her like a crown no one could steal. The second and third place recipients didn’t look at her—not directly. The girl on the end barely hid her scowl.
The ceremony ended, and Jett walked offstage alone.
The air outside was sharp and quiet, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy still humming inside the concert hall. She moved through the back corridors like a ghost, past dressing rooms, locked greenrooms, velvet ropes.
It was easier to breathe here.
Her fingers brushed the curtain as she passed, dragging lightly, as if to tether herself to something real. The stars in her hair caught the hallway light and shimmered.
Her mom had tried to talk to her backstage, but Jett had mumbled something about needing air. She’d put on her shoes and slipped out before anyone could press. Her father was handling the press. Everyone expected a picture-perfect post-win moment, but she just… couldn’t.
She wanted quiet.
She wanted-
A pet shop window caught her eye.
It was garishly lit, all pastel pinks and blues, with four hamsters spinning in a wheel and plastic toys scattered across the bedding. There, nestled among glittery tubes and snacks, sat a giant clear hamster ball.
Jett paused. Tilted her head.
The idea came not as a thought, but as a sensation, hot and uncomfortable, sitting low in her stomach like guilt. Or dread. A wrongness she couldn’t quite name.
She remembered how Kris had looked that night in the supply closet. Eyes not meeting hers. Hand reaching out like they didn’t want to. Like something had decided for them.
Not violent.
Not cruel.
Just insistent.
That was almost worse.
It wasn’t the Soul forcing her to move. It was the Soul nudging Kris toward choices they might not make on their own. And when Kris was nudged, Jett felt it.
Like the time their fingers slid a little too far down her side when they kissed.
Like the way their voice had dropped, too steady, too smooth.
Not rough with want.
Not tender with love.
Just… empty.
Jett had pulled back.
The Soul hadn’t liked that.
Neither had she.
Because if it could guide Kris, nudge them into touching her, kissing her, wanting her, then it could guide her, too. Through them.
Her magic had flared at the thought. Not in protection.
In warning.
Thread pulled taut across her chest like a heartbeat.
She wasn’t afraid of Kris.
She was afraid of not knowing when Kris was really there.
And if the Soul ever learned how she unraveled, how a single whisper or touch could pull her to pieces, Jett didn’t know what would be left.
She wasn’t angry. She didn’t want to hurt it.
She just didn’t want it loose.
Not in Kris.
Not around her.
Not when it didn’t understand care.
So when she saw that hamster ball in the window , something clicked.
Not a cage. A compromise.
Something she could put it in. With Kris’s permission.
Not to punish. To protect.
Because if the Soul couldn’t be trusted to know what yes felt like…
Then Jett had to find a way to say no for both of them.
The front door unlocked with a soft click and opened inward just enough for Jett to slip inside, hugging her overnight bag like it held treasure.
The house was dark and still. Her parents wouldn’t be home until the next morning, and the quiet felt almost reverent after the noise of the airport.
She nudged the door shut behind her with her foot. Her suitcase thunked gently to the floor, abandoned in favor of the smaller crossbody bag slung over her shoulder. That one carried the real prize.
No lights on. No TV. No footsteps.
But Jett could feel it, someone was upstairs.
She walked through the entryway with fuzzy soft socks, the pads of her socks silent against the hardwood. Her parents’ coats still hung neatly on the hooks near the door. A folded note rested on the counter from the housekeeper. Normal. Everything was exactly as it should be.
creak.
A soft groan from above. Not the floorboards expanding. Weight.
Jett turned her head just in time to catch the faint thud sound of a window being popped open. Her second-story bedroom window.
Then: “*Ow-*fuck-” clunk.
A knee hit the floor upstairs.
Jett’s face bloomed with quiet joy.
She climbed the stairs slowly, hands gripping the smooth banister, just in time to see Kris emerge from her bedroom, hood up, pant leg dusty, hair a mess, face flushed like they didn’t just break and enter.
They paused when they saw her.
Their eyes locked.
She raised a brow, arms crossing loosely.
“You climbed through my window.”
Kris shrugged like that was completely normal behavior. “Front door was locked.”
“You could’ve waited.”
“I did. For six days.”
Jett tried to look unimpressed. It didn’t work. Her mouth betrayed her with a soft smile. “You feral child.”
“Missed you too,” Kris said, then stepped forward.
She met them halfway in the hall. No kiss, not yet, just standing there with inches between them, letting their presence soak in. Kris looked her over, hoodie slightly oversized, her hair still a bit frizzy from travel.
“You’re cute when you win,” they murmured.
“I’m always cute,” she replied.
Kris snorted and reached for her waist like they were going to pull her close, but Jett stepped back, grabbing their wrist.
“Wait. Come downstairs. I brought something back.”
They let her lead them, curious now, fingers trailing against the wood banister as they descended into the living room.
Jett moved quickly, dropping her small bag onto the plush cream-colored couch. She knelt to unzip it, careful fingers peeling back layers of hoodie and tissue paper, until finally, she pulled out the object.
A hamster ball.
Clear, polished plastic. Lightweight. Clean. Brand new.
She set it carefully on the coffee table between them and straightened up, crossing her arms, proud and glowing.
Kris stood next to the couch now, staring at it.
“…You brought me a toy?”
Jett turned toward them, slowly.
“No,” she said, beaming. “I brought it a toy.”
For a second, Kris just looked at the ball. Then at her.
And then, they grinned.
Wide. Crooked. Dangerous in that Kris sort of way.
“Jetty.”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
Kris walked around the coffee table and sat down on the couch, pulling the hamster ball into their lap like they were testing the weight of a holy relic. Their thumb stroked the seam of the plastic. Jett stayed standing for a moment, watching their reaction. Ttheir eyes sparkled with that dry, smug kind of amusement that always made her feel like they were ten steps ahead and politely choosing not to gloat.
“She’s feral,” they muttered, then glanced up at her.
“Who?” she asked.
“You.”
She came around the table and sat next to them, cross-legged now, facing them, one arm resting on the back cushion. Her fingers were already tapping against her leg, stim-light.
She smiled.
“I learned it from watching you.”
Kris turned the hamster ball in their hands once more.
Then, without asking, without warning, they reached up to their chest, thumb hovering over their sternum, eyes locked on the air just slightly left of Jett’s head.
And they pulled.
A faint red shimmer sparked around their fingers. an ember, a thread, a flicker of something invisible and wrong.
The Soul fought back, even in that instant. It twitched hard, a spike of resistance pushing through Kris’s wrist. They winced.
Jett sat up straighter. “Are you sure?”
Their eyes flicked to her, sharp and warm. “You brought the cage, didn’t you?”
She didn’t argue.
With one last pull, Kris yanked the red Soul clean from their body. It blinked into view just long enough to shimmer against the light. It was angry, stubborn, nearly pulsing.
They popped the hamster ball open, shoved the Soul inside, and clicked it shut like they’d done it a thousand times before.
The ball sat there, glowing faintly. The Soul swirled, furious. No voice. No screams. Just… rage.
Jett blinked.
“That was… fast.”
“I don’t like how you look at me when it’s not me,” they muttered.
Then they dropped the hamster ball onto the carpeted floor, where it rolled a few inches and bumped against the table leg, rattling softly.
And without another word, Kris turned toward her and pulled her into their lap.
She let out a breathless little laugh as her legs folded sideways over their, body curling into their like it belonged there. Their arms wrapped around her waist, tight. Almost desperate.
“Missed me?” she guessed.
Kris nodded. “A lot.”
Then they kissed her.
Not soft. Not polite.
Full-mouth, greedy, possessive.
Like they were claiming their own breath back.
Jett melted into it with a tiny gasp, fingers curling into their hoodie, one leg shifting across their thighs as she leaned in harder. Her stim had stopped, but her body was buzzing. She could feel how much they’d missed her. Their hands gripped her hips like they’d been holding tension there for days.
When they finally pulled apart, she was flushed. They were grinning, forehead resting against hers.
“Is that soul glaring at us?” she whispered.
“Let it. It had its chance.”
She glanced down at the hamster ball. The faint red glow was flickering with clear frustration. It spun slightly, then it stilled.
Kris turned her face back to them.
“Forget it,” they murmured. “I only want you.”
Jett’s heart thudded.
And she believed them.
The hamster ball bumped against the leg of the coffee table again. *thnk*. Then again, harder. *Thnk-thnk*.
Kris didn't even look at it.
They just kept kissing her, slowly, lazy and warm, like they had all the time in the world. Like they hadn’t been touch-starved and crawling out of their skin for a week. Their mouth moved down her neck, teeth grazing soft skin.
Jett sighed into them, breath shaky. “Kris…”
“I know,” they murmured against her throat.
The ball rolled again *thnk* and this time, Kris paused.
“Wanna ignore it?” they muttered.
“Yes,” she whispered.
*Thnk*.
They both looked.
The hamster ball had made it a full two feet across the rug, and now it was just... sitting there. Vibrating faintly with rage. The red Soul spun in slow, furious circles, bumping the edges like it was trying to guilt-trip them into letting it out.
Kris stared at it for a long second.
Then smirked. “You can’t sit with us.”
Jett snorted so hard she wheezed. “Kris.”
“What?” They tightened their arms around her. “It’s not invited. It can get cuck.”
The ball bumped again.
“Oh my god,” Jett muttered, hiding her face in their hoodie. “It’s literally throwing a tantrum.”
“Good,” Kris said. “Let it. You brought the ball. I’m using the ball.”
Jett peeked up at them, flushed and breathless. “Do you… like it?”
“The ball?”
“No. That I did this. For you.”
Kris blinked. Their expression softened.
“You brought home a plastic orb to trap the universal embodiment of decision-making because it kept ruining our personal time.”
She nodded.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
She squeaked and tried to hide her face again, but Kris caught her jaw gently, tilting her back to look at them.
“No more interruptions,” they whispered. “I want all of you. Your sounds, your hands, your little stim taps. All of it.”
Her fingers started tapping again without her meaning to.
Kris smiled.
Then, from the floor: *thnk.*
They both ignored it.
Jett leaned forward, brushing her nose against their.
“Next time,” she whispered, “we’re putting it in the closet.”
Kris laughed softly, mouth brushing hers. “with a padlock.”