chapter thirteen, however long

"Be honest," you start, pulling out a sandwich wrapped neatly in foil. "Did Emily pack this for you?"

Jacob let out a scandalized gasp. "Excuse you. I made that with my own two hands."

You raised a brow. "Right. And by made, you mean unwrapped and re-wrapped?"

He grinned, those familiar crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. "Details."

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. The blanket beneath you was soft from use, spread across a patch of tall grass that swayed gently with the breeze. The clearing was quiet-just birdsong, the hush of wind, and the occasional creak of a tree shifting in the distance. The sun was beginning to dip, golden light spilling low across the field, painting everything in amber.

Jacob lay down beside you, propped on one elbow. You watched him from the corner of your eye. He looked peaceful here, the soft light catching in his hair, turning the edges gold.

"Hi," you said, voice quiet.

"Hi," he replied, turning slightly so your noses were nearly touching.

You're looking at each other with soft smiles for a while, just admiring. His lashes, his hair, his eyes. Then a tiny piece of fuzz drifts onto his cheek, and you reach over to gently brush it away.

"Sometimes," he says, voice quieter now, "I think about what it would've been like if none of this had happened. No wolves. No imprinting. Just us. Just normal."

You glance at him. "Would you want that?"

He hesitates, then shrugs a little. "Part of me wonders. But no-I wouldn't trade this. Not even close."

You raise an eyebrow. "Even with all the chaos?"

"Even then," he stopped to meet your eyes. "Because you're in it. And if you're in it then I'd choose it every time."

You swallow hard and look away, blinking fast. The clouds are turning pink now, dusted lavender at the edges. A single star appears, faint but steady, near the horizon.

"I want you to know that I never wanted you to feel like you have no choice. If... this ever gets too much, if it's not what you want-I want you to leave. I want you to do what's best for you."

You turned to him sharply. "Shut up."

His brows shot up.

"I'm serious," you said, nudging him. "You don't get to say something like that and expect me to be okay with it."

"No, listen. I'm just saying-"

"Make me," you interrupted.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Make you what?"

"Shut up and listen," you whispered.

He leaned in, eyes flickering between yours and your lips. You kissed him-slow, lingering, the kind of kiss that says everything words fall short of. His hand came up to cradle your cheek like you were something precious. When you pulled back, you stayed close, noses brushing, breaths mingling.

There's a long pause, the kind that lingers gently, filled with everything you're both too full to say.

"I don't know how long I've got," Jacob says quietly. "Could be years. Could be more. Or not."

You turn to him, your voice steadier than you expected. "However long it is, I want it. All of it."

He smiles, a little sad, a little in awe. "Hopefully more than once every two years."

You let out a soft laugh, swatting his arm. "Hey! It wasn't fully my fault."

His smile fades into something quieter, something weightier. "Whatever time I have," he says, eyes locked on yours, "it's yours."

The sky was pale and overcast, the kind of muted gray that felt like holding your breath. Dew clung to the grass, dampening your sneakers as you carried the last suitcase to the trunk.

Jacob was already there, waiting. He took it from your hands without a word, loading it carefully. You wiped at your eyes, quickly, hoping he hadn't seen.

He had.

But he didn't say anything-just opened his arms.

You stepped into him like it was instinct, burying your face in the soft cotton of his hoodie. He held you tight, one hand cupped around the back of your head, the other warm and steady at your waist.

"I'll come back," you whispered into his shoulder.

"I'll be here," he said. "Always."

"We'll call,"

"We'll text,"

"You can come for Thanksgiving. Winter break. Spring." You clung tighter. "You don't have to wait until next summer."

His lips pressed gently to your temple. "Okay."

Your parents were already settled in the car, giving you the quiet space you needed but clearly ready to leave. You stepped back just enough to meet Jacob's eyes one last time.

He leaned against your car's passenger door, arms crossed, his face carefully guarded-too composed for what you both felt.

"Hey," you whispered.

His forehead dropped to yours. "I know. It's just-"

"Four hours," you finished softly. "I know."

He kissed your cheek, careful not to draw attention from your dad's watchful eye.

When he pulled back, he exhaled, a breath that sounded like it hurt more than he let on. "Go," he said, voice low. "Before I steal you back."

Your mom slid into the driver's seat, already holding the keys. You climbed into the passenger side, grateful your dad was driving your car-because you knew you wouldn't make it through the drive without breaking down.

The engine hummed as you pulled away. You glanced in the rearview mirror.

Jacob stood in the driveway, hand raised in a quiet wave, watching until you disappeared from sight.

Your house feels too clean. Too quiet.

Your parents don't ask questions when you head straight upstairs. They just watch you with that soft, careful expression people get when they know you're holding something fragile in your chest.

You drop one of your bags by the door and stand in the middle of your room for a second, like you're waiting for it to feel like yours again. The walls are the same. The sheets still smell like your detergent, but the silence feels different now. Too thin. Too still.

You sit on the floor and unzip your bag.

There's a sweatshirt that doesn't belong to you. A folded flannel. A faded bracelet made of string and wood. You don't rush. You just keep unpacking, piece by piece, until your hand brushes something crinkled in the pocket of the bag.

A candy wrapper. An orange Starburst.

You smooth the crumpled wrapper out instinctively, the paper trembling slightly between your fingers. There, scrawled in the middle in messy, smudged Sharpie, are the words Kisses still owed.

A laugh bubbles up, but it's tangled with a sudden swell of tears, and you're not sure whether you're laughing or crying. The feeling lodges deep in your throat, a mixture of sweetness and ache that makes your chest tighten.

Your fingers curl around the wrapper as you close your eyes, letting the quiet weight of it settle inside you.

It was always going to be him.

It always kind of was Jacob Black.

Always was.