Blaine Jackson sat slouched on the dark leather sofa, car keys dangling loosely from his fingers. The dim light barely softened the sharp edges of his expression—a quiet storm brewing behind his eyes. His posture might have fooled anyone into thinking he was relaxed, but the whirlwind of emotions inside him was anything but calm.
Faces flickered through his mind like a reel of memories, each one unique, yet all fading into the background… except for one. Chloe Grace.
Her tear-streaked face haunted him, tugging at something deep inside he couldn't quite name. He pictured her radiant smile, the kind that seemed to light up the very air around her. He saw her slight pout when things didn't go her way. And then, like a fresh wound, he recalled the look of hurt she'd worn just moments ago. The memory gnawed at him.
What was she doing now? Was she taking a shower, preparing for bed, or… was she nursing the sting of his inexplicable actions? The thought twisted in his chest, sharp and unforgiving.
With a sudden jolt, Blaine sat upright, the keys clinking as they slipped from his hand. Why did her sadness unsettle him so much? Why did he feel this tight knot in his chest every time she was near? And why—why on earth—had he felt that surge of jealousy when he saw her with Yuto Miyazawa?
The scene replayed in his mind, and a flicker of familiarity pricked at him. Where had he seen this before? Then it hit him like a punch to the gut.
Lucas Zeller.
Back in college, Lucas had shot him that same burning glare when Blaine leaned too casually against Claire Grace's shoulder, grinning smugly. It was so painfully obvious—Lucas had been jealous of his closeness with Claire. Blaine had even teased him about it, calling him a "jealous boyfriend CEO."
And now?
Now Blaine was in Lucas's shoes, watching someone else inch closer to Chloe. That sharp, sour feeling in his chest? It was jealousy—plain and simple. The realization sent a wave of discomfort rippling through him. No. This couldn't be happening. He didn't even like Chloe… did he?
Rising abruptly, Blaine ran a hand over his forehead. It was warm. Feverish, maybe. That had to be it. Some kind of illness was making him think absurd things. Jealous? Over Chloe? Ridiculous.
"Blaine Jackson, stop fooling yourself," a voice in his head said, sharp and mocking.
"I'm not fooling myself," he shot back internally, his defenses rising.
"Then why do you care so much? Why are you jealous of her and Yuto Miyazawa?"
"I'm not jealous!" The denial came fast, almost too fast.
"Oh, come on. If you didn't like her, you wouldn't be so bothered. You wouldn't keep replaying that scene in your head. Face it, Blaine. You're not as detached as you think."
"I…" He faltered, grasping for a lifeline. "I'm just worried about her. Lily asked me to look after her sister. That's all this is."
The voice laughed. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that. But let me remind you, Blaine—you've already blurred those lines. You've downplayed your connection to her, called her just your classmate's sister. And now you're surprised someone else might want her? That's on you."
"This is ridiculous," Blaine muttered aloud, shaking his head as if to clear it. He grabbed a cigarette from the table, lighting it with practiced ease. The first drag hit his lungs, filling the silence with a soft crackle as smoke curled around him.
It had been years since he'd smoked. Not since Lily left. Back then, he only smoked when life felt utterly tangled—when he didn't know which way was up. And now, as the familiar bitterness settled on his tongue, he felt it again. That same, unshakable feeling of being utterly lost.
---
The warm scent of food pulled him from his haze. Pushing open the front door, Blaine was met with the comforting aroma of a home-cooked meal. He stepped out of his shoes and into the living room, where a steaming pot of food sat waiting on the dining table. Plates of vibrant greens and bowls of rich soup surrounded it, the sight sparking a pang of hunger. He realized he hadn't eaten since lunch.
This had to be Chloe's doing. But where was she?
His eyes flicked toward her bedroom door. It was ajar, the room empty. He frowned, puzzled, and was about to call out when the faint sound of running water reached his ears.
The bathroom.
His gaze drifted to the closed door, and before he could stop himself, an image flashed in his mind. Chloe, drunk and fumbling with the zipper of her dress in the bathroom. His ears burned at the memory, heat creeping up his neck. Shaking it off, Blaine turned to leave—but just then, the bathroom door creaked open.
Their eyes met.
She stood there, her damp hair clinging to her cheeks, droplets of water tracing delicate paths down her neck before disappearing into the collar of her robe. Blaine's breath hitched, an unfamiliar warmth flickering in his chest.
"Blaine?" Chloe's voice broke the silence, soft and curious. She stepped closer, waving a hand in front of his face. The fresh scent of her shampoo filled the air, grounding him.
"What's wrong?" she asked, tilting her head. Her wet hair stuck to her face in messy strands, giving her an endearing, almost childlike look.
He frowned, noticing the small puddle forming at her feet. "Why do you always end up soaking wet after a shower?"
"I don't!" she protested, crossing her arms. "I just washed my hair. Of course it's wet! I was going to dry it downstairs…"
Before she could finish, Blaine grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the hallway.
"Hey! Where are you taking me? My slippers are wet!" she yelped, stumbling behind him.
Glancing at her wooden slippers, Blaine sighed. Without a word, he bent down and scooped her up, her protests falling silent as she froze in his arms. Kicking off the offending footwear, he carried her effortlessly toward his room.
Her heart raced as he set her gently on the edge of his bed. She stared up at him, wide-eyed, unsure of what to say. And for the first time in a long time, Blaine felt the weight of unspoken words pressing against his chest—words he wasn't ready to face, let alone say.