Chapter Text
The zipper whined softly as she wriggled into the sleeping bag beside him, the air between them suddenly warmer, heavier. Pacey’s confession still hung there, like perfume on her skin, I never stopped loving you.
Joey had known, of course. Or maybe she had refused to know. She’d packed those feelings away in a box years ago, taped it shut, buried it deep beneath the rubble of heartbreak and survival. Because loving Pacey Witter, really loving him, had been the most terrifying thing she’d ever done. And losing him had been worse.
It had nearly destroyed them both.
But here they were. Not teenagers anymore, not kids clinging to the idea of forever while the world pulled them apart. They were older now, different. He wasn’t the screw-up chasing escape; he had a future now, one he had built with his own hands. She wasn’t the angry girl stuck in Capeside; she was at Worthington, writing, actually living the dream she’d only whispered to herself back then.
All those things that had felt so impossible before, her father, Dawson, the endless questions about whether she’d regret choosing him, they didn’t hold the same weight now. The past didn’t scare her the way it used to.
The truth was, she had never stopped loving him either.
And lying here, with the heat of him sinking into her bones, Joey realized she didn’t want to keep that box sealed anymore. She didn’t want to keep pretending.
Maybe they’d fall apart again. Maybe they’d burn too hot, too fast, the way they had before. But maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe this time they’d survive it. Maybe this time they’d get it right.
Her chest tightened, her throat thick. She turned her face toward him in the dim light, just close enough that his breath stirred against her lips. Different people, same love.
And for the first time in years, that didn’t feel like a disaster waiting to happen. It felt like hope.
Her pulse thrummed in her ears, drowning out the buzz of the fluorescent lights above. She should say something, about the years apart, about how complicated it all still was. But instead, her body answered first, the way it always had with him.
She shifted closer until the length of her pressed against his side. His warmth seeped into her, grounding and dizzying all at once. When his arm lifted, instinctively making room for her, she slipped beneath it, her cheek brushing against his chest.
The steady beat of his heart was like a metronome, pulling her into a rhythm she had missed without even realizing it. For so long she’d convinced herself that she was past this, past him. But lying here, the truth felt undeniable: she had never stopped wanting him.
Pacey stilled for a moment, as if afraid the wrong move might break the spell, but Joey tilted her face upward. Their eyes locked in the half-dark, and everything she had buried, the longing, the ache, the fierce tenderness, spilled into that look.
Then she kissed him.
It wasn’t tentative, wasn’t searching. It was hungry, familiar, a reclaiming. His mouth answered hers with the same urgency, like no time had passed at all, like the universe had been holding its breath waiting for them to do this again.
Her fingers found his shirt, curling into the fabric, tugging him closer. He made a sound low in his throat, one that had haunted her dreams, and rolled toward her, their bodies molding together with an ease that felt inevitable.
Talking could wait. Explaining, untangling, justifying, all of that could come tomorrow.
Tonight, Joey wanted nothing but him.
And tonight, she wasn’t going to stop herself.
His lips traced down the line of her jaw, his breath warm against her throat, and Joey’s eyes fluttered shut. Every nerve lit up, sharp and sweet, and for a dizzy moment she forgot the sterile smell of the store around them, the absurdity of their situation. All that existed was the press of his body against hers, the weight of his hand splayed across her hip.
For years, she told herself it was just teenage infatuation, that she’d built it up in her head until no one else could compare. That was safer than admitting the truth, that no one had ever come close because there wasn’t anyone else like him.
The world narrowed to the cocoon of nylon and warmth, to the way his body curved around hers as if no years, no heartbreak, no other people had ever come between them.
She’d thought she’d imagined this, exaggerated it in memory, holding every boy and man who came after to a standard no one could meet. But it wasn’t imagination. It was exactly how she remembered.
No one else had ever set her on fire like this. No one else had ever made her feel so desired, so wholly claimed and cherished in the same breath.
Joey tugged at the hem of his shirt, pushing it up until her palms could map the skin she’d ached for in silence. He shuddered beneath her touch, his muscles tensing, and then he was helping her, pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it blindly aside. She let her hands roam freely, greedy, memorizing him all over again.
It was supposed to feel unfamiliar after so much time, awkward, tentative. But it didn’t. It felt inevitable, like they’d never really stopped.
His mouth returned to hers, insistent and hungry, as if he was just as desperate to close the gap of years. When his lips trailed lower, brushing reverently over her collarbone, Joey arched into him, a sharp reminder of how alive he made her feel.
Her sweater joined his shirt on the floor, followed by the soft slide of denim against skin. They fumbled, laughed once, a low, breathless sound that broke the tension, and then the laughter turned into gasps, sighs, whispered names.
“Joey,” he groaned, as if saying her name might anchor him to this moment. His hands trembled as they framed her face, as though he couldn’t quite believe she was here, choosing this, choosing him.
She pressed a kiss into his palm, her eyes locking with his, steady and sure. “I’m here,” she whispered, and in that vow was everything she hadn’t said for years.
And then there was no more talking. Only the rush of bodies rediscovering each other, the dizzying mixture of hunger and tenderness, the quiet reverence of two people who had lost and found each other again.
Later, much later, tangled together beneath the flimsy sleeping bag, Joey lay awake for a moment, her head resting on his chest. The rise and fall of his breathing soothed her, steady and certain. She let her fingers trace idle patterns along his ribs, committing every detail to memory.
For the first time in almost 2 years, the ache in her chest was gone.
For the first time in years, she was exactly where she belonged.
The store was silent except for the faint hum of the lights and the slow, even rhythm of Pacey’s breathing. Joey lay draped against him, their bodies still tangled in the sleeping bag, their clothes a scattered constellation around them. Her skin was warm, her muscles loose in a way she hadn’t felt since the last time she was in his arms, not just sated, but settled.
She shifted slightly, her cheek pressed to his chest, and felt the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear. Each beat reassured her: he was real, this was real, they had found their way back.
Pacey stirred, half-asleep, and tightened his arm around her. His lips brushed her hair, the gentlest of touches, and he murmured something low, almost inaudible.
Joey tilted her head up. “What was that?”
His eyes blinked open, heavy-lidded and soft. “Just… don’t wake me if this is a dream.” His voice was rough with exhaustion, but the words carried that raw honesty she’d always recognized in him.
Her throat tightened. She reached up, tracing his jaw with her fingertips, memorizing the scratch of stubble under her touch. “It’s not a dream,” she whispered, the certainty surprising even herself.
He smiled then, slow, crooked, unbearably tender. His eyes slipped shut again, but not before she saw it: peace, as if something inside him had finally settled too.
Joey nestled closer, breathing him in, letting her own eyes grow heavy. Tomorrow would come, with all its questions and complications. But tonight… tonight was theirs.
And as sleep pulled her under, Joey’s last thought was that she had never felt so safe, so wanted, so completely home.
Pacey woke to the faint glow of morning seeping through the skylights, his body wrapped around hers, the air still carrying the lingering warmth of the night before. For a few seconds, he let himself stay still, eyes closed, holding on to the fragile illusion that the world outside didn’t exist.
Joey’s hair tickled his chin, her breath soft against his chest. She looked so damn peaceful like this, curled into him, as if she’d always belonged there. And maybe she had.
He swallowed hard. Because lying here with her, he couldn’t help but feel the sharp edge of contrast.
This, her, them, was clarity. The way she made him feel was honest. Grounded. Real.
Not like the job.
His gut twisted when he thought about the office, about the too-expensive suits and the slick smiles and the way every deal left him with a film on his skin he couldn’t quite wash off. He was good at it, better than anyone expected him to be, maybe better than he had any right to be. The money was more than decent, and people finally looked at him like he was a success.
But success had never felt so hollow.
Every time he shook a hand after a deal, every time he watched numbers climb on a screen, he felt a little emptier. Slimier. Like he was slowly selling off pieces of himself for commission checks.
And deep down, he missed cooking. He missed the heat of a kitchen, the rhythm of knives against a board, the way feeding someone could feel like creating something instead of taking it away. He’d never admit it out loud, but the idea of flame and skillet and the chaos of a dinner rush still called to him in a way Wall Street never could.
He shifted slightly, brushing a thumb across Joey’s bare shoulder, and she stirred but didn’t wake. His chest tightened. This was why he couldn’t quite give up on himself, even when the world told him he should be grateful for what he had. She was proof that he could be more than the town screw-up or the slick young broker with a fake smile.
Last night had been a reminder. Joey was clarity in a world that thrived on smoke and mirrors.
And if he was smart, if he was brave, he wouldn’t let her go this time.
Joey stirred against him, a soft hum escaping her throat as she blinked awake. For a second, she just looked at him, eyes hazy with sleep, and Pacey thought he’d hold that picture forever, the curve of her mouth, the light of morning on her skin.
“Hey,” she whispered, voice low and rough.
“Hey yourself,” he answered, brushing a strand of hair off her face.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but it was heavy. Not in a bad way, just full. Last night hadn’t been a mistake, and they both knew it. Which meant there was no pretending, no easy escape back into denial.
Pacey felt the weight of that settling over them. The way her eyes searched his, the unspoken questions between them. He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how fragile this moment was. “So… where do we go from here?”
Joey let out a breath, rolling onto her back beside him. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment before speaking. “We don’t have to figure it all out right this second. But we can’t ignore it either.”
He nodded, relief and dread tangling together in his chest. “Adult conversation. I knew it would come to this eventually.” He tried to make it light, but his voice carried an edge of truth.
Her lips curved into a small smile. “You’ll survive.” She turned her head toward him, eyes soft but steady. “I’ve got classes today. After, I’ll come by your place. We can… talk.”
Pacey exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. “Yeah. Talking. Sure. And maybe, just to make it less terrifying, I’ll cook for you.”
Her brows lifted, amusement flickering in her expression. “You’re going to bribe me with food?”
“Bribe is such a dirty word,” he said, feigning offense. “I’m going to woo you with food. That’s completely different.”
Joey laughed softly, shaking her head, but there was warmth in her gaze. “Alright, Witter. You cook. I’ll bring the honesty.”
He smiled, though underneath it his chest ached with something deeper. Because for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t sure if he was more nervous about her walking away again… or about what might happen if she stayed.