pinky promise - jamie tartt

‟ NIGHT, LOVE „

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

Jamie answered on the second ring, and Tate had never been more thankful for his overzealous concern for her safety.

"Everything alright, babe?" He lead with, and she hated that those three words from him were nearly enough to draw a truthful answer from her.

"Please tell me you're home right now," She decided on saying, blowing out a puff of air. "'Cause I'm at your door."

"The fuck do you mean, you're at me door?" There was no heat in his words, never when speaking to her, but only honest confusion. She heard him moving around on the opposite end of the line and opted to stay silent, attempting to gather her racing thoughts. 

Only moments later, his door swung open, and she nearly had the breath knocked out of her. 

"Surprise?" She tried to joke, because it was easier to do that than to let herself think too hard on just how warm Jamie looked, in grey sweats and a white shirt, his hair freshly washed and not styled but still a little damp. 

"Fuckin' hell," Jamie groaned, tugging Tate inside from the cold and shutting the door behind her. "Don't tell me you took a cab by yourself." 

"I can lie, if you'd like, but you've said I'm shit at it." She teased, forcing a lightness into her voice that wasn't there as she unzipped her coat and hung it by the door. 

"Tate," His tone told her he wasn't in the mood for her joking, and her shoulders slumped in defeat. Hesitantly, she turned to face him, knowing there was a silent, unasked question in just the way he said her name. 

"I got into an argument with my parents," She confessed, toying with the hem of her sweatshirt and keeping her attention focused on the ground beneath them, as if that helped in the slightest. "Didn't want to sleep there, so I came here." 

She shrugged, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in nerves. Jamie stayed silent at first, and she suddenly grew worried that he would tell her to go home, that it was a stupid idea for her to come to his doorstep. 

But then he was standing before her, and then he was hugging her tightly, and she even didn't realize just how close she had been to crying until she was in his arms. She didn't waste any time before wrapping her own arms around his middle, her cheek pressed tightly against his chest, her breathing more ragged than she would've liked it to be. 

"'Course you can stay here," He mumbled into the crown of her head, and she held him tighter, just a bit. 

"And I couldn't go to Callum's, 'cause my parents know where he lives," She added, as if it made the whole situation better.

Even if it wasn't the truth. 

"I'm getting you a drink," Jamie told her, and she chuckled quietly at his words, reluctantly pulling away from him. 

"I need a drink," She agreed, her sock-clad feet padding in the direction of his kitchen. She wrapped her arms around herself as she watched him pour her a glass of wine, a heavy ache in her chest at the pure domesticity of watching him move around his kitchen, late at night and encased in the golden glow of a floor lamp. 

And because she couldn't handle thinking too hard about the fact that it felt good to be in Jamie's company so late at night, she decided to open her mouth. 

"They've never cared about me before, y'know?" She started, graciously accepting the glass of wine he handed her. He stayed silent, watching her carefully, and it was the look of utter understanding in his eyes that made her keep talking. "Not once have they ever made it seem like they fucking cared, and now all of a sudden they show up here and I'm expected to bend over backwards for them?"