let the light in | jack hughes

Chapter 71

disclaimer: smut

[March 14, 2024]

Beatrice

As I'm packing up my things to go home my door opens and shuts abruptly, I turn around to see a face I've come to love instead of ignore. "Hi honey," I drop my things on my desk and hug him. "Hi," he whispers, letting me quietly rest in his arms until I pull away. I ask him what he's doing for the rest of the day, wanting to spend the rest of the day with him. He pouts his lips, thinking about what the remainder of his day looks like. 

"Mmm, don't have anything planned. Why?" he smirks, taking my camera bag off my shoulder and putting it on his. "Would you want to come over? I can make us some dinner, and we can just hang out," I offer, opening my office door to head to my car. "I would love to," he smiles, walking me to my car, still refusing to let me open my door. I tell him I'll see him there, and peck his lips before closing the door and driving to my house. 

He takes a little longer to get to my apartment which is slightly confusing since he left a few minutes after me, but it gives me time to light a few candles, put a record on, and get some ingredients out for our dinner. I've decided to go with a garlic butter bucatini and start following the instructions on my notes app. Ten minutes into chopping up a few vegetables a knock on the door pulls me away from the kitchen. 

I skip over to the door opening it to see Jack with poppies in his hands. I pull him into my house by his coat, locking my lips with his as he pulls away, a bit breathless to say, "I bought you flowers," making me giggle. "Thank you, they're beautiful," I take them to put them into some water. He takes his coat off, putting it on a cute coat rack I found at a thrift store. He washes his hands in the sink behind me before asking how he can help. 

I let him pour the ingredients into the pan as I stir the noodles in the water. I know how much pasta hockey players consume so every time one of them comes over I make sure to have some made. Now that the sauce and chicken are made we just have to pour the noodles in. I let him do the honors, mixing it in to make sure there's not a dry noodle in the pan. 

I cut up the chicken putting it in there with the rest before pulling out a few plates and asking him what he'd like to drink. "I'm actually not on my medication today, so I'll take some wine," he says smiling at me. From reading his journal I remember him saying how sad he was feeling without them but he didn't seem sad at all today. Could it be that he's masking it, or that he's just happy today? 

I pull out my options letting him pick which wine we'll drink today. When he comes to his decision I leave the other two bottles in the fridge, pouring our white wine into two glasses. He puts some pasta on our plates, bringing them to the dining table. He pulls his seat closer to me, grabbing my leg by the back of my knee and laying it over one of his legs. "Need you closer," he explains before twirling some of the pasta onto his fork and putting it into his mouth. 

"So good, thank you," he says, putting his head on my shoulder as he chews. Everything about how he can't keep his hands off of me, and how the conversation just flows perfectly is absolutely perfect. This is the adult relationship I was craving, it was him all along. I thank him for spending his evening with me, kissing his cheek before taking a sip of my wine. 

Once we've finished our food and gone through one glass of wine we pour another, telling funny stories in my candle-lit apartment. Jack tells me the story of when he asked Trevor he was during the summer. "Did he actually say 'nunya'?" I throw my head back laughing thinking about how fitting that is. "I swear, and God, I was so pissed because he was all tan and all I could think about was how he got to see you," he laughs, making the idea come to mind.