𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 • jeremiah fisher x reader

the boardwalk.

My phone dings from my nightstand.

I've already been awake for half an hour, unable to stop thinking about the events of last night, and everything Jeremiah said to me. You're the prettiest girl that I know, in particular, but even though those are words that actually came out of his mouth, it seems fabricated; like it must be too good to be true.

Jeremiah Fisher: Want to come help make breakfast? It'll just be the two of us, everyone else is still asleep.

I smile to myself.

Y/n is typing...

Y/n: I'll be over in a sec.

I place my phone down and slide myself out of bed. I don't bother going to my closet to change, because I know that Jeremiah is still going to be in his pajamas as well.

Mom already left for work, so there's no one to say goodbye to downstairs. This is how it's been for the last year or so; she works constantly, trying to distract herself from our empty house, and I spend my summer days at the Fisher's.

Sunlight beams down on me as soon as I walk outside; it feels like a blanket on my skin. I can already tell it's going to be a hot day by the sticky humidity and absence of any breeze in the air. I make my way down the hill from my house to the Fisher's, heading towards the back sliding doors. I step along the stone pathway from the driveway, which always feels like walking on memory lane, because a bunch of the rocks along the path were painted by us kids a few summers ago. Although most of them are faded, I can still recognize which one is mine; I painted a yellow smiley face with blue stars around it, and on the back, it reads "Y/n + Jeremiah. Bffs 4ever" in scribbled handwriting, done with sharpie. Susannah loves to point it out every time she walks past it, saying how adorable it is and how she remembers the exact summer that I made it.

When I push past the back sliding doors, I'm immediately met with the smell of french toast. Jeremiah turns around when he hears me come inside.

"Hi," he says, smiling sweetly at me. The sight of him makes my heart tense up, but feel warm with comfort at the same time. I think about how cute he looks with his pajamas still on and messy hair.

"So, you just rolled out of bed too?" I ask, walking up next to him. He's turned his focus back to the french toast cooking on the stove top.

"Of course. Do you want some eggs?"

I'm already grabbing them out of the fridge when he asks. I reach under the cabinet near the microwave and find a pan, but before I can put it down on the stove, he swiftly takes it out of my hand.

"That's a yes, I assume?"

I look up at him and nod. I'm still not used to how tall he grew over the past year. Just standing next to him now, no words being spoken between us, I can sense the tension from last night on the beach drawing me towards him again. It all keeps replaying in my head, the way he looked at me as we stood in the ocean together, like maybe things aren't as one-sided as I've always thought.

I watch as he turns the stove on, and without a second thought, cracks the eggs into the pan and starts cooking them up for me.

"I can do that, Jere. I came over here to help, didn't I?" I say, trying to snatch the spatula out of his hand but he's too quick for me to catch it. His arm brushes gently against mine, and even though I shouldn't think twice about it, I do. A few days ago, it wouldn't have meant anything, and it probably shouldn't mean anything to me now, either. But I can't stop myself from thinking about how it feels when he touches me, even if it's not on purpose.

He smiles again, without looking at me this time, and says "Just let me make you breakfast. Go sit down."

I shake my head at him. "Fine," I mumble, walking back to take a seat at the kitchen island.