Meant to be yours

Jazz stakes claim

Dedicated to Exotic_Bubbles

Third person's POV:

Melanie Rose didn’t wait to be invited in.
She stepped fully into Rebecca’s apartment like she owned the air itself—heels precise, posture flawless, eyes sharp with quiet authority. Her presence changed the room instantly, as if everything else had to rearrange itself around her.
“I came to surprise you,” Melanie said smoothly, setting her clutch down.
“But whatever this is—” her gaze flicked deliberately to Jazz still half-curled into Rebecca’s arms, “—you’ve clearly given me one.”
Rebecca stiffened.
She pulled back from Jazz a little too fast, panic flashing across her face.
“Mel—this—this isn’t what it looks like,” she rushed out. “Jazz is—she’s Anamika’s PA. We—we know each other because of my friend Ishika.”
Jazz straightened slowly, jaw tightening.
Melanie’s lips curved—not quite a smile.
“Interesting,” she said calmly.
“Anamika as in Modi Group?”
Rebecca nodded too quickly.
“Yes—yes, that Anamika.”
Melanie’s eyes shifted back to Jazz, sharp and assessing now.
“Then,” Melanie said, voice silk over steel,
“you must be Jazz.”
Jazz met her gaze head-on.
No fear.
No apology.
Just fire.
“Yes,” Jazz replied evenly. “And you must be Melanie Rose.”
The air between them snapped tight.
Rebecca stood awkwardly between the two women, suddenly very aware she was the weakest presence in the room.
Melanie tilted her head slightly, studying Jazz like an interesting problem.
“I’ve heard of you,” Melanie said. “You’re… loyal. To a fault.”
Jazz’s mouth twitched.
“So I’ve been told.”
Melanie’s eyes flickered—something cold passing through them.
“And you,” Jazz added, unable to stop herself, “have a reputation too.”
Rebecca winced.
“Jazz—”
Melanie raised a hand gently, silencing her.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Melanie said pleasantly. “I find reputations useful. They tell me what people are afraid of.”
Jazz stepped a fraction closer, shoulders squared.
“And I find intentions more interesting,” she said. “Especially when they come dressed as alliances.”
Melanie smiled then.
Slow. Controlled. Dangerous.
“Careful,” she said softly. “You’re standing in my future.”
Jazz laughed once, bitter and quiet.
“Funny. You sound like you own it.”
Rebecca swallowed hard.
“Melanie,” she said, trying to regain control, “Jazz was just—she had too much to drink. I was helping her.”
Melanie finally looked at Rebecca again.
Her gaze softened—but only slightly.
“How kind of you,” she said. “You always were.”
She turned back to Jazz.
“But don’t misunderstand,” Melanie continued coolly.
“I don’t confuse comfort with competition.”
Jazz’s eyes darkened.
“Good,” she shot back. “Because I don’t compete. I love.”
The word hung in the air—heavy, unmistakable.
Rebecca’s breath hitched.
Melanie didn’t react immediately.
Then she stepped closer, stopping just short of Jazz’s space.
“Love,” Melanie said thoughtfully, “is rarely enough.”
Jazz didn’t back away.
“Then you’ve never done it right.”
Silence fell—thick, electric, unbearable.
Rebecca stood between two women who wanted her in very different ways—one offering certainty, the other truth.
And neither of them was willing to look away.Melanie didn’t raise her voice.
She didn’t have to.
She stepped closer to Rebecca instead, invading her space with practiced ease, her tone quiet but cutting.
“You really do have a habit of surrounding yourself with… complications,” she said, eyes never leaving Rebecca’s face. “I hope you’re not confusing gratitude with attachment.”
Rebecca stiffened, shoulders drawing inward.
“I—I told you, Jazz is just—”
“Just someone who collapses into your arms after midnight?” Melanie interrupted smoothly, finally glancing at Jazz with open disdain. “You should be more careful about what you allow, Rebecca. People mistake kindness for permission.”
That did it.
Jazz’s jaw clenched. She moved before she could think—before she could stop herself.
She stepped forward, slipped an arm around Rebecca’s waist, and pulled her back—firm, protective, unmistakable.
Rebecca gasped softly as Jazz turned her toward herself.
Then Jazz kissed her.
Not soft.
Not hesitant.
It wasn’t a performance, but it wasn’t shy either—brief, sure, charged with everything Jazz had been holding back. A kiss that said enough.
When Jazz pulled away, she didn’t look at Rebecca.
She looked straight at Melanie.
“Don’t talk to her like she’s something you own,” Jazz said, voice steady but burning. “She’s not a territory. And she’s not weak.”
Rebecca stood frozen, breath uneven, hands still curled in Jazz’s shirt.
Melanie stared at them.
For the first time since she walked in, her composure cracked—just a fraction. Her eyes sharpened, something dangerous flashing through them.
“Well,” Melanie said slowly, lips curving into a tight smile, “this evening just got honest.”
Jazz didn’t let go of Rebecca.
“Good,” she replied. “Because I’m done watching you scare her into silence.”
The room went quiet.
Three hearts pounding.
One line crossed.
And no one pretending anymore.
Melanie’s smile sharpened, deliberate and cold.
“Friends don’t kiss like that, Rebecca,” she said, eyes flicking pointedly to where Jazz’s arm was still wrapped around her waist.
“Should I remind you,” she continued smoothly, “that I’m going to be your fiancée?”
Rebecca’s breath caught.
Before she could say a word—
“Not going to happen.”
Jazz stepped fully in front of her.
Shoulder to shoulder with Melanie now, close enough that the tension between them felt physical. Jazz’s body formed a clear shield, one hand instinctively reaching back to keep Rebecca behind her.
Melanie looked down at her, unimpressed.
“Excuse me?” she asked softly.
Jazz met her gaze without flinching.
“You heard me.”
She leaned in just enough to make her point unmistakable.
“She doesn’t belong to your plans,” Jazz said. “Your timelines. Your announcements.”
Melanie’s eyes flicked past Jazz, landing on Rebecca.
“Rebecca,” she said calmly, “I think you should speak for yourself.”
Jazz didn’t turn around—but she tightened her stance.
Rebecca swallowed hard. Her voice came out shaky, but it was hers.
“I didn’t agree to a fiancée,” she said. “You assumed.”
Melanie’s expression hardened.
“Assumed?” she repeated. “I uprooted schedules. I made space for you. I offered you certainty.”
Jazz let out a bitter laugh.
“You offered control,” she said. “Wrapped in expensive words.”
Melanie’s gaze snapped back to her.
“And what are you offering?” Melanie asked. “Chaos? Drunken confessions? Kisses born out of insecurity?”
Jazz didn’t hesitate.
“I’m offering choice,” she said. “Even if she chooses against me.”
That landed.
Rebecca’s chest tightened. She stepped forward despite Jazz’s arm, resting her hand lightly on Jazz’s back—grounding, grateful.
Melanie noticed.
Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“You’re making a mistake,” Melanie said coolly. “This ends badly.”
Jazz didn’t move.
“Maybe,” she replied. “But at least it’ll be honest.”
Silence stretched.
Then Melanie picked up her clutch, slow and composed once more.
“Think carefully, Rebecca,” she said, voice smooth but edged. “People like her burn bright—and leave ashes.”
She walked to the door, pausing once.
“And Jazz,” she added without turning,
“Don’t confuse tonight’s bravado with victory.”
The door closed behind her with a soft, final click.
For a moment, neither Jazz nor Rebecca moved.
Then Jazz turned around slowly, concern replacing fire.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry if I—”
Rebecca shook her head and stepped into Jazz’s arms, burying her face against her shoulder.
“No,” she whispered. “Thank you for not letting her speak for me.”
Jazz exhaled shakily, holding her carefully—like something precious, not fragile.
Outside, Melanie Rose walked into the night already planning her next move.
Inside, something irrevocable had begun.
The apartment felt quieter after Melanie left—like the walls themselves were listening.
Jazz finally loosened her grip, though she didn’t step away completely. Her thumb brushed lightly against Rebecca’s wrist, hesitant now, nerves creeping in where fire had been.
“So,” Jazz said, attempting casual and failing just a little, “that went… dramatically.”
Rebecca let out a shaky laugh, wiping at her eyes.
“You kissed me to make a point.”
Jazz winced. “Okay, when you say it like that, I sound unhinged.”
Rebecca looked up at her, lips twitching despite herself.
“You kind of are.”
Jazz smiled, relieved. “Good. I was worried you’d missed that memo.”
They stood there for a beat, too close, too aware.
Jazz cleared her throat.
“Listen,” she said, softer now. “I should probably say this properly—without alcohol, intimidation, or corporate villains involved.”
Rebecca folded her arms, pretending calm.
“Oh? This should be good.”
Jazz tilted her head, eyes warm but serious.
“I like you. Not in a ‘we drunkenly shared a bed’ way. Not in a ‘friends who pretend nothing happened’ way.”
Rebecca’s breath hitched.
“In a ‘I think about you more than I should’ way,” Jazz continued. “In a ‘you make me want to try instead of running’ way.”
She paused, then added with a grin,
“And before you interrupt—yes, I know you classified our one-night stand as friendship.”
Rebecca groaned.
“I did not—”
“You absolutely did,” Jazz said, delighted. “You said—and I quote—‘ we are friends. She is friend of my friend Ishika.’”
Rebecca covered her face.
“I was panicking!”
Jazz leaned in slightly.
“Sure. And here I was, thinking friends don’t usually fall asleep holding hands. Kissing infront of others.”
Rebecca peeked through her fingers.
“That was… situational.”
“Very intimate situation,” Jazz agreed. “Lots of feelings. Zero clarity.”
Rebecca dropped her hands, meeting Jazz’s gaze.
“So,” Rebecca said quietly, “what are you asking?”
Jazz took a breath.
“A chance,” she said. “A real one. Coffee dates. Honest conversations. No pretending we didn’t feel something.”
She smiled, softer now, vulnerable.
“And maybe—just maybe—letting me stop being introduced as ‘my friend Jazz who absolutely means nothing.’”
Rebecca laughed, then sighed, shaking her head.
“You’re impossible.”
Jazz grinned. “Yet here you are. Still standing very close to me.”
Rebecca studied her for a long moment.
Then she said,
“Fine. A chance.”
Jazz blinked.
“Wait—really?”
“Yes,” Rebecca said, smiling. “But if you ever tease me about the ‘friend’ thing again—”
Jazz leaned in, playful.
“—you’ll kiss me to shut me up?”
Rebecca shoved her lightly.
“Don’t push your luck.”
Jazz laughed, eyes bright, heart racing.
But this time—when she reached for Rebecca’s hand—
Rebecca didn’t pull away.
Rebecca lay awake long after Jazz had fallen asleep on the other side of the bed.
The room was quiet, washed in the soft amber glow of the city lights leaking through the curtains. For the first time in a long while, the silence didn’t feel heavy. It felt… kind.
She stared at the ceiling, fingers resting lightly over her stomach, breathing slow.
Life had never been gentle with her.
Being born intersex meant learning very early that the world loved boxes—and punished anyone who didn’t fit into one neatly. There were questions she didn’t ask out loud, looks she learned to ignore, and wounds she learned to hide behind polished smiles and impeccable control. Strength wasn’t a choice for her; it was survival.
Loving Ishika had been quiet and one-sided.
Safe.
Unspoken.
She had carried that feeling like a secret pressed between the pages of her life, knowing it would never be read aloud. And when it faded, it didn’t explode—it simply dissolved, leaving behind a soft ache and acceptance.
Then there was Jazz.
That drunken night had been reckless, impulsive, painfully human. For a moment, Rebecca had allowed herself to believe—only to be pulled back by Jazz’s rejection the next morning. That had hurt more than she ever admitted. Not because of the rejection itself, but because it confirmed a fear she’d carried forever:
That people might want her in a moment—but not choose her in daylight.
She had locked that door carefully after that. No expectations. No hope.
And yet…
Now Jazz was here.
Not stumbling.
Not confused.
Not hiding behind jokes.
Choosing her.
The irony made Rebecca’s chest ache—in a good way.
She turned her head slightly, watching Jazz sleep. The sharp edges softened, the confidence replaced by something gentle and unguarded. Jazz’s hand lay close enough that Rebecca could feel the warmth without touching.
For the first time in years, Rebecca felt something unfamiliar bloom inside her.
Hope.
Not loud.
Not reckless.
Just steady.
She felt alive in a way she hadn’t in a long time—not because someone wanted her, but because someone saw her and still stayed.
Maybe the future wouldn’t be perfect. Maybe it would be messy, complicated, terrifying.
But tonight, for once, life felt like it was finally being kind to her.
And Rebecca allowed herself to believe—
just a little—
that she deserved it.

**