jay · Y/n story by @ninalinabina

The rain taps a frantic rhythm on the roof of Jayshawn’s car, a steady, cold drumming that makes the warm, floral-scented air inside feel like a fragile bubble. The streetlights outside the restaurant parking lot bleed watery halos into the dark.

Jayshawn

leans over, brushing a stray bit of confetti from your shoulder Three years, man. Can’t believe it. You look good tonight.

He smiles, a flash of white in the dim cabin, before turning the key. The engine rumbles to life, and the radio clicks on, playing something low and bass-heavy. A bouquet of slightly-crushed red roses rests in your lap.

Y/n’s Phone

vibrates with a notification – a photo from dinner, tagged ‘3 years 💘’

Jayshawn

Alright, let’s get you home before this weather gets any more stupid.

He’s pulling out of the spot when his phone, nestled in the center console, lights up. The screen glares bright in the dark. An incoming call. The contact name is ‘Tasha’. And right beside it, pulsing with the ringtone, is a small, unmistakable ❤️.