they have the same eyes.
jj stirs her drink absently, watching the condensation bead down the glass. the dim lighting of the restaurant is familiar, the low hum of conversation around her nothing more than background noise.
elle is sitting across from her, casually swirling a glass of wine in her hand, the same easy confidence she always carries wrapped around her like a shield. they do this every two weeks. dinner. drinks. catching up. jj has never been nervous for it before, though. but now? now, she can’t shake the feeling that’s been following her since the cookout.
the feeling of aria in her arms. the feeling of emily’s eyes locked onto hers. the connection—this undeniable thing between them, something neither of them can name but both know exists. jj has avoided feelings like this before. she had spent years refusing to give them space, refusing to define them, refusing to look too closely at what they might mean.
even when she and elle had a thing—a quiet, brief, unspoken thing—she had convinced herself it wasn’t about who elle was, but just… the timing. the circumstances. but now?
now she knows it was never about timing. because now, she feels something again. not just attraction. something deeper. something she wants to name but can’t. and now, sitting here, staring at elle—someone who had once made her feel things she wasn’t ready for—jj has the urge to tell her everything.
to tell her she met aria. to tell her how aria fell asleep in her arms, like she had known her forever. to tell her how it felt—how it still feels—to be around emily. to tell her that it’s not just about understanding herself anymore, not just about whatever realization she’s been running from.
it’s about emily. it’s about aria. it’s about the pull she feels toward them—this magnetic, undeniable thing that is so much more than what she let herself feel for elle back then.
but she doesn’t say any of it. instead, she lets elle lead. because small talk is easier than feelings. elle tells her about a date she went on. a woman named ashley. someone she likes. jj listens, nodding at the right moments, even smiles when elle makes a joke about how she nearly talked about work too much on the first date. but her chest clenches, not because elle is dating - her an elle were better friends, they decided that. but because of how comfortable she is saying it. how easily she says it out loud.
jj forces the feeling down. pushes it deep into the part of herself she keeps locked away, the part that aches if she lets it. this isn’t about her. she’s not here to talk about something she doesn’t want to.
but then—elle shifts. it’s subtle, just a slight lean back in her seat, but her gaze sharpens, assessing in that quiet way she does when she’s circling something just out of reach.
“the cookout was last weekend, right?”
jj looks up, blinking, momentarily caught off guard. “yeah.”
elle tilts her head slightly, lifting her glass to her lips, sipping at her wine as if the question is casual. as if she’s just making conversation. “how was it?”
jj shrugs, keeping her voice measured. “good.”
too casual. she knows it immediately, and she knows elle knows it too. the way elle’s eyes don’t move from her, the way she just lets the word sit between them, waiting for jj to fumble. so jj does what she always does—tries to slide past it, smooth it over, make it insignificant.
“emily brought aria.”
it’s a mistake. the moment the words leave her mouth, she realizes it. elle’s brow lifts, the reaction immediate, her interest piqued.
“aria?”
jj forces herself to take a sip of her drink, careful, steady, as if the name means nothing. “her little sister.”
there’s a beat of silence. a shift. and then—
“oh.”
it’s not just a word. it’s understanding. something clicking into place. jj doesn’t look at her. doesn’t move. another pause.
“oh… how did that go?”
jj exhales slowly, her fingers tightening slightly around the condensation-slick glass. she should’ve seen this coming.
“she seemed quiet the first time i ran into them,” elle muses, watching her too closely.
jj nods, keeping her voice neutral. “yeah, she’s… shy. but she fit in fine.”
elle hums, considering. “and emily?”
jj lets out a soft huff, shaking her head slightly, keeping her tone easy. “she fits well with the team.”
it’s a deflection. a smooth, practiced answer. one that should be enough. but elle is still watching her. still waiting. jj can feel the weight of her stare pressing against her, patient and knowing. she doesn’t look up. focuses instead on the droplets of water trailing down her glass, on the way the ice shifts against the sides. and then she slips. just for a second.
“she and aria have the same eyes.”
the words come out unbidden, a quiet observation that has nothing to do with the cookout or emily’s job or anything that should matter in this conversation. it’s just something jj has thought about too much, something that lingers in her mind, refusing to let go.
elle catches it immediately.
jj feels it happen—the slight sharpening of elle’s gaze, the way her lips twitch, amusement flickering at the edges. she doesn’t have to say anything. jj can already feel the smirk forming, can feel the knowing in it, pressing into the space between them. jj goes still. doesn’t look at her. doesn’t move, hoping that elle ‘who never let anything go’ greenaway lets it slip. but then—
“uh-huh.”
and just like that, jj knows she’s been caught. jj swallows, picking up her drink, forcing another sip. elle leans forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand, watching her like she’s waiting for jj to admit something. jj won’t. not tonight. not yet. so she just shifts slightly in her seat, clearing her throat.
“tell me more about ashley.”
elle grins. but she lets it go. for now.