Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
You are reading Almost Love, Then Everything, Chapter 10: Chapter 10. Read more chapters of Almost Love, Then Everything.
("You wore my hoodie. And somehow, that felt more intimate than a kiss.")
It was raining again.
By now, the rain had become their backdrop—gentle, rhythmic, familiar. Like it had started falling just for them. It whispered against the windows of Jade’s apartment as Leah curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her, arms wrapped around a navy blue hoodie.
Jade’s hoodie.
She had pulled it on without asking, half-joking that she was cold, but the truth was simpler than that:
It smelled like Jade. Like cedarwood and soft detergent and something she couldn’t name, only feel.
And when she wore it, something inside her quieted.
Jade had noticed, of course. The way Leah sank into the hoodie like it was a second skin. How she held the sleeves with both hands like they anchored her to something safe. She hadn’t said anything.
But she’d smiled.
That quiet, knowing smile—the one she only wore when Leah wasn’t looking directly at her.
Now they were sitting side by side, not touching, but close. The kind of closeness that doesn’t need to be closed further. That simply exists in the air between bodies.
They hadn’t kissed again since that night.
Not yet.
But something had shifted in the silence.
They had stopped pretending it was just friendship. They had stopped pretending the spark wasn’t there. And though they were still moving carefully—still unsure how to define the shape of this thing between them—it was real now. Alive.
“I used to steal my ex’s hoodies,” Leah said suddenly, her voice barely above the rain.
Jade looked up, alert but gentle. “Yeah?”
Leah nodded, eyes on her knees. “But it never felt like this. Back then, it was more about proving something. Like, ‘Look, I’m yours.’ You know?”
Jade’s voice was soft. “And now?”
Leah looked down at the sleeve of the hoodie, where her fingers were curled into the fabric. She gave a small laugh. “Now I wear this and I forget to be scared for a while.”
Jade’s expression softened.
She didn’t say anything right away.
She just leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and exhaled slowly. “I think… if someone wore my hoodie and forgot how to be scared for a while… that would mean everything.”
Leah blinked, the words sinking into her like warmth under the skin.
She hesitated for a moment, then reached across the small space between them, hand open.
Jade didn’t ask. She simply took it.
Fingers laced again.
Different from before. Firmer. More sure.
And then Jade scooted closer—so close their shoulders touched, their legs brushed, their breathing found rhythm. Still no kiss. But maybe this was better. Deeper.
They stayed that way for a long time.
The TV played a movie they weren’t watching. The tea went cold.
Leah fell asleep first, head gently dropping onto Jade’s shoulder. Her breath evened out, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands like a child sleeping in something too big—but safe.
Jade didn’t move.
Didn’t even dare to breathe too deeply.
She just sat there, still and quiet and holding Leah’s hand in hers like a secret.
And for the first time in a long time, Jade wasn’t thinking about what might go wrong.
She was thinking about how right this moment already was.
When Leah left that night, she didn’t give the hoodie back.
Jade didn’t ask.
And Leah didn’t offer.
Because sometimes, love begins in the smallest thefts.
And this one?
Felt like the start of home.
It was raining again.
By now, the rain had become their backdrop—gentle, rhythmic, familiar. Like it had started falling just for them. It whispered against the windows of Jade’s apartment as Leah curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her, arms wrapped around a navy blue hoodie.
Jade’s hoodie.
She had pulled it on without asking, half-joking that she was cold, but the truth was simpler than that:
It smelled like Jade. Like cedarwood and soft detergent and something she couldn’t name, only feel.
And when she wore it, something inside her quieted.
Jade had noticed, of course. The way Leah sank into the hoodie like it was a second skin. How she held the sleeves with both hands like they anchored her to something safe. She hadn’t said anything.
But she’d smiled.
That quiet, knowing smile—the one she only wore when Leah wasn’t looking directly at her.
Now they were sitting side by side, not touching, but close. The kind of closeness that doesn’t need to be closed further. That simply exists in the air between bodies.
They hadn’t kissed again since that night.
Not yet.
But something had shifted in the silence.
They had stopped pretending it was just friendship. They had stopped pretending the spark wasn’t there. And though they were still moving carefully—still unsure how to define the shape of this thing between them—it was real now. Alive.
“I used to steal my ex’s hoodies,” Leah said suddenly, her voice barely above the rain.
Jade looked up, alert but gentle. “Yeah?”
Leah nodded, eyes on her knees. “But it never felt like this. Back then, it was more about proving something. Like, ‘Look, I’m yours.’ You know?”
Jade’s voice was soft. “And now?”
Leah looked down at the sleeve of the hoodie, where her fingers were curled into the fabric. She gave a small laugh. “Now I wear this and I forget to be scared for a while.”
Jade’s expression softened.
She didn’t say anything right away.
She just leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and exhaled slowly. “I think… if someone wore my hoodie and forgot how to be scared for a while… that would mean everything.”
Leah blinked, the words sinking into her like warmth under the skin.
She hesitated for a moment, then reached across the small space between them, hand open.
Jade didn’t ask. She simply took it.
Fingers laced again.
Different from before. Firmer. More sure.
And then Jade scooted closer—so close their shoulders touched, their legs brushed, their breathing found rhythm. Still no kiss. But maybe this was better. Deeper.
They stayed that way for a long time.
The TV played a movie they weren’t watching. The tea went cold.
Leah fell asleep first, head gently dropping onto Jade’s shoulder. Her breath evened out, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands like a child sleeping in something too big—but safe.
Jade didn’t move.
Didn’t even dare to breathe too deeply.
She just sat there, still and quiet and holding Leah’s hand in hers like a secret.
And for the first time in a long time, Jade wasn’t thinking about what might go wrong.
She was thinking about how right this moment already was.
When Leah left that night, she didn’t give the hoodie back.
Jade didn’t ask.
And Leah didn’t offer.
Because sometimes, love begins in the smallest thefts.
And this one?
Felt like the start of home.
End of Almost Love, Then Everything Chapter 10. Continue reading Chapter 11 or return to Almost Love, Then Everything book page.