FEBRUARY 2024

JANE'S POV
I was sitting in my Media Studies class, which was basically a disguised study hall for juniors who knew how to pretend they were working. My teacher, Mr. B, was grading in the corner and sipping something way too foamy from his mug, while most of the class scrolled on their laptops or phones like me.

I had one earbud in, phone wedged between my math folder and my laptop, eyes glued to the Straw Hat Goofy podcast livestream.

Walker was on.
Live.
Talking.
Smiling.
Existing in that devastatingly charming, too-casual way that made my stomach somersault like I was twelve again.

He wore this dark blue long sleeve shirt — simple, but the sleeves were rolled just perfectly to his elbows, and yes, okay, I absolutely noticed the veins on his arms because I'm a person with functioning vision. His blond-ginger curls were a little extra fluffy today, like he actually brushed them for once, and they were styled in that slightly windswept, I didn't try but obviously I did kind of way.

He looked... stupidly good.

I had the volume low but clear, listening as he talked about filming, lacrosse, and some hilarious on-set mishap involving a fake sword and a vending machine. I couldn't stop smiling — the way he scratched the back of his neck when he got flustered or tilted his head when he was really thinking about a question.

And then, the host said it:

"Alright, serious one — how do you feel about Toy Story 4?"

I blinked. Oh no.

Walker visibly tensed, breathing in like he was preparing for war. He ran a hand through his hair and gave that half-smile that screamed internal chaos but I'm gonna charm my way through this.

"First time I watched that, I had this class at school where you literally just watched movies," he started, eyes narrowing like he was reliving it in real time. "They put on Toy Story 4. I was like alright, I'm in seventh grade, I'm not gonna listen. It's Toy Story. Why are we watching this?"

I covered my mouth with my hand already, a bad giggle brewing in my throat.

"I remember I was sitting there and I just started like, sobbing," he said, eyebrows furrowed, "and I didn't—I just—I hid it. Like in my shirt and stuff. I was so sad. Because I was like, what? You ended on this note?! The whole point was to live it out, right? Be with your human! And then you leave me like this?"

I snorted. Loud. A girl at the desk in front of me turned and looked over.

"I felt like I hadn't played with Woody enough," Walker added dramatically, eyes dead-serious. "Like... he left me."

The host lost it, laughing so hard he leaned out of frame.

"Very personal. He left me!"

I ducked behind my folder, absolutely cackling into my scarf, trying to keep it silent. My eyes were watering. Walker's voice — half heartbroken, half deadpan — lived rent-free in my brain now. I didn't know whether I wanted to kiss him or never let him live it down.

After school ended, I walked outside into the chill Boston air, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. I pulled out my phone and immediately started typing.

Me 🧸
sooo guess what we're watching tonight when you get here 😌

My dumb bumbler 💬
no
NO

Me 🧸
yes 🥰
we're watching Toy Story 4 and we are gonna feel feelings
together.
you and me and woody's abandonment issues

My dumb bumbler 💬
jane.
pls
my soul can't take it

Me 🧸
too late.
i already put tissues on the coffee table

My dumb bumbler 💬
this is actually psychological warfare

Me 🧸
💕💕💋💋💋
for my favorite sensitive cowboy

My dumb bumbler 💬
i regret opening up to the internet
i regret opening up to YOU

Me 🧸
liar 😌
u love me.
and u know i'm gonna kiss you mid-sob and then you're gonna pretend you weren't crying

My dumb bumbler 💬
im going to sue pixar
and then marry you probably
but AFTER

I giggled so hard I had to stop walking. I texted back one more thing:

Me 🧸
woody's waiting 😭

——————————————

By the time I got home, the sky had that soft golden haze that made the whole neighborhood feel like a movie set. It smelled like early spring outside — even if it was still February — like the world was thinking about blooming soon. I kicked off my sneakers at the front door and immediately heard voices from the kitchen.

"Janey's home!" Patrick called in a sing-song tone that made me instantly want to turn around and walk right back out.

I rolled my eyes and trudged in anyway.

Patrick was leaning on the counter, still in his hoodie and school bag slung halfway off. He had the usual smirk — the one he wore when he knew he was about to ruin my life just a little. Hayley was perched on a stool, strolling through his phone.

"Ooooh, is tonight the night?" he said dramatically, like we were in some teenage rom-com and I was the lead who didn't know the guy was secretly a prince.

I dropped my backpack by the stairs. "No. It's just Toy Story 4 and me mentally preparing to watch a grown boy cry over Woody."

"Oh my God, wait, I saw that clip on TikTok!" Patrick burst out laughing. "He really said Woody left him."

"Can everyone stop bullying him?" I groaned, heat rising up my neck. "He was being honest! And emotionally aware!"

"That's what makes it funnier," Hayley said. "It's kinda adorable though. He really said 'ride or die' for toys."

"Mom!" I yelled toward the kitchen. "Your other children are emotionally attacking my boyfriend!"

Mom's voice floated from the kitchen like a warm breeze. "They're just jealous because they've never dated someone that sweet."

Patrick threw a grape at me.

I dodged it with the reflexes of a ninja and grabbed it off the floor. "Missed. Loser."

"Walker's gonna show up and you're gonna be in sweats with a cat on your head," Hayley added, sipping his iced tea. "Very romantic."

"That's the dream," I said, heading up the stairs. "Me, Walker, Milo, and emotional trauma from Pixar."

They both howled with laughter behind me as I climbed to my room.

The second I opened my door, I was hit with the scent of my vanilla room spray and the gentle snoring of my very spoiled ginger cat.

Milo was curled right in the middle of my bed — more specifically, on my pillow. His giant floofy body was stretched out like he owned the place (which, to be fair, he did), and one paw was twitching in a dream.

I smiled instantly.

"Hey, little loaf," I whispered, tossing my sweater onto the chair and stepping carefully into the room so I wouldn't disturb his royal slumber. He didn't even open one eye. Typical.

I walked to my closet, tugged off my jeans, and changed into something way more comfortable — soft plaid pajama pants and a long-sleeved tee that said "I paused my game for this" with little pixel hearts. I brushed out my curls gently, spritzed a little of my favorite perfume, and slid on some clear gloss.

I didn't want to look like I was trying, but I also kind of did. Just a tiny bit.

Milo let out a dramatic sigh as I sat next to him and nudged his paw. "Walker's coming tonight, bud. Try not to shed on him, okay?"

He blinked one eye open slowly, stared into my soul, and rolled to his side like the lazy prince he was.

I grabbed my phone and checked the time — Walker's interview would've wrapped a while ago. My heart did that soft, giddy flutter thing it always did before he arrived.

Me 🧸
let me know when you're close!! we're stocked with tissues. and betrayal 🐴🧸💔

Then I flopped next to Milo, staring at the ceiling, already smiling.

Tonight was going to be good.

———————————————

WALKER'S POV
There was something oddly comforting about trains. The hum. The occasional squeak of tracks. The people halfway asleep with earbuds in. It made me feel like I was traveling toward something — and this time, that something was Jane.

I stared out the window as the train curved through the edges of Boston, my phone buzzing in my lap with her messages. She had sent a picture of Milo earlier curled up like a cinnamon roll on her bed, and it was now my lock screen. He looked like he had opinions. Royal opinions.

It was 5:57 PM when we rolled into South Station, and by the time I got off with my duffle bag slung over one shoulder, the February air hit me square in the face — crisp but not unbearable. Just enough chill to make you zip up your jacket and pick up the pace.

The walk to Jane's house was muscle memory at this point. I'd been here last summer when we were still just "co-stars" — pretending not to notice how we always sat closer than necessary on the couch or how she laughed just a little longer at my dumb jokes.

Now, I knew the way. I passed the bookstore with the crooked bench out front. The coffee shop with her favorite muffins. And finally, I turned down her street — that familiar row of houses with white porches and basketball hoops in driveways.

Her place was toward the end. Warm light glowed in the windows like it was expecting me. I smiled as I climbed the steps and knocked.

The door opened in less than two seconds.

And there she was — Jane — in soft plaid pajama pants, a long-sleeved tee, wild dark curls framing her face, and this expression that was half joy, half finally.

"WALKER!!" she squealed, practically launching herself at me.

I dropped my bag with a thud and caught her, both of us laughing as I spun her around once before setting her down. She smelled like vanilla and something floral, and my heartbeat immediately settled like home.

"You missed me or something?" I teased, grinning down at her.

"I had not seen you since Monday and hadn't heard your voice since morning when you sent me that voice message about the site where the interview will be streaming," she replied dramatically, burying her face in my chest. "An eternity."

Becky appeared in the hallway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Walker! Hi, sweetheart." She came over and pulled me into a warm hug. "Glad you made it in one piece."

"Hi, Mrs. Riordan. Thanks for letting me invade movie night," I smiled.

"Of course. We've got snacks, tissues, and trauma waiting for you."

"Perfect," I said, laughing.

And then it happened.

"WALKER!!"
I turned just in time to see Patrick and Hayley emerge from the kitchen like they'd been waiting for the right moment to pounce.

"Brooooo," Patrick shouted, arms out.

Hayley grabbed my shoulders and Patrick wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me straight off the ground, spinning me like I weighed nothing.

"PUT HIM DOWN," Jane groaned from behind me. "You guys are so embarrassing."

"I love this kid!" Hayley shouted as he high-fived Patrick. "When are you moving in?"

"Tomorrow," I joked, feet finally on the ground again.

Patrick threw his arm around me like we were old war buddies. "You're too good for Jane, bro."

Jane gasped. "Take that back!"

"I mean, maybe equally good," Patrick corrected, ruffling her hair as she swatted him away. "Ow! Chill!"

"Anyway," Jane grumbled, grabbing my hand like she was claiming me as her own property, "he's mine, not yours, so back off."

Becky just shook her head, smiling like this happened every Friday.

I squeezed Jane's hand as we started toward the living room. "I missed this place."

She leaned her head on my shoulder. "We missed you more."

And just like that, the weekend had officially begun.

——————————————

JANE'S POV
It was around 7:06 when I heard the front door open and that familiar, deep "Hello, family!" echo through the house.

"Dad's home," I muttered to Walker as we lounged on the couch under a shared blanket, Toy Story 4 paused at the part where everyone still had hope.

I barely had time to sit up straight before Rick Riordan — author, legend, dad, and currently the man who always smelled like coffee and paperbacks — walked in, placing his bag by the hallway and loosening his scarf.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, immediately leaning down to kiss the top of my head before noticing Walker next to me.

"Hey, sir," Walker stood up with that polite nervous energy boys have when they're trying not to accidentally call your dad "bro."

Rick smiled. "Walker, good to see you again! It's good you got to a train. I heard it's kinda busy now"

"Would've walked if I had to," Walker joked, rubbing the back of his neck.

Dad laughed and patted his shoulder. "We'll feed you first, no need for martyrdom."

And with that, the evening chaos fully began.

Dinner was already set up thanks to Mom: roasted chicken, honey carrots, mashed potatoes, a bowl of salad that no one was really touching, and a basket of warm rolls that were disappearing way too fast (Patrick had like, five).

We all gathered around the dining table — Hayley on one end with his air pods hanging off his ear like jewelry, Patrick next to him demolishing a chicken leg, Dad at the head with his glass of wine, and me next to Walker, whose knees kept brushing against mine under the table.

"So, Walker," Hayley said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair, "if we told you Jane used to name all her stuffed animals after Greek gods, would that change how you felt about her?"

"Hayley," I hissed. "We agreed to keep that buried!"

"Oh, come on, I liked the little plushie Dionysus," Patrick added through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Walker grinned, eyes sparkling. "Actually, I'm honored. That's kind of adorable."

"Kind of?" I narrowed my eyes.

"Extremely adorable," he corrected immediately. "God-tier adorableness."

Dad chuckled as he cut into his chicken. "She always did have a flair for the dramatic. At age five she insisted on being called Artemis Riordan for three straight weeks."

"I will leave this table," I warned.

Walker leaned close to whisper, "You're literally the cutest person alive."

My face went warm, so I focused aggressively on my carrots.

"Anyway," Mom said, placing more bread in the basket, "Walker, we're glad you're here this weekend. I know Jane's been counting the days. I caught her rearranging the snacks three times."

"Mom!" I buried my face in my hands.

"She color-coded the M&Ms," Hayley added.

Walker turned to me with a soft little smile. "I love you so much."

I melted instantly. Dad raised an eyebrow. Patrick fake-gagged. Hayley grinned. And I just took Walker's hand under the table, squeezing it.

Dinner went on with stories and overlapping conversations, Rick telling a story about a failed plotline he tried to write for The Hidden Oracle, Hayley throwing salad leaves at Patrick, and Walker somehow staying perfectly charming in the middle of it all.

This—this warm, messy, chaotic table—was home. And seeing Walker here, laughing like he belonged, made something settle in my chest like a weight I didn't know I was carrying had finally lifted.

He wasn't just in my life.

He was part of it now.

And that made every bite of dinner taste like the beginning of something even better.

——————————————

JANE'S POV
By the time we finished dinner and cleared the dishes (well, Mom and I cleared the dishes while Patrick claimed he had "homework" and Hayley vanished with his iced tea), Walker and I retreated back to the living room for unfinished business.

The business? Toy Story 4.

The lights were low, the blanket returned, Milo was curled up at our feet like a judgemental cloud of ginger fluff, and the remote sat in my hand like it held real power.

"Are you sure?" I teased, looking at Walker as he adjusted the throw pillow behind his back. "You remember how this ends."

He narrowed his eyes at me with a betrayed but brave expression. "You know I'm emotionally fragile about this one."

"That's literally why we're watching it," I grinned.

I hit Play.

And for the next 35 minutes, we watched everything unravel. The goodbye. The final goodbye. Woody standing there. Buzz saying "It'll be okay."

I didn't even look at Walker. I just knew.

By the time the screen faded into credits and that Randy Newman song started playing, I could feel the shift. The tightening of his jaw. His fingers fidgeting with the hem of the blanket. And finally—

A sniff.

I looked over.

Walker Scobell was fully, shamelessly crying.

Like, eyes-glassy, cheeks-glowing, lip-trembling crying.

And I couldn't help it.

I reached over for my phone, already smiling, and hit record.

"Are you recording me right now?" he asked, his voice breaking mid-sentence.

I burst out laughing.

"Yes, I am!" I giggled, zooming in a little. "Look at this. This is what cinema does to a man."

He wiped his face with his sleeve and sniffed again. "This movie destroyed me. Like. Fully. Why did Woody do that to me?"

"Not to you, Walker. For himself."

"Oh my god, stop trying to make it sound noble," he groaned, pulling the blanket over his face. "I grew up with that guy!"

"You are so dramatic," I laughed, turning the camera to myself for a second. "This is what happens when you show your boyfriend Pixar."

He peeked out from under the blanket, face blotchy and way too cute. "Delete that."

"Never."

We both collapsed into giggles, and I tossed the phone on the couch beside us, cuddling up closer as his arm wrapped around my shoulders.

"You know," he mumbled into my hair, "you're evil."

"I'm precious," I corrected.

"You're preciously evil."

I smiled against his chest, tracing slow circles on his arm as the credits kept rolling. Milo stretched at our feet, clearly unimpressed by all the human emotion happening above him.

"Thanks for watching it with me," I whispered.

He kissed the top of my head. "Thanks for ruining my emotional stability."

"Anytime."

And just like that, the couch became our little world again — soft, quiet, warm — two kids curled up under a blanket, crying over toys and somehow falling harder for each other in the process.

WHY IS NOBODY READING THIS STORY?!😭😭😭