𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎

The Dragonfly Inn was glowing like a warm lantern against the swirling snowstorm outside.

Icicles clung to the eaves, the windows fogged with the promise of hot cocoa, shared secrets, and a weekend away from the rest of the world.

Lorelai stood by the front desk, her arms crossed over a thick cardigan, watching the chaos she loved most unfold in slow, eccentric waves.

Just then, the front door creaked open and in waddled Babette and Morey, bundled in layers of mismatched winter wear.

Babette's scarf trailed behind her like a parade banner, and Morey looked like a confused raccoon in a trapper hat.

"Hey dolls!" Babette called out, breathless and beaming.

"Hey!" Lorelai greeted them brightly.

"Hi, welcome," Rory chimed in from behind a tray of mugs filled with cinnamon-sprinkled cocoa.

Morey glanced around nervously. "Are we the first ones here?"

"Yes, you are," Lorelai said, smiling.

Babette turned to Morey with theatrical urgency. "Now don't you freak out. Morey hates being the first anywhere. He thinks it hurts his street credibility."

"Charlie Parker was late to everything," he grumbled, pulling off a mitten.

"Charlie Parker had more drսg in him than a Rite-Aid," Babette snorted. "Forget Charlie Parker."

Rory stepped forward, polite as ever. "You guys are in room eight. It's all ready for you."

"Thanks, doll." Babette gave a wink. "C'mon Morey. We can be late for dinner if it'll make you feel better."

"It would," he said, already shuffling away.

"Yeah," Babette agreed, linking arms with him as they disappeared down the hall, the door swinging shut behind them.

No sooner had the foyer settled when it opened again.

"Hey!" Lane popped in, snow in her hair, her face somewhere between excitement and mild dread.

"Are you alone?" Rory asked, already bracing herself.

A pause. Then, from just out of view: "Lane!"

Lane sighed. "My wedding night's gonna be very interesting."

"Hi, Mrs. Kim," Rory called, smile tight. "I'm glad you guys could come. You're in room twelve."

Mrs. Kim appeared beside Lane like an iceberg beside a nervous penguin. "Thank you. Hello, Lorelai. Thank you for inviting us."

"Our pleasure," Lorelai offered, ever the polite host. "Do you need help bringing in the rest of your stuff?"

Mrs. Kim lifted her single small suitcase. "This is my stuff. Don't need any more stuff. People have too much stuff."

"You know, you're right," Lorelai said quickly. "People do have too much stuff. Absolutely."

Mrs. Kim gave a curt nod and marched down the hallway. Lane followed like a reluctant duckling.

Rory turned to her mother with a smirk. "Says the woman with sixty-four pairs of shoes."

Lorelai shrugged. "Thus proving my point."

Just then, the front door opened again with a puff of snowy air.

In walked Brooke and her mom, Sienna, both dusted in flurries.

Brooke carried a tote bag weighed down with visible vinyl records. Sienna had a scarf large enough to qualify as emergency shelter.

"Wait, who has sixty-four pairs of shoes?" Sienna asked, intrigued.

"Please say it's Lorelai," Brooke said. "I need someone to enable my addiction."

"Guilty as charged," Lorelai said with a smirk. "But I rotate them seasonally, like a sane person."

"That's not what seasonal rotation means," Rory muttered.

"I once saw her organize them by emotional relevance," Sienna said, faux-dramatic. "Like: 'These are the shoes I wore the first time I felt joy.'"

Brooke grinned. "Yeah, and these are the boots I wear when I want to fight God and look hot doing it."

"Okay, snark squad," Lorelai pointed toward the hallway. "Rooms ten and eleven. Don't make them explode with glitter or angst."

"No promises," Brooke said.

"Definitely not about the glitter," Sienna added. "I might've accidentally packed my craft box instead of my makeup."

Lorelai raised her hands. "Great. So we're either having a cozy weekend or a full-on Lisa Frank explosion."

Laughter bounced around the inn just as the door creaked again.

Paris Geller stormed in like she was briefing the Pentagon, a folder clutched tight and eyes scanning for weakness.

Rory muttered, "What is Paris doing here?"

Lorelai whispered, "Newspaper duty?"

"She just couldn't wait."

"She's a robot," Lorelai said, then smiled sweetly. "Hi!"

Paris didn't respond. She brushed past them with all the grace of a submarine.

Lorelai turned to the girls. "And that, ladies, is why we always read the fine print before joining a school club."

"Noted," Brooke said. "I'll stick to my Walkman and emotional detachment."

"Can I embroider that on a pillow?" Sienna asked.

Another wave of laughter.

Then, the door burst open again with a proper winter gust—and in stepped and Luke, Jess shaking snow off his leather jacket like a broody storm cloud with cheekbones.

Luke followed him, duffel bag in hand, eyes already darting toward the nearest quiet corner.

"Well look what the blizzard dragged in," Lorelai teased.

"Don't start," Luke warned.

Jess looked around, unimpressed. "I told you we should've stayed in the truck and eaten gas station beef jerky."

"And miss this charming chaos?" Lorelai said. "Never. Welcome to the Inn of Unsolicited Bonding and Too Many Carbs. You're in room fourteen."

Jess raised an eyebrow. "Cool. Who am I stuck with?"

Lorelai, all too chipper: "Brooke."

Brooke, mid-sip of cocoa, froze. Her eyes locked with Jess's. He smirked, one eyebrow lifting just enough to cause concern. Sienna gaped.

"Are you okay with this?" Sienna asked Luke. "Because I'm okay with this."

Luke grunted. "What is this? It's a room. They're teenagers. The room has walls." He turned and left, muttering about plumbing.

Jess turned to Brooke with the same smirk. "It's fine by me, Uncle Luke."

Brooke narrowed her eyes. "Do I get a say in this, or is this some kind of snowstorm hostage situation?"

"The snow says yes, babe," Lorelai sang.

"Oh no," Sienna gasped. "Two emotionally constipated literature nerds in one room. What will happen?"

Rory jumped in. "Ten minutes before someone quotes Sylvia Plath or starts passive-aggressively alphabetizing the bookshelf."

"I'm not passive-aggressive," Brooke said. "I'm just aggressive."

"Confirmed," Jess replied.

Lorelai added with a grin, "No making out unless it's scheduled in the official itinerary."

Brooke nearly choked. "What?!"

Sienna was giggling uncontrollably. Rory wiped a tear from her eye. "I knew I should've made bingo cards for this."

Jess looked mock-serious. "We'll behave. Probably. Maybe. Not really."

Brooke muttered to Sienna, "I'm gonna sleep with one eye open. He gives feral cat with a book energy."

"And you give glitter bomb with a playlist energy," Jess countered.

"Okay, enough," Lorelai said, ushering them toward the hallway. "Room fourteen. Go unpack before the sass levels violate OSHA standards."

Brooke let out a dramatic groan and grabbed her bag. Jess followed, amused smirk firmly in place.

As they disappeared down the hall, the rest of the group exchanged gleeful, scandalized looks.

"Five bucks says Brooke realizes she likes him before morning," Sienna whispered.

"Ten says she's the last to know," Rory replied.

"Twenty says I have to break up a fight over the thermostat by midnight," Lorelai said, shaking her head with a smile.

And just like that, the inn settled into a cozy hum again, full of snow, secrets, and the kind of chaotic joy only Stars Hollow could deliver.