𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎

Brooke Carson didn't go to Chilton.

She went to Stars Hollow High, where the teachers were over it, the hallways smelled like pencil shavings and cafeteria pizza, and nobody cared how many clubs you were in as long as you showed up.

Chilton? Chilton was... terrifying.

Brooke stood awkwardly by the auditorium doors, watching Rory and her debate team wrap up on stage.

Paris was still talking, probably halfway through a victory speech no one asked for, and Rory looked like she'd aged ten years in the last fifteen minutes.

As soon as the debate ended, Rory darted over, grabbing Brooke by the sleeve.

"Did you see my soul leave my body?"

"Twice," Brooke said. "You should charge Paris rent for the space she takes up in your brain."

Rory sighed dramatically. "Please tell me there's coffee at the end of this day."

"There's a house to clean first," Brooke said, just as Christopher and Sherry walked up.

Sherry, wrinkle-free and terrifying in a coral silk blouse that didn't even think about creasing, beamed. "Rory, that was amazing! You're so eloquent!"

Christopher nodded. "We're so proud."

Brooke stepped aside quietly, already clocking the way Lorelai's jaw tightened as she walked over.

Sienna, was at her side, smile tight but polite.

Introductions happened in a blur—Sherry shaking hands, Lorelai smiling through her teeth, Rory blinking like she was caught in a hostage situation.

Brooke leaned toward Rory and muttered, "So, your dad brought the wrinkle-free witch."

Rory whispered back, "Wrinkle-free girlfriend."

"Oh," Brooke said. "So... awkward is contagious now."

Sienna suddenly clapped her hands. "Okay! So Rory, Lorelai, didn't you want to show me and Brooke that cool... uh, historical Chilton corner thing?"

Rory blinked. "What historical thing?"

"The one with the statue?" Lorelai jumped in. "Of the guy who invented homework or whatever?"

"Oh—yeah, that thing," Rory said quickly, already moving.

As soon as they rounded the corner and ducked out of sight from Sherry and Christopher, the act dropped.

"Okay, that was painful," Brooke said. "You didn't warn me we were walking into a reality show called Parents Behaving Badly."

"They said they were just coming to watch the debate," Rory groaned. "Sherry brought homemade gluten-free scones and tried to give Paris a hug."

"Paris let her?"

"She froze like a squirrel in traffic."

Lorelai rubbed her temple. "We need a new plan."

"Coffee," Sienna said. "Then maybe exile."

"No time. They're coming over for dinner."

Lorelei's eyes widened. "Wait—what?"

"I panicked!" Rory said. "I told them to come to the house. What else was I supposed to do?"

"You could've said, 'Sorry, our house has asbestos' or 'We're being fumigated for demon rats' or 'We spontaneously combust after 6 PM.'"

"We can still ditch," Lorelai said. "We've got time."

Brooke cracked her knuckles. "I say we clean the house, play it polite, then bail through the back door the second they knock. It's classic. It's elegant. It's us."

The house was chaos.

Brooke was on window duty, Sienna was vacuuming like her life depended on it, Rory was dusting books she hadn't touched in years, and Lorelai was furiously scrubbing the microwave with a level of aggression usually reserved for exes and espresso machines.

"Why am I even doing this?" Brooke yelled over the vacuum noise. "I don't live here"

"Because it's basically your house," Lorelai shouted back. "And if we're going to run away from it, it better be sparkling!"

Brooke peeked out the window and cursed. "They're here!"

Everyone froze.

Sienna ducked down and hissed, "They're walking up the front steps. Brooke, go! Back door!"

Lorelai dropped the sponge. "Mission Windex: Go, go, go!"

The two of them bolted through the kitchen, out the back door, and circled around the neighbor's fence like they were escaping a crime scene.

Just as they hit the end of the driveway, Brooke glanced back.

"They're knocking!" she whisper-shouted.

"Run!"

They tore off in the opposite direction, Brooke's laughter echoing through the night.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. Brooke lay sprawled on her bed, lights off, fingers trailing across the sheets, her flip phone resting beside her like it was waiting for something.

It buzzed once.
Then again.

She flipped it open slowly, like she already knew who it was.

JESS CALLING.

She answered, barely above a whisper. "Took you long enough."

Jess's voice came through low and warm. "You were waiting?"

"No," she lied. "Just not asleep yet."

"You sound tired."

"I'm not. Just..." She paused. "I like this time of night."

"Me too," he said. "Feels like you can say things you don't get to say during the day."

Brooke sat up a little, brushing hair off her neck. "Like what?"

Jess hesitated, then: "Like I can tell you your voice gets stuck in my head."

She blinked. "You've heard it, like, once today."

"Still stuck."

The silence stretched, full of something electric and slow-burning.

"You always call this late?" she asked.

"Only when I want to hear you without all the noise."

Brooke swallowed. "You're smoother when it's dark."

"You're softer when it's dark."

Another pause. Her heart beat a little faster.

She laid back again, twisting the phone cord around her finger. "What would you be doing if you were here?"

"Probably leaning against your window," he murmured. "Sneaking in."

"You'd fall."

"I'd still try."

Brooke smiled, pressing the phone closer. "You get one dirty joke, by the way."

"Just one?"

"Use it wisely."

Jess's voice dropped. "Then I'll save it for when I'm actually in your room."

Her breath hitched, but she didn't flinch. "Ballsy of you to assume you'd be invited in."

He chuckled. "You'd open the window."

She bit her lip. "Maybe."

They sat in that almost-silence again — just breath and heartbeat and a little static between them.

"I should sleep," she finally said, voice quiet.

"Yeah," Jess replied, but he didn't hang up.

Neither did she.

"...Night, Criminal," she whispered.

"Night, Deputy."

She closed the flip phone, heartbeat wild in the dark.