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Chapter Text

The rowboat thudded against the bank and began drifting back out into the water before Joey even realized what was happening.

“Pacey!” she snapped, hugging her jacket tighter as the chilly October wind cut through her. He looked sheepish. “I thought I tied it. Guess not.”

So they waded, jeans heavy, shoes squelching, until they stumbled up the muddy embankment toward his truck. The air was colder out of the water, biting at their skin.

Joey rolled her eyes, forcing herself to look anywhere but at him. The water beaded on his arms, caught in the hollow of his collarbone. Don’t notice that, she scolded herself, biting the inside of her cheek. He’s an idiot.

“Perfect,” Joey muttered, shivering as she wrung out her shirt. “I’m going to catch pneumonia thanks to you.”

“Not if we warm up right.” Pacey rummaged in the back seat, pulling out two blankets. “We strip, wrap up. Body heat, no wet clothes. Basic survival.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, right. What a coincidence you happen to know the best way to get me naked.”

He held up his hands. “Hey, I’m not looking. I swear. This is science, Potter. You want to get sick?”

Joey’s jaw tightened as she tucked the blanket around herself. It wasn’t enough to stop the shivers, but it gave her something to hold on to besides the sudden heat building in her chest.

Not interested.

That’s what he’d said. As if she were invisible. As if she were still that gangly kid he used to sling mud at down by the creek.

Weren’t teenage boys supposed to want this? Any of it? Dawson sure didn’t. He looked at her like a sister, or worse, like she was some character in his head instead of a girl with skin and nerves and wants. And now Pacey, of all people, was telling her she wasn’t even worth looking at?

The anger surged so fast it made her dizzy. Better to do something than stand here trembling, than let him see how much that stung.

The blanket slipped from her hands, sliding off the side of the truck and into the mud. She didn’t stop it. She tugged at her wet shirt instead, peeling it up and over her head, tossing it onto the growing pile of damp clothes.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the moment Pacey realized what she was doing. His whole body went still.

“What are you doing, Potter?” His voice cracked halfway between outrage and awe.

She smirked, toeing off her shoes and socks, fingers already moving to the button of her jeans. “I thought you didn’t want to see this. You can turn around if you want.”

There was a beat of silence, long enough that she almost faltered. Then his voice came low, rougher than she’d ever heard it. “And if I don’t want to turn around?”

The spark in his voice was all she needed. Finally, a reaction. A real one, not the indifferent shrug she’d braced herself for.

“You can watch, if you want,” Joey said, chin tilting higher, daring him.

And he did. He went utterly still, his breath caught somewhere between them, while her fingers worked the denim down her hips. Cold air licked across her skin as she stepped free of the jeans, each movement deliberate, exaggerated. She should’ve felt ridiculous, but his eyes never wavered.

By the time she stripped the last layer away, goosebumps rose along her arms, from the chill, yes, but also from the weight of him looking. Looking at her, Joey Potter, like she wasn’t invisible, like she wasn’t some half-formed kid the way Dawson always seemed to think.

Now that the rush of action was over, though, nerves began to creep in. She crossed her arms loosely over her chest, not quite knowing where to put her hands. What if he laughs? What if he tells the whole school?

But Pacey just smiled. Not smirked, not sneered, smiled. Something warm and achingly gentle lit his face. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly, like it wasn’t even a choice to say it out loud.

Her brows shot up, trying to cover the flush spreading through her cheeks. Beautiful wasn’t what she’d expected. Hot, maybe. Sexy. Not that.

Before she could fire off a quip, Pacey’s hands went to his own shirt, fumbling almost too quickly. He tugged it over his head, then shoved at his jeans until they landed in a heap beside hers.

Joey’s heart gave a strange lurch when her eyes flicked lower. Heat surged into her face. He was already… She tore her gaze away, biting down on her lip to hide the startled smile curling there.

What the hell had he just done? One second he was telling her to strip so she wouldn’t freeze, the next he was standing here, bare, exposed, every nerve in his body lit up like a live wire.

He tried not to look, he really did. But then Joey, Joey Potter, who scowled at him in class, who threw his sarcasm back twice as sharp, was standing in front of him, flushed and shivering and… god. His throat went dry.

Her eyes dropped, flickering lower, and he felt it like a punch. She saw him. Noticed the part of him he couldn’t control, the proof of what she was doing to him. She blushed hard, turned her head away, but not before he caught it, the split-second of realization, of power.

And then she moved closer. Not much, but enough. Enough to make him forget the cold completely.

Her hand lifted, hesitant, before brushing across his chest. His breath stuttered. She was touching him, choosing to, and he thought if he moved too fast, if he so much as blinked wrong, she’d vanish.

He stayed absolutely still, heart hammering. He’d had experience, too much, in ways he didn’t even want to think about, but nothing like this. Nothing that made his whole body ache with the need to reach out and still be terrified to cross the line.

“Jo,” he rasped, barely trusting his own voice. “Can I… can I kiss you?”

Joey’s lips parted just enough for a breath, then she gave the smallest nod.

That was it. Pacey closed the distance, tilting his head to capture her mouth with his. The kiss was tentative at first, careful, but the second her lips moved against his, a jolt ripped through him. Every inch of her body seemed to come alive under his touch.

He kept his hands anchored to her face, thumbs brushing along her jaw, as if he could hold her there forever. He was terrified that if he let go, the spell would break.

But Joey had no such reservations. Her hands slid up over his damp shoulders, tracing the lines of muscle there, slipping down his arms and back again, bolder with each pass. He shivered at every graze of her fingertips, biting back the urge to groan.

It wasn’t enough. Not for her. She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her breath ragged.

“You can touch me,” she whispered, pulse thrumming in her throat. “If you want.”

The words hit him low, a rush of heat flooding through him. He let out a sharp, helpless curse, the sound tumbling between them before he could stop it.

For a moment he just stared at her, like he was making sure he hadn’t imagined the words. Then, slowly, almost reverently, his hands left her face.

She felt the weight of them on her shoulders first, sliding down her arms, skimming over the curve of her waist until he finally cupped her breasts. His thumbs circled gently, uncertain but deliberate, and Joey gasped into his mouth.

She had touched herself before, in quick, curious moments under the covers, but never like this. Never with the heat of someone else’s palms, never with the slow, dizzying pressure that made every nerve stand on end.

Her body moved without her permission, hips shifting, arching into him, desperate for more of whatever this was. The blanket lay forgotten in the mud. The cold didn’t matter.

Her hand, emboldened by the fire sparking everywhere he touched, slipped lower. Across the planes of his stomach, down the trail of muscle, until her fingers hovered, she knew what would be there if she moved lower. She felt him tense under her touch, but he didn’t pull back.

If anything, he kissed her harder, as though her hand there undid whatever restraint he had left.

Her hand lingered, trembling. She could feel the heat pouring off him, the tension coiled tight in every muscle. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to push lower, not yet.

Pacey’s hands, though, grew bolder. The hesitation melted, replaced by a surer rhythm as he kneaded and circled, his thumbs grazing across her nipples until she gasped against his mouth. The sound made him groan softly, chest vibrating against hers.

“Jo…” His lips brushed hers, his breath uneven. “It’s OK. We don’t have to, if you don’t want…”

But she did. God, she did. “I want to,” she whispered, surprising herself with how raw it sounded.

Because she needed to know what it would feel like if his hands moved lower, between her thighs where she was already slick and aching. The idea of it sent another shiver rushing through her, sharper than the cold had ever been.

Her pulse hammered as she pressed closer, almost shaking with the need. Nothing she’d ever done alone compared to this, and he hadn’t even touched her there yet. The anticipation alone was unbearable.

A flicker of doubt wormed its way in, though. She tipped her head back, searching his face. What if this is all one-sided? What if he’s not…

But then her gaze slipped down, and the sight left no room for doubt. Every bit of him betraying just how much he wanted this too.

She was trembling against him, and for a second Pacey thought maybe he’d pushed too far. Maybe the gasps and the way she arched into his hands weren’t what he thought they were. His gut twisted with worry, that old voice whispering that he’d screwed it up again.

But then he saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes, the way she glanced down and bit her lip. Like she wasn’t sure she was enough.

The thought nearly floored him.

“Jo,” he breathed, forcing her to look at him. “I’ve never.” His voice broke, came out rough, desperate. He tried again. “I’ve never wanted to touch someone so bad in my life. You’re… you’re amazing. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, but he meant every one.

Her breath hitched, and that was all the permission he needed. His hand slid down, skimming over the curve of her waist, the flat of her stomach, until his fingers brushed the soft heat between her thighs.

She parted for him instinctively, like her body already knew where he belonged. The wetness that greeted him made his head spin. He swallowed a curse, his chest heaving.

He was pretty sure he was seconds from bursting, undone just by the feel of her opening to him, by the fact that it was Joey Potter letting him touch her like this.

The moment his fingers slipped lower, Joey melted. Her knees nearly buckled, and she clutched at his shoulders to keep herself upright.

It was overwhelming. More than she’d ever imagined. The heat of his hand, the sure rhythm of his strokes, the way he seemed to know just where to press and circle. Her hips found the motion on their own, rising to meet him, rocking against his touch with growing urgency.

She should have been embarrassed by the sounds spilling out of her, the breathless gasps, the choked whimpers, the raw little moans that broke between kisses. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when it felt this good. Not when it was him.

Every nerve in her body was pulled taut, her heartbeat drumming so loud she could barely hear anything else. The pressure built higher and higher, unbearable and exquisite all at once.

And then it crashed through her. White-hot, blinding, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her head fell back, and she screamed his name into the night.

Pacey thought he’d known what it was to want, to ache. But nothing in his life had prepared him for this, for Joey coming apart in his arms, gasping his name like it was the only word she knew.

He could barely breathe, just watching her fall over the edge. Her body clenched around his fingers, her cries tearing through him until he was sure he’d never forget the sound for as long as he lived.

And then she was slumping against him, trembling, still catching her breath. Her lips brushed his throat as she whispered something he couldn’t even hear over the blood rushing in his ears.

Before he could think, her hand slid down. Lower, surer. Wrapping around him.

His whole body jolted, a guttural sound escaping his chest. He’d been so close already, strung tight just from touching her, from seeing her. Now, with her hand stroking him, there was no holding back.

“Jo.” His voice cracked, and he buried his face against her hair. “God, I’m not, I can’t…”

It hit him fast, harder than anything ever had. His hips bucked helplessly into her grip, his breath shattering as he spilled over, clinging to her like he might drown if he let go.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the cool night air prickling against overheated skin. Joey’s head rested against his chest, his arms still clamped tight around her like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Then the silence shifted, awkwardness creeping in at the edges. Joey pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes, her cheeks flushed, her hair damp and tangled.

“Did that just…?” she started, then trailed off.

“Yeah,” Pacey said, still a little dazed. “That… happened.”

They stared at each other, and then, without warning, both burst into shaky laughter. It wasn’t funny, not really, but it was either laugh or be swallowed whole by the enormity of what they’d just done.

Joey hugged her arms around herself, suddenly hyper-aware of the night air again, of the mud squelching under her bare feet. “We should… probably get home. Before we freeze to death.”

“Right.” Pacey raked a hand through his hair, eyes darting anywhere but her bare skin. “Dry clothes. Actual heaters. That sort of thing.”

She bent to scoop up the blanket, avoiding his gaze now too, but their hands brushed when they both reached for the pile of damp clothes. The contact sent a fresh jolt through her, and she pulled back quickly, muttering, “We should just, yeah.”

He nodded. Neither of them spoke again until the truck’s engine rumbled to life, the cab filling with the smell of wet denim and wool.

Both stared out their windows, still catching themselves grinning like idiots, still wondering what the hell this meant.

The heater in Pacey’s truck worked overtime, filling the cab with a damp warmth. Joey sat curled in her blanket, staring straight ahead. He kept sneaking glances, but she didn’t turn.

Finally, she spoke. “So… that was… something.”

“Yeah.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Definitely… something.”

She cleared her throat, shifting like the blanket had suddenly grown itchy. “We don’t… have to make it a big deal.”

He glanced over. “We don’t?”

Her jaw set, like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. “It was… an experiment. You know. Two people… curious. Testing things out. Like extra credit.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “Extra credit in snail studies?”

“Don’t be an ass,” she shot back, though there wasn’t much heat behind it.

He let the smile fade, nodding slowly. “Right. An experiment.” He said it evenly, but inside his chest, something pinched. Experiment. That’s all it is to her.

But when she leaned back against the window, closing her eyes, Pacey risked another glance. He wasn’t fool enough to believe it was just an experiment. Not for him. Not with Joey.

Once back at Joey’s, she darted straight to the laundry basket in the corner, pulling out a folded stack of Bodie’s old clothes. She tossed a pair of sweatpants and a faded T-shirt at Pacey without looking directly at him.

“Here. These should… fit well enough.”

He caught them against his chest, raising an eyebrow. “Not really my color, Potter, but I’ll manage.”

“Just change,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she headed for her room to grab her own pajamas.

By the time she came back, barefoot and in flannel, he was sprawled on the couch in Bodie’s clothes, damp hair sticking up in every direction. He looked so normal, so Pacey, that for a second she almost convinced herself the thing by the creek hadn’t happened.

She sat in the armchair, tucking her legs under her, and the silence stretched again until Pacey broke it.

“You ever think about getting out of this place?” he asked, staring at the ceiling.

“All the time,” Joey said instantly. Then softer: “Paris. New York. Anywhere but Capeside.”

He smiled faintly, turning his head to glance at her. “Figures. You’re too smart to rot here. Me, I’ll probably end up fixing boats or flipping burgers until I’m fifty.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she said, surprising herself with the gentleness in her voice.

He shrugged like it didn’t matter, though his eyes lingered on her a beat too long.

Neither of them mentioned the blankets in the truck. Neither of them mentioned the way their bodies had fit together, or the sound of his name ripped from her throat. Instead, Joey stretched, feigning nonchalance.

The house was quiet, Bessie and Bodie long asleep, Pacey left for home, and the creek still clung to Joey’s skin. She lay on her back in the dark, staring at the ceiling, her hair fanned damp against the pillow.

It had been… weird. That was the first word that came to mind. Unexpected, too. She and Pacey Witter had been partners in mischief, in irritation, in school projects doomed to failure. Never in her wildest imaginings had she thought she’d strip in front of him, let him touch her like that.

And yet… her body hummed with the memory. The heat of his hands, the way he shuddered when her fingers grazed his chest, how easily laughter had melted into breathless sighs.

She pressed her thighs together, restless. If it had been so strange, so random, why did she want to feel it again?

Curiosity tugged at her. Tentatively, she let her own hand drift down her stomach. She tried to retrace the path of his touch, the rhythm he seemed to find without effort. Her breath hitched, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers didn’t spark against her skin the way his had. She rolled onto her side, frustrated, cheeks hot even in the dark.

It wasn’t just the act. It was him.

Joey groaned into her pillow, half in embarrassment, half in longing. She shouldn’t want this. It didn’t mean anything. They’d laughed about it, agreed it was just fun, just exploring. Still, the thought of seeing him again, of his hands, his mouth, his crooked grin whispering gorgeous, sent a thrill racing down her spine.

Practicality kicked in, as it always did with Joey Potter. If this was going to happen again, it needed… structure. A plan. She sat up, switched on her lamp, and grabbed a notebook from the floor.

Hypothesis: Being with Pacey is strange but strangely satisfying.

Variables: Time, place, frequency.

Goal: Explore new sensations without letting it mean anything.

Her pencil tapped against the page as she wrote out a schedule, possible windows when Bessie would be working, when Dawson wouldn’t be around, when she could meet Pacey without drawing suspicion. A list of “experiment opportunities,” she labeled it, biting back a nervous laugh.

She snapped the notebook shut and fell back against her pillows. Her heart still raced. Her body still remembered. And for the first time, she admitted it wasn’t enough to remember. She wanted more.

Pacey lay sprawled across his bed, one arm flung behind his head, the other resting idly on his chest. The house was quiet in that way it only ever was when his dad was out late, and Doug was asleep behind a closed door. For once, the silence felt almost comfortable.

But sleep wouldn’t come. Not with the memory of Joey Potter burned into his brain.

He’d been with girls before. But it had never felt like that. It had never felt like laughter breaking into gasps, or nerves melting into something so hot his whole body still trembled from it.

Maybe it was because it was Joey. Someone he’d known forever, someone who wasn’t supposed to be the one tangled up with him under a blanket. The familiarity made the intimacy sharper somehow, like he already knew the shape of her sighs even if he’d never heard them before.

He shut his eyes and let himself sink into the memory, the way her fingers had traced over his chest, tentative but bold, how her skin had been warm against his palms. The sound she made when he touched her just right, it echoed, and his body answered.

His breath grew heavier as he gave in, hand slipping lower, chasing the ghost of her against his skin. He let the memory guide him: Joey’s wide eyes, the quiver of her laugh turning into something else entirely. It didn’t take long before he was gasping into the pillow, spent, shivering in the dark.

For a moment, he just lay there, grinning stupidly up at the ceiling.

“Hell of a science experiment,” he muttered under his breath.

But as the high faded, so did the certainty. He told himself he could be fine if that was it. A one-time thing. A crazy, unexpected moment that didn’t need to happen again.

He told himself that. Over and over.

And still, he knew he’d take her hand again in a heartbeat if she offered.

Chapter Text

Joey found him leaning against the lockers, a lopsided grin already on his face as if he’d been waiting for her. She clutched her notebook tight against her chest, nerves bubbling under her skin.

“We still need to finish the science project,” she said, trying to sound casual.

Pacey tilted his head, mischief lighting his eyes. “Which one?”

Her stomach flipped. He meant it as a joke, she knew, but the words hit harder than she expected. Joey swallowed, forcing herself not to look away. “Both.”

The single word landed between them, quiet but steady.

For once, Pacey didn’t have a comeback ready. His grin faltered just long enough to betray his surprise before it returned, softer this time. “Well, Potter, aren’t you full of surprises lately.”

Joey shifted her books, then slid a folded piece of paper out from between the pages of her notebook. She handed it to him quickly, before she could change her mind.

He unfolded it and scanned the neat lines. His brow furrowed, then lifted as realization dawned. “Wait. You made a schedule?”

Joey crossed her arms, defensive. “It’s practical. We have homework. Bessie has shifts. Dawson…” She trailed off, cheeks warming. “If we’re going to… experiment… it needs to be organized.”

Pacey chuckled, holding the paper like it was a priceless artifact. “Potter, you are unbelievable. You’ve literally got algebra homework slotted between… extracurriculars.”

Her glare was sharp, but her voice was firm. “Unless you don’t want to…”

“Potter,” he interrupted softly, “I’m not exactly turning down the chance to be your… lab partner.”

Her cheeks burned, but she covered it with a roll of her eyes. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

As she walked away, Pacey glanced back down at the paper, still grinning to himself. Science had never been his strongest subject, but suddenly, he was very invested in the results.

When Pacey showed up at the Potter house, Joey had already cleared her homework off the kitchen table and shoved it upstairs. The whole time she’d been pacing her tiny bedroom, nervous energy sparking through her veins. It had been easy when it just… happened. Now, with a plan in place, every second ticked louder.

Pacey leaned in her doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets. “So,” he said, grin tugging at his mouth, “where do we start? Flashcards or foreplay?”

Joey rolled her eyes, but her throat was dry. “You’re an idiot.”

He pushed off the doorframe, moving closer. “Relax, Potter. We don’t have to do anything. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

But that only frustrated her more. Because it was a big deal. Her skin still remembered him, and she couldn’t stand the idea of pretending otherwise.

“I want to,” she said, sharper than intended.

His brows rose. “You want to?”

Joey hesitated only a second before blurting, “I tried… I tried to touch myself. Thinking about you. But it wasn’t the same. I couldn’t.” She stopped, mortified, but the words were already out.

Something snapped in Pacey’s expression, his easy grin wiped clean. “God, Potter,” he breathed, voice low and rough, “you can’t say shit like that.”

And then his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was nothing like their nervous laughter by the truck. It was urgent, hot, hungry. Joey gasped into him as his hands slid over her body, learning her curves, her softness, her heat. Her knees trembled when his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts through her shirt, teasing, testing, until she was arching into him.

“Pacey,” she whispered, desperate, fingers clutching his shoulders.

He smirked against her neck, lips grazing her pulse. “Impatient much, Josephine?” His hand lingered higher, playing with her until she let out a broken sound she didn’t recognize as her own.

Pacey’s mouth was still on hers, coaxing and claiming all at once, when Joey tugged his hand down in frustration. She wanted to crawl out of her own skin with need, the heat curling tighter inside her.

“Don’t tease me,” she demanded, her voice shaky but firm.

He pulled back just enough to smirk, lips swollen, eyes dark. “But it’s so much fun,” he murmured, his thumb circling lazily just high enough to make her whimper.

She shoved at his shoulder half-heartedly. “Pacey”

“Relax, Jo” he cut in, voice low and taunting. “I’ll give you exactly what you want. Eventually.”

The word eventually nearly broke her. She surged forward, kissing him fiercely, dragging him down with her until they collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and heat. His weight settled half over her, his hand finally sliding lower, fingers teasing just shy of where she burned for him.

Joey gasped, arching, but he only chuckled against her mouth. “God, you’re impatient,” he whispered, brushing his nose along her jaw, letting his lips ghost across her skin. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this all day.”

“I have,” she admitted, surprising even herself with the honesty.

That did it. Pacey’s teasing faltered, replaced by a guttural sound in his throat. His hand pressed where she wanted, finally, and her cry broke into the kiss. He worked her slowly at first, savoring every gasp, every desperate twist of her hips, until she was clawing at his back, urging him faster.

Her trembling fingers fumbled at his waistband, and when she brushed him, his breath stuttered hard against her neck. “Jesus, Potter,” he groaned, his hips jerking into her hand. “You really don’t play fair, do you?”

She smiled through a shudder, triumphant, then lost the thought entirely when he kissed her again, rough and unsteady.

The rhythm built between them, tangled and frantic, each touch pulling them higher. Their laughter dissolved into breathless moans, into gasps that filled the small room, until there was nothing left but heat and need and the aching rush toward release.

It hit them almost together, a sharp surrender that tore through them both. Joey buried her face against his shoulder, muffling a cry, while Pacey clung to her like she was the only solid thing in the world.

When it ebbed, they collapsed back into the pillows, limbs still tangled, chests heaving. The room was quiet but for their breathing.

They lay tangled in Joey’s narrow bed, the air still thick with heat, their chests rising and falling in uneven rhythm. Joey’s pulse hadn’t fully slowed yet, but her mind, ever practical, was already clawing for solid ground.

She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “So,” she said, voice scratchy but calm, “experiment successful.”

Pacey let out a lazy laugh beside her, still catching his breath. “Potter, that was a groundbreaking discovery.”

“Please,” she scoffed, turning her head toward him. “You’d flunk out of any lab.”

“Not if you were my lab partner,” he shot back, grinning even as his eyes fluttered shut.

For a moment, the silence between them felt heavier than it should. Joey could still feel his touch ghosting across her skin, the echo of her own gasps in her ears. It wasn’t nothing. It couldn’t be nothing.

But she wasn’t about to say that.

If she lingered in this moment, it would start to mean something. So she shoved the thought down, grabbed her notebook, and made her voice brisk. “Okay. Homework time.”

Pacey cracked one eye open, incredulous. “Homework? Now?”

“Of course now,” she said briskly, reaching for the notebook she’d shoved onto the nightstand earlier. “That was the deal. Science experiments and schoolwork.”

He groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his face. “You really know how to kill a mood, Potter.”

She smirked despite herself. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

That shut him up.

They shifted back to the desk, Joey opening her textbook, Pacey dragging his chair over, pretending to pay attention. Every so often their knees brushed under the table, a casual contact that sent jolts through Joey even though she kept her eyes on her notes.

When the kitchen timer went off downstairs, she glanced at him. “Bessie’s making supper. You want to stay?”

Pacey looked up from doodling in the margin of her homework with a crooked smile. “Sure. Why not? I’m practically family, right?”

Joey rolled her eyes, but her heart gave a traitorous skip. They were just friends. Just two kids doing homework. Just two kids who’d shared orgasms upstairs like it was no big deal.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

The rest of the week passed by in similar fashion. They used the excuse that they had this snail project to finish and that required a lot of attention.

The experiments never varied much, they worked each other over with their hands, in varying stages of undress, neither bold enough to take things a step further. 

By Friday afternoon, the snail report was turned in, the teacher had congratulated them on their “dedication,” and the excuse that had wrapped their afternoons in secrecy vanished.

Joey watched Pacey stretch at his locker, the lazy grin she’d come to expect tugging at his mouth. For four days, they’d lived in a quiet orbit, homework, laughter, touches that left her flushed long after he’d gone. The rhythm had felt easy. Manageable. But now, with the bell ringing and no reason to see him later, the air between them felt unfinished.

She was halfway through pretending she didn’t care when Jen intercepted her at the exit, Dawson in tow, his arm draped casually over Jen’s shoulders. Joey knew that look, contentment mixed with cinematic nostalgia.

Dawson and Jen had gotten back together, obviously, something Joey would have already known had she not been so preoccupied with Pacey.

“Carnival’s still in town,” Dawson said, bright with purpose. “Jen and I were thinking… maybe a double date? Like old times.”

Joey blinked. “Old times?”

He grinned, glancing between them. “You know, like when we all went to the movies.” Joey sensed it, Dawson trying to somewhat re-create his and Jen’s actual first date. Dawson continued, “ferris wheel, funnel cake, the whole Capeside experience. Pacey, you’re free, right?”

Pacey, who had appeared behind Joey like trouble on cue, arched a brow. “Depends. Are you asking me or Joey?”

Dawson hesitated just long enough for Jen to cut in smoothly, “He means both of you. It’ll be fun.”

Joey opened her mouth to protest, but Pacey spoke first. “Sounds like a date.”

The word landed heavier than it should have. Joey glanced at him, caught the flicker of something in his eyes, half challenge, half question, and felt her pulse stumble.

Chapter Text

The fairgrounds were buzzing, strings of lights cutting through the night air, the smell of fried dough and popcorn thick enough to cling to their clothes. It was easy to fall back into rhythm here, the noise, the crowd, the simple distraction of it all. Easier to act normal.

Joey walked just ahead, her flannel sleeves shoved into her pockets, chin tilted like she didn’t care about anything. Pacey stuck close behind, forcing himself not to notice the way her hair caught the neon glow of the Ferris wheel.

“Hey!” Dawson’s voice carried as he waved them down, Jen trailing beside him with a stuffed animal tucked under her arm.

“Look at that,” Dawson said, grinning as they met up near the ticket booth. “You know we should be celebrating you two working together all week without killing each other.”

Pacey just grinned and said, “her rigorous homework schedule almost did me in.” Then he winked. Joey glared.

Jen rolled her eyes and hooked her arm through Joey’s. “Come on, I saw a booth with the world’s worst cotton candy. You’ll love it.” She tugged Joey away, leaving Pacey and Dawson to trail behind.

For a minute, they walked in silence, Pacey shoving his hands deep into his sweatpants pockets. The words burned in his throat, but he forced them out anyway.

“Hey, Dawson?”

“Yeah?” Dawson didn’t look up, eyes scanning the midway, already distracted by the lights and noise.

Pacey licked his lips, heart hammering. “Hypothetically… what would you say if I told you I liked Joey?”

That got Dawson’s attention. His head whipped toward Pacey, brows raised. “Joey? Joey Potter?”

Pacey tried to laugh it off, but it came out rough. “Yeah. I mean… she’s smart, funny, way out of my league, obviously. But, I don’t know. She’s… Joey.”

Dawson’s expression shifted, complicated, somewhere between surprise and something darker. He forced a chuckle, shaking his head. “I just… never thought about it. You and Joey. It’s… unexpected.”

“Unexpected bad?” Pacey pressed, careful.

Dawson hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s my best friend, Pacey. You know how I feel about her.”

They wove through the crowd, the hum of games and music covering the tension pressing between them. Pacey kicked at a loose bottlecap on the ground, then glanced sideways at Dawson.

“No, see… that’s the thing. I don’t know,” he said. “You say she’s your best friend, but that’s not an answer.”

Dawson frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Pacey’s voice sharpened, “I know how I feel about her. I like her. More than I should, probably. But if you’re gonna tell me you’ve got some grand plan to sweep her off her feet, then fine, I’ll step aside. I’m not gonna put her in the middle of us. But if you don’t… then I need to know that too.”

Dawson blinked, caught off guard by Pacey’s bluntness. For a moment he seemed to search for the right words.

Finally, he sighed. “Pacey, Joey’s… Joey. She’s my best friend. She’s like… family.”

“Family?” Pacey echoed, half incredulous, half bitter. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Look, I’m with Jen. I’m happy with Jen,” Dawson said quickly, a little too defensive. “I don’t have… feelings for Joey. Not like that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Dawson hesitated, jaw tightening. “Because she’s Joey. We grew up together. She’s… she’s always been there. I don’t know if I like the idea of her being… with someone else. Especially not you.”

Pacey stopped in his tracks, blinking. “What the hell does that mean? ‘Especially me’?”

“You’re not,” Dawson faltered, then pushed on. “You’re not a relationship guy.” Dawson shrugged, like it wasn’t worth the energy. “Come on, Pacey. Do whatever you want. I’m not gonna stop you. It’s not like Joey would actually go for you that way.”

The words stung sharper than Pacey expected. He let out a brittle laugh, trying to cover it. “So that’s it? No big speech? No drama? Just… ‘go ahead, Pacey, good luck, she’d never pick you anyway’?”

“Pretty much,” Dawson said, already scanning the crowd for Jen and Joey. “I mean, you’re… you. She’s Joey. Oil, meet water.”

Pacey shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing a smirk he didn’t feel. “Guess we’ll see.”

But inside, his chest ached. Because Dawson might not have meant it cruel, but it echoed every fear Pacey carried: that Joey Potter was a million miles out of his league, and everyone knew it, especially her.

Jen tugged Joey toward the cotton candy booth, laughing as the spun sugar stuck to her fingers. Joey tried to focus on the bustle of the fair, the squeal of the rides, the neon lights flickering across the midway, anything but the memory of Pacey’s hands.

Jen handed her a tuft of pink fluff. “Here. Sugar therapy. Works better than Advil.”

Joey tore off a piece, chewing more than tasting.

Jen tilted her head, studying her. “You seem… relaxed.”

Joey nearly choked. “Relaxed?”

“Yeah,” Jen said lightly, licking her fingers. “You’re usually all sharp edges. Tonight you’re… softer. Like something good happened.”

Heat flared in Joey’s cheeks. She straightened her shoulders, too quick. “I’m not softer. And nothing happened.”

Jen blinked, amused. “Wow. Defensive much?”

“I’m not defensive,” Joey snapped, then groaned. “Okay, maybe a little. But that’s because you’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

Jen smirked. “Mhm. Sure.” She let it go, tossing the last of the candy into the trash. “Come on, the Ferris wheel’s calling our names.”

Joey followed, arms crossed tight, not because she was cold, but because she could still feel the ghost of Pacey’s touch on her skin.

They strolled away from the booth, the sticky-sweet smell of spun sugar lingering. Joey shoved her hands into her pockets, chewing on her lip like she was working up the courage for something.

“So… say I was more relaxed,” she started carefully.

Jen glanced at her. “Okay…”

“And say I planned on staying that way. You know. More often.”

Jen’s brows lifted. “You’re going to have to give me a little more than that. Relaxed how?”

Joey’s eyes darted to the midway lights, avoiding Jen’s. “Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically.” Jen slowed her pace, curiosity sharpening. “Are we talking yoga and green tea relaxed, or…?”

Joey groaned, ducking her head. “Not that kind of relaxed. More like… not overthinking. Just… letting things happen. With someone.”

Jen stopped, turning to face her fully now. “With someone.” She tilted her head, studying Joey with open intrigue. “And who is this someone?”

Joey’s cheeks flamed. “Hypothetically. Doesn’t matter who. Just… say I wanted to keep things light. Nothing serious. Just… exploring. How would that work?”

Jen blinked, surprised by the question. Of all the things she’d expected Joey Potter to come out with, that wasn’t on the list. “Well,” she said slowly, “it depends. Some people can do casual. Some can’t. But if you’re talking about you…” she let the pause hang. “I guess I need more details before I can give real advice.”

Joey shifted her weight, wishing the Ferris wheel lights weren’t quite so bright. “Details are… complicated.”

Jen smiled faintly. “Aren’t they always?”

Joey kicked at a loose stone on the path, eyes fixed firmly ahead. “Hypothetically,” she said, drawing out the word, “no one’s in danger of having feelings. Definitely not me. And he doesn’t exactly care for my sparkling personality either.”

Jen arched a brow, amused. “So what does he care for?”

Joey’s mouth twisted into a wry half-smile. “Aesthetics, I guess. And I’ll admit, he’s… aesthetically pleasing. Insufferable personality, though. Hypothetically.”

Jen gave a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Right. Hypothetically.” She let the word hang for a beat, then added, “Look, I’m not judging. But some people can do casual, and some people can’t. No offense, Joey, but… I’m not sure you can.”

That made Joey snap her gaze sideways, bristling. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Jen’s expression stayed gentle, not mocking. “It means you feel things deeply. You’re not exactly great at keeping people at arm’s length. Even when you try.”

Joey opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again, cheeks warm. She hated how close Jen might be to the truth.

“Hypothetically,” Joey muttered, “you don’t know everything about me.”

“No,” Jen agreed, her tone soft but knowing. “But I know enough to see you might be underestimating yourself.”

Joey exhaled, the breath misting faintly in the cool night air. “Okay… maybe you’re right. About some of it.”

Jen tilted her head, listening.

“I couldn’t do casual if I really liked someone. If it was, serious.” Her voice dipped on the last word, like even saying it made her throat tighten.

Jen nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”

“But this hypothetical…” Joey shrugged, tugging her sleeves down over her hands. “I really don’t like him like that. Not in that way. He drives me crazy half the time. But it's… fun. Different. And maybe that’s all I want right now. Experiences. Things to know for myself.”

For once, Jen didn’t fill the silence right away. She just studied Joey’s face, the guarded way she said “fun” like it was a shield.

Finally, she smiled faintly. “You know, Joey, there’s nothing wrong with wanting experiences. Just… make sure you’re being honest with yourself along the way. That’s the part that trips people up.”

Joey smirked, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Honesty. Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Joey shoved her hands deeper into her pockets, trying to look casual. Jen, though, was still watching her with that sly little half-smile.

From the corner of her eye, Joey saw two familiar figures weaving through the crowd. Dawson, animated, talking with his hands. And beside him, Pacey. His stride loose, his expression easy, like nothing in the world weighed on him. The Pacey Witter mask firmly back in place.

Jen leaned closer, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, would you look at that. Your hypothetical’s on his way.”

Joey stiffened, shooting her a glare. “Don’t.”

Jen just smirked, straightening as the boys closed in.

“Cotton candy for the ladies?” Dawson asked, gesturing toward the booth behind them. “I swear, Jen, you’ve got Joey eating sugar after ten, the world’s going to implode.”

“Relax, Dawson,” Jen said breezily. “She’s allowed to live a little.”

Pacey’s eyes flicked to Joey then, just for a second. Quick, unreadable. Then he grinned, throwing an arm over Dawson’s shoulder like old times. 

Joey rolled her eyes, hiding the rush of heat in her cheeks. He looked like the same old Pacey, teasing, cocky, unbothered. But she knew better. Because she knew what it was like to feel his hands on her, his mouth against hers.

And now, standing in the glow of the Ferris wheel with Dawson between them, she wasn’t sure who she was kidding more, Jen, Pacey, or herself.

The four of them lined up, the Ferris wheel creaking overhead, its cars glowing in a lazy loop. Dawson, oblivious as ever, hopped into the one behind them with Jen. Joey climbed into the next, tugging Pacey in after her before the operator swung the bar closed.

The car rocked gently as it rose, the fairgrounds sprawling beneath them in ribbons of neon. Joey sat stiffly at first, arms crossed, eyes fixed anywhere but him.

Finally, she spoke. “So… about this week.”

Pacey’s heart thudded. Here it comes.

Joey turned to him, her expression fierce, like she had to force the words out before she lost her nerve. “If this is going to… continue, I think we need some rules.”

“Rules,” Pacey repeated, dry-mouthed.

“Yeah.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Number one: no feelings. This isn’t about romance, or crushes, or… whatever. Just physical.”

Pacey’s throat went tight. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Number two: honesty. If either of us wants to stop, we stop. No guilt, no pressure.”

Pacey swallowed hard, finally finding his voice. “Go back to number one.”

Joey frowned. “What about it?”

“What do you mean, ‘no feelings’?” His laugh was strained, too sharp. “You say that like feelings are some kind of optional switch.”

“They are,” Joey shot back. “At least here. I don’t like you, Pacey. You don’t like me. This is… fun. That’s it.”

The car jolted as it climbed higher, and Pacey gripped the bar, trying not to let his panic show. Because if she thought this was just an experiment, just her way of scratching an itch, then he was already in trouble.

The wheel slowed as their car neared the top, the whole fair spread out in glittering trails of light below. Joey shifted, staring out at the horizon like she could avoid his gaze.

Pacey finally exhaled, leaning forward. “Why do you think I don’t like you?”

Her head snapped around, eyes wide. “What?”

“You said it like it’s fact. Like you’re so sure I don’t… like you.” His voice was quieter now, but steady.

Joey blinked, then huffed out a nervous laugh, missing the weight in his tone. “Pacey, come on. I know you… care about me. In your own weird way. We’re… friends. Or something like it.” She waved her hand, fumbling for words. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” he asked, searching her face.

She looked away again, out over the crowd below. “I mean like… not in a boyfriend/girlfriend way. Not holding hands and mooning at each other in public. No romance. That’s not us.”

Pacey sat back, forcing a smirk even as his chest tightened. “No romance,” he repeated, the words sour in his mouth.

“Exactly,” Joey said, relieved, as if she’d just settled the terms of a contract. “Just… fun. That’s all.”

The wheel jerked them forward again, rocking the car, and Pacey gripped the safety bar a little too tightly. She couldn’t hear the storm in his head, how badly he already wanted things she’d just declared off-limits.

Pacey let the silence hang for a beat, then smirked, tilting his head toward the flashing midway below. “Right. No romance. Got it.”

She glanced at him warily. “Exactly.”

“Except…” He gestured around them, voice dripping with mock-seriousness. “We’re currently on a Ferris wheel. You know, the number-one backdrop for every vomit-inducing rom-com kiss scene in history. I’m pretty sure this qualifies as a date, Potter.”

Her mouth dropped open. “It does not.”

“Oh, come on,” Pacey pressed, grinning now. “Ferris wheel? Fairgrounds? Next you’ll drag me onto the Tilt-a-Whirl and feed me cotton candy. Peak romance. We’re basically going steady.”

Joey huffed, trying not to smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he drawled, leaning back against the seat with that maddeningly smug expression, “you’re here. With me. On a Ferris wheel. Which, for the record, Dawson Leery has never managed to pull off.”

Joey’s laugh burst out before she could stop it, and she shoved at his shoulder. “This isn’t a date, Witter.”

“Sure,” he said lightly, though something in his chest twisted as he forced the grin to stay. “Whatever you say.”

The car creaked as it slowed again, holding them near the top. Joey sat beside him, arms crossed, lips still curved from laughing at his joke. She looked… free. Untouchable. And Pacey’s chest hurt just looking at her.

He couldn’t do this. Not the way she wanted.

On the outside, he smirked, easy and cocky as always. On the inside, he was coming apart. Joey wanted “no feelings,” just some casual fling disguised as an experiment. But Pacey? He already knew he couldn’t touch her without falling harder every time.

How do I tell her that?

If he said no, if he turned her down now, she’d never understand. She’d think he didn’t want her. That he didn’t find her beautiful, didn’t crave her every second, when the truth was he wanted her too much.

And worse, it all pressed too close to something he couldn’t forget. Tamara. That mess, that secret, that sick tangle of shame and want. He’d promised himself he’d never go back there, never be someone’s mistake again. Especially not Joey Potter’s.

Because Joey wasn’t Tamara. Joey was… Joey.

The thought made his stomach twist. He didn’t want this to feel like that, didn’t want to blur the line between wrong and right, want and need. Not with her. Never with her.

But she’d laid out her rules, no feelings, no strings. She’d made it sound so simple. And maybe it was for her. But for him? He knew he wasn’t walking away intact.

So do I tell her? Do I let her know I can’t do this her way?

The Ferris wheel jolted, the bar rattling, and Joey glanced at him, amused. He forced a crooked grin to hide the panic clawing inside him. Because as much as he wanted to confess, to tell her she was already breaking him open, he couldn’t. Not yet.

Because how do you say no to Joey Potter when she’s finally, impossibly, looking at you like you’re enough?

Chapter Text

The truck rumbled along the dark back roads, headlights cutting narrow beams through the trees. Joey sat angled toward the window, chin propped on her hand. For a while neither of them spoke.

Finally, she broke the silence. “You’ve been quiet since the Ferris wheel.”

Pacey tightened his grip on the wheel. “Just thinking.”

Her voice was light, but there was a quiver under it. “If you’re not interested, it’s fine. We can chalk it up to, you know… heat of the moment.” She swallowed hard, trying to mask the edge of fear in her tone. Don’t say you don’t want me.

Pacey glanced at her, saw the stiffness in her shoulders, and shook his head. “That’s not it. Believe me, that’s not it.”

“Then what?”

He blew out a breath. “I’m just… having trouble with your rules. The whole ‘no feelings, no strings’ thing.” He hesitated, then added, “It feels too close to… Tamara. Sneaking around, pretending it doesn’t mean anything. I can’t, I don’t want to go back there. Especially not with you.”

Joey’s head snapped toward him. “So… what, you want to tell people?”

Her voice wasn’t angry, just wary.

He kept his eyes on the road. “I don’t know what I want. I just know I don’t want this to be some dirty little secret.”

Joey let out a shaky laugh. “Well, I’m not ashamed. But you know how this town works. It’s not a good look for a girl to… want casual. Everyone would talk. And just because I want that kind of relationship with you doesn’t mean I want it with every Tom, Dick, or Harry.”

Her words landed heavier than she meant them to, and the cab went quiet again. Pacey’s throat worked, but he didn’t push. Not yet.

Because between Joey’s need for control and his need for more, they were balancing on a line neither of them really understood.

The road stretched out quiet, only the hum of the engine filling the silence between them. Joey kept her eyes on the passing blur of trees, arms crossed tight like she was bracing for him to say he was done.

Instead, Pacey’s voice came low but steady. “I’ve got feelings for you, Jo.”

Her head whipped toward him, eyes wide.

He kept his gaze on the road, jaw tight. “So, for me, this isn’t casual. It’s not nothing. But if you’re sure that’s all you want, then… fine. I can be that for you.” He paused, exhaling. “On one condition.”

Joey’s mouth went dry. “What?”

“No secrets,” he said firmly. “I’m not going to sneak around with you like I did with Tamara. I won’t do that again. And I won’t be with anyone else. So whatever you feel like you want to tell people, I’ll go along with that. But I won’t be your dirty little secret, Potter.”

The words hung heavy in the cab. Joey’s fingers twisted in the edge of her sleeve, her pulse thudding so loud she thought he might hear it.

She wanted to argue, to shove the weight of his confession back at him. But deep down, something warm flickered at the idea of him refusing to treat her like nothing.

She turned back toward the window, voice softer than she meant it to be. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

Pacey let out a short laugh, but his hands stayed clenched on the wheel. “Yeah. And you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

The truck rolled on, both of them quiet, but for the first time that night, Joey wasn’t sure her rules would hold.

The truck’s headlights washed over the winding road, but Joey wasn’t looking outside anymore. She was staring at him, eyes narrowed, voice sharper than she meant.

“Why?”

Pacey glanced over. “Why what?”

“Why do you like me?” she pressed. “Since when? And why have you never said anything?”

For a second, he looked like he might deflect with a joke. But the words came tumbling out before he could stop them.

“Because you’re funny. And smart. And stubborn as hell. You’re strong, Potter. You don’t let anybody tell you who to be. And… you’re beautiful. You care about people even when you don’t want to. That’s why.”

Joey blinked, taken off guard by how quickly, how easily he’d said it.

“As for since when…” He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Since always, I guess. Do you remember when you punched Alex Jenkins for calling you a stinky boy because you only ever hung out with guys?”

Her lips twitched, unwillingly. “We were nine, Pacey.”

“Exactly.” He shrugged, half-grinning. “I think it started then. I just… got used to it. Knew you’d never have anything to do with me like that, so it just became… white noise in the back of my head.”

He drummed his fingers on the wheel, admitting it before he could lose his nerve. “It got worse when you, uh, got boobs. And I didn’t exactly handle my raging hormones with grace. That’s when the banter got sharper. I just wanted your attention, Jo.”

The cab went quiet. Joey stared at him like she didn’t know what to do with him, with any of it.

And Pacey? He just kept his eyes on the road, heart pounding, wishing for once that he could stop blurting out the truth before it was too late.

Joey hugged her arms tighter around herself, staring out the windshield though her eyes weren’t really seeing the road.

He had no right saying things like that. Sweet, stupid things that made her chest ache when all she wanted was to keep this simple. An experiment. Just fun. No strings.

But then he’d gone and told her she was beautiful, stubborn, strong. Since always, he’d said. Since they were nine. Who even remembered something like that?

She felt her throat tighten, and the urge to lash out rose in her chest. Why couldn’t he just stay Pacey? The sex-obsessed clown who never took anything seriously? The friend she could use to scratch an itch and not feel guilty about it?

Because she wanted him. God help her, she wanted him. The way he kissed her, the way he touched her, she’d never felt anything like it.

But now every time she thought about being with him again, his words would echo: I’ve got feelings for you, Jo.

She didn’t want to take advantage of that. Didn’t want to become the villain in his story, the way Tamara had been.

And yet… her body still hummed at the memory of his mouth on hers, his hands on her skin. She wanted more. There were so many other experiments she wanted to try, with him.

She clenched her jaw, shoving the thoughts down, telling herself the same lie she’d been repeating all night: I don’t like him like that.

But the lie felt thinner now, stretched tight across something rawer.

By the time Pacey pulled into the Potter driveway, Joey had her mask back on. She thanked him too briskly, shoved her hands into her pockets, and hurried up the porch steps before he could say anything else that would make her chest twist.

That night, staring at the ceiling of her small bedroom, she made up her mind: No more experiments. Too risky. Too messy. Too… much.

Because if she let it keep happening, she’d start to hear his words again, since always, Potter, and she couldn’t afford that.

For a couple days, she stuck to it. Avoided him in the halls, made excuses about working late at the Icehouse, buried herself in homework. Every time she caught his eyes across the cafeteria, her stomach flipped, but she forced herself to look away.

Only… silence didn’t solve the problem. It made it worse.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized that not doing anything left too much space for people to talk. People always talked. And if it came out later, everyone would spin it into something uglier than it was.

So maybe, just maybe, telling people Pacey Witter was her boyfriend wasn’t such a bad idea. It made sense. It would shut people up before the gossip could even start. And if she said it first, she could control the story.

Besides… she told herself as she rolled over and pressed her face into her pillow, pretending the thought didn’t make her cheeks burn… it wasn’t like being Pacey’s girlfriend would be the worst thing in the world.

Pacey caught her at the end of the hall between classes, leaning casually against the lockers. “Well, well. If it isn’t Joey Potter, suddenly allergic to eye contact. You’ve been avoiding me, Josephine.”

Joey rolled her eyes, brushing past him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He smirked, but his eyes softened. “Or maybe I freaked you out the other night. If I did… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

She stopped dead, then spun back, grabbed a fistful of his sleeve, and dragged him into the nearest janitor’s closet. The door clicked shut behind them, plunging them into the dim, chemical-scented dark.

Pacey blinked, caught off guard. “Potter, if this is how you punish a guy for apologizing.”

“Shut up,” Joey hissed, pacing a step before turning to face him. Her hands balled at her sides. “Why don’t we just… tell people we’re dating?”

His mouth fell open. “Wait. What?”

“Or,” she added quickly, words tumbling over each other, “we could actually date. Either way. Whatever works.”

Pacey stared at her, stunned. “Are you serious?”

Joey’s chest rose and fell fast, her bravado cracking. “Pacey, I can’t stop thinking about you, okay? I’ve tried, God, I’ve tried, to repeat what you did, and I can’t. It’s not the same. I want that. And if getting to know you better in the process is part of the deal, then fine. More than fine.”

For once, Pacey had no quip ready. No mask. Just her words, ricocheting around his chest, knocking the breath out of him.

“Potter,” he said finally, voice rough. “You just might kill me, you know that?”

Joey swallowed, a nervous smile twitching at her lips. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re already used to living dangerously.”

For a heartbeat they just stared at each other in the dim light, breaths colliding, the air thick with everything unsaid. Then Joey fisted her hand in the front of his borrowed hoodie and pulled him down to her.

The kiss wasn’t frantic, not this time. It was steady, grounding, a promise pressed against his lips. Pacey cupped her face, careful, reverent, like he didn’t want to break whatever spell had finally let her choose him.

When they pulled apart, Joey’s eyes searched his, wide and uncertain. “So… we’re really doing this?”

Pacey’s grin was crooked but sure. “Looks that way, Potter.”

She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head, then reached for his hand. Her fingers slid between his, warm and firm, like she’d been doing it all her life.

They pushed open the closet door and stepped into the crowded hallway. A couple of kids glanced their way, but no one gawked. No whispers, no pointed fingers. Just another pair of students walking hand in hand.

Joey half-expected Dawson to appear around the corner, or for Jen to arch an eyebrow and smirk. But no one stopped them. No one cared.

The strangest part was how natural it felt, their hands linked as they moved down the hall. As if this wasn’t the start of something impossible, but the most obvious thing in the world.

And though Joey told herself it was still just an experiment, still casual, some part of her couldn’t shake the thought: This feels an awful lot like more.

Chapter Text

They fell into a rhythm fast. Stolen hours between classes, late nights when Bessie thought she was studying, long drives where Pacey pulled over on some deserted stretch of road.

Every time, it started the same: his hands roaming, teasing, mapping her body like it was his favorite subject. And every time, Joey told herself it was just an experiment, just curiosity. Only, she couldn’t get enough. She craved the way he built her up, coaxed sounds from her she didn’t know she could make, gave her release so sweet she left fingernail marks on his shoulders.

Tonight, though, was different.

They were in his room, the door locked, the house mercifully quiet. Joey lay back against his pillows, her shirt already shoved up, breath coming fast as his mouth moved hot and open along hers.

Then he pulled back, eyes searching hers. “Can I try something?”

Her heart stuttered. “Like what?”

“Trust me?” he asked, a flicker of nerves breaking through the usual smirk.

She nodded, too curious to say no.

His mouth traveled lower, trailing kisses down her throat, across her collarbone. Joey gasped when his lips closed over one breast, his tongue circling her nipple, while his hand teased the other with a gentle roll. A low moan slipped from her, shockingly loud in the quiet room.

He stayed there, worshipping, until she was nearly writhing beneath him. Then he kissed lower. And lower still.

“God, Pacey,” she whimpered, not recognizing her own voice.

He lifted his head just enough to grin, lips shining. “Told you this experiment would be fun.”

And then he was moving lower still. Down the flat of her stomach, slow enough to drive her mad. Her thighs quivered, parting instinctively when he reached them. Pacey looked up at her, silently asking permission. Joey tilted her hips in answer and he slid her jeans off and away from her. 

Pacey’s hands anchored her hips as his mouth brushed over her underwear right where she needed him most, before pulling the garment aside.

The first flick of his tongue over that bundle of nerves made her see stars. Joey jerked, a strangled sound ripping from her throat, but Pacey murmured something against her, a pleased sound, before settling in and teasing her with steady, unrelenting strokes. It was nothing like his hand. This was deeper, wetter, impossibly intimate, every nerve ending lit on fire.

Her hips bucked helplessly, her fingers fisting his hair, and every stroke built the fire higher until it consumed her. The release tore through her suddenly, white-hot and overwhelming, and she cried out his name as she shattered.

When she finally sagged back against the pillows, limp and trembling, Pacey crawled up beside her, pressing a lazy kiss to her temple. His grin was cocky, but his eyes were softer than she expected.

“So,” he said lightly, though his voice was still rough, “conclusion?”

Joey let out a shaky laugh, trying to catch her breath. “Stars,” she whispered, still dazed. “I saw stars.”

“Guess we’ll need to replicate the results,” he teased, brushing his lips over hers again.

She smacked his shoulder weakly, but her smile gave her away. Because she already knew she wanted more.

It started the way it always did now, homework scattered on her bed, pencils abandoned, their mouths fused together instead of working through equations.

Pacey had her pressed back into the pillows, his hand teasing at her side, when Joey suddenly pushed at his chest. He blinked down at her, confused. “What, you’ve had enough already?”

She bit her lip, a flicker of nerves flashing in her eyes. “No. I just… it’s my turn.”

His brows shot up, slow grin spreading. “Your turn, huh? To do what exactly?”

Joey sat up, stubborn as ever. “Return the favor. For science.”

Pacey’s laugh rumbled low in his chest, but it cut off when she slid down between them, fingers tugging at his belt. “Joey…” His voice broke on her name, a warning and a plea all at once.

She ignored it, too focused now, curiosity burning hotter than embarrassment. She pushed his jeans down just far enough, her hands skimming over him, studying every twitch and shiver like data points. His head fell back against the wall, breath coming unevenly.

“God, Potter,” he groaned, his hand curling tight in the blanket. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Her lips brushed over him, tentative at first, then firmer when she heard the sound it tore from his throat. Encouraged, she experimented, testing what made him gasp, what made his hips jerk, what made him clutch at her like he was unraveling.

“Jesus,” he hissed, trying to breathe. “You’re… you’re way too good at this for a first-timer.”

Joey glanced up, cheeks flushed but eyes steady. “Fast learner,” she said simply, then went back to her work with stubborn determination.

Pacey’s hands fumbled into her hair, not guiding, just holding on, as though he needed the anchor. The tension coiled tight in him, he tried to move her away. Tell her she didn’t need to keep going. But her eyes fixed on him that fire and stubbornness mixed with lust, she took him as deep as she could. Finally he broke with a strangled curse, shuddering apart under her mouth.

He collapsed back, breathless and undone, staring at the ceiling like he’d just been knocked out cold.

Joey climbed back up beside him, smug despite her blush. “So?” she asked, trying for casual but unable to hide the pride in her tone.

Pacey turned his head, eyes still dazed. A slow, reverent smile curved his lips. “Best damn science partner I’ve ever had.”

To everyone else, it looked simple. Joey Potter and Pacey Witter, just another pair of high schoolers dating.

He carried her books between classes, slung his arm around her shoulder in the cafeteria, walked her to biology like it was his mission in life. She let him lace their fingers together in the halls, rolling her eyes but not pulling away.

It was normal. Ordinary.

And yet, every time Joey felt the weight of his hand at the small of her back or caught him watching her with that crooked grin, something twisted in her chest. For Pacey, it was real, she could see it in the way he looked at her. For her… she told herself it wasn’t. It was an experiment. Just fun. Only, sometimes it felt like she was lying to everyone. Especially him.

Joey slammed her locker shut one morning only to find Pacey already leaning against the one next to it, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place.

“You wore that shirt on purpose,” he said, low enough for only her to hear.

She glanced down at the fitted white top, then back up with a glare. “It’s a shirt, Pacey.”

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, eyes deliberately lingering on the way it hugged her. “And those jeans? You’re trying to kill me.”

She rolled her eyes and tried to shoulder past him, but his hand caught hers, squeezing just once before letting go. The touch burned all through algebra, and she hated how much she wanted more.

But then, between second and third period, he tugged her into a janitor’s closet.

She barely had time to roll her eyes before his mouth was on hers, hot and insistent. His hands framed her hips, pulling her flush against him. Her annoyance melted instantly, her body betraying her with the way it arched into his.

He broke away just enough to breathe against her ear, his voice rough. “You have no idea the things I can’t wait to do with you later.”

Her knees nearly buckled at the heat of it.

For those stolen minutes, all the guilt and the second-guessing vanished. She wasn’t tricking him, wasn’t lying to anyone. She was just Joey, on fire under Pacey’s touch.

“God, Potter,” he whispered against her lips, already kissing her like he’d been starving all morning.

Joey fisted his shirt, dragging him closer. “This is insane,” she breathed, even as she tilted her head to let him mouth at her throat.

“Insanely good,” he countered, his hand skimming under her shirt, thumb brushing skin. She gasped, clutching at him harder, the stolen moment spiraling into something desperate.

When the sound of footsteps passed outside, they froze, panting, foreheads pressed together. Then Joey bit back a laugh, half-wild. “We’re going to get caught.”

“Worth it,” he said without hesitation, kissing her again.

She turned to him, eyes blazing. “Fine. Your place after school. We’re finishing this experiment.”

Pacey’s grin widened, triumphant. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

And when the bell rang and they slipped back into the hall, Dawson pretended not to notice. He even smiled faintly when Jen teased him about the new couple, shrugging like it didn’t matter. But it did.

Because the more he watched them, the more something in his chest twisted. Pacey’s hand at the small of Joey’s back. Joey’s easy laugh, the kind she’d never shared with him that way. It was supposed to be harmless, just Pacey being Pacey. But lately, Dawson couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t a joke anymore.

He told himself Joey wasn’t like that. She wasn’t the kind of girl who got swept up in someone.

Only she was. At least with Pacey. 

The halls were buzzing. Word traveled faster than the tardy bell, Joey Potter and Pacey Witter, spotted leaving a hallway closet like they were in some teen soap.

At lunch, Jen caught the tail end of it. A couple of football players were laughing at their table, one elbowing the other.

“First he beds a teacher, now he tames the Ice Queen herself. What magic does Witter even have?”

The table erupted in snickers.

Jen snorted into her soda, smirking. “God, I love high school boys. So creative.”

She glanced across the table at Dawson, who didn’t look amused at all. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched around his tray.

“This isn’t funny,” he said flatly.

Jen raised a brow. “Oh, come on. Joey finally lets someone in, and you’re worried about… what? Her reputation?”

“Exactly,” Dawson snapped. “She doesn’t get how this looks. Pacey’s already got a reputation, and now she’s tied to it. Everyone’s going to assume the worst.”

Jen leaned back, unimpressed. “Or maybe she doesn’t care what people assume. Maybe she actually wanted this.”

Dawson shook his head, frustration etched all over his face. “I knew Pacey would be bad for her. He’s reckless, he’s immature. She deserves better than to be someone’s experiment.”

Jen’s eyes sparkled with irony, but she kept her voice light. “Maybe you should let Joey decide what she deserves.”

Dawson didn’t answer, but the storm brewing behind his eyes made it clear: he wasn’t about to.

Pacey’s room was dim, blinds pulled down, the faint hum of the ceiling fan stirring the heavy afternoon air. Joey barely made it past the door before his mouth was on hers, slamming it shut with his foot.

It wasn’t careful this time. It wasn’t teasing. It was heat and urgency, all the hunger they’d been bottling up through stolen touches and whispered jabs. Joey shoved him back against the door, kissing him like she needed air, like she’d been holding her breath since the closet.

“God, Potter,” Pacey groaned, hands already dragging under her shirt. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Good,” she shot back, yanking at his belt like her life depended on it.

His laugh broke on a moan when her hands found him, and he nearly lost it right there. But he caught her wrists gently, pushing her back onto the bed. “Not yet,” he breathed, voice rough. “My turn.”

Before she could argue, his mouth was on her again, neck, collarbone, lower. He kissed a heated trail down her stomach, pausing to lavish attention where he knew she melted. Joey arched beneath him, gasping, her fingers clutching the sheets as if to steady herself.

“Pacey”

“Impatient much?” he teased, though his own voice shook. His hand slipped lower, tugging her underwear aside just enough before his mouth replaced it.

The world fractured. Stars burst behind her eyes, her cry muffled into the pillow as his tongue and fingers worked in perfect rhythm. He held her hips down firmly when she writhed, every flick and stroke unraveling her until she shattered, shaking apart in his hands.

She barely had time to catch her breath before she pulled him up to her, crushing his mouth to hers. “Off,” she demanded, tugging at his jeans.

He grinned against her lips, helping her. “Bossy.”

“Efficient,” she corrected, but her hands were trembling as they slid over him. When she touched him, he choked on a curse, his forehead pressing to hers.

“Jesus, Joey…” He rocked into her hand. 

Then she shifted, straddling him instead, only their underwear left between them. The friction made her gasp, and when he groaned, hips bucking up instinctively, something hot surged through her.

They moved together, finding a rhythm, desperate and uncoordinated, chasing the edge with nothing but thin fabric separating them. The damp heat, the pressure, the way he clutched at her hips, it all blurred into raw sensation.

Joey buried her face in his shoulder, the sound of her own moans shocking her, as she ground harder, faster. His breath was ragged in her ear, his body straining beneath hers.

Release crashed over them almost in tandem, muffled cries and gasps swallowed by the night air.

When she collapsed against him, trembling and boneless, he held her close, kissing the top of her head.

For Joey, it wasn’t just the orgasm, it was the intimacy of their bodies locked together, moving as one. And she hated how much it scared her.

Because this wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Chapter Text

By the third week of their “experiment,” Pacey felt like he was living in two worlds.

To Joey, it was still casual, still just something they did when the door was closed or the hallway was empty. To him, it was everything, the way she laughed when he carried her books, the way she leaned into his arm in the cafeteria, the way she let him kiss her breathless between classes. He couldn’t help it; it felt like being her boyfriend.

So when he found her snapping at her locker one afternoon, shoving books in with too much force, he stepped up beside her, easy grin in place.

“Hey, Potter. What’s with the storm cloud? Can I help?”

She slammed the locker door shut. “No. You can’t. I’m on my period, okay?” The words came out sharper than she meant, her face flushed with embarrassment. “So no experiments. No touching. Just… no.”

Before he could answer, she shouldered her bag and stalked off down the hall.

That night, there was a knock at her window. Joey rolled her eyes, but when she slid it open, Pacey was standing there with a greasy paper bag in one hand and a plastic tub of ice cream in the other.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He shrugged, climbing inside like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You missed the part where this was actual dating. Salty fries, sweet ice cream, and…” He pulled a VHS tape from under his arm with a flourish. “A chick flick Dawson would rather die than sit through.”

Joey blinked at him, thrown completely off balance. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” He handed her the bag. “But I’m your insane boyfriend. At least until you kick me out.”

Her chest tightened as she looked down at the food. No experiment, no rule could explain the way her heart leapt at the thought of him showing up just because she’d had a bad day.

“Fine,” she muttered, grabbing the bag before he could change his mind. “But if you cry at the movie, I’m telling everyone.”

He smirked, flopping onto her bed like he belonged there. “Deal.”

And as she curled up beside him with a fry in one hand and the remote in the other, Joey realized with a jolt of panic and excitement both: she was in way deeper than she’d ever planned.

The movie droned on, flickering shadows against Joey’s bedroom walls. Neither of them was really paying attention anymore. Joey was curled into Pacey’s side, her head tucked against his shoulder, the half-eaten carton of ice cream abandoned on the nightstand.

He smelled faintly of fries and soap, his arm loose but steady around her. For the first time in days, her body wasn’t humming with guilt or nerves or want, just warmth. Just quiet.

She meant to sit up when the credits rolled, meant to tell him he had to go before Bessie noticed. But somewhere between his soft laugh at a cheesy line and the gentle brush of his thumb against her arm, her eyelids grew heavy.

When Bessie cracked the door later, ready to remind her sister about an early shift at the Icehouse, she froze.

Joey and Pacey were tangled together on top of the blankets, sound asleep. Joey’s hair spilled across his chest, his hand still resting protectively at her side.

For a moment, Bessie considered waking them, pointing out the dangerous precedent, the rules they were already breaking. But then Joey stirred in her sleep, burrowing closer, and Pacey shifted just enough to tighten his hold, even unconscious.

Bessie’s throat softened with something she didn’t expect. They were so young, and she knew it might not last, but right there they just looked… right.

She closed the door quietly, shaking her head with a smile. Maybe tomorrow she’d say something about rules and responsibility. Tonight, she’d let them be cute.

The rest of the week slid by in a blur, stitched together by Pacey showing up at Joey’s window every evening like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Bessie, after catching them asleep once, had reminded Joey firmly about “the rules.” No more sleepovers. No exceptions.

So they didn’t fall asleep together again. But that didn’t stop Pacey from coming back.

Instead, they did homework sprawled across her floor, books open but mostly forgotten as they traded sarcastic commentary about their teachers. They ate greasy takeout and whatever Bodie had left in the fridge, Joey pretending to scowl when Pacey stole food off her plate. They laughed until Bessie rolled her eyes and shut the door on them.

And every morning at school, he was waiting at her locker. He carried her books, walked her to class, slid his fingers between hers in the crowded hallway.

To everyone else, they just looked like two teenagers dating. Ordinary. Normal.

To Joey, it was dangerous. It was starting to feel… good. Too good. She told herself it was just because of the jokes, the fries, the banter. It was safe, it was fun.

But the truth was, every time Pacey laced their fingers together, every time his shoulder brushed hers in the hallway, it felt a little less like an experiment and a little more like something she wasn’t ready to name.

By the time Friday rolled around, Joey was restless. A whole week of Pacey at her window, sitting cross-legged on her floor, feeding her fries and cracking jokes, it was too… safe. Too close to something real.

She needed the experiment again. The heat, the noise, the distraction.

So when his mouth found hers that night, she tugged him down onto the bed without hesitation, urgency thrumming through her. Their kisses turned hot fast, teeth clashing, hands already tugging at clothes.

This time, though, there was no barrier left. Skin on skin, slick heat meeting, and suddenly they were grinding against each other with nothing in between.

Joey moaned into his mouth, clutching at his shoulders. “God, Pacey.”

Her hips rocked, chasing that sharp, dizzying friction. She loved this, loved how raw it was, how they could use each other’s bodies to fall apart, no words, no feelings, just release.

Only Pacey froze. His hand slid to her hip, steadying her. His breath was ragged, his forehead pressed against hers.

“Jo,” he rasped. “Wait.”

She stilled, blinking at him, frustrated and confused. “What? Don’t you…”

“I do,” he groaned, his body shaking above hers. “God, I do. But this, this is too close to something else. Something we can’t just… do without talking about it.”

The words cut through her haze. She knew what he meant. No longer “just fooling around.” No longer an experiment. This was the edge of everything else.

For a long moment, she just breathed against him, both of them trembling. And then she pulled away, her face shuttered.

“Fine,” she muttered, rolling to the side, grabbing for her shirt. “We won’t.”

But as she tugged it over her head, her chest ached. Because she wanted it, wanted him, more than she was ready to admit.

Joey yanked her shirt halfway over her head before Pacey’s hand closed gently around her wrist.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She froze, glaring at him under the fabric. “What? You said we couldn’t.”

“I said we couldn’t go there without talking about it.” His voice was rough but steady. He tugged her back toward him, the shirt slipping down around her shoulders again. “Doesn’t mean we can’t do anything.”

Before she could argue, his other hand slid down between her thighs, pressing firmly through the heat of her. Her breath hitched, eyes going wide.

“Pacey”

“Shh,” he whispered, leaning in close, his forehead resting against hers as his fingers began to move. “I’ll be ready when you are. Until then, this works just fine.”

Her protest dissolved into a gasp as pleasure overtook her, her body arching helplessly into his hand. He kissed the corner of her mouth, murmuring against her skin while his touch drew her higher.

And when she came apart with his name on her lips, clinging to him like she might break, she couldn’t deny it anymore: whatever she was calling this “experiment,” Pacey Witter was already in too deep..

After Joey drifted off, curled against his side, Pacey lay awake staring at the ceiling. Her hair tickled his jaw, her breath warm and steady against his chest. He should have been content, she’d let him hold her, let him touch her, trusted him enough to unravel in his arms.

And he was content. More than that, he was wrecked.

Because in his mind, this wasn’t an experiment. It never had been. The day she’d pulled him into that janitor’s closet and said why don’t we just tell people we’re dating?  That was real to him. She might’ve said it like a strategy, a way to keep control, but Pacey hadn’t heard it that way. To him, Joey Potter had chosen him.

She was his girlfriend.

And he was hers.

So when she whispered “no feelings” and brushed it off as just fun, he let her. He didn’t argue. Because he already knew where he stood, and he’d wait as long as it took for her to admit it out loud.

He wanted her, yes, in every possible way. His body ached with it every time she pressed against him, every time she kissed him until he saw stars. But what he wanted most was something he’d never had: to know what it was like to be with someone you loved, who loved you back.

And if that meant waiting forever for Joey Potter to catch up to him, he’d do it.

Because somewhere deep down, even if she didn’t see it yet, he believed she already loved him.

Chapter Text

Between classes, Joey caught his sleeve and tugged him toward the nearest janitor’s closet. Pacey stumbled after her, grinning like he always did when she got bossy, until the door clicked shut and he realized how serious her eyes were.

“Okay,” she said, folding her arms. “We can’t have sex until we talk about it. So let’s talk.”

Pacey blinked at her. “Talk,” he repeated.

“Yes. Get on the same page. Rules, expectations, whatever.” Her voice was brisk, like she was negotiating homework partners instead of whatever this was between them.

He studied her for a long moment, then shook his head. “Jo, I’m not going to take your first time from you.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t get it back if it’s with the wrong person.” His voice softened, steady but firm. “You need to love them, Jo. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Her throat went tight. “And you think you’re…”

“I’m saying…” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Do you love me?”

The words landed heavy between them, louder than the muffled footsteps outside.

Joey’s mouth opened, then closed. Finally she whispered, “I want you.”

Pacey’s heart squeezed. He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing her cheek. “That’s not the same thing, Potter.”

Her chest ached at the quiet in his voice, at how much it mattered to him.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, Joey wondered if she’d built a box around something that had already outgrown it.

Pacey leaned back against the shelves, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looked older in that moment, weighed down in a way Joey didn’t often see.

“My first time,” he said quietly, “wasn’t special. It wasn’t the right person. It was what I thought I wanted, but it wasn’t. It’s ugly now, Jo. It hurts to even think about it.”

Joey’s eyes softened, though she stayed silent.

He shook his head, meeting her gaze. “I won’t be that person for you. I won’t be the mistake you look back on and regret.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he pressed on, the words spilling out fast, rough around the edges.

“If this is real, if you like me enough to be with me, then fine. That’s enough for me. But if you can’t see it ever going beyond this, into something deeper…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “…then maybe we should break up.”

The closet felt too small, the air thick between them. Joey’s chest ached, torn between the safety of her rules and the raw plea in his eyes.

For the first time since she’d called it an experiment, she realized Pacey wasn’t playing at anything. 

Joey’s eyes narrowed, her pulse hammering in her throat. “You don’t get to decide that for me, Pacey. You don’t get to protect me from something I might feel one day.”

He flinched but held her gaze.

“And for the record?” she pressed, her voice trembling but sharp. “I only agreed to date you because that was the only way you’d go along with this in the first place. You wanted it to look real. Fine. But don’t twist it into some grand romance now.”

“Jo”

“No.” Her arms wrapped around herself like armor. “I don’t like you. I never have. And maybe you’re right. Maybe we should just break up.”

The words came out too fast, too raw, and the second they left her mouth she wanted to claw them back. But pride kept her chin high, even as the silence stretched.

Pacey’s face went pale, the light draining from his usual easy grin. He nodded once, sharp and final. “Guess that’s settled, then.”

He pushed past her, the door swinging open, the hallway noise crashing in around them. Joey stood frozen in the closet, her chest aching in a way she refused to think about.

The door shut behind him, but Joey’s words kept echoing in his head.

I don’t like you. I never have.

Pacey didn’t go back to class. He didn’t even bother pretending. He walked straight out of the building, his hands shoved in his pockets, his chest burning like he’d swallowed fire.

He’d thought he knew what it was to be humiliated. To be used. Tamara had made him feel dirty, wrong, but he’d never let himself fall apart. He’d shoved it down, joked it away, and kept moving.

This was different.

Because he’d let himself hope this time.

Joey was supposed to be different. She was supposed to be the proof that he wasn’t just good enough for a fling, or a dirty secret, or a joke whispered behind his back. With her, he’d believed, really believed, that he could be something more.

And now?

Now he knew better.

You’re good enough to scratch an itch but not to keep, his brain whispered cruelly. Not a boyfriend. Not someone real. Just a mistake.

By the time the final bell rang, Pacey was long gone, holed up by the docks with a bottle he didn’t want and a hollow ache in his chest he couldn’t shake.

He tugged at the edge of his sleeve, remembering how Joey used to grip his arm when she was close, nails biting into his skin when she couldn’t hold back. Now her touch was gone, and all he had was memory.

He thought about Ms. Jacobs, the lies, the hiding, the way she looked at him like he was a mistake she couldn’t admit to. He thought about his father, telling him he was nothing, that he’d never be anything. He thought about Joey’s voice, soft but firm, calling what they’d shared “experiments,” and it hollowed him out in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself, dragging a hand through his hair. “You knew better. You knew better, and you still fell.”

For the first time since Tamara, he didn’t just feel used. He felt broken.Doug spotted him near the docks, slouched against a piling with a half-empty bottle dangling from his hand. At first, Doug thought it was just another night of his screw-up little brother being reckless. But when he got closer and saw the glassy eyes, the rawness in Pacey’s face, something in him shifted.

“Jesus, Pacey,” Doug muttered, crouching down. “What the hell are you doing? You’re sixteen. You can’t be out here drinking like.”

“I’m fine,” Pacey slurred, trying to wave him off, the motion sloppy. “Perfectly fine. Always am, right?”

Doug reached for the bottle, but Pacey jerked it back, nearly tipping it over. His laugh was hollow, cracked. “Don’t bother. It won’t fix it. Nothing fixes it.”

Doug frowned. “Fix what?”

And that was all it took. The dam broke.

“Tamara,” Pacey blurted, the name sloshing out with the liquor. “You remember? My big, shiny secret. The one nobody cares about. She used me, Doug. And I let her. Thought it meant I was worth something.” He choked out a laugh, shaking his head. “But I wasn’t. Just her dirty little joke.”

Doug froze, his stomach twisting, but before he could speak, Pacey pressed on, words tumbling too fast.

“And Joey, God, Joey. I thought.” His voice cracked, raw and boyish. “I thought I mattered. That I could be more than fun for once. But I was wrong. She doesn’t like me. Never did. Just wanted to experiment, that’s what she called it. A fucking experiment.”

Doug reached out, but Pacey shrugged him off, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “And Mom and Dad? Don’t even start. Dad thinks I’m a waste of oxygen. Mom barely notices me unless she’s telling me to be quiet. And you? You’re the golden boy. Perfect Doug. Always have been. Me? I’m distinctly unlovable. That’s the word, right? Unlovable.”

The silence that followed was sharp, broken only by Pacey’s hiccuping breath. Doug sat back, stunned. He’d always thought his brother was careless, arrogant, unbothered. But here, drunk and unraveling, Pacey looked like the loneliest kid in the world.

And Doug didn’t know what scared him more: the confession itself, or the fact that Pacey actually believed it.

Pacey’s words dissolved into a ragged sob, the bottle slipping from his hand and thudding against the dock. He buried his face in his palms, shoulders shaking, the sound torn from somewhere deep.

“Why, Dougie?” His voice cracked, boyish and desperate. “Why doesn’t anyone love me? Not Mom, not Dad, not Joey… not even you.” He looked up then, eyes bloodshot and shining, searching his brother’s face with a pleading that nearly undid Doug. “What did I do? What’s so wrong with me?”

Doug’s throat closed, but Pacey wasn’t finished. His words came in a rush, gasping between tears.

* “How do I make it stop? Tell me how to stop it, Doug. I can’t.” His chest heaved, the sob breaking out raw and helpless. “I just want the pain to stop. Please. I just want it to stop!” *

The sound echoed across the empty docks, a cry so broken Doug couldn’t pretend anymore. He’d spent years rolling his eyes at Pacey, treating him like a nuisance. But sitting here now, watching his kid brother fold in on himself, Doug saw the truth: Pacey wasn’t careless. He was crushed.

Doug reached out, gathering Pacey into his arms despite the resistance. “Hey. Hey, Pacey. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? Nothing. This isn’t your fault.” His own voice cracked, the words rough against his throat. “And you’re not unlovable. Not to me. Not ever.”

Pacey clung to him then, shaking, crying so hard it felt like the grief might tear him apart. Doug held him tighter, rocking them both against the steady lap of the water. For the first time in their lives, the golden boy and the black sheep weren’t at odds. They were just brothers, one broken open, and the other finally realizing he needed to be there to catch him.

Pacey’s sobs had dulled to hiccuping breaths, his face pressed into Doug’s shoulder, his body heavy with exhaustion. Doug kept one arm around him, steady and firm, like he could will his brother’s pieces back together by sheer force.

“I’ve got you, little brother,” Doug murmured, his voice low but certain. “I promise. I’ve got you.”

Pacey shook his head weakly, words slurring. “Can’t… can’t go home. Dad sees me like this, he’ll kill me.” His breath hitched, panic threatening to rise again.

Doug pulled back just enough to grip his brother’s face, forcing Pacey’s glassy eyes to meet his. “Not home,” he said firmly. “My place. Come on. You’re coming with me.”

Pacey blinked, confusion cutting through the haze. “Your… place?”

“Yeah.” Doug managed a faint smile, though his chest was tight. “You think I’d let you walk in the door like this with Dad sitting in his chair? Not happening. You’re with me tonight.”

Something in Pacey’s expression crumbled again, but softer this time. Relief. He nodded, letting Doug haul him gently to his feet. His legs wobbled, and Doug steadied him, keeping a protective arm looped around his shoulders.

“Easy, Pacey,” Doug said quietly, guiding him toward the car. “One step at a time.”

And for the first time in as long as he could remember, Pacey didn’t argue. He let himself lean into his brother, let himself be taken care of.

Doug’s grip tightened, a vow unspoken but solid in his chest: I won’t let you carry this alone anymore.

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual chaos, trays clattering, voices rising, but Joey barely heard any of it.

Her eyes kept flicking toward the table where Pacey usually sprawled, shoving food into his mouth and cracking jokes. Empty.

By the time the lunch period was half over, her stomach was tight.

She told herself she shouldn’t care. She was the one who ended it. She was the one who said the words sharp enough to cut. I don’t like you. I never have.

But the longer she sat there, the worse it felt.

Because under all the banter and the flirting and the hands that made her see stars, Pacey had been… serious. About her. About them. About sex. He’d been so self-righteous, laying down rules, insisting she needed love before she took that step, like she couldn’t make that choice for herself.

It had infuriated her.

Until now.

Until she realized what he was really saying.

Pacey hadn’t gotten to make that choice for himself. His first time hadn’t been love, hadn’t even been safe. It had been taken from him, twisted into something ugly.

And he didn’t want that for her.

The thought made Joey’s throat close. She pressed her fork into her tray, hard enough to bend the plastic. She’d thrown his fear back in his face, called him arrogant, told him she never liked him. And he hadn’t fought her on it. He’d just… walked away.

Now his absence felt like proof of just how deep she’d cut.

Joey Potter felt sick. Because she wasn’t just lying to herself anymore, she’d hurt him in the one place he couldn’t hide.

Joey picked at her food, the noise of the cafeteria blurring around her. Pacey’s empty seat across from her felt like a spotlight. Every clatter of a tray made her look up, but it was never him.

Dawson slid onto the bench beside her, too casual. “You okay?”

She nodded without looking up. “Fine.”

“You’ve barely said two words all day.”

“Guess I ran out.”

Dawson hesitated, watching her with that familiar furrow of concern, the one that always meant he wanted something. “Did you and Pacey fight?”

Joey’s head snapped up. “Why would you think that?”

“Because he’s not here, and you’re… distracted.”

She sighed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yeah, we fought.”

Dawson’s mouth tightened, something satisfied flickering behind his eyes. “I’m sorry, Jo. I knew he wasn’t good for you.”

“Dawson”

“I just didn’t want to see you get hurt,” he pressed on, earnest and self-righteous all at once. “You deserve someone who knows you, who’s been there from the start. Someone who’s…”

“Destined?” she cut in, bitterness seeping through.

He blinked. “Well, yeah.”

Joey pushed her tray away. “I need air.”

From the next table over, Jen had seen the whole thing. She caught up to Dawson outside the cafeteria doors, crossing her arms.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

He sighed. “If it’s about Joey”

“It is. Because that’s all you talk about lately. Joey and Pacey. Pacey and Joey.”

His expression darkened. “Someone has to look out for her.”

Jen’s tone softened, but her eyes stayed sharp. “No, Dawson. You don’t want to look out for her. You want her to stay exactly where she’s always been, orbiting you.”

He flushed. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s true,” she said simply. “Ever since the carnival, you’ve been obsessed. You and I were fine until you saw them together and realized Joey wasn’t waiting around for your cue.”

“That’s not what this is,” he snapped. “I just don’t trust him with her.”

Jen tilted her head. “And you think that’s your decision to make?”

Dawson didn’t answer.

She sighed, voice gentler now. “Maybe it’s time to admit you’re not protecting Joey, Dawson. You’re protecting your version of her. And you’re going to lose her completely if you keep trying to control her story.”

She turned to leave. “And for what it’s worth? Pacey’s been good for her. The rest of us can see it, you’re the only one who can’t.”

He swallowed hard, the words landing deeper than he wanted to admit. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I can’t keep doing this.” Jen’s voice wavered, but she kept her eyes on him. “I can’t be the person you fall back on every time Joey doesn’t play her part in your movie. I deserve more than that.”

He stared at her, stricken. “Jen”

“You’re a good person, Dawson. You just don’t know how to let people exist outside of the story you’ve written for them. And until you do… no one’s ever going to be enough. Not even me.”

He told himself she was wrong. But somewhere deep down, he knew she wasn’t.

Later that night, when Joey ended up at his window, raw from guilt, confusion, and heartbreak, Dawson thought it was his moment. The chance to fix everything.

“Hey,” he said quietly, opening the window. “You heard about Jen?”

Joey nodded, climbing through. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

But as soon as he started talking, about destiny, about how he couldn’t imagine her with anyone else, Joey heard it for what it was: the script, the fantasy, the control.

“Jo, maybe this is how it’s supposed to be. You and me. We keep trying to make it work with other people, but it always comes back to us. It’s destiny.”

So she asked him the same question she’d once asked Pacey.

“Dawson,” she said softly, “why do you like me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Why do you like me?” she repeated. “Since when? What is it that you like?”

He smiled, relieved, like it was an easy question. “Jo, we’ve known each other forever. You’re my best friend. We grew up together. I realized how much I loved you the moment Pacey said he liked you, because I couldn’t imagine you with anyone but me.”

Joey’s heart sank.

Because Dawson’s answer was everything Pacey’s wasn’t. It was about history, not heart. Ownership, not knowing.

He kept talking, words tumbling over themselves, about memories, about movies, about fate, and all she could think about was Pacey’s voice in that other moment: You’re funny, smart, stubborn, strong, beautiful. Since always, Potter.

Dawson loved the idea of her. Pacey loved her.

When Dawson finally stopped, waiting for her to say something, she could only whisper, “You don’t actually know me, do you?”

His brow furrowed. “Jo”

But she was already shaking her head. “You know the version of me that fits in your movie. But I’m not her anymore.”

She turned toward the window, heart pounding. “And I don’t think I ever want to be.”

By the time she climbed out, the air felt lighter, sharp, clean, real. Somewhere out there, Pacey Witter existed in color, not black and white. And she wasn’t going to make the mistake of choosing the script over the truth again.

Joey’s feet carried her toward the marina, the sky bruised with evening. She wasn’t even sure what she’d say if she found him. Maybe nothing. Maybe just sorry.

The sound reached her first, slurred words carried over the water, ragged and thick. She slowed, slipping into the shadows between the boats.

Pacey sat slumped on the dock, a bottle dangling from his hand. Doug crouched beside him, steadying him every time he swayed.

“Why, Doug?” Pacey’s voice broke, loud in the quiet night. “Why doesn’t anyone love me? Not Mom. Not Dad. Not Joey. Not even you.” His laugh cracked into a sob. “What did I do? What’s so wrong with me?”

Joey’s breath caught, tears blurring her vision.

* “I just want it to stop,” Pacey went on, his words dissolving into hiccuping sobs. “I just want the pain to stop, Doug. Please. I can’t do this anymore.” *

Doug pulled him into his arms, voice low but fierce. “You’re not unlovable, Pacey. You hear me? You’re not. I’ve got you.”

Pacey clung to him, crying like the boy he still was, broken open in a way Joey had never seen.

She pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound that wanted to break free. The Pacey she knew, cocky, sarcastic, reckless, was gone. In his place was someone shattered, carrying scars she had only deepened.

And it hit her like a blow: she’d thought she was protecting herself. But in pushing him away, she’d confirmed every terrible thing he already believed about himself.

Joey turned from the dock, her face wet, her chest hollow. She wasn’t ready to face him. Not like this.

But she knew one thing with sickening certainty: this was no experiment anymore. Not for either of them.

Doug got Pacey back to his apartment, half-carrying him inside. He set him on the couch, pulled the bottle from his slack grip, and pressed a glass of water into his hand.

“Drink,” Doug ordered.

Pacey obeyed with a groan, the tremor in his hands making the water slosh. He looked wrecked, eyes red-rimmed, shoulders hunched like he could fold in on himself forever.

Doug sat on the coffee table across from him, watching his brother’s face. Unlovable. The word still echoed in his ears.

“I’m filing charges against Jacobs,” Doug said suddenly, the words hard, final.

Pacey blinked, sluggish. “Doug”

“No. Enough.” Doug’s voice sharpened. “What she did to you was a crime. It destroyed you. I’m not letting her get away with it.”

Pacey shook his head, sinking back into the couch. “You can’t. I already told them it was me. That I made it all up. Nobody’s going to believe me now.” His laugh was bitter, empty. “Let it go, Dougie. It’s done.”

Doug’s jaw tightened, but his eyes burned with something fiercer than pity. “Maybe they won’t believe you. But I don’t think you’re her only victim. People like her never stop at one. I’m going to dig. If I can find someone else, this doesn’t have to stay buried.”

Pacey dragged a hand over his face. “Why? What’s the point? I’m already broken.”

Doug leaned forward, gripping his brother’s knee. “Because you don’t deserve to carry this alone. And because it’s my job to protect people. That includes you.”

Pacey’s throat worked, but he didn’t answer.

Doug softened, exhaling slowly. “In the meantime… go to school. Talk to Joey. I know you think she doesn’t care, but I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She does. Let her tell you that.”

Pacey scoffed, but the flicker in his eyes betrayed him, a glimmer of hope he was too tired to smother.

Doug squeezed his knee once more, quiet but firm. “You’re not unlovable, little brother. Don’t you dare believe that.”

That night, he replayed it all, her laugh, the way she whispered his name when he touched her, the wide-eyed wonder that had made him feel, for once, like he wasn’t just the screw-up, he was enough. He couldn’t stop thinking about how real it had felt to him, even if Joey swore it wasn’t.

But when morning came, he slipped the mask back on. Class clown. Screw-up. Nobody who mattered. Because the alternative, being the guy who loved and lost Joey Potter, hurt too damn much.

The station was quiet, the low hum of typewriters and muted chatter fading as Doug hunched over the records desk. He told himself it was just professional curiosity. Due diligence. But in truth, every keystroke was for Pacey.

He started with Capeside’s files on Ms. Jacobs. Sparse. Her employment had ended quietly, no charges filed, nothing beyond a whisper of “personal reasons.” Doug dug deeper, calling up yearbooks, local news archives, scattered mentions from other towns.

A pattern emerged.

She never stayed more than a year or two at any school. Always left abruptly. Rumors swirling, but nothing concrete. Different towns, different boys. Always the same profile: vulnerable kids, the kind no one believed. Troubled homes, dismissive parents, no safety net.

Doug’s stomach turned.

* He widened the search, pulling up an obituary linked to one of the towns Jacobs had left in a hurry. A fifteen-year-old boy. Suicide. His name buried in a two-paragraph notice, survived by parents who refused comment.

The date lined up with Jacobs’ sudden departure from that district.

Doug pushed back from the desk, bile rising in his throat.

This wasn’t a fluke. Wasn’t some “harmless fling” like the gossips liked to pretend. It was a pattern. A predator. And Pacey, his own little brother, had been one of her victims.

For the first time, Doug let himself feel it fully: fear. Not just for what had already happened, but for how close he’d come to losing Pacey too.

Doug couldn’t shake his brother’s words.

I just want the pain to stop. *

They echoed with every step he took around the station, followed him home, haunted him in the silence of his apartment. Pacey hadn’t been exaggerating, Doug had seen it in his face, the raw edge of despair. His brother wasn’t just hurting; he was breaking.

So Doug did the only thing he knew how to do: he built a case.

Every night after his shift, he stayed late at the station, poring through personnel files, newspaper archives, school board minutes from three different towns. Each breadcrumb led to another. Jacobs leaving suddenly, rumors of “inappropriate conduct,” hushed transfers instead of firings.

He thought about Pacey on the dock, slurring through his tears that he was unlovable, begging his brother to make the pain stop.

That boy in the obituary hadn’t had anyone. No Doug to catch him when he fell.

Doug set his jaw. He would not let Pacey become another name in a file, another forgotten casualty of Jacobs’ abuse.

Not as a cop. Not as a brother.

Chapter Text

Pacey showed up the next morning, but it wasn’t really him. No smirk, no lazy grin, no arm tossed around Joey’s shoulders. He walked the halls like a ghost, eyes straight ahead, ignoring the whispers that followed his uncharacteristic silence.

Joey spotted him at his locker and rushed over, heart pounding. “Pacey”

He didn’t look at her. “Don’t.”

She swallowed hard. “Please. I didn’t mean what I said. I was angry, I…”

He finally turned, eyes hollow. “You don’t like me. You never have. Remember?”

The words cut like glass, her own cruelty thrown back at her.

Joey flinched. “I didn’t”

“Save it.” His laugh was harsh, bitter. “Don’t apologize for telling the truth.”

Her chest tightened. “It wasn’t the truth. I…”

That was when Dawson appeared, sliding between them like a shield. “Hey. Leave her alone, Pacey. She doesn’t deserve this.”

Pacey’s eyes flicked to him, dark and dangerous. “Of course you’d defend her, Leery. That’s what you do. You get to be the hero.”

“Pacey” Joey started, but he cut her off, voice sharp enough to draw stares from down the hall.

“You want more, Potter? Go be with Dawson. That’s your grand romance, not this.” His hand waved between them, his mouth twisting. “Whatever the hell this was.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Dawson stood stunned, Joey’s face crumpled, and Pacey slammed his locker shut, shoving past them down the hall.

It was only once his back disappeared into the crowd that Joey realized: he believed every word he’d just said.

The hallway was still humming with whispers after Pacey stormed off. Joey stood frozen, the sting of his words, Go be with Dawson, still ringing in her ears.

Dawson turned to her, his expression hard. “You can’t let him talk to you like that, Joey. Just because you wouldn’t sleep with him.”

Joey’s head snapped around so fast it startled him. “Excuse me?”

Dawson blinked. “What?”

“You think this is about sex?” Her voice rose, sharp enough that a couple of kids nearby slowed to listen. “That he blew up because I wouldn’t put out? That’s what you think of your best friend?”

“Jo, I didn’t…”

“You did.” Her chest heaved. “You just said it. Like I’m some prize he’s mad he didn’t win. Like I’m supposed to be flattered you’re here to defend me, when all you’re doing is reducing everything to.” She broke off, shaking her head, her throat tight.

Dawson flushed, fumbling for words. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… he was out of line.”

“No, Dawson.” Joey’s voice cracked, raw and bitter. “You’re out of line. You don’t get it. You’ve never gotten it.”

And with that, she shoved past him, ignoring the stares, her heart pounding with anger and shame all at once. Because Dawson’s words had only made one thing clearer: whatever this was with Pacey, it had never been about sex. Not really.

She found him behind the gym, hunched against the brick wall, his shoulders tight, face set in that cocky mask he wore when he wanted the world to think he didn’t care.

“Pacey,” she said, breathless from running.

He didn’t look up. “Go home, Potter. Or better yet, find Leery. He’s got the hero cape ready for you.”

Joey swallowed hard, forcing herself closer. “You’re mad at me. And you should be.”

That made him glance up, just for a second. His eyes were raw, red-rimmed. “Congratulations. You figured that out all by yourself.”

She ignored the sting, stepping right into his space. “I was wrong. What I said… I didn’t mean it. I was scared and stupid and I wanted to hurt you before you could hurt me. But I didn’t mean it.” Her voice cracked, softer now. “Please, Pacey. I didn’t mean it.”

For a long moment, he just stared at her, his jaw tight, breathing hard like he was holding himself together by threads.

“You don’t get it, Jo,” he said finally, his voice rough. “You can’t just throw words around and then take them back. They stick. And I’ve had enough of people reminding me I’m not worth it.”

Her eyes blurred with tears. She reached for his arm, desperate. “You are worth it. To me. I was cruel, but I was wrong. Please believe me.”

His mask cracked then, not gone, not healed, but cracked, and Joey knew if she let go now, he might shut her out forever.

Pacey shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets like if he looked casual enough, the ache in his chest wouldn’t show. “You don’t get it, Jo. You can’t take it back. Not this time.”

“Then ask me again,” she shot back.

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Ask me.” Her eyes burned, fierce through the tears. “Ask me if I love you.”

For a second he just stared at her, like she’d started speaking another language. “Joey”

“Do it, Pacey.” Her voice cracked. “Please.”

He hesitated, the words sticking in his throat, because he was terrified of the answer. Still, he forced them out, quiet and raw. “Do you… love me?”

Joey’s chin trembled, but she held his gaze. “Yes.”

He blinked, stunned.

“Yes, I love you.” The words tumbled faster now, like she’d been holding them back too long. “I’ve been denying it, trying to make it about experiments and rules and whatever else, but it’s not. I am in love with you, Pacey Witter.”

The mask he’d been wearing cracked wide open. He searched her face, as if he expected her to laugh, to take it back. But she just stood there, tears sliding down her cheeks, chest heaving.

And for the first time, maybe ever, he let himself believe it might be true.

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other. Joey’s words hung between them, impossible and undeniable.

Then Pacey moved.

He grabbed her like a drowning man finding air, his hands framing her face, and crushed his mouth to hers. The kiss was messy, desperate, almost angry with need, teeth clashing, breaths uneven, like they were both afraid the other might disappear if they let go.

Joey clung to his shirt, fisting the fabric, pulling him closer, closer. She kissed him back with everything she had, her tears salty on his lips, her body pressed tight to his.

Students passing by in the hallway gawked, but neither of them noticed. For once, Joey didn’t care who saw. All that mattered was Pacey, the heat of his mouth, the way his body trembled against hers, the raw relief flooding through him.

When they finally broke apart, gasping, foreheads pressed together, Pacey’s voice was hoarse. “Don’t you dare take that back.”

Joey shook her head fiercely, her hands still locked in his shirt. “Never.”

And for the first time ever, Pacey let himself believe he wasn’t unlovable.

They slipped out of school together, hands still linked, ignoring the stares that followed them. Neither spoke until they were tucked away in the bed of Pacey’s truck, parked by the water where the noise of the world couldn’t reach them.

For a while, they just sat there. Joey’s head leaned against the side panel, Pacey’s fingers fidgeting with hers like he was afraid she might let go.

Finally, he broke the silence. “You know I love you, right?”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide.

“I mean, I know I’m not subtle,” he added with a shaky laugh. “It’s probably been obvious since… forever. But I need you to hear me say it. I love you, Joey Potter. All of you. The stubborn, sarcastic, drive-me-crazy parts too.”

Joey’s throat tightened. She’d been so afraid of the word, of what it meant, of how heavy it would feel. But hearing it now, the weight wasn’t crushing. It was steady. Solid.

Her hand slid over his chest, resting there above his heart. “I do know. I think I’ve always known.” She swallowed hard. “And I love you too, Pacey. Even when I was pretending I didn’t. Maybe especially then.”

Relief washed over his face, almost boyish in its intensity. He let out a breath that trembled as it left him, then leaned forward until his forehead rested against hers.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I don’t think I could stop loving you if I tried.”

Joey smiled through the blur in her eyes, her fingers curling tighter into his shirt. For the first time since their “experiment” began, there were no rules left. Just them.

The silence stretched, warm and certain, their foreheads still pressed together. Then Joey tilted her mouth to his, and the kiss that followed was nothing like the messy hallway crash. This one was slow at first, reverent, until it deepened with the weight of everything they’d just said.

Her hands slid into his hair, tugging him closer. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his lap, the barrier between them dissolving as the kiss turned hungrier, needier.

Pacey broke away only to trail his lips down her throat, murmuring against her skin. “I love you.”

Joey’s breath hitched. “Say it again.”

He did, between every kiss, every brush of his mouth along her collarbone, down to the edge of her shirt. “I love you.” His hands slipped beneath the fabric, caressing her ribs, steady but reverent.

When he lowered her onto the blanket in the bed of his truck, his mouth moved with purpose, worshiping her the way he knew she craved. Across her breasts, down her stomach, every inch of her touched, kissed, adored.

Joey gasped his name, her body arching into him, all resistance gone. This wasn’t experimentation anymore. This was giving herself to him completely, trusting him to know her, to love her.

And when his mouth closed over her, working her with slow, deliberate devotion, she came undone. Her release tore through her, shaking her to pieces, his whispered “I love you” echoing against her skin as she broke apart.

She tugged him up, breathless, her hands framing his face. “I love you,” she whispered back, before kissing him like she could fuse them together.

For both of them, it wasn’t just heat anymore. It was healing.

Joey was still trembling when he kissed her again, her body loose and pliant against his. His hands framed her face, steadying, grounding. But when she felt the weight of him above her, the hard press through his jeans, her pulse leapt.

He pulled back, breath ragged, eyes dark but uncertain. “Jo…”

She touched his cheek, smiling faintly. “What?”

“You know where this goes,” he said softly. “And I need to be sure. Because once we do this.” His voice broke, rough with feeling. “It’s yours. I’m yours.”

Her throat tightened. “Pacey”

“No games, no experiments. Not this. If this is what you want, I need to hear you say it.”

She held his gaze, no hesitation this time. “I love you. I want you. Both of those things are true.”

He exhaled shakily, relief flooding his face, and pressed his forehead to hers. “God, Jo. You have no idea what that means to me.”

Their clothes came off slowly, not frantic but deliberate, each layer a choice, each kiss an affirmation. Pacey touched her like she was fragile, precious, but the heat between them made her arch into him, urging him closer, deeper.

When he finally slid into her, he whispered it again, low and reverent against her ear: “I love you.”

The world tilted. Discomfort, yes, but more than that, the overwhelming sense of being filled, completed, wanted in every way. Joey clutched at him, breathless, whispering it back, over and over. “I love you. I love you.”

They moved together, tentative at first, then surer as the rhythm built, their bodies learning what their hearts had already confessed.

And when they both broke apart, trembling and gasping in each other’s arms, it wasn’t just release. It was belonging.

For the first time, neither of them doubted what they were to each other.

The truck bed was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, the night air cool against their overheated skin. Pacey lay flat on his back, his arm curled around Joey, anchoring her against his side.

She traced lazy patterns across his chest, the rise and fall of his breath steady beneath her fingertips. For once, there was no banter, no sharp retort on her tongue. Just quiet.

“You okay?” he asked softly, turning his head to look at her.

Joey smiled, small but certain. “Better than okay.”

“Not sore? Not… I don’t know. Regretting it already?” His voice wavered like he was bracing for the worst.

She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “Pacey Witter, that was perfect.”

His breath caught. He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “God, Jo. You don’t know what that does to me.”

She nestled into him, her fingers still moving absently over his skin. “I think I do,” she murmured. “Because it does the same thing to me.”

He tightened his hold, closing his eyes. For the first time in longer than he could remember, Pacey didn’t feel broken or unlovable. He felt whole.

And Joey, wasn’t running from the truth anymore. She was exactly where she wanted to be.

Chapter Text

They walked into school together, Joey’s hand tucked in Pacey’s like it was the most natural thing in the world. But every step down the hall was met with the low hum of whispers. 

The usual comments, Joey Potter wasn’t “untouchable” anymore, Witter must be doing something right, maybe they’d already gone all the way. But most kids didn’t care. It was just another round of high school gossip, swallowed up by football scores and who got caught smoking behind the gym.

To everyone else, Joey and Pacey were just another couple.

But to Dawson, it was unbearable.

He sat with Jen at lunch, his eyes locked on Joey across the room where she laughed at something Pacey whispered, her hand resting casually on his arm. She looked… happy. Relaxed. The way Dawson imagined she’d look with him one day, when he decided he was ready for more.

Except now everyone thought she was sleeping with Pacey.

And Dawson knew Joey. He knew she wasn’t like that. She wasn’t reckless, wasn’t careless with herself. She wasn’t supposed to be the girl people whispered about.

The image gnawed at him: Joey Potter, his Joey, reduced to the subject of crude jokes and locker room gossip. Pacey Witter, dragging her down into his mess, tarnishing her.

Dawson’s hands clenched around his soda can until it crumpled.

“Dawson,” Jen said, sighing. “They’re just dating. People date. It’s not the end of the world.”

“It’s not just dating,” Dawson snapped, his voice low and fierce. “They’re saying things about her. Things she doesn’t deserve. And Pacey, he doesn’t care. He thrives on it. He wants people to talk like that.”

Jen raised an eyebrow. “Maybe she doesn’t care either. Maybe she wants this.”

Dawson shook his head, his jaw tight. “You don’t know Joey like I do. She’s not that girl.”

But when Joey’s laughter rang across the cafeteria again, warm and unguarded, Dawson realized with a sick twist that maybe she was.

And that terrified him more than anything.

He cornered her by the lockers after last period, his face tight, his tone low but sharp.

“Do you even know what they’re saying about you?” Dawson demanded.

Joey slammed her locker shut, shoulders squaring. “It’s just rumors, Dawson.”

“It’s your reputation, Joey.” He leaned in, eyes burning with self-righteousness. “You can’t just ignore it. People are laughing at you.”

Her jaw clenched. “Let them.”

“You don’t get it.” His voice rose, breaking through the usual hallway buzz. “I should’ve told Pacey not to go for you, but I didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to actually go for him.”

Joey froze, his words cutting deeper than he probably even realized. Around them, a couple of kids slowed, sensing the tension.

Her hands balled into fists, and when she finally spoke, her voice was cold, shaking with fury. “You don’t get to call me dumb. You don’t get to decide who I ‘go for.’ And you sure as hell don’t get to control my reputation.”

Dawson blinked, caught off guard by the fire in her eyes.

But Joey didn’t wait for him to recover. She shoved past him, her chin high, her heart pounding. For once, she wasn’t going to let Dawson Leery define her.

Joey had just turned to leave when Dawson’s hand clamped around her arm, pulling her back.

“Jo, wait.” His voice was low, urgent. “I’m just looking out for you.”

Her eyes flashed. “Let go of me.”

But he didn’t. His grip tightened, desperation leaking into his words. “When this all explodes, you’re going to have guys coming after you. Because they’ll think you gave it up to Pacey, and then you’ll be… easy.”

The word landed like a slap.

For a moment Dawson just stood there, staring at her like he didn’t even recognize her. Then his voice cracked, rising fast, sharp as glass.

“This isn’t you, Joey! Why would you let him, of all people, corrupt you like that?”

Joey’s breath hitched. “Corrupt me?”

“Yes!” Dawson’s hands flew out, his voice shaking with fury. “Pacey! He’s reckless, he’s selfish, he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. And you.” His voice faltered, but the anger surged again. “You were supposed to be different. Better.”

Joey’s tears spilled, hot and helpless. “Dawson.”

He cut her off, his words bitter, vicious. “Did you have sex with him?”

Her silence was answer enough.

“Oh my God.” His laugh came harsh, hollow. “You did. You actually did. With him.”

Joey tried to breathe, tried to find words, but he didn’t give her a chance.

“I thought we agreed that stuff meant something,” Dawson snapped, his eyes wet, his voice trembling. “You don’t just give it away like it’s nothing, Joey. Not you. Not the girl who believed in love.”

Joey’s chest caved, his words slicing deep. She wanted to scream that it did mean something. That it meant everything. But the fury in his eyes, the contempt in his voice, left her shaking and mute.

“It was supposed to be us,” Dawson whispered, broken now, his anger bleeding into anguish. “And you let him take you instead.”

Joey flinched, choking on a sob. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that it wasn’t about being “taken,” that she had chosen. But saying it out loud felt like ripping their whole world apart.

And maybe it already was.

Her vision blurred with tears as she stumbled down the dark street, Dawson’s words chasing her like shadows. Easy. Corrupt. Give it away. Each one cut deeper, leaving her hollow and shaking.

By the time she reached Pacey’s house, her lungs burned, her hands trembling as she banged on his window. He appeared a moment later, hair mussed, shirt wrinkled, eyes widening the second he saw her.

“Jo?”

She shoved the window open before he could ask more, tumbling into his room. He barely had time to catch her before she broke, her fists clutching at his shirt, sobs tearing out of her.

“Hold me,” she begged, her voice cracked and desperate. “Please, Pacey. Just, hold me.”

He wrapped his arms around her instantly, pulling her tight against his chest, one hand stroking the back of her head. “Hey, hey. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Her tears soaked his shirt as she pressed her face into him, shaking. “Tell me you love me. Please. I need, just, tell me I matter.”

Pacey’s throat tightened, but he pulled back enough to cup her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. His voice was steady, fierce, the truth laid bare.

“You do matter. More than you’ll ever know. And I love you, Jo. God, I love you so much it hurts.”

Her sob broke into a gasp, and then she kissed him, clinging like he was the only thing keeping her from drowning. He kissed her back, slow but firm, pouring everything into it, every ounce of love, every promise, every reassurance she craved.

When they broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Joey whispered through her tears, “Don’t let go. Not tonight.”

“Never,” he said, holding her tighter.

Joey felt safe again. Not innocent. Not untouchable. But seen. Chosen. Loved.

Her lip trembled, anger and hurt tangling in her throat. “He thinks I’m easy. That because of you… because of us…”

Pacey cupped her face, tilting her chin up until she met his eyes. “Because of us, Jo? You’re not easy. You’re mine. And I plan on being the only one you’ll ever have to explain anything to, for the rest of our lives.”

The words cracked her wide open. She let out a shaky laugh, tears spilling over, and pressed her forehead against his chest.

He held her close, murmuring into her hair. “We know the truth. That’s all that matters.”

And in that moment, Joey knew he was right. Dawson could cling to his image of her, the whole school could whisper, but here, in Pacey’s arms, she wasn’t a rumor or a reputation. She was loved.

Pacey was steady around her, his heartbeat thrumming under her ear. Joey’s sobs slowly ebbed, but she didn’t let go. She couldn’t. His shirt was damp from her tears, his hand warm and sure against her back, each stroke of his thumb soothing the jagged edges Dawson’s words had left behind.

When her breathing evened, Pacey tilted his head, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I don’t need anything else tonight, Jo. Just this. Just you.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her grip tightening. “You don’t… you don’t think I’m…”

He cut her off before the word could come. “Don’t. Don’t say whatever poison Dawson put in your head. You’re not broken, you’re not ruined, you’re not less.” He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes fierce, voice unwavering. “You’re everything.”

The tears welled again, but softer this time, cathartic instead of sharp. “I just needed to hear it,” she whispered.

Pacey smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Then I’ll say it every damn day if I have to.”

He shifted them down onto the bed, tugging the blanket over them. Joey curled against his chest, his arms wrapping around her like a shield. No hunger, no urgency, just the quiet miracle of being held, of knowing she was safe.

For Joey, it was just as dizzying as every time he’d touched her before. Her body wasn’t on fire, but her heart was, steady and warm in a way she hadn’t let herself feel.

As her eyes drifted shut, she murmured, almost dreamlike, “This is enough.”

Pacey kissed the top of her head, whispering back, “It’s more than enough.”

And in the silence that followed, their breathing syncing together, Joey realized this, being held, being seen, was just as intimate, just as powerful, as any of their “experiments.”

The next day, Dawson found Pacey behind the Icehouse, sleeves rolled up, hauling crates with a grim set to his jaw. He didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“You son of a bitch.”

Pacey froze, then straightened slowly, wiping his hands on a rag. “Well, hello to you too, Leery.”

“You couldn’t even wait, could you?” Dawson’s voice was sharp, loud enough to turn heads.

Pacey frowned, straightening. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You and Joey,” Dawson snapped. “You just had to ruin her too.”

Pacey blinked, disbelieving. “You wanna try that again?”

“You think this is a game, Pacey?” Dawson stepped closer, eyes blazing. “She’s going to be the one who pays for it! People are already talking, calling her easy, because of you!”

Pacey’s jaw clenched. “Don’t you dare put that on me.”

“You slept with her!” Dawson spat. “You dragged her into your mess, and now everyone’s saying she’s just another one of your conquests. And she doesn’t deserve that.”

Pacey laughed once, low and dangerous. “You think I don’t know what people are saying? You think I don’t hear it too? The difference is, I don’t care, because I know who Joey is.”

“Yeah?” Dawson shot back. “Then why’d you let her throw her reputation away for you?”

That hit something deep. Pacey’s hands balled into fists, his voice trembling with fury. “Because she’s not a reputation, Dawson. She’s a person. You don’t own her, and you sure as hell don’t get to decide who she’s allowed to be with.”

Dawson’s expression faltered, but he pushed back, defensive now. “You’ve been trying to take everything from me since we were kids.”

“Everything?” Pacey’s laugh cracked. “You mean Joey? Because newsflash, she’s not a thing you can lose or win. She’s herself.” Pacey forced himself to meet Dawson’s eyes. “And yeah. I was there first. And second. And every time after that. You know why? Because she chose me.”

The air between them vibrated, hot and raw.

Dawson’s voice dropped, shaking with something between rage and heartbreak. “And she chose you.”

“Yeah,” Pacey said softly. “She did.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. Dawson’s breathing was ragged, his anger collapsing under its own weight. Pacey stepped back, shoulders still tense but eyes steady.

“You don’t get to call her names,” he said finally, quieter now, more controlled. “You don’t get to shame her because she stopped fitting in your perfect little picture. You broke that picture yourself. Grow up, Dawson. You’re not the victim here.”

Silence fell heavy, only their ragged breathing filling the space. Dawson shook his head, disgust plain on his face. “You’re not good enough for her. You never were.”

Pacey swallowed hard, but didn’t flinch this time. “Maybe not. But she thought I was. And that’s all that matters.”

Dawson’s voice carried too loudly to stay hidden. Joey had come looking for Pacey, but the moment she heard her name crack like thunder in Dawson’s fury, she froze just beyond the corner of the Icehouse.

“You ruined her for me,” Dawson spat, venom dripping.

Joey’s heart lurched.

Pacey’s reply was low but firm. “No, Dawson. I didn’t ruin her. I love her. And maybe that’s the part you’ll never understand.”

Joey stepped forward then, gravel crunching under her sneakers, and both boys whipped around. Pacey’s eyes widened, while Dawson’s face burned with betrayal.

“You hear that?” Dawson sneered, his gaze flicking between them. “Your knight in shining armor here thinks he loves you. But he doesn’t respect you. He just… used you. Because that’s all Pacey Witter does.”

Joey’s chest rose and fell sharply, anger blooming. “Don’t you dare,” she snapped, her voice trembling but strong. “Don’t you dare talk about me like I’m some fragile little thing who doesn’t know what she’s doing. I chose him, Dawson. Me.”

For a flicker of a second, Dawson looked gutted, then his anger boiled over. “Chose him? You mean you let him corrupt you. I thought you were better than that, Joey. I thought we agreed that you don’t just give it away.”

The words made Joey flush with shame, but before she could speak, Pacey stepped in, eyes blazing. “That’s enough, Dawson.” His voice cracked like steel. “You don’t get to decide what means something to her. You don’t get to make her choices sound cheap just because they don’t fit into your little script.”

Joey’s throat tightened. Dawson’s judgment cut deep, but Pacey’s defense of her, always her, made something ache in her chest. She reached for Pacey’s arm, needing the anchor of his presence.

Dawson saw it, saw her choose again, and his face twisted like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

“You really want him?” he demanded, voice breaking. “Him over me?”

Joey’s answer came out small but steady, her hand tightening on Pacey. “Yes.”

The word hung between them like a strike of lightning, splitting the world into before and after.

For a moment, Dawson just stared, hollow-eyed, like he’d been punched in the gut. Then his expression hardened, his face twisting into something colder than anger, disappointment sharpened into cruelty.

“You know what?” he said, voice low and trembling. “You deserve him. Because this,” he gestured between Joey and Pacey, contempt spilling from the motion, “this isn’t love, Joey. This is trash. And if that’s what you want for yourself, then maybe I never really knew you at all.”

Joey flinched like he’d struck her. Pacey’s fists clenched at his sides, ready to swing, but Joey’s grip held him back.

Dawson’s glare lingered on them both, seething with betrayal. Then he turned, storming off into the night without another word.

Silence fell, broken only by Joey’s shaky inhale. Pacey turned to her, jaw tight, but when he saw the tears brimming in her eyes, all his anger bled away.

“Jo,” he started, but she cut him off by pressing her forehead to his chest, her voice breaking.

“Just hold me. Please.”

Pacey wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his hands steady even as his heart pounded. Whatever Dawson thought, whatever poison he had left behind, this, them, was real.

Joey didn’t realize she was trembling until Pacey’s arms wrapped around her, anchoring her. He didn’t push her to talk, didn’t try to fill the silence with easy jokes like he usually would. He just held her, his chin resting lightly on top of her head, his breath slow and steady, grounding her with the simple rhythm of his presence.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his shirt, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. I’m sorry he…”

“Hey,” Pacey cut in gently, his hand rubbing slow circles over her back. “You don’t have to apologize for him. Not tonight. Not ever.”

Her eyes stung, but she looked up at him anyway, and something about the look in his eyes tugged at her chest. “Why do you keep doing this?” she asked softly. “Why do you keep being the one who’s there, even when it hurts you?”

He smiled, small and tired but real. “Because it’s you, Potter.” His thumb brushed a tear from her cheek. “I don’t need a reason bigger than that.”

For the first time all night, Joey let out a shaky laugh, more like a release than humor. She pressed closer, sliding her arms around his waist. There was no urgency, no hunger this time, just warmth. The kind that seeped into her bones and made her believe she wasn’t as unlovable as Dawson’s words had made her feel.

Pacey tilted his head down, kissed her hair once, feather-light. “You matter,” he murmured into her hair. “To me, you matter. That’s not up for debate.”

Joey closed her eyes, sinking into the truth of it. In his arms, the noise of Dawson’s judgment faded away. Here, she didn’t have to be anything except herself, and that was enough.

It had been months since that first night here, cold water, sarcasm, two blankets, and a thousand things they didn’t yet understand about themselves. Back then, she’d thought the world was small, that love was something you controlled by naming rules for it.

Now she knew better.

Behind her, Pacey’s footsteps thudded on the boards. He dropped beside her, the familiar weight of his shoulder brushing hers. Neither spoke for a long moment; they didn’t have to.

Finally she said, “You know this is where it started, right?”

He smiled faintly. “You mean when you stripped in front of me to prove a point?”

Joey elbowed him, laughing. “I meant before that. When I thought I was just curious. You were already gone for me, weren’t you?”

Pacey turned his head, the humor fading into something softer. “Yeah. Pretty much from the second you first glared at me.”

She met his gaze, the sunset reflected in his eyes. “Guess I was too stubborn to admit I was already gone for you too.”

They fell quiet again. The wind off the water lifted her hair; he reached up and tucked a strand behind her ear, fingertips trailing against her cheek like a promise.

“Think people will ever stop talking about us?” she asked.

“Let them talk,” he murmured. “They don’t get it. They don’t know what this is.”

“And what is this, Witter?” she teased, though her voice was softer now.

He smiled, slow and sure. “It’s forever, Potter.”

Joey leaned in then, closing the distance, and their kiss tasted like sunlight and salt, the kind of kiss that doesn’t start or end, it just exists. The dock creaked beneath them, the tide pulling gently against the pilings, and the rest of the world blurred away.

When they finally pulled apart, Joey rested her forehead against his. “We’re really doing this, huh?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “We always were.”

The camera of Dawson’s imaginary movie might have pulled back then, two kids on a weathered dock, wrapped up in each other as the sky melted into gold, but for once, it wasn’t Dawson’s story.

It was theirs.

Chapter Text

Doug Witter wasn’t a man who believed in closure, not really. But the day he walked into the district attorney’s office with a thick, meticulously organized file under his arm, he decided it was time to try.

He’d spent weeks building the case. Not just for Pacey, but for every name in the report, boys from small towns and quiet schools, each one forgotten after Tamara Jacobs packed up and disappeared.

He submitted everything: the pattern of her moves, the sudden resignations, the obituary that still made him sick to his stomach. And for once, the system listened.

The next few months were slow but steady. Investigators reached out. Witnesses came forward. Doug watched the file grow thicker, heavier, as more boys found the courage to tell their stories.

When the arrest finally came, it didn’t make the front page, just a few inches of column buried below the fold. Former teacher charged in multi-state misconduct case. But for Pacey Witter, it meant everything.

Pacey wasn’t forced to testify. Doug made sure of that. But he was there, in the courthouse, sitting quietly beside Joey, her hand laced through his. Doug sat on his other side, a silent sentinel.

And for the first time since that night on the dock, Pacey didn’t feel like a victim. He felt… seen.

Afterward, Joey pulled him into a hug that stole his breath. “She doesn’t get to own any part of you anymore,” she whispered.

Pacey nodded, and for once, he believed her.

Healing wasn’t instant, it never was, but it had begun. Piece by piece, he started to stitch his life back together. With Doug watching out for him, with Joey loving him fiercely, with the truth finally out there, he could breathe again.

And in the quiet moments, when the guilt and shame tried to creep back in, Pacey reminded himself: he’d survived.

And he wasn’t alone anymore.

Months turned into years.

They graduated together, Joey in her blue cap and gown, Pacey grinning in his. She went on to an Ivy League school, chasing the future she’d always dreamed of. He followed his own calling, apprenticing under Bodie at the Icehouse before heading off to culinary school, officially dubbed protégé by the man who’d believed in him first.

They grew up, they grew together. Some years were easy, others less so, but their roots only went deeper.

Over the years, people asked her the same question in different ways.

Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to be with someone else?
Don’t you think you settled too young?
Don’t you ever get curious?

Joey always smiled, the kind of smile that came from somewhere deep and unshakable.

Because she already knew what it was like to find the one person who saw her completely, every sharp edge, every unguarded thought, every part of her she once tried to hide, and he loved her more for it.

Pacey Witter had been her first real risk, her first mistake, her first truth. The boy who made her laugh when she wanted to cry, who looked at her like she was the whole horizon. The one who never asked her to be perfect, just real.

Over time, the noise around them had faded, the rumors, the judgments, even Dawson’s endless commentary on love and destiny. What stayed was simple and certain.

Pacey knew her rhythms, her moods, her stubborn streaks. He knew when to push and when to hold still. And she knew him, every scar, every insecurity, every quiet act of tenderness he tried to hide behind a joke.

Anyone else would have been different, sure. But not better.

Because what they had wasn’t just love. It was knowing.

Anyone else would just be trying to repeat what Pacey has already perfected, so no, she doesn't wonder, because she knows. And after all these years, that’s enough.