SNOW ON THE BEACH 1.02 | latibule _______________________________
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THE AIR IN THE LOCKER ROOM was thick with the scent of old wood, sweat, and the faintest trace of Grace's perfume—something soft and floral, something Jackie could never quite name but always recognized. The fluorescent lights hummed softly above them, their glow casting a pale gold sheen on Grace's cheek as she sat on the counter by the sink, legs parted just enough for Jackie to step between them, closing the space between their bodies until they were all but breathing the same air.
Jackie held Grace's chin in one hand, tilting it slightly upward, her thumb brushing feather-light over her jawline as if memorizing its shape. In her other hand, she held a fine-tipped brush, its bristles dipped in golden-yellow, tracing delicate strokes onto Grace's skin. The paint was cool, a slight contrast against the warmth of her skin, and Grace could feel each careful motion, each slow, deliberate curve as Jackie painted a tiny bee onto her cheek. It was meant to match the one Grace had painted on Jackie earlier—a quiet echo of each other, something small and secret, just for them.
"How bad was it?" Grace asked, her voice soft, cutting through the stillness between them.
Jackie hesitated for a moment before answering. Her jaw tensed as the memory surfaced—Allie on the field, crumpled, broken. The sound of her scream still echoed somewhere deep in Jackie's chest.
"Awful," she muttered, her tone carrying the weight of it. "You could see her bones and all."
She shuddered slightly at the thought, at the vivid memory of Allie's accident, the grotesque sight of skin torn too far, of something breaking that was never meant to break. The moment replayed in her mind unbidden, so much so that she almost felt it in her own limbs. Jackie instinctively pulled the brush away from Grace's face, afraid her unsteady hands might ruin the careful strokes of yellow and black.
"Poor girl," Grace murmured, her brows furrowing as she thought of Allie. She was so young. Too young to have something like this happen to her.
Jackie hummed in quiet agreement, returning to her work, the tip of the brush skating along Grace's cheekbone with delicate precision.
Outside, the team was already warming up for the biggest game of the season. This was it. Win, and they'd go to nationals. Lose, and they'd be stuck here, just another group of nobodies who almost made it. Jackie's heart pounded at the thought.
Grace, of course, wouldn't be on the field. She'd be on the sidelines, dressed in her cheer uniform—an outfit that fit her so well it looked like it had been made just for her. The royal blue fabric clung to her in all the right places, accented by streaks of yellow that matched the ribbons in her hair. She had fought for this game to matter, convinced Coach Martinez to let the cheer squad perform at halftime, argued for their place on the field alongside the athletes. It was just one of the things Jackie adored about her—the way she could make things happen just by willing them into existence.
