A Definitive Timeline of Leah Clearwater & Jacob Black's Relationship, As Told By Social Media

October 20, 2021

As the vast majority of the civilised world would know, the killer couple became online-official in October. The Twitterverse has been abuzz ever since their steamy collision by the broccoli - talk about a meet-cute! - with self-proclaimed #Blackwater stans clamouring for more. Join us for a starry-eyed trip down memory lane for the loved-up Washingtonians.

October 12, 2021

Jacob's 73 questions interview goes live, with him describing Leah as 'incredible' [1]. Leah retweets his interview [2] and replies to a coyly-posed #datenight photo that evening [3]. This is the definitive #Blackwater confirmation.

September - October 2021

The bets are on: is Leah an itinerary freak, or is Jacob desperate to use up his season perks? The couple is spotted on the court more times than I can count in various coordinating outfits that just scream we're a thing [4] [5] [6].

September 12, 2021

The lovebirds are papped canoodling on the ice in Santa Monica [7]. Eagle-eyed fans are quick to point out his finger in the corner of Leah's insta post - sprung! [8]

September 8, 2021

Juice-gate photos surface. You can't tell me they weren't already a thing - just LOOK at the chemistry [9].

BONUS SPECULATION: Leah and Jacob have been spotted entering the SAME suite at Staples Center on FOUR separate occasions [10] [11] [12] [13]. I refuse to believe that this has anything to do with a shared interest in the Washington Capitals - nothing at all.

NOVEMBER 4, 2021

[TEXT] Jacob Black, 8.52 A.M.

Ready for the read-through? Emmett's on his way over.

[TEXT] Leah Clearwater, 8.53 A.M.

Can't find my script notes.

Is that a sign?

[TEXT] Jacob Black, 8.55 A.M.

Yeah, a sign to stop leaving your shit at my place.

[TEXT] Jacob Black, 8.59 A.M.

Don't forget the bourbon.

It's not her first romantic scene, not by a long shot, but after three clumsy attempts that are more cringe-worthy than enticing, Leah has half a mind to cancel the studio chemistry test. They've been at it for three, maybe four hours, and all they have to show for it is a well-timed monologue (great) and the world's most virginal rendition of a love scene.

"Let's take five," Jacob suggests, flopping back onto the shag carpet.

Leah rolls onto her side, staring at the patterned wallpaper until the swirls mesh together into one giant blob. Maybe all those people on the internet are right, she thinks, chewing absently on her lip. Maybe I was just a fluke.

"Hey," Jacob says, shaking her shoulder. His voice is soft, just loud enough for her to hear over the low buzz of the AV equipment, speaking words that are meant for just her - not for the camera.

She turns her head to face him, lifting an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," he quips, bumping her shoulder. "We'll run it again. Want something to take the edge off?"

"I can't be buzzed at the studio," Leah argues, swiping a hand across her tired eyes. "I don't get why we keep fucking this up - why I keep fucking it up."

"Okay, okay," he cajoles, pouring two tiny glasses of amber liquid. "Can't sell sexy when you're strung tighter than twelve-string. Take a shot, take a breath, and we'll take it from the top."

She takes the liquor from his outstretched hand, tipping it back before her rational mind can protest. It burns the whole way down, leaving a heady tingling trail in its wake, but when Jacob fills it up again, and she tips it back, things start to feel a little less pointed.

They sit in silence for a long while, passing the bottle back and forth until all that remains is empty glassware and a shared buzz. He's curled his arm around her at some point, resting his head against her shoulder, and it feels familiar in a way she can't name - like home, except she doesn't have one of those these days.

Jacob breaks the silence first, his voice a deep rumble that washes warm air against the juncture of her neck. "Should we?"

She hums, shaking the drowsiness away. "Probably. Can't stay here forever."

He lumbers over to the tripod, messing with the camera buttons for what feels like a lifetime. They've practised this scene to death - cold-reads, blocking, the whole shebang - but there's a flutter in her belly that is entirely novel.

Stupid. It's only Jacob, she thinks, shuffling into her mark. Last run-through. You can do this.

Jacob whirls around, his mouth set in a thin line. "Well? Is that it, then?"

She looks at him dumbly, stunned by his sudden curtness. Is he sick of her already? "I-"

"Well?" he prompts, and then it hits her.

Her fucking cue.

"Do you want it to be the end?" she asks, tipping her head to the side. She's played it cool on every run-through, perfectly demure and compliant, but there's something itching in her for a fight.

"How long are we going to do this, Abby? We can't keep sneaking around. My career-" he starts, raking a hand through his hair, effortlessly torn. His eyes are haunted, jaw set, as if she is tearing his heart to pieces for real, on loop ad finem.

"Fuck your career, Adam, and fuck me," she commands, stalking towards him with renewed vigour.

It's the same thing they've done every time - pacing, circling, then the embrace - but this time is entirely different. He reaches out for her, wrapping his broad fingers around her hipbone, compelling her to look up at him. The look on his face is unlike anything she's seen before - his lips, a hair's breadth from hers, are slanted and ready, and she can hear her blood drumming in her ears.

Her line.

"Do you want it to end?" she breathes, gazing up into his dark eyes.

He doesn't answer with words; instead, his mouth slants over hers, hot and insistent. The direction may be straight from the excerpt, but the urgency of his hands traversing the planes of her body, the low noise he makes in his throat when she presses against him, makes it feel real.

The scene is a prelude to something heavier, the sort of blocking that'll probably necessitate artful camera work and well-placed pasties to pass the Classification Administration, and they're hurtling towards the next act with reckless abandon. It's the first time they've made it past the dialogue without the momentum fizzling out - a feat in itself - but she has her next directions committed to memory: press body against scene partner; tip head back for simulated neck kiss; lie back on the futon.

She leans in, plastering her body against his until they're virtually one homogenous being, dizzy and breathless and instinct-fuelled. His hands move as they should, drifting down to cup her ass, pulling her into position -

And then she feels it.

Leah's eyes pop open in surprise as she pulls away, stunned and confused and dazed from her bourbon-induced headrush. They're seasoned professionals, and they're friends - nothing more, nothing less. She knows his reaction is typical, expected even, a simple biological fact, but when Jacob breaks character a moment later, he doesn't look embarrassed.

He looks...provoked.

Fuck.

A/N: Thanks to the people reading & enjoying this fic. It will be finished. Comments asking me to hurry actually have the opposite effect - real life will always come first. C'est la vie.