10 Things Before I Do

Chapter 3 — 10 Stupid Things

Five beers in, the world had taken on that gentle tilt—just enough to feel it in my head, not enough to lose my balance. I liked to think I was a strong drinker, but tonight the alcohol hit differently. Maybe it was the overtime hours weighing me down, maybe it was the way Jasper never let me slip entirely out of focus.

“Let’s pay the bill and get out of here,” Jasper said, finishing the last sip of his beer. His eyes flicked at me in that way that told me he’d been keeping tabs, the kind of quiet check-in he’d never admit out loud.

And somehow, I was glad he noticed. Glad that, even in the middle of a crowded bar, his attention had been on me.

We split the bill like we always did—Jasper insisting, me refusing, both of us tossing bills into the folder until the server rolled their eyes. Chairs scraped back, the hum of conversation fading as we stepped out of Agave.

The night air hit sharp and cool compared to the warm haze inside. The streets were still buzzing—heels clacking against the pavement, laughter ricocheting off glass walls, the smell of grilled skewers drifting from a restaurant at the corner.

I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over the ride app. But before I could book, Jasper’s hand brushed against my arm, tugging me lightly toward the crosswalk.

“What? The night isn’t over yet?” I asked, more amused than annoyed.

“Nope,” he said easily, slipping his hands into his pockets. “The moon looks beautiful tonight. Walk with me a bit. Clear our heads.”

I could’ve argued. Should’ve. My bed was waiting, soft and certain. But drinking with Jasper was already enough to recharge me, enough to wash away the weight of the week. And if this walk meant I got to stretch the night with him a little longer, I wasn’t going to say no.

*****

Walking around BGC at night was surprisingly calming. The city was alive—traffic lights blinking, heels clattering against the pavement, neon signs spilling color across glass storefronts—but all of it blurred at the edges, like background noise tuned down low.

My focus narrowed on Jasper.

The way he walked with his hands stuffed into his pockets, shoulders loose like nothing could touch him. The way his stride unconsciously matched mine, as if we’d been synced for years. And occasionally, he'd flick his eyes toward me—casual, but steady—like he needed to check I was still there.

I wondered if he noticed how different we’d become. Him: the model student who never got failing marks, a student athlete, the dependable one, the kind of son you could parade to family reunions. And me: late graduate, party goer, the one with a string of messy relationships and a cigarette pack always within reach. We’d grown into opposites, but somehow, here we were again, side by side.

I tugged absently at my earlobe, trying to anchor myself, because there was a warmth spreading in my chest I couldn’t name.

Then his voice cut through—like static dropping away, the moment when a feedback ring fades and the world comes back into focus.

“Hello? Earth to Charlie?” Jasper’s brows knit as he glanced at me. “You’ve been gone for, like, five minutes.”

I blinked, realizing he’d been talking the whole time, and I’d missed all of it.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Zoned out,” I admitted, sheepishly.

He let out a soft groan, the kind he used when he was half complaining, half amused. But his tone shifted as he picked up where he left off.

“As I was saying… I feel like I didn’t live my life enough.”

That pulled me in. The city buzzed around us, but suddenly, all I could hear was him.

“Why though?” I asked. “You’ve always had the perfect life— a good job, your own place, and, honestly, Phoebe’s a literal angel. You’ve got everything lined up.”

Jasper shrugged, his gaze flicking up at the glowing towers above us. “Yeah, on paper, maybe. But I didn’t have fun. Not the reckless kind. Not the stories-you’ll-regret-in-a-good-way kind.” He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sometimes I think I skipped that part of life.”

I stared at him, caught between disbelief and something else heavier, sharper.

“You know, I found out some of my friends smoked weed,” he said suddenly, his tone had this odd mix of excitement and disappointment.

I blinked at him. Weed? Jasper?

“What, do you want to try it?” I asked, as casually as I could, like it wasn’t the most absurd thing to come out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Always wanted to.”

I stopped in my tracks. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” His lips quirked, but there was no humor in his eyes.

I opened my mouth to press, but before I could, Jasper’s head turned and lit up at something across the street. “Hey—ramen.”

“What?”

“There’s a convenience store. They’ve got stools by the window.” He tugged my sleeve before I could argue. “Come on. I’m starving.”

I frowned, ready to circle back to the conversation, but his stride was quick and decisive, already pulling us toward the fluorescent glow. The moment slipped away, swallowed by the hum of traffic and the promise of instant noodles.

And like always, I followed.

****

The fluorescent hum of the convenience store swallowed us whole.

We didn’t say a word as we grabbed our baskets, our footsteps muffled against the sticky tile floor. I reached for a cup of shin ramyun, Jasper for the milder seafood one. We both grabbed eggs and Korean sausages, like muscle memory, and shuffled toward the counter.

The cashier scanned our items, beep by beep, filling the silence that neither of us dared to. I tugged absently at my earlobe, wondering if I should c***k a joke, say something, but the words lodged in my throat.

Jasper carried the plastic bag to the hot water station, and we tore open packets side by side. The smell of dehydrated broth and spice filled the air. Still, no words. Just the hiss of steam and the clatter of chopsticks against cheap paper cups.

We took our seats by the window, the stools cold against the backs of our legs. Outside, BGC pulsed on—traffic lights blinking, couples laughing as they passed, a group of college kids spilling out of a bar. But here, the world narrowed to fluorescent lights, paper cups, and the silence stretching between us.

I stole a glance at him as I stirred my noodles, steam rising between us. He looked perfectly calm, breaking his egg and pouring his sausages into the broth like it was the most ordinary night in the world. Like he hadn’t just confessed he wanted to try something that didn’t sound like him at all.

Halfway through his meal, Jasper finally spoke.

“You’re really quiet,” he said, not looking up.

“You caught me off guard,” I admitted, chopsticks hovering mid-air. “That thing you said back there… about wanting to try weed. I didn’t think I’d ever hear that from you.”

He slurped a mouthful of noodles before replying, his voice casual but steady. “That’s because you know me as the guy who doesn’t break rules. The perfect son. The student athlete. But I don’t want to go through life with people thinking I've never tried anything. And if I ever do it…” His eyes finally met mine, serious now. “I’d only feel safe if you were the one with me.”

My chest tightened. I wanted to tell him he was insane, that it was a bad idea, that it wasn’t something you dipped your toes into just to tick a box. But his gaze held mine, and all I could do was sit there, listening, noodles forgotten.

“I trust you,” he added simply. “More than anyone else.”

The words stuck in my throat. I wanted to press, to ask why me, why now, but instead I just nodded faintly, pretending to focus on my food.

Because maybe I didn’t want to hear his answer out loud.

For a moment, all I could hear was the clink of chopsticks against paper cups, the hum of fluorescent lights above us. My chest buzzed like static, uneasy.

Then Jasper leaned back on the stool, breaking the silence. “Okay, maybe weed’s too much.” He smirked at my expression. “Don’t look so horrified.”

I blinked at him, caught between relief and disbelief. “You think?”

“But you get it, right?” Jasper nudged my cup with his chopsticks. “It’s not about weed. It’s about… not wanting to get married without at least one story I’ll laugh at when I’m old. Something reckless. Dumb. The kind of stuff people our age are supposed to do.”

I swallowed a mouthful of broth, buying time. “Like what, sneaking into a party we weren’t invited to?”

He grinned, eyes sparkling in the fluorescent glow. “Exactly. But maybe less pathetic.”

He leaned back, tapping his chopsticks against the rim of his cup. “So maybe I'll make a list. Ten stupid things before I say ‘I do.’”

I nearly choked on a noodle. “You’re kidding.”

“Why not?” His voice was steady now, more serious than before. “A bucket list for chaos. Things I skipped because I was too busy being Mr. Perfect Student-Athlete. Stuff I can only do with someone who won’t judge me.”

His gaze lingered on me, and the air between us tightened.

I stabbed at my noodles to anchor myself. “So you’re actually serious?”

Jasper nodded, lips quirking like he’d been waiting for me to ask. “Dead serious.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re not already boring,” I muttered, though the heat in my face betrayed me.

He laughed, unbothered. “That’s why I need you. You’re my chaos generator.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t push away the flush creeping up my neck. “Why not rope Phoebe into this? She’s your fiancée.”

He shook his head, firm. “Phoebe trusts me because she knows this—us—is different. She wouldn’t even want to do half of it. But you… you’re my best friend, Charlie. The only one I want to do this with.”

The words hit heavier than I expected, threading between my ribs. I wanted to joke it off, but the sincerity in his tone pinned me in place.

So instead, I lifted my cup. “Fine. Ten stupid things. But if we get arrested, I’m telling your mom it was your idea.”

His grin split wide, boyish in a way I hadn’t seen in years. He clinked his cup against mine, the sound sharp in the quiet convenience store.

“To chaos.”

“To chaos,” I echoed. And for a moment, it felt like the night wrapped itself around just the two of us.

*****

We finished the noodles in silence after that—an easier silence, softer somehow. When we stepped back out into the night, the air felt lighter, like the city itself had exhaled.

At the corner, we parted ways without much ceremony. No hug, no dramatic pause. Just Jasper tossing me a lazy wave as he shoved his hands into his pockets and disappeared into the crowd.

I stood there for a second, paper cup swinging in my plastic bag, before booking a cab. It wasn’t until I slid into the backseat that I realized I was smiling. Full-on grinning like an i***t.

I didn’t know why. Couldn’t explain it. Nothing earth-shattering had happened. No big moment. But something about that night—about him, about the way he’d looked at me—made me feel lighter. Like we’d agreed to something small that meant something big.

At home, I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag, and collapsed onto the bed. My phone buzzed against the nightstand.

Jasper: Good night, my partner in crime.

My chest squeezed in that quiet, annoying way. I didn’t reply. Just read it once. Then again. And let it settle there with me.