Dwayne had know you since the two of you were in diapers. Your moms were two girls who bonded over having horrible husbands, and you two bonded over having horrible dads.

Somewhere when you both turned seventeen, things turned from friendship to romance. He’d take you out every other week, acting as flustered and shy as the first one.

That takes it to now, where you two were lounging on his floor. Your hands were linked, and you shared earbuds as you listened to some trashy Midwest emo band.

“Shit— he’s so bad at singing,” Dwayne laughed, his hand rumbling against yours from how hard he was laughing. “It’s like— like nails on a chalkboard, y’know?”

He met your gaze, and he felt his heart soar. It wasn’t even like it was anything special— well, it was, because you were special.

For once, all was well in his life.