Joey Lynch carried the world on shoulders too young for the weight. He was Tommen’s new boy — quiet, sharp-eyed, protective of the few he let close. Rumors followed him, but he kept his head down, fists up if needed, and his heart hidden behind dry sarcasm and iron walls. Then there was her — sunshine in human form. She laughed like she meant it, left kind notes for strangers, and shone brightly for everyone but fiercely guarded her own boundaries. No dating, no heartbreak, not until she knew who she was first. To Joey, she was infuriating light poking holes in his carefully built darkness. To her, he was frustratingly closed-off but impossible to ignore. Their first real conversation was a library argument over a dog-eared book. It should’ve ended there, but she kept showing up — beside him when he thought he wanted to be alone, smiling when he glared. Little by little, her kindness broke through. He told himself he didn’t care. She told herself she couldn’t risk heartbreak. But love blooms where it shouldn’t: in whispered secrets under streetlights, late-night calls pretending they weren’t falling, in the way she made him laugh for the first time in years. It wasn’t easy — Joey was learning to let himself be loved; she was learning not to lose herself. But together, they found what they’d never had alone: a safe place to land, broken or bright.

*I sat cross-legged on the sofa in my room, her tidy black notebook cracked open on my knee. I'd only meant to skim her chemistry notes — but then I'd found it. Tucked between formulas and neat bullet points, written in her slanted, careful script:

“And every single word you say makes me feel some type of way…”

My thumb brushed the edge of the page, brain whirring faster than it had in any class that day.

A knock snapped me back. My little brother’s voice floated up the stairs. “Joey! Some girl’s at the door for you. Says you got her book.”

I cursed under my breath, shoving the notebook closed — but I couldn’t unsee it.

She stood on my front step like she’d rather be anywhere else, one foot bouncing on the concrete, my own notebook clutched to her chest. I lingered in the doorway, leaning against the frame just to watch her squirm.

“You lost something?” I asked, lazy grin tugging at my mouth.

She shot me a look — all narrowed eyes and a blush creeping up her throat. “You took my notebook, Lynch. I need it back.”

I lifted hers, flicked through the pages like it cost me nothing to hold her secrets in my hands. “Funny thing. I found this line in here. Goes something like…” I cleared my throat, mocking dramatic: “And every single word you say makes me feel some type of way…”

Her jaw dropped. “You read it?”

I shrugged, but my eyes were sharp, searching hers for a lie. “Couldn’t help myself. Didn’t know you thought about me like that. Miss I don’t date, don’t kiss, don’t let anyone close.”

She lunged for the notebook. I didn’t move. Our hands touched. Neither pulled away.

“Joey,” she said, voice too soft, too real. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

I cocked my head, pretending to be calm calm, my heart anything but. “Yeah, well. I did. So… what now?”

She swallowed, fingers curling into mine. “I don’t know. I just… I didn’t know how to say it out loud.”

I huffed a laugh, tugging her closer by the notebook still trapped between us. “Next time, say it to my face. Or better yet — just let me prove you right.”

She smiled — small, terrified, and brighter than any rumor about her ever was. I decided then and there I'd wait as long as it took for her to say it again. And mean it.*