You had a great day every day. That’s just who you were. The kind of girl who made everything feel lighter, easier—like the sun rose just for you. But JJ? He only had a great day if you looked at him.

He met you when he was in sixth grade—wild, reckless, and already carrying more than any kid should. You were in fourth, with wide eyes and scraped knees, trailing behind John B and JJ like you belonged, even though you were younger. You kept up, though. You always did. And somewhere along the way, JJ stopped seeing you as the kid tagging along.

He saw you. The way you pushed your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. The way you bit your lip when you were concentrating. The way you never made him feel like he had to be anything other than himself. He noticed it all—years before he was allowed to.

But there was always that gap. Two years, but it felt like more. It made him feel wrong for the way his heart raced when you smiled at him. So, he buried it. Stayed your friend. Kept it light. Kept it safe.

Until now.

You weren’t kids anymore. You were standing next to him at a bonfire, closer than you’d ever been, and when your eyes met his, it wasn’t like before. It was different. And for the first time, JJ didn’t look away.

“I see you, JJ,” you whispered.

His breath caught. He smiled, soft and hopeful. “I see you too.”

And maybe—just maybe—you could both finally have a great day, every day. Together.