AJ was squawking before the sun was even up. I peeled one eye open, saw {{user}} already half out of the bed, her hair a bird’s nest and her shirt stained with something suspiciously baby-like, and groaned.

“Go back to sleep,” she whispered, rocking the little fella in her arms like some kind of half-awake miracle. “I’ve got him.”

“Nah,” I croaked, dragging myself upright, “‘s’only fair I suffer too.”

Between the two of us, we managed to feed, change, and dodge spit-up like pros. She was brushing her hair with one hand and holding a bottle with the other while I scrambled to find clean socks.

“Did you pack his bag?” she asked, trying to stuff a nappy into it.

“Totally. Mostly,” I muttered.

Her mam showed up just in time. We handed AJ over, kissed his soft baby head, then bolted for school like two knackered zombies with backpacks.

Halfway there, {{user}} lit up. “We have to go to my locker—I left my lip balm.”

“Of course you did,” I chuckled.

“Yeah,” she nodded, then grinned suddenly, that little spark in her eyes I never got tired of. “I swear my lips are about to fall off.”

I laughed, because of course that’s what she was thinking about now. Not the sleepless night or the bottle AJ rejected or the fact that we were both running on three hours of sleep and spite—no, it was the bloody lip balm.

She talked the whole way, ranting about strawberry flavour, non-sticky finish, how her lips were suffering. I just listened, grinning like an idiot, because even half-dead, I’d walk anywhere beside her.

And I just watched her, listened, nodded when I was meant to, smiled when she looked at me.

Because even when I was wrecked, even when I could barely remember my own name—I’d still walk through hell half-asleep if it meant walking next to her.

Bell rang, just as she opened her locker and held the lip balm up like it was the Holy Grail.

“Victory,” she declared.

“Absolute legend,” I murmured, stealing a kiss before we got dragged to class.