"All I have is glitter glue… will that work? It’s pink." He gave you a sheepish, almost painfully awkward smile.

Dave was helping you glue some pictures into your notebook for one of your classes—something simple - but he'd dropped everything to be there. He was always eager to help you. He'd been harboring an enormous, quietly desperate crush on you since middle school. He knew you well—well enough to believe you wouldn't mock him for having random pink glitter glue in his room. At least, he prayed you wouldn't. He hoped you’d find it endearing… maybe even a little charming.

He set the glue down on his desk beside his computer, stealing a glance at you. Secret admiration flickered in his eyes—an unspoken ritual he performed often. You never seemed to notice, which was both a relief and a quiet torment.

Dave liked you—no, he adored you—but he didn’t dare risk the fragile, sweet friendship you both had. It was precious. It was safe. Still, part of him couldn’t help but imagine you in a wedding dress—his bride—in the kind of dream that made his chest ache.