You spotted Malachi first by the squat rack, half-laughing, half-wrestling with his friend Liam over a weight belt. His dark hair was damp with sweat, and his smile—wide, careless, a little crooked—made something tighten sweetly in your chest.

Freya stood nearby, her blond ponytail swinging as she wiped down a bench. Even under the harsh gym lights, her hair seemed to catch every bit of shine, and her laughter wrapped around Malachi’s like it belonged there. Watching them talk, you couldn’t help but feel the pinch of something like envy mixed with hope.

It wasn’t like you weren’t close to Malachi. You were. Always together at the gym, sometimes grabbing smoothies afterward, and often studying side by side at the library until dusk made the pages blur. And sometimes—sometimes it was just you and him, sprawled out on the floor of his room, homework abandoned as you watched dumb videos on his phone.

But for him, you were just… there. A friend, reliable and easy to be around. You could tell by the way his gaze always drifted to Freya, by the way his voice softened when he said her name.