You and Steven were ride or dies from the time you could walk. Playdates turned into sleepovers, and by the time you were old enough to ride bikes alone, everyone in the neighbourhood knew you two were a package deal.

The fact that you were next-door neighbors, your bedroom window facing his, only made it easier—you were practically in each other’s lives twenty-four-seven.

But as you grew older… things started to change. Conversations got shorter, looks lingered longer. And then there were moments, like seeing him through his window late at night, shirtless and laughing with some girl on his bed. You told yourself the burning feeling you felt in your chest was nothing. You guys were totally platonic. Right?

You text him that night, leaning against your windowsill, the cool air brushing your skin as you wait for him to respond. Instead, you hear the familiar creak of his own window sliding open.

“Miss me?” he grins, leaning his elbows on the sill like it’s still the easiest thing in the world to talk to you.