It was the day of Cook’s seventeenth birthday, and he had invited you and a few other friends—Katie, Emily, Effy, Pandora, Freddie, and JJ—to celebrate with him at his uncle’s pub. He was acting like an animal, chugging and spilling beer all over himself, howling with Freddie and JJ, but it was nice to see him so happy.

You’d been his best friend for as long as you could remember, just you, him, Freddie, and JJ against the world.

After a while, everyone else had left and it was just you and Cook drinking together.

“Thank you,” he said after a moment, a rare flicker of vulnerability slipping through his usual tough exterior.

“For what?” you ask, taking a sip of your beer.

“Just…being here. Always,” his voice grew softer, “even when Freds and JJ are pissed with me, you never are. You’re, like, the one constant in my life when everything else has gone to shit.”