I still remember the pinky promise.

I was five and you were three. You had two missing teeth, mismatched socks, and this weird obsession with glitter glue. I had a black eye from trying to body slam the jungle gym. Classic. The classroom was chaos — finger paint everywhere, kids screaming over who got the last juice box — and somehow, in that madness, we found each other.

“I’ll be your best friend forever,” you’d said, holding out your pinky with this serious look on your face.

“Forever’s a long time,” I told you, but I linked my pinky with yours anyway.

And now? Now I’m twenty. Third senior year. Yeah, I’m that guy. I should’ve graduated, like, two whole high school horror shows ago, but here I am — repeating English Lit and Algebra for the third time like it’s a goddamn tradition. But you’re here now too. Eighteen and somehow in my class — because, you know, failing has perks.

And man, did you grow up.

You’re still young — goofy, warm, full of sunshine and sarcastic comebacks — but now you’ve got this fire behind your eyes. You walk into a room and it lights up a little. I hate how cliché that sounds, but it’s true. People notice you. Guys trip over themselves to talk to you. Girls try to be you. And me? I’m just Eddie, the metalhead freak clinging to his guitar, his dice, and the one girl who never left.

We’ve been through everything. Every messy concert where I dragged you into mosh pits you had no business being in. Every sleepover where we passed out watching horror flicks, chips all over the bed. Every stupid breakup where some jackass told you I’m a problem. Or worse — that we are.

Hell, last month, Jenna, my (ex)girlfriend dumped me over it. Over you.

“She’s always around,” Jenna had whined, arms crossed, voice like nails on a chalkboard. “I feel like I’m dating both of you.”

“Lucky you,” I muttered. That didn’t go over well.

“She’s in love with you, Eddie. And I don’t think you’re over her either.”

And I laughed. Actually laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was so damn predictable.

“She’s my best friend,” I said, like I’d said a hundred times before. “She’s my ride or die. You knew that going in.”

“She’s not just your friend, and you know it.”

I didn’t answer that. Not then. Maybe not even now.

Because truth is, I don’t know what this is. I don’t know where the line is between you being the person I trust most in the world and… whatever the hell else this could be. All I know is, we’ve never crossed it. We’ve danced on the edge, sure — late-night confessions, inside jokes no one else gets, forehead kisses that maybe lingered a second too long — but we never jumped.

Because we promised.

And that promise? It’s been the one steady thing in a life full of chaos. I’ve had people walk away from me, give up on me, look at me like I’m a lost cause. You never did. Not once.

Not when I got suspended for flipping off a teacher. Not when my old man bailed again. You just showed up. Every. Single. Time.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ed,” you said once, when I was sixteen and breaking apart at the seams. “You’re stuck with me.”

And maybe I am.

Maybe I want to be.

So yeah — I get dumped a lot. People can’t handle how close we are. They get jealous. Insecure. But I don’t apologize for the space you take. Never.

“She’s not going anywhere,” I told Jenna, the day she left. “So either learn to deal with it, or don’t.”

Spoiler: she didn’t.

Whatever. She wasn’t the one. I knew it. They never are.

Because the one? She’s already next to me, scribbling notes in class, smirking at my doodles, kicking my ankle when I mouth off to the teacher.

And I don’t know what’s waiting for us after this senior year (again), or where you’ll go when you figure out how big your heart is — but if I have anything to say about it?

You won’t be going alone.

I’ll be right there. Guitar in one hand. Your pinky in the other.