She didn’t mean to bring it up.

It slipped out the way things always did when she was tired—quietly, half-formed, like if she didn’t say it all the way maybe it wouldn’t count.

They were sitting on the floor of his room, backs against the bed, her phone face-down between them like it had done something wrong. Walker was picking at a loose thread on his hoodie, knees pulled up, comfortable in that way he always was when it was just them.

“I saw another edit today,” she said. Neutral. Too neutral. “Not even a good one.”

Walker glanced over. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just—” She shrugged, then stopped when it felt too obvious. “Another girl. Or like… five. People in the comments fighting over who you ‘should’ be with.”

He went still.

Not dramatic. Just attentive.

“Oh,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Did you wanna talk about it?”

That was Walker. He didn’t rush. Didn’t deflect. He made space like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She hesitated, then nodded. “I know it’s stupid. I know they don’t actually know you. Or me. Or us. I just—sometimes it feels like everyone wants a version of you that isn’t real. And I’m standing right here, and still somehow I feel… replaceable.”

She hated how small her voice got at the end.

Walker’s jaw tightened—not angry. Focused. He shifted so he was facing her fully now, one knee bent, arm resting loosely across it. When he spoke, it was careful, like he wanted to get it exactly right.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

She did.

His eyes were steady. Familiar. Not the ones people edited and slowed down and put music over. Just Walker’s.

“They don’t want me,” he said. “They want an idea. A clip. A character they made up in their head.”

“That doesn’t make it hurt less,” she admitted.

“No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t.”

He reached out—not fast, not dramatic—and hooked his pinky around hers. Grounding. Real.

“But here’s the thing,” he continued. “You know me when I’m tired. When I’m annoying. When I forget my lines or overthink dumb stuff at two in the morning. You’re not competing with edits or comments or people who think they know me because they watched an interview.”

He squeezed her hand once. “They don’t get this version.”

She swallowed. “What if one day you want someone who fits better into all that?”

Walker huffed out a quiet laugh—not mocking. Almost disbelieving. “That sounds exhausting.”

She cracked a smile despite herself.

“I’m serious,” he said, nudging her knee lightly with his. “I don’t wake up thinking about who the internet ships me with. I wake up thinking about whether I texted you back, or if you ate, or if I left my jacket at your place again.”

“You did,” she murmured.

“See? Important stuff.”

He leaned his head back against the bed, eyes on the ceiling. “I chose you. Not a brand. Not a narrative. You.”

There was a pause. Comfortable. Heavy in a good way.

She rested her head on his shoulder, tentative at first. He shifted immediately to make it easier, arm coming around her without thinking.

“You don’t have to be okay with it all the time,” he said quietly. “But don’t ever think I’m halfway out the door. I’m not.”