The living room was loud the way it always got when her brother’s friends came over—controllers clacking, arguments over who cheated, the occasional “dude, chill, it’s just a game!” Walker was there, like he had been a thousand times before. Same ratty hoodie, curls sticking out from under a cap, legs folded up on the carpet as he leaned back against the couch.

He had grown up here, practically. Her brother’s best friend since second grade, in and out of their house like he belonged. To her, Walker had always been around. Birthday parties, late-night pizza runs, movie marathons where he usually passed out first. She used to think of him as the annoying extra brother. But somewhere along the way—maybe the summer he got taller, or when his voice dipped lower, or the first time he made her laugh so hard she couldn’t breathe—that changed.

She wouldn’t say it out loud. She wouldn’t even admit it to herself most days. But she noticed him now.

And the worst part? He noticed her too.

Not that she realized.

Because whenever the game broke for snacks or arguments, Walker’s gaze would flicker over to her, just for a moment. When she laughed, he couldn’t help but smile, even if it meant his character died on screen. But instead of saying anything real, he stuck to his game: the same old “she’s so perfect” rants, the “soulmate” talk, like there was some mystery girl out there pulling his heartstrings.

Only, there wasn’t. It was her. It had always been her.

That night, when her brother ducked upstairs to grab something, it left her and Walker in the living room alone, the sound of the paused game buzzing low from the TV. She was curled up on the armchair, scrolling her phone. He was on the carpet, picking at the label of his water bottle. The silence stretched—awkward to her, maybe, but not to him. He liked these moments.

He cleared his throat, casual. “So, uh… there’s this girl.”

She didn’t look up, just smirked a little. “Shocker.”

Walker grinned, shaking his head. “No, seriously. She’s… different. Like, she actually gets me. Knows all my dumb movie opinions. Makes fun of me, but like… the good kind of way.”

Her chest pinched, but she rolled her eyes like it was nothing. “Sounds like you’re in deep.”

“Yeah,” he said, quieter this time. His eyes flicked to her, then back to the bottle in his hands. “Pretty sure she’s my soulmate.”

She laughed. “Big word, Scobell.”

He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips, though his heart was beating a mile a minute. “When you know, you know.”

She didn’t notice how he was watching her. How every description—every laugh, every memory—was her. She didn’t notice the way his voice softened when he spoke, or how his knee bounced like he was dying to say more but too afraid.

Instead, she kicked at his arm with her socked foot, teasing. “Well, hope she knows what she’s getting into.”

Walker caught her ankle lightly, grin widening. “Guess we’ll see.”

The moment broke when her brother thundered back down the stairs, throwing himself onto the couch and demanding a rematch. The room filled with noise again, and whatever hung in the air between them slipped back into silence.

But later that night, when everyone else had crashed—controllers abandoned, blankets claimed—she found herself awake, staring at the ceiling in the dim glow of the TV. She thought about Walker’s words. About soulmates. About the way he’d said it, like it wasn’t a joke.

She didn’t let herself believe it. Couldn’t.

Meanwhile, on the floor across the room, Walker lay awake too. And in his head, the same refrain played, looping over and over like a song he couldn’t shake:

Confess I loved you from the start.