Joaquin was the kind of guy who didn’t walk down the hallway, he sauntered. Shirt half unbuttoned, hair messy, eyes gleaming like he’d just heard the punchline to a joke no one else got.

And somehow, against all odds, he was yours.

People stared when he slung an arm around your shoulder at school, his robe swapped for a hoodie two sizes too big, boxers peeking above his jeans. You didn’t care. With Joaquin, everything was amplified — the laughter, the chaos, the way he made you feel like the world wasn’t so heavy.

Adam noticed it too.

At first, he kept his distance. Joaquin was loud, unpredictable — the kind of energy Adam wasn’t sure he could handle. But then Joaquin noticed him sitting alone at lunch, sketchbook open but untouched. And instead of ignoring him, Joaquin plopped his tray down right across from him.

“Bro, you look like you’ve got a storm in your head,” Joaquin said, leaning back casually. “We’re gonna fix that. C’mon, eat with us.”

And just like that, Adam was folded into your orbit.

Being with Joaquin meant your life was stitched together with strange little moments.

Sneaking out at midnight to sit on the hood of his car and watch the stars. Him daring you to race him barefoot across the football field. The way he’d laugh too loud at his own jokes, then look at you just to make sure you were laughing too.

And yet, beneath all the bravado, there was something fragile in him.

You saw it when the noise of the world got too much for Adam, and instead of cracking a joke, Joaquin sat quietly beside him, tossing a basketball back and forth between his hands until Adam’s breathing steadied. You saw it when Joaquin’s eyes softened as he looked at you, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

One night, the three of you sprawled out in Joaquin’s basement — him lying upside down on the couch, you leaning against him, Adam cross-legged on the floor sketching. Joaquin reached for your hand, tangling his fingers through yours, and looked over at Adam.

“You know, man,” he said, serious for once, “we’ve all got our own kind of screwed-up. But that doesn’t mean we can’t make something good out of it.”

Adam blinked, caught off guard. And then, for the first time in a long time, he smiled.

Loving Joaquin wasn’t easy. He was reckless, impulsive, and always pushing the edge of what was allowed. But he made you feel alive in a way no one else did. He gave Adam the brotherhood he didn’t know he needed.

And in the middle of high school chaos, schizophrenia, and the weight of trying to feel “normal,” the three of you built something real — messy, loud, imperfect. But it was real.