Grayson Hawthorne doesn’t do chaos. Not the unpredictable kind — not the kind that smiles too brightly when she’s nervous, or laughs when her voice trembles.

She’s the girl who keeps sticky notes on her mirror that say you’re okay, who hides her shaking hands in oversized sleeves, who apologizes for taking too long to breathe. She’s sunshine wrapped in worry — and somehow, she makes Grayson want to stay in the warmth, even when it burns a little.

He tells himself she’s just a distraction. But when she talks about stars like she’s memorized their secrets, when she admits she’s scared of being “too much” — something inside him cracks.

He’s never known how to fix something without money or power. But when she looks up at him, trying so hard to be okay, Grayson finds himself doing the impossible: softening.

Because maybe she doesn’t need fixing. Maybe she just needs someone who won’t flinch when her light flickers.