The Scobell family had been more than just neighbors — they had been a second family to you for as long as you could remember. Actually, even longer than that. Your parents had met back in high school, bonded over mixtapes and late-night diner runs, and never really drifted apart. After college, by some twist of fate or destiny, they ended up moving into houses right next to each other in the same quiet cul-de-sac. So naturally, you and the Scobell kids grew up more like siblings than just family friends.

I was seven and you were nine I looked at you like the stars that shine In the sky, the pretty lights

Leena, the oldest, was three years ahead of you and had always been the “cool” older sister — the one who taught you how to braid your hair, let you borrow her lip gloss, and drove you to school blasting music through the car’s worn-out speakers. Tanner, the baby of the family, was all mischief and sticky fingers, the one you helped with math homework and coached through heartbreaks like you were his life therapist.

And then… there was Walker.

Walker was only a year older than you, but somehow, it had always felt like he’d lived a thousand lives. He was your best friend, your partner in crime, the one person who could read you without even having to ask what was wrong. From the time you could crawl, it was always you and him. Backyard baseball games that turned into stargazing nights, scraped knees and popsicles on the porch — you’d been inseparable.

Your dads used to tease that you two would end up married someday, exchanging knowing grins across the grill at summer barbecues. Your moms would laugh too, though the look they shared was a little softer, a little more hopeful. At the time, it was funny — you and Walker would roll your eyes and shove each other like siblings do.

And our daddies used to joke about the two of us Growing up and falling in love and our mamas smiled and rolled their eyes and said oh my my my

But deep down, there was always something different about him.

You told yourself it was purely platonic. You swore up and down that he was like a brother. But brothers didn’t rest their hands on your back when guiding you through crowds. Brothers didn’t notice when you were cold and hand you their hoodie without a word. Brothers didn’t memorize your coffee order or text you every time the sky turned a weird color because he knew how much you loved clouds.

And you definitely didn’t spend this much time wondering what his lips might feel like against yours.

Still, you kept it all bottled up. The glances. The late-night calls. The way your heart jumped when your fingers brushed.

well, I was sixteen when suddenly I wasn't that little girl you used to see But your eyes still shined like pretty lights

Your phone buzzed beside you on the bed, pulling you from your thoughts.

“coming over?”

It was from Walker, of course. No punctuation. No need for it. You both spoke in a shorthand only the two of you really understood. His house was more familiar than your own — you knew the creak in the third step, the best snacks hidden behind the cereal boxes in their kitchen, and the exact spot on the couch where the blanket always fell.

You grinned, thumbs tapping out a quick ‘yea’, and grabbed a hoodie — one of his, already soft and worn with a faint scent of cedar and something that always smelled like him. You didn’t even think about it anymore. His clothes lived in your closet as much as yours did.

Outside, the evening air was thick with that late-summer stillness — crickets chirping lazily, porch lights flickering on one by one. The familiar path between your houses felt sacred somehow. Like your own private bridge between worlds.