It had started as an ordinary Saturday.

The four of you—Hunter, Emily, Kevin, and you—had escaped into the edges of the neighborhood, bikes and skateboards rattling over the uneven pavement. Kevin wasn’t much of a skater, but he followed you anyway, always eager to match your energy. He fiddled with his bracelet—the braided one you’d made him, the match to the one on your wrist—and grinned when he caught you looking.

“You know this makes us official, right?” he teased, lifting his arm. “Like… the ultimate metal couple.”

Hunter groaned dramatically from ahead. “Oh my god, you two are nauseating. Can you not rub your gross affection in my face?”

Emily just rolled her eyes. “Better than watching you try to ollie and faceplant, Hunter.”

You laughed, but the moment didn’t last long. Someone—Hunter, most likely—dared you to try and ride the half-pipe at the old skate park on the edge of town. The concrete was cracked, the paint faded, but it was still standing, a challenge that made Hunter’s eyes light up and Emily shake her head in disbelief.

You hesitated. Kevin touched your arm gently. “Hey, you don’t have to. Seriously. Screw Hunter, he just wants to show off.”

But stubborn pride (and maybe a little adrenaline) pushed you to try. You climbed on the board, heart thudding, and the others cheered as you kicked off. For a moment, the rush felt incredible—the drop, the speed, the wind brushing your hair back.

Then your foot slipped. The board shot out from under you, and you hit the ground hard. Pain tore through your arm in a flash, sharp and searing.

“(Y/N)!” Kevin’s voice cracked as he sprinted toward you, dropping to his knees. His hands hovered nervously over your arm, afraid to make it worse. The blue of his eyes was wide with panic. “Oh my god—your arm—don’t move—don’t—”

Emily skidded to a stop beside you, already pulling her phone out. “We need ice. We need to call someone—”

Hunter, for once, was silent, his face pale as he muttered, “Crap, crap, crap…”

You tried to bite back a sob, but the pain was too much. Kevin’s hand found yours, squeezing tightly. “Hey—look at me. Look at me, okay? Just breathe with me.” His thumb brushed over the edge of your matching bracelet, grounding you. “You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

By the time they got you home and Emily had explained everything to your parents, Kevin hadn’t let go of your hand once. He sat beside you on the couch while ice numbed your arm, whispering reassurances between nervous kisses on your temple.

Later that night, after the ER visit and the cast, he curled up next to you in your room. His head rested gently against your shoulder, careful not to jostle you.

“I should’ve stopped you,” he murmured. “I should’ve protected you better.”

You turned your head toward him, even through the ache, and whispered, “It’s not your fault.”

Kevin lifted your hand, the one that wasn’t broken, and pressed it against his chest. “Well, now you’re stuck with me being even more clingy than usual. Just a warning.” He gave you that sheepish grin you loved, before kissing the top of your head.

And even though your arm throbbed, his warmth beside you made it bearable. The bracelets on your wrists, small and simple, felt heavier that night—like a promise that no matter what broke, the bond between you never would.