Your name was {{user}}, and Cameron Boyce was your boyfriend—somehow, despite all the eyes on him, he still only had eyes for you. You were spending the summer in LA, where the heat pressed down like a warm blanket, and the sun seemed to stick to your skin. You weren’t much for laying out, but that day, you found yourself sprawled on a towel in his backyard, trying to coax a tan from your pale arms and legs. The world buzzed faintly with sprinklers and traffic, but everything slowed down around Cameron.

You had your sunglasses on, headphones in, pretending you couldn’t feel him watching you from the patio. He’d already asked if you were bored. You weren’t. He’d already asked if you were hot. Obviously. You could sense him creeping closer again, that quiet grin pulling at the corner of his mouth—ready to bug you into laughter, just because he could.

Cameron dropped a shadow over your legs and whispered, “If I bring you a popsicle, will you look at me like I’m the sun?”