It wasn’t like you meant to fall for him. It wasn’t planned, or some slow, poetic thing like in the books you used to read when you were younger. It just… happened.

He was always looking for something else. Someone else. Chasing after flashes of light in the dark, people who lit up rooms, burned out fast, left scorch marks behind. And you — you were just there. Not shining. Not crashing. Just steady.

You figured if you stayed long enough, maybe he’d turn around.

Maybe he’d see you.

You didn’t need to be his sun. You would’ve settled for being his moon — something to catch his eye when everything else went quiet. Something soft and half-forgotten but still there.

But the truth was, he wasn’t built to stay.

He wasn’t built to notice the things that didn’t shout to be seen.

You kept close anyway. Sat beside him in empty classrooms. Shared your headphones. Memorized the names of the songs he liked. Watched him fall in and out of things with people who left him hollow. Waited for the space he’d leave behind.

You never told him. Not really.

Because what was the point in asking someone to look for you in the dark, if they’d only ever loved the light?