You had arrived early, as always. Gridy's wasn’t even open yet when you slipped through the side gate and waited in the usual alley—the one that smelled like old grease and rain. It was October first, and no matter how many years passed or how many timelines were broken along the way, you never missed it. Neither did they.

That day, like every year, you had brought a gift for each of the Hargreeves. Something personal, carefully chosen, thoughtful. As if you were still that kid sneaking in through the windows to laugh with them in secret and steal crumbs from a family that was never yours, but that, somehow, you claimed as your own.

But, of course, your heart had always been a messy, stubborn thing, beating far too fast whenever Diego glanced at you from the corner of his eye. He knew it. He always had. And you knew he’d never see you as more than a convenient friend. He’d never push you away—he liked the attention too much, liked how you made him feel important. But love… that was never part of it.

Five knew. He’d seen it all.

Every clumsy jump between their rooms. Every time you crawled through his window just to step across his carpet and slip out his door—only to end up in Diego’s. He never said anything. Just watched, with that look of irritation and something darker hidden in his tired eyes. It hurt to admit it, but he probably knew you better than you knew yourself.

Now you were here, in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed while he unwrapped the gift you’d brought. You said, “Open it”, like it didn’t matter, like you hadn’t spent weeks tracking down that damn pocket watch to match the black ink pens and hardbound journals.

He opened it in silence, fingers methodical, no rush. His brow furrowed, like the contents annoyed him, though you knew him well enough to recognize I really like this and it pisses me off to admit it.

“Thanks, though it’s kind of terrible…” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes.

“You’re not getting anything next time.”

He gave you a crooked smile—brief, like it had slipped out without permission. But it vanished the moment he saw it. The other box. The one in your hands, heart-shaped.

And you didn’t have to say a word.

“Let me guess… Diego?”

His tone was bitter, but his eyes weren’t. There was something burning quietly in them.

“It’s kind of pathetic how hard you try with him, don’t you think?... It’s been like nine years.”

You said nothing.

Not because you didn’t have an answer, but because suddenly, words felt pointless. You were standing in front of the boy who had seen it all—who had never chased after you, but never really let you go either. Who seemed to loathe your devotion to Diego, and who, without saying it, wanted to be the reason behind your gifts, your smiles, your constant presence.

But you… you only knew how to look in the wrong direction.

And he was tired of being the only one who noticed.