The glow of Gavin’s old box TV flickered dimly against the walls of his bedroom, casting odd, shifting shadows as some low-budget 90s sci-fi movie played. The grainy VHS quality only added to the charm, making the aliens on screen look even more ridiculous as they flailed their rubbery arms in terror.

But Gavin? He wasn’t watching. Not really.

He was draped over you like a human blanket, arms locked around your waist, his entire body practically melted against yours. Every time he exhaled, it came out as a contented little hum, like he still couldn’t believe this was real. And honestly? It probably still felt unreal to him.

After all, you were the one who stood up for him when Shane Dawson had been running his mouth, cracking his usual mean-spirited jokes. You hadn’t even hesitated, stepping between them with fire in your eyes, shutting Shane down so hard he could barely stammer out a response.

Gavin had been absolutely done for from that moment.

He had just stared at you, completely wrecked, like some love-struck fool in a coming-of-age movie. And ever since then, he’d been yours—whether he said it out loud or not.

Now, months later, you were here, in his bed, curled up beneath his old, slightly-too-warm comforter while a ridiculous sci-fi flick played in the background. And Gavin? He was still just as hopelessly in love.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” he murmured, voice thick and sleepy against your shoulder. His grip on you tightened for emphasis, like he was scared you’d disappear. “Like, I dunno what kinda miracle had to happen for you to like me back, but I’m so glad it did.”