I wasn’t supposed to know. Wasn’t even meant to hear it.

Just a stupid off-hand comment from one of the lads in the locker room. “Your girl’s getting ready for some dinner thing with that eejit from the year above.”

My girl.

I laughed—because that’s what you do when your chest cracks clean open. Laughed like it didn’t mean anything. Like she hadn’t been the sun around which my entire bleeding universe had quietly revolved since I was twelve.

She was going on a date.

With someone who wasn’t me.

After years—years—of standing back. Watching her and Claire and this unholy mess we called a triangle. Me, the funny lad. The one always half a step behind, pretending I didn’t care, pretending she didn’t look at me the way I looked at her sometimes.

She always did, though. I know she did.

But she never said it. Never made a move. Maybe because of Claire. Maybe because she didn’t think I meant it when I was busy playing the fool. And maybe that was my fault too.

But this?

This wasn’t happening.

I didn’t knock. Didn’t even think.

I just opened her door like I had a right to. Like I hadn’t been biting my tongue bloody for years, letting her slip further away in the name of loyalty and timing and not ruining things.

She was at her mirror, putting on mascara, wearing some floaty little dress that made my brain stop for a second.

She turned, startled. “Gibsie?”

I was already closing the door behind me.

“You’re not going,” I said, because I couldn’t trust myself not to say everything else first.

Her brow furrowed. “What are you—?”

“You’re not going on that date.”

She blinked, confused. “Why do you care?”

And there it was.

The moment.

The one I’d dodged for far too long.

I walked over to her. No jokes. No mad grins. Just heart in my mouth and fists clenched at my sides.

“Because it’s always been you,” I said, quiet but firm. “Because I’ve been standing in the corner watching you love other people while I’ve been in love with you.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, laughing bitterly. “You have to know. You’ve always known. You just didn’t want to believe it.”

“I didn’t…” she whispered, voice cracking. “I thought you—Claire—”

“I was never hers,” I snapped. “I was always yours. You just never let me say it.”

Silence.

Then: “You never tried.”

That gutted me more than I expected. Because she was right.

I hadn’t.

Until now.

I stepped closer. “Well, I’m trying now.”

She looked up at me, lips parted, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap me or kiss me.

And I thought, please let it be the second one.

“Don’t go,” I whispered. “Don’t walk out that door and pretend like we didn’t grow up side by side wishing we were brave enough.”