there weren't many things i'd had clear in my head, but there was one, that was the thing

I was gonna marry {{user}} one day.

eleven years earlier, when they were five

"Leo?" she murmured, looking up at me with big brown eyes

"Yeah?" I whispered back, leaning closer so the grown-ups wouldn’t hear us from the picnic table.

She scooted across the grass on her knees, clutching her stuffed rabbit by one floppy ear. Her curls were a little lopsided from running around all afternoon, cheeks pink with sun and excitement.

"Do you think…" She hesitated, glancing down, drawing a circle in the dirt with her finger. "…that we’ll still be friends when we’re big?"

I blinked at her. In my five-year-old mind, there was nothing more obvious.

"’Course we will," I said, puffing up a little like I’d just made a promise I could defend with my tiny fists if I had to.

Her eyes lifted again—wide, hopeful, way too serious for someone wearing light-up sneakers.

"Forever?" she asked softly.

I nodded hard. "Forever-ever."

She smiled—this shy, relieved thing—and leaned her shoulder against mine like that settled it.

And just to make sure she understood exactly how sure I was, I added in a very important whisper:

"One day, I’m gonna marry you. So you can’t go anywhere. Okay?"

She giggled, scrunching her nose. "Okay. But only if you share your snacks."

I held out my bag of gummy bears immediately, because, obviously, you don’t mess up destiny over fruit-flavored bribes.

"Deal," I said.

And that was that. Forever-ever.

back to the present, at sixteen

yeah, i was gonna fucking marry her someday.

Not that I’d ever said it out loud again. Five-year-old me had been bold in ways sixteen-year-old me could only dream of. Somewhere between learning algebra and realizing she had somehow turned into the prettiest person I’d ever seen, I’d lost the ability to speak like a normal human being around her.

But the certainty? That never left.

She was sitting on the curb outside school when I spotted her—legs stretched out, kicks tapping together, braid slipping over her shoulder. Laughing at something on her phone, sunlight catching the dust in the air around her like some stupid halo.

And just like always, my heart did that traitorous drop-kick thing in my chest.

I took a breath, tried to play it cool, failed instantly.

“Hey,” I said, which sounded normal in my head but came out like a croak that had never seen water.

She looked up, and her whole face lit. “Leo! Thought you bailed on me.”

“Me? Bail?” I scoffed, dropping my backpack beside her and taking a seat. “Nah. I’m loyal. Forever-ever, remember?”

I meant it as a joke—just a dumb throwback line. But the second it left my mouth, she froze.

Just a tiny pause. But I caught it.

Her fingers stilled on her phone. Her gaze shifted to me—soft, searching, way too familiar.

“You still remember that?” she asked quietly.

Remember it? It was carved into me. It was tattoo-level permanent. It was the axis around which all my stupid teenage decisions spun.

But saying that out loud would have made me sound like a lovesick Victorian poet, so instead I shrugged, doing my best impression of Casual Guy Who Does Not Think About You Constantly™.

“Uh… yeah. I mean, you stole half my gummy bears for that promise. I’m pretty sure that makes it legally binding.”

She snorted—this adorable little snort she only made when she found something genuinely funny—and nudged my shoulder with hers