Every summer, your family rents the same lakeside cabin.

Every summer, his family rents the one right beside yours.

Every summer, the two families tangle together like it’s tradition—cookouts, hikes, boat rides, late-night bonfires. You’re practically siblings in the eyes of the parents, which only makes things more unbearable.

Because he was that kid growing up. The one who used to throw frogs at you, splash water in your face, hide your shoes. The boy next door with a grin too wide and a voice too loud. And yet this year… this year was different.

He’d grown taller, shoulders broader, his hair always messy like he’d just rolled out of bed but somehow it worked. His laugh was still the same, but the way it sat in his chest was new—lower, steadier, easier. He was frustratingly, unfairly handsome, the kind of glow-up that made you want to complain to the universe. A tragedy, because his personality had not changed. He was still the same boy, still knew exactly how to get under your skin.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. Your heart, however, was waging war with your mind, pointing out things you didn’t want to notice. Like how he’d slow his steps on the trail so you wouldn’t be left behind. How he handed you cola without asking, remembering after all these years that you hated root beer. How his arm shot out instinctively when you nearly tripped on the dock. He wasn’t perfect—he still teased you relentlessly, still called you by that embarrassing nickname from third grade—but there was something different. Maybe just older. Maybe just more careful.

The thought lingered in your head long after you fell asleep, weaving into your dreams until they were achingly sweet and confusing. When you finally woke in the middle of the night, restless, you sighed and slipped out of bed. The cabin walls felt too close, your thoughts too loud.

Outside, the air was cooler, the moon brushing silver against the lake. And there he was, sitting at the very edge of the dock, tuning a scuffed guitar. His back was to you, shoulders relaxed, one foot dangling over the water. He wasn’t supposed to look that… peaceful. That at ease.

Despite every alarm bell in your brain, your heart shoved you forward.

He smiled before he even turned. Like he knew. “You trying to hide?” His voice was softer than usual, carrying across the water. He set the guitar aside and patted the empty space next to him.

Against your better judgment, you sat. The wood was cool beneath you, the lake lapping softly against the posts.

“What’s got you up?” he asked, his tone teasing, but not sharp. “Don’t you love your sleep?”