He was tired. Not just of the usual shit — the nonstop grind, the weight of his family — but tired in his bones. The kind of tired that even coffee and anger couldn’t fix. Lip sat hunched in the back of the classroom, pretending to read the same paragraph for the third time. The exam was in twenty minutes, but his head was elsewhere. Spinning.

Then his phone buzzed.

It was you.

A single photo. Liam, grinning like an idiot, arms up mid-swing, sweater too big on him. Your sweater, Lip realized. The one you wore too often, sleeves chewed and collar stretched. Liam’s face was lit up, wild with joy. The caption underneath said nothing. Didn’t need to.

Lip stared.

Lip’s chest tightened.

He zoomed in on the image, like it would pull him closer to the moment. You’d captioned it with a simple heart. Nothing more. Nothing less. And yet, it said too much.

He smiled. Real, wide. The kind of smile he didn’t let many people see.

“God, he loves you,” he muttered to himself, almost laughing.

The guy next to him looked over. Lip ignored him.

Since you were kids, you’d always been around. At first, it was just because Lip needed help. Someone to watch Liam when he had a shift or a class. But over time, you became more than just a favor. You were the safe space Liam ran to. The name he mumbled in his sleep. The person he always asked about. “When’s she coming over again?” he’d whisper, even when Lip was right there.

At first, Lip told himself it was just convenience. That you were just helping. But things got complicated. Somewhere between the quiet evenings you’d spend helping Liam build Lego cities, and the way you looked at Lip when he thought he wasn’t being looked at — something had shifted.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, biting the inside of his cheek.

Because he was so screwed.

He’d been in love with you for longer than he cared to admit. It snuck up on him — in the way you tied Liam’s shoes without being asked, in the way you didn’t flinch at the chaos of his life, in the way Liam looked at you like you hung the stars. Lip had never been good with feelings, but when it came to you, they were loud.

The professor walked in. People started closing books, pulling out pencils. Lip didn’t move. His thumb hovered over your name on his screen.

“You’re kinda the only good thing he gets excited about lately,” you’d told him once. Lip hadn’t known what to say then.

Now? He still didn’t.

He saved the photo. Tucked it into that little hidden folder where he kept too many things that reminded him of you.

The test paper landed on his desk with a thud. He didn’t even look at it. Just stared down at Liam’s smile for one more second.

Lip blinked. Shit. Right — exam.

But all he could think about was how your laugh sounded through thin apartment walls. How your fingers curled into the cuffs of your sleeves when you were tired. How badly he wanted to tell you something he didn’t have words for yet.

The minute the clock hit the end, he turned in the half-finished exam without looking back.

Fifteen minutes later, he was at your door.