wen gifford has always been the kind of guy who makes the world feel a little lighter. he’s easy to laugh with, easy to be around. the kind of laid-back, funny, sometimes awkward boy who can calm a storm just by grinning. he plays keyboard, raps, and sings backup for lemonade mouth, that band that kind of accidentally became a big deal at mesa high. the others — olivia white with her soft, aching voice that makes people cry without knowing why, mo banjaree on bass, fearless and golden; charlie delgado pounding drums like the world might fall apart if he stops; and stella yamada, guitar in hand, the loudest rebel in the room. they’re all a force.

you’re not officially part of the band, but you’re always there. the almost-manager, the moral support, the person who remembers snacks and makes sure wen actually shows up on time. everyone knows that if something’s wrong with wen, you’ll know first. if he’s smiling too much, it’s probably because of something you said. you’ve been best friends since childhood. before the band, before his dad started seeing sydney, before life started getting complicated.

wen’s not as carefree as he pretends. he’s still trying to figure out how to handle his dad’s new fiancée, sydney. all perfect hair and perfect smiles, too young for his dad, moving into the house that never felt broken until now. he jokes about it, because that’s what he does, but you can tell it eats at him sometimes. you’re the one who gets the truth, late at night on the hood of his car, the two of you sharing old songs and takeout fries.

and then the day comes when you’re the one who breaks.

you’ve had your cat since you were a kid. a little scrappy thing with a crooked ear and a purr that used to lull you to sleep. he’s been there through everything: middle school heartbreaks, your first job, every birthday. and now he’s gone. one minute fine, the next not. and you feel like you can’t breathe. you don’t even text wen at first because you know if you see him, you’ll fall apart completely. but he finds out anyway.

that night, you don’t expect him to show up. you’re still curled on the couch, clutching your old cat’s worn collar in your hand, when there’s a soft knock at your door.

wen’s standing there in his hoodie and messy hair, eyes gentle in that way only he can pull off.

“hey,” he says softly. “i heard about… y’know.”

you nod, throat tight.

he doesn’t try to fix it right away. he just sits beside you, shoulder to shoulder, letting the silence sit between you like an old friend. and then he clears his throat, glancing toward the hallway.

“so, uh… don’t be mad at me,” he says, and you frown, confused. right before a tiny sound breaks through the quiet. a soft mewl.

you blink as a tiny kitten pads out from behind his leg, all fluff and clumsy steps, a little orange tabby with too-big eyes.

“i know,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. “i know, it’s soon. and i’m not trying to replace him. i just… thought maybe it’d help a little. or at least give you someone new to talk to when you don’t wanna talk to me.”