You and Riley have been friends since you could barely walk. Riley, the gentle one—always polite, always listening, always trying to make everyone proud. And then there’s you: stubborn, blunt, always wearing your heart right there on your sleeve, even when it makes you look foolish.

The first time you met Josh—Riley’s uncle, though barely three years older than you—you were fourteen, and he was seventeen. It sounds ridiculous to anyone who doesn’t know the age difference, but the crush was instant and impossible to hide. Josh was charming without trying, teasing Riley gently, smiling that easy smile that made your chest feel too tight.

To Josh, you were family. You were Riley’s best friend, always in the background, always there. Too young for him—of course you were. And yet, you never tried to hide how you felt. If anything, you wanted him to know. You wanted everyone to know.

⸻

One afternoon, Riley asked you to come with her to drop off something Josh had forgotten. You agreed, your heart jumping at the thought of seeing him. But when you stepped into his dorm room, your chest sank.

Two girls were there, sitting on his bed, laughing at something he said. Another guy lounged against the wall, smirking like he belonged there. And suddenly, something ugly bubbled up in your chest.

“What are they to you?” you asked, sharper than you intended.

Josh’s jaw tightened immediately. His expression turned annoyed, and you hated how it made your heart sink. “What’s it to you, {{user}}?” he shot back.

You opened your mouth, but Riley’s voice cut through the tension. “{{user}}, why don’t you just say it? Say what you really feel.”

Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure they could all hear it. Riley looked at you, gentle but firm, pushing you toward something she knew you were too stubborn to admit. “Can you name one thing you know about him that you love?”

You swallowed hard. Then, softly, you said, “He’s part of your family, Riley. I love your family.”

Riley shook her head, pressing you to go deeper. “And we love you. But what about Josh specifically?”

Josh sat there on the bed, still looking annoyed, but listening now—waiting. “Yeah, {{user}},” he echoed, his tone softer but still guarded. “You don’t… you don’t even really know me.”

You laughed, a humorless, breathy laugh, because the words felt both true and untrue. “Yeah. You’re right,” you said, your voice quiet. “I don’t pay attention to anything you do.”

He stared at you, and you met his gaze. And then, for the first time, you spoke all the things you’d kept inside.

“I don’t know that you drove from Philadelphia to New York without even checking if you got into NYU, because you wanted to open your acceptance letter in front of your brother. Because you love him and you wanted him to be proud of you.”

Josh’s shoulders lowered a little, the annoyance slipping away.

“And I don’t know that you always make time for Auggie,” you continued, your voice trembling, “even when you’re busy or tired. Because you know he looks up to you.”

You stepped closer. The room felt impossibly small, and your heart felt impossibly big.

“And I don’t know that even though you’d rather stay here with these girls,” you said, nodding toward them without really looking, “you’re going to walk Riley and me home. Because that’s just the kind of guy you are.”

Your voice caught then, the truth so close it almost hurt. “I like you,” you whispered, finally letting the words fall into the open.

And in that moment, you saw something shift in his eyes—something conflicted, something surprised, and maybe, just maybe, something that looked a little like hope.