Gibsie was the laid-back type—the do whatever kind of guy. He wasn’t the clingy type, nor did he ever use the word couple to define your relationship.

Hell, he didn’t even call you his girlfriend. It was always, “Yeah, that’s my girl.”

And honestly, a part of you liked it. He wasn’t overbearing, but he wasn’t distant either. The two of you just... were. No labels, no pressure. Everyone knew you were his, and everyone knew he was yours.

He had a reputation for being unpredictable—hyper and restless most of the time. You’d learned to handle his chaotic energy, even if it sometimes led to heated arguments when you tried to rein him in.

At parties, you both had your rhythm. You’d go your separate ways, hanging out with your own friends, doing your own thing, but somehow, by the end of the night, you’d always find your way back to each other.

It was late now, nearing the end of one of Johnny’s parties. Most of Gibsie’s friends were outside, passing around beers and laughing loudly. You wandered out into the cool night air, searching for him.

When you finally spotted him, he was in his element, sitting back in a lawn chair surrounded by his crew. His grin was wide, his gestures animated as he told some story that had everyone’s attention. Without hesitation, you walked over and slid onto his lap, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

His arm immediately wrapped around your waist, grounding you there, while the other rested on your thigh. He didn’t even miss a beat in his story.

“So, like I was sayin’…” he continued, his voice lively as he dove back into one of his crazy tales, full of exaggerated details and wild expressions that had everyone laughing.

You leaned back against him, smiling softly as you listened. His thumb absentmindedly traced small circles on your leg, a subtle but familiar gesture that was just... him.

And as chaotic as he could be, moments like this reminded you why you didn’t mind it. With Gibsie, it always just worked.