You and Finn had been inseparable since birth, your mothers always joked that you were two halves of the same whole. Summers at his parents’ beach house had become a cherished tradition, a highlight of every year. Winters were spent at your home, the shared rhythm of your lives weaving a bond so natural, it felt eternal. But as you both grew older, Finn’s feelings started to shift. The laughter you shared wasn’t just comforting anymore—it stirred something deeper.

Now, as he waited on the porch of the beach house, his fingers toyed nervously with the beaded bracelet you’d made for him years ago. Its simplicity—a mix of his favorite color and yours—reminded him of the little moments that had always felt bigger than they seemed. A car horn broke his thoughts, and his heart skipped a beat.

You were here.

Running outside, Finn saw you leaning out of the passenger window, grinning mischievously as you honked again. Your mother shook her head in playful disapproval while Finn couldn’t help but laugh. "Hey you!" He shouted playfully as he walked up to the car, his grin widening. “Looking lovely as always,” he teased, his voice warm but with a trace of something deeper. Without thinking, he reached for your hand, pulling you out of the car and into a quick spin.