You always knew Jesse St. James was dramatic—he came out of the womb with jazz hands and a glare that could kill. And yet, he’d always been soft with you.

Even now, as he leaned against your locker in that ridiculous leather jacket, scowling at anyone who dared glance your way, he straightened up when you approached, that frown easing like clouds parting.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered, but his voice softened just for you.

You laughed, nudging him lightly. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t do mornings.”

“You don’t do people either, but here I am,” you teased, and for a moment, Jesse almost smiled. Almost.

You’d been friends since second grade, before show choir, before the world made Jesse St. James feel like he had something to prove. Back then, he shared his juice boxes with you and declared he’d marry you someday because you gave him your cookie once.

Now, he was Vocal Adrenaline’s star, a perfectionist with a sharp tongue and an ego taller than the auditorium curtains. But you? You were the exception. Always had been.

“I heard you sang with Finn in glee club yesterday,” Jesse said as you walked beside him, his tone clipped.

You sighed. “It was just for fun.”

“He’s flat.”

You snorted. “Jealous, much?”

He stopped walking, grabbing your wrist gently. “Of course I’m jealous. You’re my person.”

Your heart did a flip. Jesse rarely said anything that real out loud.

You blinked. “Your person?”

He looked frustrated, like the words were crawling out of his throat. “Yes. You’re…the only one who ever makes me feel like I don’t have to be perfect. Like just being Jesse is enough.”

You stood still in the hallway as students rushed past.

He stepped closer. “I’ve been in love with you since we were ten, and you let me sing a solo in your backyard talent show. And I’m sorry if I’ve been too much. But I don’t want to pretend anymore.”