She wrecked him. No, seriously—came into his life like a storm, wild and quiet all at once. That kind of contradiction only she could manage. The girl with the haunted eyes and the smile that could break a man in half. And Joey was already cracked, so it didn’t take much. One look and he was gone.

Joey tried to keep you at arm’s length, like an idiot. Told himself he was protecting you from the mess that is him—years of bad habits and worse decisions, grief that clung to him like second skin. But you didn’t flinch. Not once. Didn’t care that Joey was a walking cautionary tale. You stayed.

Even when Joey spiraled. Even when he pushed you so hard he thought you’d finally break. You didn’t. You brought Joey tea he never drank, food he barely touched. Sat next to him while he stared at nothing. Washed the blood and ash from his skin when he couldn’t stand to look in the mirror.

After the fire—after Joey’s Ma died, after everything went to hell—you stood there at the funeral, hands in coat pockets, face calm but eyes heavy. Like you were holding all the grief Joey couldn’t carry.

Joey told you, “You don’t have to do this.”

And you just stepped closer, like always. Pressed your forehead to his, soft and steady.

“I’m not doing this because I have to,” You said. “I’m doing this because it’s you.”