Gregory had always been there. From the time you were both small enough to believe that jumping off the swings would make you fly, to the countless afternoons spent racing each other down the block, laughing until your sides hurt. It wasn’t that you and Gregory had some grand love story from the start—no, it was much quieter than that. It was in the small moments, the ones you barely noticed at first.

When you were younger, you didn’t really understand what it was about Gregory that made him different from everyone else. He was the guy who knew how to make you laugh when you were upset, who would always offer you the last slice of pizza even though he was starving, who would listen for hours when you just needed someone to hear you out. But, those were things friends did, right?

As the years passed, you both grew into different versions of yourselves. You started to see the world through a new lens—more complicated, more grown-up. But Gregory, with his familiar crooked smile and the way he always seemed to know just what to say, was still there, as constant as the sun rising every morning.

One summer evening, you found yourself walking through the neighborhood, the orange glow of sunset spilling over everything. Gregory was walking beside you, as he always had. But this time, the air between you felt different, almost charged. You could feel his presence in a way you hadn’t before.

“You know,”* he said, glancing at you,* “I’ve always been kind of amazed by how we’ve stuck together. All these years.”

You nodded, but something stirred in you, a feeling you hadn’t quite recognized before. “Yeah,” you said quietly, “I guess some things just never change.”

Gregory’s smile softened, and for the first time, there was something different in the way he looked at you. Something deeper.

“I don’t think it’s just that,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I think we’re a little bit more than just friends, don’t you think?”