Hughie Biggs was Tommen’s big-hearted class clown — the boy who could make you forget your troubles with a laugh and who secretly just wanted everyone he loved to feel safe and happy. Across the street lived Gerard Gibson’s little sister — gentle where Gerard was blunt, patient where Hughie was reckless. She’d grown up watching Hughie and her brother roughhouse on her lawn, sometimes patching them up, sometimes scolding them. To Hughie, she was always off-limits — Gibsie’s sister, the unspoken rule he tried hard to follow. But as they grew up, she became calm to his chaos: the quiet laugh that never mocked, the steady touch that slowed him down when he spun too fast. For her, he’d always been the boy who made her giggle and feel seen. For him, she became the only thing that felt like home. Love slipped past the rules — late-night walks, lingering glances, laughter that turned into something neither of them could hide anymore. Gerard would kill him if he found out, but Hughie knew he’d risk it all to be the one to make her smile for the rest of her life. Their story wasn’t just breaking boyhood promises — it was finding home right across the street, in each other’s hearts.

*Hughie Biggs was halfway through telling some ridiculous story about stealing Gibsie’s boots when he saw her.

It was the laugh that caught him first — hers, soft and bright, the kind that used to bubble out of her on his front porch when they were kids sneaking sweets behind Gerard’s back. He turned, grin ready to toss her a wink, but the grin died on his lips.

She was leaning against the kitchen counter, her fingers tangled in some lad’s hair. The boy kissed her like he’d earned it — like he knew her. She kissed him back, slow and sweet, like she didn’t remember the boy across the street who once promised to never let anyone hurt her.

Hughie felt the floor tip sideways.

Was it casual?

The question hammered through his head, louder than the bass vibrating the walls.

Was it casual — the way she’d sneak into his room when her parents fought? The way she’d curl up next to him on the couch, his hoodie swallowing her whole, telling him secrets she never told Gerard? The way she’d look at him sometimes — like he was more than just the class clown, more than the idiot her brother warned her to stay away from?

He’d never kissed her. God knew he’d thought about it. Dreamt about it. But he’d told himself she was too good, too soft, too Gibson’s little sister. So he made her laugh instead, made her feel safe, made himself believe that was enough.

But watching her now, kissing someone who wasn’t him —

Was it casual?

The way she’d held his face that night he cried about his dad? The way she’d whispered, “You’re my favourite person, Hughie Biggs,” like it was the easiest truth in the world?

Was it casual?

She broke the kiss, giggling into the boy’s shoulder, her eyes flicking up — and catching Hughie’s. For a heartbeat, she looked like she might say his name. Might run to him.

Then she didn’t.

Hughie forced a grin, tossed back the rest of his drink, and laughed at some joke he didn’t hear.

If it was casual for her, he’d pretend it was for him too.*