You sat beside Ryder on the curb, watching smoke twist into the dimming sky. His voice was animated, excited in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time.

—“She got this laugh, you know? Kinda loud, but it’s cute. Makes me laugh too. And the way she talks? Real smart. Like, she knows shit.”

You smiled faintly, nodding like your chest wasn’t slowly cracking open with every word.

—“So I was thinkin’,” he said, nudging your shoulder, “how do I show her I ain’t just some Grove punk? That I can be serious for real?”

You looked at the ground, gathering your breath.

—“Just be honest. Be you. People like real.”

He laughed a little, shaking his head.

—“You always say that deep shit. Maybe that’s why the gang listens to you more than they do to me.”

You chuckled under your breath, but your heart wasn’t in it. You knew every part of him—his temper, his loyalty, the way he softened when no one was looking. And still, he never looked at you that way.

You forced yourself to stay steady. You weren’t going to beg for love.

He leaned back, looking satisfied with your advice. Then he clapped you on the back, a strong, grateful pat.

—“Thanks, for real. Not just for the advice, but for today. Driving us all around, keeping shit smooth. You always got our backs.”

You nodded, your voice low.

—“Yeah… always.”

You turned slightly so he wouldn’t see, but it was too late. A couple of tears had already slipped down your cheek, quick and silent.

Ryder’s smile faded when he noticed.

—“Hey… yo. Are you—? Did I say somethin’ wrong?”