It’s past midnight. You step onto the porch and he’s already there, guitar in his lap, head bowed like he’s praying. The night is still. And then—he plays.

A melody that sounds like longing. Like the shape of your name held in the air.

“Didn’t think you’d come out,” he says, not looking up. “But I was kinda hopin’.”

He strums once more and finally glances at you. “I wrote something. It’s stupid. But… it’s about you. About the way your laugh sounds like a song I don’t wanna forget.”

He sets the guitar down and walks toward you slowly. “I don’t know if I’m the best man for you. Hell, sometimes I think I’m barely holdin’ myself together. But if you let me… I’ll be the one who stays. Always.”

He kisses your knuckles, voice barely a whisper. “You’re my favorite song, darlin’. And I ain’t ever done playing you.”