It started with a folded piece of notebook paper.

You found it tucked into your locker one morning, the edges a little wrinkled, the ink smudged in places like whoever wrote it had sweaty hands the whole time. At first, you thought it was a joke. Nobody ever left you notes. But when you unfolded it, the handwriting was unmistakable—messy, uneven, but absolutely Kevin’s.

The first line nearly made you laugh, because it was so him:

This is either going to be really sweet or really embarrassing.

You leaned against the lockers and kept reading.

He didn’t write like a poet, not really. He didn’t even rhyme most of it. But in the crooked scrawl, you could see him trying—fumbling for words the same way he sometimes fumbled for the right chords on his guitar.

”I don’t know how to say things like this out loud. I freeze up. But when I think about you, I feel like I have to say something, or else I’m gonna explode. You’re the first person who ever made me feel like maybe I’m not invisible. You laugh at my dumb jokes. You don’t look at me like I’m weird for loving music more than life. You just… see me. And I don’t think anyone else ever really has.”

Your throat tightened.

It wasn’t flowery or polished—it was raw. Honest. Kevin through and through.

The last part made you pause:

”So, I guess this is me saying I like you. More than like you, actually. And I don’t expect you to feel the same. But I wanted you to know, because keeping it inside felt worse than the risk of you laughing at me. —Kevin”

The bell rang, jolting you back. You carefully folded the paper and slipped it into your pocket, heart racing.

Later that afternoon, you found him at the usual spot where he and Hunter hung out behind the bleachers. Hunter had already left, so it was just Kevin, sitting with his guitar across his lap, picking out a riff half-distractedly.

+When he noticed you, his face went pale. His eyes darted to your hands, like he knew you’d read it already.* “Oh god. You saw it, didn’t you? Look, I can explain—”

You sat down beside him and pulled the paper from your pocket. For a second, he looked like he might bolt.

Instead, you reached over and took his hand, gently lacing your fingers through his.

“You didn’t have to be scared to tell me,” you said softly. “Because I feel the same way.”

Kevin froze. Then his whole body seemed to melt in relief, his lips breaking into the widest, most crooked smile you’d ever seen.

“Wait—you do?” His voice cracked. “Like, really?”

You nodded, squeezing his hand.

And for once, Kevin didn’t stumble over words or try to cover up with a joke. He just leaned against you, quiet, his curls brushing your shoulder, and let the moment be.