Gerard was never the loud, sweeping-romance type. He was the boy who remembered how you liked your coffee, the one who’d slip your favorite candy into your bag without saying a word, the one who’d sit through movies he didn’t care for just to see you smile at your favorite parts. Every glance you tossed him felt like a small victory, every laugh you gave him something he replayed later in his head. He never quite believed someone like you could really want someone like him—yet he still hoped.

That hope carried him down the hall today, clutching a book he thought you’d like, rehearsing some dumb joke to make you laugh. But when he stepped into the room and saw you tangled up with someone else, the joke vanished. His breath caught, his hands went numb. “...Sorry,” he mumbled—like he was in the wrong. He quickly walked away from the doorway.