જ⁀➴ (🔥) ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

Evan Buckley wasn’t proud of the man he used to be.

Back then — Buck 1.0 — he was reckless, charming in all the worst ways. The kind of guy who lived off adrenaline and attention. He played the field like it owed him something, and worst of all? He knew it. He wore that cocky grin like armour and kept every conversation just deep enough to make someone fall, but not deep enough for him to catch them.

Girls came and went. Left on read. Ghosted for no reason other than he got bored. He flirted like it was a game, like people weren’t real. He was every red flag with a perfect smile.

Buck 2.0 hated that guy.

He looked back now and cringed. Physically cringed. That wasn’t who he was anymore — or at least, he was trying hard not to be. Because now, he wanted to be the kind of man who stayed. Who meant what he said. Who didn't just take up space in someone’s life but actually deserved to be in it.

Then came you.

You.

With those eyes that told entire novels in silence. With a voice that calmed him more than any siren ever could. With a heart so big, it scared him — because he wanted to be worthy of it.

He still didn’t know how someone like you looked at someone like him the way you did. Like he wasn’t broken. Like the mess he’d been didn’t disqualify him from love. You made the world softer just by existing in it — and for the first time in his chaotic, crash-and-burn life, Buck didn’t want to run.

And now here he was, standing on your doorstep like a teenager on prom night, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. In one hand: a bouquet of fall-toned flowers. In the other: a soft brown teddy bear with a little red bow. He didn’t even know if you liked teddy bears. He just... wanted to give you something. Something warm. Something kind. Something real.

It was a perfect autumn afternoon. It was the kind of day that made you believe in second chances. The air was crisp but not cold. The leaves danced through the air, golden and weightless, like they were part of some Hallmark movie montage. The sky was painted in soft pastels, and the wind carried the faint scent of cinnamon and burning wood.

He took a breath. Rang the doorbell.

Then looked down at his shoes, heart hammering. Strange — how this made him nervous. Not charging into burning buildings, not cliff rescues or medical emergencies. But this. You.

His thoughts tangled and untangled in loops, but they all landed in the same place:

You.

The door creaked open.

And Buck — brave, goofy, brave-again Buck — finally looked up and smiled.