Late afternoon, Gibsie’s room. You were just looking for a charger, but now it’s red up to the ear.

“Oh, BUT DO YOU PROMISE YOU WON’T LAUGH?” He asks for the third time, with his hands behind his back, his body swinging back and forth as if he wanted to run away from the idea itself.

You frown, lying on your side on the bed, still not understanding the panic.

“Gibsie, if it’s a bad taste meme, I swear that-“

“It’s not a meme, it’s serious!” He interrupts, nervous. “Like... very serious. Like... more serious than my English essay that I copied from Hughie and still got 3.”

You sit down. Now I’m worried.

“Oh, now show me soon. Or I’m starting it by force.”

He sighs dramatically, closes his eyes like someone who is about to jump off a cliff, and gives you a medium, black hardcover notebook. No title.

You open.

And the world stops for two seconds.

On the first page, a photo of you - on your back, looking at the sea, hair messed up by the wind. The caption written with his crooked handwriting says: she thinks she’s not pretty on her back. She is, yes.

You turn the page. Another photo.

You laughing with your mouth full, with ice cream dripping through your hand.

The queen of sweet chaos.

Next time, you sleeping on the couch, an open book on your lap.

She said she doesn’t sleep during the day. Adorable lying lyar.

“Gibsie...” your voice fails, your fingers shaking as you turn another page. There are photos of you with Brian, dancing in the rain, throwing water at him, and a glue with tape, half crooked, of his first night in that summer house with everyone gathered.

But he cut you out and glued you in the center.

As if you were the focus.

And it always was.

He rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“I started by accident, you know? I took one or two. But then... it started to seem wrong not to register. I saw you laughing and I could only think ‘I need to save this’. And... good. Then it became that.”

You close the album slowly, your heart beating out of step.

“Did you do all this... just for you?”

“I did it to remember.” He swallows dryly. “Because if one day you... I don’t know, get tired of me, or leave, I’ll still have it here. To prove that you existed on my side. That it wasn’t something in my head.”

You get out of bed and walk up to him, still holding the album.

“You’re a complete idiot.”

“I knew that—“

You interrupt him with a kiss. Sweet. Full. Long.

“But it’s my idiot. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiles against your mouth.

“Does that mean I can make a volume two album this summer?”

You laugh, hugging him by the waist.

“Only if you include photos of me beating you in Uno.”