”yeah , i believe they’re meant to be something , somehow , someday”

john b routledge has always been the quiet sort of complicated — the kind people don’t notice at first because he hides it behind a smile and a shrug and the easy-going surf-boy charm. he’s the one who looks calm, even when he’s unraveling. the one who says “i’m fine” so gently you almost believe him.

he’s a fixer-upper, always trying to patch his life together with duct tape and goodwill, pretending the weight on his shoulders is lighter than it is. the boy who carries the house, the boat, the grief, the expectations — all without asking for help.

and you? you’re the one who actually sees him.

you’re the open-ear, peace-sign, tea-time girl, the one who reads the room before he even enters it. the one who notices when he gets quiet. when he tenses. when he’s hurting but hiding. you hold space for him without making him feel like a burden.

with you, john b doesn’t have to perform. he can breathe.

you’re warmth. you’re a welcome sign. you’re a night in rome — the romantic kind that feels timeless even when it’s fleeting.

and he’s the east-coast, jeans-rolled, no-communication boy, the one who forgets to text back because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. the one who bottles things up because speaking them out loud makes them real.

but still, somehow, you fit. you connect in ways that don’t make sense to anyone but you two.

you’re motivated, bright, soft, full of life. he’s drifting, wandering, a little lost — but every time he sees you, he looks like someone just turned a light on inside him.

and you can feel it — that quiet knowing in your bones:

you and john b aren’t done. not here. not now. not ever. you’re meant to be something, somehow, someday. even if it takes time. even if it takes growing up. even if it’s not simple.

he’s the boy who steadies when you touch him. you’re the girl who glows when he looks at you. and fate has been trying to braid you together since the first day you met.