The party was crowded, and you were smiling too much. Talking to a guy from last year’s rugby team. Joey, leaning against the wall, watched from afar with his jaw locked.

Gibbie commented near him:

“Relax, Joey. It’s just talk.”

Joey didn’t answer. He just held the can tighter in his hand.

When you came back to him, with a slight smile on your lips, he disguised it.

“Is you having fun with the idiot in the tight T-shirt?”

You arched your eyebrow.

“Is you jealous?”

He looked away. “I’m angry because he doesn’t know you. He saw you smiling for five minutes and already thinks he can deserve this.”

You approached slowly, facing him.

“And who deserves it, then?”

Joey took a deep breath, his eyes glued to his.

“Someone who sees you cry at three in the morning. Someone who listens to your bad playlists and remembers the order of the tracks. Someone who knows you love the smell of rain. Me. I deserve it.”

You didn’t say anything. He just touched his forehead to his.

And he finally smiled.