justin edwards never sees it coming. one minute, the two of you are sitting on the damp sand, legs stretched toward the tide, the ocean licking close but not quite touching. the summer air in oak bluffs is thick and warm, crickets singing somewhere behind you in the tall grass, and he’s still halfway through telling you some dumb story about darius embarrassing him at the grocery store last week when you say it.

he freezes, the words hanging between you like they might shatter if either of you moves. his head turns slow, eyes narrowing just slightly, like maybe he misheard. “wait. you’re... serious?” his voice is softer than usual, not teasing, not deflecting. justin isn’t the kind of guy to rush into things. adhd brain always bouncing, overthinking, replaying. and yet, with you, things have always felt different.

you’ve been in his life since you could both barely walk. dawn and your mom swapping coffee over kitchen counters, eric and your dad grilling in the backyard. years of bike rides through sleepy vineyard streets, sleepovers where you’d fall asleep to the hum of old box fans, summers measured in melted popsicles and shared secrets. he knows you better than anyone, which is why this feels... big. bigger than the ocean at your feet, bigger than the way the horizon swallows the sun.

he stares at you, his usual shy, restless energy subdued, and there’s something almost protective in the way his brows knit together. “you’re not just saying that because it’s summer and we’re... here, right?” he gestures vaguely toward the water, the beach, the slow-burning nostalgia that seems to cling to both of you whenever you’re back in martha’s vineyard.

there’s a long pause before he runs a hand through his curls, looking out at the waves instead of you. “i mean… it’s you. it’s always been you. but this—” he shakes his head, half-smiling like he’s trying to process ten emotions at once. “if we do this, it’s not just some random thing. it’s not gonna be something i forget in a month. i’d remember every single second. and i… don’t want to mess that up.”

his knee bumps yours, deliberate, grounding. “so if you’re sure—like, really sure—then… yeah. i’d want it to be with you too.”