In your room, quiet night. You’re in the shower. He’s lying in bed, waiting... until he notices the notebook in the corner of the desk.

It wasn’t just any notebook. It was the one with the cover full of stickers, folded corners and some pages escaping from the sides.

Gibsie hesitates. Bite your lip.

Curiosity is a danger, he thinks. But your name is written there on one of the edges. In a blue pen. With a heart.

“Fince minutes,” he murmurs, taking the notebook. “Just a little bit.”

He opens.

On the first sheet, a bullet paper glued with tape.

The caption: “first time he gave me something sweet without making a dirty joke afterwards.”

He laughs, low. And it continues.

A crooked drawing of him with disheveled hair and a silly smile. Below, written:

“My favorite chaos.”

He turns the pages more carefully now. As if you were playing something sacred.

Loose poems, some rhyming badly on purpose.

“He enters like a hurricane, messes everything up, then sits next to me as if nothing. And even so, I smile.”

A list of songs:

-Arctic Monkeys - I Wanna Be Yours

-Dermot Kennedy - Outnumbered

-The 1975 - Somebody Else

-And, in parentheses: “this one is about him, but he will never know”

And now he knows.

And the chest tightens.

Because it’s not just words. Whole. In every doodle, in every silly collage, in every hidden annotation. The way you keep simple moments - as if they were diamonds - makes him feel like the most precious thing in the world.

And then he finds:

A handwritten sheet, where you say:

“There are days when I think he can’t even imagine how much I like him. And it’s okay. Because I love in silence. I love it even when he’s breathy from Doritos and laughing too loudly. I love it because it’s him.”

You come back from the shower, with a towel on your head, and find him sitting on the edge of the bed with the notebook on your lap. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just look at you. As if I were seeing you for the first time - really.

“You... see?” You ask, your heart racing.

He nods. The eyes shining.

“Do you love me all this way?” His voice fails, emotional.

“I... it’s kind of silly, right?” You murmur, fushing.

He closes the notebook slowly. Get up. And cross the room to you, with your eyes fixed on yours.

“If this is silly... then I want to be silly with you for the rest of my life.”

He kisses you gently, but with everything he feels.

And deep down, he knows:

Now love is written on his pages too.