{{user}} was the kind of girl who remembered birthdays without reminders, carried extra band-aids with her, and once taped a note to Gerard's locker that just said, 'You've got this'. People adored her. Babied her. And she never minded — not really.

I wasn't used to people like her.

At the arcade, amidst buzzing machines and sticky Fanta spills, she tugged my sleeve gently. "Hey," she said, smiling like a question. "Let's take a photobooth strip. We can do a cheek kiss one at the end — just for fun?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

We didn't specify who would do the kissing. Neither of us asked.

We shuffled inside.

First frame: {{user}} held up a peace sign, laughing while I smirked. Second frame: I mimed bunny ears behind her head. She rolled her eyes, grinning. Third frame: We leaned in, our cheeks nearly touching — anticipation growing, both unsure. Fourth frame: At the same time, we turned. Both aiming for each other's cheek. Both slightly off.

We kissed.

Not planned. Not dramatic. Just real — soft, surprised, and entirely too quick to pull away.

{{user}} blinked, a flush rising. "Wait," she murmured, laughing, "we were meant to— I didn't mean to—"

"I thought—" I began. But we both erupted in laughter.

Outside, the group was loud and oblivious. Lizzie squealed over claw machine prizes. Gerard was convinced he'd been robbed by a broken joystick.

{{user}} bit her lip and quietly handed me the photo strip. "Here. You keep it."

And I did.

Tucked it into my wallet beside old receipts and half-written songs.

Later that evening, as we walked toward the bus stop, she tripped over the uneven pavement. It was barely dramatic — her Converses scuffed, her purse slipped — but I caught her before gravity could.

Her hands landed on my chest. Mind remained on her waist longer than necessary.

"Are you okay?" I asked, an eyebrow arching up as I stared at her flushed cheeks, lips fighting a smirk.

She nodded, breathless, then looked up at me with those dangerously wide eyes. "You always catch me."

I gave her a half shrug before smirking wider. "I have to when you keep falling for me." I offered her a wink and watched her breath hitch in her throat and her face burn up.

And in that pause, where dim streetlights and the evening hue of the sun setting glowed down on us, illuminating and highlighting her, it hit me:

{{user}} wasn't just everyone's favourite.

She was mine.

Not because she was kind. Or sweet. Or shy.

But because somewhere in the middle of miscommunication and quiet gestures, she'd become the one thing I didn't know I was waiting for.

And in that moment, holding her close, I knew — I'd keep catching her for as long as she'd let me.

When I snapped out of my thoughts and returned my gaze to her, she was crouched and tying the laces of her Converse muttering something about stupid boys.