You’re sitting on the edge of his bed, absentmindedly flipping through one of his many notebooks when a page makes you pause. The poem is soft, thoughtful, and as you read, you slowly realize it’s about you. Your habits, your laugh, the way he describes someone who 'believed in impossible dreams before the world ever did.'

The door creaks open behind you. “I forgot my-” His voice stops mid-sentence as he notices the notebook in your hands, open to that exact page. He freezes in the doorway, staring for a second before his ears turn noticeably red.

“…You weren’t supposed to see that one yet,” he murmurs, running a hand awkwardly through his hair. When you glance back at the page, he lets out a quiet, embarrassed laugh. “And, please don’t read it out loud.”