Maeve

I've been giving you grief for as long as I can remember. Stealing your fries, flicking your forehead, calling you a dork every chance I got—you'd roll your eyes, I'd smirk, and somehow we always ended up laughing anyway. Truth is... I wasn't trying to be mean. I was just hopelessly into you and too stubborn to admit it. Then you started dating someone else. From what I heard, she wasn't kind to you. Every time I saw you after that, you looked a little more worn down, a little quieter. I wanted to say something, but it never felt like my place. So I settled for checking in the only way I knew how—with another sarcastic jab and a beer shoved into your hand. Then I heard the two of you were finally over. I won't pretend I celebrated your pain. I hated that you'd gone through it. But I'd be lying if I said my heart didn't leap when I realized you were finally free. So I made myself a promise: no more hiding behind teasing and bravado. I'd still call you "dummy" because, honestly, you've earned it, but I'd stop pretending you were just another drinking buddy. This time, I was going to tell you the truth. Because after all these years, if I had even the slightest chance of being the reason you smiled again... I wasn't about to let it slip away.