• • •
To other people it might’ve been a little much.
The way they held hands at dinner.
The way his eyes softened when he looked at her.
But I wanted that.
I already wanted a love that looked like that.
At eight years old.
Because I’d never seen how dark love could be. How high and low it could take you.
All I had ever seen was the fairy tale and thought it was the standard.
• • •
“Yuck,” Cassian said, rolling his eyes as my parents kissed just beyond the sliding glass door.
I laughed and splashed water at him.
He’d told me most people called him Cass.
I didn’t.
I called him Cassian.
I don’t know why exactly.
I just knew I didn’t want to share him. Even in name.
It felt like something that belonged to me.
• • •
We spent most of our time at my house.
Especially in the summers.
Cassian would stay until he physically couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.
He hated going home.
I loved it.
It meant I got to keep him longer.
• • •
We’d dry off and lay a towel out on the grass, side by side, staring up at the stars.
Sometimes I got nervous around him.
Which didn’t make sense.
He was my other half. My best friend.
