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My chest tightens. I drag a hand through my hair, rough and slow, like I’m trying to ground myself before I come undone. There’s a sting in my throat, and I swallow it back, steadying my voice before I let it out—quiet, careful.

Then I speak.

“How does it feel,” I ask, voice quiet but cutting, “to always keep yourself just outside the line? Always watching. Always wanting. But never letting yourself reach?”

She flinches, just barely, like the words skimmed skin she didn’t mean to expose. Then she scoffs, eyes still locked on the sketchbook. “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”

I reach for her—not with urgency, but with something gentler, heavier. My fingers brush her chin, coaxing her face up to meet mine. Her eyes don’t flinch. They blaze. But underneath the heat is something cracked and quiet. Something that’s been breaking so long she’s forgotten how not to hurt.

“You don’t get it do you? I’ve been standing out there, Lou.” My voice thick, ragged at the edges. “Not because I want to…but because that’s where you are. And I keep reaching—God damn, I keep reaching—for you.”

Her eyes meet mine—wide and wrecked, like she’s standing on the edge of something she’s never let herself want. And for the briefest flicker of a second, I swear she’s about to fall. About to let go. About to believe me.

God, I almost see it happen.

All I can think is—how can she not know?

She’s fucking it.

Louisiana is the marrow in my bones. The echo in every quiet moment. My reason, my ruin, the God damn gravity holding me together.

But then she pulls back—gently, but firmly—slipping her chin from my hand like my touch is too much.

“Don’t,” she whispers.

I stay quiet. I wait. Because I know this isn’t anger. This is fear.

She swallows hard, eyes flicking to the sketchbook, then back down to her lap. “You say I’m the one on the outside…like I chose that. Like it’s some kind of stance I’m taking.”

Her voice cracks, just barely, but I hear it. Feel it.

“I didn’t choose this,” she says, quieter now. “It chose me. The moment I realized love had conditions—rules I never seemed to meet. That no matter how good I was, or how quiet, or how much space I took up…it still left reminding me I was never fucking enough.”

She presses the heel of her palm to her chest like the memory still burns there.

“So yeah,” she breathes, eyes still down, “maybe I’m always on the outside. But that’s not defiance, it’s survival. If I never reach for it, it can’t disappear. It can’t fucking abandon me.”

Fuck if that doesn’t break me clean in half.

Because I’ve loved a lot of things in this life, but I’ve never loved anything more than the girl who still doesn’t know she’s worth loving back.

But I’m done letting her hide.

I close the distance between us, my voice rough and sharp, cutting through the quiet like a blade. “That’s your fucking problem, Louisiana, you hide behind your fear and call its survival.” I lean in, breath grazing her skin. “I call it being a chicken shit.”

She blinks, flinching like I just reopened a wound she thought was sealed tight. She says nothing, pulling her arms tighter around herself like that’ll keep me out—like holding still can hold back the storm inside.

But I’m not letting this go, too long I’ve sat back letting her keep me at arms length. And I am fucking done.

So, I let loose the truth burning in my chest—the truth I’ve kept buried, but can’t anymore. “You don’t know what the fuck love is, Lou. You only know what it’s not.”

Her eyes snap wide—the quiet shatters like glass.

Before I even blink, she’s out of her chair, fire crackling off her every move. She squares up, chest heaving, jaw locked tight.

“You don’t know what the fuck I’ve been through. What I carry.” Her voice is raw, sharp, spit cutting the air. Her fists tremble at her sides—not fear, but pure, raging fire. “If you want a fight, I’ll fucking give you one. But don’t you dare tell me I don’t know love.”

I slam the space between us, voice low and brutal, thick with dark hunger. “You’re right. You’ve had your head shoved so far up your own ass, you forgot what something fucking real feels like.”