I was trapped between everything I knew and everything I didn’t. Between the boy I’d known for years and the man he was becoming—or maybe the man he always had been.

“You’re high,” I reminded him. He didn’t mean this…

“Would you?” he pressed, his nose nudging the edge of my jaw.

I could feel him trembling beneath me, his hands gripping my hips in a way that wasn’t quite possessive but still desperate.

My fingers dug into his shoulders, and I wanted to tell him that there was no world where we weren’t us.

Instead, I told him, “We are Blake and Beverly.”

“But if we weren’t.”

My skin was on fire, but my thoughts were too jumbled to make sense of any of it. What was he saying? What was he trying to tell me? What was he feeling? It was so confusing.

Blake pulled back just enough so I could see his face. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze flickering between my eyes and my lips like he couldn’t decide where to settle. “Would you?” he asked again, his voice almost pleading.

I blinked, trying to find the words to respond, but nothing came out. I wasn’t even sure I could trust my own thoughts, let alone answer that question.

I studied his face, but his expression was unreadable—lips parted, eyes locked onto mine, searching. He was waiting for an answer, his breathing heavy, but I couldn’t give him one.

“I-I don’t know,” I said, my voice trembling, “I don’t know. Blake, you’re high, and⁠—”

“So?”

“So, you don’t mean it.”

“What if I do?”

“Then you’ll have to ask me when you’re sober.”

Blake swallowed, his jaw tensing, as if he wanted to argue but couldn’t. Then, he shook his head, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. His arms went slack, like I’d drained the fight right out of him. He exhaled sharply, then shook his head again like he was trying to clear it. “Forget I said anything.”

Before I could even process that, he suddenly burst into laughter—loud, unrestrained, the kind of laughter that shakes your whole body.

I pulled back, blinking at him in confusion. “What’s so funny?” I asked, half-worried, half-amused.

His arms gripped my waist, and in one swift motion, he stood up, lifting me with him. “Blake!” I gasped, clutching his shoulders as he bolted out of the bathroom, his laughter still spilling from his mouth as if he’d just remembered the funniest joke in the world. “Blake, put me down⁠—”

“Never,” he said, still laughing, still running, his arms locked around my waist as if I weighed nothing. “You’re my anchor. My human seatbelt. My Emotional Support Beverly.”

“You’re so high,” I groaned.

“And you’re so beautiful.”

He crashed into the hallway, nearly knocking over a side table.