I didn't sleep that night.
How could I? My mind spun in a thousand directions—each one beginning and ending with Maddy. What would he say when he came over? Would he smile like nothing had changed? Would he laugh it off? Or would he… feel the same?
The hours passed like years, and I found myself checking my phone every few minutes, hoping for a message. Nothing. Just the echo of our last conversation, his voice in my head saying, "I'll tell you my answer in person."
By the time morning came, my room was spotless, I'd changed outfits twice, and I was rehearsing ways to act casual. Totally normal. Not at all obsessed.
Then the doorbell rang.
I froze.
It was as if my heart recognized him before my eyes did—racing like it was trying to tell me something before words could. I opened the door, and there he was: Maddy. Simple black hoodie, that familiar lazy grin, and his eyes—warm, unreadable, and so focused on me it made the world blur a little.
He didn't say anything at first. Neither did I.
Then, without a word, he stepped forward and pulled me into a hug.
Not just any hug—a tight, bone-deep, heart-to-heart kind of hug. The kind that didn't ask for permission. The kind that answered questions.
And my heart… oh, it pounded.
His did too.
We stood there for a while, wrapped in something neither of us fully understood, but both of us knew was real. When he finally pulled back, his hands lingered at my sides, his forehead resting lightly against mine.
"That," he whispered, "is my answer."
I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. My smile said enough.
We moved to the living room, laughter easing the nerves as we sank into the couch. I curled up beside him, my head resting in the curve of his shoulder, legs tucked up, my hand on his chest—feeling the steady rhythm of him.
"This is weird," I mumbled.
"What is?"
"Being this comfortable. This fast."
He chuckled, brushing a hand through my hair. "It's not weird. It's rare."
We stayed like that, the silence stretched and soft, until he spoke again—quieter this time.
"I should probably tell you something," Maddy said, his tone shifting just slightly. "About… me. Before this."
I sat up a little, not quite alarmed, but curious. "Okay."
He exhaled slowly. "I wasn't always… like this. I used to be kind of a flirt. Okay, a lot of a flirt."
I raised an eyebrow. "Kind of?"
"Fine. Full-time. Part-time sweet-talker, full-time idiot," he said, grinning sheepishly. "I flirted with a lot of girls. Dated a few, but it was never serious. The shortest one lasted—wait for it—one day."
My eyes widened. "One day?"
"Yeah," he said with a wince. "I ghosted her before dinner."
"Maddy!"
"I know, I know—it was messed up," he said, eyes sincere now. "But that's the point. I've always been that guy. Easy to like, hard to stay with. And honestly, I never cared. Until now."
I blinked, unsure where he was going with this.
"Because with you… it's different," he said, his voice softer now, almost afraid. "You're different. And I don't want to mess this up. I don't want to be that guy with you. I want to be better."
Something in my chest softened—completely and irrevocably.
I reached out, brushing his cheek with my fingertips. "Then be better," I said. "With me. We'll figure it out together."
His eyes met mine, and for the first time, there was no teasing in them. Just a kind of vulnerable honesty I wasn't used to seeing in him.
"Deal," he whispered.
And just like that, Maddy—the boy who never stayed—chose to stay.
With me.