CHAPTER ONE
EIGHT YEARS OLD
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Cassian moved into the house next door when I was eight years old.
I remember because he had the brightest blue eyes I’d ever seen.
Even then, he intrigued me.
Even then I’d catch myself losing track of whatever I was supposed to be paying attention to, just looking at him.
I was fucked from the start.
Actually, I blame my parents.
They’re the ones who had taken me over to meet the new neighbors.
Because that’s who they are — kind, almost aggressively so. They brought homemade baked goods and wide smiles and the kind of warmth that makes people feel immediately at home.
Back then I didn’t realize that wasn’t normal.
Parents who built their whole world around you.
Who loved you loudly, without hesitation, in front of anyone who happened to be watching.
I grew up full because of it.
Overflowing, even.
I had more love than I knew what to do with.
· · ·
Cassian didn’t.
I didn’t know that yet.
Not for a long time.
We weren’t exactly best friends.
Just inextricably linked from then on.
· · ·
Like something had been decided before either of us had a say in it.
He came over all the time after that.
My parents turned it into an event every single time -- too much food, too many activities, like they were trying to make sure he never had a reason to leave.
Looking back, maybe they saw something I didn't.
Or maybe they just saw that I was already under his spell and decided to make room for him.
They always made room.
I was embarrassed about it back then. But now, I'm grateful we shared my family.
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Movie nights.
Water gun fights in the backyard.
Lying by the pool with drinks in stupid curly straws.
He always stayed a little longer than he was supposed to.
I don’t know if what I felt back then was love.
Not yet.
But he was already carved into me in a way I didn’t understand.
And whenever he caught me staring —
I looked away.
Like being seen by him meant something.
Like it mattered more than it should.
· · ·
And for as long as I can remember — my favorite color has been blue.