Page 106 of Fragile

“I made something for you,” he says, his voice a little softer than usual.

I stare at the package in my hands, my heart skipping a beat as I feel its weight. He’s never been the type to make grand gestures, so this catches me off guard. His hands are shaky, and that only makes my chest tighten even more.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, my voice softer than I intended, trying to keep the surprise out of it.

“I wanted to,” he says, his reply immediate, almost like he’s been holding it in for a while.

My fingers linger on the edges of the wrapping, and for a moment, I can’t even focus on what’s inside. All I can think about is how much this means—how muchhemeans.

I carefully unwrap it, the brown paper crinkling under my touch, and as the last layer falls away, my breath hitches in my throat. It’s a scrapbook, bound in a way that I’ve never seen before, definitely more professional than the ones we make at our club. This one has my name engraved on the cover in elegant script. My fingers move almost involuntarily, tracing the letters of my name as if to confirm that they’re real, that this book is really meant for me.

“Miles…this is...” I swallow, trying to find the words.

He smiles, a hint of relief in his eyes. “Open it.”

Flipping open the book, the first thing I see is a Polaroid of us from when we were kids. We’re standing in front of the old treehouse in my backyard, both of us grinning like we’ve just conquered the world. I’m looking up at him, my hair tied into braids, face covered in mud. His arm is slung around myshoulders and he’s just as filthy as me. I remember that day so clearly—how we’d spent hours completely lost in our own little world.

And then at some point, I scrapped my knee, and he carried me inside, and looked after me like I was the most precious thing he’d ever known. I knew I felt something so strong for him then that I’d never be the same again.

That day changed everything.

As I flip through the pages, more memories unfold before me—pictures of us at school when I’d finally caught them up being a year later, notes we’d written to each other over the years, ticket stubs from movies we’d seen together. Every page is a reminder of how much we’ve shared, how deeply intertwined our lives have always been.

“Ever since Mom passed, I had this keepsake box, and last year, I brought it to my dorm.” He inhales sharply. “Well, I found so much of you inside it, of us, of our childhood. And after you showed me your scrapbook the other day, I knew I needed to show you mine.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I reach the last page, which holds a photo of us from just a few weeks ago, on his bed, and I’m looking at him in the exact same way I did in the first picture.

“Miles, this is… I don’t even know what to say.”

Stepping closer, he takes the scrapbook from my hands and sets it on his desk. His fingers brush against mine, sending a shiver down my spine. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to remind you how much you mean to me.”

I look up at him, my heart swelling with so much emotion I can hardly breathe. “You mean everything to me too, Miles. You always have.”

He smiles, that crooked, boyish smile that never fails to make my heart race. “I’m not letting you go, ever, Queenie.”

And then he’s kissing me, his good hand gently cupping my face as he holds me closer.

I melt into him, my hands sliding up to wrap around his neck as I press myself against him. His lips are soft and warm, and the way he’s kissing me—slowly, deeply—makes me feel like I’m the only thing that matters to him in this moment. It’s overwhelming in the best way possible.

When we finally pull back, we’re both breathing hard, our foreheads resting against each other’s. Miles looks into my eyes, his gaze so adoring it’s like he’s trying to memorize every detail of this moment. “I might have one more surprise for you.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “Another one?”

He nods, tugging at my hand gently, guiding it under his shirt. My fingers skim over the hard ridges of his abs, each muscle firm beneath my touch. My breath catches as I explore, the heat of his skin seeping into my palm. But then, I reach a spot that feels different—smooth and unfamiliar, like plastic. I pause, frowning, trying to understand what I’m touching.

“What is that?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away, just looks down at me, a small, almost shy smile playing on his lips. Slowly, he lifts his shirt, revealing a tattoo covered over with plastic wrap that I’ve never seen before. My eyes land on the design—a queen’s crown inked over his left pec, bold and intricate.

My heart skips a beat as I take it in, my fingertips grazing over the ink. “You...got this for me?” I ask, my voice shaky, half disbelieving.

He lets out a light laugh, his eyes never leaving mine. “Who else would it be for, Queenie?”

My heart swells as I trace the crown again, barely able to breathe. “You’re insane,” I whisper, looking up at him, but there’s no denying the warmth spreading through my chest.

“I love you, baby,” he whispers, his voice shaky but certain.

My heart swells to the point where I think it might burst. I’ll truly never get tired of hearing those words from his lips. “I love you too. So much.”

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