In the months that followed the start of class, we grew closer, the distance between us slowly fading with every passing day.

One day in Art class, as we were tasked with making macrame bracelets, I found myself looking at him differently. While everyone else settled into their usual routines, my thoughts kept drifting back to him—he became the friend who knew every little thing about me, the one who could always make me laugh, even when I didn’t feel like it.

He picked up a skein of red thread. I raised an eyebrow. Red? I liked red. He was usually all about the cool blues, the calm greens, the quiet grays. I looked at him as he began tying knots with a concentrated frown, his fingers moving expertly.

We finished at the same time, proud of our work. His was flawless, a perfect balance of color and pattern. Mine was... well, not bad, but it had its quirks. I looked at the two bracelets side by side, both threads connecting us in ways I hadn’t fully realized until now.

"Livi," he said, a nickname he chose to call me for himself, his voice low and warm, like it always was when he was being sweet, when he wasn’t joking around. I looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and felt that familiar rush of affection I’d known. But today, it felt... deeper. His smile was soft, almost shy, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

Before I could even process what was happening, he took my wrist gently, placing the red bracelet. His fingers brushed my skin, sending a little electric shock through me. He pulled back quickly, like he hadn’t meant to linger, but I saw the flicker of something in his eyes. Something I hadn’t quite been ready to confront.

I didn’t need to think twice before slipping the bracelet I made onto his wrist, my fingers brushing against his in return. I looked at the matching red threads between us, a silent acknowledgment of the strange, tangled emotions that had woven themselves between us.

We both sat there, staring at our wrists for a moment longer than necessary, our breaths in sync. The weight of the silence between us felt different. The air hummed with something unspoken, something we both knew but had never dared to admit.

And yet, neither of us pulled away.

“And now, we’re bound together by the red string of fate,” he says, his voice laced with amusement, a playful chuckle escaping him.

Ah, so that’s why he chose red too.

I turned to him, my voice barely above a whisper. "You know... I think red suits you."

His smile softened, and I could see it in his eyes—the same thing I felt in my chest. "I think it suits you, too."

In this quiet exchange of bracelets, we both already knew. The threads of friendship that had bound us for so long were now beginning to weave something more—something that, for the first time, felt real. The feelings had always been there, buried beneath the easy laughter, the long conversations, the shared glances that lingered just a little too long. It wasn’t new—it had just taken time for us to recognize it.

And as I looked at the red bracelet on my wrist, I knew there was no going back. But strangely, I didn’t want to. Our hearts were already tangled, already graced into something deeper, more vibrant than either of us could have expected.

“We’re having a family dinner with the Elliots today, so come home early, okay?” Mom’s text flashed on my screen.
 I rushed home, eager to avoid the dreaded late arrival.
 When I stepped inside, a boy about a year older than me was slipping off his shoes at the door. His jet-black hair fell past his ears, framing a face marked by intense, deep-set eyes that scanned the floor as he stood tall.Too tall, towering over the entryway like he belonged there.

My childhood friend.

Knox. 

Practically my older brother, if you ask anyone who’s known us long enough. If he ever told you he was perfect, don’t roll your eyes—because, well, there’s a sliver of truth to it. Actually, scratch that. It’s the whole truth.

He was the kind of guy who made everything look effortless. Top of his class without ever seeming to study, the star of every school sport he tried, tall enough to make teachers double-take, and charming in that aggravating, boy-next-door kind of way. His family? Old money. The kind that makes vacation homes and designer clothes seem like background noise. And the girls? Don’t even get me started. They flocked to him like pigeons to breadcrumbs—writing him love notes, doodling his name in hearts, whispering about how they’d be the one to finally be his bride. 

But to me?

He was just Knox. The annoying, smug, infuriating Knox. The boy who teased me until I cried when I was six, who stole my chocolate at camp, who always knew how to get under my skin and wore that as a badge of honor.

I was an only child, and our parents had been friends since forever. That’s how it all started, really. Summer camps, family barbecues, weekend getaways—any excuse to gather and let the kids run wild. And there he was, year after year, the boy with the crooked grin and grass-stained knees, ruining my peace and worming his way into every corner of my life.

“Hey, Knox, move! I have to rush to the bathroom.”

Smirking, he placed a hand on my head, effortlessly blocking my way.

“Ahhh, Knox! Move!” I whined, trying to push past him.

“Make me,” he teased.

Annoyed, I reached up and pinched his arm.

“Ow!” He yelped, letting me through.

Finally darting past him and into the washroom.

Later, I went down for dinner. The table was full, voices overlapping, the warmth of family all around. I found myself sitting beside Knox on the couches.

He glanced at my wrist. “Cool bracelet,” he said, reaching to touch it.

Instinctively, I pulled my hand away. “Uh-uh. No.”

Knox pouted. “Naww, come on, it’s cool. Can I have it?”

“No.”

Knox placed a hand on his face, eyes narrowing in thought. “Hmmm… someone gave that to you.”

I felt my cheeks heat up. “Huh?”

His expression turned serious. “So, who’s this guy? Is he more handsome than me? Stronger than me?”

I blinked. “What are you even talking about? Wait—what? More handsome than you?” I scrunched my nose and stuck out my tongue teasingly.

Knox scoffed. “Please. No one’s more perfect or handsome than me.”

Before I could respond, he slung an arm around my neck, pulling me into a playful headlock.

“Ugh, Knox!” I laughed, pushing his face away. This guy is just—

“Hey, watch my game tomorrow,” he said, grinning.

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Captain.”

He smirked. “Such a privilege to be best friends with the handsomest guy and the ultimate basketball crush of all the girls, right?”

I made a silly face, sticking my tongue out again. “Yeah, yeah. Totally.”