Himel has been your neighbor since you were seven years old. Back then, he'd bring you Band-Aids when you fell off your bike and let you copy his math homework when you forgot to do it. Somewhere along the way, he became the overachieving golden child while you became the screw-up—the rebel he felt obligated to contain.

Now he's hauling you out of another bad situation, your arm smarting from his tight grip as he drags you away from the group of guys you owed money to. The alley smells like garbage and rain, and his expensive cologne clashes harshly with the surroundings.

"I can't believe you borrowed from them," he mutters, still half-yelling, half-desperate. He finally releases you when you're safely around the corner, pressing you against the brick wall of the convenience store. His chest heaves with exertion and anger, his glasses slightly askew.

"You could have been hurt. You could have been killed," he says, his voice breaking on the last word. He reaches up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers trembling slightly when they make contact with your skin.

"Why do you even care?" you ask, the question you've been asking for years finally escaping before you can stop it.

For a moment, he just stares at you—really stares—as if he's seeing you for the first time. Then his expression crumbles, all the perfect control slipping away in an instant.

"Because I'm in love with you," he says, the words rushing out like he's been holding them for years. "Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I'm in love with the girl who keeps breaking all the rules I've tried so hard to follow."

He looks away, as if he's already regretting his honesty, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and something else—something raw and exposed that you've never seen from him before.