a summer writing retreat by the sea. you weren't looking for anyone. not really. just somewhere quiet to write, to ache, to not be watched. but then you meet him-kit. curled on a windowsill with a book in his lap and the kind of quiet in his eyes that feels like home. this is a story about soft boys and sea salt. about being seen. about the things we don't say until someone stays long enough to hear them. maybe it's not a love story. maybe it's a *truth* story. no need to be brave. just true.

on a too-loud london rooftop, two boys meet in the middle of their own silences. jamie-soft, grieving, unsure how to be looked at. tom-famous, tired, and aching to be seen without performance. what begins with barefoot dancing under fairy lights turns into something tender: coffees without cameras, shared lyrics scribbled on napkins, and the kind of closeness that doesn't ask for applause. but when the world catches up-blurry photos, breathless headlines-jamie has to decide if he's ready to be known, and tom has to choose if being seen is worth being real. a love story in second person. quiet. aching. true. for anyone who's ever wanted to fall in love when no one's watching.

You're twenty. Soft around the edges. Trying not to want too much. He's Johnny Orlando-famous, exhausted, and nothing like you imagined. But in hotel corridors and green rooms, on tour buses and café benches, something begins. Something shy. Something real. First touches. First glances. First times.