Always Not Enough

10 Years Ago…

The tapping of the branch against her window was louder than I'd intended. My foot slipped, nearly sending me tumbling off the tree, and a small curse escaped before I could catch it.

The window slid open a second later, and Jupiter appeared, rubbing her eyes.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep, her curls falling messily around her face.

"Couldn't sleep," I said, shrugging.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she leaned against the windowsill. "And the solution to that was to climb a tree in the middle of the night? What are you, a cat?"

I grinned. "A very cool, very musically inclined cat."

"More like a disaster-prone one," she said, sighing as she stepped aside. "Get in here before you fall."

I climbed inside, careful not to knock anything over, and set my guitar down by her desk. Her room was the same as always—messy in an intentional, colorful way, with art supplies covering every surface. Sketchbooks, paint tubes, and half-finished canvases cluttered her desk, and the faint glow of the plastic stars stuck to her ceiling gave the room an otherworldly vibe.

"What's wrong?" she asked, already pulling the extra pillow from the foot of her bed.

"Nothing," I lied, setting my guitar down in the corner. "Just needed some air."

She didn't press. She never did.

Instead, she tossed the pillow at my chest, motioning for me to lie down.

"Don't hog the blanket this time," she warned, slipping under the covers and tugging them up to her chin.

"I make no promises," I said, grinning as I stretched out beside her.

The quiet settled over us, wrapping us in its familiar cocoon. Her room always felt warmer than mine—not because of the temperature, but because it felt like her. Like the sketches she taped to her walls, the faint scent of vanilla lotion that clung to her, the wild energy that she carried with her everywhere.

"You ever think about just... disappearing?" I asked suddenly, my voice barely above a whisper.

She turned her head toward me, her brow furrowing. "Where would you go?"

"Back to London, maybe," I said, staring at the ceiling. "Or somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one knows me."

"Why?"

I shrugged, but the weight in my chest made it harder to breathe. "Sometimes it feels like everything here is falling apart."

Her fingers brushed against mine, hesitant but steady. "You're not falling apart," she said softly. "Not as long as I'm here."

My chest tightened, her words hitting something deep inside me. I turned my head to look at her, and the moonlight streaming through the window lit her face like something out of a dream.

"I mean it," she said, her eyes meeting mine.

"You're terrible at thumb wrestling," I said an hour later, pinning her thumb for the third time in a row.

"Lies," she shot back, glaring at me. "You're cheating."

"How do you cheat at thumb wrestling?" I teased, laughing.

"You've figured it out," she muttered, resetting her hand in mine.

Her grip was warm, her thumb darting forward with renewed determination.

"If I win again, you owe me a secret," I said, smirking.

She narrowed her eyes. "And if I win?"

"Then you can ask me anything," I said.

"Deal."

Her thumb came at me with more force than I'd expected, and for a second, I thought she might actually win. But I flipped my thumb over hers at the last second, pinning it down.

"Cheater!" she exclaimed, throwing herself back against the pillows.

"Winner," I corrected, grinning. "Pay up."

"Fine," she said dramatically, throwing an arm over her face. "When I was eight, I thought jalapeños were called 'ja-lap-en-os.' And I corrected a waiter about it in front of my friend's entire family."

I burst out laughing, the sound spilling out of me uncontrollably.

"It's not funny!" she protested, her cheeks flushing.

"It's hilarious," I said, still laughing. "I wish I could've seen it."

"You're horrible," she muttered, hiding her face behind her hands.

"No, you're adorable," I said, smirking.

She peeked at me through her fingers, her cheeks still pink. "Your turn."

I thought for a second before sighing. "Fine. When Ellie was five, she dared me to drink an entire bottle of chocolate syrup. I did it, and I puked for two days straight."

Her laugh came out of her, loud and unrestrained, her curls bouncing as she clutched her stomach.

"That's disgusting," she said, still laughing.

"You're welcome," I said, grinning.

The jokes and laughter eventually faded, leaving a quiet that felt heavier than before.

"My dad left me a note," I said suddenly, my voice barely audible.

Jupiter stilled beside me, her smile falling away.

"A note?" she asked softly.

"Before he... you know," I said, my throat tightening. "It's in a drawer at my aunt's house. I've never read it."

Her fingers brushed against mine again, her warmth anchoring me. "Why not?"

I stared at the ceiling, the words catching in my throat. "Because I already know what it says. And I don't want to hear it."

She didn't say anything for a moment, just held my hand tightly.

"Mal..."

I shook my head, forcing a weak smile. "Your turn, Jupe. Spill."

She hesitated, her brow furrowing. "It's not a big deal."

"Come on," I said, nudging her gently. "No backing out."

She sighed, sitting up slightly. "I've never kissed anyone."

I blinked, my mind stalling. "What?"

She shrugged, looking away. "People don't see me like that," she muttered. "I'm the fun girl. The artist. The one they laugh with, but never... never really notice."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. How could she think that? How could she not know?

"Jupe..." I started, my voice faltering.

Her gaze flickered up to mine, hesitant and guarded.

"Is that what you really believe?" I asked softly.

She gave the faintest nod, her hands gripping the edge of the blanket.

I reached out, brushing a curl from her face. "That's not true," I said firmly.

Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting.

"You're beautiful," I continued, my fingers trailing down to her jaw. "And smart. And funny. And... Jupe. You're you. Anyone who doesn't see that is blind."

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she just stared at me, her brown eyes wide and vulnerable.

"Do you trust me?" I asked quietly.

She nodded, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough.

"Let me show you," I whispered, leaning in.

Her lips parted slightly, and I hesitated, my thumb brushing against her cheek. "It's just me, Jupe," I murmured. "Nothing's going to change."

"Okay," she whispered.

When our lips met, it was like the world fell away.

Her lips were soft, hesitant at first, but when I deepened the kiss, her hand slid up to rest against my chest. She tasted like vanilla, sweet and familiar, and the way she kissed me back—shy but eager—made my heart ache in a way I couldn't explain.

Her fingers curled into my shirt, and I slid my hand into her hair, letting the curls slip between my fingers like silk. She let out the faintest sound, a soft exhale that sent a jolt through me.

But then I felt it—my body reacting, the heat rising too fast, too strong—and I pulled back, breaking the kiss before it went too far.

We stayed there, frozen, our foreheads resting against each other as we caught our breath.

"Did I... do something wrong?" she asked softly.

"No," I said quickly, cupping her face in my hands. "Jupe, you're perfect. That was... perfect."

Her lips quivered into a small, shy smile, and I couldn't help but grin.

"See?" I said, my voice lighter now. "You're kissable."

She let out a soft laugh, her cheeks still flushed as she looked away.

I tugged her back down beside me, and she hesitated for only a moment before resting her head against my chest.

As I stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling, I realized something.

The nightmares didn't feel so heavy tonight.