I've been awake since 5 AM, staring at my packed-up bedroom. Everything I own is in boxes, which feels wrong somehow. Like my whole life shouldn't be able to fit in cardboard containers with Sharpie labels.

      I look at my phone just as Riley texts.

      Riley: You up?.

      Me: Haven't slept.

      Riley: Same.

      Riley: This is insane right?.

      Me: Completely.

      Me: Coming over?.

      Riley: Already on my way.

      She shows up five minutes later in old paint-stained sweats and one of my hoodies she stole months ago. There are dark circles under her eyes that match mine.

      "The apartment's going to be a disaster," she says instead of hello, dropping onto my stripped mattress. "Everything's going to be everywhere and I'll probably lose half my camera equipment and—"

      "Hey." I sit next to her, our shoulders touching. "We've got this."

      "Do we though?" She picks at a loose thread on her sleeve. "What if we're making a huge mistake? What if we're not ready? What if—"

      "What if it's amazing?"

      She looks at me then, really looks at me. "When did you become the optimistic one?"

      "Somewhere between ice cream and star facts, probably."

      That gets a small smile. Progress.

      Mom appears in the doorway with coffee and those cinnamon rolls Riley loves. "I thought I heard voices. Couldn't sleep either?"

      We both shake our heads.

      "I remember my first apartment," Mom says, sitting on the floor with us. "I cried for three days straight. And then I met your father and cried for different reasons entirely."

      "Mom!"

      But Riley's laughing now, which was probably Mom's goal all along.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

      The U-Haul feels massive and tiny at the same time. Like how can this truck hold our entire lives but also how will everything possibly fit?

      Dad's trying to organize everything like it's a military operation. He's got diagrams and everything. Uncle James keeps messing up his system by putting things wherever they'll fit, which is driving Dad crazy.

      "The books need to go with the books!" Dad insists.

      "The books need to go where they won't crush the lamps," Uncle James counters.

      Lucy's "helping" by decorating random boxes with glitter pens. She's written "Riley + Ethan's Love Nest" on at least three of them.

      "Lucy!" Riley groans when she sees them. "Please stop."

      "Never." Lucy grins. 

      I catch Riley smiling despite herself. She's been so worried about moving away from Lucy, even though we're only going to be twenty minutes from Uncle James's house.

      "Did you know," Riley says to Lucy, "that some stars are actually two stars orbiting each other? They look like one star from Earth, but they're actually a pair that can't exist without each other."

      Lucy's eyes light up. She loves when Riley shares space facts. "Like you and Ethan?"

      Riley meets my eyes across the truck. "Yeah, Lu. Like me and Ethan."

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

      The new apartment looks smaller with all our boxes in it. And bigger. And terrifying.

      "Photography equipment goes by the north window," Riley says, but her voice shakes. "The light is better there for—"

      She stops suddenly, hands trembling as she tries to unpack her cameras. I know that look. Know the panic rising in her eyes.

      "Hey." I catch her hands before she drops the expensive lens. "Rule number three, remember?"

      "Breathe through it," she whispers. "I know. I just... I can't stop thinking about last time. About moving in with Uncle James after... after..."

      After her parents died. After everything changed.

      "This is different," I tell her. "This is a beginning, not an ending."

      She lets out a shaky breath. "Promise?"

      "Promise."

      Lucy bursts in then, arms full of more fairy lights than any apartment needs. "I found the perfect spots for these! And look what else I brought!"

      She pulls out a framed photo of all of us from graduation day, covered in her signature glitter. Riley's eyes fill with tears, but the good kind this time.

      Every box we open is like a time capsule. My football trophies mixed with Riley's photography awards. The blanket from our first real date under the stars. Lucy's artwork from when she was learning to cope with grief.

      "Oh god," Riley laughs, pulling out an ice cream wrapper. "You kept this?"

      "Of course I did." It's from that night on the bridge. Our beginning.

      She shakes her head but tucks it carefully into a drawer anyway.

      Mom and Dad are arranging the kitchen, arguing about where plates should go. Uncle James is putting together furniture, cursing at IKEA instructions. Lucy's made herself at home on the window seat, already planning sleepovers.

      "It's weird, right?" Riley says quietly. "How it already feels like..."

      "Home?"

      She nods.

      I look around at our families merging together, at the chaos and love filling every corner. "Maybe that's because home isn't about the place."

      After everyone leaves, the quiet feels heavy. Like it's full of everything we're not saying.

      Riley's organizing her cameras for the fifth time. I'm pretending to read course catalogues for next semester. Neither of us is ready to admit we're scared.

      "We should probably eat something," I say eventually.

      "Probably."

      Neither of us moves.

      "Chinese food?" I suggest.

      "From that place by the park?"

      "Yeah. Your favourite one."

      She finally looks at me. "You remember my favourite Chinese restaurant?"

      "I remember all of them."

      Because how could I forget? Every moment with her feels like a gift I almost didn't get to have.

      We eat takeout on the floor because we haven't unpacked the table yet. Riley tells me about the photography classes she's going to teach at the community centre. I tell her about the plans for mental health awareness games.

      "We're really doing this," she says suddenly. "Living together. Starting college. Trying to help other people while we're still figuring ourselves out."

      "Terrifying, isn't it?"

      "Completely." She steals my last egg roll. "But also kind of perfect?"

      Later, we drag blankets to the window seat. The city lights blur with the stars above, making everything feel magical.

      "Did you know," Riley says, curled against my chest, "that when binary stars orbit each other, they actually share their outer layers? They become something new together while still being themselves."

      I smile into her hair. "Is that actually true or are you making up star facts again?"

      "Maybe both?" She laughs. "The point is... maybe that's what we're doing. Becoming something new together."

      "While still being ourselves?"

      "Exactly."

      A car alarm goes off somewhere below. A siren wails in the distance. The city breathes around us, alive with possibilities.

      "I choose you," she whispers suddenly. "Even when I'm scared. Especially when I'm scared."

      "I choose you too." I hold her closer. "Every day. Every moment. Every star fact."