Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Closing the car door with a slam, I turned around and walked up the sidewalk to stand in front of the house. White and pristine, it was cleaner than I’d expected. How many people had lived here before me?

I reached for the box on the ground, picked it up, and started toward the house, almost eyeing it casually. I had to admit—I was scared. I wished I’d had some family with me, but no one could help with the move. I guess independence really does start after graduation.
Walking up the steps to the front door, I take a moment to glance around. The porch is wide, with neatly painted railings that gleam in the sunlight, and a pair of potted plants stand on either side of the entryway, their vibrant greenery adding a welcoming touch. I reach for the door handle, pushing it open with one hand. It moves smoothly at first, but then suddenly flings wide with surprising force.

“HI!”

A girl appears in front of me, practically bouncing on the spot before throwing her arms around me in a sudden, exuberant hug. The impact catches me off guard, nearly sending both of us sprawling backward. As for the box I had been carrying? It’s gone, tumbling to the floor in a disheveled heap at our feet. For a moment, time seems to pause. She holds me tightly, her energy radiating through the embrace, while I stand there, frozen in surprise. Eventually, she releases me, stepping back slightly to scrutinize my face with a warm, curious expression, as though trying to commit every detail to memory.

“I’m Samantha!” she announces, her voice bright and cheerful. “I was so bummed to hear you’d be arriving later than the others, but it’s so great to finally meet you in person!”
Her enthusiasm is almost overwhelming, filling the quiet porch with a vibrant energy. Behind her, I catch glimpses of the house’s interior through the open door—a spacious hallway with polished wooden floors and a light, airy atmosphere. Samantha, however, is oblivious to my brief attempt at observation, her gaze fixed squarely on me, her grin as wide as ever.
“I’m supposed to be your guide! I hope the trip wasn’t too bad or too long. You’re from Maryland, right? I know a guy from there—he says it’s a nice place. Anyway, why are you just standing there? Come on in, come in!”

She speaks with a cheerful urgency, her words tumbling out in a lively stream as she scoops up my scattered belongings with surprising ease. Before I can even respond, she turns and strides confidently into the house, leaving me to follow.
Stepping inside, I’m immediately greeted by a rush of cool, refreshing air. The hum of the air conditioner is faint but constant, and it feels heavenly after the oppressive August heat outside. The difference is striking—like stepping into another world.
The interior of the house is welcoming but practical. Polished wooden floors gleam under soft, natural light streaming in from large windows, and the walls are painted in neutral tones that exude calm. A faint citrusy scent lingers in the air, as if someone had just cleaned or perhaps lit a subtle candle. It’s far more inviting than I had expected, and for a moment, I just stand there, taking it all in.

Samantha glances back over her shoulder, balancing my box in one hand as though it weighs nothing. “Well? Don’t be shy! We’ve got plenty of space, and I’m dying to show you around.” Her grin is infectious, her energy seeming to fill every corner of the room.
“The house has ten bedrooms—five here on the first floor and five upstairs,” Samantha explains, her voice carrying as she starts up the stairs. “The first floor is the best, honestly, but since you arrived a bit later, you’ve got a room on the second floor.” She throws me an apologetic smile over her shoulder, her energy never faltering.
“There are five guys and five girls living here,” she continues, her hand gliding lightly along the polished wooden railing as we ascend. “We all share the bathrooms, and whoever uses the kitchen last is responsible for cleaning it up. House rules,” she adds with a playful shrug.
By the time we reach the second floor, her words hang in the air, and I’m trying to process it all. The upstairs hallway stretches ahead, surprisingly spacious and well-lit by a large window at the far end. There are two doors on each side, painted a soft cream color, and one directly at the end of the hall. The floors are the same polished wood as downstairs, creaking faintly underfoot with each step.

I trail behind Samantha, scanning the doors as we walk, my curiosity piqued about who my neighbors will be. Will they be quiet or loud? Friendly or standoffish?
“This one’s yours,” she says, stopping in front of a door near the end of the hall on the left. She sets my box down gently beside it, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “It’s not huge, but it’s cozy. And hey, the view’s pretty great if you like sunsets.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I reply with a small smile, reaching for the handle and turning it. The door swings open, revealing my new room.
Before I can step inside, Samantha chimes in. “Before you start unpacking, I wanna show you the rest of the house,” she says brightly.
I glance back at her but step into the room anyway, setting the box I’m carrying down on the desk near the window. The room is small but functional, with just enough space for the essentials. A single bed rests against one wall, its white duvet neatly tucked in place, while a modest bookcase stands in the corner, its shelves waiting to be filled. The desk is positioned directly in front of a wide window opposite the door, offering a view of the backyard. From here, I can see a large oak tree swaying gently in the breeze, its leaves casting dappled shadows on the ground below.
The sunlight filtering through the glass makes the room feel warmer than I expected, softening its simplicity. It’s far from extravagant, but there’s something calming about its unassuming charm.

“Come on!” Samantha urges from the doorway, her tone playful but insistent. “The room’s not going anywhere, and there’s still so much to see.”
With a quick glance around, I nod and follow her back out into the hallway.
Samantha leads me back down the hallway, her energy unwavering as she gestures for me to follow. “Alright, let me show you the good stuff,” she says, practically bounding ahead. “The rooms are nice, sure, but the rest of the house? That’s where the real action is.”
We head down the stairs, which open back into the entryway. The polished wooden floors gleam under the warm light from the chandelier overhead, and the faint sounds of conversation drift in from somewhere deeper in the house. Samantha turns toward a doorway on the right.

“Let’s start here,” she says, leading me into the kitchen.
The kitchen is surprisingly spacious for a shared house, with stainless steel appliances that look modern but well-loved. A long wooden dining table takes up the center of the room, surrounded by a collection of mismatched chairs that range from sturdy and polished to wobbly and peeling. The countertops are cluttered with snacks, a few abandoned water bottles, and a perpetually blinking microwave clock. Above the sink, a wide window lets in sunlight, giving the space a lively, cheerful feel despite the chaos.
“This is where we all pretend we know how to cook,” Samantha jokes, opening a cabinet and revealing an array of mismatched plates and mugs. “If it’s labeled, don’t touch it. Otherwise, it’s pretty much up for grabs. But seriously, hide your snacks if you want to keep them.” She flashes a knowing smile before motioning toward the back door.

We step outside into the backyard, and the warm August air surrounds us again. The yard is cozy but full of character—a patchwork of well-kept grass and worn areas where countless feet have tread. A large oak tree stands near the center, the one I saw from my room, its branches spreading wide to cast shade over a picnic table covered with faded carvings of initials, doodles, and dates.
Off to one side is a small fire pit encircled by an assortment of mismatched chairs, their paint chipped and weathered. Nearby, someone has strung up a hammock between two trees, its fabric swaying gently in the breeze.

“This,” Samantha declares with a wide sweep of her arm, “is where all the best memories are made. We’ve had barbecues, movie nights, and more than one epic game of ultimate frisbee out here. Oh, and wait till you see the sunsets. They’re unreal.”
She pauses for a moment, letting me take it all in. The backyard feels alive, as though it holds echoes of laughter and conversations from years past.
“It’s not perfect,” she adds, her voice softening, I glance back at her, then at the yard. There’s something undeniably inviting about the place, as if it’s waiting to welcome me into its story.
Samantha flashes me a grin as we step back inside. “Alright, now let’s hit the common room.”

We walk through the kitchen, return to the entryway, and enter another door on the right. The room is filled with mismatched couches and armchairs, all arranged around a large coffee table that’s cluttered with textbooks, notebooks, and a few empty mugs. A flat-screen TV hangs on the wall, its muted screen showing a cooking show, while the soft murmur of voices fills the air.
As we step further into the room, I spot two girls lounging on the couch, chatting casually. One is tall with dark curly hair, the other shorter with straight, blonde hair. Both look up when they hear us, their faces lighting up with friendly smiles.

“Hey, Samantha! You’re back!” the girl with curly hair says, her voice warm.
Samantha waves enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah, I know I’m late. But look who I brought!” She gestures to me with a flourish. “This is our new housemate! Just moved in."
The girl with curly hair raises an eyebrow, then grins. “Nice! I’m Evelyn,” she says, sitting up a little straighter and extending a hand. “Welcome to the chaos.”
The blonde girl next to her chimes in, “I’m Hannah. It’s nice to meet you!” She gives a small wave and then goes back to fiddling with her phone.
I shake Evelyn’s hand, then nod toward Hannah. “Nice to meet you both.” I say as I introduce myself.
Samantha, not skipping a beat, plops down onto one of the armchairs with a dramatic sigh. “This is where we all hang out when we’re not studying, eating, or avoiding responsibilities.” She gestures to the large TV. “Movie nights, random cooking shows, occasional impromptu karaoke sessions... The usual.”
Evelyn leans back against the couch, stretching her legs out, while Hannah gives a quick nod of acknowledgement, her attention still partially on her phone. The atmosphere is relaxed, with the hum of casual conversation blending into the background noise of the house.
Samantha shoots me a playful look. “You’ll fit right in.”

I let out a small laugh, glancing around. I really need to get settled in.
“Hey, so it was nice meeting you, but I really need to get started with the room. I’ll just go ahead and get to it,” I say, slowly backing out of the common room. Samantha and the others wave goodbye as I turn and head outside.

It takes maybe three trips back and forth to the car before I’m down to the last box. The house is starting to feel more like home with each step, but there's still so much to unpack. By the time I reach the stairs with the final box, I’m already feeling exhausted, my arms a little sore from carrying everything up.
Just as I take the last step, someone bumps into me, causing me to stumble dangerously close to the edge of the stairs.

“Whoa, easy there,” a voice says, and before I can even react, a guy’s hand grabs my arm, steadying me.

I blink, looking up at him as he pulls the box from my hands. “God, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. Here, let me take that,” he adds, his voice smooth but slightly panicked.
I can’t help but think to myself, Everyone’s so helpful here. Jeez.
“Oh, it’s fine,” I quickly reply, following him as he takes the box in one hand and motions for me to walk behind him.
“So, you’re the new one, right?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at me with a friendly smile.
“Yeah, I just moved in today,” I reply, still trying to catch my balance from the near mishap.
He nods, turning back and carrying the box effortlessly. “Nice meeting you. I’m Max, by the way,” he says as we reach my door.
I take the box back from him with a grateful smile. “Thanks, Max,” I say, feeling a little more at ease.
“No need,” he replies with a casual shrug. “Was my fault anyway.” He looks at me for a moment, then his smile grows slightly wider. “By the way, there’s this gathering tonight in the backyard. A lot of people are coming. You should definitely come by, meet some of us who live here. Also, who wouldn’t want to turn down free alcohol, right?” he adds with a light laugh.
He looks kind, easygoing, and genuine, his smile making the whole situation feel less awkward than it probably should have.
I hesitate for a second, considering it. “Um, yeah, maybe. I’ll see how fast I finish here, but I’ll probably come by,” I say with a shrug, feeling a little more relaxed than I thought I would.
“Good,” Max says, clearly pleased with my response. “That’s good. Well, I’ll see you then.” He smiles at me again before turning and heading back down the stairs, his steps echoing lightly in the hallway.
I watch him as he goes, maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

After five hours, I was finally starting to get my room looking at least a little lived-in. My back ached from moving boxes around, and the scent of fresh paint still lingered in the air. I glanced around, feeling slightly satisfied, though the room still felt like a temporary setup. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost track of time. The party had already started outside, the sounds of laughter and music drifting through the walls of the house. I got up from my spot near the bookcase and moved toward the window. I peeked out, watching the party unfold. People were dancing, laughing, and mingling, their cups raised high in the air. The evening had taken on a festive, carefree atmosphere.

I couldn’t spot Samantha anywhere. Or Max.

Sighing, I grabbed my phone and checked the time. Maybe I should at least make an appearance. After a moment of hesitation, I changed out of my old clothes, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a simple shirt. I released my hair from the tight ponytail it had been in all day, running my fingers through it to smooth out the waves. A few quick sprays of perfume and I felt a bit more put-together.

With a final glance in the mirror, I made my way downstairs. The house was half full of people, and there were shoes scattered all over the floor, evidence of the crowd that had already gathered. The energy in the house was palpable, but I felt slightly out of place. This was my first college party, and I was still trying to find my footing.

I walked into the kitchen, which was a bit quieter than the rest of the house, hoping to grab a drink before venturing outside. The fridge was wide open, so I peeked inside, scanning the shelves for anything that might quench my thirst.

“What are you doing?!” a sharp voice suddenly rang out from behind me, making me jump back. My heart skipped a beat, and I quickly shut the fridge.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, flustered. “I just wanted to grab some water. Samantha—”

“You’re not allowed to open the fridge,” the guy interrupted, his tone irritated. “What’s wrong with you?”

I blinked, my confusion morphing into irritation. “Excuse me?” I felt the words snap out before I could even stop myself.
“Yeah, you’re excused,” he retorted, looking at me like I’d done something wrong. “Go outside for your drinks, damn.” With that, he grabbed his own cup from the counter and headed toward the back door.

I stood frozen for a moment, my mind trying to process what had just happened. What the hell? Who did he think he was? And why was he acting like that? My mind tried to make sense of his anger. There was something oddly familiar about him. Before I could decide what to do, I heard the door creak open behind me.

“There you are!”

I turned around to see Max, his easygoing grin lighting up his face. He looked a little out of breath, like he had just been talking to someone outside, but his eyes brightened when he spotted me.

“Hey!” I said, trying to shake off the awkwardness from the kitchen. “Sorry, I got distracted. It’s a little crazy out there, huh?”
Max chuckled,“That’s the understatement of the year.” He gave me a playful wink, then glanced back at the door I had just come through. “I was looking for you outside. We’re all gathering out there. You're gonna join us?”

I nodded, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, I’ll head out in a minute. I just needed to grab something to drink.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “I hope it’s not water, because we’ve got everything out there. Come on, let me show you around.” He motioned toward the backyard, the sound of laughter growing louder as we moved closer to the back door.

I smiled, feeling a little more at ease. At least there was one person here who seemed genuinely nice.

The party turned out to be much more pleasant than I expected. The people here were warm, welcoming, and easy to talk to. The music wasn’t blaring, and the conversations flowed naturally, without the awkwardness I’d feared. Max seemed to know everyone and was actively introducing me to people, always making sure I was comfortable.

He was genuinely kind, taking the time to tell me about the university—about his classes, his professors, and even his favorite spots on campus. He asked about mine too, showing real interest in what I had to say. His kindness was paired with a lightheartedness that made me feel at ease. His hand never left the small of my back, gently guiding me through the crowd, and strangely, I didn’t mind it. I liked it, actually. The warmth of his touch was reassuring, a comforting presence amid all the new faces.

After a few minutes, Max steered me toward the fire pit in the backyard, where there were still some empty seats. The fire crackled as it danced in the cool evening air, the flames casting a warm glow on the faces of those around it. We settled down on one of the benches, joining a guy to our right, who was eagerly chatting about some new movie release.
Max and I fell into a comfortable rhythm, chatting easily with him about our favorite films, classes, and anything else that popped into our heads. It felt like a normal night—a night that could be spent anywhere, with old friends, and yet, it was all so new.

But then, as we laughed about some ridiculous plot twist in the latest blockbuster, my gaze wandered over the fire. The flames flickered in the darkness, casting shadows, and it was then that I noticed someone standing at the edge of the circle, their eyes locked on me.

The sensation hit me like a wave—the feeling of being watched. Over the crackling fire, I caught a glimpse of the person’s eyes—dark, intense, and fixed on me. I couldn’t see much else from this distance, but there was something about the way they stared that made my skin prickle.
I turned away quickly, my attention snapping back to the conversation in front of me, but the feeling of their gaze lingered.

Max must’ve noticed the shift in my demeanor because he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a quieter, more concerned tone. “You okay?”
I nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just… thought I saw someone I knew.” I kept my gaze on him, trying to ignore the lingering discomfort.
Max’s hand stayed on my back, warm and steady.I turned back to the conversation, but my mind kept drifting, fixated on the person across the fire. My gaze kept returning to them despite my attempts to focus on the words Max was saying. There was something about the way they stood there, like they were waiting for me to notice. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it had to be the guy from the kitchen.

But why? I tried to recall the brief interaction earlier—his annoyed tone, the way he had brushed me off so quickly. Where do I know him from? The question kept echoing in my mind. I couldn’t place it, but the unease lingered in my chest, growing as I stared at him over the fire.
He was still standing at the edge of the group, his eyes never leaving mine, as if he was studying me from afar. I tried to focus on something else—Max, the warmth of the fire, the sound of laughter—but every time I glanced back, his gaze was there, dark and steady, unwavering.

Max must have noticed the way my attention kept flickering away from the conversation. He glanced over at the fire, then back to me, a small frown forming on his face. “You sure you're okay? You seem distracted.”
I nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just tired, I guess. Long day.”

Max didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push it. He shifted slightly in his seat, turning to engage with the guy beside us again, giving me a moment to collect myself. I tried to shake off the feeling, but it was impossible. There was something about him that bothered me, something unsettling that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

I turned my head again, and there he was, still watching me, a faint smirk now playing on his lips. I quickly looked away, trying to act as though I had been paying attention all along, nodding at Max and the guy beside us as they continued talking about the latest campus events. But my thoughts were still tangled up in the mystery of the guy across the fire. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about him. Why was he staring at me? What did he want?

I glanced over again, but this time, to my surprise, he was gone. The spot where he had been standing was empty, the space around the fire now seemingly just a little less intense, a little less charged. My eyes scanned the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of him again, but there was no sign. He had disappeared into the crowd.
I let out a slow breath, trying to calm the sudden rush of adrenaline that had coursed through me. Maybe I had been imagining it. Maybe it was just the mix of the firelight and the people, playing tricks on my mind. But the unease still lingered, just beneath the surface.

Max seemed to notice my shift in demeanor, his eyes searching mine for a moment. “You sure you’re alright?” His voice was soft but insistent.
I forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah, just... didn’t expect the party to be this big, I guess.”
Max chuckled, clearly accepting my explanation. “It’s like that sometimes. But hey, we’re here to have fun, right?” He gave me a reassuring pat on the back, and his hand lingered there for just a moment longer than necessary, sending a warm, calming wave through me.
I nodded again, determined to push the weird encounter out of my mind. For now, I would focus on enjoying the party, on the people who were friendly and welcoming, like Max. There’s no reason to let one strange moment ruin the night, I reminded myself.

But as we chatted more, and the sounds of laughter and conversation swirled around us, a nagging thought kept running through my mind: If he’s still here, I’ll find out who he is sooner or later.
The clock struck midnight, and the party was still in full swing. The music pulsed through the air, the sound of laughter and chatter blending into a symphony of youthful energy. People were dancing, their bodies moving with abandon, lost in the carefree joy of the night. But despite the lively scene around me, I could feel my body screaming for rest. My eyelids were heavy, my limbs sluggish from the long day, and the excitement of the evening had finally started to catch up with me.

I glanced at Max, who was still engaged in conversation with the guy beside him. I reached out and gently took his hand to grab his attention. He turned toward me, his face lighting up with a smile, but I leaned in closer, my voice quiet enough to not disturb the others.
"Hey, Max, I’m sorry, but I think it’s time for me to go," I whispered in his ear, trying to sound as apologetic as possible, though my body was practically begging for the comfort of my bed.
He blinked in surprise, his eyes softening as he processed what I said.

“You sure? Want me to come with you?” His voice was gentle, but there was an unexpected hesitation in it. His cheeks flushed a faint pink as he looked away for a brief moment.
“That’s not what I meant,” he added quickly, a light laugh escaping him as he scratched the back of his head, clearly flustered.
I couldn’t help but chuckle at his embarrassment. The way he blushed made me feel oddly at ease.

“No, it’s fine,” I said, my smile widening. “But thanks for tonight. It was really fun.” I patted his back awkwardly, unsure of how to properly convey my gratitude, but it felt good to express it, nonetheless.

Max’s face softened as he smiled back. “You’re welcome. Hope you had a good time,” he said, his voice warm. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah," I replied, my smile lingering a little longer than I intended, but I couldn't help it. Max had been kind to me, and I was glad for the company.

With one last glance at the fire pit and the people still dancing under the moonlit sky, I started making my way toward the house. The cool night air nipped at my skin, but it was a relief. I walked slowly, the sounds of the festivities slowly fading behind me, my thoughts turning to the quiet of my room.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I was about to turn toward my room when one of my new roommates stepped into the hallway from the shadows. I barely glanced at him as I passed, but then his voice stopped me in my tracks.

“I didn’t know you lived here,” he said, a hint of surprise in his tone. “Wouldn’t have shouted at you if I did.”

I froze, my mind racing. Something about his voice... It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I turned, trying to make sense of the situation. The hallway was dimly lit, casting long shadows on the walls, and I couldn’t see his face clearly. For a moment, all I could do was stare at him, trying to figure out why he sounded like someone I knew.

“Oh,” I said, not sure what else to say, my voice feeling small in the quiet space.
There was an awkward pause. I tried to make out his face, but the shadows blurred his features, making it impossible to recognize him. It was as if I should know him, but I couldn’t pinpoint where I had seen him before.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” he continued, his voice softer now. “I’m sorry about earlier. I had a bad moment, and I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

The words hung in the air between us, and I felt a strange sense of deja vu. He seemed so familiar, yet I couldn’t place him. My mind raced through all the possibilities—was he someone from orientation? Had we crossed paths before, or was it just the strange way he spoke to me earlier that was making me feel like I knew him?

I swallowed, trying to shake the feeling of confusion. “It’s fine,” I said, though my voice was unsure. “Really.”

He shifted slightly, almost like he was trying to gauge my reaction. “I’ll let you go,” he said, but there was something in his tone that made me think he wasn’t entirely sure if I was okay with the conversation ending there. “Just wanted to clear that up. Hope we’re good.”

I nodded quickly, still feeling off-balance. “Yeah. We’re good.”

I started to move toward my door, but as I reached for the handle, something made me glance back over my shoulder. In the faint hallway light, I could still see him standing there, just watching me. He hadn’t moved, and there was something unsettling about the way he stood still, as though waiting for something, maybe for me to figure it out.

I turned back to the door, feeling a shiver run down my spine. I stepped inside, closing it quietly behind me, but the image of him standing in the hallway lingered in my mind.

Chapter Text

Time passed with an unsettling swiftness, far more quickly than I had anticipated. The routine I had crafted for myself here in Pennsylvania, particularly at the University of Pennsylvania, had settled into something surprisingly comfortable—almost second nature. Mornings began with the soft, insistent buzz of my alarm clock. I would awaken in the quiet stillness of the room, my eyes momentarily bleary, before a quick glance at the clock would prompt me to leap from bed, as though I had been anticipating the start of the day all along. I would hastily make my way to the kitchen, fumbling in the half-darkness to brew a pot of coffee, the rich scent of it quickly filling the air. There was little time to linger over the warmth of the cup before I hurriedly gathered my belongings and made my way to class. The ivy-clad brick buildings of UPenn had gradually become a familiar sight—what once seemed imposing now felt comforting. Their tall, weathered facades, covered in a layer of green ivy, offered a sense of permanence and history, making the sprawling campus feel a little more like home each time I crossed it.

I found myself genuinely enjoying my courses more than I had anticipated. The professors, each with their own distinct style and approach, were deeply engaged in their subjects. Their passion was infectious—sometimes so much so that I was left with a blend of excitement and nervous energy after each lecture, spurring me to push myself further, to rise to the intellectual challenge that had been presented. The library, with its soaring shelves and hushed corners, quickly became my sanctuary. I would lose myself for hours, surrounded by books, working through assigned readings or crafting essays, time slipping away unnoticed. The space offered an almost sacred solitude, a rare commodity in the often busy, bustling environment of university life.

As time wore on, the house, too, was beginning to feel like home, albeit in a chaotic and shared-living sort of way. The creeks of the floorboards, the low hum of the air conditioning, and the constant murmur of voices in the hallways became part of the background noise of my days. Even the familiar sounds of arguments over the last piece of pizza or the shared laughter around the dinner table began to form the rhythm of my life. The house had an energy, a pulse, all its own, and though it was far from perfect, it was mine in a way that felt increasingly comforting.

Evenings were spent in a blur of social interactions, often including shared meals, impromptu study sessions, and the occasional spontaneous movie night in the common room. It was during these moments that I got to know my housemates—each of them a unique character in their own right. Samantha, for instance, was an endlessly energetic force, a person who effortlessly brought everyone together for group outings or late-night heart-to-hearts in the kitchen. Max, on the other hand, with his easy smile and warm presence, often checked in on me, asking how I was settling in, his small, seemingly inconsequential gestures making me feel less like an outsider and more like a valued member of the group.

There were moments, of course, when I still felt out of place. Quiet pangs of homesickness crept up on me from time to time, as did fleeting moments of self-doubt. I would sometimes find myself comparing myself to the polished, driven students around me, each of them seemingly perfect in their dedication and their knowledge. Yet, as the weeks passed, these feelings began to fade, slowly being replaced by a sense of belonging. Each day, with its challenges and small victories, felt like a step closer to something new—something bigger than myself, and something I was beginning to think I might be able to achieve.

The new assignment had been handed out the day before, and the weight of it had pressed down on me almost immediately. I had little choice but to tackle it head-on. Procrastination was no longer an option, not with the deadline looming on the horizon. Determined to get a head start, I made my way to the library the following morning, my mind already churning with thoughts of how to approach the task. The familiar, comforting scent of old books greeted me as I entered the library’s hallowed halls, the scent almost like an invitation to sink into the world of academia. I made my way toward my usual spot by the tall, arched window, drawn to the warmth of the sunlight streaming through the glass. The golden light splashed across the wooden table in intricate patterns, offering a perfect place to focus.

As I rounded the corner to my spot, I stopped abruptly. There, seated comfortably at the table I had claimed as my own, sat my housemate. Everyone called him Pep. I had never asked what his real name was—somehow, it didn’t seem appropriate. But it had been about two months since our odd encounter in the hallway, and since then, every time we crossed paths, whether in the kitchen or the common room, he either avoided me completely or found some excuse to leave. I had long since resigned myself to the strange, unexplained distance between us. But there he was, absorbed in his laptop, seemingly oblivious to my presence.

The moment he saw me, his eyes flicked up from his screen, and a smirk spread across his face. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite housemate,” he said with a casual, almost teasing tone.

I blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Hi… You’re in my spot,” I said, my voice somewhat more curt than I intended.

“Your spot?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Didn’t see your name on it.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite my irritation. “I always sit here.”

“Guess you’ll have to share then,” he said, gesturing to the empty seat across from him. “Plenty of room, and I promise I won’t bite.”

I hesitated for a moment, surveying the room. There were other vacant spots available, but his casual confidence made it difficult to turn down his offer. With a small, resigned sigh, I slid into the chair across from him, placing my bag gently on the table. It felt strange, sitting here with him. An odd sense of discomfort settled in my chest, though I tried to ignore it.
The library’s faint hum of activity filled the silence between us, with the occasional tap of keys punctuating the stillness. Despite my initial annoyance, his presence became somewhat tolerable as I settled into my work. But as time passed, curiosity eventually got the better of me.

“What are you working on?” I asked, glancing up from my own notes briefly.

“Programming project,” he replied without looking up. “I’m building an app prototype for my computer science class. And you?”

“Writing an analysis ,” I answered. “On how social media has transformed political communications. I'm a political science major.”

Finally, he looked at me, his dark eyes glinting with an unreadable thought. “That tracks,” he said slowly, almost thoughtfully. “I would’ve thought you were going to choose law though, not political science.”

I froze, my pen halting mid-motion. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“I just mean,” he said, his tone casual, but with an edge of something sharp, “you’ve got that… you know, strong opinion thing going on. The kind of person who could argue a case and win it, even if the facts aren’t on their side.”

His words hit me in a way I hadn’t expected. While he said it lightly, there was something about the way he spoke that made me feel like he had dissected me, my personality, and my approach to the world, in just a few words. I wasn’t sure whether I was irritated or impressed. “Well, political science is full of debate, and I’m not exactly a fan of sitting on the sidelines.”

“I know,” he said with a half-smile. “You’ve got that whole fiery, ‘I’ll fight for what I believe in’ vibe. I just figured law would’ve been more your speed.”

I narrowed my eyes, taking in his words. There was a touch of sarcasm, but also an unspoken curiosity behind them. “Yeah, well, political science has its own appeal,” I replied, unsure why I was so defensive about it. “What’s your app about, anyway?” I say, changing the subject.

“It’s for group project management,” he explained, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. “It tracks tasks, assigns deadlines—basically, it makes sure nobody gets stuck doing all the work while everyone else coasts by.”

“Sounds like you’ve had some bad group projects,” I remarked, a slight smirk playing on my lips.

“Haven’t we all?” he said, his grin widening in response. “But yeah, I’m just trying to make life easier for students like me. Maybe for you too, if you’re lucky.”

“Lucky me,” I muttered, shaking my head in amusement, though a small part of me couldn’t help but appreciate his straightforwardness.

We returned to our respective tasks, the silence settling once more. But I couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched. Every so often, I would glance up from my notes, only to catch him looking at me, his expression unreadable. It was as though he were waiting for something, some sign or signal. There was a strange tension in the air, a quiet expectation I couldn’t fully grasp. Eventually, I broke the silence again.

“What?” I asked, my tone sharp with a hint of irritation.

“Nothing,” he replied easily, his gaze flicking back to his laptop. “It’s just funny, that’s all.”
“What’s funny?” I pressed.

“How small the world is,” he said lightly, though the weight behind his words lingered like a shadow, unsettling and cryptic.

I frowned, narrowing my eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged, dismissing the moment with a casual flick of his hand. “Nothing important.”

His response was maddeningly vague, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to press him further. To do so felt like admitting that his cryptic words had gotten under my skin. So, I returned to my work, though my focus had already started to slip.

Each time I glanced up, I caught him studying me again, his eyes assessing in a way that felt almost deliberate. It was as though he were waiting for me to respond, waiting for some unspoken moment to arrive. His cryptic comment about the smallness of the world lingered in my mind, echoing like an unanswered question, pulling at something deep within me. By the time I gathered my things and prepared to leave, I couldn’t resist one last glance in his direction.

He met my gaze, offering a faint smile. “See you at home,” he said, his tone casual, as if he had not just left me drowning in questions.

I walked away, the weight of his words hanging in the air, the unsettling sense of déjà vu clinging to me like a shadow I couldn’t quite shake. The world, it seemed, was smaller than I had ever realized.

Later that evening, I found myself standing at the stove, stirring a pot of pasta. The warmth radiating from the stovetop felt comforting, filling the kitchen with an inviting heat. The simmering sauce, a blend of garlic, tomatoes, and basil, emitted an aromatic fragrance that made the room feel more like home than I had felt in a while. The rhythmic motion of the wooden spoon against the pot was strangely soothing. There was something about this moment—so simple, so everyday—that made me feel more grounded amid the whirlwind of new experiences at college.

I glanced over at Samantha, who was leaning against the counter, watching me with an amused grin. “I still can’t believe you’re cooking,” she said, her tone light with a hint of admiration. “Most people here live off pizza delivery or instant noodles. But you, you’re out here making pasta from scratch. It’s like I’m in the presence of a culinary genius.”

I chuckled, shaking my head as I stirred the sauce more vigorously. “Trust me, it’s not gourmet or anything,” I replied with a laugh. “I just can’t live off junk food. My mom always made sure I knew how to cook. It’s kind of ingrained in me at this point.”
Samantha raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m impressed,” she said, stealing a quick sniff of the sauce as if trying to assess the quality of the dish. “If I tried to cook, we’d probably end up calling the fire department. I’m terrible at it.”

I turned to glance at her with a playful look. “Somehow, I don’t believe that,” I teased. The sight of her mischievous smile was oddly comforting. There was something about the way she seemed so easygoing that put me at ease in a place I’d otherwise felt like a stranger.

She shrugged nonchalantly, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “You’re too kind. I swear, I’d probably burn water if I tried.”

“Well, if you’re ever in the mood for a home-cooked meal, I’m happy to share,” I said with a grin, sprinkling a bit of salt into the boiling water for the pasta.

“Very generous of you,” she quipped, her grin widening. “But seriously, this smells amazing. What’s in it?”

“Just the basics,” I said, giving the pasta another gentle stir. “Garlic, tomatoes, basil, olive oil. Nothing fancy. I like to keep things simple, but it works.”

As I drained the pasta and combined it with the sauce, the kitchen door swung open, and the voices of Hannah and Evelyn filtered into the room. They were laughing, clearly sharing an inside joke that had them both in stitches. The sight of them brought a sense of warmth to the space, and for a moment, it felt like everything was exactly where it should be.

“What’s this?” Hannah asked, raising an eyebrow as she stepped closer. “A five-star dinner? I didn’t realize we were dining at a restaurant tonight.”

Samantha shot me a teasing look. “She’s putting us all to shame,” she said, nudging me gently with her elbow. “Guess it’s time to step up our game, huh?”

I laughed, feeling the flush of self-consciousness spread across my cheeks. “It’s really nothing special,” I said, trying to downplay it. “Just trying to make something edible for the week. I’ve been craving something other than takeout.”

“Well, if you ever need taste-testers…” Evelyn said, pulling a glass from the cupboard as she leaned against the counter, a playful smile on her face. “You know where to find us.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” I replied, grinning back at her. “But I’m warning you, it’s not a Michelin-star meal.”

Hannah smirked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s okay. We’re used to living off of whatever’s easy. A little bit of real food is a nice change.”

The conversation flowed easily from there, each of us joking around and laughing. It felt nice to be in a place where I wasn’t just an outsider looking in. Over the past few weeks, I had been slowly realizing just how lucky I had gotten. Finding friends like Samantha, Hannah, and Evelyn so quickly was something I hadn’t expected. It was comforting, like I had stumbled into a kind of rhythm, a connection that made the uncertainty of my new life feel a little less daunting.

“Okay, serious question,” Samantha said, pointing at the pot with mock seriousness. “Do you have enough for all of us, or should we order pizza just in case?”

I grinned, shaking my head. “Nice try,” I said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “But this is my meal prep for the week. If I share, I’ll be stuck with takeout for the next few days. And I’m not ready for that kind of commitment.”

Samantha raised her hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough,” she said with a grin. “We’ll let you off the hook this time.”

Just as I was about to turn back to the stove to finish mixing the pasta with the sauce, the kitchen door swung open once more, and the familiar voices of Max and Pep echoed across the room.

“Jesus, whose mom is here?” Max’s voice rang out, laced with playful teasing as he sauntered into the kitchen, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. His grin was almost obnoxiously confident as he scanned the room.

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of my lips. “Very funny,” I said, shaking my head. “Just because I can cook doesn’t mean I’m automatically a mom.”

“Well, you’re already feeding half the house,” Max shot back, gesturing toward the group of us gathered around the kitchen, a sly grin forming on his face. “Feels very maternal to me.”

Behind him, Pep stepped into the room, his usual aura of aloofness following him like a cloud. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching us all with his signature neutrality. He didn’t say anything right away, but there was something about the way he held himself—distant, almost observant—that made me feel like I was under some sort of scrutiny. I couldn’t quite place what it was, but I didn’t like it.

Samantha wasted no time. “Max, you’re just jealous because you don’t know how to use a stove,” she said, her tone dripping with mock superiority.

“Hey, I’m a microwave connoisseur,” Max retorted dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as though deeply wounded. “But this—” he gestured toward the pot of pasta—“this is next-level stuff.”

“Next-level?” Pep’s voice, smooth and dry, cut through the conversation with its signature sarcastic edge. “It’s pasta. Let’s not crown her a Michelin-star chef just yet.”

I shot a quick glare at Pep, the spoon still gripped in my hand as I tried to maintain some semblance of composure. “If you think you can do better, be my guest,” I said, my voice slightly sharper than I intended.

Pep raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into the faintest smirk. “I’m not the one playing house,” he said, his words laced with something I couldn’t quite decipher.

The room seemed to be still for a moment. The light, playful atmosphere we had shared before seemed to shift just slightly. There was an edge to Pep’s words, something beneath the surface that left me feeling a bit off-balance. Was it a joke? Or was it more pointed than he intended? I couldn’t tell, and that uncertainty gnawed at me.

Max, sensing the tension, clapped his hands together. “Alright, alright,” he said with a grin, clearly trying to defuse the situation. “Let’s not start World War III in the kitchen. So, uh, do we get to try this masterpiece, or are we all doomed to starve tonight?”

I sighed, turning back to the stove. “It’s my meal prep for the week,” I said, trying to keep the mood light. “But if you’re desperate, there’s enough for a small taste.”

“Desperate? Never,” Max said with exaggerated flair, grabbing a fork from the drawer and inspecting it as though it were some kind of weapon. He came up behind me, “But I won’t say no to charity.”

Pep remained where he was, his arms still crossed, his gaze fixed on me. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at me. His expression hadn’t changed, but there was a subtle intensity behind his eyes that felt like he was waiting for something—or maybe he was just studying me. I couldn’t tell, but it made my stomach tighten in a way I wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

As Max and the others started bickering over who would get the first bite, I caught Pep’s eyes for a fleeting moment. For a brief second, he nodded—almost imperceptibly—before turning and walking out of the kitchen without another word.

“Don’t mind him,” Max said, noticing my distracted look. “He’s... just Luigi being Luigi. That’s all there is to it.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, still watching the door he had just exited. “I’m starting to figure that out.”

Wait…

“Did you just say Luigi?” I asked, my voice thick with disbelief, my gaze narrowing as I turned back to Max.

“Yeah, that’s his name. Like the character,” Max said nonchalantly, as though it were nothing out of the ordinary. He chuckled lightly at my confusion. “He even kind of looks like him, don’t you think?”

But as the name “Luigi” bounced around in my mind, it didn’t quite fit with the man I had just seen. Sure, it was a name, but it didn’t match the aloof, distant persona Pep projected. No, it was more like the name of someone from my past—someone I hadn’t met in years.

A distant memory began to resurface. “Luigi” was a name from my childhood. A friend I’d had back in fifth grade. The same Luigi who had been a fixture in my life for three years, before I moved away, before I lost touch with him entirely. And now, standing before me, Pep—this stranger—seemed to be somehow tied to that memory.

A sickening wave of realization hit me. Did I really not recognize him? How had I missed the signs? My heart sank as the weight of it all became clear. The person I’d been avoiding, brushing off, might have been someone I had known far better than I realized. And now, here I was, standing in the kitchen, completely unaware of it until this very moment.

It felt like a punch to the gut. How could I have been so blind? How had I failed to see the signs? I had been so wrapped up in my own life, so caught in the rhythm of the present, that I hadn’t noticed the past coming back to me.

My stomach churned with guilt as I stood there, trying to make sense of it all. I had so many questions, so many regrets. I couldn’t just leave it like this. I had to apologize. But how?
After dinner, I found myself retreating upstairs. I stood outside his door, my mind racing, unsure of what to do next. Should I confront him now and face the awkwardness head-on, or should I wait until the tension has faded a little? The silence around me felt suffocating as I weighed my options, each one feeling like it could make everything worse.

In the end, I turned and walked into my room, the door clicking shut behind me. The weight of the situation, the guilt of the mistake, lingered in the pit of my stomach. I took out my computer and opened Facebook, a wave of discomfort washing over me as I searched for the name I had only just begun to piece together—Luigi Mangione. I felt like an intruder, though I couldn't quite stop myself. It was a futile attempt to make sense of this strange familiarity I’d been carrying around. Typing in the name, I added his last name, and hit enter. There it was—Luigi Mangione. I stared at the screen, my heart thudding in my chest as I clicked the profile.

The man in the photo was unmistakable. Pep. There was no denying it now. The face that I’d seen every day, the voice that always seemed to linger in the background, it was him. The familiar features of Luigi were there—his dark eyes, sharp jawline, the faint smirk that seemed to linger even in still photos. But he wasn’t the same. There was something different now, something distant. His life had moved on in ways I hadn’t expected.

I scrolled through his profile, my fingers hovering over the mouse as I went through pictures, each one more unsettling than the last. There were posts from years ago, all familiar things, shots of him with friends, at parties, at events. I saw his progression: the high school years, then the college photos that matched what I had seen in person, but with more polish, more distance. He had grown into this confident, almost untouchable figure, someone who had clearly carved out a life that had nothing to do with the awkward kid I once knew.

His feed was full of candid shots from travels, vacations, nights out with friends, and various achievements. The man in the photos didn’t seem like the boy I had once spent hours talking to. He was Pep, confident, composed, and entirely outside my reach. There was something slightly unsettling about seeing the life he had built. The posts, the accomplishments, the carefree photos—none of it was familiar. I was just a stranger now, someone he had probably forgotten just as easily as I had forgotten him.

And yet, there were moments, little glimpses in the captions, the jokes with friends, that made me wonder. Was he thinking of the same years we’d shared, the same secrets and laughs that had been so normal back then? I couldn’t tell. The man I was looking at felt so removed from that past, it almost hurt to recognize him.

The further I scrolled, the more the past seemed to collapse in on me. The way he had smiled back then, the way we had just... talked. It felt so easy. And now, here he was—a stranger to me.

I clicked on a post from just a few months ago. It was a group picture of him with a few friends, all smiles, laughing in a way that seemed so different. So not the version of him I knew. There was a part of me that wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—to acknowledge the past, but I didn’t know what I would even say. The lines had blurred.
I closed the laptop with a quick snap, the familiar weight of regret settling in. The more I looked at his life, the more I felt like an outsider. Pep—Luigi—had moved on. It was clear. I glanced around my room, feeling restless and unsettled, unsure of what to do with this new reality. Should I go to him? Should I confront him? Part of me felt the need to apologize, to make up. But would it even matter? The questions swirled in my mind, but I couldn't bring myself to answer them.

The truth was, Luigi Mangione was a person I had known—once. Now, Pep was someone completely different. The disconnection was palpable, and no matter how much I tried to convince myself I could fix it, I knew I couldn’t.
I opened the laptop again, the screen lighting up as I hesitated. His profile reappeared in front of me, the same picture, the same posts. My fingers hovered over the mouse, the cursor blinking on the "Send Friend Request" button. It seemed so simple—just a click. But it felt like so much more.

I had no real reason to do this. What was I hoping for? A sudden wave of recognition? An apology for all the years lost? Or maybe just some acknowledgment, some small piece of proof that I hadn’t forgotten him entirely? I wasn’t sure, but I knew I couldn’t just sit there anymore. The weight of the silence, of the unspoken years between us, felt unbearable.

I pressed the button.

The action felt final, like sealing something that could never be opened again. The friend request was sent, sitting there in limbo. I stared at the screen, my heart racing for a reason I couldn’t explain. What now? What was supposed to happen?

For a moment, I expected something immediate—a notification, a message, anything that would tell me my move had been noticed. But nothing came. The little spinning wheel in my stomach didn’t stop turning.

I closed the laptop again, this time with more force. But the weight of that click, that decision, followed me like a shadow, no matter how I tried to ignore it.

It was done. And now, I just had to wait.

Chapter Text

I woke up the next morning with a pit of anxiety settled deep in my stomach. The events of the previous evening played on a loop in my mind, every detail magnified under the sharp light of hindsight. Should I have sent the friend request? It had felt like the right thing to do in the moment, a small gesture that could bridge the unspoken gap between us. It was a hint—a subtle, tentative way of saying, I remember.

The glowing light of my laptop on the desk across the room caught my eye, and I wondered if he’d seen the notification yet. Would he accept it? Or would he ignore it altogether, leaving the unanswered request as a silent rebuke? I tossed the blanket off and swung my legs over the side of the bed, my movements quick and restless. The early morning chill brushed against my skin, but I barely noticed as I grabbed my phone from the side table.

The screen lit up, flooding my vision with the glow of unread notifications. A string of emails, a few messages, and then, nestled in the mix, there it was.

Friend request accepted.

My heart leaped at the sight of those three words. Luigi—Pep—had accepted. For a moment, I just stared at it, my thumb hovering over the notification like pressing it would confirm it was real. It wasn’t just the notification; it was what it meant. An acknowledgment. A door, however small, that he’d left open.

I tapped it, and his profile filled the screen. The familiar yet unfamiliar face stared back at me, his expression neutral in the photo, but the memory of his smirk—so often infuriating—flashed in my mind.

A small breath escaped me, half relief, half nerves.

I was nervous, the kind of nerves that sat heavy in my chest and made my hands fidget with the edge of my phone case. It felt strange—unsettling, almost—that he was only on the opposite side of the hallway. Two long strides, that was all it would take, and I could knock on his door, see him, say something.He felt so distant, yet he was so close, just a thin wall separating us. It was disorienting, the way his presence had suddenly become both tangible and unattainable. My mind spun with what I would say if I did go, if I dared to close the gap.

I dropped the phone onto my bed, the screen flashing briefly before going dark. Shaking my head, I pushed the thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand—getting ready for class.

Now wasn’t the time.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater, brushing my hair quickly as I glanced at the clock. My backpack sat slumped in the corner of the room, a quiet reminder that life outside this strange tension was still moving forward. I grabbed it, slinging it over my shoulder, and took a deep breath.

Whatever this was—whatever we were—it could wait. There were lectures to attend, notes to take, and a life to live, even if my thoughts kept drifting to the person just beyond the hallway.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Max greeted, his grin as teasing as ever, when I walked into the kitchen.

Evelyn and Max were perched on the kitchen island, cups of coffee cradled in their hands. The soft hum of their conversation lingered in the air, mingling with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and faint traces of last night’s dinner.

“You’re up early,” Max continued, tilting his head in mock surprise. “Didn’t take you for a morning person.”

I rolled my eyes, setting my bag down by the door. “Good morning to you too. And for your information, some of us have classes to get to.”

Evelyn chuckled, raising her mug in a mock toast. “Unlucky you. No lectures until noon for me. So, I’m just here enjoying my coffee—and Max’s surprisingly entertaining gossip.”

“Gossip?” I asked, glancing between them as I grabbed a clean mug from the cupboard.

“Oh, you know,” Max said, his grin widening mischievously. “Just discussing our favorite housemates and their late-night drama.”

That caught my attention. “Alright, spill. What happened?”

Evelyn leaned forward, clearly holding back a laugh. “Let’s just say Hannah had a bit of a breakdown over her thesis draft last night.”

Max snorted. “A bit of a breakdown? She was practically at war with her laptop. And Zack? Poor guy got woken up by the shouting and completely lost it.”

“What happened?” I asked, now thoroughly intrigued.

Max leaned in closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “Zack stormed out of his room in his pajamas, banging on her door like the world was ending. I think he yelled something about people having to work in the morning. It was peak ‘grumpy old man.’”

Evelyn laughed, shaking her head. “Hannah just kept yelling back through the door. I swear, they were going at it for a solid fifteen minutes. At one point, I thought Zack might actually break the door down.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, picturing the scene. “Poor Zack. And poor Hannah. Thesis meltdowns are no joke.”

Max grinned. “It was great entertainment, though. Better than reality TV.”

“Remind me to stay out of Zack’s way when he’s sleep-deprived,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Max said, smirking. “You’re already on everyone’s good side. Well, except maybe Pep. But that’s a whole other story.”

The mention of Pep sent a small jolt through me, but I masked it with another sip of coffee, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Guess I’ll have to work on that, then,” I said lightly.

Max’s gaze lingered on me for a moment, his smirk softening into something closer to curiosity. “You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “you’re kind of a mystery yourself. Maybe one day, you’ll be the star of the gossip.”

I raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

“Guess we will,” Max said, giving me a playful wink before taking another sip of his coffee.

Evelyn checked the time on her phone and hopped off the counter. “Well, I should get moving. Have fun dissecting the house drama without me.”

As she left the kitchen, Max turned back to me, his grin firmly back in place. “So, what do you say? Should we start betting on who’s going to crack next? My money’s on Zack having a second meltdown before the week’s out.”

“Tempting,” I said with a laugh, setting my mug down. “But I think I’ll stick to just watching the show for now.”

I grabbed my bag from where I’d left it by the door and turned to Max, who was still nursing his coffee with a lazy grin. “Alright, I’ve got to get moving. First class waits for no one.”

“Don’t work too hard,” he said with a wink, setting his cup down just long enough to pull me into a quick hug.

“Yeah, yeah,” I replied, laughing as I pulled away. “Try not to start any more rumors while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” he called after me as I headed out of the kitchen. 

While sitting in my comparative politics class, I struggled to keep my focus on the lecture. My pen hovered idly over my notebook, but the words on the screen blurred as my mind wandered—to Max first, with his playful smirks and easy charm, and then, inevitably, to someone who wasn’t quite as kind.

Luigi. Or should I even call him that?

The name felt intimate, softer somehow, compared to the sharp edges of "Pep." I found myself repeating it in my mind, testing how it felt on my tongue. Luigi. I liked it more than his nickname, more than the persona he seemed to wear like armor. But could I call him that now? Did I even have the right?

The professor’s voice pulled me back to the present for a moment, mentioning something about democratic transitions, but it wasn’t enough to hold me. My thoughts drifted again. 

The last time I had seen Luigi—really seen him—was during summer break, right before sixth grade. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet the memory came back as vivid as if it had happened yesterday.

The sun blazed high in the sky, its warmth radiating down onto the cracked pavement of the sidewalk. We were running, feet pounding against the concrete, the soles of our sneakers slapping rhythmically. Luigi was just ahead of me, his laugh carried back by the breeze as he turned his head to look over his shoulder.

“Can’t catch me!” he called out, his voice full of challenge and joy.

“Oh, you think so?” I yelled back, pushing myself to run faster, my breath coming in bursts.

The sidewalk stretched endlessly before us, lined with neatly trimmed lawns and sprinklers spraying arcs of water onto the grass. The occasional whoosh of a car passing on the street barely registered; our world was reduced to the chase, the heat, and our laughter.

He veered suddenly, hopping off the curb and onto the street to avoid a cluster of kids playing with chalk. I followed without thinking, nearly stumbling as I tried to match his sudden maneuver.

“Careful!” he shouted, his grin widening.

I glared at him playfully, determined not to let him win. “You’re the one who should watch out!”

We reached the small park at the end of the street, both of us breathless but still laughing. He bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, while I flopped onto the grass, letting the cool blades tickle my overheated skin.

“You’re fast,” he admitted, finally plopping down beside me. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, and his face was flushed red from the exertion.

“And you’re slow,” I teased, nudging his shoulder.

He nudged me back, his expression mock-offended. “Slow? I let you win. Obviously.”

“Oh, really?” I said, rolling onto my side to face him. “That’s your excuse?”

“Yup.” He grinned, leaning back on his hands and squinting up at the sun. “You’re lucky I’m nice.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the way he said it, so matter-of-fact and smug.

Back in the classroom, I blinked, the memory fading as I stared blankly at the whiteboard. That summer had been the last time we’d been inseparable—before middle school, before everything changed. Before I moved away, and before he went to that all-boys middle school.

The thought of how quickly we had drifted apart felt strange. It had been so sudden, the shift from seeing each other every day to barely talking at all. The friendship we’d built during those summers seemed to disappear as soon as the school year started, swallowed up by the transition into a new chapter for both of us.

I shook my head, trying to pull myself back to the present. The lecture was still going on, but I couldn’t quite focus. Instead, my mind kept wandering back to those days—those simpler days—when Luigi and I were just two kids, running side by side. 

I shifted in my seat, pushing aside the swirling thoughts for a moment, trying to force myself to listen to the professor.

As I walked out of the classroom and headed toward my next one, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to see Samantha's name light up across the screen. I checked the time—10:36 AM.

“Hey,” I said as I swiped to answer, holding the phone to my ear.

“Hi!” Samantha beamed through the phone, her voice lively and upbeat.

“What's up?” I asked, adjusting my bag on my shoulder as I continued walking down the hallway. I could already feel the pull of the next class, but the curiosity about her call kept me engaged.

“Well,” she began, her tone shifting slightly, “I was wondering if you were free later. A bunch of us are heading to the coffee shop near campus, and we thought it would be fun if you joined us. You know, get a little break from all the politics and classes."

I smiled at her enthusiasm. The idea of escaping the academic grind for a bit sounded good. "Yeah, I could use a break. What time were you thinking?"

"Maybe around one? It'll give us a bit of time to finish up with our stuff, but not too late that we have to rush back to class."

"Sounds perfect," I said. "I'll meet you guys there."

"Awesome! I'll text you the details. Can't wait!" Samantha sounded genuinely excited, and it made me realize how nice it was to have someone reach out, offering to include me in something.

"Me too. See you soon."

We said our goodbyes, and I tucked my phone back into my pocket, feeling a little lighter than I had before. Maybe I have been too caught up in my head lately. A coffee break with some friends might just be what I needed.

It wasn’t what I needed.

Sitting here at a five-seater table in the midst of the bustling coffee shop, I felt more out of place than ever. Max sat to my right, his usual playful grin lighting up his face as he bantered with Hannah, seated across from him. They were wrapped up in some conversation, but every now and then, I could feel Max’s gaze flicking toward me, his expression more mischievous than concerned.

Hannah was in her element, laughing at whatever joke Max had just cracked, and I couldn’t help but force a smile in response. I tried to look casual, but it was hard. Every shift in the air seemed to pull my focus elsewhere—straight across from me.

Luigi—or was it Pep now? It felt like the weight of his presence was pressing down on me, like a force that didn’t quite belong. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying to focus on my coffee, but my mind was miles away.

Every few moments, my eyes would find him again. His gaze, when it met mine, never lingered for long. He would glance over, and then look away—brief but enough to make my heart skip. There was something there, unspoken and heavy. It wasn’t just me feeling it, either. Samantha, at the head of the table, had been scrolling through her phone, eyes occasionally flicking up toward me. I could feel her awareness—she knew something was off but didn’t know how to address it.

Max, as usual, was oblivious to the undercurrent. His voice blurred into the background as he and Hannah discussed some show they’d been watching. Their conversation was a distant hum to me, like I was underwater, trapped in a world of silence and static. The noise of the coffee shop, the clatter of cups and murmur of voices, all faded into nothing. My focus was tethered to one thing: him.

Pep—or Luigi, whatever I was supposed to call him—sat across from me, leaning back in his chair, one arm casually resting on the table. His eyes were mostly trained on the group, but every so often, they would flicker in my direction. It was brief, a fleeting glance, and then he’d look away, as though nothing had happened. But it had. I could feel it.

"You're awfully quiet today," Max suddenly said, his voice snapping me back to the present. He was looking at me now, a teasing expression on his face. "What’s going on? You’ve been staring into that coffee for the last ten minutes."

I forced a smile and shook my head. "Just tired," I muttered, hoping that would satisfy him.

Hannah, ever the perceptive one, shot me a sidelong glance. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Yeah, you’ve been a little distant. Everything okay?"

I nodded quickly. "Yeah, just a lot on my mind." I hoped they wouldn’t press it further.

But it was as though the universe had conspired against me today. I could feel Pep’s eyes on me again. They were subtle—like a weight on my chest—and I couldn’t shake the sensation that they were pulling something from deep inside me. His silence felt heavier than any words could. It was suffocating.

Max kept talking, oblivious to the tension building between me and Pep, but I couldn’t hear him. His voice seemed distant, like he was speaking from another room. The space between me and Pep felt too wide, even though the table wasn’t all that large. I kept stealing glances at him, unsure of what to make of it. He was the same, yet so different. Like a stranger who still had a hold on me.

Finally, Pep shifted slightly in his chair, and I looked up just as his eyes met mine for the first time in what felt like ages. "You look like you’re thinking too hard," he said, his voice low, with a touch of something I couldn’t identify.

I blinked, startled by his directness. It took me a moment to gather my thoughts. "I—uh—guess I’m just distracted," I said, fumbling over the words. They didn’t sound like mine, not with the unease running through me.

He studied me for a moment, his lips curling into a barely perceptible smile, but it wasn’t a reassuring one. It was… cryptic. Like he knew something I didn’t, and he wasn’t willing to share.

"Maybe you should take a break from whatever’s on your mind," he suggested softly. His voice was barely above the noise of the coffee shop, but it felt like a crackling static in my ears. "Overthinking isn’t healthy."

I looked away, not knowing how to respond. His words lingered, sharp and weighted. It almost felt like an accusation, but not quite. It was as if he was offering advice, yet it didn’t sit right. It was like he was peeling back layers, just a glimpse into something I wasn’t ready to see.

Samantha, who had been quietly watching the exchange, finally spoke up. She glanced between me and Pep, her voice light but curious. "You two seem a little… off," she remarked. Her eyes flicked to Max, as though trying to lighten the moment. "What’s going on? Should we start the gossip early?"

Max grinned, about to dive into a joke, but then he caught sight of me, my discomfort written all over my face. He hesitated, his teasing expression shifting to something more thoughtful. "Well… maybe later."

"Did I miss something?" Samantha asked, the curiosity clear in her voice. "You two have some kind of secret history or something?"

I choked on my coffee, startled by the question. "What? No!" I said quickly, but it came out sharper than I intended. I cleared my throat, trying to steady myself.

Max leaned in, eyes narrowing as though he was on to something. "Oh really?" He smirked. "Because it looks like there’s definitely something going on between you two. You’re practically vibrating with tension."

I shot him a glare, my face heating. "I’m fine," I muttered, but it felt hollow, even to me.

Samantha raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not pushing further. "Alright, alright," she said with a teasing smile. "But I’ll get the story out of you eventually."

Pep, who had been sitting there in his usual detached manner, spoke up then. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. "You know," he said, his tone cool and controlled, "you’re all too nosy. Not everything needs to be aired out."

I blinked, taken aback by the sharpness in his words. "I wasn’t trying to air anything out," I replied, though I couldn’t hide the edge in my voice.

His gaze softened just a touch, but the coolness remained. "Right. But some things are better left unsaid," he said, leaning back in his chair. "It’s just… less messy that way."

I wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Was it a comment on our past? Was he hinting at something I didn’t understand? His tone was so calm, almost dismissive, but it only served to make the tension more palpable.

Samantha, sensing the shift in the conversation, stood up, stretching her arms. "Okay, okay. No more probing into your mysterious past," she said with a grin. "I’ll grab another coffee. Anyone else?"

Max chuckled as Samantha walked away. "I’m good," he said, glancing at me. "But seriously, you two are like a powder keg. What’s going on?"

I opened my mouth but couldn’t find the words. Everything I wanted to say was stuck, tangled up inside. And Pep—Luigi—wasn’t making it any easier. He wasn’t offering anything, just sitting there with that unreadable expression.

"So, what’s the plan for tonight?" Hannah asked, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Anyone up for a party?"

"Maybe," Max said, a sly grin returning as he looked at me. "Depends on whether my favorite housemate wants to join."

I raised an eyebrow, unsure of where this was going. "And who’s that?"

"You know, you," he said with a dramatic sigh. "You’re always the one who ends up having the most fun."

I glanced at Pep again, still unreadable, his face as passive as ever. But there was something in the air, something that didn’t sit right. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of something I wasn’t, something between us that still needed to be resolved.

Samantha returned just then, plopping back down with a fresh cup of coffee. She smiled at me and, sensing the shift in the room, asked, "So, are we on for tonight, or...?"

"Maybe," I muttered, still distracted. "I’ll let you know later."

This problem , or whatever you wanted to call it, was causing me more pain and distraction than anything else. It gnawed at me, making it impossible to focus on anything else. I couldn’t keep pretending like it wasn’t there, like it wasn’t eating away at my thoughts every second. This needed to be resolved. Whatever was happening between us—between me and him—it needed to end.

Tonight was going to be that night. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. There was no running anymore, no hiding from it.

I hadn't gone to the party last week. In fact, I had locked myself in my room and didn’t speak to anyone for days—maybe the entire week. I had to. It felt like the only way to escape the heavy silence that loomed over me. The tension, the unspoken words, the look in his eyes every time I tried to ignore him. It was suffocating.

I hated this feeling—the constant need to hide, to avoid the reality of whatever was simmering beneath the surface. It wasn’t just about Pep, or Luigi, or whatever name I was supposed to call him!! It was everything. The discomfort, the unanswered questions, the way his presence still lingered even when he wasn’t there. It was tearing at me.

It wasn’t just affecting me anymore. It was spilling over into every part of my life, even the friendships I had with the people around me. The ones who didn’t deserve to be tangled in whatever this was between me and Pep. The way I had to keep up a mask when I was around them, pretending everything was fine, pretending that I wasn’t on the edge of something I couldn’t even begin to explain.

I couldn’t be myself around them. Not fully. Every word I spoke, every laugh I tried to force, felt like it was coming from someone else. And the worst part was, they almost caught on. I could see it in their eyes—the slight tilt of a head, the pause in their conversation when I didn’t react the way I usually did. They were starting to notice. Starting to feel the distance.

And that? That was the worst part of it all. Watching the people I cared about feel like something was off, watching them tiptoe around me like I was a ticking time bomb. The last thing I wanted was for them to think I was shutting them out. I didn’t want to be this person—withdrawn, distant, cold—but I couldn’t stop myself. It was as if everything else was just... easier to ignore than the storm raging inside my head.

I hated how they looked at me like that—like they weren’t sure if they could ask me what was wrong, or if they should just keep pretending with me. I hated how I couldn’t tell them the truth. That there was something more complicated going on in my life than just simple drama or stress.

And I hated that Pep—Luigi—whatever he was to me now—was the reason for all of this. He was pulling at the strings of my life, tangled up in my thoughts, and it felt like it was suffocating everything around me.

And the worst part? I was the one letting it happen. I wasn’t dealing with it. I wasn’t confronting it. I had been running, hoping it would fade, hoping maybe it would fix itself. But tonight... Tonight was the night I would stop running.

I wasn’t going to keep pretending everything was fine. I had to face it, face him. Whether I liked it or not. And I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

But I was done hiding.

I stood in front of the shower, the sound of it running as I let the hot water cascade down my back. The steam fogged up the glass, but I couldn’t care less. I needed to clear my head, even if it was only for a few minutes. The heat and solitude of the shower gave me a rare moment to breathe, to step away from everything that had been clouding my thoughts.

When I finally emerged, the weight of the night ahead pressed on me, and I knew I had to get ready. There was no turning back now. I had to do something. I couldn’t keep letting everything simmer inside me.

I chose an outfit that was bold—something that felt right for tonight. Dark jeans, a sleek top that hugged me just enough, and shoes that had the power to make me feel confident. I put on makeup, careful to go for a look that was both fierce and fun. I wanted to look good, but more than that, I wanted to feel good . For once, I wanted to feel like I could walk into a room without that heavy weight on my chest.

As I ran my fingers through my hair, styling it the way I liked, I looked at myself in the mirror, almost like I was looking at a stranger. But this version of me, the one who was standing tall and ready, felt like a version of myself I hadn’t seen in a while. I almost didn’t recognize her. The girl who was ready to go out, ready to leave the tension behind and just... let loose.

I knew what this night had to be about: control . If tonight didn’t go as planned, if a fight broke out or things didn’t work out with Pep, I was done. I was going to drink. I was going to dance. I was going to party . It didn’t matter what anyone else thought. I needed to stop feeling like I was drowning in my own head, to stop feeling like I was trapped in a never-ending loop of confusion and heartache. Tonight, I was going to let the music drown it all out.

The music pulsed through the walls, every beat vibrating in my chest. The party was in full swing—people laughing, dancing, shouting over the sound of the latest hits—but my eyes kept scanning the room, looking for him. Pep. I just needed to see him. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was here somewhere, lurking in the background, watching, like he always did.

“Looking for someone?” Max’s voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to find him smirking at me, a drink already in hand.

I forced a smile. “What? No... I’m fine.”

Max’s eyebrows arched, clearly unconvinced. He glanced around the room, then leaned in closer. “You’re scanning the place like you're looking for a ghost. What’s up?”

“I’m not looking for anyone,” I muttered, though I was lying. I was looking for him. My stomach twisted with each second that passed without finding him. “I just... I don't feel like myself tonight.”

Max laughed, clearly unfazed by my tone. “Come on, relax. We’re at a party. You’re supposed to have fun, not be all moody.” He handed me a drink, the glass cold against my palm. “Here, drink up. It’ll take the edge off.”

I hesitated for a moment, then took a sip. The alcohol hit me immediately—strong, bitter, burning down my throat. It wasn’t my usual drink, but tonight wasn't usual. 

“Better?” Max asked, his grin widening as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

I nodded, a little too quickly. The warmth spread through me, loosening the tension in my muscles. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Maybe if I just kept drinking, I wouldn’t care anymore. Maybe I could stop thinking about Pep entirely.

Max led me toward the dance floor, weaving through the crowd with ease. People were all around us, bodies pressed together, their movements wild, carefree. Max’s energy was infectious, and soon enough, I found myself laughing and swaying to the music.

The lights flashed in time with the beat, casting bright colors across everyone’s faces, but my eyes kept darting around, searching the crowd. Where is he?

“Stop looking,” Max teased, his voice a little slurred. “You’re making yourself crazy.”

“I’m not,” I snapped, though it wasn’t convincing. I was making myself crazy. The longer I stayed here, the more I could feel the alcohol doing its work, pulling me under.

We danced together, moving in sync to the beat, the alcohol starting to take the edge off. Max was fun, light-hearted, but even his presence didn’t ease the nagging feeling in my chest. I kept looking around, kept searching for him in every face, every corner of the room, but it was as if he had vanished. It was like he was never here at all.

My movements became looser as the alcohol worked its way through my bloodstream, and I let Max take the lead, pulling me into a spin before pulling me close again. His arms wrapped around my waist, his hands steady as he pulled me in.

“Feeling better?” he asked, his breath warm on my ear.

I nodded, my heart pounding a little too fast. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just the situation, but I felt a strange sense of... freedom . For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t thinking about Pep. I wasn’t worried about whatever had happened between us, or whether he was out there somewhere, ignoring me.

I was laughing. I was dancing. And I wasn’t alone.

Max spun me again, and I stumbled, giggling as I caught myself in his arms. “Whoops,” I laughed, a little too loudly, and Max grinned, clearly pleased with the way I was loosening up.

“Just relax,” he said, his voice low. “You’re way too tense.”

I wasn’t tense anymore. The alcohol had loosened me up, and I found myself leaning into Max’s touch, the steady rhythm of his body against mine pulling me into the dance. The music was louder now, the bass vibrating through the floor, and everything felt... vivid. 

I glanced up at Max, his grin still wide as he twirled me again, his hands steady on my hips. It was easy. It was easy to forget everything when I was with him.

Max tugged at my hand, his grip firm yet playful as he pulled me toward the door. We were laughing—something stupid I had said, or maybe it was just the alcohol making everything seem funnier than it really was. I didn’t care. His laughter was contagious, and for the first time in a while, I felt like I could breathe again.

Outside, the cool air hit me like a wave, making me shiver slightly, but it was a welcome relief from the heat of the party inside. The sky above was clear, dotted with stars that seemed unusually bright tonight. I stopped for a moment, tilting my head back, taking it all in. The stars felt so close, almost as if I could reach up and touch them. It was a rare moment of stillness amid all the chaos, and I let it wash over me.

Max chuckled beside me, following my gaze upward. “Beautiful, huh?” he said, his voice soft but warm.

I nodded, the peacefulness of the night making me forget about everything else for a second. The party noise felt distant now, as though we were in a world of our own. People gathered in small groups, smoking, talking, laughing—nothing too loud, just casual. It was as if the world outside the house had slowed down, but here, the stars and the cool night air made everything feel like it was moving at a different pace.

Max pulled me along again, his hand still wrapped around mine, leading me toward a hammock nestled near the edge of the yard. It was strung between the two trees, the ropes creaking slightly under his weight, but it looked comfortable—inviting, even.

“Come on,” Max said, sitting down first and patting the empty spot beside him. “It’s perfect out here.”

I hesitated for only a second before sliding into the hammock next to him. The soft fabric cradled me, the sway of it almost lulling me into a sense of calm I hadn’t felt in days. Max scooted closer, and we both lay back, the hammock rocking gently under us. The stars above us seemed to multiply, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell where the sky ended and the earth began. It was like we were floating.

Max shifted beside me, his shoulder brushing mine, and I felt a warmth spread through me—not from the alcohol, but from the comfort of his presence. I glanced over at him. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed, the playful edge gone for the moment. For once, he seemed just as at ease as I felt.

“Glad you came,” he murmured, his voice low. “You needed this.”

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I stared up at the sky again, feeling the soft breeze brush against my skin. There was something about this moment, something simple and peaceful, that felt almost sacred.

“Yeah,” I finally said, my voice quieter than I expected. “I think I did.”

For a few minutes, neither of us said anything. We just lay there, listening to the soft rustling of the trees, the distant chatter from the party, and the occasional laugh from someone in the yard. It was comforting. Almost like the whole world had fallen away, leaving just the two of us in this small, quiet space.

Max shifted again, his fingers lightly brushing mine before his hand slid into mine completely. I felt my heart skip a beat, but I didn’t pull away. Instead, I squeezed his hand, the warmth of his touch grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected.

“Have you ever thought about leaving all this behind?” Max asked suddenly, his voice quiet but tinged with something I couldn’t quite place.

I frowned, looking over at him. “What do you mean?”

“Like... just walking away from all the mess. From everything,” he said, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “Sometimes, I think it’d be nice to just... leave it all behind. No more drama, no more people trying to make you something you’re not.”

I could hear the honesty in his voice, and it made me think. The weight of everything had been pressing down on me for so long, I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted an escape—how much I just wanted to disappear for a while.

“Yeah,” I said softly, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I get that. Sometimes it feels like... everything’s just too much, you know?”

Max turned his head slightly, meeting my eyes. His expression was soft, understanding. “You’re not alone in feeling that way, you know. Not tonight.”

The way he said it, so casually yet with a depth that caught me off guard, made me feel a little lighter. Maybe this was what I needed—someone who understood without asking too many questions, without pushing me too hard.

“You’re right,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Maybe I just needed to get out of my head for a bit.”

Max grinned, his eyes lighting up. “I’m good at that. Getting people out of their heads.”

I chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the alcohol. For once, it felt like I was just... here . Like I was living in the moment.

The cool night air felt like a balm on my skin, and for a moment, I allowed myself to fully sink into the calm that had settled over me. Max was still beside me, his hand resting lightly in mine, the warmth of it grounding me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. We were silent for a while, simply taking in the peaceful surroundings. It was a contrast to the noise of the party, the laughter in the distance, and the subtle chaos inside.

Max shifted beside me, his shoulder brushing mine again. My heart fluttered. I turned to look at him, his face inches from mine, the quiet intensity in his eyes making my pulse quicken. Without saying a word, he leaned in slightly, the space between us closing, and I couldn’t help but follow the movement. His lips were so close now, just a breath away. I could feel the heat radiating from him, could smell the faint trace of alcohol on his breath, and it was making everything inside me come alive.

It was happening. That moment—the one I’d almost been afraid of, but also secretly wanted—was finally here. Max’s gaze flickered from my eyes to my lips, and I felt myself leaning in, a magnetic pull drawing us closer, as if we were caught in some invisible force that neither of us could resist.

And then, just as our lips were about to meet, a voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Am I interrupting?”

I froze, my heart dropping to my stomach as I looked up. Standing a few feet away, leaning casually against the tree, was Pep. His expression was unreadable, but the tone in his voice told me everything I needed to know. There was no mistaking that he had seen exactly what was about to happen.

Pep didn’t move. He just stood there, arms crossed, his eyes flicking between the two of us with a quiet, unsettling intensity. It was like he could sense everything—the pull, the tension—and he wasn’t here for any of it. I could feel it in the way he looked at me, like he was reading something I didn’t even fully understand myself.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” Pep said, his voice low, but with that same edge I’d heard so many times before. “Just came out here for a breather. Didn’t realize I was interrupting... something.”

I could feel my cheeks flush as I stood up from the hammock and Max doing the same, the moment between Max and me slipping through my fingers like sand. Pep’s presence was heavy now, and it felt like everything around us had shifted—like the world was suddenly back in focus, but in a way that made me uncomfortable.

Max, never one to back down, gave Pep a tight-lipped smile. “We were just talking. You know, catching up.” He turned to me, a little too cheerfully. “You good?”

I nodded quickly, too flustered to say much more. "Yeah, I’m fine."

Pep didn’t move, but his eyes never left mine. It was like he was studying me, and I couldn’t quite figure out why. It wasn’t until Max cleared his throat that I realized I’d been standing there, frozen in place, trying to process everything at once.

“We should probably go inside,” Max said, his voice light and casual as he gave my hand a soft tug.

I glanced over at him, distracted for a second by the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, like he knew something I didn’t. Maybe it was just the alcohol clouding my judgment, but there was something else in the way he was looking at me tonight.

“Actually, I think I need to speak to her.”

The words came from Pep. And just hearing his words, made everything inside me freeze for a second. He stood there, his arms crossed loosely, eyes unreadable. “Can we do that?” He asked again, this time with a little more insistence, his voice softer, but the intensity of it hit me like a wave. It felt like a question, but also like something more. Like an unspoken plea buried underneath.

I could feel my heart race as I tried to focus. “Um,” I started, trying to piece my thoughts together. The alcohol wasn’t helping—I may have had a little too much. Okay, maybe a lot. My feet swayed slightly beneath me, and I instinctively grabbed the hammock’s edge to steady myself.

“Yeah, okay,” I said, my voice shaky, but I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt.

Max looked between the two of us, his expression faltering for a moment. It was a brief hesitation, but it was enough for me to notice. I could see the reluctance in his eyes, like he didn’t want to leave me alone with Pep—like he was uncertain about what would happen if he did. He looked at me, then back at Pep, then finally let out a small sigh.

“Alright,” Max said, his voice holding a trace of discomfort. “I’ll catch up with you later.” He gave me a half-hearted smile, but there was something tight in the way he said it. He seemed… disappointed. Or maybe it was something else, but it didn’t matter. He turned toward the house, slowly walking inside, leaving Pep and me alone. 

As soon as Max disappeared through the door, I felt the weight of the silence settle in between me and Pep. I wasn’t sure how to react, what to say, or what was even happening right now. The moment was strange, too loaded with tension, like a countdown to something.

Pep remained still, his gaze steady on me, as if waiting for me to make the first move. There was no escaping this conversation now, not with him standing there, looking like he was both waiting and daring me to react.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words felt caught in my throat. 

“Luigi,” I said, the name feeling foreign on my tongue, like I was trying to convince myself of something I already knew. The words slurred as they left my lips, and I instantly regretted them. My vision swayed just a little, the world tilting as the alcohol wrapped itself around my thoughts, making everything feel more distant, more surreal. It felt like I was speaking to a ghost.

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze softening just a touch as if he recognized the disarray in my words. His eyes flickered over me, studying me, before he spoke.

“You’ve been drinking,” he observed quietly, his tone almost accusing, but in that distant way he always had—like he was trying to figure out just how far gone I was.

I shrugged, trying to shake the fog in my brain. “Yeah,” I said, laughing nervously. “Maybe a little too much, but it’s fine.” I shook my head as if I could clear the cloudiness in my thoughts. “I’m fine,” I added, more to myself than to him.

Luigi’s gaze softened even more, though I couldn’t be sure if it was sympathy or something else—something too unreadable to place. He took a small step toward me, but not too close, as if trying to keep some kind of distance.

“Listen,” he said, his voice low, almost like he was carefully choosing his words, “you shouldn’t be out here alone. Not like this.” His eyes glanced toward the door, like he was deciding if I should go back inside. But when he looked back at me, it was like he could see through the walls I’d built around myself.

I couldn’t help but snort a little at the irony of it all. “Alone? You mean with you ?” My laugh was shaky, but I couldn’t help it. “You’ve been avoiding me for months, Lou,” I added, my voice bitterer than I meant it to be. “And now you’re concerned?” 

I had slipped into using his childhood nickname—the one I had given him all those years ago. The moment the word left my mouth, he froze. His expression shifted, a brief flash of shock crossing his face. 

His expression hardened slightly, just enough for me to notice. His jaw clenched, and I saw the edge of something pass through his eyes—something between regret and frustration.

“Don’t start with that,” he said quietly, his voice suddenly sharper than I expected. “I didn’t come here to fight with you. I just…” He trailed off, like the words were too heavy to say out loud.

I blinked, the space between us feeling larger than it should. “You just what?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.

He ran a hand through his hair, something I remembered him doing whenever he was nervous or trying to hide something. “Forget it,” he muttered, like he was trying to bury the moment before it could get any worse.

I didn’t let him off the hook so easily. My head was spinning, but I couldn’t let him walk away again, not when everything between us was unresolved. Not when this night was already falling apart.

“Don’t do that,” I said, my voice quieter now, but still firm. “Don’t walk away from me again, Lou. Not when you’ve been…” I faltered, trying to find the right words, “...so damn absent for months.”

He stayed silent for a long moment, the only sound the soft rustling of the leaves in the trees nearby. Then, finally, he looked at me. Really looked at me. And there was something in his eyes that made my breath catch. I couldn’t quite name it—maybe it was guilt or frustration or something deeper—but it was enough to make me feel like I’d said the right thing.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t know how to handle… seeing you again.” He glanced down for a second, his eyes shifting uneasily. “Especially when I know you didnt recognize me. I still don’t.”

He took a step back, a subtle shift in his posture that felt like an attempt to create distance, even though the tension between us still clung to the air. He looked at me for a long second, then spoke, his voice softer this time, like he was trying to offer something—maybe an escape from the moment. "Come inside. I'll get you to Max," he said, his hand extended toward me, palm open, waiting for me to take it.

There was hesitation in his movement, a kind of quiet uncertainty in the way his fingers hovered just a little too far from mine. I could feel the pull of him, the pull of everything unresolved between us, and it almost made me want to take his hand. Almost.

But I couldn't. Not yet.

Instead, I stood there, rooted to the spot, my heart racing in my chest as I looked at him. His face was a mixture of frustration and something else, like he was torn between wanting to be close to me and being afraid of what that might mean. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing, and let my gaze flicker down to his hand before meeting his eyes again.

“I’m sorry, for not keeping contact,” I said, my voice rough, the words tumbling out like they’d been sitting on the tip of my tongue for too long. “I’m sorry for not reaching out. I do remember you. You were my best friend, and I’m sorry that I let you down.”

There was something raw in my voice—something that made the tension between us feel even heavier, like the weight of all the unspoken words was finally being lifted. But even as I apologized, it didn’t feel like it was enough.

“Stop… Just stop talking,” he said, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. His eyes, intense and full of something I couldn’t name, locked onto mine with a force that made me freeze. “Now’s not the time. Do you hear me?!”

His words struck me like a slap to the face, and for a moment, I was stunned. Everything inside me wanted to lash out, to shout at him that now was exactly the time. But the raw, almost desperate look in his eyes held me back.

It was as if he was holding back something just as fierce as the storm I was feeling. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the tension in the air so thick I could almost taste it. I wanted to say something—anything—but the way he looked at me, the way his voice cracked with unspoken emotion, made me swallow my words.

I took a shaky breath, my heart pounding in my chest, and nodded slowly, unsure of what to do next. The last thing I wanted was for us to fall into silence again, to let this go unresolved. But I could feel it—he was right. His gaze softened just a fraction, but the tension was still there. "I'm sorry," he said again, his voice quieter now, but still filled with weight. "I just... I need a minute."

“Whatever,” I snapped, my voice rough with frustration and hurt. The weight of everything between us was suffocating, and I could feel my patience slipping. “There’s a party going on, and I want to party.”

I began walking past him, my breath coming faster as I tried to shake off the sting of his words. The alcohol wasn’t far away, and at this point, I was convinced it was the only thing that could numb the ache gnawing at me. My mind was spinning, tangled with confusion, anger, and the ache of so many things left unsaid.

I didn’t want to feel any of it anymore. The sharpness of the night, the silence between us—it all felt too much. The party, the noise, the dancing—anything to escape the feeling of being torn apart.

As I reached the back porch, taking a few unsteady steps up the short stairs, my legs betrayed me. My knees buckled, and I felt the hard, cold steps scrape against my skin as I fell, a sharp pain shooting up from the impact.

“Shit,” I heard behind me, the voice laced with concern, and before I could even process what was happening, I felt strong arms wrap around me, pulling me up.

“Yeah, let me get you inside,” he said, his voice suddenly low and steady, the concern clear as day. His hands were gentle but firm, guiding me back on my feet. “You’re bleeding.”

I looked down, and sure enough, there was blood streaking across my knees, the pain now making itself known as the adrenaline began to wear off. I winced, but the warmth of his arms around me was grounding. I hadn't expected him to be there, to care. But there he was, his touch familiar in a way I wasn’t sure how to handle.

“Come on,” he urged, his voice softer now. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

I let him guide me, my body feeling heavier with each step, both from the alcohol and the weight of everything that had happened tonight. The bitterness still lingered in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t help but appreciate the way he was taking care of me—when all I had wanted was to get away from him just moments ago.

It felt like the night was slowly unraveling, but there was one thing that was clear—whether I liked it or not, he wasn’t leaving. Not yet.

He led me through the house. Our friends were nowhere to be seen, and the space between us seemed strangely intimate. We made our way up the stairs, and just as I thought we’d be turning left toward my room, he veered to the right, opening a door I hadn’t expected.

His hands remained steady around my waist, his touch firm yet gentle as he guided me inside. The room was dim, the only light coming from the small bedside lamp casting soft shadows across the walls. It wasn’t much different from mine but —dark, quiet, and a little too still. I stood at the edge of his bed as he gently pushed me to sit.

“Sit,” he murmured, his voice a little more commanding than I was used to, but it didn’t feel out of place. I lowered myself onto the bed, feeling the coolness of the sheets under me, and looked up at him as he knelt down in front of me. He studied my knees with a quiet intensity, his brow furrowed in concern as his hands hovered over the bleeding skin. It stung now that the rush of adrenaline had worn off, and the pain started to settle in.

“It looks pretty deep,” he said, his voice softer now, the edge of guilt still hanging in the air between us. “I need to clean it.”

I nodded, feeling a surge of vulnerability wash over me. My stomach churned, a mix of the alcohol, the emotions I had been suppressing all night, and the warmth of his proximity. I didn’t speak, but I allowed him to do what he needed to. There was something about the way he cared for me now, this silent, almost tender attention, that made everything else feel so much more complicated.

He straightened up, his movements deliberate but distant, as though he was trying to create some space—or maybe he was just trying to escape the tension hanging between us. Without saying another word, he turned and walked out of the room. The door clicked softly shut behind him, leaving me alone, sitting there, still trying to piece together what had just happened.

The silence in the room felt thick, almost suffocating, and I found my gaze wandering, anything to fill the space. His room was sparse, simple, but there was something about it that felt familiar, like a version of him I hadn't realized I missed. The bed, with its white cotton covers, looked like the kind of place you sank into after a long day, soft and inviting—too soft, maybe.

On the walls, his college memorabilia was proudly displayed—UPenn posters, framed photos, jackets, all arranged like a personal shrine. His desk was scattered with books, papers, and a few pens, nothing particularly special but enough to suggest a life lived here. The room was simple, but it had character. His character.

But what really caught me off guard, what made my breath catch in my throat, was the smell. His scent filled the space, subtle but overwhelming, a blend of cologne and something else—something that was all him. It wrapped around me like a warm, familiar blanket, and for a moment, it was almost too much. It was intoxicating in a way I hadn’t expected.

I closed my eyes, the weight of everything crashing over me, my thoughts starting to slow, the alcohol still swirling in my system, making everything feel heavier. The smell of him clung to the air, and I felt myself sinking into the bed, like it was pulling me under. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay awake to confront all of it, or if I just wanted to let go.

My back pressed against the soft, white covers, and before I knew it, I was leaning back, letting the weight of my body melt into the mattress. I felt like I was floating, caught between the warmth of the room and the unresolved tension that still hung in the air. And even though I knew I should be thinking, processing everything, I couldn’t help but feel... safe. Even if that safety was only temporary, even if it was just the alcohol clouding my thoughts.

I fought the pull of exhaustion for a moment, but it was useless. The bed was too soft, the air too heavy with his scent, the silence too thick. My eyelids grew heavy, and I let myself drift, the world outside fading away. The faint sound of footsteps somewhere outside the room barely registered. I wasn’t sure who it was, and at that moment, I didn’t care. I was lost in the weight of everything—the emotions, the alcohol, the memories. I let myself sleep. 

The light streaming through the curtains cuts through the fog in my brain, the brightness making my eyes squint and my head throb in protest. I groan, trying to shift away from the light, but it’s relentless. Jesus, this is why I hate drinking. Every movement feels like I’m dragging my body through quicksand.

I roll over, burying my face in the cool side of the pillow, pulling the sheets over my head, hoping for some peace. But the stillness doesn’t last. My mind begins to race, memories from the night before piecing together like a broken puzzle. Then it hits me.

Where the hell am I?

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. The room doesn’t look familiar, and I can't remember how I got here. The bed is soft beneath me, but it feels different—too neat, too... not mine. I try to sit up, but the dizziness nearly knocks me back down. My head is spinning, and my stomach churns uncomfortably.

I blink a few times, forcing myself to focus. The light creeping through the blinds reveals a room that’s simple, but somehow... his. There are photos on the walls, college memorabilia, and a desk cluttered with books. I know this room. I know this place. But the sudden jolt of panic hits me harder than the headache.

I’m in his room.

Panic sets in as I try to piece together what happened, why I’m here, and how the hell I ended up in his bed. What was I doing last night? What did I say? My breath quickens, and I force myself to take deep breaths, pushing away the panic trying to creep in.

The night feels distant, like it belongs to someone else, but there are flashes—his hands on my waist, the warmth of his touch, the way he’d looked at me before… I swallow hard, trying to make sense of it all.

I lay there, still under the covers, the quiet of the room pressing down on me, but then a sharp memory cuts through the haze. My legs. I had fallen. My knees had hurt so much last night, the impact still vivid in my mind. I push myself up, trying to ignore the pounding in my head, and I shift the covers slightly, only to freeze.

I blink, my body tensing in confusion. My pants are gone, replaced with the soft cotton of the sheets. Panic grips me for a moment, my thoughts spiraling out of control, but then my gaze falls to my knees.

Two large bandages, one on each knee, are carefully wrapped around the injury. They’re clean, the white gauze standing out against my skin. The sight of them brings a weird sense of relief, but also confusion. I don't remember him... doing this. Did he? Why would he?

My heart races as I try to process everything. What happened last night? My body feels sore, the bruises from my fall still tender, but nothing feels too out of place. Except the fact that I’m here, in his room, pantsless, with only some recollection of how I got here or what happened between us. 

I try to calm myself, but the questions keep piling up, each one more uncomfortable than the last. I reach for the edge of the bed, my legs shaking slightly as I push myself to sit up further, attempting to make sense of this disorienting situation. My mind is foggy from the alcohol, and the reality of where I am doesn’t quite match up with what I thought was happening last night.

I blink at the bedside table, my head still spinning as I try to make sense of what’s in front of me. The water glass sits there, condensation running down the side, almost like it’s waiting for me to drink it. I pick it up, the cool glass in my hand feeling oddly comforting. A small note is tucked under it, a simple phrase scrawled in familiar handwriting: “Drink me.”

I swallow, unsure of why that note feels like a lifeline. Maybe it’s just the exhaustion or the overwhelming need to fix whatever happened last night. Without hesitating, I take a sip, the cool water slipping down my throat, soothing my dry mouth and calming some of the pounding in my head.

I set the glass back down and then notice something else—a small pill bottle next to it with another note on top. “Take me.” It’s clear and simple, and it takes me a second to piece it together.

Aspirin. I reach for the bottle and open it, a few pills inside. I toss one back, feeling the bitterness linger on my tongue as I glance back at the note, my mind still struggling to focus.

I lean back against the headboard, feeling the dull throb of my headache start to ease slightly. But my mind isn’t as cooperative. It’s buzzing with thoughts of last night, of Pep, and what we’d left unresolved. It’s like every moment keeps replaying in my head, like I’m watching it over and over again on a loop that I can’t escape.

And then, just as I finish the water, the door creaks open softly. My heart races, and I instinctively pull the covers up around my body, hoping that whatever conversation happens next won’t be as confusing as the one in my head.

I freeze for a moment, the sound of the door opening so soft that it takes me by surprise. My heart skips a beat as I look up, and there he is. Lou. He stands in the doorway, his figure framed by the soft light from the hallway. He’s wearing a simple t-shirt and gray sweatpants, looking like he just rolled out of bed, which—well, he probably did.

His eyes meet mine, and I can’t quite read them. They’re neutral, like he’s trying to hide something. Maybe it’s just the fact that we haven’t talked in months. Maybe it’s the awkwardness of the situation we’ve found ourselves in now. But I still feel the heat rise in my cheeks, my heart hammering louder than I’d like to admit.

“ You’re awake ,” he says, his voice steady, giving nothing away. The tone is flat, almost casual, like it’s just another morning and I’ve been asleep for a while, and this is all just another part of the routine.

I don’t know what to say. I want to say something—anything—to break the silence, but my mouth feels dry and heavy, like I’ve forgotten how to speak properly. How to say what’s been stuck in my chest for so long.

Instead, I pull the blanket a little tighter around myself, suddenly acutely aware of how vulnerable I feel right now. “Yeah,” I manage to say, my voice a little hoarse. “I guess so.”

There’s a pause, and I watch him, the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, like he’s debating whether to stay or leave. It’s like everything hangs in the air between us, but neither of us knows how to cut through the tension.

Finally, he steps into the room, shutting the door softly behind him. His gaze flicks to the water and the aspirin on the bedside table, but he doesn’t comment.

“Did you—did you put that there?” I ask, my voice a little more steady now, though it still carries the weight of confusion and alcohol-fueled embarrassment.

“Yeah,” he replies with a small nod. “Thought you might need it.”

I glance at him, feeling a small flicker of gratitude for his care. “Thanks,” I murmur, my voice still a little rough from sleep.

But then the reality of the situation hits me, and I frown. “Where are my pants?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his eyes darting away for a moment, and I can see the faint pink spreading across his cheeks. “Uh, well… I had to take them off,” he says quickly, his voice cracking a little. “The blood had soaked through, and… yeah,” he trails off, clearly embarrassed, like he’s trying to hide behind the explanation.

I raise an eyebrow, not sure how to respond. “So, you just… took them off?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intended.

He visibly flinches and shifts his weight, avoiding my gaze. “I promise I didn’t… look or anything,” he stammers. “I just needed to clean the wounds. They were pretty bad.” His words come out in a rushed jumble, like he’s trying to make sure I don’t think anything inappropriate happened.

I can tell he’s feeling awkward, and his nervousness makes the situation even more tense. It’s clear he’s trying his best to explain, but the whole thing still feels… comical. The silence stretches between us. 

"Okay..." I mutter, not really sure what else to say. I shift uncomfortably under the covers, wishing I could just disappear into the bed, into the sheets, away from this incredibly awkward moment.

He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to shake off the tension. "I just... I didn’t want you to get infected or anything, you know?" he says, his voice almost embarrassed now. "And I didn’t want you to, uh, be in any more pain than you already were."

The more he talks, the more he seems to shrink back into himself, like he's embarrassed about the whole situation. I can't help but feel a little sorry for him, but also... I don't know, overwhelmed. 

"Thanks for looking out for me," I finally say, my voice a little quieter now. I still can't shake the awkwardness, but his effort to take care of me—even in such an uncomfortable situation—does mean something.

He nods, but doesn’t say anything right away. We both stand there in the silence, the tension thick and heavy in the room. His eyes flick to the door, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out how to leave without making things worse.

"Do you... need anything else?" he asks, his voice tentative, like he’s carefully stepping through a minefield.

“Yeah, actually,” I say, raising an eyebrow at him. “Some new pants so I can walk to my room.”

His eyes go wide, as if the obvious request had completely slipped his mind. “Oh, Jesus, of course,” he stammers, running a hand through his hair in that telltale nervous gesture. Turning quickly, he strides over to his dresser, the one covered in memorabilia, and yanks it open. After rummaging for a moment, he pulls out a pair of athletic shorts and hands them to me. “I hope these fit,” he says, offering them with a sheepish look.

“They’re fine. Thanks,” I reply, taking the shorts and glancing up at him. He’s still standing there, looking a little uncertain, his weight shifting from foot to foot.

I raise an eyebrow again, unable to help the small smirk that creeps onto my face. “Are you planning on watching me change?” I ask, amused.

His face flushes immediately, and he stumbles over his words. “No! No, Jesus, I’m sorry,” he blurts out, backing away as if the very idea has mortally offended him. He fumbles for the door, hesitating for a moment with his hand on the knob before finally opening it. He looks like he wants to say something else but thinks better of it and steps out, shutting the door behind him without another word.

For a moment, I just sit there, holding the shorts, unable to stop the small chuckle that escapes me.

Chapter Text

Some time had passed since that morning I woke up in his bed, and the memory of it still lingered awkwardly in the back of my mind. That morning had been nothing short of uncomfortable, with the unspoken tension between us filling every pause in the conversation.

When I finally made my way downstairs for breakfast, the house was already alive with chatter and movement. The others were fully awake, their voices carrying through the rooms, and the chance to speak with him—really speak—never presented itself.

Since then, the only words we’d exchanged were simple greetings. A polite “hi” when we passed each other in the kitchen, a quiet “hello” when we crossed paths in the hallway. Nothing more, nothing deeper. It felt like we were both avoiding the obvious, skirting around the weight of what had been left unsaid.

And yet, every time I saw him, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking about that morning too—or if it was just me. 

Winter break was fast approaching, and my parents, in their infinite wisdom, had found it perfectly convenient to book a trip to Italy that coincided exactly with the start of my break. My siblings? Also conveniently unavailable, off on their own adventures.

That left me with the prospect of spending both Christmas and New Year’s alone. In Philly.

The idea of a quiet holiday season didn’t bother me as much as it probably should have. Sure, there was a twinge of envy when I thought about my parents sipping espresso under Italian skies or my siblings making memories elsewhere. But part of me was relieved at the thought of some solitude, a break from the chaos of family and their well-meaning but intrusive questions about school, life, and everything in between.

Still, spending the holidays alone wasn’t exactly something I was looking forward to. There was something inherently lonely about knowing everyone else would be surrounded by loved ones while I’d be here, trying to make instant hot chocolate feel festive.

“Look, I sent you your presents and I hope they arrive before Christmas, okay?” my mother said, her phone tilted at such an angle that I was treated to a shaky view of a ceiling and the faint outline of her hand.

“Sure, Mom,” I replied, trying not to let the flatness of my tone give away my annoyance. “Thanks for the thought, I guess.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she said, the camera jostling again as she adjusted it—this time giving me a blurry glimpse of what might have been a café menu or her purse. “You’ll be fine. Maybe even enjoy some peace and quiet for once.”

“Yeah, nothing says ‘merry and bright’ like eating microwave mac and cheese alone on Christmas,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that, darling?” she asked distractedly, clearly not paying attention.

“Nothing,” I said with a forced smile, knowing she wouldn’t hear me anyway.

“Great! Anyway, I’ve got to go. We’re boarding soon, and your father’s glaring at me for taking too long. Ciao!”

And just like that, the screen went blank, leaving me staring at my own unimpressed reflection in the now-black screen of my phone.

I tossed the phone lightly onto the bed, the soft thud breaking the quiet of the room. For a moment, I just sat there, staring blankly at the walls, letting the weight of everything settle in. The familiar clutter of my space surrounded me—a stack of half-read books on the nightstand, a hoodie draped over the back of my chair, and the faint glow of string lights that I still hadn’t bothered to turn off from the night before.

It all felt strangely suffocating, like the room was holding its breath, waiting for me to do something, anything. But I couldn’t. Instead, I just sat there, my hands resting on my thighs, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt as my mind ran circles around itself.

The idea of spending Christmas alone hadn’t really hit me until now, and the realization settled heavily in my chest. Everyone else would be somewhere, with someone, doing something that felt warm and alive. And here I was, stuck in Pennsylvania, with nothing but silence.

I sighed, leaning back slightly on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. This wasn’t how I imagined the holidays going, not by a long shot. But then again, when did anything ever go the way I planned?

A faint knock on the door pulled me from my spiraling thoughts, and I looked up just as Samantha’s head peeked through the now slightly open door. Her familiar, bubbly smile greeted me, a stark contrast to the quiet heaviness of the room.

“I just wanted to say goodbye!” she said cheerily, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation, as she always did.

Her energy was contagious, even when I didn’t want it to be. She was dressed in her usual laid-back style—leggings, an oversized sweater, and a scarf that looked far too warm for the mild chill outside. Her suitcase trailed behind her, one wheel squeaking faintly as she parked it by the door.

“You’re heading out already?” I asked, trying to sound casual, though my voice carried a faint twinge of envy.

“Yep!” she chirped. “Flight’s in a few hours, but I figured I’d swing by and say bye before things got too chaotic. You know how airports are this time of year.”

I nodded, forcing a small smile as I shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. “That’s sweet of you. Thanks for stopping by.”

She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied me. “You okay? You look... well, kind of bummed.”

I waved her off, trying to play it cool. “I’m fine. Just... tired, I guess.”

“Hmm,” she said, clearly not buying it but mercifully choosing not to press further. Instead, she plopped down beside me, her presence warm and comforting, like a favorite blanket you didn’t realize you needed until it was there.

“Well, you know what I’m going to say, right?” she asked, nudging me gently with her elbow.

I tilted my head, feigning ignorance. “What’s that?”

“You should come with me,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Samantha—”

“Don’t ‘Samantha’ me,” she cut in, grinning. “Seriously, you shouldn’t be here alone for the holidays. It’s just not right.”

I shook my head, though I couldn’t deny the appeal. “I can’t just crash your family’s Christmas. That’s insane.”

“Insane? No, what’s insane is sitting in this house by yourself, moping. My mom loves you, and my dad? He’d probably give you the good eggnog. You’d be part of the family chaos in no time.”

Her earnestness made me laugh, albeit softly. “I appreciate the offer, but... I think I just need to figure this one out on my own.”

Samantha sighed dramatically, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off her leggings. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t try to save you from the most boring holiday ever.”

I chuckled, standing to see her out. “Thanks for being you, Sam. Have a good trip.”

She wrapped me in a quick hug, her perfume—a mix of vanilla and something floral—lingering as she stepped back. “You too, okay? And text me if you change your mind. I’m serious!”

With that, she grabbed her suitcase and waved as she headed out the door, leaving the room quieter than before.

Almost everyone is gone now. Max had been the first to leave, giving me one of his signature long hugs before heading out the door with his bags. Then Hannah had followed, her goodbye quick but heartfelt. One by one, the house emptied—Evelyn, a few others whose names barely registered in my mind, and finally Samantha, her cheery wave still lingering in my memory.

My thoughts wandered, and before I could stop myself, they drifted to Lou. I hadn’t seen him in two days. No casual encounters in the kitchen, no passing glimpses in the hall. I figured he’d probably gone home too, though I hadn’t actually confirmed it. The thought of him just slipping away made my chest feel heavier than I wanted to admit.

Shaking off the feeling, I rose from the bed, stretching as I glanced around the now quiet, half-empty house. It was eerily still without the usual hum of conversations or laughter echoing through the halls. I pulled my oversized hoodie down over my leggings and made my way downstairs, my socked feet barely making a sound on the wooden steps.

In the kitchen, I rummaged through the cabinets until I found a bag of popcorn. The familiar hum of the microwave filled the silence as the smell of butter slowly wafted through the air. It was comforting, in a way. Once the timer dinged, I grabbed the bag, shaking it lightly before pouring the contents into a bowl.

With the popcorn in hand, I shuffled into the common room. The large couch practically swallowed me as I plopped down, tucking my legs under me and balancing the bowl on my lap. The remote was already sitting on the coffee table, and I grabbed it, aimlessly scrolling through the streaming options before settling on Home Alone . It felt fitting—classic, nostalgic, and just enough distraction for a quiet, lonely evening.

The movie played on, the familiar antics of Kevin McCallister filling the room with a sense of warmth I didn’t realize I needed. But as the minutes ticked by and the warmth of the hoodie, the popcorn, and the soft glow of the screen lulled me into a haze, my eyes began to feel heavy.

Before I knew it, the bowl was precariously balanced on my lap, my head resting against the arm of the couch. The faint sound of Kevin setting his traps for the Wet Bandits faded into the background as sleep overtook me, the quiet of the house wrapping around me like a blanket.

I woke with a jolt, heart hammering against my ribs as I blinked into the darkness. The only light came from the TV, its screen casting a dim glow and the text “Are you still watching?” taunting me. I sat up, the couch groaning beneath me, popcorn almost spilling to the floor as I tried to orient myself.

Then I heard it.

A faint, deliberate thudding sound.

I froze, every hair on my body standing on end as I strained my ears. It wasn’t the kind of sound an old house made. It wasn’t the random creaks of the floorboards or the groaning of pipes. It was purposeful. Rhythmic. Someone—or something—was moving through the house.

I grabbed my phone, my thumb hovering over the emergency call button, and pushed myself up, my legs unsteady. My breath caught in my throat as I listened again. The sound was faint but growing louder, echoing faintly through the stillness.

Knife. I needed something. Anything.

In the kitchen, I found a knife—the largest one I could grab without fumbling—and held it tight in one hand, my phone trembling in the other. My heart was a wild drumbeat, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Slowly, I crept toward the base of the stairs, where the sound was clearer now.

It’s coming from upstairs.

I swallowed hard, every nerve in my body screaming for me to turn around and leave. But something kept me moving forward—a mix of fear and some misguided sense of bravery. I stepped onto the first stair, wincing at the creak, and then the next, each one sounding louder than it should.

When I reached the top, the thudding became unmistakable, a steady knock-knock-knock that made my pulse race. My mind whirled with worst-case scenarios, and my grip tightened on the knife.

The sound led me to a door—his door.

I pushed it open slowly, the hinges creaking. My breath hitched as I prepared myself for the worst.

But instead of a shadowy figure or some terrifying intruder, I found Lou.

He was standing by the wall, hammering something—a picture frame, it looked like. His back was to me, his movements calm and unhurried, completely oblivious to the terror he’d just put me through.

“Lou?” I managed, my voice breaking the stillness.

He turned at the sound, his brows furrowed in confusion before his expression shifted. His eyes flicked to the knife in my hand, then back to my face. “What the hell?” he said, his voice laced with disbelief.

“I thought you were—” I stopped, trying to catch my breath. “I thought someone broke in.”

He stared at me for a moment, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Seriously? You thought someone broke in, and your first instinct was to… come after them with a knife?”

“I had my phone, too,” I shot back, holding it up like that somehow made me less ridiculous.

Lou sighed, setting the hammer down on the desk. “What are you even doing up?” he asked, leaning against the edge of the desk.

“What am I doing up?” I repeated, incredulous. “What are you doing?”

He glanced at the picture he’d been hanging, then back at me, his expression sheepish. “Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. “Figured I’d fix this. Didn’t think anyone was still here.”

I exhaled sharply, the adrenaline slowly leaving my system and leaving me feeling drained. “You scared the hell out of me,” I said, my voice trembling slightly.

His eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked almost guilty. “I didn’t mean to,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. Then his gaze flicked to the knife again. “But, uh… maybe next time, just yell or something before you come at me like you’re in some slasher movie.”

I let out a shaky laugh, lowering the knife. “Yeah, well, maybe don’t do creepy DIY projects at two in the morning. Who even does that?”

“I told you—I couldn’t sleep.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, the tension in the air thick and almost tangible. His posture was relaxed, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of something unspoken—that made my stomach twist.

“So…” I said, trying to fill the silence, “you really scared me.”

“Yeah, I got that.” He gestured toward the knife. “You gonna put that down now, or should I be worried?”

I looked at the knife, suddenly embarrassed, and set it on the desk. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious. “You did what you thought you had to.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of us moved. The tension between us hadn’t gone away; if anything, it had grown heavier. But instead of addressing it, we both just stood there, caught in the strange, fragile space between familiarity and distance.

I stared at him for a moment, the realization hitting me. I had assumed I was the only one left behind. Everyone else had gone home—Max, Hannah, Evelyn, even Samantha. I’d been so caught up in my own thoughts, trying to ignore the emptiness of the house, that I hadn’t even thought to wonder if he really went or not. 

Glancing at him as he fiddled with the hammer. My mind immediately jumped to all the others who had left. “I thought I was the only one left here.”

Lou paused, his hands stopping. His eyes shifted, but not with surprise. No, it was more like... something deeper, something almost tired. It was as if I had just confirmed something he'd already been thinking about.

“Weren’t you supposed to go home for break?” I asked, my voice quieter now, a little hesitant, unsure if I should even be prying into his plans.

He exhaled sharply and set the hammer down on the desk, not quite meeting my eyes. "Yeah, I was," he replied, his tone almost too casual, like he was brushing off something uncomfortable. “But it’s complicated.”

I frowned slightly, sensing there was more to it. I knew better than to push too hard, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking. “What do you mean ‘complicated’?” I asked, tilting my head slightly as I studied his face. There was something about his expression that seemed a little... off.

Lou finally looked at me, his eyes meeting mine for the first time since I’d walked into the room. He rubbed the back of his neck, then looked down, his lips curling into a tight smile, almost like he was trying to mask whatever was really going on.

“It’s just...” he started, his voice dropping a little, “it’s just easier this way.”

He let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to find the right words. His voice was low, almost pained. "You know my family— my mom, dad, cousins, uncles, all of them. They’re... they’re all in this huge house, having their perfect Christmas, all shiny and polished." He paused, and I could hear the bitterness creeping in.

"But that's the thing," he continued, shaking his head slightly. "I don’t belong there anymore. Not like I used to." He looked down for a moment, almost as if the weight of his words was too much to hold. "My parents... they have these expectations. They're always trying to mold me into something I'm not—something they want me to be. And I can't... I can't keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not."

I stayed quiet, letting his words sink in. I could tell there was more to this than he was saying, but I didn’t want to push him too hard. It was clear this wasn’t just about missing out on the holiday.

“I get that,” I said, my voice softer now. “It’s tough when the people who are supposed to understand you the most… don’t.”

Lou met my eyes again, his expression a mix of frustration and something else, something raw. “Yeah. It’s like no matter what I do, it’s never enough for them. And this year... I just couldn’t deal with it. I was supposed to go back, pretend everything was fine, but...” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair, as if even talking about it was exhausting.

I nodded slowly, trying to find the right words. "It’s hard, huh? When they don't get you. When you’re expected to be someone you're not, just to fit in with their idea of what life should look like."

"Exactly," he said, his voice almost tight with frustration. "And I hate myself for it, you know? For not just sucking it up and going back, for not being the perfect son. But I can’t keep pretending. I couldn’t go back this year."

I understood. The weight of parental expectations, the constant feeling that no matter what you did, it would never be enough, it all resonated with me. I wasn’t in his shoes, but I could feel the pressure he was under, the emotional exhaustion.

"That sucks," I said, my voice quieter now, softer. "It really does. I'm sorry."

Lou let out a small, humorless laugh, rubbing his forehead like he was trying to release some of the tension. "Yeah. But I guess we’re both stuck here now, huh?" He paused, glancing around the room. "Both of us, without anywhere to go."

There was a small, almost melancholic pause as the weight of the situation lingered between us. I hadn’t realized how similar our circumstances were until that moment. My parents were off in Italy, completely wrapped up in their own world, and here I was—alone for the holidays.

“Guess so,” I said, offering him a small, understanding smile. “I wasn’t exactly planning on being alone for Christmas either. Everyone’s gone, and I thought I’d be stuck here just... waiting for it to be over.”

Lou raised an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now, I guess I’ve got company,” I said, the words coming out a little lighter, as if I were making the best of a bad situation. "I mean, what else are we going to do? We’re here. Might as well make the most of it, right?"

Lou chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Yeah, I guess so. Christmas with just the two of us—could be worse."

 Lou's voice cut through the quiet, a grin tugging at his lips. "Do you remember that Thanksgiving, when your parents couldn’t find that bottle of wine they were so obsessed with? They searched the entire house for hours." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued, "And then at the end of the night, you grabbed my arm, dragged me down to the park near Nick’s street, and showed me exactly where you had hidden it?"

I laughed immediately, the memory flooding back. "Oh my God, I had totally forgotten about that!" I said, shaking my head. "They thought it was lost, like, for good! My dad was pacing around the house, asking everyone if they’d seen it, and my mom was in the kitchen, practically in tears over it. And there we were, just standing, pretending to have no idea."

Lou let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Your mom was so dramatic about it. And your dad looked like he was about to call in backup. But then you dragged me out, all serious, like you had this master plan."

"Hey, I had to act like I knew what I was doing!" I grinned, unable to keep the amusement off my face. "I couldn’t let my parents think I was the one who took it."

"Right, right," Lou chuckled. "And then we walk all the way to that stupid bench in the park, and you pull the bottle out like it’s some kind of treasure. I thought we were going to get caught for sure."

I shook my head in disbelief. "I have no idea why I thought hiding it there was a good idea. But honestly, it worked. No one suspected a thing."

"And then," Lou continued, his voice full of laughter, "we come back into the house, acting all innocent like nothing happened. Your mom asked if we enjoyed the fresh air, but we’re both stumbling around, half-drunk, trying to hold it together.”

I burst out laughing again, the image still so vivid in my mind. "And the best part was when we walked back in and your dad gave us that look—like he knew something was off, but he didn’t want to say anything. I was sure we were going to get busted, but somehow, we made it out."

Lou laughed, shaking his head. "I can’t believe we pulled that off. Our parents never suspected a thing. But, god, we were so obvious."

"I thought for sure we were done for," I admitted, wiping my eyes from laughing so hard. "But you know what? It was totally worth it. I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in a long time."

"Yeah, neither have I," Lou says, his smile widening as his eyes meet mine. There's a warmth in his gaze that I can't quite place, but it makes my heart flutter slightly. For a moment, everything feels simpler, lighter—like the world outside doesn't matter, and we're just two people reminiscing about an old, shared memory.

He leans back against the wall, crossing his arms casually, but I notice the way his posture shifts, the slight tension in his shoulders. It's subtle, but it's there, and I can't help but wonder if it's because of what we're talking about, or maybe because of everything else that hangs between us, unsaid.

"You know," I start, breaking the silence that falls between us, "those were the moments that made everything else feel... less complicated."

Lou glances down for a brief second, like he's mulling over what I said, before he looks back at me. "Yeah, I get that.”

“So... you’re telling me,” I said, a little more jokingly this time, “we’re both here, alone for Christmas? That’s... that’s pretty messed up.”

He finally gave a half-smile, his eyes flickering with something like amusement, though there was still a hint of sadness behind them. “Yeah, looks like it.”

We stood there for a long moment, the quiet between us more comfortable now. The thought of spending Christmas alone had felt suffocating just an hour ago, but now, with Lou standing there, the idea didn’t seem quite so bad. 

“You want to spend it together?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could second guess it.

Lou looked at me for a moment, surprise flashing across his face. "What, like... Christmas together?" His voice was almost incredulous, like the idea had never crossed his mind.

“Yeah,” I said, shrugging. “Why not? I mean, I can’t be the only one who’s dreading spending the holidays alone. At least we won’t be bored. We can... do something, I don’t know. Watch bad Christmas movies, eat way too many snacks, complain about everything. It’ll be fun. I promise.”

A long pause stretched between us before Lou’s mouth curled into a small, genuine smile. “Yeah. I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Good,” I said, finally feeling the tiniest bit of relief. “It’s a deal then.”

Lou glances at me, his expression softening as he asks, "You hungry?"

I nod, a little surprised by his question but willing to follow his lead. Instead of waiting, I trail after him as he heads downstairs into the kitchen, flipping on the overhead light. The soft glow floods the room, highlighting the worn counters and cozy details that make it feel lived-in. He moves with purpose, opening cabinets and checking the fridge like he’s done it a thousand times before, the confidence in his actions oddly reassuring.

"Let me guess," he says, glancing over his shoulder with a grin that’s both teasing and familiar. "You still love grapes covered in lemon juice and sugar, right?"

I stop mid-step, my jaw dropping. "How... how do you even remember that?"

He chuckles, pulling out a bag of grapes from the fridge and setting them on the counter. Then he grabs a lemon from the fruit bowl, holding it up triumphantly. "Are you kidding? You wouldn’t stop talking about it. You’d call it your ‘perfect snack’ and make it like it was some culinary masterpiece." His smirk deepens as he adds, "I couldn’t forget if I tried."

I stand there, rooted in place, watching him as he rinses the grapes under the tap. The sight stirs something in me—nostalgia, maybe, or the comfort of being remembered. “I didn’t think you paid that much attention,” I say softly.

He glances at me, a flicker of something tender passing over his face. "I paid attention to everything. You just didn’t notice."

My heart stumbles at his words, but I don’t have time to dwell on them because he’s already moving again, slicing the lemon with steady hands. He adds sugar to a bowl, tosses the grapes in, and squeezes the lemon juice over them with practiced ease. The sharp, citrusy smell fills the kitchen, pulling me back to long-ago afternoons spent sitting on my porch with him, talking about everything and nothing.

He slides the bowl toward me with a flourish. "There. Just like old times."

I reach for a grape, almost hesitant, and pop it into my mouth. The tangy sweetness hits me like a wave, a perfect blend of sharp and sweet. "This is... perfect," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I can’t believe you remembered."

He leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with a mixture of pride and something deeper—something I can’t quite name. "Of course I did. You used to light up every time you made this. How could I forget?"

I laugh softly, shaking my head in disbelief as I reach for another grape. "You make it sound like it was some big deal."

"It was," he says simply, his tone earnest. "Little things like that were everything back then."

For a moment, we eat in comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the fridge filling the space. Finally, I break the silence. "How are your classes going?"

"Yeah," he replies, a spark of enthusiasm lighting up his face. "It’s a lot of work, but I like it. Coding’s like solving a puzzle—it’s frustrating when you’re stuck, but when you figure it out, it’s... I don’t know, it's kind of addictive."

I smile, resting my chin on my hand as I watch him talk. "Sounds like a headache to me."

He laughs, shaking his head. "Oh, it is. But I guess I’m a sucker for punishment."

"What about designing video games?" I ask. "That was the dream, wasn’t it?"

"It still is," he says, his voice softening. "But there’s a lot to learn before I get there. Baby steps."

I nod, twirling a grape between my fingers. "You’ll get there. You always stick to what you want."

He tilts his head, studying me. "What about you? Political science is a long way from law school. What changed?"

I pause, chewing on the grape thoughtfully. "Law felt... rigid," I admit. "Political science gives me more room to explore, I guess. But sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice."

He’s quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he says, "You always liked seeing the big picture, connecting dots that other people didn’t even know were there. I think you made the right call."

His words catch me off guard, and for a second, I can’t respond. I look at him, the warmth in his gaze disarming, and manage a small smile. "Thanks. That actually means a lot."

He grins, leaning back against the counter. "Anytime."

We fall into easy conversation, reminiscing about the dreams we had as kids. He teases me about how I used to practice courtroom speeches in front of him, and I remind him of the time he accidentally deleted an entire project he’d been working on for weeks. It feels natural, like no time has passed, and for the first time in a while, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

The conversation takes a heavier turn when a quiet sigh escapes my lips. I hesitate for a moment, but the words come out anyway, soft and raw. "It was hard, you know," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Lou looks at me, his brow furrowing with concern. "What was hard?"

"After I moved," I admit, my throat tightening as the memories resurface. "When we lost contact. I didn’t think it would be that bad, but... I felt so alone. You were my best friend. And then you were just... gone."

His expression shifts, the casual ease we shared moments ago dissolving into something far more serious. He sets the bowl of grapes aside, his jaw tightening. "I’m sorry," he says softly, his voice laced with regret. "I should’ve done more. I should’ve reached out."

I shake my head, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my hoodie. "It’s not on you," I say, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Life got messy, and I didn’t try hard enough either. But it hurt. Losing you... it hurt more than I ever thought it would."

The silence that follows is heavy, stretching between us like a fragile thread. His eyes search mine, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say something, but the words don’t come immediately. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady, almost quiet. "I never stopped thinking about you, you know. Even when we weren’t talking. I missed you, too."

The sincerity in his words hits me like a wave, catching me off guard. My chest tightens, a mix of relief and sadness welling up inside me. "I didn’t think you even cared," I admit, my voice cracking. "It felt like I was the only one holding on."

His eyes widen slightly, and he leans forward, resting his arms on the counter between us. "I cared more than I could ever say," he says firmly, his gaze locked onto mine. "But I was scared, I guess. Of saying the wrong thing, of things being different. And then, the longer it went on, the harder it was to fix."

I nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah, I know the feeling. I just... I thought we’d always have that connection, no matter what."

"We do," he says quickly, his tone resolute. "I know I messed up, but you’re still—" He cuts himself off, his jaw clenching for a moment before he continues. "You’re still one of the most important people in my life. That hasn’t changed."

Something about the way he says it, so genuine and unguarded, makes the distance I’ve felt for so long start to dissolve. I offer him a small smile, tentative but real. "It feels good to hear that."

He mirrors my smile, softer now, and leans back against the counter, letting out a deep breath. "It feels good to say it."

The weight between us lifts just a little, and for the first time in years, it feels like we’re finding our way back to each other.

We shifted our conversation to the couch, the bowl of sugared grapes now nestled between us. Lou had navigated the streaming menu and landed on Home Alone 2 . With a click, the opening credits began to roll, but my attention wandered almost immediately. The room was cozy, yes, but something about it felt incomplete—like an unfinished sentence lingering in the air.

“You know,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence, “there isn’t a Christmas tree here yet.”

Lou didn’t even glance away from the screen, but the subtle lift of his brow betrayed his awareness. “Astute observation,” he replied dryly. “No tree.”

I turned to him fully, a mischievous grin spreading across my face. “We should fix that.”

Now he did look at me, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “What, right now?”

“Why not?” I challenged, sitting up straighter. “It’s the perfect time. No lines, no crowds. Just us and the trees. Plus, it’s Christmas in five days! How can we sit here without a tree? That’s practically sacrilege.”

He tilted his head, half amused, half exasperated. “You’re seriously suggesting we go get a Christmas tree in the middle of the night?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, leaping to my feet and gesturing dramatically. “Carpe diem! Or… carpe pineum? Whatever. Live a little, Lou.”

Lou groaned, dragging a hand down his face, though the amusement in his expression betrayed him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, here you are,” I teased, crossing my arms. “Come on, don’t act like you hate it. Admit it—you want a tree just as much as I do.”

With a reluctant sigh, he stood, grabbing his coat off the back of a chair. “If I do this, you owe me.”

“For what?” I asked, slipping on my hoodie and moving towards the door, Lou following me.

“For dragging me out into the freezing cold when I could be sitting here, warm and comfortable, finishing my grapes.”

I laughed, jingling my keys. “Fine. What do I owe you?”

He smirked, zipping up his coat and passing me mine. “I’ll think of something.”

The streets were eerily quiet as we walked, our breath visible in the icy air. The occasional twinkle of Christmas lights adorned the windows of the houses we passed, casting cheerful reflections onto the snowy sidewalks. Lou shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, his footsteps crunching softly in the snow as he matched my pace.

“This feels so… impulsive,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Impulse is the spice of life,” I shot back, nudging him with my elbow. “And besides, isn’t this exactly the kind of thing we used to do? Remember the inflatable snowman incident?”

Lou snorted, a grin sneaking onto his face despite himself. “You mean the time we almost got caught because you tripped over the extension cord and took half the decorations with you?”

I let out a laugh. “You have to admit, it was fun though.”

“Yeah, until my mom grounded me for a week,” he countered, shaking his head in amusement.

“Totally worth it,” I replied, grinning. The memory lingered between us, warm and golden against the cold night air.

We soon arrived at a small, pop-up Christmas tree lot tucked into the corner of a neighborhood square. Strings of lights criss crossed above the rows of trees, casting a soft, festive glow over the snow-dusted pines. A light breeze carried the fresh, sharp scent of pine through the air, and for a moment, it felt like stepping into a postcard.

“See?” I said, spinning in a small circle. “This is perfect.”

Lou surveyed the scene skeptically. “Perfect is subjective,” he quipped.

We wandered through the rows of trees, each of us inspecting them with a mix of seriousness and playfulness. Most of the trees were beautifully symmetrical, their branches full and verdant. But then my eyes landed on a lopsided one with a slightly bald patch on one side. It stood there, slightly crooked but undeniably endearing.

“This one,” I announced, pointing at it like it was the crown jewel of the lot.

Lou stared at it, then back at me, incredulous. “You’re joking.”

“Nope,” I said, stepping closer to inspect it. “It’s got character.”

“It’s got issues,” he corrected.

“Exactly!” I shot back, grinning. “It’s unique. Plus, it’s small enough for us to carry back without dying.”

Lou exhaled in a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. But when it starts shedding needles everywhere, that’s on you.”

“Deal,” I said, my grin widening as I bent to lift the tree.

Carrying the tree between us, we made our way back through the quiet streets, the weight of it adding a playful challenge to our journey. Our boots crunched in the snow, the occasional laugh escaping as we struggled to keep the tree balanced.

“Do you think it’ll fit through the door?” I asked, adjusting my grip.

“If it doesn’t, I’m leaving it outside,” Lou replied flatly.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I said, mock horror coloring my voice.

“Watch me,” he deadpanned, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Back at the house, we managed to wrestle the tree through the door with only minimal chaos. Lou disappeared briefly, returning with an old, slightly battered box of ornaments he’d unearthed from the storage closet. We spent the next hour transforming our lopsided find into something magical. Mismatched baubles, tangled tinsel, and a string of slightly dim lights came together in a delightful mishmash of holiday cheer.

“You know,” I said, stepping back to admire our handiwork, “it’s kind of perfect.”

Lou leaned against the arm of the couch, arms crossed as he surveyed the tree. “It’s something,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

With a laugh, I grabbed a handful of tinsel and tossed it at him, watching as it stuck in his hair. “Admit it—you love it.”

He shook his head, brushing the tinsel away, but there was no hiding the smile that spread across his face. “Okay, fine. It’s not bad.”

We collapsed back onto the couch, the glow of the tree filling the room with a soft, golden light. The bowl of sugared grapes had been all but forgotten in the excitement, but now Lou grabbed it, popping one into his mouth as he relaxed into the cushions. The quiet hum of Christmas lights and the faint sound of carols playing from the TV seeped into the room.

It truly felt like Christmas.

But the night wasn’t over yet. As we sat there, basking in the glow of our triumph and returning to the movie, a sudden thought struck me. “We forgot a tree topper.”

Lou groaned audibly. “Are you serious? We just got the tree set up.”

“But it’s not complete without something on top!” I protested. “It’s like… a cake without frosting.”

“A cake can still be a cake without frosting,” he retorted.

I ignored him, already on my feet and rummaging through the random assortment of items scattered around the room. “There’s gotta be something we can use. Be creative, Lou!”

He watched with thinly veiled amusement as I tried out increasingly ridiculous options: a winter hat, a mug, and even a kitchen whisk. None of them seemed right, and each failure only added to Lou’s growing delight at my desperation.

Finally, I spotted an old stuffed bear sitting on a shelf. It was small, a little ragged around the edges, but it had charm. With a triumphant flourish, I perched it on top of the tree.

“There,” I declared, stepping back to admire the effect. “Perfect.”

Lou raised an eyebrow. “That bear looks like it’s seen some things.”

“And now it’s seen the top of our tree,” I replied, grinning. “It’s tradition now.”

He shook his head but didn’t argue. We settled back onto the couch once more, the tree now complete in all its quirky glory. The night had taken on a quiet, peaceful rhythm—one that felt both spontaneous and utterly perfect.

“You know,” Lou said after a while, his voice thoughtful, “you might be onto something. Maybe Christmas is about the small stuff.”

I smiled, glancing at the tree and then at him. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s about dragging your friend into the freezing cold to find a lopsided tree and then covering it with questionable decorations.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Either way, it’s not bad.”

“Not bad at all,” I agreed, leaning back as the glow of the tree filled the room, wrapping us in its gentle light. 

I was jolted awake by the sharp sound of my phone ringing on the coffee table. For the second time in as many days, I had fallen asleep on the couch, and my neck and back were quick to remind me of it. Groaning softly, I shifted, blinking against the dim light of the room.

That’s when I noticed it: my head resting in Lou’s lap, his hand draped lazily over the couch's armrest. A small blanket covered the rest of me, barely enough to fight off the chill. I froze, heart skipping a beat, trying to piece together how I’d ended up like this without waking him. His chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of sleep, his face relaxed in the faint glow of the Christmas tree lights.

The phone buzzed again, louder this time. Gritting my teeth, I reached for it, careful not to disturb Lou. My fingers closed around the device, and I slid out from under the blanket, tiptoeing toward the kitchen.

“Hello?” I whispered, pressing the phone to my ear. 

“Hi, baby!” my mom’s voice exploded through the speaker, startling me. “We landed in Rome!”

I winced, holding the phone slightly away from my ear. “Mom, it’s barely morning here,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Could you not shout?”

“Oh, sorry!” she said, though her excitement was unmistakable. “But you wouldn’t believe how beautiful it is here. Your dad and I are already planning our first tour, and the weather—oh, honey, the weather is perfect . How’s everything over there? Are you eating? Are you staying warm?”

I leaned against the counter, rubbing the back of my neck and glancing at the doorway to the living room. “I’m fine, Mom,” I said. “The house is quiet now. Everyone’s gone.” My tone came out more wistful than I intended.

There was a pause on the other end, and for a moment, I thought the call had dropped. “Sweetheart,” she said gently, “I know it’s not ideal, spending Christmas alone. But we’ll FaceTime on Christmas Day, and I sent your presents! Did they arrive yet?”

“Not yet,” I replied, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

“Well, when they do, you’ll love them!” she said, her cheerfulness returning full force. “I made sure to include something special this year. But remember to eat, okay? And don’t just live on snacks. Make a proper meal once in a while.”

I glanced back at the couch, where Lou still slept, and a faint smile tugged at my lips. “Don’t worry, Mom,” I said softly. “I’m not completely alone.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end, and I could almost hear my mom’s curiosity sharpening. “Not completely alone?” she repeated, her voice laced with intrigue. “What does that mean? Who’s there with you?”

I hesitated, chewing on my lip as I looked toward the living room again. “It’s just Lou,” I admitted, keeping my tone casual. “You remember him, right? From when we were kids?”’

“Oh, Luigi,” she said, the name sparking recognition in her voice. “The boy who used to climb our fence and sneak into the backyard? Of course, I remember him! What’s he doing there? Does he go to your school?”

I hesitated, a little thrown off by the sudden turn in the conversation. “Yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I forgot to tell you, but we live in the same communal housing now.”

Her voice brightened, clearly surprised. “Oh, that’s amazing. I always liked Luigi. He was such a mischievous little thing. I remember how you two used to get up to all sorts of trouble. But wait,” she said, her tone shifting to something more teasing. “I remember you used to like him a little, right?”

I froze. “What?! No, Mom, why would you say that?” I quickly rolled my eyes, feeling the heat rising in my cheeks.

She chuckled lightly on the other end of the line, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Oh, come on. Don’t deny it. You were always a little smitten with him. I saw the way you looked at him when you two were kids. It was so obvious.”

My face burned even more, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing nervously. “Mom, seriously? That was years ago. We were kids. We were just... friends. Besides, we’re not kids anymore.”

I could hear the smile in her voice as she pressed on. “Sure, sure, I’m just saying, I always thought you two made a cute pair. But it’s good you’re staying with him, especially with everyone else gone. He’s a good kid.”

I let out a small sigh, trying to shake off the embarrassment.

“Anyway It’s complicated,” I said, sidestepping the full explanation. “His family’s... let’s just say things are a bit strained right now, so he stayed back.”

“Well, that’s nice,” my mom said, her voice warm. “I always liked Luigi. He was polite—mischievous, but polite. It’s good you’ve got someone there to keep you company. You know how I worry.”

I smiled faintly, letting her chatter on about how important it was to have support during the holidays, but my mind was elsewhere. Lou and I had fallen back into a rhythm that felt both comforting and unfamiliar, and I couldn’t help wondering where it would lead.

“Anyway, I’ll let you go,” my mom said finally. “I just wanted to check in and let you know we’re here safe. Don’t forget to text me if you need anything. Love you, sweetheart!”

“Love you too, Mom,” I said, and the call ended with her usual flurry of enthusiasm.

I set the phone down on the counter and leaned back against it, letting out a quiet sigh. The kitchen felt too big, too empty, but the sound of a faint creak from the living room caught my attention. Turning, I saw Lou standing in the doorway, his hair slightly mussed and his eyes heavy with sleep.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice low and rough from sleep.

I nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah. My mom just called to let me know they made it to Rome.”

He walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter opposite me. “They sound like they’re having fun,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“They are,” I said, studying him. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t,” he replied. “I don’t think I was really out anyway.” His gaze lingered on me for a moment before he tilted his head. “Want some tea or something?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the question, but nodded. “Sure. Tea sounds nice.”

Lou moved toward the kettle, filling it with water and setting it on the stove. The quiet hum of the kitchen filled the space between us, and for a moment, I just watched him, the easy way he moved, the care he took even in small tasks.

“My mom said something interesting,” I said after a moment, breaking the silence. “She remembered you sneaking into our backyard.”

Lou grinned, glancing over his shoulder at me. “How could I forget? I practically lived there.”

“She also said you were polite,” I teased, crossing my arms. “I don’t remember you being polite.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, turning to face me fully. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“You once sprayed me with the garden hose because I wouldn’t let you have the last popsicle.”

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Okay, fine. But in my defense, it was hot , and you were being stingy.”

I rolled my eyes, but a smile crept onto my face despite myself. “You haven’t changed much.”

“Neither have you,” he said, his tone softer now. “Still stubborn. Still stealing the last popsicle.”

The kettle whistled, breaking the moment, and Lou turned to pour the water into two mugs. As he handed me one, our fingers brushed, and I felt a jolt of something I couldn’t quite name.

“Here’s to not being completely alone,” he said, raising his mug.

I clinked mine against his, the warmth of the tea seeping into my hands and something unfamiliar stirring in my chest. “Here’s to that.”

“You should probably go to bed,” Lou said, his voice low and soft, almost like he was speaking more to his cup than to me. His fingers traced the rim of the mug absently, his gaze fixed downward as if it was the most fascinating thing in the room.

I tilted my head, studying him. “You’re telling me to go to bed? You’re the one who looks like you’re about to pass out.”

His lips twitched in a faint smile, but he didn’t look up. “I’m fine,” he said simply, but there was something in his tone—something weighed down and distant.

“Lou,” I said, my voice gentle but firm. “You’ve been running on empty. You’re allowed to take a break, you know.”

He glanced up at me then, his dark eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before darting away. “I’m not tired,” he said, but the lie was as thin as the air between us.

I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms. “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”

That got a small laugh out of him, a short, breathy sound that seemed to loosen the tension in the air just a little. “Guess I can’t argue with royalty,” he muttered, finally setting the mug down on the counter.

“You’re impossible,” I said, shaking my head, though I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “But seriously, Lou. Go get some rest. You’ve done enough brooding for one night.”

His brows lifted slightly, and he finally met my gaze, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Brooding? Is that what I’m doing?”

“Absolutely,” I shot back, unable to keep the teasing edge out of my voice. “Sitting there, staring into your cup like it holds all the answers to life’s mysteries? Classic brooding.”

“Maybe it does,” he said, tilting his head, the smirk growing. “You ever think of that?”

“Then you’d better drink it before the answers get cold,” I said, rolling my eyes.

He chuckled, the sound soft and genuine, and for a moment, the heaviness that had been clinging to him seemed to lift. But then his expression shifted again, more serious now, as he leaned back against the counter, his arms crossing over his chest.

“I just don’t feel like sleeping yet,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Sometimes... It feels harder to sleep when it’s too quiet. You know?”

I nodded, my teasing fading as I matched his tone. 

He gave a small nod, his gaze distant again, but there was a flicker of something grateful in his expression. 

The moment stretched between us, quiet but not uncomfortable. Finally, I broke the silence, a soft smile tugging at my lips. “Okay, how about this—if you’re staying up, I’m staying up. Deal?”

He looked at me, a little surprised, but there was a warmth in his eyes now. “Deal,” he said softly.

Lou pushed himself off the counter, grabbing both our mugs and nodding toward the living room. "Come on," he said, his voice softer now but tinged with a hint of playfulness. "If we're both staying up, we might as well make it comfortable."

I followed him back to the couch, the soft hum of the heating system and the faint rustle of our footsteps the only sounds breaking the quiet. He set the mugs on the coffee table and plopped down, sinking into the cushions with a sigh. I sat down beside him, curling my legs under me as I reached for my tea.

"So," I said after a moment, glancing at him. "What’s the plan for our grand late-night rebellion? Another movie?"

Lou smirked, tilting his head toward me. "You mean ‘Home Alone 3’? Are you up for another round of cheesy nostalgia?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "I think two was enough for one night. Besides, the third one doesn’t even have the same kid."

"True," he said, leaning back and stretching his arms along the back of the couch. "Kind of ruins the magic, doesn’t it?"

I nodded, sipping my tea and letting the warmth seep into my hands. The silence between us wasn’t awkward—if anything, it felt easy, like we were settling into an old rhythm we hadn’t forgotten.

Lou leaned back on the couch, his tea balanced on his knee, and gave me a curious look. "So," he began, his tone casual but his eyes sharp, "what’s the deal with you and Max?"

I blinked at him, caught off guard. "Max? What do you mean?"

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I don’t know. You guys seem... close.”

I tilted my head, trying to figure out what he was getting at. "Max and I are just friends. We’ve always gotten along really well. He’s easy to talk to, you know?"

"Right," Lou said, dragging the word out. "But you talk to him a lot. And he’s always around when you need something. I’m just saying, it seems like there might be more there."

I frowned, trying to follow his train of thought. "Max is just... Max. He’s dependable. Kind of like an older brother, honestly."

Lou snorted, a little too loudly. "Older brother? That’s an interesting take."

I narrowed my eyes on him. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "I just don’t think he sees you as a little sister."

I let out a laugh, shaking my head. "That’s ridiculous."

Lou raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking in a half-smile. "Are you sure about that?"

I hesitated for a second, his question catching me off guard. "I mean, I guess I’ve never thought about it like that. But no, Max and I are just friends."

Lou’s smile tightened, and he looked away, focusing on his tea. "If you say so," he muttered, his tone a little quieter.

I tilted my head, trying to read his expression. "Why are you so interested, anyway?"

"Just curious," he said, his voice light again, though it didn’t match the way he was avoiding my gaze. "You’re both my friends. I notice things, that’s all."

"Well, there’s nothing to notice," I said, leaning back into the couch. "Max is great, but we’re not... like that."

Lou glanced at me, his jaw tightening for a brief moment before he relaxed again, plastering on a smile. "Good to know," he said, his tone almost too casual. "I guess I was just overthinking it."

I shrugged, oblivious to the shift in his demeanor. "Probably. You always were the overthinking type."

Lou chuckled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah, guess I am."

Lou and I let the conversation drift as the credits of the old Christmas movie we had half-watched scrolled by. The room was warm, the soft glow of the table lamp making the space feel almost too cozy. He stretched his legs out, his socked feet propped up on the coffee table, and let out a low sigh.

"You want to watch another one?" he asked, tilting his head toward me.

"Sure," I replied, tucking my legs under me. "Something classic or something ridiculous?"

"Ridiculous," he said immediately, his lips quirking into a grin. "If we’re staying up, it might as well be for something we can laugh at."

I grabbed the remote and started scrolling through the options until we settled on a cheesy holiday rom-com neither of us had seen before. As the opening credits rolled, Lou leaned back further into the couch, his arm resting on the back, just a few inches from my shoulder.

The movie was predictably bad, full of over-the-top dialogue and absurd plot twists, but we kept laughing anyway. At one point, I turned to say something snarky, only to realize how close we were. Lou’s face was just inches away, and for a second, I thought he might have noticed too. But he just gave me a lazy smile and said, "This might be the worst acting I’ve ever seen."

"That’s saying something," I shot back, leaning slightly toward him as I laughed. "Remember that summer we tried to make our own movie?"

Lou groaned, covering his face with one hand. "Don’t remind me. I think we spent more time arguing over the plot than actually filming anything."

I leaned into the back of the couch, the laughter leaving me breathless. At some point, my shoulder brushed against Lou’s arm, and instead of moving away, I stayed there. He didn’t shift either. It wasn’t cuddling exactly—just being close, the kind of unspoken comfort that didn’t need explanation.

As the movie played on, I felt myself relaxing more, sinking into the shared warmth of the moment. Every so often, Lou would lean in slightly to make a comment or laugh at a particularly bad line, and the subtle proximity made me feel... something.

When the movie ended, the room fell quiet except for the soft hum of the heater. Neither of us moved for a while. I tilted my head to glance at him, only to find him already looking at me.

"You’re quieter than usual," he said softly, his voice low in the stillness.

I shrugged, offering a small smile. "Just... comfortable, I guess."

He nodded, his gaze lingering on mine for a second longer before he looked back at the screen. "Me too."

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward; it was peaceful, filled with the kind of understanding that only old friends could share. I didn’t realize how heavy my eyelids had grown until they started to droop. Lou shifted slightly, leaning his head back against the couch, and I allowed mine to rest lightly against his shoulder.

We stayed like that, close but not crossing any lines, until the quiet hum of the heater and the warmth of his presence lulled me into sleep.

I felt her drifting off, her breathing evening out, her head resting lightly against my shoulder. For a moment, I stayed still, almost afraid to move and wake her. When I was sure she was completely out, I carefully lifted her head, replacing my shoulder with a pillow. I adjusted it gently beneath her, making sure she looked comfortable, then grabbed the small blanket from earlier and draped it over her.

I sat back, my eyes lingering on her as she slept. It felt... strange, sitting there in the quiet with just the soft sound of her breathing. She looked peaceful, her features softened in the dim light, and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed between us—like we were still kids, and the world outside didn’t matter.

But it did.

It felt weird, though, watching her like this. Not in a bad way, just... unfamiliar. The same way it had felt weird to fall back into conversations like no time had passed, to laugh at old memories and tease her about Max without overthinking it.

Max.

The thought pulled at me. I’d asked her about him earlier, trying to sound casual, but the way she’d smiled when she talked about him— Their moment a few weeks ago. Not that I could blame her; Max was a good guy. Reliable. Funny. Probably the kind of person who wouldn’t have let things fall apart the way I had.

I sighed, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees, my gaze still on her. She shifted slightly in her sleep, her face turning toward the pillow, and I couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto my face.

Why had I come back to this? Sitting here, watching her now, I couldn’t figure it out. All I knew was that for the first time in a long time, things didn’t feel as complicated. I didn’t feel as... distant. And I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a dangerous one.

Eventually, I pushed myself up, grabbing the empty mugs from the table and turning off the TV. As I moved around quietly, I glanced back at her one last time before heading upstairs.

Yeah, it felt weird. But maybe being weird wasn’t so bad.

Chapter Text

The next few days passed in a bit of a haze, a comfortable rhythm forming between us. One morning, we went grocery shopping—a simple enough task, but Lou, in his infinite creativity, decided to turn it into an adventure.

“You know,” he said as we stood in the produce aisle, staring at a tower of apples, “we should get each other surprise gifts.”

“Gifts?” I raised an eyebrow, holding up a bag of oranges. “Like... from the grocery store?”

“Exactly.” His grin was equal parts mischievous and sincere. “There’s no better way to test our friendship than with the high stakes of a supermarket present exchange.”

I laughed, unable to resist his enthusiasm. “Fine. But you have to set some rules. Otherwise, I’m just getting you a bag of baby carrots and calling it a day.”

He smirked, leaning on the cart. “Rule one: no food items. Rule two: it has to cost less than ten bucks. Rule three: it has to be something the other person will actually like.”

“Lou,” I deadpanned, “we’re in a grocery store. What non-food item under ten dollars am I going to find that you’ll like?”

“That’s the challenge.” He tapped the side of his temple. “Think outside the box.”

We split up, wandering the aisles with determination. I found myself in the cleaning supplies section, briefly considering a novelty sponge before deciding it was too ridiculous. Eventually, I stumbled upon a display of tiny succulents near the checkout lane. Perfect.

When we met back up, he was clutching something behind his back, his expression smug.

“Ready to reveal?” he asked, his eyes glinting with excitement.

“On three,” I agreed, holding my own item behind me.

“One, two, three!”

I revealed the small potted succulent, and his grin widened. “That’s actually kind of cool,” he said, examining it. “Low maintenance, just like me.”

“And you?” I asked, gesturing to the object in his hand.

With a flourish, he presented a paperback copy of some cheesy romance novel. The kind with a shirtless guy on the cover and an over-the-top title like Swept Away by Love .

“Seriously?” I burst out laughing.

“You said you liked stories,” he replied, clearly proud of himself. “And this one has great reviews on the internet. Well, according to the sticker on the back, anyway.”

I couldn’t stop laughing as we paid for our items, and the playful energy carried through the rest of the day. It felt light, easy—like we were kids again, finding ways to turn the mundane into something memorable.

By the time we got back to the house, the blur of the past few days didn’t seem so bad. Moments like this made everything feel clearer, even if just for a while.

Christmas was still three days away, and the anticipation felt both comforting and bittersweet. My mom’s gifts had arrived earlier that afternoon, neatly wrapped in cheerful paper adorned with snowflakes and reindeer. They now sat under the small Christmas tree Lou and I had picked out, taking up minimal space but adding a touch of home to the room.

The tree itself wasn’t much to look at—barely five feet tall and slightly lopsided, with branches that seemed to thin out at the top. A string of mismatched lights blinked lazily, their soft glow casting tiny reflections on the walls.

I crouched by the tree, adjusting the gifts to make them look more organized, even though there were only three small boxes. Each one had a neatly written label in my mom’s handwriting, her precise loops and curves instantly recognizable.

Lou wandered in from the kitchen, holding two mugs of hot cocoa. “Your mom’s gifts?” he asked, nodding toward the tree.

“Yeah,” I said, standing and brushing off my knees. “She gives the same every year—one for me, one for whoever I’m spending the holidays with, and one for ‘the house.’”

Lou chuckled as he handed me a mug. “She’s efficient. Bet they’re all useful, too.”

I took a sip of the cocoa, savoring the warmth. “They usually are. Last year, she gave me a set of travel mugs and a blanket. The year before, it was a multi-tool and a cookbook. She’s big on practical gifts.”

He raised an eyebrow, sitting down on the couch. “A multi-tool? That’s... unexpected.”

“She says you never know when you’ll need to MacGyver your way out of a situation,” I said with a small smile.

Lou laughed, his head tipping back slightly. “Sounds like your mom.”

Looking at the tree. It wasn’t much, but it felt right somehow—imperfect yet cozy, a little beacon of holiday spirit in our shared space.

“Do you think your mom knows how much those little gifts mean?” Lou asked after a moment, his voice softer now.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, wrapping my hands around the mug. “But I hope so.”

“What do you wanna do tonight?” I asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us. I set my mug down on the coffee table and perched myself on the ottoman near the couch, tucking one leg underneath me.

Lou glanced up from his phone, his expression thoughtful. He had been scrolling absentmindedly, the faint glow of the screen reflecting in his eyes. “Hmm, good question,” he said, setting his phone aside and stretching his arms over his head. “What are our options?”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider. “Well, we could watch a movie, play cards, or—if we’re feeling particularly ambitious—we could attempt to bake something festive and hope we don’t set the kitchen on fire.”

Lou smirked, leaning forward on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees. “Tempting. But based on your track record with baking, I’m not sure I trust you near anything involving heat.”

“Excuse me,” I said, feigning offense. “I’ve gotten way better. I made brownies last week without burning them or myself. Progress.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, his grin widening. “How about this: you pick the movie, and I’ll handle snacks. That way, we both stick to our strengths.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Fine. But I’m picking something good this time. No weird sci-fi that makes my head hurt, okay?”

“Deal,” he said, already heading toward the kitchen.

As he rummaged through the cupboards, I pulled out my laptop and began scrolling through streaming options. The sound of cabinets opening and closing, punctuated by the occasional clink of a bowl or a package, filled the air.

“You better not just be bringing back popcorn again!” I called out. 

“You’ll see,” he replied, his voice tinged with mystery.

When he returned a few minutes later, he was holding a tray with an assortment of snacks: grapes (thankfully with lemon and sugar), some leftover Christmas cookies, and, yes, popcorn. He set it down with a flourish.

“Are you happy now?” he asked, flopping onto the couch beside me.

I grinned. “You’re forgiven. For now.”

We spent the next few minutes debating over what to watch before settling on an old movie, one we both vaguely remembered from childhood. Lou and I weren’t quite leaning into each other, but our arms occasionally brushed as we reached for snacks, and our laughter filled the room as we poked fun at the cheesy dialogue and outdated effects. 

Lou picked up his phone from the coffee table, glancing at the time. He set it down with a purposeful click and leaned back on the couch, his expression unreadable for a moment before he finally spoke. “We should go out.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” I asked, popping a grape into my mouth, trying to keep my tone casual.

He turned slightly toward me, his knee brushing against mine. “I mean, we should go out for drinks. There’s this bar not too far from here. It’s pretty nice—good music, cozy atmosphere. You’d like it.”

I tilted my head, studying him. “You wanna go to a bar?” My voice was tinged with surprise, my eyebrows slightly raised. It wasn’t that I didn’t think Lou would go out; it was more that the idea of him suggesting it now, with just the two of us, felt... unexpected.

“Why not?” he said, shrugging, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. “It’s better than sitting here all night. And besides, it could be fun. You could use a little excitement.”

“Excitement?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes at him. “Are you implying my company isn’t thrilling enough for you?”

Lou smirked, holding his hands up defensively. “Hey, I’m just saying, you’ve been cooped up here for days. Don’t you think it’d be nice to get out, mingle, have a drink or two?”

I hesitated, leaning back against the couch. “I don’t know. It’s cold outside. And I’m not exactly dressed for a night out.” I gestured to my sweater and leggings as if to emphasize my point.

He looked me over with an easy grin. “You look fine. But if you’re worried about it, I’ll wait while you change. I’m a patient guy.”

I rolled my eyes, fighting a smile. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely.” He leaned back on the couch, his arms stretched along the backrest, looking completely at ease. “So, what’s it gonna be? Another round of grapes and a movie, or a chance to see the world outside this house?”

I bit my lip, weighing my options. Part of me was tempted to say no and stick to the comfort of our current setup, but the other part—the one growing restless after days indoors—felt a pull toward his suggestion.

“Fine,” I said at last, standing up and pointing a finger at him. “But if this bar is lame, you owe me a round of hot chocolate.”

Lou grinned, jumping to his feet. “I’ll even throw in marshmallows.”

I dashed upstairs, my mind racing as I considered what to wear. Thankfully, I’d already showered earlier today, so that part was taken care of. But now comes the hard part—choosing an outfit.

Standing in front of my closet, I hesitated, flipping through hangers as my thoughts drifted to Lou. I couldn’t ignore the flutter in my chest when I thought about him seeing me tonight. It wasn’t just a casual night out; it felt like it needed something... more.

After a moment of deliberation, I pulled out my backless maroon top. It was elegant without trying too hard, and the deep color complimented my skin tone perfectly. Pairing it with my loose-fitted black jeans that still hugged all the right places, I felt like I’d struck the perfect balance of casual and polished.

I tugged my hair out of the ponytail I’d thrown it into earlier, shaking it loose and fluffing the strands until they framed my face naturally. Then, I leaned into the mirror to apply a light layer of makeup—just enough to brighten my eyes and highlight my features.

Satisfied, I grabbed my favorite coat, the one that always made me feel a little extra put-together, and slipped into a pair of ankle boots with a modest heel. The boots gave me just the right amount of height and confidence without sacrificing comfort.

I took one last glance at myself in the mirror, smoothing down my top and adjusting the drape of my jeans. With a deep breath, I turned and walked out of the room, my boots clicking softly against the floor.

As I descended the stairs, I spotted Lou waiting by the door, his phone in one hand and his coat slung casually over his arm. When he looked up and saw me, his eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite place.

“You clean up nice,” he said after a while, his voice warm but teasing, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grin.

“Thanks,” I replied, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingered. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Lou chuckled, slipping his coat on and opening the door with a dramatic flourish. “Shall we?”

I stepped outside into the crisp night air, feeling an excited energy building in my chest. Whatever the night held, I was ready for it.

The bar was alive with a steady pulse of energy. Strings of warm fairy lights crisscrossed the ceiling, and the soft hum of conversation mixed with the jazzy tunes played by a live band tucked into a corner. The faint smell of spiced cider and evergreen lingered in the air, making everything feel undeniably festive.

Lou and I managed to snag a spot at the bar, and he leaned against it with a casual confidence that somehow made it seem like he belonged here more than anyone else.

“What are you having?” he asked, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

I grinned. “Surprise me.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “That’s dangerous.”

“Consider it a vote of confidence,” I replied, leaning forward slightly. “Don’t let me down, Lou.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his tone playful but with a spark of something more beneath it. He turned toward the bartender, already putting on his charm as he gestured for attention.

I watched him for a moment, the way his lips curved as he spoke, the slight tilt of his head as he listened to the bartender’s reply. Lou had always been confident, even when we were kids, but now it felt different—more natural, more magnetic.

While he was occupied, I let my eyes wander around the room. The crowd was a mix of college students blowing off steam, older couples out for the night, and friends gathered to celebrate the season. It was cozy and buzzing all at once.

“Hey there,” a voice interrupted my thoughts.

I turned to see a guy standing next to me, his blond hair catching the glow of the lights. He wasn’t bad-looking, and he had the kind of easy smile that seemed like it could charm anyone in the room.

“Hi,” I said politely, not wanting to come off as rude.

“You look like you’re having a good night,” he said, his tone casual but with an edge of interest.

I nodded. “Yeah, it’s been nice so far.”

“Well, maybe I can make it even better,” he said, grinning. “I’m Daniel, by the way.”

“Hi, Daniel,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.

“Do you come here often?” he asked, leaning a little closer.

Before I could respond, another voice cut in.

“She doesn’t,” Lou said, suddenly beside me with a drink in each hand. His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. He set the drinks down and leveled Daniel with a steady look. “And she’s not alone.”

Daniel straightened, his grin faltering slightly. “Oh, my bad, man,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t realize.”

“Now you do,” Lou replied evenly, not breaking eye contact.

Daniel gave me a quick nod and stepped back, disappearing into the crowd.

I turned to Lou, feeling a mix of gratitude and something else I couldn’t quite name. “Thanks for that,” I said, picking up my drink.

Lou shrugged, leaning casually against the bar. “He was getting too close.”

I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head slightly. “Jealous, are we?” I teased, the warmth in my cheeks betraying how much I was enjoying this.

He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes locked on mine over the rim of his glass. “Just looking out for you,” he said, his tone light but his gaze lingering.

“Well, I had it under control,” I said, but my voice lacked conviction.

“Sure you did,” he replied, his lips quirking into a smirk. “But now I’ve saved you, and you owe me.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Oh, I owe you, do I?”

“Big time,” he said, leaning in just enough to make my heart skip. “And I’m not above collecting.”

“What exactly do you have in mind?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

The band started playing a slow, jazzy version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and Lou glanced toward the small dance floor before turning back to me.

“Well,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “we could make it official. Show everyone you’re ‘with me.’”

I rolled my eyes, though my smile gave me away. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he shot back, his grin widening.

For a moment, we just looked at each other, the noise of the bar fading into the background. There was something unspoken between us, something that made my heart race in a way I wasn’t quite ready to admit.

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand.

I hesitated, then placed my hand in his, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver up my spine. He led me toward the dance floor, his grip steady and sure.

As we reached the edge of the crowd, he turned to face me, his expression softening. “You don’t have to, you know,” he said quietly. “Only if you want to.”

I looked up at him, the hesitation in his voice catching me off guard. “I want to,” I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it.

He smiled, and it wasn’t the cocky grin he usually wore—it was something gentler, almost vulnerable. He placed his hand lightly on my waist, his other hand still holding mine.

We swayed to the music, the space between us small but not quite close enough to touch. It was slow and easy, and yet every move felt charged.

“You look nice,” he said after a moment and leaning in, his voice low.

I glanced up at him, trying to hide my smile. “So do you,” I replied, my heart skipping as our eyes met.

We were so close, only a little nudge would have us completely pressed against each other. His eyes flickered to my lips for a split second before they quickly darted back up to meet mine, and I felt the air between us grow even heavier.

“You still have that rabbit plushie you won at that fair?” he asked, the question coming out of nowhere, breaking the tension but also pulling him away from whatever was going on in his mind.

I blinked, a little thrown off by the sudden shift. “Um, yeah,” I replied, my voice quiet but thoughtful. “I actually do. It's in my room.”

He seemed to smile a little at the thought, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his expression softened, his gaze still lingering on me in a way that felt both familiar and new. “I always thought it was cute. You used to carry it around everywhere.”

I laughed softly, glancing down at the space between us, trying to ignore the sudden rush of warmth that spread through me at his words. “I guess I was a little attached to it.” I added, trying to keep things light. “But it was the only thing I won at the fair, so I had to keep it.”

Lou nodded slowly, his hand on my waist giving a slight, almost unnoticeable squeeze. “I always hated that you won, honestly,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I was trying so hard to win that stupid prize, but you just… you just walked up and got it like it was nothing.”

I tilted my head, half-smiling. “Maybe you just weren’t lucky enough.”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice softer now, almost as if the teasing was slipping away. “Or maybe I didn’t want it as much as I thought I did.”

The music faded, and a wave of applause rippled through the bar. People clapped and cheered, their energy buzzing in the air, and for a moment, it felt like Lou and I were in a world of our own. He slowly released me from his hold, and I instinctively pulled back, a slight shiver running through me from the sudden distance.

We both turned toward the bar, making our way back through the crowd. The lights were a little dimmer now, and the atmosphere had shifted, the intensity of the dance still lingering in the air between us. We slid into the empty seats at the bar, sitting side by side. My knee brushed against his, just enough to send a spark of warmth up my leg.

We both settled into a comfortable silence, the hum of conversations and clinking glasses around us feeling almost muffled, as if everything outside our little bubble didn’t matter.

Lou glanced at me, his eyes still a little wide from the dance, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re a good dancer,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I didn’t expect that.”

I turned to face him, a teasing grin pulling at my lips. “Oh, so you thought I was all talk?”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “No, I just… wasn’t sure what to expect. You surprised me.” His tone shifted slightly, something more thoughtful underneath. “You surprised me a lot tonight, actually.”

My heart skipped a beat. "How so?" I asked, a little curious, a little nervous.

His gaze lingered on me, the warmth of his smile fading into something softer, more serious. “You’ve always been different. In a good way. I guess I just… forgot how much I missed being around you.”

The honesty in his voice hit me unexpectedly. It felt like something shifted in the space between us, like the years that had passed between childhood and now were suddenly insignificant. My breath caught in my chest, and I had no idea how to respond to that.

Instead, I just looked at him, trying to keep my voice steady. “Well… you’re full of surprises too, Luigi.”

His eyes flickered to mine, seemingly a little darker and for a second, I thought he might say something else. But the bartender came over, setting two new drinks in front of us, breaking the moment.

Lou grabbed his glass, giving me a wink before taking a sip. “Guess we’ll have to save the deep conversations for later.”

I raised my glass to that, the tension between us lingering as we sat there side by side, knees touching. 

It was late, and the keys to the house were nowhere to be found. We had made our way back through the quiet, dim streets, stu mbling a little from the drinks we’d had, our laughter echoing in the cold night air. Despite the minor falls and the fact that I could barely walk in a straight line, at least we still had all our limbs intact.

“Come on, hurry up!” I said, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other, my legs crossed as I bounced in place. "I really need to pee!"

Lou laughed, the sound rich and carefree, the alcohol still making his words a little slurred. "Calm down, I can’t remember which key it is," he said, holding the keys up in front of him like they were some kind of puzzle he was trying to solve. His fingers fumbled over the metal keys, and I watched him with growing frustration.

I sighed dramatically, finally reaching out and turning him so he’d face me. “Give me those,” I said, grabbing the keys from his hand. “It’s this one.” I held up the key I was sure would work and slid it into the lock, only to be met with resistance. The door wouldn’t budge.

"Seriously?" I groaned, trying the key again, twisting it harder. "Come on!"

Lou, still giggling, leaned against the doorframe, his head lolling to one side. "Maybe it's the other one? Or maybe the door's locked for a reason, and we should just... sleep outside."

I shot him a glare. "Not funny."

He raised his hands in mock surrender, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Hey, it could be worse. We could be stuck out here in the cold. And I don't know about you, but I kind of want to make it inside before I end up passed out on the doorstep."

I let out a breath and gave the key one last try, this time pushing it in with just the right twist. There was a soft click, and the door finally opened.

“Ha!” I said triumphantly, throwing the door open with a flourish. "Told you I could do it."

Lou grinned, his voice dripping with mock adoration as he placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “Oh, my sweet princess, what would I have done without you?” he said, taking both of my hands in his and pressing a playful kiss to each one.

I threw my head back in laughter, feeling the warmth of his attention sweep over me. As he kissed my hands, I felt the butterflies flutter in my chest, but I quickly yanked my hands away from his mouth, grinning. "You would have been stuck out there forever," I teased.

He raised an eyebrow, giving me a look full of exaggerated offense. "I’d like to think I could have figured it out... eventually."

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hold back my smile as I stepped inside. Lou followed me in, his footsteps light and careless. The door clicked shut behind him, and I immediately felt a sense of relief wash over me. The quiet warmth of the house wrapped around us, pulling us out of the late-night cold.

I tried to take off my boots, but each time I attempted, I kept stumbling, frustrated.

“Need help?” Lou asked from behind me, hanging his coat on the hanger with an easy grace.

“Yeah, actually,” I said, giving up and leaning against the wall for support.

He moved toward me, his steps light, but purposeful. Kneeling down in front of me, his fingers brushed the back of my lower leg as he grabbed my boot. With a gentle tug, he slid it off, his gaze never leaving mine.

“First one done,” he said, his voice deeper than usual, and I couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lingered on me—dark, intense. It felt like the room had suddenly become smaller, like the air had shifted.

He moved to my other leg without a word, his hand caressing the bare skin of my calf before grabbing the boot and tugging it off as well. His touch was deliberate, soft, and my breath caught in my throat as I tried to steady myself.

“Second one, also done,” Lou said, his voice lower this time. He looked up again, and the intensity in his gaze was undeniable. One hand rested on my right leg, while the other now gently massaged my foot.

I felt my pulse quicken, the rhythm of my breath growing shallow. My body stiffened, but I couldn't pull away, couldn’t break the tension. His touch, though light, sent a jolt through me, stirring something I hadn’t expected.

I tried to steady myself, but it felt like I was losing my grip on the moment—on the room, on myself. His hand was warm, moving slowly, almost reverently. Everything about it felt so much more intimate than I had anticipated. The space between us had never felt smaller, and for the first time, I wondered if we had crossed a line that neither of us knew how to undo.

My heart pounded in my chest, the silence around us thick and heavy. The only sound was our shallow breathing, the weight of the moment settling between us.

The air between us thickened, the moment stretching out longer than I could have ever expected. My mind raced as I tried to make sense of his words, but it felt like everything had been slowly slipping from my control.

“What are you doing?” I asked again, my voice barely a whisper, though it felt louder in the silence.

He didn’t break eye contact as he answered, his voice smooth, deliberate. “Pleasing you.”

My breath caught, and I felt my heart hammering in my chest, unsure of whether it was from the intensity of his touch or from the shock of his words. I watched him, my thoughts swirling, as his hands moved with careful precision, massaging my foot like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Then, slowly, he rose, his body coming closer to mine. I didn't move, my body frozen under the weight of his gaze, as if everything I’d ever known was shifting under my feet.

“Let me please you,” he said, his voice low and filled with an unfamiliar kind of resolve, his eyes never leaving mine.

I couldn’t breathe. The words hung in the air like a promise, but I couldn’t yet grasp what it meant for us—what it would mean for the space between us that had been carefully built. My lips parted, but no words came out, only the soft sound of my breath escaping as I tried to make sense of the unexpected turn this moment had taken.

His hand moved to my arm, gentle yet insistent. Everything within me felt confused, both drawn to him and overwhelmed by the uncharted territory we were now standing on. My pulse quickened, my thoughts scattered, as the realization of what was happening dawned on me—but still, I couldn’t look away from him.

He was waiting for me, for something. But I wasn’t sure what to give him—or if I was ready to answer.

His lips were right there, just a breath away. All it would take was a slight movement, a shift, and we would be kissing. My heart raced, my thoughts a tangled mess as I debated whether or not I should make the move.

But before I could make any decision, he did. His lips were on mine, soft at first, but then quickly deepening the kiss, the intensity catching me off guard. I hadn't even realized how badly I wanted this until he kissed me. His hands found my waist, pulling me closer, and I couldn’t help but melt into him, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck, my fingers threading into his hair.

The kiss was electric—heated, urgent, and a little confusing, but somehow, it felt like everything was falling into place. His lips moved against mine with a hunger that mirrored my own, and in the whirlwind of sensations, I couldn’t help but feel like I had been waiting for this moment for far longer than I’d ever realized. The space between us, that uncomfortable tension that had been lingering, was now gone, replaced by something raw and undeniable.

There was no turning back. The kiss was more than just a kiss—it was an explosion of emotions, a release of something that had been building up for who knows how long. Everything about it was unexpected, but in some strange way, it felt inevitable.

I could feel his heart beating against mine, and the world outside the bubble we had created didn’t matter anymore. It was just us—lost in each other, lost in the moment.

The world around us faded as we stood there, wrapped up in the kiss, our bodies pressed so close I could feel the warmth of his chest against mine. Each movement was electric, every touch sending a ripple of heat through me. My mind was a blur of conflicting emotions—desire, confusion, longing. Yet, beneath it all, something deeper was taking root. It felt like I had been waiting for this moment, waiting for him to close the gap that had always lingered between us, though neither of us had ever acknowledged it.

His hands slid from my waist to my back, pulling me even closer, as if he couldn’t get enough. I responded instinctively, my hands gripping his shirt, tugging him toward me. The urgency of the moment, the heat of it, left no room for anything but what was happening right now. Everything else—our past, our uncertainty—seemed irrelevant in this small, heated space between us.

When we finally broke apart, breathless, our foreheads rested against each other. I could feel his heart pounding as loudly as mine, and we stood there, silently, letting the intensity of what had just happened sink in.

"Wow," I whispered, my voice shaky, still trying to process the moment.

He let out a breathless laugh, his lips brushing lightly against mine again before pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. There was a spark in his eyes—something intense, something new. "Yeah," he said softly, his voice low. 

I had no idea where this would go or how this would change everything between us. But in that moment, nothing mattered more than how his hand gently cupped my cheek, how his thumb traced along the curve of my jaw. The connection we shared, unspoken and powerful, felt like it was going to change everything.

And then he spoke again, his voice a little quieter now, but still full of that intensity. "I’ve wanted this for a while."

I stared at him, my heart skipping a beat. Had he really just said that? I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out at first. My mind was still catching up to everything.

"You’ve wanted this?" I finally managed to ask, my voice barely a whisper.

He nodded slowly, "Yeah. But I didn’t want to make things weird. Didn’t want to push you."

I felt my chest tighten at his words. My head was spinning with the gravity of it all. 

"You mean, like… back when we were younger?"

"Exactly," he replied, a glimmer crossing his face. "Back then, I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, and I didn’t want to mess up the friendship we had. But now… "

His hands were still on my waist, holding me close, but there was hesitation now, a shift in his demeanor. His lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but he didn’t.

Then, he pulled away gently, like the act itself hurt him. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with conflict, and his voice dropped to a quieter, almost pained tone.

“I shouldn’t have done that," he said, his voice tinged with regret, but there was something in his eyes that didn’t quite match the weight of his words. It was like he was wrestling with something inside, something he didn’t know how to process or deal with.

“I’m sorry,” he added quietly, turning away from me, his steps unsteady as he began to walk up the stairs.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, completely thrown off. His mood had shifted in an instant. One moment, he was confessing his feelings, and the next, he was pulling away, regretting everything. I didn’t understand. What had changed so quickly? I was left standing there, confused and unable to move, the air between us heavy with unspoken tension.

"Sorry?" I whispered to myself, still trying to wrap my head around his words. What was that?

I wanted to call after him, ask him what was going on, but I didn’t know if I could handle any more confusion right now. I felt a lump form in my throat, the weight of his sudden shift heavy on my chest. What had changed? Why was he regretting it so quickly?

I turned slowly, my gaze falling on the spot where he’d kissed me just moments ago. It felt like a lifetime had passed, yet I could still feel the heat of his touch, the tenderness in his kiss, even though he had pulled away. But now, with his absence, all I felt was an ache I couldn’t shake.

Why did he do this? Why did he tell me he had feelings for me only to turn it all around?

I wanted to go after him, to figure this out, but my feet wouldn’t move. I felt like I was standing at the edge of something I wasn’t ready to face, something that could change everything between us. I was still reeling from the confession, from the kiss, and now from the regret in his voice. It was all too much, too fast.

I turned, trying to make my way to the kitchen, my mind racing. I needed something—food, water, anything to numb the confusion swirling inside me. My feet moved almost automatically, but my head was elsewhere, tangled in the whirlwind of what had just happened.

What kind of rejection was this? I had no answers. My chest felt tight, like something had been taken from me, but I couldn’t figure out what. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t know if I could. Everything had been fine, right? He kissed me. He admitted what he’d been holding back. And now, in an instant, it felt like it was all slipping through my fingers.

I opened the fridge, reaching for something, but my hands were shaking. The silence of the house seemed deafening, like it was pressing down on me, reminding me of how I was left standing in the wake of something I didn’t understand.

I stopped, unable to move any further. I turned, slowly sinking down to the floor, my back pressed against the cool cabinet. I drew my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, holding myself in that small, protective ball. The room felt impossibly quiet, the only sound the soft, ragged breaths I couldn’t seem to control.

I stayed there for what felt like hours, though I knew it wasn’t. The tears came without warning, falling silently, each one carrying a weight I didn’t know how to bear. I let them fall, the tears mixing with the confusion and hurt that clouded my mind.

I was still trying to make sense of everything—his confession, his kiss, and now the sudden withdrawal. Why had he pulled away? What had changed so quickly? Why had it felt so right in the moment, and now felt like a distant memory I could barely grasp?

I just wanted answers, but in that moment, all I had were the tears that fell quietly, one after another.

Chapter Text

In the haze of tears last night, I somehow managed to make it back to my room, locking the door behind me as if it could somehow keep out the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume me. I hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights, collapsing onto the bed fully clothed, my face buried in the pillow to stifle the sobs.

Morning came, soft and unassuming, yet the weight of last night clung to me like a shadow. The house was eerily quiet, so still that the faintest sound might have echoed for miles. It was the kind of silence that felt deliberate, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting. My head throbbed faintly, from alcohol but also from the aftershocks of a sleepless, tear-soaked night.

I sat up slowly, my body stiff and reluctant to face the day. The light streaming through the window was soft, muted, and the faint hum of morning seemed too gentle for the chaos swirling in my chest.

I ran a hand through my hair, realizing it was a tangled mess, much like my thoughts. The events of last night replayed in my mind in disjointed fragments—Lou’s touch, his kiss, the way he pulled away like it physically hurt him to stay near me.

The memory of his words struck like a fresh blow: “I shouldn’t have done that.”

I wanted to scream, to cry all over again, but I felt wrung out, like I had no tears left to give. My eyes stung anyway, threatening to betray me once more. Shaking my head, I stood, dragging my feet toward the door. I didn’t know what I was going to do—talk to him, avoid him forever, or just pretend like none of it ever happened. But I needed to move. Sitting in the stillness of my room was only making things worse.

I unlocked the door, the click startling in the quiet, and stepped out into the hallway. The air felt heavy, like the house itself was holding onto the tension. I hesitated at the top of the stairs, peering down to see if Lou was anywhere in sight.

Nothing.

The living room was empty, and the kitchen was just as lifeless. The clock on the wall ticked softly, filling the silence with its rhythmic beat. I crossed to the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers without really knowing what I was looking for. Maybe coffee. Maybe some kind of distraction.

And then I saw it: a folded piece of paper sitting on the counter, my name scribbled hastily across the front in Lou’s handwriting.

My heart lurched as I snatched it up, my fingers fumbling to unfold it. The note was short, the words scrawled unevenly like he’d been in a rush—or maybe just nervous.

"I needed to clear my head. I’ll be back later. I’m sorry about last night."

That was it. No explanation, no elaboration. Just an apology and a vague promise to return. I read the words over and over, hoping they’d somehow make more sense the second or third time around.

But they didn’t.

I slammed the note down on the counter, frustration bubbling to the surface. Clear his head? What did that even mean? And why was I the one left behind, picking up the pieces of his mixed signals?

I paced the kitchen, my thoughts spiraling. Should I wait for him? Should I call him out on the whiplash he’d put me through? Or should I let it go, chalking it up to alcohol and emotions and a history too complicated to untangle in one night?

I looked down at myself, taking in the wrinkled shirt I’d slept in, the tangled mess of my hair, and the faint remnants of mascara smudged under my eyes. Yeah, I really needed a shower. Maybe it was good that Lou was gone for now—maybe I needed this day to myself more than I realized.

With a sigh, I set my phone down on the counter and headed back upstairs. The quiet of the house still felt heavy, but it was less oppressive now that I had something to do.

I turned on the water in the shower, letting the steam fill the bathroom as I stripped off my clothes. Stepping under the hot spray, I closed my eyes, letting it wash away the remnants of last night. The heat soothed my tense muscles, and for a moment, I just stood there, letting myself feel nothing at all.

As the water cascaded over me, my mind started to clear. Maybe Lou leaving wasn’t just about him needing space—maybe it was an opportunity for me to figure out what I wanted. Did I want things to go back to how they were before the kiss, before his confession? Or did I want to lean into this confusing, electrifying mess we’d stumbled into?

I finished my shower, wrapping myself in a towel and wiping the fog from the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, a mix of exhaustion and determination. Whatever happened next, I needed to face it head-on.

I pulled on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater, tying my damp hair back into a loose braid. As I made my way downstairs, the quiet of the house didn’t feel as heavy anymore, but there was still an underlying tension I couldn’t shake.

The house looked fine—tidy enough, really—but something about it felt… off. Not dirty, exactly, but out of place. Like everything was slightly misaligned, mirroring the disarray in my head.

Without thinking much about it, I grabbed the vacuum from the closet. Cleaning had always been a way to ground myself when I felt overwhelmed. I started in the common room, moving the vacuum methodically across the floor, the sound filling the otherwise silent space.

As I worked, my mind wandered. Flashes of last night crept in uninvited—Lou’s confession, the kiss, the way he pulled away as if it hurt him to be close to me. My chest tightened at the memory, but I pushed it aside, focusing instead on the faint tracks the vacuum left in the carpet.

Moving to the kitchen, I wiped down the counters, organizing the clutter that had accumulated over the past few days. I stacked mugs neatly, arranged the fruit bowl, and even scrubbed the sink until it shone. It was a small victory, but it made me feel a little more in control.

By the time I reached the hallway, I was lost in the rhythm of it—vacuuming, dusting, straightening up. The physical act of cleaning gave me a sense of purpose, a distraction from the thoughts I didn’t want to dwell on.

When I finally turned off the vacuum and surveyed the house, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. It felt calmer, more settled.

I put the vacuum away and leaned against the wall, catching my breath. The house was quiet again, but this time, it didn’t feel suffocating. Instead, it felt… peaceful. For now, that was enough.

My phone buzzed somewhere in the house, the faint vibration cutting through the quiet. I glanced around, trying to remember where I’d left it. After a brief search, I found it on the kitchen counter, right where I’d set it down.

Samantha’s name lit up the screen, her picture smiling back at me. I hesitated for half a second before answering, sliding my thumb across the screen.

“Hello?” I said, my voice still soft from the quiet morning.

“Finally!” Samantha’s voice burst through the line, full of her usual energy. “I’ve been trying to call you for ages!”

“Sorry,” I said, letting out a small laugh. “I was cleaning. What’s up?”

“What’s up?” she repeated, her tone incredulous. “What’s up is that you’ve been MIA for days! Evelyn said she texted you, and you didn’t respond. Max, too. And don’t even get me started on the group chat.”

I winced, guilt creeping in. “Yeah, sorry about that. Things have been… a lot lately.”

“How’s your parents’ place?”

“Chaotic, loud, and full of food—so, normal,” she said. “But let’s not pretend this call is about me. How’s Pep? Or should I say Lou?”

At the mention of his name, my stomach clenched involuntarily. “He’s fine,” I said carefully. “He went out earlier this morning.”

“Oh, so he’s leaving you all alone now, huh?” Samantha teased, her tone light but with just enough weight to needle me.

“Sam, can we not do this right now?” I said, groaning.

“Okay, okay!” she said quickly, though I could hear the grin in her voice. “No need to bite my head off. But seriously, are you okay? You sound... I don’t know. Tired?”

“I’m fine,” I said, brushing it off, even though I wasn’t sure how true the words were.

“Hmm,” she replied, clearly unconvinced. “Well, if you say so. Anyway, I have some gossip for you—it’s juicy.”

Leaning against the counter, I let her words wash over me. Samantha’s voice rose and fell, animated as she launched into her story, but I barely registered the words. My mind felt like it was somewhere else—or maybe nowhere at all. The numbness was overwhelming, a dull ache that made everything seem so distant.

“Hey, are you even listening?” Samantha said sharply after a moment, pulling me back.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled quickly.

“Hmm, if you say so,” she replied skeptically. “Well, I have to go. Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll call you on Christmas. Love you!”

“Love you too,” I said, ending the call as she hung up.

I stood there, the phone still in my hand, staring at nothing in particular. The silence of the house crept back in around me, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to do next.

I glanced at the clock on the wall—14:11. The day felt endless, stretching ahead of me like a blank canvas I wasn’t sure how to fill.

What to do now?

The thought drifted aimlessly in my mind before something clicked. Library. That’s a thing I could do.

The idea was comforting in its simplicity. A quiet place, rows of books, and the chance to get lost in something that wasn’t my own head. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

I changed into warmer clothes, grabbed my current read from the bedside table, and tried to ignore the boots from last night still sprawled across the floor. With a sigh, I headed out, locking the door behind me.

The air outside was crisp, the kind of cold that bites at your skin but leaves you feeling alive. A fresh layer of snow had fallen overnight, transforming everything into a picture-perfect winter wonderland. I couldn’t help but take a deep breath, letting the clean, chilly air fill my lungs. I pulled out my headphones, letting the music block out the world as I walked, the sound of soft indie tunes accompanying me all the way to the campus library.

When I entered, the peaceful quietness of the place hit me. It was practically empty—just the librarian at the desk, her head bent over something she was reading, and a few students scattered around, their faces buried in books. The silence was comforting, like a soft blanket that wrapped around me.

I made my way to my usual spot by the large window, the one with a view of the snow-covered campus grounds. Settling into the worn armchair, I opened my book, its familiar weight in my hands offering a sense of stability. The words on the page started to blur together as I got lost in the story, but in the back of my mind, there was a quiet hum of thoughts. 

I slowly blinked my eyes open, the words on the pages of my book fading into the background as I tried to gather my bearings. The soft, warm light from the library’s lamps had dimmed, and the air felt cooler now.

“Hello, sweetheart,” a soft voice said, and I looked up to see the librarian standing beside me. She gave me a gentle, pitying smile. “I’m sorry, but we’re closing soon.”

I blinked a few times, still trying to shake off the sleepiness that clung to me. “Oh,” I mumbled, sitting up straighter, realizing I had dozed off without even noticing the time slipping away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stay so long.”

She shook her head kindly. “No need to apologize. Just make sure to take your things with you,” she added, her voice warm but carrying the underlying tone of finality.

I nodded quickly, gathering my book, the embarrassment of falling asleep at the library settling in. “I’ll go now,” I said, standing up and stretching my arms over my head, feeling the stiff muscles protest.

As I walked toward the door, I glanced around one last time, the library now quiet, with only a few remaining students packing up. The peacefulness of the space still lingered, but it was time to leave. I stepped out into the cold night air, the transition from the cozy warmth of the library to the sharpness of winter hitting me all at once.

With a sigh, I pulled my phone out of my pocket only to find it completely dead, the screen blank and unresponsive. No music to accompany my walk back, which felt more isolating than I expected. I stuffed the phone back into my pocket, resigning myself to the quiet.

Instead of taking the usual shortcut, I decided to extend my walk. The longer route felt somehow right, giving me a chance to savor the solitude and let my mind wander without distraction. The cold air bit at my cheeks, and each breath formed a mist in the air, adding to the sense of stillness around me.

I didn’t want to go back. Not yet. I wasn’t ready to face whatever was waiting for me at home. Thoughts about Lou—the kiss, his sudden mood shift, the confusion I was still trying to untangle—kept popping into my mind like an endless loop. It was like my body was instinctively avoiding the house, putting off what I’d have to confront.

The snow crunched beneath my boots as I walked, my head down, my thoughts drifting between the past few days and the uncertainty of what was to come. The longer I walked, the more I felt like I was drifting in a haze. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for or even why I kept walking—maybe just an escape from everything that felt heavy.

Eventually, the familiar buildings of the neighborhood appeared on the horizon, bringing me back to the present. Reluctantly, I turned toward the house, knowing I couldn’t avoid it forever.

I opened the door as quietly as possible, the creak of the hinges sounding louder than I wanted. It had to be around 20:40, and I hoped to God that he wasn’t back yet. Stepping inside, I closed the door gently behind me, my eyes scanning the entryway for any sign of him. I checked the shoe rack near the door and exhaled in relief when I didn’t see his boots or sneakers. No sign of him meant I had a few more moments of peace.

I stood there for a second, letting the silence wash over me, almost as if the quiet could shield me from the tension I was dreading to face. The house felt too still, too empty, yet it also felt oddly comforting. I tried to shake off the uneasy feeling in my stomach, the nagging worry that the moment I saw him again, everything would feel just as complicated as it had the night before.

Taking a deep breath, I headed for the common room, quietly slipping my coat off and hanging it up, trying not to make any noise.

But then I heard it—the faint sound of footsteps upstairs, followed by heavier, rushed footsteps coming down the stairs. Before I could process it, I heard my name being called, sharp and full of urgency.

"Hey!" he shouted, turning the corner into the common room. For a second, there was silence between us, and I saw it—his face, tense with worry, his brows furrowed in a way I hadn’t seen before. It felt like he’d just discovered something terrible, like he had been holding his breath waiting for me to show up.

His words came out so fast, and so full of frustration, they hit me like a punch in the chest. "Where the fuck have you been?" His voice was aggressive, his usual calmness replaced with something darker, something I wasn’t ready for.

I froze, the air between us suddenly thick with tension. The shift was jarring, and I couldn’t help but feel the weight of his anger pressing down on me. The rush of emotions came at me all at once, and I couldn’t find my voice.

"I've been calling you for hours! Hours! Do you hear me?!" he shouted, his voice rising, his arms flailing in frustration as he emphasized each word. The volume of his voice sent a jolt through me, making my heart race.

It was like everything suddenly became amplified—the anger, the concern, the confusion. His eyes were wild, and I could feel the heat of his frustration spilling over, but there was something else beneath it too, something deeper that I couldn't quite place.

I stood frozen in place, unsure how to respond, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He was angry, yes, but it also felt like there was a mix of fear there too, and I couldn't figure out why. Why was he so worked up? Why did it matter so much to him where I had been?

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice quiet as I looked at him, confusion doubling in my mind. I couldn’t understand why he was reacting this way. His anger, his worry—it didn’t make sense.

His chest rose and fell with each breath, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He seemed to be trying to control himself, but it wasn’t working. He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving mine.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his tone softer now, though there was still an edge to it. "I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I was worried, and you—" He paused, running a hand through his hair in frustration, before turning away and pacing a few steps.

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to steady my own breathing, though my confusion was starting to twist into something else—something like unease. “I just went out. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.”

He turned to face me again, his eyes narrowing. “It’s a big deal because you weren’t answering. I—” He stopped himself, his voice faltering for a moment. It was like he was struggling to find the right words.

I stood there, feeling more lost than ever, the gap between us widening with every passing second.

My anger flared up, and before I could stop myself, the words were out. “You were the one who left,” I snapped, the frustration pouring out of me.

He flinched at the tone in my voice, his jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought he might say something, but instead, he just stared at me. The silence between us stretched, thick and heavy, and I could see the conflict in his eyes—he wasn’t sure if he should get defensive or apologize.

“You think I wanted to leave?” His voice was quieter now, but there was still a sharpness there. “You think I wanted to walk out on you? I just—” He stopped, his words trailing off, as if the explanation he wanted to give wasn’t coming out right.

I crossed my arms, my anger not quite dissipating, but the hurt starting to creep in. “You can’t just act like nothing happened. You can’t leave and then expect everything to be fine. I’ve been dealing with this all day, and then you just—”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, his voice low but sincere. “I didn’t mean to make things worse. I... I didn’t know how to handle what happened, and I messed up. I shouldn’t have walked away.”

His apology hit me in a way I didn’t expect. It didn’t erase the anger or the confusion, but it made me realize that maybe, just maybe, he was more affected by everything than I thought.

His apology wasn’t enough. It barely made a dent in the frustration that had built up inside me. I shook my head, still in disbelief at how everything had unfolded.

“You put us in this situation,” I said, my voice rising with the anger I couldn’t contain. I pointed at him accusingly, like it would somehow make him understand. “I wanted to talk to you, to figure this out. But you keep pushing me away! You can’t just say sorry and expect everything to be fine. It’s not that simple!”

The words stung as they left my mouth, but they were the truth. The way he’d distanced himself—how he’d pulled back just when I needed him to be there—hurt more than I was willing to admit. I took a step back, trying to calm myself down.

“I can’t keep doing this. I need you to either talk to me or let me go, because this... this doesn’t feel like anything I want.”

I could see the conflict in his eyes again, like he was torn between wanting to fix it and not knowing how.

“I haven’t seen you in years,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “And I hadn’t realized how much of my feelings were still there...”

His words hung in the air between us, thick with emotion. I stared at him, trying to understand, trying to find some clarity in the mess of everything that had just happened. My heart beat erratically, torn between the anger I felt and the softness that his confession sparked.

“So all of this... everything that’s been happening, is it because of your feelings?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly. “You’re pushing me away because of what? Because you’re afraid? Or because you think it’s too late?”

He looked at me then, his eyes searching mine like he was looking for something, anything that might give him an answer. His jaw clenched, and I could see how badly he wanted to explain himself but couldn’t quite find the right words.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know what to do with all of this. It was easier to pull back than face it.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, pacing a few steps. “So, you just... bottled everything up, pushed me away, and expected it to be fine? You’re not the only one who’s confused here, Luigi.”

He winced at the mention of his name, as if hearing it from me made everything more real.

“I don’t know...” he started, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to handle you. Every time I’m near you, I can’t think straight, and after seeing you that night months ago, I was losing my mind.”

His words hung in the air, the weight of them pressing down on me. My heart pounded in my chest, but I couldn't quite make sense of what he was saying. Was this some sort of confession? Or an explanation? Or maybe even an excuse?

“I don’t know what you want from me, Lou,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but it wavered despite my best efforts. “You push me away, and then you come back, and I’m left to pick up the pieces.”

He stepped closer, his face filled with a mixture of frustration and something else—something softer that I couldn’t quite place.

“I want... I want to figure this out with you,” he said quietly, his eyes locking onto mine. “But every time I try to make sense of it, I end up messing it up. I don’t know what to do with all these feelings..”

I took a shaky breath, trying to wrap my head around everything. “You can’t just keep running away, Lou. You can’t push me away because you're afraid of what you feel.”

“I know, I know,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “But I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

The shrill sound of a phone ringing cut through the tension between us. Lou froze, his expression tight as he fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his phone. He glanced at the screen, and I could see the frustration in his face before he swore under his breath.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” he muttered, his gaze flickering toward me for a brief moment. Without waiting for a response, he backed out of the room, heading toward the kitchen.

I let out a sharp scoff, my anger bubbling back up again. I sank down onto the couch, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. The nerve of him. After everything, after all the words we just exchanged, he could walk away to take a phone call? It felt like the final straw, and I could feel my patience wearing thin.

I sat there in the silence, the weight of the unresolved tension settling back in. What was I even supposed to do with all of this?

I moved quietly, inching closer to the open doorway. His voice carried through the space, a little muffled, but I could still hear the anger in his tone.

“What do you want me to do?” he snapped, the frustration clear in his voice. “Jesus, just stop.”

I paused for a second, standing there in the threshold, my curiosity pulling me in despite myself. Was this about me? I couldn’t make sense of it, but the unease in my stomach only grew stronger the longer I listened.

I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but the tension between us was too much for me to ignore. Everything felt so chaotic, so unresolved. What the hell was going on?

A few moments passed, and I could hear the faint sound of his voice growing quieter before he hung up the phone with a sharp click. He exhaled deeply, almost like he was trying to shake something off. Without looking at me, he placed the phone on the counter, the soft thud of it landing echoing in the stillness of the room.

"I know you're standing there," he said, his voice low, though not unkind. The words hung in the air, and for a split second, I wondered if I had interrupted something important.

I took a hesitant step forward, my heart racing a little as I walked into the kitchen. A wave of embarrassment washed over me, a feeling of having intruded on a private moment. I shifted awkwardly, my eyes glancing down at the floor for a second before I looked back up at him, trying to gauge his mood. He stood there, his posture stiff, his face unreadable—a far cry from the warmth I was used to.

"Who was that?" I asked, my voice softer than usual, almost tentative. I didn't want to pry, but I couldn't help myself. Something felt off.

"My mom," he replied simply, his eyes meeting mine. His face was stoic, a mask of controlled calm, though I could see a flicker of something underneath—something I couldn’t quite identify. It made me uneasy, like he was shutting something away.

“Oh,” I said quietly, inching a little closer. The word felt empty in my mouth, a simple sound that didn’t quite capture the swirl of emotions rising within me. I wasn’t sure what I expected—maybe an explanation, maybe an apology, maybe just something that would make the tension in the room feel less suffocating.

He didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on me. I wanted to say more, to ask more, but the words felt stuck in my throat. The silence stretched on between us, and I could feel my heart beating louder in my chest.

I took another cautious step forward, as if moving too quickly would make him retreat further into himself. The space between us was just enough to keep me wondering whether I should back off or press in closer. The way he held himself, distant yet so close, made it hard to tell what he was really feeling.

"Is everything okay?" I finally managed, my voice softer now, barely a whisper, but laced with a quiet concern I couldn’t hide.

He looked at me, his expression unreadable for a moment, before his lips parted, like he was about to say something... but then nothing came. Instead, he took a slow breath and dropped his gaze, staring down at the counter.

"Don't worry about it," he said, his voice low, almost tired. His eyes closed for a moment, like he was trying to shut out whatever was clouding his thoughts. "It's nothing."

I stood there, frozen, the words hanging in the air between us like a fog. It felt like he was brushing it off, trying to downplay whatever had just happened. But I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders were rigid, the faint tremble in his hand as he rested it on the counter.

I took a step forward, hesitant but driven by something I couldn’t quite name. I wanted to press him for more, to break through whatever wall he’d built around himself. But something told me that pushing too hard would only make him retreat further.

"Lou..." I said softly, using the nickname I knew him by, hoping it would break through his barrier. "You can’t just pretend it’s nothing. You don’t have to shut me out."

His eyes flickered up to meet mine, and for a brief second, it felt like he was on the verge of saying something—something real. But instead, he just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if it would help relieve the weight of the words he couldn’t quite form.

"I’m sorry," he muttered under his breath. “I’m just... dealing with stuff. It's complicated.”

The words were meant to be an explanation, but they left me feeling more confused than before. What was he really hiding? And why couldn’t he let me in?

I opened my mouth to say something, but the sound of his voice stopped me before I could speak.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, turning away to face the kitchen counter. “I don’t want to drag you into this.”

My hand hovered just inches from his back, trembling slightly as if unsure of what it wanted to do. I knew that the moment I touched him, things could either go wrong or... or nothing at all. But in my heart, I knew he needed me. I could feel it in the air between us, the way the tension thickened with every unspoken word.

I inhaled deeply, my breath shaky as I made the decision. Slowly, I placed my hand on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. The moment I touched him, I felt him tense, his muscles rigid under my palm. He looked down, brow furrowed as if unsure of what was happening.

But I didn’t pull back. I couldn’t.

I gently turned him to face me, keeping my hand steady on his shoulder. His eyes met mine, guarded, but I could see something in them that made my heart ache. He wasn’t okay. And that was enough for me to move closer.

Without thinking, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a hug. His body was stiff at first, like he didn’t know how to respond, but then he softened, ever so slightly. The tension melted off him as he let out a slow breath, his hands hovering at his sides before they finally settled on my back.

It was quiet for a long moment, the only sound was our breathing and the distant hum of the world outside. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t want to let go.

"I'm sorry," I finally spoke, my voice quiet but filled with the weight of everything I couldn’t say. I felt his arms tighten around me a little, like he was trying to hold onto me, trying to pull me closer. But it didn’t feel like anger or frustration—it felt like something else. Something softer.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, the words tumbling out more desperately this time, as if I could somehow make things right just by saying them. But even as the apology left my lips, I knew it wasn’t enough. I didn’t know how to fix everything between us, or if I even could. But for now, holding him felt like the only thing I could do.

The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I could feel his heartbeat against my chest, matching my own. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

We slowly pulled away from each other, the warmth of the hug lingering even as we stepped back. After a long moment, we both moved, leaning against the counters, our bodies stiff and uncertain.

His face was solemn, as if it had been carved from stone, and his eyes—those eyes—were unreadable, like a storm cloud that hadn’t yet decided whether to burst or pass by. The usual spark I’d seen in him, the one that made his eyes light up when he smiled, was gone, replaced with something heavy. I couldn’t tell if it was guilt, frustration, or just confusion.

My own thoughts were a jumble. I wanted to say something, anything to bridge the silence between us, but nothing felt right. It was like I was waiting for him to speak first, to offer some kind of explanation that would make sense of the mess we were tangled in. But he didn’t. He just stared at me, his gaze intense yet distant, like he was trying to figure out how we got here, and maybe even what to do next.

I shifted uneasily, wanting to break the tension, but not knowing how.

Finally, he broke the quiet, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. I’ve been… all over the place.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I wasn’t sure I even had the right words. Instead, I simply nodded, the weight of the situation still hanging between us like an invisible thread.

“I missed you,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “I don’t want this to end.” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.

The moment they left my mouth, I felt a weight settle in my chest. I missed him. I missed everything about us, even when things were messy, even when they had been complicated. I didn’t want to lose whatever this was between us—not just the friendship, not just the quiet moments of vulnerability we had shared, but the connection I couldn’t quite put into words. It was more than friendship, more than just feelings, but I couldn’t make sense of it all.

His eyes softened, just slightly, but the warmth I was hoping for never quite appeared. He leaned against the counter, his fingers tracing the edge absentmindedly, as if he wasn’t sure how to respond, or maybe he didn’t know how to deal with what was hanging in the air. I could feel his tension even from across the room. The silence between us stretched, thick and uncertain, and I wondered if I had just said too much—if I had crossed a line I wasn’t supposed to.

“Do you remember the dance at the end of fifth year?” I asked, glancing up at him, my voice a little tentative.

He paused for a moment, his expression flickering with confusion before he gave a slow nod. "Yeah, I remember it."

I shifted nervously, my fingers tapping against the edge of the counter. "I spent so long getting ready that day, picking out the perfect dress, fixing my hair just right..." I bit my lip, feeling a wave of vulnerability rush over me. “... and I wanted everything to be perfect, because I—" My voice faltered a bit, the words escaping before I could fully control them. "Because I wanted to impress you."

There was a long pause, and I could feel the weight of the admission settle between us. My heart raced, an old, familiar feeling creeping back. I hadn’t planned to say that. Not like this, not after everything that had happened. But somehow, in that moment, it just felt important—important to say it out loud, to acknowledge it. To admit that back then, I had wanted him to see me, to notice me, in a way that was more than just a friend.

He stood still, his eyes on me, searching my face as if looking for something he hadn’t expected. I could see the flicker of realization in his gaze. Slowly, he shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I had no idea," he said quietly, almost as if he were speaking to himself more than to me.

“I—I never told you,” I admitted, my voice soft, almost embarrassed by the vulnerability of it all. "I guess I never had the courage to."

There was a slight shift in the air, like the walls between us were starting to crumble, piece by piece. He took a step closer, the expression on his face now mixed with something else—understanding, maybe, or something deeper that I wasn’t sure how to define. “I didn’t know,” he repeated, his voice low, but this time, it wasn’t a statement of surprise. It was an acknowledgment, a quiet acceptance of the feelings I’d never spoken aloud before.

We stood there for a moment longer, and I felt the years of silence between us stretch thin, like an old thread about to break. My pulse quickened, but instead of retreating, I felt myself leaning forward, into the uncertainty, into whatever it was that had been left unsaid for far too long.

“I guess... I guess I’ve always wanted you to see me,” I whispered, barely able to breathe the words.

“And when your mom wanted us to take those stupid pictures, she gave me one,” I continued, my voice soft but steady. “One to keep, she had said. And I did keep it. I kept it for years.”

I looked up at him, meeting his gaze as he stepped closer, his presence suddenly feeling more intense. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way he looked at me—something that made my heart skip. It felt as though the past was catching up to us in that one small, shared memory.

“What are you saying?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching mine as he looked down at me, our faces so close now I could feel the heat radiating off him.

I took a shallow breath, my chest tightening, my heart pounding in my ears. “Just that…” I paused, gathering my thoughts, though they were a blur in my head. “Your feelings are reciprocated.” I said it quickly, the words coming out almost breathless, as if the weight of them had been sitting on my chest for too long.

The air between us crackled with tension, a mix of teasing and unspoken feelings. I felt my breath catch as his lips hovered so close to mine, but instead of giving in to what I desperately wanted, he pulled away just enough to let his mischievous smirk play across his face. I was caught in the moment, unsure whether I should pull back or lean in.

Before I could make up my mind, his lips brushed against my left cheek, then my right, each kiss light but lingering, sending shivers down my spine. And then he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, his breath warm against my skin. The teasing was maddening, and all I could do was stand there, helpless and entranced, my heart racing in my chest.

His hands settled gently on my hips, his touch almost casual, but I could feel the heat of it seeping through the fabric of my clothes. He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at me, his eyes full of quiet amusement. I wanted to speak, to say something clever or even flustered, but my mind was a whirl of confusion and desire. The connection between us was undeniable now, and yet the uncertainty lingered, leaving me unsure of what was next.

“Kiss me,” I breathed out, my voice barely a whisper but heavy with want. His gaze softened at my words, the playful glint from earlier fading into something deeper, more serious. I could feel his hesitation, the internal tug-of-war between longing and restraint. The space between us seemed to grow charged, thick with the weight of everything unspoken, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch.

I held my breath, unsure if he would pull away again or finally close the distance.

Then, with a slow, purposeful movement, he bridged the gap between us. His lips brushed against mine, not hurried, but deliberate, like he had been waiting for this moment too. His hands found their way to me, one resting lightly on my waist, the other gently cupping my face as he deepened the kiss. I melted into him instinctively, as if our bodies knew what to do even when my mind couldn’t keep up. The world around us blurred, fading into insignificance. All that mattered was the heat of his touch and the depth of the kiss.

His head tilted to the side and his mouth devoured me, drugging me, dragging me down. His lips were quick and clever and his tongue was gifted. I sighed into his mouth, and his hips rolled forward, pinning me to the counter. 

The kiss deepened, the intensity of it taking over both of us as if we had been waiting for this moment all along. His hands slid from my face to the small of my back, pulling me closer, the heat between us undeniable. I could feel the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the way his body pressed against mine, sending waves of electricity through my own. My hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands, desperate to pull him even closer.

The world outside of us ceased to exist. There were no more words, no more hesitation—just the raw connection between us, everything we’d been too scared to say now woven into the simple, yet profound act of touching. The kiss spoke more than words ever could, and in that moment, I felt like I could finally breathe again.

It was overwhelming, intoxicating, and for once, I didn’t want to pull away.

All the emotions that had been building between us—confusion, longing, fear—crashed around us in that moment. It felt as though everything else faded away, leaving only the intensity of what we shared. There was no room for doubt or hesitation anymore, just the overwhelming pull between us. 

His hands were on me, guiding me effortlessly as he hoisted me up onto the counter, not breaking the kiss for a second. The movement was fluid, almost desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough of me. My heart raced, each beat syncing with the urgency of his touch. The counter was cold under me, but his warmth surrounded me, creating a contrast that made every inch of me feel alive. The kiss deepened, full of a fiery intensity that matched the storm of emotions crashing inside me, sweeping everything else aside. His mouth nipped at me, and his tongue pulled quiet moans from my throat. 

He stepped closer, positioning himself between my thighs. I instinctively wrapped my legs around him, pulling him in, as if wanting to close the distance between us completely. His hands roaming places no one has really touched, leaving a trail of goosebumps all over my body. 

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice low, a mix of uncertainty and tenderness in his gaze.

“Yes”, I moaned, while tugging at his shirt, almost grabbing a handful when his lips moved to my neck. Kissing, biting and sucking, leaving me breathless and dazed. 

His mouth found the sensitive spot on my neck, and I bit back a moan as he continued kissing it. My fingers found his hair and lightly tugged as he nipped at my skin. This feeling of his body against me, your lips interlocked, it all just felt right. My hands continued and roamed over his broad shoulder and down to his back as Lou continued his assault on my neck. I could feel the heat building inside me, my body responding to his touch despite any efforts of resisting. 

“God,” he breathes, his lips tracing my jawline again, his hands gripping my waist. I whine, feeling useless. He's doing all the work, touching me in all the right places. 

"We should stop," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, though his lips continue their slow descent.

"I know," I reply, my words soft but unconvincing, betraying the way my legs tighten around him, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

He pulls away slightly, his breath uneven as his forehead rests against mine. “We should really stop,” he says, his tone firmer this time, though the small, teasing smile tugging at his lips betrays his resolve. His eyes search mine, as if he’s waiting for me to agree, to pull us both back from the edge.

I shake my head lightly, a playful smile tugging at my lips as I whisper, “No.”

He lets out a soft laugh, the sound warm and disarming, his breath still uneven as his hands rest firmly on my hips. “I want our first time to be better than this,” he says, his voice low and filled with meaning, a mixture of restraint and tenderness shining in his eyes.

His words hang in the air, grounding us in the moment, and despite the intensity between us, there’s a promise in them—a promise of something deeper, something worth waiting for.

I looked up at him, the warmth in his eyes pulling me closer. Slowly, I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. His breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Encouraged, I let my lips trail lower, grazing the sharp line of his jaw before finding the curve of his neck.

"Luigi," his name left my lips in a soft sigh, almost unintentional.

I saw the effect immediately. His body tensed, his shoulders stiffening as though bracing for something, and his hands, which had been resting on my thighs, curled into loose fists. He didn’t look at me at first, keeping his gaze fixed somewhere ahead, his jaw tightening.

“Don’t do that,” he said finally, his voice quiet but laced with something raw.

“Do what?” I asked, even though I thought I already knew.

Each kiss was deliberate, my touch mirroring the path he’d taken with me earlier. His hands tightened on my hips, his body stiffening slightly, as if he was caught between holding back and giving in. The faint scent of him—clean, warm, and familiar—filled my senses, making it nearly impossible to stop.

For a moment, I paused, lips brushing the hollow of his neck as I whispered softly, “Don’t do this?” testing, teasing.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, his lashes resting softly against his skin as if he was weighing the moment. When they opened again, there was no hesitation left. He moved swiftly, closing the distance between us, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that was deeper, more intense than before.

It wasn’t hurried, but there was a rawness to it, a need that neither of us could deny anymore. His hands slid up, one finding the small of my back, pulling me closer as though the space between us was unbearable. My fingers threaded through his hair instinctively, holding him there, as if afraid he might stop.

He broke away, his forehead resting against mine for a fleeting moment before he whispered, “Don’t tempt me.” His voice was low, rough, as though he was wrestling with himself. He pressed one final, lingering kiss to my lips, filled with a bittersweet finality, before stepping back. The sudden absence of his warmth felt like a void, and I could only sit there, stunned, my hands slipping from his hair.

I stared at him, caught between disbelief and longing. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his lips kiss-bruised and slightly parted, and his hair was a mess from my fingers. He looked so achingly beautiful in that moment, like he’d just stepped out of a dream—my dream.

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his gaze flickering to mine. “I mean it,” he said, his voice softer now, the trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re dangerous.”

I didn’t reply, couldn’t find the words even if I wanted to. I simply watched him, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on my chest, leaving me breathless and wanting all over again.

“Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could second-guess them. My voice was soft, almost hesitant, but there was no mistaking the sincerity behind the question. It wasn’t about anything physical; it wasn’t about crossing lines. I just needed him close to me, needed the comfort of his presence to quiet the storm in my mind.

“What?” he asked, looking at me in disbelief, his eyebrows lifting as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right. Then, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, he let out a low chuckle, the sound warm.

“I just told you I didn’t want it to happen like that,” he said, his smile growing, soft but teasing, his tone filled with a mix of amusement and exasperation. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly as if trying to process my question.

“I know,” I replied, my cheeks flushing. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” I trailed off, struggling to find the words.

 “I just... I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his eyes searching mine, as if trying to gauge how much I meant it. His gaze flickered between my eyes and my lips, hesitation flickering in the depths of his dark gaze.

“I don’t know if I can,” he said simply, his voice steady but warm, the vulnerability hanging in the air between us.

He shifted in front of me, and that’s when my eyes inadvertently traveled over him—his posture, the tension in his shoulders, the subtle shift in his expression. Then I saw it. 

Oh.

A heavy silence settled between us, and my stomach tightened, the realization washing over me like a cold wave. My face flushed, turning redder with each passing second. I hadn’t meant for that to happen, but was it really my fault..?

“Oh,” I breathed, the words catching in my throat. Oh.

“God, I’m sorry. I didn’t think… I didn’t think of that,” I stuttered, my voice faltering as I stumbled over my words. My hands fumbled awkwardly at my sides as if I could somehow make myself disappear into the floor. The heat in my cheeks burned, and I was sure I looked like a complete fool.

“I didn’t mean to make it uncomfortable,” I added quickly, looking down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. It was hard enough to even breathe at this point.

He laughed lightly, the sound easing the tension between us. “It’s fine,” he reassured me, his voice soft. He gave me a quick, understanding glance before turning away slightly, as if to ease the awkwardness.

“Just let me take a shower, and we’ll grab some late dinner,” he said casually, the words leaving his lips with a natural ease that made everything feel lighter.

I watched as he walked toward the hallway, his steps steady and purposeful. As he moved past me, I couldn’t help but feel a little relieved, though the flush on my cheeks hadn’t completely faded.

I stayed sitting on the counter for a moment longer, my mind still swirling with everything that had just happened. There was a strange mix of emotions lingering in the air—embarrassment, but also a sense of connection that had only deepened over the course of the night.

I could hear the faint sound of the shower turning on, the water rushing, and for a few moments, I allowed myself to breathe, trying to collect my thoughts. 

Chapter Text

We tried to ignore what had happened. We really did. But every time we were in the same room, there was this undeniable pull between us. I couldn’t keep my hands off him, always finding some excuse to touch him—whether it was a light brush of my fingers against his arm or a casual bump as we passed by. It was driving me crazy. The tension was thick in the air, almost tangible. Every time our eyes met, there was this flicker of something unspoken, something we were both trying so hard to avoid but couldn’t.

He had said Christmas was his day. He would plan everything—the food, the drinks, all of it. All I had to do was dress nicely. But even that seemed to carry weight. The thought of dressing up for him, of being around him, knowing how easily everything could shift between us... It felt like I was walking a tightrope. I kept my distance, tried to focus on other things, but I couldn’t deny the pull when he was near.

I’d catch him looking at me, the way his gaze would linger for just a moment too long. Sometimes, I’d find myself doing the same—wondering what would happen if we just stopped pretending. But we didn’t. Not yet.

As Christmas approached, it became harder to ignore. The decorations were up, the holiday lights twinkling in every corner of the house, but the only thing that truly sparkled was the tension between us. I would try to focus on the little details of the season—wrapping gifts, planning for the day ahead—but all I could think about was him.

I woke up on Christmas morning, the soft light of early dawn filtering through the curtains. The house was quiet, peaceful, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to just take it all in—the scent of pine from the tree in the living room, the distant sound of the wind outside, and the warmth of the blankets still clinging to me.

I slowly slipped out of bed, stretching, and made my way downstairs. The sound of my footsteps echoed lightly in the empty hall, the house still sleeping. When I reached the kitchen door, I noticed it was closed, the soft hum of something cooking on the other side. I knocked twice, waiting for any response.

“Lou?” I called, my voice soft yet curious, trying to peer through the crack in the door.

For a moment, there was only silence, and I wondered if he hadn’t heard me. But then I heard the soft sound of movement, followed by his voice, a little muffled through the door.

“I’m here,” he replied. His voice was still a little groggy, but there was a warmth in it that made my chest tighten. “Just give me a second.”

I waited, the faint smell of something delicious starting to reach my nose. He was probably in the middle of making breakfast, like he had promised the night before. The thought of it made me smile. It was small moments like these, quiet and simple, that always seemed to mean the most.

After a few seconds, the door opened slightly, revealing him standing there, an apron tied around his waist and a teasing smile on his lips.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, his eyes warm, like he had been waiting for me. “I was starting to think you might sleep in today.”

I smiled back, taking in the sight of him, looking completely at ease, yet somehow, there was still a hint of something unspoken lingering between us. Something that hadn’t been there before. The way he looked at me now, the way I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face, it was different—more intense, as if the space between us had shifted without either of us realizing.

“Merry Christmas,” I echoed, my voice a little quieter than usual, and my heart gave a soft thud as I stepped into the kitchen.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of morning light, and I felt the warmth of the oven radiating on my skin. The counter was lined with all the fixings for a Christmas breakfast—freshly baked cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, and crispy bacon. Lou moved to one side, making room for me as I leaned against the counter, the usual comfort of his presence filling the space.

"How long have you been awake?" I asked, my eyes widening in awe at all the food laid out in front of me.

He turned to me, a sly grin playing at the corners of his lips as he flipped a pancake in the pan. "Long enough to make sure everything was just right," he said with a hint of pride in his voice. "I wasn’t going to let Christmas morning pass without making a proper breakfast."

I chuckled softly, glancing at the spread. Cinnamon rolls sat in a neat row, the warm, sticky glaze on top catching the light. Crispy bacon sizzled in a skillet, the smell making my stomach growl. Scrambled eggs, light and fluffy, sat in a bowl next to the fresh fruit salad. It was all so perfect, and yet it was somehow... him.

"You really went all out," I said, moving closer to the counter, reaching for a piece of bacon. "I didn’t think you had it in you."

He laughed, the sound rich and full. "I don’t make a big deal out of holidays usually, but today felt different. Wanted to make it special." He paused, his gaze flickering to me for a moment, softer than it had been before. "For both of us."

A warmth spread through me, and for a split second, I was caught off guard. It was just breakfast, but the way he said it—so casually, yet with so much meaning—made everything feel a little heavier.

I brushed it off, trying to keep things light. "Well, if you keep this up, I might just get spoiled by you."

He raised an eyebrow, his playful grin returning. "Maybe that’s the plan." He reached over and slid a plate of eggs toward me, then poured me a cup of coffee. "Go ahead. Dig in."

I took the plate and sat down at the island, my eyes not quite meeting his, still feeling the weight of the morning between us. We’d said so much without actually saying anything at all. Everything had shifted since that night—between the two of us, in a way I wasn’t entirely sure how to handle.

But for now, I didn’t want to overthink it. I reached for a fork and took a bite of the eggs, the flavors mixing together in perfect harmony.

"Alright, you win," I said, looking up at him and finally meeting his gaze. "This is the best breakfast I’ve ever had."

He smiled, his eyes softening. "Glad you like it."

We sat in comfortable silence, the kind that was easy to settle into after a meal, as I slowly ate and Lou sipped his coffee. I found myself stealing glances at him, admiring the way the morning light softened the sharp angles of his face, the way his eyes seemed to carry a quiet depth. But when his gaze unexpectedly met mine, I felt my cheeks flush, a wave of embarrassment rushing over me.

"So... what do you have planned for today, Santa?" I teased, trying to deflect the awkwardness and shift the focus elsewhere. I didn’t want him to catch me staring at him, but I couldn’t quite help it.

Lou smirked, the knowing glint in his eyes making me feel like he’d caught onto my lingering gaze. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the silence stretch, his lips curling into that teasing smile of his. It made me wonder if he was enjoying this slight shift in the dynamic as much as I was, or if maybe he was just too aware of how much I was trying to hide behind humor.

"Well," he said, his voice smooth and calm, but with a hint of playful mischief, "First things first, I was thinking we could spend the day exactly how we want—no pressure, no rushing. Just enjoying the day. Maybe go for a little walk in the snow, soak up the Christmas vibes, you know? And then later... well, we'll see what happens." He winked, his playful grin widening, clearly enjoying the way he could still leave me guessing.

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by his answer. It was nothing extravagant, just a quiet day together. It made my chest warm, realizing that the day ahead was simple, yet full of possibility. I wanted that. I wanted to just exist in this moment with him, without the usual rush of responsibilities or expectations.

I gave him a playful nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. "Sounds perfect." Then I leaned in slightly, smirking in return. "But I’m still waiting on my Christmas surprise, you know."

Lou chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, the sound of his laughter soft but genuine. "Patience," he teased, then reached over, lightly tapping the tip of my nose with his finger. "You’ll get your surprise when the time is right."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help but smile, knowing that no matter what the surprise was, the best part of today would be just this—the two of us, together, with nowhere else to be.

We moved easily around each other as we cleaned up, the rhythm of washing dishes and putting leftovers away becoming its own quiet dance. The clink of plates and the sound of running water filled the space, but the conversation flowed just as naturally. It was the kind of effortless chatter that comes when you're comfortable with someone—talking about small things, the kind of banter that doesn’t require much thought but feels so genuine.

I washed, and Lou dried, his movements smooth and methodical, the quiet humor in his voice always present. Every now and then, he would crack a small joke or make a comment about how we somehow managed to make a mess out of every single utensil in the house, but it didn’t feel like work.

"So, I guess your Christmas surprise is still under wraps, huh?" I asked, trying to sound casual, though a part of me was still curious about what he had planned.

Lou glanced over at me, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he wiped down a plate. "Patience," he repeated, clearly enjoying the little game. "All in good time."

I laughed, rolling my eyes but feeling that familiar warmth in my chest. Even when he was being mysterious, he somehow made everything feel special, like every moment mattered.

Once the kitchen was finally cleaned up and the last of the leftovers were stored away, I leaned against the counter, satisfied with the morning’s quiet work.

"Alright, you want to open presents now?" I asked, my voice light but filled with anticipation.

Lou’s grin widened. "Thought you'd never ask," he said, pushing himself off the counter and heading toward the tree.

The room was still softly lit, and with the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights casting their glow over everything, it felt like the perfect setting to continue our day, one present, one moment at a time.

Lou sat across from me, the flickering of the fireplace on the tv screen added to the serene, intimate moment as we exchanged gifts. He was the first to unwrap his presents, his curiosity almost palpable as he reached for the carefully wrapped package I had chosen for him. I watched, holding my breath, as he carefully peeled back the paper to reveal the simple leather-bound journal. It wasn’t extravagant, but I knew it was something he would truly appreciate.

He turned it over in his hands, his fingers tracing the smooth cover as a smile spread across his face. “I’ve been wanting a new one,” he confessed, his voice soft with appreciation. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

My heart warmed at his words, happy that he liked it. The second gift was a signed book from his favorite author, a rare find I had tracked down for days. I had managed to get a first edition, with a personal inscription inside. When Lou opened it and saw the signature, his eyes widened with genuine surprise. “No way,” he whispered, disbelief in his tone. “You actually found this?”

“Of course I did,” I said with a grin, feeling a little giddy with pride. “You deserve it.”

His smile deepened, and without hesitation, he leaned across the space between us and placed a quick, tender kiss on my forehead. It was simple, but it made my heart flutter in a way I hadn’t expected. I sat back, savoring the moment as I took in the joy in his expression.

After he finished opening his gifts, it was my turn. I reached for the first of the three gifts from my mom—a thick woolen scarf, soft and warm for the cold winter months. I pulled it from the wrapping with a smile, already knowing it would be perfect for the “could be” chilly walks we’d take together. The second was a pair of gloves to match, practical as always. And lastly, there was a heated blanket, one I couldn’t help but laugh at. I never asked for any of these gifts, but they were exactly what I needed, and I appreciated the thoughtfulness behind them.

Lou chuckled when he saw each of the gifts. “Your mom really knows how to keep you warm,” he teased, eyeing the blanket that came last.

“I know, right?” I said, still holding the blanket, laughing softly. “I’ll definitely be cozy with all of this.”

Finally, it was time for the last gift. Lou’s hands were slightly trembling as he handed me a small, velvet box. I was curious, but I waited patiently as I untied the ribbon and carefully opened the lid. Inside was a silver bracelet—delicate, with a tiny snowflake charm suspended from a fine chain. It shimmered under the soft light, and my heart skipped a beat. It was exactly the kind of thing I loved, subtle and meaningful.

“This is beautiful,” I whispered, my fingers gently tracing the snowflake, trying to absorb the thoughtfulness behind it. “You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” he said, his voice soft, barely a whisper. “I thought it was something you’d like.”

I couldn’t hold back my emotions. I reached across the space between us, pulling him into a tight embrace, my arms wrapping around him as I buried my face in his shoulder. We held each other in the quiet moment, not needing to say anything, just feeling the warmth and closeness between us. It was a moment that felt infinite, the world outside fading away.

When I finally pulled back, my eyes met his, and I leaned forward, brushing my lips against his cheek in a soft, lingering kiss. “Thank you,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. “It really means a lot to me.”

He smiled at me, his eyes soft, and brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to go change for our walk,” I said, stepping back, my heart still racing from the intimacy of the moment.

As I turned to leave the room, I paused, glancing back at him one last time. “And… Thank you again for the bracelet. It really is perfect.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, as if I needed him to know just how much that gift meant to me.

Lou smiled, a small but sincere curve of his lips. “I’m glad you like it,” he said quietly, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion I couldn’t quite put into words.

I turned away, heading upstairs to change, but the warmth of the moment lingered. Something had shifted between us this Christmas, something deeper, more tangible. The uncertainty that had once hung between us seemed to melt away, replaced by a sense of comfort, of belonging. As I made my way to the bedroom, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement.

As I was changing, my phone buzzed on the bed beside me, an incoming FaceTime call. I glanced at the screen and saw it was from our house group chat, the one we all used to keep in touch, no matter the distance. I quickly pulled on a shirt and grabbed my phone, practically running downstairs as I made my way toward the common room where Lou was sitting.

“Hey, they’re calling,” I said, walking into the room and finding him lounging on the couch with a mug in his hand. His head lifted at the sound of my voice, and he gave me a small, amused smile as I flopped down beside him, sitting a little closer than usual.

I swiped the answer button and held the phone in front of us, the screen filling up with faces. On the other side, Samantha, Evelyn, Hannah, Max, Zack, Ellie, Anthony, and Mateo all grinned at us, their voices overlapping in the usual energetic chaos of our group.

The group chat erupted as soon as I joined, everyone speaking over each other with excited greetings and laughter. Samantha’s face filled the screen first, beaming at me with her signature warm smile.

“Heeyyy!” I called loudly, trying to catch everyone's attention as they all greeted me at once. It was a chaotic but familiar sound—laughter, chatter, all of them talking at once, their faces lighting up as soon as they saw me.

“Heyyy!” Hannah waved enthusiastically, “Hey there!” Max added, grinning. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, guys!” I responded with a grin, my heart warming at the sight of their faces on the screen. Lou was sitting beside me, watching with a bemused smile as the group continued to chat over one another.

Samantha, always the peacemaker, raised her hand to quiet everyone down, but it didn’t work immediately. “So, how’s everyone doing? How’s your Christmas so far?” she asked, her voice cutting through the noise.

“We’re good,” I replied, trying to answer as best I could while everyone else around me continued talking. “Just a quiet morning. Lou made breakfast, and it was amazing.”

Lou nodded beside me, smirking. “Definitely the best part of the day so far.”

“Isn’t it always?” Zack piped up from somewhere in the background, his voice echoing through his end of the call. “Breakfast is where it’s at. You can’t skip the good food, right?”

“Absolutely,” Ellie chimed in, her face popping up beside Zack’s on the screen, a mug of hot chocolate in hand. “We’re still eating our cinnamon rolls over here. Hannah, tell them about your secret ingredient!”

“Oh, you guys don’t want to know about the cinnamon rolls,” Hannah teased, waving her hand. “It’s a family secret!”

“Come on, spill it!” Max pressed, half-laughing, half-serious.

“You’ll never guess!” Hannah replied, her grin mischievous. “It’s the perfect Christmas mystery!”

“Seriously though,” Anthony jumped in, “I’m just happy I’m not the one cleaning up after all the baking.”

There was a burst of laughter, and everyone began chiming in, talking over one another about their breakfast traditions, what they were wearing, and who had the best holiday decorations. It was pure chaos, but it felt so comforting, like being wrapped in the warmth of old friendships.

Lou glanced at me, amusement in his eyes as he sipped his coffee, clearly enjoying watching the chaos unfold. He nudged me with his elbow playfully, as if reminding me of just how loud our group could be when we all got together.

“Did you tell them about the snowman competition?” Lou teased, looking over at me with a raised brow.

“Snowman competition?” Evelyn’s voice came through, cutting through the noise again. “Wait, what snowman competition?”

Before I could explain, Zack started in, “I’ll bet Pep's is the worst, right? He definitely built a wonky one!”

“Ha!” Lou laughed, shaking his head. “You’re all way off. It was definitely my snowman that looked like a masterpiece. No competition!”

“Wait, I want to see!” Ellie interrupted, clearly trying to reign in the conversation, but of course, everyone kept talking over her.

“Yeah, Lou! Show us your snowman!” Max added, practically pleading.

I could feel Lou’s slight smirk as he half-heartedly grabbed his phone to show them the picture of the snowman he’d built in the backyard. “Fine, fine,” he said, scrolling through his gallery. “But you guys are going to be so jealous.”

The conversation spiraled from there, with everyone begging to see Lou’s snowman, teasing him about it looking like an abstract art project. It was just the typical friendly banter—everyone vying for attention, cutting each other off, and trying to outdo one another in jokes and stories.

Amid all the noise, I looked at Lou, noticing how comfortable he seemed, how easy it was for him to slip into this familiar chaos. I smiled to myself, feeling lucky to be surrounded by these people—even if I was just a quiet observer in the middle of it all.

Finally, after a few minutes of chaos, the group started to quiet down, and Samantha’s voice cut through. “Okay, okay, we’ll save the rest of the chatter for later. We have to let everyone eat and relax a little!”

“Yeah, we’ll do this again later,” Zack added, clearly not wanting to let go of the fun. “But for now, Merry Christmas, you guys.”

“Merry Christmas!” Everyone echoed.

The call ended, and a heavy silence settled between us. I put my phone down in my lap, my fingers drummed lightly on the screen, the usual buzz of excitement from our group fading into the background as the noise from the call quieted.

I shifted slightly in my seat, looking out the window. The world outside had transformed into a winter wonderland, a soft blanket of snow covering everything in sight. The snowflakes drifted lazily down, the soft white flurry blurring the horizon and making everything look calm and still.

“It's snowing,” I said, my voice quieter than I expected as I turned back to Lou, my gaze meeting his.

He was staring out the window now too, his eyes softened as he took in the view. There was something peaceful about the way the snow fell, almost as if time had slowed down for just a moment. He didn’t answer immediately, instead just nodding, his fingers lightly tapping his mug as if he were lost in thought.

“It looks nice,” he said after a while, his voice soft, almost distant.

I nodded, feeling the cool air from the window seep into the room as I curled my legs up beneath me. I couldn’t shake the strange feeling from earlier, the warmth of the moment.

The snow continued to fall, and for a moment, it was like everything else had disappeared. Just me, Lou, and the peaceful quiet of the world outside.

“We should go for a walk, take it all in,” I said after a moment, feeling the urge to move, to break the silence and let the crisp air outside clear my mind.

Lou turned to look at me then, his expression unreadable for a beat before his lips curled into a small smile. my phone rang again, i took it in my hand seeing a facetime call from max. 

My phone rang again, the screen lighting up with a Facetime call from Max. I quickly swiped to answer, smiling as his face appeared on the screen.

"Hey!" I greeted him, my voice warm. "What's up?" I adjusted the camera so that only I was visible, leaning back against the couch and making myself comfortable as I waited for him to speak. Max's face appeared eager, his eyes lighting up when he saw me.

"Just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas," he said with a grin, his tone casual, but I could tell there was something more behind his words.

"That's so nice of you, Max. Merry Christmas!" I replied, my smile wide. I leaned back a little, trying to make the call feel as casual as possible. “How’s your family?” I asked, hoping the question would keep the conversation flowing smoothly.

As I spoke, I noticed Lou beside me, his body subtly tensing. His gaze flicked to the phone screen, his brow furrowing as the realization of who I was talking to hit him. Max, completely unaware of the shift in the room, continued chatting about his Christmas morning with enthusiasm, his voice warm and familiar.

I could feel Lou’s presence beside me, the tension in his posture palpable, though he remained silent. It wasn’t like he was actively jealous, but I could tell it was starting to eat at him just a little. I quickly turned my attention back to Max, hoping Lou wouldn’t notice the sudden shift in my focus.

"My family’s great," Max continued, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension building next to me. "We’re just hanging out, enjoying the day. You know how it is—lots of food and awkward conversations with relatives." He laughed, and I joined in, trying to keep things light.

But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but feel Lou's eyes on me, his presence near me like a subtle weight that was starting to pull at my attention. I shifted slightly, hoping the moment wouldn’t linger too long.

“I just wanted to talk to you privately, see how you're doing,” Max said, his voice warm and casual.

I smiled back, trying to keep the conversation light. “How considerate of you,” I replied, hoping he would pick up on my tone that I wasn’t looking for anything deeper.

“Yeah, right,” Max laughed. “I also wanted to say that I… miss you.” He hesitated for a second before continuing, “Was kind of bummed that you didn’t want to come with me.”

As he spoke, Lou shifted slightly beside me. I felt his hand suddenly rest on my right thigh, and my breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t tell if it was a sign of affection or something else entirely. Lou’s hand slowly began to move, gently squeezing my leg as if to remind me he was there. The warmth of his touch was distracting, pulling my attention away from the conversation.

“Yeah, it just wasn’t a good time,” I said, my voice coming out a little softer than I intended, the pressure of Lou’s hand increasing ever so slightly. I kept my eyes on Max’s face, but my mind was now split between the words Max was saying and the overwhelming awareness of Lou’s presence.

Lou’s thumb began to lightly trace circles on my leg, the action purposeful, as if he was silently claiming my attention, hoping to pull me away from Max. I shifted in my seat, trying to keep my composure while fighting the fluttering in my stomach.

Max seemed to notice the change in my tone, but he didn't press further. “I understand. Just wanted to check in,” he said with a small, reassuring smile.

“Thanks, Max,” I said, forcing a smile as I tried to focus back on him. But Lou’s hand was still there, and it was hard to ignore.

“I’ll talk to you later,” I added, not sure if I was ending the conversation with Max or with Lou's silent claim of attention.

Max smiled and waved, “Take care, talk soon,” before ending the call.

The silence that followed felt heavy. Lou's hand lingered for a moment before he slowly withdrew it, his eyes meeting mine with a mix of satisfaction and a hint of mischief.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice low.

I nodded, though I couldn’t help but feel the lingering tension between us. “Yeah,” I said quietly, my heart racing a little. “I’m fine.”

Lou sat up, his movements smooth and calculated, as if nothing had just transpired. He stood, walking towards the door with a casual air, but I could feel the tension in the room still hanging between us. As he reached the doorway, he paused, turning slightly to glance back at me.

“Aren’t you coming?” he asked, his smirk playing at the corners of his lips, almost too satisfied with himself.

The way he said it, so effortlessly confident, made something stir in me. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing, or if there was something deeper behind his words.

I hesitated for a moment, my mind still processing everything, before I finally stood up to follow him. As I crossed the room, I couldn't help but glance at him again. Lou’s eyes glinted with something playful and a little mischievous, like he knew exactly the effect he was having on me.

"Lead the way," I said, trying to sound unaffected, but the slight edge in my voice gave me away. Lou’s smirk only grew wider as he stepped aside, allowing me to pass before he followed behind.

As we walked outside, the world around us was a winter wonderland, soft snow blanketing the ground and muffling the usual sounds of the neighborhood. The scarf from my mom was already proving their worth against the biting chill. Lou walked beside me, his breath visible in the cold air, his steps easy and unhurried.

But despite the beauty of the scene, my mind wandered, gnawed at by the growing anxiety of all the things I hadn’t accomplished over the break. The unfinished tasks, the looming deadlines—all of it came crashing down on me at once. I groaned softly, the sound escaping before I could stop it.

Lou turned his head, his brow furrowing slightly in curiosity before a playful smile curved his lips. "What?" he asked, his voice warm and teasing. "Having second thoughts about this walk? It’s a little late to bail, you know."

I shook my head, exhaling a puff of misty breath. “No, it’s not that. I’m just…” I hesitated, my gaze dropping to the snow-covered ground. “Thinking about everything I haven’t done this break. Feels like I wasted all this time and now it’s almost over.”

Lou stopped walking for a moment, waiting for me to catch up to his pause. When I did, he tilted his head, studying me with that calm, steady look of his. "Seriously? You’re worrying about all that right now?"

I shrugged, feeling a little sheepish. “It’s hard not to. I had plans, you know? And now it’s just… gone. The time, I mean.”

Lou smiled, a soft huff of laughter escaping him as he nudged my shoulder lightly with his. "You’re always so hard on yourself. It’s Christmas, not a productivity contest. You’re allowed to just… be, you know?”

I glanced at him, his words sinking in as the snow crunched softly beneath our feet. "Easy for you to say," I muttered, though my tone was light, teasing.

He grinned, his breath clouding the air as he started walking again, this time slower, like he was waiting for me to catch up both physically and mentally. "Come on," he said, motioning ahead with a tilt of his head. "Let’s focus on one thing at a time. Right now, it’s snow, fresh air, and me. Everything else? It’ll still be there tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know, but I have so much I need to do," I explained, my voice quieter than before. My breath misted in the cold air as I looked down at my boots crunching against the snow. "I'm lucky to even afford coming here," I added, the words slipping out like they’d been sitting on the edge of my tongue for too long.

Lou slowed his pace beside me, his hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets. He glanced over, his brow furrowing slightly, his expression softening in a way that made me feel both exposed and comforted. "Hey," he said gently, tilting his head to catch my eye. "What’s all this about?"

I hesitated, my hands gripping the edges of my scarf. "It’s just… this break was supposed to be my chance to get ahead, to make things easier on myself. And now I’m here, enjoying snowball fights and Christmas mornings, and it feels like I’m slacking off. Like I’m not doing enough." My voice cracked a little at the end, the weight of the confession hanging in the frosty air.

Lou stopped walking entirely, turning to face me. His eyes searched mine, a mix of concern and something I couldn’t quite place. "You’re not ‘slacking off,’" he said firmly. "You’re living. You’re allowed to take a break, to breathe. Hell, you deserve it more than anyone I know."

I bit my lip, trying to blink away the sting of emotion welling up behind my eyes. "Yeah, but there’s so much riding on this. On me. If I screw up, it’s not just about disappointing myself. It’s... bigger than that."

Lou took a step closer, his voice soft but unwavering. "You’re not screwing up. Look at everything you’ve done just to get here. That’s not luck—that’s you working your ass off. And yeah, it’s okay to want more, but that doesn’t mean you can’t take a minute to enjoy what you’ve already got."

His words hit harder than I expected, like he’d reached into my thoughts and pulled out all the guilt I’d been carrying. I let out a shaky breath, glancing up at him. "How do you always know what to say?"

He grinned, the corners of his mouth curling into that familiar, confident smirk. "It’s a gift," he said, his tone teasing but his eyes serious. "And it’s Christmas, so… consider it my holiday wisdom, free of charge."

I laughed despite myself, the sound lightening the tightness in my chest. "Fine. Holiday wisdom accepted. But only because it’s free."

"Good," he said, falling back into step beside me. "Now, let’s enjoy this walk before you overthink it too. Okay?"

"Okay," I replied, finally letting myself relax as we continued down the snowy path. For a moment, it was just us, the crunch of snow beneath our feet, and the steady warmth of his presence next to mine.

We continued walking, the silence between us comfortable, the crisp air nipping at my cheeks. As we neared the park, the snowy landscape stretched out before us like a winter postcard. Children were playing in the distance, their laughter carrying faintly through the air, while a few brave joggers passed by, their breaths forming soft clouds.

The path beneath us curved slightly, leading toward the park’s entrance, and as I stepped forward, my boot hit a patch of ice. My balance disappeared in an instant, and I let out a startled yelp, my arms flailing in an instinctive attempt to catch myself. Without thinking, I grabbed onto the nearest thing for support—Lou.

“Whoa—hey!” he exclaimed, his arms shooting out to steady me. But my momentum was too strong, and instead of saving myself, I managed to drag him down with me.

We hit the snow in a heap, Lou landing half on top of me as the cold bit through my coat. For a moment, there was nothing but stunned silence. Then, as I processed what had just happened, a laugh bubbled up from my chest—first small, then uncontrollable.

Lou groaned dramatically, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked down at me. Snow clung to his hair and coat, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Really?” he said, his voice laced with mock indignation. “You couldn’t just fall on your own, huh?”

I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to respond, tears stinging my eyes from the cold and the hilarity of it all. “You—you should’ve moved faster,” I finally managed to get out, clutching my sides as my laughter made my ribs ache.

“Oh, it’s my fault now?” he shot back, grinning despite himself. “Next time, I’m just letting you go.”

“Sure you will,” I teased, trying to sit up but failing as I slid back into the snow.

Lou shook his head, brushing snow from his coat before offering me his hand. “Come on, klutz. Before you freeze solid.”

I took his hand, his grip warm and steady despite the cold. He pulled me to my feet, but as soon as I steadied myself, my boot slipped again, and I started to wobble. Lou’s arms shot out, catching me for the second time.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, his voice half-exasperated, half-amused. Before I could respond, he leaned in and planted a quick, soft kiss on my lips—a fleeting moment, barely a second, but enough to make my breath hitch and my cheeks burn.

“Lou!” I blurted, more out of surprise than anything else, as I stared up at him.

His grin was unapologetic, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Had to distract you before you took us both down again,” he said, shrugging casually, though the faint pink creeping up his ears gave him away.

I opened my mouth to say something, but words failed me. Instead, I just stood there, my face warm despite the cold air, my heart racing. Lou chuckled, giving my hand a little tug.

“Come on,” he said, his tone light as though nothing unusual had just happened. “Let’s get moving before someone else wipes out.”

I followed him, my steps more careful now, but my mind was spinning. The snow crunched under our feet as we continued toward the park, but the only thing I could feel was the lingering warmth of his kiss.

We walked into the park, the snow crunching beneath our boots as I tried to steady my breathing. My heart was still racing, and I could feel the heat in my cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. Lou walked beside me, his hands in his coat pockets, looking as relaxed as ever.

It was frustrating, really, how casual he could act after what had just happened. Meanwhile, I was practically replaying that moment in my head on a loop. Did he really just kiss me like it was nothing? What was that supposed to mean?

The park was quiet, the bare branches of the trees lined with snow. We passed by a couple walking their dog, and a few kids were sledding down a small hill. The peaceful scene helped calm my nerves, though I kept glancing sideways at Lou, trying to gauge his expression. He didn’t seem fazed—just a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“You okay over there?” he finally asked, his tone teasing as he caught me stealing another glance.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, looking straight ahead. Too quickly. My voice was higher than usual, which only made his smirk widen.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he pressed, clearly enjoying himself. “Normally, I can’t get you to stop talking.”

“Maybe I’m just enjoying the scenery,” I shot back, trying to regain some of my composure.

He laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

We walked a little further, the tension easing slightly as the conversation shifted to lighter topics. He pointed out a snowman someone had built near the path, complete with a lopsided carrot nose and a scarf that looked suspiciously like it had been stolen from someone’s closet. I laughed when Lou joked about how he could build a better one blindfolded, though I couldn’t help but notice how his hand brushed against mine every so often as we walked.

Eventually, we came to a small bench overlooking a frozen pond. The surface of the ice glinted in the sunlight, and a group of kids were trying to slide across it, their laughter ringing out in the cold air.

Lou nudged me with his elbow. “Want to sit for a bit?”

“Sure,” I said, glad for an excuse to take a break. My legs were starting to ache from walking in the heavy snow.

We sat down, the bench cold even through my layers. Lou stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning back casually, while I wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck. For a few moments, we just watched the kids playing on the ice, the sound of their laughter filling the air.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice quieter now, “this is nice.”

I turned to look at him, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. His gaze was fixed on the pond, but there was something softer in his expression, something thoughtful.

“Yeah,” I agreed, my voice just as soft. “It is.”

He glanced at me then, his eyes meeting mine for a moment longer than usual. My heart skipped a beat, but before I could say anything, he leaned back and looked away, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Guess it’s not so bad spending Christmas here after all,” he said, his tone light again.

I smiled, feeling a strange mix of warmth and confusion. “Not so bad, huh?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he teased, nudging me with his shoulder. “But yeah. It’s not bad.”

We stayed there for a while, the cold forgotten as the sun started to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow. 

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in streaks of gold and orange, the cold began to creep back in. I tucked my hands deeper into my pockets, stealing a glance at Lou. He looked so at ease, his breath visible in the chilly air as he watched the pond. For a moment, I wondered if he was thinking about what had happened earlier—about the kiss—but his calm demeanor gave nothing away.

“Should we head back?” I asked softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Lou turned to me, his lips quirking into a small smile. “Cold already?”

“Maybe,” I admitted, huddling deeper into my scarf for effect.

He laughed, standing up and brushing the snow from his coat. “Come on then, before you freeze.”

We started back toward his place, the crunch of our boots on the snow the only sound for a while. As we walked, I noticed how the park had emptied out. The kids had gone home, the snowman stood alone, and the world seemed quieter, more serene. It felt like we were the only two people left in this little corner of the world.

Lou’s hand brushed against mine again, and this time, instead of pulling away, he let it linger for just a second longer. My heart skipped a beat, but I said nothing, focusing instead on the path ahead.

By the time we reached his house, the sky had turned a deep shade of blue, and the first stars were beginning to peek through. Lou unlocked the door, holding it open for me as I stepped inside, grateful for the warmth that greeted us.

“Want some hot chocolate?” he asked, shrugging off his coat.

“That sounds amazing,” I said, already kicking off my boots and shedding my scarf.

Lou disappeared into the kitchen while I made my way to the living room, sinking into the couch with a content sigh. My legs ached from the walk, but in a good way—the kind of ache that reminded you of a day well spent. I pulled the heated blanket my mom had gifted me earlier over my lap, letting its warmth seep into me.

A few minutes later, Lou returned, carrying two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. He handed one to me before settling in beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touched.

“Thanks,” I said, taking a cautious sip. It was rich and creamy, the perfect balance of chocolate and sweetness. “This is really good.”

He grinned, taking a sip from his own mug. “I know”

I laughed softly, feeling the tension from earlier starting to fade. The room was cozy, the only light coming from the Christmas tree in the corner, its soft glow casting shadows across the walls. For a while, we sat in companionable silence, sipping our drinks and watching the lights twinkle.

“You’ve been quiet since the park,” Lou said suddenly, breaking the silence. His tone was casual, but there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes as he looked at me. “What’s on your mind?”

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the mug. How was I supposed to explain everything I was feeling? The kiss, the way he’d made my heart race, the unspoken shift in our dynamic—it was all too much, but the kinda much I was seemingly needing. 

“Just thinking,” I said finally, keeping my voice light. “About… stuff.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Stuff, huh?”

“Yeah, stuff,” I said, smiling faintly. “You know, life, school, the usual.”

Lou studied me for a moment longer before nodding, his expression unreadable. “Alright,” he said simply, leaning back against the couch. “But you know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

“I know,” I said softly, my chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice.

Lou shifted beside me, his mug now empty, resting on the coffee table. I could feel his warmth just inches away, and the soft light of the Christmas tree made the moment feel intimate, like we were cocooned in our own little world.

The heated blanket draped over me was doing its job a little too well—I felt almost too cozy—and I glanced at Lou, noticing him subtly rub his arms against the chill.

“Do you want to get under the blanket?” I asked suddenly, my voice quiet but clear. I tugged at the edge of the fabric, offering him a corner.

Lou’s eyes flicked to mine, a mix of surprise and amusement in his gaze. “You sure? You seem pretty snug over there,” he teased, but there was something softer in his tone, something that hinted he didn’t hate the idea.

I rolled my eyes with a small smile. “I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t mean it. Come on, it’s big enough.”

He hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Alright, if you insist.”

Lou shifted closer, carefully slipping under the blanket beside me. The couch was already cozy, but now, with his shoulder pressed lightly against mine and the faint scent of his cologne surrounding me, it felt like the space had shrunk even more.

“See? Much better,” I said, half-joking, though my heart was pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the warmth of the blanket.

He chuckled softly, adjusting the fabric over his legs. “You’re right. This is pretty nice.” His voice was low, almost a murmur, and when I glanced at him, his expression was relaxed, his gaze focused ahead.

I tucked my legs under myself, shifting slightly, and Lou glanced at me, his lips curving into a small, almost knowing smile. “Warm enough?” he asked.

“Perfect,” I replied, my voice softer than I intended. And as the minutes ticked by, I realized I wouldn’t have minded staying like this for the rest of the night.

Lou shifted slightly beside me, reaching for the TV remote resting on the coffee table. He leaned forward just enough to grab it, the blanket shifting with him, before settling back into the cushions.

“What are you doing?” I asked, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

“Finding something to watch,” he replied casually, his thumb already scrolling through the options on the screen. His tone was easy, but there was a mischievous glint in his eye that made me wonder what he was up to.

As the screen lit up with a stream of holiday specials and old sitcom reruns, Lou stopped on a classic Christmas movie. Without asking, he hit play and set the remote down beside him. The cheerful opening credits and festive music filled the room, adding to the warmth already enveloping us.

Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Lou shifted again, this time slipping his arm around my shoulders. The movement was casual, almost seamless, but the weight of his arm resting lightly against me sent my heart racing. I froze for half a second, unsure how to react, before forcing myself to relax, leaning into him just slightly.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice low, with just a hint of teasing.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, hoping my face didn’t betray just how much my heart was hammering. “Yeah,” I said, managing a small smile. “You?”

He smirked, his gaze fixed on the TV but clearly enjoying himself. “Very.”

The movie played on, but I barely registered what was happening on screen. The warmth of the blanket, the heat radiating from his arm around me, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it all created a cocoon that felt safer, more intimate, than I could have imagined.

At one point, I glanced up at him, catching the soft curve of his jaw and the way the light from the TV reflected in his eyes. His neck was right there, close and inviting, and I couldn’t have stopped myself even if I’d tried. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the faint smell of his cologne only pulled me in further.

Without overthinking it, I straightened up slightly, leaning closer. Before I could second-guess myself, I pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck, just below his jaw. His skin was warm, and the moment lingered, delicate and full of unspoken meaning.

Lou froze, his breath catching audibly. For a second, neither of us moved, the air around us thick with tension. Before he could say or do anything, I leaned in again, pressing another kiss to his pulse point. His reaction was immediate—a shaky breath escaping him, his shoulders stiffening slightly under my touch.

I felt a rush of boldness course through me, my heart racing as I shifted positions. Slowly, I moved to straddle him, my knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. His hands instinctively settled on my waist, hesitant but steady, as I continued to kiss the warm skin of his neck. Each press of my lips earned a new reaction—a small gasp here, a tightening of his fingers there.

My hands moved to his shoulders, gripping them lightly to steady myself as I deepened the kisses, trailing them from his pulse point to the curve of his jaw. Lou’s breath hitched again, his hands flexing against my waist as if he was unsure whether to pull me closer or push me away.

I reached up and ran my fingers through the hair at the back of his head, gently brushing my fingertips along his scalp. His breath caught as I continued, the tension between us undeniable. I could feel his body tense slightly under my touch, but he didn’t pull away. The air seemed to thicken around us, a quiet stillness settling in.

"You're being awfully quiet," I whispered softly against his skin, leaning away slightly after.

His gaze met mine, "Just... enjoying the moment," he replied, his voice low.

I returned and continued, leaning forward and pressing my lips to the skin below his ear. The earth ceased to spin in the heartbeat it took for his arm to curl around my waist, his hand splayed on my ribs. I parted my lips and kissed him again, his skin clean and minty. 

“I need you,” he moaned, and I pulled away, our faces flushed and both of us breathing hard. 

Something flickered behind his dark eyes, and then, without a word, he kissed me—slow and deep. His arm wrapped tighter around my waist, pulling me closer while his other, pushed my hips into his. He grounded up against me, pressing himself.. where I needed him. My eyes fluttered closed, surrendering as I felt his hand going under my shirt, touching my bare back, his hands roaming my skin. 

He needed this , I told myself, as his tongue tangled with mine, I shifted again, pulling myself tightly against him, feeling it the same time he groaned. 

He was hard. 

His fingers dug into my hips, pulling me against his crotch again and again, thrusting, almost humping.  

“Please,” I whispered, against his lips, as he broke the kiss taking a hold of me. 

Lou sat up, the blanket falling away as he effortlessly lifted me into his arms. My legs instinctively wrapped around him, and I found myself pressed against his chest, the sudden closeness making my heart race. His hands were steady as they supported me, his warmth radiating through my clothes. We reached the first step of the stairs, and Lou gently set me down, his hands lingering on my waist. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, a moment of warmth and comfort. As he pulled away, he looked at me, his eyes soft.

"Now?" he asked, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

I nodded, returning the smile, then kissed him again, not a fast one but a long one. One where I'm tugging at his shirt, needing him close. 

He laughs into the kiss, “You’re so fucking eager;” 

Smiling into another sloppy kiss, he took my arm leading me up the stairs. 

Chapter Text

His room was dimly lit, the bed perfectly made, every detail exuding an unspoken order. I glanced around, taking in the quiet stillness as he pushed the door shut behind us. The soft click echoed in the empty house, making the space feel smaller, more private, more intimate. My pulse quickened as I turned to face him, his eyes already locked on mine, the intensity in his gaze stealing my breath.

His finger lightly brushed against my lips, the unexpected touch sending a jolt through me. It caught me off guard, but instead of pulling away, I found myself frozen, every ounce of my attention drawn to him. The world outside his room seemed to fade, leaving only the quiet rhythm of my breath and the steady, deliberate way he looked at me. My heart raced, yet I felt completely grounded, entirely focused on him.

We shifted closer, the space between us narrowing with each passing second. His fingers lingered on my lips for a moment before trailing softly down to my cheek, their warmth leaving a faint, electric trace against my skin. They continued downward, brushing past my chin with a deliberate slowness that sent a thrill racing through me. My heart sped up at the touch, a fluttering rhythm I couldn't hide.

I swallowed reflexively, my nerves betraying me, and his gaze dipped to the movement. His eyes studied the curve of my neck with an intensity that made me feel both exposed and mesmerized. The air between us thickened, charged with unspoken emotion, and I could barely remember to breathe as his hand hovered just beneath my jaw, waiting, as if testing the limits of this delicate, intoxicating closeness.

“Luigi…” I sighed, his name barely escaping my lips before it dissolved into the air between us.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, Luigi leaned in, his lips meeting mine in a soft, deliberate kiss. It was warm and tender, his touch so gentle it felt like he was savoring the moment, not rushing or demanding—just being.

I sighed into the kiss, my hands instinctively reaching out to steady myself against his chest. His heartbeat was steady and strong beneath my fingertips, a grounding rhythm that made my own pulse race even faster. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of him, the soft press of his lips. 

I’d had a few flings here and there over the years, fleeting connections that never lasted long. They were fun in the moment, but nothing like this—nothing that left my whole body tingling, my heart racing, or my mind consumed. This was different. He was different.

We broke away from the kiss, both of us gasping softly for air. My chest rose and fell rapidly, the intensity of the moment leaving me breathless. Before I could say anything, Luigi gently shushed me, his eyes meeting mine with a reassuring softness.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, soothing and steady. His hand found its way to my neck, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin, grounding me in the moment. Then, with a tenderness that made my pulse quicken, he leaned in again, his lips seeking mine, the connection even deeper this time.

This kiss was sharper, firmer, igniting something deeper between us. Our mouths moved against each other in perfect rhythm, an unspoken language passing between us with every touch. His fingers massaged into the skin at the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine, their gentle pressure grounding me even as the rest of me seemed to float.

The way he kissed me had my eyes fluttering shut, my heart pounding so fiercely it felt like it might burst. Every movement of his lips, every brush of his fingers, pulled me closer, dissolving the world around us until there was nothing but him and the intoxicating heat between us.

At some point, my legs hit the edge of the bed, and I found myself sitting on it, the motion so seamless I barely registered it. Luigi stood over me for a moment, his gaze heavy, filled with something I couldn’t quite name but felt in every nerve of my body. Then, he leaned down, resuming the kiss without hesitation, his lips capturing mine with a newfound urgency.

My hands moved instinctively to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as I tugged gently, a silent plea escaping me. The way I clung to him, the way my body leaned into his every movement, was almost begging for him to do something—anything—everything. His breath hitched against my mouth, and the tension between us only deepened. 

“I need…” I said in between kisses, feeling as though I couldn't think straight. 

Luigi made a soothing shushing sound, lips meeting mine, hands trailing over me now. I jerked at the feel, unintentionally pressing my body against his hands, pressing myself closer to him. I pressed a hand to his chest, and he deeply inhaled, mouth moving over mine. He was leaning in, pushing me down, and I felt weak.

A whimper escaped my lips as my back met his bed, Luigi hovering over me and a knee sliding up, separating my legs. I shuddered when one of his hands snaked its way down my body, disappearing between my thighs. My jeans were in the way, the fabric frustratingly tight as the heat between us grew. Luigi broke the kiss, his breath coming in soft huffs as he leaned back slightly, his hands already moving to the button of my jeans. His fingers worked quickly, the sound of the button popping and the zipper sliding down filling the quiet room.

He glanced up at me, his eyes dark and questioning for a brief second, as if waiting for any hesitation. When I gave a subtle nod, he continued, hooking his fingers into the waistband and dragging the denim down my legs with deliberate care. His touch was firm yet gentle, his movements steady as though he didn’t want to rush anything.

I lifted my hips to help, my heart pounding as the cool air hit my skin. The intimacy of the moment, the way his fingers brushed along my thighs, sent a shiver racing up my spine. He let the jeans fall to the floor, straightening slightly as his gaze swept over me, his expression unreadable but so intensely focused that it made me flush under his attention.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered

He was then back on me, kissing me and pulling away when his hand made contact. My nails dug into him, fingers twisting in his shirt as he pressed a finger against me. He was slow in circling me, so gently it became almost torturous. The sensation had me gasping, and I felt Luigi smiling into the kisses. He moved my panties aside and touched me for the first time, a moan leaving both our mouths at the same time. He worked that finger into me, making me tighten my hold on his shirt and Luigi pulling away to watch my face. My brows were drawn together as he fingered me, and I didn’t have the time to process what was happening.

One. Two. Three. At some point, he’d worked three fingers into me, shushing me when I cried out and telling me it was okay, mentioning something about needing to be ready for him. I was so wet, wetter than I had ever been, wetter than any man had ever made me.

He pressed kisses to my lips and cheeks and neck as he massaged my walls. It was nothing like I had ever felt before, and my lashes fluttered as he started inching up my shirt, and started kissing his way down my body. I arched into his touch, feeling crazy, a crash of curses leaving my lips. 

Then, I could feel his breath hitting me where his fingers were, and I barely had time to lift my head and look down when his mouth covered me. The gasp I let out was loud, taking the luxury of an empty house to use. Luigi tasted me like a starved man, tongue swirling inside of me, sliding over me, flicking against me. The sound reached my ears and it made my face burn. Anything in my mind was overshadowed by the sensation brought on by both his fingers and his tongue. He still licked at me, pushing a finger into me and then a second, curling them and making me arch. 

My heart was racing in my chest, and I felt so hot. No longer warm, but hot.

My hands found his hair, twisting and pulling, and I could feel Luigi chuckle. The sound made me jerk, throwing my head back as he sucked at me, tongue sliding in as his fingers left. I hadn't realized that my hips were moving, grinding onto him like a woman possessed, but Luigi seemed to like it, hooking his arms around my thighs and helping anchor me. 

I bit my lip, swallowing down whimpers and mewls, only heavy breathing escaping. 

All too soon, it felt like, Luigi pulled away. He gave me no time to think or collect my thoughts before he was over me again. He was naked now, his shirt, jeans and boxers joining mine on the floor, he looked beautiful. His body seemed sculpted by an all being, and before I could look down he was kissing me again.

My hand pressed into the bed as he grabbed the end of my shirt, yanking it upwards over my head. Luigi wouldn't stop kissing me, tossing my shirt behind him without a second glance. He yanked at my panties, them also following the same fate as my shirt.

​​His cock was hard and hot against my skin, the head of it nudging at my entrance. My breath hitched as I felt him push inside me, inch by inch. The sensation was foreign and a bit painful, but it was a pain I had been expecting. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of him filling me, the way my body stretched to accommodate him. He was thick and long, and it took all my willpower not to tense up as he went deeper. His eyes never left mine as he entered me, the connection between the two of us palpable.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice strained with his own desire to go further, but holding back for me.

I nodded, the initial shock of pain giving way to a growing warmth that spread through my core. "Keep going," I encouraged, my voice breathy and needy.

A sharp moan escaped both of us when he couldn't go any further, and my chest heaved as I closed my eyes, feeling him inside me. Luigi lifted his head, hand coming up to wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead, and he kissed the corner of my mouth. 

“You’re okay,” he assured me, shifting and pressing a hand into the bed beside my head. “I’ll take care of you”.

When he moved, I squeezed my eyes shut. It was equal parts pain and pleasure. Luigi continuously pressed his lips to my skin, his own labored breathing hitting my ear. His sounds fascinated me, wondering if he felt just like I did. He stretched me and filled me in a way that felt so right, every stroke stroked something inside me that only wanted him to keep going. 

"You're so tight," his voice was soft and a bit shaky, then looked into my eyes. "and so beautiful." 

He kept his eyes on me, constantly watching my face, my eyes and lips. I wanted to ask why but my mind was scrambled. As he leaned in to kiss me again, it hit me. 

I was having sex with Luigi Mangione. 

Or, should I say, Luigi Mangione was fucking the shit out of me. 

I could hardly focus on anything but one thing stood out, and it was the way Lou was looking at me. Not how he was fucking me, or touching me, but how he was looking at me. It made me shudder, and it felt more intimate than him being inside me. He wouldn't take his eyes off of me, taking in every expression and every sound I made. It was like he cared more about that than what was between my legs. He leaned a forearm against the bed beside my head getting closer, and his chest brushed against mine with every thrust. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmured, lips touching mine as he spoke, “You like that?” 

He curved his hips into mine, making me whimper, and he smiled, teeth winking at me. My hands came up to grasp his back, nails digging in, and his smile widened.

“There you go,” he purred, snapping into me. “Mark me up.” 

I was, I realized with shock, and I didn’t mean to nor wanted to, but I felt so overwhelmed and needed something to grasp. Something to ground me, and a choked moan climbed out of my throat. 

“Luigi,” I gasped, and he kissed me. 

“You’re okay…”

My eyes briefly closed, noting how snug he felt inside me, and every movement against my walls had me shaking. I whined, toes curling and Luigi's other hand was trailing over me. He was touching me and tickling me and squeezing me, feeling me up with every thrust. His hand pressed to the small of my back, forcing my lower half up and closer. 

“I wanna come inside you.” 

The words reached my ears, and I knew that was bad, not ideal, but in my haze, I couldn't care. 

“I shouldn't,” he chuckled  “... But I want to.”

I blinked up at him, my voice barely above a whisper as I asked, “Do you have a condom on?”

He continued, not pausing as he took a breath and answered “Yes,” with a sad sigh. He pressed open mouth kisses to my neck, and I clung to him, hanging on and just losing myself in the feel of his cock thrusting into me. 

Luigi’s cock plunged into me over and over, and I could hear myself mumbling incoherently. I felt so spaced out, trying to focus on so much at once, but I didn't want to stop. I was obsessed with the feeling, my hips lifting to meet him every time, and Luigi looked down at the sight, staring at where he disappeared into me. 

“Look at you,” he murmured, tongue darting out to touch his lips. “Making a mess all over me.”

My mind, all disheveled and foggy, caused me to murmur a soft, “Sorry.”

Luigi chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver through me, making my stomach flip. “Don’t be,” he whispered, his voice warm and reassuring. Leaning in, he kissed me again, his nose brushing softly against mine, the gesture tender and grounding.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he murmured against my lips, his breath warm. He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, a glint in his eyes. “One day, I’ll show you how to clean it up properly.”

Luigi completely surrounded me, caging me in and jerking himself into me. His forehead touched mine, brown curls damp and hanging, and when he kissed me again, I drunkenly kissed him back. He took his time fucking me, leaving marks and bruises all over my upper body. 

My breath hitched as he hit that one spot inside me, sending jolts of pleasure through me. I felt my gaze drift, the pleasure too intense to focus on anything but the feeling of him inside me. A low growl rumbled from his chest, and his hand on my hips tightened slightly. 

“Look at me,” he rasped, his voice a mix of pleasure and command. My eyes snapped back to his, and the intensity of his stare sent a shiver down my spine. 

His pupils were dilated, I could see the desire, the passion, the need in his gaze, and it was like looking into the abyss. I moaned, my eyes never leaving his, as he pushed deeper into me, harder almost. His thumb tracing small circles on my hip bone, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure to mingle with the ache building in my core. My breathing grew ragged, my chest rising and falling with every thrust. I could feel myself getting closer, the tension coiling tighter with each stroke. 

His other hand moved to cup my jaw, his thumb sliding over my cheekbone, forcing my head back even further. “Keep looking,” he whispered, his voice a seductive purr that sent a thrill over me. I nodded, my eyes locked on his, unable to look away. 

His cock thrusted into me, his movements growing more urgent with each passing second. I could see the sweat glistening on his forehead, his muscles straining with the effort. My breaths grew shorter, my whimpers louder, but I never looked away. His gaze was a lifeline, keeping me tethered to reality amidst the waves of pleasure crashing over me. His eyes searched mine, looking for that moment of surrender, that spark that would signal me coming. 

His thumb grew slick with sweat, and mine skin felt hot under his touch. The pressure of his hand on my jaw grew gentle, almost tender, as he studied my every reaction. He leaned down, pressing a lazy kiss to my lips, his breath hot as he murmured, “Tell me when you’re close.” 

I whimpered, my voice barely a sound as I whispered, “I’m.. I’m so close.” 

His eyes narrowed, and I could see the satisfaction in them. He had me exactly where he wanted me, his strokes grew harder, faster, and his breaths came in harsh pants. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, the bed creaking under the force of his movements. His hand moved to hold my chin, ensuring I didn't look away as he brought me closer and closer to the precipice. The pleasure was intense, almost painful as my body shook beneath his.

He knew I was close; the way my breath hitched and my muscles tightened around him was a dead giveaway. His own arousal was palpable, his hips moving with the urgency that matched the racing beat of my heart. His other hand snakes between our bodies, his fingers finding my clit and rubbing tight circles. He has me gasping, crying out his name.

The moment my eyes rolled back, the orgasm sweeping over me, Luigi’s grip on my chin tightened only a fraction. Enough to make me gasp, to force me to look at him and feel him all over, the pressure of his hand and the heat of his gaze. 

My body arched off the bed, back bowing as the climax crashed through me like a storm. My muscles clenched around his cock, milking him, begging him for more, even as my mind screamed for mercy. My climax triggers his own, and he groans as he buries himself to the hilt inside me, his cock pulsing as he finishes. 

For a moment, we both lie there, panting and intertwined. Luigi’s weight pressing me into the mattress, his face now buried in the crook of my neck. I could feel his heart racing against my chest, matching my own rapid heartbeat. 

The room was quiet now, save for the sound of our soft breaths mingling in the air. My body felt like it was floating, every nerve still buzzing, but in the best way possible. Luigi leaned back, propping himself up slightly on one elbow as he watched me with a lazy grin—the kind of grin that could only belong to a man who knew exactly what he’d done.

Luigi shifted beside me, propping himself up on one elbow as he brushed a few stray strands of hair away from my damp forehead. His touch was gentle, but the look on his face—oh, that look—was pure mischief. His lips curved into a smirk, a knowing grin that made my stomach flip for entirely new reasons.

“Feeling good?” he asked, his tone rich with teasing but softened by the genuine care in his eyes.

“Shut up,” I mumbled, my cheeks warming despite myself, “You’re ridiculous,” though there was no real bite in my voice.

“Ridiculously good, maybe,” he teased, leaning over to press a kiss to my forehead. His hand brushed my cheek, fingers trailing gently down to my jaw. “You’re too good for me,” he murmured, his voice softening, the teasing replaced with something more genuine. “So perfect.”

I felt my cheeks heat at the praise, unable to meet his gaze. “Stop,” I whispered, but I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips.

The way he said it, so genuine and soft, made my heart flutter in my chest. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to my temple, his lips lingering there for a moment. “Making me feel so good, you know?” he added, the words making me melt further into the mattress.

I let out a soft laugh, feeling his hand trail down to gently rub circles along my thigh. “You’re insufferable,” I murmured, though my voice betrayed the affection lacing the words.

With a sigh, Luigi sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. I watched as he ran a hand through his messy hair, the faint sheen of sweat catching the dim light and giving him a golden glow. His muscles shifted under his skin as he took off the condom and tied it off. He cast me a quick glance over his shoulder, smirking when he caught me watching him.

He disappeared into the bathroom, and I listened to the faint sound of water running. I sat up when he returned, he had his sweatpants in hand, pulling them on as he walked back to the bed. The fabric clung to his hips, sitting low enough to reveal the hard lines of his abdomen. My eyes followed the motion without meaning to, and when I looked up, his grin was back in full force.

“Like what you see?” he teased, tossing a shirt toward me.

I caught it, the fabric soft and slightly worn. It smelled like him—a mix of clean laundry and something warm and distinctly Luigi.

“Here, put this on,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes lingering. “Unless you’d rather stay like that.”

I tugged the shirt over my head, the hem falling just past my thighs. Luigi watched with a quiet satisfaction, his gaze making my cheeks flush all over again.

“Looks good on you,” he said casually, bending down to brush a kiss against my cheek before pulling back.

"C'mon on. Let's get you cleaned up,” he said after a moment, his tone shifting to something softer. He reached for me, helping me stand, his hands steady as he supported me. My legs wobbled slightly, and he let out a low chuckle.

“Fucked you a little too good, huh?”

“Luigi!” I hissed, swatting at his shoulder.

He laughed, the sound warm and unbothered, as he helped me to the bathroom. Setting me down gently, he grabbed a towel and began cleaning me up with a tenderness that had my heart aching. His fingers brushed against my skin with care, and when he handed me a glass of water, his tone was firm but kind.

I obeyed, sipping it slowly as he rubbed gentle circles on my back. “You good?” he asked softly, and when I nodded, he smiled. “Good girl,” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to my temple. The words sent a shiver through me, his praise leaving me feeling warm and lightheaded in a completely new way.

When we returned to the room, Luigi let me settle on the edge of the bed as he lingered by the door, watching me with a quiet fondness. His hair was still tousled from earlier, and the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw made him look impossibly relaxed. He tilted his head, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Do you wanna sleep?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

I hesitated, biting the inside of my cheek as I thought about it. My body was exhausted, but my mind was still buzzing. “Uh, no,” I murmured, but the uncertainty in my tone must have been obvious.

Luigi’s smile widened just slightly, his eyes glinting with that endless patience of his. “It’s fine,” he said, stepping closer and brushing a knuckle against my cheek. “Let’s nap for a while. You need to rest.”

He crossed the room and flicked off the main light, leaving the bedside lamp on to cast a warm, golden glow over the space. Grabbing a book from his nightstand, he climbed into bed, pulling back the blankets with a soft rustle.

“Come on,” he said, patting the spot beside him with a playful grin.

I slid into bed beside him, the mattress dipping under our combined weight. As I settled against the pillows, Luigi shifted to make room, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me into his side. His chest was warm against my cheek, his heartbeat steady and calming.

The scent of his cologne lingered faintly on him, mingling with the soft, clean smell of the sheets. It was impossible not to relax against him, the tension in my body melting away as his fingers began to stroke absently through my hair.

“Comfortable?” he asked, glancing down at me.

I nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah, really comfortable.”

“Good.” His voice was low and soothing, a faint rumble in his chest as he opened his book and began to read.

For a while, the only sound in the room was the gentle rustling of pages and the quiet hum of his voice as he occasionally muttered a line or two to himself. I let my eyes drift closed, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing and the comforting weight of his arm around me.

Every so often, Luigi’s hand would leave the page of his book to brush lightly against my arm or tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was casual but tender, like he couldn’t help himself.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he murmured suddenly, his voice so quiet I almost thought I imagined it.

I blinked up at him, my cheeks warming. “What?”

“Just thinking out loud,” he said with a soft chuckle, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my shoulder. “You’re perfect. That’s all.”

Chapter Text

The first thing I felt when I woke up was the gentle weight of Lou's arm around me, pulling me closer into his chest. His warmth surrounded me like a soft, comforting blanket, and I could feel the steady rhythm of his breath, slow and calming against the side of my face. His chest rose and fell, steady and constant, like the perfect lullaby. It made me feel safe in a way I couldn't quite explain—a sense of belonging that grounded me in the moment.

I blinked a few times, still half-dazed from sleep, and let my senses take in the peacefulness of the morning. The room was bathed in soft, golden light that filtered through the window, casting long, lazy shadows across the walls. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh morning air, a combination that always seemed to anchor me when I was close to him.

I could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek, the beat of his heart steady and strong beneath my ear. Every time I inhaled, his warmth wrapped around me tighter, as though he wanted me to stay close, to stay within his reach. I turned my head slightly, eyes fluttering open, and there he was, inches from me, his face illuminated by the soft morning light. His strong jawline, the slight furrow in his brow from sleep, and the messy hair that seemed to have a life of its own—everything about him felt so... real, so tangible.

I shifted slightly, but before I could fully adjust, his hand slid down to the back of my neck, drawing me closer to him. The warmth of his fingers against my skin sent a little shiver down my spine, and I couldn't help but smile at the tenderness of his touch. He was awake, his arms wrapped around me as if he never wanted to let go.

"Good morning," his voice was soft, rough around the edges as if he had just woken up himself. The sound of it made my chest tighten in a way that only he could. It was a voice that felt like a hug, warm and reassuring. His gaze locked onto mine, and I could see the depth of affection in his eyes—those dark, familiar eyes that always made me feel like the only thing that mattered in the world was this moment, here, with him.

"Morning," I replied, my voice still thick with sleep. I smiled, unable to stop it. The morning light made everything feel so... peaceful, like time itself had slowed down just for us.

He shifted slightly, bringing his face even closer to mine. His lips curled into a small, affectionate smile, and I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. "You're so beautiful when you're sleepy," he murmured softly, pressing a light kiss to the top of my head. His lips lingered there for a moment longer than expected, and when he pulled away, he chuckled quietly, the sound vibrating gently through his chest.

I couldn't help but smile back, my heart fluttering in my chest. "You're not so bad yourself," I replied, my voice still a little breathless. I couldn't stop myself from tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips, marveling at the way his skin felt beneath my touch. It was as if every part of him was a safe place for me to be, and I felt grounded, loved, and cherished in his presence.

Lou leaned into my touch, his eyes closing as a contented sigh escaped him. The simplest gesture from me seemed to mean the world to him, and that realization made my heart swell with affection. It was a quiet intimacy, a shared understanding that didn't need words to communicate how much we cared for each other.

He gently cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone as if memorizing the feel of my skin. There was something so tender in the way he looked at me, a depth of emotion in his eyes that made everything feel so raw, so real. 

A moment of silence passed, and then, with a gentle smile, he whispered, "Can I kiss you?"

I felt a warmth spread through me, my chest fluttering at his words. The simple question, the tenderness in his voice, made everything feel even more intimate, more real.

I nodded, and Lou leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in a soft, lingering kiss. The warmth of his touch sent a gentle flutter through my chest, and he pulled away only for a moment before kissing me again. Each kiss was soft and tender, as though he was savoring the moment, letting it last just a little longer.

I could feel my heart racing with every touch, the sweetness of it all making me blush and my breath catch softly in my throat. His lips, so gentle and kind, made me feel like the world had slowed down. I could sense the affection in each kiss, and it made me smile against his lips.

He pulled away after a while, his forehead resting gently against mine. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice warm with sincerity. I couldn’t help but smile, feeling my cheeks warm as I let out a soft laugh. A small smile tugging at my lips as Lou leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. The warmth of it lingered, but he didn't pull away immediately. Instead, he kissed me again—gentle and sweet, his lips moving against mine with a softness that made my heart flutter.

When he finally pulled away, his lips lingering just above mine, I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re a really good kisser,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Lou chuckled softly, his smile widening. “Is that so?” he teased, brushing his thumb gently over my cheek. “You’re pretty amazing yourself.”

I blushed, my heart racing a little faster. “I don’t know about that, but... you make everything feel so good.” I glanced up at him, feeling a little shy. “I like being with you,” I admitted, my voice soft.

He grinned, his eyes soft as he leaned in to kiss me once more, this time lingering a bit longer, savoring the closeness. His lips were gentle, brushing mine with such care, and when he pulled back, he whispered, “I like being with you, too.”

I felt my heart flutter, warmth spreading through me. His hand, gentle yet reassuring, slid down to rest on my bare thigh under the blanket, softly rubbing circles. The touch was comforting, grounding, as if he wanted me close in the most peaceful way possible.

I smiled at him, a little shy but full of affection, before I leaned in again, meeting his lips in another kiss. It was tender, without any rush, just two people enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment.

I felt him tense slightly and pull his leg away, his hand going with it as he shifted in the bed. I glanced at his face and noticed his brows furrowed together, as though he were in discomfort.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice filled with concern as I gently retook his hand, resting it on my thigh.

He gave me a small smile, his eyes turning dark, and said, "Don't pretend like you don't know exactly what you're doing." 

I gazed into his eyes, my hands resting lightly on his abdomen. A smile tugged at my lips as I felt a surge of confidence. "What? I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

His skin was taut under my fingertips, as I lazily dragged them over his abs. He inhaled sharply, as I roamed his skin. 

Jesus , when did he get abs? 

He had really grown, in all areas. It felt so weird, seeing this man lie here. This man who was connected to so many of my childhood memories, mostly my favorite ones. Now he had changed, becoming his own person, a damn sexy one at that. My hand kept gliding, going up over his shoulders and down, reaching just above his sweatpants. The teasing was getting to him. Each time I neared where he wanted me, he would pause, stop breathing and watch me with hooded eyes. When my hand eventually continued upwards, he would sigh, giving me a sad look. 

However, this time, my hand didn't leave. It stayed there. His bulge was pretty visible at this point, I could feel him twitching beneath my hand. I had two options, either I continue to tease him, or I commit to this game that I had initiated. 

One look at his face and a nod later, I was going for it, reaching under his waistband, touching the base of his cock. My hand covered the base as I grabbed him and moved upwards. He had tensed completely and when my hand started moving up and down he let out a sigh of relief. I had yet to see him fully, but he was big, I felt shy and a little shocked. Had that really been in me?

He’s already sticky at the tip, precum glistening from his slit, and so I began to stroke him, going from the head of his cock and spreading slick down his shaft. 

He grabbed my wrist, stopping me from continuing, as I looked up at him confused. He moved his hips as he dragged down his sweatpants as his cock sprung free. He's just gorgeous. Thick and tan, his girth evenly distributed, and big. 

I continued going up and down, massaging him, his curly hair at the base poking my fingertips as I did so. 

I shifted downwards on the bed, being met with a confused Luigi, and then a moaning Luigi as I gave him a squeeze. 

“Hey,” he interrupts me, breathless, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” I answered as I dipped down to kiss the tip of his cock, starting slowly and then moving down his shaft before licking my way back up in one long strip. I have never been really good at this, I thought, as I swirled my tongue around the head and dipped my head, teasing him, feeling him twitch. But maybe, it didn't really matter now.

“Jesus,” he moaned out, hips jutting forward.

His left hand came to stroke the back of my head as I finally took him in, sucking in a breath. “There we go,” He said as he gripped my hair in a makeshift ponytail, and guided me almost on him, pulling back and forth. I wrapped my mouth around his tip again, swirling my tongue, before pushing him in deeper. 

He grunted, his hand tightening slightly in my hair. I moaned as he started hitting the back of my throat, the moans sending waves through his body. I could feel the wetness gathering between my thighs as I sucked him off, his whimpers and moans growing louder. His squirming beneath me, moving to meet my mouth, almost in anticipation. 

A string of pleas fell from his parted lips, asking me, begging me to continue, to never stop. 

“Let me feel you,” he whimpers after a while, his hand still in my hair, as he gently tugs me off him. My hand still on his cock as he guided me by my hair towards his mouth, latching on to me in a passionate kiss. I kept stroking him, feeling him groan against my mouth, as his teeth caught my bottom lip, tugging lightly. His tongue and mouth was then on me, kissing, licking and nibbling everywhere. Over my face, down my neck, behind my ear. He consumed me, leaving me breathless and so, so needy. 

His left hand tugged me towards him, getting under his shirt that I was wearing and roaming the skin on my back. His hand, warm and steady as it caught on the back of my bra. 

He pulled away, his hand lightly tugging at the clasp opening it, his eyes locked firmly on mine. Before I could say a word, his gaze flashed with intent, and suddenly, he was laying me down on the bed, moving over me.

He knelt between my legs, his cock resting on my stomach, a weighing presence as his hands moved to the hem of my shirt. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, lustful and searching. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his voice carrying both patience and a hint of vulnerability.

I nodded, as he pulled the fabric up and over me, tossing it aside. His hands were then there, warm and groping, touching everything he could. He leaned down, mouth moving across my neck, to my collarbones and leaving a trail of wet kisses over my skin. His hands moved from my bare waist to my breast, where my bra covered them loosely. He groped and palmed them, teasing me by using the material of the bra. I moaned loudly as he continued.

“Feels good, huh?” he teased, a smile on his lips, as he then moved the bra completely.

His lips left my neck, as he stared for a while, then he was on me again. Kissing down the valley between my breasts as his hands moved to the both of them, grabbing and massaging. He took his time stimulating me, his lips moved and then he reached my right breast brushing his lips over me before taking my nipple into his mouth and sucking softly. He groaned, his hand kneading my other breast as his mouth worked my nipple with expert precision, sucking harder, his tongue flicking over the sensitive flesh with just the right amount of pressure. Every movement of his mouth, every touch of his hands, felt like he was worshipping me, like I was something precious and sacred.

I moaned as my hands found their way into his hair, pressing him into me, making him smile. He teased me with his tongue, before sucking again and letting go, moving to the left one. 

He kept sucking and licking, even softly biting me, as I moaned beneath him. The sensations sent a jolt of pleasure straight to my core, my back arching against his mouth. 

His hands began tracing down my body, as he moved from my breast kissing a path downwards. He reached his place between my legs as he looked up at me, hands coming up at either side of me. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, dark with desire, and his breath came out hot against my bare thigh as he spread me open for him. 

“Do you want this?” he asked, looking up at me again. 

I moaned out a yes, as his tongue flicked out to tease the edges of my soaked entrance. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, as he moved his lips to my clit, his tongue slipping between to gently tease me until he felt me take a shaky breath against him. 

Luigi dipped his tongue into me, tasting me, as my hips started working against his face. I couldn't feel anything, or maybe I was feeling everything. His mouth was like heaven, and I was lucky enough to have this privilege. I moaned, my hands gripping the sheets, almost clawing on them. He dragged his tongue through my folds, groaning against me, as he continued lapping at my sex. 

“God, you’re perfect,” Luigi mumbled against me, his voice muffled as he licked me with long, languid strokes. My breath came out in ragged gasps, my whole body burning under his relentless attention. 

“ Please … Lou .. yes ,” I stumbled over my words, my fingers tangling in his hair as I grabbed it, drawing a low groan from him.

“All I want is to hear you moan for me, could you do that?” He asked, flashing an innocent smile that contrasted sharply with the decidedly not-so-innocent nature of his actions.

All I did was whimper, my hips bucking against his face as he growled, his tongue thrusting deep, his lips and chin coated with my arousal. He pulled back for just a second, his breath heavy, his eyes wild as he looked at me. 

“I could eat you all day,” he murmured, his voice almost a snarl as he gripped my thighs tighter, pulling me closer. “I want to make you come on my tongue over and over again.” 

With that, he dove back in, his tongue swirling over my clit as he sucked me harder, his mouth relentless, I moaned louder, my fingers gripping his hair as my body arched off the bed, pleasure crashing through me with every filthy stroke of his tongue. 

Luigi groaned again, louder this time, savoring every moment as he devoured me, his mouth hot and hungry, like he couldn't get enough. He alternated between sucking my clit hard, his lips tight around the sensitive bud, and sliding his tongue deep inside me, fucking my pussy with slow, torturous strokes. 

Each time I gasped, my body trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher, his hands gripping my thighs so hard it felt like he was staking his claim. 

“Yeah, that's it,” Luigi murmured between licks, his voice raw. “I want to hear you. Let me hear how much you love when I make you come.” 

My moans grew louder, filling the bedroom as Luigi’s tongue worked me harder, faster, his groans matching my own as he lost himself in the taste of me. 

His hands slid up my body, gripping my breast firmly as he continued to feast on me, the pleasure so intense it was overwhelming. I couldn't stop myself anymore— every nerve was on fire, my mind blank as I gave in completely to him. 

“Luigi, fuck, I’m gonna–” I gasped, my thighs trembling as I teetered on the edge of release.

“Cum for me,” he growled, his voice hoarse as his tongue flicked over my clit again, harder, faster and relentless. “Come on my tongue.” 

With a final, and devastating suck on my clit, I shattered. pleasure slammed into me, my entire body shaking as I screamed his name, digging my nails into his scalp as he held me in place, his mouth still working me through the waves of my orgasm. 

Luigi didn't stop— he kept licking, kept sucking, devouring every drop as my body convulsed, the intensity of it made my legs shake. 

He moaned against me, his tongue softening slightly but still teasing my swollen clit as I came down , his grip on my hips loosening just enough to let me catch my breath. 

When he finally pulled back, his face was slick with my arousal, his eyes dark with lust as he looked up at me, his chest heaving. 

“You taste like heaven,” he rasped, his voice thick with satisfaction as he moved back over me, pressing his body against mine, his lips crashing into mine in a bruising kiss.

I could taste myself on his lips, feel the raw, aching desire still burning between us, and I knew this was only the beginning. 

“I’m not done worshipping you,” he whispered, his hands roaming over my body, possessive and loving all at once. “I’m not done making you feel good.” 

“Do you wanna feel good?” he asked, as his hands moved more slowly up my body, savoring every second his fingers touched my skin. His breath was still ragged, and his lips were barely an inch away from mine as I whispered against them, my voice quiet.

“Yes, yes I do,” 

Luigi’s lips moved back down my neck, his breath ragged as he pressed soft kisses along my jawline, his words spilling between them. 

“I could spend all day tasting you, touching you,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with raw emotion. “You deserve to feel good all the time. I’d make sure you never forget.” 

My mind was spinning, my body burning under his touch. Every word he spoke, every movement of his mouth, was like gasoline on fire, and I was completely consumed by him, by the way he made me feel— seen, wanted almost. 

Luigi’s hands slid back up to my breasts, kneading them as his lips claimed my lips in another searing kiss, his tongue tangling with mine as he pressed me harder into the bed, his body radiating heat, his need for me palpable. 

“Tell me,” he rasped against my lips, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me how much you want this.” 

My breath hitched, my lips parting as his words hung in the air between us. The heat in his eyes, the intensity of his touch — it was overwhelming and I couldn't stop myself from responding. 

“I want it so bad, Luigi,” I whispered, my voice shaking with need, my body arching into him. “Please… I.. I need to feel you.” 

He groaned at my words, his hands moving to my hips, gripping them tightly, his erection pressing harder against me. 

“Yeah,” he growled, his lips brushing mine, “You need me.” 

He took his cock in his hand giving it a slow stroke, his eyes locked on to me, the sight making me clench my thighs in anticipation. He moved to tap the thick head of his cock against my clit, the sudden jolt of pleasure making me cry out, body arching towards him. 

“You want it here, yeah?” He growled, slapping his cock against my swollen clit again, this time harder, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. “You want to feel me inside you, is that it”?

“Oh, God, yes,” I moaned, my hands finding his shoulders and gripping him hard as my body trembled with need. “Fuck me, Luigi. Fuck me..” 

His eyes flashed with pure desire as he tapped his cock against my clit again, the wet head of his throbbing as more precum leaked out, mixing with my own arousal. 

He moved his upper body to the side, reaching for the side table drawer, pulling out a condom. He tore the plastic between his teeth, taking it and putting it on before dragging his length between my folds, coating himself in my slickness, groaning as he teased me. 

“I’m gonna make you scream for me,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’ll never even think about anything else.” 

My breath came in short, ragged gasps as he pressed the head of his cock against my entrance, teasing me, making me ache for him. Every word he spoke, every filthy promise he made, sent another wave of heat crashing through me, my body desperate for the release only he could give.

“Say it,” Luigi demanded, his voice rough as he slid just the tip inside me, stretching me over so slightly. “Tell me you’re mine.” 

“I’m yours,” I gasped, my hands tightening on his shoulders as I felt him push inside me. “I’m yours, please. Please, fuck me.” 

The words could mean nothing once he finished, once my head had cleared and we were all cleaned up again, but now? They meant the world, they meant more than anyone could understand. 

With a deep, guttural groan, Luigi thrust into me, his cock stretched me wide, filling me completely for the second time. The sensation was still overwhelming, my body arching into his as he buried himself deep inside me, his hands gripping my hips as he held me in place. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, his voice strained as he began to move, his cock sliding in and out of me in slow, delibrate strokes. 

Luigi’s thrusts were deep and calculated, each one sending a shockwave through my entire body. his hands gripped my hips hard enough to leave bruises, but the delicious pressure only intensified the raw need coursing between us. His cock filled me completely, stretching me into the point where I could barely think straight, only able to feel him. 

“God, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice rough with lust as he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into me with a force that made me gasp. Luigi’s mouth was everywhere, his lips moving over my neck, nipping at my skin before kissing and licking at the sensitive spot just below my ear. 

His tongue flicked out, tasting the salt of my skin, and I moaned, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he fucked me harder, his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside me. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttured, his voice thick with praise and hunger as he kissed down my neck, his lips trailing lower as they found my breast again, groaning as he took one nipple into his mouth sucking hard. The sensation of his mouth on my skin, combined with the relentless pace of his hips, had me gasping, my body on the verge of breaking apart with pleasure. 

Luigi stopped his attack on my breast as he kissed his way back up to my mouth, his lips crashing against mine in a bruising kiss. 

His tongue invaded my mouth, hungry and demanding, as he continued to pound into me. Yesterday had been calm, almost casual. But today? Today was anything but that. Today, he was giving me his everything.

His lips moved across my face, kissing my cheek, my jaw, before finding my neck again, sucking and biting at my skin as he fucked me. I could feel him throbbing inside me, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he pushed me closer to the brink of release. 

His hands slid down between our bodies, his thumb finding my swollen clit and rubbing it in tight circles as he fucked me, his touch sending sparks through my veins. 

“I’m gonna make you come,” he whispered, his voice laced with desire as he kissed me again, tongue dominating mine. “I want you to come all over me, show me how much you love it.” 

I whimpered, my body trembling as the pleasure mounted, my mind going blank as Luigi’s cock slammed into me harder, deeper. His hand on my clit, his mouth on my neck, his body pressed tightly against mine — it was too much, and I felt myself spiraling.

“That’s it,” he growled, as he felt me tighten around him. “Come. Just let go, and come all over me.” 

With a final devastating thrust, the coil inside me snapped, and I screamed his name as my orgasm tore through me, my body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me. 

My pussy clenched around his cock, milking him as he groaned deeply, his hips never stopping, prolonging my pleasure as he fucked me through my orgasm. Luigi’s hips slowed, but his thrusts remained deep and deliberate, his cock throbbing inside me, the heat of him radiating against my skin. his breaths came in hot, ragged bursts against my neck as his hands roamed possessively over my body, caressing every inch of my trembling form. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he rasped, his voice thick with need as his hips ground deeper, each thrust making my body arch against his. “My girl,” he whispered.

His words sent another jolt of desire through me, my body still sensitive from my orgasm, but I could feel his need, the tension in his body as he held back. His cock twitching inside me, and I knew he was close– so close. 

Luigi’s pace slowed slightly, his cock throbbing deep inside me as he hovered over me, his breath hot and heavy against my ear. his hand slid down my side, possessive, as if every inch of my body belonged to him now. Maybe it did, if it meant that I would feel like this, then it did. He kissed along my jawline, his voice husky with a hint of something deeper.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hands gripping my hips as he pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his cock still twitching inside me. 

I felt a rush of heat, my body trembling with the intensity of the moment, my voice came out shaky, but full of want as I gasped, “Yes.. Yes, keep going.” 

A moan escaped his lips as his eyes darkened staring at me. His hips bucked forward again, harder this time. His thrusts growing faster, harder and deeper as he fucked me all over again. His cock still hitting that sweet spot everytime. 

Dirty words came out of his mouth, sending a shock of pleasure straight through me, igniting every nerve in my body. Luigi’s hands gripped my hips harder as he thrust deeper, his cock filling me completely with each powerful stroke.  

My fingers dug into his back as my moans grew louder and louder again, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. His pace grew faster and more frantic as he chased his release. I could feel him getting closer, his grip on my hips tightening as his cock swelled inside me, his thrusts becoming erratic. 

His moans grew louder as well, as he buried his face in my neck, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up. Gonna come inside you. Gonna make sure every drop stays inside.” 

I was lost in him, lost in the way his body felt against mine, the way his words wrapped around me, pulling me deeper into pleasure. “Yes.. Lou.. Yes.” I gasped, my voice trembling. 

“God, you.. Fuck..” he hissed, with a deep, primal growl, Luigi’s hips slammed into me one last time, his cock pulsing as he came with a force that made his whole body shudder. He held me tightly, his breath gasping as he groaned my name, his come spilling. 

I could feel every twitch, every hot pulse of his release, his breath coming out harsh, pants as he held me to him as he emptied himself. He stayed like that for a moment, our bodies pressed together, his forehead resting against my shoulder as he caught his breath. his cock still twitching inside me, his come warm in the condom. His hands began caressing my sides, his touch tender and loving despite the roughness of what just happened. 

His arms remained locked around me, his breath warm against the curve of my neck. The rapid pounding of his heart gradually slowed, matching the easy rhythm of my own. “You’re pure perfection,” he murmured again, his lips brushing against my skin as if the words themselves were a reverent kiss.

I let out a shaky exhale, my fingers tracing absent patterns along the curve of his shoulder. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t just physical—it was something deeper, something grounding. I could feel his vulnerability in the way he held me, as though I was the only thing keeping him tethered.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his lips moving just near my ear. There was a tenderness in his voice that made my chest ache.

“Yeah,” I whispered back, my own voice breathy. “Are you?”

He nodded against me, finally pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. The intensity in his gaze was still there, but now it was laced with something softer, warmer.

He pulled out of me, shifting on the bed so that he lay next to me instead. His arm curled around my waist, pulling me close until my head rested against his chest. The warmth of his skin and the steady thrum of his heartbeat made the world outside the bedroom feel like a distant memory.

“You sure you okay?” he asked again, his voice still husky from exertion. His hand lazily trailed up and down my arm, the soft motion grounding me.

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’m perfect,” I murmured, tilting my head to look up at him. “What about you?”

“Never better,” he replied with a grin, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. He lingered there for a moment, his lips warm against my skin. “So,” he said, pulling back slightly and meeting my gaze, “what’s the plan for today?”

I chuckled softly. “You’re asking me? You’re the one with all the big ideas.”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching in that way that made my stomach flip. “Alright, let’s see… How about breakfast first? Something good, something greasy.”

“Greasy, huh?” I teased, raising an eyebrow. “You have a specific craving, or are we just winging it?”

“Winging it,” he admitted with a laugh, his hand still drawing idle patterns on my arm. “But pancakes sound good. Maybe bacon. Definitely coffee.”

“Definitely coffee,” I agreed, laughing. “I think I’d fall asleep right here without it.”

His grin softened into something more tender as he studied my face. “Not that I’d mind. You look cute when you’re sleepy.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the blush that crept up my cheeks. “Pancakes, bacon, coffee,” I repeated, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “Then what?”

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “Maybe we take a walk? Hit up that park you like?”

“Oh yeah, that sounds nice.”

“Yeah. It’s not too far. We can grab lunch after, and maybe… I don’t know, wander a bit? See where the day takes us?”

“Spontaneous. I like it,” I said, smiling.

His grin widened, and he tapped a finger gently against my nose. “Knew you would.”

A comfortable silence settled between us, the kind that felt natural and easy. The sunlight filtering through the curtains painted golden streaks across the room, and for a moment, the only sounds were the faint hum of the few cars outside and the rhythmic beating of his heart beneath my ear.

“You know,” he said suddenly, his tone lighter, “we don’t have to do anything. We could just stay here all day.”

I laughed, poking his chest lightly. “Tempting, but I think I’d go stir-crazy.”

“Fair,” he said with a chuckle, pulling me a little closer. “But if I had my way, we’d never leave this bed.”

I shook my head, grinning. “Good thing you don’t always get your way.”

“Yet,” he teased, his voice playful.

I smiled, feeling the kind of contentment that came with moments like this—simple, easy, and full of quiet happiness.

Steam swirled around us, the soft hiss of the shower filling the space as the warm water poured over my shoulders. It felt like a cocoon, a safe little world where time didn’t exist. He stood close, his broad frame shielding me from the cooler air, and I tilted my head back, letting the water soak through my hair and roll down my face.

“Is this too hot?” he asked, his voice low and tender, cutting through the quiet. He reached for the handle, his fingers brushing mine.

“It’s perfect,” I murmured, glancing over my shoulder at him. His eyes were soft, full of that unmistakable warmth that made my chest tighten.

With a small smile, he reached for the body wash, pouring a small amount into his hand before working it into a rich foam. “Turn around for me,” he said gently. I obeyed, letting him guide me under the stream of water. His hands found my shoulders first, strong but careful, moving in slow circles that sent a shiver down my spine—not from cold, but from the sheer tenderness of his touch.

His fingers traveled down my arms next, lathering the soap with deliberate care, and when he gently lifted my hands to clean them too, I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re being very thorough,” I teased, the playfulness in my tone barely masking the warmth spreading through my chest.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating softly between us. “Someone has to take care of you.”

Turning me slightly, he worked his way down my back, his touch unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world. Every sweep of his hand felt less like a task and more like a declaration, a silent message that said, I’m here. I’ve got you. When his hands moved to my legs, kneeling slightly to reach, I felt a blush creep up my neck.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft, catching the hesitation in my posture.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just... not used to this.”

His hand stilled on my calf, and he looked up, meeting my eyes with an intensity that made my breath hitch. “You deserve this. Let me take care of you.”

My throat tightened, but I nodded, unable to form words. He continued, finishing with the same care he’d started, before moving to the shampoo.

“Hair next,” he said, his smile making my heart flip. He worked the shampoo into my hair, his fingers massaging my scalp in slow, soothing motions. A contented sigh escaped me, and I heard his quiet chuckle.

“You like that, huh?” he teased, and I could hear the grin in his voice.

“Maybe,” I admitted, leaning into his touch. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He rinsed my hair carefully, making sure every trace of suds was gone before reaching for the conditioner. When he combed it through my hair with his fingers, he paused, looking down at me with a soft expression. “How’s that?”

“Perfect,” I whispered, and I meant it.

Once we were done, he grabbed a towel and gently patted me dry, his movements careful and precise. I tried to take over, but he wouldn’t let me, insisting, “I’ve got this.” 

I laughed, rolling my eyes, but secretly, I loved it.

Finally, with both of us dry and dressed, we made our way to the kitchen. The morning light filtered through the windows, painting the room in soft, golden hues. I cracked eggs into the pancake batter, whisking them lazily as he moved behind me, his arms slipping around my waist. His chin rested on my shoulder, and I felt the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” he asked, his voice light, but with a teasing edge.

“I’ve got it,” I said with a small laugh, tilting my head to glance at him. “Unless you think I can’t manage breakfast?”

“Not at all,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. “But I do think pancakes taste better when I flip them.”

I arched a brow, pausing my whisking to turn slightly toward him. “Oh, really? Is that some kind of secret pancake law?”

“Absolutely,” he said, his grin widening. “Master pancake flippers like me are rare, you know.”

I rolled my eyes, but handed him the bowl. “Fine, show me your legendary flipping skills.”

He chuckled and moved to the stove, pulling out a skillet. I leaned back against the counter, watching as he poured the batter with deliberate care, his brow furrowed in concentration. The first pancake hit the pan with a soft sizzle, and he glanced over at me with a playful smile.

“See? Perfection already,” he said, flipping it with a smooth motion.

I shook my head, turning to the coffee machine to start brewing a pot. The rich aroma of coffee quickly filled the air, mingling with the scent of pancakes as they browned in the pan. “You’re lucky I like you,” I called over my shoulder, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet.

“Lucky? I’m a catch,” he shot back, turning his focus back to the pancakes.

“You keep telling yourself that,” I teased, setting the mugs down on the counter.

As he worked, I turned my attention to the bacon. The strips crackled and popped in the pan, sending their smoky aroma into the air. We moved around the kitchen with an easy rhythm, stealing glances and light touches as we worked. He bumped his hip into mine as he reached for a plate, and I swatted at him with the spatula, laughing.

Soon, the counter was filled with stacks of golden pancakes, a plate of crispy bacon, and steaming mugs of coffee. “Not bad for a team effort,” he said, setting the last pancake onto the plate and turning to me with a satisfied grin.

“I did most of the work,” I pointed out, smirking as I poured syrup over the stack.

“And I brought the charm,” he countered, leaning against the counter with a mock-serious expression. “Essential ingredient.”

“Of course,” I replied, handing him a fork.

We carried everything to the table, the sunlight catching on the syrup as it dripped down the sides of the pancakes. He pulled out a chair for me, his hand brushing mine as I sat down, and then took the seat across from me.

For a moment, we just ate in comfortable silence, the kind that felt warm and intimate. The kind that made me think, this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. When I looked up at him, his eyes were already on me, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“What?” I asked, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just... happy right now.”

I smiled back, my heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. “Me too.”

As the morning stretched on, the two of us lingered at the table, laughing and talking about the day ahead. The dishes sat forgotten for the moment, and for once, I didn’t care. Everything else could wait.

Chapter Text

The days passed in the blink of an eye, each one blending seamlessly into the next as Luigi and I spent nearly all our time together, cherishing every fleeting moment. His presence had become a constant comfort, and his kisses—those soft, electrifying kisses—were something I craved more with each passing day. But as much as I wanted to lose myself in the bliss of it all, a small, unwelcome thought had begun to take root in my mind, growing steadily into something I couldn’t ignore.

It started as a whisper of doubt, but it soon transformed into a nagging fear: What if this is temporary? What if this doesn’t last?

We hadn’t yet talked about where we stood, about how our relationship had shifted so dramatically. From being inseparable friends in childhood to not speaking for years, to finally reuniting under the most unexpected circumstances—and on shaky ground at that. The tension that had built up over the past months had been undeniable, culminating in that first, life-altering kiss. But now, with the intensity of our connection, I couldn’t help but wonder: Was this real? Or was it just a fleeting moment born from unresolved feelings and years of pent-up longing?

What if this was nothing more than a temporary fling for him? What if the way I saw us wasn’t the same way he did? Maybe our childhood crushes had simply morphed into raw, unbridled attraction—a fire that burned so hot it had to be released, only to fade once it was spent.

The thought sent a chill through me, even as I sat beside him, soaking in the warmth of his presence. Doubt had taken hold, and no matter how much I tried to focus on the present, it lingered like a shadow over every perfect moment we shared.

The cold air of Philadelphia hit me as we stepped out of the car. It was New Year's Eve, and the city was alive with excitement, the streets bustling with people heading to parties and family gatherings. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment, even though I hadn’t gone back to Baltimore for the holidays. There was something about staying here, in the quiet of the city, that felt comforting.

As I walked beside him down the snow-covered sidewalk, I couldn’t help but glance over at him. He looked good, as usual. His brown hair was slightly tousled from the wind, and his eyes had that familiar spark of determination, even when he wasn’t doing anything in particular. I’d gotten so used to seeing him like this — calm, composed, always a little quiet but never distant.

We reached the entrance of what had become our go-too Italian bistro, and I felt a rush of anticipation. The warm light spilling from the windows beckoned us inside, and the smell of garlic and fresh-baked bread made my stomach growl. It was one of those places that felt like a secret, a cozy little retreat tucked away from the rest of the world.

Luigi opened the door and guided me inside, his hand resting gently on the small of my back. The restaurant was only half full, with a few patrons scattered throughout the space. The dim lighting gave the place a cozy, intimate feel, with soft chatter filling the air. The aroma of fresh dishes being prepared drifted from the kitchen, mixing with the faint scent of aged wood. Luigi led me to a table by the window, where the evening light cast a warm glow on the crisp white tablecloth. He pulled out my chair with a smile, his eyes twinkling as he took his seat across from me.

As we settled into our seats, a waiter approached with a menu in hand, his smile polite. Luigi quickly ordered a bottle of wine, his voice low and confident. The waiter nodded and walked away, leaving us in a comfortable silence.

I glanced around the room, taking in the relaxed atmosphere. The soft clink of silverware, the quiet laughter of nearby tables—it all felt soothing, almost as if time had slowed down just for this moment. Luigi leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving mine.

“You look great,” he complimented me, his eyes tracing the features of my face with a softness that made me feel admired almost. 

I felt a slight flush rise to my cheeks, though I tried to hide it with a smile. "Thanks," I replied, my voice a little quieter than usual. His attention was warm, but it had a way of making me self-conscious, like I was under a gentle but unrelenting spotlight.

The waiter returned with the wine, interrupting the moment. Luigi thanked him and poured us both a glass, the deep red liquid catching the light. He raised his glass, his eyes still on me. “To good company,” he said, his tone sincere.

I clinked my glass against his, feeling the weight of the gesture. "To good company," I echoed, allowing myself to settle into the ease of the evening.

The wine was rich and smooth, the flavors lingering on my palate as we took our first sips. For a moment, the world outside seemed to blur, leaving just the two of us in this small, intimate bubble.

“Time is going way too fast,” I said, sparking up a new thread of conversation. “I spoke to Sam, and she said she’ll be back on Friday, same with Hannah and Everlyn.”

His demeanor shifted slightly, sitting up straighter as he nodded. “Yeah, classes start again on Monday.”

“She mentioned something about ‘an awesome party’ she was gonna throw on Saturday,” I informed him, air quoting with my hands, playfully mocking her. “Said we had to do the shopping before she arrives.”

He let out a laugh, taking a sip of his wine. “Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head. “That sounds like a lot of work. You know she’ll probably drag us into something ridiculous last minute.”

I faked a groan, rolling my eyes dramatically. "God, you're right. But I won't be doing the cleaning after," I said, crossing my arms with a playful frown.

Luigi chuckled, shaking his head. "I think we all know who’s gonna end up with that job," he teased, his tone light but knowing.

I gave him a mock glare. "I’m delegating that one to you, then," I replied with a smirk. "You can’t get out of it that easily."

He laughed again, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. "We’ll see about that. I’m pretty sure I’ll have a very convincing excuse."

"Sure," I said, raising an eyebrow. "I’ll believe it when I see it."

The waiter returned to our table, his notepad in hand, ready to take our orders. He offered a polite smile, his apron neatly tied around his waist, and his uniform spotless. 

"Have you decided what you'd like, or do you need a few more minutes?" he asked, his eyes glancing over the menu before meeting ours.

Luigi didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll have the risotto,” he said smoothly, glancing at me with a small smile, as if he knew he’d just picked something indulgent.

I gave him a playful roll of my eyes, then turned to the waiter. “And I’ll take the salmon, please,” I added, just to be cheeky.

The waiter nodded, a small flicker of amusement crossing his face as he jotted it down. “I’ll get that right in for you,” he said, then walked off with a practiced grace.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Luigi’s smile turned mischievous. “So, about that cleaning…” he started, leaning in slightly.

I shot him a look, raising my glass. “Let’s just say I’ve learned from past mistakes. This time, I’m making sure someone else takes the fall.”

He laughed, but there was a knowing glint in his eyes. "We'll see about that. You’re still on cleanup duty, mark my words."

"Keep dreaming," I muttered, feeling the playful challenge hanging in the air.

After a while, Luigi chuckled to himself, the sound so genuine it made me smile a little—and, unexpectedly, my heart skipped a beat.

“What?” I asked, turning to look at him, my curiosity piqued.

He shook his head, still grinning. “No, nothing,” he said, the smile playing at the corners of his mouth as if he was hiding something.

“Come on, tell me!” I urged, unable to suppress my growing curiosity. “What’s so funny?”

He leaned back in his chair, trying to compose himself but failing miserably. “I just remembered the time you wanted to try basketball and tried dunking for the first time,” he said, barely able to contain his laughter. “You jumped, almost reached the hoop, and then... you fell, breaking your ankle.”

The image hit me in a flash, and I stared at him in playful confusion. “Are you seriously laughing about that?” I asked, a smile tugging at my lips.

He nodded, his whole body shaking with laughter. “I can’t help it. You were so confident and then—” He laughed again, his voice trailing off.

I shook my head in disbelief, though I couldn’t help but laugh as well. “That was like eight years ago,” I said, still smiling but feigning indignation. “And it hurt like hell.”

Luigi could barely stop laughing long enough to nod in agreement. I watched him, shaking my head in awe. 

“I just remember you were so invested,” Luigi continued, his voice still tinged with amusement. “Buying new shoes and clothes, talking about becoming the new Bill Russell, and…” He was cut off by another burst of laughter as the memory hit him full force.

“You used to call yourself Bille Russell.” He shook with laughter, barely able to catch his breath.

“Stop,” I said, laughing along but feeling a wave of half-embarrassment, half-amusement. “I was just... trying to make it work.”

Luigi wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning like a maniac. “Oh, you made it work alright. For about ten minutes before gravity reminded you who was in charge.”

I shook my head, laughing despite myself. “You’re such an idiot,” I said, but there was no heat in my words. The sheer joy in his laughter made it impossible to stay mad.

His foot nudged mine under the table, a gentle, almost unnoticeable touch that sent a small jolt of warmth through me. He smiled at me, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and something else—something that lingered in the air between us, unspoken but present.

For a brief moment, everything else seemed to fade away, and it was just the two of us in this little bubble of laughter and shared memories. I held his gaze, a smile tugging at my lips. 

“You know,” I said with a playful glint in my eye, “I also have some dirt on you.”

Luigi’s eyebrow arched in surprise, his curiosity instantly piqued. He leaned back slightly, his smile widening just a fraction, as if testing my resolve. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice a little lower, full of intrigue. “What dirt do you have on me?”

I could see the shift in his expression—he was amused, but also on edge, eager to hear whatever I was about to reveal. I took my time, letting the silence stretch between us as I carefully considered my next words.

“Just a few things,” I said, lowering my voice ever so slightly for effect. “A couple of stories you’d rather I kept to myself. You know, the kind of things that could totally ruin your reputation.”

He raised both eyebrows now, leaning in slightly, his eyes narrowing with a mix of amusement and challenge. “You’ve got my attention. I’m all ears,” he teased, a smirk curling on his lips. “Come on, spill it. I’m not scared.”

I could feel the energy shift, the playful tension between us growing thicker with each passing second. My heart picked up a little as I watched him, enjoying the way he leaned forward, hanging on my every word, clearly daring me to cross that line.

I met his gaze, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "Maybe I’ll save it for later," I said with a shrug, my voice light, as if I were letting him off the hook—though I could see the slight flicker of frustration in his eyes. He wasn’t about to let me get away that easily.

"Don’t tease me like that," he said, his voice deepening with a playful growl as he leaned in closer, clearly caught up in the banter but still grinning.

I glanced away, a mischievous smile creeping onto my face. "Well, I was wondering if you still had her around," I said, dragging out the sentence, trying to see if he’d catch on.

For a moment, he looked puzzled, brow furrowed, before his eyes suddenly lit up with recognition.

"You didn’t," he exclaimed, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement, his eyes dancing with surprise.

I couldn't help but smirk. "I knew you'd take her to college with you," I teased, "You're so predictable."

He shook his head, still grinning, but with a playful hint of mock indignation. "Don’t disrespect Rosie like that," he said, his tone light but affectionate.

Years ago, Luigi had this stuffed bear named Rosie—his secret companion. He’d take her everywhere, though he made sure no one ever knew. One day, I found her tucked away, and now, years later, I found her again. This time, though, she was in his drawer.

He crossed his arms, still smiling but clearly trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “You can’t just go digging through my stuff like that,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a serious invasion of privacy, you know.”

I leaned back in my chair, feigning innocence. “I wasn’t digging through your stuff,” I said, raising my hands in mock surrender. “I just happened to come across it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and I could tell he was still processing the fact that I had found Rosie. A small, nostalgic chuckle escaped him, and for a moment, I saw a glimpse of the shy, sentimental side of him that he rarely let anyone see.

“You’re really gonna hold this over my head, aren’t you?” he asked, his smile turning into a knowing grin. “I’m just trying to live it down.”

I raised an eyebrow, matching his grin. “I don’t know, Lou. You’re a grown man. You can’t just keep a stuffed bear in your drawer and expect no one to find out.”

He leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious but with a playful gleam in his eyes. “If you ever tell anyone about Rosie, I’ll make sure you regret it,” he said in a low, teasing tone.

I held his gaze, trying not to laugh, the challenge in his voice making it all the more fun. “You wouldn’t dare,” I said, leaning closer. “Besides, I think the real question is: how long have you been keeping her around, huh?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly fighting the urge to laugh. “It’s not like that,” he said quickly. “She’s just... part of the collection.”

“Part of the collection?” I repeated, unable to hold back a burst of laughter. “What other collections do you have hidden away, Lou?”

He rolled his eyes, but there was still a playful warmth to his expression. “I don’t collect anything else,” he said, shaking his head. “But you’ve got me on this one.”

I could tell he wasn’t actually embarrassed, just caught up in the ridiculousness of it all. "I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” I said, still laughing, but with a soft smile. "Your secret’s safe with me. But I gotta admit, it’s kinda cute."

Luigi gave me a look, his smirk returning. “You think it’s cute, huh?” he said, the challenge back in his voice. “Well, you’re not as tough as you think.”

I leaned back in my chair, still grinning. “Maybe not,” I said, "but you’re a lot more sentimental than you let on."

His expression softened for just a moment before he shrugged, as if brushing it off. "Guess I’ve got my moments," he said with a quiet chuckle, settling back into his seat. “But don’t get any ideas. Rosie stays between us.”

"Between us," I repeated, savoring the words with a teasing grin as I took a slow sip from my wine. My eyes stayed on Luigi for a moment longer, letting the tension linger, before I set the glass down.

Just as I was about to say something else, the waiter appeared, balancing our plates with a practiced grace. He set them down in front of us, his smile polite but professional.

“Your meals, enjoy,” he said, before quietly retreating, leaving us alone again.

I couldn’t help but glance at the food in front of me, the delicious aroma immediately pulling my attention away from the playful moment. The plate of salmon gleamed in the soft light, perfectly cooked, and I felt my stomach growl in anticipation.

Luigi’s gaze shifted to his risotto, the creamy dish already tempting him. He picked up his fork and dug in, his earlier playfulness momentarily giving way to the simple pleasure of a well-prepared meal.

For a moment, we both ate in silence, the comfort of the meal and the easy rhythm of being together filling the space between us. But even as we enjoyed our food, I couldn’t help but notice the way Luigi’s eyes occasionally flicked back to me.

"Is it good?" he asked, his eyes focused on my plate, a playful curiosity in his voice.

"Yeah, it’s good," I answered, taking another bite. The rich flavors of the salmon made me appreciate the meal even more. But before I could take another forkful, I felt a shift in the air—a sudden movement—and looked up just in time to see Luigi’s fork sinking into my salmon, cutting off a generous piece and lifting it to his mouth.

I stared at him in shock, momentarily frozen. "Hey!" I exclaimed, laughing in disbelief. "You have your own food!"

He chewed, his face the picture of innocence as he swallowed the bite, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You just make it look so good,” he said, his voice filled with mock seriousness, as if it was the most logical thing in the world to steal a piece of my dinner.

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head in amazement. “Unbelievable,” I said, but my smile betrayed me. "You can't just go around stealing my food like that."

He shrugged nonchalantly, now dipping his fork into his own risotto. "I can, actually. Consider it a compliment," he said with a wink, as if it was the highest form of praise.

I couldn’t resist the temptation, so I pulled my fork toward his plate, scooping up a bite of his creamy risotto. He didn’t protest, not even a hint of surprise on his face. Instead, he just watched me, that familiar, mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

I brought the fork to my mouth, savoring the rich, buttery flavor, and when I finally let the bite settle on my tongue, I glanced back at him. His smile had only deepened, as if the small act of stealing his food was just part of the fun.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” he said, his tone playful, as he picked up another forkful of his own meal.

I raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Lucky?” I repeated, licking my lips as if savoring the moment. “This isn’t luck, Luigi. This is just how it’s going to be from now on.”

He chuckled, the warmth in his eyes softening. “Well, in that case, you can have as much as you want,” he said with a shrug, clearly pleased with the way things were going.

We ate, laughed, and lost ourselves in conversation, talking about everything and nothing all at once. It was the kind of easy, comfortable exchange that made the hours slip by without notice. We found humor in the smallest things—stories from our childhood, silly observations, and inside jokes we’d carried over the years. The flow of our conversation was effortless, like we were both just happy to be in the moment, enjoying each other’s company.

Every so often, my gaze would linger on him, caught in the way he laughed, the way his eyes sparkled when he was genuinely amused. I’d watch the way his hands moved as he gestured, or the way his smile seemed to light up his face, and for a brief second, I’d catch myself just admiring him.

He looked so... himself, in a way that made everything feel familiar. It wasn’t just his appearance—though I couldn’t deny how handsome he was—but the way he was so present, so comfortable in his own skin. It was easy to forget the passage of time when you were with someone like that. It was as though every shared smile, every laugh, had a way of drawing me in a little more, making me want to hold onto the moment just a bit longer.

But I never said anything, never mentioned the way my heart seemed to flutter when I caught him looking at me, or the quiet, subtle way that I felt connected to him, even in the most trivial of conversations. For now, I was content to let those feelings sit in the background.

“Dessert?” I asked, my tone light, glancing at Lou as the waiter silently cleared our plates. A small smile played on my lips, anticipation coloring the moment.

Lou nodded, his own smile growing a touch wider, the familiar twinkle in his eyes giving away the mischief brewing beneath the surface. “Yes,” he replied, drawing out the word slightly as if deliberating. Then, he turned his attention to the waiter with casual confidence. “Uh, could we get one tiramisu, please?”

The waiter, composed and efficient, gave a polite nod before gathering the last of our dishes. He disappeared toward the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone once again.

A quiet chuckle escaped me as I leaned back in my chair, the easy comfort of the moment wrapping around us like a well-worn blanket. “Sharing, huh?” I teased, raising an eyebrow at him, my tone laced with playful skepticism.

Lou turned his head to meet my gaze, his expression shifting into exaggerated mock surprise, eyes widening just enough to feign innocence. “Oh, you also wanted one?” he asked, his voice light but with the unmistakable edge of teasing. The grin tugging at his lips betrayed him before I could even respond.

“You’re so dumb,” I said, shaking my head as I laughed softly, the words carrying no malice, only affection. “Of course I wanted one.”

He leaned forward slightly, propping his elbows on the edge of the table, his grin growing smug as he watched me. A playful gleam lit his eyes as he replied, “Well, you could always get a taste from mine,” he said, pausing just enough for the implication to settle in, “if you ask nicely.”

I arched an eyebrow, mirroring his posture as I leaned in, my gaze fixed firmly on his. The playful energy between us was palpable, like a thread connecting us across the table. “Oh,” I said, my voice low and mock-serious, “is that how this is going to go?”

He didn’t falter, his grin widening just slightly as he leaned a fraction closer, the space between us shrinking. "It might be,” he said, the teasing in his tone as unrelenting as his confidence.

The waiter’s quiet return with our dessert interrupted the moment, but the unspoken challenge between us lingered, hovering in the air like an unspent spark.

The waiter placed the small plate of tiramisu between us with precision, its delicate layers of mascarpone and espresso-soaked ladyfingers gleaming under the warm light. He set down two spoons beside it and offered a polite, “Enjoy,” before stepping away.

I glanced down at the dessert, then back at Lou, whose grin hadn’t wavered. His fingers brushed against one of the spoons, but he didn’t pick it up right away. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Well?” I prompted, raising an eyebrow as I reached for my own spoon. “Aren’t you going to have some of your dessert?”

“Oh, I will,” he said casually, watching me with that same smug expression. “But I’m enjoying this moment—seeing how eager you are to steal the first bite.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Steal? If anything, I’m claiming what’s rightfully mine. You did only order one , remember?”

“True,” he admitted, tilting his head as though considering. “But I’m pretty sure that it still makes it mine by default.”

Without hesitation, I scooped up a small bite of the tiramisu, his eyes following the movement of the spoon as it traveled to my lips. His gaze lingered, almost mesmerized, as I slid the spoon into my mouth, the creamy mascarpone and rich espresso melting decadently on my tongue. A satisfied smile spread across my face as I savored the flavor. “Mmm,” I murmured, letting the sound draw out deliberately. “Your dessert is absolutely amazing.”

His grin widened as he leaned forward, finally picking up his own spoon. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Maybe,” I replied, watching as he took his first bite. The way his face softened slightly, his eyes narrowing in pleasure, was enough to make me laugh again. “But I was right, wasn’t I? It’s good.”

He nodded, swallowing. “I’ll give you that,” he said, before slyly adding, “But you’re still not getting the last bite.”

“Oh, really?” I challenged, my spoon poised for another taste. “We’ll see about that.”

And so began the unspoken battle, a lighthearted tug-of-war over the small dessert that somehow felt like the perfect punctuation to the evening. Between stolen bites and playful banter, the tiramisu disappeared quicker than either of us had anticipated.

By the time the plate was empty, we were both laughing, the kind of laughter that left you breathless and warm. It wasn’t just the dessert, or even the teasing—it was the way the moment felt. Effortless. Familiar. But there it was again, that thought—nagging and persistent, growing larger and louder with each passing second. It loomed in the back of my mind, threatening to eclipse everything else.

“You okay?” Lou’s voice broke through the haze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied me with a mix of curiosity and concern. The warmth in his gaze made me realize I’d gone quiet, my thoughts betraying me.

“Yeah… I’m fine,” I replied quickly, my voice steady but perhaps too quick. I saw the hesitation flicker across his face; he didn’t believe me. Of course, he didn’t. Lou could always read me too well. But to my relief—or perhaps disappointment—he didn’t press.

Instead, he glanced at the time on his watch, casually shifting the moment to something lighter. “Well, it’s 11 o’clock,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “We could head to the square before midnight. I figured we could catch the fireworks.”

His words pulled me out of my thoughts, the idea of the square and fireworks offering a welcome distraction. I nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He returned my smile, though I could tell he was still keeping an eye on me. Always perceptive, always waiting for me to share what I wasn’t ready to say. For now, though, the square and the fireworks would have to do.

We stepped out from the cozy warmth of the bistro into the crisp embrace of the evening air. The city exhaled around us, its quiet hum blending with the faint glow of streetlights that stretched long shadows over the uneven cobblestone streets. As we headed toward the square, the distant buzz of life grew steadily louder, a quiet rhythm pulling us forward.

The walk was long enough for the cool breeze to nip at our cheeks, our breath visible in the sharp night air, swirling briefly before disappearing. Yet, the chill didn’t bother us. Our pace was unhurried, the journey filled with the easy flow of casual conversation interspersed with stretches of companionable silence that felt natural, even comforting.

We didn’t hold hands or make any overt gestures. Instead, there was a subtle rhythm in the way our arms brushed against each other when one of us laughed or leaned in slightly to make a point. It was unspoken, almost unconscious, but it was there—a quiet connection that needed no words or acknowledgment.

The night carried a quiet romance, the kind that felt lifted from stories about couples walking hand in hand under starlit skies. This was something boyfriends and girlfriends did, something steeped in intimacy and belonging—something meant for them, not for… whatever we were.

It felt wrong, like these moments didn’t belong to us, like I was an intruder in someone else’s story. The sensation gnawed at me, a strange guilt blooming in my chest. It wasn’t just that I was stealing this fleeting closeness, this tender simplicity—I felt as though I was stealing it from him. From a version of him that deserved someone who could share this without doubt, without hesitation.

But the warmth of his presence, the way he glanced at me and smiled so easily, kept pulling me back. Kept me from walking away from what I couldn’t admit I wanted.

“You’re zoning out on me again,” he said teasingly, his voice breaking through my thoughts. I glanced up to see him looking down at me as we walked, the corners of his lips tilted in a soft smile that didn’t quite mask the flicker of concern in his eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I replied quickly, my gaze dropping as a flush of shame crept over me. I hated how obvious it was, how transparent my thoughts must’ve been.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me for a moment before speaking again, his tone gentler now. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

There it was—his concern, genuine and unrelenting, wrapped in that quiet patience he always seemed to carry. It only made me feel worse. Here he was, trying to make sure I was okay while I sat here ruining the night with my own tangled-up thoughts. How much more pathetic could I get?

“It’s nothing, really,” I said, forcing my voice into an even, mundane tone as I fixed my eyes straight ahead. The words felt hollow, but I didn’t dare look back at him. Not when I could feel his gaze lingering, trying to read between the lines I was so desperately trying to draw.

His hand slipped toward mine, effortlessly finding its way into my palm and closing around it. I was caught off guard, my breath catching for a split second as the warmth of his hand settled into mine. I glanced up at him, feeling the weight of the moment, but he didn’t look at me. He was walking forward, his gaze straight ahead, as if nothing had changed.

It was as though he hadn’t even noticed the small shift, the quiet intimacy that lingered between us. But I felt it, every beat of my heart reminding me that things had subtly shifted, even if it was just for this moment. The comfort of his hand in mine contrasted with the storm of uncertainty brewing inside me. I squeezed his hand gently, not sure what I was trying to communicate, but hoping he could feel it too.

He squeezed my hand back, the gesture grounding me, and for a brief moment, all the swirling thoughts in my head quieted. We continued walking, our pace slowing as we neared the square. The energy shifted around us, and the atmosphere seemed to hum with the excitement of everyone already gathered.

People milled about, chatting in small groups, some lounging on nearby benches, others standing in clusters, all waiting for the fireworks to begin. The square had already started to fill up, the crowd buzzing with anticipation, but somehow it felt like a world of noise and movement that existed just outside of the bubble we had created in that shared silence.

"God, it's so beautiful," I murmured, my gaze sweeping across the square. The Christmas lights twinkled above, casting a warm, golden glow that seemed to soften the chill of the night. The tree in the center of the square stood proudly, its branches adorned with shimmering ornaments and twinkling lights, creating a magical focal point in the midst of the bustling crowd.

Luigi glanced around for a moment, taking it all in, before his eyes found mine. I felt the shift as he turned his attention fully toward me, his gaze steady and warm, as if he had been waiting for this moment.

"Yeah, it really is," he said, his voice low and sincere, his gaze lingering on me a little longer than usual. There was something in the way he looked at me, but I knew that it was only my mind taunting me. 

I quickly looked away, my gaze darting to the Christmas tree as if it could offer some sort of distraction. I pretended to study the twinkling lights, trying to focus on anything but the weight of his gaze. My heart beat a little faster than usual, and I forced myself to breathe evenly, though every part of me felt anything but casual.

I was trying to act normal, to make it seem like everything was fine, like I wasn’t completely aware of the tension hanging between us. But inside, I was anything but composed. The way he’d looked at me, like he could see right through me, unsettled me in a way I wasn’t ready to acknowledge. So, I did what I always did in moments like this: I pretended. I acted like nothing was different.

"It's almost time," he said, glancing down at his phone before turning the screen toward me. I watched as the countdown neared, the seconds ticking away, and for a moment, the world around us seemed to fade into the background.

The familiarity of the moment struck me all at once. Spending New Year's with him again, after all these years, felt like stepping into a memory I hadn't realized I missed so much. The feeling was almost surreal, like we had picked up right where we left off, as if the years in between hadn't happened at all.

It was a comfort, though. A warmth that settled in my chest, reminding me of simpler times. Everything about this—his presence, the laughter, the shared moments—felt right, like the pieces of something unfinished finally falling into place. Despite the uncertainty that tugged at me, this moment, this connection, felt… nice.

The crowd’s voices swelled as they counted down, the excitement in the air palpable, and we joined in, the seconds ticking away in sync. As the clock struck midnight, the square exploded into jubilant cheers, laughter ringing through the night, and fireworks lighting up the sky above us in vibrant bursts of color.

At that moment, Luigi turned toward me, his arms wrapping around me in a big, warm hug. His embrace was a haven, holding me close, and for a heartbeat, the world around us seemed to freeze. I could feel the steady thrum of his heart against mine, the comforting familiarity of his presence grounding me in a way that made everything feel right.

As he pulled away, our gazes locked in a silent understanding, the air between us thick with unspoken words. Without thinking, something inside me shifted—some urge I couldn't ignore—and before I even realized it, I was on my tiptoes, leaning into him. My lips brushed his, a soft, fleeting kiss that deepened as our connection tightened. It was gentle, yet filled with meaning, like everything we hadn't said was captured in that one tender moment.

He grabbed me, pulling me closer, holding me there as the kiss deepened. His arms were firm around me, and I melted into his embrace. We pulled away slowly, both of us smiling, the chill of the night lingering on my cheeks, though it was nothing compared to the warmth of the kiss we had just shared. My skin tingled from the cold and the fluttering sensation that still hadn’t quite settled in my chest.

“Happy New Year!” I said, still caught in his arms, my hands resting gently against his clothed chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips.

"Happy New Year," he replied, his smile wide and soft as he looked down at me. His eyes held a warmth, before he leaned in again, this time planting a quick, light kiss on my lips. It was tender but playful, as if to seal the moment in a way only we could understand.

Around us, the square was alive with celebration—people embracing, laughing, exchanging wishes for the new year. The fireworks crackled above, casting bursts of light that painted the crowd in shimmering colors. Joy was palpable, filling the air like a tangible thing.

And yet, amidst the noise and energy, all we did was smile. We stood there, taking it all in, a quiet moment shared in the midst of so much chaos. My heart felt warm, a kind of warmth that spread through me, soft and gentle.

He made it warm. He made everything warm. Every glance, every small smile, every unspoken word between us added to that glow. It wasn’t just the new year or the lights around us—it was him. Somehow, he had a way of making everything feel a little brighter, a little better, just by being there. And I let myself stay in that feeling, letting it settle over me like the night’s magic was ours to hold.

I woke up in his bed, the now-familiar warmth of his space surrounding me. It had been a week of mornings like this, and I was starting to grow accustomed to it—maybe more than I should.

I stretched lazily, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, warming the room with a golden glow. His side of the bed was empty, the sheets slightly rumpled but cold to the touch. He wasn’t here.

Sitting up, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and glanced around. My clothes from last night were nowhere to be seen, but one of his shirts lay draped over the back of a chair. Without thinking twice, I slipped out of bed and grabbed it, pulling it over my head. The fabric was oversized and soft, faintly carrying his scent. I found my old sweatpants crumpled near the foot of the bed and quickly stepped into them, before padding barefoot across the room.

The house was quiet, the kind of silence that comes when everything is still waking up. As I made my way downstairs, the faint creak of the wooden steps accompanied my movements. The scent of freshly brewed coffee hit me before I reached the kitchen, drawing me toward it like a magnet.

When I stepped into the room, it was empty, though the coffee pot sat half-full on the counter. A single mug was out, steam rising faintly from its contents, and next to it, a small folded note. My chest tightened slightly as I walked over, picking up the paper to see his familiar handwriting scrawled across it.

Unfolding the note, I scanned the messy, slanted handwriting:

"Went to pick up supplies for Friday’s party. Sam’s orders. Coffee’s fresh. Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone. Be back soon. -Lou"

I smiled to myself, running a finger over the edge of the note. Of course, Sam’s party. She had a way of bossing everyone around and somehow making you enjoy it. I could almost hear her voice now, listing things he had to pick up while teasing him about his lack of party-planning expertise.

Setting the note down, I grabbed the mug he’d left out, sipping the still-warm coffee as I leaned against the counter. The rich, slightly bitter taste grounded me, pulling me into the present. I could picture him in some grocery aisle right now, probably arguing with himself over which brand of chips would impress the most. The image made me chuckle softly, a warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the coffee.

The house was quiet, but it didn’t feel empty. His presence lingered in every little thing—the way his chair was pushed back slightly from the table, the scent of his cologne faint in the air, the casual ease with which he left coffee and a note like it was second nature to think of me even when he wasn’t here.

I wandered into the common room, mug in hand, sinking into the couch. The upcoming party felt like an excuse, a way for everyone to come back together after being scattered for so long. It would be loud, chaotic, and full of laughter— a typical Sam party. But for now, in this quiet moment, it was just me and the soft hum of the morning.

And the thought of him, somewhere out there, making sure everything would be perfect.

A few days ago, I had finally cracked open the books I’d been avoiding all break, diving into the work for the upcoming semester. It was the stuff I should have tackled weeks ago, but, like always, procrastination had won out. Now, with the new term creeping closer, I’d decided it was time to face the inevitable.

At first, it felt tedious—sifting through lecture notes, highlighting key points, and flipping through dense textbooks. But as I got into the rhythm, it wasn’t so bad. In fact, a small part of me appreciated the structure, the familiar sense of focus that schoolwork brought. It gave me something to do, something to think about that wasn’t just the swirl of the holidays, parties, and… Him. 

Still, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I was playing catch-up, scrambling to make up for lost time. The pressure loomed, a constant reminder that no matter how much I tried to distract myself, responsibilities were waiting.

I sat cross-legged on the couch, my laptop perched on my lap, the soft glow of the screen illuminating the pages of notes I was half heartedly typing up. The quiet hum of the house was broken by the sound of the front door opening and the shuffle of bags.

“Hey!” his voice called out from the hallway, loud and casual.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I replied, “I’m in here!”

I heard the rustle of grocery bags before he appeared in the doorway, his arms laden with them, looking both exasperated and amused. His tousled hair fell slightly into his eyes, and his cheeks, flushed a light pink from the chill outside, added a boyish charm to his already disarming presence.

He was beautiful in that effortless way that made my heart stutter without warning. The kind of beauty that wasn’t just in his looks but in the way he carried himself—the ease of his movements, the warmth in his expression even when he was clearly annoyed by Sam’s grocery demands.

“You wouldn’t believe the circus that is the store right now,” he said, shaking his head before stepping fully inside. “It’s like everyone decided today was the perfect day to buy everything in sight.”

I bit back a smile, leaning against the couch. “Well, I hope you fought valiantly for those party supplies.”

He laughed, setting the bags down with a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I fought. And I conquered. But remind me to ask Sam how pineapple skewers ended up on her must-have list.”

His eyes met mine then, a faint glint of amusement in them, and I realized I was staring. Quickly, I turned my attention to the bags, pretending to examine the contents, but my cheeks burned with the warmth of having been caught.

“Got me anything good?” I asked, standing up and moving closer to the bags, curiosity sparking as I reached out to help him unload.

He raised an eyebrow at me, a teasing smirk forming on his lips as he scooped up the bags before I could get a good look inside. “Nice try,” he said, heading toward the kitchen with an air of mock protectiveness over his haul. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Seriously?” I followed him, crossing my arms as I leaned against the doorway, watching as he began setting items on the counter. “What if there’s something in there that has my name all over it?”

He chuckled, glancing over his shoulder at me. “Trust me, if there’s anything in here for you, it’ll be a surprise worth waiting for. Besides, half of this stuff is Sam’s idea of party essentials.”

Rolling my eyes but smiling, I walked over to his side, plucking a carton of juice from one of the bags. “Pineapple skewers and juice boxes? I’m starting to think Sam has an eclectic taste in snacks.”

“You have no idea,” he said with a grin, shaking his head as he sorted through more of the groceries.

He reached into one of the bags, his movements quick, before pulling something out and immediately tucking it behind his back.

“What was that?” I exclaimed, narrowing my eyes and stepping closer, already trying to tug at his arm.

“I said you’ll have to wait,” he replied with a grin, stepping back and tightening his hold, his arms firmly locked behind him like a vault.

“Lou...” I said, my tone half warning, half amused as I stared him down. “Give me it.”

His expression faltered for a split second, his lips twitching as though suppressing a laugh. But then, as if doubling down, his face shifted into an almost comically serious expression.

“...No,” he said, the word hanging in the air like a challenge.

I blinked at him, momentarily thrown off by his sheer audacity, before narrowing my eyes further. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”

His smile widened, mischievous now, as he took another step back. “You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to win this one.”

I surged toward him, my steps quick and determined, but he was already moving, effortlessly sidestepping me with a quick pivot. The moment I shifted my weight to follow, he spun gracefully around the kitchen island, that infuriatingly smug grin never leaving his face.

“Lou!” I laughed, my voice a mix of exasperation and amusement, as I tried once more to grab hold of him, but he danced just out of reach, moving further across the kitchen with calculated ease.

“You’re really committed to this, huh?” he teased, his voice light and playful, holding the item firmly behind his back as if it were a prized possession.

I narrowed my eyes, the competitive edge in me rising. “You know I’m not letting this go,” I retorted, continuing to circle him, watching for any opening, any shift in his stance.

“Oh, I know.” His chuckle was teasing as he stayed just one step ahead. “But you’re gonna have to work for it.”

His movements were graceful, like he had memorized the floor plan of the kitchen long ago. Every time I thought I was closing in, he would slip away with effortless precision. We both moved like this had become some unspoken game over the years, a game I refused to lose.

I feigned left, and for just a moment, he took the bait, stepping in the opposite direction. It was the split second I needed. With one swift motion, I lunged, my fingers finally catching the edge of his wrist.

"Gotcha!" I exclaimed, a victorious grin spreading across my face as I tugged his arm forward.

His laugh echoed in the room as he tried to pull back, but my hold on his wrist tightened, and with one last motion, I pried the object from his hand.

The instant I held it, the world seemed to pause. In my grasp was a box, wrapped in a faded red foil, a delicate golden ribbon still tied at the top. The packaging was unmistakable. I hadn’t seen this particular box in years, not since our childhood. My breath caught in my throat as I carefully turned it over in my hands.

"No way," I whispered, my voice betraying the flood of emotions I hadn’t expected to surface.

He met my gaze, his expression softening, the teasing grin now replaced by something warmer, almost nostalgic. “Yeah, I found it at that little shop downtown. I couldn’t believe they still had them. Thought it might be fun… you know, for old times’ sake.”

I couldn’t help but smile, a rush of memories flooding my mind. The last time we had shared this particular chocolate, we had been children, sitting beneath the old oak tree in his backyard, trading pieces back and forth and laughing over the simplest things—how much the chocolate melted in the summer heat, or how we always argued about who got the last piece.

“Lou…” I murmured, still unable to believe it, “we haven’t had these in ages.”

He nodded slowly, a hint of vulnerability in his smile. “I know.”

I glanced down at the box, feeling the weight of nostalgia press gently on my chest. It wasn’t just the chocolate—it was everything that came with it. The innocence of our shared childhood, the unspoken bond that had always existed between us. I smiled, my eyes briefly lifting to meet his.

“You really are something else,” I said quietly, the words almost catching in my throat as I looked at him.

He shrugged, that familiar, playful smile returning. “Yeah, but it’s part of my charm.”

We had settled into this routine, one that felt natural and comforting in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. It was easy, effortless—the kind of connection where words weren’t always necessary. Ever since that night, the night that shifted something unspoken between us, we had found ourselves drawn to each other in ways that felt inevitable. It wasn’t just about the physical intimacy, though that was undeniable. It was the way he made me feel safe, how his presence alone could ease the tension from my shoulders.

But the physical side—well, that was something else entirely. I had to admit it: we had an incredible sex life. Great didn’t even cover it. His touch, the way he seemed to know exactly what I needed before I did, was something I found myself craving constantly. He never disappointed, not once. With him, it wasn’t just about the act—it was about the way he made me feel alive, like I was the only person who mattered in those moments.

Still, the thought of Friday loomed over me like a dark cloud. That’s when most of our roommates would return, filling the house with noise and chaos, and shattering the quiet little bubble we’d created. I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. This was ours, something private, and I wasn’t sure how it would hold up in the glare of shared spaces and knowing glances.

I sighed, pulling my knees up to my chest as I sat on the couch, the thought weighing heavier on me than I wanted to admit. Maybe it was selfish, but I wasn’t ready to share him with anyone else—not his time, not his attention, not even the easy smiles he gave so freely. I wanted to keep this, keep him, just a little while longer.

I wanted to keep us a little longer. 

“Do you want to talk?” Lou’s voice broke the quiet, his tone calm and steady as he lounged on the couch. His legs were stretched out casually on the coffee table, and the faint flicker of the movie on the screen cast soft shadows across his face. He looked every bit as relaxed as the situation was not.

“What?” I blinked at him, caught off guard. His question hung in the air, unassuming but pointed. My stomach churned slightly.

“I think I know what you’re thinking about,” he said, his gaze unwavering as he turned his head to look at me fully. His eyes had that unnerving ability to cut straight through my defenses. Normally, I’d appreciate the way he saw me so clearly, but now it left me feeling exposed.

I tried to dodge his unspoken question, pulling the blanket around me tighter like a shield. “Do you?” I asked, my voice quieter now, cautious.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah,” he said simply. “You’re thinking about Friday. About everyone coming back.”

The truth of his words landed heavily, even though I’d known he would get it. He always did. But knowing he understood didn’t make saying it aloud any easier. I shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his gaze making me feel lightheaded.

“Well…” I started softly, my voice barely audible as the words fought their way out. “I just feel like… we crossed a line.”

The air between us seemed to tighten as the words settled. I saw it immediately—the way his body tensed, the subtle shift in his expression as if he were bracing himself. His previously relaxed posture stiffened just enough to be noticeable, and I realized with a jolt that I’d touched a nerve I hadn’t meant to. A flicker of something crossed his face—hurt, maybe, or disappointment—and it was like a punch to the gut.

“I didn’t mean—” I began, rushing to explain, but he raised a hand, stopping me mid-sentence. The gesture wasn’t harsh, but it was decisive, and it cut through my rambling apology like a knife.

“Don’t,” he said softly, his voice calm but firm. “Just… don’t.”

His expression was unreadable at first, a carefully constructed mask of neutrality, but his eyes betrayed him. There was a flicker of something vulnerable there, faint but unmistakable. It made my chest tighten, guilt pressing against my ribs like a weight.

“I get it,” he said after a long pause, his voice steady but distant. He leaned forward, grabbing the remote and pressing a button. The movie stopped, the room falling into a deafening silence. Without the soft hum of dialogue and music, everything felt heavier, more exposed.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said, the words tumbling out clumsily. “Really, I didn’t. I just—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he interrupted, his tone gentler now but still carrying that quiet restraint. He turned to face me fully, his gaze searching mine. “I understand what you’re saying.”

His words were kind, but they didn’t carry the warmth they usually did. There was an edge to them, a cautiousness that hadn’t been there moments ago. It was as if he was pulling away from me, retreating to some safe distance I couldn’t quite reach.

“I don’t want you to think I regret anything,” I said quickly, desperation creeping into my tone. My voice wavered as I searched for the right words. “I don’t. Not for a second.”

His gaze softened at that, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “I don’t think that,” he said quietly. “But I also don’t want you to feel like this… whatever we’re doing… is something you’re unsure of. That’s not fair. Not to you, and not to me.”

The sincerity in his words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I couldn’t find a response. He was giving me an out, I realized. Offering me a way to step back if that’s what I needed. But the way he looked at me told me it wasn’t what he wanted. He was letting me decide, and the weight of that decision felt suffocating.

I wanted to tell him everything, to lay my heart bare and confess that these past few weeks had been some of the best of my life. That there wasn’t a single doubt in my mind about how much I wanted him. But at the same time, I couldn’t shake the nagging fear that we weren’t standing on solid ground.

What were we, really? There wasn’t a relationship here—not officially. There was only chemistry, an undeniable pull that had led us here, to this strange and wonderful and terrifying place. But that wasn’t enough. I didn’t want this to be just about attraction or convenience or proximity. I wanted more. I needed more.

But how could I say that? How could I admit that I was falling for him without knowing if he felt the same? The fear of his answer kept me silent, my thoughts spinning in an endless loop of doubt and hope and insecurity.

He took my silence as an answer, the weight of it filling the room like an invisible wall. I watched as he exhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling with a quiet sigh. His gaze shifted away from me, fixing on some indeterminate point in the room, and the distance in his eyes made my stomach twist.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice soft but tinged with a quiet resignation.

The word landed heavily, and I felt a surge of panic rise in my chest. “Okay what?” I asked, my voice barely steady.

His eyes met mine again, and for a moment, I thought I saw something crack in his expression. But then he looked away, his jaw tightening slightly. “We’ll forget,” he said, the words quiet but firm.

“What?” I whispered, barely able to process what he was saying.

“We’ll forget,” he repeated, his tone more resolute this time. “Everything. The nights, the mornings, all of it. If that’s what you need.”

I stared at him, the air around us growing colder with each passing second. My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic rhythm that matched the panic clawing at my insides. “Lou—”

He stood abruptly, cutting me off before I could finish. His movements were slow but deliberate, each one carrying the weight of unspoken words. For a moment, he lingered, as if he might say something else. But then he turned and walked away, leaving me alone on the couch with the echo of his words ringing in my ears.

We’ll forget.

The finality of it hit me like a punch to the gut. I sat there, staring at the spot where he’d been, my mind racing. Forgetting wasn’t an option—not for me. Not now. Not ever.

I pressed my hands against my face, the warmth of my palms doing little to combat the chill settling over me. The room felt emptier than it ever had, the silence pressing down on me like a weight. I wanted to go after him, to tell him that I didn’t want to forget, that I couldn’t forget. But I couldn’t move, couldn’t bring myself to bridge the growing distance between us.

Because deep down, I was afraid. Afraid that if I opened my mouth, the words I wanted to say wouldn’t be enough. That I wouldn’t be enough.

And so I stayed where I was, frozen in place, as the night stretched on and the space between us grew wider.

But even as I sat there, I knew one thing with absolute certainty: forgetting was impossible. Because no matter how hard I tried, Lou had already left his second mark on me in a way I could never erase. 

Chapter Text

I felt utterly foolish, standing there in front of the mirror, this dress clinging to me like it had a mind of its own. The makeup on my face felt foreign, a mask painted on by someone who clearly didn’t know me. My hair—meticulously styled into cascading waves—felt unnatural, every strand too precise, too polished. The reflection staring back at me wasn’t mine. It was some idealized version of myself, carefully constructed for a party I hadn’t even wanted to attend.

The dress itself was beautiful—too beautiful. A sleek, satiny masterpiece in a rich emerald green, its fabric shimmered softly under the muted glow of my bedroom light. It fit flawlessly, hugging every curve as though it had been custom-made for me, leaving little to the imagination. It wasn’t the dress’s fault that I hated how perfect it looked.

Sam had been the one to insist on it, practically shoving it into my hands with an excited grin. “This is the one,” she’d said, her voice brimming with certainty, as if she were bestowing some profound wisdom upon me. At the time, I’d nodded along, letting her enthusiasm carry me. Now, standing here, I couldn’t even remember why I’d let her talk me into it.

A sharp knock came from the other side of my bedroom door, snapping me out of my tangled thoughts.

“Hey, you done in there?” Sam’s voice rang out, laced with her usual mix of impatience and encouragement.

I hesitated, glancing once more at my reflection in the mirror. The satiny dress shimmered softly in the light, hugging me in all the right ways—and all the wrong ones, as far as my nerves were concerned.

“People are already here,” she added, her tone coaxing now, with a hint of urgency.

I sighed, smoothing the fabric over my hips, and steeled myself. Either way, there was no escaping it now.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” I called back, my voice sounding far more composed than I felt.

Sam didn’t reply, but her retreating footsteps signaled she’d gone to rejoin the growing crowd downstairs. I could hear it now—the steady hum of voices, the occasional burst of laughter, and the low thrum of music that made the house feel alive.

I took a deep breath, gripping the cool metal of the doorknob. For a moment, I debated staying right where I was. But that wasn’t an option, not tonight.

The door creaked softly as I pulled it open, and I stepped into the dimly lit hallway, my heels clicking against the wooden floor as I headed toward the sound of the party.

The house was dark, the only illumination coming from the colorful, pulsing party lights strung across the ceiling and walls. Their erratic flicker cast shifting shadows, making everything feel slightly surreal, like stepping into a dream—or maybe a nightmare.

The entryway was a chaotic mess. Shoes were scattered in a disorganized pile near the door, some toppled on their sides, while jackets hung haphazardly on every available surface: the bannister, the back of chairs, even a few door handles. The muffled thud of music vibrated through the walls, mixing with the low hum of voices and laughter spilling from the rooms beyond.

I hesitated for a moment, lingering near the stairs, before stepping further into the crowd. The air was thick with the mingling scents of perfume, sweat, and the unmistakable tang of alcohol. Bodies pressed close together, swaying, chatting, or laughing in bursts. I moved carefully, weaving between people, brushing past elbows and shoulders as I scanned the common room.

The kaleidoscope of faces blurred together—half-lit, half-shadowed, and none of them familiar. My chest tightened slightly, a quiet unease settling in as I realized how out of place I felt. These were people I knew in passing, classmates or acquaintances at best, but there was no one I could gravitate toward, no anchor in this sea of chaos.

I kept moving, my heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the noise around me. The music changed to something faster, the bassline heavy enough to thrum in my chest, and the crowd seemed to shift with it, growing livelier. I hugged my arms around myself, letting the steady motion of searching keep me grounded as I tried to find one familiar face in the haze of it all.

A voice called out to me, its tone bright and familiar. "Hey!" followed by a warm hand settling on my shoulder, pulling me into an embrace that was both comforting and strong.

As I turned, my eyes met Evelyn’s, her face instantly recognizable, a radiant smile spreading across her features. The flickering party lights did little to dim the brilliance of her expression. Her arms enveloped me tightly, grounding me amidst the noise and chaos that surrounded us, as though her presence alone was enough to steady the whirlwind of my thoughts.

“Evelyn,” I exhaled, the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding finally slipping from my chest. A subtle sense of relief washed over me as the tension I hadn’t known I was carrying began to loosen. There was something about her presence—that had a calming effect on me, making everything seem more manageable, more bearable.

“You look incredible!” she exclaimed, stepping back slightly to take in my appearance. Her gaze swept over me with genuine admiration before pulling me into another quick, tight squeeze. “Seriously, you’re glowing. That dress… it’s a showstopper.”

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head in mild disbelief. “I feel ridiculous.”

She waved her hand dismissively, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Ridiculous? Absolutely not. Stunning? Undoubtedly. You’re turning heads, trust me.”

Her words made a rush of warmth flush across my face, but it wasn’t just the compliment—it was the sincerity and enthusiasm in her voice that soothed my self-doubt.

"You doing okay?" she asked, her tone softening, a genuine concern reflecting in her eyes. She studied me closely, her brow furrowing slightly, as though she could sense the lingering unease beneath my exterior.

“Yeah,” I replied, nodding in affirmation. “I’m… better now. Really, thanks.”

A smile spread across Evelyn’s face, a knowing look passing between us, as if she could read my thoughts without me saying another word. “Good. Now, come on. Let’s get you a drink, and after that, we’ll find some trouble to get into.”

I chuckled softly at her familiar, carefree suggestion. With a lighthearted sigh, I allowed her to guide me through the crowd, the pulse of the party—a cacophony of chatter, music, and laughter—fading into the background as I focused on Evelyn’s infectious energy. She moved with purpose, expertly weaving through clusters of people until we found our way to the kitchen, where random drinks were being poured with little care, the chaos of the evening reflected in the disarray of the scene. We grabbed whatever was available, the liquor flowing freely, as the moment felt suspended in time, a brief respite from the overwhelming buzz of the party.

I lifted the cup to my lips and took a large sip, the sharp burn of alcohol searing its way down my throat. It wasn’t a sensation I particularly enjoyed—drinking had always felt overrated to me, a ritual that others seemed to revere far more than I ever could.

But tonight, at this moment, it felt different. The warmth spreading from my chest seemed to dull the edges of my thoughts, softening the sharpness of everything I’d been holding inside. For once, it didn’t feel like just another pointless indulgence—it felt like a necessary escape.

“So…” Evelyn began, her voice light but tinged with curiosity. “We haven’t really had much time to catch up, have we?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. It had been too long since we’d had a proper conversation, and the realization brought a pang of guilt. “How’s the family?” I asked, genuinely interested.

Evelyn’s expression softened, her smile becoming gentler as she shifted her weight, resting an elbow casually on the counter. “They’re good,” she said, her tone warm but laced with the faintest hint of hesitation, as though there was more to say but she wasn’t quite sure where to start.

Evelyn glanced down at our joined hands, a faint smile playing on her lips, though the sadness still lingered in her eyes. She gave my hand a small squeeze in return before letting out a quiet breath.

“Anyway,” she said, shaking her head slightly as if to brush off the weight of the conversation. “Enough about all that. I didn’t come here to unload my baggage on you.” Her tone was lighter now, a subtle attempt to redirect the mood.

“You’re allowed to, you know,” I replied softly, but I didn’t push. Sometimes it was enough just to leave the door open.

She tilted her head at me, her expression softening again. “I know,” she said sincerely. “But tonight’s not about me. What about you? How have you been? Any big news? Or are you still pretending you’re not secretly running the world behind the scenes?”

I laughed at her teasing, shaking my head. “Hardly. Things are… okay. You know, the usual.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “The usual? You’re going to have to do better than that. Spill—how’s break been? How’s life? How’s everything ?”

I hesitated, caught off guard by her persistence. “Break’s been fine,” I started cautiously. “Manageable. Life… Well, that’s a bit more complicated.”

Her curiosity immediately sharpened, and she leaned in closer, a playful yet determined glint in her eye. “Oh no, you’re not getting away with a vague answer like that. Spill it. What’s complicated? Is it someone?”

“Maybe,” I admitted reluctantly, the word slipping out before I could stop it.

Evelyn’s eyes widened, her grin breaking through like sunlight through clouds. “Oh my god, it is someone. Who is it? Tell me everything!”

I laughed, a mix of nervousness and amusement bubbling to the surface. “There’s not much to tell. It’s… weird. Complicated, like I said.”

Evelyn’s grin only grew wider, her excitement palpable. “Weird and complicated? That’s just code for interesting. Come on, don’t leave me hanging. Who’s got you all twisted up like this?”

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck as I tried to find the words. “It’s not that simple,” I said, glancing away. “It’s… someone I didn’t really expect. We’ve known each other for a while, but things have felt different lately.”

Evelyn’s eyes practically sparkled with intrigue. “Different how? Like you’re catching feelings? Or they are? Or both?”

I chuckled despite myself, shaking my head. “I don’t even know. It’s like… every time we talk, there’s this energy, this pull. But I’m not sure what it means or if I’m imagining it.”

She tilted her head, studying me with a mix of curiosity and sympathy. “Sounds like you’re not imagining it,” she said thoughtfully. “That kind of connection doesn’t just appear out of nowhere.”

I shrugged, feeling exposed under her scrutinizing gaze. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just me overthinking everything. You know how I get.”

Evelyn reached out and lightly smacked my arm. “Don’t do that. Don’t downplay your feelings. If something’s there, it’s there. And if it’s not, well… at least you’ll know. But you’ll never figure it out if you keep dancing around it.”

I met her gaze, her sincerity grounding me. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” she admitted, her tone softening. “But it’s worth it. Trust me.”

Her words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning, as though she was speaking from a place of experience. I nodded slowly, unsure of what else to say, but grateful for her encouragement nonetheless.

“Well,” she said, breaking the silence with a sly grin, “if you’re not going to give me names, at least tell me if they know you feel this way.”

I groaned, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know if I know how I feel yet.”

Evelyn laughed, the sound light and teasing. “Classic. You’re a mess, but I love you for it.”

“I also love you for it,” a familiar voice chimed in from behind me, warm and playful. Before I could fully register it, a pair of arms wrapped securely around my waist in a friendly embrace.

“Max,” I said, his name slipping out in surprise as I turned around to face him.

He grinned down at me, his easy, confident demeanor on full display. “Caught you off guard, didn’t I?” he teased, his arms falling back to his sides.

“A little,” I admitted with a laugh, giving him a once-over. “Nice shirt,” I added, giggling at the sight of his bright pink Hawaiian shirt covered in tiny reindeer. The festive absurdity was impossible to ignore.

“Right?” he laughed, striking a playful pose before doing a quick twirl to show it off. “My nanna got it for me as a Christmas gift. She said it screamed ‘holiday spirit.’”

I couldn’t hold back my laughter. “It’s definitely screaming something.”

“Hey now,” Max said, feigning offense as he tugged at the hem of the shirt. “You just don’t appreciate high fashion. This is a limited edition, one-of-a-kind masterpiece.”

Evelyn snorted, chiming in with a grin. “It’s… definitely something. I’ll give your nanna credit for creativity.”

“See?” Max said, flashing a triumphant smile. “She gets it. This shirt is iconic.”

“Iconic is one word for it,” I teased, still laughing as he puffed out his chest dramatically, fully committing to the ridiculousness of the moment.

“Well, laugh all you want,” he said, wagging a finger at me. “But I’m bringing holiday cheer wherever I go. This shirt’s practically a community service.”

“Want a drink?” Evelyn asked, already moving around the counter with practiced ease, rummaging through the scattered cups until she found an empty one.

“Yes, please,” Max replied with a grin, but his focus quickly shifted back to me. His eyes softened, and a playful smile tugged at his lips. “Well,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “could I get a real hug now?”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the smile that crept onto my face. “Fine,” I said, stepping closer.

As soon as I wrapped my arms around him, Max pulled me into a warm, secure embrace, holding on just long enough to make it feel genuine. His cologne—clean and slightly woodsy—lingered in the air.

“There,” I said, pulling back with a small laugh. “Satisfied?”

“Very,” he replied, his grin widening as he straightened up. “You give good hugs. I’ve missed that.”

Before I could respond, Evelyn’s voice cut through the moment. “Drink’s ready!” she announced, sliding a cup toward him and raising her own in a mock toast.

Max grabbed the cup, nodding appreciatively. “Thanks, Ev. You’re the real MVP.”

“Always,” she said, smirking. “Now, you two behave—or don’t. Either way, make it entertaining.”

I shook my head at her, but the lighthearted banter eased some of the tension I hadn’t realized was building. Max caught my eye again, his expression softening for a brief second before taking a sip from his cup.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, glancing around. The kitchen was crowded, a tangle of bodies and chatter, and I could only assume the rest of the house was just as packed.

“I actually don’t know,” Evelyn said, her brow furrowing as she scanned the room alongside me.

Max, leaning casually against the counter, took a slow sip from his cup before speaking. “I saw Ellie and Zack sneaking into a room together,” he said nonchalantly, as though he were commenting on the weather. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

Both Evelyn and I gawked at him, her mouth falling open while I tried to process what he’d just said.

“What!” Evelyn exclaimed after a beat, her voice rising in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

Max shrugged, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I’m just reporting what I saw. You can draw your own conclusions.”

Evelyn stared at him, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and intrigue. “Ellie and Zack?” she repeated, as if saying their names out loud might make the idea less absurd. “Are you serious? Since when?”

“Since about ten minutes ago, I guess,” Max replied, his tone breezy. “They were acting all sneaky, but let’s be real—they’re not exactly subtle.”

Evelyn covered her mouth, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. “Oh my god,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I can’t tell if this is the most surprising thing ever or if I should’ve seen it coming.”

I glanced at Max, who was clearly enjoying the moment. “You’re such a gossip,” I teased, though I couldn’t help but smirk.

“Hey, I call it like I see it,” he said, raising his cup in mock solemnity. “And tonight, I saw some serious scandal.”

Evelyn finally let out a laugh, nudging Max playfully. “You’re terrible,” she said, but the amusement in her voice was undeniable.

“And yet, here you both are,” Max said with a grin. “Admit it—you love the drama.”

“Should we go look for them?” Evelyn smirked, her eyes lighting up with mischief. “Cockblocking at its finest.”

“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, closing my eyes for a moment in mock exasperation. “That would just be mean. We could, I don’t know, wait for them to tell us.” I said sarcastically. 

“Yeah, but that would be boring,” she said, her laughter ringing out.

“Boring? You’re so mean,” I said, shaking my head at her, though I couldn’t hide the smile tugging at my lips.

“I know,” she admitted, taking another swig from her cup, her gaze drifting toward the ceiling as though contemplating her own words. “I have this tendency to get mean when I drink.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t drink,” I suggested, my voice light but sincere.

“Boring again,” she replied with a teasing smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Before I could respond, Max’s voice cut through the noise, loud and clear, shouting over the music.

“Hey, Pep! Over here!”

My heart stopped for a moment, a sudden tightness in my chest that I couldn't quite place. I froze, an inexplicable rush of warmth spreading across my face. For a brief second, everything around me seemed to blur, the noise and the people fading into the background.

We hadn’t spoken since that night, the silence between us a heavy, unspoken agreement. All of my things that had been left in his room still sat there, untouched. We’d avoided each other, not even crossing paths in the house—though, perhaps, that had been intentional. Still, I could feel him before I saw him, a subtle shift in the air as he made his way through the crowd, weaving between bodies to reach us.

He wore a dark sweater, the fabric clinging to his frame, paired with dark jeans that seemed to complement the quiet intensity he always carried. His curly hair, slightly tousled, begged for a hand to tame it, and for a moment, I couldn’t help but notice how familiar the sight felt.

When our eyes met, I quickly looked away, my heart skipping a beat as I tried to regain composure. I watched as he and Max embraced, exchanging their usual greetings, and I couldn’t help but feel a strange knot in my stomach. 

“How are you, dude?” Max asked, his arm casually draped around Lou’s shoulder, his tone warm and familiar.

“I’m good, all good,” Lou replied with a casual smile, his voice easy and laid-back. But as he spoke, his gaze shifted toward Evelyn, and he greeted her with a nod, seemingly ignoring me entirely.

The sudden shift in his attention stung, though I tried to mask it with a forced smile, looking away as if it didn’t matter. But something in the way he acted, so effortlessly brushing past me, made my chest tighten again. I guess it's my fault.

“Want a drink?” Evelyn asked, already pouring some liquor into a red cup, her movements smooth and practiced as she added a splash of Sprite.

“Yeah, thanks,” Lou replied, taking the cup from her with a quick nod of gratitude. Without hesitation, he took a long sip, his eyes flicking back toward the group before he set the cup down.

Evelyn shot me a quick glance, as if sensing the subtle tension in the air, but Lou seemed oblivious, absorbed in the casual rhythm of the party. The buzz of the music and chatter around us seemed to heighten everything, but I couldn’t shake that feeling.

“So, how was your time together?” Max asked casually, his gaze flicking between Lou and me, unaware of the undercurrent of tension between us.

My face reddened instantly, the heat creeping up my neck before I could stop it. I tried to maintain composure, but the sudden attention made me uneasy, and I found myself fumbling for words. Lou, on the other hand, remained effortlessly relaxed, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he took another sip from his cup.

Evelyn shot me a quick glance, her expression unreadable but with a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. I couldn’t tell if she was picking up on my discomfort or if she was simply waiting for the truth to come out.

Max, oblivious to the tension, waited for my reply, his smile faltering slightly as the silence lingered a little too long.

“Oh, we only spent Christmas together,” Lou answered smoothly, cutting through the awkwardness. His tone was light, almost too casual, but his eyes flicked toward Max, subtly redirecting the conversation away from me.

The sudden shift made the conversation feel even more awkward, but Max didn’t falter.

“What?” Evelyn asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, clearly thrown off by Lou’s casual response. “Christmas? You two—”

“Yeah, just Christmas,” I quickly added, backing him up, not wanting to give anything away.

Lou nodded, his expression nonchalant. “I left to stay at a friend's house,” he said, glancing at Evelyn.

Evelyn paused, blinking in surprise. “Wait, you actually left her all alone except for Christmas?” Her voice was playful, but there was a hint of concern hidden beneath the teasing. She stepped forward, lightly punching Lou in the chest.

“Ow!” Lou said, faking a wince, but his eyes remained calm and his demeanor unchanged.

Max, sensing a shift, looked at Lou with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, man, the fuck is wrong with you?” He sounded more confused than angry, but there was a slight edge to his tone.

“It’s fine, really,” I quickly interjected, my voice a little too quick, trying to smooth things over. “I was good. Nothing happened, don’t worry.”

Evelyn wasn’t convinced. She turned toward me, then shot Lou a sharp look before grabbing my hand. “Come on,” she said, her voice firm but gentle, as if taking charge of the situation. Before I could protest, Evelyn was already pulling me away, giving Lou one last look that left him standing there, momentarily stunned.

“Why didn’t you say you were alone for the holidays?” Evelyn asked—more like screamed—her voice rising above the music as she pulled me through the crowded party, searching for a place to sit.

I could feel the pressure of her grip on my wrist, her fingers tight as if she were afraid I might disappear if she let go. I tried to steady myself, glancing around at the chaos of people, desperately hoping no one was paying attention to us.

“It was fine, really,” I reassured her, attempting to keep my voice steady. But I could hear the faint shakiness in my words, betraying me.

Evelyn’s face softened, though there was still a fire in her eyes. She looked at me with disbelief, as if trying to make sense of my answer. I realized, in that moment, she had bought Lou’s lie—at least, I hoped she had.

We finally found two abandoned chairs tucked in a quieter corner of the room, and Evelyn pulled me down into it. Her grip on my wrist loosened, but she still sat too close, her eyes never leaving me. Her face was smeared with sympathy, but there was something else in her gaze—something that made me feel like I was about to be hit with something I wasn’t ready for.

“We should get you laid,” she said, as if it were the most natural suggestion in the world.

I almost spit out half of my drink, the sudden shock catching me off guard. I started coughing, trying to ease the burn in my throat, my face flushing with embarrassment.

“No,” I managed to say after a while, shaking my head. “That’s definitely not happening.”

Evelyn just looked at me, her expression a mix of amusement and concern. “Why not?” she asked, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping a little. “You can’t keep avoiding things forever.”

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, still recovering from the surprise. “I’m not avoiding anything,” I replied, though my voice sounded more defensive than I intended.

Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “Then why does it feel like you’re holding back? You deserve to have some fun, you know.”

“Okay, fine,” I said, figuring I’d give in if it meant she’d finally let me go. Maybe agreeing would make her back off.

She smirked, clearly pleased with my response, but her eyes never left me. “Max is nice,” she said casually, eyeing me like she was trying to gauge my reaction.

“Max is a friend,” I replied matter-of-factly, hoping to shut it down quickly.

She tilted her head slightly, studying me for a moment. “A friend that likes you,” she replied, her tone far too knowing.

I could feel my chest tighten, a mixture of frustration and disbelief bubbling up inside me. “That’s not true,” I said, trying to dismiss the idea as quickly as possible. “We’re just friends.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow, the skepticism clear in her expression. “Just friends, huh?” she repeated, her lips curling into a small, amused smile. “Sure, if you say so.”

I didn’t know how to explain it—how to tell her that, even if Max had feelings for me, things weren’t as simple as that. Not now, not after everything. But I stayed quiet, hoping the conversation would just move on.

"Have you guys seen Ellie?" Zack asked, halting in front of us, his brow furrowing as he glanced between Evelyn and me, clearly puzzled.

Before either of us could respond, we both erupted into laughter, the sound coming out of nowhere, but it felt like a release, the tension melting away. Zack just stood there, his face blank as he tried to process our reaction, completely bewildered.

"What?" he asked, looking between us in confusion, his voice laced with curiosity and frustration, unable to figure out what had us cracking up.

We couldn't contain ourselves, still laughing uncontrollably. Zack shook his head, clearly giving up on understanding.

"You know what, never mind," he said, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone, before turning and walking away. We continued to laugh, the alcohol making it even harder to stop.

The music thumped through the crowded room, a steady rhythm that seemed to vibrate through the floor and into my chest. People were packed tightly together, their bodies swaying and moving to the beat. Evelyns face lit up with excitement as her gaze darted around the room.

“We should dance,” she said, her tone more a statement than a suggestion. Her eyes sparkled as she gestured toward the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the room, where a group of people were already lost in the music.

I hesitated, glancing at the dance floor and then back at her. "I don’t know…"

“Oh, come on!” she said, grabbing my hand before I could come up with an excuse. “Let's have some fun, please.”

I sighed, but a small smile crept onto my face. "Fine. But I’m not promising any impressive moves."

Evelyn laughed, tugging me toward the crowd. “No one cares! Just let loose.”

The moment we stepped onto the dance floor, the energy of the room seemed to hit me full force. The bass of the music was almost deafening, and the heat from all the bodies made the air feel thick. Evelyn immediately started moving, her hands in the air and her head nodding to the beat, completely unbothered by everything around her.

I stood there for a moment, feeling a little out of place, but Evelyn caught my hesitation. “Come on!” she shouted over the music, grabbing my hands and pulling me into her rhythm. “Just feel the music!”

I laughed, shaking my head but giving in. Slowly, I started to sway to the beat, letting the music guide my movements. Evelyn was right—no one was paying attention, everyone lost in their own little worlds.

As the song changed to something more upbeat, Evelyn let out a cheer, spinning in a circle before grabbing my hand again.

The night had gone well, or at least, I think so. My mind was hazy, everything blurring together. I tried to make my way up the stairs, but my legs felt like jelly, and I was failing miserably. I sank onto the staircase, pausing for a moment to collect myself, attempting to summon the strength to push through the exhaustion and climb the few steps left to my room.

That’s when I heard a voice.

“Need help?”

I turned my head, and there he was. Lou. In the dim light, he looked even more striking, his features soft in the shadows but still undeniably beautiful. He was the most breathtaking person I’d ever laid eyes on. I couldn’t help but stare, a rush of warmth flooding my chest.

“Did you hear me?” he asked again, his voice softer now, as he leaned down slightly, his eyes filled with concern.

“Yeah,” I slurred, trying to focus on his face. Then, I shook my head, unsure of myself. “No.”

“Let me help you,” Lou said, his voice low and reassuring as his left hand reached out, waiting for me to take it.

I hesitated for a moment, then, almost instinctively, I placed my hand in his. His skin was warm and soft, and I felt a spark of something as his grip tightened. His right hand moved to my other side, steadying me, and he gently helped me to my feet. I was still unsteady, but his presence anchored me.

He turned me around, his hands resting on my waist as he guided me up the stairs.

It was then, in the quiet of the moment, that a soft, unintended moan slipped from my lips as his grip on my waist tightened, pulling me a little closer. The sound caught us both off guard, and we both froze, the tension hanging in the air between us.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice breathless, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I really hoped I wouldn’t remember this tomorrow.

He was quiet for a moment, his hands still resting around my waist, and I could feel his fingers warm against the fabric of my dress. His presence seemed to fill the space between us, making everything feel heightened. Then, finally, he let out two simple words.

“Come on.”

His tone was calm, almost soothing, as if the moment hadn’t been as awkward for him as it felt for me. With that, he gently nudged me forward, guiding me up the rest of the stairs without saying anything else.

He guided me down the hallway, his steps steady and purposeful as I clung to his support. We stopped briefly next to a door I recognized—his room. My heart gave a small jolt, but he didn’t pause for long. Without a word, he resumed walking, his hands firm on my waist, keeping me steady as half of my weight leaned against him.

The air between us felt charged, each step echoing softly in the quiet corridor. His presence was grounding, his touch careful yet secure, and though I was embarrassed beyond belief, there was something undeniably comforting about the way he held me.

We reached my door, and his hand moved to the doorknob, but it didn’t budge. It was locked.

“Where’s your key?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with a hint of concern as he looked down at me.

My mind raced, but it was like wading through fog. Where had I put it? I tried to think, but everything was a blur, my drunken haze making it impossible to focus. My vision was growing blurrier by the second, and the harder I tried to remember, the more elusive the answer felt.

“I… I don’t know,” I murmured, my voice slurred as I swayed slightly, feeling more and more unsteady.

He muttered something under his breath—too soft for me to hear or maybe too muddled for me to understand. I only nodded, too drunk to protest or even think straight, as he guided me back down the hallway to the door I recognized all too well. His door.

He opened it without hesitation, helping me inside, his arm steady around me. Once in, he led me to the bed, gently lowering me onto it. My body sank into the mattress, the familiar scent of him enveloping me like a memory I wasn’t ready to revisit.

The bed we had sex on.

My head swam as the thought hit me, unfiltered and far too vivid. The bed where he… I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to push it away, but my mind refused to cooperate.

Jesus. I’m drunk.

"I’ll let you sleep here tonight," he said, his voice calm but distant, as he stood a few steps away, his hands shoved into his pockets.

I blinked up at him, the alcohol still making my head feel heavy. “Where are you going to sleep?” I asked, my voice quiet but slurred, the question hanging in the thick air between us.

“I’ll figure it out,” he replied with a shrug, his tone casual, but the lack of eye contact gave him away.

“No,” I said, shaking my head slightly, though the motion made me dizzy. “It would be mean of me to take your bed. I can’t do that.”

He let out a short chuckle, the sound dry but somehow soft. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his lips curling in a faint, almost teasing smirk. “You’re drunk. Just sleep.”

I hesitated, my foggy mind working slowly, before I blurted, “You could… stay here. With me. It’s a big bed.”

The suggestion hung in the air, and for a moment, his expression faltered, surprise flashing across his face. Then his features hardened.

“No,” he said sharply, his tone suddenly clipped and angry.

The shift made me flinch, my chest tightening as his words sank in. He exhaled roughly, running a hand through his hair, as if trying to rein himself in.

He moved to the closet behind him, opening one of the drawers with a quiet precision. From within, he pulled out a neatly folded pile of clothes and turned back toward me.

“Here are your clothes,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind, as he laid them on the bed beside me. His movements were deliberate, almost careful, though he stepped away quickly after placing them down.

“Goodnight,” he added, his voice steady but distant, not sparing me a second glance. Without waiting for a response, he walked to the door, opened it, and slipped out, closing it softly behind him.

The room felt impossibly quiet in his absence, the weight of the moment lingering like an echo.

I stared at the spot he’d just been standing in, almost dumbfounded. The empty space seemed to echo with his presence, and I felt a knot tightening in my chest. I hated this—everything about it. Whatever “this” was, it was suffocating, confusing, and impossible to untangle.

My mind still racing, my gaze shifted to the neatly folded clothes on the bed. The sight of them made my breath catch as I began to recognize them—the ones I’d left in here.

Reaching out hesitantly, I picked up the shirt resting on top of the pile. My fingers brushed over the soft fabric as if confirming its reality before I lifted it to my face, inhaling deeply.

It smelled like him.

That familiar, comforting scent filled my senses—clean, fresh, and distinctly his. My heart clenched as the realization settled in. He had washed them. He had taken the time to clean them, fold them, and put them away, only to return them now, so neatly and deliberately.

The thought of him doing that—of him handling my things with such quiet care—stirred something deep inside me, something I couldn’t quite explain. A strange mix of warmth and sadness flooded my chest, leaving me more unsteady than I already was.

I pressed the shirt closer for a moment, as if it might offer some clarity, but all it gave me was the ache of what I couldn’t say and what I didn’t understand.

I tugged off my dress lazily, my movements sluggish and uncoordinated as I peeled away the remnants of the night. The jewelry, the shoes, the carefully applied facade—all of it discarded without a second thought, leaving me bare in more ways than one.

Reaching for the clothes he’d left, I slipped into the soft fabric, letting it drape over me. It smelled like him. It felt like him.

I sank back onto his bed—the bed I once shared with him, the bed still steeped in too many memories to count. The sheets were cool against my skin, but his scent lingered in the air, wrapping around me like a bittersweet embrace.

In his bed, I felt surrounded by him, even as the space he left felt impossibly wide.

I woke up the next morning, my head pounding from the alcohol and the lingering echoes of last night’s music still thrumming in my skull. The light filtering through the curtains was too bright, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut again.

Before I even opened them fully, I felt him. That unexplainable awareness of his presence settled over me like a heavy blanket. Slowly, I propped my head up, my movements careful and slow as the dull ache in my head pulsed harder.

There he was. Luigi.

He sat at the desk in the corner of the room, his back to me, bathed in the soft glow of his computer screen. His posture was easy, shoulders relaxed, with his head tilted slightly as he concentrated on whatever was on the screen. His messy curls framed his head, wild and untamed as though he’d just rolled out of bed without a second thought. The deep navy t-shirt he wore clung to his back, outlining the defined muscles beneath, and despite myself, I couldn’t look away.

For a moment, I didn’t move. I just watched him, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the keyboard filling the room. There was something calming about it, like the sound was grounding me in the present moment, pulling me out of the chaotic haze of last night.

As if sensing my gaze, he turned slightly, his eyes flicking toward me. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice low and even, but there was something in his tone—something unreadable.

“Yeah,” I croaked, my voice hoarse. I cleared my throat, sitting up a little straighter and wincing as the pounding in my head intensified. “What time is it?”

“A little past ten,” he said, turning back to his screen. “I figured you’d be out longer, considering…”

“Considering I drank like an idiot?” I finished for him, rubbing my temples.

He didn’t answer, but I caught the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“There’s water and ibuprofen next to you,” he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. He didn’t even glance my way, his focus still fixed on the screen as his fingers continued to tap away on the keyboard.

I turned my head and spotted the familiar setup on the bedside table—a glass of water and the little bottle of ibuprofen sitting there like a lifeline.

“Thanks,” I murmured, reaching for the pills. My movements were slow, every shift reminding me of the aftermath of last night. Popping a couple of pills into my mouth, I washed them down with a sip of water, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat.

Silence lingered between us, broken only by the soft hum of the computer and the occasional click of his mouse.

“What are you working on?” I asked, my voice still scratchy.

“Just some assignments,” he replied without looking back. His tone was casual, but there was a sense of distance, like he was trying to keep the conversation neutral, safe.

I leaned back against the headboard, clutching the glass of water, unsure of what to say next. The air between us felt heavy, almost uncomfortable. 

“Oh,” he started, turning back to me again, his hand slipping into his pocket. “I found your key,” he said, holding it up between his fingers as he scooted his chair closer to the bed.

My eyes widened slightly, and I reached out to take it. Our fingers brushed for the briefest moment as he handed it over, and I quickly pulled my hand back, clutching the key tightly.

“Thanks,” I said softly, staring down at the little object in my hand like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. It was warm from being in his pocket, and for some reason, that detail made my stomach flutter.

“No problem,” he replied, his tone casual as he leaned back in his chair. His gaze lingered on me for a second longer than necessary, like he wanted to say something else but thought better of it. Then, just as quickly, he turned back to his computer, the rhythmic tapping of the keyboard filling the room again.

I twisted the key between my fingers, the weight of it grounding me in the otherwise uncertain air.

It felt like he was trying to get rid of me, and I wasn’t about to beg. “Well... thanks for letting me stay here,” I said, my voice as steady as I could make it, despite the tangle of emotions inside me. I pushed the covers back and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, sitting there for a moment as I tried to summon the strength to stand.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him pause, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He didn’t say anything, though, just stared at the screen, as if he could will himself to ignore my presence.

I glanced around the room, searching for my dress from last night. It wasn’t crumpled on the floor, draped over a chair, or anywhere else I thought it would be. Embarrassment prickled at me—had he done something with it?

His chair creaked as he leaned back slightly, glancing over his shoulder. “If you’re looking for your dress, it’s in the laundry,” he said, his tone casual, almost detached. “It smelled like the party, so I figured I’d wash it.”

“Oh.” The word came out before I could stop it, laced with surprise. “Thanks.”

He nodded curtly and turned back to his computer, his attention shifting away from me like I wasn’t even there.

I stood, brushing invisible wrinkles from the shirt I was wearing. The air between us felt heavy, thick with unspoken things neither of us seemed ready to confront. “I’ll just grab something from my room,” I mumbled, mostly to fill the silence. My hand brushed against the doorknob, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before I opened it and stepped into the hallway.

The sound of footsteps echoed from the stairs, growing louder with each passing second. My heart skipped a beat. I didn’t want to see anyone—not now, not like this. Not coming from his room.

Instinctively, I moved quickly toward my door, my hands trembling slightly as I reached for the handle. But when I tried to open it, I realized it was locked. My mind raced for a moment, the sound of footsteps getting closer.

Frantically, I fumbled for my keys, the clink of metal against metal adding to the tension in the air. My fingers were unsteady, but I finally found the right one, sliding it into the lock with a soft click. I barely had time to react as the footsteps grew nearer.

I pushed the door open as quickly as I could, slipping through and shutting it behind me. I leaned back against the door, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to steady my breath.

I let out a deep breath as I collapsed onto the bed, the lingering headache pressing down on me. My body felt heavy, like the world was still spinning, but at least the quiet of the room was a small reprieve.

I closed my eyes, willing the pounding in my head to subside, and within moments, sleep claimed me, pulling me under like a thick, comforting blanket. I surrendered to it, letting the exhaustion take over, hoping it would bring some peace to the chaos swirling in my mind.

Days had slipped by since the party, the haze of that night gradually fading into the background. School was back in session, and with it, the predictable rhythm of assignments, deadlines, and the hum of campus life. My routine for the semester had already started to take shape—early mornings filled with lectures, late nights buried in textbooks, and the occasional break to catch up with friends.

But even with the bustle of everyday life, there was still a nagging thought at the back of my mind, something that refused to let go. It wasn’t the party, or the chaos of that night, but the lingering feeling of what had happened between us—of what hadn’t been said and what might never be said.

It felt worse than it had a few months ago. The weight of it all pressed down on me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of how stupid I was. I was incapable of admitting my own feelings, of acknowledging what had happened and what I had allowed to happen. And now, I was paying the price. Every day, it seemed like the confusion and regret grew heavier, as if my silence only deepened the wound.

He was my friend, or at least, that’s what I wanted to tell myself. I still wanted him to be. But that line we crossed—everything changed once that barrier was broken. Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t make out. Friends definitely don’t go down on each other. No. They definitely don’t do that.

But then, the things he had told me—those words, so clear and certain—about wanting this, about wanting me. It was almost too much to grasp. It all felt so surreal, like I was trapped in a fantasy, a dream from long ago, where the lines between reality and wishful thinking blurred.

Had he really said those things? Or had I just imagined them in some fevered haze, longing for something I wasn’t brave enough to admit? The more I replayed it, the more distant it seemed, like it belonged in a world that wasn’t mine. A world where he actually wanted me, in a way that went beyond the casual friendship we’d always shared.

I needed a distraction, something—anything—to pull me away from the constant swirl of thoughts that had been haunting me. My mind was tangled in confusion, and I couldn’t focus on anything for too long without drifting back to the same place, the same questions. But more than that, I needed money. Bills were piling up, and as much as I hated to admit it, I was starting to feel the weight of it all.

So, when I saw the local market was hiring a new cashier, I knew I had hit the jackpot. It wasn’t much, but it was something—something to keep me busy, something to occupy my mind, and, of course, something to help ease the financial strain.

It was a perfect opportunity, and for the first time in a while, I felt like I had a small sense of control again. A simple job, a simple task, but one that would force me to focus on the present instead of getting lost in the past.

The familiar beep of the register echoed through the quiet store as I scanned another item. 

"What’s up?" I said, as I finished ringing up Sam’s items, placing them neatly in a bag.

She leaned against the counter, casually tapping her nails against the edge. "Same old, same old," she said with a shrug, her tone light. "You know, life and all that."

I chuckled, glad for the momentary distraction. "Yeah, I get that. It feels like everything’s just running on repeat sometimes."

She nodded, her eyes flicking to the clock on the wall. "Well, that’s why we need to shake things up every once in a while, right?"

I raised an eyebrow, already suspecting where this was going. "Oh? And how do you suggest we do that?"

She grinned mischievously, leaning in a little closer. "What are you doing tonight? You up for something fun?"

I hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of the quiet evening I had planned ahead. Between the job, school, and everything else, I hadn’t exactly made any exciting plans. "Honestly, I don’t know. Probably just hang out, maybe binge-watch something on Netflix. Why, what do you have in mind?"

Her grin widened, clearly excited by the idea. "Come on, you deserve a break! We could hit up that new bar downtown. It’s supposed to be fun, and I heard they have karaoke night tonight. You know we could totally rock that."

I laughed, but the idea made me feel a bit nervous. Going out was the last thing I’d been planning, but then again, maybe it was exactly what I needed. "Karaoke, huh? That could be... interesting."

"Trust me," Sam said, her eyes twinkling. "We’ll have a blast. Plus, you’re overdue for some fun. It's been a while since we did anything like that."

I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. The thought of stepping out of my comfort zone, of letting go for a while, felt both terrifying and tempting. 

"Alright, alright," I said, finally giving in. "You’ve convinced me. Let’s do it."

Sam's face lit up. "Yes! This is going to be amazing. Be ready by eight."

I nodded, feeling the weight of the decision already starting to lift. Maybe a night out was just what I needed after all.

I shifted from foot to foot, feeling out of place under the bright lights of the bar. The music from inside thumped against the walls, and laughter filtered out through the door every now and then, making me feel even more like an outsider. People were walking by, chatting in groups, laughing, clearly having a good time—and here I was, standing alone in the cold night air, second-guessing every decision I’d made.

"Come on," I muttered to myself, taking a deep breath. "You agreed to this. You can do this."

I glanced at my phone, checking the time. It was nearly eight, and Sam was probably already inside, waiting for me. I’d texted her that I was here, but I still felt this strange reluctance, a nagging pull to just walk away and forget the whole thing.

As I turned to leave, my phone buzzed in my hand. I hesitated for a second, before unlocking it to check the message.

Sam:
"Are you outside? We’re waiting for you! Let’s gooooo."

I let out a sigh, my eyes flicking to the door once more. I couldn’t keep stalling.

"Hi."

I froze, the voice catching me off guard. I turned to see Lou standing there, looking at me with that same easy grin.

Of course, it had to be him. Why did this always happen to me? I cursed under my breath, fighting the wave of frustration that crept up my spine.

"Hey," I said, my voice unintentionally faltering with confusion. The words felt awkward, and a flush of embarrassment swept over me as I realized how out of place I must seem, standing alone in the cold night air, away from the warmth and laughter spilling out of the bar. I hadn’t seen him since that morning in his room.

He smiled, a soft, reassuring curve of his lips that eased some of the tension in the air. "Did Sam invite you too?" he asked, his voice gentle, carrying a tone of curiosity. His cheeks, kissed by the chill of the evening, had taken on a faint, rosy hue. He wore a coat, the collar turned up slightly, his hands tucked into the pockets. His appearance was casual, yet there was something about the way he carried himself that exuded ease, something that made me feel even more self-conscious.

"Yeah, she did," I replied, my eyes instinctively dropping to my shoes. I suddenly felt acutely aware of the space between us, unable to meet his gaze for too long. After a moment, I stole a quick glance up at him, but it was enough to see that he was still waiting for an answer.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, as though trying to decipher something in my expression. "So why aren’t you inside?" His words were simple, but there was a layer of concern beneath them, an unspoken understanding that made his question feel less like a casual inquiry and more like a subtle invitation.

I sighed, my breath visible in the chilly air. "I don’t know," I confessed, the words slipping out before I could stop them. It was the truth, though. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was standing out here, hesitating.

"Are you leaving?" he asked, his brows furrowing as he studied me more intently, his voice taking on a note of genuine concern.

"I—No," I stammered, my eyes briefly flickering toward the door of the bar. "I’m gonna go inside."

He nodded, watching me for a moment. "Okay," he said, his gaze steady, "so go inside, then."

I blinked, taken aback by the straightforwardness of his response. "What?" I asked, confused by the sudden shift.

"I said go inside, then," he repeated, his tone unchanged, though there was a slight edge to it now. "What are you waiting for?"

The calmness in his voice, the way he seemed to be urging me in such a matter-of-fact manner, struck a nerve. I could feel irritation bubbling up, despite knowing he was just trying to help. He wasn’t wrong, but his insistence rubbed me the wrong way.

"Nothing," I said sharply, shooting him an annoyed look. I wasn’t sure why I felt so defensive, but something about the situation had shifted, and I wasn’t sure how to reset it.

I stared at the doors of the bar, my mind in a swirl of uncertainty, before glancing back at him, then back at the door once more. The warm light spilling from the inside seemed to mock me with its welcoming glow, while the cold air outside kept me rooted in place.

"Come on, then," I muttered, the words coming out almost more to myself than to him. Without giving him a chance to respond, I walked forward, my steps feeling heavier than I expected as I reached for the door handle.

The door swung open, the noise from inside immediately hitting me like a wave—the chatter, the music, the clinking of glasses. For a moment, I stood there, caught between the comfort of retreating back into the night and the pull of something warmer, livelier.

The door clicked shut behind us, and I instinctively looked around, trying to find a familiar face.

"Over there," Lou said, his voice low, and I could feel the subtle shift of his presence behind me. He was close—closer than I had realized, and his words made me turn instinctively, catching his gaze for just a moment. He pointed to a spot a few feet away, where I could see Sam waving from the corner.

I nodded, taking a deep breath before making my way toward their table. The crowd seemed to part just enough to make space, and I could feel the weight of everyone's eyes flicker over us as we approached. Almost everyone from our house was here, the group clustered around the large table, their laughter mixing with the music that still pulsed through the room.

As I walked, my eyes landed on Zack and Ellie, sitting close together, their shoulders brushing, and I couldn’t help but smirk to myself. 

"Hi!" Sam's voice rang out, cutting through the noise, and I turned just in time to feel her arms wrap around me in a tight hug. The scent of her perfume mixed with the distinct hint of alcohol on her breath. She pulled back and grinned before moving to hug Lou as well, her excitement clear.

"Glad you finally made it!" she said, beaming.

The rest of the group started to greet us, each voice overlapping with the next in a chaotic blend of familiar faces and good-natured ribbing.

I took a seat, carefully removing my coat, the cool air of the bar making me shiver slightly. Lou settled next to me, mirroring my actions as he shrugged off his own coat, his movements relaxed. As we both shifted, our knees brushed against each other, the unexpected contact sending a jolt through me. We exchanged a brief, almost involuntary glance, then quickly moved to put some distance between us, the moment fading as quickly as it had arrived.

"So, what do you want to drink?" Sam asked, her eyes shifting between Lou and me, a playful curiosity in her gaze.

Lou straightened up with a small grin, his voice casual but firm. "You know what, I’ll actually get us something," he said, rising from his seat. Without waiting for a response, he made his way toward the bar, his steps confident and easy.

I turned my attention fully to Sam, noticing the small, knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips. There was a spark in her eyes, one that told me she had something on her mind, something she was eager to share.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, her voice light, yet there was a mischievous undertone that made my stomach flutter with a mix of anticipation and wariness.

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at her with curiosity. “Oh?” I replied, watching her carefully, already guessing this was going somewhere I might not be ready for.

“Yeah,” she said, leaning in slightly, clearly enjoying the suspense. “So, I had this conversation with Evelyn, and she told me something that we need to fix, like, really fast.” Sam nodded, as if agreeing with herself on some grand revelation.

I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I had a pretty good idea of where this was headed. “Is that so?” I said, a playful tone lacing my words.

“Yeah,” she replied, sipping from her beer, clearly savoring her own sense of importance in whatever gossip she was about to drop.

But before she could continue, Lou returned, two drinks in hand. He placed one in front of me, and I smiled at him, thankful for the distraction. I took a sip, instantly recognizing the familiar taste from the bar we had gone to a few weeks back. He had ordered the same drink for me then, and apparently remembered my preference.

“Thanks,” I said, still holding the glass as I glanced over at him. Lou slid back into his seat beside me, his presence easing the slight tension I felt.

“Anyway,” Sam continued, her tone completely unaffected by Lou’s return to the conversation, “she mentioned how you haven’t had sex in, like, months—”

Before she could finish, Lou was suddenly choking on his drink, coughing violently as he tried to recover, looking just as stunned as I felt. His eyes were wide, and for a moment, he couldn’t even seem to catch his breath.

His face turned a deep shade of crimson, trying to recover from the surprise. I was frozen, my own cheeks burning as I stared at Sam, feeling a mix of embarrassment and disbelief.

“You okay?” Sam asked Lou, her tone casual as if discussing someone’s sex life at a bar was just another part of the evening.

“Mhm,” Lou mumbled, taking another sip of his drink, his eyes not even meeting mine. He seemed more focused on regaining his composure than acknowledging the awkwardness that had just unfolded. 

“Sam—” I began, but she cut me off, her voice determined.

“No, we need to have this conversation,” she insisted, her tone firm as she looked at me with an almost pleading expression. “I feel like everyone would agree with me, even Pep,” she added, taking my hand in a gesture that felt strangely sincere, as though trying to comfort me.

“Right, Pep?” she turned to Lou, her eyes expectant.

He looked from Sam to me, his expression unreadable, before nodding slowly. “Yeah, I agree.”

I felt my stomach twist. God, I wanted to disappear. The heat of embarrassment rushed to my cheeks as I looked between them, my eyes wide with disbelief. This was not how I wanted things to go.

I looked at him again, and this time, he was smirking—an amused, almost mischievous look playing on his face. It was clear he was enjoying this way too much.

“I understand why you would say that, Sam,” he said, his gaze flicking between us, analyzing me like I was some puzzle to be solved. “She’s always so tense,” he added, trying to stifle a laugh as if the idea was some inside joke.

“Right!” Sam agreed, nodding emphatically, her expression 100% serious, completely unlike Lou, who seemed to be basking in my discomfort.

I wanted to shrink into my seat, but instead, I just took a deep breath, trying to hold onto some shred of composure.

"My life is actually none of either of your business," I said, taking a sip from my drink, my voice carefully neutral as I tried to act nonchalant. The words felt sharp as they left my mouth, but I had no intention of letting them see how much their teasing was getting to me. I focused on the cold glass in my hand, willing the tension in the air to dissipate.

“Is that so?” Lou teased, his gaze lingering on me with that familiar glint in his eyes.

“Yeah,” I answered, matching his stare, trying my best to keep my composure despite the heat rising in my chest.

Before he could say anything else, Sam leaned forward with a grin, her excitement practically radiating off of her.

“I think I have the perfect guy for you,” she interrupted, her voice almost too smug for my liking.

Both Lou and I turned our heads toward her, eyebrows raised in unison. She had this way of getting your attention and it was always a little hard to ignore.

“Oh, do you now?” Lou asked, clearly intrigued as he leaned in.

Sam reaches into her jean pocket, pulling out her phone with an eager glint in her eye. She scrolls through it for a moment, then hands it over to Lou. “I found him,” she says, her voice practically vibrating with excitement.

Lou takes the phone from her, scrolling through the screen with a raised brow. His eyes flick between the phone and me, and for a brief moment, I feel like I’m being assessed in a way I don’t particularly enjoy. After a few beats, he lowers the phone, his expression flat.

“No,” he says simply, his voice unyielding as he hands the phone back to Sam.

Sam blinks, clearly stunned. Her eyes widen in disbelief, and she stares at Lou like he’s just said something outrageous. “What do you mean ‘no’?” she presses, her tone sharp as if this was some kind of betrayal. “He’s perfect for her!” she insists, gesturing toward me as if I’m just a spectator in this decision.

I sit back, my arms crossed, silently watching the exchange unfold. This whole conversation is starting to feel more like a circus act than anything else, and I'm not sure how much more I can take.

Lou shrugs, unbothered by the reaction. “He’s not,” he says, his voice cool and matter-of-fact. “Trust me.”

The audacity. Who does this guy think he is?

“Give me the phone,” I mutter, not bothering to meet his eyes, wanting to take back control of the conversation. It’s my turn to poke the bear.

Sam handed me her phone, giving Lou a smug look that seemed to say, “I told you so. She’s actually interested, and I’m always right.”

I couldn’t help but notice the guy on the screen looked good, I’d admit that much. But the truth was, the only guy occupying my mind at that moment was the one sitting just a few feet away from me.

I glanced back at Sam, feigning interest. “He looks good,” I said, my tone nonchalant. “What’s his Instagram?” I asked, not sparing Lou a glance.

I heard a scoff from my right, a soft exhale that sounded almost like a laugh, and I deliberately ignored it. Lou was just trying to get under my skin, but it wasn’t working. I wasn’t about to let him throw me off. However, I knew now that my little trick was working.

The slight shift in the air around us—the subtle tension in his posture, the way he held his drink just a little tighter—told me that I’d managed to get under his skin instead. A small, triumphant smirk tugged at the corners of my lips, but I kept it to myself. There was no need to draw any more attention to it.

"His Instagram?" Sam prompted, clearly eager for my full attention.

I glanced at her phone, still feeling Lou's presence just inches away, but this time, it didn’t bother me. I had the upper hand, even if just for this moment.

“Alright,” I said, my tone light and casual, like nothing had changed. “I’ll check him out later.”

Lou, who’d been watching me intently the whole time, finally spoke up. “You’re not seriously interested in him, are you?”

I looked up at him, pretending to be surprised. “Why? You think he’s not good enough for me?”

Lou leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly. “No, just... I don’t think it’s what you really want.”

I raised an eyebrow, a slow smile tugging at my lips. “And you think you know what I want?” I asked, my voice just a bit too playful.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he muttered, “I don’t know. But I know you’re not gonna find it on Instagram.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, and for the briefest of moments, I caught myself questioning his meaning. But I quickly dismissed it. This was Lou. Always a step ahead, always throwing out little jabs that seemed to carry more weight than they should.

I crossed my arms and leaned back slightly, trying to regain the upper hand. “Guess we’ll see,” I said, meeting his gaze directly.

And for the first time all night, I wasn’t sure if I was talking about Instagram or about him.

The line to the girls' bathroom stretched endlessly in front of me, an unmoving mass of people, all just as frustrated as I was. I had probably been standing there for at least twenty minutes now, and not a single person had budged. It was one of those moments where I started questioning every decision that had led me to this point.

The music from the bar pulsed through the walls, mixing with the chatter of the crowd, but none of it seemed to matter at that moment. All I could focus on was the fact that the bathroom door remained stubbornly closed, as if mocking me.

I shifted on my feet, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it was hopeless. The heels on my shoes were starting to feel heavier with every passing minute. Why did I think wearing these tonight was a good idea?

The group of girls in front of me continued to gossip away, not even noticing how badly I wanted to scream. Their voices blurred together, but every so often, a name or a laugh would pierce through the chaos, reminding me that, yes, I was still stuck here.

I turned to look at Lou, surprised to find him standing there, as if he had materialized out of thin air. He flashed me one of his usual smirks, the kind that made me simultaneously want to laugh and roll my eyes.

“You could just sneak into the men’s bathroom,” he suggested, his tone light, almost teasing, as if this was the most natural solution in the world.

I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Yeah, as if,” I said, shaking my head. The idea seemed absurd, especially with the line of people eyeing the bathroom door like it was some sort of sacred space. I wasn’t about to pull a stunt like that.

But Lou, as usual, wasn’t deterred. He leaned in slightly, his eyes gleaming with a playful sort of mischief. “No, seriously. I’ll hold guard,” he said, his smile widening, as if this was the most brilliant plan ever conceived.

For a moment, I found myself hesitating. There was something in his tone, in the way he was looking at me, that made it hard to brush him off. He seemed so sure, so convincing. And, if I was being honest with myself, I was getting pretty desperate. The line wasn’t moving, and I couldn’t exactly hold it any longer.

I gave him an exasperated look, wondering if he was really serious. “You’re insane,” I muttered, but the idea was tempting. Still, I wasn’t about to make a decision that would surely lead to chaos.

He shrugged, still smiling. “Come on. I promise I’ll keep watch.”

I glanced at the line again, then back at Lou, still unsure whether I should go through with this. But the more I thought about it, the more appealing the idea became. The line wasn’t moving, and I was starting to feel like I was going to burst if I didn’t find a solution soon.

Lou, sensing my hesitation, gave me a grin that was more mischievous than reassuring. Without saying anything else, he extended his hand toward me, his fingers hovering just in front of me, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low and encouraging. “I’ll get you in.”

I hesitated for just a moment, but with the line still growing longer, I sighed and took his hand. He tugged me toward the other side of the bar, moving with a sense of purpose that made it hard for me to resist. As we neared the men’s bathroom, I realized that there was no one else around. No line. No one waiting. It was like a little oasis in the chaos of the bar.

Lou pushed open the door with a quick glance around, then turned back to me, his face suddenly serious. “Wait here,” he instructed, his voice soft yet firm. He stepped inside the bathroom, checking the stalls one by one before nodding in satisfaction. “All clear,” he said, gesturing for me to follow.

I shot him a skeptical look. “You sure about this?”

He smirked. “Trust me.”

I stepped inside, my heart beating faster now that I was in a place I probably wasn’t supposed to be. But Lou was right—it was quiet, and there was no one around. He’d gotten me out of a sticky situation without a single soul noticing.

As I moved toward one of the stalls, I couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of relief and a rush of adrenaline.

Before I stepped into the stall, I shot a quick glance back at Lou, who was awkwardly positioned in front of the door, blocking it with his body.

"You're actually going to stand there and listen to me pee?" I asked, my voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.

He shrugged nonchalantly, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I’m just making sure you’re safe," he said, his tone light but with an edge of humor. "Wouldn’t want anyone else barging in on you, right?"

I rolled my eyes, stepping into the stall and closing the door behind me. "You’re ridiculous," I muttered, still half-amused, half-annoyed by his overprotectiveness.

There was a brief pause before Lou’s voice filtered through the door again. "Just hurry up, alright?"

I couldn’t help but snort at that. 

I finished and opened the stall door, only to find Lou still standing by the entrance, as if he hadn’t moved an inch. I stepped past him and made my way to the sinks, turning on the tap to wash my hands. Lou pushed away from the door and casually moved toward me, positioning himself next to the sink on my right.

"So, that guy, huh?" he asked, his voice low as he leaned against the counter, studying me with that familiar, knowing look. His face was concentrated, the playfulness gone. Was he actually that jealous?

I glanced up at him briefly, catching the glint of amusement in his eyes, and I felt a subtle tension in my chest. He was definitely trying to provoke me, and for some reason, it was working.

"What about him?" I replied, keeping my tone even, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered.

Lou tilted his head slightly, his smirk growing. "Just curious. You seemed pretty interested," he said, his gaze flickering from my face to the sink. He was so close now, I could feel the warmth of his body next to mine, and I tried not to let it throw me off.

I finished drying my hands, leaning against the counter. "I’m not sure I even want to talk about it," I said, avoiding his gaze for a moment. 

Lou didn't back off. Instead, he crossed his arms, leaning in a little closer. "You don’t have to explain anything to me," he said softly, his voice a little more serious now. "But if you really don’t care, why’d you look so interested when Sam showed you that guy’s picture?"

His words hung in the air, and I didn’t know how to respond. "It’s not like that," I finally muttered, the words coming out a little too quickly. "I don’t care."

"Right," Lou said, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent of something I couldn’t quite place. "Whatever you say." He flashed me a grin, that familiar challenge in his eyes,

I glanced down at the sink, hoping the coolness of the porcelain would help me collect myself. A strand of hair slipped from behind my ear, and before I could move to tuck it back, Lou’s hand reached out. His fingers brushed softly against my skin as he tucked the stray hair behind my ear with a careful touch.

I froze for a moment, caught off guard. When I looked back at him, his hand lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, his fingers lightly grazing the side of my neck. He moved closer, his eyes never leaving mine, and his hand traced the curve of my neck, fingers almost lost in the strands of my hair.

The air between us thickened, charged with something unspoken. I could feel the heat from his body just a breath away, and my own pulse seemed to race in sync with the steady rhythm of his gaze. I barely dared to move, the tension suffocating but magnetic, drawing me in despite my better judgment. His touch was gentle, yet it felt like it held more weight than I could handle.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, my gaze caught on his lips, unable to look anywhere else.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured back, his voice low and deliberate. “Can I kiss you?”

The words hung in the space between us, charged with something I couldn’t quite name. The beat of my pulse drowned out everything else, and the closer he came, the more impossible it seemed to pull away. His breath was warm against my skin, his proximity overwhelming. There was no room left for hesitation, no room left for anything but the weight of the question he’d just asked.

I stood frozen, caught in the tension, in the pull of him, unable to think clearly. My mind was a blur, but my body… my body was responding, and I could feel the space between us shrinking with each passing second. The air seemed thick with possibility, heavy with anticipation, and it was impossible not to notice how his lips hovered just a breath away from mine.

His fingers grazed my hair again, so lightly, but the touch sent a jolt through me. His eyes never left mine, locking me in place, making everything else fade away.

I wanted to answer, wanted to say something, but my words failed me. I could only whisper, my voice barely audible, “I don’t know.”

But even as the words escaped, I felt the truth in them — it wasn’t a refusal. It wasn’t a no.

He smiled slightly, the corners of his lips lifting just enough to show that he knew exactly what he was doing. "Please," he whispered, the word soft but insistent, like a plea that was both gentle and undeniable.

The way he said it—so simple, yet so loaded—sent a wave of warmth through me, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. 

I nodded, barely able to keep my breath steady as I leaned in, heart pounding in my chest. He mirrored me, his eyes darkening slightly, filled with the same mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

The space between us vanished in an instant, and I felt the warmth of his breath against my lips, the soft whisper of a promise that neither of us could deny. The world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of us in that suspended moment, caught between a decision and the desire that had been building since we’d stepped into that bathroom together.

And then, everything blurred as our lips finally met, hesitant at first, as if we were both testing the waters, before everything else fell away.

The kiss was everything I hadn’t expected—intense, yet gentle. His hand tangled in my hair, holding me closer, while his other hand rested at my waist, pulling me in. The warmth of his lips against mine was magnetic, drawing me deeper into the moment.

We paused briefly, just enough to catch our breath, but before I could fully register it, his lips found mine again, this time more insistent. His tongue gently brushed against my lips, waiting for me to respond.

A soft sound escaped me as his tongue gently met mine, and my hands instinctively found their way to his hair, pulling him closer as a sigh left my lips. I had missed this. 

“I need you,” I whispered against his lips, his kisses trailing lightly across my face, landing here and there, each one softer than the last.

“Not here,” he whispered back, tilting my head back slightly to give him better access as his lips continued their path down my jaw, slowly grazing my neck.

My breath quickened as he continued, and when he finally stopped, I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself.

I opened my eyes to find him gazing at me, his eyes full of something deep and unspoken. He lingered, as if savoring the moment, his presence so close I could feel the warmth of his breath. With a quiet intensity, he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine once more—soft, slow, and lingering. It was as if the kiss was a silent promise, and for a moment, the world outside of us didn’t exist.

But then, with a deep, almost reluctant sigh, he pulled away, the distance between us growing, though it seemed to pain him. His gaze remained locked on mine, searching, hesitant, as if he were unsure how to let go of the connection we’d just shared. The space between us felt unbearable, yet he didn’t make a move to close it. It was clear—he wasn’t ready to step back, but he did anyway, his reluctance evident in the way he looked at me, as if he had to tear himself away from something he wasn’t yet willing to leave behind.

I met his gaze, the weight of my words hanging in the air. "Come by my room tonight," I said softly, an invitation.

He smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes, though there was something more in the way he held me—something that made my heart race. His hand lingered at my hip, warm and steady, as if anchoring both of us in the moment.

"Is that really what you want?" he asked, his voice quiet, but there was an edge to it, a vulnerability that mirrored my own. He looked down at his hand on my waist, his fingers idly tugging at the hem of my shirt, his focus drifting there for a moment, as if the weight of the question made him hesitant to look me in the eye.

Before I could form a response, he continued, his words spilling out in a way that suggested he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this either.

"I’m not sure what we’re doing," he admitted, his voice quiet but genuine. "But I like it. And I know you said you needed a break, but it’s... it’s hard, you know? At least for me."

His admission hung between us, raw and honest, and I couldn’t help but feel the same uncertainty mixed with excitement. He was speaking from the heart, not masking his feelings behind casual words.

He shifted slightly, his gaze meeting mine with a depth that seemed to search for something. "I want you to like it, too," he said quietly, his voice almost pleading, but in the gentlest way possible. "Just tell me what you need."

Chapter Text

Sleep eluded me entirely, slipping through my grasp like grains of sand. I shifted restlessly, my body unable to find even a hint of comfort. The pillow beneath my head radiated unwelcome warmth, while the blanket, meant to provide solace, felt more like a weight pressing down on my chest. The mattress, once seemingly sufficient, now seemed unforgiving, each surface beneath me harder than I remembered.

The room was steeped in darkness so absolute that it felt as though I were submerged in it, a heavy, impenetrable void. My eyes strained against the blackness, seeking a sliver of light, a point of focus—anything to anchor me in the stillness. But there was nothing. 

Every movement I made seemed to amplify my discomfort, each shift making the mattress feel less inviting. My thoughts churned, refusing to settle, as if the unease in my body had sparked an unrelenting restlessness in my mind. The hours stretched on endlessly, and I lay there, acutely aware of every minute that passed, caught between longing for sleep and the futile realization that it might never come.

I heard a sound that made my stomach drop—a soft, rhythmic tapping coming from somewhere in the hall outside the room. The noise was faint but insistent, each tap sending a ripple of unease through me. My breath hitched as I turned my head, scanning the shadows that draped the room in oppressive stillness. My eyes, still unadjusted to the dark, searched for the source, for any movement that could explain the noise, but all I found was the suffocating black void around me.

Every minute that passed seemed to stretch into eternity, each second sharpening my regret. I should have declined the invitation to this sleepover, I thought bitterly. The lively chaos of the day had drained me; my body ached, my legs throbbed with the dull pain of overuse, yet any hope of rest was obliterated by that persistent, ominous tapping.

The sound was close—too close—and the air around me grew heavier with every passing moment. My heart raced, hammering against my ribs as if it were trying to escape the dread building in my chest. I pulled the blanket tighter around me, a feeble attempt at security, as I strained my ears for any other noise, any clue that might break the tension. But the tapping continued, unyielding, sending chills skittering down my spine.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The relentless tapping, the oppressive darkness, the suffocating weight of my own fear—it was all too much. I sat up abruptly, my breathing shallow as my eyes darted around the room, desperately trying to pierce through the pitch-black void. Shadows loomed in every corner, shifting and stretching in my mind’s eye, their silence only amplifying the maddening sound in the hallway.

I was on the floor, my makeshift sleeping spot, and somehow that made everything even worse. The coldness of the ground seeped into my bones, grounding me in the reality of my vulnerability. Every noise seemed louder down here, closer. I felt exposed, like something unseen could reach out from the darkness and pull me into it.

I pushed the blanket off me in one swift motion, the fabric dragging across my bare legs as I forced myself to move. I stood slowly, every sound amplified in my ears—the creak of the floor beneath me, the faint rustle of fabric, the sharp inhale of my own breath.

The bed, just a few steps away, loomed like an island of safety in a sea of uncertainty. My legs felt unsteady as I took careful, deliberate steps toward it, my hands outstretched to guide me through the void. The tapping outside continued, faint but insistent, as if it were taunting me. My heart pounded louder with every step, drowning out the silence, but I pressed on, determined to find a sense of security, however fleeting.

Before I touched him, I paused and listened, his soft, even breathing filling the quiet room. It was strangely calming, almost enough to make me hesitate. Here he was, completely at peace, and I was standing over him, practically trembling with fear, feeling ridiculous. Guilt settled over me like a heavy blanket. He deserved his rest, and yet I was about to shatter it because I couldn’t handle the strange noises echoing through the hall.

Maybe I shouldn’t wake him. The thought lingered for a moment, a brief internal debate. But despite my better judgment, my hand moved on its own, reaching out toward him. My fingers trembled as they brushed against his shoulder, a hesitant nudge as if testing the waters. He lay on his back, his face turned toward me, the soft lines of sleep smoothing his usual expression.

“Lou,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, carried only by the stillness of the room.

He didn’t stir. His breathing remained steady, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of someone far removed from my anxiety.

“Luigi,” I tried again, a little louder this time, shaking his shoulder gently. Still, there was no response, just the soft, rhythmic sound of his snores, oblivious to my whispered plea.

For a moment, I felt ridiculous. But the tapping from the hall haunted the edges of my thoughts. My hand lingered on his shoulder, and I whispered his name one more time, hoping he’d hear me. Hoping he’d wake. Hoping he wouldn’t think I was losing my mind.

"Please, Lou," I whispered again, my voice barely holding back a quiver.

This time, he stirred, his eyes cracking open just a sliver. His face was groggy, heavy with sleep, as he mumbled, "What’s going on?" His words came out slow, thick, like he was trying to pull himself out of a deep dream.

"I think I hear something," I said quickly, the words tumbling out before I could lose my nerve.

"What?" he mumbled, his brow furrowing as he squinted at me, still half-asleep.

"There’s... a sound," I whispered, glancing over my shoulder toward the door. The darkness of the hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, and even though it was probably nothing, my heart was pounding. "Coming from the hall," I added, quieter now. My throat felt tight as I admitted, "I’m scared."

The silence that followed was unbearable. I felt silly— Lou blinked a few times, processing what I’d said, his confusion melting into something softer. He didn’t laugh or roll his eyes. Instead, he sat up just a little, the blanket slipping off his shoulders as he yawned.

"You’re serious?" he asked, his voice quieter now, as if he could sense how much this was eating at me.

I nodded, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. "Yeah," I muttered, my gaze fixed on the floor. "I wouldn’t wake you if it wasn’t—"

"It’s okay," he interrupted gently, sitting up straighter. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and his shirt was wrinkled from sleep, but there was something undeniably comforting about his presence. Even in the dim light, I could make out the way he blinked, his eyes squinting as he tried to focus on me in the dark.

“Do you wanna sleep next to me?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure if the offer was the right thing to say.

“Could I?” I replied, my voice small but hopeful. Relief washed over me, warm and reassuring, pushing back the tension that had been gripping my chest.

He nodded, shifting to one side of the bed to make room, lifting the edge of the blanket in a silent invitation. “Yeah, come on,” he said quietly, his voice soft and free of judgment. His expression, still hazy with sleep, was calm, a small gesture of reassurance that eased the knot of anxiety in my chest.

The bed was narrow, barely large enough for one person, let alone two. Still, we managed to fit, though our arms and legs brushed as we settled into the tight space. His blanket smelled faintly of detergent and something uniquely him, a comfort I hadn’t realized I needed.

We shared his pillow, heads mere inches apart—he on the left, and me on the right. The quiet of the room wrapped around us, broken only by the faint tapping noise still echoing faintly from the hallway. My nerves had been frayed by the sound earlier, but now, with his steady presence beside me, it seemed less significant.

“Thanks,” I murmured after a moment, my voice barely above a whisper. I wasn’t even sure if he was still awake.

The silence stretched again, and just when I thought he’d fallen back to sleep, his voice emerged, soft but certain. “Of course.”

The tapping continued, faint and persistent, but the fear it had brought earlier was now muted, reduced to little more than background noise. My focus shifted to the warmth radiating from the boy beside me.

His hand, lying next to mine on the mattress, brushed against my fingers. It was a fleeting touch, so light I almost thought I’d imagined it. But then, slowly, his hand slipped into mine, his fingers curling around mine with quiet assurance. I didn’t mind it. In fact, I held on. 

He didn’t say anything, and neither did I. The gesture spoke louder than words—steady, grounding, and a silent promise that I wasn’t alone.

The rhythmic tapping was still there, but it no longer held power over me. With his hand in mine, sleep finally came, pulling me into its embrace with a newfound sense of calm.

He didn’t act on the invitation. After we left the bar, he kissed me goodnight outside my room—a kiss that was soft, fleeting, and achingly unresolved. His hand lingered on my arm for just a moment before he stepped back, his gaze lingering in the space between us as if caught on the edge of some unspoken thought. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his retreating figure swallowed by the dim corridor.

I stood there for a moment longer than I should have, the imprint of his lips still warm against mine. Disappointment prickled at the edges of my chest, though I couldn’t entirely place why. Perhaps it was the way the moment felt unfinished, a conversation left mid-sentence. Or perhaps it was my own quiet yearning.

And yet, I couldn’t deny that what had passed between us earlier—the hushed, vulnerable exchange in the bathroom—had eased a part of me I hadn’t realized was so tightly wound. There was something in his words, his voice, that settled like a balm over the chaos in my mind.

What had he reassured me of? I didn’t know. Perhaps it was the simple fact that he felt the weight of this too, that I wasn’t alone in navigating the strange, charged thing that had grown between us. Or maybe it was his honesty, the way he’d spoken to me without pretense, offering a glimpse of the uncertainty he carried like a mirror to my own.

And yet, as comforting as his words had been, they left me standing on a precipice. In one sense, they felt like closure, a soft, deliberate pause in the swirling uncertainty. But in another, they felt like the first step into uncharted territory, one that was both exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.

It wasn’t just a step—it was a leap. And as I lay awake that night, staring at the cracks of light bleeding in through the curtains, I couldn’t help but wonder if either of us was ready for the ground to fall away beneath our feet.

School had been going great. We’d started a new course this year, and the teacher—Mr. Calloway—was nothing short of magnetic. He wasn’t like the others who droned on about facts and figures, content to let our attention wander to the windows or the ticking clock on the wall. No, Mr. Calloway commanded the room with a sharp wit and a way of making even the driest topics feel urgent and alive.

He had this habit of pacing when he talked, his hands moving as if conducting an invisible orchestra. “History,” he declared on the first day, “isn’t about dates or names. It’s about people. Their choices. Their failures. Their victories. It's about you.” His eyes had swept the room, challenging us to disagree.

And somehow, he made us care.

For the first time, I found myself leaning into the lectures, actually looking forward to what he’d bring up next. The assignments were no cakewalk, but they weren’t the dull, repetitive kind either. They were open-ended questions that made you think—really think—and it was oddly satisfying to piece together my answers like solving a puzzle. 

I was really enjoying everything about almost everything. I didn’t have a tendency to regret.

“Mind if I sit?” Lou’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the library, pulling me abruptly from my thoughts. He stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, his head tilted slightly as he looked down at me.

I blinked, momentarily disoriented, as if the question had somehow misplaced me. The library had a way of swallowing time, with its muted atmosphere and the faint rustle of pages turning in the distance. I hadn’t even noticed his approach.

“Uh, sure,” I said, gesturing to the empty chair across from me. My voice came out steady enough, but inside, my heart betrayed me with its quick, uneven rhythm.

Lou slid into the chair with a casual grace that stood in sharp contrast to the tension in his movements. His posture was easy, but there was an undercurrent of hesitation, something quiet yet heavy, in the way he kept his gaze low at first, toying with the strap of his backpack.

“You looked deep in thought,” he said after a beat, his eyes finally meeting mine. His tone was light, yet there was a softness in it, a kind of searching. It was as if he wasn’t entirely sure how to start.

I shrugged, glancing at the open notebook in front of me. “Just working on something for Calloway’s class,” I offered, though it felt more like a deflection than an answer.

Lou’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Ah, Mr. Calloway. The man’s practically a motivational speaker disguised as a teacher. What’s the assignment?”

I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to engage, but there didn’t seem to be any harm in it. “It’s one of his open-ended ones. You know, ‘Pick a moment in history you think changed everything, and explain why.’”

Lou leaned back, the chair creaking softly under him. He considered my words with a seriousness that felt almost out of place, but not unwelcome. “So what’d you pick?”

“The fall of the Berlin Wall,” I said, glancing at him for his reaction. “It’s cliché, I know, but—”

“It’s not cliché,” he interrupted gently, his voice taking on a thoughtful edge. “It’s a solid choice. Big moment, big change. So, what’s your take on it?”

His interest caught me off guard. I wasn’t used to people asking, let alone caring about the answer. “Uh, well... I think it’s less about the wall itself and more about what it represented,” I started, feeling my words take shape as I spoke. “Division, fear, control. And when it came down, it wasn’t just a physical barrier breaking—it was years of pain and oppression starting to unravel. At least, that’s what I’m trying to say in my paper.”

Lou nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful, a faint smile playing on his lips. “That’s good,” he said after a pause. “It’s... hopeful.”

The word hung between us, its weight far more significant than I expected. There was something in the way he said it, like he was reaching for more than just the surface of the conversation.

I glanced down at my notebook, suddenly hyper-aware of his presence, the closeness that felt almost tangible despite the table between us.

He pulled out his laptop, settling into the chair with practiced ease, and began typing. The faint sound of keys clicking filled the space between us, blending seamlessly with the ambient quiet of the library. I couldn’t help but glance at him every so often, stealing little moments to observe. His brows knitted together in concentration, his lips tugged into a faint pout whenever he was deep in thought. It was subtle, but endearing in a way that caught me off guard.

He was cute.

“You going to the ball game on Friday?” I asked, my voice breaking the stillness. I didn’t look at him right away, my fingers toying absentmindedly with the corner of my notebook.

His eyes lifted from the screen, dark and intent as they met mine. He paused before answering, as if weighing whether to speak at all. “Yeah,” he said finally. “A friend of mine is playing.”

“Cool,” I murmured, nodding slightly as I dropped my gaze back to the scrawled notes on the page in front of me. My pen hovered over the notebook, but the words blurred as I replayed the brief exchange in my head.

He went back to his work, his focus shifting back to the glow of the screen. I tried to redirect my attention to the assignment at hand, but it was hard to ignore the small but steady rhythm of his typing, or the quiet weight of his presence across from me. The conversation had been short, almost inconsequential, but it lingered nonetheless.

“Are you?” he asked after a moment, his voice breaking the silence as his gaze shifted back to me.

“Mhm,” I murmured, nodding slightly and dropping my eyes to the page in front of me. “Max is taking me.”

There was a pause, just long enough for the air to feel heavier.

“Oh,” he said simply, the single syllable carrying a weight I couldn’t quite decipher. His expression didn’t shift much, but there was something about the way he immediately turned his attention back to his computer that made the moment feel... off.

“Cool,” he added after a beat, his tone measured, almost too casual.

I nodded, though he wasn’t looking at me anymore. My pen moved aimlessly over the notebook, tracing invisible shapes as my mind wandered. The tapping of his keyboard resumed, steady but somehow distant.

I dropped my pen with a soft clink, exhaling a deep sigh as I leaned back into the chair. The library was still, but it felt too still—like the silence had been stretched just a little too thin. I glanced at the clock on the wall, realizing how late it had gotten. I had planned to finish up earlier, but now I needed one more book before I could call it a night.

I gathered my things—keys, phone—and started shoving them into my bag, the motions automatic, when Lou’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, his tone curious, a little confused.

I paused, glancing up at him. “No,” I replied, shaking my head slightly. “I just need to find this book.”

I stood up, looking around the library. The rows of shelves seemed to stretch on forever in a haphazard arrangement that made no sense to me at all. How on earth was I supposed to find a single book in this labyrinth?

“Need help?” Lou’s voice was closer now, and when I turned back, he was closing his laptop, his gaze on me expectantly.

I shrugged, a little smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite myself. “Sure, why not.”

Lou stood up with an ease that somehow made me feel like I was the one dragging my feet. He moved toward me, his steps casual, but there was something about his presence that made the air feel just a little warmer.

Together, we walked toward the nearest row of shelves, the rustle of our footsteps the only sound filling the stillness. For a moment, there was nothing but the quiet hum of the library around us. Then, Lou's voice broke the silence again, softer this time.

"So, what book are we looking for?" Lou’s voice broke the stillness of the library, smooth and low, with the same concentration he’d had when we’d been discussing Mr. Calloway’s class earlier. His eyes flicked over the shelves—his gaze shifting from title to title, the corners of his lips pressing together slightly as if measuring the distance between himself and each book.

I glanced at him, heart skipping just a little, before looking back at the shelves. The library’s quiet hum felt almost like a blanket around us, comforting but thick with the space between us. "The author is Richard E. Neustadt," I said softly, stepping closer to one of the rows of books. "I think it’s called Presidential Power and the Modern Presidents. "

Lou nodded, his brow furrowing slightly as he scanned the spines of the books. It was subtle, but there was a slight shift in his expression, as if the unfamiliarity of the title was a challenge to him. There was something about the way he moved—slow and deliberate, his hand grazing over the edges of the worn books as though he could feel their stories. 

"Got it," Lou said after a moment, his voice rich with quiet satisfaction. He pointed to a section further down the row, just past a pile of dusty old political histories. “Looks like it’s over here.” His voice was warm, like the soft pull of the sun just before it disappeared behind the horizon.

I followed him, the sound of our footsteps barely audible against the old wooden floor. Every step felt like it was somehow part of this moment, the space between us growing shorter with each movement. 

We reached the shelf, and I watched as Lou’s fingers brushed over the spines, searching. The rows of books seemed to stretch on forever—titles and names blurring together in my mind. All I could focus on was the steady rhythm of Lou’s breathing beside me, the easy confidence in his movements.

The book wasn’t on the top shelf, so we crouched down, bending low to search the bottom rows. Lou’s movements were smooth and purposeful, and I found myself entranced by the way he sifted through the books, each one falling into his hands with the same careful precision. I tried to focus, but I couldn’t help noticing the way the soft light from the overhead lamps caught in his hair, turning it a warm, honey-brown, and the small, quiet focus in his eyes as he searched.

“I literally can’t find it,” Lou muttered, frustration creeping into his voice as he shuffled through the rows.

“Me neither,” I said with a sigh, shifting the weight from one leg to the other. I’d been crouching for far too long, and the ache in my legs was becoming almost unbearable. “Shit, my legs hurt,” I complained, and without thinking, I sank down onto the floor, crossing my legs beneath me. The cool wood beneath me was a relief, but it wasn’t enough to dull the slight tingling in my thighs.

Lou glanced at me, his expression softening with quiet amusement. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice muffled as I adjusted my position. “Just trying to keep my legs from falling off.”

Lou chuckled, a low sound that warmed the cool air around us. He continued his search, his fingers flipping through the pages of the books with a focus that made me feel strangely calm. After a moment, he sat down beside me with a fluidity that was so natural, so easy. He lowered himself to the floor and crossed his legs, not even hesitating. Our knees brushed together, a light touch, but enough for a small ripple of warmth to spread through me. It was strange, the way the space between us felt so casual, yet somehow more intimate now that we were sitting side by side.

For a moment, the silence stretched between us—peaceful, easy, yet laced with something unspoken. I found myself suddenly aware of the faint rhythm of his breathing, the soft rustling of his clothes as he shifted next to me. Our legs were close enough that I could feel the slight warmth radiating from him, though neither of us had said anything for a while. It wasn’t awkward. In fact, it was the kind of silence that felt... comfortable, like we had been doing this for longer than we actually had.

I sighed, the frustration bubbling up in my chest as I leaned back on my hands, feeling the coolness of the wooden floor press against my palms. "You know what, just forget it," I muttered, letting my head fall back slightly, eyes staring up at the library’s high ceiling. "I'll just ask the librarian tomorrow."

There was a brief silence, and I could feel Lou's gaze on me. The sound of him shifting beside me was subtle, but I could sense his movement, as if he wasn’t ready to let it go just yet. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady and certain, in a way that made me pause.

"No," Lou said firmly, shaking his head as he turned back to the shelf. "I’ll find it for you."

His words were quiet but insistent, like it wasn’t even a question in his mind. I sat up a little straighter, watching him with a mixture of surprise and something. Lou didn’t pause to check my reaction. His hands moved with purpose, fingers brushing against the rows of books as he scanned the shelves with the same focused determination he had when he first sat down. His brows furrowed slightly, but there was something comforting in the way he seemed determined to make things right, as though he couldn’t leave until he’d done this for me.

For a moment, I just watched him, my breath caught in the quiet of the library. There was a sincerity in his effort, in the way his movements were deliberate but unhurried. He wasn’t doing this because he had to, but because he wanted to. And somehow, that made everything feel...

"Don’t worry about it," I said, my voice softer this time, almost soothing. I shifted slightly, my hand moving to rest gently on his shoulder, hoping to get his attention. And, as if on cue, it worked.

He tensed under my fingertips, his body going still for a fraction of a second before his head turned towards me. His eyes, sharp and focused, locked onto mine with a quiet intensity. “I swear, the book is here,” he said, his voice low and almost stubborn, like he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

I couldn’t help but smile at the sheer determination in his eyes. It was sweet, really, and for a moment, I was almost caught up in his resolve. But I shook my head lightly, the smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Then it's gonna be here tomorrow as well," I replied, my voice teasing but soft. "Let's go home."

He looked at me for a long beat, clearly weighing the thought, and then, with a slight sigh, he finally leaned back, his posture relaxing just enough. "I guess you’re right," he admitted, his words carrying a hint of reluctant agreement. "Tomorrow then."

I gave his shoulder one last gentle squeeze before I stood, stretching slightly to release the tension that had built up from sitting for too long. As I moved to step away, my hand instinctively reached out to help him up. He took it without hesitation, his grip firm, but it was when he stood that I realized he hadn’t let go. His hand still held mine, warm and steady.

He looked down at our joined hands, his gaze lingering on our fingers before slowly trailing up to meet my eyes. There was a subtle shift in his expression, something soft and unreadable. Then, without warning, he moved closer, his body drawing near in a way that had my heart racing before I even fully understood what was happening.

I barely had time to react before my back was gently pressed against the cold library shelf behind me. The sudden shift was so seamless, so fluid, that I hadn’t even noticed the movement. Our hands were still interlinked, the simple connection grounding me in a way that felt both comforting and electrifying.

His eyes locked onto mine, searching, almost hesitant. And in that moment, I realized how close we were. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, close enough that the space between us was no longer just physical. His gaze held me captive, a quiet question hanging in the air, unspoken but understood.

I swallowed, my heart racing in my chest. Every inch of me was aware of him now—aware of the closeness. Time seemed to slow as we stood there, hands still connected, bodies near enough that I could feel the subtle rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took.

Just as I thought he was about to kiss me, he leaned in, his breath warm against my skin, but instead of the kiss I was expecting, his lips brushed softly against my cheek. The sensation was gentle, almost lingering, before he placed another soft kiss on the other side of my face. The simple gesture sent a rush of warmth through me, leaving me frozen for a moment, caught between the sweetness of the moment and the ache for something more.

My right hand, the one that wasn’t entwined with his, moved almost instinctively. It rested lightly on his chest, just above his heart, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my palm. Each beat was a soft, reassuring pulse, grounding me as the world around us seemed to blur. I could feel the warmth of his body, the faint tremble in the air between us.

His presence was overwhelming in the most delicate way, and I couldn’t help but feel a gentle sense of both peace and longing as I stayed there, hand on his chest, my heart in sync with his.

The book, the search, the library – it all faded into the background as the moment stretched between us. I couldn’t tell if it was the quiet intimacy of our shared space or the quiet rhythm of our breaths that pulled me closer, but I couldn’t wait any longer. The teasing, the unspoken tension, all of it had built up into something undeniable.

My hand, still resting on his chest, moved upwards slightly, a gentle invitation, and in that instant, our eyes locked. I didn’t need anything more – no words, no hesitation. I reached up, closing the space between us, and pressed my lips to his, soft but sure.

His other hand found its place at my waist, fingers tightening gently, pulling me closer as his lips continued to move against mine, in perfect sync. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, a rhythm we both followed instinctively. I could feel the warmth of his body against mine, the pressure of his hand grounding me as if nothing else in the world mattered.

My hand slid from his chest, tracing the smooth line of his jaw before resting at the nape of his neck. I couldn’t help but tug lightly at the hair at the base of his head, a soft pull that made him exhale into the kiss, the slight tremor in his breath sending a thrill through me. 

He pulled away slowly, his lips lingering just a breath away from mine as he rested his forehead against mine. The world seemed to hold its breath, and for a moment, it was as if time itself had stilled around us. His hand, still at my waist, tightened gently.

His eyes fluttered closed, and I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine, his breath uneven, but not from exertion—no, it was something deeper, something that mirrored my own racing heart. There was a vulnerability in the silence, but it didn’t feel awkward or forced. It was just the two of us.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice low and tentative, as though he were unsure whether to ask or not, but needing to hear something from me.

I nodded softly, my own breath shaky. “Yeah,” I murmured, not trusting my voice fully, but the words felt honest. I was okay—better than okay, in fact.

I leaned in again, unable to stop myself, drawn to him like a magnet. My lips brushed against his once more, soft and tender, before I slowly moved to his cheek, placing another kiss there. The warmth of his skin against mine felt intoxicating, his scent enveloping me, making it hard to think of anything else. I could hear his soft exhales, the rhythm of his breath like a gentle melody that seemed to fill the space around us. It was music to my ears, each sigh a note in a song we were composing together.

I trailed my lips down his jawline, the skin there warm and smooth beneath my touch. His breath hitched slightly, a quiet sound that sent a thrill through me. The world around us seemed to disappear, leaving only the sweetness of his presence, the weight of his closeness.

 I couldn’t get enough of him, and in that moment, neither of us seemed to want to pull away.

His breath caught, his hand tightening slightly in mine as he pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. “Someone could see us,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if saying it aloud made it more real.

I didn’t stop, my lips continuing their journey along his jaw, savoring the feel of him, the softness of his skin. "I don’t care," I whispered between kisses, my words barely audible as I leaned in again, pressing my lips to his in a slow, deliberate kiss.

It was reckless, the kind of thing we’d both regret later, but at that moment, I didn’t want to think about the consequences. I didn’t want to worry about who might be watching or what might happen after. All that mattered was us, the connection that seemed to spark with every touch, every kiss.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against my skin, before letting out a sigh. “I should stop you,” he murmured, his voice laced with hesitation.

I shook my head, leaning in closer as I placed a light kiss on his cheek. “You started it,” I whispered, my words barely audible as I looked up at him. 

Lou smiled down at me, his expression warm and unguarded, as he leaned in to kiss me again. This time, it was slower, softer, as though he wanted to savor every second. When he finally pulled away, it wasn’t abrupt, but deliberate, his lips lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

He stepped back slightly, creating space between us, but his hand never left mine. Our fingers stayed intertwined, a quiet tether that neither of us seemed willing to break. His thumb brushed gently over my knuckles, and the simple gesture carried a weight that made my chest tighten.

“Still with me?” he asked, his voice low, his smile still playing at the edges of his lips.

A smile tugged at my lips despite the warmth flooding my cheeks. I shook my head lightly, trying to disguise just how much of an effect he had on me. “Let’s just go,” I said, my voice carrying a playful lilt as I gave his hand a little tug.

Lou let out a soft chuckle, his smirk growing as he followed my lead. Our hands stayed linked as we walked back toward the table, the quiet library wrapping around us like a secret.

I couldn’t help but glance his way, catching the way his eyes crinkled ever so slightly, a soft amusement dancing there. My grin widened in response, the moment too sweet to resist.

When we reached the table, I busied myself gathering my things, though the smile stayed stubbornly on my face. I caught him watching me out of the corner of my eye, his own expression warm and relaxed, as if he was quietly enjoying the sight of me.

“You know, you smile a lot when you’re trying not to,” Lou teased, his voice soft yet teasing enough to make my grin turn into a laugh.

“Do not,” I replied, shaking my head but failing to hide the way my cheeks dimpled.

“You’re doing it right now,” he said, brushing his hand against mine as he grabbed his bag.

I gave him a light nudge with my shoulder, laughing again, the kind of laugh that felt easy and full. “Come on, let’s go before the librarian kicks us out,” I said, still grinning as I pulled him toward the exit.

The weather was still cold, as Philadelphia winters always seemed to insist upon. The chill seeped into the air, nipping at my cheeks and making the tips of my fingers ache, even through my gloves. Lou and I walked side by side, our steps falling into an easy rhythm on the uneven pavement.

A soft breeze picked up, carrying with it the faint, briny scent of the river and the occasional rustle of dry leaves skittering along the sidewalk. I glanced at him, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. His breath puffed out in soft, visible clouds, and for some reason, watching him like this made the air feel a little less biting.

"I dreamt about you last night," I said, my voice quiet but deliberate as I looked straight ahead. My cheeks already felt warm, but I couldn’t resist a quick glance at him to gauge his reaction.

Lou’s head turned sharply, his eyes sparkling with mischief even in the dim light of the streetlamps. “What, was it a wet dream?” he teased, his lips curling into a smug smirk.

“Jesus, Lou!” I hissed, my eyes darting around to see if anyone else was within earshot. My voice came out in a harsh whisper, half embarrassed, half amused. “Could you not?”

I smacked his arm lightly, earning a laugh from him—deep and genuine, the kind that always seemed to tug a reluctant smile out of me no matter how annoyed I was pretending to be.

“Relax,” he said, his grin growing wider. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head, though I couldn’t stop the small smile creeping onto my face. “No, I didn't. Not even close.”

“Oh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. His tone was playful, but there was a flicker of curiosity beneath it that he couldn’t quite hide. “So, what kind of dream are we talking about here?”

“To be honest, it was more of a memory than a dream,” I said, glancing over at him. “You remember that time we went out to the arcade and then had that sleepover at your place?” I asked, my voice almost wistful.

Lou furrowed his brows, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to pull the details from the depths of his memory. “We had sleepovers like every week,” he replied, his tone teasing. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

I huffed, trying to find the right words to explain myself better. “No, I mean… that time I got scared and we ended up sleeping in your bed together,” I said, glancing over at him for any sign of recognition.

He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze ahead as he seemed to process my words. The sound of our footsteps against the pavement was the only noise filling the silence. Finally, he spoke, his voice slightly more thoughtful. “Again… we almost always slept in the same bed?”

I couldn't help but feel a little flustered by his casual response. He was right, in a way. Our sleepovers had been frequent, and often ended with us in the same bed, huddled together for warmth or comfort.

"Fine, I'm just over here trying to get all nostalgic, and you're totally killing the vibe," I said with a playful grin, teasing him.

He shot me an amused look, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Oh, I'm sorry for ruining your trip down memory lane," he said, the sarcasm in his voice making it clear he was enjoying the banter.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help the laugh that slipped out. "Yeah, well, you're no fun sometimes," I teased, nudging him lightly with my shoulder.

He bumped me back with his own shoulder, the motion sending a burst of warmth through me. "I’m plenty fun," he said, his tone softening just enough to make me wonder if there was more he was trying to say.

We continued walking, our conversation light and easy, with no real direction, just two people enjoying the rhythm of shared time. The night air had cooled further, and the walk was a welcome respite from the usual bustle of university life. As we approached the front door of our shared housing, I could already hear the distant sound of raised voices echoing from inside.

We exchanged a look—Lou's brow furrowed, my own expression mirroring his confusion. Neither of us expected any drama. At least, not tonight.

When we stepped inside and removed our shoes, the source of the commotion became painfully clear. “There’s actually something fucking wrong with you!” Hannah’s voice cut through the air, her words laced with raw anger. 

Lou and I froze at the entryway, both of us pausing as the chaos unfolded around us. The usual clatter of laughter, music, and scattered conversations had disappeared, replaced by the sharp edge of anger that hung in the air like an unwelcome cloud.

“What the hell…” Lou muttered under his breath, his voice low but clearly concerned. He shook off his coat and hung it up, moving cautiously towards the direction of Hannah’s voice. I did the same, my heart rate picking up just a bit, instinctively sensing trouble.

“You can’t keep doing this, Zack!” Hannah shouted, her voice rising even more. “You’re fucking delusional!”

We rounded the corner into the common room, and the chaos that awaited us was nothing short of intense. Hannah stood by the couch, her face flushed with anger, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. Zack stood a few feet away, his jaw clenched and his stance rigid, his body language just as furious.

The rest of the housemates were scattered around, frozen in place, like spectators in the middle of a bomb about to go off. Samantha and Evelyn stood by the kitchen, both wide-eyed with shock. Max, who had always been the nervous type, perched uneasily on the arm of the couch, his gaze flicking between the two like he was afraid to get involved. Ellie and Anthony were by the TV, arms crossed, clearly uncomfortable. And then there was Mateo, standing in the middle of it all, his hands raised like he could somehow diffuse the storm brewing between them.

“What the hell is going on?” Lou’s voice cut through the tension, loud enough to pull the attention of everyone in the room.

Hannah didn’t even look at Lou or me. She spun toward Zack, her voice a razor-sharp hiss. “This asshole thinks he can just barge into my room whenever he fucking feels like it!” Her eyes blazed with fury, her body practically vibrating with the force of her anger. 

Zack scoffed, rolling his eyes, clearly not backing down. “Are you serious right now?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. “You’re making a big fucking deal out of nothing. We’re friends, Hannah!"

“Yeah? You don’t think walking into my room when I’m getting dressed is crossing a line?” Hannah shot back, her voice rising. “You’re just so oblivious to it! I’ve told you, Zack, I need some fucking space! But you—” She jabbed her finger in his direction, “You just keep barging in, and I’m done with it!”

Zack’s face twisted into something darker. He moved closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. "I’m your friend. I said sorry, what’s the big deal? You really want to make me out like I’m some kind of asshole?”

“YES!” Hannah snapped, stepping toward him, the anger practically radiating off her. “I don’t want to be treated like one of your fucking hangout buddies! Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean I don’t deserve privacy. Respect my space, Zack!”

Mateo finally spoke up, trying to calm the situation down, but his voice was shaking, uncertain. “Hannah, Zack—come on, just... just take a step back. No need to yell. You’re both—”

“I’m not taking a fucking step back!” Hannah snapped, her voice sharp and cutting. “I’ve asked for respect, and I’m not about to just let him keep walking all over me like this!”

“Look, I haven’t done anything wrong!” Zack’s voice was rising now, frustration and anger twisting his words into something almost venomous. “I’m your fucking friend, Hannah! I don’t know what else you want from me!”

Lou stepped forward then, his expression hard, his tone low but commanding. “Zack, you’re not helping. Just shut up for a second and hear what she’s saying.”

But Zack was having none of it. He shot Lou a glare that could’ve burned a hole through the wall. “You don’t get it, man! She’s fucking overreacting. Now she’s throwing all this shit in my face!”

“I’m not overreacting, you piece of shit!” Hannah shouted, her eyes wild with anger, her hands clenched at her sides. “Stop acting like it’s my problem! I need space, and I’m asking for it. That’s not a fucking crime!”

The words cut through the room like a knife, leaving everyone silent for a second. Mateo’s hand went to his forehead, clearly at a loss, while Max shifted uneasily on the couch, not knowing where to place his eyes. Samantha and Evelyn were still standing by the doorway, frozen in place like they were watching a trainwreck in slow motion.

Zack’s face was red with anger, his voice trembling with frustration. “I didn’t do anything wrong, goddamn it!”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before barging into my room for the hundredth time!” Hannah shot back, her words stinging like a slap.

The tension was unbearable, the silence in the room hanging thick, but it was clear that neither of them was going to back down.

Lou’s eyes flicked between Zack and Hannah, and then he shot a glance at me, his jaw set. “This is ridiculous.” He moved closer to Zack, putting a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down, but Zack jerked away, swiping his hand through his hair in frustration.

Hannah stood there, her chest heaving with the force of her anger, her fists still clenched, but her eyes were wet with frustration. She said nothing as she turned on her heel and stormed to her room, slamming her door shut behind her.

The tension in the room crackled with electricity, the aftermath still hanging in the air. Zack stormed toward the door, shoulders tight, his face contorted with fury. But before he could even get close, Mateo stepped in front of him, holding his hands up, trying once more to calm the storm.

“Zack, stop,” Mateo’s voice was pleading, but his hands were still held up in a defensive gesture, his body tense. “Just—just listen, alright? You’re not helping—”

Zack snapped, his anger bubbling over. With a sharp shove, he pushed Mateo aside, the force sending him stumbling backward. Mateo hit the couch and caught himself, but the move was enough to make everyone freeze in shock.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Zack growled, his fists clenching at his sides as he turned back to Mateo, his chest heaving with every angry breath.

“Zack, that’s enough!” Lou’s voice rang out, louder now, his stance shifting, the muscle in his jaw clenched as he stepped in between the two of them. He was big—bigger than Zack—and his presence was impossible to ignore. His broad shoulders and height towered over the other guy, and there was a controlled strength to him that made it clear he wasn’t here for any more bullshit.

Zack’s gaze flicked to Lou for a split second, his anger flashing in his eyes. “Get out of my way, Pep,” Zack spat, his voice barely above a growl.

But Lou wasn’t backing down. His hand shot out, grabbing Zack by the arm before he could take another step. Zack tried to pull away, but Lou’s grip was solid, unyielding.

“I said that’s enough,” Lou repeated, his voice low but firm. The room fell into an eerie silence as he tightened his hold, holding Zack in place. Zack’s face was red with rage, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, but Lou wasn’t letting go.

“You push Mateo again, and I’ll make you listen to reason,” Lou added, his tone serious but still calm, like he wasn’t even bothered by Zack’s resistance.

Zack’s chest heaved as he looked between Lou and Mateo, but he didn’t try to shove Lou off, not this time. The air was thick with tension, but Lou stood his ground, his grip firm, but not violent. He wasn’t trying to hurt Zack—he was trying to stop him before it escalated any further.

“I don’t need you to fucking protect me, Pep,” Zack snapped, his words clipped and furious, but there was a slight tremor in his voice now. “I’m not the problem here. She is!”

“I don’t care who the problem is right now,” Lou said, his voice steady but with an edge. “You don’t push people, Zack. Not here. Not like that. If you can’t handle yourself, then you can leave. But you’re not going to get physical with anyone in this house, especially not Mateo.”

Zack’s eyes flickered to Mateo, who was standing by the couch, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of concern and relief. Slowly, Zack seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping slightly as the adrenaline wore off, but his anger was still there, bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Just fucking let me go,” Zack muttered, his voice quieter now, but still sharp with frustration.

Lou didn’t immediately release him. Instead, he took a moment, as if weighing the situation, before he let go of Zack’s arm. Zack didn’t make any move to retaliate, but his posture was tense, as though he was ready to snap again at any second.

“Go cool off,” Lou said, his voice much softer, but still firm. “We’re not doing this right now. We’re all tired, and none of us want to deal with this shit anymore.”

Zack didn’t respond at first. He just stood there, glaring at Lou and Mateo, his breath still heavy with anger. Finally, with a muttered curse, he turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door to his room behind him with a force that made the walls shake.

The room was left in an oppressive silence. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. Mateo stood still, his hand still braced against the couch where he had been shoved, his expression a mixture of frustration and confusion.

“Jesus Christ,” Samantha muttered, her voice breaking the silence, as she leaned against the kitchen doorway, rubbing her temples. “I don’t even know what the hell just happened.”

Max shook his head, glancing between Lou, Mateo, and the door where Zack had just exited. “This is getting out of hand,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, but his concern clear.

Lou let out a long, slow breath as he turned toward Mateo, making sure he was alright. “You good?” he asked, his voice softening a little as he placed a hand on Mateo’s shoulder.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” Mateo replied, though there was a clear unease in his voice. He looked at Lou with a frown, shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s going on with him, man. I really don’t.”

“I know,” Lou said, rubbing the back of his neck, the tension finally beginning to leave his body. He turned to look at the rest of the group.  “Everyone just… just take a minute.”

Ellie sighed, looking from one person to the next. “This is a mess. What now?”

“We wait,” Lou said, his tone even. “We wait and see if Zack decides to get his head on straight.”

Samantha’s voice cut through the tension, her words steady but tinged with concern. “I’ll go to Hannah,” she said, her eyes flicking toward the door where Zack had just stormed out. She didn’t wait for a response, already crossing the room with quick, purposeful steps.

The rest of us watched her go, and for a moment, the silence was overwhelming. No one dared to speak, all of us lost in our own thoughts. We knew things were far from over. Zack wasn’t one to back down easily, and with how volatile the situation had gotten, none of us were sure what would happen next.

“I’ll go make sure she’s alright,” Mateo muttered, his voice quieter now that the immediate chaos had calmed a bit. He shot Lou a grateful glance, nodding his head as if silently thanking him for stepping in.

Lou simply gave a small nod, his hands still resting at his sides, his posture weary but determined. He’d always had a way of handling situations like these, keeping the peace even when things seemed like they were about to break apart. But there was a flicker in his eyes, a hint of something unresolved. I didn’t know if it was the fight, or the fact that he had stepped in for Mateo, but I could see the strain on him.

I let out a soft breath, rubbing my temples, trying to shake off the heaviness of the argument. Max, standing awkwardly by the couch, looked from me to Lou, his eyes narrowed slightly as if he was weighing something in his mind.

"You good?" Max asked, his voice softer than usual. I could tell he wasn’t talking just about the fight, but about everything that had led up to it.

I nodded, though I didn’t trust my own voice to speak. It felt like the room was still vibrating with the energy from the argument, and I didn’t have the mental strength to get into anything deep right now.

“Yeah, just… it’s a lot.” I sighed, letting my shoulders drop in exhaustion. “I think everyone just needs some space.”

“Agreed,” Lou said with a sharp exhale, leaning against the back of the couch. “But… Hannah’s right. Zack has been crossing some lines lately. I get that they’re friends, but that doesn’t mean he can just disregard her boundaries.”

Max frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, but I’m not sure Zack sees it that way. He probably thinks they’re just… close, y’know? Like, he probably doesn’t get that she feels like he’s smothering her.”

“Maybe.” Lou’s voice was tight, like he was trying to choose his words carefully. “But that’s not an excuse for pushing people around. We all have to respect each other’s space. Especially in a house like this. It’s not a frat party. We’re not entitled to anyone’s time or attention.”

I couldn’t help but agree. There was this weird dynamic between all of us, where some lines got blurred, and people forgot that not everyone was comfortable with the same things. Zack’s behavior—especially with Hannah—had been pushing it, and I think we were all just trying to figure out where to draw the line.

“We’ll figure it out,” I said after a beat, trying to offer some kind of reassurance, even if I didn’t fully believe it myself. “We always do.”

Max gave me a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was clear that the mood in the house had shifted, and no one was quite sure when it would go back to normal. For now, we were just here, waiting for the storm to pass.

Chapter Text

The house was a pressure cooker, simmering with unresolved tension. The days leading up to Friday were… awkward, to say the least. Conversations felt forced, every word measured as if to avoid setting off another explosion. Hannah barely left her room, her door always shut tight, a physical barrier that matched the emotional wall she’d put up. The occasional muffled sound of music or the low hum of her voice on the phone was the only proof she was still there.

Zack, on the other hand, seemed to have disappeared entirely. His shoes were absent from the entryway, his voice no longer booming through the halls with a casual “what’s up?” when he got home. It was like the fight had left a vacuum, sucking out his usual presence and leaving an uneasy quiet in its wake.

In the common areas, the rest of us tried to navigate the tension like tightrope walkers, careful not to tip the balance. Samantha and Evelyn busied themselves with homework and Netflix binges, throwing on loud comedies as if the sound could drown out the unease. Max hovered like a restless shadow, always watching. Even his jokes felt thinner, like they couldn’t quite bridge the gaps forming in the house.

Luigi, though, became a surprising constant in my life during those days. He started waiting for me after class, his casual “Want me to walk with you?” becoming something I looked forward to. At first, I thought it was a one-time thing—maybe he just didn’t want to be in the house more than he had to—but then it happened again. And again.

We’d walk home together from the library, the cold evening air wrapping around us as we talked about everything and nothing. He’d carry my books without being asked, his hand brushing mine every now and then as we walked side by side. Sometimes, we didn’t even need to talk; the quiet between us felt comfortable.

One evening, after another tense day in the house, Lou caught my eye as I was packing up my things in the library. “Ready to go?” he asked, his voice soft but steady.

I nodded, grateful for the familiarity he’d brought into an otherwise fractured week. As we walked back under the glow of the streetlights, he cracked a joke, something lighthearted but sharp enough to make me laugh.

“Finally,” he said with a smirk. “I was starting to think you forgot how to smile.”

“Shut up,” I replied, rolling my eyes but unable to hide the grin tugging at my lips.

Lou just shrugged, his own smile lingering. It was moments like that—easy, unforced—that made me realize how much I needed him in my life right now. He was steady, a grounding presence when everything else felt unmoored.

By the time Friday rolled around, our plans for the game had morphed into something completely different. What was originally just Max and me heading out together had expanded day by day as the week progressed. First, Ellie and Mateo decided they wanted to come along. Mateo had mentioned he needed a break from the tension in the house, and Ellie claimed she’d never actually been to a game before.

Then Samantha jumped on board, saying it sounded like fun and insisting we all needed a “house bonding moment” after the week we’d had. That wasn’t surprising—

What did catch me off guard, though, was when Hannah announced she was coming too. She made the declaration casually at breakfast Friday morning, her tone indifferent as she sipped her coffee.

“I figured I might as well,” she said with a shrug. “No point in staying cooped up in my room all weekend.”

The room went quiet for a beat, everyone exchanging uncertain glances. Samantha was the first to respond, her enthusiasm cutting through the awkwardness.

“That’s great! It'll be fun with all of us there,” she said brightly, clapping her hands together.

Max, seated across from me, looked up with a crooked smile. “The more, the merrier, I guess,” he said, but his eyes flicked to me like he was gauging my reaction.

I nodded, trying to hide my surprise. “Yeah, it’ll be fun,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it.

Lou, leaning against the counter with a coffee mug in hand, didn’t say much. His expression was unreadable, but I caught the subtle tightening of his jaw when Max spoke.

As the day unfolded, the group’s plans came together naturally. We all agreed to meet after classes and walk to the stadium together. The tension in the house had eased slightly, though it still lingered like a shadow. Hannah had started to join conversations again, though she stayed distant. Zack, on the other hand, still hadn’t returned home, and no one dared bring it up.

By the time we neared the arena, the campus buzzed with energy. Students in scarves, jackets, and face paint milled about, the crisp winter air filled with laughter and excited chatter. It was the first game of the season, and despite the biting cold, there was a warmth in the atmosphere that seemed to draw everyone together.

The setting sun bathed the sky in brilliant shades of orange and red, the colors almost mirroring the school’s hues as they adorned hats, scarves, and banners. The icy wind nipped at my cheeks, but the electric anticipation in the air made it easy to ignore.

“Looks like the whole school’s heading to the stadium,” Mateo said with a grin, adjusting his scarf as he strode ahead of us. His usual laid-back energy helped break through the awkwardness that had hung over the house all week.

“Yeah, and they’re all moving at the pace of molasses,” Ellie grumbled, weaving through a particularly slow-moving group of students. Her oversized hood covered most of her face, but her irritated tone spoke volumes.

“Relax, Ellie,” Samantha said, linking her arm with Ellie’s to match her brisk pace. “We’ve got plenty of time. It’s not like they’re starting the game without us, or maybe they are.”

Trailing a little behind, Hannah walked with her hands jammed into her pockets, her expression unreadable. Her silence was noticeable, but at least she was there, which felt like a step forward.

Max walked beside me, his grin as casual as ever. “So, how are you feeling about your first game? Excited to become a diehard fan?” he asked, his shoulder brushing mine as he leaned in slightly.

“Excited might be a strong word,” I replied with a smile. “Curious, maybe. But mostly looking forward to the snacks.”

He laughed, his eyes warm. “Figures. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get the VIP treatment. Hot dogs, nachos, the works. You won’t even care what the score is by the end.”

“That’s a bold claim,” I teased, nudging him back.

“You’ll see,” he said with a wink.

On my other side, Lou walked quietly, his hands also deep in his jacket pockets. His eyes scanned the campus, lingering occasionally on me and Max. I caught his gaze a couple of times, and each time, he gave me a faint smile that felt like an anchor in the crowd.

Mateo glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. “Wait, remind me again—who are we rooting for? I don’t want to cheer for the wrong team and get booed.”

“Our team, obviously,” Samantha answered, laughing. “The ones wearing school colors. You know, the ones we’re here to support?”

“Oh, okay, got it,” Mateo said, nodding as though he’d just learned something profound. “Good thing I’m not in charge of the cheering section.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “You’d get us kicked out by halftime.”

The group laughed, the lighthearted banter easing the last traces of tension. Max leaned closer to me again, lowering his voice. “By the way, if anyone spills beer on you, just let me know. I’ll handle it.”

I raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, really? Are you volunteering to be my personal security now?”

“Anything for you,” he said with an exaggerated bow, earning another laugh from me.

Lou’s pace shifted slightly, his stride aligning more with mine as Max continued to talk. His quiet presence seemed to contrast Max’s playful energy, but he didn’t say a word, his expression calm and unreadable.

As we neared the stadium, the noise of the crowd grew louder, and the bright stadium lights cut through the dimming twilight. The excitement in the air was contagious, and despite the cold, I found myself smiling.

The stadium felt alive, a pulsing, breathing entity that buzzed with energy. The cool evening air carried the scent of buttery popcorn and sizzling hotdogs, mingling with the faint tang of fresh-cut grass from the field below. The bleachers were already filled with students, a sea of school colors waving. Excited chatter and bursts of laughter echoed under the towering stadium lights, which bathed the scene in a surreal, golden glow.

As we moved through the crowd, Max fell into step beside me. His usual carefree grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he nudged me lightly with his elbow. “Alright, how about a snack run before we settle in? I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to demolish a pretzel the size of my head.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but Lou’s voice cut in before I could respond. “We should find seats first,” he said, his tone measured but firm. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his gaze scanning the crowded bleachers. “It’s already filling up. If we wait too long, we’ll be stuck sitting on the stairs.”

Max raised an eyebrow, his grin sharpening into something more teasing. “Relax, Pep. It’s not like we’re going to miss the kickoff. Snacks are part of the game-day experience—you can’t enjoy football without them.”

Lou’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug, but the line of his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Your call,” he said, his voice nonchalant. “Just don’t complain when we’re crammed in with no room to move.”

Max smirked, turning his full attention to me. “What about you? Come on, don’t leave me hanging. I promise to find you the best snacks in this place—none of that stale popcorn nonsense.”

I hesitated, glancing between the two of them. Max’s easygoing smile practically dared me to agree, while Lou’s steady presence beside me carried an unspoken weight, a quiet pull that made me pause.

“I’ll grab something later,” I said finally, offering Max an apologetic smile. “You go ahead.”

Max clutched his chest in betrayal, his grin undeterred. “Abandoned in my hour of need. Fine, but don’t blame me if I eat all the good stuff before you get a chance.” He winked and pivoted, disappearing into the swirling crowd with an exaggerated swagger.

Lou’s gaze followed him for a moment before he turned back toward the bleachers, his expression unreadable. “Good choice,” he said quietly, his voice cutting through the noise with ease.

I tilted my head to look up at him. “What, skipping the snacks?”

He gave a small, almost reluctant smile. “Something like that.”

His tone was light, but there was an edge to his words that I couldn’t quite place. Before I could dwell on it, we reached the stands where Samantha and Ellie had staked out a cluster of seats in the middle row. Samantha waved us over enthusiastically, her scarf fluttering in the chilly breeze.

“This is perfect!” she called as we climbed the steps. “Great view of the field, and we’re not too far from the exit. You’ll thank me later when you don’t have to fight your way through the crowd.”

Ellie snorted, tugging her hood tighter over her head. “Please, Sam, you just didn’t want to climb any higher. Don’t act like you were being strategic.”

Samantha grinned, unbothered by the jab. “Whatever works, right?”

Lou slid into the seat beside her, and I settled next to him. We were close—our knees and elbows lightly brushing—but neither of us shifted away.

Max, who had at last returned with a mountain of snacks, flopped into the seat beside me with an exaggerated sigh. “Finally,” he said, holding up a massive pretzel with a grin and a tray of other things. “I thought you guys might’ve started without me.”

I glanced over at Lou, whose gaze was still fixed ahead, his posture relaxed but his eyes betraying a certain tenseness. He barely responded to Max’s teasing, instead focusing on the field, though I could feel the subtle tension between us.

Max, as usual, didn’t pick up on the unspoken moments. He handed me the pretzel with a dramatic flourish. “Don’t tell me you’re not gonna try this. It’s legendary.”

I chuckled, accepting the snack. “You’re really proud of that, huh?”

“You better believe it.” Max leaned back in his seat, his tone light but his smile just a little too eager. I caught Lou glancing at him from the corner of my eye, but when our gazes met, Lou quickly turned his attention back to the field.

"Here you go, dude," Max said, his grin wide as he handed Lou his drink, then turned to me with the same playful energy. He handed me mine, making sure our fingers brushed as he did.

"Thanks," Lou replied, taking a sip from the straw, his eyes still trained on the field, his body language casual but something unreadable flickering across his face. Something was bothering him, I could feel it. 

Max, clearly energized by the atmosphere, leaned a little closer to me, his tone lively. "So, you getting the hang of this whole football thing yet?" he asked, his voice carrying just above the noise of the crowd. "I know it looks like a mess of guys throwing themselves at each other, but there’s a method to the madness. The game’s all about possession—like, the team with the ball has to get it into the other team’s end zone to score. You’ve got four tries to move it ten yards, or you have to give the ball to the other team."

I nodded along, trying to keep up with his explanation. It was clear Max was enjoying playing the teacher, his hand gesturing animatedly toward the field, describing the game like he was giving me a VIP tour of some secret world.

"You’ll see," he said, his grin widening as the quarterback on the field called the play. "They’re about to throw the ball now. This is where it gets exciting—either the quarterback nails the throw, or it’s an interception, and suddenly it’s the other team’s ball."

I glanced at Lou out of the corner of my eye, unsure if he was following the conversation or just silently observing. He had been unusually quiet, his usual easy going demeanor replaced by something a little more distant.

Max, noticing I was still processing, shot me a wink. "Don’t worry, you’ll catch on. And if you don’t, I’ll be here to explain it to you."

Before I could reply, Lou’s voice interrupted me again, low but sharp. "She’s not stupid, Max." His words were slow, almost deliberate, and he finally shifted in his seat to face us. His gaze flicked between Max and me, the edge to his tone unmistakable. "She knows how football works."

The air around us seemed to still for a moment, the noise from the crowd fading into the background as Lou’s words hung there, heavy and unanticipated. Max blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift, but quickly recovered with a laugh.

"Hey, no offense," Max said, raising his hands in surrender. "Just trying to be helpful, y’know? Don’t want anyone feeling left out."

But Lou didn’t seem to relax. He took another sip from his drink, his jaw tight, his gaze never leaving the field. There was something about the way his voice had carried that made it clear he wasn’t just defending my intelligence—he was more irritated than I expected.

I turned slightly toward Lou, trying to gauge his mood. "It’s fine," I said gently, giving him a small smile to reassure him. "Max was just explaining."

Lou’s eyes flicked toward me, softening for just a moment. His expression remained stoic, but I could see the subtle change in his posture, as if he was trying to let go of whatever had been bothering him.

Max, clearly sensing the tension that had shifted in the air, leaned back a little, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, alright," he said, a little less teasing now. "I get it. She’s a football expert already." He smiled, but there was a hint of awkwardness in his tone as he looked at both of us. "My bad."

The game had started to pick up speed, and as the teams collided on the field, the crowd erupted in cheers, drawing our attention away from the conversation. Despite Max's playful attitude, Lou had settled into his silence again, his focus completely absorbed in the game now.

I let the moment pass, not wanting to dwell on whatever had caused that brief tension. The game was in full swing now, and the energy in the stadium was impossible to ignore. The noise was infectious, the waves of cheers rising and falling like a living thing. The players moved with such intensity, and despite the cold, I couldn’t help but feel drawn into it all.

Max leaned over again, his voice quieter this time, as if sensing that the earlier exchange had changed the tone. "That’s the thing about football," he said, eyes on the field. "It’s unpredictable. One minute, everything’s going fine, and the next, boom—turnover, touchdown. It’s a rollercoaster."

I nodded, letting myself be pulled into his excitement. There was something undeniably fun about the way he described the game, even if I didn’t completely understand all the rules yet. His enthusiasm was infectious, making it easier to follow along.

The game went on, the teams trading blows on the field while the crowd reacted with every play. As the minutes ticked by, I felt myself becoming more immersed in the spectacle—the sound of the ball being snapped, the roar of the crowd, the camaraderie among the students around us.

Lou had relaxed into the game again, his focus unwavering as he watched the action unfold. I couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes narrowed slightly when the other team made a particularly impressive play, the tension in his posture telling me how much he cared about the outcome. Though his reactions were subtle, there was no mistaking the quiet intensity he carried.

Max, on the other hand, was still leaning forward, his excitement contagious as he called out to the players on the field like he was part of the action himself. He continued to explain things here and there, but his tone had shifted back to lighthearted teasing, and I was beginning to understand the rhythm of the game a little more.

I took a sip from my drink, and nothing came out. “Shit, my drink’s done,” I muttered, pulling off the lid and peering inside to find nothing but ice.

Max glanced over at me, followed by Lou, both of them noticing my sudden lack of beverage.

“You want me to go get you another?” Max asked, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of playfulness, like he was ready to make it his personal mission to fix the situation. He tilted his head, a teasing grin already forming on his face.

I shook my head, not looking away from the field. “No, it’s fine,” I said, offering a small smile before sitting the empty cup down next to my seat. My attention was already drifting back to the game, the noise from the crowd washing over me like a wave.

Max didn’t seem convinced, his eyes lingering on the cup, then flicking to me with a slight frown. “You sure? It’s like... the only thing that makes this cold worth it,” he teased, his voice light, but I could tell he was genuinely trying to get me to laugh.

“I’m good, really,” I replied, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. The cold wasn’t even bothering me as much anymore—not with the rush of energy in the air and the excitement building with each play. I was more focused on the game now, the adrenaline of the crowd mixing with the intensity on the field.

Lou hadn’t spoken a word since I took the last sip of my drink. He sat there, focused on the game, his posture relaxed. He wasn’t fidgeting or distracted; no, it was something deeper.

I shifted slightly, trying to push the unease away, but before I could focus on the game again, I felt a soft nudge against my side. Lou was holding out his drink to me, and I froze, caught off guard.

“It’s Coke,” he said, his voice low but firm, carrying that quiet confidence that I always seemed to be drawn to. “Your favorite. Don’t even bother saying no.”

I blinked at the drink in his hand, my heart doing something funny in my chest. The gesture was so simple, yet the moment felt like it carried more weight than it should have.

I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could get the words out, Lou cut me off with a quiet shake of his head. His gaze was steady, unwavering, those eyes of his locking onto mine in a way that made me blush. 

“Just take it,” he urged, his tone soft but persistent. It was the kind of insistence that didn’t allow room for argument, not with Lou. His presence was commanding, even in silence. I could feel it in the way he held the drink, the way he held my attention.

I hesitated, glancing between him and the drink, the weight of his gaze making it impossible to look away. “No, I’m fine—”

“Please,” he interrupted, his voice calm but firm, as though the matter was settled already. “Take it.”

I could feel a laugh bubbling up, though it was tinged with something else—something a little nervous, a little warmer than I was prepared for. Lou had always been like this—persistent in a way that was almost endearing, but it was the subtle depth of it now that made me pause. He wasn’t giving me a choice, and I knew better than to argue with him.

With a sigh, I reached for the drink, my fingers brushing his as I took it from him. The action felt heavier than it had any right to.

“Thanks,” I muttered, not meeting his eyes, though I could feel the weight of his attention on me like a quiet pressure, urging me to acknowledge the moment. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him for more than a second, my heart thumping in my chest, but I took a sip from the straw, the taste of Coke familiar and comforting.

And then, as I pulled the drink away from my lips, I realized what I had just done. I had just shared the same straw. A fleeting thought crossed my mind—an unspoken connection between us, something small. Lou didn’t say anything, but his eyes lingered on me for a beat longer than usual, his gaze holding mine just a fraction of a second too long, before it flickered to my lips and then off of me. 

Our attention shifted back to the field, the crowd’s energy rising and falling with every play. The school team was ahead, or at least, I thought they were—my grasp on football wasn’t exactly solid, but I could tell the crowd was getting louder, their cheers growing with every move on the field.

“Hey, guys!” Mateo suddenly called out, his voice cutting through the noise as he waved from between Sam and Hannah, both of them looking over at him with curious expressions. “There’s this party at a frat house later. You down?”

The suggestion hung in the air for a moment, a brief pause before anyone could respond. Max grinned, his eyes twinkling with interest as he turned toward me.

“A frat party? That’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he said with a chuckle, glancing at Lou as if expecting some sort of response. Lou, however, seemed more focused on the game, his attention fixed on the field, his posture unshifting.

Samantha looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. “I’m in,” she said, her voice bright, “it could be fun to unwind after the game. Plus, I’m curious to see what frat parties like around here.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Samantha shrugged, her grin wide and carefree. “Hey, life’s about new experiences, right?”

I glanced at Lou, wondering if he’d say anything. He hadn’t responded to Mateo’s question, his eyes glued to the action unfolding on the field. It was like he was in his own world, and I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt or just let him be.

“Well, what do you think?” Max turned toward me, his voice playful but with that underlying flirtation that I had come to recognize. “Are you in for some college chaos?”

I felt the familiar flutter in my chest at his words but quickly pushed it aside, trying to focus on the question. The idea of a party wasn’t something I had considered.

“I guess I’m down,” I said, finally answering, though my voice wasn’t as enthusiastic as Max’s.

Mateo gave a victorious grin. “Great! We’ll figure out the details later,” he said, giving a thumbs-up before his attention shifted back to the game.

Lou didn’t respond immediately, still absorbed in the game, but I noticed the subtle tension in his posture.

Then, as the stadium lights flickered, casting their golden glow over the field, Lou shifted in his seat beside me. His body was close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating from him, but it was his presence—his stillness—that made my pulse pick up a little.

“You sure you want to go to that party?” Lou’s voice was low, barely above the roar of the crowd, and he leaned in just enough so that his words only reached my ears. “You know it can get pretty wild.”

I turned toward him, caught off guard by the quiet intensity in his tone. He wasn’t looking at me; his eyes were on the field, but there was something about the way he moved closer, the way his breath brushed against my ear, that made my heart beat a little faster.

“I mean…” I hesitated, unsure what to say. “It could be fun.”

Lou shifted again, his face still angled toward the game, but now his shoulder brushed mine. I couldn’t help but notice how close we were, how easy it was to get lost in the subtle movements of his body. His hand, resting on the back of the seat, seemed just a fraction too close to mine.

“I don’t think we should go,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the crowd, but still cutting through the noise. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I mean…” I hesitated again, trying to sort through my thoughts. “Maybe I’m not really in the mood for that tonight.”

Lou turned toward me, his expression unreadable, but there was a hint of something in his eyes—something softer, more knowing. He didn’t say anything right away, just studied me for a moment before leaning in just a bit closer, his voice almost a whisper.

“Then let’s sneak away later,” he said quietly, so that only I could hear, a little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We don’t need to stay with the crowd if you’re not feeling it.”

I raised an eyebrow, the suggestion catching me off guard, but there was a teasing gleam in his eyes. “Sneak away, huh?” I whispered back, matching his playful tone. “What, just leave everyone else behind?”

Lou’s grin widened slightly, the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. “Exactly. Just the two of us, escape for a while.”

I couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up at the idea. “You’re already planning huh?”

“Always,” he said, his voice low but confident. “But only if you’re in.”

I thought about it for a moment, the idea of getting some space from the chaos feeling oddly appealing, but at the same time, I didn’t want to leave the group entirely. Still, his offer was tempting.

“I don’t know,” I teased, the smile never quite leaving my face. “What are you, a secret agent now?”

Lou shrugged, the playful edge in his voice softening just slightly. “I’m just here to make sure you’re comfortable. If you’re not into the party, we can find our own way.”

I let out a breath, leaning back slightly in my seat, still feeling the warmth of his presence. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Lou gave a small, satisfied nod. “I know. But I’m okay with it.”

With that, we both turned our attention back to the game, but there was something different in the air now—something that lingered between us, hanging with that quiet promise of an unspoken plan.

The game ended with a triumphant roar from the crowd, the noise of excitement spilling over into the streets as fans began flooding out of the arena. The excitement still lingered in the air, but the energy between the three of us had subtly shifted, and it wasn’t just because of the win.

As people made their way toward the exits, Lou grabbed my hand without a second thought, his fingers wrapping around mine in a firm, steady grip. The action was bold, unexpected, and it caught me completely off guard. I had never seen him act like this, especially not in front of everyone—especially not in front of Max. The arena had emptied out enough for us to move easily through the crowd, but I couldn’t ignore how noticeable the gesture was. Lou’s hand felt warm against mine, and his hold was unyielding, as though he didn’t want to let go, even for a moment.

Max, who had been trailing just behind us, must have sensed the shift too. I could feel the subtle change in the air as his hand brushed against my forearm. It wasn’t as firm as Lou’s grip, but the sensation lingered, like a quiet reminder that he was still there, still aware of the space between us.

I glanced over at Max, trying to read his expression. His face was neutral, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something almost guarded, like he was holding back. His hand had lingered on my arm.

“You good?” Max asked, his voice casual but with an undertone of concern. I couldn’t help but notice that the usual easygoing tone was missing, replaced with something more careful, as though he was unsure of what was happening between Lou and me.

I hesitated for a moment, the weight of Lou’s hand in mine suddenly feeling more significant than it had before. “Yeah, just tired,” I replied, trying to brush off the unease that had settled in my chest. But the truth was, I couldn’t ignore how strange it felt to have Lou so close, his presence suddenly taking up more space than I was used to.

Lou’s grip tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over my hand as we walked side by side, our pace matching. His attention was focused ahead, and I could feel the steadiness in him, the calm that seemed to settle over both of us. He didn’t say anything, but his silence felt more meaningful now than it ever had before.

Max, still behind us, seemed to be waiting for something—waiting for me to react or say something. But all I could do was look ahead, trying to focus on the crowd that surrounded us as we made our way toward the exit.

Half an hour later, we found ourselves standing at the entrance of the frat house, the energy of the night shifting in a way I hadn’t quite expected. The house was alive, packed with people who seemed to have spilled in from the game, their loud voices and laughter echoing against the walls. The music was thumping, a deep bass that rattled in my chest, while the air smelled of sweat, beer, and a faint hint of cheap cologne. The crowd was a blur of faces, some familiar from the game, others I didn’t recognize. Everyone seemed caught up in the same exhilaration, the same rush from the victory we’d just witnessed.

Lou and I had fallen behind the group, trailing at a slower pace as we made our way through the front door. I could feel the heat of his presence just behind me, the subtle weight of the moment pressing in on us. We both seemed to want out of this, to slip away unnoticed, but it was impossible. The moment we’d stepped inside, it was as though the universe had conspired to stop us. People greeted us, patted us on the back, and pulled us into conversations we had no intention of being a part of. I couldn’t help but notice the way Lou's posture shifted, how he tried to sidestep the crowd with careful movements, but it was like the universe had other plans.

We had tried to escape, but the party was alive and unwilling to let us go. People crowded around us, their faces bright with excitement, asking questions and offering drinks before we could even take a breath. I felt the weight of the noise around me—the music, the voices, the constant movement—and it made the walls of the house feel as though they were closing in.

"One drink," Lou’s voice whispered, breaking through the storm of sound. He was close again, his words so soft. I didn’t even have to turn to know it was him. His presence was steady, calming—like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. "Then we can go home."

I exhaled a slow breath, trying to ground myself in the moment. Lou’s hand rested lightly on my shoulders, his fingers brushing against my jacket, the weight of his touch enough to provide a brief moment of comfort. It was something simple, but somehow, it settled the restless feeling in my chest. He always had this way of making things feel manageable, as if no matter how chaotic everything became, it could all be calmed with a single gesture from him.

His touch lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary before he let go, stepping away with an easy fluidity, his usual self-assurance taking over. I watched him move toward the makeshift bar, his posture loose but determined. He wasn’t here to enjoy the party—he was here for me.

As he disappeared into the crowd, I was left to fend for myself in the midst of it all. The rest of our group was already dispersing, moving into their own pockets of conversation. Samantha, Max, Mateo, and Hannah were all absorbed in their own worlds, their laughter and chatter rising and falling in waves around me.

For a moment, I stayed there, feeling the pulse of the music against my skin, trying to ignore the uneasy knot that had settled in my stomach. The night felt like it had turned into something I couldn’t control, something too loud, too overwhelming. But I reminded myself—one drink, then home. Lou had said it, and I believed him.

I looked around the crowded room, trying to find a spot where I could catch my breath. The faces blurred together, the conversation faded into a low hum, and I clung to the thought of the quiet that would come once we were free of the noise. It would just be Lou and me, and whatever peace we could find together.

As Lou returned with a drink in hand, I took it from him, fingers brushing against his briefly. I didn’t need to say anything. The night stretched ahead of us.

One drink. Then home.

“Is it good?” Lou asked, his voice soft but just loud enough to cut through the buzz of the party. He watched me as I took a sip from the drink in my hand—the same one he always got me, the same taste that always seemed to hit just right.

I nodded, offering him a small smile. “Thanks,” I said, my voice carrying the weight of more than just gratitude. It was the smallest of gestures, but it always felt like he knew exactly what I needed.

He smiled down at me, his lips curving into that familiar smirk that never failed to make my heart beat a little faster. “No problem,” he replied, his tone teasing but warm. 

“What do you want to do tonight?” Lou asked, his voice low and easy, as he casually took a sip from his own drink, his gaze lingering on me with that steady intensity that always made me feel like I was the only person in the room.

I hesitated, torn between the weight of the assignment that had been hanging over my head for days and the pull of the night around me. “I have this assignment I need to finish,” I started, my fingers tracing the rim of my glass absently.

Lou’s response was immediate—a long, exaggerated sigh followed by a shake of his head. He chuckled softly, the sound warm and full of affection, as though my answer amused him more than anything. “I’m not taking you home so you can do schoolwork,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. His eyes softened, a playful glint dancing in them as he leaned a little closer, clearly not at all fazed by my attempt to keep things responsible.

“Well, what else do you have in mind, Mr.?” I teased, tilting my head up to meet his gaze, a playful challenge in my tone.

Lou’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile, but his eyes darkened slightly as they flickered down to my lips before returning to my eyes. “You wouldn’t want to know,” he answered smoothly, his voice low and deliberate, as though the weight of his words held more meaning than just an innocent reply.

I opened my mouth to respond, to tease him back or maybe even ask what he meant, when suddenly, Max’s voice broke through the moment.

“There you are!” he said, his tone light but tinged with a hint of relief, as though he’d been looking for us both. 

Max’s eyes flicked between Lou and me, a slight narrowing in his gaze. There was a playful edge to his voice, but I could hear the subtle suspicion in his words.

“What are you two doing over here?” he asked, his grin still in place, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He took a step closer, his body language giving off the impression that he was assessing something—something more than just the casual conversation he was interrupting.

Lou straightened slightly, a small but tight smile on his face as he glanced at me before looking back at Max. “Nothing,” he said, his voice smooth, but there was an undertone to it that I couldn’t quite place. “Just talking.” He didn’t seem at all phased, but I noticed the way his hand stayed near mine, like he was making sure there was no space between us.

I could feel Max’s gaze still lingering on us, that inquisitive glint in his eyes. It wasn’t as though Lou and I were close —at least, not in front of the group. Our interactions were few, always indirect, always from a distance, and yet here we were, this entire night being more friendly then we have ever been. It feels just like that night months ago—the night Lou interrupted us. But this time, it seems like it’s Max’s turn to do the same.

“Talking, huh?” Max repeated, his voice teasing but with an underlying edge. “You sure about that?”

I felt a heat rising in my cheeks, the tension evident between the three of us. I shifted slightly, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift in dynamics. Max’s gaze flicked down to my hand—where Lou’s fingers were still lingering close by—and then back up to my face.

I could tell he was starting to put things together in his head, trying to make sense of the unexpected closeness between Lou and me. His expression didn’t quite change, but there was a slight tightening in his jaw, the way his smile held a little too long, as if he were waiting for one of us to slip up.

Lou broke the moment first, his tone casual but carrying a faint edge. “We’re just trying to avoid the chaos in there,” he said, gesturing toward the main party. “Seems like everyone’s packed in pretty tight.”

Max eyed him for a second, still not entirely convinced. He shifted his weight, standing a little straighter now. “Right,” he said, dragging the word out. “Well, if you’re both done talking ”—he paused, a knowing look flickering between Lou and me—“maybe you should come hang with the rest of the group. Can’t leave us all alone, now, can we?”

His eyes met mine then, his smile warmer, but it didn’t quite feel the same. I could see the flicker of something else in the way he looked at me, something more vulnerable, though it was hidden behind the playful mask he wore. I bit my lip, unsure of how to respond. Lou, however, didn’t seem to notice, his focus still on Max, his usual calm demeanor unshaken.

“We’ll join you in a bit,” Lou said, his voice unbothered. “Just needed a breather.”

Max paused for a moment, clearly weighing the situation in his mind. Finally, with a quick nod, he turned and walked back into the crowd, leaving Lou and me standing there, a heavy silence settling between us once he was gone.

I let out a quiet breath, unsure of what to make of Max’s reaction. Lou didn’t seem phased at all. He leaned closer again, his voice low, but I could feel his warmth all around me.

“You okay?” he asked, though his tone was far too casual for the sharp edge of concern that lingered in his eyes.

I nodded, the weight of everything pressing down on me. "I think it's time to leave," I said, setting my glass down, not really caring where it landed, the sound of it clinking against the surface almost drowned out by the music and chatter around us.

Lou glanced at me, and I saw the shift in his posture—like a weight had lifted. He didn’t ask any more questions, just gave me a small nod, as if he understood exactly what I needed. He didn’t even look back at the group, but instead took a step closer, subtly positioning himself between me and the others, his presence offering a kind of quiet assurance.

Without a word, he started walking away, and I followed his lead, careful not to draw attention to us. We weaved through the crowd, keeping our heads down, doing our best to ignore the eyes of our friends as they continued talking among themselves. It was strange, sneaking away like this, like we were doing something we shouldn’t be. But I didn’t care. I just needed to get out of the noise.

The music thudded in the background, the bass vibrating underfoot as we moved closer to the door. Lou glanced back at me, his face unreadable, though I could feel the tension in his shoulders, the subtle tightness in his jaw. It wasn’t anything he said—it was just how he was.

We reached the exit, and Lou held the door open for me, his hand brushing mine as I stepped through. The cool air of the night hit my skin, a welcome relief from the heat and noise of the party.

For a moment, we stood there, just outside the house, taking in the stillness of the street. The laughter and music from the party seemed distant now, muffled by the walls, but it still hung in the air like a buzzing hum. I felt a strange sense of freedom, like we were escaping the chaos, but at the same time, there was a heavy silence between us, unspoken yet undeniable.

Lou turned to me, his voice low. "One drink, then home," he had said earlier, but I knew better than to think that would be the end of it. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, but I knew that I didn’t want to go back there.

"You okay?" Lou asked again, his eyes searching mine, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.

I nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just... needed a break, I guess."

His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he nodded, stepping closer as if to block us from any lingering eyes that might have noticed us slipping away. He didn’t say anything else, but his presence felt comforting in its own quiet way, and I couldn’t help but feel the pull of that unspoken connection between us.

I cast a glance back at the party, the distant hum of voices barely reaching us. “Sneaking away like this wasn’t exactly part of the plan.”

Lou’s smirk deepened, that familiar teasing glint returning to his eyes. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmured, leaning in just enough to send a shiver down my spine. 

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, Lou turned on his heel and started down the street, his fingers lacing through mine as he pulled me along.

As we walked along the familiar path, the one we had taken so many times before, I found myself stealing glances at him. The streetlights cast a soft glow, illuminating the curve of his jaw and the faint smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. The night felt quieter here and my mind wandered to questions I’d never dared to ask.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” I blurted, the words slipping out before I could stop myself.

Lou let out a startled chuckle, his eyebrows lifting in surprise as he turned to look at me. “What?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement. “Where did that come from?”

I shrugged, pretending to focus on the cracks in the pavement as we walked side by side. “I mean, you’re good-looking, you’re funny—sometimes.” I smirked at him, trying to keep the tone light. “You’d think someone would have snapped you up by now.”

He shook his head, the laugh still lingering in his throat. “Sometimes?” he echoed, his tone mock-offended. “I’m hilarious, first of all.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across my face. “Avoiding the question, I see.”

Lou’s pace slowed slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might brush it off entirely. But instead, he sighed, running a hand through his hair as if the answer was tangled up there. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice softer now.

“Well, you have had girlfriends before, right?” I asked, glancing at him, trying to keep the question casual despite my curiosity.

He hesitated, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint, rueful smile. “One or two,” he replied, his tone carrying a hint of self-deprecation.

“Why didn’t it last?” I pushed gently, trying to gauge his reaction.

Lou exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. The warm glow of the streetlights danced in his eyes, but there was a shadow there, a flicker of something more. “Guess they weren’t the right ones,” he said after a moment. “Or maybe I wasn’t.”

I frowned at that. “You weren’t?”

He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets as we continued walking. “Sometimes you meet people, and it feels good at first. But then you realize… they don’t see you, not really. They see what they want to see, or what they want you to be. And eventually, it falls apart.”

I stopped walking, the weight of his words settling over me. “That’s… kind of sad,” I said softly.

He turned to face me, his expression surprisingly open, though there was still a hint of that guardedness I’d come to recognize. “It’s just the truth,” he said. “I’d rather be alone than pretend something’s real when it’s not.”

There was something about the way he said it that made my chest tighten, a flicker of pain in his voice that he tried to hide behind a faint smile. I wanted to say something, to tell him he deserves someone who saw him, really saw him—but the words caught in my throat.

“Well,” I said instead, trying to lighten the mood, “you’re not alone now, are you?”

He smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “No,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I’m not.”

We stood there, the air between us thick with something unspoken, his gaze steady on mine. Then, Lou broke the silence, his voice lighter than I expected.

“How about you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “How many evil exes do I have to fight off?”

I rolled my eyes at the reference, a laugh slipping out before I could help it. “None, actually.”

That stopped him in his tracks. His brows pulled together—not in amusement, but in something closer to concern. “What?” His voice dropped, quieter now, as he leaned in slightly. “Wait… were you a virgin?”

There was no teasing edge this time, no devilish smirk playing at his lips. Instead, his expression tightened, uncertainty flickering behind his eyes as if he were only now realizing the weight of our first night—the things he hadn’t known, the things he hadn’t thought to ask.

I let out a small laugh, nudging his shoulder in an attempt to cut through the tension thickening between us. “No,” I reassured him, shaking my head. “I just haven’t been in a relationship.”

His furrowed brows eased, his expression shifting into something softer—more curious. He let out a breath, like he’d been holding it without realizing, then asked, “How come?”

I hesitated, glancing down at my shoes as we resumed walking. The question wasn’t one I’d really been asked before, and certainly not with the kind of quiet interest Lou was showing now.

“I don’t know,” I admitted finally, my voice quieter. “I guess… I’ve just never met anyone I wanted to be in one with. Or maybe no one’s wanted to be in one with me.”

Lou frowned at that, his steps slowing as he looked at me like I’d said something completely absurd. “I don’t believe that for a second,” he said, his tone firm, almost annoyed.

I shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve dated a little, sure, but nothing ever felt right. And, I mean, relationships are supposed to feel right, aren’t they?”

“They are,” he said, his voice softening. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze flicking between me and the path ahead. “But still… I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to be with you.”

The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard, and I glanced up at him, searching his face for any sign that he was teasing. But there was none. His expression was open, honest in a way that made my chest tighten.

“Well,” I said, attempting to lighten the mood, “if you ever want to write my dating profile, let me know.”

That earned me a chuckle, the corners of his mouth quirking up in that way that made my stomach flutter. “Deal,” he said, his voice warm. “But you won’t need it. You’re not someone people just… overlook. Not really.”

I didn’t say anything at first, my hands hanging loosely at my sides, the weight of Lou’s words still settling over me. The quiet stretched between us, punctuated only by the faint rustling of leaves as we walked.

“It’s so weird,” I began, the words slipping out before I could stop them. But as soon as they did, I hesitated, clamping my mouth shut.

He glanced at me, curious but patient. “What’s weird?” he asked, his voice calm, encouraging.

I sighed, unsure how to explain what I was feeling. “I don’t know,” I said finally, shaking my head. “I just… I had this image of you in my mind, and you’re…”

Lou’s brow furrowed slightly, his head tilting as he waited for me to finish. “I’m what?” he pressed gently, his tone steady but with a hint of vulnerability, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“You’re so much better than it,” I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could second-guess myself.

He stopped walking, and instinctively, so did I. When I turned to look at him, his expression was unreadable. For a moment, I thought I’d said too much, crossed some invisible line.

“Better?” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost disbelieving.

I nodded, feeling the warmth creep up my neck. “Yeah,” I said softly. “I mean, I don’t know what I expected exactly, but it wasn’t… this. You’re kinder than I thought you’d be. And thoughtful.” I gave a small laugh, glancing down at my feet. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I’d underestimated you.”

Lou’s face softened, and a small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You know,” he said, his voice low, “you’re not exactly what I expected either.”

I looked up at him, surprised. “Oh?”

His gaze didn’t waver as he took a subtle step closer, just enough to close some of the space between us. “You’re… unexpecting,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “Not just smart—you’ve always been that. You’re sharp in this way that makes people stop and take notice. There’s this energy about you. Like you’re figuring it all out, even when you don’t realize it.”

The words hit deep, and I found myself momentarily at a loss. My breath hitched slightly, but I held his gaze, unsure of what to say.

Lou’s smile grew just a touch wider, a bit more playful now, though his eyes stayed intent on mine. “Like I said, you’re not someone people forget.” he added softly.

Heat crept up my neck, spreading across my cheeks under the weight of his steady gaze. I swallowed, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened, how the air between us felt heavier than before. “That’s a bold thing to say,” I murmured, forcing a lightness into my voice that didn’t quite reach my chest.

Lou didn’t waver. He only shrugged, the corner of his mouth curving into that lopsided grin that always made it impossible to look away. “Maybe,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

He stepped in closer, the space between us dwindling until I could feel the warmth radiating from him. My breath caught, heart hammering against my ribs as his eyes flickered over my face—searching, waiting. For permission? A sign? Or maybe he was just gathering the courage neither of us wanted to admit we needed.

The world seemed to still, the muffled sounds of the night fading into nothing. Then, with a quiet certainty, he closed the distance.

His lips brushed against mine—soft, the kind of kiss that felt like the beginning of something neither of us had words for. It was over too soon, barely a breath, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

He didn’t move far, lingering just inches away, his gaze locked on mine as if memorizing every detail of my face in that moment. His breath mingled with mine, neither of us quite ready to let go of the quiet space we had created.

So I didn’t.

I closed the gap again, pressing my lips to his in something a little more certain, a little more sure. My fingers curled around his, holding on as if to anchor myself in the moment, in him. And this time, he didn’t pull away.

The journey home stretched longer than it should have, each step interrupted by stolen moments. We stopped often—the shadow of a streetlamp, the curve of an empty bench. His hands found my waist, pulling me close, while my fingers tangled in his hair, drawing him nearer still.

Every kiss felt like a discovery, a taste that wasn’t enough to satisfy but just enough to leave us craving more. His lips brushed against mine, soft but hungry, and I found myself leaning into him, losing track of time, place—everything but him.

His teeth grazed my bottom lip, a teasing nibble that sent a shiver down my spine. I laughed softly against his mouth, breathless, only for him to kiss me deeper, stealing the sound.

“Luigi,” I murmured, pulling back just enough to catch my breath, to steady the flutter in my chest. But his gaze met mine, dark and playful, and I knew we’d be stopping again soon.

And so the walk stretched on, a journey not measured in steps but in touches, in stolen kisses, and in the way we couldn’t seem to get enough of each other.

When we finally reached the door, the cold of the night still clinging to us, he didn’t hesitate. The moment it clicked shut behind us, Lou was on me again, his lips claiming mine like we hadn’t just spent the entire walk doing exactly this.

He pressed me against the wall, the same spot where everything had started, as if the memory of that first kiss lingered there, pulling us back. His body was warm, a stark contrast to the chill we’d brought in with us. His hands slid to the zipper of my jacket, tugging it down with practiced ease. The cool air rushed in briefly, only to be replaced by the heat of his touch as his hands found their way inside, skimming over the fabric of my sweater and settling on my waist.

I gasped against his mouth, my hands gripping his shoulders for balance, for grounding, but all I could focus on was him—his warmth, his scent, the way his fingers curled against me like he couldn’t stand the thought of letting go.

“Lou,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, but he heard it, pulling back just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, filled with something I couldn’t quite name, something that made my breath hitch in my chest.

“I can stop if you want,” he murmured, his voice low, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke. It wasn’t a question, but a reassurance—a promise that we could go as far as we wanted, or stop wherever I needed.

But stopping was the last thing on my mind.

“God, no,” I whimpered, my voice trembling as my hands slid into his hair, tangling in the soft strands. I tugged gently, desperate to anchor myself, before pulling him closer, erasing the space between us.

Our mouths met again, the kiss deeper, hungrier this time. “Please, no,” I whispered against his lips, the words spilling out like a plea, though I wasn’t sure what I was begging for—only that I didn’t want this moment to end.

Lou groaned softly, his hands tightening their grip on my waist as if to say he felt the same. The air around us seemed to hum with a charged intensity, every kiss and touch carrying the weight of everything we’d left unsaid. 

His hands slid from my waist to my shoulders, the touch deliberate and slow, as if he were memorizing every curve beneath his fingers. With a gentle push, he slipped my jacket from my shoulders, letting it slide down to the floor in a soft whisper of fabric.

I shivered—not from the cold, but from the way his eyes darkened as they traveled over me. My hands moved from his hair to his chest, my fingers trembling slightly as I began unbuttoning his jacket. The crisp sound of each button coming undone filled the air, a contrast to the breathless tension between us.

His jacket parted under my touch, revealing the soft knit of the sweater beneath, but I barely noticed, too focused on the way his gaze stayed locked on mine, intense and unwavering.

"Losing layers already?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though the warmth in his tone betrayed him.

"You're one to talk," I shot back softly, tugging his jacket down his arms. The fabric joined my jacket on the floor, forgotten as I leaned into him again, our bodies drawn together as though by some invisible pull.

His hands moved with a confidence that made my breath hitch, sliding down from my waist to my behind. When his fingers pressed and grabbed, I couldn’t stop the startled yelp that escaped against his lips. His low chuckle vibrated through me, his amusement clear even as his kiss deepened, hungry and teasing.

The touch had caught me off guard, but it wasn’t unwelcome—in fact, it sent a thrilling rush through my veins. My hands instinctively clutched at his shoulders, steadying myself as he pulled me closer, eliminating what little space remained between us.

"Too much?" he asked, his voice husky, his forehead brushing against mine as he pulled back just enough to catch my reaction.

I shook my head, my breaths uneven, my lips brushing his as I replied softly, "Not even close."

The corner of his mouth lifted in a sly grin, and his hands tightened briefly, almost testing. "Good," he murmured, before leaning in again, capturing my lips with a fierceness that left no room for hesitation, no space for anything else but him.

My hands roamed over his body, exploring with a mix of curiosity and awe. My fingers wrapped around his biceps, feeling the solid strength beneath my palms. He didn’t flinch or pull away, his body remaining steady under my touch as if he welcomed my exploration.

I moved from his arms to his chest, trailing over the firm lines of muscle beneath his sweater. He was so taut, every inch of him exuding this quiet power that left me breathless. But it wasn’t just his physique—it was him.

It was the way his breath hitched slightly as my hands traveled lower, the way he held himself as though he wanted to give me control even as he burned with restraint. It was the way his presence wrapped around me, solid and grounding yet electric.

He was so… Luigi. That was the only way to describe it. Unapologetically himself, and somehow, that made it impossible to look away or let go. My fingers lingered, brushing against him as if committing the feel of him to memory.

“You good?” he murmured, his voice low, sending shivers down my spine.

I looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyes held a mix of mischief and vulnerability, a combination so uniquely him that it made my heart stumble.

“Yeah,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I just… you’re…”

His smirk softened into something warmer, his hands finding my waist again as he leaned down, his forehead resting lightly against mine. “What?” he teased, his tone playful.

“You’re just… so hot,” I admitted, my words faltering under the weight of the moment.

His chuckle was soft, a sound that made my stomach flutter. “Only for you though,” he said, his lips brushing mine before stealing another kiss, this one slower, deeper.

His hands trailed down from my waist, finding the front of my jeans with a hesitance that only made the moment feel more electric. His fingers fumbled with the buttons, clumsy but determined, and my breath caught in my throat.

My mind was a blur—thoughts scattered like autumn leaves in the wind, impossible to catch or hold onto. All I could focus on was him: the weight of his hands, the way his touch sent shivers through me, the warmth of his body pressed so close against mine.

As he worked the buttons loose, his lips brushed against my neck, soft and teasing, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “You okay?” he murmured again, his voice low and slightly rough, the sound vibrating against my skin.

I nodded, barely able to find my voice. “Yeah,” I whispered, though the word felt like an understatement for the swirl of emotions coursing through me.

His gaze flicked up to meet mine, searching my face as if for reassurance. There was something in his eyes—an unspoken question, a need to know I was with him at this moment.

I reached out, my hands slipping under the hem of his shirt to rest against his skin. He was so warm, so solid, and somehow, that grounded me. “I’m okay,” I repeated, my voice a little steadier this time.

Lou’s lips curved into a small, almost relieved smile before he leaned in again, capturing my mouth in a kiss that was softer now, unhurried, as though we had all the time in the world. 

He reached for the waistband of my jeans, slowly pulling them down over my hips. My breath hitched for a moment, unsure of what he was doing, but I didn’t stop him.

"Wait," I murmured, my voice soft as I looked down at him, wanting to make sure he knew it wasn’t necessary. "You don’t have to."

He paused, his gaze meeting mine. His lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. "I want to," he said quietly, and without another word, he gently lowered my jeans further, the fabric slipping past my thighs, as he moved with them.. He stayed there for a moment, just looking up at me, before kissing the inside of my thigh softly. His breath ghosted over my skin, sending a shiver through me. God , this man was going to be the death of me.

 The closeness, the way his presence seemed to take over every inch of the room, it was overwhelming in the best way. My body seemed to react to every little movement, every breath he took, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he knew just how much power he had over me.

I looked down at him again, my heart pounding. His hands moved to hold my thighs in place against the wall, gently but still firm as he pulled them slightly apart, reaching for my panties, before letting them also pull at my ankles with my jeans. 

I was bare in front of him, apart from my sweater I still had on. He resumed holding my thighs before starting to trace light circles against my flesh. Then all of a sudden, he leaned in, his tongue wet and eager, lapping at me slightly. My eyes rolled back in ecstasy, fingers finding their way into his curly hair, as he dragged his tongue from my entrance to my clit. I gripped at him gently to guide him where I needed him, pulling him closer to me. 

He groaned into me, the sound slightly muffled but deep, and he leaned in further, pressing his mouth against me like he couldn't get close enough. 

“Yes, just like that,” I moaned, throwing my head back slightly before looking down at him again. 

Luigi didn't answer—couldn't answer.  

He was too focused, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me open as he worked his tongue through every inch of my folds. His breath hitched now and then, his lips sealing over my clit for a moment to suck softly before his tongue returned to explore my entrance.

My hips arched slightly into his mouth, “You’re so fucking good at this,” I whimpered. His response was desperate, a muffled groan and a moan as he shifted his grip, spreading my thighs wider. 

His nose pressed against me, and he rubbed himself against me as his tongue delved inside me, slow and deliberate, tasting me from the inside out. His breathing was ragged, warm puffs of air against my heat between each swipe of his tongue. 

“Fuck,” he whispered hoarsely against me, his voice barely audible over the sound of his mouth working me. “You taste so good…”

I tugged his hair lightly, guiding him just where I wanted him, and he followed without hesitation, his moans vibrating through my core. His nose nudged my clit,  his tongue lapping at my entrance with long, languid strokes, as my moans filled the room. 

“Please,” I whimpered, my hold on his hair thickening slightly. Luigi groaned, lips locked around my clit. Each sound he made was guttural, desperate, like he was losing himself in the taste of me. His hands gripped my thighs in place, anchoring himself to me as he pressed himself against my folds, adding pressure in all the right places. 

“Keep going,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I combed my fingers through his hair, continuing to guide him. 

Luigi whimpered against me, the sound being a little foreign against my ears, low and wrecked. He obeyed, sucking harder, his tongue darting out to flick over the swollen nub. 

My breath hitched , my body trembling as the tension in my core tightened to an unbearable degree,

“Fuck, Lou—don’t stop. Please Luigi, don't stop.” 

He moaned at my words, his hands tightening as he doubled down, his lips creating the right amount of pressure. That was all it took. My body tensed, my back arching off the wall as my orgasm slammed into me, waves of pleasure crashing through me so hard I couldn't even form words. He rode out my release, guiding me through it. 

Luigi groaned against me, his tongue relentless and never faltering as he continued against my clit, my legs threatening to give in. “Luigi,” I whimpered, the feeling coming overwhelming as he continued to eat me out. My voice was shaky as I begged him to calm down, “Please.” 

He gave a final, lingering touch of his tongue, then pulled away, flashing me a soft, yielding smile. “I could taste you forever,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust, his eyes burning into mine as he knelt, hands shifting from my thighs to my calves, moving up and down with slow, deliberate strokes. His face was a mess, covered and wet. 

My hands were still tangled in his hair, massaging his scalp as I looked down at him. The air between us was thick with tension, each breath coming faster, more desperate than the last. "Take me upstairs," I whispered, my voice barely audible, but carrying enough weight to make his eyes flicker with something deep.

His gaze never left mine as he stood, gently helping me step out of the clothes I’d shed in the rush of our need. He gathered them without a word, his hands warm in mine, guiding me toward the stairs. There was something raw in the way he looked at me, as if every part of him was just as caught up in this as I was.

We moved upward, step by step, a quiet urgency surrounding us, our hands still linked as if they couldn’t bear to be apart, even for a moment.

He slammed his door open, tossing my clothes aside before starting to strip his own off—first his sweater, then his jeans. I slipped off my sweater too, leaving me in only my bra, as he moved towards me, our lips meeting again. I could taste the faint taste of me on his tongue, as his tongue entered my mouth, his hands moving to my hips. There was no rush, yet the need for him felt… almost necessary. 

I needed him in ways I couldn’t quite put into words. We’d been here before, a handful of times, yet it always felt new—like we were still discovering, still memorizing each other, still unraveling the parts of ourselves we hadn’t yet touched. But even in that unfamiliarity, I knew him. The way he leaned in, the way his touch searched for me, how his breath hitched just before he gave in. I knew what he needed, because it was the same thing I did—to feel, to lose ourselves in each other, to remind ourselves that this pull between us had never faded. 

I needed to admit it—to myself, to him, to the space between us that buzzed with something undeniable. I needed him, not just as a friend, though I cherished that part of us more than almost anything. But this—this new dynamic, the one that left me breathless, that sent my heart racing in ways I couldn't control—it felt like I needed it more. At least right now, in this moment, with him standing before me, it felt like the only thing that mattered.

His lips trailed from mine, pressing warm, unsteady kisses along my jaw before moving down to my neck. The moment he found that spot—the one that sent a shiver through me, that made my breath hitch—my fingers curled into his hair, holding him there like he was the only thing tethering me to the ground. His hands roamed with purpose, gripping, exploring, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. He wasn’t just holding me; he was consuming me, and I let him.

My hands slid from his hair to his face, cradling it gently between my palms. I needed him closer—closer than he already was. I pulled his lips back to mine, kissing him with a hunger that words couldn’t express. His hands tightened around me in response, as if he felt it too.

The back of my legs hit the edge of his bed, the sudden contact making me sit as he remained standing, towering over me. His gaze was intense, dark, something that made my breath catch. His hands found my face again, his thumb brushing over my cheek before trailing down to my lips.

He leaned down, his hands sliding from my face to my shoulders, then further down my arms as he lowered himself between my legs. His touch was steady, deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of me.

I tipped my head back slightly, my breathing uneven as his lips found my jaw, then the hollow of my throat. His warmth surrounded me, his presence grounding and overwhelming all at once. My fingers traced down the bare expanse of his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath my touch.

"Luigi," I whispered, not entirely sure what I was asking for—only that I needed him, here, now, at this moment.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his own searching, his hands settling firmly on my waist. "I'm here," he murmured, like he understood exactly what I meant. And maybe he did. Because with him, I never really had to say much at all.

He shifted closer, his hands trailing up my back before finding the clasp of my bra. With practiced ease, he unhooked it, letting the straps slide down my shoulders as he dragged it away with him, his touch lingering.

His gaze was intense, as if trying to absorb every detail of me, like I was something he couldn't get enough of. Even though this wasn’t the first time, there was an unhurried quality to his movements, a deliberate slowness. He was always like this—never in a rush, always savoring the moment, even in the simplest of actions. It was as if he wanted to stretch time, to make each second last.

His hand gently cupped my cheek, his touch tender and deliberate, as if savoring the moment before he leaned in. The warmth of his palm against my skin sent a shiver through me, and everything else seemed to fade away as his lips hovered just inches from mine.

His body pressed me down onto the bed, the warmth of him seeping into my skin as he shifted above me. Our lips met, the kiss deep and consuming, stealing my breath and any lingering thoughts. It was dizzying—the way he moved, the way he held me.

“Fuck,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to look at me, his eyes lustfull. His fingers traced along my cheek, reverent, as if he still couldn’t believe I was here. “You’re so beautiful.”

He was big against me, I felt him between my thighs, making me arch towards him. He moaned, as his hips stuttered, we were half humping each other before he pulled back again, to remove his boxers. 

As usual, Luigi reached for the drawer on his nightstand, but this time, his fingers met empty space. No familiar foil packet. 

"Shit," he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"What?" I asked, pushing myself up onto my elbows, searching his face for an answer.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if frustrated with himself. “I don’t have a condom,” he admitted, his voice low, almost regretful.

I blinked, my breath still uneven, heart still hammering from the way he’d been touching me just moments ago. His words settled between us, cooling the heat in the room just slightly.

“Oh,” I said, my voice softer now.

Lou sat back on his heels, his hands running over his face before resting on his thighs. “I swear I usually do. I just—I didn’t think…” He trailed off, looking at me, searching my face for something.

I bit my lip, watching him, the weight of the moment settling in. This wasn’t just some passing thing, some careless act. It never had been, not with him.

“It’s okay,” I murmured, reaching for his hand. My fingers laced through his, grounding us both.

His shoulders relaxed slightly, though the tension in his body didn’t fully dissipate. He squeezed my hand, his thumb brushing over my skin in slow, deliberate circles.

“I just—” He hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

My heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. The words felt like they referred to something else, something other than sex.

“You’re not,” I whispered. “You couldn’t.”

His eyes softened, the intensity still there but tempered by something deeper. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead before resting his against mine.

“We should stop,” he said, though it sounded like it pained him to say it.

I stayed quiet, my silence hanging between us. His gaze flickered over my face, searching, and when I didn’t agree—when I didn’t pull away—his expression shifted. The restraint wavered, his desire breaking through, dark and unguarded.

His fingers tightened around mine, his free hand skimming over my waist like he was at war with himself.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured, his voice strained, almost desperate.

“Like what?” I asked, tilting my head slightly, though I knew exactly what he meant.

“Like you don’t want me to stop.”

I swallowed, my pulse racing, hands gripping onto him as if I could keep him from slipping away. “Maybe I don’t.”

A low curse left his lips, his forehead falling against mine as he exhaled sharply, like he was trying to rein himself in.

And then, barely above a whisper, I said, “I’m on the pill.”

He stilled, his cock against me twitching, his breath catching against my skin. His forehead was still pressed to mine, his fingers flexing where they held me, gripping like he was trying to anchor himself—like I was the thing holding him steady and unraveling him all at once. 

A shaky exhale left his lips, warm against my cheek. “You can’t just say things like that,” he murmured, his voice strained, like he was barely holding himself together.

I tilted my head slightly, lips brushing his jaw. “Why not?”

He let out a soft, breathless laugh, but there was nothing amused about it. His fingers skimmed over my waist again, slower this time, more certain. “Because you know exactly what it does to me.”

I did. I knew, because it did the same thing to me.

His hand slid up, tracing my ribs, his thumb brushing over my skin like he needed to memorize it. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and unreadable, searching mine for something—hesitation, doubt.

But I had none.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmured, voice low, a plea wrapped in restraint.

I licked my lips, my chest rising and falling against his. “I want you, Luigi.”

Something in him snapped.

He cupped my face, kissing me deeply. His hands moved over my sides, guiding me gently, as he shifted to move over me. The kiss was filled with intensity, a quiet urgency that mirrored the way his hands rested on my hips, holding me in place. His hips kept bucking against me, as we both rushed for release. 

He was fully erect, weeping with precum at the tip as he positioned himself against me, swiping his cock through my folds. 

“Are you actually sure?” he asked again, his voice shaky and breathless, moaning between words. 

I nodded frantically, pushing myself against him to meet his grinding hips. “Yes… Fuck, yes.” 

Before I knew it, Luigi sinked into me, careful at first, loud moans leaving our mouths in unison. He gripped my thighs pushing them open to let him in further. His grip on my thighs was firm, slightly tightening efter every inch he gave me. He worked himself in slowly, ensuring that I felt every ridge and every vein. 

He paused for a second. 

“What's wrong?” I asked, my breath coming in gasps almost, he felt so good, even though he wasn't completely inside yet, the stretching had already started. I looked up at him, waiting for an answer, but his eyes were closed, his lips parted as he held himself inside me. 

“Just… Give me a second,” he finally spoke, his brows furrowed together. “I’m really, like really , trying not to cum.” His voice was strained, like he was in pain. 

My breath hitched, even though I found his situation amusing, I couldn't help but clench around him, making him hiss and pull slightly out before returning to his earlier position. The action making me moan, my hands moving to hold onto his arms. 

After a beat Luigi continued, sliding in, and the sting of his length making the breath hitch at the back of my throat, filling me up inch by inch until he bottomed out inside me. His tip kissed a part of me, making me arch into him again.

Luigi, looked down at me, watching my mouth fall open, parted lips letting out a soft moan while my eyes nearly rolled to the back of my head at the newfound sensation, giving me another moment to adjust before he began to slowly roll his hips, dragging his cock in and out of me. 

He groaned, his arms holding himself up on either side of me. “Fuck..” he moaned, as he tried going deeper. His hand moved to my right thigh, fingertips digging into my flesh, pushing my leg apart. The sweat dampened curls of his stuck to his forehead as he continued fucking me, before he leaned down, mouths meeting in an electric kiss, catching each others muffled moans. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, breaking the kiss, his eyes drawn to my lips, before meeting mine. 

“Mhmm,” I whimpered, rocking back and forth as he continued to rail into me, the pace picking up a little. “ Yes, yes, yes ,” I moaned, one hand moving to grab his hair at the nape of his neck, while the other moved to his back, nails digging into his flesh. 

Each push and pull of our bodies against each other felt more and more electric, an undeniable coil tightening in my stomach with the way Luigi was pounding into me, the hairs at the base of his cock brushing against my clit, already feeling myself beginning to teeter on the brink of pleasure. 

I was all but sobbing at this point, my fingers digging into his skin, overwhelmed by the noises we were making. I was beginning to tighten around him, the sloppy sounds of where we two were connected were the only sounds in the room. 

“I know you’re close,” he moaned, “I can feel you, clenching around me,” He groaned through gritted teeth, leaning back to reach and grab my leg, wrapping it around the small of his back before I lifted my other to join it, locking my ankles to keep him as close as possible. His cock kept prodding at the soft spot inside me, leaving me moaning and whimpering. His eyes locked onto mine, and I knew he could tell. He could always tell. 

“Lou, oh my God , fuck, I’m…” 

Suddenly, my orgasm was rushing through every inch of me. I cried out as the pleasure hit me like a freight train, choking Luigi's cock, unable to do anything but relish in the white hot bliss that had me nearly floating out of my body. His hand reached my breasts, lazely moving over them, taking one in his palm and caressing, squizing, kneading. 

He doen’t stop, fucking me through my orgasm. He kept going for a while, murmuring words of “ That's it ,”, “ Good girl ,” and “ So fucking good ,” before bringing himself to his own release. 

I push myself down to meet his thrusts, as Luigi hisses, grabbing my hips. He loses his rhythm as his own orgasm rips through him, his cock pulsing and spasming inside me, his frame shuddering as he spills inside me. I reach out cupping his face as he groans while he fucks the last of himself into me. 

Lou gives in, his body relaxing as he leans down, capturing me in his arms. His head rests in the curve of my neck as he exhales heavily, his breath warm against my skin. We're pressed together, hearts still racing, bodies molded to each other. My hand moves slowly over his back, tracing soothing patterns, grounding us both in the quiet aftershock of it all. We're exhausted—completely and utterly lost in the moment.

His warm breath against my skin sent a shiver down my spine, each exhale igniting something deep within me. Slowly, he pressed small, lingering kisses along my neck, his lips soft yet deliberate. His hands remained firm on my hips, holding me close. He quivered slightly as he pulled his sensitive cock out of me with a loud grunt, the feeling and sound making me moan as he pulled his length out. 

Lou sits up and leans back, hands grabbing my legs to keep me spread open for him, he gawked at me, eyes trained at where we were connected, watching me leak. I feel heat rush to my cheeks as I instinctively close my legs, but Lou just smirks down at me, that playful glint in his eyes making my stomach flip. His hands stay firm on my hips, his thumbs rubbing slow, lazy circles against my skin.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs after a while, his gaze sweeping over me, taking me in like I’m something worth memorizing.

“Stop,” I mumble, turning my face away, suddenly shy. He always says things like this, and I never quite know how to respond.

He chuckles, low and warm, before finally shifting away, standing up to grab his boxers. I watch him for a moment before closing my eyes, exhaustion creeping in as the warmth of the night settles over me. He leaves the room, shuffling around.

The faint sound of running water reaches my ears, and I curl up against the pillows, sinking deeper into the blissful haze of the moment. My body feels heavy, relaxed, content.

A few minutes pass before I feel him return, his presence familiar and grounding. The mattress dips as he climbs in beside me, his hands trailing gently over my legs before he spreads them apart, then freezing, a groan and a murmured “Fuck,” leaving his lips. I open my eyes, hazy and hooded, to find him staring at me again between my legs, with a wet rag in his hand. 

“Do you need me to do it?” I teased, a small smile playing on my lips.

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, holding my gaze for a moment before he shook his head. He didn’t say anything, just kept his focus, running the warm, damp cloth gently over my skin. The sensation was soothing, but more than that, it was the tenderness in his touch that made my breath catch.

When he finished, he moved away to discard the cloth, his motions slow, almost reluctant. The soft click of the door filled the quiet room before he returned. I settled back against the pillows, pulling the covers over me as I sank into the lingering warmth of the moment.

Lou reentered, his presence grounding, effortless. “Scoot,” he murmured, motioning with his hand. I did, shifting to make space as he slid in beside me, pulling the blankets up over us. As expected, he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close. Instinctively, I draped my leg over his, my hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm.

He was quiet for a moment, his breaths steady and calm, before he murmured a soft “Are you okay?” His fingers lightly traced shapes on my shoulder, the delicate touch grounding me further, making my chest tighten with something I couldn’t quite name.

"Of course" I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath, not wanting him to feel indebted to me. His silence lingered for a moment, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, and the warmth in his touch as he continued to trace slow circles on my skin.

Then, without a word, he moved his hand to my hair, running his fingers through it gently, as if memorizing the feel of it. I closed my eyes, letting the softness of his touch lull me into a peaceful stillness. His breath was warm against my ear as he murmured —words I couldn’t quite catch, but they were soft and comforting, wrapping me up in his presence.

I felt myself melting into the bed, my body relaxing further with each passing second. His voice, low and tender, was a soothing rhythm that pulled me deeper into a gentle drowsiness. I could hear the steady sound of his breathing, and before I knew it, I was drifting off, feeling him close beside me.

He whispered one last word, just as my eyelids fluttered closed, and I knew, even in my half-sleeping state, that he was still awake, still holding me close.

The loud slams echoed through the house, jolting both Lou and me awake. The sound seemed to vibrate through the walls, sharp and sudden, breaking the calm we’d been wrapped in. My body tensed instinctively as Lou’s arms tightened around me, his grip a silent reassurance that we were together.

We both blinked in the dim light, disoriented from the sudden wake-up call, our hearts racing in sync as we turned toward each other. Our eyes locked for a moment, the worry in his gaze mirroring my own.

“What was that?” I whispered, my voice still thick with sleep, but laced with an edge of concern.

Lou’s brow furrowed, and he hesitated, listening. Another door slammed downstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone pacing across the floor. It wasn’t quite the normal sound of our friends coming back from a party.

“Could be them,” Lou said slowly, though his voice carried a hint of uncertainty. He sat up a little, his muscles tensing as he reached for the edge of the blanket, his eyes still scanning the room. “Or... maybe someone else.”

I pulled myself closer to him, instinctively seeking comfort. The unknown in the house—strange noises echoing through the stillness—made everything feel more uncertain.

“I’ll go check it out,” Lou murmured, already starting to shift his weight to get out of bed. But I could tell he didn’t want to leave me alone, and I didn’t want to be left in the silence of uncertainty, either.

“Wait,” I said quickly, reaching for his arm. “Let me come with you. We don’t know what it could be.”

Lou hesitated, glancing at me for a moment before nodding. “Alright, but stay close.”

I nodded, the cold air of the room making me shiver as I slipped the blanket off of me. I quickly reached for the shirt Lou had handed me, feeling exposed because I was still naked. Lou’s eyes lingered on me for a moment—just long enough to make me feel a twinge of heat on my cheeks—but his mind was already elsewhere, still focused on the noise coming from downstairs.

He was quick to throw on a pair of sweatpants, but he didn’t bother with a shirt. His broad chest and toned arms were exposed, a stark contrast to the unease settling in the pit of my stomach.

I hastily pulled on the shirt and sweatpants, my fingers fumbling slightly as I rushed to get dressed, my mind split between the unsettling sounds and wanting to be prepared in case something else happened. Once I was dressed, I grabbed my phone, checking the screen briefly to see if I’d missed any calls or messages. There was nothing, we had only slept for 40 minutes. I slipped it into the pocket of my sweatpants before reaching for Lou’s hand.

His fingers intertwined with mine immediately, and the simple touch helped calm my nerves. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, and we shared a brief look—silent understanding passing between us. The fear was there.

“I’m right here,” Lou whispered, his voice low, yet steady.

I nodded, taking in a slow breath as we both silently moved toward the door. The noise from downstairs had stopped, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. But neither of us was ready to ignore it, not after what we’d just heard. The hallway seemed unnaturally quiet as we stepped out into the corridor, our footsteps muted on the wood floors as we carefully made our way toward the stairs.

Lou gave my hand another squeeze as we reached the top of the stairs. “It’s probably just one of the guys coming back from the party,” he said, his voice calm, but with just a hint of tension that told me he wasn’t entirely sure. “You know how they are. Probably tripping over everything and making a scene.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t convinced. The noise had sounded different, sharper, more aggressive than any of our friends stumbling home drunk. But Lou was already moving forward, his confidence reassuring me as we carefully descended the stairs.

“Nothing to worry about,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I’ve got you.”

The house was eerily quiet, the usual warmth replaced by an unsettling stillness. Our shoes sat abandoned by the entrance, our jackets discarded on the floor where we'd left them earlier. My pulse hammered in my chest as we moved toward the kitchen, where the noise had come from. Every creak of the floorboards beneath our feet seemed to magnify the silence, thickening the tension in the air.

When we rounded the corner into the kitchen, the sight of Zack froze us in place. A scream ripped from my throat before I could stop it.

There he was—Zack, standing in the middle of the kitchen, gripping a frying pan above his head like he was preparing to strike. His face was flushed with panic, eyes wide with terror. For a second, it hit me that we were all trapped in the same wave of shock—his, ours. The silence that followed felt suffocating.

“What the hell, Zack?!” Lou's voice was tight with disbelief as he struggled to steady his breath.

Zack’s frantic gaze snapped toward us, blinking in rapid confusion. His expression shifted from sheer terror to baffled alarm. “I—uh—sorry! I thought someone was in the house! I heard noises, and—”

“Are you out of your mind?” I snapped, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and lingering fear. “You scared the shit out of us.”

Zack lowered the frying pan slowly, his eyes flicking between us as if trying to gauge whether we were about to explode. “You should have said something!” he muttered, his voice still tinged with panic.

Lou rolled his eyes, clearly fed up. “What the hell did you think we were, Zack? Ghosts? You don’t just start swinging around kitchenware in the middle of the night!”

“Whatever,” Zack muttered, slamming the frying pan down onto the counter with a sharp clank, then leaning back against it, his posture defensive.

I was the next to speak, my voice tight with frustration. “Where the hell have you been, Zack? We were all worried about you.”

Lou’s hand was still firmly gripping mine as I moved to stand next to him, the weight of the moment settling over us both.

Zack rolled his eyes at my words, a bitter scoff escaping his lips as he shot us a look, his eyes flashing with irritation. The usual coolness in his demeanor was gone, replaced by an anger that seemed to pulse from him, raw and unfiltered. He stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, shoulders tense as if he were preparing for another round of argument.

"Seriously, Zack?" Lou's voice was sharp, a mixture of disbelief and frustration creeping through. His hand tightened around mine instinctively. He stepped forward, his posture just slightly defensive, yet calm—trying to keep control of the situation. “The fight was nothing, alright? It’s all forgotten. We’re not here to do this again.”

Zack’s glare softened slightly, but the tension still hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken words and frustrations that had been brewing for days. He didn’t say anything right away, just stared back at us, the anger slowly giving way to something else—confusion, maybe even regret, though it was hard to tell with the walls he kept up so high.

Zack’s gaze flickered between us, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the scene before him. First, he noticed our hands, still intertwined, a subtle connection that spoke volumes in its own way. His eyes shifted, moving over Lou, who was standing shirtless in the dim light, his bare skin visible, the exposed vulnerability of it making the moment feel all the more intense. 

Zack then shifted his focus to me, his eyes landing on the mismatched clothes I was wearing. They weren’t mine— the fabric hung too loosely, too carelessly, and it was obvious that they didn’t belong to me. It wasn’t just the clothes; it was the way I looked—disheveled, a mess in ways that spoke to more than just the physical. My makeup was smudged, ruined beyond recognition, and my hair tangled and out of place.

Zack’s eyes lingered on me for a beat longer, his gaze sharp, searching for something, perhaps hoping that the pieces of the puzzle wouldn’t fall into place. But they did.

Then his eyes flicked to Lou again, taking in the slight redness to his lips—the faint swelling, as if they had been kissed, touched, or more. Lou’s curls were slightly disheveled, as if someone had run their fingers through them, the same fingers that had touched his lips moments before.

It all clicked, too fast for either of us to stop it. Zack’s expression shifted as he processed the scene, his confusion turning into something darker—something knowing. His brow furrowed, eyes flicking between us. The realization hit him like a bolt, his posture straightening as he crossed his arms over his chest. The room seemed to close in around us as he took a deep breath, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

And then came the smirk—the slow, deliberate spread of his lips as if he were savoring the moment, relishing in the sudden power he had over us. It wasn’t the playful, teasing grin I was used to. This one was different—more cutting, more knowing. It was the look of someone who’d discovered something they weren’t meant to know.

“You two are fucking, aren’t you?”

Chapter Text

“What?” Lou and I spoke at the same time, our voices overlapping in a mix of shock and disbelief. Instinctively, we let go of each other’s hands as if the sudden space between us could somehow erase what Zack had just seen—what he now knew .

Zack’s grin stretched wider, his eyes dancing with amusement as he looked between us. “You’re totally fucking,” he said again, his tone brimming with certainty. His excitement was almost childlike, his face lighting up as if he’d just unraveled the world’s greatest mystery. “My god, look at you,” he added, gesturing toward us with a dramatic sweep of his hand.

My stomach twisted. This isn’t right. This isn’t happening.

I could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me, my pulse hammering in my ears. I stole a glance at Lou, hoping for some kind of reassurance, but his expression was unreadable—a mixture of shock and something darker. His jaw was clenched, his eyes cold and sharp. Was he mad about being caught with me… or mad at Zack for running his mouth?

Zack hunched over, laughing like this was the funniest thing he’d ever witnessed. “Jesus, you’re so obvious,” he wheezed, wiping at his eyes.

“Okay, Zack. That’s enough. ” Lou’s voice cut through the room, sharp and edged with irritation. He wasn’t just annoyed—he was pissed.

I swallowed, the tension coiling tighter inside me. Was he angry at Zack for pushing too far, for making a joke out of something we weren’t ready to face? Or was he mad at me—for letting this happen in the first place?

A small part of me hoped it was the former.

But I wasn’t sure.

Zack straightened, still grinning, completely unfazed by Lou’s anger. His eyes flickered between us, studying every subtle shift in our expressions like he was piecing together a puzzle.

“Oh, come on,” he said, tilting his head. “Are we really gonna pretend this isn’t happening? That I didn’t just walk in on—”

“Zack.” Lou’s voice was low now, dangerous.

That finally made Zack hesitate, the smirk on his face faltering just slightly. But only for a second. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn,” he muttered. “You’re really gonna stand there and act like I’m the problem here?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, shifting uncomfortably. The air in the kitchen was thick, suffocating, and my skin prickled under Zack’s scrutiny. He wasn’t just teasing anymore—he was looking at us, really looking. And I hated it.

“You’ve been sneaking around, lying to everyone,” he continued, his tone still laced with amusement, but now there was something else beneath it. Curiosity. Maybe even frustration. “You didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell anyone.” His gaze locked onto Lou’s. “And yet, you expect me to just pretend I didn’t see what’s right in front of my face?”

Lou took a slow, measured breath, his jaw tense. He hadn’t let go of his anger, but I could see him forcing himself to stay calm.

“This isn’t your business,” he finally said, his voice even but firm.

Zack let out a dry laugh, shaking his head again. “Oh, but it is,” he shot back. “Because when everyone else finds out, it’s gonna be their business too. And then what?” He gestured between us. “You think no one’s gonna notice?”

A cold dread settled in my stomach. Had we been that obvious?

Lou shifted beside me, his fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to reach for me again. But he didn’t. He just stood there, rigid, his face unreadable.

“Don’t change the subject, Zack. You’re still the one who made everyone in the house hostile. You’re the one who disappeared for days only to show up now ,” Lou half-yelled, forcing the conversation back. “You hurt Hannah’s feelings, and I might not know everything, but I do know you were out of line with her.” His voice was sharp, unwavering.

At the mention of Hannah, Zack’s entire posture shifted. His expression darkened, his shoulders tensing as if Lou had just struck a nerve.

“You leave her out of this!” he shouted, pointing a rigid finger at Lou. His face twisted with something dangerously close to anger. “You fucking leave her out of this, Pep!”

The room stilled, Zack’s sudden outburst sucking the air from the space. His voice still echoed in my ears, sharp and raw, his anger crackling in the silence he’d left behind.

Lou and I were frozen, momentarily stunned into speechlessness. Something had happened between them—something big. But what ?

Lou was the first to find his voice, though it was quieter now, more cautious. “Jesus, Zack,” he muttered, his brows pulling together as he studied him.

Zack’s chest was still rising and falling unevenly, his fists clenched at his sides. Whatever this was, whatever had set him off—it wasn’t just anger. It was something else .

Something deeper.

“Just—” Zack started, his voice rough, like the words were scraping against his throat. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his already disheveled hair before continuing, “I won’t say anything.” His eyes flickered between me and Lou, searching our faces, measuring our reactions. “Just… don’t tell anyone I was here, okay?”

Something about the way he said it sent a chill through me.

“Why, Zack?” I asked, stepping forward before I could stop myself. My voice was quieter now, cautious, but insistent. “You live here. You should be able to come home.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even blink, but I could see the way his jaw clenched, how his fingers twitched at his sides like he was resisting the urge to bolt.

I took another step, closing the space between us. “I promise,” I continued, my tone softening, pleading now. “Everything is forgiven. Just come home.”

The words felt heavy as they left my lips, and I realized I wasn’t even sure if I believed them. Was everything forgiven? Could it be?

Zack’s lips pressed into a tight line, his shoulders still tense. He was standing in front of me, right here , but somehow, he felt miles away. His eyes darted toward Lou, who was watching him just as carefully, his expression unreadable.

Seconds stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

And then, just when I thought he might give in, Zack took a step back. His face was unreadable now, a mask slipping into place, shutting us out completely.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Silence settled over the room again, thick and suffocating. The weight of Zack’s presence, his secrecy, his refusal to come home—it all hung between us like a storm waiting to break.

And then Lou asked the question. The one we were both thinking about. The one neither of us wanted to say out loud.

"Did you do something?"

Zack’s head snapped up, his entire body going rigid. “ What?! No! ” His voice was sharp, almost offended, his brows furrowing deeply as he took a step back. His eyes darted between us, disbelief flashing across his face. “I would never —”

Lou didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. “Then what happened ?” he pressed, his voice lower now, calmer—but no less demanding.

Zack’s mouth opened, then closed. His expression flickered—anger, frustration, something else just beneath the surface—but no words came.

“I love her,” Zack whispered, his voice so quiet it almost seemed like he was speaking to himself, not to us. His gaze dropped to the floor, and for a brief moment, I saw something I didn’t expect—vulnerability, raw and unguarded. “I love her… and she doesn’t love me.” His words trembled in the stillness, like a confession he hadn’t planned on making. “So when I told her… she made a scene, and...”

Lou’s voice cut through the tension, picking up where Zack’s failed to continue. “It was blown out of proportion,” Lou finished, his tone flat, a little too matter-of-fact.

Zack nodded slowly, his lips curling into a grimace. “I ran after her,” he continued, the words spilling out in a rush. “I shouldn’t have done that. I know. But I was hurt, and I needed closure.” His voice cracked, the rawness of it hitting me harder than I expected. “So I burst through the door, and… it all just went wrong.”

The air around us seemed to thicken, like it was suffocating under the weight of his confession. The pain in his eyes was undeniable, but there was something else—regret, guilt, maybe even a hint of shame.

I stood there, unsure of what to say. My mind raced, trying to process everything Zack had just admitted, trying to piece together the fragments of the mess he’d made.

I reached out, my hand finding Zack’s shoulder, a small gesture of comfort in the midst of his unraveling. His body was tense under my touch, but I didn't let go. Instead, I gently pulled him toward me, drawing him into a hug.

For a moment, he stiffened, unsure, his arms hanging limply by his sides. But then, as if the weight of everything he’d been holding in finally became too much, he melted into the embrace.

His breath was shaky against my shoulder, a low exhale escaping him as his hands slowly came up to grip the back of my shirt. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a sign that, in that moment, he wasn’t alone.

“I’m here,” I whispered, my voice soft but steady. “We’re here, Zack.”

The tension in his body loosened just a fraction, and I could feel the heat of his embarrassment, of all the things left unsaid between us, but I wasn’t going to push him further. Not yet.

We stood there in silence, holding onto each other, letting the world outside of us feel a little less heavy for just a moment.

He pulled away from the embrace, his eyes darting between me and Lou, avoiding any real contact as he seemed to gather his thoughts. The tension in the room hadn’t dissipated, it had only shifted, and now I could feel it creeping back into the space between us.

“I’m moving out,” Zack said, his voice firm, like he’d already made the decision a hundred times over. “There’s this friend of mine who’ll let me stay at his place for the rest of the term.”

Before either of us could protest, Zack held up a hand, silencing us. His face was set in a stubborn, almost resigned expression. “It’s already arranged. I’m moving, and it’s fine.” He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor, his fists clenching at his sides. “She needs her space,” he added, his voice quieter now, the weight of his words heavier than I expected. “And I’ll give her that. I’ll give her anything she wants.”

I could hear the heartbreak in his tone, the undercurrent of something raw, something he wasn’t ready to show. Lou and I exchanged a look, both of us unsure how to respond to that.

But Zack had made up his mind. And even if we wanted to argue, to tell him it wasn’t the right decision, something in his posture told me he wouldn’t listen.

He was doing what he thought was best.

For her. For himself. But mostly, for the pieces of his heart that were shattered and scattered too far to fix right now.

“Dude,” Lou said, stepping forward to give Zack a hug. It was the kind of hug guys give each other—quick, casual, a few pats on the back, and then they pull away. Nothing too deep, just a silent understanding between them. Zack’s lips tugged into a faint smile as they broke apart, but his eyes flickered between me and Lou before he spoke again.

“It’s still fucking weird that you two are... well, you know, fucking ,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head as though he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. His words hung in the air for a moment, the bluntness of it hanging there like a strange kind of tension, but then the sound of his laughter broke through, light and teasing. It felt like he was trying to crack open the awkwardness, to let the air breathe a little easier.

I shot him a look, my eyebrow arched. “Seriously?” I scoffed, trying to keep my voice steady, but the grin I couldn’t suppress betrayed me.

Lou didn’t hesitate. “Well, she just can’t resist this Italian ,” he said with a grin, nodding toward Zack, his voice full of playful smugness.

Zack’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. “I can’t resist this Italian either,” he said, a wicked grin curling at the corners of his lips. Without missing a beat, he reached out and mussed Lou’s hair, his hand ruffling it like a playful brother.

Lou smacked his hand away with a mock scowl, but it didn’t last. The grin on his face matched Zack’s, both of them trying to hide the fact that, despite everything, the humor between them still existed. It was the kind of moment that reminded me of how absurd things could get, yet how somehow, in their own chaotic way, they still managed to find something resembling normal.

“Well, I guess that clears that up,” I said, my voice light, even though a part of me still felt heavy from everything Zack had said earlier. But for now, the air had shifted. 

“Do you need help with the move?” I asked, my voice soft as I looked at Zack, trying to offer something, anything, to ease the tension in the room.

Zack shook his head almost immediately, his response quick and final. “No, it’s fine,” he said, his tone distant, detached. He stared down at the floor for a moment, his gaze avoiding ours like he didn’t want to face us. “I’ll come by on Monday when school starts, grab my stuff then.” He paused, his shoulders tense, before looking up briefly, his expression unreadable. “I don’t need anyone to help. I’ve got it covered.”

Lou nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. I could tell he didn’t like Zack shutting himself off like this, but there wasn’t much either of us could do. Zack wasn’t going to ask for help, and he certainly wasn’t going to let us offer it.

For a moment, the silence stretched between us like an insurmountable distance. We were all standing there, yet it felt as if Zack was already mentally somewhere else—somewhere without us. It was like he was already preparing himself for the next chapter, one where he wasn’t part of our lives anymore.

“Alright,” Lou said finally, breaking the silence with a resigned sigh. He stepped forward and gave Zack a quick, firm clap on the shoulder, an attempt at reassurance, but it seemed more like a silent goodbye. “Just... don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Zack met Lou’s gaze, and for a second, there was a flicker in his eyes—something between regret and gratitude—but he only nodded in response. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice a little too steady, the tension in his shoulders betraying him.

I bit my lip, wanting to say more, to convince him to stay, to do something, anything, to fix things. But I knew it was pointless. Zack had already made his decision. And no matter how much I wanted him to change his mind, I couldn’t change his course.

The kitchen felt even quieter after that, the weight of Zack’s words hanging in the air. He moved to the counter, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, twisting off the cap with a casual motion. His eyes were averted, avoiding both Lou and me as he took a slow sip, the sound of water filling the silence in an oddly somber way.

Lou cleared his throat, the sound too loud in the stillness, before asking, “So, where are you staying tonight?”

Zack paused for a moment, his gaze flickering between us, like he was deciding whether to answer. Finally, he met our eyes, and a half-smile curled on his lips. There was a playful glint in his eyes, but it didn’t reach the rest of him. “In my new home,” he said lightly, his tone almost mocking, as if he were trying to joke about something that wasn’t funny at all.

He took another swig of water, his fingers lingering on the bottle for a second too long, and then placed it back on the counter. The motion was deliberate, like he was stalling for time, but the moment passed quickly.

Without saying another word, Zack turned to leave, his footsteps soft on the kitchen tiles. I watched him walk out of the room, the sound of his shoes fading as he made his way toward the front door.

“See you around,” he yelled, his voice still softer than before. The door creaked open, then shut with a finality that sent a shiver through me. The noise echoed through the house, leaving a hollow feeling behind it.

Lou and I stood in the kitchen, staring at the door like it might open again, like Zack might come back and tell us he’d changed his mind. But it didn’t. The silence was thick, and it settled around us like a weight neither of us could shake off.

“So... that’s it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, unsure of what to feel.

Lou didn’t answer right away. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor, his expression distant. Finally, he sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. “I guess so,” he said quietly, the words filled with more uncertainty than I wanted to admit. “It’s up to him now.”

I leaned against the opposite counter, fidgeting with my hands. Nervousness gnawed at me, a hundred questions racing through my mind. What did this mean for me and Lou? We hadn’t taken things any further than kisses and hugs for so long, just small moments of affection. But tonight? Everything had felt different. The touches, the closeness, the way his lips had moved with mine—it always was incredible. But the fear that I had crossed some line crept in again. Had my chance for anything real with him slipped away? Was this just a physical thing now? Something purely sexual?

“You’re zoning out on me again.” Lou’s voice was soft, but there was that familiar teasing edge in it.

I glanced up at him, startled by how close he’d moved. The dim kitchen light cast a warm glow over his face, making him look even more breathtaking, like he’d stepped out of some dream I hadn’t realized I was having. His muscles shifted as he moved slowly toward me, his movements deliberate, like he could read the uncertainty swirling in my mind.

“Was I?” I teased, my voice a little breathless as I looked up at him. Our chests almost brushed now, and I felt my heart beat a little faster. I tilted my head back slightly to meet his gaze, our lips just a breath apart.

He smiled, the kind of smile that sent a shiver down my spine. “Yeah, you were,” he murmured, his voice low, thick with something I couldn’t quite place. His eyes never left mine as he stepped in closer, his body almost touching mine now.

I could feel his breath against my lips, warm and steady. And yet, the questions that had been gnawing at me a moment ago still lingered in the back of my mind. What were we doing? Where was this going?

But when he looked at me like that, when I saw the way his expression softened, all the doubt seemed to melt away. He made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Lou’s voice was soft, but there was an edge of urgency to it, a quiet desperation that belied the calmness of his words. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmured, as if the weight of the question pressed on him as much as it did on me. It was a question I wasn’t ready to answer, not yet, not when I could barely decipher my own thoughts.

I shifted on my feet, my fingers playing nervously with the edge of the counter. The stillness between us only seemed to amplify the thudding of my heart. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was lost in a whirl of emotions—confusion, fear, anticipation—all swirling together in a haze I couldn't seem to break through.

“I don’t know,” I finally admitted, my voice barely more than a breath, the words escaping me like they had a life of their own. I had no answers to give him—not yet.

Without a word, he reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my face, the simple touch grounding me in a way that words couldn't.

I exhaled slowly, the weight of everything that had been pressing on my chest starting to lift, if only for a moment. Maybe things didn’t need to be resolved right away. Perhaps there was a way to move forward without rushing, without the pressure of finding all the answers.

“I think I’m scared,” I finally confessed, my voice cracking with the vulnerability that slipped out before I could stop it. The admission hung in the air, raw and unguarded. I hadn’t expected it. I hadn’t expected to feel so small, so fragile in the face of everything that had been happening between us.

Lou’s expression softened, a mix of tenderness and something else—something quieter, more knowing—in his eyes. His lips curved in a small, understanding smile, but there was sadness there too, as though he could see the fear in me, feel it in himself. He closed the distance between us, the final inch between us becoming irrelevant as he rested his forehead gently against mine.

“I’m scared too,” he murmured, his words like a tether, pulling me back to reality, to him. The weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying—anxiety, guilt, confusion—began to dissipate with his words, leaving only a feeling of quiet solace in its wake.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. His gaze was still intense, his eyes searching mine, as if he was trying to read every unspoken word on my face. Finally, he asked, the question soft yet insistent, “So, how do you feel now that Zack knows?”

I stood there, frozen for a moment. The question felt heavier than it should have. How did I feel? Was it a relief? Was it fear? There were too many emotions tangled together, none of them clean, none of them easily explained. Part of me wanted to tell him everything—my unease about the whole situation, the lingering discomfort of having our secret exposed—but the words didn’t come. I simply stood there in the quiet, unable to articulate what was churning inside me.

Lou didn’t rush me. He merely stepped closer, his hand coming to gently cup my cheek, his thumb brushing over the curve of my skin. He waited, sensing the hesitation in me without pressing, as though he understood that the answer would come when I was ready.

Finally, I whispered, my voice barely audible, “I don’t mind.”

A smile spread across his face—small but genuine, like a weight had been lifted from him too. It was a smile that said so much more than words could. Without another word, Lou closed the distance between us, his lips brushing softly against mine, tentative and searching, as if asking for permission that I’d already silently given.

I didn’t pull away. Instead, I let myself lean into him, letting the warmth of his kiss consume me. His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me in closer, deepening the kiss as if it was the only thing that mattered in that moment. His breath was warm against my skin, and I lost myself in the familiarity of him, in the way his presence made everything else feel distant and unimportant.

When the kiss finally broke, his forehead rested gently against mine, both of us breathing softly, as if the world outside had faded away. His voice, low and intimate, whispered into the space between us, “I don’t mind either.”

And with that, he kissed me again—a kiss full of promise, full of understanding, as though we were speaking a language only we could comprehend. At that moment, nothing else existed. It was just the two of us, and the quiet, unspoken truth that passed between us, leaving everything else to fall away.

Lou’s breath was still warm against my skin, and I could feel the pulse of his heart against mine as we lingered, just breathing, trying to piece together everything that had just happened. His hands, warm and steady, gently held me in place, as though he was afraid to let go, even for a moment.

After a beat, he pulled back slightly, his gaze soft but still intense. “Are you tired?” he asked, his voice quiet, as though he was trying not to disturb the fragile peace between us.

I felt the question settle in the air, and for a moment, I hesitated. The truth was, I wasn’t tired—not in the way he meant. I was emotionally drained, yes, but something about being with him in this quiet, safe space made me feel like I could keep going. But the vulnerability of the moment made my voice falter, and I found myself lowering my gaze, my cheeks flushing.

“No,” I murmured shyly, my words barely a whisper as I looked up at him from beneath my lashes. There was something in the way he looked at me that made me feel exposed and yet, at the same time, completely at ease. It was like he could see through every layer, every guard I had put up without even trying.

Lou smiled, the corner of his lips curling into a small, knowing expression. He nodded as if he understood exactly what I meant. Without saying a word, he extended his hand toward me, an unspoken invitation to follow him.

“Come on,” he said softly, his voice almost playful, but still carrying that underlying tenderness. “Let’s go upstairs.”

I didn’t need any more encouragement. With a smile, I placed my hand in his, allowing him to lead me back toward the staircase. His touch was warm and reassuring, and each step we took toward his room felt like another quiet promise between us, a continuation of everything that had happened—and everything that was yet to unfold.

The staircase creaked beneath our weight, but there was something comforting about the soft rhythm of our footsteps, the sound filling the quiet house. We reached the top, and Lou’s room was just ahead, the door ajar as if waiting for us.

He led me inside, closing the door behind us with a gentle click. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the nightlights casting long shadows along the walls. The bed, unmade from earlier, looked inviting in its simplicity, and I couldn’t help but feel a quiet excitement, mixed with a touch of nervousness, at the thought of being there with him.

Lou turned to face me, his expression soft but unreadable as he took a step closer, his hands resting at his sides. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched me with that same patient intensity.

I stood there for a moment, my heart racing as I tried to steady myself. It felt different now—being in his room, being alone with him. There was no more hiding, no more uncertainty. The truth had already been spoken, and now, it was just us.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice low, as though he was checking in again, making sure I was comfortable, that this was what I wanted.

I nodded slowly, my lips curling into a small smile. “Yeah,” I whispered, the word carrying more weight than I intended. “I’m okay.”

He smiled back, a slow, tender smile that made my heart flutter. Slowly, he reached for me again, his hands gentle as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering just long enough for me to feel it.

Then, with a quiet confidence, he stepped closer, his lips brushing softly against mine once more, as though he was savoring the moment, grounding both of us in the simplicity of the kiss. There was no rush now, no urgency. 

His lips lingered for a moment before he pulled back just enough for me to see the warmth in his eyes. His fingers, still intertwined with mine, gave a gentle squeeze—reassuring, steady. 

Lou exhaled softly, his forehead resting against mine for a fleeting second before he pulled away entirely, his hands still ghosting over my skin. He looked at me, really looked at me, as if searching for any trace of hesitation. But there was none. Not anymore.

He gave me a small smile, one that made my stomach flutter. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice deep and warm, inviting.

With that, he led me toward the bed, moving slowly, never letting go of my hand. The mattress dipped beneath us as we sat down, side by side. There was no rush to fill the space with words, no need to justify what we both already knew. 

Lou leaned back slightly, propping himself up on his elbows as he watched me. The dim lighting cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp edges of his jaw, the curve of his lips. He looked impossibly at ease, like this—like us—was something natural, something that didn’t need to be forced or questioned.

I shifted, turning to face him fully, pulling my legs up beneath me. “You seem… calm,” I noted, tilting my head slightly as I studied him.

Lou chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Should I not be?”

I hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I thought maybe you’d be—” I cut myself off, suddenly unsure of what I was even trying to say.

“Nervous?” he finished for me, his lips quirking up in amusement. He reached out then, his fingers tracing absentmindedly along my arm, sending a shiver down my spine. “I’m not nervous. Not with you.”

Something about the way he said it, so simple, made my chest tighten. I swallowed, looking down at our hands where his thumb was brushing idly against my skin. “I think I was, before,” I admitted softly. “But not now.”

Lou’s smile softened, his eyes searching mine. “Good.”

Then, with a careful ease, he pulled me toward him, guiding me down beside him on the bed. His arm looped around my waist as I settled against him, the warmth of his body radiating into mine. It felt natural, effortless.

For a long moment, we just lay there in the quiet, breathing in sync, our fingers still tangled together. I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or what any of this really meant in the long run. But right now, with Lou’s steady heartbeat beneath my cheek and his arm wrapped securely around me, I knew one thing for certain.

I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Chapter Text

The test was far more difficult than I had anticipated. The questions blurred together, their meanings slipping through my grasp like sand. I had studied for this—I had spent weeks preparing, pouring over notes, rehearsing every possible scenario in my head. So why did my mind feel like a blank slate now?

Pen poised in my hand, the tip hovering just above the paper, I could do nothing but stare. The crisp white sheet before me was filled with words that should have made sense, yet they felt foreign, like a language I had never learned. My pulse quickened, the steady ticking of the clock growing louder, more insistent. I needed to focus. I needed to move. But instead, I sat frozen. 

Mr. Calloway sat at his desk at the front of the lecture hall, his head bent over a stack of papers, pen moving in steady, deliberate strokes. The quiet scratching of his grading filled the otherwise silent room, broken only by the occasional shuffle of a page or the soft sighs of students lost in thought.

My eyes drifted, scanning the scattered figures around me—some hunched over their desks, scribbling furiously, others staring blankly at their papers, deep in thought or quiet frustration. A few had their brows furrowed, gnawing at their pens as if willing the answers to materialize.

With a sharp inhale, I forced my gaze back down to my own paper, but the words swam before me, rearranging themselves into nonsense.

Jesus Christ.

I can’t do this.

Time slipped away, and before I knew it, I was scribbling down whatever came to mind—disjointed theories, half-formed arguments, rushed analyses of frameworks that I knew I should have been able to explain with ease. It wasn’t enough. Not for the grade I wanted. Not for what I knew I was capable of.

What was wrong with me? I had studied for this. Weeks of preparation, endless readings, debates in class that I had actively participated in. We had spent months dissecting these topics—governance structures, political ideologies—breaking them down, analyzing every argument from every possible angle. Three months, maybe longer. Had it all just gone over my head? Or had the pressure of this moment wiped my mind blank?

The sharp ring of the test bell jolted me from my spiraling thoughts. A collective rustling filled the lecture hall as students lifted their heads, stretching cramped fingers and closing their exam booklets. At the front of the room, Mr. Calloway looked up from his desk, adjusting his glasses as he instructed us to place our completed tests at the front before heading out.

With a resigned sigh, I gathered my things, slinging my bag over my shoulder before making my way down the steps. The weight of the exam clung to me, heavy and suffocating, but I forced my expression into something neutral as I reached his desk.

“How’d it go?” Mr. Calloway asked, offering me an easy smile, his pen still poised over another test.

I hesitated, then forced a small smile in return. “It went… well, I think,” I lied, my voice a little too light, a little too forced.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “That’s good to hear. Have a nice weekend.”

“You too, Mr. Calloway,” I replied, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder before heading toward the door.

As I stepped into the hallway, I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. The test was finally over. There was nothing more I could do, yet somehow, that realization didn't offer the relief I expected. Students brushed past me, ushering me along as we made our way toward the exit.

Outside, the air had shifted, carrying the warmth of early May. The last remnants of snow had melted away, leaving behind damp pavement and the scent of fresh earth. A soft breeze tugged at the loose strands of my hair as I stepped onto the campus walkway, sunlight filtering through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

I walked for a while, letting the quiet settle my nerves, hoping the fresh air would clear my head. But before I could lose myself in my thoughts, a familiar voice cut through the stillness.

“Hey! How’d it go?”

I turned just as Lou jogged up beside me, his bag slung over one shoulder, his usual easy grin in place. He wore a black, loosely fitted sweater that hung effortlessly over his frame, paired with jeans that fit him just right. There was an undeniable ease to the way he carried himself, like the stress of exam season barely touched him.

He fell into step beside me without hesitation, his gaze searching mine, waiting for an answer.

I groaned in response, pressing my fingers to my temples as if that would somehow erase the last two agonizing hours. “Don’t,” I muttered, shaking my head.

Lou chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets as we walked. “That bad, huh?”

I shot him a sideways glance, unimpressed. “Did I stutter?”

He laughed, bumping his shoulder against mine in an attempt to lighten my mood. “Alright, I won’t ask.” A brief silence passed before he added, “But I still think you probably did better than you think.”

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Doubtful.”

Shaking off my frustration, I glanced over at him. “How about you? Didn’t your group get their results back yet?”

“Yeah, actually,” he said, shifting his bag off his shoulder and unzipping it, fishing for something inside.

Lou pulled out a thick stack of paper, the one his group had handed in weeks ago. Only now, it was covered in red markings—the kind that usually spelled disaster. But in bold, unmistakable ink at the top corner, was a bright, perfect 100% .

My eyes widened. “Jesus, Lou!” I stopped in my tracks, grabbing his arm before he could take another step. “That’s amazing!”

I threw my arms around him, excitement overtaking me. He let out a laugh but didn’t hesitate to return the hug, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close.

“Yeah?” he murmured against my hair, his voice warm, laced with amusement.

“Yeah!” I pulled back just enough to look up at him, beaming. “You’re a genius. I knew you’d do well, but this? This is insane!”

He smirked, shrugging like it was nothing, but I could see the pride in his eyes. “Guess all those late nights actually paid off.”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “Oh, shut up. You deserve this.”

His arms tightened around me for a second before he finally let go, his smile softening. “Thanks,” he said, quieter now, like it actually meant something to him.

We stood there for a moment, the buzz of campus life moving around us, but in that second, it was just us. Just Lou and me, standing in the sun, wrapped up in something that felt easy. Natural.

And then, of course, he ruined it.

“You know,” he mused, tucking the paper back into his bag. “If you ever need a tutor, I might be willing to squeeze you into my schedule.”

I scoffed, nudging him as we started walking again. “Don’t push your luck, professor.”

Lou chuckled, the sound low and warm, before reaching for my hand without hesitation. His fingers slid between mine, a natural, easy motion.

My heart stuttered for just a second, but I didn’t even think about it. Instead, I let him hold my hand as we fell into step together, the weight of the day slowly melting away.

The walk home was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The May air was crisp but not cold, the scent of freshly bloomed flowers lingering in the breeze. Students milled about around us, their laughter and chatter filling the campus pathways.

Lou’s thumb brushed absentmindedly over my knuckles, a small, thoughtless movement, but one that sent a warmth through me I wasn’t sure I was ready to acknowledge.

I felt the frustration bubbling up again as I stopped just before we reached the path home, my fingers still entwined with Lou’s. The quiet was different now, thick with tension. It wasn’t the comfortable silence we had earlier—it was the kind that comes before an outburst, when you’ve been holding something in for what now had become too long.

I pulled my hand from his and crossed my arms tightly over my chest, pacing for a moment before I let it all spill out. “I don’t get it, Lou,” I said, the words sharp. “I studied for weeks. Hours. And still, I sat there, staring at that stupid test like I had no idea what any of it meant. It felt like it was written in a different language. None of it made sense.”

Lou didn’t speak right away. He just let me talk, his gaze soft, patient, waiting for me to get it all out. But the more I spoke, the angrier I got.

“I thought I had this down. I should have it down. This is my major for God’s sake. This should be my thing. And yet… when I needed it the most, I couldn’t get a single answer out of my head.” My voice cracked as the frustration boiled over. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

Lou stepped closer, his presence steady and calm, like a reminder that I wasn’t completely losing it. He reached out, his hand brushing my shoulder gently, a quiet comfort in the midst of my storm. “Hey,” he said softly. “You’re allowed to be frustrated. This stuff’s tough. I don’t get everything either, it's not weird.”

I shook my head, desperate. “It’s not just that. It’s not about the test anymore. I spent hours on this. Sacrificed my time for it. And now… it feels like all of it was for nothing. Like I’m pretending to be good at this, pretending to be smart. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Lou didn’t let me spiral. He stepped forward, wrapped me in an embrace, and pulled me close. His chin rested gently on the top of my head, his warmth seeping through me as if he could absorb some of the anger, the self-doubt, the frustration I was carrying.

“You’re not pretending,” he murmured, his voice soothing, grounding. “You’ve been doing the work. You’re putting in the time. One test doesn’t change any of that. You’re allowed to have off days.”

I buried my face against his chest, trying to breathe. His words helped, but I still felt like there was more to say. The weight of everything, the constant pressure to be perfect, was too much. I couldn’t just let it go.

“But it’s not just about the test,” I said again, my voice muffled against him. “It’s everything. The expectations, the pressure to always be on top of things. To be perfect. To get everything right every single time. I don’t know how to handle it. I feel like I’m failing before I even start.”

He was quiet for a moment, letting my words hang in the air between us. Finally, he spoke again, his voice soft and reassuring. “No one expects you to be perfect, not even you. It’s okay to fail sometimes, you know? Hell, I’ve failed plenty of times.”

I shook my head, not fully believing him. “But you don’t—”

"Yeah, I do," Lou interrupted softly, his voice steady yet gentle. He reached up, his thumb brushing away a tear I hadn’t even realized had fallen. “Everyone does. We all have moments where we stumble, where things don’t go the way we planned. But that doesn’t take away from who we are. It doesn’t make you any less. You’re still you. And you, no matter what a test says, are incredible.”

The tears only made me feel weaker, childish. I was a grown woman, someone with responsibilities, ambitions, a future to build—yet here I was, breaking over a test like it defined me. It was pathetic. I was pathetic.

His words settled in the quiet space between us, and I let them wrap around me like a warm blanket. Maybe it was okay not to have it all figured out though. Maybe it was okay to struggle. Maybe this wasn’t the end of the world, even if it felt like it was.

With a deep breath, I let myself relax in his arms. And as I closed my eyes for a moment, I let myself believe him. In the stillness of the moment, Lou leaned back slightly, his hand gently cupping my chin.

His eyes met mine, full of warmth and sincerity, and before I could fully process it, his lips pressed against mine—soft, brief, yet enough to send a rush of warmth through me. The kiss was a simple reassurance, a momentary connection that spoke more than words ever could.

When he pulled back, his gaze didn’t waver. He whispered, his voice low and sincere, "You're the smartest, most beautiful women I've ever seen and had the pleasure of knowing in my entire life. You're perfect." 

He kissed me again, this time with a little more insistence, his lips warm and gentle against mine. But before I could fully melt into the moment, I pulled away, shaking my head, grabbing his hand with a dramatic groan.

“You’re teasing me,” I said, trying to sound frustrated, but the smile tugging at the corners of my lips gave me away.

Lou chuckled behind me, his laugh rich and carefree. “I’m not,” he teased, a playful spark in his eyes.

“Yes, you are,” I replied, narrowing my eyes at him, the tension between us shifting. “C’mon, let’s get drunk,” I added with a half grin, which only made him laugh harder.

“Now you’re talking,” he said, pulling me along as we started walking, the afternoon air cool.

The house was buzzing with pre-party energy—music playing softly in the background, red cups being stacked on the kitchen counter, and snacks placed strategically around the rooms. The scent of popcorn and something sweet lingered in the air as last-minute preparations were being made.

Lou and I stepped inside, closing the door behind us. The place was still quiet, only the handful of us who had arrived early moving around, making sure everything was set before the real chaos began. I kicked off my shoes, Lou following suit, when a familiar voice called from the common room.

“Hey, guys!” Sam’s voice carried over the music. “Could you come in here for a second?”

Lou glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. I shrugged, nudging his arm before heading toward the common room, curiosity prickling at the back of my mind.

“What’s up?” Lou asked as we walked in, dropping his bag near the coat rack. I did the same, rolling my shoulders now that the weight was finally off me.

Sam straightened, brushing her hair back as she glanced at us. “I was wondering if you two could set up the backyard? It’s not supposed to be that cold tonight, so maybe get a fire started, fix up the seating a little.”

Lou shot me a look, his lips twitching into a smirk. “You hear that? She wants us to be in charge of fire.”

I sighed, already making my way toward the back door. “As long as we don’t burn the house down.”

Sam snorted, crossing her arms. “Please don’t. I actually like living here.”

Lou chuckled, nudging me lightly as he followed. We walked through the kitchen, past the counter stacked with red cups and half-arranged snack bowls, before pushing open the door leading to the backyard.

The air was crisp but carried a lingering warmth from earlier in the day. String lights hung overhead, unlit for now, casting soft shadows against the fence. A few chairs were scattered around, but the firepit sat empty, a pile of wood stacked nearby, waiting.

Lou exhaled, rubbing his hands together. “Alright,” he said, glancing at me with a grin. “Let’s get this started.”

Lou didn’t hesitate, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater as he moved toward the firewood stacked neatly against the fence. He crouched down, grabbing a few logs, testing their weight before carrying them over to the fire pit. Meanwhile, I busied myself gathering the kindling—small, dry twigs and scraps of bark left in a crate nearby. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get the fire going.

“This better not take all night,” I mused, arranging the smaller pieces into a teepee shape inside the pit.

Lou smirked as he placed the logs down. “What, impatient already?”

I shot him a look. “You’re the one who said we’d get a fire started. I’m just here making sure you don’t mess it up.”

He feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest. “I’m hurt. Deeply.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing the long-stemmed lighter from the crate—left there by whoever had used the pit last—and flicked the switch. A small flame sparked to life, and I carefully guided it toward the dry twigs, watching as the fire caught. The soft crackling of burning wood filled the quiet backyard, smoke curling lazily into the air.

Lou watched the flames for a moment, hands on his hips. “Not bad. Maybe you are more useful than you look.”

I gasped, nudging him with my shoulder. “Rude.”

He chuckled, but his gaze softened as he looked down at me. “I’ll be back in a sec. Try not to miss me too much.”

I scoffed, waving him off. “I’ll try to manage.”

As he disappeared, I turned my attention back to the backyard. It was still mostly empty, just the fire pit and a few scattered chairs left from previous gatherings. I started setting them up, dragging some closer to the fire for warmth while placing others around the space, giving people room to sit and talk without roasting themselves. The air smelled like burning wood, the heat from the flames warming my face despite the cool breeze.

Just as I finished adjusting the last chair, the sound of the door opening caught my attention. I turned—and froze.

Lou stood there, a devilish grin on his lips. In his hands, held with far too much amusement, was a garden hose.

My eyes narrowed instantly. “Lou. No. ”

His grin widened. “What?”

“You know what.”

He lifted the hose slightly, aiming it in my direction. “You look a little warm.”

I took a slow step back, shaking my head. “Lou, I swear to God—”

Before I could finish, a sudden blast of ice-cold water shot out, hitting me square in the side. I let out a startled yelp, jumping back as the chill seeped through my shirt. “Luigi!”

His laughter echoed through the yard, unrestrained and completely unapologetic. He barely had time to react before I lunged at him, grabbing for the hose. He dodged, stepping back, but I was quicker. With a victorious grin, I yanked it from his hands, flipping the nozzle back on.

“Oh, you did not just—”

A sharp spray of water cut him off, hitting him square in the chest.

He gasped, stumbling back as the freezing water soaked into his sweater. “ Oh, you’re gonna pay for that. ”

I laughed, stepping back as he tried to grab the hose again. “You started it!”

“And I’m finishing it.”

I dodged him again, turning the hose on him once more, watching as his sweater darkened with water, his curls dripping as he ran a hand through them. He was a mess—wet, breathless, and grinning like an idiot.

I slowed, lowering the hose slightly. “You look good like this,” I mused, half-teasing, half-serious.

Lou arched a brow, stepping closer despite his soaked clothes. “Oh yeah?” His voice had dropped, smooth and teasing.

I hummed in response, reaching out. My fingers threaded through his damp curls, pushing them back from his face, and he leaned into the touch slightly. His gaze flickered to my lips, then back to my eyes.

“Y’know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, “you’re really lucky I like you.”

I smirked, glancing around to see if anyone was watching before replying, "Oh, I’m lucky?"

Before he could respond, I leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. He responded immediately, his hands settling on my waist, pulling me closer despite the wet fabric clinging to both of us. His lips moved against mine, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to take his time, to savor it.

When I finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath warm against my skin.

“We should probably get changed before the party starts,” I whispered.

Lou sighed dramatically, his hands squeezing my waist before he pulled away. “Fine. But only because I don’t want people thinking I can’t handle a little water.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the house. “C’mon, water boy. ”

He chuckled, following me inside, laughter still lingering between us as we disappeared into the warmth of the house.

The shower was warm, the steam curling around us like a soft embrace. The water cascaded down my skin, washing away the tension of the day, but nothing soothed me more than Lou’s touch—gentle, deliberate, grounding.

His hands moved over my shoulders, slow and methodical, working the lather into my skin. He picked up the loofah, running it over my arms, my back, my sides—never rushing, never careless. It wasn’t about anything more than this moment, the quiet intimacy of simply existing together, two people sharing space, sharing warmth.

Showering together had become our solace, a ritual of sorts. It wasn’t about sex, never had been. It was about comfort, about being close in a world that so often felt too fast, too demanding. Here, in the small confines of the bathroom, there was only us.

He placed the loofah back on the shelf and switched to using his hands, pressing his thumbs into my shoulders, kneading at the knots I hadn’t even realized had formed. A quiet sigh escaped me as his fingers worked their way down my back, pressing, soothing, unraveling the tension I carried.

“This okay?” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the rush of water.

I let my head tilt forward slightly, eyes fluttering shut as I melted under his touch. “Yeah,” I whispered.

His hands lingered, moving in slow, careful circles, like he had all the time in the world. And maybe, at this moment, we did.

Lou’s hands moved lower, trailing over my arms before wrapping around my waist, pulling me gently against him. The warmth of his chest pressed to my back, steady and strong, grounding me in the moment. He reached for the handheld showerhead, adjusting the spray before letting the water cascade down my skin, rinsing away the lather.

His touch was deliberate, guiding the water over my shoulders, down my arms, along my spine. His fingers followed, chasing away the suds, smoothing over my skin in slow, unhurried strokes. Every motion was careful, unrushed—like he wanted to take his time, to savor the quiet intimacy of caring for me.

I exhaled, relaxing further into him, my body molding against his. His fingers brushed over my collarbone, then down my arms again, his movements gentle yet sure. When the last traces of soap had been washed away, he turned me toward him, the water still streaming between us, warm and comforting.

His gaze searched mine, something soft and unreadable flickering in his expression before he dipped his head. His lips met mine in a slow, lingering kiss, his hands cradling my face as if I was something delicate, something to be cherished. The kiss was neither urgent nor demanding—just a quiet reassurance, a promise spoken without words.

The water continued to fall around us, steam curling in the small space, but none of it mattered. Just him. Just us.

His lips brushed against mine once more before he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against mine, his thumbs gently stroking my cheeks. “All clean,” he murmured, his voice low, warm, teasing.

I let out a soft laugh, my hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips. “You’re awfully thorough,” I teased back, my voice hushed, as if speaking any louder would break the quiet spell woven around us.

His lips curved into a small smile. “Only for you.”

And with that, he kissed me again, the water still falling, the world beyond the bathroom fading away.

We turned off the water, the last of the steam rising around us as we wrapped ourselves in towels and made our way to my room. Lou’s clothes were scattered across the floor—his jeans tossed haphazardly, his shirt crumpled up in a corner, all of it adding to the chaos of my room.

I walked toward my closet, scanning the rows of clothes before pulling out a simple white top, holding it up in front of me. "What do you think of this?" I asked, standing in front of him, clad now only in black panties and a lace bra.

Lou, still sprawled out on my bed with the towel low on his hips, didn't even look up immediately. He was engrossed in the pages of a book, but I could see the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet mine, that familiar playful glint lighting up his eyes.

"Oh, yeah," he said, dragging the words out with a teasing grin. "Definitely want you to wear that. But... maybe just the bra and panties?" His eyebrow arched, clearly reveling in his own teasing. “I wouldn’t be mad about that at all.”

I raised an eyebrow, tossing a shirt from nearby at him. "Shut up."

Lou caught it effortlessly and flung it aside, still laughing. "Hey, I'm just giving my honest opinion," he said, leaning back into the pillows. "You asked for fashion advice, and I'm saying less is definitely more."

I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress a smile. "You really are ridiculous," I muttered, pretending to search for another outfit while trying to ignore him. But the heat creeping up my neck was a dead giveaway that I wasn’t as unaffected as I was trying to seem.

Lou wasn’t done, of course. He leaned up on his elbows, his grin widening. "You know, you don’t need anything else. But, if you insist," he said with mock reluctance, "I guess I'll let you wear the top." He sank back into the pillows, clearly enjoying himself too much.

I grabbed another outfit, tossing it onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh. "You’re not even helping me, just being mean."

Lou's smirk only deepened as he got up, tossing his book onto the bed. "I know, I’m sorry." he said, stepping closer to me.

I barely had time to register his movement before he shook his head, flicking water from his wet hair. The droplets splashed directly onto me, a few landing on my bare skin, sending a chill through me.

“Really?” I said, wiping the water off, eyes narrowing playfully. “Is this how you’re going to play it?”

Lou chuckled, shrugging, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Couldn’t help myself.” He stepped closer, running his fingers through his damp curls. “You know you look way too good right now. Couldn’t resist getting you a little wet.”

He leaned in, closing the distance between us as his lips captured mine in a deep, heated kiss. His hands found their way to my bare waist, gripping me gently but firmly, pulling me closer. The clothes I had been holding slipped from my grasp, falling to the floor as I instinctively reached up, my hands finding his shoulders, anchoring myself to him.

His tongue brushed against my lips, teasing, asking for permission with a gentle pressure, then deepening the kiss as if silently begging for more. I responded without hesitation, meeting him halfway, surrendering to the warmth and connection. The world outside seemed to fade away as the kiss deepened, a soft, quiet moment between us that felt more meaningful than anything else.

His hand slid over my bare shoulder, his fingers grazing the strap of my bra. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he tugged it gently, the strap snapping back with a quiet smack .

"Ow," I whispered, pulling away slightly, my fingers brushing the spot where it stung.

Lou’s soft chuckle echoed in the small space, and he looked at me with a mixture of amusement and affection. "What? I couldn’t resist," he murmured, the words a gentle confession as he reached up to tuck a stray damp lock of hair behind my ear.

I couldn't help but smile despite myself, the warmth of his gaze making my chest tighten with something I couldn't quite put into words. Before I could say anything, though, he closed the distance between us again, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was tender but deep. 

His hands moved slowly, not rushing, just tracing the curve of my waist and back, grounding me with each touch. The kiss deepened, and for a moment, all I could focus on was the feel of him, the way his lips fit perfectly against mine, the way his presence seemed to steady the world around us.

When he pulled away just a fraction, his forehead resting gently against mine, he whispered, "I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you." His voice was soft, sincere, and it made my heart race in ways I didn’t expect.

I smiled, my fingers finding the side of his face, my thumb brushing his cheek. "You’re annoying,” I whispered, but the words held no weight—just affection, just the soft warmth of everything unsaid between us.

I stood there, just a breath away from Lou, my heart still racing from the kiss we’d shared. It wasn’t hurried or desperate, but slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment. When he pulled away, his eyes were soft and full of something deeper than playfulness—something more genuine, and for a second, it felt like the world outside of this room didn’t matter at all.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice low, almost tender. His lips brushed mine again, this time slower, lingering longer, as though grounding us both in the simplicity of just being together. It wasn’t a kiss that promised anything more than what it was. But it was perfect.

Just as I let my hands trace the shape of his jaw, a sharp knock on the door startled both of us, pulling us out of the moment. Lou broke away first, an easy, almost lazy smile curling on his lips as his eyes flicked toward the door. I quickly stepped back, heart pounding in my chest.

“Are you done soon?” Evelyn’s voice called from the other side of the door. I could hear the impatience in her tone, and it made my stomach flip.

I froze, momentarily at a loss for what to do. I glanced at Lou, who was unfazed, completely at ease. In fact, he wasn’t rushing to get dressed like I was. Instead, he walked casually toward my bed and dropped onto it, settling into the mess of pillows. The towel still hung low on his hips, his muscles glistening from the shower, as he reached for the book that was carelessly tossed aside earlier. He flipped it open, completely unbothered by the sudden interruption.

I scrambled to find the top I had just picked out. It had fallen somewhere in the chaos of the moment, and as I crouched down to grab it, I could feel Lou’s eyes on me, full of amusement. My face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and frustration stirring in my chest.

I finally grabbed the top and pulled it over my head, doing my best to ignore the heat spreading to my cheeks. The chaos of the moment felt like it was only intensifying, and I had to concentrate on not sounding too flustered.

“One second!” I called out, my voice rising a little higher than usual. It was shaky, but I hoped Evelyn wouldn’t notice.

I quickly straightened myself up, glancing at Lou, who was sprawled out on my bed, his long legs stretched across the covers. He had all the time in the world, and he knew it. His towel draped low, just barely clinging to his hips as he leaned back, lazily flipping through the pages of his book. The sight of him so relaxed, so calm, while I was panicking, did nothing to ease my nerves. If anything, it made my frustration bubble up even more.

“Really, Lou?” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head as I moved over to the bed, annoyed at how effortlessly he was handling this.

“You need to get dressed,” I said, though the words came out more like a weak request than an order. I couldn’t even keep a straight face.

He looked up from his book, not missing a beat, and his lips twitched into a knowing grin. “Why?” he said, his voice low, smooth. He didn’t look in a hurry to cover up. "Am I not sexy enough for you?" He gestured dramatically to his bare chest, his smirk widening as he stretched out lazily on the bed.

I rolled my eyes, exhaling in frustration. “Please,” I whispered, though it was clear I was amused despite my best efforts not to be.

Lou chuckled under his breath, unbothered. “You can’t tell me you’re not enjoying the view,” he teased, his voice deep, flirtatious, as he leaned back, clearly loving the chaos he was causing.

I grabbed a shirt from my closet and threw it in his direction, not even aiming, but hoping it would hit him. "Just put something on."

He caught the shirt easily, only to toss it aside with a grin that said he had no intention of listening. “Come on,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

I shook my head, the situation was quickly growing more uncomfortable. There was no time to keep bickering with him.

I moved toward the door, pulling on the first pair of jeans I found, trying to ignore the sensation of still-wet skin against denim. It drove me crazy, but there wasn’t time to worry about that now. I quickly grabbed the doorknob, hoping to get out of the situation before Evelyn became too suspicious.

“We’ll be down in a minute,” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady and cool. “Just go ahead without us.”

I wasn’t fast enough. Evelyn’s voice came through the door again, this time tinged with suspicion. "We? Who’s in there with you?"

My stomach flipped. My heart skipped a beat. I could already feel the panic creeping up. I couldn’t afford to be caught in a lie, not now. My brain scrambled for an answer, but I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone. I couldn’t let her suspect anything.

“No one,” I blurted out, maybe a little too quickly. My voice cracked slightly as I continued. “Just me. Changing. I’ll be down in a minute!”

It was too rushed, too defensive. I could already hear Lou’s soft laughter from behind me as he shot me an amused look. “Good job,” he whispered, his grin widening. “You’re not exactly convincing.”

“No one’s talking to you,” I whispered, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. I quickly pulled my jeans over my legs, hoping Evelyn wouldn’t hear how frantic I felt.

From the other side of the door, Evelyn called out again, her voice much lighter this time but still probing. "Who’s ‘no one,’ exactly? Come on, what’s going on in there?"

I froze, and Lou didn’t even try to hide his amusement. He looked like he was enjoying this far too much. His eyes sparkled, and that teasing smirk of his was as evident as ever.

I pressed my forehead against the door, hoping Evelyn would give up. “Please, Evelyn, can you just give me a minute?” I called out, trying to sound calm despite the turmoil inside me. “It’s not a good time.”

Evelyn didn’t seem ready to give up yet. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on in there. Seriously, what’s the big deal? Let me in!”

I could feel my patience snapping, but I kept my voice steady. “Please, don’t come in!” I almost begged, my hand still gripping the doorknob. Lou’s eyes were on me, but I couldn’t tell whether he was finding this more entertaining than anything else.

“Looks like you’re in a bit of a bind,” he whispered, his voice playful and quiet, but there was something behind it—something that made my pulse quicken.

“Shut up, Lou,” I muttered, but it was hard not to laugh. I could hear Evelyn’s footsteps growing louder as she approached the door.

Finally, I resigned myself to the situation, taking a deep breath. “I’ll be down in a second,” I called out again, this time quieter, but with just enough firmness. “Just go ahead without me.”

There was a long pause, and then Evelyn’s voice came back, still teasing but with a hint of acceptance. "Fine, but I’ll be expecting you down soon."

I exhaled a long, slow breath, turning away from the door and giving Lou a glare that could only be described as a mixture of exasperation and affection.

“Thanks for the help,” I muttered.

He only grinned wider. “Anytime.”

He rose from the bed and sauntered over to my desk, where his clothes were strewn about. His hand hovered just above the towel, the fabric hanging loosely at his waist, pausing for a moment as his eyes met mine. There was a playful smirk tugging at his lips, his gaze steady with mischief.

“Want to watch, or are you gonna turn around?” His voice was teasing, like he enjoyed catching me off guard. The spark in his eyes only made it worse, and my stomach flipped at his audacity.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I quickly averted my gaze, trying to hide the blush creeping up my neck. "It’s not like I haven’t seen it before," I muttered under my breath, my fingers stiff as I picked up my hairbrush and tried to focus on my reflection in the mirror, praying he wouldn’t notice my reaction.

I heard the towel drop to the floor, the sound of fabric against skin before his movements followed behind me. A soft sigh slipped from his lips, almost too loud in the quiet room. I couldn't help but sneak a glance at him in the mirror, catching the effortless ease with which he moved. He seemed entirely comfortable in his own skin.

"That's true," he murmured, his voice taking on a lower, more teasing note. I could hear the smile in his tone as he continued, "You do enjoy sucking me off."

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. My mind barely registered the words before my head snapped around to face him, eyes wide with shock. There he stood, grinning like a cat who’d just caught a mouse, unfazed and entirely too confident. He was already dressed in his boxers, pulling a matching white shirt over his head with slow, deliberate movements. His black jeans followed, the fabric sliding over his legs.

I opened my mouth, the words failing me. My mind was still catching up with what he’d just said. I was too stunned to speak, too caught off guard by his bluntness. He was getting under my skin, and he knew it.

With a final tug, he pulled his jeans on and stepped toward me, his presence filling the space between us. I turned back to the mirror, trying to gather myself, trying to regain control. It wasn’t easy, not when he was standing so close, so effortlessly at ease, while I was a whirlwind of nervous energy. His gaze felt heavy on the back of my neck, like he was studying me, and I could practically hear the amusement in his silence.

I focused on my reflection, willing my hands not to tremble as I finished putting on the last touches of my makeup. My face burned with embarrassment, the heat of it spreading across my skin. I could sense him watching me—no, enjoying watching me squirm.

His eyes locked onto mine in the mirror, and my pulse skipped in a way I couldn’t quite explain. His smile was more subtle now, but the glint in his eyes hadn’t faded. He knew exactly what he was doing to me.

I couldn't let him see how much I was affected, though. Not like this. I rolled my eyes, trying to mask the flutter in my chest with annoyance. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” I said, my voice a little sharper than I intended, but the words were the only defense I had left.

He chuckled, the sound warm and low. “Hey, I’m just being honest,” he replied, his voice taking on a playful, light tone. “Besides, you’re the one who keeps making it easy.” He was still standing close behind me, but I could feel his presence in a way that made my skin tingle. He enjoyed this, the back-and-forth, the way he could make me flustered without even trying.

I stole another glance at him, catching his eyes in the mirror again. He hadn’t moved, but I could feel the weight of his stare, the way it seemed to hold me captive even when he wasn’t saying anything. 

"Easy, huh?" I echoed, my voice quieter now. I was trying to keep the edge out of it, but his words had already sunk in deeper than I cared to admit. I tried to keep my cool, but it wasn’t working. I turned away from him, my back to him now as I adjusted the hem of my top, focusing on anything but the way my heart was racing.

He leaned in closer, and I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said softly, his voice still teasing but with something else beneath it, something a little warmer, more sincere. His hand brushed my shoulder lightly, sending a small jolt through me.

I held my breath, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react again. “Of course you didn’t,” I said, trying for nonchalance but failing. “You never mean anything you say, do you?”

He laughed softly, his voice full of affection mixed with mischief. “Is that what you think of me?” His words hung in the air for a moment before he added, “Maybe not the part about sucking me off but I mean everything else.”

I rolled my eyes before glancing at him, catching that genuine smile of his. It threw me off—one moment he was teasing me relentlessly, and the next he was looking at me like I meant something more than just the joke. It left me feeling strangely exposed, and I wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“Is that so?” I asked, my voice quieter now, still trying to play it cool. “I’m supposed to believe that?”

Lou raised an eyebrow, shrugging and then taking a step closer, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on me.

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding a little faster than I was comfortable with. “I guess I’ll take your word for it,” I said, half-seriously, half-joking.

He flashed me a playful wink, then his expression softened just enough that I caught a glimpse of something else—something warmer beneath all the teasing.

"You okay?" Lou asked, his voice softer now, genuinely checking in.

I nodded quickly, trying to hide how flustered I was. "Yeah, fine."

His hand reached up to push a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing my skin in the process. It wasn’t anything intense, but it still made me pause. And then, as if he couldn’t resist, Lou leaned in close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, placing a light, playful kiss just behind my ear.

“Just making sure,” he said with a teasing glint in his eyes, pulling back slightly to gauge my reaction.

Finally, I gave him a nudge, forcing myself to focus on something other than him. “You should get dressed. I’m not waiting forever.”

Lou grinned at me, eyes twinkling with mischief, and before I could stop him, he leaned in and planted a hard kiss on my cheek, catching me off guard. His lips lingered for a second, just enough to make my heart skip a beat, before he pulled back, his grin widening even more.

The party was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of bonfire smoke, spilled drinks, and the faint sweetness of whatever someone was vaping nearby. Music thumped from the speakers set up on the porch, a mix of old throwbacks and bass-heavy beats that rattled through the ground. People were everywhere—sprawled out on blankets, dancing in clusters, laughing over shouted conversations.

Lou and I had arrived together, but the second we stepped into the chaos, we wordlessly separated, slipping into different directions like we always did. It was a silent agreement—less attention, fewer questions.

I weaved through the yard, drink in hand, searching for familiar faces until I spotted Evelyn near the fire pit, tucked into a lawn chair between Sam and Ellie. Her dark curls glowed auburn in the firelight as she laughed at something Sam was saying, her drink sloshing dangerously close to the edge of her cup. They looked completely at ease, lost in their own world.

I grinned and made my way over. “Heeey!” I called, raising my drink in greeting.

Evelyn’s head snapped up, her face breaking into a wide smile. “Finally! Where have you been?”

Before I could answer, she reached out and grabbed my wrist, yanking me down onto the chair with her. I barely caught myself, landing half on the edge, my weight sinking into hers. The chair creaked in protest, and I let out a short laugh, but she just wrapped an arm around my waist like she had no intention of letting me move.

"You took forever to get here," she accused, tilting her head against my shoulder.

I shrugged, slipping my arm around her shoulders in return. “I took a shower.”

Evelyn hummed, narrowing her eyes like she didn’t quite believe me, but she let it slide—for now. She raised her cup, and I clinked mine against hers, both of us taking a sip in unison. The alcohol was warm and sweet, spreading down my throat like liquid heat.

For a moment, we just sat there, watching the fire crackle and spit embers into the night. The warmth of Evelyn’s body against mine, the low hum of laughter and conversation around us—it was one of those rare, effortless moments where everything felt easy.

But then—

“Sooo…” Evelyn started, drawing out the word, and I knew instantly that my peace was about to be shattered. “Who was in your room earlier?”

My fingers tightened slightly around my drink, but I didn’t let it show.

Instead, I took another slow sip, keeping my eyes on the fire. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," I said smoothly, keeping my tone casual.

Evelyn let out a soft laugh, shaking her head like she knew exactly what I was doing. "Oh, come on," she teased. "You don’t know what I’m talking about?"

"Nope."

"That’s funny," she mused, taking a long sip of her drink before continuing. "Because when I knocked, I could swear I heard a second voice." She tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to be deep in thought. "And you sounded awfully panicked for someone who was just ‘changing.’"

I gave her a slow, unimpressed blink. "Maybe I just don’t like people barging in on me while I’m half-naked. Shocking, I know."

Evelyn smirked, tilting her head. "Mhm. And this mystery voice—just a figment of my imagination, then?"

"Seems like it."

"Interesting," she said, swirling her drink in her cup. "Because you also said ‘we’ll be down in a minute.’ We? As in…?" She raised an eyebrow, waiting.

I smiled. "Maybe I was just talking to myself."

Evelyn snorted. “Okay, now you’re just insulting my intelligence.”

I glanced at her over the rim of my cup. "Are you sure you’re not just overanalyzing?"

Her eyes flicked toward Sam and Ellie, who were still wrapped up in their own conversation, before she turned back to me with a slow, knowing grin.

"You're being suspicious," she accused, poking my side.

I barely flinched. "I think you’re just being nosy."

She gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Excuse me? I’m just being a concerned friend!”

"Uh-huh."

Evelyn groaned, throwing her head back. “Ugh, you’re impossible.”

I grinned, lifting my drink again. “Cheers to that.”

She clinked her cup against mine, shaking her head as she muttered, “This isn’t over.”

I just laughed, knowing she meant it.

It was a strange in-between we existed in, Luigi and I. Out in the world, in places where no one knew us, where the weight of expectation didn’t press down on our shoulders, we were open. Maybe not loud about it, but he’d pull me into him without a second thought, his arm draped over my shoulders like it belonged there. He’d trace lazy circles against the back of my hand with his thumb, small things that should’ve been insignificant but felt heavier than they should. And I let him.

But here? At home? In front of our friends?

No.

Why, you might ask? Honestly, I wasn’t sure myself.

Maybe it was the thrill of it—the sneaking around, the whispered conversations in the dark, the way my pulse quickened when I heard footsteps in the hallway and he was still in my bed, bare-chested and grinning like none of it mattered. Maybe it was the way he’d tug me into a hidden corner at a party, stealing kisses between conversations like we were doing something forbidden. Or maybe it was the fact that we never had to talk about it, never had to define what we were. It was fun. It was easy.

Until it wasn’t.

Because what happens when one of us stops enjoying the secrecy?

What happens when one of us wants more?

I push the thought out of my head and focus on Ellie instead.

“And he had the same five photos of himself on all his socials,” she complains, waving her drink for emphasis. “Like, not a single variation. Oh, and of course—there was one of him holding a fish.”

We all groan in unison at the mention of a fish picture before bursting into laughter.

“Was it at least a big fish?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow.

Ellie shakes her head in mock disappointment. “Absolutely not. It was the saddest little thing. Like, if you’re gonna do the fish picture, at least make it impressive.”

Evelyn snorts. “Men really think holding a fish makes them more attractive.”

“I think they have a secret club,” I add, smirking. “Step one: catch fish. Step two: hold it in front of you like it’s a trophy. Step three: act shocked when no one finds it attractive.”

The group erupts in laughter again, the fire crackling beside us, casting a warm glow over the night. I take a sip of my drink, letting the comfortable rhythm of the conversation settle me.

But then, just as the laughter dies down, Evelyn shifts beside me, her arm still draped around my waist, her voice deliberately casual.

“If I were to ask Max where he was earlier…” she muses, glancing at me over the rim of her cup. “What do you think he’d say?”

I pause mid-sip, keeping my expression neutral, my heartbeat steady.

Max.

She thinks Max was in my room. Not Lou.

Relief trickles in—but only for a moment. Because this is Evelyn. And Evelyn doesn’t let things go.

"By all means," I tease, pressing a playful kiss to Evelyn’s cheek. She scrunches her nose at me, but I can see the gears still turning in her head. 

Before she can press further, though, the person of interest enters the conversation.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Max’s voice cuts through the night, laced with amusement as he steps up to the fire pit, Lou and Mateo right behind him. His eyes flick between me and Evelyn, his grin widening as he takes in the situation.

“Looks cozy,” Mateo muses, dropping down onto one of the empty lawn chairs.

Evelyn smirks, tipping her cup in his direction. “It is, actually. We were just discussing the horrors of men who post fish pictures.”

Sam nods solemnly. “It’s a real epidemic.”

Max ignores that, his eyes still locked on me. “But, really, if you wanted someone to sit on, you could’ve just asked me, you know.” He took one of the chairs and sat down. 

I snort, rolling my eyes. “You wish.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t complain,” Max continues, stretching his arms behind his head like he’s offering himself up. “I’m just saying, there are better seats than Evelyn’s bony knees.”

Evelyn gasps dramatically. “Excuse you! My knees are perfect.”

“Sure,” Max grins, “but if she shifts the wrong way, you’re getting a dislocated kneecap.”

Ellie laughs, nudging Sam. “Honestly, she’s not wrong for picking Evelyn. Max’s lap? Zero comfort. He’s all sharp angles.”

Mateo joins in, grinning. “Yeah, bro, you’ve got negative ass. No cushioning.”

Max gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “You wound me.”

Evelyn, clearly enjoying herself, gives my waist a squeeze. “Sorry, Max. You just don’t have what it takes.”

“Tragic,” he sighs.

Through all the laughter and teasing, I feel it—a shift in the air. A quiet presence that I know all too well. Lou still hasn’t said anything, but I can feel his eyes on me.

I glance over, and sure enough, he’s watching. His jaw is set, his fingers tapping idly against the neck of his beer bottle. The flickering fire casts warm shadows over his face, but it doesn’t hide the way his gaze lingers, sharp and unreadable.

He’s not mad. Not really. But there’s something in his expression—something that makes my pulse stutter for just a second.

“Damn,” Mateo cuts in, breaking the moment as he leans back in his chair. “Now I feel left out. Who’s sitting on me?”

Sam raises a hand. “Not it.”

Ellie smirks. “I volunteer Max.”

Max groans. “Okay, I'll take it back. This is bullying.”

The laughter that follows breaks whatever weird tension had started to form, and I force myself to relax again, leaning further into Evelyn just to be annoying.

But I don’t miss the way Lou finally takes a sip of his drink, his fingers tightening just slightly around the bottle.

Max stretches out in his chair, the firelight flickering across his features as he shoots me a lazy grin. "Alright, but for real, if you get tired of Evelyn’s lap, my offer still stands."

Evelyn snickers, tightening her arm around my waist possessively. "Back off, Max. She’s mine now."

I roll my eyes, wiggling slightly in her hold. "Oh, please. I could leave anytime I wanted."

Evelyn gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "How dare you betray me like this?"

Ellie smirks over the rim of her drink. "This is getting intense. Should we be worried?"

Mateo gestures between Evelyn and me, brow raised. "Are we about to witness a breakup in real time?"

Max leans forward, arms resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on me now. "Honestly, if you are, I think I should be the rebound. Just saying."

I groan, reaching over and shoving his face away, which only makes him laugh harder. "You’re such an idiot."

Lou has been silent up until now, watching the exchange from his spot across the fire. He leaned back in his chair, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, his expression unreadable. But then he exhales a short laugh.

"Nah, let him talk," Lou says finally, his voice calm but laced with something I can’t quite place.

The group’s attention shifts to him, mine included, as he lifts the bottle to his lips, taking an unhurried sip. I arch a brow. "Oh? You wanna weigh in now?"

Lou tilts his head slightly, studying me. "I just think it’s funny." Another sip. "Max talking a big game like he wouldn’t fold the second you actually sat on him."

Laughter erupts around us, Evelyn wheezing into her drink while Ellie claps her hands together.

Max groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Okay, what is this, a roast?"

Mateo smirks. "You brought it on yourself, man."

Max glares at Lou. "First of all, rude. Second, I absolutely would not fold."

Lou gives him a look, unimpressed. "Sure."

Max narrows his eyes, then turns back to me, pointing a finger in my direction. "Alright, if I’m such a terrible option, why not sit on Pep instead?"

The words hang in the air longer than they should.

Across the fire, Lou’s smirk twitches, but he doesn’t look away. The flames cast shifting shadows over his face, making it impossible to read what he’s thinking.

Evelyn, who lives for this kind of chaos, perks up immediately. "Wait, that’s actually a great idea." She nudges me. "C’mon, go sit on Pep."

Ellie grins. "Oh, I need to see this."

Mateo chuckles. "Might as well, right?"

Max, however, does not look amused anymore. His smile is still there, but his jaw is tighter, his shoulders a little tenser. "I was joking," he mutters, suddenly backtracking. "No need to take it seriously."

But now, everyone is invested.

I exhale slowly, trying to ignore the way my pulse has picked up, and shift my gaze to Lou. He’s just sitting there, entirely too relaxed, watching me like he’s waiting for me to make a move.

I narrow my eyes. "You sure you can handle it?"

Lou raises an eyebrow, slow and deliberate. "Try me."

A shiver licks up my spine, sharp and uninvited, but I smother it with a scoff. I push off of Evelyn, my movements a little clumsy, the alcohol in my system making everything feel a fraction slower, a little heavier. The warmth of her arm around my waist disappears as I rise, and the moment my feet steady beneath me, I glance at Lou.

The fire crackles between us, casting shifting shadows across his face, but his expression remains unreadable. The air between us feels thick, humming with something just beneath the surface. I take a slow step forward, testing, waiting to see if he’ll shift—if he’ll react at all.

He doesn’t.

Not a single twitch, not a single sign of discomfort. He just tilts his head slightly, watching me, his lips twitching with the ghost of a smirk. Like he’s amused. Like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.

I swallow, pulse kicking up a notch.

Max shifts in his seat, his mood turning. "Alright, this is dumb. She doesn’t actually have to do it."

Evelyn, fully invested in the chaos she’s created, waves him off. "Yeah, yeah, but she totally should."

Max’s jaw tightens, the teasing edge to his voice slipping, giving way to something else.

Evelyn gives him a knowing look, and her grin sharpens. "Ohhh, someone’s getting jealous."

"Shut up," Max mutters, but it’s not playful anymore.

My stomach knots.

Max has always been a flirt—it’s just who he is. I never thought much of it, never believed he meant any of it. But now, the shift in his expression, the way his fingers tighten slightly around his cup, makes me wonder.

Had I missed something?

I hesitate, and Lou notices.

His fingers flex around his beer bottle, his gaze flicking between me and Max. Then, without a word, he leans back in his chair, stretching out, making himself comfortable. He looks so damn relaxed, but I know better.

He’s making space.

He’s waiting.

He’s daring me.

It shouldn’t feel like a challenge, but it does.

The firelight dances in his eyes, and for a split second, I wonder what would happen if I actually did it. If I closed the space between us, settled into his lap, let the heat of him seep into me, let my arms drape around his shoulders just to see if that smirk of his would slip.

But then Max exhales sharply, his fingers raking through his hair, and the tension twists into something uglier.

I don’t want to give either of them the satisfaction.

So, instead, I roll my eyes and take a step back, exhaling like I’m bored. "Nah," I say lightly, forcing a smirk. "Wouldn’t wanna crush him."

The group groans, a mix of disappointment and amusement.

"You’re such a coward," Evelyn huffs, nudging me with her foot.

Max lets out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing, but he doesn’t look at me.

Lou, though?

Lou just smirks. A slow, lazy curve of his lips, the kind that says he saw everything—every flicker of hesitation, every moment of doubt.

Like he already knows exactly what I would’ve done if no one else had been here.

And maybe, annoyingly, he’s right.

Before I can even register what’s happening, Lou’s hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist with surprising force.

I freeze for a split second as he pulls me toward him in one smooth motion.

I don’t have time to react before he yanks me into his lap, and suddenly, I’m sitting right on top of him. The air seems to still be around us, the noise from the party fading into the background as everyone watches.

The laughter from the group—Sam, Ellie, Mateo, and Evelyn—explodes in an instant, the sound of clinking glasses and playful hoots filling the night air. They’re all laughing, egging us on, raising their cups in mock applause.

I’m stuck, caught between Lou’s firm grip and the eyes of our friends. My heart races as I feel Lou’s chest pressed against my back, his hands resting on my waist, steadying me.

“Nice,” Mateo calls out with a teasing grin.

"Didn’t think she had it in her," Sam adds, winking at me.

Max’s gaze flickers between us, his jaw tightening again, but he doesn’t say anything.

Lou leans in just slightly, his breath warm against my ear. “I didn’t think you’d back out,” he whispers, his voice low and teasing.

I try to suppress the heat spreading across my face, but it’s no use. My heart thuds in my chest, and I can feel how close we are, the warmth of his body against mine, his fingers lightly brushing the skin of my waist.

I open my mouth, intending to say something snarky, but the words get caught in my throat.

Instead, I mutter a half-hearted attempt at nonchalance, “ You happy now?”

Lou just grins, that confident smirk playing on his lips. “Very,” he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

And as I sit there in his lap, surrounded by the sounds of laughter and teasing from our friends, I realize that maybe I’ve walked right into his trap. And maybe, just maybe, I’m okay with that.

Mateo cracked open another beer with a satisfying pop , the sound cutting through the laughter and chatter of the group. He grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Alright, I think it's time for truth or dare," he said, his voice laced with a playful anticipation.

Sam, practically bouncing in her seat, couldn't contain her excitement. "Oh my God, yes!" she squealed, her energy infectious. She sprang up, waving her arms like she was ready to take on the world. "I'll start! Evelyn, truth or dare?"

Evelyn rolled her eyes but leaned back, her posture lazy and comfortable. "Truth," she answered with a smirk, a challenge in her eyes.

Sam’s grin grew wider, clearly delighted by the opportunity to catch Evelyn off guard. "Is it true that you puked in the potted plant by the porch at the last party?" she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

The group erupted in laughter immediately, and even Evelyn couldn’t help but crack a smile. She raised her hands in mock surrender, her cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment. “Jesus, Sam," she said, groaning in defeat. "Yes, whatever, it was me! But that plant totally deserved it."

More laughter followed, and Evelyn shot Sam a half-hearted glare. She was clearly unbothered by the playful jab, shrugging it off like a pro.

Sam, still grinning ear to ear, didn’t miss a beat. She looked around at the group, her gaze narrowing as she thought about her next move. After a dramatic pause, she tilted her head and said, “Alright, Mateo. Truth or dare?”

Mateo leaned back in his seat, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Dare," he said with a cocky grin, not bothering to look away.

The atmosphere shifted, the energy in the air palpable as everyone leaned in, curious to see what Sam would throw at Mateo. The laughter had died down, and now, all eyes were on her.

Sam's smirk deepened, her eyes scanning the group before locking onto Mateo. "I dare you to kiss the person on your right," she declared, her voice low with satisfaction as she waited for his reaction.

Mateo and Evelyn shared a look, both of them shifting in their seats as they processed the dare. Without hesitation, Mateo leaned over toward Evelyn, and the group cheered and teased as they exchanged a quick, playful kiss.

Meanwhile, my thoughts seemed to float far away from the game. I could feel Lou’s presence behind me, his body warm and solid as I sat comfortably on his lap. My legs were draped casually over his, and his hand rested easily on my hip. The weight of it wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to anchor me, enough to send little sparks of awareness shooting through me.

Every time I shifted, trying to adjust my position, I could feel his grip tighten slightly, almost imperceptibly. It was like a silent command, his fingers pressing a little more firmly into the curve of my hip. Nothing overt, just the faintest of touches, but it spoke volumes. My body reacted before my mind had time to process, and the tension between us seemed to hang in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

His breath brushed the back of my neck, sending a rush of warmth through me, and I couldn’t help but feel a shiver crawl down my spine. The sound of his chuckle, deep and warm, vibrated through me, making my chest tighten with a fluttering sensation I couldn’t quite place. It was a soft chuckle, but it was enough to make me hyper-aware of him. Every movement I made, every slight shift of my body, seemed to send a ripple through the quiet tension between us.

I shifted again, this time a little more consciously, trying to focus on the group, trying to join the conversation, but the sounds of laughter and chatter felt distant, almost muffled by the rapid thrum of my pulse. Lou’s thumb brushed against my skin, and the warmth from his touch seeped through my clothes, setting my skin alight with a quiet, simmering awareness that I couldn’t shake. It was like he had taken over my space, my thoughts, and suddenly everything else seemed far less important.

For a moment, I couldn’t decide if I was more focused on the game, on the playful atmosphere of the group, or on the fact that Lou's hand had become a quiet, constant reminder of how much he was in my space.

The game rolled on, each turn bringing a mix of confessions, teasing dares, and laughter. It had evolved from lighthearted fun to something a little more daring, the air crackling with a mix of nerves and excitement. Clothing was coming off, drinks were being taken, and yet somehow, I found myself fixated on Lou. The warmth of the fire flickered against his skin, making the sharp angles of his face glow with an almost ethereal light. Every move he made seemed deliberate, calculated in a way that made me second-guess every thought I had.

When the game finally circled back to Lou, Ellie, with that mischievous glint in her eyes, leaned in and asked, "Okay, Pep, truth or dare?"

Lou didn’t immediately respond. His eyes flickered to the fire, his lips slightly pursed as he seemed to consider his options. I turned my head just enough to watch him, my heart picking up its rhythm as I noticed the way the firelight danced in his eyes. He looked effortlessly beautiful, like he was almost too aware of the way everyone was watching him, and yet completely unfazed.

There was something about the way he held himself, like he was both part of the group and somehow above it at the same time. His jaw tightened for a second, as though he were silently battling with himself over what to choose.

Finally, he glanced at Ellie, a faint smirk on his lips. “Dare,” he said, the word a challenge, something soft but with the promise of something more beneath it.

I held my breath without realizing it, my pulse quickening for reasons I couldn’t entirely understand. Something in his tone, in the way he leaned back just enough, told me this was going to be interesting. The game had taken a turn, and now, everything seemed more charged, more layered than it had been before. Lou’s choice was bold, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was just playing along or if there was something else at play.

Ellie’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the moment. She glanced around the group, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Okay, Pep,” she said, drawing out the name. “I dare you to kiss the person sitting closest to you.”

A hush fell over the group, the fire crackling louder than before, as everyone leaned forward, waiting for Lou’s reaction. My heart skipped, a sudden rush of heat flooding my cheeks. I could feel the pressure building, all eyes now on Lou and me. He was the center of attention, as usual, but this time, I was aware of how much his presence seemed to stretch across the space between us.

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my ears as Lou slowly turned his gaze to me. There was no teasing in his eyes this time—just a steady, unwavering focus that sent a shiver up my spine. I shifted slightly, uncomfortable with how his gaze felt like it was seeing right through me.

The others were still waiting, and Ellie was practically bouncing in her seat with anticipation. “Come on! Don’t leave us hanging!” she teased.

Lou didn’t answer her. Instead, he lifted his hand to run through his hair, a casual gesture that only added to the tension in the air. His lips curved into that knowing smirk, the one that made my stomach twist.

And then, before anyone could say another word, Lou’s hand was on my arm, gently pulling me toward him. My breath caught in my throat as I moved, a mix of excitement and nervousness flooding me. I could feel the heat radiating from his body as I came closer, his presence filling my entire world. I didn’t even have time to process what was happening before his lips were on mine.

The kiss was brief, but it felt like everything had slowed down. It was soft, teasing at first, like he was testing the waters. His lips brushed against mine with a familiarity that made my chest tighten. I could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with mine, the world around us seeming to fade into the background.

When he pulled back, it was almost too soon. His gaze was still locked on mine, his eyes dark and intense, a hint of something unspoken in the way he looked at me. The moment had passed, leaving a lingering tension between us that felt heavier than anything I’d experienced before.

Our friends erupted into laughter and cheers, their voices distant, muffled, like background noise to the storm inside me. Lou’s hand was still on my arm, his fingers pressing lightly into my skin, as if reluctant to let go. When he finally did, the absence of his touch left a strange hollowness behind.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. My heart was racing, my thoughts spinning. This was supposed to be just a dare, a fleeting moment for the amusement of our friends. But now, as I sat in his lap—his warmth still wrapped around me—I realized something had shifted.

Maybe this was our way in. A kiss, a game, an excuse. If we played it right, we could use this moment as a cover, a lie that disguised the truth neither of us was ready to say out loud.

Ellie was still grinning like a cat who’d gotten the cream, clearly pleased with the results. “Now that was a kiss I wasn’t expecting,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Lou, though, just shrugged, his smirk never faltering. “It’s all in good fun,” he said casually.

Evelyn’s gaze didn’t waver. She was watching—really watching. Not just me, but Lou. And then Max, who had gone noticeably quiet, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. Her brows knit together slightly, like she was piecing together a puzzle none of us had fully acknowledged yet.

Before she could say anything, Lou spoke. His voice was smooth, unbothered, but the pressure of his hand on my hip told a different story. He pressed against me slightly, urging me back onto his lap as if I had ever really left. The move was subtle, possessive, and it sent a fresh wave of warmth through me.

“Ev,” he said, drawing out her name in that lazy, teasing way he did with everyone—but right now, it felt like he was doing it to cut through the tension. “Truth or dare?”

Evelyn tore her eyes away from me just long enough to smirk at him, but it wasn’t her usual playful grin. It was sharper, edged with something like curiosity. “Dare,” she said, lifting her chin slightly.

Lou hummed, pretending to consider his options, his fingers now tracing absentminded circles against my hip. I had to fight the shiver threatening to run down my spine.

“Alright,” he said finally, his smirk deepening. “I dare you to shotgun a beer—without making a mess.”

The group burst into laughter, the shift in mood noticeable. Evelyn rolled her eyes but took the challenge, reaching for Mateo’s unopened beer.

As she got to work, I could feel Lou’s chest move against my back as he chuckled, the vibrations sinking into me, making it harder to ignore just how close we were.

But even as the game moved forward, I could still feel Evelyn’s gaze flicking toward me. And Max?

Max still hadn’t said a word.

It was too much. All of it.

The heat of Lou’s hands on my hips, the weight of the kiss in front of everyone—it was suffocating and grounding all at once. My chest tightened, something restless stirring inside me. I needed air. Space. Distance.

I shifted, reaching for my empty cup as an excuse to move, to put even the smallest gap between us. But the moment I tried, Lou’s hands tightened, firm yet questioning.

“Where are you going?” His voice was quiet, low enough that no one else noticed, but there was something in it—something uncertain. His brows pulled together, his gaze flickering with confusion as he studied me.

The group carried on around us, laughter and dares filling the night air, oblivious to the way my pulse pounded beneath his touch.

“Just gonna grab another drink,” I murmured, the lie slipping from my lips before I could think twice.

Lou’s frown deepened. “There are drinks here,” he pointed out, his grip still lingering, still holding me there.

I exhaled sharply, already knowing he wasn’t going to let it go. “Well, I don’t want a drink from here,” I said, a little too sharp, a little too final. It was an excuse, a flimsy one, but I didn’t give him a chance to press further.

I pushed his hands away, the absence of his touch making my skin feel colder than it should. Standing, I steadied myself, the alcohol in my system making everything hum just slightly.

I walked away without looking back, but I could still feel him watching me, his confusion settling thick in the air between us.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the cool night air outside. The kitchen was dimly lit, the glow from the overhead lights casting soft shadows across the countertops. A few people lingered here and there, laughing in hushed voices, sipping from their red cups, but I barely paid them any mind as I made my way to the fridge.

I pulled open the door, the cool air rushing over my flushed skin. My fingers hovered over a random drink, not really seeing it, my mind still buzzing from everything outside.

The soft sound of the door opening and closing behind me made me glance over my shoulder. For a split second, I expected Lou. Expected him to follow, to press for answers, to demand that I stay.

But it wasn’t Lou.

It was Max.

His gaze found mine instantly, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. He stepped further into the kitchen, weaving around the island until he was standing right in front of me, close enough that I could smell the faint traces of cologne and beer on his hoodie.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, steady, but there was something else underneath—concern, maybe, or something heavier.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the fridge handle. “Yeah,” I murmured, dropping my gaze for a second before forcing it back up. “I’m fine.”

Max didn’t move, didn’t speak right away, just studied me like he didn’t quite believe it. And for some reason, that made my chest tighten even more.

The door swung open again, and this time, it actually was Lou.

His gaze found me first, scanning my face with quiet concern, his brows drawing together like he could already sense something was off. But then his eyes flicked to Max, and something in his expression shifted. The warmth in his face cooled, his posture stiffening just slightly—small changes, but noticeable enough to send a ripple of tension through the air.

Max didn’t move. Neither did Lou.

The silence stretched between them, thick and unspoken, charged with something I didn’t know how to name.

I swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of the space—or lack of it—between me and Max. Of the way Lou’s jaw ticked, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

“Pep,” Max greeted first, voice even, unreadable.

Lou’s lips pressed together, his eyes flicking back to me before settling on Max once more. “Max,” he said, his voice just as neutral—but the weight behind it was anything but.

The air in the room felt different now, heavier. Like a storm had rolled in without warning, crackling just beneath the surface.

“You should go back outside,” I said, my voice edged with impatience. Max was starting to get on my nerves, lingering, watching me like I was some fragile thing that needed handling.

His eyes flicked between me and Lou, hesitation clear in his expression. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice quieter now, like he was giving me an out.

Before I could answer, Lou did. “Just go, Max.” His tone was steady, but there was something firm beneath it, something final.

Max exhaled sharply, clearly displeased but knowing better than to argue. He moved around the island, his shoulder brushing past Lou’s as he made his way to the door. He hesitated for half a second—like he wanted to say something—but then he just exhaled again and stepped out.

Without a word, he was gone.

I shut the fridge door with a quiet thud , a cold drink now clutched in my fingers. I was ready to slip back outside, to put space between myself and the strange, lingering tension curling in my chest—but before I could take a step, Lou’s hand wrapped gently around my arm.

His touch was warm, grounding. Not demanding, not forceful—just enough to make me stop.

“Did I do something wrong?” His voice was low, quiet, but the proximity made it feel louder, more intimate. He was close—so close his breath ghosted against my cheek, the heat of it sending a shiver down my spine.

I shook my head. “No,” I murmured. “We’ll talk about it tonight.”

His grip didn’t tighten, but he didn’t let go either. His gaze searched mine, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “You still want me to come to your room?”

The way he asked—quieter now, hesitant, like he was bracing himself—sent a sharp pang through my chest. I hadn’t meant for him to feel this way. Hadn’t meant for my own unease to bleed into something that could hurt him.

“Of course,” I said, my voice steady, certain.

Something in him shifted, the tension in his shoulders easing, but he still held me in his gaze like he was trying to make sense of something. I wasn’t sure if he found the answer he was looking for, but after a moment, he gave a slow nod.

His fingers brushed my skin as he let go, lingering for just a second too long before he stepped back, and even as I turned toward the door, I could still feel the ghost of his touch.

We stepped back outside, the bonfire crackling and casting a golden glow across the group. Laughter and conversation filled the night air, but this time, Lou and I didn’t return to the same seat. Instead, we each took our own chairs, the space between us noticeable—at least to me.

The game had continued in our absence, Evelyn now daring Mateo to run a lap around the yard in just his socks. He grumbled but stood, stripping off his shoes with dramatic flair before taking off in a half-hearted jog, flipping us all off as he went.

I sipped my drink, the cool liquid doing little to settle the uneasy feeling lingering in my chest. Lou was only a few feet away, but it felt like miles. I could feel his gaze flicker toward me occasionally, but I kept mine on the fire, watching the embers rise and disappear into the night.

The clock read 3:48 a.m. as I shut the door behind me, the soft click echoing in the quiet stillness of my room. The silence was a relief, a stark contrast to the lingering echoes of laughter and music from the party still buzzing in my head. It had been a long night—one of those where time slipped away, lost between the haze of alcohol, conversations that danced too close to dangerous, and the flickering warmth of the bonfire.

I exhaled slowly, pressing my back against the door for a moment, letting the solitude settle over me. My mind drifted back, unbidden, to the moments by the fire. To the way everything seemed to twist itself into knots whenever I least expected it. Why was my life always so complicated? Why couldn’t things—just once—fall into place?

With a quiet sigh, I tossed my phone onto the bed, watching it bounce slightly against the covers before settling. I followed suit, sinking onto the edge of the mattress, fingers moving to undo my shoes. The simple act felt grounding, something solid in the midst of everything that felt uncertain.

I should sleep. I should shut my mind off and let the exhaustion take over.

But I knew better.

Because despite the quiet, despite the stillness of my room, my thoughts were anything but.

I changed into a loose shirt, sighing in relief as I pulled off that god-awful bra, letting it drop carelessly onto the chair. Baggy shorts replaced the jeans that had clung to me all night, and already, I felt lighter, less constricted. The remnants of the party still clung to my skin, the faint scent of smoke from the bonfire, the sticky residue of makeup and sweat.

Moving to my desk, I pulled out a pack of makeup wipes, dragging one across my face. The coolness felt good, grounding, as I wiped away the night’s evidence. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, pausing. Just looking.

That’s when the doubts started to creep in.

What was it he saw in me? What made him actually like me? Because I could lie to myself and pretend he didn’t—but he must. At least a little. Or else he wouldn’t put up with me, wouldn’t look at me the way he does, wouldn’t touch me like he did. 

I swallowed hard, shaking the thoughts away before they could settle too deeply. With a sigh, I stood and crossed the room, slipping into bed. The sheets were cool against my skin, and I curled into them, staring at the ceiling.

The exhaustion was there, heavy in my bones.

Did he lie about coming tonight? Was he ignoring me?

Is he actually coming?

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to stop thinking, to just let it go—but then came the footsteps.

Soft, measured.

I listened as they neared, the sound unmistakable, my pulse quickening with every step. Then, the doorknob turned, the latch clicking open.

The room was dark, only his silhouette visible as he stepped inside. He didn’t say anything—no greeting, no explanation—just closed the door behind him and moved toward the bed.

The mattress dipped as he lifted the covers. I shifted, making space, and without hesitation, he slid in beside me. His body was warm, his presence solid, grounding.

Bare skin met mine—he was only in sweatpants, his chest bare, radiating heat.

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close until there was no space left between us. His head dipped, resting in the crook of my neck, his breath warm against my shoulder.

Neither of us spoke.

We didn’t need to.

This had become our routine—an unspoken arrangement written into the nights we shared. My bed or his, it never mattered. As long as we ended up tangled together, as long as his warmth pressed into mine, grounding me in ways I didn’t understand.

Lou’s lips brushed against my neck, the touch so soft it sent a shiver down my spine. Then he pulled me closer, even though I was already flush against him. His arm draped over my waist, fingers splayed across my stomach like he needed to feel every breath I took.

His voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper, a ghost of sound against my skin.

"Are you okay?"

I swallowed hard, the weight of the night settling deep in my chest. I wanted to say yes, wanted to keep things simple. To brush it off and just move past it. But the words felt thin, fragile, like they might crack under the strain of everything I wasn’t saying.

“Yes,” I murmured, though my voice wavered, betraying the lie before I could even make it sound convincing.

He didn’t press, didn’t call me out on the lie. He just tightened his hold on me, his grip firm, like he knew—like he could feel the things I wouldn’t say. And in that moment, I was grateful. I didn’t want to explain, didn’t want to talk through all the messy, tangled emotions swirling inside me. All I wanted was to stay here, wrapped in the comfort of his arms, pretending for just a little longer that everything was okay.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly peaceful either. It hung in the air, thick and heavy with the weight of unspoken things. His breath was warm against my shoulder, steady and slow, like he was waiting. Like he was giving me space to say something if I wanted to, to open up if I could.

But I didn’t.

I just lay there, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against my back. My thoughts swirled—too fast, too messy, impossible to catch or make sense of—but being here, wrapped in his arms, made them a little easier to bear. The warmth of his skin, the familiar scent of him, the way he held me like he had no intention of letting go… It was grounding. Comforting.

His hand moved then, just slightly, fingertips tracing absent patterns against my hip. It wasn’t meant to be anything more than soothing, but it still sent a shiver through me. His fingers stilled almost immediately, like he knew it had affected me in some way, even if he couldn’t quite explain it.

I sighed, barely loud enough to be heard, but it was enough. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Lou tensed behind me, just for a second, before his grip on me tightened. “Don’t do that,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my shoulder as he spoke, his voice low and steady.

“Do what?”

“Act like I don’t want to be here,” he said, his voice quiet, but there was something firm in it, something that left no room for doubt. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”

I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly. I didn’t know why I said it. Maybe part of me still didn’t believe this—didn’t believe him. But I wanted to. I wanted so badly to let myself believe that he was here because he wanted to be. That I wasn’t just a temporary distraction, that I wasn’t something he would walk away from the moment it got difficult.

I shifted, rolling slightly so I could look at him in the dim light. His face was close now, eyes darker than usual in the shadows of the room. He studied me for a moment, searching, like he was trying to read something in my expression, trying to decipher what I was thinking, what I was feeling.

Then, without a word, he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered for a second before they dropped away, but the touch, so gentle, lingered in a way I couldn’t explain.

His gaze didn’t waver, and neither did mine. There was something about the way he was looking at me—something that made my chest feel tight, like he could see through every defense I’d ever built. Like he could see all the things I kept hidden, even from myself.

“You do that a lot,” he said, his voice softer now.

I swallowed. “Do what?”

“Push me away before I can leave.” His thumb brushed against the fabric of my shirt, where it rested near my hip, his touch light but deliberate. “Like you think it’ll hurt less that way.”

I opened my mouth, ready to deny it, but the words never came. Because he was right. And we both knew it. I didn’t let people close—not really. I kept everyone at arm’s length, even when I wanted to pull them closer, even when I knew they wouldn’t stay. It was easier to push them away before they could leave on their own.

Lou sighed, like he was frustrated, but not with me. More with the way I refused to let myself believe him. His fingers curled slightly against my side, grounding me. “You don’t have to test me, you know,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, but firm nonetheless. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I let it out. It was such a simple thing to say. But the way he said it—like it wasn’t even a question, like it was just a fact—made something inside me crack, just a little.

I wanted to believe him. God, I did. But people left. People always left. It was hard to break free from that constant, aching truth that had been drilled into me. The fear that I wasn’t worth sticking around for.

He must’ve seen the doubt flicker across my face, because he shook his head, something determined in his expression. “What do I have to do to make you believe that?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know,” I admitted. My voice felt small, too small to hold everything I was feeling, everything I wanted to say.

Lou exhaled, then suddenly, he leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to my forehead. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t meant to distract me or change the subject. It was just… steady. Sure.

When he pulled back, his hand found mine under the covers, fingers threading through mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. His touch was warm, grounding, and when he squeezed my hand lightly, it felt like a promise—one that had yet to be fully realized, but still there, tucked carefully between us.

“Then I’ll just keep proving it,” he said simply.

His fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns against my skin again, but there was something different about his touch now—less soothing, more deliberate. His jaw tensed, and for a while, he didn’t say anything. I could feel the weight of whatever was on his mind pressing down on the space between us.

Then, finally, he spoke again, his voice low, almost gruff. “Max pisses me off.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “Lou—”

“I mean it,” he interrupted, his grip tightening slightly where his fingers rested against my waist. “The way he looks at you. The way he’s always hanging around, like he’s waiting for something.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “It drives me fucking insane.”

I swallowed hard, not sure what to say. I wasn’t blind to the tension between them. I’d seen it—felt it—how Max would linger too long around me, the way Lou’s eyes would narrow whenever he was near. But hearing Lou admit it like this, so openly, with that sharp edge in his voice, made something twist inside me.

“You should tell him to fuck off,” Lou continued, his voice rougher now, raw with frustration. “Reject him. For good. Make it clear.”

I shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t that I disagreed, but the way he said it, like it wasn’t even a request, but something he expected—something he needed—made my heart race.

“Lou…” I hesitated, then let out a slow breath. “But we’re not together.”

Silence.

His fingers stilled against my skin. His entire body seemed to go rigid behind me, like he was holding something back, something just beyond the edge of his control.

For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to respond at all. But then, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled—low and controlled, like he was forcing himself to stay calm.

“Right,” he said, his voice hollow.

I turned my head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of his face in the dim light. His jaw was clenched, his gaze fixed on the ceiling like he was trying to keep himself from saying something he’d regret.

I didn’t know what to say to fix it, so I didn’t say anything at all. I just lay there, my heart pounding in my chest, the tension between us thick and suffocating.

Minutes passed. The quiet between us was different now—no longer just heavy, but almost suffocating. Then, just when I thought he might roll away, just when I thought he might pull away entirely, he spoke again, his voice softer this time.

“I liked tonight.”

I furrowed my brows. “What?”

He swallowed, his fingers moving again, tracing slow, deliberate circles against my hip. “I liked having you near me. Touching you. And I liked that everyone saw it.”

Something in my chest tightened.

He wasn’t looking at me now, but I could feel the weight of his words pressing into me, wrapping around me like a vice. I could feel them in the air, thick and heavy between us, almost like he had just laid everything bare and expected me to understand.

“I don’t want to hide how I feel about you,” he admitted after a while, his voice quieter now, tinged with something deeper, something that didn’t quite reach the surface. “I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t mean something when I touch you, when I hold you like this.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Because what could I say to that? What could I say to someone who had just handed me the truth, raw and unfiltered, laid out between us in the dark?

Lou finally turned his head then, his dark eyes finding mine in the dim light. “Tell me you don’t feel it too.”

My breath caught in my throat.

Because I did.

I felt it in the way his touch lingered, in the way his voice softened when he spoke to me. I felt it in the way he looked at me, like I was something more than just a habit he couldn’t break.

But saying it out loud? That was terrifying.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my shirt. “Luigi…”

He studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, instead of pressing for an answer, he just sighed, his hand slipping beneath the covers to intertwine with mine.

“Never mind,” he muttered, as he leaned in to kiss my forehead one last time. “Just… go to sleep.”

But even as I closed my eyes, even as I felt the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back, I knew sleep wouldn’t come easy. Not after this. Not with the way his words echoed in my mind, looping over and over again.

Because no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t deny the truth.

I felt it too.

Chapter Text

When I woke up the next morning, his side of the bed was empty, just like it always was. He had a routine, and that routine didn’t involve staying in bed with me. The quiet mornings were his time—his workouts, his runs. I ran my hand over the cold sheets where he’d been, feeling the emptiness left behind.

I sighed, my eyes drifting over to the clock on the nightstand. 13:17 PM. Great, I’d already missed half the day.

I reached for my phone and unlocked it, scrolling through Instagram aimlessly, letting time slip away without much thought. My back was turned to the door now, the silence of the room settling around me like a shield, blocking out any external drama. For the first time in a while, it felt like I could just breathe, letting everything else fade into the background.

The footsteps started faintly, barely noticeable at first, but then they grew louder, unmistakable as they moved up the stairs and down the hallway. They stopped at my door, and I heard the doorknob turn before it clicked open. I didn’t need to see him to know it was him. It was a feeling, something I always seemed to know when he was around.

He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click before walking over to my desk. I could hear him place something down on the desk—likely his things.

I slowly turned around.

“Shit, did I wake you?” he asked, his voice a little rough from his workout. His brown hair was messy, still damp at the edges, and he wore the same black hoodie and sweatpants combo he always did after his morning runs. He looked effortlessly casual. His cheeks were faintly flushed, like he hadn’t fully shaken the intensity of his run.

“No, I was already awake,” I mumbled, my eyes lingering on him as he stood there.

He watched me for a moment longer before nodding, his gaze flickering toward his side of the bed before meeting mine again. I knew exactly what he was thinking about—last night’s conversation. The words still hung between us, unspoken but not forgotten. He had confessed something, but deep down, it wasn’t anything I hadn’t already known. Maybe we had just been dancing around it, pretending not to see what was right in front of us.

I shifted slightly, clearing my throat. “How was your run?” I asked, breaking the silence that had settled between us. The air in the room felt heavier than before, charged with something neither of us wanted to address just yet.

He blinked, as if remembering why he had come in. “It was fine. I ran about ten miles.” His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it, like he was still half in his head.

Before I could respond, he reached for the hem of his hoodie and tugged it over his head in one fluid motion, revealing the toned lines of his torso. His skin was still slightly damp from his workout, his brown hair falling messily over his forehead as he ran a hand through it.

I nodded, my eyes drifting over him before I quickly averted my gaze, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

"Do you have work tonight?" Lou asked as he tossed his hoodie into the laundry bag, his movements easy, almost careless. He headed toward the closet, grabbing a towel, but there was something unreadable in his voice—something that made me glance up at him, watching the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly.

"Yeah, I think I start at six," I murmured, sinking deeper into the bed. The warmth of the covers wrapped around me, heavy and comforting, making it even harder to think about leaving. The weight of the afternoon settled into my limbs, pressing down, making me drowsy.

"Late shift again?" His voice was muffled as he ran the towel over his damp hair, rubbing it dry before slinging it around his neck.

I watched as he stood there, one hand gripping the towel, the other resting loosely on his hip. His eyes flicked to me, something softer in his gaze now. "You should try to get some more rest before then," he said, his voice quieter, losing the casual edge from before.

I hummed in response, noncommittal, tucking the blanket tighter around myself. "Maybe."

Lou moved then, stepping closer until he was right next to the bed. He leaned down, and before I could say anything, his lips brushed against mine in a quick, familiar kiss. It was brief but warm, lingering just enough to send a shiver through me.

When he pulled back, he didn’t move far. His face hovered close, his weight balanced on his arms as he rested them against the bed. His dark eyes studied mine, a hint of something playful flickering there before he spoke again.

"Want to take a shower with me?"

I hesitated, feeling the way his words settled between us, thick with suggestion but laced with something else. I loved our showers, loved the quiet intimacy of them, the way the warm water blurred the lines between us.

But should I?

"I really want to," I whined, burrowing deeper into the blankets, "but the bed is sooo warm."

Lou huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned in just a little closer. "You're too stubborn, you know that?" His voice was low, teasing, but there was something else in his eyes—something amused yet entirely unrelenting.

His fingers brushed over the edge of the blanket, gripping it just enough to make me tense. "Come on," he coaxed, his lips barely an inch from mine. "I'll make it worth your while."

I groaned dramatically, squeezing my eyes shut like I could block out the temptation. "You always say that."

"Because it's always true." His smirk deepened, and before I could protest, he gripped the blanket tighter and tugged—just enough to make me gasp, just enough to remind me exactly who I was dealing with.

The warmth of the bed was nice. But Luigi? Luigi was better.

The clothes we wore? Gone in an instant. The heat of the shower filled the bathroom, steam curling around us as we stepped under the mist. The water was warm, soothing, washing away the lingering weight of the day.

Lou let out a low groan, his shoulders loosening under the steady stream. He tilted his head back, letting the water cascade over his face, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

I watched him, the tension slowly unraveling from his frame, the way his breaths evened out. My hands found his chest, moving upward, fingers tracing the damp skin of his shoulders before sliding around his neck. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands settled naturally at my waist, his touch familiar, grounding.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly, my voice barely audible over the steady rush of water.

He opened his eyes then, looking down at me, his expression unreadable for a second before his lips curled into a small, lopsided smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I studied his face, searching for something—anything—beneath the ease of his answer. There was a quietness to him, something thoughtful lingering behind his eyes. He always carried things silently, shouldering more than he let on.

I gave his neck a gentle squeeze, leaning into him slightly. "I don't know," I murmured. "You just seemed... distant for a second."

Lou huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I'm fine," he said, voice softer now. "Really."

But still, his grip on my waist tightened, like he needed to hold onto something. Like he needed reassurance just as much as I did.

Lou leaned in, his lips brushing mine before pressing fully into a kiss—slow, deliberate. It wasn’t hurried or demanding, just steady, like he wanted me to feel it. To know he was here. His body pressed against mine for a moment, the warmth of him seeping into me, before he pulled back, his forehead touching mine.

His hand, resting on my waist, slid up to my back, fingers spreading as if he needed to hold me closer. He watched me carefully, his expression unreadable but intense.

“I want to talk about last night,” he said.

The words sent a flicker of something uncertain through me. I searched his face, trying to read between the lines of what he wasn’t saying.

“What about last night?” I asked, my voice quieter now. I knew what he meant. Of course, I did. But hearing it from him—that mattered. Because I could sit and replay it a hundred times in my head, twisting it into something it wasn’t. I’d rather hear the truth from him than get lost in my own thoughts.

Lou held my gaze, his fingers pressing slightly into my back like he could feel me retreating into my own head. “Just—” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t want to act like it didn’t happen.”

I swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of how close we were, of the way the water streamed over our shoulders, the heat curling between us.

“I don’t either,” I admitted, my hands still resting lightly against his chest. “But I don’t know what you want me to say.”

His jaw tensed for a second, but then he nodded, like he understood. Like he wasn’t going to push me for something I wasn’t ready to give.

The look on his face made my heart clench. There was a softness in his eyes, but it was mixed with something else—something I couldn’t quite place. It was as if I had said something that left a mark on him, something unspoken hanging between us. I felt bad. Like I was hurting him. And the thought of it made my chest tighten, as if every word I had said had carried more weight than I had meant it to.

I couldn’t stand it.

“Let’s just finish school,” I blurted out, almost without thinking. The words left my mouth faster than I could stop them. “Give me a few months, and when summer comes, we’ll talk.”

I immediately regretted it. The words felt like a cop-out, like I was pushing him to the side without really dealing with any of it. But it was the only thing I could think to say—something to buy myself time, something that wouldn’t force me to confront everything all at once. Maybe it was cowardly, but I needed that space.

His silence hung heavy between us for a long beat. I watched him carefully, hoping for some kind of reaction, some sign that he understood. But instead, he just studied me—his eyes distant, the water cascading over his shoulders as if time was stretching, slowing.

“What?” he asked, his voice low, laced with disbelief. “So I can’t touch you until June?”

The air between us thickened, heavy with the weight of his words, and I felt myself shrinking, retreating inside of myself as he let out a scoff. His eyes darkened, frustration settling into his features like a storm cloud.

The words stung. They were sharp, hitting me in a place I hadn’t expected. I opened my mouth to explain, to try and undo the damage I had done with a simple suggestion, but before I could, his gaze flickered away from me. His hands, which had been wrapped around me, loosened, sliding off until he fully let go. The distance between us felt like miles, and I felt like an intruder in my own skin, unsure of how to handle the space that had suddenly expanded.

“That’s not what I meant,” I tried to explain, my voice shaking, but it sounded weak even to my own ears. “I like what we have. I don’t want that to stop.”

But he wasn’t having it. His face contorted, the frustration on his features evident, and he sneered, his eyes flashing with something close to anger.

“You can’t be serious right now?” His voice had a bite to it, a sharpness I hadn’t heard before. “What we have isn’t normal, what we have is dysfunctional and weird.”

I froze. The words hit me harder than I expected, and I felt my chest constrict. What had I been doing? Why had I even suggested that there needed to be distance? Why hadn’t I just trusted us?

Before I could say anything else, Lou kept going, each word cutting deeper than the last.

“We’re not friends,” he said, his voice growing quieter but no less intense. “There is more here. And I don’t understand why you keep pushing me away.”

It was like a weight dropped in my stomach, the gravity of what he was saying sinking in. The realization that he had been giving more of himself to me than I had let on. And here I was, so terrified of that exact thing, terrified of what it meant, that I had almost pushed him away.

My heart hammered in my chest, and my breath caught in my throat. “Lou…” I whispered, the guilt suffocating me.

But he wasn’t done yet.

“I don’t get it, you know?” His voice softened a little, but it wasn’t kind. “We’ve had this—whatever this is—for so long now. But you’re acting like it doesn’t matter to you. Like I don’t matter.”

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of his words settle over me. He was right, in a way. I had been pushing him away. I had been scared of how much I felt, of how deeply he was starting to matter to me, and I hadn’t known how to handle it.

"I don't know what I'm doing!" I raised my voice slightly, the words coming out sharper than I intended. "My life is going to shit right now, and for me, you mean everything. It's just... it's a weird place we're in. And if we were to just go home, back to Maryland, maybe we could have a bigger conversation about this."

I could feel the weight of my own words settling between us, and I could see it in his eyes—how the walls were slowly going up. He was silent, jaw tense as he clenched and unclenched, a silent war waging behind his eyes.

I tried to steady my breath, my heart pounding in my chest as the silence stretched between us. And then, almost instinctively, I blurted it out. “I Love—”

I froze mid-sentence, my eyes widening at what I was about to say. The words hung in the air, too raw, too heavy. My mouth snapped shut, and I took a step back, my body recoiling from the vulnerability that was almost spilling out of me.

Lou didn’t speak right away, but I could feel his gaze on me, the weight of it. His hand moved slowly, deliberately, turning off the water with a soft click. The sound echoed in the small bathroom, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in my chest.

I shook my head in disbelief, trying to process everything—everything I had just said and everything I was feeling. It was all too much. I wasn’t ready for it, but the way I had almost said it… It felt like I was teetering on the edge of something I wasn’t sure I could control.

I grabbed a towel, wrapping it around me as quickly as I could, feeling the coolness of the air hit my wet skin. It felt like I needed space, needed distance to breathe, to collect myself.

Before I could make it to the door, I heard him call my name, his voice quieter now, almost pleading.

“Wait,” he said, stepping toward me as I moved toward the bathroom door, practically running to get away from the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.

I didn’t turn back. The door slammed shut behind me, and I could hear him still calling my name from the other side. But I couldn’t face him just yet. Not with the mess I had made, not with the truth I had almost let slip.

I had holed myself up in my room, door locked, refusing to leave. The weight of everything pressed down on me, making it impossible to move, to think clearly. I had called in sick for work, not because I was actually sick, but because the thought of stepping outside, of facing anyone—especially Lou—felt unbearable.

The sanctity of my room was the only thing keeping me together, the four walls offering a sense of control in a situation that felt like it was spiraling. My phone lay beside me, untouched after the call to my manager. I hadn't checked my messages, hadn't scrolled through anything. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment in the shower over and over again.

I almost said it. I almost told him I loved him. 

The realization sent a fresh wave of panic through me. Because if I had said it, if I had let those words slip past my lips, what then? Would it have changed anything? Or would it have only made things worse?

I exhaled sharply, squeezing my eyes shut. It didn’t matter now. I had run. I had shut the door between us, both literally and figuratively, and now I was stuck in the mess I had made.

The clock struck midnight, and my throat felt like the Sahara—dry, scratchy, desperate for relief. Hunger gnawed at the edges of my stomach, a dull ache reminding me that I hadn’t eaten all day.

I hesitated, sitting up in bed, staring at the door like it was some kind of threshold I wasn’t ready to cross. But the thirst was unbearable, my body making the decision for me.

Slowly, I moved, my bare feet hitting the cold floor as I stood. My hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment before I turned it, careful and deliberate. I listened, waiting.

Silence.

The house was dark, still, like it had been swallowed by the night. No voices, no footsteps, no signs of life.

I exhaled, stepping into the hallway, the floor creaking slightly beneath me. I felt ridiculous for being so on edge, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of something unspoken lingering in the air, something unresolved.

I hurried past his room, heart pounding in my chest like he might somehow sense me there, standing just outside his door. The thought was irrational, but it didn’t stop me from quickening my steps, from holding my breath as I passed.

Reaching the stairs, I moved down carefully, each step slow and deliberate despite the urgency in my chest. The house was still, the kind of quiet that felt almost unnatural, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Everyone was asleep. Or at least, no one was home.

The realization settled over me as I stepped into the kitchen. No distant murmur of voices, no light spilling from under doors. Just me, alone, surrounded by the hum of the refrigerator and the soft creaks of the house settling.

I exhaled, tension loosening just slightly as I made my way to the cabinet, grabbing a glass before turning toward the sink. The coolness of the water was a relief against my parched throat, the first sip soothing the ache I hadn’t realized had spread through my whole body.

I moved around the kitchen quietly, careful not to make too much noise as I grabbed the bread and some deli meat. The simplicity of it—just making a sandwich—felt almost foreign, like I was forcing myself into a normal routine when everything inside me was still tangled from earlier.

My hands worked on autopilot, spreading mayo, layering slices of turkey, but my mind was somewhere else. Flashes of Lou’s expression from the shower, the way his jaw had tensed, the way his hands had loosened around me like he was letting go—like I had pushed him to.

I shook my head, trying to will the memory away, focusing instead on the rhythmic sounds of the kitchen—the rustle of the bread bag, the quiet clink of a butter knife against the counter. I just needed to eat, to get something in my system, and then I could go back upstairs, crawl into bed, and pretend none of this was happening.

But just as I reached for a plate, a floorboard creaked behind me.

I froze.

My breath caught in my throat. I didn’t turn around right away, my fingers still curled around the edge of the plate as if holding onto something solid would keep me grounded.

Another soft creak. Closer this time.

I swallowed, my heart picking up speed as I finally forced myself to turn.

Lou stood at the entrance of the kitchen, leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t saying anything, just watching me, his expression unreadable. The dim glow from the stovetop light cast shadows over his face, making the sharp angles of his jaw more pronounced. His dark eyes locked onto mine, and for a second, neither of us moved.

I licked my lips, suddenly hyper-aware of how dry my mouth felt. "Hey," I murmured, the word barely rising above a whisper.

"Hey." Lou's voice was softer than usual, rough around the edges, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. Maybe he hadn’t.

I glanced down at my half-finished sandwich, suddenly feeling ridiculous. What was I doing? Making food in the middle of the night, like it was some kind of escape. Like it was going to fix the weight pressing down on my chest.

Lou exhaled, the sound slow and measured. "You didn't go to work." It wasn't a question, more a quiet observation.

I shook my head. "No."

He pushed off the doorframe, stepping further into the kitchen, his eyes studying me like they always did. His presence was heavy, settling around me like a thick fog. "Didn't leave your room, either."

I didn't meet his gaze, instead playing with the crust of my sandwich, my fingers tracing patterns in the bread. "I wasn't feeling great."

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I could feel him watching me, his eyes piercing into me, even though I refused to look up.

"Are you hiding from me?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost like he already knew the answer.

My grip tightened on the plate, the ceramic edges digging into my palm. "No."

A huff of air escaped him, but there was no humor in it. "Liar."

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting my shoulders sag. I was too tired for this, too exhausted to pretend like nothing had changed between us. Like I hadn’t almost said something that could’ve shattered everything.

"I just needed time," I admitted, my voice small, fragile. "To think."

Lou nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. It was as if he was holding back something, but I couldn’t tell what. He looked at me for a long, silent moment before running a hand through his messy hair, the frustration visible in the way his fingers tugged through it.

"Did you figure anything out?" His voice was almost careful, like he was testing the waters.

I let out a soft, humorless laugh. "No."

He inhaled sharply, frustration bleeding into his tone. "Right."

I finally met his eyes, something shifting between us as our gazes locked. His eyes searched mine like he was looking for something—answers, maybe, or just some sign.

"I don't want to fight," I whispered, the words coming out in a rush, like I'd been holding them back for far too long.

His expression softened, just slightly. "Neither do I."

Another beat of silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, before Lou sighed and let his shoulders drop. He glanced over at my forgotten sandwich, then back at me.

"You hungry?" he asked, his voice casual, but the undertone was different. Lighter. Like he was trying to bring some normalcy back to the moment.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "I—yeah, I guess."

Without another word, he turned toward the cabinet, pulling down a glass. He filled it with water and slid it across the counter to me, his movements smooth, practiced, like he'd done this a thousand times before.

I reached for the glass without thinking, the coolness of it grounding me, reminding me of the space between us that had started to feel like it might never close.

Lou leaned against the counter, his gaze fixed on me as I took a sip. "You look tired," he said after a while, the words simple but cutting right to the heart of it.

I let out a small laugh, barely audible. "I feel tired."

He didn’t smile, just nodded, like he understood exactly what I meant. His eyes never left me, his gaze unwavering, steady in a way I didn't know if I was ready for.

I lowered myself onto the barstool, my movements slow, my legs aching from having been coiled up in bed for too long. The kitchen was silent, save for the hum of the fridge in the background, and I felt the weight of Lou’s stare like a heavy blanket pressing down on me.

I tore a piece off my sandwich, more out of habit than hunger, and started picking at it. His eyes were still on me. Always on me.

"You’re acting weird," he said finally, his voice low but firm.

I didn’t look up. "I’m trying not to."

"That’s not an answer."

I sighed, my fingers pressing into the cool counter as I let my head drop, eyes closing for just a moment. "I don’t know what you want me to say, Lou."

He exhaled sharply, like he was holding back something. He pushed off the counter and took a step closer to me, his presence filling the small space of the kitchen. "I want you to talk to me."

"I am talking to you."

"No, you’re avoiding me." The words were like a punch to the gut. "You ran out of the bathroom. You didn’t leave your room all day. You won’t even look at me for more than five seconds."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing with each word. He was right. I had been avoiding him. But how could I explain that? How could I tell him I was terrified of what would happen if I didn’t?

Silence stretched between us, and I could feel the frustration radiating off him in waves.

"Is this about what you almost said?" he asked, his voice sharp now, and it cut through the tension between us like a knife.

My breath hitched. His eyes were on me, searching for the truth I wasn’t ready to give.

He gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles going white. Then he let out a short, humorless laugh. "Jesus, you’re really not gonna say anything, are you?"

I glanced up at him, jaw tight, my chest tightening with all the things I couldn’t say. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "The truth? And what, that magically fixes everything?"

He shook his head, looking away for a brief second before turning back to face me, his expression darkening. "No, but at least I wouldn’t feel like I’m losing my mind trying to figure out what’s going on with you."

I let out a shaky breath, my fingers curling around the plate in my hands. "It’s complicated."

"It’s only complicated because you keep making it that way," he shot back, his frustration growing.

I snapped my head up, the sharpness of his words cutting through me. "You think this is easy for me?"

"No," he said, his voice softening just a little. "I think you’re scared." His words landed heavy in the air between us, and they stung more than I wanted to admit. "And instead of dealing with it, you’re running away."

I stood abruptly, the stool scraping across the floor. "You don’t get it—"

"Then make me get it," he interrupted, his tone softer but urgent. "Tell me why. Tell me why you keep pulling away when I know you feel it too."

My breath caught in my throat. My body went cold at the thought of saying it aloud, of naming the thing that had been twisting in my chest for weeks. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. 

I opened my mouth, and then closed it again. Words failed me, leaving me standing there like a fool, my heart pounding in my chest.

Lou’s shoulders dropped, a quiet resignation settling in. His hand ran through his hair again, his fingers tugging at the strands, but this time there was no anger in his movements. Just… exhaustion.

"You know you can say it, right?" he asked, his voice quieter now. "You can tell me."

I shook my head, my heart pounding louder. "It’s not that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because if I say it, then it’s real." The words barely broke the space between us, but they landed like a weight on my chest.

He exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching at his sides, as if struggling to find the right words. Finally, he moved closer, his presence surrounding me in a way that made my pulse race.

"It’s already real," he murmured. "You not saying it doesn’t change that."

I closed my eyes, my heart racing in my chest. He was right. But that didn’t mean I was ready.

His hand brushed against my wrist, so gentle, so hesitant, that it sent a shiver up my spine. "It’s already real," he murmured again, his voice quieter now, like he was trying to soothe me. 

I closed my eyes, fighting the way my chest tightened. He was right. I knew it. I could feel it, deep in my bones. But even knowing that, the words still seemed impossible to say.

“I feel like a coward,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, the words slipping out before I could stop them. My eyes darted away from his, unable to meet his gaze. I couldn’t—because if I did, I knew I’d break. I knew I’d shatter into pieces in front of him, and I wasn’t sure I could pick myself up again.

Lou’s grip on my wrist tightened, just a fraction, before it loosened, like he was trying to decide between holding on or letting go. "You’re not a coward," he said firmly, but there was a trace of sadness in his voice.

I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. “Then why does it feel like I am?”

His jaw clenched, his expression tight, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he seemed to settle into the quiet space between us, like he was trying to make sense of everything that was happening.

"Because you’re scared," he said finally, and there was no anger in it, no frustration. Just the truth. "But that doesn’t make you a coward."

I swallowed, my throat closing up. It wasn’t the first time someone had told me I was scared, but hearing it from Lou was different. Lou, who knew me in ways no one else did. Lou, who could see through all the walls I built, all the excuses I made.

"But what does it make me?" I asked, my voice breaking slightly, a sharp edge of vulnerability creeping in.

He looked at me for a long moment, his gaze unyielding, like he was trying to read the tangled mess of thoughts in my mind. "It makes you human."

The words lingered between us, heavy and raw. It should’ve been comforting, hearing that. But it wasn’t. Not really. Because all I could feel was the weight of my own guilt, twisting and turning inside me like a knot that wouldn’t loosen.

"It doesn’t feel like that," I admitted, my voice small, almost fragile. "It feels like I’m just hurting you."

His fingers flexed around my wrist, and for a moment, he looked away. That hurt more than anything. That simple shift in his gaze—like something inside him had broken, too.

"I won’t lie to you," he said after a long pause, his voice softer now, more resigned. "It does hurt."

I flinched at the words, the guilt twisting deeper in my chest, knotting it up like I couldn’t breathe.

"But I also know you," he continued, his voice steady now. "I know you wouldn’t be struggling with this if it didn’t mean something to you. And that matters more to me than you just saying what you think I want to hear."

I looked at him then, really looked at him, and the weight in my chest shifted. It didn’t disappear, not entirely, but it became something else. Something softer, something more manageable. I saw him, truly saw him, and I realized that he’d been here the whole time, waiting for me to say the words, but also giving me the space I needed to say them.

"I don’t want to lose you," I whispered, my voice trembling, barely holding together.

"You won’t," he said immediately, without hesitation. "I’m not going anywhere."

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But there was always that voice in the back of my head, the one that told me things couldn’t be that simple. Nothing ever was. And the thought of losing him—of losing this—was terrifying in a way I couldn’t fully explain.

Lou must have seen it in my eyes, because he let go of my wrist—only to lace his fingers through mine instead. His touch was gentle, but there was something firm about it, too. He wasn’t forcing me, and wasn't demanding anything. Just holding.

"I’m not going anywhere," he promised again, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "But I need to know you won’t either."

I took a shaky breath, my fingers curling around his, just slightly, like a lifeline. "I don’t know how to do this," I whispered, the words feeling too big for my mouth.

His lips quirked up, just a little. "Then we’ll figure it out together."

I looked up at him, my heart pounding in my chest, and something inside me started to crack open. It was like a door, long closed, was finally starting to creak open again. I wasn’t sure what was on the other side, but at that moment, I knew that I didn’t have to be alone.

Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. His body pressed against mine, warm and solid, and for the first time in days, I felt safe. Safe in a way that had nothing to do with the walls I’d built around myself. Safe because he was here, because I could feel the steadiness of him grounding me.

His arms wrapped around me immediately, and I let myself fall into the embrace. Let myself sink into him, feel the weight of his arms around me, feel the comfort of his presence. His hand cradled the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair with a tenderness that made my chest ache.

We didn’t say anything for a while, just stood there in the quiet of the kitchen. The world outside was still there, but in this moment, it felt like nothing else existed. Just him. Just me. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine. The warmth of his hands against my skin.

I let out a soft breath, burying my face into his shirt, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel so alone.

He pulled away just enough to look down at me, and I could see the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His eyes flickered to the sandwich on the counter, and without a word, he reached over and grabbed it, taking a big bite. The action was so casual, so familiar, that it made me laugh despite myself.

"Hey!" I protested, swatting at his arm, "That’s mine! I haven’t even eaten yet."

He glanced down at me, chewing slowly, a grin spreading across his face. There was something playful in his eyes, like he was enjoying this more than he should. "You should’ve eaten faster," he teased, his voice muffled by the sandwich. He winked at me, still holding the sandwich with one hand, his other arm still wrapped around my waist.

I narrowed my eyes at him, but I couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at my lips. "Thief," I muttered, though it was hard to sound mad when he looked so damn pleased with himself.

He chuckled, taking another bite of my sandwich as if he hadn’t stolen anything at all. His eyes softened as he chewed, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead before pulling back. "Sorry. I’ll make you another one, promise."

I shot him a mock glare, though the warmth in my chest didn’t let me keep it up for long. "You better," I said, but my tone was light, teasing even.

He just smirked and leaned down, his lips brushing mine lightly, pausing as if waiting for permission. My heart skipped, the familiar warmth of him sending a shiver down my spine. I leaned in, closing the small gap between us, and our lips met in a soft, understanding kiss. It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It wasn’t about anything other than the quiet comfort of being with someone who knew exactly where you were and still wanted to be there.

His lips were my favorite attribute of his, the way they felt against mine, warm and gentle, like a promise I couldn’t quite put into words. It was in the way he kissed me—not rushing, not demanding, just a silent connection that said everything I needed to hear. His smile was my second favorite. The way it lit up his entire face, like he could take on the world with just a curve of his lips. His eyes came third, the way they seemed to see me even when I wasn’t sure I wanted to be seen.

I pulled away just slightly, our foreheads resting together, our breaths mingling, each one slow and steady, grounding me in this moment. It was as if everything else had faded, leaving just the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the quiet connection between us.

"Let me go make you that sandwich," he said with a soft smile, brushing his lips across the top of my head in a brief, tender kiss before stepping away.

I watched as he moved toward the counter. 

"You don’t have to," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I’ll survive."

He turned to look at me over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling with a playful spark. "I know you will," he teased, "but I promised, and I’m a man of my word."

I couldn’t help but laugh softly at that, watching as he opened the fridge and began pulling out ingredients, his movements fluid and sure. There was something incredibly domestic about it, something that made the knot in my chest loosen a little further. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this—how much I needed him to be here.

Lou worked in silence for a few moments, slicing the bread with the same care he always used, as though making a sandwich was an art form to him. The knife slid through the bread with a soft swish, the quiet sound filling the space between us. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, mesmerized by the way he moved, his concentration so focused yet relaxed. It was a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind.

As he set the bread down and began layering the fillings, I leaned against the counter, watching him. A comfortable silence settled over us again, the kind that only comes when you're not rushing to fill the space with words.

I didn’t need to say anything more. The distance between us had shrunk, and I could feel it in every little movement, every soft glance shared. Lou knew me—maybe better than I knew myself at times—and that was enough for him. That was enough for us.

He finished assembling the sandwich and turned back toward me, holding it out with a proud grin, as if he’d just completed some grand masterpiece. "There you go," he said, his voice light, teasing. "One perfectly made sandwich, just like you ordered."

I took it, amused by his theatrics, but as I held it in my hands, I realized something. It wasn’t just about the sandwich. It wasn’t even about the food, or the playful banter, or the comfort of his touch. It was the way he cared about the little things—the way he showed up, again and again.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice softer now, genuine.

Lou smiled, watching me take a bite, his gaze warm and steady. “Anytime.”

I took another bite of the sandwich, savoring the flavors. Lou’s smile was a quiet thing, just a curve of his lips that made my chest feel lighter. His eyes never left me, and there was something in his gaze that made me feel seen, in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.

“Jesus, Lou. It’s really fucking good,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I held the sandwich out to him, offering him a bite, and he didn’t hesitate. He took it from me, keeping his eyes locked on mine as he chewed slowly, a quiet hum of approval in his throat.

“Mhm, that’s good,” he murmured, the simple words warm and familiar. His gaze softened as he swallowed, like he was content just being in the moment with me, no rush, no expectations.

For a long moment, we just stood there, the kitchen quiet except for the occasional clink of the plate, the soft sounds of chewing. 

I swallowed, the thought settling deep in my chest before I could second-guess it. “Stay with me tonight,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. I met his gaze, steady but uncertain, hoping he’d understand what I couldn’t put into words.

Lou smirked, tilting his head slightly as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Oh, that was always the plan,” he said, amusement flickering in his voice. “Even if you kept ignoring me, I would've kicked down the door and thrown myself at you until you caved.”

I let out an exaggerated scoff, rolling my eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

He grinned, unbothered. “You love it.”

I huffed, shaking my head, but I didn’t argue. Instead, I took another slow bite of my sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. Then, almost too quiet to be heard, I admitted, “I do love it.”

His expression shifted, the teasing edge softening into something warmer.

We left the plates in the sink, a problem for tomorrow. Lou took my hand without a word, leading me upstairs, the silence between us no longer heavy—just understood.

When we reached my bedroom door, he didn’t hesitate. He pushed it open, pulling me in behind him, and shut it softly once we were inside.

I barely had a second to process before he turned toward me and kissed me. It was unexpected but not unwelcome—never unwelcome.

His hands found my face, warm and steady, tilting my chin to deepen the kiss. I exhaled against his lips, my fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking. 

Lou made a low sound, almost in approval, before pressing in further, his body flush against mine. The heat of him, the way he touched me—not hurried or desperate, but deliberate, like he’d been waiting for this—made my stomach tighten.

I should’ve been nervous. Maybe I was. But with Lou, it wasn’t frightening. It was grounding.

His thumbs brushed over my cheekbones, his breath warm as he pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against mine. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, edged with restraint.

I shook my head, my fingers tightening against his chest. “Don’t stop.”

His lips twitched like he wanted to smirk, but he didn’t tease me this time. Instead, he kissed me again, slower this time—softer, like he was savoring it.

And I let him. 

My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, tugging at it with quiet urgency. Lou got the message instantly, breaking the kiss just long enough to peel it over his head and toss it aside. My hands moved instinctively, trailing over the warmth of his bare skin, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath my touch.

He kissed me again, deeper this time, like he needed to make up for the lost seconds. His hands found my waist, fingertips pressing into my sides as he pulled me closer. The heat between us grew, slow and intoxicating, but still careful, still waiting for me to tell him where the line was.

I wasn’t sure there was one—not tonight.

I tilted my head, letting his lips trace a path down my jaw, my pulse stuttering with every brush of his mouth against my skin. My grip tightened on his shoulders, nails digging in just slightly, and he exhaled a quiet laugh against my collarbone.

“Impatient?” he teased, his voice rough, edged with something fond.

I huffed, nudging his face back up to mine, kissing him again before whispering against his lips, “You talk too much.”

His grin was there, brief and warm, before he kissed me breathless all over again.

I barely had time to process before he was lifting me, my feet leaving the ground for just a moment before my back met the mattress. He followed, hovering above me, his weight braced on his forearms as his lips found mine again. It was slow this time—unhurried, like he wanted to savor every second.

His fingers brushed against my wrist before sliding up my arm, coaxing a shiver out of me as he mapped out every inch. My heart pounded in my chest, and I knew he could feel it, could probably hear it in the quiet of the room.

“Still with me?” he murmured, his lips barely an inch from mine.

I nodded, swallowing hard, my hands threading into his hair. “Yeah.”

Lou’s expression softened, and something in his eyes flickered—something deep and knowing, like he understood exactly what this moment meant to me.

He kissed me again, slower this time, his lips brushing over mine in a way that sent warmth curling through my stomach. His hands moved to my waist, slipping beneath the hem of my shirt, fingertips grazing over my skin, warm and steady.

Everything about him—his touch, his presence—felt safe. Familiar in a way that made my chest ache.

So I pulled him closer, and he followed without hesitation.

Lou’s fingers brushed against the bare skin of my waist, his touch deliberate yet hesitant, as if waiting for any sign of hesitation from me. But I didn’t hesitate—I didn’t want to.

My breath hitched as his hands smoothed up my sides, bunching the fabric of my shirt in his grip. He pulled back just slightly, searching my face. His eyes, usually filled with teasing warmth, were different now—softer, more serious.

He was waiting for permission.

I gave it by lifting my arms, letting him pull the shirt over my head. The air felt cool against my skin in contrast to the heat of his touch.

Lou swallowed hard, his gaze trailing over me before meeting my eyes again. His fingers traced a slow path down my arm, his touch light but steady.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost as if the words had escaped without him meaning to say them aloud.

Warmth bloomed in my chest, a slow, spreading heat that had nothing to do with the closeness of our bodies. I reached for him, pulling him back down, our lips meeting again.

This wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic. It was careful, deliberate—every touch, every kiss, a silent conversation neither of us had the words for.

His hands traced over my skin, his touch both careful and certain. He kissed along my jaw, trailing down to my neck, where his lips lingered, warm and soft. I exhaled shakily, my fingers threading through his hair as he moved over me, his breath hot against my skin.

He pressed a kiss to my shoulder, then down my arm, his touch reverent, like he wanted to savor every moment. His fingers found mine, lacing them together briefly before he brought my hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across my knuckles.

Then he was back, his lips capturing mine again, slow and deep, like he was trying to tell me something without words. And maybe he was. Maybe we both were.

The weight of him above me wasn’t heavy—it was grounding. The warmth of his skin against mine, the way his heart pounded in time with my own—it made everything else fade. The doubts, the fears, the hesitation that had been gnawing at me for days.

Lou pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath mingling with mine. “You okay?” he murmured, his voice low, careful.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around his. “Yeah,” I whispered. And for the first time in a long time, I meant it.

His lips curved slightly before he kissed me again, slower this time, like we had all the time in the world. 

My hands found the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging lightly, hesitant.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath as I pressed my lips to his, feeling the weight of every word, every feeling between us.

He responded with a gentle but sure pull, sliding the sweatpants down and discarding them. Without breaking the connection, he moved to help me with my own, his hands warm and careful as he slowly pulled them off. There was nothing rushed about it—just a quiet exchange, a shared moment where words weren’t necessary.

My hands moved to his chest, gently pushing him back, before I shifted, straddling him with a quiet resolve. His hands immediately found my waist, his fingers warm against my skin as he looked up at me, his gaze soft, searching.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his hands tightening around my waist as he seemed to fully realize the shift in our positions. There was a quiet understanding in his voice, a carefulness I hadn’t expected.

I nodded, my heart racing just a little. Without thinking, I leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, a quiet reassurance between us.

I could feel him through my underwear, he was hard and warm as I started to rock my hips slightly, earning myself a few whimpers and moans from his lips. His eyes were half-closed, as if he couldn’t bear to look away, like he wanted to memorize every detail of this moment. There was something raw in his expression, a mix of trust and desire, and it made my heart race even faster. He was so close, his presence overwhelming in the best way. It wasn’t just the heat between us—it was the way his gaze held mine. 

I leaned in again, my lips capturing his in a soft kiss, before trailing them down his jaw and neck. His breath hitched as I kissed the sensitive spot I knew so well, feeling him shiver. His hands threaded through my hair, his grip gentle but firm, tugging me closer as his breath became uneven.

His hips shifted beneath me, a silent plea, but I could feel the tenderness in the way he held me. His eyes locked with mine, searching, asking without words if I was still here with him. It was like he needed reassurance, and I gave it to him, making my way up again, reaching his lips. 

The kiss was heated, messy, our tongues tangling together as his hands moved over my back. His fingers reached the clasp of my bra, before I pulled away, letting him take it off. In seconds the bra was gone and replaced with his warm palms, massaging and feeling my breast, making my breaths come in gasps as his hips kept shifting.

 His fingers traced over the soft skin, teasingly circling my nipples as he leaned forward to capture one in his mouth. A gasp escaped my lips, pleasure coursing through me as he lavished attention on me. He was making me wet, feeling as if I was drenching my panties. I was already getting worked up and he had barely touched me. 

I wanted to be on top this time, to have some sense of control, to pleasure him, but somehow, I was back against the mattress with Luigi on top of me. He had turned us over, mouth leaving me for a split second before it was back, latching on. 

I whimpered, sounds leaving my lips without meaning to. He pulled them together in his hands, his tongue trailing to the other nipple, continuing to tease and torture me. His hands reached down, sliding between us until he reached where I needed him. Fingers teasing. I wanted some sort of relief— needed to feel him touch me. 

“Lou,” I whimpered impatiently.

He pulled his mouth away, making me whimper, “I know… I know.”

He started moving down my body, planting kisses everywhere, and I moaned when he pulled my legs apart, opening me up to him. He settled there, as he looked at me through hooded eyes. His hands reached my panties, waiting for me to say something, anything. 

And I did, giving him my approval with a short nod, making him continue, sliding the fabric off of me. 

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, hands returning to me, holding me in place. He moved then, his tongue and lips making contact with where I needed him. My hands moved to his hair, fingers grabbing a handful as I moaned against him, against his tongue. He groaned into me, the sound sending a spark straight to my core. There was no denying that he was enjoying this. 

“Taste so good,” he slurred against my pussy, his face half hidden. His mouth moved, his name falling from my lips as he sucked my clit. I started thrashing around, but Luigi kept me still with a tight grip on my hips. 

The pressure was building in my core with each deliberate lick. My gaze found him and the look consuming him pushed me over the edge. 

“Luigi, oh fuck … please,” I begged, sounding completely needy and pathetic. He kept devouring me, his tongue working. I was throbbing and pulsing, with each lap, and I could feel myself getting closer and closer. My body arched into him, pushing myself closer, physically and mentally. The pressure was building in my core with each deliberate lick. My gaze found him and the look consuming him pushed me over the edge. 

My hips stuttered against him, orgasm closing in. His lips moved over me, to my clit sucking gently at first and then harder. One hand found its way into his hair, while the other gripped the sheets, my knuckles turning white from how tightly I was holding on. I was coming fast, faster than I had ever before. 

I whined, my words incoherent as I neared my release. When it finally hit, my body trembled, and his hands moved to my stomach, holding me down. His tongue was relentless, drinking me up, as he kept lapping at me, helping me through my orgasm. Luigi hummed contentedly against me, his mouth not stopping. 

I huffed, overwhelmed by the overstimulation and newfound sensitivity as my mind slowly cleared. But he didn’t stop—his tongue was relentless, even as I squirmed, hips moving away. 

“Luigi,” I whined, my hand in his hair, as he kept licking and lapping at me, this time focusing more on my entrance, “Please. ” 

His eyes met mine, dark with lust. 'One more,' he murmured against me, his voice strained and muffled. 'One more, for me,' he all but begged. I didn't know if I had it in me; my legs trembled slightly as he continued, this time with his fingers joining in.

"Are you okay?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips as I whimpered, my fingers digging into his scalp, trying to ground myself somehow.

"Just..." I moaned as his tongue flicked over my sensitive nub. "Fuck... just keep going," I finally managed, panting. 

His chuckle sent weaves straight to my core. His finger had started to ease its way in, slow, almost testing. He worked it into me, fucking me slowly as his tongue slowed down its pace. It was excruciating, he had been like this before, trying to make me come more times than one. I liked it, especially after I came, but during it? It was all too much. 

I clenched around him, making him pick up his pace and slowly add another finger as he sucked at my clit.  

" Ohmygod .." I moaned, my breaths harsh and my hips rutting into him. It started again, that overwhelming sensation, the one that made my legs tremble and my breath catch in my chest. Luigi knew my body, taking it as a sign to go faster, suck harder and add another finger, three fucking me at once. He was pushing and curling them, hitting the exact spot to make me completely unravel. 

“Just like that,” he groaned, his fingers now working my clit and plunging inside of me, making it easier for him to focus on me. His fingers kept going, as he returned to sucking my clit, eyes still on me, following the way my breasts moved from me breathing to the way my eyebrows scrunched together when he hit that particular spot. 

The pressure built inside of me, like a tightrope about to snap, and when it did I gasped and moaned loudly making me clamp my mouth shut, hand flying to cover it. I clenched around him, my head thrown back and body shaking. He fucked me through my second orgasm, chuckling at my reaction, his other hand moving to keep me still. 

My climax faded away as he kept going, my body shaking after every slurp. I was pulsing, so sensitive. 

“Please, Lou,” I whimpered, my voice desperate, “enough.” My hands moved to his face, gently pushing him away. His grin was wide, a mischievous spark in his eyes as he followed, his gaze never leaving mine. His mouth was slick, his chin glistening. 

His body shifted upward, moving over mine as he kissed his way toward my lips, his lips trailing along my stomach, then upwards between my breasts. He stayed there, lips moving to capture a nipple, sucking lightly before moving to the next leaving me panting and squirming underneath him. 

He let my nipple go with a pop, smiling at me before moving again to capture my lips. The kiss was heated, his tongue tangling with mine as I tasted myself on him. His hand moved to cup my cheek, his fingers gently grazing my skin, as if anchoring me to the moment, grounding me. 

He tilted my chin up slightly, his gaze locked on mine with an intensity that made everything else fade away.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. “The way you make me feel—” He paused for a moment, his thumb brushing over my skin. “I want to make you feel just as good. I want to show you how much you mean to me.” 

I sighed, his words settling deep within me, hitting me hard. Without thinking, I leaned in, closing the distance between us, and kissed him. My lips brushed against his with a softness, before I let my tongue tease his bottom lip, sending a spark of electricity through me. His breath hitched in response. 

My hands moved between us, finding his cock and grabbing it lightly through his boxers. 

"Take them off," I whispered between kisses, my hand trailing over him, exploring gently. He obliged, shifting his hips and pulling the boxers off, cock springing free. I took him in my hand, warm against me and every time I would kiss his lips he would twitch in my palm. 

My fingers wrapped around him, stroking lightly, drawing shaky breaths from his lips. His mouth hung slightly open, his eyes heavy-lidded as they stayed locked on mine, occasionally flickering down to my lips.

My grip tightened slightly, pulling a low groan from him as impatience flickered across his face. He needed more.

“Fuck…” he sighed, his voice strained. “Please.”

I couldn’t help but smile shyly—he was utterly entrancing. His soft curls fell against his forehead, his chest rising and falling in sync with mine. Every breath he took pushed him closer, warmth radiating between us. He was beautiful. He was perfect.

My hand moved over him, stroking upwards, moving over the tip. Precum oozed from him and I smeared it along, using it as natural lube. He hissed, body tensing. I shifted slightly, further pulling my thighs apart. He lined himself up with me, but paused, eyes finding mine. 

"You okay?" he asked, his voice so strained it was a miracle he could speak at all.

I nodded, whispering a breathless, "Yes.” 

He nodded, eyes shifting to between us, as I still held him, he was right where he was supposed to be. His hips moved, pushing, his tip entering. A groan escaped our lips in unison, as he moved forward at an agonizing pace. Inch my inch he filled me up, making me moan and grab his shoulders. 

The feeling of him stretching me had the coil in my abdomen already tightening for a third time. He was pushing into me to the hilt, and when he couldn't go any further, he paused again. 

"You okay?" he asked lazily, his voice dripping with lust. 

I moaned, my patience thinning. "Move, Luigi," I whined, drawing a low chuckle from him before he finally pulled out—only to thrust back in again. He kept up that rhythm, over and over, until my fingers dug so deep into his shoulders. 

He was thrusting and I was moaning, writhing mess under him. Our bodies meshing together on the bed. The lewd sound of whimpers and skin slapping filled the room and all I could think was how close he was making me. I clenched around him, as he groaned. 

Without warning, his hand snuck between us again, letting his thumb fall to my clit. He was rubbing lazy circles into my bundle of nerves while his cock repeatedly hit the perfect spot inside me and my body went nearly limp. 

“Got another one for me?” His words were broken by grunts. “Want to feel you,” he moaned, as his thump kept rubbing at me. 

With each word he spoke, pushing me closer to the finish line. I felt my body begin to shudder and my third orgasm of the night set in. 

“There she is,” he chuckled, his lips finding my neck, sucking and leaving open-mind kisses all over. I clenched around him, squeezing around his cock. 

My mind was in a frenzy as he continued to slide in and out, his thump leaving my clit, moving to hold my hip. His pace was ruthless as he chased his own high. He was fucking me straight through my orgasm, the feeling overwhelming. 

His hands were pawing at my hips, holding me in place as he thrusted relentlessly. The breathy moans and inaudible profanities coming from his mouth singled his impending release. 

My head fell back, eyes squeezed shut as he kept going. His lips trailed over my skin, pressing soft kisses along my neck until he reached a spot just below my jaw. He lingered there, his tongue flicking out before he sucked—slow and deep—determined to leave his mark. He continued like that, kissing, then sucking, then moving to a new spot, painting me in him. This was going to be a problem.

“Luigi,” I moaned, my fingers still gripping his shoulders, holding on as if letting go would send me spiraling.

He pulled back slightly, just enough for his lips to brush my ear as he whispered, “I love you.” His voice was soft, reverent. “I love you so much.”

My mouth fell open, caught somewhere between surprise and something deeper, but before I could say anything, his body tensed, a shudder running through him as he let go. He leaned forward, head falling and burying his face in the crook of my neck as he let out a long drawn out moan. 

He came inside me, wet and warm. I held onto him tightly, moaning as he did. He was still pulsing, filling me up, before he slumped.

The room was quiet, the only sound was our slowing breaths, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against mine. His body was heavy, warm, grounding—his presence anchoring me to this moment. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved.

His heartbeat, still racing but steadying now, pulsed against my skin. I could still feel him inside me, softening, but not leaving. Not yet. Like he wasn’t ready to break the connection, like he needed to hold onto it a little longer.

Had he meant it?

His words echoed in my mind.

I love you.

It hadn’t been just heat or passion—I had felt it in the way he touched me, in the way he held me afterward, his hands reverent, his lips lingering. It wasn’t something accidental or careless. It was real.

I had spent so long denying myself, convincing myself that the way I felt—the way I had always felt—was something fleeting, something I could ignore if I only willed it hard enough. But I couldn’t pretend anymore. Not now. Not when his body still pressed against mine, warm and solid. Not when he was still inside me, softening, but still there.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening slightly on his back.

“I love you too,” I whispered.

Everything stopped.

His breath hitched, his whole body going impossibly still, and then, slowly, he lifted his head from the crook of my neck. Our eyes met in the dim light, his eyes wide, searching—like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right, like he was afraid to believe it.

Then something in him broke open.

A shaky exhale left his lips, his hands coming up to frame my face, thumbs stroking over my cheeks like I was something fragile, something precious. His forehead rested against mine, his breath warm, uneven.

Then, he kissed me.

It was slow, deep, reverent—the kind of kiss that spoke of understanding, of knowing, of finally having. He didn’t rush. He wasn’t desperate. He just was , holding me there, grounding me in the space between us.

When he pulled away, he whispered against my lips, “Say it again.”

I smiled softly. “I love you.”

His lips caught mine once more, swallowing the words, drawing them into himself like he never wanted to let them go. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like he needed to feel the words, to let them sink into his skin. When he opened them again, something softer—something deeper—settled in his gaze.

He kissed me again. And again. Whispering my name between breaths, between touches, like he needed to make sure I was real. Like he needed to make sure this was real.

Lou exhaled, finally pulling back just enough to look at me properly, his fingers tangled in my hair. A small, almost incredulous smile ghosted across his lips.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that,” he admitted. His voice was quiet, reverent, like he was speaking a truth he hadn’t known he needed to say.

I let my fingers trace absent patterns along his shoulder, my own smile growing. “Then I’ll just have to keep saying it.”

His grip on me tightened, his arms wrapping more securely around me as if he could somehow pull me even closer. “Good.”

Finally, after a long moment, he let out a soft, breathy laugh, pressing his forehead to mine. His fingers traced gently along my skin, down my arms, my sides—soothing, cherishing. He pulled back slightly, his gaze soft, heavy-lidded, as if memorizing every inch of me.

“You okay?” he murmured.

I nodded, still catching my breath.

A small smile tugged at his lips, this time less teasing.

Then, after a long moment, Lou shifted.

“I should clean you up,” he murmured, voice low and heavy with something affectionate. But he didn’t move right away. His fingers still traced over my back, lazy and unhurried.

I hummed softly, not quite wanting to let him go yet. “Stay.”

A quiet chuckle vibrated through his chest. “I’ll be right back.”

He exhaled, rolling onto his side, his arms still wrapped around me, unwilling to let go just yet. But after a moment, he shifted, carefully slipping out of me, the loss making me shiver slightly. 

His hands smoothed over my skin, grounding me as he pressed one last lingering kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

I watched as he sat up, his muscles flexing in the dim glow of the room, the soft light catching on the sharp angles of his collarbone, the toned planes of his stomach. He reached for his sweatpants, slipping them on, but didn’t bother with a shirt.

I found myself admiring him as he stood, his presence so effortless, so him . He ran a hand through his already-messy hair before moving to the door, disappearing for a moment, the room still.

I felt strangely bare without him beside me, the space he left behind starkly empty.

A few minutes passed before he returned, a warm washcloth in one hand, a glass of water in the other.

Without a word, he knelt beside the bed, his touch impossibly gentle as he cleaned me up, his fingers ghosting over my skin in slow, tender strokes. There was something so intimate in it—not just the act itself, but the way he did it. With care. With love.

Once he was satisfied, he helped me sit up just enough to drink, watching me closely as I took small sips, making sure I didn’t spill. He drank some himself before setting the glass aside, then climbed back into bed, immediately pulling me into his arms.

I melted into him, resting my head against his bare chest, listening to the steady, soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers traced lazy patterns along my spine, every so often threading into my hair, pressing the occasional soft kiss to the top of my head.

Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to.

This was enough.

Just us. Entwined in the quiet, in the warmth, in something we had both finally allowed ourselves to have.

And then, just as my eyes started to flutter shut, he whispered, “Say it again.”

Sleepy, warm, I barely stirred, but I turned my head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone.

“I love you,” I murmured, and I felt him exhale, a deep, contented sound.

He tightened his hold on me, burying his face in my hair.

“Again,” he whispered.

I smiled against his skin.

“I love you.”

His arms around me, his lips pressing another slow, lingering kiss to my forehead, he let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

And then, just when I thought he had finally settled, his voice came again—softer this time.

“I love you more.”

It wasn’t the first time he had said it.

But somehow, it still felt just as new. Just as precious .

Like something rare, something treasured.

I curled closer to him, letting my fingers rest over his heart, feeling its steady rhythm beneath my touch.

For so long, I had convinced myself that this— us —was something I couldn’t have. That it was too much, too fragile, too risky.

But lying there, wrapped in his warmth, listening to the quiet steadiness of his breathing, feeling the way he held me like he never wanted to let go…

I knew I had been wrong.

This wasn’t just something fleeting.

It was real.

It was everything .

And I never wanted to wake up without it again.

Chapter Text

There were exactly twenty students in my new third-grade class at Yorkwood Elementary—nearly an even divide between boys and girls, though not quite. It was something I had counted before, something I had noticed in passing. Not that it mattered in any meaningful way, but when one is eight years old, even the smallest details seem significant.

I sat at my desk, my chin resting in my palm, feigning attentiveness as Ms. Adler’s voice carried on in the background. My focus, however, had long since drifted elsewhere.

Beyond the window, the world outside appeared far more engaging. The trees swayed languidly in the breeze, their leaves shimmering beneath the golden afternoon light, casting shifting patterns along the pavement. The sky was an expanse of uninterrupted blue, so clear and vast that it made the thought of remaining indoors nearly unbearable.

Then, at last, the bell rang.

The sharp chime sent a wave of energy through the classroom. Chairs scraped noisily against the floor, conversations erupted all at once, and within moments, the room had emptied as we spilled eagerly onto the playground.

It was then that Nathan, the boy who was effortlessly popular, who commanded attention without trying, spoke up.

"I say we should play ‘Find and Kiss.’"

His voice was filled with easy confidence, the sort that made it clear he expected agreement. And, as expected, there was very little protest. Nathan always had a way of getting what he wanted.

I found myself nodding before I could think better of it, a quiet, eager agreement slipping from my lips.

"That’s boring," someone groaned.

"No, let’s do it," another countered.

And just like that, the game was set.

The girls scattered first, dashing off in different directions, giggling amongst themselves as they sought hiding places. I lingered for a moment, scanning the playground, before retreating toward a thick patch of bushes near the fence line. It was not the most well-concealed spot, but it would suffice.

I crouched down, pressing my knees into the damp earth, the scent of freshly turned soil rising around me. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I could hear my mother’s voice admonishing me for soiling my clothes, but at that moment, such concerns felt inconsequential.

I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

At first, anticipation coiled in my stomach, my heart beating in quick, excited rhythms. Any moment now, someone would find me. Any moment now, there would be the triumphant call of "Found you!" followed by—

But the minutes stretched on, and no such call came.

The distant laughter of my classmates filled the air, but none of it was meant for me. The longer I remained hidden, the more acutely I became aware of the sinking realization settling in my chest.

No one was coming.

Perhaps they had forgotten about me.

Or worse—perhaps no one had intended to seek me out at all.

A lump formed in my throat, hot and tight. It was a childish thing to be upset over, I told myself. A game. A silly, meaningless game. And yet, despite my best efforts to dismiss the thought, my chest ached with something uncomfortably close to hurt.

I exhaled, steadying myself. It didn’t matter. It didn’t.

Resolving to brush it off, I moved to stand, ready to step back into the open and pretend none of it had affected me.

But just as I shifted, a hand grasped mine.

"I found you."

The voice was soft, almost thoughtful, as though he were speaking more to himself than to me.

I looked up, startled, my breath catching slightly.

It was not Nathan.

The boy before me had brown, curling hair, his cheeks still flushed from exertion. He was breathing slightly heavier than usual, and there was a hesitance in his expression—an uncertainty, as though he was unsure whether he was permitted to be pleased by his victory.

His eyes were striking.

I did not let go of his hand.

"Are you going to kiss me?" I asked, my voice quiet.

He hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Yes."

Then, without further deliberation, he leaned in, pressing a gentle, fleeting kiss to my right cheek.

The warmth of it lingered even as he pulled away.

When he did, his gaze remained fixed on mine, as though waiting for some kind of reaction. His fingers, still entwined with mine, tensed briefly before loosening, and I wondered if he was suddenly nervous.

I stared at him, taking in the way his expression had softened, the way his lips pressed together as if he were considering saying something more.

It was supposed to be Nathan.

And yet, as I stood there, heart still fluttering in my chest, I found that I did not mind in the slightest that it was not.

A few months had passed, and with them, August’s warmth had given way to the sharp bite of December’s. The cold had swept over Baltimore, settling into the streets, clinging to the air like an unwelcome guest. The city lights flickered in the distance, bright against the dark, their halos stretching across the wet pavement. Every car that passed cast long, shifting shadows that seemed to dance beneath the glow.

I pulled my jacket tighter around myself, though it did little to ward off the bitter wind that cut through the fabric. It seeped into my bones, stealing the warmth from my skin, but I ignored the discomfort. I had always liked the cold—liked the way it sharpened the air, the way it made everything feel quieter, more still.

Someone called my name, sharp and impatient, followed by a grumbled, “Keep up, damn it.”

My brothers stood a few feet ahead, shifting restlessly as people wove around us, the steady hum of city life filling the air. The video store was just up ahead, its neon sign flickering against the dark, a dull buzz barely audible over the street noise. It was a miracle I had been allowed to come with them at all, and they never let me forget it.

“You’re lucky Mom and Dad even let you tag along,” Michael muttered as I finally caught up. His hand shot out, grabbing the sleeve of my jacket and giving it a rough tug. “Do you want me to tell them you’re not listening?”

“No,” I murmured quickly, the word barely slipping past my lips before he started dragging me forward.

I didn’t resist. 

Matthew cast a glance in my direction before we all moved toward the store, the glow of its neon sign flickering against the pavement. They had decided we would rent two movies—one for them and one for me. Obviously, I wouldn’t be allowed to watch theirs, but even this small gesture felt like inclusion. It wasn’t that my brothers didn’t like me; our relationship was just... brotherly. They cared in their own way, but we weren’t close in age, and I was sadly a girl. Our similarities ended at the fact that we shared parents.

The moment we stepped inside, warmth enveloped me, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. The air smelled like old plastic and stale popcorn, and my eyes widened at the towering shelves lined with movies. It wasn’t overly crowded, but there were enough people wandering between aisles to make the space feel alive.

Michael’s grip on my jacket remained firm as if he didn’t trust me not to wander. A quick tug snapped me back to attention, and I turned just as he fixed me with a stern look.

“Listen,” he said, his voice taking on that no-nonsense tone that sounded eerily like Dad’s. “Me and Matt are going to the adult section. You stay in the kids’ section. Do I make myself clear?”

I nodded, my gaze locked on his, sensing that arguing would be useless. They weren't even allowed in the adult section, but I bit my tongue, staying quiet. 

He sighed, then gave me a light shove toward the shelves. “Okay. Be quick.”

And just like that, I was dismissed.

I moved slowly, feeling a little lost in the sea of colorful boxes. The aisles were endless, each one filled with movies that seemed to promise adventure, laughter, or something else entirely. My fingers skimmed along the shelves, searching for something familiar. And then, I saw it. The Lion King. The cover was bright, the image of Simba standing proudly against the setting sun. It was one of my favorites.

Before I could even reach for it, a hand shot out beside me, and the tape was snatched from the shelf. I blinked, startled, and looked to my right. I let out a small huff of frustration, annoyed that someone had gotten to it first, but my thought was interrupted. 

It was him.

The boy with the messy brown curls, the one with that easy smile. The one who had kind eyes, who had kissed me that one time. The one who had completely unsettled me without even trying.

I hadn’t known it before, but now I knew his name—Luigi. He lived just a few houses down from me, and his sisters were the same age as my brothers. The odd coincidence had made it easier to spot him around, but I never really expected to bump into him in a place like this.

His name came to me in a quiet whisper, but I kept it to myself, not sure what to do with the sudden flurry of thoughts racing through my mind.

He barely even seemed to notice me as he looked at the VHS tape in his hands, studying the cover with an almost casual interest. His smile tugged at his lips, that same warm, effortless grin, as if this moment was as ordinary as any other.

I stared at him for a beat longer than I probably should have, and then finally muttered, "I wanted that."

It came out softer than I intended, like the words slipped out before I could stop them. But he heard me.

His eyes flickered toward me, and the playful grin softened into something a little less teasing. "Too bad," he said, a spark of mischief still there, but his tone almost like he was apologizing without meaning to.

I didn’t know why, but I felt a weird mix of disappointment and... something else as he held the tape a little higher, as though offering it for a split second before pulling it back again.

Before I could gather my words, a voice broke through the moment.

“Did you find anything?” It was a girl’s voice, and I saw her approach him from behind. Her hair was just as curly as his, framing her face in a wild, carefree way. I recognized her immediately. She was his sister. I could see the resemblance now, in the way their smiles were so alike, and how her features mirrored his. She was so pretty.

Behind them, I saw my brothers standing with Luigi’s other sister, three of them talking quietly to each other as if they hadn’t noticed the awkward exchange happening in front of the movie shelf. They seemed like friends.

“No,” Luigi replied, glancing at his sister before his eyes flicked back to me. He held out the VHS tape, his fingers brushing the cover lightly as he handed it to me. The gesture was almost casual, but something about it felt different.

"You can have it," he said, and there was no teasing in his voice this time. Just a quiet sincerity.

I blinked, surprised by his sudden change. I took the tape from him without really thinking about it. My heart felt a little lighter, and I didn’t really know what to make of it—of him, or the way he had handed me the movie as though he wanted me to have it, no questions asked.

“Thank you,” I whispered, his eyes locked on mine. 

One evening, weeks later, my mom came home with the news that Luigi’s family had invited ours over for a late dinner. It seemed casual, just one of those things that happened when adults found new connections. But for me, it felt like more than just a dinner.

I remember how my mom had accepted the invitation right away, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the idea of spending time with Luigi and his family had already set my heart racing in a way I didn’t quite understand.

At school, though, nothing had really changed. The only times I saw Luigi were in passing moments in classes or during recess. We never really spoke—there was no need to, not with the other kids around. But that didn’t stop me from noticing him. No longer did I think about Nathan, the boy everyone seemed to fawn over. Nathan had faded into the background, replaced by a new, more intriguing thought: Luigi.

He had this way of being there, not too far off, always just out of reach but close enough to make my heart flutter. Every time I saw him, my thoughts would race, my gaze lingering just a little too long, and I’d quickly look away, hoping no one noticed. He was cute in a way that made everything feel different. I found myself daydreaming about him, about his easy smile, the way his curls bounced when he moved, how he didn’t even seem to try to be nice—it just came naturally.

In those moments, Nathan seemed like a distant memory, a boy I had once thought was the most charming, but now felt trivial in comparison. It wasn’t that Nathan had done anything wrong, but Luigi, well, Luigi was the one who lingered in my mind. 

The evening air was crisp, carrying the unmistakable chill of late January. My breath came out in little white puffs as we approached the front door of Luigi’s house. The house loomed ahead, enormous compared to our own—a clear display of the differences between our families. Though we lived on the same block, the disparity in size was hard to ignore. Our house was modest and lived in, while theirs felt more like something out of a magazine, neatly polished and seemingly perfect in every way.

As we waited by the door, my brothers were already making themselves comfortable, leaning against the walls and joking around. Their laughter, full of that carefree energy, echoed in the entryway, making me feel oddly out of place. My mother’s face twisted into one of disapproval, sending them a few sharp, hushed whispers of reprimand. Dad stood with his arms crossed, his usual stern look in place as if trying to keep the peace, or at least prevent any further trouble.

I felt small in the space, not just physically but emotionally.

The door swung open, and we were greeted by the warmth that poured from the house—its brightness a stark contrast to the dark outside. The adults exchanged pleasantries, greeting each other. His sisters, familiar faces to my brothers, moved quickly to join them, leaving me standing alone. The house felt both expansive and yet strangely empty at the same time. 

Luigi’s mother caught my eye as she moved toward me. “Oh,” she said with a smile that was as bright as the lights in the foyer, “I just have to say, your hair is so beautiful. And that outfit—how grown-up you look!” She gushed, her tone the way people always spoke when complimenting children.

I nodded, feeling awkward, but offered a small smile, unsure of how to react to such attention. Just when I thought the moment might pass, his fathers voice boomed. 

"Luigi! Come down here!" The deep, commanding voice of his father rang out, and my heart stuttered in my chest.

I froze for a second. My fingers fumbled with the hem of my coat as I glanced up the staircase, my mind racing. There was something in the air that felt different when he was called. Something about the way his father’s voice carried through the house, like it held a sense of importance.

As I adjusted my jacket, trying to settle my nerves, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed down the staircase. Each step was fast, rushing as if they had been waiting for the exact right moment to arrive. The sound grew closer, and my heart raced in time with each footfall.

Luigi greeted everyone as he descended the stairs, his voice warm and friendly, calling out little “hellos” and “hi’s” to the adults scattered around the room. His presence seemed effortless, comfortable, like he belonged in this space. His family moved around the room like a well-practiced dance—his sisters, his parents, all of them in sync with one another. I stood there quietly, a silent observer. 

Then, his mother turned to me, a smile softening her features. “You two go to the same class, don’t you?” she asked, her gaze shifting from Luigi to me, like she was trying to make a connection.

I nodded, my throat tightening. The words felt stuck somewhere between my chest and my lips. It was as if everything had suddenly gotten louder.

Beside me, my mother smiled politely, sensing my discomfort but saying nothing. She probably knew how shy I was, but even she had to notice how much more reserved I was than usual.

There was a long, awkward pause as I stood there, trying to push my nerves aside. That’s when Luigi’s voice cut through the stillness. “Do you want to play in my room?” he asked, his words casual, almost like an afterthought, but there was an earnestness in his tone that made my stomach flutter.

Before I could answer, I felt my fingers instinctively begin to slip out of my jacket sleeves. I handed it to my mother, not quite looking at her face. The way my hand reached out toward Luigi’s felt automatic, like I was being pulled by some invisible force.

He seemed surprised for a brief second, and then, without a word, his hand reached back toward me, his fingers curling around mine. There was no teasing, no laughter, just a simple connection—a touch that felt both familiar and strange.

“Okay,” I said quietly, my voice barely more than a whisper as I turned to follow him. My heart fluttered nervously as we moved toward the stairs. His hand was warm in mine, the simple act of holding hands making my pulse race.

Up the stairs we went, the quiet of the house settling around us. I could hear my parents talking downstairs, muffled voices in the distance, but they seemed far away now.

Four years had passed since that evening, and here we were, side by side on his bed, controllers in hand, our faces illuminated by the flickering glow of the TV screen. The tension in the air was thick, a silent competition playing out between us. We were in the middle of our third Mortal Kombat rematch, and this time, I was determined to keep my winning streak alive.

“Dude,” Luigi huffed, his voice a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “You can’t do that!”

“Oh, yes I can,” I shot back, my thumbs moving swiftly over the buttons of my controller. “If I couldn’t, then why is the game not saying anything?”

“You’re cheating!” His voice had a distinct, wounded quality, his ego bruised after a streak of losses.

“I’m not cheating,” I retorted, my fingers a blur as I pressed down hard on the buttons, determined not to let him get the better of me this time. His rapid button mashing filled the room, but I was focused. In a flash, my character landed the winning blow once again.

For the fourth time in a row, the sound of victory blasted through the speakers, declaring my triumph: “Kitana wins. Flawless victory.”

I couldn’t help but grin. I didn’t even need to look at him to know what expression was on his face—probably a mix of annoyance and disbelief. 

“You’re so full of it!” Luigi groaned, dropping his controller onto his chest with a dramatic sigh. He leaned back against the headboard, his hands running through his messy brown curls in exasperation.

“You know you’re just mad that I’m the Mortal Kombat champion,” I teased, leaning over to snatch the controller out of his hand.

He shot me a mock glare. “Only because you keep cheating,” he muttered, though there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

The door suddenly swung open, and our attention snapped toward the entrance. Standing in the doorway was Luigi's eldest sister, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

"I need to borrow her," she said with authority, stepping into the room and reaching for my arm, pulling me gently but firmly away from Luigi. The controllers in my hands dropped onto the bed with a bounce, as she almost pulled me off the bed. 

"What? Why?" Luigi’s voice was laced with confusion, and he immediately grabbed my other arm, holding me there as though I might disappear if he let go. His gaze flickered between me and his sister, the protective streak in his eyes clear.

"She asked me to help her with makeup," his sister replied, her tone nonchalant, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. She shot a pointed look at Luigi’s hand still wrapped around my arm. "I have time now."

The words hung in the air for a moment before Luigi’s grip on my arm tightened. "No," he said flatly, his eyes narrowing in protest.

Both of us—his sister and I—looked at him in surprise, our brows furrowing. It wasn’t just his sister who was confused, I was too.

"No?" we both echoed, our voices laced with confusion. It was like they were suddenly part of some strange battle I didn’t understand.

Luigi shot his sister a stern look, his expression set in a way that made it clear he wasn’t backing down. "She doesn’t need that. And we’re in the middle of something anyway."

His sister, unfazed, let out an exaggerated sigh, but I could see the glint of amusement in her eyes as she regarded us both. There was a moment of silence before she turned her attention back to me, still pulling at my arm.

I hesitated, torn between the unfamiliar allure of what she had promised and the growing sense that something had shifted in the room between Luigi and me. He wasn’t just upset that she had interrupted our game; it felt like he was guarding me, in a way.

But before I could say anything, Luigi’s voice broke through again, more insistent this time.

"I said no," he repeated, his tone softer now, but still firm. He didn’t let go of my arm.

"Let go of her arm, Luigi," his sister said, her voice sharp and commanding, a clear indication that she wasn’t going to back down.

Luigi’s eyes met mine, silently pleading, a mix of frustration and hesitation flashing in his gaze. He didn’t want to let go. I could see it in the way his hand lingered on my arm, but it wasn’t just about the game anymore—it was something… else.

Everything felt suddenly so uncomfortable, like I was caught between two worlds, neither of which I quite understood. The tension in the room was thick, almost palpable. I could feel my chest tighten as I looked from his sister to him.