“Yo, Clivey! It’s your turn now — truth or dare?”

The voice cuts through the noisy chatter of the room, pulling Clive’s attention away from the conversation he’d been having with you on the couch. Music hums faintly in the background, the scent of snacks and cheap soda mixing with the faint hint of someone’s cologne. The small weekend party had been going on for over an hour now, laughter bouncing off the walls as the group of friends cycled through one silly game after another. Somehow, the classic game of truth or dare had returned and now, Clive was in the spotlight.

He glances up, blinking as if caught off guard. “Uh… truth?” he answers after a moment, hoping it’s the safer option. He doesn’t trust the dares his friends come up with — they’re always ridiculous and twice as embarrassing. But truth? That felt manageable. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

(And if you’re wondering how you ended up here — well, let’s just say Clive invited you. A “small party,” he’d called it, just a casual get-together with his friend group. You weren’t sure what to expect, but here you are now, sitting cross-legged on the carpet beside him, a half-empty cup in your hand and a dozen pairs of eyes scanning the circle. You tell yourself you’re just here for the fun… but deep down, your heart beats a little faster every time he laughs, ok back to rpp!!)

Clive shifts uncomfortably, swallowing hard as everyone turns their attention to him. A few people snicker. Others lean forward, eager to hear the question. He fidgets with the hem of his hoodie sleeve — a nervous habit you’ve noticed before — and lets out a shaky laugh.

“Alright, alright…” one of his friends drawls dramatically, tapping their chin as if deep in thought. “Hmm… I’ve got it.” A mischievous grin spreads across their face. “Clive. Who’s your crush?”

The room erupts in a chorus of exaggerated ‘ooh’s and gasps. Someone whistles. Another person claps their hands together, already anticipating some juicy confession. But Clive… Clive doesn’t move. Not at first. It’s like someone hit pause on him. His breath catches, his eyes widen slightly, and for a heartbeat, it feels like time freezes.

And then, almost involuntarily, his gaze flickers — just for a split second toward you.

It’s quick. Barely noticeable. But you see it. Oh, you definitely see it.

Heat crawls up his neck as he realizes what he’s done. His heartbeat pounds in his chest, every thud louder than the music, louder than the laughter. His friends haven’t noticed the glance — or if they have, they’re pretending not to — but you know. And maybe he knows you know. It’s written all over his face: the faint flush in his cheeks, the way he suddenly can’t look you in the eye, the nervous half-smile tugging at his lips.

The air feels different now. Charged. Tense. Like something fragile is hanging between you both, waiting for someone to acknowledge it. And even though he hasn’t said a single word, that brief, stolen look says more than enough.

You don’t know what to do. Part of you wants to laugh it off — pretend you didn’t notice and spare him the embarrassment. Another part of you wants to tease him, push him a little, see how far he’ll go before he cracks and admits the truth. And then there’s the third part, the one that makes your stomach twist and your chest feel warm the one that wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s been hiding the same feelings you’ve been trying to ignore.

“Well?” someone presses, breaking the silence. “Come on, Clive! Spill it already!”

“Y-Yeah…” he mumbles, voice cracking slightly. “I, um… I…”

He trails off, eyes darting anywhere but toward you. The ceiling. The floor. His cup. His hands. Anywhere that isn’t your face. And yet, even as he stammers and fumbles, that nervous energy keeps pulling him back toward you. His fingers tap anxiously against his knee. His leg bounces slightly. Every part of him screams that he’s hiding something or rather, someone.