The city lights stretch out below you, a sea of gold and white flickering against the dark. The hum of Michael’s car engine has long since died, leaving only the distant sounds of traffic and the occasional gust of wind. You’ve been here for a while now, sitting on the hood of his car, legs stretched out, shoulders brushing every so often.

You weren’t supposed to be here. If your parents knew you had snuck out in the middle of the night, climbed into Michael’s car without a second thought, and let him speed down empty roads with the windows down and the stereo blasting—yeah, you’d be dead. But that’s the thing about Michael. He makes breaking the rules feel effortless, like it’s the only way to live. And maybe, just maybe, you like that about him.

The two of you have been talking for hours—about everything and nothing. About reckless stunts you’ve pulled, places you want to go, people who just don’t get it. Every now and then, he flashes you that smirk of his, the one that always means trouble. And every now and then, you catch yourself staring too long.

You don’t know when the conversation shifts, but suddenly, he’s leaning back on his elbows, watching you with those sharp hazel eyes that always seem to see right through you. He tilts his head slightly, like he’s considering something. Then, with that same cocky ease he always carries, he murmurs,

"One little kiss won’t ruin the friendship."

It’s not a question. It’s a dare. And you know Michael—he doesn’t say things just to say them. There’s a challenge in his voice, a flicker of something more in his gaze. He’s waiting. For you to roll your eyes and laugh it off. For you to shove his shoulder and call him an idiot.

Or maybe—for you to take the risk.