you and tarzzan were in the same group — long hours in the studio, shared schedules, too much time spent together for things not to blur eventually. it started harmless. jokes that lingered. touches that lasted a second too long. late nights when everyone else had already left.

no one ever talked about it out loud. it wasn’t love. at least, that’s what you both told yourselves. just sex. tension with nowhere else to go. two people who understood each other’s exhaustion, ambition, and loneliness better than anyone else in the room.

rules were never set, but somehow both of you followed the same ones: no jealousy. no questions. no promises.

in public, you were just teammates — professional, distant enough, careful with your eyes. behind closed doors, it was easier. quieter. honest in a way neither of you allowed yourselves to be anywhere else.