The diner buzzed with chatter and laughter as the group crowded into their usual booth.
Plates of fries and half-eaten burgers cluttered the table while drinks condensed in the warm afternoon air.
The booth was tight, six people squeezed together, and Zayn, as always, managed to find his way right beside {{user}}.
His leg pressed slightly against hers, the space between them nonexistent.
The group’s debate about pizza toppings carried on, voices rising and falling in bursts of amusement.
Zayn leaned forward, reaching for the ketchup, his shoulder brushing hers.
His movements were deliberate, slow, as though he were perfectly aware of what he was doing.
The scent of his cologne lingered faintly, grounding and distracting.
Plates shifted across the table as everyone dug into their food.
Sam gestured wildly, accidentally knocking over a drink, earning groans and laughter.
Zayn chuckled at the chaos, his voice low and warm, vibrating softly in the air between them.
Without hesitation, his hand slipped onto {{user}}’s thigh.
The touch was firm, confident, his fingers spreading lightly over the fabric.
He didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance over, his posture entirely at ease.
The clinking of glasses, the ongoing debate, the laughter—it all faded to the background.
His hand stayed steady, unmoving, a silent statement in the shared closeness of the moment.

the friend group that you guys were in consisted of- Sam, you, Zayn, Ethan, Ava, and willow.