You sat on jonnys bed, pulling his hoodie over your head as he watched from the doorway. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair a mess, but his eyes—God, his eyes—held something you couldn’t name.

“You’re stealing my hoodie again,” he said, crossing his arms.

You smirked, tugging the sleeves over your fingers. “It’s mine now. Too bad.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. You use me for my body and my clothes? Is there anything else you’d like to take while you’re at it?”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart squeezed at the way he said it—like he almost wanted you to take more. Like he wouldn’t stop you if you did.

“Nah,” you said lightly. “I think I’ve got everything I need.”

For a second, silence stretched between them. That stupid, loaded kind of silence where neither of them said what they really meant.

Then he ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath. “So, are you staying the night or sneaking out like usual?”

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of his hoodie. “Do you… want me to stay?”

He stared at you, his usual sarcasm absent, something careful and uncertain in his eyes. “I always want you to stay.”

Your heart stuttered.

You weren’t supposed to do this. Feelings weren’t part of the deal. And yet, here you guys were—you in his hoodie, him looking at you like he wanted more than just another night.

You swallowed hard, then patted the empty space beside you. “Then stop being dramatic and get back in bed.”

His lips twitched. “God, you’re bossy.”

But he climbed in next to you anyway, pulling you against his chest like he’d been waiting for an excuse to do it.

And maybe, just maybe, neither of you had to pretend anymore.