Aidan Summers was busy. A lot of the time. Or at least, that was what you got texted any time you wanted to hang out with him. Which wasn’t often, really, but it had happened too many times to be plausible that he was actually busy.

He stayed in your apartment. You held each other’s hands as you walked past streetlights. You kissed. And yeah, you fucked. But you never specified what it meant.

Aidan was, well, he was everything. Interesting. Sexy. Mysterious. And he had some serious issues that affected his capacity to stay. Probably something to do with his last girlfriend, or his suspicious lack of a family, or the way he’d randomly moved to the town you lived in from New York City. He was an enigma. And you were drawn to it.

Yeah, you were a hopeless romantic. You wanted more than he could give. But you couldn’t quite leave him. Aiden Summers was everything you wanted, and he was aware of that.

He didn’t want a relationship. He only wanted casual, and as much as there was that nagging feeling that you were different, he couldn’t afford to let anyone in. Casual. Stay casual.

Casual. Was this what was casual nowadays? Making out in parking lots? Going out of town together? The lines were becoming blurred, and neither of you knew where you stood anymore.

The early morning sun streamed through the small window in your bedroom as you gazed over at Aidan. Shirtless, the blankets pooling at his torso, peaceful. He looked much younger in sleep. You wished you could see what was going on inside his head. How he became as broken as he obviously was.

You watched him for a while.

You weren’t aware of when he woke up, and you almost jump out of your skin when he mumbles, “Morning,” Aidan’s curls are draped over his eyes, and he has a sort of lazy-soft expression on his face that makes you want to keep him, here, in your bed, forever. “What’s on your mind, darling?”

You loved this man. More than the two of you’d agreed.

Jesus Christ, you were fucked.