It started as a simple deal—no feelings, no expectations, just fun. You’ve known each other for years, always a little too close but never close enough to make it serious. It worked because neither of you asked for more. Because it was easier that way.

Or at least, it was supposed to be.

“You’re quiet today.”

His voice pulls you from your thoughts as he leans against the counter, watching you. You sit on the edge of his kitchen island, swinging your legs slightly, the oversized hoodie you stole from his closet hanging off one shoulder.

“I don’t always have something to say,” you reply, twisting the cap off your water bottle.

He smirks. “That’s a first.”

You roll your eyes, but the comment doesn’t bother you. This is what you do—push, tease, pretend like there isn’t something heavier settling between you.

“Rough day?” he asks, softer this time.

You glance up, meeting his gaze for a second too long. The problem with knowing someone for this long is that they can tell when something’s off. But that’s not part of the deal. You don’t talk about real things.

“It’s nothing,” you say, taking a sip of water.

He doesn’t believe you, but he lets it go. He always does.

“So,” he starts, stepping closer, “you planning on staying, or are you sneaking out again before sunrise?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

You shrug, setting your bottle down. “If you make it worth my while.”

His smirk deepens as he moves to stand between your legs, hands resting on the counter beside you. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice dropping just enough to make your breath hitch, “you know I always do.”

It should be simple. It should be easy. But as his fingers skim your skin, as his lips ghost over yours, you can’t shake the feeling that something is shifting.

That maybe—just maybe—this isn’t as simple as it used to be.