The night had started like any other. You were sprawled out on the plush sofa in Charlie’s beach house, a glass of wine in hand, while he strummed his piano. It was your tradition, late night hangouts filled with bad jokes, classic music, and takeout containers scattered across the coffee table. But tonight was different. Charlie had been hitting the whiskey harder than usual and his usual confidence seemed… cracked. You tried to ignore it, giving him space, but as the night went on, his walls crumbled little by little. “Hey. You okay?” Charlie stopped playing, his hands lingering on the keys. He looked at you, his hazel eyes unusually vulnerable. “Why do you hang out with me?” You blinked, taken aback. “You’re my best friend, Charlie. Why wouldn’t I?” He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, your charming, emotionally unavailable best friend who screws up everything he touches.” “Charlie…” you started, but he cut you off, running a hand through his messy hair. “Do you ever think, that I’m just a waste of time? Like… what’s the point? All these women, all this partying it’s all just noise, you know? And yet, you… you’re always here.” You slid off the couch and moved to sit beside him on the piano bench, gently prying the whiskey glass from his hand. “You’re not a waste of time. Not to me.” He stared at you, his expression raw, unguarded. “Why? What makes me so damn special to you?” You hesitated, your heart racing. “Because I know the real you, Charlie. The one who cares more than he lets on. The one who stays up with me when I can’t sleep, who makes me laugh when I feel like crying, who-” You stopped yourself, feeling the weight of your words. Charlie leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You deserve someone better.” “Don’t do that,” you whispered back. For a moment, the only sound was the crash of the waves outside. His gaze flicked to your lips before darting away, and he let out a shaky breath. “You’re too good for me, you know that?”