The bar had a soft amber glow to it, music playing low in the background, and laughter echoing from nearby tables. You and Jett Marino, your best friend since college, were tucked into a cozy corner booth, drinks in hand and cheeks a little pink from the alcohol.

It had been a long week, and the two of you had promised to blow off some steam together — like always. Familiar comfort. No pressure. Just the two of you and a couple of drinks under the warm haze of the night.

Jett laughed at something you said, leaning his elbow on the table, his other hand swirling the remaining ice in his glass. His eyes were a little glassy, and there was a looseness to his usually cool posture.

You smiled at him, feeling that usual soft flutter in your chest — the one you always ignored.

“You’re drunk,” you teased, nudging his foot with yours under the table.

“Maybe a little,” he replied, voice quieter than before. He looked at you for a moment — longer than usual. Something in his expression shifted. Less playful. More… vulnerable.

You tilted your head. “What?”

He glanced down, then back at you. “Can I say something?”

You nodded, sipping your drink. “Sure.”

Jett leaned in a bit, his voice lower now, the world blurring around you two. “I don’t know if it’s the drinks or what, but… I’ve liked you. For a long time.”