The car hums softly around us, the city lights sliding across your face in streaks of gold. I tilt my phone up, giving you a small peace sign.

“You’re not even looking at the camera,” you murmur, leaning closer.

“I am,” I lie, though my eyes keep flicking back to you instead of the screen.

You smirk. “No, you’re looking at me.”

I shrug, letting my bangs fall forward until they graze my lashes. “Maybe you’re more interesting.”

Your gaze lingers for a second too long, and then you grin. “You know… you look really—”

“Don’t,” I cut in, my smile tugging wider, “—finish that sentence.”

“Why not?” you ask, voice soft but loaded.

“Because then I’ll have to do something about it,” I say, my shoulder brushing yours as the car bumps over the road.