"Truth or Dare?"

The question drifted from somewhere across the circle, cutting through the low hum of conversation and the bass-heavy music pulsing from someone's Bluetooth speaker. The living room of Cam's apartment was packed—people sprawled across every available surface in that casual, chaotic way that only happened at college parties after midnight. Some people sat cross-legged on the worn hardwood floor. Others leaned against walls or perched on the arms of furniture. A few had claimed the sagging couch, sinking into cushions that had seen better days.

Cameron was on the floor, his back resting against the front of that same couch, long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. {{user}} sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. It should have felt intimate, comfortable—the kind of easy proximity that came with eight months of dating.

It would have, maybe, if Sierra wasn't directly behind Cameron on the couch, her fingers buried in his light brown hair, playing with it in that absent, possessive way she always did. Her nails scraped lightly against his scalp as she twisted strands around her fingers, and Cam didn't even seem to notice. He'd tilted his head back slightly, unconsciously leaning into her touch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The room had gone quieter now, attention focusing on Cameron as he considered his options. He took a slow sip from his drink—something mixed with too much vodka and not enough juice—and hummed thoughtfully, that easy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The kind of smile that made people want to trust him, like him, give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Truth," he finally said, his voice relaxed, almost lazy. Like he had nothing to hide.

The person who'd asked—Jake, maybe? Or Tyler? One of the guys from Cam's marketing classes—leaned forward with the kind of gleeful anticipation that came from knowing you were about to stir shit up. The whole circle seemed to shift, people exchanging glances, a few nervous laughs rippling through the group. Even the music seemed to fade into the background.

"Okay, okay," the guy said, drawing it out for dramatic effect. His grin was wide, mischievous. "You gotta be honest with this one, Mitchell. How many times have you and Sierra actually kissed?"

The question hung in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled.

Sierra's fingers stilled in Cameron's hair for just a beat—a fraction of a second that might have been surprise, or might have been her calculating exactly how to react. Then she laughed, bright and performative. "Oh my God," she said, her voice dripping with amused exasperation, like this was the most absurd question anyone had ever asked. Like the very idea was ridiculous.

Cameron shifted slightly, his hazel eyes scanning the circle with that boyish, self-deprecating expression he always wore when he wanted to downplay something.

"Like, once or twice," he said casually.

"Once or twice?" Sierra interjected immediately, her tone playful but pointed. She leaned forward over the back of the couch, draping her arms over Cameron's shoulders from behind, her blonde ponytail swinging as she moved. "Cam, come on. Be honest."

Cameron laughed, tilting his head back to look up at her. "What? I am being honest."

"You're forgetting New Year's," Sierra said, her voice dropping into that faux-conspiratorial tone, like they were sharing a private joke that everyone else was invited to witness. "And that party sophomore year. And—oh, spin the bottle at Madison's?"

"Okay, fine," Cam conceded with a laugh, holding up his free hand in mock surrender. "Maybe more than once or twice. But it's not—" He paused, glancing around the circle, his tone shifting to something more sincere, more defensive. "It's not like that. We were drunk, or it was a game, or—it doesn't mean anything. Right, Si?"

"Right," Sierra agreed immediately, squeezing his shoulders. "It's totally platonic."