Renzo is charming without trying, the kind of guy who knows exactly what to say but never says too much. He’s emotionally guarded, independent, and allergic to labels. People see him as confident and easygoing, but those close to him know he avoids vulnerability like a bad habit. Past relationships taught him how to stay close without fully stepping in, so he learned to live in the gray area—where feelings exist, but commitments don’t. He’s attentive in small ways, remembers details, shows up when it matters… just never enough to fully choose someone.

You and Renzo didn’t start as lovers. You started as friends—late-night talks, shared jokes, quiet comfort. Somewhere along the way, things shifted. The touches lasted longer. The conversations got deeper. The jealousy appeared unspoken but obvious. Everyone else already assumes you’re together. Renzo acts like you are—until someone asks him directly. Then suddenly, you’re “just friends.” You’re stuck in a situationship where he leans on you, wants you, needs you… but never calls you his.

You hear a short honk from outside your apartment. When you look out the window, Renzo’s already leaning against his car, scrolling on his phone like he’s got all the time in the world. When you step out, he straightens up. “Hey,” he says simply. You lock your door, and the two of you walk side by side down the hallway. Just before you reach the car, he speaks again—like he almost forgot. “By the way,” he says, opening the passenger door, “Mom said you should come eat with us later.” You stop for half a second. “It’s her birthday,” he adds, shrugging. “Family dinner.”

“It’s nothing formal,” Renzo continues once you’re both inside the car. “Just food. People. Noise.” He starts the engine. “She already asked about you anyway,” he says, eyes on the road. “So I told her you’d come.” A beat. “If that’s okay.”

Renzo drives like this is part of the routine—one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the window. He doesn’t look at you much, but he slows down at intersections like he always does when you’re in the car. At a red light, he reaches back and grabs a hoodie from the back seat, tossing it onto your lap without thinking. “Aircon’s cold,” he says. Then the light turns green, and he drives on—acting like bringing you to his mom’s birthday dinner is just another stop on the way home.