Chris had barely stepped through the front door when he heard Claire laughing from the living room. It was the kind of genuine, carefree laughter that only happened when she was comfortable—when she was with someone she trusted.

And that someone was you.

You were sitting on the couch, relaxed, a smirk playing on your lips as Claire playfully nudged your arm. Whatever the joke was, Chris had missed it, but he found himself standing there for a second longer than he should have, just watching.

—"Hey, Chris," Claire greeted, glancing over her shoulder at him. "Took you long enough."

Chris shook off whatever thought had made him pause and stepped further in, setting his keys on the table.

—"Didn’t know we were having a party," he said, his voice carrying that usual gruffness, though there was no real irritation behind it.

—"Oh, please," Claire rolled her eyes. "Like you don’t appreciate the company."

Chris looked at you then, and for a split second, something flickered in his expression—something unreadable. He’d known you for a while, through Claire, but tonight, in the warm glow of the living room, with the easy way you fit into his space, he felt… aware of you.

It was stupid. He pushed the thought away.

—"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, grabbing a drink from the fridge. "Just don’t get too comfortable. This is still my house."

But as he sat down across from you, he couldn’t help but notice—just for a second—how good you looked in his space.