The laughter was easy. Too easy. Like nothing had changed. You and Drew sat across from each other at your favorite bar, drinks in hand, talking like you always had. Like the past few months of tangled sheets, stolen kisses, and whispered names in the dark had never happened. Like you weren’t trying so damn hard to pretend. This was the deal. You were going back to being just friends.

“So, I told him there was no way I was doing that stunt without a double.”

Drew said, grinning as he took a sip of his drink.

“I might be stupid, but I’m not that stupid.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Oh, come on, you’d totally do it if they dared you.”

He pointed at you.

“Okay, maybe.”

The conversation flowed, the teasing, the inside jokes it was all the same. But underneath it, there was something different. A tension neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Because you both knew the truth. Friends didn’t look at each other like this. Friends didn’t remember the way the other’s skin felt at midnight, or the way they whispered each other’s names like prayers.

And yet, here you were. Trying. You reached for your drink at the same time Drew did, your fingers brushing. A sharp inhale. A fleeting moment where neither of you pulled away. His eyes met yours, and just like that, the air shifted. It was all over his face, that same ache you felt deep in your chest.

“Maybe this was a bad idea.”

You murmured. Drew swallowed, setting his drink down.

“Yeah…”

He admitted, voice quieter now. A pause. Then, softer, more uncertain:

“But do you really want to stop?”

The words hung between you, heavy, impossible to ignore. And suddenly, neither of you were pretending anymore.