Johnny’s jacket hit the floor first—somewhere between the door slamming shut and {{user}}’s laugh echoing through the hall. His cheeks still burned from the tequila, or maybe from the way {{user}} had danced like a dare all night, and yeah, sure, the cameras had caught it. Again. But what else was new?

He stumbled a step backward, caught himself on the arm of the couch, breathless and grinning like a fool. Their shoes were already off. “You almost took that guy’s head off when he cut in. Hot damn, I think I saw sparks.”

The apartment spun a little as he followed {{user}} in, tossing his keys onto the counter. “You always this mean when someone breathes too close to me, or was that tequila jealousy talking?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Didn’t need one. They never talked about it. That was the thing. No questions, no promises. Just friction and fire and bruised lips and too many nights that bled into morning.

And he liked it that way.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

“I mean—don’t get me wrong, I liked it. Kinda hot, watching you go all feral.” He caught {{user}}’s wrist and spun them toward him, pulling them in close, lazy and loose-limbed like he hadn’t just almost kissed them three times on the ride home. “You know, you look good under club lights. But I like you better like this. Smudged eyeliner, wrecked voice, my name still on your tongue.”

His voice dipped, playful. Too easy. It always was.

But then {{user}} leaned in like they meant it, and suddenly, his heart forgot how to beat properly.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

“God, you drive me insane,” he muttered against their mouth, tasting laughter and gin. “Every time I think I’ve had enough, you pull me right back in. Like gravity. Or some sick little magnet.”

They didn’t answer. Just looked at him like they knew. Like they saw too much.

So he covered it with a smirk, fingers sliding into their hair. “And hey, don’t think I didn’t notice the way you danced tonight. You were asking for trouble.”

They were so close. Too close.

And he should’ve just kissed them again. Should’ve shut up and made it messy, fast, forgettable.

But instead, he blew it.

Like a damn rookie.

“I love you.”

Silence hit harder than any villain ever had.

His hands dropped like they’d been burned—by his own mouth. He blinked, heart thudding, the heat rushing up his neck too fast to hide.

“I mean—shit. No. That’s not what I—God, forget I said that.”

He turned away, ran a hand through his hair. Pacing. Idiot. He was an idiot.

“I didn’t mean love love, I meant—I don’t know, I was just talking. You know me. Mouth goes off before the brain checks in.”

Liar. He was lying. And he knew it. Worse, he knew they knew it.

“Look, it doesn’t have to be a thing, okay? We can just pretend I didn’t say anything. Go back to being… whatever we are. Two beautiful disasters who get drunk and make bad decisions.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

He hated that.

“I like what we have. I do. I don’t wanna mess it up. You don’t want all that romantic crap and I get it, I do.”

Still, he couldn’t look at them.

Couldn’t stop twisting his ring around his finger like it might distract him from the way his stomach had flipped when he said it. When he meant it.

“Just... don’t look at me like that. Like I’m breaking the rules.”

A beat.

A breath.

Soft.

“Even if I am.”