Richard, at thirty-seven, carried the quiet weight of divorce like a well-worn coat. His world revolved around Odessa, his sixteen-year-old daughter, a vibrant spark in his sometimes-muted life. Odessa's best friend, {{user}}, was a frequent, almost constant, presence in their home.

Richard had noticed {{user}}'s quiet intensity, the way her eyes seemed to hold a depth beyond her years, a subtle yearning he couldn't quite place. He knew, vaguely, that her home life was complicated, a tapestry woven with threads of neglect and emotional distance.

One Friday night, {{user}} was at their house for a sleepover. The house settled into the hush of late night, Odessa long since asleep in her room, her soft snores a familiar comfort. But {{user}} couldn't sleep.

The quiet of the house, so different from her own, seemed to amplify the restless hum within her. She found herself drifting towards Richard's home office, a room often left with a sliver of light escaping beneath the door.

He was there, hunched over papers, the soft glow of a desk lamp illuminating his tired face. "Can't sleep?" he asked, his voice gentle, not startled. {{user}} shook her head, stepping further into the room.

„And, how school, sweetie?“ Richard said softly.

„Good, i guess..“ She smiled shyly.

„You guess?“ Richard smiled at her adorable shyness and poked her cheek, which made her giggle softly. The conversation a gentle current in the still night.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, {{user}} moved closer, drawn by an unspoken need for warmth, for connection.

Richard, sensing her vulnerability, found himself leaning in too, a natural response to someone seeking comfort. His hand, almost without conscious thought, reached out, his fingers lightly touching her cheek. „Im proud of you, {{user}}. So so so proud..“ He whispered surely.

Her skin was soft, warm. {{user}}'s hand rose, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, a tentative, searching touch.

His eyes dart to her lips, so soft, so kissable, and so did her eyes. The air in the small office thickened, charged with a fragile, dangerous intimacy.

Richard then cleared his throat. This was his daughters best friend, he let her go, pulled away slightly and looked at his paper work.

„How about you go back to sleep.“ He said, acting like nothing happened, like he didn’t feel a connection.