Your friends had crammed themselves into the bedroom, laughter and chatter spilling out from behind the door. You couldn’t take the noise anymore, so you slipped out into the living room.

John was there. Your friend’s boyfriend. She and him, the 'it' couple. Stretched out on the couch like he belonged anywhere he went. He glanced at you, that lopsided grin tugging at his lips, and suddenly the room felt too small.

You sat down, meaning to keep some space, but space never seemed to exist with him. The quiet stretched, heavy and charged, until you were close enough to notice the warmth of his skin, the way his hair smelled faintly of smoke and soap.

You didn’t plan to move closer. You didn’t plan to look at his mouth. But when you did, when you leaned in before you could stop yourself, it was already too late. His lips met yours, brief but burning, and your whole chest ached with the weight of it.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with him. Not with your friend’s boyfriend. But the taste of him lingered..