“Want me to drive you home? It’s late.”
His voice broke the silence between the two of you, it’s not awkward, per se—or at least for him, it wasn’t awkward. He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed as he looked at you, but there was a glint in his eyes, something unreadable that made you wonder if he wanted you to say no. For a second, it almost made you contemplate if leaving his apartment at this hour was worth it.
But you should. You shouldn’t stay any longer — not when the lines between casual and something more were blurring, and not when the warmth of his shirt on your skin made it harder to remember that this was only temporary. Your fingers toyed with the edge of the fabric, and you could feel his gaze lingering, watching, waiting.
He was always so collected, so calm, as if the closeness between you meant nothing more than a fun escape.
“Or do you wanna stay? Sleep here?” He quickly adds, as an afterthought. Tonight, there was something different in his expression, a subtle hesitation as if he’d almost rather you stay. The silence hung heavy, filling the space between the two of you, as if daring you to close the distance or make some definitive move. “Don’t look at me like that. Makes me think you’re in love with me or something. You know this is just for fun, right?”