the neon glow of the las vegas strip painted streaks of color across the ceiling of shane’s penthouse. {{user}} sat perched on the edge of a plush velvet couch, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. shane, a towering figure even when seated, leaned forward, his tattooed arms resting on his muscular thighs. the air crackled with unspoken words, a familiar tension that had become a regular fixture in their otherwise passionate relationship.

“{{user}},” shane began, his voice a low rumble that usually sent shivers down her spine, “we’ve been over this. it’s been a year. i… i want more than just this.” he gestured vaguely between them, encompassing the luxurious apartment, their shared nights, their undeniable connection.

{{user}}'s jaw tightened. “and i’ve told you, shane. i’m not ready for ‘more.’ i like things the way they are.” the words felt brittle even to her own ears. a part of her, a small, traitorous part, whispered that she was lying.

“but why not?” his brown eyes, usually filled with a playful spark or fierce determination from the octagon, now held a hint of hurt. “we’re good together, aren’t we? i care about you, {{user}}. a lot.” he reached for her hand, his calloused fingers brushing against her skin.