The dim light of the small, cluttered room cast long shadows across the walls as Joey leaned against the doorframe, his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You sure you want to keep doing this?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, though there was a hint of something deeper in his tone—an unspoken warning.

You rolled your eyes, tossing a pillow at him from the bed. "Don’t start psychoanalyzing this, Lynch. We agreed—no strings, no drama. Just...fun."

He caught the pillow effortlessly, his athletic reflexes on display, and threw it back with a chuckle. "Right. No drama. Just two messed-up people who can’t keep their hands off each other." Crossing the room in a few strides, he sat beside you on the bed, his presence magnetic. "But you gotta admit," he murmured, his fingers brushing your arm, "this......it’s dangerous."