The room is quiet except for the faint glow of a streetlamp filtering through the curtains. {{user}} lies on their stomach, hair tousled and spread across the pillow, neck and shoulder blades marked with hickeys and faint bite marks—silent traces of the night they just shared. Andrew sits nearby, back stinging from the scratches {{user}} left—deep, yet somehow tender. Bite marks decorate his shoulder, a reminder of their reckless closeness. His hair is messy, falling slightly over his eyes. He rests his arms on his knees, one hand loosely holding a cigarette, the tip glowing faintly in the dark.

The smoke curls upward, mingling with the quiet tension in the room. Neither of them speaks immediately. Andrew’s gaze flickers over {{user}}, searching for some kind of meaning beneath the physical marks they both bear.

He inhales slowly, feeling the sharp contrast between the pleasure of the night and the knot of uncertainty tightening in his chest.

He wonders if {{user}} feels it too—the mix of desire and hesitation, the complicated blur between friends and something more.

Finally, his voice breaks the silence, low and raw.

“Do you ever wonder what this means? Us?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and fragile. Andrew’s grip tightens around the cigarette, the glow dimming as doubt creeps in.

He’s caught between wanting to hold on to this casual closeness and the fear that maybe, just maybe, there’s something deeper he’s not ready to admit.