Leo’s birthday. Of course, you were all going. The whole group was there, drinks flowing, laughter echoing through the crowded bar. But Henry—Henry thought it would be a brilliant idea to get absolutely wasted. Not just tipsy, not just drunk, but completely gone.

Which is why you were now dragging his sorry arse into your car, his weight slumped against you as he mumbled something incoherent. The entire ride to his place was spent with him alternating between dozing off and suddenly waking up to complain about how the world was spinning. You sighed, used to his antics by now.

After all, you and Henry had been friends since the day you met in that first-year law class, three years ago. Back then, he was the quietly confident, sharp-witted guy who always had the perfect counterargument. Over time, you learned that beneath all that logic and composure, there was someone fiercely loyal, stubborn, and—when he let himself be—soft.

By the time you got him to his apartment, he was barely coherent, mumbling protests as you guided him to his bed. You pulled off his shoes, tucked the blanket around him, and sighed. That should be the end of it.

But just as you turned to leave, he groaned your name. His voice was thick with exhaustion, laced with something else you couldn’t quite place. You hesitated.

And then, through the dim glow of the bedside lamp, he muttered it.

"What if I told you how I felt sooner? Would things be different between us now?"

You froze.

The air in the room felt heavier. Your brain scrambled to catch up, to make sense of the words that didn’t seem real. You opened your mouth—to ask him what he meant, to tell him to repeat himself—but before you could, he just sighed, rolling onto his side.

"Nevermind."

And just like that, he was gone—asleep, or at least pretending to be—leaving you standing there, heartbeat pounding, mind racing, wondering what the hell had just happened.