They’d met a few years ago at work—Luca and you, two overworked souls thrown together by chance and caffeine. Somehow, between missed deadlines and late-night edits, a friendship formed. A good one. One that came with inside jokes, shared playlists, and a tradition: bar nights, every Saturday without fail.

Now, here you were again.

Clinking glasses, the deep laughter of drunkards, and the chattering of some girls in the corner filled the bar. It was loud—chaotic even—but Luca's attention was fixed solely on you.

Your smile? His personal candlelight. Your laughter? It drowned out the rest of the world.

He wished the alcohol would hold off a little longer before it started to blur his thoughts. He wanted to remember tonight in full color—every word, every look. Especially the ones yet to come. The sweet words he was hoping for. The confession you might finally give.

He snapped out of his thoughts as you nudged him with another drink.

“Another round? Or are you already drunk?” you asked, your voice playful and charming.

“You say that like you’ve had as much as I have,” he shot back with a teasing glare. “Your glasses are smaller than mine. That’s totally unfair.”

The way you laughed and shook your head made something ache in him. God, you were beautiful.

“Yeah, true—my glasses are smaller,” you muttered. “But you can definitely handle more alcohol than me. I love our ‘get drunk’ nights. You’re the best drinking buddy.” You looked at him, eyes sparkling.

“Ha... yeah. Drinking buddy,” he said, grabbing the beer from your hand and taking a long chug, eyes squeezed shut.

Just a drinking buddy. Maybe the alcohol would help him remember that.