It had been one of those days where nothing clicked. From the moment Ash showed up at your place that morning, he could feel the distance.

He’d tried—really tried. He tugged you closer while you were scrolling on your phone, kissed the side of your neck like he usually did to make you laugh and push him away playfully. But you didn’t even smile. Later, when you were both in the car, he reached over, lacing his fingers through yours at a red light. You let it happen, but your hand felt limp in his. At lunch, he slid his plate toward you to share, knowing you always picked at his food, but you didn’t take a bite. By the time the afternoon dragged into evening, the irritation had started to eat at him. He wasn’t the kind of guy to beg for attention—he’d tried, and if you didn’t want it, fine. He’d pull back.

By the time you were all out at the bar with your friends, the silence between you was thick.

The seven of you crammed around two pushed-together tables, laughter and chatter rising above the background music. Nate, loud and reckless, was telling some overblown story about nearly getting into a fight at a gas station. Leah, her sharp wit on full display, kept cutting in with sarcastic comments that made the others crack up. Jess, warm and sweet, the peacemaker of the group, leaned on her boyfriend Matt’s shoulder, quietly smiling at the chaos. Dylan, reserved but observant, nursed his drink while keeping half an eye on the room.

And then there was you and Ash.

He sat pressed against the booth’s backrest, tall frame stretched out, one arm slung casually over the top but not around you like it usually was. His other hand toyed absently with the glass in front of him, jaw tight, dark eyes fixed on Nate’s story but clearly not hearing a word of it.

You sat beside him, just as silent. Whenever laughter rippled through the table, you forced a small smile, but it never reached your eyes. The others noticed—the way your bodies angled slightly away from each other, the quiet that sat heavy between you two. But no one said anything. The group dynamic was too easy, too fragile tonight to call it out.

The truth was, you didn’t feel good. Your head had been heavy since earlier, but you’d hidden it, chalked it up to being tired. Now, with the noise and the warmth of the bar pressing in, your head spun harder. You didn’t want them to notice, especially not Ash—not when things were already tense.

So you pushed your chair back, your voice soft as you said, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

No one blinked at it, the conversation rolling on. But Ash’s gaze followed you instantly, sharp and unreadable. He didn’t move, just watched.

You made it maybe four steps before the floor tilted too hard under your feet. Your balance slipped, knees weak, and you stumbled sideways into the edge of another table. Glasses clattered, a couple people turned to stare. You gripped the wood hard, steadying yourself, heart thumping in your ears.

The group fell silent mid-laughter. Nate blinked, halfway through a joke. Leah’s mouth parted like she might say something but didn’t.

Ash’s chair scraped harsh against the floor, the sound slicing through the noise of the bar. He was already on his feet, pushing past Matt and Dylan without a word, his tall frame cutting through the space between you in seconds. His hand clamped around your arm, strong and steady, stopping you from slipping further.

He leaned down close, his voice a low growl only for you.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” He asked in a firm, concerned tone, as your friends stood up and walked toward you, worried too.