Charlie’s room was quiet except for the low hum of music playing from his old speaker. The desk lamp cast a warm glow, softening the edges of everything. He was lying on his bed, one arm tucked behind his head, while {{user}} stretched out beside him, stealing half of his blanket like it belonged to her.

“You seriously have six versions of the same song,” she teased, scrolling through his playlist on his phone.

Charlie tilted his head, smirking. “They’re different. Live recordings, studio cuts. It’s called taste.” She laughed, nudging his side with her foot. “It’s called obsession. Admit it—you just like torturing me with the same chorus.”

He rolled onto his side, reaching for the phone. “Correction: I like torturing you. It’s a love language.”

She squealed, holding the phone out of reach, but he was taller—easily pinning her wrist to the mattress with a grin. Suddenly they were closer than either expected, breaths tangling, her hair brushing his cheek. The teasing quieted for just a heartbeat, the air shifting into something else.

Charlie’s voice dropped, softer. “Careful. People might think you like being around me.”

{{user}} swallowed, cheeks warming. “Maybe people would be right.”

For a second, all he did was look at her—the kind of look that lingered, that made her heart trip over itself. And then, because he was Charlie, he let out a laugh, easing the weight of the moment. “So… are we still stuck in the ‘almost’ phase, or did you just upgrade us?”