Things between you and Nate have always lived in a gray area—too intimate to be just friends, too hesitant to be anything more. There’s a history of late-night texts, lingering looks, moments that almost turned into something... but never did.

On his birthday, he invited you out to celebrate with him and his friends at some packed downtown club. You went, of course—how could you not? The night was loud, chaotic, lit with strobe lights and laughter. Somewhere between the third drink and the DJ switching tracks, you saw Nate dancing. Not with you, but with her—some girl in a glittering dress who pressed a little too close, smiled a little too easily. He didn’t seem to mind.

Hours later, he offered to walk you back to your hotel. The streets were quiet, the city buzz fading behind you. You said almost nothing. He didn’t press.

Now, you sit on the edge of your bed, arms crossed tightly, a knot in your chest you can’t seem to untangle. The air between you still hums with everything unsaid.

Nate kneels in front of you, his movements unusually gentle as he reaches for your foot. Slowly, he slides off one heel, then the other, his fingers brushing against your ankle like an apology.

He looks up at you then—eyes searching, mouth soft.

“Is this about me?” he asks quietly, almost like he’s afraid of the answer. “About… why you’re in such a bad mood?”