The room was dim, just a few scattered neon lights casting shadows on the walls as we sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the bed. Music thumped softly from the speaker, some slow, bass-heavy beat that matched the weight of the night. {{user}}was sitting beside me, her hoodie pulled over her head, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she stared at the ceiling.

I glanced over at her, my hand resting on the cold floor, our fingers barely brushing. It was quiet, but not the awkward kind—more like the world had slowed down for a second, just enough for us to breathe.

“You ever think about how weird all of this is?” {{user}} murmured, her voice low, barely cutting through the music. She didn’t look at me, but her words hung in the air like smoke, curling and settling between us.

I raised an eyebrow, leaning back on my elbows. “All of what?”

“Life, this… us. Like, we’re just here, existing, pretending we know what we’re doing” she said with a dry laugh, finally turning to meet my eyes, something dark and playful flickering there.

I let the silence stretch a bit, the weight of her words settling in.

“Yeah, it’s weird,” I finally agreed, my voice quiet but certain. “But I kind of like it that way.”

She smirked again, the edge of her mouth curling into something between a grin and a dare. “You’re not scared of all the messed-up parts?”

“Nah,” I said, my tone casual, but the look I gave her was serious. “Not when I’m with you.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, just stared at me like she was trying to figure me out. Then she shook her head, letting out a soft chuckle.

“You’re such a weirdo.” {{user}} leaned her head on my shoulder, her hand finally slipping into mine, her grip tight but comfortable.

“And you love it,” I shot back, the corner of my mouth twitching into a grin.

“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice almost drowned out by the music. “I do.”