The flat had a rhythm to it—a chaotic, barely contained rhythm, but a rhythm nonetheless.

Alex’s arm was slung over your waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your hip as he watched David and Juliet argue over floor plans. The spare room—your room, technically—had been sitting untouched for months, collecting dust and the occasional abandoned jacket. You hadn’t slept in it since the first time Alex dragged you into his bed and decided you weren’t leaving.

"We could knock this wall out," David said, tapping the blueprint. "Make it a proper office."

Alex’s grip on you tightened instinctively. "No."

Juliet rolled her eyes. "You don’t even use it."

"Doesn’t matter." His voice was sharp, final. "It’s hers."

You shifted against him, swallowing back another wave of nausea. It had been coming and going for days—ever since that one night when Alex had been too impatient, too reckless, and you’d been too lost in him to care about consequences.

You hadn’t thought much of it.

Neither had he.

But now—

Now your head was spinning, your skin too warm, your body off in a way you couldn’t explain.

Alex’s thumb brushed your side, his voice dropping to a murmur only you could hear. "You good?"

You forced a smirk. "Never better."

He studied you for a long moment, his dark eyes searching. Then, just as David opened his mouth to argue again, Alex stood, dragging you up with him.

"We’re done here."

Juliet sighed. "You’re impossible."

Alex didn’t answer. He was too busy steering you toward the hallway, his hand firm on the small of your back.

"Alex—"

"You’re lying," he interrupted, pushing open the bedroom door. "You’ve been off for days."

You hesitated.

The words sat heavy on your tongue, terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

What if—

What if it’s not just a fluke?

*What if it’s ours?

Alex tilted your chin up, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Talk to me."