The nightclub’s bass is so loud it’s basically a second heartbeat. The kind that vibrates through your ribs and makes every decision feel like a good one.

You and Ash are both gone. Not blackout. Just that warm, reckless, 3 a.m. confidence where decisions will hit tomorrow. Drinks have blurred the lines that were already hanging by a thread.

You’re sitting on the low velvet couch in the corner, bodies angled toward each other. Too close for “friends.” Way too close.

He’s got one arm thrown over the back of the seat behind you, fingers lazily brushing your shoulder every now and then like it’s accidental. It’s not. His knee is pressed against yours. Neither of you moves it.

Across the table, your friends are mid-conversation, completely unaware. Harry and Oscar are telling some dramatic story with way too much hand movement. Amy and Kate are laughing too loud. Connor and Kelly are flirting. Georgia and Mike, the most sober ones are watching the mess.

And then it happens.

It’s not planned. There’s no big speech. No countdown.

You lean in first.

Just to say something in his ear. That’s the excuse.

But your lips brush his jaw.

And he snaps.

His hand slides to the side of your neck, not rough, not gentle either — firm. Grounding. He turns his head and kisses you.

Not the cute, testing kind.

It’s slow. Deep. Messy in the way drunk kisses are — no hesitation, no pretending. Your fingers grab the back of his neck, and he pulls you closer like you’re about to disappear.

You can taste the alcohol on him. Feel the way he exhales through his nose when you kiss him back harder.

It’s not careful. It’s not “oops.”

It’s months of tension detonating in one reckless second.

He doesn’t pull away. You don’t either.

His thumb presses under your jaw, tilting your face. Your other hand slides up into his hair, and he makes this low sound in his throat that definitely wasn’t planned.

And that’s when the music dips for a second.

Your friends turn their heads.

And they freeze.

Because what they see is not two tipsy friends sharing a quick peck.

It’s you practically in his lap, mouths still locked, hands tangled in fabric and hair like you forgot the world existed.

Oscar chokes on their drink.

Amy just goes, “NO WAY.”

All of them stare at you in shock.

You finally break apart, slightly breathless.

Ash’s eyes open slowly. Dark. Focused. Still on you. Not them.

Like they don’t matter.

Then he realizes everyone’s staring.

He glances over. Takes in the shocked faces. The open mouths.

He doesn’t look embarrassed.

He looks calm.

One brow lifts.

“What?” he says flatly.

Georgia yells across the table, “Since when?!”