The night is quiet now.

The chaos has died down. No watchers. No phones in your face. No leaderboard ticking above your head like a timer on your heart. Just the city breathing around you, still lit up like a carnival you barely escaped.

You’re both sitting on the edge of some rooftop you don’t even remember climbing, legs dangling over the street, wind tugging gently at your clothes. The adrenaline’s worn off, but your hands haven’t stopped twitching—like your body still thinks you’re mid-dare.

Ian’s beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush every time you exhale. He doesn’t say anything at first. He’s watching the skyline, maybe thinking. Or maybe trying to figure out what the hell this is now that the game’s stopped.

And then, without looking at you, he says it—soft, teasing, familiar in the way he always is when he’s trying to make something heavy feel light.

“We jumped off a crane together, but you’re scared to hold my hand?”

You glance down. Sure enough—your hand is clenched into your lap, close to his, but not quite touching. Your stomach flips like you’re still falling.

He finally turns, smiling sideways at you. “I’m just saying… if you’re brave enough to risk death, you might be brave enough to… you know. Let me like you a little.”

The silence stretches, soft and breathless.

Your fingers uncurl slowly