You’d known him forever. Same friend group since middle school, he was always the loud one, the reckless one, the kind of boy who never cared enough but somehow always got attention. You’d rolled your eyes at him for years.

Then college started. Parties got wilder, nights got messier. And somewhere in between all that noise, something happened. A kiss. Then another. It wasn’t love. At least, that’s what you told yourself. No one knew. Not your friends. Not even your roommate. It was your little secret. Something stupid. Something exciting. Something real in a life that suddenly felt fake.

Tonight was no different. House party. Music too loud. Drinks in cheap cups. The others downstairs, spinning a bottle and yelling out dares. You said you needed the bathroom. He followed.

Now you’re perched on the edge of the sink, his body pressed between your legs, mouths crashing together in a way that felt desperate. Familiar.

His hands are on your waist, lips hot and hungry against yours. You pull him closer without thinking.

“Still pretending nothing’s going on?” he whispers.