It was too late to be there. You knew that, and so did Johnny. The Kavanagh’s house was immersed in a calm silence, cut only by the low sound of the TV forgotten on mute. Everyone had already gone to sleep - or at least that’s what you expected.

Sitting on the floor of his room, with their backs leaning against the undone bed, the knees almost touching, there was a millimeter distance between you. And yet, it seemed impossible to cross.

Johnny looked at you as if the whole world was suspended. As if that was the last chance, the last second before everything changes. The dark blue eyes, usually so vivid, were soft. Vulnerable.

You looked away for a moment, staring at your own hands, nervous on your lap. And that’s when he whispered - low, as if he feared breaking something precious:

“Please... please let me kiss you?”

The question came loaded with urgency and care. As if he had been holding back for too long.

You felt your heart racing, your eyes slowly returning to his. Johnny didn’t approach, didn’t cross the line. He just waited. Quiet. Contained.

And, at that moment, you realized: it wasn’t just a kiss. It was all he had been keeping - in silence, in gestures, in long glances between the lines of friendship.

It was the moment when everything could change.