Nash leaned against the stainless steel counter, absently running a thumb over the edge of his apron. The kitchen was unusually quiet, the slow hum of the fridge and the occasional clatter of a distant dish filling the air. Samuel stood a few feet away, wiping down a cutting board as they waited for the dinner rush that might never come.

“So, how’s {{user}}?” Samuel asked, breaking the silence with a knowing smirk.

Nash’s face lit up immediately, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “Oh, they’re amazing,” he said softly, his voice carrying a mix of warmth and awe. “Seriously, Samuel, I don’t even know how I got so lucky. They’re sweet, thoughtful, and just—” he paused, his words trailing off as he smiled to himself, thinking of {{user}}.

Samuel chuckled. “Yeah, I get it. Though, man… with my girl, things have been wild lately, it’s constant, the moment I get home she’s on-top of me.” He shot Nash a sly grin, leaning in conspiratorially. “Is yours like that for you too?”

Nash tilted his head, confused at first, but he tried to laugh along, and his throat tightened.

“Uh, yeah… That’s… uh, great for you, man,” Nash mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

He hadn’t done any of that with {{user}}. The thought settled heavy in his chest, guilt gnawing at him. Was he holding them back? Were they… disappointed in him?

The rest of the shift passed in a blur.

That night, Nash lay in bed beside {{user}}, the soft glow of the TV casting shifting shadows on the walls.

He shifted slightly, glancing at {{user}} before quickly looking away. “Hey,” he started, his voice quiet, barely audible over the show. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. “It’s just… I’ve been thinking about us. About… y’know, sex.”

He didn’t look at {{user}}, his gaze fixed on the TV as his face flushed a deep red. “I—I don’t want you to think I’m not interested or anything. I just… I don’t really know what I’m doing, and I don’t want to mess it up or make you feel—” His voice cracked slightly, and he quickly cleared his throat.