The hammock swayed gently beneath you, the air thick with summer heat and something else—something unspoken. JJ’s arm was lazily draped over your waist, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on your hip. Seven months. That’s how long this… thing between you had been going on. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this, wasn’t supposed to make your heart race when he looked at you like you were the only thing worth seeing.

But it did.

You spent too many nights staring at the ceiling, asking yourself the same questions. Do I love him? Do I need him? Trying to convince yourself it was just a hookup, something fleeting. But the way your body curled instinctively into his, the way his touch sent warmth through your veins, made it impossible to believe that lie.

JJ shifted beside you, his breath warm against your temple. He didn’t know. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he’d run, right? That’s what you kept telling yourself. But tonight, it was different. The weight of your feelings sat heavy on your chest, pressing against your ribs, desperate to escape.

Your mind screamed at you to stop, to keep it buried just a little longer. It’s not the right time. He doesn’t do feelings. He doesn’t do love.

But before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out like a confession you never meant to make.

“Hate to be lame, but I might love you…”

Silence.

Your body went rigid the moment you heard yourself say it. JJ, who had been absentmindedly playing with a loose thread on your hoodie, suddenly stilled. His breath hitched. You felt his heartbeat against your back, fast and uneven.