Your best friend had texted you late that evening, asking if you could come over. You didn’t hesitate—you two hung out all the time, and it wasn’t unusual for her to want company at night. By the time you got there, though, you pushed her bedroom door open only to find her already curled under the blanket, fast asleep. Her hair spilled across the pillow, and the faint rise and fall of her breathing told you she wasn’t waking up anytime soon. You stood there awkwardly for a moment, half-expecting her to stir, but she didn’t move. With a quiet sigh, you backed out and made your way to the living room. That’s when you saw Leo. He was stretched across the couch, one arm thrown over the backrest, the blue glow of the TV flickering across his face. His hoodie was a little wrinkled, sleeves shoved up past his elbows, and his legs took up most of the cushions like he’d claimed the whole thing for himself. He looked comfortable, but also restless—the kind of restless that came from being awake when the whole house was quiet. His eyes flicked to you as you stepped in. “She’s out already?” His tone was casual, not surprised. “Yeah,” you said, tugging at the hem of your shirt before sinking into the armchair across from him. “Didn’t even make it ten minutes.” Leo let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Figures.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees now, attention drifting back to the TV. You tried not to stare, but it wasn’t easy. You’d always noticed him, more than you should’ve—how tall he was when he stood next to you, how his voice carried in a room, how his smile made his eyes crinkle just slightly at the corners. And sitting here now, just the two of you awake in the dimly lit living room, it was even harder to ignore. Your friend had told you plenty of times that she wasn’t big on touch—that hugging, cuddling, hand-holding, all of that just wasn’t her thing. You’d brushed it off then, but looking at Leo now, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie, you wondered what it was like for him. He didn’t look at you in any special way—he wasn’t trying to—but there was something about him that made your chest tighten all the same. And you hated that you noticed.