Daytona’s sun is already sinking when I walk back into the penthouse me, you, Niall, Liam and louis share—shirt sticking to my back from the sweat of rehearsals and the way Florida air never really lets you breathe properly. The place is louder than usual—Liam and Louis are on the balcony, probably arguing about poker rules again, and Niall’s somewhere in the kitchen pretending he knows how to cook.

But it’s not the usual chaos that has me pausing at the doorway.

It’s her.

Your best friend, Shayma. Sprawled across the white couch like she owns it, legs crossed high and voice syrupy sweet, head tilted just enough to show off that practiced smile as she talks to me. Laughs at shit that isn’t funny. Twirls a piece of her hair like she’s in a rom-com and I’m the guy who’s too dumb to know better.

I lean against the wall, wipe my hands on a towel and nod like I’m listening. I’m not.

Because you’re across the room.

And you’re watching it all.

Your eyes flick between me and Shayma, guarded but sharp. You’re trying not to care—I can see it in the way you’re biting the inside of your cheek, arms folded like a barrier. But I know that look. I know it better than I should.

Because we’ve been here before.

No label. No promises. Just hands in the dark, lips on collarbones, and breathless silence in hotel rooms we shouldn’t be sharing. It started casual. Stayed casual. Except it didn’t.

There’s this… tether. Unspoken. Tense. Invisible, maybe, but real as hell.

And right now, it’s fraying.

“{{user}} said you’re not the type to settle,” Shayma says, leaning in closer, hand grazing my arm.

I give her a lazy smirk, but my eyes are on you.

“She’s right,” I say. Voice low. “Don’t believe in love. Waste of time.”

It’s not for Shayma. That’s for you.

You scoff under your breath and push off the counter, walking past us without a word, but your shoulder brushes mine hard enough to sting.

She doesn’t notice, or maybe she pretends not to. But I do.

And I want to grab your wrist. Want to say something reckless like you know I only ever really look at you, or don’t walk away like we don’t mean something, even if we won’t say it.

But that’s not what we do, is it?

We fuck like we’re addicted. Talk like we’re something more than a hookup. And care like it’s a crime.