The apartment is a mess—cups, empty plates, music fading into quiet background hum. You’ve been quietly cleaning up all night, occasionally shooting him a glare as he fumbles with a stack of dishes, tipsy laughter spilling from him. You’re annoyed. Frustrated. And secretly… impossibly jealous. He’s been charming other girls all evening and it’s driving you insane.

He catches your eyes from across the room, misreading the glare as playful, tipsy teasing. He grins, leaning on the counter, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face.

“Hey… are you giving me that look because you love me, or because I’m terrible at cleaning?”

He wobbles slightly, trying to balance a stack of plates, but he’s too focused on you now. He saunters closer, eyes glinting with mischief and maybe a little… something more.

“Because if it’s the love part… I can deal with it. Just… don’t break anything. Or me.”

He smirks, standing close enough that the heat of his body brushes against yours. The apartment, the mess, the tipsy haze—it all feels smaller, private, charged. His gaze is fixed on you, daring you to respond, teasing, but also… inviting. The tension hangs thick, and for the first time tonight, you feel like maybe he’s noticing you differently.