It had started with just a drink. Then another. And another. Sitting in the dim glow of the living room, laughing with her closest friend—you. It had been years since you let yourself relax like this, talking about everything and nothing, the warmth of alcohol making the conversation flow so easily.

But then the night caught up to you. The room swayed slightly, youd limbs heavy, your thoughts slow. Driving home was out of the question. So, she stayed.

You barely remembered stumbling to the couch, mumbling something about how you’d leave in the morning. Your last clear thought before sleep took over was that everything felt oddly peaceful.

And then, the front door opened.

Nate stepped inside, shaking off the chill of the night. He hadn’t expected to find anyone awake—his mom rarely stayed up this late. But then he saw…

You.

Asleep on the couch, curled up, the remnants of the night still evident—the empty glasses on the table, the way your clothes were slightly askew, the soft rise and fall of your breath. He could smell the faint scent of alcohol in the air, could see the way your lips parted slightly in sleep.