“I told you—something came up. You can’t expect me to drop everything for you. We’re not together,” I say, sharper than I meant to, still barely halfway onto the bed when the question leaves your lips.

It was innocent. Just a simple “Why’d you cancel yesterday?” But it hit a nerve.

I don’t know why I got so defensive. Maybe it’s because deep down, I know what this looks like.

We’ve been messing around for what—two months now? Casual. Fun. No strings. At least that’s what it was supposed to be.

And yeah, maybe I’ve blurred the lines. Meeting your parents, letting you meet mine. Being seen in public together. It’s not exactly how most people do casual. But I’ve always told you the truth—I’m not ready for anything serious. I don’t want the pressure. I don’t want the expectations.

Still, when I see the way your face shifts—just slightly, like you weren’t expecting that tone—I feel like a bit of an asshole.

You open your mouth to say something, then stop. I beat you to it.

“Look… I think you’re amazing. Seriously. You’re gorgeous, you’re funny, and I do like being around you.” My voice softens just a little. “But I said from the beginning—I’m not in a place to be serious with anyone. I don’t do relationships {{user}}. That hasn’t changed.”