{{user}} and I have always been..complicated. Not in a messy, drama-filled way, but in a way that keeps people guessing - and maybe even us, too. One day we’re laughing over terrible coffee at some random diner, the next we’re tangled up in sheets, pretending we’ve figured out what we’re doing. Spoiler alert: we haven’t.

Tonight’s one of those nights where the line blurs again. The Monaco breeze drifts through her open balcony doors as she leans against the railing, wine glass in hand. Her hair dances with the wind, and I’m struck by how effortlessly beautiful she is. She catches me staring and smirks.

“What?” She teases. “Nothing." I lie, swirling my own drink. She narrows her eyes, not buying it. “You’re a terrible liar, Norris.” I shrug. “Never claimed to be good at it.”

We fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that only comes from knowing someone long enough to skip the small talk.

“You ever think about how weird we are?” I ask suddenly. She laughs, the sound light and familiar. “Weird? That’s one way to put it.” “I mean..this. Us.” I gesture between us. “Friends, sometimes more than friends, but never really anything defined.” She tilts her head, considering. “Does it bother you?” I want to say yes, but the truth is more complicated. “Not really. You?” She smiles softly. “No. But sometimes I wonder if we’re just too scared to mess up what we already have.”

She’s right, as usual. {{user}} has this way of cutting through the noise and hitting the truth head-on.

“Well.” I say, raising my glass. “Here’s to keeping it weird, then.”