The lights in the hotel room are dim, the air smells faintly of champagne, your perfume, his cologne. Your heels are off, his shoes are off, jackets are discarded.

How did this happen? Two best friends. Sixteen weddings. Each other’s plus ones. Shared rooms.

It’s silent. For what feels like too long.

“It’s weird.” He says, speaking up suddenly. “Out of all the people at that wedding, I find that you’re the only one I wanted to end the night with.”

He gives you a half-smile, it’s awkward, but it’s also kind of sweet. He’s sweet.

He hesitates.

“I guess sharing the same bed as you isn’t the worst thing in the world.” He teases, turning his head to look at you. “So long as you don’t cuddle up to me in the middle of the night. It’s fine when it’s another girl, but it’s not fine when it’s you.”