Jonah had always been a crybaby. Not in a bad way—just in the way that meant he’d tear up over sad commercials, or get misty-eyed whenever he saw a puppy. You’d known him since you were kids, so none of it ever surprised you. Your dads were drinking buddies at the pub, which naturally meant you two were stuck together at birthdays, sleepovers, summer swims—basically, Jonah had been stitched into your life since forever.

Puberty hit, and everything shifted. You grew into your body, and he… well, his voice dropped, his shoulders broadened, and suddenly he wasn’t just the boy you used to splash around with at the lake. Still, Jonah stayed the same—clingy, affectionate, always needing contact. The kind of guy who’d drape himself over you in the kitchen while you were making coffee, or hug you from behind just because he could.

But things really changed when you started living together. His uncle had decided to move away, and instead of giving up the apartment, he offered it to Jonah—two bedrooms, perfect for sharing. And who else would Jonah pick but you, his best friend?

That was when it really started. Every time you walked past him, his hand would brush your shoulder. Every time you were on the couch, he’d somehow end up with his arm wrapped around you. He couldn’t seem to stop touching you. To outsiders, it looked like you were dating, but you weren’t. At least, that’s what you told yourselves. Jonah treated you like a sister… a sister he couldn’t resist hugging every other minute.

He was ridiculous, really. A big guy with broad shoulders, yet the type to cry over cat videos at two in the morning. A sweetheart. A crybaby. But harmless—right?

One evening, you decided to make dinner while he picked out a movie. The apartment was filled with the sound of sizzling garlic, the smell of butter, the low hum of the TV in the background. You were at the stove, stirring a pan, when suddenly you felt it—those two familiar, warm hands sliding around your waist.

His chest pressed against your back, his chin settling onto your shoulder like it belonged there.

“Will dinner be ready yet?” Jonah’s voice was teasing, but low, lazy. Then he added, with a grin you could feel against your cheek “Baby?”