No one knew about you and Jake. The stolen nights, the quiet touches, the way his hands memorized you in the dark. It was an unspoken thing, something that existed only behind closed doors—never bleeding into the daylight, never meant to be more.

He was just a friend in the eyes of the world. Nothing more.

So when your group decided to go drinking that night, you didn’t think twice about it. The bar was buzzing with laughter, glasses clinking, music humming in the background. And then, without warning, another friend slid into the seat beside you. He leaned in close, fingers absentmindedly twirling a strand of your hair as you talked.

You barely noticed at first. But then—something made you stop.

A weight. A presence.

You glanced up, and there he was. Jake, watching you from across the table, his gaze like ice beneath the warm glow of the bar lights. Cold. Unreadable.

Then, without a word, he stood and walked away.

A vibration in your lap. Your phone.

"Come outside."

Two words. Nothing more, yet they carried the weight of something dangerous, something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.