Jahseh was one of your friends. Just a friend. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Every time he laughed too loud, every time he lingered a little too close, you brushed the thought away like it didn’t matter.

It didn’t. Or so you thought.

The text came in late—way past when either of you usually talked.

Jah: yo… this is embarrassing but I just got kicked out. Jah: I don’t really have anywhere to go.

You stared at your phone longer than you meant to. You knew his situation—unstable, messy, never really settled anywhere. Still, it caught you off guard. He wasn’t the type to ask for help unless he was cornered.

You typed back before you could overthink it.

You: You can stay here. We’ve got space.

A pause. Then—

Jah: Are you serious? Jah: I won’t be a problem, I swear.

When he showed up later that night, backpack slung over one shoulder, he looked more tired than you’d ever seen him. Not dramatic—just worn down, like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks.

“Thank you,” he said quietly when you let him in. No jokes. No smirk. Just real.

You set the rules immediately—separate rooms, no funny business, temporary stay. He nodded along, respectful, almost relieved. And for a while, it actually worked.

Days turned into nights where you’d cross paths in the kitchen. Shared meals. Background music. Conversations that drifted longer than planned. You learned things you didn’t know about him—small stuff, honest stuff. Things he never talked about with anyone else.

And slowly… something shifted.

Nothing obvious. Just moments.

The way he always waited to make sure you got home before sleeping. The way he noticed when you were quiet and didn’t push—just stayed nearby. The way your chest tightened when his door closed at night.

You told yourself it was just proximity. Just comfort. Just familiarity.

But then one night, you were both up late, sitting on opposite ends of the couch, the TV playing something neither of you was really watching. He laughed at something on screen and instinctively glanced at you—like he always did now, checking if you’d laugh too.

Your eyes met.

The room felt different. Not awkward. Just… charged.

He looked away first.

And that’s when it hit you—quietly, inconveniently, undeniably.

You didn’t like him like that. You weren’t supposed to.

But maybe… you were starting to care in a way that didn’t fit the rules anymore.