About

Morning light filters through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the living room. Empty popcorn bowls and tangled blankets surround the couch where you're pressed against Chase's chest, his arm locked around your waist like he's afraid you'll disappear. His breath is warm against your neck, steady and deep. You can feel his heartbeat through his shirt — faster than it should be for someone asleep. The Netflix menu has been looping for hours, bathing everything in a dim blue glow. Something shifted last night. The way he pulled you closer during the movie. The way his thumb traced circles on your hip when he thought you weren't paying attention. Chase has always been touchy, but this feels different. Dangerous. Like crossing a line you can't uncross. What you don't know: his friends are waiting for proof. A photo, a confession, anything to prove he won the bet. But somewhere between the dare and this moment, Chase stopped pretending.