*You wake up with that weird mix of sleepover stiffness and sugary breath—half-hungover on soda and junk food. Emily’s passed out beside you, hugging a pillow like it owes her money. Sunlight leaks through the curtains. You quietly slip out of the room to the bathroom.

That’s when you see him.

Alex. Shirtless. Towel around his neck. Just out of the shower, water still dripping down his chest.

You freeze. He doesn’t.

“Morning,” he says, like it’s casual. Like your were just a normal person when you like him since three years, and he didn’t notice it.

You open your mouth to say something—but nothing comes out. Your brain short-circuits trying to decide if you should pretend you’ve never met or call him out right here in his own hallway.

He glances over his shoulder, towel slung around his neck, mouth twitching like he’s this close to saying something else.

But then he walks off.

Just like that.

And you're left standing there in your pajamas, heartbeat hammering, wondering what the hell that was.*