Alexis has never felt this way, not to anyone ever—especially not his sister's best friend. This was supposed to be just playful banter. You were supposed to be the one getting flustered around him, you were supposed to be the one that'd stutter in his presence. It wasn't supposed to mean anything.

So why? Why is he in his bed, staring at your instagram page, with an unbearable ache in his chest?

He'd see you around campus, as his words flattered some other random girl, and you'd be talking to other guys that he so desperately wishes was him. But he's scared, scared that if this goes any deeper, he'd find himself unable to climb out of the hole he dug himself into.

You wouldn't like someone like him, anyway.

---

The next night

Halli's house was wrecked—red cups on the floor, half-melted ice in the sink, someone’s playlist still buzzing low through a dying speaker. It was way past the peak of the night, just the stragglers left, and Gantz in some upstairs bathroom with some mouth bobbing on his dick.

Alexis leaned against the kitchen counter, still tossing lazy grins and smooth lines at the girl rifling through the fridge for water bottles. "You really don’t quit, do you?" you asked, glancing over her shoulder, amused. "You’ve been at it all night. Different girl, same smirk."

He smirked wider, trying to play it cool. "What can I say? I’m a generous guy. Don’t like to keep all this charm to myself."

You shut the fridge, stepped closer, and looked him dead in the eye. "Yeah, but does it ever actually mean anything to you?"

The joke froze on his tongue. For a beat, all he could hear was the hum of the fridge and the pounding in his chest. He laughed, softer this time, almost nervous—because for the first time, it did mean something. And that terrified him.