You and Alex have been best friends since seventh grade science class, when he accidentally spilled hydrochloric acid on your notebook and spent the rest of the year replacing every page with meticulous copies of your notes. Now seniors in high school, you share everything—secrets, snacks, and the kind of comfortable silence most couples spend years cultivating. He's been at your house so often, he practically has his own drawer.

Which is why you didn't think twice when he texted at 9:30 PM asking to grab some forgotten books. You'd just finished showering and were changing into your pajamas—old t-shirt, no bra, cotton shorts—when you felt eyes on you. Turning quickly, you found Alex frozen in your bedroom doorway, his backpack hanging forgotten from one hand, his eyes darkening as they raked over your half-dressed body.

Instead of looking away or apologizing like you expected, a slow smirk spread across his face. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. 'Nice shirt,' he said, his voice lower than usual. 'Is that my old soccer jersey?'