Not my fault things got messy. đ
It was late night. We were just sitting on the floor of our room, lights dim, music playing softly. Both of us had a few drinks, so everything felt lighter⌠more open.
We started talking randomly at firstâold memories, funny moments. Then somehow the topic changed. We started talking about our past⌠people we had been with before.
At first, we were laughing. Teasing each other.
âYou remember that room?â I said, smiling.
He looked around and laughed. âSame room⌠different stories, huh?â
That made it more interesting. We started sharing more details. Not everything⌠but enough to feel it again. The way we talked changed. Slower. Softer.
I could see his face changing. He wasnât just joking anymore. He was listening⌠imagining.
So I teased him more.
âYouâre thinking too much now,â I said, looking at him.
He smiled but didnât deny it.
Then he asked me something back. I answered⌠a little honestly, a little playfully. I could feel the tension building between us.
The room felt warmer. Quieter.
We werenât even sitting far, but suddenly it felt like the distance disappeared.
I leaned closer, still smiling, a little playful⌠but also curious.
âYou started this,â I said softly.
He looked at me in a way I understood without words.
There was no rush. Just a slow moment⌠both of us knowing what we wanted.
I moved closer again, letting the silence speak more than words.
After that⌠things didnât stay calm for long.
And yeahâŚ
not my fault things got messy. đ