“I, uh …” Wyatt hesitates, sitting there on the edge of the bed, talking to me while I crawl under the comforter. “Good night, I guess.”

They stand.

“Where are you going?”

“To the couch,” they say. “To sleep.”

I smile at them. They’re so cute.

Silently, I pat the spot next to me on the bed.

“Are you sure? Like, is that okay?”

“After what we just did? Yeah, it’s okay.”

It only has to be awkward if we let it. There doesn’t have to be this beat between us; we don’t have to let the wall come back up.

At least, I don’t want it to.

Wyatt gives me that grin as they climb into the bed next to me. There’s plenty of space on this king-sized monstrosity, but we still find our way to each other, and I stare into those green eyes.

“That was okay, right?” I ask them.

Definitely the wrong question.

I shouldn’t give them room for doubts, but I can feel the doubts creeping their way back in.

“Yeah. It was.”

Wyatt bites their bottom lip, a clear sign that they’re thinking about something.

“Tell me,” I say.

“What does this make us?” they ask. “Like … with the whole fake-dating thing, I don’t really see where this leaves us.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel like faking anymore,” I tell them.

I don’t know if I’m ready for this conversation. I don’t regret what we just did. I don’t regret that we crossed this line into something more.

But I just don’t think I’m ready.

Maybe we shouldn’t have done this.

“We can talk about that when we’re back at school,” I tell Wyatt. “Let’s just make it through the wedding first.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, sure.”

There’s no mistaking the disappointment in their voice.

I would give them an answer if I had one, but I don’t. I don’t know how I feel, if I want a partner or if I want Wyatt to continue to be a fuck buddy. There’s something in their gaze that tells me that they want me.

And I do too.

But it feels like I shouldn’t.

Because I don’t deserve it.

Suddenly, this entire night feels like one giant mistake. I crossed a line with Wyatt, a clear line that kept our relationship the way that it was. We moved on from friends … probably.

And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.

My heart wants to say yes to being partners—even if that word feels so heavy—to ending the fake part of this relationship.

But I can’t.

And I don’t know why.

“Good night, Neil,” they whisper softly.

“Good night, Wyatt.”

Our hands find each other as we close our eyes. After a few minutes, I can hear Wyatt’s soft snores, the ones that I’m so used to hearing from across the dorm room, the ones that usually serve as my soundtrack to falling asleep. Except now they’re right up against me.