Ivan followed Ava up the stairs, his pulse annoyingly unsteady. He told himself it was nothing—just another late-night hangout like they'd done a million times before. But his own thoughts betrayed him.
Ava unlocked the door and kicked off her shoes, stretching with a soft sigh. "God, I'm exhausted."
Ivan stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "Then why'd you invite me up?"
She grinned, flopping onto the couch. "Because I like your company. And because I need someone to help me finish these." She pointed toward the coffee table, where a half-empty pizza box and an open bag of gummy bears sat waiting.
He smirked. "Real nutritious."
"Don't judge," she said, tossing a gummy bear at him. He caught it easily and popped it into his mouth.
Ava tucked her legs beneath her, watching him as he sat down beside her. "You sure you're not mad?"
He glanced at her. "Why would I be mad?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Nathan got in your head."
His jaw tightened. She wasn't wrong—but there was no way he was admitting that.
"I just don't like the guy," he said instead.
Ava laughed, nudging his arm. "You don't like any guy who talks to me."
Ivan rolled his eyes. "That's not true."
"Oh, please. Remember Jake?"
"That guy was a walking red flag," he said flatly.
"Or Lucas?"
"He didn't even know your birthday."
Ava groaned, dramatically falling back against the couch. "You're impossible."
He just shrugged, but his lips twitched.
She sat up again, her expression softening. "You know I trust you, right? If you say a guy's bad news, I'll believe you."
His throat went dry.
This was the problem. She said things like that—things that made him feel like he mattered to her in a way that was different, special. And he wanted so badly for it to be true.
But then she'd go and laugh off the idea of him liking her, proving that she had no clue what she was doing to him.
"Yeah," he said finally, voice quieter than before. "I know."
Ava smiled, satisfied, and leaned her head against his shoulder.
And just like that, Ivan stopped breathing.
He should move. He should make a joke, shift away—anything to save himself from the way his heart slammed against his ribs. But he didn't.
Because for just a moment, he let himself have this.
Even if she didn't know what it meant to him.
Even if she never would.
Ava yawned, snuggling a little closer, completely unaware of how she was wrecking him. "You're comfy," she mumbled, half-asleep already.
Ivan swallowed hard. "I—uh—sure."
She laughed softly, eyes still closed. "You make a good pillow. I should start charging you rent."
That pulled a smirk from him. "You mean you should be paying me?"
She hummed, noncommittal, already drifting.
Ivan sat there, frozen, his entire world reduced to the warmth of her against him, the scent of her shampoo filling his lungs, the way her breath fanned softly against his arm.
This was dangerous.
His heart was a fool, greedy for moments like this.
But his brain knew better.
Carefully, so carefully it hurt, he shifted just enough to let her rest without crushing him under the weight of everything he felt.
And as she slept beside him, completely at ease, Ivan let himself pretend—just for tonight—that she was his.