Emma organized a game night the following weekend. Lucas hosted, Max made the snacks, and Claire showed up a little late—carrying a bottle of wine and an odd nervousness she couldn't explain.
The apartment buzzed with energy. Emma and Max were in their usual rhythm, bickering affectionately over board game rules. Lucas greeted Claire at the door with a smirk.
"You showed. I was beginning to think we'd have to play charades short a cynic."
"Wouldn't dream of missing it," Claire replied, brushing past him but not quite brushing off the smile that tugged at her lips.
The game was loud and competitive, full of stolen glances and suppressed laughter. At one point, Lucas leaned over to whisper something sarcastic in Claire's ear, and the closeness made her pulse jump. She didn't move away.
Later, when the others had gone to the kitchen for refills, Claire lingered near the game board, stacking unused pieces into a tiny tower.
Lucas came back first. "You okay?"
Claire looked up at him. "Do you ever feel like we're… already in something?"
He tilted his head. "Yeah. I do."
"I don't know what to call it."
"You don't have to," he said simply.
She didn't answer. But when Claire returned and nudged them apart with a tray of popcorn, Lucas caught Claire's eye and gave her a look that said: We're fine. No rush.
She smiled.
It wasn't a fight. Not really.
But it was the first time they'd disagreed.
Lucas invited Claire to a local night club. Nothing fancy—just a small outing he thought she'd enjoy. She declined. Politely, but quickly.
"You sure?" he'd asked.
Claire had nodded, almost too firmly. "I just don't feel like it. You should go, though."
Lucas went, but it left a heaviness between them.
The next day, he texted her:
"You okay?"
Her reply came hours later:
"Yeah. Just tired."
But she wasn't just tired.
She was scared.
That night, Claire knocked on Lucas's door, soaked from a sudden drizzle. He opened it and simply stepped aside, letting her in without a word.
She stood in his living room, dripping quietly, before finally speaking.
"I keep stopping myself. Every time I get close to letting this—whatever we are—turn into something real… I freeze."
Lucas nodded, patient as always.
"I like you," Claire continued. "More than I want to admit. And I keep wondering if I'm just making it harder for no reason."
"You're not," Lucas said gently. "You're doing what you need to do. And I'll be here—whether that's as your almost, your friend, or something else. I'm not walking away."
Something in her broke open then. Not a dramatic flood of tears, just the quiet relief of being seen and not judged.
"I think," she said slowly, "I want to try. Not all at once. Not fast. But… try."
Lucas took a step closer. "Try is enough."
This time, when their hands brushed, Claire let hers stay.
It wasn't a declaration. It wasn't a kiss.
But it was real. And for now, that was everything.