His back was still pressed against the apartment door when the phone buzzed again. Not the single pulse of a text from Inde — a cluster of vibrations, one after another, the kind that meant the group chat had woken up. He looked down at the screen. The notification badge had climbed from eighteen to twenty-two.
His thumb moved before he decided to let it. The chat opened.
Jessica had posted a photo. Low light, slightly blurred, taken from what looked like the passenger seat of her car — Inde's blue sedan, unmistakable, parked outside his building. The timestamp from last night read 12:17 AM. Below it, a single raised-eyebrow emoji. No caption. No explanation needed.
Jasmine had replied within seconds: a string of question marks that took up the whole line, then another line of just exclamation points, then: WAIT WHAT.
Natalie had added a single dot, like she'd started typing and stopped. Then nothing.
Ella had reacted to the photo with a shocked-face emoji and not said a word.
Riley's throat tightened. He scrolled up, past the photo, past Jasmine's explosion, to the messages that had come in while he was still out at the park with Inde. Earlier, before any of this. Jasmine asking if anyone wanted to grab food. Jessica saying she was free. Ella saying she had practice but could do late. Normal. Boring. A Tuesday.
Then the photo had dropped, and the chat had become a different thing entirely.
He was still staring at the screen when a new message appeared — not in the group chat but as a banner at the top of his phone. A private message from Jessica.
He tapped it open.
Her avatar was a shot of her mid-laugh, chin tilted up, the kind of candid photo that made her look younger and softer than her modeling headshots ever did. The message beneath it was four words:
You gonna tell them, or should I?
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. The cursor blinked. The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the distant sound of a car passing on the street below. He could hear his own breathing. Could feel the cool of the door against his shoulder blades, the warm weight of the phone in his hand.
He typed: I don't know what to tell them.
Her reply came before he could set the phone down.
How about the truth? You and Inde. Last night. In your car. Under the gazebo today.
His stomach dropped. He stared at the words, then typed back: How do you know about the gazebo?
A pause. Then: Natalie told me. She saw you two walking back. Said you looked happy.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Of course Natalie had seen. Of course she'd told Jessica. The group didn't keep secrets from each other — that was the deal, the unspoken contract of their friendship. They knew about each other's bad dates and worse exes, about the auditions Jessica didn't book and the families Jasmine pretended didn't bother her. They were a unit. And now Riley had information — about himself, about Inde — that he hadn't shared.
He typed slowly, one careful word at a time: It's new. We're figuring it out.
Jessica's reply came in fragments, as if she were thinking out loud:
I know it's new.
I'm not trying to rush you.
But you know they're going to ask.
His jaw tightened. He looked at the group chat again — twenty-four unread messages now, Jasmine having apparently recovered from her initial shock and moved into full interrogation mode. He could see the preview lines without opening the thread: "SOMEONE BETTER START TALKING RIGHT NOW" and "I CANNOT BELIEVE I'M FINDING OUT ABOUT THIS IN A PHOTO" and a long string of frustrated emojis that seemed to be Jasmine's preferred method of punctuation.
He scrolled back up to the photo. Inde's car. His building. The timestamp that proved they'd been together late into the night. Anyone looking at that photo would know exactly what it meant — or think they did. And the truth was both simpler and more complicated than what the photo suggested. They had kissed. Twice. They had agreed there was an "us." They had said "see you tomorrow" like it was the most natural thing in the world. But they hadn't named it yet, hadn't defined it, hadn't figured out what happened when the sun came up and the group chat demanded answers.
His phone buzzed again. Another private message from Jessica:
Hey. I'm not trying to put you on the spot. I just wanted you to know that the photo's out there. And that I'm on your side. Whatever that looks like.
He read it twice. The knot in his chest loosened, just slightly.
He typed: Thanks.
Then, after a beat: I really like her.
He stared at the words after he sent them, surprised he'd written them at all. He didn't talk about feelings. Not like this, not out loud, not in black and white on a screen where someone could screenshot it and hold it against him later. But it was true. He really liked her. Liked the way she looked at him like he wasn't too much. Liked the way her hand felt in his, the way she said his name, the way she'd told him he didn't have to shrink.
Jessica's reply was immediate:
I know. I saw the way you looked at her at the diner last week. Before any of this happened. You looked at her like she was the only person in the room.
His throat tightened again. He hadn't realized anyone had noticed.
The group chat buzzed again. He opened it without thinking, and saw that Jasmine had escalated from question marks to full caps: RILEY THOMPSON IF YOU ARE IN THIS CHAT AND YOU DO NOT RESPOND I WILL COME TO YOUR APARTMENT AND STAND OUTSIDE YOUR DOOR UNTIL YOU EXPLAIN YOURSELF.
Natalie had replied with a single laughing emoji. Ella had added: She will. She's done it before.
Jasmine: I HAVE DONE IT BEFORE AND I WILL DO IT AGAIN.
Riley felt the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself. This was his group. Loud and chaotic and completely incapable of letting anything go. He'd known them long enough to understand that Jasmine's threats were mostly performative — but also that she had, in fact, once stood outside his door for twenty minutes until he opened it, and that she would absolutely do it again.
His thumb moved to the keyboard. He typed: I'm here.
The response was instantaneous. Jasmine: OH THANK GOD. NOW EXPLAIN.
He stared at the blinking cursor. What was he supposed to say? That he and Inde had kissed in her car at midnight and again in the park at noon and that he still didn't know what to call it? That he was terrified and exhilarated in equal measure? That for the first time in years, he didn't feel like he had to make himself smaller?
He typed: It's new. We're seeing where it goes.
Jasmine: THAT'S NOT AN EXPLANATION. HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?
He hesitated. Then: Since last night.
The chat went silent for three full seconds. Then Ella's name appeared, her message quiet and careful: Wait, really? That fast?
He could hear her voice in the words — the gentle uncertainty, the way she always phrased things like she was testing whether she had the right to ask. He typed: Yeah. Fast. But it feels right.
Natalie's name appeared next: It does. I saw them together today. Trust me.
Jasmine: YOU KNEW AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?
Natalie: I was told not to screw it up. Figured telling you would count.
Jasmine: I AM OFFENDED. BUT ALSO HAPPY FOR HIM. THESE ARE NOT MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE.
Riley exhaled. The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. They were taking it well — or at least, they were taking it the way they took everything: loudly, with opinions, but with affection underneath.
His phone buzzed again. He expected another group message, but it was Jessica again, private:
See? Not so bad.
He typed: They don't know everything yet.
Jessica: They don't need to. Not yet. Just let them get used to the idea.
He leaned his head back against the door, staring at the ceiling. The afternoon light was shifting, the stripes from the blinds growing longer and softer as the sun moved toward evening. He could hear his own breathing, the faint hum of the refrigerator, the distant sound of a television in the apartment next door. Normal sounds. An ordinary Tuesday.
Except it wasn't ordinary. He had kissed Inde Martinez in a parked car at midnight and again on a park bench this afternoon, and she had said there was an "us," and he had agreed, and now his phone was full of messages from his friends demanding to know what was happening, and he had no idea what came next — but he wasn't scared of it.
That, more than anything else, felt like proof that something had changed.
His phone buzzed again. The group chat. He opened it to find Jasmine had moved on from interrogation to logistics: So when do we meet her? Formally? I need to vet her. It's protocol.
Natalie: You don't need to vet her. She's Inde. You already know her.
Jasmine: I know her AS A FRIEND. I need to know her as Riley's... whatever she is.
Ella: You can't just call her that.
Jasmine: I CAN AND I DID. RILEY. WHAT IS SHE.
He stared at the question. What was she? He didn't have a word for it yet. Girlfriend felt too formal, too defined, like putting a label on something that was still unfolding. But "whatever she was" didn't feel right either. She was Inde. That was the only word that mattered.
He typed: She's Inde. That's all I've got right now.
Jasmine: ACCEPTABLE. FOR NOW.
Natalie: You're going to scare him.
Jasmine: I'm going to SUPPORT him. Aggressively.
Riley smiled. The phone felt warm in his hand, the screen glowing against the dim light of the entryway. He could feel the cool wood of the door against his back, the faint texture of the paint beneath his shoulder blades. The apartment was quiet, but it didn't feel empty the way it had before. It felt like a place he could breathe in.
He pushed off from the door and walked to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He filled a glass of water at the sink, drank half of it, and set it down. The group chat was still buzzing on the counter — Jasmine sending a series of increasingly ridiculous questions about whether Inde knew his coffee order yet, whether she'd seen his swimmer's shoulders up close, whether he'd told her about the time he'd accidentally walked into the wrong classroom and sat through an entire lecture on macroeconomics before realizing his mistake.
He picked up the phone again and typed: Yes, no, and why would I lead with that.
Jasmine: BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY AND IT SHOWS YOU'RE HUMAN. VETTING PROTOCOL REQUIRES HUMOR.
Ella: There's no actual protocol.
Jasmine: THERE IS NOW. I'M WRITING IT AS WE SPEAK.
Riley shook his head, but he was still smiling. He set the phone down and leaned against the counter, looking out the window at the street below. The sun was lower now, the shadows longer, the light turning gold and amber. In a few hours it would be dark, and he would text Inde goodnight, and maybe she would text back, and maybe he would fall asleep with his phone in his hand, thinking about the way she'd said his name.
The phone buzzed again. He picked it up, expecting another barrage from Jasmine, but it wasn't the group chat this time. It was Inde.
A single message:
Hey. Thinking about you.
He stared at the words. His chest did something complicated — a tightening and loosening at the same time, a feeling he didn't have a name for. He typed back: I'm thinking about you too.
Her reply came quickly: Good. That's good.
He smiled down at the screen. The cursor blinked. The silence in the apartment felt different now — fuller, warmer, like she was in it with him somehow, even from across town.
He was still looking at the message when the group chat buzzed again. He opened it, expecting more of Jasmine's questions, but the message was from Ella, and it stopped him cold:
Hey, what if we all meet up at Riley's tonight? Spin the bottle?
He stared at the message for a long moment. The cursor blinked. The ceiling fan clicked in its slow rotation overhead.
His thumbs moved before he second-guessed them: No.
Then, before anyone could reply: I'm going to bed early.
He set the phone face-down on the counter and pushed off from the sink. The apartment felt small suddenly, the walls closer than they'd been a minute ago. Spin the bottle. With Inde there. With his friends watching, waiting, reading every glance and flinch and swallowed word. He ran a hand through his hair and walked to the bedroom, leaving the phone behind.
The bed creaked when he sat down on the edge. Pale evening light fell through the blinds in long stripes across the floor, catching dust motes suspended in the air. He lay back, one arm behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. The faint hum of the refrigerator. A car passing on the street below. His own breathing, slow and steady.
He didn't mean to fall asleep. But the morning had been long and the afternoon longer, and somewhere between the ceiling cracks and the sound of his own heartbeat, the edges of the room softened and went dark.
---
The honking dragged him up from sleep like a hand around his ankle.
Loud. Insistent. Three short blasts, then two more, the kind of honking that meant someone wanted to be heard, not just signaled. Riley groaned, rolled onto his side, and squinted at the window. The light through the blinds was deep amber — evening, late evening, the sun nearly down. His phone wasn't in his hand. He'd left it in the kitchen.
The horn again. Longer this time. And now voices — laughter, high and familiar, the kind that carried through closed windows and second-floor walls.
He swung his legs off the bed, shirt wrinkled, hair a mess, and padded barefoot to the front door. The lock turned with a click. He pulled it open.
A blur of motion hit him.
Jasmine's arms locked around his neck, her full weight slamming into his chest, and he stumbled back a step, catching her mostly by instinct. She smelled like vanilla and something floral, her puff of hair brushing his cheek, her laugh loud and unapologetic against his ear.
"You ready for spin the bottle?"
He blinked. Blinked again. She was still attached to him, legs not quite wrapped but close, a koala in a crop top and high-waisted jeans.
Behind her, framed in the open doorway, Ella stood with her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. She gave a small shrug, a half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Behind her, Natalie was already stepping past, a tote bag slung over one shoulder, something that looked suspiciously like a bottle of wine poking out the top.
And behind Natalie —
Inde.
She was wearing a simple dark sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders instead of in its usual ponytail. She met his eyes for a fraction of a second, then looked at the floor, but there was a curve to her lips that made his chest do something complicated.
Everyone was there. Everyone. Jessica slipped past Inde and into the apartment, her sleek bob tucked behind her ears, an unimpressed eyebrow aimed at the tangle of Jasmine and Riley in the doorway.
"I said no," Riley managed.
Ella laughed — a quiet, breathy sound that didn't match her height. "You said no to the group chat," she said. "We figured that meant yes in person."
"That's not how no works."
Jasmine finally dropped to the floor, landing lightly, already spinning on her heel to survey the apartment. "Cute place. Dim. Needs more lighting. Also snacks. Natalie, where are the snacks?"
"In the bag," Natalie said, following her inside. "You're welcome."
Jessica passed Riley on her way to the kitchen, close enough that her sleeve brushed his arm. "Told you they'd want to meet her," she murmured, quiet enough that only he could hear. "Didn't think it would be tonight though."
Riley's jaw tightened. He looked past her, past Jasmine's chatter, past Natalie unpacking a bag of chips and what looked like two bottles of wine onto his kitchen counter — and found Inde still standing in the hallway, just outside the open door.
She hadn't crossed the threshold yet. Her hands were in her pockets. Her dark eyes met his, and there was something in them — a question, maybe, or an offer. A way out if he wanted one.
He didn't.
He stepped aside, one hand lifting, palm open. "Come in."
She did. Slowly, like she was testing the weight of each step. The door clicked shut behind her, and suddenly the apartment felt full — full of voices and footsteps and the rustle of bags and the sharp smell of wine being uncorked, full in a way it never was when he was alone. Inde stopped a few feet away, close enough that he could see the faint shine of the hall light on her hair, the way her fingers curled inside her pockets.
"They showed up at my apartment," she said, low enough that only he could hear. "Jessica said it was an emergency."
"It's always an emergency with them."
"Apparently I was required for vetting." She said it flat, but there was a tremor underneath it — not fear, not quite. Something like humor, or hope.
Riley huffed a quiet laugh. "Jasmine's been writing the protocol all afternoon."
"That's what she said." Inde's gaze flicked past him to where Jasmine was now holding up a wine bottle like a trophy, demanding glasses. "She also said I should know your coffee order. And whether you sleep on your back or your side."
"Side. And I take it black."
Inde's mouth twitched, the smallest smile. "Good to know."
From the kitchen, Jasmine's voice cut through: "Riley! Where do you keep your cups? Or do you just drink straight from the tap like some kind of feral man?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but Jessica was already there, pulling open the correct cabinet with the ease of someone who'd been in his apartment a dozen times. "Top shelf, left," she said. "He's not feral, just short on cabinet space."
"I'm six-five," Riley said.
"And the cabinets are standard height. Tragic, really."
Natalie was settling onto the floor, cross-legged, arranging chips in a bowl she'd found somewhere. She looked up, caught Riley's eye, and gave him a small nod — the same look she'd given him yesterday, when she'd told him not to screw it up. Approval was approval, even when it came in the form of a bag of tortilla chips.
Ella had drifted to the corner of the living room, near the window, her hands still in her hoodie pockets. She wasn't quite looking at anyone, but she wasn't hiding either. A careful neutrality, the kind she wore when she wasn't on a court and didn't know where to put her energy.
Jasmine found the glasses — four mismatched tumblers and a mason jar — and set them on the counter with a flourish. "Okay. Ground rules. Bottle spins. Whoever it lands on, you kiss. No exceptions. No chickening out."
"That's not how we're doing this," Jessica said, leaning against the counter. "We're not in high school."
"We're in Riley's apartment, which is basically the same thing but with worse furniture." Jasmine swept her arm toward the couch. "Come on. Everyone sit. Inde, you're next to Riley. That's non-negotiable."
Inde glanced at him. He didn't look away.
"Okay," she said quietly.
They moved to the floor together — not quite touching, but close enough that his arm brushed hers when he sat down. The carpet was thin and worn, but it was clean, and the circle they formed was tight, knees almost knocking. Jasmine produced a bottle from somewhere — an empty beer bottle, green glass, labels peeled off— and set it spinning in the center.
"First spin goes to me," she announced, and sent the bottle whirling before anyone could argue.
It spun. Clattered. Slowed.
Pointed at Ella.
Ella's eyes went wide. "I — what?"
"You know the rules." Jasmine grinned. "Kiss or forfeit. Forfeit means you have to tell us your most embarrassing crush story."
Ella looked at the bottle, then at Jasmine, then at the floor. Her pale cheeks flushed pink. "I don't — that's —"
"Embarrassing crush story it is," Jessica said, settling back on her elbows. "I want details."
Ella buried her face in her hands. "I hate all of you."
"No you don't," Natalie said warmly. "Come on. Spill."
Ella took a breath. Let it out. Then, very quietly: "Freshman year. There was a guy in my biology class. Tall. Quiet. Had really nice hands."
"Nice hands?" Jasmine repeated.
"He was a pianist. He had these long fingers — I used to watch him take notes and —" She stopped. "This is so stupid."
"It's not stupid," Riley said, and everyone turned to look at him. He shrugged, a little embarrassed to have spoken. "Everyone has a crush story. It's normal."
Ella gave him a small, grateful look. "Anyway. I never talked to him. He transferred at the end of the semester. I still think about his hands sometimes."
Jasmine nodded solemnly. "A worthy crush. I accept your forfeit." She grabbed the bottle. "Second spin. Mine again."
"That's not fair," Jessica said.
"Life's not fair. Watch."
The bottle spun. This time it landed on Jessica.
Jasmine paused. "Okay. That one's awkward."
"We're all adults here," Jessica said, but she was already leaning forward, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Unless you're scared."
"I'm not scared of anything." Jasmine leaned in. Their lips met — quick, perfunctory, a peck more than a kiss — and then they both pulled back, laughing.
"Two points for not making it weird," Natalie said.
"I'm always making things not weird," Jasmine said. "It's my brand."
The bottle spun again. It landed on Natalie, who kissed Jessica's cheek without hesitation — a sisterly gesture, soft and uncomplicated. Then on Ella, who kissed Jasmine with the same quick efficiency, her blush fading.
Then the bottle spun and pointed straight at Inde.
The room went quiet.
It was Jasmine who had spun. Jasmine, who'd been interrogating the group chat all afternoon, demanding answers, writing protocol, insisting on a formal vetting. She held the bottle still, her eyes on Inde, and for a moment the air in the room shifted — not hostile, but weighted. Expectant.
"Well," Jasmine said. "Guess it's my turn to vet you properly."
Inde didn't flinch. She met Jasmine's gaze levelly, her shoulders steady, her hands resting loose in her lap. "Go ahead."
Jasmine crawled across the circle, slow and deliberate, until she was close enough to reach out and touch Inde's chin, tilting her face just slightly. Inde let her. Didn't pull back. Didn't look away.
"Huh," Jasmine said, quiet enough that only the circle could hear. "You've got good eye contact."
"So do you."
"I know. I'm terrifying."
"You're protective," Inde said. "There's a difference."
Jasmine's hand dropped. Something in her expression shifted — a crack in the performance, just for a second. Then she leaned in and kissed Inde, soft and brief, a brush of lips that was more gesture than contact.
When she pulled back, there was a hint of surprise in her eyes, quickly masked. "Okay," she said. "You pass the first round."
Inde's mouth curved, the smallest smile. "Good to know."
Jasmine returned to her spot, and the room exhaled. Natalie reached for the chips. Jessica topped off someone's glass. The game continued — the bottle spinning, landing on shoulders and knees and the occasional floor when someone spun too hard. Light. Loose. The kind of evening that felt like nothing special until you looked back and realized it was the one you'd remember.
At some point, Riley's hand found Inde's in the space between them. She didn't pull away. Neither did he. Their fingers interlaced, hidden by the curve of his knee, a secret they didn't need to keep but chose to anyway.
The bottle spun one last time, clattering to a stop.
It pointed at Riley.
Everyone looked at him. Then, slowly, at Inde.
"Well," Jessica said, a smile in her voice. "Guess the bottle knows what it's doing."
Riley felt heat rising up the back of his neck. He looked at Inde, and she was already looking at him, her dark eyes soft in the low light of the apartment. No performance. No expectation. Just her, waiting to see what he would do.
He leaned in.
Her lips met his, warm and sure, and for a moment the apartment disappeared — the voices, the laughter, the spin of the bottle still wobbling on the carpet. Just her hand in his, her mouth against his mouth, the quiet certainty of someone who had chosen him and wasn't afraid to show it.
When they broke apart, the room was silent for a beat, then Jasmine let out a low whistle.
"Okay," she said. "I'm convinced."
"Told you," Natalie said, reaching for the wine.
Ella smiled into her glass.
And Jessica caught Riley's eye across the circle, her eyebrow raised in a question only he could read: See? Not so bad.
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. Inde's hand was still in his, the bottle was still spinning, and the evening was still unfolding — unscripted, uncharted, exactly the way he wanted it to be.
Jasmine's hand shot up, phone already out, screen glowing blue in the dim apartment light. "Okay. Hang on. I'm not done."
The bottle had stopped spinning. Riley's hand was still wrapped around Inde's. The room had settled into that loose, wine-warm comfort of a night that had found its rhythm — but Jasmine was already shifting forward, cross-legged, her phone held like a microphone.
"Lightning round," she announced. "Rapid fire. No thinking. First answer that comes to mind."
"Jas —" Natalie started.
"She passed the kiss test. That's round one. Round two is the questionnaire." Jasmine's eyes were on Inde, bright and unblinking. "You ready?"
Inde's hand tightened almost imperceptibly around Riley's. He felt it — the small press of her fingers, a brief anchor. Then she lifted her chin and said, "Sure."
Jasmine's grin widened. "Favorite pizza topping?"
"Mushrooms."
"Acceptable but basic. Follow-up: thin crust or deep dish?"
"Thin."
"Good answer. Deep dish is a casserole and I will die on that hill." Jasmine swiped her thumb across the screen. "Okay. Worst date ever. Go."
Inde's mouth twitched. "Senior year. He took me to a fast-food drive-through and then asked if I wanted to split the bill."
Jessica snorted from the kitchen counter. "That's not a date. That's a hostage situation."
"He also spent the entire time talking about his ex-girlfriend's skincare routine," Inde added. "In detail. I know more about her moisturizer than I know about my own mother's birthday."
Ella let out a quiet laugh, her shoulders unhunching slightly. Natalie was already shaking her head, a smile tugging at her lips.
Jasmine typed something into her phone with exaggerated gravity. "Noted. Red flags documented. Moving on." She looked up, her eyes sharp. "What do you call Riley when he's not around?"
The question landed differently than the others. Riley felt the shift — the room's attention tightening, the humor thinning into something more watchful. He looked at Inde, but she was already looking at him, her dark eyes holding his for a fraction of a second before she turned back to Jasmine.
"I don't have a nickname for him yet," she said, her voice steady. "We've only been doing this for about twenty-four hours. I'm still figuring out what to call it when we're together."
"But if you had to pick one," Jasmine pressed. "Right now. First thing that comes to mind."
Inde was quiet for a moment. The ceiling fan clicked overhead. Somewhere in the kitchen, the refrigerator hummed. Riley became acutely aware of the warmth of her hand in his, the way her thumb was tracing a slow, absent pattern along his knuckle.
"Tall," she said finally. "I'd call him Tall. Because he is. And because it makes him smile."
Riley felt his face heat before he could stop it. He ducked his head, but not fast enough — Jessica had already seen it, and she was watching him with that knowing expression, the one that said she was filing this away for later.
Jasmine lowered her phone. Her expression had shifted — the performative interrogation softening into something more genuine. "Okay," she said slowly. "That's actually really cute. I hate that it's cute."
"You hate that everything's cute," Natalie said.
"Because everything IS cute. I'm surrounded by cuteness. It's exhausting." Jasmine pocketed her phone, but she didn't look away from Inde. "One more. Genuine question. Not part of the protocol."
Inde waited.
"What do you see in him?" Jasmine nodded toward Riley. "Like, specifically. Not 'he's sweet' or 'he's tall.' The thing that made you look at him and think — that one."
The room went quiet again. Riley felt his pulse in his throat, slow and heavy. He wanted to look away — the instinct to shrink was there, a familiar pull — but he didn't. He stayed still, his hand in Inde's, waiting.
Inde didn't answer right away. She looked at him, really looked, in a way that made him feel seen down to the bone. Her eyes moved across his face — his eyes, his jaw, the slight tension in his shoulders — and when she spoke, her voice was quiet but certain.
"He doesn't try to be anything other than what he is. That sounds simple but it's not — most people are performing all the time, even when they think they're not. But Riley just... is. He's kind without keeping score. He's tall and he tries to make himself smaller because he doesn't want to make anyone uncomfortable, and I want to teach him that he doesn't have to." She paused. "And when he smiles — really smiles, not the polite one — it's like watching the sun come out after three days of rain."
The silence that followed was the kind that couldn't be filled. It was too full already.
Jasmine was staring at Inde with her mouth slightly open. She closed it. Opened it again. Then she looked at Riley, and there was something raw in her expression — surprise, maybe, or respect. "Okay," she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Yeah. You pass."
"Both rounds?" Inde asked.
"All rounds. You're in. Welcome to the group." Jasmine extended her hand, and Inde took it — a brief, firm shake that felt more ceremonial than anything they'd done all night. "If you hurt him, I will destroy you. But I think you know that."
"I know."
"Good." Jasmine pulled her hand back, then grabbed the near-empty wine bottle and topped off her glass. "Now someone put on music. This moment of sincerity is making me uncomfortable."
Jessica laughed and pulled out her phone, and within seconds something with a low, lo-fi beat was drifting through the apartment — a playlist she'd made ages ago, the same one that always played when they were all together. The tension in the room dissolved like sugar in tea, and the conversation fractured into smaller threads: Natalie and Ella discussing something about a TV show, Jasmine gesturing expansively about a party she wanted to throw, Jessica leaning against the counter with her wine, watching the room with a quiet, knowing gaze.
Riley stayed where he was, cross-legged on the floor, his hand still tangled with Inde's. She was warm beside him, her shoulder brushing his, her presence solid and real in a way that made the whole evening feel like something he wanted to hold on to.
"You okay?" she asked, low enough that only he could hear.
He nodded. "Yeah. I think I am."
She smiled, and it was like she'd said — the sun coming out after rain. He felt it in his chest, warm and quiet and completely undeserved.
"Thank you," he said, the words coming out before he could second-guess them. "For what you said. To Jasmine."
Inde's thumb traced another slow circle on his knuckle. "I meant it."
"I know. That's why it matters."
Across the room, Jasmine was gesturing with her wine glass, nearly spilling it on Natalie's shoulder. "—and I'm saying we should do this every week. Game night. Riley's apartment. Mandatory attendance."
"You can't mandate attendance to someone else's apartment," Natalie said.
"Watch me."
Ella looked up from her phone. "I have practice Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"Then we do Wednesdays." Jasmine waved dismissively. "Or Fridays. Or Sundays. We'll figure it out. The point is —" She pointed her glass at the room, at all of them, at Riley and Inde still sitting together on the floor. "This. This is good. I want to keep it."
Jessica raised her glass. "To keeping it."
"To keeping it," Natalie echoed.
Ella lifted her glass a second later, a shy smile on her face.
Inde looked at Riley, her eyes asking a question he didn't need words to answer. He lifted their joined hands, just slightly, a small gesture that said yes. I'm in. We're in.
"To keeping it," she said quietly, and the room drank.
The wine was warm in his chest, the evening soft around him, and the unread messages on his phone were still there — seventeen, then eighteen, then twenty-four, now forgotten on the kitchen counter. He didn't need to answer them anymore. The people who mattered were already here.
Inde's head rested against his shoulder, light and trusting, and he let himself lean into the weight of it. The ceiling fan clicked its slow rotation. The music drifted. Jasmine was already planning next week's game night, and Jessica was already rolling her eyes, and Natalie was already mediating, and Ella was already smiling into her glass — and it was ordinary, and it was everything.
Riley's fingers found the hem of Inde's sweater where it brushed against his wrist, the fabric soft and worn, a pale blue that had faded in the wash. He traced the edge of it without thinking, a small anchor point while the room moved around them.
Jasmine had commandeered the aux cord from Jessica, and the lo-fi beat had given way to something with a heavier bass line, a song Riley recognized from one of her party playlists. She was dancing in place near the kitchen counter, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her glass, her high puff bouncing with each exaggerated sway.
"This song," she announced, pointing at the ceiling, "is about being unstoppable. I'm choosing to believe it's about us."
"It's about a breakup," Jessica said.
"It's about RILEY," Jasmine countered, "finally getting the girl. Which is basically the same thing."
Riley ducked his head, but he was smiling. Inde's shoulder shook against him — a quiet laugh, barely audible over the music. He felt it more than heard it, the vibration traveling through her body into his, and something in his chest settled into a rhythm he hadn't known he was looking for.
"She's going to keep doing that," Inde said, her voice low, pitched only for him. "The public declarations. Just so you know."
"I know."
"Are you okay with it?"
He considered the question. Jasmine was now attempting to pull Natalie into a dance, and Natalie was resisting with the calm patience of someone who had been through this exact scenario dozens of times. Ella was watching them with her phone in her hand, the screen recording, a quiet smile on her face. Jessica had settled onto the arm of the couch, one leg crossed over the other, her dark eyes tracking the room with the easy vigilance of someone who kept the group's secrets without asking for credit.
"Yeah," Riley said. "I think I am." He paused, then added, "It's weird. Being talked about like I'm something good. But I think I could get used to it."
Inde's hand found his again, their fingers interlacing in the small space between them. "You are something good."
He didn't know how to answer that, so he didn't try. He just held her hand and watched his friends fill his apartment with noise and warmth and the comfortable chaos of people who had known each other long enough to stop performing.
Natalie finally gave in to Jasmine's insistence, letting herself be pulled into a loose, swaying dance that was more about laughing than actual movement. Ella was still recording, her phone held at an angle that suggested she was trying to be subtle and failing. Jasmine caught her and lunged for the camera, and suddenly the three of them were a tangle of arms and laughter, the wine glass somehow surviving on the counter, unattended.
Jessica caught Riley's eye from across the room. She raised an eyebrow — the same question she'd been asking all night, the one that meant you good? — and he nodded once. She smiled, small and genuine, and looked away.
Inde shifted beside him, her head lifting from his shoulder. She was watching the chaos too, her dark eyes soft in the low light, her lips curved in a way that made him want to memorize the exact shape of it.
"They're a lot," she said.
"Yeah."
"I like them."
"They like you too." He paused. "Jasmine's already planning your wedding. Just so you know."
Inde laughed — a real one, low and surprised, her hand tightening around his. "To who?"
"Me, I think. She's very committed to the narrative."
"Good narrative."
The words landed somewhere deep in his chest, warm and permanent. He didn't say anything, because there wasn't anything to say that the silence didn't already hold. He just sat there, on the worn carpet of his small apartment, with Inde's hand in his and his friends filling the room with sound, and let himself be present in it.
The song changed. Jasmine whooped. The ceiling fan clicked its slow, steady rotation overhead. And Riley Thompson, for the first time in longer than he could remember, didn't feel like he needed to be anywhere else.