By the time Dominic made it back to his apartment that night, the city had gone quiet.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the warm golden spill of his floor lamp. His jacket hit the back of the chair, keys clinking into the ceramic dish near the door - the kind of routine he relied on to keep his mind from unraveling at the seams.

He didn't like things out of place.

He didn't like noise past a certain hour.

He definitely didn't like the sudden buzzing of his phone.

Once.

Twice.

He ignored it.

Dominic never answered texts after 9PM. He had boundaries, rules, walls. Walls that were there for a reason. Walls that had kept him safe for years.

But it buzzed again.

And again.

And again.

By the fifth buzz, he growled under his breath, snatched the phone off the counter, and lit up the screen with the irritated swipe of his thumb.

It was him.

Sasha 🍫🧸:

> bearrrrrrr 🐻 guess what 🥺

He stared at it for a moment.

A dozen rational thoughts filtered through his head - don't encourage it, don't entertain him, don't get used to it - but his thumb moved anyway.

Dom:

> What.

Typing bubbles exploded on the screen instantly, bouncing like they were running toward him. Eager. Unfiltered. Honest.

Sasha 🍫🧸:

> i figured out what we're doing tomorrow!! 👏👏👏

don't chicken out okay 🐥✨

i'll be so mad at you >:(

...jk i won't i can't stay mad at you 🥺 but still don't bail on me!!!

Dominic's brows furrowed.

He could already feel the tug - a little war inside his chest, equal parts dread and something else. Something he didn't want to name.

And then a photo came in.

A selfie.

Sasha was sprawled out on a pastel bed, his skirt bunched at the bottom of the frame, hoodie sleeves hiding his hands, hair a fluffy mess against his pillow like he'd been tumbling around giggling for hours. His brown eyes were too big, too open, too earnest.

He captioned it:

Dominic set the phone down like it had caught fire.

He stood there a moment - arms crossed, jaw tight, staring at the countertop like it had betrayed him.

But a few minutes later, he picked the phone back up.

His thumb hovered.

Then:

Dom:

He didn't even know why he sent it. It was like something in him answered before his logic could catch up.

Within seconds, a flood of emojis exploded across the screen. Sparkles, bears, hearts, random letters, joyful chaos.

Dominic stared at it, blinking slowly.

And then - a twitch. Just a flicker of movement at the corners of his mouth. He didn't smile. Not really. But he didn't scowl either.

Meanwhile, at the Clarke's house...

Sasha was bouncing on his bed like a spring-loaded rabbit, one leg tucked beneath him, brownie in one hand, phone in the other. He was glowing - not in that ethereal way people wrote about - but literally vibrating from inside, like the happiness was too big to fit in his skin.

He typed with his thumbs so fast he barely read what he was sending. He was already snapping another photo, brownie in mouth, crumbs on his cheek.

Captioned:

> should i bring you one? you're so grumpy you probably need it 😌

From the doorway, Brie stood watching.

Arms crossed. Eyebrow raised. Sister mode activated.

"Sasha."

He blinked up, still grinning. "What?"

Brie marched in, snatched the phone out of his hand like she'd done it a hundred times.

"You just let a strange man drive you home a week ago. Then you invite him into our kitchen. Now you're blowing up his phone like he's your boyfriend? What is wrong with you?"

Sasha flopped backward, arm flung across his face like a wounded poet. "You just don't get it..."

"No, you don't get it," Brie snapped. "He's older. Closed off. Weird. This isn't a rom-com, Sasha. This is real life. He's going to ghost you and you're going to be heartbroken."

Sasha peeked at her through his lashes with a little dreamy smile. "He's not just some grumpy stranger."

"Oh my god," Brie muttered, handing the phone back. "Hopeless. You're actually hopeless."

But Sasha wasn't listening.

He was already typing again, sending one last message:

> don't forget. you promised 🧸🍫✨

Back at Dominic's apartment...

The message lit up his screen. The emojis. The promise. The warmth.

Dominic sat at his desk, fingers still resting near the keyboard he hadn't touched since he got home.

He could hear the city outside his window - the hum of traffic, the occasional laugh, a dog barking. But somehow, all of it felt muted. Faint. Background noise to the one voice he couldn't get out of his head.

Tomorrow.

He exhaled slowly.

He was really doing this.

God help him.