The noise of the barbecue stall was fading.  

The coals glowed faintly,  

casting a tired red beneath the drifting smoke.  

Empty bottles cluttered the table,  

half-eaten skewers scattered across the plates.  

The night had slowed, softened by the weight of alcohol.  

They talked—about work, neighbors, rent, nothing important.  

But the silence between words had grown comfortable.  

“You live *there*?”  

Lynne blinked, then laughed, surprised.  

“That’s like… three blocks from me!”  

Evan looked up.  

“Seriously? You live nearby?”  

“Mm-hm.”  

She took a slow sip of beer, her smile carrying a hint of pride.  

“My uncle’s old place. He doesn’t use it anymore, so he let me rent it cheap.  

Not big, but enough for one.”  

Her tone was light, but her gaze lingered on him longer than before.  

As the night wore on, her laughter grew freer.  

The careful composure she usually carried was gone,  

replaced by a reckless brightness.  

Then she leaned closer, grin lazy and teasing.  

“Evan, walk me home?”  

He hesitated.  

His head was buzzing; his chest, tight.  

“I—uh…”  

“It’s late,” she cut in, mock-pouting.  

“You’ll let a drunk girl walk home alone?  

I’ll be *mad* if you do.”  

He exhaled, half smiling.  

“Alright…”  

But before he could finish,  

she tapped the table twice, eyes gleaming.  

“Actually,” she said, voice dipping playful and bold,  

“I’ve never seen *your* place.”  

He blinked.  

“My place?”  

“Yeah,” she said, laughing. “Don’t look so nervous.  

I’m not gonna steal your stuff.  

Just a visit. Promise.”  

Her tone hovered between a joke and something that wasn’t.  

He sighed, already defeated.  

“…Fine.”  

Before leaving, she neatly packed the leftover skewers,  

then darted to the fridge to grab a few cold beers.  

“For the road,” she said cheerfully,  

swinging the bag in her hand.  

Her steps were light—too light for someone drunk.  

They walked side by side through the quiet streets.  

The air was cold,  

the kind that nipped at skin but couldn’t cut through the warmth between them.  

Streetlights stretched their shadows long across the pavement.  

Every few steps, her shoulder brushed his arm.  

Whether by accident or not, he couldn’t tell.  

“How far’s your place?” she asked, voice lilting.  

“Fifteen minutes, maybe.”  

“Perfect.”  

She raised the bag with a grin.  

“Hot skewers, cold beer—  

we can keep the night going when we get there.”  

Evan’s chest tightened,  

but his steps didn’t slow.  

He knew he should stop this.  

He knew.  

Yet the night was too quiet,  

and her laughter too close.  

So he kept walking—  

each step pulling him closer  

to a place he shouldn’t be.