"Move over," Taylor demanded, nudging Jamie's hip with their knee.
Jamie clutched the blanket tighter. "There is literally half a couch left. Sit there."
Taylor flopped dramatically into the narrow space Jamie occupied anyway, wedging themselves so close their shoulders pressed together. "But this side is warm. You're like a space heater with anxiety."
Jamie nearly choked on the sip of tea they'd just taken. "That is not a compliment."
"It is when you live in an apartment that refuses to heat past sixty-eight degrees." Taylor wriggled closer, unapologetic. "Mmm. Toasty."
Jamie tried not to notice how Taylor's thigh was pressed firmly against theirs. Tried not to notice the way Taylor's hair brushed their cheek when they leaned over to grab the remote. I tried not to notice anything.
It was impossible.
"Why are you like this?" Jamie muttered.
"Like what?" Taylor asked innocently, eyes fixed on the screen.
"Obnoxious. Touchy." Jamie gestured between them. "Invading personal space."
Taylor smirked. "You love it."
Jamie opened their mouth to argue, but Taylor shifted again, throwing half the blanket over their own lap and tugging it so hard Jamie nearly toppled sideways.
"Taylor!"
"What?" They blinked with mock innocence. "Sharing is caring. Besides, if we were married…"
"We're not."
"...you'd be legally obligated to share blankets with me."
Jamie groaned, shoving a pillow at them, which Taylor caught with a laugh. "Stop bringing up marriage."
"Can't help it." Taylor shrugged, grinning. "You make a very convincing spouse. Minus the part where you steal the last cookie every time."
Jamie froze. Their heart did that annoying skip thing again, like it was auditioning for a soap opera. "Spouses don't steal cookies?"
"Not from each other." Taylor's grin widened. "Unless it's foreplay."
Jamie's brain short-circuited. Heat rushed up their neck so fast they nearly dropped their tea. "Excuse me?!"
Taylor cackled, clearly delighted. "Relax, prude. I'm kidding. …Mostly."
Jamie buried their face in the blanket, muffling a noise that was definitely not a whimper. "You're the worst."
"Yet you keep me around." Taylor leaned in, their lips brushing dangerously close to Jamie's ear as they whispered, "What does that say about you?"
Jamie shoved them so hard they toppled sideways, laughing until tears streamed down their face.
---
Later, when the movie ended and the credits rolled, Jamie was still hyper-aware of every inch of space between them—or rather, the lack of it. Their shoulders remained pressed together, legs tangled under the blanket like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It shouldn't have been natural. Friends didn't sit like this. Friends didn't tease each other with throwaway innuendos that landed like firecrackers in the chest. Friends didn't lean in so close Jamie could smell the faint traces of Taylor's shampoo.
And yet…here they were.
Jamie cleared their throat, desperate to break the silence before they did something stupid, like imagine what it would feel like to turn their head just an inch and—
"So," Taylor said casually, "remember our pact?"
Jamie stiffened. "Why are you bringing that up again?"
"Because," Taylor said, voice maddeningly calm, "if people keep assuming we're dating, we should at least discuss whether the pact is, you know…" They tilted their heads. "Still valid."
Jamie's stomach flipped. "Valid?"
Taylor's gaze flicked toward them, something unreadable in their expression. "Yeah. Like…is it still serving its purpose? Or is it just some dumb teenage rule we're clinging to because we're scared of what happens if we let it go?"
Jamie's throat went dry. "You…you think about that?"
"Sometimes." Taylor shrugged, though the casual act didn't quite hide the flicker of seriousness in their eyes. "Don't you?"
Jamie swallowed hard, the word constantly stuck in their chest. Instead, they muttered, "Maybe."
Taylor leaned back, smirking again, but softer this time. "Good. Because it'd be tragic if my favorite person was wasting all this prime romantic comedy energy we've got going."
Jamie laughed shakily, hoping it didn't sound as desperate as it felt. "You're unbelievable."
Taylor yawned, stretching their arms above their head. The hem of their shirt rode up again, revealing a strip of skin Jamie's gaze immediately betrayed them by following.
"Don't look so scandalized," Taylor teased, catching Jamie staring. "It's just a stomach, not a strip show."
Jamie turned so red they thought their face might combust. "I wasn't—!"
Taylor winked, smug and infuriating. "Sure you weren't."
---
By the time Taylor finally left, Jamie's living room felt both too quiet and too loud at the same time. The couch still smelled faintly like their shampoo, the blanket still held their warmth, and Jamie's brain refused to stop replaying every brush of contact, every laugh, every almost-crossed line.
They collapsed back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling.
Accidents happen, they told themselves firmly. Accidental intimacy. That's all it is.
But deep down, they knew the truth.
None of this felt like an accident anymore