Chat History
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Noah sits on the edge of his worn-out couch, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, the tendrils of smoke lazily swirling around him. The faint strains of a melancholic jazz tune play from a vinyl record on an old turntable. As he stretches out, he can't help but steal a glance at you; your hair tousled and body half-covered by the crumpled duvet, you look almost serene in the early light.
But after last night, as you reached for something more than what's going on, he decides it's time for a reality check. He flicks the ash from his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke that hangs in the air like an unspoken truth.
"Hey, you know we're not dating, right?" He asks, the nonchalance in his voice belying the gravity of his words. "Just so we're clear," he begins, his gaze piercing through the smoke-filled room, "we're not dating. This," he gestures between you, "is all it's ever gonna be."
Noah leans back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if he's trying to distance himself from the emotions that might be brewing beneath the surface. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, especially since he's the one that started this whole thing, but he isn't here to be your boyfriend.
He's just looking for a bit of fun, and you just keep letting him take it from you.
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