Page 118 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

Turned.

And somehow—somehow—I hadn’t noticed him before. How could I? There were a hundred bodies in this rooftop.

And yet, he was just… there. Standing close enough to feel real, but not intrusive. Solid. Grounded in a way that felt almost out of place in a room that never stopped moving.

Cute. That was the first thing.

Not intimidating. Not trying too hard. Just… cute in a way that made you want to look twice… thrice… maybe even longer than you should.

He had a soft, rounded build—chubby that felt warm instead of careless. He had the kind of body that felt like it belonged in quiet mornings and long conversations, not just crowded rooftops and loud music.

His face carried the same softness, balanced by a neatly kept beard and thick eyebrows, just enough to give him an edge. A cap sat low on his head, casting a slight shadow over his face—casual, bothered, like he didn’t wish to be noticed.

But God—his eyes.

There was something about them.

Steady. Observant. A little shy. As though he wasn’t just looking at me, but actually seeing me.

He had the kind of face that authors write stories about. The kind that the protagonists swear they won’t fall for… and then do.

I blinked, realizing I’d been staring.

“Oh,” I said, a small smile slipping out before I could stop it. “Is that a warning?”

He smiled back.

And it looked… easy. Not rehearsed. Not flirtatious in a way that demanded anything. Just there. Quiet. A little shy. Warm.

“More like advice,” he said.

Something in my chest shifted—subtle, almost unnoticeable.

Because for the first time that night, I didn’t feel like I wanted to be anywhere else.

I took another sip, glancing at him.

“So,” I said, tilting my glass slightly. “How honest does this get?”

He let out a small breath through his nose, amused. “Depends. How much did you drink before I got here?”

“Not enough to ruin my life,” I said. “But just enough to make questionable decisions.”

“That’s usually when it starts.”

I smiled. “Okay. One sip, one truth.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerous.”

“That’s the point.”

He nodded once, like he’d decided something.

“Fine,” he said. “But you go first.”

I took a small sip and glanced around the rooftop—the music, the bodies, the pool, the chaos of it all—then leaned slightly closer to him.

“I don’t wanna be here,” I said.