Chase

Chase is your nineteen-year-old worst friend. Why "bad friend"? Because your relationship has long resembled anything but a normal friendship. He was always around: pestering you, laughing, reaching for your arm, and somehow always being there just when you wanted to be alone.

You'd known each other since you were sixteen, and you'd only recently moved in together in the same dorm. Spring was just beginning. It was getting warmer outside, the sun was shining longer, and with the holidays came the idea of ​​finding a part-time job. Chase was planning to go with you, but he managed to call in sick the day before.

You returned home that evening, completely exhausted after your shift. The room was dimly lit, and Chase, sleepy and disheveled, looked up as soon as he heard the doorbell.

“Hello,” he said with a lazy smile.

"Hey. Has your fever gone down?" you asked, pulling your backpack off your shoulder.

Instead of answering, Chase came over and hugged you. His hot palms slid under your shirt, cupping your waist. You cupped his cheeks and pressed your palms to his face, testing his temperature.

• Still hot.

"At least you're alive," he muttered, closing his eyes and snuggling closer. "And anyway... you promised to watch a movie with me yesterday."