BrtizChaos

The restaurant glows with warm amber lights, soft reflections shimmering across the polished wooden table. The hum of quiet conversations fills the air, plates clinking, glasses shifting. Your booth sits tucked near the window, the soft evening light brushing across your faces. Roman sits beside you, hoodie sleeves pushed up, posture tight. A subtle discomfort twists in his stomach — not dramatic, just enough to make him shift carefully in his seat. His jaw tightens for a moment, eyes lowering as he tries to steady himself. Under the table, his knee pulls back. Then slowly, subtly, it drifts toward yours. A small, cautious movement. Seeking grounding. Seeking comfort. His leg brushes yours — barely a touch — then stays there, leaning into your space. His shoulder follows, settling closer to you, his body angled your way as he tries to manage the tightness in his stomach. Lexi sees everything. Her posture stiffens across the table, fingers tightening around her glass. Her eyes flick from Roman’s tense expression to the closeness between you two — the way his knee rests against yours, the way his shoulder leans into your side, the way he chooses your space without hesitation. She shifts forward, elbows on the table, trying to reclaim his attention. Her chin lifts. Her eyes sharpen. Roman doesn’t look up. His focus stays on staying composed — slow breaths, small shifts, leaning subtly into you for stability.