It was raining.
The kind of rain that made you cancel plans, order junk food, and regret every adult responsibility you ever had.
Noa and Ren were trapped inside. Bored. Buzzed. And dangerously full of unspent energy.
"This is bad," Ren said, staring out the window.
"Worse than that time you used my razor on your legs."
"They were itchy!"
"You shaved your knees."
"They deserved it."
Noa tossed a pillow at him. "We need to do something."
"Something fun."
"Something stupid."
Pause.
Both said it at once:
**"Truth or dare."**
---
First round was harmless.
Truth: "What's your guilty pleasure song?"
Ren: "Call Me Maybe. Fight me."
Dare: "Text your boss 'I crave human touch.'"
Noa: "Already done."
Round two escalated.
Truth: "Have you ever had a sex dream about your roommate?"
Ren froze.
Then drank straight from the bottle.
"YOU HAVE," Noa shrieked.
"It was *vague!*"
"I demand details."
"There was fog. A couch. Your laugh."
"Was I wearing anything?"
"Unclear. There was... yoga music?"
Noa cackled. "I'm flattered."
"I'm traumatized."
---
Then came the dares.
"Take off your hoodie," Noa said, smirking.
"Fine," Ren said, stripping. "Take off your socks."
"Socks are nothing."
"Then take off *your* hoodie."
She did.
Now they were both in T-shirts and shorts.
The air was... denser.
More rounds. More laughs. More layers gone.
Soon, Ren was in gym shorts and nothing else. Noa in a tank top and boyshorts.
They weren't cold anymore.
They were one question away from *disaster*.
---
Then came **the** truth.
Noa leaned in. "Okay. Real one. No jokes."
Ren nodded, eyes serious.
"Do you actually like me?" she asked. "Or is this just... convenience? Chemistry from too many close calls?"
He blinked.
Silence.
Then:
"I think I started liking you before I realized I liked living with you."
Noa's breath caught.
"You're annoying, messy, and weaponize yoga pants."
She smiled.
"But I still think about your laugh in my sleep."
Now she was definitely not breathing.
"So yeah," Ren said. "It's not convenience."
---
She was quiet for a full minute.
Then set down her drink.
Then reached over.
And touched his knee.
"Dare," she whispered.
His pulse spiked. "Name it."
"Kiss me."
Pause.
He leaned in.
They'd kissed before. But this wasn't a fake-inspection kiss. Or a fall-on-the-floor accident.
This was deliberate.
This was the kiss that came *after* the confession.
Their lips touched.
And this time, neither of them pulled back.
---
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Then she whispered, breathless, "Okay. My turn."
"Truth or dare?" he rasped.
She smiled.
"Dare."
He leaned in. "Sleep in my bed tonight."
She smirked. "That's not a dare. That's an *invitation.*"
And she accepted.
Without hesitation.
---
They didn't do anything that night.
No clothes came off.
Well—no *more* clothes.
But they slept curled into each other like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And somewhere between "truth" and "dare," they'd finally landed on the same page.
A very warm, very stupid, very honest page.