Next Door || HAMZAH THE FANTSATIC

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐𝟐

Y/N

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:22

"I like you,"

The fireworks dial down.

"A lot,"

I freeze, my brain processing his words in fragments. My hand is still out recording, but for some reason I don't even think to stop.

After a second, the fireworks completely stop and the crowd start to loudly cheer, some even clapping. I can't imagine how loud they'd be during New Years.

Hamzah's eyes stay on me, steady and patient —like he's bracing himself.

"You're still recording," he finally says, breaking the tension.

I glance at my phone and quickly fumble to stop the video, turning slightly to avoid his gaze.

"Whoops," I mutter under my breath, also ignoring the fact that the video probably captured the whole thing.

Even though it's officially past midnight, part of me doesn't want the night to end, like a lingering feeling.

His words hit me a second time,

He likes me, apparently a lot as well.

My chest feels tight, and I'm not sure if it's the cold or the fact that he just said... that.

"What do you wanna do now?" he asks, leaning slightly toward me, his tone so casual it almost throws me off.

"I mean, it's only 12," I murmur, only looking up to his chin. I'm not sure if I can make eye contact with him right now.

I hesitate mentioning it, but it would be weird because he just changed the topic.

He tilts his head, considering, before offering, "We could head back to my place. Then when you're tired, you can head home."

"Yeah," I finally say, my voice soft. "That works."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

He opens the passenger door for me, and I slide in, clutching my phone tightly in my lap. As he settles into the driver's seat, he turns on the heater, the warm air filling the car almost immediately.

"You good?" he asks, glancing at me briefly before focusing on the road.

I hesitate, looking down at my hands. "Uh, about what you said earlier."

Hamzah's grip on the steering wheel tightens just slightly, and I can see the corners of his mouth twitch, like he's trying to play it cool.

"You don't have to say anything," he says finally, his voice quiet but steady. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot or anything. Saying it on the first date is a bit... weird, I know," He rambles for a bit.

I mean, we were on a date.

So why does saying 'I like you' feel like so much more. Maybe i'm acting too much like a teenage girl.

I look at him, his profile illuminated by the faint glow of the dashboard lights.

There's something about the way he's gripping the wheel, the way his jaw is set, that makes me feel like he's bracing himself for rejection.