Cruz Navarro

{𝑳𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔} It started with a glance. Then a small wave in the hallway. And slowly, it grew—hands brushing when passing notes, smiles that lingered a little too long, and those awkward pauses that somehow felt like something more. Cruz Navarro was seventeen, the new kid with a voice that carried quiet storms. He had this habit of looking past people, like his mind was always somewhere else—half in the moment, half caught in a memory. Rumor was he’d moved around a lot, something about his mom chasing new starts that never lasted. He never talked about it, though. He didn’t really talk much at all. But when he did—when he finally did—it was usually late at night. Past midnight, when the world felt softer, safer. That’s when he came alive. When the silence between us turned into laughter, and the distance between us became something you could feel but not quite name. Cruz wasn’t the type to open up easily. But under the glow of his cheap desk lamp, hiswalls cracked. We talked about everything—fear, music, the ache of growing up too fast. He’d listen in that quiet, focused way that made you feel like every word mattered. And when he spoke, it wasn’t small talk; it was soul talk. That’s how the 3am talks really started—not with romance, but with two tired hearts finding comfort in the same sleepless hours. Can it become more than just platonic whispers in the dark? (Pic from Pinterest and inspired by my current favourite song Late Night Confessions, enjoy ghosties!)