The night had settled into a comfortable rhythm—the team swapping stories, tossing playful jabs, and reliving Callen's victory for the hundredth time. Nell had taken all the teasing in stride, even when Deeks had suggested framing a photo of her in the Patriots jersey for the office.

But after a while, she needed a moment to herself.

Excusing herself from the table, she slipped away to the back hallway, where the bar's bathrooms were tucked away from the main crowd. It was quieter here, the hum of conversation distant, the dim lighting making it feel like a different world from the energy of the bar.

Callen hadn't meant to follow her.

Not consciously, at least.

But when Nell excused herself from the table, disappearing toward the back of the bar, his attention snagged on her before he could stop it. He let a few minutes pass, telling himself he was just going to grab another drink. That it had nothing to do with her.

Yet somehow, instead of heading to the bar, his feet carried him toward the quieter hallway near the bathrooms.

And that's when she walked right into him.

He caught her automatically—one hand at her elbow, the other just brushing the side of her waist, her hands coming to a rest on his chest ever so lightly as they connected.

Soft. Warm.

She froze, eyes wide as she looked up at him, the dim hallway light casting a glow over her face.

And suddenly, Callen wasn't thinking about football. Or bets. Or anything else that had seemed important a few minutes ago.

Because this?

This was different.

They were close. Too close.

Close enough that he could see the faint flush on her cheeks, the way her pulse fluttered just under her jaw. Close enough that the scent of her shampoo—something fruity, something her—lingered in the small space between them.

And close enough that he caught himself looking at her mouth.

It was instinct, pure and simple.

And maybe he would've looked away faster if she hadn't noticed. If he hadn't seen the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers curled slightly where they rested against his chest.

He should step back.

Should let go.

But he didn't.

Not yet.

Because suddenly, nothing about this felt like a joke. Or a game.

It felt like something he wasn't supposed to have. Something just out of reach.

He could see the question in her eyes—unspoken, uncertain.

And for a second—a long, charged second—he thought about answering it.

About closing the space between them. About seeing just how far this thing between them could go before one of them pulled away.

Then, laughter echoed down the hallway, snapping the moment like a rope pulled too tight.

Nell exhaled first, the tension breaking just slightly, but Callen still felt it like a live wire between them.

She cleared her throat, forcing a casualness he wasn't sure either of them felt. "So… running into you in hallways is apparently a thing now?"

Callen smirked, trying to ground himself in their usual rhythm. "Could be worse."

Her head tilted, eyes still searching his like she hadn't quite decided what to do with whatever had just happened. "Like what?"

He could've answered a hundred different ways. Could've brushed past it completely.

Instead, he leaned into the smirk, letting the moment settle between them. "Like me actually making you frame that picture of you in my jersey."

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You're insufferable."

"Yeah," he murmured, voice lower than he meant. "And yet, you're still standing here."

That made her pause.

Neither of them moved.

Then, finally—before he did something really stupid—he took a step back, giving her just enough space to breathe.

But not enough to erase the moment.

Not enough to stop himself from brushing past her as he walked away, feeling the heat of her even after he was gone.

And as he made his way back toward the bar, he knew one thing for sure.

This wasn't over.