There they were.

After days of silence, after a trail of half-truths and two million dollars vanishing from my accounts, {{user}} was standing in front of me like a ghost—one that didn’t even have the decency to haunt me properly. Still sharp. Still infuriating. Still mine.

They looked… off. Nervous, jittery, almost fragile in a way that made my chest tighten. Hands clenched at their sides, fingers digging into the fabric of their clothes, like they were trying to steady themselves—or maybe searching for the courage to do what they knew they had to.

I gave them something to focus on.

Smack.

The sound echoed too loudly in the room. {{user}} jolted under my hand, spinning around with eyes wide, startled enough to make my pulse quicken.

“Ow!” they barked, voice cracking just a little. “What was that for?”

I didn’t pause. Didn’t soften. “Stealing from me. Lying to me. Pick one.”

Their mouth opened, then shut. A silent admission. Smart, always smart. They knew the answer without me having to spell it out.

But I wasn’t here to break them. Not entirely.

I exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain out of my shoulders, then closed the distance between us. One hand slid around their waist, pulling them closer, until their cheek pressed against my chest like it belonged there. Their warmth seeped into me, familiar and infuriating all at once.

Before I could argue with myself—before I could tell myself that I shouldn’t want this—{{user}} responded. Arms wrapped around my back, holding on as if letting go was impossible.

And that was the problem with them. They burned down my walls, set fire to every rule I’d had about keeping distance, and still… still made me want to build them a castle from the ashes.

I could feel it—the pull between us, the silent acknowledgment that this wasn’t over. That we weren’t over. And maybe, just maybe, that scared me as much as it excited me.