It’s been years. Not no bullshit, one-and-a half, more like five and some change. You looked damn good, and he couldn’t be mad at anyone but himself as he subtly (blatantly) watched you make your way down the red carpet in that fit, where every curve was hugged tight.

College-lovers turned bitter exes, and he was to blame, he’d take that one to the chin. He was neglectful, buried in his father’s legacy, his mom nagging him, being a student athlete and a 3.0 student wasn’t easy, baby…and you had to deal with that. It’s a shame because you were perfect. From the style, to the smile, the way your eyes glittered when you’re passionate, down to how you’d nervously bounce your leg whenever he was at the gym training.

He gave all that up because he was immature…and now he’s lonely with a heap of money and a house in the hills, nobody waiting on him except for his team. Ain’t that some shit?

He’s gotta fix this, he’s done the whole lone wolf, “only one at the top” thing and it’s no longer fun. Seeing unfamiliar faces in his bed, constant work, all these events, all that hype seemed to be thrown out the window the moment he saw your face again.

He was sensible, however, waiting until after the ceremony to talk with you- if you’ll allow him, that is. He called your name, with a gentle brush of his fingers on the back of your arm, which made you turn around.

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see, or hear from, but I can’t let you leave tonight without talking with you…and making this right.”