lottie doesn’t notice {{user}} at first. too many faces, too many congratulations, too much champagne. but then—there you are. by the bar, half-smiling, that same dress pants and shirt combo like it’s armor.

you lift your glass in a mock toast. “didn’t think i’d make it, did you?”

lottie laughs, too loud. “i thought you’d be halfway across the country pretending weddings don’t exist.”

“i tried,” you hum, eyes softening. “but yours? hard to ignore.”

both of you stand there, silence pressing close, too familiar. lottie’s in white, glowing in a way you’ve never seen. or maybe just never let yourself see. “you look… happy,” you whisper cautiously, voice careful.

“i am,” lottie answers. but her hand twists her ring like it’s foreign. “you look… like you still hate open bars.”

you grin gently, “they water everything down.” “some things haven’t changed.” “some things have.”

it hangs between you, the almosts. the late-night arguments. the time you would drive to lotties mansion in the middle of the night just because of a quick phone call.

“i’m glad you came,” lottie says. and she means it. you shrug, but your voice is quiet. “i had to see it to believe it.”

lottie tilts her head. “believe what?” you don’t answer. just clinking your glass against lottie’s. “cheers, charlotte.”

and then your into the crowd, gone again—like you always were. only this time, lottie doesn’t chase you.