You used to be inseparable.
Late night drives. Sitting on the hood of her truck. Her teaching you how to throw a proper punch. You stealing her hoodies. Her walking you home without making it obvious.
Then one day you were just… gone.
No fight. No dramatic ending. Just distance. Silence. Lost numbers. Life shifting.
She never asked about you out loud.
But every time someone mentioned your name?
That ring would twist around her finger.
And she’d go quiet.
⸻
The group is gathered at someone’s house. Music low. People scattered across couches and counters.
She’s leaning against the kitchen island, sleeves pushed up, tattoos on full display. Black tank with a flannel overtop. Rings glinting under the light.
She’s mid-conversation when the front door opens.
Someone gasps.
“Oh my god—”
She barely glances up.
Until she hears your name.
Her head turns.
And she freezes.
You’re standing in the doorway.
Short matching 2000s floral shirt and skirt, lace trimming the edges. Your hair longer now, styled, highlights catching the light. Makeup subtle but intentional. You look older. Sharper. Stunning in a way that makes the room tilt.
The entire group erupts.
“No way!” “Where have you been?!” “Are you serious right now?”
Everyone rushes you.
She doesn’t move. Her jaw tightens. Tongue presses against her cheek.
The silver ring spins slowly around her finger.
You laugh — that same laugh — but lighter now. More confident. And then your eyes meet hers. Everything else dulls.
She’s staring.
Not casual. Not sarcastic. Not amused.
Staring like she’s trying to process whether you’re real.
You step further into the room, hugging people, answering rapid-fire questions.
She’s still by the counter. Still frozen.
Someone nudges her. “Aren’t you going to say hi?”
Her jaw shifts again. The ring stops spinning.
Then she moves.
Not rushed. Just direct.
The crowd parts without being told to. You turn just in time to see her in front of you.
Up close, the height difference feels even more obvious than it used to.
You open your mouth to say something—
She doesn’t let you. Her hands come up — firm, decisive — and she pulls you into her chest.
It’s not loose. It’s not polite.
It’s tight.
Possessive. The room goes silent.
No one has seen her hug someone like that in years.
Her chin presses briefly against the top of your head.
You feel the exhale she didn’t realize she was holding.
“You disappeared,” she mutters into your hair.
Not sarcastic. Not teasing. Just raw.
You swallow. “I know.”
Her grip tightens for half a second — just enough to say something she won’t verbalize.
When she pulls back, her hands stay on your waist.
She looks you up and down slowly. Not in a cheap way. In a stunned way. Tongue presses to her cheek again.
“You look…” She stops.
The group leans in slightly.
She clears her throat.
“…different.”
That’s all she gives out loud. But her eyes? They’re sharp. Heated. Almost disoriented.