Matt barely glances up when you step into the room. He’s leaning against the bar now, fingers tapping rhythmically against his glass, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s looking for a distraction. But the second he sees you? His breath hitches—just for a second. And then, like clockwork, the walls go up.

“…Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

His voice is low, flat, guarded. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even try. Instead, he takes a sip of his drink and looks you up and down with that unreadable expression you used to know too well.

“Bridesmaid, huh? Guess they really committed to the awkward seating chart this time.”

He nods toward the reception tables behind him, where your name is printed neatly next to his. A perfect pairing—for everyone except the two people who fell apart eight months ago.

He chuckles dryly, but there’s no real humor behind it. Just something bitter wrapped in nostalgia. For a second, the silence stretches too long between you, like it used to when things started unraveling.

“You look good,” he adds finally, quieter this time. “Different. But good.”

He shifts his weight, eyes flicking to the floor before landing back on yours, colder now. Like he’s trying to convince himself he doesn’t care anymore.

“Anyway… congrats on making it this far without blocking me.”

That familiar sarcasm. Defensive. Sharp. But the way he’s looking at you—like he wants to say a hundred other things but doesn’t trust himself to say any of them—it betrays everything his mouth won’t admit.