You told yourself it would be fine. The girls insisted, said you needed a night out. You gave in, thinking it’d clear your head. You needed it.

The bar hits you the second you step inside. Music pounds in your chest, lights flicker low, and bodies press against each other, moving to a rhythm you can barely follow. Your friends glance at each other, that spark of mischief or worry you can’t read—too late anyway.

Then you see them.

A group at the end of the bar. Shapes you know. Energy you know.

And in the middle of it—Ash.

Time does that ridiculous thing, stretching and snapping all at once.

He’s mid-laugh at something one of his friends said—not a full laugh, just that sharp exhale through the nose. Arms crossed, grounded, controlled. Too controlled. Too fine. Like he’s untouchable.

Then his eyes lift.

He freezes.

It’s subtle, almost invisible if you weren’t looking for it. But you know him. The half-smile dies instantly. Shoulders square, chest tight, bracing. His gaze locks on you. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

Across the bar, the realization hits both of you like a punch.

This isn’t an accident.

Your friends hover around you. Amy and Georgia tug at your arms, trying to pull you to the bar. You barely hear them. Kelly shifts uneasily, like she knows she’s part of a trap but didn’t want to. Kate watches, silent, waiting for your reaction.

They all knew.

Ash glances sideways at his crew. Jaw tightens. Mike shakes his head—clearly not his idea. Harry avoids his gaze like it burns. It does. Connor and Oscar smirk, the kind of smirk that says mission accomplished.

It was planned.

Your chest tightens—not because you miss him, but because someone thought they had the right to put you both here.

He exhales slowly. You can almost hear him counting to ten in his head.

It’s been two months since the break up. Not enough, not even close with what you guys had. It’s still raw. A sensitive subject for the both of you. They were all supposed to know.