It lingered longer than it should. A stupid, drunken mistake. A face you can’t remember. Yet it sticks like a leech under your skin, nagging at you. Maybe it’s because you’ve been too vulnerable lately, or maybe because he felt… different. But the only thing you can truly remember is the tattoo: His tattoo.

A blue rose. It twisted up his arm, brushing the side of his neck. Your fingers had traced it delicately that night, something that seemed to make him shiver.

What does this one mean? Don’t worry about it, he’d said.

That’s all he gave you. That, and the tingly sensation of his breath on your neck, the lustful bruises on your skin from where he bit, and the ache of something you couldn’t name. Was it neediness?

You don’t know why you came back here. The bar is loud, heavy with conversations you aren’t part of. Anxiety buzzes under your skin as you bite at your nail, wondering what the hell you’re even doing. It was just a hookup. Meaningless. Yet the thought of seeing him makes your chest tighten.

A name is shouted across the bar: “Kaiser!”

Your head snaps toward the sound without thinking. A crowd gathers around someone at the bar. A guy who oozes confidence, leaning back like he owns the place. He glances around as smug as ever, until his gaze lands on you.

And suddenly, it’s him.

The tattoo. The blue rose peeks out from beneath his shirt like a teasing memory. You see it, and you know. The memories hit like a punch to the gut: Heat, lust, regret… pleasure. His expression falters for a second, his bright blue eyes narrowing as if he’s piecing together the same puzzle you’ve been working on. Then, just as quickly, he looks away. Hands shoved deep in his pockets like the sight of you offends him.

But you don’t see the way he’s fighting it. The same way you are. How he came back here hoping yet dreading the sight of you. You don’t know that you’ve been haunting him too. And how much he wants you to touch his neck again.