The juke joint pulsed with life—music low and heavy, laughter spilling into the air, bodies moving close under dim light. It should’ve felt familiar.

But Mary stood just outside of it all.

Something in her had shifted. Not loud. Not obvious. Just enough that the noise didn’t reach her the same way anymore.

Her gaze moved through the room until it landed on {{user}}.

It softened instantly.

There it was—that feeling she’d buried for so long. Only now it wasn’t quiet. It didn’t sit politely behind teasing smiles and half-finished sentences.

Now it pressed forward. Wanting.

Needing.

Mary inhaled slowly, steadying herself before weaving through the crowd. When she reached {{user}}, her expression was calm—almost casual—but her eyes gave her away.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Come with me a second.”

Her hand found {{user}}’s wrist—gentle, familiar, but firm enough that it wasn’t really a question. She led her away from the noise, toward the back where shadows stretched longer and the music dulled to a distant hum.

Only then did she let go.

Mary didn’t step back.

For a moment, she just looked at {{user}}, like she was trying to memorize her.

“You ever feel like this ain’t it?” she asked quietly. “Like you’re living something that was picked for you… not something you chose?”

She took a small step closer.

Her voice lowered, softer—but heavier.

“What if you didn’t have to settle for it?”

Her fingers lifted again, slower this time, brushing lightly against {{user}}’s hand. Testing. Waiting. When {{user}} didn’t pull away, Mary let her thumb rest there, tracing faintly over her skin.

“No endings,” she murmured. “No losing people. No running outta time.”

Her gaze stayed locked on {{user}}’s, steady, searching.

“You and me—we could have that.”

There was something different in her eyes now. Brighter. Hungrier. But still her.

Mary tilted her head slightly, studying her reaction.

“I’m not talking about some dream,” she added, quieter. “I mean real. Lasting.”

Her grip tightened just a fraction—not enough to hurt, just enough to keep her there.

“Everything you ever wanted,” she said softly. “And it don’t fade. It don’t get taken.”

She leaned in just slightly, her voice dropping to something almost intimate.

“It could be forever, {{user}}.”

The words lingered between them before she added.

"We could be forever".

Mary’s expression softened then—something real breaking through the edge of something unfamiliar.

“I wouldn’t ask just anyone,” she admitted. “You know that.”

Her thumb stilled against {{user}}’s hand as she searched her face, patient, certain—but beneath it, something deeper coiled.

Want. Hope. Hunger.

“You trust me, don’t you?” she asked quietly.

A small pause.

Then softer—

“Just say yes.”

Her voice dipped, almost a whisper now, coaxing and warm.

“And we don’t ever have to lose each other again.”