It had been years since you last saw Kyle. You’d known him back when his hair was always a little too short, his grin a little too eager, and his frame too lean to fill out the hoodie he wore everywhere. You were friends, sort of, acquaintances who shared a few classes, a few jokes, maybe one awkward dance at a mutual friend’s party. Then life happened. You went your way, he went his. End of story.

Until tonight.

The reunion wasn’t supposed to be anything special, just a casual gathering of familiar faces, the kind of event that made you feel both nostalgic and mildly anxious. You were halfway through a drink, chatting idly, when someone mentioned his name.

“Garrick? Oh, yeah, he’s here,” one of your friends said. “You didn’t know?”

You didn’t. But before you could even process that, he was suddenly there, crossing the room in a fitted button-down that did criminal things for his shoulders, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his jaw now defined enough to cut glass. That same easy smile was there, but something about it hit different now, practiced, confident, magnetic.

“Bloody hell,” he said with that smooth British lilt, recognition lighting his eyes. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Maybe three times. Your brain stuttered somewhere between Oh, hi Kyle! and When the hell did you get this hot?

You tried to play it cool, you really did. “Kyle Garrick,” you said, voice steadier than you felt. “Wow. You, uh… look different.”

He laughed, soft and a little teasing. “Different good or different bad?”

“Good,” you blurted, too fast, then corrected yourself. “I mean—yeah, good. You just—uh—filled out.”

The grin he gave you said he heard every ounce of implication in your tone. “Guess the military paid off.”