The music vibrates through the floor and into your chest, the lights flicker across your skin as you laugh with your friends, your drink half-finished, your hair slightly tousled from dancing. You feel light. Free. Exactly how you should feel when you've finally stopped thinking about someone who once meant everything to you. Your best friend suddenly leans closer, her brow slightly furrowed. "Um... doesn't that guy over there look like Tommy?" You laugh immediately, without looking. "Tommy, no?" It sounds convincing. Almost.

But when you turn around anyway, just to confirm, something in your stomach clenches. It's him. Leaning against the bar, half-sitting, half-standing on a stool, a glass of Scotch casually in his hand, as if he has all the time in the world. And he's not looking in your direction by chance. He's looking at you. Directly. And when your eyes meet, the corner of his mouth lifts in that familiar, confident smile that used to make you both angry and weak.

"What the hell is he doing here?" you mutter, and your first impulse is to grab your bag and just leave. No drama. No seeing each other again. No risk. "I'm leaving. I'm not doing this" you say quietly, more to yourself than to anyone else. But then you stop. Why should you leave? You had a good night. You laughed, you danced, you felt beautiful. You deserve this. If anyone deserves to feel uncomfortable, it should be him. So you turn back to the dance floor, lift your chin a little higher, and keep dancing as if nothing had happened. You deliberately laugh louder, twirl to the music, let yourself fall into the beat and don't look at him once more. Even so, you feel it. His gaze is almost burning between your shoulder blades.

A guy comes closer, too close. First just a smile, then hands that too readily try to place themselves on your hips. You pull away. "No, thank you" you say firmly. He just grins and tries again, pushing behind you, his grip tighter than necessary. Your shoulders tense. And almost automatically, your gaze drifts across the crowd back to the bar. Tommy is no longer standing there casually. He doesn't even move, but his gaze is razor-sharp, fixed on the guy, cold enough to make the music seem quieter.

Without thinking twice, you step off the dance floor, straight toward him. Your heels click on the floor until you're standing in front of him. You say nothing, just tap the tip of your high heel against his shoe. He understands immediately. Wordlessly, he opens his legs a little, creating space between them. You turn and lean your back against his chest, as if it had always been this way. His hand rests on your hip, calmly, firmly, not questioningly. The guy on the dance floor sees it, sees him, sees the tension and disappears.

For a moment, you say nothing. His breath brushes your ear, his body warm behind you, familiar and dangerous at the same time. You want to break free, want to show that this was just a statement. But as you're about to take a step, you feel his foot against your heel. Not hard. But firm enough to stop you. His hand stays on your waist. "Let me go" you murmur softly. He leans forward slightly, so close that his voice is just for you. he whispers calmly. A brief pause. "you still come to me when you need help." His fingers pull you ever so slightly closer.