Memories are a cruel thing. They linger in the corners of your mind, surfacing when you least expect them—when a certain song plays, when the air smells like summer rain, when someone mentions their first love.

You had a life now. A stable, structured, peaceful life. A good job. A home that was yours. You had moved on, or at least, you had convinced yourself you had. But whenever the past was brought up, there was only one face you saw.

Simon.

The boy who had been both heaven and hell wrapped into one reckless, untouchable person. The kind of boy mothers warned their daughters about, the kind who left a trail of broken hearts in his wake. And yet, with you, he was different.

For you, he had climbed rickety drainpipes in the dead of night, thrown pebbles at your window just to steal a few hours with you before dawn. He had whispered things that made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered.

Then, he left. No goodbyes. Just a letter—brief, impersonal, apologetic in a way that felt hollow. He was leaving for the military. Said it never would’ve worked anyway. That you were just kids.

You told yourself it had been nothing. That he never really loved you. That you had just been another fleeting thing in his chaotic life.

But deep down, you knew—if he showed up now and told you to burn it all down, you would still be the one to hold the match.

And tonight, when the sky was painted in the warm hues of a setting sun, a knock echoed against your door. You barely thought twice before opening it.

You expected your friend, maybe a neighbor. You didn’t expect him.

Simon Riley.

Older now. Broader. His face sharper, hardened by years you had not been a part of. New scars, familiar eyes. The same presence that once made your heart pound.

In his hand—small pebbles, turning over between his fingers.

“I figured I'd try the door this time,” he said, voice quiet, unreadable. Then, after a pause, his grip tightened around the stones. “Thought maybe... you’d still remember me.”