Ben doesn’t really want to be here.

That’s obvious to Matt and Barry the moment he walks into the bar—hands in his jacket pockets, eyes already distant, like he’s watching everything from behind glass.

“Come on,” Matt says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You can’t spend every night staring at the ceiling.”

Barry nods. “Beer helps. Science.”

So they sit at the bar, three pints lined up. The place is dim, warm, full of low voices and clinking glasses. Ben takes slow sips, barely tasting anything.

His mind drifts—like it’s been doing ever since Suzy left. Time stretches. Moments blur.

Then—

You.

You’re sitting a few stools down, turned slightly sideways, laughing quietly at something on your phone before slipping it into your pocket. There’s nothing loud or flashy about you. You just exist—calm, present, real.

Ben watches without realizing he is.

The way you tuck your hair behind your ear. The way you look around the room, like you’re observing rather than performing.

It feels like one of those moments he’d normally freeze in his mind—hold still, examine every detail.

“Mate,” Barry mutters. “You’ve been staring for, like… a while.”

Ben blinks. “I have?”

Matt grins. “Yes. And before you say you don’t care—yes, you do.”

Ben looks back at his beer. “I’m not really in the mood.”

“That’s exactly why you should go talk to her,” Matt says. “Low expectations.”

Ben exhales. His chest tightens—not with excitement, but with fear. Fear of trying. Fear of feeling something again.

He glances at you once more.

You look up. Your eyes meet.

For half a second, time does that thing it always does for Ben—it slows. The bar fades. The noise dulls.

You don’t look away immediately.

That’s when Matt nudges him. “Go. Before we physically push you.”

Ben hesitates. Then, finally, stands.

He walks over, every step unsure, like he’s relearning how to move forward.

“Hi,” he says softly, voice almost lost in the noise. “Sorry—this is going to sound awkward, but… do you mind if I sit?”