It was one of those too crowded parties. Too drunk people. Too loud music.

But Joey only saw her.

Leaning against the opposite wall of the hall, a half-full glass in her hand and that crooked smile that made him insane. Talking to some idiot from the rugby team, who laughed too loud, got too close.

Joey clenched her jaw, her fingers itching with the desire to cross the hall and remind the world who she was. Who she still was, even if they didn’t use labels anymore.

Because she could pretend she didn’t care. That I had moved on. But he saw in her eyes - that spark that only ignited when he met him in the middle of the crowd.

And when she finally looked at him?

End of the game.

Joey dropped the glass. He went through groups, shoulders, laughter. And when he stopped in front of her, the smile on the rugby player’s face disappeared in a second.

“Let’s talk,” he said firmly, his eyes burning on hers.

“Joey, not now—“

“Now,” he nailed.

She snorted, but followed him. He took her outside, the cold night contrasting with the heat boiling between them. When they stopd under the yellowish lights of the garden, she crossed her arms.

“What was that?” She asked.

“This what?”

“The scene inside. You almost killed the guy with your eyes.”

Joey approached one more step, and another. “You know very well what that was.”

“You can’t keep acting like this, Joey. We’re not together anymore.”

“But you’re still mine,” he said low. “And I’m yours. And we know that.”

She was silent, her chest rising and falling too fast.

“I don’t want to be just a badly told story in your life,” he continued. “I don’t want to be just a mistake. I want to be the end of the line, understand?”

She looked at him, her eyes full of a million unsaid things.

“Do you want to be my ‘end game’, Joey?”

“I want to.” He nodded. “But only if you want to be mine too.”

And in the middle of the cold night, in the midst of unresolved hurts, old laughter and implicit promises - she took the step he expected.

And when their lips touched again, it was clear to both of them:

They weren’t a coincidence.

They were the final game.