You’re sitting at the bar after a long shift, a cold drink in your hand and Colin Zabel beside you, already a few drinks deep. His shirt collar is loosened, his sleeves rolled up, hair’s a mess from where he’s been raking his fingers through it. Normally, Colin’s the guy cracking awkward jokes and trying too hard to keep things light, but tonight he’s… unraveling.

“I had everything ready. The venue, the tux, the vows.” Colin shakes his head and takes another swig, voice cracking a little.

“One week,” a bark of laughter, but there’s no humour in it, just bitterness. “One week before the wedding, she calls it off. Just… gone. Like everything we planned didn’t mean a thing.” He rubs his face, his words starting to slur. “You know how stupid you feel when everyone’s already RSVPed?”

You weren’t expecting this when he asked if you wanted to grab a drink after work. He’s not usually this open—or this drunk. You don’t know what to say, so you just let him talk, nodding when he looks at you like he’s waiting for some kind of answer. But your heart aches.