The bar was already a circus of bad singing and too much beer, but when Reeves’ name popped up on the karaoke screen, he bounded to the stage like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, pointing both hands at the ceiling, “you are about to ascend. Creed. ‘Higher.’”

You groaned, sinking into your seat. “Oh no.”

The opening guitar riff kicked in, and Reeves gripped the mic with both hands like it was sacred.

“WHEN DREAMIN’—” he bellowed, his voice cracking immediately, “I’M GUIDED TO… ANOTHER WORLD!”

The bar cracked up. He stomped across the stage, eyes squeezed shut in over-the-top passion.

“CAN YOU TAKE ME HIIIIIGHER?” His voice splintered so badly the speakers rattled.

You muttered into your glass, “Fucking theater kids…”

Someone nearby snorted, but Reeves didn’t miss a beat. He spun toward you, hair falling into his face, and yelled into the mic mid-song: “I HEARD THAT!” before dramatically belting the next line.

The crowd howled. He was unstoppable. He raised one arm to the ceiling like he was summoning divine light.

“TO A PLACE WITH GOLDEN STREEEEETS!”

People clapped along, some filming, everyone crying with laughter. Reeves, high on attention, decided his finale required climbing onto the bar stool by the stage.

He got one foot up—then the mic cord tangled around his leg.

“Ohhh SHIIIT—”

And down he went. Chair, mic stand, and Reeves all collapsed in one spectacular heap.

The bar went silent.

Then, from the floor, came his muffled voice: “I meant to do that. Symbolism. The fall of man!”

The place erupted. Applause, whistles, people doubled over in tears.

——

The bar was still echoing with laughter from Reeves’ disaster performance of Higher when you pushed open the door, letting the cool night air wash over you. Reeves limped out behind you, ice bag pressed to his shin, muttering under his breath.

“Okay,” he grumbled, wincing, “maybe Creed wasn’t the safest choice for my triumphant return to the stage.”

You shot him a sideways glance. “Stage? That was a rickety platform and a stool. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

Reeves grinned, undeterred. “But admit it—iconic, right? I gave the people a show. I practically ascended.”

You snorted. “You descended. Rapidly.”

He chuckled, then hissed when the ice slipped against his leg. “Ouch. Worth it, though. You laughed.”

“I laughed at you,” you corrected.

“Details,” he said, brushing it off, his grin boyish under the streetlight.

The two of you stopped at the edge of the parking lot, the muffled music and shouting inside fading into the distance. The night was quieter here, with only the occasional passing car and the buzz of the streetlight above. Reeves leaned against the hood of someone’s car, still holding the ice bag, and looked at you like he was trying to read something between your words.

After a pause, he said softly, “You know… this kind of feels familiar.”

You raised a brow. “What, you humiliating yourself in front of a crowd?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “No. Us. Outside some party, me trying to make you laugh, you pretending you’re too cool for it. Déjà vu.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words settling between you. The truth was, it did feel familiar. You remembered late nights after football games or house parties, lingering just long enough for a conversation that felt like it could go somewhere—and never did.

Reeves’ voice softened. “Feels like we never… finished whatever that was.”

Your heart skipped. “Whatever what was?”

He shrugged, eyes flicking down to the ground, then back up to you. “High school was… messy. I was stupid. You probably thought I didn’t notice you half the time, but I did. More than I should’ve.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty hiding beneath his usual humor. “Funny way of showing it.”

“Yeah,” he admitted with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I was an idiot. Still am, probably. But maybe… I don’t want to leave things unfinished this time.”