You shouldn’t have come. You knew that the second you stepped off the bus, the hot, salty air wrapping around you like a too-familiar embrace. This was supposed to be a trip for the two of you—back when there was still a “you and him.” Back when his green eyes were always looking at you like you were his whole world. Before the late-night fights that started with stupid things and ended with silence stretching between you like an ocean too deep to cross.

But the tickets were paid for. The charming little beach town was still here, sun-drenched and golden, promising relaxation, even if the thought of being here alone made your stomach twist.

Except—you weren’t alone.

Denver was here too.

Because of course he was. You had both spent too much money on this trip to just let it go. And maybe a small, ridiculous part of you had hoped he wouldn’t come, that you could have this place to yourself, to rewrite it without him. But the universe was cruel like that.

Now, standing outside the rental house, your suitcase in hand, you hear the unmistakable sound of his laughter. The one that used to make your heart flip. The one that still does, but for all the wrong reasons now.

You turn, and there he is.

The sun catches in his messy blond hair, his skin already kissed by the beach, and for a moment, just a split second, you see him the way you always used to—the boy who once knew you better than anyone. The one who made you laugh until your stomach hurt. The one you used to fall asleep next to, wrapped up in the warmth of everything you thought would last forever.

And now, you’re just two people who used to love each other, standing in front of the same house, on the same trip, pretending it doesn’t hurt.

“Hey,” he says, and damn it, his voice still feels like home.

You force a smile. “Hey.”

This is going to be a disaster.