Zayn spotted you before you saw him—right where they’d agreed, near the crooked lamppost. Relief came first, quick and easy—until it stalled. You weren’t alone.

The man beside you was familiar. Too familiar. It took half a second longer than he liked to place him—same posture, same infuriating ease. School days. Laughing in corridors. Lingering too close. Your old beau. Right.

Zayn slowed, watching the way you turned toward him, engaged, friendly. Something tightened, sharp and immediate. He didn’t like how easily that space seemed occupied.

He closed the distance before thinking better of it.

“Didn’t realize I was late enough to be replaced,” he cut in, tone light but edged. His gaze flicked to the other man, brief and assessing.

“I’m Zayn,” he added, extending a hand that wasn’t quite casual. “Her date. Thought I’d come collect her before I was written out entirely.”