Niall’s house is packed. Music’s loud enough to make the floor vibrate, lights flicker like we’re in some dodgy club, and people are spilling drinks everywhere. Classic Niall — invites half the bloody uni and calls it “a small get-together.”

I lean against the kitchen counter, half a beer in my hand, pretending I’m listening to Louis go on about some girl who ghosted him after three dates. I’m not. I’m scanning the room, mostly out of boredom. Partially out of habit. And then the room shifts. I don’t even know why I turn my head — maybe some sixth sense or just dumb luck — but when I see you, my breath catches.

You’re walking in with your friends, laughing, eyes bright under the dim lights. And that costume — fuck. A police outfit, short skirt, fishnets, the whole thing. The kind that makes every guy here lose his mind for a second. Heads turn. Whistles follow. My stomach twists. Jealousy punches me straight in the stomach. I hate how their eyes follow you. How they whisper to each other like they’ve got a chance. Like they don’t know you’re mine—well, were.

We only dated a few months, but it messed me up more than I’ll ever admit. You were careful with your heart; I wasn’t. You wanted something steady. I was still figuring myself out, pretending not to care while actually caring way too much. You left before I could prove you wrong, and I guess I didn’t blame you.

I should look away, but I can’t. You look different — confident, almost glowing. Not the quiet version of you I remember. You catch me staring, just for a heartbeat, and something flashes in your eyes before you look away.

“You alright, mate?” Niall’s voice cuts in next to me. He’s grinning, obviously clocked who I’m staring at.

“You invited her?” I ask, jaw tight.

“Course I did. She’s sound. Didn’t think she’d come, though,” he chuckles. “You gonna talk to her, or just combust silently over there?”

I roll my eyes, drain the rest of my beer, and push off the counter. “Reckon I might.”

He slaps my back. “Go on, Romeo.”

I spot you with a group of girls near the stairs, all of them laughing and sipping from red cups. You’re not looking at me. Or maybe you are, just not letting it show. Either way, I push through the crowd and make my way over. Every step feels heavier than it should. I’m cocky, yeah, but this? This isn’t about winning. This is about wanting something real for once. You see me before I speak. Your eyes flick to mine, unreadable.

“Can I steal you for a sec?” I ask, nodding my head toward the hallway. “Just wanna talk.”