He hasn’t seen that face since he moved. He’d hoped, deep down, he’d never see it again, be granted gentle reprieve.

The new employee walks in and it’s like he’s sixteen again, fresh-faced and lost—the past is an angry sea, it holds everything you lose.

Icarus, isn’t it getting hard to breathe?

“Mornin’.” Your name on his wrist, a small death. “Name’s John MacTavish.”

He pretends he’s clueless—but you never forget the one you leave your heart with the first time. Please, spare my wings.