It’s just after nine in New York City.

The bar is glowing, low and golden. Strings of fairy lights run along the rafters, candles flicker in glass jars on every table, their flames reflected in bottles stacked neatly behind the counter. Music hums in the background, one of Sebastian’s playlists you slipped to the DJ, soft enough not to drown out the chatter.

The space is alive with quiet anticipation. His friends are scattered around the room, clustered in small groups with drinks in hand. Some lean on the bar, others hover near the cake in the corner — a ridiculous creation you insisted on, piled high with frosting and candles. Laughter bubbles, but every time the door opens, it cuts sharp into silence before dissolving again into whispers.

You’ve been planning this for weeks. Sebastian said he didn’t want anything. He always does. But you know him — deep down, he loves nights like this, surrounded by people who matter. Tonight, they’re all here. So are you.

Someone kills the music. The lights dip a little lower. Every face turns toward the door.

You check your phone. He’s close.

The air stills, thick with the held breath of a room waiting.

And then — the door swings open.

Sebastian steps inside.