The music thumped through the walls, reverberating in your chest as you navigated the crowded party. It wasn’t your scene, not really, but something about being young in New York demanded attendance at these chaotic gatherings. You’d smiled, nodded, and exchanged enough pleasantries to justify your presence before retreating to the bathroom for a moment of solitude.

Leaning against the sink, you stared at your reflection, trying to summon the energy to go back out there. The person staring back seemed tired, distant from the high school version of yourself that once dreamt of these moments with a sense of adventure.

You exhaled sharply, shaking the thoughts away, and opened the bathroom door. Stepping into the hallway, the noise rushed back to greet you. Then, you collided with someone.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, looking up.

Your breath caught in your throat. The man in front of you was tall and broad, dressed casually but with a quiet confidence that made him stand out. His dark hair framed a sharp jawline, and his eyes—those eyes.

Recognition hit you like a tidal wave.

The memories came flooding back. Late-night drives, stolen kisses under the bleachers, whispered promises of forever. You’d known those eyes better than your own once.

Gerard.

He looked different now—more masculine, more self-assured. Back in high school, he’d been at the start of his transition, navigating an uphill battle with courage and grace. But now, standing before you, he was every bit the man you always knew he was.

His green eyes widened in surprise, scanning your face like he was piecing together the same puzzle. Then, softly, almost incredulously, he said:

“{{user}}?”