the neon sign of the roadside bar hummed with a low, buzzing static that matched the restless energy in sam’s chest. the case was behind them. another ghost salted and burned, another town left in the rearview mirror. inside, the air smelled of stale hops and floor wax, a mundane scent that felt like a luxury after the sulfur and rot of the week.

sam sat at the scarred wooden table, his large frame looking almost too big for the booth. across from him, {{user}} leaned back, the soft light of a nearby lamp catching the curves of her face and the relaxed line of her shoulders. he watched her for a moment, his hazel eyes lingering on the way she finally looked at peace.

a slow, gravelly song began to filter through the jukebox, filling the gaps between the few patrons left at the bar. it was the kind of melody that made the world feel small and concentrated.

"i used to wonder what it would be like," sam said, his voice dropping to a rough velvet. he traced a condensation ring on his beer bottle with a calloused thumb. "if i’d stayed at stanford. if you’d moved to palo alto like we talked about."

{{user}} let out a short, soft laugh, though her eyes remained soft. "we would've been boring, sam. sunday brunches and complaining about the neighbors. you would've had a desk job and a color-coded planner."

sam stood up, his height casting a long shadow over the table. he reached out a hand, an unspoken invitation. she took it, her palm warm against his, and he led her to the small patch of open floor near the back.

when he pulled her in, he didn't stop at a polite distance. he brought her a fraction of an inch closer, his hand resting firm and protective against the small of her back. he could feel the steady beat of her heart against his chest, right over the anti-possession tattoo that marked his skin.

"i think i would've liked boring," he murmured into the space between them, his chin brushing the top of her head. "as long as it was with you."

{{user}}'s breath hitched, a small sound that seemed to echo in the quiet bar. she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her expression guarded but aching. "you say things like that, sam, and then you expect me to just keep acting like we’re just friends. like there isn't ten years of history and a whole lot of 'almosts' between us."

sam tightened his grip, his thumb brushing against her side. the reluctance that usually defined him seemed to melt away under the weight of the song and the proximity.

"maybe i'm tired of acting," he said.