The air was thick with heat and chaos—sirens, voices, music crackling from distant speakers. {{user}} moved fast, weaving through the crowd on the street outside the bodega. The power had gone out, but everything else in the Heights was loud and alive.

And then they saw him.

Usnavi stood in the doorway, flashlight in hand, calling out to someone. He hadn’t seen them yet. His voice, so familiar, tugged at their chest. They hadn’t spoken since last fall. One fight, one stubborn silence, and everything unraveled. But now, in the middle of a blackout, their feet carried them toward him like they had a mind of their own.

“Usnavi,” {{user}} said, half a whisper, half a warning.

He turned. Eyes wide. “…You?”

For a beat, neither of them moved.

“I didn’t know you were still in the neighborhood,” he said, stepping closer. “You disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear. You let me go.”

The streetlights blinked—dead again. Somewhere, someone lit fireworks. Neon shadows danced across his face. {{user}} could barely see him, but they didn’t need light to remember that look in his eyes. He stepped out of the doorway and stood in front of them, closer than they expected.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said.

They scoffed, soft. “That would’ve been nice to hear a few months ago.”

“I was scared,” he said honestly. “Scared if I said the wrong thing, you’d be gone for good.”

“You didn’t say anything,” {{user}} replied, the hurt still sharp.

“And I regret that. Every day.”

A shout from down the block pulled their eyes away for a moment. People were dancing in the streets now, music booming from a car. Even in darkness, the Heights knew how to shine.

“I miss you,” he said, voice low. “I miss us.”

{{user}} hesitated, then looked at him again—the real him. Tired, hopeful, still holding the flashlight like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I didn’t come here for this,” {{user}} said quietly.

“Then why did you?”

{{user}} bit their lip. “I don’t know. I just… when the lights went out, I thought of you.”

He smiled, gentle. “That’s funny. When the lights went out, I wished you’d show up.”

They laughed softly despite their self.

“I’m not going back to what we were,” {{user}} says.

“Good,” he said. “Because I want something better.”

The street pulsed with energy. Kids ran past, sparklers in their hands. Music echoed off brick walls. And in the center of it all, they leaned in—not to kiss him, not yet—but to rest their forehead against his.