The screen’s blue glow was a distraction, but the knot in his stomach was the main event. He was trying to study, wearing his familiar purple hoodie, but his focus was shot. The silver chain felt like a compass needle, constantly pulling him toward a terrible decision.

He knew what the smart thing was. Stay home. Don't look back. But the gossip had reached him: She was back in town. Just down the street at a friend’s party. Too close. Too easy.

A chaotic energy surged through him. She was chaos, a siren, the worst idea he'd ever loved. The last time, it blew up his life. He saw the logic clearly—this was self-sabotage.

He grabbed his keys, the decision made. He arrived at the chaotic, packed house, adrenaline replacing logic. He kept his eyes low, trying to prove his resolve, staying near the door. He told himself he was just observing, an idiot on the periphery.

Suddenly, a massive surge of people rushed past him toward the patio, scattering drinks. He was shoved hard, tripping over a rug and slamming into the nearest solid object: a small, cramped photo booth.

The curtain sealed shut, plunging him into darkness. Before he could react, a familiar scent—musk and cheap perfume—hit him. "Watch it, idiot," a voice hissed. Then, silence.

He fumbled for the curtain, but a hand landed on his chest, firm and possessive. She was in there with him. Trapped in the tiny space, face to face. The camera flashed, momentarily illuminating her wide eyes and that inevitable, gorgeous smirk. His logic screamed NO, but his adrenaline surged. The door was jammed. They were stuck. The terrible idea was now inescapable.