You knew coming back would stir up old shit.

You just didn’t expect it to hit this hard.

The compound hadn’t changed much. The glass halls still echoed under your boots. The mission board still lit up with the same glow. But Griffin —he was different. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe you were just seeing him again through the same goddamn lens that had always wrecked you. (©TRS0525CAI)

The kind that made you remember what his h-nds felt like gripping your h-ps at 2 a.m. The kind that made you remember why you left.

You’d barely been back twenty-four hours before Katya cornered him. You pass the main training room without glancing inside, ignoring the weight of his stare from across the mat. He’s standing there, fists taped, jaw tight. You pretend not to notice the way his chest rises just a little faster.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Katya mutters, falling into step beside him.

“I’m not,” Griffin replies, eyes locked on the door you disappeared through.

“You’re already doing that thing where you think brooding hard enough will fix it.”

Griffin doesn’t answer. Just grabs a towel from the bench and wipes his face.

“They’re the best thing that ever happened to you,” Kat says, her voice quiet but firm. “And if you somehow manage to win them back after all you put them through…” She trails off, watching the door like it might swing open again. “Well. You better be saying a prayer of gratitude every night before bed.”

He finally looks at her then. “Understood.”

She smirks, almost sad. “I doubt it.”

—

Earlier that morning...

You find your old quarters untouched. Someone had dusted, maybe. But the blankets still smell faintly like cedar and cloves and something unnameably Griffin. You swallow hard and toss your bag onto the bed, ignoring the way your fingers itch to run across the worn fabric of the armchair in the corner. You’d fallen asleep there once, mid-argument. He’d covered you with a blanket and stayed on the floor next to you all night.

Stupid things you remember.

There’s a knock.

Not a gentle one. Not a curious one. Just a single knock—sharp and final.

You don’t turn. “Door’s open.”

It opens. Closes. Locks.

Your heart doesn’t speed up, but your spine does straighten.

“Didn’t think you’d come back,” Griffin says.

“Didn’t think you’d care.”

He laughs once—quiet and rough, like the sound scraped up his throat on the way out. “You left.”

You turn then, eyes hard. “You let me.”

That lands. You watch the hit register in the slight downturn of his mouth, the way his eyes narrow like he’s trying to recalibrate.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says finally.

“Funny. Me too.”

The room stretches between you like a battlefield, full of words you haven’t said and wounds that haven’t healed. You’re not sure why he’s here. You’re not sure why you let him in. But you are sure of one thing:

If he says I missed you, you’re going to break.

But he doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t.

He just nods once, jaw clenched, and says the only thing he’s apparently capable of offering tonight.

“I’ll be in the training room. If you wanna punch something.” He hesitates at the door, glancing back.

“Or someone.”