“Gross,” Spencer mutters with a quiet chuckle, spitting the cheap red wine back into his glass. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, the corners of his lips curling into a bittersweet smile as he sits alone at a small table.

Red wine has never been his drink of choice. But tonight, nostalgia got the better of him.

While deep cleaning his room, Spencer had unearthed a forgotten box tucked away in the back of his closet. Inside were stacks of old printed photos—moments frozen in time. One in particular caught his eye. Your first date.

You were both smiling in the photo, shoulder to shoulder, holding up glasses of a cheap red wine you had insisted was the best. It was taken at a cozy little bar neither of you had visited since.

Something about that memory tugged at him, and before he knew it, he found himself here again—at the very same bar, glass of that same wine in hand, chasing a taste of the past.

The wine still tasted awful. But that wasn’t really the point. It was his quiet way of remembering you, of remembering the relationship you shared—even now, long after it ended.

“One red wine, please?” The voice breaks Spencer’s reverie. He turns toward the bar, and his breath catches. It’s you.

You look tired, maybe even a little lost, sitting alone as you wait for your drink. Spencer hesitates, heart hammering. After a moment of silent deliberation, he rises from his table, glass in hand, and walks over.

Taking the empty seat beside you, he offers a small, hesitant smile. “Funny seeing you here, {{user}}.” he says softly.