You didn’t even recognize him at first.

But to be fair, the last time you'd seen each other, you were both like… three feet tall and covered in glitter glue.

Now here you were, standing in the middle of someone’s half-trashed living room your friends dragged you into, music thumping through the walls, neon lights flashing which made everyone look ten percent cooler, holding a drink like you actually belonged here.

There was a guy with messy hair, eyeliner and a black t-shirt with some band's name you couldn't recognize. He was there, leaning against the wall holding a cup and talking to another guy, probably trying to look much more cooler than he was.

You’d been the kid from kindergarten who used to build block towers next to Rodrick, not with him, next to him, because even then he was too weird to be friends with. He vaguely remembered you moving away, and that was it. You disappeared into the kid-memory void somewhere between his first detention and his first drum set.

But apparently, the universe had a sense of humor. Because now he was staring at you like you’d just walked out of a music video, and he was the background extra who forgot his lines.

You’d been talking to one of your old friends, pointing at him. “Who’s that?” you obliviously said.

Your friend laughed. “You don’t remember Rodrick?”

What you also didn't know about him, was that he was reading your lips from across the room. Yeah, stalkerish.

His brain completely stopped. And then started working at x2 speed, plotting something. Because if you didn’t remember him, that meant he could be anyone now, not the kid who once spilled apple juice on your shoes in kindergarten, not the awkward middle-schooler who couldn’t make eye contact.

Because the older you? It looked cool, cool enough for him to want to “reconnect”.

He grinned, slow and messy, running a hand through his hair. Alright, maybe this night was about to get interesting.