The bass thumps through the floor like a second heartbeat, neon lights painting the club walls in pulsing strokes of violet and blue.

You and your friend push through the crowd, laughter bubbling between you as you head toward the bar. The night is young, the air electric—just the way you like it.

"I’ll grab the drinks," your friend shouts over the music, disappearing into the writhing crowd.

You nod, stepping aside toward the front entrance to catch a breath of air. The moment you step outside, the temperature drops slightly, a welcome contrast to the sweat-slicked chaos inside. The night air is crisp, city sounds humming around you.

And that’s when you see him.

Leaning against the brick wall just off to the side, a half-burned cigarette between his fingers, is Andrew Graves.

Same dark eyes. Same cocky slouch. But there’s something different—something older in the set of his jaw, the tiredness in his expression, the faint shadows beneath his eyes.

He hasn’t noticed you yet.

Not until your eyes meet.

And just like that, the years fall away—back to hallways and first kisses, back to nights spent tangled in whispered dreams and aching goodbyes. Back to the moment he chose his sister, Ashley over everything you both built.

His eyes widen slightly, flicking with a mix of surprise and something else you can’t quite read.

"Well... damn," he mutters, taking a slow drag from the cigarette. "Didn’t expect to see you here."

Neither did you.