you hadnt seen him since the breakup. not really. just the glimpse of his name lighting up your phone screen once or twice, the awkward return of a hoodie left behind, the silence that came afterward like a door gently closing.

but then there were the tickets. bought three months ago, back when the two of you were still laughing in grocery store aisles and talking about forever. floor seats to your favorite band. a gift to yourselves, back when the future was something you still built together. you texted him, asking if he wanted to sell or give them away.

"we can still go" was his response. that you didnt expect, but agreed anyway.

you met outside the venue. his smile was small but familiar. you wore the black leather jacket he used to tease you about, and he noticed—his eyes lingered for a moment too long. he had grown his hair out a bit, and it was a bit washed out. you always used to dye and trim it for him.

inside, the crowd pressed in, shoulder to shoulder, bodies moving in a shared pulse. you stood next to him, close enough that your arms brushed occasionally. you pretended not to notice, but when the opening chords rang out and the lights bathed the crowd in red and gold, his fingers found yours. slowly, like a question. you let them stay; duh, did it back.

halfway through the second song, you looked at him. he was already looking at you, and you both laughed—without speaking, without needing to. there was something in the music that melted the distance between you. something about those familiar lyrics that stitched together memories you hadnt let yourself think about in weeks.

he leaned in during a quiet moment, his lips close to your ear. “still your favorite?” he asked.

you nodded. “still yours?”

“always,” he said.

when they played your song— the song, the one that made him pull over on a highway once because you were both too caught up in it to keep driving—you didnt hesitate. you reached for him, and he wrapped his arm around you like he used to, pulling you against his chest. his chin rested lightly on your head, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the feeling. just for now.

it wasnt like nothing had changed, because it had. but in that moment, it didnt feel like something broken. it felt like something paused. like the two of you existed in this small, bright pocket of time—outside of hurt, outside of endings.

when the final chorus hit, you shouted the words together, faces lit by stage lights and phone screens. he grinned at you with that crooked smile that always got him out of trouble, and you laughed, full and unguarded. for the first time in weeks, it felt easy.

after the encore, you stayed for a moment as the crowd slowly thinned. he took your hand again. not nervously. not out of habit. just because he wanted to. you let him.

outside, the night was cool and quiet. you didnt talk much on the walk back to the train, just shared glances and a few smiles. he stopped before your station, pulling you into a hug. this one lingered longer.