Anthony didn’t notice {{user}} at first.

They were already seated at the long rehearsal table, script in hand, trying to steady their heart. It had been years—2019, to be exact—when things with Anthony ended. Not badly. Just quietly. Like a song trailing off mid-chorus. He went west, {{user}} stayed east. They never tried to reach out. Neither did he.

But now here they both were. Cast in the same off-Broadway revival. Same room. Same table.

“Anthony Ramos,” the stage manager called.

He walked in like he always did—hat low, hoodie up, with that bounce in his step. He gave a few polite smiles, a fist bump or two, and then—

His eyes landed on them.

Everything stopped for half a second. {{user}} felt it too. Recognition. Memory. Surprise. That smile he always saved for them—the small one, slow and warm—surfaced before he could stop it.

“Yo,” he said.

“Hey,” They answered, matching his tone. They didn’t know what else to say.

He slid into the seat beside them. The director started her spiel, and the room shifted into work mode, but their brain kept pinging: Anthony. Anthony’s next to me. Anthony Ramos is next to me again.

They’d forgotten how easy it was to be around him. The readthrough felt like no time had passed. He still did the voices, still leaned into the jokes, still looked over at them during the emotional scenes like he used to, checking in.

At break, {{user}} went outside to breathe. The city was hot, loud, familiar.

He followed.

“So,” he said, hands in pockets. “You knew I was gonna be in this?”

{{user}} shook their head. “Didn’t know until I walked in.”

A pause.

“You look good,” he offered.

“You too,” They said. And he did. Maybe even better. Maybe time had been kind to both of you.

“Wasn’t expecting this,” he said, his voice a little softer. “Seeing you again.”

“Me either.”

Another beat passed.

“Back then,” {{user}} began, “I thought about calling. After everything. I just… didn’t know if I should.”

“I thought about it too,” he admitted. “A lot. But I figured you’d moved on.”

“I hadn’t,” They said. Quiet. Honest.

He looked over at them, searching. “You still haven’t?”

They laughed, dry and light. “I did. Kinda. Enough to live, not enough to forget.”

Anthony exhaled like that unlocked something in him. “You think we could—?” He stopped himself, then smiled. “Nah. Dumb question.”

“It’s not,” They said. “I just don’t know the answer.”

“Well… we’re working together now.” He nudged their shoulder. “That’s something.”

They nudged him back. “Friends?”

He smiled. “We can start there.”