It hit him all at once.

cooped up, shoulder to shoulder at some form party on a night he should’ve been studying, chugging my his third—fourth? Lager of the night, brown tufts of mussed up hair stuck to his head from the sweat of dancing to a song he knew fuck-all about. But it was hot, his spliff was kicking in, and the buzz of his lager was bubbling in his blood.

He hadn’t expected you to show, knew it wasn’t your thing. It hadn’t been, not even when you were kids, slagging off when you should’ve been in class, sharing crisps with him under the footie bleachers, knees scraped and your wild, never fully combed out hair, talking about nothing and everything like you had all the time in the world.

So when he’d caught your eyes for what couldn’t have been more than a second—he’d choked, like all the wind had been knocked out right from under him. His ears buzzed, warm and low like the beginning of a fire as he took a proper look at you, the way you laughed at something Freddie had whispered in your ear, when she laughed at something Freddie said. Her dress rode just a little too high on her thigh when she shifted. Her gloss caught the light, and Christ help him, his jaw ticked, and he squeezed the rim of his solo cup, imagining, for the briefest of seconds it was Freddie’s throat.

“Jesus,” he muttered, half to himself.

“What?” Effy asked, sharp and lazy all at once, perched beside him like she hadn’t been watching the exact same thing unfold. Her eyes cut toward the girl again, a little smirk tugging at her lip, mean in that pretty, poisonous way she did so well. “She grew up. So what?”

Cook didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when his head was spinning with all the years he’d missed it—missed her. Every oversized hoodie. Every half-smile. Every late-night walk home when she could’ve said something and he wouldn’t have known what the fuck to do with it anyway.

Now? He wanted to do something. Anything. Everything.

She glanced over her shoulder, just for a moment. Not even at him, really. Just past—but when she did she him, he saw the way her whole face lit up, how she’d waved barely a shake of her hand, but it was enough to light something hot and aching in his chest.

Fuck.