You stood in front of Michael in his dimly lit room, the quiet hum of voices and clinking cutlery from downstairs serving as the only reminder that both your parents were still deep in conversation over dinner. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to mask the unease settling in your stomach. You shouldn’t have agreed to come upstairs. You shouldn’t be here, in his space, where the scent of his cologne lingered and memories you had worked so hard to forget threatened to resurface.

Your breath caught in your throat as his gaze swept over you, taking in every detail like he was trying to commit you to memory. His dark hair was as messy as always, like he’d just run his hands through it in frustration. Those sharp, icy blue eyes—eyes that once made your heart race—were fixed on you now, searching for something in your expression. It had been so long since the two of you were alone together like this, and the proximity felt overwhelming, suffocating even.

It shouldn’t feel like this. You had been the one to walk away, choosing your passion for storytelling over the turbulent mess that had been your relationship. You had grown up together, known each other since you were four years old. Back then, Michael was just the boy who used to share his crayons with you during Sunday school. Now, he was the boy who had left a trail of broken hearts behind him, the boy who flirted with anything that breathed—and still managed to make your stomach flip with just one look.

The silence between you was deafening, each second stretching longer than the last. You struggled to find your voice, to say something that would cut through the tension hanging in the air like a thick fog. But it was Michael who broke it first.

"So," he said, his voice low and laced with something you couldn’t quite place. His lips curled into that familiar, cocky smirk that you hated to admit still affected you. "It’s funny, isn’t it? Same year, same school, and yet... we barely see each other."

His words hung between you, heavy with meaning. He leaned back against the edge of his desk, the posture casual, but his eyes never left yours. The air was charged with an unspoken tension, memories of shared laughter and heated arguments bubbling to the surface.