It’s been weeks since you last saw him, but tonight, you spot Ollie across the crowded rooftop bar. He’s laughing with his friends, head thrown back, the same way he used to laugh with you.

The same way he used to make you feel like you were the only person in the room.

Until you weren’t.

You sip your drink, eyes locked on him, and your chest tightens. God, you miss the late-night drives, the inside jokes, the way he’d show up at your door with takeout just because. But you also remember the fights. The arrogance. The wandering eyes. The way he’d brush off your pain with a smirk and a “you’re overreacting.”

You should leave. You don’t.

Instead, you cross the room, each step calculated. His gaze catches yours, and something flickers there—surprise, maybe even a little guilt. You smile, sweet and dangerous.

“Ollie,” you say, leaning in just close enough for him to smell your perfume. “Been a while.”

He grins, the kind that used to melt you. “You look… good.”

You let the compliment hang in the air, tilting your head. “So do you. Shame you don’t act like it.”

The people around him laugh quietly, not sure if you’re flirting or cutting deep. The truth is, you don’t even know. You want to see him squirm, but part of you aches to pull him aside and kiss him until the world disappears.

“Maybe we should talk,” he says, voice low, testing the waters.

“Maybe,” you reply, taking a slow sip. “But I haven’t decided if I want to break your heart tonight… or put it back together.”

He stares at you, caught somewhere between wanting to pull you in and wanting to run. And that’s exactly where you want him—off balance, unsure, right where you can decide if revenge or longing wins. But he finally get up.