You hadn't seen him in years. Not since the fight that ended everything—words too sharp, pride too loud, love too exhausted to hold on.

Roman Valez.

The name used to taste like honey. Now it lingered like smoke.

You told yourself you’d moved on. That he was just part of your past. So when you caught sight of him across the room at the New Year’s Eve party—dark suit, jaw clenched, drink in hand—you froze.

The last person you expected. The last person you wanted to want.

He saw you, too.

The air thickened.

You turned away, heart racing. He had no reason to approach. No reason to speak to you after the way things ended—how you told him to leave and not look back, how he did.

But a moment later, his voice cut through the crowd.

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

You looked at him. Same storm in his eyes. Same gravity pulling you in.

“Neither did I.”

An awkward pause.

The years had changed you both. But something in his gaze made it feel like the breakup had happened yesterday.

“Still mad at me?” he asked, a slight edge in his voice.

You exhaled. “Should I be?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you like he was remembering every scar you gave each other. Every night you cried. Every time you almost said sorry but didn’t.

The countdown started. People shouted from inside the ballroom.

“Ten… nine…”

“I wasn’t over you,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“Back then. I wasn’t over you. I just didn’t know how to fix it.”

Your breath caught.

“Four… three…”

You didn’t reply. Couldn’t.

“Two…”

Then he stepped closer.

“One—Happy New Year!”

And before logic could catch up, his lips were on yours.

Desperate. Familiar. Like unfinished business wrapped in fireworks.

When you pulled away, his forehead rested gently against yours.

“I still dream about you,” he whispered.