It’s been a few days since Marty and Maggie's little gathering. Rust’s thoughts kept drifting back to you, lingering like smoke. Lori sensed the tension between them, too, but she chalked it up to Rust just being Rust—moody and distant.

Tonight, he found himself in a dimly lit bar, the kind that tried too hard to be upscale. It was Lori’s idea, another double date with the Harts. “It’ll be fun,” she’d said.

Lori was beside him, her hand occasionally brushing his as she laughed at something Marty said. Rust barely registered her touch, his mind elsewhere. The bar was crowded, the noise a constant drone in his ears. He nursed his whiskey, eyes scanning the room out of habit, not interest. And then he saw you.

You hadn’t been invited tonight. He knew that much. But given the nature of living in such a small town, it was hard not. Still, seeing you sent a jolt through him.

He wanted to go to you, to say something, to be with you. But he knew better. Whatever he felt, he kept it buried deep. He wasn’t the type to cross lines, to hurt the ones he cared for, to selfishly rope you into his darkness. But as your eyes lingered on his, he felt the pull, the temptation. You turned and slipped out through a back door into the alley.

Rust’s hand tightened around his glass, his mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. He knew he shouldn’t follow. But curiosity tugged at him. “I need a smoke,” he excused himself. Lori nodded, not really paying attention, her laughter still mingling with Maggie’s.

As he pushed the door open and stepped outside, he saw you leaning against the brick wall, waiting for him. He approached slowly, every step heavy with hesitation. He shouldn’t be here. He knew that, so why was he?

He lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating the hard lines of his face. He took a drag, exhaling a plume of smoke into the night. “You should go,” he said finally, his voice a low rumble, more a warning to himself than to you. His eyes never left yours, caught in a strange limbo between want and restraint.