You and Nic had been together for years — first loves in high school, inseparable until drugs got in the way. Borrowed money, broken promises, nights you’d wait for him and he’d never come. You tried to help. You really did. But eventually, you had to walk away.

Two years passed. No calls. No texts. Just silence.

Sure, there were the glimpses — across the street, in someone else’s Instagram story, once even at the grocery store where you ducked behind the cereal aisle before he could notice. But this was different.

This was him in your phone again.

Hey. You free sometime this week? You wanna grab coffee? Just as friends. No preamble. No how’ve you been. Just that.

You stared at the screen for a long time. Two years was a lot of space. Enough to almost forget the way he used to knock on your window at midnight, enough to almost forget the way your stomach used to twist when your cash went missing, when his voice turned sharp, when he looked at you like you were the problem for trying to save him.

Almost.

You said yeah. And now you were here — a corner table at a coffee shop neither of you had ever been to before. Neutral ground.

Nic was already there when you walked in. He looked different, but not unrecognizable. The same mess of brunette hair, just shorter now. The same green eyes, only… clearer. Less glassy. His shoulders looked heavier somehow, but not from drugs — from carrying himself sober.

His eyes lifted the second the bell over the door rang.

“Hey,” he said.

It was simple, but something about it made your chest ache. He stood, awkward, unsure if he should hug you, so you leaned in first. His arms were thinner than you remembered, but solid.

You sat across from him. For a moment, it was just the sound of milk steaming and spoons clinking against ceramic.

“You look…” he started, then faltered. “Good.”

You nodded, offering the same back. “You too.”

He glanced down at his mug, thumb tracing the rim. “I’m clean. Been clean a while now.”

You didn’t know what to say. The words you’d practiced on the drive here — I’m glad, that’s great — felt too small for the weight of it.

“That’s… really good, Nic,” you finally managed.

He looked up, a hint of that old boyish grin ghosting over his face. “I thought about you. A lot.”

And there it was — the part you weren’t ready for, the part that made your stomach twist all over again.

The coffee between you went cold before either of you touched it.