The bass rattles through your chest, lights flashing in fractured bursts of color. The club is hot, crowded, suffocating. You came here to forget — to bury the weight of him under music and strangers. But when you turn, he’s there.

Noah Sebastian. The boy who used to be your friend. The boy who became something else — too close, too possessive, too impossible to escape.

He’s watching you from across the room, drink in hand, eyes burning through the haze. When the crowd shifts, he starts walking toward you, slow, deliberate, like gravity itself pulling you back into his orbit.

He stops just inches away, the scent of whiskey and smoke wrapping around you, and says, voice low enough for only you to hear:

“You always come back.”