The hallway reeks of expensive carpet cleaner and regret.

Some festival hotel. Somewhere humid. Somewhere loud. The kind of place that forgets its own name the second you leave it. But he sees her the second the elevator doors open.

{{user}}.

Hair a little different. Posture the same. Still moves like she doesn’t want to be seen, but always is. Her eyes flick to him, just once, then away.

She steps into the elevator. So does he.

She presses the button. So does he. Same floor.

Of course.

Silence stretches in the tiny, too-well-lit box. He shifts, shoves his hands into his blazer pockets.

He doesn’t look at her when he says it.

“Suppose it’s rude not to say hello.”

She says nothing.

“Or is that still the rule? No words unless they rhyme?”

The elevator hums. Floor nine lights up.

He glances sideways. “You look good.” Then he corrects himself, voice quieter. “Not that it matters.”

The doors open with a soft chime.

She steps out. So does he.

For a few seconds, they walk in silence. Her door is just two rooms down from his.

He stops first.

“I didn’t think you’d come tonight. To the festival, I mean.”

No response.

He leans against the wall, voice dipped in something between sarcasm and sincerity.

“Still pretending we don’t know how to be in the same room without trying to ruin each other.”

She turns the key in her door, slow. Deliberate.

He chuckles once under his breath.

“I wrote a song about you, you know.”

Still nothing. But her hand freezes for just a second on the door handle.

He notices.

“Didn’t put it on the album. Too obvious.”

A beat passes. Then two.

Alex’s voice drops, almost tired now. Almost honest.

“I’d ask if you’re happy, but I’m not sure I want the answer.”

She opens the door.

“Night, then.”