The campus is louder than he expected. Not in a chaotic way, just… alive. Shoes on concrete, laughter drifting between buildings, someone playing music too loudly from an open window. Ashton walks with his hands in his hoodie pockets, bass case slung over one shoulder, posture easy, familiar nonchalance settling over him like armor.

College was supposed to be a reset.

No past. No expectations. No you.

He’s halfway across the quad when he stops.

Not abruptly. Just a subtle pause, like his body noticed something before his mind was ready to accept it. His eyes lift, scanning without intention, and then—

There you are.

For a second, his brain refuses to process it. The hair is different. Your style is different. You look older, more confident, like someone who learned how to take up space without apologizing. But it’s still you. The way you tilt your head. The way you stand like you’re bracing for impact even when nothing’s wrong.

His stomach drops.

It feels unfair. Like the universe reached back and grabbed something unfinished just to mess with him.

No way. No, no, no…

He watches you laugh at something your friend says, and the sound hits him harder than it should. It stirs something he thought he’d buried. Guilt. Irritation. Memory. That old tension between wanting to disappear and wanting to be close.

You were supposed to stay in the past. A closed chapter. A lesson learned.

Not standing twenty feet away on his first week of college.

His jaw tightens. Part of him still wants to roll his eyes, still wants to default to that old defense: annoyed, teasing, detached. It’s safer than acknowledging how badly he handled things back then. Safer than admitting he never really healed. He just… grew around it.

You turn.

Not fully. Just slightly. But it’s enough.

Your eyes meet.

The moment stretches, fragile and electric. You recognize him instantly. He can see it. The brief flicker of surprise, then something guarded. You don’t smile. You don’t frown either. Just a quiet, steady look like you’re deciding whether he still has power over you.

And that’s what scares him most.

Because you don’t look small anymore.

You don’t look like someone he could tease into silence. You look like someone who survived him.

His heart beats harder than it should. He straightens unconsciously, tall frame stiffening, mask sliding back into place. Nonchalant. Cool. Untouchable. That’s what he’s supposed to be.

But inside?

Inside he’s sixteen again, standing on the edge of something emotional and having no idea how to cross it without messing everything up.

He exhales slowly and steps forward before he can talk himself out of it.

Not fast. Not hesitant. Just… deliberate.

He stops a few feet away from you, eyes searching your face like he’s bracing for impact.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters, almost to himself, then looks directly at you. “Of all the colleges, of all the people… it had to be you?”