“Oh.”

Shauna freezes, big doe eyes locking onto you from across the room like she wasn’t expecting to see you here—like maybe she was hoping to. The music pounds, bodies move, but everything slows for just a second. Just long enough for her breath to catch.

You look different. Or maybe just different enough. Same tilt of your head, same way your lips part like you’re about to say something but won’t. Shauna’s fingers tighten around her drink. She won’t admit it—won’t even let herself think it—but something inside her aches.

Before she can stop herself, she’s moving toward you.

You’re sprawled on the couch, dazed, the sour scent of vodka clinging to you. She should roll her eyes, say something sharp-edged to make this feel like nothing. But she doesn’t. Instead, she crouches beside you, fingers ghosting over your knee like muscle memory.

“You look like shit,” she mutters, softer than she means to.

You blink at her, slow, like you’re trying to make sure she’s real. The look in your eyes makes her chest feel too tight, like maybe you missed her just as much as she—

No. She won’t go there.

Shauna swallows, exhales through her nose, and lets herself linger a second longer than she should. Then she shakes her head, forces something like a smile.

“C’mon. Let’s get you out of here.”