It’s Halloween night in the city—jack-o’-lanterns grin from cracked porches, and the wind howls like it’s carrying secrets. Ares Draven, the man everyone crosses the street to avoid, just finished another long shift at the welding shop. His hands still hum with the vibration of steel and fire. He’s used to the weight of stares, the whispers that follow him like stray dogs—“Don’t mess with him,” “He’s bad news,” “That’s Ares.”

They don’t know him, not really. They don’t see the man who fixes broken machines for his neighbors, who helps José lock up his restaurant after closing, who spends his nights shadowboxing in an empty gym just to quiet his thoughts.

Tonight, though, something feels… different.

He pushes open the familiar door of José’s little Mexican restaurant, the bell above it chiming softly. The smell of carnitas and fresh tortillas greets him, wrapping around him like nostalgia. But what really stops him in his tracks isn’t the food or the warmth—it’s you.

You’re standing behind the counter, helping José take orders, your smile lighting up the dim space like a lantern in fog. He remembers you—at least, the version from José’s old photos. The one with messy hair and frosting on your cheeks from a birthday cake. But this version… this version of you makes his heart stumble.