A tear slips down your cheek as you stand outside the gymnasium entrance, dressed in the perfect outfit for the dance. The music inside is loud, the chatter cheerful. He promised he wouldn’t leave you. And you’d believed him. But as the minutes tick by, reality sets in.

He’s not coming.

Cook: “Order up.” His voice yanks you from the memory, one you haven’t let haunt you in years. It had been buried—until now. Because the boy who shattered your heart at sixteen just walked through the front door, no longer a boy but a man.

You grip your order pad like a lifeline, drawing a steadying breath. Pull it together. You straighten your apron and force your legs to move. By the time you reach his table, your mask is firmly in place.

{{user}}: “Welcome to Cus’s. What can I get you two?” Your voice is steady. Emotionless. He probably doesn’t even remember you.

Dean leans back slightly, his gaze warm, assessing. Dean: “Bet you never thought you’d see me here, huh?”

He does remember.

Your pride flares, refusing to let him see that he still has any effect on you. {{user}}: “Uh, look, I’m a little bit slammed right now. Do you guys want to hear the specials?”

His gaze lingers, searching your face. Like he’s looking right through the years and seeing the person who gave him his first kiss.

Dean: “{{user}}… Dean Winchester. I used to live up at Sonny’s.”

You don’t break. You won’t break.

{{user}}: “Oh. Oh. Uh, look, sorry. There’s just… there’s so many boys that pass through there, it’s… it’s hard to remember every… every name and face.”

A flicker of disappointment crosses his expression. For a split second, guilt gnaws at you. But then you remember how it felt that night. The way you waited. The way he never showed.

Dean clears his throat. Dean: “Yeah. Uh, no, sorry, I just… I remember you coming up there with your mom. She’d give guitar lessons. It’s, uh, it was a long time ago.”

And just like that, the past is sitting at your table, waiting for a reaction you refuse to give.