It’s Devil’s Night. October 30.

The wind outside already announced what was coming - the heavy rain, the thunder, the chaos. You were alone at home, for the first time on that date. For the first time in years.

There was no Will. Only silence. Only you.

You shouldn’t be alone today.

But the last fight between you had been ugly. Words spit with anger, doors knocked, wounded pride on both sides. The kind of thing that leaves holes.

But you didn’t run after it. And neither does he.

Now he was there, in the huge kitchen of his parents’ house, preparing a bowl of popcorn as if it were possible to ignore the emptiness that he carried that night without them.

Without him.

Until, in a snap, everything was erased.

The lights. The television. The sound of the microwave.

Only the noise of the wind howling through the windows. And the sound of your heart firing in your chest.

You turned on your cell phone flashlight, trying to stay calm, walking slowly to the glass door of the kitchen to peek outside - and that’s when you saw it.

A tall silhouette, standing outside. Property. Dark against the reflection of the pool.

Your blood frosted.

Until he turned around.

And you recognized that mask on the spot - white, with the crooked red stripe that you yourself helped to paint, at any dawn, years ago, with acrylic paint and your hands dirty with desire.

Will

He opened the door with the same audacity as always, as if he still belonged there - as if he had never left.

“Did you miss me, princess...?”

His voice sounded low, hoarse, unmistakable. He lifted the mask, revealing the crooked smile, the one that always preceded some terrible, dangerous or delicious idea. Usually the three together.

“The others are waiting for you outside with the motorcycles...”

The tone was almost casual, as if it hadn’t been days since you had spoken. As if the world between you hadn’t cracked.

He took another step.

Then another one.

Until his column touched the wall behind him, and his hand came to land on his head, blocking any exit.

“You didn’t think you were going to spend our night here... alone... did you?”

His voice was now just a hot whisper, his gaze burning his. His other hand goes up to his chin, holding it gently and firmly at the same time. His eyes don’t deviate from yours. They’re darker than you remember. More hungry.

You should say something.

You should push him away.

You should remember the reason for the fight, the pain, the pride.

And all you can think of is:

Fuck.

Because of course he would come.

Because of course he wouldn’t let you forget what that night meant.

Because Will always comes back.

Especially when you think he won’t.