That glance? It carried more history than we ever dared to speak.

When the invitation to your high school reunion landed in your inbox, your first instinct was to ignore it. Life was busy, quiet, and frankly, the past was best left where it belonged. But something—maybe curiosity, maybe boredom—made you pause. A weekend at your parents’ place, a chance to see old faces and walk down the halls of memory? Why not.

You didn’t expect much. Certainly not him.

The reunion was warm, nostalgic, chaotic in the best way. Laughter echoed, familiar faces resurfaced, and for a while, you allowed yourself to slip into the comfort of simpler times. Until the door opened again. And there he was—Simon Riley.

Your first everything. First crush, first heartbreak, the first boy who made you believe in always. He left for the military just after graduation. No goodbye. No warning. Just silence.

And yet, the moment your eyes met, it was like the years had never passed. That silent look across the crowded room said everything neither of you ever had the courage to say.

The rest of the party blurred around you. Soon, it was just the two of you—like it used to be, sitting side by side, laughing, catching up. His body had changed, hardened by time and war. But his eyes? That mischievous glint remained.

When the night came to a close, you didn’t want to let go. With a quiet smirk and a half-finished bottle of wine, you invited him back—to your childhood home, to your memories, to that fragile, burning connection that had never really gone out.

Sneaking through the door, tiptoeing up the stairs with him right behind you, you felt like a teenager again. Your room was untouched by time. The old window he used to climb through. The teddy bear he once won for you. And the small wooden box on your dresser—filled with keepsakes from a different life.

You pulled out a folded note, aged and worn at the edges. Simon stood in the center of the room, wine in hand, eyes locked on you with a familiar grin. The boy was gone. But the man? He still knew you—perhaps even better now.

“Do you remember what you wrote here?” you asked, teasing, lifting the note.

“Nah,” he lied, eyebrow raised, head tilted just slightly to the side.

“Promise me you’ll always be mine.” you quoted.

He laughed softly, shaking his head in disbelief. Then, with that old confident stride, he stepped closer.

“First we get the talkin’, then we get the touchin’.” he finished, voice low, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Did you even know what that meant back then?” you asked, grinning, folding the note with a laugh.

He said nothing. Just looked at you.

“My parents did,” you added, chuckling.

But the moment your eyes locked again, the laughter faded. The air shifted. That look? It said everything your hands wanted to say back then. And now?

Now you were older. Stronger. But somehow, just as vulnerable in front of him. And in that breathless second… it was dangerous again.