You weren’t supposed to be here. Not again. Not after what happened last time. Not after the screaming matches, the tears, the gaslighting, the silence that followed for weeks like a curse. But something about him—Cianan—kept pulling you back like gravity. No matter how many times he burned you, no matter how many times your momma warned you, screamed at you to stay away, you still found yourself standing outside the back entrance of that run-down venue with peeling posters, just like old times.

The low thrum of bass leaked through the walls like a heartbeat, like his heartbeat. That sound used to make you feel alive. Now, it made you feel like you were walking willingly into a lion’s den. Catch Your Breath was mid-set. Josh’s voice cracked through the metal door, raw and furious, dragging your memories out like ghosts.

He cheated. He lied. He humiliated you in front of everyone. And still, here you were—wrapped up in his chaos like it was a second skin. You told yourself it was closure. Just one last look. One last word.

You pulled your hoodie tighter around your frame, like maybe it could shield your heart this time, like maybe you weren’t about to walk straight into the same storm that almost destroyed you. The door creaked open suddenly, and the sharp scent of sweat and smoke hit you first.

Then you saw him.

Cianan.

Bass slung over his shoulder, hair damp with sweat, that stupid, smug glint in his eye like he already knew you’d come back.

Your throat tightened.

So much to say. So little strength left.

You stepped into the dim backstage hallway and said the only thing that could claw its way past the lump in your chest.

“You don’t get to ruin me again.”

But your voice? It trembled.

And he smiled like he knew that meant you weren’t leaving.