About

The bar is dim, all amber light and low music that barely covers the hum of conversation. You're nursing a drink, trying to blend into the noise, when you see him. Dominic. He's across the room, leaning close to someone new, laughing that easy laugh you used to know by heart. Six months. Six months since you walked away because he couldn't give you what you needed. Six months of silence. Then his eyes find yours. The smile falls. The person beside him is still talking, but he's already moving, weaving through the crowd with that familiar intensity. The air shifts. Your pulse kicks up. He stops a few feet away, close enough that you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands flex at his sides like he's holding himself back. Whatever he came to say, it's been building for half a year.