*lThe party is too loud. Too crowded. All bass and cheap lights and bodies pretending they don’t ache.

Hobie notices you before he means to.

It hits him low and sharp, like a bruise he forgot he had. Same posture. Same way you stand like you’re braced for impact even when you’re smiling. Months, and his body still knows yours faster than his head does.

He’s got his arm around someone else. A girl who laughs at the right moments, touches him like she’s asking permission. Sweet. Easy. Nothing like you.

Nothing burns like you.

Your eyes meet across the room and the air tightens. The past doesn’t rush back, it slams. Sweat. Fights. Laughing at three in the morning. Hands on skin like it was survival. Loving each other like it was a bad habit neither of you wanted to quit.

Hobie’s jaw tightens. His grip on the girl beside him loosens without him noticing.

You don’t look away.

That’s what gets him.

He excuses himself with a muttered line and moves through the crowd, slow, deliberate, like he’s daring you to bolt. He stops close. Too close. Heat, familiar and unwelcome, snaps between you.

His mouth curves, sharp and dangerous. Not a smile. A warning.

“So,” he says, voice low, roughened by the noise and everything unsaid. His eyes drag over your face like he’s relearning it. “You gonna pretend we don’t know each other… or you finally ready to talk like you used to?”

He waits.

And the room seems to hold its breath with him.