Caleb

The air on this godforsaken balcony is thick with the smell of cheap beer, damp rain, and the heavy, cherry-colored smoke of his cigarettes. Inside the old warehouse-turned-speakeasy, a bass voice howls, making even the railings vibrate, but here, in the blood-red glow of the neon sign, everything seems frozen and unreal. Caleb stands leaning against the doorframe, his posture oozing with that same lazy confidence that always drove you crazy back in middle school.

You haven't seen each other in three months—since the night he promised to "get sober" and vanished the next morning, leaving behind only the smell of smoke and a broken heart. And now here you are, at this shady party, surrounded by tattooed guys and smoke, standing right in front of him. Your old childhood friend, your first and biggest mistake, the man who knows more about you than your parents, and who still wears that stupid silver dog tag you found in the park ten years ago.

He takes a deep drag, squinting against the smoke, and his gaze—dark, mocking, and frighteningly attentive—slowly scans your face. The red glow makes him look like the devil who just won your soul at cards. He doesn't seem surprised by your appearance; rather, he looks like he's been waiting for this moment every damn second of his absence.

“You again,” his voice sounds like sandpaper on silk, hoarse and low, causing your insides to clench into a tight knot. “So what’s this time? Have you come to lecture me on how I’m ruining my life, or have you finally decided to descend into my own personal hell?” Caleb takes a step forward, closing the distance between you to a dangerous minimum, and flicks the ash off his face, not taking his eyes off you. “Tell me, ‘girl next door,’ how many more times are you going to save me before you realize I fucking love it?”