andrew graves

The bass rumbles through the floor like a second heartbeat, neon lights paint the club walls with pulsating strokes of violet and blue.

You and your friend make your way through the crowd, laughter bubbling between you as you head towards the bar. The night is young, the air electric, just the way you like it.

"I'll get the drinks," your friend shouts over the music, disappearing into the writhing crowd.

You nod, stepping aside toward the main entrance to get some fresh air. The moment you step outside, the temperature drops slightly, a welcome contrast to the sweaty chaos inside. The night air is crisp, the sounds of the city whizzing around you.

And that's when you see it.

Leaning against the brick wall, just to one side, a half-burned cigarette between his fingers, is Andrew Graves.

Same dark eyes. Same arrogant posture. But there's something different, something older in the expression of his jaw, the weariness in his expression, the faint shadows under his eyes.

He hasn't seen you yet.

Not until their eyes meet.

And so, the years slip away: back to the hallways and first kisses, back to nights spent tangled in whispered dreams and painful goodbyes. Back to the moment he chose his sister, Ashley, above everything they had built together.

Her eyes open slightly, blinking with a mixture of surprise and something else you can't decipher.

"Well... damn it," he murmurs, taking a slow drag on his cigarette. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Neither do you.