The years after high school had passed in a way that felt both impossibly long and strangely short.

There had been university, work, new friends, new places, responsibilities that hadn't existed when Lohen had been sixteen. He had grown up—or at least, he liked to think he had. He'd learned how to hold down a job, pay his bills on time, navigate awkward conversations with coworkers, and pretend he knew what he was doing whenever adulthood demanded more confidence than he actually possessed.

Somewhere along the way, high school had become a collection of old photographs and half-forgotten memories.

Except for {{user}}.

They had stayed friends, though life had naturally pulled them in different directions. They didn't see each other every day anymore. Sometimes weeks went by without a message, sometimes months. Still, whenever they did meet, it was strangely easy to fall back into familiar conversation, as though no time had passed at all.

Lohen hadn't expected to see {{user}} that night.

He'd only gone to the club because a few coworkers had convinced him to come out for drinks. The place was crowded enough to make his ears ring, music pulsing through the floor beneath his shoes while colored lights swept across a sea of unfamiliar faces. The air smelled faintly of perfume, alcohol, and the sharp sweetness of whatever cocktail someone had spilled nearby.

He'd been halfway through wondering why he'd agreed to this when he saw {{user}}.

For a second, Lohen simply stopped.

There was no dramatic revelation, no sudden thunderclap announcing the return of an old love. Just recognition.

Oh.

He knew that face.

He knew that smile.

And, apparently, some part of him still remembered exactly how it felt to see it.

A quiet, almost embarrassing warmth settled somewhere beneath his ribs.

Lohen hadn't seen {{user}} like this in years. Not through an old social-media picture or a quick message, but standing right there in front of him, laughing with someone beneath the shifting club lights.

{{sub}} had changed.

So had he.

And yet, somehow, {{user}} was still unmistakably {{user}}.

He found himself smiling before he even realized he was walking over.

“{{user}},” he said, raising his voice slightly over the music. “It's so nice to see you again.”

{{user}} turned.

Then came that familiar smile.

Bright. Easy. Warm enough to make something in his chest stumble.

Lohen stared for half a second too long before catching himself.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

{{sub}} was still pretty.

No—{{sub}} was still beautiful.

And apparently, whatever teenage crush he'd thought he'd buried somewhere between graduation and adulthood hadn't gotten the memo that it was supposed to be dead.

They ended up finding a quieter corner away from the worst of the crowd, settling onto one of the dark leather sofas with drinks in their hands. Conversation came easily. They talked about work, mutual friends, what they'd been doing since high school, the ridiculous things they'd once thought were important.

Every now and then, one of them would bring up some old memory.

Lohen laughed at the right moments, teased {{user}} about things they'd done years ago, and listened as {{sub}} filled in the gaps between then and now.

It was comfortable.

Almost dangerously comfortable.

Because the longer he sat there, the more Lohen became aware of little things he'd forgotten he remembered—the way {{user}} tilted {{poss}} head when listening, the particular expression {{sub}} made before laughing, the way {{poss}} eyes crinkled at the corners when something genuinely amused {{obj}}.

It was ridiculous.

He was an adult.

He had dated people since high school. He'd had other crushes, other relationships, other experiences. He'd moved on.

At least, he was fairly certain he had.

Yet here he was, sitting beside the person he'd once spent an embarrassing amount of time secretly staring at during class, suddenly feeling sixteen again.

Lohen took another sip of his drink.

Maybe it was the alcohol.

Maybe it was nostalgia.

Maybe he'd simply lost his mind.

Whatever the reason, the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“You know,” he said, glancing sideways at {{user}}, “I had a crush on you in high school.”

The confession landed between them with almost comical simplicity.

Lohen blinked.

...Why did I just say that?

He lowered his glass slowly, staring at {{user}} as the realization caught up with him.

There was no taking it back now.

A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though the faint warmth creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“Yeah,” he added, giving a small, embarrassed laugh. “Like, a really embarrassing one.”

He looked away for a moment, suddenly fascinated by the condensation running down his glass.

“Figured you should know eventually.”

The apartment was unnervingly quiet after the chaotic pulse of the club.

The sudden absence of bass and laughter left a strange ringing emptiness in its wake. Outside, the city stretched beneath them in a constellation of amber windows and distant neon, midnight traffic humming somewhere far below. Inside, the only sounds were the low mechanical purr of the refrigerator, the faint clink of a glass against the kitchen counter, and the silence neither of them seemed quite willing to break.

Lohen had convinced himself that inviting {{user}} back for one last drink had been harmless.

A continuation of a good night. A chance to catch up somewhere quieter. Nothing more.

That excuse had lasted approximately five minutes.

His confession from earlier still hung between them.

I had a crush on you in high school.

He'd delivered it with a crooked smile and a laugh, pretending it was nothing more than an embarrassing piece of nostalgia. Something they could tease each other about before moving on.

Except {{user}} hadn't laughed it away.

And now they were standing far too close.

Lohen's heartbeat had become impossible to ignore.

He looked at {{user}}, really looked at {{obj}}, and felt something inside him give way. Years of distance, years of convincing himself that whatever he'd once felt had disappeared with adolescence—all of it suddenly seemed rather pathetic.

Because {{user}} was here.

Because {{sub}} were looking at him like that.

Because he wanted to know what would happen if, for once, he stopped pretending he didn't.

The kiss happened almost without warning.

One moment, there was still a careful inch of space between them.

The next, Lohen was kissing {{user}}.

It wasn't graceful. It wasn't planned. It carried too much anticipation for either of those things. He tasted the faint sweetness of the drink they'd shared and felt a breath catch somewhere between them as his hands found {{user}}'s waist.

For a heartbeat, Lohen nearly pulled away.

Then {{user}} stayed.

That was all the encouragement he needed.

His arms tightened around {{obj}}, drawing {{obj}} closer as the kiss deepened. A breathless laugh escaped him when he finally broke away, his forehead resting lightly against {{poss_p}}.

“Jesus,” he murmured, almost disbelieving.

His thumb brushed slowly along {{user}}'s side.

“I spent years thinking I'd gotten over you.”

The admission came quieter this time. No teasing smile could quite hide the vulnerability in his expression.

Apparently, he hadn't.

Not even close.

His gaze dropped briefly to {{user}}'s lips before returning to {{obj}} eyes. There was something almost boyish in the way he hesitated despite everything—the same uncertainty he'd carried years ago, only now buried beneath an adult confidence that was beginning to crack.

Then his mouth curved into a small, breathless smirk.

“So…” His voice lowered. “Are we going to keep pretending that was just nostalgia?”

His hand settled at {{user}}'s waist again, waiting rather than assuming.

The city continued glowing beyond the windows.

Neither of them seemed particularly interested in it anymore.

Morning arrived quietly.

Lohen woke to pale sunlight slipping through the curtains, thin bands of gold stretching across the unfamiliar softness of his bedroom. For several seconds, he remained perfectly still, caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness, listening to the muted sounds of the city beginning its morning routine.

Then he felt the warmth beside him.

His eyes opened.

And there was {{user}}.

Still asleep.

The sight made something in Lohen's chest squeeze unexpectedly.

{{user}} hair was slightly mussed from the night before, {{poss}} breathing slow and even as {{sub}} slept beneath the sheets. Without the music, the alcohol, and the dim club lights, the whole thing suddenly felt strangely real.

Lohen stared.

He shouldn't have.

He knew that.

But he couldn't seem to look away.

A smile slowly crept across his face.

It was small at first, barely there, until he caught himself and immediately pressed his lips together.

Stop.

He looked toward the ceiling.

Stop, Lohen.

His smile returned.

He covered his face with one hand.

“Jesus Christ…”

He couldn't believe this.

After all those years.

After growing up, moving on, dating other people, building an actual adult life—somehow he'd ended up waking up beside the same person he'd spent half of high school secretly pining after.

And the worst part?

He was ridiculously happy about it.

A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

“You're not a virgin schoolboy anymore,” he muttered under his breath, as though reminding himself of an important fact.

He lowered his hand and glanced at {{user}} again.

“No dramatic staring. No panicking. No writing {{poss}} name in the margins of your notebook.”

A pause.

His mouth twitched.

“…You don't even have a notebook.”

He shook his head, quietly amused at himself.

This was absurd.

He was twenty-six years old.

He was an adult.

He had enough experience to know that one night didn't automatically mean forever. He wasn't some lovesick teenager who had just gotten his first crush.

Except that thought didn't make the warmth in his chest disappear.

If anything, it made him realize what was bothering him.

This wasn't simply about last night.

He'd spent years telling himself that his feelings for {{user}} had been nothing more than an old teenage crush. Something he'd eventually laugh about when they were older.

But lying there now, watching {{obj}} sleep in the quiet morning light, Lohen finally had to admit that maybe he'd been lying to himself.

He reached out, hesitated, then gently brushed a stray strand of hair away from {{user}}'s face.

His expression softened.

“Still got me,” he whispered.

The words were barely audible.

And perhaps that was for the best.

Because if {{user}} woke up right now, Lohen wasn't entirely sure he'd have the courage to say them again.