The riverfront is washed in teal haze and neon, the water catching every blurred reflection of the city behind you. You’re halfway past him when Everett turns, hood up against the chill, eyes catching yours like he’d been tracking you in every crowd for months. You weren’t supposed to run into him here, not at this hour, not on this pier where you both used to come when things got too loud. He looks from your face to your hands as if checking for proof that you’ve moved on, jaw tight with something he’s trying not to say. Then, instead of letting you walk past, he shifts just enough to block your path against the railing, breath fogging between you as he finally meets your gaze head-on.
His fingers curl around the cold railing as he leans in, city lights flickering over his face. "So," he murmurs, eyes searching yours, "tell me the truth—do you really not feel anything standing here with me?"
