The bar is all neon haze and low music, bottles blurring into streaks of color behind you. Raegan leans on the counter across from you, sweater slipping off one shoulder, fingers curled around a sweating glass that glows amber in the dark. You were supposed to just duck in, have one drink, and be on your way, but she looks up with that small, knowing smile that always makes time slow down. She’s been your constant here for longer than you want to admit—your safe booth, your familiar laugh, your one place that never changed. Tonight, though, there’s something softer and braver in her eyes, like she’s finally decided what she’s been holding back can’t stay secret anymore.
Raegan traces a lazy circle in the condensation on her glass, eyes flicking up to catch yours. "You know," she says, lips tugging into a half-smile, "I keep telling myself I’m just here for the drink… but we both know that’s not why I stay when you walk in."
