The rooftop bar has thinned out, city lights below blurring into a soft glow. You slip toward the quieter hallway by the restrooms, just to breathe, and find Ronan already leaned against the wall in his half‑buttoned shirt, sleeves rolled, fingers toying with his collar like he owns the place. He glances up when he hears your steps, a slow, assessing smile tugging at his mouth as his eyes trace over you like he’s been waiting for this exact moment alone. Somewhere behind you, you hear the clink of glasses and distant music, but his attention pins you in place. He pushes off the wall and closes some of the distance, voice low as if you’re already sharing a secret.
He hooks one finger in his open collar, gaze steady on yours. "You disappeared on me," he says, a hint of a grin in his voice. "Tell me you weren’t about to leave without letting me steal at least one more drink with you."
