he hadn’t heard from her in months—years, maybe—but there was no question that he’d show up. not for her. not with the history between them. when she practically fell into his arms, her warmth pressing close, noah’s hand instinctively came up to steady her. his grip was firm, grounding. he wasn’t a man who indulged in comfort, in old memories, or in picking up pieces left in the past. but somehow, tonight was different. he allowed himself a beat, just a moment, as she mumbled her way through saying she missed him, her face close to his, her familiar scent mingling with the night air. “you’re out here, drunk, calling me at god knows what hour, just to say you missed me?” he asked, a smirk ghosting over his lips, though his gaze was intense, like he was searching for something more than the words she was spilling out. “funny, you said it’d be better if we didn’t do this again.”
yet he didn’t pull away, his grip on her arms gentle, fingers tracing over the same skin he used to know so well. she was supposed to have been one more broken thing in his past. but now, she was here, tangled in the chaos of her drunken courage. his voice dropped low, barely a whisper above the sound of the street. “what are you doing, love?”