Chapter Text
The weekends couldn’t arrive any sooner. Classes had consumed Y/N’s thoughts and energies, leaving her mind a relentless whirlwind of lectures and assignments. The last time she found solace was nestled among the tall, dusty shelves of the library, where the quiet embrace of worn-out books provided a much-needed escape from the chaos of her academic life.
Her sister, Hannah, had a brilliant idea to bring her to Seb’s—the pub where Jacob, Hannah’s fiancé, worked. Just for one night, she hoped it would help take Y/N’s mind off the relentless stress looming over her like a cloud.
But now, as Y/N stepped inside, she couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps she should have just stayed home.
The atmosphere of the pub was warm and vibrant, a stark contrast to the coldness gnawing at her insides. Laughter spilled easily into the air, glasses clinked rhythmically, and music hummed beneath the lively chatter of patrons sharing stories and creating memories. It was the kind of place where people came to unwind, but tonight, for Y/N, it felt like an uninvited mistake.
“You’re thinking about leaving already, aren’t you?” Hannah remarked, glancing sideways without missing a beat.
“I’m definitely considering it,” Y/N replied, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her jacket, trying to shield herself from the anxiety creeping up her spine.
“Give it ten minutes,” Hannah suggested, her tone a mix of encouragement and teasing.
“That’s generous,” Y/N shot back, her sarcasm slicing through the air.
“It’s realistic,” Hannah countered, leading the way toward the bar.
.
.
.
As they reached the counter, a familiar face caught Y/N’s eye.
“Jacob,” Hannah called out, lifting a hand, her vibrant spirit shining through the noise.
He looked up immediately, his grin breaking like dawn over a horizon. “There you are! I was starting to think you’d bailed.”
“Tempting,” Hannah teased as she slid onto a barstool, confidence radiating off her.
Y/N followed suit, taking her place beside her sister and offering a rare, small smile at Jacob. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” He poured her a glass without missing a beat. He knew exactly what she liked—no questions asked.
.
.
.
“Oh. They’re here.”
The words escaped Y/N’s lips as if pulled from her against her will. An icy chill of anxiety washed over her, seeping into her bones and leaving her momentarily frozen in her seat. Her heart pounded, echoing in her ears like a warning bell.
“...what?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling slightly, wide eyes darting toward Jacob, desperate for reassurance but already knowing deep down that there would be none.
Jacob hesitated, his face torn between concern and uncertainty, the flicker of doubt overshadowing his features, clawing at her instincts. In that moment of vulnerability, her stomach twisted in dread, confirming every gnawing fear that had taken root in her mind.
Y/N turned slowly, her movements deliberate as she braced herself, and her breath caught in her throat when she spotted them. They were at another table across the room, their presence an unwelcome reminder of the past.
Colt lifted his glass in a casual salute, the action almost jovial, as if the night’s events were a script he had long anticipated. “Hey,” he greeted with a smirk that unnerved her even more.
An anxiety-fueled tremor gripped Y/N, tightening around her chest, making it difficult to draw a steady breath.
This was no mere coincidence.
“...you knew I’d be here,” she asserted, an annoyed edge creeping into her voice as she turned back to Jacob, her frustration bubbling to the surface.
His eyes flicked down in regret, that guilty look playing across his expression. “I mentioned that you would be here, but I didn’t—”
“Plan it?” Colt interrupted smoothly, taking a confident step closer from his perch at the table, his gaze locked onto hers as if captivating her with his charm. “I did.”
“Of course you did,” she hissed under her breath, one hand moving instinctively to cup her head, as if to ward off an impending headache.
Colt shrugged, a nonchalant movement that only further irritated her. “We wanted to see you.”
“We?” Y/N echoed, her voice rising slightly, disbelief threading through her words as she cast a sharp glance towards the trio that made her skin crawl.
Ryland exhaled softly, stepping forward just enough to feel part of the conversation. “It wasn’t supposed to feel like an ambush,” he offered, his attempt to diffuse the brewing tension evident in his earnest tone.
“You think?” she shot back, incredulity coloring her voice as she struggled to comprehend their audacity.
“That’s fair,” he conceded, the unexpected honesty cutting through her rising frustration and disarming her momentarily.
Y/N’s gaze shifted, landing hard on Courtland, who stood with an air of quiet authority.
“You didn’t stop him,” she accused, her voice sharp, laced with bubbling frustration as she squared her shoulders, unwilling to back down.
Courtland met her gaze without flinching. “No.”
A tense silence hung between them, thickening with unspoken words, until finally, Colt turned his attention to Hannah, a woman who had always been a stabilizing force amidst the chaos.
“Hey, Hannah,” Colt greeted, his grin wide but inviting, as if signaling a long-lost friendship.
“Colt,” she replied, her tone measured yet heavy with history. “You still make bad decisions on purpose?”
He chuckled, unbothered by the retort. “Only the interesting ones.”
“I’m sure you believe that,” she replied dryly, her eyes narrowed, yet a hint of amusement danced at the corners of her mouth.
“I do,” Colt responded, shrugging as if he wore his choices like armor—brash yet fully aware of their implications.
Ryland stepped in, a small, almost apologetic smile emerging as their exchange unfolded. “Hi, Hannah,” he said softly, his demeanor disarming.
“Hi, Ryland,” Hannah returned, the softness in her voice contrasting her earlier tone, her head tilting slightly as she acknowledged him. There had always been a fondness in her eyes for the younger sibling, a connection forged long ago that lingered beneath the surface.
Then, her gaze shifted toward the last of their group.
Courtland.
Hannah’s eyes lingered on him, assessing, as if searching for something hidden beneath his stoic facade—a history that bound them in ways the others could not comprehend.
“Court,” she greeted, her voice stern and full of weight; it was a tone reserved for those she respected and expected much from, a hint of formality underlined by their shared past.
He nodded once, acknowledging her quietly. “Hannah.”
That simple exchange held an intensity that enveloped the air around them, a fragile reminder that they shared memories, even if they were laced with complication.
Jacob, sensing the rising tension in the crowded pub, rushed to intervene, sliding drinks across the counter to everyone in an effort to level the atmosphere.
“Okay,” he said, his voice striving for cheer. “Everyone, take a drink. Relax.”
A fragile pause hung in the air as each person gingerly reached for their beverage, some seeking comfort in the familiar alcohol that sloshed within the glass.
“Some things just don’t change,” Y/N mumbled quietly, more to herself than to anyone else, as she took a sip, the liquid warmth offering her a fleeting reprieve from the turmoil inside.
Colt huffed in response, “You’re telling me.”
As he spoke, Ryland’s expression softened with nostalgia, a bittersweet smile lighting his features, as if recalling more innocent times, those memories edging on pleasant.
Courtland, however, remained indifferent, his demeanour stoic and resolute, as if shielding himself from the past.
“Some things don’t,” he agreed quietly, but the weight of his words felt charged with something deeper, as if he were hinting at hidden truths.
And it doesn’t sound like agreement.
Hannaj caught the subtle shift in the air, her gaze flicking back and forth, sharp as a hawk’s, dissecting the underlying currents of tension radiation from the group.
“This is a terrible idea,” Y/N muttered, exasperation lacing her tone as she exhaled a tired sigh, feeling the strain in her temples. If this continued, she would snap under the pressure.
“Being here?” Colt asked, feigning innocence, a smirk dancing on his lips.
“Seeing you,” she retorted, meeting his gaze with a defiance that burned in her chest.
“That’s harsh,” he replied, his tone playful yet probing.
“That’s honest,” she shot back, her resolve hardening as she held his gaze, refusing to back down.
Colt studied her for a moment, the playful glimmer in his eyes dimming slightly as understanding dawned. He nodded once, conceding her point. “Fair.”
Ryland shifted uncomfortably, trying to smooth the jagged edges of the conversation. “We’re not trying to make this worse.”
“It already is,” Y/N interjected, her voice steady but filled with weariness that hinted at the weight she carried.
Another silence befell them, thick and comfortable, before—
“You could’ve left.”
The voice broke through the tension, steady and uncompromising. Courtland’s words hung heavily in the air, pulling Y/N from her thoughts.
“What?” she retorted, disbelief flooding her.
“When you saw us,” Courtland continued, his tone unyielding. “You stayed.”
His observation cut deeper than any accusation, as if he were unearthing a truth she couldn’t ignore.
“I didn’t think it mattered,” she protested, her voice faltering under the weight of his gaze.
“It does,” he replied, the finality of his words reverberating through her.
Y/N felt the impact land squarely on her chest, a realization that almost knocked the wind from her. Her grip tightened around her drink as a rush of emotions surged within her, churning and chaotic.
“...I need some air,” she muttered, pushing herself from her seat, the urgency of escape guiding her movements.
“Y/N—” Hannah’s voice called out, worry lacing her tone.
“I’ll be outside,” Y/N said flatly, the desire for air and clarity overwhelming her senses as she turned away from the tangled mess of feelings.
Not rushing; not lingering. Just enough to find a moment of peace away from the weight of their shared history.
The door swung shut behind her with a definitive click, the noise of the pub abruptly muffled, leaving her outside, drowned in the stillness of the night air, bright stars twinkling overhead like distant promises waiting to be fulfilled.
.
.
.
For a brief moment, the atmosphere hangs heavy with silence.
The void left by her departure is evident, as if a significant weight has shifted in the room.
Colt exhales slowly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes darting around the space. “Well. That went better than expected,” he says, attempting to lighten the mood.
“No, it didn’t,” Ryland retorts, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.
“It didn’t go worse, though,” Colt insists, trying to maintain a sliver of optimism.
“That’s not the same thing,” Ryland counters, annoyance flaring as he gives Colt a gentle shove on the shoulder.
Jacob stands awkwardly behind the counter, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncertain. “Should I…pretend I didn’t just witness all of that?” he asks, a hint of laughter battling his discomfort.
“Yes,” Hannah replies, exhaling a heavy sigh while her fingers rub the bridge of her nose, as if trying to ease the tension building inside her.
“Got it,” Jacob nods, relief flooding his features.
After a beat of silence lingers in the air, Hannah turns.
She doesn’t address the group as a whole.
Her gaze focused on one person.
Courtland.
“You never did know when to back off,” she says, her tone eerily calm, yet carrying an undercurrent of emotion.
Colt releases a quiet breath, a mix of apprehension and regret. “That’s not entirely—”
“I’m not talking to you.”
Her words slice through the air, not harsh, but undeniably sharp in their clarity.
He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, a silent acknowledgement of his misstep.
Ryland shifts uncomfortably, scanning the room, aware of the mounting tension between them, sensing the storm brewing.
Hannah’s gaze remains locked on Courtland, unwavering.
“You didn’t say anything when she left,” she continues, her voice steady, yet the trembling beneath is evident. “And you’re still not saying much now.”
Courtland’s face remains stoic, devoid of any visible reaction.
“That hasn’t changed,” he states matter-of-factly, his eyes betraying a hint of something deeper.
“No,” Hannah agrees quietly. “It hasn’t.”
An uneasy pause lingers, filled with unspoken words.
Her gaze flicks fleetingly toward the door, then snaps back at him, determination hardening her expression.
“Just…don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Her voice is quiet, controlled, yet the weight of her words presses down heavily upon him.
Colt’s expression sobers immediately, the lightness of the moment draining away.
Ryland exhales softly, recognizing the gravity of the exchange.
Courtland’s eyes drift—
Toward the door.
The one Y/N just walked through.
He remains still, caught in the web of his thoughts, apprehensive about making a move.
“I’m not the one making it hard,” he replies, his voice steady, yet a storm rages behind his eyes.
Hannah studies him for a moment longer, contemplating whether to press further.
She chooses not to.
“Mm,” she hums instead, unconvinced, the weight of her disappointment hanging between them like a specter.
With that, she turns back to her drink, taking a slow sip, the silence resuming its grip on the room.
The conversation attempts to resume, but the energy has shifted irreparably.
Courtland is no longer listening.
His focus remains resolutely on the door.
On the energy that lingers beyond it.
On her.
A beat stretches into another.
And then—
He moves.
No announcement.
No further explanation.
With a quiet decisiveness, he sets his glass down, the clink against the countertop breaking the fragile silence, and strides towards the exit.
Colt is the first to notice, his voice edged with disbelief. “You’re serious?”
Courtland offers no reply.
Ryland watches him tread away, a knowing look settling in his expression, a mix of concern and understanding flickering beneath the surface.
Hannah remains rooted at the counter, but the corner of her mouth shifts just slightly, an acknowledgement of a choice made.
But the corner of her mouth shifts, just slightly.
The door swings open.
It closes quietly behind him.
And just like that—
Courtland is gone.