Old Classmate

Ethan’s POV

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Vincent, sitting there, his once-perfectly tailored suit now slightly disheveled, his shirt collar unbuttoned just enough to reveal the tightness of his neck. His jawline, still as sharp as I remembered, caught the dim light of the bar. Every detail of his face was the same. The same intensity in his eyes, that familiar flicker of a man too proud to show weakness, but hiding so much inside. He hadn’t changed. Not on the outside, at least.

But I could tell something had shifted beneath the surface. His usual charm was gone, replaced by something else, a quiet anger, a frustration that filled the space between us. He wasn’t the same man I remembered from college. The guy I shared rooms with, laughed with, and drank away long nights with was gone. But even with the years apart, I couldn’t deny how he still looked at me like he had back then, just without the words.

For a moment, I thought he might speak. Maybe call my name, or at least acknowledge me in some way that reminded me we were once closer than anyone could have imagined. But he didn’t. He didn’t even seem to register my presence entirely. The alcohol had him in a daze, his thoughts swirling in an oblivion I wasn’t sure I belonged in.

The silence between us thickened, until, finally, he broke it. His voice was quiet but steady, and I could hear the rawness in it.

“I didn’t get it.”

I knew exactly what he meant, though he didn’t have to explain. He’d been working for this promotion for years, positioning himself for the coveted Head of Strategy role at Ascend Global. Everyone had expected it. Everyone had talked about it. And yet, here he was, no promotion, no recognition, nothing but a man drowning in his own bitter disappointment.

“Charles…” I began, my voice faltering just a bit, unsure of how to offer comfort without pushing him away. But before I could finish, his eyes, clouded with alcohol and frustration, locked onto mine.

“I was supposed to get it, Ethan. I did everything right. I sacrificed everything for it. And still…” His voice trailed off. I could see the frustration, the pain, the feeling of being unseen, and I hated it. Hated seeing him like this.

He stood up abruptly, and the movement startled me. For a moment, I thought he might leave, but instead, he moved closer. His steps were slow, deliberate, and I could feel his energy shift as he came to stand before me.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he said, voice low, as though the words were a struggle. He looked at me, and for the first time in years, his gaze wasn’t filled with the usual bravado, the competitive edge he’d always worn like armor. There was something else there. Vulnerability. Desperation, even.

Before I could respond, his lips were on mine.

The kiss was sudden, almost violent in its urgency. I barely had time to process it before I felt the heat of him, the pressure of his mouth against mine, tasting the whiskey on his tongue, and something else, something unspoken, something raw. It was like everything we had once shared was being poured out in that single, desperate moment.

My mind raced, trying to understand what was happening. Was he kissing me out of anger? Out of frustration? Was this some kind of mistake? But when I felt his hand cup the back of my neck, pulling me closer, all my doubts were silenced. This was real. This was happening.

I kissed him back, without hesitation. All those years of unsaid words, of longing, of regret, everything came rushing back, and I couldn’t stop myself from deepening the kiss. His hands slid down my arms, pulling me up from my seat and toward him. His body pressed against mine, strong and familiar, and the world around us seemed to vanish.

We stumbled toward the door, our lips still tangled together, neither of us willing to break the connection. Vincent’s hands were on me, pulling at my shirt, as if he couldn’t get close enough. The night air hit us as we stepped outside, but it didn’t matter. The heat between us burned brighter than anything else.

“I need you,” he murmured against my lips, and I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the emotion in his voice, but I didn’t need to hear anything else. I nodded, pulling him closer, leading him to my car.

The drive to the hotel was a blur. I barely registered the streets we passed, the turns I made, the way his hand never left my thigh. The tension in the car was palpable, charged with the electricity of everything we’d never said to each other, everything that had gone unsaid for years. Neither of us spoke. The silence between us was filled with anticipation.

When we finally reached the hotel, I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the elevator. The moment the doors closed, the air between us thickened, the anticipation finally reaching its breaking point.

The room was dimly lit, but the atmosphere was charged. Charles’s eyes never left me as he undid the buttons of his shirt, his movements deliberate, as though he was reclaiming something he’d lost. The tension was almost unbearable, each movement feeling like a promise of something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

But when he stepped toward me, his hands on my waist, his lips crashing into mine again, everything else faded away. It didn’t matter that it had been years. It didn’t matter that we had so much unresolved between us. All that mattered was that we were here, together.

We were past the point of words. The rest of the night was a blur of passion, of bodies coming together with a hunger neither of us had ever allowed ourselves to feel before. There were no more walls between us. Only heat, only need, only the desperate desire to feel alive again.

As the night wore on, we were lost in each other, in every kiss, every touch, every breath. Time stood still.

I woke to the soft light filtering through the curtains, the faint buzz of the city outside. My head was heavy, and I could feel the remnants of last night in my bones, both the physical exhaustion and the emotional weight of everything that had happened.

I turned to my side, expecting to see Vincent beside me. But the bed was empty. The space he’d occupied just hours before was cold, the sheets tangled from our restless night.

I sat up, my heart beating faster now as I looked around the room, still disoriented from the haze of sleep and alcohol. There was no sign of him. No sounds, no movements. Just the quiet stillness of a room that had once been filled with life.

I scanned the nightstand, and that’s when I saw something on the drawer..

A single card, his card, lay on the edge of the drawer. My heart sank, a pang of uncertainty twisting inside me. I reached for it, turning it over in my hand. It was simple, elegant, a sharp, clean design with just his name and number. No message, no explanation.

Just a card.

I couldn’t help but feel the emptiness of it. The finality of it. Had this all been just a fleeting moment for him? A mistake, perhaps? Or was this something more? Something he didn’t know how to say?

I was left alone with only questions and a card that now felt like a cruel reminder of everything I hadn’t allowed myself to believe.

But one thing was clear.

Vincent was gone.

And I was left with nothing but the weight of what had happened.