They keep saying it's the last time — but it never is.

Vander and her have been hooking up for a while now. It's messy, secretive, and always feels like a mistake. But that hasn't stopped either of them. Every time they say they're done, something pulls them right back in. Maybe it's comfort. Maybe it's chemistry. Maybe it's just the way they understand each other's darkness.

Tonight, the Last Drop is loud. Crowded. Late. Vander's behind the bar, like always — steady hands, tired eyes, trying to keep it all together.

Then she walks in.

Doesn't say a word. Just takes the same stool in front of him, like she always does. And just like that, the air changes. Everyone else fades into background noise.

He meets her eyes. There's no smile, no softness — just that look they always share right before they pretend this is nothing. But they both know it's not. It's not love, not really. It's something else. Something they can't name, but can't quit either.

A pattern. A need. A mistake that feels better than doing the right thing.

They don't talk about it. They just let it happen.