The Connor family's alumni benefit gala was a lavish affair hosted in the university's century-old music hall—crystal chandeliers, string quartets, servers gliding across the marble floors with glasses of champagne and canapés. It was the kind of event Archie would have gone out of his way to avoid, if not for the photo, the article, and the hollow ache gnawing inside him like hunger.
Anne had found them an invite through one of her theater major friends ("Everyone loves a drama kid with a fake ID and a borrowed suit," she'd winked). She came as backup. As anchor.
But Archie had to walk in alone.
He spotted William near the center of the crowd, standing beside Amanda Wynn. The socialite fiancée. She was draped in velvet and diamonds, laughing too brightly at something an older man said, her hand resting lightly on William's arm. It looked like a magazine spread, like something staged.
Archie made his way over slowly, pulse thrumming in his throat.
William's eyes found him first. They widened slightly. Then narrowed. Panic. Guilt. Hope.
Amanda turned too, her smile faltering just a fraction when she saw Archie. Her eyes flicked between them with practiced precision.
"Archie," William said, voice low, like it was meant for him alone. "What are you—?"
"We need to talk," Archie interrupted, heart hammering.
Amanda didn't move. "I don't believe we've officially met," she said, her voice polished, professional. "Amanda Wynn."
Archie ignored her extended hand. "William?"
William glanced between them, jaw tight. "Let's go somewhere quiet."
Amanda's hand curled slightly around his elbow. "Actually, I think I'd like to hear this too."
Archie didn't back down. "Fine."
They found a side hallway, quieter, dimmer. The music from the ballroom faded behind the thick velvet curtains.
William turned to face Archie fully, guilt already dark in his eyes.
"You lied to me," Archie said, his voice shaking. "You let me believe that what we had—what we were rebuilding—meant something."
"It did," William said instantly. "It does. I swear."
Amanda folded her arms. "Are you sleeping with him?"
"Amanda—"
"Don't 'Amanda' me." Her voice cracked like glass. "You promised me you were done with all of this. With him. With the past."
"I didn't remember the past," William snapped. "I was nineteen. There was an accident. You and my parents buried everything. I didn't get to choose anything after that."
Archie stepped closer. "You told me you didn't remember. But then you kissed me. You let me fall into something with you."
"I didn't know how," William said. "I thought—maybe I could have both lives. The one they built for me. And the one that... that felt like mine."
Amanda shook her head, hurt rising in her voice. "You think you're the only one who lost something? I've been waiting for three years while your family paraded us around like some brand deal. I played the part. I stayed loyal. And you—" She turned to Archie. "You think he's your lost love? Maybe. But you're not the only one who got left behind."
"I didn't ask to be anyone's competition," Archie said, his voice raw now. "I just want the truth. Not the press photos. Not the rehearsed speeches. Just William. Just us. Or nothing."
William looked like he'd been split open. "I don't want to hurt either of you. But I've been hurting too. Every day. Trying to be someone I don't recognize. And then you showed up, Archie, and it was like breathing again. Like something came back to me, and I couldn't let go."
Amanda wiped at her eye quickly, as if ashamed. "Then go," she said softly. "If he's who you want. If he's the one who feels like home."
There was a long silence. Heavy. Fragile.
"I'm sorry," William whispered to her.
Amanda nodded, once. "Me too."
She left with quiet grace, heels clicking down the hall, chin high.
And then it was just Archie and William.
Neither spoke at first. The air felt too still, too thick.
"I'm so tired," Archie said finally, voice breaking. "Of falling for ghosts."
William stepped forward, slowly, carefully. "I'm not a ghost."
"You were," Archie said. "For a long time. A dream I couldn't wake from."
William reached out, hesitating. "Can I hold your hand?"
Archie looked at it. At the boy who might have loved him once, who maybe still did. Who was brave enough to break the life others built for him—but maybe not brave enough to build one with Archie.
He took his hand anyway.
Because something had to start. Or end.
"Okay," Archie whispered. "But if you run again, don't come back."
William's voice was quiet. "I won't."
And this time, Archie almost believed him.