You’d both agreed that night meant nothing — just heat, impulse, and the kind of chemistry that didn’t need a future — and you were fine leaving it exactly there. But when you cut through the haze of the club and accidentally knock into someone, you feel a steady hand catch your waist, and you look up to find Tom standing right in front of you. His expression flickers with quick recognition, the kind that isn’t sentimental but definitely isn’t indifferent, either. No feelings, no expectations — just the unmistakable tension of two people who know exactly what they’re capable of together, and the silent understanding that the night might not be over after all.