If Only (GxG)

Chapter 16 You

A/N
🎶 Gold Dust Woman by Fleetwood Mac🎶

『 °*• ❀ •*°』
Alison's POV

The cold wrapped around me like an unwelcome embrace, the sharp bite of evening air threading through the gaps in my jacket as I stepped out of the bookstore. The door swung shut behind me with a soft chime, its warmth and safety slipping away as I entered the quiet hum of the city at night. The streetlights buzzed faintly overhead, their glow pooling on the pavement in halos of gold, stretching long and distorted against the wet concrete.

I exhaled, watching my breath fog in the cold as I adjusted the strap of my bag. My body ached—not in the way it had last night with Blake, tangled in sheets and pleasure, but in the dull, dragging way that only came after a long shift. The bookstore had been steady today, not overwhelmingly busy, but enough that my feet protested every step, and my shoulders felt weighted with invisible hands.

Still, there was something soothing about this time of night. The city, once frantic with the rush of commuters, had settled into something quieter. The occasional car passed by, tires hissing against damp asphalt. Somewhere down the street, a group of friends spilled out of a bar, their laughter breaking the stillness before fading into the distance. It wasn't deserted, but it wasn't crowded either.

I liked this balance—this in-between moment where the world wasn't asking anything of me.

The thought of home tugged at me, a promise of warmth and stillness. I could already see it in my mind: the low hum of the kettle as I made tea, the comfort of Blake's oversized sweater that I had every intention of stealing, the satisfying weight of a book in my lap as I curled up on the couch. Maybe I'd even message Blake, tell her I missed her, even though she'd roll her eyes and remind me we'd just spent the night wrapped around each other.

God, I missed her already.

The thought made me smile faintly as I reached for my keys, fingers fumbling in my bag.

And that's when it happened.

The moment when the world tilted—subtly at first, like the slow crawl of unease before a storm.

A sound.

Sharp. Deliberate.

A slow, measured clap.

The kind that wasn't meant to congratulate but to mock.

My stomach twisted. A prickle of awareness crawled up my spine.

I knew that sound.

I knew that voice.

"You again," a voice drawled from the shadows, smug and dripping with familiarity. "Didn't think you'd be rid of me that easy, did you?"

The chill in the air no longer felt like winter.

It felt like warning.

I turned slowly, pulse hammering beneath my skin.

And there he was.

Benzo Guy.

Crap.

"You again," a voice drawls, smug and dripping with familiarity. "Didn't think you'd be rid of me that easy, did you?"