"Yeah?" She drags her hands from the nape of my neck, and to my torso, her body arched to look up at me. My own hands guide themselves up her bare back.

"Yeah," I reply. I pull her closer, our chests touching, and her breath hitching from the sudden change in proximity. I run my hands up, and down her skin slowly, from her shoulders to the curve of her spine.

I watch her reaction as I do it, her wide eyes looking into my own, and her mouth slightly open in shock. She's very reactive to my touch. I realised that as soon as we started dancing. How goosebumps coat her skin even at the simplest of contact. How her skin goes hot underneath my hands. It makes her even more alluring.

A kaleidoscope of neon colours light her face, her black hair fanning down her shoulders. None of this seems real. Perhaps it's the alcohol taking course through my system, but it feels like I've somehow made Ava up, made this moment up.

In this too-crowded club, all I want to do is kiss her. All I want to do is feel the taste of her soft lips against my own. But I can't.

I'm not letting myself get heartbroken again. And I'm not letting her get too close. She thinks I'm the same as I was before, but I'm a lot worse, and a lot more broken. I don't think she or I would be able to handle getting back together. Besides, she deserves better.

That wave of realisation hits me, and I quickly pull away. "I can't do this," I say more so to myself than her.

And I start to walk through the crowd, and outside of the club, her close behind me. I stand there, my head in my hands, and heart racing as the wind runs through my hair. What the fuck was I thinking?

A freight train of emotions run through me, my brain cursing itself for dancing with her. I know it's gonna hurt me when she leaves again. All the progress I've made will become useless.

But as I start to feel that way, Ava calmly sits on the curb of the road. A long-forgotten memory comes back to me, and suddenly, I'm calm too.