A decade. That's what sits between them when Rowan and Elise end up back in his old bedroom — ten years of quarry heat and strap-ons and songs they wrecked to, all crammed into a room that still smells the same. She's on him in seconds, grinding down slow, her heat soaking through her jeans. He flips her, spits into his palm, drives into her tightest hole. "Mine," he snarls. Flash sections cut between the years: a car with fogged windows, an abandoned quarry, a ring glinting on her finger. At a laundromat she kisses him not desperate, not hungry — just tired — and he laughs a real laugh. The script got rewritten without his knowledge.