Chapter Text
John stands at the Pond’s doorstep, clutching a carefully wrapped present. Snowflakes catch on the shoulders of his black wool coat, glittering under the soft glow of the porch light. He tugs his scarf tighter, shifts his weight, and then knocks with a flourish.
The door swings open almost immediately to reveal Rory, sporting a garish Santa sweater adorned with blinking lights. His grin is as bright as the sweater.
“Rory the Roman!” John exclaims, stepping forward to envelop him in a warm, exaggerated hug. “Still defending the empire, are we?”
“Only from bad wine and worse conversation,” Rory retorts, patting John’s back before stepping aside. “Now, get in here before Amy ropes you into dish duty. You know she’s been keeping score.”
John grins, brushing snow from his coat as he steps inside. “I’d say fashionably late, but I know she keeps a tally for every second.”
The warmth of the house embraces him, a heady mix of cinnamon, pine, and laughter filling the air. John shrugs off his coat, revealing his deep purple bow tie perfectly matched to his brown tweed jacket. Rory takes the coat with a mock bow, grinning.
The living room is a festive whirlwind of activity. Fairy lights drape the walls like constellations, and a familiar carol hums softly from a speaker in the corner. Amy spots him almost instantly, her face lighting up as she weaves through the crowd. She’s in a glittering green dress that shimmers as she moves.
“John! You made it!” she calls, grabbing his arm with both hands.
“Merry Christmas,” he replies, handing over the gift. “And no peeking until everyone’s gone, alright?”
Amy smirks. “I make no promises,” she says, tucking the package under her arm. “Now, come on! There’s someone you must meet. Remember River? I’ve been telling you about her for months.”
John raises an eyebrow, letting her tug him toward the next room. “Ah, River. The mysterious new friend. Finally mustered the courage to invite her for coffee, I see?”
Amy huffs, tipsy but determined. “For your information, she invited me. She’s amazing, John—you’re going to love her.”
The room they enter is buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses. People move around in a chaotic but cheerful flow. Amy barrels through with apologies to everyone she jostles, dragging John behind her.
“There she is!” Amy calls out.
John’s eyes follow her line of sight to the fireplace. A woman stands with her back to them, the firelight casting a warm glow on her silhouette. Her honeyed curls tumble down her back, perfectly styled, and she wears a form-fitting red dress that glimmers faintly in the firelight. A half-empty glass of wine dangles casually in one hand.
“River!” Amy calls again, and the woman turns.
The glass nearly slips from John’s hand. It’s her.
Melody.
There, in his best friends living room, is Melody, his ex-fiancé. In a sudden moment of madness, John wants to pull away from Amy and flee because there is no way, absolutely no way, that this is happening. Of course, John has known that Melody – or River now? – lives in the same world as him. But with them both being avid travellers and lovers of adventure, it has never occurred to John that they could both happen to be in the same space at the same time again. And especially not in a place like Leadworth. As they approach her, more horror dawns on John. Not only is his ex-fiancé in this room, but somewhere in this party, is his current fiancé.
Her sharp cheekbones, painted lips, and piercing eyes are unmistakable. She looks effortless, as if this reunion is just another moment in a perfectly scripted evening. For a moment, John feels the world tilt, his breath catching.
Amy beams between them. “River, this is my best friend, John. John, meet River.”
River’s gaze locks onto his, her expression calm, almost amused. She extends her perfectly manicured hand. “Nice to meet you, John,” she says smoothly, as if they had not shared a life together.
John hesitates, then shakes her hand. Her cool, firm grip sends an unwelcome jolt of memory through him. “Likewise,” he replies, his voice measured but tight.
Amy frowns, sensing something unspoken in the air. Before she can speak, a cheerful voice cuts through the tension.
“John!”
John turns to see Tasha gliding toward him, her black cocktail dress shimmering under the lights. Her dark curls frame her face, and her crimson lips curve into a smile as she loops her arms around his neck. Rising on her toes, she kisses him lightly, a gesture of casual affection that feels anything but in this moment.
Amy’s face lights up again. “Tasha, meet River! River, this is Tasha. I’ve been working with River on her new book series—she’s amazing!”
Tasha offers a hand “Lovely to meet you,” she says warmly.
River shakes her hand, her own smile faint but poised. “Likewise. You two make a charming couple,” she says, her tone smooth but with an undercurrent that John recognizes too well.
The group chats politely, the conversation flowing around books and careers, but John can barely focus. River’s presence is a weight pressing on his chest, and every glance in her direction feels like a reopening wound.
“Johnny, are you okay?” Tasha whispers, her hand brushing his.
He forces a smile. “Of course,” he lies. “Just tired.”
She doesn’t look convinced but nods, pulling him toward the drinks table.
River watches them go, her smile slipping. Amy chatters beside her, oblivious to the storm brewing behind River’s composed façade.
“Everyone’s so lovely,” River murmurs, downing the rest of her wine in a single gulp.
After escaping Amy to the garden, she lets out a massive sigh of relief. The last person that she expected to see was her ex… The ex that she once thought was the love of her life. The ex that she left over ten years ago with a note saying ‘Sorry, my love.’ Her ex. And his new girlfriend. And damn John. Why did he have to look so damn good?
Later, as the party winds down, Tasha kisses John on the cheek and whispers that she was heading to her apartment. John, desperately wants to leave too, but Amy pulls his arm and says, “Come on Chin Boy, the night is still young!” John steps outside for fresh air. The cold bites at his skin, but he breathes deeply, welcoming the clarity.
He spots River near the patio’s edge, a cigarette glowing between her fingers. Smoke curls around her like a ghost as she exhales.
“You still smoke,” he says, his voice cutting through the quiet.
She freezes, then turns her head slightly. “And you’re still a judgmental prick,” she replies, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
John laughs despite himself, shoving his hands into his coat pockets as he steps closer. “Old habits die hard.”
River exhales slowly, her eyes flicking toward him. “Some harder than others,” she murmurs.
The silence stretches between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, John breaks it. “Why did you leave?” he asks, his voice raw.
River stubs out her cigarette, her movements deliberate. “I thought it was for the best,” she says softly.
“For whom?” he demands, his voice cracking.
She turns to him fully, her eyes meeting his. “For you,” she whispers.
John’s chest tightens. “You’re finally who you want to be,” he says bitterly. “Just without me.”
River’s gaze drops, and for the first time that evening, her composure falters.
“I’m sorry, John,” she says, her voice barely audible. She sighs and then looks at him. “But that doesn’t matter now. We have both moved on. Tasha is very lovely.”
“She is,” John said, his voice tightening. “I proposed last week.”
River’s head turned sharply toward him, her hand faltering slightly. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, the silence stretching unbearably between them.
“Well,” she finally managed, her voice low and steady, “congratulations.”
“Thanks,” John said, but his tone lacked warmth. There was a heaviness now, thick and suffocating, as they both grappled with the unspoken truth: it could have been them.