This wasn't the kind of reunion I had envisioned—not that I thought I'd ever dream of seeing Ethan Wong again. He had it made very clear that he wanted nothing to do with me anymore, and there was little I could do but accept it.

That was the thing about Ethan; when he set his mind to something, nothing could change his mind—like playing violin despite how toxic the pressure to perform had induced his first panic attack in junior year. Or, take breaking up and ghosting me for years, for example. 

Had it not been for this one-in-a-billion coincidence of us in the same hotel, I was certain Ethan would've spent the rest of his life avoiding me.

So, maybe I was a bit selfish in the lobby. It was like waving a juicy steak in front of an unleashed dog; there was no way I wouldn't take the chance to talk to Ethan. Seeing him after all these years was almost enough to quell the heartache he had left behind. But it wasn't enough. Not when there were so many unknowns and unturned stones.

Only, it finally dawned on me as I pressed the elevator button that this was probably one of the most ill-planned ideas I've had in a long time—and my teammates could attest that I did some pretty stupid ideas. Offering to spend not one but three nights in a hotel room in an unfamiliar city was definitely not on the list of amazing ideas Cameron Langley has concocted. It was more likely than not that Ethan would treat this weekend like any other piece of music, with professionalism and poise, mastering it, then leaving it to the wayside for another piece he'd have to focus on.

But, as he told me all the time, I was a damned hopeless romantic. And with whatever brief moment in Ethan's presence I'd have this weekend, the hope of rekindling or having any chance for open dialogue was a risk I was willing to take.

I couldn't deny the excitement and sheer joy at hearing him agree moments ago. While completely unexpected, those words, "I'll stay there," sounded like music to my ears. By the looks of his professor, who introduced himself as Ethan went to retrieve his duffel bag and violin case, he hadn't anticipated Ethan to agree either.

He didn't say anything as the doors closed on us, pressing the fifth button in front of him as we waited. The elevator was unbearably slow, and Ethan's silence only made it worse. 

Ethan knew I hated awkward silence; I couldn't stand it. 

To neither of our surprise, I said, "Our alternate pitcher had a family emergency. That's why I've got an extra bed, in case you were wondering."

Even if Ethan were to say anything, the doors opened to the fifth floor. He swiftly stepped out, his white violin case swaying left and right as he glanced at the room signs. I stayed a few paces behind him, watching as he found the room down the hall. His hand rested on the handle before his shoulders slumped, and he glanced back at me with a frown.

"I've got the keys, remember?" I waved it between us. He scowled with narrowed eyes, a glare I found endearing more than intimidating, before snatching a key card from my hand. He opened the door and surprisingly held the door open for me. He promptly took his shoes off, and I followed; Ethan had always scolded me for it, insisting that wearing shoes indoors was unsanitary. Taking my shoes off became a habit I had adopted back in my dorm that my roommate loathed, but Ethan's reasoning made sense. Why track in all the dirt and grime into a home?

He raised a brow at the action before turning his attention to the quaint room. Two full or queen beds were spaced a few feet apart, with a simple desk and sitting chairs on the other side of the room's television. While spacious for New York, I doubt the less than four hundred square feet was large enough for Ethan; staying confined to a hotel room with his ex was probably less than ideal. 

But he could have opted for other sleeping arrangements, so he couldn't have been that against the idea, right?

"So, a concert?" I tested. He made a face before tilting his head toward his case on his back with a low, nearly inaudible hum. I added, "When is it?"

"Tomorrow."

"Cool," I mumbled. "Good luck tomorrow. Though, I'm sure you'll do great."

He hesitated, crossing the room to set his case and bag down in the corner between the wall and the nightstand closest to the window. He didn't say thanks or reciprocate the sentiment for my game, but that was just how Ethan was; compliments, praise, and "wish you wells" weren't often used. It had been a product of his upbringing, one that he had carefully laid out and explained for me, explaining how those things weren't common in Asian households, and when he did receive them, it was always followed by a "but." 

The first time I had complimented Ethan, it ended with an incredulous glare, but I had learned there were a few rare moments in which I could tell it touched him. This was not one of those times, but one could hope. 

My phone buzzed. 

You coming to practice, or what? We're downstairs, Felipe, our shortstop, texted in the group chat. 

A text from our pitcher, Kenji, read, Since when is Langley late?

I'll be right there, I responded, glancing over as Ethan made himself comfortable on the chair by the window, scrolling through his phone, one earbud in. 

"I should be back in a couple of hours," I found myself saying. He didn't look up from his phone. Maybe it was better that way? Squash any hope that we could return to any form of normalcy and spare me the heartache?

Our team this year was superstitious. We hadn't been the past three years, but taking it easy on practicing for the days leading up to our championship match had gotten us this far, and we weren't about to chance it by practicing the entire weekend in New York. 

Today's practice was just a casual one, a few simple drills at the local park across the street just to stretch our limbs for the game on Sunday. Saturday was deemed our rest day, which, unbeknownst to our coach, would be a day of overeating and roaming the city. Most of the team hadn't been to New York, so we had all texted each other about our plans for Saturday night. Most of our seniors planned to bar-hop or drink jungle juice in their hotel rooms. Others were going to see a Broadway show or shop for their significant others back home. 

I planned to sleep and relax, possibly drowning in Taylor Swift's latest album because that was my superstition for big games. While watching Broadway or an off-Broadway show was enticing, I didn't want anything to risk our game. Taylor Swift had never let me down before, and without a teammate to judge my music taste, I planned to put my new speakers on full blast after practice.

But now, I'd have to change that plan, especially if Ethan wanted to avoid me as much as he tried to when we had set our belongings down. As much as I wanted to sit there and get all the answers about our breakup, I wasn't going to force him to say anything, let alone be in the same room if he didn't want to. 

Though I would've loved to have Ethan join me for a Broadway show, it had been one of many unfulfilled dreams we had when we were together. Just thinking about going without him felt like a crime. Funny how breakups could totally derail any dreams you once had. 

And just like that, I couldn't get Ethan out of my head during practice. My reaction time and coordination fell short, from missing flyballs to very direct line drives from other teammates.

Our catcher, Eric Darnell, tapped our gloves together after taking a break from routine drills. "What is up with you? You've been messing up the drills."

"Just distracted. Got a lot on my mind." 

Kenji, who was practicing his pitches with Eric and practicing our checks with me and our second basemen, Daniel Lam, met us at home plate. "You sure you're alright? We've only got two-second strings with us this time around. Can't afford any of us to be injured before the big game."

"Don't worry; my head will be in the game on Sunday."

Felipe, who had joined us for a water break with Marco, the first baseman, asked, "Does this have to do with that band geek Coach says you're rooming with?"

"Band geek? He's a violinist," I corrected. "A damned good one at that."

Felipe held up his hands. "No need to be so defensive. Coach said you knew him."

"High school," I said, biting my tongue from saying any more. "We were close back then."

Close wasn't nearly enough to describe what we had in high school. Ethan had been my whole world back then—baseball being a close second, much to my team and coach's chagrin. While the team would stay behind after practice for extra drills or just to chat, I'd hightail it out of there and hang out with Ethan as much as possible. Our practices ended at the same time, and I had made it my mission to meet him at the music hall as quickly as possible. 

I honestly wasn't sure how I had gotten a baseball scholarship with how much I slacked off in favor of following Ethan around. 

Daniel cleared his throat. "Must be close if he's got you this distracted right before championships."

I shrugged. "It's just been a while, and we didn't end on good terms."

While I had been reluctant to inform the team of my sexuality and relationships, most knew I was an open book—especially if alcohol was involved. I hadn't mentioned Ethan's name, but I largely suspected that the team knew the articles about me being "a lady's man" were mostly untrue. Dating in college had never appealed to me, and I rarely flirted with any of the people or fans back home. 

What could I say? I didn't see any point in dating if it wasn't Ethan.

Kenji clapped me on the shoulder. "Well, hopefully, you two can rekindle if that's what you'd want. Must be hella awkward, I'd imagine. It's been four years?"

"Just about," I said. "If you thought coach's silent treatment was scary, you'd be terrified of this guy."

"Yikes," Felipe said. "On the bright side, if you start playing your beloved Swift music, you might get him to talk."

Daniel punched his arm with a laugh. "Yeah, to tell him to shut it off."

The others found it hilarious, but I rolled my eyes. "Jokes on you; he doesn't mind it."

Well, he didn't before. It was how we first bonded over our varying music tastes at the beginning of our relationship. I introduced him to many pop songs, and he spent time sharing his favorite orchestral pieces, including ones famous in pop songs and movies.

I missed those days more than I thought I would; the simply mundane moments we shared had been the most vulnerable in the most comforting ways.

I scrolled through my lists of playlists, searching for the playlist we had concocted in high school, pleased to see that he hadn't uncollaborated it with me. I smiled and hit shuffle to the playlist titled an ode to E&C, letting the sound of our history play out on the way back to the hotel.