Apparently, coincidences were a common thing on this trip. Ethan would call it a coincidence, but running into each other in the lobby at the same time again was starting to sound a lot like fate. 

Judging from the handful of orchestra students and his advisor behind him, he was also returning from practice. We stopped as our eyes met, my teammates nearly running into me from the sudden stop before going ahead to the elevators. Kenji glanced curiously between us before being pulled along by Felipe and our catcher, Eric.

I resisted the urge to get too close to Ethan, not because he was with his friends/classmates, but even after all these years, there was still that magnetism about him that made me want to be around him. 

It was like seeing an old friend again, except Ethan didn't look as pleased, and I was pretty sure he was pretending I was some crazed stranger as he turned back to his group.

I tried not to feel hurt by it and epically failed. 

When we had dated, I habitually ran to him in a crushing hug, lifting him to where he'd flail his feet in the air until I let him back down. He always insisted it was embarrassing and hated it, but I could tell he had secretly enjoyed it back then. 

Now, I doubted even hand-holding would be an option based on the look in his eyes.

Ethan turned to his classmates behind him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

They hesitated before waving at their professor, answering a phone call, and heading to the elevators. Taking just a few strides toward him, I gave him a friendly smile and wave, which I hoped wouldn't come off as creepy or too over-the-top.

"Hey," I tried, my smile dropping as he narrowed his eyes between the rest of my teammates and me. "I was just thinking of picking up some pizza if you want some."

"Or not," I added, seeing his face hadn't changed. Glancing nervously at the elevators, I added, "The team's probably going out for wings and beer nearby, but I can get that anywhere. New York pizza in New York, right? As the Romans do, or however that saying goes."

"Pizza?"

I nodded. "Or anything, really. If you'd like to join me. Or I can grab food and bring it up to share. Or we could order room service or something. Unless you're eating with your classmates...."

Ethan's professor approached us after hanging up his phone, luckily sparing the embarrassing rambling from my mouth. A bright smile donned his face. "There is a great pizza spot nearby. It might be good for you to take your mind off the concert, Ethan. Enjoy some food and see what Manhattan's got to offer."

If looks could kill, I was about to be the primary witness. Either Ethan was close with his professor, or his professor was laxer than most. Alan, as I recall was his name, just shrugged, turning to me. "You two were close; it might do both of you some good to catch up. You're sharing a room, but it's only the weekend. I'm sure there's a lot to catch up on."

With a sheepish nod and gauging Ethan's reaction, I added quickly, "If you want."

His professor made a face that worked almost as well as the pleading look I used to give Ethan when we dated. "Fine," Ethan told him, not even batting me a glance. "Just to take my mind off the concert."

"Great!" Alan turned to me. "We technically don't have a curfew, but it would be nice to have Ethan check in with me once he returns. A quick text or whatnot to confirm he didn't die in Manhattan would be appreciated."

I laughed nervously, still processing that Ethan had not only agreed to eat dinner with me but agreed rather quickly. While his professor convinced him, it was nice to know that Ethan didn't hate me so much that he couldn't stomach the idea of eating a meal with me.

Ethan turned to me. "Did you want to put your stuff upstairs?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "I should go do that. Did you want me to leave your violin there too?"

"I got it." He gripped the shoulder sleeve tighter.

"Right, last time I nearly dropped it." Luckily, I had caught it by the strap before it hit the ground, but Ethan had given me the silent treatment in junior year for that.

On the elevator ride up, I gnawed at my bottom lip, resisting the urge to say anything to fill the silence. Even though it was only five floors up, it was agony. After quietly setting our things down in the room and grabbing a jacket, I couldn't help but open my mouth in the lobby. "How was rehearsal?"

He said nothing until we exited the hotel, the brisk air hitting us from the North. "Could be better."

"I'm sure tomorrow will be great. Where are you playing?"

He stopped to look at me. "Why are you asking?"

"I—Uh..." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Just curious, I guess. There are a few venues near Juilliard, right?"

His fists clenched. "Alice Tully Hall."

"Must be a big event; sounds fancy."

Ethan sighed. "It's a showcase—just a small one."

"Still exciting."

"I guess."

I let the subject drop as we crossed the street, careful of the taxis and bicyclists in the area. 

"I don't have anything tomorrow," I found myself saying as we turned the corner to where the pizza place was, the underlying suggestion in the air. "Aside from going out for food and drinks with the team."

A frown marred his face. "Why would you want to go?"

He couldn't have meant it as coldly as it felt, but it felt like a winter storm had rolled in, freezing me to the pavement. He took a few steps, slowing when he realized I had stopped. There was an unreadable expression on his face as he asked again, "Why would you wanna see my showcase?"

I stuttered before clearing my throat, following after him. "I just thought—"

My words faltered as he quickened his pace. It wasn't a good idea to tell him I missed his playing or that I would've loved to support him at his concert and see him kick ass at his showcase, even if it was just for his classmates. He didn't want anything to do with me before; I doubted he'd want me in the crowd. 

"This the place, I presume," he said, pointing to the red and green sign. 

"Yeah, looks like it." He entered before I could open the door for him, immediately scoping out the menu board. 

"I'll take the Chicago-style hot dog," he told the staff, who looked just as confused as I did. Who ordered non-New York-style food in the heart of New York? Regardless, the worker fixed a drink and handed Ethan's food swiftly. I knew better than to ask or offer to pay for his food, even though going out had been my suggestion in the first place, and it wasn't a big deal to cover his meal. 

On the other hand, Ethan wouldn't appreciate the gesture, insisting that he could pay for his own things and that he didn't need to owe anyone anything—even if I insisted it was a gift. I learned that the hard way when we were together. 

"One big New Yorker, please," I told the worker, who curiously watched as Ethan quickly grabbed a seat in a far corner of the shop near a window. After wrapping my plate in foil and handing me the receipt, I muttered a half-explanation, "An old friend."

They didn't look convinced, so I added, "My ex."

They nodded slowly and returned to help their coworkers with a delivery order. 

I reached the table, and Ethan removed the foil from his hot dog. His mouth gaped as he looked up and saw the giant pizza I ordered in my hands.

"Cameron," he said, almost as gently as he used to. His saying my name startled me. "What on earth is that?"

"A slice." I held the plate to show him the cheese dangling off the flimsy plate. "I may have underestimated the size of the New Yorker. It looked smaller in the picture. Surely, this has got to be in the Guinness Book of World Records."

He shook his head, the faintest smile growing on his face as he watched as I attempted to contain the cheese pull. My hands were completely greasy, but judging by the smell, I knew it was totally worth it.

"Here, take a picture." I nudged my phone toward him with my elbow. "I'm going to make my teammates jealous. My hands are a bit greasy, so if you could send it in our group chat, that would be nice."

He hesitated before turning the phone toward him. "I'd need your password."

"It's the same as before," I said before I could think, a common occurrence sadly. "Uh, 0317."

His hands hovered over the phone before looking up at me. It took me an agonizing few seconds to realize why he looked so perplexed. 

March 17th was Ethan's birthday. It didn't occur to me that having his birthday as my password would have been weird after all this time, but I guess it was a bit weird when we broke up four years ago. It was easy to keep the same number, so I didn't have to remember a new set of numbers, but it wasn't just that I hadn't changed. 

Regret built as I watched him glance between the phone and me, obviously having noticed the wallpaper of us at my senior year's championship game, one of my favorite photos of us. It would be a lie to say that I forgot to change it. 

It would be a lie to say that I hadn't forgotten Ethan Wong or gotten over him. 

Ethan was smart enough to realize that by glancing at my phone, but he didn't comment. "I'm assuming it's the one titled "SQUAD" and a baseball emoji."

He pointed at the pinned group message up top. I nodded, adjusting my grip on the colossal-sized pizza, waiting for him to hold the camera up before taking a messy bite. He rolled his eyes before snapping the photo. 

"No caption?"

I smirked. "None needed. They'll probably blow up the chat, so you can mute it if you'd like."

He did, sliding the phone back towards me.

"I assume you have many questions," he said, glancing out the window overlooking 9th Avenue. "About what happened."

"I do," I drawled nervously, not expecting Ethan to get into it immediately. After he broke up with me, I had a list of questions, from even the minuscule things, like if he actually enjoyed how I held his hands to how I styled my hair. Was it a culmination of little nuances and irritating quirks that led him to that decision, or was it my entire happy-go-lucky personality? Had I been a terrible boyfriend?

"I guess for starters," I enunciated slowly. "What made you decide a Chicago-style hot dog was your go-to choice at a pizzeria?"

Ethan blinked, completely caught off guard, before letting out a chaste laugh. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously," I said sarcastically. "Even the cashier thought you were insane. It's probably the least ordered option in this establishment."

He rolled his eyes, and for a moment, it was like witnessing Ethan from high school, completely tired of my stupid jokes and still adoring every minute of it. Was it too soon and too insane to hope he hadn't changed?