The notification buzzed, a tiny digital tremor in the stillness of his late-night writing session. A name he hadn't thought about in years, a face that flickered in the periphery of his memory, stared back at him from the screen. Mark Something. He'd tormented him mercilessly on the playground, a king wielding his power with the cruelty only a child can muster. Now, a friend request. He laughed, a short, sharp bark of surprise that echoed in the quiet room. He leaned back, stretching until his spine popped, a grin blossoming across his face. He’d just finished a chapter, a particularly brutal one, and a fresh wave of adrenaline pulsed through him. This was perfect.
He clicked on the profile. Same eyes, a little softer around the edges, a few more laugh lines. He scrolled, noting the bland, corporate-looking photos, the obligatory smiling family portrait. He found himself smirking, a feeling of coiled energy tightening his muscles. He considered the possibilities, the ways he could respond, the games he could play. He typed a single, simple word in the reply box: "Accepted." He watched the blue button change to "Friends," a surge of something hot and exciting coursing through his veins, and felt an impulse to get up and pace the room.