All you need is one word to begin a story. One-word prompts for a variety of pairings and situations.

Hey guys! Sorry it's been a while, but here's the next word prompt. Thank you to Leonas for this! :)

Hope you enjoy, and have a happy holiday. :)

Regret
(noun) A feeling of sadness, repentance, or disappointment in a past action or event.

"What is your greatest regret?"

It had been years since they'd last spoken. They'd broken up shortly after graduation, two years into their unstable relationship, knowing that they'd be continents apart and unable to mend the wounds that hadn't healed. It was the only logical step to take.

And here they were, two grown adults with peaking careers, out for a drink on a cold, winter night, at a secluded corner in the Irish pub that they'd come to favour during their senior year—mainly because they were never carded. And secondarily it was because of the wide selection of European beers that they'd become amateur connoisseurs of—or so they liked to think.

"I don't know. I've never really thought about it."

They'd been sitting in the booth for over two hours, him with his favourite Belgian Witbier and her with her favourite German lager over nachos, potato skins, and Shepherd's Pie. And both of them conversed, like they always did. They talked about anything and everything—like they hadn't broken up, and like they hadn't pointedly tried to ignore each other in the past ten or so years, aside from the obligatory "Happy Birthday" greetings they'd send each other every once in a while.

They'd refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room—and yet, they were just waiting on the other to do it.

"I have. A lot."

She had been traveling the world, giving out talks all around for being one of the most successful neuroscientists for someone her age. She'd come up with some game-changing discovery during her dissertation about sleep and better mental health. He couldn't understand everything she was saying, but he suddenly remembered the time when she was stressing out over what to do in the future. He remembered telling her that she'd come up with something amazing in the future—no matter what she would end up doing.

"Oh, and why's that?"

Meantime, he pushed through with a career in law. He took after his father, and his grandfather, working up the ranks. He was a paralegal now, and helping one of their firm's lawyers in a variety of cases. The biggest one was a murder trial coming up in two weeks, and he'd been busy gathering evidence from the local police. He'd also talked about how one of their wealthy classmates somehow ended up being involved in a drug ring, and how he'd secretly taken pleasure in getting him arrested.

"It's because it's never left my mind."

They'd downed at least two beers with a couple of tequila shots in between—terrible idea, he'd mused, as he was taking the third shot, for the morning hangover—and both of them had been slightly flushed, when something happened.

"Tell me."

He hadn't noticed it when they came in, but a glint of gold caught his eye. His jaw clenched, and she must have noticed it, because she reflexively shifted her gaze towards her ring finger—and raised her eyes just as quickly.

"Yes… I'm engaged."

He forced a small smile on his face, and gently placed a hand on top of hers—sending shivers down both their spines.

"Congratulations. I'm sure he'll make you very happy."

She let herself give a rueful smile. "I think he will."

He'd shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and took another sip of his beer. "Well, I suppose I should be getting you home. It… wouldn't be right for me to be spending so late a night with you."

"All right," she said, sounding slightly disappointed. "It's for the best."

"The night I let you go. I… I never should have."

They'd paid the bill—split, of course—and he started driving towards a place he knew all too well. It made some part of him ache—yet, the nostalgia wasn't entirely unwelcome.

"It's been a while since I've driven here," he started, and briefly glanced at her. "Remember Winterfest in junior year?"

She laughed. "How could I forget?"

"You know that everything happened for a reason."

"It wasn't me who decided to test my limits for the punch…" he said, smiling faintly at the memory.

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, I wasn't that bad..." she said, punching him lightly on the arm. The sudden contact almost made him jump.

"Oh, no. You were, you were. Remember how I had to carry you up to your room, and how your mother panicked that someone broke in, and that I was kidnapping you?"

She was laughing harder now. "And the police actually came."

"Good Lord… I don't think I could have ever looked at your mother the same way again after that."

"I know. But rationalizing what happened doesn't make it hurt any less."

They'd fallen into silence again after that—each suddenly finding the seeds to their long-ended relationship, and trying to resist growing the planted feelings. They hadn't disappeared entirely.

"It feels like a lifetime ago," she said, softly—and unconsciously, reaching towards the hand that was on his side, resting near the gearshift. He had the habit of driving just with one hand on the wheel. He didn't flinch as her hand found his.

Their fingers felt cold against one another—yet they'd never seemed to contain as much warmth.

"It does," he agreed, without taking his eyes off the road. "It does."

"So why did you still do it?"

They'd reached her home, and as he drove into the familiar driveway, he turned to her.

"Well, here we are."

She nodded. "Here we are."

"Good night," he said, giving her a small smile. "It was good to see you again."

"It certainly was good to see you as well," she said, her eyes shifting from him to the road. But she didn't make a move to step out.

"Because we needed it."

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She sighed, and he could have sworn that her eyes were shining with tears. But when she turned to him, she looked fine. "I… well… could you come inside for a bit?"

His eyes narrowed in confusion. After a few moments, he nodded, and killed the engine. He followed her inside, as she walked towards the home bar to get them both a bit of scotch.

"But it was still a choice."

"Nightcap," she murmured, handing one glass to him.

"Hey, I'm still driving," he joked.

"I know. That's why I have more," she said, smiling.

He took a sip. "So what's up? Is there anything bothering you?"

She took a longer drink from her glass, and moved closer to him. "I guess I just want to talk."

He felt his body react towards their sudden closeness. He knew this was wrong, but he… needed it. Not that he would ever admit that out loud—it was probably just the alcohol? "About what?"

"It was yours and mine. Don't put this on me."

"About the things we never did talk about," she said, placing her free hand on his waist. "I guess we just didn't try."

He gently placed her hand back to her side. He couldn't take advantage of her like this. His head was slightly spinning, but he was certain that he was thinking much more clearly than she was. She didn't exactly have the highest tolerance, and she certainly wasn't in the best state of mind to make proper decisions.

He had to be the responsible one. As he always was.

"We could have tried harder."

"We can't do this now," he said softly, as he took the glass from her hands and set it on the surface beside them. "You've had a lot to drink. Let's do this another time, please."

"No," she said, firmly. "Stop evading me. I can't take it anymore."

"Anymore?" he said, confused. Where did that come from? Hadn't she been the one to initiate—

His train of thought stopped abruptly as he felt hungry, longing lips claiming his own. Instinctively, his hands found their way to the small of her back, and he deepened the kiss… and just as quickly, pushed away.

"Didn't I say that before you decided to end things with me?"

"I'm sorry. I can't do this," he said. "I have to go."

She caught his hand, and tugged sharply. "No. Stop fighting it. Stop fighting me."

"You're engaged—" he started.

"That is my business, and none of yours," she snapped.

"This is wrong!" he cried, forcing her grip on his hand to release. "Don't make me do this, please."

"Do what?" she said, darkly.

"Then why didn't you stop me?"

He felt tears prick the side of his eyes, and he blinked, trying to fight them off. "Tell you that I miss you. Tell you that I've never found anyone that could match up to you. Tell you that I could never forget." He paused. "Tell you that all these years… I've never loved anyone but you."

"I couldn't."

They'd made love that night. Slowly, tenderly, and passionately. Like they hadn't with their other lovers. Each kiss was filled with years of longing, and each touch was as electric as when they'd first had sex. They'd spent a while exploring the body they'd longed for in the past years, and as they came together, both had released the pent-up emotions they'd had—and breathing hard, whispered their words of love to one another—words they'd longed for.

"Only you were ever able to make me stop myself from my stupid decisions."

And they stayed up, talking until the sun finally rose—about the things they hadn't said. It was never about the hurtful things they'd said to one another, but about the beautiful words that they'd withheld from one another.

"Then my failure is my biggest regret."

"You haven't failed, you know," she said, absently stroking his face.

"I did. I once did. But it will never happen again. I will not fail you again."

"No, you will not," she nodded. "It is I who will. And that, my love, is my deepest regret."