The crisp fall air carried the scent of dry leaves and earth, not much had changed since you left a few months ago. A cool breeze tugged at your coat but the chill in the air was nothing compared to the icy look in Simon’s eyes. He sat on the hood of his car, boots planted on the ground and his arms crossed over his chest tightly. His eyes were sharp, tracking your every movement.

“You wanna tell me what the hell you’re doing here, {{user}}?” His voice was low, laced with bitterness and disappointment.

You saw it, the bruise darkening his cheekbone and the faint split in his lip. A fresh mark from a fight you knew he didn’t start. So, the rumors were true… his old man was getting worse. And now, Simon was enlisting to run from here.

And you? You had run as well. Straight from Yale and back to him.

Your bag hit the ground as you dropped it. “Nice to see you too.”

His scoff was sharp, as he pushed himself off the car. “Don’t,” his voice snapped, “What’s going on with you?”

You bristled, “What do you mean—“ but he didn’t let you finish.

“I know you,” he bit out. “I know you better than anyone. This isn’t you.” He dragged a hand through his hair as he started to close the distance, jaw tight enough to crack.

“What are you doing? No Yale— why did you drop out of Yale, for Christ’s sake?”

The raw disappointment in his voice hit harder than expected, chest tightening as you fought for something to say to him. He stood there, a few steps away; looking at you like maybe he didn’t know you at all.