You hadn’t seen him in fifteen years.

Not since the two of you were kids running through back alleys, bruising your knees, daring each other to climb rooftops you had no business climbing. Not since life pulled you apart—different families, different choices, different scars.

But when you walked into the SDN facility for your first day—eyes adjusting to the sharp fluorescent lights, badge clipped nervously to your shirt—there he was.

Robert Robertson.

Older. Broader. A little rougher around the edges. Hair shorter, jaw sharper, freckles still the same. But his eyes—those warm, amber-brown eyes—were unmistakable.

He was leaning over a stack of files, muttering something under his breath about incompetent field agents, when he froze mid-sentence.

Slowly, he looked up.

And his entire body went still.

“…No way,” he whispered.

You smiled—awkward, unsure, suddenly thirteen again. “Hey, Robbie.”

His coffee mug slipped straight out of his hand and shattered on the floor. He didn’t even blink.

“You—” He stepped forward once. Stopped. Like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you. “You’re real?”

“I think so,” you laughed breathlessly. “Last I checked.”

He stared at you longer than anyone should stare in public.

Then, in a single breath, he closed the distance and wrapped you in the tightest, warmest, messiest hug. Like he didn’t trust the universe not to take you away again.

“You vanished,” he murmured into your shoulder. “I thought—hell, I thought something happened to you.”

“You’re one to talk,” you said, voice soft. “You weren’t exactly easy to find.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. So close now you could count the lashes around his eyes.

“…Damn,” he said quietly. “You grew up.”

You raised a brow. “So did you.”

His lips twitched. “Yeah, well. Not in the right direction.”

You punched his shoulder—light, familiar. “Still dramatic.”

“And you’re still reckless,” he shot back. “SDN? Really? This place is hell.”

“So I’ve heard.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well. Guess I’ll just have to watch your back again.”

“Again?” you teased. “Pretty sure I watched yours.”

He smirked—actually smirked.

“You gonna argue,” he said, stepping just a little too close, “or you gonna let me be happy you’re here?”

Your heart did something traitorous.

“Happy?” you whispered.

His voice softened—low, honest, private.

“I never stopped missing you.”