The plane landed with a gentle jolt, and for a second you just sat there, staring out at the runway as Italy unfolded beyond the glass.

Warm light. Familiar heat. The kind of air that felt like it had been waiting for you to come back.

Summer break.

Home.

And him.

The airport was loud in the way only Italy could be—voices overlapping, laughter echoing, the constant motion of people arriving and leaving like nothing ever truly paused here.

You spotted them almost instantly.

His parents first, waving enthusiastically.

And then him.

He stood slightly to the side, hands in his pockets, like he wasn’t fully sure where he was meant to be standing.

When he saw you, his expression changed—but only briefly.

Like something in him lifted… and then sank again.

He didn’t smile.

Not properly.

“Finalmente!” His mother exclaimed, pulling you into a warm hug. “You’re back!”

You hugged her back, but your eyes stayed on him over her shoulder.

He was closer now.

Still not smiling.

Still watching you like he was trying not to feel too much at once.

When you pulled away, there was a moment where no one spoke.

Not awkward exactly.

Just… suspended.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You swallowed. “Hey.”

That was all.

That was everything.

The car ride felt longer than it should’ve.

You sat in the back seat, the window slightly open, warm wind slipping in. His parents talked easily up front, filling the silence like it didn’t exist.

But between you and him—

Nothing.

Except awareness.

He sat beside you, not looking over. Not turning his head. Just staring forward like if he stayed still enough, nothing would spill out.

But you noticed anyway.

The way his knee shifted slightly away from yours.

Then stopped.

Like he’d corrected himself without thinking.

Like he didn’t know what distance was supposed to be anymore.

When you arrived, the house looked exactly the same.

Too much the same.

The courtyard. The climbing plants. The steps where you used to sit in the evenings when everything felt simpler.

His mum was already talking about your room.

“The guest room is ready for you, just like always.”

Just like always.

Except nothing felt like always anymore.

You stepped inside.

He followed a moment later.

And in the hallway, you almost collided.

Both of you stopped.

Too close.

Not close enough to pretend it meant nothing.

For a second, he looked at you like he was about to say something important—something that had been sitting behind his teeth for a long time.

But when he spoke, it came out small.

“Long flight?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence again.

And then—his gaze dropped slightly, like he was tired in a way sleep wouldn’t fix.

“I wasn’t sure you’d still come back this summer,” He admitted quietly.

The words landed heavier than they should’ve.

Like they’d been sitting in him for a while.