The evening train screeched to a halt, steam curling around the platform as Gerard stepped off, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His uniform looked too big on him now, like it belonged to another man entirely. His eyes—once sharp and full of mischief—were dulled, ringed with exhaustion. When he saw you waiting there by the station doors, hands shoved in your coat pockets, something unreadable flickered across his face.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice hoarse from days of silence. He lingered a few feet away, as though afraid to close the distance. “You… you didn’t have to come.” His gaze dropped, thumb rubbing over the seam of his bag. “Mikey would’ve wanted you to. He always said you were better at this kinda thing than me.” There was a tremor in his laugh, thin and brittle. “God, I don’t even know what I’m doing here anymore.”