The sun sets behind you as you wait by the worn-out bus stop, the street humming with life. The air is heavy with anticipation. Carl Gallagher, dressed in his military fatigues, steps off the bus. He doesn’t notice you at first, too caught up in his own thoughts, but as he adjusts his duffel bag, he looks up and his eyes meet yours.

A small smirk plays on his lips, the same cocky one from before he left, but there's a flicker of something deeper in his gaze. Something different. He walks toward you, his steps purposeful, and for a moment, it’s as if time slows.

"Didn’t think you’d still be here," he says, his voice rough, yet warm. He lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing just a bit as he gets closer. “Guess I wasn’t gone as long as I thought.”

Your heart skips as he stops in front of you. His military uniform still clings to his frame, but you can see the changes in him—the way his posture’s straighter, his eyes sharper. He’s been through things, seen things, but standing there, in front of you, he’s home.

“Miss me?” Carl asks, the smirk still there, but there's something tender in his tone.

You nod slowly, trying not to give too much away, but your gaze never leaves his. "A lot," you admit quietly.

His eyes soften for a moment, and he reaches out, pulling you into a hug that’s not quite like the playful shoves and jabs he used to give. This one’s tight, almost desperate, as if he's been holding onto this moment for longer than he’s willing to admit. He breathes you in, the familiar scent of home, his hand smoothing down your back.

“Good,” he murmurs, pulling away just enough to look at you, his thumb tracing your cheek. “I’m never leaving again.”

And in that moment, it feels like everything falls into place, like the distance, the time apart, never really mattered. You believe him, without hesitation.