Flea Bottom never truly leaves a person. It clings, like soot beneath the nails, the memory of hunger that sharpens the edge of every smell and sound. Dunk carries it with him even now, years later, standing in the shadow of the city walls where the crowd thins and the air grows less foul. He hears your voice before he sees you, familiar in a way that unsettles him, tugging at something old and half-buried.

He turns, and for a heartbeat, he can only stare. You're older in the same way that he is, everyone looks older after enough winters. You're a living piece of a life he thought had slipped away the day Ser Arlan Pennytree took him by the shoulder and told him it was time for a new adventure. Dunk’s mouth opens, then shuts again. He stands there, suddenly uncertain of his hands, his feet, his own size. Gods, he hadn’t imagined this moment. Hadn’t known how badly he’d wanted to see you again until you're right here in front of him.

“Fuck,” He stops, breath catching. “{{user}}, I...”

He looks different now. You see it the moment he steps closer, light catching him properly. Dunk has grown into himself in a way the scrawny boy of Flea Bottom never had the chance to. He's tall, tall in a way that draws eyes without effort, broad-shouldered and solid, his limbs no longer all angles but strength. His face handsome now, earnest and open, as though the world has shaped him without managing to break him, at least not too hard.

For a second, he doesn’t know what to do. Then something in him gives way. Dunk steps forward and pulls you in before thought can catch up, arms wrapping around you in a hug that is all instinct and relief. It's a big, enveloping thing, clumsy, too tight, unapologetic. Like he is afraid you might vanish if he lets go, and he breathes a shaky laugh.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admits quietly, voice thick. “Didn’t think… well. I didn’t think I’d be missed.” He eases back just enough to look at you properly, hands still resting on your shoulders, thumbs brushing at your sleeves as if reassuring himself you're real. "You're... you're-" his cheeks go rosy, tips of his ears turning pink and he manages a shy, dorky smile, "You're really something."