The day had arrived.

You’d dreaded it from the moment Stanley first mentioned his plan—joining the United States Army after high school, chasing a future carved in discipline and duty. You’d known it was coming. You’d told yourself you were ready.

But now, sitting beside him on the cold bench at the bus station, you realized you weren’t.

Not even close.

The air was thick with silence, broken only by the occasional hiss of brakes and distant chatter. Stanley sat beside you, legs stretched out, posture relaxed—but you could feel the tension in his grip, the way his thumb brushed over your knuckles like he was memorizing the shape of your hand.

“You know,” he said, voice light, teasing, “I heard I’ll have to shave my hair when I get there. Can you imagine me almost bald?”

You didn’t laugh.

He didn’t expect you to.

Stanley had always been clear about his goals. Determined. Unshakable. But now, with the moment finally here, even he looked a little frayed at the edges. Not because he doubted his path—but because it meant leaving you behind.

Xeno wasn’t here. NASA interview. Unmissable. He’d said his goodbye already, and Stanley respected that. But this—this—was different.

You were his heart.

And this was the last moment he’d have with you before everything changed.

He reached for your hand, fingers interlacing with yours, firm and warm. A silent promise. A tether.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice low and intimate, meant only for you. “Look at me.”

You did.

His eyes locked onto yours—steady, intense, full of everything he couldn’t say aloud. Regret. Hope. Love.

“This may take a few years,” he said, “but I’ll always come back to you. I want you to understand that, sweetheart.”

You swallowed hard. Because you did understand.

And that was what made it hurt.