The airport café was louder than it should’ve been for how late it was.

Claire sat at a small table near the window, a half-finished coffee in front of her that had long since gone cold. She hadn’t touched it in a while. Her arms were folded, posture tight, eyes fixed on nothing in particular as people passed by.

She looked like she didn’t belong there.

Like she didn’t want to be there.

Her duffel sat at her feet, untouched, like she hadn’t had the patience to deal with it yet.

Across the terminal, Simon finally spotted her.

He slowed for a second, taking her in. The tension in her shoulders. The way she hadn’t moved. The fact that she was sitting instead of standing at the gate like everyone else.

He already knew.

“Stay with me,” he said, more out of habit than hope, his hand resting on your shoulder.

You nodded. That lasted about three seconds.

By the time they reached the café, you were already pulling ahead, stepping too close, too fast.

“Claire.”

She looked up at the sound of her name.

Her eyes landed on Simon first.

Then flicked to you.

You were already right there, trying to climb into her space, talking fast, reaching for her, grabbing onto her arm like letting go wasn’t an option.

Claire’s reaction was immediate.

She caught your wrist before you could fully latch on.

“Stop.”

It wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

You froze for half a second, but the energy didn’t stop. You shifted again, trying to move closer anyway.

Claire’s grip tightened just slightly.

“I said stop.”

Simon stepped in then, setting the duffel down beside her chair without asking, his expression already worn thin.

“She just got in,” he said, voice low and edged. “Give her a second.”

You hovered there, still too close, still trying to talk, to get her attention, to close the space she was clearly keeping.

Claire released your wrist but didn’t soften.

“Sit,” she said, nodding toward the empty chair across from her. “Right there.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Simon pulled the chair out the rest of the way with his foot.

“Sit,” he repeated.

You did, finally.

But the movement didn’t stop. Hands fidgeting, eyes bouncing between them, energy still spilling over even while sitting still.

Claire leaned back in her chair, dragging a hand over her face.

“Jesus,” she muttered under her breath.

Simon dropped into the seat beside you, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor for a second before looking up at her.

“You look terrible,” he said.

Claire let out a dry, humorless breath. “Feel worse.”

Silence sat between them for a moment, heavy but familiar.

Then, without looking at you, Claire added, “Stay in the chair.”

Simon didn’t even glance over.

“Don’t make me say it again,” he said, just as flat.