We pull up to the drop-off zone of the airport entirely too soon. It's like the seconds melted away without feeling them. I pull their small carry-on from the trunk and hold on to the handle as they try to take it from me. Fuck.

They give it a little tug, and I know I have to let it go, but I just grip it harder.

Alex slides up beside me and puts his hand on my upper back. He rubs it back and forth over my shoulder blades, and the tension leaves my muscles. I let go of their bag and shove my hands in my pockets to stop myself from doing anything stupid. The thought of kidnapping isn't out of the realm of my fantasies.

They pull it toward them, the drizzle of rain dampening their hair as they stare up at us with round, glassy eyes. "So that was fun, right?"

Their tone doesn't match their words, and I have to take a deep breath before speaking. "Right."

A shiver visibly runs through them, and Alex reaches behind his head, pulling off his deep blue hoodie in one move, and drops it over their head. The heavy fabric engulfs them to mid-thigh. He adjusts the strings near their neck, fiddling with them longer than necessary, and says, "Don't want you catching a cold." They dig their hands into the center pouch, and their shoulders rise. "I won't be able to return it."

Alex runs his thumb over their cheek before dropping his hands to his sides and giving them a cocky smile.

"Keep it. I'll get it back the next time I see you."

"Oh yeah? When's that?" they ask, and their eyes shine.

Alex's smile grows, and he chuckles. "When we come up there and kick Jax's ass in a few months."

"You wish." They laugh, but it breaks at the end.

Alex wraps them in a bear hug, pulling them off their feet, and kisses them slowly for several moments before returning them to the ground. I'm so fucking jealous because I know I can't handle doing the same.

They look at me from where they stand, Alex's arm wrapped around their shoulder. "What, no hug goodbye?"

Fuck. I want to so badly, but I dig my hands further into my pockets and shake my head. "You're going to be late," and it might kill me to let it go.