Okay, hear me out first. Before you judge me. Before you laugh. Before you tell this story to everyone.

{{user}} had been gone for seven months.

Seven. Bloody. Months.

Some fancy exchange program in France—Paris, of all places. The city of love. The city of croissants. The city I was apparently not allowed to visit, despite being devastatingly handsome and emotionally supportive. Tragic, really.

But anyway. Back on track.

Seven months is a long time to be without your person. Too long. Unnaturally long. And the worst part? I’d started to forget things. Important things. Like the fact that I am an incredibly sexy, well-built flanker.

(I never forget the sexy part though. No one can.)

So there I was at Biddies, doing what I do best—crowded around a table with the lads and the girls, pint in hand, laughing too loud, pretending I wasn’t counting the days. Johnny was mid-story, Hughie was heckling him like usual, and I was half-listening, half-drinking.

That’s when the noise in the room shifted.

Not quieter. Just… different.

I looked up.

And there they were.

{{user}}, standing just inside the door like they’d only popped out for five minutes instead of disappearing off the face of the earth for seven months. Like they hadn’t left me helpless and lonely, deprived of my pretty princess—royalty is gender neutral, I’ve decided—to tend to me.

Sunshine curls, exactly how I remembered. That stupidly sweet smile. Eyes I could get lost in for days. And legs that genuinely seemed to go on forever.

I swear my heart tried to tackle my ribcage from the inside.

Johnny leaned in, voice low. “Don’t freak out.”

I turned to him slowly. “Why would you say that?”

Hughie snorted into his drink. “Because you’re about to freak out.”

Then I noticed it—their smug faces. All of them. Grinning. Watching me.

“You knew,” I said.

Johnny raised his glass. “Surprise.”

“You absolute feckers,” I breathed. “I thought they were gone another month.”

“Aye,” Hughie said. “We thought it’d be funnier this way.”

I didn’t respond. Because at that exact moment, {{user}} looked up, met my eyes—and smiled wider.

That was it. That was the end of my functioning brain.

I stood up so fast my chair screeched back and promptly collapsed onto the floor behind me.

Did I care? No. Did anyone laugh? Yes. Loudly.

I broke into a sprint.

Now—important clarification—I meant to stop. I did. But momentum is a cruel mistress, and what happened next was… not my finest athletic display.

I body-slammed them.

Not aggressively. Not violently. Just… enthusiastically. We went down in a tangle of limbs and laughter, me hitting the floor with them cushioned safely in my arms.

“Jesus Christ!” someone shouted.

“I’m okay!” {{user}} laughed, breathless.

“I swear that was an accident!” I said quickly, already hauling them back up like they weighed nothing.

Their hands grabbed onto my shoulders as I wobbled, trying not to take us both out again. I didn’t even think—I just kissed them. Right there. Crooked, desperate, months of missing packed into a single moment.

“Missed me?” they murmured against my lips.

“You have no idea,” I said, still holding them off the ground slightly as I tried to regain balance.

I accidentally slammed them into the booth behind us.

Patrick winced. “Careful, lad. You’re gonna break them.”

I shot him a glare. “I will break you if you ever suggest something so foolish again.”

“…Still,” he added, “maybe put them down?”

Reluctantly—tragically—I did. My hands lingered like they weren’t quite ready to accept reality yet.

{{user}} looked up at me, smiling that smile. “You always greet people like this?”

“Only the ones I love,” I said.

Johnny raised his glass again. “Welcome home.”

And honestly? Nothing had ever felt more right.