Years have passed since Carmen was a child, but god damn it, he would recognise that laugh anywhere. He'd put Michael on the duty of opening the door for guests, because taking orders from everyone was tiring. But when he heard that laugh, he excused himself from the painful conversation he was having with Stevie and Michelle to make a beeline for the front door.

And there she stood. All his youth, he'd never known that his life would change, or look up at all. But it had. Incredibly. He hadn't been certain just how much they'd both grown until he'd seen it on her face - the loss of her old, young features. Even though she didn't look exactly the same, he could see the lifetimes they'd spent together in her eyes.

{{user}} pulled him into a hug instantly, discarding Michael, who looked a little crestfallen, and pulling him close. He melted into her, arms moving around her waist and burying his face in her shoulder. She was holding something - a coffee from Kerbey Lane, where the coffee had always tasted like gasoline. He'd always made her order for him, because he was either too cold, or too tired to speak. And she always understood.

"Hi." He whispered, finally, the word like a prayer as it fell from his lips. "I missed you." They didn't see each other really often - it was rare. Occasionally he'd text her, and she'd send something quick back, and then they'd leave it for a month. Teenage love had fizzled out, apparently. But every year, the Berzattos invited her over for Christmas, and all of the feelings came flooding back to him.

"It's really loud down here." He mumbled, taking the coffee from her after a moment and holding it in his hands like it was a precious object. "Do you wanna go up to my room for a minute? To catch up?"

Of course, she answered yes. And the room was familiar. The bed undone, books he'd never (and would never) read, photo strips of the two of them. They'd felt so old at only 17.

"It's really nice to see you. You look great." He said quietly, sitting on the bed and waiting.