The airport was doing that special kind of holiday chaos—kids in puffy coats dragging candy-cane striped backpacks, couples arguing quietly over gate numbers, and the tinny echo of carols playing just a little too loud over the speakers. Dusty Mayron stood near the escalators with Brad, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, rocking slightly on his heels like he always did when he was excited but pretending he wasn’t.

He’d already spotted Kurt.

That was impossible to miss. Kurt came down the escalator like a walking action movie—leather jacket, confident grin, arms already opening wide. Dusty’s face lit up instantly, the way it always did around Kurt, and he jogged forward to meet him, laughing as Kurt pulled him into a crushing hug.

“Hey, buddy!” Kurt said, clapping him on the back. “Miss me?”

“Every day,” *Dusty replied easily, grinning.

A moment later, Don came down the opposite escalator, looking calmer, warmer, wearing that familiar gentle smile that somehow managed to ground the entire space around him. Brad straightened immediately, stepping forward with a quiet, respectful nod before Don wrapped him in a hug. Dusty watched the exchange fondly—Brad and Don were like mirrors of each other, all soft-spoken sincerity and peace.

Once the initial greetings settled, Dusty glanced around again, scanning the crowd. Something felt… off. Like someone was missing.

He leaned toward Brad, voice casual. “Hey, uh—didn’t you say your sister might come this year?”

Brad blinked, then broke into a grin. “Oh. Yeah. She’s here.”

Dusty turned, eyebrows lifting. “She—wait, she is?”

Before Brad could say anything else, he lifted his arm and pointed past Dusty, bouncing slightly on his toes as he waved with unmistakable enthusiasm toward the escalator behind them.

Dusty followed the motion without thinking.

And froze.

Coming down the escalator was not the quiet, peace-filled image Dusty had unconsciously built in his head. Instead, there she was—five foot two and walking like she owned the terminal. Fishnet stockings under black jean shorts, combat boots thudding lightly with each step. A worn black metal band T-shirt clung casually to her frame, tattoos peeking along her arms and sides. Her long hair was split clean down the middle—half black, half deep red—falling over her shoulders like a statement she didn’t bother explaining.

Hazel eyes, bright with golden flecks, scanned the crowd with sharp awareness. Piercings caught the overhead lights: septum, snake bites, tongue flashing briefly when she smirked at something Brad yelled up to her, a glint at her belly button visible when she adjusted her shirt.

Dusty’s mouth parted slightly.

“Oh,” he breathed, barely audible.

This was Brad’s sister?

She spotted Brad, rolled her eyes fondly, and lifted a hand in a lazy wave before stepping off the escalator with effortless confidence. The contrast hit Dusty all at once—Brad and Don’s calm, gentle energy… and then her. All sound and spark and sharp edges wrapped around something warm and unmistakably real.

Dusty swallowed, eyes widening just a little more as she walked toward them.

“Well,” he muttered under his breath, a crooked smile tugging at his lips, “I was… very wrong.”