The airport was loud in that dull, constant way — rolling suitcases, muffled announcements, the hiss of the sliding doors opening and closing again.

You stood beside Walker’s mom near the arrivals gate, your purse looped around your wrist, phone dead from checking the board too many times. You and his dad were arguing quietly about whether baggage claim was closer to the left or the right when the doors opened and a familiar head of curls appeared in the crowd.

Walker looked… tired. Hoodie wrinkled, backpack hanging off one shoulder, face flushed like he’d just stepped out of a different climate entirely. He squinted at the lights, blinking a few times like the airport was personally offending him.

Then he saw you.

His entire face changed — not in a movie way. Just a grin that broke out like he forgot to stop it.

“Oh my god,” he said, immediately veering toward you. “You’re actually real.”

You laughed. “Rude.”

He dropped his bag and hugged you, quick and warm, like he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it but also couldn’t help himself. You felt the tension in him release a little, like he’d been holding his breath the whole flight.

“Hi,” he said again, quieter this time.