The city hums beneath our feet as we walk, that familiar low buzz of New York at night wrapping around us like a second skin. We just left the after-party, still a little tipsy, still glowing under the neon lights. Her hand is in mine - warm, soft, and so achingly familiar even though we spend half our lives an ocean apart.

I glance at her as she laughs at something I said two blocks ago, head tilted back, hair falling over her shoulders. God, I remember the first night I saw her - exactly like this. At another after-party, music too loud, people too drunk, and her in the center of it all, looking like a dream in the middle of chaos. A model who could’ve had anyone, and somehow she walked straight into me.

“Why are you staring?” she teases, bumping her shoulder into mine.

“Because my girlfriend is ridiculously pretty,” I say, letting the words roll out lazily. “Even when she’s tipsy and stealing my jacket.”

She tugs the collar of my jacket closer around her neck, smiling smugly. “It looks better on me, baby.”

I hum. “Everything looks better on you.”

Her cheeks flush, and she tries to hide it by looking away - but I know that look. Even after years together, I can still get to her with one stupid compliment. And even after years, she still gets to me with just one look.

We cross a street, weaving through late-night taxis and honking drivers, and she stumbles slightly on the curb. I catch her waist instantly, pulling her into me. Her palms land on my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.

“Careful,” I murmur.

“Maybe I just wanted you to hold me,” she shoots back.

I laugh quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You never have to pretend for that.”

Her apartment building is still a few blocks away, but neither of us is rushing. The distance between us - the flights, the time zones, the nights we fall asleep on FaceTime - it all disappears when we’re here like this. Side by side. Drunk on each other more than anything we drank tonight.

“Do you remember when we met?” she asks suddenly.

“Oh, I remember everything.” I slide my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer as we walk. “You were laughing with your friends, pretending not to look at me.”

She gasps. “Pretending? Lando, please. I was working. I was being professional.”

“You were staring,” I insist, grinning. “Like you were trying to decide if I was trouble.”

“I knew you were,” she says softly, eyes shimmering under a streetlamp. “And I still followed you onto that balcony.”

“And kissed me like you’d known me a lifetime,” I whisper.

She blushes again, hiding her face against my arm for a moment. I want to stop right here, pull her in, kiss her in the middle of the sidewalk like we’re still strangers with too much champagne and too little sense. But I wait, letting the moment stretch between us like warm air.

“You know,” I say, “for a long-distance couple, we’re disgustingly in love.”

She laughs - light, airy, real. “We make it work.”

“We do more than work,” I reply. “We thrive.”

Her eyes soften. “You always make it feel easy.”

“That’s because it is. With you.”

We finally reach her building. She steps in front of the entrance, looking up at me with that same expression she had the night everything started - curious, bold, just a little dangerous.

“So,” she murmurs, fingers sliding into mine, “are you coming upstairs?”

I smirk. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

She pulls me inside, laughter echoing through the hallway, and for a moment I swear I’m back at that after-party years ago - tipsy, enchanted, and falling for the girl who would become my whole world.

And just like that night, I fall all over again.