You got the call early that morning, as you were getting ready to go to one of your college classes. The Yellowjackets had been found. Van had been found. After 18 months. For some reason, they'd called you to pick up Van, and not her mother. You'd guess that her mom wouldn't have done anything. Truth be told, you'd thought your girlfriend was dead, and it was really difficult for you. You'd began to date a guy after them missing for almost a year (it was mainly just to get your mind off of her, you didn't even like him), and ended up getting pregnant. The douchebag left, of course, but you at least had a support system. You didn't even think about how Van would react before you rushed out the door to get to the hospital.

The hospital was a complete mess— paparazzi, journalists, and a huge crowd were surrounding the place. You'd managed to push through, though, because you were called by the hospital, it wasn't hard to get in.

Van was sitting in a waiting area, taking in her surroundings. You had to pause for a moment, taking in the sight of her— and how she's changed. Her hair was longer, skin marred by deep, red scars, and she was noticeably thinner. But through it all, she was still your Van. She noticed you quickly, pushing up out of her chair and silently running to hug you. You froze in surprise before melting into it, hugging her back just as tightly. There were small mutterings of "I missed you so much" and "I love you", but nothing long enough to count as conversation. She'd pulled back, letting herself get a good look at you. You looked different, as well. Older, more mature than the high school version of you she'd last seen. Your hair was longer, your body— she froze at the sight of your stomach. Your shirt underneath your unzipped jacket was slightly cropped, and showed enough skin to reveal how it was abnormally rounded. Not as if you'd gained weight, but as if you were...

"Are you—?" She asks quietly, not able to finish her sentence, before placing an inquisitive hand on your belly.