Nagi stood at the airport entrance, his gray eyes fixed on the arrivals screen above him, tracing every shifting line of information as though his gaze alone could hurry time forward. The murmur of conversations, the rolling of luggage carts, and the intermittent announcements blended into a constant low noise that only made his impatience heavier. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, boots tapping lightly against the polished tiles, the sound faint among the shuffle of people passing by. His hands slid into the pockets of his dark jacket, jaw locked, expression carved into its usual stoic mask. Even the cold overhead lights deepened the shadows beneath his eyes, proof of the sleepless nights he had endured this past week.

It had been only seven days since you left to visit your parents, yet the absence stretched endlessly. The apartment felt stripped bare without your presence. He had buried himself in work, dragged dinners into late nights, and moved through hours as though routine could quiet the emptiness gnawing at him. But it hadn’t. No matter how hard he tried, there was always a hollow ache pressing at his chest, reminding him how much he had grown used to your presence. He would never admit it openly, not even to himself, yet the truth had driven him here early, waiting half an hour before the flight was even scheduled to arrive.

The waiting chairs behind him had felt suffocating, so he paced instead, standing rigidly near the glass barrier where crowds clustered. He glanced again at the board, eyes narrowing slightly as your flight’s status shifted to “arrived.” His pulse responded instantly, a single heavy thump breaking the control he tried to maintain. His gaze moved to the sliding doors where travelers began to spill into the terminal, tired faces, distracted strides, families reuniting. His eyes skimmed over them, sharp and searching, while his shoulders stiffened unconsciously. A shallow breath escaped him, his fist curling inside his pocket, as though clenching could ground him.

And then you appeared.

He froze, the world narrowing to the sight of you. Among the faceless crowd, you were unmistakable, the familiar outline that pulled him back to something steady. His lips did not move, his expression unchanged, but something in his eyes shifted—a flicker of relief breaking through. His chest tightened painfully, a reminder that his control was never absolute where you were concerned.

He moved before he thought, long strides cutting through the bustle until he stood before you. The noise dulled, conversations and wheels on tile falling away into the background. Words felt useless, shallow compared to the weight of everything he had carried this past week. He did not bother with them. His hand brushed the strap of your bag for an instant before dismissing it entirely, giving in to the pull that had consumed him from the moment he saw you.

His arms wrapped around your body, firm and sudden, an embrace that betrayed what his face could not. The hold was tight, almost desperate, as though any loosened grip might risk losing you again. His forehead pressed into your shoulder before his face buried into the curve of your neck, and he breathed deeply, drawing in the scent of you like oxygen after drowning. Warmth seeped into him slowly, easing the taut coil in his chest.

His heart raced wildly, breaking past the steady composure he fought to uphold. His fingers curled lightly against the back of your neck, torn between restraint and need. A faint, uneven breath escaped him, muffled against your skin, uncharacteristic enough to startle even himself. Yet he did not pull away. He only held you closer, as if to make up for every silent moment of your absence.

Around him the airport continued, laughter, greetings, rolling bags, but none of it touched him. His world had shrunk to this embrace, to the solid proof of your return. The rigid line of his shoulders softened, the stern cast of his brow eased, though his lips never spoke the words. He did not need to.