The cell phone slipped from your hand, skidding across the terminal floor with a hollow thunk. You stared at the departure board—Gate 27, Final Boarding Call. Behind you, the rumble of wheeled suitcases and tannoy announcements filled the air. Ahead of you, Drew stood at the gate desk, carry-on in one hand, his backpack slung low on his back. His face was a storm of emotions you hadn’t seen before: regret, longing, something like fear.

You took a shaky breath and walked over. He glanced back, eyes softening the moment they landed on you. A breeze of panic flickered in his posture.

“I’ll… I’ll text you when I land,” he said, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

He turned, shouldering through the line of passengers, but something in you rebelled. You reached out, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. He froze, hand halfway to the scanner.

“Wait,” you said.

He looked at you, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. “I have to go,” he said, though the words trembled.

You stepped closer, pressing your palm to his chest. His heart thundered beneath your hand, desperate and unsteady. Around you, travelers drifted past, caught up in their own goodbyes and reunions. But here, time slowed.

“What does this really mean?” you asked.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, as if willing strength into himself. Then he opened them and looked straight at you. “It means…” he began, voice thick, “I’m fucked up sometimes. I run when things get hard. But leaving like this… I can’t leave without hearing you say it first.”

Your breath caught. You waited for the rest.

Without thinking, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his, soft and insistent. He froze, then melted into you, one hand tumbling through your hair, the other gripping your waist. The airport noises blurred into a dull roar.

When you pulled back, you saw the gloss in his eyes. You whispered, “I love you.”

He swallowed, the words landing between you like a promise. He searched your face, memorizing every curve. Passengers glanced over, some smiling, some awkwardly clearing a path.

“I love you too,” he said finally, voice raw. “More than I thought I could.”

He brushed a stray hair from your forehead and kissed you again—longer, as if he could press the words into your skin. Then, decisive, he released his backpack strap and stepped away from the scanner.

“Gate’s closing,” the attendant called.

Drew slid his arm around your shoulders and whispered, “Then let’s close it together.”