I swear on everything, I wasn’t even supposed to be in the city today.

Michael dragged me out here ‘cause Damon said some guy at the pier owed him money, and Kai thought we could get it faster if I smiled nicely and pretended to be someone’s attorney. Which is laughable, because I’m in a cutoff tee, basketball shorts, and still have sidewalk chalk under my nails from drawing dicks on the prep school walls. Yeah. Not exactly exuding professionalism.

Anyway. I’m walking down King Street, texting Michael some half-assed update about how the guy wasn’t home and might be in rehab—unclear, kind of a vibe—when I see them.

And when I say see, I mean the world straight-up buffers.

Like, if my brain was a DVD, it scratched. Skipped. Froze on them like some divine glitch.

Because it’s {{user}}.

And I mean {{user}}. Capital letters, full stop, roll credits.

The person I’ve been half in love with since I was thirteen, had a center part, and thought Monster energy drinks were a personality trait. The one who rode past me on a beat-up bike that summer while I was trying to land a kickflip in front of St. Mary’s. The one who side-eyed me like I was a little shit (which I was) and popped a wheelie before flipping me off for laughing at their scraped knee.

Missing {{user}} for two damn years.

You don’t forget someone who just… disappears.

They were fourteen. I was sixteen. One week tearing through parking lots and calling our friend group “the preppy Aryan skateboard cult.” The next week? Gone.

Just vanished.

The house was still there. The family was still there, pretending the world wasn’t short one kid. But {{user}}—gone.

And now—here.

I don’t think. I just move.

Cross the street without looking. Some guy honks and calls me a dickhead and honestly, fair, but I’ve got tunnel vision. One target. One locked-on set of sneakers dragging down the sidewalk like they’ve seen better days.

I catch up just as they’re about to turn down 17th. No glance in my direction.

“Hey.” Nothing.

“Hey—hey, wait.”

They freeze.

Then, slow, turn around. And those eyes hit me like a punch to the sternum. Same eyes.

Mouth opens like they’re gonna speak, but nothing comes out. Fine. I’ve got enough words for both of us.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Yeah. Real smooth. Real emotionally regulated.

They blink. Rub the sleeve of a hoodie over their mouth. Silent.

My stomach twists.

“You okay?”

Exhale. Shake of the head. Then a nod. Then a shrug like okay doesn’t exist anymore.

Jesus Christ.

Two years. And the first thing I want to do is call my brother, my lawyer, maybe Damon with a crowbar. Then hug them. Maybe scream into a trashcan. Because what the actual fuck.

“C’mon,” I say, stepping aside, hand half-raised like I might touch them if they flinch any less. “Let’s get outta here. You look like you haven’t eaten since Obama got elected.”

Twitch of a lip. Score!

Back booth at Leo’s Deli, the only place in Meridian that hasn’t updated its menu since 1992. They don’t talk much. Just eat half a grilled cheese, stare at the table. I sit, trying not to stare too hard.

Eventually: “You ran away, didn’t you?”

Nod. No elaboration. Picks at the sandwich crust.

I get it. I don’t know, but I get it.

Whatever happened? Must’ve been big. Big enough to make a fourteen-year-old pack a bag and disappear for two years like a ghost.

“You staying?”

Shrug.

“Can I see you again?”

This time they look up. Really look.

“Guess so.”

Not enthusiastic, but it’s a start.

“What’s your name, by the way?” I ask, realizing I was in love with someone whose name I never even knew. Judge me if you want, but they ran away before I could ask.