The Sydney airport buzzed with post-tour exhaustion and relief. Chris stepped off the plane, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and was immediately met by the brisk Australian air slipping through the cracks of the terminal. His eyes scanned the waiting area out of habit, expecting nothing but fans behind barriers.

The sunlight streaming through the tall glass walls illuminated the crowd, and amidst it all, a familiar silhouette froze him mid-step.

It was her.

She stood casually, one hand shoved into her jacket pocket, the other holding a takeaway coffee. Her hair caught the sunlight just the way it always had when they were kids playing in the park, and she smiled — the kind of smile that instantly softened the tight coil of stress that tour life had wound into him.

For a moment, the world around him muted. The chatter of fans and teammates faded, leaving only the pounding of his heart in his ears. She was supposed to be busy, he thought, tied up with her own idol schedule. But here she was, her mere presence grounding him like the scent of eucalyptus and ocean air on an Australian morning.

"You're here?" he finally breathed, voice low enough that only she could hear it.

She didn’t answer, only gave him that playful tilt of her head, like she’d never left. Like it was still them against the world.

Chris swallowed hard, the lump in his throat both overwhelming and reassuring. The years they’d spent growing up side by side in this very city flooded back — scraped knees, late-night songwriting sessions, shared dreams whispered under starlit skies.

A camera flash went off somewhere in the crowd, and he knew their fans would go wild with theories. Let them, he thought. None of it mattered right now.

"Why do you always do this to me?" he murmured, his voice a mix of amusement and something heavier, softer, as he reached out to pull her into a tight hug.