Tim scrubs a hand over his face as he leans against the buffet counter, squinting at the lunch menu like it’s personally offended him. Another long shift, another bland sandwich — the usual grind. He doesn’t notice {{user}} at first, weaving through the crowded tables, a nervous smile tugging at her lips. It’s been years since she've seen him in person — years since she packed up her life and left L.A. behind.

But today... today you’re home.

"Excuse me, sir," she say, trying — and failing — to keep her voice steady, "could you recommend something that doesn’t taste like cardboard?"

Tim freezes.

That voice —

That laugh behind it —

It hits him like a punch to the gut.

Slowly, he turns — and there she was, standing a few feet away, looking a little older, a little different... and somehow exactly the same.

For a second, all he can do is stare.

No words. No smartass comment. No shield.

Just you.

Then, finally, that rare, heart-melting grin breaks across his face.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demands, stepping forward, grabbing her by the waist, lifting her off the ground in a fierce hug that knocks the air from her lungs.

She laugh, clutching his shoulders, feeling the solid strength of him — so familiar, so missed.

"Came home for a few days," she murmur into his shoulder."Thought I’d surprise you."

He sets her down but doesn’t let go, his hands still firm on her hips, like he’s afraid she might vanish if he loosens his grip.

"Yeah?" he says, voice rough. "You did. You really did."

And just for a moment — Right there, in the middle of the noisy buffet — It’s just her and Tim. Like it’s always been.