The airport smelled of stale coffee and rushed departures.

I leaned against the sleek black car, arms crossed, watching as you stepped through the crowd with the same measured grace you’d always carried.

Four years, and you hadn’t lost your arrogance.

Your sharp gaze met mine, unreadable as ever. No words, not at first. Just a slow, calculated assessment, as if measuring the damage time had done.

I smirked. "Took you long enough."

You didn’t react immediately, just adjusted the strap of your bag with deliberate indifference. "I wasn’t exactly rushing home to see your charming face."

I let out a quiet chuckle—one that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

You stopped in front of me, surveying the suit, the men waiting in careful silence. The weight of my decisions hung in the air between us, yet you didn’t flinch.

"I see you’ve upgraded." Your tone was dry, unimpressed.

I tilted my head. "Some of us had to actually work while you were busy pretending to be a scholar."

You scoffed. "Some of us had to actually learn how to think."

Silence stretched between us. Heavy, yet familiar.

Then, without ceremony, you reached out and pulled me into a hug.

I didn’t react at first. But after a beat, my arms came around you, firm yet reserved.

No grand reunion, no words spilling like confessions. Just quiet understanding.

You pulled back, eyes sharp. "You still know how to be human, or do I have to remind you?"

I exhaled slowly, adjusting my cuff. "That depends. You still know how to survive in my world?"

Your smirk was subtle, but it was there. "I think I can handle it."