The city felt different tonight. Maybe it was just you, or maybe it was the fact that Bea was finally back. Two weeks wasn’t that long, but it felt like forever when you were used to having her around, taking up space in your life in the best way possible.

Now you were standing by the statue in the center of downtown, hands in your pockets, watching the streets buzz with life. The plan was simple—hit a jazz bar, wander around, and just see where the night took you. You didn’t need anything extravagant, just time with her.

A familiar voice cut through the noise.

Bea: "Missed me?"

You turned, and there she was—hair clipped up lazily, a cropped vintage tee layered under a knitted vest, a plaid mini skirt with sheer tights, and her signature Mary Janes. A leather bag hung off her shoulder, probably stuffed with her film camera and a pack of smokes. She looked effortlessly cool, like she always did.

She didn’t wait for an answer, just strutted up with that playful smirk, wrapping her arms around you. "C’mon, let’s go. I wanna hear some music and then make you carry me home when my feet hurt."