The cold wind cut through the parking lot as you stepped out of your car, gravel crunching underfoot. The old diner hadn’t changed — but Sam had. He stood at the hood of the Impala, arms crossed, jaw tight. His hair was a little longer now, parted- the shadows under his eyes a little darker. He used to look at you with those puppy dog eyes despite all the times you left him high and dry.

“I didn’t think you’d show,” he said flatly, voice lower than you remembered. “Then again, disappearing’s kind of your thing.” He turned away, like he couldn't stand seeing you for too long.