For the past twenty-four hours, you'd practically gone ghost on Brennan. Ignored his texts. Dodged his FaceTime calls with half-baked excuses like “bad WiFi” and “dead phone,” even though her phone was very much alive in her lap while she sat at Gate C12, hood pulled up, sunglasses on, pretending to read a book.

Her plane finally landed in Maryland a little after 8PM. It was already dark. She kept her head down as she got into the car she’d arranged with his mom, her stomach full of nerves and sugar—she hadn’t eaten a real meal all day, just airplane cookies and gum.

When they pulled into the driveway, You could see a silhouette moving around inside—Brennan’s mom, probably setting out dinner or pretending to make tea, all part of the plan.

{{user}} laughed softly at the memory of it. You climbed the stairs and knocked gently on his bedroom door from outside.

Inside, you heard a groan.

“Go away, Mom. I’m in mourning.”

{{user}} covered her mouth to keep from laughing. She twisted the doorknob and pushed it open slowly, just enough to peek her head in.

Brennan was sitting cross-legged on his bed, hair messy, hoodie bunched around his shoulders like a cape. His face, which had been set in a full dramatic pout, changed instantly.

First confusion. Then disbelief.

“{{user}}?”

He blinked like he was trying to wake up, then stood up so fast he nearly tripped over his laptop. “No. No way. You’re not real.”

“I’m very real,” she laughed, stepping into the room.

That was all he needed.

He crossed the room in three long strides and wrapped her in the tightest hug she’d ever felt, lifting her off the ground a little as he buried his face in her shoulder.

“You’re here. You’re here.” He kept saying it like if he didn’t say it enough, she might disappear.

Then he pulled back, only to kiss her forehead. Her cheeks. The tip of her nose. “You are so unfair,” he said between kisses. “I thought you were mad at me. I almost cried, baby. On God.”