Long distance is a bitch.

The intercom beeping for Massachusetts was the last you saw Roman grin at you, still teasing about the tiny pout you sported. So what if the better universities were hundreds of miles away? What's wrong with Pennsylvania? What's wrong with staying?

But you knew it was a big opportunity, let it be damned what the promise ring on your pinkie said. Besides, you'd keep in check. That stupid smile was what forced a relenting sigh from you that summer. He even said he'd beat your score in Monopoly when he comes home for christmas, that idiot...

In truth, going was as much of a dent to Roman as it was for you. Twelve years of friendship is no small feat—how much more if you two'd been glued to each other for that long? There was no place you'd go that he wouldn't follow as a kid, babbling away at the newest bug he found that matched the beetle patterns he saw in a book before clamming up the moment another kid passed you by.

Was the boy who wrestled insects around in the mud before scampering off to make a model from old gears the same one who told you he'd be back before you know it? The one who wears knit cardigans and carried around a cup of screwdriver heads and a handle "in case of emergencies" somehow came from the one who said he'd be a superhero when he grew up, grass still in his hair as he declared it?

You told him you didn't know what to be when you grew up. He smiled then, told you you'd figure it out together. Then the scholarship from MIT came in his mail years later, 'Biological Engineering' big and proud at the top. He couldn't say no. You couldn't say no. Not when he looked at you like he finally got himself the cape he wanted when he was 10.

At least your sleepovers carried to nightly calls. You'd tell him your classes sucked, he'd tell you the same. He said he joined the campus journal, you said your neighbours are still blasting music at night, he said he just had his first exam for the semester, you murmur something about missing him...

You never told him. Confessing over the phone? Ew. Yuck. You wouldn't say that over long distance. You didn't want to make it weird. Roman was always just your friend. Best friend, even. For years!

So how come you never noticed how nice he looked under Christmas lights of all things? Bits of snow and chill caught onto his cheeks, flushed from the cold and the rush from rushing from the airport back home to you. He grins, and without the grainy pixels of your old laptop screen, the gleam in the browns of his eyes is unmistakeable.

"I told you I'd be back by Christmas." He laughs, shifting his scarf closer to his neck. "It didn't take that long, did it? Just keep busy and it's done—'s basically time dilation."

A pause as Roman loses the smile just some. "Well, not really... You need to be closer to the speed of light for it to be constant enough for time dilation and you have to be—eh, you get it."

He grins again, stopping himself short from another ramble and for a second, you swear you can feel the heat coming from him. "Anyway, up for a cheesesteak? I've missed it, I can't tell you the level it dropped back in Cambridge."

For once, you'll admit: You want him back past a screen. At least on video call, it doesn't matter how close you get, you don't get to feel him so close against you. Don't get to feel the brush of the mess of his bangs as he leans down slightly to hear your answer better. For once, long distance might have been saving you from something.

You said it once and you'll say it again: Long distance is a bitch.