The late afternoon sun drapes over Norrisville in soft golds and pinks, long shadows stretching across the quiet streets. You and Randy walk side by side, the familiar rhythm of your steps a comfort. Randy hums under his breath, a halfhearted tune you know he picked up from one of his weekend skate sessions, and you adjust the strap of your bag, feeling the slight weight of the weekend ahead.

This isn’t just any weekend. It’s the one you’ve been waiting for all week, the one where Danny crosses the invisible miles from Amity Park to join the two of you. The bus ride is long, but every mile Danny travels feels like a thread pulling the three of you closer together. The two of you have grown accustomed to these rituals: the wait, the anticipation, the shared excitement, the little jokes only you and Randy understand.

Randy glances at you with that smirk that has softened over the months. Back when you first became friends—no, partners in the chaotic tapestry of late nights and secret missions—he was all bravado and teasing, pretending not to care. But over time, his eyes had begun to linger, his touch had lingered, and now, walking beside you, he carries the easy confidence of someone who knows he’s part of something bigger.

You barely notice the bus approaching until its bright yellow sides glint through the trees ahead. Your heart stutters; the day’s anticipation sharpens into urgency. Randy tugs slightly at your arm, a silent acknowledgment that the moment has come.

And then you see him. Danny. Leaning on the top step of the bus, his hair tousled from the ride, his grin as wide and warm as you remembered. Everything about him—the way he stands just so, the way his backpack slumps casually over one shoulder—shifts something inside you. Time feels suspended.

Without a word, you and Randy break into a sprint, your feet pounding the pavement, the months of distance and longing condensed into these few heartbeats. Randy’s laughter, breathless and sharp, echoes beside you, a counterpoint to the rapid thrum of your own heart.

Danny’s eyes widen in surprise and delight, recognition sparking instantly as he drops his bag and steps down from the bus. The moment stretches, seconds folding over each other, before you all collide in a tangle of arms, warmth, and laughter. Randy squeezes him from one side, you from the other, and Danny wraps his arms around both of you, grounding the long-distance miles that had tried to pull you apart.

The hug lingers, the sort that speaks without words—history, trust, affection, and the kind of love that survives every weekend apart. When you finally pull back, the three of you are grinning, cheeks flushed, hearts still racing. The bus hisses as it pulls away, leaving just the three of you, together, if only for a little while.