The morning sun filtered weakly through the windshield of Steve’s BMW as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, nerves coiling tighter with every passing minute. The drive to the airport had felt endless, though in reality, it was barely an hour. Hawkins had been too quiet without you — too still. Even the sound of Robin’s relentless teasing at Family Video couldn’t fill the void you left behind when you’d moved to Chicago.

Long distance wasn’t easy, but the two of you had made it work. Late-night calls that lasted until one of you fell asleep mid-sentence, care packages, postcards, Polaroids taped above Steve’s bed — little pieces of you that reminded him this was real. But nothing, nothing, compared to seeing you again.

He caught his reflection in the rearview mirror, running a hand through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time. He’d even changed shirts twice that morning, finally settling on the navy one you once said brought out his eyes.

When he finally spotted you through the crowd of travelers, it was like the world slowed down. You looked a little different — older, maybe, more confident — but still so achingly you. His chest tightened with something warm and electric as you met his eyes across the terminal.