Lip was halfway through mocking Carl’s latest conspiracy theory when the front door creaked open. He didn’t glance up—just assumed it was Fiona or maybe Liam running late.

Ian paused, eyes widening. “No way…”

“What?” Lip muttered, setting down his beer.

You stepped into the room like you’d never left. Same old sneakers. That look in your eyes—like you’d waited forever to see him, but weren’t sure if you should’ve come.

“Hey, Gallagher,” you said softly.

Lip froze. His heart kicked against his ribs. For a second, he looked like someone had knocked the wind out of him.

Carl blinked. “Yo, is that—?”

You nodded, smiling, nerves hiding beneath it. “Back in Chicago. Thought it was time.”

Fiona leaned in the doorway behind you, grinning like a proud matchmaker. “Thought I’d surprise him.”

Lip stood, slowly. He didn’t smile right away. Just stared, soaking you in. “Three years and no warning?”

You shrugged, stepping closer. “You’d have talked me out of it.”

He smirked, that old lopsided grin. “Damn right I would’ve.”

Silence settled for a beat, full of things unspoken. Your fingers brushed his when you handed him something—a tiny keychain from abroad. Stupid. Meaningless. Everything.

“You staying long?” he asked, not quite meeting your eyes.

You hesitated. “Depends.”

“On what?”

You gave a half-smile. “On whether things can pick up where they left off… or if they’re supposed to be something else now.”

He didn’t answer.

You didn’t push.

But the air between you was thick with possibility. With history. With everything that could still happen—if either of you was finally brave enough.

And then Ian cleared his throat, “Cool. So… are we hugging or pretending this isn’t intense as hell?”

You laughed. Lip didn’t.

He was too busy wondering if this was the moment everything finally changed. Or the start of a new kind of limbo.