"Baby, c'mere." Oona grins, cheeky as ever—apples of her cheeks rosy with summer flush.

It's barely been twenty minutes since you've touched down at Sterling Point. There's not a moment to waste before Oona's arms are slung, tight around your neck and your waist. Her chin tucks into the crook of your collarbone like she's always done. Touchy, always fucking touchy. You love it as much as you loathe it. It makes things so much harder.

"Missed you, you fucking ass." Oona murmurs against your shoulder, your best friend's lips grazing against sun-speckled skin. Her eyes flutter upwards, grip tightening. "Didn't answer, like, fuckin' any of my calls." It doesn't take a genius to note the sideways edge to the comment, but Oona's eyes are more searching than accusing. Sharp, and perhaps a little hurt.