We've already landed. But for some reason, they don't let us off the plane.

That's what Conor wrote fifteen minutes ago, and I kept reading it repeatedly, waiting for a follow-up.

The low spring sun bathed the crowded waiting area next to the arrival gates in bright orange. Like the last time I saw Conor in person, we would meet again at an airport. Only this time, I would get to take him home.

I sat on a black bench cramped in between my older brother and some random business mom, smelling like a perfume store. I took a deep breath to calm down but inhaled so much of her perfume that I coughed.

Having to wait like this was a nightmare, not because of the hordes of kids turning the airport into a playground or the overbearing noise of people chatting, no. But it gave me time to contemplate what could go wrong during his stay at my place.

Yet, of course, the last minutes before I see Conor again must be stretched to the ultimate amount of torture.

My brother groaned and leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees, starting to tap his foot. His long, ash blond hair he inherited from our mother, now covered up whatever he was doing on his phone.

I stared into the distance, trying to blur out everything around me, but my brother's foot tapping drove me crazy. The rhythm of his leg was almost as if it was ticking like a clock. Getting louder by the second, reminding me that even though Conor chose to visit me, to stay at my place, to be with me, there was a high chance—almost only a matter of time—before I would fuck things up again. Because three months wasn't enough time to become the person I wanted to be for Conor.

My home screen lit up, and for a short moment, I was filled with hope that Conor might have some news. But that feeling was gone faster than I could read my brother's messages.

man

why did you make us drive here early

it's been over an hour now

how long?

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Adam, I'm sitting right here. You can just talk to me."

He didn't move a muscle. No attempt to look at me, answer me, or come out of the shell his hair created.

More messages plopped up on my phone.

thought you weren't able to speak anymore

cuz you have been glued to your phone since Christmas

"Fuck off," I said quietly, so the kids playing around us wouldn't hear it.

I wasn't glued to it. I just liked to answer Conor's messages as soon as I could.

My phone vibrated again.

"Oh, come on," I groaned and glared at Adam. "Stop being an ass."

He glanced through a gap in-between his mane. "That wasn't me."

My eyes narrowed, and my eyebrows tilted as I saw who had written me. Milo Nowak. A friend of mine that I lost touch with after Conor moved away. After I outed Conor on that fateful day in the swimming pool, Milo was the one who tried to get me to talk to him again before he left. But I was so stubborn, which didn't sit well with him long-term.

Why is Conor staying at your place???

No 'hello,' or 'hi.' Not even a 'How are you?' After more than a year since we last talked to each other. Rude.

Didn't he tell you? I wrote back. We kind of made up after we ran into each other at Christmas.

My phone buzzed again.

Just be aware, Asher. The moment I find out you've been up to something again, I will come for you.

What a great way to celebrate the reunion of our friend group. I can't wait to see him in person again in a couple of hours. It probably will be a blast if he is already like this. That's just what I needed: another person from the past reminding me what an awful human being I was.

But I've changed.

Or at least, I try to change.

Except Milo couldn't have known that. And not just because we hadn't spoken for over a year. But also because Conor and I agreed that we would only tell people that I apologized and that he forgave me. Not about all the other feelings that emerged that night.

But that meant nobody knew how I spent the most wonderful night of my life with Conor—how we kissed in the middle of that snowstorm. Nobody knew about the package he sent me for my seventeenth birthday containing green socks, a reusable personalized water bottle, and the sweetest birthday card (it had a Comic-Conor drawn on the front raising his arms for a hug). How I returned the favor for his birthday a couple of weeks later, sending him a copy of 'The Art of Acting' (a book he wished for) and apparently the most awkward love letter. (It was so bad that he did a dramatic reading of it, just for me, when we FaceTimed the day after it arrived.)

And I guess that also means nobody knows how we managed to leave the past behind us. How I secretly stayed up late every night for the last three months so we could FaceTime each other, despite the three-hour time difference. How talking to him helped me see that there are things in life I don't hate. And that spending time with Conor (even when it was only through a screen) was one of those aspects that actually made life worth living.

I know what I did was wrong. We talked through it. I won't hurt him again.

"Do not put up with it!" The perfume business mom beside me suddenly shrieked at the top of her lungs.

My ears rang, and my heart pounded rapidly until I realized she was yelling at some kid (most likely her kid) who got his hair pulled by some even more petite red-headed boy. But her encouragement came too late. Her son was already crying and came running to her. She pulled him up on her lap, now taking up even more space on that already cramped bench.

And even though her words weren't meant for me. I couldn't help but kind of think that she was right.

And can we please suck it up and keep everything between us out of our gathering this afternoon? For Conor's sake?

Two blue check marks showed me that Milo read my last message but didn't feel the need to add anything to it.

Was it maybe too hard to ask him that? No. It's for Conor, after all. And I wasn't the one who broke things off or decided not to reply to my last message.

I turned the screen off while holding onto my phone, just in case Conor tried to call me.

"So, who are we picking up again?" Adam leaned over.

"Conor," I answered, but my brother just shrugged. "Really? You forgot about him? He was just my best friend for ages? Slept at our place, like, every weekend until he moved away?"

The guy I like in more ways than a simple friendship? Someone you hopefully will see very, very often in the future? I wish I could have said that instead. To just get it over with. To rip it off like a band-aid so it doesn't hurt so much. But, yeah.

"Yeah?" Adam asked. "I don't remember any 'Conor' guy."

"That's because you always called him 'Green Beans' for some reason."

Adam's eyes widened, and as he sat back, he tucked his hair behind his ears.

"Holy shit! We are picking up Green Beans? Why didn't you say that earlier? I love that dude!"

"Could you please not call him 'Green Beans' anymore?"

Adam laughed and shook his head no as if my request was out of the ordinary.

My phone vibrated, and my chest quivered excitedly when I read what Conor had written.

Finally free. Where are you?

I jumped up, nodded to Adam that we were ready to go, and waltzed over to the gate, my feet getting faster with every step.

—

Around the gate were even more people. Someone even brought their own cheer club. (I'm not kidding. There were like twenty cheerleaders waving a banner for some Kyle-dude toward the gate, ready to start the routine when he arrived.)

I felt a rush of blood in my head as soon as I caught sight of Conor's soft face walking up to me. His brown sweater with a whale splashing a wave stood out. But not as much as his grin when he spotted me.

I waved at him and got ready to hug him deeply into me when Adam started yelling.

"Hey, Green Beans, we're over here."

Way to ruin the moment, Big Bro.

But when Conor arrived in front of me, I couldn't keep myself from smiling. I wanted to hug him, smell him, kiss him, and never let him go. But after Adam's stupid commentary, I felt blocked. So I did the most foolish thing I could have done. I grabbed Conor's hand and shook it as if this was some business meeting.

After an awkward second of confusing stares, he laughed.

"So…err… how was your flight?" I asked.

"Tiresome," Conor replied, not letting my hand go, "had to get up at three, hoping to make up some sleep on the plane, but a baby had such a terrible time that I decided to stay awake too."

I wanted to release the handshake, but Conor didn't let me. He kept shaking and shaking. Guess he is still the same old guy who loves to tease me.

What a relief.

"Can we please walk and talk? I have a job to be at, and Samantha will kill me if I'm late again," Adam interrupted us and grabbed both of our shoulders, pulling us toward the exit.

The cheerleaders started doing their work as if it was meant for us. As if they cheered Conor and me on for being reunited at last. And this time, it wouldn't only be for one night.

But it also wouldn't just be the two of us.