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Five years later, Scott found himself standing at Gate 14 in the Minneapolis airport, suitcase by his leg, tapping his phone against his palm.
He was twenty-three now — older, maybe a little wiser, hair longer than it had ever been. The world felt bigger these days. So did his heart.
He'd graduated early — his big plan was grad school in New York come fall. He'd dated, made friends, laughed, cried, grown into the man that his sixteen-year-old self had once dreamed he could be.
And still — some nights, when the wind outside his window howled like it had in Brian's backyard, he'd think about him.
About them.
About a kiss in the rain, a trembling crown, a promise whispered against a locker door.
---
He wasn't sure why he'd flown home for the weekend — not really.
Something about an old high school reunion, about catching up with CJ and Zeke and Dylan over beers and greasy pizza.
But as he stepped out into the arrivals terminal, there he was.
Leaning against a pillar, broad-shouldered and unmistakable, hair still thick and wild, jeans hugging those same strong legs Scott had once wrapped himself around.
Brian.
He was older now, too — a grown man in every way. But his smile was exactly the same.
"Hey, stranger," Brian called, pushing off the pillar. His voice had deepened, but the warmth hadn't gone anywhere.
Scott froze, one hand on his bag. He wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or just run to him, like that lovesick kid from prom night.
Instead, he stepped forward — slow, cautious — until they stood inches apart.
"I thought you were in Portland," Scott said. "With the team."
Brian shrugged. "Transferred back last year. Family stuff. Coaching high school ball now."
Scott's chest ached. He could see the tiny scar on Brian's chin — the one he'd traced with his lips a thousand times. He wondered if Brian could see the ghosts in his eyes too.
---
They didn't talk about the past right away. They went for coffee, sat by the window as snow flurried against the glass. They laughed about old teammates, about CJ's embarrassing dance moves, about the time they'd nearly gotten detention for making out in the art supply room.
Brian's eyes kept drifting — to Scott's mouth, his hands, the tiny freckle under his jaw.
Scott's fingers kept brushing Brian's when he reached for his mug.
When they finally stepped back out into the cold, the parking lot was almost empty. Scott shoved his hands deep in his coat pockets.
"So…" Brian's voice cracked. He tried again. "You seeing anyone?"
Scott's grin was small, a little sad, a lot hopeful. "No. You?"
Brian shook his head. He took a shaky breath, amber eyes shining under the streetlights.
"I tried," Brian murmured. "But nobody ever… it was never you."
Scott laughed, and it sounded like relief. Like home.
---
They stood there, two grown men who'd once danced around love like it might destroy them.
Now they just stood, breath misting in the winter air.
Scott stepped closer first. Brian didn't flinch — he just leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, his big hands warm on Scott's face.
"You wanna get out of here?" Brian whispered.
Scott nodded. "Yeah. I do."
---
They didn't know what came next — where they'd live, how they'd make it work this time.
But when their lips met — older now, wiser, braver — they both knew one thing for sure.
Some loves never really leave.
Some loves just wait for you to come back.
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