𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦?! | 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝟐𝟕. 𝐀 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐍𝐨 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

He insisted on driving you to the airport the next morning. Early December, it was dark at 6am and the highway was empty. Streetlights glared in the darkness. Green signs whizzed over you, broadcasting turns and exits for any driver to change their path. White lines blurred on asphalt, and though Clay was just to your left, you felt as alone and unsure as your first day here.

You watched him change lanes, eyes intent as they absorbed everything: a coordinated and thoughtless glance to the mirror, a flick of the turn signal, a press on the gas, and a slight rotation of the wheel. Your ears soaked in the rush of the wind, the rumble beneath you.

"Sorry about last night," you said.

His eyes were on the road. "Me too."

Orlando International Airport was only a mile away. He was driving at 70–the exact speed limit, you noticed. You had the highway all to yourselves, so he could do 80 or even 90 if he wanted. But it probably didn't mean anything.

The two of you waited out the last 5 minutes of the drive in silence. Pulling into Departures, you spied masked friends and family sending off their loved ones, hugs and kisses galore, imploring them to fly safe, travellers saying yes, they would, they loved them, they would come back soon. You turned away. You put on your mask. He parked the car, opened the trunk, and helped you with your luggage. Your fingers grasped the plastic handle, and his left it.

You faced him one last time. "Thank you."

You turned and passed through the sliding doors. And then you were gone.

Why were you welling up?

In the plane, you were surrounded by the roar of the engine, the dry air, the cramped blue seats. You had the row all to yourself, because few people were permitted to fly to your home country. Turning to the window, the fluffy bank of clouds swam before you.

Of course, you knew why.

You had been quarantined with Clay. Dream, to most of the world. You'd needed a place to stay, wanted friendship, and gotten both and more. In a way, it was amazing: you'd stumbled upon his doorstep because he happened to have the same address, but in the wrong state; you'd stolen his phone and weathered a hurricane with him; he'd entrusted you with some of his deepest secrets, and his truest self, until, of course, he hadn't. And that was why your vision was wobbly and wet right now as it overflowed down your lashes. Nobody would believe any of it, but it was all true. If nothing else, it would make a story like no other.

The sparkling grid of Orlando shrinking with every passing moment, the distance growing, you set your fingers to the keyboard and began to write.

And in the bustle of the airport, the passing of flights, colors, and lives, they reunited.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, seeing him when she'd taken him for gone. They almost hadn't made it, and the enormity of her feelings crashed upon her–feelings almost unacknowledged and unrequited for the rest of time. How lucky they were for this second chance–to be together right now.

"I love you."

And it was true. And he believed her.

He cupped her face and tilted it to his. She met him halfway. "Bold of you to think that now that I've found you again, I'll ever let you go."

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