home is a feeling

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"Don't turn around."

The vague statement thrown your way sends speculations trickling through your brain. Those three words usually never mean anything good. What is it? Or who is it? Whatever the mystery, it makes you anxious based on your friend's wary expression.

"Just tell me," you say timidly, becoming tense in the diner booth with a forkful of red velvet cake halfway to your mouth. "Tell me so I don't have the urge to actually turn around."

"Your ex," she mutters, never one to beat around the bush, much to your appreciation. "He just walked in. Don't kill me for saying this, but he looks really good."

You kick her foot under the table and sink further into the leather seat. "Why is he here? He's supposed to be in another country."

It's not an exaggeration or falsity. Harry is supposed to be in not only another country but also another continent entirely—the Netherlands, to be exact.

Your friend risks another glance at the front door. "Well, he's back, and it's like he never left. Look at them..." She shakes her head slowly. "Hyping him up like he's a goddamn hero."

You assume she means the people you went to high school with. A hometown get-together with a small crowd of classmates from nearby colleges is being held at everyone's favorite local retro-style diner to celebrate the last week of summer break. It was going swell until Mr. Marine Biologist, who probably makes studying abroad his whole personality, waltzed through the door.

You cradle your left cheek with your hand to create a shield for your face in case he happens to look over. "I'm almost done with my cake, and then we can leave."

"Good luck," she sings. "The only booth open is the one right behind us."

Of course. Sighing, you silently pray that Harry won't come near you. You doubt he'll try to talk to you anyway since it's been complete radio silence on both ends for over two years. You're hoping the breakup doesn't get brought up.

A sudden and forceful compulsion tells you to catch a quick glimpse to see how he looks, what he wears nowadays, and how he acts when you're not around. It's hard to resist.

"He's coming this way," alerts your friend through a spoonful of vanilla ice cream.

The universe must be listening, and you can't combat the urge anymore. Someone as beautiful as him begs to be looked at. You sure as hell didn't break up with him because he was unattractive.

Subtly peeking to your left, you see Harry in person for the first time in what seems like forever. It's only a short window of time where you can take in his presence as he walks closer to sit with a group of people in the booth behind you.

Black skinny jeans. Nothing has changed there.

Chelsea boots. Since when does he wear those?       

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