Page 390 of End Game

This is a very thoughtful and emotionally complex flight.

Micah is waiting for me at baggage claim.

I see him before he sees me.

Black hoodie.

Black jeans.

Hands shoved into his pockets.

Hair longer than it was when I left because apparently four weeks is enough time for dramatic physical transformation.

Or I missed him.

Probably that.

Then he looks up.

His whole face changes.

Fuck.

Home.

I leave my backpack where it is.

Just abandon it directly beside the carousel like luggage no longer matters.

Micah takes three steps toward me before I reach him.

Then I'm in his arms.

No witty opening.

No smartass comment.

Nothing.

I just grab him.

He catches the back of my neck and kisses me.

Hard.

Not obscene enough to get us removed from Denver International Airport.

Close.

Someone walks around us muttering something homophobic.

I don't care today.

Micah finally pulls back.

His forehead rests against mine. “Hi.”

My throat does something stupid. “Hey, Sad Boy.”