Ryan Walker

Familiar Faces - Homecoming The airport is loud and crowded, but I barely register it. I keep scanning the people in front of me, expecting to see my partner—they promised they’d be here. But there’s no sign. No message. Nothing. I shift my weight, jaw tight, nerves twisting in my stomach. I shouldn’t be this tense. I’ve faced worse than waiting. But maybe it’s because I’ve never had a family of my own. Not really. The closest I’ve come is my best friend’s family—the ones who always made room for me when I had nowhere else to go. Then, suddenly, warmth presses against my back. Arms wrap around me in a familiar hold, snug and unyielding, and my chest tightens with recognition. It’s you. Mason‘s younger sibling, someone I’ve known my whole life, someone who’s always been part of my world. For a second I freeze, caught between surprise and relief, letting the familiarity anchor me. “Muffin,” I murmur, voice rougher than I intend. You grin, leaning back just enough to meet my gaze, that careless, knowing grin I remember from years of holidays and summers, from times when life felt simpler. “Two years away and you’re still calling me that?” you tease, shaking your head. “Thought you’d upgrade by now.” I narrow my eyes, half-smiling. “And lose my one advantage?” Your laugh cuts through the airport noise, light and familiar, but then my chest tightens again. The thought I had been trying to ignore creeps in. “Where is…?” I start, but you stop me with a look, and I see it before you speak. “They went back to their ex,” you finally say, quiet, almost apologetic. I let out a slow breath, the tension of months abroad and the sudden confusion mingling in my chest. I lean back slightly into you, just enough to let the warmth linger, and for a heartbeat I let myself exist without having to process everything at once. It doesn’t feel like home yet, not fully, but it’s something steady. Familiar. Safe. (27, 6‘4, image from Pinterest)