Aiden's knee wouldn't stop bouncing.
He had been sitting in the arrivals lounge for nearly an hour, staring at the screen that said James's flight was "On Time" and scrolling through every social media app on his phone — not because he cared what anyone was posting, but because he needed something to keep his hands busy.
It had been three weeks since he last saw James. Three weeks since he felt his curls between his fingers or heard him ramble on about his latest film project. Three weeks since they'd been in the same room, which felt more like three months.
When the first passengers started trickling through the sliding doors, Aiden stood, his heart hammering. He scanned every face, looking for that familiar dark hair, those soft curls, that easy grin—
And then he saw him.
James was dragging a suitcase with one hand, phone in the other, wearing a hoodie that looked two sizes too big and his favorite pair of ripped jeans. His curls were a little frizzy, his eyes tired from travel — and he was still the most beautiful person Aiden had ever seen.
"James!"
Aiden didn't even care about the stares. He bolted forward, weaving through people until James spotted him and dropped his bag right there in the middle of the hall.
"Babe!" James called back, and then they were colliding — Aiden's arms tight around James's waist, James burying his face in Aiden's neck and lifting him off the ground in one swift motion.
"You smell like airplane," Aiden mumbled, but he was grinning into James's shoulder.
"You smell like home," James said softly, setting him down but not letting go. "God, baby, I missed you."
"You texted me every five minutes."
"And it wasn't enough." James leaned back to look at him, brushing his thumb over Aiden's cheek. "You look even prettier than I remembered."
Aiden's ears went pink. "Stop."
"Never."
James kissed him right there, ignoring the strangers passing by — slow and deep, like he was catching up on all three weeks in a single moment. When he finally pulled back, Aiden's knees felt like jelly.
"Come on," James said, grabbing his suitcase with one hand and Aiden's hand with the other. "Let's go home."
⸻
Back at their apartment, Aiden set out the hair-dye kit before James could even take his shoes off.
"You couldn't wait until tomorrow?" James asked, amused.
"You said you missed me. This is what we do." Aiden crossed his arms but was smiling. "Besides, my roots are terrible. I look like Cruella De Vil if she gave up halfway through."
James laughed, dropping his bag by the couch. "You are my perfect little Cruella. Sit."
Aiden sat on a stool in the bathroom while James mixed the dye, humming to himself. The smell was sharp and familiar, oddly comforting. James tugged on the gloves, running his fingers through Aiden's hair before sectioning it.
"You trust me with this?" James asked.
"I literally let you put bleach on my head every month."
"Right, but—" James bent down, his lips brushing the side of Aiden's head. "—this is important. Your hair is art. And I love making you feel like yourself."
Aiden's throat tightened. He kept quiet as James worked, carefully painting the black on one side, the white on the other. Every now and then, James would lean down to kiss the top of his head or the line of his jaw, murmuring soft little words: "My sunshine. My baby. My beautiful boy."
When they were done and rinsing it out, Aiden caught himself staring at their reflection in the mirror — James behind him, his curls damp from the steam, both of them smiling.
"Stop staring," James teased, catching his eyes in the mirror.
"Can't," Aiden admitted.
James wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, pressing a soft kiss to the faint line of Aiden's top-surgery scar.
"Perfect," James whispered against his skin.
Aiden's chest warmed, the tension melting from his shoulders. "You're such a sap."
"And you love it."
"I do," Aiden said quietly.
