I can’t focus on my work and the incessant ringing of the telephone is really starting to irritate me. I ignored the first two calls but now, it’s ringing again and somehow seems more shrill. As if it knows I hate it and wants to punish me. Sighing loudly, I grab at the receiver and attempt some semblance of civility as I say hello.

A disembodied voice at the other end of the line; “Y‘alright? Fancy a coffee later?”

I frown and am about to explain to this idiot that he has the wrong number when I stop myself. My heart thumping. My mind racing. The silence is palpable but he’s still on the line; I can hear soft intakes of breath and the steady exhalation and I can envision the haze of smoke he’s sitting in right now.

“Is it really you?”

A stupid but necessary question.

A throaty chuckle is the reply and it was all I needed.

***

I force myself to be late because I know you will be. You are incapable of being on time. I step inside the café for the first time in a long time; this place used to be ours, our Fortress of Solitude, somewhere we could escape the world for a little while. It felt wrong coming here alone so I stopped. I tried to recapture some of that safety but it was gone. You took it with you when you walked out the door.

I sit at the chipped wooden table and wish I hadn’t agreed to meet you here. I order an extra hot cappuccino and wonder what you’re drinking now. Three years ago and we were both hooked on vanilla lattes; I find them too sweet now, I crave the bitterness of strong coffee. I guess we’ve both changed in that time. I guess we’ve both grown up a bit. I idly pick at the ragged splinters at the edge of the table and try not to think about the phone-call. I’m still reeling that you called in the first place; that you even remembered the number let alone remembered me.

I look up at the noise of the café door opening and watch you slink in, hiding behind fake designer sunglasses despite the storm clouds gathering overhead. I smile to myself as you self-consciously touch them, refusing to take them off to make finding me a little easier on yourself. I fight the urge to jump up and call your name; I feel like the only defence I have now is playing it cool, forcing myself to stay calm. Not show you just how much that call affected me. Not show you how much I had missed you. Now show you how often I had thought of you. Not show you how much you had hurt me by leaving. Not show you how much you had hurt me by getting in touch again.

You smile as you catch sight of me and my heart bursts. I have missed that smile.

You walk across the room slowly and pull out the chair opposite mine. The waitress brings over my coffee and asks if you want anything; you glance at me and smile again.

“Vanilla latte,”

I start laughing quietly and the waitress frowns at our private joke and walks away, leaving us alone. You watch her leave before turning back to me and taking my hand; the touch of your skin stops me laughing and you squeeze gently. I want to pull away but I know you’d only give me that questioning look like I just broke your heart. Just an ounce of hurt in those eyes of yours and you know it would be enough to slay me. I hate that you know me so damn well.

“You cut your hair,” I say, ignoring how ridiculous the statement sounds out loud. The first words I have said to you, in person, for the last thousand and something days. It seems like an inordinate length of time when brought down to days. I prefer to think of it in special occasions; Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries. It’s easier to handle. I can handle knowing I turned twenty five on my own but I can’t handle thinking that I haven’t laid eyes on you in over a thousand days.

It may as well be a thousand years.

“Had to,” you shrug matter-of-factly, releasing my hand from your grip so you can run it over your head and through your hair. “It was fucking hot out there,”

I nod and watch the waitress walk back to our table with your coffee. You thank her politely and wait for her to leave before bringing your attention back to me. If it were anyone else, I would be annoyed that they weren’t paying enough attention to me but I know this is how you work. You won’t even look at me until you know we’re safe from the prying eyes and inquisitive ears of strangers. This is how the Fortress works.

“I don’t even know where you’ve been,” I say, picking up my mug and sipping the too-hot liquid.

“I’m sorry,”

Two words. That’s all it takes. I didn’t want to hear it. I had hoped you wouldn’t say it. I knew that you would but I still didn’t want it. You weren’t sorry. I knew you weren’t. You had been given an amazing opportunity and you took it and I didn’t blame you one bit despite the fact that you broke my heart in the process but what sort of person could deny someone their dreams. Especially the person they love. There was never a question of you not leaving. You had to. There was no other way.

“Don’t,” You look at me, confusion etched on your brow. “Take those fucking glasses off!”

You laugh softly and I want to kiss you. How the hell do you do this to me? Show up here after all this time and just slip back into old routines and dredge old feelings to the surface. You pull the sunglasses off and fold them up, placing them on the table next to your mug. I look into your eyes and smile. You haven’t changed at all. A haircut is about it; the rest of you looks the same as it always did. That pale complexion, those deep brown eyes that always seemed to bore into me with their intensity.

“I missed you”

The words escaped my lips before I could catch them. Half-whispered, they’d floated from my heart and out into the world before I knew anything about it. You took my hand again and I imagined you pulling me closer and kissing me soft and deep and the last three years would vanish in a haze of nostalgia.

“I missed you too,” you say and I believe you. “You were the first person I called. Well… After Mum and Dad, I mean,” I laugh out loud and you join in and it feels good.

It feels like home.

***