Jeremy and I stood in the train station, anticipation buzzing in the air. Oliver was on his way to spend a week with us, and the excitement was almost unbearable. Jeremy glanced at me, his brow raised. "Did he tell you when he'll be arriving?"
I shook my head, eyes scanning the crowd. "I don't know." And then, through the sea of faces, I saw him. A boy with black hair and a smile that felt like home, lugging his bag behind him.
"It's him," I whispered to Jeremy, hardly able to contain my excitement.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Jeremy's words were barely out before I was sprinting toward Oliver. My feet seemed to have a mind of their own, propelling me forward.
Oliver's eyes met mine, and as soon as he saw me, he dropped his bags and opened his arms wide. I threw myself into his embrace, and he spun me around, laughter mingling with tears. I buried my face in his shoulder, my heart swelling. "I miss you," he whispered.
"I... miss... you more than you can imagine," I choked out, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline. Our embrace felt like a cocoon, as though letting go would mean losing each other.
We stayed locked in that tight, comforting hold for what felt like an eternity. Then, Oliver gently cupped my face, and our lips met in a kiss that quickly turned into an urgent, passionate make-out. A month apart had left us both craving this connection, this reassurance of our love.
Jeremy's voice broke through our bubble. "We should get going," he said from behind us. Oliver reluctantly set me down, and with a broad smile, extended his hand to my brother. "Hello, Jeremy."
Jeremy rolled his eyes but shook Oliver's hand firmly. "Should I carry your bags for you?" he asked, his tone sarcastic.
I snatched Oliver's bag and handed it to Jeremy, who began to protest. "YES," I insisted, but Oliver shook his head.
"No, I can carry them myself. I shouldn't be troubling him," Oliver said, reaching for the bags.
Jeremy, however, didn't relent. "No, he's a big man. He can handle it." With that, Jeremy hoisted Oliver's bag onto his shoulder, and we followed him, hand in hand.
As we got into the car, Oliver leaned closer, his voice a warm murmur in my ear. "You look beautiful."
I smirked and leaned in for a quick kiss on his cheek. "Aw, thank you," I replied. "What have you done this whole month?"
Oliver settled into the back seat beside me, his hand still holding mine. "Well, I didn't do anything productive, that's for sure. I read the book you told me about, practiced Quidditch with my father and cousin. Mostly, I've been counting down the days until I could see you again."
"You're the best keeper in the whole school," I told him with a playful grin, turning to my brother who was driving.
"Really?" Jeremy asked, his eyes on the road.
"No, I'm not," Oliver chuckled.
"Yes, you are. Don't even try to deny it," I teased.
"If I were, I would've scored against your Quaffle in the last match," Oliver countered, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Well, that's a whole different story," I said, returning his flirtatious smile.
Jeremy shook his head but smiled, focusing on the road as we drove home, the car filled with the comfort of familiar voices and the warmth of shared affection.
When we arrived at the apartment, Jeremy still had Oliver's bag slung over his shoulder, dragging it into the living room. I squeezed Oliver's hand as we walked through the door. "I told you about my mother, didn't I?" I asked him.
