Sunflower

29

As much as it's sucked being away from Hero the last few days, it was the right decision. I've been insanely busy trying to negotiate my extended stay with Kingston and Pratt. And when I wasn't doing that, I've been meeting with the owners of my upcoming murals as well as helping Hank schedule out all the other new projects. (It's no surprise Hank isn't the organized type.) What little time I've had leftover has gone to figuring out what to pack for Paris.

Hero is picking me up in twenty minutes which gives me just enough time to review my suitcase (for the tenth time!) to make sure I'm not forgetting anything important. My backpack has my sketchbook, pencils and markers; wallet and passport; phone and charger; lip balm, sunnies and Airpods. My suitcase – and of course I'm bringing the large one, has 10 different outfits and five pairs of shoes to make sure I'm covered for every situation – walking around the city, going to dinner, dancing in a club. Before I can second-guess my choices, my phone rings and Hero tells me he's downstairs. He's five minutes early.

When I get down to the lobby of my building, I see a black sedan parked out front with both Hero and a guy in a dark suit standing in front of it.

Hero. Just the sight of him after being apart for three days takes my breath away. I pause before I open the door – he still can't see me and I take a minute to soak him in. Staring at him now I'm reminded me of how jaw-droppingly hot he is – today his tall frame is dressed in a white sweatshirt, black jeans and black sneakers. His hands are shoved in his pockets; his eyes trained on the door I'll soon be walking out of.

When he sees me, his own face breaks out into a smile and he strides up the sidewalk, pulling me into a tight embrace that I feel on a cellular level, his soft sweatshirt emanating his familiar scent of nicotine and soap. I tighten my arms around his neck and he lifts me in the air, burying his face in my neck.

"God I missed you," he whispers into my ear. I feel my insides turn to lava.

"I missed you too," I reply, resisting the urge to wrap my legs around him. Instead, I kiss him back chastely as he sets me on the ground. I have a perfect view of the driver over Hero's shoulder; he's standing there awkwardly unsure if he should interrupt our moment to take my luggage. Ignoring him, I rub my hands up and down Hero's smooth head, and exhale in knowing that he's really standing here in front of me.

He leans down and kisses me again, then leads us to the car where the driver takes my backpack and suitcase from Hero and opens the car door for us. We climb inside and head to Heathrow, our hands entwined the entire ride, unable to not touch each other after our time apart.

When we arrive at the airport, Hero dons a black baseball cap and clasps a black fanny pack across his chest before getting out of the car. He thanks the driver and takes control of our suitcases, guiding me into and through Heathrow with the ease of a pilot. I follow him to the first class lane and pause, giving him a questioning look. He chuckles as we assume our position in line.

"We're sitting in first class?" I quasi-yell at him under my breath.

"Yeah, why?"

"I don't know," I reply. "I just didn't realize my ticket was going to be so expensive." The truth is I have no idea how much my ticket cost, but I imagine it was a pretty penny considering it was only booked last week... and it's first class!

"Don't worry about it. It's a short flight, so it's not like a fancy first-class or anything. They're pretty standard seats," he says, pecking my cheek briefly before we're summoned to the counter. I don't know what "fancy first-class" means but am mildly relieved to hear we're not flying it. As we check in, the airline worker invites us to check out the first-class lounge before our flight departs. Ever concerned with being on time, Hero checks his phone.