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Jake rolls his neck, his body protesting against the movement after restless hours in the same position. The tense line of his shoulders already aches, and the overhead lights are too bright against his squinting eyes as he watches the rows of people ahead of him unfold themselves and reach for the overhead bins.
There's a layer of sluggishness that only comes with a red eye. The early morning hour seeping deep into their bones and lingering in the soft way passengers whisper and shuffle into the crowded aisle. The urgency that accompanies the end of a flight curls in subdued tones — the desire to be on solid ground still present even in the pre-dawn.
Jake looks down at his phone and toggles off the airplane mode. He waits, notifications rolling in, and looks out the window to the dark tarmac. Lights flicker and blink, guiding the other planes across the runways, and Jake briefly itches to be across the country and hurtling down a runway in his own jet.
The thought is fleeting and quickly replaced by a stronger need to be out of this airport and in the familiar leather seats of Bradley's car with the warmth of Bradley's hand under his. It spurs him to open his messages and type out a quick landed to send off. He scrolls up slightly to scan the new messages — a link to a tweet and a three-minute-long voice note that Jake is reasonably confident is probably just Bradley singing in the car.
He drops his head back against the seat and closes his eyes. The stale, recycled air leaves his skin too tight and dry on his face. It compounds with the long week rushing between the hospital and his childhood home, sleepless and tense. Yet, the distance hasn't eased the band that's been pulled tight in his chest since the call last Tuesday.
Jake scrubs a hand across his face to chase the feeling away as the phone buzzes once in his lap.
Here is all Bradley responds, and Jake sighs in relief. He can picture Bradley idling in the pickup line, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as music plays softly. He'd worry about how early Bradley is, still rows from deplaning and in need of his bag from baggage claim, but the 4:01 illuminated in the top corner of his screen tells him there isn't much rush in the normally packed pickup line.
The row ahead of him shifts almost in unison, standing and grabbing at their bags with the imminent taste of freedom. The two women next to him start their own shuffle in retrieving their backpacks between a groggy exchange. They'd both slept the whole flight and left Jake to his jealousy and heavy eyes.
There's no point in promising himself that he'll never fly an overnight like this again — it's useless in the knowledge that he'll do anything to just be home. Worn flannel sheets and cups in cupboards that make sense. No inconvenient clutter or dogs barking in the early morning.
He bends and pulls his backpack from its spot shoved under the seat in front of him, muscles protesting at the sudden stretch. Standing is worse as he ducks low to wait for the first girl to unjam her suitcase from the overhead.
"Let me," he murmurs as the girls shift to let him into the aisle. He tugs the bag free and hands it over, receiving a tired smile and a quiet thanks. Instinct guides him through the jetway and the desolate gates toward the bag he’d begrudgingly checked. Stragglers linger around the bathrooms and water fountains, but the shops are dark, still too early for the early morning set-up. Overhead, jazz crackles through the speakers, impeded only by a jarringly chipper voice reading off safety reminders. By the time Jake reaches the single lit-up carousel and sends off another text, at baggage, the jazz has returned.
He rocks back on his heels and settles for watching the short list of departures and arrivals on the TV mounted above. He only gets through one cycle when a warm hand grabs his elbow.
Jake jerks, spinning in place to take in Bradley's messy hair and sleepy eyes.
"B," he laughs quietly, pushing into Bradley's space easily. Bradley's arms fold around him and tug him closer, face pressing against the old hoodie that disappeared from Jake's side of the closet years ago.
"Welcome home," Bradley rumbles. His scruff rasps against Jake's cheek, and the tightness finally loosens in Jake's chest.
"You parked?"
Bradley hums and shrugs easily like he won't complain about the fee later. "Yeah, I parked."
The carousel behind him beeps and starts on a whir, the only motivation to pull away from the solid warmth.
"I really missed you," he admits as he takes in Bradley's familiar face again. Jake had said it over rushed phone calls and after blocks of update texts, but to see the pleased crinkle of Bradley's eyes in real-time is more satisfying.
"Yeah," Bradley sighs and presses close to Jake's side as they turn. The carousel continues on its lazy circle, finally presenting a scuffed blue bag on its next rotation. Jake watches the next duffel appear and doesn't need to look to see the truth on Bradley's face. "I really missed you, too."