Page 33 of Caden & Theo

But this isn’t a movie. It’s Kentucky, and we’re not out. Not here. Not yet. So instead, I give him a bro hug. A second round. This one tighter and fiercer.

“I missed you,” I say into his shoulder.

“Same,” he breathes. “So much.”

When we finally step back again, I catch his eyes flicking up and down, like he’s checking me over. “You look good,” he says, voice a little too casual.

I grin. “You look tired.”

“Drive was long,” he says, stretching his back. “And I forgot how boring the radio is once you leave the state.”

“You didn’t listen to my playlist?”

“I did! I just… may have looped it three times and then needed a break from 50 Cent.”

I laugh and reach for his duffel, slinging it over one shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.” I wrap my arm around his shoulder and steer us toward the dorm building.

We walk together across the lot. The sun slants low now, turning the pavement warm and the windows of the buildings gold. Some guys are tossing a football on the green. A group of girls sit on the front steps of another dorm, eating from foam take-out boxes and talking loud enough to echo. Campus is alive, but not overwhelming.

“This place is bigger than I imagined,” Theo says, glancing around. “Everything feels… wide.”

I nod. “Yeah. It does that. Took me a week to figure out where the laundry room is.”

He laughs. “You? Mr. Campus Map himself?”

“Hey, I printed one. Just didn’treadit.” We pass the outdoor seating area, a couple of metal benches under a tree that’s already started shedding leaves. I nudge him. “That’s where I eat breakfast most days. Better light.”

“Better light?”

“For my cereal. Gotta set the vibe.”

He rolls his eyes, but I can tell he’s filing it away, picturing me sitting out there in the morning sun.

The dorm entrance is ahead now. Brown-brick with a metal-framed glass door. It’s not fancy, not by a long shot, but it’s been home for six weeks. I reach for the handle, glancing back at him.

“You ready?”

He nods. But his eyes say everything. I squeeze his shoulder one last time and push the door open. He steps inside first, and I follow before leading him to my room.

My bedroom door clicks open, then shuts behind us, and everything shifts.

The sounds of campus dull to a murmur. It’s just us now—Theo and me, finally behind closed doors.

For a second, we just stand here, breathing. Staring. Six weeks is a long time.

He drops his duffel to the floor. I let his backpack slide off my shoulder. Neither of us says a word.

I’m not sure who moves first. It might be him. Might be me.

But the second our arms are around each other again, something in my chest loosens, then tightens all at once. My hands find the back of his neck, his waist, his spine—anywhere I can hold on. His mouth crashes against mine like it’s been aching. Like it’s starving.

And I get it. Because I’m starving too.

We kiss like we’re trying to make up for every second we lost. His lips are soft but urgent. His fingers fist the back of my shirt, and I groan into his mouth when he shifts closer. Every part of him presses into every part of me—heat to heat, need to need.

“God,” I gasp against his jaw. “I missed your mouth.”

“You missedme,” he breathes, hands skimming under my shirt. “All of me.”