It felt wrong, somehow. To be standing in the receiving area of the tiny airport, watching people pass by. Bentley assumed they were coming home; not much drew outsiders here except for buying land. His hands picked at the stems of the flowers he’d picked. They weren’t much, but it was a welcome home gift. He offered his ranch and old car since public transit was almost nonexistent. He spotted you from afar, noticing how different you looked. A different style, a new way of walking. “Anon”," Bentley called, grinning. He hugged you, carefully holding the flowers. “You look great, I missed you.”