Spencer loved the San Francisco International Airport. Right now, she hated it.

A week ago, she had no idea what San Francisco would come to mean to her. She had no expectations. No real plans. Everything had unraveled as a complete surprise, down to the very last night. But Spencer still felt fulfilled by the experience, and she was grateful for the chance to escape from her real life, even if only for a week.

Sakura squinted up at the screen, verifying the correct gate. Even Spencer, a far less traveled person, knew the app was more handy. But she liked watching her, so she didn't mind waiting.

This airport drop-off felt much different than the last one for many reasons, most of which they didn't need to get into. The intimacy of getting undressed in front of someone new didn't alter the dynamic the way Spencer thought it would have, especially considering their long history. A blessing she wouldn't turn away. But they both seemed to adhere to a silent understanding that they weren't jumping into something so quickly without handling everything else going on in their lives. They weren't going back to being just friends. (Maybe they never were just friends.) (Maybe the complicated web of their underlying feelings had existed long before they hopped on flights or wrote unread letters.) For now, they would take their time to figure it out.

"All checked in?" she asked.

Spencer nodded, yanking the backpack strap higher up on her shoulder. "Do upgrades always cost that much? Absurd."

"And to think... you're still gonna get served that shitty Hot Pocket knock off." Sakura pulled out a small paper bag from inside her tote and handed it over. The shape of the contents was unmistakable, along with the smell. Spencer hadn't noticed her making it that morning. "Spam musubis for the road. Or... for the skies, I guess."

In another lifetime, they knew nothing of goodbyes or long distances. In every other lifetime, they only knew forever.

Back in the heart of Castro, on top of Sakura's dresser, sat an unopened letter. Spencer had scribbled it in the middle of the night, not allowing herself to rethink every word or wonder if it made sense. They understood each other in the simplicity of one look across the room. Whatever poured out of her heart and onto that piece of paper would always make sense to Sakura. She knew this. She felt it.

The rest of the airport slipped away into nothingness. Sakura and Spencer embraced in a way that didn't exist five years ago. They clung to each other desperately, without reservation. Life didn't always make sense, but they would. The way they felt about each other would. If their love had been pulled straight out of folklore, their statues would appear exactly as they were now—two lovers wrapped up in each other moments before being forced apart. And if they were something slightly less grand but more touchable, they would be background characters in someone else's photograph, a story for strangers to discuss around the dinner table. Who were those women? Were they crying? Where were they from? Or going? Were they in love?

"I love you."

"I love you. Thank you for everything."

"Have a safe flight. Call me when you get home."

Sakura and Spencer. A little. Hawai'i, and sometimes San Francisco. Home. Yes.

Later, while sitting at an empty table waiting for boarding to start and eating an overpriced breakfast burrito, Spencer cried. Most of it was happy, but a lot of it was sad. (The money she spent on one meal might have had a little to do with it as well.) She had arrived at the airport early enough that it wasn't busy, but people still walked past every now and then. She didn't think much of what others might have thought. She wasn't the first person to cry in an airport, and she wouldn't be the last.

Once the alert came through that boarding was about to begin, Spencer accepted that she was ready to go home.