Autumn sunlight filters through the trees as I perch atop the Brakebills stone sign, smoking a cigarette and pretending I'm not watching for Quentin. The first leaves are just starting to turn, orange and gold against the remaining green, and there's a crispness in the air that feels like possibility.

He appears suddenly, emerging from the direction of the woods with that same lost lamb look he had when we first met, but there's something different now. More confidence in his step, though his hair still falls in his face the same way. He's wearing a faded t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders, and for a moment I simply watch him, smoke curling around my face as my heart does that stupid thing it's been doing around him lately.

"Having a deja vu?" he asks, approaching the sign with a smile that takes my breath away. There's no nervousness now, no awkwardness - just Quentin, comfortable in his own skin, and somehow even more beautiful for it.

I take a final drag of my cigarette before flicking it away, watching as he leans against the stone sign beside me. The proximity sends a jolt through me - the faint scent of his cologne, the way his arm brushes mine, the way he's looking at me like he knows exactly what he's doing to me.

"Careful," I say, my voice lower than intended, "Dean Fogg might hear you and decide to stick you with the Psychs. Penny would murder you in your sleep if you roomed together again."

He laughs, that warm, genuine sound that makes something tight in my chest loosen. "Yeah, it's too late for that now," he says, his shoulder pressing against mine. "Turns out I really am where I belong."

The words hang in the air between us, charged with meaning I'm not sure I'm ready to unpack. But then he turns to me, those brown eyes earnest and open, and I can feel the walls I've spent years building starting to crumble.