When someone saves your life. When they find you in the snow and they drag you up. And make you walk. And bring you help when you told them not to. They make you drink gallons of soup. And when they lie to everyone they know. That's more than friends. There's no word for what I feel for you.
The familiar scent of the ocean air mixed with the musky breeze of the small quaint town surrounds him as he steps out of the local airport, causing his nose to scrunch up at the offending smell. Though there had been a time when the air did not affect him, it has been many years since he lived within the boarders of that town.
Nearly a decade, six years to be exact, he has traveled far and wide through many different countries. From the jungles of Africa to the top of the Egyptian pyramids, through the wilderness of Madagascar and along the Great Wall of China, he forsook the more civilized world for the comforts of nature and the animals that inhabit it.
Unless it had been absolutely necessary, he avoided people like one would avoid the plague, finding life simpler that way. On his own, there were no need for pointless conversations and, most importantly, no chances to be betrayed. For who was there to betray him but himself?
One thing he has learnt, however, is that no one can run away forever. No matter how fast or far you run, sooner or later you will end up right back where you started, face to face with the very thing you had run away from. Hopefully when the time comes, however, you are prepared for the confrontation you had fled to prevent.
Slinging his duffel bag across his back, he slowly makes his way through the town, reacquainting himself with the place he had once called home. Strange how things seemed to feel so different yet look pretty much the same when he'd left it.
The usual patrons still sit at the local diner, probably eating the usual meals that they've eaten a million times over. The PCPD still looks as tattered as it had the day he left, as useless as ever, he'd assume by the lazy cops that are simply hanging out by their cars. Same crap, different cops.
One significant change, however, would have to be the Port Charles Hotel. Where the old hotel used to stand, a new one now resides, the Metro Court Hotel. In his opinion, they should have just stuck with the original name, personally finding the new name to be a little tacky.
"Well, I'll be damned." Jake, the owner of the local bar Jake's, exclaims when he walks through the door of her establishment. "And here I thought I'd be retired before I saw you in this place again."
"Jake." he says in greeting, walking over to the bar before dropping his duffel bag down on the floor. "How have you been?"
"Kid, you don't have enough hours in the day for that." she chuckles, popping the top off a couple bottles of beer before sliding one over to him. "Should I assume that you got my message?"
"I got it." he confirms. "You sure you want to sell the place?"
"I wouldn't have made the offer if I wasn't." she counters simply, downing the last of her beer. "Honestly, I've been wanting to retire for quite some time."
"Why haven't you?"
"I've been waiting for the right buyer." Jake admits, always knowing that he'd be the one she sold the place to. "This place has been my baby for a really long time. I wasn't about to sell her to just anyone."
"I can understand that." he replies with a glance around the bar. "If you're serious about selling, I'll buy it from you."
Reaching below the bar, neatly fitted in a waterproof bag, Jake pulls out the documents that would successfully transfer ownership of her bar to the man standing across from her, clearly having put a lot of thought into letting go her business.
"I've done all the legwork, all you have to do is dot the Is and cross the Ts." Jake says with complete conviction, placing an ink pen down upon the bagged documents. "You can have your lawyer give it a once over if you want."
"That won't be necessary." he says simply, pulling the documents out of the bag before signing and initialing the highlighted places before handing it to her along with the check. "Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"How did you know I'd come back?" he questions with apt curiosity. "Those papers weren't drawn up for any buyer...they were drawn up for me, specifically."
"Call it blind faith." she replies with a slight smile. "This place means a lot to you. I had hoped that sooner or later you'd make your way back here to take claim to it."
Picking up his duffel bag from the floor, he heads upstairs to his old apartment, key in hand. Of all the things in the quaint town that has not changed, a part of him was thankful that this place was one of them, unable to stomach it if this place had turned into something tacky the way the old hotel has.
Admittedly, the musky smell of the bar would take some getting used to again, but he's willing to make the effort. No matter how he feels about certain places and people that reside within that town, this bar would always hold a special place in his heart, prompting him to do whatever it took to make sure that it never changed.