The Seattle skyline glittered under a twilight sky as Travis Montgomery leaned against the railing of the Station 19 rooftop. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain that always seemed to linger in the Pacific Northwest. He stared at his phone, his thumb hovering over Michael Cooper Williams's name in his contacts. It had been weeks since they'd spoken—weeks since the argument that left them both angry, confused, and distant.

The lyrics of Taylor Swift's "Come Back... Be Here" played in Travis's mind:
"I don't want to need you this way, come back, be here."

He'd told himself that putting space between them was for the best. But standing here now, the ache of Michael's absence felt sharper than ever.

Weeks earlier, Michael had flown to San Francisco for a temporary job opportunity—six months at a high-profile architectural firm. It wasn't supposed to change anything between them. They'd promised to call, to visit when they could. But the distance had turned into an invisible wall, each missed call and unanswered text adding another layer to the growing divide.

"Why does this feel harder than it should?" Travis had asked Michael during one of their rare phone calls.

Michael's voice had been tinged with frustration. "Because we're not being honest with each other, Travis. You hate that I'm here, and I hate that I feel guilty for wanting this."

"It's not about hating it," Travis had countered, his tone defensive. "I just… I don't know how to fit into your life right now."

"You don't have to fit into my life," Michael had said softly. "You're supposed to be my life."

The line had gone quiet after that, the silence heavy with everything neither of them knew how to say.

Now, standing on the rooftop, Travis replayed that conversation in his mind for the hundredth time. He hadn't called Michael since. Pride, fear, and anger had kept him from reaching out. But tonight, the weight of it all felt unbearable.

The door to the rooftop creaked open, and Vic Hughes stepped out, a steaming mug of tea in her hands. She took one look at Travis and sighed. "You're brooding again."

"I'm not brooding," he said automatically, shoving his phone into his pocket.

"Travis, I've known you for years," Vic said, leaning against the railing beside him. "This is your 'I miss him but I'm too stubborn to admit it' face."

Travis sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not that simple."

"Sure it is," Vic said. "You miss Michael. Call him."

"And say what?" Travis asked, his voice tinged with frustration. "That I'm sorry for being angry? That I hate that he's not here, even though I know this is important to him? That I—" He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.

Vic gave him a knowing look. "That you still love him?"

Travis didn't respond, but the truth was written all over his face.

Across the city, Michael sat in his hotel room, staring out the window at the San Francisco skyline. The city was beautiful, vibrant, full of opportunities he'd dreamed about. But it didn't feel like home. Not without Travis.

He picked up his phone, scrolling through their old text messages—inside jokes, pictures from lazy mornings at Travis's apartment, sweet goodnights. His chest tightened as he lingered on their last exchange, the argument still fresh in his mind.

Michael wanted to call. To fix whatever had broken between them. But he didn't know if Travis wanted the same thing.

The following weekend, Travis was at the station, his mind far from the chaos of the day's calls. As he stood in the kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee, his phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the screen and froze. It was Michael.

Vic, passing by, saw the look on his face. "Answer it," she mouthed before disappearing down the hallway.

Travis hesitated, then picked up. "Michael."

"Hi," Michael said, his voice soft. "I hope this isn't a bad time."

"No," Travis said quickly. "It's not."

There was a pause, and then Michael said, "I miss you."

Travis's grip on the phone tightened. "I miss you too."

"I hate how we left things," Michael continued. "I hate the distance, and I hate feeling like I've lost you."

"You haven't lost me," Travis said, his voice breaking. "I'm just… scared."

"Of what?" Michael asked gently.

"Of losing you," Travis admitted. "I've been so caught up in my own fears that I forgot to be there for you. And I'm sorry."

Michael's silence on the other end was heavy, but then he said, "You're still my home, Travis. That hasn't changed."

Two weeks later, Michael surprised Travis by showing up unannounced at Station 19. The sight of him standing in the doorway, suitcase in hand and that familiar, hopeful smile on his face, nearly brought Travis to his knees.

"What are you doing here?" Travis asked, his voice shaky.

"I couldn't wait any longer," Michael said simply. "I needed to see you."

Travis crossed the room in three quick strides, pulling Michael into a tight embrace. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, the weight of their separation melting away as they held each other.

"I'm not going anywhere," Michael whispered. "Not without you."

Travis pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. "Then we'll figure this out. Together."

As they sat on the couch in Travis's apartment that night, sharing takeout and talking about everything they'd missed, Travis felt a sense of peace he hadn't felt in months. The lyrics of "Come Back... Be Here" played softly in his mind:
"The delicate beginning rush, the feeling you can know so much."

Because for the first time in a long time, he wasn't afraid of losing Michael. He was ready to fight for what they had. Together.