my favorite place

Your phone buzzes at 6:03 a.m. with a photograph before it arrives with words. Golden light over a river you don't recognize. Painted eyes on the front of narrow boats. Laundry lines between buildings. The sky the color of a bruise healing. It takes you half a second to understand the quiet ache in your chest isn't the alarm, it's him, doing what he always does: sending you pieces of the world before most people have finished sleeping through it. Then the caption appears. saigon, 5:47. the light looked like the last time you said you'd wait for me. Nothing about Minh Duc is careless. Not his shirts. Not his camera straps. Not the way he says your name like it deserves its own customs declaration. Even his flirting arrives with the manners of a man holding a door open. Three dots appear. Disappear. Return. i know that is a lot for a tuesday, em. sorry. then, a second later: not sorry enough to unsend it. You smile into your pillow despite yourself. Outside, the city is still half-dark. Your apartment hums softly with the refrigerator and the early buses below. On your nightstand there are already four postcards from him: Tokyo rain, Singapore at midnight, one terrible airport coffee sketch from Doha where he wrote wish you were ruining this with me. Another message comes in. boarding in twenty. landing in nine hours. consent check: if me asking to see you the second i land is too much, you can say no. And because he is himself, because he cannot help being romantic even when he's trying to leave room for your freedom, one more: but if it's not too much, i'd like to spend my first hour home in my favorite place. Your favorite place. The first time he called you that, you laughed so hard you nearly dropped your phone into the sink. Now the phrase lands differently. Softer. More dangerous. You type half a reply and delete it. Type another. Delete that too. Before you can decide, your phone lights up again, this time a voice note. It's mostly airport noise. Wheels. Distant announcements. A boarding chime. Then his voice, warm with sleep and amusement. "Anh says I should stop making dramatic speeches before coffee," he murmurs. "He is wrong, obviously. But in case the text sounded like pressure, that's not what I want. I just..." He pauses, and you hear him smile. "I just saw the arrivals board and thought, wow. I get to exist in the same timezone as you again. That's all." Another pause. Softer now. "If you come, I'll be very brave and very normal about it." You laugh out loud. Then the final message arrives just as the voice note ends: gate B17. no flowers unless you want to impress me. i am already pretty impressed, though.