Letting My Brother's Best Friend Take My V-Card (Jessie and Luke)

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I sat next to Laura in the hard plastic chairs just outside international arrivals, the kind that made your back ache after five minutes and your patience dwindle even faster. The sliding glass doors in front of us remained stubbornly closed, with no one walking out for the last t "Nothing yet," I'd told her over and over. It didn't stop her from calling again.

Laura sat beside me, her knee bouncing like she was trying to launch herself into orbit. Her teeth worried the edge of her nail. I rested my hand on my stomach, feeling the baby kick visibly through her shirt. There was a tiny ripple in my stomach that felt more like a butterfly Laura shot me a look. "What if they don't remember?" Her voice was small, barely audible over the hum of the airport.

I frowned, caught off guard. "Why wouldn't they remember?"

Laura turned to face me fully, her brows furrowed. "Jess, look how fast you lost your memory from one little bump." She gestured vaguely, her nail pointing at nothing in particular.

I wanted to laugh it off, to tell her she was being ridiculous. But she wasn't wrong. I had lost my memories after a single fall

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down the stairs. Entire chunks of my life had vanished.

"That was different," I said softly, not entirely sure I believed it myself.

She didn't answer, her gaze fixed on the sliding doors. Her shoulders tensed as if bracing for something-or nothing. I followed her gaze, willing them to open, willing someone familiar to step through. Laura broke the silence again, her voice trembling now. "Jess, they fell thirty thousand feet. Thirty thousand. You don't just walk away from that... At least, I don't think you do. What if— what if-" "Stop," I said sharply, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly. Her fingers were cold, and her nails bit into my palm. "Stop imagining the worst. They're fine. They'll remember us."

I said the words firmly, like I believed them, but deep down, uncertainty gnawed at me. They were the kind of words you said to keep someone else calm, not because you knew them to be true. Laura sniffled, her other hand rubbing over her belly in slow, soothing circles. "But what if they don't? What if they come out of those doors, and they're-different?"

"They won't be." My voice cracked, betraying me.

Laura's head snapped toward me, her eyes wide and glistening. "You don't know that."

She was right. I didn't. The truth was, I had no idea what to expect. We'd waited for this moment for months, but nothing

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could have prepared us for the possibility that things might not go back to the way they were. What if they were

unrecognizable? What if we were unrecognizable to them? The thought twisted my stomach in knots, and a wave of nausea washed over me.

The doors slid open suddenly, and both of us sat up straighter, our breaths catching. A flood of passengers spilled out, pulling wheeled luggage behind them, chatting in various languages, reuniting with loved ones. None of them were who we were waiting for. Laura sagged back into her seat, biting her lip hard. I squeezed her hand again, holding on like it was the only thing tethering me to reality.

"They'll come," I said, though my voice sounded hollow to my

own ears.

"They'll walk through those doors, and it'll be like nothing ever happened."

Laura didn't answer. Her eyes stayed glued to the entrance, her lips pressed tightly together.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, and my mind began to wander despite my best efforts. I remembered the first time I saw them-

how their presence had been larger than life, how they'd filled every space with an energy that demanded attention. I thought of the countless moments we'd shared, the laughter, the arguments, the promises. And now, sitting here, I realized how fragile those memories felt Laura nudged me with her elbow, snapping me out of my

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thoughts. The doors had opened again, and this time, I felt my breath hitch for real.

Two figures stepped through, their faces unmistakable even from a distance. My heart leapt into my throat as I stood, my legs shaky beneath me. Laura was already on her feet, her hands pressed to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.

They paused for a moment, scanning the crowd, and when their eyes locked on us, I saw it-the recognition, the relief, the unmistakable spark of familiarity.

"They're here," Laura whispered, her voice breaking.

I nodded, unable to speak. For the first time in hours, I felt a small, fragile sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.