The first time I saw you again, you ran from me. In hindsight, that's understandable. We were awkward, a little pensive, unsure how to fill up those thirteen years of emptiness with something worthwhile. I just wanted the best for you. I'd told you, "Good luck," when the police were chasing me. You should've been the one telling me that. Instead I set off your internal alarms.
I spent hours chasing you with the cops on my tail, making them think you were a suspect too. You made solid attempts to shake me off, and you were a fast runner. But I still remembered how you think, even after all this time, and I was able to keep up with you. Predict your movements, even. The police could not, and eventually we lost them. We wound up at your house: a refuge that would become a danger zone once the police caught up.
In the meantime we talked, caught up. You told me that things had been a little rough lately; the girlfriend I recalled you having was now an ex. I said, it's fine, at least she's not here dealing with this mess. Not the response you wanted to hear. At least you didn't bolt again.
Things were going well with your grandma's shop, though. Originally a bakery, it had expanded and now had a little deli and a grocery section. Hearing about it made me nostalgic. I decided to flick on the news, see if any stories would remind me of the time I first spent here. The reporter was explaining how the police had just raided your grandma's shop. My guilty charge rubbed off on you, she said, so they decided to target your loved ones to draw you out. No one was hurt physically since it was the middle of the night, but you looked devastated. This time I got the message and turned off the TV.
We went silent for a while. Just us two, ruminating in the living room with the lights off to make it seem like we weren't home. Neither of us wanted to leave — we agreed that jail is worse than intense awkwardness — so we tried to make ourselves comfortable in the artificial blackout.
You were bored and I was curious, so we tried making out. It wasn't interesting, as we expected.
You told me your grandma would be shutting down the shop for real tomorrow. You'd gotten a voicemail saying as much while we were kissing each other.
We heard sirens before we got a chance to process that. I moved in for a hug, but hesitated. You said goodbye without raising your arms. I waved and left through the back door.
I'm sorry for making you run the moment I saw you again. I'm sorry for being shitty about your breakup only to make out with you right after. I'm sorry for not speaking with you for thirteen years. I'm sorry for making your grandma close down the shop. I'm sorry that we have to separate so soon after meeting each other again.