I see you in my mind, auburn hair, hazel eyes, small frown, and a constant slight blush. It's been forever since I saw you in real life, but my dreams take me to you constantly. You and I, next to your Abuelo's restaurant, and you're laughing as I make a fool of myself, serenading you on my guitar. That isn't reality, and I have to convince myself it's a dream as if I don't it will make the pain worse once I wake.

Waking from last night's dream was the worst, it felt so real, and I could feel the heat coming off you as I hugged you tightly before you disappeared. I turn, and snuggle into something, believing it's you. It never is. It's a pillow in a hotel that screams money, and when I sit up I see I'm still with Francis and Gilbert, stuck because our manager dragged us into doing a world tour when all of us have someone waiting at home. Being a band member is hard on all of us, but it pays well.

We all try to make the separation easier; I guess it's a way of stopping the stomach churning and chest pains from realizing we still have so long before we can get back home. Gilbert tries to stop the agony in the most cliché way possible, he sleeps with Matthew's red sweater he stole just because it smells like fish, maple syrup, and pancake batter (it doesn't anymore, but he has to convince himself it does). Francis reads Shakespeare (Romeo and Juliet) in between performances since its Arthur's favorite play, but even I see the tears in his eyes as he mouths the lines. Reading it only reminds him more of his and Arthur's weird relationship and how Gilbert and I and Arthur's brothers don't see how they'll stay together. To us, they were doomed from the start, but we can't stop Francis from loving anyone and Arthur has been his longest relationship in years.

I cope with the taste of tomato seeds on my tongue, bittersweet as it seems to melt in my mouth, running down my throat with hardly a swallow. If you were here we'd share the tomato I've bitten into, sharing bites and you'd curse when I accidently drip some juice on your Armani shirt. You'd make me buy a new one, or ten new ones to replace the one I had stained. I'd buy you a hundred if it makes it so I can see your smile every day.

I want to be on a plane flying home to you, but you're in Italy now and I'm way out here, in Oceanside, California. I'm so far away from you, but it doesn't mean anything. Not when my baggy eyes match Francis' and Gilbert's. We're all tired of our managers nagging, we don't even have any more shows, and he only wants us to talk about things that could easily be talked about on Skype. Why should we stay here when home is so far? I whip out my phone, determined to make it back to you. I can see it on everyone's eyes, we're tired of this.

A: Hola, I've been gon 4ever. I'm comin home 2nite, we'll be bak 2gthr. This plane gon' fly, I cnt predict th weather, but u shld knw tht I, I'll be on th 1st flight home.

"We'll be on the first flight home."

Francis is calling the travel agencies, booking flights to Italy, England, Eastern Canada, it doesn't matter the cost, just how fast it will be to get to our destinations. Gilbert's hastily stuffing all our stuff into our bags, and I'm certain when I get home half the clothes won't be mine, and I'll have Francis' toothbrush, but it's not like it hasn't happened before. With Francis' plans, we'll be living all together soon when we buy a huge mansion to share with all six of us using the money from the band. I'm dancing around the room, getting high at the thought of kissing you and hugging you tightly to my chest. Soon, soon my dream won't be just a dream.

It's dark out, our decisions spontaneous and mainly decided after a night of insomnia, it's all rushed so we are lucky to catch a red-eye flight. Well, Francis and I did, Gilbert has to wait till morning to get on his flight.

By the time you get my text it will be late afternoon where you are. But you won't be awake to greet me at the airport. Nothing matters to you but your rest until after one at the earliest. By the time I get there it will be just after noon, so I know where you'll be, under the covers like a Sleeping Beauty waiting for "her" prince. You have always had the weirdest of sleeping patterns.

I fidget in the plane seat, rushing it using my mind powers, I just want to go home and see you. I can't believe I'm on the plane, heading towards you.

I say, "I'll be home in no time! When the plane lands, it will be like I never left." Just to get looks from the passenger next to me. He's old and American, and seeing a Spaniard talking to himself isn't completely normal to him.

Please, I know you're sleeping, but check your phone soon, because I'm coming home, Lovino. I'm coming back to you.

I rent the first car I see in the rental parking lot, a fiat. You'd be proud of me in my choice of cars. I'm driving as fast as I can with the speed limit, I know better than to be pulled over. It would delay me more than just following the signs.

I'm walking up towards the house you share with Feli, Marcello, and your Abuelo, and I knock on the door, just like I did so long ago: two loud raps on the wooden frame and three softer ones. I hear your footsteps racing down the stairs. I know it's you, Lovi—only you take the stairs two at a time; I remember things like that, but only about you.

You're eyes are puffed up, you're clutching the cellphone with the charm I bought you—the one you said you'd never put on your phone since it was "too damn girly." I can tell you just got the text, still in your pajama shorts with a baggy T-shirt that oddly looks like mine.

I say to you, "Hey, I know I've been gone forever, I'm finally home today. Please know that I'm here, I won't leave your side. I told you I was coming, sorry it took a while. You already know, I was on the first flight home. I'm home."

You're in my arms after that, calling me names, again. I can only smile, as all I hear through the curses and threats is "I missed you." Marcello, Feli, and Nonno are looking at us through the windows, but I don't tell you. I just pull you into a kiss, because I want you to know, I missed you too.

We're sitting on stools outside the restaurant, me strumming my guitar. Your voice sounds beautiful, still hesitant to join me. You still glance at me occasionally, thinking I don't notice. My grin widens, and everything seems brighter.