A/N: Sometimes I listen to 'These Days' by Rascal Flatts and then I write things.

Hers is the last voice he expects to hear as he makes his way out of the crowded LA Starbucks. It registers with his heart, making it skip a beat, before his brain is able to fully process what's happening. It's been two years since he'd heard it last, but he'd know it anywhere. He turns, and she's there, even more beautiful than he remembers, smiling that smile that's forever ingrained into his memories and it feels like the dreams he's been trying to stop having since he let her walk away.

He still remembers that last day—that terrible moment he'd had to let her go. They had been headed in opposite directions and saying a swift—albeit painful—goodbye had seemed like the survivable option in the stead of long, tortured months pining after one another. It was meant to set them free, but it didn't take him too long into his senior year to figure out he was anything but.

He kept it to himself, however, watching her fulfill her dreams from afar—afraid to hold her back. He'd quietly resolved he'd go after her as soon as he could, and he had. The very next day after graduation he'd climbed into his truck and followed his heart, only to have it shattered into pieces when he got there.

"She's gone, dude," Puck had told him, a sympathetic expression on his face, when they got together for lunch in LA the day Sam had arrived. He'd never forget those words—or Puck's revelation that she'd gone off to London with the guitarist of a British indie band she'd been dating for a few months.

He's spent every day since convincing himself he was fine without her. He almost believed it, too—filling his hours with activity and people to keep himself busy. He'd made a life for himself living with Puck in the new city, working at a local graphic design company. At the time, he'd told himself it felt like moving on, but seeing her face again right then, he knows he's the furthest thing from it.

Part of him had always been waiting on this moment. Not matter what he'd done or who he'd found himself involved with, he'd always been holding out, hoping she'd cross his path again.

His body almost lurches like a magnet whose polar opposite has just moved within reach. He wants to reach out, to tell her he's missed her, and thought of her every single day, but it's been two years. They'd said goodbye. They weren't that couple anymore, even if his heart still hadn't adjusted to that fact. He'd only freak her out.

So he suppresses his emotions—tamps down the urge to reach out and hold her, to kiss her lips, and make up for every moment they've been apart—ignoring the way his heart squeezes with the effort. He resolves to be content with the opportunity to just be in her presence again for the moment, stuffing his hands into his pockets to restrain them as he drinks in the sight of her. He swallows thickly taking in her large doe eyes, her full lips, and has to struggle to keep his eyes from raking over the rest of her form.

She apparently doesn't have the same qualms as she laughs and wraps her arms around him. "It's so good to see you, Sammy!" she says and he can hear the smile in her voice as her hands rub his shoulder blades. "What are you doing here?"

"I moved out here a year ago," Sam says. "Puck said you'd already gone."

He lets the implication of his words linger between them and doesn't miss the way her arms tighten around him. She sounds as longing as he feels when she tells him she's missed him, sighing against his shoulder. He valiantly suppresses a shudder as he feels her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. The familiarity threatens to overwhelm him as they stay connected to each other longer than strictly necessary for an embrace between friends.

He breathes her in and the familiar scent of her perfume, the one that had always drove him crazy, brings the sting of tears to his eyes. He can't even stop the yearning gaze he gives her as they pull apart, and smiles crookedly when he sees it reflected in her eyes.

The hope is burgeoning in his heart before he can stop it. He's thinking of bright summer days, hot summer nights, and imagining what it'd be like to have them again.

There's so much he wants to say, but the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling her name puts those thoughts on hold, pulling them both back to reality.

"Mercedes?" the voice calls again, and then the person emerges from the crowd. Mercedes turns with a bright smile toward the man who is now making his way towards them and Sam can feel his heart sinking along with the hope he'd felt just moments before. The setting may have been different, but they'd been here before.

"Where'd you go, babe?" the man asks, running a hand through his dark curls. Sam registers the man's British accent and his fears are confirmed. He eyes Sam for a brief second before turning to Mercedes, taking in her smile with one of his own, and hands her the cup of coffee in his hand. "Your jitter juice, milady," he says making Mercedes giggle.

Sam watches, resisting the urge to walk away, as the man rubs a hand down Mercedes' back. Instead, he clears his throat, making the pair turn their attention to him.

"Oh," Mercedes says, giggling nervously. "Callum, this is Sam. He's an old friend from high school," she says, and Sam's jaw tightens at his new title. They both knew he'd been way more. Mercedes avoids the intense stare he sends her way.

"Sam, this is Callum...my boyfriend." Her hesitation is brief, but Sam doesn't miss it. She can't keep her gaze on him, and bites her lip, looking away from him after their eyes lock for a quick moment. He doesn't have time to dwell on it, though, as Callum extends a hand, smiling and telling him it was nice to meet an old friend of Mercy's.

Callum seemingly has no idea who he is, and Sam doesn't know how to take the fact that she'd apparently never talked about him. There was a whole spectrum of possible connotations and he couldn't gauge where she stood.

They stand there awkwardly for a few more seconds, Sam staring at Mercedes, knowing their brief reunion is coming to an end. He's not ready to say goodbye again, but he could sense it coming. He wants to ask her the million questions running through his mind, but he knows this moment isn't the time.

Their eyes lock again for a tense moment before Callum suggests they should leave. She lets him pull her away and Sam sighs, lowering his gaze from her retreating form to the ground, wondering why he still wasn't used to watching her walk away.

He's surprised to find her in front of him when he lifts his eyes again. She squeezes his hand briefly, offering him a small smile, and then she's headed on her way. He stares after her, confused, only belatedly taking note of what she's slipped into his hand. He turns the small business card in his hand, with her cellphone number scrawled on the back.

She isn't ready to say goodbye, either. Maybe it was about time old friends were reacquainted.

A/N: Should there be more of this? I could keep listening to Rascal Flatts and make it so. Y'all should REVIEW and let me know lol.