You moan as you look over at the time on your phone, your alarm clock screaming at you. “Who flies in at three AM?” You had asked him over the phone a few days prior. You had the mind to just stay in bed and not even worry about going to the airport so late. But who were you kidding? He’s been gone for three months; you were going to the airport. You slowly crawl out of bed, allowing your body to wake up before you started making any sudden moves. You look at the time once more to figure out how much time you had to get ready before stepping into the shower. “If he lands at three-thirty,” you begin to yourself in the shower, “it’s two forty-five now.” You sigh at the amount of time you didn’t have and quickly finish cleaning up. You debate whether to call the 24-hour car service Harry always used, but you knew how much he hated taxis and that he would much rather you drive him back home. You slide your keys off of the kitchen counter and head for the garage. The drive to Heathrow is quick seeing as it is three o’clock in the morning. You park in the pick-up lane and walk into the almost deserted airport. You had no idea where to go and there were no attendants standing at any of the kiosks. You rolled your eyes at the lack of staffing, not even bothering to consider the time. “Gate eighteen,” someone shouts from behind you. You turn to see a man on a golf cart approaching you. “They’re coming in at gate eighteen,” he repeats once more as he drives up. “Thank you,” you respond. At least someone was around here to help. “I’ll drive you if you would like,” he obliges. You smile and walk around to get in. “How long have they been gone this time?” He questions, trying to make small talk. “Three months,” you answer. “And you already want him back?” He chuckles and you do the same. “It’s only for two weeks though,” you inform him, “then we will be back sending him off to America for three more months.” “Crazy life you all have,” he responds of you schedule. A few more moments of silent driving and you reach the gate. He looks down at his watch as he gives you one more bit of information. “They should be landing soon.” “Thank you,” you respond graciously. You take your seat at the nearly empty terminal, a few of Zayn’s friends are gathered on the seats near the window and you smile as they notice you sit down. You take your phone out to see what the internet has to offer this early in the morning. “Anyone else that wanted to just stay in bed?” A female voice asks from behind you. You turn around to find Sophia making her way to you, the golf cart that she had ridden on driving away. “I know how you feel,” you respond with a smile. “This is ridiculous, can’t they find their own way home?” She was not a morning person and you had been made very aware of that on many occasions. “They’re here,” one of Zayn’s friends announces looking out the window as a few more friends of the boys show up, obviously on pick-up duty as well. It takes at least twenty minutes after the plane is parked at the terminal before people begin to walk off. You were so glad customs wasn’t an issue anymore. You liked it much better when you got to see him straight off the plane. Zayn’s the first off and his friends greet him with shouting and punching, typical male greeting you supposed. Louis and Niall come off next, each traveling to their respected friends who had arrived after you had. Sophia goes running towards the gate door a few moments later meaning you were the last to wait. Zayn walks over to you, pressing a greeting kiss to your cheek before walking off with his friends. Sophia and Liam finally move away from the door, allowing the rest of the security team into the airport. “Nice to see you again, love,” Liam says, pressing a kiss to your cheek exactly where Zayn had. You wave them off as they make their way back out of the airport. You check your phone, nothing. How long could one person take to get off of a plane? You sit back down after giving hugs to Niall and Louis before they headed home. Security is slowly departing and only one is left, standing against the wall at least ten feet away. The plane had landed forty minutes ago and you were still sat here. You look over in confusion to the lone member of security when the desk attendant begins to shut the terminal door. He shrugs his shoulders and you get up from your seat to address her actions. “Excuse me, is that everyone?” “Yes, ma’am,” she responds and your heart sinks. “That can’t be right,” you counter. “That’s everyone. They just radioed in after the walk through.” Your brows furrow. What was happening? Where was he? You turn around in defeat, looking down to check your phone one last time, nothing. You need to talk to security. You lift you head up to make your way to the man standing at the wall but you stop. In your line of site is a tall, lanky, bed head, one arm behind his back, with at least three dozen orange roses in the other. Your hand covers your mouth and the scream that would have been inevitable if you hadn’t. You shake your head and he moves his arm from behind his back to extend it out, wanting you with him. You quickly make your way to him, your arms forcefully wrapping around his torso. “I missed you,” he says in your ear.