It had been months since Nate last saw Sully.
Four, to be precise.
After barely making it out of the remains of Shambala with their lives (as if that was anything new) and with hardly anything to show for it, they’d decided to take a break and go their separate ways for a while. Sully returned to wherever the hell he’d been staying and Nate went back his apartment in Florida— they didn’t speak much in their time apart, just coasted through the motions of everyday.
—but now Nate found himself hurrying through the Miami Airport parking lot, jacket pulled tight around himself to shield against the warm, wet wind that was blowing against him and battering anything in it’s path. It was nearly two thirty in the morning and the storm (correction: mon-goddamn-soon) hadn’t let up any.
Hopefully their flight wouldn’t get delayed.
A rather louder crack of thunder split the muggy air as Nate rushed inside—hopefully Sully wasn’t running late. That’s all he needed.