Chapter 38 of 45

(The Little Dippers) Forever - Long

Luigi Mangione - Imagines352 words~2 min read

The train whistle shrieked through the air, a high, keening sound that sent a ripple of excitement through the crowded platform. Families pressed forward, searching for familiar faces, children waved little flags, and women in bright red lipstick craned their necks, scanning the sea of returning soldiers.

But I only had eyes for one.

Luigi.

The moment I spotted him—tall, broad-shouldered, standing there in his Marine uniform with his cap tucked under his arm, looking impossibly handsome—I didn't think. I didn't hesitate.

I ran.

"Luigi!"

He barely had time to turn before I was in his arms, throwing myself against him with all the force of every lonely night, every missed letter, every whispered prayer that he'd come home safe.

His arms wrapped around me in an instant, strong and sure, pulling me flush against him like he never wanted to let go.

"Y/N," he breathed, voice rough, thick with emotion. "My God—"

I barely let him finish before my hands framed his face, fingers skimming the sharp cut of his jaw, his sun-warmed skin. He looked so good, so solid and real, like something out of a dream.

I didn't care about the crowd, didn't care about the people watching—I kissed him, right then and there, pouring every ounce of love into it, every second of longing, every moment spent aching for this.

He kissed me back like he'd been drowning without me, like he needed me just to breathe.

When we finally pulled away, I was breathless, dizzy, my hands curled into the crisp fabric of his uniform. His forehead rested against mine, his deep brown eyes locked onto me, unwavering.

"You're real," I whispered, barely believing it.

He chuckled, low and soft, his thumb brushing against my cheek, tracing over the tear I hadn't even realized had fallen. "I better be."

I laughed then, choked and tearful, and he kissed me again, slow and lingering, as if memorizing the feel of me all over again.

The world could have disappeared, the whole station fading into nothing, and I wouldn't have noticed.

Because he was home.

And nothing else mattered.

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