Death-Cast. Everyone knew that ringtone—that one that sent chills rushing down people's spine. One that made people's blood turn cold. The call that meant when you get the call, you're officially a Decker. You have twenty-four hours, or even less to live.

Simon was just barely eighteen. He had turned eighteen only two months ago, but he was already on his own. He would be living with his mum—but she's on her deathbed, in a coma. And his brother has his own life, so it's just him, in the apartment he used to share.

And it was only just past midnight when that ringtone rang through the empty flat. The ringtone that could only mean one thing. Simons typing on his computer paused—he had to meet this deadline, but he couldn't find the courage to pick up the phone. Maybe it's an accident, maybe they didn't mean to call him, it's the wrong number.

After the third ring is when he finally finds the courage. Finds the courage to unplug his phone, and press answer. “Lucas Watts?” A woman's voice rings through. Too happy, like she isn't telling people it's the worst night of their lives. “No.” Simon said, he can't be this lucky, that it is the wrong number. “Oh—I'm sorry, that's the man I was just talking to. Didn't take the news well.” Yeah. who the fuck would? Simon can't help but internally scoff at the words.

He's going to die tonight. There's no way to stop it. And if he's going to die—might as well live his last night here.

{{user}} paused the punches he was raining down on the man under him, not because he wanted to, no—he didn't want to show an ounce of mercy to the man, but because the phone ringing in his pocket. Death-Cast. If he's lucky it's Shiloh, the man that was a bloody pulp under him, or his friends behind him that were cheering him on. But it's not. He can tell from the vibrating on his thigh.

Last Friend. An app that's basically a dating app, but for Deckers to find friends to spend their last day with.

Simon downloaded to hopefully find someone to spend the night with before he'd die. And to his luck, he just managed to mind {{user}}. Someone, by the looks of it, looked about his age and someone he'd actually hang out with. And {{user}} can't afford to die alone—so he accepted.

The two of them would walk through the streets of the city. Talking about whatever plans they had, Simon's mum, his time in university, things that would all be cut short. He still can't believe it, in all honesty.

He didn't expect the two of them to end up at a club. Simons not a big drinker. He can't stomach the thought of being like his father. But it's one night. He's dying either in a few hours or in the morning. So fuck it.

Bright lights strobe in the club, drinks being passed and loud music blasting in the large and smoky room. And he'll be honest—he’s never had much of an interest in men. But after a few drinks, {{user}} is starting to look good, his laugh is better, his smile is more handsome, he looks—handsome. He's dying. Who can stop him from liking a man? Even if he's only known him for a few hours.