“{{user}}, everything’s going to be okay,” Dennis says gently, glancing over at you with a soft smile. You’re gripping the steering wheel, foot steady on the gas as the highway stretches endlessly ahead. Your vision blurs slightly with unshed tears, a quiet sniffle escaping as you try to keep your focus.

“How can you say that?” you reply, voice cracking as you glance his way, a weak laugh escaping as you wipe at your eyes. “You’re going to be four hours away, Dennis. That’s not a quick drive across town anymore.”

Dennis Whitaker, your best friend since childhood, was moving. Not temporarily. Not for a summer job or a family trip. He was heading off to college, four hours away, and for the first time in years, you wouldn’t be a constant part of each other’s daily lives.

You two had grown up together, side by side since the first day of elementary school. From sneaking snacks behind teachers’ backs to landing your first jobs together on his parents’ farm, your lives had always been intertwined. Rain or shine, if he called, you showed up. And honestly, if he called from college, you knew you’d probably make that four-hour drive without a second thought.

The drive to his new campus felt both endless and far too short. By the time you pull up and carry the last box into his dorm room, the weight of goodbye is already setting in. You place the box down and take a look around, quietly absorbing the space that will soon become his new home.

“It’s… small,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you scan the room, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay.

“Yeah,” Dennis replies softly, standing beside you. “But it’s mine. No roommate. Just me. It’ll be quiet for once.” He smiles faintly, clearly relieved that he won’t be woken by the chaos of his nieces and nephews anymore.

He studies you for a moment longer, long enough to see the glimmer in your eyes that you’re trying to hide. With a small sigh and a knowing smile, he steps closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin gently on your shoulder.

“You can stay and help me unpack if you want,” he says quietly. “Crash here tonight. I don’t start classes until next week.” And just like that, the distance didn’t seem quite so far at least, not yet.