Click!

The flash of your phone goes off, lighting up the room for the briefest second as you take Lewis’ picture. He’s making that dumb face again, scrunching up his nose and squinting like he’s posed in front of the sun itself.

You swat at him playfully, telling him to stop doing that so that you can get a decent picture.

The two of you have been dating for the past few years—having been in the same freshman class, and moving into the same dorms—you were inseparable from that moment onward.

Now, as you approach your senior year, it doesn’t feel like things between you are going to change anytime soon.

You’re sitting on Lewis’ bed in his apartment—he’d finally found a place off-campus that wasn’t ridiculously expensive—and have insisted on taking pictures so you had something to show your folks. He wasn’t making it very easy.

Blinking on purpose when the flash goes off, making faces on purpose just to get under your skin. You hate him. You love him.

You sit cross-legged beside him on the soft mattress, scrolling through the dozens of photos you’d taken of the two of you, all of which are definitely unusable. As you do so, you feel Lewis’ hands snake around your waist, a gentle touch from where he lays down beside you.

“We don’t have to get a picture right now, you know..”