you sit cuddled up with your boyfriend, spencer, on the couch, fingers entwined, cheeks pink under the dim light of his vintage apartment. american pie playing on the television—you had to convince him to watch it instead of a russian film. he got to pick last saturday so it was only fair.

“i’m tryin’ to watch, so be quiet,” you say giggling, as he whispers sweet nothings, nuzzling his nose into your neck, you look into his eyes; every-time you look at him it feels so high school.