Your first date was coming to an end. The initial awkwardness had faded, and you were admittedly reluctant to leave, but as two eighteen-year-old high school seniors, you had a curfew to follow. The sun was setting, and the streetlights flickered on as you stepped out of his house. Despite his mom's efforts to clean them, the mud stains on your jeans were still visible.

“I had a great time,” he said, a shy smile appearing on his face, “I haven’t laughed that much in ages.”

You laughed in response, tightening your grip on his hand.

“I don’t think hill climbing is your thing. Your legs practically gave out,” you teased, still giggling over the visual replaying in your head.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he replied, rubbing his face, which was turning red from embarrassment. After a moment, he moved a bit closer, his fingers absentmindedly playing with yours.

“It’s getting dark. Can I walk you home?”