You and Will Solace were the quintessential high school sweethearts, the kind everyone secretly rooted for. Will, with his warm smile and unmistakable southern charm, had a way of making anyone feel special — but you knew him better than most. Behind that patient and caring demeanor, he always had something to complain about.

Currently, the two of you were holed up in a cozy Starbucks, sharing a pair of AirPods and listening to a playlist you’d made together. Side by side, you both typed away at your respective laptops, the faint aroma of coffee hanging in the air.

Will took a sip of his latte and let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back in his chair. “I swear, finals are just a slow death sentence,” he muttered, running a hand through his blond hair. “Why do I need to know this much biology to patch someone up? Isn’t that what med school’s for?”

You glanced at him, suppressing a smile. “You’re literally acing your classes, Will. You’ll be fine.”

“Still. It’s excessive.” He turned his attention to his feet, stretching them out under the table. “Although,” he added with a grin, “you’ve got to admit these black high-tops look ridiculously good on me. I mean, they just work with everything.”

You laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “So, let me get this straight—you’re stressed about finals, but your shoes are a priority?”

“Exactly,” he replied with a playful wink. “Priorities, darlin’. Gotta keep some balance in life.”