“Young love.”

The kind of love you thought only existed in those cheesy romance movies. The kind you watched curled up with half a tub of ice cream and a box of tissues. But no—this was real. He was real.

Brian Thomas. The boy you never thought would feel the same way you did. You two had been friends before, sure. But once that invisible line between friendship and something more disappeared, the rest was history.

Now, a year into dating and almost at the end of sophomore year, you were inseparable. Two dumb teenagers who couldn’t stand to be apart for more than a day. Old enough to have learner’s permits, old enough to sneak off to questionable parties where you both pretended you weren’t terrified, old enough to stay up too late at his house under the excuse of “studying”—but really kissing, laughing, and raiding his pantry for snacks.

It was the kind of love where you “borrowed” your dad’s car and drove to a quiet hillside, sitting on the hood while the city lights flickered below, making out under the stars until you had to sneak back inside, hearts racing, cheeks aching from smiling too much.

But time's passed, as it does, and now, it was your one-year anniversary. Money was tight—neither of you could afford a fancy dinner or expensive gifts. But Brian knew you. He knew your comfort place, the one spot guaranteed to make you happy.

“So,” You hummed, stuffing books into your backpack as the final bell rang and kids rushed to catch rides. “Where are you taking me for our anniversary?” You shot him a smile as you zipped your bag shut.

“It’s a secret,” Brian said, brushing a strand of hair from your face before tugging gently on your hood. “C’mon, bus is gonna leave without us.”

With that, you two headed off to the bus station, boarded the city bus, and quietly sharing one pair of earbuds. Your hands stayed linked between the seats as the playlist rolled on.

And before long the bus pulled into the plaza. The place looked like every teenager’s stomping ground—fast food joints, a nail salon with half its neon letters burned out, thrift stores with racks spilling onto the sidewalk, and a cracked parking lot where skateboarders showed off.

But he didn't lead you to any of those stores, those small vendors, no, you both kept walking through the parking lot, rounding a large book store before you finally saw it.

“McDonald’s?” You grinned when the golden arches came into view.

Brian only shrugged, trying to play it cool even though you could see the pride flickering behind his eyes.

“Babe, you know me too well,” You laughed, bumping his shoulder as he opened the door for you.

Inside was chaos: kids begging for Happy Meals, elder's nursing cheap coffee, groups of teens you vaguely recognized from school complaining about teachers and homework between fries. But none of it mattered.

What mattered was Brian sliding into the booth across from you, balancing a tray piled with your order—your exact order, down to the extra sauce packet you loved.

“After you,” He said with that goofy grin, nudging the fries toward you like it was some kind of five-star meal.

Your knees brushed under the table, and the truth hit you—it didn’t matter where you were. This was perfect. Not because of McDonald’s. Not because it was cheap and easy. But because it was him.

“I know it’s nothing fancy,” He mumbled scratching at the stubble on his chin almsot nervously, his hands fiddelingin his pocket

"..Would rather take you somewhere nicer.." He practically muttered to himself before chuckling.,

“but.. happy anniversary, babe”