The air smells different in Italy—like saltwater, wildflowers, and the faint earthy scent of the woods that surrounds the camp. The camp had been like a dream, something out of a movie, full of adventures and moments that felt too good to be true. It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like a lifetime.

I stand at the edge of the small clearing, watching the late afternoon sun begin to dip behind the trees, while you're sitting on the wooden dock by the lake, your legs swinging over the side as you hum quietly to yourself. I smile at the sight of you, you're wearing one of my hoodies, the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of very short shorts, your bare legs exposed as you kick your feet back and forth.

You're my first love, my first kiss, my first everything. The first time we kissed, just a few days into camp, was on a quiet evening by the bonfire after everyone had finished playing music and laughing. The chemistry had been undeniable, and after teasing each other for so long, we finally gave in.

Now, though, as I walk toward you, I can feel the knot in my stomach grow. Seven days left. Seven days before we have to go back to our normal lives and we both know things will change. We'd be back to reality—you to Doncaster and ms to Manchester. Not far, but not close either.

"Hey," I say quietly, trying to fight back the sadness in his voice. I sit next to you, both of us looking out at the lake. "What are you thinking about?"