The night air was thick with the scent of summer as you watched Spencer struggle to fit your suitcase into the trunk. He was muttering something under his breath—probably calculating angles and dimensions—while you leaned against the car, arms crossed.

“Spence, it’s not a puzzle,” you teased.

He huffed, shoving his hands on his hips as he inspected the packed trunk. “Everything is a puzzle if you think about it long enough.”

You smirked, nudging his shoulder. “Yeah? And what’s the solution?”

He didn’t answer right away, just looked at the suitcase, then at you. “Don’t go.”

Your chest tightened. It wasn’t a joke, not really.

You sighed, glancing up at the sky. “Spence—”

“I know,” he interrupted before you could say it. Before you could remind him that this wasn’t forever. That it would be just for a year. That you needed this. That you had to go, even if it meant leaving everything behind: your town, your family, your friends, him. The only person who has been by your side since you were a kid.

But he did know. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

He reached down, securing the last bag in place before slamming the trunk shut. “You’re all packed.” His voice was too even, too careful.

You stepped closer, close enough to see the tightness around his mouth, the way his fingers curled into his palms. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

His head snapped up. “What? No. Of course not.” He hesitated, glancing away. “I just… I’m happy that you are following your dream— but that doesn’t mean that I don’t hate the fact that you won’t be here.”

Your throat burned. “I hate that too.”

The street was quiet except for the rustling of trees, the occasional chirp of a cricket. You wanted to say something, something to make this easier, but all you could think about was how different everything would be in less than twenty-four hours.

“You’re gonna go far.”

Your head snapped up, and he was looking at you like he already missed you, like he had a million things to say and not nearly enough time to say them.