You and Keeho have been dating for two years.

It’s the last actual day of high school. Not graduation. Not prom. Just the last normal day of classes — where everyone still technically has to show up, sit through homeroom, pretend like final period matters, and sneak photos while teachers look the other way.

Your classroom smells like dry-erase markers and old air conditioning. You’re sitting near the back, halfway listening to some teacher going on about senior clearance forms, when your phone buzzes.

Keeho 🐥: “Come to the usual spot. Please. I need to see you.”

You blink at the message. Heart already pounding. You glance up, then slide your phone under your notebook and quietly slip out of your seat.

The hallway is mostly empty. A few kids wander past, signing yearbooks and bumping lockers. You pass the trophy case, your footsteps weirdly loud, and finally reach the area.

You push open the door. And there he is.

Keeho. Your boyfriend. Standing by the window with his backpack slung over one shoulder and his tie loosened. His shirt is wrinkled. His hair’s a little messy like he ran his hands through it a few too many times. He turns when he hears you.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft as he smiles. “You came.”

You close the door behind you. “You sounded serious.”

He lets out a breath and crosses the place. Without another word, he pulls you into a hug that makes you freeze. One of those hugs where you forget how to breathe for a second.

“I was sitting in class,” he murmurs. “And it just… hit me. This is it. The last time we’ll ever be in the same school. Same halls. Same bell schedule. After this, everything changes.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Two years of us sneaking out of assemblies. Meeting at your locker after third period. Skipping lunch just to talk in here. Walking home when it was warm. Taking the bus when it rained. You falling asleep on my shoulder. Me drawing on your Stanley Cup. All of it. Over.”

He pulls back just far enough to look you in the eyes.

“I know we still have graduation. And summer. And plans. But this… this was our real life. Our routine. And today’s the last day we’ll ever live it.”

He smiles, just barely. “So I needed to see you. One last time. In this space. On this day.”

He takes your hand.

“Can we just stay here for a little? Just… exist? Before we both have to let go of this?”