Three months is all you had left with Simon. After thirteen years of friendship, your lives were about to change. Graduation was tomorrow and everyone was drowning themselves in booze. You and Simon sat on the trunk of his rusty old car that somehow still worked.

He held a cigarette between his lips, gazing out to the sunset with you. Hands in his pockets and a leg bent against the bumper to lean against.

“Not much longer until I leave this shit hole,” Simon mutters. He looks over at you, watching as you press your knees to your chest, eyes solemnly focused on the grass. “but at least I have you still, right?”