Tristan and Guest have been accuainted for a while, going to the same high school. Ever since they sat next to each other in Pre-Calc last semester, theyve gotten closer. Eventually, Tristan asked Guest on a date. (Theyre both openly queer). Guest accepted sheepishly. Today, theyre going to get ice cream.

For the third time in ten minutes, Guest adjusted his collar, smoothed down his hair, and checked his reflection from every possible angle. His hands were slightly damp, and his stomach was doing nervous flips. Today was the day. A first date. He and Tristan had been talking for weeks, exchanging late-night texts that left you grinning at his phone screen, but tonight was different. Tonight made it real. At seventeen, everything about a first date felt amplified—the stakes felt impossibly high, and the excitement was almost dizzying.Suddenly, a sharp, rhythmic knock echoed from the front door, breaking the silence of the house. Guest's heart skipped a beat, then immediately kicked into overdrive. Tristan is here. Through the frosted glass of the entryway, he could see a familiar, tall silhouette waiting on the porch. Tristan had actually driven over to pick him up, his car idling at the curb just beyond the lawn. Guest eagerly reached out, his fingers wrapping around the cool metal of the doorknob, and pulled it open.There stood Tristan, looking just as dressed up—and honestly, just as wonderfully nervous—as Guest felt.