“This is it,” he says. “Almost three months ago, we started in London.”

I half-smile. “No better place for us to end.”

He claps his free hand on my shoulder. “We never end, brother. Our trip ends. Your dick’s freedom ends once a sexy little redhead gets her hands on you. School will end. And in ninety-seven years, life ends. But not us.”

I swipe up a shot. “Here’s to ninety-seven more years of you being a freeloader, then.”

We grin at each other and drink, his hand gripping my shoulder tighter.

It took another two days after I drew on his chest in permanent marker for my best friend to come back. But when he did, it was in true Chase fashion. I was on the balcony, playing my guitar, when he appeared and nonchalantly set off a confetti cannon.

“There’s no place like bro,” he said. “Now come get fucked up with me.”

I let my eyes fall closed, silver foil hearts raining down on me. Then I went and got fucked up with him. Our first stop was a rooftop bar and an apology from him.

“I was out of line, Foster.” He shook his head, drinking his beer.

“I just want to understand what happened, man. We were fine, and then we weren’t. You were relentless about the lifeguard and flipped on me about Remi.” I studied him as he looked at me with regret in his eyes. But I didn’t want his regret. I wanted to finally talk it out with him.

“I’m sorry for all of it. You weren’t the problem. It was all me. Registering for next semester’s classes hit harder than I expected.”

We’d signed up the day before Halloween, hours after the #TeamFomi chanting and my start as a shit-filled kitten. We grabbed dinner, and then he went out while I worked on my song.

Chase scrubbed a hand over his face. “We have a year before life comes for us. I’m not like you, Foster. I have nothing waiting for me on the other side.”

I frowned as he continued, “I kept thinking how little time we had left. How we needed to fit everything in now because we won’t have another chance. Not like this. Not before everything changes.” His gaze drops to his beer bottle, and he starts peeling the label. “I took it personally when you stopped coming out. It’s stupid, but I felt like you were already moving on without me. You talking to Remi was something to blame it on and made her an easy target. Then I said that shit about you not having a home.” Chase exhaled, his forehead creasing. “Hurt people hurt people, but it’s not an excuse. My head was fucked up, and I hate it took me this long to sort it out.”