We weren't meant to see each other again after we broke up. It was mutual; we loved each other with everything we had, but we would eventually have to split due to college. It was inevitable. We made sure that we weren't going to talk again. Maybe if he'd chosen the local college then we would've been okay.

As soon as I set foot in this goddamned school lock-in, I knew he was there. I knew he'd be there, and I knew we'd have to talk. And it pained me.

I saw him again. He was staring at me on the school's bleachers with a far away look in his eyes. One that would remind you of a kid staring at an ice cream cone that they couldn't have, or my brother ogling at one of the comics in the shop he worked in.

"You're fucking kidding me." I had muttered under my breath.

We had agreed to never talk again, but that plan obviously wasn't going well.

It was precisely 9:33 when I worked up the courage to nod my head at the bathroom and ask the teacher if I could use it. He seemed to get the message immediately, and as soon as I pushed the metal bar on the door, he asked the teacher the same thing I had.

I went to our spot and waited for him, hoping he remembered, hoping he cared. Hoping he still loved me.

He found me sitting in the corner of the hallway next to the boy's locker room at precisely 9:37. It was dark, and the only reason I knew he was there was because I heard his shallow breaths. I heard something thump on the wall, and felt him beside me. He leaned on my shoulder.

And when I heard that first sniffle, I knew I was truly, one hundred percent fucked.

"Are you crying?" I had asked, which he denied.

"No."

"I missed you."

"Do you remember our first kiss?"

I smiled a little at the memory. It had been the Fourth of July, and we were sitting on my roof, eating ice cream sandwiches. He had asked me what my favorite firework of the night had been. I didn't get to finish answering his question before he was kissing me, and the last firework went off.

When we had pulled away, I only laughed and replied, "That one was by far my favorite."

I stayed silent for seventeen seconds before responding, "How could I forget?"

"I lied."

"I know."

"I am crying."

"I know."

And suddenly, he buried his face in the crook of my neck and balled my shirt in his fist and began to cry.

"It's not fair! I don't want to leave you!"

"I know, baby. It's okay."

"I love you."

Silence.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked suddenly.

I wanted to say yes. I wanted with every ounce in my body to say yes. I wanted to feel his lips on mine, to feel the butterflies in my stomach again.

"No."

"Okay."

We settled for what we had and hoped that we wouldn't get in too much trouble for sneaking out.

"Your eyes," He began, waking me from my daydream, "are so beautiful. You don't know it."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. They change, you know? In the mornings, when you first wake up, or when you're bored, they're like an empty canvas. Plain and simple, yet beautiful nonetheless. And when you're happy, it's like someone's painted a masterpiece on that canvas. And I always know when you're sad, too. It's like someone's smeared beige paint all over the dried masterpiece. It's no longer there. Your eyes don't sparkle when I bring up your favorite things, and they're dull. They're beautiful all the time, and I hate it, because I can't help but fall in love with them."

"Pete, I-"

"I know, I'm taking this too far, and we're probably never getting back together, but I want you to know that you're beautiful."

"I love you too."

"It's a longshot," He sighed, and in the faint glow of the classroom near us, looked up at me with sparkling eyes. "But can I kiss you now?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

He tasted like mint with a hint of salt. He always tasted like mint.

And suddenly, I realized that he was still crying.