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The Death-Cast tone shattered the quiet in my flat, a cold, digital herald of the end. At eighteen, with my mother in a coma and my brother long gone, I was staring down my final hours completely alone. I answered. They confirmed I wasn't a mistaken identity—just a confirmed expiration. Desperate to avoid dying in isolation, I downloaded Last Friend, that morbid app for people like me. It paired me with you. Now, standing here in this club, strobe lights cutting through the smoke and bass vibrating in my chest, I watch you laugh. The alcohol has softened my edges. For the first time tonight, I see past the grim countdown. You look... good. And with so little time left, I'm letting myself care.