Milo Ventura was the most beautiful person Rory had ever seen.

In person, anyway. Sixteen-year-old Rory Fisher had seen plenty of good-looking people, of course, in movies and in porn, a recently discovered pastime, but there was something about Milo that Rory couldn't pull his eyes from. By an objective standard, Milo probably wouldn't even be considered that handsome—he was a little too tall, a little too gangly, his nose a little too big for his face.

But still—Milo Ventura was the most beautiful person Rory had ever seen.

Milo was two years older than Rory, but they'd been in the same pre-calculus class during Rory's sophomore and Milo's senior year at Linfield Prep.

Rory was one of the only sophomores in pre-calculus. Math had always made sense to him, but he'd been distracted that year by Milo. Each day, Milo sat in the back of the class, doodling in his notebook and staring out the window, slightly slack-jawed, while Rory stared at him.

It had taken Rory the entire first semester to realize his intense fascination with Milo was, in fact, a crush.

Rory wasn’t sure he'd ever exchanged more than a few words with Milo—Milo was intimidating and always had a look on his face like he'd rather be somewhere else. He wasn't exactly what you might consider approachable.

Rory had wondered, at first, if his infatuation with Milo was just because Milo was the only openly gay kid at their school. Rory definitely liked girls—but he liked Milo too. Bisexuality was something he knew existed, but that he'd never given much thought to, like Sri Lanka or the laws of thermodynamics.

He definitely thought a lot about what it would be like to kiss Milo, though.

But now, it was the end of the school year, and Milo was going off to college, and Rory would probably never see him again—and Rory had never even managed to get up the courage to have a single conversation with him.

Rory was at Elliot Djubasek's graduation party. He and Elliot were on the varsity soccer team together, and they'd always gotten along well. Pretty much every senior was there, along with many of the juniors and a handful of the cooler, more well-connected sophomores and freshman.

Rory didn't even really like the taste of beer, but he kept choking down foamy, lukewarm sips on the off chance that it might get a little better.

It didn't.

Am I being peer-pressured? he wondered vaguely, looking around the room at the mixture of friends and teammates and classmates. He didn't feel particularly pressured, but he took another sip anyway.

Gross.

He grimaced and threw back the rest of the beer, wiping the foam from his mouth, and when he stood up, the alcohol hit him all at once. He'd been sitting on the couch with some of the other soccer players, just talking and joking around, accepting red plastic cups whenever they were handed to him.

Being tipsy was nice—he felt sort of soft and floaty, a little more relaxed than usual, and he made his way unsteadily through the sliding glass door out onto the deck. It had suddenly gotten awfully loud inside, and though there were plenty of people outside as well, it was a little cooler, a little calmer out there.

Elliot's backyard was huge. The property backed up against the woods, and the large lawn sloped down to meet the trees. The bonfire had now grown to an impressive size, and a warm pool of orange light danced on the grass.

Rory realized he had to pee, but back inside the house, someone was already puking in the first floor bathroom. He could probably find a bathroom upstairs, but wandering the halls of Elliot's massive mansion seemed daunting, so Rory made his way into the woods, and, when he was a safe distance from people, pissed on a handy tree.

He stumbled back through the forest towards the house—stumbling more because of the dark brush underfoot than the alcohol. A root snared his foot and Rory found himself sprawled on the slightly damp dirt.

He picked himself up, brushing off his hands and knees, glad no one had seen.

"Are you okay?" said a voice.

Rory made a very undignified noise that could only be called a squeak. He turned and came face to face with none other than Milo Ventura himself.

"I'm good," Rory said, about ready to die of embarrassment.

"What are you even doing out here?" Milo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I… had to pee," Rory said, and he immediately wanted to smack himself.

Milo snorted.

"What are you doing?" Rory said.

Milo held up his hand and Rory saw the bright ember of a cigarette glowing against the dark of the forest.

They stood there quietly for a moment. Rory knew he should go, should leave Milo in peace, and yet...

"You shouldn't do that, you know," Rory said. "It's bad for your health."

"Wait, what?" Milo said, his mouth dropping open in shock.

Rory narrowed his eyes and looked at Milo, and it took a moment for his muddled brain to parse that Milo was joking.

"Oh, sorry," Rory said, kicking at the dirt underfoot, his face flushing. "I'm sure you knew that. Duh."

There was another pause, and again, Rory wondered if Milo was waiting for him to leave.

"I know it's bad," Milo said after a moment. He was leaning against a tree, silhouetted against the faint light of the fire.

"Why do you do it then?"

Milo shot a glance at him and Rory again mentally kicked himself.

"Sorry—I didn't mean—I meant, like, if you know it's bad but you keep doing it… why?"

Milo seemed to understand that Rory wasn't trying to be a dick.

"I started to impress someone and then just… didn't stop," Milo said with a shrug. He glanced at Rory again, as if waiting for Rory to make some comment. When Rory said nothing, Milo continued. "I like that it gives me an excuse to sneak off and just be alone a bit."

Rory wondered if this was a hint that he should leave. Milo probably just wanted to smoke in peace at the graduation party without some drunk sophomore bugging him, but the alcohol in Rory's system, compounded with the fact that this was the last time he'd ever see Milo, made Rory braver.

He stayed and racked his brain for something suave to say. He watched as Milo exhaled, sending a plume of smoke spiraling up into the trees, and he couldn't pull his gaze from Milo's lips.

"I read your thing," Rory said.

Oh, come on, Rory, he thought.

"What?" Milo asked, frowning at him.

Rory cleared his throat.

"In that… student art publication thingy?" Rory tried again. "You wrote that story about the dog? And the guy?"

Rory wished he could blame his lack of eloquence on the beer, but unfortunately, that was all Rory.

For the first time that night, Milo smiled, so small and quick Rory almost missed it, like the first sliver of a crescent moon.

"Oh, right," Milo said. "I didn’t think anyone actually read that." He scrubbed the end of his cigarette out against the tree and tucked the mangled butt back into the pack.

"I don't think they do," Rory said truthfully, and Milo snorted. At the end of every year, a collection of work by the more artistically inclined students was published and subsequently ignored by pretty much everyone.

"It was really good," Rory said.

The truth was, it had been more than good. It was a short story, barely more than a few pages long—Rory didn't really have the attention span to read anything much longer than that—but it had been utterly devastating, the story of a man coming home to his empty apartment after taking his dog to be put down. Even Rory could tell that Milo was extraordinarily talented.

"Thanks," Milo said. Through the whole stilted conversation, Milo had been looking at anywhere but Rory—at the trees, the ground, the dark, star-speckled sky above—but now Milo was staring right at him, regarding him closely. Rory flushed and wondered what Milo was seeing in him.

"What?" Rory asked after a moment, squirming under the inspection.

"Why are you talking to me?" Milo said, and though his words were harsh, his expression was almost apprehensive.

Rory blinked.

"Sorry—I'll leave you alone—" he blurted out, turning towards the house, but Milo's hand flashed out, a pale streak in the dark, and grabbed Rory's upper arm, stopping him.

"Wait—" Milo said, dropping his hand. "I didn't mean it like that—"

Rory turned back towards Milo, who seemed suddenly agitated. He waited for Milo to continue. Milo opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"We never really talked before," Rory said, shrugging, not quite meeting Milo's gaze. "And… I think you're really cool."

Milo laughed, a short, disbelieving bark, and Rory's head snapped up.

"What? You don't believe me?"

"No," Milo said, raising an eyebrow.

"Why not?" Rory asked, and in that moment, in the warm glow of the firelight, wrapped in the protective embrace of the trees, it seemed like the most important thing in the world that Milo knew how interesting and intriguing and impressive he was. "You're super talented and smart, and I always wanted to talk to you but I was really… intimidated, I guess, because I figured I wouldn't be able to like, keep up with you."

Milo's expression was a mix of surprise and amusement, but Rory could tell Milo still didn't quite believe him, which was how the next words ended up tumbling out of his mouth.

"And I've kind of had a crush on you all year."

To Rory's horror, Milo's face was suddenly hard and shuttered, and he flinched back.

"Are you fucking with me?"

Rory's face fell.

"No," Rory said in a small voice. He suddenly felt about two inches tall. He scuffed at the dark earth with the tip of his shoe.

Milo's hand flew to his mouth.

"Oh my god, you're being serious," Milo said, and his face suddenly softened. Rory glanced up at him. Milo hesitated. "I thought you were… making fun of me."

Although the night was warm and mild, Rory wrapped his arms around himself, as though he could somehow protect himself from the sting of rejection.

"I wasn't," he said. "Look, I'll leave you alone—I’m sorry I bothered you—"

Again Rory turned to leave, and again, Milo stopped him, his grip surprisingly strong for someone so thin.

Milo scrubbed his hand over his face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "God, I feel like an asshole—I just thought—you're, you know…" He trailed off.

"I'm what?" Rory said. He genuinely had no idea what Milo was trying to communicate.

Milo huffed in frustration.

"You're… this stereotypical all-American popular jock," Milo said.

"I’m a jock, so I can't have a crush on a guy?" Rory said, shoving his hands into his pockets. He wasn't quite sure what Milo was getting at, but Milo's face wasn't quite so guarded anymore, and that was progress.

"So… this isn't like… a dare or something, is it?" Milo said, squinting at him.

"Why won't you believe me?" Rory said, and he couldn't help laughing at Milo's skeptical expression. "Besides, our school's too small to have popular kids."

Milo rolled his eyes, but he seemed to relax.

"That's not true at all. The only reason I'm here is because I'm friends with Chris, who's friends with everyone. I don't even like most of the people here. Everyone is an asshole."

"What about me?" Rory asked, taking a step forward. His horror at Milo's initial rejection had worn off, and he was feeling a little bolder now. He looked up at Milo through the fringe of his lashes.

"W-what about you?" Milo asked, and Rory was pleased to hear that Milo's voice was a little unsteady.

Rory was flirting—with a guy—and, better yet, it seemed to be working.

"Am I an asshole?"

There it was again, that brief ghost of a smile.

"You're… okay," Milo said. Rory licked his lips, his chest fluttering with apprehension and anticipation, and he saw Milo's eyes flick down to Rory's mouth for a moment.

Rory swallowed, and, before he could think about what he was doing, he took a step forward towards Milo, who was still leaning against the tree. Rory turned his face up and pressed his lips to Milo's.

Milo's entire body went rigid, and he let out a surprised little gasp against Rory's lips.

Rory pulled back, adrenaline thundering through his body. Almost in a trance, Milo brought one hand to his mouth and touched his lips, like he didn’t believe what had just happened.

"Sorry," Rory said, with a completely unapologetic grin. "Now do you believe me?"

"I—I guess I do," Milo said, a slow smile spreading across his face. His smile pulled his features into harmony, and in that moment he looked radiant.

Milo brought his hand to Rory's face and leaned in, kissing Rory so gently he barely felt it. Rory's eyes fluttered shut and his hands went to Milo's waist, slim and taut through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Milo's tongue swiped across Rory's lower lip, and Rory parted his lips—

And suddenly, there was a loud crashing noise and a bright flare of light. Rory sprang back, startled, as loud cheers came from near the bonfire, which had collapsed in on itself, sending up a spectacular flume of sparks into the night.

The spell was broken, and it was then Rory realized that, though they were shielded by a tree, he and Milo were essentially standing out in the open.

"Uh—happy graduation," Rory stammered, before fleeing back into the house.

And that was how Rory got his first kiss.