Just like that, the semester was speeding by and graduation was nearly upon us. I had my initial interview with Jim at Google the following week, which seemed to go well but it was hard to tell where I stood. Though I wasn’t able to see Peter as much as I would’ve liked in the next few weeks because of his busy schedule, I did finally make it to two of his games, where I stood in the student section watching rapturously as he dribbled down the court or sank one jump shot after another, unable to believe that I had caught the eye of this god among men. He was lethal on the court, calm under the heaviest defensive pressure, a steady scorer who rarely had a turnover and often had more rebounds than the starting center on the team. And it was sexy as hell, Peter in his uniform, his slinky navy shorts riding up when he got low on D, his curls flying loose and free as he ran, his muscled arms flexing as he dribbled and shot.

Though he was rarely on the bench, every time he had a break he was looking over, catching my eye, and grinning wildly. I couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to get out to see him play. I grinned back at him and shot him a ridiculous, double thumbs-up. He blushed adorably as he smiled. Even though he didn’t have his phone with him on the bench, I started texting him after particularly impressive plays, complimenting a crazy, far-out three or a stretch of swished jump shots. He’d send his bashful thanks and lots of smiley faces back a couple hours later, when he finally had his phone back. I loved to think of him blushing as he read the messages. He deserved to be beyond proud of all he’d accomplished and I was making it my mission to show him that. I was unquestionably, deeply in love.

And so I was in denial about the semester coming to an end. Because what would happen when we graduated? Peter hoped to go pro and I still had no idea what I’d be doing. Surely it was foolish to think we had a chance of staying together? We’d only been dating, if you could even call it that, which we hadn’t yet, a few weeks. But I still couldn’t handle the thought of losing him.

I also felt like I’d let him down as a tutor. Though he’d done well on the tests and quizzes we’d studied for together, those were still only a few of his overall course grades. Soon he’d have his final exam, an oral presentation that would involve him speaking on a current event exclusively in Spanish and then answering his professor’s and classmates’ questions, and he was dreading it, terrified that he would not only fail the class and jeopardize his diploma but that he’d humiliate himself in the process by freezing up in front of the class.

But we had already picked his topic, he would speak on the Brexit vote and its implications, and his presentation was ready, with a PowerPoint to help him remember his key points and the difficult new vocabulary words he would need to use. It was the Q&A section he was really freaking out about—he hated that a classmate or Professor Martinez might come at him with an unexpected question and force him to translate on the spot. But I’d made an effort to throw every possible question I could think of at him over the course of hearing his presentation five times and I had every confidence he’d be able to pull it off. He just needed to not get into his own head too much.

In a weird twist of fate, his final presentation was scheduled the same day as my final interview with Jim for the position at Google. Though I’d been offered a position as a consultant at Ernst & Young, I’d asked for time to think it over. With no other options solidified, I could hardly turn down the offer’s hefty paycheck but I was hoping against hope that things at Google would pan out. My eyes glazed over even trying to read the description of the consulting work at EY. I wasn’t sure how I’d force myself out of bed for that job.

Both my final interview and Peter’s Spanish presentation were this Friday. Saturday was Peter’s final game of the season, the conference championship. If he flunked his presentation Friday, Professor Martinez could keep him from playing Saturday, despite the fact that NBA scouts would no doubt be in attendance to see what Peter could do. Needless to say, the pressure was on.

Peter and I ordered take-out to his apartment Thursday night, not wanting to face the world the night before both of our big days. We shared lo mein and drunken noodles on his couch as Avatar played on his massive TV. We’d both seen it a million times but found it oddly comforting. I cleared our plates just as Scully was getting dressed down by the military jerk, tossing everything in the trash as an excuse to miss one of the few high stress scenes in the movie. I came back and cuddled in close at Peter’s side. He wrapped his arm around me and shifted us so that we lay reclined on the couch, his arms wrapped around me as he spooned me from behind. He pressed kisses to my neck and across my face, then squeezed me tighter to him. I felt safe in the cocoon of his arms. I let his warmth and the beauty of Pandora distract me from any thoughts of tomorrow, soaking in this moment of shared serenity.

Peter sighed as the movie credits rolled an hour later, seeming as reluctant for our stress break to end as I was. “How’re you feeling?” I asked him softly.

He pressed a kiss below the hollow of my ear before answering. “Nervous. But like I did all I could to prepare. I’m ready to get it over with.”

“You’re going to crush it,” I assured him, squeezing the muscled forearm wrapped around me. “I’ve seen you knock it out of the park so many times. You could do this in your sleep.”

Peter let out a soft grunting noise, which I took to mean he didn’t particularly want to keep talking about it. I didn’t blame him. We’d talked it to death already. “I brought you something, actually,” I told him then, “for good luck.” Reluctantly, I pulled myself from his arms and made my way to my backpack, which I’d left by his front door when I’d come in. “It’s silly, but I thought it might make you laugh.” I pulled the clingy red boxer briefs I’d ordered online from my bag, which emphatically declared in bold white type again and again ¡si se puede! “You probably haven’t seen the Disney movie that inspired these, but—“

Peter, reading the underwear, began to grin. “Gotta Kick It Up!” he said. “Oh my god, my little sister made me watch that movie so many times. It’s funny, I think sí se puede was the first Spanish I really learned. Yes we can, right, just said in a weird form?”

I grinned back. “Yeah! Me too! Though I watched the movie voluntarily, I have to admit. I was really into dance back then…” I confessed, blushing.

Peter’s smile grew. “That’s adorable. And the movie may not have held up to multiple viewings in my book but the message sure does.”

Peter took the boxers from my hand and spread them out across his lap, testing the fit. “Well, if the message isn’t enough to inspire you, if you get nervous during your presentation you can focus on how excitedly I’ll be waiting to see you model those for me afterwards.”

Peter grinned hugely, his eyes dancing. “That just might work,” he said. “Talk about something to look forward to. Thanks, Jack. This was really sweet of you.”

I leaned over to kiss him, brushing away his thanks. “No big deal, I just wanted you to have a little piece of me with you for luck.”

Peter reached over and squeezed my hand. “I got something for you too, actually,” he said.

“Oh, you didn’t have to—” I told him, but he shushed me as he stood up from the couch and headed for his bedroom.

“Hush, Jack. Tomorrow’s your big day too. More of your big day really.” He came out of his room carrying a slim black package, which he brought back with him to the couch, holding it out to me. “And I know Jim’s going to hire you, and I know you’re going to love working at Google. I have every confidence in you, and I—” he paused, looking down a minute, taking a breath. His cheeks began to pink, “I’m really so proud of you, Jack. You’ve really given your all for this.”

I could feel tears threatening behind my eyes. I took the small box from him and lifted the lid. Inside was nestled a gorgeous navy-blue tie with tiny bulldogs stitched into the fabric. Unlike the ties in the school bookstore that were emblazoned with Georgetown’s mascot, Jack the bulldog, this was understated. The bulldogs were polished instead of grim and growling like the school versions.

“For your interview,” Peter said softly, watching me reach out a finger to stroke the soft fabric. “I happen to know that Jim’s obsessed with school spirit. He’s got a tie just like this and the socks to match.” Peter pulled another small package that I hadn’t seen him grab from the pocket of his hoodie. “Speaking of,” he said.

Inside were socks that perfectly matched the tie. I envisioned myself walking into Jim’s office tomorrow in my slate grey suit, which had cost me nearly a semester’s salary. The navy socks and tie would add the perfect touch of flair and personality to my otherwise plain outfit and they’d be the perfect conversation starter. I’d show Jim I was just like him, someone he wanted to hang out with and work with. It was a small detail in a game where details mattered. And most importantly, Peter had thought of it, had thought of me, had made an effort to give me yet another leg up when he was already the reason I had the opportunity in the first place.

I laid the socks and tie on the coffee table and straddled Peter’s lap, hugging his head to my chest and kissing his hair, squeezing him tight as I thanked him from the bottom of my heart. Then I sat back and rested my forehead against his. He kissed the tears I hadn’t realized had escaped my eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he said. “What is it?”

I shook my head. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry. I’m so grateful to you, Peter, I really am. I can’t thank you enough.”

Peter hugged me closer. “I’m so thankful for you, Jack. I’d be lost without you.”

I so hoped that he meant it, that he felt as tied to me as I felt to him. I couldn’t press him now, wouldn’t, not with so much riding on the line for both of us in the days to come, but my heart ached as I thought of how quickly the semester would be over, how quickly we could be torn apart.

I could feel more serious tears coming, tears of desperation, fear and loss. I needed to head back to my dorm; I wouldn’t put Peter through this the night before his exam. Not when the stakes were too high to talk about what I was really worried about. I kissed him on both cheeks and squeezed him one last time before I made a show of checking my phone for the time. It was 11:30. Still early but late enough that I could get away with ducking out without making a fuss.

“I’ll let you sleep,” I told Peter softly, getting up from the couch and toeing on my sneakers, doing my best to keep my expression clear. I came back over to give him one last squeeze and felt something catch in my throat. I willed myself to hold in the tears just a few minutes longer. “You’re going to be great tomorrow.”

Peter hugged me tightly. “So will you. Text me as soon as you’re out of the interview, okay?”

“I will,” I told him, knowing that no matter what happened I’d pretend it went at least okay until after Peter was done with his exam. “And I’ll meet you right after your exam.”

Peter kissed me one last time. “Can’t wait.”

I walked back to my dorm quickly, the anxious tears already spilling by the time I reached my door. I headed straight for the shower and turned the water to full blast, letting the tears flood out as the shower filled with steam. When the hot water ran out five minutes later, the sobs had started to subside. I took half a Benadryl, knowing I’d need the help sleeping, set a series of alarms to ensure I would be up in time no matter what, then fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.