"I thought I'd find you here."

Drew Riordan, who'd been lost in thought, jumped slightly and turned to see that Andy, his old friend and college roommate, had appeared on the little rooftop patio that overlooked the river. In the distance, just over the trees, he could make out the skyline of downtown Linfield.

"Yeah," Drew said, a little sheepishly. "Had to get away from all the people for a little bit."

"I can go if—"

"Nah," Drew said, waving his hand. "You don't count." Drew had always been a bit of an introvert, but somehow Andy had never seemed to tax his social reserves the way other people did.

Andy gave him a little half-smile, and for a while, they stood next to one another at the railing, looking at the lights of the city glittering on the dark water. It had been years since Drew had last seen Andy, but somehow it felt as if no time at all had passed.

Suddenly, all Drew's worry seemed silly. Though no one around him had been able to tell, he'd been a nervous wreck in the weeks leading up to the wedding, terrified and exhilarated at the prospect of seeing Andy again. But despite barely keeping in touch, despite all that had happened between them their final year of college, there was no tension, no unresolved ick in the air between them.

It was just them, the Andrews—their college nickname—reunited again.

It felt good.

Drew had been thrilled, of course, when he'd gotten the invitation to Max and Finn's wedding. All four of them had rowed together through college, and their senior year they'd shared an on-campus apartment. Drew had had a front row seat to watch Max and Finn fall in love over the course of their final year at Bellamy University, and he couldn't think of two people better suited for each other—Max was charismatic and confident, Finn calm and steady, and they worked together as a seamless unit.

Drew had been nervous about seeing Andy, again—Andy, who'd been Drew's first crush, his first kiss, his first everything, but who had still staunchly asserted he was heterosexual.

Drew shook himself. All that was in the past. Right now, the night was warm and mild, and the music from the band drifted up from below. Drew was pleasantly tipsy, two of his best friends had just gotten married to each other, and life was good.

"How've you been?" Andy asked after a while. He looked over at Drew, giving him a once-over as though he couldn't quite believe Drew was real. "I can't believe it's been, what, two years since I last saw you?"

"Yup," Drew said. "Graduation."

"You're still working at the same place, right?" Andy asked. His blond hair was neatly combed, for once, though in the dim light, Drew couldn't see any of the reddish highlights that always glinted in the sun. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah," Drew said, nodding eagerly. "I really love it. Just got a promotion, actually."

"Hey, congrats, man," Andy said. "What are you doing now?"

"Same stuff, but higher pay," Drew said. Higher pay was a bit of an understatement. The large, fancy tech company he'd been working for since he graduated had been acquired by a larger, fancier tech company, and now Drew had more money that he knew what to do with. It was a good problem to have. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know," Andy said vaguely. "Finished grad school. Started a new job recently."

"Do you like it?" Drew asked, raising an eyebrow. "You don't sound thrilled."

"I do like it," Andy said. "It's just weird being… I dunno. Out of school. In the real world. A grown-up." Andy wrinkled his nose in disgust.

They lapsed into silence and Drew couldn't help smiling out into the darkness. Their freshman year, Andy had infamously flooded the laundry room in the basement of their dorm when he'd poured way too much detergent into the machine. Andy was smart, but somehow he had made it through eighteen years on the planet without doing a single load of laundry.

Drew had been the one to show Andy how to do a load of laundry without filling the room with an ankle-deep layer of suds. That day, a hot afternoon in the poorly-ventilated basement room, with Andy looking apprehensively at the machine like it would bite him, but still willing to laugh at himself—that was the day they went from being friends to being best friends.

"So," Andy said. "You, uh… seeing anyone?"

Drew desperately wanted to read into the hesitation, the overly casual tone in Andy's voice.

"Nah," Drew said, shaking his head. "Married to my job, and all that." Since he'd come out, he'd been in a few relationships over the years. Things had always ended the same way, though—after a few months, the other guy would want more commitment, more affection, more of Drew. More than he could give.

The men he'd dated always mistook his silence for resentment or anger or melancholy. In the beginning, they'd find Drew aloof and mysterious—Drew seemed to attract the kind of guy who saw Drew as a project, something to be fixed, a code to be cracked.

There always came a point when the other man would declare his love for Drew. And Drew would feel frozen and trapped, unwilling to lie but also unable to give him the response he wanted to hear.

And so, they'd part ways and Drew would be alone again.

It wasn't that he hadn't cared about the people he'd dated. But he also found himself looking for fatal flaws and deal-breakers, some kind of excuse to never let them get too close. And in the end, he never seemed to be able to match their affection.

"Are you?" Drew asked. "Seeing anyone, I mean."

Andy snorted.

"No," he said. "I think I've burned so many bridges that the women of Linfield have collectively agreed to never sleep with me again."

Drew let out a weak laugh. He really hoped he hadn't just invited Andy to detail his most recent sexual exploits, because Drew wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that right now.

But instead, Andy was quiet for a moment.

"Do you remember that time we snuck onto the roof of Branner Hall?" Andy said after a moment. "The night before graduation?"

"Yeah," Drew said.

"That was a good night," Andy said.

The memory was bittersweet for Drew. That day had been oppressively hot, but by the time they were stumbling their way home from one final hurrah with their friends at The Cricket, a local bar near campus, the air had cooled and the night was mild and warm, full of that summertime soundtrack of cicadas and bullfrogs.

Max and Finn had already disappeared, probably to go make out somewhere, and Andy and Drew had stumbled back to campus, Drew's arm slung around Andy's shoulder for support.

There had been a rumor on the Bellamy campus that there was a way to get onto the roof of Branner Hall, which afforded a spectacular view of both the campus and the city of Linfield beyond.

Drew had been expecting to have to scale a wall and edge their way along some tiny ledge, holding on for dear life, but it was as simple as shimmying through an old window in a dark, cobwebbed stairwell.

It had been beautiful and serene, and Drew's heart had ached with happiness and sadness in equal measure. He and Andy had kissed that night, long and slow and deep, on the roof with the city glittering beneath them.

But that had been their last kiss before they'd gone their separate ways after graduation.

And now here they were again, on another summer night, with the city spread out shimmering before them once more.

"That was a good night," Drew agreed. He longed to glance over at Andy, to see what, if anything, his expression revealed.

But he was afraid, too, to look over and find evidence that that night had meant more to Drew than it had to Andy. It was a familiar kind of ache—Drew had spent his whole life feeling as though he was always trapped in relationships with unequal dynamics. Someone was always reaching, someone was always turning away.

"Drew," Andy said softly, and when Drew shifted, he found that Andy had moved closer to him.

"Yeah?" Drew said stupidly, his words sticking in his throat.

"It's… really good to see you again," Andy said.

"You too," Drew said. He couldn’t seem to do much more than echo Andy's words, because suddenly his brain was too full of awareness for how close Andy was to him.

Somehow, even after two years, the constellation of pale freckles that dusted Andy's nose and cheeks was still as familiar as it had been that night on Branner Hall.

And then, Andy's hand was on Drew's chest, and Andy was pressing his lips to Drew's, soft and chaste—Andy, who'd been Drew's first love and first heartbreak, who'd taught Drew just as much as Drew had taught him.

Andy pulled back, blushing scarlet.

"Er, sorry," he said, offering up a small smile.

"Why are you apologizing?' Drew asked, his voice hoarse.

"Probably should have… asked before I did that," Andy said, biting his lip.

"You never did before," Drew said. His pulse was hammering, and his heart felt like a hummingbird in his chest.

Andy leaned in again, so close their noses brushed together.

"Good point," Andy said, barely more than a whisper.

Andy kissed him again.

And he didn't ask that time either.