"Wanna get breakfast?"

Milo blinked and lifted his head, and found Rory watching him. Milo hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep.

"Oh," he said, sitting up and scrubbing his hand across his face. He hadn't felt hungover when he'd woken up the first time, but now it had caught up with him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

When he opened his eyes again, Rory was looking at him hesitantly, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"We don't have to," Rory said. "I just thought that… maybe…"

Right. Milo had agreed to try this whole dating thing, and that included not dashing off right after getting laid.

"No, that's fine," Milo said quickly. "Sorry. I’m kind of hungover."

"Oh, right," Rory said, looking cheered. "There's that little diner on Chestnut that we could go to—"

"Yeah, I probably need something disgustingly greasy like that, actually," Milo said, standing up and looking around for his clothing. "And coffee."

Milo tried to tamp down on the panic he was feeling. He'd agreed to this—hell, it had been his idea, in a way. Milo wanted to be with Rory, and this—spending time with each other outside of the bedroom—was part of that.

And the most bizarre thing was that Milo did want that, too. He wanted to go to breakfast with Rory at the dingy little diner near his house. He wanted to go to a bar with Rory, or take him to one of Kit's art installations, wanted to see movies with him or just hear Rory talk about his day.

But at the same time, the spiky little panic monster that lived in his head was thrashing around, shouting that something would go wrong, that this uncharted territory was shark-infested and dangerous.

When they left Rory's room, Milo nearly walked into someone coming out of the bathroom.

"Whoa—" the guy said, a strawberry blond bro type like Rory. He glanced between Milo and Rory and looked at Rory for explanation.

"Andy, this is… Milo," Rory said. Milo saw understanding dawn on Andy's face, and then Andy's expression hardened.

"Oh," he said.

"We're, um…" Rory started, then faltered. "We're going to breakfast." Milo had a feeling that wasn't how he'd initially intended the sentence to end.

"Have fun, then," Andy said coldly, still looking at Milo suspiciously.

"Sorry about that," Rory said when the front door had shut behind them.

"Does he have an issue with you, you know…" Milo started, and Rory laughed.

"No, not at all. But, um, I told him about—well, about things with you, so he might have an issue with you."

"Oh," Milo said. "I guess I probably deserve that."

"I wasn't—I just told him what happened. And that I was upset."

Milo stopped, guilt welling up inside him, grabbing Rory's arm and turning Rory to face him. It was a cold, drizzly kind of day, and he knew they didn't have long before the sky opened up on them, but he felt like there was still something hanging heavy between them.

"Rory—"

"Please don't apologize again," Rory interrupted. "I can tell you're overthinking things. I can practically hear it from here. Relax, okay? Let's go get breakfast and we can just… see if we even like hanging out together during the day."

Milo opened and shut his mouth, shocked that Rory had been able to read him that easily.

"I just want to make sure I know what—what you're looking for," Milo said after a moment, and Rory buried his face in his hands. When he re-emerged, Milo realized he was laughing.

"Milo," Rory said with a soft, almost affectionate exasperation—the kind of exasperation he often got from Kit. "I don't even know what I'm looking for. And I doubt you do either. Can't we just… take this one day at a time? Check in? Heaven forbid we… communicate our feelings or something."

Milo frowned. Communicating his feelings sounded like the exact opposite of what he wanted to do. That was the kind of thing Kit and Jamie did with their significant others. Milo generally preferred—well, Milo preferred avoiding anything significant in the first place.

But he'd agreed to try this. For Rory.

And for himself.

"Yeah, okay," Milo said. They started walking again.

"We don't need to label it," Rory said after a moment. "If that's what's stressing you out. We can just be… two dudes havin' fun or something." His voice had a lightness to it that seemed a little forced. He could tell there was something Rory wasn't asking, and he was almost afraid to find out what it was.

"If you want me to communicate my feelings," Milo said, "you have to do that too."

Rory scrubbed his hand over his face and groaned.

"Ugh, I feel dumb, but—I dunno, I just—I was thinking that—I feel like I can't ask this of you but—"

Again, Milo stopped them, and again, he turned Rory to face him.

"Rory. Spit it out. If it's too much, I'll tell you."

Milo braced himself for the boyfriend conversation, steeled himself to not go yelling and running away from the term.

"Fine," Rory said, frowning. He glanced down, kicking at a weed pushing up between the concrete of the sidewalk. "I… um, was just thinking about… like, other people—and how—" Rory trailed up, looking like he was about to gag.

"Oh," Milo said, blinking. He'd been so sure of what Rory was going to ask that this simple thing took him by surprise. "You mean being exclusive?"

Rory's face flushed bright red, and he seemed unable to meet Milo's gaze.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"That's fine," Milo said. "Rory, I—I haven't been with anyone else since we started—you know—"

Rory's head snapped up.

"Wait, really?"

"Yes, really," Milo said. Now it was his turn to avoid Rory's gaze. "Look, Rory—I know I'm… I’m bad at this shit but… there hasn't been anyone I've even wanted to… because… I just—" Milo couldn't believe how difficult it was to say something so simple, something that would mean so much to Rory. "I just wanted you."

Milo looked up just in to see a giant grin bloom across Rory's face. Rory leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Stop that," Milo grumbled.

"Stop what?" Rory said, still smiling broadly.

"Stop giving me that look."

"What look?"

Milo made a grumpy noise as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat and started walking. Rory was practically skipping along beside him.

"You like me," Rory said in a sing-song voice.

"Disgusting," Milo said.

"Admit it," Rory demanded, and again Milo was reminded strongly of a golden retriever puppy bounding beside him.

"I think you're… tolerable."

"You've got a crush on me," Rory said.

"Stop slandering my cold and callous reputation," Milo said. Rory reached out and grabbed Milo's hand, tangling their fingers together. Milo tensed for a moment and then relaxed. He realized he'd never held hands with a guy as they walked down the street together—such a simple thing, and yet—

It was… nice, though.

"You want to touch my dick," Rory continued, and Milo snorted.

"Well, no one's denying that."

"You think I'm cute."

"Stop this nonsense right now," Milo said, but he was smiling, too.

* * *

It started to rain just as they got to the diner. There was a long wait, as there always was for this little piece of Linfield history. The entrance was packed and uncomfortably hot, but Milo liked the way that Rory was pressed against him.

He was enjoying himself, he realized, but only in between brief flares of panic. He was about to step outside for a cigarette—anything to try and quiet that nagging, irrational little voice, even for a moment—when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Come sit with us, darling," a voice said, and Milo looked down to see Peter grinning broadly at him. "We just sat down and there's room at our table."

Oh Jesus, Milo thought, but Rory was looking at him expectantly and the next thing he knew, he and Rory were sitting down at a little table by the window.

"I'm Peter, and this is my husband, Mo," Peter said, introducing himself.

"Rory. Uh, thanks for letting us sit with you," Rory said. A waitress appeared quickly with steaming mugs of coffee for them.

"Of course," Peter said. He glanced at Milo. "Milo, I haven't seen you in ages."

"Yes, well, I had my head pretty firmly lodged up my ass for a few weeks, so it took a while to get it out," Milo said, glancing at Rory, taking a sip of his coffee as Rory mixed an unholy amount of creamer into his.

Peter snorted, and Rory reached under the table and quickly squeezed Milo's knee.

"How have you been, aside from that?" Peter asked.

"Surviving," Milo said with a shrug. "Some days better than others."

"So Rory," Peter said, turning his intense focus like the beam of a flashlight onto Rory. "Tell me about yourself."

Rory looked delighted to be included in the conversation, smiling broadly as he glanced up from his menu.

"I—well—um, I'm a grad student at Bellamy," Rory started.

"Is that how you and Milo know each other?" Peter asked. Rory glanced at Milo, as if he was asking for permission to talk to Milo's friends.

"Well, we went to high school together," Rory said. "But we just, er, reconnected this year."

"Reconnected," said Peter, raising an eyebrow, sitting back in his chair. Milo had to fight to keep himself from burying his face in his hands. "So what do you study?"

Milo only half-listened as Peter grilled Rory.

This is fine, he told himself. This is a normal thing that people do. It was just a breakfast with two friends and the person he was… sleeping with. Dating. Something.

Milo had to appreciate the irony of the situation—the first night Rory had come home with him, it had been Rory who was nervous and flighty and stuck in his own head, and now it was Milo who was trying not to bolt.

By the time their food arrived, though, Milo had started to relax. Peter was an excellent conversationalist and kept the conversation flowing, weaving seamlessly from one topic to the next. Milo realized aside from the wedding when Rory had been all but mute, they'd never spent time together around other people. Rory was an endearing mix of shy and eager, as if he couldn't believe his luck that Peter had chosen to chat with him.

"Milo, I'm so sorry we'll be out of town for your reading," Mo said at one point, in his low, gentle voice.

"Oh, right," Milo said. He'd forgotten entirely about the reading he was supposed to take part in next week, actually, in the aftermath of receiving an invitation to Ryan's wedding.

Milo felt Rory's eyes on him.

Fuck, Milo thought. That was probably something he should invite Rory to as well.

He turned to Rory, and sure enough, Rory's expression was hopeful and expectant.

"Do you… want to come?" Milo asked stiffly.

"Absolutely," Rory said, almost before the sentence was out of Milo's mouth.

Oh god, Milo thought. Now he'd have to make sure he actually had something good to read.

I want to impress him, Milo realized.

* * *

"See? You survived," Rory said. They had just said goodbye to Peter and Mo and were standing on the sidewalk. The rain had let up for a moment, but the whole world was dotted with raindrops, and the temperature had started to drop again—it would snow tonight, wet and slushy.

"Survived what?" Milo said, lighting a cigarette and angling the smoke away from Rory.

"Going out in public. And meeting up with your friends."

"Yes," Milo said. Rory rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

"Really, though," Rory said. "I… had a lot of fun. Thank you."

Milo paused. This wasn't the kind of thing Rory should have to thank him for, but words suddenly seemed impossible at that point.

"I gotta go to the gym," Rory said. "But… text me, okay?"

"Of course," Milo said. Rory kissed him, quickly, almost like he was stealing it, and then he was gone.

Milo's phone lit up as he walked home.

>>JAMIE: r u dating someone???

Milo sighed, but he caught himself smiling as he tapped out a response.

>>MILO: Tell Peter he's a fucking snitch.

* * *

"So, tell us everything," Jamie said. Milo and Kit and Jamie had met up for dinner before the reading at a little Japanese food restaurant. It was dimly lit, but his friends were looking at him so intently Milo felt like he were in a spotlight.

"There's not much to tell," Milo said.

"False," Jamie said, grinning. "Peter said you were on a date." Milo rolled his eyes. He realized Rory and Jamie would probably get along well—they were both incorrigible and dreadfully endearing.

"I… was," Milo said reluctantly.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Kit said.

"Shut up."

"So… what's going on? You're dating now? Why didn't you tell me?" Kit reached across the table and punched Milo in the arm.

Milo took a bite of his sushi, and the rice stuck in his throat. It bought him time to respond.

"I… we're…" He sighed and tried again. "It's new. I—I got really drunk one night and called him—" Kit made a disapproving noise. "I know, okay? I didn't say it was good. I called him and invited him to go to Ryan's wedding with me."

"You didn't," Jamie said. Milo groaned.

"You're not going, right?" Kit asked sharply.

"I know, I know, I know," he said. "Spare me. And no, I'm not. It was… a weak excuse to talk to him. I called him and he was rightfully very pissed at me, so I went over and—"

He paused, thinking back to that night, how he'd felt so lost and hurt and alone, how all he'd wanted in that moment was Rory.

"We're taking things slowly," Milo said. "Just… going out sometimes, doing stuff that's not just… hooking up. But, um, we're exclusive."

Milo saw Kit fight not to let their jaw drop, and Milo knew that Kit—moreso than Jamie—understood what a big step this was for him.

"Wow," Kit said, rather diplomatically.

"That's awesome, Milo," Jamie said. Jamie tended to take a very rose-colored view of things, and Milo suspected that though Jamie had seen Milo in some dark places, Jamie still didn't quite comprehend what a basketcase Milo could be.

"Was the no labels thing your idea or his?" Kit asked suspiciously.

"His, actually," Milo said, looking down at his food, poking at it with his chopstick. "I think he knew I was a little… freaked out by it."

"When do we get to meet him?" Jamie asked.

"He's… coming to the reading," Milo said. "He's meeting me there."

"You should have invited him to dinner," Jamie said cheerfully.

"I didn't think of that," Milo said.

Kit frowned at Milo, tapping their chopsticks together impatiently.

"What?" Milo said.

"Milo."

"What?" Milo asked irritably.

"Why didn't you invite him to dinner with us?"

Milo sighed, his nostrils flaring.

"It's not a big deal. Why do you even care?"

"We want to meet the guy you're dating," Kit said. "You don't have to compartmentalize your life."

"Jamie didn't invite Bennett to dinner," Milo said, rather petulantly, and Jamie's eyes went wide, like he was desperate to not be dragged into the middle of this. Milo couldn't blame him.

"That's different," Kit said.

"How is it different?"

"Don't play dumb. I bet it would have meant a lot to him," Kit said primly.

Milo glared at Kit. Jamie was looking between the two of them apprehensively, like a kid whose parents were fighting.

"You've never even met him."

"Well, whose fault is that?"

"We just started… whatever," Milo said, making a vague, impatient gesture with his hand.

"See, you can't even say it," Kit said. "You're doing it again, Milo—"

"Doing what?"

"You're not even giving Rory a chance."

Goddamn Kit, Milo thought. As usual, Kit saw straight through Milo's bullshit and was set on making him acknowledge it.

"I'm sorry, Kit, but when did you become the expert on my interactions with Rory fucking Fisher?" Milo said, narrowing his eyes.

"Don't get mad at me," Kit said in what Milo considered to be a very patronizing tone.

"Guys—" Jamie started weakly, but he trailed off.

"Well, stop pretending like you know everything," Milo said.

"I don't think I know everything," Kit said archly. "But I have spent enough time with you to see how often you self-sabotage—"

"Excuse me?" Milo said, leaning forward. Anger flared, hot and dark, and he didn't like it, didn't like how intoxicating it was. "Sorry I'm not perfect like you—"

"That's not what I'm saying and you know it—"

"Well, then what are you saying?" Milo said.

"I'm saying, I sat with you on your couch and listened to you talk about how you didn't want to hurt him, but here you are—"

"Excuse me?" Milo said, curling his lips into a sneer he'd carefully cultivated over the years to maximize condescension. "What a fucking reach. I didn't invite him to dinner and suddenly that's me hurting him? What the hell kind of logic is that?"

Kit narrowed their eyes.

"Don't be fucking obtuse, Milo," Kit said. "You know exactly what you're doing."

"What am I doing, Kit? Go ahead and enlighten me," Milo said. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He felt like he was no longer piloting his body, like the most terrible version of himself had taken over and he was locked in the backseat, watching the carnage unfold.

Kit let out a long sigh, massaging their temples.

"What the fuck do you want to hear, Kit?" Milo snapped. "I didn't invite him because I didn't want to, because I can't fucking handle it. Because he wants more from me than I can give him. Because I know I'm being a shitty person and I'm know I'm going to end up hurting him again. Is that what you want?"

"I don't want to fight with you in a sushi restaurant," Kit said, and Milo could hear how hard they were trying to keep their voice steady.

"Well, Kit," Milo said, his voice low. "Maybe it'd be nice to have a conversation that didn't revolve around you trying to play therapist for me."

"Excuse me?" Kit said.

"I'm sorry," Milo said, glancing down at the table as shame washed over him. "That was out of line."

"It was, Milo," Kit said. "And I'm tired of being treated this way."

Milo gritted his teeth. He wanted Kit to accept his apology so they could move on and change the conversation and forget all of this, but clearly Kit had no intention of doing that.

"Treated what way?" Milo said.

"You're so goddamn temperamental sometimes," Kit said, irritation creeping into their voice. "It's exhausting. I know this has been a really tough year for you, but that doesn't give you the right to treat your friends like shit."

"You know what's exhausting?" Milo said. "Having a friend who's constantly picking apart and psychoanalyzing every aspect of my personality, just so they're not the craziest person in the room for once."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Kit's face went hard, and Jamie looked like he was on the verge of tears. Milo realized too late his voice had gotten loud, and people at nearby tables were glancing over.

Kit was looking at Milo, their eyes wide. Milo glanced over at Jamie. He'd gone tense and was gripping the table so hard his knuckles were turning white.

Shit, Milo thought. He'd forgotten Jamie got anxious when people raised their voices, and though sometimes Kit pushed a little too hard, they certainly didn't deserve getting snapped at like that.

"I'm gonna go," Milo said.

"I think that's a good idea," Kit said stonily.

Milo threw money down on the table and left quickly.

* * *

Outside, Milo lit a cigarette with shaking hands and drew a deep breath. It was freezing cold. Low, ominous clouds had rolled in that afternoon, and now they glowed orange from the lights of downtown Linfield. Snow was already starting to fall.

Milo hurried down the sidewalk, bracing himself against the cold as he smoked.

What the fuck is wrong with you, he thought.

Milo had always done this. When he got defensive, it made him mean. It was the kind of maladaptive coping mechanism that did nothing to protect him—it only ever seemed to succeed in pushing away people that cared about him.

And he could never seem to stop himself.

He'd definitely fucked up things with Kit, and he felt awful about Jamie, too—Jamie didn't talk about it much, but Milo knew Jamie's dad had been verbally abusive and raised voices and fighting sometimes triggered panic attacks.

He shouldn't have said that to Kit. He and Kit had seen each other at their worst, their lowest, their most vulnerable. And he'd turned around and flung that right in Kit's face.

The worst part was that Kit was absolutely right. Rory would have loved to be invited to dinner with him and Kit and Jamie—Milo could picture Rory, his smile bright white even in the low glow of the candle light, chatting eagerly with Kit and Jamie, his hand tangled with Milo's under the table.

But now, instead, Milo was out here, alone, and he'd probably just ended his most important friendship.

Why do you have to be such an utter cock all the time? Milo asked himself.

But it was seven in the evening on a Saturday night, so Milo just ducked into the nearest bar and sat nursing his whiskey and glaring down at his phone. He still had half an hour until he sat at the reading.

He tapped out a message to Kit.

>>MILO: I'm sorry.

Unbidden, Rory's words came back to him.

Sorry is just a word. It doesn't mean much if there's no action to back it up.

Milo didn't deserve these people in his life. He wanted to be better, do better, for them. He wasn't quite sure how to do that, though. Kit had always forgiven him, even when he was at his most hurtful, as he had been tonight.

But unless he changed, one day, he would go too far, and the damage would be irreparable.

He was trying his best—but his best, it seemed, was so far from enough.

* * *

"Hey." Milo turned to see Rory appear beside him, nose and cheeks bright pink from the cold.

"Hello," Milo said. Rory leaned in and then caught himself as he glanced around. He assumed Rory had been going in for a kiss. Milo pretended he didn't see.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Milo said. The truth was, he wasn't okay, not at all. He'd barely touched his dinner, and the whiskey had hit him all at once. He was drunk, and he hated himself, and Rory looking up at him like Milo was the sun, moon, and stars wasn't helping.

Rory frowned, looking hesitant.

"I'm—" He hesitated, embarrassed. "I'm drunk."

"Oh," Rory said, like he wasn't sure how to respond. "Okay."

Milo massaged the bridge of his nose and sighed.

When had he turned into this kind of person? The kind of person who drank instead of facing his problems, who left a wake of hurt and bitterness everywhere he went?

"Thanks, um, for inviting me," he said, a little shyly. "I’m really looking forward to it."

Rory was looking at him almost expectantly, and it took Milo a moment to realize he was waiting for some sort of response.

Get it together, Milo.

"Thanks for coming," Milo said, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Rory asked.

Milo opened his mouth to brush aside Rory's concerns but stopped himself at the last moment.

"I had a fight with Kit before I got here. I really fucked things up."

Rory looked startled by Milo's suddenly honesty, and Milo was startled, too.

"What about?" Rory asked.

You, Milo thought. He chewed his lip, trying to think how best to sum up how the dinner had managed to veer so wildly off course.

"Kit… can be a little pushy sometimes. And I didn't take it well," Milo said. "They… they mean well. And what they said was—well, they were right. I just didn't want to hear it. I said some things that were really out of line."

Rory nodded thoughtfully, waiting for Milo to continue. Milo knew he was being cryptic, but the reading would start any minute and he didn't have the time or energy to articulate things coherently at this point.

"So, yeah," Milo finished lamely. "I don't think Kit and Jamie are coming to the reading."

"That's okay," Rory said. "I've… never been to one of these things before. I just… sit and listen?"

"There's also intermittent polite clapping," Milo said.

"I think I can handle that," Rory said, his smile reappearing.