Milo woke up with one hell of a hangover.

He slowly took stock of his body. Pounding headache? Check. Nausea? Check. General sense of malaise and self-loathing? Check.

He shifted and realized he wasn't the only person in his bed—in fact—

Milo's eyes flew open and a sickening spike of pain slammed through his temple. He looked around. It was still early—early enough that the world was still gray, washed out in the dawn.

Rory lay tangled up in the duvet, mouth slack, drooling lightly onto the pillow. There was an arm draped around Milo's middle, though, and he wriggled around to find himself face-to-face with Kit, who was still sound asleep. Kit hadn't taken off their makeup—a cardinal sin in Kit's book—and mascara was smeared across their eyes. And just past Kit's shoulder, Milo could see golden, sleep-mussed hair that could only belong to Jamie.

Milo slowly sat up, trying to avoid both waking the others and throwing up on himself. He looked around at the jumble of limbs and sheets and pillows, all four of them crowded into Milo's bed where they'd spent the night with him so he wouldn't be alone.

Most of the previous night's memories were gone for good, and Milo knew better than to try and call them back. He leaned back against the headboard, sifting through what he could remember.

He remembered the ugly jolt in his stomach when he'd read that first text from Ryan, how panic had flashed through him like wildfire. He remembered reaching for the bottle of whiskey—because that coping mechanism had always worked so well for him, Milo thought grimly.

He remembered looking up and seeing Rory, not knowing how Rory got there or when, but feeling an immediate wash of relief. He remembered clinging to Rory like Rory was the only thing that could keep Milo's head above water.

And he remembered Kit and Jamie—soothing words and voices, hands stroking his back, guiding him into bed. No irritation, no resentment—only care and kindness. Love.

And, most of all—he remembered snatches of conversation. Amid the murky, blotchy memories of that night, Milo unearthed a whole shard of time, untarnished. He'd been curled up on the bed, eyes closed—he had a sense that he'd been there for some time.

He hadn't moved—if he had, his stomach would have just started spasming painfully again—but he heard voices, voices he'd know anywhere—Kit and Rory, talking quietly, their bodies warm and solid and comforting on either side of him.

It's not even like I need him to love me back, Rory had said. I just wish I could tell him how I felt without him running away.

Back in the present moment, Milo drew his knees up to his chest and hugged himself. His throat felt tight and his eyes stung.

What had he done to deserve the love of these people? Milo couldn't quite understand how he'd gotten so lucky—but somewhere along the line, they'd decided Milo was worthy of their extraordinary love.

Even at his worst, at his messiest and his meanest and his most unlovable, they were here. He'd pushed them all away, time and time again, and still, they returned with open arms, insisting he was worthy of such kindness, such forgiveness.

Something cracked open inside Milo, and for the first time in a very, very long time, he cried.

The tears started slowly, a hot pricking in his eyes, the slow cool slide down his cheek. A silent sob caught in his throat, stealing his breath, and the tears fell faster, until he had no choice but to give himself up to it, like turning his face up to a sudden cloudburst, letting the sky open up above him.

His whole body shook quietly as he cried, and it was a release like nothing he'd never experienced, overwhelming and almost exhilarating and utterly liberating. He had been falling for so long, and rock bottom had risen up to meet him with a sickening crunch.

But now, there was only one direction he could go.

There was movement beside him, people shifting in the bed, and then suddenly Milo was wrapped up in arms—Rory, strong and solid, Kit long and lithe, and Jamie had scrambled around, too, so Milo was swallowed up by their embrace. Tears were still falling, but he couldn't help laughing now, too, a strange, sad kind of joy as he allowed himself to be loved, to be cared for.

"How are you feeling?" Kit said, sitting back.

"Like shit," Milo said with a weak grin, and the others laughed. "Rory, I take it you've met Kit and Jamie?"

"Yes," Rory said. He looked shy, almost hesitant, as if he was expecting Milo to kick him out at any moment. Milo reached out and grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together, and he saw Kit flash him a small, approving smile. Rory squeezed his hand, and Milo felt him relax slightly.

"Shall I make us coffee?" Jamie said, bouncing up off the bed with a disgusting amount of cheeriness.

"Hey, guess what?" Milo said. "I actually have food in my kitchen for once."

"Oh, god," Kit said dramatically. "I think that's a sign of the apocalypse."

"Shut up," Milo said. "I… was trying to be less of a garbage human. Clearly it didn't work out too well."

Kit turned and fix him with an intense, penetrating stare, and it took all Milo's effort not to look away from them.

"Milo," Kit started, and Milo winced and held up his hand to stop them.

"I know, I know—" Milo said wearily. He felt terrible mentally and physically, and he needed a moment before repenting for his sins.

"Do you know?" Kit said, raising an eyebrow.

"I shouldn't have gotten that drunk—"

"That's not what I was going to say," Kit said.

"Oh," Milo said, blinking.

"What I was going to say was that you're not a garbage human," Kit said. Milo had to bite his lip to keep from contradicting Kit, but he let them continue. "You're smart and funny and insanely talented and sensitive and insightful and—"

"Okay, stop that," Milo said. "You're going to make me throw up, and I've already done enough for that for quite some time."

Kit rolled their eyes.

"Come on," Kit said, standing up gracefully, as if they hadn't spent the night squished in bed with three other people. "Let's make breakfast. But you should probably… brush your teeth first."

"Good call," Milo said. Kit swept into the other room and Milo glanced at Rory, who'd been sitting quietly, still wearing his clothes from last night. His hair was adorably rumpled, and Milo felt a strong well of emotion—affection and gratitude and love for him, for being so good and patient and kind.

"Thank you," Milo said, looking down at the duvet. "For… taking care of me."

"Of course," Rory said softly.

There was so much to say, but he needed longer than the few minutes they had before Kit and Jamie burst back in the room, demanding Rory and Milo join them for breakfast.

"I'd, uh, kiss you but… I'm kind of gross right now," Milo said.

Rory smiled at that, the first genuinely broad smile Milo had seen from him that morning.

"I’m going to hop in the shower," Milo said. "I'll meet you out there."

"Sounds good," Rory said, and he went into the kitchen.

Milo, alone in the bed now, rolled onto his side, slowly pushing himself up to a sitting position. The room lurched wildly and his head throbbed.

His phone was sitting on the bedside table. He reached for it, holding it between his fingertips like it was something dead and rotting. He couldn’t remember all of what Ryan had said him, could only remember seeing message after message arrive on the screen, could only remember knowing that everything Ryan was saying was true.

No, Milo told himself.

The truth wasn't Ryan, drunk and pissed that Milo wouldn't answer his vicious texts. The truth was Rory, guiding him gently up the stairs. The truth was Kit and Jamie coming over past midnight to clean up his vomit. The truth was the three of them holding him, comforting him, loving him.

Tears welled in his eyes again, and he blinked them away as he deleted the conversation with Ryan without looking at it and blocked Ryan's number.

With that, Milo put his phone down and stood up, stumbling into the bathroom. Somebody had cleaned up after him, and it was actually neater than it had been before Milo had gone and emptied what felt like ten gallons of vomit into the toilet.

He felt a little better under the hot spray of the shower, rinsing away the grime of the previous night. He tried not to think, just focusing on the steam and the smell of soap and the feel of water coursing down his back.

Milo swallowed some painkillers and brushed his teeth for what seemed like half an hour, until his gums felt raw. When he finally emerged in clean clothing in the kitchen, he found Kit and Jamie and Rory laughing and talking as Jamie made eggs at the tiny stove.

"He lives," Kit said with a smile when they saw him. They immediately pressed a mug of coffee into Milo's hands and he accepted it gratefully.

"I don't even remember buying eggs," Milo said, as he stood next to Jamie and frowned down at the pan.

"You're hopeless," Jamie said with a smile. "You and Bennett are the same—what is it about being a writer and being unable to feed yourself?"

"Used up all my brain cells on being brilliant, I suppose," Milo said dryly. He leaned against the counter and massaging his temples. "You're all far too happy and loud."

"Well, to be fair," Kit said, "the rest of us didn't drink an entire liquor store last night."

"Eggs are done," Jamie said. "Think you can eat?"

Milo let himself be shepherded into the living room. Rory cleared space on the cluttered coffee table, moving aside the empty whiskey bottles and the books and the stacks of papers, and they all sat down cross-legged on the floor with their food.

Milo felt grateful for the light, playful mood that morning. He wasn't sure he could handle anything else at the moment, and his friends seemed to sense this.

"This is really good, Jamie," Milo said, forcing himself to take a bite. He was still a bit nauseated, but he hadn't had dinner the night before, and he knew it would probably help.

The conversation waned for a little while as they ate.

"So, um…" Milo started. The others glanced up at him, but he stared down at the remainder of his eggs, as fluffy and cheerful as Jamie himself, because he couldn't quite make himself meet their gaze. "I'm… not gonna drink anymore for a while."

"Okay," Kit said, reaching over and squeezing Milo's arm. "Just let us know how we can support you."

"Thanks," Milo said. He swallowed, shame welling up in him, hot and sticky. But, he realized, any shame he felt, any embarrassment was coming from himself, not from the people around him. "I… think I should probably stop drinking while I actually can stop."

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

"Bennett doesn't drink," Jamie said. "I'm sure he'd be willing to talk to you about that kind of stuff if you ever needed it."

"Thanks, Jamie," Milo said with a small smile. The offer meant a lot to him, but he also cringed at the thought of discussing his alcohol issues with Bennett Marlowe, acclaimed journalist, who Milo had nursed a big intellectual crush on for years.

That was as much as Milo could say at the moment, and Kit seemed to sense this. They deftly changed the conversation, quizzing Rory about himself. Rory answered cheerfully, with the same sort of delight he'd had when they'd run into Peter and Mo for brunch—pleasure at being included, being paid attention to.

For now, Milo was content to sit there, listening to Rory and Jamie and Kit chat, as the worst of his hangover slowly faded, though he was still far from energetic.

At last, Jamie began to pile the plates up and take them to the sink.

"Leave the dishes," Milo called. "I'll get them."

"Will you?" Jamie said, laughing.

"Oh, fuck you," Milo said with a smile. "I will. Eventually. Once they gain sentience."

"I'll do the dishes," Rory said. "It's only fair since you cooked."

"I can live with that," Jamie said as they grabbed their coats.

"I, uh… I'm sorry. About—about last week. I was a dick," he said to both of them.

"I'm sorry too," Kit said. "I was being really pushy."

"Yeah, but—I was… I really went too far," Milo said. He glanced down and swallowed hard. "Thank you for… forgiving me. Putting up with me."

Suddenly, Milo was enveloped in a hug from Kit.

"Milo," Kit said, their voice sad. "We don't put up with you. We love you."

"I love you too," Milo mumbled. He pushed Kit away, blinking furiously, his eyes stinging. "If you make me cry again, I'm gonna be pissed."

Kit laughed, grabbing his hand and squeezing it once.

"And… thank you for coming over," Milo said. "Last night."

Kit paused, chewing their lower lip.

"Of course, Milo," Kit said. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I'll try."

He said goodbye to them, and they promised to text when they got to their respective homes. Snow was coming down outside, but without any real commitment, just a few flakes that melted almost before they landed.

When the front door shut behind Kit and Jamie, Milo turned to Rory, who was watching him apprehensively.

Milo was filled with a kind of grim determination. The thought of expressing himself, of opening up and being vulnerable, was akin to considering drinking poison.

He had to, though. For Rory. For himself.

"We should talk," Milo said, and Rory looked down, wincing.

Milo crossed the room, pulling Rory into his arms and kissing him hard, and when he pulled back Rory's eyes were wide with surprise.

"Don't make that face at me," Milo said with a small smile.

"I thought…" Rory said, trailing off.

"You thought what?" Milo said, and Rory's face went red. "You thought I was going to break up with you?"

Rory frowned, not meeting Milo's gaze. Milo cupped Rory's chin, turning Rory's face up towards him.

"Rory Fisher, look at me," Milo said, and Rory met his gaze reluctantly, but Milo could see him fighting not to smile. "I want you. The only question is if you still want me after having to watch me throw up for, like, three hours last night."

Rory laughed.

"It was really only like one hour," Rory said.

"You didn't answer my question," Milo said. He said it lightly, as if he were joking, but anxiety bolted through him. He forced a smile, but it faltered quickly. "I know I have… a lot of baggage."

Rory leaned in, kissing Milo once, soft and tender, before pulling back.

"Of course I want you," Rory said. He drew a shaky breath. "But… I also understand if you're not ready to—"

"Stop," Milo said. He took Rory's hand. "Let's… sit down and we can talk about… us."

Rory blinked.

"Are you… up for that?"

Milo laughed hollowly.

"Of course not. I'd rather eat glass. But I need to do it," he said, and with that, he led Rory back to bed.

They settled into the bed, and Milo pulled Rory into his arms. It was easier to talk if they weren't facing each other, when he could hold Rory, using Rory's warmth to keep himself anchored.

"You… saw what he said, I'm assuming," Milo said after a moment.

"Yeah," Rory said. "I'm sorry. I saw one by accident and then—"

"It's fine," Milo said, waving his hand dismissively. That was the least of his worries.

"But, yeah… Ryan doesn't like it when he doesn't get his way."

Rory made a disgusted noise.

"That wasn't… him not getting his way," Rory said. "That was just… verbal abuse."

Milo winced at the word but he couldn't exactly deny it.

"It wasn't… he wasn't always like that," Milo said. He brought a hand to Rory's head, running his hand through his hair. "He wasn't… mean in the beginning. But, uh, Kit was right—that wasn't the first time he's done something like that."

Milo felt Rory tense against him.

"Wait—you were awake for that conversation?" Rory asked nervously.

"Part of it, yes," Milo said.

"How… um, how much did you hear?" Rory asked.

I heard you say you love me, Milo thought.

It was tempting to lie, to say he'd only heard that little piece of it, to avoid that word all together—

But Milo was tired of acting like he always did, which meant it was time to do something differently.

"I'm…" Milo started, but trailed off. He swallowed, and started again, willing himself to be brave. "I'm really fucking scared, too, Rory. Because I… I feel really strongly about you, and the last time I gave someone that power over me, it… well, you saw how it ended." He gestured towards his phone.

Rory was quiet, waiting for Milo to finish. Milo drew a deep breath, feeling like he was flinging himself off a high building.

"So… it's hard for me," Milo said. "Because… I've never done this before. I've never dated someone before. I've never… cared about someone this strongly, really."

"Do you mean that?" Rory said carefully.

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't," Milo said.

Rory shifted, twisting around so they were looking at each other. His smile was brighter than the summer sun had ever been.

"Thank you," Rory said.

Milo leaned down to kiss him, a slow, deep kiss.

"I'm going to work really hard, Rory," Milo said when they broke the kiss. "I'm going to be the kind of person you deserve."

"You already are," Rory said. He reached up and gently traced his thumb along Milo's jaw. "Yeah, we have some stuff to work on, but all… all couples do. I know who you are, Milo, and that's who I want. You."

Milo paused. It was hard not to immediately try to argue this, to insist on the myriad of ways Milo knew he couldn't measure up, but—

He nodded his head.

"Okay," he said, his voice catching in his throat.

"You believe me?" Rory said with a crooked smile.

"Not really," Milo said. "But… I'll… try. To believe you."

"Good."

Milo pulled Rory closer, resting his cheek against the top of Rory's head. He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing in Rory's scent, feeling Rory's weight against him.

This is what it felt like, he thought, to be loved by Rory Fisher. It was calm. Good. Safe.

* * *

Milo blinked and looked around. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep again. Outside, snow was falling heavily now.

"How're you feeling?" Rory asked softly.

"Better," Milo said. "Slightly less like death."

Rory grinned, shifting around so they were laying facing one on another in the bed. Milo took stock of himself and found that, for the most part, his hangover was gone. The rest of the world seemed far away, inconsequential, in that moment, compared to Rory, here with him in a warm bed as the snow fell outside.

He pulled Rory close to kiss him, and the rest of the world fell away, lost to hands and mouths and the feeling of Rory's body against his.

They stripped down quickly, ungracefully, and though they were both hard, their cocks trapped and straining between their bodies, they lay there simply kissing for a long time.

Milo paused and pulled back far enough to see Rory's eyes, pupils blown wide, gaze glassy like he'd been on another planet entirely.

"I want you to fuck me, Rory," Milo said. Rory sucked in a sharp breath.

"Are you—" he started, but Milo put a finger up to his lips.

"I need this," Milo said. "If—as long as you want to—"

"Anything you want," Rory said, nodding eagerly, his voice low and hoarse. "Of course."

"Thank you," Milo said, kissing him gently. Immediately, though, Rory deepened the kiss, rolling on top of Milo.

"I'm gonna make this so fucking good for you," Rory murmured as he kissed down Milo's neck. "Anything—anything you want—whatever you need—"

Milo couldn't help smiling at the urgent, almost needy way Rory kissed him, grinding his cock up against Milo's thigh.

Rory pulled back sharply, looking down at Milo.

"Can I rim you? Please?" he asked.

"If you want—"

"Fuck—you have no idea how much I want to," Rory gasped, absurdly, adorably eager. Milo laughed, reaching between them to run his thumb over the tip of Rory's cock, through the slick of precum there.

"I mean, I might have some idea," Milo said, and Rory laughed.

"Turn over," he growled playfully, leaping off Milo and spinning him around.

"Pushy," Milo said into the pillow as Rory nudged Milo's legs apart, kneeling between them.

"Yeah, but you knew that," Rory said. He grabbed Milo's hips, guiding him up onto his knees, and for a moment, Milo tensed, suddenly exposed and vulnerable and on display—

But he forgot about that the minute Rory's mouth was on him. Rory's fingers dug into his ass, spreading him, as Rory licked over his hole with one broad, confident stroke. Milo moaned—half from pleasure, half from surprise, and fell forward onto his forearms, tilting his hips up towards Rory's mouth.

Milo couldn't remember the last time he'd been eaten out, but it was hard to think at all as Rory's tongue lapped and teased at his hole. He panted and gasped, wriggling his ass back against Rory's mouth as Rory's tongue pressed against him.

Milo moaned as Rory pulled back, the wet heat of his mouth suddenly gone, but he felt Rory's teeth nip against the flesh of his ass.

"Hold yourself open for me," Rory said, and Milo quickly obliged, not even caring that his face was smothered in the sheets, that his neck was wrenched at an awkward angle. He reached back and spread himself.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Rory breathed, and the next instant, his mouth was on Milo again, his tongue pressing inside him. Milo cried out as Rory brought a spit-slicked hand to Milo's cock, stroking him as he fucked Milo with his tongue.

Milo dug his fingernails into his skin as he fought to keep his orgasm from building. It was far too tempting to come like this, with Rory's hand on his cock and his tongue in his ass, and Milo pulled away sharply, falling forward.

"What's wrong—" Rory gasped, sitting back on his heels, wiping his hand across the back of his mouth. "Are you okay—"

"Yeah," Milo said, rolling over. "I was—I was gonna come if you kept that up."

Rory's smile returned.

"Well that could be—"

"Another time," Milo said, scrambling across the bed to kiss Rory, his heart pounding, his cock protesting at being so close—but not quite close enough—to coming. "For now though—I want you inside me."

Rory's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and a visible shudder of pleasure rolled through him. Milo grabbed a condom and lube out of the drawer, tossing them on the bed. He barely had time to settle back on the bed before Rory was already slicking his fingers.

"Spread your legs for me," Rory said, and Milo bent his legs, planting his feet on the mattress. He grabbed his cock and stroked it idly, watching Rory watch him. "God, you look so fucking good like that."

"What are you waiting for?" Milo said, and Rory brought his hand between Milo's legs, sliding a finger inside him easily.

Milo's head fell back on the pillow, and he shut his eyes. For a brief moment, the sensation brought reality crashing back—he felt cold, his body tensed—

His eyes flew open and he looked down to see Rory kneeling between his legs, watching him with concern.

Rory—Rory who loved him, Rory who would never, could never hurt him.

"Okay?" Rory asked, brow furrowed.

"Good," Milo said, and he let out a long breath, letting his body relax. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, because now Rory was fucking him open with slow, easy motions.

Rory slid a second finger in and Milo cried out as Rory found his prostate, hitting it with every thrust of his fingers, until Milo was fucking back against Rory's hand and begging.

It was too good, and Milo had to grab Rory's hand, stilling it.

"Please—Rory—get your cock in me—you're gonna make me—"

"Who's the pushy one now?" Rory said with a smile, but he didn't waste any time in opening the condom and rolling it down over his cock.

He paused as he slicked it again, glancing up at Milo.

"Tell me if there's—tell me if it's—not good, okay?" he said, suddenly hesitant, and Milo smiled.

"There's no way it'll be anything less than perfect," Milo said, scrambling to his knees and kissing Rory. And he meant it—it shouldn't have surprised him that Rory was as attentive as he was, but Milo had never needed a cock in his ass more than he did now.

To show Rory how sure he was, Milo pushed Rory back on the bed, and Rory let out a surprised laugh as he fell back. Milo straddled Rory, and Rory's hands flew to Milo's hips to steady him.

Milo took Rory's cock in hand, lining him up with his hole, and sank down onto his cock.

"Fuck—Milo—" Rory gasped, and Milo shut his eyes, gritting his teeth as he took the length of Rory's cock inside him. Rory had done a perfect job prepping him, but it had been a while, and it took Milo a moment to adjust.

When he opened his eyes, he found Rory staring up at him reverently.

"You're so fucking amazing," Rory breathed, and Milo laughed. He leaned forward, shifting up so Rory's cock almost slide out of him before sinking back down again. Rory let out a long, delicious moan, his fingers digging into Milo's hips.

"Good?" Milo asked, raising an eyebrow, and Rory made a helpless little noise, nodding.

Milo began to move his hips, riding Rory's cock in long, slow movements. It had been so long since he'd enjoyed bottoming, he realized—Milo felt a brief pang of sadness for himself, but he refused to let anything ruin this moment.

He shifted back, bracing himself with one hand against Rory's thigh, and cried out loudly as Rory's cock hit his prostate.

"God," Milo gasped. "Fuck me, Rory."

Rory bent his knees and thrust up into Milo, and Milo moaned with pleasure, stroking his cock in time as Rory fucked up into him.

"Fuck—I’m close," Rory said, holding tight to Milo's hips. "God, you feel so good—so fucking hot—"

Milo lost himself, gasping out Rory's name as Rory thrust inside him again and again—and then he was coming so hard all his senses whited out, brilliant sparks flashing behind his closed eyes, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over him.

He could feel Rory coming, too, Rory's cock pulsing inside him, and finally Milo collapsed on top of Rory, out of breath and out of his mind, his own cum hot and wet between them.

They were both quiet, their chests heaving in tandem as they caught their breath.

"Fuck," Rory breathed after a moment. He carefully slid out of Milo, crawling out of bed long enough to dispose of the condom before falling back down beside him. They were still the wrong way on the bed, their feet by the headboard, and Milo couldn't help grinning up at the ceiling as Rory cuddled into him.

"How was that?" Milo asked.

"Are you fucking kidding?" Rory said, laughing. "That was… ridiculously good. I mean… you did most of the work, so hopefully it was—"

"Stop that," Milo said, swatting Rory's arm. "Stop doubting your sexual prowess. I haven't been fucked like that—ever, really. It was perfect."

Milo glanced down to see Rory looking quite pleased with himself.

"Well, cool, then," he said, and Milo snorted. "I liked how… uh, vocal you were."

"What?"

"Yeah, you were a lot more… talkative than you usually are. It was hot."

Milo, to his surprise, found himself blushing.

"What can I say?" he said. "I told you it was good."

They were quiet for a moment, and then Rory shifted around so he was laying on his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, regarding Milo thoughtfully.

"What?" Milo asked. He reached out, smoothing back a piece of Rory's hair that was stuck to his sweat-damp forehead.

"Thank you," Rory said.

Milo raised an eyebrow.

"Don't make that face at me," Rory said. "I know that you don't… usually… I know… what that meant to you."

Milo's breath caught in his throat for a moment, and again he resisted the urge to bite back some flippant comment, to pretend it hadn't meant something to let Rory fuck him.

He settled on simply nodding.

Rory leaned down, planting a soft kiss against Milo's tattoo, and Milo knew Rory understood what he was thinking.

Suddenly, Rory frowned.

"What?" Milo asked, and when Rory hesitated, Milo poked him gently on the arm. "Tell me. If I have to express myself, so do you."

"It's just…" Rory said. "Like… you'll still fuck me, right? Because that was really good, but I think I prefer—"

Milo burst out laughing, pulling in Rory for a kiss.

"Whatever you want, baby," he said.