Things were good.

Milo was still a little skittish sometimes, especially when it came to saying how he felt. But Rory could see Milo was really, really trying to change. And he was changing.

Rory had meant it when he wanted Milo as he was, but he couldn't deny that the work Milo was doing on himself was having a positive effect. He'd stopped drinking—which seemed to be going quite well—and had stopped smoking too—which was clearly a little more difficult.

He'd even started meeting with a therapist, someone recommended to him by Jamie's boyfriend Bennett. Rory had learned by now to give Milo a little space on the days that he had therapy, that Milo usually finished his sessions feeling raw and vulnerable and short-fused.

But Milo had—very grudgingly—admitted that it was helping.

* * *

Rory hung up the phone and stared at his wall, dumbfounded in the best way.

Holy shit.

He had a job. Well, he had a job offer. That he was most certainly going to accept—the job was in California, in the Bay Area, and the salary was frankly absurd.

Rory had been so preoccupied with his relationship that he hadn't even quite realized how stressed he was about what he'd do after graduation—but now that invisible weight had been lifted, and he felt like doing cartwheels down the hallway.

There was a knock on the doorframe, and Andy appeared in the doorway.

"Hey, man, we're ordering pizza, do you want any?"

"I just got a job," Rory said. Andy blinked and then smiled broadly.

"Wait, shit, really? That's fucking awesome," he said. "Where?"

"It's uh—it's in California. I'm gonna take it, I think."

"I'm going to visit you all the time," Andy said. "Are you going to, like, start wearing puka shell necklaces and learn to surf?"

Rory snorted.

"Is all your California knowledge based on Beach Boys songs?" he said. "It's in San Francisco. I'm pretty sure it's like, cold there."

"So, uh, what does that mean for you and your… guy?" Andy said, his face darkening slightly. Andy still wasn't Milo's biggest fan, although he seemed to have provisionally accepted that Milo was an important part of Rory's life.

Rory bit his lip. What did it mean for him and Milo?

"I guess… I'll talk to him and see," Rory said. Andy was clearly trying—and failing—to hide his skepticism. Rory forced a smile. "It is what it is."

"It is what it is?" Andy said skeptically.

"Andy…" Rory pleaded. "Drop it, okay?"

Andy paused, then relented.

"Well, um, congrats," Andy said. "So, celebration pizza?"

"Definitely," Rory said.

When the pizza arrived, though, it didn't taste very celebratory. Rory knew, of course, what he wanted—he wanted to ask Milo to move with him to California, wanted to build a new life with him on a new coast.

But this was Milo, who, in his own words, had a lot of fucking shit to work through. Milo, who went tense and distant whenever Rory tried to express how much he cared about him. Milo, who Rory loved.

It was scary to ask Milo to move with him, Rory realized, because there was a high likelihood Milo would say no.

* * *

Rory hadn't mentioned the new job to Milo yet. It felt strange, because he wanted to share something so important with someone so important, but at the same time, Milo was smart—he would know that with this good news came a big choice.

So Rory didn't mention it.

Not yet.

Soon.

But not yet.

It was a Sunday morning in mid-April—well, it wasn't really morning anymore, as they'd spent several hours in bed swapping lazy blowjobs before they actually got up. Soon, though, Rory's empty stomach was grumbling loudly, and they set out to get lunch somewhere—Milo had made great strides in getting his life together, but his kitchen was still usually abysmally stocked.

They were walking down Chestnut Street hand-in-hand after lunch. The day was blustery, and the sky couldn't commit to sun or rain so was giving them both. Wet blossoms stuck to the sidewalk underfoot. They'd had a good weekend so far—Milo was in a good mood, and Rory thought it might be the right time to bring up the question of what was in store for them after graduation.

He knew, too, that he needed to ask sooner, rather than later—there were logistical details like leases, and if he waited too long Milo might find his own job in Linfield, or whatever MFA students did after graduation.

And it was weighing too heavily on Rory—he needed to know, one way or another, if he could expect to build a life with Milo.

"So when do I get to read your final portfolio?" Rory asked, squeezing Milo's hand.

Milo groaned.

"Never," he said. Milo's portfolio for his MFA program was due the following week—the culmination of nearly two decades of education, as Milo had pointed out, no pressure at all—and he'd been nearly pulling out his hair as he finished it up. "It's awful. I might burn it before I even turn it in."

"Okay, no offense, but your opinion of your work is always highly inaccurate," Rory said, raising an eyebrow.

"Honestly, Rory," Milo said with a dramatic sigh. "If you read some of this stuff, you'd think it was so pretentious and derivative, you'd be too embarrassed to date me."

"If I read some of that stuff, I'd probably be insanely impressed and get like, ten boners at once—"

They turned a corner and came to an abrupt halt as they nearly ran into a young couple. Milo's hand clenched Rory's tightly, almost painfully.

"Oh, hello, Milo," the man said coolly.

"Hello, Ryan," Milo said, his voice flat.

So this is Ryan, Rory thought. He realized he was clenching his jaw. Ryan was handsome, but his features had a harsh, cruel edge, like a cartoon villain. His wife—Camilla, Rory recalled—was pretty, too, polished and petite. But right now, she radiated a tense, grating energy, like a bird of prey preparing to swoop. She was clutching Ryan's arm tightly like she was holding a dog's leash.

"We were so sorry you couldn't make it to the wedding," Ryan drawled. He had a polished, sleazy smile that seemed to be begging to be punched. Camilla had a cold smile plastered on her face that didn't reach her eyes, which flashed with a bright sort of panic.

Rory glanced at Milo, ready to jump to Milo's rescue if he needed it. Rory could feel Milo practically vibrating next to him from tension.

Milo said nothing.

Rory expected Ryan and Camilla to leave them in peace then, but instead Ryan turned his attention to Rory, looking him up and down slowly, like Rory was some kind of curious museum exhibit.

"And who are you?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"My boyfriend," Milo said shortly. He dropped Rory's hand and slid his arm around Rory's waist instead, pulling him close.

Ryan's expression darkened.

"You two are so cute," Camilla said, speaking a little too loudly, a little too quickly.

"So how long has… this been going on?" Ryan said, gesturing between the two of them. His smirk had faded, his mouth a hard slash now.

"Since last fall," Milo said, his words coming out in barely more than a grunt.

Ryan raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Ryan, come on, honey, we're going to be late," Camilla said in that same falsely bright tone, tugging on his arm, but he waved her off dismissively.

"So, this is… serious then?" Ryan said, his gaze bouncing between them. His voice dripped with disdain and Rory felt himself bristling.

Milo lifted his chin.

"Very," Milo said, narrowing his eyes.

Rory had never been more uncomfortable in his entire life. The tension between the four of them was so thick the air seemed to have solidified into jelly, and Rory imagined the look on his face was similar to Camilla's stricken expression.

"We're going to go now," Milo said, his voice cold and brittle. He glanced at Camilla. "Good luck. You're going to need it."

With that, he grabbed Rory's hand again and hauled him down the street.

Rory glanced over his shoulder, but Ryan and Camilla had disappeared. He had to trot to keep up with Milo's fast, tense stride.

"Milo—"

"Jesus, I could really use a fucking cigarette right now," Milo said. He was still holding Rory's hand, and Rory felt a bit like he was being dragged down the street.

"Milo—stop—" He tugged on Milo's hand, and finally Milo stopped and turned to Rory. His nostrils were flared, his eyes as wild as a spooked horse. "Are you okay?"

Milo took a deep breath, considering his response. Rory opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly Milo had closed the distance between them and was kissing Rory, rough and fierce and possessive.

Rory melted against Milo, and when Milo broke the kiss, Rory blinked up at him breathlessly.

"He means nothing to me," Milo said, his voice harsh. "You know that, right?"

"Y-yeah," Rory said, nodding, still slightly shocked.

"I'm not sure you realize how important you are to me, Rory," Milo said, fervently, as if the words were water and he were dying of thirst.

"I—I—" Rory said, rendered speechless by this fierce onslaught of feeling. Milo's dark eyes flashed, and his brow was furrowed. The way Milo looked at him made the rest of the world seem to go faint and blurry, and his throat felt tight, choked with emotion.

"I can't fucking believe I wasted so much time on him," Milo said, "when I could have been with you instead."

Rory smiled weakly as he looped his arms around Milo's neck.

"Well, to be fair, I was dating someone all through undergrad—"

"I should have stolen you away from her," Milo said, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Well I'm here now," Rory said, licking his lips. "And I'm all yours."

Milo dipped his head, his lips brushing against Rory's ear.

"I know," he said, his voice almost a growl, sending a pleasant shiver down Rory's spine.

They made it back to Milo's house in record time, and they'd stripped their clothing off before they even made it up the stairs.

Without breaking their kiss, Milo led Rory to the couch, sitting down and pulling Rory into his lap so Rory was straddling his thighs. Rory's cock was hard and straining, pressed up against Milo's flat stomach as Rory rolled his hips.

Milo's hand was tangled roughly in Rory's hair, and Rory whimpered against Milo's mouth as Milo's other hand snaked between them to stroke Rory. Milo tugged Rory's head back, scraping his teeth against Rory's neck, as he worked Rory's cock.

"Fuck—Milo—you're so good," Rory said, bucking forward into Milo's grip.

"Wanna taste you," Milo said against Rory's neck, his voice hoarse, and Rory moaned at the thought of Milo's mouth on him for the second time that day. That morning, sex had been slow, sleepy, and tender—so different from now, with Milo fierce and desperate for him.

Milo looked at Rory, his gaze feral and heavy-lidded, and he shifted so he was leaning back on the couch.

"Want you to fuck my mouth," Milo said, running his hand over the head of Rory's cock and slicking the shaft with precum. "Want you to make yourself feel good. Can you do that for me, baby?"

Rory almost came from just that. He nodded, not trusting himself to actually form any coherent words at the moment. He loved when Milo got like this, all riled up and unself-conscious and pornographic.

He knelt above Milo, bracing himself against the back of the couch and glanced down to see Milo staring hungrily at Rory's cock, licking his lips in anticipation. Milo grabbed Rory's hips, guiding him forward, and he took Rory's cock in his mouth in one easy swallow.

"Oh shit—" Rory gasped at the feeling of Milo's mouth, slick and hot and tight, around his cock. Milo's fingers dug into Rory's ass, urging him to move. Rory shifted his hips back slightly, sliding almost all the way out, and he moaned as he felt Milo's tongue tease over the head of his cock.

He slowly pushed back in and Milo hummed approvingly. Rory glanced down to see Milo looking up at him through his dark lashes, his cheeks hollowed around Rory's cock.

"Fuck, Milo," Rory breathed. "You look so fucking good."

Milo made a sound that was almost like a laugh, vibrating around Rory's cock, and Rory's eyes fluttered shut as he began to thrust in and out of Milo's mouth slowly.

One hand still on Rory's hip, Milo reached his other hand up, sliding over Rory's chest and throat. Rory inclined his head, and then Milo's fingers were on his lips, pushing into his mouth.

Rory sucked Milo's fingers in, working them with his tongue like they were Milo's cock, swirling his tongue around Milo's fingertips. And then Milo's hand was gone, suddenly between Rory's legs, teasing his fingertip over Rory's hole. Rory whimpered at the sensation, fucking Milo's mouth faster now.

Milo's finger pressed inside Rory, and Rory's breath went rough and ragged. His fingers dug into the back of the couch, caught between wanting to thrust forward into Milo's mouth or fuck backwards onto his hand.

Milo hummed around Rory's cock again, his hand squeezing Rory's hip in encouragement, sliding a second finger inside him now. Rory let himself go, tangling one hand in Milo's hair, barely managing to hold himself upright with the other.

"Oh, fuck—Milo—close—gonna come—"

He barely had time to choke out the warning before he was coming, hard and fast down Milo's throat, Milo's fingers still buried deep in his ass. Milo sucked his release down eagerly.

When the last pulse of his orgasm ebbed, Rory collapsed down onto Milo's lap. Milo slid his fingers out of Rory and held him close as Rory nestled his face against Milo's neck.

"Fuck," Rory whispered. "That was… really fucking good."

"That might have been one of the hottest things I've ever done," Milo said, and Rory pulled back slightly, looking up at him.

"Really?" Rory said with a crooked grin. Milo nodded.

"Really," Milo said.

Rory trailed his fingertips down Milo's stomach, teasing lightly down his cock.

"Do you want me to—"

"No," Milo said gently, pressing a kiss to Rory's temple. "I might take you up on that later, but—for now, this is what I want more."

He wrapped his arms around Rory, pulling him close again, and Rory let himself be held.

"You called me your boyfriend," Rory murmured against Milo's skin after a while, when his heartrate had returned to normal.

"Hm?" Milo said, and Rory picked his head up, sitting back on his heels, still on Milo's lap.

"You called me your boyfriend," Rory said. "Earlier, when we ran into…"

"Oh," Milo said, frowning thoughtfully. "Well, isn't that what you are?"

"I guess," Rory said. "It's just, uh—well, you've never used that word before."

Milo paused, chewing on his lower lip.

"No, I haven't," he said after a moment. He grabbed Rory's hands, lacing their fingers together.

"Is that… okay?" Rory said. "Is that a word you want to use?"

It wasn't lost on Rory that Milo had never used the word boyfriend, despite being exclusive for almost four months now. Rory had tried to pretend it didn't bother him, but of course, it had.

He didn't want to make this a thing, and it seemed silly to fret over something as small and simple as a label like boyfriend, but it didn't feel small or simple at all.

"Is that a word you want to use?" Milo asked, neatly sidestepping the question.

Rory sighed, slumping slightly.

"What is it?" Milo asked gently, squeezing Rory's hands.

"Look, we're having a good morning, let's not—"

"It's afternoon," Milo said, cutting him off. "And also, I would hardly call running into my evil ex good. But most of all, if something's bothering you, I want you to tell me."

Rory hesitated, glancing away. He suddenly wished he weren't naked.

"Rory," Milo said in a firm tone of voice. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Rory sighed again.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm the one who's… pushing everything forward in this relationship," Rory said, and it was terrifying to voice something he'd been thinking for a while now, but had been too afraid to acknowledge even to himself. Putting words to it made it real, made the stakes higher somehow.

"What do you mean?"

Rory flushed, suddenly embarrassed by himself.

"I—I love you," Rory said, the words spilling out of him, tumbling over one another like ice cubes falling into a glass. He pulled his hands out of Milo's and buried his face in them.

He sat there for a moment, unable to bring himself to look at Milo, feeling totally humiliated.

After a moment, Milo's hands were on his, prying them away from his face. Milo's face was grave.

"You're freaking out, aren't you?" Rory said, defeated.

Milo swallowed hard.

"A little," he said. "But not—not because I don't feel that way too."

Rory frowned as he tried to parse what Milo was saying—but Milo hadn't bolted out the door, so that seemed to be a good sign.

"Er—what?" Rory said.

Milo closed his eyes and drew a deep, shaky breath.

"I love you, too, Rory," Milo said.

"You don't have to say it if you don't—" Rory started, but Milo's eyes flew open, fierce and dark and flashing.

Then, suddenly, he was moving, shifting Rory off his lap. He crossed the room, still naked, crouching by his messenger bag and pulling out a battered notebook. He returned to the couch and opened it, handing it to Rory.

"What—"

"Just look at it," Milo said.

Rory looked down at the notebook in his lap and came face to face with himself—a scratchy line drawing, done in what seemed to be ballpoint pen, of him, asleep in Milo's bed, curled up in the blankets, mouth slightly slack.

"Is this—did you draw me?" Rory said.

"Yes," Milo said. "This one's old, but… there are more."

Rory flipped through the pages—drawing after drawing of Rory asleep in Milo's bed, Rory frowning down at his laptop on Milo's couch, Rory engrossed in his work at a coffee shop.

He looked up at Milo.

"When did you—how did I not—"

Milo smiled faintly.

"I'm very sneaky," he said.

"You creep," Rory said, biting back a smile, and Milo shrugged. "Why did you—"

"Because I love you, Rory," Milo said. "For someone who's a writer, I'm shit at actually saying it. But… I thought maybe… I could show you."

Rory looked down at the notebook, tracing his fingertip over the deep impressions left by the pressure of the pen against the page. Emotion welled thick in his throat.

"Thank you for showing me this," he said softly. "It means a lot to me."

"I'm not good at saying that kind of stuff," Milo said. "But… it doesn't mean that I don't… feel it."

"It's not a big deal—" Rory said, but Milo cut him off with a kiss.

"It is a big deal, and that's okay," Milo said. "My, uh… my therapist was talking to me about this. When we were talking about love and shit."

Rory grinned.

"You talk about me with your therapist?" he asked. Milo rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

"Of course I do," Milo said, swatting Rory's shoulder. "Ninety percent of my sessions are about how I'm scared shitless by how I feel about you."

There were a million things Rory wanted to say just then, but he felt too overwhelmed—so instead, he lay his head against Milo's shoulder, pulling Milo's arm tight around him. In that moment, that was all he needed.

He felt light, warm, loved.

He'd told Milo he loved him, and Milo hadn't run screaming for the door.

And—

Milo loved him, too.