"All right, I'm kidnapping you," Milo said.

Rory looked up from his computer, eyes wide, like he'd just been woken from a deep sleep.

"Oh, hey, babe," he said, blinking. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you," Milo said, laughing, as he circled Rory's desk and pressed a kiss to Rory's forehead. "I'm kidnapping you for lunch."

"But I brought—"

"No you didn't," Milo said, raising an eyebrow. "You packed a lunch, but you also left that lunch on the counter in the kitchen."

Rory slapped his hand to his forehead.

"Goddamnit," he said. "I totally—"

"Forgot," Milo said. "I know. So I figured I'd come visit you and take you out on a lunch date."

Rory grinned up at him, that same golden retriever smile that hadn't dulled over the two years they'd been living together.

"God, I love you," he said.

"I know you do," Milo said. "Come on, let's go."

They grabbed their coats—it was July in San Francisco, which meant that it was fifty degrees and foggy. Milo waved at Rory's co-workers, but hauled Rory outside before they could get mired in conversation.

"Where do you wanna go?" Rory said, grabbing Milo's hand as they exited the building. Rory worked downtown, and the wide city sidewalks were crowded with people on their lunchbreaks, shoppers, and tourists.

"I didn't think this through," Milo said, frowning. All the little restaurants tucked in the bottom of the tall buildings were packed with the day's lunch rush. They stood at the edge of the little plaza, and Milo glanced around. "You up for hot dogs?" He gestured with his free hand towards the little hot dog cart.

Rory snorted.

"Are you up for hot dogs?" he asked, his eyes sparkling.

Milo sniffed, feigning indignation.

"As if I'd ever pass up the chance to consume a phallic symbol."

When they had their hotdogs, they sat down on the edge of the fountain to eat. Nearby, a flock of pigeons were pecking in vain at the brickwork, and Rory ripped off a piece of his bun, tossing it towards them, stirring up a flurry of movement as the pigeons fought for the crumbs.

"How's writing today?" Rory asked.

"Good," Milo said, automatically.

"Actually good or good as in you're freaking out and regret every life decision you've ever made?" Rory asked, raising his eyebrow.

Milo snorted.

"I don't like this—you know me too well," Milo said.

"You're right, you don't like it," Rory said, elbowing him. "You love it—"

Milo groaned.

"Please, spare me," he said. "And yes, I'm having my weekly creative mental breakdown and doubting everything."

Rory smiled kindly, rubbing his hand over Milo's back in slow, comforting circles.

"I'm sorry you're feeling shitty about your project," he said. "But remember that you felt this way about your first book, and look how that turned out."

"Yeah, I guess it ended up being okay," Milo said.

"Okay?" Rory said, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, being on a Thirty Under Thirty list for your best-selling novel is okay.'

Milo couldn't help smiling.

"I guess it ended up being… pretty good," he amended. "Happy?"

Rory rolled his eyes.

Milo still couldn't quite believe how well his first book had done. It had been Rory's idea to publish it—after enough wheedling, Rory had finally managed to convince Milo to let him read the science fiction pet project Milo had been working on for years.

Rory had read the entire thing in one night and insisted Milo publish it.

"The world needs this story," Rory had said. "People are gonna want to read this."

Milo had rolled his eyes and blushed at the praise, but Rory had been right. People had wanted to read it. And now they wanted another one, too.

Rory listened patiently as Milo talked through the issue he was having with the plot that day. Rory didn't know much about the minute details of story mechanics, but he was a good listener, and Milo always found it helpful to bounce ideas off of him.

Across the courtyard, chaos erupted as a bridal party poured out of a nearby hotel, all squabbling with one another.

"Oh god," Rory said. "I'm having flashbacks to my sister's wedding."

"Hey, I had fun," Milo said.

"Yeah, because you didn't have to actually spend any time with my sister herself," Rory said with a grin.

They watched as one of the bridesmaids burst into tears.

"Does anyone involved actually have fun at weddings?" Rory asked in horror.

"I think everyone pretends they do," Milo said.

"I'd be happy with just stopping by the courthouse, but my mom would kill me," Rory said.

"We could do that, you know," Milo said. The words were out of his mouth almost before he thought them. "We could go right now."

Rory glanced at him.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he said.

Milo bit his lip.

"We… we could go get married. Today. On your lunch break," Milo said.

Rory was still staring at him, and Milo was starting to get nervous.

"Or not," Milo said, smiling weakly.

Rory carefully set his hotdog down and pressed his hand to his mouth.

"Milo Ventura, did you really just ask me to marry you?" Rory said.

"I guess I did," Milo said. "Shit—I should have been more romantic about that—"

But he couldn't finish, because Rory's mouth was on his, a kiss that was as fierce and earnest and eager as Rory himself.

Rory pulled back.

"Are you sure?" he asked, frowning.

"I'm sure about the getting married part," Milo said. "But if you'd prefer, like, an actual ceremony—"

"Well, what do you want?" Rory said.

Milo looked at Rory—Rory goddamn Fisher, who'd kissed him at a high school party, who'd borrowed a cigarette just for an excuse to talk to him, who taught Milo what it was like to be loved—really loved—and who hadn't let Milo push him away even when Milo had been so, so afraid.

"I want you, Rory," Milo said. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to bitch about my writing and have you remind me that I don't suck at it. I want to take you out to lunch when you forget the one you packed. I want to argue with you over whose turn it is to clean the litterbox. I want to retire to Florida with you and be grumpy old men together sitting on a veranda in Key West yelling at kids to get off our lawn."

"Does it have to be Florida?" Rory asked. He said it lightly, but Milo could hear his voice was thick with emotion. "It's really humid there, isn't it?"

"Wherever you go, I go," Milo said.

"Then let's go get fuckin' married," Rory said breathlessly.

And that was how Rory and Milo got married.

* * *

A few hours later, Milo and Rory walked out of the courthouse, newly married.

"Oh no," Rory said. Milo turned to his new husband.

"What?" he asked.

"Kit's gonna be pissed they missed this," Rory said with a grin, and Milo burst out laughing.

"Shit," Milo said. "We might have to have a fake wedding just to appease Kit and your mom."

"Wouldn't be the worst thing," Rory said. "It'd kind of fit, actually—this whole thing started with you as my fake boyfriend."

Milo leaned over and kissed Rory.

"I like the real thing better."

"Me too," Rory said with a grin.

Love, Milo thought as they walked back to Rory's office, was like a garden—beautiful and vibrant and full of light and life. But there were thorns, too, and dirt, rain as well as sun. It required hard work and trust and hope. Milo had found someone, though, who had the patience to help him learn to bloom.

Loving himself, loving others, was hard sometimes.

But love was always, always worth it.

The End