Rory and Milo fell into a pattern. Rory learned not to expect much contact from Milo during the week, but, without fail, he'd find himself in Milo's bed—or couch or kitchen or shower—every Friday night. And, without fail, he'd leave Saturday morning, physically exhausted and, for the most part, happy.

He didn't know if Milo was sleeping with other people, too. It wasn't a conversation they'd had, and it wasn't one Rory had the courage to bring up. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know the answer.

Rory had surprised himself—their arrangement was enough for him, at the moment. He thought about Milo during the week, looked forward to seeing him, caught himself daydreaming in class about all the things they'd done and would do. And he wondered what it would be like to spend time with Milo when it was light out, wondered what Milo would order if they went out for dinner, wondered what kind of music Milo would play if they went on a roadtrip.

And then, Rory would stop himself. Those kind of thoughts were nice but pointless.

This was enough, he reminded himself. This was enough.

* * *

Rory's mother was calling. He'd lied to her that he was busy with midterms, and that had bought him a week. But now she'd started calling him repeatedly again, and he knew he was only delaying the inevitable.

He sighed and answered the phone.

"Hi, Mom," he said.

"Rory, I've been trying to reach you for days," she said. "I thought you were dead. The event planner needs to confirm numbers for Sabrina's wedding next weekend and I wanted to make sure you're bringing a date."

Rory squeezed his eyes shut. It was one of this absurdly vivid fall days, the trees a riot of color against a brilliant, clear sky. He was sitting outside the business school's main academic building, trying to enjoy the last of the good weather, but now he just wanted to crawl into a dark crevice and never leave.

"Do I need to bring a date? Why can't I just go alone?"

There was a very long, very pointed pause, and Rory braced himself.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," Rory's mother said. He rolled his eyes, feeling the first twinges of a tension headache creeping through his temple. "I'm concerned about you."

"Concerned about what?" Rory said flatly. He heard a loud crumpling noise, and when he looked down, he realized he'd clenched his fist so hard he'd ripped out a sheet of the notebook he'd been looking at when she called.

"You, sweetheart," she said. "I don't like the idea of you being alone—"

"Mom, I'm not—" Rory said, stopping short. "I'm fine, okay?"

"Just let me set you up. Plenty of my friends have lovely daughters. I know you're still upset about Georgina, but I think Blair Woodrow would—"

"Oh my god, please do not set me up with someone," Rory said, blanching. The last thing he wanted was to spend the day forcing small talk with some girl he didn't know while his mother watched him like a hawk the whole time. "I'll—I'll figure it out, okay? I'll find a date."

"It wouldn't be any trouble for me to—"

"Mom," Rory said.

"Sabrina and Tom were engaged when she was—"

"I know, Mom, believe me, I know," Rory said, massaging his temples. All his sisters had found their future husbands early on at Bellamy, and now that Sabrina's wedding was looming on the horizon, the pressure on him to settle down was increasing.

But settling down was the last thing Rory wanted to do at the moment.

"I'll find someone, okay?" he said. "Do not set me up."

* * *

The universe was conspiring to make this the worst day ever, it seemed. Rory had tried to work off some of his frustration from his call with his mother in the gym, but it had only made his headache worse. By the time he'd finished with his weekly Wednesday night study group, he was tired and cranky and looking forward to collapsing into bed.

Unfortunately, it seemed like his housemates had other ideas.

He heard the bassline of the music thumping from halfway down the block, and he had to muscle past a group of girls to get through his own front door. A party was in full swing.

"What the fuck?" Rory said, cornering Andy in the kitchen. He gestured at the people draped over their battered furniture in the living room.

"I dunno, man," Andy said, shrugging helplessly. "I just got home."

"I'm fucking tired," Rory spat. "I have a headache and I’m not in the mood."

"I didn't have anything to do with this," Andy said, holding up his hands. Rory never snapped at people like this, but he was at the end of his rope. "Take it up with Greg and Steve."

Rory stalked away to find his shitty housemates. Things had been strained between him and Andy lately—it was hard not to feel resentful. Although Greg and Steve were the main offenders of the mess and the chaos—and, more recently—the unpaid utility bills, Andy had continued to say nothing, always waiting for Rory to lose his patience and step up to clean and pay the damn bills.

"What the fuck is this?" Rory said to Greg over the noise, who was fiddling with the music. This close to the speakers, Rory could feel the music vibrating through his chest.

"Hey, dude," Greg said. "We're just having a little get together."

"You couldn't have fucking warned me?" Rory said.

"Chill out, Rory," Greg said, frowning. "I don't know what your deal is lately, but you've been a huge dick this semester."

Rory opened and closed his mouth, but no retort came. Instead, he pushed through the crowd and stomped out of the house. He slammed the door as hard as he could, but his dramatic exit was drowned out by the rest of the chaos.

He got halfway down the block before he realized he was totally fucked—he had nowhere to go. In the past, when Greg and Steve had thrown impromptu parties, Rory had either been happy to join in or he'd just go to Georgina's, but that wasn't exactly an option anymore.

Before he even quite realized it, he was texting Milo.

>>RORY: hey

>>RORY: so I know this isn't what we usually do

>>RORY: but any chance I can crash at your place?

>>RORY: my housemates decided tonight was a great night to throw a party

>>RORY: because they're assholes

>>RORY: who don't know how to fucking clean a fucking dish

>>RORY: and I have a headache

Rory blinked down at the tirade he'd just sent to Milo and was awash with a regret so strong it was visceral.

"Oh my god," he said aloud to the empty street. "I'm such a dumbass."

For all he knew, Milo had some other virginal jock in his bed as Rory was assaulting his phone. And even if he was home, Rory had now proved himself to be totally insane.

Rory saw Milo was typing and was tempted to throw his phone across the road.

>>MILO: Sure.

* * *

"Sorry for all the texts," Rory said sheepishly when Milo answered the door.

"It's fine," Milo said, stepping aside to let Rory in.

"You weren't busy or anything right?" Rory asked as he followed Milo up the stairs. Milo was in just his underwear—very tight and very flattering, as usual—and though Rory was far from aroused at the moment, he couldn't help staring at Milo's ass.

"I was in the middle of a drug-fueled orgy," Milo said airily, gesturing to the empty room. "But you're welcome to join."

Rory hesitated at the top of the stairs, dropping his bag down on the floor and kicking off his shoes.

"It's been a rough day," he said, massaging his pounding temples. "My housemates decided to turn our house into a nightclub, so… thanks."

"It's no problem, really," Milo said.

"I can sleep on the couch or—"

"Rory," Milo said, with a smirk. "You're overthinking things."

He made his way down the hallway and Rory followed. Milo's bedside light was on, and there was a book open on the bed.

Milo got into bed and Rory stripped down to his boxers. He felt intensely awkward, but Milo was, as usual, inscrutable, as relaxed as if this were their normal nighttime routine.

Milo was sitting propped against the pillows, and he picked up his book as Rory slipped under the duvet, laying there with his arms at his sides.

Why am I so awkward? Rory wondered.

After a moment, Milo shifted closer towards the center of the bed.

"Come here," he said, and he tugged Rory closer, wrapping an arm around him. Rory relaxed against Milo, nestling his head against Milo's shoulder. It was soothing to lay like that, listening to the occasional flip of the page, to feel the rhythmic rise and fall of Milo's chest, and soon Rory was asleep.

* * *

Rory had woken up disoriented to find himself at Milo's on a Thursday morning. He still couldn’t quite believe he'd ended up there—and that they'd spent the night without doing anything more than cuddling.

He wanted to linger, but he forced himself to get dressed—Rory knew it was only a matter of time before Milo started to get all weird and distant, the way he did after he'd sobered up.

A thought occurred to him.

He knew he and Milo were just hooking up. For a while, he'd been okay with that. Sure, he would have loved more, but by now, he'd conditioned himself to be satisfied with just this.

But, last night, Milo had been the one to pull Rory close, to hold him as he fell asleep. And they hadn't even gotten naked, or even kissed.

So maybe the rules were changing.

He let himself dare to hope.

"Hey," Rory said. "Okay. So. This is a really weird question, and I know it's going to sound absolutely batshit, and it's okay if you say no, but—"

"Rory," Milo said. "Just ask the question."

"Do you want to go to a wedding with me?" Rory asked.

Milo blinked.

Rory was watching him hesitantly, but it was like trying to guess the emotional state of a brick wall. Rory's face heated up.

"Sorry—that was weird—forget it—" Rory stammered, falling all over himself as he tried to backpedal.

"Wait," Milo said. He paused. "Whose wedding?"

Rory felt a wave of relief. Milo didn't look completely freaked out.

"My sister's getting married. Next weekend at the botanical gardens by campus," Rory said. "I… was supposed to bring my ex, but, you know, she dumped me. My mom threatened to set me up with one of her friend's daughters if I didn't find a date, so… do you want to go to a wedding?"

Milo burst out laughing.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Rory conceded with a crooked grin. "But… do you wanna?"

Milo was quiet for a moment, and it took every ounce of Rory's willpower not to start backpedaling again, to not apologize and rescind his offer.

"Is there an open bar?" Milo asked finally.

"Oh hell yes," Rory said with a laugh. "Top shelf booze. Literally no expense spared."

"Fine," Milo said, shrugging casually. "I'll go."

Rory, who was in the middle of pulling on his pants, froze.

"Wait, really?"

He was completely taken aback. Even as he'd asked Milo the first time, he'd known it was a total reach, that there was no way Milo would—

"Why not?" Milo said, studying his cuticles.

"Really? You're serious?" Rory said, beaming at him.

"Do you want me to say no?" Milo asked wryly.

"Definitely not. I just… kind of expected you refuse."

"Yes, well."

"Uncharted territory," Rory said, and Milo rolled his eyes.

"Wait," Milo said, looking up at him. "Are you out to your parents?"

"Hm," Rory said, pulling his shirt over his head. "Well, I guess I will be now."

He hadn't actually thought about it, and when he did, Rory found that he didn't mind his family knowing he was into dick if it meant a chance to spend the day with Milo.

Milo was frowning at him.

"So will you be introducing me as your friend or your date?" Milo asked.

"Well," Rory said. "I was probably just going to be like, hey Aunt Rebecca, this is the guy I picked up in a bar who taught me how to suck dick."

Milo snorted.

"I'm not sure how much teaching I did."

"Okay," Rory amended. "Who let me figure out how to suck a dick. On him."

"That will be a lovely introduction," Milo said.

"Why are you asking?" Rory said, glancing over at Milo. "Do you want to be my date?"

"Cute," Milo said archly. "I just want to prepare myself."

"Well, what if I did say you were my date?" Rory said. Rory turned so he could watch Milo's expression, which, granted, never tended to reveal much.

"Is that really how you want to come out to your family?" Milo asked, neatly sidestepping the question.

Rory paused to consider this and found he didn't really care. His family was liberal—he couldn't imagine there being an issue. They'd just be glad he wasn't alone—being single was a cardinal sin in his family.

"I think it'll be fine," he said, shrugging.

"Isn't this a bit… sudden?" Milo pressed.

"People do weird shit when they get out of long relationships," Rory said. "Some people cut off all their hair, I'm coming out by showing up to my sister's wedding with a guy. Whatever."

That now-familiar ghost of a smile was playing at Milo's lips again.

"Let's go to a wedding then," he said.

* * *

The day of Sabrina's wedding dawned bright and clear.

It hadn't been the most efficient morning so far.

Like always, Rory had spent Friday night at Milo's. And like always, he left early Saturday morning.

But this time, he came back a few hours later, showered and wearing his best suit, to pick Milo up again.

Milo opened the door and was quiet for a moment, his eyes running up and down Rory's outfit.

"What?" Rory said, his face flushing. He wasn't stylish the way Milo was, but Rory had thought he looked pretty good.

"You look phenomenal," Milo said, letting Rory in.

"Really?" Rory said.

"Absolutely," Milo said, cupping Rory's chin with his hand and pulling him in for a kiss. Milo's breath was toothpaste-fresh and minty, but he was still in his underwear.

"Is, um, that what you were planning on wearing?" Rory asked as he followed Milo up the stairs. "Because it's working for me, but—"

"I'm having a fashion crisis, Rory," Milo said in a very dramatic tone of voice. "Don't mock me."

Milo headed down the hall, and Rory tagged along behind him. He threw himself down on the bed and then sat up a moment later, trying not to wrinkle his suit, as Milo stood in front of his closet, pressing his fist to his mouth thoughtfully.

Rory watched in fascination as Milo browsed through his closet, pulling out a couple potential shirts and setting them on the bed. Milo seemed utterly lost in thought, like he was solving profound equations in his head.

"So here's the thing," Rory said. "I should warn you that my family is… kind of nuts."

"Everyone thinks their family is nuts," Milo said.

"Yeah," Rory said, reaching across and running his hand over the collar of one of Milo's dress shirts. "And, like, they're not that bad, they're just a little… intense. They're a bunch of doctors and lawyers and stuff. And there's a lot of them. They're all very Type A."

"Consider me warned," Milo said. Milo put his hands on his hips, looking down at the shirts spread out on the bed before him. After a moment, he returned to the closet.

"You have a lot of clothes," Rory said from the bed and Milo cast a sharp look over his shoulder at him. Rory held up his hands. "I didn't mean it in a bad way. You always look great."

"Oh," Milo said, nonplussed. "Well, thank you."

Suddenly, something caught his eye, and Rory sprang up off the bed and appeared beside Milo.

"Oh my god, wear this—" Rory said, grabbing a garment a hanger and brandishing a silver, sequined top at Milo.

"We're going to a wedding, not a gay bar," Milo said, taking the top from Rory and discarding it.

"Oh, what about this?" Rory said, seizing a leopard print scarf.

"Good god, no," Milo said, again confiscating the scarf and tossing it on top of the sequined jacket. "Absolutely not. And besides, that's actually Kit's."

"Do you really wear this stuff?" Rory said, gesturing to a garishly patterned shirt. Milo narrowed his eyes as he turned to look at Rory.

"Are you making fun of me?" Milo said, and Rory's mouth fell open.

"What? No, oh my god," Rory said quickly. "I was—I meant—I could never pull something like this off. I'd look like an idiot. But you totally can."

Milo pressed his lips together, like he wasn't quite sure if he should be offended or not.

"Sorry," Rory said, faltering. "I didn't mean—"

"I'll tell you what," Milo said, suddenly. "You can pick out something for me to wear."

Rory blinked at him and then laughed.

"Really?"

"Yes," Milo said with a sigh.

"Like… anything?" Rory said, looking suspiciously at Milo's closet.

"Sure."

"Do you really trust me?" Rory said.

"Not particularly," Milo said dryly.

Rory regarded Milo for a moment and then smiled broadly.

"Great. Let's do it."

"Perfect," Milo said breezily as he left the room. "Pick something out for me."

Milo disappeared into the bathroom and Rory stood at the closet, shuffling through the clothes, packed as tightly as sardines.

He liked touching these things that had touched Milo, feeling the textures, rough or wooly or slithery under his fingertips. Milo's wardrobe was full of bizarre things—Rory found a white, shimmery feather boa balled up in a shoe—but he made his selection easily, laying it out on the bed.

Milo returned from the bathroom, his hair now artistically disheveled rather than regularly disheveled.

"All right," Milo said from the doorway. "Do your worst."

Rory was sitting on the bed again, feeling very pleased with himself. Milo sighed.

"You don't trust me, do you?" Rory asked, standing up and crossing the room. He looped his arms around Milo's waist, drawing Milo closer.

Milo stepped back.

"I don't trust you," Milo said dryly. "Not one bit. Let's see it."

Rory made a miffed little noise and gestured to his choice.

"Wait," Milo said, frowning. "Really?"

Rory faltered. He'd chosen a blazer that looked, in Rory's opinion, very professorial. It had patches on the elbow and Rory could perfectly imagine Milo, long and lanky and elegant, with a cigarette and a glass of whiskey, scribbling away in a notebook, impossibly glamorous, like that night they'd run into each other at the dimly lit bar on Chestnut Street.

"Yeah," Rory said. "Is that… not okay? You don't have to wear it."

"It's not that," Milo said. "But… Why this?"

Rory shrugged.

"I thought you'd look hot," he said. "Like, that whole brooding artist vibe. What? You thought I was gonna pick something totally embarrassing, didn't you?"

"Yes," Milo said, shoving Rory towards the door. "Now get out of here so I can change."

"I've already seen you naked—" Rory protested.

Milo shut the door on him, and Rory went into the living room.

He still couldn't believe this was happening. He was about to spend the whole day with Milo.

When Rory had invited Milo, it had been a total shot in the dark, a sort of Hail Mary. He hadn't really expected Milo to say yes—after all, Milo had made it clear he didn't do feelings or anything that could be considered a relationship.

Rory knew he was setting himself up for failure, but he couldn't stop himself from hoping. Hope was hard, bright, and brutal, a little flame inside him he couldn't extinguish. For a while, Rory had tried to pretend he was okay with seeing Milo one night a week, nothing more.

He'd been lying to himself.

He was addicted to Milo. But what Rory liked most of all were those few glimmering moments when Milo let his guard down, when Rory saw someone soft and kind and slightly wounded peeking out from between the cracks in Milo's aloof, polished exterior.

Time and time again, Rory found himself thinking that maybe, if he was patient enough, Milo might agree to something more.

It was foolish, dangerous, irresponsible thinking—but Rory couldn't resist.

"Ready?" Milo said, reappearing from the bedroom.

"Holy shit," Rory said, and he could feel his whole face lighting up. "You look good." Milo was wearing the blazer Rory had picked out, and he'd pulled together an outfit that made him look like he'd just stepped out of an editorial fashion spread, part tortured artist, part runway model, and all long and sleek and glamorous.

Milo averted his eyes, with the small frown he wore to indicate he thought Rory was full of shit, and adjusted his tie, which was a floral print reminiscent of his tattoos.

"Shall we?" he said.

Rory was still unable to peel his eyes off Milo.

"Yeah," Rory said, because that was all he could manage.

* * *

They made their way to the botanical garden. It was a beautiful day, a sharp, clear fall morning, and Rory wouldn't have been surprised to find that Sabrina and his mother had been able to control the weather through sheer force of will. A few puffy clouds, as brilliant white as fresh cotton, floated in the sky.

They walked in silence, but it didn't feel awkward. He was here with Milo, in the light of day, when Milo was sober and—well, maybe not happy, but he seemed content.

And that made Rory happy.

Rory found himself desperately wanting to grab Milo's hand, to hold it as they walked. Rory thought of the quiet affection in the way Milo held him in the mornings, when he thought Rory was still asleep, how simple and easy it felt.

"Why did your girlfriend break up with you?" Milo asked out of nowhere, and Rory faltered.

"She… fell out of love, I guess," Rory said. He bit his lip. "She said she still cared about me but that she felt like we'd gotten together too early. She said she felt like we were stagnating."

Rory braced himself to defend Georgina. Most of his friends had been upset with her, calling her very uncharitable names, and Rory had had a difficult time explaining that, while he had been heartbroken at the time, he also didn't begrudge her choice and her needs.

But Milo's response surprised Rory.

"Did you feel like the two of you were stagnating?"

"I dunno," Rory said. "At first, no. But… now that a little time has passed... Yeah. I think we were."

Rory trailed off, lost in thought. If Georgina hadn't broken up with Rory, then Rory wouldn't be here with Milo, and for as painful as the breakup had been, he wouldn't trade this for anything.

* * *

They ended up cutting across the Bellamy campus to get to the botanical gardens. The campus was relatively quiet, the grass of the quad trod down by students cutting across it.

The campus looked the same as always, but something about that morning, the light and Milo beside him, made Rory really see his school for the first time in many years.

"You like Bellamy?" Rory asked, looking around at the buildings. Bellamy, founded in the late nineteenth century, didn't have the typical ivy-covered brick buildings, but it seemed like the campus suited Milo—arresting, impressive, and not quite what one would expect.

"Enough to stay for my MFA," Milo said, and Rory sighed internally. It seemed like Milo was back to his terse responses. He and Milo didn't talk a lot when Rory came over, though occasionally Milo would humor him when Rory started badgering Milo with questions.

But, Rory reminded himself, Milo had chosen to come with him. Milo wanted to be here, or at least, Rory was pretty sure he did.

Rory had given up on making conversation when Milo surprised him by continuing.

"I stayed at Bellamy for my MFA because I didn't know what else to do," Milo said, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. "That's the honest answer—not the answer I usually give people."

"What's the answer you usually give?" Rory asked.

"Some bullshit about rankings and program focus and Linfield," Milo said, waving his hand dismissively. "But really, I was… too scared to leave a place where I finally felt comfortable."

Milo trailed off, and Rory glanced at him, surprised by the vulnerable admission.

"Same here, kind of," Rory said. "My whole family went to Bellamy, so going anywhere else was never really an option. I stayed on for grad school because… that's just what we do in my family. I never even stopped to think about whether or not it was what I wanted to do."

Milo glanced over at him, regarding him carefully.

"What do you want?" Milo asked.

You, Rory thought.

"I'm… not sure."

They were both quiet for a moment as they walked.

"Anyway, I've been thinking about how you should introduce me," Milo said, and Rory blinked at the sudden subject change.

"And?" Rory prompted, a little hesitant.

"I think you should introduce me as your long-lost lover," Milo said with a completely straight face. "We met at summer camp as children and fell in love, but we lost touch when my family had to go into hiding because my mother is an international superspy."

Rory burst out laughing.

"That's ridiculous."

"I'm not done—" Milo said, rather crossly. "I spent a lot of time thinking of this while you were taking your sweet time picking out my outfit."

"Continue," Rory said, stifling his laughter.

"A few months ago, we met eyes in a crowded open-air market, but I was on the back of my then-husband's motorcycle and we sped away. You had always thought you'd never see me again, and often wondered, in the lonely hours of the morning, if you'd just imagined that day in the market."

"If you sped away, how did you end up being my date to this wedding?" Rory asked.

"Let me finish," Milo said, and though he was still trying to deadpan, Rory saw a smile playing on his lips. "Then, you broke up with you ex—"

"She broke up with me," Rory interrupted.

"As I was saying—the two of you broke up, and then I showed up on your doorstep fleeing the police after my incredibly wealthy yet elderly husband died of mysterious causes. And now we're trying to see if we can make it work."

Rory started laughing again.

"I feel like… maybe… that's not the most believable story in the world?" Rory said.

"Darling, it's not supposed to be believable," Milo said. "But you'd be surprised what you can get away with when you say something with a straight face. I convinced my last freshman poetry seminar that I'd won the National Book Award."

"How did you even think of all that?" Rory said, still slightly amazed.

"I'm a writer," Milo said, shrugging. "It's my job."

"So," Rory said, as they crossed the wide stretch of lawn that separated Bellamy from the botanical garden. He could see other guests starting to trickle in. "You and this elderly husband—did you murder him?"

"That's the thing," Milo said. "You're not quite sure, so you don't know if you can trust me. With your heart or your life."

"Dangerous," Rory said. "I guess I'm a bit of a risk-taker."

"Or, you know," Milo said casually. "You can just say I'm your new boyfriend, if that will get your family to stop bothering you about your ex and being alone."

Rory was so surprised nearly stopped in his tracks and only just barely managed to keep himself moving.

"Really?" Rory said.

Milo shrugged, though he wasn't looking at Rory.

"If you want."

"Um—okay," Rory said, trying to hide how pleased he was. "Thanks."

Hope flared again, and he basked in its glow.

They'd reached the long stone path that wound up to the botanical gardens. The glass panes of the sprawling building glimmered in the sunlight, and the grounds were overrun with a riot of colorful blossoms—it looked like something out of a fairytale.

By the door, Rory could see his mother, who looked very frazzled, talking with someone he didn’t recognize, probably a staff member from the botanical garden. A sudden spike of anxiety fizzled through him.

Oh shit, he thought. I guess I'm really doing this.

"Shall we?" Milo said. He gracefully linked arms with Rory.

"Let's do this," said Rory, sounding much more confident than he felt.