"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

It was Sunday morning, and they were laying in Bennett's bed together, still swimming hazily through the afterglow. Jamie had spent every weekend at Bennett's since that snowstorm, thought Bennett still insisted he go back to his own apartment on weeknights. Jamie supposed he understood where Bennett was coming from, but at night, listening to Mr. Li snoring below him, Jamie fantasized about a time when they spent every night together in a home they shared.

"Probably going to Milo's family's house," Jamie said, wriggling around so he was facing Bennett. "Why?"

"Oh," Bennett said. "Oh, well, have fun then."

Jamie narrowed his eyes.

"Why? What were you going to ask?"

"Well—" Bennett said. Jamie never got tired of the many shades of Bennett, and they were all unique and lovely. He liked Turned On Bennett, all growly and confident, he liked Professor Mode Bennett, serious and thoughtful and intelligent. But now here was Shy Bennett, tripping over his words like he was asking Jamie out to prom. "I… was just going to say, if you didn't have other plans—I usually spend the holiday with Mo and Peter and—"

Jamie grinned, pushing Bennett onto his back and straddling him. He braced his hands on Bennett's chest and looked down.

"Is that offer on the table?" he said. "Because I'd much rather spend Thanksgiving with you."

"I don’t want to take you away from your friends—" Bennett said, biting his lip.

"It's fine, believe me," Jamie said. "Milo's from Linfield so he always offers up his house to people who don’t travel home for the holiday. It's really not a big deal."

"Are you sure—"

"Bennett," Jamie said firmly, to shut his overly-cautious boyfriend up. "Seriously, I'd much rather spend the day with you than making conversation with Milo's great-aunt or whatever."

"Good," Bennett said, finally smiling again. "I'd much rather you spend the day with me too."

* * *

"So are you going to tell us who you're dating?"

The question caught him off guard.

"Uh, who says I'm dating someone?" Jamie asked. It was a Thursday night, and Milo and Kit had met up with him at a bar in East Linfield for happy hour. Turning twenty-one had opened up a whole world of socialization for him, and even though he still didn't drink much, he enjoyed the dimly lit interiors and the low hum of conversation of the bars they frequented.

"Well, if you're not dating someone," Milo said, "you're definitely at least getting laid. You're happy, but no one's that happy unless they're getting high quality dick. Or, you know, whatever they're into, as the case may be."

"Also," Kit chimed in. "Don't think we haven't noticed that you're suddenly busy every weekend."

"I—I'm not—" Jamie said, stammering. His face was heating up, though, and he knew there wasn't really a point in continuing the charade.

"You don't have to tell us if you don't want," Kit said then. "But—we're your friends. We're happy for you, so if you'd like to share, we'd like to hear."

"Dick details, please," Milo said with a straight face, and Kit rolled their eyes.

"It's not that I don't want to tell you," Jamie said. "It's that, uh—I kind of… can't. We're sort of… keeping it quiet for now."

Milo raised an eyebrow and sighed dramatically.

"Ugh, does this mean I can't live vicariously through you?" he said. "What, is he still in the closet or something?"

"Something like that," Jamie said vaguely as Kit swatted Milo on the arm.

"Don't be rude," Kit said. "Everyone comes out in their own time."

"I know, I know," Milo said, holding up his hand in apology. "You know I'm just being ridiculous."

"You're always being ridiculous," Kit said, smiling. They turned to Jamie. "I hope it's going well."

"It is, so far," Jamie said, biting back a smile.

"Oh god, look at that grin," Milo said. "Jamie's in love."

Jamie's face turned beet red then.

"Oh, he really is," Milo said.

"it's still… new…" Jamie said. "But… he's… he's really great." He wanted desperately to tell them more, to tell them about how after that first weekend Bennett had stocked his fridge like a normal person so Jamie could actually have breakfast, how he woke Jamie up in the morning with coffee and sex, how Jamie finally got to see all the mundane, intimate details of Bennett's life—Bennett brushing his teeth, Bennett taking out the trash, Bennett nodding off as they watched TV in the afternoon.

"I'm happy for you," Kit said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "And if there's an opportunity for us to meet him, you know I'd love to."

"Yeah," Jamie said, still smiling goofily. "I'd really like that. And, uh—I might end up spending Thanksgiving with him, actually. Sorry, Milo."

Milo feigned indignation, putting his hand dramatically on his chest.

"I can't believe you're abandoning us to get laid."

"Gee, who does that sound like?" Kit said, raising an eyebrow. "Speaking of which, where were you on Tuesday? You never showed up to Rita's birthday party."

Milo's face went blank for a moment, quickly replaced by his usual disaffected expression.

"No," Kit said, sounding disappointed. "You didn't."

"I fell asleep early—"

"Don't lie to me, Milo, I've known you way too long for you to get away with it," Kit said. Jamie glanced between the two of them.

"What?" Jamie said, though he knew he was being nosy.

"It was a lapse, okay?" Milo said, not meeting Kit's hard stare. Kit groaned and buried their head in their hands.

"Milo," Kit said. "At some point, this stops being sex and starts being self-harm."

"Can't it be both?' Milo said weakly. He glanced at Jamie, who was still looking at them, totally clueless. "There's this guy I dated and… we hooked up again the other night."

"Did he text you or did you text him?" Kit demanded. Jamie hadn't seen Kit like this before, their eyes lit up with a protective glint.

"He… texted me," Milo said.

"Is he still dating that other girl?"

"Well, yeah, but they're open—"

"Milo," Kit said with exasperation.

"Whatever," Milo said, looking pissed. "I'm getting another drink." He pushed his stool back from the table, the legs screeching against the floor, and stomped off.

"What was that about?" Jamie said, watching Milo disappear through the tables to the bar.

Kit massaged their temples and sighed.

"He's being totally strung along by this guy. Do you remember my gallery exhibit last winter? How Milo was wasted and moping?"

"Oh, yeah. That was… a bad night," said Jamie, blushing slightly. That had been the ill-fated night he'd kissed Finn.

"Well, it's the same guy. His name is Ryan, and he's a total asshole, and Milo's in love with him for whatever reason."

"Does… Milo mind that you're telling me all this?" Jamie asked.

"It's fine," Kit said, waving a hand vaguely. "He'd probably prefer it—that way you know, so he can reference it obliquely that way he does, but he doesn't have to outright admit what a trainwreck it is."

"Ah, I see," Jamie said. He understood the impulse. He felt that way about talking about his mother's death or what his dad had been like—he sometimes wished he could just hand out a little business card to people with the pertinent details listed and avoid the awkward, pity-filled conversation.

"So… it's hard to watch," Kit said. "They've been fucking off and on for a year now, which wouldn't be that bad if Milo weren't hoping for… something more. Milo likes to pretend he can do the unattached, casual thing, but he just can't."

Milo reappeared then holding three drinks—two cocktails and a soda for Jamie—and he set them down on the table.

"Are these for us?" Kit said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Milo said. "Because now I'm in the mood to get trashed and wallow, and I'm not gonna do it alone."

* * *

"Oh—you look nice," Bennett said when Jamie came out of the bedroom. Jamie laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Thank you for sounding so surprised," he said.

"No, no—" Bennett said, crossing the room and pulling Jamie into his arms, kissing him. "I didn't mean it like that—I just hadn't expected you to dress up."

"Well, I'm not really dressed up, per se," Jamie said. "I'm just wearing a sweater."

"But it's a very flattering sweater," Bennett said, and Jamie laughed again. They got caught up in kissing for a moment, and Jamie began to grind his hips against Bennett. Bennett pulled away.

"As much as I'd love to bend you over the back of the couch and fuck you," he said, his voice a little rough. "Mo's going to be here any minute to pick us up."

Jamie whined in disappointment. They'd been fucking a lot, but it never seemed enough for him. But sure enough, through the blinds he saw a car pull up to the curb.

"Oh, there he is," Bennett said. "Go on, and I'll grab the stuff we're bringing." Jamie grabbed his coats and hurried out to the car. It was a bitterly cold day, the sky low and iron gray, threatening snow.

"Happy Thanksgiving," Mo said, twisting around in his seat to smile at Jamie as he scrambled into the back seat. "Missing someone?"

"Bennett decided he didn't want to come," Jamie said solemnly. "Said he hates fun."

"That does sound like Bennett," Mo said, nodding. "How is your semester going?"

"Good," Jamie said, pulling on his seatbelt. "Busiest one yet. I'm pretty much always either doing homework or—" He stopped himself short from saying having sex, given that he'd only met Mo once before. "It's been good though."

Bennett pulled the car door open, holding a paper grocery bag in his arms.

"Ready?" Mo said. Jamie listened to him and Bennett chat as they drove. The two of them had such a different dynamic without the fiery, energetic presence of Peter. They were talking about some new surgical procedure being pioneered at the hospital where Mo worked and the greater social implications of it—something like that—and Jamie felt very young and uncultured. It was amazing, though, how easily Bennett could hold a conversation about almost anything.

They drove to a quiet, residential neighborhood Jamie had never been to. It was far from campus, and there were certainly no students living here—the houses all looked well taken care of, and the yards weren't littered with dented, empty beer cans.

They'd barely made it to the front steps when the front door flung open, revealing Peter holding a very full martini glass, which sloshed onto the porch.

"I missed you, darling," Peter said.

"I saw you last Tuesday," Bennett said.

"Not you," Peter said. "Your beau." He hugged Jamie tightly and somehow managing to avoid pouring his drink down Jamie's back.

"Look at you," Peter said, stepping back and examining Jamie. "All dressed up. I personally will not be changing out of my pajamas, so forgive me."

Peter hugged Bennett, kissed Mo, then shepherded all of them into the house.

"Peter, are you drunk already?" Bennett said with amusement. "It's eleven in the morning."

"Of course I am," Peter said. "Why do you think Mo drove? Besides, it's a holiday, the rules are different. Cocktail?"

He held out his hands, gesturing to the elaborate bar set up in the dining room. Like Bennett's house, Peter and Mo's home was quietly luxurious. Jamie was suddenly, uncharacteristically shy. Bennett seemed so comfortable here, and the three of them seemed so cultured. All three of them had been traveling the world for decades and Jamie had never been anywhere but Linfield and Georgia.

"You mean me?" Jamie said, realizing Peter was waiting for a response. "Oh—um, yes?"

Peter set about making something very complicated that involved a lot of tiny, dark-glassed bottles.

"I don't think I've ever seen you drink," Jamie said, looking at Bennett thoughtfully.

"You haven't," Bennett said, planting a quick kiss on Jamie's temple while Peter wasn't looking. "I try not to make a habit of it."

Peter handed him a tumbler full of amber liquid in ice.

"What is it?" Jamie asked, holding it up to the light.

"It's delicious is what it is," Peter said. He clinked their glasses together. "Cheers."

"Weren't you in the middle of another cocktail?" Mo said, reappearing from the kitchen, looking down at Peter with a fond smile.

"Oh, right," Peter said. "Hm, I need to figure out where I put that."

They moved into the kitchen—Peter now holding a cocktail in each hand—and Jamie shifted nervously from one foot to the other. He took a sip of his drink as Peter and Bennett fell into a quick-paced banter that seemed to be their typical mode of conversation. Mo was much quieter, occasionally interrupting with something equally clever or insightful.

"You okay?" Bennett whispered to Jamie when Peter went to refresh his drink and Mo went into the kitchen to check on something. He brought his hand to Jamie's low back and Jamie stepped in a little closer.

"Yeah," Jamie said. "Just… you guys are intimidating, you know?"

Bennett frowned.

"I'm sorry—We don't have to stay if—"

"No, no, it's fine," Jamie said. "I'm just… feeling kind of shy."

Bennett inclined his head to kiss Jamie, slow and deep and hot, and it sent tingles through his whole body.

"You're perfect, Jamie," he said. "Peter and Mo adore you, and you don't need to impress anyone."

"Lovebirds," Peter said loudly as he came into the room. He glanced down at Jamie's drink, still mostly full. "You've got some catching up to do. Do you want something else?"

"No, this is great," he said, throwing back a large sip.

"There's my boy," Peter said. "Now, come on, I suppose we shouldn't leave Mo to do all the cooking.

Jamie was tasked with peeling carrots, and once he was given something to do—and the alcohol began to kick in—he started to relax more. He still found himself listening more than talking, but he didn't mind. He noticed, too, that Bennett was making a clear effort to loop Jamie into the conversation, asking him direct questions whenever he'd been quiet for a while. And it might have been the increasingly strong cocktails Peter was making, but Jamie felt a warm glow building.

Peter was singing along loudly with the music, some jazz standards playlist, and he had a surprisingly good voice, low and strong and caramel. The kitchen was warm and smelled of spices. Peter and Mo were vegetarian, so they'd forgone the turkey in favor of what seemed like a dozen different vegetable based dishes. It was far too much food for four people, but cooking it seemed to be half the fun anyway.

After the meal, Jamie felt full and deliciously sleepy, and after they'd cleaned up the worst of the mess, he found himself sprawled on the couch, curled up under a blanket that Peter's grandma had crocheted decades ago. Mo was outside on the back porch, on the phone with another doctor about a patient they had—it always seemed like Mo was never really not working—and Bennett had excused himself to the bathroom.

"You make him happy, you know," Peter said, breaking the quiet. Jamie opened his eyes—he'd been close to dozing off—and saw Peter regarding him thoughtfully, lips pressed together.

Jamie didn't bother trying to hide his smile.

"He makes me happy," Jamie said. It was dumb and sappy, he knew, but it was the truth.

"Since… everything happened, Bennett has been so closed off," Peter said, looking off in the distance, his brow furrowed. "It's like… you've finally brought the light back to him."

Jamie felt his cheeks heating up, and he was suddenly tongue-tied.

"I—uh—thank you," Jamie said, finishing weakly. He was suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. He cared so deeply for Bennett—he loved him—and to hear something like that from Bennett's closest friend was an unimaginable gift.

Bennett came back in then, and the conversation shifted to something about some wedding they'd both attended the year before, but Jamie held Peter's comment close to himself, where it glowed like an ember, warming him from the inside out.

It was dark when Mo dropped them off at Bennett's house. The sky had made good on its promise, and snowflakes were drifting down steadily. As Bennett unlocked the front door, Jamie looked at the yard, disappearing under the snow, and was reminded strongly of that first weekend they'd spent together, during that freak October snowstorm.

He was still quite drunk, and as they stepped into the hallway, Jamie kicked the door shut behind them and was on top of Bennett immediately, practically mauling him as Bennett tried to get out of his winter coat.

Bennett laughed, low and throaty, into the kiss, and soon they were stripping off layers, leaving a trail of abandoned clothing like breadcrumbs on the way to the bedroom.

"You're lovely," Bennett whispered, falling to the bed and pulling down Jamie on top of him. He ran his hands up Jamie's torso, circling his thumbs over his nipples and Jamie moaned and leaned into the sensation. He was drunk and lost in the pleasure of it, everything in the world reduced to just Bennett beneath him.

"Please—" Jamie whimpered, not quite sure what he was asking for. Everything was so much, a whirl of desire and emotion. He leaned forward, so their bare chests were pressed together, feeling the hot, smooth expanse of Bennett's skin beneath him. Their cocks were trapped between them, pressed together, and the friction felt unbearably perfect. He moaned, grinding his hips down against Bennett.

Bennett inhaled sharply, his hands flying to Jamie's hips, fingers digging into Jamie's ass encouragingly.

Jamie's cock was already leaking, and Bennett snaked his hand between them, wrapping his hand around both of their cocks. A little noise slipped out of Jamie's throat, a high, needy whine.

"Go on," Bennett whispered, his breath hot against Jamie's ear. Jamie buried his face into Bennett's neck, fucking into the tight channel of his hand and his cock, slicked with his own precum.

"Fuck, Bennett—" Jamie choked out. He was drunk enough that his words were heavy on his tongue, and all he could think about was the dizzying pleasure of the friction, him and Bennett and their harsh breathing mingling in the quiet dark.

"I'm gonna—holy shit—Bennett—I'm close—fuck—please—" Jamie moaned.

"Come for me, darling," Bennett said.

"I'm—almost there—" Jamie said, and then Bennett's hand was tighter. Jamie cried out loudly, overwhelmed by the strange, odd intimacy of his cock sliding against Bennett's, of Bennett's familiar, somehow woodsy scent, of how much incredibly lucky he felt—

"Fuck, Bennett—" Jamie said. "I love you so much—"

And then he was over the edge. Jamie's hips stuttered as he thrust into Bennett's hand, his cum streaking hot and wet between them. He groaned and collapsed down, his hips still flexing involuntarily.

Jamie pulled back, slightly dazed.

"Oh—" he said, looking down between them. "Uh—"

He glanced back up at Bennett, about to offer to suck him off, but he stopped short at the strange look on Bennett's face.

"What?" Jamie said.

"Nothing," Bennett said quickly. "I'll get a washcloth—" He moved to get up but Jamie put a hand on his chest, keeping him there.

"Wait," Jamie said. "Are you freaking out because I said I loved you?"

Bennett had that blank look on his face that Jamie knew meant he was panicking inside.

"It's—" he started, but the sentence went nowhere.

Jamie sat back, still straddling Bennett's thighs.

"You don't love me," he said, and he wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement.

"I—" Bennett looked like a cornered alley cat, flighty, hackles raised.

"It's whatever," Jamie said, shrugging, even though it wasn't whatever.

"Jamie, you're drunk," Bennett said gently, reaching out for Jamie's hand, but Jamie shook him off.

"Yeah, but it's not like I wouldn't have said that sober," he said. He could feel himself pouting a little bit, but it hurt, like the sting of a slap.

"Jamie—"

"No, seriously," Jamie said, frowning. He felt very exposed, suddenly, his cum still smeared across both their chests, but covering himself now would just draw attention to it. "I do love you, and I've loved you for ages and I don't think saying it has to be a thing, you know? I'm not asking to get married, I'm just telling you I care."

"I—I'm not sure what you—what you want from me."

Jamie felt like he was deflating, like his bones had disappeared. It was hard to hold himself upright—he just wanted to curl up under the covers and fall asleep. The room was starting to spin slightly.

"I don't… want anything," Jamie said in a small voice. "I just… wanted you to know."

"Well… thank you, then," Bennett said. He sat up and kissed Jamie lightly on the forehead. Jamie said nothing.

"Jamie…" Bennett said after a moment. "Can you look at me?"

Jamie had been avoiding Bennett's gaze because he could feel tears pricking in his eyes, and one look in those beautiful gray-gold eyes would undo him.

"No, I can't," Jamie said, feeling incredibly foolish. "I'm gonna cry again like a dumb baby."

"Oh Jamie," Bennett said softly, in that way that melted Jamie like spun sugar. He wrapped his arms around Jamie, pulling him close and pressing a kiss on the top of his hair. "Don't ever be ashamed of that—I love how expressive you are."

Jamie pulled back, raising an eyebrow at Bennett's use of the word love. The look was slightly mitigated by the tears rolling down his face now, but he tried to look as arch as possible.

"Look—" Bennett said, and now he was the one not quite meeting Jamie's eyes. "I… know, all right? It's… hard for me to say things like that. It's always been hard. It's not… that I don't feel it, but…"

Jamie watched Bennett trail off, and he could practically see the words tumbling wildly through Bennett's brain, piling up somewhere between his mind and his mouth without ever making it out.

"So…" Jamie said slowly. "You're not saying you love me, but you're not… not saying it?"

Bennett gave Jamie a small, grateful smile.

"Yes," he said. "Jamie, I…" He trailed off.

Jamie frowned.

"Well… that's not super romantic, exactly," Jamie said. "But I guess I'll take it."

"Oh Jamie," Bennett said, pulling Jamie close again and burying his head against Jamie's chest. He muttered something into Jamie's skin that sounded like "I don't deserve you," but Jamie couldn't quite tell if that's just what he'd wanted to hear.

They sat there like that for a moment, Jamie still straddling Bennett's lap. He felt confused—desolate and elated and upset and completely fine, all at once.

In some deep part of his heart, somewhere deep in the marrow of his bones, Jamie was sure that Bennett loved him too. It was in everything Bennett did—the way he looked at Jamie like Jamie was sunlight, in the little touches he gave when they were together, in the way he said Jamie's name.

Jamie tried to convince himself that he didn't need Bennett to say the words, not quite yet.

After a while, it was Jamie who pulled back and padded into the bathroom, retrieving a damp washcloth. Bennett seemed nervous and apologetic, but Jamie just kissed away whatever apology he'd been about to say and cleaned them off gently, and then pulled the covers over them.

Bennett did love him, Jamie told himself. And if he was wrong—well, then Jamie would deal with that when he came to it.