Getting picked up at the airport by Rory was a bit like getting mauled by a golden retriever—one minute he was standing there in the San Francisco drizzle, and the next minute he was almost collapsing under the sandy-haired weight of his friend.

Rory peppered Andy with questions as he threw Andy's bag in the back of his car and they climbed in. Andy was still in a daze from the early morning flight, but he managed to respond in mostly coherent sentences as Rory asked him about his flight.

"When does Drew get in?" Rory asked, and Andy's stomach did a neat little flip of excitement at Drew's name.

Jesus, I have it bad, he thought.

"Er, he's already here," Andy said, trying to sound casual. "Took a red-eye. He's in meetings all day."

Rory cast him a very shrewd glance as he easily navigated them through the hectic traffic of the airport and onto the highway. Andy made a point of looking out the window to avoid Rory's gaze.

"So?" Rory prompted.

"So… what?" Andy said.

"So… what's the deal with you guys?" Rory said, and Andy snorted.

"I'm just—we're just—Jesus, what, a guy can't fly out and visit his friend in sunny California?" Andy said, and Rory laughed.

"Well, first of all," Rory said. "If you wanted sun, you definitely fucked up by coming to the Bay Area. Second of all, we both know you're not really here to see me."

Andy couldn't help smiling.

"Okay, you caught me. I… might not only be here to visit you."

"Yeah, you're here to get laid," Rory said, and Andy made a face at him.

"Fuck you," Andy said. "And maybe I'm here to profess my love to you after all these years, Rory."

"Hey, man, you had your chance," Rory said. "Should have swept me off my feet when you could. Besides, you're not my type."

"True," Andy said. "I'm not nearly brooding enough."

Rory reached over and punched Andy in the arm, which Andy admittedly deserved.

Andy had had a front row seat when Rory and his boyfriend Milo had gotten together. Andy had never been Milo's biggest fan, and Rory was well aware of this. Andy knew that Milo had a whole host of issues he'd been working through—and that he'd come a long way—but it was hard for Andy to forget how heartbroken Rory had been through so much of their last year of grad school.

"So… how are things going with him, anyway?" Andy said.

"Do you really want to know or are you just being polite?" Rory asked, raising his eyebrow, and Andy laughed.

"Trick question," Andy said. "I'm never polite."

"Shit," Rory said. "Good point. Well, it's going really fucking fantastically. California really suits us both, and Milo's writing career is really starting to take off."

"And he's not being… you know…" Andy prompted.

"You can say it," Rory said with a grin.

"An asshole?"

"No," Rory said, and his smile turned warm and soft and golden. "You'll see. He's… really different. He's changed."

Andy made a skeptical noise.

"I know, I know," Rory said. "But he's been in therapy for ages now, and meds made a huge difference for him. It's like night and day."

Andy softened slightly.

"Okay," he relented. "I'm just… I'm always going to be in your corner, not his. I'm not trying to be a dick about it. You deserve to be with someone who treats you right."

Rory looked over at him and grinned.

"Look at you, Andy," he said. "You've gotten all sappy in your old age."

It was Andy's turn to punch Rory.

"Keep your eyes on the road," he said.

"Don't punch the driver."

"I'm going to if he keeps giving me shit," Andy said, but they were both laughing by now.

* * *

Rory lived in an apartment in a narrow little Victorian that had been sectioned into units. He and Milo were on the second floor, and Andy followed Rory up a narrow, creaky flight of stairs. The stairwell was dark, and a little creepy, but when Rory unlocked the door, they stepped into a bright, airy living room, light spilling in through the bay windows. There were houseplants everywhere—jade plants in colorful pots lined up on the sill, spiderplants colonizing the corner of one room with their spindly tendrils, an old, thick-vined pothos that was climbing down one of the many bookcases.

"Holy shit," Andy said, setting his bag down. "It's like a nursery in here."

"They're mostly Milo's," Rory said. "I have a couple cacti in the kitchen, where there's a little more direct sunlight—they're a lot harder to kill."

Andy felt something brush against his leg and looked down to see a large orange cat winding itself between his ankles.

"A cat!" Andy said, bending down.

"Oh, that's Pablo," Rory said. "He's named after Pablo Neruda. He's very friendly."

He was very friendly. Andy crouched down to pet Pablo, who immediately began purring, a loud sound that was reminiscent of a lawnmower. He shoved his large, square head at Andy, demanding affection.

"We have another one, too, but she's more shy," Rory said. "She's probably on our bed."

"What's her name?" Andy asked.

"Emilybrontë," Rory said. "But all one word. Never just Emily."

Andy snorted, and Rory shrugged.

"Milo named them," Rory said.

"Yeah, I figured." Pablo was now attempting to climb onto Andy, and he seemed to be drooling as well.

Andy watched as Rory went into the short hallway off the living room and knocked lightly on one of the doors. He pushed it open, sticking his head into a dimly lit room.

"Hey, Andy's here," Rory said. Andy couldn't quite hear Milo's response. "No, for the millionth time, he doesn't hate you anymore."

"Uh, you know I can hear you, right?" Andy called, and Rory laughed.

"Yeah," he said, glancing back at Andy. He stuck his head back in the room, listening for a moment. "Okay. Happy writing. Love you, too."

Rory shut the door carefully behind him and came back into the living room.

"He's right in the middle of something. He's pretty strict about keeping his writing hours in the morning so I try not to bug him unless something's on fire," Rory said. "Um, do you want anything? Coffee or something? I was gonna make some tea."

"Sounds good," Andy said. He stood up, still holding Pablo, examining all the books and things on the bookshelf. Rory's home seemed to suit him—it was tidy and well-lit, and though Andy assumed most of the design influence was from Milo, he could see little traces of Rory everywhere. Andy looked at the framed pictures of the couple—at the overlook of a sweeping valley, the two of them in formalwear at what appeared to be a business function for Rory's job, a comical photo of a very grumpy, sunburned Milo and a very happy, tanned Rory at the beach.

"What do you think, Pablo?" Andy said softly to the cat in his arms, who was kneading his shoulder. "Do you love your dads?"

Pablo's dads certainly seemed to love him, because on the wall was a large, disturbingly detailed oil painting of Pablo and a cat that was probably Emilybrontë wearing lavish cat ballgowns.

"Hey, um, Rory?" Andy called. "Quick question, what the fuck is this?"

Rory reappeared through the archway to the kitchen holding two mugs of tea. He saw what Andy was looking at and grinned.

"Oh, that," he said calmly. "Do you like it?"

"It's… unusual," Andy said, raising an eyebrow. He accepted the mug and they both sat down, Andy on the couch and Rory curled up in a worn armchair with a garish print. Andy wasn't quite sure how Rory and Milo had managed to pull it off, but despite how strange their apartment was, it all seemed to go together, appearing quirky and creative rather than tacky.

"Milo was joking about getting portraits of them done since they're our children," Rory said. "So as a six month anniversary present for moving in together, I had this made, and Milo was too polite to admit that it creeped him the fuck out."

"Isn't Pablo a boy, though?" Andy asked. Pablo, it seemed, had decided he was done with petting and sprang off of Andy's lap, racing down into the kitchen at top speed.

Rory waved his hand dismissively.

"He looks fantastic like that," Rory said. "I wasn't going to take that opportunity away from him."

"Good point," Andy said. He regarded the painting again. "And you're right, he does look good."

"Yeah, Milo got me back, though—a few weeks ago I came home to a giant painting of a clown hanging above our bed that he refuses to take down."

Andy scrubbed his hand over his face as he laughed.

"You guys are so weird," he said.

"Yeah," Rory agreed. "I can't wait until my mom visits. She's going to be so weirded out."

"I really like your house," Andy said, looking around. "And I love Pablo. Like, he might go missing when I leave, which will be super sad."

Rory glared at him.

"Don't steal my son."

"It'll be okay," Andy said soothingly. "Because coincidentally when I get back to Linfield I'll adopt a cat who happens to look a lot like him, and I'll send you pictures."

"If you take one, you have to take both. He needs Emilybrontë's steadying influence."

"Hm," Andy said. "We'll see."

"So, are you excited about seeing Drew?"

Andy blinked, surprised by the sudden topic change. He opened his mouth and then hesitated. The truth was, he was scared shitless about seeing Drew again, and he wasn't quite sure why. He knew Drew so well, and yet still sometimes he was afraid he was misinterpreting Drew's words and actions.

Throughout their friendship, Andy had always been the one who was pushier, whether it was convincing Drew to go out with the crew team on a Saturday night or encouraging Drew to drop the class that had been making him miserable. And Andy knew that Drew, though he might feign annoyance sometimes, appreciated it—he'd said as much before. Left to his own devices, Drew would stay inside working all day every day without ever talking to another human, and they both knew that.

But the fact of the matter was, in the time since they'd reconnected, Drew hadn't once mentioned the possibility of Andy visiting him in Chicago. And though they'd been talking every day, it had taken Andy getting drunk and deciding to overshare on the phone to get Drew to admit his feelings weren't just platonic. Andy practically had to beg Drew to go along with meeting up in California.

"You okay there, buddy?" Rory said, raising an eyebrow, and Andy realized he'd been staring down at his steadily-darkening tea in silence.

"Er, yeah," Andy said, pulling the tea bag and taking a sip of the now-bitter drink. "I… I was just thinking. I'm super fucking excited, of course. It's weird, though, because I'm nervous, too."

Rory shrugged.

"I don't think that's weird," he said. "I think it's pretty natural."

Andy ran his hand through his hair.

"It's hard, I think, to not… see him every day, you know?" he said. "When we were in college, I could kind of read his mood just by being around him. But when it's just text messages and phone calls, there's… a whole lot of silence, and it starts to get really easy to misinterpret and overthink."

Rory nodded.

"Yeah, I get that," he said. "I mean, Milo's not exactly… talkative, either."

Rory paused, looking thoughtfully out the window, where the fog was beginning to burn off, revealing a crisp, blue sky.

"What do you want?" Rory asked, and Andy gave him a strange look, not quite understanding. Rory rephrased. "With Drew, I mean. What would your ideal… situation be with him?"

Andy chewed his lip.

He knew the answer immediately, but it was hard to admit it out loud. Putting it into words turned it into something tangible—and something he could have and then lose.

"I want to date him," Andy said, and he was surprised by how soft and sad his voice sounded as he spoke. "And not long-distance, either. I know that probably sounds insane. I mean, it's only been about a month that we've been talking, but…"

He trailed off, not quite ready to meet Rory's eyes.

"I mean, technically Milo and I moved across the country together after only dating for a few months," Rory said lightly.

"True," Andy said. "But you guys were… together, or whatever, for longer."

"And you and Drew have been friends for years," Rory said. "And you know at one point your feelings for him were reciprocated."

Andy mulled this over. When he'd first told Rory about Drew, he'd downplayed the relationship, pretending it hadn't meant anything. But in the weeks leading up the wedding, Andy had been a basket of nerves, and he'd told Rory the full, messy story of his senior year.

"I'm pretty sure Drew would freak the fuck out if I were like, hey, let's be together," Andy said.

"Is he really that commitment-phobic?" Rory asked with a frown.

"It's not that," Andy said. "It's more that… I dunno. He's just very… private, I guess? And very practical. It makes me feel a little batshit to tell him I'd move to a new city for him if he asked me to, because I’m pretty sure he could immediately come up with fourteen different reasons it's a terrible idea."

Rory paused again, thinking.

"I mean, maybe so," he said. "But I think it's a conversation you should have with him, if that's what you really want."

Andy threw himself back against the couch dramatically, sloshing tea on his jeans.

"Maybe it's not even what I want. Maybe I just like the attention," Andy said.

Rory snorted.

"Okay, now you're just making shit up," he said. "I think Drew likes you just as much as you like him. I mean, you're seeing him this weekend and he wanted to watch you finger yourself—"

"Oh my god," Andy cut in, blushing. "I wish I hadn't told you that."

"In my experience, that's usually a good sign," said a voice, and Andy looked up to see Milo in the doorway, cradling a small tortoiseshell cat in his arms like a baby.

"I am so embarrassed," Andy said, blushing even redder.

"Oh, whatever," Rory said. "We're all adults. Well, except for you. And except for Milo. And except for me, too, I think."

Milo sat down on the couch, stretching out his long legs. Milo was the kind of person who was effortlessly, intimidatingly cool, with a sense of style similar to the interior of his apartment—odd, but somehow he managed to pull it off. He had a full sleeve of tattoos, delicate botanical designs of flowers and vines and a bee or two twining up one of his arms. He and Rory were as different as night and day, but they complemented each other perfectly.

"How was writing?" Rory asked. He glanced at Andy. "That's Emilybrontë, by the way"

"I figured," Andy said. "She's very beautiful, even without a ballgown."

"Thank you," Milo said. "She doesn't have a tail. Writing was terrible."

Rory laughed.

"You always say it's terrible," he said.

"Well, it is always terrible," Milo said, waving a hand languidly. "I mean, I love it, but it's truly wretched."

Rory rolled his eyes.

"Anyway," he said. "What should we do before we meet up with Drew for dinner?"

* * *

The three of them explored San Francisco, Milo and Rory pointing out all the places in the city where they'd begun to build their life together. Though Linfield had its fair share of hills, it was nothing compared to San Francisco, and though he'd been freezing that morning, Andy soon found himself sweating as he climbed hill after hill under the unexpectedly warm afternoon sun.

It was a very good day, and Andy began to understand what Rory saw in Milo. It had been hard to watch his friend struggle last year—Milo had a lot of demons he'd been working through at the time, and Andy had never made an effort to give Milo the benefit of the doubt. Andy was softening towards Milo now, especially when he saw the way they'd smile at each other when they thought he wasn't looking.

Andy had to admit he was more than a little jealous.

They were meeting up with Drew at a little seafood restaurant by the water. It was a fancy place—Milo had made a reservation for them and when Andy had glanced at the menu on his phone, he raised his eye at the prices. Even the menu was trendy and elegant, and when they arrived, Andy felt a little bit like he was still a teenager just pretending to be a fully grown, fully employed adult who went out to nice dinners while on vacation.

They waited for Drew outside, and Andy couldn't help checking his phone for texts from Drew. He had barely heard from Drew all day, except for a text early that morning wishing him a safe flight. The days were short, and the sun was almost down—the air had become bitterly cold again, and Andy hugged his arms around himself through his nice sweater.

He was half-listening to Rory describe a project he was working on, but a dozen different worries were swirling around his mind. What if something had happened? What if Drew had decided not to come? What if Drew had decided to come, but he spent the whole time wishing he were somewhere else?

But then Drew was there, sweeping Andy into a giant, bone-breaking hug.

"I missed you," he whispered, his breath hot against Andy's ear. He pulled back far too soon for Andy's taste and sneezed suddenly. "Oh god, have you by any chance been around cats?"

"Yeah," Andy said, raising his eyebrow. "I was cuddling one, like, twenty minutes ago."

"That explains it," he said, sneezing again.

"Er, sorry—" Andy said with a grin. "I can take it off if—"

"You're fine," Drew said with a smile. "I cannot be held responsible for any future sneezes, though." He turned to Milo and Rory. "Sorry about that—meeting ran late. It's been an insane day."

He shook hands with Rory and introduced himself to Milo, and then the four of them went into the restaurant. The décor was absurdly refined and tasteful, all low lights and sleek wood and huge floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a glittering view of the water. As they sat down at their table, Andy couldn't help remarking how well Drew fit in, still wearing his nicer work clothes. Drew looked stylish now, Andy realized—he would never have guessed Drew had grown up in a cold, creaky house in a tiny, forgotten mining town.

But as the dinner went on, Andy couldn't help overthinking things. Drew had hugged him, yes, and said he missed him, but since then, Drew had made no move to touch Andy at all. He was perfectly warm and friendly, but that was the extent of it—friendly.

Not exactly what Andy had been hoping for.

After they ordered, Rory slipped outside to answer a work call, and Milo went to use the bathroom. Andy stared down at his cocktail—something delicious, full of utterly unpronounceable kinds of alcohol.

"Are you okay?" Drew asked gently.

"Yeah," Andy said, nodding, not quite meeting Drew's gaze. They were sitting next to one another, and though Drew had angled himself to face Andy, Andy still looked straight ahead.

"What's up?" Drew prompted and Andy took a deep breath. He felt needy and overemotional, and his face flushed with shame. Why on earth would Drew want to be with someone who was so upset he was working himself into a frenzy because he hadn't been kissed hello?

"I—I—Are you sure you want this?" Andy said.

Drew looked shocked.

"What?" he said. "Of course—why—why are you asking that?"

"You just seem kind of… distant, you know?" Andy said. He scrubbed his hand over his face, mortified at how clingy he was being. "Like, um… physically."

Andy saw the realization dawn on Drew's face.

"Oh," he said. "Is this… is this because I didn't kiss you?"

Andy buried his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Forget I said anything. I'm—I'm being a dumbass—"

"No no no," Drew said, and he gently pried Andy's hands away from his face, but didn't let go of them, lacing the fingers together. "Andy, if we'd been alone I would have hauled you into an alley to make out with you. I just didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable in front of your friends if—if you didn't want—"

Andy nearly burst out laughing. His concern had evaporated, and suddenly his worry seemed completely silly.

"Oh," he said. His face was still bright red. "I—that was—okay."

"I mean, I'm not really much of a PDA person," Drew said, almost apologetically. "But please—don't interpret that as—I am really, really glad you're here. And, you know, there's the whole cat thing, but honestly I don't even care about that."

"I had no idea you were that allergic to cats," Andy said. "I mean, I remember you'd sneeze sometimes when Finn's mom would send care packages, but…"

"It's bad," Drew said. "Maybe, uh, maybe take your sweater off before we do anything tonight."

Andy grinned, his mood buoyed once more.

"Do… what kind of things?" he asked suggestively.

"Please don't answer that," Milo said, appearing suddenly and sitting down, and Andy slapped his hand to his face.

"Why does this keep happening to me?" Andy said, and Milo laughed.

Rory returned a moment later, and their food followed shortly. As promised, the meal was incredible. Andy had never been a huge fan of seafood that wasn't, say, fishsticks, but even he agreed it was some of the best food he'd ever eaten. The conversation flowed easily—the copious amounts of wine and cocktails they had didn't hurt—and as usual, the conversation was dominated by Andy and Rory, with Milo, and sometimes Drew, popping in to add something.

And, best of all, every once in a while Drew reached over, squeezing Andy's hand under the table for a moment before letting go. Each time, Andy didn't bother trying to hide his wide smile, and when he glanced up he saw Rory watching him with an approving smile.

When the bill came, Drew insisted on paying for Andy.

"My work is paying for my airfare," he said quietly. "Consider it a thank you. For coming all this way to see me."

Under the table, Andy felt Rory kick him, and he grinned.

"I'll… pay you back later," Andy said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, and Drew blushed.

After dinner, they walked along the paved path that flanked the water's edge, and Andy lost the thread of the conversation entirely when Drew reached for his hand to hold as they walked. The four of them walked, stopping occasionally to admire the water and the city and the bay, all brilliant lights twinkling on the water, dark and inky. The air was brisk, a slight breeze blowing, but Andy felt like his whole body on fire.

At some point, Andy found himself standing back as Drew and Rory were standing on the thick cement barrier, attempting to take pictures of one of the piers. Milo hung back as well, and they laughed as they watched Drew and Rory lean out as far as they could without falling.

"I'm normally the one doing dumb shit like that," Andy said, and Milo smiled.

They were quiet for a moment.

"I wasn't trying to listen in on your conversation with Rory this morning," Milo said. "But, ah—I just wanted to say I think you and Drew work really well together."

Andy was surprised, and he bit back a smile.

"Er, thanks," he said.

Milo looked out over the water and licked his lips.

"Rory and I have really different communication styles," Milo said. "I… I've talked with my therapist a lot about this. Rory's very verbal and I'm… not. It's something we've been working on together—I'm learning to be a little more vocal about telling him I love him, et cetera, and he's been learning to tell me when he needs more affirmation and to learn how I communicate affection."

Milo let out a long, slow exhale, sounding uncharacteristically shy.

"I guess what I'm saying," he continued, "is that… sometimes people express things differently. And you have to learn to listen for it. And I know that's kind of an obvious observation but—I think sometimes we all need reminding of it. The point is, I've been pretty emotionally unavailable in the past—"

Andy snorted and Milo smiled.

"Yeah, I mean, you know," he said. "Anyway, I don't think you need to worry about that with Drew."

Andy looked at Milo for a long moment and grinned. It was the most he'd ever heard Milo say in one go, and certainly the longest one-on-one conversation he and Milo had ever had.

"Thanks," he said. "I—I think I did need to hear that."

At that moment, Drew and Rory came back, and they continued with their walk.

Andy was happy. He would never have expected Milo of all people to offer such comforting reassurance, but Andy felt as though a little flame of hope had been lit inside him. And though the night was chilly and the wind was picking up, the flame was growing and growing and growing.

* * *

Because of the cats, poor Drew waited out on the street while Andy went up to Rory and Milo's apartment to retrieve his bag. As soon as the door shut behind them, Rory teased Andy relentlessly all the way up the stairs, not stopping until Andy punched him in the arm.

They said goodbye, and then, brimming with excitement, Andy hurried down the stairs and out into the cold, crisp night air.

"Ready?" Drew said with a smile, and Andy nodded breathlessly. Drew's cheeks were pink from the cold, and he was wearing a neatly-tailored wool coat with the collar turned up. He looked incredibly handsome, and for a moment, all Andy could do was stare.

"What?" Drew asked, giving Andy a strange look, and Andy laughed, shaking his head.

"Nothing," he said. "I just—I can't believe you're here. And I'm here. I'm—I'm really fucking happy."

Drew reached for Andy's hand, twining their fingers together as he tugged Andy closer. With his spare hand, he cupped Andy's cheek and tilted Andy's face up towards him. His fingers were icy, but Andy didn't care.

Drew leaned in and pressed a tender, gentle kiss to Andy's lips. Andy sighed against him, his eyes closing. Every worry, every uncertainty he had melted away entirely. He was exactly where he was supposed to be, with exactly the person he was supposed to be with.

They parted just as their car arrived, and as soon as they were situated, Drew grabbed Andy's hand once more, squeezing tight. They rode in silence, and Andy pressed his face to the glass as the bright neon of the city flashed past the window. The city was beautiful, the night was lovely, and his heart was swelling with joy.

Drew's hotel was ridiculously fancy.

"Holy shit," Andy said as they got out. "This is… outrageous."

"I know," Drew said, and Andy smiled when he saw Drew looked slightly abashed. They pushed inside to the lobby, which was warm and brightly lit, a large modern chandelier twinkling high above them. The noise of the city was suddenly muted, replaced by soft, tinkling piano music. "It's pretty absurd, but… WIT booked it so I wasn't exactly going to complain."

"Hey, I'm not complaining either," Andy said as they walked to the elevator bank.

"Honestly, it's… weird to me," Drew said as he called the elevator. His voice was quiet, introspective. "Having so much money, and being around such nice things so often. I feel like my life's completely inverted itself in the span of half a year. And… maybe not in the best way."

Andy looked at Drew thoughtfully. In college, Drew had never talked much about money, but Andy knew it had been very tight, especially attending a school like Bellamy, where tuition and housing were just the beginning of the cost of attending. He'd never thought about it, but working a full-time job with such luxurious benefits must have been quite the shock.

"You—you don't have to feel guilty," Andy said as the elevator doors slid apart and they stepped inside. Drew pressed the button for his floor and shot Andy a strange look. "Er—sorry, I didn't mean to assume—"

"No," Drew said. "That's… that's exactly what it is, I just hadn't quite realized it. You know, once, I tried to send my dad money and it…didn't go well."

"He got mad?" Andy asked.

"Not exactly," Drew said. He bit his lip. "He just… he didn't take it the right way. Thought I was pitying him or something. In my mind, I had money, more than I needed, so I wanted to give it to people I cared about. He saw it as charity."

Andy frowned.

"That's dumb, though," he said. The elevator was silent and still, and it barely felt like they were moving.

Drew shrugged.

"It's… it's the way people are in Parsons. And I guess I just… forgot that."

"You were doing something nice. Or at least trying to. You don't need to feel bad about having a job or nice shit."

Drew was staring at his reflection in the elevator door, frowning, so Andy grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

"Seriously," Andy said. "Like, yeah, wealth inequality is a huge issue and we're probably on the brink of complete economic collapse and stuff, but beating yourself up about it tonight isn't going to fix that."

Drew glanced at Andy and gave him a small smile. The elevator chimed politely as the doors slid open once more.

"You're right," he said. "I'm not gonna worry about that for the rest of the night."

He tugged Andy down the hallway, their footsteps silenced by the thick pile of the carpeting, as if they were walking through snow. Andy's heart was beating faster, from both nerves and anticipation. He was really here, with Drew, and they were definitely going to get up to something tonight.

He remembered when they'd talked on the phone the other week—it was true that Andy had been thinking a lot about what it might be like if Drew fucked him, and he was certainly interested. And when he'd fingered himself for Drew, it really had felt amazing—much better than he'd expected.

But still, it felt like a big step. Aside from one blowjob, a little grinding, and an assortment of handjobs, Andy didn't have much—or any—experience with guys. This felt like a big step. Not a bad step, but a big one.

Would it hurt? Would he like it? Would Drew like it? What if Andy was bad at it? What if it was awkward? What if it was messy? What if one of them enjoyed it more than the other?

The express train of worries running through Andy's mind didn't get time to build up any more steam, though, because then they were at Drew's room, and as soon as the door shut behind them, Drew was on Andy, stepping them back so Andy was against the wall, kissing him deeply.

"Fuck," Drew whispered, the word vibrating through his chest into Andy's. "God, I've been thinking about this… all day. All week."

Andy made an affirmative little noise and tilted his head back, allowing Drew to kiss down along his neck. It felt good to be pressed up against the wall by Drew's body, solid and strong, to feel Drew's hands roving over his sides almost greedily, as if Drew couldn't get enough of him.

"First things first, though," Drew said into Andy's ear, and he pulled the hem of Andy's sweater up. Andy let Drew peel off his sweater and shirt.

"You looked great in that," Drew said. "But I feel like me sneezing the whole night wouldn't be super sexy."

"Hey, you never know," Andy said as Drew pulled him to the bathroom. "Maybe I have a sneezing kink."

"I don't think you do," Drew said. "I don't think anyone does."

Andy's reply was smothered as Drew kissed him again, even more hungrily now, as they stripped down. Drew pulled back, smiling, his eyes dark with arousal already, and reached over to turn the water on.

"Are we… bathing?" Andy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Drew said. "Partly because I think it'd be fun, and also because I'm really, really allergic to cats."

Andy laughed again.

"God, if I'd remembered that, I wouldn't have spent a good two hours cuddling a cat today," Andy said. He glanced around the bathroom, all sleek stone and gleaming mirrors and bright lights. The shower was large enough to be its own room, a giant glass enclosure with water cascading down from overhead, steam billowing and fogging up the glass.

They stripped down, and Drew held out his hand to Andy. Andy saw that Drew was already hard, and Andy was most of the way there as well—he'd started to harden on the drive to the hotel simply from the warmth of Drew's hand in his and the prospect of what lay ahead, but his apprehension had quelled some of the fire.

Andy stepped into the warm stream of water, and immediately Drew pulled him close, wrapping his arms around Andy and holding him tightly. They stood like that for a long moment, leaning into one another. Andy rested his head against Drew's shoulder and sighed happily. He was nervous, yes, but this was a reminder that there was nothing to be nervous about, really.

He was safe here. Drew would take care of him. And he, in return, would take care of Drew.

"Do you remember that time in college?" Andy murmured into Drew's water-slicked skin. "When we showered together?"

"How could I forget?" Drew said. His hands slid over Andy's back, massaging the muscles there, still sore from his flight, and Andy groaned happily. "That was… probably one of the hottest things that has ever happened to me."

Andy smiled to himself, letting Drew knead his back. It was odd, thinking back to that afternoon, which had been equal parts wonderful and confusing. It was almost funny, in a sad way, to remember, at that point in Andy's life, he'd still considered himself straight, had still been performing gold medal worthy mental gymnastics trying to reconcile what he did with Drew and how he saw himself, his own preconceptions of what it meant to care for another man.

He remembered, too, what it had been like to feel Drew behind him, thrusting against him, his hips slamming against Andy's ass. Andy shivered—again, a strange-sweet mix of pleasure and nerves.

"This shower is a lot better, though," Andy said, pulling back so he could see Drew's face.

"True," Drew said. "I thought about asking for a room with two twin beds for old time's sake, but I had to settle for an executive suite with a king-sized bed instead." He rolled his eyes in mock frustration.

Andy grinned, snaking his hand around the back of Drew's head for a kiss. They moved together easily, lips parting and tongues darting out, grinding their bodies against one another as the water fell on them. Andy gave up thinking, just let his hands and mouth and body move as they wanted, roaming over Drew's skin, drinking in every inch of him.

Drew, meanwhile, was doing the same, and soon Andy found himself grinding his cock against Drew's hip, desperate for a little relief. One of Drew's hands was wrapped tightly around Andy's waist, holding Andy to him, and the other slid down to Andy's ass, squeezing the firm muscle there.

Andy moaned into Drew's mouth, partly surprise and partly excitement, as Drew's hand glided across his ass, exploring the curves he found there, until he finally slid his fingers down the cleft of Andy's ass, stopping just above his hole.

Drew pulled back slightly, pressing his lips against Andy's ear.

"Is this okay?" he murmured, and Andy nodded fervently. He hadn't had the courage to explore himself any further after that night with Drew, but he'd certainly liked the sensation.

Drew kept his hand moving, never quite reaching Andy's hole, simply gliding across every place he could reach, and soon Andy was making impatient noises against Drew's lips as they kissed. And then Drew took mercy on him, lightly stroking a finger over Andy's hole before starting in slow, lazy circles, just as he'd promised he would do.

And Drew's fingers were so, so much better than his own. Andy didn't know if it was Drew's experience, or the simple fact that it was Drew, but it didn't matter. He looped his arms around Drew's neck, letting more of his weight fall against Drew. The sensation was still unfamiliar, but it no longer felt strange or wrong. It just felt like something he wanted more of.

Drew broke the kiss again, and he looked at Andy, his brow furrowed. Andy's cock throbbed at the combination of the intense focus in Drew's eyes and the feeling of Drew's fingers still massaging his hole as Drew spoke.

"I want to taste you," Drew said. "Is that okay with you? Would you like that?"

For a moment, Andy wondered why Drew was asking permission to blow him, and then it clicked. Andy had never been rimmed—or done any rimming of his own—and the thought had never particularly appealed to him.

Until now.

Drew saw Andy's hesitation and his hand slid up from Andy's ass to cradle his low back.

"It's okay if you're not—"

"No, I do—" Andy said. "I—it's just new."

"I promise you it'll feel so good, babe," Drew said, his voice so fervent and full of care that Andy felt his heart tighten with love. "And you can stop me whenever you need to."

Andy bit his lip and nodded. Drew slowly spun Andy around and guided him so his hands were pressed against the slick stone of the shower wall. For a moment, they stood like that, Drew's body pressed against Andy, Drew's lips sliding across Andy's neck. Andy could feel how hard Drew was, and again he felt vaguely proud to be the source of such obvious desire.

Then Drew was moving, his hands trailing down Andy's sides and hips and thighs as he knelt behind Andy.

"Spread your legs a little," Drew said, and Andy did as he was told, feeling a little self-conscious. For a moment, he felt less like he was embarking a new sex act and more like he was about to get a very invasive body search, but the feeling vanished as Drew rested his cheek against Andy's ass, letting out a long, content sigh.

And that's when it clicked—Drew liked doing this. It wasn't some favor he was doing for Andy. It was equally good for both of them, in different ways.

He relaxed a little, shifting his feet a little further apart and angling his ass back slightly. Drew hummed approvingly before gripping Andy's ass and spreading him open.

Andy hissed, feeling a little exposed and embarrassed, but then Drew's tongue was on him, and Andy squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a little yelp. Drew pulled back immediately.

"Whoa—" Andy said. "That's—that's good. Don't, um—don't stop."

Drew's laugh was low and throaty, and he complied, licking a long stripe from his balls, over his hole, and all the way up to the top of his ass.

Andy let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding as Drew set to work, working his tongue on Andy's hole, never settling into a particular pattern or rhythm. Just when Andy was settling into whatever Drew was doing, just when he thought this was the main event, Drew would shift his technique, and Andy would let out yet another new kind of strangled moan, until he was shoving his ass back against Drew's face, begging for more.

And, miraculously, Andy found himself needing to go further, a strange craving for something he'd never had but knew he needed. When he'd fingered himself, he hadn't actually gone very deep—just the sensation of anything in his ass had been intriguing enough, and once he'd found his prostate, that's all he'd focused on.

But now, despite having never experienced it before, he knew he wanted something buried deep inside him, to feel a fullness—to feel as though he belonged entirely to Drew.

"Please—" Andy moaned, the word coming out high and throaty. Drew's tongue was at his entrance, almost pushing in, but not quite, and it was maddening. Andy kept thrusting his hips back, as if he could somehow get the contact he craved, but then Drew was standing back up, wrapping his arms around Andy's chest and pulling him back and squeezing him hard.

"Fuck," Drew whispered again. His voice was hoarse and full of need. "Andy—you're fucking gorgeous. I—I've wanted to do that for so long."

Andy spun around and kissed Drew deeply. It was hard to believe that something like that, something that had been so pleasurable for Andy, could be a gift to Drew as well, but there was no mistaking the tone of Drew's voice.

The kiss was long and slow, and it felt more like a conversation than a kiss—as though Andy were saying thank you, saying you're welcome, saying I love you.

And that realization was dizzying and wonderful all at once, a white-hot glow that obliterated every other thought in his brain. He was in love with Drew Riordan once more—but maybe he'd never stopped being in love with Drew in the first place. Maybe, for the last few years, a part of him had been holding onto the hope that someday, somehow, he and Drew would end up back together. That, if there was any kind of cosmic justice in the universe, they'd find a way to make things work.

And it seemed as if that day had finally arrived.

Andy was so shell-shocked by the realization that he barely noticed that Drew had broken the kiss and turned the water off. He stepped out of the shower and Drew toweled him off—Andy could have done it himself, of course, but Drew seemed to like doing it for Andy, and Andy loved the feeling of ownership as Drew's hands roved over him.

The room was much cooler than the bathroom, and it helped to bring Andy back to clarity. The bed was so large it seemed like it would take days to get across it, made up with crisp white sheets, a cloud-like comforter, and tasteful navy blue accents.

Drew pulled the comforter back and turned towards Andy, holding out his hand. He looked radiant, standing there naked, looking back at Andy. He looked confident and strong and self-assured, as though he might have finally realized how really, truly wonderful he was.

Andy took his hand and Drew gently lowered him onto the bed, moving to kneel above him. His hands framed Andy's shoulders and he dipped his head, pressing a light, chaste kiss to Andy's lips before pulling back.

"God, Andy—" Drew said, the words catching his throat. "I—I can't even tell you—"

He trailed off, his eyes slightly wild, and Andy smiled, reaching up to run his thumb over Drew's bottom lip.

"I know," he whispered. "I know."

And when they kissed the next time, Andy knew this was it—they were on the threshold of going much, much further than they'd ever gone before, and it would be perfect.

But then, suddenly, it wasn't.

As they kissed, their bodies moving together, the strangest feeling began to steal over Andy, as though he were slowly withdrawing from his own body, watching everything happen from a faraway place in his mind. He could feel Drew's hands on him, could feel the weight of Drew's body on top of him, but the sensation was muted, like the memory of a touch.

And from there, things just got worse. Andy's body seemed to be responding to Drew's touches, his hips bucking up to meet Drew's hand as he stroked his cock, but the sensation of floating away was only growing stronger. His mind felt staticky, and the edge of his vision began to go dark.

And, as his body rolled itself over, as his face buried itself in the pillows, as his hips tilted back, presenting his ass up to Drew, Andy felt as though he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could barely even see.

And then suddenly, he was on his back again, staring up at Drew, whose brow was furrowed, his expression panicked.

"Andy—Andy—" Drew was saying frantically, and Andy swallowed and drew a deep, gasping breath, as if he'd just been pulled out of the water.

"What—" Andy said, and the relief on Drew's face was plain.

"What's going on, Andy?" Drew said. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine—" Andy said, but even as he said it, it was clear to both of them it was a lie. His voice was thin and shaky. "Why—why'd you stop?"

"Because you're not fine," Drew said, his voice still tight with concern. "You stopped responding to me, and you're shaking."

As soon as Drew mentioned it, Andy realized he was shivering, little tremors running through his whole body. He felt hot and cold all at once, and another wave of darkness rushed over him for a moment. When his vision cleared, he was sitting up, Drew beside him, Drew's arm around his shoulder to hold him.

"W-water," Andy croaked, and Drew immediately leapt up, returning soon with a glass of water. Andy gulped it, and the water was cool and crisp all the way down. He could feel it sloshing in his stomach, and Drew took the cup away and grabbed his hand.

"It's okay," Drew whispered as he pulled Andy to him. "It's okay. You're safe. I've got you. Everything's gonna be okay, babe."

Andy let himself collapse against Drew's chest. Drew rubbed his back, murmuring soft, comforting things, and Andy didn't know how long he sat there like that, leaning against Drew, shivering. He could feel himself coming back into his body, but the journey was slow and terrible, as though he was being towed through a black and sticky mud.

After a long time, he sat back, and he realized he'd been crying.

"Oh, Andy," Drew said softly. He reached up, brushing the tears from Andy's cheek with his thumb.

"I'm sorry," Andy choked out. "I'm so sorry—"

Drew looked shocked.

"Why are you—don’t apologize," he said, frowning once more. "Andy—Andy, it's okay. I'm here. Whatever you need."

Andy wiped at his eyes again, almost angrily, where he could feel more tears threatening to fall.

"What happened?" Drew asked, his face and voice full of concern.

"I dunno," Andy said, and then the tears were coming again. "I don't know—I—I was fine and then—then I wasn't. I don't—I don't even know what happened."

Drew let out a long breath and pressed a kiss to Andy's forehead.

"Babe, I think you had a panic attack," he said, and Andy looked at him, confused.

"But—"

He'd had little "episodes," as he thought of them, before—everything would go a little grim and sharp, too real or not quite real enough, and it would be hard for him to focus on whatever was happening. More often than not, it was precipitated by nothing in general—the feeling would descend in the grocery store, or in a meeting with his coworkers, or while he was sitting on his couch in his boxers playing video games.

They'd always passed soon enough, leaving Andy feeling shaky and vaguely uneasy, but there had never been anything like this, where he'd felt as though he'd been sawed out of his own body.

"I—I don't know," Andy said at last.

"This has happened before, hasn't it?" Drew said. "I remember this from college."

"Never this bad," Andy said in a small voice.

"I know," Drew said, pulling Andy into him again. "I know."

"I don’t—I don't understand. I—I'm so sorry."

"Andy, please stop apologizing," Drew said.

"But—we were going to—we didn't even get to—"

"Andy," Drew said, more firmly now. "Don’t worry about that. Do you really think I care about getting laid more than I care about you and your wellbeing?"

The question hung in the air for a moment. Of course Andy didn't really think that, but as he thought back to what had happened, he began to piece things together, sorting out the source of his panic. He wasn't even sure how much time had passed. It could have been thirty seconds or four hours, but it felt as though he'd lived an entire lifetime since they first walked into the hotel lobby.

It was all so much—worrying about seeing Drew, worrying about why Drew hadn't kissed him, the rush of relief and joy and elation that followed. Contentment, at seeing Rory and Drew getting along so well. Validation, at hearing Milo reassure him. Nervousness and arousal and anticipation and trepidation at the thought of having sex.

And, above all—the blinding, all-consuming realization that he was deeply, madly in love with Drew, and the feeling that he might wither and die if he had to give Drew up.

And knowing it was going to happen anyway.

Suddenly, a panic attack didn't seem particularly uncalled for anymore.

Andy drew a deep, shaky breath. He was coming back to himself now, feeling a little more grounded, a little more present.

"I'm—" He stopped himself; he'd been about to apologize again. "I think—I think I was just nervous about, um, having sex. And then it… then it just snowballed. I swear I want to, and it wasn't anything you did, it was just that I started to get nervous, and then I thought—"

"Andy," Drew said gently, cutting him off. "You don't need to explain. If you never want to bottom, that's fine. I loved when you fucked me. We don't even have to have anal sex ever again. Hell, we can stay completely clothed and never do anything more than hold hands. It's okay."

Andy searched Drew's face, trying to figure out if Drew realized he'd implied a future between them, implied a world where there were many, many more opportunities to have sex—or not have sex, as the case may be.

It gave him hope.

Andy smiled weakly.

"I… appreciate you saying that," Andy said. "That's… that's not what I want. I… I really did want this." He made a frustrated noise, running his hand through his hair. "I fucked it up though."

Drew pulled Andy into another hug.

"You didn't do anything wrong. Your first time bottoming should be fun, not scary. It doesn't have to happen tonight. Or any time soon."

"But—we came all the way here—"

Drew snorted, pressing a kiss to the top of Andy's head.

"Andy, come on. You really think we're meeting up in California just so I can fuck you? I just want to be with you. It doesn't matter what we do."

And finally, what Drew was saying began to sink in, and Andy relaxed slightly. He still felt guilty and more than a little ashamed. He'd pouted at dinner because Drew hadn't kissed him hello and then he'd nearly passed out because he was overwhelmed at the thought of being fucked.

Andy was a fucking mess.

"C'mon," Drew murmured, and he navigated them both so they were under the sheets. "Do you want to get into pajamas? Would that make you feel more comfortable?"

Andy shook his head. He wanted this—the feeling of Drew's body against his, skin on skin with nothing between them. It was the only thing that felt comforting in that moment.

They started by laying on their sides, Drew spooning Andy, but Andy didn't like not being able to see Drew. Though he wanted Drew's arms around him, it somehow felt like too much to open his eyes and look across the vast expanse of white sheets to the unfamiliar room beyond. He turned over, burrowing his face against Drew's chest, breathing in his familiar scent. Drew pulled him close once more, his face buried in Andy's still-damp hair, slowly stroking his back.

Andy would have sworn there was no way he could fall asleep after all that, but as soon as he shut his eyes again, he realized how truly, deeply exhausted he was. He'd woken up at four in the morning, alone in his bed in Linfield, and gotten up to catch a flight across the country, and so much had happened since then.

When he fell asleep, it was deep and dreamless and quiet.