Drew looked up at the familiar cracks in the ceiling of his childhood bedroom. He needed to get up soon, but this would be the last morning for a while that he didn't have to rush out of bed for rowing practice.

It was the last day of his last summer vacation—later that morning, he'd be heading back to Linfield for his final year at Bellamy University. But for now, he let himself luxuriate in the stillness of the house, the peace of the last moments before his busy semester began.

Downstairs, he could hear his father moving about in the kitchen, probably making coffee. Drew sighed and got up. The carpet was threadbare, worn down by his own feet over years. He remembered the shock he'd gotten when he'd come home for Christmas after his first semester at Bellamy, how his house had been so much smaller and shabbier than he remembered.

The house hadn't changed, though—he had.

Drew pulled a shirt on over his pajama pants and shuffled down the stairs. His father greeted him with a grunt—a fairly standard hello as far as the elder Andrew Riordan was concerned.

There was a bowl of oatmeal sitting at Drew's normal place, steam curling up in the light that streamed in from the kitchen window.

"Is this for me?" Drew asked, sitting down. His father also had a bowl, but he was drinking his coffee and hadn't touched it yet.

His father grunted again.

"Thanks, Dad," Drew said.

He lifted a spoonful, blowing on it to cool it, and tried to hide his smile. His father was not exactly an emotive person, so by his standard, making breakfast for his son was a rather effusive outpouring of love.

They ate in silence, silverware clinking in the quiet of the summer morning.

Drew's mother died when he was four, and he only had a small handful of wispy memories of her—a woman leaning over him, hair haloed bright by sunlight, a slender hand gripping his at some county fair, a voice, high and light, singing a lullaby about young girls picking flowers.

It was hard to miss someone he'd never really known, and by now he was old enough to understand that, while growing up without a mother had been hard, that was just the way things were sometimes.

His father worked hard and had raised Drew as best he could. Drew's childhood wasn't exactly idyllic, but it wasn't bad either. He had good memories too, quiet, precious things that he'd never quite managed to articulate to anyone else. His father, teaching him to fish, the little minnows in the creek near their house flashing silver in the sunlight. Clinging to the back of an ATV, slightly terrified for his life, as an older, braver cousin sent them careening up and down the muddy hills in the forest. How hard his father had clapped at the award ceremony when Drew had won first prize at his middle school science fair.

Drew had kept to himself his whole life, focusing on his schoolwork. It wasn't until Bellamy that he'd really even had friends in any meaningful sense of the word.

The first time he'd met Andy's mom, she'd swept him into a giant hug, and Andy's dad had clapped him on the back in a very paternal way after they shook hands. They were like the kind of family he'd seen on sitcoms, and their friendliness had been genuine. It had quickly become clear how Andy had managed to make it all the way to college without doing his own laundry before.

"What time do you want to go?" his father said. Only about half the syllables made it out of his mouth, but Drew was used to parsing his father's monosyllabic grunts.

Drew glanced at the clock. Linfield was about a three hour drive along the turnpike from Parsons, the little town where he'd grown up and had spent this past summer.

"I'm all packed," Drew said. "So, maybe in half an hour? If that's okay?"

His father nodded.

"Thanks for driving me," Drew said.

His father nodded again.

Drew cleared the table. His father left the room to get ready as Drew washed their dishes and set them on the drying rack. He knew his father had rearranged his shift at the mines in order to drive Drew into Linfield. Drew had offered to try and find another way to get to and from school, but his father had waved him off, refusing to hear Drew's protests.

It was hard to explain his father to people like Andy, whose parents threw around I love yous like confetti. The love was there, hiding in plain sight, for those who knew where to look. When Drew was younger, he'd sometimes wished his father, his family, was… different. More like the families other people seemed to have. But he'd come to realize that that just because his father was taciturn to a fault didn't mean he didn't care for Drew.

When the dishes were done, Drew went back upstairs. Though it was barely nine in the morning, sun was already burning hot and fierce, and his shirt was sticking to his back. The buildings on the Bellamy campus were always air-conditioned to almost unreasonable levels, but in Parsons, summers meant sweat and shade if you could find it and wading into the creek to look for crayfish.

Drew collected the last of his belongings that hadn't already made it into his suitcase and neatly made the narrow twin bed he'd been sleeping in for nearly twenty years. He was itching to get back to Bellamy—Drew hadn't allowed himself to think about it much, while he was working in Parsons for the summer, but now that it was so close, he was desperate to get back to campus, with its tree-lined walks and wide lawns and looming, elegant academic halls.

And all his friends.

Drew's summer hadn't been bad, but it had been lonely. He'd spent most of the summer working, doing contracting work for his uncle's friend or picking up shifts at the bait shop in town where he'd worked during high school. He'd managed to save up a lot of money, but it still wouldn't go very far. Though Drew had gotten a full scholarship to Bellamy, he'd been dismayed to discover there were still so many expenses that weren't wrapped into his tuition.

Drew took one last look around his bedroom, at the little corkboard above his desk with long-faded county fair tickets and his Bellamy University acceptance letter tacked to it, the track medals he'd won in high school hanging by his window, the closet which now only held too-small winter coats and dusty boxes of his childhood toys.

Drew's father was neat, but he also never got rid of anything. In the guest room next door, which, to Drew's knowledge, had never actually housed a guest, Drew had once gone digging and found his mother's wedding dress and, deeper in the layers of sediment of the past, his own father's baby blanket, carefully folded, forgotten by time.

Drew sighed and went back downstairs. He sat on the porch and waited for his dad, listening to the birds in the trees across the road cawing loudly to each other in the still morning. By the time Drew heard his dad's heavy work boots clomping down the stairs, Drew had a fine sheen of sweat on his face.

"Ready?" his dad said, and Drew nodded, following his dad to the ancient, dented truck. The thing was older than Drew, but Drew had no doubt the reliable vehicle could survive a nuclear warhead.

The engine sputtered to life, and, half an hour later, they were cruising down the turnpike west towards Linfield, the windows rolled down—because of course the air conditioning didn't work—the radio playing some static-ridden oldies station, his dad with one hand on the wheel, the other holding a cigarette, resting out the window.

Drew couldn't help feeling a little guilty—because although he'd spent his whole summer in the place where he grew up, only now that he was on the way to Bellamy did he feel like he was really going home.

* * *

When Drew got to campus, he found Andy Craig in the room they'd be sharing for the year, haphazardly stuffing clothing in the drawers of the dresser on one side.

"Oh, hey, dude," Andy said, smiling up at him. Drew's heart felt full. He was home now, and his best friend was here. Everything felt right, suddenly, like puzzle pieces clicking into place.

Andy was a sweaty mess, just like the rest of them. He and Drew, along with their friends from the rowing team, Max and Finn, had managed to score one of the best housing set-ups on campus—a small apartment with a microscopic living room and kitchen, and downstairs, underground, two large bedrooms and a bathroom. A thin window high up in the cement wall let in only a little light, but at least it was mercifully cooler down here.

"Hey," Drew said, dropping his suitcase on the empty bed on the opposite side of the room. "Have a good summer?"

"Eh," Andy said, shrugging. "Worked a ton, which sucked."

"Me too," Drew said.

Andy chattered as they unpacked. Drew was content to let Andy fill up the silence between them. Sometimes, he suspected, Andy didn't even care if he got a response—he just needed someone to listen. Drew smiled to himself as Andy went on and on about some incomprehensible workplace drama that had happened at his summer internship. Drew couldn't imagine what would happen if his father and Andy were in the same room for an extended period of time. An unstoppable force and an immovable object.

"So was it weird?"

Drew blinked and realized he'd lost track of exactly what Andy had been saying.

"What?"

"Was it weird?" Andy repeated. He threw himself onto Drew's bed, which Drew had just finished making, messing up the neatly-smoothed comforter. "Being home for the whole summer?"

"Get off my bed, I just made it," Drew said, but there was no real heat in his voice. Andy responded by wriggling around, messing up the pillows further.

Drew rolled his eyes.

"It wasn't that bad," Drew said after a moment. "Wasn't great, though. So, yeah, I guess it was weird."

Andy rolled over on his stomach, cocking his head at Drew. Andy had a reputation for being a bit of a space cadet, but Drew liked the moments when he saw a different side of Andy, like the one laying on his bed right now. The one who was, granted, kind of a mess, but also had his heart in the right place.

"So, are you planning on elaborating?" Andy said with a grin after a few seconds of silence passed.

Drew shrugged.

"I dunno," he said. "What's there to say?"

Andy snorted.

"How was it weird? I thought you hated being home."

"I don't hate it," Drew said, carefully stacking his textbooks on his bookshelf. "I like being here better, though."

Andy rolled his eyes and flipped over so he was laying on his back, staring up at their ceiling. He seemed to sense that Drew wasn't going to explain any further.

The truth was, Drew wasn't sure he could articulate his thoughts even if he'd felt so inclined. The summer had been strange. He'd spent a few months between each school year working for his uncle, and while it paid well, each year the gap between who he'd been and who he was now seemed to widen. He knew he couldn't just pretend his life in Parsons had never existed, but that part of him never seemed to mesh well with the Drew Riordan who was currently unpacking socks and work out gear into his dresser in his Bellamy University dorm room.

There was a light knock on the door, and Drew glanced over to see someone—not their housemates Max or Finn—standing in their doorway. It took Drew a second to recognize the person as Andy's little brother Noel, who Drew hadn't seen since the end of their freshman year.

"What are you doing here?" Andy said, sitting up. As far as family resemblance went, any stranger would have guessed Noel and Drew were the brothers, of the three of them. Andy had reddish-gold hair, a stocky build, and a wide, easy smile, whereas Noel was smaller, dark-haired, and looked a bit like he was perpetually bracing himself to be punched.

"I forgot some stuff at home," Noel said. "Mom said she sent it with you."

Andy threw his brother a dirty look, as if Andy had been mortally offended.

"It's right there," he said, pointing to a paper grocery bag amidst the chaos on Andy's desk. "How'd you even get in here?"

"Your housemate let me in," Noel said.

They stared at each other for a moment longer, and the animosity between them was palpable. Drew felt like he was watching two dogs bristling at each other, sizing up one another for a fight.

"So how was orientation?" Drew asked weakly. Noel threw him a strange look.

"Fine," he said, before grabbing the bag and disappearing.

"Weirdo," Andy said when Noel was gone, glaring at the doorway.

"You guys are so strange," Drew said.

"He's the strange one."

"Aren't you guys supposed to… like each other, now that you've been away at college for three years?"

Andy rolled his eyes.

"Spoken like someone who doesn't have siblings," he said. "Besides, I'd like him better if he weren't such a—as I said before—weirdo."

"He's not that bad."

"He is," Andy insisted. "I swear to god, he spent the whole summer trying to make me miserable."

"Okay," Drew said. "But… were you also trying to make him miserable?"

"Well, yeah," Andy said with a grin. "But whose side are you on?"

"Yours," Drew said, throwing a rolled-up pair of socks at Andy. "But only if you get off my bed and finish unpacking your shit."

* * *

When they'd all finished moving in, the four friends lay sprawled out on the tiny couches in the cramped living room, battling the late summer heat with a very ineffective box fan and a few beers. Technically, drinking wasn't allowed in the campus apartment, but a little celebration was in order.

There was some crime drama on the TV on mute, but none of them were really watching. Drew had found the widescreen television just sitting outside the dorms at the end of last year—another culture shock when he'd come to Bellamy was seeing how many perfectly good belongings were discarded at the end of the year simply because it was easier than moving them.

They chatted about the upcoming school year and just reveled in all being united once more.

The four of them had survived not only three years at Bellamy University, a prestigious—and infamously challenging—university, but also three years so far on the rowing team together. Last year, they'd rowed together in a four person boat, and the experience had been, for Drew at least, something close to magical. They were more than just friends—they were teammates, too.

And Drew liked the dynamic of their friendship. He appreciated that he could be himself—quiet, a little less spontaneous—without justification. They each had their places, their roles, that they all fit into easily. It was the first group Drew had ever belonged to, and even after three years, he still found himself surprised at the simple joy of being included.

Finn was the leader, and not only because he was the team captain. He was soft-spoken, hard-working, and thoughtful, to the point of being neurotic sometimes. He was the kind of person people found themselves automatically turning to in times of crisis.

Max, who was currently laying practically on top of Finn despite the heat, his long legs spread over Finn's, was the cool one—handsome and charismatic, he turned heads when he walked into the room. He and Finn had been surgically attached to one another since freshman year.

And then there was Andy, who was boisterous and chaotic and goofy, always eager to grab a drink or check out a new party. On the surface, Andy was Drew's polar opposite—loud where Drew was quiet, exuberant where Drew was restrained. Their friendship worked, though. Andy pulled Drew out of his shell, and Drew provided Andy with much-needed steadiness.

Finn was the person Drew would call if he ever ended up in jail. Max was the one who'd offer to post his bail. And Andy was the one who would have gotten Drew there in the first place. And Drew wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

"How much did you guys drink?" Finn asked. They were stumbling home after the first crew party of the year—the rowing team's parties were notoriously wild, and this one had been no different.

"Not enough," Andy said, his words ricocheting down the empty street.

"Too much," Drew corrected. He grabbed Andy's arm—again—to prevent Andy from stumbling into the street. Max and Andy were both plastered, and Drew and Finn exchanged a look they'd shared many times before, a look that seemed to say I can't believe we love these dumb assholes so much.

"Ugh, I don't wanna go back yet," Max said when they got back to campus. "Too fucking hot in the apartment." The brutally hot day had finally given away to a slightly cooler night, but Drew knew their apartment would still be stuffy.

"I'm gonna get Andy some water," Drew said, glancing at Andy, who was starting to look a little pale.

"I don't feel good," Andy said.

"I know, buddy," Drew said, rolling his eyes. He shot a good luck glance at Finn as Max started dragging Finn towards the intramural field and focused on guiding Andy up the hill to their apartment.

"Where are we going?" Andy said, looking over his shoulder at Max and Finn.

"Home," Drew said.

"But—"

"The only thing you're drinking for the rest of the night is water," Drew said firmly.

Andy made a grumpy noise but allowed himself to be steered into the apartment.

"I'm hungry," he said, throwing himself down on the couch. "I wanna order a pizza."

Drew filled up a glass of water and handed it to Andy.

"Drink this," he ordered.

Andy accepted the glass and looked down at it suspiciously.

"This isn't pizza."

"Good observational skills," Drew said with a grin.

Andy glared at Drew mutinously.

"Here," Drew said. "If you drink this glass of water, I'll make you mac and cheese."

Andy brightened visibly.

"Really?" he said.

"Really."

Andy took a long drink, sloshing most of the water down his front, spilling more than he ended up swallowing.

"Well, that's a start," Drew said. He went to the tiny kitchen—barely more than a two burner stove, a fridge, and a little patch of counter, and set about making mac and cheese. He knew some people might find Andy's demanding drunken behavior irritating, but Drew had never really minded. He'd always found little things like this soothing somehow, whether it was making food for Andy or reminding Max to switch over his laundry or staying late after practice to help Finn reorganize the boathouse.

"So who was that guy you were talking to?" Andy said. His voice was suddenly much closer and Drew glanced over his shoulder to see Andy had scrambled onto the little stool on the other side of the counter.

"Who?" Drew said, feigning ignorance.

"You know," Andy said, wiggling his eyebrows lasciviously. "The cute one. The one who looked like he was super into you."

"Theo? He's not—he was—" Drew blushed, glaring at his friend as Andy burst out laughing.

"Okay, so you did think he was cute?" Andy said.

"I—I plead the fifth," Drew stammered. "Go drink your water."

"I finished," Andy said, clunking the glass down on the counter so hard it nearly cracked. "Oops."

Drew refilled the glass and set it in front of Andy.

"You said one glass of water."

"Well, I changed my mind," Drew said, and Andy looked scandalized. "Drink it. You're going to be so hungover tomorrow as it is."

"Drewww," Andy said, dragging out his name. "Andrew. Andrew Riordan."

"That's me."

"Why won't you tell me about that guy?"

"Why do you want to know?" Drew said. "It's nothing—there wasn't—he wasn't interested—and—"

Andy burst out laughing.

"I’m making you mac and cheese," Drew said, pointing the spoon at the boiling water on the stove. "And this is how you repay me?"

"I'm just curious," Andy said.

Drew looked pointedly at the glass of water on the counter between them.

"Drink that."

"And then you'll tell me?" Andy asked.

"And then I'll… think about telling you."

Andy gulped down the glass of water in record time, and Drew couldn't help laughing.

"Okay," Andy said.

Drew chewed on the inside of his cheek and leaned across the counter, lowering his voice.

"If I tell you… you have to promise never to tell anyone else, okay?" Drew said. Andy's eyes went wide and he nodded solemnly.

Drew looked around, as if checking for eavesdroppers in their apartment.

"That guy I was talking to…" Drew said slowly, with Andy hanging on to his every word, "was… a friend of Tina's. And he's straight. And nothing happened. And nothing will happen. And that's the story."

Andy glared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"You're such a shithead," he said.

"Maybe," Drew said serenely, removing the pasta from the stove and draining the water from it. He felt Andy's eyes on him as he set about finishing making the mac and cheese.

"You know you can, like… talk to me about this stuff, right?" Andy said after a moment, and Drew glanced over at him. Andy's expression was one of his rare serious ones.

"Yeah," Drew said quietly. "I do. There's… nothing to talk about, though."

Andy was the only person who knew Drew was gay. Drew had come out to Andy their sophomore year, one night when they'd stayed up so late they'd watched the sun rise from the hill near campus. He'd asked Andy to never tell, and Andy never had.

And that was why Drew trusted Andy completely—for as irresponsible and ridiculous as Andy could be, Drew knew that Andy would always do the right thing when it really mattered.

He set the mac and cheese down in front of Andy. The fake cheese was almost fluorescent orange, and it looked vile and delicious all at once. Andy dug in immediately, closing his eyes in appreciation and letting out an almost sexual moan as he ate, as though Drew had prepared a gourmet dinner.

Drew sat down and watched Andy eat, feeling a little warm glow of satisfaction at taking care of his friend. After a moment he set about washing the pot he'd used.

"I know you're not out and stuff," Andy said through a mouthful of food. "But now that we're roommates, if you wanna bring a guy home, I don't… care, you know? It's not weird."

Drew nearly dropped the pan he was washing.

"Andy, you are such a fucking weirdo," he said.

"I'm trying to be a good ally," Andy exclaimed, and Drew snorted.

"Thanks," Drew said dryly. "But you don't have to worry about it. There's a zero percent chance of that happening."

"We're in college," Andy said. "You're supposed to be sleeping with tons of people and then later regretting some of them."

"I'll take that under advisement."

"Oh my god," Andy said, leaning over the counter. "Is this a self-esteem thing? Drew, you're great. Any guy would be lucky to have you—you're seriously—"

"Stop that—" Drew said, raising his hand. He was blushing furiously. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" Andy said.

"I mean… it's the same thing as it's always been," Drew said, referencing the conversation they'd had nearly two years ago now. "I'm just… putting that stuff on hold until I graduate. It's too much to think about."

Andy set his fork down, staring at Drew.

"Wait, still?" he said.

"Are you done with this?" Drew said, grabbing Andy's empty bowl and sidestepping the question.

"But that was sophomore year," Andy said. "You're telling me you still haven't slept with someone?"

Drew's cheeks were burning. Max and Andy were more than happy to loudly discuss their sex lives with one another over meals, but Drew had never been prone to oversharing like that—even if he'd had something to overshare about in the first place.

"It's fine—" Drew said.

"I can't believe you're a virgin," Andy said, his mouth actually agape.

Drew shot him a dirty look.

"Virginity is a social construct," Drew said. "Besides, why would you think I'd been—that I would have—"

"I mean, I just figured you were hooking up with people secretly," Andy said with a shrug. Drew turned away and furiously began scrubbing at the bowl, feeling absolutely mortified. He wasn't angry, just embarrassed. This had been a choice Drew had made long ago, when he'd first figured out he was gay. It was simply too much to think about, too much to worry about. He'd made a deal with himself that he'd wait until he was out of college and financially independent—but once he was, he'd come out of the closet for good.

"Well, I wasn't," Drew said. He rarely bothered to think about this kind of thing—Drew was excellent at compartmentalizing—but when he did, he admitted he was a little ashamed of his lack of experience, especially in comparison with someone like Andy, who'd slept with half the women on the Bellamy campus by now.

"What about making out and stuff?" Andy pried. Drew wiped the counter off one last time, dried his hands, and beckoned for Andy to follow him down the stairs.

"Come on, dude, you need to go to sleep," Drew said.

"I'm guessing that means no kissing, either," Andy said, nearly tumbling down the stairs after Drew. The mac and cheese had helped, but he was clearly still fairly drunk. Drew hoped Andy wouldn’t remember this conversation the next day.

"No," Drew said shortly.

"Oh my god," Andy said.

"Oh, shut up," Drew said, flicking the light on in their room. "It's not that big of a deal."

"I'm not making fun of you," Andy said, starting to wriggle out of his shirt.

"Yeah, you are," Drew said.

"I'm not," Andy insisted, and when Drew glanced over at him, he saw that Andy was being serious.

"Well, it feels like you are," Drew said. He softened. "Go brush your teeth."

Andy did as he was told, and it seemed like Andy was prepared to drop it as they got ready for bed. Drew felt a little guilty for being so short with Andy, but Andy had never been very good at figuring out when to stop pushing a matter.

"Hey, Drew?" Andy said, appearing in the doorway, his mouth full of toothpaste foam.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry," Andy said. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad or whatever. For not having kissed anyone."

Drew laughed softly.

"You're fine," he said. "But thanks."

A few minutes later, Andy crawled into bed, sprawled out over his comforter, the room still too hot to sleep under the covers.

Drew stood up and turned out the overhead light.

"Thanks for making me mac and cheese," Andy said in the dark.

"You're welcome."

"It was really good."

"Thanks," Drew said. "It came from a box."

Andy laughed, and Drew was about to climb into bed when Andy spoke again.

"Hey, Drew?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you come here for a second? I have to tell you something," Andy said.

"Okay, tell me."

"No," Andy said. "You have to come here. It's super top secret."

Drew snorted.

"Andy, no one can hear us. Max and Finn aren't even back yet. The walls are made out of concrete."

"Just… just come here, please. Drew. Andrew. Andrew. Andrew—"

"Oh, fine, just stop that," Drew said, knowing Andy would keep on until he got his way. He got up and crossed the room.

"What?"

Through the dim light coming in from the window, he could only just see Andy laying there, grinning up at him with a mischievous smile that made Drew nervous.

"Come closer," Andy said, motioning for Drew to lean closer. "I have to whisper it."

"What, are you on your deathbed or something?" Drew said, but he did as Andy asked. "What did you want to tell me?"

And then suddenly Andy was sitting up—he grabbed Drew's shirt, pulling him close, and planted a huge, sloppy kiss right on Drew's lips.

"There," Andy said happily, pulling back and wiping the back of his hand across his face. "Now you've had your first kiss!"

Drew blinked, still stunned, as Andy let go of his shirt and lay back down, turning over so his back was facing Drew. He was shaking, and Drew realized Andy was laughing.

"You little shit," Drew said, but he smiled. "Go to sleep, you absolute demon."

"I'm just trying to be a good ally," Andy said again, his voice muffled by the pillow. Andy was still laughing when Drew got into bed.

"I'm not sure you actually know what being an ally entails."

"What?" Andy said. "A bro can't give his bro a little smooch?"

"You're the worst," Drew said.

"I'm the best," Andy said.

Drew didn't respond, and after a few moments, he heard Andy's breath go deep and regular—he'd fallen asleep.

Drew touched his fingertips to his lips and smile softly to himself, a band of moonlight streaking in onto his pillow through the blinds. He tried to decide if that counted as a first kiss. It wasn't exactly the butterflies and fireworks Drew had always pictured, but Andy was kind of cute, as far as straight guys went.

Drew rolled onto his side and shut his eyes, still grinning.

He decided it did count.