"I'm so glad we're not in there anymore," said Chad.

Ryan sighed and leaned against Chad, putting his head on his boyfriend's—wait, fiancé's—shoulder. "I know. Promise me you won't hate my family when all of this over."

"As long as you won't hate mine."

"Deal."

It was wedding planning season, and while they'd come into it somewhat excited, neither Ryan nor Chad was too happy about it. They were at the Evans house—well, actually, outside of it, in Ryan's tree house. They'd been listening to their mothers heatedly discussing centerpieces, when, through a series of gestures and mouthed words and flubbed lip reading, they'd escaped to the refuge of Ryan's childhood haunt and the first place they ever experienced what one might call "a moment."

"I knew planning a wedding was stressful, but I didn't realize that it'd freak our parents out more than us," Chad said. "Oh, I grabbed a couple beers out of the fridge on my way out. All I could find was that British crap you like." He handed Ryan a bottle. Ryan, staying as cuddly as he could, took out his key ring to get at his bottle opener and opened both their bottles before taking a drink.

"Hey, Stella Artois is not crap," said Ryan. "It's delicious. A lot smoother than the swill you like."

"There's nothing wrong with PBR," Chad said. Though he wasn't looking at him, Ryan knew from his tone of voice that his boyfriend—fiancé—was grinning.

"That is something I'll miss about college," said Chad, sounding wistful. "Drinking PBR and talking about why New Mexico doesn't have any good sport teams with my roommates."

"You could still do that, you know."

"One, I'm moving. And two, it just wouldn't be the same."

"Would you believe me if I said I'm sorry I'm taking you away from that?" Ryan asked.

"About halfway, I would," said Chad. "I know you care about me keeping up with the people around here. But I also know you're selfish."

Ryan laughed. "With you, yes, I am."

"Oh, hey, I got a call from P.S. 138," said Chad. "Earlier, when I said I needed to use the bathroom and left for half an hour while your mom was talking about flowers—"

"Yeah, I remember that," said Ryan.

"—The principal called me. He was really impressed that I coached Little League, and my student teaching record, and they want to interview me next week, when we're in the city again."

"Chad, that's fantastic!" Ryan kissed him. "See? You had nothing to be nervous about." Chad was generally somewhat anxious about his potential for a career. He hadn't done well in high school, grade-wise, but he'd actually given college classes some effort, so his GPA was high enough that he had a decent chance at grad school if teaching didn't work out. More than that, though, Chad doubted his ability—so it was very, very good that he'd already gotten a call the first week of July.

"Well, even if I get a job, I'm still kind of worried about social stuff."

Ryan looked at him oddly. "But you're good at the whole making friends thing. You're better than I am."

Chad scoffed. "You know that's not true. You already have a group of friends in New York, and honestly, I'm not sure they'll like me very much."

"OK, that's ridiculous," said Ryan. "They all like you. They'd like you even if you were a total deadbeat, because you like me. And you're not a deadbeat. You're awesome. You know that." Ryan kissed him on the forehead, and Chad smiled.

"Yeah, I guess I am." Chad took a deep breath. "So, ready to go back in there?"

"Not yet." Ryan rolled on top of Chad and kissed him. Hard.

"Whoa," said Chad, who'd gone from slumped against the wall of the tree house to the floor with a soft thump. "We're not even drunk this time."

"Since when has that ever mattered?"

"Hm. You make a good point." Chad smiled and kissed Ryan, a little softer this time, but still with enough urgency that Ryan knew they were on the same page.

"Centerpieces can wait," he said, smiling.

"They can wait forever, for all I care," said Chad. "Flowers are nice and all, but this? This is where we should be."

"I agree."

And they went down together again.