Micah had known, of course, that this was all ending. His college life. The Wall. The super-close friendship with Beck. But none of it had seemed real, not until his name had been called and then Beck’s.

And now he couldn’t shake just how fucking real it felt.

“I’m just gonna . . .” Micah swallowed hard, then tipped the rest of the glass into his mouth, letting the burn of the alcohol give him more courage to admit the truth than he might’ve before. “Just gonna miss you, that’s all.”

Beck glowed. He shouldn’t look this goddamn happy they were being forcibly separated, Micah thought morosely, but then Beck teased, “Awwww, you love me, Rose. I knew it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Micah retorted. “Come on, find that bar. I wanna get drunk.”

He wanted to remember every moment, every single time Beck looked at him, every glance he returned, and he didn’t want to remember any of them, at the exact same goddamn time.

It would be easier, maybe, with booze dulling the thoughts that wouldn’t quit.

“Alright, I got it,” Beck said.

Micah shoved a few twenties under a paper coaster, and they slid off their barstools. He couldn’t remember the last time his wallet had been this full. The last time he hadn’t had a budget for a night out. The idea was intoxicating.

They could go out and do anything.

Anything.

Outside the hotel, the valet attendant waved a cab down and they slid in, Beck giving the address.

Beck, who was annoyingly a few inches taller, stretched out his legs in the back seat, his thigh brushing Micah’s, and normally, he might’ve moved away.

But how many more times would they touch like this?

Before tonight, the number had felt infinite.

Now it felt like it had a beginning, and also a very concrete end.

He shifted, letting his leg rest a bit more purposefully against Beck’s as the cab pulled out into traffic.

Beck didn’t move, just looked over at him, a quiet, assessing look in his light eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

“How far is it?” Micah asked awkwardly into the silence that had fallen between them.

“Not sure, but it comes highly recommended, at least,” Beck said wryly.

The want that lived inside him, that rose and fell with unsurprising regularity, spiked and then didn’t relent, just with the feel of Beck’s muscular leg against his own.

Casually, Beck set his hand on his knee, the back of it brushing Micah’s. It could’ve been inadvertent, but then he didn’t move it.

It turned out the drive wasn’t far. But the whole ten minutes was chaotic, the cab moving in starts and stops, the horn blaring out more than once. When they finally came to a stop in front of a low brick building on a side street, Micah’s heartbeat hadn’t slowed one bit.

He told himself as they climbed out that crazy New York drivers were the reason why, but he knew deep down that it wasn’t true.

Was it possible that Beck . . .?

No way, Micah insisted to himself.

But it was undeniable Beck was standing closer to him, his hand a ghost touch on the small of Micah’s back as they approached the door.

Glancing up at one of the small dingy windows, Micah stopped in his tracks, Beck so close to him that he nearly plowed into him, the impact of his big, broad body tempered by his soft, gentle touch.

Beck saw immediately what he’d noticed.

A big rainbow flag spread across the window.

Every muscle in Beck’s body stiffened, like he was bracing for something.

For Micah to tell him no fucking way would he go in there?

For Micah to say something derogatory even though he never had before?

Maybe . . .Micah wondered . . .Beck was waiting for him to tell the truth.

That he’d always wanted to go to a gay bar, but he’d never found the courage to do it before.