Rory was, for all intents and purposes, Micah's optimal first boyfriend.

After Kennedy's pressing and seemingly simple question with no right answer, Micah thought deeper on what he liked about Rory. And all of his answers involved how simple Rory made it.

The key hadn't felt sentimental or meaningful, like Rory would give it to anyone that asked nicely and with good intentions.

He didn't ask prying questions, press Micah passive-aggressively about his plans, implying he wanted Micah around and in his arms and out on a date.

He simply... existed. With Micah. And made no comments about Micah's newfound habit of shutting both toilet lids. He picked up on the habit himself without question.

They didn't fuck a lot—just enough to make it count. And when the memorial event came around, Micah thought they had a good system going. Wake up, breakfast, and if he managed to be extra enticing, they'd fuck before Rory left for work and Micah to class. He thought it was cute how adamantly Rory preferred sex in bed over anything else. The fantasies of screwing, doused in buckets of paint on a canvas, lived on rent-free in Micah's head, never to be realized.

Rory's mother was a collector. Micah wasn't involved at all in the transporting of the storage unit to the rented gallery, but he arrived near the tail end of the delivery guys packing up.

"Hi," Micah said.

Rory was careful with himself in public. Hands worried over his stomach, Rory greeting him with a soft smile. "Hey. How was class?"

"Good. Am I too late to help?"

"No, no help needed," he reassured.

Micah passed a hand through Rory's hair. He still had bedhead and it was past noon.

There was no place for Micah in the gallery yet, so he was sent on an errand run to fetch lunch for Rory and the staff. When he returned, everything was ready.

They ate out on the stoop surrounded by posh, artistic folk from the gallery. Micah blended in only because Kennedy had helped him select appropriate attire for the event. She'd tucked a stash of new, fresh, Empathy Flashcards into his pocket.

"What are those?" Rory asked, quietly.

Micah snickered a little, sifting through them. "I'm not good in... sentimental social gatherings. Kennedy gave me a few pointers."

"Sentimental," Rory repeated. He leaned over, grinning a little at the card that read, "You may feel tempted to talk about your own loss, but TRY NOT TO. This can be perceived as shifting the attention."

"I don't know if I agree with that," Rory said. They looked at one another. Micah's chest felt heavy. "Have you lost anyone close to you?"

"I wouldn't say 'close'," he confessed. "My mother. I don't remember her."

Where he expected an apology or pity, Rory laughed. And the horror of having laughed just made him giggle harder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"It's fine, really," Micah said, smiling. "I just don't get why that's funny."

"I just—Kennedy's telling you not to bring it up when that's, like, the most relevant thing to bring up to me," Rory said. He shrugged. "Bonding over our mothers dying. It's kind of normal."

When guests began arriving, Micah didn't know what to do with himself. Was he supposed to... act like the estranged yet doting wife to a man who's mother just died? No, it wasn't a funeral, per se, but it wasn't a cheery party, either. The mood was fond and somber, and made all the more confusing by a familiar face entering the venue.

Micah was lingering behind Rory when Lennon entered, slowly, and made eye-contact with him.

Micah clamped his mouth shut. His heart felt like it'd been speared through by a fork.

Lennon's eyes centered on Rory then, who greeted him with a smile. "Glad you could make it," Rory said.

"Of course," Lennon said. "At risk of sounding redundant, how are you doing?"

Micah's ears were ringing. Though he was staring at Lennon, the man only cast a few short glances his way before Rory cleared his throat to introduce the two of them.

"Oh, um, this is my partner. Micah Sayoko."

Of the flashcards Rory hadn't seen, one glared at Micah then. He'd thought it was ridiculous for Kennedy to include, "If you meet a past partner in public with Rory, tell him the truth."

"We actually know each other," Micah confessed.

Rory glanced between them. "How did you two meet?"

Lennon tipped his head, curiously, and nearly laughed when Micah took a deep breath to explain. "It's fine. You can tell him," Lennon said. "I used to be a client of his mother's. A lot of my art came from her."

"We... were set up on a blind date," Micah said. "Last fall."

"Oh." Rory's cheeks colored. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I feel like an idiot."

"It's fine," they both reassured. And then, foolishly, Micah said, "We left on good terms."

"How did you two meet?" Lennon asked, voice smooth and considerate.

Rory was quiet, studying them both.

"Mutual friend set us up, and he never got rid of me," Micah said. Lennon laughed. "How's the kitchen?"

"Done, actually," Lennon said, crossing his arms. He glanced at Rory and said, "I'm hosting a housewarming dinner next weekend. If you'd like to see some of the art your mother curated for me, I'd love to have you by. And Micah, of course."

"That sounds nice, actually," Rory said. Though his smile could have been misconstrued as just polite, Micah recognized it in every gentle thing Micah did for him. Holding open a door, bringing him water, squeezing his waist as a means of saying, "Passing behind you."

Lennon drifted away as newcomers entered the venue. Rory recalibrated to greet them, and Micah waited an appropriate amount of time to leave to make a call.

Out on the sidewalk, Micah dialed up Kennedy. "Help, oh my fuck," Micah gasped.

"What is it? What happened?"

Micah folded an arm over his chest as a breeze nearly took him out. He turned against it, saying, "Lennon just showed up to the gallery and invited us to his place for a housewarming party."

"Does Rory know you two used to..."

"Yes. Sort of. We told him about the blind date thing, fucking is just sort of assumed with me," he said, frantically. "I don't know if he agreed to attend out of politeness or is actually uncomfortable with me and Lennon knowing each other."

"Okay, deep breath," Kennedy said. "Erika's here. She's listening."

"You're a dumbass," said Erika.

"Thanks, I know," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Wait until after the event to talk to him about it. Unless he's, like, openly upset right now. Does he look distressed?"

Micah looked in through the windows. As it was nightfall, it was easy to see Rory in the dimly lit gallery. The art pieces were tastefully illuminated by spotlights, the ambiance made elegant by drapery and covered votives.

And Rory was smiling at a guest, nodding politely.

"He looks... normal," Micah confessed. He felt like his innards were being shredded. "God, fuck my life. See? This is why I don't date. I've slept with half of the city!"

"Yeah, okay, Samantha Jones," Erika said. "You two have every man in Manhattan and one woman in common, too."

"You're so foul for that," Kennedy laughed.

"What do I even say?"

"Ask him if it makes him uncomfortable to have you attend the dinner too. And then offer to not attend."

"But I wanna see the renovation."

"Oh my God, you're such a dude."

"You might as well say you wanna see Lennon's dick while you're at it," Erika said. "If you offer not to attend, Rory will see it as a sign that you don't care about seeing Lennon. It'll make him feel better about having you there."

"And if he lets you go, emphasize that you're super stoked about the reno."

"Bring your level and ruler to really play up that vibe."

"Do NOT bring your level and ruler."

"Whatever. Bye."

"No, wait—!" Micah hung up.

He waited until after the show was done and they were walking home to say, "We don't have to go to Lennon's party."

"I want to, though," Rory said, only to stammer, "I mean—Sorry, it might be awkward for you. We don't have to go."

"I just don't want to make you uncomfortable by going—"

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable."

They fell into silence. Micah sucked every word he wanted to say back in. The conversation felt done and over with until Rory asked, "Did you two sleep together?"

Fuck... He knew Rory hadn't meant to sound defensive, but the phrase on its own, out of context, never failed to make his skin crawl. He clawed against the urge to shut Rory down and walk away.

"Yeah, we did," he confessed, feeling like he was at confession.

"How many times?" Rory shook his head. "I'm not upset about it. I'm just... morbidly curious, I guess."

Micah tallied them up in his head. "Like... number of times we met up to hook up or, like, number of times we had sex?"

Rory winced. "Is there a difference?"

"We've met up three times, had sex maybe ten times? I can't remember exactly. It was a while ago." And bootcamp sort of scrambled my brain...

"Oh." And then, Micah's worst nightmare of a question arrived. "Do you mind if I ask what your bodycount is?"

Micah laughed. "You... seriously don't want to know."

"Is it low?" Micah shook his head. "I could tell you mind if it makes you more comfortable to share?"

It probably won't. "Sure."

"Eighteen, nineteen including you."

Micah debated not saying anything. He couldn't even react to a number like that when all he felt was shame.

Near the apartment stoop, Micah stopped at a distance to say, "Mine's probably somewhere in the three-to-four hundreds range."

"Holy—" Rory coughed. He laughed, cleared his throat, and said, "You're serious?"

"Honestly, I'm probably lowballing it."

Rory put a hand to his forehead, and then his eyes so he wouldn't have to see Micah.

"I'm clean. I get tested regularly, and I haven't been with anyone else since we started... this."

"And what is 'this'," Rory said, dropping his hand to gesture between them. "Do you even have relationships? Someone with that number of partners—You can't have seriously dated four hundred people."

Micah dropped his head, hands on his hips. "No. Honestly, you'd be my first boyfriend." He hadn't thought it was a question of whether or not Rory would want to date him until that moment.

He'd just assumed.

"And—And you're okay? Being monogamous?" Rory said, and when Micah opened his mouth, Rory went on. "I'm not interested in polyamory. I've tried different relationship structures and it doesn't work with me. I get too jealous."

Micah's stomach hollowed out. "Did you feel jealous of Lennon?"

Rory's brow furrowed. "No. Do you two still talk?"

"No."

"Then no, I'm not jealous."

But I still talk to Benny and Kennedy, he thought. "What about Kennedy?"

In the streetlamp light, he watched Rory pale. Micah realized he'd forgotten about the threesome comment.

"I thought you were joking," Rory confessed.

"I'm gay and she's in a committed relationship now. We haven't been like that for a while, but we joke about it a lot," Micah said.

"So you—Do you think about the threesome a lot?" Rory said, eyes wide.

"No. Sort of. It's kind of a core memory," Micah confessed. "My two best friends were involved in it. I can't not think about it sometimes."

"Two best friends. Who was the other person?"

Micah tried not to grimace. It was one thing to be jealous of Kennedy, someone not even in Micah's dating field, but Benny... "His name's Benny. He's also in a monogamous relationship, and he's interested in meeting you."

"You've never mentioned him before," Rory said, frowning. He glanced out at the street, sighing heavily. "Why wouldn't you mention one of your best friends to me?"

"You didn't ask," Micah confessed. "Which is fine! I'm not asking you to ask shit about my life—"

"But if we're dating—If we're going to date," Rory started, impatiently. He broke off to cover his face.

"I didn't talk about Benny because he's dating an emotionally manipulative asshole that pisses me off," Micah said, colorfully and with feeling. Rory glanced at him through his fingers. "I moved out because I couldn't stand his boyfriend, and Benny would pick his boyfriend over me any day. Honestly, we're barely on speaking terms right now. I haven't seen him since December until Wednesday."

"Oh." This calmed Rory, if only slightly. He crossed his arms. "Can we talk about this inside? I don't have the same freakishly high body-temperature as you."

Inside, Rory bundled up in a blanket with a mug of hot chocolate and Micah walked Rory through the Benny situation.

He didn't mention Alistair at all until the end, explaining:

"I've been very lowkey housesitting for Benny's brother. My stuff's still over there."

"Would you want to bring your stuff here?" Rory asked. Micah rose an eyebrow. "If it's... not too much."

"No, just clothes. Toiletry stuff."

They blinked at one another. Rory grew sheepish, and Micah wanted to bite him.

"I'm not really interested in having roommates," Rory confessed, "but... it's convenient. Having you around. And you aren't a messy person."

You can thank Alistair for that, Micah thought. Even before their brief three-day stint, housesitting for Alistair had made an anxiously tidy person out of Micah.

Micah grinned. "Convenient as in you can get fucked whenever you want? My dick is on demand, just for you—!" He sang teasing praises to himself as Rory covered his face and groaned about Micah's crudeness.

The next day was Saturday. In the morning, Micah meandered to Alistair's place to pick up his things. Each step out of the subway wracked Micah with anxiety.

He hadn't realized what pure turmoil seeing Alistair would inject into his system. It wasn't a work day, which meant that if Alistair was in town again, he'd be there.

You can't fuck him, Micah chanted to himself, passing Cerberus. You can't fuck him! You need to live with Rory! You can't cheat on him!

Micah punched the number to Alistair's floor and, in the privacy of the elevator, shook all of his limbs out like a boxer preparing for a match.

The elevator dinged.

His heart was in his ears, throbbing. Nausea was climbing. How could he possibly put himself in this situation? Why had he ever agreed to date anybody when this was the feeling that greeted him whenever he thought about Alistair now?

His heart and mind were seeped with every lewd detail of Alistair. He didn't want to admit it, but Alistair was in his dreams, too, like a fucking succubus come to suck his soul out through his dick.

Rory didn't deserve to have these thoughts even existing. He didn't deserve to not know what den Micah was approaching now, to not know the extent to which Micah had fucked Alistair. How precariously they orbited one another.

How Micah still wanted his fucking mirrors back.

Micah unlocked the door and, at first silently, he entered. And then, tentatively, he called out, "Hello?"

No answer.

Micah nearly collapsed with relief—until a sound pricked his attention.

The shfff-click! didn't register in Micah's mental catalogue at first, until he searched for the sound. It came from the living room where, at the top shelf of the bookcase, sat Alistair's security camera.

The light was green.

Micah gave the camera the bird before shucking his shoes off. And then, he marched to the bedroom.

Socks on the comforter, Micah clamored up and reached for the ceiling. It was barely in range and he thanked his father's genes for the height allowing him to pry each mirror panel down. He stacked them on the nightstand, one-by-one, until he reached the final panel.

He caught his nail under the mirror and tugged. The stickies popped off floated to the bed. After setting the mirror aside, he set to work picking up all the sticker debris.

There was a rectangular piece of paper on the bed. Pure white.

No, he thought, freezing. He retracted from it, hand to his mouth.

Self-control lost, he flew across the bed to flip the paper over. It was a polaroid marked in Alistair's sharp handwriting: #6.

The picture was harsh, overexposed, and unclear. It took a second for Micah to realize what he was looking at.

A fogged up shower door, imprinted with Alistair's back and bare ass. His tattoos were a swirling, frosty blur through the glass, fingers reaching up to grip the edge of the door behind him. Between his legs was a second person on their knees.

The deep shadows in that triangle formed by Alistair's parted legs were, perhaps, the clearest part of the photo—a man with his dick in his hands. Alistair was still wearing that sexy neon pink number, which placed this man as Theo in Australia.

Micah blew out a shaky breath. He dragged himself off the bed, cursing, and grabbed the mirrors. In the living room, he paused to walk up to the bookshelf. The camera was still on.

He put up the polaroid in view of the camera. It was hardly a triumph, but he wanted Alistair to know he came. He found. He saw. And he didn't come before leaving with his things.