A/N: And here's the final episode in the trilogy. Closet, Surprise, and Ridiculous all go hand in hand. If I do another Trent/Miles fic, it'll no doubt be a new series, and will probably involve giant robots of some kind. Forgive the choice of lyrics this time around - it just fits far too well!

Trent wonders when this all went so wrong.

It's not as though he had expected to do any of the things he's done, these past few months - no, this past lifetime. Everything had been a product of chance, of blind luck and sheer will. But this... This is just wrong.

He finds himself looking at Miles across the classroom. Nothing distinct, nothing noticeable - to everyone but him, it looks as though he's staring into space, drowning out the voice of their teachers with his own thoughts. It isn't too far from the truth; he is thinking about something other than the lesson plan, but it definitely isn't something they would expect. Trent DeMarco, thinking about that grungy little hippy Miles Lancaster?

Fucking ridiculous.

That's what it is, ridiculous. A crazy notion. Something stupid, something wrong, something... Something...

Trent finds himself slowing as he passes the corner of Main and Elm, every so often. Nothing noticeable - just like his staring - but he knows he's doing it and he hates it. He starts drinking harder at parties - making sure, first, that no misfits have gotten in by random chance. His friends ask him what's wrong and he just shrugs it off with a mumbled mention of Mikaela, and they tell him that he's got it bad, if a girl's doing this to him.

Not a girl, though. A skater's build, scrawny and lanky and not a girl.

He pounds back shots and the world develops into a blur of sounds and sights and pretty girls who he shrugs off when they cling to him. Not a girl.

Something here is so horribly wrong, he realizes as he finishes off what must be his seventh shot of whiskey. He's slurring and flushed, and his friends have long since taken his keys away, so he pushes through the crowd and into the empty, cool streets. No one's here and he feels suddenly as though he were completely alone - never mind the party behind him. It's lonely. So lonely that he finds himself walking down Elm, towards Main. Something's wrong here.

Miles answers the door with wide eyes, staring at Trent for a few minutes before letting him in, wearing sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a tank that's a few years too big.

"What are you doing here?" Miles whispers - right, parents. Probably asleep.

"I wanted to see you."

Trent sees the flash of something in those blue eyes and then Miles looks away, almost cringing. "You're drunk." Still, he motions for the stairs; Trent follows without a word, up and into the blonde's room. Mallrats is muted on the television, and Miles is looking at him like he thinks Trent is going to hit him.

"Why are you here?" Miles asks, and Trent looks away.

"Lost my keys. Couldn't drive."

"So you, uh. Need a place to crash?"

Trent should say no. He should just tell Miles that this is crazy and wrong and -

"...Uh, yeah. If that's cool."

Miles shrugs, "I guess," and then turns to make the bed. "You aren't, um, gonna throw up or something, are you?"

"No." No, the churning in his stomach is from something completely different. "I'm cool."

"Okay."

Miles sets the bed up and it's a big one - plenty of room for the both of them. It's too small for Trent.

"Uh... you want, like, water? Or something to eat? Or..."

"What are you watching?"

Miles looks to the television and Trent sits down on the bed, listing to the side until he finds himself lying down. "Uh. Mallrats." Trent's only seen the first fifteen minutes, so he just nods. "Um... You don't look so good, dude."

"Yeah, I know." He doesn't feel good, either. "It's cool if I sleep here?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. I don't care. Uh, you don't mind if I..." Miles gestures inarticulately at the television and Trent shakes his head. No, it doesn't matter to him if the other watches his stoner movie. It's cool. Unlike this whole situation. Miles sits on the edge of the bed and Trent moves further in, closer to the wall, farther from the weird situation.

Mallrats - or any Kevin Smith movie, really, Trent can't tell the difference between them all - is a bullshit movie about "everyday" life. Fuck that. Everyday life doesn't involve malls and weird cousins or Jay and Silent Bob related antics like pretending to be Batman or getting high all the time. No, real life exists as this: staring at a television and trying to avoid an awkward confrontation.

But Miles likes it. Trent can see it by the smile on his face - that half-smile that looks as awkward as Miles always seems - and the perfect timing in his laughs, so Trent smiles a bit too. Just a little.

Somewhere along the line, Trent falls asleep, waking up as the bed shifts and the television gets shut off. Miles is arranging extra pillows and blankets on the floor, turning on his CD player, lying down -

"Stay with me."

The words fall out of his mouth, lubricated by whiskey, and Miles turns to stare at him.

"You're drunk," he repeats for the second time that night.

"Please."

It takes a long minute of staring between them before Miles gives up, getting back up and bringing his own pillow to his own bed. Trent wants to kiss him. You're drunk, his mind reminds him, and so he doesn't do anything as the blonde lies down next to him, eyes wide and locked on Trent's. Neither of them can look away and the jock wonders if Miles finds himself staring into the space Trent's own body occupies, or if he thinks this is just as fucking ridiculous as Trent does.

"Goodnight, Trent."

"God, this is bizarre."

Miles looks like he wants to ask "what?" but he doesn't, because Trent has his hand on his cheek. Instead, he just closes his eyes, making a quiet noise of agreement.

"All I've been thinking about is how much I want-"

"Don't," Miles suddenly says, voice quiet and firm, "Just... don't. I can't do it-"

"I don't want to do it." He's being honest - God, if he could, he would be at a party hooking up with a hot blonde or something - "But you..." You what?

"Trent, don't - I can't..."

"You're-"

"I don't want to-"

"-All I've been thinking about."

Miles' words are stronger than Trent's but it's Trent's that are louder, echoing around the room and leaving Miles speechless.

"I don't want to do this but you're all I can think about."

The statement sounds even worse to Trent when left uninterrupted and he has to look away from Miles' stare.

"...You're so drunk you won't even remember this."

Trent turns his head briefly, smothering himself with a pillow and making an annoyed noise. "I wish," he says into the fabric, turning back to look at Miles. "I wish."

"Why are you doing this?" the blonde asks, eyes narrowed and accusatory and God, Trent thinks, I want to kiss you.

"I don't know," he says instead.

Miles and Trent stare at each other, holding each other's gaze, unable to look away -

"I want to..." Trent trails off and slides his hand from cheek to neck. "I want to..."

"This is the last time."

Trent hopes that's the truth even when he knows it's a lie, leaning in just a bit -

They both stop, breathing through their mouths with only the barest distance separating them. Miles' eyes are half-closed, too worried to close fully but wanting it too much to not – and Trent can't look away. There's a moment, even, where he thinks he might not want to.

"God, Miles, I-"

"Last time," the blonde mumbles, ducking his head for a kiss. Trent mumbles a vague response into Miles' mouth and pulls him closer.

Trent DeMarco isn't gay.

He isn't in denial or anything. He honestly has no real problem with homosexuality, except when he's involved. Nothing personal, he just doesn't believe it's his style. But oh, God, Miles...

He's not sure what all that means in the grand scheme of things – the not being gay but having a part of him that feels almost desperate to touch Miles – but he's drunk and Miles is a pretty good kisser so, for now, he'll just ignore it.

Trent finds Miles on top of him, hands gripping his shoulders and elbows digging painfully into his chest. There's a strange, sudden lull in activity, foreheads pressed close and eyes locked –

"Just one more time," Miles mutters. "No more."

"I just want to kiss you." We don't even have to do anything else, he thinks, realizing with a sudden, sick sensation that he might've just –

"Why me?" Miles finally asks, after a long, tense pause.

"I don't know." He wishes he did, but he can't fucking figure it out.

Miles' hands shake as they start to pull at Trent's shirt, and Trent finds his hand grabbing one of the other's. "If this is it," he says, using the same low tone Miles has been using, "I want to take it slow."

The blonde shudders and then nods. Half nods.

"We don't even..." God, he can't say that. "We don't have to..."

That look returns to Miles' eyes and he groans quietly, leaning forward to press their mouths together. It's horribly sloppy – Trent's unfocused and slowed from alcohol, and Miles is so nervous that his teeth are chattering – but it feels so nice. So nice and wrong and absolutely fucking ridiculous –

Miles shifts and Trent gasps, arching upwards and whispering, "God, Miles," and with that, they seem to break out of the lull of activity; the strange, awkward feeling snaps, and they're grabbing at each other desperately. Miles makes all the right sorts of noises at all the right sorts of times; he's quiet because his parents are home and this would not be a position to be caught in, but to make up for it he leans his mouth against Trent's ear. Their hands fumble with clothing, mouths mashing together, pulling away, and mashing again. Their teeth even clack together at one point, but they're too busy pulling at clothing and pushing at each other to care.

Trent has his hand down Miles' pants when the blonde goes completely rigid, his elbows digging into Trent's chest and eyes locked on him.

"...Do you mean it?"

Trent stares back and can't figure out what Miles is talking about. "Huh?"

Real articulate, jackass.

"...Do you mean it – that we don't have to...?"

Oh, Trent thinks, remembering suddenly that he did say it – "Yeah. I, uh..." I'm going to Hell, this is fucking ridiculous. "I meant it. Mean it."

Miles stares at him, so hard that Trent thinks he's looking past him and into the pillows, and then rasps, "Fuck it." And then his mouth meets Trent's in a kiss that's sloppy but so fucking hot, hips grinding against his hand and little moans escaping him. Trent blearily returns to what he was doing, letting out a sharp gasp when Miles grabs and pulls at his hair.

"Miles, fuck," he hisses, raising his hips so that Miles' free hand can start on getting rid of his stupid fucking pants, "God damn it."

Trent has trouble following things once his pants come off. He knows that Miles is getting naked on top of him, and they're both grabbing and kissing each other – and then Trent's head is filled with burning hot images that he wants so badly to see come to life. "Can you – uh – can we...?"

Miles freezes up again, looking down at Trent with wide eyes. "...Do what?" He asks it in the tone of voice that means he knows what Trent's asking, but he has to hear it for himself.

"I want to – um." Since when did he become the inarticulate one? Why is he acting like a fucking virgin? He knows what to do – it can't be that different – "Miles," he rasps in that bedroom tone, "Miles, god, I want to-"

"Can't," Miles cuts in, looking almost terrified, "We can't, I'm sorry, but I can't – I don't-"

Trent feels like he should be upset that he's being turned down, but all he can say is, "It's cool." Miles doesn't believe him and so he does something ridiculous – he tilts his head upward, kissing him with all the drunken finesse he can muster. "It's cool, Miles." He starts to pull his hands away, even, feeling a little uncomfortable with that look on Miles' face, and Miles doesn't stop him.

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't worry." Trent can't stop himself from uttering reassurances, even if it just adds to the idea that he might –

Miles stares at Trent for a long moment, and then ducks his head, forehead hitting Trent's chest with a light thud that doesn't even hurt. "Oh, God," he whispers, "Oh God..."

"...What are we – I mean... This can't..."

"I know," Miles hisses, looking up at Trent with a smoldering glare. "I know. ...I'm tired," he says after a minute, waiting for Trent's reaction.

"...Yeah, me too. Uh, maybe we should just..."

The blonde stares at Trent in surprise, and then nods, awkwardly sliding off the jock and onto the far side of the bed. Trent watches him, and then asks, "Do you want me to, uh – sleep on the ground, or something?"

Miles looks almost near tears when he says, "No. I want you to stay here."

"Okay." What else is he supposed to say? Trent stares up at the ceiling, alcohol and Miles making his stomach feel shaky and a little sick, and fails to figure out when he got here. The party has to be over by now, right? Could he go back and get his car, or a girl? Could he –

He turns his head to see if Miles' is sleeping and is met with Miles' eyes on him. "This isn't working," the blonde says, back pressed against the wall to keep space between them, "This, uh, bed... isn't really big enough."

Trent looks back to the ceiling, trying to feign the old nonchalance he used to have with Miles – he wants to say, "tough," but instead, all he does is reach out a hand. After a moment of slowly groping air and sheet, he finds Miles' hand and grips it hard.

The bed shifts as the blonde moves, shuffling closer, and Trent shifts himself to grab the sheet at the end of the bed, pulling it over them both. When he looks again, Miles is nearly close enough to kiss.

"I'm sorry," he rasps, "I didn't, um... I didn't think it would all e-end up like this."

Trent sighs and shakes his head. "It's cool."

Neither of them say anything else, and they make no effort to pull their hands apart.

Trent comes to sometime in the early morning, groaning and wincing at the taste in his mouth. His head aches, and when he finally opens his eyes, he's not sure where he is. Some chick's house?

He looks to the side to find the source of his heat and sees Miles beside him, hand still wrapped around Trent's arm. He almost jumps right out of his skin – Oh God, I spent the night. Miles shifts deeper into the blankets, and Trent exhales slowly as the night before comes back to him. It's... not as terrifying as he thinks it probably should be.

He dozes in and out of consciousness for probably an hour, unwilling and unable to climb out of the bed, even though he knows he should – he should leave before Miles wakes up, but he doesn't.

Miles starts waking up, grumbling sleepily and turning his head away from anywhere the light might be coming from, hand tightening further against Trent's arm. The jock has a sudden thought that worries him, for a reason he doesn't want to describe – This is it.

He rolls over, on top of Miles, and kisses the still groggy blonde fiercely.

Miles yelps, struggling for a moment until he realizes what's going on, and then he pulls back, barely, eyes locking on Trent. Neither of them say anything and, even though Trent has liquor-mouth and neither of them are all that awake, Miles leans back in, pressing their mouths together again. Trent forces himself to follow Miles' easygoing pace, but he can't hold back the shift in his hips and the friction that causes.

"God," Miles whispers, reaching up to dig his hands in Trent's hair, "Please..."

"Tell me what to do, baby," Trent hisses, trying to balance out his words with kisses.

Miles looks as though he desperately wants to say something, but he tries instead, "I want-" He cuts himself off with a moan of discontent, dropping his hands to Trent's shoulders. "Trent..."

He knows the look, the tone, and so he nods slowly, suddenly unsure himself. "Yeah?"

Miles nods.

"If – yeah. Okay." He presses down on top of Miles and gives him another kiss before pushing himself back. "Let me..."

Miles nods again and so Trent slides off him, sitting on the edge of the bed so that he can find his pants. He digs around in the pockets until he finds his wallet and, after shimmying the tinfoil wrapper out from behind a debit card, he turns to look at Miles.

"Y-You'll... uh, need..." Miles makes an inarticulate gesture before rolling over himself, lying flat on his belly so that he can reach under his bed and pull out a bottle of lotion.

Trent realizes he's completely out of his depth as he puts on the condom, hissing slightly, and he tries not to show his nervousness when he moves to hunch over Miles, who has returned to lie on his back. Trent isn't sure how much lotion he should use, so he just gets a palmful, like he were washing his hair, and looks at Miles again. The blonde is shaking, looking painfully turned on and utterly terrified all at once, and the jock pauses. "...Are you...?"

"J-Just..." Miles bites his lip hard. "I – I haven't, and I'm f-fucking scared and – but, if – and there won't, u-um, be a next time a-and I don't, I don't want to have – uh, passed this up j-just because I..."

The blonde looks away, with that same near-tears look as last night, and Trent finally realizes he has a huge problem on his hands when he says, "We don't have to, uh. Do this... today."

Miles almost gets whiplash, turning his head so sharply to stare at Trent. "But..."

Trent responds by kissing Miles fiercely, refusing to talk about it, and wrapping his lotion-soaked hand around the both of them.

The blonde makes a high, sharp noise and jerks under Trent, moaning and gasping in low tones, and Trent matches him with grunts and groans. "God, baby," he rasps, over and over, "So f-fucking hot." Miles, in turn, gasps his name over and over, hips rocking back and forth in awkward time to Trent's hand.

Miles finishes with a hiss, eyes clenching shut as his body shudders beneath Trent, who still has a little while to go –

Then, the jock sucks in a lungful of air as Miles wraps his hand around his own, pulling Trent downward more so that he can bite at his neck and ear. "Trent," he moans quietly, "God, I want you so bad-"

Trent cries out before snapping his jaw shut to hold off other loud noises, and he can feel and partially hear Miles laughing against his neck. He's pretty sure he's never really heard that kind of noise from the other, and there's a burning desire to hear it again.

"Trent," Miles whispers, "Trent, please, please..." It's all incoherent mumbling at his point, and Trent pulls his head back, gasping for air and locking eyes with Miles' as he finishes himself.

The jock barely manages to roll over before he collapses, hand sliding a bit against Miles' stomach. He looks at the blonde with a skater's build for a long time, before finally saying quietly, "...We can do this again."

All the blonde can do is stare dumbly at him, nodding slowly. "O-Okay. If... If that's, um... If you're okay with it."

Trent rolls onto his side and looks at Miles for a moment, trying to decide what to say – he has so many thoughts and –

"You're all I've been thinking about."

They stare at each other for a long time, until Trent's stomach grumbles in hunger. Miles laughs again, face breaking out into a wide and unawkward smile. "You, uh... wanna go see if there's something to eat?"

Trent nods after a moment, and he sits up to find his pants again – this time to put them on. Miles follows his example, and they get dressed in silence; it doesn't feel nearly as uncomfortable as normal, and Trent's not sure if that's a good or bad thing. Miles leads Trent out of his room once they're both dressed and relatively cleaned up, and the jock follows him down to the kitchen. Miles tells him that his parents have already left for work, and Trent is thankful for that.

They have a breakfast made of cereal, toast, and awkward conversation, but it's friendly and not too uncomfortable and by the end of breakfast, as Miles leads him back up to his room, he decides that this whole thing might not be as ridiculous as he thought.

And I can't fight this feeling anymore; I've forgotten what I started fighting for - it's time to bring this ship into the shore and throw away the oars forever!