My hands were sweaty as I pulled my wallet out of the pockets of my jeans, so much so that it took a couple tries to pull my credit card out. I tiredly handed it to the guy behind the desk in the hotel lobby. As he swiped it, I turned to Tristan, who was standing behind me with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked into my eyes, giving a sympathetic frown. He took a step closer to me, placing his hand on my lower back.

"Here you go, Mr. Hollingsworth," The guy handed me my card, along with a set of room keys. "Don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

"Thank you," Tristan told him pleasantly. I forced a smile of agreement.

We'd ended up at the Park Hyatt. I'd thought of it because we'd stayed their a few nights when I was a kid, and my mom was getting our floors redone. I'd never forgotten how good the room service was, and automatically thought of it when searching for a place to regroup. While I knew my grandmother would have happily put me up if I'd asked her too, what right did I have to be a burden on her when she'd just given me every reason not to be a burden on anybody. Besides, Grandma would have never let Tristan sleep over. It wasn't that she wasn't supportive of us, she was just old fashioned in a different sense. It wouldn't have been any different if Frankie had asked if Winston could spend the night. I respected her rules, but it was my birthday, and given the day's traumatic events, I couldn't bring myself to sleep alone. Luckily, Tristan's parents weren't the type to keep tabs on him. He could stay with me all night at the hotel, and nobody would notice or mind.

Tristan guided me down the long hallway, our sneakers squeaking on the marble floors. On any other occasion, we would be absolutely giddy to be approaching a nice, private hotel room. We would be goofing off, giggling like children. Tonight, both of us were quiet and somber, barely saying a word as we got into the elevator.

As we rode up to the fifth floor, Tristan linked his arm through mine and rested his chin on my shoulder. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, legitimately comforted by the fact that he was close to me.

"I love you," He whispered, then lightly kissed the side of my face, near my jawline. A wave of emotion came over me, and I felt my lower lip tremble. Tristan noticed immediately, and held onto my arm more tightly.

"Hey…" He said gently. "It's going to be okay."

I knew he was right. How could it not be okay? It wasn't like I was going to drop dead if my father wasn't talking to me. It's not like we'd had a great relationship anyway. What was I really giving up?

But as we entered the hotel room, I realized what I was giving up. I flashed back to the day I moved into my dorm at the International school. It had been such a cold and uninviting space… lifeless in a way. Completely void of personality. That's how the hotel room felt. It didn't really belong to anyone. Even if I spent every night of my life here, it would never belong to me. It wasn't the room I'd spent eighteen years of my life making my own.

Tristan strolled over to the king-sized bed, setting his backpack on top of it.

"It's nice," He said half-heartedly, looking around at the simplistic decorations. He looked back at me, quickly picking up on my dissatisfaction. "…And temporary."

I nodded. "Yeah. I'll hit up one of my grandma's bored-housewife-turned-realtor friends in the morning."

I followed him to the bed, wrapping my arms around him from behind, and burying my face in the back of his neck. He brought his hands up and placed them on my arms, holding them in place. After a moment of me leaning into him, he gently grabbed my wrists, removing himself from my grip, and turning around to face me. He frowned thoughtfully, quietly touching his palm to my cheek. Then, he kissed me lightly.

"What can I do?" He asked me. "I mean. What do you want us to do tonight? It's still early, and it's still your birthday."

"Honestly?" I told him after I'd had a second to think about it. "I just want a grilled cheese sandwich."

He grinned adorably at me, grabbing my shoulders. "Then a grilled cheese sandwich you shall get."

I bowed my head, smiling sadly. "Thanks, Tris."

"Don't mention it," He kissed me on the top of the head, then pulled me into a tight bear hug. It was the type of secure hold that made me feel like he wanted to be attached to me forever. Nothing in the world made me feel safer.

We got room service delivered, and turned on Nick at Nite, watching stupid Full House reruns while we ate. Once the food was gone, we brushed the crumbs off the duvet and climbed underneath it. Tristan took me in his arms, and we fell asleep like that. Neither of us was in the mood to do anything more.

I must have been sleeping more deeply than I thought, because I didn't feel him get out of bed. When I woke up around 6:30 the next morning, he was sitting at the room's desk, his knees pulled to his chest, looking at something on his phone. As far as I knew, he had been there for a while. His brow was furrowed intensely, and I was immediately concerned.

"Is everything alright?" I said groggily, propping myself up on my elbows.

Tristan nearly jumped out of his skin. He set his phone down on the desk, and quickly crossed back to the bed.

"Yeah. It's fine." He laid beside me and ran his hand through my hair. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

There was a sort of tension to his voice, though. I knew him better than to let it go. "Tris, come on…"

"Miles, I told you." He sounded frustrated. "I'm not what matters right now."

Suddenly, I knew what was going on. "You found out about the play."

He hesitated. "I'm Reverend Hale. It's a good part, but…"

I grabbed his hand. "…It's not the part you wanted."

"Is it totally ridiculous that I care?"

"No. Not at all," I told him. I could tell by the sheepish look on his face that he felt bad that we were talking about the play. Honestly, though, I wanted to hear about his problems. I wanted him to focus on his life, so I didn't feel like such a burden for having so many issues of my own. "Look, do you want me to…"

"Beat Dillon up?" He rolled his eyes, smirking. "Don't even think about it."

He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss. I smiled into it.

"Besides," He went on. "I've dealt with this kind of disappointment before. The only way to deal with it is to own the opportunities you do get."

I nodded. "You're gonna be fantastic."

We kissed again, for a while longer this time. Tristan squirmed on the bed a bit so that he was lying more comfortably next to me.

"When do rehearsals start?" I asked him once we'd pulled away from one another.

Tristan's face scrunched up regretfully. "Tonight…?" He said, as if he was asking my permission.

"Awesome." I reassured him.

"Are you going to be okay?" He asked me, running his hand along my arm.

"What, spending a couple hours by myself? I think I'll manage."

He still looked concerned. "It's just…"

"Tristan, I'm a big boy," I told him. "I need to go back to the house anyway after school and grab some stuff I forgot. It'll actually be easier if I'm alone, and do it ask quietly as possible."

He nodded. "Okay. And then we'll meet back here for dinner?"

"Absolutely," I grinned. I realized I kind of liked playing house with him.

"Alright. Now get out of bed," He gave me a playful shove. "You were already late for school once this week."

As he slid off the mattress, making his way to the bathroom, I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow. I had forgotten about school.

Fortunately, I made it through the day. As expected, however, I retained zero percent of the knowledge that I was supposed to retain.

I called grandma during my study hall.

"I don't know if you've heard," I told her. "But I'm looking for a place."

"I didn't hear," She sighed. "But I can't say I'm surprised."

"Yeah, well, you know people who can help." I reminded her. "I want to give them my business."

"Respectable." She approved. "I'll set something up for this weekend.

"Thanks, Grandma!" I was truly thrilled to have her an as ally.

"Hey… Miles?" She spoke up again, before I could end the conversation.

"Yeah?"

"Your father will come around. Give him time."

I didn't quite believe her, but I didn't want to think about it, or talk about it anymore. "Thanks, Grandma."

"I'll call you later this week. I love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

After that conversation, I felt like I had an important task checked off my list. One step at a time, I was going to be okay. All that was left was going home after school to get my things.

I didn't want much from the house. Tristan and I had grabbed most of the important stuff before we'd left the night before. It was basically everything that reminded me of him, and nothing that reminded me of my parents.

Most of my things were replaceable, and it really didn't matter if my dad got rid of them. However, my life would be a lot easier if I didn't have to go on an emergency shopping trip to replenish my entire wardrobe. I liked the clothes I had, and I thought I could sneak in before my dad got home from work, and take a few of my favorite things.

I thought wrong. When I got to the house, I went to put my key in the front door, and found that it no longer worked.

In the twenty-four hours since he had thrown me out, my dad had gotten the locks changed. Son of a bitch.

I was hit by an instant wave of anger as I backed away from the door. My heart was pounding. I felt light headed. It was one thing to ask me to move out, but to actually change the locks was an even lower blow. I couldn't believe I hadn't realized that he could take things one step further. Was he trying to cut me out of the family completely?

Thinking quickly, I rushed next door, to the Gilmores' house. Mom had always had them keep a spare key, for emergencies. I climbed up to their stoop and leaned on the doorbell. After several agonizing moments, Mrs. Gilmore answered the door, her face lighting up when she saw me.

"Miles!" She beamed. "How are you!?"

"Not great," I said quickly. "Look, do you know anything about the new locks on my house?"

"Oh, of course," She said nonchalantly. "Your mother was here around noon. She said Hunter lost his keys at lacrosse practice, and they wanted to take precaution…?"

The way she said it, I could tell she was assuming I already knew the reason, and was merely confirming for the sake of conversation.

"Yeah." I said dryly. "That was it."

"I think she was expecting to pick you up at school," Mrs. Gilmore told me, killing me with her obliviousness. "Otherwise, I'm sure she would have gotten you a key before you came home."

"You have a spare key, though," I asked impatiently. "Don't you?"

She shook her head apologetically. "Your mother was sending Marcela to the hardware store to get copies made…"

I looked back over to my house, frustrated. Marcela was our housekeeper, and her car wasn't in the driveway either.

"You're welcome to wait here until one of them gets home. Really, it should be any minute."

"Thanks," I said, stepping through the doorway. I knew waiting for my mom was the best option here. I needed to give her a piece of my mind.

I was barely over the threshold before Mrs. Gilmore began interrogating me.

"So, we haven't seen you at services…"

"What?" I had no idea what she was talking about.

"Since Christmas eve!"

I realized she was talking about church. "Oh. Yeah…"

I walked into the house, the layout of which was similar to ours if not identical. I stood in front of the large window in their foyer, where I had a clear view of our driveway. I needed to be ready to pounce when my mom got home.

"You know, you're welcome to come with us again…" She suggested warmly. I couldn't believe she was still on this. "Any time you want. Just pop on over here around 9 on Sunday."

Without even turning to look at her, I said the only thing I could think of to shut her up: "Can I bring my boyfriend?"

"…Pardon?" Her voice broke again as she said it. She must have thought she heard me wrong.

I kept my eyes on the window, silent.

"Um…" She hesitated. I could tell she didn't want to repeat what I'd said, just in case she'd heard me wrong. "Why don't I make us some tea?"

Before she could leave the room, though, I saw a familiar SUV coming up the street. Marcela.

"Thanks for everything, Ms. G," I said wryly, patting her on the shoulder. Then, I left as quickly as I could.

"Hey!" I shouted at Marcela as I ran across the lawn. She pretended not to hear me as she gathered a couple of grocery bags from the trunk. "Marcela! I know you can hear me."

She shook her head, slamming the trunk, and starting up the driveway.

"Damn it," I muttered to myself, and broke into a sprint so I could beat her to the door. She kept her head bowed, walking briskly, like she had a chance of beating me. Spoiler alert: she didn't.

I threw myself up against the door, sprawled out as if I'd chained myself to it. She merely sighed impatiently.

"Miles…" She said sternly. "These are heavy."

Marcela wasn't young, but she wasn't old. She was maybe in her late-thirties, and she'd only been with us since I'd moved back from boarding school. It wasn't as if she was this cherished staff member who'd raised me. I had no problem disregarding her as an authority figure.

"Give me one of those new keys, and I'll let you go inside." I negotiated.

She blinked at me, bored. "Your father's pissed off."

"I don't care. Give me the key."

"He told me not to let you steal anything else from him."

"Oh my god." I was genuinely disgusted that he'd gotten her involved.

"Miles," She continued, a bit more gently. She sounded vaguely apologetic. "He said you walked of with four hundred dollars worth of stuff last night. Now, I know there must be more to the story, but you're not the one who pays me. Frankly, there's nothing I can do here… Now, please move."

I didn't. "What time is my mom getting home?"

"Later."

"Well, would you just let me wait here and talk to her?" I pleaded. Then, desperately searching my mind for a compromise, I suggested: "Let me wait in the pool house. I promise I won't steal the towels."

She bit her lip, contemplating. She shifted her arms a bit to redistribute the weight of her bags. I could tell she would have done anything at that point to be able to put them down.

"Fine," She said, starting down the stoop so we could go around the outside of the house. "But if anyone asked, you threatened my life."

I waited in the pool house for the better part of an hour. I was too restless to sit, so I just paced back and forth, knowing Marcela would send my mom in when she got home. Sure enough, I was eventually greeted by a soft knocking on the door.

I froze. Before I could answer, my mother had entered. She looked nervous, and tired, like she'd been up all night worrying about me. Either that, or she was putting on that face so I'd feel sorry for her, and decide she was a decent person.

"Miles…" She said breathily, frowning and shaking her head. "Listen, I…"

I interrupted. "I don't want to hear it! The locks!? Really!?"

"Honey," She clasped both hands to her chest. "I am powerless here."

"No!" I pointed at her. "I am sick of that excuse. You're no better than he is."

She stared at her feet, shaking her head. "Your father just wants you to grow up right. He's giving you a nudge that he thinks you need. We discussed this, and…"

"…And you agree with him." Perfect.

"I don't want to pick sides."

"Hate to break it to you," I scoffed. "But you kind of have. You know, I don't care if I can't live here. I'm looking for my own place, and I'm going to be fine. And I don't really care if I see you, but you should know that if you don't see me under this roof, you're not going to see me at all. Are you really okay with that? Are you okay with shutting me out completely?"

She finally looked up at me again, her mouth downturned in a dark pout. Her lip began to quiver, and I could see her eyes clouding up. I felt a powerful rush of victory. I couldn't quite explain it, and I would probably regret the feeling later, but in that moment, it felt so good to see her cry.

"Miles…" She tried hoarsely. I realized there was nothing either of us had left to say.

I threw my arms up, heading toward the door. "I'm over it, Mom." I huffed.

"Miles!" She cried after me, scrambling to find her voice again.

"I'm done!" And with that, I walked out of the pool house, slamming the door behind me.

I returned to the hotel nearly an hour before Tristan did. I sat down at the desk, and pulled out my history homework, knowing that, at some point, I would have to start caring about school again. I was fooling myself, though, to think today would be the day that would happen.

I heard Tristan scuffling around in the hall at about 5:30. I sprung out of my chair, and went to meet him as he came through the door.

"Honey, I'm home," He said adorably, giving me a very domestic kiss. I felt like a 1950s housewife, and I kind of liked it. "How'd everything go today? Did you get your stuff."

I shook my head, embarrassed. "But hey," I added quickly, trying to keep the mood light. "All I really need is you."

Tristan laughed tauntingly. "Oh god, you are such a dork."

We kissed again, slowly.

"You know…" Tristan said, keeping me in his arms. "We haven't really properly celebrated your birthday. I actually still need to give you your present."

I felt bad that I legitimately hadn't thought about the fact that he hadn't gotten me anything. "I get a present?"

"Not if you don't want it…" He teased. "Not if all you really need is me."

I laughed. "I mean, I wouldn't want your incredible thoughtfulness to go to waste."

"Right." He agreed. "So, put on a nice shirt. I made us dinner reservations."

I did what he said, and put on a Calvin Klein button-down that I'd gotten months before. Before I knew it, we were out the door.

Tristan lead me down the street, onto the streetcar without hesitation. He didn't say much the whole way there. Every time I asked him where we were going, he just grinned, told me he loved me, and kissed me. I knew he was trying to distract me, and it was working. After a while, I started insisting he tell me, just so he would kiss me again. Before long, we were straight up making out on public transportation. We were never big on that whole modesty thing.

We ended up at this upscale French restaurant downtown. When we walked through the doors, Tristan marched right up to the maitre d', casually leaning against his podium.

"Reservation for Milligan." He said coolly, a smug look on his face. I couldn't help but laugh. I loved when he tried to impress me.

"Of course," The maitre d' said, shooting me a knowing look. "Your meal is nearly ready."

He began leading us to our table, and I noticed he hadn't grabbed any menus. Tristan must have ordered ahead of time. I liked the fact that he had made such a grand plan, and I was dying to know all the details.

"What's going on, Tris?" I asked.

Tristan shrugged coyly. "He's seating us. What else would be going on?"

We approached a table in the corner of the restaurant. The maitre d' pulled my chair out, for me to sit down. As I lowered myself into my seat, I took a good look a round. The place was dimly lit, but not to the point where you couldn't see each other. There were candles on the tables, on top of green linen table cloths. There was no music playing, just the sounds of hushed conversations and silverware clanking on glass. Everything seemed subdued and peaceful, and although I couldn't put my finger on it, something about the space seemed weirdly familiar.

"Now, I know what you're thinking," Tristan said as he sat down across from me.

"I'm not thinking anything." I insisted. I honestly hadn't figured out what he was doing, but the endless possibilities excited me.

"You're thinking you're going to have to pay for this." Tristan smirked. The money of it all hadn't yet crossed my mind. I guess it really wasn't an object for me anymore. "I've been saving up my dog sitting money for a year. You're not losing a cent."

And suddenly, I felt bad. I opened my mouth to object, to tell him that I didn't want him doing too much for me. Before I could speak, he interjected.

"Miles. You have to let me do this." He said bluntly, leaning back and crossing his arms, a playful but challenging look in his eye.

Suddenly, a waiter showed up, carrying a cube-shaped box on a silver platter. It was wrapped in glossy white paper, a navy blue ribbon tied around it.

"As per your request," The waiter said to Tristan. Then, he turned to me. "We'll start with a gift."

I stared at the gift for a moment in disbelief before taking it off the platter. Tristan must have come here ahead of time and dropped it off. He was so sneaky.

Tristan nervously beamed at me as the waiter quietly walked away.

"I should open this now…?" I asked, just to confirm. Tristan nodded excitedly.

I slowly untied the ribbon, then lifted the top of the box off. It took me a minute to figure out what I was looking at. Tristan took a deep breath, then began to explain.

"Do you remember? When we were in Paris, and we paired up for that project. And Cliquet gave us, like, four hours to kill?" Tristan's voice seemed strained as he talked. I could tell he'd rehearsed what he was going to say when I opened it, so I just nodded, letting him go on, hanging onto his every word, because I didn't want to interrupt. I wanted to know exactly what he had been planning on saying to me, word for word.

"We ended up wandering; going shop to shop. And there was that one we went into…"

He trailed off, knowing I could finish the rest of the story myself.

It was the first real time he and I spent together. We'd ended up at this little boutique, just to sort of poke around. While he searched for "the perfect blazer," I absentmindedly picked up a pair of leather driving gloves and tried them on. Tristan saw, and laughed at me, making some joke about how the only people who owned driving gloves were "old money." He said they were pretentious, but in the best way possible, and cackled as he posted a picture of me wearing them on Instagram.

"Are these…?" I started to ask, picking the gloves from the box. They were cool and smooth in my hands. I would have never actually bought them in Paris. Now, in context, they were the best thing ever.

"The same gloves?" He answered. "No. I found them in a thrift shop on Queen Street. But I liked them, because they reminded me of that day. They reminded me of you… and the day I really fell for you…"

"Yeah. Um. That was when we had our first kiss." A sad smile came over my face. I remembered how clueless I had been. "I was too dumb to kiss back."

"You've more than made up for it." He said sincerely.

I shook my head. "Tris… I don't know if I ever will."

He reached over the table, and grabbed my hand. "I have you now. Sure, I had to watch you make out with a lot of girls along the way, but I have you now."

"I love you," I told him, meaning it more than I ever had. I was so sorry that I'd ever taken him for granted.

With that, another waiter approached and placed two plates of beautifully garnished foie gras in front of us. Suddenly, I knew what Tristan had wanted to show me.

"This place was the closest thing I could find…" He told me. "…to the place you took me to. The one where we got foie gras for the class… I wanted to bring you somewhere that would remind us both of that first day. And I just want you to know that, whether or not you feel like you wasted time, no memory with you is a bad one, not even when I didn't quite have you. I've loved every minute I've spent with you."

I couldn't believe him. I was overwhelmed; speechless. I knew that what Tristan was trying to say was that the way he loved me was unconditional. Even if I didn't want to be with him, he would keep loving me in whatever way I would have let him. The romance was secondary in our relationship. It was this perk to a deeper, and way more powerful bond. Both of us had fallen in love with the best friend we would ever have, and we were so grateful for that.

"I take it you like all of this." Tristan said after a long moment of baffled silence.

I tried to speak, but choked on my words. I wanted to tell him that I loved all of it. I loved him. I knew the second I opened my mouth, though, I'd start to cry. I knew Tristan could tell, because he held my hand a little tighter.

"Stop. You're gonna make me cry," He warned, fanning his face, and forcing a laugh to try to prevent it.

"Good," I laughed, tears coming to my eyes. "Then I won't be the only dude crying in public."

"…Taking me down with you," He shook his head. "Real mature, Miles."

I laughed again. The mood had lifted significantly, and I felt like I could breath again. He and I just looked at each other. Then, suddenly, I thought about home. I thought about my parents. I don't know what took me out of the moment, but I randomly remembered that my life wasn't perfect. Did I really have a reason to feel as good as I did?

I must have had a reason, because I still felt good. Even though I was thinking about them, I didn't care about what had happened anymore. Tristan and I were together, and we finally had the freedom to live our lives however we pleased. Together. I could wake up next to him every morning if I wanted to.

It was this realization that drove me to say what I said next.

"Move in with me."

Tristan froze. His face slowly fell as he processed what he had heard.

"Excuse me?"

And I wondered if I had made a huge mistake…