"I don't think any goodbye party has ever been so tense," Cory commented. It was the first Friday of February, and they'd just had Jack, Rachel, Eric, and a number of their friends over for a farewell celebration. Jack and Rachel's departure had been delayed when Rachel had trouble getting her passport, giving Jack even more time to behave awkwardly around Shawn. It had taken him over a month after Shawn found out he was leaving to actually speak with Shawn about it. By that time, Shawn wasn't particularly upset about it anymore, but Jack's groveling approach hadn't contributed to that. For Shawn, "time heals all wounds" never really applied. Instead, time worked like an ointment. You could never fully recover through time alone, but it helped. And the time between the night of X-Files and Thai food with Cory and the day Jack came over unannounced with a six pack and a sheepish smile on his face had certainly helped.

Part of that was due to British literature. In fact, "Milton heals all wounds" would be a more accurate slogan for Shawn. In addition to medieval British literature, he had been taking an entire course in Milton, and he loved it in a way he was fairly certain no one would ever understand—at least, not completely. Cory began to have some comprehension through Shawn's dramatic readings of Paradise Lost, though Shawn suspected Cory might just be amused by his affected English accent.

Shawn was making his way through a collection of Milton's 1645 poems that day. Cory was still on campus, doing a bit of studying in the library before he and Shawn had their now customary Friday night Thai food. Jack didn't have a key, and he didn't knock. He walked in on his own. Shawn pegged this as an attempt to get the upper hand early.

"So I guess I have an apology to make, huh?" Jack smiled. Shawn, having so much of it himself, was impervious to the Hunter charm and shrugged.

"Look, Shawn, I was going to tell you. I just hadn't figured out how."

"Oh, I think, 'Hey, Shawn, I'm going to Africa for a few months' would've been a nice start," said Shawn, successfully using the side of the coffee table as a bottle opener.

"Yeah, but I couldn't do it just like that, you know?"

"No, Jack. I don't." Shawn shook his head. "You know it won't change much, right? I mean, I never see you anyway. We're not each other's best friends. We never have been. And that's OK. I'm fine with that."

"Because you have Cory."

Shawn felt his jaw clench and his shoulders tense up. "Because I have me. And yeah, Cory's here, too. But I learned a long time ago that people can leave whenever they want. And they do."

"I'm not leaving you. I'm just ... going away for a while."

"And there's a difference? Jack, you know if you like it there, you're not coming back. Especially not now that you're with Rachel. And that's good. I think that's good for you. Really, I do. I just wish you'd been able to tell me you were going on your own."

"I'm not good at talking to you. I never have been."

"Well, there's something we have in common." Shawn smiled crookedly, and Jack, with some hesitance, smiled back.

"All I'm asking is that next time you make a life altering decision, just let me know, OK?" Shawn patted Jack on the shoulder, who nodded.

"You'll do the same for me?"

"The decisions I make are never quite as exciting as yours."

Cory came in then, and Shawn now remembered that time as the last good conversation he'd had with Jack. The goodbye party certainly hadn't involved any of those. It was instead filled with forced conversations and Eric shooting longing looks in Rachel's direction.

"Oh, but parties all only ever good if there's some tension brewing," said Shawn.

"Sexual tension, maybe. But not crippling social anxiety-tinged tension."

"At least we tried."

"Did you say goodbye to Jack?" Cory asked.

"Not really. He hugged me on his way out and said he'd send his address, then he walked away before I had the chance to say a word." Shawn smiled wryly. "Defines our relationship pretty well."

"Hey, if you ever need a more loyal brother, you can share Eric," Cory offered. "He's completely harmless, usually very friendly, and stupid enough that sometimes, all you can do is look at him and go, 'Aw.'"

"I'll keep that in mind," said Shawn. "So, it's Friday, but I'm pretty sure Bangkok Delicious isn't open after midnight."

"Shawnie, I'm hurt. You don't think I planned ahead?" With a flourish, Cory opened the fridge and pulled out two paper bags, presumably full of curries and pad Thai.

"Aw, thanks, roomie! And look, we've got all this leftover liquor. Whatever should we do with it?"

"You've been reading too much highbrow literature," said Cory, handing Shawn one of the bags. "Please, do me a favor and never start a sentence that should begin with 'what' with 'whatever' ever again."

"I'll do my best." Shawn grinned. "Thanks, Cor."

"Of course," said Cory. "Now, the question is, X-Files movie or X-Files episodes?"

"Movie," said Shawn. "First, though, tell me why you're being so nice right now, because if you're looking for something in return, I'm not sure I'll be able to give it to you."

"One, I don't need anything in return, two, I don't ever need a reason to be nice to you, and three, if I do happen to be acting particularly nicely, it might be because my best friend is losing yet another person who isn't worth his time and I want to remind him that I'm never going to leave."

Silence. Shawn stepped toward Cory, who put down his bag as Shawn hugged him. It lasted at least a solid half minute before either of them said anything.

"Cory?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For reminding me." Shawn pulled away slightly to kiss Cory on the forehead in what he hoped was a perfectly innocent way. "Seriously, man, I couldn't ask for a better friend."

"Oh, I know," said Cory. "And neither could I." He kissed Shawn, too, in the same place Shawn had kissed him, and Shawn hoped the heat he felt rise to his cheeks wasn't visible. "You sure about the movie? Because there's this episode in season five that's like film noir style, and Mulder and Scully—"

"For all I care, we can watch the original Star Trek," said Shawn, who still hadn't let go of Cory, nor had Cory backed away. "I have pad Thai, I have vodka, and I have you. What else do I need?"

"Milton, probably," Cory said, now going to the microwave with bag in hand. "Sometimes I get jealous of that guy. You spend so much time with him."

"Less this semester than last one. And you know he's dead, right? Even if he liked sci-fi and lamb curry, I still couldn't replace you with him."

"You'd never even try."

"No. If he was alive, on the other hand..."

"Well, if Gene Roddenberry was still alive, I'd drop you in a heartbeat," said Cory.

"Who's Gene Roddenberry?"

"Oh, come on, Shawnie, you've read his name at least 15 times before, and never completely willingly. Gene Roddenberry! The creator of Star Trek!"

"You're saying I could be cleanly replaced by the creator of Star Trek? You know, if you were trying to cheer me up, Cor..."

"Microwave's all yours."

"Thanks."

Soon enough, the two of them were settled in, Benji, Cory's stuffed rabbit, sandwiched between them.

"This one's really good, I promise," said Cory.

"Please, Cor. Is there a bad episode of The X-Files?"

"Well, let's see. 'Chinga,' 'Never Again,' 'Milagro'—"

"I liked 'Milagro.'"

"That's because it was about a weedy guy who wrote pretty stories and maybe slept with Scully."

"What's that supposed to mean? Are you saying I'm weedy?"

"No. I'm just saying you sympathize with the weedy guy."

"I can't believe this. You think I'm weedy."

"Shawn, you couldn't be further from weedy. You're the best looking person I've ever met."

Neither Shawn nor Cory said anything as the episode began. When the opening credits rolled, Shawn said quietly, "Cory?"

"Yeah?"

"There is no one else in this world as adorable as you are."

Cory smiled. "Oh, stop it."

It went without saying that they'd be falling asleep together again. But this night there were no confessions, no words exchanged that one or the other was bound to forget later. Instead, there was pure, perfect, companionable silence as Shawn and Cory allowed their hands to brush together and tangled two sets of legs together as though they were one. For once, alone in the dark, Shawn didn't want to come on to Cory with lips or hands or more. He just wanted to be there, innocently touching this boy, this best friend of his, so true to his word, so different from the rest of the world in so many wonderful ways. He felt mawkish but he didn't care. If this was what waiting was going to be, then Shawn could wait—not forever, but for now.