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The way he said it, you’d think he’d offered Arlo his kidney or something.

“Ok, well I love you, so you don’t owe me anything either.”

Arlo’s eyebrows joined the frown and something sparked in his face. “I—no. But I mean. I, like—”

“Relax, Robolad,” Bren said and planted a kiss on his lips. Thank fuck for travel-sized Listerine. “I didn’t mean to make you short circuit.”

Arlo grinned, lopsided and drunk. “Beep boop. Chilling the feck out.”

“That’s the lad.”

Their hands linked and they shuffled down to share the makeshift pillow. They had a view of the stars beyond the branches. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought they looked different from the ones he was used to seeing back home, which would make sense. He was six thousand kilometers away from where he’d grown up—all for the weird as fuck lad next to him.

People change as much as stars do.

“We really did it, huh, Arlo?”

Arlo made a warm noise and moved his head so their temples touched.

“Made it through secondary. All the rules and paperwork and shite. Smooth sailing from here on out.”

“There’s always paperwork,” Arlo said, stretching out “always” as he waved his hand like he was making ripples in the sky.

No amount of alcohol turned his brain all the way off.

“Yeah, but for, like, right now. We’re good,” Bren said and turned on his side to kiss Arlo’s cheek. “How far ahead are you lookin’, anyway?”

Arlo kept his gaze on the twinkling lights above, his cheeks reddening despite being less wasted than he’d been an hour ago.

“Two little urns. His and his ashes,” he laughed. Then he said, “Really far. Lots of—” his brow furrowed and he hiccoughed up the smell of watermelon Jell-O before his face lit up. “Variables!”

Bren knew he probably shouldn’t be taxing Arlo’s poor brain like this, but he wasn’t exactly sober himself, and tipsy minds wanted to know.

“Okay, I know you’re pissed, like. But pick one and tell me about it,” he said, skipping over The Cranberries’ Promises in favour of the softer Linger.

Arlo made a noise, something like a moan or a sigh, like pulling up his plans was causing physical discomfort.

“Ah, you don’t gotta—”

“Well,” Arlo said, cutting over him as if the backpedal hadn’t made it through his drunkenness. “I looked up, uh, how to stay in Ireland.” He frowned again, like the thought was trying to slip away. “After school.”

A pulse rippled through Bren at the idea. He hadn’t thought about something like that. Arlo was right; they weren’t ever going to escape the paperwork of their relationship, were they?

“Alright, that’s enough for tonight, Arlo,” Bren said and kissed his cheek. “Don’t wanna ruin the vibe.”

“I didn’t do that when I threw up?” Arlo asked, in the tone he used when he was joking but not really joking.

“You saw me hurl,” Bren told him. “You were just bein’ polite, like. Returnin’ the favour.”

Arlo laughed and twisted so they were facing each other. He looked like he wanted to say something important but laughed and buried his face in his spot on Bren’s shoulder. “I love you, weirdo.”

“Gonna hurt my feelin’s if you’re not careful there, lad.”

Arlo laughed again and kissed the curve of his collarbone. “Hey, Bren?”

Bren didn’t open his mouth.

“If I promise to slow way down, will you have a couple more drinks?”