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“So, not even a, ‘Sorry I forgot our anniversary, Robolad?’” A.J. asked as they reached his locker. “Or was the gun show supposed to be my present?”

Bren grinned as he flexed again, and A.J. really did roll his eyes this time.

“Seriously. Dustin’s a terrible influ—”

A.J.’s barb was cut off as a bouquet of flowers wrapped in frosted cellophane fell out of his locker. It thudded to the floor, louder than a bunch of plants had any right to. Somewhere behind him, somebody said, “Aww,” as his heart pumped his entire blood supply into his face. A.J. pulled out the new mix CD that had been nestled among the pink daisies and green chrysanthemums.

Robolad was written above Arlo and Bren’s one-year Megamix. This time, the doodle wore a black conical hat and held an Xbox controller next to a speech bubble that said: Beep boop, pink goes good with green.

A.J. unfolded what he thought was a note, but it turned out to be a track list.

American Idiot.

What Is This Feeling?

You’re Gonna Go Far Kid.

Just For This Moment.

There were ten more tracks, a song that glowed with affection in his heart, another that made something much newer stir.

“Today’s the day I told you we were boyfriends,” Bren said, easing the locker shut to stand between it and A.J. “But our real anniversary’s October ninth. So you’re the one who forgot, lad.”

“Bren,” A.J. managed before he cut himself off.

“Dunno about you, but I don’t mitch off school and shift all morning if it’s casual, like.”

A.J. knew he should have been more self-conscious about the number of eyes that were on him, but fuck if he was going to let the voices in his head win this time. He took Bren by the hand and pulled him towards the door that led to the student parking lot.

“Where we goin’, Robolad?”

“Well, we skipped school last time.”

“You sure?” Bren asked, eyebrow raised despite the smile he was failing to hold back. “People are gonna talk.”

“They’re already talking,” A.J. said, gesturing to the hall.

It wasn’t like there was a crowd gathering or anything, but the school’s token gay-boy getting flowers from his likeable Irish boyfriend was sure to morph into all kinds of gossip.

“Right,” Bren said, his voice lowering to a purr. “Let’s go find someplace nice and quiet, like, and listen to that fancy new CD of yours.”

A.J. waited until they were pushing open the doors and used the squeak of the hinges as cover. “As long as that’s not all we do.”

Bren didn’t look shocked. He let his hand come to rest on the small of A.J.’s back for long enough that it made him dizzy.

“Happy one year, Arlo.”

A.J. leaned his head against his shoulder, and he didn’t care who was still milling around the parking lot.

“Think we’ll make it to two?” A.J. asked.

“I do.”

“How about twenty?”

Bren froze, then shook his head and let his foot carry him forward again.

“Jeez, Arlo. Don’t you think you’ll be sick of me by then?”