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Given all this, it was impossible for A.J. not to well up as he stood, hands resting on his boyfriend’s lower back, as they swayed on the dancefloor to As Long as You’re Mine. Judging by the look he’d caught on Nat’s face as he and Bren made their way to the dancefloor, she’d been the one to request it.

He’d normally spend time worrying if the inclusion of something so obviously theater for his benefit might be impacting the mood of the normal people around him, but right now the only thing that mattered was the boy he was holding in his arms.

That was the good thing about graduating. If he didn’t want to see any of these people again, he didn’t have to.

“So,” he said, resting his cheek on Bren’s chest in an attempt to dry it. “What do you think of the whole Canadian graduation thing?”

Bren didn’t answer for a while as they swayed in time, head tilted down like he was trying to make sure he didn’t step on his boyfriend’s feet.

“It’s a lot more work than what we get up to.” Bren followed it up with a kiss on the top of A.J.’s head, and lights swam across his vision. “Not bad, though.”

He knew Bren well enough to take that as glowing praise, all things considered. He figured he must have been comparing things to the Debs. The Irish equivalent was an off-campus affair, with no teachers, way less pomp and circumstance and most jarringly of all, an open bar.

“Looking forward to tomorrow more?” A.J. asked as a girl in a lime green dress wailed about how much she was going to miss everyone.

“Please tell me you’re takin’ the piss,” Bren groaned, leaning his head against A.J.’s for support.

He was right there with him. The idea of another day of dress-up and photos and fighting through the tint of rose-coloured glasses sounded like the least appealing thing in the world right now—especially considering all the other things he and Bren could be doing with their time.

“It’s not a formal thing. But it’s still a right of passage.” The song came to an end and the few people with superior taste in music stepped back from their partners as A.J. pulled away long enough for Bren to see him batting his eyes. “Brendan O’Shea, will you get plastered in a farmer’s field with me?”

55

Bren wasn’t sure what to picture when Arlo had told him about Aftergrad. A bigger version of the basement hangouts at Dustin’s place, maybe? Or a bunch of people standing around drinking beers on ice skates.

Whatever he’d pictured, it hadn’t been this.

The bulk of their graduating class, their dates, and a handful of people Bren was sure hadn’t seen high school in at least a decade, were all partying in a farmer’s field like it was the last night on earth.

He would have thought he was back in Glenbridge if it weren’t for the fact that everything was beige instead of green.

“I’m going to Ireland! With my sexy Irish boyfriend!”

It was possible for Bren to understand Arlo only because he knew him so well, and had spent the first sixteen years of his life in a place where old men said fifty words in one breath with a laugh thrown in for flavour.

He wasn’t sure when Arlo had gone from drunk into whatever this was, but he couldn’t help feeling responsible for it. He’d been the one who’d had him taking shots right after they’d set up the tent.

“Say it a little louder, Robolad. I don’t think the people in Vancouver heard you.”

Arlo’s head flopped forwards after the wolf-howl stance he’d used to make his announcement, face red with something other than embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he said, the word dragged out five times longer than it would have been before his last few shots. “I’m just, like, really excited and stuff!” He crashed into Bren so hard he had to put serious effort into keeping them both upright.

“I know, lad, me too. But how about we get some water into you so you actually make it to Ireland again.”

“Aww, come on!” Arlo groaned, his arms wrapping around Bren’s waist like he didn’t know how long they were. “No overthinking. Only happy Arlo!”

Bren didn’t have time for his heart to make sense of the conflicting emotions that came with Arlo calling himself Arlo. He burrowed down into Bren’s shoulder with a drunken giggle.

“Did you have another drink, like?” Bren asked, wishing he’d had it in him to join Arlo in the land of the shitfaced. But then, who would look after his lad?

Arlo let out another giddy giggle.

“I thought you were going to the tent for your wires.”

“I did!” Arlo said, fumbling to pull the first gift Bren had given him out of his hoodie’s pocket. “But Dustin had Jell-O shots. He said I didn’t have to do one with him.” He swayed on the spot as he fixed Bren with a lopsided smile. “So I did two!”

It took a minute to find Dustin in the crowd, last night’s cowboy hat on and no shirt above a pair of jeans that, even in the dark, were clearly caked with dirt. He’d been wrestling guys to the ground all night with what Bren could only assume was affection. He was passing out brightly-coloured cups to a swarm of people who had rushed out from under a massive canopy when he’d bellowed, “Jell-O shots!”