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“It’s not too late for me to go to Limerick, you know.”

Arlo didn’t get to reply when the agent waved him forwards with an expression of utter boredom. Bren tried to ignore his uptight walk as he shuffled towards the metal detector, like he was sure they were going to accuse him of trying to smuggle military secrets out of the country if he looked at them wrong.

When Bren made it through to the other side of security, Arlo stood on tiptoe to wave at him over the sea of exactly five people.

Like he’d ever fail to pick that one out of a crowd.

Arlo’s arms wrapped around him again, and when he pulled away, he was wearing the expression that usually preceded apologizing for nothing.

“No sorrys today, Robolad,” Bren said.

“I wasn’t going to apologize.”

Bren tilted his head to show he wasn’t buying it.

“I wasn’t!" He laughed and shook his head, staring at his shoes before looking back up. “I just—this is the first time we’ve been in an airport where we’re both getting on a plane.”

“The same one, right?” Bren asked, double-checking his ticket.

They rolled their eyes at the same time.

“Let your boyfriend be emotional, please.”

“I dunno, Arlo,” Bren said, his tone as serious as he could get. “You know we do things different in Ireland, like. Probably best you start practicin’ bein’ a little less—”

Arlo kissed him hard and, the joke disappearing from his lips, Bren returned the pressure. They lingered beyond what was normal for them in public, but unless security got involved, who cared?

“I’m really excited to be us now,” Arlo said once he’d pulled back. “You know, without having to say goodbye every six months.”

So, the word had stuck in his head too.

“Ah, you’ll be sick of me before second term, like,” Bren said, resisting the urge to pull him in for another kiss.

“Probably,” Arlo said, linking their hands without glancing at who might be looking. “But I’ll stick it out.”

“Stuck with each other now, huh?”

The wires came out of Arlo’s bag. He popped one in before handing the Discman to Bren, rummaging in the pocket his mam had filled with healthy snacks.

In steps so familiar they might have been etched upon his soul, Bren popped in his own wire, locked his eyes on the lad beside him, and then he pressed play all over again.He always would.

58

Bren’s hand was warm in A.J.’s as he sat with his back straight against the second-hand office chair they’d picked up from a charity shop the other day.

The majority of Bren’s glorious four hundred square foot flat could be seen from his spot at the computer desk. Only the claustrophobic bathroom and micro-bedroom had walls that divided them from the kitchen-entryway-living-room.

“Hey, do you want to get those off the couch?” A.J. asked, pointing to the pair of grey boxer briefs that were torn along the elastic.

Used underwear didn’t belong anywhere other than the hamper in the bedroom closet, but he’d already given up trying to convince Bren of that.

“Ah, right. Sorry.”

Bren hurried to the futon with rigid steps. No whinging. Not even the hint of a cheeky grin. Not today.

A.J. checked the time in the corner of the laptop. They still had five minutes.

Bren jumped when A.J. wrapped his arms around his waist. How strong his worry must have been for him to be up in his head this much.