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Xeno tugged at the collar of his gown for what felt like the hundredth time. It was too hot under the black fabric and the sun wasn’t helping, not to mention the pounding in his chest. He clutched the corner of his program like it might fly away, his fingers wrinkling the paper.
Astrophysics. After four years of stress, sleepless nights, and caffeine that probably shaved years off his life, he’d done it. Degree in hand, or almost anyways. The name was going to be called soon.
His mom waved at him from the crowd and he smiled, grateful she was here. Always here. She had this sign that said “My little boy!” and it was equal parts sweet and incredibly embarrassing.
But Stanley, he wasn’t here. He couldn’t be. Deployment was a world away and military schedules weren’t exactly forgiving. Xeno knew that. Didn’t stop the ache though, or the way his eyes kept darting through the crowd like maybe if he looked hard enough he’d be wrong.
He tried not to let it sink too deep, tried to focus on the moment. The ceremony, the speeches, the people he barely knew grinning around him.
And then his name was called.
“Xeno Houston Wingfield.”
He stepped up. Heart hammering. Shaking just a little. He shook the dean’s hand, smiled for the camera, took the diploma folder that didn’t actually have the diploma in it yet.
He turned, looked at the crowd because that’s what they told him to do.
And there he was.
Stanley. In uniform. His cap tilted back a bit, eyes shining, holding a ridiculous bouquet of plastic-wrapped sunflowers and waving like a maniac. Right next to Xeno’s mom, who looked like she might actually cry.
Xeno just stopped walking. Froze right there on the stage, blinking like his brain short-circuited. Someone behind him bumped into him and mumbled sorry, but he didn’t even notice. All the air left his lungs.
Stanley made a stupid little heart with his hands.
Xeno burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. It bubbled up out of nowhere, this warm, giddy thing that cracked open in his chest. His vision blurred.
He made it off stage somehow. Found his mom, who pulled him into a hug and kissed his cheek, and then Stanley was there, taller than he remembered, real and solid and suddenly Xeno’s whole world.
“You idiot,” Xeno breathed, grabbing his collar and pulling him in. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”
“I pulled some strings,” Stanley said with a crooked grin. “Told them I had to see the smartest guy I know graduate.”
Xeno kissed him, right there in front of everyone. He didn’t care. The world could spin on without them for a second.
Stanley pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against Xeno’s. “Proud of you, Xe.”
Xeno grinned.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Can’t wait for NASA.”
They left campus in Stanley’s rental, windows down, the wind catching Xeno’s tassel until he finally gave up and yanked the cap off. It landed in the backseat next to the sunflowers, half-crushed but still bright.
“So,” Stanley said, glancing over at him. “Still like greasy cheeseburgers or have your big brain taste buds moved on?”
Xeno snorted. “Please. Like I’d ever dislike cheeseburgers!”
Ten minutes later they were sitting in a cracked red vinyl booth under a flickering neon sign that said ‘World’s Best Grease Since ’78’. The place still smelled like deep fryer oil and teenage decisions, and Xeno couldn’t stop smiling.
They both got cheeseburgers, onion rings, and one giant chocolate milkshake with two straws. Xeno called it romantic. Stanley called it budgeting.
“You’re drinking all of it,” Xeno said, watching the straw hollow as Stanley took another long sip.
“I’m hydrating,” Stanley replied, deadpan. “Chocolate counts, and this is better than anything I get in the army.”
Xeno rolled his eyes and leaned in to steal some back, only for the straw to gurgle with betrayal. “You absolute milkshake hog.”
“Should’ve drank faster.”
Xeno tried to flip one of the onion rings at him but missed entirely and it bounced off the ketchup bottle instead, splattering a glob directly onto the front of his graduation gown.
He looked down. Blinked. “Oh my god.”
Stanley choked on his burger.
“Don’t laugh, it’s not funny!”
“It’s so funny,” Stanley wheezed. “You look like you got in a fight with a tomato and lost.”
Xeno grabbed a napkin and dabbed at it, making it ten times worse.
“Okay, okay, stop, now it looks like a crime scene,” Stanley said, swiping the napkin from him and laughing harder. “You’re gonna scare kids, the claws definitely don’t help.”
Xeno gave up and laughed too, slumping back against the booth. “Whatever. I have a diploma now. Stains don’t matter.”
They settled in after that, the laughter simmering into something softer. The kind of quiet that doesn’t feel awkward.
“So,” Stanley said eventually, “NASA internship, huh?”
Xeno’s eyes lit up. “Yeah. Starts in two weeks. I’ll be helping with engine designing for a new rocket.”
Stanley listened with a proud look in his eyes.
“It’s kinda surreal,” Xeno said, picking at his fries. “I’ve always dreamt of this, going to NASA and designing rockets, proving that the weird Texan gay kid could become something more. But now that it’s actually happening…god.” Xeno looked away, not wanting to show too much emotion, a cute habit.
Stanley nudged his foot under the table. “Well, you earned it.”
Xeno looked back up at him, really looked. There was something steadier in Stanley’s eyes now, something a little more worn, but solid. Grounded.
“And what about you?” Xeno asked. “How’s army life?”
Stanley shrugged, eyes dropping to his straw. “Hard. Long. Some days suck. But I’ve been learning stuff. About myself. About other people. About not being an idiot when things get hard. Being the youngest special forces commander in history has a hell of a lot of expectations.”
Xeno reached across the table and took his hand. “You’re not an idiot! The way you handle things… it’s so elegant, no wonder you got trusted with such a rank!”
“I was an idiot. Sometimes still am.” He squeezed Xeno’s fingers as he chuckled. “But you help. Just… being you helps.”
Xeno smiled, small and real. “Yeah. Same.”
They sat there for a while longer, milkshake almost gone, ketchup dried on fabric, hands tangled on the table.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t some movie ending.
But it was theirs. And that felt like enough.