Archive of Our Own

senior year

“You know I’m in love with you, right?”

Kodiak is halfway through a bite of biryani when Ambrose drops that bomb, and he just barely manages an uncomfortable swallow before he starts coughing.

“Oh, lord, awful timing. I’m sorry, here—” Ambrose pushes his water across the table, his hands hovering in the air as Kodiak covers his mouth and clears his throat. “Are you—”

“Fine,” Kodiak says hoarsely, picking up the glass and taking a long drink. Ambrose is looking at him nervously, and Kodiak, the words still sinking in, picks up his fork to take another bite of his dinner before realizing that his appetite has disappeared.

(Later, when this is just a funny story they tell at dinner parties, Ambrose jokes that this is the only time he’s ever seen Kodiak not finish a meal.)

(In the moment, it’s not very funny. It’s closer to being the worst day of their lives.)

“I’m sorry,” Ambrose says again. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Kodiak swallows, his throat still burning. “So you’re not in love with me?”

“No! I mean yes, I am, I mean—” Ambrose buries his face in his hands. “I’m ruining this. I’m ruining us forever.”

Ambrose’s voice is shaking in the way that Kodiak knows means he’s about to start crying. He’s at a loss for what to say, for what he could possibly do to make this better. The situation is unfixable—because there is no fixing being in love with your best friend two months before you leave for grad school on opposite sides of the country—but Kodiak desperately wishes he could just make it right.

Three years ago, this confession would’ve changed the course of their lives. Now, it’s just a painful detour they’re taking on their way to their separate destinations. Kodiak thought a life without Ambrose was cruel enough without adding this a fresh, miserable angle to it.

Ambrose sniffs, his face still hidden behind his hands, and Kodiak can’t stand it. He opens his mouth without thinking.

“I’m in love with you too.”

Ambrose’s head flies up so fast that Kodiak hears his neck crack. He must make a face, because Ambrose waves it off with an I’m fine gesture before saying, “You’re… really?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Wow.” Ambrose sits back in his chair. “I guess I kinda knew, a little bit, but still—wow.”

“Wow,” Kodiak echoes. He folds his hands in front of him to keep them from trembling. “You really knew?”

It’s a silly question. Kodiak loves Ambrose so much that sometimes he could feel it radiating out of him. There’s only so much longing his body could handle before it came spilling out.

“I thought I felt it, but I could never be sure, y’know?” Ambrose wipes at his eyes, and Kodiak hates that he’s the cause of his tears. “How embarrassing would it have been if I was wrong?”

“You weren’t,” Kodiak says.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Ambrose exhales. “God, Minerva is going to have a field day with this. She’s been putting up with my pining for nearly four years, and all this time it was reciprocated. She’s gonna strangle us.”

Ambrose laughs, and Kodiak tries to laugh, too, but all he can think about is how badly he’s screwed everything up. The closest thing he’s ever had to a family, and he’s disappointing both of them. He’s been trying not to think about how much he’s going to miss Minerva when he leaves. He never wanted to let her down.

“Four years,” Kodiak says quietly. Ambrose’s smile falls. “Why tell me now?”

“I don’t know, really. I guess it was inevitable. I’ve always thought about it—confessing to you, imagining how it would work out, or how it would fall apart…” Ambrose sighs. “I spent all day today thinking about how excited I was for our Friday night dinner. Then I started thinking about how Friday night dinner won’t exist in two months, and I guess I started spiraling.” Kodiak nods; he’s well-acquainted with Ambrose’s spirals. “So I guess I just… had to say it. Before we ran out of time.”

Three more weeks of classes, one week of finals, and then two weeks of packing up their apartments before the life they’ve shared for the past four years ends. Kodiak had gone for the strategy of repressing every thought of it, Ambrose had taken the opposite approach, and here is where it breaks down for both of them: in the Indian restaurant two blocks from campus, their food half-eaten as they grapple with the amount of time they’ve wasted being afraid. Kodiak almost wants to laugh over how typical it is—he only gets what he wants when it hurts him the most.

“Would you have ever told me?” Ambrose asks.

“No,” Kodiak admits. Ambrose doesn’t seem surprised by that, but he can tell it hurts him all the same. “The idea of losing you over something as frivolous as my feelings…I couldn’t.”

“It’s not frivolous. I would want to hear it, no matter what,” Ambrose insists. “There’s no world where you lose me over that.”

In this world, I’m losing you regardless, Kodiak thinks. What he says is, “What happens now?”

The question hangs in the air between them.

“I don’t know,” Ambrose finally says. “I guess we need to figure that out.”

sophomore year

Two hours into Sri’s club fundraiser/house party, Ambrose sidles up to where Kodiak is wallflowering and asks him if he wants to leave. They’re out the door as soon as they dig their shoes out of the pile in the entryway, escaping into the cool night air without saying goodbye to anyone.

They take the long way back to Ambrose’s apartment, Ambrose rambling about all the gossip he overheard and how Sri was totally making eyes at him and should they get Taco Bell? Kodiak trails behind him, nodding and humming at what he thinks are the appropriate moments, but most of his mind is wrapped up in the way Ambrose looks under the streetlights with his cheeks flushed and his hair curling around his temples. He’s braver when he’s been drinking, able to gaze at Ambrose with all the affection in the world without insecurity taking over and forcing him to avert his eyes.

“Kodiak. Kodiak, hey.”

Kodiak blinks, refocusing. “Hm?”

“Let’s go to the park,” Ambrose says.

“Mm. How about we go to bed?”

“Let’s go stargaze, c’mon.” Ambrose reaches out to grab his arm, and Kodiak sighs. “Drop the act, I know you want to look at the stars. You always want to look at the stars.”

“Fine,” Kodiak says, if only to keep Ambrose’s hand around his wrist. “That won’t always work, you know.”

“If you say so,” Ambrose sing-songs, and starts pulling him towards the park across the street.

Kodiak is careful to step around the daisies scattered across the grass as they walk, glancing between his feet, the sky, and where Ambrose is balancing on the wooden boundary around the playground. He’s remarkably steady for how many shots Kodiak watched him take. That’s his Ambrose—graceful, even when the world is tilting under his feet.

“Hey, push me on the swings,” Ambrose calls.

“No, you’ll throw up.”

“No I won’t. Push me.”

“And let you throw up on me?”

“Oh my god, you are so not fun. Fine, I’ll just go down the slide.”

Kodiak hovers by the playground structure as Ambrose clambers up the stairs, ready to catch him if he slips. Ambrose waves down at him before launching himself down much faster than necessary, and Kodiak winces when Ambrose lands on his ass in the wood chips with a yelp. “Satisfied?”

“Much less than I would be if you let me swing, but yes,” Ambrose says cheerfully, brushing off his pants and getting to his feet unsteadily. “Wait, are you even drunk?”

Kodiak pretends he has to think about it, and grins when Ambrose shoves him. “The fresh air is clearing my head. Not my fault you’re a lightweight.”

Ambrose's expression falters, his smile twisting oddly, but it only lasts a moment before he relaxes again. “You’re literally the complete and absolute worst.”

Kodiak shrugs, and easily dodges a second shove.

“The! Worst!” Ambrose calls as he takes off in a jog, jumping out of the rectangle of bark chips and back into the grass. He whoops as he stumbles through a few spins, before sitting down heavily in the center of the field. Kodiak follows, albeit much more slowly, and lowers himself down next to him. They sit in silence for a moment, Ambrose catching his breath and Kodiak listening to his chest heave.

“I don’t actually think you’re the worst,” Ambrose finally says.

“I know.”

Ambrose sighs. “You’re kinda the best, actually. Like, so much that it drives me nuts.”

“You really are drunk,” Kodiak says.

“Fuck off, let me compliment you,” Ambrose retorts, and Kodiak laughs.

There’s no moon in the sky tonight, the stars are shining brighter in the darkness than they usually do. Kodiak traces the constellations, going through each of the names of the stars in his head. Alioth, Merak, Dubhe.

“You looking at mama bear?” Ambrose murmurs.

“Yes. She’s doing well.”

Ambrose rests his cheek on his knees, looking at Kodiak with interest. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever asked why you chose astrophysics. Clearly you have a passion for it, but…”

“Space is cool,” Kodiak replies. Ambrose gives him his you’re avoiding the question look, and Kodiak sighs.

“I used to think I was an alien,” he admits. Ambrose’s eyebrows raise high on his forehead, and Kodiak can see him queuing up questions already so he keeps talking. “I was being shuffled between foster homes and it was obvious nobody wanted me, so I decided it was because my real home was off in outer space. I studied the stars at night, trying to figure out where I was actually supposed to be. A ridiculous delusion.” He takes a deep breath. “Eventually I grew up enough to know that I was just another unlucky orphan nobody cared about, but the space obsession stuck. If I’m not an alien, I may as well learn about their home, hm?”

Ambrose is quiet for a moment. He scoots closer to him on the grass, and Kodiak suppresses a shiver when their shoulders press together.

“Thank you for sharing that,” he says, his voice soft.

“You asked,” Kodiak replies, and he’s surprised by how his voice shakes. It’s more than that, and they both know it. No one else gets to see Kodiak like this. Just Ambrose.

“For what it’s worth, that isn’t ridiculous at all to me. You were a kid, trying to make sense of a terrible thing happening to you.” Ambrose exhales. “When I was little, I used to feel like I was a robot pretending to be human. Everything different about me was just a malfunction in my code, and one day it could be fixed.”

“If only it was that easy,” Kodiak sighs.

“Yeah. If only.” Ambrose looks back up at the twinkling sky. “Hey, when was the last time you wished on a star?”

“Not since childhood.”

“We should do it now, to commemorate this moment of vulnerability." Kodiak snorts. “I’m being serious! Look, I’ll wish on that one. Right there.” Ambrose points directly above them, at a small bright spot right below Virgo.

“That’s not a star, that’s Saturn.”

“Well, she’s a star to me.” Kodiak harrumphs, but doesn’t fight him on it. “I wish… I wish that we could sit in the grass stargazing together forever.”

“That’s nice,” Kodiak says.

“You’re nice.”

“...Thank you?”

Ambrose grins at him, and Kodiak’s stomach flips.

“Your turn. Give Saturn your wish.”

Kodiak stares up at the distant planet, contemplating. He can’t think of a single thing to wish for, he realizes. For the first time in his life, he is perfectly content exactly how he is.

Except, as Ambrose shifts next to him and the warmth of his skin bleeds through his shirt sleeve, for one thing.

“Think of one yet?” Ambrose asks.

“Yes.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Secret.”

“Not fair! I told you mine!”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Oh, whatever.” Ambrose flops onto his back on the grass, and Kodiak misses the heat of him immediately. “Tell me tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Kodiak agrees, knowing Ambrose will forget all about it by morning. He looks back up at Saturn, spinning far, far away, and sends his wish to her.

It’s quiet in Ambrose’s apartment.

Kodiak is pulling off his boots and walking into the living room before the deadbolt even clicks in the lock. It had been silent on their walk back, and he feels the sudden, urgent need for something to do with his hands. He makes a beeline towards Ambrose’s record collection, and starts sifting through the albums while he listens to Ambrose slowly put away his bag and shoes and hang his keys on the hook next to the door. It’s quiet as he pulls out his selection, it’s quiet as he turns on the turntable and speakers, it’s quiet when he pulls the record out of its sleeve. He places the record on the mat, but stops short of lifting the needle.

For a moment, it’s just the two of them breathing, loud in the silence of the room.

Footsteps cross the hardwood floor, and Kodiak tenses as Ambrose comes up behind him and reaches around to place the needle in the grooves. The speakers crackle, the music starts, and Kodiak thinks that he’ll never be able to listen to this song again, because it’ll forever be tied to this night. Ambrose is close enough that all he’d have to do is shift half a step backwards and they’d be touching. He desperately wants to lean back into him, to seek the comfort he doesn’t deserve. He stands as still as he can.

Then, a hand slides around Kodiak’s waist—hesitant at first, but when Kodiak doesn’t move away, Ambrose wraps his other arm around him, holding him from behind. Kodiak closes his eyes as Ambrose presses his face into his back, his hand coming up to grip Ambrose’s on his stomach. He could cry from the feeling of it; they’ve held back from so many touches, so much intimacy forgone out of fear of crossing boundaries. Their fingers entwine, and it all feels so right that Kodiak can pretend it’s not all going to come crashing down around them in a matter of weeks.

He can’t stand not seeing Ambrose’s face. He turns in his arms until their chests are flush and then Ambrose is looking up at him, and Kodiak can swear he sees the stars in his eyes. Kodiak cups his jaw in his hands, and Ambrose sighs at his touch. Every point of contact sends Kodiak’s nerves into a frenzy, overwhelmed after years of starving himself of this feeling.

“Is this okay?” Kodiak whispers.

“Please,” Ambrose replies desperately.

Kissing him is crawling onto land after hours of treading water. A full-body release of tension, Kodiak’s muscles going so loose he can barely stand. Ambrose holds onto him like he’s afraid he’s going to slip out of his arms and disappear, his fingers digging into Kodiak’s hips hard enough to bruise.

“Stay with me tonight?” Ambrose asks when Kodiak pulls back, gasping as he kisses his cheeks and his jawline.

“I will. As long as you’ll have me,” Kodiak says into his throat, and Ambrose pulls his face back up to kiss him again.

Later, when they’re panting into each other’s mouths on the couch, Ambrose tucks a strand of sweaty hair behind Kodiak’s ear and asks, “It’s too late for us, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Kodiak presses his lips to Ambrose’s palm, and wipes away the tears that fall from his eyes. “Two months. Let’s make good use of it.”

Ambrose nods and presses their foreheads together.

They don’t say much after that.

junior year

Ambrose doesn’t show up to their study session.

Kodiak isn’t worried, at least not at first. It isn’t unusual for Ambrose to be late. After nearly half an hour, though, he starts to get anxious, staring at his phone and willing a text from Ambrose to appear. He calls him, but it goes to voicemail. He stares at his phone for another five minutes, and then he dials Minerva’s number.

She answers after two rings. “Hey, Ko.”

“Hi. Um.” Kodiak stands by the table in the study room, shuffling in place. “Have you heard from Ambrose tonight?”

“He texted me yesterday afternoon, but I haven’t heard from him since. Is something wrong?”

“We study together every Wednesday night, but he’s not here,” Kodiak says. “His phone is going to voicemail. I guess I’m just…I’m worried.”

Minerva hums. “He might’ve forgotten to plug it in, he’s forgetful like that sometimes. But you know that.”

“Yeah.” Kodiak bites his lip. “He’s never missed studying with me.”

Minerva is quiet for a moment. “Has he seemed distant lately?”

“A little.” Kodiak thinks, remembering the little inconsistencies in Ambrose’s behavior the past two weeks. He’s been struggling to focus in class, and Kodiak had to remind him about their paper due at the end of the week, when he’s usually ready to turn them in days before they’re due. He’s been less chatty, too, spending more time scrolling through his phone when they were hanging out instead of pulling Kodiak into conversation like he usually did. That had been hurting Kodiak’s feelings a little; he hated feeling like Ambrose didn’t want to talk to him. In class this morning, as soon as he’d said hello and they’d settled into their seats, the smile on his face had dropped, his eyes going glassy and faraway. It had scared him, but he’d assumed Ambrose would tell him if something was wrong. Wouldn’t he? “He’s been… scattered. Like he’s there, but not. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does,” Minerva sighs. “Okay. Okay, let me try calling him. If his phone isn’t dead or busted, he has to pick up. We have a policy.”

“Okay,” Kodiak says, his voice small. “Is he… is he okay?”

“I don’t know. But I’m gonna find out, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll text you right after. Hold on.” She hangs up.

Kodiak paces around the table as he waits, chewing on his thumbnail. It’s a habit he picked up as a child that returns when he’s stressed, and he’s embarrassed to see the nail torn down to the skin by the time he’s done ten laps. His phone is dark and silent on the tabletop. The waiting feels like agony.

Finally, it rings, and Ambrose’s name flashes on the screen. Kodiak’s heart stutters, and he scrambles to pick it up and accept the call. “Hello? Ambrose?”

“Kodiak!” Ambrose is nearly shouting into the phone. “Hiiiiii! You called me!”

The words are slurred, and Kodiak can hear loud music in the background. “Ambrose, where are you?”

“Huh. Tai’s apartment, I think?” Ambrose says, and he laughs. Kodiak feels cold.

“Did you talk to Minerva? She was going to call you.”

“I don’t wanna talk to Minerva,” Ambrose says breezily. “I wanna talk to you!”

He’s drunk. He’s wasted, actually, and Kodiak is starting to feel a little sick. “You didn’t—our study night. You’re not here.”

“Oh, shit. I knew I was forgetting something.” There’s a loud banging noise, and the noise on the other line quiets. “Lord, it’s cold. I should’ve taken your sweatshirt in class today.”

“You said you were fine,” Kodiak says hoarsely. Ambrose had been shivering, and Kodiak had pulled off his hoodie without a thought and handed it to him. Ambrose had been slow to react, looking at it without seeing it, but had eventually pushed it back.

“Mm. I lied,” Ambrose hums over the line. “I shouldn’t’ve. I like wearing your clothes.”

Kodiak really, really can’t handle this. “Ambrose, I’m worried about you.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.”

“Are you okay?”

“I told you I’m fine. I’m alllllways fine.”

“You’re avoiding me.” Kodiak says, realizing the truth in it as he does. He’d been showing up to class last minute, giving them no time to talk before the lecture started, and pulling out his phone in their downtime between classes, and now he’s skipping their weekly plans. Kodiak is angry, suddenly, and he swallows down the shame it brings up in him.

“I’m not,” Ambrose protests.

“You’re at a party right now instead of hanging out with me. You don’t call that avoidance?” Ambrose is quiet. “Right. Listen, just—just call Minerva. Okay?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because—because she’ll be mad at me,” Ambrose mumbles. “You’re mad at me, too.”

Kodiak wants to throw up. “No. No, I’m not mad at you.”

“You are.” Kodiak exhales shakily. “Fuck.”

“Ambrose—”

“I’ll call Minerva.” Ambrose’s voice is vacant. “I’m sorry I missed study night.”

He hangs up before Kodiak can reply. He stares at the wall, the phone still held to his ear, before collapsing back into his chair and burying his face in his hands.

Over the summer, Ambrose had told him nonchalantly about how he’d nearly failed his first semester of college. Kodiak had been surprised; Ambrose was a good student, remarkably good, and all their professors loved him. The idea that he'd almost had to drop out felt so far from the Ambrose he knew.

He'd told him this story while they were stargazing at the beach on their summer trip to the coast, Minerva and her girlfriend having already retired to their rental house. Ambrose, freshly eighteen, living on his own for the first time and overwhelmed by the freedom of it. He’d grown up under his mother’s thumb, but she’d never been present, per se—she was rarely home, often traveling for work, but the expectations on his shoulders were heavy regardless. He hadn’t divulged much, but Kodiak had his fair share of living in cold, loveless homes. He’d understood.

Ambrose was studying business at his mother’s insistence, and he hated it. After he left, she became more overbearing, calling him constantly to check in and make sure he was “making the right choices.” She often made an example of Minerva, who had gone radio-silent after she’d moved out, changed her phone number and left Ambrose alone in their big, empty house. She had been a disappointment, and Cassandra Cusk didn’t want a repeat.

He was quick to make friends and soon enough he was being invited to parties, and he found the weight of everything to be more bearable when he wasn’t quite lucid. Drinking every weekend became drinking every night, became drinking as soon as he was done with class and not stopping until he passed out. He started abandoning his schoolwork altogether, ignoring the concerned emails from professors and warning letters from the dean’s office. It didn’t matter to him, not anymore.

It was at a party, when his grades had fallen beyond recovery and he hadn’t been to class in weeks, when he came to the breaking point. He’d walked out to the porch of the house he was at, and realized he had no idea where he was, no idea who he had come there with, and he felt so sick and so scared that the only thing he could think of to do was call his big sister, who he hadn’t spoken to in years, even though he knew she wouldn't pick up.

What he didn’t know is that Minerva had kept her old phone with her old number, charged and tucked in her desk in case of an emergency. When Ambrose called her that night—two years after she left, a year and a half after he last tried reaching out—she picked up.

She drove two hours in the pouring rain to go get him. She’d found him in the grass outside the house, shivering and heaving into the bushes, and the moment he saw her he burst into tears. She’d taken him to the hospital after he couldn’t stop throwing up, and stayed with him all night while he rode out the worst of it. It was then that he admitted he had a problem, that he needed help, and would she please never leave him again? She had hugged him and told him yes, as long as he stopped being stupid. He’d agreed.

He had gotten better since then—he could drink without binging, and he had a good therapist. He’d changed his major to astronomy with a minor in music performance, like he’d always wanted, and his mother had let up after Minerva had called her and shouted at her for nearly half an hour about how Ambrose had nearly died. Minerva moving closer had helped a lot, too; she graduated with her bachelor’s degree at the end of their sophomore year and started her master’s program at a university thirty minutes away.

“And,” Ambrose had said to him, smiling, “the next year I met you. So I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Now, Kodiak feels stupid for not seeing the signs. Of course something was wrong. Why didn’t he just ask?

Minerva texts him ten minutes after his call with Ambrose ends. He blinks tears out of his eyes as he reads the messages.

Minerva Cusk

I’ve got him. He forgot that he shares his location with me.

He’ll be okay.

Kodiak Celius

I’ll come over

Minerva Cusk

You don’t need to do that. Go home, get some rest.

Kodiak Celius

I’m coming over

Minerva Cusk

Suit yourself. He’s probably going to knock out as soon as he’s in bed.

Kodiak puts his phone in his pocket and starts packing up his notebooks, rushing out of the library with his backpack only half-zipped.

He gets to Ambrose’s apartment—after jogging across campus and a long, impatient twenty minutes on the train—and lets himself in; he’s had a key since Ambrose moved in at the beginning of the school year. He can hear muffled voices from Ambrose’s bedroom, so he takes his time putting away his things to give Ambrose and Minerva some privacy. Minerva emerges from the hallway as he’s hanging up his coat.

“Hi,” she says, leaning against the wall.

“Hi,” Kodiak replies.

“He’s okay.” She smiles, but it’s weak, and she looks exhausted. “He’s really not going to want you to see him.”

“He can suck it up. He owes me.” Minerva laughs, and Kodiak manages to smile, too. “You can go home if you want. I’ve got him from here.”

Minerva looks at him warily. “You sure? I don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before.”

“I’ve seen him drunk.”

“This isn’t drunk. He’s sick. There's a distinction.” Minerva stares at him. “I need to know that you can handle it.”

Kodiak swallows. He nods. “I can handle it.”

Minerva looks at him for another long moment before her shoulders slump. “Okay. My ringer will be on, so call me if even a single thing is wrong, got it?”

“Got it.”

Minerva smiles at him. “Give me one second, I should say goodbye.”

She disappears back into Ambrose’s bedroom, and Kodiak busies himself in the kitchen prepping tea for himself and Ambrose. He’s pouring boiling water into their favorite mugs—a bell-shaped handmade blue one for Ambrose, and a green one with a painting of a bear for Kodiak—when Minerva comes back out. She walks over and grabs her boots from the rack, her fingers trembling a little as she ties the laces. She sighs as she straightens up, and Kodiak walks back over.

“I warned him that he’s gonna have a visitor. He elected to ignore me,” Minerva says, shaking her head, and then lowers her voice. “Honestly, the fact that he’s being annoying and dramatic is relieving. When it’s… bad, he dissociates from himself entirely. I’ll take stubborn over that any day.”

Kodiak chest aches. “Can I do anything?”

“Just be there. That means more to him than anything else.” Minerva sighs again, then opens her arms. Kodiak’s eyes widen, but he steps forward, wrapping his arms around her hesitantly. “Thank you. For taking care of him.”

Kodiak is stunned for a moment, blinking rapidly against the pressure behind his eyes. “Of course. Always.”

“Always,” Minerva repeats under her breath, laughing on an exhale. “You two.”

Kodiak furrows his eyebrows as they pull back, Minerva squeezing his shoulder before stepping towards the door.

“You’ll call?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Get some sleep.” Minerva waves at him before slipping out, closing the door with a quiet click.

Kodiak locks the deadbolt behind her, exhaling heavily. He returns to the kitchen to grab their tea, then turns towards the hall leading to Ambrose’s bedroom and allows himself a second to compose himself before walking over.

The room is dim, lit only by the lamp on his desk. Ambrose is almost unable to be seen in the bed, completely buried under his blankets with only the top of his head peeking out. There’s a garbage can next to the headboard, a cup of water on his bedside table, and, Kodiak notices with a pang, the stuffed astronaut Kodiak bought for him is sitting next to it, one of its arms around the glass.

Kodiak hesitates in the doorway, but then Ambrose sniffs loudly, shifting on his pillow. “Oh, God, just come in.” He walks over slowly, setting the mugs on the table beside the astronaut, and Ambrose sniffs again. “You can sit.”

“Um…”

Ambrose’s hand emerges from the blankets and clumsily pats the spot next to him. Kodiak sits.

“How…how are you feeling?” Kodiak tries.

“Like death warmed over,” Ambrose says miserably, his voice muffled. “I definitely threw up all over Stacie's porch.”

“I thought you were at Tai's apartment.”

“I was. I was at both. Probably threw up at both.”

“Fun.”

“Yup. I’m sure everyone at the party was thrilled.”

“Seems early for that. Who goes to a party at 7pm?”

Ambrose laughs faintly, and Kodiak finally sees his face as he wiggles his other arm out and pushes the blankets back down his chest. “Alcoholics. That's who.”

His eyes are red and half-lidded with exhaustion. He looks sick and pale and like he’s been crying, and Kodiak wants to tuck him back in and make him as comfortable as possible, to soothe whatever is wrong. His hand, resting on the bed, flexes agitatedly as he thinks about smoothing Ambrose’s hair off his forehead and scratching his scalp until he falls asleep. More than anything, he wants him to rest.

“I'm sorry we fought,” Ambrose says quietly. “I was being a dick.”

“It wasn't a fight. But you were being a dick.”

“Fuck, I'm sorry.” Ambrose covers his face with his hands. “I hate being like that, it feels so awful but sometimes it all gets so big that I just… I just have to be terrible. I’d be mad at me too.”

Kodiak sighs. “I'm not mad at you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“...I’m a little bit mad at you.”

Ambrose makes a small, pained noise, and Kodiak’s chest tightens. He puts a hand on Ambrose’s shoulder, and Ambrose takes a deep, shuddering breath before uncovering his face, blinking rapidly against gathering tears.

“I’m sorry,” Ambrose says.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. It’s really not. I… I started drinking at two,” Ambrose admits, his voice wobbling. “Everything felt so heavy, and I was so sad, so I just—I needed to stop thinking about it. About anything.”

“What were you sad about?” Kodiak asks gently.

“You wanna know how stupid it was? I did bad on a geology test. That’s it.” Ambrose laughs again, but this time tears start to slip out of his eyes. “I don’t know why but it set me off so badly. It’s such a dumb thing to be upset about, I don’t even need that class to graduate.”

“Failure is hard. Of course you’d be stressed.”

“‘Stressed’ is one way to put it,” Ambrose says, trying to wipe away his tears but ends up smearing them all over his face instead. “I bet you’ve never failed a test in your life.”

“I have. I failed the final in my Intro to Literary Theory class.”

“What? Really?” Kodiak nods. “Why?”

“...I slept through it.”

Ambrose stares at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing. “No you did not!”

“Very embarrassing, I know. You can stop laughing,” Kodiak mutters, but the corner of his mouth is twitching upwards.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know that about you!” Ambrose rolls onto his side, grinning up at him.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

Kodiak shifts until he’s leaning against the headboard, his straightened knee just barely bumping up against Ambrose’s curled legs. It’s a familiar set-up: Ambrose laying in bed while Kodiak sits next to him, usually with their notes and laptops spread out across the blankets as they talk without getting any work done. It’s been weeks since they’ve done that. It’s been weeks since Ambrose has reached out first, since Kodiak felt the closeness he got so used to feeling when he was with Ambrose. The heartache he’d been fighting to ignore overwhelms him all at once, and Kodiak blinks rapidly as he tries to keep his breathing under control.

Ambrose, ever attentive, notices the shift. “Kodiak?”

“We used to stay up all night talking,” Kodiak says, the words coming out half-choked. “I miss that.” I miss you.

Ambrose blinks hard, his expression devastated. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s—it’s fine.”

“It’s not. I’m not fine, for one. And neither are you, and I want you to tell me when you feel that way.” Ambrose leans his head against Kodiak’s side, and Kodiak swallows. “I’ve been distant, and an asshole, and I’m sorry. I don’t want this to ever happen again.”

“It’s okay if it does,” Kodiak says quietly. “I just—I want to be there for it next time.”

Ambrose sniffs, and Kodiak slowly wraps his arm around his back. He’s crying again, his shoulders shaking. “I don’t want to burden you with it. You don’t deserve that.”

“I want to help.” Kodiak squeezes his arm, and Ambrose presses himself tighter against him. “Please let me help.”

“Okay,” Ambrose whispers.

He’s trembling, and Kodiak gently shifts until he’s laying down, and repositions them so Ambrose is laying against his shoulder, Kodiak’s arm still around him. With Ambrose’s face buried in his shirt, Kodiak lets himself cry a little bit too, the sadness and relief finally catching up to him. Ambrose reaches up and lays his hand over Kodiak’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles into Kodiak’s collarbone. Kodiak so badly wants to lean over and kiss his hair and his face and wrap himself around Ambrose completely. A few more tears slip out of his eyes just thinking about it, and thinking about how he can’t. He lets it wash over him, soaking in it instead of building a dam against it, and thinks that if Ambrose knew, he’d be proud.

Eventually, Ambrose’s breathing events out, and Kodiak can tell he’s starting to drift. He goes to sit up but he's stopped by Ambrose's hand around his wrist.

“Stay with me tonight?” Ambrose murmurs, his eyes fighting to stay open.

Kodiak hesitates, but all the excuses he can conjure up fall away at the thought of getting to hold Ambrose all night.

“Okay,” Kodiak whispers.

Ambrose pulls him down, laying his face on Kodiak’s chest and wrapping his arm around his waist. He’s barely awake as Kodiak settles onto the pillow and pulls the blankets over them, but he hums appreciatively as Kodiak puts his arm back around his shoulders.

“Night,” Ambrose breathes out, barely audible.

“Goodnight,” Kodiak replies. I love you. I love you. I love you.

The lamp is still on and their tea has gone cold on the bedside table, but Kodiak’s usual nagging anxieties slip away as he closes his eyes and falls asleep.

Kodiak wakes up to the sunrise.

Morning light is just beginning to break through the blinds, filling the room with a soft yellow-orange glow. They’d forgotten to close Ambrose’s curtains last night, so there’s no filter for the sunbeams. He’s up long before their alarm, long before either of them need to think about getting out of bed and facing the world.

Ambrose shuffles, and slowly rolls over, Kodiak lifting his arm to give him space as he slowly flips onto his other side. His hand settles back on Ambrose’s waist and their knees knock together, reestablishing the points of contact they lost when he turned. Ambrose sighs as they settle, any trace of consciousness he’d regained fading as he relaxes into his pillow. Kodiak resists the urge to brush the hair out of his face, not wanting to risk waking him. The blankets have fallen off his shoulder, but Kodiak doesn’t mind. Just the feeling of Ambrose's chest rising and falling against his own warms him from the inside out.

He wonders, for a moment, how he ever lived without this. He tries not to think about how he’ll have to learn how to again soon.

He’s drifting between thinking about breakfast plans and tracing patterns on Ambrose’s shoulder blades when Ambrose begins to stir. Kodiak shifts back to look at him, his heart fluttering a little as he blinks sleepily, his eyes slowly focusing on Kodiak’s face.

“Hi,” Ambrose says, his voice low and hoarse.

“Hi,” Kodiak replies. Ambrose grins, and Kodiak furrows his brow. “What?”

“I’m happy to see you,” Ambrose whispers. “Glad it wasn’t all a dream.”

“Mm. Can’t be sure it’s not.”

“Oh? How should I test it?”

“I can think of a few ways,” Kodiak murmurs, glancing down at Ambrose's lips.

Ambrose laughs as he leans in, his hands curling against Kodiak's chest. They're both smiling too much for the kiss to work, but Kodiak doesn't care. Kissing him is more than he thought he would ever get.

“Real?” Kodiak asks as they pull away.

“Hmm. We should try one more time, just to make sure,” Ambrose says, his eyes sparkling. “Scientific method and all that.”

“Very logical. Reproducible results are important.”

“You're such a nerd,” Ambrose says into Kodiak's mouth, and Kodiak is in no position to argue as he takes Ambrose’s face into his hands to kiss him deeper.

Ambrose’s hands run through Kodiak’s hair when they stop to breathe, and the light touches on his scalp send shivers down Kodiak’s back. He’s looking at him in a way that Kodiak can hardly believe, his eyes shining with adoration. Kodiak could die happy right here, he thinks. Part of him wishes he could, if only to stay in this moment forever.

“Hey,” Kodiak murmurs. “You know I’m in love with you, right?”

Ambrose smiles. “Yeah. I know.”

Outside, the city is starting to wake up, the distant sound of the train rumbling past and the chirps of springtime birds muffled through Ambrose’s window. Later, there’s things to do, conversations to be had.

Right now, however, the two of them have all the time in the world.

five years later

It’s snowing on Kodiak’s first day at his new job. He wakes up as the sun rises, momentarily disoriented by his surroundings before he remembers he’s in a new apartment in a new city. Outside, the world is blanketed in white, plows just beginning to trundle down the street. Kodiak takes a deep breath, and starts his day.

His convenient twenty-minute walk to campus becomes less convenient when he can’t find his boots in the mess of boxes in his living room, and he resigns himself to soggy shoes as he rushes out the door to make it in time. He’s been working himself up over this for weeks—his first real job, contributing to real space missions. It’s the type of job he’s dreamed of having since he was old enough to chart constellations, and he’s equal parts excited and terrified.

There was no one to share the news with when he found out. He’d given notice to his previous lab job, found someone to take over the rest of his lease, and moved on with very little fanfare.

It’s been a long time since he’s had someone to share good news with.

He shows up with wet socks, wet hair, and enough anxious energy to fuel a lunar rover, but the lab director doesn’t bat an eye at his dishevelment. She walks him through the facility, introduces him to the other engineers, and sits him down with enough HR paperwork that his four-hour intro day goes by faster than he can process it. The director bids him a good afternoon and tells him she’ll see him tomorrow, sounding completely genuine when she says it was lovely to meet him. Kodiak echoes the sentiment before heading out the door, feeling a little bit dazed as he makes his way down the hall towards the exit.

People start flooding the halls as their lab sessions come to an end, and he’s weaving through the last clusters of students filing out the doors when he turns a corner and collides with someone.

“Are you okay—” Kodiak starts, right as the other person goes, “Oh lord, I’m sorry—”

They make eye contact, and the words die in Kodiak’s throat.

“Kodiak?” Ambrose says. Ambrose, standing in front of him. Ambrose, who he hasn’t seen since their last goodbye in the airport four summers prior. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” Kodiak says dumbly. “I just moved.”

“Oh.” Ambrose stares at him, and Kodiak stares back. His hair is longer than it was in undergrad, curling around his ears rather than shaved on the sides like he’d preferred back then. Kodiak had forgotten how wavy it gets when it grows out.

Kodiak clears his throat. “You, uh. You work here too?”

“I just started last year,” Ambrose says. “In their programming lab. I teach a couple classes a semester.”

“I thought you said you’d never teach,” Kodiak says skeptically.

“It grew on me in grad school,” Ambrose replies. “I thought you were going to do a postdoc.”

“I got offered a better opportunity at the robotics lab here.”

“Oh, shit, you’re the new person they hired. I need to start reading my emails,” Ambrose mutters.

“So your inbox is still a black hole?” Kodiak teases.

“Worse, now that I’ve got both a personal and professional one to balance,” Ambrose sighs. “I need to stop giving it out to students, they’ll do anything but come to my office hours.”

“You say that like you ever went to office hours.”

“I did! Sometimes!”

Kodiak shakes his head, chuckling, and Ambrose grins at him, bright and a little bit sheepish and Kodiak’s chest starts to ache because the familiarity of it all comes rushing back, like they haven’t spent half a decade apart from each other. Kodiak spent those years dreaming about the curve of Ambrose’s smile, and seeing it again sends him tumbling back into the longing part of his heart that never stopped loving Ambrose. He’s not sure that he isn’t still dreaming.

A bell chimes in the distance, and Ambrose’s expression turns panicked. “Oh lord, I’m late to class.”

“Oh. I—Don’t let me keep you,” Kodiak says, trying and failing to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“Meet me after? Coffee?” Ambrose asks hurriedly. “Has your number changed? I’ll text you.”

“No, it’s the same.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll text you. I need to go.” Ambrose doesn’t move. Kodiak can’t take his eyes off him. “Jesus. You wear glasses now?”

Kodiak laughs, startled. “Yes. Too much squinting at screens, is what they told me.”

“Unreal.” Ambrose glances at his watch. “Fuck, I’m so late. I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll be there.”

Ambrose smiles and takes a shaky breath. “Okay. Bye.”

He turns reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder to look at him once last time before he rounds the corner and disappears. Kodiak watches him go, fighting every urge he has to follow after him, to grab him and make sure he’s real. Five years of pushing down every thought of him, of tucking away every photo he took, of forcing himself to stop texting Minerva even when the loneliness felt like it might kill him. Of course Ambrose reenters his life by slamming directly into him; he’s never taken kindly to being forgotten, and Kodiak has never been happier to let him knock him off his feet.

Kodiak steps out of the building into the snow, unable to keep a grin from twitching onto his face. His phone buzzes in his pocket as he steps out into the snow, and he rushes to unlock it when he sees the contact name.

Ambrose Cusk

voyager cafe on 2nd and grace, 3pm?

sorry i had to run

thank you for waiting for me

Kodiak Celius

I’ll be there. Focus on your class

Ambrose Cusk

they’re big kids, they can handle me being a bit distracted

but okay

see you soon :)

In two hours, he'll be meeting Ambrose for coffee. His hands will shake and he won't know what to say and it'll be just like when they met for the first time, awkward and a little scary but worth it. It has always been worth it.

Kodiak looks up into the sky, blinking snowflakes out of his lashes, and takes a deep breath. Some light-years away, Saturn is making its orbit around the Sun, and he can't help but think that it pulled him along with it, fulfilling the wish he made to it all those years ago. It's an absurd thought.

It makes him smile anyways.