WHERE'S MY WEDDING RING?

Six months later, Mason still burned toast.

He had, however, learned to make a decent omelet, fold fitted sheets with only moderate profanity, and distinguish between the expensive olive oil Adrian used for finishing dishes and the cheap one he used for everything else.

He had also learned that dating Adrian was both entirely different from living with him and exactly what he had always wanted.

They went to movies, took weekend trips, fought about whose turn it was to clean the bathroom, and made up without hiding behind jokes. Mason had introduced Adrian as his boyfriend to Claire, who had hugged them both and then demanded repayment for two years of emotional investment.

Adrian still had his own apartment across town.

At first Mason hated saying good night and watching him leave. Gradually, he understood why the space mattered. They were no longer held together by convenience or habits neither had chosen. Every dinner, every sleepover, every quiet Sunday was an invitation accepted freely.

One Saturday in December, Adrian arrived to find Mason cooking in the kitchen.

"That smells good," Adrian said suspiciously.

"You sound shocked."

"Experience has taught me caution."

Mason turned from the stove and kissed him hello. He still felt a small spark of delight when Adrian smiled into the kiss, as though both of them were surprised they were allowed to have this.

"Dinner's in ten," Mason said. "Go sit down."

"You're bossy now."

"I'm evolving."

They ate pasta at the little table beside the window. Mason had bought candles and remembered to light them. Adrian noticed but didn't tease him, which was how Mason knew he was touched.

After dinner, they settled onto the couch with a bowl of apple slices between them.

Mason opened his laptop.

"I have something to show you."

Adrian tensed. "Please tell me it isn't another video of me snoring."

"You don't snore. You make a distinguished little humming noise."

"Mason."

"Watch."

The screen filled with their apartment as it had been two years earlier. Adrian in reindeer antlers. Adrian laughing over a ruined pancake. Adrian reading on the couch while Mason's voice narrated nonsense from behind the camera.

Mason had edited the clips into a short film. He had left in the imperfections: the crooked angles, the bad lighting, the moments neither of them had realized were being recorded. There were also new scenes—Adrian laughing on their first real date, the two of them dancing in Mason's kitchen, their hands linked on a cold beach at sunrise.

The final image was a still frame from the wedding, taken by the photographer: Mason looking at Adrian before the kiss, his expression open and startled, as though seeing him for the first time.

White text appeared beneath it.

NOT THE END OF THE ACT.

THE BEGINNING OF US.

The screen faded to black.

Adrian said nothing.

Mason started to panic. "Too cheesy? I thought the music was maybe too much. I can redo the last shot. Or cut the title card. Actually, I could—"

Adrian kissed him.

It was the kind of kiss that made every useful word evacuate Mason's head. When Adrian finally pulled back, his eyes were bright.

"Don't change a thing," he said.

Mason exhaled.

Adrian leaned against his shoulder. They watched the black screen for a moment, sitting exactly where they'd sat on the night Mason learned his roommate was gay. Only now their fingers were intertwined, and Mason no longer needed an excuse to keep holding on.

"Remember when you called me your wife?" Adrian asked.

"I remember you threatening to organize my socks by color."

"You said we were practically married."

"You said I was a raccoon."

"A handsome raccoon."

Mason smiled. "High praise."

Adrian lifted his head, mischief returning to his face.

"Then where's my wedding ring?"

Mason's heart stumbled.

He had been waiting for that question. He'd rehearsed a speech in the shower. He'd even practiced opening a little velvet box without dropping it, with mixed results.

He reached into the pocket of his sweatpants.

Adrian stopped smiling.

"Mason?"

Mason drew out the box and opened it. Inside was a simple silver band, brushed rather than polished, with a tiny engraving on the inner edge.

CHOOSE ME AGAIN TOMORROW.

"It's not a proposal," Mason said quickly. "Not yet. I know we're taking our time, and I want to keep doing that. It's a promise ring. Or a highly overpriced piece of metal with excellent symbolism. You can call it whatever you want."

Adrian stared at the ring, then at him.

Mason's voice softened. "I used to think love would be one big moment. Some dramatic thing that knocked me over. But it was you telling me to eat an apple. It was your coffee in the morning. It was realizing the best part of every day was coming home to you."

He took Adrian's hand.

"I'm not asking you to move back in. I'm asking if I can keep choosing you. On purpose. Every day."

Adrian laughed shakily. A tear slipped down his cheek.

"You know," he said, "when I first moved in, I thought you were the most hopeless man I'd ever met."

"A fair assessment."

"You left dishes in the sink. You forgot to buy toilet paper. You talked to your computer like it had personally insulted you."

"Sometimes it had."

"And then you started leaving me the last slice of pizza because you knew I liked it. You learned how to make tea when I was sick. You sat up with me the night my father went into surgery, even though you had work at six."

Mason remembered that night. He'd hardly thought about it since.

"I fell in love with all the little things," Adrian whispered. "I just didn't think you were ever going to notice."

"I notice now."

"Yes," Adrian said. "You do."

He held out his hand.

Mason slid the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly. He knew Adrian's size because he'd asked, and because he'd finally learned that love didn't have to be a guessing game.

Adrian examined the engraving, then tucked himself against Mason's side.

"You're still a raccoon," he said.

"Your raccoon."

"Unfortunately."

Mason kissed his temple.

The next morning, Adrian woke to the smell of coffee and the soft clatter of dishes. He wandered into the kitchen wearing Mason's oldest T-shirt, the silver ring bright against his hand.

Mason was slicing apples. Badly. Uneven wedges scattered across the cutting board.

"What are you doing?" Adrian asked.

Mason looked up and smiled.

"Taking care of my husband."

Adrian rolled his eyes, but the smile he tried to hide was hopeless.

"We're not married, Mason."

"Noted. Long-term planning item."

"You haven't even asked me to move back in."

"I know. I was thinking we could discuss it after breakfast. Like responsible adults."

"You? Responsible?"

Mason offered him an apple slice.

"See? I've changed."

Adrian took it, then caught Mason by the front of his shirt and kissed him.

Outside, snow drifted past the windows. Inside, the coffee was strong, the toast was slightly burnt, and the dishwasher was loaded incorrectly.

Mason had never been happier.

He kissed Adrian again, because he could, because Adrian wanted him to, and because this time there was nobody watching.

THE END