And there were some things he hadn’t wanted to—didn’t want to talk about in front of Meg. Things she couldn’t understand, even though she tried so hard.

“Yeah. Because—Dare, I did love her. I do, I swear. I thought—we got through school, and my internship, and—and she’d been waiting, and I wanted...”

Quinn’s voice was quiet. “You wanted a home.”

Jack picked up one of Jules’s crayons—blue, with paper peeling away—and clutched it in his fingers.

“You know.” Dare leaned back, crossing his legs, turned toward Quinn. “There are different kinds of meant to be, I think. Different perspectives.”

The corner of Quinn’s mouth curled up, the way it always did when Dare started in on his unique combination of philosophy and artistic intuition, which he had given up trying to critique long ago.

“Quinn and I—we didn’t always get along, you know.”

“Well.” Raised eyebrows. “We were friends, Darius.”

“Yeah, but you were also perpetually annoyed with me.”

“Admittedly true.” They smiled at each other, still charmed by their eccentricities.

“But you saw it, Jack, even before we did, that we were meant to—to end up here.

“You saw it from the outside. And that’s a good story, a wonderful and romantic story—that kind of meant to be, but that’s not what it feels like from the inside.”

Jack frowned. “What do you mean?”

“There were days when I absolutely hated him.”

That was Quinn, interrupted by an injured, “Oh, how kind,” from Dare.

“Oh, yes, it wasn’t real hate, but I...wanted him and wanted that feeling to stop and—look, as much as the world had already changed, it wasn’t exactly easy, you know, being gay at Gwynns.”

Dare picked up the last cookie, and in between neat bites, he said, “That’s what I mean, then. So much getting in the way and, my darling husband,” Quinn blushed, “You weren’t always so pleasant yourself. So superior. So we were—”

“You were a mess,” Jack interrupted, and he realized it was true.

For those four years, with his odd little group, his best friends, he watched them snipe, debate—be silently jealous, be possessive—reject each other, need each other. Admitting nothing. All of them were busy trying to get through school, get good grades, be noticed, but not too much and not for the wrong things.

It was difficult, he knew, being...different. Having feelings that—

It probably felt awful, especially for them, never truly passing, wanting what every young person wanted—just someone to hold—and feeling unable to have it. Being angry at each other for that desire; resenting the person you loved. Trying to hide it. And yet it was so obvious, from the outside, that they were meant to be together.

A dim and long-buried truth began to emerge before him.