Jack looked down at his hand, eyes catching on gold stitching. Looked over at the dormitory building. Looked at Theo. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Theo rolled his eyes again, somehow more dramatic, and waved a hand. “Just go in, would you?”

“I—”

“The dorms are quite nice, now.” His casual tone was forced in a way that only Jack would be able to notice.

“Yeah, I—”

“I think they have your picture up there, somewhere. Sure to be a thrill.”

Still kind of a bastard, it seemed. Jack grimaced, embarrassed. “I wish they hadn’t done that.”

Theo scoffed. He was unbelievably good at scoffing. “You’re the only person I know who could be ashamed of such a...significant donation.”

“Yeah, well...” He trailed off, uncertain. He really was uncomfortable with people—people thinking about—“I hate that they—”

“I remember.” Theo looked him over, eyes just as sharp and critical as ever, and then his face softened, just a little. “Always so ashamed to be noticed.”

Jack’s face colored. He glanced away, staring at the brick pathway.

“It’s been a long time.” Theo’s voice was hollow but gentle.

“Yeah.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, tried to smile. “We’re old men now.”

“Not that old.” A lifted eyebrow.

“God.” Jack felt the burden of too many years, so many joys and too many stupid decisions. “I feel old.”

They both paused, silent. Jack felt the distance between them as if it were a physical thing, a solid thing, and he wanted to reach out, smell that place where Theo’s shoulder met his neck—and he remembered those few months, the stone wall next to the River Lee, Cork at sunrise, cigarettes laced with hash, and the most beautiful and fucked-up time in his entire life.

And he thought about his three children, whom he loved more than anything. Meg, the girl who’d cared for him, and their family, and their failed marriage. And the rumor he’d heard, back in January, about Theo’s divorce.

The moment he realized he couldn’t lie anymore.

“Yes, well...” Theo breathed out, shaky, and ran a hand through his still-perfect hair. “Right, so this has been...awful, yeah. Absolutely terrible.” A shrug. “Good luck with the jacket, Gardner.”

“Theo, I—”

But he was already walking away.

Jack had watched him go so many times.

Above him, hopping from branch to branch in the pear blossom tree, a blue jay yelled out its sharp call, and a damp breeze ruffled its feathers, and Jack remembered the apartment above, filled with exotic birds, and the skipping of old records, and the way the air felt at two o’clock in the morning when they’d had too much to drink and the rain came down, mizzling, and lamplight refracted in the spider silk strands of Theo’s hair.