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“What are you gonna do to Kim?!” Milton demands as he and Jerry are shoved into the bathroom janitor's closet.

“Don't worry about Kim,” Frank snarks in a nasty tone, and Jerry glares briefly at him before making a remark about how their dates are smokin’ hot.

And then the door is slammed, and the room goes dark.

Immediately, Milton scrambles for his phone, turning on the flashlight. They both sigh in relief, neither wanting to admit out loud that the dark freaks them out.

There's no movement for a few minutes, at least none that Jerry detects. His mind is racing, trying to think of how to help Kim in time, before Brody and Frank and the Black Dragons attack her in front of everyone at the cotillion.

And then he hears a bang on the door, then a “YOWCH!” from Milton. He startles, catching the phone that falls from his friend's hand and keeping the flashlight shining upwards. “Milton, what the—”

“We gotta help Kim!” the smarter one cries, whimpering and holding his fist.

“We'll have to wait for someone to let us out, then,” Jerry says. He holds his free hand out. “Lemme see your hand.”

Milton squints at him. “You don't know how to check it over.”

The look he receives makes him wish he'd not said anything, and he gives Jerry his hand.

“I have dozens of cousins,” the Colombian explains as he inspects the red knuckles on his friend's hand. “Most of ‘em aren't exactly careful. Especially the younger ones. So I'm the designated medic when they come over.”

There's silence for another few minutes, then Milton hums. “Then why do you always have me help you when you get hurt during sparring?”

Jerry freezes, and this time Milton has to catch his phone, although this time he puts it in his mouth to keep it from falling again.

The Latino clears his throat, his mind flashing back to a particular time in the dojo.

“Ow! Dude, Kim, I told you I didn't get much sleep last night!” Jerry cries, holding his injured side. He's plopped on the floor, face scrunched up in pain.

“Jerry, I'm so sorry, I just—” the blonde rambles, kneeling next to him. 

The Colombian waves her away, trying to give a nonchalant smile; he fails miserably, instead hunching over. 

He knows he can treat this himself, knows he can get to the hospital on his own if he really needs it (not that he thinks he does; it feels like a bad bruise at worst). But instead, he looks up at Kim, who he knows has very little medical knowledge. “Can you go grab Milton really quick?”

“Yeah, he can treat you!” she pats his shoulder gently and rubs off to get him.

And Jerry's pain seems to magically evaporate for a few seconds when he sees Milton approach.

“Jerry, what happened?” the younger one asks calmly, kneeling next to him. 

And then Jerry remembers his predicament again, and he gasps sharply.

“Just a kick in the ribs…” he mutters, not shielding the wound so much anymore. “Can you help? I don't know much about this stuff.”

He's lying through his teeth, he knows it. He wonders if Milton knows, too, but the genuine concern on the nerd’s face tells him that no, he doesn't, he really thinks Jerry can't inspect this on his own.

Not that Jerry's complaining. 

He lets Milton check the wound, his gentle touches making his skin tingle with excitement. Milton doesn't seem to realize his friend's internal dilemma, and once he's done with the inspection he tells him it's nothing serious, just to sit out for the rest of practice.

And when the elder one's lip pouts out, Milton sighs. “And I'll sit with you so you're not bored.”

Jerry brightens, letting Milton help him to the bench.


Said boy flinches out of thought and looks at Milton, whose hazel eyes stare quizzically at him.

“Um,” he says stupidly.

The freckled one squints. “Jerry?” he repeats, and his voice is muffled by the phone in his mouth. 

“I just—” the Latino stutters, shaking his hands out nervously when he lets Milton's go. “Sorry.”

Milton takes the opportunity to take his cellphone out of his mouth and put it on the floor, flashlight pointing up so they can still see. 

Oblivious as he is, though, he tilts his head. “Is it ‘cuz you're more used to treating your cousins?”

For a good few seconds, Jerry considers agreeing, nodding and putting this whole thing behind them as a little misunderstanding. 

But he doesn't want to. He wants to tell Milton how he feels, wants to tell him how he wants to hold him and snuggle with him and exchange little “I love you”s with him and just be with him…

So he shakes his head. “No, that's not why. It's ‘cuz…” He looks down, picking at his thumbnail. 

“‘Cuz what?” Milton's tone is so patient, and it's almost like they're not locked in a closet, like they aren't trapped in the dark, their only source of light being Milton's phone, like they don't have to get out to keep their friend from being humiliated. 

Because despite all that, Jerry blurts out:

“Because I like you, Milton.”

And then he covers his face with his hat, not daring to see his crush’s reaction. 

So they just stand there again. A minute passes, and then two, and Jerry feels like the stupidest person in the world until he feels Milton's hand on his. 

“I like you, too, Jerry.”

A brief pause. Then the elder one slowly lets Milton lower his hat away from his face, so the other can see how red it is. 


A small smile graces Milton's face. “I do, really. I honestly…” he twiddles his fingers, looking down at the phone on the floor. “I wanted to ask you to the cotillion, but then my mom made us come with the girls, and—”

“Dude! No way, I was gonna try to ask you!” Jerry's confidence spikes and he grabs Milton's hands—carefully, because the one he punched the door with is bruised. “Heck, I almost asked you anyway and ditched the girls.” A laugh escapes him, but it's not like his other ones; it's nervous, just like him. 

Milton's laugh practically mirrors his. “I should've thought of that.” He looks down at their hands, blushing slightly and looking back up at Jerry. 

“Well, maybe we still can. If we can get out of here.” The Hispanic looks toward the door, which is still firmly locked. “After we help Kim.”

“But…” Milton takes a small step closer to Jerry, so their faces are almost touching. “Until we are let out…” 

The elder giggles nervously, then swallows. “Yeah?” he asks sweetly, voice high and excited. 

Milton leans in, kissing his lips gently. 

Jerry's nerves light up, heart beating faster as his breath escapes him. His eyes flutter shut and his hands unconsciously squeeze Milton’s a little harder.

Which earns him a yelp, and the Jew pulls away. “Ow, Jerry, my hand!”

“Sorry, sorry!”