EPILOGUE
The house smells like Troy's famous fajitas.
I'm curled into Ethan's side on the sagging couch at their house, watching our friends sprawl across the living room for what's probably the last time.
Tomorrow, they graduate. Tomorrow, everything changes.
It's only been six weeks since Ethan and I got back together, six weeks since I finally let myself into this circle properly. Before, I was just Ethan's tutee who occasionally appeared.
Now, I'm part of the group text that fires off at least fifty messages a day.
Six weeks of inside jokes and movie nights and being folded into something I didn't know I was missing.
Six weeks that feel like six years and six minutes all at once.
“I can't believe you're abandoning Greg,” Alex says from where she's tucked against Freddie's chest on the floor. She's been designated Greg's official caretaker after Ethan nearly killed him, and she takes the responsibility seriously. “I promise to look after him.”
“He was a good friend, but I don’t need him anymore,” Ethan announces, squeezing my hand. “You’re my little plant now, aren’t ya, Pip?” He ruffles my hair and I roll my eyes.
“That makes no sense.” Tara laughs, threading her fingers through Alfie's hair. They're sharing the ancient armchair, her legs draped over his lap while he pretends to read some astrophysics journal but keeps getting distracted by her proximity.
“I’m going to miss it here,” Alfie murmurs, not looking up.
A scratching at the back door interrupts him. Before anyone can move, Baxter—the golden retriever from next door—has somehow materialized in the living room, making a beeline for Alfie.
“How does he keep getting in?” Troy asks as Baxter attempts to climb into Alfie's lap despite being seventy pounds of dog.
“No idea,” Alfie says way too quickly, but he's already scratching behind Baxter's ears in that specific spot that makes the dog's leg twitch.
“Sure, you don't.” Tara grins. “Just like you have 'no idea' why there's a bag of premium dog treats hidden behind your telescope.”
“Those could be for anyone,” Alfie protests, but Baxter is now fully sprawled across him, tail wagging so hard it's threatening Tara's drink.
“Dude, just admit you've been having a secret love affair with the neighbor's dog.” Freddie laughs.
“It's not a love affair. We have an understanding.” Alfie's trying to maintain dignity while Baxter licks his face. “He's surprisingly good at listening to my dissertation theories.”
“Better than us?” Troy calls from the kitchen, carrying in another round of fajitas.
“Baxter doesn't interrupt to ask if we can 'make it more fun,'” Alfie responds dryly.
“I’m only trying to help, bro!” Troy protests.
Delilah helps him with the plates, wearing one of his shirts under her cardigan. “You ask that about everything, Hawkins. Remember when Alfie was explaining thermodynamics?”
“Thermodynamics should be fun!” Troy insists.
I watch them all bicker, trying to memorize every detail. These people who six weeks ago were just Ethan's roommates and their girlfriends, and now feel like the family I didn't know I needed.
“You're being quiet,” Ethan murmurs in my ear.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
“How you're all leaving me.” I try to make it sound like a joke, but my voice cracks slightly. “And how I wish I'd stopped being scared earlier. We could have had more times like this.”
The room goes quiet. Seven pairs of eyes turn to me with varying degrees of sympathy and understanding.
“Oh, babe,” Alex says softly, already moving to give me a hug. “We’re still here! Tara and I have one more year left too.”
“Besides,” Tara adds, “quality over quantity. These six weeks of Piper have been worth like, a whole year of regular friendship.”
“Especially since she's the only one who can beat Alfie at chess.” Ethan grins.
I shoot him a glare. I told him to keep that a secret.
Alfie's head snaps up from where he's been buried in Baxter fur. “Wait. What?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, but Alfie's eyes narrow.
“Oh my god,” he says slowly. “You're ButterBoi69. I freakin’ knew it! I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots.”
Everyone looks confused except Ethan, who starts laughing.
“ButterBoi69?” Tara asks. “That sounds like a terrible username for—”
“Chess,” Alfie interrupts, staring at me. “She's been destroying me at online chess for two years. ButterBoi69 is the only player I can't beat.”
“It's not destroying,” I protest. “You win sometimes.”
“When you let me!” He's half-laughing, half-indignant. “That King’s Gambit last week?”
“You were having a bad day!”
“You threw a game out of pity?!” But he's grinning now. “God, that's worse than losing fairly.”
“How did you not know it was her?” Ethan asks, delighted by this revelation.
“The username throws people off,” I admit. “No one expects ButterBoi69 to be a girl who codes.”
“Or to be good at chess,” Alfie adds, shaking his head. “Years of wondering who was behind that ridiculous username.”
“Why ButterBoi69?” Alex asks.
“It’s the name of my favorite cookie restaurant back home.” I shrug. “And 69 was the year my mom was born.”
“Sure, it was.” Troy smirks, and Delilah smacks his arm.
“This explains so much,” Alfie mutters.
“Okay, but can we go back to how Piper's been secretly dominating Alfie at his favorite game for two years?” Troy grins. “This is the best thing I've heard all week.”
“It's intellectual domination only,” I protest, making everyone laugh.
“Title of your sex tape,” Tara shoots back, then immediately covers her mouth. “Sorry, that was—”
“Perfect.” I laugh. “That was perfect.”
And it is. This whole group of humans who shouldn’t get along, but do.
Six weeks wasn't enough. Six years wouldn't be enough.
“Hey,” Alex says, carefully adjusting Greg's position to catch the last of the sunlight. “Piper, you know you're stuck with us now, right? Group chat, ugly Christmas sweater photos, embarrassing birthday videos—the whole deal.”
“Even when we're spread across the country,” Freddie adds.
“Especially then,” Tara chimes in. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder and the group chat grow weirder.”
“Plus,” Alfie says, still buried under Baxter but maintaining eye contact with me, “we have unfinished chess business. You owe me a rematch without pity.”
“Deal,” I say, my throat tight with emotion.
“This is getting sappy,” Delilah announces, but she's leaning into Troy now, her usual sharp edges softened. “Someone change the subject before I start to cry.” Even when she jokes, she still kinda scares me.
“Too late,” Troy murmurs, and she doesn't even protest when he kisses her forehead.
“You know what we need?” Tara suddenly sits up, nearly elbowing Alfie and causing Baxter to readjust with a huff. “A toast! We can't end college without a proper toast.”
“With what?” I ask. “We have water and whatever's in that questionable pitcher Troy made.”
“The pitcher is a cauldron of my finest remaining alcohol,” Troy defends. “But yeah, probably not toast-worthy.”
Ethan disentangles himself from me and disappears into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of champagne that definitely wasn't there before. “I might have hidden this earlier. Figured we'd need it.”
“When did you—” I start.
“I have my ways.” He's already popping the cork, foam threatening to overflow. “Alfie, you're good at words. Make a toast.”
“I'm good at science, not speeches,” Alfie protests.
Of course, this just encourages everyone to chant his name, my guy leading the charge.
“Alfie! Alfie! Alfie!”
“Alright, alright, quiet down.” He's shaking his head but he stands anyway, pulling Tara up with him. “Fine. But if this is terrible, blame peer pressure, not me.”
We all raise our mismatched cups and mugs, champagne fizzing inappropriately in coffee-stained ceramic.
Alfie clears his throat. “Four years ago, we were strangers. Freshmen pretending we knew what we were doing. Troy was still trying to convince people he was just a pretty face—”
“Still am,” Troy interjects.
“Freddie was benching his feelings instead of dealing with them—”
“Accurate,” Freddie admits.
“Ethan was being his goofy ass self…”
“What do you mean by 'was'?” Troy cuts him again.
“And I was convinced I didn't need anyone.” Alfie pauses, looking at Tara. “We were all wrong. About ourselves, about what we needed, about what love actually looks like when you stop running from it. And I, for one, am so glad we met these beautiful women here. We don’t know what we’d do without you guys. ”
“When did you become a poet?” Tara asks softly.
“When you made me want to be better with words,” he responds, and even Delilah makes a small sound at that.
“The point is,” Alfie continues, raising his mug higher, “we found each other.
Against odds, against logic, against our own stupid self-preservation instincts.
And tomorrow, when we scatter across the country, we're not losing that.
We're just... proving it's real. That it can survive outside this bubble.”
“Actually,” Alfie sets down his mug, glancing at Tara with a small smile. “Before we toast, we have an announcement.”
Tara's trying to suppress a grin, fidgeting with her hands in a way that makes Alex gasp.
“Oh my god, is that—”
Tara holds up her left hand, where a stunning ring catches the light—a diamond surrounded by delicate pink stones.
The room explodes.
“When?” Alex shrieks, launching herself at Tara.
“Last weekend,” Tara says, laughing as everyone crowds around. “He took me to London, to the Natural History Museum—”
“She cried at the minerals exhibit,” Alfie interjects, looking smug.
“You proposed at a museum?” Delilah asks, but she's smiling.
“In the Minerals Gallery,” Tara confirms, touching the pink gemstone necklace at her throat that matches the ring. “Right in front of the kunzite display. He said I was rarer and more precious than any stone they had.”
“Alfie Spencer, closet romantic,” Troy says, his voice thick with emotion. He stands, pulling Alfie into a crushing hug. “You've always been my brother, but now it's going to be official.”
“We're not getting married tomorrow.” Tara laughs as Alex examines the ring from every angle. “We're young; we know that—”
“But she's going to be my wife,” Alfie says firmly, with more certainty than I've ever heard from him. “Eventually. When we're ready. But I knew I wanted to marry this girl since the moment I laid eyes on her.”
“Shut up.” Tara swats him, but she's glowing. “I love you.”
“Why didn't you tell us sooner?” Freddie demands.
“We wanted to tell everyone together,” Alfie says. “One last surprise before graduation.”
“I can't believe you kept this secret!” I exclaim.
“How long have you been planning this?” Freddie asks Alfie.
“Months,” Alfie admits. “Had the ring custom made with the pink kunzite around the edges because—”
“Because he's actually the most thoughtful person alive,” Tara finishes, kissing him soundly.
“This is insane.” Ethan's voice is low in my ear. “Alfie 'I don't do feelings' Spencer is engaged.”
“Character development—you taught me that” I whisper back, making him laugh.
Troy's still emotional, wiping his eyes. He stands, clearing his throat multiple times before he can speak. “You know what? Four years ago, we were just four random guys thrown into this house.”
“God, that first day,” Freddie groans. “Troy tried to bench press his suitcase in the hallway. I was so close to transferring.”
“You weren’t! Besides, I was establishing dominance,” Troy defends.
“You dropped it on your foot,” Alfie adds dryly, but he's smiling.
Troy raises his mug higher, voice thick with emotion. “To the University of Mountain Springs—a place nestled in the mountains that forced four unlikely lads together on the first day. An unlikely brotherhood that somehow worked.”
“And soon to be actual brothers,” Alfie adds quietly, looking at Troy with genuine affection. “When I marry Tara.”
That breaks Troy completely. He sets down his mug to pull Alfie into another crushing hug. “You're already my brother, you scary genius. This just makes it official.”
“To Alfie and Tara,” Troy continues when he pulls back, raising his mug again. “For proving that even the most emotionally constipated among us can figure out love.”
“Hey—" Alfie protests.
“And for giving us something to celebrate beyond just leaving,” Alex adds, raising her own mug. “To the future Spencers!”
“To the best group of brothers I could have asked for,” Ethan adds, standing too. “And to the women who somehow saw through our bullshit and loved us anyway.”
“To four of the best years of my life,” Alfie says, finally standing with Tara. “And to whatever comes next. Together. Or apart. A piece of us will always be here, at UMS."