Nick notices it every time he enters a room where Jeff sits, hunched over something on the floor he won't let Nick see. Jeff darts his head around nervously like a frightened squirrel, then throws a towel, a blanket, or a t-shirt over it when he hears Nick approaching the room. From receipts left on the kitchen table Nick knows that Jeff has gone through three bottles of Elmer's glue, but why a dancer would need school glue, Nick couldn't even begin to guess. One night, when Jeff is at the studio practicing late, Nick sees it, a corner peeking out from beneath the bed, just an inconspicuous angle made of wood. Nick burns with curiosity. He stares and stares, hoping it will reveal itself without him needing to touch it, but of course it does nothing, and because Nick loves Jeff, because Nick respects Jeff, he doesn't touch it.

Slowly, Jeff's secret starts to drive Nick crazy, especially when Jeff creeps out of bed in the middle of the night to spend quality time with his glue.

Then one night, when the two of them are finally in the apartment at the exact same time, Jeff grabs Nick's hand and leads him into the living room, a smile so wide it reaches his eyes, his whole face a beacon glowing with joy. He is almost child-like as he lures Nick to the sofa with, “Come on, Nicky! Come see what I did.”

It's bigger than Nick imagined, covered with two towels, waiting for Jeff to make his big presentation. Nick sits on the sofa and watches Jeff carefully lift the towels and toss them to the floor. Nick's jaw drops. A huge picture frame takes up a good portion of their coffee table. It mystifies Nick that Jeff managed to sneak this huge thing into the house without his noticing.

Here it is – Jeff's month of toil in the form of a gigantic collage of pictures and snippets of notes and stories. There is a picture of Nick and Jeff standing side by side on stage with the Warblers. Another faded photograph is of them in middle school, waiting for the school bus. A picture of them swimming at summer camp here, a blue ribbon from the three-legged race they won later that same day beneath it, a letter to Jeff's mom talking about how he hoped he would be Nick's best friend forever. In one corner is the invitation to the Dalton Academy Prom they went to stag so they could secretly go together, along with a photo of them in inverse tuxedos – Jeff in white with a black tie, Nick in black with a white tie, standing back to back, doing their best James Bond for the camera. There are Post-It love notes, and a handful of Nick's famous doodles which adorned every letter that Nick ever passed Jeff in history class their junior year. Inconspicuously tucked in a corner between two photos, Nick can see a gold foil corner and he knows without Jeff telling him exactly when that condom wrapper was from.

“How did you get these pictures?” Nick asks, looking at another older picture of the two of them hugging. It was taken during elementary school. Nick had skinned his knee. He had told Jeff he didn't want anyone to see him cry, so Jeff had led Nick away to the far corner of the playground and given him a hug. A teacher had snapped their picture.

“My mom,” Jeff explains. “I wrote to her and asked her to send me all these.”

“And…the rest…” Nick's fingers hover over the spot where Jeff has glued a picture of them riding on Jeff's bike, Nick standing on pegs while Jeff pedaled.

“I kept it all.” Jeff puts an arm around Nick's shoulders.

“You kept this?” Nick's fingers linger just above a fortune Jeff had gotten on one of their first official dates. It reads ‘You will marry the man of your dreams'.

“Of course I did, Nicky,” Jeff says, kissing his temple. “This is our story. The story of us.”

Nick looks at a space covered in bright paper with no photos and no notes – a whole expanse of the framed collage left blank.

“You…you didn't finish it,” Nick says, sounding a little disappointed.

Jeff smiles that sage, signature Jeff smile.

“Well,” he says, wrapping Nick up further in his arms, pulling his boyfriend onto his lap to make his lips easier to reach, “the story's not finished yet.”