The next morning, Paris and Rory are quiet over their breakfast when Paris suddenly has an announcement. "So," she says, "I don't know where I'll be, but I think I know what I'll be: a doctor." Rory smiles and says that's great, while I shudder to think of the loss our fictional legal system has just suffered with Paris Gellar's decision to become a fictional doctor. Not to mention the suffering of all her future fictional patients. "The truth is," Paris says, "I want to be a physician, always have." Well, that's settled, just in time for Doyle to return. He walks in, using his key. "What are you doing here?" Paris asks, accusingly. "I live here," he says, nonchalant. He says he changed his mind about that whole moving-out thing, and as a matter of fact, the whole breaking-up thing? Changed his mind about that as well. He's brought in the mail and picks it up now. "Oh, by the way," he says, "I think we got into two more med schools." Paris rolls her eyes, asking him what he's talking about. "I love you, Paris Gellar," he says, dropping the day's mail in front of Rory. "You are the strongest, most infuriating, most exciting woman I've ever met in my entire life. Anywhere you go? I'm going." Paris: "We're too young to do this!" Doyle shrugs, saying well, maybe she is, but he's older and way more mature. For perhaps the first time in her life, Paris is temporarily speechless. "So," she says, leading him into their bedroom, "you're saying that if I go to Alaska, you're going, too?" Yep, he says. His plan is to be with her. It's so sweet, and Rory tries to make herself invisible during it all, but when they are finally behind closed doors, she grabs up the mail. Her letter from the Times has finally arrived. They regret to inform her, she didn't get the Reston.