Carlos sank down on the couch after Charles disappeared down the hallway, brushing the heel of his hand across his mouth like he could erase the sting of that almost-kiss. The sound of Charles’s laughter still bubbled faintly from the kitchen, and Carlos smiled despite himself — that laugh had been the sound of every chapter of his life for as long as he could remember.

He remembered when he first met Charles as a boy — shy, knobbly knees and big eyes that watched the world like it was worth noticing. He remembered every scuffed knee he patched up, every late-night conversation, every stupid inside joke. They weren’t just friends. They weren’t just best friends. They weren’t just roommates, or even spouses of convenience.