Maybe that’s why it’s always felt this good…and so damn special.
50
George
The apartment on Warren Avenue sits on the fourth floor, about halfway between Lance’s clinic and my school. East-facing windows usually throw light across the kitchen counter until late morning, but now the day is already sliding into evening.
We moved in two months after we stopped pretending this wasn’t permanent.
His clinical binders live on one side of the shelf. My engineering textbooks sit on the other. The middle filled itself over time—shared notes, loose papers, whatever either of us left there and never bothered to move back to our own sides.
The place stays neat without ever feeling stiff. The deep blue couch is broken in just right. Lance’s darker throw blanket stays folded over the arm. My coasters actually get used. One of my spare hoodies is always on the back of a chair because Lance keeps stealing it.
Nothing matches perfectly, but it works for us.
The whole group finally comes over to see the new place. The energy shifts the second the door opens.
Vince and Adrian show up first. Vince hands me a bottle of good bourbon and gives me a quick tap on the back as he passes it over. Adrian comes in behind him with Thai takeout and a coupleof boxes of dumplings, and the smell hits the apartment straight away.
Trevor and Becca roll in right after, juggling beer, pastries, and warm garlic bread. Shoes get kicked off by the door. Voices fill the space fast.
We’ve only got a table for four, so we spread out across the living room. Lance drops onto the rug with his back against the couch and reaches for the game controller on the coffee table. Adrian immediately flops down beside him and snatches it out of his hand, pulling up my Need for Speed garage on the TV. All my cars are lined up across the screen before anyone can stop him.
“Adrian,” Lance warns, shoving his shoulder.
Adrian just grins and starts flipping through the cars. “Dude, why the hell are all your cars completely stock? You study and build engines, and this is what you run in the game? Sad-ass factory ones?”
“Someone reset everything,” I mutter from the couch, narrowing my eyes at Lance. “Even the levels I already passed.”
Lance throws his hands up, all fake innocence. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Must’ve been a glitch.”
Adrian barks out a laugh. “A glitch called Lance, maybe?”
“Touch my saved file again and I’ll hide the controller in your ass,” I say to Lance, but I’m already fighting a smirk.
The rest of us take the couch and the armchair, plates in hand, passing food around while everyone talks over each other.
I’ve got carnitas slow-cooked and pulled apart, set out with cilantro, lime wedges, and a stack of warm corn tortillas that keeps disappearing before anyone builds a proper plate. We’re all reaching across for food, arguing over who gets the last of something, then handing it over anyway.
Marcus shows up at almost seven, the doorbell cutting through the noise. Lance pushes himself up off the rug, steps over Adrian’soutstretched leg, and pulls the door open. Marcus stands there in a dark suit, jacket still on, the day written all over him.
Lance steps back to let him in, slapping his back. “You made it.”
“Barely,” Marcus says, already loosening his tie as he walks past him.
He pauses just inside and takes in the room in a single pass.
“Sorry, I’m late,” he says, dropping into the armchair. “Long day.”
“Sounds brutal,” Trevor replies, passing him a glass of wine.
“Brutal barely touches it,” Marcus answers before taking a long sip. His gaze moves around the room until it lands on Lance and me. “The place suits you.”
Lance smiles easily at his brother. “Thanks.”
The evening rolls on with its usual loud warmth as everyone catches up. At one point Becca sets her wine glass down and clears her throat.
“Trevor and I have a bet,” she says, eyes sparkling. “We’re settling it tonight.”
