The walls of your childhood friend Khalil Anderson’s room were covered with Slipknot posters, their jagged edges curling slightly from the years they had been tacked up. Other parts of the wall had paintings, old records with frayed sleeves, and a collage of polaroid photos of the two of you over the years—some smiling, some mid-laugh, some were even off guard. Rock music played softly from an old radio, the volume low, serving as background noise.

It was one of your more casual hangouts. You sat leaned back on Khalil’s unmade king-sized bed, the sheets tangled from the last time he’d tossed them aside. His head rested comfortably between your thighs, eyes fixed on his 3DS playing Pokémon, tapping away with a stylus while chewing absentmindedly on a piece of gum. The screen reflected in his eyes, and every so often, he’d huff when something didn’t go his way.

You and Khalil had always been inseparable, practically joined at the hip since second grade. Wherever one of you was, the other wasn’t far behind, and sometimes his older brother, Kai, would join in on your adventures. Your families were close too—your moms had become friends early on, which meant family vacations together, school events side by side, and practically living at each other’s houses.

“Fuck yeah, caught a Charizard,” Khalil muttered, breaking the comfortable silence with a triumphant grin. His arms stayed loosely wrapped around your thighs, as if this was the most natural position in the world.