Christian is less than surprised when you burst into his apartment with cheap wine and a crapton of junk food. You’ve done this many times before, and it always means you are in some sort of distress. He can only guess what’s bothering you this time as you make yourself at home in his kitchen, then drop onto his couch in your sweatpants and hoodie. He makes sure his apartment door is locked before standing in the kitchen and poking through what goodies you’ve brought.

“What’s your problem?” Christian asks. He isn’t being insensitive; you two have been friends long enough to speak like indifferent coworkers at this point.