Vincent only ever came over after midnight. Zach knew the routine by now. The late texts. The slurred apologies. The quiet knock at his apartment door followed by Vincent standing there looking like he’d rather fall apart than go home. That night was no different. When Zach opened the door, Vincent immediately leaned against the frame with a tired laugh. “Hey.” “You’re drunk,” Zach said flatly. “A little.” “You say that every time.” Vincent smiled weakly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His hair was messy from the rain outside, dark strands sticking to his forehead while the smell of alcohol clung to his clothes. For a moment neither of them moved. Then Vincent looked at him softly and muttered, “Can I come in?” Zach should’ve said no. Instead, he stepped aside. The apartment stayed quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and rain tapping against the windows. Vincent sank onto the couch with a groan, rubbing both hands over his face. “She’s mad at me again,” he mumbled. Zach stayed standing near the kitchen. “What happened this time?” “I don’t know.” Vincent laughed bitterly. “I think I just ruin everything without trying.” “That’s dramatic.” “It’s true.” The room fell silent. Vincent looked exhausted in a way that went deeper than being drunk. His eyes slowly drifted up toward Zach, heavy and unfocused. “You know,” Vincent said quietly, “you’re the only person I can talk to like this.” Zach’s chest tightened. “You only talk to me like this when you’re wasted.” Vincent stared at him for a long moment after that. For a second, Zach thought he might actually leave. Instead, Vincent reached for him carefully, fingers brushing against Zach’s sleeve like he was afraid he’d pull away. Zach already knew tomorrow morning would erase this version of Vincent completely. Still, he didn’t move away when Vincent leaned closer. Their kisses always felt like trying to hold water in shaking hands. Warm for a moment. Gone by morning. — By noon the next day, university halls buzzed with noise. Students crowded the corridors between classes while locker doors slammed shut one after another. Zach stood near his locker, barely listening to the conversation beside him. Because down the hallway was Vincent. Cleaned up. Sober. Smiling. His girlfriend stood tucked comfortably against his side while he laughed at something she said, one hand resting naturally on her shoulder. Like last night had never happened. Like Zach had imagined the trembling voice, the quiet confessions, the way Vincent kissed him like he needed oxygen. Then Vincent glanced up. Their eyes met across the crowded hallway. They were bestfriends but Zach had started to feel a pang in his chest.