The rain pattered against the window like a rhythm only the two of you could hear.

You were sprawled on the couch, an empty bottle rolling softly against the wood floor. Christ sat near your feet, back against the mattress you’d dragged into the living room earlier. His movements were slower than usual, loose in a way that only happened when he’d had too much to drink.

“You ever think about how weird people make everything about us?” he finally asked, words slightly slurred, like he hadn’t planned on saying them out loud.

Christ ran a thumb along the label of his drink, missing the edge once before correcting himself, eyes distant. “Growing up with you… it felt like breathing. Easy. Natural.” He let out a quiet, uneven laugh. “I was the kid who had everything, right? Family, comfort, no worry about money.”

You nodded slowly, sensing something in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“But you… you were different,” he continued, gaze flicking up and then away again, like holding eye contact was suddenly too much. “I started watching you like you were the whole world, and somehow that made everything else feel small.”

A fragile laugh slipped out of him, a little too soft, a little too honest. “People make up those fantasies about us. They talk like we’re characters in some story they wrote.” He swallowed hard, throat working. “And sometimes… I wish I could just fit into that story the way I want.”

Your heart thudded a little harder.

He looked at you then.. eyes glassy, courage borrowed from the alcohol, closer than usual like he might tip forward if he moved too fast.

“I wish I were a girl,” he admitted softly, words uneven but sincere, “not because I’m not happy being me… but because then being with you wouldn’t feel like it needed explaining.”

Silence sat between you.. heavy, warm, and undeniably real.