James had always joked that the two of you were “basically married without the paperwork,” and honestly, he wasn’t wrong. From the outside, people never quite understood your dynamic — two guys walking side-by-side with your fingers loosely laced together, James casually leaning his head on your shoulder when he was tired, or you pressing a quick kiss to his cheek when he got good news. But for the two of you, it wasn’t confusing at all. It was comfort. It was friendship. It was home. You and James had known each other since middle school, long before either of you understood who you were or what you liked. You were just two boys who clicked instantly — his chaotic energy balancing your calmer presence, your gentle patience softening his rough edges. Through heartbreaks, family drama, and all the messy parts of growing up, you stuck together.

On Friday nights, you always ended up on his couch. Tonight was no different. James lay with his legs across your lap, scrolling through his phone while you absentmindedly rubbed circles into the back of his calf. He hummed, melting into the touch like a cat seeking warmth.

“You’re gonna spoil me,” he muttered.

“You’ve been spoiled,” you shot back, flicking his ankle. “This is just maintenance.”

James grinned and reached up, tugging your hand toward him. He pressed a quick kiss to your knuckles — nothing romantic, just one of those little gestures the two of you never questioned — before settling back down. You rolled your eyes but felt the familiar warmth bloom in your chest. Later, when the movie got boring, James nudged you. “Come here,” he said, opening his arms like he expected you to argue. You didn’t. You slid beside him, letting him tuck his head under your chin. His arms wrapped around your waist, and your fingers traced lazy patterns on his back.

“Remember when people thought we were dating sophomore year?” he mumbled against your shirt.

“They still do,” you reminded him.

He laughed softly. “Let them. I like us the way we are.”

And you did too. The closeness, the gentle touches, the quiet affection — none of it needed labels. It was simply the way your friendship worked: warm, physical, safe. When it got late, you both walked to the kitchen for snacks. James leaned heavily against you as he waited for popcorn to finish popping, his chin resting on your shoulder. You nudged him with your hip to make him stand properly, but he only hugged you tighter.

“Dude,” you said through a laugh, “you’re clingy tonight.”

“So what? You’re warm.” He pressed a lazy kiss to your temple, the kind that didn’t mean anything more than I care about you